Robbie Savage’s mum Val became ‘ship without a sail’ when late husband died

Sir Captain Tom Moore told Naga Munchetty all about his new foundation to help people with mental health problems, which he set up in memory of his late wife Pamela.

He remembered how he visited Pamela every day during the years she was in a mental hospital to feed her lunch. And he said: “I did it because I had a contract – in sickness and in health”.

I know exactly how he felt. When you see your soul mate needs help, there’s nowhere you could be except by their side.

When my late husband Colin’s dementia was progressing, I did everything. I was crying out for help bathing him for six months until some lovely ladies from a nearby centre came and took Colin to a former old folks’ home where they had a big bath.

I’d give them all his clean clothes and they’d drive him back three hours later. I thought in those three hours of a rare break, I’d do all sorts or even catch up on rest. But in the end, I just sat, waiting for him, missing him and worrying about him because sometimes he became fretful without me. I was only happy when Col came back.

When you love someone so much and they’re gone, you become a ship without a sail. And sometimes that ship has a wobble and looks like it can’t go on.

Captain Tom’s foundation will direct charity money to people in need. And just by sharing his story, his wisdom, kindness and emotions, he’s helping a great many others too.

All change

Seeing the Changing Rooms cast back with a new TV show made me think back to all the decor I once loved and now could not stomach.

It took me and Colin a while to furnish and decorate our house after we moved in 40 years ago. Colin insisted we didn’t buy anything on HP, so for a while all we had were four deck chairs.

Then my dad offered a lady a few bob for her old hide suite and I loved it. And I saved up cigarette coupons for a lobster pot stool.

Paint was expensive, but thinking back we were quite go-ahead with our colours. We had a mustard kitchen, blue-grass walls in the hall and more colours than Joseph’s dreamcoat.

We were the first in the close to have a coloured ceiling. We painted our living room walls pale peppermint green and the ceiling the pink you’d get if you mixed raspberries with carnation cream.

Anyone who saw it said: “We wouldn’t have done it, but it isn’t half effective”. I was the one living with it and I liked it, so to anyone who didn’t – tough.

My boys Jonathan and Robert had blue painted walls, but there were so many pin holes and Blu-Tak blobs from all their football posters we had put up wallpaper and emulsion over it.

All decorating ideas came from our own minds, because with two small boys I didn’t have time to read magazines and it was decades before Instagram.

Now it seems everyone’s interiors look the same, and as soon as people move in they have all sorts of beautiful furniture right away.

Now my house is almost all magnolia. But as garishly coloured as they were, I think I preferred the old days.

Weekends are better now footie’s back

My weekends have transformed now the football season’s started again.

At 7.45am on Saturday I call our Robert’s Radio 5 Live show to give my match predictions. This week I was the only one to rightly predict Newcastle would beat West Ham 2:0. I love beating the pundits – I beat Robert all last season too.

Robert and Chris Sutton asked me to predict the top four in the Premier League and I said Manchester City, Liverpool, Chelsea and Manchester United.

But when he asked me to predict the bottom four, I refused. I think it’s disrespectful to write teams off before they’ve even kicked a ball and it’s not fair on the clubs, the players or the fans. Everyone has dreams.

Then, I settled down to watch the run-up to the matches on BT Sport. And when I catch a couple of live games I don’t shout and scream at the screen – I’m not a hooligan.

For the rest of the evening I’m riveted to the radio with all the post-match analysis until it’s time for bed.

It’s taken decades for women to become the norm in football crowds and pitches. There are plenty of women, like me, over 70 who love it too.

Lockdown has flown by

My neighbour Beryl called this week to say she wished she was somewhere nice. So I went over to her house with my walker and two cafe lattes and we sat together, pretending we were in Llandudno. It’s nice to dream.

We both said if we’d known back in March we’d be pretty much at home for the next six months, we’d go daft. But as hard, scary and emotional as it’s been at times, it’s flown.

My next door neighbour picked up his grandson from school this week and said it was pandemonium – parents without masks all too close and all chatting away.

I don’t like the “I’m Alright Jack” attitude. If we were all strict and behaved ourselves, there’d be no need for local lockdowns.

This Christmas won’t be the same. Going to town to see the lights and hear carol singers just won’t happen.

And I’ve started to face the fact that I’ll probably be on my own. Usually I take turns between going to Robert or Jonathan’s house. But this year maybe Kim will deliver Christmas dinner on a tray and I’ll spend the day in my jimjams and cosy dressing gown watching TV.

But lockdown has taught us that whatever’s thrown at us, we can cope and just get on with it.

Autumn comforts

Autumn has made me dream of hot soups with a warm crusty roll and butter.

I always dip my bread in. Then it goes all soggy, the butter melts and as I put it to my mouth it usually falls all down my t-shirt.

Since I’m at home and no one can judge me, I’ve started pegging a tea towel under my chin when I eat so I can enjoy my meals without dealing with stains.

I might leave the tea towel and peg behind, but I’d still dunk my bread in my soup even if I was in Buckingham Palace.

If you’d like to contact Val, email [email protected]