Had one too many glasses of Chateau Whatever last night and things have been a little rusty this morning. I feel a little bit vague and have made several human errors in the workplace already. I can't blame it all on the booze, infact, I am convinced that the solar storms are to blame for it all. It is thrilling to think of us sitting here reading our Women's Weeklies whilst the sun shoots out radioactive balls of venom toward our little pustulating planet.

I often think of the amazing things that I've seen in my lifetime - the new millennium, Halle Bop, Mars closer than ever, that solar eclipse and the tragic things like September 11th and Margaret Thatcher. History certainly is something of an experience.

I never thought I would say this - I think I may need a slap - but I seriously think it might be a good time to let the Conservatives back in. I was reading this morning about some new baby bank account the Government are setting up whereby every new born baby will have x amount put into an account for when they reach 18. Babies born into low income families will (naturally) be given more. I just wonder, where the f*ck is this money actually coming from? I understand the government want to stamp out child poverty but it aint going to happen. Come 18 Tarquin will withdraw his money and doubtless invest it in stocks, bonds or a holiday watching Rugger. Gareth will take his cash and blow it on a ford escort with alloy wheels, tinted windows and drive it into the nearest Dixons and make off with several DVD's or whatever is the very latest thing in 2020.

I'm a bit fed up of toeing the line, working full time, paying out taxes and rates and getting nothing back. I had a letter from the council saying they had to make cut backs on spending as it was Government policy to divert Eastbourne's cash and give it to the northerners! Just so they can sit on their arse all day - I know what I'm talking about, I've seen wife swap. Work? they don't even know how to spell the word.

I'm ready for the backlash at the ballot box, I am middle England and my pockets are nearly empty!

Up early this morning and with glee I tramped downstairs to take from the fridge my lardy fat seed cakes that I made yesterday for the birds. They had set wonderfully - not like the suet fiasco last week. I crumpled across the frosty grass and tied my first one to a tree and retired gracefully to the warmth of the drawing room and waited...........and waited.....and then tres jolie the sparrows swung and feasted upon it!

Very excited about it all, hopefully they will eat that one all up and not leave it decomposing like an eighteenth century highwayman strung up on the outside of town. That's what happened to the bag of nuts.

I sat this morning reading the penny dreadfulls and wonder if it would be possible to put an end to that horrible little man Paul Burrell. Talk about problems with "staff", I only hope the palace have learnt their lesson and have set new guidelines in their HRH Human Resources department.

The misguided little twerp has got this peculiar idea of self importance, dillusions of grandeur and an insatiable appetite for self publicity.........I wonder who he caught that off?

My snaps of old Amsterdam are now available if you Click here

Lovely bottle of wine last night.......I should leave it at that really.

Stuck in sheer volume of traffic this morning so I was ten minutes late for work. Not much but enough to knock out my daily routine of coat off, computer on, chit chat then coffee. Add to this the fact that the boiler in this superannuated building has gone bust then you can imagine morale here, like the temperature is low.

Enroute to work this morning I watched a tree surgeon getting all strapped up ready to attempt his ascent into lofty branches. I watched him for quite a long time as the traffic slowly trickled past. It seemed to me a most fulfilling career, one with instant results and just that element of danger to keep the wits about you. Yes, I think I would like to have been a tree surgeon, do you think it is too late to retrain? It is certainly a lovely time of year to be at one with nature. Trees are so much more easier to identify when they are turning leaf, an absolute boon to the tree surgeon I should imagine, it must halve the risk of lopping the wrong branches and the furore such an act would cause.

Ham and cheese for breakfast

Home from Amsterdam and am finding my reflexes slow to react. It's close to 11am and I feel like I have only just got to work. Amsterdam was fabulous, a wonderful place but I am left wheezing like an old coal miner. EVERYONE smokes EVERYWHERE in Amsterdam. There is no such thing as non-smoking. Ones nose was constantly smarting.

Our friends from Malaga bagged the best room, their window looked on to Spuistraat and Miss Whiplash's head office. She sat in her window twiddling her thumbs and twanging her knicker elastic all day.

small town - boy!

