A lovely day for a lovely lady

I was back in the homeland today - yes, Stoke.

Where people say book like it should be said. Where oatcakes are eaten at every meal and where a duck is not only just a water bird or getting out in cricket and not scoring but also a Stoke term of endearment.

It was a glorious day, which I am pleased about because it was the day of Jessie Moston's funeral. My Dad's cousin who died just 30 days shy of her 100th birthday.

I went to the funeral today and decided to go up on the train to Stoke because I just couldn't face the M6 on a Friday. I'm glad I did as I felt more relaxed and as I was due to read a eulogy to Jessie, I wanted to be calm as I always get very emotional at funerals.

It was nice to meet up with Stan's family (Stan was Jessie's companion for 20 years and he sadly died a few years back leaving Jessie on her own). Stan was the love of Jessie's life and at the funeral today, the Minister said that she often used to tell him when he was her Parish Priest, how much she regretted never marrying Stan.

Jessie came to the Church (St. Matthew's, Birches Head) in a beautiful wicker coffin which was draped with flowers, the colour of which took your breath away. I didn't really see much of Jessie after my Dad had died, so I was very pleased to meet Linda Goodwin and her family who were Stan's relatives and who looked after Jessie and her affairs until the day she died.

Linda bought some pictures with her today and asked me if I wanted any of them. I took some that had my Great Grandparents on (my Dad's grand parents) and also my great uncles and aunts. It was nice to have something as I don't have many pictures of my Dad's family and there's no-one left around who can tell me about his family, sadly.

The funeral service was really nice and I managed to keep it together to read the piece I had written about Jessie. I was sitting on the front row on the end and when I was called up, I had to walk up a couple of steps and read at the lectern. I was a bit nervous, but as soon as I got up there, I was surprisingly relaxed and even managed to get people laughing at some of the things I said.

Jessie would have liked the laughter - she had a sense of humour. The one thing I was really scared about, was bumping into the coffin on the way back down the stairs and I did! I slightly touched it with my hip, but thankfully, it didn't knock it over.

We stood outside in the sunshine after the service and a couple of people came up to me to say hello as they remembered me from my presenting days on Radio Stoke and they all said how much they missed hearing me on the radio, which was nice! One of them was a former Lord Mayor of Stoke and his wife.

I was given a lift in one of the big cars with the family; a seven-seater Jaguar no less. It was lovely. I asked the driver how he felt about taking me back to Coventry later!

After the service, we went to the crematorium and then back to The Birches Head Pub (pictured) for sandwiches and tea and that's where I was given the photos.

It was nice to be back home, albeit for a short while but tinged with sadness to say farewell to the last link to my Dad's side of the family. However, if Dad had have been alive, he would have done what I did today and said a few words about Jessie, so in a way, I'm glad it was me that did something on his behalf. I basically used stuff from the blog I did about Jessie when I heard she had died and updated it slightly.

Once I had said my goodbyes, I got a taxi back to the station to get my train to Coventry and while I was waiting at the counter in the shop to buy a bottle of pop, I saw and spoke to Wendy Turner-Webster (Anthea Turner's sister) and we had a chat and she introduced me to her kids. It was nice to see her as I hadn't spoken to her for years and I told her that I was only with her sister a few weeks back! What a small world.

I travelled to Stoke First Class on the train as it was not that much more than standard class and you get a seat and something to eat and drink - I like to do it when I can afford to do it.

Hubby picked me up in the car when I got home to Coventry and for the rest of this evening, I've been quite mellow. I guess funerals do that to you, make you look at your life and compared to what Jessie fitted into her first 46 years, I've done nothing!

I was going to mention something about watching "Britain's Got Talent" tonight, but I won't because I found the whole thing very disturbing.

