Good Friday 2025

 

ParcelForce 2, Postman's Easter and Women Clarity

 

A call from Mr Murdoch the butcher early this morning, which I missed as I did not hear the phone ring as I returned from Sainsburys.  Traffic noise and stupidity meant I missed the call.  However, a glance at the laptop screen revealed that Phil was driving around this area with my box.  I sort of wished it was Luke so I could drop a sarcastic comment or two in to him, however Phil, an older gent, always arrives early, so this pleased me.   

By 9:30 I was opening the white box and revealing the Lorne sausage, pies and sausage type sausages that awaited me and my freezer.  Soon we were well acquainted and planning tonight's morsels.  This did not take long.

ParcelForce have worked well, sending the right man and also offering an answer on the Twitter feed, though they waited until it had been delivered.  We know how such people work, and I know because I have been there myself.  Yesterday Luke avoided the place because he did not wish to be held up by traffic queues, which are still with us though somewhat diminished, and he got home on time.  Good for him, but leaving perishable stuff is not good!

The latest tizz is over, now to find another...

The postman also knocked today, this time with a book I bought when I foolishly fell into the online Waterstone's page.  It appears another new idea is for each book to be signed for at delivery.  More security, though I buy cheap books of course, and the postie informs me on some items a pin number is required now!  Quite how this will work if the postman has a busy round I canny see.  He has to know the number, you have to enter it to be checked, or no parcel!  

Anyway, off he went, informing me he is working Saturday and Sunday.  Sunday, that's Easter Sunday, yes, but a religious holiday no longer counts as a Bank Holiday at Royal Mail!  No doubt churchgoers would get time off but what does this say about us today?

Today, after much wrangling, the Supreme Court based in England, unanimously declared only a biological woman is a 'woman.'  Thus ensuring trans men dressed as women are men dressed as women and must be called men dressed as women.  A great victory for those women who would 'not be wheeshed' against the Scottish Government' who wish to force this nonsense onto Scotland.

What a shame that normality is finding itself lost among a sea of empty ideology and perverted thinking.  Hopefully now this law will be followed across the western world. 

The twisted ideology has taken deep root among many, we need to enquire why?  The trans mob will not accept this clear and straight forward fact, but that is too bad.  Now all governments must follow this up with clearer legislation ending this trans nonsense.

ParcelForce Lie, Fail to Deliver.

'Parcel Force Worldwide' it states on the side of the vans.  'Worldwide,' however does not include my door!   It is simple enough really, I order from that nice man in Forres, he takes my money, on Monday he sends out the box with the pies via 'Parcelforce Worldwide,' and on Tuesday it arrives safely.  

Not today, however. 

On the screen it is possible to follow 'Luke' as he delivers all the way from Chelmsford.  We see him arrive in town, eventually, and move from place to place delivering the goods.  Then we see him not far from here, just before the road works in fact, and then a 'Delivery attempted' sign appears when he ought to be at my door.  

Now the town is surrounded on all sides by road works, all the main roads have holes in them, thus traffic is slow.  What lazy Luke has done is stop delivering to us who live in the midst of this traffic pile and headed elsewhere to avoid being help up.  This is not good enough.

The audacity to claim he attempted delivery when I know he is just avoiding the job is very annoying!

I am roused, and on the website there is NO point of contact with these Parcelforce crooks!

All I can do is ensure delivery tomorrow, and if that fails for the same reason, and all the roadworks are around for the next two weeks, then I will get very annoyed.

I have just discovered a Twitter connection and have left a respectful (ha!) message concerning 'LUKE' the driver, and expecting a delivery early tomorrow.

I await a reply...

None has come...

Monday...

Taking the earphones out of my ears I often hear birds singing, or sounds like birds singing.  So imagine my surprise when it appeared unwilling to stop singing, like it usually does.  Outside my window, perched upon an unused tv aerial was the first Blackbird songster off the year.  Glorious!  Such wonderful song that peaks of Spring and Summer, though they do sing all year round, and are found almost everywhere at this time of year.  Great to hear.

I am dwelling indoors for much of the time this week as I am recovering from too much walking and standing around at the Kirk yesterday.  Being Palm Sunday I could not find an excuse to avoid it and with a free lunch 'Bring & Share lunch' afterwards I was glad to hang around.  

A wide variety of foreign foodstuffs was available though I was prevented from bringing Scottish daily fare as one of the Sanhedrin thought a bottle of single malt was not required.  Several others, all men, disagreed it must be said.  Anyway, as is obliged, I ate too much and got a lift home to rest and be thankful.  And I was.

