Just been making some tea in the staff canteen/restroom/call it what you will. It being Friday there aren't so many staff around - local paper deadlines have been met, adverts sold etc - and I was taken by the peace and quiet as I set up the tea tray and went about making refreshments the Windsor Way.

I could hear a blackbird's trill, the gentle hum of the refridgerator and the gurgle of the kettle (which was filled perilously close to maximum)and I felt as though I was in a secret garden of solitude. I felt at one with myself and the world.

It's a great start to the weekend which I reckon will be played at break neck speed. The ladyfriend and I have house guests at the coast. Mr C and Mr D are joining us at our seaside retreat. My C is rather tall and I fear for the chandelier, however, I will make good use of his height, I shall employ him to chop some lovely ivy for my Jack in the green head dress on Monday. I'm looking forward to wearing my elf ears.

I was listening to Radio 2 this morning on the way to work and my mind wandered, as it is want, to all the other people who were listening to the same record up and down the country. I was imagining the ladies applying lipstick saying "I have very beautiful lips and the truckers chewing on bacon sandwhiches at roadside cafes. I also thought of the bed and breakfast establishments, Glen Campbell floating out of the kitchen and into the dining room where awkward couples wipe grains of sugar off of their arms.

I stopped when I thought of the holidaying couples as the day looked a bit dull. I wondered what they were going to do with themselves as it looked like rain. I imagined them scanning those little racks of tourist attraction leaflets and ending up at some dreadful little museum or the 'home of fudge'. Poor buggers. All this to a backdrop of 'A Rhinestone Cowboy'

The Ladyfriend and I have been watching Mapp & Lucia. We have been given the whole set on DVD and have been indulging in an episode a night. Fantastic stuff. Filmed in Rye ofcourse which is one of our favourite little weekend destinations when in Sussex. It's about an hour's drive from Eastbourne but well worth putting yourself out. I have photos of the little place here if you want to have a little nose

It's nice watching old programmes. This DVD revolution has got me watching all kinds of stuff long since forgotten. One thing I have noticed though is programmes in the eighties were filmed with very peculiar lighting. Mapp & Lucia is very dull but bright at the same time. It might be because it's a pirate copy but I don't think so. All the best stuff from that period has that washed out look. TV today is so vivid, we must appreciate it more. Mind you, as the sun sets the sky becomes alive with fire - perhaps,like the sun, as the quality of programmes goes down and finally sets we will be in darkness.

My mate Vicky from the Beeb (A bit like Jenny from the Block but think the Midlands) and I have been ripping Ellen to shreds like two rabid dogs with an unfortunate Hare between our teeth. I've found comfort in other women. Both Michelle and Victoria have come to my rescue with some wise words.

Last night old age sat by my side. I told her to leave and come back later when I came to my senses. I have just joined the RSPB which is mature enough as it is but, in the joining pack, I was sent a car sticker. I held it up to the ladyfriend and said "this is quite nice, shall we put it in the back window?" There was a second when the ladyfriend looked with polite horror at me and then I realised how close I had come. Like a canoe, teetering on the edge of a huge waterfall, the Ladyfriend was my Johnny Weissmuller sweeping down on a length of twine to pluck me from old age. Thank god. I popped the sticker in the bin just incase.

Oh dear, Lola's had her dreams smashed. The Ellen McArthur interview was a bit of a damp squib. I don't know that I can even bring myself to talk about it such was the dissapointment. She aint no jolly jack tar that's for shore.

The Ladyfriend has banned me from involvement in anything of the like again. After the Jack in the Green festival this weekend I shall lie low for a bit and hand the Red Coat over to the ladyfriend. My entertainment licence has well and truly expired.

I've got one of those phobia things. I don't like touching door handles in municipal buildings. Before entering or exiting a lavvy in particular I have to drag down my jumper sleeve and tuck it around my hand as a barrier. The ladyfriend now knows to expect this behaviour and slows down so as not to bump into me.

