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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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