I normally offer a picture of such events but this is now a no-go area.  Only pictures checked by the vicar, and shown on facebook, are allowed these days.  This is the result of someone's pictures getting out into the open at another church and that church being sued by an unhappy patron.  Once again a statement had to be made at the end regarding those who may not wish to be in the pictures, and one woman did object, and I know why.  She was easy to cut out as she did not actually take up much space, but I know the domestic situation is difficult and this may have caused problems.  No worries, I assured her she would not appear.  Neither do I of course, this is because they reckon I would spoil the picture!  Tsk!

 

The week has started in the usual manner, good long sunny days degenerating into rainclouds, media desperate for stories now Parliament is on holiday though a mere 15 Conservative insiders have been charged with betting fraud, Donald Trump's tariffs will remain except where they will not remain unless he changes his mind and they do remain, houses suddenly catch fire when the people living there belong to one off two Glasgow drugs gangs fighting over a half million pounds worth of drugs that appear not to appear where they ought to appear, and MPs have decided there was nothing in Farage's complaint re 'two-tier' policing during the Farage riots, a riot where Farage's influence meant many went to jail because of him while he travels the world making money.

Normal Monday really.

 Make the most of this as it will disappear soon...

Podcasts

In recent times I have become very happy with podcasts.  The TV I have not watched for some time, the endless 'House in the Country,' 'Bargain Hunt,' 'Pointless,' dumb down programmes along with the right wing leaning news does not attract me.  Twitter enables me to find better news, often foreign, and the radio and now podcasts bring a wider selection of talks that are useful or entertaining.  

Personally I like the ones that do not require you to 'subscribe,' or to pay money, these do not go down well in this Hermits cave.  However, there are many that are free to listen to and with no cost, no demanded subscription, and lots of good words are well worth a listen.

Here are one or two I like.

History 

Ancient Warfare Podcast 

The Ancients

Gone Medieval 

National Archives

Patented History of Inventions

How & Why History

History Rage

Scots

National Trust for Scotland

The Gladstone's Land Podcast

Scarves Around the Funnel

The History of the Edinburgh Derby

Politics

Byline Podcast

Page 94: The Private Eye Podcast

Tales From the Green Benches

In the News This Week: The HIGNFY Podcast

WAR

The Old Front Line

Tales From the Battlefields 

Maritime History with Chris Sams

Military History Plus

You will note I have not written details as to what they offer I think most ought to be quite clear in themselves.  There are of course billions of others around covering every item and thought under the sun.  Some are good, some are awful, all depend on your opinion of them.  I recommend them all, and the others available.  Much better to listen to some intelligent thought rather than dumb down the brain watching TV.

Podcasts for Everyone

A Day Out with Fly

I got out!

Yesterday, having been bullied into this by a woman, yes Fly of all people, forcing me out to meet her at a far off place called London.   I was looking forward to it mind.

So, I hobbled down the hill to the station intending to make Liverpool Street station for the first time in 6 years.  What an adventure!  Six years since venturing out, no wonder I am a fat slob.

Indeed it was 2019 when I last ventured out to Liverpool Street and tramped around for a short while.  I scribbled about that Spitalfields area at the time and now I was to find how it has changed since.

Anyway, Old Man's Card' in hand I headed for the ticket office which Greater Anglia told me would be open from 6 am-2 pm.  Of course it was closed.  This meant the ticket machine that I canny work.   I was seen looking over the shoulder of others attempting how to work the blessed creation.  I may have mentioned this before but I hate technology!  My turn came, I faffed about pressing this button and that, hoping it was the correct one, and not able to find a place for my old man card.  So I paid £30.10p for a return without money off.  Who do I complain to?  I mentioned this on the Greater Anglia Twitter site and got no response, and that is no surprise.  The Chinese man behind me moved towards the machine as I left.  I heard him ask, "How does it work?" and the woman standing there fiddling with her phone claimed she did not know.  I almost turned to help but left that to others heading towards the machine of doom.

I joined the usual motley collection of passengers ignoring one another.  Some sitting under the shade of the closed ticket office, others sitting or standing wistfully along the platform.  No-one spoke. Within a few moments a sun blessed 5 coach Class 720 'Aventura,' number  720503 rolled in.  These are a great improvement on the previous trains, however, my favourite seat was already taken by another.  How dare these people, don't they know who I am? ...Oh!  

