Strange scene this evening. I was twitching the net curtains and saw three little dogs running along the path. I couldn't see an owner. They were just running along. They looked insanely happy with their tiny legs going ten to the dozen, one of them had a sticky out tongue. I like to think they were little run aways and now, as the sun has set, they are tucked up nicely in the woods asleep under the stars. Their one goal to get to the coast and board a boat to the South of France but getting up to japes along the way - I'm thinking butchers and strings of sausages and the like.

Talking of old carcasses, I've seen that Peaches Geldof girl pop up in the papers recently. Just like her mother she has a face made for slapping. Both with famous fathers and both with questionable talent. One wonders if they will both share the same destiny?

I found one of my old school books the other day, it was from my cookery lessons complete with splodges and splats. I decided to cook the chicken curry recipe tonight. It wasn't a success. During Home Economics we would be given two recipes to choose from for the following week's lesson and I remember not being bothered with the curry. As a child I was rather puritanical about my food and didn't care much for foreign muck. As a consequence I didn't write down the method with much care. The list of ingredients were there alright but the method left much to the imagination. Half of it was missing. In the end I had to make things up and it was a tad dissapointing I can tell you. Bland as Saturday night prime time television. The ladyfriend was kind but I could sense her unrest.
I'm writting this via the wireless and I've one eye on the laptop and another on the fat girl on Sky. She's had an operation to reduce weight but she's still 30 stone, God love her. She could have done with a few cookery lessons. I like watching programmes like this though, it makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn.

The Ladyfriend and I have gone over to the darkside. We have sold out to Mr Murdoch and gone and got Sky. We wanted the broadband. We wanted to watch more than four channels (we couldn't get 5 in our valley) we weren't that bothered about the phone calls as we aren't big talkers but it's nice to know that they are free in the evenings.
We'd been talking about it for ages and finally plumped for it as the flat sale looms on the horizon. We shall have more disposable income and we thought the australian mogul could do with a couple of quid.
There's sod all on it mind you. I spend more time going up and down the menu than I do watching it but that in its self is sometimes more preferable to watching what's on BBC1.
I have found my favourite station though, it's called Solent TV. It's a whole channel about the Isle of Wight! I love Vectis and long to become a Vectian. If you were to cut me in half I would have the words SANDOWN running through my body like a piece of rock. Wonderful place. There is a criminal on the loose there at the moment though.

I've become a bit of a peeping tom. We've had pheasants in the garden lately and, eager to view their plummage more closely, I have got out the Ladyfriend's binoculars. I love the smell of binoculars. It's a metallic oily plastic smell and I think it's fab. Anyway, once tired of watching these enchanting birds I have begun to lift my field of vision to the field behind the house where I have been looking at cotton tailed rabbits dancing in the long grass, wood pigeons and magpies.
It's a big field and right at the top are a line of houses and I must confess to have been having a bit of a butchers. I've not seen anything untoward, I saw a lady take some rubbish out to her bin yesterday but that's all. I'm hoping it wont develop into a mania. The ladyfriend has shown a few short signs of concern but has promised, should the police call, to blame her mother who's got dementia.

I was watching that odd music programme on Channel 4 this morning which has two of the most smarmy presenters on that I have ever seen. That's not my problem though. My figure of hate is Mark Ronson. He's covered a Smith's song. It's shocking. I don't like him. Apparently he's a mate of that girl with Downs Lily Allen which I suppose speaks volumes. He sat talking to the bloke on the programme with his legs arrogantly apart and spoke with a peculiar briterican accent. He made my blood boil.
So I've added him to my list of hate. You don't cover Smith's songs.
The closest I get to anarchy these days is not putting a postcode on when I address an envelope, I have learnt to blend in quite nicely, I have conformed to such an extent that I own a pair of carpet slippers. But I did nearly have a 'moment' in Clintons the card shop on Saturday. I was buying Easter cards for close family and friends. They had numerous cards with rabbits in various states of undress, eggs and chicks but what nearly drove me to violence was a small section cordoned off with a sign saying "Religious Cards".
I'm sorry, have I missed something? Has the religious aspect of Easter now become, like Christmas, optional? I mean for God's sake, Marks and Spencers are selling bunny pinatas! I suppose the whacking of the rabbit with sticks could be a thinly veiled symbol for the beating of Christ, but I doubt it. What on earth is going on? I felt like reenacting Jesus throwing the money lenders out of the temple by bundling up all of the cards and ripping them to confetti but I thought better of it. I let them carry on selling their talking chicks, their bunny soft toys (made of cat fur) and their Ricky Gervais easter eggs (not really but you get my drift) paid for a secular card and turned the other cheek

During my lunch break (I'd say an hour but these days sixty minutes is a luxury my workload can ill afford) I take a little walk by a stream and sometimes feed the ducks... I sometimes feed the sparrows too. Anyway, yesterday something caught my eye in the water. Tethered in the reeds close by to a shopping trolley was a dead baby. Well, I thought it was a dead baby. As it transpired it was a child's doll. But my word it was life like. The flow of the water was making the arm move as if it was waving at me. It was quite sinister. I stood and watched it for a bit just to be sure it wasn't real and realised how desensitized I had become. You see I never let our a shriek when I first caught a glimpse of the bloated corpse.
I went back today and it's still there, still waving, waiting to traumatise a toddler or two.

Had to share this with you all. Due to the scientific study that has found that a sixteen quid bottle of gloop from Boots really can help stop the signs of ageing the shops have been inundated by old croans waving their pension books.
Yesterday the ladyfriend and I walked passed the back entrance of Boots in Eastbourne to see a normally quiet cosmetic counter packed with desperate ladies trying to secure their stash. It was like a scene from the film Cacoon. I had to take a photo.
We went back a little bit later and there were even more women clamouring for the stuff.
I know I'm a wee bit cynical, but I wouldn't be at all surprised if it transpires that Boots sponsored the study to boost ailing profits, but you never know. The ladyfriend and I will naturally be participating in the buying frenzy, we like a goldrush as much as the next man. I look back with fond memories of my mother buying up Branston pickle when the factory burnt down, I've also been known to stock pile tins of lentils (still gottem and all) when I found out the price would rocket due to global warming. Now we don't have village stocks or public executions it's the only way to form a sense of community. Bring it on I say.

I have not been paying attention to this new series of Big Brother, I'm not sure if it's because it's being filmed from Iran or that I don't know who the celebrities are, perhaps it's because I've had other stuff on my mind. All I can say is, they seem to have picked the same characters as last time. Everytime I see a shot of the girl in the headscarf she's puffing on a fag like Jo Omeara. I'm also not keen on the new rules, I don't know if it's because of the recent telephone voting swindle on Richard and Judy but I'd rather decide who goes not that bloke with the beard.

I have been getting my affairs in order. I am cancelling services at the flat that we don't need, stuff like the telephone. As a result I have had to navigate the call centres of Asia on several occasions. Now, I'm not a nasty person and I'm sure these people have better written English than I ever shall but for crying out loud how many times do I have to say the words "pardon" "sorry?" "what?" It makes me feel like Sid James trying to ask to borrow a step ladder of an immigrant neighbour. It's not a good feeling.

Our survey said...

The flat sale is going swimmingly but on Monday the buyer has booked a survey - oooooh. The ladyfriend and I have mentally spent the lolly so we've crossed everything (including our tits) that it won't throw up anything nasty. Our holiday in Lake Garda is booked and if the sale falls through we'll have to distract the newsagents and whip the kiddy cancer collection tins off the counters to pay for it.

Oooh, I'm a bit tired and emotional at the moment. Apparently it's a solar eclipse and I'm totally allowed to let rip this week - within reason. I'm enjoying my new job but I don't know if it's the knowledge that the flat is nearly sold but I feel the pressure to conform weighing a lot lighter on my shoulders. I could be looking at cards and dismissal by Friday. My ambitions to work in a charity shop and rummage through donations could come sooner than planned.

