When I am in the United States and someone overhears my British accent, at some point during the trip someone will inevitably say — when she was alive — “I just love your Queen.”
It is almost impossible for me not to reply, “Boy George, or the one in the palace?”
Arguably, Boy George has done more to promote British fashion, music and style around the world than many who have appeared on the Honours List. In many ways he has been a global ambassador for the United Kingdom.
More importantly, George made it possible for countless young LGBTQ people to see a beacon — a figure who said, unapologetically, do not be afraid to be yourself. His honesty about his struggles with addiction has also helped many others find the courage to seek help.
Boy George burst onto Top of the Pops in 1982 with Culture Club performing their first major hit, “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me.” Today there is scarcely anyone in the world who does not recognise the name Boy George.
Back then I was living in Brighton and was nineteen years old. My sister, who was sixteen and still at school in Surbiton, rang me in excitement. She had been a huge fan of Culture Club even before their television debut, and they were about to play in Brighton. Could she come down?
A couple of weeks later there I was, surrounded by girls chanting “George! George!” at what is now the Odeon cinema, waiting for him to step on stage. Even though Culture Club were not yet household names, the excitement in the room was electrifying. When Boy George finally appeared, the crowd went wild. In the end I resorted to putting my sister on my shoulders so she could get a better view.
George reminded me of someone who had earlier brought light into my life and given me hope. When I was just nine years old, Marc Bolan flashed onto Top of the Pops singing “Ride a White Swan.”
At the time I often felt painfully different. Bullying at school — and sometimes at home — left me wondering whether I wanted to be here at all. But Marc Bolan, along with David Bowie, gave many gay men of my generation hope. They told us, in their own way: it will be OK — keep going.
Years later I realised I had actually encountered Boy George and his entourage long before his rise to global fame. I was sixteen in a club called the Regency in Great Newport Street when Phillip Sallon cheekily pinched my bottom. I turned around to see these fabulously flamboyant figures — Sallon with a black-and-white walking stick — and I was utterly speechless.
Marilyn and George were more beautiful than most of the girls I knew. They were intimidating, to say the least. My friend whispered, “Blitz Kids.” I muttered barely two words and quickly moved away, but the moment left a lasting impression.
I would later see them again at the legendary Bangs gay night on Mondays at the Astoria club. Marilyn, with his incredible Monroe-style hair, stood out from a mile away.
Boy George’s first appearance on BBC Top of the Pops immediately made tabloid headlines. Words like androgynouswere thrown around, and newspapers asked the now infamous question: “Is it a boy or a girl?”
As always happens when something genuinely different appears, critics lined up to condemn it. “One-hit wonder,” they cried. “He’ll corrupt our children,” shouted others from the moral high ground of the Thatcher era.
My sister left that Brighton concert glowing with happiness — much like I had after my first T. Rex concert at Newcastle City Hall. One thing was certain: George was a star, and he was here to stay.
Even those in the know recognised it. Freddie Mercury once said in an interview that Boy George would be around for a very long time and was no flash in the pan. Madonna, despite their occasional differences, has cited him as an inspiration. And Lady Gaga has always been unabashedly mad about the boy.
Labels such as camp, drag queen and trans were quickly attached to him — particularly within the gay community, which is not always shy about labelling its own. George himself addressed it with humour at the 1984 Grammys, declaring:
“Thank you, America — you know a good drag queen when you see one.”
The remark reportedly caused Culture Club’s popularity in parts of the American Bible Belt to dip sharply.
Personally, I never thought George was particularly camp — a word often used to describe effeminate entertainers such as John Inman, Larry Grayson or Kenneth Williams. It takes a real man to live authentically. Beneath the thick foundation and those famously highlighted blue eyes, the strength of a proud Irishman has always shone through.
Both my sister and I eventually spent time living in the United States, but when I returned to London I received an invitation to Boy George’s book launch for Take It Like a Man, written with Spencer Bright.
The party came with strict instructions from George himself: guests had to dress as something to do with school — or not bother turning up.
Daily Mail journalist Lester Middlehurst and I arrived dressed as school prefects, complete with blazers and badges. Spencer Bright appeared as a headmaster carrying a cane.
True to George’s word, several corporate bigwigs were turned away at the door for failing to dress up. Meanwhile George himself wandered around the room in disguise while his mother attended dressed as a dinner lady.
The next time I encountered him was in 1999 at LWT during An Audience with Diana Ross. Ross unexpectedly pulled George from the largely celebrity audience and invited him to sing. I had brought along my partner of eighteen years, Martin Annand, and we both agreed that George’s voice easily held its own alongside Miss Ross.
At the after-party George stood nearby chatting happily with anyone who approached him.
My next brush with him came in 2002 at the opening of Taboo at the Leicester Square Theatre. It was an extraordinary evening — Alan Cumming, Phillip Sallon and countless other personalities were there.
Taboo was not simply George’s life story; it was a tribute to a generation of performers who defined an era: Steve Strange, Leigh Bowery, Phillip Sallon, Marilyn — and of course Boy George himself.
The show was electric, the kind of night you never wanted to end. Marilyn was absent from the opening night, but during the speeches someone joked that she was probably hiding somewhere backstage in rollers and a headscarf.
The production closed in London in 2003 before transferring to New York. Judging by the number of young people around London today dressed in Bowery and Boy George-inspired outfits, perhaps it is time for a revival.
Like me, George is a Gemini — a star sign known for moving between extremes. Over the years Mr O’Dowd has been very open about his struggles with addiction. Under the guidance of DJ Fat Tony he began attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings and, by all accounts, happily volunteers to make the tea for fellow attendees.
George has spoken openly and honestly about his battles, helping others confront their own.
Listening to one of his recent interviews was not only enlightening but genuinely moving. It was refreshing to hear him say, “I don’t live in a gay bubble.”
It is something I often tell people myself — just because someone else is gay does not mean you instantly want to date them or start screaming, “Let’s be sisters!”
I hope George continues giving interviews like this. They will help many people.
Yes, George has been a naughty boy at times — but who among us hasn’t? What he has contributed to music, entertainment, fashion and LGBTQ visibility is extraordinary.
Which raises the question:
Perhaps it is finally time we started calling him Sir George — or at the very least awarding him an OBE.
Award-Winning Author Samantha Lee Howe Announced as New Patron of Anna Kennedy Online
Samantha Lee Howe with Dr Anna Kennedy OBE at the FirePit Gallery . Picture by Andy Barnes photography .
All pictures by Andy Barnes
It was an evening filled with celebration, inspiration and heartfelt surprises at the stylish Firepit Gallery in London, where award-winning author Samantha Lee Howe officially launched her latest novel, A Thorn in the Rose. Yet while guests gathered to honour what many are already calling her most compelling work to date, it was a very special announcement that truly captured the spirit of the night.
During the event, Dr Anna Kennedy OBE revealed that Samantha Lee Howe would become a Patron of the autism charity Anna Kennedy Online — news that was met with warmth, applause and genuine emotion from the packed audience.
The evening, held in aid of the charity, was more than a literary celebration. Funds raised from the raffle and book sales were generously donated to Anna Kennedy Online, reinforcing the strong connection between Samantha’s creative work and her commitment to supporting the autism community.
Picture by Andy Barnes Dr Anna Kennedy OBE collects her signed book from Samantha Lee Howe .
Among the distinguished guests were fellow patrons of the charity, Steven Smith and beloved ‘Allo ‘Allo!’ star and national treasure Vicki Michelle MBE. Their presence added to the celebratory atmosphere, reflecting the close-knit and passionate support network that surrounds the charity.
