I have felt every feeling there is ...the postman always looks in, even if I’ve no mail, smiles and gives a thumbs-up ...that set me off

Symptoms are grim but I will not grumble

lost my husband Colin and I really miss talking to him.

When the boys were little on Mother’s Day, Colin always bought me three red roses with a card that said, “From the three men in your life”. So last Sunday I kept thinking of him.

My eldest son Jonathan came around with a card and flowers. We had a cheerful chat from the other side of the path, but all I wanted was to hug him.

My grandson Charlie sent me a mug that had a photo of his French bulldog Coco in a chef ’s hat on one side, and on the other it said, “Love you Nana”.

On Thursday, loneliness really kicked in. So I put on my 1950s music and did a little jive, holding the door handle, pretending it was Colin’s hand.

I stopped when I got a bit dizzy because I have to watch my blood pressure, but it really cheered me up.

Comfort telly is just what the nation needs as a relief from all the scary news.

Watching old episodes of Miss Marple with Margaret Rutherford is just the tonic. And I love Midsomer Murders too, the rose-covered doors, thatched cottages and sunny days.

But I wouldn’t want to live there – it has a terrible crime rate.

My favourite show is The Voice. But I couldn’t be a judge as I couldn’t send anyone home and break their heart.

Will.i.am is brilliant, he’s sentimental, like me. And I love Tom Jones. I saw him in 1964 and he was amazing then, and he’s like a good wine, better with age.

But if I hear him sing Green Green Grass of Home, I’ll be off again.

I’m on Instagram and forever seeing

It has become a strange world where we are cut off from many of those we love. So, if there’s someone you’re missing while we are all in

pictures of our Robert in the gym. I’ve told him to put his top on – he’s not what he used to be.

I thought, I’d show him I can exercise too. I can’t go on my walks so I went into the back yard and punched the air a few times with a tin of beans in each hand. Trouble is, I got hungry so ate the beans.

Even though I’m frightened of posting anything on Instagram, I tried. I pushed all sorts of buttons. Then Charlie called and said: “Do you know you’ve posted something on Insta, Nana?” I’d posted a picture of my kitchen ceiling.

I had to cancel last week’s hair appointment so I’ve been trying to take care of how I look as best I can.

When I see Jane Fonda advertising face creams I’m amazed how good she looks. Then I think: “Yes, but you haven’t ever had to get down on your knees to

lockdown write and tell us who and why and what you’d like to say to them. We’ll include as many of your messages as we can in the Mirror.

scrub floors.” It’s hard to get hold of the lotions to smooth the wrinkles. But my face has gone too far. I know what it needs – a good iron on a hot setting.

When my son Jonathan saw my diary last week, he rang me up and said I was like Adrian Mole because he had a diary.

I said: “No, son. I’m more like Bridget Jones because she wears big knickers.”

The lockdown has made us all eat a bit differently, as we’re all appreciating our food so much more because we’re grateful to have it. I forgot how much I enjoyed Heinz Tomato Soup.

When my daughter-in-law asked if I needed anything, I told her I would love a cooked chicken as it’s so long since I had one. As I pulled a leg off the chicken and guzzled it, I felt just like Henry VIII.

Please try to include a picture of you together. Email features@mirror.co.uk or write to Missing You, PO Box 4010, E14 5BA

HELLO from my bed, where the only progress I can report is that I’ve had a change of bed linen. Yay!

So now I’m feeling a bit fresher, but I’m still harbouring the dry coronavirus cough.

Meanwhile, my throat’s making it known that it’s the soldier at the vanguard in the fight against any other bug that fancies entering my system, as it’s flared up again – and it’s angry.

It’s weird too, not to mention slightly perturbing, not to be able to take a really deep, satisfying breath.

But the one symptom that continues to drag me down the most is the nasty digestive-tract irritation – an acidy, prickly feeling from my throat to my gut, where it narks away all day.

I’m not complaining, though. I know that as far as this horrible virus is concerned,

I’m one of the lucky ones.

PEOPLE are now carrying out good deeds they would never have considered before. A study found 23% have got in touch with a vulnerable neighbour and 33% have offered to get shopping for others.

With P34&35

BEDRIDDEN Columnist Fiona