Season's Greetings!!

Have a wonderful Christmas and a very happy New Year!

See you all in 2009!

Lots of love

Joyce and Sylvie xx

PS This is a video of when the lights were switched on in Manchester this year. Argos Alan's brother, B&Q Bob, helped set fireworks off for council, although they don't know he used to be an arsonist, but he did a grand job.

Ho, Sniff, Ho !

Hello flowers, its Sylvie here.

As you know, me and Joyce have been laid up with flu. Hospitals aren’t the healthiest places to work.

We’ve been signed off this week but we’re hoping to be up and about in time for Xmas party this Friday! I’ll be there, even if Clint has to take me in Lil’s wheelchair.

Annabel isn’t very happy us being on t’sick as she’s working with Renee who can’t add up without the help of an abacus from Harry Potter ward. So I dread to think what mess we’ll go back to.

Apparently, Ted and Frank each sent flowers to Joyce and she hasn’t stopped bragging since. She must think she’s one of those lasses from ‘Sex and the City’!

Clint bought me some carnations from garage, but it’s the thought that counts.

Well, I should get back to my bed. Mandy got me a couple of Jackie Collins’ novels from hospital library, so they’ll see me right.

It’s not been the best of weeks, I’ve been thinking too much and I must say, I’ll be glad to see the back end of this year. Clint still wants to go to Spain in New Year and have it out with Doreen but I keep trying to put him off.

I’m a bit worried about him. I can smell pot coming from his room and he plays eerie music, I think he said it’s Pink Floyd. I’m not too old to remember who they are but I also remember we didn’t dance around our handbags to them.

Joyce said he should see her neighbour the counsellor. She thinks that’s the answer to everything. If her neighbour writes a book in years to come, it’ll put ‘Desperate Housewives’ to shame!

Anyway, kettle’s boiled, so I’ll make a hot toddy and get back to bed. If I don’t speak to you before Xmas, have a grand old time and enjoy yourselves.

We’re all going to Joyce’s house and Sidney is cooking! He’s applied to ‘Come Dine With Me’, so your guess is as good as mine how the day will go. I’m sure a feather boa will be involved. Daft apeth.

Argos Alan is joining us as he doesn’t have any family to speak of, love him. They abandoned him after he came out of Strangeways a couple of years back.

We shall wait and see if Frank or Ted appear at the dinner table...

I shall speak to you all in New Year and fill you in on all the gossip. Be good to each other.

Merry Xmas and happy New Year! Enjoy the video from Your Tubes. I thought that daft mare Joyce would like this one.

Love from Sylvie x

Emergency Ward 10

Hello everyone,

I’m afraid me and Sylvie are both laid up with a cold, I ache all over. Sidney says its god’s way of letting you know you’re still alive. He’s no help at all.

Clint is looking after Sylvie at home but I think he’s getting on her nerves. He sits by her bed eating Toblerones and playing Christmas tunes on his Stylophone. She said it’s a relief when he goes to work.

Anyway, I’m not well enough to write this week, so we’ll catch up when one of us is better.

Don’t worry about us; we’ll be up and about in no time. It’s our Christmas party soon, so we need to get ourselves well for that!

Speak to you soon and keep yourselves wrapped up.

God bless, Joyce x

Shop 'til you drop!

Hello there, it’s Sylvie.

Have you been to t’ shops? It’s madness out there, it’s like your life is on sale. There’s nowt that isn’t reduced! I’ve got all my Xmas presents now.

Mind you, I don’t have that many to buy for. I trimmed the fat years ago. I don't even bother with cards anymore, I can't see point.

I went to Trafford Centre and got everything in one day. Joyce was dithering as usual and wanted to stop for a brew every five minutes and then moan about price of tea and cake. I’m surprised she didn’t bring her flask and cake tin and have us sitting on bench with winos. I could have done with a drink after a day of shopping with her!

I’ve bought Clint too much as usual: clothes, trainers (his old ones are rife), pyjamas, soap-on-a-rope and some pop annuals.

Mind you, I have my eye on one of his books for my coffee table. It’s called ‘Halfway to Paradise’ by Alwyn Turner and has gorgeous black and white photos of the British rock and roll stars from my era. Me and Eric went to see them all back then. He'd often treat me to a trip down south to see a performance, it was very glamourous.

I was looking through the book on one of our pit stops at tea shop, and got some whipped cream over Billy Fury but Joyce got it off with one of her wet wipes, so no harm done.

Oh, I had a crush on Billy Fury and that Adam Faith. Such handsome lads and they got all the girls screaming in dance halls. Kids today think they invented sex appeal. But we all had it back then, let me tell you. Except Joyce, of course.

Anyway, I bought Lil and Annabel some Avon perfume but I expect Annabel will turn her nose up at it. Last year, I got Lil some coconut hand cream and she spread it over her crumpets one morning, so I hope she’s okay with cologne and doesn’t pour it into a sherry glass!

I bought Sidney a winter cape for one of his Victorian dolls. He’s a head-case, that one. He has them all sitting on a sofa in his bedroom and changes their outfits each week. I don’t know whether to cry or commit him.

I didn’t know what to get Joyce as she’s so fussy, so I bought her a boxed set of musicals on DVD as Sidney has bought her a DVD player from Argos Alan. I expect I’ll hear about the perils of her trying to use it over Xmas. She still can’t work her video. She needs to get more with-it.

I’ve bought Mandy vouchers for Krazy Kutz in precinct. She can get her roots done and skin sorted. It were either that or a blooming balaclava to cover her up. I sent her details to Phil and Fern for a makeover, but even they won’t touch her!

Clint has bought my outfit for hospital party; it’s from Kendalls department store. It’s gold lamé with rhinestones and a jacket to match. He said I look like one of those country and western singers in Nashville; he’s always paying me compliments, love him.

I need to buy an evening bag but I’ll look on my own this time, Joyce wore her court shoes to Trafford centre and were a right mardi arse by end of day. It takes twice as long going round shops with her limping and moaning, I’d have been quicker wheeling Lil about the place.

It’s a right shame about Woolworths going t’ dogs, is that. As you know, I worked there as a young lass on broken biscuit counter. I had a laugh with the other girls there, I still have our old photo booth pictures somewhere.

We’d wear our big beehives and black eyeliner and cram into booth of a lunchtime. My hair didn’t budge as I’d use a can of hairspray on it. I’d sometimes use sugar water on my fringe and it wouldn’t move for days but it tended go a bit crunchy in drizzle.

I better leave Joyce to tell you about her date with Ted last week (otherwise she’ll get a cob on), but it went better than expected. I bumped into him in Timpsons where he was getting a key cut and he had a definite spring in his step.

I mentioned it to Joyce but she’s playing dumb. So, I may find out what’s happening myself when I read her next blog. She can be a dark horse at times.

Of course, Frank has got himself all worked up as he was edging towards asking her to go t’ hospital party with him. He’s always had a soft spot for her but she doesn’t tolerate him very well. But I think that’s all front. You can sense the chemistry between them when he’s hovering over her macaroons. It’s like sexual ping pong at times.

Frank can be a bit of a bugger lugs and isn’t the sharpest tool in t’ box but he has a good heart and Joyce could do a lot worse for herself.

Molly Chadwick asked me to go on her speed-dating night at Scout hut this evening. I told her to stick it. That hut has a leak and wind blows right through. Bit like the men on her books.

Last time she had a speed-dating night at community centre, the old codgers were so slow on their feet that some were still trying to get up from first table when final whistle blew. They made Bruce Forsyth and Des O’Conner look like The Sex Pistols!

Molly’s bought a new wig since she lost last one in fire. She’s gone for a bright auburn colour; she reckons it gives her a look of Rita Heyworth.

Ha, ha! Rita Fairclough, more like.

Well, my soaps are on tonight, so I better get the tea on before all that kicks off.

Cheerio for now, love from Sylvie x

Wish me luck....

Hello everybody. How have you been?

It’s been trying to snow here, it's a devil of a job trying to heat up the house with all these rising costs. I bought one of those fleece body bags that you can slide into while sitting at home. Bella keeps trying to get in as well but there isn’t much room. But it’s a bit of a bind when you want to spend a penny or put kettle on.

I almost got trapped in it when zipper got caught on wool, I thought I was going to have to hop across to my neighbour the counsellor but I managed to sort it in the end!

Well, it was my turn to have a drama last week, actually it was more of a development.

Remember I told you all about my marriage to Ted? Though, it wasn’t much of a marriage, we just shared our house rather than our lives. Things went downhill between us after we lost our baby Connie. Life was never quite the same again.

Anyway, Ted turned up at t’ hospital last Friday. I could see him hiding behind potted plant by Tilly's florist shop. His trilby hat is always a giveaway. It was like something out of an Inspector Clouseau film. I’m surprised he weren’t pretending to read Gazette with two holes cut out of it!

He knew Sylvie had gone to lunch. I wanted to close up shop when I saw him but Sylvie would have killed me. Then, Dora Crosby came up to counter for her Sherbet Lemons, so I served her and then Ted arrived. We didn’t say anything at first, he just cleared his throat a couple of times (one of his annoying habits) and asked how I was.

I was very civil and said I was fine but busy, he asked if he could take me to lunch as he wanted to talk. I said I wasn’t taking a lunch break because I were leaving early to help charity shop box up clothes for Africa. I feel very proud that someone will be wearing my paisley two-piece in a third world country.

Anyway, Ted invited me to dinner and I felt a bit trapped if I’m honest. So, I agreed to go out with him this evening. It was all very unnerving and I could feel one of my heads coming on for rest of day.

