Now's the right time to make a big confession…
On Friday, I turned up at the hospital for what I thought was physiotherapy for the worsening pain in my legs.
But suddenly, I was in front of an orthopaedic surgeon.
According to X-rays, one of my knees is not so clever, the other is pretty much flat and I need hip replacements.
“It might mean a wait of six or nine months,” said the consultant, who was a lovely man.
“But I have a rule of never operating on anyone who smokes.”
I’ve never admitted this in my column because I’m embarrassed about it, but I’ve had a 20-a-day habit for more than 50 years.
My family and friends hate it. Our Robert refuses to stop off at the Co-op to buy me fags and says, “I’m not being a hypocrite”.
I know it’s ruining my health. My parents both smoked but my habit started at the dance halls in the 60s when I had a couple of puffs of friends’ cigarettes.
Then I thought, “I’ve had so many cigarettes from the girls, I better buy a packet to pay them back”. And I was hooked.
I thought I was sophisticated, like Audrey Hepburn. A lot of people my age smoked back then but many stopped, and I wish I had too.
The fact is, my mobility is horrendous. I can’t face spending the rest of my life unable to walk.
Cigarettes are the only thing standing in the way of me becoming a bionic woman with fancy new joints. I always say I’m OK at home on my own with FaceTime, the telly and my 60s music to listen to.
But I long to take my granddaughter Caitlin shopping in Chester and treat her to afternoon tea. I’d give anything to watch my grandsons Charlie and Freddie play football.
And I dream of visiting garden centres with friends to look at the sparkly Christmas lights.
At 74, I shouldn’t be pretty much housebound. In my mind, I’m still 18 – but my body feels 90 and knackered.
The surgeon’s words hit hard: “If you don’t give up, I won’t operate.” So I’m quitting cigarettes.
It’s going to be extremely difficult. I know just cutting down won’t work. I’ve tried vapes but with all the sweet flavours I didn’t know whether to smoke them or chew them.
There’s only one option for me and that’s cold turkey. I’m going to hold a Biro between my fingers in the morning when I used to sit by the back door to have a cuppa and a cig.
People expect I’ll get shouty. I told my friend Donna I was giving up cigarettes and she said: “I don’t think I’ll come to see you again.”
But I’ve promised I’ll only shout at the Paddington bear Robbie’s wife Sarah bought me after the Queen died.
Anyway, as always, my sensible chat with the doctor soon turned daft.
I asked if he’d hold my hand during the op, and he said he hadn’t yet learned to perform surgery one-handed. So I told him that if I have to give up fags, he had to learn to operate with one hand.
Then I asked: “Are you a rocker? I see you have an AC/DC mug on your desk but I thought surgeons would be into all that Vivaldi Four Seasons stuff.”
That’s when he stood up and showed me the door.
My happily Everly after check-up...
Hospital appointments always leave me agitated. I worry I’ll not get out, so finding mischief helps me cope.
There were 16 people in the waiting room when I went, all with appointments at the same time. Everyone looked a bit worried, just as I was.
One person was having physio and a nurse said: “Walk right back to me.”
So I couldn’t resist bursting into the song of the same name by The Everly Brothers.
Soon, the rest of the waiting room joined in and everyone was up having a good old Motown and 60s sing-song.
All our hospital stress vanished in an instant. And, as we were leaving, the receptionist invited me to the staff Christmas party.
Strictly the best on the dancefloor...
When my granddaughter Caitlin visited, she and I watched YouTube videos of our Robert on Strictly, pictured above with Ola Jordan, and I felt like a good old dance.
Sitting on my chair, I threw my arms out in front of me in my best impression of Tina Turner doing Proud Mary.
I’m not being big-headed but I was brilliant – although I almost had to go to A&E with palpitations afterwards.
Hopefully, one day soon, my new hips will see me dancing with my legs again and I’ll be belting out Ain’t No Stopping Me Now.
Keep mum on family feuds
Brooklyn Beckham’s new wife Nicola Peltz Beckham seems to like having a pop at his mum Victoria in interviews.
No one knows who’s right and who’s wrong in family fallouts – and that’s the way it should be.
No family is perfect, and no family business should be public knowledge.
Rishi's chompers
Having so many Prime Ministers in such a short time means I’ve given up trying to follow our nation’s politics.
We recently had a PM who couldn’t brush his hair, then one who couldn’t outlast a lettuce.
Now we have one who can’t find any suit trousers that aren’t half-mast.
But if anyone’s interested in my commentary on Rishi, here it is: He’s got a good set of teeth.
