Out to dinner last night at the Crown with Mr C & Mr D. We were talking about the theory that everyone has an optimum age where you stop developing and are at your happiest. It does not matter how old you are now, go back to a time when you were at your happiest when everything else after it wasn't so good. You've got to discount marriages and births because obviously these things are the best things in your life.

I worked out that it was when I was ten. I was at the Chalfont St. Peter Church of England School and it was wonderful.

The ladyfriend reckons hers was when she was six, Mr C eleven and Mr D 14. It all began to make sense. My interests now reflect my interests then. It's as though we have to get over the hump of puberty etc and after we've done our natural wants (having Children, form relationships etc) we can go back to whatever age we want. How lovely.

It's like living in one of those snow globes at the moment. One minute you are quietly sitting in a studious fashion at work when suddenly the world outside is spinning with snow flakes which disappear as they hit the ground. It's a bit weird. The daylight does not alter but it seems as though someone has picked us up and given us a shake.

I am deeply annoyed that we have escaped the winter drifts. When you turn on the telly you can see snow ploughs clearing the roads and kids throwing snowballs whilst our meagre snow fall looks like dandruff on the vicar's shoulders. It's almost like hearing about a party that you are not invited to. Everyone else is going on about it infront of you so you console yourself with the fact that Blankety Blank will be on and you don't want to go anyway.

These earthquakes in Iran.......you don't suppose they are testing their nuclear capabilities underground to avoid suspicion do you?

On the way to work this morning a rather portly lady was bumbling along the path with a sense of urgency about her. She had her head down and I thought to myself, were this a film or television drama we would be hearing a rather loud soundtrack, something involving brass, percussion and the odd bass drum. I then saw a tall girl crossing the road with a frown, a kind of willo the wisp. She would require something more flim flam, perhaps Eric Satie's Gymnopedie. It got me into thinking what soundtrack I would like. I've plumped for the theme tune to A summer Place. It think it would suit me down to the ground.

Still expecting a good snowfall but nothing significant yet. I told the ladyfriend that when we get our dream cottage it will have to be somewhere which is exposed to real weather. She said "snow and flooding?" I replied "Good heavens no flooding - I'd lose all my horse brasses!"

As I write this the ladyfriend is having her hair set. She is trying a new Salon as the other one keeps hiking up the rates. I feel for her, if there is one thing I dislike it's having my hair done by a stranger. I'm happy to have my hair chopped by Pedro for ten quid and will always turn up at his barber shop as long as I can get a zimmer frame through the door. He doesn't do a colour though, which is what the ladyfriend at her time of life requires.

Looking at the clock now, I can imagine she is in the hands of a demonic hair washer, having her neck and spine twisted, scalp scalded and confidence torn to shreds. Poor lass. To quote Morrissey's Hairdresser on Fire toon: "I sense the power,Within the fingers, Within an hour the power,Could totally destroy me,
(or, it could save my life)

As regards the snow, I'm pretty ticked off that all we have had is a gentle powdering and the rest of the country has had a deluge. It's almost as though we are the kitchen work top where a Victoria Sandwhich cake has had icing sugar sieved on to it. Only the cake has been removed, leaving us with the gentle excess of the housewife's shake.

'Cheer up, it's not the end of the world' I said to someone the other day. She was in a panic trying to get her work done, to hit a deadline, that kind of thing. She looked at me with panic in her eyes as if to say that it really was the end of the world but she couldn't tell me. I was moved by her plight into thinking it could be.

Most super heroes go about their business saving the planet but not letting on about it, choosing to hide themselves in normal jobs, then tearing off to stop evil without upsetting the office - pretending to go to the dentist or having a smear. So, the next time you say 'it's not the end of the world' think on.

