Gran Knows Best

She was a lady of impeccable taste, and we were best shopping buddies… but for how long would it last?

- Linda Sainty

Don’t say anything to your mum,” Gran said, catching my arm as we travelled up the escalator in the department store, “but I’m going to exchange that blouse she bought me for my birthday. It’s just not me, I’m afraid.”

“My lips are sealed,” I told her, stifling a smile.

It was something of a standing joke in the family that Gran nearly always exchanged her presents. Mum called her the most difficult woman in the world to buy for.

“I don’t know what your mother was thinking. When did you ever see me in anything flowery and frilly? And pink? I mean, do I look like a pink sort of person, Nat?”

“Not really,” I had to agree, surveying her slim figure which was attired in a tasteful shade of plum. “But it’s from their retro range – she thought it might appeal to you because it’s got a Seventies look.”

“Well, I’m in my seventies and it’s definitely not my look!” Gran chuckled.

We arrived at the third floor and Gran made her way over to the customer service desk while I just, well, sort of hung around.

Our Saturday afternoon jaunts into town began when I first passed my driving test, three years ago. I was eager to practise my newfound driving skills and Gran, recently widowed, was keen to get out of the house. Somehow it had turned into a weekly event.

Not that I minded. We’ve always got on really well, Gran and me.

I enjoy our lively chats. I can talk to her about almost anything – music, politics, fashion, personal stuff. We don’t always agree and our chats can get a bit – well – animated. But, like Gran, they are never dull.

After a few minutes she came back, waving a gift voucher.