Today I attended the funeral of my father's older brother.  They came to England in '48 and '50 with nothing more than one pound sewn into their jacket linings.  They both held down three jobs. A pressing day job, an after hours pressing job and washing dishes in the evening.  No hand-outs and no help, in order to put food on the table, yet they still found the energy to dance up a storm at the Italian ballroom club at the Oval and spend time with their families.  To watch them dance was like watching people effortlessly glide through the air, a bittersweet memory.  I don't ever remember them complain that they were tired.  Rest in peace, Uncle Costa and Dad.  Together once again.