Kate Bush this morning - on the way to work - and I was so chilled out I felt like a mini milk, that was until I saw the graffiti. Beneath the motorway flyover some idiot called "Bong" had plastered his/her name all over the concrete. It looked rather comical in a way with "Bong, bong, bong" like something out of winnie the pooh, only it wasn't, it was a destructive youth who quite possibly is also responsible for smashing the glass at the bus stop. Too many bad apples rotting the barrel.
I've always had a lifelong dislike of the young, I try to not to make eye contact, I never entertain the idea of conversation with anyone between the ages of 8 to 18.
I don't like 12 year old girls in make-up or 12 year old boys spitting. Oooh it makes me shudder. So my walk to work this morning was marred by the thought of it being marched upon last night by spray paint wielding teenagers. It had an atmosphere of loss like a field of battle. Not nice.

I'm off the sauce again. Lola's packed it on. I walked to work this morning listening to an mp3 player looking like an obese Ipod advert, thighs chaffing together to the music.
It's six weeks to go before my 'big day' and at this rate it's going to be a big fat gay wedding. I might have to suggest the wide angle lens.
I made a stew last night (surprisingly low in fat) but left it in the oven and forgot about it, I could have burned the house down. I became ingrossed in a thought provoking documentary on BBC4 (it happens) and my stew set like a cake after 5 hours on medium. Now I'm going to have to pour a bottle of valpolicella in just to loosen it all up.

I know this is going to sound odd but I'm bursting with pride because my niece Amy wanted ME to take her to the loo. Out of all the people in the room it was me who she tugged by the hand! She's two years old by the way, just incase anyone who is new to Lola might be recoiling in horror at the thought of a grown woman needing assistance in the lavvy. Ah, but it were grand.
Talking of grown women needing assistance, on tv this morning a lady had come down from the north to put flowers on the gates of Kensington Palace for "Diyanna" She was wearing a union jack t-shirt, she was bossed eyed and looked into the camera and told us how she came down every year to mark the death of the people's princess because she felt an affinity with her.
My mouth was agape. I don't think it's a good thing to perpetuate all this nonsense it just over excites these vulnerable people. I suppose Social Services could cast a net today and have several cases solved and in the bag by Christmas but I certainly wouldn't want to be on the Circle Line today.
I was never a fan of Di and never understood all the crying on the streets and signing books of condolence, I bat for Team Charles and don't mind who knows it. I watched the funeral and was moved by the John Taverner music, when the Ladyfriend and I go to Paris in October we might go on the Lady Di Pont d'Alma coach tour (Can you imagine the commentary?!) but I won't subscribe to all this morbid grief for someone I don't know. Tonight I shall munch on a Duchy Original sausage and switch the telly off to escape the coverage.

Chicago, Chicago that toddling town

Just had word from America that my favourite American Carol Hatfield has pulled off a bit of a coup. Not only did she go to Martyr’s Pub in Chicago to see Eddi Reader, she went backstage and met her! Carol is the jammy dodger on the left by the way.
I've decided that I would not want to meet Eddi Reader in case she does not live up to my expectations, she swears or drops litter, that sort of thing. Same goes for Morrissey and Liza with a Z. I love the people too much that I don't want to see the wizard behind the curtain.

Spot the difference

These are me two new nephews, aint they dolly diamonds? All squidged up. One day they will buy me cheap perfume for Christmas, help me get out of my chair at weddings, avoid my prickly kisses and hover around my purse like a dog waiting for scraps at the table. They'll one day say "How much did you get out of the old girl?" and "Let's go and see Aunty Lola" when their mum and dad have said "No".....Oh it brings a tear to the eye.

Quelle horreur!

Found out today that a slip of my fingers caused an email to be sent that could have had devastating effects. Instead of typing one word I typed another which changed the message from laughter to tears. Dreadful. Thankfully all is not lost but it could have been.
Email and text messages, hideous really. It's no substitute for the human voice. It's all down to individual interpretation. I have lost count of the times that the ladyfriend and I have looked puzzled at our mobile phones at a recently received missive and got the wrong end of the stick. It's the old eats shoots and leaves thing 'aint it?

Double Bubble!

Just heard the best news - I'm now Auntie to twin boys! How fantastic is that!!?!! It's amazing, but what a dismal summer to be born into. As I look out of the window now I can see a tree heavy with conkers and rusty coloured leaves. My holiday tan has faded and the heating is on. Oh well.
It's the rounders match tonight and as per usual people who were full of enthusiasm have dropped out, never mind, I'm packing a sports bra so I'll hit it for six in great comfort.

I was in a pub yesterday with some 'young' people. When I say young they were early twenties, they were complaining that they were overweight and pinching the flab on their tummies - it looked like puppy fat to me. One girl was talking about the Joker in Batman, I said he used to scare me to death and she said "what Jack Nicholson?.......oh you mean the tv programme" I shook my head and looked at the floor.
Anyway, in a last ditch attempt to 'get with the programme' I've dipped my toe back into the hit parade and have bought an album by some whipper snapper called Amy Macdonald and I have to say I think it's brilliant. I can't make out every word but it's a start.
Atleast I'm more on the ball than the ladyfriend's mum, the other night they had Elvis on tv (as it's the 30th anniversary of his death) she said "that chap never seems to alter". How we laughed. When we explained he was dead she seemed quite shocked. It's terrible to hear the news that the King is dead once let alone twice in one lifetime.

I was near close moved to tears this morning. There was bugger all worth watching on the food channels on Sky so I kept punching the button until I hit the Performance Channel and a 1972 concert of Marlene Dietrich. It was phenomenal. Jaw dropping.
She seemed to be singing out of the side of her mouth - I don't know if she'd had a stroke by then, she was a little uneasy on her heels - but it was an amazing performance. "Lil Marlene" was the one that choked me up. I've added the DVD to my wish list.

To start with I must just say I don't 'do' Eastenders. I used to watch it as a youth around the era when Aaarffa stole the Christmas club money and that dreadful time Ali lost the cafe on the turn of a card but its current incarnation is lost on me. So its with a great deal of annoyance that lifesize hoardings of the Mitchell sisters, Ronnie and Roxy, are thrust in my face whenever I drive by a bus shelter.
A lot of imagination with the names there, they clearly conjur up a world of gangland crime in the 60's - I wonder if Babs Windsor approves what with her affiliation.
Anyway, what gets my goat about Eastenders is the appalling acting. It's just Soooooooooo stage school. The over the top performances, the shouting, the looking in the distance when they hark back to a memory of when the old king died, oh it's just terrible and that's just the kids. And the Dick Van Dyke cockney accents - oh don't get me started.
So in walk these two women, chavved up to the eyeballs - I can smell the Coleen X from here (By the way, is it just me or is that girl's perfume supposed to be pronounced Kleenex?) - with their 'gawd love a duck' acting and high volume shrieking and I just despair. Apparently they have been brought in to 'save' Eastenders. Save it from what? I think a nice pair of concrete boots and the River Thames is in order.

My weekend began under the stars and ended under the stars. On Friday the Ladyfriend and I dined al fresco in Mick and Diane's garden. They had taken advantage of the summer washout by buying an amazing bar-b-q in the sales. It's called The Grand Canyon and as you can imagine by the name it's a formidable size. I'm afraid that I got a bit 'tight' and was hard pushed to put one foot infront of another on the way home. I checked on saturday and hadn't disgraced myself anymore than usual. A good time had by all.
Last night I was peering up at the night sky for the much promised meteor shower which was very much a damp squib. I didn't see one. We were told to look east but my little compass (which came out of a christmas cracker) was behaving eratically and so we were running from one side of the house to another in a fruitless search for the falling stars!
The Ladyfriend pulled the curtains and buggered off to bed sending - what she calls crap but I call my treasures (bits of wood, pebbles, old silver spoons etc) - crashing from the window sill to the ground. It's a bit creepy staring out into the garden at that time of night. You have to have the lights in the room turned off too and I didn't want to do it on my own so I packed it in too.

