20 Feb He Ain’t Heavy…Well to be fair he has packed it on a bit…
ONE FROM THE ARCHIVES
I am the poster girl for middle child syndrome.
Positioned smack bang between a massive achiever and a misbehaver.
There are 20 months between my older Brother, Dean and I and 4 years between me and my younger sister Gemma.
At this point I should highlight that yesterday Dean said he liked my blogs but doesn’t think they mention him enough.
So here it is.
Back in school it was noticed early on that the little shit was gifted.
Blessed with a photographic memory, he breezed through school with exceptional grades.
I like to think I equalled him with intelligence but lacked said photographic memory, arrogance and loafers.
Dean was revered in High School, his intellectual prowess more than making up for his awkward face and fanny parting.
He excelled in everything from languages to drama, the French department actually funding his place on a trip to France so he could fulfil his child genius destiny.
I struggled to find my way out of his shadow until the school started a Russian club.
Something I can master that he can’t do! I signed up and loved my lunch time sessions.
Dean heard about Russian club and like an extra curricular predator he descended on the classroom like a visiting dignitary.
He was seated at the front of the class and answered questions like Russian was sodding Wiganese, with each question turning around to beam at me in a smug, self satisfied sneer.
After he left for college, my chance to shine once more came about when I got the lead part in the school play. I was ecstatic. After 6 weeks of rehearsals our teacher had the audacity to have a heart attack and the play was cancelled.
Naturally when mum remarried,Dean delivered a speech so powerful and intense that even the waiting on staff had to go for a quiet minute, an atmosphere on a par with when Elton John sang Candle In The Wind for Diana.
For fuck sake, I could swear that at the end of it, when all the old women were wringing their tissues and their tena lady that he turned to me with that same Russian Club smug sneer.
Then I grew up and got over it because my brother, despite being fat and a little bit ginger is a bloody good bloke and I don’t half love the Barry Gibb wannabe. He’s hilarious – and not just his face.
He had sense of humour enough to sign up with me to run the Great Manchester Run in May for the RMCH (Sponsor us HERE!)
Now a Nephrology Consultant at Royal Manchester Children’s Hospital, he bagged himself a beautiful wife and had 3 kids that got their looks from their mum ( and probably their real Dad).
I couldn’t be prouder of him.