Crack open the champers for I hear the death rattle of August. Tomorrow begins September and the onslaught of my absolute favourite time of year - Autumn. The smokey air, the bulging hedgerows, the wine, the game, jumpers, boots, leaves! Oh I am getting myself into a state just thinking about letting my onions sweat. The sun has been nice on several occasions and I did enjoy doing suduko on Eastbourne beach whilst mint choc chip dribbled down my arm, but I've had quite enough now thankyou.

Things look nicer in fresh clean light. I always think summer is like American TV clips on English telly. I think it is something to do with the NTSC system but it looks too gaudy and soft. Autumn is crisp like a sixties films - Breakfast at Tiffany's, Alfie, you get my drift. No, let the dark nights draw in....Autumn days when the grass is jewelled.

I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to start waving a placard and burning my bra a bit but I'm more than a bit ticked off at the BBC. Last night I joined the ladyfriend on the sofa who was watching that awful Ricky Gervais 'comedian' - I use that word in it loosest sense (am I the only person not to find him funny?) Anyway, I thought I'd stepped back into the seventies. Have the BBC gone so far with political correctness that they are coming out the other side?

What little of his programme I saw centered around making light of a gay man who was played in a camp stereotypical way. It pissed me off but I thought 'whatever' that's what straight people are comfortable with, it's how they like gay people on tv, non threatening, feminine (Graham Norton, Dale Winton etc).

After the programme, the Catherine Tate Show came on. In three sketches being gay was the butt of the joke. "Gay Boy" was one of them. I thought to myself, 'hang on a minute'. If these jokes were about being black, handicapped or women they wouldn't get an airing let alone be on prime time tv. I half expected the Black and White Minstrel Show to come on next! Why is it acceptable to prolong such outmoded humour? Will and Grace can do it without being offensive.

The irony of it all is, the funniest programme on tv was the one after all that drivel - "Absolute Power" which stars Stephen Fry, an out gay man who has never had to limp his wrist, refer to 'hiding sausages' or camp it up to appear on the BBC. Hmmm....

I may have to go and lie down in a darkened room but I fancy going to France. Not just a booze cruise which I believe is an ideal way to pop over and annoy the Frenchies with alcohol fuelled behaviour, blue language and the sacking of their supermarkets (why do we buy such big boxes of washing powder?)

No, I fancy exploring the Dordogne. I've been watching that Rick Stein on another BBC jolly and I must say he does paint a pretty picture. It's pretty villages are preserved in aspic and there is medieval architecture aplenty.

I'm sure Mr Stein is glossing over the rum side of France and giving it a bit of an H E bates makeover, he is quite possibly taking a kick-back from the French tourist board but he's doing a very good job. The ladyfriend and I are hooked. We fancy sinking our teeth into the arse of a five year old cow and washing it down with fine wine bought for 'pennies'. We'd best get a move on though, book the 2CV before the frogs lose their EU grants!

One of the highlights of the year has begun for the Ladyfriend and I. As the seasons begin to bump into one another, like two bobbing boats in a harbour, as Summer gently gives way to autumn, Saturday night tv gets good.

Ofcourse I say that with my tongue firmly wedged into my cheek. We all know that the only thing truly worth watching on a Saturday night is an ambulance which has turned up a few doors down the street (this happened this weekend by the way - I was up and down like a bride's nightie)

Saturday nights are now X Factor nights. There is nothing more entertaining than watching common people trying to make their dream come true. The first episode was tv heaven. A big ginger girl (when I say big - I mean big) was humiliated beyond all realms of decency. It was magic. She failed the xfactor audition and wept inconsolably whilst clutching a picture of two children which I presumed to be hers. She was afterall 18 and if they weren't hers she was leaving it a bit late.

Her family pleaded on their knees for the judges to accept her on their fast track to super stardom. They were denied. There were tears in our house - tears of joy.
It really is the best tv programme, well it is whilst it's still at the audition stage. The ladyfriend and I rush home from the high street, pop the chops under a low light and switch on to see Cowell et al sort the Wheat from the Chav.

I have been under the weather. I've had razor blades in my throat the size of those dwarf actors you get in provincial Christmas pantomimes. I'm better now though and back to my usual nasty self. I've got my eye on that Natasha Kaplinksy. I was raging with anger at her this morning over my porridge (which incidentally was made with soya milk - I didn't like it, I had to add more sugar which surely counteracts any health benefits which my switch from dairy would have made)
Anyway, she sat there boss eyed, pouting, dressed like she was off to a brothel afterwards whilst Bill Turnbill (a woman in drag?) tried to keep things together. Natasha stumbled with the long AND short words. I tell you, the woman is the Victoria Beckham of morning television. It was reported this week in the red tops that 'Posh' has never read a book before - join the club with Natasha - she's never read an autocue!

Lola's a mess. Grumpy too. I've a throat full of razor blades and I've been acting right grouchy all day. Were it not for our Captain's glorious batting on the Cricket field I think I would be in deep mood indigo indeed. I need to get better soon so I have been drinking a huge bio yog smoothie (alarming calorie count) in an attempt to holisticly treat the bacteria.

I want to be in tip top condition, with a shiny coat and wet nose on Saturday as it's Kelly's wedding. I don't want to be sat like a wallflower, frowning at the revellers whilst chewing on scotch eggs.

I'm feeling a bit under the weather. As I write this I have a bit of a thumper. I blame the air conditioning ofcourse. I've been breathing in the germs of thirty odd people (quantity, not age) and it's no wonder I am diseased.

I shall have to cook invalid food for tonight's supper. The ladyfriend won't be happy but it's as much as I can do to crack an egg. No doubt she will raise her fists, take off to the pub and come home stinking of ale and pork scratchings.........what it is to be a woman.

Oh dear, I don't know about hit the bottle but I reckon the bottle hit me this weekend. I am now on a complete detox although I have just eaten a tuna sandwhich of dubious quality and terrifying calorie count.

Brighton Pride was sensational this year - and I have the pictures to prove it : www.lifeforlola.co.uk/gallery/gaypride2005 I had the best time ever but have to admit to getting really, rather squiffy. I even danced in a tent which smelt of mud, damp grass and delicate womens perspiration (the women weren't delicate, the sweat was)

I was very pleased with my t-shirt. A few people got it. The ornotholgists among you might notice the species of bird on my top.....

I can see my house from here! I've been in China this morning, Rome yesterday and this afternoon, if no one is looking, I might pop off to Paris for a mince around the Champs Elysee. Yes, that's right folks, I'm talking about the fantastic Google Map service. I'm addicted. You can zoom right in from space onto earth. It's phenomenal. Take a look here: http://maps.google.com I think sensitive military targets may be obscured but it's hours of fun. Meet me in St. Louis for afternoon tea!

I'm off out with the girls after work tonight. It's not the sort of thing I regularly do. Since joining a new working environment I've noticed it's something that they do rather a lot. I feel like a proper "office girl". The sort that has a skin care routine, the sort who tries the latest fad diet, reads Heat magazine, watches Enders and drinks diet coke. Instead of the bitter and twisted old dyke which I am normally, tonight Matthew I will be a bubbly girl from work who laughs like a drain, gets smashed on Bacardi and photocopies her arse on a photocopier!

The countdown to Brighton Pride has begun, I'm hoping for good weather. Each year the ladyfriend and I promise ourselves we will watch the parade and not trudge to Preston park but every year we get Pride Amnesia. Oh what the hey, like a battered wife I'll forgive and put myself through it all again. By this time on Saturday I will have a thumping headache, a hatred of screaming queens, a shattered ear drum because of the whistles and food poisoning from a dodgy falafel.

I will bump into all the people I have ever wanted to avoid and the train ride to Eastbourne, which enroute was so enchanting, will be never ending and over airconditioned. The ladyfriend and I will scowl at each other all the way home.

Whilst at my Wonderful Mum's I have been able to use all the luxuries available to me which have included nice toiletries, king prawns, a raft of magazines and satellite television. I convinced myself that I really didn't want satellite tv after realising that there is even more rubbish on it than the four channels that I managed to pick up on a terrestial set. Infact, I spent twenty minutes the other day flicking up and down trying to find something engaging. Atleast it's good exercise for the fingers.

I was all ready to throw in the towel when I discovered Oswald the Octopus! He's an absolute delight. He's on Channel 5 in the morning and he's an absolute tonic. Now I am in a flux. Do I buy SKY so I can receive Channel 5 or cut the cord and end my new found happiness?.......still, there maybe a DVD......

Well, in this morning's news they were on about how patients are grumbling because they can't get a doctor's appointment when they want one. I rattled my tea cup in the saucer and picked up the phone. I was straight through to the dolly on the switchboard and after some tipping and tapping I'm in for Thursday. I would have preferred a Friday (which would have fitted more in with my plans) but other than that I'm in faster than a vet's well oiled arm. It's clearly healthier and more beneficial not to live in an inner city.

I must remember to take a few of my old magazines for the waiting room. I've flicked through the same copy of Cosmo for two years - you can just imagine the MRSA lurking amongst its seedy pages. I'm sure a batch of my Peoples Friend will go down a storm with the suffering.

I'm actually going there myself for an exploration of an intimate nature which I won't go in to here, suffice to say I shall be thinking of a happy place during my time at the country practice.

