Zimmer Bus Day

 

I took a risk in clambering aboard the Zimmer Bus this morning, what with it being half term I expected the bus to be full of kids but as it turned out only one was seen.  She sat at the front with mum and placed 14 stuffed animals on the window in front of her and played with them all journey long.  Thankfully the rest either were away on holiday or found something nearer home to keep them out of trouble.  Most I suspect are rich enough to have a car and drive the brats out of town to a beach or parkland somewhere. 

A quiet journey other than the kid in the front seat and we passed the fields full of green crops awaiting the time to turn golden.  Quite a contrast, the green fields with gently swaying crops on either side of a narrow road full of traffic, much of it heavy traffic at that.  The major roundabout where every main road meets causes several mile tailbacks but just wait until the same fields are given over to the new 'little town' they wish to plant there.  Another entrance to add to the roundabout perhaps, or merely yet longer tailbacks as planners are ignoring the road system being over full even now?  

I am not sure what the three trophies on that sign are supposed to represent.  I am not clear as to whether it is new made to look old or an old sign slowly dying.  I never even looked into what the shop sold.  It did stand out from the Town Hall tower behind and I thought it worth a shot.  I looked into the proper bookshop just before this and forced my hands behnd my back and myself out quickly enough, I am reading three books and have ten more lined up so spending cash on more was not a good idea.  I could not however walk past the bookshop, it kind of dragged me in! 

 

This snatched pic from the bus sums up Camulodunum for me.  On the one hand there is the church tower going back centuries, old buildings, great history, residing alongside derelict shop fronts like this one.  What ought to be a well run tourist town, they refuse to be called 'city' as they claim they are the 'oldest town in England,' is ruined for me by being crowded, dingy and choked by traffic.  Add to this the number of what are called 'homeless' and the place takes on a grubby run down appearance.

The town appears to draw the 'homeless' like no other and I do not understand why.  On a sunny day it is not unusual to see a man, wrapped in blackets or old sleeping bag, sitting in a dark, damp underpass begging for handouts.  Some feel sympathy but I sense a chancer!  No-one begs just anywhere, certain places are money spinenrs and this is one of them, though not much spinning when I passed.  Too many offer coins to such beggers to ese their conscience, some from care and others thinking they may help such people.  All too often they are conned.  If you really wish to help homeless people then give at least £5 a month to a suitable organisation that works amongst them.  That way those that can be helped out of this lifestyle, and who knows what got them into it, these will be given help.  Those that do not want out can be left to it and many chancers who take home good money to add to JSA benefits or just live of the takings can be avoided.  Some of course, and I have a little experience of them, some need really professional help and a few coins may not do them any good.  If the conscience hurts offer a 'Mars Bar' or some such rather than money. Not much can be done about the traffic however, unless banning it all bar buses and taxis can be tried.

This young Starling was having trouble landing on the feeders, he ought to be able by now he comes everyday, and instead filled himslef up with the crumbs lying on the window ledge.  Do you notice I have as yet not got around to the window cleaning part of the 'Spring Clean!'  That may remain the case for a while...

I did however manage to visit every remaining charity shop in Camulodunum and find nothing that I wished for.  The nearest was a jacket that was too small wth a price that was too high!  Anything over a fiver is too high in my opinion.  Only one woman in the shops acknowledged my existence, there were plenty of women around filling the space being acknowleded however, and I note the mens secions in these shops appears to be shrinking.  Maybe the men are not throwing out the stuff they used to, Conservative austerity reaches even here.  

The bus home was empty, although a teenager managed to fill some time loudly talking on her phone to a friend about nothing for a while.  I preferred the child and mother on the way in.  We even arrived ahead of schedule in spite of the drivers attempts to slow down.  More chance to take in the green fields swaying as we passed, more chance to observe blue sky with the sun piercing the clouds, more chance for teeny to talk to her friend about nothing!

 

 

