Had a nice weekend although I feel I may have picked up a dose of something. Icky head and sore throat kind of thing. I know I'm a bit run down due to the job situation. 5 days and counting till I have my freedom. It's very hard to motivate myself to go to work. This morning was the worst but I pulled myself together and I'm sitting here with menacing thoughts and hatred bubbling in my veins. A rumbling volcano of redundancy.

On to nicer things, I flew my kite at Pevensey Bay yesterday. It was a beautiful day the sun a welcome guest on my ruddy windblown cheeks. A little boy eyed my kite with envy but I was having none of it. I ignored his pleading gaze, he can get his own.

My mate Carol - the nicest American in the world - is pictured here on Ehukai beach. The sea is rather choppy and plagued with jelly fish. I'll keep to the gentle ebb and flow of Eastbourne's beach, it's blue flag quality, gently lapping and excrement is kept to a minimum.

Talking of foul things. Never buy creme fraiche in a hurry. Last night I was in a bit of a hurry and purchased a tub of the stuff for a quick chicken and mushroom sauce to go with pasta (a family favourite) anyhow, I slopped the stuff in the pan and oh my God...a peculiar chemical reaction occured. Strange frothy grey globules floated to the top of the pan. I was puzzled. I fished the tub out of the swing bin and found to my horror that the french dairy invention was not creme fraiche but bloody fromage frais! We had to chuck the lot it was vile. A lesson for us all there.

My pirate name is:

Bloody Bess Flint

Every pirate lives for something different. For some, it's the open sea. For others (the masochists), it's the food. For you, it's definitely the fighting. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

I think everyone I have spoken to saw the end of Crufts last night and the crazy bitch (not canine) dancing to 'All that jazz' with her dog. I've never seen anything like it in my life. Time stood still as a woman on the wrong side of 40 paraded about in a packed arena dressed in a diamond spangled cowboy shirt waving a baton. I didn't know where to look, it was car crash tv with a flat tyre.

I was in Hastings yesterday, it's crying out for a tin of paint that place. It has the look of lost wealth. It has been carved up by architects on LSD with the occasional slice of faded grandeur. Whilst driving along the seafront we came across a group of people running with buckets and a big banner saying "Send Maggie to Rotterdam" I was intrigued. What's in Rotterdam?

I wondered if it was a dying wish of Maggie to see the Erasmus Bridge or did she want to see a football match or a Robbie Williams concert that her current funds prohibited. I did then think that perhaps Maggie didn't know she was going to be taken, perhaps her family have had enough. Perhaps she's too far gone and they want to take advantage of their relaxed views on euthanasia.

Oh please, I've heard it all now. Apparently there are still kids in the UK living below the poverty line. What rot. The definition of "poverty" in this country isn't what you'd think. It isn't not having food, starving and begging on the streets but apparently not having access to DIGITAL TELEVISION!!!! Poor? to be honest, from what I've seen of it, a life would be so much richer from not being exposed to BBC3.
A better dish to have should surely be one with meat and two veg not a carbuncle stuck on the side of your house to pick up Murdoch's vomit (mind you...perhaps that's what Tony wants?)

Quite shocked to discover that there is a family in Turkey who walk on their hands 'missing link' style. The image of them in the Times bounding about on all fours has unsettled me. How does this sort of behaviour slip through the net? Mother Nature does play a cruel trick or two when she's in a pissy mood. I count my lucky stars that my figure (although generous and ample) is well proportioned and run of the mill. Thank God for the moribund is what I say.
The Ladyfriend and I watched "A Taste of Honey" at the weekend. It has always been a favourite of mine and it was nice to see it again. It was wonderful to see how England used to be, simple pleasures, no cappucino culture or downloadable ring tones. We got it free with the paper. I must confess that we are Tabloid tarts, we have no allegiance what so ever and will hop from one paper to the next depending on what DVD's going. Shameless.
I am also a fan of T J Hughes (he's not some lefty author but a shop in Eastbourne) it sells super stuff cheap. I bought the Letter to Brechnev DVD for £4.99 I'm looking forward to a slice of Margi Clarke and God knows there's enough to go round.

Oh I do like to be beside the seaside, I do like to be beside the sea. This weekend was a real tonic. The hard egg of winter broke it's shell and out plopped the yolk of a sun onto a bright blue Eastbourne sky. The temperate climate gave me such a glow I wish I could bottle it.

Back here in South Buckinghamshire it's like Buncefield all over again. There is nothing but gloom, doom and traffic and I want out.

OK the BBC can have a pat on the back for "Thin Ice" - it is magic. The ladyfriend and I laughed like drains when we watched the first episode. I think it's on Tuesdays, you must give it a go.
Talking of Ice and Magic, I used to love Ice magic chocolate sauce. You poured it onto ice cream and it would set like concrete. I remember buying it in the Wavey Line with a nice block of vanilla ice cream. Ofcourse it has gone from the shelves now, I think I heard it had asbestos in or something a bit icky. Product recall and all that.
I like product recall adverts in the paper. I always wonder what on earth could have gone wrong or what accident they were the design of. Children maimed by rasberry jam. One doesn't want to risk litigation but I've seen a fair few from Asda in my time.

The Ladyfriend is a Great Aunt! Angela had the wee baby Oliver on Saturday and we now have an excuse to buy Subbuteo players, scalectrix and go on trips to the Natural History Muesum and look at the Dinosaurs....some time yet ofcourse, but it doesn't hurt to prepare.

To celebrate, the Ladyfriend and I went to the Royal Standard of England for dinner last night. It was fab, it's the oldest inn in England (but don't they all say that?)It's riddled with woodworm and ghosts and I love it. We had the lamb.

When we got home we stank of smoke. Not the ciggy stuff but the chimney stuff!

I've been a bit slack with my updates lately. I've had lots of pressing matters what with the looming redundancy. I'm taking stock and all that and wondering which direction to take my life in. I've toyed with escaping to the far east but decided Norfolk wasn't all that interesting, not to mention flat.

I'm taking the Ladyfriend off to Italy for a treat, which will be nice. I'll bring back a nice slab of parmigiano in my Samsonite and a few jars of sundried this and that. But other than that I have no great plans.

The Ladyfriend and I are both on tent hooks waiting for the baby to arrive. Angela, The Ladyfriend's niece, is heavy with child. She normally weighs as much as the Christmas Edition of the Radio Times and is feeling the strain of an overdue baby. We can only circle like sharks waiting to swoop with teddies, cigars and "coochy coos."