It's all rather vulgar to talk about house prices - not to mention boring (think Abigail's Party) - but let us just say that there will be more than a satsuma stuffed in the Ladyfriend's stocking this Christmas! Monty Carlo here we come (he's the head chef at the local italian restaurant)
On to other amazing events. My brother Matthew and his good lady Emma are expecting twins! I heard the news in Waterstones the book sellers and had to keep my joy down to a modicum. Just like a library the books demand that we speak in hushed tones so as not to scare the timid. I am over the moon, twins fascinate me. I often can be heard shrieking 'twins!' in shopping centres, a modern miracle.

Thankfully I am now walking around the outskirts of the market of ill health, I am stepping around the gone off fruit and the man who washes the bonnett of a pretend car with a miracle cleaning fluid. I can still hear the cries of a 'paand of apples a paaad' coming from the centre stalls but it is growing ever distant.
It is a beautiful day here in Eastbourne, we have the first of our three estate agents coming this afternoon to view the flat. We are thinking happy thoughts but the ladyfriend and I don't like salesmen and we can see things turning nasty. They might be different down here, less spivvy, we shall see.
The place is as shiny as a new pin but we have a garage that needs emptying, it's a horrifying prospecet. For the last four years we have dumped an old kitchen, bags of rubbish, cardboard, tiles, brushes in jars of white spirit and white goods. I'm not looking forward to it, I may have to play the invalid card.

I am like SOoooo ill innit? I've had white lumps on that back on my throat the size of sugar cubes only they aint sweet. And the dreams! I've been to worlds that have only been seen by Victorian Gentlemen in Opium dens - a high kicking goat dance troupe was last nights tableux. It was quite something to see their arms linked and their little feet hot hoofing.
I am recovering on the south coast this week, the ladyfriend shall have to push me along the prom with a blanket over my legs as I suck on licorice allsorts and eye the rumbabas.

WELL! Today is a bit of a day for me. I've started a new job. It's nice as the girl who has left has left all of her nice stationery. I love pens and pencils.
It's a time of new beginnings and starts. On Friday the Ladyfriend and I went to Chigwell for the first time. I've seen it on the telly and I've seen it on the map but have never ventured there. So, it was up the North Circular for us in the motor. I must say that I did grip the wheel in terror as the Ladyfriend screamed "right, right lane" etc as we made our way into the depths of Essex.
We were going there to spend the night with Tim and Mark who treated us to a chinese banquet and a fantastic evening. I was amazed as you could see central London enroute to the Chinky yet the surroundings of Chigwell are quite rural, you can see the Gherkin lit up like a Christmas tree.
We stayed the night with the chaps and on Saturday we took the M25 to Eastbourne. THIS WAS AMAZING. I have never driven this stretch from Chigwell to Junction 6 and on the way we had to cross a huge toll bridge down by the docks. My jaw dropped as we pottered over. It was fabulous and only a £1.00! I wanted to turn around and go over it twice.

There be monsters

I have just seen the report that fishermen from New Zealand have landed a Colossal Squid! It's 33ft long! From what I know about giant creatures of the deep the fishermen were lucky to escape with their lives.
I expect it came to the surface due to overfishing and the lack of lunch on the sea bed. Will giant octopuses float upwards and drag down a lilo next? What perils await us? Will crossing the channel for a bit of cheese and cheap plonk result in adventures straight from the pages of Jules Verne. Will it be safe to play coits?

It's all got a bit 80's hasn't it? Statues being unveilled of Margaret Thatcher, city fat cats, inflated bonuses, ipods/walkmans, Falklands/Iraq, government sleaze/ government sleaze, hospitals closing/hospitals merging, kids shooting up on housing estates/kids shooting each other on housing estates. Here comes boom and bust around the corner. Already the rate of repossesions are on the rise, there are redundancies left right and centre, greed for flat screens, fast cars and Bangkok instead of Benidorm, racking up the credit card, fur coats and no knickers. It'll all end in tears whilst a demob happy Prime Minister sticks two fingers up to us all.

Fear and greed could have bull on the run: European investment bank Dresdner Kleinwort says that, according to its Fear and Greed Index, the end is nigh for the bull market and we're in for a worldwide economic slump.

Well, the Eddi Reader concert didn't go quite as according to plan. We were caught in gridlocked traffic in Shepherds Bush, the sound was a bit crap on the level we were on, we sat next to a couple of chatty Kathys, a gentleman in front of us kept getting up and down to buy drinks, the ladyfriend had to leave to get some air because the Victorian style seating arrangements gave her the vapours and she didn't sing my favourite song. Still, you can't have it all ways. The Ladyfriend has suggested that we stick to the provincial theatres from now on and I think she could be right. Actually, she has decided that she has seen enough of Ms Reader, she did this to me with Clare Teal too, she's got a small boredom threshold. I shall have to trawl the small ads for a 'friend' to go with. There were plenty of people on their own and I'm sure they wouldn't mind me tagging along.

Guess the Word

We have snow! And lots of it and it's beautiful. I know it's a bit pikey but I must tell you that we still have the Christmas tree flung out in the back garden (well, we have been busy) and to see it laden with snow this morning nearly brought a tear to the eye.
Because of the gridlock and traffic chaos (I blame the Labour government) I have had to work in an office closer to home. I am sat on another computer and it is quite refreshing to use internet explorer and have to fill in a whole web address, I do hate the way a web browser remembers stuff, it's a bit like a prying neighbour twitching the net curtains.
Here is the Eddi Reader link of the day by the way

Angels and Electricity

It's Eddi Reader week on Lola, the Ladyfriend and I are off to see her on Saturday (an ideal opportunity for any stalkers out there to wrap me up in a roll of carpet) and I am very excited.
I've just got the new album and it's blinding. Well, at first I didn't think so. I put it on in the kitchen as soon as it arrived in the post (does anyone buy anything from a shop any more?) popped it on and found it a bit dreary. Mind you, it was having to compete with the washing machine on it's final spin, the Ladyfriend shouting out potential hotels in Lake Garda and a woman of advanced years AND dementia asking when the dinner was going to be ready.....EVERY five minutes.
Since then I have been listening to it on my mobile phone and it's very, very good. So, to start Eddi Reader week here is your first link: click here

Is it just me?

Neil and Sue were on tv last night, they were on Yuppie TV's flagship programme Relocation Relocation. They needed a smack. They had owned a management training business - which is a contradiction in terms for anyone who has ever been managed by anyone who has ever had management training - and were looking to buy half of Devon and a 'bolthole' in Brighton. I didn't like them. They summed up everything that was bad about the last ten years of New Labour, that of greed and straight men going all effeminate. It's littered with people like Sue and Neil making money 'consulting' whilst wages stay low and profits soar. Oooh, I know I sound bitter but I am.

Their budget is £550,000, plus £200,000 for renovation work. Meanwhile, they also want a one-bedroom crash pad in Brighton so Sue can see her daughter and grandson regularly, with a budget of £200,000.

They've made all that lolly out of making civil servants dress up in khaki and make rope bridges in the New Forest. Bastards.

I wish I knew how to quit you

Just seen the front cover of the oo ah daily star and the tabloid dog has got Jade firmly between the teeth. Great stuff, they won't let that one lie. I saw Jo rocking like a pyshco on GMTV yesterday too, it made for some very compelling viewing. The nation clunked our spoons on our Shreddies as the door to her career slammed shut.
I've just seen on the Daily Star website that Ant and Dec have bought houses next to each other. Is it me or does it all smack a bit of Brokeback Mountain. Looks like the only bush Ant sees is the Australian kind. That poor wife, still the housekeeping money is probably fantastic.

Lola is away

Today I am handing over Lola to the Ladyfriend, you thought I was bad...

