“Do you think you could stop snoring, Nanna?” Young Morgan implores me, “It’s distracting...”
protest that I am not, in actual fact, snoring - rather, I am snuffling. Morgan gives me one of his old-fashioned looks, of the kind he bestows on me when I insist on adding a few “Whoo-hoos” to the lyrics of George Ezra’s “Shotgun”,
one of my grandson’s favourite songs. He used to tell me off, in no uncertain terms, now he simply points at me accusingly every time I whoo-hoo.
In my defence,
I was awake very early this morning and hadn’t quite fallen off to sleep again when Young Morgan appeared at my bedside, like the Ghost of Christmas Present. Wearing his brand new Pikachu pyjamas, in case you need to know. I think I could be excused
a little snuffling as he tucked himself (plus Terry the Pterodactyl) into bed beside me.
Regular readers know that Early Morning Conversations with the Youngest
of my (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys are one of my greatest pleasures on the boys’ visits to ours. The trouble is that I am finding it more and more difficult to understand what on Earth he is talking about. I don’t think that this can totally
be laid at the door of my Great Age; more, it’s that, since the introduction of Pokemon into his young life, he has a completely different idea of what constitutes a legend. As a result, I am struggling to differentiate between Legendary Birds, Legendary
Beasts and Legendary Titans. They all have such odd names, too. How does he ever remember them all? What’s more, how does he expect me to know my Regirock from my Raikou?
Then later this morning, desperate to have a last bit of fun with Morgan and his brothers, I wave a pack of playing cards at them and trill: “Anyone for Sevens?” Everyone is more than happy for me to join in their game but Sevens isn’t
exciting enough, apparently, compared with engagement in the “catastrophic Korblox war against the Redcliff Kingdom.” No, me neither - but I am put in charge of a character called The Overseer. You doubtless think this is a tribute to my unquestionable
leadership qualities but I rather think the boys feel the Overseer is the least charismatic of the four characters. On his behalf, I must mention that he has one All-Seeing Eye, which gives him the gift of prophecy. (I read it on the back of the box in which
he and the other five Roblox characters arrived - I always think a bit of research will pay off in the long run. It may, of course, be a Very Long Run.)
need the gift of prophecy to predict that the final days of our Christmas 2018 would be great fun. The Eldest of the Darling Daughters and her family arrived first on Friday, bearing gifts and a selection of party food which we were invited to wash down with
champagne. That was all very civilised, you are thinking - which it was until the arrival of the Welsh Contingent, introducing a note of Merry Mayhem into the festivities. How good to have five of the Tremendous Ten grandchildren all together, if only for
a short while before the E of the DDs and Co had to depart.
Over the following days, we took in a trip to the prom (prom, prom) so Morgan could try out the roller
blades which were our present to him (he was a little wobbly but this was nothing to do with him, apparently, but solely due to the fact that the surface of the prom was “a bit rough.”) and took in a pantomime (Oh, yes, we did!) The panto, Aladdin,
starred Lee Somebody Or Other from Steps and I disgraced myself in the eyes of the Darling Daughter in Law by not realising that the medley of music which marked the show’s finale was all from the group’s extensive repertoire of hits. Oh, Tragedy!
Our own family finale on Sunday was the last Christmas Dinner of 2018, roast lamb and all the trimmings cooked by My Boy, with Christmas crackers and everything. “It’s
Christmas all over again!” I declared, theatrically. The boys were quick to find the obvious flaws in this over-the-top announcement:
are the presents?” they countered, broad grins on their faces as they waved their Christmas crackers at me.
Then all too soon, they were gone, waving
out of the car windows at me as they started out in the long journey home. Back indoors I went, feeling somewhat bereft. The sight of my Christmas tree, still glowing merrily at me, was a welcome and cheery sight. I have to tell you that the (Not So
Very Little) Welsh Boys share the stoutly held opinion of the Trio of Rampaging Rascals that my tree is too small - but honestly I reckon what it lacks in stature it gains in stickability. Every year, without fail, it emerges from the loft, small but perfectly
It’s almost, dare I say it, Legendary?