I spent years searching for him and wasn't disappointed when I finally did.It was like finding a piece of my own life's jigsaw that made sense of the whole messy picture. Charismatic and funny he took away a lot of the heartache I had carried around through not knowing what I desperately needed to know; strangely his need to tell me was as strong as my need to listen to his every word. Before I met him he was my father's brother - the father who for fifty years I had mentally castigated and crucified for the disgraceful way he had treated his family. When I left - my father became Dad, a man who I could look up to and be proud to be called his son: and my Dad's brother became my uncle. My only uncle. Uncle Trevor. Someone who to me was almost like an older twin brother. I was blessed to have spent time with my Uncle Trevor and loved our similarities - the cheekiness of his facial expressions, his sense of humour, his broad accent. When I walked into his home he almost collapsed thinking I was my Dad screaming 'Bloody hell it's Charlie!'. When he realised I wasn't we both fell about. I will be at his service on Friday in Geordieland, tucked quietly away somewhere among the gathered. It will be a flying visit for me, such is life, not just to pay my respects. But also to say thank you (with love x).