“
Who’s too skinny?” Grandad strode across the lawn towards us as he dried his hands on a small towel. “Not you, that’s for sure,” Nan called out. “Well that’s coz you keep feeding me, woman.” “It’s nothing to do with what I feed ya. It’s the beer you drink in that shed every day and the whiskey you sip in front of the telly every night. Not to mention the amount of liquorice allsorts you polish off every week.” “I’m eighty years old, Maisie, I’ve worked hard all my life and raised these two fine people. I think that entitles me to drink, sip, and polish off whatever I bloody well like, which includes you when the mood takes me. So there’ll be no chasing after younger men, there’d only leave ya disappointed anyway. You’ve had sixty years of the best, there’s no going back from that.” He looked at me and winked.
”
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