I know it's awful and I do feel a pinch of guilt as I sling a jam jar in the bin but barring the odd hurricane in North London is there a downside to climate change? The Ladyfriend and I were tits up on the beach this weekend and as I read about alarming record breaking temperatures in the Independent - a paper by the way that bangs on relentlessly about global warming whilst still managing to carry full page advertisements for sleazy jet - I thought, as I slapped on the factor 15, "your point being?"
And I'm not being selfish, I remember as a youth days and miserable days spent watching Why Don't You during summer holidays as rain lashed down outside. The sun never shone and the Mini Milks stayed tucked between the steak and kidney pies in the freezer. Atleast now future generations will be able to guarantee a picnic by the lake even if it does happen to have dried up.
I'm afraid the horse has well and truly bolted on this one. If I put off a short drive in the motor to curb my carbon emissions there will be some bugger in China belching double the amount out as their economy swells like ever rising bread dough -cut me a slice I say, roll out the lazy hazy days of summer, autumn, winter and spring.

I've got to say I'm well into this SKY TV lark. I'm completely addicted to the food channels and especially the Barefoot Contessa. She's a big girl who likes her food. I constantly shriek in horror as she adds pounds and pounds of butter and sugar to her food and she bathes in double cream. Her poor husband is a ticking time bomb of a coronary just waiting to go off. I love the way she weebles around her gorgeous Hampton's home and the way she say's "that's so good" and "bazel" instead of basil.
Mind you, I reckon she must have a big fat mama of a black maid waiting out of shot of camera because she don't half make a mess and I can't see her lifting her chubby little fingers with the fairy liquid.

This is just the best. No we have broadband I have been having a butchers at youtube and guess what I found when I searched Limone? - the place where the ladyfriend and I are going on holiday. Look click here It's fantastic, how many holiday destinations have their own song? And one sung in so many different languages.

Strange scene this evening. I was twitching the net curtains and saw three little dogs running along the path. I couldn't see an owner. They were just running along. They looked insanely happy with their tiny legs going ten to the dozen, one of them had a sticky out tongue. I like to think they were little run aways and now, as the sun has set, they are tucked up nicely in the woods asleep under the stars. Their one goal to get to the coast and board a boat to the South of France but getting up to japes along the way - I'm thinking butchers and strings of sausages and the like.

Talking of old carcasses, I've seen that Peaches Geldof girl pop up in the papers recently. Just like her mother she has a face made for slapping. Both with famous fathers and both with questionable talent. One wonders if they will both share the same destiny?

I found one of my old school books the other day, it was from my cookery lessons complete with splodges and splats. I decided to cook the chicken curry recipe tonight. It wasn't a success. During Home Economics we would be given two recipes to choose from for the following week's lesson and I remember not being bothered with the curry. As a child I was rather puritanical about my food and didn't care much for foreign muck. As a consequence I didn't write down the method with much care. The list of ingredients were there alright but the method left much to the imagination. Half of it was missing. In the end I had to make things up and it was a tad dissapointing I can tell you. Bland as Saturday night prime time television. The ladyfriend was kind but I could sense her unrest.
I'm writting this via the wireless and I've one eye on the laptop and another on the fat girl on Sky. She's had an operation to reduce weight but she's still 30 stone, God love her. She could have done with a few cookery lessons. I like watching programmes like this though, it makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn.

The Ladyfriend and I have gone over to the darkside. We have sold out to Mr Murdoch and gone and got Sky. We wanted the broadband. We wanted to watch more than four channels (we couldn't get 5 in our valley) we weren't that bothered about the phone calls as we aren't big talkers but it's nice to know that they are free in the evenings.
We'd been talking about it for ages and finally plumped for it as the flat sale looms on the horizon. We shall have more disposable income and we thought the australian mogul could do with a couple of quid.
There's sod all on it mind you. I spend more time going up and down the menu than I do watching it but that in its self is sometimes more preferable to watching what's on BBC1.
I have found my favourite station though, it's called Solent TV. It's a whole channel about the Isle of Wight! I love Vectis and long to become a Vectian. If you were to cut me in half I would have the words SANDOWN running through my body like a piece of rock. Wonderful place. There is a criminal on the loose there at the moment though.