DIB DIB DHSS

I absolutely love this (From the Daily Mail)

They came here from all corners of the globe to celebrate 100 years of Scouting.

But it seems some of the youngsters at the World Scout Jamboree were prepared for more than just a fortnight of fun.

As thousands from 162 nations enjoyed the activities at Hylands Park in Chelmsford, Essex, 13 of their brethren disappeared.

Nine Scouts from Bangladesh and Uganda never arrived at the campsite, while four from Sri Lanka and Nigeria vanished during the 12-day event.

Police say there are no suspicious circumstances and believe the youngsters may be planning to stay in Britain illegally.

Can't wait for the 2012 Olympics.

I've posted my Amsterdam pictures click here As I said, they aint no great shakes but you may as well see what ya been missing. I've also uploaded a video to my You Tube channel click here of some Amsterdam buskers which are worth a look. Buskers these days are so much more sophisticated than they used to be. Gone are the days of blind accordian players* in pissy smelling underpasses shoppers are used to Philarmonic Orchestras in shopping malls.

*When I was a youth I would take the bus to Slough for shopping and there was always a blind accordian player there. He did a good trade but he gave me the willies as I was never quite sure if he was blind or not. He's since moved on to Henley and fingers his miniature organ outside Waitrose.

The new Jamie Oliver series was on last night and I must say the whole family enjoyed it. Even the Ladyfriend's mum was enthralled and put down her wordsearch book when he came on.
By and large I loved it and predict this year's new garden 'must have' will be a pizza oven. I want one already, the neighbours will just love the smell of burnt focaccia ruining their washing.
We also gave the gardener ten out of ten who, like most of Jamie O's friends, will end up with his own show. Ah, I'm only jealous.

I was going through my photos of Amsterdam to put on the site last night and I'm having trouble choosing between them. Not because there are so many great pictures but because there are so few! Half of them are out of focus! Damn that Amstel beer.
Never mind, there are only so many picture of drag queens that one person can have in 'my documents'.
I'm in training at the moment. At work there's a rounders game in the offing and I'm not in match winning shape. Things could get messy. I've not played rounders since school but I have fond memories of it. I'm team captain with enormous responsibility on my shoulders...time to get a sports bra.

Wow what a weekend. Amazing. Amazing Amsterdam. It started badly, we were on the Sleazy Jet flight from hell full of junkies and stag weekenders (whatever happened to stag nights?) now, I'm no snob - well actually yes I am - but these people were beyond chav, it was 3pm and they were pissed and they were cheering and jeering whilst the trolley dolleys were trying to demonstrate the safety instructions. It makes me shudder.
But Amsterdam Pride was just the best thing ever and I have already started my penny jar to fund next year's. I too was pissed at 3pm on the Saturday, singing and dancing along with a Shirley Bassey lookie likey who was as good as the real thing (well, I thought so at the time). She sang all the hits perched on the end of a canal boat it was magic. We were having such a good time - the ladyfriend and I - that we ended up on Belgian telly. It's funny how you know all the words when you're tiddly but I couldn't sing a whole verse of "This is my life" now if you held a gun to my head.

My favourite cook on the telly at the moment is Tamasin Day-Lewis she's just like sooooooooo posh but 'dangerous' if you know what I mean? There's something about her that makes me think 'rehab'. Her hair looks as though it hasn't been cut since she left finishing school and she has this chubby woman friend called George. Her food is wonderful though. She aint no barefoot more Barberfoot but I'm strangely drawn none the less.
The Ladyfriend and I are off to Amsterdam tomorrow for Pride, can't wait. We are staying right in the heart of the street party bit so we are quite excited. Photos on Monday. Ciao.

What on earth has happened to Jamie Oliver? I saw his enormous face staring down at me from the magazine stand this morning, he looked like Bette Davis as Baby Jane Hudson. What a bloater! My Oliver swingometer has swung his way to the good in recent years what with his fish pie recipe and his jars of pesto being sublime but it's certainly wavering now. Take a look at the front of the Radio Times and you'll see what I mean. Poor old Jules, waking up to that every morning. A fat tongue is one thing but a ballooning face is certainly another.

I've been looking at the amount of rubbish that I am producing and have to say that the bulk of it isn't absolutely all my fault. In an age when tossing a jam jar into a bin is tantamount to murder and not recycling newspapers carries a life sentance it's very hard to move these days without the risk of ending up on crimewatch. Every day I seem to attract my own body weight in refuse. If it doesn't come home in my shopping it is pushed through my door, leaves my body in a different form than it came in or is produced just by cleaning myself. I'm afraid the climate will just have to change without me as I'm sick of spinning the plates. I've reams of paper waiting for shredding and then what do I do with it? Give it to a hamster!
The ladyfriend and I had to visit the municipal dump at the weekend which to me is a bit like visiting people you're not all that keen on - you don't look forward to it but you enjoy it when you get there.
It's a very nice dump, they run a tight ship with different sections for this, that and the other. In a corner they have this Aladdin's cave of unwanted treasures which they have hoiked out of the skips. I've often drooled over these items. They have hundreds of golf clubs, chairs, tables, garden gnomes and the like. They also have a vast collection of skis which just goes to show how well the economy is doing.
This weekend they had a massive chandelier which must have come from a huge house - a little 70's in styling - but a thing of beauty all the same. The men had suspended it and it sparkled as it shook gently in the wind. It certainly injected a bit of much needed glamour as we tossed the garden clippings away.

tuppence a bag

I'm not having much luck with the birds. They are a fickle bunch. Before I went on holiday I was being eaten out of house and home. I had more than two in a bush I had a veritable Quality Street tin of varieties, finches, sparrows, crows, tits, robins but two weeks away and I've a lawn fall of peanuts going begging.
I know what's happened, during my break in the sun they've f*cked off to the neighbours garden, I've seen his nutbags swinging from the vantage point of my bedroom window and there's nothing I can do about it.
The pheasants have been loyal god love 'em, they've stuck by me a fact that I shall remember come the glorious 12th.

I'm like sooooooo loving YouTube, I was on it for hours last night. They've got videos of Barbra Streisand, Liza with a Z and Judy Garland! Fantastic. I've stuck a little movie of Verona up if you want to click here and see it, it's no great shakes but it's a little soupcon of my holiday. I have also stuck up my photos atlast click here.
I must apologise for not being much of a chatty cathy lately, I've lost it a bit since we got back. I'm out of the loop when it comes to social commentary and very rarely catch the news. I have been confining myself to the kitchen this week and have also been drinking heavily, the only enthusiasm I can muster is when I knock the wife around a bit....

There should be a decompression chamber for when people come home from their holidays, I feel ready to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. I don't know if it's coming home to all this water but my little battery light is flashing red for danger. Anyhow, I'm cooking risotto tonight - a little taste of Italy - a reminder which I am hoping might lift me spirits.
Lake Garda was great, the hotel though became known as "Eagles Nest" to the Ladyfriend and I as there was such a high proportion of Germans staying there. They're funny buggers, they know how to occupy a beach, every morning I would awake gripped with fear that there would be no sun beds left. We would have to wade our way through their terry towelling which had been placed neatly at 4am and try and find ourselves a place without the whiff of sausage.
There were also rather a lot of pale Oirish children which would stay for a few days and then go off (I expect they were on their way to Rome to see their new Pope)they would run up and down on the way to use the water slide and I'm not kidding at one point I thought I was in a scene from Angela's bloody Ashes.
We left the compound often though, and took in as much of the Italian atmosphere that we could (before we went back to the hotel and our Eva Braun suite) we took a trip to Verona, the Dolomite Mountains and took boat trips around the lake. When we dined out the food was like a religious experience, I've never eaten pasta like it. The little towns were stunning, the buildings were jaw dropping and fig trees grew out of cracks in the pavement like weeds. Highly recommended.

