Heidi hi.

Oh, de ho.

I know what you're referring to.

You are the new Sue Pollard, I gather, from one of the newspapers.

Because you wear leggings. Oh, newspapers, because you wear leggings.

Oh, is that? I wear leggings. Oh, I thought it was my, me. That photo has me sort of vaguely squinting somewhere, doesn't it? And not, even I would say, even my best friends would say,

not looking particularly attractive. But the good news is this morning, Sunday morning, I have

been out up the road to get me an almond croissant and got papped on the way. No. Yep. Yep. I was

wearing sunglasses. So I either look very glamorous or I look vaguely short-sighted. I smiled. I thought I'm going to do that whole sort of embrace it thing. So I smiled at him. He then proceeded to say, oh yeah, I just want a picture of you smiling, Jackie. Just want a picture of you smiling. And then he said, anyway, my money's on you. You're much better than that, Maisie. I thought, well, now you're lying.

Oh my goodness me. So you are now truly a celebrity, aren't you? And you're pointless.

Indeed. Well, no, actually, you did get some points, didn't you?

But what do I see in my mail on Sunday this morning?

Resplendent on page 7, Jackie is forced to romance her yoga class lover by Zoom, an item for eight months, but they've spent just a quarter of that time together.

The background to this story, listeners, is that the Mail on Sunday in particular, and some other

media outlets, are rather obsessed about my new relationship, desperate to know his name, which I have not given them,

and therefore happy to make things up like that.

Although the classic comment in that piece comes from one of my neighbours who, having been

doorstepped by the male, reportedly said to them, well, she's done very well for herself.

He might as well said you punched above your weight.

Exactly.

He was described as handsome, which he's quite pleased about this morning, I have to say.

And is, of course, true.

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