I am a lucky E bayer, last night I scooped the England v Germany DVD for £3.70! I am so glad as I missed it when it was on the telly. I will always remember the evening however as I was stuck in a riffy pub in Reading with a pikey with illusions of grandeur. It wasn't pleasant. The things I do - or did.

I remember the ladyfriend sending me text messages every time a goal was being scored, I thought she was taking the piss, but realising my present company was, I duly left the pub and drove off into the night with nothing but grim reality for company.

Nearly exploded with delight in Tesco when I saw the new Coast magazine There really is a magazine for everything these days. It is for people who live by the sea and ticks every box for the ladyfriend and I. I do like it but I have my reservations, it does smack a little bit of Living etc. for my liking, the people in it look as though their children are called "India" or "Rafferty". It's aimed at the buffalo mozzarella generation and could do with being a little bit more Country Living, but I shall reserve my judgement. My love of the sea is equalled only by my love of magazines and I should be delighted to have both. Their website looks bleary though, I can say that.

I saw an old man this morning who looked like Mr Nicholls (an old gentleman I knew in my childhood, I wonder what became of Mr Nicholls?

I am sitting in my seat itching like a good 'un. The ladyfriend's choice of new washing softener has proved a bit of a damp squid. We have gone back to our old one but, like unwelcome guests, the discomfort is hanging around. It will be days before we are on top of things. I don't blame the ladyfriend, I understand the need for variety, however, it is a shame that we must suffer for her whims and fancies.

Saw a lady at the bus stop on the way to work this morning with a very strange broach stuck on her coat. It was a big piece of round metal, sort of like the end of an IKEA curtain pole, perhaps it was one. Ladies of a certain age always have to pin something onto their coats for extra flourish. I prefer a fox foot myself.

We were driving passed a church yesterday, just as it was chucking out time, and a majority of the God fearing congregation were wearing glasses. It made me wonder if failing eyesight and Christianity go hand in hand. I know some of the Anglican church are short sighted when it comes to homosexuality etc but I wondered if it goes even deeper than that and is physical aswell as mental.

It could be that coming out of a dark church into the Eastbourne sunlight is too much for the retina to take but that Jonathan Edwards is always squinting and he is a man of great faith. It may be far fetched but it is worth considering nonetheless.

Just had to type something today as the 29th February is few and far between. It would be remiss of me to miss it.

The ladyfriend and I positively reek of garlic today, I was a little 'eavy 'anded last night but I can't help it. It's bootiful.

It was just a simple pasta dish but it brought a little bit of Napoli to East Sussex.

We have decided to trot off to Brighton after lunch and press our noses up against shop windows like a couple of Georgy Girls.

Stroke of luck last night, my bid on ebay still goes unchallenged and, whilst the ladyfriend was subdued on red wine, I have bought Valley of the Dolls/Beyond the Valley of the Dolls AND Breakfast at Tiffanys on DVD or £15 on HMV

I was as ratty as hell yesterday and couldn't think of a nice word to say so, by way of an apology, I bring you the hula girl.

This morning has been a rollercoaster. Whilst eating breakfast a package arrived from the boys in spain full of culinary curiousities and cds. I am now set for weeks of new music, I am like a goat who can get through a record collection as though it were grass.

Half way to work the ladyfriend forgets her inhaler and therefore mentally has an asthma attack. We return home and are consequently late for work all this and it begins to snow!

I am therefore out of my usual routine for a Tuesday and need to give my blood time to steady itself. I'm a little bewildered and unsure.

This week is packed to the seams with dinner dates and engagements a few early nights are required or I shall look like Fanny Craddock before long.

Had a marvellous weekend but my, wasn't it cold? The ladyfriend (who has been safely recovered after her kidnap ordeal) and I went to Rye on saturday. We put 'over two hours' in the car park but were round the quaint streets quicker than you can say "Mapp and Lucia"

I did take some photographs if you would like to see what you missed. click here to 'ave a look

The money is in the suitcase at Waterloo Station.

Watched the tail end of the Brit Awards last night which was as dreary and predictable as ever. One shock though was hearing Justin Timberlake speak. I had never heard his squeaky, nasal trill before and was quite taken aback. He sounds, and come to think of it looks, like a pre-pubescent Gonzo from the Muppets.

I was pleased to see The Darkness although a bit sad that the bloke who plays bass has got that 'member of the audience not the band look'. I've seen it before, notably with Marco Pirroni from Adam and the Ants (circled) Sometimes people in bands just don't look right, they look like they try too hard it goes wrong, especially when they try looking enigmatic in the centre spread of Smash Hits. Give Marco his due, he's still going strong with a lovely website, although he now looks like Divine without the drag.

Tonight is the Brit Awards which, let's face it, are a bit of a dissapointment. I have little or no respect for the music industry and am cock-a-hoop that they are getting a kick in the balls with downloadable music - killing music? let's hope so.

What I am most annoyed about is the female artist which every year contains Annie bloody Lennox. Don't get me wrong, I bought her album which is 'average' but worthy of an award? I don't think so. I think she is there to make the numbers up. Dido? Sophie Ellis-Bextor?!!?? The woman missing from the list and who should win is Eddi Reader, her last album was innovative, talented and jolly good yet fails to register in the narrow minded, mainstream selection.

The irony of it all is Eddi Reader is one of the artists which won't suffer from Win MX and Kazza. Infact, anyone who can play live and support themselves on talent alone will survive, it will be the boy and toy bands which will go to the wall. Home taping isn't killing music it's taking it back to where it belongs, the music halls, the pubs, the streets and the people!

Looked after William yesterday - my parent's dog. I had a lovely time using their computer, isn't broadband luxury? I was intent on downloading loads of music but came a bit of a cropper. I could only get snippets of the new Zero 7 album and Travis was a dead loss. It all takes so long aswell!

However, I strangely managed to get Carmel, JX and amazingly Morrissey singing Moonriver. I also have most of Joan Armatrading's back catalogue which was a nice surprise. As I type this I am 'dropping the pilot'.

I'm going to a gig tonight. My word, at my age. I will have to hold the Horlicks tonight, it's going to be a late one.

Something you don't see everyday - coming to work this morning a chap standing at the bus stop looked exactly like Badly Drawn Boy Infact, I had to look twice. He had the tea cosey hat, green army jacket and shaggy chops. He did look good. It made me think how people who like people, apart from being the luckiest people in the world, like them so much that they try and look like them.

It does figure that your taste in music at such an impressionable age can have dire consequences for the rest of your life. Look at the punks and their ridiculous hair. It looks lovely on Top of the Pops but at the pic 'n' mix counter at Woolies it does lose something. I thank the Lord and my handsome brother that I was steered away from the path of gloomy music. I could be working in a chicken factory had I followed The Sisters of Mercy.

Just when I was - let's not say 'warming to' - but coming round to the French they go and vote to ban the Hijab. What mentalists. It's just such a 'French' thing to do. What a country, what people. I'm sure that they didn't surrender in the war but were in cahoots with Hitler all along.

Just what they hope to gain from this absurd attack on children is anyones guess. There will be holy war that's what, there will be suicide bombers up and down the Champs Elysee before you can say 'onion soup' Liberte, Egalite my arse. Talk about Paris Match - the place will be burnt to the ground when the fundamentalists get going.

THIS IS A VERY NOVEL WAY TO CLEAN THE INSIDE OF YOUR MONITOR. REMEMBER TO MOVE YOUR MOUSE TO GET GOOD CLEANING. CLICK ON THIS LINK IT TAKES A COUPLE OF SECONDS.
 
 
 
 

I'm so pissed off. This weekend I set up a video tape to record the whole six hours of Angels in America. Sat down last night to make a dent into it and the video is all f*cked up and no good, it's all shakey and jumpy and void. I am ticked off. Everytime I video something it seems to go wrong. I shall just have to hope it comes out on DVD.

The ladyfriend is brimming with excitement, she read yesterday that Barbara Streisand may decide to come to England and pick up the microphone again. She's a life-long fan of the hooky nosed show tune belter. I've told her she can go up to £500 tops for a ticket and she's going on her own. We're already off to see Elaine Paige in June - Je Ne Regrette Rien!

I'm wired up right! Yes, thanks to my handsome brother we are now cooking on electric in Eastbourne. What a fabulous job he made of the red wires. I am tres happy and the enormous stress and strain which comes with property ownership has begun to subside. Oven roasted beetroot anyone?

