CAN you believe that it's the middle of October already? I have only just got over Christmas (and that's the one before last)!

Funny thing time, one minute they are saying you are a gorgeous girl, the next you are a glamorous grandma. Somehow or other this time thing seems to be on the outside only, for, inside I really don't feel any older.

I think those of us who have lived through the past 50 years must have seen some changes. What seemed to be things of science fiction are now here. With a little gadget held in my hand I can speak to friends anywhere in the world. With a box in my living room I can watch things that are happening on the other side of the globe -- live. It's mind blowing.

The house we lived in when we were kids had one fire, this in the old black leaded kitchen range, which was the hub of the household. Its oven not only baked bread but during the winter it was home to our night clothes, plus one house brick each. These bricks when hot would be put in the felt covers my grandma had made and then into our beds -- very successful they were too. In the morning we would all stand shivering round the range. In the grate would be a fire 'banked up' from the night before. A blower would be helping the fire to get going, ably assisted by a sheet of the old Telegraph, which in those days was broadsheet size.

Breakfast was big, thick, crisp slices of fried bread to keep out the cold.

Monday was definitely wash day. How I hated it! Mainly because my mum and grandma were always bad-tempered because I suppose they didn't much like it either.

Coming home for our dinner on Mondays was like playing Russian Roulette, one wrong word would result in a clip round the ear-hole. 'Tater ash' was on the menu, and if the weather was bad, wet clothes would be everywhere on the rack, on the maidens, round the fire, Dolly tubs, posser and scrubbing board. No, Monday was not the best of days.

But what a difference on Thursdays -- baking day. The table scrubbed and on it, fresh bread, buns. Oh, yes I loved Thursdays.

Our front room was kept for special occasions, it was known as the parlour, so we all really lived in the big kitchen. Grandma knitting socks, my father reading, my mum sewing and we -- our Tom and Alf and me -- sat round the big table, the lads doing Meccano or sometimes we would play cards, all the family in the same room.

I like to think it was because we all wanted to be together, but it could have been because it was the only place that was warm.

Friday night was bath night. The big zinc tub was brought in from where it hung on the back yard wall, the large pan filled and put on the fire and the boiler fire lit. Then came the task of filling the bath and my mum dipping her elbow in to make sure the temperature was just right. I was first in, being the youngest and a girl, so I was deemed to be the cleanest.

I look back on those days with affection. Was it as good as I thought it was? I like to think so, but perhaps those days are a bit like me, for it seems the older I get the better I think I was.

Until next week...

PS Thanks for your phone calls and letters of support for Jim Bowen following last week's column.

Let's hope they do some good -- but I'm not holding my breath.