On the way to work this morning the ladyfriend and I saw the sinister twins again. They are two schoolgirls and they dress like scrubbers. They look identical and they both have identical expressionless faces. It puts the willies up you when they wait at the pedestrian crossing. I bet they are feared by the knowing in the street where they live. "Don't look in their eyes" the old people must cry as the girls stand outside their bungalows. I bet the neighbourhood pigs sweat and the milk turns bad as they run errands for their mother.

Had a bit too much garlic last night at Mr C and Mr D's. It was a lovely dip and I must admit to letting greed take hold of me, a sinful sight and one I am ashamed of, especially as the house was not my own. My appetite sometimes lets me down in the company of others.

A beautiful new day. A wonderful world. Two birds having a laugh on my bird table. The paper shop opening late as the owner is away leaving his elderly father in charge of the shop. An avenue full of pensioners who run their lives like clockwork thrown into mayhem because the Daily Mirror isn't in their hands at 7.45am

Kids smashing trees with big sticks to get conkers. People planning leaving do's as they leave their jobs. Flowers on my desk just about to 'go over'. My wonderful mother trying on clothes bought in haste which she might take back to the shop. Milk running out in the fridge. A nice man called Tom phoning me to help him with something on the work website. Listening to Rufus Wainwright. Emailing Clive about tonight. Laughing atleast three times. Singing Elkie Brooks whilst making tea.

Baby cried the day the circus came to town
'Cause she didn't want parades just passing by her
So she painted on a smile
And took up with some clown
While she danced without a net upon the wire
I know a lot about her
'Cause you see
Baby is an awful lot like me

And it's not even lunchtime.

It's silly season for Lola, I have little or no news. The ladyfriend is under the threat of redundancy and is in a state of flux. I can do little more than offer a supporting arm as she rides out the many mood swings resulting from it all. Never mind, this time next year she will be firmly ensconced in a new job - one with less stress, sociable hours and better air quality. I've put her name down for the local colliery.

I'm going to end up moving departments and because of this have to wear 'smart clothes'. It's a denim no go area so it's off to New Look for a pair of slacks and a capsule wardrobe. It would be nice if I could wear pirate clothes. Captain Hook stuff. Wouldn't it be nice if you could do that? It's smart, a lovely ruffled shirt and velvet coat. I'd like to see them pull me up on it, the european court would give them short shrift.

I have not written for a couple of days as I have become rather anti-technology. The internet has got on my nerves rather. I love it because of the wealth of information that is available but at the same time I miss life before it. Remember when you used to have to phone or write for details? When shopping used to involve standing up, walking and interacting with people? Booking a holiday involved flicking through brochures, folding pages at the corners and visiting a travel agent. Bank details were a mystery until your monthly statement arrived. News was read in newspapers, pornography was on the top shelf, you heard from friends through a telephone or through the post.

It's a double edged sword, the stuff you can do now was unthinkable before it but I feel we are at risk of being tangled in the web. P&O are shedding staff because we are all jetting off on cheap airlines. Thomas Cook are cutting back because we are doing it ourselves. What price progress?

I want telephones to "tring, tring" in the privacy of homes not burst into Britney Spears in Homebase. I want typing to involve ribbons, writing to involve pens, greetings to involve cards and stamps not some daft lunatic cartoon in Outlook Express. I want shopping to involve more than one vast aircraft carrier of a shop. I don't want to press a red button to go interactive. I want meat that's unloaded with growth hormones. Vegetables to travel from Kent not New Zealand. Baseball caps worn by Americans, sportswear worn by people doing something athletic, a football player's wages to be similar to the number on the back of their shirt. I want a ban on microwave ovens, call centres, mobile telephone masts, incinerators, women driving their kids to school AND last but not least, computers.

The old cart has hit a few lumps on the bumpy road of life this week. The ladyfriend's job is in question and she's a little perturbed. I have told her to hang out for a job she likes and that this is the ideal opportunity to retrain in opthamology but I don't think she's keen. She's my little Lech Walesa at the moment and I'm having to agree with her every demand. I thinks she's quite suited to a trade union role. I put a little bit of extra mayonnaise in her salad this morning to keep her sweet. She might be flying me off to Thailand with her redundancy so I'm Stepford Lola from now on in!

Had a very nice weekend. On Friday the ladyfriend and I had brunch at Favoloso's which, if anyone knows Eastbourne, is an excellent cafe near the theatre. It was more interesting as it first sounds because at the Devonshhire there was a big magician's exhibition/get together and as a consequence Favoloso's was packed with people of magic and mystery. I was rather impressed. Nicely turned out gentlemen sprinkled pepper like fairy dust on their eggs and brassy women - who I took to be their assistants - chuckled over their cappucinos.

We did a little light shopping,popped ourselves on the 'hop on, hop off' tourist bus, rambled around junk shops then ate in an Italian eaterie in the evening. I can't speak highly enough of the Spaghetti Factory. It has a very simple yet contemporary menu and a fine cellar indeed.....I can't remember the walk home.

Saturday was a bit of a washout so we sat and watched episodes of Kath and Kim which were blinding. Yesterday we went along to the Birling Gap in the late afternoon and I was cock-a-hoop to see the tide was out. I took some pictures which the more artistic amongst you may appreciate.

I'm feeling rather lack lustre today. A little bit like a beer mat at a darts tournament in a suburb of Manchester. I dare say that the bottle of red wine that the ladyfriend and I consumed last night has had some influence on my mood. We can't all be a ray of sunshine every day - not that Moira Stewart would have you believe that. She always manages to sparkle before dawn.

I am trying to pull myself out of my torpor by listening to some uplifting music but it is having little or no success in fact I think it's doing the reverse.

I think I shall just have to call today off, rain has stopped play, the fete has been cancelled, the show has been postponed due to the leading lady contracting Trypanosomiasis.

It's time to celebrate indeed as today is the official start of Autumn. For today only the day will be the same length as night (well nearly). Pack away your figure hugging, limb revealing t-shirts and dig out the chunky home-knits and kick about in the leaves - fallen, like Tommies at the Somme. To celebrate, the ladyfriend and I are going to feast on Oriental food as the Sun crosses the celestial equator. Hoorah for that. Summer and her wanton ways are now gone. I've never been a fan, I have enjoyed the odd evening meal in the garden, splashed in the surf in a playful (and not unattractive manner) but it is nothing to the pleasure I have felt from a roaring fire, a bottle of red wine and my crumpets well and truly toasted!