When Sylvie came back from lunch, she said I should stick to my promise and go to dinner as she knew I was thinking of cancelling. She said that he has never cheated on me unlike her Eric and now she’ll never have the chance to tell him how much he hurt her.

So, I’m off out with Ted this evening to hear what he has to say for himself, though that’ll be a first. Sylvie said not to lose my temper but I said I have no intention of doing so; a whisper speaks louder than a shout.

So, dear friends, I shall love you and leave you. I’ll let you know how the evening went but I intend to be in my body bag by 9.30pm with a hot chocolate. I have to hurry as I’ve just got back from work. We’re going to the early sitting at Angus Steak house as I don’t like to eat a heavy meal too late in the evening.

Wish me luck; I’m not looking forward to this at all. I'm as giddy as a kipper, I shall have to take a valium.

God Bless. Joyce xx

Rising from the ashes...

Hello there, Sylvie here.

It’s been one drama after another. I usually lead such an uneventful life! Joyce told you all about the fire, then?

Hells bells! I thought I were a goner. Lester gave me a fireman’s lift, though he’s done his back in carrying folk out.

All I remember is grabbing my coat and bag before falling t’ floor coughing and spluttering. I think I had an out of the body experience because I saw that Percy lying on top of Molly Chadwick in function room and her wig was floating in punch bowl.

Clint rushed up t’ hospital, the poor mite were in tears, Mandy came in wearing her nighty and dressing gown, she looked a right mess. I noticed she was wearing my new slippers, cheeky mare.

Once I was settled on t’ ward, Joyce burst through doors like John Wayne and started fussing with covers and feeling my forehead. She got on my wick but I could see she were worried, so I let her do her Florence Nightingale bit.

Clint and Mandy went home and Joyce stayed on, I kept drifting off and every time I woke up, she was holding my hand and saying a prayer. I’m not a believer in any way, shape or form but it made her feel better, I suppose.

The nurses said she slept on the chair next to my bed, she really didn’t have to stay all night. I were fine apart from my smoky lungs, but that might be down to forty years of smoking Park Drive rather than the fire.

Ethel is in trouble with council for leaving chip pan on stove. She’s gone into hiding but I saw her hanging washing on balcony t’ other day, she pretended she didn’t see me and scuttled indoors with a tea towel over her head. She’ll have to face folk sooner or later and get it over with.

Lester was presented with a replacement guitar at the Gold Rush club after Clint finished Bingo. Ah, Lester were dead chuffed as it were better than the original one he had bought from Argos Alan’s extension sale.

Me and Joyce have our new computers now. I have one with a desk and chair, Joyce has a laptop but it’s very noisy. It sounds like the hairdryers at Krazy Kutz in precinct.

Clint treated me to a hairdo there as the smoke had ruined my colour. I’ve gone for sunflower yellow; Joyce thinks it’s a bit brassy but only because she’s dishwater grey.

Clint is quite good on t’ computer but he has trouble with managing keyboard. Mandy said he’s joined a virtual pub chat room and doesn’t get to bed until early hours as he’s always in a lock-in. She thinks he fancies the barmaid, Raucous Rita. I told her not to worry; he’ll have got himself barred by end of month.

I can order my shopping on t’ internet. Clint wasn’t too impressed when ASDA didn’t deliver his chilli con carne and cauliflower cheese ready-made meals, he were given a couple of tins of kidney beans, a packet of Dairy Lea and a cauliflower instead.

I think he prefers to go round shop with trolley, he gets easily tempted by all the treats but I said he can go with Mandy in future. I’m moving with the times and doing it from my living room.

I went to see Lil at the home yesterday. She wasn’t too impressed with Joyce’s visit and gave me her cake tin with the Bakewell Tart untouched. Lil can be funny with folk she doesn’t know very well. I think she thought I wasn’t coming back and she’d be stuck with Joyce wittering on about musicals each week.

I had to laugh when Lil asked if I were wearing a flame-retardant frock when centre burnt down. Her mind works in very mysterious ways at times. It’s difficult to make head or tail of what she says as she never puts her teeth in. ‘When I’m out they’re in and when I’m in they’re out’, she always says.

It turns out that Demi, her nurse, is related to that lad in polo neck who won jackpot on ‘Deal or No Deal’ recently. Apparently, he won’t answer his phone now. She said she wouldn’t mind but he owes her a tenner.

Money can change folk and before you know it they have a ceramic cheetah in their passage.

I had to collect my Avon money on trolley round this afternoon but most were just coming round from anaesthetic, so I didn’t hover for long. I’ll catch them in morning, they’ll be more with it by then. And Doris Begley still owes me for Lavender balls while two weeks back.

I’m not buying Joyce any more skin care gifts for Christmas, she never uses them. Though, she should. Her skin’s rougher than a badger’s arse. She needs a bit more help than Nivea can offer these days.

Coco Chanel once said that you get the face you deserve at fifty but Joyce has had a tough life when all’s said and done. So I shouldn’t go on.

Well, it was all go on Princess Diana ward today; they had to share birthing pools as delivery rooms were full. Some of the mums were overdue so they sent Frank out last night to Korma Sutra for a Vindaloo take-away and all hell broke loose this morning when their waters broke!

Frank’s keeping his head down as the midwives are on the war path. Why are they still called midwives when men do the job as well? They’d do well to ponder on that one in this age of sexist equality.

Joyce was telling me that her lady vicar from St. Andrews is living with Connie from pound shop and they’re going to have a baby together. Good luck to them, though I wouldn’t go round to their house for a Turkey roast!

Joyce can’t get her head round it. Considering her dad was a homosexual man and her Sidney buys Victorian dolls from Sunday supplements, you’d think she’d be more liberated. She’s not a prude or a phobic but she can be slow on the uptake at times but her heart’s in right place.

Well, did you watch Strictly Dancing at the weekend? I think that John Sargeant will end up in the final if the public have their way! It’s a shame Cherie went out as she flew the flag for us older ladies and I’d kill for legs like that. I’m thinking of getting my veins stripped in the spring.

I think the professional dancers are too fast when they perform their own routines, it’s not normal is that. I get quite giddy with all the spinning and dipping and the fellas have back-sides you could rest a brew on!

Bruce gets on my nerves, he’s a big show-off and his blonde side-kick looks embarrassed most of time. They should get that nice Dale Winton to take over; he’d sort out the mice from the men.

But I do like Len Goodman, he’s a man I could rumba with any day of week.

Anyway, Corrie is on in a minute and it looks like young me lado David is in trouble again. He never learns, does he? He needs a week with Blanche Hunt as that Gayle is too soft on him, and she needs a decent hair colour. That mousy shade isn’t very becoming on a mature woman, you only have to look at Joyce.

Hope you all have a good week and stay warm, its brass monkeys up here.

Cheerio for now. Love from Sylvie xx

Changing Times

Hello everyone.

Well, it doesn’t rain but it pours. The community centre burned down last week! Ethel Compton, who teaches cookery class, left chip pan on while she spent a penny. Her class had left with their muffins but she stayed on to cook her tea.

She’s caused no end of damage but everyone got out okay, though a few folk had to be kept in hospital overnight including Sylvie.

Molly Chadwick was running her speed-dating night and fainted with the smoke, Percy tried to give her the kiss of life but Molly reckons he were just trying it on. Mind you, her wig got left behind in kerfuffle, she were mortified.

Lester was a hero, he got everyone out before fire engines arrived, he was in quite a bad way but is recovering now. Though, he lost his guitar in the fire. We’re having a collection and Ivy’s son, Brian (who thinks he’s Elvis), is going to choose a replacement for him. Lester burnt his deadlocks, so he’s had to have them cut off.

Poor Sylvie, as if she hasn’t had enough to deal with lately. I rushed over t’ hospital after Clint called me last Monday. She had to be put on oxygen but she were more shocked than anything else. Clint took me back to their flat and I packed her personals as she didn’t want him rifling through her drawers and then I came back and sat with her until she nodded off.

Annabel opened up the next day and I came in while 11.00am and checked on Sylvie. She looked much better but her hair stank of smoke and chip fat but I didn’t like to say.

Annabel gave her the rest of the week off, so it was just the two of us which has been a nightmare. She stands and points while munching her way through carrot sticks and pumpkin seeds, she should be in a pen.

The drama group is putting on ‘Cabaret’ and Annabel wants the part of Sally Bowles, but she’s got two left feet and can’t hold a note. She thought I was jealous but I said I have no intention of auditioning for the role as I know my limitations, unlike others.

That madam said ‘You have such low self-esteem. You can be quite the idiot at times’. I didn’t show that she’d upset me, even though she had.

Sylvie made me laugh today when she said how Annabel can’t get off a chair without cracking her knees, let alone dance on one!

When I popped back to Sylvie’s flat to get her overnight things, I noticed that she has a picture of Eric in a heart-shaped frame on her bedside table. She still loves him very much. It’s not that easy to fall out of love with someone, even when they break your heart.

She told me that Eric once said to her ‘Don’t love me too much’. Whatever kind of thing is that to say? Everyone wants to know they’re loved.

But she’s a survivor, like Elizabeth Taylor, only with less jewellery. Sylvie said she can’t bear to look at her bracelet anymore as Eric bought a charm for every wedding anniversary. I do believe he always loved her but he was a very weak and foolish man. I think he would have eventually come to his senses and stayed with Sylvie.

That Doreen Bradley sounds like she trapped Eric with a kiddie and squeezed every penny out of him while Sylvie just got on with it and never complained. She was devoted to her family and took in Eric’s aunt Lil when she first became poorly, even though she had Clint to raise.

She once told me how she stayed in for three years waiting for Prozac to kick in. Sylvie keeps a beautiful home, not a thing out of place. Eric didn’t know when he was well off.

