The rain falls down on a humdrum town

I am still having a lovely time in Suffolk. A very busy time; the busiest time in terms of doing stuff I have had in years. I am being good though. Honest.

Today we visited Ipswich, the town where I was born and brung up. It rained very heavily. It is very strange that I don't feel so much as a twinge of sentimentality about the place, because I didn't really hate it. It is just that there's nothing really to say about it. Not a bad place by any means, but it is not a place with great character. Of course, I was the kind of young person who would have aspired to get out of any place she had been brought up in.

Anyway, we took my two Grannies out for a meal, which was nice. I chose Whitby Scampi from the menu, as I was feeling rather homesick. Both the Grannies were in good spirits. My maternal Gran has just had yet another grandchild, (my second cousin, I guess) but whose name she had forgotten.

"It's James," I said, "like Granddad."

"Oh yes," she said, "You know, I never knew his name was James until he died."

"What?"

"No, I thought his name was Harry."

"But what about when you got married?"

"I wasn't paying much attention to be honest."

My Granddad was known as Harry. My Grandad Kelly was known as Desmond and his true first name was John. My Granny is known as Audrey but her real first name is Alice. You will therefore understand why an imaginative child grew up thinking that her family were either involved in the Criminal Underworld or the Intelligence Services. All thoses aliases. And no Internet.

In other news, Lady Bracknell's Editor, MBE, will have had her Investiture today at Buckingham Palace. And An Unreliable Witness has arrived home after five months and five days in hospital. Hooray!