I'm a bit of a facebook queen and dip in quite frequently. I rather like the application where you compare your friends to each other. It's all good clean fun but I was a bit shocked to find that out of all the things that I could be the best at it's not being most soave or most sophisticated but most punctual! I never thought I would be the most good looking (I have a great face for radio) but most punctual?
Anyway, that does take me nicely to my next point which happened at the bus stop (whilst waiting for a bus which would get me to work on time) the other day. I was approached by a strange looking chap who lumbered up and started to ask me about the next bus. It didn't take me long to diagnose that he was a bit 'funny' but he was quite harmless, he said he lived with his mother and it looked liked she still bought his clothes.
Then he said "do you mind me talking to you?" which quite broke my heart. What kind of society have we become when someone has to ask you that? He obviously spoke from passed experience where I daresay his peculiar manner put the willies up people. But I didn't mind. Afterall, what's more creepy a child in a man's body or a man in a child's?

Time for Toffs

I don't know about you but I'm all for Boris Johnson. I like a man who calls a spade a spade. I was at the gym on Sunday and watched him with Ken and that bent copper whilst on the treadmiill and I must say he sparkled.
They were yarping on about controlled immigration and terrorism which I could just make out over Girls Aloud and the thud of my pulse in my ears as my heart rate increased. My money's on Boris. It's time for toffs to even up the balance. It's all a bit too comprehensive these days. I say what's wrong with a bit of privilege?
Labour's gone all Animal Farm with their heads in the trough, Prescott with Bulimina!? I ask you.
As for immigration, I don't mind the Polish, if it wasn't for their pilots in the war we'd be hearing the sound of jackboots in Oxford Street.

Damn her perversions

We've got one of those chalkboard things in the kitchen where we write household necessities which we really must remember to get. You know the type of thing eggs, flour, butter.
I came down to the kitchen after the wife had left for work to find the words "wet suit" writ large! I know as women age the mind plays the occasional trick but wet suit? I'm a little too worried to ask.

Putting hairs on your chest

Those that have met me in the womanly flesh will know that I like my food. I've just consumed my lunch at my desk which is the way most office workers these days choose to knock something back whilst checking how unpopular they are on facebook. Anyway, I've just had a tomato and mozzarella salad with a poppy seed bread roll. How european. Basically, it's the ploughman's lunch of the 21st century for us Brits and it made me wonder what the farm hands of old would have made of it. I am sure they would have downed tools immediately and refused to scatter the good seed on the land if they had been presented with oily cheese and soggy rocket.

One of Dr Weil’s tasks is to have a ‘no news day’ where you are not to expose yourself to the tabloids, radio and telly news. It’s easy peasy for me. I’ve long lost interest in current events. When I first heard the phrase Credit Crunch I thought it was something Chavs ate for breakfast, the gaza strip sounds like pubic hair removal and as for Zimbabwe - Mugabe Schmugabe.
The Olympic torch didn't raise an eyebrow, it did strike me that a far better protest against China would be to stop buying iPods not to snuff out a flame in Oxford Street or wherever it was. I'm not into the athletics anyway, as far as I can tell they only put them on the telly for old ladies to stare open mouthed at whilst they chew on a custard tart.
The brain is a sponge you see and can’t differentiate between the American Presidential elections and a conversation about cheese, I’d sooner fill my head with the kind of Philadelphia that goes lovely on a Jacobs cracker than the one that might swing Hilarie’s way.
So, that’s that and all about it. The news isn’t like it used to be anyway.

Down with Downward Dog

Yoga = Yawn, I'm down with Pilates now! If you pop in to chez Lola at 7am on a week day morning you'll find me rolling about on the carpet with Zosha Piotrowski. She's fab. She's on Diva TV and I love it. Yesterday she had me so contorted I nearly brought my Shreddies back up.

An offer I couldn't refuse

I became Godmother to my niece and two nephews yesterday, it was brilliant and I was well up for renouncing the devil and his diabolical ways - those Catholics have a great way with words. Anyway, I'm chuffed to bits and you better not mess with me now unless you'd like a horse head in your bed.