Chez Spud

When I was a child, I really really wanted to be a nun. I was quite a devout ‘Litttle Catholic’ as my grandmother used to call me, always bothering the Lord, fiddling with my rosery beads, toting round a small Tupperware box of holy water from Lourdes (seriously), singing hymns, making up my own prayers and colouring in pictures of Jesus.

Sister Spud

I had a picture of the Pope on my bedroom wall, and used to turn it around when I got undressed at night, in his case His Holiness suddenly developed an All Seeing Sense and was offended by my Wombles knickers and Holly Hobbit nightdress.

I can’t remember when it tipped in to ‘I know, why don’t I BE a nun’, or when I realised perhaps I wasn’t up for getting me to a nunnery after all. Quite probably the realisation that I might have to have a man’s name and the fact that nearly every nun I knew was actually quite vicious…Sister Joseph Mary where are you now, with your ruler slapping across the backs of knuckles and yells of “Spudballo…I’ll..slap…your…LEGS!”. What a lovely, Christian woman she was.

As a child my mother thought there were three sexes: men, women and nuns. Nuns sounded like women, but didn’t wear make up and had short hair hidden under their veils, wore long black dresses to the ground (in those days), but had big heavy ugly black lace up shoes. So, men, women and nuns.

Mind you, my mother’s judgement shouldn’t be relied on. She also thought that the reason men go bald is because they run out of hair as it grows from the top of their heads, down in to their beards and eventually they just run out of hair altogether…it’s all been ‘bearded’ out, as it were.

The Lord and I aren’t quite so pally these days, since I ditched the chance to be a Bride of Christ in favour of being a Bride of MrSpud (nicer clothes and less rules).

Awww, look at us, the happy couple…enjoying a joke. Michael is amusing me with his legendary sense of funny, and he’s looking pretty tickled too. Or is he laughing at my dodgy growing out hair? No matter, I’m sure whatever it is he is laughing WITH me at not at me.

Me and my 'other' husband

We’ve been together for 24 years now, since I developed a lasting and stonking crush on him as a teenager. Naturally, like any couple, we’ve had our ups and downs but in the end we love each other very deeply and will be together forever.

There is the ‘slight’ knotty issue of his wife and family, and MrSpud and my boys, but the course of true love never runs smooth does it?

I’ve never actually met Michael Palin, I will admit it. I have come very close on two occasions, both book signings. The first time, early 1990s, he was doing a signing in Selfridges and I got as far as the lift before my heart started pounding so fast I thought I was going to faint so I had to go home. Waaaaaah!

The second time I took reinforcements in the shape of various colleagues from work. Got to Waterstones, same thing happened, I was completely frozen to the spot. Someone shoved me forward and, squeek, HE LOOKED AT ME. That was it, I turned on my heel and ran back to the office, completely overwhelmed.

Recently I read an interview with ‘my husband’ and the interviewer commented on the longevity of his marriage, and how rare that is in celebrity world. Michael said that someone had caught his eye once or twice, but in the end family is more important.

HE MEANT ME!!!! HE LOVES ME TOO!!!