Oh my lord I can't breathe with excitement! Entertaining Mr Sloane is on sale on DVD! I have waited, oh how I have waited for this moment. It even comes with a collector's booklet. I've placed my order and proceeded to the checkout. Does life get any better?

I'm like Tyres from Spaced well, atleast I should be. You should have seen me flying along the highway this morning on two wheels. If you had been there you would have seen my puzzled expression. For some reason I wasn't travelling quite as fast as expected. Infact I was experiencing rather high levels of resistence. My break blocks were rubbing on my wheels! They had jammed themselves and instead of freewheeling it was an uphill struggle. I'm not having too much luck at this going green lark - infact you could say I'm feeling enviro MENTAL!

It was my best intention to cycle to work this morning as the office has now moved to more convenient premises. It's rather lovely actually. My view is spectacular, I have a nice tree covered in ivy to the south and to the east a pleasant stream complete with ducklings. I am, as they say, in clover.

Anyhow, I looked out over my porridge and the rain was steadily drifting down, I didn't much fancy a bike ride which would leave me with a black slash of water and grease up my backside so I made ready to walk. I estimated 30 minutes should do it. I packed my bag for a day of paid labour.

The rain continued so up went the brolly. I wasn't even half way there when time trickled away, my pace was too slow, my shoulder ached because I had too much in my bag. There was a point where I contemplated jettisoning the four granny smith's but I kept on. I felt like one of those athletes running dragging a tyre behind them. I wasted time swapping the bag and brolly arm and arrived eventually about five minutes late in a right old mess. It took me the best part of an hour to cool down. Still, if I carry on like this I may drop a dress size. I'm hoping the blustery showers will abate so I can wheel out the boneshaker tomorrow.

They said 'bring something to wear on your feet that you don't mind getting wet, a pair of old trainers are ideal'. Well, the ladyfriend and I bought a pair of those rubber sea shoes each so we were laughing. I've seen that boat launching lark, running into the surf and jumping on with elegance and sailing off into the horizon.

We turned up at the sailing club for our first lesson on Saturday. The sea was a bit choppy and so we got down to the theory of tacking and assembling the boats. We watched a video about sailing life and had a nice lunch in the clubhouse. This is the life, I thought, yes, I could get used to this!

After lunch we were told that conditions were ok and that we would go out in the training boat. There was a great deal of excitement and we were told to help ourselves to a wetsuit from the shed. The ladyfriend and I sifted through a selection of suits, some of which had holes in (no doubt from shark bites) and grabbed a life jacket. Now, I was quite surprised. I thought if I put a wet suit on I'd look faintly ridiculous, my larger bits would be enhanced and I'd end up like a string of sausages but it's not the case. Infact, wetsuits are slimming! They hold you in, shaving pounds off all over. Happy with my hour glass figure I made my way out to the shoreline.

Surf was up. Within seconds of pushing the boat from the trailer into the sea the ladyfriend was over, she plunged into the sea and I grabbed her before the boat ran over her head. Then our fellow pupil jumped into the boat then clung to the boat on all fours. I jumped in as wave after wave pounded our vessel. The ladyfriend managed to scramble in which just left Harry our instructor. Harry was the straw that broke the camel's back. With a sudden rush the boat capsized. I was trapped under the sail and the ladyfriend sank toward the sea bed. I sprang to the surface in panic, got back into the boat unable to breathe through shock. The ladyfriend was left on the shore and I waved as we sailed out, salt water streaming from my nose - what have we done?

I've got a Butler's sink. Lucky old me. My place of work is being gutted as we are moving to a new building and the old one, built in the 1950's is being raised to the ground. There are a few of these lovely sinks dotted around but I've plumped for the one in the medical room which is smaller and just the thing for my country cottage kitchen - when I get one. It's a nice sink and if it could talk I bet it could tell a story or two I'm sure. I bet it's had no amount of blood - and worse - splattered around it's white sides.

