VERA BREEN

I first met Vera in 1982 when I was dating her son John, and she made a huge impression on me and here's why.

She was beautiful.
Far too beautiful, and I imagine that she enraged her dull grey-faced neighbours with her magnificent hair and movie star eyes. She was also ballsy and charming, two traits I love in women. I attended her funeral yesterday, and amid the stillness of the chapel service there rested a large photograph of Vera dressed in pink. Her sexiness poured out like honey over crystal. She was a corker of a girl. She was a real woman. A woman's woman.

Vera died aged 84 and her life was interesting.
She married Joe, a man a great deal older than her, then after his untimely death the young Vera said "Blow you, I'm going out". And so she did and one night she met a charming Liverpudlian called Chris and they married. Chris is devilishly handsome and if I close my eyes I see them drinking in Spain, dancing in ballrooms and falling asleep after kissing the night away. They were the Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of the Warwick Estate, their good marriage was as a marriage should be, love-filled, friendly and often tempestuous.

Vera's children are all successful middle-aged people managing jobs and families with aplomb, their Mother's blood obviously gallops through their veins.

The last time I saw Vera she was in hospital and I asked her if she'd like to wear some lipstick.
The dying woman's eyes blazed widely and they shouted "YES!"