My uncle passed away in 2014. I used to see him all through my childhood at Christmas. Sometimes at Easter. I would talk to him and, when I was older, have a drink with him. The rest of the family found him curious and tolerated him 1/9

His party piece was a protest song, Vietnam. He would grab my guitar and yell out a half-song, half-drawl, “Come on all you big [pause] strong [pause] men. [dramatic pause] Uncle Sam needs your help again.” 2/9

He once won a slab of beer with his mate Gnasher for singing that song in a bar 3/9

He went travelling in the late sixties and never really came back. Iran. India. Thailand. He eventually made a career buying hotel rooms for a package holiday company called Horizon based in Birmingham 4/9

My uncle felt that Jimmy Hendrix spoke to him. He felt he was the Highway Chile. Travel was his escape from a doomed early marriage and the parochial expectations of our home town 5/9

My family would say to him, “Are you going to take Greg travelling” and he would reply with, “When he can drink enough beer.” 6/9

Then he would take me aside and quietly say, “If you do go travelling, there is one book you must read. It is a true story and I was there. I stayed in the hotel. It could have been me. It tells you everything you need to know.” 7/9

The book was Bad Blood: The Life and Crimes of Charles Sobhraj. I devoured it. 8/9

It’s now strange to watch the TV adaptation and it brings my uncle back and everything he means to me 9/9