So, Aunty Val’s sitting there in Westminster Abbey for the Queen’s funeral but needs to go to the loo… what could possibly go wrong? It’s a fun read, it’s “Seven Days” with IAN MEIKLE. 

AS she climbed the steep stairs to board the Prime Minister’s VIP plane to London, Val Dempsey allowed herself the indulgence of the thought: “Not bad going for a girl from Frome Street, Narrabundah”.

The 72-year-old Senior Australian of the Year was one of 10 “ordinary” (albeit distinguished) Australians swept off to the Queen’s funeral in Westminster Abbey last month.

Known affectionately as “Aunty Val”, the more than 40-year St John Ambulance ACT volunteer and retired oncology nurse has spent much of this year crossing the country talking to community groups about the virtues of first aid.

But it was the trip to London that drew her back into the 2CC studios for one of the best interviews Rod Henshaw and I have done on the “CityNews Sunday Roast” program. Not that we had to do much. 

Val always comes armed with morning tea, so while we’re filling our faces (not a good look on radio) on her Danish delights, she shares stories.

And what stories! Only pack black, save for one item of colour; Val took a scarf. They give you pyjamas to wear on the plane and Mr Albanese came by to see if they were all okay. 

They had to be seated at the abbey (behind 10 “ordinary” Canadians) at 8.30 ahead of the 11am funeral. When the Queen’s coffin passed by, Val crumpled into a curtsy of spontaneous respect amid fears she’d collapsed. 

She was deeply touched by the service and the silence in the abbey. At the end, the group was instructed to stay seated as the “extra-ordinary” people – royalty and heads of state – had departed. 

But there was the insurmountable matter of the breakfast cuppa beginning to put pressure on Val’s bladder. It couldn’t be denied and Val took the chance, looked round and quickly legged it down an aisle and out the back of the abbey where she knew they had loos.

On the way back, she was confronted by a formidable marching group of Beefeaters, Yeomen of the Guard, the Queen’s body guard carrying halberds (pikes). 

She quickly sidestepped into a pew to let them pass, nipped back into the aisle and, from under her wide-brimmed black hat, bam! She’d walked straight into the chest of a man in a suit. 

Brim lifted, looking up and without missing a beat, the irrepressible Val says: “G’day, mister president, and how are you?”

To which Joe Biden assured her he was fine. 

Mercifully, the American president’s shoot-first security crew was waiting outside the abbey, otherwise the Senior Australian of the Year might have been in a spot of bother. She’s been fielding calls from American media, who were as astonished as we were. 

One last yarn from this wonderful interview. Val had never seen the Egyptian pyramids and, with some front, asked nice Mr Albanese if it would be possible to fly low over them for her. You can imagine the tremors of concern when that request got back to flight planners in Canberra. 

But they did what the PM asked and as the plane flew low over Giza, someone woke the pyjamaed Val to see pyramids. She was awestruck and excited and dashed up the plane, past the travelling journos and, knock-knock, into a room where Albo was holding a meeting. 

She effusively thanked the PM and left with the promise that [husband] “Lindsay would probably vote for you next time!”. 

Oh, and Frome Street? That’s not what it used to be, either – the last sale there in August went for $1.35 million. 

IF the city hasn’t entirely gone to pot, then it’s certainly gone to potholes. They’re everywhere, from small fractures on suburban streets to dangerous, deep gashes on bushy highways. There seems to be more and more every time the rain comes sheeting down and undermines the hard surfaces. 

I ride a motor scooter from time to time and have managed to dodge falling into any of them, but often only by a whisker. They loom suddenly up from the tarmac like evil characters in a video game.

Riding in the dark would be foolhardy until the poor sods employed to fix this problem catch up. I feel sorry for these workers and, (promise me, Chris Steel) provided the potholes aren’t the result of cheap road laying, I also sympathise with the government struggling with the dangerous safety problem. 

Not so my irascible Stirling snout, who shouts: “We’re governed by idiots – mainly lawyers who have never had to roll up their sleeves and get their hands dirty.”

His frustration is not about the contemporary potholes, but the heritage mother-of-all-potholes at the Cooleman Court shopping centre bus stop. 

“It’s been there for donkeys’ ages, more than a year, and seems to be growing. Every now and then someone patches it up – but to no avail.” 

Then our senior sales consultant David Cusack stopped his car to snap a rain-filled pothole near Belconnen. This one had white paint around its extremes suggesting it was (like half the footpaths languishing around my way) singled out for repair.

We’ve adopted it as an office mascot and will watch to see how long it takes to get fixed, given they’ve had time to go around and mark it, but not fill it. 

The last pothole story comes from a Kingston Foreshore snout who’s wrecked two expensive tyres and rims on potholes. He got in touch with Canberra Connect to bemoan the $900 bill and sound them out about compensation. Did he take a photo? No. Sorry, have a nice day. 

Ian Meikle is the editor of “CityNews” and can be heard with Rod Henshaw on the “CityNews Sunday Roast” news and interview program, 2CC, 9am-noon. There are more of his columns on citynews.com.au