If ever an occasion lived up to its billing, it was the 60th anniversary of the D-Day landings on Sunday. So much to give thanks for
like the wonderful weather; the marvellous coverage, both on screen and in print; the rows of beautifully tended graves with their simple details of the sublime sacrifice so bravely made (my favourite, "gone home with a friend"); the near-faultless marching of the veterans who shook off the mantles of old age to parade, in all that heat, straight-backed, proud and utterly deserving of the tide of respect for their contribution that is so sadly lacking in this country on a day-to-day basis. All told it was a triumph on nearly every front. While I couldn't care less that Prince Andrew put a golf meeting ahead of the event, I do think Prince William should have attended with his father and his grandparents. William is not a little boy any more. At 22 he is older than thousands of the young men who were mown down on that June day. His very presence would have shown that he shared the pride - and the grief - of his country on one of the most illustrious days in its history. Instead he missed the opportunity to salute some real heroes. Wherever he was, I hope it was worth it. Doing image no favours Is it only a year since cocky Scottish waiter Federico talked himself out of the Big Brother house after his wild claims that nine out of 10 girls from Newcastle were "slappers?" And now what do we have? A Geordie girl called Michelle Bass whose behaviour is so bad - and apparently so out of character - that her unassuming, respectable family have admitted they are ashamed of her. Poor things - I should think every parent and everyone who knows the Bass family must sympathise. Michelle may think she is furthering her career plans to be famous - at any price - and enhancing Newcastle's much-quoted profile as a party city. Instead she presents the rest of the country with all the ammunition it needs to prejudge us. We should be relieved our City of Culture bid fell by the wayside a full year ago - since the representative currently in the limelight does us all a great disservice. ********** I can still remember my ballroom dancing lessons in St Francis's Church hall on a Saturday morning (half a crown a session). I went with my younger sister and therefore always had to be the man! It was years before I stopped fighting with my dad over who was leading who round the floor at family weddings. Anyway, at least I can still do a simple foxtrot or a waltz - though from watching Strictly Come Dancing on a Saturday evening, it seems that nothing's that simple any more. Indeed, to me the dancers look like they belong in the circus, strutting around the ring and posing, like magician's assistants. And as for show-off Bruce Forsyth. It's been driving me mad to work out who he reminds me of and I've finally got it. Basil Brush. He's the dead spit. Boots might be for me Still on the dance floor, I am wondering about which dance course is best suited to me from the extensive range offered in the adult education programme at Gosforth High School from September. Should I try belly dancing (I've certainly got the stomach for it), or salsa dancing? Ah, no, here it is. Gumboot dancing. Wednesday evenings. Apparently, all you need is the ability to laugh at yourself - and a pair of Wellington boots. I haven't worn wellies since I was 12 but what the heck. Since I'm pretty adept at putting my foot in it, I'm seriously thinking it might be for me
Two votes of thanks Two big thank yous, this week. First, gratitude for the biggest laugh of the week goes to the body that has come up with the idea of handing out lollipops to students as they leave this weekend's end of year and graduation parties in the hope they'll think twice about making a noise. The Newcastle Community Safety Partnership has Northumbria Police backing for its novel noise reduction scheme. Since I've recently been woken up by 2am fireworks, an early hours game of football in the street outside and raucous students wending their way home around 4am loudly jeering and shouting, I doubt whether lollipops or shushing posters are going to have any effect whatsoever. The good thing, though, is that parents are even now arriving to load up duvets, dishes and DVD players in their cars and taking their dear student children home for the summer. Sweet news indeed. Second vote of thanks goes to my Journal colleague Jane Hall for her terrific interview with Alnwick-born artist Stella Vine whose horrible painting of Princess Diana put her on the map when Charles Saatchi bought it earlier this year for £600. Asked by Jane how long it took her to do a painting, Stella replied: "It's different for each one but they tend to be really good when they're finished in 10 to 20 minutes." I'd say that was a great way for an artist to put things in perspective. | 