Dunmow Charity Shops

I took it into my head to visit the upper classes yesterday so off I went on the working class bus to an area more Conservative Party than our own.  You can tell the political leanings easily here, outside many million pound houses, and one or two worth slightly less than that, stood blue boards featuring a tree logo with the word 'Conservative' brandished upon it.  This I found somewhat ironic as a very large such board in a field on the edge of Felsted which we passed bore one such tree image and developers passing by would be only too willing to cut down all such trees and fill said field with million pound houses called 'The Meadow,' or 'Three Trees,' or 'Where are the Trees' or the like.  
The charity shops in a town of middle class wealth therefore ought to offer a higher standard of left overs and this indeed is the case here.  However my trawl through the shops failed to find anything I actually wished to spend money on bar a few original birthday cards although there were masses of items my sense of greed took a fancy to.  Foolishly I browsed the bookshelves and came close to buying one tome worth £3:95 until I realised this was only Vol 1, the chance of finding Vol 2 being rather scarce I persuaded myself this was not a good idea.
The volunteers in the shops who I spoke to were friendly, efficient ladies who appeared happy at their work.  This is not always the case in such shops, on too many occasions, caused by nervousness on inability to converse with anyone but the few you identify with, had left me with the impression such shops are run by menopausal women with a grudge against humanity.  Actually I meet them elsewhere often also.  If you are not happy don't be there I say but here in Oxfam the girls were cheerful.  These ladies were a bright advert for the shop in my opinion just as they were last time I passed through yonks ago.

Dunmow grew from a mere Roman crossroads stopping place into a bustling market town in the Medieval times.  Quite where the money comes from now I know not but there is plenty about, the houses outside the town begin at just over a million and while the cheap ones can be found, if you consider a quarter of a million cheap!  How does the normal individual earn enough to get a mortgage for that amount today?  Lawyers and other professionals possibly but you and I?  One thing I note is that people who pay a couple of million for a big house with acres of room plus servants quarters always have an outside swimming pool.  If you pay that much why not cover the thing in and use it all year round?  I suppose it is less for swimming and more for entertaining purposes, sitting around the pool in the evening with wine and backstabbing among friends I suppose.  One thing about such middle classes is the high divorce rate, money does not satisfy and some are rather too keen to share themselves out I reckon. Possibly I have just been reading the 'Telegraph' gossip columns again...?
However the vicar , the Rev Noel Mellish VC. MC. did not have a swimming pool at his town centre abode, he however did have a Victoria Cross awarded for rescuing wounded men over a three day period.  There is little doubt that had he not taken those few volunteers to do this work, returning under fire at first, then a great number of men would have died on those days, no-one else would have brought them in.  Such  a man ought to be remembered by his town folks, later he was the one who informed them from the pulpit that the Second World War had begun.
The rise in wealth hinders the bus however.  With Mercedes, fancy sports cars and those big imitation Jeeps come tanks called 'Jasmine' or 'Jemima' by the female owners parked on one side and Mercedes, sports cars and Jeeps coming the other way, all considering the road belongs to them rather than the common peoples bus, the drivers winding their way through the traffic must have wished they were doing this after the Great War when the bus traffic first began.
Mr Hicks, a well known Essex name, ran a 'Charabanc' from Braintree to Bishops Stortford at that time.  The 'Charabanc' was a simple bus, an uncovered row of seats with a driver at the front that revolutionised communication for the villages round the big towns.  There was the rail link of course but you often had to walk a mile to connect with that and the bus now dropped you at or almost at your door.  By 1952 there was no more rail link for passengers and the bus service, now with covered buses, improved greatly.  Lorry deliveries also hastened development during the nineteen twenties, the ex-army lorries abounded and many ex-servicemen found this the only way to survive in that 'dog eat dog' Conservative led 'austerity' time.
Today the rise in cars numbers, these folks have more than one each, means that the bus now appears only every hour and there have been attempts to end this also by people who don't need it.

 
While I enjoyed by short bus trip in the Australian hot sunshine I had also begun the day at six in the morning by cycling slowly up the old railway line.  How enjoyable that was as few were about and only an occasional mad barking 'Jack Russell' type were there to attack me.  The few other dogs I saw were so happy you could see laughter on their faces as they ran past.  What more can a dog ask than the chance to run free, note a variety of fragrances, the occasional squirrel to chase and a tit bit or two from the owner.   

You may consider this a work of art by some famous unknown artist who has made millions from offering such works to those with too much money and too little taste but you would be mistaken.  This is merely the pond at the far end of my ride where a solitary duck disappeared at my approach and was replaced by a million hovering beasties, the same type of beasties that hover in the shade of bushes in vast hordes awaiting passing cyclists who failing to avoid them end up swallowing the brutes via nose and mouth if great care is not taken.  In this case the sun reflecting of the water hid the brutes.  On occasion those who tarry here will see a collection of local insects buzzing around and a small board has been placed to indicate the general types found.  I saw one Mallard duck and a thousand flies!

   
I thought little of charity shops while watching the sun glint of the leaves and warm the stubs of crops in the fields around me.  Crops that have suffered too little rain for their good and while the sky has been dark, often damp, it has not yielded sufficient to please the farmers at the weathers mercy.  I can hear Sainsburys increasing their prices 'because of shortages' already!'  
However it is good to sit amongst green leaves and sunshine, in spite of the beasties that accompany you.  Rabbits sit upright in the distance wary of your existence, Robins and Blackbirds that a moment before you appeared were happily chomping on such beasties as could be found on the ground disappear while the chaffinches in the trees no longer sing as they wonder just what you are up to.  Still I like it early in the day even if it means my knees will remind me of their suffering later.