On the way to work this morning I saw the girl who looks like Elle McPherson. She really does look like her. But she has such a frown on her face all of the time. I think she must be late for her bus. I also think she is angry because if it wasn't for Elle she might have been a famous model earning lots of money instead of rushing along the road to get to work. The ladyfriend said that she might not want to be a model. Perhaps she is a reluctant looky likey who gets fed up with people asking if she is Elle McPherson. Infact, perhaps the wind changed direction the last time she scowled at someone asking if she was Elle and it has got stuck like that. Permanently angry at Elle - now if that isn't a good title for a film I don't know what is.

I have nature's bounty on my desk today. I have an overflowing basket of peaches, plums, nectarines, apples, figs and kiwis. It is cheering to the soul to see such fresh, ripe fruit . Sadly, it's a bit of a concern to think of their journey from tree to plate and the continents they must have crossed and the unfortunate pesticide residues still clinging to them. Still, life can not go on without the odd bit of third world exploitation.

I must withdraw my support for fox hunting. It has scuffed up a bit of a hoo-haah with my wonderful mother who has threatened to write me out ot the will. It got a bit nasty and she made some dreadful comments, which I'm sure she now regrets, during lunch today. So I must make it clear that I in no way support hunting with hounds and I'm still down for the silver tea set.

Talking of animal lovers. I saw Rolf Harris yesterday. I let him out of a garden centre car park and he gave me a cheery wave. The ladyfriend's mother was with me and she was reduced to girly giggles such is the man's attraction to the elderly.

The October addition of Country Living magazine arrived yesterday and I have to say, it's the nicest front cover they've done this year. Infact it's the nicest magazine so far. The Christmas issue is normally the most wonderful so they will have to go some to beat this month's. It's autumn in printed form. Leaves, interiors and accessories.......it even has an article on cobnuts.

It has inspired me to take a walk in the woods this weekend. I shall take the box browny and try and capture the gradual turning of the season. I often think of Autumn as being very much like a burning log in a open fire. Heavy and smouldering with fruit, berries and russet leaves and, such is its weight, the woodland like the log gently collapses into the ashes of the year with a sigh of surrender and a puff of smoke.

I'm having a wonderful week of new experience. I have a new computer at work - unfortunately a PC - and I am having fun with the Windows Media Player. I have been listening to a radio station from Bondi Beach which is excellent fun. It's quite a quirky feeling to think that something on the other side of the world is dribbling into my ears with little or no distortion. Amazing. I've got some trippy trance going on at the moment, fun indeed.

I'm very cross at the proposed hunting with hounds ban. I am, as you know, a traditionalist and would like to be with them demonstrating outside Parliament if I could. I don't agree with the way people hunt foxes (blocking up holes, etc) but I don't agree with changing something so inherently of the country and of the land. You start messing with the balance of nature and all hell will break loose. The countryside and the pensioners are two groups this Government have picked on relentlessly, they are also two groups with massive voting power. All these Johnny Foreigners they lavish money on won't be able to understand a democratic voting process - there will be spoilt papers all over the place. Bloody townies with their metropolitan ways, just wait until their small town gardens are over-run with foxes stealing babies from prams and peeing on their lollo rosso.

I'm so busy at work at the moment that I have been in a constant state of mild panic. It's not good for me so I have decided to stop and take a few deep breaths. I should just get myself a new job, trouble is, I have worked here for nearly six years and I fear I may have become institutionalised. I will need counselling and a social worker if I ever manage to go back to the real world.

It's a lovely blustery day. I am trying to convince the ladyfriend to come kite flying at lunchtime but she is having none of it. I think a spot of fun is just what I need to energise my flagging enthusiasm for the afternoon. Trouble is, by the time I've got it up it would have to come down as I only have 30 minutes for lunch.

Last night I was shocked into shame to discover that I use on average 7 sheets of toilet paper. I shall have to curb my excesses!

Had a flop out of a weekend. The ladyfriend was bereft of energy and so we decided to call a halt to our labours. Instead of decorating we did what all the other downshifting yuppies do and flopped out on Holywell Beach. We took the newspaper and a kite and warmed our sickly bodies on the sea shore. Click here to see the pictures. It was an absolute tonic and there was a definite improvement in the ladyfriend's complexion. I had an absolute whale of a time paddling in the retreating surf. The sea temperatures are at their highest at this time of year so I was cautious not to go too far in just incase a great white shark had confused Beachy Head for Bermuda.

Hip, hip, hooray, I have waited for this day all week. Atlast it is Thursday and in five hours the ladyfriend and I will be hitting the M25 in our motor and heading for East Sussex. I think I should drive tonight. The ladyfriend is feeling rather dicky and, in my view, should lay down in a darkened room with some essentials oils and an Enya cd. I reckon she's trying to get out of the painting and decorating this weekend, no staying power that one. I thrive on the scent of turps.

I am feeling rather sprightly, I think it is because I have not had a drink all week, I've kept a dry house and I'm rather energised. It's not a habit I intend to keep.

I need not keep quiet any longer. This morning I managed to buy Morrissey tickets on the internet. They sold out in ten minutes. I am indeed a lucky girl. Thankfully it was not a repeat of the Meltdown fiasco went I was left wanting. My horse has indeed come in this morning! I am hoop-a-cock! Also, if it turns out that I can not go for one reason or another, I can sell the tickets for a song on ebay.

I have not been sleeping well this week, to be honest, I am running on the sludge left in my tank. I have had the occasional flash of light on my peripheral vision which bodes ill. I don't think it's a fight club situation just yet....I'll keep you posted.

The more you ignore me the closer I get

I'm keeping schtumm

I have developed a bit of a headache. Today we are having photoshop 8 training at work and you know how it is with these courses, you have to keep your concentration incase you miss a bit so after three hours the intensity has got to me. I have learned some smashing little tips though, so it's not all bad.

You should have seen me yesterday, I was quite the housewife, I have been batch cooking and freezing stews for the long hard winter ahead. The ladyfriend was painting the front door whilst I was flitting about the kitchen like the domestic goddess I have evolved into. Unfortunately the paint which we bought thinking it was a British Racing Green is rather brighter and more British Rail. The front of the house now looks more like the ticket office on a railway platform in the 1960's. I am sure we will get used to it - and the train spotters it will no doubt attract.

On the way to work I watched a woman in a car sneeze. Fortunately for her she was stuck in traffic and therefore posed no threat to fellow motorists or, for that matter, the clumsy pedestrian. It was quite a nice thing to watch as the sun streamed across her face turning it almost golden. She closed her eyes and her mouth opened, her nose raised and then "gwumpph". It made my day.

This weekend is full of appointments. We have a new washing machine being delivered, a boiler being installed, doors to paint, lawns to be mown, damp dusting to be done and the eubank needs to be pushed around. Quite exhausting. I dare say we will achieve a large percentage of the chores - weather permitting.

My website is undergoing a little surgery at the moment, she was looking rather saggy so I'm doing a bit of lipo here and there. She'll look lovely in the end.....think Cher.

