Enroute to work this morning a strange fear gripped me. What's to stop me suddenly driving on to the other side of the road in to the path of oncomming traffic? When I decided it was because I wanted to live I then thought. what's to stop them from driving into me?

I have probably revealed too much in admitting that I have had these thoughts (I have had them before) I'm sure it reveals more about my psychological make-up than perhaps it is decent to. But I am perplexed as to why I have them. Thank goodness there is a safety device in my brain that shuts down the destructive synapses unlike the poor f**kers with tourette's syndrome.

Anyway, moving along.......the ladyfriend offered to enter a replacement for Tracy Emin's tent to Mr Saatchi. But I replied, where's the old bugger going to put a marquee?

Looks like Madonna has started her Whatever Happened to Baby Jane tour. My goodness, some people never know when to put the plug in. Terrifying. I was never in favour of her lude behaviour when she was a nubile young slapper but to cavort around stage done up like Bette Davis is taking the gay thing too far.

Shame about all that Satchi shit going up in smoke. Perhaps he woke one morning and was hit by a sudden moment of clarity and realised he had amassed little more than a lock up full of car boot sale clutter.
I wonder who lit the match? Whoever it was should get the Turner Prize.

By the way, the latest addition to Lola's Art Festival is in - check out this short film The Car Wash

"Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! Groweth sed, and bloweth med, And springth the wude nu."

I'm mad on birds. I was thinking at the weekend as I watched the seagulls swoop and the blackbirds sing louder than car alarms we don't rule this planet, birds do. Such freedom has a bird, one minute crapping on a car the next soaring into the skies to perch on the Gherkin or Tower Bridge. As I sit at work to earn a crust a blue tit can fly down to Cornwall and dine at Rick Stein's gaff or chill out in Reading feasting on the remains of a social worker's toast. I'm sure I'm being simplistic but what a life.

On returning from work last night as I waited for rice to boil I stepped into the garden where six fat pigeons jumped up and down in my meadow (flowers not likely this year, they've eaten the seeds) A robin held a worm in its beak and darted in and out of a nest (made in next doors redundant air brick) and the twittering from the bushes and all around hath charms to soothe the savage breast.

I read a few weeks back in one of those columns in the weekend supplements where a celebrity is asked questions and they come up with witty replies - if they are not Jim Davidson - it was Willy Russell and he was asked something along the lines of what would you do if you had some spare time? and he replied "fill up my bird feeders" and I knew exactly what he meant.

Had a rather pleasant weekend. Stayed in for the better part of Friday waiting for a man to change the water meter (he turned out to be a man who changes electric meters - I don't know how I got that wrong.) Turned out to be a bit of a diabetic minutes from an attack, but that's another story.

Took a ride out to the Bexhill Aldi where I bought a fantastic pair of shorts (SVF 30) - just the thing for hiking trips in the Sahara. The ladyfriend bought a saddle for her bike.

On Saturday we spent the day driving around the gorgeous stretch between Lewes and Eastbourne. We went to Middle Farm - click here for pictures - and had a look at all the animals, browsed the farm shop and had a bit to eat. I can not recommend Middle Farm highly enough it is that fantastic. visit their website - you must go if you are in that neck of the woods.

We also drove about and fell on, quite by chance, Berwick Church which has links with the Bloomsbury set (we are in Charleston country afterall. I took many a snap of the Bell's daubings and have added it to my Art's festival - enjoy!

Lola's Art Festival launched: click the pic

You have iPod

This month we have an artist in residence. Clive emailed me some lovely photos which I have added to my gallery. Click here for Clive's Exposure. They are very nice. Perhaps I should be like Morrissey and curate a festival on Life For Lola. Why not indeed. Ok then, if anyone would like to send me something of an artistic nature in any medium I shall put it into my festival. Normal address: lola@lifeforlola.co.uk

It would be nice to have a few stories, poetry, paintings or mucky verse. What fun.

By the way, let's get behind Millwall and hope that nasty bully Alex Ferguson expires before the end of the game.

Clive and I were in conversation the other day and the subject turned to pedestrian crossings. You've got your pelican, puffin, zebra and toucan. We were deeply puzzled as to why the highway code people decided to call crossings after creatures which, let's face it, are hardly indigenous to this country. (Puffin numbers in decline and restricted to the Shetlands.) It was probably one of those lunatic ideas of "Hands across the nations or a ploy to fill the UK's zoo's with curious children and quizzical adults with disposable income.

Anyway, we were thinking do you suppose there are crossings in deepest, darkest Africa called Hedgehog, Badger, Black Bird and Duck? I doubt it.

