Where has all the rhubarb gone? For tea tonight I intend to cook the delia duck click here for the recipe but can I track down rhubarb? Can I buggery. I began my search on Monday and - if you excuse the pun - it is a fruitless one. Either it is flying off the shelves or the particularly fine summer has done for the pinky sticks!

I shall pop down to Tesco during my lunch break and have one last look. I can see me ending up in the tinned fruit aisle - it aint how delia planned it.

Interestingly, I have just been on the Tesco website to do a search and there is a fab service where - if you are a fellow clubcard holder - you can see everything you have bought! The ladyfriend and I have hit it heavy in the booze section but I don't ever remember buying the Vanilla Creme Crown 2 Pack. What fantastic data collection. I wonder what kind of profile they must have of me?

Coming to work this morning in the driving rain I watched a woman drop a glove into the gutter as she crossed the road. It was very sad to watch. I was helpless. It was at traffic lights and the ladyfriend and I were on the other side of the road out of the woman's range but in full view of the tragedy. The lights turned green too late for me to shout to her and she scuttled off with her umbrella into an industrial estate.

It was a lovely blue mitten. I fancy it was a Christmas present, opened no doubt accompanied with an uncomfortable feeling of trapped wind and over indulgence. Now it will sit in a fume filled wet gutter. I hope she finds it on the way home from work tonight if she retraces her steps.

Feel very sad about Bob Monkhouse, I liked him. It is a shame how a star that once burnt so brightly suddenly faded and died.

It has been a very merry Christmas this year, the ladyfriend and I put ourselves about in many a house and home and did imbibe a plenty - God bless the infant child.

Ofcourse the icing on the cake was Monarch of the Glen It certainly excelled itself for the Christmas edition. Good old Susan Hampshire, her dedication to her part could teach the youngsters a thing or two. Fabulous although dyslexic.

TV certainly was a dissapointment over the holidays, repeat after repeat. Channel 4 should tap into it and do 100 Favourite repeats. It does tickle me when watching repeats of those nostalgia programmes where they pull up a handful of "celebrities" to comment on flock wallpaper, Tizwas etc - I don't titter at their scripted comments, I find humour in the fact that their showbiz careers have already fizzled out after a few years. You may aswell of had strangers on the street. These programmes are only a few years old yet are aged as the shelf life of celebrity these days is so slight. Which brings me round niceley to ask will we ever see the likes or endurance of Bob Monkhouse again?

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"

Television: I sat down last night, fully prepared to watch a night of tv as the ladyfriend and I had been let off from work early (as it's Christmas). We got out the paper to see what was on and my God it was a sorry selection. How depressing to think the only good thing on tv was the little snowflake children between the programmes on BBC1. I'd had enough after Emmerdale Farm. I caught a snippet of some blonde harpy with a lisp doing up some community centre and that was it, I was off. I took to my bed with the Sunday supplements.

I am beginning to wonder if the head of light entertainment (light? almost non-existent) has not started some plot to get us all to subscribe to digital tv and must I say that word SKY. Trouble is the two places I live in can not receive digital. It's one of those post code lottery things you hear about. Eastbourne can't have it because it will upset the reception for Northern France. High Wycombe isn't the kind of place the BBC will bother with for sometime - intelligent broadcasting being lost on the inhabitants.

I'm beginning to wonder though what will happen when it all switches over, I reckon it will effect the price of houses, it will be like couples wanting good catchment areas for schools. It will be like those remote Welsh communities, in 2053 there will be a bit at the end of the news - "...and finally, High Wycombe's transgender Mayor has just switched on the first digital box in the area to watch Fawlty Towers"

The ladyfriend and I were in Windsor yesterday - situated in the Royal County of Berkshire. By God it was chilly. We overheard some very interesting snippets of conversation here there and everywhere. It was quite fun to earwig on the prols as they dashed about with Christmas fervour.

We popped into Whittards and I fingered a few things which I want to buy when the sales start. I love all those little gift sets which people are supposed to buy for people they don't really like that much. I swoop on their remains when the red marker pens come out. I don't care if I have no room for Christmas coffee - I'm 'avin it.

I am a bit hacked off - Life for Lola has been infiltrated by nasty little boys in a bedroom somewhere. Whilst listening to Marilyn Manson and no doubt eating McDonalds, they have caused untold damage to my hosting company and all me little files have been cocked up. Lola is therefore a little off-piste, only a little bit though, afterall, no one died. It's quite funny really. It gives me the opportunity to overhaul the design and put pretty flowers everywhere.

It aint funny putting on a polo neck with wet hair on a cold and frosty morning. It also aint funny seeing all these copy cat menopausal women stripping off for charity cash raising calendars. The local paper this morning has a group of wrinklies bearing all with nothing but big grins on them - in the words of Morrissey "that joke isn't funny anymore".

I have to go a gathering in the lanes this weekend, I have to make a wreath of gargantuan proportions to adorn our door, I am drawing my influences from the dark ages this year, hey nonny nonny indeed.

I have been in Watford this morning on a work related jaunt, it was the usual thing, bunch of people I didn't know (but knew the sort of people they were - if you know what I mean) looking at a screen connected to a laptop. As a consequence I am a little wan, headachey and in need of a break.

Life for Lola is in undergoing construction so don't fret about the beige - it aint my thang either.

The parlour is now jampacked with festive trimmings and quite wonderful. The ladyfriend and I were in a state of frenzy as we impaled fairy after fairy, gnome after gnome and polar bear after polar bear onto our prickly branches last night. I was suddenly struck with branch blindness when I could not see a spare frond for the life of me. I felt a little dizzy panic as I clutched a handful of angels with no room at the inn. Finally they are now at rest hither and thither around and about blowing their triumphant horns - their fate now to fall onto the carpet as the tree grows weary of its burden and the central heating.

