I'm not very good at it … any more than I'm capable of yoof-speak.
And there's no word, or guide, for how to speak when you're somewhere between yoof and gran.
So I think I'll just settle for whatever comes naturally.
I've mentioned gran-speak though, because I'm becoming aware of expectations.
I should probably have noticed it before.
But I decided to turn a blind eye.
No, er .. delete that. "Bind eye" is probably not a good turn of phrase here.
Avoidance? Denial? Oh go on then.
Am I qualified to speak on this subject?
Well, I have a Grandchild.
That, to me, would seem the most crucial of qualifications for granny-hood.
Three years ago, when my Grandson arrived, I would say that was probably my only qualification for the title.
In every other respect I looked at myself that day, hurriedly travelling to be at my daughter's bedside, and felt nothing like I was conditioned to think a granny should feel … or think … or look … or be.
Here's my Grandson, by the way.
The rules of the game dictate that I should show you his picture at this point.
His name's Harvey.
I love him to bits, especially as his personal character has emerged.
He's cute, isn't he?
And that question ensures you get to play by the rules of the game too. OK?
But I'm distracting you.
You DO know that, don't you?
Harvey arrived three years ago.
And the thing that's happened between then and now (besides the opportunity to celebrate three birthdays and three Christmases) is that I'm about to gain another qualification.
I'm on the glide path for my sixtieth birthday.
And that sounds awfully like a pretty good qualification for being just that bit more definitely granny.
Yes, age is a qualification.
In fact if you have enough age then you don't even need the Grandchild part.
You get to be a sort of honorary granny.
So, I've got nearly two qualifications now. A Grandchild and some age.
I still think I'm a borderline case though.
I haven't got any convincing wrinkles yet. That's a blessing.
There are no boiled sweets in my handbag.
And my only concession to the colour purple, so far, is the colour scheme on this blog.
I have a feeling that some of these will come though.
Which is why I thought I'd best start a new blog to share my thoughts about the process.
Before I have to ask a young person for help.
So what sort of granny am I then?
Well, I'm not the sort of granny who acts much like a granny.
Assuming there's a rule book at all.
I guess what I'm actually expressing is that I don't look in the mirror and see anything remotely resembling either my Father's or Mother's Mother.
Well, bone structure perhaps. But that's where it stops.
I don't see much that looks like the stereotypical grannies you see out and about either.
But then, I guess I don't know how many atypical grannies are passing by everywhere I go.
I'll explore this in a future blog, maybe.
I'm never going to be a run-of-the-mill granny anyway though.
And, actually, that is the part that (right now) I feel instinctively best about.
So, rather than fret about how to be how a granny should perhaps be.
I'll just continue being me, as I've always tried my best to do.
It may not be like anyone else's idea of a granny.
But let this be my Fanfare For The Uncommon Gran.