My Nanna

My Nanna taught me my first swears.

She had a twin keyboard electric organ, with a foot-pedal not unlike those you get on sewing machines, and would play a medley of show tunes and old favourites at the slightest inkling that her "audience" might be up for a sing-along.

She taught me to sing 'A' You're Adorable and The Sheik Of Araby (with the words "without a shirt" added to each line). She taught me how to draw faces with a minimum of pencil strokes.

All our birthday cards from Nanna were sent through the post with the envelope covered in beautiful, brightly coloured, hand drawn flowers...at least they were until several went missing and, suspecting that someone at the sorting office was intercepting anything that looked like it might contain money, she began to draw inside the card instead.

She was always the life and soul of any party and loved to be the centre of attention. She always had a story that was one better than anyone else's and while this could sometimes be annoying, it was also endearing in that she never tried to excuse or hide it.

My Nanna is still alive, but I am writing this in the past tense because the sweetly wicked lady with the very naughty sense of humour and twinkly eyes I loved so much has disappeared. I found it difficult to recognise the shrunken, sullen, almost silent woman I visited this week as my Nanna. It wasn't her.

Her name was Lola, sometimes known as "Plum" and I miss her.