ANT MCPARTLIN APOLOGISES OUTSIDE COURT FOR DRINK DRIVING Lisa and Ant have been married since 2006. They met years earlier – pre his Big Cheese status – when Ant and Dec were just a couple

of warblers on the pop scene and she was part of a now long-forgotten girl band. She has been at his side since so long before he hit the big time she must be one of the few people who

remembers him before success transported him into the showbiz stratosphere. She supported him through the addiction years. She stuck to her career as a make-up artist, ensuring her identity

wasn’t eclipsed by his. She formed a tight little trio with Dec before he finally tied the knot. If Ant’s comments are anything to go by, she also did her utmost to make their dream of

least you maintain contact with the Beloved. As long as you’re speaking, even if it’s just to yell insults, there’s the (tiny) chance of reconciliation. That was until lunchboxgate. Lisa saw

Ant leaving his rented flat, their former PA Anne-Marie Corbett in the background, a packed lunch firmly in his hand. Instantly the penny dropped. Ant and Anne-Marie are an item. PAs aren’t

cooks. They don’t rustle up portable salads for their employers unless there’s a spark fizzing. At a glance, Lisa realised it was curtains for her marriage and farewell to the life she

knew. Ant and Anne-Marie have already grown close to Dec and his wife Ali. "We know Lisa wasn’t ready to kiss her marriage goodbye." (Image: GETTY IMAGES) Lisa – huge potential

cash settlement or not – is alone and out in the cold. She has lost stones in weight on the break-up diet. I remember it well. It was the only occasion on which I was described in the

newspapers as “gaunt”. Veterans of that weight-loss method will remember the choking sensation when they try to eat. Grief kills appetite. Cake brings no consolation. The pounds drop off and

you feel not the remotest scintilla of joy. Lisa has gone blonde. She has been raven haired all her life. She has carted herself from Chiswick to LA endeavouring to establish a career

across the pond miles from the contacts and customers she has already wooed and won. And the worst part of it all is that she doesn’t want any of it. She doesn’t want to be slim and

miserable, blonde and hustling, single and on the market. She just wants her husband, her home and her marriage. Any woman who has walked in Lisa’s shoes knows the misery of being exiled

from your own life. It’s hell. I hope family and friends are rallying round to hold her hand. SO EMMA IS INSECURE LIKE THE REST OF US Emma Willis is riding the crest of a glittering career.

She was a sought-after model and has morphed into a versatile and likeable TV presenter with an impressive batch of credits to her name. She is the broadcasting opposite of a flash in the

pan, reigning supreme over Big Brother, The Voice and any other show lucky enough to secure her services. I can’t decide if it’s disturbing or reassuring that Emma says she suffers from

imposter syndrome, constantly worrying that she’ll be “found out” and sent packing from the studio. Is it great that she experiences the same insecurities as every other woman? Or is it a

rotten shame that none of us, even when we’ve quite clearly cracked it, ever truly believes we deserve our success? "You need 15 heads of tiny snowflake flowers for one litre of

elixir" (Image: GETTY IMAGES) MY ELDERFLOWER CORDIAL RECIPE The impetus came from my elder daughter Allegra. “You know how expensive and delectable elderflower cordial is?” she said.

“The season is short. That’s what makes it so rare and special. What would you think about making our own?” I mutely nodded, not wanting to confess that I’d never given the matter a second’s

thought. Within minutes we were in Cork’s glorious Ballycotton Bay picking fragrant fronds of blossom. You need 15 heads of tiny snowflake flowers for one litre of elixir. Dainty handling

is imperative. The pollen mustn’t be nudged off. It’s vital for the flavour. We carefully balanced the flowers in the car boot. Never has the vehicle smelled so heavenly. We steeped the

blooms in a mixture of water and honey, added four unwaxed lemons and waited 24 hours. A sieve was lined with muslin. We drained the liquid through it into a sterilised bottle and nectar

appeared drop after golden drop. The libation was sublime. I now consider myself an expert. As my mother used to say when making crab apple jelly: “Nothing tastes as delicious as something

you’ve made from scratch.” Morrisons have committed to cutting down on plastic (Image: GETTY IMAGES) CUTTING DOWN ON THE PLASTIC All hail supermarket chain Morrisons: first, for bringing

back the brown paper bag and saving the planet from 150 million plastic bags a year in the process; and second, for inviting customers to bring their own Tupperware if they’re buying meat or

fish. We’ve finally woken up to the catastrophic damage plastic is inflicting on our beaches and oceans. Suddenly we’re sick at the thought of a lamb chop in a polystyrene tray, wrapped in

plastic, encased in yet another entirely plastic bag. Layers of pointless packaging turn our stomachs. We yearn for wicker shopping baskets and Julie Andrews’ “brown paper packages tied up

with string”. What’s more, we’ve all amassed haphazard collections of Tupperware and are thrilled to bits to have the chance to use them. Where Morrisons leads let other supermarkets follow,

or it won’t be long before the country unites and marches down the aisles en masse jettisoning gratuitous plastic in vast unrecyclable mountainous mounds beside every check-out. "Don’t

panic. There’s a halloumi crisis" (Image: GETTY IMAGES) TOUGHING OUT THE HALLOUMI CRISIS Don’t panic. There’s a halloumi crisis. We Brits are wild about it and can’t plonk enough on

our barbecues. We think it’s a fab summer veggie option. We’re mad about the salty taste and don’t object to the India rubber texture. Alas, halloumi production is hindered by the

requirement that under EU rules the cheese must be made only in Cyprus with at least 20 per cent sheep and goats’ milk. Emergency supplies are being rushed to our shores by road. Shoppers

are shocked by the sight of shelves stripped of the stuff. Here’s a reminder that such delayed gratification is character building. We shouldn’t be permitted to have exactly what we want,

just when we want it all the time. Learning to tough out the wait is an essential part of learning resilience.   * Imagine being a guest at Sir Philip Green’s 2002 50th birthday party,

settling down on the plane to hear this announcement (as related in a new book): “It is vital at this stage that all your hand luggage is labelled correctly. “The labels should read Louis

Vuitton, Christian Lacroix or Chanel. For this flight only, British Home Stores is also acceptable.” Would manners have compelled you to laugh at such vulgarity masquerading as humour? Or

would you have asked for your Debenhams suitcases to be removed from the hold, sensing somehow that this wouldn’t be quite your kind of soiree?