All I want to say is that it is fine for kids to take part in talent shows, but this was just car crash TV tonight watching the little girl plead for another go because she cocked it up first time and then they put her through to the final!! Gawd knows what she's going to be like tomorrow. I am not going to put myself through the ordeal of watching it live - I'll record it and whizz through the uncomfortable bits, especially if it means witnessing dumpy Divas, groaning Grandads and Crying Kids all over the place.

Britain's got Talent, Britain's Got Schmalent! If Jessie was still alive, she would have auditioned for it playing her recorder!

Farewell Jessie - a grand woman

It is a sombre start to my blog today as I had some sad news. Jessie Moston (right) died peacefully in her sleep on Friday night aged 99 and 335 days old.

So instead of everyone planning for her birthday party, there are now plans for a funeral.

Jessie was part of my extended family. I've known her all my life. Her Mum was married to my Great Uncle, so although she was no blood relative, she had been part of the family ever since she was 14.

Jessie never married. She was an independent woman. Very intelligent and the kind of woman who did not want to be pigeon-holed. She was a Head Teacher in her younger days, she was one of the first women to hold the seat of a Councillor on the city council in Stoke, she was Chair of the Arts Committee and was one of the people instrumental in bringing about the building of the Hanley Museum and Art Gallery which holds one of the best ceramic collections in the world.

Jessie was also an accomplished musician, linguist, raconteur, artist and traveller. She was well travelled and was not afraid to seek out new adventures. She rode camels in Egypt, busked in the street with her recorder (at the age of 95) and defied the constraints of her generation by "living in sin" with Stan, the man she loved until he died.

I have fond memories of Jessie. She used to come to ours with her sister Gladys and when Jessie and my Dad locked horns about politics, Jessie always had the upper hand. Jessie was a Labour supporter and Dad a Conservative.

Jessie and Stan went to America in 1991 to attend my brother's wedding and was such a sprightly 80 something year old, she didn't look her age.

She was a true lady. When Gladys died, she gave me £1,000 which went towards my wedding fund which she said, she wanted to do as she didn't need Gladys' money. The rest, she gave away to charity.

I last saw Jessie in 2008 when I went to visit her at the care home she went to near Longton when she could no longer look after herself. I was shocked to see how frail and little she was and even though her memory was not the best, every-so-often, she'd have a flashback and she remembered that I used to sing and work for a radio station and that she'd been invited to attend my wedding, but was not well enough to travel.

Jessie had a wonderful life, so I'm not going to be sad about what we've lost, but celebrate about what she had. She worked hard all her life and she did things other women of her generation could only have dreamed about.

She was a pioneer in local government, education and culture. She gave so much of her spare time in her younger days to help others and instead of taking a camera with her on her travels, she'd take a sketch book and bring home with her a unique record of her round the world adventures.

When God made Jessie, he built one to last. It's just such a pity she couldn't have lasted a little bit longer so see her 100th birthday, but she made it into her 100th year, which is no mean feat.

Also, when you think of what Jessie has seen in her lifetime, it's quite daunting. Advances in Science and Technology and supersonic travel. The first man on the moon, Two World Wars, the first woman PM in the UK and the first ever Black President of the USA. The bringing down of the Berlin Wall, the death of Hitler, Stalin and Mussolini. She's lived through 5 reigning Monarchs, been around for at least 17 different Prime Ministers and the one that is most important to Jessie - she was born at a time when women did not have the right to vote, which when you think about how a majority of Jessie's life was centred around politics, was unthinkable!

If Jessie's lifespan were to have been calculated as a whole day - she was born at midnight and died at 23.59 - so near and yet so far.

RIP Jessie. You will be missed.

Sweets I have loved..

At the pub quiz the other night, my friend Katie pulled out a packet of sweets. They were Fruit Salad.

My eyes lit up. "ooh I love these" I told her and she then said something which made my night..."I've got some black jacks at home, I'll bring them in for you."

