Seasonal greetings with gifts for all my friends - the last one's for me though! Back after Christmas.

Getting in touch with my forebears

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There is something I would like to write about before the year is out. November 2008 saw the 90th anniversary of the end of World War I - The Great War as it was known, or "the war to end all wars"! British television has been full of commemorative programmes, documentaries, reconstructions of battlefields and photographs of war cemeteries in Europe. These have drawn my thoughts once more to the only one of my blood relatives who died in the war: my mother's first cousin Arthur Brian Rabone. I have always known that he died in The Great War, but as I watched some of these programmes I began to wonder exactly when and where.

Captain Arthur Brian Rabone

So I consulted my brother's genealogy of the family, and found that he was a captain in the 6th Battalion, Royal Warwickshire Regiment, and had died in France on 1st July 1916, the first day of the Somme offensive by the British and the French. I believe that the Battle of the Somme is considered to have been one of the most wasteful of the war in terms of massive casualties for a very small gain in territory. The bodies of many were never recovered, and there is a cemetery, and a memorial to the missing soldiers, at Thiepval in the Somme. It is the work of the architect Sir Edwin Lutyens. The sixteen pillars are engraved with the names of 73,367 British and Commonwealth soldiers who fell during the First Battle of the Somme between July and November 1916 and who have no known grave. Our records say that Brian (as he was known) was buried at Thiepval. He was 29 and had been married two years. He left no children.

Thiepval Memorial and cemetery

And that is where his story becomes my story. Because Brian Rabone was an only child, and left no children of his own, when his mother, already widowed, came to dispose of her personal estate, she chose to leave it to her three sisters. One of those was my grandmother, and her investments have eventually come down to me through both my mother and my mother's unmarried sister. Without that inheritance, my family's life, and my own, would have been very different. My great aunt died in 1938, which is why, in 1939, my father was able to give up trying to sell cars in Birmingham, which he hated, and become semi-retired. We moved to a country smallholding near Worcester, where he was able to work hard, and happily, raising fruit and vegetables for market.

My great aunt Mary Maude Rabone

My great uncle by marriage Arthur J Rabone

In 1949, at the age of 21, I was given my first holding of shares in John Rabone & Sons, makers of rules, tape measures and spirit levels. When I eventually came to sell these shares in 1972, as a member of the family I was able to keep the original share certificate as a souvenir. Also out of sentiment, and as a frequenter of antique markets, I have added considerably over the years to the one or two Rabone rules and measures that I already had in my possession. The collection has now passed to my son. So my inheritance has enabled me not only to indulge my own interests, such as collecting, but also to live comfortably on my own for the last 23 years.

Like so many family firms John Rabone & Sons eventually merged with another, becoming Rabone Chesterman in 1963, and finally being taken over by Stanley in 1990. Below is a picture of the original Birmingham works, taken from a price list and catalogue dated 1878.

I reflect often on how my great aunt's great sorrow has meant comfort and support for my family. But this year, in the context of the commemorative TV programmes, and with the additional information I have found, I feel that I have come a little closer to this cousin who died before I was born, and to whom I owe so much.

A bit of fun

I have had about 100 visits from French speaking countries in the past 10 weeks, so I am going to take a chance on posting something in French (sort of). I found this in a folder of souvenirs which I keep at the back of my filing cabinet (real not virtual). I probably put it together when I was in France as an au pair in the 1940s. I have found one mistake in the French which I have put right, I hope. Maybe someone will find others.

Societé Nationale des Chemins de Fer Français

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Menu du Jour

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Paté Wagon
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Potage Horaire
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Sole en Voyage
ou
Entrecôte Chef de Gare
ou
Poulet au Guichet
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Bombe à la Consigne
ou
Compôte de Billets
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Fromages Détraqués
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Café gaz-oil
-----

[Service non compris]

I offer this rough translation for those who need it:

Waggon pate
Timetable soup
Sole on a journey
Stationmaster steak
Chicken in the ticket office
Left luggage pudding
Compote of tickets
Cheeses off the rails
Diesel coffee

"Bon apetit!"

Summer angels

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Christmas seems to be the right time to be talking about angels. I was searching the web for 'gliding angels' the other day, because my son Richard, the one who is a street theatre performer, has recently joined a group called Larkin' About, and one of their acts consists of gliding angels. I have never seen my son perform with this group, so I was glad to find a video on YouTube taken in 2005 when they were performing at the Tate Modern. Richard was not with the group at that time, but it gives some idea of how they look.

