No long-winded post this time but my big brother’s worth a letter all to himself in this alphabet of mine.

He’s my hero, all the way from when we had bouncy ball battles with our Star Wars figures. Who would get the tie-fighter pilot that smelled of sweets? Who would get the C3-PO with the wobbly legs?

This is us at the top of Snowdon, enjoying the complete lack of a view.

I’ll just tell one story.

We went to the cinema, around the time that The Incredible Hulk came out (the one with Ed Norton – good film in my opinion – highly underrated). Anyway, he tells me to go to the counter and get him a “Hulk-size coke.”

Off I go, secure in the knowledge that this is actually a thing. It’s probably some promotion they’re running, right?

It feels silly just saying it to the woman behind the counter and, as the words escape my mouth, I know I’ve made a mistake. There’s no such thing as a Hulk-size coke.

The withering look I get from the woman behind the counter makes me feel like a five year old.

 

“After all. He is your brother!”

Thanks for everything, brother