2016 - Well, who'd have thought it!

One of the joys of this online, share-with-chums-and-other-interested-parties diary is that I can look back at previous New Year ramblings and reflect how things turned out, which is not always as I had expected. For example, in 2013, I went out on New Year's Eve muttering darkly about the discomfort of wearing a Maria Sharapova wig as it was a Russian-themed event. How prophetic, when I spent large parts of 2014 wearing an uncomfortable wig for a different reason.

This year has turned out to be year of incredible highs and lows both domestically and on the wider stage. Things have happened outside our little world which surely few could have predicted and if Ed Balls had won Strictly that would have been entirely in keeping with the rest of the madness which was largely the result of enfranchised responsibility being gifted to, in the words of child Number 2 'people who watch or appear on Jeremy Kyle, or indeed any other daytime television reality show' both this side of the pond and the other.

Anyway back to things at home. The high point of this year (and last year, though that was a different daughter) was The Big Wedding when number 1 and her lovely Valentine organised and executed a really fabulous day/weekend of festivities for their nuptials. Even looking back at the photographs from that day makes me a bit teary. It was awesome. This was bookended by two very, very good short breaks - the first to Marrakech for my not-insignificant (the sort with a 0 at the end!) birthday in February and then to Rome immediately after the wedding with our dear friends Nige and Sarah who were just about to emigrate to Cyprus. Precious times with friends who live a long way from God's Own Country now.

This was always planned to be something of a gap year for me. Now fully in control of my passport, we tried really hard to get the full family team out to Portugal in June but Number 1 was then treading the boards at the Royal Court with Dr Who so she and my new son-in-law couldn't join us but the rest of the family more than made up for their absence.

Then I had a surprising role to fill myself at the wedding of my goddaughter in Guernsey. Thinking this would be a no-responsibility event for moi, I was stunned when my goddaughter/the bride asked me to make a speech on her behalf - the one the father of the bride usually takes on. Nerves?! Standing on my feet in front of the assembled guests, I realised that most of them had attended Cambridge or Oxford and probably everyone in the room had at least one degree... apart from me. No pressure then!

The summer wouldn't be complete without a few days with the singing, dancing doctors in Mallorca and having drunk, danced, played padel tennis and karaoke'd, Number 3 and I headed home to recover. Then my beloved and I jetted off to Turkey to Apartment Antonia http://apartmentantoniakalkan.co.uk with Number 2 and JS who had made this momentous purchase earlier in the year (Wow! we have children who own property abroad!) and we had a chilled week getting to know Kalkan and enjoying their wonderful hospitality.

The autumn was full of rugby - Newcastle Falcons, England, Fiji, Australia, Ireland - and a trip to the O2 to watch the end of season tennis finals. We packed our home with friends on three consecutive weekends as well and felt ourselves running towards the festive season in a haze of exhaustion. We've had a cracking year, topped off by close friends becoming grandparents for the first time - a big welcome to Joshua Robert, can't wait to meet him!

As for the stuff going on outside the patch we call home: Brexit - madness! Lordy, I hope someone is holding the tiller. It doesn't feel like it. The worst gamble a politician has made in decades. Earlier in the year, meeting up with friends who live in Annapolis, I said: 'Surely Trump won't get the nomination?' My friend refused to ease my fears and quite rightly. I don't like extremes in politics - anyone who's read a history book covering the last century will know that this doesn't normally end well.

And the Grim Reaper, well, he's been running amok in the world of entertainment. The first concert I ever went to aged 16 was David Bowie and I can still remember how he performed the Jean Genie. He was electric. And Alan Rickman, one of my favourite actors who never picked a bad film and completely stole Robin Hood Prince of Thieves from Kevin Costner. And now George... we were lucky enough to see him in concert twice - an extraordinary talent but I suspect an unhappy soul.

But there was sport aplenty to enjoy and applaud and be proud of being a Brit. Really we do punch above our weight as a country but only if the Union holds. For me, one of the worst aspects of Brexit (and there's quite a few to choose from) is that this might break the Union which has held since 1603. Politicians on both sides of Hadrian's Wall bear a huge responsibility - let's hope the girls can get it sorted.

In the meantime, let's enjoy our rich and diverse nation, our differences and our shared interests and look forward to cementing our place in the world rather than smashing at it with all the sensitivity of a toddler with a hammer. Happy New Year!