Black jacks. I loved these more than I loved the Fruit Salad. Not only did they taste great, but they made your tongue black. When I was little my Mum used to hide them from me so I wouldn't eat them before my tea. However, I did used to find them and was forever licking my tongue out to her just to show her that I had been eating them! That's the kind of rebel I was when I was younger - I were reet mad, me! In't black jacks brilliant?

Anyway, true to her word, Katie bought me a packet of sweets in and I sat there and with them on my desk and once opened, I had passed the point of no return. I obviously offered them round to everyone in the office but I think I might have said it in a very low voice because no-one wanted one (YES!)

I am thinking of bringing out a book called "Sweets I have loved" and the Black Jack would definitely be in there along with Spangles, Tutti Frutti and the Milk Tray bar (you know, the chocolate bar that had seven or so different chocolates in the one bar. They don't do them any more) I also remember the Aztec bar - that was nice.

As I said in an earlier blog, my brother was very canny when it came to sweets as he knew that I used to gobble all mine down quite quickly and so he would save his and then sell them to me later - he was a right spiv.

I've just been speaking to him actually on the Skype thing. It's great to be able to see him and speak to him in real time. He was telling me something that I was absolutely shocked by... it is twenty years since he went to the US of A to seek his fame and fortune.

Yes, twenty years since I took him to the bus station in Hanley, Stoke -on- Trent and said my goodbyes to him and his two friends who were also going to try their luck in the US. I remember giving his friend, Phil, a kiss goodbye and my brother was quite shocked with the way Phil and I got carried away! I just reminded him of that... "oh yes, bloody hell!" was his response.

Back to my topic of the night - sweets. I used to go to Stoke market on a Saturday morning and buy a quarter of chocolate buttons with bits on - loved them. I also used to get sherbet from the shop opposite my Nan's house and it came with a stick of liquorice. Mmm, is it any wonder I am built this way? Guess not. Sweets have been a big part of my life.

I could just fill this blog with the names of sweets that I like - apart from those horrible sweets that taste of violets and anything with marzipan in it - I haven't met a sweet I didn't like!

When I used to work at the city council in Birmingham, I was fortunate enough to have a space in the underground council car park - it used to drive one particular radio presenter in the area mad to think that this parking space was there for the councillors and officers to use!

One morning, I parked my car there and bumped into a well-known local person who was on one of our Scrutiny Committees. I had met him on several occasions but never really had a decent chat to him and so I thought that as I was in the car park and we were both walking in the same direction, I would introduce myself.

I started off by thanking him for making me the shape I was....he was the reason why I was shaped like a barrel - the man in question was Sir Adrian Cadbury, no less! He probably won't remember this - we are talking well over 10 years ago and you name me one person who can remember a conversation with a near stranger in an underground car park from all those many years back. However, I remember it and that's all that matters.

I am going to nail my flag to the mast now and say, hand on heart, that you just can't beat Cadbury's chocolate. It is divine. It is the best tasting chocolate in the world. Who told the Swiss and the Belgians that their chocolate was the best? Not I. Only if I'm desperate would I eat their chocolate.

However, coming up fast on the inside lane is a recent find - ALDI chocolate. Yes, GERMAN Aldi Chocolate. My Dad would be spinning in his grave to think that I preferred German chocolate to British but even my friends at work had to concede that Aldi chocolate was nice and if you were to come into our office on any day of the week, you will find a general assortment of sweets, chocolates and cakes - we are connoisseurs.

Sweets are no good for you but why do they taste so good? Why can't the things that are bad for you taste horrible and the things that are good for you taste nice - you got it slightly wrong there G-Man but then if we all ate what was good for us, the Government would have a dickie fit at not being able to preach to us, so I'm doing them a favour by single-handedly keeping the economy going on the sweet front and helping the sweet industry to ride the recession.

Will I get a mention in the Queen's birthday honours for my hard work? I doubt it but I can go to bed at night safe in the knowledge that over the years, I've kept the nation's sweet shops going when all other establishments sans bon bons have fallen by the wayside.