The Ladyfriend and I are home from our holidays and what a swell time we've had. I'll write more for you tomorrow as I'm running a wee bit behind what with coming home on Saturday and seeing Ms Streisand last night, so enjoy this scene of Verona in the meantime.

but i do what i do toodeloo

I don't BELEEEEEEVVVEEEE IT! Liza with a Z is on the road and she aint doing London! I'd be happy to travel as far north as Leamington Spa but the great lady aint coming anywhere near UK airspace! What a disaster.
The ladyfriend and I are off to Italy tomorrow for two weeks so it's some consolation but the ciabatta will stick in me throat knowing that I'm going to miss out on the greatest show singer of all time - I mean WHAT a gene pool!

I've trouble with the feet. They've gone all hard and gnarly. I look like I've been walking barefoot in the bush with Jenny Agutter, it's not nice. So last night I sat watching the telly with my feet in a washing up bowl with all kinds of surfactants swilling about to get them super soft, I even bought a cream with horse piss in it (it says Urea on the tube so I'm hoping it's from Black Beauty and not an African gentleman piddling in a bucket on the minimum wage.)
I'm hoping they'll bounce back, my feet were once a source of great pride to me but, like many aspects of my body, have run to seed with neglect.

People have been harping on about Tony Blair's legacy and I reckon the thing I will remember him for the most is not curing ricketts, the abolishion of clause 28 or creating the homogonised high street but the law that was passed yesterday - The ban on smoking in public places! I've lost count of the times when a 'friend' has said "do you mind if I smoke?" and I've hated every sodding second of it and sitting with a smile on my face when I'd prefer to be ramming an ashtray between someone's puckered lips. It's great news indeed. Clean air. Now the only peasouper you'll see in a restaurant will be the eat with a spoon kind.

I've got trench foot. The Ladyfriend and I went to Louise and Jamie's wedding on Saturday - please click here for pictures - and it rained, heavily. I've never seen rain like it, it fell in Biblical proportions. It didn't spoil a thing mind you. Infact, I've never been to a better wedding. It felt like Carry On up the Khyber as we sat dining in a marquee whilst outside merry hell was let loose. It was thunder and lightening but it wasn't very frightening. It was British stiff upper lip stuff. What made it all the more poignant was that the marquee was erected on a cricket pitch with the lavvies in the pavillion. Between courses I had to answer the call of nature which meant me, a brolly, with my chin up walking barefoot across silly point, you can't get anything more English than that.
It was a bit of a late night - the skin was set like cement on the top of the Ovaltine - so I'll wind up now but if you want to see a bit of wedding dancing click here

Vic just a Minute get in touch, I've lost your email!

On my lunch time walk to Tesco I stepped on something. It made me skid slightly and my immediate thought was that I had happened upon some dogs mess and I would spend the best part of this week trying to be rid of its odour. I couldn't look down and kept on walking, if I had examined my sole it would have been obvious to passing traffic that I had trodden in dog muck and I couldn't have that.
I carried on walking scrapping my right foot slightly. I kept thinking though that it couldn't have been dog muck as the texture wasn't quite right, I decided that it was a mouse, frog or baby bird which in a way was worse.
On my way back from the supermarket I retraced my steps half not wanting to see the horror that awaited me but determined to put my mind to rest. I held my breath at the point of insertion and saw a big old soggy piece of ginger. How odd and how sad that someone's tea had been ruined.

It was the Ladyfriend's mother's birthday on wednesday and as she is advanced in years the only place to take the old girl was the Harvester restaurant. They serve simple fayre there and she likes to suck on Fish and Chips - everything else is too hard. As a special treat we decided to take the car out to Windsor and go to the Virginia Water branch, this was a bad idea, it was packed to the rafters. We don't like waiting so we went back to a Toby Carvery which we passed enroute.
From the outside it looked menacing, CCTV cameras adorned every corner of the building but we were starving so we went in.
Whilst we were digesting God only knows how many strains of growth hormones I watched through the window at a car that had pulled up. A group of boys got out. I sneered at them (I tend to do this with the young a lot these days) but as they came nearer I realised that they were the group Eton Road who failed to win last year's X Factor.
They looked ever so tired and I daresay they had just come back from perfoming in a dive of a gay club in Magaluf. One of them came in and spoke to the waitress. I can't be sure, but I think they asked for a secluded area so that they would not be ambushed by fans. This made me laugh. We left at this point so we will never know if they put on an impromptu concert or not. Bless 'em, this time next year one of them will probably be working there.

I've been dabbling with Facebook - I've been slipping off the cultural radar just lately so I thought I'd take the plunge and see what all the fuss is about. I've got myself a profile now and have a few friends already. You can ask people to be your pal, I've approached Morrissey but I'm not holding out too much hope there, he seems a closed book.

Spend Spend Spend

The flat's sold, the money's in the bank and so the ladyfriend and I set off to a monstrous shopping mall yesterday to spend, spend, spend. Our plan was an orgy of consumption, to return home with hands slashed to ribbons by the weight of shopping bag handles, ears ringing with the sound of the tills and hair all static like having tried on too many man made fibres......but no, we were hard pushed to shell out £50.
We were in a position to let loose the gross national product of a small african country but the biggest purchase we made all day was the parking ticket. This won't do, this won't do at all.
We ended up on the NEXT website when we got home and ordered a few slacks from there, it wasn't quite as much fun but it gave us a sense of fullness. The catalogue is a big bugger, it came at the weekend. I love big post. I get an enormous thrill from large parcels, it is indeed one of my favourite things. So you can imagine my fury when the ladyfriend's mum - who has old timer's - thought it was hers and opened it! I was beside myself.

I am fortunate enough to be able to walk to work and in the mornings I pass by several mums and their kids on the way to school. It's great in itself that they do not clog the roads but these are the sort of mums who don't run a car if you know what I mean? Well, if I have to spell it out they are pikey types, single mothers, chavs whatever the vernacular is. Their little convoys of children of all nationalities rumble along with a peppering of blue language but this is not my problem, what I find the most offensive is the fabric softener.
I have noticed that people who smoke heavily think that a couple of generous cupfulls of conditioner in their wash will mask the fact that their house smells like a packet of streaky bacon. This is all well and good if you can afford the good stuff but the young mums I pass can only run to blue stripe. It's a good five minutes before it clears, they are mere spots on the horizon and cheap jasmine florabunda still clings to the air.

This weekend the Ladyfriend and I hired a ford transit van to move our stuff out of the flat in Eastbourne. I must say we made a good couple of truckers. It was fantastic. At first I was more than a little apprehensive when I saw the size of the beast having never driven an estate car let alone a bloody great van but after a few minutes I was in love. It's a completely different motoring experience, you can see for miles, over the tops of hedgerows and into other cars to ooogle the crumpet, magic.
Four days to go and our seaside retreat will be ours no more - along with the associated bills and stress. It's been fun helping to inflate property prices so the locals can not afford them and enlarge our carbon footprint on the M25 but I will be glad to see the back of it.

I've have decided to dislike a man at work solely because when he stirs his tea he noisily stirs the inside of the mug and not the liquid. I hate that, it's finger nails down a black board to me. A few noises get on my nerves. I can't stand wine being opened and then pored on tv programmes - especially soap operas - the glug, glug, glug as it goes into a glass sends me reeling.
I used to hate the introduction to John Craven's Newsround I can remember quite clearly diving to the floor with two cushions over my ears, I can recall the smell of the carpet even now. That music was manic, torture and then he'd coming on with a serious expression peddling dumbed down news. I like John Craven now though, I do like an episode of Country File of a Sunday, I believe he's found a niche there I reckon he's best kept away from kiddies.

