Grannymar

When I was young I had a good head of hair. I know because people always admired it. My father called it ‘my crowning glory’. It was thick, lustrous and auburn in colour. There were more natural hi-lights in it than in a New England autumn landscape. The hair colour had skipped a generation; my parents and siblings ranged from dark mousy to almost black. Mind you when the boys had an eye to fashion and grew sideburns or a beard, the hair below mid ear level appeared as Ginger! My colour came from my paternal grandmother and my maternal grandfather.

A good haircut once every five or six weeks made the job of grooming very easy. I managed it well over the years. Because of the weight I never had it longer than shoulder length. As I grew older I changed the style to a shorter look. It suited my face.

In my young working life before we had showers, I washed my hair every second day, usually in the evening and once towelled dry I put in rollers to control my curly mop. It was often still damp when I went to bed with the rollers still in place. Pride feels no pain! In those days despite the torture I managed to sleep. I wonder if I tried the rollers now, would I sleep any better. Sure it might distract me from my other aches and pains.

The rollers remind me of a family wedding. One of my brothers was getting married to a friend of mine down the country. We, the groom’s family completely booked the local hotel. We arrived the evening before the big day. I was sharing a room with my Aunt Mo. Like at most weddings, we were reunited with relations that we had not seen since the last wedding or funeral, you know how it goes.

Now when our gang get together the craic is mighty. The boys were on pints or shorts. I at that time drank Vodka. The groom had asked his best friend to be best man, but the friend was not due to leave Dublin until the morning of the wedding. Youngest brother, a groomsman, was lined up to step in if the best man was delayed for any reason. As the evening went on the stories flowed like the drink. It was a typical Irish wedding.

My Aunt had settled herself beside me and she was enjoying the fun no end. I was keeping an eye on youngest brother. If he was needed in the morning to take on the role of best man, a clear head was important. He was on the Vodka. The rounds were coming fast and furious at this stage. I began a game of chess with the glasses. As I finished a drink I set the empty glass in the centre of the table and pulled a full one closer to me. I also played a ‘sneaky’ when everyone was talking. I pulled one of my brother’s glasses my direction as well.

At one stage there were about 4 or 5 glasses of Vodka in front of me. My aunt was getting worried about me and asked where I got all the drink. “Say nothing and watch!” I whispered. Not content, she asked again. I pleaded with her to say no more. It took her some time to realise what I was at. I sank a fair amount of booze that night and it was a long evening. Being residents in the hotel the bar stayed open as long as we wanted it to. My Uncles were telling stories to beat the band and nobody wanted to break up the party.

Finally bedtime was reached and my aunt and I went to our room. She slept and so did I. When she awoke, she looked across the room to find that I was sitting up in bed, bright as a button, putting in my rollers for the hour before we were due to go down to breakfast.

“How can you do that.” she asked.

“Do what?” I said.

“Put those rollers in your hair while your head is pounding.” she said in a whisper.

“My head is not pounding.” I announced cheerfully.

“But you had all that drink last night, WHY? She questioned.

“Remember the best man was not travelling until today and little brother is on standby to step up to the plate if needed.”

“I remember.” she nodded.

“Well it was important that he should have a clear head in case he is needed” I said.

“But what about you?” she asked all concerned.

“I am not part of the wedding party and it would not matter anyway if I had a sore head. Nobody except you saw what I did last night. It was better than causing a fuss.”

My head was fine, I enjoyed a full Irish breakfast and then we prepared for the day ahead.

The best man arrived, the wedding went to plan and I was complimented on my beautiful hair all day.

The autumn glory has almost gone now and my tresses are turning to winter snow. With age I have a new problem. When I waken these days I have somehow adopted a Mohican hairstyle. Why?  I wonder. You get to see right to the scalp with the surrounding hair spread like sun rays all around it.  Brushing doesn’t fix it, I have to wash my hair before it will sit properly.

Does anyone know if our heads get heavier on the pillow as we age? Does it only happen to women?

I went shopping one day during the week for some new toys.

The bed/chair table I purchased a few weeks ago.  It has turned out quite useful.  Tobias sits nicely on the main section which I tilt slightly forward and can work on quite easily without having to put the weight on my knees.  I know, I know!  But EVERYONE uses their lap to rest a laptop on, how else did it get the name!  The side section stays static and will hold my coffee cup, (*whisper* plus sticky bun*, but don’t tell Elly ).

