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A car journey to remember

Now this madness has been developed in my aunt, a woman of minimal breasts and a monumental love of exercise.

A clean freak, a tad neurotic, always screaming, typically middle class: ‘Not Fairy Liquid, we must use ECO’.

This madness is best encompassed into the she has relationship with her children:

I went to Henley- on-Thames, (‘never forget the ‘On –Thames’) We had decided to take the children to Tesco, Waitrose must have been closed, (as she says ’it’s good for the children to mix with all members of the community.’)

Harry is sitting quietly in the back of the car, when he proceeds to tell his mother, in a worried tone, that he is thirsty and has drunk some blue liquid in the back of the car.My aunt asks  what the fluid is, Harry says ‘windscreen cleaner.’

Now I am oblivious to the impact this statement will have, so when my aunt does an emergency stop and fly’s the car to the side of the road, I am more than shocked. She then starts screaming ‘How much did you have?’  (She takes after my mother, only dogs could hear this high pitched shriek without wincing.)
From the Supernanny I've watched, this type of behaviour from parents is frowned upon, but understandable. Now Harry explains to us that he put a little bit in his hand and licked it. I am content that everything will be fine. So I reassure Sophia ‘don’t worry, Harry is fine.’ Sophia seeks comfort in her mother and is rewarded with ‘Well I don’t know Sophia, Harry could DIE.’ I am leaving out the expletives because there were too many to be written down. 

The episode of adult lunacy was ended when we reached Tesco, it was clear Harry hadn’t drunk much at all. In Tesco my little cousin states ‘Oh mum, my legs hurt’ to which my aunt replies, ‘Are they numb Harry, can you feel them? Oh God!’ Harry walks off to the sweet isle completely oblivious of the effect he has had on the three women staring after him. One shaking with anger, one crying with fear of her little brother’s iminent death and the third has lost the capability to hear.

Modern Day Grandma

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!