For Samantha, the announcement was deeply personal. Recently diagnosed with ADHD and her daughter with autism, her connection to the charity’s work is both heartfelt and authentic. Speaking at the event, she shared:
“I have been supporting Anna’s charity for over five years now and have just finished being one of the judges for the Autism’s Hero Awards. I honestly cannot wait to do more for the charity.”
Her words resonated strongly with the audience, many of whom understand first-hand the importance of advocacy, representation and community.
Samantha then treated guests to a reading from her new novel, A Thorn in the Rose, the latest instalment in the Mel Greenway Investigates series. The book is a twisty post-World War II crime mystery layered with themes of class, secrets and second chances. With her trademark precision and emotional depth, Samantha brought her characters to life, holding the room in rapt attention as she read. The atmosphere was electric — a perfect blend of literary sophistication and intimate storytelling.
Award winning writer Samatha Lee Howe in conversation with national treasure Vicki Michelle MBE . Picture Andy Barnes .
But the evening did not end there.
Following the reading, Samantha took to centre stage once more for an engaging “in conversation” segment with Vicki Michelle MBE, who herself was announced earlier this year as a Patron of Anna Kennedy Online. The two shared a natural chemistry as Vicki interviewed Samantha about her journey as an author and her life. This was followed by a Q&A session open to the audience.
Dr Anna Kennedy OBE spoke warmly about Samantha’s appointment as Patron:
“Samantha takes everything she does seriously and gives her all. She will fit in perfectly with the Anna Kennedy Online small but fierce family. We are lucky to have her.”
The phrase “small but fierce” perfectly captures the essence of the charity — a dedicated organisation that continues to make a powerful impact through awards ceremonies, community events and tireless advocacy for autistic individuals and their families.
The Firepit Gallery provided a fitting backdrop for such an occasion. Known for its vibrant atmosphere and creative energy, it has become a hub for inclusive cultural events in London. On this particular evening, it felt less like a gallery and more like a community united by storytelling, compassion and purpose.
picture Andy Barnes .
As guests left the gallery clutching signed copies of A Thorn in the Rose, it was clear that this was more than just a book launch.
With Samantha Lee Howe now officially joining as a Patron, Anna Kennedy Online strengthens its growing network of passionate advocates committed to championing autistic voices and celebrating neurodivergent achievement.
“God Save the Queen of Fashion: Vivienne Westwood”
Back in London after several years in Los Angeles, my dear friend, the late journalist Lester Middlehurst, could not wait to take me out on the London party scene. It was all a little overwhelming on our first outing — the launch of Naomi Campbell’s first album.
As we pushed through the excitable crowd onto the red carpet, Lester whispered, “You’re not actually invited. I only have one invite — we’ll just blag you in.” In true Lester style, blag me in he did, leaving my face as red as the carpet and my hands shaking. Blagging is not my forte, and I stood there clutching my glass of champagne, feeling far less confident than I looked.
It felt like I was the only person among the assembled celebrity guests I had never heard of.
My nerves were soon eased when a lovely woman with a soft Yorkshire accent asked, “How are you tonight? You look great.” It was none other than the wonderful and grounded Vivienne Westwood.
Unlike many of the politely named “meerkats” I encountered over the years — people constantly looking over your shoulder to see if someone more important had arrived — Vivienne was genuinely interested. When I told her I’d owned a pair of her bondage trousers at just seventeen, she laughed and listened. Several people tried to interrupt us, and she politely told them she was talking to me.
That first London social event is one I will never forget, thanks to Vivienne.
With her down-to-earth, no-nonsense charm, she didn’t just change fashion — she changed how we saw designers. Outrageous, camp, fun, and fearless, she was arguably the woman we all wished could be our friend.
In my teens, I once took my mum for a treat day out to King’s Road when I was sixteen. We sat opposite the famous shop Sex, run by Vivienne and Malcolm McLaren. My mum was not ready for the vibe. Spotting what she thought was a giant tampon in the window, she let out a small scream — and that was the end of our day out.
Whether telling Kate Moss that she’d fancy her if she were gay, challenging older generations with “We don’t accept your values,” promoting the Green Party, stripping for PETA, or mocking then–Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher on the cover of Tatler, Vivienne was never afraid to stand on the front line.
Her origins lay in slogan T-shirts. With Malcolm, she designed provocative clothing that led to prosecution under the 1959 Obscene Publications Act. They responded by rebranding the shop, and later opening Seditionaries. Around the same time, the Sex Pistols — managed by Malcolm — released God Save the Queen, a chart-topper banned by the BBC.
Punk was born, and Vivienne led it.
Long before “fifty shades” became fashionable, she brought taboo, fetish, and fantasy into mainstream culture. She inspired artists like Madonna and helped people express themselves boldly through clothing.
Despite her anti-establishment views, she became one of the world’s top designers. She won Fashion Designer of the Year in 1990 and 1991 from the British Fashion Council. She received an OBE from Queen Elizabeth II in 1992 and was made a Dame in 2006.
In 1992, she introduced wedding gowns into her collections. One of her designs famously appeared in Sex and the City, when Mr Big gifts Carrie her dress.
It shocked many when her death was announced in December 2022 — and that this ageless woman was 81. She passed away peacefully, surrounded by family, in Clapham, South London.
Many people enter this world hoping to leave their mark. The soft-spoken Yorkshire girl left her mark on everyone she met — and an indelible stamp on global fashion.
In the ever-evolving landscape of British entertainment, certain personalities burst onto the scene with such warmth and authenticity that audiences instantly connect with them. One such figure is Joe Marler, whose transition from sporting hero to television favourite has been nothing short of remarkable. From rugby pitches to reality TV, and now into the world of podcasting, Marler has carved out a unique space — and his talk show, Will See You Now, is fast becoming one of the most talked-about formats in modern media.
For many viewers, Joe truly captured hearts during his appearance on The Traitors. By the end of the series, it was almost impossible not to develop something akin to a “man crush” on him. He emerged as everyone’s favourite dad, big brother, and loyal mate rolled into one — approachable, funny, and refreshingly honest.
What made Joe stand out was not just his gameplay, but his no-nonsense approach to life. He didn’t pretend to be someone he wasn’t. His humour was natural, his reactions genuine, and his emotional intelligence quietly impressive. In a show built on deception and suspicion, Joe’s openness felt like a breath of fresh air.
When the dramatic finale arrived and Joe was eliminated just short of victory, many viewers felt he had been unfairly “robbed.” Social media lit up with disappointment, with fans lamenting the loss of one of the show’s most likeable contestants. Yet, in typical Joe fashion, he handled defeat with grace and good humour — proving once again why audiences admired him so deeply.
Thankfully, The Traitors was far from the end of Joe’s television journey. Instead, it marked the beginning of something even more personal: his own talk show and podcast, Joe Marler Will See You Now.
Available on YouTube and podcast platforms, the show takes an unconventional and delightfully playful approach to interviews. Set up as a kind of “clinic,” Joe positions himself — tongue firmly in cheek — as an unqualified therapist, ready to examine the minds, stories, and quirks of his guests. the “Clinic”: Joe is joined by his faithful assistant, Jake, as they host sessions featuring awkward small talk and probing questions.With Janet coordinating who we never see.
But make no mistake: behind the humour lies genuine insight. Joe has an uncanny ability to make people feel relaxed, safe, and willing to open up. He doesn’t interrogate; he converses. He listens. He reacts. And in doing so, he creates moments of real connection that traditional interview formats often fail to capture.
