Introducing Spiro aka Spiro the Hero aka The Greek Leek aka Jesssster

My dad, Spiro Sueref, sadly passed away aged just 56 on Sunday the 25th of November. He left behind a loving wife, three children and his first grandchild, my son, Oscar. Not to mention his mother, two sisters, three nephews, one niece, countless cousins and hundreds of friends and family who will all miss him greatly.

My father was a character in the best sense. Karaoke singer, Cardiff City FC fan, keen gardener, gambler and Church-goer. He loved The Simpsons and Shakespeare; Gustav Mahler and Frank Sinatra. He made four Video Nation appearances, only one of which my mother tried to stop airing due to indecency. He was a master prankster and played April Fools tricks regularly. He once convinced a large enough portion of Cardiff to turn up to their GPs with vials of blood and urine that the NHS in Wales issued a hoax warning.

As a father, he embarrassed and delighted his children in equal measure, just as all great fathers should. I remember a childhood filled with wonder as my toys came to life, each with their own character, filled with my father's breath. He built paper Wendy-houses for us and a two-story den in our garden for us to play in. He built a greenhouse on the kitchen roof (while blind, no less) and we'd have rainy-day picnics in it. He'd teach us to read the horse-racing section of the paper for him and how to pick out the form, the trainer and describe the odds. He'd occasionally let us pick a horse and wouldn't even blame us when they came in last.

My father suffered a car accident aged 25, six months after I was born, which left him severely visually impaired. His sight got progressively worse throughout his life but this never hindered him. He was the centre of every room, often due to singing very passable Frank Sinatra covers. He made hundreds of friends during his time at the Cardiff Institute for the Blind and he kept in touch with everybody as his Christmas Card (and April Fool's) list attests to.

The title of this blog comes from his own words. Before he began to work at the CIB, this was what he used to tell us, his children, that his job was. Of course, our own father telling us he was a twit further goes to show how seriously he took life. He was poet, though. And a playwright. And a letter-writer. And a novelist and a songwriter. In fact, he was a prolific writer throughout his life and left copious amounts of his work. A lot of which is handwritten - and I'll get to eventually - but some of which was neatly typed and dated, and I'll share here on this blog.