The Ladyfriend on Lola having to phone to cancel a salesman's appointment:
Is it me or do these people keep making assumptions without consulting the very people they should be grovelling to. The country is full of arrogant no-bodies!! I'm going to start lobbying for a new lesson to be added to the school curriculum "Manners Matter". Our children are no longer safe in the hands of rude parents, they will have to be taught the basics by an outside body - as long as it's not gay of course! Dirty, dirty.

On the British Airways strike:
Everyone here cheered yesterday when the workers won against a big corporation too interested in fat management pay packets and share dividends to appreciate the work done by ordinary working men and women. Britain currently has a disease and it's called 'trying to be like America'! Let the immigrants do the crap jobs, let the working man be grateful he's got a job, and the rest can live off them.

Ah, good triumphs over evil, cheats never prosper and all that. How wonderful it was to watch Shilpa snatch the Celebrity Big Brother crown. There wasn't a dry eye in the house last night, what a trooper. I daresay we will be saturated with Shetty from now on but I don't mind, she deserves it. We will have Shilpa this, Shilpa that, a dance might be nice - The Shetty Shuffle. I must admit to taking a fancy to her jeans, that curved ragged hem at the bottom is inspired, I shall call it the Shilpa Shag.

I've got a nasty scrape on my knuckle. It's rather sore and it amazes me that I never felt the incident happen although I am paying for it now. It's always the smallest things that hurt the most, the paper cut, the hanging finger nail, the cracked lip.

Life has had it's ups and downs and I've had my fair share of turbulence when it comes to relationships and I remember the thing that upset me the most when I split up with the bunny boiler wasn't walking away saddled with the credit card debt, leaving without a stick of furniture and the loss of friends which had switched allegiance but that I'd forgotting to take a set of Christmas lights which I really liked. Mad isn't it? You've got to watch out for the little things.

I take a rather rural route to work and of late I have noticed a lot of road kill. This morning it was a badger, the other it was a rabbit. The thing is, they don't look right, they look happy. They have not assumed a position of distress, they are not corpses which have met a sticky end. They look at peace and some have appeared asleep, paws tucked tidily under their heads. No blood and guts. I've started to wonder if they have died elsewhere and someone is putting them next to the road to cover up something more sinister. You never know.

They've created a monster

The Ladyfriend and I have been watching Big Brother and the evil that is Jade Goody this week and have been as disgusted as everyone. I am very rarely moved by stuff on tv, I did feel the prickle of a tear when I heard John Taverner's 'Song for Athene' at Diana's funeral, I liked that bit at the millennium when the Eiffel Tower exploded with fireworks and there have been some moments in Emmerdale Farm which have been of some note but Jade's psychotic behaviour on Tuesday left me speechless.
I do love a public execution and with anyluck she will be dancing the Tyburn jig come Sunday but I do feel it was an accident waiting to happen.
We have seen it on numerous occasions with reality tv where idiots who should go no further than the check out at the chippy have been propelled into a world of 'stardom'. It's like some twisted Pygmalion and Jade aint no Audrey Hepburn.
I was thinking to myself though how different it would have been if Big Brother was around when celbrities were something special. Can you imagine Celia Johnson's clipped English accent and deportment? There would certainly have been no geordie saying "who gaws ya deside." Diana Dors would have filled Jade's shoes but you wouldn't find her letting rip and talking about intercourse.....or perhaps you would.

It's very sad but Rick Stein's dog Chalky has died. He was the best thing on the programme, afterall, there is only so much you can do with a brace of herring. I like dogs on tv, infact I would like a whole channel called DogTV, I bet there already is one on SKY.
I'm not keen on all tv dogs though, I perceived Lassie and the Blue Peter dogs as being too middle classed, the Littlest Hobo was a little bit hammy and Timmy from the Famous Five wasn't really 'front of house' when it came to the action.
The dog from the Little House on the Prarie was great, Bernie Winter's Snorbitz, Wordworth from Jamie and the Magic torch, Champion the wonder dog, Freeway from Hart to Hart, Fred Basset, Hong Kong Phooey, Mutley, Snoopy, oh the list is endless. What a good idea though, the logo could be a big paw print. I think I might suggest it.

I do my bit for the environment, not one copy of the Morning Star leaves the house in a bin liner, I have a pile of rotting vegetables in the garden, I switch off lights when I leave the room and I wash my smalls in Ecover. BUT, I suddenly thought the other day, 'why am I doing it?' It may be selfish, but I wont have kids to worry about leaving the planet to and to be honest a warmer climate will be a boon when I develop arthritis.
The thing that has set this off ofcourse is the traffic in the morning. I pass rather a lot of those big gas guzzling people carriers ferrying over indulged children to and from school and I thought if the very people that have children don't give a stuff then how on earth can they expect me to.
Don't you know that children are our future? sang Whitney but my God look what's happened to her.

I have just seen a big fat Jay bird on a branch, they are a cruel race, but it made my thoughts turn to spring, it won't be long until we see the green shoots from the ground and bulbs bursting into life.
I've been thinking about bulbs, I know it's wrong of me but I was thinking how fun it would be to find an expanse of municipal ground and in the dead of night plant some tulips in an organised display. What's wrong with that? I hear you ask. My display would be a naughty one and when in bloom would say something like "bugger off"

It's a twister Aunty Em, it's a Twister!

I've just been out for a mince around the industrial estate - I'm laying down a few too many layers of flab around the buffers - and I was nearly blown into the path of a juggernaut. It's blowing a gale out there and whipping the country into a frenzy. One of my potted palms has gone over at home, the streets are filled with newspapers put out for the dustman who never came and trees lie prostrate across country lanes like that bit at the end of Torvill and Dean's 'Balero'.

On my way to work this morning I saw a car which had stopped at a junction with his wheels still spinning. I dare say that he paid a lot of money for such hub cap 'decoration' but let me tell you, at 8 o'clock in the morning when the senses are not so highly tuned it was rather alarming. I saw my colourful life flash before my eyes as I prepared myself for a collision.
I remember as a child clothes pegging a square of cardboard to my bike (from a packet of shreddies) so that the spokes of my wheels would sound like the engine of a motor bike. It was great fun. I suppose these gentlemen are looking to recreate the same excitement by adorning their motorcars.
I must say, I wouldn't mind adding a few flags, ribbons and bells to my car AND because of the state of the roads now the holidays are over I would like a huge banner on the bonnet saying "F*cking walk to school"

Hooraay! The ladyfriend and I have gained equal rights to hotel rooms, trouser presses and tea and coffee making facilities despite the religious protest. It went through the Lords smoothly without a hitch or act of God. Brilliant. A shame for those folk waving the 'sodomites burn in hell' placards but atleast they had a nice day out in the big smoke and hopefully a safe journey home - see, I can be nice.
Ofcourse the first thing the ladyfriend and I will do for our civil partnership is book Westminster Abbey, a muslim photographer and obviously Tom Forrest's guest house for our honeymoon (asking for the 'sexual deviant suite naturally)
Mind you, you can't press pause on decades of discrimination and abuse and just like the 'ban' on foxhunting it will still go on. Perhaps little groups of religious extremists will get together in the countryside and burn posters of Elton John an H from Steps.

I've been beginning to think that I've become a bit type cast. I keep getting the same roles. I'm always the shy retiring sort who'll 'have no trouble here'.
I've never been one for an audience, I can trace it back to my infant school where I had to stand up in some kind of school play and say "I can play the triangle, ting, ting, ting" tapping the instrument three times - see, I can still remember the lines. I was petrified. I must have been all but six.
I've played the part of wallpaper ever since. Ask not what life can do for me but what I can do for life! Perhaps I should shake things up a bit and wear a cravat, prance around with a silver topped cane, become a rake, a dandy, start a dance troupe. When I go I want to go like Elsie.

