Camulodunum Town

In spite of the persistent cough, the weariness caused by this cold, and the usual aches, I set off for a trip on the railway to an ancient city, Camulodunum!

Once again Greater Anglian Railways  worked well.  Trains were clean and on time, staff efficient, almost pleasant, though some would say the seats a wee bit hard.

The only downer was the two women, one young and one far from young who sat down in the seat in front of me.  The coach was empty so they sat next to me and talked!  Not just conversation, but grannie, who was dressed for a walking trip, and the painted hussy talked excitedly, enthusiastically, and said nothing!  

But they said it loudly!

I looked out of the window in case they turned in my direction.

It was indeed a very long 8 minutes before the train moved on the stroke of 10 am.  I looked forwards to 10 more minutes of this before we change trains.  However, the young creature left two minutes later at Freeport, clearly working in a shop designed for women with an arty feel and too much money.

Silence fell. 

The next 8 minutes were wonderful.  Only normal conversation could be heard through the now more populated coach.  As I pulled myself up to leave I noticed the walking grannie do the same.  As I alighted I ensured I moved to a distant part of my connection, which was full of normal passengers.  

Only a man asking for my ticket bothered me here. (£9:50 with old man card) 

One thing struck me, in days of old a job on the railways was for life.  Families followed their forefathers into the railways, it became part of the family.  I did not get the impression that many of the staff on the platform felt this way today.  Possibly drivers may have a different view of it all?

First call was to the ruins of St Botolph's Priory, built under the auspices of one William Rufus around a thousand years ago.  Reformation days saw it closed and soon it fell into disrepair.  However, to get there I had to pass St Botolph's Church, built 1836 in a type of Gothic style, next to the Priory, indeed it sits on what was the kitchen areas of said priory. 

I noticed this was open, it was not open last time I was here about 10 years ago, and now they open for prayer between 12 - 1 pm.  Good for them.

Considering the ruins are only half of the original size, people must have used the stones on their houses over the years, it speaks volumes of the importance of Augustinian's to William the Conqueror and his family.  Surely most houses at that time would have been plaster and lathe?  

Placed just outside the old Roman walls this must have been an astounding site for the locals, many of whom will have been forced to work on building it.  The Norman's liked to make a statement with their buildings.

Through what had once been a window, possibly making use of coloured glass, I saw this couple along with a man playing what I think is called a 'concertina.'  The couple stood over a grave or two and sang while he played.  I considered approaching and enquiring but thought better of this.  Who knows how long this has been going on in Colchester graveyards?  

The priory came to house many grave and vaults of the great and good.  One was Dr Roger Nunn.  He became a doctor in the town, rose to prominence, was involved in many good deeds, became Mayor eventually, helped the building of St Botolph's Church, and the hospital, which is still in use.  He gives the appearance of a man of ability who succeeded in improving the town for all classes.

There is of course, a war memorial in this graveyard.  The phrase 'The Glorious Dead,' reveals the sense of loss at the time, and the need to believe the cost was worth it.  It also gave those mourning somewhere to congregate as so many were buried overseas, or not identified.

The difference between Colchester and Chelmsford is simple, Chelmsford is boring, just a shopping centre, Colchester has these small roads full of shops.  The arrangement, caused by living inside the Roman walls gives the place a character not found in Chelmsford.  This long road, lying just outside what would have been the walls, has three names in different portions.  We are standing in Sir Isaac's Walk just now.  Who he?  In Colchester tells us...

 Sir Isaac’s Walk

Sir Isaac’s Walk was named after Sir Isaac Rebow (1655-1726), a local landowner who was Colchester’s MP for many years, and also its mayor, recorder, and high steward at various times. He lived in Rebow House, at the corner of Head St and Sir Isaac’s Walk.

The historical record shows that Rebow was a corrupt politician who left the town’s finances in a terrible state, and was cruel to his family and servants.

He was also a director of the South Sea Company, and a major shareholder in the East India Company. The South Sea Company was set up to ship enslaved African people to Spain’s colonies in Latin America. It is estimated that the company transported around 34,000 enslaved people over the 25 years it traded. The East India Company was also heavily involved in slavery and forced indenture in India.

He does not appear to be a nice man.  Still, Colchester named that section for him, what does that say about them?

