Now in this blog I feel like I have unfairly (a matter of opinion I am sure) flogged my mother. So I have decided to bring in the woman who made the subject of my recent blogs possible, my grandmother! And aunts beware, you are most definitely next.
My Grandmother is far from the tubby 80 year old, cake
baking, lovable Grandma many of my friends claim they have. She never has been,
and I highly doubt she ever will be. In
fact last weekend I arrived in Margate to find she has dyed her hair, the soft
colour of honey? Nope, pink highlights amongst the purple mop of hair. Very in,
and makes me feel like the tubby 80 year old. Her eccentricities continue with
the Hippy clothing and lifestyle. She is the kind of woman who to save time will
put her clothes on over her pyjamas, the closest bush is always considered a
bathroom, and any stray dog (both animal and man) is always welcome in her
home.
However, amongst the youthful looks and free lifestyle is a
madness that could have only developed with age. My Grandma has a passion for
rocks, all rocks, any rock. In fact if I smashed up a brick, leaving the mess
on the side of the road, within about ten minutes my grandma’s sixth sense would
have kicked in, and she would be witnessed placing the shards delicately into
her handbag. The next day I would arrive to find that smashed up brick artfully
decorating a wall or mantelpiece.
You may also see my Grandmother searching through rubbish
tips or stealing the furniture people leave outside their houses. All in the
name of recycling!
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