He was a rum old dude who, for reasons unbeknown to anyone other than himself, had a rather striking likeness of Edith Cavell on his chest. Whether the entertainment was worthwhile for us kids, while we were at my grandparent's house, depended on his compliance with our request to 'Show us your nurse, Grandad!'. This revelation should blow away any mistaken beliefs that I'm descended from the aristocracy. I'm sure they're not in the habit of revealing their tattooed torsos over Sunday tea.
Dad gave me this photo when he visited last month. It's Grandad Lovelygrey with a conger eel that he caught at Brixham, the town that I'm going to make my future home when I eventually move into Great Tits House. It's a teeny tiny print, much smaller than on screen here. It looks like technology though has given me the means to blow it up. Then it can have pride of place on a mantlepiece just a few hundred yards from where it was taken over half a century ago.