Lesson Nine: Always Check Your Facts.

Let me begin by saying that I am not a dishonest person. Leaning to the other extreme, I’ve often felt excessive guilt and anxiety over the smallest white lie. I can’t call work to lie about ill health and hence ‘chuck a sicky’. I can’t play along to harmless pranks at the pub that would have my friends pretending we’re an Olympic swim team. Team-Building exercises requiring the use of deceit? Disaster.

And yet, after a quick fact-check by Grandma on last week’s post, I was pretty embarrassed to hear the words, “No, no that’s not right Darling.”

See, I don’t take notes when I go around to Grandma’s house. I feel that this would somewhat hinder the flow of conversation and general enjoyment for all. Therefore what I do blog about is a mixture of stories and circumstances that I am recalling after a night of white wine and ice blocks and often de-railed and side-tracked conversational topics. Not to mention having to concentrate on counting stitches or interrupting Grandma mid-sentence to advise her I’ve buggered it up again.

Therefore, please forgive me for lying about the following information:

  1. That’s not her Father in the pictures. It’s her Father-in-Law, my Grandfather’s Father. Coincidently also the man infamous for wearing a sheet around the house for the entirety of that visit, being from Liverpool and not accustomed to 40 degree days. But, bless him, he wore a full suit every time he left the house.
  2. They weren’t actually Nuns. When Grandma called them ‘Sisters’, I just assumed. But this is just what Nurses were called back in the day. Perhaps I am a little ignorant for not realising this. Don’t judge me.

Grandma and I got no knitting done this week, so I don’t have any Diana updates for you unfortunately. But I thought I would take this opportunity to introduce you to Holly, Grandma’s beloved dog. Now I know full well the bad reputation Jack Russell’s get, but Holly is actually a darling. And Grandma loves her like a child, it’s really quite sweet. Grandma stays home when there’s a storm on just to be with her, as Holly freaks out when she hears thunder, shaking like a little leaf. Grandma got her a few years ago from the pound, and (unlike the last one…shhh) she was an instant family favourite. So much so, that my Dad and I are a little bit in competition for Holly’s affections.

Dad also visits Grandma once a week, and, not to sound ungrateful, but the little Bitch seems to show some undue favouritism. Grandma explains it to me; how Holly will bound to the door and whine and bark and gets so excited, every time Dad’s car comes up the drive.

All I get is a bit of a lick on the leg.

I thought this might improve the more my visits increased, but no, she seems to hold a torch for my Dad only. Whatever, I don’t care anyway…

The other thing about Holly is that despite her sweet demeanor and mediocre diet, she is the proud owner of the most vile smelling farts in WA. Silent, deadly… they creep up on you mid-row when there’s no escape without losing count of stitches, so you just have to sit there and try not to breathe. Well, this is the best case scenario, really. The worst case scenario is that Grandma might also get a whiff of it and seize her can of Glade, spraying furiously around the entire area. This does not get rid of the stench so much as add to it, and as you choke on the chemicals you are forced to draw in larger amount of fart-filled air.

 

Don't be fooled by that puppy-dog stare.

This week I’m hoping to make a recipe of Grandma’s that was a favourite when I was younger; involving my first use of a jelly mold, port wine jelly, and sour cream. Will put up pics next week!

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