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!

This Christmas I know I am greatly blessed. Not only am I healthy (a big deal for me) and I am looking forward to hitting the jackpot on my bucket list in January with a trip to the other side of the world, but, most importantly I have all my children home for Christmas. When your children are young, you can't imagine that there will ever be a time when they won't be coming home for Christmas but now we know that the years when they are all with us will be rare and therefore to be cherished. In the years to come they may be working or traveling or with their in-laws - and quite rightly so. And I never want to be the parent who makes a big fuss when they can't come home. But I do appreciate it very much when they can. And since my two married daughters have shown excellent taste in their choice of husbands they are wonderful additions to our family festivities.

It's funny that through all the Christmases at our little home, it's the ones where things have not quite gone to plan that are the ones that we remember. The one where the village postmistress joined us for Christmas dinner. She was recently widowed and would otherwise have spent Christmas alone and we couldn't have that. So she arrived looking elegant in smart dress and high heels having driven down our muddy, rutted lane, which was, incidentally, muddier and more rutted in those days - yes, hard to believe but true!  When she left, sometime later having enjoyed a festive feast and quite a few glasses of wine, darkness had fallen.  We then set about the mammoth task of clearing up the debris. After about ten minutes there was a knock at the door. The postmistress had returned, slightly dishevelled and rather muddy wearing only one shoe! She had missed the track near the cattle grid in the field beyond our own where the cows had cut up the ground to a miresome stew and got her car stuck in the mud. She had then got out and had lost one of her shoes in the mud! My beloved returned her to her car having got it out of the mud though we didn't find her missing stiletto until the next day but it was all in one piece and apparently had not been worn by any of our bovine friends! 

The other memory that is always front of mind at Christmas concerns my in-laws. Not having been first choice (or any other choice, come to that) of my beloved's now late mother for the position of daughter-in-law, the years (i.e. every other year, at the very least) when they visited us were always more stressful. I would be desperate for the house to be immaculate, the food perfect, the children spotless and minding their ps and qs etc. One year, all of the above had occurred and wonderful smells were emanating from the oven, the house tidy and the children on their best behaviour as I took the ocelot fur and sheepskin coat from the aforementioned in-laws. My beloved offered them a glass of fizz which was promptly accepted and he set about filling the ice bucket to pop the bottle in. He had, earlier in the week, filled a number of sandwich boxes etc with water and frozen them so the lumps of ice were very large - too large, in fact, to fit into the ice bucket. So he set about smashing the ice in the sink. Now for those who don't know, we are a non-dishwasher house (it's a long story, don't ask) so we wash up by hand in the sink. I was chatting politely to the in-laws when I heard a massive crash which turned out to be the bottom of the sink cracking in two and falling through the bottom of the kitchen unit. In my head, I worked silently through the entire and very extensive range of expletives in my vocabulary and smiled at the assembled family as if nothing terrible had occurred. We washed up in a bucket until the first week in January that year. 

One of my favourite parts of Christmas when the children were young was reading A Child's Christmas in Wales by Dylan Thomas before they went to sleep on Christmas Eve. We still read it every year except that now everyone reads a few pages. It's a reminder of the magic of Christmas and I love the skating postman and Mrs Prothero and the cats. Special moments on a hectic day when the television is turned off and we are 'just us' with no outside distractions. The other part of Christmas Day when the twins were little that was always my best moment on Christmas Day was when the children would all jump on our bed on Christmas morning with their stockings, so full of excitement that Santa had so brilliantly chosen gifts that they loved and wanted - even if they hadn't known before that they wanted them. The older two absolutely played along with this till long after they had gone to university. 

So I will be not counting my blessings on Christmas Day because there are just too many but I will remember how fortunate I am. You only have to turn on the news to be reminded how lucky and how privileged we all are. I wish you all good health, family and friends and most of all,

peace this Christmas.

And in case you would like to read the charming story by Dylan Thomas, here's the link: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-child-s-christmas-in-wales/

Numbers 4 and 3, JS and number 2 already in festive mood! Just waiting for number 1 and her husband, the intrepid granny and the maiden aunts for the full festive team 2016 (and me and him, of course!) 

