Nor was he a man given to expressing emotion, he used to dot his letters with little sketches of dogs and cats that wouldn’t have disgraced a cartoon book.
My late uncle John was the real deal as far as eccentricity was concerned. Our family folk lore is littered with stories of his oddball antics. I mean, do you known anyone who would eat Brussels sprouts RAW, or suck the last dregs out of used tea bags?
His eccentricity attained new heights when he reached his old age. Unable to drive any more, he acquired a custom-built tricycle, and he’d wear a woollen bobble hat surmounted by a giant pair of headphones with a radio he’d built in, and a foot-long antenna sticking out.
Then, with his two dogs attached to the handlebars on a long lead, he would wobble off around the country lanes of Buckinghamshire every evening.
Motorists, needless to say, gave him a wide berth.
It must be genetic. His father was a true gentleman with exquisite Edwardian manners, who never learnt to drive. Instead he built his thriving real estate business by using the local rural bus service – and after each journey, would solemnly tip the rather bemused driver.
So I imagine reading about people breaking world speed records for sheds, shopping trolleys, sleds, mono-motorcycles and rocket-powered motor bikes seems normal to us Brits.
But what on earth does the rest of the world make of it all?
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