The journey was smooth, quiet and delightful, and I had sat in the off side so did not have the sunshine blinding me all the way along. It was so long since I had been on a train and I was enjoying this.

As we sped smoothly along the one hour journey passengers, sorry, customers, came and went at various stations.  Some trailing those cases on wheels that appear the thing today, others making use of the old man card that I could not, some returning or departing to/from home, office or prison, others on a day out, gran and granddad taking the kids off for a day.  A normal day I suggest.  All was quite for the most part.  Outside green fields flew by, occasionally cows, horses or sheep could be seen.  Aged houses with accompanying red brick farms were simmering in the sun.  My favourite, near London, was an aged farmhouse and outbuilding next to a massive roundabout and flyover, with several lanes of traffic right at their front door.  What fun!

A gleaming Liverpool Street, a mass gathering of humanity, at least I think they are human, fussed.  They flapped and fretted as  people do in stations and airports, fearful of wrong platforms or missing their connections.  The desperate or foolish and certainly well paid were to be seen spending money at the various eating outlets around the station.  Prices too high for me to even contemplate searching the menu's.  The crowd was constantly moving bar those staring at the large timetable screen above.  The orange lettering flickering, occasionally offering a departure gate for a train to Norwich, Colchester or all stations in between.  

The line began in the 1840s and progressed onwards through some delightful and mostly flat countryside.  Now from the line we notice the vast growth of housing, and not cheap 'affordable' or council housing at that, all along the route.  Of course when the line opened similar large housing was appearing alongside the line, certainly many 1920/1930s housing is passed in the 'East End.'  The middle class glamour of the time faded with use.

The station itself does indeed gleam.  Workers clean up here and there, while many remember, as I do, the dark forbidding station of times past where the joke was the maintenance peoples main job was keeping the place covered in grime.  It is certainly not like that today.

Having left the train secure at the buffers, a place I have been myself for some time, I went in search of this woman Fly.  I only approached one wrong woman that morning, and no, not a young one, no time for that.  Eventually she found me.   

Together we went shuffling off to find somewhere to sit, eat and talk.  We made use of the escalator up stairs to Bishopsgate.  No Bishop here now of course, he was first around in the 7th century, the gate in the wall preceding him as the Romans built this wall after Boudicca passed through.  Thrusting our way through the City of London throng, still as considerate and loving as always, we passed the Bishopsgate Police Station, which explained all the police vans parked outside, and searched for Spitalfields Market that we knew lay around somewhere around here.  It appeared lost.  

When I recognised the statue of the Goat high above the plaza I knew we were in the right place, but we could no longer sight the market.  Of course not, a great high building had arisen since we last visited and this hid the market from sight.  No maps, or signs indicated where to go.  A Spanish workman indicated where the entrance was and we moved as quickly as possible before it moved again and entered.  

What a few years ago was a wide space filled with stalls, clothes, jewellery, self made art and of course street food stalls had turned into an expensive tourists trap.  Clothes, art and jewellery existed but at a price, while the food stalls had gone, and none were to be seen on the streets outside as before.  Increased rents had driven them away, as well as council bans it appears. 

However, a café/restaurant, call it what you will, I choose the word 'expensive,' was found on the left as we entered.  Here we found a table, good friendly service as they need the tips, and a chance to talk.  This was good, and a delight.  

Having known my friend Fly for many years via the blog it was delightful to sit and listen in real time.  We of course destroyed everybody else and put the world to right, yes, you were mentioned but don't ask how.  However, on musing through the online press today I did not notice any change, possibly they did not listen to our words?  Maybe tomorrow.  We munched our Pitta based meal, drank liquid, and allowed the young black waitress to chat, she was like so many such women I have known in London, I hope life goes well for her.   

It was very good chatting to someone I knew so much about.  Sometimes people in real life are not what they appear online.  Fly was herself and this was good!

In time we had to make a move, I rushed to pay obviously but she beat me to it.  This often used to happen to me when with people.  I appear very slow and lackadaisical when it comes to getting the wallet out, I know not why.  

On the return shuffle we noticed the shops now hiding the past market entrance.  Expensive outfits for those who read colour supplements for fashion advice, including a shop which was dedicated to female eyebrows!  At least four staff were on view so money must be made here.  Jackets £45, or two for £80 were available but we managed to resist any temptation here.  Others must have failed to resist as there were many people about and I guess Saturday would be a big day in this market.  Maybe street food will be available then? 