I went with Clint to see Lil last weekend while Sylvie rested. I took her a Bakewell tart and Lil accused me of trying to stab her with a teaspoon, I didn’t know where to put my face. I’ve only met her a few times but she doesn’t seem to like me very much.

Though, she pressed a chocolate coin into my hand as I left and said to buy some sweets for myself. I think her mind is starting to let go a bit now.

Lil's a good few summers past sixty and not in the best of health. She kept calling Clint ‘Eric’ and scalded him about Doreen which didn't go down too well, but he managed to hold it together. I thought he drove home a bit too quickly for my liking but I said nowt.

Well, this cold snap is kicking in but I can't afford to have heating on all the time, so me and Bella go to bed at 8.00pm and watch TV. Poor Queenie Grayson from flats died of hyperthermia last week. Winter can be cruel on the old folk.

Mind you, she'd been shop-lifting at Lidl and had two frozen legs of lamb under her anorak. By the time the number 45 came along she were frozen rigid. That bus service is getting worse.

I bumped into my neighbour the counsellor last week, she was going to work in blue jeans and pumps. She explained it was casual Friday!

Whatever next? I don't care how casual Friday becomes, you won't catch me going to work in my housecoat and espadrilles. I blame that Germaine Greer. Woman's libber? It wouldn't hurt for her to put a comb through her hair every so often.

Anyway, Sidney's still hovering over his laptop, I'm at his bungalow typing this blog but he wants to get back to his project. He's compiling a list of music hall performers from the North of England. He's very thorough when he gets stuck into something.

But the sooner Argos Alan can get the computers, the better, as Sidney's not very good at sharing things. Lester said he'll continue to teach us at our homes. He's a good lad. He's been wearing a tee-shirt with 'Barack To The Future' written across the front!

I think Mr Obama will make a grand president because he has a very stylish wife. She's like Jackie Kennedy whose handbag always matched her shoes. That's very important when you're standing next to your husband in front of the nation.

It was forks to the left and politics to the right in our house. Ted thought Margaret Thatcher was a very handsome woman in her day; he’d look at me and snap ‘I bet she doesn’t stuff used tissues up her cardigan sleeve’. He could be very cutting at times.

Hopefully, we’ll be up and running on our own computers soon, so Sylvie will be with you next Monday with her week’s news.

Keep wrapped up.

God bless, Joyce xx

Moving on...

Hello, it’s Sylvie here.

Time seems to be flying past us. I’ve normally got my Christmas presents wrapped by now but I haven’t even made a start on the shopping. Clint’s usually sneaking around my bedroom looking in cupboards or under my bed at this time of year!

As you know, my head has been all over shop but me and Joyce are going to Trafford Centre on Saturday, so we should get it all done then. Though, if Joyce had her way, we’d be shopping at Help The Aged in precinct.

I saw that picture she put up of Bob Marley on her blog. She’s a daft apeth, even I know that’s not a roll up. I once found pot in Clint’s room a few year ago, he had those joint cigarettes rolled up in his sock drawer, I lit one and lay on his bed to see what it did.

I put on his Hi-Fi headphones and nodded off until ‘Crazy Horses’ blasted my blooming eardrums and then I burnt a hole in his Baywatch duvet. I put everything back and said nowt but now I know what he’s up to whenever I smell Fabreze on the landing and hear The Osmonds behind closed doors.

When I told Joyce what I’d done, she gave me one of her lectures and said I’ll be in a coffee bar banging bongos before long. I sometimes wonder if I slip into a time warp when I talk to her.

Well, there was a turn up for the book when Ted arrived at the hospital shop. Joyce got stuck under sink while she were hiding from him. She should talk to him but she’s as stubborn as a mule that one. ‘I want closure’, she said. I think she’s been watching too much Jeremy Kyle.

She got quite upset afterwards and I did feel sorry for her. She were all sixes and sevens and her nose was dripping like a tap, so I let her open a packet of Kleenex instead of the cheap ones. She livened up a bit after she had a cup-a-soup and a Viennese Whirl.

Joyce used to envy the way I loved Eric, she said that she never had butterflies with Ted, it were two months into their marriage before he untied her pussy bow.

Me and Eric were never shy in that department, which is what makes everything all the more upsetting. He didn’t want for anything with me, but he still wanted more with someone else.

I know he loved me. He just wasn’t in love with me anymore. Joyce reckons to be ‘in love’ and ‘loving someone’ are two different things. When you love somebody you want to be a part of their life, but when you're in love, you want the other person to be a part of your life.

She does talk a load of mumbo jumbo at times.

All I know, when I’m awake in the small hours, is that I want to feel something other than this.

Clint won’t discuss his dad, it’s like he never existed. Argos Alan said Clint broke his Casio keyboard from banging it so hard in his extension. That’s not like my son at all, He’s so gentle, though he does have big fat hands. Ivy’s are about same size at the moment.

It’s been a busy day at work, always is after weekend. Mainly DIY injuries or a weekend on the ale takes its toll. Young Kelly McIntyre came in for her ante-natal. Her nan normally comes with but she’d had a flare-up and had to sit on her inflatable ring at home.

Kelly showed me and Joyce her scan photo. I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. They all like potato heads to me. I never know what it is you’re supposed to say, ‘Oh, she has her mother’s eye sockets’.

She said it’s a girl and she plans to call her Destiny. Mind, she’s only fifteen, so I expect she’ll change it when she gets older. I remember when Kelly was a toddler, she’d always break the legs off her dolls. I hope she fares better with the bairn.

Kelly said she’s feeling run down now she’s six moths gone and that she’ll have to stop clubbing soon. Whenever I felt run-down during my pregnancy, I’d put my feet up, have a fag and a Babycham. It worked a treat.

Joyce gets on her moral high horse, as she always does. I don’t know what gets her goat more, Kelly’s tattoos or her being up the duff. She said kids are in too much of a hurry to grow up these days and she blames MFI. It took me a while to realise she meant MTV, dozy mare.

I said to her that nowt’s changed from when I were a young lass, kids today think they invented sex. Though, we had to learn the hard way. There were no do-gooders in dungarees, just back-street abortionists in curlers and a pinny. You had a couple of days in bed, went back to work and kept it buttoned.

I must tell you about Molly Chadwick, you’ll laugh at this,

Ey up, the fire alarm’s gone off. Ethel from cookery class has run in waving her arms about like a demented chimpanzee and screaming for us to scarper. What’s to do?

By heck, there’s thick smoke everywhere! Oh hell.

Stormy weather

Hello everybody.

Well, it’s been testing times as you’ve probably gathered but Sylvie’s weathering the storm and as much as she pushes me away at times, I’m watching over her and Clint. I took a Swiss Roll to his DJ booth today and I could see he’d been crying, he said The Carpenters always gets to him but I said nowt and took his empty plates and closed the door.

Sylvie has her good and bad days. On a good day, its like nothing has happened and she talks about Eric as if he were a saint. I don’t know what to make of her at times. On a bad day, I can’t do right for doing wrong but I put up and shut up. My neighbour the counsellor said that it’s like bereavement and she has to go through different stages.

Sylvie was in a foul mood this morning. She called me disrespectful and contemptible. I said ‘Don’t think I can’t read in-between those lines’. But I let it wash over me.

She occasionally takes my hand when things get really bad and she came over for her tea last week. Sidney laid on a nice gammon steak with pineapple rings, Green Giant sweetcorn and baby potatoes. He likes to add a bit of glamour to the plate, so he put a sprig of parsley on top. He’s artistic like that. I made a sherry trifle for afters, as a special treat.

Sidney’s applied to the ‘Come Dine With Me’ show on Channel 4. He wins £1000 if he gets the highest score at end of week, which I’m sure he would with his flair for home entertainment.

I had a visitor to the hospital shop t’ other day. Ted came in while I was putting a brew on! I almost died and hid under sink out back. Sylvie had been doing the TV Quick crossword (though, she really should pay for the magazine first) and hadn’t seen him.

I heard her shouting out ‘Ten across, victorious landlady of the east’ and I was trying to whisper ‘Peggy Mitchell’ so Ted couldn’t hear, and then she looked up and saw him stood at counter in his car coat and trilby hat.

He’d brought that Valerie Ashcroft into A&E, she’d had a run in with trouser press. He said he’d heard Sylvie’s bad news and offered his sympathies. What a hypocrite! After the way he treated me for years. I could tell he was winning her round; she gave him a Turkish Delight and a bottle of pop for nowt.

He asked after me but she said it was my day off and then he spotted my coat hanging up on door and skulked away. Sylvie said she felt sorry for him and that he’s lost a lot of weight.

He’s good at that puppy dog look, I told her not to be taken in. She said that he’s definitely not going with that Valerie as she’s always in Gold Rush club with every Tom, Dick and Harry but never with Ted. There are names for women like her. Sylvie will tell you.

I must confess to getting a bit teary after he left hospital foyer. Sylvie helped me out from under sink as I had a dead leg. It was her turn to look after me that afternoon but it took her mind off things. We’re a right pair!

I know she thinks I should meet up with Ted and talk but it’s very difficult. He’s still my husband and always will be but there’s too much water under bridge and we have nothing to say to one another. I don’t think we ever did.

He popped back home to see me a few weeks after he left to pick up the rest of his things and he said ‘I don’t want you to think you’re worthless’. ‘I never did’, I said and closed the door on our marriage.

Still, I’m not short of admirers. Wally Atkins from drama group complimented me on my pearl necklace t’ other day and Frank the security man is still trying to woo me, though I don’t see that as owt to boast about. His uniform has a right shine to it. I told him to stop ironing it, Mandy could put it through steam cleaner in laundry.

