Last night the Ladyfriend and I were shopping for Cumberland sausage and the old mobile rang and there I was chatting gamely away somewhere between the dry goods and the pickled onions. As mobile phones are becoming more commonplace I have become slightly less embarassed about talking into them in public spaces. I skulked in a doorway in Rye with one on Saturday and last night I tried to keep it down but I think I am growing in confidence. You won't catch me proudly barking into one oblivious to others but I think I have hit that wall of shame and passed through it.

Today I have a publicity officer from Ealing Council coming to see me which is nice. I'm not a good mixer so I hope he doesn't stay too long.

You should have seen me this morning. I had to tip toe across a frosty lawn in my towelling robe and Afghan slipper socks in a valiant attempt to smash the ice on the bird bath. To the neighbours I must have looked like Baby Jane Hudson as I launched myself across the crunchy grass. I had to look after the little sparrows that were smashing their delicate beaks on the ice.

It was totally unexpected however, I must keep more intuned to weather reports. I'm so glad I brought my delicates inside at the weekend. My chilli plant is amazing and is dangling with its fruits like an old chandelier, this sharp frost would have meant disaster and a few bland mealtimes for the Ladyfriend and I.

With my hips kind of swivelly and swervy

The ladyfriend and I were on our way to work this morning talking about Barbara Streisand and I heard her say the funniest thing "It's not just gay people that love Barbara". I laughed.

This morning I am full of energy and positive mental attitude. I think it was the steak I ate last night. I think we all need flesh flash fried with a splash of redwine to get us going. I was standing in Starbucks last week waiting like an idiot at the end of that table that is pitched too high to lean on for my latte when an edgy girl, pale and very uninteresting stood next to me. Her hair was dry and wiry, she was skinny as a rake, tall, lank and ghoulish. Anyway, guess what she ordered? Decaf with soya milk! I mean I ask you? She barely had enough energy to pick the cup up - hardly a picture of health.

I don't pop my cork for every man I see

Had a lovely weekend down on the coast. The sun kept its grip on the situation and my face is ruby red from the wind blast it received on the beach yesterday. I saw a walnut on a walnut tree which was a first, it was growing in Rye which is rapidly turning into my favourite place at the moment. I bought a gravy/fat seperator from a beautiful kitchenware shop there which was rather ritzy with two floors.

I usually judge towns by wether they have a Woolworths or not and Rye is no exception. Rye has a rather dinky one nestled in its ancient high street.

The weeks now seem stuffed with social engagements and this that and the other and I now feel rather rushed off my feet and in need of a pocket diary - one with a whole week over two pages with about an inch to scribble in each day. I can see the waitress taking the dessert plates of this year away and coming back to see if coffee is required. It's been a fabulous year and I can see me leaving a whopping tip.

Did you SCRUB the BATHROOM FLOOR today? DID YOU?

Oh the South Coast beckons this weekend, we are off tonight on a moonlit flight to the pied de et terre, hitting the A22 - the artery to paradise. I am very glad, I have an old bit of driftwood I intend to fashion into a coat hook (it looks better than it sounds) that I found on the shore at Seven Sisters . The man in Country Living magazine won't be pleased. He lives there and makes his living beach combing and selling on at highly inflated prices. I fancy that lifestyle. I'd like to live in a shack, dressed in a blue smock, rough stubbly white beard, wind chapped with a gauloise between my craggy lips. It must be a nice lifestyle living life by the tide.

The hooks I want are sitting in a junk shop in Rye at the moment. Beautiful hooks which I wish I had bought when I saw them. Take note everyone, buy it when ya see it or repent at leisure. All I can say is if they are all sold out I wouldn't want to be in the Ladyfriend's shoes.

Fig.1

I have been feeling in a state of limbo just lately. I have five weeks until the ladyfriend and I fly up/across to Amsterdam, I have a kitchen in Eastbourne that looks like the Somme, Christmas I am told is 98 days away and now outside the sun has a huge sombrero on. I am teetering on the brink of excitement. I feel like an amateur production of swan lake. I feel as though I am waiting in the wings ready to launch on to stage but there's a fat lady with a moustache and a clip board holding me back.

