Love from Grandma

When I look back on my life, I judge it in stories that I can tell my grandkids. I don't know why but for a long time it's been the way in which I can judge whether I'm doing alright!

I grew up in a family where story time was of paramount importance. We would all crowd round the bed as mum read us stories together. When we went to people's houses we would make them up together - once getting sent to bed early and having story time cut short because we made one up that included poo in the storyline! Our nan would tell us stories of Bill and Ben the flowerpot men in the bath and as a Valentine's Day present to my *boyfriend* in year three, I wrote a story about us being stranded on a desert island together.

Stories are my life, and they always have been.

One of the things I love about visiting family now, is hearing all those special stories. Not just the ones that you hear countless times and become classics, but the ones that you were always too young to hear.

It's so exciting to be denied certain information and then reach a special age and be able to talk freely of scandals and weird occurrences.

So as all my elders have had stories saved up to tell us, I judge my life by the stories that I can pass on and the ones that will circulate through my grandchildrens' friendship groups at school.

I was speaking to one of my friends at work about this and she threw me the question:

"Ok, so what is your main story that you would tell them?"

I didn't know how to answer in the moment. I've had so many quick stories and snippets of information that I would tell my grandchildren. I had never really thought about what would be the best one. The be-all-and-end-all. They one that would make them feel proud to have a gran like me!

So I thought. The best one??

It may come as no surprise that I am incredibly forgetful. A customer asks me for a gift receipt and the next second I've forgotten to print it. Or I start one job and find that I've forgotten what I was doing before. 

I say that "it may come as no surprise" because I catch myself in the mirror and think: yeah, she comes across as a bit of a didtzy one. It's either that or 'quirky'. 

So when the time comes for my grandchildren to ask me: "grandma, what happened when ..." I will, in all likelihood have forgotten, if not from Alzheimer's or amnesia, from the simple fact of being myself. 

So I thought that it might be an idea to write down a few - I hope this blog will last as long as the Internet does - for my grandchildren, from Grandma. 

Here are a few things that I should tell them: 

 Hey kids, when I was your age ... 

...I Wasn't talking to my friends over the Internet. I was talking to myself. 

Yes, I always was and am still a bit of a loner. I crave time on my own, like a "chick-o-land" after a night out, and as a result - to keep the vocal chords in check - I end up talking to myself. 

One of THE most embarrassing moments of my childhood was when I was talking to one if my teddies about an Amethyst ring that I had. I was about 10. Sensing a presence behind me, I turned around to see my mum rocking in my chair and chuckling. 

I immediately covered myself by asking her what type of ring it was. But I wasn't fooling anybody.   

As a child, speaking to myself was a regular thing. But it wasn't always that I spoke to myself but sometimes just to something. 

Even now, something that I do that I've always done is say goodbye to my room when I leave. It's totally stupid but when I left my room at Uni, I whispered: "thank you." --- there it is, another weird old secret live on the Internet!! 

...I had my first job. Stopping children from drowning and fishing poo out of a swimming pool. 

Yep, as gross as it sounds! It was my first job, but my eyes couldn't be clouded with the prospect of all the money I *wasn't* earning. 

Luckily, it wasn't actually me who had to fish out the poo when a kid let rip in the pool, but it was my shift, and I was right there watching a floater squirm away from a buoyancy aid. 

I did, however, on a regular basis, end up  dodging clumps of hair, plasters and waterproof fluff as the pumps blew it around my feet.

...I appeared on TV ... speaking French. 

Just let me tell you, it was a brilliant moment (... Of comedy genius!) 

So there was me, hair all over my face, the shiest girl there ever was, taken away from the buffet behind me straight into the spotlight. 

"Jeh m'appelle Laurrraaagghhhh," I said, putting on my best French accent, which involved a lot of phlegm, I presume. (Sorry for that!)

ITV, come and get me! 

...I didn't even really know what a computer was until I was 7 and I had my first laptop 10 years later.

I remember the day we got our first computer like your wedding day. 

It was so exciting. Watching mum and dad slip in a thick cream box and screen into a cleared space in our dining room. 

It's sometimes hard to imagine that my grandchildren won't even be able to grasp the concept of a technology free world. I can barely remember those times myself! 

* 

This was a pretty hard post to write. There are so many points in my life when I think:

Ah, I must tell my grandkids this!  

But they're simple things like: I started a blog and that I've lived abroad. But these ones are stories that nevertheless will crop up one day or another, for your and my grandchildren's ears only. With love from Grandma xxx

Hair cuts from the old age

If you walk into Leonard's the hairdressers, there are a number of things that would strike you. The young, faded picture of a gorgeous Matt Le Blanc in the window, the interesting colour of sofa, the striking haircuts hung upon the wall that would sooner have you run out of the shop to take your service to a horrendously priced Toni & Guy, the oriental old-style fan, the spiral staircase and wicker woven laundry basket under the stairs.

This isn't your typical hairdressers.

Sitting in a part of town called the arcade, it fits quite suitably. Very 80's. It's unusual though, for all it's character. Whilst it offers modern day prices on trims, up to date magazines listing all the latest technology for Christmas and new, professional men's electrical hair trimmers, it is still quite a quirky and retro place. 

I sat, temporarily fixed on leaving my iPod untouched and stalling my desire for Craig David, to listen to the ceiling radio. The soft hum and the delicate hues of the browns and mixed creams of the decor for just a moment, transported me back to an old-fashioned coiffeur. 

As I've advanced in my teenage years I've developed an innate love for the 1920s period onwards, partly fuelled by obsessively watching and re-watching Downton Abbey. Since then, I've been desperate to live a simple life; no TV, no iPod just me walking out with a hamper basket full of sandwiches, apples and juice and sitting at the base of a big tree trunk and reading until the sun falls. 

Easier imagined than done. 

I only just realised in March, about half way through year 13, that - in fact - my dreams were unattainable. I remember that realisation so clearly. I was in the shower. I'd always said to myself that once I got out of Dubai and through my teenage years and degree, I could then buy a house near the countryside and complete my olden day ideal. And then, one sleep disillusioned morning in the shower before Sixth Form I thought; 

Hang on. Wait, you know you're never actually going to get to travel back in time. The 1920s will never come again! You can't, in the 21st century, live without Internet. It's a physical impracticality. A near-on social suicide. 

I remember that morning in tutor, telling one of my best friends; Danielle, my sudden, disturbing and heart-breaking epiphany. From that day onwards, I became incredibly conscious of how I could still live my dream and avoid alienating everyone around me. 

And so, sat in that old fashioned hairdresser, I could, if only for 2 or 3 minutes, allow myself to drift forward into the past. To a setting I could seldom every dream of being in again.