The Sunny Chancellor

The UK budget occurred yesterday, I missed it.  Usually I sit through most of the hour or two while the man responsible for the British economy mumbles on, sipping whisky and water and supported occasionally by gruff cries of "hear hear," from his side of the House.  This year I just couldn't be bothered.  Whatever they say it is clear you will suffer.  This year it appear Gorgeous George has made a complete hash of things, lowering taxes for the rich and raising taxes for pensioners, good vote catching stuff Georgie!  When asked if he would benefit from lowering the top tax rate he claimed he did not earn enough!  Just his MPs salary. Hmmm I believe him, but he is lying in his teeth!  (Sue me George!)


This morning I jumped on the bike to avoid his smarmy lies on the radio and made my way, slowly, to Felsted station.  Actually this has been a private house for many years but the 6 miles and 12 chains distance was more than I have managed this year! That's 12 miles and 24 chains plus a bit more today.  I'm getting so fit I may soon be almost human. (A chain is 66 feet by the way.  Railways, estate agents and others still require to use this measurement today. 10 chains make a furlong (used in horse racing) and 8 furlongs make a mile, but you knew this.)  I almost went a bit further however the bridge at Felsted has been removed and this means a roundabout meander to continue.  Behind the old station house lies a Gypsy camp and I wandered into this by mistake.  The dogs were quickly awake at a strangers approach, one keen to eat my leg was a bother, and a chap standing by a huge bonfire, there is always a bonfire in such paces, pointed out the way to go.  As I made my way back, once again assaulted by the dogs, I was impressed by the amount of broken glass lying around.  One or two skips overflowed into the road, but the glimpses inside the caravans, mobile and static, through open doors showed a high standard from the women of the house.  No surprise there.  I would have continued on but at the beginning of the trail lay another pack of dogs so I decided to return home.  Just as well as I was knackered by this time.  Two slices of brown bread and cheese is not sufficient sustenance!


It impressed me that the dogs I encountered were all small 'yaps.' No big dogs to be seen.  Very good watchdogs, loud and aggressive, but the bites considered less dangerous and newsworthy than the bite from an Alsatian or Doberman.the fact is such dogs are much more likely to bite, just ask any postman!  Appearances deceive and these folks are no fools.  It is about ten years since I was last there, and the camp appeared very much tidier the last time, maybe it's just me?  Some folks complain about gypsies, the mess they leave when they camp unwanted, and I have endured that outside my door before now, the criminal element, and the all round trouble they cause.  Much of this is true of course, and gypsies, or 'travellers' as the media has decided we must call them now, do not do themselves any favours all too often. On the other hand I have seen similar conditions in this town, from the noble locals, and big cities have areas so 'deprived' no traveller would dare park a caravan there overnight.  There was a report that some in that camp were Christians and did a lot of good in the area, and a radio programme recently revealed a christian group composed of gypsies, and proud of it too, running an proper evangelical group on the outskirts of Edinburgh.


I wonder if it is within us all to make barriers between us?  What comes first, crime or rejection, being different or being bad?  The chap who gave me directions was friendly enough, although all the other eyes contained suspicion and glares.  Mind you I find that walking the streets everywhere I go, maybe it's just me.....


Anyway, do you like my style?  geddit?  Style, see....oh forget it.

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