5.30am and there is a manic scratching at the bedroom door. I am cruelly taken from my chance of ice skating glory at the Winter Olympics and catapulted back to reality and a soft bed in the home counties. I stumble into the kitchen and feed Rosie the cat and notice the other one is not to be seen. Taking the time to be too early I go back to bed and am followed by Rosie. She doesn't leave me alone and prods and squeals at me. I fall back to sleep.

Two hours later I wake up. Rosie is still looking at me with urgency. I waltz out to the kitchen and then, with horror, I see a cat trapped in the conservatory. Poor Susie, a night of terror and crossed legs. She bolted for the cat flap on her release from incarceration and I felt like a failure.

I'm getting a bit too used to my new digs, the sky tv, the fan oven and the duck and down duvet, I will need counseling when I have to go back to the slums.

It's all a bit fraught in London at the moment, the ladyfriend is on about popping up to IKEA but I'm put off by the terrorists. Just imagine the shame of dying with a Scandinavian nic nac called something like TWAT in your hands? No, I intend to stay well away from the throng. Call me a coward if you will, I don't mind. Infact, I'm already being measured up for my burca.

My Wonderful Mother and Super Step Dad have gone off on a cruise around the Med on a huge floating palace. The ship is so huge I imagine at night time it must look like the New York Skyline with all the cabin lights on. I don't think I could be talked into such a venture - I have a morbid fear of sleeping on board ship. I just know I would wake to the sound of water gushing in under the door and all my toiletries hitting the walls. No, I don't think I'd like it in the least. And ofcourse all those Northerners.

The Ladyfriend and I have been looking after their house since Saturday and I have only just finished rummaging through all of the drawers. It's nice being in new digs. We have cats to feed, seed to scatter for the birds and, best of all, badgers to cater for! I feel like Bill Oddie with my box brownie trained on their humbug like heads. I'm going to stay up late on Saturday night and see if I get to see the foxes and the deer. It's a blue moon so it will be extra magical!

Pictures atlast of my holiday - Click here

I feel like the size of a house today. Not any old house but one with a garage full of half empty paint tins, handy bits of wood and a broken Dyson hoover in. I have consumed some rare old rubbish this weekend. I am ripe for the health farm. I need to be plucked like a bulging Victoria plum and taken to the hot box, left to steam for three hours, towel wrapped around my neck, whilst my trunk shrinks trapped inside.

The best news I have heard today? - Talk like a pirate day

Bit concerned about the flower arrangements for this year. It's my own fault of course. It stems (ged it) from infrequent and haphazzard trips to the garden centre. My pots on the patio are now an explosion of clashing colours which I think is gaudy but the ladyfriend thinks is pretty. I'm letting it go for this year but it wont win Chelsea Gold. I wince everytime I trapse out with the Mai Tais.

Mercy me I have been a busy bee. It's all work and no play and, yes, I am a dull boy. I don't know why I have not been able to spare a few minutes to make my daily entry - I am normally the first to down tools, read a fwd:email about about a miraculous moment which happened to a woman in California with a stump for a leg which I must then forward to all my friends in my sad little inbox. Any how I have not had much time. I still have not sorted out my glorious holiday pictures. I am getting behind. Life is running at a pace too fast for me to comfortably move in. It's a little out of sync. Like watching an advert for sweets which have been made for a European market. I feel as though I have been dubbed by a woman with a penchant for bratwurst. I've checked my arm pits and will get the Gillette out post haste.

I have had a little 'mood indigo' and have been full of 'humph'. I was so devoid of fun and lack lustre that I put my fingers up to the bike and jumped on the bus this morning. One pound and ten to go three stops, shocking. I won't make poverty history if I carry on at this rate. My bank account is looking unsightly at the moment and it will be the debtors prison for me if I allow luxury to get in the way of good housekeeping. I've never been able to look after the pennies. The ladyfriend is the same, only, she drinks like a fish and will no doubt end up in the workhouse with a purple nose and pissy knickers. I will end my days travelling like a Romany painting landscapes on the back of match boxes for tourists, doing odd jobs for kindly bar owners and tickling trout in rural streams.

Another smashing holiday and I'm back fully refreshed and shiny new. Atleast I was until I turned up at work. I am toying with my holiday bracelet (I always buy something to wear around my wrist to remind me that my freedom was not my imagination. It lasts all year and as the tan fades the bracelet remains and gives me some hope and something to aim for)

Still, Summer is not over yet and there are plenty of functions I have still to attend and participate in. I am sewing my Brighton Pride sequins as I speak and you can't move for glitter in the sitting room.

I've eased myself gently into my 'oliday like an Angel Delight which could perhaps do with a few more rotations of the whisk and I'm flopped out in the blissful warmth of a late June day. I'm in Blue using their internet facility and sipping gingerly on a large Cappuccino. The music sounds a bit David Grayish which normally grates but hasn't bitten into my reverie.

I have just checked my hotmail for the first time in ages and to my horror my account had been deactivated due to a prolonged period of unuse - my goodness if people were to extend this rule to other elements of my life I'd been in a right old pickle. Still, this holiday is all about picking up things I have left to dust - books, kites, fishing nets, paintbrushes, mooching in shops for hours. I have already scooped a nice pair of trousers from a closing down sale. It was quite a scrum. Women with push chairs all after the same crop top. It wasn't pretty. I tried on the trousers in a changing room which had a faint whiff of sick about it but I wasn't put off, I'll look a bobby dazzler on the beach in 'em.

Matthew Szurgott - you'll be pleased to know my book is full of knights, blood and gore and I watched two episodes of Spaced with the Homageometer on before breakfast this morning.

Oooh I'm dashing away with a smoothing iron trying to get everything at work ready for my holiday. In ten minutes I will have my freedom. Two weeks off to explore coves, read books, experiment with fusion food! Oh tres jolie! My next post will be from an internet cafe!

Happy Solstice every one. I didn't make it down to Wiltshire AGAIN! It's a bit like Christmas, every year it comes around and you're not prepared (staying up all night means a day off work and if you don't book it you don't go etc, etc) and just like Christmas when it comes around you say 'next year I'm going to be better prepared (buy presents in June and keep them tucked in the sock drawer, etc, etc) My new age batteries are well in need of a charging. I need to get down with the crusties and shake my thang in Avebury.

By the way, above is a picture of me waiting at Eastbourne train station for the train to Hastings Jack in the Green. It is me in my elf ears which you can't really see, never mind. I haven't got my garland in my hair so you will have to use your imagination. Next year however, I intend to dress as Mr Tumnus.......as I was saying about Christmas.....

I'm lightly toasted like a prematurely grabbed out crumpet which you can't wait for because you're too hungry. I tried to stay out of the sun as best I could, rubbed in the sun lotion and sat beneath a brolly on the beach but the UV's caught me here and there. I've got those ridiculous t-shirt marks that make you jump when you have a bath.

The New Forest was fun. I love camping shops. Boxes of tent pegs, rails of leisure wear, collapsible kitchen equipment and miles of string which you cut to order. Marvellous. A romantic world of the open road, starry skies and bird song. A joy. The ladyfriend and I have pencilled in August for a return journey with the two man.

Yesterday it was too hot to mow the lawn. We just managed a third of it, as a result the back garden looks like a pikey kid's hair cut. I must press on with it tonight. I take my annual leave on Friday so everything has to be ship shape and ready for my summer seaside break.

Aaaah, this is baby Amy my nicest niece. She's fab. I went to see her last night with my wonderful mother and the ladyfriend. We clucked like hens, passing her amongst ourselves as soon as she started to cry.

Last night I sliced a finger on my left hand furiously trying to open a packet of noodles with a sharp kitchen knife. As a consequence my ablutions this morning were hampered and I dressed myself more by accident than design.

Rugger Bugger Matthew Szurgot has his own website now so I must point you to it - it's in its infancy but he is keen for his audience to grow from the outset, so here you go www.yououttonight.co.uk

I'm off to the New Forest this weekend, it's going to be a scorcher, I reckon I might peel off and take a plunge in the solent.

Round. Like a circle in a spiral. Like a wheel within a wheel. Never ending or beginning. On an ever-spinning reel. Like a snowball down a mountain ...

I've been watching the wheel of my bike as I slug along to work in the morning. There's a big dollop of muck on it, quite possibly dog related, that comes round quicker as I pedal faster.

It makes me feel young again riding a bike. Not because I feel fitter and thinner (I don't think I've dropped a dress size yet) but all the things I used to do (like getting dog muck on my wheels) is happening again. I fly down the hills, lean over to fly round corners, whack scratchy overgrown hedges, ride on the pavement and best of all - pull up the handle bars to leap up kerbs. My heart is always in my mouth, will I make it? Or will I go arse over mammary infront of the rush hour traffic.

There is such a thin line between being tidy and slovenly, a good housewife and a slattern. Take Monday night, I was making Cod in Parsley sauce - I was feeling a little under the weather and the favourite family dish is ideal invalid food. My fish was cooking nicely so I prepared myself to Bechamel. My butter was in the pan so I pulled out a bag of flour from the cupboard and that's when it happened. One minute I'm Martha Stewart the next I'm Wilfred Brambell. My generous spoon of self raising was crawling with weevils! I had let things go and my pantry had become infested. I checked another bag and the blighters were there! The shame of it. It just goes to prove, when you think you are on top things you really aren't, there are always the small things building up. Check your flour bags ladies.

