White plates and my Grandmother

We have white plates and aspire to a kind of chic minimalism. My Grandmother's plates were never plain. Her plates had bullfighters and Beefeaters and flowers on them. She had a framed picture of a village scene etched into brass where the clock on the church tower had real, working hands. And a 3-D picture of a galleon in full sail that leapt out of the frame towards you.

Her house was full of artificial flowers and her Christmas lights were a series of gold Cinderella coaches - until she discovered flashing lights, when she immediately bought two strings of flashing, plastic flowers.

She was as old as the Twentieth Century and she lived through two World Wars and the Depression. She knew what it was to not have enough and she was determined to never let that happen again. She stockpiled supplies in enormous Tupperware containers in her cupboards and pantry. In the Seventies, when strikes would cause shortages and we were told not to panic-buy, she would be out, filling her shopping trolley with bread or sugar.

When we went to see her, she would offer us biscuits from one of the enormous Tupperware containers. The container was filled from selection packs of biscuits and, as the numbers of the "good" biscuits - bourbons, custard creams - fell, rather than us having to make do with shortbread and Nice biscuits, she would add more of the best biscuits to the tub.

So, my Gran's plates were never plain. And our unadorned, white plates show that we are lucky enough to have always had enough.