He tried to run after some kids who were stealing carnations from Tilly’s buckets. He couldn’t give chase though, not with his hip. Calls himself security? He couldn’t knock skin of a rice pudding.

Oh, and I was flashed at by a geriatric in a dressing gown last Wednesday, he came down just as I was closing shutters, so I refused to serve him. Where was Frank? Having a crafty roll up outside, that’s where. He shouldn’t be smoking, not with his asthma.

You’ll be pleased to know that Ivy has been discharged from hospital though she still has lumpy hands. She’s staying with her son Brian and his wife. He’s an Elvis impersonator and plumber. He wears a white cape with his overalls and big gold sunglasses. He can’t see a thing through them. He nearly flooded my kitchen in the summer but he eventually took them off to sort out my blockage.

As I said to Sidney, he’s as mad as a dog in a bungalow, that one.

Sylvie cheered up at lunchtime when Doctor Forbes bought a packet of Revels. He offered one to Sylvie but she said she was happy with her fat-free yoghurt and banana. What a fibber! I pointed out she had Chocolate Egg all down her cardigan. She didn’t talk to me after that, except when I asked if my teeth were red after sucking on a Fisherman’s Friend. ‘No, you’re alright’, she sniped, ‘They’re still yellow’. She can be very hurtful at times.

Lester has been teaching us how to spread sheets this evening. I must say, it looks very confusing. Sylvie won’t get the hang of this at all. He also taught us how to save pictures on computer and then make changes to them in the photo shop. Sidney will enjoy that. He has a laptop and keeps all kinds of things on there, though he doesn’t really like me to use it.

Argos Alan is going to get me and Sylvie our own computers after this course finishes. He said he’ll set us both up with an email account, I think it’s with ‘Cooee!’ I can’t really remember. It had a daft name whichever way you look at it.

Well, I better go as Lester is in a hurry to finish up, he’s playing in a Bob Marley tribute evening at the Gold Rush club, after Clint finishes up the Bingo. Lester played us one of Mr Marley’s tunes during tea-break. It was very catchy and I caught Dolly Hargreaves tapping her moon boot.

I looked up Bob Marley on t’ internet and thought I’d post his picture. Mind you, I can’t say I’m surprised the poor chap died young. Look at the size of his roll up!



I think I’ll tell Frank and see if it puts him off.

Speak again soon.

God bless, Joyce x

Wasted love

Hello there.

I wasn’t sure if I were going to come to class this evening as it’s been one hell of a week, the worst of my life.

I had to go to Scarborough last Monday to see Don about an insurance policy that I didn’t know existed. It turns out there were a mix up at t’ office.

As I walked in and saw Don’s face, I wondered what on earth had happened. I knew it were bad news as he got out a bottle of brandy from top filing drawer and two glasses which needed a good wipe, but I said nowt.

He told me the payout was for S.E Shuttleworth, which is my name, so now you know. Turns out it were for a Samuel Eric who’s coming up to his 18th birthday.

Samuel is Eric’s love-child.

Eric had been living a double life since 1988 with that Doreen Bradley after her husband got mowed down by a bus for the disabled in town centre.

Don said he knew about the affair and made it clear that he didn’t approve. He couldn’t do anything to make him see sense. He said Eric always loved me and Clint…but he would say that, wouldn’t he?

I feel like my insides have been put through wringer, Eric always said he didn’t want any more kids, even though I was desperate for a little girl. All along, he were planning a family with that cheap Jezebel. And to rub salt into wound, Samuel is his father’s name.

Apparently, just before Eric passed away, he and that woman bought an apartment in Spain where she now lives with her son. That’s why Eric kept popping over on his own, to buy a property for them. He had no intention of me and our Clint moving out there.

I asked Don if Eric were planning to retire with them in Spain but he wouldn’t answer, he just stared at the bottom of his glass. That answered my question more than any words could.

My whole world has fallen apart, I did everything for that man. I never thought he would be the one to hurt me like this.

I went to see Lil at the home and as soon as she saw my face, she knew. She said she had suspected for some time but hoped she were wrong. She said sometimes folk lose their way while trying to protect those they love. She’s fading into her own sunset but still has her marbles.

But it doesn’t wash with me. Eric was a selfish man who wanted it all and what really gets my goat is that he never showed much affection towards our Clint, he was probably too busy playing footie with his other son. If he were still alive, I’d kill him for what he’s done to our family.

I told Clint what had happened and he locked himself in his room and blasted out his Slade records. I usually tell him off for that as Noddy’s voice grates on me but I let it go on this occasion.

I’ve tried to think of all the signs and, if I’m honest, I had my suspicions that Eric were up to no good but nothing like this. I still can’t believe he was capable of such deception.

He would always disappear each Christmas day, and one time Clint was walking back from garage shop (he likes those pepperoni sticks), and saw Eric in t’ phone box, he said he were leaning on door and crying. I said he had probably decided to call his Aunt Lil and got emotional, but I thought it were odd at time as we have two phones in the flat.

I don’t understand what he saw in that Doreen, she were lathered in make up and had a hump on her back. There were nowt about her that I could see.

When I think back to the times I visited him in Scarborough, he must have been with her. I never met the kiddie as Eric stopped me from visiting. He said it would be a wasted journey if he had to go off on an emergency call.

He were a bloody insurance rep not a fireman.

But I did as I were told and let him get on with his work. I feel I’ve lost him all over again, he were the love of my life but I wasn’t his.

We used to sit at home and play records in t’ evening. We’d snuggle up on settee while he’d kick off his slippers and put his feet up on pouffe. He’d kiss the top of my head and say ‘You think life is the way Frank Sinatra sings’, that always made me laugh. I thought no man could ever love me the way my Eric did.

You see, I gave my life to him, that were my mistake. I never kept anything back for myself. It took me a few years to get on with things after he died. And the hospital shop were the saving of me, that and my darling son.

Molly Chadwick once said to me ‘You can’t turn back the clock but you can wind it up again’. I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to do it all over again.

I haven’t been back to Eric’s grave as yet. I normally go of a Sunday before I visit Lil at the home. His tombstone has the inscription ‘A heart that loves is always young’. He’d written that inside the first Valentine card he ever sent me. I feel like going up there with a can of spray paint and spraying ‘Liar!’ all over it.

I stayed with Joyce last Friday night as Mandy was over at ours and I couldn’t face her mithering. We had a long chat into the night and got a bit tipsy as we listened to Andy Williams and mulled over our pasts.

I know Joyce still loves her Ted but you’ll not get her to admit it. She’s much stronger than me. I’m all front, she’s probably the only one who really knows that.

After a few glasses of Asti, we had a dance in her front room but she kept trying to lead. We must have looked a right pair of gobbins.

Joyce said I should see her neighbour the counsellor. I don’t see point, I can only feel what I’m going to feel, she can’t change that. Besides, I don’t want to discuss my private life with a stranger in a jumpsuit.

Clint bought me roses to cheer me up, he’s such a thoughtful lad and clearly doesn’t take after his dad. I need to concentrate on him as he doesn’t talk about his feelings and bottles them up which brings on his hives.

He wants to go over to Spain and have it out with that tart but I said that won’t achieve anything right now and I don’t want him arguing with the young lad, it’s not his fault.

Clint used to get picked on quite a bit a school and Eric once said that he fights like he hasn’t got a brother - only he does have one. How could he be so cruel? But I’ll bide my time and then Doreen had better watch out. I’ll flatten that bloody hump of hers, so help me.

Thank you for listening, I’m not sure who’s out there but it helps to write it down. Clint just sent me a text, he’s outside with Argos Alan and they’re taking me to Gold Rush club. I have to face folk sooner or later but I just want to hide away and never be found.

I’ll leave you with a video of a song that Eric used to play when he was on t’ road, he said it reminded him of me. He’s gone and spoilt everything now, including my memories. They were all I had left of us.

Oh heck, whatever am I going to do?

Joyce will be with you next time. She covered my shifts all last week. Annabel came in to help and colour co-ordinated all the sweets.

Joyce reckons she must have that impulsive disorder.

Speak again soon.

Cheerio for now. Love from Sylvie xx

Panic stations!!

Hello everybody.

Did you have a good weekend? I bought some new toys for Bella, she’s off her medication now and whizzes around the house on her three legs, love her. She won’t go near bay window now, not after the pigeon incident.

It’s been a busy day at the hospital shop, I’ve been rushed off my feet since 8.30 am, you lose the morning, you lose the day. Sylvie had an appointment with her insurance broker late-afternoon, so she decided to take the day off and get her roots done while she’s in town.

Her broker is Don Clarkson, an old colleague of Eric’s. Apparently, a new policy has popped up out of the blue. She’s been making plans all weekend for a spending spree. Eric is still full of surprises, it seems.

Sidney offered to go with her as she doesn’t really understand legal matters and Clint’s not very bright with figures, but she said she’s quite happy to go alone as she might have a drink with Don and his wife afterwards.

I always looked after the finances in our house, Ted was never very good with accounts, unless he was at the betting shop, of course. He had no problem with sums there.

It’ll be nice for Sylvie to catch up with old friends. Me and Ted didn’t really have a circle of friends, more like acquaintances. Sometimes we’d all meet up for a drink on a Saturday night and the wives would sit together while the men stood at bar and sent drinks over. There wasn’t much conversation to be had.

I’m not much of a drinker; just the occasional sparkling wine with Sunday lunch or a small gin and tonic with a slice of lemon while me and Sidney watch Emmerdale. Sylvie likes Malibu and coke, I don’t know how she can drink that all night, it tastes like bubble gum.

Argos Alan gave me and Sylvie a mobile camera phone last week, Clint was worried about us being out in the dark. We have to pay as we phone. I’ve got pink and Sylvie’s got red. Sylvie keeps taking pictures of my behind when I’m bending down to get carrier bags for customers. She thinks she’s funny but she’s just being daft.

