He held out his soft old hand to me and his eyes twinkled with fire. I refused to test his pulse. I was feeling a little uneasy too, despite my smile.

"Chicken!" laughed grandpa, "Can't face it. Look son (he liked to call me that even though I was really his grandson) there's a time to be born and a time to die. You've read that in the Good Book haven't you? I've had my time of being born, and now I've reached the other end of my life. It comes to us all you know. I have to die, your Mum and Dad have to die, and eventually you have to die."

"Oh stop being so morbid!" said Mum.

"What's morbid about saying the truth?" asked grandpa.

"I just don't like you going on about dying. Let's change the subject. Talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"What have you been reading lately?"

"There's nothing wrong with talking about realities," said grandpa refusing to be diverted, "The truth's the best medicine. I get so tired of small talk sometimes. Always skirting round the really important subjects. I like to call a spade a spade, not some blinking other name!"

Dad lowered his newspaper and looked very seriously at grandpa.

"What's got into you this morning?" he asked.

"Nothing's got into me," said grandpa, "I'm just saying what's on my heart. Look, how many years have I lived with you now?"

"About five years."

"And what do we always talk about at breakfast?"

"Rugby," I said.

"School," said Susan.

"The World Cup and the weather and a lot of blather about nothing much!" said grandpa, "Every morning, day after day, its always the same. We never talk about anything else."

"So? What's wrong with that?" asked Dad, "Its good to make light conversation?"

"I agree," said grandpa, "But what if you were on a