The House With The Red Door.

That's what my daughter used to call it when she was tiny. Grandmas house (Marks mother) She passed away a while ago now, about nine years. Many a good meal was eaten there - the rule being those who cooked didn't clean up. Well grandma used every item in the kitchen to cook a one pot meal and the resulting mess was like a war zone. So everyone fought to do the cooking. Lots of good Christmas's were had with a larder full of food, cupboards full of chocolate and adults full of alcohol. Grandma had a habit of letting out a blood curdling yell occasionally, for instance when she stubbed her toe or broke a nail. The first time came across this was when I was helping in the kitchen, I had not known her long, when there was this ear piercing shriek - I very quickly turned around expecting to perform CPR or at the least encase a severed limb in ice and hot foot it to hospital - she had dropped a wooden spoon on the floor. After a few more occasions I began to get used to it - unnerving though!
She is sadly missed by everyone who knew her. The house with the red door is no longer in the family and belongs to somebody else's grandma. It is a different red nowadays, still chocolate box pretty in Dockray a quiet hamlet above Aira Force.