I had no choice but to haul my bulk, in the heat, across to the Balkerne Gate!  This was the Roman exit heading west, passing my house as they tramped, hoping to spend the night at the crossroads in town, thus giving the troops a one day march, unless an emergency forced them to continue further.  

It is kept in decent condition, in spite of the publican next door sometime in the 1840s knocking half of it down.  This he did because the railway had arrived in Colchester, well, actually far from Colchester, at the bottom of the hill.  He made space so travellers could see his hostelry.  The station cannot be seen from here today however.  

I considered entering for lunch but noted his 'Pint £5:20' notice outside.  Possibly to keep students away, possibly for those attending the Mercury Theatre opposite and to the left of the photo.  They can afford his prices.

What once was used as the bothy for the Roman soldiers, mostly from Gaul or Germany, while on guard duty now hosts a couple of attractive plants, happy to live on the old stones.

St Peter's Church here at the top of North Hill, and you have to realise Colchester sits at the top of a hill almost all around, was mentioned in the Domesday Book in 1086.  The church was probably begun in Saxon times yet little is known of those far off days.  There were then two priests which reveals wealth, and the town had seven in all indicating other churches were nearby.  When the Priory got going it took over the church in 1102, typical big business, and appointed their own man in charge.  

Things changed over the years, buildings are developed, bits added, and in 1692 an earthquake shook the town damaging the tower and knocking chimney pots off roofs.  I do not think any were killed but shock upset many.  This church flourishes today but unlike St Botolph's, no longer remains open at lunchtimes.

Priests were a strange bunch, most followed where they were told to go but occasionally one appeared to believe the scriptures.   One such was John Ball, he was working in Colchester at times, though his somewhat radical sermons and his desire to make use to Wycliffe's bible in the vernacular caused much annoyance to the Archbishop and others.  

He was jailed several times, banned from preaching, but still managed to speak all around Essex and Suffolk, until jailed again in Kent.  In 1381 he was released by Kentish rebels and addressed the rebels at Blackheath saying:-

'When Adam delved and Eve span, 

Who was then the gentleman? 

From the beginning all men by nature were created alike, and our bondage or servitude came in by the unjust oppression of naughty men. For if God would have had any bondmen from the beginning, He would have appointed who should be bond, and who free. And therefore I exhort you to consider that now the time is come, appointed to us by God, in which ye may (if ye will) cast off the yoke of bondage, and recover liberty.'

 

Arrested in Coventry, tried convicted, hanged, drawn and quartered.  

I wonder what he would have made of the Church of England today?

Having noticed the £5:20 charged at the 'Hole in the Wall,' I lost any intention of having lunch.  However, the name of this pub made me  consider it again.  I mean, in Camulodunum you have to visit the pub called by that name have you not?  I considered the people sitting outside and decided it was worth a try.  I slunk wearily to the bar, a bar offering a dozen beer pumps featuring beer I had never heard off.  That's the trouble with pubs, unless you know the company running them you have to guess what beer is on offer.  The not too keen barmaid sulked when I indicated IPA, the only name I knew, suffering me long enough to give back change.

This is a decent, well laid out establishment, who's clientele appeared to be of similar age to myself.  It was likely that most were regulars, though the board across the way advertised cheap student drinks.  I suspect they may be drawn in come evening time.  If in town again I would once again enter in. 

I was happier to sit than I realised.  Everything was aching, from my feet up and my ears down, and I had only been wandering about for just over an hour.  Nothing for it but to sit there watching young students pass by.  Are these girls 16 or 18 I wondered?  Are they at the16 year old collage or the University the town boasts about?  There were many about, this being lunchtime, mostly female, few males, why?  I once got a single deck bus home, an hours journey, full of such females from the 16 years collage, their conversation is not what I wish to endure again.   

Enlivened by IPA, but not by enough, ought I to return for another?  I made my way to the castle.  On the way I noticed the M&S store had closed down.  Such a busy wee town yet both Debenham's and M&S have gone, I think Primark is the only large store left.  What does that say about the cost of living and big business competence?  

The Castle is of course not a castle.  It stands on the remains of the Roman Temple, supposedly the temple of Claudius, and the remaining double arches that form the basement were the only parts of the temple to survive that nice Boudica woman when she passed through.  The Romans and the Romanised locals who sheltered there were trapped when the place was burnt to the ground.  

