When blogs go bad

I wanted to leave Lola to nature, like a run down house with a leaking roof and broken windows. Instead of a wind flapping door I'd have the rotating picture gallery link and instead of pigeons and rats I'd have spam comments building up, adverts shoved through my box amassing on my front carpet - if that's not a euphemism. I was once an avid blogger but so many people are, I wonder how many writers of blogs have died leaving their blogs mid air? I'm familiar with what happens when you leave the natural world but I wonder if you can ever leave the virtual one? Ghosts very much in the machine. These days I do the Facebook and the occasional twat but now the audience has died off (I was clocking up a steady flow of gawpers) I might start blogging again.

London calling

Sorry, I've been taking a bit of a gap year, living the IRL and not the URL

You what love?

Just been stuck behind a man in the supermarket, I would try and get around him but he would stray like a drunkard into my path. It gave me the opportunity to have a sneaky peak at his shopping and on the top of his ready meal was a bottle of Oatex ear wax clearer, no point then I thought of asking him to move.

Carriage return

Back to work today industrious at the computer and keyboard which made me think, it's not 'hard at the coal face' anymore but 'hard at the type face'

I’ll be with you in the Squeezing of a Lemon

To a little Italian restaurant on Friday night and when I say little I mean little I daresay that if you held one end of your spaghetti on one wall the other end would meet the next but we love it.
It's an intimate place next door to the chippie and close by to the betting shop so the passing trade, if one was a snob, could be classed as 'down at heel'.
It was a busy night in the restaurant and we were politely asked to move from our space hogging table of four on to a table for two which was understandable and we obliged. Taking our warm seats and crumbly table were a strange little family who didn't appear to have set foot in a Wimpy let alone an Italian. AND they broke the unwritten rule of asking us what we were eating a few times! I may sound nasty but let me continue...
...when their meals arrived the chap in their party leaned over to us and asked for the black pepper and I thought how wonderful. Here was a man who to all intents and purposes looked like he would say 'brown bread is for poofs' would say 'boo' to a goose and would probably ask to have his crusts cut off his trousers but here he was asking for black pepper, I could have kissed him for making me eat my words.
Elizabeth David I thought can sleep soundly in her grave (her coffin no doubt placed on a bed of rocket leaves) Britain is no longer the place it was in her day where olive oil was 'ointment for ear wax' - now, what a fab name that would be for a gastro pub!

Chin Chin

I was allowed to slip away early from work on Wednesday afternoon due to the bad weather and to cut a long story short ended up in the village pub with the wife having a quick sherry. Well, four hours laters we were trotting home drunk as lords and very light in purse. Oh what a wonderful lost afternoon we had. I met a remarkable lady train driver, two star crossed lovers (an american lady who has to go back to America on Monday to sort a visa so she can return and marry her companion a man many years her junior!)and some men of the woods - hunting, shooting types who are going to teach me how to kill pheasants with my bare hands and put up a bivouac in an inclement wind. Honestly.
It was marvellous but we can't do it too often, if we did the wife and I will be singing the Fairytale of New York by Easter.

I've always been a bit of a stranger to the world of glamour, I tend to be left at the docks as the fashion boat leaves port and I'm a follower of the famous quote "Distrust any enterprise that requires new clothes" so I love any opportunity which requires one to look like the back end of a bus. So it was this morning. The ice age cometh and with heavy snow and a walk to work in the offing I stepped out of the door bundled up in hat, boots and knitwear. You could not tell if I was man, woman or beast but to an educated eye I would possibly pass as a cross between Arthur Scargill and Uncle Bulgaria.
However, as I trudged along I met a lady in fur hat, matching gloves and coat, natty boots and drifts of foundation on her chops. She looked remarkably out of place as she negotiated the icy wastelands of the home counties. She did not look the type that walked anywhere but lord knows she had an outfit for it.

Thrilled to receive the new Hugh Fearnley River Cottage Everday Cook book for Christmas which encourages us all to source locally and eat seasonably, hurrah for that but whilst reading the publication notes inside I was shocked to discover the book itself had been printed in Italy! - errr, hello!

Great tits

Feed the birds, tuppence a bag - well that's wrong for starters, try twelve quid and you wont be far wrong. I'm a feeder and I replenished my seed stock at the garden centre yesterday and came away light of purse. So you wont be surprised to hear that I was cursing the sparrows as I watched them from the safe distance of the kitchen window as they scattered my seed to the wind. "That's 0.0001p worth of food that is" I yelled as I thumped the window as the bleeders sorted the wheat from the chaff and let the rest spill to the ground.
Thing is feeding the birds these days is a bit of a 'lifestyle' statement. Fine chuck bread out if all you want is a black bird or two and the occasional wren but if you want neighbour envy you've got to put the time in, chucking out white sliced is comparable to putting an old fridge in your front garden - common! I've got my fat balls, nyger seed and songbird seed and as a result I've got blue and great tits, blackbirds, starlings, robins, green finch, gold finch, common finch, sparrows, ducks (yes, ducks), crows and a pheasant, woodpecker and I am pleased to announce, I have got thrush. But it's a costly business.
I find my birds raise my profile in the neighbourhood. So you can imagine my delight that next door but one has moved. They had ornate bird feeders about their garden and I would look at the flocks they attracted with binoculars, I was a twitcher all right, a curtain twitcher planning ways to lull their birds into my garden!

When you hear the beep

A strange phenomenon is happening to me at the supermarket. Just lately most of my compulsory purchases are up in the noughties. Once upon a time my shopping would total odd thruppeny bits if you know what I mean. It would come to x pounds and 87p for example but these days I’m hitting the nail on the head, £10 on Saturday and just today my crème fraiche (low fat) and packet of linguine came to £2.00 dead on in M&S. Now what’s going on? I’d be interested to know if it’s happening to others or if it’s just me. Is there a surge in electricity inside me that knocks the digits up when I supermarket sweep or is it the work of the paranormal? Am I receiving household management from beyond? Is Mrs Beeton guiding my hand at the deli counter? It could of course be a trickle effect of the VAT adjustment but that would be boring.

Bloomers are off!

I've given up bread for Jesus. For lent this year I have looked at my daily indulgence and find the one thing that plays a big role in my diet is bread. It's something I (funnily enough) have daily, so I've skipped that line in the Lord's prayer so I'm not led into temptation.
Giving up the sauce would be better but just not workable, I attend too many functions and I would fall at the first hurdle or pop of the champagne cork. So it's bread in all its guises that's been given the heave ho.

Fleeting glances

To the Roundhouse last night to see Fleet Foxes, well to be honest I didn't see much of them because it was a complete sell out and I had standing tickets so for the business end of the concert I was staring and being rammed by other people's business ends. They were exceptionally good and a finer live sound I have never heard - except Eddi Reader of course.
As it was the hottest ticket in town last night I expected a few celebs to be peppered in the audience. The only two I saw however was the Times tv critic Caitlin Moran and BBC regional news presenter Mike Ramsden it was hardly the brace I had in mind, no rubbing shoulders with Marianne Faithful cradling a slimline tonic for me.
I was a very lucky girl leaving the gig however, I was caught by the cops for a misdemeanor in Regents Park. I was let go with a slap on the wrist - after a rubber gloved search - and am left now with a lasting impression and nothing but admiration for the police.

Frankly Mr Shankly

Oscar winner Danny Boyle looks more like Morrissey than Morrissey does himself these days.

