GRANS aren't what they used to be. Grannies today are far removed from grans who were around two decades ago.

Today's grans feel 21 years younger than their actual age - 48 when they're 69 - and they don't think that old age sets in until 80-plus.

Today, says a survey by a national magazine, 'groovy' grans are more likely to be found trotting along the Great Wall of China, learning a new language, making love, sending e-mails, swigging wine or dressing up for a night out.

Well, that may be the case with some female over-60s, but I'm more than happy to report that my daughters' granny - aka my mum - is quite the opposite.

My mum isn't comfortable leaving the country let alone jetting off to the other side of the world. She prefers Cornwall to China any day. Not only does she balk at long-haul tourism, she does not feel the remotest need to venture to France, Spain or any European country. She would rather visit Bridlington than Benidorm, rather tuck into a pastie than paella, and it's strangely comforting to know that.

With this in mind, my mum really has no need to learn another language, and has opted for art classes instead - not as 'groovy', maybe, but far more fun.

As for making love, I think my parents probably do, but thankfully they don't broadcast the fact. Put it this way, the subject has never been raised over Sunday lunch. I'd much rather my 69-year-old mum chatted about recipes for jam and visits to National Trust properties than exciting new additions to the Ann Summers catalogue.

Unlike me, my mum isn't a technophobe and could learn to e-mail in three seconds flat. But I know that, like me, she prefers pen, paper, envelopes and stamps.

My mum does qualify for trendy 2005 gran on one point - she loves wine. Red is her favourite tipple, and the more alcoholic the better. In fact, my daughters know how to choose wine for their grandma. After helping her on trips to the supermarket, they know how to read the labels to find one that suits.

Dressing up for a night out is, for my mum, confined to the annual cricket dinner or occasional trips to the theatre, and that's how she likes it. My mum bucks the 'groovy granny' trend here as well, by preferring a quiet night in with my dad, and an early episode of Morse.

My own two grans, sadly both now dead, were like chalk and cheese - one conventional, and one who could definitely be classed as groovy. She would don high heels, grab her hangbag - full of joke wine glasses and fake cigarettes - and drag us round the bars in Scarborough, roaring with laughter. She was great, but she wore us all out, and we were always wary of what she was going to do next. My daughters would have loved her. But, equally, they would have loved the other, more sensible, bridge-playing gran.

There's nothing wrong with being a 'groovy gran', and while my mum does not fit this description, she is not in any way what you would call fuddy-duddy. She is a lively 69, going on 70, and neither my children or me would swap her for a globetrotting, multilingual gran in jeans and a vest top.

Updated: 09:47 Tuesday, October 18, 2005