How can the people of Britain deal with the fact we’re facing a £300billion borrowing debt? By listening to the over-70s.
We grew up with wartime parents who knew how to stretch their money out.
I always remember the day I got into grammar school and my mum was sent a list of things I needed.
It meant going to a posh shop in town to buy things like a leather satchel, hockey stick and wool uniform.
That night my dad came home from working in the steel works, and Mum said: “Bill, you’re going to have to get
no end of overtime in because our Val needs new things.”
It’s stuck with me all these years because I started feeling guilty for passing the 11-plus, because I knew we couldn’t afford such things.
Times were hard after the war, but I was happy. I had a warm, loving home and a close-knit family of Mum, Dad and Taid – my mum’s dad, who lived with us.
I learned early on that’s all that mattered.
We used to make do and mend. We wasted nothing. Sacrifices were made every day.
If my mum had three lamb chops, there would be one for me, one for Dad and one for Taid – and she’d go without, bless her.
Yet they still saved a little bit of money because they knew they would need it on a rainy day.
I have watched with alarm as young people buy on the never-never and pay-later. They have these silly cards for everything.
I don’t know how they balance everything at the end of the month.
But for me, who was brought up to never even consider anything we couldn’t afford, I only buy something when I can hand over the cash.
The thing is, even though young people need advice, they won’t listen.
When my mum advised me all those years ago, I just thought: “There’s Mum mithering on again.”
I remember bending over to pick up pegs from a basket on the ground near the washing line, and Mum always said: “Be careful Val – you’re doing that all wrong and you’ll suffer later on”.
I thought she was talking soft. And here I am, riddled with arthritis.
I can hear myself talking like Mum to my own boys. She was wiser than I knew.
The sooner we all realise our old mums were right, the better off we’ll all be.
Lockdown is getting harder because we’re running out of chat.
My friend Beryl and I phone each other every day because she’s also on her own and we look out for each other.
We live two doors away and I look out each morning to check her curtains are open so I know she’s up.
If they’re not open by 10.30am, I call her.
Now, when I ask Beryl how she’s feeling, she says: “The same as yesterday”.
For a long while in lockdown we laughed as we made up imaginary day trips.
Beryl would say: “Where’s our taxi taking us today?”, and we’d talk about all the lovely seasides and cafes we’d visit.
But now I say, ‘Don’t be silly Beryl –we’re not going anywhere for ages’.
“Because even if a taxi did pull up outside our houses, we’d be too scared to get in.
We over-70s with underlying health conditions have been locked down longer than anyone.
And now we’ve got a new affliction: FOGO – fear of going out.
So what do we talk about now? We enjoy a nice little moan.
I do dream of going to Marks & Spencer though. My family has been wonderful at making sure I have everything I need.
But I can’t ask my Robert to buy me knickers. He doesn’t understand my knickers.
He’d be off buying me a thong.
And can you imagine me, with my arthritis in my legs, trying to get into a thong?
Even if I could, I’m a big girl and would look like a sumo wrestler.
Cheese-wire pants, that’s what I call thongs. No good to me at all.
I wear Bridget Jones pants – the type that cover my back and keep it warm.
Even I get confused in the underwear department - all this high leg, no VPL nonsense. I want full briefs and that’s the end of it.
My daughters-in-law could probably talk me through buying them online, but I need to see knickers, feel nighties and check every little bit of a dressing gown so I know it’s comfy and will wash.
I have asked a lot of my family lately but I think this would be asking too much.
Rod Stewart says he’s glad people have fallen in love with his music now rather than his sexy image in the 1970s.
He’s right. I became a fan when he sang the big band tunes a few years back.
But him in the 70s, with those silly leopard-print leggings and hair like our Robert’s – well, he looked a sight!
I’m addicted to watching Real Housewives of Cheshire.
I like to see how the women live and how they manage not to get thrown out of restaurants when they act up.
I love spotting the cafes Robbie’s taken me to near his home.
But sometimes when I was there I looked around at the very glammed-up women around Alderley Edge and thought: all fur coat and no knickers.
You are what you are, there’s no point trying to be someone you’re not.
All the lip filler, pouting and boob jobs. I can’t be doing with it.
Robbie’s wife Sarah is nothing like that.
She is pure class. She could wear a bin bag and look fantastic.
Sarah said she just wanted to be a normal wife and mother, so while lots of other wives had nannies for their kids she didn’t agree with it.
I’ve met a lot of footballers’ wives over the years, but not the very famous ones because our Robbie didn’t play for any major teams, bless him.
It doesn’t matter to me what they looked like or what designer clothes they had, just if they were a nice person.
Maybe now the hairdressers and beauty therapists are closed during lockdown we might all realise that’s far more important.
For the last three Sundays on the trot, my neighbour Mia has delivered me a lovely full Sunday roast on a tray, complete with a gravy boat and pudding.
I used to always cook Sunday dinners for my parents, husband and boys.
But now I’m on my own, I can’t be doing with cooking meat, peeling potatoes and steaming sprouts for myself.
Having such a lovely dinner again meant an awful lot to me.
Mia also delivered big slices of Victoria sponge and strawberry mousse.
She could never have known how much I enjoyed it as they were just like my mum used to make.
Lockdown has brought a lot of kindness and community spirit from people, and every single act is appreciated.
I hope, when it’s all over and we return to our busy lives, we don’t forget the lovely deeds that kept us going through lockdown.
