I beamed to see the Queen on the news as she opened the new Elizabeth rail line in London.
Knowing she’s out and about after so many cancelled events lifted my mood. Leaning only slightly on her stick, at 96 years old she has better mobility than me. And her yellow outfit made her look like a ray of sunshine who warms the nation.
Funnily enough, I was given a yellow top for my birthday from my friend but I had to gently explain that yellow isn’t my colour. When I tried it, I looked like a belisha beacon and wanted to switch myself off.
Yet others look wonderful in yellow - like Olympic cyclist Laura Kenny as she collected her damehood at Windsor Castle.
I applaud her not just for her phenomenal sporting success, but for using the special occasion to talk about her miscarriage.
When I was young, few women spoke of things they felt were too personal. But that meant many suffered in silence, believing they were the only one to endure such terrible pain.
Being open and direct is always best all round. That’s why I feel hugely proud of Jake Daniels, the first professional footballer to come out as gay since 1990. To show such maturity at 17 is marvellous. He already knows we have one life and need to live it.
Why should people hide their true selves and live a lie? The truth is always best for everyone.
If we all cut out the frilly bits of conversations, we’d learn things quicker. I wish my teachers at school had been more open and not glossed over things they didn’t feel comfortable talking about. The only sex education we had was a tale about buttercups being fertilised by bees.
I was terrified to walk through a meadow of buttercups in case I got pregnant.
Thinking about it now, maybe that’s why I won’t wear the colour yellow?
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Our Robert posted a film on Instagram of Cristiano Ronaldo talking to his son Charlie while they both trained for Manchester United.
Robert joked that Ronaldo was saying: “Your dad used to kick me”.
I suspect quite a few players could say the same thing.
Watching every one of Robert’s matches was terrible on my nerves, especially when he got a yellow card - all 100 of them. Each one sent my blood pressure sky high.
Each time he was booked, my late husband Colin told him off after the game. And my mum was even stricter.
Robert phoned her after each game and if he mentioned he’d got a yellow card, she slammed the phone down on him.
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This weekend I’ll be glued to the football.
Wrexham will play at Wembley and loads of friends are heading there. And I’m dying to see if Jurgen Klopp’s Liverpool or Pep Guardiola’s Manchester City win the Premier League.
Jurgen’s big smile is so endearing. And I love the way he hugs players, claps his chest whenever his team wins and always engages with the fans who adore him.
But Pep is my favourite, mainly because he’s gorgeous. If he asked me for a bacon butty at 4am, even if my legs were bad, I’d get up and make it.
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I’ve eaten so many marmalade butties this week I’m afraid I’ll end up buying a blue duffle coat, red hat and turn into Paddington.
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News that one in three fish and chip shops might close because of the rising price of oil, flour and potato chemicals made me drool for a fish supper.
Even the smallest British villages have chippies because we love them so much. Each one of us has a very specific, almost scientific, way of dressing and eating them.
My order is fish, chips, mushy peas and a large portion of curry sauce - it’s no good buying a small curry sauce because I need to pour it all over the fish and every chip. My chips are heavily doused in vinegar first, then sprinkled in salt.
I’ll slump for brown sauce if there’s no curry sauce, but rarely ketchup. And I never make chip butties - there’s no time because I have to get everything all in my mouth while it’s at its hottest and most delicious.
I’d happily say yes to a chippie feed any time of any day - with the exception of Christmas Day because somehow that wouldn’t feel right.
Researchers of the future will prove what we all know: fish and chips definitely taste better when eaten by the sea.
And aren’t we lucky we’re the generation who ate them from newspaper, with the vinegar soaking through the pages of yesterday’s news? Food has never been so magical.
Save our chippies!
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Rachel Riley reckons Strictly Come Dancing is fixed and claims producers know who they want to win from the start.
I hope that’s not true. Because I spent a fortune phoning over and over again to vote for our Robert when he competed with Ola Jordan.
I called from the moment the lines opened until the second they closed and until my fingers were red and sore. My bill was so high, a man from BT rang to ask if a child had been using my phone without my knowledge. He was from South Wales and after a while probing why the same number was called so often, he must’ve clocked my name on the bill and said: “You’re not Robbie’s mum, are you?”. Then he became hysterical. I told him the bill was worth every penny.
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I feel so sorry for the young people sitting their exams. Such unbearable stress on such young shoulders.
I wish they understood what we older people know is true: if you’re clever in any way at all, you’ll do well in life whether you pass exams or not.
Our Jonathan was a bookworm who really studied. Our Robert was also bright. But Robert was moved from the back of the class to the front when the teacher realised his frantic scribbling in his jotter was not work but practising autographs.
If you would like to contact Val please 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.