Rather typical of a woman in a bad mood I say.  

It is £13:50, no concessions for the aged, to enter, so I didn't.  It is 20 or so years since I was inside, when I and one other whoever he was, got a tour by a Blue Badge Guide.  Very good it was too, and since then vast sums have been spent doing it up, hence the entry fee.  Mind you I was not capable of walking around there yesterday. 

The gardens around were busy, sun now shining without cloud cover, and judging it was getting time for a train I headed back down via all the charity shops along the way.  Sadly this was disappointing, though each and everyone of these shops was busy, as nothing suited my needs.  

I could not avoid this impressive war memorial.  The figures on it are tremendous.  The council at the time clearly considered themselves important enough to spend vast sums on an expensive and outstanding memorial to the fallen.  How much of that is civic pride as opposed to remembrance you can work out for yourself.  

I stopped off for a moment in St Botolph's prayer hour.  This lies just around the corner from the station, as indeed does the magistrates court in case you require it.  Then climbed aboard the train that had just arrived.

The railway crossing here allows a view of the old houses dating back many years that flow down from the East Hill.  Once the town expanded it had to go down these hills as the centre has little space.

It was then I realised I was not on my train.  I just climbed aboard, somewhat surprised at how quickly it left the station, before realising this train runs just between Colchester and Colchester Town.  No one warned me about this.  I was surprised and wondered if this could pay, however the number climbing aboard as I changed once again made it clear this was a popular train.  £3:10 single ticket, good for those coming off one train, and Colchester is a busy station,  and cheaper than the bus to get from north of town to south.  

Once again a short wait brought a 720 to head me homewards.  I moved to the head of where the train would stop partly to take pictures with no-one in the way, partly because the walking grannie was there also.   Anyway I positioned my self so the train at my next change would stop exactly at the lift shaft.

It didn't.  

It went two coaches further.

I made use of the lift, walked to the next one, kept the door open for a cyclist, again kept it open as he left, and moved to the front portion of my train which arrived as I walked.  All that was left was hobbling up that steep hill, finding food ready and waiting for me, and sleep, lots of sleep, oh and a bit of cramp.  

This morning I ache everywhere.  No trips for a while now.   

Chelmsford.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I did NOT go in!

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

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

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

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

What...?

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

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

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

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

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

  

Up lift.

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

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

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

The journey home smooth.

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

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

A Day Out with Fly

I got out!

Yesterday, having been bullied into this by a woman, yes Fly of all people, forcing me out to meet her at a far off place called London.   I was looking forward to it mind.

So, I hobbled down the hill to the station intending to make Liverpool Street station for the first time in 6 years.  What an adventure!  Six years since venturing out, no wonder I am a fat slob.

Indeed it was 2019 when I last ventured out to Liverpool Street and tramped around for a short while.  I scribbled about that Spitalfields area at the time and now I was to find how it has changed since.

Anyway, Old Man's Card' in hand I headed for the ticket office which Greater Anglia told me would be open from 6 am-2 pm.  Of course it was closed.  This meant the ticket machine that I canny work.   I was seen looking over the shoulder of others attempting how to work the blessed creation.  I may have mentioned this before but I hate technology!  My turn came, I faffed about pressing this button and that, hoping it was the correct one, and not able to find a place for my old man card.  So I paid £30.10p for a return without money off.  Who do I complain to?  I mentioned this on the Greater Anglia Twitter site and got no response, and that is no surprise.  The Chinese man behind me moved towards the machine as I left.  I heard him ask, "How does it work?" and the woman standing there fiddling with her phone claimed she did not know.  I almost turned to help but left that to others heading towards the machine of doom.

I joined the usual motley collection of passengers ignoring one another.  Some sitting under the shade of the closed ticket office, others sitting or standing wistfully along the platform.  No-one spoke. Within a few moments a sun blessed 5 coach Class 720 'Aventura,' number  720503 rolled in.  These are a great improvement on the previous trains, however, my favourite seat was already taken by another.  How dare these people, don't they know who I am? ...Oh!  

