Read at dad's committal 

We’re here today to remember the life of my dad, Nigel Guthrie, a kind and gentle man, born on October 29, 1940.
 
He is survived by my mum Sandra, his daughters Resi and me (Barbara), his son David and his granddaughter Eve, all of whom are here today. Also with us are his brother, Tom and his sisters, Penny and Joy, to whom he was very close.
 
On behalf of all of us I want to thank you for coming. It’s great to see so many people who loved Dad here in one place.
 
I’m not going to say too much about Dad’s life just now. We’ll talk about him more at the reception at Redstones Hotel.
 
Just this.
 
Through my life with dad and through everything I’ve read online one thing stands out – his huge capacity for finding enjoyment in every moment. Even in his rare moods of pessimism you got the sense he was secretly relishing his pronouncements of doom.
 
Dad was never down for long. He’d quickly be onto the next bridge game, nice cup of tea, stump to the shop, forum thread, glass of red wine, or giant sandwich. Dad lived in the moment before it was fashionable.
 
Many of you will remember the way dad’s eyes always had a twinkle in them, apart from (of course) when they were closed during important activities like dancing or reciting poetry. That twinkle and the charming personality that went with it never left him, despite his poor health and long hospital stays in recent years.
 
I was here in August this year, on the day he left Glasgow Royal Infirmary to go the care home. During the day and as we went down to the ambulance, all the nurses, physios, doctors and registrars from all the wards in the Royal he’d been on over the last few years came to see him off. And there were a lot of them. Everyone had kind words, from the ward orderlies to the consultants and nurses ‘Your dad’s a great man hen, he really is a lovely man.”
 
And he was a lovely man. He was loved and he loved a lot of things.
 
He loved maths, he loved science, he loved glasses of red wine, famously he loved bridge, he loved space, he loved solving complicated system problems, he loved learning new languages, he loved cups of tea, he loved poetry and he loved mum, his family and his friends very much indeed.
 
But above all dad loved life and found enjoyment in everything he did. Let’s celebrate him today for his huge capacity for love and a life lived fully.
 
Thank you again for having come here today. We'd love you to share your memories of dad over what he would have called a bun and a cupsa tea.