It was a bugger to shift, I must thank Rugger Bugger Matthew Szurgot for helping lift it. It made my hair curl when I tried to budge it. He lifted it up like Atlas and didn't break a bead of sweat. He's a good lad. My fantasy lad infact. He's going to lend me some of his dungeonsy dragonsy computer games. He's a very nice young man, I'd take him home to meet mother but he'd be too busy playing with his joystick.

Ooh, I seem to have been chasing my tail since January. I feel like one of those mad beasts that Ray Harryhausen created.Moving all a bit real yet not, y'know what I mean? Over sized, clumsy and gruesome. I need a holiday and indeed I have booked one. I'm not going abroad, I won't need a flight bag where I am going. No, I am off to spend two whole weeks in Eastbourne. I intend to knock out a few watercolours in an old country church yard, collect pebbles on the beach and press a few flowers, fly my kite in a cheek tingling wind and try out a few recipes that have since looked daunting. It's not for a month or two but I am already dusting off my easel.

Of course she is the most beautiful baby in the world, she was always going to be! Lola is very pleased with the little dumpling, very pleased indeed. I went to see her last night in the sterile environment (yeah right) of a NHS hospital and after navigating my way through a series of swing doors and narrow passage ways I scooped up the little bundle in my arms and she didn't scream! Quite a result. Not the usual Lola effect. I intend to become a major influence on her upbringing. Teach her all the valuable lessons in life. Impart my knowledge of fencing, macrame, container gardening, field sports and white water rafting. There will be no better finishing school for the little lady.

I will give her presents which will be useful yet unfamiliar - stuff from the Inovations catalogue which she will be lost for words on unwrapping them. I will dress her in Pirate Costume when in my charge and she can ride pillion through the country lanes of Sussex on field expedition trips - butterfly net flapping in the breeze. Oh yes, I'm looking forward to the next ten years.

How exciting. I have a new name, a new role in life, a new position in the family hierachy - I am Aunty Lola! The little baby - who shall remain nameless....only because I don't think they have decided - was born last night at 11.20pm weighing in at a considerably hefty Imperial sized 91bs 12oz. I'm ever so pleased, now I have an excuse to splash out in Woolworths at Christmas. I'm off to see the little dumpling tonight. I shall take the box brownie with me.

I hope they let me in, I have an air of garlic about me. I've been marinated in the stuff this weekend. Friday night Dawn and Dave - the Double D's - came down to visit us in our modest seaside flat. We went out for a lovely Italian nosh up and painted the Georgian/Victorian seaside town, which boasts and attractive pier, red. We had such a fab time that Saturday was used for complete relaxation and the polishing off of our Kath and Kim dvds.

More garlic with a joint of lamb in the evening and then more yesterday, when we lunched in an Italian restaurant full of comfortably off old dears. There is something of the Med about my odour. Tonight we are out celebrating my Super Step Dad's birthday - I think I shall plump for something bland, innocuous and no challenge to the palette.

I've just had a brush with the dark arts. Well, I thought I had. I've just been to make the tea and my pal Jane Lofthouse-Smith (double barreled in more ways than one) told me that she would be at the rear, in the warehouse. I said I'd bring her out her tea when ready.

I duly minced out with the tray of hot beverages but there was no sign of Lofty. "Lofty" I said "Lofty, where are you?" Then, there was a commotion and a flurry of feathers and out flew a wood pigeon.

I nearly dropped the tray in 'orror. Lofty had been changed into a bird! I know it happens with cats but Wood Pigeons I was not familiar with. I scuttled off back to my workstation with my eyes tightly closed.

I met Lofty on the way back, smiling serenely, she said she'd been down to reception but I knew better.......

I've begun my summer container gardening in earnest. So much so infact I have an inch of compost which is stubbornly stuck under my finger nails. I look like one of those damaged girls in care who Colin doesn't clean properly in the morning.