One of the most celebrated episodes to date features Stephen Fry, a guest whose presence alone elevates any conversation. In this standout instalment, viewers are treated to a rare blend of wit, wisdom, and vulnerability. Hillarous moment when he pretends to be Joe and message the Traitors whatsapp group as him asking if he should open and “Only fans page “
Johnathan Ross replys sure and do forget to include a free microscope for members. Others were more encouraging
The episode sees Fry reflecting on creativity, mental health, fame, and identity, while Joe responds not as a distant host but as an engaged, curious human being. Their chemistry is effortless — at times deeply moving, at others laugh-out-loud funny. It is a masterclass in how thoughtful conversation can still thrive in the digital age.
For many fans, the Stephen Fry episode confirmed that Will See You Now is more than just a celebrity chat show. It is a space for meaningful dialogue — where humour and heart sit side by side.
Other episodes have featured comedians, athletes, entertainers, and public figures, each bringing their own stories and struggles to the table. Whether discussing career highs, personal setbacks, or unexpected life lessons, Joe guides every conversation with empathy and authenticity.
What makes the show truly compelling is Joe himself. He never hides behind a polished persona. He is honest about his own doubts, his mistakes, and his journey. That openness invites guests — and viewers — to be open too.
In an age where many celebrity interviews feel rehearsed and formulaic, Will See You Now feels refreshingly real. It’s unpredictable, warm, occasionally chaotic, and always engaging. You never quite know where the conversation will go — and that’s exactly the point.
Joe Marler’s evolution from rugby star to beloved broadcaster has been organic and heartfelt. He hasn’t chased fame; he’s simply followed curiosity and stayed true to himself. And audiences have followed willingly.
With standout episodes like the one featuring Stephen Fry, and a growing list of fascinating guests, Joe Marler Will See You Now is quickly establishing itself as a must-watch series. It’s the talk show everyone wants to be on — and increasingly, one everyone wants to watch.
In a world hungry for authenticity, Joe Marler is delivering it, one conversation at a time. Lets have it a main stream show as it is funny orginal and what we need right now .
If you’re looking for art that truly stands out—something with edge, intellect and a distinct Italian flavour—then Italian-born artist Ernesto Romano is a name worth seeking out.
Romano lives and works in London, where his practice reaches far beyond the surface of the body and into its very core. Based at the remarkable FirePit Gallery, just moments from The O2, he creates work that is as visually seductive as it is intellectually provocative. This is the kind of art that stops people in their tracks—the portrait no one else has, and the talking point everyone wants.
At the heart of Romano’s work is an extraordinary and deeply personal source material: his own medical records. X-rays, MRIs and internal scans of his body are transformed into striking, often playful artworks that quietly ask some of life’s biggest questions. “I am progressively dissecting myself,” he says with a smile. By stripping the body of its external markers—fashion, status, wealth and adornment—Romano reveals a powerful truth: beneath it all, we are equal. Bones, organs and neural structures carry no hierarchy. Jewels mean nothing here.
And yet, paradoxically, jewels and decoration frequently appear in his work. Glitter, gold leaf and even diamond dust sit alongside stark medical imagery, creating a fascinating tension between what lies beneath the skin and the sparkle we use to present ourselves to the world. Bold colour is central to his practice, an influence he traces back to Pop Art, and for Romano, colour is inseparable from life itself. It is a celebration of being alive, of being human. You can easily imagine his work echoing the iconic glamour of Andy Warhol’s portraits of Marilyn, and being sought after by collectors and celebrities alike.
Research plays a vital role in his creative process. Romano spends countless hours studying historical anatomical drawings, medical imagery and scientific material. He is also deeply inspired by documentaries about the Universe. Reflecting on humanity’s origins and our place within something so vast can feel overwhelming, he admits, but it is precisely that sense of scale that fuels his creativity. Big questions, after all, lead to bold ideas.
At the core of his practice is an ongoing, almost forensic exploration of his own body. Each project focuses on a different internal element, analysed, reimagined and transformed. His most recent work centres on the brain: a three-dimensional print created from an MRI scan converted into a digital 3D file. Next, he hopes, will be the heart—both literally and conceptually.
Romano cites Damien Hirst as a key influence, particularly in terms of colour, though he is careful to stress that his admiration is selective. If he could own any artwork, Guido Reni’s Ecce Homo would be high on the list, while in the contemporary world he is drawn to the visceral, energetic paintings of Riccardo Cinalli, which he describes as full of carnality and pathos.
Originally trained as an architect, Romano brings a strong sense of proportion, balance and material awareness to his art. Architecture taught him the emotional power of simplicity, the relationship between order and chaos, and the importance of restraint. “Less is more,” he says, echoing Mies van der Rohe—a philosophy that underpins even his most glittering works.
Away from the studio, his passions are quieter but no less revealing. If he weren’t an artist, he would be a botanist. He grows flowers from seed and finds the process meditative—a gentle counterpoint to the intensity of his conceptual work. Electronic music provides the soundtrack to his studio hours, while Stephen Hawking’s The Universe in a Nutshellremains his favourite book, a fitting choice for an artist fascinated by existence, origin and meaning.
Looking ahead, Romano dreams of showing his work in unconventional settings. A techno club such as Berghain, housed in a former power station, feels like a natural fit—raw, industrial and immersive. He imagines his pieces on a monumental scale, backlit like giant lightboxes, vibrating with sound and energy. He has already made an international impact, having spent three months working in Shanghai, and his ambitions continue to expand globally.
Ask him where he sees himself in ten years and the answer is simple and quietly confident: at home, making exciting new work for another exhibition somewhere in the world, tea in hand, surrounded by plants. Always moving forward. Always creating.
Heidi Gammon, Agony Aunt, Answers Your Valentine’s Questions
Love, desire, doubt, and the courage to speak honestly — Valentine’s Day has a way of stirring emotions we sometimes keep carefully tucked away. Whether you’re navigating friendship, long-term relationships, new love, or loneliness, these questions remind us that matters of the heart are rarely straightforward.
You can hear Heidi Gammon, alongside Steven Smith and Aston Avery, discussing these real-life dilemmas on Gateway Radio on February 10th at 10am, with the full show available to catch up on YouTube shortly after.
Dear Heidi,
I hope you are well.
My best friend of twelve years is gay. We’ve known each other since high school, and his sexuality has never been an issue for me or my family — we love him unconditionally. Over the years he’s had various partners, but nothing serious.
Two months ago, after we’d been drinking, he kissed me and told me he loved me. I honestly don’t know why I let it happen. It stopped there, and we’ve never spoken about it since.
Looking back, I think I may have been in denial. He’s always had a crush on me, and I’m now worried that this might be stopping him from meeting someone who can truly return his feelings. There is no chance of it being reciprocal, but I feel I need to talk to him — for both our sakes. What should I say?
All my love,
Adam, Brentwood
Dear Adam,
Thank you for trusting me with something so sensitive.
What stands out most here is how much care and respect you have for your friend — and that matters. Love doesn’t always fit neatly into boxes, and sometimes unspoken feelings linger quietly until they surface in unexpected ways.
You didn’t do anything wrong by freezing in the moment. Alcohol lowers boundaries, but it doesn’t create feelings that weren’t already there. What does matter is what you do next.
Avoiding the conversation protects neither of you. The kindest thing you can do is speak honestly and gently. Choose a calm moment and tell him that you value him deeply, but that your feelings are firmly platonic. Reassure him that your friendship matters and that you don’t want him holding onto hope that prevents him from finding someone who can fully return his love.