On the buses

Got the bus this morning and was taken aback. The driver was English. Now, before you scream Chakrabarti! Chakrabarti! I'm not being racist - some of my best friends are of an Eastern european extraction - it was just a bit of a shock to ask for the stop that I wanted and it being understood. I wondered to myself if this was the start of the mass exodus back to Poland? It certainly was nice to have the English chap drive for a change for two reasons, one he did not drive at breakneck speed and two, the bus was decently late, only five or ten minutes - just enough time for a scone and ginger beer instead of a flask of bloody borscht.

Yes chef!

I happened to watch Master Chef the other night. I'm not keen. I watched it a few years back when it first started back again but was turned off immediately. We should be trying to teach our children to eat properly and that Toad man sets a bad example, it turns my tummy to watch him shovel a spoonful in. Not only have we a nation of latchkey children but a nation of laptray ones and the presenters of masterchef certainly wont get the family back around the table.
Anyway, I digress, what shocked me the most about Masterchef 2009 is how it has progressed from being a slightly more high brow version of Ready Steady Cook to something more resembling the X Factor - one could almost call it "Pot Idol"
"It means everything to me", "Cooking is my life" "It's all I've ever wanted to do" oh dearie me, where have we heard these words before?
And what is this food anyway? can you imagine me serving up froth for the wife? No, no, no.

1000!

This is my 1000th post- yay! But the sad fact is I am devastated. I have had the most dreadful dream. I was married to Hugh FW which under normal circumstances would be a lovely experience, I would be a free range organic bird trotting off to the shops with a blank cheque book but in my dream he was a brute of a man. He caught me straining strawberries by the Aga and my dear readers that was it. I fought back bravely and I shouted that "I'm bored here, you wont let me do anything!" and then I woke up.
Last night the wife and I tried to buy some Bach flower rescue remedy in Tesco, the shelves were clear which I took to be a sharp indicator of how far the Recession Depression had hit. The shoppers in my local Tesco are normally a chipper bunch but clearly things were on the fritz.
The rescue remedy is supposed to chill you out and help in times of anxiety but the label is wrapped around the bottle so you can't see inside. Thing is, you don't know how much you have got left so you are in a constant state of worry that it's just about to run out - if anything is going to get your knickers in a twist then that will.

Have you seen this man?

Peculiar day. I stood at the bus stop this morning and it were as if I had been given a new pair of spectacles because everything seemed so vivid and - dare I say it - beautiful. I was listening to some of my 'housey, housey' music and I looked up into the air at one of the more uplifting movements and a murder of crows streamed over head, it would have brought a tear to my eye were it not for the fact that I am terribly cold hearted.
As I stepped off of the bus (that was late, but no matter) the bus shelter had been messed up with graffiti but instead of my customary 'tut' and resentment I marvelled at the use of purple on a dark green background - almost like the Wimbledon Tennis corporate colours.
Lunch was odd. Shanna and I drove to the local M&S choosing the back roads to avoid traffic and as we weaved our way into the back of the retail park (no swings and slides here though kids) we felt as though we had arrived on a crime re-enactment scene. A young girl was walking with a ruck sack (probably to her death) a BMW raced in front of us and builders straight out of central casting toyed with their lorries, all it needed was an old lady to walk out with a shopping trolley and a yap yap dog and we would be there. It was most peculiar. It was almost too normal to be real.

Who do you think you are?

I’ve been a bit off radar recently because I’ve been climbing my family tree and to be honest I’m a bit stuck up in one of the branches. I’ve joined genesreunited and am trying to hack back and find my ancestors. There’s been no pots of gold yet, no royal blood or notorious criminas (not strictly true but I’m keeping schtum) but I daresay it’s just a matter of time.
And it really is ‘time’. To track people you need to look at the Census reports which were taken every ten years. The 1911 one has just been released and us geneologists have been at it like frenzied piranhas.
My Grandfather Bertie Burnham (what a fab name) managed to marry, have three kids and move to the next street in a decade and it made me wonder how much I have done since 1999......not a huge amount.
What’s great about all this ‘who do you think you are’ stuff is that lots of people have already done the hard work, as I’ve come a bit late to the party great swathes of my tree have been completed so I can just copy and paste – it’s a virtual bloody leylandii.

Look! I filmed ghost children!

One in the eye of a needle for the atheists

You've got to do this

In Bruges for lunch

In Bruges for lunch, originally uploaded by LifeForLola.

Tyred

We were out in the motor today. A car approached us at some speed from the opposite direction. I was shocked, not at the velocity but because the woman in the passenger seat was yawning. She was brazenly yawning, she did not hold her hand to shield her gaping mouth. Why are cars capsules against polite society? Why do people think they can do stuff in them that they would not get away with in company? Men pick their noses, young girls sing at the top of their voices, labourers rearrange their genitals, old men suck on Worthers Originals whilst fingering their ears. Why is it that whatever happens in the Vauxhall stays in the Vauxhall?

Blood on the streets

Strikes have been breaking out across the UK in support of a mass walkout by energy workers in Lincolnshire angry at the use of foreign workers.

I don't know if it is deliberate but one can't help but wonder if the BBC chose this picture because of the nazi right arm? Heil Hitler anyone?

Dial Up, Dial Up

I've had time to consider and I have decided that on the good versus evil see saw of life the internet has hit my rock bottom. Oh where were the luddites in the nineties who could have smashed the Macs?
I awoke quite early this morning feeling fidgety and my young girls thoughts turned to industry (as they do) and I began to wonder about all the good things the internet has brought us (me to you obviously) but the down side too.
Our ability now to book our holidays online has done away with sending an SAE for a brochure, we are able to buy household items at great savings yes but by cutting out the middle men we are leaving gaping holes in the high street.
People need work and I have seen with my own bloodshot eyes how a newspaper that employed two hundred people could slash jobs faster than you can hit 'refresh' when it embraced the web. It is now possible to produce a tabloid in India before tiffin these days, give or take a few spelling mistakes - which makes one wonder if the Guardian have already shipped to Shilpa Shetty.
In the days of expensive dial up and slow download times we became conditioned to scanning pages quickly because time was money, I believe this conditioned society into becoming impatient, wanting everything NOW, skipping to the end and now we have become a monster of greed caught up in a feeding frenzy of imagery.
Sods and their iPods, fat birds in Rotherham emailing jail birds in Texas, me bankrolling the BBC so Babs in California can watch New Tricks on her laptop, the enviromental cost of all this electricity! Oh, you get my drift. I have not even begun to talk about sexual exploitation but to be honest I think I shall leave that stone unturned.

Roll Up, Roll UP

I have just been to lunch with my pal Shanna to the Harvester. We are two girls with one keen eye on our waistline and the other on our purse so we tend to have a visit to the salad cart and a fizzy drink. The one which is not far from work has had a re-fit but they have scrimped on some of the details as some of the wood work looks like a packing crate which has been slapped on the wall with a staple gun - The Ivy it aint.

As we were leaving, a beautiful Jag was making its way out of the car park. It was crammed full with people but on the back seat/driver's side was a little woman - a REALLY little woman. Shanna and I both agreed that the Jag was obviously hers which she had finaced through her work in the circus as she was a thing of genuine wonder and amazement. We imagined several succesful tours in Eastern Europe where she would ride standing on the back of a shetland pony dressed in thick tights (it's chilly in Poland)

Retired now and having amassed a considerable fortune she holds court once a week at the Harvester, she probably treats her friends (there were a good many crammed into the Jag) to a surf and turf on the one proviso that one of them gives her a lift up to reach the salad cart.