The journey was smooth, quiet and delightful, and I had sat in the off side so did not have the sunshine blinding me all the way along. It was so long since I had been on a train and I was enjoying this.

As we sped smoothly along the one hour journey passengers, sorry, customers, came and went at various stations.  Some trailing those cases on wheels that appear the thing today, others making use of the old man card that I could not, some returning or departing to/from home, office or prison, others on a day out, gran and granddad taking the kids off for a day.  A normal day I suggest.  All was quite for the most part.  Outside green fields flew by, occasionally cows, horses or sheep could be seen.  Aged houses with accompanying red brick farms were simmering in the sun.  My favourite, near London, was an aged farmhouse and outbuilding next to a massive roundabout and flyover, with several lanes of traffic right at their front door.  What fun!

A gleaming Liverpool Street, a mass gathering of humanity, at least I think they are human, fussed.  They flapped and fretted as  people do in stations and airports, fearful of wrong platforms or missing their connections.  The desperate or foolish and certainly well paid were to be seen spending money at the various eating outlets around the station.  Prices too high for me to even contemplate searching the menu's.  The crowd was constantly moving bar those staring at the large timetable screen above.  The orange lettering flickering, occasionally offering a departure gate for a train to Norwich, Colchester or all stations in between.  

The line began in the 1840s and progressed onwards through some delightful and mostly flat countryside.  Now from the line we notice the vast growth of housing, and not cheap 'affordable' or council housing at that, all along the route.  Of course when the line opened similar large housing was appearing alongside the line, certainly many 1920/1930s housing is passed in the 'East End.'  The middle class glamour of the time faded with use.

The station itself does indeed gleam.  Workers clean up here and there, while many remember, as I do, the dark forbidding station of times past where the joke was the maintenance peoples main job was keeping the place covered in grime.  It is certainly not like that today.

Having left the train secure at the buffers, a place I have been myself for some time, I went in search of this woman Fly.  I only approached one wrong woman that morning, and no, not a young one, no time for that.  Eventually she found me.   

Together we went shuffling off to find somewhere to sit, eat and talk.  We made use of the escalator up stairs to Bishopsgate.  No Bishop here now of course, he was first around in the 7th century, the gate in the wall preceding him as the Romans built this wall after Boudicca passed through.  Thrusting our way through the City of London throng, still as considerate and loving as always, we passed the Bishopsgate Police Station, which explained all the police vans parked outside, and searched for Spitalfields Market that we knew lay around somewhere around here.  It appeared lost.  

When I recognised the statue of the Goat high above the plaza I knew we were in the right place, but we could no longer sight the market.  Of course not, a great high building had arisen since we last visited and this hid the market from sight.  No maps, or signs indicated where to go.  A Spanish workman indicated where the entrance was and we moved as quickly as possible before it moved again and entered.  

What a few years ago was a wide space filled with stalls, clothes, jewellery, self made art and of course street food stalls had turned into an expensive tourists trap.  Clothes, art and jewellery existed but at a price, while the food stalls had gone, and none were to be seen on the streets outside as before.  Increased rents had driven them away, as well as council bans it appears. 

However, a café/restaurant, call it what you will, I choose the word 'expensive,' was found on the left as we entered.  Here we found a table, good friendly service as they need the tips, and a chance to talk.  This was good, and a delight.  

Having known my friend Fly for many years via the blog it was delightful to sit and listen in real time.  We of course destroyed everybody else and put the world to right, yes, you were mentioned but don't ask how.  However, on musing through the online press today I did not notice any change, possibly they did not listen to our words?  Maybe tomorrow.  We munched our Pitta based meal, drank liquid, and allowed the young black waitress to chat, she was like so many such women I have known in London, I hope life goes well for her.   

It was very good chatting to someone I knew so much about.  Sometimes people in real life are not what they appear online.  Fly was herself and this was good!

In time we had to make a move, I rushed to pay obviously but she beat me to it.  This often used to happen to me when with people.  I appear very slow and lackadaisical when it comes to getting the wallet out, I know not why.  

On the return shuffle we noticed the shops now hiding the past market entrance.  Expensive outfits for those who read colour supplements for fashion advice, including a shop which was dedicated to female eyebrows!  At least four staff were on view so money must be made here.  Jackets £45, or two for £80 were available but we managed to resist any temptation here.  Others must have failed to resist as there were many people about and I guess Saturday would be a big day in this market.  Maybe street food will be available then? 