I've just popped in to a gym which is doing a 14 day free trial, I thought I'd express an interest as one needs to 'get fizzical' if I am to lose the muffin top.
It was horrible, I was shown around by a grubby little man who didn't look like he used the equipment he was trying to peddle. A skinny young woman clad in a tracksuit hung in the shadows examining her nails. I think she was the beautician although she looked like she would be more at home pushing a pram along Margate pier than amongst the lotions and potions - she had peculiar shaped eye brows with a constant look of either surprise or the effect of a nuclear blast.
The bloke was showing me the different payment options and as he babbled on I daydreamed to myself thinking "I'm not going for any of it mate" and "I'll just scarper" when he asked me which one I thought I'd go for! I hadn't listened to a word. In the end I'm booked in for one of these inductions - it was that or I'd still be in there now.

Never mix, never worry!

The ladyfriend brought poison into the house last night, she had a four pack of lager - she may as well have brought home a loaded gun. I've been tea total now for over a month and whilst I may not have the physique of a young Debora Kerr I have nipped in a little at the waist. I blame my bulge on the booze. We are off on holiday in six weeks so time is against me. I need to trim down if I am not scare the children in the hotel restaurant - and if I am to get a seat on the plane!

I've been rummaging in the bargain bucket at PC World and am now addicted to a computer game called 'Fable - the lost chapters'. I've been playing it so much that when I try to go to sleep at night I can still see it, it makes me feel a bit giddy.
I have not got a clue how to play it properly and I can't track down some mushrooms and I'm sick of killing manic wasps but it's all consuming, it's also led to me cutting corners in the kitchen so meal times have been lack lustre for the ladyfriend and I've missed Ugly Betty too!

no cows = no countryside

I've got a shoulder of lamb in the oven. It's pissing buckets outside and as the cooking process is considerable I now have a few hours to fester before tea's up. I'm following a recipe by Alistair Hendy (pictured) who I rather admire, it's a no nonsense cookery book - no frills as it were.
I bought the lamb from the dreaded Tesco supermarket, it's organic and it was in the reduced section and should have been used by two days ago but what the hey. It did smell a little bovine which I take to be the scent of all that lovely lush grass the little chap had induced.
I'm itching to get my hands on a bit of old mutton (apart from the ladyfriend - just joking!) Mutton is the new black don't cha know? I'm hoping I can track it down from a local butcher. It's available to buy on the internet but I don't like the idea of meat coming through the post, chops through the letterbox is a bit of a turn off for me.
These Organic Vegetable boxes screw my nose up a bit too. A couple of old turnips and a butternut squash to make the middle classes feel ethical. I watched a woman buying goat's milk the other day in the supermarket and she looked like she'd be better off up a mountain with a bell around her neck. I deliberately didn't buy a Fairtrade pineapple today and plumped for the one which had resulted in the most exploitation instead. I don't know why, a random act of nastiness. I'm up for a bit of Fair Trade as long as it's for British Farmers these days. No more of this foreign muck and bitter old tea bags.

Along with good food programmes on my new Sky Tv there are also bad ones. I have an intense dislike of Antony Worrall Thompson - never trust a man who breathes loudly through his nose - I view Ainsley Harriott with a mixture of disgust and alarm and I can't stand that barrow boy with John Torode...for that matter I don't like John Torode either, again never trust a man who clunks his teeth on cutlery. BUT the mother of all bad food programmes at the moment is Market Kitchen.
There is a bloke on it called Matt Tebutt who really gets my goat cheese. He's nasty to fellow presenter Tana Ramsay (the wife of the omnipresent Gordon Ramsay) and he's just an utter twit. He wafts the his hand over the frying pan to smell the food whilst he's cooking and when he tastes it he takes a huge step back and jigs his arm in amazement. Yuk, yuk.
I'm rather fed up with the words "seasonal" "organic" "source" and farmers markets too. I agree with them whole heartedly, don't get me wrong, I just can't stand foodies. I went to Borough Market last year and lasted five minutes, yuppies buying yoghurt that's all it was. I love Hugh, Nigel, Jamie, Delia, Ina and Nigella but my God they've created a monster.

Christmasses are all coming at once for the Ladyfriend. The hot news today is that Bette Midler has signed a two year deal to appear at Caesar's Palace from next February! It will just take Shirley Bassey to tread the boards and it will be a veritable hat trick of joy.
I've never been to America, I've always viewed the vast country with caution preferring to watch it from the long grass but it looks like I shall creating a whopping carbon footprint in 2008.
As a there there for selling the flat the ladyfriend and I decided that we'd tour the globe doing as many Pride festivals as we could so it will be on this note that we shall head west. I've always wanted to go to San Francisco since reading the Tales of the City books so it's June for the aeroplane zoom.

Well Hello Dolly! The Ladyfriend and I have got tickets to see Baaaaaaaarbra! We had to pay through the nose (if you pardon the expression) but it's worth it. It has always been the Ladyfriend's dream to see Babs so she's gone and blown the housekeeping on her. I don't mind though, I'm not a huge fan but I've never been to the millennium dome so it will be quite nice alround, I'm quite looking forward to it. The Ladyfriend is beside herself.

More talk of May Polls only this one is of an election kind. It's the local elections today. I like these ones, I've been sent many cheery missives from average looking people anxious to represent me on the council. I've had hand written foolscap stuffed into envelopes by the elderly with mediocre office skills but with bags of enthusiasm and I've had some silly old sod ring my door bell asking me to stick a poster in my window. Down in Eastbourne there is a hardened Tory who sticks up a huge Conservative hoarding in his front garden. It's massive, but still has the old Neo-Nazi torch logo on and not the new squibbly tree. It's all about branding you know.
When I think of town halls and councils I always picture huge tea urns and small talk, town twinning and by-passes. I daresay a lot more goes on and a lot more of it goes on underhand but it's a cosey image that I'd like to keep. Thumping Grandfather clocks, bee's wax and people who look like Stephen Fry.

Sumer is icumen in - Happy May Day! I do love a May Day, no Jack In the Green for us this year, we shall all have to sit behind our desks instead of mincing around the may pole.
Last night, instead of preparing a may day hat, I was surfing the internet and found a very strange book for kiddies about the life of Shirley Bassey! I love Shirley - her new record is ace and I'm pleased as punch that her new album has got her cover of the Pink song from the M&S ad on - but I'm not sure her life and times makes good bedtime story material. This is the website that I found it on click here

I know it's awful and I do feel a pinch of guilt as I sling a jam jar in the bin but barring the odd hurricane in North London is there a downside to climate change? The Ladyfriend and I were tits up on the beach this weekend and as I read about alarming record breaking temperatures in the Independent - a paper by the way that bangs on relentlessly about global warming whilst still managing to carry full page advertisements for sleazy jet - I thought, as I slapped on the factor 15, "your point being?"
And I'm not being selfish, I remember as a youth days and miserable days spent watching Why Don't You during summer holidays as rain lashed down outside. The sun never shone and the Mini Milks stayed tucked between the steak and kidney pies in the freezer. Atleast now future generations will be able to guarantee a picnic by the lake even if it does happen to have dried up.
I'm afraid the horse has well and truly bolted on this one. If I put off a short drive in the motor to curb my carbon emissions there will be some bugger in China belching double the amount out as their economy swells like ever rising bread dough -cut me a slice I say, roll out the lazy hazy days of summer, autumn, winter and spring.

I've got to say I'm well into this SKY TV lark. I'm completely addicted to the food channels and especially the Barefoot Contessa. She's a big girl who likes her food. I constantly shriek in horror as she adds pounds and pounds of butter and sugar to her food and she bathes in double cream. Her poor husband is a ticking time bomb of a coronary just waiting to go off. I love the way she weebles around her gorgeous Hampton's home and the way she say's "that's so good" and "bazel" instead of basil.
Mind you, I reckon she must have a big fat mama of a black maid waiting out of shot of camera because she don't half make a mess and I can't see her lifting her chubby little fingers with the fairy liquid.

This is just the best. No we have broadband I have been having a butchers at youtube and guess what I found when I searched Limone? - the place where the ladyfriend and I are going on holiday. Look click here It's fantastic, how many holiday destinations have their own song? And one sung in so many different languages.