Is there anybody there?

I got a slap on the wrist from a psychic at the weekend because I've stopped writing Lola. It's not because I have followers in the next world (perhaps I do, who knows) but apparently this caper is my calling so that's it and all about it. Trouoble is, I'm a bit rusty so I shall make tentative steps to get back on form, imagine me if you will like one of those wheelchair bound people trying to walk again - I daresay I shall shake on the rails and yell "I can't do it!" but I must, who know's I may one day be published in People's Friend.

Why BBC, Why?

I've decided to put fingers to keyboard because yet again the BBC have let me down. I look forward to the Christmas edition of the Radio Times, ok it's the only edition that I buy so you couldn't call me an avid reader by any stretch of the imagination but none the less...Anyway, so the Christmas edition features in the warm glow of my festive fiesta. So imagine my horror when I scanned the shelves for it at the Co-Op. I couldn't see it, it was there but it was the lost in the blur of TV Chat, Not on your nelly telly and the council house favourite The TV Times. Why was it lost? Because they've dropped the beautiful illustration that they used to have. It used to stand out as a bastion of good taste. Gone is the hand painted jolly Christmas scene, in its place is bloody Wallace and Grommit, they may well have replaced it with a picture of Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand. A knife through my heart.

Life for Lola has jumped the shark

SUMMER ART FESTIVAL

The Life For Lola 2thousand&8 festival is here! It's flowing along nicely now we've removed the blockage.

Interlude

We need some time apart, it's not you it's me.

I've decided I don't much like the computer and the internet. It makes concert tickets too expensive and takes so much of my time. Mobile phones are just as bad. Once upon a time you would look at the doormat in the morning, shrug your shoulders because there were no letters and get on with the day. Now you have to check hotmail, facebook and your mobile phone, it's relentless.
Also, I long to see the written word, now that every home has a pc you no longer see handmade "LOST" posters for family pets, these days they are printed up in Arial 16pt bold. I'm even mourning the traditional "bingo tonite!" day glo pub poster - long gone I'm afraid.
I dig Mr Gutenburg but in his own way he created a monster. Let's have a bit more Parker and a little less Microsoft please!

For once I am inclined to believe Withnail is right - we are indeed drifting into the arena of the unwell

I don't think all is right with the world. Watching the news these days I am filled with the same feeling of that before a big storm you know the sort of thing. I long for the days of Pimms and the sound of leather on willow but these days it's water with gender bending chemicals coming out of my tap, spitting football players and knife wielding toddlers. I'm tired of thinking about it all let alone typing it here. I'm going on holiday in a couple of weeks, I am hoping I shall come back with lots to say but I've got my doubts.

Elephant Fly

Wow, I've just seen the new Conran bathroom collection for Tchibo and it's amazing. Ofcourse, one would have to see it in the flesh but that family have got the Midas touch and their fingers in many a pie. What a fabulous gene pool. They have turned something so loathsome as a lavatory brush into something you'd want to cuddle in bed. I foresee empty shelves and carnage on a scale of Stella McCartney at H&M.

Yellow Rose of Texas

One of my favourite films like 'EVER' is Local Hero which I will quickly explain is about an American Oil company trying to buy a slice of Scotland for their evil doing. The village of Furness is part of their plans and the villagers are jumping for joy about the huge amounts of cash they're going to get! All goes well until Ben, who owns and lives on the beach, wont budge.
This morning, I was watching the telly and it was almost as if life was imitating art as I watched the report that Mr Trump was trying to build a crazy golf course up there! What was more remarkable was that he looks a bit like Burt Lancaster, is he taking the piss? Time for a DVD re-release me thinks to cash in.

Truth is I've dried. Can't think of a word to say. For the last six years I've had no trouble yarping on about this and that but just lately I've been hard pushed to type an email. Let's all enjoy the silence shall we, for just a bit.
For those who need a fix I can point you in this direction: http://flamingnora.blogspot.com/

Oooh ah just a little bit

Things have been a little bit Mr and Mrs Hectic for me recently, there's the art festival to organise ofcourse (Miriam has buggered off on a fact finding mission to Paris - or so she tells me) so I've been left saying 'hit, miss or maybe' with a mass of contributions (I think we may have to raise the bar next year). On top of that I'm trying to hold down a full time job and ofcourse there's my charity work.
I'm kicking back now listening to the Eurythmics 'Savage' cd which is absolutely blinding, I'm in awe of how well it's stood up through time.
On to this weekend, I am spinning like a top. On Saturday we are off to the Duke of York cinema in Brighton for the Eurovision song contest show, I've had a t-shirt tastefully printed with the words 'Boom Bang a Bang' across my tits.
Then, it's Liza Minnelli on Sunday! I really can't wait, ofcourse it's sod's law that I think I am entering into the arena of the unwell, my throat feels a bit dicky, it's the excitement no doubt.

Shop local

I've just seen Don Letts in Tesco and he had his arms crossed.

I'm a bit of a facebook queen and dip in quite frequently. I rather like the application where you compare your friends to each other. It's all good clean fun but I was a bit shocked to find that out of all the things that I could be the best at it's not being most soave or most sophisticated but most punctual! I never thought I would be the most good looking (I have a great face for radio) but most punctual?
Anyway, that does take me nicely to my next point which happened at the bus stop (whilst waiting for a bus which would get me to work on time) the other day. I was approached by a strange looking chap who lumbered up and started to ask me about the next bus. It didn't take me long to diagnose that he was a bit 'funny' but he was quite harmless, he said he lived with his mother and it looked liked she still bought his clothes.
Then he said "do you mind me talking to you?" which quite broke my heart. What kind of society have we become when someone has to ask you that? He obviously spoke from passed experience where I daresay his peculiar manner put the willies up people. But I didn't mind. Afterall, what's more creepy a child in a man's body or a man in a child's?

Time for Toffs

I don't know about you but I'm all for Boris Johnson. I like a man who calls a spade a spade. I was at the gym on Sunday and watched him with Ken and that bent copper whilst on the treadmiill and I must say he sparkled.
They were yarping on about controlled immigration and terrorism which I could just make out over Girls Aloud and the thud of my pulse in my ears as my heart rate increased. My money's on Boris. It's time for toffs to even up the balance. It's all a bit too comprehensive these days. I say what's wrong with a bit of privilege?
Labour's gone all Animal Farm with their heads in the trough, Prescott with Bulimina!? I ask you.
As for immigration, I don't mind the Polish, if it wasn't for their pilots in the war we'd be hearing the sound of jackboots in Oxford Street.

Damn her perversions

We've got one of those chalkboard things in the kitchen where we write household necessities which we really must remember to get. You know the type of thing eggs, flour, butter.
I came down to the kitchen after the wife had left for work to find the words "wet suit" writ large! I know as women age the mind plays the occasional trick but wet suit? I'm a little too worried to ask.

Putting hairs on your chest

Those that have met me in the womanly flesh will know that I like my food. I've just consumed my lunch at my desk which is the way most office workers these days choose to knock something back whilst checking how unpopular they are on facebook. Anyway, I've just had a tomato and mozzarella salad with a poppy seed bread roll. How european. Basically, it's the ploughman's lunch of the 21st century for us Brits and it made me wonder what the farm hands of old would have made of it. I am sure they would have downed tools immediately and refused to scatter the good seed on the land if they had been presented with oily cheese and soggy rocket.

