My grandma has got a boyfriend. He's called Phillip.

My Gran doesn't reveal exactly how old she is. We'd probably need to carbon date her or count her rings to find out for sure but I'd guess that she's probably approximately two hundred years old. In any case, we'd assumed she was safely put out to pasture. But no, she's wandered into the stud farm.

All the problems started when she got her new hip. It's made up of some super-metal alloy and she's now unstoppable. She's like an eighty year old Terminator, but scarier.

Recently I've been enjoying shocking people by telling them that my grandma brought her new boyfriend to my granddad's funeral. Now whilst this statement is true, it is slightly misleading. My maternal grandmother did bring her partner to the funeral, but it was my dad's father that had passed away. Nonetheless I still enjoyed the look on people's faces when I told them.

In fact her husband died thirteen years ago. I'm sure you'll agree with me that she seems to have moved on a bit too fast. I wanted to know how she's met this elderly Casanova. Turns out that she saved a seat for him at a game of bingo at Age Concern, an organisation that I now suspect is a sort of match.com for the mature singles.



Singles Night in Leicester



Everyone I tell about this will inevitably have one of two responses: The nice people say "Oh it's sweet". Well, they haven't had to listen to my grandma's discussion about how his chin whiskers tickle her face.  The unkind people (boys) say "I bet he's shagging your Gran". This response makes me feel very wrong, a bit like Bruce Willis in the Sixth Sense when he finds out he's dead.



Phillip, at the tender age of about seventy, is my Gran's junior. Yep, she's a cougar. She's always liked Elizabeth Taylor and loved Joan and Jackie Collins (no, they're not the same person). She's obviously been following Demi Moore's tweets. Maybe she watched Courtney Cox's new sitcom (she's probably the only one who did). In any case, she's a cradle snatcher. I don't understand the current trend for women to opt for younger men. My boyfriend is almost seven years older than me and he's still the least mature. As I glance over at him now he's wearing his Superman Pyjamas and playing Streets of Rage on his iPhone.



"No, you can't get ice cream until after you've had your dinner."



Now I recently visited her house for breakfast. What I'd expected was boiled eggs and soldiers, perhaps a mug of Yorkshire Tea. What I got instead was the news that they're engaged.

This is shocking news.

I panicked at the thought of several more cousins. I don't have enough money to afford a whole extra family's birthday cards and Christmas presents. My mum took the prospect of having a new step-brother and sister at the age of fifty very calmly. But I've seen all the Disney movies, and what do they teach you? That you shouldn't eat apples and that Step-Parents are always evil.

At some point I shall be a bridesmaid at their wedding, probably wearing a dress that she's knitted herself.  I suppose I will have to comfort myself with the thought that there's no stopping the Terminator anyway, and that I haven't seen her looking so happy for thirteen years.