Strange scene this evening. I was twitching the net curtains and saw three little dogs running along the path. I couldn't see an owner. They were just running along. They looked insanely happy with their tiny legs going ten to the dozen, one of them had a sticky out tongue. I like to think they were little run aways and now, as the sun has set, they are tucked up nicely in the woods asleep under the stars. Their one goal to get to the coast and board a boat to the South of France but getting up to japes along the way - I'm thinking butchers and strings of sausages and the like.

Talking of old carcasses, I've seen that Peaches Geldof girl pop up in the papers recently. Just like her mother she has a face made for slapping. Both with famous fathers and both with questionable talent. One wonders if they will both share the same destiny?

I found one of my old school books the other day, it was from my cookery lessons complete with splodges and splats. I decided to cook the chicken curry recipe tonight. It wasn't a success. During Home Economics we would be given two recipes to choose from for the following week's lesson and I remember not being bothered with the curry. As a child I was rather puritanical about my food and didn't care much for foreign muck. As a consequence I didn't write down the method with much care. The list of ingredients were there alright but the method left much to the imagination. Half of it was missing. In the end I had to make things up and it was a tad dissapointing I can tell you. Bland as Saturday night prime time television. The ladyfriend was kind but I could sense her unrest.
I'm writting this via the wireless and I've one eye on the laptop and another on the fat girl on Sky. She's had an operation to reduce weight but she's still 30 stone, God love her. She could have done with a few cookery lessons. I like watching programmes like this though, it makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn.

The Ladyfriend and I have gone over to the darkside. We have sold out to Mr Murdoch and gone and got Sky. We wanted the broadband. We wanted to watch more than four channels (we couldn't get 5 in our valley) we weren't that bothered about the phone calls as we aren't big talkers but it's nice to know that they are free in the evenings.
We'd been talking about it for ages and finally plumped for it as the flat sale looms on the horizon. We shall have more disposable income and we thought the australian mogul could do with a couple of quid.
There's sod all on it mind you. I spend more time going up and down the menu than I do watching it but that in its self is sometimes more preferable to watching what's on BBC1.
I have found my favourite station though, it's called Solent TV. It's a whole channel about the Isle of Wight! I love Vectis and long to become a Vectian. If you were to cut me in half I would have the words SANDOWN running through my body like a piece of rock. Wonderful place. There is a criminal on the loose there at the moment though.

I've become a bit of a peeping tom. We've had pheasants in the garden lately and, eager to view their plummage more closely, I have got out the Ladyfriend's binoculars. I love the smell of binoculars. It's a metallic oily plastic smell and I think it's fab. Anyway, once tired of watching these enchanting birds I have begun to lift my field of vision to the field behind the house where I have been looking at cotton tailed rabbits dancing in the long grass, wood pigeons and magpies.
It's a big field and right at the top are a line of houses and I must confess to have been having a bit of a butchers. I've not seen anything untoward, I saw a lady take some rubbish out to her bin yesterday but that's all. I'm hoping it wont develop into a mania. The ladyfriend has shown a few short signs of concern but has promised, should the police call, to blame her mother who's got dementia.

I was watching that odd music programme on Channel 4 this morning which has two of the most smarmy presenters on that I have ever seen. That's not my problem though. My figure of hate is Mark Ronson. He's covered a Smith's song. It's shocking. I don't like him. Apparently he's a mate of that girl with Downs Lily Allen which I suppose speaks volumes. He sat talking to the bloke on the programme with his legs arrogantly apart and spoke with a peculiar briterican accent. He made my blood boil.
So I've added him to my list of hate. You don't cover Smith's songs.
The closest I get to anarchy these days is not putting a postcode on when I address an envelope, I have learnt to blend in quite nicely, I have conformed to such an extent that I own a pair of carpet slippers. But I did nearly have a 'moment' in Clintons the card shop on Saturday. I was buying Easter cards for close family and friends. They had numerous cards with rabbits in various states of undress, eggs and chicks but what nearly drove me to violence was a small section cordoned off with a sign saying "Religious Cards".
I'm sorry, have I missed something? Has the religious aspect of Easter now become, like Christmas, optional? I mean for God's sake, Marks and Spencers are selling bunny pinatas! I suppose the whacking of the rabbit with sticks could be a thinly veiled symbol for the beating of Christ, but I doubt it. What on earth is going on? I felt like reenacting Jesus throwing the money lenders out of the temple by bundling up all of the cards and ripping them to confetti but I thought better of it. I let them carry on selling their talking chicks, their bunny soft toys (made of cat fur) and their Ricky Gervais easter eggs (not really but you get my drift) paid for a secular card and turned the other cheek

During my lunch break (I'd say an hour but these days sixty minutes is a luxury my workload can ill afford) I take a little walk by a stream and sometimes feed the ducks... I sometimes feed the sparrows too. Anyway, yesterday something caught my eye in the water. Tethered in the reeds close by to a shopping trolley was a dead baby. Well, I thought it was a dead baby. As it transpired it was a child's doll. But my word it was life like. The flow of the water was making the arm move as if it was waving at me. It was quite sinister. I stood and watched it for a bit just to be sure it wasn't real and realised how desensitized I had become. You see I never let our a shriek when I first caught a glimpse of the bloated corpse.
I went back today and it's still there, still waving, waiting to traumatise a toddler or two.

Had to share this with you all. Due to the scientific study that has found that a sixteen quid bottle of gloop from Boots really can help stop the signs of ageing the shops have been inundated by old croans waving their pension books.
Yesterday the ladyfriend and I walked passed the back entrance of Boots in Eastbourne to see a normally quiet cosmetic counter packed with desperate ladies trying to secure their stash. It was like a scene from the film Cacoon. I had to take a photo.
We went back a little bit later and there were even more women clamouring for the stuff.
I know I'm a wee bit cynical, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it transpires that Boots sponsored the study to boost ailing profits, but you never know. The ladyfriend and I will naturally be participating in the buying frenzy, we like a goldrush as much as the next man. I look back with fond memories of my mother buying up Branston pickle when the factory burnt down, I've also been known to stock pile tins of lentils (still gottem and all) when I found out the price would rocket due to global warming. Now we don't have village stocks or public executions it's the only way to form a sense of community. Bring it on I say.

I have not been paying attention to this new series of Big Brother, I'm not sure if it's because it's being filmed from Iran or that I don't know who the celebrities are, perhaps it's because I've had other stuff on my mind. All I can say is, they seem to have picked the same characters as last time. Everytime I see a shot of the girl in the headscarf she's puffing on a fag like Jo Omeara. I'm also not keen on the new rules, I don't know if it's because of the recent telephone voting swindle on Richard and Judy but I'd rather decide who goes not that bloke with the beard.

I have been getting my affairs in order. I am cancelling services at the flat that we don't need, stuff like the telephone. As a result I have had to navigate the call centres of Asia on several occasions. Now, I'm not a nasty person and I'm sure these people have better written English than I ever shall but for crying out loud how many times do I have to say the words "pardon" "sorry?" "what?" It makes me feel like Sid James trying to ask to borrow a step ladder of an immigrant neighbour. It's not a good feeling.

Our survey said...

The flat sale is going swimmingly but on Monday the buyer has booked a survey - oooooh. The ladyfriend and I have mentally spent the lolly so we've crossed everything (including our tits) that it won't throw up anything nasty. Our holiday in Lake Garda is booked and if the sale falls through we'll have to distract the newsagents and whip the kiddy cancer collection tins off the counters to pay for it.

Oooh, I'm a bit tired and emotional at the moment. Apparently it's a solar eclipse and I'm totally allowed to let rip this week - within reason. I'm enjoying my new job but I don't know if it's the knowledge that the flat is nearly sold but I feel the pressure to conform weighing a lot lighter on my shoulders. I could be looking at cards and dismissal by Friday. My ambitions to work in a charity shop and rummage through donations could come sooner than planned.

