An Ode to Hugh

So I thought I’d write a little blog about my little bro, as I miss him and have also told a few stories about him recently which have made me laugh. Hugh is my insane partner in crime, and is probably the only person to have seen quite how mad I am, other than my poor mother who just despairs in the fact that two of her children should probably be committed. We have a very similar sense of humour, and spent a lot of time together this summer watching Friends and Gavin & Stacy, irritating everyone else as we know all the words and quote along with them. Actually, we normally spoil the jokes for everyone else because we mostly say the punchline before the character on the show does.

Hugh and I haven’t always got along, mostly because when there’s a four year age gap between any siblings, they’re going to fight. I used to slap him really hard on the back when he annoyed me, mostly at the dinner table, as I have a huge intolerance of people eating with their mouths open. Granted he was only about 7 but still, I knew what he was having for dinner, I didn't need to see it as it was being ingested. We got past the physical violence stage and I do feel quite bad about it now, but I’m sure he didn't suffer too much? (Sorry Hug.)

One of my first memories is the night Hugh was born. I remember coming out of my bedroom late at night and seeing my mum’s friend Dimity on the landing, and being really confused. She told me that I was going to have a little brother or sister in the morning when I woke up, and to go back to bed. The next morning, I woke up with chicken pox. Really unfortunate timing, as it meant I wasn't allowed to visit mum and Hugh in the hospital in case I infected him. I maintained that I didn't mind but apparently it wasn't my choice.

When Hugh was about 18 months old, it snowed quite heavily. This was going to be his first experience with snow, and my mum spent about an hour bundling him up in 50 or so layers. My older brother Ben and I had already been outside playing all morning, and I was getting a bit fed up at being really crap at snowball fights. Ben had good enough aim that he pretty much hit me every time, whereas I was yet to land a return shot on target. Anyway, mum brings Hugh outside at last, and he’s wearing so many layers that he can barely move. ‘Finally,’ I think. ‘I’m sure I can hit him with a snowball, and he can’t throw back!’ So I pack a nice hefty snowball in my hands, and sure enough, hit right on target (hardly surprising as he can’t move). I can still picture him, falling straight backwards without even being able to put his hands out to break his fall at all. He screamed bloody murder, and my mum had to take him back inside, despite her taking so long to wrap him up and let him see snow for the first time. I didn't feel too bad though, I finally won a snowball fight!

Hugh had a lot of cuddly toys when he was younger, and most of them had really original names like Ted the teddy, and Cushion the cushion. He was given a crocodile toy for Christmas one year, and wanted to call him Croc. Ben and I persuaded him to think of something more original, but he didn't know what else to name it. ‘Name it after something you like,’ we said, thinking he might call it Thomas after Thomas the Tank Engine, or something like that. He thought for a second, and then said, ‘Yoghurt.’

To this day, I still bet that he is probably the only child ever to have named a reptile after a dairy product.

My grandfather's neighbour once asked Hugh what he was giving up for Lent. He was 3 or 4 at the time. His answer: Girls!

Hugh went through a ‘comedy’ stage, of telling really unfunny jokes to anyone who would listen. He made up his own jokes, and his classic punchline was, ‘I’m bigger than you’:

What did the wardrobe say to the bed?

I’m bigger than you

What did the car say to the bike?

I’m bigger than you

It was irritating, to say the least, and one day it got too much. ‘Stop telling I’m bigger than you jokes!’ we yelled at him. He looked a bit offended, as he clearly thought he was being hilarious, but he did stop for a while. Then he piped up with:

‘What did the table say to the other table?’

‘We’re the same size.’

Probably the funniest faux-pas Hugh made as a child was when he was about 7 or 8. He was trying to tell my grandparents that he was ambidextrous, but got his words a bit muddled, and announced in front of everyone that he was, in fact, bisexual. Now that’s comedy.

Miss you Hug! Merry Christmas :)