Now normally, I am not one to Complain, but...

So, being desperate to post a packet to my latest Great Niece I hobbled unwillingly down the road to the PO.  My knees expressed their dismay, my tired body indicated my bed was the other way, and the sun cheered me up by shining in my eyes from a very low angle generously blinding me.  I was surprised to find the smiling lady not at work, the sub PO was closed.  "It opens at 10am," said the man running the shop and doing about 96 hours a week.  Holiday arrangements I presume.  Vexed, my knees considered murder and mayhem as I trudged back the way I had come.  This was not the day to fail, I was too tired to cope, and I therefore did not cope well.

Back home I considered my position, I considered lying flat on my back the best option, however, needs must, so I rose and continued the joy filled day.  The router is still slow, speed of 11, instead of 50.  I was thinking of playing with it again but instead I began to make soup.  My good day was to continue here.  All went reasonably well, though the suitable ingredients were hard to find, anything and everything was thrust in.  I continued with other important work such as clearing the mess left by this soup operation, and realised the soup was burning!  I now have four more bowls of vile burnt soup to eat, with a smile.  I know it is vile as I had two bowls and suddenly understood why Indian and Pizza takeaways are so popular.

Then I had to remove the rubbish for the men tomorrow, or whenever they come.  I also had to clamber down to the cellar, find the electric meter readings, and struggle back upstairs, smiling all the way.  Already the electric people have sent letters warning of increased prices, but not of how they use the money for their advantage and not mine.  I expect in February when things change I will be robbed blind!  

Now I'm Not One to Complain...

Wandering through our exciting town centre I came across a couple of Alpaca's sitting in a small cage wondering what they were doing there.  Beside them a couple of not to keen goats stared at the kids touching them and in a cage were four small birds, quail possibly but I am not sure, no notice was seen.  The centre often has animals but for what reason these appeared was not clear, the place was not too busy either, maybe the animals scared folks off?

The locals have been at it again.  They spend an enormous amount of time looking at old photos and grumbling "It was better back then," or "Life was easier," and "It was safer then."  Each shop picture brings groans that "I preferred the little shops," "Bring back small shops" "It's all Tesco's fault!"  The thing that bugs me is the reason there is no small shops is the peoples decision to shop at Tesco!  Small shops cannot compete with the like of large supermarkets, though we still have a butchers on the go, and he is struggling because so many use the supermarkets as they are cheaper!  
The woman who once wandered around carrying a heavy shopping bag or two visiting the grocer, the baker and the ironmonger were happy to be chatted up by each money grabbing shopkeeper who paid his staff the least he could while dodging tax as much as possible yet if they had to do this today they would avoid it as Tesco is easier!   Yet they still grumble "It was better back then!"  Aye it was as you were seven years old and your mum carried the bags!  
Old photos bring the cry "It was better back then" more than the shops ad I must explain to these dreamers that the old men in the photos are grumbling to the kids round about that "It was better in the past!"  People don't want to believe me, we believe what we wish to be true rather than facts which upset us by removing the dream.  The past was never better it is just our better lives were found there, and we have forgotten the fears, poverty and long hours adults had in the past.  How strange that wealthy fat people long for a time when they would be struggling all day and never give thanks for what they actually have in front of them, we just spend time wishing we had something else, something more!  The rich and well fed are more unhappy than the poor!

 
What is the difference between an Alpaca and a Llama anyway...?
I now know!  Alpacas were bred for the wool and some meat, the Llama as a beast of burden, camel like.  One male Llama in amongst sheep or goats protects the herd very effectively from predators.  Some are found in the UK I hear.  Llamas are of course bigger than Alpacas.

It Was Better When...

Facebook has a page just for our little town.  This is an excellent idea and many pictures, adverts and much information regarding the museum happens to appear there on occasions, I know not how.  The page is used by many to conjure up memories of Braintree from days of yore.  A great many are now living abroad, some from work, some because life causes us to move away from home and a number of women who married the abundant supply of 'rich' Americans working at the many air bases that sprung up during the second world war.  The last base did not close until the late 90's and every so often these women return with their man to see relatives and have a jolly good time.  One, now widowed, arrived last Tuesday just as we opened to wander around the shop and obtain gifts to take home again.  Such folk use the facebook page to keep in touch with their past and keep an eye on the developing town. 