I know the Olympics are over now but I forgot to mention something that stuck out in my mind - the athletes and all the baubles and glitzy things hanging around their necks. When I was at school we weren't allowed to do games with a scrap of jewellery on so I can't understand why these ambassadors of their sport were allowed it. Surely it sends out the wrong signals. With the return to school next week (atlast) the children will be more than a handful for PE teachers up and down the country. I can just see the high jinks that will occur when some little bugger wants to do a roley poley with a silver stud through their belly - and that's just the boys. No, I don't think it should be allowed. We are too free and easy these days and have let standards slip in the world of athletics. You used to be able to watch the fosby floppers in their understated garb and marvel at their technique - not be deafened by the rattle of their necklaces!

I was thinking, in this 24 hour society which we now all reside, is there such a thing as a Bank Holiday? Should I have picked up the telephone yesterday and called telephone banking I am sure it would have been open. Infact, it's an outdated name. Keeping with banks, the ladyfriend and I had a day off from our painting and decorating and took a trip into Lewes on Sunday and carved in stone on the walls of a building society were the words "opened in 1890 something" and it made me imagine big whiskered gentlemen carrying big briefcases with tall black hats in a Dickensian fashion going about their business in charming Lewes whilst children with rickets tackled the sloping high street of the town. It was a nice thought.

My neck has just about recovered from the toil of painting the ceiling at the weekend, emulsion has just about dissapeared from under my nails. I must say I did make a good job. The living room looks like a wedding cake at the moment, completely white and able to withstand a nuclear blast should india be tempted. The search for a chandelier is now officialy begun.

I am cock-a-hoop that September begins tomorrow. I was singing cheery Christmas songs on the lavvy this morning.

Feel a bit dicky this morning. I don't know if it's last night dinner - risotto - but both the Ladyfriend and I feel a bit jippy. To my mind if you consume something that has the texture and resemblance of vomit then, well, it's no surprise if you feel nausea. Rice dishes can often go either way. If it is true that you eat with your eyes then I should be hospitalised.

I had to correct the ladyfriend this morning as she has been singing a song with the wrong words all her life. She's still not convinced. Things like that happen often to myself, for example, it was only a few years ago that the ladyfriend told me that you lock zips by turning the pull thing down. I had given up wearing jeans without a button fly as the embarrassment of having a gaping front every time I sat down was too much. Now I know the secret I buy things with zips all the time. Infact it's become a bit of a mania.

Nine hours to go and then we are off to Eastbourne. I don't think there is a nicer word in the English language than the word "seafront."

A bit of a struggle to get out of bed this morning. I must say I felt a bit like Paula Radcliffe. Give me Mount Everst any day then the monumental task of getting out of bed for work. The ladyfriend is being a bit harsh on old Radcliffe implying that she gave up when she saw she wouldn't get a medal. I don't actually give a bugger about her. Never been keen on running - never had the boobs for it. I was gripped last night by the pole vault but all in all I have found the Olympics rather a damp sqib. I am rather cross about all the empty seats, if Greece have made any money from all this then I'll eat my cat.

The ladyfriend and I have got a bit of an event this weekend. How on earth do you paint sash windows? It's a mental as well as physical task. I've been on google and there is an extroadinary amount of advice. The weather for the bank holiday is typically set for storms but we have out foxed it with our internal decorating plans - ha ha

Wading through treacle a bit this morning. I've brought some polish to work this morning because the state of my desk was unbelievable. I'm on a bit of a cleaning tip at the moment.

My eyes are a bit droopy, I couldn't get off to sleep very well last night and this morning I was awoken by geese. I don't joke. It was a little bit worrying as it sounded a bit like the trailer for The Day After Tomorrow when all of the birds are taking flight. What with all of this torrential rain we've been having I thought my chips were up! It was very eerie I can tell you. There is obviously a small holder in the street as before now I have been awoken by chickens. Perhaps someone is fattening a goose for Michaelmas.I've never cooked my goose. I do love a bit of game though. Got to wait another month before we can eat it though, it's got to hang for a bit. I'd rather like the new Game Cookbook by that fat lady. I'm not blood thirsty but one is so tempted by road kill.

Had rather a splendid weekend, did a bit of life laundry and threw out clothes which I no longer need. I am usually optimistic but knew I'd never again fit into my lovely 501's that have been in the cupboard for two years. Out they went, along with a hundred weight of hoarded magazines. I pulled out cupboards and hoovered the dust. I know now why the D-Day soldiers couldn't talk about what they had seen, I am speachless about the horror beneath the bed. I dare say, in sixty years time I shall be able to tell a great nephew about it.

Yesterday I went to IKEA and ended up in the National Gallery by way of Waterloo Bridge. It was a nice diversion. I had always fancied being a guard in a gallery. To sit beneath the Nation's art treasures and quietly watch people come and go, feel the draft as another Japanese girl with a huge grin gasped at the beauty of the Renaissance. That was until yesterday. Once of the guards was sorting out his lottery numbers instead of keeping a watchfull eye over the pastoral scenes. I felt sad that, what I thought was a dream job, was just as dull as all the others.

This morning I have slipped on a cardy, oh yes I have! Summer is on her back and it's time to lift the gloved fist of Autumn. Due to the cooling nip in the air I polished off a round of toast with extra glee this morning, it was smashing. It had a thick covering of blackcurrant jam on top (my wonderful mother's home made.) I must learn her secret of bottling, last year I tried to make blackberry jam with nature's bounty but it never set , turning instead into some kind of runny fruit compote. She keeps her skills close to her chest which surely must leave a mucky apron.

It must of been wonderful in years gone by before the convenience store, working mothers and ASBOS when the kitchens of England produced the wonderful scent of pickling, jamming and preserving. The windows steaming in yorkshire as jam reached dangerous temperatures, the dripping of liquid through dainty muslin in Berkshire and the rattle of empty jars being taken out of a sterilising oven in Broadstairs. Wonderful. All dissapearing now I fear and what a shame. A generation of children who only know the taste of cheap supermarket jam who will never see a huge jam pan bubbling on the stove - no room in the modern kitchen I am sure because of the juicers, cappucino makers and George Forman Grills!

A mystery has entered my life. For some reason whenever I travel along a certain stretch of road, be it morning, noon or night, I start singing Louis Armstrong songs. I have noticed that it is only in one direction, so there must be something that I catch a glimpse of that triggers this. This morning it was his version of La Vie en Rose complete with the "bum pa da da dum".

I looked out at the sunflowers this morning which have reached well over six feet but have yet to flower. The one at the furthest end which is the weakest looking has been the first to produce a tight head. It seems this will be the one to open up first. It got me thinking, I wonder if we all live in pots of John Innes number 2. What stage of our lives are we in bud? when do we flower? When do we set seed and most importantly when are we dead headed?