Occasional horses can be found trotting slowly along this part, however the day was too early for them.  These gates are to hinder neds who steal scooters or motorbikes and ride them up the old railway late at night when few are about.  While the police occasionally use bikes to cycle along this way these days I still think handing such neds over to the Saudi Authorities might be a good idea.  Maybe we ought to hand the parents over instead, that is if they have mothers.

  
Has anyone heard of a 'Long stay Catholic Church' before?  This one has all mod cons and services!
 

Fiddling Friday

Another day of joy nears its end.  
The gray clouds above made leaving the house far from tempting although the chill has gone from the air to such an extent I have removed two of the anoraks and three pullovers I wear when going to bed.  I really need to set the thermostat again.

I did however venture out to visit the shopping centre as my brain fell apart and jumped on the crowded Free Bus clutching my wallet tightly.
What a waste of time this was!  
This is an 'Outlet' shopping centre where shops dump the things they failed to sell elsewhere.  As such you would expect prices to be lower and bargains abound.  Not so!  In the 'Barbour' shop I gazed at the small price tags wondering what the cut price of the jacket was, this was before I realised I was looking at the cut price!  Some smelling salts later I mover to M&S.  I suggest gathering a dozen 'Barbour' jackets and selling them at full price, this way you will gain enough money to start a football team!  (How you get the jackets is your business)  Luckily I saw none I liked and all other crowded and overpriced shops offered the same result.
What a waste of time!
Yet this centre has always been busy, new shops open up, others have been there since it opened 20 years ago (which shows how many items they fail to sell elsewhere) and I must say useful stores such as 'B&Q' and 'Halfords' exist on the far side of the business plantation.

Heading home to search the charity shops as the goods available there are far superiour than those in the shopping centre (well not today they weren't!) I wondered and not for the first time why the bus was empty. 
On the way down it was crowded as always, this bus was also busy when it arrived yet whenever I return back to the bus station it is empty.  What happens to them all?  Do they get eaten?  Are they kidnapped and sold as white slaves (or whatever)?  Do they walk home?  Are the lights seen in the sky aircraft from Stansted airport or aliens looking for victims to transport to Mars?
The 'Daily Mail' will probably report that as a fact tomorrow!

Tonight however BTSport do something unusual, they cover Scottish football!  Indeed no sign of the green or blue bigots as they watch Dundee United beating the wee team up in Dundee.  This will ensure I sleep well tonight after watching their victory.  I'm sure you agree.

Here's hoping the sun shines tomorrow and lets me out!

Still on the Bus Run

Yesterday, dressed for the usual summer weather, I entered the zimmer clattering bus along with the throng from the 'Derby and Joan' club and headed for pleasure.  The weather was not the usual summer weather, it was hot and I went on to lose a couple of pounds of fat, my temper and my keys.  
One way to see the country is by bus.  This will take you through the urban backstreets, local villages and obscure turnings before reaching its destination, places often ignored when following normal routes.  I changed buses at the Superstore knowing I had to wait ten minutes for the bus.  Somewhat surprised at its arriving ten minutes early I got on nonetheless.  I was soon wondering if he was the wrong bus as he went back they way I had come and as I planned an embarrassing escape he then went round the local backstreets picking up a variety of shopping trolleys and zimmer frames to deposit them back at the superstore bus stop where I had got on!  Now he was on time!  While I wondered why he had not just gone round the houses first we continued on the way to the sun.  Again we went through backstreets and villages, sometimes interesting, often boring, the houses from the past being of distinct ages, the newer homes all looking remarkably similar to those seen everywhere else.  Developers clearly have standard plans which are dumped in what they call appropriate spots.  Few such dwellings will be admired in centuries to come.  Slowly but surely we reached our objective, a journey of around 45 minutes which a rich man in a car would have done in 25.

Naturally I headed for the church first as it dominates the crowded High Street, a street far too narrow and busy for my liking.  This church appears to be the only one with a triangular tower, why this should be nobody knows but it is quite interesting to note this.  During the 14th century or thereabouts someone added wall arcades featuring faces, possibly of important locals, saints or kings, into the south aisle of All Saints Church.  Whether this was merely decoration or a memorial of some kind I know not and paying £5 for the guidebook made me look for the door so I have not discovered why.