I wouldn't mention it really but I've had a bit of a thought. I've begun to feel a bit cautious about shopping baskets. As they are continuously used do they ever get washed? And if so when, how many times a week, month, year? During busy periods of the day in a supermarket the same basket must be used around ten times an hour. Ten different grubby right hands (the left hand is the devil's shovel) and all the germs associated with these hands are left on the handles.

Again, I wouldn't really mention it but I've been thinking, as MRSA has increased and got out of control could you draw a parallel with the profits of Tesco also increasing and getting out of control? Are Tesco cutting corners with cleanliness and are they the cause of the superbug? I quote the BBC - "One in three pounds you now spend in supermarkets goes into a Tesco till." I say Tesco's make you ill!

I've just popped down to the new Marks and Spencer 'simply food' shop. It's on one of those retail parks that erupt like boils along main roads. It was my first visit to the shop and I felt a mixture of delight and reservation at the same time.

There was a smashing amount of food on display and it was nice to see new packages. I skipped about with my basket and was putting this, that and the other in to it. However, when I reached the tomatoes I was a little bit taken aback by the price. Two quid for approximately eight cherry tomatoes - are they taking the piss? (all be it distilled through volcanic rock). I looked around me and spotted ladies clad in two piece suits, high hair and foundation slapped on their faces and felt a bit horrified at what we have become in the Sarf. I felt as though I was at the court of Louis XIV - such ugly extravagance.

I realised that if I wanted the tomatoes I could have them and not feel the pinch or the fear of the landlord at the door. Baby wouldn't go with out and all that, but I couldn't bring myself to buy them on principle. I felt the breath of excess blowing at my neck and i didn't like it.

Goodness me how the day has flown by. It seems to be hurtling at great speed. I will be tucked up with my cocoa before you can say 'rapid decline' I just know it.

During luncheon I flicked through the Sun newspaper (not my newspaper of choice but as my handsome big brother says 'it does do the best sports coverage') anyway, I noticed that George and Lynn the two nymphomaniac cartoon characters are still at it hammer and tong. They still look fresh as a daisy. It made me think, what if cartoons aged like real life. Fred Bassett would have long been fertilizing the rose bush, Charlie Brown would by now be an accountant and George and Lynn - well! I should imagine George's prostate would have given out and Lynn's main passion would be a nice word search.

I'm sitting here at work a bit windblown, my apple red cheeks have been battered by an Eastbourne sea breeze and I'm in a bit of a need for pulped avocado. I shall lay down tonight with a slice of cucumber on each eye and a gin and tonic.

Last night the Ladyfriend and I went to see Eddi Reader. I booked the tickets quite early on but was still shocked in to shame to discover that I had front row, centre seats. We were only a few foot away from her! I've never been so close to a stage...well, that's not strictly true, I once saw Jean Boht in a pantomime once. She was a pissed fairy godmother and she fixed me with a steely gaze all the way through the performance. I think she was using me as a guide so she could walk straight but it put me off the production.

Anyway, Eddi Reader was predictably fantastic and it was nice to see her so close. Infact, she is the start of my celebrity week which culminates with Ellen McArthur on Friday. I'm wearing nautique today in preperation.

Rugger bugger Matthew Szurgot has been helping me think up questions for Ellen. Sadly his questions are of a rather unsavoury nature and make me blush to think them let alone ask them. The ladyfriend and I have a ten minute audience with the little lady. She's quite a chatty Kathy from what I've seen on the telly so I think we shall be able to fill it.

This weekend we are out on the tiles of Brighton with Michelle and Sarah. They are going to show us the sights and, believe you me, there are plenty of sights to be seen in the seedy seaside city.

I also want to look at sourcing a few materials for my jack in the green costume. Yesterday I stumbled on a most perculiar lady via google: click here and see what I mean

Sweet Jesus my life just got even better. At the moment my life is like a car radio when you're off on a nice trip and the radio plays a good record which fills you with joy. Then, the next record is good and then the next and so on and so forth until you are a vessel of delirium.

