Lovely Evening

It has been a lovely evening at the church men's group meeting.  We meet in the club next door to me and have a jolly good time discussing things of great merit, like various beers, prices and being without the woman interrupting all night.  Not only but being a private club of which many are members the prices are cheaper that regular pubs and the service friendlier.  
A smallish group tonight, including the second vicar, chatting about nothing and everything and getting to understand the men and their lives.  What a civilised way in which to do this, and cheap also, I liked that.  Such a shame it is only once a month.
One advantage is the fact that all, but the vicar and one other, have retired and apart from my leaving early to prepare for work tomorrow in the museum nobody has to rush.  This is one advantage of retirement.  The lack of money is the disadvantage.

Nothing else happened today....

Boxing Day Wander

As you can see Boxing Day brought out the crowds!  
Actually this was about 9:30 in the morning and the shops that were open did so at 10 am.  Up at the shopping centre one did open an hour and a half early as people were queueing outside for the so called bargains. I took the free bus up there but saw some crowds but few bargains.  One or two were on offer but far fewer than the advertisements loudly proclaim. 

At the Christmas morning service I did manage to be kissed by several women (not by those under 30 I noticed) and came home fair drookit with the rain that started while I was inside there.  The lunch was waiting almost ready for me and surprisingly not burned as it usually turns out.  The girls at work presented the other volunteers with a bottle of wine but I got two splendid bottles of beer.  It was only as I allowed the nectar like fluid go down easily I noticed it was Belgian beer!  OOPS I thought and checked the bottle, as I thought this stuff is much, much stronger than the usual stuff, good job I didn't start on the second, I had already begun a cheaper type earlier.  However it made watching yet more reruns of 'Top Gear' watchable!  Surprisingly in consideration of what I shoved down my gullet I appear to have lost a couple of pounds.  I think I may need to obtain a new set of scales as the old one may have had enough.  Still the day was satisfactory.

The rain on Christmas Day encouraged me to stay in and simper but early this morning, after nine anyway, I had to get out and get some air.  Wandering around the Sunday quiet streets I managed to take some pictures of things often seen but difficult to capture.  One was the bird that has been placed above the door in the shadow of an overpowering tree.  (It may be some sort of shrub I know not)  This hides the bird and makes it look real to those who just glance as they pass.  Very clever placing.  

The quiet day fools me into thinking it is Sunday when it is actually Saturday, only the football enables me to know the difference.  However with another Sunday tomorrow (the vicar Will be tired by the evening) and a holiday for many on Monday (bar those working in shops or those spending cash) this means yet another quiet day.  I might need to go outside and talk to somebody soon if this continues!  
I was hoping to get on the bike to remove some calories but the weather has made this impossible.  The rain is accompanied by high winds and further north terrible destruction is following on as for the third time huge rainfall is hitting those already suffering from floods.  Five inches of rain expected in 24 hours for them, makes our weather appear pleasant.  However with a week off I might yet get on the bike.  Might...

Still, might as well be happy anyway what sayest thou?

Cabbage

A man during the second world war was given the responsibility for ensuring children received sufficient nourishment from the limited foodstuffs now available.  Oranges and bananas, often beyond the price of many at the time, were amongst other luxuries no longer considered vital to keep the nation afloat.  This gentleman, who's name escapes me, decided that the answer was cabbage!  This combined with the 'Dig For Victory' campaign enabled the British population to be healthier during the war and the restrictions thereof that they have ever been since!    
However as I mused on this I cogitated also on how to cook this beast.  I looked closely at the fat, dense, wrinkled green creation in front of me and considered how like the rest of my family it was.
Dense, sums so many of them up, wrinkled takes care of others who will not be mentioned, and green, well, less said about that I suggest.

The wrinkles reminded me of the TV that the women watch.  While some refuse to lower themselves to the banal offerings (my sister insists on wasting her senility on X-box or whatever games) most will sit for hours watching programmes made in the seventies which are repeated several times a day (always with the same ending) and these women will get involved once again with a tour de force of bad acting!  The cabbage sums this up well.  Quite why there are so few couch potato size women around the family I know not, possibly the shopping sprees help there.  How can anyone with half a brain, and that sums up the family all to often, watch such badly made tripe beats me.

 
Worse still some would say, not me, is the way the cabbage reminds me of the men in the family.  Note how easily it stands alongside a, now empty, but full a short while ago, bottle of wine and half a bottle of beer.  Reminds me of the nieces husband and his fridge full of beer bottles for the cup final.  It turns out that was that fridges natural state!  He and his son probably have a fridge each these days.  The cabbage itself may be wholesome but the people around it require some improvement.