One  topic is the constant whine that 'The town is not the same,' or 'It's not as good as it was,' or the grumble 'It was better in my day.'  Maybe it is because I look at history and read things from the past, maybe it is because they are grumbling old people or maybe it is because they are right I know not but this annoys me.  The town is certainly changing, it has altered in the 21 years I have been here, but what these Moaning Minnie's forget is that the town always changed and altered, and old people just like them constantly grumbled that it 'was better in the past.'  
Look at the change to the market, the difference between the crowds before 1914 compared to those in the late 30's as seen above.  No animals are seen in the top picture possibly because it was a Saturday market and Wednesday may have had animals, possibly the animals are round in the high Street, I have seen pictures of Bulls there in the 60's.  Todays market cannot compete with either but if they could bring this back would the grumbles like it?  No, they would find many complaints.
For a start the women would complain about animal leftovers on their shoes, much abounding in the past, and then complain about the inconvenience of having to go from one stall to another for the daily needs.  The convenience of Tesco's would suddenly appear bright and the quality of goods improving, let alone the amount of cash no readily available for most was just not there in the past.
the men in the top picture are complaining about the cost of a pint, almost a shilling where in the bottom picture it might have been only 3 pence in some places.  The women in the top will be fussing about fashion in just the same manner of those in the lower picture, but in the top one more will have cash to buy more readily than the majority on poor wages in the bottom picture.    
All in both pictures will be grumbling the 'Kids have it easy today, not like when we were that age.'  The kids, if still around are saying just that very thing today while in the market.

The past is another country and far too many people live in it.  They look at the town and see it when they were young forgetting that what they enjoyed was not the town but their life in the town. The town they now see does not fit in with their memory but young folks today are having exactly the same thoughts as they, but will look back in thirty years time grumbling about how the town has changed.  'What is has already been and will be again.'  I am glad I moved when younger, I am glad I moved here, because I do not look back on my Edinburgh childhood and long to return, indeed many things make me glad not to be in Edinburgh, the early 1970's were not a good time for me and my memories are not always good.  I do have good ones from all places I have stayed as well as bad but too many forget the bad things that occurred in the past and block them out viewing their youth as a good place, forgetting the fears, problems and mistakes that have left scars but can be ignored.
Braintree & Bocking had around 12,000 people between them in 1914, when I arrived there were 30,000, now there is 40,000 and things do change and not always for the better.  The car enables folks to visit the big towns for shopping at big stores, the web enables online shopping and tastes change as well as markets.  The market has stood for over 800 years and will continue for many more, ever changing and always with grumbling people fussing about nothing all around.
Maybe they all ought to learn from me, I'm not one to complain...    

Now I'm Not One to Complain, but...

Now as you know I am not the complaining type.  I suffer in silence in spite of the hardships and sufferings I endure.  Not one to make a fuss I happily allow things to pass that even the mildest mannered chap would lose his cool over and start waving a poleaxe about.  The need to make the world know that you have been twisted, cheated, robbed or dealt with in an underhand and despicable manner is not the way in which to face the world I always say.
However, I passed the museum today as I returned from the market with a bag full of fruit when a screaming banshee at he window called me inside.  The boss had seen me limping along and desired my presence in spite of four of them sitting there doing nothing!  I told you I do all the work!  Anyway she just wished to indicate all the new stuff brought in to the shop, and good it all is far more acceptable and practical than what we stocked before.  So we chatted as not one person was visiting and then I gathered up my fruit before they nicked it and headed home to catch the football (the Heart of Midlothian won again as you will know).  
Typically it began to rain as I made to leave, not even rain by cloudbursts fell in great drops the size of my hand as I hurried slowly up the road.  Why me? There are around 40,000 people living here why rain when I walk out?  What's wrong with landing on them?  One or two could do with a good soaking I can tell you.  So here I sit now, hours later, the clothes still damp, the shoes reeking, and no doubt flu will result!  
But I will not fuss or make a complaint about this.  I will accept this suffering in good grace in spite of people passing in big cars gloating at me as they did so. In spite of not being offered a lift by these rich selfish peoples.  In spite of standing in the East Wing dripping like someone rushed out of the shower by a dirty big spider, many off which exist in this building I can tell you! In fact I will not mention this to anyone.  

Complaining, Something I Never Do!