I've found something rather lovely on the internet for those that would like to see the seaside click this link. It does make me happy to see Eastbourne when I am so far away from the place.....happy days indeed.

Did anyone see the match last night? My word! It was real Roy of the Rovers stuff. The ladyfriend and I had no idea of the score. It was incredibly exciting as a result. We like Manchester City because of the nice blue outfit and that nice Mcmanaman man and so we were very glad to see him come on. It was real edge of the seat stuff - come on you blues - we cheered!

If you didn't catch it take a look at the match report here.

Found an enchanting website whilst looking for something else yesterday. It's called Trailer Trash Dolls. It seems a very successful cottage industry run by a woman who proclaims her only interests are Dolls, Dance and Dogs. If you have a spare minute it's worth taking a look and asking "why?"

It seems like a very normal Wednesday today, sometimes it's handy when days are like that. There are no pressing engagements, no pressures or deadlines. Why the day is like a fresh canvas for me to paint whatever I like on. I feel in an abstract kind of mood - I shall get out my sable now.

My hair is a right old state at the moment. Apparently the trend these days is 'length' and never being one to miss a bandwagon I am jumping on whilst it's still in town. It looks a bit of a mess so I am keeping a hat to hand at every occasion. We shall see how we go, two months without seeing scissors and still counting. I am worried I shall end up looking like Kane Dingle by Easter.

Talking of Emmerdale, I must say I find it the most engaging serial on tv, the ladyfriend and I are hooked but my goodness it moves fast. It all comes to a head on Friday, infact it all comes to ahead every Friday that's what makes it so fabulous.

For those that agree with me you must check out this website click here it has all the old cast on it..

I am currently listening to Gaydar radio, it's fantastic, I have been jigging about at work like a rent boy on speed. It's ace.

Do you know, I was sitting eating my Quaker's this morning and I flicked on to Trisha. There were some seriously thick northerners on there. There was a baby of questionable paternity being discussed and some fairly colourful language.

Normally I scoff and take the rise out of their low intelligence but I suddenly had an epiphany. "My goodness" I thought, Prescott is right, we have to divert money up north and fast otherwise generation after generation of northerners are going to turn out like this. There will be single parent after single parent after drugged up transexuals with records as long as Herb Albert's. It's good news for the producers of Trisha but is it good news for us?

I wonder if one day soon we will open the Sunday supplements and instead of seeing appeals for chained up bears in Turkey we will see women from Rochdale standing at the checkout of Quick Save.

Let us make this country and its people great again. If we can support the rest of europe we must be able to support our own home grown scum.

Fantastic isn't it? - the snow I mean. Oh but isn't Mother Nature cruel, why not come at the weekend? They say it will all be over by this evening so no toboggoning for us girls. It seems the snow, like everything else these days, has a short attention span. How I long for those childhood days of wet wellingtons, a piece of candle wax and a sledge. Where did it all go wrong?

My little rant about the BBC yesterday seems to have worked, my word I am read in high places. I switched on the news last night to find their chairman has quit! Who shall I turn my attention to next? The Daily Mail?

Seriously though, surely no one believes that old goat Hutton was impartial? Why, his name alone is an anagram for OLD NORTH UT (friend of Prescott?) it's also an anagram for TURD HOLT ON. Don't take my word for it, go to this excellent website and type in a name and see the results, it's blinding. Click here

In light of modern times I feel it is time for this song to re-released, it says more about today than Michelle McManus


You got soul on the door, You're gonna have a good time down on the line
You got soul on the door, You're gonna have a good time down on the line
I said a-get, a-get, a-get on down, Said a-get get get on down
I said a-get, a-get, a-get on down, Said a-get get get on down
Hey everybody take a look at me, I've got street credibility
I may not have a job but I have a good time
With the boys that I meet down on the line
I said D-H-S-S, man a rhythm that can give them is the very best
I said B1, B2, makin' claims on your name's all you have do
Well this'ill be a drag if workin's not your bag, And when you let them know
You're more dead than alive in a nine to five, Then they say you've gotta go, and...
Get yourself a job, or get out of this house, Get yourself a job, are you a man or a mouse
I figure eighteen, you pretend not to hear, I gotta get some space, get outta this place
Wham, Bam, I am a man, Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
Do - you, enjoy what you do?, If not, just stop, don't stay there and rot
In the streets, in the cars on the underground, If you listen real hard you can here the sound
Of a million people switchin' out for work, Well listen mister average, you're a jerk
Not me, you can't hold me down, Not me, I'm gonna fool around
I'm gonna have some fun, Look out for number one
You can dig your grave, I'm stayin' young
Wham, Bam, I am a man, Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
Do you, enjoy what you do? If not, just stop, don't stay there and rot!
If you're a pub man or a club man, Maybe a jet black guy with hip hi-fi
A white cool cat with a trilby hat, Maybe leather and studs is where you're at
Make the most of every day, Don't let hard times stand in your way
Give a wham, give a bam, But don't give a damn
'Cause the benefit gang are gonna pay
Now reach up high and touch your soul
The boys from Wham will help you reach that goal
It's gonna break you're mamma's heart (so sad)
It's gonna break you're daddy's heart (too bad)
Won't you throw the dice and take my advice
Because I know that you're smart
Can you dig this thing (yeah), Are you gonna get down (yeah)
Say Wham (Wham), Say Bam (Bam), Wham, Bam, I am a man
Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
Do you, enjoy what you do? If not, jut stop, don't stay there and rot!
(D-H-S-S) Wham, Bam, I am a man
(D-H-S-S) Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
(D-H-S-S) Do you, enjoy what you do?
(D-H-S-S) If not, jut stop, don't stay there and rot!
(D-H-S-S) Wham, Bam, I am a man
(D-H-S-S) Job or no job, you can't tell me that I'm not
(D-H-S-S) Do you, enjoy what you do? (fade)

No snow, just dandruff on the lawn this morning. It is very upsetting. The ladyfriend friend said as she heard somone scraping their car "It must have snowed" I said no and that I could hear cars driving on the road, not the muffled eerie sounds that accompany snowfall.

So I am left wanting. I blame the BBC for whipping me up into a frenzy and that rasping weather girl who they have flown up to Yorkshire. Well they can just leave her there and her half baked predictions.

I have gone off the BBC and want my money back. I believe they should introduce pay for view on all their channels and I wouldn't have to shell out for prancing homosexuals buying houses, hospital dramas and David bloody Jason. I reckon if you tot it up in the last ten months I have probably listened to six hours of Radio 2, watched Charles 2nd (which was brilliant), I've been watching that thing about the estate agents on BBC2 (I like that) and have snatched several Saturday Kitchens (which are made up of repeated Cookery programmes). Last night I had to watch the thing about the Miners' strike as there wasn't anything on until Shameless. So in all I've probably watched £50 worth of programmes so from my £116.00 licence fee I feel I am due a rebate.

I think it's time that the BBC and BT should stop charging us just to have a tv and telephone, it's money with menaces. TV is a cultural wasteland now so it aint gonna get any worse. Infact - and I know I'm rambling now - as the programming worsens it may be the very thing that gets people back into the theatres. I'm not talking Pinter or Beckett but a return to old time Victorian variety shows. Baudy evenings with comics, magicians and show girls - that sort of thing would bring back community spirit!

Air's new album is on the shelves - Click here to hear - and I'd really rather like it. It is one of those albums where I want the whole thing. I wouldn't be happy with a downloaded version on a disc with a handwritten label. I want the lot, staples and barcode, the works. I think it's a compulsory purchase. I know it will be the soundtrack to a million yuppie dinner parties this year but I don't care, I still want it.

I think it must be one of those aspirational things. When I listen to it I shall imagine myself in Living etc world making espresso in my minimalist kitchen with an up to the minute ridiculous hair cut and a wheat intolerance. I shall know I have arrived as soon as the first few notes echo round my loft apartment. Working from home, of course, I shall achieve career success with Air in the background.

What a weekend - the flat in Eastbourne now has a sink and running water. It is fantastic news indeed. I feel like an inhabitant of a famine stricken African village who have just had a Christian Aid pipe fitted. I feel all wide eyed and a little bemused at the western people taking photographs of me as a fly dips in and out of my mouth.

Because it has been so long since the taps were turned off in the first place I am worried it will take a while for it to sink in. I will be like those tramps that are given a brand new flat but continue to sleep outside and piss in their knickers.

