My grandad died this morning, at a little after nine in the morning. He was 94, and basically had run enough of his journey to last him. It was quick, he was comfortable, and by all accounts had his wits about him. All in all, a good death capping a full and active life. Yes, it hurts, but we knew since the weekend it was likely and I’ve a good bottle of Glenfiddich in me so I’m functional.

He’s the last of my grandparents to go, and I’m still processing that in the back of my mind. I had been contemplating making the drive up north to try and see him before the end, but to do that and get back to finish getting everyone and everything ready for our holiday just wasn’t feasible. As it is, I’d have had to have left here at three in the morning to have any chance of catching him, and he was never great at standing around or waiting.

So, an odd and sad day, and grief is being as odd and erratic as it always seems to be. I’m sure I’ll get my appetite back at some point, and I’ve been veering between being tactile and not particularly cosy through it all. Lady M and Lady P have both tolerated and supported me, often in ways they may not realise, during the day and I can only apologise for my oddness today.

Tomorrow will be better. Charleesi and her cousin will be joining us, ready for a week of being awesome. I’ll do my best not to pour cold water on things.