Spotted this on Pip Lincolne’s Blog this morning and thought it was a smashing idea! Nan’s are cool, in so many ways, and frankly, can get away with saying and doing things that we can’t…yet.
My Nan: Hazel Cockburn
Her work: Super retired, ex-butcher, ex-science department technician, painter and knitter
Lives: The depths of Dorset (with the rest of the clan)
The things I love best about her: Tabasco gravy, the blankets she knitted for my children that make them sleep and the way that she is firm.
Notable achievements: raising three kids in the 1950’s (two of which are twins) without funded childcare hours, Calpol or disposable nappies.
My takeaway: Laugh. When you stop laughing then you really need to worry.
Something great she did: Trimmed my frayed edge denim shorts when I was 12 just to ‘tidy them up’…devastated at the time, now I know she was saving me from fashion disaster.
I had a little girl last year. Her middle name is Hazel, and she’s living up to it. She wrinkles her nose the same way that my nan does, she has that ‘look’ of disapproval in her eyes and she is a ‘Cockburn’ woman. My husband is scared. The DNA is strong.
My Nan is lovely. She worries. But she’s silly. My FF is clearly the love of her life and I’ve always thought that if I can be a smidge of the amount of happy that they have been then I will be a lucky lady. Together they have instilled in me the groundwork for any relationship: laugh, argue (a lot, it’s good for you), hold hands and skip down the street and allow your other half space in your house (this bit is tough!).
She’s always worked hard, bloody hard, but that’s what makes it worth it. We’d always go with my mum for a week every summer to go and stay. Nan would pick us up from the train station in their camper van and we’d go on picnics with carton juice, sandwiches and blow-your-head-off spring onions.
She cooked tongue and left it to cool on a board in the kitchen (this scared me). I tried to get a bag of lentils of the top shelf in her larder for a craft project. They spilled everywhere and got stuck in the lid of the treacle tin, but she didn’t shout. At my younger brother’s birthday party she held my ankle so I couldn’t win the games and I was livid. But I get it now.
She paints. And knits. And argues and worries and laughs. And as long as that all keeps happening, my world keeps spinning. xx
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