One of Dr Weil’s tasks is to have a ‘no news day’ where you are not to expose yourself to the tabloids, radio and telly news. It’s easy peasy for me. I’ve long lost interest in current events. When I first heard the phrase Credit Crunch I thought it was something Chavs ate for breakfast, the gaza strip sounds like pubic hair removal and as for Zimbabwe - Mugabe Schmugabe.
The Olympic torch didn't raise an eyebrow, it did strike me that a far better protest against China would be to stop buying iPods not to snuff out a flame in Oxford Street or wherever it was. I'm not into the athletics anyway, as far as I can tell they only put them on the telly for old ladies to stare open mouthed at whilst they chew on a custard tart.
The brain is a sponge you see and can’t differentiate between the American Presidential elections and a conversation about cheese, I’d sooner fill my head with the kind of Philadelphia that goes lovely on a Jacobs cracker than the one that might swing Hilarie’s way.
So, that’s that and all about it. The news isn’t like it used to be anyway.

Down with Downward Dog

Yoga = Yawn, I'm down with Pilates now! If you pop in to chez Lola at 7am on a week day morning you'll find me rolling about on the carpet with Zosha Piotrowski. She's fab. She's on Diva TV and I love it. Yesterday she had me so contorted I nearly brought my Shreddies back up.

An offer I couldn't refuse

I became Godmother to my niece and two nephews yesterday, it was brilliant and I was well up for renouncing the devil and his diabolical ways - those Catholics have a great way with words. Anyway, I'm chuffed to bits and you better not mess with me now unless you'd like a horse head in your bed.

In with anger out with love

I'm down with Dr Weil at the moment and have started his 8 weeks to optimum health so it was off to Tesco this lunchtime to stock up on a few nutritional and spiritual essentials.
I only had a few bits and waited at the till whilst a couple of elderly ladies checked out their shopping. I waited and waited and waited as they struggled to put their produce in the bags but chilled out with a few suggestions from Dr Weil's cannon of philosophical hints. After a good three minutes the cashier asked the old girl to pay, she pushed her card in the slot and then failed the chip and pin request FOUR times. It was a blood bath, the cashier's help light flashed so I swept my shopping back in the basket and tried to find another till.
There was more trouble here. A woman questioned her bill and began to add it up herself with a CALCULATOR! I felt a bit dizzy so I began my breathing exercises. She went then the next woman started yarping about growing her own vegetables in Devon and how she fancied maybe over wintering somewhere hot as there's not much sunshine here.
She was in no hurry to pack her shopping or pay, a huge wave of rage came over me and the flowers which Dr Weil suggested I buy for my desk to bring cheer were nearly destined for her behind "I'll give you where the sun doesn't shine" I thought.
The two women who caused the trouble to begin with walked passed me like dominoes leaving the catastrophic chain of events in their wake.
I need to swallow the little book of calm.

Something wicked this way comes

I was just out in the motor when I saw a flashing ambulance coming in the other direction. The paramedics had huge smiles on their faces. It made me wonder, do they look forward to accidents? They must break up their day and it is after all what they are employed to do but surely they do not welcome carnage?

One Word

If you could see me now I would be turning in my grave. The other night I was shaking my 'arse in the kitchen to Gaydar Radio (that and Chill are the only two Digital Stations of choice chez Lola) when a fab record came on which made me chop my veg with gusto. At first I thought it was an inspired dance mix of Fade to Gray, it had an eighties feel to it. I disco shimmied over to read the "now playing.." display on the radio and to my total horror I discovered, as the words slowly scrolled along, that it was K E L L Y B L O O D Y O S B O U R N E ! Oh me oh my. Ofcourse it was the disco bunny mix by Chris Cox and not the plain version for radio but all the same it's Kelly Bloody Osbourne. I've been playing it non stop since.

Painting by numbers

I am delighted to announce that after five years in the wilderness the Life for Lola Summer Art Festival is back! It's a long story so I shall cut it short but the upshot is now that we have secured the talents of Miriam, our Art Director, it's all systems go.

She's a bit of a free spirit and hard to pin down but she promises a fantastic programme. When I popped in to her cottage last week, to discuss the raft of talent she has secured, piles of scrap paper with noteworthy names on lay scattered on the floor. Infact she got so animated at one point the fair trade coffee tipped over and I'm sure I heard her say 'pollocks' over the din of the Beethoven.
Anyway, May is when it all kicks off and she's asked me to direct you to her temporary website: www.lifeforlola.co.uk/artfestival

"It's all round Asda's it must be true"

Now, before I start, I am overjoyed that Shannon Matthew's has been found alive but one can't help but wonder what will happen to the poor girl next. I know it's vile of me but I keep picturing her, Vikki Pollard fashion, at the police station saying "yeah but no but" and not helping with enquiries because her 'community' have 'learnt' her that the law is filth.

The rolling news reel live from Dewsbury has been a sharp reminder that Shameless Britain is very much alive. It must be a kick in the teeth to Gordon Brown, are these the children that Labour want to lift from poverty? And what poverty is that exactly? Everyone I saw was dripping in gold sovereign rings and designer trainers. With the extra child tax credits promised in Wednesday's budget they wont run out and suck on sun dried tomatoes it will spent on a packet of Lambert and Butler for Mum's new boyfriend.
I shouldn't mock the working class and I'm not, because the working class doesn't exist any more because none of them are working, they are all living on the social.

Anyway, back to Dewsbury, one thing that did strike me about the Shannon saga was how strong the women were, yes they were a bit rough around the edges and are crying out for the Tranny and Susannah treatment (idea to the BBC there, I'll let you have that one for nothing) but they were Amazonian compared to the drippy men who stood like rabbits in the headlights. My favourite was the lady who was running the search campaign, on Friday her deep masculine voice exclaimed "it's all round Asda's it must be true" it was a line that should have been written for Frank Gallagher, pure poetry.

So to Shannon, what will happen next? Her family will be lifted out of poverty for sure once they have signed over the rights to the News of the World, they will be shunned by Dewsbury and will have to move in with Sharon Osbourne. The Daily Mail will excavate the family's criminal past, Shannon will have a hit record 'let the music play' and do an ad campaign for Dreams, she'll appear on the front of Heat magazine and snort coke with Pixie Geldof. Oh it's sad of me to say it but let's just see if it all comes true.....

The tradesmen's entrance

The wife and I have had to take a week off work to have new windows and doors fitted. It was a very unsettling experience having workmen taking over the house and we couldn't go anywhere so we were, as they say, confined to quarters. Also, the sugar! After their constant demands for sweet tea all we've got left now is a teaspoon and a few hard lumpy bits . Still it's worth it and we're all snug and Upvc'ed up now which will please the green folk amongst you.
NOW, the Nigella experience, I've decided to dump the idea, it's not because it's too much of a mountain to climb it's more shallow than that, it's the Delia effect. Since Delia's new show started on Monday night Ms Lawson's stock is in freefall and I kind of want to distance myself, a bit like when a rat deserts a sinking ship. So that's that and all about it.
I managed to get myself that Duffy cd this week, I like it but the wife and I both think that all this 6o's sounding music which is engulfing the charts - I'm thinking Adele and Amy Whinehouse etc - has made listening to the radio these days a bit like watching an episode of Heartbeat!

