Dame Barbara Windsor died last Thursday. If anyone was plugged into the make-the-most-of-life socket, it was Babs. Always glamorous, always with that huge, wide smile for everyone, that saucy laugh, that accommodating heart… until Alzheimer’s started savagely dragging them – and her – away.
I recall the last time I saw Barbara. It was a good while ago, but I’ve never forgotten it. She was, as always, with her gorgeous, doting husband, Scott, at a theatre do.
I can’t recall what we saw, nor which theatre we attended, but I’ve never forgotten seeing Barbara and thinking she was not herself that night.
The smile was there for everyone, as always, but definitely watered down. And it didn’t reach her eyes. Those big blue eyes were smudged
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