Things couldn’t get much worse, but the news filtering through from Cheltenham, of the birth of a young cherub, branded with the mark of the beast and a devilish personality to boot, had church bells ringing in alarm, people running desperately for the sanctuary of the hills, and a dark pestilence sweeping across the country.

Their fear would have been unfathomable, knowing Charlie ‘AKA The King’ Coke, a future father, brother, friend, and several other names I’d rather not mention, had been shared amongst them.

Born to war weary parents Bill and Joyce, Charlie spent his early years causing havoc, helping to fulfill the prothecy of doom. Our father, a Royal Marine, posted here, there and everywhere, often had to reign him in and point him in the right direction, which was normally the toe end of his boot.

The Mau-Mau protection racket involving brothers Peter RIP and Simon, was soon disbanded after another boy was despatched with a lemonade bottle at a fancy dress party and a near miss with a tiger shark on route to Malaya, saw Charlie quickly institutionalised and sent to boarding school.

He failed to shine academically, but showed excellent aptitude to manipulate his way through his French oral – (steady please,  I haven’t got to that period in his life yet). He cleverly avoided any further questions by blurting out his parents had died in a car crash, early in the exam and turning on the waterworks for good measure. Naturally he received a pass from the shocked examiner, what else could he do. Charlie’s quick thinking, extreme bottle and his shrewd calculating mind, showed he was destined for greater things.

Where he did excel in was sport. A born cricketer, he kept wicket at Lords and played as a hooker at rugby – a natural position for his never surrender attitude. By the time I’d entered the world, another dark and satanic day as Charlie described it, he was playing second string for Roslyn Park, working as a meat packer at Smithfield’s and starting out on a memorable career which would see him crowned ‘The King’… in most pubs in south west London, for his phenomenal ability to beat anyone downing a pint – a record I still believe he holds.

Naturally there would be consequences for holding such a regal position. Carried home by his buddies, flush with cash after betting on him all night, he’d be deposited in the cellar, in our house in Ealing where we all lived. Sadly his younger siblings Janey and Henry would foolishly wake the beast from his slumbers, a dare few would try even 45 years later and they took the brunt of his ire, screaming as they fled from his clutches.

Mum & Dad though tended to turn a blind eye, persuaded by the ribs of beef, he would drag home for Sunday lunch – a task he still performs with outstanding standards to this day.

His days in Ealing though were soon to end. Battling back from another fancy dress party (he must have liked them) this time as a Gorilla, he climbed the stairs to check in on me and Henry. His effort in his drunken state must have been like scaling the east face of the Eiger, but he hauled his ass up and staggered into our room.

His mistake was not to take his gorilla head off – It set me off on a severe asthma attack made worse as he lumbered towards me (having ripped his head off) to try and quell my fear. Once more our fathers boot can back to haunt him, as it helped him down the stairs to his soon to be vacated lair.

Charlie soon moved into a cracking flat overlooking Paddington Station, transforming himself into a Financial advisor. He got married, and then went south of the river to Clapham to start a family. Tim  & Tom were soon born helping to outgrow the house leading to a further move to Haywards Heath where Clare followed and he started to lay the foundations for this magnificent backdrop we are all blessed to be in today, by advising the high and mighty in a highly successful career.

Like all of us, he’s had his fair share of up’s and down, no more so, than the tragic passing of Tom last year, but he is an incredibly resilient person, a survivor, with a generous heart and pocket to match, throwing his weight behind charity ventures and becoming part of the furniture, especially in the White Hart and this fine hamlet of Cuckfield since moving here over 20 years ago.

He’s also always ready to throw himself into the breech for friends and family, especially when the going gets tough, even if his approach can be loud, bombastic and often raise eyebrows. Many years ago in a serious spot of bother in Gloucester Crown Court, I was getting torn apart by the prosecution for a mistaken misdemeanour  – it was a desperate place.

Suddenly he came crashing into the public gallery – having driven through the worst snow storm in living memory to be there, with his customary snort, thumbs up and a big grin. He should have been jailed for contempt, joining me in the cells below, for the look he got from the judge, but his entrance broke the prosecution lawyers concentration, who subsequently failed to deliver the coup de grace, allowing me to slip away. I’ll always owe you that one bruv.

Many years later he was as it again, flying half way round the world to New Zealand, when Tom got himself into his own spot of bother, raising eyebrows and laughter with his ear splitting opening line ‘How are the screws treating you’, as he entered the prison visitors block. That’s Charlie for you. Never one to mince his words or leave anyone behind.

Now having reached the age of 70 – I can at last call him an old git. He’s moved onto borrowed time as our dear Dad would have said. Like him, who saw life was for living, Charlie holds an enthusiasm for life which makes no glass big enough, so I anticipate he still has a few moons in him yet. In Eliza he has a trusted and loving partner to keep him on the straight and narrow and countless family and friends who’ll carry him, like his mates did before.

I’m hoping he’s going to find time for more holidays in the sun or city breaks, that he so enjoys. Maybe he will forget the dreaded end of the financial year, perhaps he might start acting like the pensioner he’s been for the past 5 years, but somehow I doubt that. Either way being a besotted Grandad to Kingsley & Amma, will keep him busy and feeling young. Hopefully if he’s doing a bit of child sitting, his years of wisdom will mean he avoids the funky gibbon cameo.

What is a certainty though is his door will always be open, his smile wide and his love for family and friends deep and of course reciprocated in return.

So I’d Like you all to raise a glass to honour AKA The King, the big wanker himself, Charlie Coke on his special day and for you to sing along with me…for he’s a jolly good fellow….