Clive and I were in conversation the other day and the subject turned to pedestrian crossings. You've got your pelican, puffin, zebra and toucan. We were deeply puzzled as to why the highway code people decided to call crossings after creatures which, let's face it, are hardly indigenous to this country. (Puffin numbers in decline and restricted to the Shetlands.) It was probably one of those lunatic ideas of "Hands across the nations or a ploy to fill the UK's zoo's with curious children and quizzical adults with disposable income.

Anyway, we were thinking do you suppose there are crossings in deepest, darkest Africa called Hedgehog, Badger, Black Bird and Duck? I doubt it.

Did I tell you about the folk music? Well, I love it. On Friday I borrowed several cds from the library and copied them immediately. Steeleye Span and Pentangle. I love old Maddy Prior anyway so that wasn't anything new but that Pentangle gang are something else. I must admit to skipping a few tracks but I love "Light Flight". I also intend to get the Brass Monkey album.

I need a folk enthusiast to take me under their wing and guide me through the folk scene. Mike Harding is great but I only have an hour a week with him on Radio 2. Folk music is the new rock 'n' roll, just you see. Remember Brit Pop? that bubble has long burst, now it's trendy to be into folk.

Personally I think it's great as it reclaims Britain's identity which has been sacrificed on the altar of the European parliament. Big up to Kilroy by the way. I was saying to the ladyfriend the other day that there was little joy in visiting other countries. The novelty is gone. What's the point of going into a supermarket in Athens and seeing the same brands as the stock in the corner Happy Shopper? Once, tucking into tapas in Spain was a one off treat for the well travelled and adventurous. I'm sure this summer a group of Northern telesales girls will jet off to Greece, sit in a bar and eat mousakka and say "it's allright but it aint as nice as the Sainsbury's 'Be good to yourself' mousakka".

By the way, join me and stick your fingers up at Starbucks, we are English we don't do coffee - DRINK TEA. I know it's fiddly with the bag and the milk but it's what this country was built on. In times of crisis you don't want a Latte you want a Rosie!

THIS SITE IS UNDERGOING A LITTLE BIT OF DISRUPTION - PLEASE BE A LIL BIT PATIENT

What a marvellous weekend. I was sat by the sea on Saturday watching the tide lap against the shingle, "this is the life" I thought as I read the Guardian's supplement on chemicals in food and realised that what I have consumed has probably shortened it.

In the evening we watched the Eurovision Song Contest which has convinced me - as if I needed to be - that the Euro gets the "NO" vote from Lola. As soon as we get out of Europe the better. Damn them all to their kilo's and Balkan block voting. It's a bloody farce. If anyone thinks the UK will get a fair crack at any of the whips going need only see a recording of the Eurovision Song Contest. It's time to cut the chord and get out before we are made to grow hairy armpits.

On a lighter note, the ladyfriend and I were out to lunch yesterday with Super Step Dad as it was his birthday. I must say thanks for a lovely bit of grub and fine company.

In the evening we stepped out with Clive and Drew and went to see the Carnival Band at west wycombe church. They were fabulous and played a number of instruments. The audience were a bit peculiar (I count ourselves amongst them) but I have realised a taste in the unordinary tends to go hand in hand with a poor taste in clothing. One woman had a pair of tye-died dungarees..........fashioned I expect by her own hand. I can just see her emptying the packets of die into a a bucket, tongue stuck out in intense concentration.

The ladyfriend is a bit chesty this morning, I think this is down to the M25 which was dusty and rather fumey last night. We raced down to Brighton in good time and managed to pack a pizza each away before the concert began.

As Brighton is the gay capital of the northern hemisphere the audience was a mixture of short haired, rough round the edges girls, camp charlies and the odd beardy weirdy. It was an absolutely fabulous concert though, as expected. I felt for one moment that I had slipped into the gap betwixt heaven and earth such is the woman's talent.

A dull life indeed without Eddi Reader. I'm sure if I didn't have Eddi reader in my life then drugs, booze and religion would have taken hold. Pity then I say the poor folk who have never exposed themselves to her.

This morning I was taken with a huge puzzler which I should really leave to a dome headed scientist, nature or nurture etc. The ladyfriend made toast for our breakfast, which anyone can tell you is not the best of fuel for two growing gals at the best of times, but it is Thursday (our early start at work) and it's easy. I digress. Ladyfriend had burnt her slice so dropped it on the plate in revulsion. I offered to swap for a bit I had started but she turned it down.