Each year I buy more and more pots and each year I never have enough. Something sinister is a foot - especially if it is a foot belonging to jack frost.....This leads me on to buying plants prematurely. I have paid out for shed loads of geraniums and petunias and the last two mornings we have had to scrape the car window! What's that all about? I've had to cover my delicates from the icy blast.

This year I treated myself and bought lots of herbs, I've planted some odd ones - Thyme Archers Gold, Meadowsweet, Budleia Mint, Orange Thyme, Curry Plant - ooh, I'll have to watch it, if the crops fail this year I'll be first down the pond for a ducking.

Someone has asked me to do something that I'm none too happy about. It's website building based before anyone worries, nothing filthy just mildly mucky, it's selling racy undies and I've had one of those moral dilemmas. As there is money involved my eyes sparkled for a few seconds but I've been left with an unsavoury taste round my chops. Writing this down now has been cathartic and I've decided to scotch the fellow now and extracate myself from it. Lola doesn't do blue.

I see the conservatives have decided that they need more women and people of colour in their party. I bet a few people in the home counties spat their cornflakes over the Telegraph this morning. Bless 'em, a race dying on it's tweed clad arse. "My boys, we are at the end of an age. We live in a land of 'weather forcasts' and breakfasts that 'set in'. Shat on by Tories, shovelled up by Labour. Now, which of you is going to be a splendid fellow and go down to the Rolls for the rest of the wine?"

Blimey, I've been rushed off my feet. Everything has been a bit busy my end. I've been covering the election at work in a very 'local' way which has meant sleep deprevation and email wipe out (if you have sent me an email in the last week you can bet your life it has been gobbled up by a nasty bug)

My bank holiday weekend was an absolute corker. Mr C and Mr D were perfect house guests they left no mess and were a pleasure to have. I even ended up lager fuelled dancing in the back room of a gay pub such was the decadence of the weekend. Jack in the Green went without a hitch, my elf ears stuck fast and I was cock-a-hoop with my garb. Next year I might go for a more floaty number. We shall see.....Take a look at the pictures here to be going along with.

A picture of myself is in circulation, I shall have to get hold of it so you can see my falsies......ears that is.

PS: Auntydom is looming - just a few more days surely!

Lola is away

Just been making some tea in the staff canteen/restroom/call it what you will. It being Friday there aren't so many staff around - local paper deadlines have been met, adverts sold etc - and I was taken by the peace and quiet as I set up the tea tray and went about making refreshments the Windsor Way.

I could hear a blackbird's trill, the gentle hum of the refridgerator and the gurgle of the kettle (which was filled perilously close to maximum)and I felt as though I was in a secret garden of solitude. I felt at one with myself and the world.

It's a great start to the weekend which I reckon will be played at break neck speed. The ladyfriend and I have house guests at the coast. Mr C and Mr D are joining us at our seaside retreat. My C is rather tall and I fear for the chandelier, however, I will make good use of his height, I shall employ him to chop some lovely ivy for my Jack in the green head dress on Monday. I'm looking forward to wearing my elf ears.

I was listening to Radio 2 this morning on the way to work and my mind wandered, as it is want, to all the other people who were listening to the same record up and down the country. I was imagining the ladies applying lipstick saying "I have very beautiful lips and the truckers chewing on bacon sandwhiches at roadside cafes. I also thought of the bed and breakfast establishments, Glen Campbell floating out of the kitchen and into the dining room where awkward couples wipe grains of sugar off of their arms.