Did I tell you about the folk music? Well, I love it. On Friday I borrowed several cds from the library and copied them immediately. Steeleye Span and Pentangle. I love old Maddy Prior anyway so that wasn't anything new but that Pentangle gang are something else. I must admit to skipping a few tracks but I love "Light Flight". I also intend to get the Brass Monkey album.

I need a folk enthusiast to take me under their wing and guide me through the folk scene. Mike Harding is great but I only have an hour a week with him on Radio 2. Folk music is the new rock 'n' roll, just you see. Remember Brit Pop? that bubble has long burst, now it's trendy to be into folk.

Personally I think it's great as it reclaims Britain's identity which has been sacrificed on the altar of the European parliament. Big up to Kilroy by the way. I was saying to the ladyfriend the other day that there was little joy in visiting other countries. The novelty is gone. What's the point of going into a supermarket in Athens and seeing the same brands as the stock in the corner Happy Shopper? Once, tucking into tapas in Spain was a one off treat for the well travelled and adventurous. I'm sure this summer a group of Northern telesales girls will jet off to Greece, sit in a bar and eat mousakka and say "it's allright but it aint as nice as the Sainsbury's 'Be good to yourself' mousakka".

By the way, join me and stick your fingers up at Starbucks, we are English we don't do coffee - DRINK TEA. I know it's fiddly with the bag and the milk but it's what this country was built on. In times of crisis you don't want a Latte you want a Rosie!

THIS SITE IS UNDERGOING A LITTLE BIT OF DISRUPTION - PLEASE BE A LIL BIT PATIENT

What a marvellous weekend. I was sat by the sea on Saturday watching the tide lap against the shingle, "this is the life" I thought as I read the Guardian's supplement on chemicals in food and realised that what I have consumed has probably shortened it.

In the evening we watched the Eurovision Song Contest which has convinced me - as if I needed to be - that the Euro gets the "NO" vote from Lola. As soon as we get out of Europe the better. Damn them all to their kilo's and Balkan block voting. It's a bloody farce. If anyone thinks the UK will get a fair crack at any of the whips going need only see a recording of the Eurovision Song Contest. It's time to cut the chord and get out before we are made to grow hairy armpits.

On a lighter note, the ladyfriend and I were out to lunch yesterday with Super Step Dad as it was his birthday. I must say thanks for a lovely bit of grub and fine company.

In the evening we stepped out with Clive and Drew and went to see the Carnival Band at west wycombe church. They were fabulous and played a number of instruments. The audience were a bit peculiar (I count ourselves amongst them) but I have realised a taste in the unordinary tends to go hand in hand with a poor taste in clothing. One woman had a pair of tye-died dungarees..........fashioned I expect by her own hand. I can just see her emptying the packets of die into a a bucket, tongue stuck out in intense concentration.

The ladyfriend is a bit chesty this morning, I think this is down to the M25 which was dusty and rather fumey last night. We raced down to Brighton in good time and managed to pack a pizza each away before the concert began.

As Brighton is the gay capital of the northern hemisphere the audience was a mixture of short haired, rough round the edges girls, camp charlies and the odd beardy weirdy. It was an absolutely fabulous concert though, as expected. I felt for one moment that I had slipped into the gap betwixt heaven and earth such is the woman's talent.

A dull life indeed without Eddi Reader. I'm sure if I didn't have Eddi reader in my life then drugs, booze and religion would have taken hold. Pity then I say the poor folk who have never exposed themselves to her.

This morning I was taken with a huge puzzler which I should really leave to a dome headed scientist, nature or nurture etc. The ladyfriend made toast for our breakfast, which anyone can tell you is not the best of fuel for two growing gals at the best of times, but it is Thursday (our early start at work) and it's easy. I digress. Ladyfriend had burnt her slice so dropped it on the plate in revulsion. I offered to swap for a bit I had started but she turned it down.

I asked "Is it because alien chops have been round it?" she said "no" and that she had gone off the idea of breakfast. It got us discussing how food from someone else's plate always tastes different and we wondered why.

If someone who is not your family or your 'special friend' swigs from a bottle and passes it to you to drink from do you quickly wipe it, hold it in the air for a bit (bacteria die after 7 seconds), sip from it but think "yuk" or do you guzzle from it without care?

I tend to sip but think "yuk", I think out of politeness.

When someone - again, out of the family circle, has eaten food and given it to you the same thing happens, yet in a bistro when a scabby chef has done God only knows what to your lasagne you eat it merrily. Or, when someone has secretly swigged from a milk bottle in the staff kitchen your tea doesn't taste different.

It is therefore the knowing that effects the taste of food not the fact that it has happened.

Anyway, tonight we set off to Brighton to see the wonderful Eddi Reader perform to a sell out audience. I am leaving work early to get on the M25 in good time, here's hoping our passage is clear.

