Kitty Metcalfe scared the life out of me when I was a child.
She smelt of strong cigarettes and whisky and had a gruff Glaswegian accent which, combined with the deafening volume, made every incomprehensible utterance sound like a death threat.
She was probably in her fifties, and she was a grandmother.
I look back at photos of her with her best friend (my granny) and I see a woman who devoted herself not to preening, but to her family. A woman who stayed true to her roots even in deepest darkest Windsor. A woman not be feared, but admired.
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#SmallTales usually uses a single word as inspiration for the writers.
This week it was my turn to pick the word, so when my Mum rang for a chat, I asked her to choose.
She said she was looking at a picture of a cow that looked like it had always had a story to tell, so she sent me that. So this week, our inspiration is this picture.