She has problems with the key pad because of her long nails. Between me and you, they’re stick-on ones but I’m not supposed to say. She was pretending to file them in front of Annabel Pemberton and one landed in my cup-a-soup, I wasn’t best pleased.

Clint has fixed Sylvie’s phone to play ‘New York!, New York!’ and mine to play ‘Greensleeves’. But I was in Superdrug and Sidney called to add a concealer to our shopping list and I heard someone shout ‘Smack My Bitch Up’ (pardon my French) from my handbag, I didn’t know where to put my face and I couldn’t turn the thing off. I daren’t go back in there now.

Lulu Mason, her with hairy mole who works on prescriptions, couldn’t stop laughing. I wanted the floor to swallow me up.

Sidney has managed to change it to a normal ringtone now. Clint said Argos Alan must have down-sized the wrong song from his computer!

Sylvie mentioned that she wants to go and see a psychic, she can’t find her marriage certificate and thought Eric might give her a nudge in right direction.

I saw Doris Stokes’ psychic show at Gracie Fields Theatre years ago, she pointed at me and said she had a poodle pulling at her hem but it was meant for Molly Chadwick in next row. I’d hoped mother or father would pop by to say hello but they never did.

Gladys Alcock from chippy reckons she’s a clairvoyant. I went over to her flat and it took days to get the reek of haddock out of my poncho. She lit a cigar, dribbled a bit and said her channels were blocked! She’s no more psychic than a pickled egg. Sidney said to make sure I get extra mushy peas next time she serves us.

If Sylvie gets a payout, she’s planning to buy a new outfit from Kendals for staff Christmas party. It’s gold satin with a sequin collar and a jacket to match. It doesn’t sound like my cup of tea but it’ll suit Sylvie, she likes a bit of razzle dazzle.

I tend to go for classic clothes, I have what Woman’s Own call a ‘capsule wardrobe’ but I miss C&A. I could find everything I wanted in there and didn’t have to traipse around precinct just to find the right cardigan.

But I have my moments and wore a fetching lilac frock to hospital barbecue this year with a white shawl like they’re all wearing these days.

I don’t think Sylvie liked the fact I was getting compliments as she’d worn her new Pistachio pants suit, but Clint squirted ketchup all over her jacket while he was shaking squeezy bottle by hot dog stand.

Frank, our security man, was quite taken with me that day and hasn’t stopped pestering me since. He’s harmless enough but a bit coarse for my liking. He was hanging around the shop last Friday and I gave him a cream horn but he was dripping all over my Bon Bons. I gave him a right mouthful, I can tell you.

Excuse me for a moment, I can hear shouting from my handbag. Oh dear, it’s the bitch again! Sidney couldn’t have changed the tune properly!

That was Sylvie, she’s all at sixes and sevens and is on her way over. Whatever can it be? She said she needs to talk to me. I hope I haven’t left the shop unlocked! I’m sure I put padlock on shutters. Tilly from florists is always last to leave foyer, she would have noticed and Frank works late.

I’m worried now, she was really upset. I don’t like the sound of this at all. Sylvie can have a temper on her at times. I fell off the stool last week, when I was putting box of Hula Hoops on top shelf out back, and she had a right go at me and said I should use step ladder in future.

She can’t do it, you see. She has vertebrae.

Lester said she’s waiting in taxi outside, I’d better dash, he says she has a face like thunder on her.

Sylvie will be on next week, as long as she’s not in prison for throttling me.

I used to enjoy watching ‘Within these Walls’, do you remember that? What was her name, who ran the prison? Boogie Withers or something like that. Sidney preferred ‘Prisoner Cell Block H’ but the women were a bit rough for my liking, they were more hygienic in Boogie’s prison.

Listen to me going on, Sylvie’s shouting at me from taxi. Oh dear, she can have a potty mouth on her at times.

I better go, wish me luck.

God bless, Joyce xx

Photographs and memories

Hello there. It’s Sylvie.

I expect you’re all wondering how things are going with Percy. Well, they’re not. He’s got sewn-up pockets, I can tell you that for nowt.

He took me to El Rancho at weekend and filled his face (he weren’t bothered that I can’t eat chillies, not with my insides) and he didn’t leave a tip for the young lad in a sombrero. I were that embarrassed, I pretended I needed to spend a penny and went back in and gave him a few quid.

Besides, we’re like chalk and cheese. Percy never goes abroad, he says he can’t see point. He has his old motor home which he drives up to to Lake District for a week each summer. He probably sits in there and counts his blooming matchboxes.

I enjoy my fortnight in Feungirola with my Clint, though Mandy’s tagged along for past couple of years. She covers herself in pink lotion and wears kaftans and big hats, she looks like a bag lady. I asked her why she bothers coming and she said she doesn’t trust Clint with all those half-naked girls around. She said it’s his animal magnetism that attracts them. She’s as daft as a brush, that one.

I try to bond with her but its hard work. I think she’s even jealous of me at times. Me and Clint watched Fatal Attraction t’ other night and I warned him to think on if he’s so much as looks at anyone else with Mandy watching his every move. He slept with his light on that night.

What else can I tell you? I went to see my Auntie Lil at the home yesterday. Well, she were Eric’s Auntie but we became very close when she moved in with us after she became immobile. She were good company while Eric worked away. I’d put Clint to bed and then we’d crack open the pink gin and sing along to Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra on record player.

I’d end up going to bed half-cut but we had a right laugh and it took her mind off her paralysis.

But it was hard work having both her and a toddler to cope with. I’d spoon-feed Clint at one end of table and Lil at t’ other. I had a perm for 3 years.

It got easier when Clint started nursery school but it were a struggle in mornings when he’d cling onto Lil’s wheelchair and scream his little head off.

We’d go and collect him at home-time and while other kids ran around playground, he’d be inside Wendy house cooking a pretend fry-up. We knew he was special, even back then.

He still thinks that if he wakes up fast enough, he’ll catch himself sleeping. He’s deep like that.

Lil had to go into a home after Clint accidently let go of her wheelchair down a ramp and she toppled into a skip. Luckily, Eric had sorted out an insurance policy which mostly takes care of her expenses but it’s a dear do. I sometimes chip in where I can and Joyce does a bit of fund-raising, bless her.

Lil’s in her nineties now. Two strokes, diabetic coma and tinnitus but she’s still in there with the best of them. Sometimes she thinks she’s Mrs Bridges from ‘Upstairs, Downstairs’ and calls out for Mr Hudson. We just go along with it, she’s not harming folk.

Clint entertains at the home’s parties. He usually strums guitar or plays Stylophone. Mandy sometimes plays spoons but she’s not very good, they usually go flying off in opposite directions. One hit Alfie Cartwright on the head last year and he had to have a lie-down in medical room.

Clint and Argos Alan took their DJ equipment down there last Christmas but the strobe lighting caused a couple of epileptic fits, though everyone else had a good time and they taught the residents how to Moonwalk, Clint said it were like ‘Cocoon’.

Just as we were leaving yesterday, Lil took out an envelope from her sponge bag and gave it to Mandy and said it were a little summit for their wedding. They opened it up when we got back to van and it were full of Monopoly money but they laughed once penny had dropped.

I went to see Ivy who’s still laid up with scabby hands, but at least the mittens are off. I were telling her about that tight wad Percy when she started to go all red in t’ face and I realised she were choking on a pear drop.

I’ve just done a First Aid course, so I gave her the Heimlich manoeuvre and the sweet shot out of Ivy’s gob and landed on Doctor Singh’s turban. I laughed my head off but Ivy were mortified!

Ivy was telling me that her sister Betty has just been sacked from Lilley & Skinner. Betty used to work at medical centre for donkey’s years as receptionist but she started to diagnose folk from her old medical book.

She frightened half the patients into thinking they had polio and she told Nobby Clarke he needed an iron lung! I saw his Irene, she were in bits.

She only got found out after Doctor Fairley bumped into Elsie Warburton buying a crate of oranges for her scurvy.

Betty got a job in shoe shop but she diagnosed two veruccas and a club foot in her first week, so she got her cards. It’s a shame when folk have to work to top up their pension, she’s clearly addled.

I see that Joyce has been banging on about Annabel Pemberton at drama group. Annabel is as much use as a chocolate teapot. She can’t even manage her lip liner let alone a bunch of hospital shops. She said we’re getting a techno till and a uniform. Me and Joyce said we’ll wear top hat and tails if we have to, but we’re still wearing us slippers.

Annabel wants to get all her staff together for a team building trip, but if she thinks I’m walking across Pennines with a compass and back-pack, she’s very much mistaken. She’s told me to contact all her branches and ask when staff are free for weekend away. Paddle your own canoe, I thought.

Did I mention it were just my wedding anniversary? It was a bit upsetting but I went over to Joyce’s house and Sidney made us a nice tea. I didn’t really want to go over there but they insisted. Then I had to put up with them singing at piano.

Crackpot Joyce tried to hit top note at end of ‘Evergreen’. Barbra Streisand’s got nowt to worry about.

I left at 9.30pm before they sang the whole back catalogue of Rogers and Hammerstein, and I went to bed and looked through my wedding album.

Oh, we were so young, so full of love and hope. Eric always pushed himself to be the best at everything, he’d say ‘Stick with me and I’ll have you farting through silk’.

Percy’s idea of romance was opening a can of beer away from my face.

I wished Eric had been at home more but I knew he was working hard to give me and Clint a better life. The separations were hard but he always phoned when he was on t’ road and sent postcards and flowers. He were thoughtful like that and treated me like a queen.