Had asparagus last night - half of my readers will know what I mean - the other half should read this. Add to this the coriander, (or cilantro if you're south of the border, down mexico way) the chili and the bottle of red wine then you can just imagine the hum coming off of me this morning. I must keep myself to myself I feel.

Waking up was hard but I was listening as the dawn chorus broke. I was thinking how the tiniest birds made the sweetest sound and big birds - like Vanessa Feltz - make the harshest.

Just a quick one to say get behind poor Martha Stewart. It looks like she may be going down for a long time. www.savemartha.com

I was sitting in bed last night reading the Times - the very picture of middle England - I was flicking through the pages trying not to be too brain washed by what I consider to be the Daily Mail with longer words when I fell on the story about the Church of England. It seems it is up the creek, falling attendance and facing a financial crisis. They intend therefore to scrap the sabbath and put a Starbucks in every vestry.

I don't know if this is just a knee jerk reaction which the church is hoping will swell the congregation and kick up a stink but these are changing times indeed. What saddens me the most however is all of the Protestant martyrs in this country burnt at the stake by Bloody Mary. All so some spotty kid can whip up a skinny latte.

I do think the church has to move with the times and modernise a little, perhaps as Tesco have built their stores looking like churches the church should offer a shopping service. Maybe they could set up screens on the pews where you can select haloumi with a hallelujah.

Whatever happens this country is heading into its bleakest period. I just find it laughable that people are happy to except paganism, buddhism and dreamcatchers as trendy but titter in the face of Jesus.

To the flea pit last night to see "The girl with the pearl earring". It was an absolute joy of a film visually but I found the story a bit leaden. To be frank I didn't like the star turn, I found her a bit too breathy and Colin Firth was Colin Firth so only seven out of ten from me. The ladyfriend lapped it up, she thought it was excellent. I urge you all to see it for the cinematography alone. I am rather partial for a bit of Vermeer take a look at this website. The film certainly gets the thumbs up for capturing the moment. In actual fact, it was a fabulous film - for the mother in law alone.

We went to see the film in Henley, the dolly at the box office said it was a good house. It was infact full of snotty middle aged women peppered with the occasional lone male. The whole place was clucking like a chicken shed through the adverts and trailers. The conversation was full of HRT this, botox that and sagging vaginas.......and that was just the men.

Went to Hastings on Saturday, my goodness it was cold, bitter. We ducked into a small tea shop which you couldn't swing a cat in. There were four tables in a back room which we squeezed into. The place filled up within no time and there were ten of us in the end.

Our waitress was a male to female in his/her first year of hormone therapy. 6ft tall baritone with a full face of slap, it was very, very strange. Good on him. Such bravery. Hastings is a very 'northern' feeling town on the south coast and I bet the cafe is a little bit of sanctuary for him.

It was very bohemian, the front of the shop sells lovely delicatessen delectables in olive oil. Infact a couple came in with a little girl of about 4 years old. Instead of cake the girl wanted a plate of olives. When asked which kind her mother replied "she normally likes them marinaded with feta". It could of been precocious and very new labour but it wasn't, it was fabulous. I intend to return.

Another place I would like to return to is Albert's in Spain, my pictures and a sound file of the Albert's can been seen/heard if you click here

Laying in bed this morning I was looking at all of the bottles of lotions and potions that get used on the body, all the tubes of gunk for this and that. I was thinking, much in response to the deodorant/breast cancer scare, that using all this stuff is a bit like marinating a bit of old pork.

Talking of health concerns the ladyfriend and I had salmon last night, one takes one's life in one's mouth these days. It really is quite worrying to think what does enter the food chain and as always it's the poorest that suffer. If all you can afford is Blue stripe and Smart Price you may aswell walk out under a double decker bus now.

The ladyfriend and I were shopping on Monday and were a bit taken aback as the bill came to £15 for a few items. We had a quick look at the receipt and thought hmm, aubergines - 98p, lettuce 99p etc then thought oh Eggs that's what did it. We thought nothing of the £5 bottle of plonk, that was allowed, it was the eggs that pushed it over the limit. Why do people always do that? They always say "oh it was the bacon" or "oh it was the beef"

This summer I intend to launch myself onto the vegetable patch and grow my own, I shall be strictly organic which means peeing on my tomatoes but I'm sure after a quick run under the tap you wont know the difference.

If I ever book a flight with Easyjet again will someone give me a slap. My God you wouldn't treat an animal the way the Ladyfriend and I were treated by the bloody orange Greek. Buy cheap buy twice my Grandma used to say and by God she was right. Cattle truck conditions, recycled air and trailer trash travelling companions - not nice.

Beautiful weather in Spain however, it was an absolute joy to feel the sun on my cheeks. Talking of which, we were taken to Cabopino nudist beach on Sunday.....now I'm no prude but my goodness. It was enough to make a shy, bald, buddhist reflect and plan a mass murder. The dunes were full of nude men and a trio on the shoreline stood bold as brass without an ounce of shame on them. I took a few photos of course, just for posterity or should that be posteriority. Incidentally, the photo top left has been sent in by Clive Young, it was taken of me at Christmas time on the streets of the big smoke.

Filthy morning, it's dark and it's bucketing down. Driving to work I saw a shadowy figure trying to cross the road, I slowed down and flicked the headlamps to indicate that I would quite happily let him cross the King's highway.

He was a young boy about 11 dressed in his school uniform with no coat, just a blazer. By the time he gets to school after waiting at a vandalised bus shelter he will be wet through. I've no doubt the radiators wont be on when he gets there, he will be forced to dress in his P.E kit or wear lost property jumpers - oh the shame of it.

This little incident and the subsequent bullying will quite possibly ruin the rest of the boy's academic life, he will end up working in B&Q all for the want of an overcoat.

I was the subject of police brutality last night - yes, in these supposedly enlightened times. The ladyfriend and I were pulled over on the way home from work (we were trying to get home in time to watch the end of an engaging murder mystery which ended up a little bit of a dissapointment) A young policeman forced us into a side road and proceeded with a barrage of questioning. He let us go after giving us the once over and checking the road tax but Oh how violated I felt!

This weekend missy and I are off to Spain, land of the bull ring and the Beckhams. I intend to stock up on Olive oil and Saffron, the supermarkets over there are full of vim and vigour aswell as tattoed English people in shell suits.

I have been listening to my two Christmas present CDs. 'The Very Best of The Smiths' and 'Ocean Rain' by Echo and the Bunneymen. They are both fantastic, it is amazing the effect music has on the body, I feel I have regressed which is a worry for the ladyfriend as they've made me sit in my bedroom all night reading Sylvia Plath.

But seriously it did make me think of Muriel Gray yesterday and so I looked her up on the internet, she has been busy, she is now an accomplished horror writer. Her days on the Tube must have provided lots of inspiration, sharing a dressing room with Paula Yates would be enough to keep Stephen King in consonants for decades.

By the way, I have become a lady of letters, I am addicted to online scrabble - invite me to play click here

I've decided that the BBC is nothing more than a half way house for the disabled and the Welsh. All their presenters - with the exception of that nice Craig Doyle look as though they have come straight from some Victorian Side Show. If you need convincing, sit infront of the BBC's breakfast show for an hour and you'll get your money's worth.

I've been watching the batty blonde weather girl for a few months, she's a rasping asthmatic. At the end of each sentance she'll take a huge breath that sounds like she's swallowed a mouth organ. It aint nice, it makes me breathe funny and puts me off me porridge.

Feeling slightly off-piste today, bit under the weather, I have a little sniffle which is really not worth describing. Added to that, I have developed a neck ache from rolling over in bed this morning - I mean, I ask you? How ridiculous.

So I am a little fractious and that's the truth.

I had a rather pleasant weekend down by the coast. We went for a rather enjoyable ramble along the beach on Saturday. Stopping for a coffee at the Italian Ice-cream parlour (highly recommended.) I took my camera and snapped away at the old bits of driftwood, rusted up fishing boats and this and that.

I stumbled on a lovely old boat which was in rather a poor state, it's propeller was green with age and I decided to go in for a close up. As I was preparing my composition I became aware of someone at hand. I looked up and this chap who looked like Catweazle said "Do you like Clinker boats?" I said "You what mate?" and he replied "I've got the world's biggest clinker boat in this shed would you like a look?"

I immediately thought Ian Brady so called out to the ladyfriend who, by now, was half way up the beach. With some reluctunce she came back and we went into his shed.

