Har(d)ley Granny

My gran loves bikers.

Well, she loves me, and I'm a biker.

My nephew had his Christianing yesterday, and my brother invited us over to his house, for snacks, after the service.

I of course know what snack means in our family. It is something that can only be overshadowed by Saturday tea at Buckingham Palace. There was roast Beef, Bobotie, Chicken Pie, Beetroot salad, Carrot and Pineapple, Potato bake, and much more. And because every member of the family contributed, you were obliged to eat a bit of everything. The Aunts were swarming around our plates all the time, adding more of their dish, just as the last scrap went to our stomachs. The result was twenty or so, very bloated family members lying around afterwards, much the same as a pack of wild dogs after gorging on a carcass.

I was sitting(lying) on the couch, trying unsuccesfully to digest the food in my very unhappy stomach, when my Gran came and sat down next to me. She asked me when I was getting married, where I was able to find such a young woman at my age, and when I was going to take her(gran) for a ride on my Harley. Almost all in one breath, which meant she doesn't really care about marriage, my girlfriend, or my age. At the top of her mind was when I was taking her on my Harley. I don't ride a Harley, but to my gran, Harley means Bike. She asked me about riding to Rallies, drinking too much, leather jackets and the fighting. I sat chatting to her for quite a while, before B said that we needed to go, as we had a long road ahead.

As my gran heads for her next thousand years on the Planet, and the rest of us peg around her, she will continue to dream of going on a Harley. Bless her ever-beating heart.