I’ve often told you about my eccentric Uncle Cledwyn, who lived alone in a remote cottage in the Wye Valley.  It’s time I confessed that, although I called him ‘Uncle’ Cledwyn, we weren’t actually related.

Because his third wife was my mother’s hairdresser’s sister-in-law’s cousin’s neighbour’s chiropodist. Where I come from that more than justified me calling him ‘Uncle’.  You may scoff at that, but just one more connection and I might easily have started calling him ‘Dad’!

Cledwyn’s eccentricity manifested itself in many forms – and perhaps the most outrageous was his habit of not wearing a stitch of clothing around his house.  Frying chips must have caused some painful incidents.

His handful of friends and few remaining relatives were well aware he lived as naked as nature intended, which is why he never received visits from his handful of friends and few remaining relatives.

I also told you about the day I travelled to the Wye Valley area for work purposes (I’m very big in Llandogo you know!) and made the last-minute decision to pay him a surprise visit.  I wasn’t sure which of us was going to get the bigger surprise.

It turned out it was me who was surprised the most, because when I rang his door knocker – Cledwyn wasn’t a bad bloke but he was hopeless at any sort of electrical wiring – he answered it wearing nothing but a battered old hat.

When I asked him about the hat, he responded, “I don’t wear clothes as I never get visitors.  “But out of courtesy I keep this hat by the front door… because you never know!”

Which, in his illogical mind, made perfect sense.

I now have to break the news to you that the man I’ve always called ‘Uncle’, even though he isn’t really, has gone on to a better place.  He’s left the Wye Valley and moved into a cottage overlooking Cardigan Bay.

Anyone thinking of dropping in on him unexpectedly should be warned that he still keeps that battered old hat by the front door.  And he fries chips every Tuesday and Saturday…