On the Bed table are new socks, Coiler shoe laces, Safe-T-Strips, Soapy Soles and a sock aid.  They are all available here.

A closer look at the items: Front left are the Coiler laces, they measure about 6inches as they are, but they actually fit my walking boots.  You thread them through as normal laces but there is no need to tie the ends,  They stretch as you pull on or off the boot or shoe and are neat, comfortable and secure while walking.  Below you can see one in my well used nine year old boots.

Above them in the picture are Safe-T-Strips for the floor of the shower.  The packet contains 20 permanent adhesive strips and I see from the back of the wrapper that they are suitable for the edge of outdoor deck steps or terraces.

The blue item at the back is what they call Soapy soles a footpad with suction grip to easily clean and massage the feet without bending.  It came with a free sachet of liquid soap!

The final item with the cords and blue compressed foam handles on the right is the sock aid.  I tried it with all the socks shown below.  Since I am a very cold creature and wear socks winter and summer even in bed I needed to be able to put socks on easily post surgery.  I know it may be a few months away but by starting now it will be second nature to me and not something new to deal with.

I tried it with sports socks, fine socks and the pop socks you see  on the aid.  They all worked well and there was no bending from an upright sitting position.

The final item I have to show you are my balls!

Caught you there didn’t I!  You didn’t know about them now!

I have them for a few years now… well since I broke my wrist in 2005.

They are sponge tennis sized balls ideal for exercising the fingers.  Once the plaster was removed from my hand and a splint put on it, I was able to use them to keep the movement going.  I brought them out when I went for a walk and exercised my hands as well as my feet.  I was a very lucky lady at that time as I now have full movement in my right (major) wrist.

Now back to the exercises….

Elizabeth Munro gave birth at 66 by elective Caesarean section. She had IVF treatment at a clinic in the Ukraine. Elizabeth Munro is divorced, so it is unknown whether or not the baby will have a father figure. In early July, she will celebrate her 67th birthday. These two milestones will make her Britain’s oldest mother with her age exceeding the previous record-holder, Patricia Rashbrook, by four years.

She could not get IVF treatment in the UK from the NHS who have a cut off date of age 40, or privately since the cut off date is fifty. But for £10,000 she was able to buy IVF treatment in the Ukraine. She has no partner, no brothers or sisters and she will be 80 when her child becomes a teenager. Teen tantrums can be difficult enough to cope with for younger parents.

The oldest known woman to have given birth is Omkari Panwar, from India, who had a twin boy and girl last year. She was said to be 70. Her 77-year-old husband paid for the IVF, which the couple wanted to provide a male heir, by selling buffaloes and mortgaging his land.

Maria del Carmen Bousada de Lara, from Spain, previously held the record after having twin boys at the age of 66 following IVF in America in 2006.

On BBC Radio 4 the other night a programme called the Moral Maze (a listen again facility is available for another five days) discussed this topic. 

The first witness was Carol, a single career woman of 72 who is seeking IVF with a donor egg and sperm. She doesn’t have a husband or network of support. She used the term ‘WANT’, not desire, love or need. A child of five will tell you what they ‘WANT’ from Santa and it is never what they need. She actually asked publicly on air for a donor!!

When asked what she saw as the principal duty of a parent Carol said it was to ‘Put the child first!’ I am sorry, willingly setting out to bring a child into the world from a donor egg and sperm at the age of 72 plus, is not PUTTING the child first. I ‘WANT’ cream cakes, I am not supposed to eat them, and if I do eat them only I suffer.

The success rate for IVF in a woman aged 60 and over is ·8% (point eight percent).

Many of us in Ireland have followed with interest the long haul that Xbox and ET had to become pregnant – they are a young couple. So many times they reached the wall of despair, but had each other to lean on for comfort and the support in facing yet another cycle of scans, blood tests and bearing all to strangers.

A young healthy woman of natural child-bearing years can find the nine months of pregnancy difficult, at times stressful and tiring. So what must it be like for an older body?

What I have written so far deals with the female side of the equation.

The male body is a horse of a different colour. Man is capable of producing sperm way into his seventies. They have the fun…. Point and shoot! No morning sickness, mood swings, swollen ankles, painful boobs that weigh a tonne or feeling like a beached whale for several months! If that is not easy enough, when all the deep breathing, pushing, sweating and squealing is done (by the good lady) they are off down the pub with their mates for beers to celebrate the new arrival.