It's all rather vulgar to talk about house prices - not to mention boring (think Abigail's Party) - but let us just say that there will be more than a satsuma stuffed in the Ladyfriend's stocking this Christmas! Monty Carlo here we come (he's the head chef at the local italian restaurant)
On to other amazing events. My brother Matthew and his good lady Emma are expecting twins! I heard the news in Waterstones the book sellers and had to keep my joy down to a modicum. Just like a library the books demand that we speak in hushed tones so as not to scare the timid. I am over the moon, twins fascinate me. I often can be heard shrieking 'twins!' in shopping centres, a modern miracle.

Thankfully I am now walking around the outskirts of the market of ill health, I am stepping around the gone off fruit and the man who washes the bonnett of a pretend car with a miracle cleaning fluid. I can still hear the cries of a 'paand of apples a paaad' coming from the centre stalls but it is growing ever distant.
It is a beautiful day here in Eastbourne, we have the first of our three estate agents coming this afternoon to view the flat. We are thinking happy thoughts but the ladyfriend and I don't like salesmen and we can see things turning nasty. They might be different down here, less spivvy, we shall see.
The place is as shiny as a new pin but we have a garage that needs emptying, it's a horrifying prospecet. For the last four years we have dumped an old kitchen, bags of rubbish, cardboard, tiles, brushes in jars of white spirit and white goods. I'm not looking forward to it, I may have to play the invalid card.

I am like SOoooo ill innit? I've had white lumps on that back on my throat the size of sugar cubes only they aint sweet. And the dreams! I've been to worlds that have only been seen by Victorian Gentlemen in Opium dens - a high kicking goat dance troupe was last nights tableux. It was quite something to see their arms linked and their little feet hot hoofing.
I am recovering on the south coast this week, the ladyfriend shall have to push me along the prom with a blanket over my legs as I suck on licorice allsorts and eye the rumbabas.

WELL! Today is a bit of a day for me. I've started a new job. It's nice as the girl who has left has left all of her nice stationery. I love pens and pencils.
It's a time of new beginnings and starts. On Friday the Ladyfriend and I went to Chigwell for the first time. I've seen it on the telly and I've seen it on the map but have never ventured there. So, it was up the North Circular for us in the motor. I must say that I did grip the wheel in terror as the Ladyfriend screamed "right, right lane" etc as we made our way into the depths of Essex.
We were going there to spend the night with Tim and Mark who treated us to a chinese banquet and a fantastic evening. I was amazed as you could see central London enroute to the Chinky yet the surroundings of Chigwell are quite rural, you can see the Gherkin lit up like a Christmas tree.
We stayed the night with the chaps and on Saturday we took the M25 to Eastbourne. THIS WAS AMAZING. I have never driven this stretch from Chigwell to Junction 6 and on the way we had to cross a huge toll bridge down by the docks. My jaw dropped as we pottered over. It was fabulous and only a £1.00! I wanted to turn around and go over it twice.

There be monsters

I have just seen the report that fishermen from New Zealand have landed a Colossal Squid! It's 33ft long! From what I know about giant creatures of the deep the fishermen were lucky to escape with their lives.
I expect it came to the surface due to overfishing and the lack of lunch on the sea bed. Will giant octopuses float upwards and drag down a lilo next? What perils await us? Will crossing the channel for a bit of cheese and cheap plonk result in adventures straight from the pages of Jules Verne. Will it be safe to play coits?

It's all got a bit 80's hasn't it? Statues being unveilled of Margaret Thatcher, city fat cats, inflated bonuses, ipods/walkmans, Falklands/Iraq, government sleaze/ government sleaze, hospitals closing/hospitals merging, kids shooting up on housing estates/kids shooting each other on housing estates. Here comes boom and bust around the corner. Already the rate of repossesions are on the rise, there are redundancies left right and centre, greed for flat screens, fast cars and Bangkok instead of Benidorm, racking up the credit card, fur coats and no knickers. It'll all end in tears whilst a demob happy Prime Minister sticks two fingers up to us all.

Fear and greed could have bull on the run: European investment bank Dresdner Kleinwort says that, according to its Fear and Greed Index, the end is nigh for the bull market and we're in for a worldwide economic slump.

Well, the Eddi Reader concert didn't go quite as according to plan. We were caught in gridlocked traffic in Shepherds Bush, the sound was a bit crap on the level we were on, we sat next to a couple of chatty Kathys, a gentleman in front of us kept getting up and down to buy drinks, the ladyfriend had to leave to get some air because the Victorian style seating arrangements gave her the vapours and she didn't sing my favourite song. Still, you can't have it all ways. The Ladyfriend has suggested that we stick to the provincial theatres from now on and I think she could be right. Actually, she has decided that she has seen enough of Ms Reader, she did this to me with Clare Teal too, she's got a small boredom threshold. I shall have to trawl the small ads for a 'friend' to go with. There were plenty of people on their own and I'm sure they wouldn't mind me tagging along.

Guess the Word

We have snow! And lots of it and it's beautiful. I know it's a bit pikey but I must tell you that we still have the Christmas tree flung out in the back garden (well, we have been busy) and to see it laden with snow this morning nearly brought a tear to the eye.
Because of the gridlock and traffic chaos (I blame the Labour government) I have had to work in an office closer to home. I am sat on another computer and it is quite refreshing to use internet explorer and have to fill in a whole web address, I do hate the way a web browser remembers stuff, it's a bit like a prying neighbour twitching the net curtains.
Here is the Eddi Reader link of the day by the way

Angels and Electricity

It's Eddi Reader week on Lola, the Ladyfriend and I are off to see her on Saturday (an ideal opportunity for any stalkers out there to wrap me up in a roll of carpet) and I am very excited.
I've just got the new album and it's blinding. Well, at first I didn't think so. I put it on in the kitchen as soon as it arrived in the post (does anyone buy anything from a shop any more?) popped it on and found it a bit dreary. Mind you, it was having to compete with the washing machine on it's final spin, the Ladyfriend shouting out potential hotels in Lake Garda and a woman of advanced years AND dementia asking when the dinner was going to be ready.....EVERY five minutes.
Since then I have been listening to it on my mobile phone and it's very, very good. So, to start Eddi Reader week here is your first link: click here

Is it just me?

Neil and Sue were on tv last night, they were on Yuppie TV's flagship programme Relocation Relocation. They needed a smack. They had owned a management training business - which is a contradiction in terms for anyone who has ever been managed by anyone who has ever had management training - and were looking to buy half of Devon and a 'bolthole' in Brighton. I didn't like them. They summed up everything that was bad about the last ten years of New Labour, that of greed and straight men going all effeminate. It's littered with people like Sue and Neil making money 'consulting' whilst wages stay low and profits soar. Oooh, I know I sound bitter but I am.

Their budget is £550,000, plus £200,000 for renovation work. Meanwhile, they also want a one-bedroom crash pad in Brighton so Sue can see her daughter and grandson regularly, with a budget of £200,000.

They've made all that lolly out of making civil servants dress up in khaki and make rope bridges in the New Forest. Bastards.

I wish I knew how to quit you

Just seen the front cover of the oo ah daily star and the tabloid dog has got Jade firmly between the teeth. Great stuff, they won't let that one lie. I saw Jo rocking like a pyshco on GMTV yesterday too, it made for some very compelling viewing. The nation clunked our spoons on our Shreddies as the door to her career slammed shut.
I've just seen on the Daily Star website that Ant and Dec have bought houses next to each other. Is it me or does it all smack a bit of Brokeback Mountain. Looks like the only bush Ant sees is the Australian kind. That poor wife, still the housekeeping money is probably fantastic.

Lola is away

Today I am handing over Lola to the Ladyfriend, you thought I was bad...

The Ladyfriend on Lola having to phone to cancel a salesman's appointment:
Is it me or do these people keep making assumptions without consulting the very people they should be grovelling to. The country is full of arrogant no-bodies!! I'm going to start lobbying for a new lesson to be added to the school curriculum "Manners Matter". Our children are no longer safe in the hands of rude parents, they will have to be taught the basics by an outside body - as long as it's not gay of course! Dirty, dirty.