There's not a lot on the telly in the week - unless you're fond of watching hours of soaps and reality tv - so the Ladyfriend and I joined the easy jet dvd hire thing. It's right up our alley, we choose a disc and they send it in the post, we watch it and then send it back. We love it. We like to get a tv series so we can watch an episode a night. A few months ago it was Series 1 of Tenko, I was hooked, I still don't know what's happened to all those poor ladies who went off into the bush.
Anyway, at the moment we are watching Love Soup with Tamsin Greig. I think she's great. She was great in Black Books too but I don't like the Green Wing. It's not her fault. I just don't think it's funny. But lots of people do, but a lot of people like Ricky Gervais and I've never understood his popularity.

Holy smoke without fire

Next week a group of Christians, Muslims and Jews will hold a demonstration against the Sexual Orientation Regulations which start in April. What this basically means is that it will be illegal to discriminate against people be it gay or straight when providing services. To quote the Daily Mail "Campaigners claim the rules will force religious groups to promote homosexual rights in contradiction to their teachings and could persecute those who disapprove of homosexuality on moral grounds" - how awful for them.
Now, isn't it heartwarming that what with 9/11 (which has always sounded to me like the opening hours of a convenience store) the Bush crusade in the Holy land and Israel's wall building, these battling religions can still come together to bash the queers? It also would seem that the Jews have got a very short memory when it comes to tolerance.
These new laws cut both ways you know, it doesn't just extend to a bitter old Bed and Breakfast owner who denies a couple of old poofs a seaview in Broadstairs, it will effect the gay community too. We will have to open our doors to binge drinking hen parties and there will be nothing we can do to stop them, our dance floors will be filled with underdressed fat girls wearing devil's horns - the closest thing to hell we will EVER see.

'Special' stuff

Today I popped to the 'local' butcher close to work. I try to stay clear of the supermarket whenever possible and as spaghetti bolognese is on the menu tonight (the ladyfriend's favourite) I needed some mince.
There were no familiar labels at the butcher shop, no organic stickers, no kite marks or tractor signs so my heart was in my mouth. I asked for enough mince for two and then the excitement began...
The fella in the apron exploded, "oooh, very good madam, yes, yes let me see" and he bustled about in the back of the shop and returned with a tray of the stuff. It only cost £1.49 which is gentle on the pocket but will it be the same on the stomach? We shall see. I was just a little taken aback by the frenzy the word 'mince' caused, what on earth would happen if I mentioned offal?

Sheep Shit

I'm up in arms about this 'Gay gene in sheep' experimentation. I'm with Martina on this one. It ticks my box in the admitance that homosexuality is not a serving suggestion but a biological fact but to attempt to meddle with it spells disaster. Thing is it's obvious to me that homosexuality exists as Mother Nature's contraception, controlling populations so that the planet regulates its resources. Just imagine if there were no gay rabbits, rats or flies. I think you know where I am going with this one. To be honest, I think homosexuals should be highly praised and elevated to the highest position in society. My people free up school places, leave room in playgrounds and are little or no strain on the country's services. We don't breed to keep the masses in check, the gifts we have are many, our menfolk are better dancers and our ladies can put up shelves.

My word but it was cold this morning. I like to chill out with the rest of them but I could have done without the icy blast that whipped around my breast pocket at 7.15am. The moon was still out and it loomed in the sky like a large lady on a seaside promenade who has to sit down a minute whilst she catches her breath. A hazard to shipping.
It's supposed to be the most depressing day of the year today but I like winter, I like the boney branches, wet grass and howling winds, I like stews, rooty vegetables and warming wine. I like wearing lots of layers, hats and bulky boots. So, as we go into these two miserable months when it feels like there is nothing to look forward to let us make the most of deep winter, it may be bleak but there are plenty of fruits from its tree if you shake the branches hard enough.
12th night, Burns Night, Valentines Day - ah, it's all to come! Perk up.

Yee Har!

It's been a smashing Christmas. I have indeed made merry and am now carrying rather a lot more 'baggage' than I would like to and most of that is around the waist. Mind you, it looks like I've got the beginnings of a small flight bag under the chin. So it's time to treat the body as a temple (and not one in a war torn country subject to bombings or the occasional stampede) the cork screw is going away for a month, the remaining chocs are to be melted down and the fridge is to be stocked with mouth watering vegetables. I've decided I shall have to move about a bit more. I can't hack gyms, the smell of sweat and rubber conveyor belts does nothing for me so I may be turning my attention to music and movement, I'm seriously considering the benefits of line dancing....

Jesus Christ. Exactly. The Ladyfriend and I have started a tradition of going to the pictures on Christmas Eve. It's nice. This year we have been looking at a suitable film and thought it might be Eragon but that has received rather bad reviews. Ah, we thought The Nativity would be perfect! Absolutely spot on. But guess what? There isn't a cinema in the area showing it. Not one. Nada. What's that all about? If ever there was going to be a captive audience then surely it would be on Christmas Eve. Shame on them all. If we don't watch out, next year Father Christmas will be wearing a hijab.

Had a lovely time in Amsterdam but the ladyfriend and I have decided to forgo any trips abroad in the future, I was frisked at the airport on the way out and made to shout "Merry Christmas" to a prancing fool at the airport on the way home. I think he was the dutch version of Cilla Black. I scowled at the camera so I imagine I am on the cutting room floor.

Things have been a bit rushed and just a bit much this week so I have not yet put up my photos - I've been ripped off by BP and slandered in court - it's a long story but I hope this will do: click here

Bluebirds sang at my window this morning as I greeting another dawn and another birthday! 36 and still with skin like a princess. I am 4 nines or 12 threes, whatever, I'm not the girl I once were though, I've grown in so many ways but mostly outwards.
The Ladyfriend and I are off to Amsterdam on Thursday to celebrate both of our birthdays, I can't wait, our hotel is conveniently placed for all the major attractions, the floating flower market, the museums and the brothels......not that I like art.
My brother took me to see Billy Bragg on Sunday at the Hackney Empire - what a place, a gorgeous old theatre in a run down part of town. It was a 'Rock against Racism' thing and a lady slapped my lapel with a sticker to that effect. A worthy cause, only something didn't sit right with me. Mr Bragg harped on about the benefits of a multicultural society and how the people of Daggenham who had elected the BNP should embrace their new neighbours from far flung places. A nice idea, thing is Billy has chosen to live on a farm in Devon where the only dark face that he probably sees is that of a fresian cow over a fence post so it's a bit of a 'do as I say and not as I do' thing going on there.
PLEASE NOTE: Lola is not a racialist and some of her best friends like reggae music.

There has been a tornado in London today. In the paper I saw a photo of a ski lift empty and lifeless in a normally busy ski resort. With climate change, will there be "snow in Africa this Christmas time"?

They only need 43 Jonathan, they could knock those off with a stick of rhubarb..."
Geoffrey Boycott on TMS

Can't believe the Ashes result this morning. I know it was a bit wet wanting a draw when winning is everything but to lose, well it just isn't cricket. It's time for young Flintoff to fall on his sword and give up as captain. The ladyfriend and I both agree that being the best player doesn't necessarily make the best captain. Infact, Freddie reminds me of an Edwardian farm hand taking over from the 'Gentleman' who has gone off to war. The only chance we stand of coming away from the Colonies with any scrap of honour is that by some miracle Michael Vaughan can get back on the field and take charge. I daresay we will not catch Michael in a sleeveless vest, hands in his pockets, sporting tattoos and an earing.