Round our way Mum's little angels have gone to school.  The streets are now safer, the shops less crowded and indeed much quieter and the museum has a hollow ring to it these days.  The classrooms are very different from my day, computers arrive very early while we had to use pencil and paper! Classes are much smaller and parents complain there is only one teacher and three helpers for a class of twenty something, ha, our class reached 41 at one point but did we grumble, no!  

At secondary I wore the compulsory blazer and gray trousers like everyone else but was very envious of the 'rough' types who wore combat jacket and jeans, the trendy outfit of the time. They got away with this by claiming poverty, which was often true, but an awful loot of it was the brass neck attitude against authority.  It must be said most of those dressed thus were of an intellect deprivation culture also and many will not have risen to the highest positions in the land, if indeed they remain alive!  

This comes to mind as several stories appear in the media whenever school restarts, usually regarding some precious child who insists on wearing the emerald green footwear specifically banned by the school rules or has a pin in her tongue (to give her "confidence"), or hair designed in the latest banned trend. The press make a lot of such stories and the typical response when the spoilt brat is banned is 'serve them right!'  I agree with that.   Instead however of dealing with the dear brat in the making I suggest hammering the parent, usually a single mother with no sense of responsibility determined to do what she wants art all costs.  Occasionally daddy whines about his pet but normally when a man is in the house such things occur less, I wonder why?  

There is in the cases I noted recently no 'poverty' involved, indeed the opposite or they could not afford the trendy footwear, so it is selfish ignoring of the school rules.  Now such rules can indeed be a bit extreme, we were not allowed to smoke in the toilets for instance, but normally it is cheaper for the parents if they pay for the school uniform rather than the latest trend.

Maybe I just hanker for that combat jacket even yet?

You may have noticed the news recently.  Ukraine fighting although peace moves are afoot, ISIS or whatever they are called today killing folks dramatically in Syria/Iraq, drought threatening Ethiopia, problems still in Democratic Congo, Christians facing attacks in northern India, wars and rumours of wars abounding.  The TV offering hour after hour of 'pap' masquerading as worthy viewing, soap operas, cooks, bloody cooks everywhere, crime programmes from forty years ago, mostly American, and little else but drama that is no more than a soap opera with explosions.  So what drew most complaints to the BBC?  A game show!

The Pointless quiz is being repeated, in the way the BBC repeat everything, and 1217 people complained because one episode was missed out!  One quiz show episode missed and over a thousand people complained!  When first run in 2012 they made a mistake.  An answer was given and it was decided this was incorrect, it turns out this was a wrong decision.  A large number of people wrote in to indicate the fault and so to avoid this happening with the repeat they dropped that episode.  However this resulted in a huge amount of complaints!  

What does it say about us I wonder?      

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Grumble Whine Moan....

Now I am not one to complain.  Moaning, whining, getting ratty about the world are things far from my kind, forgiving nature as you know.  However when Mike Tyson appeared on the screen tonight to tell us about 'Being on drugs when boxing,' or 'How he overcame his drink problem,' I begin to think "SHUTTUP!"  I am sick to the teeth hearing celebs or the 'famous' tell us how they overcame being so stupid as to become hooked on drugs when the entire world has known for years that they are dangerous.  I am fed up hearing yet another celeb telling us their problems, at a huge price of course. Yet day by day they appear, contrite, sober and full of their story, until possibly the next time and the next payday.  
Now I am happy folks get away from such stuff.  Nothing better to see a man overcome a problem, happy indeed when the real world arrives and a celebrity finds a happy life.  However the tale of woe they offer often follows after they have been warned by many they are hurting themselves, or worse being led that way by those on the make and all celebs have someone attempting to use them.  There are Christian books like this where the individual offers nine chapters of 'How I was a witch,' followed by one where 'Jesus saved me.'  Much better to have one about the previous life and nine about the better one!   Let us spend less time on peoples failings and more on the good side of life.  Sadly that however would not sell papers, fill TV time and suit the public voyeurism. 