What a weekend! I've tacked, jibed, capsized and fingered an admirable (or should it be Admiral) Bowline. This sailing lark is fantastic fun but I still can't get the turning bit to work properly. I flounder about in the boat, the sail flapping madly, whilst the other students pass me with ease. I'm no Ms MacArthur, that's for sure. I am enjoying sailing club life however, especially the tea and sponge cake afterwards.

Ah ha - Miss Diane's kiddy wink is doing nicely - Click here

Koo-koo-ka-choo, Mrs. Robinson,
Jesus loves you more than you will know - Oh it's very sad. I don't like it when the really good ones die. What a shame, and what a tragic way to go. Oh, too sad to write today.....I'm off to Play.com and see if they've got a nice box set going.

I'm all arse about face today. Here I am, the sun truly over the yard arm and I am only now settling down to write my memoirs. I've been working like a stable hand and that's the truth. It won't stop yet either. I've got a bit of Monty Don to do when I get home. I've a cart load of plants to pot up, a delightful meal to prepare and then, if I'm not too wan from my labours, Spring Watch to watch. Tonight we get to see Hares boxing. I'm getting back to nature at the moment. It is very fashionable to provide for wildlife and roll naked in wet grass. I'm loving myself in my Cotton Traders Wrinkle-Free Chinos. I have already instructed the ladyfriend to build me a hide, I'll have her dashing off to B&Q before you can say "Lesser Spotted Dendrocopos minor".

To the country this weekend to stay with MR & Mrs Brown. We had a lovely time, drank like a fish. Browsed around some nice antiques and kicked a few Queen Anne legs whilst no one was looking. We went to the Newbury Farmers Market yesterday, my goodness there was some good stuff. The ladyfriend and I filled our baskets with ham, free range eggs, tomatoes, plants and a huge bundle of asparagus. I felt very Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall as I man handled the goats cheese.

The ladyfriend and I ate all the produce last night and it was quite heavenly. However, I fear the old water is rather pungent today. I am flushing through but I was a bit greedy, piling on the spears last night....thank goodness the season is short.

Beautiful June day, sun high in the sky, swallows on the wing, few clouds and a gentle breeze and I am sitting here at work in arctic conditions. Our modern offices come complete with the modern day asbestos - air conditioning.
The best form of air is that that floats in through a window. The natural stuff. I can't wait for the outbreak of disease. Did you know the most sterile environment is in the middle of a field? That little gem of information comes from experiences in the first world war. Germs multiply because they can't get out - yuk, yuk, yuk. I should start a sweep stake to see who the first victim will be.

On a dismal first day of June the Double D's are leaving on a jet plane - I don't actually know if they'll be back again. Dawn and Dave are heading off to a life in Spain. As the plane taxis along a Malaga runway England, with its escalating crime and plummeting family values, will drift away like a packet of fags on a receding tide. Lucky them. A life of sun, sea and sangria awaits them. And sunburn no doubt. Keep 'em covered Dawn.

I've gone right off that Natasha Kaplinsky, actually I always viewed her with caution. She's boss eyed, a constant auto cue reader and, if today's performance is anything to go by, a drunk. She's a rotten apple in the BBC barrel and I for one do not want to watch her slurring at my and other licence fee payer's expense. That nice Jan Leeming was a good little performer, yes she read the autocue but you couldn't tell. Jan looked up from time to time. Perhaps Natasha thinks she's 'bigger than all this' now she turns up like a bad penny on most of the BBC's output (all be it poor)and I don't like it. Ooooh those Russians. I've got one word to say to Kaplinsky - Selina Scott.

Oh my lord I can't breathe with excitement! Entertaining Mr Sloane is on sale on DVD! I have waited, oh how I have waited for this moment. It even comes with a collector's booklet. I've placed my order and proceeded to the checkout. Does life get any better?

I'm like Tyres from Spaced well, atleast I should be. You should have seen me flying along the highway this morning on two wheels. If you had been there you would have seen my puzzled expression. For some reason I wasn't travelling quite as fast as expected. Infact I was experiencing rather high levels of resistence. My break blocks were rubbing on my wheels! They had jammed themselves and instead of freewheeling it was an uphill struggle. I'm not having too much luck at this going green lark - infact you could say I'm feeling enviro MENTAL!

It was my best intention to cycle to work this morning as the office has now moved to more convenient premises. It's rather lovely actually. My view is spectacular, I have a nice tree covered in ivy to the south and to the east a pleasant stream complete with ducklings. I am, as they say, in clover.

Anyhow, I looked out over my porridge and the rain was steadily drifting down, I didn't much fancy a bike ride which would leave me with a black slash of water and grease up my backside so I made ready to walk. I estimated 30 minutes should do it. I packed my bag for a day of paid labour.

The rain continued so up went the brolly. I wasn't even half way there when time trickled away, my pace was too slow, my shoulder ached because I had too much in my bag. There was a point where I contemplated jettisoning the four granny smith's but I kept on. I felt like one of those athletes running dragging a tyre behind them. I wasted time swapping the bag and brolly arm and arrived eventually about five minutes late in a right old mess. It took me the best part of an hour to cool down. Still, if I carry on like this I may drop a dress size. I'm hoping the blustery showers will abate so I can wheel out the boneshaker tomorrow.

They said 'bring something to wear on your feet that you don't mind getting wet, a pair of old trainers are ideal'. Well, the ladyfriend and I bought a pair of those rubber sea shoes each so we were laughing. I've seen that boat launching lark, running into the surf and jumping on with elegance and sailing off into the horizon.

We turned up at the sailing club for our first lesson on Saturday. The sea was a bit choppy and so we got down to the theory of tacking and assembling the boats. We watched a video about sailing life and had a nice lunch in the clubhouse. This is the life, I thought, yes, I could get used to this!

After lunch we were told that conditions were ok and that we would go out in the training boat. There was a great deal of excitement and we were told to help ourselves to a wetsuit from the shed. The ladyfriend and I sifted through a selection of suits, some of which had holes in (no doubt from shark bites) and grabbed a life jacket. Now, I was quite surprised. I thought if I put a wet suit on I'd look faintly ridiculous, my larger bits would be enhanced and I'd end up like a string of sausages but it's not the case. Infact, wetsuits are slimming! They hold you in, shaving pounds off all over. Happy with my hour glass figure I made my way out to the shoreline.

Surf was up. Within seconds of pushing the boat from the trailer into the sea the ladyfriend was over, she plunged into the sea and I grabbed her before the boat ran over her head. Then our fellow pupil jumped into the boat then clung to the boat on all fours. I jumped in as wave after wave pounded our vessel. The ladyfriend managed to scramble in which just left Harry our instructor. Harry was the straw that broke the camel's back. With a sudden rush the boat capsized. I was trapped under the sail and the ladyfriend sank toward the sea bed. I sprang to the surface in panic, got back into the boat unable to breathe through shock. The ladyfriend was left on the shore and I waved as we sailed out, salt water streaming from my nose - what have we done?

I've got a Butler's sink. Lucky old me. My place of work is being gutted as we are moving to a new building and the old one, built in the 1950's is being raised to the ground. There are a few of these lovely sinks dotted around but I've plumped for the one in the medical room which is smaller and just the thing for my country cottage kitchen - when I get one. It's a nice sink and if it could talk I bet it could tell a story or two I'm sure. I bet it's had no amount of blood - and worse - splattered around it's white sides.

It was a bugger to shift, I must thank Rugger Bugger Matthew Szurgot for helping lift it. It made my hair curl when I tried to budge it. He lifted it up like Atlas and didn't break a bead of sweat. He's a good lad. My fantasy lad infact. He's going to lend me some of his dungeonsy dragonsy computer games. He's a very nice young man, I'd take him home to meet mother but he'd be too busy playing with his joystick.

Ooh, I seem to have been chasing my tail since January. I feel like one of those mad beasts that Ray Harryhausen created.Moving all a bit real yet not, y'know what I mean? Over sized, clumsy and gruesome. I need a holiday and indeed I have booked one. I'm not going abroad, I won't need a flight bag where I am going. No, I am off to spend two whole weeks in Eastbourne. I intend to knock out a few watercolours in an old country church yard, collect pebbles on the beach and press a few flowers, fly my kite in a cheek tingling wind and try out a few recipes that have since looked daunting. It's not for a month or two but I am already dusting off my easel.

Of course she is the most beautiful baby in the world, she was always going to be! Lola is very pleased with the little dumpling, very pleased indeed. I went to see her last night in the sterile environment (yeah right) of a NHS hospital and after navigating my way through a series of swing doors and narrow passage ways I scooped up the little bundle in my arms and she didn't scream! Quite a result. Not the usual Lola effect. I intend to become a major influence on her upbringing. Teach her all the valuable lessons in life. Impart my knowledge of fencing, macrame, container gardening, field sports and white water rafting. There will be no better finishing school for the little lady.

I will give her presents which will be useful yet unfamiliar - stuff from the Inovations catalogue which she will be lost for words on unwrapping them. I will dress her in Pirate Costume when in my charge and she can ride pillion through the country lanes of Sussex on field expedition trips - butterfly net flapping in the breeze. Oh yes, I'm looking forward to the next ten years.

