Fantastic isn't it? - the snow I mean. Oh but isn't Mother Nature cruel, why not come at the weekend? They say it will all be over by this evening so no toboggoning for us girls. It seems the snow, like everything else these days, has a short attention span. How I long for those childhood days of wet wellingtons, a piece of candle wax and a sledge. Where did it all go wrong?

My little rant about the BBC yesterday seems to have worked, my word I am read in high places. I switched on the news last night to find their chairman has quit! Who shall I turn my attention to next? The Daily Mail?

Seriously though, surely no one believes that old goat Hutton was impartial? Why, his name alone is an anagram for OLD NORTH UT (friend of Prescott?) it's also an anagram for TURD HOLT ON. Don't take my word for it, go to this excellent website and type in a name and see the results, it's blinding. Click here

In light of modern times I feel it is time for this song to re-released, it says more about today than Michelle McManus


You got soul on the door, You're gonna have a good time down on the line
You got soul on the door, You're gonna have a good time down on the line
I said a-get, a-get, a-get on down, Said a-get get get on down
I said a-get, a-get, a-get on down, Said a-get get get on down
Hey everybody take a look at me, I've got street credibility
I may not have a job but I have a good time
With the boys that I meet down on the line
I said D-H-S-S, man a rhythm that can give them is the very best
I said B1, B2, makin' claims on your name's all you have do
Well this'ill be a drag if workin's not your bag, And when you let them know
You're more dead than alive in a nine to five, Then they say you've gotta go, and...
Get yourself a job, or get out of this house, Get yourself a job, are you a man or a mouse
I figure eighteen, you pretend not to hear, I gotta get some space, get outta this place
Wham, Bam, I am a man, Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
Do - you, enjoy what you do?, If not, just stop, don't stay there and rot
In the streets, in the cars on the underground, If you listen real hard you can here the sound
Of a million people switchin' out for work, Well listen mister average, you're a jerk
Not me, you can't hold me down, Not me, I'm gonna fool around
I'm gonna have some fun, Look out for number one
You can dig your grave, I'm stayin' young
Wham, Bam, I am a man, Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
Do you, enjoy what you do? If not, just stop, don't stay there and rot!
If you're a pub man or a club man, Maybe a jet black guy with hip hi-fi
A white cool cat with a trilby hat, Maybe leather and studs is where you're at
Make the most of every day, Don't let hard times stand in your way
Give a wham, give a bam, But don't give a damn
'Cause the benefit gang are gonna pay
Now reach up high and touch your soul
The boys from Wham will help you reach that goal
It's gonna break you're mamma's heart (so sad)
It's gonna break you're daddy's heart (too bad)
Won't you throw the dice and take my advice
Because I know that you're smart
Can you dig this thing (yeah), Are you gonna get down (yeah)
Say Wham (Wham), Say Bam (Bam), Wham, Bam, I am a man
Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
Do you, enjoy what you do? If not, jut stop, don't stay there and rot!
(D-H-S-S) Wham, Bam, I am a man
(D-H-S-S) Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
(D-H-S-S) Do you, enjoy what you do?
(D-H-S-S) If not, jut stop, don't stay there and rot!
(D-H-S-S) Wham, Bam, I am a man
(D-H-S-S) Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
(D-H-S-S) Do you, enjoy what you do? (fade)

No snow, just dandruff on the lawn this morning. It is very upsetting. The ladyfriend friend said as she heard somone scraping their car "It must have snowed" I said no and that I could hear cars driving on the road, not the muffled eerie sounds that accompany snowfall.

So I am left wanting. I blame the BBC for whipping me up into a frenzy and that rasping weather girl who they have flown up to Yorkshire. Well they can just leave her there and her half baked predictions.

I have gone off the BBC and want my money back. I believe they should introduce pay for view on all their channels and I wouldn't have to shell out for prancing homosexuals buying houses, hospital dramas and David bloody Jason. I reckon if you tot it up in the last ten months I have probably listened to six hours of Radio 2, watched Charles 2nd (which was brilliant), I've been watching that thing about the estate agents on BBC2 (I like that) and have snatched several Saturday Kitchens (which are made up of repeated Cookery programmes). Last night I had to watch the thing about the Miners' strike as there wasn't anything on until Shameless. So in all I've probably watched £50 worth of programmes so from my £116.00 licence fee I feel I am due a rebate.

I think it's time that the BBC and BT should stop charging us just to have a tv and telephone, it's money with menaces. TV is a cultural wasteland now so it aint gonna get any worse. Infact - and I know I'm rambling now - as the programming worsens it may be the very thing that gets people back into the theatres. I'm not talking Pinter or Beckett but a return to old time Victorian variety shows. Baudy evenings with comics, magicians and show girls - that sort of thing would bring back community spirit!

Air's new album is on the shelves - Click here to hear - and I'd really rather like it. It is one of those albums where I want the whole thing. I wouldn't be happy with a downloaded version on a disc with a handwritten label. I want the lot, staples and barcode, the works. I think it's a compulsory purchase. I know it will be the soundtrack to a million yuppie dinner parties this year but I don't care, I still want it.