Feel a bit dizzy this morning and slow to respond. The smell of ciggies floating in through the office back door is making me rather nauseous. I know I haven't got one in the oven so I've probably been hypnotised by a cloaked, mustachioed gentleman whilst sleeping - me, not him. Perhaps listening to folk music yesterday has done for me. I was on the BBC Radio 2 website and couldn't resist listening to the Mike Harding show. Hey nonny nonny indeed. There may have been subsersive lyrics which have soaked into my mind convincing me that I am onboard a fishing boat bound for Hull. Who can tell with lyrics like "There lived a lady by the North Sea shore
(Lay the bent to the bonnie broom) Two daughters were the babes she bore (Fa la la la la la la la la la)".......indeed.

Came to work this morning and realised that I looked a little bit like Linndie England, the nasty american soldier girl who has proved such an embarrassment to the military but who was only following orders. Today I am wearing a green t-shirt, my bag is green - styled like a military shoulder bag and my light brown jacket is just the very thing for a safari. I look like I have come straight from maneuvers not the safety of the home counties.

I assumed Lynndie's now famous position and there was a striking resemblance. I wonder if, like dodgey David jason look-a-likeies, I could earn some pin money opening freezer shops in the north of England.

How do you like the meadow cam? Lola has been busy. This weekend I have been getting back to nature and have begun work in creating a haven for wildlife in the back garden. Born out of not wanting to spend hours cutting the grass and genuine interest in the dissapearing natural habitat, I have taken steps to remedy both.

Yesterday we planted a couple of apple trees and I scattered wild flower seeds with wild gay abandon, whistling all things bright and beautiful as I went. Hopefully in a few months it will be a picture. You'll be able to see for yourselves ofcourse on the meadow cam. If the flowers don't come off, which they may not, as I write this there are around forty sunflower seeds germinating in the coal bunker as back up.

I am looking forward to long leisurely picnics in the long grass with nothing but a bottle of champagne and the occasional python slithering up my peddle pushers.

It was lovely sitting in the bath smelling all earthy with and inch of soil under each finger nail. It reminded me of my youth - long gone now of course - with the smell of the outdoors coming off me in a steaming bath.

On Tuesday I caught a flash of the sun as it hit the buckle on a woman's handbag. It made me think, what were the odds of that ray of sunshine travelling millions of miles, taking millions of hours, that woman deciding to leave the washing up to go for a walk and for me to be waiting at traffic lights to witness the light bouncing off the metal on an ordinary looking handbag. It doesn't bare thinking about.

The weather this weekend looks rather unsettled. I am pencilled in for lawn duties. Part of me hopes for a downpour so I don't have to put myself through it but the other half (nice Lola) wants sunshine so she can cut the grass and go for a gentle 5 mile undulating walk in the woods to take pictures of bluebells. Pain and pleasure, good for the soul and the garden.

Back behind my desk at work munching apples and savoury snacks, my little mini break now just disjointed memories. Just been looking to see if there were any Morrissey tickets on the internet, what a farce that turned out to be. Up at the crack on Friday and I was dialling the number before 9am when the box office opened. Couldn't get through after more than an hour on redial and the tickets sold out. The whole thing was a monumental cock up from start to finish, I don't know why Morrissey agreed to get involved with the corporate scum. The fans come off the worse as now it's a scrabble on ebay and dealings with the evil touts. Paint a vulgar picture indeed mr morrissey.

As a "there, there" the Ladyfriend let me book tickets for Lypsinka. Now there's a fag who knows how to put on a show.

Having an exceptional mini break down here in Eastbourne. Yesterday was an absolute scorcher and if you click here you can see some of my lovely snaps of the day. The ladyfriend and I got rather tight and went under the table about 8.30pm, missing the Mayor's firework display.

We have not long been back from Hastings where we went to the Jack in the Green festival which was blinding. People had gone to so much effort with their costumes, next year I am going to dress as a wood nimph. Click here for the pictures. Ofcourse the heavens opened just before the end and we got completely drenched, we had to run before the jack got de-leaved. I was so wet infact that the ladyfriend made me go to Poundstretchers and buy the cheapest, warmest thing we could find. I was all for a nice travel rug but in the end I ended up with a four quid jumper which is surprisingly good value if not the most fashionable.

Having an absoulutely glorious sunday, the weather here in Eastbourne is scorching. The ladyfriend and I are a few sheets to the wind on account of all the rattlesnakes.

We went on a bit of a pub crawl then ate a lovely tea. We pushed the boat out in Cafe Belge in celebration of Ann our friend from work who sadly died on Friday. God knows how we managed to get back to the flat, one foot in front of the other I kept telling the Ladyfriend.