I am filled with the excitement of Christmas as I can not wait to go into Tesco on the 24th and buy lots of lovely unusualness. I know not what I shall be cooking, if it has a yellow ticket on it it is going in my basket! It could be goose, it may be duck, it may be a shoulder of lamb or a punnet of cumquats, who knows? I just hope Tesco cock up their ordering and it will be a veritable Alladin's cave.

Had a wonderful weekend and now the ladyfriend and I are fully recharged and ready for Christmas. This morning we bought our tree and it is standing in the parlour in a state of undress ready for our return this evening. Tonight the ladyfriend will be rummaging in the attic for the baubels and by 10pm we shall be fully trimmed for the festivities. Joy to the world indeed.

Birthday party with Betty and Joan

Having a bit of a play again - got bored of the picture of Joan Crawford - as if anyone could! I must congratulate old Posh Spice and her homage to Mommy Dearest in her new video (my god how easy Elton John and his partner David Furnish have got her wrapped around their little pink fingers).

Am I alone in my dissapointment in the Christmas Radio Times cover? I prefer something a little more pastoral. The shitty old teddy pair picture run quickly through a photoshop filter is a little "rushed" should we say? I'll let it go for this year, afterall, I never want them to break with tradition and put some bint from Eastenders in a saucy santa suit. Then, I will never buy the publication again, there are some standards in my life that need upholding - especially as it is my birthday tomorrow.

It's that time of year again when people go a little off the rails. Panic is beginning to settle in and the hours are shortening. Christmas is now only a couple of weeks off and presents need to be bought, people need their hair "doing", ulcers need to be drained so Uncles can be "out" for Christmas, sofas need delivering, kitchens need to be decorated, spare rooms need sprucing, amalgams need amalgaming and a smart trouser suit needs to be purchased for a dinner and dance.

Festive frenzy, irrational behaviour, smart cardigans to be worn at The Harvester, drunken insincerity, ostentation, tacky illuminations and pound shops.

There is a pile of Christmas cards ready to be written on my desk, I am supposed to send them to people who I have not spoken to all year. Tis the season to be ruthless so who do I cull this year? I've lined up my victim already, thought about it (and let's face it, it wasn't difficult) so the axe is gonna fall. Ding dong merrily on high.

The ladyfriend and I were watching the weather last night and, this happens 98% of the time, because of the dull delivery we completely glazed over. What do they tell these forecasters to do at the Met office? I'm ok at the beginning when they start saying how wet it was (I am often in agreement) but as soon as they start sweeping there arms here and there, start pressing their little button and start shifting from one leg to the next I am asleep. It's almost as though they begin to hypnotise with their isobars and occluded fronts. I do wonder therefore if they are not part of some twisted government plot to send out subliminal messages and warp our minds into agreeing to their demands and plans - already I am developing a softer side on asylum.

Makes you wonder doesn't it?

The Lola roadshow is going to Lewes tomorrow. Beautiful Lewes. I wouldn't mind a little place there, although the traffic is a little heavy in the high street. www.lewes-town.co.uk

The ladyfriend is going to be donning her painter's smock this weekend and will be transforming (no doubt with her Linda Barker's design kit) a set of Ikea chairs. I like to leave her to her own devices - she's an undercoat girl when it comes to painting, not like me I'm a fur coat and no knickers slapper dasher. I shall get out of her way and will be hitting the shops with my basket on my arm, buying this 'n' that and pretty ribbons for my hair.

We are setting off under cover of darkness this evening so we can wake up to the sound of seagulls tomorrow, hooraah for boltholes on the coast.

Had a bloody (a fortuitous choice of words) good reaction to my new diet. I have been treating my polycystic ovaries, not with the pills I was prescribed, but with nutrition and guess what? After just a month of ditching the pasta and embracing the vegetable my lady's blessing has returned - in tsunami proportions! The dam has burst.

I am astounded how diet can have such an effect on the body, although not completely surprised. Just a few tweaks and improvements here and there and I've altered the course of things.

Ofcourse now I have turned quite evangelical and am ramming walnuts down anyone who stands still long enough. I suspect I am as dull as an ex-smoker but I say to you all go here and do this test, re-avalute your lifestyle, do you really need that pizza?

Just had a most exceptional weekend. Friday the Ladyfriend and I went to Windsor for a little bit of light shopping. Came away with two bags of dried apricots for the price of one, a bundle of cinnamon sticks and a happy disposition. In the evening we went out for a slap up with some close friends and confidantes.

Saturday to Luton with Mr C, ended up in the Arndale Centre - I had never been and was filled with all the wonder of a small child. We took a look around the covered market which was wonderful. It was like markets used to be before the onslaught of specialist cheese stalls and the sun-dried tomato. There were haberydashery stalls, key cutters, t-shirt printers and china plate sellers. There were also some fantastic ethnic food stalls selling spices, mishapen vegetables and coriander the size of a small family Christmas tree.

Sunday I was off up to the big smoke to see Echo and the Bunnymen by way of an early birthday treat with my handsome brother and my favourite sister in law. They were very good - although a little loud for my tender ears which are now used only to the tender trill of the linnet.

Yesterday the Ladyfriend and I had the day off and decided to abort a planned day in Bath to a trip to Ikea (the weather was filthy) we bought four chairs for our dining table in eastbourne. I hasten we jump the gun as,not having an oven, the only thing we will be eating off it will be potted meat sandwhiches.