In her no-holds-barred column, Irish singer, actress and TV star Linda Nolan speaks candidly about living with cancer, a disease that has also struck sisters Anne and Coleen and took the life of their sister Bernie. Sadly Linda has been laid low with a chest infection over Christmas and will even miss her sister Coleen’s NYE party
“How much?” I spluttered through the wrapping paper. “Fifty-two English pounds?” Readers, this is the going rate for a modesty slip. Yes, you heard me correctly: modesty slip.
It was the Christmas gift I never knew I wanted. Denise bought it for me to save us all some worry. And it turns out £52 is no price to pay for peace of mind!
It’s no secret I have five mats in the bathroom – I’m so terrified of falling and having to be hefted to my feet in my birthday suit. I know I shouldn’t lock the door because people need to get in, but I’m so worried about falling half dressed, I often lock it anyway. Everyone, even my own sisters, are under strict orders to immediately throw me a towel if the worst happens.
So faced with this conundrum Denise, bless her, sourced the modesty slip, which meant I was confronted with a pile of turquoise swimsuit material under the tree on Christmas Day, complete with two holes down the sides so you can slip your hands through and actually wash. (They’d possibly be put to other uses if Brian was still alive… But here we are.)
It didn’t immediately deliver the festive joy of the beautiful pyjamas Maureen gave me, but it’s going to be transformative.
Mind you, the pyjamas have also come in handy, as unfortunately it’s been a sick Christmas. In the old-fashioned sense. My favourite day of the year and I didn’t eat a bite, not even a sprout.
I staggered down at noon, and could only sit on the sofa as everyone else tucked into lunch. I managed to open some presents, but was back in bed by 8pm. I still have gifts unwrapped. A travesty.
On Boxing Day I was at the GPs being prescribed antibiotics for a chest infection and anti-sickness pills for nausea. I dearly wanted to avoid hospital, so he agreed I could head home unless things got worse.
It’s been grim. It wasn’t the Christmas I wanted. There was no late night karaoke, and not one of my four selection boxes got opened.
As I write this, I don’t plan to go to Coleen’s New Year’s bash either. No burger van in the driveway for me, and no cuddles with her son Jake’s new baby. I’m beyond disappointed.
But, although I’ve missed the revelry, there’s been a different kind of Christmas and New Year in its place. Days of peace and reflection.
We’ve talked about Christmases past and all the good times. We popped Sinatra on and remembered Mum and Dad. And my best friend Sue plans to stay with me to see in the New Year, telling me, “I am where you are.”
So here’s to the very best friends and family in 2025 – mine, and yours. They’re all that matter. Along with a good modesty slip.
