I’ve always liked the idea of writing for The Guardian, which, despite my many disagreements with its editorial stances, is the paper I grew up with. It’s a sad irony that my first and perhaps only Guardian byline is my father’s obituary.
Dad passed away at the end of October, after a long struggle with hydrocephalus, and a much shorter decline in general health brought on, in part, I think, by being stuck in a hospital bed for around 6 weeks for a procedure the doctors eventually decided not to carry out. He remained bedbound after that.
He was a very remarkable man, but also very quiet and self-contained. It is not possible to sum up all that he was to everyone he interacted with. A lover of trees, a protector of the countryside, a seeker of wisdom, an incredible artist, a practitioner of meditation, and a teacher, mentor and friend to many; his art, his activism, and his philosophy were very much one.
Continue reading Remembering my father, Alan Burgess
Paul Burgess 