How exciting. I have a new name, a new role in life, a new position in the family hierachy - I am Aunty Lola! The little baby - who shall remain nameless....only because I don't think they have decided - was born last night at 11.20pm weighing in at a considerably hefty Imperial sized 91bs 12oz. I'm ever so pleased, now I have an excuse to splash out in Woolworths at Christmas. I'm off to see the little dumpling tonight. I shall take the box brownie with me.

I hope they let me in, I have an air of garlic about me. I've been marinated in the stuff this weekend. Friday night Dawn and Dave - the Double D's - came down to visit us in our modest seaside flat. We went out for a lovely Italian nosh up and painted the Georgian/Victorian seaside town, which boasts and attractive pier, red. We had such a fab time that Saturday was used for complete relaxation and the polishing off of our Kath and Kim dvds.

More garlic with a joint of lamb in the evening and then more yesterday, when we lunched in an Italian restaurant full of comfortably off old dears. There is something of the Med about my odour. Tonight we are out celebrating my Super Step Dad's birthday - I think I shall plump for something bland, innocuous and no challenge to the palette.

I've just had a brush with the dark arts. Well, I thought I had. I've just been to make the tea and my pal Jane Lofthouse-Smith (double barreled in more ways than one) told me that she would be at the rear, in the warehouse. I said I'd bring her out her tea when ready.

I duly minced out with the tray of hot beverages but there was no sign of Lofty. "Lofty" I said "Lofty, where are you?" Then, there was a commotion and a flurry of feathers and out flew a wood pigeon.

I nearly dropped the tray in 'orror. Lofty had been changed into a bird! I know it happens with cats but Wood Pigeons I was not familiar with. I scuttled off back to my workstation with my eyes tightly closed.

I met Lofty on the way back, smiling serenely, she said she'd been down to reception but I knew better.......

I've begun my summer container gardening in earnest. So much so infact I have an inch of compost which is stubbornly stuck under my finger nails. I look like one of those damaged girls in care who Colin doesn't clean properly in the morning.

Each year I buy more and more pots and each year I never have enough. Something sinister is a foot - especially if it is a foot belonging to jack frost.....This leads me on to buying plants prematurely. I have paid out for shed loads of geraniums and petunias and the last two mornings we have had to scrape the car window! What's that all about? I've had to cover my delicates from the icy blast.

This year I treated myself and bought lots of herbs, I've planted some odd ones - Thyme Archers Gold, Meadowsweet, Budleia Mint, Orange Thyme, Curry Plant - ooh, I'll have to watch it, if the crops fail this year I'll be first down the pond for a ducking.

Someone has asked me to do something that I'm none too happy about. It's website building based before anyone worries, nothing filthy just mildly mucky, it's selling racy undies and I've had one of those moral dilemmas. As there is money involved my eyes sparkled for a few seconds but I've been left with an unsavoury taste round my chops. Writing this down now has been cathartic and I've decided to scotch the fellow now and extracate myself from it. Lola doesn't do blue.

I see the conservatives have decided that they need more women and people of colour in their party. I bet a few people in the home counties spat their cornflakes over the Telegraph this morning. Bless 'em, a race dying on it's tweed clad arse. "My boys, we are at the end of an age. We live in a land of 'weather forcasts' and breakfasts that 'set in'. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour. Now, which of you is going to be a splendid fellow and go down to the Rolls for the rest of the wine?"

Blimey, I've been rushed off my feet. Everything has been a bit busy my end. I've been covering the election at work in a very 'local' way which has meant sleep deprevation and email wipe out (if you have sent me an email in the last week you can bet your life it has been gobbled up by a nasty bug)

My bank holiday weekend was an absolute corker. Mr C and Mr D were perfect house guests they left no mess and were a pleasure to have. I even ended up lager fuelled dancing in the back room of a gay pub such was the decadence of the weekend. Jack in the Green went without a hitch, my elf ears stuck fast and I was cock-a-hoop with my garb. Next year I might go for a more floaty number. We shall see.....Take a look at the pictures here to be going along with.

A picture of myself is in circulation, I shall have to get hold of it so you can see my falsies......ears that is.

PS: Auntydom is looming - just a few more days surely!

Lola is away

Just been making some tea in the staff canteen/restroom/call it what you will. It being Friday there aren't so many staff around - local paper deadlines have been met, adverts sold etc - and I was taken by the peace and quiet as I set up the tea tray and went about making refreshments the Windsor Way.

I could hear a blackbird's trill, the gentle hum of the refridgerator and the gurgle of the kettle (which was filled perilously close to maximum)and I felt as though I was in a secret garden of solitude. I felt at one with myself and the world.

It's a great start to the weekend which I reckon will be played at break neck speed. The ladyfriend and I have house guests at the coast. Mr C and Mr D are joining us at our seaside retreat. My C is rather tall and I fear for the chandelier, however, I will make good use of his height, I shall employ him to chop some lovely ivy for my Jack in the green head dress on Monday. I'm looking forward to wearing my elf ears.

I was listening to Radio 2 this morning on the way to work and my mind wandered, as it is want, to all the other people who were listening to the same record up and down the country. I was imagining the ladies applying lipstick saying "I have very beautiful lips and the truckers chewing on bacon sandwhiches at roadside cafes. I also thought of the bed and breakfast establishments, Glen Campbell floating out of the kitchen and into the dining room where awkward couples wipe grains of sugar off of their arms.

I stopped when I thought of the holidaying couples as the day looked a bit dull. I wondered what they were going to do with themselves as it looked like rain. I imagined them scanning those little racks of tourist attraction leaflets and ending up at some dreadful little museum or the 'home of fudge'. Poor buggers. All this to a backdrop of 'A Rhinestone Cowboy'

The Ladyfriend and I have been watching Mapp & Lucia. We have been given the whole set on DVD and have been indulging in an episode a night. Fantastic stuff. Filmed in Rye ofcourse which is one of our favourite little weekend destinations when in Sussex. It's about an hour's drive from Eastbourne but well worth putting yourself out. I have photos of the little place here if you want to have a little nose

It's nice watching old programmes. This DVD revolution has got me watching all kinds of stuff long since forgotten. One thing I have noticed though is programmes in the eighties were filmed with very peculiar lighting. Mapp & Lucia is very dull but bright at the same time. It might be because it's a pirate copy but I don't think so. All the best stuff from that period has that washed out look. TV today is so vivid, we must appreciate it more. Mind you, as the sun sets the sky becomes alive with fire - perhaps,like the sun, as the quality of programmes goes down and finally sets we will be in darkness.

My mate Vicky from the Beeb (A bit like Jenny from the Block but think the Midlands) and I have been ripping Ellen to shreds like two rabid dogs with an unfortunate Hare between our teeth. I've found comfort in other women. Both Michelle and Victoria have come to my rescue with some wise words.

Last night old age sat by my side. I told her to leave and come back later when I came to my senses. I have just joined the RSPB which is mature enough as it is but, in the joining pack, I was sent a car sticker. I held it up to the ladyfriend and said "this is quite nice, shall we put it in the back window?" There was a second when the ladyfriend looked with polite horror at me and then I realised how close I had come. Like a canoe, teetering on the edge of a huge waterfall, the Ladyfriend was my Johnny Weissmuller sweeping down on a length of twine to pluck me from old age. Thank god. I popped the sticker in the bin just incase.

Oh dear, Lola's had her dreams smashed. The Ellen McArthur interview was a bit of a damp squib. I don't know that I can even bring myself to talk about it such was the dissapointment. She aint no jolly jack tar that's for shore.

The Ladyfriend has banned me from involvement in anything of the like again. After the Jack in the Green festival this weekend I shall lie low for a bit and hand the Red Coat over to the ladyfriend. My entertainment licence has well and truly expired.

I've got one of those phobia things. I don't like touching door handles in municipal buildings. Before entering or exiting a lavvy in particular I have to drag down my jumper sleeve and tuck it around my hand as a barrier. The ladyfriend now knows to expect this behaviour and slows down so as not to bump into me.

I wouldn't mention it really but I've had a bit of a thought. I've begun to feel a bit cautious about shopping baskets. As they are continuously used do they ever get washed? And if so when, how many times a week, month, year? During busy periods of the day in a supermarket the same basket must be used around ten times an hour. Ten different grubby right hands (the left hand is the devil's shovel) and all the germs associated with these hands are left on the handles.

Again, I wouldn't really mention it but I've been thinking, as MRSA has increased and got out of control could you draw a parallel with the profits of Tesco also increasing and getting out of control? Are Tesco cutting corners with cleanliness and are they the cause of the superbug? I quote the BBC - "One in three pounds you now spend in supermarkets goes into a Tesco till." I say Tesco's make you ill!

I've just popped down to the new Marks and Spencer 'simply food' shop. It's on one of those retail parks that erupt like boils along main roads. It was my first visit to the shop and I felt a mixture of delight and reservation at the same time.

There was a smashing amount of food on display and it was nice to see new packages. I skipped about with my basket and was putting this, that and the other in to it. However, when I reached the tomatoes I was a little bit taken aback by the price. Two quid for approximately eight cherry tomatoes - are they taking the piss? (all be it distilled through volcanic rock). I looked around me and spotted ladies clad in two piece suits, high hair and foundation slapped on their faces and felt a bit horrified at what we have become in the Sarf. I felt as though I was at the court of Louis XIV - such ugly extravagance.

