My dearest Tigs, how to explain what you are to me.
Since you were a child a quiet star, shining with a strange but true light seeing the world clearly. Always willing to stand back until it mattered, then firm in your knowledge of what was right and fair. The gentle heart of a romantic covered with a veneer of cynicism (sorry, sweetest, I don’t think we were fooled). Your insatiable curiosity. Your interesting interpretation of a Scottish accent. Your loyalty and steadfastness. Your kindness to Granny, and your shared quiet anarchy. Your curious love of the battered sausage. Your love of England. Your faith (albeit mis-placed) in my ultimate ability to understand the rules of computer games. In fact your patience and encouragement when explaining virtually anything to my dull and unresponsive brain.
I remember you as Wrigglesworth, as I sang “Loch Lomond” to try to get you to sleep. I remember you coming down the stairs with Bruno in tow. I remember your beautiful smile, and your vigorous attempts to avoid it being caught on camera. Kite-flying in the park. Your splendid chocolate soufflé. So many moments that will always stay with me.
Finally, your strange inability to understand that the maintenance of a regime of oral hygiene in the car is a vital and useful tool of time-management to be highly recommended (apparently you are not alone in this).
Did I understand you? Not always. Do I love you? Always.
Dear God, it’s hard to let Andrew go to you – but cherish this wonderful young man in Heaven as we shall continue to here on Earth. He has many friends in both places.