I stopped when I thought of the holidaying couples as the day looked a bit dull. I wondered what they were going to do with themselves as it looked like rain. I imagined them scanning those little racks of tourist attraction leaflets and ending up at some dreadful little museum or the 'home of fudge'. Poor buggers. All this to a backdrop of 'A Rhinestone Cowboy'

The Ladyfriend and I have been watching Mapp & Lucia. We have been given the whole set on DVD and have been indulging in an episode a night. Fantastic stuff. Filmed in Rye ofcourse which is one of our favourite little weekend destinations when in Sussex. It's about an hour's drive from Eastbourne but well worth putting yourself out. I have photos of the little place here if you want to have a little nose

It's nice watching old programmes. This DVD revolution has got me watching all kinds of stuff long since forgotten. One thing I have noticed though is programmes in the eighties were filmed with very peculiar lighting. Mapp & Lucia is very dull but bright at the same time. It might be because it's a pirate copy but I don't think so. All the best stuff from that period has that washed out look. TV today is so vivid, we must appreciate it more. Mind you, as the sun sets the sky becomes alive with fire - perhaps,like the sun, as the quality of programmes goes down and finally sets we will be in darkness.

My mate Vicky from the Beeb (A bit like Jenny from the Block but think the Midlands) and I have been ripping Ellen to shreds like two rabid dogs with an unfortunate Hare between our teeth. I've found comfort in other women. Both Michelle and Victoria have come to my rescue with some wise words.

Last night old age sat by my side. I told her to leave and come back later when I came to my senses. I have just joined the RSPB which is mature enough as it is but, in the joining pack, I was sent a car sticker. I held it up to the ladyfriend and said "this is quite nice, shall we put it in the back window?" There was a second when the ladyfriend looked with polite horror at me and then I realised how close I had come. Like a canoe, teetering on the edge of a huge waterfall, the Ladyfriend was my Johnny Weissmuller sweeping down on a length of twine to pluck me from old age. Thank god. I popped the sticker in the bin just incase.

Oh dear, Lola's had her dreams smashed. The Ellen McArthur interview was a bit of a damp squib. I don't know that I can even bring myself to talk about it such was the dissapointment. She aint no jolly jack tar that's for shore.

The Ladyfriend has banned me from involvement in anything of the like again. After the Jack in the Green festival this weekend I shall lie low for a bit and hand the Red Coat over to the ladyfriend. My entertainment licence has well and truly expired.

I've got one of those phobia things. I don't like touching door handles in municipal buildings. Before entering or exiting a lavvy in particular I have to drag down my jumper sleeve and tuck it around my hand as a barrier. The ladyfriend now knows to expect this behaviour and slows down so as not to bump into me.

I wouldn't mention it really but I've had a bit of a thought. I've begun to feel a bit cautious about shopping baskets. As they are continuously used do they ever get washed? And if so when, how many times a week, month, year? During busy periods of the day in a supermarket the same basket must be used around ten times an hour. Ten different grubby right hands (the left hand is the devil's shovel) and all the germs associated with these hands are left on the handles.

Again, I wouldn't really mention it but I've been thinking, as MRSA has increased and got out of control could you draw a parallel with the profits of Tesco also increasing and getting out of control? Are Tesco cutting corners with cleanliness and are they the cause of the superbug? I quote the BBC - "One in three pounds you now spend in supermarkets goes into a Tesco till." I say Tesco's make you ill!

I've just popped down to the new Marks and Spencer 'simply food' shop. It's on one of those retail parks that erupt like boils along main roads. It was my first visit to the shop and I felt a mixture of delight and reservation at the same time.

There was a smashing amount of food on display and it was nice to see new packages. I skipped about with my basket and was putting this, that and the other in to it. However, when I reached the tomatoes I was a little bit taken aback by the price. Two quid for approximately eight cherry tomatoes - are they taking the piss? (all be it distilled through volcanic rock). I looked around me and spotted ladies clad in two piece suits, high hair and foundation slapped on their faces and felt a bit horrified at what we have become in the Sarf. I felt as though I was at the court of Louis XIV - such ugly extravagance.

I realised that if I wanted the tomatoes I could have them and not feel the pinch or the fear of the landlord at the door. Baby wouldn't go with out and all that, but I couldn't bring myself to buy them on principle. I felt the breath of excess blowing at my neck and i didn't like it.