Had luncheon today in Kentucky Fried Chicken. Young Matthew Z is leaving us and to celebrate we got our chops around Colonel Sanders. Whilst there I had a blast with the past. Julie of Julie and Norman was there with her young children! I worked with Julie in McDonalds in my youth. Aaah, those lost months flipping burgers were perhaps not the happiest of my life but they were exceptional fun.
On our way there I had a bit of de ja vu, I wonder if that was the fates blurring the edges of my past with that of my future - Matthew leaving it, bumping into Julie - weird. Perhaps not.

I've been gripped watching the Winter Olympics, especially that poor Chinese bird falling flat on her, well, you know in the ice skating. I was saying to the Ladyfriend how refreshing it is to have something on the telly that doesn't involve celebrities prancing about, house renovation or the contents of fat people's stools. Infact, I was waiting for a number to flash up on the screen with "Which couple would you like to see win the Gold Medal? Ring this premium rate number NOW"

I have news, I am not to be left on the shelf afterall! I can raid my bottom drawer, I am to marry! I won't be living over the brush for much longer. The ladyfriend's got whiff of my redundancy package and she's not letting go.

I did not mean for the last post to sound so down in the dumps. I'm not in the slightest. It was my intention to end it on a high note but I was being hurried along by a pal at work so I had to press "send". I am jolly buoyant about the whole affair.

On Friday I had a whale of a time with the ladies at the races, the dog races that is. It was Rachel's birthday (top) and Kelly Young (left) Lofty (open mothed) the Ladyfriend (blue scarf) and me (special needs hat) lived it up down the track. It was a rollercoaster ride of emotion as the patter of tiny feet kicked sand in our faces and lined our pockets. We inted to do the Bingo next.

Had a eureka moment in the bath this morning. A couple of weeks ago I made the mistake of saying out loud that I was "Happy". The Ladyfriend said "now you've gone and done it" And she was right. I am now feeling the cold blade of redundancy about my throat.

It's not a terrible thing, there a far nastier states to find yourself in. But I have realised that life is not about striving to find happiness because it's not something that you can keep. Happiness is like cupped hands of seawater which dribbles between your fingers until it is gone. No, strive to find unhappiness and you'll be laughing till the day you die.

Ooooh what a bitch. I've never warmed to the fat tongued lisping cow and I'm very rarely wrong. Look what's she's written here. May she never work in daytime tv again. Mind you, what does she actually do? I've only ever caught rare appearances with her surrounded by the debris of people's homes. Oh well, she's in for the high jump now, think Donna Summer and double it.

Walked by the office where once a picture of the Queen adorned the tea room, it's been changed to one of those peculiar shots of a city skyline, possibly American, at night with offices lit up. What kind of impression is that supposed to make? What kind of spirit is that supposed to stir as a worker stirs his sugar? Pride? Adoration? I don't think so. Shame on them.

I see no one has splashed out on a Figaro for me. Do you think I was too grabby?

I don't want much. I shun the latest mobile phones, fashionable nic nacs, widescreen tvs, Ipods, games consules, computers etc, I see them for the Devil's trinkets that they are. I lust after nothing, my happiness does not hang on material things......except.....The Nissan Figaro. I WANT ONE. I don't mind which colour or shade, I just want one. When one drives by I stare slack jawed, I feel like Mr Toad when he sees the motor car which has upset his lovely yellow cart, "poop poop."
Modern cars are usually the designs of the retarded but the Figaro, it's something amazing. Now, who knows who reads Lola? Perhaps a rich old lady who lives alone, childless in a mansion is reading this. Perhaps she tunes in every day and her only source of joy is my modest little life. If this is you, get in touch, buy me a figaro and I'll take you for a spin when you like. I can drive you down to the coast of a Sunday. Perhaps we could dip in and out of London town, you could revisit the places you went to during the Blitz. You can tick the box for no publicity!

I've picked my bush. On my way to work I like to track the seasonal shift. I watched over the weeks as a tree blazed with fire during the autumn months and then let go of its leaves like a pensioner's shopping. Tins of carnation milk rolling into the gutter and a copy of the News of the World whisking away on a stiff breaze.

Anyway, this morning I saw a bush, just hard naked sticks with tight buds at the end of the sharp points. "That's it" I thought to myself, "I'm having that". Each day as I pass by I shall look at it and watch as nature works its miracle. In a few months time it will be lush and lovely, home to insects and the occasional empty coke can.

I ask you all to pick your bushes, trees or shrub and lets all have a gawp as mother nature dons her beret and smock and sets to with her paint brush and palette.

I've been having rather a lot of peculiar flash backs. I've just glanced at the contents of Lofty's bag which contain clothes and I have remembered taking my costume in for the Christmas school play in the 1970's. What's that all about? One day I am sure they will be able to link brain waves to a machine which will then be able to play out your memories on a tv. That would be nice....I suppose, as long as your childhood was as happy and carefree as mine.
One technological leap I can not wait for (and I don't mind if someone pinches the idea) is a web cam/hologram thing where you can sit at home and at the click of a button you can be sitting at home with friends who are far flung around the globe. You can have a perfectly nice dinner party with your friends, chatting to them etc but really they are just holograms, a bit like Princes Leia in Star Wars when she leaps out of R2D2 ("help me Obi Wan") only better. Imagine, it will be a boon to the agorophobic.

Waking up in the morning to the sound of birdsong, we are over the hump of winter. Although it is still dark and gloomy and Vitamin D is a precious commodity I know that it wont be long before the bulbs will be poking up through the cat poo in the garden, costumes will be made for Jack in the greening (I'm planning Mr Tumnus this year), winter clothes will be packed up and lop sided Victoria Sponge Cakes will sit on trestle tables once again.
Winter isn't the winter you get on calendars with crisp snow and frosted branches, it's dull and turgid and dirty. There are no snow bunnies lollopping around my way. Bring on spring, I've had enough of cinammon scented candles to last me a lifetime.

I've been engrossed in this http://ditchmonkey.blogspot.com It's the diary of a nice man living in the woods in Oxford. I'm getting myself ready for my outdoorsy holiday in the Yurt in Cornwall. Two weeks living rufty tufty, fabulous. I am going to take my map of the stars and hopefully find some proper darkness in which to observe the heavens. We do live such pampered lives these days, ignoring the wilderness at our peril. As Morrissey once said "nature is a language can't you read?".

Went to Basingstoke last night to see Eddi Reader - cor it was good. I won't harp on because I always do but I can safely say it was blinding. Anyway, Basingstoke....

The Ladyfriend and I thought we might catch a bite to eat before the show. We walked out of the car park into the shopping mall from hell. It was like a huge maze of high street chain stores. We went in one direction after another and all we could find were shops, all we could hear were the squeak of our shoes on the floor tiles and all we could smell was air conditioned Basingstoke air.