Inside were two enormous clinker boats as promised and this lovely chap told us their history. I couldn't capture them on camera they were so vast. I can only compare them to the huge blue whale in the Natural History Museum.

He was alive with enthusiasm which was remarkable as it was perishing cold. He let us climb all over the vessels and showed us how they were built. Our favourite was the Southern Queen which you too can learn all about by clicking here.

It has set the ladyfriend and I off and we are heading off to the Boat Show next week to become salty sea dogs - I already have a blue striped t-shirt so I am ahead of the ladyfriend already.

Where has all the rhubarb gone? For tea tonight I intend to cook the delia duck click here for the recipe but can I track down rhubarb? Can I buggery. I began my search on Monday and - if you excuse the pun - it is a fruitless one. Either it is flying off the shelves or the particularly fine summer has done for the pinky sticks!

I shall pop down to Tesco during my lunch break and have one last look. I can see me ending up in the tinned fruit aisle - it aint how delia planned it.

Interestingly, I have just been on the Tesco website to do a search and there is a fab service where - if you are a fellow clubcard holder - you can see everything you have bought! The ladyfriend and I have hit it heavy in the booze section but I don't ever remember buying the Vanilla Creme Crown 2 Pack. What fantastic data collection. I wonder what kind of profile they must have of me?

Coming to work this morning in the driving rain I watched a woman drop a glove into the gutter as she crossed the road. It was very sad to watch. I was helpless. It was at traffic lights and the ladyfriend and I were on the other side of the road out of the woman's range but in full view of the tragedy. The lights turned green too late for me to shout to her and she scuttled off with her umbrella into an industrial estate.

It was a lovely blue mitten. I fancy it was a Christmas present, opened no doubt accompanied with an uncomfortable feeling of trapped wind and over indulgence. Now it will sit in a fume filled wet gutter. I hope she finds it on the way home from work tonight if she retraces her steps.

Feel very sad about Bob Monkhouse, I liked him. It is a shame how a star that once burnt so brightly suddenly faded and died.

It has been a very merry Christmas this year, the ladyfriend and I put ourselves about in many a house and home and did imbibe a plenty - God bless the infant child.

Ofcourse the icing on the cake was Monarch of the Glen It certainly excelled itself for the Christmas edition. Good old Susan Hampshire, her dedication to her part could teach the youngsters a thing or two. Fabulous although dyslexic.

TV certainly was a dissapointment over the holidays, repeat after repeat. Channel 4 should tap into it and do 100 Favourite repeats. It does tickle me when watching repeats of those nostalgia programmes where they pull up a handful of "celebrities" to comment on flock wallpaper, Tizwas etc - I don't titter at their scripted comments, I find humour in the fact that their showbiz careers have already fizzled out after a few years. You may aswell of had strangers on the street. These programmes are only a few years old yet are aged as the shelf life of celebrity these days is so slight. Which brings me round niceley to ask will we ever see the likes or endurance of Bob Monkhouse again?

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!"

Television: I sat down last night, fully prepared to watch a night of tv as the ladyfriend and I had been let off from work early (as it's Christmas). We got out the paper to see what was on and my God it was a sorry selection. How depressing to think the only good thing on tv was the little snowflake children between the programmes on BBC1. I'd had enough after Emmerdale Farm. I caught a snippet of some blonde harpy with a lisp doing up some community centre and that was it, I was off. I took to my bed with the Sunday supplements.

I am beginning to wonder if the head of light entertainment (light? almost non-existent) has not started some plot to get us all to subscribe to digital tv and must I say that word SKY. Trouble is the two places I live in can not receive digital. It's one of those post code lottery things you hear about. Eastbourne can't have it because it will upset the reception for Northern France. High Wycombe isn't the kind of place the BBC will bother with for sometime - intelligent broadcasting being lost on the inhabitants.

I'm beginning to wonder though what will happen when it all switches over, I reckon it will effect the price of houses, it will be like couples wanting good catchment areas for schools. It will be like those remote Welsh communities, in 2053 there will be a bit at the end of the news - "...and finally, High Wycombe's transgender Mayor has just switched on the first digital box in the area to watch Fawlty Towers"

The ladyfriend and I were in Windsor yesterday - situated in the Royal County of Berkshire. By God it was chilly. We overheard some very interesting snippets of conversation here there and everywhere. It was quite fun to earwig on the prols as they dashed about with Christmas fervour.

We popped into Whittards and I fingered a few things which I want to buy when the sales start. I love all those little gift sets which people are supposed to buy for people they don't really like that much. I swoop on their remains when the red marker pens come out. I don't care if I have no room for Christmas coffee - I'm 'avin it.

I am a bit hacked off - Life for Lola has been infiltrated by nasty little boys in a bedroom somewhere. Whilst listening to Marilyn Manson and no doubt eating McDonalds, they have caused untold damage to my hosting company and all me little files have been cocked up. Lola is therefore a little off-piste, only a little bit though, afterall, no one died. It's quite funny really. It gives me the opportunity to overhaul the design and put pretty flowers everywhere.

It aint funny putting on a polo neck with wet hair on a cold and frosty morning. It also aint funny seeing all these copy cat menopausal women stripping off for charity cash raising calendars. The local paper this morning has a group of wrinklies bearing all with nothing but big grins on them - in the words of Morrissey "that joke isn't funny anymore".

I have to go a gathering in the lanes this weekend, I have to make a wreath of gargantuan proportions to adorn our door, I am drawing my influences from the dark ages this year, hey nonny nonny indeed.

I have been in Watford this morning on a work related jaunt, it was the usual thing, bunch of people I didn't know (but knew the sort of people they were - if you know what I mean) looking at a screen connected to a laptop. As a consequence I am a little wan, headachey and in need of a break.

Life for Lola is in undergoing construction so don't fret about the beige - it aint my thang either.

The parlour is now jampacked with festive trimmings and quite wonderful. The ladyfriend and I were in a state of frenzy as we impaled fairy after fairy, gnome after gnome and polar bear after polar bear onto our prickly branches last night. I was suddenly struck with branch blindness when I could not see a spare frond for the life of me. I felt a little dizzy panic as I clutched a handful of angels with no room at the inn. Finally they are now at rest hither and thither around and about blowing their triumphant horns - their fate now to fall onto the carpet as the tree grows weary of its burden and the central heating.

I am filled with the excitement of Christmas as I can not wait to go into Tesco on the 24th and buy lots of lovely unusualness. I know not what I shall be cooking, if it has a yellow ticket on it it is going in my basket! It could be goose, it may be duck, it may be a shoulder of lamb or a punnet of cumquats, who knows? I just hope Tesco cock up their ordering and it will be a veritable Alladin's cave.

Had a wonderful weekend and now the ladyfriend and I are fully recharged and ready for Christmas. This morning we bought our tree and it is standing in the parlour in a state of undress ready for our return this evening. Tonight the ladyfriend will be rummaging in the attic for the baubels and by 10pm we shall be fully trimmed for the festivities. Joy to the world indeed.

Birthday party with Betty and Joan

Having a bit of a play again - got bored of the picture of Joan Crawford - as if anyone could! I must congratulate old Posh Spice and her homage to Mommy Dearest in her new video (my god how easy Elton John and his partner David Furnish have got her wrapped around their little pink fingers).

Am I alone in my dissapointment in the Christmas Radio Times cover? I prefer something a little more pastoral. The shitty old teddy pair picture run quickly through a photoshop filter is a little "rushed" should we say? I'll let it go for this year, afterall, I never want them to break with tradition and put some bint from Eastenders in a saucy santa suit. Then, I will never buy the publication again, there are some standards in my life that need upholding - especially as it is my birthday tomorrow.

It's that time of year again when people go a little off the rails. Panic is beginning to settle in and the hours are shortening. Christmas is now only a couple of weeks off and presents need to be bought, people need their hair "doing", ulcers need to be drained so Uncles can be "out" for Christmas, sofas need delivering, kitchens need to be decorated, spare rooms need sprucing, amalgams need amalgaming and a smart trouser suit needs to be purchased for a dinner and dance.

Festive frenzy, irrational behaviour, smart cardigans to be worn at The Harvester, drunken insincerity, ostentation, tacky illuminations and pound shops.

There is a pile of Christmas cards ready to be written on my desk, I am supposed to send them to people who I have not spoken to all year. Tis the season to be ruthless so who do I cull this year? I've lined up my victim already, thought about it (and let's face it, it wasn't difficult) so the axe is gonna fall. Ding dong merrily on high.

