IT is acknowledged that grandchildren are a form of vengeance, inflicted by grandparents upon their own offspring. Once super-strict mothers and fathers become anarchistic supporters of that third generation, encouraging mild rebellion or behaviour that would shock the average maiden aunt.

The young lad, probably about nine years old, sought an ally when trying to persuade his father to buy a key ring attached to a large plastic fob. It was at a bargain basement price in a large city centre store. The parent was against the idea, prompting the lad, with pleading expressions to seek my support. (Naughty grandads can be spotted a mile off.) Quite rightly I didn’t question the father’s ruling. It was then the lad pressed a couple of buttons on the fob and vulgar noises emerged. They were the sound of belches, real stomach curdling belches, true head-turners.

The boy fell about laughing, while listing the names of family members he could shock with such a device.

Dad tried to foist a less controversial gift on the boy, who after declining it, thanked him for the offer, turned and shrugged. My expression betrayed where my sympathies lay; but dad was not for turning.

Somehow when boys become parents they forget their boyhood liking for lavatorial humour. It usually returns in a diluted form with the arrival of a grandson – much to the dismay of their own sons and daughters.

lHowever, one grandfather’s sense of fun was nowhere to be seen when I spotted him and his wife emerging from the lingerie department. They were probably in their late sixties – perhaps older. He was growling loudly like a disgruntled brown bear; she wore a victorious smirk.

She held a bra-and-panties set that, because of its lack of material and its audacious design, would have raised eyebrows even if bought by a daring model. She was heading for the till.

“You can’t wear those – they’re disgusting. What will the family say?” he pleaded.

“They won’t say a word – unless some blab-mouth tells ’em,” she replied. “Anyway I won’t be inviting you to look when I put them on.” He resumed his growling.

lTHERE was much noise coming from St Columba’s Presbyterian Church in Alfred Street. One clue was that it was Wednesday, and the weekly Welcome Club meeting, run by the Archway Foundation, which helps the lonely.

It was members’ first get-together since Christmas, when some of those present had spent an isolated few days, neither seeing nor meeting anyone. As one member told me after she performed an impromptu song, unless you had ever experienced the feeling of emptiness you couldn’t appreciate the club’s value. It was a life-saver.

Good luck to the club and to the many organisations that do their best to improve the lot of others less fortunate in and around our city. A happy and peaceful New Year to everyone!