On the British Airways strike:
Everyone here cheered yesterday when the workers won against a big corporation too interested in fat management pay packets and share dividends to appreciate the work done by ordinary working men and women. Britain currently has a disease and it's called 'trying to be like America'! Let the immigrants do the crap jobs, let the working man be grateful he's got a job, and the rest can live off them.

Ah, good triumphs over evil, cheats never prosper and all that. How wonderful it was to watch Shilpa snatch the Celebrity Big Brother crown. There wasn't a dry eye in the house last night, what a trooper. I daresay we will be saturated with Shetty from now on but I don't mind, she deserves it. We will have Shilpa this, Shilpa that, a dance might be nice - The Shetty Shuffle. I must admit to taking a fancy to her jeans, that curved ragged hem at the bottom is inspired, I shall call it the Shilpa Shag.

I've got a nasty scrape on my knuckle. It's rather sore and it amazes me that I never felt the incident happen although I am paying for it now. It's always the smallest things that hurt the most, the paper cut, the hanging finger nail, the cracked lip.

Life has had it's ups and downs and I've had my fair share of turbulence when it comes to relationships and I remember the thing that upset me the most when I split up with the bunny boiler wasn't walking away saddled with the credit card debt, leaving without a stick of furniture and the loss of friends which had switched allegiance but that I'd forgotting to take a set of Christmas lights which I really liked. Mad isn't it? You've got to watch out for the little things.

I take a rather rural route to work and of late I have noticed a lot of road kill. This morning it was a badger, the other it was a rabbit. The thing is, they don't look right, they look happy. They have not assumed a position of distress, they are not corpses which have met a sticky end. They look at peace and some have appeared asleep, paws tucked tidily under their heads. No blood and guts. I've started to wonder if they have died elsewhere and someone is putting them next to the road to cover up something more sinister. You never know.

They've created a monster

The Ladyfriend and I have been watching Big Brother and the evil that is Jade Goody this week and have been as disgusted as everyone. I am very rarely moved by stuff on tv, I did feel the prickle of a tear when I heard John Taverner's 'Song for Athene' at Diana's funeral, I liked that bit at the millennium when the Eiffel Tower exploded with fireworks and there have been some moments in Emmerdale Farm which have been of some note but Jade's psychotic behaviour on Tuesday left me speechless.
I do love a public execution and with anyluck she will be dancing the Tyburn jig come Sunday but I do feel it was an accident waiting to happen.
We have seen it on numerous occasions with reality tv where idiots who should go no further than the check out at the chippy have been propelled into a world of 'stardom'. It's like some twisted Pygmalion and Jade aint no Audrey Hepburn.
I was thinking to myself though how different it would have been if Big Brother was around when celbrities were something special. Can you imagine Celia Johnson's clipped English accent and deportment? There would certainly have been no geordie saying "who gaws ya deside." Diana Dors would have filled Jade's shoes but you wouldn't find her letting rip and talking about intercourse.....or perhaps you would.

It's very sad but Rick Stein's dog Chalky has died. He was the best thing on the programme, afterall, there is only so much you can do with a brace of herring. I like dogs on tv, infact I would like a whole channel called DogTV, I bet there already is one on SKY.
I'm not keen on all tv dogs though, I perceived Lassie and the Blue Peter dogs as being too middle classed, the Littlest Hobo was a little bit hammy and Timmy from the Famous Five wasn't really 'front of house' when it came to the action.
The dog from the Little House on the Prarie was great, Bernie Winter's Snorbitz, Wordworth from Jamie and the Magic torch, Champion the wonder dog, Freeway from Hart to Hart, Fred Basset, Hong Kong Phooey, Mutley, Snoopy, oh the list is endless. What a good idea though, the logo could be a big paw print. I think I might suggest it.

I do my bit for the environment, not one copy of the Morning Star leaves the house in a bin liner, I have a pile of rotting vegetables in the garden, I switch off lights when I leave the room and I wash my smalls in Ecover. BUT, I suddenly thought the other day, 'why am I doing it?' It may be selfish, but I wont have kids to worry about leaving the planet to and to be honest a warmer climate will be a boon when I develop arthritis.
The thing that has set this off ofcourse is the traffic in the morning. I pass rather a lot of those big gas guzzling people carriers ferrying over indulged children to and from school and I thought if the very people that have children don't give a stuff then how on earth can they expect me to.
Don't you know that children are our future? sang Whitney but my God look what's happened to her.

I have just seen a big fat Jay bird on a branch, they are a cruel race, but it made my thoughts turn to spring, it won't be long until we see the green shoots from the ground and bulbs bursting into life.
I've been thinking about bulbs, I know it's wrong of me but I was thinking how fun it would be to find an expanse of municipal ground and in the dead of night plant some tulips in an organised display. What's wrong with that? I hear you ask. My display would be a naughty one and when in bloom would say something like "bugger off"

It's a twister Aunty Em, it's a Twister!

I've just been out for a mince around the industrial estate - I'm laying down a few too many layers of flab around the buffers - and I was nearly blown into the path of a juggernaut. It's blowing a gale out there and whipping the country into a frenzy. One of my potted palms has gone over at home, the streets are filled with newspapers put out for the dustman who never came and trees lie prostrate across country lanes like that bit at the end of Torvill and Dean's 'Balero'.

On my way to work this morning I saw a car which had stopped at a junction with his wheels still spinning. I dare say that he paid a lot of money for such hub cap 'decoration' but let me tell you, at 8 o'clock in the morning when the senses are not so highly tuned it was rather alarming. I saw my colourful life flash before my eyes as I prepared myself for a collision.
I remember as a child clothes pegging a square of cardboard to my bike (from a packet of shreddies) so that the spokes of my wheels would sound like the engine of a motor bike. It was great fun. I suppose these gentlemen are looking to recreate the same excitement by adorning their motorcars.
I must say, I wouldn't mind adding a few flags, ribbons and bells to my car AND because of the state of the roads now the holidays are over I would like a huge banner on the bonnet saying "F*cking walk to school"

Hooraay! The ladyfriend and I have gained equal rights to hotel rooms, trouser presses and tea and coffee making facilities despite the religious protest. It went through the Lords smoothly without a hitch or act of God. Brilliant. A shame for those folk waving the 'sodomites burn in hell' placards but atleast they had a nice day out in the big smoke and hopefully a safe journey home - see, I can be nice.
Ofcourse the first thing the ladyfriend and I will do for our civil partnership is book Westminster Abbey, a muslim photographer and obviously Tom Forrest's guest house for our honeymoon (asking for the 'sexual deviant suite naturally)
Mind you, you can't press pause on decades of discrimination and abuse and just like the 'ban' on foxhunting it will still go on. Perhaps little groups of religious extremists will get together in the countryside and burn posters of Elton John an H from Steps.

I've been beginning to think that I've become a bit type cast. I keep getting the same roles. I'm always the shy retiring sort who'll 'have no trouble here'.
I've never been one for an audience, I can trace it back to my infant school where I had to stand up in some kind of school play and say "I can play the triangle, ting, ting, ting" tapping the instrument three times - see, I can still remember the lines. I was petrified. I must have been all but six.
I've played the part of wallpaper ever since. Ask not what life can do for me but what I can do for life! Perhaps I should shake things up a bit and wear a cravat, prance around with a silver topped cane, become a rake, a dandy, start a dance troupe. When I go I want to go like Elsie.

There's not a lot on the telly in the week - unless you're fond of watching hours of soaps and reality tv - so the Ladyfriend and I joined the easy jet dvd hire thing. It's right up our alley, we choose a disc and they send it in the post, we watch it and then send it back. We love it. We like to get a tv series so we can watch an episode a night. A few months ago it was Series 1 of Tenko, I was hooked, I still don't know what's happened to all those poor ladies who went off into the bush.
Anyway, at the moment we are watching Love Soup with Tamsin Greig. I think she's great. She was great in Black Books too but I don't like the Green Wing. It's not her fault. I just don't think it's funny. But lots of people do, but a lot of people like Ricky Gervais and I've never understood his popularity.

