Hot

There is nothing to say.

It is 29% c. that's 88 f.  And I canny be bothered to do anything but into space. Even the little chocolate in the house has been melting in the heat!

I have worked this week however, laundry, hoovering the house and the main stairs, and I was going to tend to the front of house but have lost the will to do it.  I had to await a box being delivered this morning.  By the time it arrived, and the driver worked out that the door he wanted was the one in front of him, not the one next door, the day for me was over.

Near naked people pass by, all awaiting burning skin tomorrow.  Few dogs are seen, all being kept in the shade.  Even the skateboarders have ceased their rolling back and forth.  

All this does not stop the constant flow of traffic to the supermarket, it is Friday after all and people have to fill up.  Car boots full of overpriced junk, alongside the stuff they really require, will speed past me tonight.  I say speed, but with many road works going on all week speed has not occurred on this road lately.  200 yards down the road the double mini roundabout was being repaired.  People sat for a long time as three major roads attempted to pass one single lane.  I could laugh, but supermarket shoppers could not.  Other routes are also suffering a variety of road works, so the traffic has not been happy.     

With all these lampposts bedecked by English flags you might expect this years World Cup to have encouraged the locals to put flags on their cars, houses and selves as they usually do.  The English are not doing this today.  Why is this?  Did the cheesy and needless flagshagging put them off?  Are fans ashamed to be associated with Reform?  Are they just sick off the sight of the flag?  I am!  Those at the game are wearing the flag, and fighting with one another as English fans do.  Boston will see a real change when England play there next week.  From thousands of lovable Scots, to drunken foul Englishmen, the change will be clear, and America will understand the UK better after this.

   

Roy Hattersley and Roger Cook

Roy Hattersley, 1932-2026, was a Labour politician first elected to Parliament in 1964, in the Birmingham Sparkbrook constituency.  Roy remained MP for the next 32 years.  

As a youth he became a socialist, keeping clear of Communist influences, and pushing a more normal socialist approach for the time.  

Hattersley was seen by some as a 'right-winger' in the party, he himself regarding the Tony Benn and his 'Bennites,'as the real reason Thatcher remained in office so long.  Once Tony Blair came to power however, Hattersley made it clear this was not the party he had joined and opposed much of the Blair governments thinking.  His support went to Gordon Brown.

As deputy leader under Neil Kinnock he shared the disappointment of losing an election and followed Kinnock into resigning his position.  All the while they had been fighting groups such as the middle class Militant Tendency, as well as Thatcher and Benn.  The far left destroying Labour more than Thatcher ever did.

It is strange to think that this man was considered to be 'off the right,' while today it is almost impossible to find someone 'off the Left,' in the Labour Party, and certainly not in the cabinet today.    The party that stood up for the people, equal rights, and ensuring human needs were met, now finds itself owned by Israel and billionaires unnamed.  Roy would be considered too far left to be a member of the party today.  Not so far left that he refused to become a Peer and join the House of Lords of course.

 

Roger Cook, 1943-2026.  A New Zealand journalist who became famous in the 80s and 90s by taking on crooks, both in government and crime, landlords and scam merchants.  Often leading to physical assault and severe pain.  His TV show 'The Cook Report,' which at one time had some 12 million viewers.  The ITV programme ended in 1999.

Those in our slum in Notting Hill were very interested in one programme.  Our aged and somewhat uncaring landlord sold out to a strange man.  Roger Cook then interviewed him on his programme.  I use the term his gentleman employed a Sikh driving a red coloured Rolls Royce, to head up his team of workmen.  Some were tolerable, but one or two caused us some grief, especially when awaiting wages and having been drinking for a while before this.  These were not pleasant men.  In this case the work was too much, the man, known for dealing roughly with tenants, cut his losses and ran.  A better landlord took over, and soon I was out here.  

Cook had ribs broken, run over by a car and he and his TV crew were abused and assaulted often.  This was shown in the 'Report.'  I wonder if a man like Cook would be allowed on national TV today?  He might upset too many important people, in the public eye, the police, and the criminal world.  Too many significant people would be in parliament getting upset.  

 

The Marches, Rory Stewart

This is a strange book.  At one time sloppy, and at another quite interesting.  Overall I am still not sure about it or what he got from his journey.  I read his book 'The places in between,' concerning his walk across Afghanistan, and I liked it.  This one, split into three parts, is different.

The book begins with Rory talking about his father.  When I first opened it I found it rather too much, the relationship at home was one I thought ought to remain at home.  As his father was 50 when he was born it meant he was well into his 30s and refers throughout the book to his 'daddy.'  Had my father lived that long, and I called him 'daddy' at that age he may well have been wondering about me.  He also never called me 'darling,' a term used for the females in the family.  It would have sounded odd when used of a son.  Now I know other people use such terms in this way, but it left me feeling somewhat queasy.  So, I dumped the book for some time until I was forced to see if it was as bad as I feared.  

The early part takes us on a walk along Hadrian's Wall, or what is left of it, time and the archaeologists have had their way upon it.  Father being in his 80s he tends to drive on to a meeting place where the two will join together to discuss what has been found.  Rory walks along the wall discussing the present state of its being, adding as much history as he can discover.  He then relates this to his own army experience and as a government employee in south Iraq, along with his fathers army and government work in Malaya and Hong Kong.    