Lord I was off to a bad start this morning. I was anxious to catch up on the night's cricket so I put BBC1 on at 7am hoping that in the half hour that I designate to breakfast and 'coming to' I would see the score and highlights. Did I bugger. I grew a different shade of purple with every passing block of five minutes. Whilst that Bill Tumble (or whatever it is) was bumbling over a report about Russian spies I flicked over to ITV to see the final snippet of Kevin Pieterson - I was incandescent with rage. I gave up at 7.30 and ran my bath.
By the way, all this about Russian spies and radiation poisoning. Am I missing something? If what I'm led to believe from James Bond films is true, then passing away in a hospital bed is preferable to some of the ways these dare devil agents might meet their death. I saw one once where James Bond was tied to a table with a laser moving between his legs about to cut him slowly and painfully in half. I would therefore plump for radiation sickness any day. I bet he got a private room, digital tv and 24 hour care. I bet he didn't get a senile old man walking about at night trying to get into bed with him either.

A nice thing happened the other day. The Ladyfriend and I were in Debenhams, Eastbourne on Saturday as we had decided to nip up to the restaurant for lunch - a little known fact, I like department stores - anyway the food is served on the top floor just off of the children's department so we hopped on the escalator (I know it's not healthy but we were burdened with apathy) We were going up and in mid flight I turned around to see an Elf smiling up at me! I was slightly taken aback but then even more so as behind the Elf was Father Christmas! It was slightly unsettling but incredibly exciting at the same time. We watched later whilst we chomped on our chips as kids lined up to enter the grotto.

It is my opinion that the band The Feeling sound like an all male version of Voice of the Beehive.

From M&S With Love - Marks and Spencer

I want this record!

The Ashes have started and as we don't have prescription tv we don't get to see it. Instead we have to listen to snippets on the radio and read about our boys in the paper. I quite like it. It's a bit like the old days when world events like battles, earthquakes and the like took days to reach the public. Australia suddenly seems so very far away.

A weird thing happened today. I was driving to work and a ten year old school girl (I guessed) looked the spitting image of a girl I used to go to school with. It was a bit spooky but then I thought that perhaps it could be that girl's daughter, which could happen and she would have passed on her genes and all that. Anyway, I quite liked the idea. That was until I saw following being her ANOTHER girl who looked like another old classmate! It was bizarre. They were clearly friends too. I didn't like it. Were they the children of my old friends or are there limited permiatations of childrens faces? Or, did I slip through a wormhole into the past? Makes you think.

It pains me to say it but the Ladyfriend and I are really rather hooked on this "I'm a celebrity get me out of here" thing. We started watching it for Minnelli. You should have seen us poised at the telephone to make David suffer. Trouble is, now we love him and we love the programme. I feel I've let Liza with a Z down but let's face it, she let herself down on Parkinson - did anyone else see her do the sign language song?

A weekend of fresh air, oranges and a wee small baby. Yesterday we went off to Saville Gardens in Windsor for a autumnal forage. I took photos whilst the ladyfriend filled her trug with all manner of nuts, berries and fallen leaves : you can see the pictures by clicking here. In the evening we set off into the darkness and drove down to Swindon to visit Oliver the Great (pictured) who is gorjuice. Today has been spent catching up with my Christmas preperations, I have got a couple of oranges sliced and drying in the oven as I type in my wi-fi kitchen - thanks be praised to the neighbours. I read about a new way of reducing the juice and cutting down on oven time but I decided to ignore it, put my chops to it and sucked the slices instead.

Cubby Broccoli must be rolling around in his grave. I refer ofcourse to the new James Bond film. Why oh why is it not being released next year? Why could they not wait a couple of months and bring it out in 2007? Two double O seven? Madness, a marketing dream and they miss it. I daresay they will bring out the whole collection on DVD or somesuch thing next year but aint it a shame that they don't bring the film out then instead? I am quietly shaken....and stirred.

Suddenly the world seems a safer place today. God bless America.

They've opened one of those Primark stores in Eastbourne. It's a huge air hanger of a shop stuffed to the brim with cheap imported throw away fashion. Bargain basement bras etc. The Ladyfriend and I went and had a look on Monday. I didn't like it. There was something about it that made me think of cheap chicken. It was like a huge battery farm where poultry sold for less than the price of a couple of Blackjacks are bred. The rails were packed with the misery of cheap labour and groaned with the sound of the cries of the British manufacturing industry. We'll be sorry. Demand free range clothes, look for the Kite mark!

I've been under the weather. Full of infection, chesty and horse. At my lowest point I spent broken nights sleeping on the sofa flicking through an underworld of the strangest television programmes I've ever seen. I took myself off to the Doctor who was less than sympathetic, my symptoms mirrored hers and she was clearly of the school that if she could be at work so could I. She said "I'd offer you a Locket but I've only got one left" Still she was right, ten days since my darkest hour the infection seems to have gone. I'm left with the occasional throaty rattle which I can cope with.

That will teach me for 'going public transport'. My trip to London at the weekend has resulted in strep throat. I'm WELL mood indigo. I blame Red Ken, he should get out with a bucket of bleach. I'm taking the car next time.

Bit of a change to the plans this weekend. We started out on our journey to Eastbourne on Friday but the motorway was so choca blocka we turned home after an hour and a half, we hadn't even reached Heathrow, so it was a no go.
To make up for it the Ladyfriend and I decided to go up to the big smoke on Saturday and take a look at the 250 anniversary year celebrations of Borough Market. It was billed as a day of cavorting in period costume, trouble was it was so packed with 'foodies' it was completely indigestable, we were packed in like sardines so we were out of there like a shot. Shame really, I blame Jamie Oliver.
There are some photos here if you are interested in that kind of thing: click here

The F Word indeed

I am sick to the stomach, literally, of Gordon Ramsay. Is there nothing that man won't say yes to? He's in every tv programme going, DVD's, Books, magazines, dinner plates, I even saw a larger than life size cut out of the man in the window of Threshers! Stop. Enough. The man would even turning up at the opening of a fridge....
What annoys me the most though is that he has made some nasty comments about Jamie Oliver in the past and now old scar face is stamping his name on anything going, even his wife is getting in on the act....sound familiar?
By the way, I'm now being serialised on the Country Living website today!
www.countryliving.co.uk

Well there I was yesterday afternoon driving through the countryside coming back from the municipal dump where I offloaded splintered bits of kitchen and general household rubbish, I noticed a sign for a Farm Shop. Being a 'shop local' type of lass with ideas of chomping on peculiar sounding apples and gnawing on a tuber fresh from the soil I followed the signs with gusto (and the ladyfriend)
I walked into the farmyard where I couldn't move for poultry, they were free range more by accident than design, the place had an air of neglect. I found the shed/shop and walked in. Inside not only did I find the shelves groaning but also the shop keeper, her head was bent over the lollo rosso. "Are you open?" I asked "hrruuummmmph" was the reply. I began to 'browse' and she went out of the door. It felt nice to be trusted so I picked up a loaf of bread and some preserves. I was ready to pay.......but where was the lady?
After a few strained minutes where I didn't know wether to scarper I walked out and popped my head around a larger shed door. She was in there hacking at something with a HUGE knife, a sheep dog joined me and rubbed my leg with its wet coat.
Then I saw a young man coming from the farmhouse "Coo Eee" I said and mouthed "can I pay please?" I returned to the shop.
A minute or two passed and then SHE came back shouting "get out, get out!" I was mortified until I realised she was keeping the dog from coming in.
I thought at first she had had a stroke as she limped in and nearly went over "Are you ok?" I said I leaned closer and then I realised she was blind drunk, really, really drunk.
She looked at my shopping and tapped the numbers in the till one number at a time circling the digits with her index finger as she focused. She gave me my change with a bloodied hand. I declined a bag.

Tout for Lola

The good news, I was through like a greyhound out of the traps this morning and managed to buy three tickets for the Morrissey concert in December. The bad news, I was too hasty and my handsome big brother and his beautiful wife might not be able to come with me. I may be reduced to hawking them all on ebay. What will become of me? I'm not a natural shop keeper, what if there are complications? Shoplifters of the World unite and all that.