I’d get butterflies just waiting for him to put key in door. The flat came alive whenever he were there, it became a home.

We’d sometimes talk about what the other would do when one of us passed away. I once asked if he’d prefer a funeral or cremation and he winked and said ‘Surprise me!’. He could always make me laugh, even about his death.

I decided to go with a burial for him, you don’t know who you’re getting with urns. I often visit his grave and talk to him. I said to him t’ other day, it’s my turn to buy the flowers now.

I went up there on our anniversary and left a card for him and a miniature whiskey, he liked his tipple. Clint said a wino will probably take that. ‘Good luck to them’, I said, ‘they can have a drink on Eric’. He always stood a round, not like Percy.

Clint was never that close to his dad, if truth be told. Sometimes he feels Eric’s presence in the flat. He says he’s more aware of him now that he’s dead, funny that.

I never thought Eric would look twice at me. Who’d have thought a Parker pen would have changed my life? He had the pick of lasses but he chose me, I felt so proud on his arm.

I recently watched ‘When Harry met Sally’, and there was a line about going for the person you want to be with before someone else grabs them and then you’ll spend the rest of your life knowing that another woman is married to your husband.

I’d have hated to think of another woman living out my dreams with Eric. A love like that only comes along once in a lifetime, and you never stop feeling that way, even after they’ve gone. I’ve had my share of fellas but when I met my Eric, it all fell into place and I knew that he was the one.

Listen to me, I sound like one of Joyce’s Mills & Boon books!

Anyway, I’ve been keeping up with Strictly Ballroom Dancing. That Bruce Forsyth needs to call it a day, if you’re asking me. He doesn’t look all there half the time. Folk in Lil’s home have more about them.

My two homosexual neighbours are big fans of the show. What were it they said? ‘It’s as camp as a diamanté cake stand’. One of them wears a kimono, you have to laugh.

They said that ‘Supermarket Sweep’ is coming back. My Clint said he’ll apply to that. I told Mandy to just dangle a kebab in front of him and he’ll be round those aisles like a whippet on heat.

He’s debating whether to get a tattoo. He drew one on himself with a magic marker and it won’t come off. Daft bugger copied it from the take out menu from Jade Garden, so he’s now got a side-order for deep-fried prawns up his arm.

Well, Lester is waiting to show me how to post my chosen video onto blog. And as I’ve been talking about Eric, I’ve chosen a song by Peggy Lee which I always sang to him at karaoke, I still do.

He used to say I sounded like her but that was when I smoked twenty Park Drive a day. Joyce badgered me into giving up last year. She’d whip out her Airwick whenever I came back after a fag break.

Anyway, last time I sang this song, it was at Gold Rush club but it didn’t feel the same without Eric there. Sidney was waving his feather boa about after a few port and lemons. The daft apath.

Cheerio for now, Love from Sylvie xx

Joyce's week

Hello everyone, how have you been?

It’s spitting outside but I hope it comes to nowt. I had to throw my brolly away after it broke this morning, I nearly had a lollipop lady’s eye out with it. And these nights are starting to draw in, I have to use a mini torch to find my keyhole.

Argos Alan said he can get me a security light. I offered to pay but he said he gets things free from his store, so that’s good of them. He’s holding an Elizabeth Duke jewellery sale from his extension next Sunday.

Oh, I’ve had a terrible time this past week. I was mugged on the bus by a hoodie man, he took my purse from the top of my shopping bag. It was found in one of the precinct bins, even my picture of Bella was missing along with everything else.

Why would anyone want a photo of a three-legged cat? I was that upset, one of my heads came on and I couldn’t go to work.

Sylvie came over and opened my bottle of Asti to help with the shock of it all, she’s good like that. She loaned me £25 and said not to rush paying her back, but I paid her the next day and gave her an extra fiver for her trouble. She said I should only pay back what I owe, but she was grateful nevertheless.

Then, I got a call from Blockbusters in Bootle who said I was overdue with ‘Romancing the Bone’ and ‘Saturday Night Beaver’. I said, ‘Do I sound like the type of person who would derive pleasure from watching such filth?’ They said ‘It takes all sorts, last week a priest came in and snuck ‘Forest Hump’ under his robes’.

Sidney went into my local branch and got a new card, so I can still rent my musicals. He bought me a new shopping bag with a zip rather than Velcro fastening and I suggest you do the same if you don’t want a pornographic phone call from Bootle.

Well, you heard about poor Ivy and her mittens. I had to hold a carton of Ribena up to her mouth while reading out my library book to her. But she’s a terrible fidget and the straw kept going up her nose. It was all a bit of a hoo-ha to be honest and I don’t think she appreciates Miss Marple’s detective skills, so I shan’t bother again.

Lester’s very pleased with my progress and he’s teaching me how to add a video link, I can’t see Sylvie coping with that. I told her she’d put Len Goodman on last week’s hyperlink, then she accused me of sabotaging her blog and called me a gobbin. But I let it go as I know she doesn’t mean it.

She’s in a bad mood because it was her wedding anniversary at weekend and she felt a bit low. Percy came to the hospital shop this morning and gave her a small gift-wrapped box but when she opened it, she was livid. It was an old box of Fire Engine Safety Matches, she said she felt like setting light to the thing and throwing it at him.

I don’t hold out much hope for their relationship, really.

Sylvie wants me to join that dating agency but I said it’s not my boast. Anyway, she’s only after the set of steak knives that Molly gives away if you refer a friend, I’m not daft.

Our area manager, Annabel Pemberton (we call her Lady Muck), joined my drama group. I brought along some of my tarts and she didn’t touch them but everyone else couldn’t get enough. She parades around in her paisley shawl and brooch like she’s Penelope Keith and she’s not a patch on her.

She’s after the lead in ‘Private Lives’ but Daphne Burrows will fight her tooth and nail for that part. There’ll be hair-pulling over this one. Mind you, Daphne’s hair doesn’t move, it’s got that much lacquer on it. Molly Chadwick says it’s flammable. I said, she best not go near Percy then!

Annabel once stood at local elections as ‘Cocktail Party Candidate’. She only got twelve votes and they were her macramé class. Sylvie had the flyer and crossed out ‘Cocktail’ and wrote ‘Barmpot’ and then pinned it on hospital notice board! We had a good giggle over that.

She’s a one, she is really.

Apparently, Lady Muck formed a Neighbourhood Watch group and had a serving hatch installed especially. She doesn’t impress me with her cul-de-sac ways. She thinks she’s Margaret Thatcher with her pussy-bow and patent handbag.

I used to wonder what the queen and Mrs Thatcher talked about behind palace doors. They probably kicked off their shoes and flipped through Argos catalogue like rest of us.

Did I mention that I met my new neighbour, Lesley? She’s got decking out back. She told me she’s a counsellor, ‘Oh good!’, I said, ‘You can sort out my wheelie bin, or lack of one. ‘I shouldn’t think so’, she said, ‘I’m a marriage counsellor’.

She’s too late to help me in that department, I thought.

Lesley went on to say that she’s getting divorced. Apparently, her husband had an affair with one of her patients. It’s awful when you weigh it up.

She kicked him out, tiled her bathroom and sold the house. She had to go into therapy herself, after that. She’s going to a health farm to be decaffeinated. Mind, I wouldn’t pay for someone to come at me with a rubber hose-pipe, thank you very much.

Ted is still living above Valerie Ashcroft’s drycleaners. She’s a jezebel, that one. Her husband was hardly cold in his grave when she was on karaoke at the Gold Rush Club. I know people grieve in different ways, but one week after you’ve been widowed is a bit too soon for tangerine chiffon in my book.

Sylvie still grieves for her Eric, she puts on a front but I know she hurts inside. Its like I said to her, a heart that loves is always young, and she has the good times to look back on.

I’d hate to lose my memories, they shape who you are. I just wish I had better ones.

My old colleague, Tommy Cresswell, lost his wife Patsy two years back and I bumped into him in Icelands a few days ago. He was wandering around with her old shopping basket. I said hello but he looked right through me. He still looks a broken man, poor soul.

He was wearing his waistband up to his chest and an old threadbare cardigan. Patsy would never have allowed him out looking like that. He used to be quite a catch in his day with his motorcycle and side-car. We all had a crush on him at town hall but I was no match for Patsy with her red lipstick and kitten heels.

At end of day, we’re all survivors but some get there quicker than others.

Barbara Windsor’s a survivor. My Sidney’s a big fan, he idolises her and often writes to her fan club. She sent him a signed photo which he has on his mantel piece alongside one of Jane McDonald, another idol of his.

He wanted to go on Mastermind to answer questions on Barbara’s life but he’s not very good with leather chairs. They’d do well to think about that.

It’s brewing up a storm out there and I haven’t got my rain bonnet. I might have to put a carrier bag on my head, I’ve only had this Topaz rinse since last Thursday.

There’s a video link for you to enjoy from the Tube website, it’s one of my favourite songs and another of Sidney’s idols, I hope you enjoy it.

Sylvie will be here next week, so take care until next time.

God bless, Joyce xx

Match Maker

Hello. It’s me, Sylvie.

I warned you about Joyce, didn’t I? Now you know what I have to put up with!

She was two hours late this morning and all of a fluster, her cat had a panic attack when a pigeon crashed into bay window. Bella had got her head trapped in venetian blinds, so Joyce took her t' vets and they said she was just a bit dizzy.

I said to Joyce, ‘Are you sure they didn’t mean you?’. She gave me one of her looks and pretended to tidy up Toffee Crisps.

Well, you know all about her family after reading that little epic last week, it was like an episode of Twin Peaks, and I made neither head nor tail of that when it were on tele.

