The importance of oral history and family

My dad is 77 in February and my boy has just turned ten. I stand at 44 years old and am the bridge between two very different worlds.

I mean, how many changes has the world seen in the last 50 years? My boy will never know the world my dad was born into and grew up in ... post-war Greenock in Scotland. My dad struggles to use cash points.

I however have a reasonable grasp of both. What I have been privileged to see is a life starting from scratch, taking on the characteristics of those personalities bringing him up.

The humour, positivity and energy and, what I think is the most important trait, the ability to laugh at oneself.

My old fella is knocking on but one thing that keeps his outlook young is the laugh he has with his grandkids and people around him.

Getting old is no fun, he says, when you reach the point where life stops giving and starts taking, when you’re the last of eight brothers, a widower and you're losing teeth quicker than Leeds United losing a two-goal lead at Spurs due to eating toffee and various other calamitous confectionary concoctions. Why should I stop eating what I enjoy, he asks?

He likes a bet, a pint and to keep busy.