It's a fancy piece of work whatever the reason for it but today while it stands out it doesn't appear to fit any more in the manner which was intended at the beginning.  A difficult church to modernise and keep all the past glories on show I think but at least it is open for all.

The hostelry next door looks somewhat Georgian to my limited knowledge and has clearly been much used by travellers in times past.  As it has been either sold or updated there is little info regarding the place but I suspect the best people stayed here, I didn't. 

Above the door of the hotel on the left we note this which looks remarkably Papal in design.  I understand All Saints is a bit High Church, that is 'Anglo Catholic' and maybe this is the bar used by the vicar and his mates.  It does not look original to the building.

This part of Essex is all estuary and long trailing rivers.  Not far downstream, just around a bend or two, we begin to find the many yachts that have been parked here for generations.  These are pleasure craft, though what pleasure one gets from fighting through the waves, buffeted left right and centre, to cross the oceans when a boat with an engine would do it just as well and with less bruises I know not.  Still all around this area hundreds of craft lie awaiting these part time sailors.
One or two older ones may even belong to the many that sailed to Dunkirk during the war,a great many left from here that day, to rescue the British Army from France.

Thames barges may be graceful at sea but just a glance at the machinery on board, the mass of ropes, the complicated sails indicates how hard life was for those who once worked these things across the local world.  I suspect however once men got hooked on this way of life it would be difficult to change to any other way.  Plus many journeys would not take the sailor so far from home that he would not be away long.  In summer it would be a good life, very hard in the winter months I reckon.

Several large buildings stand near, this one is either repairing a boat or building one, I didn't bother to ask as I understand too well locals thoughts re tourists and daft questions.  Lots of men could be seen at work on the various craft, whether from upgrading or required repairs was not clear but they all appeared to be the type of man that needs to be building something. 

The back of the yard was full of this sort of stuff and as I wandered around I kept thinking of the rich city types who spend their millions on fancy big yachts.  Sir Philip Green, he who made £500 million before closing down the BHS store is one such.  He has three huge fancy yachts but I could not help thinking this place has more character than any of his boats.  Here real people worked on their barge or ship either for pleasure or employment and these appear to me to be real people in the real world, unlike Green and his kind.  The dirty, mud caked barges, the craft just lying around apparently uncared for, the confused but organised store yards felt like home to me while a yacht like Greens would be a false world, a false world of his that may collapse any time soon.  Sail the Aegean with the likes of Green?  I would rather be in Maldon. 

Sadly my little mind would rather have a preserved Tug like 'Brent' here than a fancy yacht.  This has a character they do not possess.  It is not gleaming and smelling of money as they do, but I reckon the upkeep of this costs a bit, however there is something real about this ex-working London Tug.
The 'Brent' was built, mostly by women, during the war for the Admiralty but arrived to late for the war effort.  As such she was sold to the Port of London Authority and pulled/pushed ships into place, brought lighters to shore and pulled barges around for many years.  She retired in 1970 as the docks were dying and containers were taking over and was bought by a family and used as their 'Tug yacht,' just like I would dream of doing!  The costs however meant eventually she was given to a trust which now hopes to restore her to full working order, gives young and old groups instruction on marine workings, and hopefully attends the 2019 '75th' anniversary of D-Day landings.  Had I not been keen on pushing on I would have tried to get a look aboard.

 
These boys were happy the tide was out as feeding was good today.  A large Cormorant flew by and settled on the water.  Each time I managed to get him in focus the brute dived under to search for fish and rose ten to fifteen yards from where he went under, I never caught him.  Using the 'auto' on the camera does make things easier normally but the autofocus is not very good.  It pics on things and will not let go and usually it picks on the wrong things which leaves good pictures somewhat blurred.  Practice makes perfect so they say.

Travelling home was made easier by the realisation that I could take almost any bus heading north or west therefore the first bus to arrive took me to Colchester via more backstreets, villages (all with a 'Bull' or 'White Hart' prominent) and past many fields where harvest had been gathered or was in the process of being taken in.  There is a refreshment for the mind in looking at green, or gold coloured, fields and I think that townsfolks need to improve their lives by wandering among such places more often.  The Victorians understood this and began planting parks in all towns as green areas rest the mind.  It is rather sad some have been allowed to fade away and others no longer exist.  In spite of avoiding the bee buzzing around my head that thought I was the way out of the bus I enjoyed the trips even though by the time I was heading home I longed for dinner.