I was watching a bit of the olympics last night and was looking at the gymnasts with their hair all up. They all looked the same made up like painted dolls. I was imaging the state of the greek sewage system (never that stable) after that lot had got out of the showers. There will be towelling hair bands, long lengths of hair and glitter backing up round Athens for years.

I have enjoyed this weekend. The heat from the sun has been toned down considerably, I sensed Summer's grasp slip and I am quite sure, smelt Autumn's arrival for her first dress fitting. The ladyfriend and I took a trip into Tenterden where we saw trees heavy with conkers and saw the odd leaf or two give up their lofty seat and fall softly to the ground. click here for pictures of Tenterden.

We also took a quick look at Camber Sands which is absolutely beautiful. I long to return in October when the shadows will be longer. I shall be able to take some nice photographs I am sure. Mind you, I am rather down about my camera. At Eastbourne's Airbourne yesterday she let me down badly. I couldn't capture the Utterly Butterly wingwalkers on microchip. As soon as I had pressed click the planes had sped out of view and I lost them. Take a look at the pics here but they are not very good.I need a new faster model but I won't be able to get one passed petty cash for a long time now we need a new boiler. We will be scrimping and saving till I'm in my sixties, ruing my Viv Nicholson days at the mall forever.

The glorious twelth: Grouse shooting begins

Looks like the weather's going to be a bit ropey this weekend. Shame, it's Airbourne this weekend. Last year we sat on the beach and watched the Utterly Butterly Wingwalkers. This year we will need a brolly. It's quite lucky though, we can see the Red Arrows perform their daring displays from the flat, such is their altitude.

On the way down tomorrow I have asked the Ladyfriend if we may stop enroute at the British Wildlife Centre. We have past it so many times and it has always looked such an alluring place. I do find the natural world so engaging. Infact, I was saying this to the Ladyfriend last night, I feel I maybe a bit of a geek. The evidence is writ large - only this week I have booked a place on a fossil hunt in Folkestone and as you know my love of folk music is well documented. Oh, it's all my own doing. I will never be trendy, I will always be on the sidelines of the incrowd, dancing to the beat of a different drum, going down the Stoney End, I never wanted to go down the Stoney End.......

Just picked up two big boxes of books from my Wonderful Mother's house. She has housed them for me for the last three years and I had forgotton all about them. I had a quick flick through and was struck firstly by delight at their rememberance and two by what jolly good taste I have in hardbacks. Ofcourse I now have to dash out and by a bookshelf for them but I don't mind. Books are wonderful, they sit there un-read whilst the wind blows, the sun shines and rain falls, months come and go, years drift by then they are picked up and are as fresh as a daisy. I wonder that, if they know no one is looking, the words scramble around the page and the frowns on people straighten?

I think it's the last installment of any upheaval in one's life when you get stuff back from storage. The dust finally settles.

Oh good lord there's prozac in the tap water. As if it wasn't bad enough that trout are growing female sex organs because of the oestrogen in our piss being passed into our rivers, now I have to cope with this! How terrible, what else is in the stuff? A cocktail of drugs, additives, steroids and E numbers. If it is true, that you are what you eat, then the same can be said for what you drink. Perhaps, it is a conspiracy. Stir in the prozac and we will be shiny, happy people, content with the Government and the price of fish? Environment spokesman Norman Baker said it looked "like a case of hidden mass medication upon the unsuspecting public". Indeed it does.

I try not to drink too much tap water, preferring instead the bottled variety, however, I now worry about lingering in the bath too long. What if I am being dosed by osmosis?

On a Brighton bound train on Saturday I looked out at the Sussex countryside and saw a man in a field with a huge butterfly net. I've never seen this in the flesh.

Brighton Pride was great fun, well the parade was, but I think I've grown too old to do the park thing. It's just too hot, too crowded and I don't think I can hack the walk to Preston park anymore. The ladyfriend and I have decided that next year we will watch the parade and then go for a good lunch and some light shopping afterwards. I think life's all about knowing when to let go. If you would like to see my photos click here

We've got our new car, thanks to Karen's wheeling and dealing, and it's fabulous. It feels rather grown up, I can't see over the bonnet and I'm terrified of parking it but it's smashing. It certainly made light work of the M25 on Friday night.

Do you know, I rather like Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich? I'm listening to the soundtrack of the wonderful BBC adaptation of the Jake Arnott novel The Long Firm which I cadged off a nice woman at work. I still stand by everything I have ever said about the BBC in the past, a few good programmes does not a justification for a licence fee make, but it was blinding.

This weekend is a bit of a cracker. Friday we are off to pick up our new car and to take the middle man out for lunch. Then it's off down to the south coast (no dip in the sea this weekend after the Thames water debacle) Saturday is a holiday in the gay calendar as it's Brighton Pride. Ooh, I hope it's not too hot. Soaring temperatures, alcohol and whistles do for me these days.

Sunday we will be hanging out with the tie dye bunch at Eastbourne Lammas festival So all and all I should think about getting some beauty sleep tonight. Mustn't let the side down in the disco tent.

I do enjoy extreme weather conditions, yesterday afternoon was quite a hoot - obviously not for the poor devils hit by lightning. I must admit the ladyfriend and I diced with death by standing out in it for a minute, the folly of youth.......mind you we are both the wrong side of thirty.

This work thing is a bit of a bore, I've yet to receive an investor for my Isle of Wight idea, perhaps I should take an advert out in Private Eye and hook a rich benefactor such as Mr Fahed. I'm after an Ambromovich, I'd be able to buy prize rare breeds with that sort of financial backing, during the slow months I'd let groups of impoverished Russian children run amok as long as they didn't touch the silver and kept off the Axminster. I don't know, so little time to do everything you'd like to in life. Goals and aspirations. Mind you Lady Luck has smiled on me so many times her face must ache.

Message to the Mijas Massive - sink a big gin and rub some high factor on some delicate places for the Ladyfriend and I.

Whilst the ladyfriend and I took the evening air last night on our new health kick (apparently: Power Walk + No Alcohol x Portion Control = weight loss for the ladyfriend. Something I have been trying to say for some time but I wont be one to discourage especially after my wonderful mother's success) Anyway, we started to muse on the possibilities of our future and a preferable lifestyle.
At the moment our dream is to move to the Isle of Wight and open an environmentally kosher camp site/organic small holding/cider press and fossil theme park. It would be good. All year I would parade around in shorts, grow my body hair to alarming lengths and spend the summer ticking off campers for lighting bad bar-b-ques.

During the winter I would run cookery lessons and handy craft courses for gullible women with disposable incomes. In the springtime I would hold a folk festival (packing the ladyfriend off to a greek island first).