It may feel awkward — but clarity is an act of love too. You’re the best Heidi
Dear Heidi,
My boyfriend of four years really looks forward to Valentine’s Day. Each year he buys me gifts from Ann Summers and similar places. While he always takes me out to dinner, the evening usually ends with him wanting to dress up, role-play, and act out fantasies.
I think our relationship is loving and generally good. I do go along with some dressing up at times, but I feel like I’m not giving him what he really wants — and if I’m honest, the focus on “dress-up time” at Valentine’s is actually off-putting for me.
What can I do? Stella Southend
Dear Stella
Long-term relationships often stumble when desire becomes an expectation rather than a shared experience.
Your boyfriend’s enthusiasm isn’t wrong — but your discomfort isn’t either. Valentine’s Day has somehow become loaded with pressure, particularly around sex and fantasy, when it should be about connection.
This isn’t about you failing him. It’s about mismatched expectations. The answer lies in conversation, not performance. Try saying something like: “I love being close to you, but when dressing up becomes the focus, I feel pressured rather than desired.”
Intimacy thrives when both partners feel safe and excited — not obliged. If you can’t meet in the middle, it’s worth asking whether this dynamic works for you long term.
Hi Heidi,
I love your column.
My mum is 55 and looks great. My dad left when I was 12, and she hasn’t really met anyone since. I’m 19 now and leaving home in September, and I’d love for her to meet someone.
She insists she’s fine and tells me to leave it, but I worry about her being lonely. There’s a man who works for the council who’s been to the flat a few times to do jobs. She always smiles at him and makes him a cup of tea. He’s divorced and around her age.
Should I try to set them up? I sometimes see him at my gym.
Thanks, Darren, Basildon
Dear Darren,
Your concern for your mum is genuinely touching — but tread carefully.
Loneliness looks different at every age, and contentment doesn’t always announce itself loudly. Your mum may truly be at peace with her life as it is, even if it doesn’t look like what you imagine happiness should be.
That said, a gentle nudge is fine — a shove is not. Instead of playing matchmaker, open a conversation. Ask her how she feels about dating now, not what she’s missed in the past.
And one important rule: never involve a third party without consent. If she does express interest in meeting someone, you can mention the council worker — lightly — and then step back.
Let her lead. Love, at any age, deserves dignity.
Dear Heidi,
I’m in my sixties, gay, and single. I don’t like bars or dating apps, and the idea of going on a date makes me feel physically sick.
What can I do?
Mike, Romford
Dear Mike,
You are far from alone — and nothing is “wrong” with you.
Dating culture can feel exhausting, performative, and frankly brutal, especially if bars and apps don’t suit your personality. The good news? They’re not the only doors into connection.
Consider spaces built around shared interests rather than romance: walking groups, book clubs, volunteering, community classes, or LGBTQ+ social groups that aren’t centred on nightlife.
Connection grows more naturally when the focus isn’t dating but being. And remember — companionship doesn’t always begin with fireworks. Sometimes it begins with comfort.
Love Heidi
Dear Heidi,
I’m taking my new girlfriend out for our first Valentine’s Day together. I try to be a good boyfriend — I open doors, pick her up, and help out whenever she needs something done at her place.
But I’m honestly terrible at the romantic side. Flowers, yes — but beyond that, I’m stuck. What can I do to make Valentine’s Day feel truly special?
Eric, Brighton
Dear Eric,
You may not realise it, but you’re already doing many things right.
Romance isn’t about grand gestures or perfect scripts. It’s about thoughtfulness. The most memorable Valentine’s moments are rarely expensive — they’re personal.
Think about her. What makes her feel seen? A handwritten note. A playlist. A meal you cook yourself. A walk somewhere meaningful. Even saying, “I’m nervous because I really care” can be incredibly romantic.
Romance isn’t performance — it’s intention.
Heidi
Hello Heidi,
My husband and I have been married for twelve years. Recently, he suggested spicing things up by having a threesome. He says he doesn’t mind whether it’s with a man or a woman.
If I’m honest, the idea does appeal to me — but I’m scared it could either strengthen our marriage or completely ruin it.
Are there ground rules I should put in place? Or is this a bad idea altogether? I’ve told him I need time to think about it.
Anonymous
Dear Anonymous,
I’m glad you didn’t rush into an answer.
A threesome is not just a sexual experience — it’s an emotional one, and once a third person enters the picture, there’s no “undo” button.
Before discussing rules, ask deeper questions. Why does your husband want this? What does it represent for him — novelty, validation, curiosity? And equally important: what does it represent for you?
If you decide to explore it, boundaries are essential: who, when, emotional limits, aftercare, and the right to stop at any time — even at the last minute.
But if your gut says “this might damage us,” listen to it. Desire should never come at the cost of safety or trust.
Other people’s issues. Martin and I had a beautiful relationship but there was always someone who had an issue with it . It may seem strange to start my story at the end of someone’s life to tell their tale. The remarkable Mr Annand was no ordinary man, so his journey should be told just as the curtain is about to fall on his extraordinary life, an existence that for most parts was never quite what it seemed to so many.
Mr Annand, or as we called him, Martin, looked up at me from the brown mobility chair, which he had become confined to during the day over the last few weeks of his life, his beautiful big blue eyes still reminding me of Jiminy Cricket from Pinocchio. Still full of hope, he smiled at me, pulled gently on my shirt and asked me to go and get a nice French bread stick – warm if possible – and some soup. He had been off his food for the last few days so it was a relief to hear him want something.
There was only one problem. We needed to hide the bread from Nicos, Martin’s Greek Cypriot trust fund civil partner, as gluten and bread were taboo in the soulless flat that they shared in trendy Bloomsbury. Though the wood and lighting were incredible, it resembled an art gallery with uncomfortable furniture. Nicos ruled the roost in this place and would become hysterical and cruel when not getting his own way. Even traditional cooking was banned for fear that it would cause damage to any of the many art works.
A splash of water, not wiped up from the sink tap, could cause a rage so powerful you would have thought you had flooded the flat.
Nicos had allowed me to take joint care of Martin with great reluctance; only after he had worked out the actual cost of private nurses did he reluctantly give in. At first it was only to be when Nicos was at cross fit for three hours a day, or when he had his own hospital appointments. However, the workload was constant and eventually I stayed there 24 hours a day, and for this I was grateful Nicos allowed me to do so as it was so painful not to be with Martin
It seemed odd to me: Nicos’ art collection in the UK and Cyprus had a value in the millions so if he had sold just one piece, it could have funded 24-hour private care. Martin always said that, despite Nicos’ wealth given to him by his father, he was incredibly tight.
Nicos had just left for a workout and was meeting a friend after. Dashing up Tottenham Court Road to M&S, I returned quickly with some of Martin’s favourite fruit jellies, two small warm bread flutes and heart-warming chicken noodle soup. Frantically I cut the bread up into small slices and buttered them cleaning up after myself for fear that crumbs would be found.
Martin Annand and Pam Sharrock and me in the South of France
The soup was being cooked in the microwave that was hidden so high up, cooking anything in it was a challenge. Even the kettle was in a cupboard to stop steam hitting any artwork that adorned the kitchen walls. Martin smiled as I brought it to him, “I am getting my appetite back”, he said, with some hope. Pointing out it was a good sign, I gave him a wink
. The man I had loved for forty years was dying and I was determined to keep my emotions in check and just be his rock. If I ever allowed the flood gates to open and show how I was feeling, my fear was that the tears would never stop, and that was the last thing he needed. Martin had a beautiful childlike quality that most people never got to see. He gave me a paw as I put the food down.
