“MY generation doesn’t get cold,” my granddaughter Jess informed me in a tone that brooked no argument.

She was staying with us for the weekend so that she could go with me to dress a shop window, in the charity shop I volunteer at, as part of her A-level course work in design.

My concern was that on a cold winter’s day, Jess was dressed in a very short skirt, great clumpy boots and no tights.

Worryingly, I could hear my mother’s voice echoing down through the years on the perils of mini skirts.

Although Jess still thought I was making a fuss about nothing, I reminded her that yesterday afternoon she had insisted on pulling on my boiler suit and old Barbour coat when helping her Pappa move the sheep to fresh grazing.

“It’s freezing out there Mamma, haven’t you got anything warm for me to wear?”

Today, when going out on the town, it was to be mini skirt and skimpy top. Teenagers eh?

The finale of the weekend was a visit to the panto. An annual outing to see the same cast with the same lines, same score and same entry song of “me babbies me bairns”.

The rest of the family joined us at the theatre, apart from John who had regretfully he said) already accepted another day’s shooting. An offer he could not, of course, refuse.

Despite the retirement of the dame and star of the show, the mayhem continued apace. Although perhaps the sets are more utilitarian, water scene definitely less chaotic, costume changes fewer, film intervals not as bizarre and the whole thing definitely not as over the top as in the past.

But then. An announcement. The team of principal actors have been told they will not return next year. There is to be “ a new direction” by the new management.

All around us, as the audience dispersed, shock and disappointment was displayed. Tamper with our pantomime? Why? We love it as it is and looking around at the audience ranging from three to 93, we could see they love it too.

True the prices have taken a hike and the membership of the theatre formula changed for the worse, but we still hoped to look forward to the wagon wheels (and this year Jess caught one), booing, cheering and sing alongs for a few more years yet. Not for much longer I’m afraid.