Had I been in a mind to complain I could comment on waiting in for Parcelforce to deliver this morning, filling in my time doing the women's work while listening for the doorbell, but I am not of a mind to grumble.  However I rose in the dark once again especially to be ready for his knock, waited till eleven and then gave up and wandered the streets.  When I returned he had still not yet shown up although the postman had, he went out of his way to make a special effort to bend the two Christmas Cards while shoving them through the door. Postmen don't like this door.  Usually the worst letterboxes are those three inches of the ground, and they ought to be banned!  However our main door is actually upside down and the letter box is therefore quite high for wee folks. The Landlord has reused a door simply by turning a battered one upside down leaving the box just too high for wee posties!  
After a foul lentil soup and stale bread lunch, a quick sleep and a bad coffee I guessed the parcel was not going to arrive today.  At this time of year it is inevitable they will be busy, and at three in the afternoon he would avoid the traffic polluting the street outside my door.  So I wandered abroad again, picturing the sun dropping behind the buildings, very glad that Saturday is the shortest day because from then on we head towards a glorious Spring!  I need not tell you that the weathermen inform us high winds and belting rain will obscure the shortest day, and last well into the longest night!  Bah!  
Anyway when I arrived back having avoided spending any money I do not possess I found the neighbour had taken the parcel in.  A box of goodies from my sister!  As my mother aged she ate less and less so I took to sending daft small things she might eat, tins of anchovies, small packets of chocolate milk etc, in what I called Red Cross Parcels in a vain hope she might attempt them while she and the neighbour gossiped during the dreadful soaps they watched. Nora was sent through by her man whenever the football was on, to give him opeace and to allow them to natter.  Later, when I was unemployed my sister began to send them to me at Christmas!  Using her womanly instinct she managed never to send me anything I ever used!  Mind you when mum died some of the stuff I sent remained unused also.  We ate it however!

      

A man brings his best buddy home for dinner 

unannounced at 5:30 pm after work. 

 His wife begins screaming at him 

and his friend just sits and listens in.

"My hair and makeup are not done, 

the house is a mess, the dishes are not done,

 I'm still in my pyjamas and I can't be bothered with cooking tonight! 

 What the hell did you bring him home for?"

 "Because he's thinking of getting married."    

*

Grumbling....

The news today is as always depressing.  The ineffectual leaders of the English parties are desperately reforming their ministers and juniors in a vain attempt to convince the nation to vote for them.  So far I am far from impressed.  One clean cut young lady has appeared on local TV telling the world she is glad to have stepped down from her position (who? what? No idea!) and is doing the most important thing, caring for her constituents.  Lies, all lies!  Others, also unknown, have moved to lesser jobs and accepted this just to keep the position by their fingernails and also the money that goes along with it.  What difference will it make to you and me?  None!
Roll on the election so we can remove this bumbling idiot Cameron and replace him with another barely elected bumbling idiot in Milliband.  At least Clegg will disappear without trace.

  
The Heart of Midlothian lost an important match on Saturday, now the fans are indulging in the usual empty recriminations.  How quickly fans turn against their team.  Heroes are loathed simply for not being as good as the crowd are, in their own heads.  Players and their dispositions are discussed in an all knowing manner by those who know nothing.  Those who failed to make the grade in any way are happily criticising those who did.  Tsk! That's something I never do......wot..?
However it got me thinking just how easy it is to grumble about others way of working, whether we have any experience or not of their work.  Clearly politicians are one area we all grumble about, however today the grasping corruption probably annoys us more than incompetence.  There is no doubt we can always do better than others at their job, be it running railways, buses, government, or fixing the car or repairing the plumbing.  Sometimes we are right, but how often do we end up suffering because we are vexed and those that vex us walk away happily?  It's a funny old world Saint!

Now I'm Not One to Complain, But....

I awoke this morning, eventually, to a gray sky.  This is becoming a bit wearing now.  I also noted the bug lingered on, also wearing in every manner.  On top of this I decided to pull a muscle or strain some part of my calf on Saturday morning while crossing the road outside Tesco. (By 'calf' I mean 'calf' in my leg, not 'calf' in a field somewhere accompanying a cow!)  This means I now limp even slower than before, and as I took a perambulation around yesterday I toddled up a slight slope and made it worse!  So most of my time I sit here letting it 'rest.'   Bah!  How something so simple can ruin life.  If I were the complaining sort instead of the always cheerful type I may well get irked by this and form a protest movement.  However I will just grin and bear all my troubles with never a word of grumbling, as always.

During my few lucid moments today in between limping around attempting to find a cure for may ache, I researched (which means read a lot) the battles at Gaza in 1917.  This is because I require one short paragraph about some chaps who died there.  Since Saturday, in between pawing my aching leg and watching football I have been reading pages of this stuff.  How far have I got with the scrawl?  About one line......