The ladyfriend and I were watching the weather last night and, this happens 98% of the time, because of the dull delivery we completely glazed over. What do they tell these forecasters to do at the Met office? I'm ok at the beginning when they start saying how wet it was (I am often in agreement) but as soon as they start sweeping there arms here and there, start pressing their little button and start shifting from one leg to the next I am asleep. It's almost as though they begin to hypnotise with their isobars and occluded fronts. I do wonder therefore if they are not part of some twisted government plot to send out subliminal messages and warp our minds into agreeing to their demands and plans - already I am developing a softer side on asylum.

Makes you wonder doesn't it?

The Lola roadshow is going to Lewes tomorrow. Beautiful Lewes. I wouldn't mind a little place there, although the traffic is a little heavy in the high street. www.lewes-town.co.uk

The ladyfriend is going to be donning her painter's smock this weekend and will be transforming (no doubt with her Linda Barker's design kit) a set of Ikea chairs. I like to leave her to her own devices - she's an undercoat girl when it comes to painting, not like me I'm a fur coat and no knickers slapper dasher. I shall get out of her way and will be hitting the shops with my basket on my arm, buying this 'n' that and pretty ribbons for my hair.

We are setting off under cover of darkness this evening so we can wake up to the sound of seagulls tomorrow, hooraah for boltholes on the coast.

Had a bloody (a fortuitous choice of words) good reaction to my new diet. I have been treating my polycystic ovaries, not with the pills I was prescribed, but with nutrition and guess what? After just a month of ditching the pasta and embracing the vegetable my lady's blessing has returned - in tsunami proportions! The dam has burst.

I am astounded how diet can have such an effect on the body, although not completely surprised. Just a few tweaks and improvements here and there and I've altered the course of things.

Ofcourse now I have turned quite evangelical and am ramming walnuts down anyone who stands still long enough. I suspect I am as dull as an ex-smoker but I say to you all go here and do this test, re-avalute your lifestyle, do you really need that pizza?

Just had a most exceptional weekend. Friday the Ladyfriend and I went to Windsor for a little bit of light shopping. Came away with two bags of dried apricots for the price of one, a bundle of cinnamon sticks and a happy disposition. In the evening we went out for a slap up with some close friends and confidantes.

Saturday to Luton with Mr C, ended up in the Arndale Centre - I had never been and was filled with all the wonder of a small child. We took a look around the covered market which was wonderful. It was like markets used to be before the onslaught of specialist cheese stalls and the sun-dried tomato. There were haberydashery stalls, key cutters, t-shirt printers and china plate sellers. There were also some fantastic ethnic food stalls selling spices, mishapen vegetables and coriander the size of a small family Christmas tree.

Sunday I was off up to the big smoke to see Echo and the Bunnymen by way of an early birthday treat with my handsome brother and my favourite sister in law. They were very good - although a little loud for my tender ears which are now used only to the tender trill of the linnet.

Yesterday the Ladyfriend and I had the day off and decided to abort a planned day in Bath to a trip to Ikea (the weather was filthy) we bought four chairs for our dining table in eastbourne. I hasten we jump the gun as,not having an oven, the only thing we will be eating off it will be potted meat sandwhiches.

It's the Ladyfriend's birthday today! Happy Birthday Ladyfriend!

Today it is very chilly and I managed to soak my new mittens whilst using the de-icer on the car - drat. My new mittens match my cheery scarf but they are looking rather sorry for themselves on the back seat now. On the way to work we had to scrape the inside of windscreen as it kept icing over, it was quite magical as little flakes of frost flew around the car, twas almost like a little blizzard.

Last night the Ladyfriend and I had a most excellent meal at Mr C and Mr D's. I ate my first Jerusalem Artichoke, I am amazed that at 32 this root vegetable has only just passed my lips, I shall make up for this over sight and insist on their consumption on a more regular basis. I think we are all guilty of overlooking the more gnarly looking vegetables in the supermarket, constantly buying the same old carrots, potatoes and courgettes. I must set a challenge to all my readers, this weekend go out and buy something odd looking and let me know how you get on, don't forget to email me : lola@lifeforlola.co.uk

I got the consistency of porridge spot on this morning. Yesterday was a little bit of a disaster but it was my first attempt. I am consuming the stuff as I have been informed of its miraculous properties when it comes to the digestive system and cholesterol. I also love outlandish claims when it comes to food and, as I am a bit of a health bunny at the moment, consume it all with relish. My desk here at work looks like Superdrug, I've got Vitamin E pills, Garlic capsules, ten satsumas, a bottle of water which I keep topping up, some Nairn's fine milled oat cakes and an environment cleansing plant. Trouble is all this clean living doesn't half make you pee a lot.

Tonight we are eating Portugese with Mr C and Mr D, I am intrigued. It's the Ladyfriend's birthday tomorrow, she is teetering on the brink of another passing year and today it shows. She is like a loose cannon, I don't know where she begins and ends anymore.

Driving to work this morning I began to ponder about wires and leads and where on earth would we all be without them? From getting up in the morning to retiring with a mucky novel you need wires. There are wires for electricity all over the house, on pylons, telegraph poles, in the car, in the computer, you need them to make tea - a drink with jam and bread.

Take a moment now and look around you, can you see wires? I bet you can, I can see flex all over the office floor, extension leads, stuff coming out of the ceiling, my headphones have them trailing over my desk, the phone chord is all twirly next to me. My God they are taking over the world.

I have been bad with my blue tits, the nut balls that I so industriously made a few weeks ago have all gone and I have no more to replace them. The bluetits are hanging around the garden in a state of confused panic pecking at a lardy bit of string hanging from a branch - it aint good. I've got a pack of lard all ready in the fridge so tonight - if I can muster the strength - I shall get bird cake making. Poor birdies, yet more victims of my short attention span.

Have not been up to writing much today, sorry. It's late now and you've all left your offices and are in all probability watching a programme where gormless people are having their terraced homes decorated by a prancing fairy. Perhaps you have just finished consuming beef bourguignon from a tray with a picture of a chi wa wa with a bow tie on - perhaps not. Maybe as I write this you are at your Yoga class where, although you are enjoying the social side of things, can't quite "get it" yet. Maybe at this minute your bedroom is heavy with cheap perfume as you prepare for a night at bingo with the girls - if this is the case then put a little more mascara on for me.

Aaah, I can think no more, tonight I am stuffing a chicken breast with feta cheese.

I tried sitting on a new chair this morning as the chair I normally sit in here at work squeaks intolerably, trouble is, I seem to have adapted myself to my old chair. I respond to the bounce as I throw myself on it, when I lean backwards there is just enough resistance that it is a comfort. The new one is far too flimsy, when I lean backward I just keep going, it's not nice. Also, it has some strange moulding on the back support (possibly orthopaedic?) but I don't like it, not nice. I have therefore gone back to the squeaky one.

This weekend I am on a Flash course - to those that don't know, Flash is that annoying stuff that happens on websites that take ages to load and in some instances stops you seeing the website at all. I can't wait to learn it however, it is a string I have always longed to have on my bow.

I received my Country Living magazine yesterday but there has not been enough time to read it. We were out last night at Mr Drew and Mr Clive's and when we got home late it was there on the side ready for me. I was sitting in bed in the dim light of morning flicking through with bubbling excitement at all the country Christmas goings on. I can't wait to get home to finish it. Deck the halls I say with shaker stockings and garlands of Rosa glauca.

I'm feeling a trifle lacking today and feel quite ready to escape the harsh realities of life and find solace in drink. We are out tonight at Mr Clive and Mr Drew's. We are to have a firework 'do' - we have had a box of explosives on the top of our wardrobe for over a year and have decided to let them off tonight. The box was thick with dust but hopefully this will not effect the contents. Mind you the particularly hot summer may have rendered them 'tired', I shall set myself up for dissapointment that way I shall always be pleasantly surprised.

They should be ok, afterall, when they bring up old gallions from the seabed they find all sorts of things, gunpowder amongst them and they tend to be just as good as when the vessel went down. Perhaps I am not being historicaly accurate but can you blame me - Time Team is not what it used to be.

Back to work after a fabulous little mini break. Made the Christmas cake on Wednesday, carols blasting from the little hi-fi as I creamed the sugar and butter.