We passed the city slickers in fast suits carrying expensive takeaways and bottled drinks, the girls chomping delicately on sandwiches and diet drinks or expensive bottled water in the sunshine.  Many sat around the area amongst the elephant statues that abound round here.  Mum and Dad and 20 small ones I read.  These belong to the Herd of Hope, an organisation raising money for endangered elephants.  Sadly I could not find where to enter my donation.  

Back through the growing masses noting the people passing us.  Tourists, smart men going places, office girls, tourists street people, a large man somewhat scruffy and unkempt in appearance came through the crowd barking his opinions to someone only he could see.  I thought how much he looked like me as he passed.  That is my future!  A woman well wrapped up wielded a cardboard sign stating 'Need £18  for Board,' but few believed or stopped to care.  Neither did we, trying to keep one another from falling was hard enough.  

Traffic raced by down the A10, the ancient route towards Kings Lynn and on to York.  Once a busy highway it is now a much busier highway, but few go to Kings Lynn.  As we passed 'Dirty Dicks,' I thought much more of this crowd and that pub is as far as we will go.  Then the traffic halted and we joined the race to cross before the lights changed again.  Naturally, at the station the down escalator did not work.  Who puts stations downstairs anyway?    

Fly and I parted here.  It had been such a short, but such a good time.  It made me glad to have ventured out of the Hermitage and shuffled down the line for this.  All that prayer to ensure it went well worked!  

The lift taking her downstairs to the underground reminded me of Dr Who.  Maybe as the doors closed it grew in size?  I began to wonder if we would ever see her again!  So, I was left, abandoned in a great bustling station.  I Checked the train times I then proceeded to find a working escalator that enabled me to get a picture of the station.

You will note I managed to get the Great slab of the GER Railway War Memorial in at the side.  

Again, the place was awash with movement.  The escalators never empty.  People standing over their bags staring wistfully at the screen high above, coffee being slurped at many overpriced venues around, or held in hands as tickets are inserted into entrance slots in a rush as the train is about to leave.  Others with time and money wander around the upper floor window shopping to pass the time.

Not me.  

I entered the W.H. Smith shop and purchased, via another blasted self service machine, a bottle of sparkling Highland Spring water which cost me £2:89.  It was some time before I realised I had grabbed the 'Still' water and not the 'Sparkling' stuff.  Bah! 

Soon I was sitting on a train heading home.  I took the first one to change at Chelmsford.  Anything can happen to hinder trains so I get as far as possible to avoid disaster or accompanying crowds.  

This train was busy but quiet.  

The towers of Thatcher's Britain glinted far away in the sun.  Far away from the train and I fear far away from real life.  Towering above London and weeping above London as Donald Trump does his best to ruin their bonus this year.  I sympathise, don't you?  

As we approached Stratford she reiterated her message once again over the Tannoy.  "If you see anything that is not right text this number, See it, Say it, Sorted."   I was strongly tempted to text about the building that reach unto the skies over Stratford these days.  The ones pictured are the best, all around ghastly revelations from young architects on Cocaine reveal the damage caused by such habits.  Many look half finished but have been there since the Olympic nonsense was placed here.  Behind us a football stadium, of no use to a proper football team, dominates the skyline in the far distance, a far distance for those who have to walk there every other week.  

I noticed work was continuing to clear land and build, I could not see what this was going to be.  However, on the way back I noticed several tower blocks from the late 50s and early 60s in a state of undress.  Clearly these dated blocks are going and soon more artistic talent will be ruining the neighbourhood once again.

I passed through here around 45 years ago when all around was rail tracks, electric pylons, occasional worn buildings and abandoned vehicles, nothing else.  It looked better then than it does now.

 

Look!  A field with cows in it!  I was so happy just to see such a view after so long.  The cows themselves did not comment as I passed I must say.  A much better view than that found in Stratford.

At Chelmsford I changed for my own train following on 12 minutes behind.  I took the opportunity to photograph passing trains and the renown signal box.  This train I know not, I thought it was the Norwich to Liverpool Street but in fact it appeared empty.  Who knows?

