Grief never helps when I need to work. Seven years ago yesterday my Grandmother passed away, seven years ago today I was sat in silbury crying into an americano with irish creme syrup trying to write something, anything to take my mind away from the pain, I did that for several days, there was nowhere else that I was safe, nowhere else I wanted to be, nowhere else I felt I could be, then I called my Dad and we went over to the house, my Grandma's house, my Aunt and my cousin were cleaning, I can't even remember what I did, I just had to be there. Then I was there again before the funeral, walking down the stairs as my Great Aunt looked up at me and mistook me for my mother. I was wearing a black skirt and aubergine top, my cousins stood outside smoking. I hardly remember the church my father spoke I'd never seen him with tears in his eyes before, at the crematorium they played Vaughan William's The Lark Ascending, the pub after was called the Chequers, I wrote it into my book.