Back of a postage stamp

Friday night the wife and I motored down to the coast to visit Michelle and Sarah the spinsters of Shoreham. It's a pretty tricky place to find so we had the sat nav ready and raring, the lady in the box was great....until we got close to the tricky bits. For some reason she got a bit slap dash and half hearted, then cross, then nasty - just our luck to have picked the menopausal voice, we're going to replace her with the fella instead.
Shoreham was lovely, we were taken to the farmer's market on saturday which was the best I have ever seen. Usually we come away from these affairs with molar splitting bread and sour jam, money for old rope but this one was brilliant, I was quite the happy shopper I can tell you. Purple sprouting broccoli, parsnips the size of cricket stumps and wild garlic. I had a riot. That was until one of the stall holders nearly started one. We struck up a conversation about Nigella Lawson and Rape seed oil when he said and I quote "what Nigella knows about cooking you could write on the back of a postage stamp" I tell you, I don't know to this day how I didn't wack him around the head with my newly bought hessian, biodegradable, fair trade, shopping bag. The wife did tell him how he had just lost a sale. Jumped up barrow boy.

If you're wise, exercise all the fat off

I've turned into a bit of a gym bunny or should I say slug and as a result I have developed a keen interest in all things 'elfy like so you can imagine my joy when I discovered the array of health and fitness magazines at the supermarket. They come with free bits and bobs and indigestible cereal bars glued to the front.

I bought one the other day called Natural Health Magazine. On the front cover it said 'Cleanse your body and soul in 14 days'. NOW, I'm no expert but surely claiming you can cleanse your soul in a fortnight is a trifle ambitious. I am thinking of the recent high profile murder cases last week for a start. Do you suppose if they gave all the lags in Belmarsh a copy each it would be a boon to criminal reform? I don't think so.

I think it's very misleading and the Features Editor's head should roll. I myself have a few episodes in life which I am not proud of and I'm sure they won't be absolved with sit ups and a few cups of camomile tea.

Just come back from TesCO2 with a big bag of knock down baby aubergines, what the hell am I going to do with all of them? I shall put them in a Thai Green curry tonight, they are supposed to be background noise but this evening they're going to be very front of house.
I got off the bus today and stepped out into a swirly snow globe, it was fantastic, none of it settled ofcourse and I'm looking out of the window now at brilliant sunshine. It was a wonderful. An added bonus was that I was listening to an old Cocteau Twins cd which was is the best soundtrack EVER to get caught in a snow shower to, it was close to a religious experience.

It's BACK! It's on BBC1 on Saturday! Oh my lord I can't contain myself.

I saw a disaster unfurl infront of my eyes this morning. On my way to work I see a lady take her kids to school every day. They use one of those four by four type things which she just about fits her two small children in. This morning I looked up to see her opening her door, I looked down to see her Chelsea tractor waiting, I looked back up and saw her mouth agape, I looked back down to see that someone had stuck a pair of pink balloons under her windscreen wipers. These were not just any balloons, they were novelty balloons fashioned to look like a pair of ladies knockers. They flopped about in the steady breeze as the young mother stood frozen to the spot, how would she explain them to her kids who would doubtless want to keep them?

I have a habit of listening to snippets of other people's conversations and picking up the wrong end of the stick.
I just walked out of Tesco and took my normal route back to work which involves going passed a bus stop. On most occasions there are a number of pensioners there who have spent the best part of their pensions on pick and mix, stout and those horrid rotisserie cooked chickens which sweat in their plastic bags.
Today didn't disappoint. There were three old gents waiting for the bus, one man stood in the middle, both hands in pockets thrusting himself out as though he were about to deliver a speech of epic proportions. He gazed whistfully and said "I'd like to get my hands on Jim's wife at some point" Well, you can just imagine what ran through my mind.
Was this an admission of some long held sexual attraction which might one day soon come to fruition or was Jim's wife about to be phoned up and invited for a rubber of bridge? I will never know.

This Yoga business, I thought it was a gentle exercise which would make me all lithe and lovely with minimum effort, well I was wrong. Today I feel as agile as stephen Hawkings. Ten minutes of this is what's done it.
I found this on You Tube yesterday. It's one of those flash mob things: At exactly 3:30pm on a secret cue, almost everyone in the square froze. The few bewildered tourists didn't know what was happening. For 5 minutes the participants held their positions, and then magically everyone unfroze.
I love that kind of thing, I've signed up so I get invited to the next one, I want to go to the mass pillow fight.

Did the Nigella Salmon Escalopes with Watercress on Monday night which was simple yet effective. I'd give it 8 out of 10. If you're a heavy smoker I'd give it a miss as the dressing is on the subtle side.
Got my hands on Delia's new book and it's fabulous but her use of Aunt Bessie's cannon of frozen produce doesn't sit well. Frozen mash???!!! Discs of frozen mash???!!! My forrays into the frozen aisle of the supermarket are few and far between, I dip in for prawns and peas so I have yet to sample the cornucopia which Delia says is there, we shall have to see.

I've been a bit down in the dumps today. I went to the park and sat on a bench and in the sun at lunchtime to try and cheer myself up. It sort of worked. An old lady passed me on the way to the shops. I sat there long enough to see her return. It's one of those shops that have thin white plastic bags so I could see what she had bought. She had a tabloid newspaper and a bottle of white wine. I can only imagine what kind of afternoon she had in store.

Happy Valentine's Day

Friday is D Day. Delia's new book is out. If you go onto her website there is a ticker which says "Delia's back in 1 day, 9 hours, 55 mins and 3 seconds" fantastic. My book is on pre-order with Amazon.
Of course it's going to put me in a bit of a countdown conundrum with Nigella so things could get a little sticky for me in the kitchen. I will have Delia in one had and Ms Lawson in the other I shall be like a rose between two thorns.

My photos of Bruges are here ready and waiting for you. They are quite nice but I don't think they convey how bitterly cold it was. Nothing can.
At the gym yesterday and I actually saw someone fall off a running machine! It actually does happen, real life slap stick in a Norman Wisdom styley. Ofcourse we all ignored it, no one rushed to the poor sod's aid which is probably how he would have preferred it anyway. No one really talks at the gym, which I think is probably for the best. On the rare occasion that the wife comes I have to tell her to put a sock in it.
Tomorrow night we are starting Yoga for beginners. I'm beside myself with excitement. I like a bit of that body is a temple stuff, I feel I may develop a mania for it.

Been a bit lax but I've still been 'a cookin'. We've done the Chicken schnitzel which was so good we made it twice and the Steak slice with lemon and thyme which was PHE-NO-MENAL! oh and the mirin glazed salmon again when I wasn't in the mood for a shock.
However, this weekend the lovely Mark and Tim took us away to Bruges (pictures to follow) and what a fantastic time we had. It was my first time in Flanders but it wont be my last. We were treated to a dinner which I swear to God was out of this world. It beat Nigella hands down, we had the most incredible pigeon breast, it was a taste sensation. I will now eye the bird table with avid interest, and the blood sport magazines.
I've left the best to last though, have a look at the hotel we stayed in Yesterday morning I woke up in Colin Farrell's bed, no, don't worry, I haven't been another notch on the bedpost of the Oirish womaniser! Last year he stayed in our suite whilst filming "In Bruges" - I shall dine out on that one for a long time!

To Camden last night to see Morrissey so no Nigella. Mind you, in the spirit of 'express' my handsome brother and his wife and I walked from Marylebone to Baker Street scoffing a Cornish Pasty 'on the hoof' if you squished your eyes up I could have easily resembled Ms Lawson dashing to pick the kids up from jazz tap.
Morrissey ofcourse was sensational although I am getting too old for support acts, this lot were called Girl in a coma and were a trio of angry ladies from Texas. They were rather out of kilter with the Morrissey sound which made me beg the question why support bands can't match genre like cinema trailers reflect the certification of a feature film. Anyway, it was a smashing night, one to bore the grandchildren with.