We found an exit which spewed us out into a back alley, two hooded skateboarding happy slappers eyed us with enthusiasm so we nipped back into the Mall of terror. We decided to try and find our way back to the Anvil theatre in the hope of sniffing out some kind of food. The lights were low, infact off. They were having trouble with their electric. We could make out shapes of puzzled staff standing by the tea urn not quite knowing what to do as a crowd of fans began to form in the foyer. We foamed at the mouth as we saw the biscuits and maltesers. We were eventually let in and scoffed down a rather nice sandwhich and a packet of glacier mints but it wasn't the kind of theatreland the ladyfriend and I have grown used to.

I think someone has died. I have been walking by an office block since the summer and always have a butchers through the window. The way the blinds are set allow me to cast an eye into their tea room. Above the sink there has been a picture of the Queen. It shows her in a formal pose and some several years younger. It has been bleached by the sun and quite old. I used to imagine the workers saluting her majesty as they dunked their hob knobs. But now it's gone.

Quite sad really. I reckon the owner of the picture has passed over or retired. The rest of the office have probably been waiting for years for the old bugger to go so they could chuck Elizabeth in a bin bag. I bet as I write this they are mincing around IKEA for a replacement, something modern and garish. Bolsheviks.

Lofty and I have started a turf war. We feed the ducks at lunchtime and today we noticed that there were only a few when normally there are around forty of the little quackers. We like our ducks and the ducks like us.

I was a bit concerned that a Pied Piper had tricked them into the back of his van and they were half way across Eastern Europe to appear in a circus dressed as ballerinas smoking cigars.

We walked along the river a bit more and thought we might see them at the bridge. We did. We also saw an old man with a huge bag of bread. He looked at us and we looked at him. We all knew what we were all thinking. He won today's showdown but there will be other days and other loaves of bread AND we've got time on our side.

A bit put out this morning on my walk to work. What with it being January and thoughts turning to weight loss and all, I found my route peppered with other people. There was a woman infront of me which meant that I had to alter my speed inline with her. I didn't want to dawdle, but I also didn't want to mount a takeover bid, I could have got into a right pickle and ended up raspy. Also, a youngster was walking the whole route on the other side of the road. Now, this wouldn't be a problem to others but it was to me. I usually sing on the way to work, quite loudly. It cheers me up and puts me in a positive frame of mind for the day. I don't always know the words....infact I sometimes make them up....and I don't always know the tune....I very often make that up. So how could I carry on with an audience? I'm afraid my singing is very much from the same school as Elizabeth Fraser from the Cocteau Twins - very effective when I go under the underpass. I was snuffed out today, like a wet Swan Vesta.

I've had it pointed out to me that by mentioning the smell of care homes yesterday readers may jump to the conclusion that Lola has had a flirtation with mental illness. I have NOT been in care, let me state that now. I was referring to the many evenings in the nursing quarters of one of these establishments.

By the way Shelley, if you are reading this, do you know what's happened to Michael? And guess what? The ladyfriend and I are booking two weeks in a Yurt down your neck of the woods. Put something fizzy in the fridge for July!

Woke at five this morning and tossed and turned etc but could not return to sleep. I tried to count from 100 backwards which is supposed to induce sleep. It didn't but oddly I did start to recall moments in my life which I had long sinced not entirely forgotten about but had left behind. Thinking about it now it was probably because I was counting in the early nineties. So simplistic is my mind it obviously played word association. Events from the 90/91 period featured heavily. It was quite a busy time for me, people came in and out of my life like fluttering moths to a flame, burning their wings on my bombastic nature.

Smells of rented accommodation in Slough, Care homes, a flat above a fish and chip shop and the Fridge night club in Brixton came to me this morning. It all sounds very Andy Warhol but it wasn't quite that bad although there were a fair few peculiar individuals. I wonder where they all are now? Some have slipped along the conveyor belt and out of my sordid little life unnoticed and some have been ejected from my airspace by force. I may google some names to see what pops up. It makes me wonder, wouldn't it be nice to know that when we say goodbye to someone that it will be the last time we will see them? You can make sure that you've got that book back.

Whenever you're called on to make up your mind,
and you're hampered by not having any,
the best way to solve the dilemma, you'll find,
is simply by spinning a penny.

No - not so that chance shall decide the affair
while you're passively standing there moping;
but the moment the penny is up in the air,
you suddenly know what you're hoping.

I'm having a rather smashing Christmas. I've managed to consume enough calories to enable a cross channel swim, drank so much champagne my internal organs are floating in fizz and strangely, ignited a passion for jigsaws.

Fed up with the snow thing. We have not got an inch of the stuff. Everywhere else is covered in a blanket but we have escaped it. Honestly, there's more white powder on Kate Moss's toilet seat then there is in our garden. When I grow up I'm moving from this area of moribund weather. Scotland, Cornwall or the Lake District. If weather was music we get the stuff that is played in lifts.

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.....

I will go about my business during the next two days very carefully, I shall not ignore the carol singers' tin or collect debts from poor old ladies. I shall not scrimp on my gifts or turn the thermostat down when I get home. I don't want to be wake up to a strange apiration in the middle of the night.....

But I will just say one thing nasty - that Kate Melua is dreadful. Have you heard her? The juvenile lyrics, the god awful singing - she sounds like she should have had her adenoids out.

Last night she was on tv singing the Fairytale of New York with the Pogues which was quite a shocker. I loved Kirsty Maccoll so she was on shakey ground to begin with but my word it was god awful. Her limitations were laid bare like a dropped bag of rice on the kitchen floor, her flaws spilled out all over prime time tv and I hid behind my cushion. There, that's enough. Merry Christmas to all Lola readers!

I feel like a pickled onion ready to burst out of a jar and onto a Boxing day buffet. Like a shiny sixpence in a pudding, waiting to break an old ladies last remaining good tooth. I feel like a complicated puzzle nestling between a paper hat and the snap in a cracker. I feel like a sugar lump ready to be left by the fire for Blitzen. I'm very excited.

I know in a few days when I have eaten and drunk too much I will feel a bit like that cheap flimsy card that someone has sent you that you thought liked you a bit more. Or like the back end of a pantomime cow and look like the kid in the school nativity who came from the nasty housing estate who's costume didn't look any good.

Never the less, I am very excited and ready and waiting for Christmas to begin!

Four sleeps until the big day! Went to Tesco during lunchtime and my goodness the shelves are groaning under the weight of indulgence. I got shuvved in the arse by a trolley, I don't think I was in the wrong but one can never be too sure.