I've become a bit of a peeping tom. We've had pheasants in the garden lately and, eager to view their plummage more closely, I have got out the Ladyfriend's binoculars. I love the smell of binoculars. It's a metallic oily plastic smell and I think it's fab. Anyway, once tired of watching these enchanting birds I have begun to lift my field of vision to the field behind the house where I have been looking at cotton tailed rabbits dancing in the long grass, wood pigeons and magpies.
It's a big field and right at the top are a line of houses and I must confess to have been having a bit of a butchers. I've not seen anything untoward, I saw a lady take some rubbish out to her bin yesterday but that's all. I'm hoping it wont develop into a mania. The ladyfriend has shown a few short signs of concern but has promised, should the police call, to blame her mother who's got dementia.

I was watching that odd music programme on Channel 4 this morning which has two of the most smarmy presenters on that I have ever seen. That's not my problem though. My figure of hate is Mark Ronson. He's covered a Smith's song. It's shocking. I don't like him. Apparently he's a mate of that girl with Downs Lily Allen which I suppose speaks volumes. He sat talking to the bloke on the programme with his legs arrogantly apart and spoke with a peculiar briterican accent. He made my blood boil.
So I've added him to my list of hate. You don't cover Smith's songs.
The closest I get to anarchy these days is not putting a postcode on when I address an envelope, I have learnt to blend in quite nicely, I have conformed to such an extent that I own a pair of carpet slippers. But I did nearly have a 'moment' in Clintons the card shop on Saturday. I was buying Easter cards for close family and friends. They had numerous cards with rabbits in various states of undress, eggs and chicks but what nearly drove me to violence was a small section cordoned off with a sign saying "Religious Cards".
I'm sorry, have I missed something? Has the religious aspect of Easter now become, like Christmas, optional? I mean for God's sake, Marks and Spencers are selling bunny pinatas! I suppose the whacking of the rabbit with sticks could be a thinly veiled symbol for the beating of Christ, but I doubt it. What on earth is going on? I felt like reenacting Jesus throwing the money lenders out of the temple by bundling up all of the cards and ripping them to confetti but I thought better of it. I let them carry on selling their talking chicks, their bunny soft toys (made of cat fur) and their Ricky Gervais easter eggs (not really but you get my drift) paid for a secular card and turned the other cheek

During my lunch break (I'd say an hour but these days sixty minutes is a luxury my workload can ill afford) I take a little walk by a stream and sometimes feed the ducks... I sometimes feed the sparrows too. Anyway, yesterday something caught my eye in the water. Tethered in the reeds close by to a shopping trolley was a dead baby. Well, I thought it was a dead baby. As it transpired it was a child's doll. But my word it was life like. The flow of the water was making the arm move as if it was waving at me. It was quite sinister. I stood and watched it for a bit just to be sure it wasn't real and realised how desensitized I had become. You see I never let our a shriek when I first caught a glimpse of the bloated corpse.
I went back today and it's still there, still waving, waiting to traumatise a toddler or two.

Had to share this with you all. Due to the scientific study that has found that a sixteen quid bottle of gloop from Boots really can help stop the signs of ageing the shops have been inundated by old croans waving their pension books.
Yesterday the ladyfriend and I walked passed the back entrance of Boots in Eastbourne to see a normally quiet cosmetic counter packed with desperate ladies trying to secure their stash. It was like a scene from the film Cacoon. I had to take a photo.
We went back a little bit later and there were even more women clamouring for the stuff.
I know I'm a wee bit cynical, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it transpires that Boots sponsored the study to boost ailing profits, but you never know. The ladyfriend and I will naturally be participating in the buying frenzy, we like a goldrush as much as the next man. I look back with fond memories of my mother buying up Branston pickle when the factory burnt down, I've also been known to stock pile tins of lentils (still gottem and all) when I found out the price would rocket due to global warming. Now we don't have village stocks or public executions it's the only way to form a sense of community. Bring it on I say.