One Friday evening straight after school, Mum and Dad loaded my brother and I into the car, and we set off to visit Grandma Green in Wisbech, Cambridgeshire. We had to cross Central London in the evening rush hour, and the journey seemed to take ages. I remember needing to toilet, and my Dad fetching a bucket from the boot of the car. There I sat next to a busy road doing my business. If you ask my Dad about that incident now; he’ll say we were parked outside Buckingham Palace at the time, but I’m sure that’s not true.
By the time we neared our destination it had got dark, and I vividly remember seeing the bright moon, shining off the still water of the Fenland drains as we raced along the flat roads in our little red car.
Grandma Green lived in a one bedroomed bungalow, which we all crammed into, sleeping on cushions spread across the front room floor. It’s strange the things that stick in your mind; but she had a coal fire, and whenever I smell that distinct aroma while walking along on a winters evening; I’m reminded of Grandma Green.