Peter O'Sullevan

I don't know when my mum's parents moved into 75, Burlington Road in New Malden, but it was certainly before I was born and their house was one of the constants in my life right up until we left for Hong Kong when I was eight. 

I loved both my grandparents in that unquestioning, unconditional, and joyful way that you do when you're small. My nan was forever bustling around the house, making drinks and fetching biscuits for the seemingly endless visitors that she chatted to. My granddad, who spoiled me with attention, was less sociable and was often to be found tucked away in the back room. 

Most of the houses on Burlington Road were terraced but my grandparents' house was detached on one side where there was a lean to garage. It was full of heavy old pushbikes, mounted up on the wall, plus all of my granddad's tools and bits of lead piping and other plumbing equipment. I used to go in there and play with all of the bits and pieces while he pottered about. 

On Saturdays, at various times during the day, my family and all of my mum's brothers and sisters would visit. Her siblings were like rock and roll royalty to me. All glamorous, charming, witty and fun (here's my dad and uncle Brian). And then, as they married and had children, I used to love playing with all of my cousins. 

It was on those Saturdays when the living room wasn't off limits exactly but it was a bit less child friendly. The TV would be on, black and white, and grainy, with the occasionally fuzzy white bar traversing the screen, and always showing the horse racing. (My granddad didn't leave the house much, so my nan would have been across the road to the bookies to place his bets.) And there would be a fug of smoke, dense near the ceiling but wisps of it curling around at head height plus you had to be careful not to bump into a casually held lit cigarette. 

I thought of this today when I was driving home from work and listening to PM on Radio 4. One of the news items was that Peter O'Sullevan, a horse racing commentator, had died. Without wishing to sound callous, I didn't find this particularly moving or even interesting, but then they played a clip of him commentating on Red Rum's first grand national win in 1973 and suddenly I was transported back to my grandparents' living room - the smoke, the room full of relatives, the terrible quality TV - and I had a sudden surge of uncomplicated happiness.