If you remember that lyric, you are officially old (like remembering the first episode of Doctor Who, or Geoff Hurst’s wining goal in 1966). Terry Scott was the artist and it is about brothers. The snooty, awkward, know all, controlling, often ignoring, first ever role model human that the younger sibling has.
Mine was all of those things and more; much more. He experimented, he created, he plotted and he took complete advantage of his shadow. And, looking back, I wouldn’t have changed it for the world; even the cracked tooth from the trapeze in the mouth, the countless humiliations and the devastating revelations concerning Santa and the tooth fairy.
And still he has the ability to drop my jaw with his extraordinary memory and knowledge base (and bore me rigid two hours later because he’s still telling me all he knows). And for (and despite) all those foibles I would not change him now, either (I’ve tried; we’ve all tired – and failed so if you can’t beat him…).
Families can be odd constructs, as likely to drive you to drink as bring a grin to your face. But, for me, the acid test is what happens when the chips are down. When a crisis looms. When our parents fell into their final illnesses, he was a constant – an uncomplaining ever present. We hadn’t had to work together for years – did we ever work as a team in those warring younger days? Only to gang up on our parents. But in 2004/5 and again in 2009/10 it worked; no discussions, it just worked. And two desperately painful situations were made that little bit easier by knowing he was there.
The Archaeologist is 59 today, 2nd July; he’s aged, erm, as you’d expect. Happy Birthday Bruv.