I realised that if I wanted the tomatoes I could have them and not feel the pinch or the fear of the landlord at the door. Baby wouldn't go with out and all that, but I couldn't bring myself to buy them on principle. I felt the breath of excess blowing at my neck and i didn't like it.

Goodness me how the day has flown by. It seems to be hurtling at great speed. I will be tucked up with my cocoa before you can say 'rapid decline' I just know it.

During luncheon I flicked through the Sun newspaper (not my newspaper of choice but as my handsome big brother says 'it does do the best sports coverage') anyway, I noticed that George and Lynn the two nymphomaniac cartoon characters are still at it hammer and tong. They still look fresh as a daisy. It made me think, what if cartoons aged like real life. Fred Bassett would have long been fertilizing the rose bush, Charlie Brown would by now be an accountant and George and Lynn - well! I should imagine George's prostate would have given out and Lynn's main passion would be a nice word search.

I'm sitting here at work a bit windblown, my apple red cheeks have been battered by an Eastbourne sea breeze and I'm in a bit of a need for pulped avocado. I shall lay down tonight with a slice of cucumber on each eye and a gin and tonic.

Last night the Ladyfriend and I went to see Eddi Reader. I booked the tickets quite early on but was still shocked in to shame to discover that I had front row, centre seats. We were only a few foot away from her! I've never been so close to a stage...well, that's not strictly true, I once saw Jean Boht in a pantomime once. She was a pissed fairy godmother and she fixed me with a steely gaze all the way through the performance. I think she was using me as a guide so she could walk straight but it put me off the production.

Anyway, Eddi Reader was predictably fantastic and it was nice to see her so close. Infact, she is the start of my celebrity week which culminates with Ellen McArthur on Friday. I'm wearing nautique today in preperation.

Rugger bugger Matthew Szurgot has been helping me think up questions for Ellen. Sadly his questions are of a rather unsavoury nature and make me blush to think them let alone ask them. The ladyfriend and I have a ten minute audience with the little lady. She's quite a chatty Kathy from what I've seen on the telly so I think we shall be able to fill it.

This weekend we are out on the tiles of Brighton with Michelle and Sarah. They are going to show us the sights and, believe you me, there are plenty of sights to be seen in the seedy seaside city.

I also want to look at sourcing a few materials for my jack in the green costume. Yesterday I stumbled on a most perculiar lady via google: click here and see what I mean

Sweet Jesus my life just got even better. At the moment my life is like a car radio when you're off on a nice trip and the radio plays a good record which fills you with joy. Then, the next record is good and then the next and so on and so forth until you are a vessel of delirium.

I shall press on - next Friday I am going to interview Ellen McArthur. Can you believe it?! By lucky hapt the planets have aligned and placed me on the x that marks the spot. The ladyfriend is going to take the pictures. I dare say any I take will be blurred as I would shake with excitement.

I am trying to think up some interesting questions to ask her. I intend to brush up with nautical terms and sea shanties to put her at ease. I will walk up to her bo-legged stinking or rum, that ought to do the trick.

My goodness me I've got a lot on my plate. The whole of April is consumed with social events. This weekend I am off on my yearly pilgramage to see Eddi Reader at the Shepherds Bush Empire. Rush out readers now and buy yourself a ticket, I promise that if you are dissapointed I shall refund you!

Best event comes at the end of the month however, the Jack in the Green festival in Hastings. The ladyfriend and I went last year and it poured with rain but I have high hopes for this year. The rooks are nesting high in the trees which can only mean a long hot summer and a nice bank holiday weekend. I will gather flora and fauna for my headress, I intend to 'get with the programme' as they say.

My snaps of the Royal wedding are up and atom click here to have a buther's hook. They don't really do the day justice, you can't get a feel for the sheer numbers of well wishers cheering on the King but never mind. You may derive some pleasure from them.

It was all I could do to drag myself from the mattress this morning. I think the weekend has finally caught up with me. I was awake for far too long on Saturday. Up at 7.30 to get to Windsor and then it was up at Miss Diane's until the wee small hours of Sunday morning. My head didn't hit the pillow until 4am. I packed too much pleasure into one day but it was worth it - that Miss Diane doesn't half know how to dress a salad.

Well, what a smashing time the ladyfriend and I had at Windsor on Saturday. It was quite a carnival atmosphere as I was battered against the railings. The Royal town was fit to bursting and I was proud to be there with my little flag. My pictures weren't too bad - I should have them up on Lola tomorrow - unfortunately the only Royal we managed to capture on camera was Princess Anne. Charles and Camilla whizzed by too quickly and we have a blur where they should have been. The ladyfriend was official photographer so I'm saying nothing.

It was a magnificent day out for all the family though, security was tight, SWAT teams were on the rooftops, coppers were pulling odd looking gentlemen out of the crowds and men with little radios eyed us with caution. It was quite thrilling.

We saw a few familiar faces from the tv screen. Trinnie and Susannah, Piers Morgan and Janet Street Porter. We also saw the odious Peter Tatchell. He was waving a placard about wanting gay marriage. He stood next to us like the grim reaper. "We've got the partnership register haven't we?" I said to him. He looked at me like he was looking at Judas himself and said "It's not equality!" I shrugged and said "It's enough for me"

It was a brilliant turnout for the golden couple and I was pleased. Ofcourse, as expected, the papers the next day were full of praise and nice words. Too little too late is what I say! More tomorrow, I'm off now for my lunch - a gammon salad in a plastic container - wish me well.

Just had a butchers at the tv and seen the Pope's funeral. That's a bit of a big old 'do'. I'm hoping there won't be the same kind of crowds tomorrow in Windsor. I shall have a bit of a panic attack if I'm in close quarters to such a howling mass. I hope there isn't a sudden surge forward as Camilla appears and I'm carried toward the bariers - with my legs losing contact with the ground. My little Union Jack might be shoved up my nostril in the melee.

The new camera has been delivered today so hopefully I shall be able to get close to Charles with the optical zoom. I don't hold out too much hope of a good observation point but I shall enjoy the occasion. The ladyfriend and I are going to paint 'Camilla' 'Queen of our hearts' on our breasts.

Been asked by Lofty at work what I shall be wearing to the wedding. I must say if the weather forecast is anything to go by it won't be flimsy. No, I suppose I shall settle on tweed, I'll also roll up the barbour and tuck it under my arm just in case.

The Ladyfriend expressed her reservations about going to Windsor, I shot her a look that would wither an egg sandwhich. I would go alone but I worry about looking like one of those nut case loners who camp out at such events and always end up on ITV. I couldn't risk it. She's coming along, I've promised that I will treat her to a Charles and Camilla commerative ash tray for her trouble.

Getting back to the election, I see that horrendous Blur bloke has promised more money to poor families. It gets my goat. What do I get? All the poor do is squander their extra income on sportswear, ciggies and mobile phones. The Ladyfriend said "the poor have got their priorities all wrong" and she's right.

You'd get my vote if you start channelling a bit of cash my way Mr Blur. Give me a rebate because of the unlikely hood of me ever taking maternity leave. Let me pick up a bit of extra wonger for paying the same amount of tax even though I don't burden the school system. Children don't vote lovey, Lesbians do!

Rather fed up with the press. They seem to have it in for the happy couple. Come Sunday there will be a bloody great colour souvenir supplement in the Mail such is their hipocrisy. They seem to have turned on the King, and that bint from GMTV. Oh she really is common. You should have seen her carping on this morning with Tony Blair - now there is a man who's so awful, he really is.

I think Charles is playing a blinder, especially with that little outburst the other day outside the ski chalet. He's not daft, he's rebelling against all that has stifled him for so long. Perhaps he has been listening to The Smiths who said 'I say Charles don't you ever crave
to appear on the front of the Daily Mail dressed in your Mother's bridal veil?' perhaps we may be in for a treat at the newstand on Sunday!

Well, wouldn't you know? It's all change now. Charles & Camilla's wedding has been shunted into Saturday. Lola is thrilled. The poor tormented Ladyfriend is not quite as happy as it means we can go to the ball! I think it might be a bit late in the day to arrange a hat so I might have to wear something smart but casual as I stand cheering by the railings in Windsor. I will be up all Friday night crafting t-shirts saying 'Camilla for Queen' I just know it.

My imaginary tressle table is already buckling under the weight of celebration sausage rolls and cheesey wotsits. The bunting is strewn around my mind like a wind blown land fill site. I'm in a frenzy.

I know I've come a bit late to the monarchy. Those that know me will remember my left wing leanings and my struggle with royalty. But, maturing like an old cheese I have let the light of Charles into my life. I don't care a fig for the rest of his family, they can all go off piste. No, give me the Duchy of Cornwall any day. Up the King!

Only four days to go before Charles and Camilla marry and stop living over the brush. In a mark of support and great pleasure Lola is putting up the bunting all week in celebration. Gawd bless 'em.

I've never hidden my dislike of Diana, never understood why anyone could accept her peculiar ways. How could any man hope to form any kind of bond with a woman who sought publicity more than Victoria Beckham. She never loved his Royal Highness, she was the original wannabee who sacrificed her life in the pursuit of glory and Haute Couture.

