I became a Christian in 1954, at the age of 19, at a Billy Graham rally in London. But it wasn’t until four years later, when Roy Rimmer (later to become my husband!) introduced me to Navigators Joyce Turner and Elizabeth Ann Horsford, that I learned to walk with Jesus every day.

Honestly, I love The Traitors. I especially enjoyed the recent celebrity spin-off and I’m now anxiously waiting for the next series. Perhaps it’s my personal connection to Scotland, where the series is filmed, or maybe it’s the grand castle, the dramatic music score, or the intense cliff hangers that drive me to keep watching.

My son is a Gas Safety Engineer. On his van he has a sticker which displays his certificate and number, showing that he is an approved contractor. Every 5 years he has to re-sit his gas safety exams and he must get 100% to stay approved.

You know that feeling when you’ve just finished an enjoyable but exhausting trip and – finally – you’ve made it back home. It feels oh so sweet stepping in, dropping your bags and closing the door behind you. Yes, bags need unpacking, clothes need washing, your people need feeding, but you’re home!

In 2021 my Uncle David (who also has Down Syndrome) was diagnosed with young-onset dementia and moved into a care home. Before long he could no longer recognise me or anyone else in his family. He was often confused and soon lost the ability to speak coherently. It felt as though the man I deeply loved was gone.

Wonderstruck, I squeezed my friend’s hand three times while our childhood hero performed the three-hour concert of our dreams. Yet, what stayed with me was the realisation that thousands within the crowd had never met Jesus.

Wonderstruck, I squeezed my friend’s hand three times while our childhood hero performed the three-hour concert of our dreams. Yet, what stayed with me was the realisation that thousands within the crowd had never met Jesus.

‘Lord, I have no idea what it means to be this kind of person. I have no real idea what it means to step into the wind and the storm and the desert and the rocky places of a person’s life, I really don’t, but I can’t get away from these words, and I sense that you are asking me to be willing to be such a person. So, here I am.

There always seemed to be a lot going on at church and I was usually somewhere near the centre of the action. But, after many years in various leadership roles there, I began to question what I was achieving.

After watching a good film as a family, I like to ask, ‘What do you think the main message was?’ ‘Teamwork!’ my sons’ chime and it’s almost always true. We kicked off our summer holidays by watching Fantastic Four: First Steps at the cinema and we closed it with a home viewing of Thunderbolts*.

Our ‘crossing cultures’ adventure began over 35 years ago. In 1988 we moved to Sparkhill, an incredibly diverse area of Birmingham – inner city, multicultural, at the poorer end of the socio-economic scale and predominantly South Asian, either of Sikh, Hindu or Muslim religion.

At the start of the year I found myself hankering after some endorphins, so I joined our local gym. As I settled into something of a routine I mostly found myself at Body Combat, a vigorous thirty minute workout where you punch and kick your way to fitness.