Grandparents, on the whole, will do absolutely anything to avoid disappointing their grandchildren. No Nanni / Nanna / Nanny / Gran / Grandma (please delete as appropriate) wants to see a small sad face looking back
at her because of something she has, or hasn’t done.
It’s the reason Mr B (Grandad to the Tremendous Ten) takes so seriously the ceremonial gifting
of one pound coins to the Rascally Trio whenever they leave after a visit to ours. The Trio don’t, at the moment, have any in-depth knowledge of monetary values but pound coins are infinitely suitable, being of a good size to fit in a small fist as well
as being, well, gold...
It is, therefore, the first thing Mr B asks me when I tell him a visit is planned: “Don’t forget I’ll need the coins!”
Which sends me first to my purse, to check whether I have any change and then, almost always, down to the garage along the road. There I will carefully choose something costing exactly one pound so that I can proffer a fiver and receive four pounds in return.
That’s one for each Rascal and one for luck, don’t you know? Hopefully next time they come, the lure of golden bounty will take their minds off the fact that their cherry stones, planted with such earnest care and great expectations, are still
refusing to grow...
When the four oldest grandchildren were young’uns, their Grandad was renowned for always, but always, booking the very best seats in
the house for the annual trip to the pantomime. In order not to disappoint, he would book up the following year’s panto even before the curtain fell for the final time on the current run. Sadly, now that I am in charge of booking tickets, my (Not So
Very Little) Welsh Boys have had to make do with whatever seats are still available when I come to book. Fortunately, because they have had no experience of their grandfather’s superior booking powers, my feeble-by-comparison efforts do not disappoint.
The annual summer holiday week with Team Baldwin used to be a highlight of our year and at the end of each glorious stay I was expected to produce a summer
holiday song. Oh, the sleepless nights I spent as each holiday drew to an end, trying to compose a song which would adequately sum up all the fun we had had, at the same time providing an accurate record of the week’s main events. Somehow, by hook or
by crook, I always managed to pull it off, enabling us to end the holiday with a tuneful rendition of my own version of “Didn’t we have a lovely time” or “Wouldn’t it be luverly.” To be strictly honest, Jack and Hazel eventually
grew out of my summer songs and flatly refused to perform them any longer. It was very disappointing...
Regular readers will know that each year I plant sunflowers
for my Tremendous Ten grandchildren, hoping against hope that they will grow tall and stately before bursting into bloom. Generally speaking, they like to follow the progress of their sunflowers and, barring the occasional mishap as when this year a gust of
wind felled one mighty plant and beheaded it, my efforts have not disappointed. I am rather thinking my wall of sunflowers will never be regarded in the same way since the recent visit by two of the Darling Daughters to a local field of quite spectacular
sunflowers. I haven’t seen them for myself but the stunning photographs tell the whole story. There is no way I can compete.
My grandchildren’s faith
in my not-so-green-fingers will be dashed. What a disappointment we will be, my sunny summer sunflowers and I...