Puts it all in perspective, really

I love staying at my Granparent's house. Partly because I get spoiled rotten and flattered like nothing else when I come to stay. I am not only the cleverest, prettiest and kindest person who ever lived, I am also to be fed in a way that suggests that I'm being fattened up in preparation for ritual sacrifice. More crisps? More biscuits? Another gin and tonic? Of course. The down side is that I never manage to get away without gaining a few kilos, but it's all part of the fun. 

I also love my Grandparent's house itself. It's a converted Queen Anne-era coach house, complete with stables (no horses, sadly, though my Grandma insists that it has a ghost. My Grandma is also fond of a drop or seven of whiskey in the evenings, though, so I don't know how reliable this testimony is). My childhood involved a lot of moving between countries, but visits to my Grandparent's house were always a constant and so whenever I come here I feel immediately at home in a way that I never quite have anywhere else.

 

And I love the town that my Grandparents live in. Wokingham, Historical Market Village (that's what they've got on the signs), though it is not as quaint these days as it used to be (there is the usual English blight of chain stores as far as the eye can see, which looks really odd, because they're all housed in buildings that look more like they should contain places called 'Ye Olde Tea-Shoppe') it is still a lovely place. It's all little old houses and pubs, and just enough country lanes to make it feel slightly rural. And the great thing about it is that it is only a few miles from the notorious Broadmoor Hospital (in the olden days before you weren't allowed to say such things it would have been called the loony bin). Why is this great, you might reasonably ask? Because every Monday morning at 10am they test the alarm that lets all of the surrounding villages know that there has been an escape. I asked my Grandma about it this morning, and she said that they've 'only' had two escapes in all the time she's lived here. But it does tend to add a tiny frisson of excitement to life around here. I mean, I don't know about you, but if I was going to escape from a maximum security prison that routinely tested their alarm at the same time every week, I would try to escape at that time. I think this every time I hear the alarm. It can't help but be a little unsettling.

But it's all part of the charm of being here. 

This is our last day here, and it's going to be really hard to leave, as I don't know when I'll be able to come back again. If I could I would love to stay and help my Grandparents out a bit, as they're definitely gettin gless and less able to do things for themselves. Though it does make me feel better that they have friends and family nearby - if they didn't have such a solid support group, I don't think I could leave. 

Anyway. We're just off to a pub lunch with the Aged Ones, which I plan to enjoy (once I get home this whole lunchtime drinking thing will be a thing of the past, which is probably for the best), then we'll listen to the radio and Annie (my Grandma) will tell me again about growing up in Australia, and Grandad will tell me a joke I've heard twenty times before, and I'll love every minute of it.