My 80+ grandpa and his equally elderly girlfriend came to visit the other day, just for a night, and I have to say I was impressed with their pensioner train catching ability.

I think once you hit that golden age and realise you can travel across the state for under $10, all of a sudden, bus and train timetables are magically imprinted on the left hand side of your brain... old people are bandits for bargains...

Pity the same cranial imprinting doesn't happen with the names of grandchildren. First, grandpa's girlfriend confused me with Sam, my younger and less beautiful brother. Ahem... Not cool...

Then my grandpa, the patriarch of the Dance name, my own flesh and blood... calls me JOHN. No grandpa... not John. My name is 'William Dance'. We have the same name... exactly the same name... remember? No? Grandpa... that arthritis cream is meant to be externally applied, not swallowed...

So it was a pretty uneventful visit, except for the part when he was about to punch out my brother in law. Yeah. You read right.

It was time for goodbyes, and my sister hugged my grandpa... so far so good. Then my brother in law shook his hand, and then as a joke hugged him too. My grandpa didn't know how to act, and ended up taking a karate kid stance, ready to do some pensioner butt whooping. His facial expressions gave it all away.

His face went: 'Ok,... shake the hand... good... wait... what's this? A hug... umm... ok.... WAIT A MINUTE!!! GUYS DON'T HUG UNLESS THEY ARE GAY!!.... GET OFF ME YOU HOMO!!... TIME FOR AN ASS WHOOPING!!... LETS GO!!'.

I should explain, my grandpa is VERY old fashioned, and from the country as well, so they are big on personal space, and guys not hugging. Unless of course its in football, which means you can wear tights, hug, kiss, and even slap each others butts if you need to. Never understood that myself.

This whole episode of grandpa's strict 'no male physical contact' rule reminded me of a story my mum told me years ago.

I was two years old, staying at my grandparents house, when I poo'ed my nappy. (Note: I was TWO years old). My grandfather waited around for an eternity, hoping that my parents would get back sometime soon to change my nappy. They didn't. When my parents did arrive home, they found my grandpa, holding me over the garden bed with one hand, a hose in the other, and using his foot to push my dirty nappy off and onto the ground. Once the nappy was out of the way, he cruelly turned the cold garden hose on me to clean me up. No wet wipes for me. Just and old fashioned hosing down...

...Outside ...In the garden.

He walked back inside, and proudly stated to my parents, "There you go, the first sh*tty nappy I've ever changed" and sat down to watch television.

And people wonder where I get my cruel sense of humour from. Between my grandpa and my Mum, normal humour never stood a chance.

You know we love you grandpa!