When Macca left Heather 23 MAY2006

When I married Andy, I was 39 and he was 50 – not quite the 26-year age gap between Heather and Macca, but a substantial gap all the same. Like Macca, Andy had grown-up children from a previous marriage; like Heather I had no children, but longed for motherhood, and could boast a fulsome and chequered romantic history equal to hers.
 The McCartneys married a few months after we did; their only child together was born about a year after the event, as ours was. So we have at least a few things in common.
 What we don’t seem to have in common – quite apart from Sir Paul’s estimated £825 million fortune – is that the ex-Beatle and the ex-model brought very different agendas to their nuptials.
 Consequently, Andy and I are still very much together, while Sir Paul and the former Heather Mills are going their separate ways.
 So where did it all go wrong for them and go right for us?
 Well, it’s not rocket science. I married at an age when I’d “been there, done that”, as did Heather (she was 34). Heavens, she had done far more than me (traumatic upbringing, lost leg etc), but what sets us apart is that I was more than happy to forsake the “good time” for days and nights spent with my husband, while Heather, it appears, wasn’t.
 Like Sir Paul and his first wife, Linda, Andy and I have spent only a handful of nights apart from each other since our marriage in February 2002. Quite simply, we don’t want to be separated: we understand that sometimes it’s necessary, but we miss one another hugely when we’re not together. Our main focus is each other, closely followed by our equal hands-on commitment to our three-year-old daughter. I have my particular passions – promoting washable nappies over so-called ‘disposables’ is one – but I wouldn’t for a minute consider circumnavigating the world to promote the eco-and-cost-saving message at the expense of my family.
 When you marry and, more particularly, when you have children, life changes. If you’re a responsible parent, you have to be “baby-centric” whether you like it or not. I am in no way implying that Heather is an inept mother – I’m presume she’s great – but I do wonder at her priorities.
 I remember a friend telling me she stopped dropping coins into the hats of street performers once her first child was born. “My baby is now my charity,” is how she put it. Since my daughter was born, I’ve found myself doing the very same thing.
  In the latest edition of The Guardian Saturday magazine, Heather identifies Paul (along with baby Beatrice and her sister) as the “loves of her life”. It is, of course, unfortunate timing, but it makes me wonder whether Heather, for all her obvious love for Sir Paul and Beatrice, ever got to grips with the gritty business of subjugating her ego and desires, which is essential when you have a child and at the very least negotiable when you have a husband.
 Heather talks of being kept awake at night by mental images of animals being skinned alive: a truly horrific scenario and one I can imagine is not easy to erase. Nevertheless, I wonder why – during her globe trotting for good causes – she has not been kept awake by the gnawing absence of her immediate family.
 I both applaud and empathise with Heather’s passion for good causes, but my instinct, as a mother, is to wonder if she has ever given more than cursory consideration to the adage that ‘charity begins at home’?