Declaration time here:

I married a man old enough to be my father. We knowingly, willingly and lovingly conceived and brought Elly into this world. Jack was a very ‘hands on’ father playing a full part in her upbringing. They had a wonderful relationship that lasted until his death a few weeks before her 20^th birthday. Elly can tell you about the teasing she faced about having a dad who was older than many of the grandparents of her class mates. She coped well. She may have teased her dad about the history that she was learning being current affairs when he was young, but whoa betide anyone at school who said anything disrespectful about her dad!

Jack had amazing energy and never looked or acted his age. We had each other on the stressful days, and I was half the age with double the energy I have now. I would not like, by natural means or any other, to start a family at the age I am now. Lifting, bending and keeping up with a crawling baby is bad enough without the thought of facing the terrible teens in ten or twelve years time.

What do you think?

This week I cried.

I cried for three reasons.

Perhaps I should rethink watching videos.

This first video made me cry because it might be me tomorrow.  OR it might be you!  [Give it time (Approx. 85 minutes) - Directed and Produced by Shari Cookson and Nick Doob].  If you don’t want to watch all of it there is an article to accompany it.

http://www.hbo.com/alzheimers/memory-loss-tapes.html

Thank you wise web woman for drawing my attention to it.

*o*o*o*o*

The second time I cried was when I watched this video on Will Knott’s blog.  Will explained:

Michael O’Brien, former councillor and Mayor of Clonmel attended the RTÉ programme Questions and Answers on 25 May 2009 and, after Minister Noel Dempsey, the sponsoring minister of the Ryan Commission report in to Child Abuse allegations spoke, Mr O’Brien spoke to the minister and to the panel.

If you have any difficulty with local accent a transcript can be found here

Below is an extract I wrote in reply to an email I received during the week on the topic of abuse:

Here in Ireland and indeed the UK we are knee deep in articles about, and as a result of, this weeks report from the Commission to Inquire Into Child Abuse.  For so many it is an opportunity to now openly and for the first time accept and talk about what happened to them in childhood.

In 1996 the Congregation of the Sisters of Mercy, a Roman Catholic religious order, apologized unconditionally for the ”physical and emotional trauma” its nuns inflicted on children raised in its orphanages and schools.

I attended one of their day schools in Dublin for five years.  It was new.  They called it a College in order to charge greater fees.  I was a slow learner, a fact I constantly admit to.  On a daily basis I was caned, belittled, invited to remove my shoes and socks to use my toes for counting!  I was told I was stupid and would N-E-V-E-R make anything of myself.  I was extremely thin (6st 12ozs by the time I reached 21!) and this was remarked upon regularly in class, it was considered a cause for amusement.

The report this week does not cover abuse by diocesan clergy who are not members of a religious order, that is separate and yet to come.

If that was not enough we were regularly bellowed at from the pulpit with threats of ‘Hellfire and Damnation’!

Alas, the past week has upset me as I think of those whose lives were ruined; and for myself I feel the pull of the dark clouds dragging me back to the darkness of those early years.

Is it any wonder that Ireland is known as a nation of Alcoholics!

I did know some excellent Catholic Clergy but you could count them on one hand.

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The third time I cried was for a very different reason, they were tears of laughter

Patricia, buxom blonde and alter ego of Paddy Anglican will be aided by an item belonging to Grannymar and once the day is over, and the item freshly laundered, it will be auctioned for charity.  So start counting your pennies…

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Ramana Rajgopaul from Ramana’s Musings, has recently taken to reading and commenting on my blog posts.  I had tip-toed through his musings on many an occasion since I discovered him at Paddy Bloggit’s.  Ramana lives in Pune, India, with his wife, son and father. A multi-generational family.

In a recent post: The Empty Nest Syndrome. Ramana spoke about how he and his wife Urmeela went through the empty nest syndrome on three separate occasions. I found this surprising since they like me, he has only one child.  I realise that in India, adult children living with parents and grand parents is still quite prevalent and family ties are very strong.

No matter where you live or how many children you have; love, energy, time, heart ache, pride, and worry all go into the caring and nurturing of each individual child. The best gift we can hope to give any child is to raise them with love and self worth, teach them to have respect both for themselves and for their fellow man, while also teaching them to stand on their own two feet independently of their parents.  If we achieve that then all the time invested is worthwhile.