Driving to work this morning the ladyfriend and I drove passed the building site of the latest unaffordable housing. It's quite funny because it is being built on a plot of land that used to be a gay pub. It died a death and after being boarded up for ages was finally levelled and - after a council backhander - the developers have moved in.

I was thinking to myself as I looked at the advertising hoardings for the flats which had pictures of white succesful career women sitting on a leather sofa (like those that hideous bint Linda Barker has paraded herself on) I was wondering, when developers build on old cemeteries they disturb the graves, will these new homeowners be haunted by the ghosts of Donna Summer and Ethel Merman?

Also on these developments they try to keep a link to the past by naming the houses and roads after the old place, if so, will there be "big dyke road", "backroom close", "trannie avenue", "bender house" and "screaming queen street" - I went to the pub on several occasions so I speak from experience and not out of turn.

This weekend, as I'm sure I have said, the Ladyfriend and I are off for a little hedonism in Amsterdam - joy!

Felt a right prick this morning

I have just broken my fast. Because of my blood test at the surgery this morning it was no num num nibbles for Lola last night and I have made up for it in spades by consuming little Danish pastries! I've been like that bastard David Blane only a little less annoying.

It was a riot at the Doctor's. There we all were sitting with our bits of paper for the nurse tummies rumbling away. I tried not to sit in the same seat as I had last week but I couldn't help it. My primitive instinct knew that the last time I sat there no harm came to me so like a magnet I was drawn. I decided to pass on the BBC Food magazine and I flicked through a well thumbed issue of some trashy old celebrity rag to keep my thoughts steady.

There were quite a few ill people at the Doctor's, most off putting, you'd think they might have a seperate waiting room for them.

Dinner at the club last night with Dawn and Dave, had a lovely chinese. Swallowed a whole chilli which was a bit of a shock but not an unwelcome one. Lost the sensation of the left side of my tongue and spoke like Thora Hird for half an hour but no one seemed to notice.

Today I feel a little wan, don't think the MSG is to blame it's just boredom.

It's nil by mouth for me after 7pm tonight. How will I cope? Thank goodness I have an early appointment tomorrow morning at the doctors. They mean to drain me of blood so my normal Tuesday night 'night cap' will have to be postponed less I throw a wobbler at the lab.

Oh my gourd

My life is fabulous. Coming to work this afternoon the trees were scandalously brazen, I love autumn. I am alarmed how much I love it, infact I am not sure it is healthy to love something so much.

The ladyfriend and I were well and truly plastered yesterday by a cypriot called Helme who did a bit of cash in hand in our kitchen - yes we aided the black economy. It's downhill all the way now for our kitchen - hoorah with knobs on.

Leaving on a jet plane on Friday, I know when I'll be back again, it will be next Monday but the squidgy bit inbetween will be spent as a lost weekend in a hotel in Amsterdam and a double pneumonia in a single room........Fantastic, bulb buying, tip toeing round Anne Frankes gaff and gentle imbibing.

We're meeting the boys from Malaga, hitting the nighteries and party girls.

Hip replacement

I've changed the look of things, nice 'aint it? It's clean - like my mind.
Today the ladyfriend and I are in Eastbourne. It feels like we have not been here for ages. Bridget Jones (the single man upstairs) has been playing some nice music, we have just had a nice cup of rosie and Eastbourne is gradually begun to stir.

The sky outside is as bruised as a pensioner slipped on an icy pavement who just HAD to pop to the shop for the latest copy of "Puzzler". I am expecting a brooding tide today, gusty wind and an excellent wine for dinner.

Had an evening at Mr C and Mr D's last night. Had a rather lovely Chinese and a considerable amount of red wine. This morning I feel a little bit marinaded and somewhat garlicky and ver, ver tired - sitting at the computer isn't welcome and if it were not for the fact that I have just had some time off work I would have quite willingly "swung the lead."

Had my first mince pie last night, I know it's naughty and quite, quite wrong but I couldn't resist, Mr C and Mr D rival me in their love of Christmas and have by all accounts bought up the trimmings already. It was very agreeable indeed.

We got on to the subject of all the posh cars youngsters are driving and Mr C made a valid point. As mortgages are unattainable around these parts as house prices are astronomical, youngsters hoping to get a foot on the ladder have no choice but to live at home until they are 40 and therefore have disposable incomes, therefore they splash out on ego boosting, flash cars as away of expressing their worth and position in society. I think he may be right......he's very rarely wrong.