Here is Richard at the Gateshead Summer Flower Show in 2007. Cute, eh? I've never seen him in lipstick before.

[Picture by Jack Pickard ]

The slideshow

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When I began creating the slideshow, it was intended to be a Christmas greeting to post a bit later on, but the seasonal templates offered by the host company did not work for me, and the Celebration one caught my fancy. Suddenly it struck me: here I was sitting at my computer late in the evening, at the end of a damp, dark, depressing day in November, typical of my birthdays, and wishing it to be over. I had been out briefly to buy some batteries for the microlights on my mini Christmas tree, but that was all. It was not a day for doing things, and that is the sad truth of it.



The night before I had eaten a birthday supper with my son and his family in the village, and another son who was visiting. But the only bright spot in this day had been a brief visit from a friend, who brought me pots of special jam and marmalade which she had made herself. Two of my sons had not remembered at all. Not exactly a celebration in style, I am afraid, but it is a sad fact of life, I fear, that while our generation continues struggling to remember the birthdays of children and grandchildren, they in their turn tend to forget, struggling, as they often have to, to live their own lives.



So why not end the day by turning my slideshow into a birthday one instead, and celebrate my own life? I am so glad I did. The messages I have received here have done much to offset the drearyness of yesterday. And after all, I had a celebration in style last year, for my 80th - I shouldn't be greedy.

[You will find full length pictures of some of the video shots in my post on Dressing Up.]

Today is my 81st birthday ...

... and I am celebrating the many faces of woman - of this one, anyway.

Disgraceful stairlift

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"Have you heard about the new high speed Stanna Stair Lift?

It's guaranteed to get you there before you forget what you went up for. "



A friend heard this on the radio this morning and passed it on to my Growing Old Disgracefully email group. Another member responded with the following animation, suggesting that it is more appropriate to our organisation than the joke on the radio. I have to agree. [It's not new, but it's still funny.]




And here's another chairlift cartoon I am rather fond of. I think it came from The Oldie Magazine originally. If so, I hope they will consider themselves acknowledged hereby.

PLEASE HAVE THE COURTESY NOT TO LEAVE COMMERCIALS FOR VIAGRA AND SIMILAR DRUGS ON MY BLOG - THANKYOU

Movember

Would you want to walk amongst the band of thugs below? Probably not. Nor do I, to be honest, well not in public, although I have to tell you that all three are pictures of my much loved eldest son who lives in Sydney, Australia.















For the past two years he has grown a 'mo' or moustache in November in aid of charity, and thinks to encourage me to donate by sending me these pictures, which have been taken of him by his loving but uncritical son. Of course I have donated - who could resist?!











His younger brother observed that he probably chose this expression in an attempt to look cool.















The charity he supports is The Movember Foundation, which describes itself as follows:

... an Australian based, not for profit, charitable organisation that implements the Movember event each year across the globe. The Movember event creates awareness around men's health issues and raises funds for carefully selected beneficiary partners in each country that are also charitable organisations, with a focus on prostate cancer.

The UK branch supports The Prostate Cancer Charity, and the Australian Branch supports the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia, and also Beyond Blue, the national depression initiative for men. There are also branches in Canada, Ireland, New Zealand, Spain and the United States.

To leave you with a tastier image on your retina, here is a picture of what Matthew really looks like, taken recently by his friend Ray Martin. Ray thinks he looks like Daniel Craig, the latest actor to portray James Bond. Not to me he doesn't, but what mother sees anything but the unique wonderchild she has given birth to.

And here is Peter, who took all the 'Mo' pictures, and who, his proud Dad tells me, has already won a number of school photo competition classes, up against all age groups in the school. Please Peter, wait a few years before you grow a moustache too.

You can watch a Movember promotional video here.

Christmas catalogue shopping

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Do you love anyone - or possibly hate them - enough to buy them one of these for Christmas? The catalogue description reads:



Borat Mankini

Is nice!

Jagshemash! Please to be making sexy time with fully-licensed one piece bathing suit I use to cover my khram in hit movie-film. Make funny ha-ha joke for all occasion. One size fit all even if you like big can of Pepsi. I like, you like. High five!

£8.95








Just in case you are wondering what sort of catalogue I shop from, let me tell you that this one was sent to me unsolicited by Firebox.com, from whom I recently bought a Flip Video. There are also some reasonable toys and gimmicks in it as well, and I may actually buy something from it for my 7-year-old grandson.

