My parents, in Greenwich
My father, Mr Colin Davey, was an aide to Nixon during the Watergate crisis and, following his enforced resignation, he retired from public life and became of roof-tiller. Kissinger said of him that he was 'the last person he would trust with a tape recorder, and the first person he would turn to in the event of storm damage.' Interestingly, despite this controversial, complex and confusing résumé, Colin visited the USA for the first time in 2003.
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My parents, in Greenwich
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He supports Ipswich Town, which is only forgivable as he is old enough to remember them winning not only the UEFA cup but also the FA cup. He does not own a tractor though I have seen him drive a forklift truck, with remarkable, and quite devastating, results.
My mother, Mrs Margaret Davey, took the unconventional route through University. Denied a place at Oxford, simply because she had no formal education qualifications beyond a CSE in 'Shorthand and typing', she set about founding her own education establishment. I took time and it took money, neither of which she had in any abundance but eventually the walls were constructed and a small library (mainly of books about shorthand, and typing) was collected. At this time my father appeared on the scene, which was fortunate, as it had begun to rain. He whizzed the roof up in no time at all and The University was finally opened. Today Oxford Brookes University (named after ?) is one of the UK's Premier Institutes of Higher Education where you can, of course, study shorthand, and typing.
Forced to leave education in order to have a family, my mother remains intensely proud of her three children, whom she wanted to name 'Oxford', 'Brookes' and 'University' but my father thought this was a silly idea, and fortunately so did the vicar.
It is illegal for me to write anything about my brother. In fact, some physicists believe that it is physically impossible to write down anything that will remain true once it is submitted as text. This has caused some great controversy, not least in the High Court where it led to the first recorded fist-fight between a QC and a Fellow of the Royal Society. As such, three members of the Kray family got off on a technicality.
Matt, Mum and Lucy |
Mr Matthew Davey, studied various subjects at Sheffield University and found none of them to his liking. He briefly attempted to follow in my fathers footsteps, by taking up roof-tiling and by being roundly condemned in the editorial section of The Washington Post. The death of the BBC's Alistair Cooke made both the careers impossible and he can now be found auditing jam factories. You may think that jam factories require precious little auditing but he assures me that it is a necessary task. 'After all', he told me, 'they aren't going to audit themselves'. My brother has a keen sense of logic. He still lives at home.
Matthew supports Everton football club, which makes about as much sense as me supporting Arsenal Football Club. He has also been seen on the terraces at Colchester United. Few Colchester United supporters can be accused of being glory hunters.
My sister, Mrs Nicola Lendy, is an angel in human form. Not a human in angel form. She puts us all to shame. She can do no wrong. She is ceaselessly beautiful, endlessly amusing, endearingly clever, possesses a degree in chemistry (possibly the highest distinction available to one) and a husband who is her physical and intellectual equal. She also earns considerably more money than the rest of us, despite being the youngest. She lives in Bournemouth, in an enormous house which is being converted into an enormous house one could live in. Her husband, Mr Alan Lendy, is my brother-in-law but I haven't got used to thinking of him as my brother-in-law. He's a thoroughly splendid chap, so it's no wonder he ended up with Nicola.