A patch of woodland would be exclusively for kids so they can run free, build camps, play cowboys and indians, swallows and amazons. Ofcourse this area would have to be cordoned off with an electric fence to stop them straying into the adult areas but I am getting ahead of myself.
Oh it's a pipe dream ofcourse as the value can go up aswell as down, the best laid plans etc but wouldn't it be something to live on the Isle of Wight a blob of land that is forever England.

Oh by the way, apparently I am read in New Zealand.

Back with my nose firmly at the grindstone my holiday memories, like my reluctant sun tan, fading with each passing hour. My annual summer leave turned out to be one of disease. Both the ladyfriend and I were laid low with nasty colds that no amount of benilyn and ginger beer could touch. It meant that our decorating plans remained just that, we were both too weak to lift a sponge roller between us.

When we managed to move a typical day began with tea and buttered toast. We then dressed for the beach, packed our lunch and set out in the motor. I jumped out at the traffic lights to buy the newspapers, two cans of cold ginger beer and chocolate then it was Holywell Beach bound. We then made a bee-line for the unofficial nudey beach - less children but you have to stomach the wrinkly arses of mucky old men. We had a rare old time. I flew my kite, we dipped in the briney, splashed in rock pools, hunted fossils, skinned our hearts and skinned our knees - the usual stuff. It is the best beach in all christendom, my favourite place where God paints the scenery and I want to go back : Click here for pictures

Move along please, there`s nothing to see here.

St. Swithin's day if thou dost rain, For forty days it will remain, St. Swithin's day if thou be fair , For forty days 'twill rain nae mair........oh heck. click here to read more. It looks like the boat building must begin sooner than anticipated. I must fell a few trees during my holiday and make an Arc, this time I shall take pairs of circus performers instead of animals. Juggling skills and death defying acrobatics must be preserved for generations to come. My boat will sail over the oceans with gasps of "oooh" and "aaah" as bearded ladies parade on deck as I steer a happy course to salvation.

Holiday coming over the brow, one more day at work and it's time to shed the skin of industrial regime and get back to freedom. My favourite part of such a break is the second week when self worth and confidence returns, a realisation that you could do anything you want to do and see a way of achieving such ideals. Sadly, the wind is knocked out of the sails as soon as you go back to clocking on and the monotony and mediocrity of the 9-5 returns.

Right children, listen carefully, you must do your bit for the environment by clicking this link and removing yourselves from junk mail forever more.

Well disaster has struck chez Ladyfriend and I. The washing machine has finally given up after two year's hard labour. We were greeted with a splurge on the kitchen floor yesterday and with no mangle to hand we were ringing out our delicates at 11pm. What a terrible blow to our holiday countdown. It's thrown a veritable spanner in the works. Thankfully my wonderful mother has kindly agreed to take in some coloureds at lunchtime. The bedding will just have to 'ride' for a little longer than planned. Merde.

The ladyfriend thinks the fault can be fixed but I know deep down that these consumables are made to break to keep the buggers in trade. Oh bring back the golden age of British manufacturing! It's telling to see old cars on the road - the mini and the morris minor - I doubt in ten years time we will see a punto at the pumps! No, I should imagine we will be found wandering the white goods aisle of Comet before the week is out.

The ladyfriend is out with Mizz Diane tonight. No doubt she will return home smelling of exotic food and hard liquor.

Starting to get excited about my holiday now. 4 days to go and then the ladyfriend and I are off to Eastbourne for two whole, perfectly formed weeks. No work, no packed lunches, no Sunday sinking feeling, no sapping computer exposure for two whole weeks. I am indeed looking forward to it. I don't care if the sun don't shine, I've got a living room to decorate and the most marvellous pub garden to sit in - for two whole weeks!

The ladyfriend has got a job on her hands however. As chief laundry woman (my talents lie in the kitchen) she has stopped me from wearing anything white until our sojourn begins. It's a challenge I can tell you. I am drawn to lighter shades.

Just foiled a kidnap attempt. Popped down to the garage for a little snack and the Evening Standard (I don't agree with the tawdry rag but one like's to keep abreast on current events) Anyway - I came out with my sandwhich and a strange man in a hunting jacket was talking to a taxi driver. They beckoned me over to help with directions to a school. Noticing the odd man had a rolled up newspaper (no doubt a hammer to bludgeon me) I stood well back and was not too helpful with directions. The taxi driver (his accomplice, drove off) The strange man walked with me. He made a comment on the mucky pub that has exotic dancers performing during the afternoon and that was it, I crossed the busy road leaving the odd fellow to get into his car. I escaped because I had my wits about me. I may now be trussed up like a Christmas turkey had I not been so careful!

An image that has haunted me all morning: on my merry way to work I caught a glimpse of a toddler banging at a bedroom window as the car headed on. It made me wonder, was the kiddy trying to attract attention. Was he a toddler in peril or was he just on a destructive path which will find him in an institution in later years?

Life is full of half glances which I don't know the end of. They are like films or programmes that you just watch five minutes of and don't reach the end. Bits of 'Bargain Hunt' that are on as I wait for the ladyfriend to get ready. How did the red team do? Was the toddler at the window in trouble? I will never know.

This weekend we are off to Eastbourne, with a good wind behind us (which is more than likely with this bizarre weather for July) there will be a salty sea breeze in my hair by 8pm. I don't half fancy a bacon butty on the seafront for breakfast.

Back on the subject of insects: at work, in our little room with tea and coffee making facilities, on the window ledge is the corpse of a dead wasp. I should imagine it speant its last days banging against the window trying to get out confused as to why it could not fly through. It made me think, what if we are all banging against glass in our lives oblivious to the fact that if we would only go in another direction we would be free? I shall stop now as I am beginning to sound like Jonathan Cainer.

Last night I had to place an urgent call to my wonderful mother. I had no idea how long to boil an egg to achieve a soft yolk fit for soldiers. She was out - no surprise there, dancing the night away in a village hall under tuition and, by the sounds of other members of her class, hopefully under medical supervision.

Unfortunately the ladyfriend's and my eggs were a little bit tough, I always seem to err on the side of caution (no bungee jumps for me). It made me realise my culinary skills need brushing up. I may be able to knock together a thai banquet with only a few hours notice but it means nothing if I can't make a light supper for a visiting invalid.

Pictures of glastonbury are trickling in by the way.

Back from a weekend camping in Avalon and the trench foot has just about cleared up. God blind my eye did it rain. It was a shame, I like the pitter patter of rain on canvas but when it's relentless it does lose its appeal. It was a lovely campsite. Bunnies and birds all over the place - quite magical. I recommend it highly. There were a few weirdy beardies there - it was Glastonbury afterall - click here if you're a happy camper.