As for what this fellow's 'khram' may be, I am none too sure: A ship called the HMS Khram was apparently sunk deliberately off Bamboo Island, Pattaya, Thailand, in 2003, for the purpose of making a man-made reef and underwater conservation park for divers and enthusiasts. Elsewhere on the web I have found a reference to a "Buddiiskii Khram" or Buddhist Temple. That figures, I suppose!


My youngest son who is visiting has just looked over my shoulder and said: "Oh yes, that's Sacha Baron Cohen the actor; he played a character called Borat Sagdiyev". A bit more research and I find from the Internet Movie Database that he actually wore this costume in one of his movies, and there are pictures to prove it. And I had thought it had been digitally superimposed on the photograph for the purposes of the catalogue! I must say it doesn't look very secure - but then I don't suppose the average female bikini top is either. Come to think of it, we don't see the back - maybe the shoulder straps go down the back to a sort of g-string between the legs?

Oh well, back to the mail order catalogues.

Gran's in the van!

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For episodes 1, 2 and 3 read here, here and here.

For the first time this weekend I have been able to try getting into my son's van with the folding stool I sent for some months ago. I was not very optimistic, but - wonder of wonders - it works !!!






















Previously, with only the built-in step of the van to help me, I had found it impossible to make the push up from the ground and the simultaneous twist to get my body on the seat facing forward. But you can see that the top of the stool is level with the van step. This means that with the first step of the stool I can get easily up to the right level . Then, with the stool top and the van step making one level area, there is room for me to turn forward and then slide sideways onto the seat. I did not even feel the need of grab handles to help, though I was glad to have my son standing behind me to catch me if necessary. I also found it advisable to come down backwards.

The stool, which cost about £20, is quite sturdy, although it is necessary to make sure it is properly open at the sides, and will not suddenly fold in again, before getting on to it. It folds up very neatly and being of plastic does not weigh much. It will live in my son's van, so that it is always there when I need it. I shan't mind if he gives somebody else's mum a ride in the van, either.




















I am one happy granny tonight!

Remembrance Sunday

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British people are familiar with sight of the London Cenotaph in Whitehall, the focus of the annual ceremony to remember those who were killed serving their country. For a brief moment yesterday I was watching the ceremony on TV, when suddenly the camera focussed in close on the words engraved on the side, below the stone wreath. If I had been asked, I don't believe I would have known what they were, but now I feel I shall not forget them.







THE GLORIOUS DEAD

What, I ask myself, is 'glorious' about dying on the battlefields, or on the home fronts, of wars which are not of your making or choosing. True, many will distinguish themselves with acts of great courage, but the context of their deaths remains the same.


I hear echoes of British jingoism in the words, chosen by Rudyard Kipling ,a year or two after the end of the 1914-1918 war. I feel that it is time to let go of the notion that such deaths are glorious. The words seem designed to conceal the horrendous and wasteful realities of war - indeed, perhaps they were.

I am not suggesting for a moment that we should not remember and honour those who died. And I suppose that at least as long as there are veterans still surviving of the two great world wars, remembrance ceremonies will continue.

But I can't help thinking to myself that a more appropriate inscription would be:

THE WASTED DEAD

Clothes for dying

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I recently went with friends to an exhibition of photographs with the above title. We were intrigued by the concept of 'clothes for dying', and wanted to find out more. The photographer was Margareta Kern, a young woman from Bosnia-Herzegovina, who now lives and works in London. On a return visit to see her mother, she learns for the first time of the relatively unknown and rather private custom among women of her country, of preparing special clothes in which to be buried. She is so moved and at the same time so curious about practice, that she decides to turn it into a photographic series.

Lisa

She writes very interestingly, in the exhibition catalogue, of her journeys into remote rural areas to interview and photograph older women, with the clothes in which they wish to be buried which they have either bought or made, and of how she had to create an atmosphere of trust for them to pose with their most intimate possessions, but nevertheless felt like something of an intruder. I think the images are incredible. The different expressions on the women's faces alone are a study: dutiful, resigned, smiling, even resentful. They were mounted on enormous frames, so that one felt as though one was inside the rooms. You can see the rest of the series here.

Julka

But my personal slant on this, is to take issue with the author of the Introduction to the Exhibition Catalogue. He writes:

To westerners, the mere idea of an elderly woman creating a suit of clothes - effectively a Sunday best - specifically in which to be buried is almost beyond understanding.

