My dad told me today that my nan would have been 100 this weekend if she were still alive.
This seems hard to fathom; it certainly beats my personal milestone of turning 35. My nan was a lot of fun and we were very close. I have quite a few vivid memories of her, despite her passing away when I was very young. I used to follow her around her house and she used dote on me and encourage my creative whims. I was a big fan of Rod Hull & Emu at the time and desperately wanted an emu of my own (in a puppet sense), so she helped me make one, using a sparkly sequined blouse for the body and a pair of tights for the neck and head. It was surprisingly effective despite our limited means, and did the trick until my parents tracked down a proper puppet, which I think came from a friend (Bernie Clifton?). She also helped me finish off all of the chocolates from my advent calender in just one sitting; she was a bad, yet playful influence.
It's all about anniversaries at the moment. Tomorrow, I'll be half my mum's age and consequently the same age she was when she had me. Does this illustrate my official transition into a real adult? It doesn't feel like it, but it could be. In five years I'll be 40, which seems too surreal to think about. If I want to make the same culturing impact as John Lennon, then I need to get a wiggle on. I wonder if there's much call for a chocolate-stuffing emu act?