Luke Robson-Smith

Anyone who can make visiting them more exciting than Christmas Day is special.  

And yet year after year during my childhood, the days that followed Christmas were a time for me to see someone who did just that.  

Someone I would refer to as “My best friend”…  


These visits, the regular summer get togethers, and any other time spent with the Robson-Smiths were always fun, always stupid and hugely cherished.  

They also provided plenty of lifelong memories of Luke being, well, Luke.  


– Being entrusted with ‘topping up the oil’ on his Dad’s car. The result: smoke, concern, confusion, smoke, an emergency pit, shouting, more smoke.

– Effortlessly assuming the role of Kryten during our annual Red Dwarf plays.

– Showing his annoyance with his brother at having to leave the mecca of fun that was “Pleasure Island” early, by stating that “The dick, was sick” (a move that saw him being sent – on one of his regular trips – to his room)

– Answering the age old question of “What happens if you put a potato in an exhaust pipe?”.  And hearing the deafening result.

– How not to treat rented accommodation, 30 seconds into a family vacation, when caught out in a casual game of cricket.

– Gaming through the ages, from Amstrad to Playstation, Oh-Mummy to Resident Evil and everything inbetween. Days lost. Surfacing only for a light snack, once every 5 hours.

– Encouraging my own father’s mislaid fantasies of being in a rock band by calling shotgun, assuming position in the passenger seat and belting out hits from De Burgh, Meat Loaf and any other soft rock artist at the time.

– The term “Slap Bass Odyssey”.

Quick witted, stupidly smart, welcoming of all, massive fun.

You will be missed.


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