Older Brigade Club

I usually jot down a few lines about my grandkid adventures— today is no exception! (Hopefully I’m not boring anyone yet... and if I am, just pretend you’re entertained.) I arrived at my son’s house bang on time Saturday morning. And there he was: one hand wielding a vacuum cleaner, the other clutching disinfectant and a cleaning cloth, barking out a quick, “Hello Mum! Just off upstairs to do the bathroom!” Usual greeting. Ryan always puts on for me what he fondly calls “the old music”—which, for the record, is the superior music of the 60s and 70s. Thank you, Alexa. I pottered around in the kitchen jigging about to the music and doing a few chores waiting for the grandsons to slowly shuffle downstairs. One by one they all appeared bedhead and bleary-eyed between 10 and 10:30. It’s their Saturday tradition after all—late nights, no school, and that universal teenage expression that screams: “Is lunch ready yet?” After food (because yes, I did start lunch), I had my favourite sit-down ...

On Tuesday, July 23rd, I hopped on a bus for a little adventure to visit a close relative who lives in a charming, picture-perfect market town surrounded by country.   It’s the kind of place that looks like it popped right out of a storybook. As the bus rolled along, it took me on a trip down memory lane—literally! We passed by all the places I once called home for over 40 years. There was the house, the one I spent the longest stretch in, looking just the same with a few changes here and there.   Then we turned onto roads that once led to other homes of mine. It was like watching chapters of my life flipping by outside the bus window. Naturally, I got a bit nostalgic. Do I miss living out here in the peace and quiet? After all, my current town isn’t exactly what you’d call pretty . But then again... it is practical. Shops, doctors, and the hospital are just a quick bus ride away—and plenty of buses!  Still, the idea of returning to the countryside tickled my ...

I don’t know about you, but lately the weeks have been zooming by faster than Formula 1 cars at the Grand Prix! One moment it's Monday, and the next I’m blinking into Friday like, "Wait, where did Monday to Thursday go!" And don’t even get me started on the weather — it’s got more plot twists than a soap opera! Just yesterday I was grumbling about the heat (because of course I was), basking in glorious sunshine. But today? Today the skies decided to open up like I’d offended them an invitation. There I was, happily on my way to see my grandsons when the clouds declared war. Drizzle turned into a downpour faster than you can say “umbrella!” I could feel the rain sneaking into the back of my trainers like tiny mischievous gremlins. I thought to myself, “Should’ve worn wellies!" Ah, British weather — as reliable as a chocolate teapot. My journey back home is a solid 1.5-mile trek. At first, it was just a gentle drizzle, but a few minutes in, I had to deploy the brolly. ...

Yesterday morning, I found myself at the local bus station, casually people-watching — my favourite free entertainment. As I scanned the waiting crowd, one thing stood out: nearly every single person was glued to their mobile phone. Heads down, thumbs scrolling, eyes locked on tiny screens like moths to a digital flame. Even couples sitting side by side weren’t talking to each other — not a peep! Their conversations had been replaced by swipes and emojis. It got me wondering: how on earth did we survive before these magical pocket-sized gadgets took over? And it wasn’t just the teenagers — oh no. I saw plenty of grown-ups and silver-haired folks equally mesmerised by their screens. Well, almost everyone. My fellow 65-and-overs? We seemed to be the last holdouts in this tech takeover. Maybe that’s why my mobile was tucked safely away in my bag while I took in the scene around me. Still, I’m no complete dinosaur. I do love having my trusty mobile for calling home, checking in, or when s...

Being a Nan is a bit like being a very loved pet – you're adopted by the grandkids, fed biscuits during tea parties, and called upon in times of mild crisis and/or homework emergencies. This week, my middle grandson, Charlie, went off on a school trip full of sporty, outdoorsy activities – you know, the kind that make Nans hold their breath, "Wasn’t hopscotch dangerous enough?" I popped by for my usual Saturday visit and noticed Charlie staring off into the distance.  I could sense he was a little nervous about going away, in that very specific "I’m fine" way that translates to "I’m definitely not fine, but please don’t make a big thing of it." His dad was the exactly same as a lad – nervous before school trips that included more than a day away from home!  Come Monday, off Charlie went, apparently with a few tears.  His parents were slightly more stressed than him, and I was no better. I spent most of that day thinking about him – especially because i...