Then we realise that neither were true Scots.  The father was born and bred in Scotland but once the war came his army experiences and later British government work 'for the Empire,' left a deep mark upon him.  Both have spent time working for 'The Queen,' both spent time abroad, rather that in Scotland, neither have much experience of 'the man in the street,'(a phrase banned by some) or daily life for most Scots.  This leaves the fathers' insistence on playing the Scot at all times leaving questions. He only offers visitors Scots food and whisky, made a big thing of Scots highland dancing, (Something demanded by the Black Watch when an officer), and wore the kilt or Scots apparel but really did not know who or what he was to his dying days in his 90s.  Something I reckon many Scots serving the Empire also felt.  Rory himself, living in Cumbria and for a time their member for parliament, shares similar lack of awareness of who and what he is.  This is a growing undercurrent throughout this book.

Rory walks along the wall, then in the second part wanders across what he calls the Middleland, the space between the wall and the Scottish border.   He talks to one and all, attempting to understand if they are Scot or English, and do they understand their history.  It seems to me the incomers to the area, and it is a somewhat bleak area, understand the history better than the locals, though the locals, few and far between, always appear disinterested, possibly because of Rory?

The third walk takes Rory from the borders up to Crieff where his fathers home lay.  

Along all the journey we have interesting historical details, comparing the present to the past, the changes to the land caused by agriculture or Monks, by military or weather, farmers or governments.  We learn that borders people in Scotland speak Scots, but apparently do not recognise the border as we do.  Those in England remain English.  Those living on the borders, where families spread across two sides, are often confused as to what they are.  

I think Rory is trying to work out if he is British or Scots, and finding no answer.  Living in Cumbria, where they are English, even though the border is just up the road, emphasises that he is English.  I think this is the problem for many of the 'Edinburgh and border' types who vote Conservative.  They wish to be Scots but have been educated as English, and their money is over the border.

All the while Rory continues to write and phone his 'daddy,' and discuss his findings.  He is keen to understand his fathers opinions, though these reflect those of an active man who worked for the Secret Service, often in dangerous places on behalf of 'the queen.'  His experience, compared to Roman soldiers on the Wall, his understanding of his son and shared experiences, are interesting, though at times I again consider much of what was written ought to have remained within the family. It is notable that his mother is rarely mentioned.   

I read through the book, and would recommend it anyone interested in the borders and walking in the rain.  Rory writes well and many good facts and questions to ponder come from the walk.  It's worth a read.

 

The People on the Road Outside

While watching the summer rain lash against my window, I pondered on all those people who once passed by my door.   Of course, I rarely spoke to them unless I happened to be leaving at the time, a mere nod of the head, a quick 'Good morning,' and we were on our way.  However, it was possible to note some who passed almost daily.  

One unsmiling lady has struggled up this road for 30 years.  Only recently has she been seen much less, though she passes unsmiling on Sunday, unsmiling, probably going to the Baptist Church.  I recall one miserable woman who appeared always ready to grumble about something, she stopped passing by some time ago.  A young lass, about 16ish, walked by, stomach exposed, for some time, always alone, and she stopped this around Covid time.  I suspect she was visiting grannie in the home up the road, a home that lost 7 in one go when Covid struck, I also suspect grannie was one of those.  As I left the house one day I noticed a grey car slow to a stop beside her.  A man of Asian/Mediterranean appearance left the passenger side and grabbed her by the arm.  She shook him off, and I stepped forward to be seen, and he returned to the car and his mate drove away.  She was unhurt, I think she was enjoying the attention but unwilling to accompany the man involved.  If I had a camera or a phone on me, I could have called the police, sadly none at the time.  They would probably have just kept going out of town, just in case.  

Not far from here is  home for men with mental difficulties.  They often pass by with their carers, sometimes one or two alone.  One walked into town almost daily, recognisable by his head, which constantly moved from side to side.  A youngish man, but not seen for some time.  An older man often passed by, always with a carer.  He stopped me one day and ranted about something unknown to me.  The poor carer was not just embarrassed, he did not know what to do.  I shook the man's hand, told him I agreed with him, and we parted happily enough.  The young male carer wondering what would happen next.  I would have loved to see him in the town centre shops.  This chap must have passed away some time ago.  One or two who passed by and passed on I do not miss.  They could cause trouble and were best avoided.  Others who sometimes spoke were the type I was glad to see, where are they now?    

With the supermarkets and town centre just up the road we have a lot of passersby during both day and night.  The night ones are usually quiet, though folks leaving the pubs late on can always be heard.  In days of yore they would leave pint glasses lying around, I managed to save two of them, and they are still in use.  Once they changed the closing times this ended however, people drift away in smaller numbers that way, loud gangs no longer steal the glasses.  

The number of people who have passed this house since it was begun in 1812 must run into hundreds of thousands.  Not bad for a small town, though obviously many were on repeat walks.  The Victorian days saw many buildings erected, a great many two up, and two down types.  These were often filled with farm labourers, vast numbers employed on farms back then.  Increasing wealth, and the development of two or three major businesses led to house building, often bought by those struggling on good wages for the day.  All great businesses of the past have now gone, the after the war effect.  

The thousands who passed this way during previous times, going back to and beyond the Romans who helpfully hardened the road to ease their marching, could make a good book.  Medieval travellers, Saxons, Normans, and long before them the early Britons who were forced out from their homes and into Wales.  This road stretches back at least 4000 years, possibly more, a path through the highly wooded county, seeking food, shelter, and possibly a safe place.  Before the Ice melted, it stopped under my house you know, it was possible to continue walking all the way into Europe.  The North Sea put paid to that, now it is Brexit that limits travel to the continent.  Times change. 

 

One of These Days...

 

The Fabric of Civilisation

This American lassie Virginia Postrel has written an excellent study into how textiles have made the world.  I must confess that I have not finished reading this book.  I may never do so, as my reason for  buying it, apart from the lassie in the Museum forcing it upon me, was I wished to understand how ancient people turned Flax into linen.

