Birthday Kirk

 

Wiki

I wore my Jeremiah hat this morning as I trudged down the road in the varying heat and chill.  Traffic was quite light, and I eventually hobbled into the Kirk, worn and weary, as always.  

Three women of unknown age were gathered in the entrance sorting out books and leaflets.  Julie turned to me, grinned disgracefully, and grabbed me while saying too cheerily, 'Happy Birthday,' in too loud a voice.  I usually keep this quiet, but some thoughtless woman has scribbled it down and the Kirk sends me a card every year.  This year those in attendance, not as many as normal, made the most of my embarrassment when David asked from the front if there were any birthdays, a normal routine.  I looked away, not noticing many people pointing in my direction!   'Happy Birthday' was sung, but no gifts were forthcoming.  How embarrassing.

Jeremiah, who we touched on this morning is a favourite of mine.

Here we find a young lad, his age must have been just sufficient to count in that society, who had been chosen to stand alone against his nation.  For around 30 years Jeremiah brought the word of God to the people, and the people laughed at him, hindered him, and attempted to kill him.  Another, unnamed prophet doing similar work ran away to Egypt, the people went after him, brought him back and killed him.  This was not a pleasant job.

The Lord told them to repent as desperately wanted to give them the best, they refused and eventually the Babylonians took many of them away.  Those who were allowed to remain continued to sin, as did those in Babylon itself.  Prophets brought the word of God to them, they refused to listen.  How like Christians today.

It was a further 10 years of abuse before the Babylonians returned as God had said through Jeremiah, to remove the rest of them.  Jeremiah had warned daily suffered abuse and threats, but remained loyal to his God.  In the end a third rebellion kidnapped the prophet and took him to Egypt where he disappears from history.  

He is a great example of someone holding to God, in spite of being more or less alone all the time.  

I read the English are complaining about cricket cheats.

Isn't cheating the Englishman's job...?

The Sun Turns, or is it Me?

Another revolution round the sun has occurred.  For another 365 days I have been swinging the lead journeying round the sun enjoying life.  Tonight I eat whisky cake 'sweet and mellow' like me, she said with a hint of sarcasm. 
The church found out and sang 'Happy Birthday' as they do.  How embarrassing!  I keep it quiet but someone shouted out my name.  She will hear about this.
Nothing else to report.
Another year older again, cards, well wishers, facebook posts, but no book vouchers!  Tsk!
A quiet museum day, exhibition ended, new one begins to emerge, will take three weeks to erect mind.  Few visitors, nothing much to do, home to sleep....

I believe these are the two new neighbours.
Up above, in the loft, I hear noises and coo-ing.  I think these two have moved in.  I tried to get up there but my steps are two small, I need a proper stepladder.  I was thinking of borrowing the museum one but that of course is now in constant use.  Maybe I will try again and risk my neck by clambering...?

O.A.P.

I couldn't take it any more.
The red eyes this morning told a story.
Breakfast was poor.
Weather was windy.
The item I bought early on did not fit.
The trip I planned fell through.
I reviewed my life.
The years of stupid actions.
The mistakes.
The failings.
The time I stood among Hibernian fans instead of the Heart of Midlothian fans and cheered a goal.
The failings with women, "psst missus, fancy coming up and ironing my shirts?"
Failure in the hospital, "You cut off what when shaving the man?"
The failure at work, "I disagree boss..."
The failure at writing begging letters and end up sending them money.
I sat in the cupboard and downed cyanide tablets but they were out of date.
I went to drink turpentine but there was non.
The razor blades don't work.
There was nothing for it but the river.
So attached to an aged mill stone I jumped in, you can just make out the ripples.

I am 65 today.   

 

I'm Sitting on the Roof

This is my view.  I'm sitting on the roof howling at the moon.
I had to struggle to get up here, the clamber up through the trap door into the attic space was not easy without a ladder.  Once there I discovered there was no window so I had to  work my way into the loft of my neighbour and clamber through the loose tiles he does not know about, well he does now.  From there I made my way carefully, very carefully, to the gable end and forced myself up slowly hanging on the newly pointed chimney stack.  It's a bit less pointed now by the way.
So here at last I sit, howling at the moon.
The less well educated amongst you may wonder what the need for such adventure may be, the knowledgeable will understand. 
I'm old.
Today I became 64 years of age.
That's old.
As I sit on the roof my life flashes past me, well it used to flash now it dawdles and takes ages, a bit like me walking down the road.  All those years of promise, well " I promise to pay the bearer £1 or £5 or £10," as it were.  All have come to nothing.  One nameless woman on FB referred to me heartlessly as Granddad!  Another asked if the firemen had put out the fire caused by candles!!!
Woe, woe and thrice woe.
It could drive me to drink but I canny reach the 'Old Peculiar' in the fridge from here.

Woe! Woe! Woe!

As if Life was not bad enough....

Today I became 63, now that is old.

I am celebrating with a bottle of this....   

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Maudlin Monday

With the football season ending last night I am now able to concentrate on blog writing.  Isn't that good?  What?... oh.  


Anyway as the season has now ended this means there is no football until the new season begins again.  Luckily for you and me training began this morning at Tynecastle Park and the Scottish Cup Winners (5-1 over Hibernian you remember) will soon be up and running and ready for the new season.  Rejoice!


