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.