I think it must be one of those aspirational things. When I listen to it I shall imagine myself in Living etc world making espresso in my minimalist kitchen with an up to the minute ridiculous hair cut and a wheat intolerance. I shall know I have arrived as soon as the first few notes echo round my loft apartment. Working from home, of course, I shall achieve career success with Air in the background.

What a weekend - the flat in Eastbourne now has a sink and running water. It is fantastic news indeed. I feel like an inhabitant of a famine stricken African village who have just had a Christian Aid pipe fitted. I feel all wide eyed and a little bemused at the western people taking photographs of me as a fly dips in and out of my mouth.

Because it has been so long since the taps were turned off in the first place I am worried it will take a while for it to sink in. I will be like those tramps that are given a brand new flat but continue to sleep outside and piss in their knickers.

Had asparagus last night - half of my readers will know what I mean - the other half should read this. Add to this the coriander, (or cilantro if you're south of the border, down mexico way) the chili and the bottle of red wine then you can just imagine the hum coming off of me this morning. I must keep myself to myself I feel.

Waking up was hard but I was listening as the dawn chorus broke. I was thinking how the tiniest birds made the sweetest sound and big birds - like Vanessa Feltz - make the harshest.

Just a quick one to say get behind poor Martha Stewart. It looks like she may be going down for a long time. www.savemartha.com

I was sitting in bed last night reading the Times - the very picture of middle England - I was flicking through the pages trying not to be too brain washed by what I consider to be the Daily Mail with longer words when I fell on the story about the Church of England. It seems it is up the creek, falling attendance and facing a financial crisis. They intend therefore to scrap the sabbath and put a Starbucks in every vestry.

I don't know if this is just a knee jerk reaction which the church is hoping will swell the congregation and kick up a stink but these are changing times indeed. What saddens me the most however is all of the Protestant martyrs in this country burnt at the stake by Bloody Mary. All so some spotty kid can whip up a skinny latte.

I do think the church has to move with the times and modernise a little, perhaps as Tesco have built their stores looking like churches the church should offer a shopping service. Maybe they could set up screens on the pews where you can select haloumi with a hallelujah.

Whatever happens this country is heading into its bleakest period. I just find it laughable that people are happy to except paganism, buddhism and dreamcatchers as trendy but titter in the face of Jesus.

To the flea pit last night to see "The girl with the pearl earring". It was an absolute joy of a film visually but I found the story a bit leaden. To be frank I didn't like the star turn, I found her a bit too breathy and Colin Firth was Colin Firth so only seven out of ten from me. The ladyfriend lapped it up, she thought it was excellent. I urge you all to see it for the cinematography alone. I am rather partial for a bit of Vermeer take a look at this website. The film certainly gets the thumbs up for capturing the moment. In actual fact, it was a fabulous film - for the mother in law alone.

We went to see the film in Henley, the dolly at the box office said it was a good house. It was infact full of snotty middle aged women peppered with the occasional lone male. The whole place was clucking like a chicken shed through the adverts and trailers. The conversation was full of HRT this, botox that and sagging vaginas.......and that was just the men.

Went to Hastings on Saturday, my goodness it was cold, bitter. We ducked into a small tea shop which you couldn't swing a cat in. There were four tables in a back room which we squeezed into. The place filled up within no time and there were ten of us in the end.

Our waitress was a male to female in his/her first year of hormone therapy. 6ft tall baritone with a full face of slap, it was very, very strange. Good on him. Such bravery. Hastings is a very 'northern' feeling town on the south coast and I bet the cafe is a little bit of sanctuary for him.

It was very bohemian, the front of the shop sells lovely delicatessen delectables in olive oil. Infact a couple came in with a little girl of about 4 years old. Instead of cake the girl wanted a plate of olives. When asked which kind her mother replied "she normally likes them marinaded with feta". It could of been precocious and very new labour but it wasn't, it was fabulous. I intend to return.

Another place I would like to return to is Albert's in Spain, my pictures and a sound file of the Albert's can been seen/heard if you click here

Laying in bed this morning I was looking at all of the bottles of lotions and potions that get used on the body, all the tubes of gunk for this and that. I was thinking, much in response to the deodorant/breast cancer scare, that using all this stuff is a bit like marinating a bit of old pork.

Talking of health concerns the ladyfriend and I had salmon last night, one takes one's life in one's mouth these days. It really is quite worrying to think what does enter the food chain and as always it's the poorest that suffer. If all you can afford is Blue stripe and Smart Price you may aswell walk out under a double decker bus now.

The ladyfriend and I were shopping on Monday and were a bit taken aback as the bill came to £15 for a few items. We had a quick look at the receipt and thought hmm, aubergines - 98p, lettuce 99p etc then thought oh Eggs that's what did it. We thought nothing of the £5 bottle of plonk, that was allowed, it was the eggs that pushed it over the limit. Why do people always do that? They always say "oh it was the bacon" or "oh it was the beef"

This summer I intend to launch myself onto the vegetable patch and grow my own, I shall be strictly organic which means peeing on my tomatoes but I'm sure after a quick run under the tap you wont know the difference.

