Kevin Page: Plans for good, old stodge half-baked

Stepping in as grandad is all part of the family thing - but your energy levels had better be up. Photo / Thinkstock

Just this week I have agreed to a baby-sitting assignment for my brother and his own Mrs P in the South Island.

In effect, for a weekend, and in spite of the fact I still have some years to go before I should even be considered for a place in the starting line-up, I am to be a de facto grandad.

This is because my sister-in-law is from the UK where her family still reside, and my own dad shuffled off (I was going to write "to a warmer climate" but I realise that could be taken wrongly) some 28 years ago. And don't worry, he enjoyed a good laugh and would have seen the funny side of that.

Little brother and his good lady decided on a life of overseas travel before settling down. When they did, and children began popping up on a regular basis, the rest of us were all done and looking forward to getting shot of ours.

And we had run out of grandads. Someone had to step in.

Over the years, I've tried my best to give the littlies a little bit of what they've been missing out on. I've read stories, sat down in tiny chairs at tea parties, pretended I was asleep while they crawled all over me, taken them to Maccas, watched them play football. You name it. I've done it. Just like a real grandad would.

But, man, is it tiring. I'm just into my second half-century and they already wear me out. Imagine what it would be like if I was in my 60s or 70s, as my grandparents were when I was knee high to a grasshopper but full of beans.

Anyway. I'm sure it'll be fun. And equally sure I'll sleep like a log on my return.

Of course, one of the other bonuses of heading south for my challenging assignment is I'll get to see No1 Daughter and Big Momma, both of whom reside on the Mainland.

And I know Big Momma will be cooking up a storm in anticipation of my arrival.

She is acutely aware that some members of our household are followers of the Dr Libby way of life and, while healthy food, positive thinking and exercise are fine, Big Momma understands that occasionally her little boy might want to give some of it a miss and go wild with a bit of, oh I don't know, bangers and mash maybe? With a rich, dark gravy and onions.

In fact I could hear the excitement through the phone as I relayed the news of my pending arrival.

There was no time to waste, she said, and she would immediately begin stocking up the freezer, but first there was "women's talk" to be had with Mrs P, so I handed over the phone.

I wasn't bothered that my weekly chat with Big Momma had been hijacked. I would have plenty of time for a natter when I got there. Maybe she'd even make me a little afternoon snack to have with a cuppa while we yakked. Or maybe a trifle. I love trifle.

Big Momma's trifles are legendary. My own grandad, a teetotaller, got plastered on one of her sherry trifles one Christmas.

Anyway, I was sure I'd be well fed and watered. Just as I am here in my own humble abode, of course. Just different foods I maybe haven't had in a while.

The thought of Big Momma's old-fashioned cooking filled my mind for a while as Mrs P and she prattled on in the background. I was practically salivating.

"Your Mum is very excited," said Mrs P as she returned to her chair. "She's going to make you something special," she said with a grin.

"What's so funny?" I asked, a pang of concern entering my thoughts.

"She's just asked me for a recipe," she said. "She's making you chickpea and courgette fritters."

Kevin Page has been a journalist for 35 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.