If you have nothing around you, why develop string?  How do you make string, or indeed anything else?  It appears someone around 20,000 or so years ago, decided that the inside of Flax stalks, when dried, are long thin reeds which can be moulded together.  Thus, an arrowhead can be attached to a rod for instance, and string, whatever it is made of, can be used to change life for everyone.  Let's face it, we all have string somewhere in the house.  The most basic of technology yet it changed the world for the better.

Virginia takes us through the development of threads, cotton, silk made from silk worms stolen from China, how very European that is. She discusses how cloth is woven in an intricate and yet highly mathematical manner, originally by uneducated Stone Age man.  Weaving soon became an art and an economic essential.  Trade in textiles of various makes soon spread across the world.  

I confess much of the information was beyond me, or too boring for me.  Much of the history of offer was and is worth reading in my mind, but I have little interest in weaving.  Interestingly, the local silk weavers, who died out during the 70s, were mostly men.  Reading this I realised just how skilful these weavers were, no wonder royalty came to the local Warner's Mill for their garb.

If you have an interest in weaving, cloth making, silk, cotton, and the history thereof I recommend this book.  You will not be disappointed.

 

It is Almost Here!

It won't be many weeks from now that Scotland, at around midnight, will begin the first game in this year's World Cup.  As always with Scotland cynicism strikes first.  However, we are there, and we may as well make the most of the opportunity.  What will happen?  Will we get through the section?  Will we score a goal?  These questions are being answered by many around the country, usually with absolutely no idea what they are talking about.  But that is football!

I am finding it hard to work up enthusiasm, age, other things in life, and too tired to care too often are hindering my desire.  Of course, I will react to the result, happy to win, sad to lose, angry at referees, angry at the various SFA suits at all levels looking after themselves, not the country.  It was ever thus.

The media attention does not inspire me, the usual quotes, questions, baloney, all go nowhere.  Only major news grabs attention such as a serious injury, or one of Donald Trump's ICE agents attempting to deport one of our players.  Already one non-Scottish player has had his visa refused because of a court case somewhere in Europe, also a Somali referee has had his visa refused.  I suspect many fans paying stupid money to see a game will find themselves banned from entry by the border guards.  Anyone objecting to the child rapist will be banned, and most Scots will have made their position on that clear to all already!   

During the 1974 World Cup, (was it held in Germany?) I was desperate to watch every game, even though I was working during the Yugoslav match.  I spent that game at a patients bedside scrubbing his table while we watched the game on the Black & White TV at the far end of the ward.  The table was never so clean again.  Another game I saw in Deacon Brodie's bar in the High Street.  I based myself at the far end and ensured I ordered my second pint just before half-time.  When half-time came all the men ahead of me, and it was all men, turned as one and reached out with their empty glasses towards the barmen.  How many pints were sold at half-time, two at a time possibly to avoid looking away from the game.  However, I canny mind who were playing that day.  I forget the third game, it was a long time ago.

Whatever happens, I just wish to be in a position where I can laugh at all these Englishmen here. 

 

Protein and Fibre!

I find it intriguing that these out of date pitta breads are informing me that they contain 'Protein and Fibre.'  It's almost as if we did not know this.  I mean man first started making versions of bread about 15,000 BC, until now he has not known bread contained protein!  How did we survive so long without knowing this?  

As you know, the Natufians, in places like Lebanon, Jordon, were making a form of bread from a paste made from a type of Barley.  This would be heated on stones and provided sustenance for hunter-gatherers.  Some began to harvest Rye and other cereals, thus bread baking began, yet not once did they cry "Protein!"  They just fed themselves are remained alive.  Mind you, I am not sure that we would survive the type of breads they were making.  However, my own version of flat bread, no longer suffered, would run them close.  Possibly I ought to have used stones rather than a frying pan?  

Cereals were slowly developed over the years, and in different places a variety of breads were to evolve.  I suspect many would be healthier than the mass produced stuff avialble in supermarkets.  Refined flour, additives, and chemicals do not make for pure bread.  There again at my age I no longer care.  If I am hungry, just feed me, any muck will do.in.  To prove this, I am about to eat those with two out of date, reduced price sausages of unknown origin. Out of date rabbits lettuce will accompany this.

I think I may need Spanish Brandy afterwards...

 

The Facemaker, Lindsey Fitzharris.

This is not a book for the squeamish.

Apart from the details of various operations there are several photographs of men wounded in action, their faces disfigured, and later pictures of the result of the work upon them.  

Plastic surgery is commonplace now, however, in 1914 it was a new skill.  Attempts had been made for several hundred years to mend broken faces, even forms of skin grafts.  However, all failed, the lack of knowledge of blood, germs, and the complex nature of the human body led to failure, often glorious failure, but failure anyway.

Wars tend to be dangerous for the men involved, and the Great War was a war of men.  The second word war was a war of aircraft and submarines, today we fight with missiles and drones.  However, in the end the PBI, the poor bloody infantry, have to go in.  During the great was machine gun bullets made men take cover, artillery shell blew them apart, bullets and shrapnel smashed bodies.  The man who lost an arm or a leg was better off than the man who lost his face.  Many a woman left a man so seriously damaged, some would not blame her, many an employer would not allow a face damaged man near his customers, many refusing to employ such.  The 'Homes built for heroes,' were never built, nor were jobs made available for wounded men, especially those with wounded features. 