I just do not agree. It has been, if it is not still, a western practice for women to collect a trousseau, or 'bottom drawer' of items in preparation for marriage, and again to collect a layette for a baby. These are happenings of great significance in a woman's life, and death is another of our rites of passage. For me it is a quite logical progression to prepare for death in the same way.

Anka

And nowadays it is becoming commonplace for us to determine how we wish our funerals to be conducted, what sort of coffin we want to buried in, even to choose a gown to wear. It is a short step from there to preparing a gown oneself, and setting it aside. It is not unknown to hear of people who have bought their coffins in advance. I am considering saving my family some hassle by making and paying for a funeral plan in advance. This will certainly involve choosing my coffin, and also choosing the plainest shift, shroud or gown that they can offer. I shall probably choose flowers as well.

A coffin being decorated

Some time ago when in Bishop's Castle in Shropshire, I visited the shop of The Purple Funeral Company, providers of traditional and alternative funerals. They also held workshops where one could decorate one's coffin of choice. I am told that they have gone from there, but they now have premises in Kington, Herefordshire, and Gladestry, just over the border in Wales. Their website is worth a visit, if you are interested in an alternative way of going..

A montage of the coffins on offer in the shop

... and some you win when you thought you had lost!

My radio interview finally went out on this morning's news bulletins. Fortunately I had not been glued to the radio all weekend, as I had not expected them to keep the item over the weekend. I should have had faith. There was an email from the station this morning advising me to start listening again, a courtesy which I appreciate.

Well, there is no more publicity in the pipeline just now, and although things seem rather flat after all the excitement, I am really quite relieved to be able to get back to normal and get on with things which need doing.
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Silver Surfer Awards 2008 - more videos

Everybody was taking videos of everybody at the event, and in the end there were no less than three videos of me, two taken by Gill Adams, Digital Unite's 'information person', as she describes herself, and one by Simbo Ogunyemi, one of the other runners up. I am posting them here for those who are interested. It seems a bit vainglorious, (and they are a bit too much 'in your face' for my taste), but I want to give the event good coverage, because I think it is important. Feel free to skip. And I am still hoping to get my TV interview up here.

Gill's first video ~

Click To Play

Gill's second video ~

Click To Play

Simbo's video ~

Click To Play

The videos were taken with a Flip Video, a handy little gadget the size of a compact camera, which has its own USB connection to download your pictures into your computer, and its own editing software built in. It sells at around £100 at the moment. I have one, but am not very proficient with it yet.

Doom and gloom!

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Oh dear! it's another one of those days. The snow has finally disappeared here in my part of Hertfordshire, but ...


Dark and drear, dark and drear,
Will the sun never reappear?


Murk and muck, murk and muck,
That's the weather with which we're stuck.


Ghastly gloom, ghastly gloom,
Leaves us all with a sense of doom!
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Some you win and .....

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My Silver Surfer Award brought me another interview in addition to the one for TV. This was a phone interview with a local Hertfordshire radio station, and I did it on Wednesday afternoon following the showing of the TV programme, so that was quite an exciting day for me.


Getting wise, I had prepared a prompt sheet for myself, with the answers I wanted to give to the most likely questions I would be asked. That worked well, and I actually got in two mentions of Digital Unite, who organised the awards, and who had not been referred to once in the TV programme, much to their annoyance and mine. I was told that the phone interview would be edited and would be broadcast the following day in one or more of their newscasts, which happened every hour on the hour .


You can imagine how I was glued to my radio all day Thursday, with an audio tape in the slot ready to record. But the day went by until late afternoon, when I received an email saying that my bit would not be done till the next day, as they had had too much local news to fit it in. So Friday was another day's listening to a station I would not normally tune in to; but of course there is nothing so compelling as the possibility of hearing one's own voice. But it was another wasted day, and I am left wondering if they are holding it over the weekend, or if it has got away altogether.


As I sat around waiting for the hourly newscasts, I looked for the website of the radio station, to see if I could find out the time of their last newscast of the day. What I did find was that they had put my story and picture up on their news page, with a link to my blog. So I have got my bit of publicity anyway, even if I don't get to hear my interview.
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Send for the viagra?

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I wrote here about my garden clearance, and how it had revealed a strange plant in my neighbour's garden, which I have since tentatively identified as an echium pininana.