Anyway, enough of her, I shall not let her rear her over larged head and upset my tressle table. I will get on with creating a recipe to mark the wedding. I shall use all Duchy Original products, keep it seasonal and munch on it whilst watching the proceeding on Friday. Camilla for Queen!

It's a great day indeed - I have Goldfinches! Two of the buggers on my nyger seed feeder. I am in total delight. This bird feeding lark is enormously rewarding. This afternoon I intend to get to grips with the stock control as I seem to be running down on mixed seed quicker than I thought possible. It's got to be done, afterall, you only get out what you put in.

Just recently I have noticed my mind wandering off way back into my history. Just yesterday a memory popped into my head from my infant school, fresh as if it happened last week. I can only liken it to a glass of lemonade which has been sitting a while, gone a bit flat, and then all of a sudden a bubble springs up and breaks the surface.

It's almost as if the Numbskulls in my brain are having a bit of a clear out and are boxing up old memories and reminiscing as they do so. They are probably pulling out all sorts of things, holding them up and saying 'do we still need this?'. I do hope they hold on to my most cherished thoughts and movements. I shall be bereft if I lose the moment when I was chosen at school to say 'I play the triangle, ting-a-ling-a-ling'

Had a few 'issues' on the bus this morning. First off, I was diddled out of 15p by the bus driver. Foreign fella, obviously sending the money back home for his uncle's eye operation. But I let it go, I toddled off to my seat feeling awkward and tried to tot up where things had gone wrong in our exchange of ticket and cash.......I thought the asians were supposed to be good at maths.

Anyway, at a stop further along the road a boy got on who gets on everyday. He was late and ran for the bus and got on puffed out. I knew how he felt as I was running a little behind myself this morning. Long story but it involved getting shampoo in my eye. It stung to buggery - Lord knows what it must have done to the rabbit. Anyway, the boy was scrambling around in his pocket and a look fell across his face of sheer horror and panic. He hadn't enough change and looked to the driver for some sign of generosity. None came, horrible little man. I rose up from my seat and walked towards him, how much do you need? I asked. The boy was deeply grateful, I did my little bit of altruism for the day and everyone on the bus was happy - except the nasty bus driver. May his uncle go blind.

I travelled back in time this morning - only briefly and come to think of it, in my own imagination - but none the less I was transported back to the late Victorian era.

I was forcing down reheated porridge (the ladyfriend makes a batch in the morning, leaves earlier than me and I eat the remaining later) and watching the breakfast news. The first item was regarding the rubbish our schoolchildren eat, well I thought, "it's like the Victorian days when they used to eat gruel, I may as well be watching the news in 1895". Moira moved on and told me that a prison somewhere was over run with mice and pigeons! My eyebrow lifted and I had to check that indeed I was sitting comfortably and it was 2005. THEN if I was not shaken enough, I was told about JM Barrie's novel Peter Pan. Goodness me. I was searching for the smelling salts when the travel news came on and guess what? The roads were thick with fog - a pea souper!

Ofcourse I hadn't really gone back in time, that was clear when it dawned on me that I had to face a day of work, I'm quite sure I would have stayed at home in the Victorian period. I'd have got on with a spot of needlepoint and eaten sponge cakes.

What a fabulous weekend at the seaside. On Friday I needed some fish, the supermarket had no sea bream so the ladyfriend and I thought we'd try the fish stall on the beach. It was amazing. I felt like Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall as I rummaged around in delight at the huge selection of sea bounty before me. It was very reasonably priced aswell. Packed with locals which is always a good sign. A slightly retarded looking man scaled and gutted my fish as we kept a watchful eye over our car which we had not put a ticket on - 1.20 for one hour, I ask you! I intend to return and taste more of their catch.

I also had my hair cut in Eastbourne, very cheap but I look a bit like an extra from Schindler's List as it's a bit shorter than perhaps I would have liked. Still, I'm quids in.

I feel a bit bad. There was a message on the answer machine from a lass who wanted to do a hairdressing course at the college. We often get these messages and phone calls because people don't put the area code in before calling. I listened as she said 'can you call me back to confirm a place, blah, blah' I deleted the message.

It struck me this morning that this naughty blunder of mine might affect the rest of this persons life. By me not taking the time to call her back and explain her mistake I might be responsible for her not learning to be a hairdresser. Instead of her learning the ways of the cut and blow dry, she may give up and take a job in a bookies. She may rub shoulders with the wrong kind of people. Fall in love with a cheeky rogue who promises to 'treat her right' only a few years down the line this all goes by the by when the 2.45 at Cheltenham doesn't pan out as planned.

She may be beaten but stays with him because she loves him and she's used to the luxury of his occasional wealth, thrilled herself by the excitement of the dog track and all the attractions it brings. She may end up addicted to trannies which help her sleep and to steady her nerves. Living in the flat above the bookies opposite a hair salon which, if the BBC's Cutting It is anything to go by, she could have ended up owning. All because of me.

I've just had a lovely lump of simnel cake. It was lovely. It was the first time I have ever had it. Rachel and Barrie, two very nice ladies at work, have been baking cakes and selling slices for something to do with the Tsunami appeal every wednesday. It's been very successful, I've gorged myself like Augustus Gloop.

Eager to take part in tradition I plumped for the Simnel cake this morning because of its Easter connections. I was not dissapointed and wolfed down my marzipan apostle with glee and not the slightest hesitation. I am very pleased to see there is still some left for later.....well it is for the disaster struck orphans.

I must say I am growing rather weary of this public transport lark. In my day when you caught a bus everyone else in the queue kept schtum. I've been accosted three times in as many bus trips!

Yesterday I caught the bus one stop behind the usual as I wanted to withdraw some smackers from the mini tesco on the village green. Green, that's a laugh, it's like Piccadily Circus in the rush hour. I sat on the bench which was kindly donated by someone no longer with us and inhaled dangerous levels of carbon monoxide. People came and went, parked in the spot designated and painted in bright yellow for buses only (I shall never do this again) which caused me untold stress. In the end I had to stand in the road so the bus, when it finally arrived, could see me! After all that I was charged fifty pence more than I would have done had I gone to my normal stop of choice - a distance of less than an eigth of a mile.

This morning I wore my magnolia coloured corduroy trousers to work. It was raining when I left so I took an umbrella. They are now splattered with road filth around the ankles, I've somehow dropped chocolate rather too close to the private parts area and I and my trousers look rather unsavoury. All because of public transport.

I've done something a bit nasty to my back. I'm not in the first flush of youth and I embarked on some vigorous hoovering yesterday. The next time I do it, which won't be soon, I shall do some limbering up before I set off around Axminster.

Had a nifty weekend. My Super Stepdad saw an offer at Staples which was advertised in the Daily Mail. It was a computer with a DVD rewriter thingy for 199 quid! What a bargain. I got up on Saturday and set orrrfff for Staples clutching a page of the newspaper.......or so I thought.

When I got there I headed straight for the PC bit but couldn't see the offer on display. I dug into my pocket to pull out the newspaper clipping but discovered to my horror that I had grabbed the wrong page and a middle aged, middle class woman battling with the menopause yet still finding time to juggle a career in public relations and by the way, this is what I'll be wearing to Ascot, staring back at me!

I went up to a spotty man at the help desk and he laughed at my suggestions. He took me to the cheapest computer which they had and it was far too expensive. Humouring me he ran the barcode through his computer and to my delight, and his horror, it came up at 199 pounds!!! I pulled out my switch card faster than Paula Radcliffe dropping out of a marathon.

Last night the ladyfriend and I popped in to see the Double D's, Dawn and Dave. They are off soon to live on the Costa Del Sol and live it up in the sun. They are leaving Blighty for a life of sunshine and sangria and, if the measure of their gin and tonics are anything to go by, complete inebriation.

What a terrible, tragic evening. Last night I had to go and pick the ladyfriend up from work. It was dark but I suddenly realised that the light coloured blobs on the road were not leaves but frogs. Oh my God, I thought, they are all going to die. Obviously last night was the night when they were programmed to head for the river that runs through my part of the world. Trouble is, it is cut off by three major roads. I tried to drive carefully but on return with the ladyfriend in the car I could see absolute devastation. All over the road were splattered frogs, utter carnage. I tried to guide the car away from the live ones but I saw people behind me oblivious to the poor little things.

When I slowed down so I wouldn't kill one the ladyfriend said 'come on, get a life' I shut my eyes as proceeded along. She said that nature would provide and that it was survival of the fittest etc, but mother nature could not possibly have taken into consideration the motor car.

When we got home I ran in to get an old newspaper so I could scoop up one that I had seen alive but by the time I had got back to it it was no more.

This morning as I walked to the bus stop I lost count of the mutilated bodies of frogs that had tried but failed to get to their breeding grounds, it looked like the Somme - they stood no chance.

It's a long story so I won't bore you with the details but I had to drop the ladyfriend off at work this morning. She starts work at 8am which involved me getting up a bit earlier than I would prefer. I sat bleary eyed in the car at the ungodly hour as we motored along the Buckinghamshire highways. Imagine my delight, I looked over at a river bank and I saw a Kingfisher! I was over joyed. You do indeed have to get up early to catch a worm it seems. My tiredness dissapeared as I saw the riverside royalty. It was much smaller than I imagined.

When I arrived at my own place of toil I spoke about the mornings revelations and a nice lady told me that when we move to our new offices (we are relocating) there is a pair of Kingfishers that can oft be seen there. My bag is packed already.