Her Sidney’s a nice enough chap but a bit of a girl’s blouse, always fussing over nowt. By all accounts, he were wearing a string of pearls to school by the time he were twelve, he didn’t make friends easily.

I’d still love my Clint, even if he did sit on other side of church. I’d try and set him up with that nice Paul O’Grady.

Did you see him interviewed on TV last Friday? Even Clint said he’s a handsome fella with his three-piece suit. Aye, aye, I thought!

We’ve got a lovely homosexual couple along balcony. They’ve always got clean nets and go at it with the bleach every Saturday. Clint laid their kitchen lino last week, it looks like wooden flooring.

They’re dead modern and they’ve draped fairy lights over their pelmet and it’s not even Christmas! It’s another world, it is really.

Anyway, I expect you’ve been dying to know about the wine and cheese do. What a shambles! The buffet consisted of Philadelphia on Ritz crackers, which were well past their sell-by date, and we drank warm Blue Nun from polystyrene cups.

I stuck with the Quavers and didn’t go near the dips. Molly Chadwick’s never been much of a hostess. French Fancies on plastic doilies are more her stride.

And I had to wear a name badge which played havoc with my shrug. Despite all that, I got chatting to a nice chap called Percy who was hovering over Black Forest while waiting for it to thaw.

He’s a retired roofer and collects matchboxes. Mind you, he has a distinct whiff of sulphar about him but he was the only man there who had any grasp of bladder control.

Percy’s a widower from Bury. His lost his wife three years ago when she was struck by lightening while bringing in washing. Her own fault really, those metal curlers went out years ago.

If she’d have worn sponge, she’d still be here today.

Any road up, he phoned at weekend and invited me to t’ Harvester tomorrow as he’s got a two for one voucher for the Earlybird special. He could be a bit of a tight wad but we’ll suck it and see.

Molly thinks he’s a gigolo because he’s signed with two other agencies. He wrote on his profile, ‘Just because there’s snow on the roof, it doesn’t mean the fire’s gone out’.

That put me off him a bit.

I feel a bit strange going on a date, if I’m honest. It’s my wedding anniversary on Sunday and Eric always took me to Bellavista in Rochdale. It’s dead posh with white tablecloths and wicker baskets. We’d order Champagne and get bladdered, just like on our wedding day.

We’d have our pudding and then he’d pass us a small gift box which contained a new charm for my bracelet. The last one was a rotating heart which says ‘I Love You’, it’s my favourite one but there was no room for any more charms after that.

I only wear the bracelet on special occasions as it’s too jangly and always snags my tights. I shan’t be wearing it tomorrow night. Not at Harvester.

Anyway, I’ll not hold out much hope about this one, especially if Percy starts banging on about his matchboxes again. He’s after Japanese ones now and asked if I’d go on auction sites while I’m in class, cheeky bugger.

We’ve got a new teacher here at the centre, he’s called Lester and he’s got a gold tooth and rides a bicycle. His right hand has long nails because he plays guitar, so that’s nice, int it?

Ivy won’t be back this term, she rushed home from class last week and the dopey mare grabbed the casserole pot with bare hands. She’s up on Ghandhi ward with giant mittens.

She didn’t meet anyone at wine and cheese do which it’s just as well, really. She’s not had a good year, love her.

I popped up to her this dinnertime with a copy of TV Quick and had to read all the blooming listings to her, I shan’t be doing that again in a hurry. I kept hoping she’d nod off.

I watched Strictly Ballroom Dancing at the weekend. I didn’t know it were on both nights, what a treat. I quite fancy that judge, Len Goodman. He’s a right charmer, he can dip me anytime!

Me and Clint bet a fiver on who’ll win. I bet on that Andrew from GMTV but I’m not so sure now, he looked a bit simple on dance floor. Clint bet on Phil Daniels but he’s already lost!

Mind you, I thought that TV cook should have gone, I’ve got more rhythm in my little finger, and I probably make a better Shepherd’s Pie.

Mandy just sulked while it were on. She’s a bit needy and doesn’t like sharing Clint’s attention with others, especially with lasses in sequin body stockings. She gets on my wick at times.

Me and Eric could cut a rug in our day, we’d get dolled up and go dancing every Saturday night when we were younger. I couldn’t do it now, not with my knees.

Clint’s also watching X Factor but I can’t be doing with that, I’ve heard better down Gold Rush club. He went with Argos Alan to auditions at Old Trafford earlier this year, but they couldn’t be arsed to queue for registration.

They’d been practising ‘Wake me up before you go-go’ all day before, so that was a waste of time. The pair of clowns want to apply to Big Brother next year, you have to laugh.

Well, I seem to be getting on okay with computer class, though this keyboard is ruining my new nails. Lester is teaching us hyperlinks this evening. He asked if we’d heard of them and I put up my hand and said me and Eric used to shop at the one in Calais.

Oh, I did feel a fool when he explained what it was and the whole class burst out laughing. I wasn’t best pleased.

Though, I don’t know why Renee Braithwaite was laughing so much, when Lester asked who had Windows XP at home, she bragged she had PVC ones round at hers. Daft old bat.

Joyce is boasting to anyone who’ll listen that she’s better than me with this computer lark because she can use an electric typewriter. I don’t know who she’s kidding when she can’t even set video. I’ve got Sky Plus but she’s not as with it as me.

Anyway, I’ll love you and leave you. Joyce is on next time which means she’ll be wittering on about her tarts at drama group. It’s riveting.

Before I finish up, I have to put in a hyperlink, so bear with me. I was looking at websites earlier and I’ve chosen one for you.

There you go. AVON

Oh no, that’s not right at all, it’s supposed to change colour.

Hold up, I’ll have another crack at it.

AVON

By heck, it’s a fiddly business, is this.

Make any Avon orders through me and not Joyce because she won’t have a clue. I recommend the Aloe Vera cream, it brings up my horse brass a treat, does that.

I’d better get my skates on, I’m the last one left and Lester’s looking daggers.

I hope he hasn’t got a casserole on the go.

Cheerio for now, love from Sylvie x

Joyce's Story

Hello everybody, I’m Joyce and I work part-time in the hospital shop with Sylvie.

I’ve already written a profile, now here’s a potted history about myself.

I was born in Giggleswick, North Yorkshire which boasts the likes of Russell Harty and Richard Whitely amongst its superstars but they’re both dead now.

I was a war baby, mother gave up her nursing job when she was expecting me but she signed up to the Women’s Voluntary Service and did her bit during the war. There were many women like her, ready to be called upon night or day.

My parents took in two sisters evacuated from London. They doted on me and didn’t want to go back home. Parties were held in the village hall to keep up morale where everyone would pitch in and make cakes and lemonade with their rations. Mother said the war brought out the best in folk.

Father worked on the local newspaper but he didn’t sign up because he was a conscientious objector. His articles caused quite a stir but he stuck to his principles even though it made him a bit of an outsider with the locals. He always had a hankering for the stage and was a grand tap dancer.

Sidney was born just after the war ended. Father was delighted to have a son but mother said she’d have preferred another girl. She’d often dress Sidney in pink which turned a few heads whenever they went out.

My parents began to drift apart and their arguments became more frequent with time. Father would stay out all night and I would hear mother crying herself to sleep. Sidney would come into my bed and snuggle up, he didn’t get much affection from mother.

Not long after, my parents separated and father moved to London to work in the theatre where he had lots of friends. It was a saddening day when he said goodbye and drove off down the lane. It was pouring down and I was soaked right through but I carried on waving until I couldn’t tell the rain from my tears.

Flora Crabtree was our kind-hearted neighbour who had blonde hair and smoked cigarettes, she had a look of Betty Grable about her. She took in Sidney as mother couldn’t cope, and she was drinking heavily at the time. They were difficult years but you learn to whistle past graveyard.

We weren’t allowed contact with father but Flora used to read the odd letter to us on the quiet. He’d talk about the bright lights of London and all the glamourous folk he’d met from the theatre world.

He missed his kids terribly and wanted Flora to bring us down for a weekend but mother would never have allowed it, she’d only refer to him as ‘That Mary Ellen’, so I knew we stood no chance of seeing him any time soon.

A couple of years on, we got news that father had died in a freak accident. He’d danced his way into the orchestra pit, landing head-first into a tuba. It was a terrible shock to us all.

His friend Raymond drove up from London with some of father’s personal belongings but mother refused to let him in, she took the parcel and went into her room and cried for days.

Many years later, after mother had passed away, I was sorting through her things and found a photo of father with the words ‘In loving memory of my dear husband’ inscribed on the silver frame. It was wrapped inside her old wedding veil, it just goes to show that she never stopped loving him.

The odd thing is, when I look back at my childhood, I can’t remember loving mother very much but I respected her. She was always tired and mithering and probably worried about money. But we saw a softer side to her as she became frail with age. I suppose she no longer had to worry about protecting us and was able to show her love rather than hide it.

Sylvie thinks I’m a bit of a cold fish but she’s wrong. I’ve been known to shed a tear at ‘60 Minute Makeover’. But I wouldn’t want them round at mine, I don’t want to come home and find my knick-knacks in a skip.

Anyway, back to my story… more career opportunities opened up for women in the 1950s and I looked towards working in publishing, but I was offered a typist’s job at Rochdale Town Hall through my Uncle Fred. Mother said it offered better financial security, so we packed up and moved there.

Flora married her ex-G.I boyfriend who had got back in touch and she moved to Ohio, so Sidney moved in with us. He tried his best to get along with mother but it was a hard slog though they became closer when he nursed her during through her final year.

What a waste of all that love but they got there in the end.

Sidney was a Postmaster until he took early retirement. There aren’t many sub-post offices about these days. Pension day was like a social event at his place, he’d make the old folk a brew and I’d bake a batch of cakes to pass along the queue. I made a rod for my own back as they started to put in orders each week.

