When your dad dies, it’s sad. Very sad. Unless of course your dad was a complete bastard, in which case it couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy.
That’s what happened to the Drake family of Brettenham, Suffolk when Brian Drake, or ‘Dad’ as he was known around the house, died of a heart attack, last Tuesday week.
Brian (61) was ex-husband to Sandra, and sometime father to Brian Jnr (30), Kerry (26), Kevin (18), and Sam (12). He also leaves a sister, Carol (64) who is a bit of a nervous wreck.
Wife pissed-off
According to the accounts of those closest to him, Brain was a complete bastard. It was no secret amongst his family and friends that he used to knock Sandra around a bit, especially if she spoke while he was watching the Big Match of a Sunday lunchtime.
Sandra had a love/hate relationship with Brian, in as much as, she loved the part of him that she remembered from their earlier, happier years together – before he transformed into a fat, alcoholic bin man – but she also thought he was a cunt. Which he was.
In the last twenty-five years of their marriage, he never took her out anywhere or bought her flowers (he saved all that for his girlfriends down the pub). He talked to her like she was stupid (she wasn’t – he was) and generally treated her like a piece of shit, only good for clearing up after him and making him food.
Sandra eventually got her own back on her husband by literally pissing on his cornflakes and then running off with one of his mates from the dust.
Kids unanimous
Brian was not well-liked by his children, which is unusual, because he was their father. Brian Jnr confessed to this reporter that “I never really liked dad, to be honest. I mean, first of all, he called me Brian.
Fucking Brian? Junior? What? So I’m supposed to be a lesser version of him, am I? A fat, chavvy, useless cunt of a road sweeper? Gee – thanks, dad!”
‘Junior’’s sister, Kerry added “Nor me. He was a selfish wanker, and a useless one at that. He was a massive Tottenham Hotspur fan – eurgh – and they were all he cared about.
He would piss off to London to see them whenever he could, or be in the pub – yelling at the big screen TV watching them, or be at home watching them. He never took us anywhere or did a thing with us. He was an ignorant twat and I’m glad he’s dead.”
Sam, the youngest of the Drake children simply gave the wanker sign when I asked how he remembered his dad.
What was I doing?
This reporter thought he’d seek a second opinion from Brian’s mates at the Six Bells Pub in Felsham. Upon my arrival, there was a throng of dimwits gathered around a fruit machine, raising pints, cheering, and laughing.
When they saw me approach with my microphone, one of them dragged me to their huddle and asked what I was doing in their pub. Being a reporter, I told them, I was more interested in what they were doing, and asked them. “We’re celebrating!” said a red-faced fat bloke as he farted into my microphone. “What?” I asked. “Brian’s dead! Yahay!”
