You know how it is when you get older. You don't always want too much excitement. My human Grandpa (Gail's Dad) is nearly 88 years and these days he likes to stay at home.
Well I'm pleased to say that, despite being no spring chicken myself (14th birthday VERY SOON - 9th November, in case you're wondering) I still enjoy exploring new places.
Today, I persuaded Gail to drive me 40 miles north, to the old site of Boyndie aerodrome near Portsoy, so we could check out the memorial commemorating those brave airmen from the Banff Strike Wing who died in World War Two.
You see, Gail's Dad was one of the lucky survivors. He was an RAF pilot from 248 Squadron, flying mosquitos and stationed up here in 1944-5. And I guess he had quite enough excitement during that period to last a lifetime.
This is what the place looks like now. Quiet fields, woods and a wind farm, glowing in the soft autumn sunshine.
It was all rather different in 1945.
The mosquito squadrons based at Boyndie were flying sorties across the North Sea, firing rockets on German shipping around the coast of Norway in the closing stages of the war.
Just imagine flying all those hundreds of miles and facing enemy fire in a tiny little plane made out of plywood.
You know what - I am so glad it's all peaceful now. I'll tell you about the nice walk we had along the nearby cliffs in my next post.