I asked "Is it because alien chops have been round it?" she said "no" and that she had gone off the idea of breakfast. It got us discussing how food from someone else's plate always tastes different and we wondered why.

If someone who is not your family or your 'special friend' swigs from a bottle and passes it to you to drink from do you quickly wipe it, hold it in the air for a bit (bacteria die after 7 seconds), sip from it but think "yuk" or do you guzzle from it without care?

I tend to sip but think "yuk", I think out of politeness.

When someone - again, out of the family circle, has eaten food and given it to you the same thing happens, yet in a bistro when a scabby chef has done God only knows what to your lasagne you eat it merrily. Or, when someone has secretly swigged from a milk bottle in the staff kitchen your tea doesn't taste different.

It is therefore the knowing that effects the taste of food not the fact that it has happened.

Anyway, tonight we set off to Brighton to see the wonderful Eddi Reader perform to a sell out audience. I am leaving work early to get on the M25 in good time, here's hoping our passage is clear.

Feel a bit dizzy this morning and slow to respond. The smell of ciggies floating in through the office back door is making me rather nauseous. I know I haven't got one in the oven so I've probably been hypnotised by a cloaked, mustachioed gentleman whilst sleeping - me, not him. Perhaps listening to folk music yesterday has done for me. I was on the BBC Radio 2 website and couldn't resist listening to the Mike Harding show. Hey nonny nonny indeed. There may have been subsersive lyrics which have soaked into my mind convincing me that I am onboard a fishing boat bound for Hull. Who can tell with lyrics like "There lived a lady by the North Sea shore
(Lay the bent to the bonnie broom) Two daughters were the babes she bore (Fa la la la la la la la la la)".......indeed.

Came to work this morning and realised that I looked a little bit like Linndie England, the nasty american soldier girl who has proved such an embarrassment to the military but who was only following orders. Today I am wearing a green t-shirt, my bag is green - styled like a military shoulder bag and my light brown jacket is just the very thing for a safari. I look like I have come straight from maneuvers not the safety of the home counties.

I assumed Lynndie's now famous position and there was a striking resemblance. I wonder if, like dodgey David jason look-a-likeies, I could earn some pin money opening freezer shops in the north of England.

How do you like the meadow cam? Lola has been busy. This weekend I have been getting back to nature and have begun work in creating a haven for wildlife in the back garden. Born out of not wanting to spend hours cutting the grass and genuine interest in the dissapearing natural habitat, I have taken steps to remedy both.

Yesterday we planted a couple of apple trees and I scattered wild flower seeds with wild gay abandon, whistling all things bright and beautiful as I went. Hopefully in a few months it will be a picture. You'll be able to see for yourselves ofcourse on the meadow cam. If the flowers don't come off, which they may not, as I write this there are around forty sunflower seeds germinating in the coal bunker as back up.

I am looking forward to long leisurely picnics in the long grass with nothing but a bottle of champagne and the occasional python slithering up my peddle pushers.

It was lovely sitting in the bath smelling all earthy with and inch of soil under each finger nail. It reminded me of my youth - long gone now of course - with the smell of the outdoors coming off me in a steaming bath.

On Tuesday I caught a flash of the sun as it hit the buckle on a woman's handbag. It made me think, what were the odds of that ray of sunshine travelling millions of miles, taking millions of hours, that woman deciding to leave the washing up to go for a walk and for me to be waiting at traffic lights to witness the light bouncing off the metal on an ordinary looking handbag. It doesn't bare thinking about.

The weather this weekend looks rather unsettled. I am pencilled in for lawn duties. Part of me hopes for a downpour so I don't have to put myself through it but the other half (nice Lola) wants sunshine so she can cut the grass and go for a gentle 5 mile undulating walk in the woods to take pictures of bluebells. Pain and pleasure, good for the soul and the garden.

Back behind my desk at work munching apples and savoury snacks, my little mini break now just disjointed memories. Just been looking to see if there were any Morrissey tickets on the internet, what a farce that turned out to be. Up at the crack on Friday and I was dialling the number before 9am when the box office opened. Couldn't get through after more than an hour on redial and the tickets sold out. The whole thing was a monumental cock up from start to finish, I don't know why Morrissey agreed to get involved with the corporate scum. The fans come off the worse as now it's a scrabble on ebay and dealings with the evil touts. Paint a vulgar picture indeed mr morrissey.