I should mention Ted, I suppose. We met on the buses where he was a conductor and always gave me a free ride. It wasn’t long before we got engaged. I just went along with it really but he was quite charming in his own way and a right Bobby Dazzler in his uniform.

It was a small wedding. I made my own dress from a Simplicity pattern, it was satin-look and had pearl drops hanging from the lace trim. I didn’t wear a veil, just flowers on a comb. I remember how it dug into my head all day.

Princess Margaret got married the month before. She looked like a film star and her dress was out of this world, I saw it on a Vogue pattern in Kendals but it was too late to run it up by then.

I also made our wedding cake, it was a Dundee mix with white icing and pink roses on top. It was only the one tier, mind. I expect Princess Margaret had a couple more.

We held the reception back at the house and put on a nice spread. It was a grand do and we sang around the piano as Aunty Beryl played show tunes. We’d never seen mother dance before, she got merry on Babycham and did the Charleston.

Then she tripped over the hearth rug and landed on Uncle Fred’s wooden leg but he didn’t mind and we all had a good laugh about it.

Ted took me to Morecambe for our honeymoon, and every year after that. It wasn’t a very exciting marriage but we bobbed along like most folk do. We always booked the same caravan and I cooked and cleaned up after him in my usual fashion. It was like living at home but with melamine plates.

I enjoyed our breezy walks along the promenade while eating cockles and whelks from small tubs. On our last night, we’d go to our favourite seafront chippy for a fish supper and a pot of tea. We’d have fresh cod in golden batter and chips that were hot and crunchy with plenty of salt and vinegar. Ted always spoiled his with too much tomato sauce, I thought.

A few years down the line, we had a beautiful daughter called Constance, she had bright blue eyes and a mop of red curls but we lost her to whooping cough when she was ten months old. It was a heart-breaking time and Ted took it very badly while I kept busy by going back to work.

He became angry with the world and had to give up the buses, they said he was a liability. It was a nervous breakdown really. They call it ‘clinical depression’ nowadays and pop you on Channel Five. But we didn’t have ‘Trisha’ back then, you just had a cup of tea and hoped for the best.

The long and short of it is our marriage became an existence. We slept in separate bedrooms and we’d speak but we didn’t talk. One day he came back from the pub, packed his bags and moved into the bedsit above Valerie Ashcroft’s dry cleaners.

I came home and found some money in an envelope and a note with his new address. He ended our marriage with ‘Regards, Ted’ but I felt nothing by that point except relief. It was more lonely living with him than without him.

Anyway, as Molly Chadwick says, ‘There are lots of sunny days in autumn’, and she’s not wrong.

I don’t go short of company, Sidney lives up the road in a smart Tudor bungalow, he never married but he’s happy with his lot. We both belong to the drama group and get involved with charities and the mobile library, so we keep ourselves occupied.

And I have my cat Bella, who’s still a bit jumpy since she got her tail stuck up the Hoover. I have to use the carpet sweeper and it takes twice as long but it’s only until she’s off the sedatives.

I enjoy working at the hospital shop and have been there for four years now. Sylvie is a good friend to me, even though we fight like cat and dog at times, but I slip her the occasional iced finger which soon calms her down.

She’s just joined Molly’s dating agency, so I’m sure she’ll tell you more about last week’s wine and cheese do. I admire Sylvie’s ‘get up and go’, I had that once and sometimes wonder how things might have been had my life taken another turn.

Sylvie idolises her Clint. He’s a kind soul but doesn’t always go about things the right way. He tried to raise money for PDSA by going vegetarian for the day but he only lasted ten minutes. He forgot himself and ate a Cornish pasty but the thought was there.

I best finish up, Ivy’s got a face as long as a yard of gravy, she has a casserole on the go and forgot to put the timer on.

As I said to her, it’ll have dried out by now.

It was nice chatting to you all. Sylvie’s back next week, so I’ll see you after.

God bless, Joyce. xx

Here it is, then!

Hello there, I’m Sylvie and this is my first blog. I run the hospital shop in Rochdale. Well, it’s more of a small booth, really. Annabel Pemberton (our area manager) announced that we have to start ordering stock on the line as soon as we get our computer.

I’ve used my clipboard for years but we need to move with the times. Annabel booked me and Joyce into evening classes to learn all about it. Mind you, she only booked one place, so we’ll have to take us turns.

Joyce will be here next week but don’t be surprised if she bangs on about the time her cat got her tail stuck up the Hoover. You learn to live with it.

Ivy Nuttall is teaching us at community centre. Her husband's run off with the Yoga teacher. They’d been at it for two years. Honestly, it gets more like Knot’s Landing round here!

Ivy set up this page in July when she were on anti-depressants and vodka. She told Joyce that we should write a weekly blog as it’s all the rage.

Here’s a bit more about me, then. I was born in Rochdale, an only child. My parents were in their mid-forties by the time I came along and they didn’t really know what to do with me. It was quite a lonely childhood, full of daydreams and tears.

As I got that bit older, I’d spend most of my time listening to dance tunes on wireless while trying to pout like Diana Dors at mam’s dressing table.

Times were hard with little money to go round. Mam took in other folk’s washing and I’d work the mangle while dad smoked his pipe and mended clocks in back room.

I became a bit of a handful and left home while fourteen and moved in with my friend Maggie’s family who were loud and had a caravan in Clitheroe. I left school a year later and worked in cotton mills before moving onto broken biscuit counter at Woollies.

I eventually ended up in stationery at Kendals department store, which is where I met my dear Eric, he came in to buy a Parker pen and some Basildon Bond paper.

Eric was four years older than me and quite a heart throb with local lasses. He looked like a young Tony Bennett. We were a striking couple with his black quiff and my blonde beehive.

We’d drive about in his red convertible and everyone would stare at us. He loved that car but it got stolen outside The Astoria Ballroom where we had gone to see The Beatles. He couldn’t stomach them after that.

We were wed at town hall in 1964, I wore a lemon shift and Eric chose a navy mohair suit. Our friends took us for a meal in Chinatown, it was such a bonny day and we got hammered on champagne!

Eric worked as an insurance rep and travelled all over North of England. He won ‘Salesman of the Year’ in 1968. His firm presented him with a decanter and paid for a weekend at Butlins in Skegness, or Skeg-Vegas as we liked to call it!

Our Clint was born in 1971, the long wait made him all the more precious. He were a right big bairn. Eric decided that one kiddie was enough, I would have liked more but there you go.

We had a good life which came with its ups and downs but we always worked at it. We went to Costa del Sol every year and made some good friends with folk who had moved there to start a new life. Clint calls it ‘Costa del Crime’, cheeky bugger.

Eric started to pop over to Spain to choose a property for our retirement. We looked forward to putting us feet up and drinking Sangria in the sun, while our Clint fancied setting up his own radio station for ex-pats. He could teach that Richard Branston a thing or two.

Sadly, our plans went to pot. Eric passed away in 2001, heart attack.

He used to stay at Doreen Bradley’s B&B in Scarborough whenever he was on the road. He was putting up shelves in her lounge alcove when it happened. She said he managed one last screw and that were it, he were gone.

Clint drove me there in the van after we got the call. It were the longest journey of my life.

Doreen was at the hospital with mascara running down her cheeks. I remember thinking she could have made time to wash her face.

The chaplain came over and took me and Clint to see Eric. The room was dimly lit and smelt of bleach and plastic sheets. I noticed there was a picture on the wall just like the one we had at home to cover a damp patch.

I combed Eric’s hair the way he liked it and waited for him to wink at me, but he never did. I kissed his cheek and told him I loved him.

Clint hovered by the door, he’s not very big on goodbyes.

I miss being Eric’s wife. He was the lid to my pot. I sometimes watch Match of the Day when I’m alone as it makes me feel closer to him. He liked nowt better than to watch his team of a Saturday afternoon followed by a pie and a pint down British Legion.

Clint doesn’t like football, he couldn’t knock snow off a rope, but he’s a musical man and a gentle giant. He works as a disc jockey for hospital radio and has quite a following. Even when folk get better they still come back to listen to his show.

He used to visit Radio Manchester and play his hospital tape cassettes in reception. He hasn’t done that for a while, something to do with a restriction order, I wasn’t really listening.

He could be as big as Steve Wright given half the chance.

Clint’s been engaged to Mandy for three years but he still lives with me. She works in hospital laundry and specialises in stain removal.

Mandy's a good lass but I wish she wouldn’t come round so much, I can smell those hospital sheets on her. I always have my Fabreze handy and give the sofa a good going over after she’s gone.

As for me, I’ve been at the hospital shop for six years now. I was promoted to manageress after Edna Cribbins got caught with her hands in the till. She had champagne taste and lemonade money, that one.

This is the ideal job for me because I’m a people person. I’m looked upon as a social worker by my customers who all come to me with their problems.

Clint says I’ve got healing hands. I thumped his back and saved his life t’other week when he choked on an onion bhaji.

I’m also an Avon rep, which is quite a responsibility. I try to look my best and keep in shape. Folk often remark on how young I look for my age. I’m like Jane Fonda only with less liver spots.

I better skidaddle. Me and Ivy are off to a wine and cheese party downstairs. It’s arranged by the Autumn Dating Agency which is run by Molly Chadwick whose wig has seen better days.

We only signed up for a giggle, really. We're daft like that.

I’ve picked out a few words which might link my blog to Goggles or whatever the heck it’s called, I’ve listed them below, look.

But I can’t see for the life of me what a blog has to do with ordering a box of Wagon Wheels on t’ internet.

Cheerio for now. Love from Sylvie x