Once again, huge thanks to everyone who's sent support and condolences. It means a great deal

But as a more *on brand* tribute to his memory & character (he was never one for wallowing in sadness), here's why people saying he's 'in their prayers' may want to... rethink that

/1 https://twitter.com/garwboy/status/1252518040048144384

I've never been especially religious. I would say it wasn't a big part of my life growing up, but there was plenty of it in my home village. I realise, in hindsight, that my Dad must have had more influence there than I assumed, even if he didn't mean to

/2

We never really spoke about religion and faith. It wasn't a controversial subject or anything, it just... never came up? Seems odd to some people, but that's just how it was

Later, I found out the extent to which my father had no time for religious hectoring

/3

As I've mentioned many times, I grew up in a pub, my parents were landlord and landlady. Dad was quite, shall we say, notorious as a publican. He suited the role very well

This, apparently, made him a figure of ire to the local religious community, such that it was

/4

There were a number of Jehovah's Witnesses in my home valley, and Dad didn't seem to take to them at all. He had a weird sense of justice that sometimes bordered on vigilantism (as we'll see), I think he felt they were preying on the vulnerable in our depressed community

/5

That, plus the whole 'we're better than you because we pray to the right God' aspect was basically a red rag to a bull for Dad. So yeah, he really had no time for 'God botherers'

Apparently, this meant he was a prime target for the local Jehovah's Witnesses

/6

He gave them a hard time whenever he saw them, they came to see our pub as a 'den of sin' thing

Then, one quiet afternoon in the pub, one of them marches in, points at my Dad and says 'I've come to convert you!', or something like that

/7

Don't know if this was a new overeager recruit or the head of the Jehovah's witnesses looking to prove a point, but apparently Dad, amused and curious, said OK, and took him into the empty side bar so they could 'have a chat'.

/8

To this day, I've no idea what Dad said to him. All we know is that the confident Jehovah's Witness ran out of the pub in tears barely 5 minutes later.

They wouldn't even come near the pub after that, they actively crossed the road rather than walk in its shadow

/9

This, however, is NOT my favourite 'Dad Vs The Local Religious Establishment' story

No, that one concerns our local reverend, who I later found out was sent to us because the diocese or whatever 'didn't know what else to do with him'. He was basically 'Father Jack'ed

/10

Our local reverend was a swaggering, lecherous alcoholic. He rushed my parents marriage ceremony so he could get to the pub earlier. And legend has it he once baptised a baby in lemonade.

A fine upstanding figure of the community.

/11

Obviously, him being a drunk meant he crossed paths with my Landlord father a lot. And him being a sleazy pervert with a literal 'holier than thou' attitude meant they categorically did NOT get along

/12

Things came to a head one night and dad snapped, dragged the reverend down to the hill to bridge over the river that ran through our valley, and physically dangled him over the side by his ankles, and refused to let him back up until he admitted there was no God

/13

So with this sort of influence growing up, it's no wonder I'm not especially religious. It's quite a feat that I'm not more militant about it.

But that was the sort of thing dad did ALL THE TIME. I have volumes of such stories. It's an incredible privilege, I know that

/14