I shall press on - next Friday I am going to interview Ellen McArthur. Can you believe it?! By lucky hapt the planets have aligned and placed me on the x that marks the spot. The ladyfriend is going to take the pictures. I dare say any I take will be blurred as I would shake with excitement.

I am trying to think up some interesting questions to ask her. I intend to brush up with nautical terms and sea shanties to put her at ease. I will walk up to her bo-legged stinking or rum, that ought to do the trick.

My goodness me I've got a lot on my plate. The whole of April is consumed with social events. This weekend I am off on my yearly pilgramage to see Eddi Reader at the Shepherds Bush Empire. Rush out readers now and buy yourself a ticket, I promise that if you are dissapointed I shall refund you!

Best event comes at the end of the month however, the Jack in the Green festival in Hastings. The ladyfriend and I went last year and it poured with rain but I have high hopes for this year. The rooks are nesting high in the trees which can only mean a long hot summer and a nice bank holiday weekend. I will gather flora and fauna for my headress, I intend to 'get with the programme' as they say.

My snaps of the Royal wedding are up and atom click here to have a buther's hook. They don't really do the day justice, you can't get a feel for the sheer numbers of well wishers cheering on the King but never mind. You may derive some pleasure from them.

It was all I could do to drag myself from the mattress this morning. I think the weekend has finally caught up with me. I was awake for far too long on Saturday. Up at 7.30 to get to Windsor and then it was up at Miss Diane's until the wee small hours of Sunday morning. My head didn't hit the pillow until 4am. I packed too much pleasure into one day but it was worth it - that Miss Diane doesn't half know how to dress a salad.

Well, what a smashing time the ladyfriend and I had at Windsor on Saturday. It was quite a carnival atmosphere as I was battered against the railings. The Royal town was fit to bursting and I was proud to be there with my little flag. My pictures weren't too bad - I should have them up on Lola tomorrow - unfortunately the only Royal we managed to capture on camera was Princess Anne. Charles and Camilla whizzed by too quickly and we have a blur where they should have been. The ladyfriend was official photographer so I'm saying nothing.

It was a magnificent day out for all the family though, security was tight, SWAT teams were on the rooftops, coppers were pulling odd looking gentlemen out of the crowds and men with little radios eyed us with caution. It was quite thrilling.

We saw a few familiar faces from the tv screen. Trinnie and Susannah, Piers Morgan and Janet Street Porter. We also saw the odious Peter Tatchell. He was waving a placard about wanting gay marriage. He stood next to us like the grim reaper. "We've got the partnership register haven't we?" I said to him. He looked at me like he was looking at Judas himself and said "It's not equality!" I shrugged and said "It's enough for me"

It was a brilliant turnout for the golden couple and I was pleased. Ofcourse, as expected, the papers the next day were full of praise and nice words. Too little too late is what I say! More tomorrow, I'm off now for my lunch - a gammon salad in a plastic container - wish me well.

Just had a butchers at the tv and seen the Pope's funeral. That's a bit of a big old 'do'. I'm hoping there won't be the same kind of crowds tomorrow in Windsor. I shall have a bit of a panic attack if I'm in close quarters to such a howling mass. I hope there isn't a sudden surge forward as Camilla appears and I'm carried toward the bariers - with my legs losing contact with the ground. My little Union Jack might be shoved up my nostril in the melee.

The new camera has been delivered today so hopefully I shall be able to get close to Charles with the optical zoom. I don't hold out too much hope of a good observation point but I shall enjoy the occasion. The ladyfriend and I are going to paint 'Camilla' 'Queen of our hearts' on our breasts.

Been asked by Lofty at work what I shall be wearing to the wedding. I must say if the weather forecast is anything to go by it won't be flimsy. No, I suppose I shall settle on tweed, I'll also roll up the barbour and tuck it under my arm just in case.