Calabrian Lamb Cutlets

Did the lamb last night which was top dollar. It was a little bit of a tight squeeze ramming nine cutlets into my modest pan but Lola pulled it off, it was a joy.
To Camden tonight to see Morrissey, ooh la la and on a school night aswell! I was standing at the bus stop this morning listening to the new Kylie Minogue cd and knew deep down that Morrissey would be disappointed with me. I hope they don't make mp3 player spot checks on the door and not let me in.

I've lost count of my Nigella it's a knockout. I've done the Butternut Squash With Pecans & Blue Cheese which didn't go down too well, the Mirin-Glazed Salmon was a hit but the rib sticking stir fry with cannellini beans was a blot on Nigella's copy book - na da, na da, na da!
Cooking has ceased to be a joy, or rather eating has, since I had a new filling on one of my back four on Tuesday. The man was nothing more than a butcher! I think I've been overfilled and I think it will be months before I've ground it down to a sensible level. I did think though, whilst he was packing it in if, like the master craftsmen who built our splendid cathedrals, he had left a little mark as a signature on his work. I may have a grotesque smiling face or two dogs fornicating scratched into my molar....you never know.

Oh the boskyness!

Did the Red Prawn and Mango curry on Friday and nearly blew the Wife's head off, I was a little heavy handed with the thai curry paste and so it was downhill all the way after that. I marked it ten out of ten though and there's some left which is now in the freezer for Ron.
Last night though was magnificent. We were supposed to be going out but after spending an afternoon in Marlow we felt we had been exposed to enough that was ritzy and so I grabbed Nigella with both hands. The Wife gave out a little protest that perhaps we could just buy a pizza but one look from me was enough.
And thank goodness because I made "Linguine with lemon, garlic and thyme mushrooms" and I swear to God it was amazing. I've worked out my tablespoons are a little on the side of portly as there was more salt than on the back of a grit truck but I intend to remedy this by buying one of Nigella's official ones. I think it's best, especially after Friday's curry.

Mustard Pork Chops

Got my mouth around Nigella's chops last night and I have to say they were a taste sensation! The wife and I marked it ten out of ten. More than the canellini bean fishy thing which was nice, don't get me wrong, but we felt it needed a little more ooomph.
Tonight we are having her Prawn and mango curry which I am fit to bursting about. One of the best things about all this is buying new storecupboard essentials, wok oil anyone?

I went to a marvellous party on New Year's Eve, it was at Teazey weazey Mark and Tim's. It was a ritzy affair. It was excellent for me as the other guests were called David, David, David and Tim! I am usually horrendous at remembering names which gets me in all kinds of bother but there would be no blushes as there was only a 50/50 chance of getting it wrong. Excellent odds.
Ofcourse I let myself down with the drink consumption but managed to see midnight and an excellent meal before retiring at 1am.

This year I have made a resolution to make every recipe in the Nigella Express cookbook. Tonight it's haddock with cannellini beans which is the very first one in the book. There are only 52 weeks in a year so I shall have to do the maths and find out my target number or I shall be in a kitchen filled with bubbling pans and whirring appliances as I try to cram them all in before 31st December.

Woke at four on Friday morning clutching my chest and alarmed to find that my left arm felt like a brick. NHS Direct put the willies up me and pointed me in the direction of my nearest accident and emergency service. Fearing imminent death the wife drove me there and then my day of horror began.....

I was seen immediately because 'chest pains' is like 'open sesame' or for that matter 'asylum please' in the world of the NHS. I had a needle rammed up my hand and blood taken by a slap dash doctor, an ECG and a chest x-ray. All proved ok and I would have been allowed to go home there and then but for me letting slip that I had a family history of dicky tickers. That was red rag to a bull and I was wheeled up to the cardiology ward.

You should have seen me, the shame of it. I was in a hospital gown, with trainers and socks on, protesting that 'really, there's no need to fuss' trying to pull the blanket over my legs that I had slovenly not shaved for a while.

When I reached the ward I asked if I could 'just nip to the loo' but was told that I would have to use a comode! I was rigged up to a heart monitor and lay there without any dignity and just a bag of satsumas for company.

In the space of the day I had six different women touching my boobs, which under normal circumstances could hold a certain appeal. They had to keeping lifting them so they could stick those little patches on me. In the end I was wired up like a bloody Christmas tree, flashing my knickers and not my lights.

In the end ofcourse, I was all ok and allowed to go home, my pains were put down to indigestion, no doubt with a big rubber munchausen stamp on my medical records. The shame of it.

It's Christmas Eve and it's so exciting, the presents are wrapped and the house is rammed with food and fancies, I also still believe in Father Christmas and the Virgin's birth and what's wrong with that? It's magic, it's wonderful, it's smashing.
What I don't like though is GMTV at Christmas, I hate it, I have to turn off. Every year they show ex pats on Bondi Beach saying 'hello' to their mums, that really annoys me. If GMTV was a Christmas decoration it would be tinsel - and the cheap kind.
Anyway, have yourselves a Merry little Christmas, make the yuletide gay and don't forget the life for lola sale begins on Boxing Day!

I have not been much of a chatty kathy lately, I'd like to say it's because I have been so busy with festive parties and ofcourse my charity work but it's not. Most of my time on-line these days is spent ordering Christmas presents, what did we do before Play.com? The Wife and I were in Windsor today and if it wasn't for the rolls of wrapping paper in Smiths and roast chestnuts being sold in the train station you'd never know the big day was a week away. Shopping was a breeze, gone are the days of twenty minute queues to the tills and elbows in faces these days present buying is a doddle.
Mind you, my best laid plans have gone squew whiff, I had planned to go out yesterday and finish the wife off (her presents, not murder) but I have fallen fowl of the dreaded cold bug and couldn't face it. I have been waking up in the middle of the night with snot on my face sounding like the elephant man. Not only that, I seem to have buggered my back at the gym. I'm necking sherry to ease the pain and at this rate I'll pile back the pounds that I left on the treadmill. A girl can't win.

Let's all pray for Liza

Went on a day trip to France on Sunday, oh my what fantastic fun. The wife and I went with Teazey weazey Mark and Tim. I love a day trip, they hold more fun for me than a holiday. I think it must stem from school trips to museums and brass rubbing centres. The joy of wearing your own clothes, bundling to get on the back of a coach and the smell of a banana in tupperware. Priceless.

It's all doom and gloom with the property market, boom and considerable bust. On my way to work this morning I passed a new development of luxury apartments (cheaply built flats with paper thin walls) and thought to myself as I looked at the marketing hoardings how they would have to change things as the recession looms like a 'funny cousin' at a family funeral. Around the building site they have erected aspirational pictures of young people enjoying a life of success after buying one of the apartments. A fella reads the paper with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, he has his feet up, hair 'messy trendy' and a relaxed smile on his face. Another one shows a woman, thin and gorgeous about to press the plunger down on her coffee pot. I'll give her plunge, I'd like to see her face when she's plunged into debt with a mortgage twenty times her salary and the Avon catalogue lady knocking at her door! Let's see these pictures! Faces of horror and remorse! A letter box piled high with credit card statements, a cupboard that is bare! Hmmm.

