Leif Gunnlögsson, a friend has died. I don’t want to sound trite but I think he’d learnt to abandon the world before it abandoned him. Me, I’m still learning …

Grandfatherhood has always conjured up the kind of images that play havoc with my brain. I never thought I would be a father and I can assure you, most unequivocally, that my life-plan never included any child of mine having children of their own. And like all well-laid plans of mice and men, this one never quite turned out the way I expected. Even though the idea of being called Grandpa still sends a shiver down my spine, when my grandson gives me a smile and looks to me for a cuddle then all that stuff is forgotten in a instant.

I’ve done a lot of reading about grandparenting since finding I was a tad deficient in some areas, and not quite sure what my daughter expected me to be able to do. Most of the advice I read can be put into two words: DON’T PANIC!

That was easy to do, until I tried the whole feeding thing.

The Net is a wonderful space, there is advice for every situation. It seems if you want to survive a feeding without having to change your clothes and wash your hair afterwards, all you need do is:

• Drape a tea towel or a nappy over each shoulder
• Wear a hat so the child doesn’t run his food-laden fingers through your hair
• Wear recreational spectacles, swimming or laboratory goggles to keep food and other stuff out of your eyes
• Wear a smock. They suggested a large shirt worn backwards but I went out and bought a pinnie. One of those that go over your head.

Anyway, I’ve got to say it went rather well. I fed him today for the first time and I came out of it totally unscathed. Not one mark on me — nothing. After I de-robed he stopped crying and gave me a smile…

Now I’m off to find out how to change his nappy without getting soaked or throwing-up. Any suggestions?

When I was younger I spoke a reasonable French but got discouraged because I was never able to speak it well enough. By that I mean ‘well enough’ for the Parisians that I had to parlay with back then. In the end I got fed-up with the raised eyebrows and started speaking to them in English — they of course would reply in French. It was only a short jump from there to decide — if they understand English then why am I bothering with French!

I also had a short foray into German but I found German hard to learn and like French I had a real problem finding the right gender for a cup of tea.

Last year I visited China and let me tell you nobody, I mean, NO BODY speaks English in China. There were no signs in English and no English speakers. I travelled alone in the boonies but I found my hotels, I bought my bus tickets, I ordered my food and I did it all without speaking one single word of Mandarin, to anyone.

The Chinese people I met understood me, eventually, as I did them. They laughed thinking it funny that I didn’t understanding simple Mandarin words and concepts. And sometimes one of them would grab my hand and sit me down and try to explain whatever it was with a gentle smile on their face as if to say: Now listen here John! I am speaking to you in kiddie-talk and I’m doing it veeerrry slooowly and distinctly so that you’ll understand.

In truth, communication in China was often accomplished with surprising ease. Rarely did I experience frustration or anger or disinterest and I often experienced considerable warmth and patience accompanied by lots of happy smiles.

Will I be heading off to learn another language soon? I’m sure there are many good reason why I should, but for now I’ll stick with English and the universal language of a smile.

The poet David Whyte explains that Wagoner’s poem is based on advice given to young Native Americans by their elders should they become lost in the forest. The first line is ‘Stand still,’ and the last; ‘The forest knows where you are. You must let it find you.’ There is a lot of stuff in between these two lines — I am sure you’ll have no trouble working out the meanings. Enjoy.