As a "there, there" the Ladyfriend let me book tickets for Lypsinka. Now there's a fag who knows how to put on a show.

Having an exceptional mini break down here in Eastbourne. Yesterday was an absolute scorcher and if you click here you can see some of my lovely snaps of the day. The ladyfriend and I got rather tight and went under the table about 8.30pm, missing the Mayor's firework display.

We have not long been back from Hastings where we went to the Jack in the Green festival which was blinding. People had gone to so much effort with their costumes, next year I am going to dress as a wood nimph. Click here for the pictures. Ofcourse the heavens opened just before the end and we got completely drenched, we had to run before the jack got de-leaved. I was so wet infact that the ladyfriend made me go to Poundstretchers and buy the cheapest, warmest thing we could find. I was all for a nice travel rug but in the end I ended up with a four quid jumper which is surprisingly good value if not the most fashionable.

Having an absoulutely glorious sunday, the weather here in Eastbourne is scorching. The ladyfriend and I are a few sheets to the wind on account of all the rattlesnakes.

We went on a bit of a pub crawl then ate a lovely tea. We pushed the boat out in Cafe Belge in celebration of Ann our friend from work who sadly died on Friday. God knows how we managed to get back to the flat, one foot in front of the other I kept telling the Ladyfriend.

Oh University life! I shall get myself one of those big scarves,a duffle coat and a bike, protest against whale watching and top up cards......well for ten weeks anyway until my evening course is over.

Can't wait for today's work to be over, I have so much ahead. Tomorrow I am up with the larks ready to get to the phone for Morrissey tickets.They will sell like hot cakes, I hope I am not setting myself up for dissapointment. I don't want to be sitting on the stairs in my dressing gown come tea time.

It's bed early for the ladyfriend and I on Friday night as we have to be up at 5.30 to hightail it over to Berkhamsted for May day madrigals. Then it's M25 all the way to Eastbourne where our days are fully booked. Boat show, French Market, Mayor's Fireworks and Hastings Jack-in-the-green. I must tell the ladyfriend to stock up with ginseng I'm flagging already and we haven't passed a little chef yet!

I must sharpen my pencil, I am off tonight to a great institution of learning to absorb some knowledge. I do like attending the odd course or two, it's nice to keep one's hand in as it were.

This weather is a bit of a worry, especially after watching the trailer for The Day After Tomorrow.It's one of those disaster movies but about global warming. I want to see it and I'm sure it will make big money at the box office. I do wonder though, as the film will rake in millions it might be nice if they donate a huge wack to Friends of the Earth or the like. That would be nice, but unlikely.

It is rather scary. The ladyfriend were quite alarmed after watching a programme about the gulf stream stopping and the ice age coming to Norfolk. We are as they say "all doomed" but it might be nice, like an etch a sketch, for the world to start all over again and penguins to inherit the earth.

Feel a little bleary eyed this morning. I sensed the Ladyfriend's lack of enthusiasm to watch Time Team last night so we watched the film where the first rule about it is you don't talk about it. I consumed the remnants of two day old red wine (the bottle from the Indian on Saturday) so the milk thistle has got its work cut out for it today.

Forgot to mention Clare Teal. We went to see her on Friday and my goodness she's got a good set of lungs on her. Didn't see anyone famous but jazz people always meld into the background, I think it's because they go to dark, smokey jazz clubs and therefore take on a grey, lifeless complexion, it's that or they end up looking like George Melly. I did see a lady who looked like Dame Cleo but I think these days many woman in their autumnal years tend to embrace the spiral perm.........I know I will.

Well, I've had an absolutely marvellous weekend, an absolute tonic. Friday the ladyfriend and I went up to Hoo Hing for a little light shopping. I picked up a few whiffy packets of this and that and toyed with a huge bottle of chilli sauce which would have made your eyes water. As we were in the area we went along to IKEA filled a yellow bag with napkins, a plant pot and a handy stool which will enable me to open and close the window blind in the kitchen at Eastbourne. It's a self assembly job which will fit discreetly behind the bin and will save me clambering over worktops in my night attire.

