Jesus Christ. Exactly. The Ladyfriend and I have started a tradition of going to the pictures on Christmas Eve. It's nice. This year we have been looking at a suitable film and thought it might be Eragon but that has received rather bad reviews. Ah, we thought The Nativity would be perfect! Absolutely spot on. But guess what? There isn't a cinema in the area showing it. Not one. Nada. What's that all about? If ever there was going to be a captive audience then surely it would be on Christmas Eve. Shame on them all. If we don't watch out, next year Father Christmas will be wearing a hijab.

Had a lovely time in Amsterdam but the ladyfriend and I have decided to forgo any trips abroad in the future, I was frisked at the airport on the way out and made to shout "Merry Christmas" to a prancing fool at the airport on the way home. I think he was the dutch version of Cilla Black. I scowled at the camera so I imagine I am on the cutting room floor.

Things have been a bit rushed and just a bit much this week so I have not yet put up my photos - I've been ripped off by BP and slandered in court - it's a long story but I hope this will do: click here

Bluebirds sang at my window this morning as I greeting another dawn and another birthday! 36 and still with skin like a princess. I am 4 nines or 12 threes, whatever, I'm not the girl I once were though, I've grown in so many ways but mostly outwards.
The Ladyfriend and I are off to Amsterdam on Thursday to celebrate both of our birthdays, I can't wait, our hotel is conveniently placed for all the major attractions, the floating flower market, the museums and the brothels......not that I like art.
My brother took me to see Billy Bragg on Sunday at the Hackney Empire - what a place, a gorgeous old theatre in a run down part of town. It was a 'Rock against Racism' thing and a lady slapped my lapel with a sticker to that effect. A worthy cause, only something didn't sit right with me. Mr Bragg harped on about the benefits of a multicultural society and how the people of Daggenham who had elected the BNP should embrace their new neighbours from far flung places. A nice idea, thing is Billy has chosen to live on a farm in Devon where the only dark face that he probably sees is that of a fresian cow over a fence post so it's a bit of a 'do as I say and not as I do' thing going on there.
PLEASE NOTE: Lola is not a racialist and some of her best friends like reggae music.

There has been a tornado in London today. In the paper I saw a photo of a ski lift empty and lifeless in a normally busy ski resort. With climate change, will there be "snow in Africa this Christmas time"?

They only need 43 Jonathan, they could knock those off with a stick of rhubarb..."
Geoffrey Boycott on TMS

Can't believe the Ashes result this morning. I know it was a bit wet wanting a draw when winning is everything but to lose, well it just isn't cricket. It's time for young Flintoff to fall on his sword and give up as captain. The ladyfriend and I both agree that being the best player doesn't necessarily make the best captain. Infact, Freddie reminds me of an Edwardian farm hand taking over from the 'Gentleman' who has gone off to war. The only chance we stand of coming away from the Colonies with any scrap of honour is that by some miracle Michael Vaughan can get back on the field and take charge. I daresay we will not catch Michael in a sleeveless vest, hands in his pockets, sporting tattoos and an earing.

Lord I was off to a bad start this morning. I was anxious to catch up on the night's cricket so I put BBC1 on at 7am hoping that in the half hour that I designate to breakfast and 'coming to' I would see the score and highlights. Did I bugger. I grew a different shade of purple with every passing block of five minutes. Whilst that Bill Tumble (or whatever it is) was bumbling over a report about Russian spies I flicked over to ITV to see the final snippet of Kevin Pieterson - I was incandescent with rage. I gave up at 7.30 and ran my bath.
By the way, all this about Russian spies and radiation poisoning. Am I missing something? If what I'm led to believe from James Bond films is true, then passing away in a hospital bed is preferable to some of the ways these dare devil agents might meet their death. I saw one once where James Bond was tied to a table with a laser moving between his legs about to cut him slowly and painfully in half. I would therefore plump for radiation sickness any day. I bet he got a private room, digital tv and 24 hour care. I bet he didn't get a senile old man walking about at night trying to get into bed with him either.