Yesterday the ladyfriend and I were in Tesco hunter gathering the weekly shop and I was startled to find a bee in a punnet of cherry tomatoes. I turned the package carefully as one false move and the little insect would have been crushed. Its legs were moving, all beit slowly as he had obviously been in the fridge for a long time. I checked that they were English Tomatoes as I didn't want to let loose a killer bee from Africa which would go on to mate with a Buckinghamshire bee and take out half the population of High Wycombe (would that be a bad thing?)

I then ripped open the packaging and the ladyfriend took the little fella out into the warm sunshine. It caused quite a small crowd of shoppers as we all discussed the bee's incarceration. Those gangs of chinese workers should be a bit more carefull even if they are paid tuppence a day, we can't have them destroying our habitat. It might wash in the paddy fields but that sort of behaviour won't get them far in the market gardening areas of Britain.

Back from a weekend camping in Avalon and the trench foot has just about cleared up. God blind my eye did it rain. It was a shame, I like the pitter patter of rain on canvas but when it's relentless it does lose its appeal. It was a lovely campsite. Bunnies and birds all over the place - quite magical. I recommend it highly. There were a few weirdy beardies there - it was Glastonbury afterall - click here if you're a happy camper.

Yesterday the ladyfriend and I were in Tesco hunter gathering the weekly shop and I was startled to find a bee in a punnet of cherry tomatoes. I turned the package carefully as one false move and the little insect would have been crushed. Its legs were moving, all beit slowly as he had obviously been in the fridge for a long time. I checked that they were English Tomatoes as I didn't want to let loose a killer bee from Africa which would go on to mate with a Buckinghamshire bee and take out half the population of High Wycombe (would that be a bad thing?)

I then ripped open the packaging and the ladyfriend took the little fella out into the warm sunshine. It caused quite a small crowd of shoppers as we all discussed the bee's incarceration. Those gangs of chinese workers should be a bit more carefull even if they are paid tuppence a day, we can't have them destroying our habitat. It might wash in the paddy fields but that sort of behaviour won't get them far in the market gardening areas of Britain.

Off camping for the weekend tomorrow, I can't deny I'm a bit worried as the outlook for the weather is rather bleak. Temperatures will plummet at night. I'm sure I will have to end up sleeping in the shower blocks to find some form of comfort. How unreliable an English summer is. Nevermind, deposits are paid so Somerset bound 'R' us.

I am looking forward to waking up to birdsong, a most stimulating and heartwarming sound. A song centuries old, oh how I would love to know the words! I've been after a cd so that I can identify each bird but I have yet to find one. I shall have to pilfer one of those RSPB gift shops and pick up a protracting pencil emblazoned with my name at the same time. It's no lie to say I am becoming a bit of a twitcher.

Last night I found myself listening to country music and thought, "this is a nice toe-tapper." I switched off the radio in haste. I can't get into Country Music, the ladyfriend has only just come round to me liking folk music. She has the staying power of Peter Sutcliffe's wife but if I start going Nashville I'll be shown the proverbial door.

Today, during my lunch break, I am popping to my Wonderful Mother's to let the dog out to go about its natural business. She won't be there because the pair of them (Super Step Dad) have gone off galivanting along the Royal River Thames for the day and the better part of early evening. They're going to 'have it large' on a boat to Windsor and back.

I wouldn't mind this so much if it was one of those flash in the pan occasions but it is getting to become a bit of a habit.Instead of a couple of shy and retiring retired people they go out more than I do and have a social circle wider than the M25. Long gone is the image of pensioners knitting tea cosies and sucking on a Worthers Originals. No, now it's Salsa dancing and Margharitas! Blimming Golden Girls........It will be different for me of course, the ladyfriend and I will be working till we are seventy, probably on some God forsaken production line inserting microchips into embryos......

Blimey, rough night. Woke at 5am and couldn't return to my slumber. I tossed and turned and eventually met Morpheus as the dawn chorus kicked in. I now feel rather ratty. It's the pits really as this week I intended to rejuvinate in readiness for the weekend. The ladyfriend and I are off camping in Glastonbury with Mr C and Mr D. I wanted to be fresh as a daisy for the late nights and early mornings that will no doubt arise. Last night I lay with two slices of cucumber on my eyes whilst the ladyfriend spoke to Mizz Diane. It seemed to do the trick as the puffiness seemed to subside. Now I look like Bette Davis being interviewed by Terry Wogan again.

I was quite proud of the ladyfriend as she was yabbering away to Mizz Diane about the toxins in food, I have indoctrinated her well. Tonight there is a programme called "You are what you eat" which is worth setting the video for. I don't really like the woman who presents it - Dr Gillian McKeith - there is something of the night about her. My favourite larder lady is Jane Clarke, much more tastefully presented.

Made a gruesome discovery on the way home from the crumbles Asda on Friday afternoon. We were driving along the seafront quite serenely, discussing the possibilities of what the ladyfriend and I may get up to during the weekend, when, out of the corner of my eye I saw the fluttering of police incident tape. I turned to see people standing around a car in which a man was slumped up against the passenger window, mouth wide open, ashen faced! I had seen a corpse! The image stayed with me, marring my weekend, if the truth be told. What a way to end up, the last few seconds of life spent within earshot of the amusement arcade and mini golf. A spectacle for people returning from a hard day at the office, a Wallace Arnold coach full of pensioners and the unsuspecting dog walker.

This morning I had a quick look at the lawn to check on the bird table. Pecking around the base of my feeder was a new arrival to my regular menagerie - a racing pigeon! There he was ring around his leg tucking into my mixed seed. I marvelled at his colouring and then began to wonder where he had come from. Was this a quick stop before heading off to the mountainous regions of Northern Italy or had he escaped from a few streets away? No doubt word has got round the avarian grapevine that there is good food to be had a Lola's. Yesterday I counted 12 sparrows, 3 pigeons, 2 blackbirds, 3 ducks, 7 ring turtled doves but no partridge - yet.

Tonight I'm taking the ladyfriend by the hand through the streets of London to see Lypsinka, it's the closest I will get to see Morrissey as he will be presenting him. I am worried that he may have turned from a svelte icon of my youth into Ted Bovis, the rotund comic from hi-de-hi.

Today is the last day at work for Lorraine Twitchen, she has got a ticket to ride and she don't care. She's off to work for London Transport (an institution full of militants.) I wonder if the eminent Victorians could imagine their creation and feat of engineering would be such a contentious issue today. The first tunnel was in 1863 can you imagine anything built today that will last till 2063 let alone over a century? I can't see the millennium bridge lasting twenty years, especially after it's dodgy beginnings. I fear we lost our empire and our great minds when the pennies went on Victoria's eyes. Actually, this is a fascinating website click here It's quite informative.

