THE Trooping of the Colour, where the Grenadier Guards gave such an immaculate performance, created a fabulous spectacle, with such precision and dedication.

It was amazing, considering that most of these young men had just come back from a gruelling and dangerous tour at the front in Afghanistan.

I defy anyone of this country to watch that and not feel a surge of pride and gratitude.

We got quite lost the other day when I went over the border into Yorkshire to give my life story to the Women’s Institute rally. So, I wound down the car window and asked a local farming gentleman, ‘Are we anywhere near Laycock village?’ His extremely vehement reply was, ‘Ee, heck lass, you murn’t go that way or tha’ll end up i’ Lancashire,’ which made me rather glad that I’d put on my posh voice!

This oil business is getting out of hand and I don’t like the fact that the Americans are equating the oil company with us and trying to make it political. I know it’s BP, but it’s an international company, a company owned by 37 per cent by American shareholders, so instead of pointing fingers of blame, it should be realised for what it is: an accident, a disaster of global proportions and the best brains from the world should be tackling it.

Though, I suppose we have to be honest and imagine if it had happened on part of our coast, I bet we’d have given them quite a bit of stick!

While glancing through the paper, I was very pleased to see a picture of Norman Barrett, the ringmaster from Blackpool Circus, having the MBE pinned on his chest by the Queen.

It brought back the memory of the time I spent a day as a ringmaster, complete with top hat and red tailcoat – and I can tell you it was no easy job. I was announcing the acts, talking to the audience and chatting to the children ringside, not to mention keeping out of the path of the elephants and lions, but it was fun and a great experience. Norman was so nice, making it all look so easy.

For many of us, Blackpool played a big part in our childhood and our growing up. It was our Mecca. If my friend Mavis and I were lucky, we would catch the train at Cherry Tree station on a Saturday night to go dancing at the Winter Gardens.

Train fares must have been cheaper than they are now – or was it that we’d had a good week on piece work, machine stitching slippers at Newman’s?