I am writing this seated at a desk in the converted smallest bedroom at Priestley Towers which now serves as an office.

It's one of the perks of your children growing up and leaving home that you find yourself with rooms to spare.

Mind you, this isn't exclusively an office. It's also the place where assorted items find a temporary home until they're moved on to elsewhere. I work around them, which isn't always helpful for creativity.

Currently I am sharing this precious personal space of mine with a very large parcel wrapped in cheerful Christmas paper. It looks, from the shape, as though it could be a giant frog. In fact it's a plastic elephant that rocks - just one of the presents for grandson Sam's first Christmas.

It's difficult to believe that it's almost a year since we became DGs - Doting Grandparents. This time last year, our daughter was the size of a modest bungalow and we were expecting The Lad to arrive at any moment. He declined to make his appearance for another month. So come this Christmas he will be just gone 11 months old.

What an amazing 11 months it's been, watching this little chap develop from a rather red, slightly overcooked new-born bundle into a little boy who has always had a very strong personality all his own.

At first he was full of frustration because his ambition outstripped his ability. There was so much that he wanted to do but wasn't able. Then, quite rapidly, his independence grew. We have seen, on our visits to him and his to us, how he has learned to move around - first rolling and shuffling, then crawling, now standing up and walking around the furniture, hanging on to it to steady himself but sometimes doing fancy one-handed stuff. Soon he'll be heading across the room unaided - unsteady but upright.

Now that he has mobility, now that he can go where he wants instead of waiting for someone to take him, he can set his own agenda. He crawls over to his toy box, peers into it and rummages about, throwing various items over his shoulder until he find the one he wants.

Some of them make electronic musical noises if you press a button. Sam has become very adept at pressing buttons. Not many weeks ago he just used to batter these buttons with the palm of his hand and hope for the best. Now he triggers them with a carefully-placed index finger.

He has also figured out how to turn the television off and on. I expect that in another couple of years this child of the electronic age will be taking his grandparents on a tour of the Internet!

Now, when you arrive at his home, he doesn't have to stay put and wait for you to go to him before he can see who the visitor it. He comes to you, crawling at his sprinter's pace into the hall and looking up at you, his face breaking into a wide, welcoming grin.

He can be demanding. Sometimes, when he's tired and fed up, he can be a real pain. How many of us aren't, whether we're children or adults? But most of the time he's a joy to be with. Watching him grow and change has made this a most wonderful, fascinating, rewarding year.

It really is a tremendous privilege to be a grandparent. It more than compensates for being middle-aged.

I Don't Believe It!

A double grumble this week, with a publicity-shy reader ("Please do not print my name and address") first on to the Moan Throne.

"I am 88 years old and live alone," he writes in explanation of his desire to remain anonymous. (Isn't it a sad reflection of the state of the world that old people who live alone need to keep that fact a secret?)

"I take it for granted that I shall not be out after 4pm because of street violence and break-ins. So why don't the powers-that-be put on some good old films finishing around 10-10.30pm with Doris Day and Bette Davis etc? I know we have all seen these films before but they are well worth watching again."

A very good point, anonymous pensioner. It seems daft that films of that sort are on during the day, when older people feel safest going out, and not on in an evening, when they stay in.

From Peggy Hewett comes support for my correspondent the other week who was complaining about the dearth of good music on the radio these days.

"Where are all the lovely records we used to hear on Peter Hetherington's Saturday and Sunday evening shows on what used to be Great Yorkshire Gold?" she asks. "We used to get two hours on a Saturday and three hours on a Sunday. When I listen to Radio 2, I wonder if they have never heard of Gordon McRae, Al Martino, Matt Monro, Ronnie Hilton and all those other wonderful voices. Please, somebody bring back these Golden Oldies."

I'll second that, Peggy. And so would Mike Priestley, who shares this page with me, if he hadn't gone all sulky about me instead of him getting a mention on Terry Wogan's show last week.

He says I'm not to let it go to my head and that I'm supposed to be the support act on his page, and should remember that. We'll see.

If you have a gripe about anything, drop a line to me, Hector Mildew, c/o Newsroom, T&A, Hall Ings, Bradford BD1 1JR, email me or leave any messages for me with Mike Priestley on (44) 0 1274 729511.

Yours Expectantly,

Hector Mildew

Enjoy Mike Priestley's Yorkshire Walks

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.