My Grandma

My grandma was Irish and had fourteen children. She lived in a two up two down terraced house, and when my grandpa passed away, she turned to gin. She was a character.

When we visited her as children, she never knew our names. Each member of her brood had been "blessed" (ha!) with at least half a dozen children of their own, and when we came to visit, so did they - so that everyone would have the opportunity to meet up every year. Aunts and uncles galore from Scotland, the USA, Australia, England - all over, and children everywhere, in a tiny terraced house in Dublin.

Grandma would answer the front door, enormous and rather pale with a glass in her hand, and say;

"Oh God no, not you again" and she wasn't joking.

She would shout:

"Who owns that one, that one with the green jacket/yellow hat/red hair" (referring to her various grandchildren), and further: "Get him"or "her off my dog/off my curtains/out of my china cabinet" etc, with a liberal use of the capital letter "F".

We were in Dulwich Park this afternoon, and there was a small child being pushed along asleep in a pram by a grandparent, with another grandparent behind, pushing along an empty trike, and another pushing along a scooter, and another pushing along a 'Little Tykes' plastic car. Four grandparents, with four vehicles, and one small sleeping child.

When my friend Lara gave birth to her son a few years ago, as both of her parents have remarried, and both of her partners parents had remarried, there was almost a 'set to' at the hospital as all of the grandparents wanted to buy the pram! Eight grandparents! This is true, and not unusual I am led to believe.

Children these days get too much.

My grandma didn't even know our names, and she didn't care who we were as long as we left her dog alone and played quietly in the corner with the matches.