Attempts at healing began at the CCS, the Casualty Clearing Stations just behind the line.  The word 'just' is doing a lot there, it was often several miles from the line.  Walking wounded walked on, those who could not be helped were placed aside, many operations saved lives but could not deal in great depth with all wounds.  

Patched up men landed at tented hospitals near the coast, others found themselves 'somewhere in England,' far from home and not always receiving the correct treatment.  For men with facial disfigurement Harold Gilles was a saviour. 

Over four years of war, he fought the war department, senior medical staff, and anyone willing to argue, to get better facilities for treating men with damaged faces.    After much hassle, and having proved how to develop plastic surgery, he settled in Sidcup, at the Queens Hospital, and eventually had a team from all parts of the Empire working on damaged men.  

The images of men shot in the jaw, or burnt in a ships fire are not easy to contemplate.  Imagine being a nurse or doctor having to see such day after day?  Nursing staff, orderlies, the surgeons, all worked together, with some jealousy and ambition of course, to create a peaceful even happy atmosphere for the men.  The men themselves did not lie down when they knew someone was trying to heal them.  They also came together to encourage one another.

This book covers the various surgeons, dentists, and other specialists, who were not specialists before the war, as they seek ways to men broken jaws, eyes, skulls.  The photographs are revolting to some, yet they record the changes as various operations, some men had well over 40, as men were given back some form of human face.  On occasion, it is just marvellous what was achieved.

The men after a war were of course forgotten as soldiers always are.  Some received a pension, others merely faded away.  The staff also returned to their normal work, yet the facemaking led by Gillies continues today.  His work benefitted many men during the next war as his discoveries were developed by others.  He himself was forgotten of course, though he was eventually given a knighthood in 1930.  The men upon whom he had operated remembered him then, many congratulating and thanking him for what he had done for them.   Now that is a reward few can better.

Read this book!

 

A Twitter Squabble

 

A day of Twitter squabbling.  

The fall-out from Murrell's conviction continues.  The Crown Office. The people who were wrong to bring a case against Alex Salmond, are also wrong in not allowing charges against Nicola Sturgeon to continue.  The closed mind of the Sturgeon Junta will not wish to see her in court, after all they will have to witness also and many will fall.  It is never a good thing to wish to see anyone in prison, however, truth must out, and it is being withheld by the leadership of the SNP.   So, Twitter has been full of Nicola's bairns insisting she has been 'cleared,' though you are not 'cleared' if you have not been charged with anything.  On the other hand many have indicated the £700 red bag she was carrying, while walking past the Jaguar her man bought, and the camper van at his mum's that stood in her driveway that Nicola also had not noticed.  

When asked questions by the police her response was 'No comment,' which, while legal in Scotland, does not indicate honesty or integrity.  This may not indicate guilt but the public will make up their own minds.  

Of course Joanna Cherry has once again been denounced by Nicola's bairns for speaking out.  The ability of a crowd to follow the leader when attacking another who thinks differently is always interesting.  'Nicola right or wrong,' is the cry.  Anyone who disagrees with the cult leader is ostracised. 

The press, all owned and run by England, takes an attacking form against Nicola, as you would expect.  This allows her bairns to call any opponent a 'Brit Nat,' or worse.  The 'block' facility is useful on Twitter.

I suspect this division will continue for some time.  This is not helped by John Swinney, the First Minister,' who is not allowing an independent inquiry into what has gone on.  He certainly would not give one to the Union parties, but it is the SNP faithful who require information, and that must happen.  

Oh, and England has refused us the right to a referendum on independence.  I would call one anyway if it were up to me.  

 

A Hot Bank Holiday Wine

The unusual happening, a hot sunny day on a Bank Holiday, is clearly a result of global warming. According to my thermometer it is around 86% indoors!  It is certainly warm, and I am enjoying it, but I would not like this all year round.  I did however, venture out twice.

 

 

I hobbled over the park looking for near naked ladies sunshine and warmth, it was surprisingly quiet at the time.  From there I looked around the old graveyard behind the now boarded up and somewhat depressing Congregational Church building.  A result of continuing with a church full of old people, with poor music, and the Authorised Version, led to everyone, including the minister, dying off.  A good man but unable to introduce a younger element.  In the end only 8 remained.  I was meeting his wife occasionally, but she does not appear any more.  Whether she has moved or I am just missing her I know not.  The church has been around since the 1600s, the building since the 1700s, and rebuilt in the present style in the 1800s.  Such a shame.  At least someone has been clearing the graveyard and more greaves are approachable now.  Sadly I was there at the wrong time for wildlife.

 

I realised how warm it would be as I trudged slowly up to Sainsburys for French wine this morning.  It was not long after 8 am and at the door a gentleman leaving, wearing a normally suitable top for this time of year, mentioned how hot it was.

While cooler in the store, I considered standing at the ice cream shelves to keep cool, it was also quite quiet.  The early birds were few, many away for the weekend, and at reduced pace I wandered round.  I mentioned to a lady of certain age who was standing rather lost, that she looked lost.  She was waiting for her husband who she had let go visit the alcohol section.  I saw her again still looking for him between the alleys.  I wonder if she is still there?  

A selection of French wine was available, and while one or two were cheaper than this one I was pleased to say it had a screw top.  The effort to fight with a corkscrew, of whatever type, is not one I relish these days.  So, and solely for the sake of my health, I took this home and tested it quite well.  Much better than the previous one, though unfortunately not half price.

A couple of days of sunshine remain I hear.

 

Rhone Wine

 

The past few weeks have been fraught with the underlying virus that will not leave.  So, having read the wise words of Docteur Maury, a Frenchman who believed wine was a cure for everything, I decided to act. 