Watched the BBC ruin Robin Hood on Saturday, it was the pits. They've dumbed down the jolly tale, sexed up the story and ruined the plot. It wasn't broken, why fix it? let's hope they don't decide to 'do' King Arthur, they'll have him living on benefits in a hostel in Wolverhampton - all filmed in Eastern Europe by the way. What's wrong with Burnham Beeches? or better still Nottingham Forest.
The casting, Robin looks like one of those boys who are big for their age who smoke, spit and swear outside the doors of the corner shop. Marion looked like Vikki Pollard in full slap AND Keith Allen (who I can never forgive for bringing us Lily Allen - is it just me or does she have Downs Syndrome?) was terrible.
If I were ITV I'd bring back their version quick smartish and show them how its done. Robin, Robin, the hooded man, da da da dum. Oooh it was great.

Walls have ears

I havn't been much of a chatty Cathy of late, I've kept schtum. It hasn't stopped my thoughts or the voices in my head, was it something that I said? Am I Gloria, I'm always on the run now. Apparently hearing voices in your head is normal. Got to go, got nothing to say of any merit, I'm a bit like one of those boats at an amusement park where you put a pound in the slot and drive them round a stagnent pool. I'm the green one that no one wants which is stuck nose to the corner next to the floating fag butt. It's not a bad thing.

I'm being the strong and silent type at the moment, I think it's for the best.

On this Eastern European issue that's got the country up in arms (well the Daily Mail anyway) I was thinking about it on the way to work this morning. The Polish are working everywhere but seem quite nice people (if a little pale) and they don't seem to have troubled my lifestyle at all. The Polish deserve a life of comfort after their chaps helped us during the Battle of Britain anyway. Now the Uncle Bulgarians are lining up to invade I predict a riot but I'm not sure it's too bad a deal.
Give it twenty years when these funny sounding folk have settled down and bred into the mix I'm sure there will be room for everyone. I'm thinking ahead but anything that might fix my pension shortfall has got to be a good thing. We've been told time and time again that there will be more old people than young in 2000 and something so perhaps the smell of cabbage and dodgy brickwork might be worth it afterall, especially if it keeps me in a bag of cough candy and the Racing Post.

Had a smashing weekend. Amy, the nicest niece in the world, came to the seaside! She threw pebbles, ran amok on the promenade, collided with old people who didn't mind one bit, stoked dogs and played on the pier. It was fab. I loved it. You can't really top a day with a little girl who says "duck, duck" to seagulls.

One hates to book too far in advance but an Eddi Reader concert is the best reason to smash the piggy bank! I've been online and booked two tickets for February 2007! I have not booked in the stalls this time, I've plumped for a level back. Last time we were in the bloody front row and could see right up her hooter (if we had wanted to, we are too well mannered and averted our gaze to the fiddler's fingers instead) Anyway, that's that, a treat for the depths of winter when our wind and rain lashed cheeks will warm to 'ae fond kiss' (although I have had enough of the old Burns stuff)

I drove through a rather effluent area of the home counties the other day and in a rather expensive chemists (where you're more likely to buy Clarins than cough mixture) I saw advertised in the window a perfume by that remedial bint from Big Brother (the one that looks like a pig) Is she taking the piss? I'm not being funny but isn't the perfume industry fueled on image and the odorous glandular secretion from the male musk deer? Are people not normally hoodwinked into thinking that if they splash themselves in Chanel they're going to feel like Audrey Hepburn and not the stretch of water between the Isle of Wight and Dieppe? I know I am. When it comes to a bottle of scent from a mahogany counter in Selfridges or the shelves of Superdrug I know where I'm whipping out my Switch card. Hmmm, so I don't know how Jade Goody is going to fare. When I think Chanel I think of Audrey and Breakfast at Tiffany's, when I think Jade Goody I think of Breakfast at McDonalds.

Yesterday was fun, I went up to the big smoke. I went to Columbia Road flower market, Spittlefields and Brick Lane. It was amazing. Amazing because of the architecture. There were beautiful Georgian houses in various states of undress. Some were so shabby the rooftops had caved in and others stood in perfect condition. It took my breath away, they've been standing for well over a hundred years and look like they have no intention of going anywhere. There's so much history in every nook and cranny, every brick and window. Jack the Ripper used to knock about in the area and I felt like was on a film set for the best part of an afternoon. Looming in the skyline was the Gherkin building and it made for quite a juxtaposition. It pleased me. I plan to go again.

We live on a bit of a flight path, nothing nasty, the china doesn't rattle in the cupboard when the 7.45 to Amsterdam goes over (did I tell you I'm off there for a Christmas mini break? I did? oh ok) we just hear them as they make their way to and from Heathrow. It's quite handy really, whenever I get one of those mornings when I wake up too early and I struggle to get back to sleep, tossing and turning etc, if the silence is broken by a distant rumble of a jumbo I know flights have resumed and there's little point in sleeping as I'll have to get up soon anyway.
Anyway, moving on, we live on a flight path BUT this week we have had some interesting developments, it's not the polluting lumps of metal going over the rooftops that have grabbed my attentin but Geese - and lots of 'em. They make an amazing noise and are incredible timekeepers, like clockwork they form their positions and "yak, yak" much to my delight. This is the first year I've seen them do it on my manor and I'm cock-a-hoop.

I'm sitting in a hotspot in the kitchen - no, not on the oven hob but within a internet wireless network! Free broadband? Yes it is, and I've not signed up for anything. It's all a bit sneaky but I'm piggybacking on a neighbour's connection, I'm not sure who it is, but there is a toff a few doors up who looks like the sort who might have gone all wi-fi on us. I have been assured by those in the know that they wont find out which is a comfort. I don't have to sit in fear waiting for the knock at the door. I look like someone from the French Resistance at the moment surreptitiously sending this message whilst the threat of being switched off looms large. I shall have to pop something nice through their flap at Christmas to rebalance my Karma. (By the way Victoria - Just you wait a - Minett I believe I win on the mentioning Christmas front yet again) Right, I'm off to download a bit of Neil Sedaka.

The Ladyfriend and I are off the sauce. We have been on the wagon for a whole week, it's amazing what you can achieve without the stuff. Trouble is, whilst a detox is good for the body it aint good for the complexion. The tectonic plates of my face have shifted and several small volcanoes have erupted. Nice.
We have noticed the days grow longer without wine, on saturday night we normally open a cheeky little number but this week it was Corporation pop instead. By seven thirty we were restless, usually we are sprawled out watching tv but with new vim and vigour we decided to go OUT. We went down to the seafront. The promenade was alive with end of season holiday makers and day trippers, we went on the pier and shot zombies in the arcade, watched a huge moon float above the black sea and heard music at the band stand. Lovely.

The kids are back at school and what was once a pleasant motor to work has turned into torture. I have toyed with different routes but all of them encounter school children of every size and shape. Damn them. Damn there parents more so. There was talk of penalising cars with only one person in, I say fine cars that have children in, they are the ones causing the gridlock, pollution and carnage.
If parents want to school their children beyond the confines of a healthy walk then let them pay for it, whatever the Congestion Charge is in London so let it apply to the home counties kids. That will whip a few of those ludicrous people carriers off of the country roads. The parents can weigh up £100 a month or the holiday home and see where their priorities lie.
I don't see why the countries work force should suffer anylonger. Let school begin at 7am instead when I'm still tucked up in bed.

What exactly IS Sky tv for? The ladyfriend and I don't subscribe, we still get our visual pleasure from four channels - Five is fuzz. My Mum and Dad have Sky and we have spent our house sitting time going up and down the squillions of channels and have found nothing that we want to watch. If you like Will and Grace or Rick Stein you're laughing if, like me, you've had enough of effeminate chefs then you're buggered.
However, something that did catch my attention as I was flicking up and down was 'Decoupage for every occasion' it was absolutely insane but I felt myself strangely drawn. Fat people making greetings cards out of fiddly bits of paper, worth setting the video for.

