Granny Lost The Plot

It was last Christmas I was christened.

First of all, you have to imagine our family. Just think of the Royle Family (no, not the Royal Family) - the one with Jim and Barbara and the one with the fat arse and Baby Dave. That’s us.

Last Christmas, the eldest daughter - no, the only daughter (she can’t be the eldest when there is only one of her) - cooked a delicious dinner.

God bless us all, those of us who have daughters who actually enjoy cooking. We had turkey, stuffed with chestnuts, lemon, garlic and herbs,with mouthwatering roast potatoes and all the trimmings.

We sat around the telly to watch the Titanic sink again for the third time. I was replete, full of sherry trifle, Baileys etc., so I dozed off. As you do.

Seemingly I woke up and looked at the screen and simply asked

“Is that an Alien?”

The family guffawed.

“Go back to sleep, Gran.” said the daughter’s boyfriend. “There are no Aliens”.

It was just coming to the end of the film when I woke up, and the old lady who survived the sinking was back on board. The Christmas Tree lights were reflecting off the telly screen and she looked like she had red eyes. Anyone could make the same mistake.

The daughter’s boyfriend looked at me.

“Granny has lost the plot” he said.