Schools are off now and don't we know it. The roads are flowing freely as if someone has taken their foot off of the hosepipe. Infact, as I walked to work all I could see were 4x4's parked badly in driveways. No school run for the yummy mummies this week!

It didn't make a lot of difference on the car fumes though. My walk to work is chocka with pollution. I may have the pins of Zola Budd but I've the lungs of a coal miner.

I am a lucky ducky. Last night the Ladyfriend took me out for my birthday treat (she was sadly under the weather last week and a night of celebration was kicked to the kerb and Lemsip replaced the Champers).

I was whizzed off to Windsor for ice-skating in the park. It was bloody freezing and although I have a keen sense of adventure I decided to forego a night on the ice. It did look very inviting though with the castle floodlit behind the rink.

We scooted off to Browns for tea instead and my word what a treat. It's been a long while since I have tasted such gorgeous nosh. I sank my teeth into a lamb's rump and wouldn't let go for dear life! I was spoilt thoroughly and had to be rolled out of Browns like Violet Beauregarde.

Wrapping presents and a bottle of Cava don't mix I'm telling ya. Yesterday the Ladyfriend suggested we get a bottle out of the fridge which she had won in a raffle. I frowned as it was not even four o'clock in the afternoon but I could see she was fraught and well it is Christmas and all.

It all went fine at first, I invented the "Plate of Tape". We do not own a tape dispenser and every year I get fed up with stopping to cut a bit of sellotape whilst holding down the paper and present with my left foot. This year I turned over a plate and sat and cut about ten pieces of sellotape and stuck them to it. It was my intention to pick off a bit of tape as I went along, dashing through the wrapping like a hot knife through butter.

It was a roaring success. Until the Cava kicked in. Then merry hell began. The Ladyfriend took over and started to cut tape for the "Plate of Tape" she wasn't cutting it on the bias and so the tape stuck flat to the plate. She fell behind with the replenishment and was getting all nasty with it, scoffing at my baggy ends and generally carrying on. I told her not to criticise the "Plate of Tape" as it was my invention and far better than what we have ever done in years before.

I wont need the plate of tape when I do her presents because she aint getting any now! I'm going to give them to the workhouse.

Sometime this week some University published a mathematical formula for wrapping Christmas present YxZ=X etc. All very useful I am sure but of no help to me, I am afraid I come from the last minute school of wrapping. I cut corners, rip tape with my teeth and slash the paper as though it were cut with a chainsaw. Any matching of pattern is by accident than design and tags are hastily attached and written with a flourish.

What I'd REALLY like to know the formula for is getting tree decorations to hang the right way round. Last night I was getting into a right old state as my little drummer boys span around to face the wall and not the audience. This morning I sat down to breakfast to the sight of a polar bear's arse in my face where I should have seen his cheery face and marvelled at his jaunty scarf. Hopeless. What goods a little fairy if all we can see is the back of her tutu?

Good grief it's hot. I'm sitting in the office and I feel like an extra from Tenko. Someone has been messing with the evil air conditioning and we're sitting in a micro-climate stuffed to the gills with foul odours.

Grabbed the Christmas Tree from B&Q last night. Couldn't be bothered with shopping around, time is money etc. It's now or never and so on. Grabbed a 6 footer and bundled it into the back of the car. Nearly had an accident backing out of the car park, I couldn't bloody see a thing and why walk out infront of a reversing car anyway?

The tree is now propped up in the garden wrapped in netting all kinky like. I shall haul it inside tonight and let it out of its bondage. I daresay it will be full of mice (we have a little colony in the garden) The birds rely on me for food, the mice rely on the birds to miss a bit, the cats rely on the mice to take chances and so the beauty of life goes on. So the house will be filled with the heady scent of pine and rodent piss for the next three weeks - happy holidays indeed!

Trotted off to the post office with my brown paper parcels at lunch time and was that a joy. It is only a small PO at the back of one of those "pile it high and sell it rather expensive" convenience shops but my goodness, the queue snaked back into the tins of mulligatawny soup!

There was a peculiar lady monopolising the counter (there was only one man on) completely oblivious to the grumbling masses behind her. We all stood praying she would bugger off. By the time she did wheel herself away there wasn't an ounce of Christmas spirit amongst any of us. I decided to skip buying my stamps and just send off my packages which are late as it is. I didn't want to cause any more trouble in the queue.

Off to find a Christmas tree tonight, it's a bit early but it's the only chance we've got until late next week when there will be nothing left or worth having. Wish me luck as I tackle the Nordic Spruce selection.

What a weekend. The Ladyfriend and I went off to Bath which was absolutely jam packed with shoppers. It took us over an hour to find a parking space. We went round and round until I felt icky sick. (I was hung over from the offic Christmas party where I must admit I was werry, werry drunk)When we were finally slotted in in the multi-story we found our lodgings for the night. It was in the "party end" of town and the website had warned that we may hear some disturbance in the evening due to the road outside. We weren't too worried.

We then went out for a light lunch (an organic burger from the Christmas Market, It needed a few additives, it tasted un-remarkable but filled a gap) my fingers retained the odour of onions all afternoon.

In the evening we popped out for dinner. It took us nearly an hour to find somewhere that would have us. We liked the look of a Thai gaff but were met with a nasty glare from the hostess as we tried to get through the steamed up door. I always thought the Thais were supposed to be a friendly race.

We managed to get in an Indian that looked more like a Wimpy over the bridge. It was alright.

Got back to the Hotel at ten as we were a bit wan. We entered the room to here a god awful din from the Slug and Lettuce pub/club below. It sounded like the speakers were in the room. The Tea and Coffee making facilities were rattling on the dressing table, the pictures were bouncing off the walls. Bath, the beautiful Spa town in Avon ? It was more like bloody Faliraki!

We sat watching Match of the Day - you couldn't sleep - praying the club didn't have a late license. Thankfully it tapered off at midnight. At half six the cleaners turned up and it wasn't light dusting. I lay awake listening to chairs being stacked and tables dragged across the dance floor.

It's my birthday today and I feel my age. I am at work sitting under the fall-out from the oil explosion on Sunday. I daren't go out because of the fall-out. I feel like a Raymond Briggs cartoon.