Holding my breath

You're right! I haven't written a blog for ages and yes, I have been out and about playing and watching lots of sport, living it up in London and Dublin and doing all the kinds of stuff that I love to do and am well aware that I am absolutely blessed that I am able to do it.

So... holding my breath - why? Because once a year I have to go to see the kind and very clever people at York District Hospital Cancer Unit. And when I start unconsciously counting down to the date, I feel increasing degrees of either panic or pessimism - or both. When I was first diagnosed, I was very conscious that I did not want to lose my sense of self, my 'me-ness' for want of a better word. I did not want to be the woman with cancer, the woman who had had cancer, the woman who always talked about cancer. And boy, oh boy, I try not to be that woman! Sometimes I fail. I know. Like when I say to my family if they complain of feeling poorly "Don't ever try playing 'illness top trumps' with me because I will always win!" Apparently, according to them, the statute of limitations has now run out on this joke. Hmmm.

But this year the panic/pessimism has been worse than last year and could only be satisfied by the actual trip to see the consultant at York and that has been done today. And yes, I am clear for another year! Hurray! Two years with no cancer and let me tell you, if you don't have your health, you don't have much. So I am now in full-on acceleration mode for planning more exciting things to do and places to go and am not going to spend the next four weeks wondering whether every ache, cough and any other imaginary symptom is a sign that the cancer may be back. It does that to you - the monkey on your back, always.

So back to jollier things as this is the season to be jolly, as it were! Since our super-fab visit to Apartment Antonia  http://apartmentantoniakalkan.co.uk in Turkey with number 2 and JS, I have managed to stagger round a Tough Mudder (rather faster than last year but that is my last one ever - because a promise is a promise and my beloved really doesn't like me doing them) and had three back-to-back weekends of lovely folks coming to stay here with much wine consumed and general indulgence.

Since then, in line with my project 'Leading the Life of Riley', I have been indulging my sports-watching passions with trips to Kingston Park, the O2 for the ATP Finals, two trips to Twickenham and one to Lansdowne Road. I can't name a favourite because they were all top trips with family and friends and apart from the O2, the others were washed down with a fair amount of Guinness. It's good for me - it must be!!!

So now we begin the run-in to Christmas. Am I ready? Well, more than usual thanks to my more relaxed lifestyle and there's even a new Christmas jumper hanging in my wardrobe. And most of all, there is a warm place in my heart because all the people I love most in the world will be sharing Christmas Day with us here.

Now breathe...

Turning Tables

For the past 30 years we have been taking children on holiday - mostly our own, but occasionally other people's too, in order to provide the necessary distraction during the turbulent teens.  We've taken them to places we hope they'll like or love as much as we do and, on the basis that most of my bucket list comprises places we've already visited, we've obviously had some very good holidays. We have even ventured to places which were not on any bucket list I might construct in a million years. The case in point being my 50th birthday adventure which started with my beloved, two teenish daughters and a brace of 10 year olds in a boutique hotel in Paris with a fabulous dinner ("What's the problem here?" you're thinking...) and morphed into 3 days at a very wet and cold EuroDisney with just the younger pair where "It's a small, small world" played relentlessly from morning till night and even the bathroom tiles in the hotel had hippos dressed in pink tutus on them. Some people love theme parks, my beloved and I are not amongst their number.

Moving on 10 years from the theme park experience and the tables have been well and truly turned. My 60th birthday present from number 2 child and her lovely husband JS is a week's holiday with them at THEIR apartment in Kalkan in Turkey. And no amount of skypeing and pictures had prepared us for how lovely Apartment Antonia https://www.ownersdirect.co.uk/accommodation/p6727170 is. (I must point out that any further purchases of this type are unlikely to be called Apartment Jonathan but he seems cool with that.) When they made this momentous purchase earlier in the year there was a lot of skypeing to us at home showing us not just 'hot dog legs' but views and the pool and the dining room and three bedrooms etc etc accompanied by excited squeals. And now that we've been, the excited squeals were no exaggeration - it is stunning, and spacious and very beautiful indeed. 

Also we had never been to Turkey before. We went unresearched with no preconceptions and though this isn't always a good plan, having an open mind about the people, the beaches, towns, bars and restaurants meant that we were up for trying things and going with the flow. When you have swapped positions with your children in terms of who is in the driving seat, literally as well as metaphorically, this is definitely a good thing. 

