Dad was truly one of a kind—and was... incredibly kind, generous, and deeply knowledgeable. A proud Italian who carried his accent and his impeccable sense of style with him wherever he went. He was a loving husband and father, a doting grandfather, a caring uncle, and a loyal friend. 
 
He was a teacher, a philosopher, a lover of good food, fine wine, and most importantly, good company. Everyone who knew him would know him to be, a multilinguist, an armchair politician, a historian, a current affairs buff, a keen gardener, a lover of nature and life itself.
 
You couldn't take a simple stroll with Dad without learning something new. He'd point out the species of every tree you passed, tell you who lived in that building in 1763, or explain the detailed history of a statue you'd paused to look at. He loved to share his knowledge, whether you asked for it or not!
 
Dad could be a contrarian, and he wasn't always easy—but he was always authentically himself. He would always go out of his way to help those he cared about.
 
He loved his family deeply. And family to Dad didn't just mean those connected by blood, but also the close friends who became family over a lifetime of shared moments and memories.
 
Dad had a lighter and accidentally funny side too. He was possibly the world's worst and most hilarious—Pictionary player. Much to our amusement, drawing was definitely not one of his strong points!
He was a catastrophically accident-prone DIYer – it was rare that any attempt to fix things around the house didn't end with a trip to A&E. And let's not forget, he was one of the few people who managed to run himself over with his own vehicle and lived to tell the tale.
 
I wanted to share just how proud of him I am, for his bravery, determination and perseverance in the years after overcoming cancer and more recently his stroke. 
 
What truly defined Dad was his curiosity about the world and that spark of curiosity stayed with him until the very end. His final days were spent in Prague, doing what he loved most—exploring somewhere new, soaking up culture, and making memories with people he cherished.
 
I could say so many more words, but what matters most is this: how deeply you were loved, Dad. By Mum, by Jamie and me, Preyal, by your grandchildren, your nieces and nephews, and your extended family, and by all of your friends—how much we all loved you.
 
We didn't tell you this enough when you were here to hear it. We never do, do we? When those we love are here, we assume they know. But perhaps we should all take this as a reminder to say it more often, to tell those close to us that we love them and we cherish them while we can.
 
So today, let's remember Dad as he'd want us to: as someone who loved deeply, lived fully, and approached life with curiosity and individuality.
 
Dad, we love you and miss you. But we'll carry your stories, your lessons, and your love with us always. Thank you for everything