Saturday the ladyfriend and I took leave of our sofa slut senses and walked from Bourne End into Marlow and back. For those that don't know the route, it is quite a walk but an invigorating one as it passes along the Thames. The weather was fantastic and it was an absolute delight. We lunched in Marlow and to our surprise caught site of Michelle & Sarah (fellow spinsters of this parish). We were not surprised to see them guzzling alcohol, they always know how to pack a good picnic.

We cracked on with our walk back to Bourne End and as we entered Bourne End Marina we met Diane and her husband Mick, making their boat ship shape for the summer. Then, we met pregnant Fiona and her husband Nick. THEN we saw the successful film director Steven Spielberg strolling along the towpath. Amazing.

Saturday night was quite a delight as it was out with my favourite pair of "double d's" Dawn and Dave. They picked us up in their Roller, I've never felt such luxury since I slipped on a new pair of panties from M&S. Such comfort! I felt like Elkie Brooks enroute to a sell out concert at the Reading Hexagon. Alas I was not clutching a bottle of champagne but half a bottle of Shiraz from an Indian Restaurant but the thought was there.

Such visions I had when my head hit the pillow, I don't know if it was the food colouring but I was certainly taken to a happy place. I saw mountains and twinkly stars, it was quite magical.

Sunday, hanging as usual after a night out with the Double D's. All we could muster was a country drive and a little light gardening. The week ahead is fit to bursting: an evening course, may day madrigals and the Lord Mayor - I can't wait!

Do Sit Down, Shocks Are So Much Better Absorbed With The Knees Bent

I'm so excited, this morning the grass was sodden with dew and there were pretty cobwebs on my bird table. Summer will soon be here, May day is soon, I shall be dancing round the village pole, slovak and cypriot. I've tried to convince the ladyfriend to come with me to Oxford at 3am and stand on Magdalen Bridge next Saturday, but she's having none of it. read all about it here. However, she has conceded with one of my fancies and on Bank Holiday Monday we are off to Hastings for what looks like to be a right old pagan knees up - the jack in the green.........have you seen Rowan Morrisson?

It's a very damp yet sticky day at the office. The clouds are broody and a walrus of a woman has just walked in through the door (I will say no names but she doesn't own a mirror)

Anyway, I digress, oooh, I've quite a week of adventure and occassion. On Friday I'm off up to the Chinese Supermarket, IKEA and then in the evening I am off to see Clare Teal - the saviour of popular Jazz music. If I see anymore of that grinning, mono browed, down syndrome Jamie Callum I shall lose my jazz marbles.

It's going to be a good gig, it's in an intimate venu (Wycombe Town Hall) and the word on the street is there will be several "celebrities" in the house. Oh yes, local ones.........that means Michael Parkinson and Timmy Mallet.

I see Victoria has pulled all of David Beckham's lovely long locks out for the summer. I must say, and all my colleagues agree with me, it does suit him better. However, I don't think a trip to the barber shop and a quick transformation will have the same effect on their marriage. I should imagine, psychologically, they think a quick whirr of the clippers will shed them of the tawdry tales but it wont. I give it six months.

Mind you, I know I keep banging on about Morrissey at the moment but I wonder if this is old Posh's way of trying to ride the wave of Morrissey's popularity. Why, if I turn to the lyrics of "Hairdresser on Fire" I can't help but be stunned by this verse...."Oh, here is London "Home of the brash, outrageous and free", You are repressed, But you're remarkably dressed, Is it Real ?" click here if you don't believe me

Now, has Posh misinterpreted the lyrics, thought "is it real" meant Real Madrid and told David "You're remarkably dressed , you better get ya 'air cut so we can get tickets to Meltdown"

I've got a feeling in my water (curable, I'm sure with a drop of cranberry juice) that it's going to be a nice week. I'm sure, globally speaking, a handful of soldiers will die in Iraq, a lady in Wiltshire will give birth to conjoined twins and the body of a civil servant - missing since the August bank holiday in 1957 - will be discovered in a lock up in East Grinstead.

But for me it will be a good one, sprinkled here and there with shock and surprise. Old Jonathan Cainer reckons I am going to be treated to a rare gift from the sky - I don't know what that's about but I narrowly missed seagull shit yesterday.