I've let my plates slip. I've been spinning too much and Life For Lola has suffered teribly. Work has loomed large in chez Lola and if it aint one thing it's the other.
I see a hefty bit of legislation has come through and Elton is to marry that fella in December. Hoorah for that. They are getting married at the same place as my favourite toff Prince Charles. I've always thought Reginald Dwight had a certain royal air about it.
The Ladyfriend may have to change her name too. I think she may have to become The Fiance but I can't find that funny slant over the E. French words make me sick. We shall keep her The Ladyfriend.
Talking of the old girl, we are off to Bath this weekend. We are going for a Christmas knees up in the pump room. I can't wait. There is a Christmas market which we intend to trot round. I dare say that we will end up buying some over priced nonsense from a shed festooned with lights. Those markets are all well and good but as soon as you show interest you end up being lured in and parting with large sums of cash. I bought some cheese from a Farmers Market once that blew a weeks housekeeping in one shot.

Out to din dins last night with Miss Diane. Oooh I did eat a lot. I am sitting here like a pate de fois gras duck. It's nil by mouth for me this weekend.

Miss Diane was telling us about the Cancun hurricane. She was trapped in the eye of the storm and suffered terribly. It sounded awful, I wouldn't have been able to cope, I would have been hysterical and have easily have gone to pieces. I would have been clapping my ruby slippers together faster than you can say "there's no place like home...." I'm not good in a crisis.

I've been on a midwinter break, I've had three days of holiday, holiday, holiday rock down at the Eastbourne bolthole. It was very nice and very productive. The ladyfriend and I now have 60% of our Christmas shopping. We are very pleased with ourselves. We have been trotting around the high streets of Sussex with wind on our heels carrying packages tied up with string, turkeys slung over our shoulders and bags of nuts in our handbags. It's been an excellent beginning to our seasonal splurge at the checkout.

I've had this little habit of picking up discarded shopping lists. The Ladyfriend has had to suffer me running to grab trolleys where a list has been left on the mini clip board. I take great delight in reading what people have been after. I've always planned to do a website of just that thing, pages of lists torn from spiral bound pads, backs of envelopes and small bits of card.

Today I found this one in Marks and Spencers (fabulous mince pies by the way) it was left at the end of the check out. I reckon the shopper is a lady (nice writing) is doing something Asian/Thai (coconut cream) and is having some girls from work over to dinner (food - picky, crips - nibbles).

I see there is no booze, although two cartons of orange juice may suggest there may be a bottle of vodka in the cupboard. The nappies also suggest a baby may be involved. This is more fun then I first imagined!

Ooooh Email is still on the fritz. The poor girl in IT is close to tears. She has been fielding fraught telephone calls from all over the company and locking her door because all of the mad women who think that she might be able to get theirs to work and not everyone elses. We have had a skeleton kind of system that has worked and then gone down again. A bit like a passing ship in the night, we get a quick glimpse of a light and then it floats off again into deeper waters.
I did manage to pick up a couple of emails and noticed one from Justin! I do hope you are reading this Justin as I can't reply to your mail! Thank you for your nice comments. In answer to your question it is a Konica Minolta Dimage Z2 Click here for a link. I shall reply to you as soon as I can!

It's fabulous. The email at work has fallen over. Obviously it's not nice for some people, but for me it has become a very liberating experience. Each morning I "send and receive" and then spend an hour or two correcting mistakes, answering odd people's queries and generally carrying on because of my stuffed inbox. Today, I have shot along like someone on a bobsleigh. I've had no amusing "Fwd" emails of people damaging their genitalia, no "Please send me £5,000 because I'm Columbian" and no work related Word Documents (I hate Word Documents)
So it's a day of celebration for Lola, I hope it's broken all week.

I must say I'm loving this cold snap. I do like weather that the body can react to. I was walking to work yesterday bundled up like Paddington Bear and I cold feel my legs burning as the cold air hung on them.

The Ladyfriend and I are off to see Clare Teal tonight. We like her, girl with a good pair of lungs. A downside of cold weather though is big coats at concerts. I don't like people who put chunky outdoor clothing on the back of their seats. Gloves sticking out of the pockets and scarves drapped so I tread on them. NO, coats and concerts don't mix.

I've been handed a menu for the work Christmas Lunch. I have to make a choice. I've been in turmoil. I can't have the cod loin because we aren't supposed to be eating the endangered fish. French Onion soup with a crisp baguette will mean showering everyone with bits of bread, the vegetarian option is always a dissapointment and the Turkey dinner seems predictable.

I'm not good at eating in big groups. I get used to the pace of a meal with family and friends. What if I eat too fast? I will be branded a pig, if I eat too slow they may question an eating disorder! I may have to cry off, and conjur an excuse not too attend.

Tonight in High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, Basil Brush is switching on the town's Christmas lights. He is starring in panto there and is naturally the top choice to press the button which will illuminate the dingy town during the festive season.
Lofty and I were looking at his photo and both remarked on how clean he looked. As he has been in the business since the 1970's he has kept himself in shape and not let himself go at all - not like some I'd care to mention.
We wondered to ourselves whether somewhere there might be a huge case of lifeless Basil Brushes in various states and poses waiting for their chance to go on. We decided this was a daft idea and, like Father Christmas, there's only one Basil Brush.

I am well and truly alive with Christmas. I am pulled ever forward into the festivities which each passing hour. I feel like a bull at a country auction, trotting around the showring with a ring through my nose.
I have been looking into my gifts, I like to give the unusual, I do enjoy putting something odd into peoples laps. I have begun in earnest, trawling the internet to bring Christmas cheer.
I don't know if I shall make a cake this year, I didn't the last, infact Nigella should give me a wack about the head with a baking tray for being so tardy. Time it seems has had the better of me. I prefer instead to look at others in magazines icing their cakes and trimming trees with home made decorations. I was reading Country Living last night, marvelling at the people in it and their industry, ofcourse the pictures were taken in June but that's all by the by.
This year I may make some kind of arrangement with nuts and driftwood, it will probably ending up looking like something from the Blair Witch Project and knowing my luck it won't be just Santa's eye I'll be attracting!

Atlast! Cold weather! A cold and frosty morning! Temperatures plummeting, scarfs and big coats, real weather. I was so cheered this morning as I heard people outside scraping their cars that I sprung out of bed with great vim and vigour and looked at the grass bejewelled with frost.

For the last few weeks I have felt decidedly out of sorts. Normally by now I am fizzing away with Christmas delight and expectation. I remember as a youth I would play my Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass Christmas album in October. But I have had not a flicker of fairy light in my eyes. I have poo pooed Christmas magazines, refused to look at those catalogues that come with the Sunday Papers and I have generally been sucking on a big bah humbug. But that was until this morning.

As I sat in the car and watched as the ladyfriend de-iced the car I began to feel a whoosh of seasonal joy come over me. I do believe it is all down to the snap of Jack Frosts fingers. Hooraay for his icy digits!

I've just managed to find some time to download the pictures from Lewes on Saturday and thought you might like to see how simple country folk spend their autumnul evenings - shove 'appeny it aint.