Kalkan itself proved to be lively without being overbusy. The maitre d's and bar and shop owners stand outside their establishments on the pavement calling to passers by, inviting them to come and try. But this is not in the way of the only other Muslim destination we have been to of late. They were happy to let you go with a smile and a wave and a 'come back tomorrow'. In Marrakech, street traders were much more persistent and occasionally overly so. And everywhere we ate was excellent with, for me, the highlight being dinner overlooking the sea at the Mahal Beach Club http://villamahal.com where the waves lapped against the cliff walls just inches from our feet. Here the innate hospitality of the locals stretched to the barman driving us home in his car which turned out to be a proper banger with a massive crack in the windscreen! Other great picks included The Fish Terrace, Baharat and Gironda and everywhere we were welcomed and the service was faultless.

Part of the children's plan was to familiarise us with where to go in Kalkan so we can return without their stewardship on other occasions so naturally there was an outing to the tennis court where I was treated to a 6-2 drubbing by my son-in-law and a morning run along what was described as a 'relatively flat' route. Hmmm...

We also ventured to the beach to swim in the incredibly clear turquoise waters of the Aegean and share the beach with other tourists and locals. This latter included bikini- and burkini-clad and some fully covered from head to foot (including socks) ladies; interestingly,  the last two types accompanied men who had totally adopted the Western way of dressing with board shorts and sunglasses. Who are we to judge? They all looked happy inasmuch as you could tell from their faces (where visible) and perhaps the Western world is

too quick to try to implement its ways across parts of the world with other traditions and mores. 

But best of all was seeing our daughter and son-in-law in the place that they find special and knowing that they wanted to share it with us. 

So now we are heading back across the airways of Northern Europe to Yorkshire where apparently the weather is windy and doubtless a lot colder than the 30 or so degrees we have been enjoying for the last week. But importantly we are about to take up the reins of parenthood again as number 3 managed to dislocate his shoulder doing the Yorkshire Warrior at the weekend and instead of being at university in Newcastle he is flollopping around at home being catered for and generally indulged by our friends in the village. Seemingly we are rubbish parents for being on holiday in his hour of need and he has been attempting to put himself up for adoption. I'll let you know how that goes! 

Something Auld, Something New... Something Blue?

No, it's not another wedding blog though I imagine from the title you might think it may be. No, I think we might be 'weddinged out' - at least for now, though before I move on, I must say I am massively touched that Harriet, another of the Salcombe holiday children, with whom we had jolly family holidays many moons ago, has chosen as one of her readings at her wedding next weekend something I wrote a while ago on this very blog spot. Wishing her and her fiancé masses of love and good wishes. And we are going to a wedding party this weekend ... No, stop it, move on.

So back to the real subject of this blog. Now that I have cut down my working week to a level of appropriate slobdom, I theoretically at least have more playtime. And more time to travel to those places which populated my bucket list when I was poorly. And I have to be truthful here, a lot of those places are not new to me but old favourites where we have had happy times.

And so last weekend we returned to Edinburgh, scene of much jollification over the years from school lacrosse tours with children one and two (not forgetting the Barnsley Lodger) and visits to Number One in her fairly unhygienic flats when at university (always clean the bathroom before use of any sort), to exciting Fringing with the full range of drama, music, comedy, amateur, professional and every type of performance in between. Not to mention Skip's magnificent birthday weekend and a number of fabulously nail-biting and alcoholic trips to Murrayfield. 

We are now fortunate to have Number Four child in residence in Scotland's capital at university and that's the best excuse of all for heading North of the Border. So on the agenda for this weekend was a bit of furniture-purchasing and assembly for her new room, some stand-up comedy at the Fringe, street theatre and lunch at Tom Kitchin's restaurant, imaginatively named The Kitchin. This was a Christmas present from me to my beloved in the form of a voucher for set lunch for two which morphed into set lunch and a la carte for three with a dazzling but not bargainious selection of wines. It was incredible. How can a Michelin-starred chef (who was most definitely visible behind the glass screen in the kitchen) produce such amazing food? Suffice to say, Number Four has bagged it as the venue for her post-graduation lunch and I can't think of a better way to spend a Friday afternoon than sampling the delicious tasting menu served by just about the best team of waiting staff I've ever come across.