Went to the Country Living Christmas Fair Gala Eveing which was very crafty indeed, although there wasn't a corn dolly insight. There was complimentary Wolf Blass wine which went down very nicely with the ladyfriend and I.

Friday we went shopping in Brighton, it was blowing up a gale and there were a few hairy moments crossing a road where we both thought we'd had our chips as we were blown back into the oncoming traffic.

During the weekend Graham and Jill came to our little flat on the coast to fit the kitchen. We now have all our base units in place and sturdy as a rock which is absolutely essential. I have to jump up onto the worktops so that I can glimpse the sea view that our kitchen affords. We have yet to have running water and electricity but I'm beginning to realise these things are a luxury.

On saturday night we all trolled off to The Lamb which is the oldest inn in Eastbourne. We sat in the lower bar and dined like kings for buttons. I can not recommend this place highly enough. Infact anyone that knows us will end up in The Lamb from now on anyway but I must say how fantastic and hearty the place is. It is a bit roudy but that adds to the atmosphere there are also real wenches, big busty girls with enormous thighs and teeny bopper tops. The service is also spot on.

Coming home yesterday we stopped at a Little Chef for light refreshment where I got soaked to the skin collecting rosehips for Shaker style decorations - all I can say is, you should see our airing cupboard. I've got things strung up that would put Ed Gein to shame.

I am unusually upbeat for a tuesday, I think it is due to the fact that I am on holiday for the next six days. It could be to do with my wonderful new healthy regime which has engulfed my body. I have phytochemicals where once there were few. The ladyfriend is not quite as committed as myself, she has allowed a gorrilla faction to infiltrate - she was necking white wine last night with her vegetable lasagne. I stuck to water, my body a temple....unfortunately it's built on the same scale as Brunelleschi's Duomo. My devotion to the bean sprout will sort this out, this time next year I expect to be as fit as a whippet. 

Tomorrow I make my Christmas cake. 

Only two days to work and the ladyfriend and I are off for a few days. Très bon as they say in France.....oh no, I've said it, as soon as I think of France I think of going across to Calais and stocking up.....bugger. My head starts trying to fit it in. Duh.

I am knocking the booze off of the top priority list as I am trying to treat my condition with nutrition. I have stopped taking the tablets that the Doctor gave me as they made me feel rough - could have saved the prescription charge if I had known and I am now up to my badly managed eyebrows in kiwi fruit, nuts and dates. If I follow the rules in my new book I will be pregnant by Michaelmas.

Prince Charles - these revelations only make me find him more interesting. Up the King!

Today's entry is sponsored by the Philips Essence filter coffee maker. Ideal home magazine voted it their best filter coffee maker. You can buy this wonderful dinner party favourite by clicking here.

Had a spectacular bottle of wine last night, I was a lil' bit heavy handed with the chilli when I knocked up a stir fry but the tinto managed to cut through. I savoured every drop as, since my condition dictates, I must alas take it a little easy till I have shifted a few pounds.

This morning I had five blue tits on my fat ball! What a wonderful sight. It fair cheared my heart.

Big busted women. - sorry, I had to write that, I have been looking at my website statistics and amazingly by me writing about Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall I have had a huge number of hits, google is going to go wild when it picks up Big Busted Women. You don't want to know what happened when I wrote about wind tickling my legs. All I can say is there are some mucky people about.

I have nearly completed my Christmas shopping and it is not yet December. This is the first time in my life I have been able to do this. I have not done it deliberately, everything seems to have fallen into place but it has left me feeling rather odd. Last night I had a sense that I had forgotten something, I sat like a sofa spud with Wife Swap on but my mind was trying to find what had slipped it. Last Christmas was a nightmare for the ladyfriend and I, we were all over the place and vowed it would never happen again. This year we have booked ourselves up solid for the next two months. We are off to the theatre to see Amadeus, booked for Maddy Prior, having our kitchen sorted (fingers crossed), I'm going on a Flash course (web not flesh), going to the Country Living Christmas Exhibition, eating wild boar and at some stage there is a christmas cake to make. Infact, we are busier than last year but because the presents are done I feel more secure than a chorus line girl booked up for the summer season.

I've been diagnosed with the pocs! I've got polycystic ovaries. It means my voracious appetite for red wine is not to blame for my inability to shift the pounds. Sadly I will now have to limit my exposure to refined starches so pasta will have to take a step back out of my consuming limelight. The ladyfriend is very supportive, she has told me she will be there to smack the back of my hand when I go in for an extra slice of garlic bread.

I have been looking on the internet there are hundreds of wimmin out there with the same condition all of varying symptoms - fortunately I have got away without having a beard, but according to the various support groups it could have gone either way.

It's quite nice being a "victim" I feel a bit special, I can see how addictive it can become. Like a lottery winning laudrette worker I must take steps that my new status doesn't change me, I am still Lola. I shall join a group and make cakes and raise awareness, go on marches shouting "Let me be, I am me, even though I'm P, O ,C"

Had one too many glasses of Chateau Whatever last night and things have been a little rusty this morning. I feel a little bit vague and have made several human errors in the workplace already. I can't blame it all on the booze, infact, I am convinced that the solar storms are to blame for it all. It is thrilling to think of us sitting here reading our Women's Weeklies whilst the sun shoots out radioactive balls of venom toward our little pustulating planet.

I often think of the amazing things that I've seen in my lifetime - the new millennium, Halle Bop, Mars closer than ever, that solar eclipse and the tragic things like September 11th and Margaret Thatcher. History certainly is something of an experience.

I never thought I would say this - I think I may need a slap - but I seriously think it might be a good time to let the Conservatives back in. I was reading this morning about some new baby bank account the Government are setting up whereby every new born baby will have x amount put into an account for when they reach 18. Babies born into low income families will (naturally) be given more. I just wonder, where the f*ck is this money actually coming from? I understand the government want to stamp out child poverty but it aint going to happen. Come 18 Tarquin will withdraw his money and doubtless invest it in stocks, bonds or a holiday watching Rugger. Gareth will take his cash and blow it on a ford escort with alloy wheels, tinted windows and drive it into the nearest Dixons and make off with several DVD's or whatever is the very latest thing in 2020.

I'm a bit fed up of toeing the line, working full time, paying out taxes and rates and getting nothing back. I had a letter from the council saying they had to make cut backs on spending as it was Government policy to divert Eastbourne's cash and give it to the northerners! Just so they can sit on their arse all day - I know what I'm talking about, I've seen wife swap. Work? they don't even know how to spell the word.

I'm ready for the backlash at the ballot box, I am middle England and my pockets are nearly empty!

Up early this morning and with glee I tramped downstairs to take from the fridge my lardy fat seed cakes that I made yesterday for the birds. They had set wonderfully - not like the suet fiasco last week. I crumpled across the frosty grass and tied my first one to a tree and retired gracefully to the warmth of the drawing room and waited...........and waited.....and then tres jolie the sparrows swung and feasted upon it!

Very excited about it all, hopefully they will eat that one all up and not leave it decomposing like an eighteenth century highwayman strung up on the outside of town. That's what happened to the bag of nuts.

I sat this morning reading the penny dreadfulls and wonder if it would be possible to put an end to that horrible little man Paul Burrell. Talk about problems with "staff", I only hope the palace have learnt their lesson and have set new guidelines in their HRH Human Resources department.

The misguided little twerp has got this peculiar idea of self importance, dillusions of grandeur and an insatiable appetite for self publicity.........I wonder who he caught that off?

My snaps of old Amsterdam are now available if you Click here

Lovely bottle of wine last night.......I should leave it at that really.

Stuck in sheer volume of traffic this morning so I was ten minutes late for work. Not much but enough to knock out my daily routine of coat off, computer on, chit chat then coffee. Add to this the fact that the boiler in this superannuated building has gone bust then you can imagine morale here, like the temperature is low.

Enroute to work this morning I watched a tree surgeon getting all strapped up ready to attempt his ascent into lofty branches. I watched him for quite a long time as the traffic slowly trickled past. It seemed to me a most fulfilling career, one with instant results and just that element of danger to keep the wits about you. Yes, I think I would like to have been a tree surgeon, do you think it is too late to retrain? It is certainly a lovely time of year to be at one with nature. Trees are so much more easier to identify when they are turning leaf, an absolute boon to the tree surgeon I should imagine, it must halve the risk of lopping the wrong branches and the furore such an act would cause.

