I love English Grannies. I see them when I'm in villages usually. They're walking to the shops. They're working in their gardens. They're tending the local church or rolling a cartful of veg back from the allotments. They stop and look at you as you drive/walk past. For instance, today I was driving to school to drop off my paper, and on my way I passed a covey of Grannies clustered outside a little pub in North Crawley, talking about something very important I'm sure.
There seems to be an official English Granny uniform. It is anchored by a cotton blouse with a lace collar, a knife pleat skirt (usually plaid) that falls sensibly below the knee so one needn't cross one's legs when sitting, support hose in serviceable beige, and a pair of sturdy brown oxford shoes, usually with a boxy, separate heel. The rest of the ensemble varies depending upon the purpose. If they're at church giving tours to people who drop by to look at the Norman architecture, they wear a little vest over the blouse. If they're walking to the shops or tea, they wear a mac and carry a sensible handbag and an umbrella. If they're on their daily constitutional, they'll switch to a barn jacket and maybe a little waterproof cap with a brim. If it's summertime, they'll drop the jacket in favour of a cardigan sweater. All hair is grey. Length can vary...I've seen sensibly cropped, and I've seen longer hair that's tightly wrapped in a bun, but it's always neat and tidy.
EGs know what's going on. Need directions? Ask a Granny. Want a bite for lunch? The Granny will tell you where to go. In fact, she might look at you and know instinctively that you need a cuppa and stop you to remind you to sort yourself out. Sometimes I want to invite them to join me, but you just KNOW that they've got a brown betty with a crocheted tea cosy sitting on the counter next to the PG Tips, and probably a luscious bakewell tart covered in plastic filmwrap waiting on the kitchen table. Wouldn't want to mess with that magic.