My Grandmother predicted the day she would die!................Okay…she got it wrong, but she sort of had the right idea 
I’d like to share the memories on here as it’s rather amusing, but I have a tendency to ramble so will do it in installments
First I need to tell you a bit about my grandparents. You see, they were kind of weird.
My Grandmother was a bitter woman; she could never quite get over the fact that she wasn't the Queen of England. She was obviously more than just a mere mortal and lived in hope of it all becoming apparent to everyone until she died.
She constantly berated me - my nose was the wrong shape, my back wasn't straight enough, my hair wasn't as pretty as her friend’s daughter’s hair. I spoke with a Dorset accent! How could I? What a terrible let down to the family name and please could I not speak in front of her friends.
My Grandfather was the sweetest man in the world. A talented artist and calligrapher, loved children and loved me most of all. He looked a little like Santa Claus (without the beard), though he couldn't have been very old when he died. He had this very round face, with red cheeks and kind eyes.
My Grandmother could never understand him.....he actually liked people....she found this to be almost impossible to live with.
He always doffed his hat to members of the public and wished them a good morning. Very irritating for my Grandmother, who wouldn't dream of speaking to the general public.
Anyway, getting to the point. My Grandfather used to invite people in for a cup of tea. The bin men on Monday, the coalmen in their black berets and smothered in coal, on Tuesday, the milkman, baker, you name it they came in for the Mr Brown treatment.
He would say "Good morning Sir, you must feel quite worn out and needing a rest. I've made a cup of tea, please come and join me". (grandparents were kinda posh you see) and these 'commoners' would join him, every week, With their grubby hands and their cockney accents (London people), my Grandmother would find them drinking out of her best china and sitting on her chair.
I’d like to share the memories on here as it’s rather amusing, but I have a tendency to ramble so will do it in installments
First I need to tell you a bit about my grandparents. You see, they were kind of weird.
My Grandmother was a bitter woman; she could never quite get over the fact that she wasn't the Queen of England. She was obviously more than just a mere mortal and lived in hope of it all becoming apparent to everyone until she died.
She constantly berated me - my nose was the wrong shape, my back wasn't straight enough, my hair wasn't as pretty as her friend’s daughter’s hair. I spoke with a Dorset accent! How could I? What a terrible let down to the family name and please could I not speak in front of her friends.
My Grandfather was the sweetest man in the world. A talented artist and calligrapher, loved children and loved me most of all. He looked a little like Santa Claus (without the beard), though he couldn't have been very old when he died. He had this very round face, with red cheeks and kind eyes.
My Grandmother could never understand him.....he actually liked people....she found this to be almost impossible to live with.
He always doffed his hat to members of the public and wished them a good morning. Very irritating for my Grandmother, who wouldn't dream of speaking to the general public.
Anyway, getting to the point. My Grandfather used to invite people in for a cup of tea. The bin men on Monday, the coalmen in their black berets and smothered in coal, on Tuesday, the milkman, baker, you name it they came in for the Mr Brown treatment.
He would say "Good morning Sir, you must feel quite worn out and needing a rest. I've made a cup of tea, please come and join me". (grandparents were kinda posh you see
) and these 'commoners' would join him, every week, With their grubby hands and their cockney accents (London people), my Grandmother would find them drinking out of her best china and sitting on her chair.
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