My Grandfather tried to kill me.

I am lucky enough to have all of my Grandparents. In fact I have five of them and they have always seemed indestructible. Like Dumbledore or Gandalf: you know they are old but they just don't seem it.
Until recently that has always been the case. But suddenly and simultaneously, they all seem to be preparing for their apparently imminent death.
Well, I'm exaggerating. Grandad Bob still thinks he's 27, goes to the gym everyday and travels across the country on public buses just because he can. And Grandad Partridge really lives too far away to comment on, but I do know he goes electric-cycling and every time I see him he reminds me of that time I bit a chunk out of the glass I was drinking from. It was painful enough the first time, I don't really need reminding frankly.
But, as one must with Grandparents, I laugh along.
Apart from such anecdotes, and the constant and unavoidable questions like "Do you have a boyfriend?" and "So when are you getting married?" and "What happened to that builder?" (who I went on ONE date with!!) (do you see a theme emerging?), Grandparents are nice really. I mean I'm a lucky girl. They tell you interesting stories about Lord Kitchener and some Prime Minister they knew; they make yummy cake and teach you to make pastry; they tell you that you're pretty; and they smell like talcum powder and velvet.
But now all of a sudden, Nanna has started trying to give me books and fabric and paintbrushes every time I go over so that there is less to sort out when..."you know, I'm not young anymore."
Humph!! I disagree. And anyway, her Mum, my Great-Gran, lived until she was 96. Plenty of time to be young.
And then there is Nainy and Taidy who are throwing a lot of stuff away and selling their house. Downsizing so that my Auntie, who lives with them, has not got too big a place to manage.."you know when..."
And that makes me sad. I love that house; doing cartwheels on the lawn; climbing over the wall; finding apples and potatoes and roses and mushrooms and the occasional stray cat; popping over for a bath when our heating wasn't working; lemon curd sandwiches.
I guess there will still be lemon curd sandwiches in the new house, but I'm sure they won't taste the same.
I have in the last few weeks had some cause for concern on the oldness front though. Taidy (for anyone who isn't Welsh that is the word for Grandad) has been nice enough to drive me places twice and both time he definitely tried to kill me. The first time he forgot to put the brake on when I was getting out of the car and it rolled backwards, me clinging to the door for dear life. The second time I suddenly realised we were going incredibly fast down quite a short hill. He had accelerated instead of braking. Never mind the house, I think they should get rid of the car.
So that's scary, not just because my life hung in the balance (exaggerate much?), but because someone I think of as capable and indestructible is maybe...not.
Of course I'm not worried that they'll read this: they aren't much into blogging. Classic grandparents really. I will keep visiting for a cup of tea and a story or two; I will stop getting in the car of death; and I will continue to hope that this will continue for a long time to come. Even with all the questions about my love life.