The Ladyfriend expressed her reservations about going to Windsor, I shot her a look that would wither an egg sandwhich. I would go alone but I worry about looking like one of those nut case loners who camp out at such events and always end up on ITV. I couldn't risk it. She's coming along, I've promised that I will treat her to a Charles and Camilla commerative ash tray for her trouble.

Getting back to the election, I see that horrendous Blur bloke has promised more money to poor families. It gets my goat. What do I get? All the poor do is squander their extra income on sportswear, ciggies and mobile phones. The Ladyfriend said "the poor have got their priorities all wrong" and she's right.

You'd get my vote if you start channelling a bit of cash my way Mr Blur. Give me a rebate because of the unlikely hood of me ever taking maternity leave. Let me pick up a bit of extra wonger for paying the same amount of tax even though I don't burden the school system. Children don't vote lovey, Lesbians do!

Rather fed up with the press. They seem to have it in for the happy couple. Come Sunday there will be a bloody great colour souvenir supplement in the Mail such is their hipocrisy. They seem to have turned on the King, and that bint from GMTV. Oh she really is common. You should have seen her carping on this morning with Tony Blair - now there is a man who's so awful, he really is.

I think Charles is playing a blinder, especially with that little outburst the other day outside the ski chalet. He's not daft, he's rebelling against all that has stifled him for so long. Perhaps he has been listening to The Smiths who said 'I say Charles don't you ever crave
to appear on the front of the Daily Mail dressed in your Mother's bridal veil?' perhaps we may be in for a treat at the newstand on Sunday!

Well, wouldn't you know? It's all change now. Charles & Camilla's wedding has been shunted into Saturday. Lola is thrilled. The poor tormented Ladyfriend is not quite as happy as it means we can go to the ball! I think it might be a bit late in the day to arrange a hat so I might have to wear something smart but casual as I stand cheering by the railings in Windsor. I will be up all Friday night crafting t-shirts saying 'Camilla for Queen' I just know it.

My imaginary tressle table is already buckling under the weight of celebration sausage rolls and cheesey wotsits. The bunting is strewn around my mind like a wind blown land fill site. I'm in a frenzy.

I know I've come a bit late to the monarchy. Those that know me will remember my left wing leanings and my struggle with royalty. But, maturing like an old cheese I have let the light of Charles into my life. I don't care a fig for the rest of his family, they can all go off piste. No, give me the Duchy of Cornwall any day. Up the King!

Only four days to go before Charles and Camilla marry and stop living over the brush. In a mark of support and great pleasure Lola is putting up the bunting all week in celebration. Gawd bless 'em.

I've never hidden my dislike of Diana, never understood why anyone could accept her peculiar ways. How could any man hope to form any kind of bond with a woman who sought publicity more than Victoria Beckham. She never loved his Royal Highness, she was the original wannabee who sacrificed her life in the pursuit of glory and Haute Couture.

Anyway, enough of her, I shall not let her rear her over larged head and upset my tressle table. I will get on with creating a recipe to mark the wedding. I shall use all Duchy Original products, keep it seasonal and munch on it whilst watching the proceeding on Friday. Camilla for Queen!

It's a great day indeed - I have Goldfinches! Two of the buggers on my nyger seed feeder. I am in total delight. This bird feeding lark is enormously rewarding. This afternoon I intend to get to grips with the stock control as I seem to be running down on mixed seed quicker than I thought possible. It's got to be done, afterall, you only get out what you put in.

Just recently I have noticed my mind wandering off way back into my history. Just yesterday a memory popped into my head from my infant school, fresh as if it happened last week. I can only liken it to a glass of lemonade which has been sitting a while, gone a bit flat, and then all of a sudden a bubble springs up and breaks the surface.

It's almost as if the Numbskulls in my brain are having a bit of a clear out and are boxing up old memories and reminiscing as they do so. They are probably pulling out all sorts of things, holding them up and saying 'do we still need this?'. I do hope they hold on to my most cherished thoughts and movements. I shall be bereft if I lose the moment when I was chosen at school to say 'I play the triangle, ting-a-ling-a-ling'