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.