Apologies for the silence. It’s in memory of my father, William Francis Wilson, who died suddenly at the age of 65 on the 19th of May 2009. He was a brilliant man, a pioneer in the field of plastic surgery back in the days when silicone was something you used to mend windows and botulism (aka botox) was something found only in a biohazard lab. Where surgeons are criticised for being too detached, dad was adored by his patients. He lived an extraordinary life, surrounded by extraordinary people. I could tell you some of the names, but then I would be compelled to kill you. But he was also an endearingly wacky bloke with a passion for Hilaire Belloc and Gilbert and Sullivan, fashioning frames out of driftwood and weathered fence strainers, and known to adhere George Bass memorial 50 cent pieces to anything that stood still down at the farm for more than thirty seconds or so. He was brilliant, generous to a fault to the people closest to his heart, irreverent, funny and an old-school raconteur who never let the truth get in the way of a good story. He was a great man. His loss is felt deeply by many.
I love him, and always will. Deeply. I will miss him every day.