It is a nice feeling to have my daughter home when she WANTS to be here and wants to spend time with me rather than because she NEEDS to be, or worse still because I NEED her to be here with me.

I commented on Ramana’s post thus:

I try not to think about empty nests.
My mother died in 1996 at the age of 82, it was ten weeks after a stroke. Since she lived over 100 miles away from me I had problems spending time with her. My husband was ill with cancer at the time. Six weeks after my mother’s death my daughter (one and only) left home for University in Scotland and her dad died a year and a half later.
My home has been quiet since then; it feels like the heart has gone out of it. My daughter visits when ever she can but she has a husband of her own now, a job and home to run. I have been known to say ‘I gave her life and not a life sentence of caring for me!’
I am not a lonely person and make the best of whatever life throws my way. With the internet and blogging the outside world comes in to me. I am so fortunate.

Ramana replied:

@Grannymar, That is a very poignant comment. I wonder if you could consider expanding your last paragraph in one of your posts. I too differentiate between loneliness and solitude. I look forward to every possible occasion when I can have some solitude. I too use the internet and blogging to connect with the outside world.

‘I am not a lonely person and make the best of whatever life throws my way. With the internet and blogging the outside world comes in to me. I am so fortunate.‘

There were four people already living in the house when I first showed my face to the world.  My father, mother and two older brothers, within two years we were six and numbers increased until we were eight in total.  Added to this was a multitude of relations that covered several generations from both sides of the family who came for rest or recuperation.  My mother was a Master Caregiver.  This care she gave to everyone without stinting or the help of my father.  He saw his role in life as the breadwinner, and once he produced the money to pay for food, clothing and household bills then he was free to rest and read.

We children provided help and there was always plenty to do.  Reading and resting were not in my lexicon back then.  With so many people in the house and visitors coming and going, it was difficult to find a quiet spot for reflection.  I often longed to have a place of my own with no interruption.

My move to Germany in the early 70’s gave me that space and I loved coming home to a quiet apartment where I could hear myself think and not fall over half a dozen pair’s of feet every time I entered a room.  I really grew during that time.  I learned to really budget with nobody to borrow from when funds were low.  We had no mobile phones or PCs then and a letter took nearly five days to reach home.  If I had a problem I had to find my own way to deal with it.  I worked with and learned from people of many different cultures, creeds and languages.

When I returned home to live in Ireland, three of my brothers were married and living in homes of their own.  The house was a little quieter and I had time to rebuild a social life and travel.  After a few years I met Jack and we married within the year.  My move to Co Antrim was not easy.  It was the height of the troubles and I was a ‘stranger’ moving into this town!  The natives were very wary of me and my southern accent. It was more difficult to make friends.  I way young and in love and made the best of my life.  I have outlived the people who were horrible to me and eventually make some friends.

My health issues of the past six years prevent me from working. There are times when I am unable to go out or feel at risk both to myself and to others driving my car, on such days the Internet and blogging are my salvation.  The world comes in to me! Blogging has allowed me to meet virtually and personally the most amazing group of diverse people of all ages & persuasions stretched across the globe.

Did you know you were good for my health?

The clock went back an hour in the we small hours of the morning and once more we face shorter days with dark mornings and evenings. This change was heralded in by a blustery wet and grey day yesterday. We seem to have had a long dreary time for the past eighteen months with little sign of any summer weather.

In years past the weather never bothered me. I wrapped up and headed off at the drop of a hat to whatever took my fancy. Now however I notice a subtle change. As the day becomes monochrome my body goes cold and I begin to shiver. Going into my bedroom for any reason at this stage of the day is not a good idea. I could so easily jump into bed and pull the clothes over my head and stay there until spring. Instead I switch on the lights, turn up the music and draw the blinds. Doing the latter makes me more comfortable and it also prevents heat loss.

Something else I do with great regularity is change the desktop scene on my monitor. A happy photo of Elly giggling always brings joy to my soul. Sometimes I use a photo that I have taken while out walking or driving or a new family shot sent to me by email.

So today, as this fellow flies away

My screen changes to this:

We all love to get a letter. Nowadays they come in ones and twos and are usually bills that require payment. Recently the letterbox rattled. When I went to investigate there was one lonely item lying on the floor!

