I now take the lead from my (much) younger DOH who, years ago when we were newly together, waited until I was in the garden with grubby shorts over my plump white legs, an ancient unflattering T-shirt and no make-up before announcing that we were just going down the pub to meet his friends for the first time. He wouldn't let me stop to change. I was initially mortified, but he insisted they were going to meet me and my appearance was of no importance, it was the person I am that mattered. I do try to look nice but he knocked it all into perspective for me in that one moment. The age difference was obvious and has never been denied but I realised if how I looked wasn't important to him I'd be stupid to make something of it myself. And my memories of my very-much-loved Grandma are of a dear, cuddly wrinkled little old person who took time to listen and care. I'm not so sure they'd be quite such happy memories had she been a smart, elegant, well-groomed lady.