Holy smoke without fire

Next week a group of Christians, Muslims and Jews will hold a demonstration against the Sexual Orientation Regulations which start in April. What this basically means is that it will be illegal to discriminate against people be it gay or straight when providing services. To quote the Daily Mail "Campaigners claim the rules will force religious groups to promote homosexual rights in contradiction to their teachings and could persecute those who disapprove of homosexuality on moral grounds" - how awful for them.
Now, isn't it heartwarming that what with 9/11 (which has always sounded to me like the opening hours of a convenience store) the Bush crusade in the Holy land and Israel's wall building, these battling religions can still come together to bash the queers? It also would seem that the Jews have got a very short memory when it comes to tolerance.
These new laws cut both ways you know, it doesn't just extend to a bitter old Bed and Breakfast owner who denies a couple of old poofs a seaview in Broadstairs, it will effect the gay community too. We will have to open our doors to binge drinking hen parties and there will be nothing we can do to stop them, our dance floors will be filled with underdressed fat girls wearing devil's horns - the closest thing to hell we will EVER see.

'Special' stuff

Today I popped to the 'local' butcher close to work. I try to stay clear of the supermarket whenever possible and as spaghetti bolognese is on the menu tonight (the ladyfriend's favourite) I needed some mince.
There were no familiar labels at the butcher shop, no organic stickers, no kite marks or tractor signs so my heart was in my mouth. I asked for enough mince for two and then the excitement began...
The fella in the apron exploded, "oooh, very good madam, yes, yes let me see" and he bustled about in the back of the shop and returned with a tray of the stuff. It only cost £1.49 which is gentle on the pocket but will it be the same on the stomach? We shall see. I was just a little taken aback by the frenzy the word 'mince' caused, what on earth would happen if I mentioned offal?

Sheep Shit

I'm up in arms about this 'Gay gene in sheep' experimentation. I'm with Martina on this one. It ticks my box in the admitance that homosexuality is not a serving suggestion but a biological fact but to attempt to meddle with it spells disaster. Thing is it's obvious to me that homosexuality exists as Mother Nature's contraception, controlling populations so that the planet regulates its resources. Just imagine if there were no gay rabbits, rats or flies. I think you know where I am going with this one. To be honest, I think homosexuals should be highly praised and elevated to the highest position in society. My people free up school places, leave room in playgrounds and are little or no strain on the country's services. We don't breed to keep the masses in check, the gifts we have are many, our menfolk are better dancers and our ladies can put up shelves.

My word but it was cold this morning. I like to chill out with the rest of them but I could have done without the icy blast that whipped around my breast pocket at 7.15am. The moon was still out and it loomed in the sky like a large lady on a seaside promenade who has to sit down a minute whilst she catches her breath. A hazard to shipping.
It's supposed to be the most depressing day of the year today but I like winter, I like the boney branches, wet grass and howling winds, I like stews, rooty vegetables and warming wine. I like wearing lots of layers, hats and bulky boots. So, as we go into these two miserable months when it feels like there is nothing to look forward to let us make the most of deep winter, it may be bleak but there are plenty of fruits from its tree if you shake the branches hard enough.
12th night, Burns Night, Valentines Day - ah, it's all to come! Perk up.

Yee Har!

It's been a smashing Christmas. I have indeed made merry and am now carrying rather a lot more 'baggage' than I would like to and most of that is around the waist. Mind you, it looks like I've got the beginnings of a small flight bag under the chin. So it's time to treat the body as a temple (and not one in a war torn country subject to bombings or the occasional stampede) the cork screw is going away for a month, the remaining chocs are to be melted down and the fridge is to be stocked with mouth watering vegetables. I've decided I shall have to move about a bit more. I can't hack gyms, the smell of sweat and rubber conveyor belts does nothing for me so I may be turning my attention to music and movement, I'm seriously considering the benefits of line dancing....

Jesus Christ. Exactly. The Ladyfriend and I have started a tradition of going to the pictures on Christmas Eve. It's nice. This year we have been looking at a suitable film and thought it might be Eragon but that has received rather bad reviews. Ah, we thought The Nativity would be perfect! Absolutely spot on. But guess what? There isn't a cinema in the area showing it. Not one. Nada. What's that all about? If ever there was going to be a captive audience then surely it would be on Christmas Eve. Shame on them all. If we don't watch out, next year Father Christmas will be wearing a hijab.

Had a lovely time in Amsterdam but the ladyfriend and I have decided to forgo any trips abroad in the future, I was frisked at the airport on the way out and made to shout "Merry Christmas" to a prancing fool at the airport on the way home. I think he was the dutch version of Cilla Black. I scowled at the camera so I imagine I am on the cutting room floor.

Things have been a bit rushed and just a bit much this week so I have not yet put up my photos - I've been ripped off by BP and slandered in court - it's a long story but I hope this will do: click here

Bluebirds sang at my window this morning as I greeting another dawn and another birthday! 36 and still with skin like a princess. I am 4 nines or 12 threes, whatever, I'm not the girl I once were though, I've grown in so many ways but mostly outwards.
The Ladyfriend and I are off to Amsterdam on Thursday to celebrate both of our birthdays, I can't wait, our hotel is conveniently placed for all the major attractions, the floating flower market, the museums and the brothels......not that I like art.
My brother took me to see Billy Bragg on Sunday at the Hackney Empire - what a place, a gorgeous old theatre in a run down part of town. It was a 'Rock against Racism' thing and a lady slapped my lapel with a sticker to that effect. A worthy cause, only something didn't sit right with me. Mr Bragg harped on about the benefits of a multicultural society and how the people of Daggenham who had elected the BNP should embrace their new neighbours from far flung places. A nice idea, thing is Billy has chosen to live on a farm in Devon where the only dark face that he probably sees is that of a fresian cow over a fence post so it's a bit of a 'do as I say and not as I do' thing going on there.
PLEASE NOTE: Lola is not a racialist and some of her best friends like reggae music.

There has been a tornado in London today. In the paper I saw a photo of a ski lift empty and lifeless in a normally busy ski resort. With climate change, will there be "snow in Africa this Christmas time"?

They only need 43 Jonathan, they could knock those off with a stick of rhubarb..."
Geoffrey Boycott on TMS

Can't believe the Ashes result this morning. I know it was a bit wet wanting a draw when winning is everything but to lose, well it just isn't cricket. It's time for young Flintoff to fall on his sword and give up as captain. The ladyfriend and I both agree that being the best player doesn't necessarily make the best captain. Infact, Freddie reminds me of an Edwardian farm hand taking over from the 'Gentleman' who has gone off to war. The only chance we stand of coming away from the Colonies with any scrap of honour is that by some miracle Michael Vaughan can get back on the field and take charge. I daresay we will not catch Michael in a sleeveless vest, hands in his pockets, sporting tattoos and an earing.

Lord I was off to a bad start this morning. I was anxious to catch up on the night's cricket so I put BBC1 on at 7am hoping that in the half hour that I designate to breakfast and 'coming to' I would see the score and highlights. Did I bugger. I grew a different shade of purple with every passing block of five minutes. Whilst that Bill Tumble (or whatever it is) was bumbling over a report about Russian spies I flicked over to ITV to see the final snippet of Kevin Pieterson - I was incandescent with rage. I gave up at 7.30 and ran my bath.
By the way, all this about Russian spies and radiation poisoning. Am I missing something? If what I'm led to believe from James Bond films is true, then passing away in a hospital bed is preferable to some of the ways these dare devil agents might meet their death. I saw one once where James Bond was tied to a table with a laser moving between his legs about to cut him slowly and painfully in half. I would therefore plump for radiation sickness any day. I bet he got a private room, digital tv and 24 hour care. I bet he didn't get a senile old man walking about at night trying to get into bed with him either.