The new American President Joe Biden proves that age is no barrier to achieving dreams.
He ran for President three times and now, at 78, it’s his time.
I feel safer knowing a wise, kind, hard-working family man who has been through his own trials and tribulations is at the helm of the world’s most powerful nation.
His inauguration speech about unity and working together felt like a healing balm.
His love and pride for his wife, children and grandchildren was obvious and moving.
It was a welcome contrast to Doughnut Trump’s family, who were such sore losers they broke decades of tradition by huffily leaving the White House before the Bidens arrived.
My Robbie also hates losing, but by the time he was ten years old his dad taught him to smile and shake a person’s hand even if he was boiling mad.
That’s just manners. Maybe the Trumps hadn’t learned that. They seem to be caught in a constant power struggle just like the Ewings in the old soap opera Dallas.
I would have felt sorry for Melania marrying in to the family but she looked so stern and sour that when she smiled I wondered if she had wind.
Some reports say she signed a prenup to stay married until her husband’s presidency ended. I bet she voted for Biden.
When Rob played for Leicester, an advertising agency wanted to whittle down ten players’ families to appear in Coca Cola commercials.
But as soon as they met my mum in her OAP’s bungalow they made up their mind they’d film her.
The producer told me he’d instantly fallen in love with her after she’d told him: “I’d love to make you a cup of tea, but as you can see I have a walking stick and can’t walk so you’ll have to get it yourself. And don’t leave me in a pickle - you’ll have to wash up for me.”
After she appeared in the telly ad my mum was asked to open the church fete and she thought she was the Queen.
Unexpected, fantastic and hilarious things happen when we’re enjoying our latter years. That’s why people of a certain age should never be written off. There’s always life and laughter left in us.
Sir Tom's still got it
It breaks my heart when none of The Voice judges turn around to see the great singers so I stopped watching. I don’t like seeing their dreams crushed in front of my eyes.
But this week I switched over just at the right moment because I caught Sir Tom Jones singing With These Hands.
Sir Tom didn’t stand up or warm up his voice. He just casually belted it out sitting down. There’s so much emotion in his voice, and so many memories tied up with that song, my eyes were streaming within seconds.
I swear Tom’s voice is even better now, at 80, than it was back in the 60s. And he’s more handsome.
Goodbye January diet
I broke my vow not to eat treats and fished a box of chocolate Brazil nuts from the back of the cupboard. I reasoned that there weren’t a lot of sweets in the box as there was only one layer. And before I could say the magic words ‘January diet’, they’d vanished.
Then I felt stricken with worry. Not just about the calories I definitely didn’t need. But because the next day Beryl told me about the new strain of coronavirus from Brazil.
What if my sweets were contaminated?
I consoled myself with a big bag of Wine Gums but I was good and only ate half of them. And to anyone who’s constipated, eat exactly the same and you’ve cracked it.
Searching for daily lockdown positives, I found one in my washing basket. It’s half empty because I’m wearing pyjamas all day, every day. I’m even past trying to change if the doorbell goes.
Watching telly keeps reminding me to take more care about how I look. An ad for something called a dermal wand promises to get rid of all my wrinkles.
But it’s not a dermal wand I need. It’s a Harry Potter wand.
Alex gets it right for once
It’s fair to say I have a rough ride with my not-so-smart speaker Alexa. But this week she played Jailhouse Rock and while I was sitting down, my feet automatically started tapping.
I was grateful to Alexa for getting me moving. So I will forgive her for starting my day off by saying: “Happy Birthday”. For a split second I wondered if it really was my birthday and I hadn’t noticed as all the lockdown days have blurred in to one. Then she said: “To DeLorean cars”. Silly woman.
Happy 50th Jonathan
On Saturday my eldest son Jonathan turns 50. And all week I’ve sentimentally relived everything from my pregnancy to each proud milestone of his life.
My late husband Colin and I were living at my parents’ house when he was born because the house I live in now wasn’t quite built.
Jonathan was their first grandchild and my mum shared every one of my pains and twinges. If I felt hot towards the end of my pregnancy, Colin had to run and get mum a cold flannel too because she was even hotter.
There were no scans then, and husbands rarely saw their children born. When I was in hospital, Colin turned white as soon as I was in a cubicle preparing to give birth so I asked a nurse to send him home before he fainted.
When Jonathan was born, at 9lbs 6oz with a such a big head I thought I was giving birth to an elephant, I phoned the local pub because mum and dad didn’t have a phone installed. Dad ran all the way home to break the news.
Jonathan’s birth was the moment my life changed forever. It was the moment I started devoting every day, every breath, to being a mum.
A lockdown birthday isn’t much fun but I hope Jonathan knows how special he is.
Even more importantly, I hope he remembers to bring me some birthday cake.
If you’d like to contact Val, email [email protected] or write to Val Savage, PO Box 7290, E14 5DD.