If I ever book a flight with Easyjet again will someone give me a slap. My God you wouldn't treat an animal the way the Ladyfriend and I were treated by the bloody orange Greek. Buy cheap buy twice my Grandma used to say and by God she was right. Cattle truck conditions, recycled air and trailer trash travelling companions - not nice.

Beautiful weather in Spain however, it was an absolute joy to feel the sun on my cheeks. Talking of which, we were taken to Cabopino nudist beach on Sunday.....now I'm no prude but my goodness. It was enough to make a shy, bald, buddhist reflect and plan a mass murder. The dunes were full of nude men and a trio on the shoreline stood bold as brass without an ounce of shame on them. I took a few photos of course, just for posterity or should that be posteriority. Incidentally, the photo top left has been sent in by Clive Young, it was taken of me at Christmas time on the streets of the big smoke.

Filthy morning, it's dark and it's bucketing down. Driving to work I saw a shadowy figure trying to cross the road, I slowed down and flicked the headlamps to indicate that I would quite happily let him cross the King's highway.

He was a young boy about 11 dressed in his school uniform with no coat, just a blazer. By the time he gets to school after waiting at a vandalised bus shelter he will be wet through. I've no doubt the radiators wont be on when he gets there, he will be forced to dress in his P.E kit or wear lost property jumpers - oh the shame of it.

This little incident and the subsequent bullying will quite possibly ruin the rest of the boy's academic life, he will end up working in B&Q all for the want of an overcoat.

I was the subject of police brutality last night - yes, in these supposedly enlightened times. The ladyfriend and I were pulled over on the way home from work (we were trying to get home in time to watch the end of an engaging murder mystery which ended up a little bit of a dissapointment) A young policeman forced us into a side road and proceeded with a barrage of questioning. He let us go after giving us the once over and checking the road tax but Oh how violated I felt!

This weekend missy and I are off to Spain, land of the bull ring and the Beckhams. I intend to stock up on Olive oil and Saffron, the supermarkets over there are full of vim and vigour aswell as tattoed English people in shell suits.

I have been listening to my two Christmas present CDs. 'The Very Best of The Smiths' and 'Ocean Rain' by Echo and the Bunneymen. They are both fantastic, it is amazing the effect music has on the body, I feel I have regressed which is a worry for the ladyfriend as they've made me sit in my bedroom all night reading Sylvia Plath.

But seriously it did make me think of Muriel Gray yesterday and so I looked her up on the internet, she has been busy, she is now an accomplished horror writer. Her days on the Tube must have provided lots of inspiration, sharing a dressing room with Paula Yates would be enough to keep Stephen King in consonants for decades.

By the way, I have become a lady of letters, I am addicted to online scrabble - invite me to play click here

I've decided that the BBC is nothing more than a half way house for the disabled and the Welsh. All their presenters - with the exception of that nice Craig Doyle look as though they have come straight from some Victorian Side Show. If you need convincing, sit infront of the BBC's breakfast show for an hour and you'll get your money's worth.

I've been watching the batty blonde weather girl for a few months, she's a rasping asthmatic. At the end of each sentance she'll take a huge breath that sounds like she's swallowed a mouth organ. It aint nice, it makes me breathe funny and puts me off me porridge.

Feeling slightly off-piste today, bit under the weather, I have a little sniffle which is really not worth describing. Added to that, I have developed a neck ache from rolling over in bed this morning - I mean, I ask you? How ridiculous.

So I am a little fractious and that's the truth.

I had a rather pleasant weekend down by the coast. We went for a rather enjoyable ramble along the beach on Saturday. Stopping for a coffee at the Italian Ice-cream parlour (highly recommended.) I took my camera and snapped away at the old bits of driftwood, rusted up fishing boats and this and that.

I stumbled on a lovely old boat which was in rather a poor state, it's propeller was green with age and I decided to go in for a close up. As I was preparing my composition I became aware of someone at hand. I looked up and this chap who looked like Catweazle said "Do you like Clinker boats?" I said "You what mate?" and he replied "I've got the world's biggest clinker boat in this shed would you like a look?"

I immediately thought Ian Brady so called out to the ladyfriend who, by now, was half way up the beach. With some reluctunce she came back and we went into his shed.

Inside were two enormous clinker boats as promised and this lovely chap told us their history. I couldn't capture them on camera they were so vast. I can only compare them to the huge blue whale in the Natural History Museum.

He was alive with enthusiasm which was remarkable as it was perishing cold. He let us climb all over the vessels and showed us how they were built. Our favourite was the Southern Queen which you too can learn all about by clicking here.

It has set the ladyfriend and I off and we are heading off to the Boat Show next week to become salty sea dogs - I already have a blue striped t-shirt so I am ahead of the ladyfriend already.