My delightful and best looking, indeed most talented and clever niece arrived one day last year and enabled my mobile to work!  So good was she that she managed to send a text to my phone and indeed from my phone.  I was glad as I had not managed to do so myself.  I indeed do not require the text facility as I do not have the friends to send meaningless texts to however it has some uses I suppose.  As she made her way homewards on the high speed rail network I sent her a text, well I tried to, as I typed all that would come up was CABBAGE.  So I gave up.  She understood, her dad had the same problem.  I blame her.

The weather is dreich, I sit listening to Radio 3 via the TV as the somewhat depressing fiddle violin quartet music is better than anything available elsewhere.  The boring tennis final is about to start and I suspect women everywhere are getting ready to waste hours watching.  I might drop in on the 'Tour de France,' a much more interesting activity, especially as by touring the country you see places you will never visit.  I read the 'Tour of Italy' might take a day out and pass by my window in a year or two's time, that will be good.  No cabbages there, unless I get on my bike to join them of course. 
Ah well, soon be time for bed....   

Busy Friday

It’s not long after nine on Friday morning.  This is the day I do the women’s work, hoovering, dusting, rubbish removal and the like.  So far I have failed to get off my seat and this is an excuse to remain here. Through the condensation steeped window I can just make out the light gray sky above, something that reminds me of an Edinburgh summers day, and in the leaf strewn park occasional passers by pass by, some late for work others keen on enriching Mr Tesco or Mr Sainsbury.  This does not incite me into following them.

The dullness of the sky is reflected in the dullness of the living quarters.  I switch on the light and watch the room get darker.  Books and papers lie askew around the desk, the sofa, and the floor.  Cables and plugs lie dust grained in corners, and green oranges are noted at the bottom of the fruit bowl.  I puzzle as to quite what that lump in between the fridge and the cupboard is, I am not too sure but it has been there for some time....

Later.

The women's work has been done, the air is filled with flying debris as choking and spluttering I wonder if it is time to empty that vacuum?  This dusting business is a laugh.  As I write the dust removed from the bookcases replaces the dust removed from the desk.  I suggest the dust from the desk now deposits itself happily on the books.  Thus the world turns.  The so called years of evolution that shaped the earth are nothing more than dust particles moving from one place to another, like sand dunes shifting the Sahara south.  No wonder the world has never run out of cleaners.  

I have looked at the 'to do' list once again, hopefully tomorrow I will look at it again.  If it were not for the football at midday I might even do one of the items on the list.  For today, as the weather is not attempting to change its ways, I will merely go back to updating that never ending website.  This is slowly taking shape but each name requires at least half an hour and sometimes it takes longer.  On two occasions I have discovered I was listing the wrong man and that has had to be changed. Hopefully nobody has copied the details.  The thing about the First World War information is the need to check everything.  So many details are incorrect, understandable in the circumstances, but the backroom staff at the time have actually done a marvellous job considering the difficulties of detailing so much as accurately as possible.  I hope I am reasonably accurate.

Much later.

I stumbled out this afternoon to get some deep breaths of vehicle pollution and made my way across the dim gray park towards the shops.  As I shuffled by I watched a boy, aged about 8 years, throwing his dogs lead for the beast to catch.  He and the golden retriever were having a ball, without a ball.  His mum enjoyed the sight of them pulling at either end of the lead, especially when the lad stood on the lead and the dog happily pulled him over the damp grass as he stood on the thing.  An enjoyable encounter in which passing strangers had to laugh, especially as they all knew what strange happiness a young lad playing with a dog can obtain.
There were no signs of happiness in the store however, just suspicious glances and surly looks.  There I obtained the bottle of beer I see as being ideal for yuletide, 'Bah Humbug!'  What it tastes like I as yet know not but if acceptable more will be purchased and used as gifts.  It seems right, but maybe I am being too satirical for some.  I will no doubt find out.  Too much of Christmas requires satire in my mind.

    
It has become the norm for these 'Continental Markets' to spring up in the town centre every so often. While they are popular enough for the stallholders to return it was pretty slack as I passed.  The varieties of foodstuffs appeals, the prices do not.  Neither does the ability of women to stand in the middle of the passageway blocking everybody while contemplating with dull eyes the good on show they then do not buy!  Paella, vegetable curry and the banned cheeses looked good but would cost around a fiver a time.  Even the bread I did fancy was far too dear, Tesco sell similar at half the cost, but maybe tomorrow if they have some of the fancy bread I occasionally buy I may splash out and ruin what is left of my diet, maybe.  

Now all I have to do is write the blog...hold on.  I must have missed something out today, I should be filling this page last thing at night when half asleep.  Oh well, early bed....   

. 

Tuckered....

Museum, lots of kids, group of handicapped, visitors, home, lunch, dead soldiers, dead brain, bottle of beer, deader brain, goodnight.....

