Hearing a knock at the front door, I rush to open it.
My youngest granddaughter Megan, aged17, is standing on the driveway with a beautiful big grin.
‘Morning Grandma,’ she beams. ‘Can I come in?’
Ushering Megan inside, I pop the kettle on and sit down for a natter.
My eight grandchildren treat my house like their second home.
My husband Peter, 80, and I couldn’t be more grateful for them all.
We have such a close family and it’s marvellous.
10 years ago, three of my grandsons, Michael, then 17, Thomas, then 15, and Andrew, then 13, decided they didn’t want to do their local paper rounds anymore.
They all had busy lives with numerous afterschool clubs.
So, I told my daughter Lisa, then 42, that I’d take over.…