Each day I have looked out at the back garden at my mum's house and seen a huge rabbit - not in the Donny Darko kind of way mind you - infact, I'm not sure if it's not a hare. It's all in the ears isn't it? Anyway, it wasn't there this morning but my word we had some weather last night. Autumn has most certainly laid claim to the land and I'm thrilled. The Ladyfriend and I were hit by a falling acorn yesterday, last night we watched the X Factor which we always associate with bottles of red wine and dark evenings AND as the preliminary rounds of that musical massacre began so too have our Christmas shopping lists!
Now, before you shriek, we have been looking ahead and wish to avoid the pitfalls that we always plunge into during the festive season. This year we have booked a long weekend away to Amsterdam so close to Christmas day that you can almost smell the brussel sprouts. We have no intention of panic so have decided to have the whole present thing wrapped up by the end of September.
We made a start yesterday. I have discovered a huge out of town shopping monstrosity close to where I work. Under normal circumstances I would rather poke my eyes out with a blunt instrument (like a trumpet or banjo) BUT this one is special it has a HUGE Borders book shop. The Ladyfriend and I went in there at 11, went our separate ways and met up in the Self Help section at 12.30! It is vast and, if you can avoid the constant 'laid back but incessant' badgering of the staff, a pleasurable experience. They have IMPORTED magazines, I was in heaven.

I've been having trouble with the pussy (as Mrs Slocombe would say) Whilst my parents swan about on the aft deck the Ladyfriend and I are in charge of looking after the house and cats. What we thought might be a bit of an easy stretch - working our way through the wine, fridge, toiletries (I've got a thing about using other people's bubble bath and shampoo - never ask me to look after your house)and broadband hit a snag on Saturday night.
Rosie, who is a bag of nerves to begin with, developed a nasty eye infection and began to eat part of her right leg. So Sunday morning we were vet bound. We crammed the poor thing into a picnic basket and sat on the lid and made off to the surgery.
It was emergencies only due to the bank holiday (and double bubble) We saw a box of baby labradors in a shoe box and an old girl with a tiny dog who shuffled about looking like she's come straight from Central Casting. She got a bit of a shock at the check out when the bill swallowed up the best part of her pension.
We left clutching eye drops and drugs, Rosie had the humiliation of one of those cone collars - that came off when we were out of sight of the building - we thought it a little bit extreme.
She's as right as nine pence now though and wolfing down the Whiskas, if I didn't know better I'd say she did it on purpose, do you think Cats can self harm? Has modern life caught up with animal world? Does the other cat have munchausen by proxy?

We've had ship to shore news from the travelling parents, apparently my mother was nearly arrested in Rome. Much news is made of our crazed youth in Magaluf but it would seem our over sixties are tarnishing our reputation just the same. My mum had an Anita Ekberg moment and dipped her hot tootsies in the Trevi fountain. The police appeared faster than you can say La Dolce Vita and swooped on her. They were rather ill tempered and have put my mother off Rome for life, she does not intend to go back. It's probably just as well. When in Rome and all that.

For those who like to conjur mental pictures (not deranged images but scene setters) I am bent over a lap top on one of my mothers kitchen worktop, a bit like that kid in Peanuts with the piano. She's in Rome, I'm in her home. The ladyfriend and I are house sitting whilst my parents are off on another one of their grand tours of europe sponsored by Saga holidays.
The weekend was great. Eastbourne airshow was smashing and I got to see the Utterly Butterly wingwalkers. The crowd were a mixed bunch, quite a few of the fellows were rather odd looking, they wore dark clothing, clutched huge binoculurs and squinted into the horizon. They were the sort of gentleman who are unable to form relationships with people of the opposite sex (or the same - let's not close any door, bless 'em) but could reel off the statistics of military aircraft from 1940 to the present day. We can't all be good at everything, I for one am rubbish (if you excuse the pun) at tying up refuse bags, I'm terrible, yet it looks like the easiest thing in the world when I see other people doing it. I always seem to leave a big gaping hole for rats to scurry in and out of. Oh but now I am rambling.
We saw some of the airshow from the comfort of our own home as some noisy plane with fire coming out of it roared above the roof tops. I thought to myself as I squealed in delight pulling up the sash windows, here I am craning my neck at war craft jets whilst those poor devils in the Lebanon were trying to save theirs from the same thing. A lesson for us all there. And another thing, could you spell binoculars if pushed?

It's the annual airshow at Eastbourne this weekend where aeroplanes fly up and down the shoreline infront of a gasping crowd. It's insanely dangerous when you think about it but fabulous none the less. My favourite are the wing walkers and the red arrows - you can watch those daredevils from our flat window. You may find it a surprise but I do get rather bored of the stunt ones that loop the loop, I have grown desensitized to them even though they go up tiddly up and go down tiddly down. I shall attempt to take pictures but it aint easy to catch a gypsy moth in full flight as you can imagine.

Woops! That's what happens when you don't understand mobile phone blogging.

Oh I had to laugh. There I am being not at all nice about Ipods and where do you think I was at lunchtime? On Ebay that's where. I found out that I can buy a little contraption for only a fiver that I can stick into my new mobile phone which allows me to connect it to my stereo speakers or headphones. As I can store all of my Neil Diamonds albums on the mobile and anything else (I downloaded the new Cerys Matthews video last night) it IS for all intents and purposes an Ipod. So get me, a walking talking hypocrite with knobs on.

I thought having animals was supposed to make you happy. On my way to work I pass a lady built like an outside lavvy walking a tiny looking yap, yap dog. She never smiles. She looks like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders and transexual steroids pumping around her veins. Infact the only tell tale sign that she is a woman is the two grapefruits swaying in her poloshirt (same top, every day) Perhaps that's why she is so grumpy, she has a limited wardrobe. I may toss out a bundle of old fleeces that I've got knocking around, what with the cooler mornings coming I'm sure she will be glad of it. Or, I could run over her dog and that would save her her morning constitutional all together. She'll be quids in as she will be saving money on the Chum and she could put it towards something in the Cotton Traders catalogue. Everyone's a winner.

I was hunting yesterday for a cd from my rather eclectic music collection when I stumbled on a disc of digital photos that were taken in the year 2000. Digital photography was in it's infancy in my neck of the woods at the time and Peter - who was fluent in several languages - had a camera. It was Christmas Eve and as was usual in those days my friends at the time would all go down to a village pub and become loud and bawdy, sing carols etc. Anyway, what I saw on this disc astonished me. I looked thin, fit as a whippet yet I remember feeling portly at the time. BUT that was not what shocked me the most. EVERY ONE in the pictures looked thin. In the last six years my circle of friends have grown but not numerically. We have all become fat bangers. What's happened in those six years? The subjects of the photos are of differing ages so it aint a natural swelling. What the hell will happen in another six years? Will I have to be winched out of bed? The diet begins today. I am set on a course to regain my turn of the century fighting weight or face a life of sweaty rolls of fat.

Brighton Pride was fab, the weather was nice and we got to gawp at Babs Windsor on the back of a lorry. My pictures will be up shortly as my server is 'migrating' so I should be able to upload them tomorrow. They are not my best work, Lola had an off day.
We DID drink but quite sensibly, even so we felt quite wan yesterday. I think it was the dancing, we certainly didn't disgrace ourselves. Talking of which, at the train station on the way home a group of unsavoury ladies were legless, they were not nice girls, they had bunny ears on, clothes several sizes too small for them with bulging cleaveage. I found them quite alarming, their limited use of the English language filled the train carriage - the air was decidedly blue. Front pages of the Daily Mail whirled in my mind with 'Binge drinking Chav' and 'sluts on the sauce' headlines.
Opposite me was a pale young boy who looked like he'd seen a ghost, infact, he looked like a sickly child in a Victorian novel who'd been locked up in the nursery after his mother had died in childbirth. He was terrified, he covered his ears as the girls effed and blinded and talked of their sexual conquests - even I shrunk into my seat. I daresay they are sat at work now flicking through Heat magazine when they should be clamped in stocks on the village green.

