The only reason I’m not watching Love Island this year is because I get addicted, so I’d be frustrated to miss it while in hospital for my hip op.
I couldn’t stand not knowing who’s fallen for who and who’s fallen out.
Many people my age disapprove of the show because they can’t stand the skimpy outfits.
I winced at the cheesewire thong bikini bottoms and bras smaller than two Dairylea triangles.
But then I realised I have to accept the way of the modern world.
Let’s not forget how we shocked our parents when we wore tiny miniskirts.
As a teenager, every Tuesday I’d visit my dad’s relatives Great Aunt Edith, who was bedridden, and Aunt Nell who looked after her.
But as I grew, after tea with them on Tuesdays I was off out on dates at the pictures with lads.
My aunts had a big mirror in the parlour and one evening I used it to apply panstick to my face, turn my eyes completely black with kohl, back-comb my hair and slip into a turquoise mini dress on my way to meet a lad. Aunt Nell gasped and told me not to let Edith see me like that as it would kill her.
It did not kill Great Aunt Edith. In fact, later Aunt Nell told me that seeing me get ready each Tuesday became the highlight of Edith’s week because it kept her in touch with the modern world.
So instead of clutching my pearls when I see barely-there dresses and bum-flashing bikinis, I sit back, smile and tell myself we were the trailblazers in shocking the older generation with our fashion.
I’m gonna getcha getcha in trouble
The last time my friend Janet and I were in school, we shared a glance at the start of our maths exam, then burst into giggles and knew that we would both score a big fat zero on our papers.
This week Janet was helping me with my mail (it’s hard work reading my letters with a magnifying glass) and said: “Val, we have to go to Joint School.” Joint School is a special class at hospital for people who are having new knees or hips so we all know what to expect.
As soon as we turned up, the staff got the measure of us.
One nurse peered at me for a while and said: “You look like trouble.”
Janet and I behaved as well as we could manage, despite nudging each other and stifling laughs.
One nurse said: “Our aim is to get you up. One way or another, we have to get you up.” And I couldn’t help it...
I burst into the Blondie song: “One way, or another, we’re gonna getcha getcha getcha getcha.”
Janet nearly choked on her Fox’s Glacier Mint.
She turned around to the elegant lady behind us and said: “Sorry, you’ll have to forgive her.”
But did she join in? Of course she did.
Andy’s set to win at love
Hearing Andy Murray’s voice crack with emotion and seeing his genuine joy as he spotted his beautiful wife Kim and cute kids in the crowd after he won the Nottingham Open made me well up.
He must be one of the most genuine men in tennis. I thought Andy only had two kids and had no idea he has four. He must have fully recovered from his hip op.
Isn’t it funny how even though we live with family members, we still look out for each other above everyone else on the big occasions like that?
When our Robert played football, he always knew where me and his dad Colin were sitting in the crowd and would look over and give us a little wave.
At the start of big matches, when he must have been nervous and focused on football, it meant the world that we popped into his thoughts.
Playing the saint, Louis, just isn’t you
I love the Royal Family more than ever, maybe because the death of our Queen made me realise how special they are.
I lose hours on my iPad watching old clips of Her Majesty through the decades.
But out of all of the clan, little Prince Louis is my runaway favourite.
I’d rarely watched Trooping the Colour in the past but this year I was glued to it, hoping to catch sight of his cheeky chops gurning or sticking his tongue out. When cute Charlotte was prodding him to sit up straight, I was willing him to stand up and start belting out Sweet Caroline, just for the fun of it.
In time, perhaps the adorably wild side of Louis will be trained out of him.
But for now, I hope he will be naughty all the time and carries on thumbing his nose at everyone who says otherwise.
Ex-PM was a liar all along - unbelievable
So it’s official: Boris Johnson lied when he was Prime Minister and would have been suspended from the House of Commons if he hadn’t flounced off in a big huff.
Now he’s started a newspaper column – but who can believe a word of it?
The temperature’s rising and that can mean only one thing: time for a Tena Lady under each boob and one on the forehead.