Next up is Alistair McGowan, a superb impressionist with a huge arsenal of voices at his disposal. His Andy Murray may well be more convincingly dour than the real thing! He raced from one character to the next and either he is the master of appearing to ad lib whilst being well rehearsed or we were treated to a few diversions on his meanderings through the topical landscape of the day. By the time he was done, we were too - a big lunch does that to you. But we sneaked in a visit to a bar which I can only describe as a speakeasy. I like a bar that you have to enter through a bookcase.

Day two and we're off to IKEA (pronounced 'I key are'  in my world but apparently now 'ik' - as in 'I'm feeling a bit ik' 'eee ah'). It's been a long time since I've been to Ikea and I've remembered why now. Yes, you have to follow the arrows, no diversions or short cuts, even if it turns out that what you want is right at the end. But Number Four needs a hanging rail for her new room in the same flat as last year and my beloved is remarkably (yes, really!) adept at assembling it. Who knew? Perhaps more diy jobs will be heading his way in future.

Number Four and I thought we'd do a bit of light shopping whilst parking my beloved in a familiar tapas bar which seemed like a good idea until he was sending pictures on the family whatsapp group of all the things he'd ordered for himself to eat. So we had to go back and save him - from himself! 

Our second stand up was Viv Groskop, the journalist and frequent Radio 4 quipper. Her act was called 'Be more Margo' and loosely, very loosely as it turned out, based on the comedic qualities of Margo Leadbetter in the much loved television comedy The Good Life.

Actually the stand-up was mostly about her rather tricky relationship with her Daily Mail-reading mother and the less said about readers of that work of fiction the better. Anyway, she was entertaining, not least when she had a Margo face-off between two prospective Margos in the audience and selected my beloved as the man most suitable to be Jerry, Margo's husband. Number Four's giggles were barely controllable at this point. At the end of the performance, Viv shook hands with us all like a school headmistress at prize giving. So lost for words was I that all I could muster was 'I'm married to Jerry.'

So Auld Reekie is my something old, the Kitchin is my must-be-repeated something new and the blue thing? Based on last weekend's experience, is Edinburgh the capital of blue hair? They were everywhere...well done, badly done with hideous roots, wearing matching blue ensembles... Is it the Saltire? Is it homage to Braveheart? Who knew... Maybe I'll go blue! 

"Red hair, sir, in my opinion, is dangerous"*

A few weeks ago, shortly before the fabulous and fantastic family holiday in Portugal, I received an unscheduled call from my goddaughter whose wedding we were due to attend in Guernsey in July. "Will you make a speech at my wedding please?" Which speech? Best man, groom...? But no, the speech which is usually the honour of the father of the bride in this day and age was, back in the day of our own weddings, assumed by a close friend of the family and that turned out to be me. I did stop and think about my answer over a few hours because it is a big thing to do, the potential for stuffing up fairly enormous, and, if we're honest here, aside from work-related presentations, most of my public speaking over the last 10 years has taken the form of alcohol-fuelled ramblings of an off-the-cuff nature spoken from the position of standing on a chair late in proceedings.

"Yes! It will be an honour!" Did I really say that? I need to point out at this time that my goddaughter is a redhead and as the mother of another formidable redhead, I know that a negative response is not an option. So over the next few weeks there were Skype calls, phone calls and emails to family and friends of the bride until I had amassed sufficient information to write something half decent. First draft completed but it felt clunky and distinctly unfunny.

Meanwhile there were two trips to London in a week (that's a lot for me) - firstly with number 3 to Wimbledon where we were treated to Federer and Murray and generous hospitality from the CBs, and then for a luvvielicious press night at the Royal Court for number 1's (well, strictly speaking Matt Smith's) new play, Unreachable http://unreachabletheplay.com. Very funny and a good move for number 1 career-wise. Then it's on to the after-party (careful, or I shall burst into Remix to Ignition by that fine Yorkshire singer, Our Kelly) where there are so many luvvies that my beloved kept saying "It's him off..." which is how our late friend Richard Whiteley https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Whiteley used to refer to himself. 

Back to Yorkshire and the reality of the clunky speech and time running out. Number 1, when she is not gainfully employed in the acting profession is a mean motivational speaker and was my saviour. "Help!" I said. And she did. The clunky speech was returned to me with all my bits in tact, except for references to Meat Loaf, but reordered and with a few extra jokes which totally worked. And actually the first time I read it, it was funny.

