It's a question of time...| BBC Radio Solent's Alun Newman

I realised, going into my late forties, that I wish I had asked my grandparents more questions.

Not just questions about the war but questions about growing up.

What made them laugh? What did they dream they might be when they were adults? What were their parents like? What did they question about the world?

The opportunity has well past. I’m left with lovely memories and photos.

Coupled with that, limited second-hand information from my own parents who seemed to have also missed the inquisition boat.

However, with the mistakes in the past, I’ve embarked on a more proactive future. As a wider extended family we often all hangout together but it’s somewhat chaotic and occasionally turbulent.

At full speed, we’re a collective mass of over 18 people. Ages from five-to who knows? Often it is noisy and involves plenty of booze. It’s very hard to get any individual quality time.

My wife asked me ages ago what I’d like for my up and coming birthday. I replied that I’d love to spend a weekend with my mum, painting.

She’s a primary school teacher by trade. A mum by vocation and an eccentric artist to the core.

She has always loved painting. It’s not the sort of art you get from Prince Charles; a pretty, delicate, watercolour of a Scottish moor.

Her paintings tend to be super-colourful naked women, a bright red hill side with menacing over-hanging trees or maybe just the outline of a ballerina.

Either way, it wasn’t really the art. It was the uninterrupted time that I was after.

I forgot all about the request and the birthday arrived and the announcement was made. I was thrilled (a bit emotional, truth be told, but I hid that using the power of suppression and a fear of being vulnerable).

The weekend arrived and off I went to the other side of Guildford. Mum, being a teacher, had the weekend planned out.

We had training in all sorts of different mediums. Chalk, oils, inks and acrylics. We used sticks, erasers, house brushes and pens. I expected an order. It’s not possible for ex-teachers to turn that well-honed skill off. Once a teacher... it’s in the DNA.

We listened to music and chatted. Talking about everything from art to what moves us as people and is it possible to draw the emotion you feel? You see, it was a very ‘art’ weekend. It would have blown the mind of a logical, pragmatic engineer (my dad).

We had a wonderful time. The weekend seemed to fly by.

However, did I get a chance to ask my mum about her life, her mind, her dreams?

To be honest no, I didn’t.

I did take a moment to look at her and think. You're an amazing lady. I absolutely adore you. Also, are you getting shorter or am I getting taller?

There is no disappointment that the subjects I imagined didn’t get discussed.

On the drive home, with my final composition in the car boot, I realised that we can talk about those things the next time we do art together. Soon I hope.

There’s no panic, it just takes a little planning and a very thoughtful wife.

Remember, we’re not perfect!

Sometimes it’s good to be laughed at.

Recently an American lady posted a video of herself on social media teaching their daughter to make a cup of English tea: place the bag in a cup, add cold milk, add cold water, place in the microwave.As you can imagine, the response in this country was outrage.People were passing out with offence. Never before in the history of tea had anyone used a microwave to produce our favourite brew.There were tears and feathers were spat.This week, Uncle Roger the comedy creation of Malaysian Nigel Ng had a quality pop at the English. He recorded himself watching a BBC Goodfood video of a chef making rice. It’s brilliant! The pinnacle of his outrage was when the cook in question strained the boiled rice with a colander and then rinsed it with boiling water to wash out the starch. I do that! I always have.It turns out that this is the equivalent of not only microwaving a cup of tea but chewing the bag after.In Asia, if you made rice like this you should either, throw it in the bin or leave the country in disgrace. Who knew?Sometimes someone else's offence can be a life-changing lesson for the better. You’ll have to watch it for the secret to perfect, acceptable, non-offensive rice.