YOU might say the odds have always been stacked against age-gap relationships. The tut-tutters predict doom the moment they so much as sniff a union between May and December. "What does that old fool possibly think that beautiful damsel sees in him?" they ask. "How could that ancient crone believe that hunky young buck finds her attractive?"

Here's the question. With coronavirus raising its ugly head in this green and pleasant land, and with a pressing desire not to catch the horrible bug or pass it on to nearest and dearest - not to mention vulnerable strangers - at which point do we pitch in and speak out?

MAYBE it's because on my BBC Radio London Breakfast Show we currently talk of almost nothing else from 7-10am every day - we do try to slot in other subjects but no one calls about them - that by the time I emerge from the studio I'm so acutely aware of steadily encroaching coronavirus that I jump three feet in the air if somebody so much as sneezes.

I love her so much I'd like to send her a bunch of daffs and a hug. I've never met her, but she's 100 percent my Pin-up Pensioner Poster Girl for coronavirus.

WE ARE astounding, we human beings. There's a global pandemic. We have no idea when we'll see, let alone hug, the people we love most in the world.

HOW did you muddle through the longest weekend in world history? Here's how my other half and I botched the whole flipping thing up over at Feltz Towers. Following excellent advice, we were determined to have a structure, a schedule and stick to it.

WE DON'T usually think of the Queen as the "mother of the nation".

WHO knew, amid all the panic and anxiety, our dominant lockdown obsession would be food? We're either queuing for it - at the right social distance, of course - or sleuthing out delivery slots with Kojak-like cunning.

REMEMBER the phrase: "He had a good war"? When we heard it at school it seemed an oxymoron. I recall our history teacher, sensing our confusion, elaborating thus: "For some war was deadly. The bereaved and the disabled never recovered. For some it was a hiatus, a long and frightening test of endurance. Yet some excelled.

LABELS, who needs them? Do you really want to be branded a lockdown "accepter", "sufferer" or "resister"? What is the point of shoving us into personality pigeonholes as if we are predestined to capitulate, throw in the towel, or give up?

YOU might say the odds have always been stacked against age-gap relationships. The tut-tutters predict doom the moment they so much as sniff a union between May and December. "What does that old fool possibly think that beautiful damsel sees in him?" they ask. "How could that ancient crone believe that hunky young buck finds her attractive?"

We can all relate now...

The broadcaster, 58, on God, privacy, Mini convertibles, the rudeness of Madonna and her school nickname, Vanessa the Undresser

Even aged two, I was a child of great perspicacity. At nursery we had to answer the register by saying “Yes, Auntie” or “Present, please”, which I found deeply confusing. First, I thought, you’re not my auntie. And if I’m asking politely for a present every day, where on earth is it?

Vanessa the Undresser was my nickname at school, and I put that down to my parents. When a sex scene started on TV I was banished to the hall. I’d stand with one ear against the door desperately trying to work out who was doing what to whom and in what position. Thus was aroused in me an unshakable thirst for sex in all its permutations. I’ve never tired of it, menopause or not.

The TV personality, 57, put on a busty display in the floor-length black lace gown, which was adorned with colourful floral detailing along the neckline.