Carol Hatfield - the nicest American in the world has sent me this picture of a Goldfinch in her garden. Carol lives with extreme temperatures - note the snow on the bird bath. Mind you, she's sitting in Hawaii at the moment, slurping on Mai Tais with a lap top on her lap. Carol's quite the jet setter, I picture her in my head bouncing from one location to the next, she rarely stands still. She sent me a very nice philosophical email today. We were talking about life and stuff and she quoted:

we have to live our life going forward, but we can only understand it in reverse

I like that, infact I was sent another one from Wulfie in Watford. Instead of sending me one of those chain joke emails which go on forever and are only then mildly amusing, he copied me in on this Zen one:

It is not necessary to
Reject activity and seek quiet;
Just make yourself inwardly
Empty while outwardly
Harmonious.
Then you will be at peace in
The midst of frenetic activity
In the world

- Sokei-an Sasaki

So today I am feeling rather laid back and empty headed - no one has noticed any difference.

I woke up this morning (and forgive me if this has started turning into the blog of Johnny Morris) to absolute wonderment. My mouth fell open, two Greenfinches were bombing around the lawn! I am amazed at what a gentle tweak of seed can do to the bird world. I just can't imagine what may be coming next......I don't even want to think about it!

Actually, when I did wake up my first thoughts were of Shaker Makers and plaster of Paris. I don't know why, but I had the scent of the stuff under my nose. Puzzling. It brought back a giant wave (is it safe to say that yet) of nostalgia and I nearly sneezed such was its potency.

It made me think of my youth when I tried to form Beatrix Potter characters from rubber moulds. Mrs Tiggwinkle was never supposed to resemble John Merrick but with small pots of paint she was an absolute treasure. I wonder what happened to my work? Lost now I suppose, rotted down like all matter. She probably lies buried in a landfill site with two decades of household waste and hard core above her, giving off noxious fumes no doubt.

I was thinking the other night. We were driving home through Bray and we went by Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck restaurant and the pub he has now taken over too. I was wondering if the ginger chef would be turning the village into a gastronomic theme park like Rick Stein has done to Padstow. I also wondered what the late Beryl Reid would have made of it all. I should imagine she would have championed molecular gastronomy, she would have been first at the bar for a mars bar gin and tonic.

I also noted, moving away from celebrity chefs, how sinister other people's cars are in the dark. I don't mind them in the day when I can see the contents but at night the blackened windows put me off the old mirror, signal manoeuvre. There may be a nice young chap on his way to a ball, an old lady taking the risk of driving after a sherry with her bridge pals or...and this is the bit that worries me......a headless horseman!

Time to crack open the pomagne - the ladyfriend has got a job! I have decided to celebrate by running up a new outfit. I want one of these pictured right-> I wonder how many pillows I'll need for the hat?

I'm ever so pleased as it's been a bit stressy at chez Lola for all involved. We don't have to look through job pages, shop windows and army recruitment videos anymore, the ladyfriend's a working girl!

Last night the ladyfriend and I got into the swing of the Valentine's thing and dined at a uncomplicated bistro in Windsor. We drifted by restaurant windows packed with couples and red balloons. We were lucky to find somewhere and in the end we were seated in a bay window next to a red helium heart.

The food was rather lovely though and I had to undo a button on the drive home. Infact, the amount of food I have tucked away in the last few days doesn't bare thinking about. Two chinese banquets, a fish supper, two portions of stew and last night's platter - my calorie 'in-out' ratio does not make good reading. I feel like a Pate de foie gras duck at the moment, it's as much as I can do to waddle to the bathroom to bathe my folds of overlapping flesh.

Yesterday was the day when all of nature finds a mate, I must get cracking with building bird boxes, I don't want my tits to have a housing problem.

I am absolutely overjoyed. I have attracted Fringilla coelebs (Chaffinches) to the garden. It seems my shake up with the seed selection at the all you can eat snack bar has paid dividends. I stood waiting for the kettle to boil yesterday morning, the steam floating to the window and out of the haze I could see these splendid little birds on the lawn.

I had begun to worry that a couple of rather garish seed feeders that I had bought from B&Q were nothing but white elephants but I have been rewarded for my patience and bird like determination. Now, if I can just lure a yellow hammer it would be something a bit special.

Smashing news from the palace today I don't agree with all this living over the brush and will be glad to see marital matters for the King all above board. I have a great admiration for the man, his views on farming, architecture and office girls and their aspirations are like my own and the news is fine indeed. I look forward to waving my hanky as they trundle past in their gold carriage. This has certainly a week to be British. What with our Ellen and now today's news, I shall have to get up in the loft and dig out the bunting.