Fast-forward a mere two days and we are on Guernsey the night before the wedding and my goddaughter, the bride, makes a cracking unscripted speech at dinner which reminds me that, as probably the only person in the room who didn't go to university, I am the least qualified to face the task ahead. "The mountains that must be climbed in unsuitable shoes..."

Before we head out the following afternoon, me in my totally ridiculous hat (but I love it) I practised my speech for the 25th and last time, and for the first time in front of my beloved. "You'll have to stop for the laughs," he said. "What laughs?" I wailed, "it's not funny!"

The wedding was beautiful and one of the readings had been mine at number 1's wedding a few weeks before - surely a good omen? Back at the reception, the godfather is minding me like a stalker. He knows that if I turn and run now, he's in the frame for speechifying. Stone cold sober, unlike the audience, with just a gin and tonic stiffener 10 minutes before, and I'm up. Here we go...

They laughed - and apparently they cried too - but in a good way, if there is such a thing. Mission accomplished. The groom and best man were awesome and I did some speed-drinking on red wine and mohitos to catch up with everyone else.

Brilliant wedding, gorgeous bride, great times with good friends and now, sitting in the departure lounge at the airport, a massive sense of relief. Thank you, Guernsey! I'll be back soon (hopefully with rather less responsibility!)

*PG Wodehouse 

Farewell to Acorn...

Over the last seventeen years, I've written many thousands of words about the Acorn Charity in the form of press releases and newsletters. Now with a little breathing space since the final Acorn event, the 100k Bike Ride, it feels like the right time to sum up the things about Acorn that have made an impact on my life. This is very much my take on the events and the people and I guess that if each one of the thirty plus committee members over the years were to come up with their favourite bits it might look very different to this. But, for the record, and not necessarily in the right order, here's mine.

1  Louise. What can I say about my dear friend that hasn't been said elsewhere? Acorn was formed out of her passion for making things better for people with dementia having watched her own father and family suffer so badly. Her immense contribution is in memory of her father, Luc and I know he would be so proud of her. She has been an inspiration, a driving force (sometimes with no brakes!) and has stood up for people with no voice and sometimes no help in the community. Without her, none of this would have happened.

2  The Girls. What began as a group of girlfriends sitting round Louise's table with me very much on the sidelines morphed into a seriously powerful and professional organisation. But through all that time we never lost touch of the friendships that bound us together, and we made new lifelong friends. Everyone of us will have had our moments of comradeship - whether we were washing up together interminably (and there was a lot of that) or running a half marathon, helping with the singing group or wrestling with the database. The ties between us are unbreakable now and that is beyond price.

3  Kieran. Without Acorn I would never have met Kieran. We met, argued about everything under the sun and banged heads on every possible occasion, with Louise,  mostly serenely, trying to keep the peace. And then, when we were both ill we found a friendship and a ridiculous sense of humour that got me through some very dark days. Sadly Kieran did not make it through and I shall never forget standing outside her funeral with Robert. But Acorn gave me my friendship with Kieran at a time when I needed it - and for that I shall always be grateful. RIP

4  The Challenges - Great North Run. I remember the conversation going something like this..."Well, if David can run a marathon across a desert, then surely we can run a half marathon in Newcastle for Acorn?" And like lemmings off a cliff, we hurled ourselves into training - the most unlikely bunch of runners you'll ever come across. And then, having coerced various friends and family to join in, we piled into a bus to Newcastle on the appointed day and, some slower than others, completed the Great North Run. Great sense of pride and for me, the start of my love of running (not very fast and not very far) and yes, I've done the Great North Run again since then and two of my children have too.

5  The Challenges - Lyke Wake Walk. For me, the wettest (because I have refused to swim the Channel for Acorn on more than one occasion) night of my life. "If we can run 13 miles, then surely we can walk 40 miles in 24 hours?" Like lemmings again, we piled into training - which took ages because going for a daily trundle with the dog doesn't really do it. There was a similar amount of 'encouragement' for our friends and family to join us, support us with bacon sandwiches which proved very important, and we set off to walk from Osmotherly to Ravenscar starting at midnight on a date specifically chosen because it was a full moon. Oh how we laughed when it rained so torrentially sideways for the whole night as we made our way across the moor with not even the smallest amount of light pollution and every (and I mean every) article of clothing wet through. So much for the full moon then! But we made it, and even now, when someone suggests a really long walk, that night on the moors pops into my head. Seriously, never again!

