When I was young I had quite a lot of aunts. Real aunts, I mean... I was never allowed to call my mother's friends 'Aunty' like a lot of children did. Aunt meant Aunt.
These aunts of mine came in all shapes and sizes. Some were aloof, others quite bonkers. One was - or appeared to be - extremely deaf. She would, of course, become extremely annoyed if you mentioned this to her. Sometimes family members would tactfully hint that maybe she should get a hearing aid, only to be told 'I'm not deaf.'
'But you don't seem to hear what we say.'
'That's because I'm not listening!'
One day I remember her answering a telephone call. She had never liked the telephone, and in those days they were something of a rarity, except her husband worked from home and needed one.
Anyway, her side of the conversation went like this: 'Yes...I see... All right...yes...I see...all right' etc.
When the call was finished my mother asked her 'Who was that?'
'I don't bloody know!' my aunt snapped, and walked out of the room.
It must have been difficult for her, looking back, to cope with her hearing problems, and I think it was an odd sense of pride that made her refuse help. Occasionally the results - to a child - seemed hilarious. I remember once we'd gone walking near a forest, and my aunt drifted to the outskirts, presumably intending to enter.
'I should be careful if I were you,' said my father, 'there could be adders in those woods.'
I'll never forget the haughty look on my aunt's face when she turned and said 'No they're not - they're pomegranates.' 
RIP Aunty.
