For some reason I never realised before that International Women’s Day falls on the 8th March. In our family, the 8th of March is a very, very dark date. I posted this photograph a couple of years ago, but I didn’t go into any detail. Pictured above is me at some tender young age, wearing super trendy trousers, cuddling up to my Nanny. Peg.
My Nan looked after my brother and I while my single mum went to work. She picked us up from school, made us dinner and bought us too many cream cakes. We’d stay over at hers on Saturday nights and watch epic television such as Stars in their Eyes and the Generation Game. On Sundays we’d have Elevensies from the sweetie cupboard – perhaps a Walnut Whip (without the walnut!) or a Fry’s Chocolate Cream. At lunch time, Mum would drive up for Sunday dinner and we’d have a feast; Yorkshire puds were the best and Nan would always satisfy my love for broad beans.
When I turned 11, Nan was suddenly struck very ill and we barely had any time to say goodbye.
That was 16 years ago today and it kills me that it’s been longer that she’s been dead than I ever knew her for. I wish I could speak to her now, get her epic advice on my grown-up problems over a cuppa. She was never without a cuppa.
Sad stories aside, my Nan is my hero. My idol. She could see the best in everyone and she brought out the best in everyone. Sure she smoked, she drank, she swore… she didn’t care what anyone thought. That’s maybe what I loved about her most of all. She was bursting with personality, her stories and opinions would make you roar with laughter and she was the kindest soul I dare say I’ll ever meet. I’ve always wanted to be like her.
You can keep your political figures, deep thinkers and celebrities; When I grow up I want to be like my Nan.
Loves x xx