In Tesco's I was somewhat surprised to discover almost no French wines available.  Plenty from Chile, Spain, and Australia, yet French wine appeared to have been removed from the shelves.  Is it possible the wine lover has lost interest in French vintages, or could it be an English response to French superiority in all things?  The English have such a poor grasp of their history I suspect antagonism may have a place in this.  It could of course merely be the price!  

I searched the shelves, much smaller than Sainsburys collection I note, but eventually found one bottle, unpriced, standing almost alone and forgotten at the very end of the shelf.  It was French so it went into the basket.

Docteur Maury suggests 'a good Rhone' for colds and flu, so hopefully this will have an effect.  On drinking the stuff however, I realised why it stood alone!  This is not 'a good Rhone,' but a half price one.  £9:50 reduced to £4:75, not great wine but a better price.  

This week I have slept a lot, eaten lots of strawberries, raisins, figs, dates, oranges, and the like, and eaten differently, the stew was ghastly, the soup similar, but the bread and cheese worked well.  Has the wine made a difference?  I may go back for another, or two, just to see for sure...

 

KMI Panel Award say NO penalty to Celtic.

Scottish refereeing decisions are often difficult to comprehend.  Some have little effect on a game, and all referees and linesmen will make mistakes after all, however, some are serious.  With both Heart of Midlothian and Celtic chasing the league championship, with only a game or two to go all decisions are closely watched.  

So we have an interesting situation here.  The Celtic manager talks to the head of referees, one Willie Collum, criticising the decisions that have gone against his side.  Remember also the sectarian divide on the west coast of Scotland.  Celtic, who make money by emphasising their Roman Catholic beginnings, just happen to have a senior referee who teaches, or possibly taught in the past, religion in a catholic school.  Now, on the Saturday the Heart of Midlothian have two penalty claims while playing Motherwell away.  One is ignored by the VAR team, the second, and more obvious, calls on the referee to check his decision not to give a penalty, though it has been declared obvious by almost the entire football world!  Steve MacLean the ref ignored VAR on this occasion and does not benefit Hearts, but Celtic by his decision.  Had the penalty been given and scored the Heart of Midlothian would have won the league on the next game on Wednesday, Steve stopped this and allowed Celtic hope.

On the Wednesday, while Hearts defeated an excellent Falkirk side Motherwell were again at home, this time to Celtic.  Come the last minute of an awful lot of added time we see the Motherwell player head clear a throw in.  His hand is high, the Celtic forward barging into him, then falling down and playing dead for some reason unknown, means the defenders hand is high alongside his face.  

He does not touch the ball, the trajectory of the ball makes clear his hand could not have made a difference, according to almost every footballer in the world who commented, only the Celtic men disagreed!

The penalty was scored thus ensuring a last game drama at Celtic Park, the game ought to have been played in Edinburgh but the SPFL deliberately amended the rules to suit Celtic, and drama did ensue.

Late in the game Celtic score a goal putting them 2-1 up.  Shortly afterwards, with less than a minute to play it become 3-1.  Before the ball has crossed the line Celtic fans invade the field of play, some attacking the Hearts players, while a few, too few Stewards are attempting to get the players of the field.  After speaking to the police the ref claims the game is over, the Hearts' manager fearful for his players demanded this also.  The antagonism generated by the penalty decisions and the Celtic hordes , not for the first time this season, has made the Scottish game, and Scotland invented the game we see worldwide today, look foolish.

There is a panel of referees, three in number, who debate crisis decisions on the field.  This 'KMI' panel has already made clear the Hearts ought to have had a penalty in Motherwell, and now made clear this last Celtic penalty ought not to have been given.  The referees decision at first was overruled by the VAR ref, and he got in badly wrong, and not for the first time this season.  
In short, the Heart of Midlothian have lost the league title because of inept refereeing, or some say, possible cheating.

Willie Collum, John Beaton and Steve MacLean all claim the penalty decisions were correct, the KMI Panels have disagreed, clearly.  So, we now ask what will happen to these men?  Anything?  Or will it just be brushed under the carpet again?  For me Willie must go, he was a bad referee, one of the worst. Favoured by the men in suits, they had made him a FIFA ref before he ever took a Premiership game, and he has not got what it takes to front the referees' association.  John Beaton, threatened in the past by Celtic fans, and this was a real threat to his family, may retire, the others will carry on, as will this mess. That must not be allowed to happen! 

 

'Keeping the Dream Alive,' Joanna Cherry

A long time ago a wise man commented on politicians books.  He claimed they all ran the same way.  That is, if the Prime Minister did the correct thing, it was my idea.  If the Prime Minister did the wrong thing it was because he did not listen to my warning.  I did not doubt that this book would offer some one-sided opinions on the troubles in the Scottish National Party, (SNP) over the last few years, and this was of course a book written to answer Nicola Sturgeons self-seeking work 'Frankly,' so we would not be disappointed.  

Joanna Cherry covers the years since the failed referendum in 2014, when Scotland ought to have become independent.  The leadership of Alex Salmond, the greatest 'Big Beast,' in Scottish politics and it appears the last one for a while.  Clearly Joanna admired Alex, didn't we all, and like him, she sought a clear, intelligent, way forward for independence.  This book makes clear the next First Minister did not have Alex's talent, insight or purpose, and instead left us with a leadership style not unknown in North Korea.

Joanna discusses the loss of MP seats in Westminster and the reasons thereof, the lack of co-ordinated leadership, the lack of strategy, and the loss of 30,000 members of the SNP caused by preferencing trans people and gays rather than independence.  

