Flaming Nora

Every Tuesday lunchtime for the last five years I’ve had a slot in my diary that can not be moved. Under no circumstances am I available for lunch with colleagues, a trip to the shops or a sandwich in the park. It’s more than a weekly treat to myself, as the Tuesday slot that can’t be moved is the rock on which the balance of my life depends. It’s my weekly yoga class. Those of you reading this who do yoga may be nodding your head in agreement. Those who don’t may be wondering why I’m waffling on about an exercise class. Well, read on and find out why doing yoga is more than just exercise. It might just change your life. No matter how long you’ve been doing yoga, it’s still called practising, the belief being that you can only progress and get better. I love doing yoga because it’s non-competitive, relaxing, gentle and fun. Uh-oh hang on, I think I’ve just described myself! I know it sounds like a cliché but when I first moved to London in 2001 life did become more stressful because of...

“They’re for everyone” said Lily Allen , interviewed on telly about her new frock range for New Look . “Young, fat, thin, tall, everyone will look good in these”. Yeah, right. And did she say they’d suit, um, anyone over 35? Did the over 40s get a mention? No, we frocking well didn’t. It’s not Lily Allen I’ve got a gripe with, I quite like the way she looks and if I was her age I’d probably be bopping around in plimsolls and a dress too. I even think I did. And it’s not the other celeb range of clothes from Madonna, Kylie and Kate Moss I’m moaning about either, it’s the lack of decent high street clothes for women of a certain age. Ok, when I rant about clothes for women of a certain age, I do of course mean clothes for me. I’m only just over 40, yet I’m starting to wonder what to wear and where to buy it. My staples are bought from Next and M&S but please don’t tell me it’s only a matter of time and I'll be looking at polyester and nylon tops in BHS. Save me from the vision o...

I love beer, me. Mind you, I won’t say no to a glass of chilled white wine or a deep and sensuous red either. But when it comes a choice of drinks in a pub and that choice is between fizzy over-priced lager with an after-taste of gun metal, or some flowery, fruity real ale, I’ll go for a glass of proper beer every time. The Campaign for Real Ale (CAMRA) do their best to promote beer as a decent drink for us ladies but the image of the organisation is still, I’m sad to say, that of beer bellied fat men wearing sandals and smoking a pipe. Well, I can assure you dear reader that I’m neither fat nor a fella and I’m not wearing sandals today. As for the pipe, that only comes out on a weekend. So, where to start if you’re a beer virgin and you want to give it a go in a pub? Bars and pubs selling real ale offer a confusing array of beers with names that might as well be Ye Olde Sheepdip, Bathplug Liquor and so on and it’s hard to know what to try. My rule of thumb, and beer experts up and do...

Oh, don't tell me you wouldn't have done the same. What's a girl to do when she has a dream in which she and her fella win the lottery and the next morning she can remember - vividly - five of the six winning numbers in her dream? I put the lottery ticket on with the five numbers I remembered and another one I didn't and we waited. We sat and looked at the lottery ticket all day Saturday and waited. Well, it was raining outside and we didn't have anything else to do. I planned to spend, spend, spend just like this woman did. And then the draw was on telly and the numbers were up. Did we win? Did we heck. Did we get any numbers? Yes, one.

If he'd lived, Sid Vicious would have been 50 this year. Marc Almond and Siouxsie both turn 50 this year. How? When did that happen? Does that mean I'm no longer 17?

I loved Big Brother. I've watched it every year since it started and this year I'm giving it a miss. It's on telly now if I wanted to watch it, but I don't. Oh ok, I do, but I won't. Every year it's got worse, more outrageous, more desperate for ratings. I defended it to the end against those who criticised it... until I could no longer watch it myself. Last year I decided that nothing so bad was worth an hour of my life every night for the whole summer, so that's it. I'm not watching it this year. I can do this, I really can. I can go cold turkey on Big Brother. I just need to be brave, breathe deeply and relax, two, three, four.

The Royal Festival Hall has had a make-over and I'm looking forward, very much, to seeing it in all its glory. I like the building a lot. It was the first public space I felt comfortable in when I first moved to London. After learning how to air-kiss and discovering the niceties of living in London were a lot more superficial than those back up north, sitting down to enjoy an egg and cress sandwich lunch while working at a woman's mag on the South Bank somehow seemed to put things in perspective. Not every place in London is up its own backside, and the Royal Festival Hall most definitely isn't. I hope they haven't changed it too much.