What I miss most is times like these (4pm) when I could be walking home from school, coat done up to the top, wind tickling my legs, leaves swirling round my shoes and the yellow lights of shops soaking the pavements. There is a heavy price to pay when you grow up.

I've got to have more tests than a smoking beagle. Oh I hope my diary doesn't turn into one of those horrendous broadsheet saga's where a columnist harps on about their "condition" and ends up publishing in both paperback and hardback and turning up on "Loose women". However, I have always wanted a makeover in Good Housekeeping so who knows? It is rather tempting.......

Last night I tried eating Mackerel with rice and mango chutney, it wasn't that succesful. If you, like me, enjoy your food then I highly recommend this website Hugh Fernley Whittingstall I love him and long for his lifestyle (except the problem hair) I am trying to follow his ideas and have begun to eat seasonally. I have been up to my ears in figs this week.

oooh Matron

I'm off to the doctors today - after being snubbed for someone who no doubt had mild indigestion - I'm not looking forward to it. I am presenting myself with a rather sensitive issue which no doubt is a result of hormones, the onslaught of alzheimers or lost luggage - either way I shall have to watch what she does with the angle poise.

Think of me at 3.30 flicking through some tawdry women's magazine sitting next to some young mother with a snotty kid running up and down and opposite an eastern european in leather with a paisley lining. Oh I am not keen to go.

Boom and bloody bust

Hooraah! The Ladyfriend and I are wired up right - although some may beg to differ. My handsome brother has sorted out the kitchen in Eastbourne and we are all ready to get plastered. Happy days indeed.

Another stroke of luck was I found the next book of the "Under the Tuscan sun" lady in Oxfam on Saturday. £2.99 (it was a hardback) So I am happier than a little piglet.

Whilst in Marlow on Saturday I was clipped by a passing motorist. I was walking along trying to avoid hideous Saturday shoppers, people who should not normally be on the streets - men who are normally desk bound Monday to Friday who dither about with their irritable children whilst wearing "leisure" clothes. I hate these men with a passion, they run companies but have absolutely no social skills, spend about an hour trying to buy something and treat everyone else like their secretaries. I have lost count of the times I have been bumped into, ignored and incensed by these men and it aint pretty.

Anyway, back to my story, yes, I was skipping along the pavement and wack, I was clipped with this wing mirror, it didn't hurt, fortunately my solid frame kept me upright but for crying out loud! What if I had been a child? Still a child in Marlow on Saturday would have been acompanied by a father dressed in GAP clothing and it would most probably have been quite funny. Oh whatever.

I tell you something it's a worrying trend around these parts but every car I pass is a posh one. Where are all the Ford Fiestas? I am sick of the Yuppies fleeing the pox in London and swanning it up around here. Silver cars, flash BMWs, sporty little numbers, teenagers looking like extra's from Hollyoakes, I don't like the look of it. I think the answer is lady guillotine and it aint a long way off.

What a pullover. I have just been to the doctors and whilst waiting for my consultation with the apothecary I was yanked over to reception and told that the lady with the stethoscope had been called out on an emergency - a very peculiar practise indeed. So there we are, I was told I could wait for an indefinite time or reschedule my appointment. So there we go, Lola gets no attention. I've got to go back on Tuesday, I'd had a bath and everything.

Spooky

Just wacked the name of the book into google and got this http://tuscansun.movies.go.com/main.html they've gone and made it into a film which is about to be released! I bought the book in a rumble* on saturday! What a coincidence. The film looks better than the book for once.

*jumble sale

The last two days I have been under the weather, I took to my bed on Monday afternoon and am now back up and in some degree of good health. I was as dizzy as a top and really rather wan. During my malady I read a book about an American bird who bought and renovated a property in Tuscany. I was having a lovely time reading it, salivating away over her descriptions of roasted red peppers but then, three chapters from the end, she became terribly self indulgent and I was left dissapointed and hope now, her and her villa crumble in an earthquake. Why do books do that to you? I would have tidied it all up under a loggia in the company of warty old Italian ladies chewing prosciutto but she went all odd. Poor shame.