This signal box is famed because of the action of one man, signalman Frederick Herbert Hunt.  During 1943 he remained in the damaged signal box, stopping trains heading through Chelmsford as a bombing raid passed overhead.  The town suffered many raids as a Ball Bearing factory was based here.  In fact it had been moved elsewhere but the raids continued.  Some 50 persons died this night alone.  I'm sure I read somewhere that the signalman also died, however, the train stuffed with passengers survived.

I took this shot in spite of the power crazed female rail employee telling me to 'get behind the yellow line.'  It was as if I had never been near a railway before.  I suppose the speeding train, 5 miles an hour at this point, was dangerous, and she expected me to lean on it or some such.  A uniform turns them into a corporal.  

Another quiet train, more announcements heard many times, and usually ignored.  More glancing at the  screen above helpfully informing passengers where seats were available.  More checking the time and being surprised I was almost home in one piece.

 I left the train and slogged my way up the Matterhorn like rise to the town centre.  It used to be a slope, now it is a major climb.  Who increases the height of roads round here?  I'd like a word.  The weariness almost made me stop of at the Weatherspoon's on the way up.  However, watching one of the regulars entering I changed my mind.  It's that sort of pub.

I passed a fire engine doing I know not what.  However, he was being ably assisted by two young men eager to join in.  The firemen appeared willing to let them.

So, up the stairs, find I had no food out, the servant had forgotten to take something from the freezer.   I was certainly not going out again.  So, make do and mend it was.  Then for some reason I fell asleep...

Indoors!

The idea of running about all over the country via the bus pass has led to an unfortunate situation. My knees ache!  Sadly I did too much too soon and have spent this week lying about the house, not unusual that, awaiting my body recovering.  Naturally the sun has been shining all this time, buses pass my house indicating the place to put the bus ass and running off into places far away.
I remain indoors.
This morning I ventured out to Tesco as the food stocks were somewhat low.  I considered using this as a chance to diet but failed to make the most of that and by 8 am I was shopping.  My diet has been blown again and must be restarted today.  The stomach sticking out makes it difficult to see the keyboard on this laptop which hinders me somewhat.
This also means exercising again as that lowers the bump apparently though I have yet to see a difference.  That is one thing that saves me money however, I save £50 by not buying a Heart of Midlothian football strip because it looks daft with a big bump at the front.  Many do buy these and waddle around but this does not present a decent sight in my view, or indeed anyone else's.  
Clouds tomorrow, I will probably be fit enough to go out...

I sometimes sit here amazed at my stupidity and ability to misunderstand facts, however having listened to parts of Donald Trumps 4th of July speech, in heavy rain, I feel considerably better about things.  He waxed lyrical about the war of independence (in 1775 was it?) pointing out how Washington's army defeated the British forces including "Taking over the airports," as they did so. Now this is a slip of the tongue surely and we all make such mistakes, although not as a President of the United States desperately trying to remember the words he has been rehearsing all morning.  
I note he also forgot to thanks the French for their part in the independence struggle, the ships blocking the harbour, the men on the ground replacing the home forces who had deserted, the vast amount of cash given to the new US government, so much cash some say it led to the French revolution, and yet none of this was mentioned, just the airports...
Of course in recent days Theresa May, Jeremy Hunt and Boris the oaf have all revealed a similar lack of historical knowledge of their own country, this when parading themselves in Scotland!  The members of the Scottish National Party are well pleased with the results there.
The Tory infighting, like the Labour infighting and the almost completely ignored Lib-Dem infighting continues apace.  We all wish it would stop!

 
The advantage of sitting at home is that I do not get caught up in transport difficulties.  My real sympathies go out to the early commuters who fled London early to begin their weekend and are now facing a bus trip home. Damage to the overhead wires on the lunchtime service has blocked the line which means from Witham buses must be used to get people home.  
The weather is hot, the people tired, drinks running out, buses slow as it is rush hour, and the happy citizen concentration on his mobile phone or his crossword in the free paper will be considering some of the words he has heard from his boss concerning the failure of his work.  He will be reusing them tonight.  I once got the commuter special, never again!  Either in morning or evening the experience is not good.  Crowded, impatient, and tedious when things go wrong.  Train journeys are great when quiet...