Till all our strivings cease

We got back from Grandma's yesterday afternoon.

I now believe that the only way to survive a trip to Grandma's is to regard it as a spiritual exercise. People pay thousands of pounds to spend time in remote retreats, cut off from society and without their usual comforts, learning to put aside their customs and practices, their assumptions, and discovering inner tranquillity and the great universal truths. We can do that twice a year, and for free. We are always just that bit chillier than is comfortable, there isn't enough hot water, and we sleep on a thin mattress with only that privacy afforded by a curtain. There is only enough room to take the minimum of personal belongings. And our expectations are constantly challenged. All those things that make life what it usually is - gin, and Radio 4, the Guardian, and access to the Wonderweb - are stripped away. In their place come the Sun TV mag, Bargain Hunt (and believe me it takes enormous reserves of spiritual strength to watch Bargain Hunt without squirming like a slug in salt) and meals in random order and at unexpected times.

In the past I have struggled and railed and fought to establish those values I came with. This time I learnt that the real value lies in acceptance, in laying the self open to all people and all experiences. Only if you expect nothing, want nothing can you never be disappointed or surprised.

There's no other way. Sanity could not otherwise survive being told, "She paid £400 for that dog. It's one of those hairless ones - only this one's got hair".

Ommm, people. And, Happy Easter. It's so good to be home.