**Diary Entry 12th October**
I rang my friend Emily, but her daughter picked up.
Sophie, I said, can you fetch your mum?
Cant, the girl replied. Mum took Gran to buy some trainers and elastic-waist jeans. Shes got a cruise coming up.
I nearly sworeright in front of the child. Because not long ago, Emilys mum shuffled around in slippers, barely making it to the garden bench. And she never missed a chance to sigh about her impending demise, especially with guests over. Poor Em, desperate to pull her out of this gloom, had stumbled upon an advert for a seniors tour of EuropeParis and beyond. Everything arranged: transport, porters, even on-hand medics.
Gran resisted at first, convinced they were shipping her off to die abroad. But when her old mate Dorisfellow hypochondriac and prescription collectorsigned up too, she caved. Might as well go out with a bang, shed muttered.
So off they went, two sprightly seventy-somethings, handed over to a chirpy tour group at Heathrow. The trip was a triumphdaily phone calls gushing about croissants, the Eiffel Tower, and whether the hotels beef bourguignon was properly tender.
Then came the snag. Gran got *bunged up*. New food, strange bedshardly surprising. Too embarrassed to ask the tour nurse, she slipped into a pharmacy across the street.
Now, this was no Boots. Tiny but sleek, lined with mysterious jars and gadgets, half of them self-service. Gran prowled the aisles, squinting at objects that *might* resemble an enemathough they looked more like something from a sci-fi film. Well, it *is* Paris, she reasoned.
The clerka wide-eyed ladtried helping. *Parlez-vous français? Sprechen Sie Deutsch?* Grans multilingual skills peaked at *bonjour* and *kaputt*. So she resorted to mime: patting her backside, then miming something round and *elongated*. The poor boy turned pale.
Finally, he dashed out and returned with an elderly gent straight out of a Poirot noveltweed cap, pipe, and all. Turned out he was a White Russian émigré who took his morning espresso at the café next door.
The pharmacy, it transpired, was a *very* specialist boutique. When the penny dropped, Gran didnt faint or flee. No, she *toured* the place, peppering the poor man with questions. Whats *this* for? And *that*? Even the translator blushed.
Degenerates, Gran sniffed finally. In my day, we managed perfectly well without all these contraptions.
Quite right, madam, the old émigré chuckled.
She came home with more than souvenirsshed made a friend. Theyve been writing, calling, and now? Theyre booking a Caribbean cruise.
Its a nightmare, Emily moaned last night. His *children* rang, whinging that Dads too old for adventures. I told them to keep their grandad in checkhes the one egging *her* on!
Meanwhile, the culprits are packing stretchy jeans and trainers. Because *someones* got a cruise to catch.