Been a bit poorly since Sunday and I have been confined to quarters. I've been a bit chesty. Being off work though I did manage to watch the return of Ellen MacArthur on tv. It was quite a magnificent site - spoiled by the ramshackle commentary of the BBC - to watch the plucky little sailor arrive in Falmouth.

Her endeavours have spurred me into action. I have sent off for Academy Membership of the Eastbourne Soverieng Sailing Club. This time next year I shall hopefully be planning an epic journey of my own.....perhaps a trip over to the Isle of Wight? I may be press ganged whilst dawdling around Cowes and end up in the Southern Ocean peeling spuds for a playboy Prince. Oh I can smell the adventure from the confines of my germ filled, artificially lit office as I write.

Where has all the adventure gone? It's been beaten out of our lives by conformity. These days the biggest decisions we make are to paint the sitting room taupe or Tuscan breakfast. I plan to trawl my mind and come up with some outlandish ideas so I can do something with myself before I am half sick of my own shadow.

Carol Hatfield - the nicest American in the world - has sent me this picture from Pine City, what a nice name for a town....or City come to think of it. I bet it smells fresh, like toilet cleaner, when the sap rises. (by the way Carol your Eddi Reader DVD's are on their way.....I've been a bit slack with my trips to the post office, sorry)

This morning, as a break from porridge, I had jam on toast. Not your usual jam though, it was the nicest jam going, Tip Tree jam. I have found a shop locally that stocks the whole range! Not just strawberry, black currant and cherry but Medlar, Little Scarlet Strawberry, Wild Blueberry, green fig and Christmas jam! Now, I must stop there with the list before I get too many hits from people googling for fruity websites but I must get my happiness across. The conserve shelves are heaving at the Jumbo supermarket in Cosy Corner..........imagine, I used to have to ask for Cosy Corner when I got on a bus, I'd do it gladly now but at the age of 14 it was quite humiliating.

Feeling a bit chesty at the moment, a bit of a streppy throat. I don't have the pressure of a soap salesman with a mock tudor semi in Cheshire but all the same I am rather backed up. The stress has laid me wide open to an opportunist germ and I have been fully broken and entered by it.

To combat the bacteria I am knocking back cans of Ginger Beer (nature's own medicine) so I expect to be back to my punching weight within a few days. Apparently, according to Claire Petulengro, I have to watch out for geminis today.

I've had a bit of a re-fit with the website, the paint's still not dry and the fumes are intoxicating but I think I rather like it. I was shocked into shame to discover last night that I had reached my upload limit so I had to jettison a lot of nonsense that I have had in my files for ages. It was touch and go letting go if you see what I mean.

I am filled with a renewed optimism today, I don't know where it has come from but I welcome it gladly. I have also just been speaking to a very nice gent who wanted me to update some details about his medieval jousting tournament which is on the website at work. He was a lovely bloke, he had all the time in the world and was incredibly cheerful, he's sending me free tickets for the event, what a nice man. Retired no doubt. My Super Step Dad is the same, they seem to emit a kind of relaxed happiness and charm. Today, I am going to pretend I am retired and am just coming into work for a bit of pin money and a bit of company. I shall suck on a Wurthers Original and doze off about 3.

Off to the flicks last night to see Jean-Pierre Jeunet's "A very Long Engagement". It was excellent, a visual massage and a cinematic incarnation of hot buttered crumpets. I loved it. The ladyfriend, who isn't too keen on subtitles, loved it too.

I do like Jean-Pierre Jeunet's stuff although his choice of cast is beginning to turn in to France's answer to the carry on films. If Audrey Tautou doesn't watch it she'll turn in to a frog Hattie Jacques - although she is painfully thin.

I'm 'into' the pictures at the moment,there's another three films the ladyfriend and I have got our eye on. Infact, to be thrifty, we're considering an Orange mobile phone which will more or less pay for itself after the raft of films we want to see. I don't like these modern cinemas though, they smell of stale popcorn and new carpet.