Recession, what recession -it's 2009, it's supper time and I'm 'aving a curly wurly.

This is Gene Hunt signing off.

My ideal wooden man!!

I have made no secret of my desire for this man. Paul Metcalf (aka Captain Scarlet). He is such a fox. I have always loved him from the first time I clapped eyes on him when I was a little girl.

There is something about him that used to make my heart race and that voice of his could melt ice in seconds - it was hot.

Captain Scarlet was the stuff dreams were made out of from his perfect skin, blue eyes, jet black hair and those lips that I used to dream about kissing (and if I'm honest, still do).

So what is it about this mini marvel that made my growing up years so special? Well, for a start, I always used to imagine myself as Mrs. Scarlet - I was a former Angel who settled down with him to a life of domestic bliss and while he was off saving the world from the clutches of the dastardly Mysterons, I'd be waiting at home for him him to mop his brow and scrub his back when lying in a well-earned bath after a long day of earth-saving.

He might have been indestructible (gawd knows he would have needed that skill if he was relying on me to cook for him) but he was still a man and I was merely Mrs. Paul Metcalf.

His Cary Grant like voice, his square jaw and perfect physique - I wonder if Gerry Anderson knew what he was doing inflicting so much manhood onto an unsuspecting world of adoring females? Well, the Angels were created for the boys to lust after and Capts. Scarlet and Blue (aka Adam Svenson) were the eye candy for the girls.

However, 30 odd years later, I'm still dreaming of this man with the wooden hands and imagine being whisked off for a romantic weekend in the country just as plain old Mr and Mrs. The other boarders in the B & B not knowing that the man in Room number 17 has just saved the earth from being blown up by Spectrum's arch enemies.

Oh yes, away from Spectrum, Capt. Scarlet had a whole new life with me. We lived in a rambling cottage on an equally rambling estate in the country, Cotswolds I think, we had a black dog (Labrador) and a King Charles Spaniel. We had several cats and two horses. Paul and I would go for long walks in the country and if the weather was nice, we'd take a picnic which would always end up with us lying down on the blanket on the ground in each other's arms looking up at the sky and making plans for the future.

Yes, his life from Spectrum was a whole different world but then, there was the time I would dread, something about his person would start to vibrate and I just knew it would be work calling him back to cloudbase. That's why our weekends together were so precious because they didn't happen very often, how could they? He belonged to the world and I was merely just a tiny part of it.

Our front door bell was the only give away to his life in secret service as it would chime the seven notes of Spectrum.

It would always end up as a tearful goodbye when he was called into work and I would always think that this just might be the last time I saw him. What if the Mysterons had found some way of reversing his indestructibily? What if life with Mrs. M in the country was getting dull and he fancied going off with one the glam Angels? What if he were to fall for a beautiful, enchanting alien and decide that he wanted to try life on another planet?

Yes, these dreams were real of mine as a young girl growing up and many a daydream have they been part of.

Now when I see the good Capt. on the TV, I often think about the life he had that no-one knew about with me all those many years ago and wonder whether or not he would have been happy with leading a double life?

Who will ever know? I am flesh and blood and living in the real world. He is plastic and wood and living in comic books, TV supermarionation programmes and has a new legion of fans following him now he has been revamped and bought up to date.

I thought I was sad to lust after a man I knew didn't really exist and for whom I had created a whole new life for but when I was told that a friend of my husbands (who is in her 50s) still has a poster of Virgil Tracy on her bedroom wall, then I didn't feel so bad about nabbing Capt. Scarlet for myself for a fantasy or two.

He may just be a puppet, but he knew how to tug on my heart strings!

My Dad, my Mum the cat and the trifle.

This is a photo taken of me and my sister. I can't exactly remember when but it is at least 40 years ago and was taken in the back garden of one of our first family homes in Stoke (I'm the little flump on the right).