Pay day - oh tres jolie! I will not starve. I can have the pate de fois gras afterall. Good heavens, I was sailing rather close to the wind I can tell you. I have been a bit care free at the checkout this month, acting like a libertine and not a frugal spinster of this parish. It does a girl good to give in to temptation every now and again....

By the way, I forgot to mention, I saw Wendy Craig last week. She stopped to let me pass on a busy country road, I must say, she did look rather down trodden and the Dulcie Gray hair do will have to go.......perhaps, on reflection it was Dulcie Gray.

My insides are not me own. I put it down to "pierce the film lid and place on a baking tray." I'll never eat prosessed food again. Ad nauseum.

This weekend I intend to atone for my gastric sin by feeding on bread and Perrier. Infact, I must catch up with myself, I shall have a candle-lit bath (never left un-attended) I shall add salt and rub a ripe avocado over my boat. I may even dig out an old Enya cd and scatter rose petals.

The Ladyfriend and I intend to romp over Beachy Head this weekend so if anyone fancies a flash mob we will convene by the Brewers Fayre at 2pm.

I have decided I adore Easter. What a marvellous holiday. Four days of relaxation. It's as good as Christmas, infact I think it is better as it comes without the pressures of visiting unusual relatives.

After seeing the Mel Gibson film I toyed with the idea of going to church on Sunday. Unfortunately the stirring sound of the bells which drifted on the morning air were not enough to stir me from my bed. Perhaps next year.

Got a lot done this weekend, the house is completely spring cleaned, the lawns are cut to ribbons and the outer rim of my wardrobe has been consigned to a black plastic bag (will tank tops ever be in fashion again?)

I also tried out two new recipes which were rather good. The pork was sublime but the moroccon chicken was dissapointing. I can only describe Moroccon cuisine as lack lustre, too heavy on the apricots and too light on flavour. It was a Sophie Grigson jobby and unfortunately tasted like it.

Maundy Thursday then and the agony in the garden, which, when you think of it, is the traditional time for all the flymos and pruning sheers to come out, I wonder if the Lord knew not what he do and that his crucifiction would coincide with horticulture and backache.

Never one to miss an occassion, the Ladyfriend and I are off to the cinema tonight with Mr C & Mr D to see Mel Gibson's slasher movie "The passion of the Christ". I'm quite looking forward to it. I like to emerse myself in an occassion. We were trying to sing Easter hymns on the way to work but could only come up the green hill one, I was convinced there was a little donkey involved but it just wasn't happening.
Anyway, start every day with this.

I think I may be a jinx on Arsenal. I have kept an ear on their triumphant unbeaten success yet had never managed to watch them - until Saturday when they played the Manchester United neanderthals. They lost. Then last night on the radio they seemed to be doing ok. I got home from work and put the television on and they lost. I won't watch them anymore incase they get relegated. Lovely long legs though. They are like horses at dressage with their white socks.

Wenger's fatal mistake was not playing Frank McLintock.

It seems hooping aint as easy as I had first hoped. Last night, during the news, I tried frantically to master my new red and white ring but to no avail. I tried to concentrate my attentions to the news hoping my hips would fall naturally into the rythm but it didn't work. As muslim extremists flashed before my eyes so did my hoop and I was down on the floor sooner than you could say "Abdel-Majid al-Khoei".

My buttocks feel like they have been through the mill so it must be doing me some good.

What a weekend! Thanks to my handsome big brother the ladyfriend and I scooped £55 on the national, the first time I have tried an online bookmakers. It lacked the atmosphere of the high street bookies but to make up for it the ladyfriend and I spat on the floor and smoked a packet of Woodbines as we placed our £5 each way bet on Amberleigh House. I've never picked a winner before (unless you count the ladyfriend) and I was cock-a-hoop!

Talking of hoops, I have joined the legion of "Hoopers" an underclass but a growing trend- Check this out. I bought my first hoop this morning from a pregnant toy shop owner who was eating celery sticks and houmous.

In a radio interview earlier this morning, Howard Johnson, General Secretary of the British Union of Post Office Workers. Mr. Johnson was up in arms about a recent proposal that the British mail adopt the German method of addressing envelopes in which the house number is written after the name of the road, not before it (i.e. Downing Street 10, instead of 10 Downing Street). Johnson spoke at great length about the enormous burden this change would place upon postal employees, insisting that "Postal workers would be furious because it would turn upside-down the way we have learned to sort." "Not only that, it would cost in the region of 40 million pounds to pay for these alterations" His comments elicited an immediate reaction from the listening audience, many of whom phoned up to voice their support for Johnson's campaign.

