Dorothy died recently after suffering a stroke. I am sure her family and friends don't want to remember her this way, so I apologise for printing that picture again.

But, for the rest of us, it is important we remember Dorothy how she appeared in the aftermath of a brutal and senseless mugging.

We should remember it and hang our heads in shame that we are part of a society where this sort of appalling crime happens far too often.

My grandmothers died many years ago. They were great old ladies. Not educated, but wise. Not wealthy, but rich in human spirit.

Thankfully, they were never subjected to the kind of cowardly attacks that Dorothy suffered, but even now the thought of some lowlife scumbag doing them harm makes me seethe.

Dorothy was a victim not once, not twice, but three times.

What sort of a society have we become when an old lady of 76 cannot even walk down a city street in safety?

Yet her spirit was indomitable and she refused to be cowed.

Dorothy didn't give in to the muggers, and neither should the rest of us.

That spirit may be recognised in Paston where she lived. Already friends and neighbours are talking of ways to pay Dorothy a proper tribute in the shape of a community bravery award.

A widow, Dorothy refused to let the attacks deter her from taking her daily walk.

But they did take their toll and her son-in-low revealed how Dorothy's self-confidence had been eroded by the cowardly yobs.

We do not know if these muggings shortened her life.

We do know they did not make it any longer.

Or happier.

Probably those responsible will never be brought to justice – at least not the justice a court brings.

But whatever god you believe in or faith you follow, surely we all share the hope the cowards who attacked Dorothy get their comeuppance. Somehow, some way, some day.

Rest in peace, Dorothy. Sorry, you couldn't have spent your last days in peace.


Panic-buying is more fun than being sensible

Bored by Euro 2008 and Kevin Pietersen turning cricket into a circus performance, I'm still on the look-out for a new summer sport.

I quickly got bored of name-Googling, but my new sport has got more potential. It's panic buying. Filling up with fuel is now fun. After indulging myself at the forecourt last week I admit being so irresponsible was irresistible.

Mind you it does have its downside. My Special Friend had her metaphorical rolling pin out at the weekend when I came home with four bags of shallots.

"What the heck have you got all these for?" she demanded."There's a worldwide shortage," I replied.

I got one of her looks.

But I reckon it might catch on and the editor has asked me to tell you to feel free to panic buy The ET anytime you want.