Like Ru said, I don’t know which memory to share first. Like H said, can’t really put into words the sadness we feel at losing you Uncle M.
 
So I’ll just share a few things I remember which make me smile instead.
 
When I was about 6, I became obsessed with owning the set of piggy banks from NatWest. From Woody the baby, all the way up to Sir Nathaniel, it was my goal to save my pennies and get them all. So imagine my surprise when visiting Uncle Monty and Auntie Stevie’s house, only to find the REAL Sir Nathaniel had turned up to see me! Of course it was Uncle M in a huge giant pig costume. How lovely you may say, however for some reason, the giant Sir N was sitting in the chair, in the dark, curtains closed, just waiting for me in silence – I was petrified. Mum still has the pictures of me, “smiling” but looking worried too! I think it was to ensure I didn’t realise it was actually Uncle M, in much the same way he croaked to me “hello, little girl” which scared me even more. I look back now, remembering that still, and laugh.
 
As I got older, I always recall Uncle M’s wicked sense of humour. It would quite often show itself when he tried to get us to eat some wonderful creation he had made, even if he knew it may be too spicy/smelly for us!  “Go on Nic, try this stuffed olive with chilli” “Try this smelly cheese in a vine leaf” “Try this grappa!” Then when we politely said it was nice, he’d silently laugh, his shoulders shaking up and down, knowing full well it had probably blown our heads off! Nan however, would just spit it out, and smack him. This made him laugh more. 
 
Christmas visits always involved a burst of loud operatic singing, filling the house. In days past, with Victor the dog at the table, being secretly passed treats from Uncle M. I would then be asked things in Italian, and just nod in agreement or laugh along. Even until a few months ago, I would receive texts in Italian and have to try and understand them, or use Google translate to reply back. 
 
Uncle M would always ask about how my work was going, what I had done on holiday, how Abigail and Dave were. Always taking the time to find out about my life, and genuinely being interested in the answer. He always finished texts or visits with ‘You take care’ and he meant it. 
 
So now, although we are all heartbroken, we need to remember the happy times. The times which make us smile, as Uncle M would want it that way.
 
It’s my turn to use Italian on you now Zio. Tanto amore, sempre xx