From Cramond Island to Rome

 

Oh to be down at the sea again!

Weather here, sun shining, more this week, all gifts of the south wind blowing northwards from the Sahara.  However, when I check the forecast it claims the air is coming from the west, and there is no Sahara heat to be found out that way.  Ah, Thursday it comes from the south!  

Such heat waves have never reached Edinburgh as far as I recall.  Possibly global warming will provide it now., though I doubt the sand will reach Cramond Beach here.    

These islands in the Firth of Forth have always been useful.  This one is dotted with the remnants of naval war buildings erected to protect the base at Rosyth.  The long line of prongs were erected to stop sneaky enemy submarines from sneaking past the guards.  A convenient way to reach the island, safer than the quicksand that stretches over there.  

I regret never reaching the island.  

Often down there I wanted to go, but when younger dad refused permission, claiming he had seen a horse and cart sink down there, which is possible as he grew up nearby.  When older I was not at the beach, either working or doing other things.  People have of course produced videos of their time searching Cramond Island which may yet be available.  

If the cold that has been hanging around while others wander about half naked outside leaves me I may get out and about tomorrow, maybe...

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Today I have spent a little time watching this mans short videos of old roads in Arizona.  Very interesting and quite relaxing.  I like the way he puts things over.  However, I have just come across this one, where he wanders wobbly down the Appian Way.  Watch how excited he gets with ancient history, I suppose in comparison to what history he discovers in the USA.

Nothing to Say

 

War and Peace

The first requirement in any war is a man.  Without a man leading from the top war does or does not occur.  When things happen in the world there is always a man behind them, and I mean man, it is rarely a woman, though that has occurred.

Netanyahu is a man who wishes to avoid jail for corruption, what better way than to start a war in Gaza to avoid court.  That is nearing an end, so lets look at Iran!  Here we have another man, the Ayatollah Khamenei, a man who wishes to keep power, not just for himself but for his band of clerics who now rule Iran.  Two men who are happy to let others die to keep their position.  I read somewhere this morning that as Iranian missiles fall on Tel Aviv Bibi is far away in Greece!  What came to my mind was Churchill standing on top of the roof while Heinkel's bombed London, much to the consternation of his aids.  Bibi himself is far from danger.

There is a belief in Israel that Iran will produce a nuclear weapon and threaten Israel with it.  This is understandable, however, is it a requirement to attack them now, or is Bibi just playing games again, and not too concerned about Israeli's being hit back home?  He is, like Trump and many other leaders, concerned with himself first, his nation second.  What will be the result of this expensive power play?  The people will suffer worst, that's for sure.

A slow drag around town in the sun.  What was noticeable was all the young teens out with mum attempting to dress like a rock star, all pouting accordingly, and the primary school kids just attempting to have fun, either with mum or dragging dad out along to the shops.  

Not much else to see. 

The sun is shining brightly, I see it now from the window, and enjoy the warmth it brings.  There is a new emotion in the air, one based on the arrival of summer and long hot days.  Whether they arrive is another thing of course.

War in the middle east but must people either do not worry as it is a long way off, or have no care for anything outside of their limited lives.  Maybe they are the happiest ones?

Hard Work!

It's been a hard week.

Suffering the effects of the cold virus again, as always, I ploughed one uncomplaining, in spite of it all.

This morning I appeared in a better condition, though that may be because the coffee was too strong.  Anyway, I hobbled up to Sainsburys for the important bits, bread, milk, whisky, and healthy lettuce.

Having hobbled back, chomped on stale bread with chilli cheese I suddenly found myself with excess energy.  I will avoid that breakfast tomorrow.  

So, pushing aside the important Twitter news I rushed to hoover the condominium.   This is hard work.  Moving things, chasing spiders webs in awkward places, and foolishly looking under the bed, all adds up to make life hard.  Anyway, I then hoovered the stairs and the entrance hall.  The first time that has been done for years.  I will have to change that bag now.  

I then spent some time searching the web, I was looking for sites that provided women to do such work, and for nothing.  After all, that is what they were made for isn't it?  Anyway, I was beat.  The place may be clean but I was too knackered to notice.  

However, two books dropped through the letterbox to enable me to sit back and ponder how to get round to reading them.  If I could avoid doing all this maintenance stuff then I could get through more important books.  'Pytheas the Greek is one, and a collection of Scottish war stories, 'Distant Thunder,' is the other. 

Reichstag Moment?

Could the riots occurring in Los Angeles and elsewhere be the 'Reichstag Moment' Donald has been looking for?  His policies owe a great deal to those followed by Adolf during the 1930s and those fooled an educated nation into following him to death.  Fair to say they did not realise this at the time, but when it was too late they were too far in to escape.  Will the Trump voters realise just where Donald is taking them?