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The weight of the sudden and unexpected snowfall which we experienced last Tuesday seems to have been too much for the poor thing, which now droops it's head in shame or sorrow, or perhaps mere weakness.

















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Another candidate for the blue pill would seem to be this rather sad candle, which has sat too long on the windowsill of my utility room, which catches a good blast of sunshine throughout the days of summer - or the days when the sun does actually shine!

















I am indebted to Lee for the information that Viagra can be helpful in restoring droopy plants.

Portcullis House

Portcullis House, where the Silver Surfer Awards ceremony was held, is the relatively new building on the Parliament Campus where the Members of Parliament have their offices. It is connected to the Houses of Parliament by an underground tunnel. There is plenty about it on the web if you are interested, and this website in particular will give you information about its design.

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From the outside it has no charms for me, particularly the heavy industrial looking 'chimneys' on top, which are in fact part of the ventilation system. You enter through glass revolving doors, and have to pass immediately through the security checks: coats and bags on a conveyor belt through a screening frame, and please stand on the footplate while your photo is taken, and printed on a pass which you must wear round your neck.

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Once inside, however, you are into a vast atrium, cleverly photographed in a panoramic view below by one calling himself 'Murky'. In this area are cafes and restaurants for the use of the MPs, but visitors like ourselves were required to go up the stairs (seen here) to find the waiting areas on a sort of gallery or mezzanine floor, which goes right round the well of the atrium. On this floor there were a number of conference suites, including the Attlee Suite where the ceremony would be held.

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However, we were early, so we walked around the gallery a bit, to look at the brilliant cartoons by Gerald Scarfe, of MPs past and present, which are hung there. The walls were panelled from floor to ceiling, as I remember, with flush fitting doors identical to the panelling, so that it was almost impossible to tell if they opened towards or away from you. Even the loo cubicles were the same, with the result that I thought I was stuck in one for a while, until I realised it opened outwards instead of inwards like most loo doors!

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As you walk around the gallery, on the other side from the panelling, there are only floor to ceiling glass walls between you and the atrium below. This creates an unpleasant sensation if your vision is not perfect. Just as the frameless glass doors at the entrance offer unprotected edges to the unwary walking through them, so these glass walls can induce a feeling of vertigo, and we didn't like them much. I stood close to one, and leaned forward to rest my hand for balance on some of the tubular steel structure which appears to support the building, only to find it was on the other side of the glass. I preferred to sit and wait on the benches against the panelled wall - I felt safer that way.

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Eventually 2 o'clock came round and we made our way into the Attlee Suite, picked up our name badges, and took our seats ready for the proceedings to begin.

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Photography is not allowed on the gallery inside Portcullis House, although it is allowed in the conference rooms. The pictures here are the result of a Google images search. There is a website which will take you on a virtual tour of the inside of Portcullis House, and show you the artworks that are there - that is if you can work out how to use the control - I found that a bit vertiginous too!

My TV interview

Jenny and Hume from BBC2 Working Lunch, who interviewed and filmed me for Wednesday's programme.

Here's something which might work for my readers outside the UK. You will need to work out for yourselves what time 13.30 hours in the UK is going to be where you are. If you can catch the programme, put the following link into your search engine: http://www.bbc.co.uk/bbctwo/ That will take you to a website page with thumbnail pictures of today's programmes along the top. Scroll to the right until you find the picture for "Working Lunch". When the programme starts a little bllack box saying 'ON' should show in the bottom left corner, and you can then click on the thumbnail to watch.

If you miss it, go to the same website page and click on BBC iPlayer in the big box underneath the thumbnails. This lists the programmes that have been recorded in alphabetical order, and you will need to go to page 3. Then scroll down to Working Lunch and click on it, and the recording should be there in front of you. It may take a while, of course, for them to get today's programme up there in the iPlayer.

UPDATE :: I have had two comments from overseas that the BBC programmes are not available outside the UK. Sorry, chaps, and I thought I was being so clever. Nothing else to show you at present. Don't lose hope!

Snow surprise

I went to put my milk basket out for tomorrow, and this was all I could see!

This morning there was brilliant sunshine.

Wednesday - Snow's still there this morning, as dawn breaks.