We passed the city slickers in fast suits carrying expensive takeaways and bottled drinks, the girls chomping delicately on sandwiches and diet drinks or expensive bottled water in the sunshine.  Many sat around the area amongst the elephant statues that abound round here.  Mum and Dad and 20 small ones I read.  These belong to the Herd of Hope, an organisation raising money for endangered elephants.  Sadly I could not find where to enter my donation.  

Back through the growing masses noting the people passing us.  Tourists, smart men going places, office girls, tourists street people, a large man somewhat scruffy and unkempt in appearance came through the crowd barking his opinions to someone only he could see.  I thought how much he looked like me as he passed.  That is my future!  A woman well wrapped up wielded a cardboard sign stating 'Need £18  for Board,' but few believed or stopped to care.  Neither did we, trying to keep one another from falling was hard enough.  

Traffic raced by down the A10, the ancient route towards Kings Lynn and on to York.  Once a busy highway it is now a much busier highway, but few go to Kings Lynn.  As we passed 'Dirty Dicks,' I thought much more of this crowd and that pub is as far as we will go.  Then the traffic halted and we joined the race to cross before the lights changed again.  Naturally, at the station the down escalator did not work.  Who puts stations downstairs anyway?    

Fly and I parted here.  It had been such a short, but such a good time.  It made me glad to have ventured out of the Hermitage and shuffled down the line for this.  All that prayer to ensure it went well worked!  

The lift taking her downstairs to the underground reminded me of Dr Who.  Maybe as the doors closed it grew in size?  I began to wonder if we would ever see her again!  So, I was left, abandoned in a great bustling station.  I Checked the train times I then proceeded to find a working escalator that enabled me to get a picture of the station.

You will note I managed to get the Great slab of the GER Railway War Memorial in at the side.  

Again, the place was awash with movement.  The escalators never empty.  People standing over their bags staring wistfully at the screen high above, coffee being slurped at many overpriced venues around, or held in hands as tickets are inserted into entrance slots in a rush as the train is about to leave.  Others with time and money wander around the upper floor window shopping to pass the time.

Not me.  

I entered the W.H. Smith shop and purchased, via another blasted self service machine, a bottle of sparkling Highland Spring water which cost me £2:89.  It was some time before I realised I had grabbed the 'Still' water and not the 'Sparkling' stuff.  Bah! 

Soon I was sitting on a train heading home.  I took the first one to change at Chelmsford.  Anything can happen to hinder trains so I get as far as possible to avoid disaster or accompanying crowds.  

This train was busy but quiet.  

The towers of Thatcher's Britain glinted far away in the sun.  Far away from the train and I fear far away from real life.  Towering above London and weeping above London as Donald Trump does his best to ruin their bonus this year.  I sympathise, don't you?  

As we approached Stratford she reiterated her message once again over the Tannoy.  "If you see anything that is not right text this number, See it, Say it, Sorted."   I was strongly tempted to text about the building that reach unto the skies over Stratford these days.  The ones pictured are the best, all around ghastly revelations from young architects on Cocaine reveal the damage caused by such habits.  Many look half finished but have been there since the Olympic nonsense was placed here.  Behind us a football stadium, of no use to a proper football team, dominates the skyline in the far distance, a far distance for those who have to walk there every other week.  

I noticed work was continuing to clear land and build, I could not see what this was going to be.  However, on the way back I noticed several tower blocks from the late 50s and early 60s in a state of undress.  Clearly these dated blocks are going and soon more artistic talent will be ruining the neighbourhood once again.

I passed through here around 45 years ago when all around was rail tracks, electric pylons, occasional worn buildings and abandoned vehicles, nothing else.  It looked better then than it does now.

 

Look!  A field with cows in it!  I was so happy just to see such a view after so long.  The cows themselves did not comment as I passed I must say.  A much better view than that found in Stratford.

At Chelmsford I changed for my own train following on 12 minutes behind.  I took the opportunity to photograph passing trains and the renown signal box.  This train I know not, I thought it was the Norwich to Liverpool Street but in fact it appeared empty.  Who knows?

This signal box is famed because of the action of one man, signalman Frederick Herbert Hunt.  During 1943 he remained in the damaged signal box, stopping trains heading through Chelmsford as a bombing raid passed overhead.  The town suffered many raids as a Ball Bearing factory was based here.  In fact it had been moved elsewhere but the raids continued.  Some 50 persons died this night alone.  I'm sure I read somewhere that the signalman also died, however, the train stuffed with passengers survived.

