Just returned from a two day away trip to visit my just turned 91 year old granny who lives up near where I spent my formative years in Nottingham. Granny’s been in hospital for a fair bit recently and just returned home, so because it was the Easter holidays, we decided it would be good to go up and introduce Archie to her. The drive to Nottingham is a pain in the arse and we weren’t keen on doing it, save for the fact that we would see Granny at the other end, and in fact it turned out to be a wicked couple of days. Granny was on top form considering how many years she has tucked up under her belt, and it was a pleasure just to spend some time with her and chat about stuff, including sorting out her Sky television issue.
The legend wot is Granny, and the boyz.
The boys were generally very well behaved and the weather was very kind, allowing them to muck around loads in her garden which is ridiculously well grassed – testament to the fact it isn’t constantly being battered by children running around on it… apart from today and yesterday.
Harry kindly gave them a head start
An unforseen bonus of the excursion ‘oop North was the chance to revisit some of the many memories I have of my home town. Driving through the centre I became a complete bore, pointing out sites of interest that were clearly not of interest to anyone other than myself. However, I was selfish enough to drive up to 24, the Ropewalk, the scene of many, many years of my Dad’s life while he was working as a barrister.
Driving around those roads was strangely warming – roads that are associated so definitely and clearly with what Dad did and who he was, all through my childhood. In many ways I felt myself back in those years when I used to occasionally walk with him around those pavements or for some reason visit the office on a Saturday morning and tread in fear of setting off THE ALARM by putting one foot out of position…. Very life after death. Of course, they’ve modernised the front of the building now so it’s all glitz, glass and silver lettering showing their importance. Dad wouldn’t have liked it, I don’t think.
Who you gonna call?
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Anyway, after my little selfish moment, we went to visit the Robin Hood statue. I’ve never felt touristy in Nottingham at all, it all just seemed normal as I grew up, however today I was really excited to be there with the boys and Hilary, looking up at the castle and talking about the Sheriff of Nottingham and the caves etc. We did the ultimate tourist thing, posing by the statue of good ol’ Robin himself, posing with our imaginary bows and arrows, just across the road from the Castle bar where I attended my 6th form ball…. different times!
Boyz and the Hood
Leaving Granny was much, much harder than I had anticipated. She is an old lady, on her own, facing decisions that many old people face about their future. It was very sad, and we didn’t want to leave. She’ll be watching the snooker while I write this post, and I know feeling happy that we were able to pop by for a couple of days, albeit briefly. Archie was wonderful, smiling at all the right times and it was great to be able to share him with her.
The conflict of our decision to maintain a diary in this way is that there are things that happen that you do not write about as it may infringe on the privacy of someone else. I know, however, that some of the conversations I had with Granny reflect the same conversations many people have with elderly relatives regarding their future and their conflicting and often confusing emotional attachments. It’s just very sad that there are no easy answers.
We had a wicked two days in Nottingham, and alongside the lovely memories can’t help but feel a sense of sadness that we are so far away. Granny Trembath – what a woman.