WHEREVER I go and people find out where I come from they inevitably will ask me if I know Dickie Bird, which is nice isn’t it that he is still in many minds.

And I always have great pleasure in saying that I do indeed know Dickie and that if anyone passes the time of day with him – king or common- er – he will greet both as warmly. And pose for photos with pensioners and kids, never passes anyone who says hello to him.

So I hope he’s reading this because it’s happened twice alone in this past week and I’m always rather proud to say that he’s exactly as he’s painted on the tin lid.

Our lovely dementia charity BIADS is having a summer Seaside Party on Thursday, August 14 at the Boatman’s Rest in Worsbrough. There will be activities, fun and entertainment and the crown of the afternoon will be the fish and chips and ice cream – all for £15 per person.

I wish my mum would have relented and joined in some activities at BIADS, maybe I should have forced her hand a bit because sometimes with people a little reluctant to go to something like this, once they’re over the thresh- old, they enjoy it.

We will never know now of course if I did the right thing not loading her in the car and making her leave her comfort zone. The more time has gone on, it’s something I regret not doing.

Anyway… if you would like to join the seaside party people, please ring Louise on 01226 280057 to buy a ticket and support the charity.

Much has been said about Greggm Wallace in the news, something that didn’t really interest me because I don’t watch his programme.

At least it didn’t until I read that he was rolling out his ‘working class directness’ as something that was misinterpreted by females of a certain age.

In his mind these vindictive old bags (even though his behaviour was also ‘misinterpreted’ by females of a much younger demographic than what he purports that ‘certain age’ to be) are the ones to blame for his demise. Ironic really as those females he cites – in my age group – are the ones who have been brought up being manhandled by bosses and blokes who think it’s okay to paw us or say things to us that we have been expected to ‘laugh off’. So, we are probably the least likely to complain lightly because we have gotten too used to such behaviour. Pat our bums and if we knock away your hand, we are automatically a lesbian/frigid.

These days the lines blur between the classes, so what determines where you belong?

If you’re from a working-class back- ground but have a middle-class salary or vice versa, how do you Identify? I imagine that old Gregg is wearing a working-class coat in the hope of using the excuse he is a little rougher around the edges than a suit who works in the city. But any bloke in any class knows the difference between right and wrong. Working class/middle-class – both have equal capacity to be boorish or gentlemen.

I have plenty of male friends from round here who wouldn’t dream of dropping their trousers to a woman ‘as a joke’ and then accusing her of being a kill-joy if she didn’t find it funny. He has managed to insult working class males as much as all the females who have taken his ‘cheeky-chappy, rough-and-readiness’ as overtly sexual and inappropriate behaviour. And that’s because, in his case, that’s exactly what it was. Nasty little man.