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Blue Skies

For reasons unknown this RAF Sea King Air,Sea Rescue helicopter flew over us today while I sat enjoying ten minutes in the hot sun, the last of the year probably.  I attempted a picture and found the sun so bright I could not see through the viewfinder and I just guessed where the brute was.  On the original pic it appears as a dot in the corner!  How difficult is it to capture a flying craft while right over your head?  This blurred image is all I can make out of it.  The ferocious sun has disadvantages after all.  I could see nothing whatsoever through the viewer, and could not see him even as a dot in the sky. I obtained an even worse shot when he returned some time later, blurry is the word.  Maybe it is my eyes?  I am left asking why was he overhead?  Near the coast this is not unusual to see, occasionally it is possible to watch them rehearse lifting survivors from the sea.  Not much call for that here.  I wonder if it was that William man using his machine to run home to Kate for a wee break?  The visit probably only cost £10,000 but that's OK.  

The Olympics are over, the Paralympics finish tonight and there are millions of women who usually hate 'sport' in all it's forms now demanding more of this on telly!  Anything is better than the dross that fills the screen normally.  I watched a documentary on Egypt the other day on the BBC iPlayer, the way I usually watch BBC these days, and was peeved.  The man never stood still!  Every new scene found him walking up a street, coming up stairs, through a door, at no time did he just stand there and speak!  This is a constant feature of such programmes today, movement is all, flash images and a movable presenter, it has become difficult to follow the story as we are made to expect him to jump up and run off before finishing a sentence.  It seems to me radio is becoming the only place to follow a documentary today, we can see the image in our mind better there.  

Now I am not one to complain as you well know, even though it has taken me until now to get over my exertions at the museum on Friday, and in fact complaining has never been an important part of my life, unlike folks who use the local bus service a lot.  No, I prefer to let things slip and lead a quiet life.  However I did find myself beginning to get irked by Craig Leveins use of the 4-5-1 system while at home to Serbia on Saturday.  Goodness gracious I thought, one innovation from the tried and trusted failures of before, Robert Snodgrass on the right side.  At least that was clearly working, that is why he was replaced with the clot Forrest!  I note also that Dixon never got an opportunity while at Dundee United but now he plays in England he gets a cap?  Black & Templeton on Tuesday I wonder?

    
Some of my readers may well be interested in this, not for themselves perhaps, just to remind another to exercise more and eat less maybe?

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Grrrrrrrrrrr!

I've been so agitated and irritable today, again.  This tiredness never leaves me and my insides are not happy, and in the end I am irked by most things.  This, as you know, is so unlike me.  My normal quiet, passive, loving kind of manner has been replaced by a somewhat less thoughtful one.  I had to attend the Ljubljana today, which was fine, but it meant I had to walk the streets to get there.  The result was meeting people, and this was not good, or passing places containing people, and this was not good.  Wherever I skulked I found myself growling at windows or day dreaming of entering possessed with nothing more than a running chainsaw and putting it to good use.  Then I got irked by the problem of disposing of all the decapitated heads that would be rolling around the place.  Bah!  

So I stayed locked inside, adding info to the Great War website, and grumbling that I could not read the words in this light, that mistakes had been made, and that this laptop hates me.  I rummaged through the higher class blogs and found they were indeed a higher class, and that made me jealous!  So I turned to the papers, and that made me reach for the chainsaw again!  The rubbish that fills the pages! Bah!   I watched the latest 'Eggheads' programme, and answered almost NO questions, once again.  That cheered me up no end.  Now the mince & chips I had for tea is growling at me.  Bah! Humbug, Pah! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr! etc.   

.

Trees

This picture does not do justice to this view, but whenever I cycle past this I am tempted to attempt to picture these trees. Had I been wealthy and owned one of those big wooden glass plate cameras Victorian photographers used then I might do this little view justice. There is just something about this small plantation of very tall trees that grab the attention. Today I attempted a picture, specifically of this broken tree. Either a storm, the hurricane of 87 perhaps or an extremely strong squirrel has broken it about sixty feet up! It lends a little something to the scene. The light falls between the trees giving it a specific ambiance which does not appear elsewhere around here, at least not where I have rambled.

