Uncle George

So I’m at home, in Brighton, and the phone rings. It’s my sister’s boy, Sam. He’s living in Essex but he’s running this salon in Brighton. And he says: “Uncle George, I’m working late at the salon on Thursday and I’ve got to be there early the next morning. Any chance I could stay over at yours?”

“Yeah, course” I say, “don’t eat, I’ll make dinner”

So Thursday night I get the spare room ready and make some dinner. Sam comes over with a nice bottle of wine and we eat. He loves what I’ve cooked and that makes me very happy as he’s a bit clever in the kitchen himself.

Now Sam’s staying over so he can get an early night. But come two o’clock in the morning we’re still up drinking single malt whisky and playing chess. We’re getting a little bit peckish so I say, “ fancy a little pasta ?” He thinks for a second, looks at his watch and says “Yeah, alright, Uncle George” and we start cooking...

Thursday night becomes a regular thing and the rest is history.

It’s not long before Sam’s living in Brighton and we’re doing this Dasaki thing. I’m loving every minute of it. I like feeding people. When people come to dinner and we sit around the table, drinking and eating food I’ve cooked... that’s my favourite thing. I come from a long line of Greeks preoccupied with feeding people. And so does my sister’s boy, Sam.