I stopped at the museum to check on a lass who had not turned up earlier in the week to discover it was another non event.  While we thought something very serious was occurring she was playing Petanque for her village team!   Bah!  Communication breakdown causes many problems, too many people making decisions and not passing them on.
Then I slogged my way home to seek food, shelter from the sun and a long soak in a lukewarm bath, the water never heats up correctly when it gets too hot during the day.
I couldn't get in, I had dropped my key somewhere, probably two hours away in Maldon!
Panic!  
Nobody has a copy.  One flat is unoccupied, the tenant in the other was working, not other way in.  Ooer missus!  
I contemplated the bus back to Maldon and searching the shop where I may have dropped it.  But did I not take something out the pocket on a bus, and if so which bus?  
Help!
I asked another neighbour on the end flat to phone the landlord forgetting her money goes into the wine and spirit section not her payphone so she could not help.  I knocked on the door of the man round the back but he did not answer being out having a life.  
So nothing for it but to wandered up to the Landlords unhelpful agent.  
I have always dealt with the landlords estate manager directly rather than the agent but the lass who has been there 15 years left and in the few months since then three new people doing her job have passed through.  The third one has been there a week I discovered but I suspect she may not last a month, the landlord is not easy to work for.  
The agent deals with the letting of the property and I always thought the keys were held there.  Up I go, the weariness of the day upon me, and explain the problem.  The agent could not have been less interested, his unhelpfulness shone in his eyes as in his eyes he sells houses and lets flats, takes commission and cares not if you live or die, the word 'service' is a stranger to him.  
He votes Conservative.
The woman who I growled at when showing the nancy boys the flat during the week was there and somewhat more pleasant than I the other day explained she only had flat 5s key.  I left, there was no choice. 
I returned to the museum and got the helpful young lass to search for the landlords number for me, us poor folks don't carry iphones like you, and from there I called the landlord even though I knew the office would be closed as they finish at two.  
A voice answered immediately to my surprise and threw me somewhat, this has never happened before at this time.  I explained the problem and two voices at the other end hummed and hawed and wished I would go away.  In the end I was sent back to the agent to make use of the front door key from flat 5.  I asked the voice to call the agent and warn them I was returning, this the genlte soothing female voice promised to do.
I entered the agent to glaring eyes (another uncaring gent had joined the growling to ensure I was made to feel unwelcome, I wonder if they act as 'bouncers' at local night spots in the evening?) to discover no call had been received.  In fact it turned out a call had been taken by the junior (who will not be junior for long) but she did not understand it and could not explain what it was all about.  The other lass, after some fiddling on her computer, called the landlord and got the authority and plenty of gossip to give me the key.  I then discovered the gay boys were not coming, glaring works it appears, we don't want young folks in this building thanks very much, old divorcees, grumpy old men and quiet folks yes, young folks no!  I also discovered this was the landlords third woman manager and that there may be a viewer for next door this week.  It had better be a suitable one.
I grasped the key tightly in my hand, raced to the nearby keycutter and got a copy, actually I did not know which of the two keys were the main door so got both cut, that might be useful later hee hee, and allowed myself back indoors.  
I returned the originals with a smile which was returned by the woman but not by the two hard working money grabbing men behind her, 'go forth and die' said their eyes, 'you have no money for us.'  I had intended to inform them that the building they use was thought to have been the town's Guildhall in times past and has had various uses in the past hundred years.  However it appeared to me these were not 'history lovers,' I slunk away.
When I first sought accommodation in London there was a chap in Notting Hill who worked from a one roomed office offering common sense advice to people like me and not charging the earth for his service.  Any other agent I dealt with was a chancer!  Money for old rope in many cases and no care if you live or die as long as you pay.  In the 70's this was so bad that even the Tory government of the day at one point amended the law to stop the abuse.  The heart has not changed however.  This small town has eight estate agents!

Today I must get a new Yale Lock for my inner door, spend all day fixing it so that it does not work properly and then, around midnight, go to bed.  Later I will dutifully send the landlord the copy key, and the spare flat 5 one, and next week deposit my spare keys in the locker at the museum!

Now what else can possibly go wrong today?