You see, I am back to being amiable. Possibly because I have been so busy doing lots of those things that have lain on the 'To Do' list for so long! I am just too knackered to grumble. I should of course point out that I am by nature not one to grumble generally, as I am sure most folk will have realised by now. It may be true that when there is a situation that demands a comment, judiciously indicated, I may well be the one on whom the duty of indicating the point at issue, but I always do so reluctantly! The Royal Mail manager who repeatedly, and needlessly in my view, referred to me as 'Alex Ferguson,' was just being sarcastic.

Tomorrow I expect to pay for my exertions today. The hard work, (Oh yes it was!) the cycling up the old railway, the long walk, head down, through the busy streets looking for dropped coins, and the decision to eat less in an effort to halt the weight once again reaching fifteen and a half stones will catch up with me tomorrow. I expect weariness, stiffness, and possibly even a small girning as my legs give way when I fall down the stairs looking for the mail!





What is it about Jose Mourinho that fascinates Sky Sports News so much? At each and every opportunity they will present him to us as if he is a celebrity worth knowing about. We are told he wants the England job, the Manchester United job, any job as long as it is in England! That is where the money is and that is where he can make a name for himself. Jose has always known how to please the media and has them hanging on his eyelash at all times. They laugh at his jokes, love his answers to meaningless questions and fill countless hours of TV and radio and print millions of words about the man that treats them as if they were important themselves. Ah, maybe we have found out why he is once again on our screens. But in my view he is not a 'football man!' To me Jose likes to beat the other man rather than win a football match, victory is all but the 'game' is nothing! His idea of football is to use gamesmanship at all times, play for dreary one nil wins, and spend far too long selling himself on the telly. His Porto side won the 'Uefa Cup' by falling down and playing dead, stifling the game and general time wasting tactics and unsporting behaviour. All teams can use these tactics, but he appears to know no other.

( However, the sixty five million Celtic fans who were at the game did, according to the Celtic myth, behave very well and were loved by one and all!)

The Ashes.
Who cares?

Now I am Not One to Complain, but ...

There are far too many doctors in this town!
I have been feeling a bit rough recently, but that is not unusual. The sore throat, the tiredness, the lying in my bed from morn till night, all these were indications that I was sick. Then earlier today I walked through the town with the market on determined to be first to pick up the potatoes and cabbages that have fallen from the stalls and are left behind. On the way my condition was recognised by all these doctors and as I passed their 'Flu' prognosis was indicated to me, quite forcibly I must say, by cries off "Swine! Swine!" Just glad I was not in the US as this would have cost $300 a throw!

Then I had a run in with some bint in the chemist shop.
"Two wasps please," I asked politely.
"What?"
"Two wasps please," I repeated slowly.
"We don't sell wasps," she said in a somewhat strained and quizzical manner.
"Well," said I, "There's one in your window!"
Then the yelling started.

People often cause me bother, and I sometimes wonder if it is just me?
At the dole office when I was signing on the lassie asked for my name, "Six and Seven Eighths" I replied. "What? Why?" she muttered almost looking up from her paperwork. "Why Six and Seven Eighths?" "Because they just picked my name out of a hat," said I.

In times past I used to dress smartly, but my recession means I have had to dress more 'Off the peg' recently. Now however even that has been taken from me. My neighbours have stopped leaving their washing out at nights.

Life? Don't ask me about life!

Now, as you know I never complain, but...

I was watching an old video yesterday, showing Falkirk playing Dundee when both were striving for promotion from the old 1st division. It was a very good game and this surprised me somewhat, especially as the final score was nil - nil. Very enjoyable but as I watched it I was conscious of how mush more irritable I am these days. It seemed to me I was a lot less contentious then and more at ease with the awful world around me. Now I am always grumbling, and usually with good reason. I may be wrong but sometimes it appears there is nothing worthwhile around me, all is sham and emptiness.