Went to Tesco last night to do a big shop. The Ladyfriend has begun to keep peculiar hours because of her new job so, in a fit of organisation, I decided to buy food for the week. I had a collosal trolley. It was not out of choice, all the nippy brief shopper trolleys were gone and I was left with a vast skip of a thing. It had a section for flowers, shopping lists, environmental boxes and triplets. It was a bit strenuous on the old back putting my consumables in and out. I had to stand on tippy toe to make sure the eggs were safe.

I had had a bit of good news at work, we had all been given a 300 quid bonus as part of a profit share thing so I pushed the boat out. I picked nice long peppers, rare breed eggs, organic everything, a big corn fed organic chicken, that will do for Thursday's tea I thought. Anyway, happy with my shopping I went up to the shop girls and put my stuff on the conveyor belt. I stood waiting for the lady infront. I looked at her shopping and I felt awful. She had economy blue stripe everything. She didn't look common, just down on her luck a bit. Her hair looked lank and she looked at my shopping and I could tell she was embarrassed about hers. I felt rotten.

She was taking a bit of time putting her stuff back into her purse and the girl on the till fiddled with the plastic bags. "Don't wait for me" said the lady as if she didn't matter. I wanted to whisk her away and treat her to a slap up tea and get her hair done right there and then I was so sad for her. She slipped off into the night with her little blue stripe supper leaving me feeling awful with my lollo rosso.

Back from my week off. I feel like a real person again. I didn't get up to too much during my short break but it did get time to stop and stare. Infact on several occassions I twitched the nets. One of my favourite views was of the next door neighbour who is advanced in years building a bonfire in his back garden. I felt a lovely calm feeling as the flames licked into the sky.

Because of my time off I exposed myself to tv and have become addicted to The Coach Trip on Channel 4 It's brilliant, the people on it are just fabulous, common as a Burberry cap and I love it. My favourite is the northern git who won't eat 'foreign muck' but is trying to make friends with the people. His conversation with an old lady in Munich was priceless.

The ladyfriend and I took a trip to Chichester on Saturday to see Clare Teal who was excellent of course, she was playing in an old warehouse on an industrial estate but it was a full house. Chichester is lovely, we drove down to West Wittering (you have to pay a pound to get in) and I stared across the Solent at the Isle of Wight. A salty tear came to my eye as I longed to walk on the diamond shaped Isle. My one dream in life is to have a modest cottage, aga, labrador and caravan stroke campsite on the Island.......one day.

One hour left of work today and then I am orrff on my holiday. I am about to embark on my first week of annual leave of the year and it hasn't come a moment too soon. I have a kitchen to decorate and I am ready and willing for a spot of DIY.

We had a significant snowfall this morning but it's all gone now. It's just like everything else these days - hurried and instant. People don't want to have something for a long time. Can't wait to cook something for dinner? Chuck a plastic tray of slop in the microwave. We are all on a speeding conveyor belt to a vast landfill site with our wide screen tellies, mobile phones and i-pods going on before.

I've been thinking, I wonder if it would improve life if there was a pocket sized canned laughter machine which you could carry around with you. In certain company (work, supermarkets, restaurants) you could press it. It would fill the room with laughter and improve dull situations.

Had to get the bus today. I should leave the comment there really as I think the gravity of the situation is enough but I shall share with you what happened......

The Ladyfriend took the family car this morning so it was down to public transport for me to get to work. I have not had to use this means of transport for a very long time and I am amazed at just how public it has become.

I was rather late for the timetabled time so I scooted out of the door with very little glamour. I was hoping to waltz down the street with a similar gate to that of Cagney & Lacey in the titles of their hit crime show - no such luck, I looked more like a desperate Nerys Hughes. On reaching the bus stop a rather portly girl was there (wearing slimming black) with rathere severe hair. I thought people weren't supposed to talk on these occasions but she mumbled on about the bus not turning up.

Fifteen minutes had gone by and I was thinking that it was a bit of a rum do when a severely depressed looking housewife came along. She didn't look a stranger to using the bus on a regular basis but I didn't fancy asking her if she knew what time it was due. Her hair was rather long and straw like and her face was worn with too much exposure to ciggies, the stress of a teenage tearaway and Coronation Street.
She had the cough of a coal miner. She stood behind me, doped up to the eyeballs with trannies,breathing with the last remnants of her lung.

The bus arrived, thankfully, I could feel her eyes burning into the back of my head and the air of B&H leaching into my clothes. The big girl got on first and the bus driver waved her on, ooh I thought, perhaps we are getting a free ride because of the bus being late. He carried on waving as I got onboard, I walked joyfully to my itchy seat when he shouted "oi!" Oh I was so humiliated, he hadn't meant me to get on for free at all. The fat bird had a bus pass.

I don't know about you but I find youngsters terrifying. If the ladyfriend and I have to venture out to the High Street or - God forbid - the shopping mall of a Saturday my heart beats wildly in my chest. It's not for the love of the latest fashions but through fear. I scuttle by McDonalds with wings on my heels as youths congregate, spit and use colourful language outside. It makes me shudder.

The girls are the worst, and they're so big. I remember be scared stiff of Imelda Davies (pictured) from Grange Hill and I don't recall her packing a blade. I'm not sure if female emancipation was such a good idea. If young women aren't shop lifting, smoking, spitting, having babies or binge drinking they are laying seige to the shopping precints, bullying shoppers and demanding money with menacies. The Two Ronnies certainly were on to something with The Worm That Turned.

No doubt if any of them are brought to justice an ASBO would be worn with pride. If you ask me we should put all these horrible girls in the army and send them off to Iraq. That'll bring peace to the middle east.

It's the Ladyfriend's first day at work today. I dropped her off this morning, she was very anxious. I left her there in the snow with enough bus fare to come home if the people were nasty. I have not heard anything yet so I am assuming all is well.

I've bought myself a new mobile phone. The first time I have ever had a brand new one. I have always thought them rather expensive and have eyed them with suspicion but there was a sale on and I now have a T-mobile c1200. It's nothing fancy I assure you but it does have polyphonic noises which appeal.

It's really confusing though because there are so many buttons and things I've got to do, the book is a nightmare. I need a youngster to help me with it. I'd like to have a nice ringtone, something from the hit parade. I'd cut a dash in the Co-Op with something ritzy blaring from my pocket.

At work each day I get snippets of all manner of tunes eminating from bags, blazers and desks. They're really loud.......actually, it's rather annoying.

Out to dinner last night at the Crown with Mr C & Mr D. We were talking about the theory that everyone has an optimum age where you stop developing and are at your happiest. It does not matter how old you are now, go back to a time when you were at your happiest when everything else after it wasn't so good. You've got to discount marriages and births because obviously these things are the best things in your life.

I worked out that it was when I was ten. I was at the Chalfont St. Peter Church of England School and it was wonderful.

The ladyfriend reckons hers was when she was six, Mr C eleven and Mr D 14. It all began to make sense. My interests now reflect my interests then. It's as though we have to get over the hump of puberty etc and after we've done our natural wants (having Children, form relationships etc) we can go back to whatever age we want. How lovely.

It's like living in one of those snow globes at the moment. One minute you are quietly sitting in a studious fashion at work when suddenly the world outside is spinning with snow flakes which disappear as they hit the ground. It's a bit weird. The daylight does not alter but it seems as though someone has picked us up and given us a shake.

I am deeply annoyed that we have escaped the winter drifts. When you turn on the telly you can see snow ploughs clearing the roads and kids throwing snowballs whilst our meagre snow fall looks like dandruff on the vicar's shoulders. It's almost like hearing about a party that you are not invited to. Everyone else is going on about it infront of you so you console yourself with the fact that Blankety Blank will be on and you don't want to go anyway.

These earthquakes in Iran.......you don't suppose they are testing their nuclear capabilities underground to avoid suspicion do you?

On the way to work this morning a rather portly lady was bumbling along the path with a sense of urgency about her. She had her head down and I thought to myself, were this a film or television drama we would be hearing a rather loud soundtrack, something involving brass, percussion and the odd bass drum. I then saw a tall girl crossing the road with a frown, a kind of willo the wisp. She would require something more flim flam, perhaps Eric Satie's Gymnopedie. It got me into thinking what soundtrack I would like. I've plumped for the theme tune to A summer Place. It think it would suit me down to the ground.

Still expecting a good snowfall but nothing significant yet. I told the ladyfriend that when we get our dream cottage it will have to be somewhere which is exposed to real weather. She said "snow and flooding?" I replied "Good heavens no flooding - I'd lose all my horse brasses!"

As I write this the ladyfriend is having her hair set. She is trying a new Salon as the other one keeps hiking up the rates. I feel for her, if there is one thing I dislike it's having my hair done by a stranger. I'm happy to have my hair chopped by Pedro for ten quid and will always turn up at his barber shop as long as I can get a zimmer frame through the door. He doesn't do a colour though, which is what the ladyfriend at her time of life requires.

Looking at the clock now, I can imagine she is in the hands of a demonic hair washer, having her neck and spine twisted, scalp scalded and confidence torn to shreds. Poor lass. To quote Morrissey's Hairdresser on Fire toon: "I sense the power,Within the fingers, Within an hour the power,Could totally destroy me,
(or, it could save my life)

As regards the snow, I'm pretty ticked off that all we have had is a gentle powdering and the rest of the country has had a deluge. It's almost as though we are the kitchen work top where a Victoria Sandwhich cake has had icing sugar sieved on to it. Only the cake has been removed, leaving us with the gentle excess of the housewife's shake.