I fell victim to the Asda Dom Perignon mania last night. I got a phone call from Teezy Weezy Mark alerting me that my local Asda's was selling the toff's champagne at a knock down price of thirty quid! I nearly dropped the phone in the casoulet I was knocking up.
Needless to say I bolted my dinner - spilling most on my top - and jumped into the jollopy and set out into a wet winter evening enroute to the nasty side of town.
Ofcourse when I got there it had all gone, the 'rollback' sign was there but the shelf was empty, I reckoned that the nasty Sharon Osbourne (she lives local) had been there and 'ad the lot. Well, if I had seen her I would have given her more than a slap on the backside.
I do love a Christmas bargain though, I have fond memories of the Morrisson's Verve Cliquot coup of a few years ago. It seems with each year they get better and better. Infact, like the first whiff of pine needles or the emotional stir of the Salvation Army band these limited offers speak more to me of Christmas than the little baby Jesus!

It's the Wife's birthday today, bless her. We can't do much to celebrate because it falls on a school night. We're going down to Bath on Sunday though to see the Christmas Market so that will be more than enough excitement for one week.
I do like a Christmas market, if you like sheds you are half way there because that's what they basically are, rows of little sheds selling stuff and nonsense.
I like a hot plastic cup of mulled wine which would strip wallpaper and I like walking around with overcooked pig in a roll, I also like kicking people on the back of the legs when they get in the way - oh I can't wait.
I am getting in the Christmas spirit at last and during lunch I checked the magazine rack in Tesco for the Radio Times but it aint out yet. My advent calendar is sat on my desk winking at me as I type, it's a chocolate one which I bought a week ago but I reckon the heat of the computer may have melted it. I'll open up on Monday to find something Bobby Sands may have left behind. Can't wait.

To Derbyshire at the weekend to stay in lovely Breaston. We got there by the power of SatNav and the skin of our teeth. We're new to this little invention and for the entire journey there it kept 'bonging'. The wife and I couldn't understand why it would emit this sound so we decided it was just to keep us awake, afterall 'tiredness kills'. It wasn't until we got to Mr Clive and Mr Drew's that they told us it was a warning that we were going over the speed limit! Red faces all round. Less to say we have now deactivated this feature.

Lola's going to see Morrissey, Lola's going to see Morrissey!

I caught a bus yesterday. It wasn't the sort of bus that I am used to getting on. It was a modern bus aimed at the disabled. It had a door that swished open towards me, not the old style that concertiners, it nearly had me over. Narrowly escaping being maimed by public transport I took tentative steps and approached the Polish bus driver.
I nearly put my back out having to bend down to pay for my ticket as his money tray was conveniently placed at knee level. I went to take a seat, I found one which had a sign of an old woman bent double with a suggestion that I should give it up if she wanted it back. It had a whiff of piss about it but as my journey was a short one I hoped it wouldn't penetrate.
I could see my stop approaching so I got up to work my way to the door whilst the bus was still moving - I know we are not supposed to but I never trust the ting of the bell - I began grabbing at the rails one by one to steady me, you can imagine my alarm when the rails began to give way! I was shocked and stunned, I could feel the toes of my fellow commuters curling as I was flung like a rag doll from one side of the bus to the other!

I was in that Second Life thing last night. It's a bit freaky deaky. I kept bumping into people because I couldn't get my Avatar to walk straight. It's very complicated and rather time consuming. I'm sure it's a boon to the agrophobic but it doesn't fly with me. It ended up crashing my computer, tonight it will be 'Add and Remove' for Second Life. I can't get myself involved in another one of these things, Facebook is already all consuming.
The gym was busy last night, people are desperate to slim into their party frocks for the festive season. I couldn't get near the floor exercise area, it was full of lithe bodies moving up and down. I decided to do my sit ups at home, I left them until bedtime which was a bit of a mistake as the Wife whacked me in the face with her belt as she was getting undressed, my tummy looks great it's my cheek that's bulging now!
I'm rather looking forward to January at the gym, I know it's going to be busy with New Year Resolutionaries but the good thing is they will be FAT and not the toned athletes that "tut" at my paltry five minutes on the treadmill.

And all that Yazz

I've been going through a bit of a midlife crisis, I'm 37 in a few weeks so I've been eyeing up open top sports cars in the Dinky toy catalogues, joining a gym, tapping my feet to Kylie Minogue's new record you know the stuff - oh it's been woeful. I'm not concerned about my career, thoughts that I should have hit the glass ceiling by now or my financial status, I'm just a bit dry mouthed being the wrong side of 30.

Out on a 'works do' tonight. God help me. I have trouble holding my drink (even in my hands) and one wonders what bombshell I might drop in a moment of drunken sincerity. This time next week I might be working my notice.
Not to drink would be out of the question. The Wife isn't coming, she's going to drop me off at the restaurant and then wait, like the firemen in Trumpton, for the alarm bell to ring to pick me up, but where will it be from? The Police Station or A&E.
I'm not normally keen on dining out in large groups, seating can be a minefield and I can't always hear what people are saying. These new pizza restaurants don't help, the flooring makes it easier to listen to a conversation four tables away than the person opposite. I know it's not trendy but nothing beats a nice bit of Axminster wool twist!

I had to walk to work this morning with a tennis racket. It's a long story so I'll skip to the end but I had to have it in its black case slung over my shoulder. My coat is green and a bit military (such is the fashion these days) so if you squinted I looked a little like Michael Ryan. I looked 'tooled up' so I rushed to work terrified incase I might be mistaken by a trigger happy copper a la John Charles de Mendez!

Wowzer! What a fabulous weekend. To Brighton on Friday night to see Pink Martini at The Dome, if you are not familiar with Pink Martini GET IT SORRRTTTTED as you've no idea what you're missing. The concert was great, PHENOMENAL.
On Saturday I managed to track a swimming costume down in the unlikeliest of places -ASDA's! It's very nice, has a bit of support for girls that are big on top and - like most things sold in ASDA's - has a nice little pocket for your benefit books.
In the afternoon we went along the coast to Shoreham where our two pals Michelle and Sarah live. It's a rinky dink of a place, the Wife and I loved it, we were treated to a cream tea, a brisk walk along the front and we intend to return!

Filth! I'm becoming a bit of a prude, the Wife says it's because I'm getting old but I don't think so. They are advertising an exhibition called Erotica on a bus shelter close by to where I live, I think it's filth! I've no truck with anyone who wants to truss themselves up like a turkey or leap off wardrobes dressed in scuba gear, as far as I am concerned what folk get up to in the confines of their own bedrooms is entirely up to them but when it spills out onto the pavement - that's when my alarm bells ring!
What does the mother say to the small child that asks "mother what does kinky mean?" I know I'd be struck dumb. No, no, no keep things like that firmly under wraps, preferably in pvc or rubber.

Last night I went to the gym for the first time and merciful Jesus I nearly died. I don't know how I got home, I just remember 'coming to' in the bath at 7.30pm shocked and stunned with a face like a beetroot.
I tried to cheer myself up with telly. Being Monday night I expected to see a big old beast grazing on BBC2 but was devastated to see a couple of Stags on Autumn Watch! Where's Nigella gone!? Where was the warning? Why BBC, why!?!