My sister is five years older than me. She's only small (she never grew more than about 5ft and a fag end) but she's one of the most bossy people I know - yet when I was growing up, and even now, I really wished I could be more like her.

As the oldest of the three of us, my sister always had the hardest time when it came to our Dad. He was not the easiest person to get on with, in fact, at times it was very difficult and even though he's no longer with us, the way he treated my sister and us has had a lasting effect on her because she refuses to talk about him or acknowledge his birthday or the date of his death to this day.

We look happy enough in the photo and to be honest, I was well aware of the rows that my Mum and Dad used to have and more often than not I used to feel the back of my Dad's hand when I misbehaved. However, as scared as we were of him sometimes, he was our Dad and I loved him.

This feeling however, is lost on my sister. She can't forgive him for some of the hurtful things he said to her in her youth and the way he treated our Mum throughout their marriage. He was a bully and he was hard to live with, but as I said before, he was our Dad and I loved him although at times I wondered why.

They say you can choose your friends and you can't choose your family. My Dad literally drove us all away from home as soon as we had the chance. I used to come home every weekend because of work commitments but during the week, I was allowed to be myself. At the weekends, I had to tow the line and not upset him in case he took it out on my Mum.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad all the time, in fact we had some great times as a family but there always seemed to be something that would set my Dad off and then we'd feel this black cloud descend upon us.

One of the great things I inherited from Mum and Dad was a sense of humour. Dad did have a great sense of humour and there were times when we laughed ourselves silly to the extent of having stitch in our sides. We had some great laughs and I try to keep those memories with me to delete some of the bad ones.

As well as a great sense of humour, I have also inherited my Mum's sneaky traits! She was the Queen of pulling the wool over my Dad's eyes and sometimes, she got away with the most amazing things!

I'll never forget one Christmas. My Mum used to make the best sherry trifle and we all used to wait with empty bowls pining for the best or biggest portions. It was mouthwateringly superb. Layers of cream, custard, fruit, sherry, sponge - you name it, it was included and it was like nothing I've tasted before or since.

After our Christmas lunch, Mum bought out the trifle. It was housed in a big, beautiful crystal bowl we couldn't wait to get stuck in!!

Even when all five of us had a big bowl each, there was still enough for our tea. Mum took the remainder of the trifle and put it on the kitchen table while we all helped to tidy up after dinner.

Unfortunately, Mum didn't cover it with cling film and by the time we came back into the kitchen, the family cat was licking the cream off the top!!!

I was so upset because I knew that Dad would go up the wall and if there wasn't any for his tea, we would all know about it. However, Mum being Mum and the natural successor to Henry Kissinger for diplomacy, had a grand plan.

"Only you and I know that the cat has licked the cream off the top of the trifle" she said. "I know just what to do."

She went in to the fridge and got out the remainder of the whipped fresh cream and carefully re-covered the missing bits that the cat had licked off. She then got the pot of hundreds and thousands and sprinkled them on top.

"There you go" she said "as good as new!" I couldn't believe it, was she seriously going to try and carry on as nothing had happened and bring this out at tea time?

Yup!!! However, I had a quiet word with my sister and brother and told them that if they knew what was good for them, they'd skip the trfile at tea time and have something else.

Tea time came. Turkey sandwiches with branston pickle followed by trifle.

"Mmmmm" my Dad said. "Trifle." He was extremely surprised that no-one else wanted any saying that we wolfed it down at lunchtime, but little did he know that most of the cream from the original trifle was now firmly lodged in the cat's tum.

"Please yourselves," he said. "That means more for me!"

We laughed about that act of deception for years to come and it was only much later towards the end of my Dad's life and after Mum had passed away that I fessed up about what Mum and I had done.

Ironically, he laughed about it when I told him, but I very much doubt he would have done so at the time!

That one act of blind panic to replace the cream by my Mum all those many years ago, actually gave my Dad and me one of those wonderful belly laughs later on in our lives that I remember well and for that, I will always be grateful!