Sad Saturday

In more time than it took to build the Forth Bridge I have fixed the puncture!  Indeed there is the proof!  The tale of missing spanners (that's wrench to you), wrong inner tunes, crass stupidity, trips to cycle shops, swear words even I had never heard before, and a new tyre at last it appears to be done.  I certainly have been.  In times past when I had a puncture I removed the old inner tube, inserted an awaiting good one and moved on, fixing the puncture in my own time.  This saga has filled my weary life for an eon, I just hope it is not flat in the morning or I may say something about it...
On the journey to the cycle shop by the free bus amongst a thousand kids going shopping for shiny things I cogitated on the drivers of this bus.  The journey lasts about two or three minutes depending on traffic, leaving from either stop about every twenty minutes.  The first driver appeared to have difficulty understanding the clutch, brakes and the accelerator.  The second, and the third, found it easy when parking to hit the raised pavement that enables prams and wheelchairs to climb aboard.  Today the man was so fat it was clear he had never used a Hula Hoop and his cheerless approach to the job implied he once drove buses in London.  Saturday traffic and the people he met may have hand a hand in his attitude.  Driving back and forth for a few hours may be enjoyable during the quieter periods but with millions of kids around I suspect it is less attractive.  They are all back next week to school, everyone, bar teachers, cheers!  
Today has not been good in many ways.  My technical incompetence has been a pain, even turning on the TV made it reboot itself, searching for all the channels and taking all day about it.  I lost a small cap and found it in a box, it took four attempts before I could get it out!  At Halfords as I paid for my treasure the machine printing the receipt gave up!  Just being me ruins things.  Oh yes, the cooker over light has failed also. And there was no football to speak off today.  I'm scared to switch the kettle on these days.

Tomorrow I will pray a lot harder, maybe if I spend more time with Jesus life will be more enjoyable than it has been lately. There again maybe if I had spent more time with him it would not be such a mess.  

 

Thursday Twittering

 

As I picked up the mail this morning I found a card lying there.  The electricity man come to check the meter and I had not heard his knock (the bell has long been bust).  I suppose I did not hear this because I spent two minutes hoovering a path through the dust around that time and that deafens everyone, especially the chap below who works nights.  It's a giggle though!

I noted the card informing me he would return tomorrow morning, between 8-12 am.  As I intend to be on a bus by 9:15 I may miss him.  Now this is interesting to me as normally I check my own meter and send it in online, today was the company attempting to ensure I was not cheating them. 

His problem is made worse as the meter is not in the house but in the basement entered around the back.  My downstairs neighbour will never answer the door, he would be awake when this chap called, so he would not be informed of this.

However the card helpfully states that I can mark the details from the meter on the card and leave it where the electric man sent to check the meter can see it, a normal procedure right enough, however he is supposed to read the meter himself!  So to ensure I am not cheating them I fill out the card normally and leave it for him!  Brilliant!

If only banks were as helpful...

On the start of Windows 10 there is an 'app' that tells you the weather.  On mine today, and indeed I've just noticed it remains there yet, the weather informs me the temperature is 65% and 'mostly sunny.'  When I first noticed this, in between the WiFi disconnecting for no reason, the thin rain was coming straight down as it had been for some hours.  It has restarted again, without the thunder, and will continue most of the night the BBC weather man claims.

Where I wonder do Microsoft get their info from? 

Tsk!  Now I click on it a change has arrived the temp has gone up to 67 and it is now, mostly cloudy.'

Someone must have stuck their head out of the window.

Where Are They Now

The reason the weather has deteriorated is because I have a wish to visit Camolodunum tomorrow.  I must change my book voucher even though I bet there is nothing I wish in the only store open to me.  A walk through the shops, in spite of the women using them, is a must, and then home to iron shirts once again.  Scots schools have begun to return I believe, down here they are always a month behind.  We have our last kids activity on September 5th, that's four Saturdays away, so I suspect if I don't get the earliest bus, 9:15, I will meet the brats spending folks money.  It is possible the rain will keep them indoors.

 .

Out and About

As early as the free bus pass would allow I limped down to the bus aiming for Colchester.  However as the Chelmsford bus was leaving seven minutes earlier I got on that and chatted to the driver about Edinburgh and the crowds attending the 'Fringe.'  I was unsure about going there as there are more charity shops elsewhere and I was shopping.  The jacket and the book voucher were in my mind.

Chelmsford is not a city in which smiling is proclaimed.  The few shop assistants to be noted were either ignoring the customer, careful of the inch of paint on the sour face or like the sole male on the phone.  I trawled my way through all the charity and big shops finding high prices on suitable things and low prices on things that did not fit or were unsuitable for anyone not living in London.  Eventaully I obtained, in M&S of all places and at huge price, something that will more or less fit and just have to do for the next thirty years.  An imitation Harris Tweed jacket, sixty pounds less than the real stuff.  Sometimes even I have to put on a degree of smartness.
How disappointed was I in Waterstones. I searched the entire floor of the shop and came away with nothing!  What's the matter with these bookshops that they don't stock something I wish to read?  That's never happened before.

 

In less than an hour and a half I was back on the bus, drifting past old expensive and occasionally somewhat shabby houses looking for a healthy lunch.  The cloud cover had not diminished the warmth and the day enabled me to rejoice in sitting starkers at the laptop something not usually done in this country.  I really should remember about the windows next time.

