Grandad’s Holiday Part 1

Saturday was the start of the journey. Mum and I drove to Lincoln, Sleaford for my Grandma leaving for her holiday. When we arrived we were greeted with the obligatory cake and endless amounts of Tea. We stayed out for tea at the strangest pub/bar/social club in Sleaford. The food was amazing but the sheer quantity managed to put me off. Needless to say a bottle of wine later Grandma, mum and I were giggling like school children. 

Mum slept on the living room sofa, Demon Dog and I shared the sofa in the spare room which is like a two seater. Demon Dog really wanted to use me as a pillow and my brain decided to clock watch, have a panic attack and continue with the insomnia. It was 1,2,3,4 &5am and then I gave up. Purely fuelled by caffeine, after mum dropped off Grandma for the pick up we spent the day together with Grandad.

We took a walk, we ate more obligatory cake. We drank more caffeine and spent the afternoon lazing in the sun until mum had to set off home at 4.30pm ish. 

Top form, he told me and showed me all the radio bits and bobs. His microphones, home made Morse Code gadgets and log book from the year I was born. 

I’ve always known him as a very proud man, but it’s the little things you see it in. The log book just so happens to be his proudest as he told me “You can’t let them throw it away, you must keep it”. As he handed me the log book we were sat on the floor in the spare room, he pulled out a photo album from his mother with black and whites lined up perfectly in the precut picture squares.  Between the covers there was a few pictures of him from his bodybuilding days. My Grandad was not only a radio geek but a bodybuilding buff! Utter legend. He is front and centre with trendy trainers and a black mustache.

There was a picture of his mum, he looks so much like her. I asked him if that was her and he filled up, which knocked me for 6. He saw, and empathetic he started talking about music and his guitar. I played well as a teen so when I picked up the classical guitar and started playing he cried again. It’s so hard to hold yourself together when the hardest most manliest man you know fills up. 

We talked all afternoon and planned our trip to the seaside. We listened to Rock and Roll, Domino Fats, bit of Peggy Lee and of all things Dueling Bangos which made him tear up again. 

Today has been a different story. We had a t-shirt on inside out, a lost wallet, grandad socks with the heel on the wrong way with white trainers over the top. We’ve lost a walking stick, got frustrated because he thought he had 3 and could only find 2. Countless conversations about only heaven knows what. I normally catch on and kind of stear the convo, I genuinely didn’t know how to catch up. We’ve watered the garden twice in the same hour and washed the path along with the flowers. 

Sausage and chips for tea and side order of frustration because he can’t work out how the for sale/sold sign got in the front garden with out ‘Peter painter’ coming in his house and ripping him off. Who the hell Peter Painter is, I have no idea… but we’ve come to the conclusion he’s a rip off merchant and can go do one. He’s just gone to bed, I’ve had to go in and switch off the lights as he’s been stood there switching them on and off again for the last 5 minutes.

Cardio Vascular Dementia can bite me. Why do such strong people have to go through this? Give him back because we miss yesterday.  

 

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