To Watford this weekend to buy a swimming costume for my new fitness regime. The shopping mall is aptly named "The harlequin centre" because the place is an absolute farce. To skip to the chase you can't buy a swimming costume in November. You should have heard the excuses "err, no we're out of stock" "nah" and my favourite (in a sports shop) "we don't sell them" Infact most of the sport shops the Wife and I went into didn't sell a great deal to do with sport, infact it was abundantly clear that the sportswear that they did sell would be destined for the sofa and not the rowing machine.
So I'm on a bit of a sticky wicket, no new swimming costume. It's a silly name really, it's not like a fancy dress costume although wouldn't that be good, people doing the breaststroke dressed as nuns, clowns, cowboys and pirates.

Huge excitement chez Lola this morning. I opened up the newspaper to see Liza Minnelli staring up at me! She's going on tour! I shrieked to the Wife upstairs in a pitch HIGHER than nasty Heather Mills soon to be ex Mcartney and ten minutes later we were two hundred quid lighter and slap bang in centre stalls. I am SO excited I think I'm losing my mind.
The Wife and I nearly came to blows though, in my frenzy to get good seats I nearly ripped her arm off to get to the computer mouse, but I played the Barbra Streisand card* by way of an apology.

*In June we paid an eye watering amount of money for Barbra tickets because that - along with swimming with dolphins and seeing Naples - was the wife's life long dream.

I'm back on bloody Facebook, I got fed up with it a few months ago and deactivated but the bug's got me again. I'm turning down requests to throw sheep and plant flowers in people's gardens, I can't be having with that. Infact, I wish they'd invent a Facebook Lite for people like me who just want to 'wash and go' The Wife still views it with disdain and she's right to.
One thing I view with disdain is Eastenders. The language is terrible, last night I heard said "she's a cow", "bloody door" and a woman was slapped in the face. This was all before 8.30pm. I ask you. The BBC is sailing on a sea of filth and should hang its head in shame. I thank the lord that I was never exposed to the programme as a child, what sort of adults will be produced if they're allowed to watch it before bedtime? The channel should be renamed ASBO 1 not BBC 1!

To Diane and Mick's on Saturday night for an amazing meal with John, Teresa, Joe and Lisa. I don't know if you are aware but there is a slight age difference between the Wife and I, not a huge one, nothing disturbing, anyway, as a consequence I was the youngest one at the table but my word you wouldn't have known it. They don't half know how to knock it back, I'm a bit of a party animal myself but I'm a mere hamster compared to them. We didn't get home until 3! If it wasn't for the clocks going back it would have been later!
We had a fantastic time and both the wife and I were very moved with the trouble they had gone to....I'm welling up now....

Chunky Munky

The Wife and I are to join the gym. As my ship of life sails toward the end of summer I can already smell the autumn leaves and feel my ever increasing waistline, so there's nothing for it but the rowing machine.
I've been looking at middle aged women recently to see how some have let themselves go, it's an easy bank to fall down and a hard one to scramble back from. I fear the bingo wing, I want a flat pack stomach, tennis elbow and athletes foot!
We're off to sign on the dotted line tonight and then get induced, it's an expensive old business, not only have we to pay for membership there's the clothing to buy, I need a sports bra, swimming costume, trainers and P.E Knickers - I'll be up all night sewing my name into them all!

Took the bus this morning to work, the driver was eastern european which seems to be the norm these days only this one looked and sounded just like Count Von Count from Sesame Street, it was a little sinister.
Being driven around town by a Vampire during daylight hours is so so but I should imagine for those travelling on the night bus it must be a little disarming, especially when those doors hiss shut.
Oh well I got from A to B without fuss so, as the Chinese have cornered the fish and chip market, the Transylvanians can have the buses.

Forever England

The Wife and I are home now but God knows how. Our brief sojourn in Paris was marred by striking communist Metro drivers which threw a veritable spanner in the works. You can see why they didn't get the Olympics.
Getting to the airport on Friday - a journey which should have taken at the most sixty minutes - took us four hours. They were laying on a bus service to Charles De Gaulle airport from the centre of the city which as you can imagine was heavily subscribed. Numerous nationalities queued around the block and my God the stereotypes came through. As Noel Coward once said "Why do the wrong people travel, travel, travel and the right people stay at home?" Why is it so hard for foreigners to grasp the concept that a queue has a beginning at one end and an ending at the other? We eventually got on and stood up front with the driver. To be honest it all had a sense of evacuation about it and one couldn't help feeling a bit World War 2, One doesn't want to spell it out but it did all have a smack of Anne Frank about it.

This is the Mrs and I post civil partnership ceremony feeling rather pleased with ourselves! We were both very overwhelmed by the whole occasion and the Mrs got quite choked up during the ceremony - and who wouldn't at the prospect of marrying me! - but I too was rather moved and felt my bottom lip quiver which was a sensation that I hadn't felt since my favourite racing pigeon failed to return from Newport Pagnell.
Mr Drew and Mr Clive were sensational best men who pulled out all the stops for us. When we arrived at the registry office we found them car boot up dispensing gin and tonics which were very welcome indeed. I don't think I could have got through it without a slug of Bombay coursing through my system. They also took the official photos throughout the day and night which, after several bottles of champagne, will possibly require a delicate airbrush. They are auctioning them off to the highest bidder which is why we have just got this one at the moment. You'll have to wait until the next edition of Okey Dokey magazine or Woodturners Monthly depending how they get on.
We knocked it back all day and, when Mark and Tim joined us in the evening, we knocked it back all night and I was pleased as punch. I finished the night walking barefoot through Eton - how many girls can say that? Today my toes look like the Somme so I wont be mincing down the Champs-Élysées with a smile on my face tomorrow. I have in my head though some lovely memories which I shall treasure forever and enormous gratitude to Mr Clive, Mr Drew, Mark and Tim and ofcourse the Mrs for making yesterday so special.
Now it's off to Paris for a week with the French who we've just beaten at Rugby......wish me luck.

Getting married tomorrow, the Ladyfriend is going to make me an honest woman so no more porky pies and loose women, oooerr. We're going off to Paris for our honeymoon, I'm very excited, we're going to go on the Amelie tour and see places from the film. Apparently the Café des deux Moulins serves a creme brulee called "Amelie" I was thinking about this and wondering if the Ritz hotel have named a pudding after Lady Di - perhaps an apple turnover. Anyhow, as from tomorrow the "Ladyfriend" will become the "Mrs" all good willing and if the devil doesn't have his way!

Whoops. Invited a few friends for a candle-lit supper at my mother's house on Saturday night whilst we are looking after the place. How was I to know they'd put it on MySpace? I think we picked up the last empty bottle of beer at 9.45pm last night. Shocking behaviour for the middle aged, I saw things on saturday night that would have made my hair curl if I had not recently had it cut into a fashionable bob.
I am busy now trying to replace the broken furniture on ebay, mum gets back on Thursday, hope she's in a good mood.

The Ladyfriend and I have been house sitting whilst my mum suns herself in Cyprus, this is the third year that we have done it and I always enjoy riffling through her cupboards and using her lotions and potions, it does a girl good to get her dose of Sodium laureth sulfate from other sources once in a while.
It means that I use the car to get to work, I can not stand morning radio dj's (apart from Terry Wogan ofcourse who is wonderful) so I made myself a tape of Abba hits to play. Trouble is the tape player in the car is a bit odd and for some reason the background of a song comes to the fore, so instead of the crisp voices of Anna and Frida I get Bjorn and Benny singing "sup-pa-pa troup-pa-pa" I don't mind so much, I turn it up loud and sing like a banshee.
I'm not keen on the route to work though as I have a few roundabouts to traverse and a 12% hill to descend. The hill makes my ears go funny and leaves me a bit mutton for a few hours in the morning.