I took this shot in spite of the power crazed female rail employee telling me to 'get behind the yellow line.'  It was as if I had never been near a railway before.  I suppose the speeding train, 5 miles an hour at this point, was dangerous, and she expected me to lean on it or some such.  A uniform turns them into a corporal.  

Another quiet train, more announcements heard many times, and usually ignored.  More glancing at the  screen above helpfully informing passengers where seats were available.  More checking the time and being surprised I was almost home in one piece.

 I left the train and slogged my way up the Matterhorn like rise to the town centre.  It used to be a slope, now it is a major climb.  Who increases the height of roads round here?  I'd like a word.  The weariness almost made me stop of at the Weatherspoon's on the way up.  However, watching one of the regulars entering I changed my mind.  It's that sort of pub.

I passed a fire engine doing I know not what.  However, he was being ably assisted by two young men eager to join in.  The firemen appeared willing to let them.

So, up the stairs, find I had no food out, the servant had forgotten to take something from the freezer.   I was certainly not going out again.  So, make do and mend it was.  Then for some reason I fell asleep...

Trailer...

 

Railway Station Silence

Williton WSR

Watching the station at Williton on the West Somerset Railway  it struck me how quiet railway stations can be.  Now I am hoping to visit one or two next week, I am being released for one day from this hermitage, and will travel by rail, not steam sadly.  Watching Williton I am struck by the silence.  

Normal railway stations of whatever size, follow a similar pattern.  People will stand about, at great distance form one another, looking at their watches and comparing what that reads to what the rail time indicator states.  They will follow this by glaring down the line in a bid to hurry their train.  Their journey may be for business or pleasure, the start or end of a holiday, or even just for a day trip to some town along the line.  Many and varied are their journeys. 

Others, and all platforms have at least one, stand at the far end of each, camera in hand, awaiting a train.  Many 'enthusiasts (I dare not say 'anorak') know what trains are running, their numbers, and possibly the drivers life story also.  I tend to keep aloof from such as they at stations.  

When the 11:47 arrives there is immediate action.  Passengers, sorry, today they are called 'customers' by rail companies, anyway, passengers move towards the doors expectantly, people tumble off, glad or not to be at their destination.  Movement fills the arena as bodies progress this way and that, luggage may be heaved on or off, children dragged in similar fashion mostly to stop them falling under the wheels.  A cluster ascend the stairs following the 'Way Out' sign, only those for the next, 4 mins late, train stand around once again checking the watches.  The anor enthusiasts discuss the departing '185' or '68,' and prepare for the next adventure.  

Suddenly it is all silence.

The last carriages disappear into the distance, a railway employee makes his way back into his office, all stands till.  Only the station cat moves, and that to be closer to the one woman sitting quietly awaiting the next train.  Station cats rarely belong to the railway, they live nearby and come into the station for company, and return home at eating times.  When one of the two station cats at Huddersfield passed away last year Twitter was full of tweets of condolence from those who have been subjects of the cat while waiting.  Some have fan clubs!

In the siding a pair of wagons stand tall.  No-one appears to know why they remain there, one day they will vanish and watchers will be none the wiser.  Now they stand silent.  Not to far from the station vehicles pass apparently ignorant of the railway.  They belong to another distant world.  A space surrounds the line, outside life continues, inside all stand quiet.  

For station staff there is always work to do, only a hand full operate a station today but in times past the station master ensured his men were always busy, and experienced men learnt how to look busy at quiet times.  

Silence reigns for quite a while.

Suddenly, as people begin once again to gather movement returns, platform staff wander about, in larger stations at least, passengers gather, the cat continues to dominate the public, and then in the distance a small object appears slowly heading this way.  

Again there is movement, noise of swishing doors, people speaking, seeking directions, shuffling towards the exit, then silence once again.  

I think I prefer the silence...

Trump Tarriffs

As the world falls apart you cannot but help laugh at some of the situations that arise.  The latest is the incompetent manner of Trump and his Tariffs.  Such tariffs are not unknown, but it needs to be said that the normal practice is to make use of them in a manner helpful to your own economy, not in a scattergun approach making use of little intelligence or understanding of the costs to your self.  Trump has done this in a rather silly manner.  

The two I like best are the penguins on Heard Island & Macdonald Islands.  Here the penguins comprise the totality of the population yet Trump has demanded tariffs be placed on them.  The Emperors will not be pleased.  

