My grandparents house was symbolic of constancy, dependability and love. There were many symbolic things that I now look back on with fondness. My brothers and sister were allowed to walk to the second lamp post with my grandad when he went to work in the morning before running back to my grandmother's welcoming arms. The tiny kitchen which only allowed for a single occupant at any given time was a testament to my grandmother's culinary prowess. English food was never particularly adventurous, but her meals were tasty and nourishing, if predictable. In fact, the predictability was also strangely comforting.