Ham and cheese for breakfast

Home from Amsterdam and am finding my reflexes slow to react. It's close to 11am and I feel like I have only just got to work. Amsterdam was fabulous, a wonderful place but I am left wheezing like an old coal miner. EVERYONE smokes EVERYWHERE in Amsterdam. There is no such thing as non-smoking. Ones nose was constantly smarting.

Our friends from Malaga bagged the best room, their window looked on to Spuistraat and Miss Whiplash's head office. She sat in her window twiddling her thumbs and twanging her knicker elastic all day.

small town - boy!

Driving to work this morning the ladyfriend and I drove passed the building site of the latest unaffordable housing. It's quite funny because it is being built on a plot of land that used to be a gay pub. It died a death and after being boarded up for ages was finally levelled and - after a council backhander - the developers have moved in.

I was thinking to myself as I looked at the advertising hoardings for the flats which had pictures of white succesful career women sitting on a leather sofa (like those that hideous bint Linda Barker has paraded herself on) I was wondering, when developers build on old cemeteries they disturb the graves, will these new homeowners be haunted by the ghosts of Donna Summer and Ethel Merman?

Also on these developments they try to keep a link to the past by naming the houses and roads after the old place, if so, will there be "big dyke road", "backroom close", "trannie avenue", "bender house" and "screaming queen street" - I went to the pub on several occasions so I speak from experience and not out of turn.

This weekend, as I'm sure I have said, the Ladyfriend and I are off for a little hedonism in Amsterdam - joy!

Felt a right prick this morning

I have just broken my fast. Because of my blood test at the surgery this morning it was no num num nibbles for Lola last night and I have made up for it in spades by consuming little Danish pastries! I've been like that bastard David Blane only a little less annoying.

It was a riot at the Doctor's. There we all were sitting with our bits of paper for the nurse tummies rumbling away. I tried not to sit in the same seat as I had last week but I couldn't help it. My primitive instinct knew that the last time I sat there no harm came to me so like a magnet I was drawn. I decided to pass on the BBC Food magazine and I flicked through a well thumbed issue of some trashy old celebrity rag to keep my thoughts steady.

There were quite a few ill people at the Doctor's, most off putting, you'd think they might have a seperate waiting room for them.

Dinner at the club last night with Dawn and Dave, had a lovely chinese. Swallowed a whole chilli which was a bit of a shock but not an unwelcome one. Lost the sensation of the left side of my tongue and spoke like Thora Hird for half an hour but no one seemed to notice.

Today I feel a little wan, don't think the MSG is to blame it's just boredom.

It's nil by mouth for me after 7pm tonight. How will I cope? Thank goodness I have an early appointment tomorrow morning at the doctors. They mean to drain me of blood so my normal Tuesday night 'night cap' will have to be postponed less I throw a wobbler at the lab.

Oh my gourd

My life is fabulous. Coming to work this afternoon the trees were scandalously brazen, I love autumn. I am alarmed how much I love it, infact I am not sure it is healthy to love something so much.

The ladyfriend and I were well and truly plastered yesterday by a cypriot called Helme who did a bit of cash in hand in our kitchen - yes we aided the black economy. It's downhill all the way now for our kitchen - hoorah with knobs on.

Leaving on a jet plane on Friday, I know when I'll be back again, it will be next Monday but the squidgy bit inbetween will be spent as a lost weekend in a hotel in Amsterdam and a double pneumonia in a single room........Fantastic, bulb buying, tip toeing round Anne Frankes gaff and gentle imbibing.

We're meeting the boys from Malaga, hitting the nighteries and party girls.

Hip replacement

I've changed the look of things, nice 'aint it? It's clean - like my mind.
Today the ladyfriend and I are in Eastbourne. It feels like we have not been here for ages. Bridget Jones (the single man upstairs) has been playing some nice music, we have just had a nice cup of rosie and Eastbourne is gradually begun to stir.

The sky outside is as bruised as a pensioner slipped on an icy pavement who just HAD to pop to the shop for the latest copy of "Puzzler". I am expecting a brooding tide today, gusty wind and an excellent wine for dinner.

Had an evening at Mr C and Mr D's last night. Had a rather lovely Chinese and a considerable amount of red wine. This morning I feel a little bit marinaded and somewhat garlicky and ver, ver tired - sitting at the computer isn't welcome and if it were not for the fact that I have just had some time off work I would have quite willingly "swung the lead."

Had my first mince pie last night, I know it's naughty and quite, quite wrong but I couldn't resist, Mr C and Mr D rival me in their love of Christmas and have by all accounts bought up the trimmings already. It was very agreeable indeed.

We got on to the subject of all the posh cars youngsters are driving and Mr C made a valid point. As mortgages are unattainable around these parts as house prices are astronomical, youngsters hoping to get a foot on the ladder have no choice but to live at home until they are 40 and therefore have disposable incomes, therefore they splash out on ego boosting, flash cars as away of expressing their worth and position in society. I think he may be right......he's very rarely wrong.

What I miss most is times like these (4pm) when I could be walking home from school, coat done up to the top, wind tickling my legs, leaves swirling round my shoes and the yellow lights of shops soaking the pavements. There is a heavy price to pay when you grow up.

I've got to have more tests than a smoking beagle. Oh I hope my diary doesn't turn into one of those horrendous broadsheet saga's where a columnist harps on about their "condition" and ends up publishing in both paperback and hardback and turning up on "Loose women". However, I have always wanted a makeover in Good Housekeeping so who knows? It is rather tempting.......

Last night I tried eating Mackerel with rice and mango chutney, it wasn't that succesful. If you, like me, enjoy your food then I highly recommend this website Hugh Fernley Whittingstall I love him and long for his lifestyle (except the problem hair) I am trying to follow his ideas and have begun to eat seasonally. I have been up to my ears in figs this week.

oooh Matron

I'm off to the doctors today - after being snubbed for someone who no doubt had mild indigestion - I'm not looking forward to it. I am presenting myself with a rather sensitive issue which no doubt is a result of hormones, the onslaught of alzheimers or lost luggage - either way I shall have to watch what she does with the angle poise.

Think of me at 3.30 flicking through some tawdry women's magazine sitting next to some young mother with a snotty kid running up and down and opposite an eastern european in leather with a paisley lining. Oh I am not keen to go.

Boom and bloody bust

Hooraah! The Ladyfriend and I are wired up right - although some may beg to differ. My handsome brother has sorted out the kitchen in Eastbourne and we are all ready to get plastered. Happy days indeed.

Another stroke of luck was I found the next book of the "Under the Tuscan sun" lady in Oxfam on Saturday. £2.99 (it was a hardback) So I am happier than a little piglet.

Whilst in Marlow on Saturday I was clipped by a passing motorist. I was walking along trying to avoid hideous Saturday shoppers, people who should not normally be on the streets - men who are normally desk bound Monday to Friday who dither about with their irritable children whilst wearing "leisure" clothes. I hate these men with a passion, they run companies but have absolutely no social skills, spend about an hour trying to buy something and treat everyone else like their secretaries. I have lost count of the times I have been bumped into, ignored and incensed by these men and it aint pretty.

Anyway, back to my story, yes, I was skipping along the pavement and wack, I was clipped with this wing mirror, it didn't hurt, fortunately my solid frame kept me upright but for crying out loud! What if I had been a child? Still a child in Marlow on Saturday would have been acompanied by a father dressed in GAP clothing and it would most probably have been quite funny. Oh whatever.

I tell you something it's a worrying trend around these parts but every car I pass is a posh one. Where are all the Ford Fiestas? I am sick of the Yuppies fleeing the pox in London and swanning it up around here. Silver cars, flash BMWs, sporty little numbers, teenagers looking like extra's from Hollyoakes, I don't like the look of it. I think the answer is lady guillotine and it aint a long way off.

What a pullover. I have just been to the doctors and whilst waiting for my consultation with the apothecary I was yanked over to reception and told that the lady with the stethoscope had been called out on an emergency - a very peculiar practise indeed. So there we are, I was told I could wait for an indefinite time or reschedule my appointment. So there we go, Lola gets no attention. I've got to go back on Tuesday, I'd had a bath and everything.

Spooky

Just wacked the name of the book into google and got this http://tuscansun.movies.go.com/main.html they've gone and made it into a film which is about to be released! I bought the book in a rumble* on saturday! What a coincidence. The film looks better than the book for once.