This is life 'live' - my TV interview

The day after the Silver Surfer awards, I was asked by the BBC if I would be interviewed for BBC2's Working Lunch programme, and they came along yesterday. The following text is what I wrote while the cameraman filmed me typing something into my blog. I saved it and have not edited it since; I am surprised there are not more typos:

"Today I have a team from the BBC2 Working Lunch programme in my house, interviewing me and taking photographs. It is rather nervewracking, but it seems to be going OK. We have done quite a long interview - well it seemed long to me - and now they are taking pictures from all angles doing all sorts of things. I am always nervous when people are watching me, whether it is typing or driving a car or whatever, and I think this is the most difficult part of the whole thing. As those who know me will not need telling, I do not have any difficulty about talking!!!! They will not let me stop typing enough enought!!!

Do not teach your grandmother to suck eggs. Not techedy gramyum eggery suckery. O dear what can the matter be two old ladies got stuck in the lavatory they've been there a month on Saturday, nobody knew they were there."

The cameraman, with his camera almost resting on my shoulder, was particularly delighted with the first lot of exclamation marks. "Ooh! Can you do that again?" he said. "Just delete the last few words and type them again, so I can film the exclamation marks coming up".

Miraculously, my fingers worked more surely than they usually do these days, and did not produce gobbledy-gook. Any appearance of gobbledy-gookiness in the second paragraph of my text is due to my father's sense of humour when repeating old sayings and rhymes to his children.

The BBC team (of two) was here for two hours. The programme, in which my bit will be about one and a half minutes, goes out Wednesday (tomorrow) on BBC2 at 1.30 pm. I hope eventually to have a digital recording of it to put here on my blog.

Saturday Night Fever

The BBC Electric Proms are not something I have ever thought of listening to, because I imagined them to be all electric guitars, and probably too loud for me. But something made me stop and look at the programme for last Wednesday's prom being broadcast from the Roundhouse in Camden, London. It was going to be a programme of Burt Bacharach's music, and more, he would be there playing the piano himself, accompanied by the BBC Concert Orchestra, while various artists covered his songs. I decided to record the programme - (11.20 pm is way past my bedtime these days) - and yesterday, as I tried to recover my cool after the excitement of the Awards, I listened, relaxed and enchanted to 45 minutes of Bacharach.

So, it seemed worth looking to see what else was coming up. Oh my! another nostalgic winner for me. This year is the 30th anniversary of the time when Saturday Night Fever was heading the charts in the UK, and last night's programme included much of the film music, with a personal visit from Robin Gibb of The Bee Gees to sing one of the numbers. I searched through my stash of old vinyls and came up with my treasured double album, which I have just been able to fit onto my scanner.

Now Saturday Night Fever is intimately bound up with a time in my life when I took on a new challenge - namely to learn to dance properly. I have always loved social dancing, but the opportunity did not come up very often, and anyway, my husband didn't do more than kind of hop round the floor in a rather jerky way. So I signed up at a local dance school for lessons in Ballroom and Latin American, and began to work my way through the medals: Bronze, Silver and Gold. Since my husband was not interested in learning, I always had to dance with an instructor, and never got any practice between lessons, but I enjoyed myself and did make progress.

Then John Travolta burst upon the dance scene, and the man who ran the dance school took himself off to London to learn the dances from the film, so that he could teach them in his classes. Now disco dancing was something else again for me. I loved the freedom of moving entirely by myself, and putting all the energy and feeling into it that I wanted to. It was liberation to music, and to achieve that at 50 was quite something! Remember this is 30 years ago, and solo dancing was not universal as it is today. (An added bonus was that the disco dancing strengthened my rather weak knee joints amazingly, an effect which didn't last unfortunately after I stopped dancing.)

I kept it up for about three years, achieving Bronze, Silver and Gold in Ballroom, Latin and Disco, but then my aunt became seriously ill and I no longer had time for it. After she died I had a hysterectomy, and by the time I got over that, which was not soon, I wasn't thinking of dancing any more. But that's the way it goes, isn't it? However, I had developed a love of all kinds of dancing as an art form to watch, and have derived a great deal of pleasure from it over the years. And the music of Saturday Night Fever continues to stir me whenever I hear it.

Oh yes! and my husband was very good at Scottish Country Dancing, and together we worked our way up to Gold Medals for that too.

Silver Surfer of The Year Awards - Pictures & Video

Portcullis House, Westminster, where the ceremony took place

Waiting with my sponsor, Stephen Bell, for the proceedings to begin

Chatting with my MP, The Rt Hon Peter Lilley

Video interview in front of Big Ben

Photographs by Sheila Joynes, and video by Stephen Bell, to both of whom my grateful and loving thanks for all their support and encouragement