Stout

A long time ago and in another life I worked in a brewery.  The term 'work' as used here must be taken with a pinch of salt in truth as the office where we piled the loads together for the lorries could not be said to be full of men fighting their way to the top.  The girls took the orders over the phones, typed them up and passed them on.  Bob went round and put the price totals correct afterwards as some of the lassies found counting a bit difficult.  I must say I was happy there, the people were good it was fun and the young girls all wanted me, what?....oh!  However the beer made there was not great.  'Tennents Lager' was our biggest seller, and indeed it still is up there but the rest of the beer was lousy on the whole.  One famous beer introduced was the 'Super.'  It has remained popular and all drunks are known to be held in bondage to the 'purple tin!' 

Since the war breweries had begun to merge, large conglomerates taking over small local breweries, and the varieties of beer began to dwindle.  As they did so it was in the big companies interest to produce less variety and keep costs down.  This being the late sixties and industrial strife breaking out regularly cost was important.  I say industrial strife, what I mean is bad management, greedy workers, poor laws, even poorer union people, incompetence and buck passing everywhere.  For instance the men in the office were annoyed after the drivers struck for more money, within a day or two they got what they wanted thus leaving them a good deal better off than the office workers.  We formed our own union and made a wage demand, this was rejected, so we had a one day strike (which I spent watching 'Midnight Cowboy) and all our demands were met the next day.  Poor, thoughtless, management led to the strike we didn't want (the only strike day I've ever had) and worse management caved in.  The directors you see didn't care as long as they were OK.  Typical attitude off the day.  It was a combination of bad management and short sighted unions that destroyed British output and growth during the 60's and 70's leading to the arrival of the lower middle class Thatcher!  Her answer was to sack everybody at the low end and keep the money for the top lot, like her friends.  Strong but thoughtless leadership which could have been successful but just brought division.  Our brewery management and union needed strong sensible leadership, it just didn't exist.

Brewers were all producing run of the mill beer.  Scottish Brewers dropped their 'Heavy' and 'Light' to replace this with 'McEwans Export' and 'Tartan Special.'  Sewers produce tastier brews.  At that time we young folks all drunk Lager & lime, costing 1/11 pence in the 'White Cockade' Monday to Thursday, and 2/1d Friday and Saturday.  We had not developed taste in those days. For many years vile brews dominated the land, England became famous for 'Watneys Red Barrel,' a concoction so vile that people drank sea water in preference.  Well in Scotland anyway, the English just drank it without thinking, they are like that.  Rebellion however was brewing.  Men gathered in groups demanding to taste their beer.  The 'Campaign for Real Ale,' CAMRA, was launched by folks we all considered a bit, well middle aged men-ish.  Laughed at by many it is clear they were right!  

By the eighties beer adverts were dominated by the Thatcher followers, young get rich quick males for the most part, dressed in striped shirts with red braces, drinking beer out the bottle in overpriced pubs and among all the right trendy, moneyed people.  The TV adverts appealed to them with exotic sounding foreign lagers which image conscious types fell over themselves for.  When you actually tasted the stuff it was all very similar and not up to much, it was also very expensive!   CAMRA did produce results however.  By the nineties taste was beginning to be seen again.  Bottled beers with exotic names, Theakston's 'Old Peculiar,' 'Abbot Ale,' 'Spitfire' and 'Bishops Finger,' were to be found by an older wiser type.  Quite how these brands got their names I know not, and possibly this is the wiser option.  The economic collapse (begun by America!) has led to people spending less time in public houses.  Many happily buy from supermarkets, at cut down prices, and drink at home.  Any consequences of this tend to be limited to their families and close neighbours rather than the High Streets of the nation.  That is some sort of plus I suppose.  An interest in beer with taste has increased and said superstores are following the trends happily.  Grossly overpriced beers in my view they may be but a variety now abounds.  While the large breweries have been failing, my old brewery works are now an overpriced block of crammed flats, the smaller breweries have been developing.  

Small premises closed in times past are now reopening and over two hundred such 'micro breweries' are enjoying good sales, at first locally and then further afield.  Possibly a revulsion against the empty aloof corporate giant helps here.  We feel a satisfaction when drinking 'March of the Penguins' from Williams wee brewery in Alloa which we don't when drinking Tennents, where ever that is brewed these days.  Now I don't drink much these days, half a bottle is enough for me and I tend to fall over easily afterwards, but when I do I wish to taste the thing.  These days I drink 'stout,' a concoction they claim was started long ago in London's Covent Garden when it was the fruit market of the city. That may be the case, it may not, whatever I find Fullers 'London Porter' to be the best I have come across, and naturally not enough sold in our Sainsburys for it to remain in stock.  Mann's 'Brown Ale' went the same way sadly.  Ah well, while I contemplate my next bottle of 'Piddle in the Pot,' named after an English village they say, or maybe a 'Kelpie Seweed Ale,' I will wish you a good evening and wander off to find all the football scores I missed while waiting for the BBC Alba coverage of the Ross County game.  After that game believe me I need my  'Old Speckled Hen!'