*jumble sale

The last two days I have been under the weather, I took to my bed on Monday afternoon and am now back up and in some degree of good health. I was as dizzy as a top and really rather wan. During my malady I read a book about an American bird who bought and renovated a property in Tuscany. I was having a lovely time reading it, salivating away over her descriptions of roasted red peppers but then, three chapters from the end, she became terribly self indulgent and I was left dissapointed and hope now, her and her villa crumble in an earthquake. Why do books do that to you? I would have tidied it all up under a loggia in the company of warty old Italian ladies chewing prosciutto but she went all odd. Poor shame.

Last night the Ladyfriend and I were shopping for Cumberland sausage and the old mobile rang and there I was chatting gamely away somewhere between the dry goods and the pickled onions. As mobile phones are becoming more commonplace I have become slightly less embarassed about talking into them in public spaces. I skulked in a doorway in Rye with one on Saturday and last night I tried to keep it down but I think I am growing in confidence. You won't catch me proudly barking into one oblivious to others but I think I have hit that wall of shame and passed through it.

Today I have a publicity officer from Ealing Council coming to see me which is nice. I'm not a good mixer so I hope he doesn't stay too long.

You should have seen me this morning. I had to tip toe across a frosty lawn in my towelling robe and Afghan slipper socks in a valiant attempt to smash the ice on the bird bath. To the neighbours I must have looked like Baby Jane Hudson as I launched myself across the crunchy grass. I had to look after the little sparrows that were smashing their delicate beaks on the ice.

It was totally unexpected however, I must keep more intuned to weather reports. I'm so glad I brought my delicates inside at the weekend. My chilli plant is amazing and is dangling with its fruits like an old chandelier, this sharp frost would have meant disaster and a few bland mealtimes for the Ladyfriend and I.

With my hips kind of swivelly and swervy

The ladyfriend and I were on our way to work this morning talking about Barbara Streisand and I heard her say the funniest thing "It's not just gay people that love Barbara". I laughed.

This morning I am full of energy and positive mental attitude. I think it was the steak I ate last night. I think we all need flesh flash fried with a splash of redwine to get us going. I was standing in Starbucks last week waiting like an idiot at the end of that table that is pitched too high to lean on for my latte when an edgy girl, pale and very uninteresting stood next to me. Her hair was dry and wiry, she was skinny as a rake, tall, lank and ghoulish. Anyway, guess what she ordered? Decaf with soya milk! I mean I ask you? She barely had enough energy to pick the cup up - hardly a picture of health.

I don't pop my cork for every man I see

Had a lovely weekend down on the coast. The sun kept its grip on the situation and my face is ruby red from the wind blast it received on the beach yesterday. I saw a walnut on a walnut tree which was a first, it was growing in Rye which is rapidly turning into my favourite place at the moment. I bought a gravy/fat seperator from a beautiful kitchenware shop there which was rather ritzy with two floors.

I usually judge towns by wether they have a Woolworths or not and Rye is no exception. Rye has a rather dinky one nestled in its ancient high street.

The weeks now seem stuffed with social engagements and this that and the other and I now feel rather rushed off my feet and in need of a pocket diary - one with a whole week over two pages with about an inch to scribble in each day. I can see the waitress taking the dessert plates of this year away and coming back to see if coffee is required. It's been a fabulous year and I can see me leaving a whopping tip.

Did you SCRUB the BATHROOM FLOOR today? DID YOU?

Oh the South Coast beckons this weekend, we are off tonight on a moonlit flight to the pied de et terre, hitting the A22 - the artery to paradise. I am very glad, I have an old bit of driftwood I intend to fashion into a coat hook (it looks better than it sounds) that I found on the shore at Seven Sisters . The man in Country Living magazine won't be pleased. He lives there and makes his living beach combing and selling on at highly inflated prices. I fancy that lifestyle. I'd like to live in a shack, dressed in a blue smock, rough stubbly white beard, wind chapped with a gauloise between my craggy lips. It must be a nice lifestyle living life by the tide.

The hooks I want are sitting in a junk shop in Rye at the moment. Beautiful hooks which I wish I had bought when I saw them. Take note everyone, buy it when ya see it or repent at leisure. All I can say is if they are all sold out I wouldn't want to be in the Ladyfriend's shoes.

Fig.1

I have been feeling in a state of limbo just lately. I have five weeks until the ladyfriend and I fly up/across to Amsterdam, I have a kitchen in Eastbourne that looks like the Somme, Christmas I am told is 98 days away and now outside the sun has a huge sombrero on. I am teetering on the brink of excitement. I feel like an amateur production of swan lake. I feel as though I am waiting in the wings ready to launch on to stage but there's a fat lady with a moustache and a clip board holding me back.

The ladyfriend feels just the same. We are powerless with the kitchen saga as there are links in chains and finances dictate that we can't thumb the yellow pages until November. So we have to trundle on with horse hair sticking out of the walls and flat packs strewn everywhere....they say it will be all over by Christmas - but which bloody one?

Summer for me is turning into one of those spots on your face that just do not go away remaining full of gunk and prominence longer than necessary. I am back in my sandals today and linen trousers (to allow maximum comfort and air circulation).

It's not without its compensations though as the ladyfriend suggested that if it stays like this we could go to the beach at the weekend. This did make me more perky as it means a visit to the Italian Ice cream parlour for a bacon sandwhich enroute to the seafront! The best bit about this establishment is - along with the bargain prices and 70's decor - the clock on the wall which on the hour opens up and little people come out dancing and playing music. It's tacky, it's wacky but I love it!

Rumba

Today I would like to raise a glass to Peter Ryan who is having a funeral at 2pm, well having his one and only funeral I suppose. He was/is a lovely bloke who never realised how much he was loved.

This weekend the ladyfriend and I have been looking after William at my mother's house. It has been quite a treat to use lovely soft thick towells, watch sky television and use other peoples toilletries - I can't resist new shampoo.
We seem to have done alright, one of the cats is missing but that's not bad in my book.

At least I didn't fake it, hat, sir I guess I didn't make it

When does the devil piss on the blackberries? I don't think I have got long before nature's fruits turn sour. I have given up on the old pomodoro, they are still bright green and are not exhibiting the slightest signs of turning red. What am I to do for the harvest festival this year? I shall have to buy a can of ratatouille for the altar.

I must now announce my new favourite female impersonator. Take a look at Lypsinka when you can. I sat and listened to a selection of his favourite records yesterday and was scribbling names down like a demon.

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

The conker trees are heavy with their bounty! Hoorah! The ladyfriend and I spied our first tree turning leaf this morning. Happy, happy day. It is dark now at 8pm and there is certainly a fresh nip in the air in the morning. Thank goodness summer is in retreat.

This morning whilst applying Clinique facial products I have been wrestling with myself over the weighty question of wether or not to buy two tickets for the ladyfriend and I to see Bea Arthur at the Savoy. I would love to go but can I afford to shell out on the tickets that's the thing? Now I am a lady of property I unfortunately have people chipping away at my cash stash. Can I afford to go........can I afford not to?

The ladyfriend and I had to come to work on the bus this morning, the motor is being looked at, it keeps conking out at inconvenient times. On the way to the bus shelter we walked past the new development of posh flats built on a flood plain - you know the sort, balconies, signs of last few remaining, prestigious development, marketing suite types - anyway, I looked up at a top floor flat and as expected I saw the french doors open leading onto the balcony with a parisian style pavement cafe table and chairs on it. "Oooh I thought, how wonderful, I bet a young high flyer lives in that one". Anyway, imagine my surprise then, when who should hover into view but a woman of advanced years in a pink towelling dressing gown, curlers in hair, full slap on and a fag hanging out of her mouth. Fantastic.

I should think her neighbours are quite alarmed that instead of Zero 7 or David Gray floating around her flat they get that nice Cliff Richards. I bet she sits out on her balcony reading the Sun drinking instant coffee and munching Sugar Puffs! Good on her. It's time the backlash started.

Back at work and two weeks off hasn't stopped me feeling bitter and twisted. But hey ho. Had a nice time down on the coast, went to Rye, Lewes, Brighton, Hastings, all sorts. Played crazy golf. Watched Mulholland Drive - have no idea what that was about, watched Pauline et Paulette which was alright. Joined the Eastbourne library and was stunned to read how the flat had a close shave with the luftwaffe.
Found an amazing fossil on the beach - my first! Drank a staggering amount of booze. Bought the soundtrack to Follies.