I'm on dial-up at home and am shocked and stunned at how fast the internet connection is. I reckon everyone has jumped ship and bought broadband leaving the internet highway clean as a whistle for the likes of me!

It's like this digital tv scaremongering, don't buy into it!

Had the displeasure of watching Fiona Phillips on GMTV this morning, she was given the job of interviewing David Cameron the Tory Housewife's choice. I'm sure the people at GMTV give her these high brow jobs to take the piss as it's car crash tv at its best.

She's a bit chummy with Tony Blair when he comes on her sofa so it was clear she was going to make David's ride a rough one. She jumped up and down like a six year old child with nits. Pulled the most peculiar faces, didn't let him finish a sentance and generally made herself look a bit of fool.

My favourite bit was when she put her foot in it with one of her fab quotes (I'm sure if they made a littl book of Fiona Phillips quotes it would sell like hot cakes for Christmas) She said something along the lines of "David, you're well educated and have done well for yourself, what makes you think you've got anything in common with our viewers?" She sat there looking smug yet she had just trashed everyone sitting at home on their DFS sofas. Marvellous.

My favourite Fiona quote though was after the death of Princess Diana, they were talking about her death and were showing pictures of her and Dodi on a speedboat.
There was a lull in the conversation and she said "well, atleast she had a nice holiday before it happened".

Wow. I've listened to a few near the mark jokes in my time, I've made a few right wing comments after a few glasses of wine and tutted as the European Union bring in more legislation which gets my back up but never, NEVER have I been a part of somenthing SO politically incorrect and so blatantly British in my life.
For those playing catch up at the back I am ofcourse referring to the Lewes Bonfire night on Saturday. It was amazing. People (including children) marched up and down a narrow high street carrying lit torches (flame not battery) raced barrels of fire over a bridge, dragged burning crosses to samba music and hung up banners saying "Down with papacy". The Ladyfriend and I stood in mouth dropping awe as something so raw could carryon in Blairs social engineered, mollycoddled England. And that wasn't the end of it.
When the street procession ended, each bonfire society goes off and does their own firework display. We went to the Cliffe one (thanks to Coo Coo Coo choo Mrs Robinson for getting the tickets) we waited for the fireworks to begin with hundreds of others in a damp, dark field. Opposite us stood a huge effigy of the Pope. Suddenly I could hear cries of "burn him, burn him" I thought this was for Guy Fawkes (surely the greatest example of why not to fall in with the wrong crowd) but no, it grew louder "burn the Pope, burn the Pope" and "let him burn!"
I expected a thunder bolt from heaven...afterall I'm walking on thin ice as it is...I felt like an extra from the wicker man. I felt alive!

Oh lordy, I'm excited, the Lewes bonfire night is tomorrow and I am champing at the bit to get to Sussex to see the spectacle. I'm going to take a camera but can't vouch for the quality of the pictures because ONE: Fire and nightime pics are not my speciality and TWO: The pubs open at 4.30pm. Hmmmmmmmm, we shall see. If I end up on Sunday morning in a farmer's hay barn smeared in mud with vague memories of morris dancing I won't be at all surprised!

I've been having an absolute mary at work and have not found the time to chit chat. I do apologise to you all, I don't want Madonna coming along and pinching all my readers - well, if she can nip in and pinch Kylie's crown while the poor girls on the backfoot she'll stop at nothing. I don't suppose she's sent Ms Minogue a basket of fruit do you?

Anyway, must dash. But before I go, does anyone else remember The Flashing Blade? I loved it but it seems to have passed everyone by, take a look at this link click here

Just discovered my mate is a celebrity. click here to see. How exciting. I am ofcourse buttering her up so I can hang to the shirt tales of her success. Well, I'll wait until she moves down to London, I can't go too far north or my nose will bleed. Just fancy, I could be pictured in Hello magazine in ludicrous trousers (taste and fame don't mix)and get caught by paparazzi and mamarazzi with my huge expensive drug habit! If Sadie Frost can do it so can I.
Talking of habits, I was ready to become a nun this morning. On my way to work the beauty of nature and the Lord became all apparent. I stood by the stream, sun streaking through the bronze leaves as a mist came off the water. It was beautiful. If a passing Catholic had chanced to pass by I would have signed up on the spot.

During my lunch break I popped down to feed the ducks at the riverbank. They were standing in a great cluster with their little tums a rumbling. I don't think people have been so enthusiastic about getting close to them because of the bird flu thing. They all looked perfectly healthy, infact there is one duck down there that looks as though it has eaten all the others, it is huge.
There was one though who looked a little worse for wear and I must admit I did feel a tinsy winsy bit hesitant as I broke off bits from the baton. I was a bit like that when it came to TB. I'd frog march the Ladyfriend and I away from asylum seekers. When AIDS was at its height I thought myself very PC when I would visit my friend who was a nurse at the London Lighthouse. One of the patients greeted me with a kiss and I must confess to feeling a little hysterical. I'm no Princess Diana and that's the truth.
So this little duck was a slight problem. I didn't know whether to throw more his way or step back from his webbed advances. He did look as though he had just flown long haul. Watch this space.

I've been listening to my money. Not in the investment sense although lord knows I could do with advice (or someone sewing up my pockets so I can't delve into them for pennies for treats) No, I've been trying to hear it. It doesn't make any sound at all, not a whisper. So when people say "...to the tune of 5,000 pounds" they are talking nonsense. I'd love to know what that sounds like. Money talks? nonsense.
By the way, I am fizzing with excitement. On November 5th, the ladyfriend and I are meeting Michelle and Sarah (spinsters of the parish of Brighton) in Lewes for the bonfire celebrations. I have been desperate to attend this event for the last two years but for one reason or another I have been held back like a greyhound in the traps. Take a look at this website for all the details! - www.lewesbonfirecouncil.org.uk
By the way, one wept last night at the end of Monarch of the Glen.

Champagne corks are flying and a box of celebrations have been opened as we commemorate the Battle of Trafalgar and WALLOPPING the Frenchies! Lofty and I are getting into the nautical spirit. I am dressed as a jolly jack tar and Lofty is drapped in the Union Jack - that's the spirit!
Ofcourse the irony is, I wreak of garlic and am closer to Francais than Anglais but I'm trying to mask that with my mint IMPERIALS!
Tonight I'm going to cook roast beef and light my beacon and revel in the smashing of Johnny Foreigner. I may have a nip of Napoleon brandy for good measure!

