Do you know that I once caused a traffic accident just by walking across the road?  Of course you don't.  You look at me now and how, I wonder, do you see me.  Mother of five, grandmother of one, wife of Bryan? One time gallery owner, church member, sister of Walter?  The thing is, you see, people don't seem to see me at all.  I have found two new, invaluable words. 'Excuse Me'.  I use them in the newsagents, at the butchery counter, at the perfume counter and, most of all, at the beauty counter in our local Debenhams.  If I don't use them, nobody sees me at all.  That's a little unfair as the sweetest girl ever showed me just how to apply the eye serum that cost more than a month's salary.  'You remind me so much of my granny,' she told me, smiling sweetly.  You must have a very young granny, I suggested.  'Not that young,' she informed me, 'She's 58.'  Dear god, I actually would love to be 58 again.

How did it all happen, I ask myself.  Back to the traffic accident, just so you can get the picture more clearly.  I was crossing over the Earlswood Road on my way to the very same butchers where nobody knows me today.  I hesistated waiting for the traffic to clear when a silver Porsche swerved into a dear little Peugot.  The owner of the Porsche, by way of explanation, explained that he was distracted by the beautiful lady crossing the road.  He had the audacity afterwards to ask me to join him for a cup of coffee.  The daftest thing was that I did as I felt sort of responsible.  It was a laugh really and he was the nicest man you could meet.  I explained I was happily married and that was that.  It wasn't the only time mind.  A huge lorry slammed its breaks on to allow me to cross the road with my two small sons.  I felt just like Princess Diana must have that day as the other irrate drivers looked on.  I hope you get the picture without me sounding boastful.  What I'm trying to say was I wasn't always invisible.

I've gone through all that hassle with builders we women are supposed to loathe.  I was reminded of it a couple of years ago when I walked past a building site to a hail of whistles.  Smiling inwardly I walked on, enjoying every darned moment when I heard it.  My daughter was running behind trying to catch up with me.  'Mum,' she shouted, 'hold on.'  It's good going shopping with Christina these days.  Everybody rushes to serve her and then she smiles sweetly and says 'this is my mum,' and you know, they're really, really nice.

Two years ago last April I lost my Mum.  She was 89, I was 59.  So it was sort of normal if you know what I mean.  The thing was, Mummy wasn't normal.  She was wildly eccentric, mad as a hatter, a devout Christian and the head of our family.  She thought I was beautiful and she loved me as only a mother could.  When she died our whole family crumbled for a while.  Every time something good happened I would think to myself 'I have to tell Mum', but Mum wasn't there.  I lost the joy in my life for a while.  I wore big knickers and one day ate a fresh cream Victoria Sandwich from Tescos all by myself.  She would have been horrified.  I bought bags of Wine Gums and hid them in the glove box of the car.  I bought those big packets of sandwiches from Marks & Spencer instead of making myself one at home.  Before you ask, no - I didn't take to the drink but only because drink doesn't take to me.  Poor old Bryan was endlessly patient, drying my tears and putting up with the black moods.  The man is a saint and now I've put it in writing, so he'll believe it himself.  Once, when I reached a size 12, my Mum looked strangely at me.  'What's wrong with me?' I asked.  'Nothing dear,' she replied.  'It's just that there were no big women in our family before.'  Well, I took a real tantrum at that I can tell you.  Did any of them have a total hysterectomy and have to be on HRT for years?  I don't think so.  Mum was elegant until they took away her dignity in the last weeks of her life.  Then I woke up.

Back to Debenhams.  It's the only department store in Belfast you see, which is why I go back to it.  I go into the city about twice a year, mostly to go to Waterstones.  On my last visit, nobody, but nobody saw me.  I was the original invisible woman.  Then something happened that changed everything.  This horrible woman at the counter which will have to remain nameless, accepted the money for my purchase, parcelled it and handed me back my credit card without ever looking at me.  I looked at her.  Dyed red hair, glasses with diamonds, mutton dressed as lamb and something inside exploded.  How dare someone like that ignore me.  She didn't even know me.  Something had to be done.

It started with the knickers.  Lots of lace and a size smaller than I was wearing at the time.  Next came the blouse, also one size smaller and, you've guessed it, the black capri pants.  A visit to Sainsburys saw a trolley loaded with low fat yogurts and lots of vegetables.  Bryan didn't know what had hit him.  But I did it.  I got into the knickers, had to buy a smaller bra, tried on the blouse and Thank you God, it fitted.  I got the hair cut and a few little streaks of subtle colour and then I made my way back.  You know what?  She smiled at me.  I let her show me lots of things and then, may God forgive me, I made my way to the Origins counter and bought it all there.  'You know,' the girl assured me there, 'you have fantastic skin and you a granny.'  You've probably guessed that in between all this I became a granny to gorgeous, gorgeous Paddy Jack.  He is going to have the best granny in the whole world.  For my age that is.

I feel a whole lot better about myself these days.  In church they hardly recognise me but in the nicest possible way.  They know my past too well.  It's still a bit of a battle with the fresh cream sandwiches but I swear, and this is a miracle, I went on a cruise in July which was really luxurious and I came back only one pound heavier.  Even that dissappeared after the first bowl of All Bran with raspberries, bananas and soya milk!  What I have learnt is that each time I see a frail old lady walking down the High Street of our little town, I remember that she too was one day a young girl, full of hopes and aspirations for the future. I smile at her so she doesn't feel invisible.

I still have to use the 'Excuse me' thing and I guess they still don't immediately see me.  The things is I don't feel quite as invisible.  I'm embracing the present and leaving the future to take care of itself.  Paddy Jack and I have the best of times and everybody, but everybody notices me when I'm with him.  Well, OK, they notice him.  But I'm certain my mother is pleased.