But I’m getting there slowly. Thank you, and I mean this so much, for your wonderful support after my last post. It has, beyond my own expectations, made everything so much easier to have shared my dad’s story a little and to have had such kind words and thoughts from everyone. I think my dad would have been both incredibly embarrassed and also secretly very, very happy and moved to read them all.

I’m planning to start blogging again soon when I’m back in the studio, and of course to start back on Vintage-a-Peel with avengeance. I have already posted one item which was in the pipeline before everything happened, and there will be more to follow soon – albeit erratically I imagine. Please do join the facebook group (or follow me on twitter) to ensure that you are kept up-to-date with new listings as and when they do appear.

While I’m here: if you are not aware of the changes afoot over at Google Reader (i.e it will be no more as of July – what idiocy!), then please remember to find a suitable new feed reader so you don’t miss anything with this blog or, in fact, any other fantastic ones to which I link. I am available for following over on Bloglovin’, and I’ve noticed a fair few people have already done this so THANK YOU to you lovely people. You can also follow me directly on wordpress if you have an account, or as an email subscription I believe. Otherwise, you can just bookmark me in your browser or keep up-to-date via facebook and twitter.

Thank you for all your support and wonderfully kind words since my last post. Unfortunately my dad died on Friday at the age of 65.

He was James, though everyone knew him as Jim. But he was my daddy.

I’m not sure how one even begins to tell people how they feel about a parent, so complex is the relationship, so this post is more of a train-of-thought than anything really coherent or resembling an obituary.

The older I became, the more I realised just how much I had inherited and learned from him. Although I look like my mum, I think I eventually had more of his laid-back temperament. And a great tendency to procrastination. (We don’t call it laziness…).

A much more practical person than I could ever hope to be though; he would smile wryly at my silliness, and was quietly supportive of my more ‘bohemian’ career choice. Although I’m certain he’d have been happier if I’d had a ‘proper’ job, for my own sake, I wouldn’t have been able to do everything I’ve done without his help.

He had a wide repertoire of anecdotes, and it was a family joke that they always took forever to recount. He liked long pauses, big build-ups… He was a quiet man, so you knew it was something important or interesting when he started to talk to you. I wish I had written these things down; I feel so sad that, with him, his anecdotes have gone. Like the time he saw The Yardbirds in some tiny pub in Tolworth, and his friend who had been with Jimi Hendrix the night before he died…

He knew the answer to anything, or so it seemed, and never tired of being asked: “What’s that over there?”, “what does that do?”, “how does that work?”, and you knew he loved being able to tell you. He was one of the early breed of computer programmers and talked of mysterious times when a computer room really was just one computer, and feeding punch cards into machines to do relatively simple tasks. He was forever mending things I’d broken, without complaint. Forever giving lifts here and there. I’ll miss our little chats in the car. I keep thinking I need to ask him about something, and then I remember I can’t.

My parents had known each other for 50 years, been together for 48, married for almost 42. If that’s not amazing and inspirational, I don’t know what is.

It was a privilege to be able to say goodbye, and I must thank the anonymous woman who gave him CPR and allowed us a few precious moments of smiles, nods and kisses during the period he was in hospital. Although it was a distressing period, he left us knowing how loved and special he is. We made damn sure of that.

I also, along with my big brothers, inherited his deep love for the music of Paul Simon. Those songs are so ingrained in my psyche from long car journeys; dating from my birth right up until a month or so ago when we all travelled to see his beloved granddaughter and new grandson (who also shared his birthday). I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to hear those songs without crying now. But they serve as a perfect memorial to his life: subtle, quiet and with a great sense of humour…

Rest in peace Pa, I will miss you always xxxx

James (Jim) Eggleston (1947-2013)

If you leap awake
In the mirror of a bad dream
And for a fraction of a second
You can’t remember where you are
Just open your window
And follow your memory upstream
To the meadow in the mountain
Where we counted every falling star

I believe a light that shines on you
Will shine on you forever
And though I can’t guarantee
There’s nothing scary hiding under your bed
I’m gonna stand guard like a postcard
Of a Golden Retriever
And never leave till I leave you
With a sweet dream in your bed

Chorus:
I’m gonna watch you shine
Gonna watch you grow
Gonna paint a sign
So you’ll always know
As long as one and one is two wooo
There could never be a father who loved
His daughter more than I love you

Trust your intuition
It’s just like goin fishin’
You cast your line and hope you get a bite
You don’t need to waste your time
Worryin’ about the market place
Trying to help the human race
Strugglin to survive it’s harshest hour

Father and Daughter by Paul Simon

You may or may not have noticed my absence from blogging since Monday. Well, on Monday my father was taken very seriously ill. I generally don’t make this blog terribly personal, but I also didn’t feel like leaving it hanging with no explanation.

Perhaps I will write about it more when things are less raw, but for the moment I won’t go into any details. He is still in hospital, very seriously ill, and we have no idea what the next few days will hold, let alone the long term future.

Obviously work is taking a backseat to being with my family, and frankly I cannot concentrate on anything much at the moment. But I am still reliant on Vintage-a-Peel for my income and so I must carry on as much as possible.

I am mainly staying in London but I will be able to get back to the studio in Hove every so often (especially if some posting needs to be done) so please just email me if you want to make a purchase and would like to check when I will be able to post it out.

I know that you don’t know my father personally, but he needs all the prayers, love and healing thoughts he can get, so please keep us in your thoughts if you can.

Thank you so much.

Liz x