Our society loves raw character; we love raw women. We don't love our mother because she is hot and sexy: we love our mother because she is our mother. We love our granny because she is our granny. We value her. We don't remember anyone's face from our childhood; we love our granny's face.
By far the best dressing up outfit I ever had was a wonderful pair of clown dungarees, which my Granny made.
I can remember being at Sandringham, for the first time, at Christmas. And I was worried what to give the Queen as her Christmas present. I was thinking, 'Gosh, what should I give her?'. I thought, 'I'll make her something.' Which could have gone horribly wrong. But I decided to make my granny's recipe of chutney.
This is where I break one last taboo: I'm incredibly glad I'm not a granny.
I'd be scared of hitting 60 and looking like a granny when the child's just in their teens. I'm happy I had my daughter when I was in my 30s.
I grew up listening in awe to stories of their wartime adventures. My granny, Joan, was a journalist and wrote amazing letters to my grandpa when he was a prisoner of war, while my nana, Mary, was a Land Girl, then a Wren. They were so independent, resilient and glamorous.
Listen, I must be 110 by now. Granny is going to kick the bucket at some point.
When you get into the granny era, you're lucky to get anything.
If it's me and yer granny on bongos, it's the Fall.
I'm just very grateful that the media has been so kind to me, because there's nothing unusual about me. I'm just a mum and a granny who is teaching cookery on TV. Basically, I'm very ordinary.