The Ladyfriend and I were having a shall we not drink at Pride conversation this morning - it's tomorrow. If we do indulge we always end up ready for Ovaltine and bedsocks by 3pm. The walk to the train station feels like a Himalayan hike and cheap pizza slices always work their way into the day.
I said, if we don't drink at Pride it's an admission of the onset of old age and I can't let that happen, I'm already rolling into the carpark of maturity and not drinking at Pride will be like buying the bloody pay and display ticket! I've already developed fine lines and wrinkles as they say in the adverts, I occasionally suffer 'one of my heads', policemen DO look like teenagers and I'm forever asking the ladyfriend 'what did he say' during tv programmes.
Tomorrow then will be expensive cans of lager, junk food and blisters and that's alright with me.

I've just lost myself. I went for a drive to find some lunch as this morning's sandwich range in Sainsbury was decided unfullfilling (if you can excuse the pun) By the way, the weather at 8am today was rather Christmas Dayish, quiet, cool and drizzly. Anyway, off I motored slipping into a side street here and a cul de sac there when I discovered to my horror that I had not a clue where I was. I pitched up near a newsagents and popped in and bought some weird sandwich which the rotund chef Brian Turner in his wisdom had put his name to - it was bland and unmemorable much like himself - I also bought some salt and vinegar square crisps incase my levels fell as who knew which barren landscape I may have found myself in next? Anyway, fifteen minutes later familiar scenery came into view and I'm back at my desk, there-there it's all over now but what a fright. I often get myself in similiar pickles in the car. I quite like it as I find what I'm made of as I face the elements face on and pitch myself against the universe. The most hairy was back in June when I went to find petrol and ended up in Harlsden....but that's a story for another day.

During my lunch break I decided to walk off a blood clot that I felt may be forming in my leg and went for a mince around the Industrial Estate I work on. It was quite an eye opener. I don't know if it was once woodland or perhaps had been sympathetically designed but I was taken aback by how many different species of tree there are. There's Rowan, Ash, Oak, several members of the pine family, beeches galore and holly. There is even a blackberry bush which is nearly ripe for the plucking. How wonderful, infact it is more like a bloody arboretum than a corporate carbuncle. Bring on Autumn with its pallete of red, brown and yellow and I will be fizzing with joy.
By the way, the Ladyfriend has been dissing my photo gallery, she say's that it is hard to work out. It's not rocket science but in the future I plan to have 18 galleries of 18 pictures which you can access from the front page of the gallery. Please bear with me, I need 18 interesting subjects. Mind you I am off to Brighton Pride this weekend so I shall come back rammed with delightful exposures.

It was Oliver the Great's christening on Sunday and the Ladyfriend and I were keen to attend. So keen infact that we got there early to grab a pew - very early. The Ladyfriend decided that a casual glance at the invitation was not necessary and we turned up with two hours to spare. She blames her age but I'm not so certain.
We had a very nice day, it was the first christening that I have ever been to, I have not even had one of my own. I was never dunked as a babe and as a consequence I will be waiting in limbo when I pass over. I will have to take a ticket and wait for a place in heaven to go spare, no doubt the unmarried mothers and immigrants will queue jump even on the other side!

Ok, hands up, who's missing Autumn? Who is longing for layers of clothing? The smell of the countryside rich with the heady aroma of blackberries, mushrooms, fallen leaves and smoke on the air? Who longs to feel the breeze toy with their hair? The sound of a cork being extracted from a rich, full bodied bottle of red wine, the rattle of a pan lid on the hob as the steam gathers in a stew, the thud on the carpet of un-solicited Christmas brochures. Oh me, me, me my hand is firmly thrust in this humid air, down with summer and it's oppression - up with dark nights and brooding skies!

I've got the mobile phone - which is why I have gone a little quiet over the last few days. It's ever so complicated, I can do everything except orchestrate world peace on it (although there may be a button for it somewhere). You should have seen me in the shop, I was putty in Brendan's hands. He bamboozled me with 'hip' terms, apparently I have got to 'rinse' my minutes - you tell me!
Anyway, for the techno lot out there it's an Ericsson K800i and I like it. The ladyfriend is at the end of her tether as our once indepth conversations regarding current events have dissolved into the odd grunt as I fumble with my ringtones.

Ah summer, you know when the kids are off when the traffic lightens, ice lolly wrappers are seen on the pavement and fields catch fire! Yesterday I returned from work to see the meadow behind my street reduced to scorched stubble. Little bastards. My heart stopped as I thought of the field mice scampering in terror as the flames swept across the hillside.
As we are currently in the middle of a heat wave we have had to sleep with windows wide open, last night the air was thick with the scent of charcoal, I woke up smelling like a packet of smokey bacon crisps.
Off to Eastbourne this weekend, the sea breeze will be just the ticket. I may have the luxury of an eight hour sleep.

I've opened up a hornets nest, I am perusing the mobile phone market. I need to go on one of those monthly things as calling the ladyfriend is racking up a bit, I'll not be able to buy myself life's small pleasures if I stay on pay as you go. Trouble is there are so many to choose between, do I want style or substance? Some of them are quite ghastly, I want something that will sit nicely in the pocket and not ruin the cut of my slacks. I don't want to do myself a mischief and remove my appendix if I sit down quickly, there's lot to consider.

It's shocking how a simple decision, something fairly innocuous, something moribund, something run of the mill can have such a devastating impact on other people's lives. I'm not talking about the choice of flying long haul and it's impact on climate change and the occupants of the rain forest and I'm not alluding to those northern people that decide to blow the housekeeping on the gee gees, and I'm certainly not going to mention the sort of choices poor Sophie had to make. No, I want to tell you about this morning....
...I arrived early to work and as I am not yet familiar with the area I decided to potter about in the motor and see where I might be able to score (not smack but snacks for lunch) I had plenty of time on my hands and it wasn't long before I had got myself a little lost and I decided enough was enough, time to turn around. I stopped the car, indicated and waited for the oncoming traffic to clear so I could pull in to a side street. The lady behind me stopped too. We waited. I pulled away only to hear a god almighty bang, a woman BEHIND the woman waiting for me hadn't stopped! Oh dear. I quietly slipped away leaving a scene of carnage.
So, my decision to leave too early for work ruined two people's day. It will drag on for months, insurance claims do. All because of me.

Well it looked good on paper but then so does communism. Two weeks on Bodmin Moor in a cloth tent is perhaps not everyone's idea of fun and sadly it wasn't ours either. We came home after a week. It wasn't just the flies, the damp or the filthy shower blocks and it certainly wasn't just the early morning wake up calls of the farmer's tractor that drove us home. We DID have a nice time only the culmination of early mornings and lack of sleep, riffy conditions and the scent of mildew became too much to handle. I think it was the driving rain that swung it. It started off lovely, scorching summer sun, swimming in the sea, winding lanes and picturesque fishing villages, basking shark watching and alfresco dining (we must of eaten our body weight in homous) We did get back to nature and if you like duck poo I'd recommend Bodmin Moor to anyone but two weeks was just not our idea of a summer holiday - we came home looking like those two off 'On golden pond' it'll take surgery to lift these bags.
Anyway, we're off down to Eastbourne to spend the rest of our holiday in the lap of luxury CARPET, HOT WATER, BATHROOM, a KITCHEN! Benidorm next year or perhaps even Margate but you wont find me trudging across a field to have a piddle.