Lights and Christmas trees everywhere Granny looks, even in the multi-ethnic, very islamic part of London she's perched in. They don't cheer her up, not this year. Christmas when things are difficult is the most painful of festivals - but then it always was about birth and death simultaneously. That's religious symbols for you; by definition they are janus-faced; you could say it is their job to look both ways
This then; having children is a life sentence. One of the better ones, on the whole. Well - some people might prefer to be banged up in Wormwood Scrubs for the rest of their natural, but Granny isn't one of them. But with children, sadly, come the downsides. The main downside is when you have to watch any of them - or any of theirs - suffer; all your fault too, because but for you, none of them would be in the world. Granny names no names, but it's why she's here in London being blown off her feet (tomorrow will be still worse it seems; and she thought her island was windy: It is. But right now this one is trying to make out it's windier.)
So she hasn't a great deal to say for herself and is about to take herself off swimming; pounding up and down the municipal pool may be boring but she'll feel better for it afterwards. Later still she will meet an old friend, one she hasn't seen for 2 years because, foolishly, they fell out. But now it seems they've made it up; another good thing - Pollyanna always was - or wasn't - Granny's second name. The trouble is: silver linings for her won't do anything for the afflicted one. The life sentence again; very little she can do about it. What can be done she does. Cheers everyone.