On terrorism - the news is indeed good that the police have swooped on the potential terrorists in Uxbridge. When I was a youngster we lived in a climate of fear of the IRA. I remember after the Harrods bomb at Christmas I would be at my wits end when my mother swanned off up to Bond Street on the 9:45 to Marylebone.

Now the teenyboppers of today have to worry about being blown to bits in Claire's Accessories by Al Qaeda. I wonder if they were intent on blowing up the new Chimes shopping centre in Uxbridge? I hope not, I rather like UniGlo.

Hi jinks in the house this morning. Rancid milk, so had to wait until the shop opened for fresh supplies. Decided to do everything backwards and to have breakfast when we were scrubbed and dressed only there was no hot water due to a cock up with the boiler. Kettles were boiled.

Finally got porridge whilst digesting scenes of Britney Spears which stuck in my throat. Made a healthy balanced meal for the ladyfriend and I for lunch (does feta cheese go off in the fridge? Mine had a bit of a twang.) Noted that the looney lady next door is abscent, I think she may have been taken back into care.

Got to the bathroom with a steaming kettle only to find the water was warm enough atlast. Hoorah.

Got in the car and we started to sing "You do something to me" (not Weller) finished singing and I said "You should always start the day with Cole Porter" but the ladyfriend replied "Yes and not cold water!" We laughed! We shall dine out on that one for months to come.

To the country this weekend to stay with the Ladyfriend's brother and family. Had a lovely time. Went to Marlborough, Wilts and had a nice window shop - stopping to buy occasionally. There were such lovely things in the ancient market town and thankfully the weather was kind. I like Wiltshire, it's country casual yet gentrified if you know what I mean.

Woke this morning to gentle bird song and the odd car zooming by, I thought to myself ten years ago it would have been quieter, a hundred years ago quieter still and then five hundred years ago you'd be hard pressed to hear a milk maid, infact my bed would have probably been a wooded glade.

You know, I am sitting here at work at too early an hour, I am losing badly at online scrabble, I am unable to conjure any enthusiasm to work, everything is going on around me and I feel like I am having an out of body experience. I have my headphones on and I am listening to an Eddi Reader cd, I have just replied to an email sent to me from this bloke and I can think of a 1,000,000 and 1 things I'd rather be doing than uploading the Ealing Times website. Still life goes on and, like the tide coming in, the day is on the turn and before I know it I will be knee deep and will have rather too much on my plate. I will start that tense tightening of my chest, forget to breathe and work too hard.

Had a smashing time last night. Went to Pizza Express with my gentleman friend. The ladyfriend went out herself to dine with an old friend. Freaky thing was, unbeknownst to us we were only a few doors away from each other as she was in the Saracens Head!

Hearty thanks to Mr C and Mr D, we are now the proud owners of a Robinson Crusoe casserole pan.

Listening to the Scissor Sisters cd which I have loaned from Michelle in my office, hopefully she will be too busy today to demand it back from me, I shall stay out of her way and point my gaze toward the window on her approach. It is a good cd.

Tonight I am dining with a gentleman friend in Beaconsfield, a place where tills ring the loudest in the evening as the whole town has been converted into restaurant world. It is almost like a theme town. It is most unsettling to think that once there were ordinary shops and the hum of a community now it has been replaced with multinational food emporiums and the hum of an extractor fan.

I woke up this morning, sat bolt upright and said "this is going to be a lovely day, a most brilliant of days and I am grateful for it" I said this because the ladyfriend and I are wishing the weeks away until Easter and a break from work. I intend therefore to try and make the best of all days and every day and value life a tad more.

I do have a lot to look forward to, tis true. My Eddi Reader tickets arrived this morning, there is the Elaine Paige Experience in June, the thought of two weeks on Eastbourne beach and a 25% off evening at Cargo on Thursday - a whirlwind indeed.

I shall try to wring out 100% enjoyment from every 60 minutes or atleast try and clockwatch a little less.