6  The Challenges - 100k Bike Ride. "We can run 13 miles, walk 40 so cycling 62 miles must be a breeze" ... it wasn't quite like that but the first Acorn Bike Ride was most definitely not for the cycling community. Bikes with baskets, cyclists dressed in chinos with a cashmere sweater knotted round their shoulders, and someone who cycled the last few miles with two pints of beer on his handlebars (oh yes, that would be my beloved!). We raised an amazing £42,000 at the first Bike Ride and the beast was born. Now, and appropriately this was our last event, it's chocka with lycra-clad cyclists on bikes that cost far more than the car my children have learnt to drive in, and we raised over £60,000. The Bike Ride is poignant for me because having completed it every year bar one when I was unwise enough to marshal and vowed I would never do that again (my sympathy to the marshals - they are absolute stars), last year I was recovering from breast cancer and though I knew I couldn't finish I was damn well going to start. With my cycling buddy, Tim, at my side, who was very strict with me about distance and speed, we made it to Stillington before I threw in the towel. Further than I had intended and a big achievement for me after all that had gone before. And this year Tim and I finished the Ride (he was still being strict with me) and now I feel, thanks to the NHS, that I am completely rebuilt (in the manner of the Six Million Dollar Man, if you know what I mean).

7  Chapel Allerton. I freely admit that there was a time when I wondered how important our contribution to research into Scleroderma at Chapel Allerton Hospital really was. Surely the amount we gave them each year was very small beer compared to the mighty NHS (of which I am a huge fan, obviously) but Professor Emery and his team made me realise that though our contribution in real terms was relatively small, the freedom to use it for specific projects, equipment and treatments was an invaluable tool. Scleroderma is a 'cinderella disease' affecting small numbers of mainly young women, but its effects are devastating. I hope we made some small progress through our efforts. Visits to Chapel Allerton as a committee have always left me moved beyond words and in awe of the staff there.

8  Singing.  It's one of those things when people say "you have to be there...". When Acorn first kickstarted the singing group for people with dementia and their carers at Christ Church in Harrogate, it was hard to imagine how important it would become as a lifeline for people so isolated by their condition. It is impossible to place a value on it. Husbands and wives (and sons and daughters) who daily care for a loved one who is slowly disappearing before their eyes find succour in the rare companionship of others in the same situation. And people who are losing their independence find their voices in joyful singing of songs old but never forgotten. I will never forget some of the people I met there and their appreciation of precious times when they could enjoy life once more.

David Andrews, conducting the singers at Singing for Fun on a Thursday morning

9  Running with Alan. For me this is perhaps the big one. The misconception that Alzheimers or dementia is 'confused old people in chairs' is an easy one to accept but often a very long way from the truth.  Alan had been a marathon runner - competitive times at marathons all over the world. And now he had dementia. I had the absolute privilege to run with him under the great care of John Ashfield who was then a Wellbeing Support Worker, part-funded by Acorn. We ran the Seven Bridges at Studley Royal (part of the National Trust Fountains Abbey Estate). At the start, I found Alan's speech hard to understand and worried that this might be a difficult afternoon, but once we started running together, I found him easier to understand and his complete joy of being able to run despite the debilitating regime of drugs was just wonderful - beyond words for me. The last part of the run was the straight downhill slope to the gates and he (in the manner of proper runners) kicked for home. There was no question that he wanted to win the race. Me, very one-paced, was a long way behind but I could have laughed with joy watching him sprint ahead to the finish. I met him a year or so later and he could no longer run and certainly won't have remembered running with me. I reminded him gently and he managed to say "I hope I beat you."

So that's my Acorn story. I could have talked about the balls and celebrities we met, about fashion shows and Christmas Fayres and coffee mornings, about the bridge and tennis and golf days because there were so many things. But those are my stand-out experiences of time very well spent in a very good cause where perhaps like all of us, we got out so much more than we put in. Acorn was epic and it will always be one of my proudest achievements. Thank you!

I forgot to mention my golf team, Mrs Barr's Boys. Always so tastefully attired!