My Wonderful Nanny

Four days after landing in Nairobi I heard the sad news that my nan (my maternal grandmother) had passed away. This entry is dedicated to her and is a take on 'Things Jennie will remember':

I shall always remember you Nanny for the colour red (red lipstick, red glassware in your living room, red sofas, red curtains, red poinsettia plants), the smell of Shalimar, your cooking (roast dinners, bacon sandwiches, meringue), Asti, Soda-streams and fizzy pop, the flowers that hung in hanging baskets around your yellow house, Sunblest sliced white bread, your enormous pantry (with tins in there that are probably older than me), your accolade to the 50s by carpeting every room in the house, your books of every King and Queen, your dresses and shoes (always looking smart!), Beaties, all your hats in hat boxes, your dog Fozzy, your self-titled dress shops with really posh frocks, your cats Blue and Charlie, watching Doctor Who and being scared by Daleks and hiding behind your sofa, swinging on your seat lounger in your garden, your Beta-max which I thought was the bees-knees and the cartoon films that you let me watch on it, Geoffrey and Humphrey, our holiday to Majorca where we saw the killer whale show, playing Sega with my cousins in your games room, your spooky garage which seems so big you could get lost in it, your Dreams Deciphered book, holidays with you and Granddad in Llandudno with the helter-skelter and the Golden Goose casino where we'd play the penny machines, Boxing Day pantos where your family would fill up a whole row and the actors would read out your name because we were such a big booking and we'd all cheer, counting how many squirrels we could see in your garden, your blue automatic honda, pub meals where you'd always have the chicken with half a shandy or a small white wine (or two), tins of Quality Street, feeding the hissing Canada Geese in the park, being able to run in a circle around the centre of your house (and being chased by several cousins), you never being able to remember anyone's name ("Paul, Tony, I mean Kate, I mean Jon, no, erm Ad, no Jill, Jennie"), you helping push the lightest child down on the see-saw in the big park, watching you put your lipstick on at your dresser with the brush/mirror/powder pot set on it, your powder compact and the way it smelled, riding your rocking horse so fast that it's ends would lift off the ground, your wooden turtle (great for hiding things in), the brass women who were bells (great for playing with), your big fluffy white rug by the hearth, 'That' fireplace, visits with you to the West Midland Safari Park (a wonderful place to be!) where your car was always eaten in the monkey enclosure and the giraffes with the big long tongues would slobber on us and the windows, for always having biscuits and crisps galore, the silhouette of you standing with one of your many handbags on your arm like the Queen mum, your unforgettable laugh (especially when it was over something slightly naughty), your Brummy-esque exclamation of 'O', the phrase "don't be daft", your unending generosity, sloppy lipstick kisses as we said goodbye, beeping the horn and waving to you in your doorway as we drove away.

I shall always remember you Nanny, for being a wonderful Nan. I love you and will miss you.