Of course, he only managed a little bread and some soup. Just as he was about to get me to take it away the door opened. Nicos was there. “All right my love, what’s that you have got there?” he enquired, with his eyes throwing daggers of steel towards me. Explaining that he really wanted a bread roll and some soup, strangely Nicos did not react, although I made a hasty retreat to the kitchen to discard the evidence out into the bin in the communal areas of the block.
There was only one flute of bread left by the side of the sink that was left to hide. Nicos had not gone to shower as he usually did on return from the gym and he was in the kitchen. To my amazement, he was cutting the spare French bread flute in to slices and covered them in strawberry Jam and organic Honey. Instinct told me to get out of the way to see Martin, and a wise decision it was.
Ten minutes later Nicos came charging down the wooden plank floors of the corridor towards the bathroom slamming the door. He spent twenty minutes in there inducing himself to vomit. Eventually he came out and marched up to Martin, shoving his hands that stunk of sick up into Martin’s pale face. “Look what you made me do bring that into our home!”
There was nothing I could do to stop Nicos. My heart often went out to him as he was so uncomfortable in his own body, I can only imagine what it must be like to wake up every day so unhappy in life. I do not think that I had ever seen him do a full day’s work in the twenty years I knew him. Martin wrote his correspondence for him, Nicos went for the odd meeting in Cyprus but for the most part, he went to the gym, shopped, attended gallery openings, and holidayed abroad a lot. What he devoted a lot of time to was sitting in judgement of other’s efforts, which he did with great ease. He really was the quintessential trust fund baby.
Though Nicos’ and my relationship made Joan’s and Bette’s look like an easy one, he always had the upper hand. At first I had liked him as he was amusing, witty and we shared many of the same interests. He clearly had huge mental health issues, so to take him on was a fruitless task and only caused issues with me seeing my ex-partner, Martin.
Over the years my radar went into no comment regarding his hatred of me, even during the campaign of daily phone text’s calling me every name you could imagine. Once he caught me off guard with the malicious comment, “No wonder your boyfriend killed himself and the latest is missing!” That text was a step too far and I threatened to call the police, although for the sake of Martin, we did eventually make up
. There was always someone who had an issue with my relationship with Martin. Nico’s just could not cope with the fact that Martin still loved me and him in different ways. It was not long before Nicos was in the kitchen and you could just tell he was looking for a fight. He was opening and closing drawers for no reasons when suddenly he spied a small amount of water that had escaped me whilst cleaning, next to the marble sink. That was it, he hit the roof. “YOU RESPECT THE QUALITY OF NOTHING!” he bellowed behind me as I made my excuses to Martin and decided to spend one night at my home let Nicos calm down. When an apologetic text from Nicos did come through, I told him all was fine.
Returning the next day at 6:30 I found there were two patients in bed: Nicos had piles and might need to go the hospital, possibly for four days. Nicos had fired four of the helpers the NHS had sent us. Looking after Martin really needed two, but the idea of spending some time with him was a relief to me. In the end Nicos just went to a specialist. Looking after Martin was not the hard part, though it was breaking my heart every day. Dealing with Nico’s, who was devious and underhand, was horrendous. He seemed obsessed with my every move.
However if you think he sounded bad, nothing could prepare you for his sidekick we will call “The Cousin”. A woman as equally uncomfortable in her own skin as Nicos, Martin had only known her for five years. On the face of it she seemed nice, with an air of the teacher about her. Nicos had decided that she was Martin’s replacement sister, as the relationship with his own sister Pen had become strained over the years due to her dominating girlfriend. Martin ‘just loved her’, Nicos would inform me with some command. Martin, though fond of her, did not see her that way.
She was a walking nightmare and expert on everything to do with cancer. My first hint that she needed to be stopped was when Martin called me telling she was trying to roll a tennis ball up and down his spine. Luckily, I got there in time to challenge her and that went down like a lead balloon.
The cousin had a habit of putting her hand up like she was teaching at school. I did not want Martin doing those exercise she was trying to make him do and reiterated that he had spinal cancer so his specialist would need to approve any exercise. If she was teaching or instructing, she was fine. Nicos went away for two weeks and left me with Martin. The Cousin started coming over bringing lots of sugary desserts, all well-meaning but not good for cancer and definitely not to Martin’s taste. It seemed well meaning so Martin would smile and say, “Save for later, yummy!” I would chuck them in the bin as soon as she left.
The first time she came over was to give me an hour off. Martin asked me to call and cancel her, he would be fine, but I felt it would be rude to do so, and if she did come, it would pacify Nicos and assure him that everything was ok. Politely, I thanked her for coming. “I was coming whether you wanted it or not”, she replied, with the coldness of a witch at midnight. “Nicos and I have a plan for Martin, so don’t you worry yourself”, she went on. People must have wondered why I did not tell her to go F— herself. Instead, I hid the various things she brought to roll on Martin. The last thing Martin needed was her exercises that still needed to be approved by a professional.
We nearly had words when she waltzed in all sweetness and light with more desserts. With her empathetic face she asked, “Anything I can do to help?” For once I was happy to oblige, asking if she minded making Martin’s bed. Her face fell as what she really had meant was if there was anything she could teach or instruct. Her face perked up as she replied, “I will teach you how to do it.” Of course, I declined.
There was zero empathy from Nicos when I explained Martin was not as keen on her visits as he thought. But more important please could he supervise her teaching exercises as she had zero experience. Having breast cancer did not make you an expert on all cancers. Nicos hollered, “She is like a sister to him!” Nicos had ostracised most of Martin’s close friends and substituted them with ones he approved of over the years they were together.
We were told by the nurse visiting Martin that under NO circumstances should he make any financial, work related or personal decisions at this stage. It became incredibly difficult to handle the Cousin and Nicos, as no matter what I suggested, it was wrong. Dr Prakash who had helped Martin with his injections and treated him privately for free was branded an idiot, whereas the cousin, who really needed locking up, was always right whatever she said.
To this day it is my belief that she helped speed the cancer up. I grieved for Martin deeply. When one considers grief, it is foremost for the person you have lost. You could not begin to comprehend how grief magnifies when also confronted with two such devious, plotting malcontents, whose subsequent aim was to erase me from Martin’s eulogy along with any memories we shared. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Apart from a lunch with my dear friend Marieanne, I had been there with Martin for twenty four hours. However I had a doctor’s appointment that I could not miss, but the whole thing would take only four hours tops. Warning signs should have flagged in my brain as the pair seemed unusually enthusiastic about this and confirmed several times that I was still going. Despite the warning given by the professionals, whilst I was out they got the lawyers in and established power of attorney.
Worse still, in his weakened state, Martin signed standing orders to pay monthly into the joint bank account in the Isle of Man the sum of £10,000 from Princess Salimah Aga Khan’s bank account. When I returned, Nico’s was quick to tell me he had power of attorney and only he had the right to deal with things. But again he allowed me to stay. I only found out about the Princess Salimah standing order when she noticed it. It honestly finished Martin off, he was SO distressed. How could this ever have been allowed? Simple Greed on one person’s part. Salimah was distraught though she did attend the funeral by zoom.
My beautiful Martin Annand died in St Johns hospice on the 9th of August surrounded by his civil partner Nicos and myself, his lover and friend of forty years. I was wiping his mouth with a moist tiny sponge. He was ice cold, and I knew it was the end. He made a noise then went, Nicos screamed and ran to the door, missing the fact Martin had taken one more breath, and then the beautiful angel left us for good.