The blatant needless and failed attack on Alex Salmond, the reasons for this still unclear, the failed court case in which he was awarded £500,000, and the next case, in which he was suing the Scottish government, when he died from the stress caused by Nicola, a case that continues yet.  

A chapter on the Covid panic, the appearance of control which is now known to be false, and the next big division, the gender problem, and whether a man in a skirt is a woman or not.  A difficulty the Scots government have yet to deal with.  The power of the trans lobby is immense these days. 

The implication of this book is the weak Nicola Sturgeon was more concerned with public image than policy, 'feared' by the intelligent proposals put forward by some, including Joanna Cherry, and scared she would lose her position to another.  At the heart of government Scotland's desire for independence was broken by a weak self-centred woman, and a trans lobby that scared the Sturgeon Junta desperate to keep their well paid jobs.  Joanna would have changed all that had she become leader.

So we read of the usual political tricks, smears in the English owned press, always keen to attack the SNP.  Close friends who side with the other, attacks both brutal in public and behind her back, and fear amongst her supporters who do not wish to suffer the same.  Both Alex Salmond and Joanna suffered much from the SNP Junta. 

The author puts forward an approach to independence which appears intelligent and worth considering.  A debate is required on all aspects of indy, yet debate was something Nicola did not wish for, she tended to lose out here, so debate was replaced by bullying.  I suspect this is normal political life, it is something the one who enters it much face.

This book is easy to read, though some of us yawn when the nitty-gritty of legal and political complications are discussed.  An Advocate, that is Barrister to you, will rejoice in such things, most of us do not.  Nevertheless, the book is readable, I went through it quite quickly, and while there are some womanly ways which irk in the writing I think it is well worth a read for those who know Scotland.  Joanna may no longer be in politics, she might never return, though a change of leadership and a proper perspective on the way forward may lead to that.

I have to say I know who's side I am on before I read this book, that remains the case.

The Heart of Midlothian's final game of 2026

It was not unexpected that the Heart of Midlothian's final game in Glasgow would be overshadowed by controversy.  It was bad enough the Scottish Football Association forcing them to play in Glasgow rather than at home in Edinburgh, as was their right, this was enhanced by the failure of the SFA referees to give decisions benefitting them, but did manage to give decisions benefitting Celtic, their nearest rivals.  Some 7 points difference could have seen the Heart of Midlothian Champions last week, but the SFA have ensured their team has prospered, as expected by most football minds in Scotland.

On the day the game itself went somewhat according to expectations.  A rather tense first half, with only the refs unwillingness to deal with Johnstone, the Celtic full back with a tendency to crash willingly into opponents. Eventually action was taken, he could have been quicker.  Otherwise, we cannot complain re his actions. 

Our goal was welcomed but short-lived, as an unfortunate eager forward handled the ball in the box.  This resulted in a penalty which was luckily scored.  Injuries then hampered the Hearts as a defender, then a midfielder had to leave the field damaged.  Alterations left us somewhat short and allowed the evil one's space.  Eventually a lucky goal crossed the line, and in the end we lost by 3 goals to 1.  

Then followed a pitch invasion by Celtic fans leaving many Hearts players injured.  The game had not finished yet these thugs once again invaded the field and attacked opposition players.

Will the SFA take appropriate action?  That is award the game 3-0 to the Hearts?  Don't hold your breath.  

Nonetheless, the Heart of Midlothian have made clear we are now a side to be reckoned with.  The days of the two team Scottish league are over and we will improve.  We all hope that Motherwell, Falkirk, Hibernian, Aberdeen and all other sides now realise they can defeat the bigot brothers.  Let's do it and improve Scottish football all round.

 

Early Christian Writings

I read through this book some years ago, and decided to read it again, because I had forgotten most of it!  Books containing the words of those who knew the apostles, or those who knew those who knew the apostles, can bring is near to the men themselves.  This gives us better insight into how the early church went about its business.  Here we have Ignatius and Polycarp, both of whom knew the apostle Paul.  Also, Clement of Rome writing a very long letter to the strong-willed men at Corinth, little changing there since Paul wrote his letters 50 years before.  

Clement was a presbyter (Bishop was not used in the 1st century) of Rome in the late 90s of the first century, he may also have known John, though John was based in Asia, now south-west Turkey at the time.  His letter is more of a dissertation regarding the authority of church leaders.  An authority he wished to see imposed as there were many false teachers wishing to move in and corrupt the church at the time.  This is a very long letter, and we have no idea if anyone in Corinth responded to it.  One of the great problems with the ancients is the way important letters and books disappear in the course of time.  Very annoying.  

Ignatius of Antioch.  He had the dubious delight of debating with the Emperor Trajan, one of Rome's better Emperors, and attempted to justify Christian belief, and their refusal to worship emperors.  Trajan was not convinced, he sent Ignatius to Rome for execution around the year 109.  We have a better idea of Trajan from the Letters of the Younger Pliny 110 AD, where Pliny send his questions re various topics to the Emperor for his opinion.  Among these are questions regarding Christians. 

So Ignatius walked to Rome, no buses were available in those days, and on the way he wrote 7 letters to various churches giving us some understanding of how they operated, and what he wished to see among them.  Again one of his main concerns is the rule by authorised individuals to ensure the true doctrines were being offered, sticking to the teachings of the apostles whom he had met.  It is always very easy for any church to allow other ideas to take hold and lead to sin and heresy very easily.  

One letter is addressed to Polycarp, a younger version of himself, who also had 'sat at the feet of John.'  We also have one letter from Polycarp, followed by a report of his martyrdom when he was around 82 years of age.  Both men died facing the future with their God, Ignatius almost wallowing in the fact that he can be considered worthy enough to die for his God.  