However, he has gone further, a US base in the India ocean has also been targeted for tariffs, quite what exports come from an unoccupied island that possesses only US military men is not clear.  Maybe Trump knows better than everyone else?  

The tariffs could lead to economic meltdown around the world, 1929 and all that once again.  Our prized bank accounts bulging at the seams, no they really are, will easily be emptied and soup kitchens may well be our lot some day soon.  

This could be the end of the world.

It could be just another warning.

It certainly starts with Putin making use of gullible greedy people, hello Mr Farage, and the neoliberals continuing their quest to make the peasants pay while they enrich themselves.  

Christians must ready themselves for all situations.  Whatever happens trusting in Jesus will see us through this.  Following the worlds way will drag us down.  Our God cares, we must also.

 

Guy

April One and Cooking

A blue ski and bright sunshine greet us on the first day of April, 'April Fools Day,' as some call it.  Few however, have bothered to play jokes this morning as it is difficult to tell such humour from the daily outpourings of Trump and Keir.  One did get me on Facebook however, UK Police Humour got me, a description of a scrote who burst a window on a police car was given, and when you clicked on the button it took you to your own page.  Very clever I thought.  One or two others have appeared claiming Farage wanted to buy Canvey Island and turn it into 'Nar-a-Fargo, and others claimed to have been recruited to work for Trump, in spite of what they have called him beforehand.  

Keir Starmer gave a good one, until I realised it was true, he spoke about 'illegal immigrants,' and hating how they took money from workers, and other blatant Reform UK type policy words.  Clearly he fears Reform UK will tale votes from him but instead of changing policy he merely copies Farage.  I doubt this will work.

So far, Trump has not appeared, maybe he will remain indoors today as few can believe anything he says anyway?  

I'm all at sea today.  Everything is failing badly.  I began this post yesterday and forgot all about it.  I sat here staring into space wondering what it was I was meant to be doing and here it was, not doing anything.  

Anyway, I did work yesterday, I finished ironing the summer shirts from last year, cooked and later dismembered a chicken, now made into some sort of soup today.  And spent time wondering how my idea of saving money was costing me money.    

You see, I buy a bag of mince, made something with this which leaves me 4 or 5 bowls of whatever it is in the freezer.  This meets with the previous curry that lies there awaiting me gathering the courage and yoghurt sufficient to try it again.  So now I have days of chicken before me, with some alternatives, and I think this good.

Then I consider the cost.  

Buying the stuff from one of the two greedy supermarkets is straight forward but expensive, then at home it has to be cooked, the chicken in the electric oven for 2 hours, the others in the big pot on the hob, which takes another couple of hours.  Saving money when shopping but increasing the use of the oven with greedy EON stealing my pension I reckon leaves me not any better off, as indeed I had hoped.  

EON have had a good week so far, the laptop, the hoover, the cooker, lights in the evening as the sun goes down, and then there is the water used via the gas boiler which has been used much, simply to clean the mess after cooking.     

Electric, gas and water costs always rising, and all offer help to cut costs you will notice, any help bar lowering the prices the greedy capitalists.  I think it is British Gas that made £65 billion profit, though it may be another greedy CEO and company.  One of my private pensions, the big one, has increased by £1:41 per year!  Hooray!  However, I am not one to complain, I can survive and I am a long way from visiting a food bank, there are many others who are really struggling and this Red Tory crowd are not going to aid them.  We live under the control of the greedy rich ensuring the peasants pay the taxes they do not wish to pay, and die to keep them of benefits or making use of the NHS.  YOU voted for this I tell people, but they do not wish to notice this, and many appear willing to vote for more of this once again.

After the Flood

 

A different kind of history book, one reject by many because it does not suit their wishes.  One problem scientists and historians carry with them is their distain for anything that upsets what they wish to believe, this book does just that.  By investigating ancient documents, most reject by modern scholars as not worth researching, the author takes us back, he says down the genealogical lines to Noah.

This is where people begin to object.  If this actually brings us to the biblical Noah then possibly the bible is correct and all we are taught is wrong.  Naturally this brings out the worst fears of many.

I recall in the early 80s many magazines written by Palaeontologists disputing established facts concerning evolution.  They were not popular.  One speaking on 'Science in Action on the BBC World Service around this time was asked by the interviewer, "If your facts are correct, then it changes the time period from 300 million to 3 million years. Isn't this one in the eye for the theory of evolution?"  "Er, I suppose it is," muttered the scientist, and the programme ended.  It s a shame it ended there.

