This week's column is a lovely article Cameron has written about his dad. In the paper there are photographs too which are so nice.
MEMORIES OF A GREAT DAD FLOOD BACK INTO MY MIND
Friendly, quiet, unassuming and with a great sense of humour.
These are some of the adjectives I've read many times over the past few days, in sympathy cards received after my dad's death.
My dad, John Stout, who was 69, suffered a brain haemorrhage five weeks ago and was flown by air ambulance from Orkney to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary.
After some recovery, dad was transferred back to hospital in Orkney where we enjoyed several days of great banter with him before he took a second haemorrhage.
I was with him when he suffered his second episode, just as we were having a laugh about him digging up his tatties.
It's an odd sensation at the moment because I'm not sure the fact he has gone has really hit me yet.
I often go over scenes and sequences in my mind -
of dad in the garden; dad out walking our collie dog, Sarge; and dad sitting at his drum kit playing in the dance band.
Memories come flooding back of wee things, like the sledge he made me when I was seven, and the sailing trips he used to take us on in the yacht he built himself.
Or of dad carrying my brother Julyan and me upstairs to bed in a "horseyback".
And it all brings a smile to my face and even sometimes an out-loud laugh.
Dad often said that if he became old and ill he didn't want to be a
bother to folk.
"Set me off in a boat out to the west," he would tell us.
"I'm not hanging around here being a nuisance."
And in his final few days I began to imagine how distraught he would have been if he regained consciousness and didn't recover fully to the father we knew and loved. His frustration would have been sad and unbearable - for him as well as for Mam and us.
He was a very active person and enjoyed a most busy and fulfilled retirement.
The truth is, he could barely have fitted one extra minute into those nine years.
He was involved with the sailing club and the RNLI, and he was a drum tutor with the Boys' Brigade and with the British Legion pipe band.
He and Mam shared duties in the garden - he in command of the extensive and bountiful vegetable garden and she tending to the flowers and trees. The night before dad fell ill, the pair of them were at a silver wedding celebration dancing like youths, and dad drumming in the dance band as he did most weekends.
The day he died was the eve of the day he and Mam met 45 years ago.
For the funeral, Mam organised some members of a jazz band dad used to play with to provide the music at the church.
Although it was a difficult day, the musicians' tribute to dad was very special indeed - and I would even say enjoyable.
Most of all, dad would have been chuffed. The whole service was fitting and even the burial seemed suitable.
The graveyard is out of town at the West Shore in Stromness. The sky was clear, there was a light breeze and a calm sea. How suitable for a seaman sailing west.
Taken from
This Is Aberdeen