This letter was from Help the Aged and it began

Dear Friend,

It was unsolicited, a plea for money! We all get letters like these and particularly from September to Christmas. Charities are very slick nowadays at focusing their campaigns to hit the guilt spot as we begin to turn our mind to the annual spend-fest that Christmas has become. It is impossible to help everyone. Personally I decide at the beginning of the year which charity to support for the twelve months, so letters like this are torn up and thrown in the bin or fed into my paper shredder

As I opened this letter a page fell to the floor. Picking it up I saw that on one side was a picture of the reverse side of a photo frame with a sticker attached. I decided to read on…

Dear Friend,

This letter, as you’ll have gathered is about loneliness. I’ll be honest; I find it almost impossible to put into words how painfully isolated many older people feel, especially when all their friends and family have either moved elsewhere, fallen ill or passed away…..

The sticker explained why 1 is the saddest number. It is enough to make you weep!

Turning it over I found the front of the frame:

In the centre of the collage photo frame is a stereotypical image of an older lady; sitting in her high back chair staring into the distance. Around her instead of photos are little notes about the people whose pictures we would expect to find in such a frame.

1. Bobby my eldest is too busy now with his own family to worry about me.
2. My John passed away Christmas eve 2005.
3. Cousin Fred died heart attack 1998.
4. Neighbour Sue moved 200 miles away.
5. Elsie, 29 Palm Grove, Sydney, Australia.
6. David and the grandchildren moved up north.
7. Martha my sister is now in a Care Home.

It made me think! How many people are like this living alone and lonely?

I made a frame of my own:

It was not very different. A very dull sad life… You would almost feel sorry for me.

When I was young very often there were three generations in the one house. It meant that there was always someone to talk to and interact with. The younger generations asked for the advice of their elders and the elders helped with the children. Youngsters learned to deal with frailty and each generation learned from the other and relationships deepened and all felt needed.

Nowadays the older generation remains at home or goes into residential care. The young people move away to study, follow careers, and travel or start their own dynasty. The older generation become imprisoned not by other people but by aging bodies, stiff limbs and breathing difficulties.

This to me is a form of poverty.

Not cash poverty, but one of time and attention. The modern working hours leave little time to travel and check up on the older generation. OK so they probably have television, but how many times have you heard the phrase ‘There is nothing on, only rubbish!’ If you were forced to stay indoors for a week never mind for a year; how would you like to have TV as your only company?

There is a way to help the situation. To eradicate this poverty.

Encourage the seniors to use a mobile phone and a computer. Remember they will be slower than your average twenty-something to learn these skills so take things slowly. Be prepared to repeat instructions, drip feed rather than expect them to devour a manual for lunch. With patience they will see the benefit. Teach them to blog and or Podcast. It is the art of storytelling. It can become a project to record a family history for future generations. Life is constanty changing and the way of life for our parents and grandparents my sound prehistoric and unreal to us just like science fiction may seem unreal to them! With recording the stories on a blog or podcast the local phrases and saying will not be lost. With a podcast the voice does the work.

Stop and think… Do you know what you’re Great Grand Father sounded like, his accent, turn of phrase or indeed his language? Now is the time to think about collecting this ‘life history’ for your children and grandchildren, while the older generation are around. It will give the older person, particularly those living alone a feeling of being worthwhile and needed! While doing family research some years ago I discovered my Grandfather’s signature on a census form for 1910 - a year before my father was born! This grandfather died in 1922 and now I know what his handwriting was like, in fact it is exactly like my fathers! I treasure that copy of the census.

For my part blogging and the internet are a Godsend. I live alone with no relations for over 100 miles. With health complications there are times when I am unable to go out. On those days the world comes in to me through blogging and the internet. Blogging has become a conversation and an introduction to new friends who are as close as the click of a mouse. My life is far from sad, the world comes in to me with a great big smile!

Old age brings many problems, but it is also a time of great joy.

Good morning from a sunny Dublin.  I am actually weraring a summer top because it is so warm.  Summer has arrived in ernest.

So who wants to know how I am

To be truthful I am feeling rather confused…

I am a Mammy and I have a daughter.  I got that right didn’t I?  Somehow the roles have changed when I wasn’t thinking or looking or listening.  It is all very confusing and upsetting really and for a ‘lady’ of my mature years, not good at all.

Yesterday when I arrived I was dispatched to the shops for a message and then when I got back I had to sit still and be QUIET because she was working.  Needless to say I kept my mouth shut tight but danced up and down like unelegant elephant just to get my own back.

