I consider myself quite lucky to have the best of both worlds when it comes to Grandmas. I have one who's small, has white hair and bakes me cookies, and then I have one who goes to festivals, has epic stories about being kidnapped and has more cats every time I see her.
You can guess which one I'm going to write about.
My gran is an adventurer. She always has been. She travelled the world with my Grandad, a pilot, when they were 18 and ended up living in Malta for several years, which is when my Dad and his siblings were born. Unfortunately whilst there, my Grandad cheated on her (with the woman who is now my step-grandma) so my Gran came back to live in the Forest of Dean. It was here that her real adventures began, I think.
After a little while, she went to Turkey with one of her friends and this is where she got kidnapped by two Turkish guys yelling about money. Turns out they kidnapped the wrong people, but my Gran thought it was hilarious once the initial shock had worn off. Then there's the story of the cats that adopted her, rather than the other way round. One day there was a cat (later named Mr Biggy because of his unusually large belly) on the doorstep and it didn't leave. The theory is that Mr Biggs told all the other cats that there was a really nice lady down the road who fed you and let you sleep on her bed, because in a couple of weeks she had managed to accumilate 4 more cats: Biggy, Tiggy, Sammy and Roger.
My gran is also a very liberal human being. I remember she bought me a book about feminism when I was 10 years old, much to my father's disapproval, and told me to never let any man tell me what to do. I definitely didn't understand that then as much as I do now.
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