b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Grandparents » Post 1225917 | Search
This is a question Grandparents

My awesome grandad flew in Wellingtons in the war. Damn, those shortages were terrible. Tell us about brilliant-stroke-rubbish grandparents.

Suggested by Buffet the Appetite Slayer

(, Thu 2 Jun 2011, 21:51)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

« Go Back

Grandad-related pearoast
My grandad. Yorkshireman. Traditionalist. Likes his bitter and his whisky and smokes a pipe. Nice chap, but if we're being honest, he dislikes people who are different...

Combine him with the family who moved in to the house next door a few years back, and you have a problem.

Forty-something single-mother. Four kids by a few different blokes. No man on the scene. Nothing wrong with all that, of course, as my Grandma kept pointing out to him: 'You've got to understand, it's not like the Old Days, let them be, Ray....'

But he had his prejudices, of course. They didn't help by letting the garden go wild, which upset my Grandad more than any amount of promiscuity and childbirth out of wedlock ever could. His garden is his pride and joy - he goes out and weeds first thing each morning and keeps a beautiful terrace of flowerbeds running down his sloped garden from the immaculate patio (this is an ex. council house in Leeds, by the way, he's just a very keen gardener)

He moaned and moaned about this. He felt that their lack of care ruined his enjoyment. He couldn't sit out in the garden and relax while there were feral kids kicking a football round an overgrown garden next door.

Again, my grandma was the voice of reason. 'It's their garden, Ray, and they're doing nothing wrong - forget about it or just grow the hedge high, but stop moaning.'

And so a sort of peace was reached. He bit his lip and got on with things, and all was well.

One evening after a while of this entente cordiale , Grandma's in the kitchen and Grandad walks through with his whisky, his pipe, and the paper, heading out to read it on the patio before dinner. Moments later, he comes back in, whisky in hand, pipe drooping unlit in his mouth.

'June - come outside for a moment dear'
'What's up Ray?'
'Come outside, darling'

So she follows him out through the hanging blinds and in the middle of the patio, squatting just above the floor, is next door's youngest, nonchalantly crimping out a length on the pristine patio, whilst his mum, on the other side of the fence, is trying to tempt him back near enough to pick him up by waving a packet of chocolate buttons at him.

It was such an embarassing situation that everyone involved was a little bit shellshocked, I think (except the kid, who was totally oblivious). But next day, Grandad went over to see the lady next door and offered to sort her garden out if she wanted. So long as she got the kids to stay out of the garden.

He now has two gardens to work on (which he finds a benefit in itself), and next door's not so unsightly as a result, plus no one shits on his patio.

(, Fri 3 Jun 2011, 10:25, Reply)

« Go Back

Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1