Today I thought that peace would reign since she was going into the office.  Alas, as I was sitting enjoying the lovely coffee that George made for me (not a bad lad that fella!) when along comes little miss with a pen and paper.  Yes I did say PEN & PAPER!  When that happens you know things are serious.  ”I taught that girl well!” I said to myself…. make a list of all that you need to do and that way you won’t forget them.

It was when she started talking and writing like an oldfashioned school ma’am that I began to get worried.

The paper was for a list of chores; to be done…..   BY ME!

You should see the list it is as long as your arm.  One item has 2pm after it!  Talk about time and motion.  At this rate I’ll have no energy for Toyboys tomorrow!

I would eat the list but for the fact I don’t like the taste of paper.  I can’t throw it up on top of a wardrobe ’cause they all go to the ceiling.  There is no fireplace to burn it, so I need your help!

How can I get rid of the list and what should I do to get my own back?

If you were away over the weekend then you missed Grannymar’s new Transport! Everyone from Steph to Phil are really jealous and want the chance to sit on/drive/ride it.

Now I will let you into a secret….

I saw the contraption bike around the town on several occasions recently. I realised that I knew who owned it. Most days last week it was parked on the pavement outside a jewellery shop. Well I say jewellery, but you know the type - high style today but well out of fashion by the weekend. On Friday the temptation was far too much…

I went into the shop which had several customers browsing around at the time. I walked to a counter topped with a glass case displaying watches. A young gentleman came and asked if he could help me.

GM - “How many watches do you need to buy to get the bike”?

Howls of laughter break out all around the shop.

GM - “That bike outside, it belongs to you doesn’t it”?

More laughter.

Everyone - “It belongs to David, the boss!”

GM - “Do you think I could take a photograph of it please”?

Young man - “Sure, that would be no problem.”

GM - “What I really would like is to sit on it and have a photograph taken!”

Flurry to find the keys to switch off the bike’s alarm. It seemed like everyone wanted me to sit on David’s bike, mind you David was not there at the time.

So out of the shop I walked with a Toyboy young salesman. He flicked his flicker and we heard the bike beep, it was now safe for me to climb on board. I did

Sitting up in the seat with more chins than a Chinese phone book I arranged myself for the photo by stretching out my arms to put them on the handlebars.

The handlebars were miles away!

Young man - “Ahem! That is the pillion seat, I think you need to move down to the lower level”.

I did…… with difficulty. He took the photo and another one for good measure

and then the real fun started…

I constantly say “Be careful what you wish for because you might just get it!” Well it looked like I got what I asked for; I was on the bike, and how in all that was good and holy was I ever going to get off it?

Thankfully the young man was a gentleman and didn’t take a picture!

I sat on my fury long enough.

You saw this picture and caption here on my blog the other day. I was annoyed not alone for myself, but also for Grandad and indeed for all older bloggers. If we were really weird, a major company like Microsoft would not have offered sponsorship for this category at the Irish Blog Awards.

Tonight I decided to deal with my fury and confront the Irish Independent with the email below.

Dear Editor,

On Thursday last I received a phone call encouraging me to read that day’s Irish Independent. On Page 18 of the Business section I discovered my photo. The surprise was not the photo, because it was taken at a public event.

The shock was the heading! ‘WEIRD WIDE WEB’ The caption was ‘Senior citizen bloggers known as Grannymar and Grandad tied for the award of the best personal blog at the Irish Blog Awards 2008’. Congratulations, you managed to get our names correct. Now before you make any more mistakes we are not married and met for the first time at the event.

I sat on my fury for a few days hoping that it would abate. It didn’t.

Please explain what is weird about older people blogging? Further down the page was a picture of two other Bloggers, young ladies half my age, I know that since one of them happens to be my daughter! You would not dare put a caption - ‘WEIRD WIDE WEB’ above them, I guarantee if you had, my daughter would have your guts for garters!

Am I wrong in assuming that the heading and caption were written by a young journalist? Why is that once silver threads begin to appear we are written off or thought to have lost our marbles? Let me tell you, neither Grandad nor I have lost our ability to use modern technology. We are both familiar with computers, email, blogging, Podcasting, Levelator, Skype and indeed Facebook!

I consider the term ‘WEIRD WIDE WEB’ an insult to all older Bloggers and hope that you will apologise to Grandad and I on page 18 of the business section next Thursday.

Sincerely

Grannymar