The ladyfriend feels just the same. We are powerless with the kitchen saga as there are links in chains and finances dictate that we can't thumb the yellow pages until November. So we have to trundle on with horse hair sticking out of the walls and flat packs strewn everywhere....they say it will be all over by Christmas - but which bloody one?

Summer for me is turning into one of those spots on your face that just do not go away remaining full of gunk and prominence longer than necessary. I am back in my sandals today and linen trousers (to allow maximum comfort and air circulation).

It's not without its compensations though as the ladyfriend suggested that if it stays like this we could go to the beach at the weekend. This did make me more perky as it means a visit to the Italian Ice cream parlour for a bacon sandwhich enroute to the seafront! The best bit about this establishment is - along with the bargain prices and 70's decor - the clock on the wall which on the hour opens up and little people come out dancing and playing music. It's tacky, it's wacky but I love it!

Rumba

Today I would like to raise a glass to Peter Ryan who is having a funeral at 2pm, well having his one and only funeral I suppose. He was/is a lovely bloke who never realised how much he was loved.

This weekend the ladyfriend and I have been looking after William at my mother's house. It has been quite a treat to use lovely soft thick towells, watch sky television and use other peoples toilletries - I can't resist new shampoo.
We seem to have done alright, one of the cats is missing but that's not bad in my book.

At least I didn't fake it, hat, sir I guess I didn't make it

When does the devil piss on the blackberries? I don't think I have got long before nature's fruits turn sour. I have given up on the old pomodoro, they are still bright green and are not exhibiting the slightest signs of turning red. What am I to do for the harvest festival this year? I shall have to buy a can of ratatouille for the altar.

I must now announce my new favourite female impersonator. Take a look at Lypsinka when you can. I sat and listened to a selection of his favourite records yesterday and was scribbling names down like a demon.

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

The conker trees are heavy with their bounty! Hoorah! The ladyfriend and I spied our first tree turning leaf this morning. Happy, happy day. It is dark now at 8pm and there is certainly a fresh nip in the air in the morning. Thank goodness summer is in retreat.

This morning whilst applying Clinique facial products I have been wrestling with myself over the weighty question of wether or not to buy two tickets for the ladyfriend and I to see Bea Arthur at the Savoy. I would love to go but can I afford to shell out on the tickets that's the thing? Now I am a lady of property I unfortunately have people chipping away at my cash stash. Can I afford to go........can I afford not to?

The ladyfriend and I had to come to work on the bus this morning, the motor is being looked at, it keeps conking out at inconvenient times. On the way to the bus shelter we walked past the new development of posh flats built on a flood plain - you know the sort, balconies, signs of last few remaining, prestigious development, marketing suite types - anyway, I looked up at a top floor flat and as expected I saw the french doors open leading onto the balcony with a parisian style pavement cafe table and chairs on it. "Oooh I thought, how wonderful, I bet a young high flyer lives in that one". Anyway, imagine my surprise then, when who should hover into view but a woman of advanced years in a pink towelling dressing gown, curlers in hair, full slap on and a fag hanging out of her mouth. Fantastic.

I should think her neighbours are quite alarmed that instead of Zero 7 or David Gray floating around her flat they get that nice Cliff Richards. I bet she sits out on her balcony reading the Sun drinking instant coffee and munching Sugar Puffs! Good on her. It's time the backlash started.

Back at work and two weeks off hasn't stopped me feeling bitter and twisted. But hey ho. Had a nice time down on the coast, went to Rye, Lewes, Brighton, Hastings, all sorts. Played crazy golf. Watched Mulholland Drive - have no idea what that was about, watched Pauline et Paulette which was alright. Joined the Eastbourne library and was stunned to read how the flat had a close shave with the luftwaffe.
Found an amazing fossil on the beach - my first! Drank a staggering amount of booze. Bought the soundtrack to Follies.