Martin and I had been of the same mind; if we took ill, we would go to Switzerland and end it with dignity. In hindsight it was easier said than done. Whilst Nicos was in Greece, Martin had all the details. He had gone on business to Geneva working with Salimah Aga Khan and had everything planned, it was just down to me to take him. He was having a bad day and was booking flights. Martin’s chemo had been tremendous, although his hair had stayed, and we were full of hope.
He would shower at night trying to ease the agonising pain, but he refused to take the morphine for fear of being hooked. The doctors said it was all down to the side effects of the radiation treatment. Believing them I begged him just to give it two more weeks, then we would go and Nicos would never need to know. But they were wrong, and the cancer had spread. I would not let a dog suffer the indignity my beautiful Martin went through. My deep regret is not saying yes and flying him down to Switzerland when he wanted to go. There was no time for me to grieve at the bedside
. Nicos was hysterical and threw himself on Martin’s body. It was the opposite of what Martin stood for. It was not long though before Nicos became aware of my obvious grief. “I am his civil partner and have rights!” he shrieked at the nurse. Not for one minute did I challenge that, even though Martin was in fact still legally married to an American and she never divorced him. For five minutes I excused myself and went to the bathroom, locked the door and broke down.
This was not what Martin would have wanted, so I stood up and went to aid Nicos. He was actually kind to me, thanked me, and he was full of questions. Martin would have wanted me to look after him and, as much as he would let me, I did. It did not take long for him to hit the phone. He asked The Cousin to meet him at the house.
He called Phillipa, a long-term friend in Cyprus that Martin and I both liked, and was furious that she could not come straight away. He turned to his old friend Tee, who was also in Cyprus. The pair had fallen out for years, but a mutual ailment had brought them back together, and that Tee did not like me was a huge bonus. He was flying over the next day. I offered to stay, but it was refused. Accompanying Nicos back home, I came up to make some tea.
It was not long before the cousin arrived, she was of course kind. To my horror they jumped into funeral arrangements. Worse still, “Has anyone told Danielle. Martin was very fond of her?” was the next question. They both knew that I had fallen out with Danielle as she had taken great advantage of Martin. He had paid for her partner to be flown from Cyprus as a medical emergency. He had set up a bank account up for her and had been paying the price. I saw her as a user although Martin said “She’s great at parties”. If I was throwing a party, number one on the guest list would certainly not have been Danielle. I realised that I was on a hiding to nothing and left the pair to it.
Though I had helped Nicos as much as I could, The Cousin quickly jumped in and took over; my little eulogy was judged too much about me by the pair and not used. The actual funeral had to be seen to be believed and if Martin had not been cremated he would have rolled in his grave. In fairness I was in the funeral procession car. Arriving at their home, Nicos was not there.
I was outside as the coffin pulled up and Nicos jumped from the car wearing ripped jeans, flanked by Tee and another friend, who both seemed to be dressed like crows. He fell onto the ground of the apartment steps, wailing, “My Martin is here!” calling up to Phillipa. Ironically it looked like a scene from Tosca, a favourite opera of Martin and I. Nicos saw me then and I thought he was coming to hug me, but instead all the drama was over. “You get in the second car”. It was a shape of things to come for the day. I was only allowed a few people as mourners. Nicos did not realise that Martin still had had a life with me and he saw people like Denise Welch and others when Nicos was not around. Still, I was not going to argue and held my head with dignity. Just as I was about to enter the crematorium at Golders Green on a beautiful sunny day, Nico’s whispered to me, “I am afraid I have been a bit selfish with the eulogy.”
Looking back at him, I replied I would not expect anything else. Nicos outdid himself with the downright pack of lies contained in the eulogy. Yes, there were moments of truth but it was hard for me to comprehend what was being read out. If there was any doubt that this was not a bad dream, the beautiful friends I shared with Martin, who were there to support me, gasped in places. Darling Marieanne, a long-term friend of Martin’s and my best pal at the time, squeezed my arm each time something was read out that made Nicos sound a hero and omitted my name completely. We were instructed not to look at Nicos as we left, but he should not have worried as there was absolutely no danger of that.
Walking through the crematorium doors into the beautiful memorial gardens, my numbness started to thaw out as one of my oldest friends exclaimed, “What the fuck was that?” Nicos had had the nerve to ring my kid sister in the US and ask her to watch. It was not long before she was on the phone to find out if I was ok. “Why did he say those things?!” She knew how humiliated I must have felt and said how restrained I had been. If she had been there in person with a baseball bat…
Do not think the thought had not passed my mind. However, holding my head high was what Martin would have wanted, not some ugly drama. His eulogy was heard by 42 people. A week later I released mine on the net and it has been seen by over 4000,000 people. Many of Martin’s family and friends asked why it had not been used. It is below. My hope is to hold a proper ceremony on the anniversary of Martin’s death.
The wonder that was Martin Annand A beautiful light has left the world. But I just know he is sparkling above us full of love. Martin Annand passed away at St John’s hospice London at 12.15 on the 9th of August 2021, with Mozart piano concerto 15 playing, and his civil partner Nicos Steratzias and his former partner Steven Smith lovingly by his side. https://www.stjohnshospice.org.uk/about/
Christopher Robin said to Winne the Pooh: “You’re braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.” Martin Annand was the quintessential Christopher Robin and he loved his eclectic friends, no matter their flaws, and he embraced their strengths. He would often joke, “I think he is having an Eeyore moment”, if a friend was down or not seeing the positive about something. He would reference more of Christopher’s pals, saying, “You’re very Tigger-y today”, if one of us was particularly bouncy, and even though Martin enjoyed a healthy lifestyle, he also empathised with Pooh, adoring a sneaky sweet or two. Martin was a true English gentleman, whose style and grace made him so wonderfully unique
. People just adored him as he made every person feel important, taking an interest in everyone he met. From classic cars to a hand of bridge, the latest song by the Pet Shop Boys, or even a glance at what Robbie Williams was wearing; Martin could talk about it all. He just loved everything in life. I would often laugh to myself when people thought Martin was “serious” and “a little unapproachable”
Martin with Ian Phillips Samantha Phillips and Emma Noble and me
. He was one of the funniest people I have ever met, bringing the phrase “Don’t judge the book by its cover” to mind. Martin’s inner child beamed out to those who knew him and took the time to see the beautiful man for who he really was. When I first met him, he told me a story that could only happen to Martin. He said, “I went to a dinner party last night. When I got there, the house was awfully dark. When I pressed the doorbell, the hostess answered in her night attire. “Oh, has the dinner been cancelled?” I enquired. “It was last week”, the hostess answered, wide mouthed. “And what is more, you came to it!”
Martin had the ability to laugh at himself. He was funny, sometimes forgetful and, what is a rare quality these days, loyal. Whenever you saw him, he opened his wide blue eyes and smiled, and he made you believe you could do whatever you wanted to do. He was fortunate enough to have danced with Princess Margaret, but always said he enjoyed dancing at his friend Denise Welch’s ball, with a group of bright young things, more than with Her Royal Highness. Martin just loved the dance of life and he threw himself into everything – whether it was captaining a boat or dancing the Conga in Rio de Janeiro.