In the West many right wing groups are on the rise, who is paying for them?  Who is financing the Farage's across the West?  Easy to say this is the work of that nice Mr Putin, but is it?  The Neo-Liberals are on the rise, hidden behind 'Think-Tanks' and rabble-rousers, but they one sided view they put across finds a home among many.  'Migrants,' 'The Boats,' 'White replacement theory,' and other fears are rammed home throughout Europe.  The self-absorbed actual liberals are too cosy in their own sphere to realise how Farage rioters see the world.  With a simple cause to follow, a simple answer to complex questions, a Tommy Robinson to follow, with hope of a change that will benefit them, it is understandable why they follow quickly.

Trump has won in the US by the means practiced during Brexit.

The same people are making money behind both.  The same rich people are getting richer, the same peasants, holding pictures and sending cash to their favourite rabble-rouser, are paying more tax.  That is, if they have a job.

Now Trump's thugs are mishandling their case, with a reaction from decent Americans, we see an opportunity for Donald to declare a national emergency, just like Adolf.  An emergency that never ended, until May 1945, and an emergency that allowed Adolf to rule by decree, just like Donald.

Will this be his chance...?

Remember...

Who remembers 'Bazooka Joe?'

This was fabulous gum for me in the days of primary school.  The gum had a different flavour from all the others, similar to the aroma from the ointment used as embrocation cream by footballers at the time.  I often wondered what it was made from?

The small cartoon enclosed with the gum was somehow entertaining at the time, though I never got into sharing these with others.  Maybe they were too funny then?  

It was great to be able to afford one of these, more expensive than other chewing gums, and at no time did I ever give thanks to those who in the distant past took various portions of tree bark and discovered how to chew it.  This was used to clean teeth and had antiseptic properties.  Various peoples used local trees to this end, one such gum was found being used in Finland 5000 years ago.  It may still taste the same.

Countless footballers have chewed gum during games, I once offered some to the great Tommy Walker when managing the Heart of Midlothian er, he was managing I was just watching, he put his hand in his blazer pocket, a blazer emblazoned with the Heart of Midlothian badge, unlike today's managers, and produced a handful of what I take were 'Beech Nut' chewing gums that he had to offer the players. Whether this improved their concentration can be debated.

One vehicle I can remember having before I was dragged kicking and screaming to my first day at school was one of these fire engines.  This is not as I remember it, and I think this may be a US picture.  However, it resembles the machines that were around Edinburgh at the time.  

Edinburgh as you know had the first proper fire service way back in the late 1800s.  In 1824 James Braidwood was appointed as Master of Engines and almost immediately the centre of Edinburgh was engulfed in a major fire.  Most buildings were made of wood at the time.  Thus Edinburgh created a Fire Service and rebuilt the houses in stone, many of which still can be found in the High Street today.  It took a while for others to follow the cities example.

A toy we can all remember is the Kaleidoscope, we all had one of these.  It took me years to realise these were based on mirrors!  Fun, attractive easily made thing that worked for years.  I suppose kids still get these, even if they have phones to use also?

These were also ten a penny in days of your.  I never found them that exciting, but they were always around and someone had to make use of them if I ignored them.  If one was in the house someone pushed it.  Of course, in those days it was easier, we had no carpets, just lino on the floor so there was plenty of space for them. 

Time for tea, though mine is wee bit smaller than this.  

Chelmsford.

A moment of madness struck me last night, 'I will go to Chelmsford tomorrow thought I.'  So, just after 9:30 this morning I was hobbling down the slope, in spite of the bad pavements in Station Approach, towards the station.  Here, an attractive young woman gave me the £8:25 tickets along with the patient smile she usually keeps for he granddad.  I noticed on the receipt that they gave me her name, but not her phone number...

The train arrived, the non talking, non smiling passengers boarded silently and soon we left, without announcement, dead on Anglian Railways 10 am service.  A smooth ride in these new 720 trains.  Nothing but other passengers to upset the travelling public, and those two men in red coats checking tickets of course, they upset some.

The announcement came just after we had left the station and were proceeding at 10 miles per hour towards the next.  

At Witham she gave out the cry 'Do not forget to take your luggage, otherwise they may be removed.'  Very fitting announcement for London Overspill Witham I thought to myself.   A couple of Witham locals with pushchairs entered, I noticed the young men getting off give them a glare as he did so.  Here we saw an example of London overspill manners!  Me first, I have a baby!  At Chelmsford I allowed these two women to get off first, then I fell against a polite Asian gent in a suit man as I alight, I apologise and seek the lift, too many stairs in this station.

I walk through the huge indoor market, check cheese stall and butchers, and pass on.  This is one of those 'must see' markets as you never know what will be found there.  All the usual stuff of course and those stalls that have a variety of tat, often the tat you and I find interesting.  I passed on wondering if I could make it to the High Street and back to the market, l was loath to miss the cheese shop.

I walked through the huge expensive shopping centre with all the right shops noting the girls passing through there not noting me.  Have they no 'Specsavers' here?

