Life in a small town.

Being a Granddad is great.

Suddenly a mundane life is suffused with golden moments - warm memories in the making, that will remain rich and vivid in the years to come. A simple walk in the woods with my granddaughter becomes an experience crammed with landmark moments - we find a fir cone, we crouch down to examine a slug, we pop the swollen seed pods of Himalayan Balsam, we chatter away to each other about trees and leaves and the noise the wind makes. There really is nothing I,d rather do, no place I'd rather be. Now those insipid clichés, like, “ a heart filled to bursting,” and “a love that is pure,” are imbued with truth and wisdom .

So this is me today. A Granddad. These experiences will define and shape me in the years to come - you don't stop developing and changing when you hit fifty. Everything you do and feel has an effect upon your character and outlook.

The strange thing is, that in these happy and fulfilled days, a memory over 35 years old keeps popping into my head. I'm sixteen, I'm beside a pretty brown haired girl, I have my arm around her, we are both puking into a chipped white sink. The cold tap is running, and I – feeling it is my gentlemanly duty – am poking bits of regurgitated carrot and lumps of bread down the plughole. (We had polished off a bottle of her father's vodka that evening.)

This memory is precious to me too. That 16 year old and that experience is an integral part of the Granddad I am now . And my whole life so far, has lead up to the moment where I can crouch down with my two year old grandaughter to examine a slug.