Thank god for the spotty kid with downs. One has to ask though, what's up with Owen? Are Ladbrokes taking bets, is it drink, drugs or insanity? Off with Owen or the pitch will look like a butcher's block as we are slashed to ribbons by Portugal on Thursday.

Thank God the ladyfriend and I will be watching Lypsinka at the Queen Elizabeth Hall on Thursday night. We shall be secluded from the rollercoaster of excitement in the outside world. Last night was bad enough, I went out to dead head the petunias at one point.

So happy, this morning I caught the end of News Round where they showed film of a Mexican attempt to cook the worlds biggest Taco. I love record attempts with food. Huge pancakes, massive pumpkins, wonderful. All these mexicans were grinning with pride as they laid out their savoury snack for the world's media. Good old News Round.

With the warmth of the season caressing the land, the celebration of the Summer Solstice brings forth a truly joyous recognition that we can now enjoy the fruits of our labors in the past season - indeed! Merry summer solstice to you all. Let's hope our boys can stick it in the back of the net tonight. I felt for the spaniards last night, oh how I too have looked on in bewilderment as my England have thrown it all away. Off with Owen and on with Luther Blisset, s'wat I say.

Talking of strapping sporty people, the Eastbourne tennis championships were a hit with the ladyfriend and I on Friday. We got to see Martina thwack a few balls. I didn't realise she was a grunter. Perhaps the tv microphone doesn't pick up her "hurruph" when she hits the ball, like a pipistrelle bat she is out of range. She's certainly slowed down a tad. Her fan base were there, my word. Eastbourne was wall to wall sensible shoes this weekend it was like mardi gras.

I've already ruined someone's day. Last night I turned on my mobile phone to find that I had received a voice mail 'oh goody' I thought. Anyway, I listened to it and it was no one I knew "Hello Marge, I'll see you outside New Look at 9.30, see you tomorrow, bye"

This morning at 9.15 my mobile rang. "Oh sorry, I've got the wrong number." Then it rang again "Oh, Marge?"
"No" says I "I'm awfully sorry" I told her that she had called me last night and what a terrible mistake had been made. She sounded quite panic striken.

Now I can't help but worry about Marge and this poor woman outside New Look. I don't know where she was or what town she was in, but somewhere Marge was unaware that she had to be outside New Look at 9.30, I wonder if she was reading the paper waiting for Trisha to come on. Perhaps she was fast asleep dreaming of riding a pony in her youth.

A day ruined by a slippery digit.

Where has the morning slipped? It's run like pennies down the leg of my life, out of a holey pocket onto the ground of history.

I must say that I am enjoying the football but through complete ignorance the ladyfriend and I seem to have an engagement for nearly all of the England games. On Sunday we were in the Royal Festival Hall watching Elaine Paige belting out "Don't cry for me Argentina." We shall be able to see tomorrow's second half as I am at work and next Thursday we will be back on the South Bank to see Lypsinka. What bad planning, worse than 1960's architects with sackfuls of concrete and a town centre to fill.

Part of me is glad as watching England is so painful. This way we are unable to watch Heskey lumber around or Michael Owen goal hang, waiting for someone to kick the ball to his way.

Oi Guy!

This is for Guy ::::::: http://www.lifeforlola.co.uk/atracktive.gif

I like Tuesdays, today I listen to Celtic Heartbeat from Radio Wales It's great this broadband business. It has opened up my world I can tell you. It's also made me feel a little bit better at the 'money for menaces' licence fee I have to stump up to keep EastEnders in badly dressed ex-comedian/straight actors.

Someone's career I do fear for is that poor man who does those adverts for Flash, the one that used to be in Brush Strokes. There's a man walking the green mile of his acting career. Perhaps EastEnders should throw him a lifeline and bring him in as some over acting cheeky window cleaner - he's got experience.

Enough about EastEnders, I rarely watch the programme myself, thank goodness. I do have a connection at the BBC - Old Vic, if you excuse the pun - she's entered the Art Festival and you can see her work by clicking here

Why Heskey?

All I can say is good luck Birmingham City - you're going to need it!

These Thursdays are coming around quickly. The days are racing, the video tape of my life is on fast forward. I suppose it's because I am having fun. I am quite chirpy of late although today I have had the bowels of satan. I think I have been spiked by the ladyfriend's mother. I have resorted to Imodium which I must say does seem to have done the trick. Touch wood.........and the lavvy door handle.

This weekend I have to tackle the meadow, it has grown a bit too well. The different variety of grasses have grown taller than myself and it is rather resembling Steptoe's yard and not the country landscape I had hoped. I am cock-a-hoop at the amazing flowers - some would say weeds - that have flourished in the last few weeks. There are these amazing white star like flowers, they are quite possibly some kind of rare orchid. I do hope so, the back garden may become an area of outstanding natural beauty and I can charge ramblers a penny or two. I will also be able to sell cakes to the retarded who will visit my accompanying tearoom in great numbers.

A late entry today, I have been rushed off my size sevens which are today squeezed into a pair of sandals - they will fit, they will fit! I've not been busy but somehow work has taken over my personal life - just for this morning.

I am feeling a little tired today, I was up reading the Sunday papers last night which just shows you how behind I am with things. It was a recount of Operation Overlord, I was gripped and couldn't put it down. I fancy going off to the Imperial War Museum on Sunday such is my interest in the subject. Perhaps I can convince the ladyfriend to come along with me, we are in town on Sunday as we have tickets to see some old bird belting out show tunes (Elaine Paige) . I can't believe how quickly it has come round. I'm quite excited about it, I hope she drags old Barbara Dickson on in the encore.

Pictured is another in the eagerly awaited cut out and keep series of the ladyfriend's friends.

Fascinating to watch the transit of venus for one day only, once in a lifetime although anyone, like me, who has the odd eye floater or two will live with a little black dot spinning all over the place all year.

It is a marvellous site, I had the telescope out this morning trying to direct the sun onto a piece of card. I didn't have much success, I burnt a hole in the carpet and took out a couple of ants so have settled for watching it via the BBC's website.

Last year we had firey Mars (the Roman God of War) the closest it has ever been to earth which I reckon caused the war in Iraq and a burning hot summer. Hopefully with this stuff with Venus (goddess of love and beauty) we shall all have peace in our time and a lovely complexion.

I sat on the sofa yesterday watching the old soldiers in Normandy, I was fine until the bottom lip quivered on one of the old boys and that was it for Lola - oh how I wept. Old soldiers and Elgar, they do it to me everytime.

I'm absolutely horrified at Channel 4, what ignorance and downright ingratitude to schedule a programme called Pop Beach a youth music programme whilst over in France they were commemorating the carnage on Normandy beaches and acts of moral fibre the kids of today don't know how to spell let alone have. Heads should roll.