Anyway, I was becoming desperate for some form of liquid but loath to try these overpriced coffee shops.  There is always a coffee stall in the paved High Street among the stalls.

There were no stalls in the High Street today. Bah!

I limped along, wondering if I was doing the right thing, through Bond Street where all the new expensive shops can be found. I searched John Lewis for kitchen knives, eventually finding them locked in a glass case.  At those prices they will be remaining locked in glass cases for me.

I did NOT go in!

No fool me, I am unable to afford such shops without book vouchers.  So I resisted stoutly.  Several people asked if i was OK as I was shivering somewhat as I passed by the shop.  Anyway, I shivered as I passed by coming back again heading towards the Oxfam Book shop.

Here I accidentally fell into the Oxfam Book Shop, and I mean accidentally.  There is a small 2 inch step at the door which I found by almost landing flat on my face, nobody moved.  I saved my self by damaging a display of I know not what to my right, and stood up to face an elderly woman who peeked round expecting to see me on the floor.  She sounded disappointed.  The volunteer at the cash desk did not look up.

Again I accidently did something, this time I hope wisely.  I bought two bags of 'Café Direct' coffee.  One from Peru and one from Chiapas, Mexico.  I have coffee, which costs me £4 from Sainsburys and £3 from Tesco, but are they worth it.  These bags cost £4:59 each, which I thought expensive, then I realised they contained, they say, 200 grams of coffee, the supermarket stuff contains 100 grams.  Each 100 gram of Oxfam Fairtrade coffee therefore costs ££2:30, much cheaper.  But is it better? It's worth a try.  The volunteer was trying his best, but he does not work there every day I suggest, and the couple of our age who let me go first were friendly while I gathered my goods.  Several people of an over 50 age group were friendly, those under it slightly less so, as you would expect. 

Stumbling like an old man in search of a coffee stall that I could afford I reached M&S.  Upstairs I came across an interesting situation in that to get to 'Menswear,' you must first pass through 'Lingerie.'  Now I passed through easily enough, there was no reason for that security man to insist I moved, anyway I replaced my camera into my pocket and searched the jackets (male).   A summer jacket, made I suspect in Cambodia, was costing £99.  £99!  And they wonder why M&S is not what it was?  I once again passed through the lingerie into the food hall.  Here, I searched for bottled water but by accident found a bottle of wine that suits me.  I searched diligently for red wine, staring at the £55 level, descending to £30, the £20 and finally £6 level at the bottom.  The bottle of Rich and Smooth at £5:75 appeared to be right for me in every way.  

What...?

Anyway, they use self service, and I wanted some loose change so chose a cash option.  Naturally, not having been before it took the lassie next to me to show where to put the cash.  Having dark tills in a dark corner, served by an attractive and bright blonde dressed in black so nobody could find her is not in my view wise.  Eventually I and all the confused Essex ladies of a certain age made it to the door.

On my way out I passed a man with a guitar and amplifier killing several songs very well.  He may well be famous one day but only when Simon & Garfunkel sue him for murdering their work.

Having decided I was going to suffer anyway I continued back to the market.  Spending money is easy I find, even if I do not have any.  The cheese shop beckoned, so I walked past the girls in the shopping centre glaring at the camera I was forcing into their faces, and came out a different exit.  Walking past the proper Oxfam shop I could see from the large window that nothing there enticed me in.  

Now normally, I would sit in the Cathedral when in town but I am not keen these days as this Bishop, a strong candidate for Canterbury, has let the gay mob rule in here, so therefore I have lost interest.

First the butcher for chicken ( 5:99 or 2 for £10) to fill the freezer, then a couple of large cheese chunks £7;50, that will leave me with cholesterol poisoning by Friday, and then hobble slowly, so very slowly up the road to the station, a station that not only appears so far away but it greets you with three steps to climb up!  Three steps after two hours of this?

  

Up lift.

Watch the fat station woman boss people about, give them a stripe and they rule the world.

I sat in the sun for a while knowing my train would be ages yet.  However, possible delays, caused by a troublesome passenger, had delayed the last one so I decided to move to Witham, where I watched my by now very heavy bag. 

This one came in at 12:34 exactly on time.  The trains were running smoothly, the few minutes lost to previous train was made up quickly, and the Anglian Railways staff were good at all times.  I did notice so many more hanging about the Chelmsford Station, a clear clamp down on far dodgers, which is why the corporal and her men were wandering up and down all the platform length, to stop folks jumping in or out.  Good luck jumping out from that height.  

The journey home smooth.

However, climbing up the Arthur's Seat impersonating hill that once was a gentle slope was trying.  It is at moments like this you notice the far from smooth pavements, the areas where tree roots come through, and the loose paving slabs that once I unloaded from lorries at a thousand a time. 

Up the road, up the stairs, hey who put the light out?  Indoors, feet above heart for 10 minutes, eat sausages and cheese, lots of cheese, lots more to come later, sleep for a few minutes, and give thanks for a day out without calling an ambulance.