I am disarmingly close to mortification. There is only one episode left of Monarch of the Glen. EVER. I warmed to this sunday night dollop of absolute rot out of irony. I was trying to be clever. Just like 'Cutting it' (although I have since quit this alarming habit) what started as a joke became a serious penchant.
M.O.G, just like the Antique Road Show, began to symbolise the changing of the season. As summer drew to a close and autumn wrapped its bronze arms about me, the tv would be filled with lochs and bagpipes. What am I to do now? I can't stand anything with Pauline Quirke in and have never expressed an interest in Heartbeat. Where will boss eyed Susan Hampshire ply her trade now? She will join Wendy Craig on the scrap heap. I've come accustomed to her face, all be it in soft focus and sensitively shot.

This time last week the ladyfriend and I were mincing around the harbour at Weymouth. We had dropped everything off at our woodland digs and went exploring. I was as happy as a sandboy, darting through the nooks and crannies and mysterious alleyways. One could almost feel the presence of the pressgangers as we trapsed along the cobbled pathways.
Weymouth seems to have more than its fair share of elderly visitors. Eastbourne is like an 18-30 holiday resort in comparison. I was very surprised. They are eagle eyed though. They kept catching me taking pictures. Not like the Sussex gummers, I snap away down there and they are none the wiser, the ones in Weymouth glared at me as I released the shutter. Old buggers.

Oh lordy, a few minutes left until the Ladyfriend and I are off on holiday. We have booked a little bolthole in Weymouth for the week. It's in a woodland setting and we intend to do not a jot. In my mind I can see myself mooning about in chunky jumpers, drinking hot chocolate, kicking autumnal leaves and laughing as I kick them. I'm drawing inspiration from a Marie Claire fashion shoot only with smiles not glum looks of displeasure. I'm gonna grab a tartan rug, a book and the chess set and retire to our log cabin next the sea.

By the way, I am out of bounds of the computer so you and I can have a break!

I've been watching this school kids eating crap school dinners with interest. I saw some of the Jamie Oliver thing - I do like Jamie even though his tongue is becoming perilously fat and can only end in suffocation - it's not the food that has shocked me most, but how they eat it.

In my day (here we go) we sat on circular tables of six kids or less and had our lunch on china plates, ate with stainless steel cutlery then had our pudding in or on another seperate bowl afterwards. These kids queue up with plastic moulded trays with little sections for different types of slop to go in and that's that. They then have to sit and eat their main course whilst their blamange is winking at them out of the corner of their eye. That can't be good.

In my day we knew how to eat (and I still do - I'm detoxing by the way, I've been alcohol free for three days)we knew how to hold a knife and fork, were adept with a spoon and kept our elbows off the table. There were the odd one or two children (pikeys) who ate food off their knives and held their forks like a dagger but it was a rare occasion. The children I saw on the tv the other day were all doing it! They looked like feral children raised by wolves.

It's now time to boycott Terry's and their chocolate oranges. I was never a big tapper and unwrapper but they are definitely off the menu from now. Terry's of York have just closed their chocolate factory after yonks and yonks (I think the company itself began in 1767) and have shipped production to some Polish backwater. Obviously it will cost them pennies to churn out their confection on the continent but I think they have made a very big mistake.
From now on, I shall only buy British. I shall look for the kite mark on all my products, I am turning my back on the EU (although I should imagine it's very unwise to turn your back on a Frenchie)I'm fed up with our jobs melting away to the Eastern Block. Motorways snarled up with their terrible drivers who change lanes pissed up on Vodka as they bring back stuff for our shops.
I don't mind the Chinese making our tellies as they have smaller hands for the fiddly bits but I object to Indians dabbling with my bank details, Slovakians running up my inside legs and ruddy Poles assembling my orange segments.

Had one of those binge drinking kind of weekends that one reads about often in the Daily Mail. The Ladyfriend and I entertained Michelle and Sarah (two good spinsters of the parish of Brighton) on Saturday night. The conversation flowed freely and so too did the wine.

Sunday morning therefore was one of pure horror. The Ladyfriend and I made the trek to Favoloso's for a full English breakfast. I've talked of Favoloso before but to those new to Lola it is a cafe in Eastbourne which does every food possible as long as it can fit on their pin board menu where the letters are stuck in those holes. They also do those big ice creams with exotic name (knickerbocker whats its) The highlight of Favoloso is the clock on the wall which, when the clock strikes a new hour, it opens up and people come out of the sides playing music. I love it.

Anyway, there is a tramp in Eastbourne who I have always admired because he looks lovely. Infact he looks like Father Christmas. I saw him as we went in to get our much needed fry up.
Whilst waiting for the Ladyfriend to bring over my lovely big latte I grabbed a table and looked out of the window and across the road sat the tramp. He waited with his duvet rolled up when from behind the counter a waitress took over an enormous cup of coffee to him. He looked up and his rosey red cheeks shone so bright and his smile lit my day. He IS Father Christmas. I reckon he's trying to find out who's naughty and nice by sleeping rough in bus shelters. He is not to be found in department stores but on park benches. And although I'd rather not sit on his knee I would prefer a picture of the Eastbourne tramp on my Christmas cards this year than the overinflated pensioner in the red suit of old.

I'm glad I pulled out of Ulrika - www.bbc.co.uk/celebdaq

Oh what has become of me? Such is my addiction to the celebdaq I have actually bought shares in Robbie Williams and Britney Spears. I can sink no lower. I was like a demon this morning, scouring the internet for celebrity news waiting to get a scrap of insider knowledge on who to buy next. I caught a whiff of Britney's baby, Robbie's new album and it was BUY, BUY, BUY. It was only when I sat down on the lav when a strange fear gripped me and I realised I had crossed the line. I've turned into Zammo. Just say NO - too late! It's www.sky.com/showbiz, www.digitalspy.co.uk and www.gm.tv for me now. Bugger the Independent, it's the Sun and the News of the World I'm interested in (even if there is a Merchant Ivory DVD free - I'd rather a red top)
But, worst of all. Whilst I was trying to buy some Jodie Marsh this morning, I said some nasty things to Lofty who wanted me to trot along for lunch with her. The air went blue with my rage. Her face fell and then and only then I knew what I had become. Lunch is for wimps by the way.

And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!"
"By it and with it and on it and in it," said the Rat. "It's brother and sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and drink, and (naturally) washing. It's my world, and I don't want any other. What it hasn't got is not worth having, and what it doesn't know is not worth knowing."

What a day I had yesterday. The Ladyfriend and I went OTT (on the Thames)for the most fantastic afternoon. We were guests onboard Miss Diane and Mick's boat and I sat atop with a glass or two of wine. We sailed up and down the Thames from Bourne End to Bray and I now feel like Mr Toad. I WANT A BOAT.