These men knew God in a way we fail to comprehend.

To Diognetus Is a strange kind of apologetic work about which little is known, possibly from the second century.  No ancient writer mentions it.

The Epistle of Barnabas Another strange work, of which little is known, though much speculation follows today.  People prefer the unusual rather than the straight forward of course.

The Didache is the last offering here.  This may have been written in the latter part of the 1st century, or sometime within the next 100 years, scholars are still debating this.  Some reckon the teachings are often Jesus oral words, others teachings from the apostles themselves.  This could be the case, it may not be.  It could be written in Egypt or Syria, again debate continues.  However, early Christians do mention it, and it is considered possible that early churches used it as a teaching manual.  Whatever, it is worth a read.

All these letters and writings, though one or two are doubtful, take us back to the early church, the teachings of the apostles, and the men who knew them and followed them.  I believe it required reading to study such works as we get closer to the beginnings of the faith and the reaction of the early believers.  So much has been added since it is often difficult to know what is true or false.  

This translation is by Maxwell Staniforth, one of two translations for Penguin Books.  Seeking a classical academic career he ended up in the Great War.  After this he worked on railways in Argentina, and then became a vicar in Dorset.  He was a man of his time, as seen by the use of 'Thee and Thou,' when prayer is offered in these pages.  Whether he used 'Thee' in his translations of 'Meditations,' by Marcus Aurelius I have not checked.

I recommend this book.  

Culture Saturday

 

VOTE!

I began another day of joy and constant happiness by rising today, conscious that I must vote, and thereby change the world.  I pushed my way through the masses to find the place empty except for two tables stocked with two servers, and one manager standing to the left.  "Where are they all?" I asked, "It was busy this morning," they lied.  It's always, "It was busy earlier," innit?

Council elections do not draw the crowds, County Council ones appear to draw less, as the council appears to that wee bit further off from the people.  

The poll is in the museum hall and the manager is well known to me.  The six of us chatted, there was plenty of time to do so, while they prepared my voting slip and refused to answer my question as to "Why is there no SNP on here?"

Now, we have a choice of five individuals, all of whom wish to become a County Council Councillor.  The usual parties, Labour, Tory, Reform, Lib Dem, and Green.  I looked up the names of the five men, unusually all men, and found little about them.  The Lib Dem, like almost all the Lib Dems standing in this town comes from Chelmsford, the Reform lives here but comes from Colchester, the rest are local, which is how it ought to be.

But what do we know of them?  Almost nothing!

One states his favourite biscuit is 'Hobnobs.'  Surely we can ask deeper questions that this?

Another is a fellow councillor here known to one other councillor who attends our kirk.  So we have some info, and he likes 'Hobnobs' also.  For the other three I found nothing.  

This surely is not the way to seek election, surely they must make some political statement somewhere along the line?  This leaves most people voting for the party, not the individual, which is more important in such elections as opposed to general elections.  The person is nearer to the people here, why are we so poor in offering information?  I of course ignore the Twitter feeds which daily fill the page with Reform candidates withdrawing, or being withdrawn, by party or constabulary.  

I scribbled my vote to await the result in due course, and set off for Tesco.

£35:20 later I left the friendly checkout girl and took my heavy bag back to the museum.  Here I give a little support by buying their excellent honey, this comes from bees living in a nearby village.  The young girl in charge is well known to me, well known for making me spend money I do not have.  This meant I had to resist her pressure and only spent £10:50, then had to ransack my pockets to find enough loose change to give her some £1 coins as they had not left.  I was then allowed to tour the latest exhibition in the museum.  

This was magnificent.  The new curator has made changes and vastly improved the displays, building on what went before.  I was impressed with what she has done with the Great War stuff, and other local history is well noted.  This is indeed a very good local museum and deserves much mention.  The big exhibit was the between wars art deco stuff produced by the main businesses, the cloth and silk mills, in the town. This reminded me of one of my aunts, she was a child of the 20s and much in her house spoke of those days.  Being old I find a connection to the past via aunts and uncles, as well as parents, especially when some of them were born in the Victorian age, and their ideas, books, and attitudes spoke of times past.  Much better attitudes than today I hear you say.  Possibly, as most of them saw two wars, a general strike, near poverty, and a depression, that gives a different view on life.

 

Our new recycling bins arrived today.  Because of lack of space we had been promised the non-standard boxes, we got both!  Coming home from Tesco's I ate and fell asleep, when I awoke we were surrounded by bins.  These are not being used until June, 3 weeks away, and take up a lot of space.  Just how this will work will be intriguing, as we have 3 cars already, and with two flats about to be leased possibly 2 more, plus bins, life will be great in the car park.  We also have 8 boxes now!  I'm to weary to care today, maybe tomorrow I'll look out again.

Police State

Being a Bank Holiday Monday I expected life to be quiet, and so it has been.  So quiet that I went downstairs against my bodies wishes, and began cutting down the even growing bush in the front.  Taking a Tesco plastic bag for the bits I was surprised as to how long the stems were considering I had only looked at the thing the other day.  Anyway, I clipped them down to prevent them from growing ten feet high again, and managed to bag it all up. 

As I began this, a strange small white van raced out off our car park, screaming tyres as he roared away up the road.  This was strange as I did not recognise the vehicle, and racing cars do not normally head into the one way system forcing to race back again. 

I pondered upon this as I took the hoe out and began shuffling the ever-growing weeds that were beginning to show themselves again.  For the most part I just shoved the hoe under them to make them die, most being too small to be worth gathering, the larger ones dumped with the bush.  