Last night we were walking along Eastbourne seafront going by one of the big hotels by the pier. I don't know if you are familiar, but one of them has a glass window where all the old people sit drinking, eating and watching the world - and their lives - go by. I spotted this bloke with the worst syrup I have ever seen, it looked like a badly flattened hamster. I couldn't keep my eyes off it and as a consequence, didn't see the lamp post that I walked into. Oh it could have been nasty, thankfully my generously proportioned bust got the full brunt and saved me from breaking my nose! He who laughs last as they say.

By the way Super Stepdad, I was plugged into my modem.

The ulcer in my mouth is, touch wood, on the retreat, I have hit it hard with a number of preperations and three nights of good sleep. I feel slightly better and will spend this weekend by the sea and take the air. The ladyfriend will wheel me out in my bath chair and leave me unattended by the bandstand whilst she takes off round the shops.

It's Mother's Day this weekend and I will be spending Sunday with my Wonderful Mother. I am very lucky I have a WM, the lady who lives next door is a right rotter - I heard screams through the thin walls this morning.......

I'm undergoing a little 'refurb' here at life for lola in an attempt to keep things interesting and detract from the crap that I have been writing lately - oh where is my muse?

Talking of being artistic, the ladyfriend and I have just finished watching the BBC's 'The Divine Michelangelo' which we had videod. It was exceptional, also, that Gunpowder and plot thing on sunday was brilliant. It seems, like the council, there is a mad rush to spend our money on stuff before the end of the financial year. In the case of the council we get roadworks with the BBC we get something worth watching. Better I suppose a few hours of good tv then many mediocre.

The ladyfriend had a point this morning, on our way to work she said "I wonder if Osteopaths look at people as they drive along and think 'sit up straight woman' or 'raise your head man' I wonder if they ever switch off?" she said.

I am pleased as punch, my diet guru Jane Clarke has her own website! Atlast. She's a canny nutritionist though as she is charging for all the best stuff. Still, it is a lovely website and I will not hear a word against her, afterall, she got me flowing again. www.bodyfoods.com

I've a bugger of a mouth ulcer this week, I know what did it, last week I abused my body with too much wine, little sleep and hard work. The kitchen in Eastbourne looks brilliant because of it but I feel spectacularly rough. I am rather run down and am in need of rest and recouperation.

Off on holiday tomorrow, back down to Eastbourne, I am therefore buoyed with enthusiasm for life. Love IS all around, it's a far cry from yesterday when I was a little bit fractious.

On the motorway on Sunday I saw a small family car with a girl in the back sucking her thumb with her head pressed up against the window, her hair was lank and the pallour of her face was grey, her eyes lacked sparkle and I think I saw dribble. She was about 28. She was obviously a 'funny' kid locked in time with a mental age of 6 and destined to wear tracksuits and to be dosed up to the eyeballs on medication. Trapped with the mind of a child but the body of a woman.

She was oblivious to being overdrawn, to getting up for work, to bank loans, to buying car tax, to making pesto, to drinking red wine, the complexities of love, the joy of current affairs and the anger at GM crops.

Has she been dealt a bad card from the deck of life or is she flush with contentment? She's probably more enlightened than the biggest buddha going.

The ladyfriend and I are so happy, Super Step Dad has fitted our kitchen in Eastbourne and it is fabulous. He was incredible and, in one weekend, removed eight months of stress from my shoulders. I now feel as happy as the day I picked up the keys from the estate agent and can not wait to start painting it.- We set sail for Eastbourne on Wednesday morning, smock and beret in hand.

I was in the bath this morning and I had one of those moments of realisation. I was flapping my feet about and was looking at the water and the refracting waves (the transmission of wave through dense media) and I was thinking how people like Da Vinci and his like made all those discoveries that benefit all man kind. I then thought, I'm not going to be one of those people who do that or for that matter engineer bridges like Brunel, I'm just going to gently pass through this world trying to leave as little mess as possible. It made me feel quite content and rather happy. Why anyone wants to be famous is beyond me, better a life spent in quiet disbelief than one imbued with self dillusion.

I am cock a hoop, my Super Step Dad is here in Eastbourne fitting our kitchen and he has made the most fantastic job. We are pleased to bits!

The photo is of SSD drilling holes into a door panel. I can't believe how close the kitchen is coming to completion - I can almost smell the champagne!

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.