ELEANOR GOGGIN

Imagine! Me being a granny even for a day E

VER since I gave up regular work I’ve been fairly good at turning my hand to anything that people have asked me to help out with. I’m always game for a laugh.

Tour guiding was the one thing I couldn’t hack. When I get a mic in my hand I turn into a blabbering psycho and that really isn’t a good ad for any country so, much to my chagrin, that was a hurdle I fell at. So when I was asked to help out with role playing for students I jumped at the chance.

For the first exam I was only vaguely role playing because it involved ‘pretending’ to be an ex-smoker with a wheeze. Not much role playing there.

But for the second day I had to be a concerned granny. Now I don’t have grandkids and I regularly bemoan the fact that some of my friends feel obliged to share photos of their grandkids with me on a very regular basis. I don’t for a minute think I’d be a very good granny. I would love and adore them but I’m too busy socialising to devote a huge amount of time to them. Maybe if I actually had one that might all change.

So to be a granny for a day was an experience. By the end of it I actually believed I had something to do with this imaginary child who was slow to walk. I was nearly patting him on the head.

The students asked about other aspects of his development and I was nearly preening as I answered about this fictitious child’s ability to pile up bricks and draw circles. I found myself saying things like “he’s a great little fella, very chirpy and bright”. By the end of the day it was becoming quite evident that if I did actually have grandchildren I would be a royal pain in the ass about them.