One other thing, Local news on TV, why do they always have a medical story on there?  Tonight someone was having some sort of cancer operation, why is he on TV?  Every night they are in a doctors, a hospital or telling us of a man who fell over and broke something, why?  I spent ten years in hospitals and occasionally made use of them for myself also yet never did I phone up the local news and talk about it.  Never in the working days in the NHS did anyone rush to the press because they were ill, why do it now? 
This TV region covers three counties, if the cannot find a decent story with all the history, industry, people past and present what are they doing employed?  Either cut out the health stories or reduce the programme to fifteen minutes which is all they really require.  How much time can be taken up with fire, rape, murder, doctor each night?  
Go out to the farms and watch them gather the harvest, find a happy farmer, that will be difficult, and tell his story.  Talk to the bus drivers about what they endure each day, have a contest to find a smile in Chelmsford, do anything but stop going to the doctors to fill space. 

 Daily Mail

I read about this the other day, a 53 year old unfit granddad goes to Iraq to fight IS.  Some see him as daft others see him as a hero.  I just wondered about why he gets so excited about IS?  Sure his brother died in Iraq in 2006, sure IS are not nice but neither are the Taliban and many died there in Afghanistan.  His contribution may please him and those around him but will do little to stop IS and their doings.  Could it be the propaganda has got to him?  Could it be he believes the bull in the press?  Or is he just wishing to be a soldier?  I'm sure there are a thousand things in his local area that require change, just ask the police, and I'm sure he could do more working amongst the locals if he really wishes to change things.  The lure of shooting people can be er, deadly sometimes.

Cogitations

Appreciation of art is a wonderful thing, if you can find art worth appreciating of course.  This lot clearly didn't and possibly will produce an essay lacking in the finer understanding of Dutch art.  Not that this matters unless you are going to get involved therein I suppose, and this lot would probably not get beyond one of those Australian soap operas that dominate the telly in soft minded households.    

They might find it ironic that a double decker bus on 'rail replacement service' decided to crash into a railway bridge.  Good job the bus was still empty and the rail line not in use as folks were going to use a bus instead.  Sadly drivers unused to a route sometimes forget they were in double deckers, possibly they are more often driving that route in single deck buses, but occasionally this kind of accident happens.  More often lorry drivers hit the bridge ignoring height restrictions and just run off rather than stopping!  That too happened the other day.  
Also quite interesting was the 'Immigration Judge' who demanded a woman named Patel was brought to court so he could finish the case (an abusive boyfriend) that afternoon.  As her whereabouts were unknown it was said it would be difficult, indeed she might not get time off work.  The judge commented 
“It won’t be a problem. She won’t be working anywhere important where she can’t get the time off. She’ll only be working in a shop or an off-licence.”

Oops, a small slip which has cost him his £150,000 a year job.

Oh yes and being grumpy is good for you!
'Grumpy Cat,' or at least the owner, is supposed to have made around £64 million out of the miserable creature.  If being grumpy does this how come I'm still poor....?

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Thursday Shopping!

This depressing view is how we shop today.  Romance tells us that in the past small shops were friendlier, more sociable and more human.  The last is certainly true!  The sociability and friendliness depended on the shop owner but their size at least was easier for as human to comprehend.  Today large shopping centres are geared to the rich man in his automobile, leaving a depressing emptiness outside, even if clean and safe.  The large buildings house all those shiny things we long desperately for, whether they make us happy or just fill our emptiness is another question.  Today in search of something shiny I took myself to the Stanway centre by bus, I left the Bentley in the garage.  

Now some weeks ago it came into my head to fix the broken PC, I need this in working order in case the laptop dies, dead computer means life as we know it comes to a halt, and that will never do! Struggling with this idea I was in Chelmsford, at Maplins shop, investigating a motherboard an other nameless bits on the shelves there.  My brilliant brain decided to leave it and investigate PC World and the vast stocks on their shelves, therefore I was here in their Stanway shop.  Here I discovered, via a friendly and competent young assistant, that since uniting with 'Curry's,' PC World/Currys no longer stock the inside bits for PCs, only shiny new ones.  The young lad suggests I try 'Maplins,' they stock motherboards he offers helpfully.  My slumped shoulders headed for the bus stop where I caught the next one into Colchester itself in the vain hope that their shop would be readily available in the town centre, it wasn't!  Bah!  So I wandered about, avoiding the charity and book shop temptations keeping my eyes upwards looking in case something interesting was to be found.  Several bumps into people and street furniture later I changed my approach.