When the Natural History Museum commemorated the hundredth year of Darwin's birth, (or was it death? a 'creation Stand' was erected at the exhibition in the museum.  This caused much controversy with the BBC Radio 4 offering a programme on the trouble.  This featured people from both sides of the argument (the BBC used to do this in the old days) including a near screaming individual who was second in command at the museum.  He was adamant that there was no reason for this creation stand, and was violently opposed to it.  Others were more thoughtful.  Was he afraid it may be correct I wonder?  Who knows what happened to him, or indeed those who offered a different view.  These were no God fearers of any sort as far as I know, merely palaeontologists who reported their conclusions.  Where are they now?  

Anyway, that is what this book concerns.  I wonder abut the dates on offer, I can see some mistakes here, and have not found any reviews that indicate opposition to the findings.  Findings based on ancient genealogies and ancient official records, much of which have been ignored by historians so far.  An interesting read, with many questions, and not one you will see propagated by the BBC today.

         

Rachel from Accounts...

I had one of those Twitter arguments tonight, though it actually occurred on BlueSky, the intelligent person's Twitter.  I indicated my opinion that Labour were pleasing Putin by their actions, naturally, a fervent, youthful and dumb lackey intervened aggressively.  In my response to his lack of knowledge of politics, I referred to 'Rachel from accounts,' and indicated he did not understand the neoliberal control we now live under.

Not long afterwards, Otto intervened.  He considered Rachel from accounts to be 'misogynistic,' and 'sexist.' My ire was raised!

'Sexist,' I fumed.  Here was a woman taking cash from the disabled, the long term sick, and anyone else she could, but not from the rich who can afford it, yet you worry about 'sexism?'  This speaks much about our twisted world today.  

What would Barbara Castle, or Bessie Braddock think of Rachel?  What words would they use towards her?  Thatcher herself would have few women around, and certainly not Rachel.  Yet in today's world we must not upset women, especially a woman who wants 'equality.' If she is bad at what she does do not mention her sex, but if a man is bad we can indicate that 'HE' is bad, and a bad man.  Is that sexist or just speaking the truth?

It appears women can be defended because of their sex, and avoid responsibility for their wrongdoing, but not in my world.  The person does wrong, and as these two ingrates referred to me as 'Puff faced Reform voter,' and then one of them ran away.  They can call me names, but not if I was female, apparently.     

The misuse of language is so common, few notice this.

 

 

 

Hardtalk

When Adolf became Chancellor in Germany, the first thing he did was to allow Herr Goebbels to take over the media.  This small and very clever man knew information was what people required and he knew that ensuring one sided news would bring victory.  So it was that listening to foreign radio stations 'lies' became banned, reading foreign press was outlawed, and stiff penalties followed for those who disobeyed.

The UK has long had a right-wing media forcing half truths and exaggerated lies down our throats.  Today this media has become even more limited in scope.  'Reach,' the organisation that owns the 'Daily Mirror' and the 'Daily Express,' plus countless other titles across the UK, insists on 'clickbait' and not hard news  on all titles.  This to force advertisers onto the money making websites.  Unfortunately, the sites used by both major papers as well as many others, are rotten and unreadable.  What a mess.

Other major papers, owned by foreign based billionaires, appear to have little intention of changing their ways, and some, like the 'Daily Telegraph,' appear to have no idea where to look beyond the 'Farage Rioters' block for support.

The BBC, once the standard for independent news, has removed almost all thinking or questioning journalists and instead encourages the blatant Conservative types such as Laura Kuenssberg with their one sided approach to 'journalism.'  We see how those who question the elite are being driven out to lesser journalistic organisations, or indeed onto podcasts.  Podcasts are good but they do not reach the man in the street in the way the BBC does.  The viewer tends to accept what is offered and now does not appreciate the bias confronting him.  Removing most journalists from 'Newsnight' was one example of right-wing influence of which Herr Goebbels would be proud, to continue this by closing down a successful, and indeed cheap, programme such as 'Hardtalk,' can only be done because the interviewer, one Stephen Sackur, was hurting the new establishment.  Here hard questions were put to many leaders from various nations, not always agreeable people.  This style of questioning is now being outlawed across the BBC.  Slowly but surely the 'elite' are removing all opposition to them.  Worse still is the fact that the people are voting for this, as they did in Germany, until it was too late.  We already note BBC Scotland is run by the Labour Party, unionist followers are given free reign on this platform, independence seekers are ignored and blamed constantly for all faults, real and imagined.  Such style is now being offered on all channels.  'Bread & Circus's,' and not very good bread or circus is what is now presented.  The results are seen in parliament where two Conservative parties now hold sway, opposition is rare.  