'Cheer up, it's not the end of the world' I said to someone the other day. She was in a panic trying to get her work done, to hit a deadline, that kind of thing. She looked at me with panic in her eyes as if to say that it really was the end of the world but she couldn't tell me. I was moved by her plight into thinking it could be.

Most super heroes go about their business saving the planet but not letting on about it, choosing to hide themselves in normal jobs, then tearing off to stop evil without upsetting the office - pretending to go to the dentist or having a smear. So, the next time you say 'it's not the end of the world' think on.

Carol Hatfield - the nicest American in the world has sent me this picture of a Goldfinch in her garden. Carol lives with extreme temperatures - note the snow on the bird bath. Mind you, she's sitting in Hawaii at the moment, slurping on Mai Tais with a lap top on her lap. Carol's quite the jet setter, I picture her in my head bouncing from one location to the next, she rarely stands still. She sent me a very nice philosophical email today. We were talking about life and stuff and she quoted:

we have to live our life going forward, but we can only understand it in reverse

I like that, infact I was sent another one from Wulfie in Watford. Instead of sending me one of those chain joke emails which go on forever and are only then mildly amusing, he copied me in on this Zen one:

It is not necessary to
Reject activity and seek quiet;
Just make yourself inwardly
Empty while outwardly
Harmonious.
Then you will be at peace in
The midst of frenetic activity
In the world

- Sokei-an Sasaki

So today I am feeling rather laid back and empty headed - no one has noticed any difference.

I woke up this morning (and forgive me if this has started turning into the blog of Johnny Morris) to absolute wonderment. My mouth fell open, two Greenfinches were bombing around the lawn! I am amazed at what a gentle tweak of seed can do to the bird world. I just can't imagine what may be coming next......I don't even want to think about it!

Actually, when I did wake up my first thoughts were of Shaker Makers and plaster of Paris. I don't know why, but I had the scent of the stuff under my nose. Puzzling. It brought back a giant wave (is it safe to say that yet) of nostalgia and I nearly sneezed such was its potency.

It made me think of my youth when I tried to form Beatrix Potter characters from rubber moulds. Mrs Tiggwinkle was never supposed to resemble John Merrick but with small pots of paint she was an absolute treasure. I wonder what happened to my work? Lost now I suppose, rotted down like all matter. She probably lies buried in a landfill site with two decades of household waste and hard core above her, giving off noxious fumes no doubt.

I was thinking the other night. We were driving home through Bray and we went by Heston Blumenthal's Fat Duck restaurant and the pub he has now taken over too. I was wondering if the ginger chef would be turning the village into a gastronomic theme park like Rick Stein has done to Padstow. I also wondered what the late Beryl Reid would have made of it all. I should imagine she would have championed molecular gastronomy, she would have been first at the bar for a mars bar gin and tonic.

I also noted, moving away from celebrity chefs, how sinister other people's cars are in the dark. I don't mind them in the day when I can see the contents but at night the blackened windows put me off the old mirror, signal manoeuvre. There may be a nice young chap on his way to a ball, an old lady taking the risk of driving after a sherry with her bridge pals or...and this is the bit that worries me......a headless horseman!

Time to crack open the pomagne - the ladyfriend has got a job! I have decided to celebrate by running up a new outfit. I want one of these pictured right-> I wonder how many pillows I'll need for the hat?

I'm ever so pleased as it's been a bit stressy at chez Lola for all involved. We don't have to look through job pages, shop windows and army recruitment videos anymore, the ladyfriend's a working girl!

Last night the ladyfriend and I got into the swing of the Valentine's thing and dined at a uncomplicated bistro in Windsor. We drifted by restaurant windows packed with couples and red balloons. We were lucky to find somewhere and in the end we were seated in a bay window next to a red helium heart.

The food was rather lovely though and I had to undo a button on the drive home. Infact, the amount of food I have tucked away in the last few days doesn't bare thinking about. Two chinese banquets, a fish supper, two portions of stew and last night's platter - my calorie 'in-out' ratio does not make good reading. I feel like a Pate de foie gras duck at the moment, it's as much as I can do to waddle to the bathroom to bathe my folds of overlapping flesh.

Yesterday was the day when all of nature finds a mate, I must get cracking with building bird boxes, I don't want my tits to have a housing problem.

I am absolutely overjoyed. I have attracted Fringilla coelebs (Chaffinches) to the garden. It seems my shake up with the seed selection at the all you can eat snack bar has paid dividends. I stood waiting for the kettle to boil yesterday morning, the steam floating to the window and out of the haze I could see these splendid little birds on the lawn.

I had begun to worry that a couple of rather garish seed feeders that I had bought from B&Q were nothing but white elephants but I have been rewarded for my patience and bird like determination. Now, if I can just lure a yellow hammer it would be something a bit special.

Smashing news from the palace today I don't agree with all this living over the brush and will be glad to see marital matters for the King all above board. I have a great admiration for the man, his views on farming, architecture and office girls and their aspirations are like my own and the news is fine indeed. I look forward to waving my hanky as they trundle past in their gold carriage. This has certainly a week to be British. What with our Ellen and now today's news, I shall have to get up in the loft and dig out the bunting.

Been a bit poorly since Sunday and I have been confined to quarters. I've been a bit chesty. Being off work though I did manage to watch the return of Ellen MacArthur on tv. It was quite a magnificent site - spoiled by the ramshackle commentary of the BBC - to watch the plucky little sailor arrive in Falmouth.

Her endeavours have spurred me into action. I have sent off for Academy Membership of the Eastbourne Soverieng Sailing Club. This time next year I shall hopefully be planning an epic journey of my own.....perhaps a trip over to the Isle of Wight? I may be press ganged whilst dawdling around Cowes and end up in the Southern Ocean peeling spuds for a playboy Prince. Oh I can smell the adventure from the confines of my germ filled, artificially lit office as I write.

Where has all the adventure gone? It's been beaten out of our lives by conformity. These days the biggest decisions we make are to paint the sitting room taupe or Tuscan breakfast. I plan to trawl my mind and come up with some outlandish ideas so I can do something with myself before I am half sick of my own shadow.

Carol Hatfield - the nicest American in the world - has sent me this picture from Pine City, what a nice name for a town....or City come to think of it. I bet it smells fresh, like toilet cleaner, when the sap rises. (by the way Carol your Eddi Reader DVD's are on their way.....I've been a bit slack with my trips to the post office, sorry)

This morning, as a break from porridge, I had jam on toast. Not your usual jam though, it was the nicest jam going, Tip Tree jam. I have found a shop locally that stocks the whole range! Not just strawberry, black currant and cherry but Medlar, Little Scarlet Strawberry, Wild Blueberry, green fig and Christmas jam! Now, I must stop there with the list before I get too many hits from people googling for fruity websites but I must get my happiness across. The conserve shelves are heaving at the Jumbo supermarket in Cosy Corner..........imagine, I used to have to ask for Cosy Corner when I got on a bus, I'd do it gladly now but at the age of 14 it was quite humiliating.

Feeling a bit chesty at the moment, a bit of a streppy throat. I don't have the pressure of a soap salesman with a mock tudor semi in Cheshire but all the same I am rather backed up. The stress has laid me wide open to an opportunist germ and I have been fully broken and entered by it.

To combat the bacteria I am knocking back cans of Ginger Beer (nature's own medicine) so I expect to be back to my punching weight within a few days. Apparently, according to Claire Petulengro, I have to watch out for geminis today.

I've had a bit of a re-fit with the website, the paint's still not dry and the fumes are intoxicating but I think I rather like it. I was shocked into shame to discover last night that I had reached my upload limit so I had to jettison a lot of nonsense that I have had in my files for ages. It was touch and go letting go if you see what I mean.

I am filled with a renewed optimism today, I don't know where it has come from but I welcome it gladly. I have also just been speaking to a very nice gent who wanted me to update some details about his medieval jousting tournament which is on the website at work. He was a lovely bloke, he had all the time in the world and was incredibly cheerful, he's sending me free tickets for the event, what a nice man. Retired no doubt. My Super Step Dad is the same, they seem to emit a kind of relaxed happiness and charm. Today, I am going to pretend I am retired and am just coming into work for a bit of pin money and a bit of company. I shall suck on a Wurthers Original and doze off about 3.

Off to the flicks last night to see Jean-Pierre Jeunet's "A very Long Engagement". It was excellent, a visual massage and a cinematic incarnation of hot buttered crumpets. I loved it. The ladyfriend, who isn't too keen on subtitles, loved it too.

I do like Jean-Pierre Jeunet's stuff although his choice of cast is beginning to turn in to France's answer to the carry on films. If Audrey Tautou doesn't watch it she'll turn in to a frog Hattie Jacques - although she is painfully thin.

I'm 'into' the pictures at the moment,there's another three films the ladyfriend and I have got our eye on. Infact, to be thrifty, we're considering an Orange mobile phone which will more or less pay for itself after the raft of films we want to see. I don't like these modern cinemas though, they smell of stale popcorn and new carpet.