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. This week, Linda takes to her bed at a hotel treat from a dear friend, and recalls the first time she ever ‘bounced’ in one with the Singing Nolans
I still remember my first hotel stay. I was a kid in the Singing Nolans and the eight of us pulled up in our estate car outside London’s Royal Lancaster fit to burst with excitement. The concierge took one look and turned around.
Mum and Dad handed us our key, we ran into our room and immediately began trampolining on the bed.
Fast forward half a century, erm, almost, to Sunday afternoon, and I was back in a hotel. Only this time I was in the bed. (Very much alone, folks – don’t be buying a hat!) And that’s where I stayed.
I wasn’t quite alone. My dear friend Suzanne, who I’ve known since we met over the garden fence aged 11, drove up from London just to take me away for the night as a fabulous treat.
I was beyond touched, but also, and she won’t mind me admitting this, nervous.
I’m a woman with equipment these days. I have my frames, my stair lift, my rails – this week I have become the proud owner of a bed guard (yep, I’ve caught myself falling out of bed twice now, and believe me, one black eye is enough). So upping sticks – literally – for a night away isn’t as carefree as it once was.
She’d made us a booking for lunch and after that we headed to the room. Suzanne popped to get something from the car, and when she came back I was tucked up in my twin bed.
I had to be honest – I felt nauseous, fatigued, but perhaps also, anxious. I was so grateful for this beautiful stay, but away from the security of Denise’s house, I felt on edge. Suzanne, being the bestest friend you could have, immediately jumped onto her twin bed and agreed this was where we’d stay.
It was brilliant. No pressure. We just sat there and chatted about the old days.
About our home economics teacher, Miss Waddydogs (I’ll leave explanations there); about my own nickname, Linda Ding (for my love of a microwave); about our plan as kids to save a shilling a week to go and see Donny Osmond in America. One schoolgirl actually managed it – got there, and married a Mormon.
It was also the best accessible room I’ve ever stayed in. A bathroom each, one accessible and one not (well, you know what I mean). And mine didn’t feel in the least clinical. There was no essence of hospital – in either decor or perfume – yet I couldn’t have felt safer with the wide walk-in shower and discreet aids.
The trip was a perfect tonic. Who needs trampolining when you can sit in bed with your best pal and remember Miss Waddydogs?