I took to my bed last night with excitement fizzing like the air bubbles of a trout through my mind. Oh what joy there is gliding along through locks, by grassy banks, sighting swans, ducks and kingfishers! The Ladyfriend has emplored me to calm down but she knows it's no good. I have another mistress and it is the RIVER.

Friday night and my wonderful mother is tucked up nicely in the Cotswolds. The ladyfriend and I are looking after the house, it's half ten, the dog has been out on fox alert and I am glued to Celebdaq. What has become of me? My Babs Windsor shares are rocketing and I'm going to make a packet. Join me in my addiction - go to the website and start trading - www.bbc.co.uk/celebdaq

I tell you what it has done for me. It's made me actually interested in the world of celebrity. I can't bring myself to touch Jordan, Robbie Williams or Britney Spears but I might finger a copy of Heat Magazine - purely in the interests of research ofcourse.

Anyway, got to go, the ticker tape is showing Ross Kemp alerts.

Sorry, I couldn't resist it, yesterday it was world alzheimer's day. Ho, ho. I suppose if you have to explain a joke it isn't that funny. And let's face it, it's a terrible disease. There but for the grace of God go I.

Actually on my way to work this morning several old memories crept in which I had long brushed under the carpet. I was singing a Cocteau Twins song (which is an effort in itself) it reminded me of my youth when I'd skip off to the West End with a chum, driving through the streets of London in a Fiat Uno (quite the very thing in those days)the lights streaming across the windscreen. Happy days indeed. I wonder what has happened the Mike Church? I last saw him on a float at Brighton Pride atleast six years ago. He was dancing on the back of a lorry with a couple of dolly birds. I wonder where he is? Perhaps I should google him.

I am addicted to the BBC website Celebdaq. I even belong to a league: http://www.bbc.co.uk/celebdaq/

Before I forget it's

Arrrrrr! It's talk like a pirate day today! Shiver my timbers! Click here for more. I nearly forgot and I had been looking so forward to it. I will go home tonight and make the ladyfriend walk the plank.

Have not got much time to explain but can we all cross our fingers for Matthew Szurgot and cross our legs for Lofty. I can feel the love in this room!

How odd. I now have ear ache in the other ear. Last Friday the nest of spiders were in the right and now they have travelled to the left. Imagine the terror they have gone through to get there. It must have been like the poseidon adventure. I wonder how many were lost on the epic journey? I wonder if a large spider (like Shelley Winters) saved the day before plummeting to her death along the ear canal.

Goodness me I've been lax. I've got emails I have yet to reply to, flagged up in Outlook as high priority (sorry Carol, it's just you deserve a good reply, not a quickie), I've not updated my blog like I should, the website is looking old - there is NO time! Where did it all go? Talking of time running out....
My pals and I went down to Tesco during our lunch break and on the way out of the car park an elderly lady was struggling but happily lobbing bottles into the recycling bank. I thought, that's nice. Clearly she did not have all that much longer left on the planet but she still cared about what happens to it. How nice.

Mind you, she could be mad as a hat pin and just likes the noise as the bottles smash. Maybe they were freshly bought bottles of cheap french piss which she had blown her pension on. "Pick it up it's yours" music to her ears and the shattering of glass even more so.

It's a good time to be English. The last few days have made one feel very proud to be born in merry England. The cricket, the ashes, singing "Jerusalem" without the threat of the PC brigade slapping on a gag (or printing the words in braille or gujarati) Waving the flag of Saint George AND parading our success through good old London Town....It brings a lump to the throat. Fantastic.

The cricket success comes after the Last Night of the Proms which is also stirring stuff. However, as I sat with the ladyfriend's nice nieces on Saturday night, I was a trifle concerned whilst watching the audience. Amongst the Union Jacks was a GERMAN flag AND a EUROPEAN UNION flag! What a shocker! I nearly spat blood. I am convinced that they were planted. No doubt by the BBC terrified that if Tony Blair switched on when he came home from the pub and didn't see Euro representation he'd cut the licence fee faster than you can say "Rivers of blood". They can do that you know with CGI, all that Walking with Dinosaurs malarky, infact I think I saw a terradactyl carry off a cellist.

I have a slight feeling of discomfort in my right ear. I've been wiggling it a bit but it's still there - a bit like Charlie Dimmock, never quite in your face but omnipresent.

I've a feeling it's a nest of spiders and when I am eighty it will suddenly burst and a colony of eight legged beasts will fall out onto the floor in Casualty. I dare say I will end up in the Daily Mail (although, in my heart of hearts I do hope by then the evil rag will be long wound up)

I do hope it's not down to the microwave. I have been rather naughty since Wednesday. Lofty has led me down the path of nutritional destruction and has been making bacon butties for me at lunchtime. The bacon is blasted in plastic packets and I have thrown all my principles out of the window (well I would but we work in one of those hermetically sealed offices where fresh air and opening windows are unheard of) and have been scoffing them down without a moments hesitation. Bad, bad Lola.

I have a new favourite band. The Magic Numbers are ace. I was allowed to throw caution to the wind on Monday and I bought their CD. The ladyfriend bought that Damien Rice chaps cd in Reading and, on our way home to our village nestled within the Chilterns, I got my treat in nasty nasty Tesco. I was listening to it last night whilst doing the cous cous (North African food - not yoga position)and I thought it was smashing.

I don't buy many cds these days. To be honest they don't make them like they used to, I don't know much about the hit parade, the names come and go like sailors in dockside back alleys. I've bought a little cd player for the car now so the long journeys can be filled with Elkie Brooks and Shirley Bassey.

Smashing day off yesterday. The Ladyfriend and I went for a little light shopping at The Oracle shopping 'mall' in Reading. We were quite taken aback by the amount of kids around, I had hoped they had all gone back to school but it wasn't the case. Actually, Reading is so Chav rough, they may well be back in class but had all bunked off. I felt for our safety, and kept my hand on my purse.

Ended the day pissed on white wine in the back garden(thank you Zoe) I've just done her website www.stayincapetown.co.uk and will be going to South Africa next year - I've never done long haul, preferring short trips to the continet so I am looking forward to it.
We watched slugs race across the patio, tracked bats as they flew into our airspace and watched the stars brighten. I can't actually remember getting into bed.

It's my brother's 40th birthday today and in celebration I have taken the day off work (well, it's a coincidence really but don't tell him that) What a milestone or perhaps millstone to reach. The Ladyfriend and I went to his 'do' on Friday night and had great fun dancing. It was not so much footballer's wives than reader's wives but it was fun. Miffed that my DJ request for Neil Diamond fell on death ears but you can't win them all.

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.