My mum always said laughter was the best medicine. This week, as we melt in summer’s second heatwave and sweat over news of rocketing winter energy bills, we need cheering up. So
I started trying to remember the best laugh of my life.
It happened on a weekend trip to London with Robbie and his family a few years ago. We booked into a very posh hotel called The Westbury, where Jackie Onassis once stayed.
A man in a top hat and white gloves greeted us at the door – which, for someone from a small Welsh village, was quite a sight.
After a brilliant theatre show in Leicester Square I thought we’d flag down a taxi. But my grandsons Charlie and Freddie asked to go back to the hotel in a rickshaw.
Our Rob said: “Come on, Mum. You only live once.” So Sarah, Freddie and Charlie climbed in one rickshaw and I got in another one with Rob and his cousin Matthew.
Together, we gave the rickshaw driver, who looked like he weighed 9st, around a 45st load.
The poor man struggled with the weight of us and almost gave up pedalling up the hill until Matthew said: “Auntie Val, his bloody legs have gone.”
Our Rob jumped out of the rickshaw and ran alongside it as people pointed and laughed because he was quite famous then.
I had such a fit of giggles I couldn’t see straight for tears rolling.
Our rickshaw was able to freewheel down a hill but we must have looked like hillbillies as we got to the hotel. Savage by name, savage by nature.
This was in the days before I wore Tena Ladies, so when the lovely man in the top hat and gloves said, “Good evening, madam”, I didn’t have time to stop. I just said, “See you in the morning, babes!” and ran to the loo as fast as I could.
The next morning I apologised to top hat and gloves man and explained I didn’t have time to talk to him the night before. He said: “You enjoyed yourself last night, didn’t you?” I replied: “Thoroughly.”
Spread betting
Lurpak is my favourite butter but at £6.75 for a 750g pack, it’s really testing my loyalty.
I read that Aldi does a similar version called Norpak for £2.15, so I’m going to selflessly do you all a favour by taste testing it, very thoroughly, by spreading enough of it on crumpets to see my teeth in. I will report back.
Ciabaffled
My friend Janet invited me round for lunch the other day and said she’d be making bits for us to eat outside.
When she said she’d be serving ciabatta, I said: “Who?” Janet told me it was a special kind of Italian bread so I had to explain I don’t do foreign food.
It wasn’t a problem, though – we had some lovely French bread instead.
■ If you’d like to contact Val, email features@mirror.co.uk or write to Val Savage, PO Box 7290, E14 5DD. The Mirror makes a donation to the Alzheimer’s Society in lieu of payment.