By the way, today's photo is part one in a series of the Ladyfriend's friends.........who'll be next?

Hurrah, the ducks are back! They arrived on Tuesday night and now chill out in our back garden. They are unusually late, we thought we weren't going to get them this year. Maybe it's down to the mobile phone masts putting them out of sink, I don't know, but they are back!

Coming to work this morning a girl sat up in the passenger seat of a parked car, she looked a bit confused as though just woken. She was dressed like a chorus girl from a German nightclub in the 1930's. I think she was one, tricked into a time machine by a mad nuclear scientist who promised her the world and now here she is, trapped in the future with nothing but a silky basque to protect her from the elements. Good job it's a nice day.

Received an email today urging me to boycott ESSO and BP (who are apparently the same) in a bid to drive prices down. I'm all for a bit of consumer pressure and will gladly join in - even though no one helped when they changed the recipe for Heinz salad cream back in the 80's, where were my comrades then?

Watched the football last night after the end of Cutting It and I have decided I no longer like David Beckham. He really is chav scum. I read an excerpt from an interview of him in Vanity Fair this morning which sealed his fate. He said "me and Victoria" twice which deserves a slap round the chops for saying it once let alone a second time. The fact that his wife now intends to model her children sends me cold. I think it's about time to start the Beckham backlash, their brash materialism hasn't done this country any good. Consumer debt is now the highest it has ever been, due in part ,I am sure, by the Beckham's indulgences. The irony is, they don't actually stick their hands in their pockets. It's well documented how clothes, cars and gems are sent to them. Whilst those desperate to emulate them rack up debt after debt, the Beckham's remain minted.

Had a cracking weekend, exceptional weather down on the sunshine coast of Eastbourne. I did a bit of stripping down there - finally took down the border in the living room. Why the woman put it up in the first place is beyond me. Fortunately it came off without a hitch. After the destruction I caused when I took off a few kitchen tiles last year I was more than apprehensive.

On saturday the ladyfriend and I sat outside Eastbourne Town Hall to see Paul Ross get married. We had been given a tip-off about it by my smashing mother. We weren't interested in seeing Paul Ross but the possible interesting c-list celebrity congregation. We got there at the wrong time though, a big old limo turned up complete with security guard to pick up some old timers so we didn't get a sniff of Linda Bellingham or such like. We were harrassed by a mad woman from the eastern bloc as happy couple after happy couple came out (it was like a conveyor belt) She went on and on how modern marriages don't last and something about coffee in caravans - she was a woman worn down by life that's for sure.

I did take my camera out a lot this weekend. This is a medieaval fayre in Battle also I have added Eastbourne Erections - a celebration of Eastbourne Architecture to the art festival aswell as Victorian lady and some of you may not have seen Boogie Wonderland by Rachel and Jemma.

Enroute to work this morning a strange fear gripped me. What's to stop me suddenly driving on to the other side of the road in to the path of oncomming traffic? When I decided it was because I wanted to live I then thought. what's to stop them from driving into me?

I have probably revealed too much in admitting that I have had these thoughts (I have had them before) I'm sure it reveals more about my psychological make-up than perhaps it is decent to. But I am perplexed as to why I have them. Thank goodness there is a safety device in my brain that shuts down the destructive synapses unlike the poor f**kers with tourette's syndrome.

Anyway, moving along.......the ladyfriend offered to enter a replacement for Tracy Emin's tent to Mr Saatchi. But I replied, where's the old bugger going to put a marquee?

Looks like Madonna has started her Whatever Happened to Baby Jane tour. My goodness, some people never know when to put the plug in. Terrifying. I was never in favour of her lude behaviour when she was a nubile young slapper but to cavort around stage done up like Bette Davis is taking the gay thing too far.

Shame about all that Satchi shit going up in smoke. Perhaps he woke one morning and was hit by a sudden moment of clarity and realised he had amassed little more than a lock up full of car boot sale clutter.
I wonder who lit the match? Whoever it was should get the Turner Prize.

By the way, the latest addition to Lola's Art Festival is in - check out this short film The Car Wash

"Sumer is icumen in, Lhude sing cuccu! Groweth sed, and bloweth med, And springth the wude nu."

I'm mad on birds. I was thinking at the weekend as I watched the seagulls swoop and the blackbirds sing louder than car alarms we don't rule this planet, birds do. Such freedom has a bird, one minute crapping on a car the next soaring into the skies to perch on the Gherkin or Tower Bridge. As I sit at work to earn a crust a blue tit can fly down to Cornwall and dine at Rick Stein's gaff or chill out in Reading feasting on the remains of a social worker's toast. I'm sure I'm being simplistic but what a life.

On returning from work last night as I waited for rice to boil I stepped into the garden where six fat pigeons jumped up and down in my meadow (flowers not likely this year, they've eaten the seeds) A robin held a worm in its beak and darted in and out of a nest (made in next doors redundant air brick) and the twittering from the bushes and all around hath charms to soothe the savage breast.

I read a few weeks back in one of those columns in the weekend supplements where a celebrity is asked questions and they come up with witty replies - if they are not Jim Davidson - it was Willy Russell and he was asked something along the lines of what would you do if you had some spare time? and he replied "fill up my bird feeders" and I knew exactly what he meant.

Had a rather pleasant weekend. Stayed in for the better part of Friday waiting for a man to change the water meter (he turned out to be a man who changes electric meters - I don't know how I got that wrong.) Turned out to be a bit of a diabetic minutes from an attack, but that's another story.

Took a ride out to the Bexhill Aldi where I bought a fantastic pair of shorts (SVF 30) - just the thing for hiking trips in the Sahara. The ladyfriend bought a saddle for her bike.

On Saturday we spent the day driving around the gorgeous stretch between Lewes and Eastbourne. We went to Middle Farm - click here for pictures - and had a look at all the animals, browsed the farm shop and had a bit to eat. I can not recommend Middle Farm highly enough it is that fantastic. visit their website - you must go if you are in that neck of the woods.

We also drove about and fell on, quite by chance, Berwick Church which has links with the Bloomsbury set (we are in Charleston country afterall. I took many a snap of the Bell's daubings and have added it to my Art's festival - enjoy!

Lola's Art Festival launched: click the pic

You have iPod

This month we have an artist in residence. Clive emailed me some lovely photos which I have added to my gallery. Click here for Clive's Exposure. They are very nice. Perhaps I should be like Morrissey and curate a festival on Life For Lola. Why not indeed. Ok then, if anyone would like to send me something of an artistic nature in any medium I shall put it into my festival. Normal address: lola@lifeforlola.co.uk

It would be nice to have a few stories, poetry, paintings or mucky verse. What fun.

By the way, let's get behind Millwall and hope that nasty bully Alex Ferguson expires before the end of the game.

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.