...I wan't to be somewhere else, at my nan's house having tea and cake. I want to take her picture with my new camera but she is always resting, she's a proper lady, she has to do her hair for pictures. I don't know how old she is, it must be over 90. I know she's not as well as she was when we used to walk accross fields with the dogs in Somerset, we'd pass neighbours and they'd talk while I played with Patch he was black and while and very clever, he understood everything I told him. She likes to look at her photo album and tell me about her family, how her dad didn't speak to her because 'the Victorians were that way'. How she fell in love with a boy who's family had no money and was ordered not to see him so decided to leave them to be with him. How she never loved another man and how he was sent away to africa to fight the war from the desert for 5 years and met his first son only when he came home to London. My grandad Howard or Harry as he liked to be called, was a man of stature, very tall and with giant feet, I used to think he looked like a soldier. He wore plus fores and an eye patch and used a knobly wooden stick when he went out. A funny man, wise and kind of heart. We used to walk to a house in the woods where an old lady made us honey on toast with milky tea. He would tell me that when I was born he was out on a boat fly fishing and had an enormous pain in his tummy at the very moment I was delivered, he'd say it was not just a coincidence. My dad looked up to him, so did I.