      

Behind the Roman wall at what once was the edge of town stands St Mary at the Wall a redundant church that has stood here for around a thousand years and now is merely an 'arts' centre.  I suspect it will be an excellent venue according to the many big names that have appeared there, it must hold a thousand or so in the main hall.  Had it not been for the dual carriageway someone had dumped in front of me I would have had a closer look.  

This is a pub called 'The Bull.'  They have enabled even the daftest to realise this by placing a 'bull' high above the door.  This of course was what was done in days of yore when education was lacking, even the daftest could tell the difference between a bull and a Swan, as many were named.  The flags are out to tempt people to watch the 'Six Nations' rugby which is on at the moment. Sadly the sun shines on the other side of the street hence the dullness.

  

The Edwardian's liked fancy buildings!  The Baroque Town Hall was built in 1902 with a rich patron, James Paxman, paying for the tower soaring high above crowned by the statue of St Helena the towns patron saint.   Inside and out it represents the wealth the men of the town wished to impress upon the world, and bask in reflected glory themselves.  No doubt some of those men were around when Henry Charles Fehr sculpted the war memorial raised in 1923.  The usual words bedeck the memorial as the townspeople attempted to believe their war was indeed just and glorious.  Memorials raised today do not inspire such admiration I think.

I was unable to find 'Maplins,' probably because it lay on the other side of town from where I landed, so instead had a closer look at the 15th century gatehouse to St Johns Abbey, the only remaining part of said abbey.  Besieged during the English Civil War, which was not very civil as may lost their heads here, the gatehouse survives although behind lies merely a car park, and only for the use of the members of the organisation based here.  

At one time this supported a statue of either a saint or a local worthy, today it just wears away in the rain.  The siege may also have caused damage, the twin was almost worn away.  

Inside the small gate reflects the small size of people in those days, six foot tall people were unusual at the time, and I wondered about the people who peered from the windows at those waiting outside for them.  The Benedictines moved in late in the 11th century and moved out when Henry VIII kicked them out.  The Abbot refused to hand the place over and was gently hanged just outside the gate. Henry had no patience in those days.  The Lucas family took over and moved in, sadly they supported the crown during the civil war in 1648 and this led to their end and the bits of damage to the gatehouse.  The buildings inside disappeared over the years.

I was impressed by this wee house, dated 1823, clearly enlarged since and more so round the back I noticed, but remaining a delightful small cottage.  I am not jealous I state here, not jealous at all.  St John's Green primary school also drew my admiration, although I am not willing to attend there.  Built in 1898 in a kind of Dutch style it reflected the weaving history of the area and the Flemish connections from the past.  

  
As infants rarely have the ability to read I am struck by how many old schools put directions above the doors to ensure the wee ones went into the right area. Maybe they were a wee bit brainier in those day?

This area abounds in churches that date back a millennium, the disused Church of St Giles goes back to the 12th century but I am not sure what it is used for these days, signs are not obvious. The tower got my attention, that appears very Saxon in its style but it dates from around 1700ish.  As always it has been amended and added to over the years but now lies quietly surrounded by the iron railings that also go back to the 1700's.  

Behind me as I took this picture lay the main police station, the cells I believe lie behind the small square, thick glass windows I leant against, you may no better.  When this station was built in the 80's an archaeological dig discovered 371 Roman burials and this building dating from 320 - 340.  The evidence indicates this could be the earliest church building in the British Isles but further evidence is wanting.  Some reckon it is possibly a Roman soldiers Mythraeum, but they would, wouldn't they?   Ever known archaeologists to agree?  Bah!

Having wandered around the town with my money still in my pocket I splashed out on a £1.50 coffee from this man at the bus station and well worth it it was! I was intrigued as to how somebody ends up running a very successful coffee stall and it transpires this man is an ex-serviceman.  That got me wondering also.  Now he may be happy in his work, he may be making a good profit, this is a busy place to operate, and he may well make sufficient to keep his family happy but it suddenly seemed sad that a man who risked his life in Northern Ireland and Afghanistan should be running a coffee stall.  As stated he might well be happy but it seems to me men who have risked lives for the nation could be getting better treatment than they do, especially when they are capable, knowledgeable and possess that amiability we often find in such men. I am just glad he is as fit as he is, IDS would be naming him in parliament otherwise.

While admiring Coggeshall's old buildings and remembering I was going to visit there I found this cat that I noticed last time.  He slinks on the roof high above the crowd looking for birds that are not gathering in front of him.  Maybe they think he is real!  It reminds those with cameras to always look up, and check it is safe to do so, as above the shop doorways there is often something intriguing awaiting you. 

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