As I was finishing the white van reappeared.  

He screamed to a halt just at my door, the squat driver and his mate leaping out to cries of "Oi Stop!" and raced after another gentleman who disappeared into our car park.  Once again I pondered, fearing we had a drugs gang fight round the back.  Just then several uniformed police came panting down the road and went round the back to investigate.  

A handful of young women, no more than 20 years if that, followed, one crying, "I don't want him arrested, I said I don't want him arrested!" The driver of the white van returned to the van informing her in the best police manner to "Shut up!" and drove off at speed down the road.

Shortly after he left the uniformed branch returned with a large gentleman, less shirt, cuffed and obviously willing to help the police with their enquiries.  

By this time most people had stopped to watch, one or two passing understandable comments as they passed me, and another police car arrived to join in, just in case.  My neighbours, living round the back, would have had a close up view of the action there, and they popped out to watch them as they placed the gentleman in their vehicle.  I am not sure about the ages of the girls involved, but they returned to the skatepark across the road where I suspect the situation arose.  They may still be schoolgirls after all.

My neighbours smirked, I leant on my hoe at the door, all calmed down, and I realised that pushing a heavy trolley on Saturday, and attempting to work today, was not pleasing the bones.  I realised again that in spite of all the anti-police stories in the media, and there are indeed some bad ones, it is clear that we need such men, and one woman, to ensure we can sleep peacefully at night. However, now the jobs are done, and that man will be done, and now we eat and prepare for tonight's important football match.    

 

A Walk in a Graveyard

I discovered a fault on my Great War website the other day.  I needed to look up a name, and he was not found.  This surprised me somewhat.  On investigation into these Google free sites I found the problem, the Google site.  Once, when I began this, it was easy to scribble words and insert pictures. Google, to save a few quid, while making billions listening in to all our chats, changed it to a new system, this does not work easily.

Everything depends on little boxes, but adding a picture to the box, while sounding simple, just does not work!  The picture may insert, but it is ten times too big, cutting it down makes the words shrink also!

Therefore, it causes red mist while attempting to fill the page.

On inspection, I discovered the missing man had escaped with several others.  This meant digging out the information and reinserting it, and it comes out somewhat differently to what was there before.  I will not tell you about inserting that picture!  Grrrrrrrrrrr!

However, after perusing the site, making amends elsewhere also, I was glad to have put it all back together for the interest of friends and family who may find it useful.  

 

 

Doing this, reminded me of the time spent wandering about the two town graveyards, seeking out the men, and one woman, who died during the conflict.  The idea of enjoying a cemetery is not one we usually consider, however, it can be interesting to wander round on a good, and quiet day.

Most graveyards can go back to the 1700s, some even further.  This often means names are worn away, depending on the material, and occasionally someone has made the effort to clean these up.  Most have the famous, the great and the good together whether they like it or not.  Many richer folks could wangle a spot nearer the church, sometimes inside it, and the paupers, well into the present day are buried respectfully 'over there.'  

Most large tombstones appear to me to be 19th century, when class distinction was important.  Having worked your way up to be someone of importance in town you expect a stone to remark on your position.  Sometimes looking at such memorials I wonder if these people are still trying to be alive, even when dead.     

 

Reading the memorials can sometimes be quite touching.  A mother who dies in childbirth, the child who dies from diseases we hope they do not catch today, the man accidentally killed during war.  A careful reading of the tombs can take you back in time through incidents that reflect on today, nothing changes, human nature remains the same, what is has been, and will be again.  

The other thing that comes to mind in a graveyard is how easily these people have been forgotten.  It is rare to see a recent posy left at a grave from over a hundred years past.  Many remember the war victims however, but great granny is often forgotten, and a distant relative in a tomb with faded words is not remembered.  Sometimes when inspired by Ancestry or the like, we tour the tombs looking for an uncle.  My niece did this in Newington in Edinburgh but could not find a mention, even the council did not have a record of the name.  I know he is there, I watched as he was buried, and the slow steam train, somewhat apologetically drifting clankingly by as the minister spoke, but no stone have been left there it seems.     

 

Sometimes care is required as on occasion a funeral may be taking place, and it is best to be at the other end of the ground.  Some people come and stand at a graveside, a husband, a father, a wife, it is not possible to know, nor is it possible to understand why they are there, but there they are.  They may stand silent, some talk to the grave, one man parked his disability scooter at his wife's grave and sat there reading the paper early in the morning.  After 50 years of ignoring her at breakfast he did not wish to give up the habit.  

Wildlife can be abundant in such places.  Birds flit through the trees, squirrels, voles or are they rats?  Bats in some at night, the local fox of course, often with cubs, or maybe a roebuck running away from you.  Pleasant for us and the wildlife.  I did see a small deer give birth in the graveyard closer to home about a year ago, it was not possible to get closer obviously, but the quiet nature of the place allowed mum to have her child.

I do see some problems mind.  Recently dead children can have an abundance of toys and gifts left on their grave.  Sometimes to the annoyance of neighbours.  Some mothers give too much when alive, and even more if the child dies.  We can all appreciate the emotions, however, sometimes less is more. A more dangerous concern is stones, frequently very large, falling over while people pass by.  Some councils have taken to knocking them all over to prevent insurance claims.  This is quite sad, especially when the name might be famous in the area.  

I just remembered, Fun posted about Highgate Cemetery the other day, now that is a post on cemeteries worth looking at.

If you can stomach it, I recommend a sunny day wander around a graveyard, especially in a large town.  Who knows who you will uncover, that is, don't uncover anyone, just look at the names I mean.