Obviously age is one reason for this, as my young friend Mike S. mentioned on his excellent blog, "Auld Reekie Rants,' only yesterday, and his blog is a 'must read' by the way.The music of today is totally mindless, as opposed to the 'world changing' stuff we heard in the sixties. It was 'Make love not war' and 'Peace brother!,' along with 'Get out of Vietnam!' I have to say there was more tea making than love but hey, that's the story of my life! The 'baby boomers' wanted to change the world and we followed the 'spirit of the air' at that time. It was of course a lie, human nature does not change and the 'Hippy' way would not change that' That spirit lies to each generation, and we were fooled just like the rest! But there was a movement away from commercialism and big business, until it became big business and the commercial side took over. The bands tasted fame and fortune and ended up either rich and famous or drugged out of their eyeballs and or working as bus drivers in out of the way places. Today's generation does not feel so gregarious towards others. The world changing is via 'green issues' and that out of fear of no future or trendiness and concern for sex issues, women's rights, gays and Aids. Again often for selfish motives. But are they not just more honest than we, did we not kid ourselves? What changed in the sixties? A more liberal lifestyle, and a more cynical approach, fine in many ways but while there is more 'freedom' how come there is even more in the way of damaged lives? Common sense replaced by political correctness is another aspect of today's world that irks me. For example one council now bans the word 'brainstorming' as this could upset the mentally defective. Such as the one who came up with the proposal I suppose?

The vile seventies removed the best life changing music and allowed 'pap' to reign. West coast music, so full of life and depth was pushed aside instead 'Abba' with their multi coloured lights dancing around them and their fancy costumes brought empty headed meaningless music back to the fore, not that it had really gone away. The development of music in the sixties had changed everything but in the end the public want 'Bread & Circuses' not quality and something meaningful. Trash sells! Thatchers eighties, which brought mass unemployment for many and riches for some, her friends at least, produced a creature with a very different outlook from those brought up in the austerity and 'Build a new Nation' attitude of the fifties. While we 'Never had it so good' (although we never had it at all!), the present generation have always had it and can see no reason not to have more. The music of the eighties, and then the ghastly nineties, reflected nothing innovative but an awful lot of emptiness. Now we have innocuous music, a nation reared on Soap operas and tabloid headlines, who think poverty is not having everything you want!

I just searched the radio channels for some music to hear in the background, and all is 'pap!' However being Saturday I have found some relief in Radio 3 with its Jazz hour or two. That, I really must say is usually good but tonight is a bit dreary, all big band and talk! My luck of course. There is no point in putting the telly on when it is Saturday, not worth while at all. Hold everything, I was wrong! (Copy that for future reference) there is a friendly featuring Liverpool and some foreign Johnny lot in a minute! Phew! Ah a Polish side, this should be OK then.

As Mike pointed out language has changed. Now we all have our 'in speak' in every job or group of people this is normal. However when this involves 'text speak' I am with Mike. What is this all about? My ten year old bra...great niece, forced me onto 'Bebo' because it was her way of communication. Her mother also joins in (whether to watch over her or the other way about I am not sure) and both use text speak! I have to read things three times to work out what they are saying! Well, except when I am rude about 'Jared Leto' their latest hero. (Who is he anyway?) I have become convinced that soon we will return to a use of hieroglyphics as this will be all the brats of the future can understand - pictures and not words! Blogging will be a nightmare then!

But there is hope! 'Stand Free' the Aberdeen Mad football messageboard has a policy of banning text speak. This is to be commended, even if their teams abysmal showing against lower division Peterhead is to be warmly gloated over. Imagine losing four nil - yes 4-0 - to a wee team like that! Ho Ho! Anyway they ban text speak which, while a very good idea, is somewhat diluted by their insistence of speaking the 'Doric!' You see, in the North East of Scotland their version of 'Scots' has grown up with its own influences. Norse words from all those nasty Vikings, Scandinavian influence from the fishing, and general trade with Northern Europe has allowed a different development of language there than say in Edinburgh, where we actually have no accent whatsoever. Friends of mine from Aberdeen talking on the phone to similar folk are totally unintelligible to me.

For instance :
'Fit' is used instead of 'what.'
'Fit's fit and far's the paper?' Means, believe it or not, 'What's what and where is the newspaper?'

'Ftf did that cum fae?' I wonder if you would be so kind as to inform of where that arrived from?

"Yer nae worth yer saat" - You, sir, are ill-deserving of the wages that you command

“Wheeesht min skitterspoot” 'Keep quiet you!'

'Haud yer wheest and stop spikkin keech!' 'Be quite and stop talking rubbish.' I hear this often..

We will not attempt to translate 'dookers!' until I am better informed!

However maybe the 'culture' of the day may not be what makes me grumble. Age may play its part, especially when confronting the emptiness of fashionable life, maybe in the end I am just an old git? Some things never change I suppose.......