Ann was a regular visitor to our house, but she and I had the occasional jaunt out too, usually for shopping and a nice lunch.  We bought clothes, hats and handbags – Ann was a lady with a penchant for a nice hat, and she always looked good in one. 

We once went on a “cultural” bus trip to London, spent an hour looking at the entries for the Turner prize, then another 3 hours in the Tate’s fine dining restaurant, complete with white tablecloths and silver service.  I can’t remember the food, but I know it was good, and I do remember the bottle of red wine we enjoyed.  Such a nice day, and I remember us giggling when we realised it was time for the bus back and we’d done nothing else at all.

She was always there with a word of advice, a helping hand, or a story.  We laughed a lot, sometimes at nothing very much.  Her sayings are ingrained – I can’t stand in front of a mirror without thinking “everything is wearing out, spreading out or falling out”.  If I’m feeling a bit rough after a glass too many, I’m “a bit second-hand today”.  I’ve got a cold – “it’s me bronicals”.  On a hot day I become “a grease-spot”, when the weather is inclement I think “it’s not bad weather, it’s inadequate clothes”.  And, when life gets difficult, I think “You’ve just got to get on with it dear”.

God bless you Ann, you’ll be missed but not forgotten.