I remember our little holidays with granny Vi and grandad Bill in the caravanette at Primrose Valley in Filey. It always rained, and rained and rained. I remember playing cards with granny Vi and I remember the cramped, claustrophobic feeling and the smell of cigarettes and damp and bacon grease. I can’t remember if I loved it or loathed it but I’ve hated confined spaces like caravans and boats ever since.
My biggest memory though is of my half brother Steven having a row with my mum whilst we were there once. I’ve no idea of my age other than I know I was well under 10. Steven was asking mum what he should call her in front of other people as he already called his grandmother ‘mum’. He wasn’t joking and he was pretty upset. It took several years before the penny dropped for me.
I don’t know which is worse. My dad wanting nothing to do with my mum’s young child or my mum palming him off on her own mother for the sake of a man. Poor Steven. It was never going to bode well any of this shit was it ?