The US  follows a similar pattern, though over there it is even more blatant.  Rich men and their press are cowering before the mad Trump, Congress bows the knee in the hope of personnel gain, the nation votes for what was offered and now pays the price by losing their jobs and sole income.  

The situation is bad, but worse is yet to come.

Museum Duty

So, I thought before I die and my niece placed all my work in the bin, I would place some of the info on the Great War that I have collected over the years with the museum, in case others wished to research that event or those involved therein.  At least appeared a good idea during the week, however, when it came to delivering the thing to the museum I found the effort required to wander five minutes down the road somewhat lacking, and my healthy lettuce, cheese and 'Happy Eggs' omelette for breakfast did not encourage me to move further than my seat.  

By ten-thirty the sun was shining outside, it rarely shines indoors, and I dragged my bulk from the chair and headed down the road.  

The sun may shine but the wind was chilly still which meant that Englishmen all around were wearing shorts.  This is normal round here, and not a Scottish thing.  Up north people understand the weather and do not throw away the big coat until it is actually warm, not just when it looks warm.  Men in light jackets taking dogs to the park, eyes bright and faces full of eagerness, the dogs not the men, passed offering a cheerful 'Good Morning,' the men, not the dogs.  

At the museum I found the woman in charge trying to avoid me, but failing.  I explained my visit, signed the form she demanded I sign, found my handwriting does not work thanks to the use of this laptop, and left my info in the Great War to gather dust in the vaults.

The present exhibition in the museum concerns toys from the past.  I did not look all around but there appeared to be more toys for girls than boys, possibly because the boys have broken most of theirs or maybe still retain them?  I was kept awake by a three year old doing what three year olds do in Toyland, crashing everything to the ground all around them.   There were a few in, enjoying watching toys from their past more than the kids were playing with them.  I saw none that suited me, but we were poor, and we suffered much loss...

Foolishly I decided to hobble home via the Saturday market.  At the first stall I fingered the pillows on offer and spent £5 on two 'Hotel Pillows' that BHS sold for £40.  (BHS?)  Anyway, I paid £5 which was more than enough for two pillows.  I have been meaning to replace my ever thinning pillows for some time.  I read that pillows ought to be changed every two years and thought I must look into this, so here I am, some dozen years later actually doing so.

No more spending, no other stall was going to tempt me, and none did.  

However, I passed the local butcher, a very good shop indeed, and accidentally fell inside and obtained a couple of pounds of real sausages, as opposed to what the supermarkets sell, for a mere £10:93.  Did I say 'mere?'  Anyway there are several meals there and one trio of such has sufficed for lunch.

Now, being Saturday, it means football takes priority...

Rank Keir

The 'Labour List' has listed the Labour members favourite MPs.  A 'Survation Poll' found that while Ed Milliband topped the list with +68.6% and Angela Rayner followed closely with +62.75 the Prime Minister himself was rated at only +13.83.  This is not good for a PM I say.

Worse is to come however, Lisa Nandy is next on only +38.87 with several other close behind.  The big names are however, losing out.  David Lammy comes in at +21.46 & Ian Murray the Quisling Scots Governor at +13.04, while the Health Sec Wes Streeting is an appalling +9.55, so much for his chances of taking Keir's job.  

Who are the lowest in the eyes of the members?  Well Liz Kendall is a mere -7.49 is second last spot, and it is no surprise to find the Tory Chancellor, Rachel Reeves, now takes bottom spot with a miserable -11.19.  The future is not bright here is it?

The over 45s appear to favour Keir, youth disagrees, his support strongest in London and Wales, well the English speaking part no doubt.  A third wish Starmer to stand down before the next election, if he lasts that long, but most still wish him to stay.  What is wrong with people?  Most wished Andy Burnham to take his place, and he is not an MP, though he is good at PR mind.

Will this make any difference?  No, the advisors behind the scene have pushed forward their agenda and Keir is obeying.  Let the old, the sick, the disabled, the mental all die and save us money, why should my taxes pay for them?  That is the attitude of today, and one they are pushing through the media.  Clem Attlee would not approve and people such as these advisors would soon be out of office, and out of the party.  Bring Clem back!