However this does leave a gap in the TV schedules.  Filling it with pap may suit some folks but not me.  The wireless offers more hope, especially a careful use of the BBC iplayer, which sadly is not available outside the UK I think.  In spite of the absurd renovation of the website, huge empty pages, large ugly picture of some unknown, and little content, rather like the person who designed it I fancy, the programmes do sometimes offer thirty minutes worth listening to.  Today I found a little to listen to as I busily scribbled down names from a  film made by a one time local cinema in 1919.  Two films in fact, each containing still pictures of men who were serving in the armed services at the time.  I found them fascinating!  Many names were new to me, indicating they survived the war, and several were the men I have been searching for!  Fantastic and indeed stunning to be honest, to see an actual photo of a man who's grave I have stood beside.  Suddenly the names on the memorial are that bit deeper and more relevant!  Sadly only a handful can be positively identified as yet, however others are likely our men, and hopefully we can bring this together before long.
if you are interested in two short silent films, six minutes long, they are found here and here.

After scrutinising the films, adding the names, and contemplating life the universe and everything I spent some time cogitating on my life so far.  Today I reached 61 years.  Again, as I think this the sky darkens, rain falls, a heavy weight comes upon me.  I took that heavy weight down to the pond in the gardens this morning and holding it tightly leapt in!

Two rather needlessly gruff gardeners pulled me out again, muttering about by-laws and the pond only being two feet six inches deep. How disappointing! They through me out and flung the weight after me.

Add to this the arrival of the 'Winter Fuel Payment' forms cheered me no end as this also tells me I am officially old. 

Rejoice, rejoice.....

Ach Well

Another international, another excuse to despair. What is it about Scotland that we can beat France and shake Italy yet fail against Macedonia and Norway? Scotland v Norway was another story of effort with no cutting edge, desire with no ability, and tactics that failed. Now Norway are no pushovers, they posses many top quality, experienced players. However we did not really have the cutting edge we needed. The man from Coatbridge may have missed the easiest chance, and not the worst miss ever in spite of what the media are saying, but the strikers were not given the chances to miss were they? Wrong to play one up front, wrong to give to much respect to Norway and wrong to have defenders who find it difficult to pass the ball forwards or indeed to one of their own!

We could revel in our despair, and Scots do enjoy that after a defeat, but we are faced with the nigels lucky win against a vibrant Kazakhstan. This youthful side came to Wembley and chose to ignore ITVs commentators description of their pride in playing there. Instead they took the game to England knowing that an early goal would lead their hosts to implode. Sadly they failed in this endeavour. The visitors gave their all and in the course of time showed the English defence for what it was, as shaky as a jelly on a skateboard. However it held firm enough until the visiting goalie, their poorest player, floundered at a cross. A second fluke goal followed and while Kazakhstan obtained a deserved goal England ran out winners by five goals to one. The tired visitors neither overawed and a credit to their nation - wherever it is!

So it is the worst of all worlds, they win, we fail. Beating a small side will bring eulogies from the English media and talk of Walcott as a second George Best - except he was Irish, and a class above the wee lad. Scots press louts will concentrate on attacking George Burley until he is named the next Rangers manager. Then of course he will be admired widely. As I watched today I wondered how many times have I seen this type of result? Hundreds of times I thought, both for the Scotland national side and the Heart of Midlothian. I suppose there are millions worldwide like me. Huddled over radio or burning TV set, crying out, advising the numpty on the ball as to what he ought to do with it, blaming the ref, the grass, the ball, everybody, and desperate beyond belief to be the one on the field who can put things right. The sad truth is that while only eleven men can run around kicking the enemy, we can only dream of being there. And sadly it is true that all too often we wonder if my granny could do better than a player who is earning untold thousands each week, and she died in 1945, sad because we would play for nothing, indeed we would pay for the privilege!

Ach well, it could be worse - I could be English, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy!

Group 9 (Group Nine) Table

Group 9 Table - October 11 2008

Pos	Team	P	Pts
1	Scotland	3	4
2	Netherlands	1	3
3	Macedonia	2	3
4	Norway	2	2
5	Iceland	2	1

Fifty Seven Today

Despair, despondency, gloom, melancholy, hopelessness, dejection. All these burden me this morning. I awake to skies covered in gray clouds, a slow dismal rain edging down painfully from above. A listlessness that once I thought fit only for Grandpa Broon in the Sunday Post grips me. Sluggishly I wander through from the west wing and ponder the day ahead.

Today I will note how not only are the policemen younger than they once were, so are grandmothers, although round here that may not mean too much of course. The traffic will be faster than yesterday, the pop music will be totally unintelligible and the stuff the kids talk about will be less so. However, once again that may not mean too much. Rude cards may arrive later, you know, the ones with a picture of a hill covered in little animals and the question, 'Which one are you?' on the front. Inside it reads, 'Your the one that's over the hill!' As she pushes the cards through the letterbox I will hear the postgirl muttering, 'Next time its one from the queen!' Although of course she has never liked me since she rejected my advances and I remarked 'Well your mother liked it!' Had there been a cake I suspect someone would organise the local firemen to turn out 'just in case.' And they are much younger than me also!

I look at the list of things to do, job hunt, exercise, lumbago ointment, and begin to despair again. I would say, 'I am not old, just mature.' But far too many folk have disagreed with me too often on that point to bother trying it. So I will sit here and wonder where all those years have gone. When was 1978 and that good thing happened? The things I wanted to do, the places to visit, the hope. The energy I had in my thirties, he future I planned, where did it all go and how did I end up here in the back of beyond......?

Who said 'Rejoice in all situations, I say again, rejoice?' Well you can get stuffed! If you want me I will be howling at the moon.