Or partying in St. Tropez for his friend Pam Sharrock’s 60th. I recall him skiing down a black run in Klosters Ski Resort with such ease, leaving the soon-to-be-famous Denise Welch and myself way behind. Of course, Martin being Martin, he was straight back up the slope to come to the aid of his friends. There is so much to write on The Exceptional Mr Annand that it could fill two volumes. If there is a Heaven, he will be up there playing bridge and chatting to his friends who journeyed there before him. If he is looking down, all he would want for us is love, success and happiness, as Martin embodied in everything he did in life. But please continue reading as this is a story of one of the most glamorous, quintessential gentlemen, whose story will make you laugh, gasp and cry. He was the accountant for some of the world’s wealthiest and most famous people despite never training as an accountant. The man that could make you feel like you could fly…
Samantha Lee Howe is an award-winning author, screenwriter, and broadcaster, known for her ability to craft gripping, emotionally rich narratives. Her latest release, A Thorn in the Rose, launches the Mel Greenway Investigates series, set in post-World War II Britain. The novel follows Lady Melinda “Mel” Greenway, a former army mechanic, who uncovers a body buried beneath the rose garden of the crumbling Avonby Estate. As Mel digs into the mystery, she faces a dangerous web of family secrets, class divisions, and unresolved romance, all while navigating the tensions between the estate’s wealthy residents and its resentful staff. Blending suspense with social history, Howe’s storytelling draws readers into a compelling world of intrigue and mystery.
Picture Annemarie Bickerton all make up Ayesha Baig
In celebration of her new book, Samantha shares her seven favourite things — offering a personal look into the inspirations and interests that fuel her creativity. From her fascination with forgotten histories to the quiet moments of reflection that help her develop unforgettable characters, Samantha’s list reveals the influences behind her writing and the passions that drive her. Whether it’s her love of storytelling, her advocacy work, or her dedication to unearthing hidden truths, Samantha’s journey as an author continues to resonate with readers worldwide. A Thorn in the Rose is just the beginning of an exciting new chapter in her career.
I have so many favourite things that this was a tough one. But in no particular order, here is my seven favourite things.
Ballgowns
Yes, I adore a fancy frock — particularly when there’s a suitably glamorous excuse to wear one. There is something wonderfully transformative about a ballgown: the weight of the fabric, the sweep of the skirt, the quiet confidence it lends the wearer.
My favourite gown was designed by the formidable businesswoman Heather Hardy, who owns the highly successful prom, wedding, and occasionwear shop Glitz and Glamour Boutique, where I regularly indulge my love of elegant dressing. Some time ago, Heather turned her considerable talent to creating her own VIP range — a venture that met with well-deserved success.
Most wonderfully of all, she designed a dress with my favourite style firmly in mind and even named it after me. It remains a deeply flattering honour — proof that sometimes a love of beautiful clothes can be rewarded with something truly personal and unforgettable.
My favourite wine is red, and I’m particularly partial to a good Malbec. Rich, smooth, and reassuringly full-bodied, it’s a wine I return to time and again. As a result, my go-to choice — reliable, consistent, and eminently quaffable — is Casillero del Diablo Malbec. It never disappoints, whether opened for a quiet evening at home or shared with friends.
They also produce a very fine Carménère, which I enjoy just as much — a slightly bolder companion with depth and character, perfect for lingering conversations and unhurried dinners.
Cheese.
Self-indulgent, I know — but wine and cheese truly do belong together. I have a particular fondness for baked Camembert, especially since I first shared one with my husband, David, on our very first date. It was a long time ago now, yet it has never been forgotten. Even today, a Camembert still feels like a small celebration in itself, and I love to bring one out for us on special occasions, as a quiet reminder of where our story began.
Cats
My beautiful furbaby, Skye, is my constant companion when I’m writing. Even now, she’s curled up against my leg as I type, quietly supervising proceedings in the way only a cat can.
What I love most about cats, in general, is their individuality. No two are ever quite the same; each has a personality entirely its own. Skye possesses the softest, sweetest nature, endlessly affectionate and reassuring — yet she also has a mischievous streak that appears whenever things fail to go her way.
Case in point: eating the fake snow off the Christmas tree, an act guaranteed to provoke a reaction from us and, I suspect, part of the appeal. It’s this blend of gentleness and gentle rebellion that makes her such a joy — and such an essential presence in my everyday life.
Skye the cat .
Birthday cake
I adore birthday cake, and the very best part is always the fondant icing. There’s something indulgent and irresistible about it — smooth, sweet, and unapologetically decadent. Still, I’m rather glad it only makes an appearance twice a year in our household, because it’s exactly the sort of pleasure one could develop a dangerous fondness for. Given half the chance, I suspect I could become thoroughly addicted
My Laptop
I honestly couldn’t live without my laptop. It’s an essential part of my daily life, serving as my main tool for work, communication, and social media. It’s where emails are written, ideas are shaped, and conversations are kept alive.
I don’t play computer games, but I do enjoy using it creatively — designing posters and banners, experimenting with layouts, and bringing ideas to life on the screen. Of course, it also has its less industrious moments. Every now and then, it becomes the perfect instrument for procrastination, doubling as a portal to streaming series when I really should be doing something else.
Practical, creative, and occasionally indulgent, my laptop has become far more than just a piece of technology — it’s a constant companion in both my working and wandering hours.
My Kitchen
As I love to cook, my kitchen is my favourite room in the house. It is also the hub of every party we have, and I’m always amazed by how everyone congregates in there each time. I take great pride in it too, and it always has to have clear and clean surfaces, ready, as I’m always saying, to cook the next meal.
Welcome to Steven’s Viewz — the first of 2026. And let’s start the year with an uncomfortable truth.
Adam and Holly
Is it ever okay not to invite a family member to a major life event? Is it ever acceptable to distance yourself — or even cut ties completely?
The short answer is this: yes, sometimes it is not only acceptable, it is necessary.
The question has been dragged into the spotlight following the wedding of the year, as Adam Peaty married Holly Ramsay and chose not to invite his mother. Predictably, the outrage machine kicked into gear. Headlines screamed. Opinions flooded in. Armchair judges — armed with no facts and limitless certainty — rushed to condemn.
Here’s what struck me most: how quick people are to defend family in theory, and how unwilling they are to accept the damage family can cause in reality.
Not all families are The Waltons. Some families are battlegrounds dressed up as photo albums.
Behind the smiling Christmas cards and Facebook posts lie power struggles, control, emotional manipulation, and silence that screams louder than words. And when someone finally says “enough,” the world often turns on them — not the behaviour that pushed them there.
I know this terrain well.
I grew up in a family where people disappeared without explanation. At nine years old, I came home to find myself locked out. Eventually, the letterbox opened and my mother asked, “Are you on your own?” A row between her and her mother — my grandmother — had ended the relationship entirely. One moment she was part of our lives; the next, she was erased.
Visiting my grandparents had once been a joy. Then it became forbidden. When I later wrote to my gran, there were consequences. At fourteen, I was sent alone to Glasgow — not to reconnect, but to persuade my grandparents not to take my father’s side in court. That was the last time I ever saw them.
That isn’t family warmth. That’s family politics.
So when people scoff and say, “But she’s his mother,” I don’t hear wisdom — I hear denial.
Adam and muu Caroline .
Because sometimes family isn’t a source of love. Sometimes it’s a source of fear, obligation, and emotional exhaustion. And no wedding day — no milestone — should be overshadowed by anxiety about who might erupt, undermine, or hijack the moment.
Much as you try to make it work, some people are only content when they are in control. When they aren’t centre stage, they create drama to pull the spotlight back. And when confronted, they cast themselves as the victim — never acknowledging the trail of damage behind them.
Let’s be honest: if a friend behaved that way — belittling you, calling you names, sabotaging your happiness — would you keep them in your life? Of course you wouldn’t. Yet when it’s family, we’re told to endure it. Smile through it. Absorb it.
Why?
Mental health does not become optional because someone shares your DNA.
Often, when people move into new social circles or build lives different from the ones they were raised in, it triggers insecurity in those left behind. Even when efforts are made to include them, their anxiety spills out as disruptive behaviour. Weddings, birthdays, celebrations — all become stages for unresolved resentment.
If Adam’s mother were truly the injured party, dignity would have been her strongest ally. Silence, reflection, restraint — not public outrage. Those who are genuinely wronged rarely need to shout the loudest.
Adam didn’t just make a decision about a wedding invitation. He changed his surname. That is not impulsive. That is not petty. That is the culmination of years of internal conflict, careful thought, and emotional cost.
And I applaud him for doing it early — before resentment calcifies, before damage multiplies, before patterns repeat. Family member may love you but it does not allow them to hurt you and be in denial.
No family member should ever make you feel small, fearful, or unworthy. Family should be the safest place — not the one you brace yourself for.
Sometimes the bravest, healthiest choice is to step away. Not out of bitterness, but out of self-respect. Not to punish, but to protect.
And if that makes people uncomfortable, perhaps it’s because it forces them to confront a truth they’d rather ignore:
Family doesn’t get a free pass to hurt you.
Why Amandaland Was the Christmas Treat We Didn’t Know We Needed
There is a particular kind of Christmas television that feels like slipping into a familiar jumper: slightly stretched, deeply comforting, and faintly ridiculous. The Amandaland Christmas special is exactly that kind of viewing — and all the better for it.
Christmas Day television is a battlefield. Big budgets, earnest dramas, and aggressively “heartwarming” narratives often jostle for attention, all while families argue over the remote and someone burns the sprouts. Amandaland cuts through the noise by doing something radical: it knows precisely what it is. A sharp, character-driven comedy about social aspiration, emotional repression, and the very British terror of appearing ordinary — now wrapped in tinsel.
The episode’s premise is delightfully simple. Amanda, our tightly wound heroine, decides to recreate a “perfect” childhood Christmas at her aunt’s country home. Naturally, this requires absolute aesthetic control, emotional denial, and an unwavering belief that nothing — not weather, children, or other people — should interfere with her vision. What follows is a festive slow-motion collapse, played with exquisite comic timing.
Enter Jennifer Saunders, who turns up as Aunt Joan like a glitter cannon fired directly into the episode. Saunders doesn’t merely steal scenes — she annexes them. Her performance is gloriously unfiltered, full of physical comedy, throwaway lines, and the sense that she is enjoying herself enormously. This is not nostalgia casting; this is a master at work, reminding us how joyful comedy can be when it’s driven by confidence rather than caution.
Then there’s Joanna Lumley, a woman who could make a shopping list sound withering. As Amanda’s emotionally glacial mother, Lumley delivers her lines with that unmistakable mix of elegance and quiet disdain. Every raised eyebrow lands like a punchline. She doesn’t chase laughs — she allows them to come to her, which somehow makes them sharper. Watching Lumley and Saunders share the screen again is less a reunion and more a reminder: this is what happens when comic icons are trusted to do what they do best.
What makes Amandaland such perfect Christmas viewing is its refusal to be falsely sentimental. Yes, there’s warmth here — but it’s earned, not imposed. The show understands that Christmas isn’t magical because it’s perfect; it’s memorable because it rarely is. The forced cheer, the unresolved family tensions, the desperate attempts to manufacture tradition — all of it rings painfully, hilariously true.
In an era where television often feels either too bleak or too bland, Amandaland occupies a sweet spot we desperately need more of. It’s clever without being smug, affectionate without being soft, and funny without shouting for attention. Most importantly, it trusts its audience — and its performers — to appreciate humour rooted in character rather than spectacle.
By the time the credits roll, you feel lighter. Not because everything’s been neatly resolved, but because you’ve laughed at the chaos instead of pretending it doesn’t exist. And really, isn’t that the whole point of Christmas television?
It was a celebrity-packed afternoon on London’s iconic King’s Road as guests gathered for the launch of A Covent Garden Christmas, the latest festive children’s book from the ever-popular duo Wendy Turner and Anthea Turner. The event took place at the chic White Coco store, which proved the perfect setting for an afternoon brimming with seasonal cheer, literary sparkle, and familiar faces.
From the moment the doors opened, there was a palpable buzz as fans clambered for signed copies, eager to exchange a few words with the authors and soak up the festive atmosphere. The King’s Road, already alive with Christmas energy, felt even more special as the boutique filled with laughter, conversation, and the unmistakable excitement that only a book launch can bring.
Anna and Wendy
Among those lending their support were 2Shades columnists Dr Anna Kennedy OBE and Steven Smith, both warmly welcomed as they joined the celebrations. Their presence added to the sense that this was not just a publishing event, but a gathering of friends, creatives, and supporters coming together to celebrate storytelling and imagination.
A Covent Garden Christmas is the latest instalment in the much-loved Underneath the Underground series and marks the fourth adventure to delight young readers. This time, the story unfolds with deliciously eccentric flair: a bald Christmas tree, a missing butler, and a runaway red bus ensure that the festive season begins in anything but ordinary fashion. When King Charles and Queen Camilla find their royal Christmas plans descending into chaos, the pair are forced to improvise decorations, shop in disguise, and navigate a series of comic mishaps that will keep children giggling from page to page.
Steven Joins in the festive fun ,
Running parallel to this royal mayhem is a tender and imaginative story set beneath the streets of London. Snowball, a lonely white mouse, escapes his neglectful owner and stumbles into a secret underground world where theatre mice rehearse a magical pantomime at the spectacular London Palladium. It is here that friendship, creativity, and courage come to the fore. When Snowball is suddenly snatched away and the Underground’s handmade Christmas presents mysteriously disappear, it falls to the daring Special Mouse Services to save the day. With teamwork, bravery, and a sprinkling of festive magic, Christmas Day itself hangs in the balance.
Friends join Wendy and Anthea to celebrate their book launch ,
Brimming with humour, heart, and festive adventure, the book introduces a host of delightful new mousy characters while welcoming back many familiar favourites who have already captured the imagination of children everywhere. It is a story that celebrates kindness, resilience, and the joy of working together—timeless messages wrapped up in a thoroughly modern and mischievous Christmas tale.
The guest list reflected the book’s broad appeal. Among the celebrities in attendance were Loose Women panellist Jane Moore, renowned hairdresser Nicky Clarke, and Minder star and acting royalty Gary Webster. Each took time to congratulate Wendy and Anthea, praising the warmth and imagination that have become hallmarks of their writing.
Lisa Allen from the Pink Ribbon charity joins the fund with Anthea and Wendy .
No festive launch would be complete without seasonal treats, and guests were duly indulged with glasses of bubbly and delicious vegan mince pies—an inclusive touch that reflected the thoughtful spirit behind the book itself. Conversations flowed easily as attendees browsed the boutique, thumbed through freshly signed copies, and posed for photographs amid tasteful Christmas décor.
As the afternoon drew to a close, it was clear that A Covent Garden Christmas is set to become a firm festive favourite. With its blend of gentle satire, heartfelt storytelling, and London-centric magic, the book captures the very essence of Christmas—proving that whether you are royal, mouse, or somewhere in between, friendship and imagination can make the season truly unforgettable.
2Shades Magazine 