Overfed

I wandered out to have my haircut again, it was only done about four months ago, and after the helpful young lass had cut all the grey stuff off and blown it away I headed towards Tesco.  This being a Wednesday made it Market Day, though hardly any stalls could be seen, the cold air had mostly put them off.  However, the Albanian lass with her bread and cakes was there!  Jolly good, thought I.

Tesco was quiet for a Wednesday, again the weather had left all the old folks indoors practising for the loss of the 'Winter Fuel Allowance.'  I therefore strolled around, avoiding the trolley pushers, and quickly paid my debts to the young man at the checkout.

Back at the stall, I bought this Italian bread, wondering if it was big enough for one?  Indeed, it was!  I could not manage the other items I bought, however, and doubt I will need breakfast in the morning.

 

Shorn and overfed, I trawled Twitter looking for interesting items.  None were found.  However, Keir, Thatchers true Son, has been at PMQs again and following on from all previous PMs since 2010 he did not bother answering questions, a point Sunak the ex-PM mentioned, apparently.  The irony there!  Keir appears to consider answering questions the job of someone else, certainly not Rachel, both she and he did not attend the House while the WFA was debated, and had no intention of answering any today.  

The die is cast, as someone once noted, the 'Lower Orders' can die, they do not matter.  What matters are the Corporates and Private Equity people, big business and the billionaire movers and shakers behind the scenes, the ones paying for Rachel and Keir.  They are certainly paying for Rachel, and I cannot see Keir being strong enough to oppose her.  Concession bus passes to go next.  It’s kill the old to save the rich time!  Blatantly and with no opposition from Labour.

 

Late Delivery

 

No rain this morning.  Cloudy sky yes, rain no.  So I prepared for a haircut!

Shoes on, not the slipper things I tried to go out with the other day, jacket on, glance out the window and off I go downstairs.

I open the door and the rain is thundering down!

One huge dark grey cloud hovers above me, drenching the park opposite and all who were dwelling therein.  To my right heavy drops crashed onto the road, the cars, the people sheltering ineffectively under the brolly.  To my left bright blue sky beckoned, a white cotton wool cloud reared up to the heavens, speaking of warmer climes.

I waited inside the door.

Eventually life moved on.  My hair was cut by a lovely young lassie who, when I remarked on all the grey stuff lying around, informed that this was 'Very fashionable today.'  What a clever lass.

While she was being a clever lass I was not being so clever.  I went off to find something interesting to post and having failed, completely forgot about this post.  This will disappoint few.  

The new day is already half over, the sun is shining now I am indoors, and once again nothing has happened.  The media crow over their defeat of the woman in charge of 'Coutts Bank,' as she resigns her position, after Government threats.  Even the burning tourists are pushed aside for this one.  What else are the press ignoring/covering up?  The question as to why a wee girl, known to Boris, gets into the Lords perhaps?

Thursday morning.

Dreich.  

Once again I forgot about this.  I was so busy doing nothing that I forgot until late at night.  Too late to finish of a meaningless post.

So I will take up the meaninglessness this morning.

Good news at last.  Kenneth Vargas, the highly thought of SC Herediano player, has agreed to join the Heart of Midlothian to 'progress his career,' and get sold on to one of the big clubs around Europe.  This is good business for the Heart of Midlothian, at least, as long as he turns out to be worth having!  The Scottish game is not like those in Central America, as he will soon find out.  

The usual international clearances are required, but as always it is the Visa that is a problem.  This as you will know, is controlled by the English Colonial office in Westminster, and they may decide he is not wanted, him being foreign and all that.   So we wait and see.

David Roberts - The Aqueduct of the Nile

Barbers For Shearing

In an effort to lose weight I decided to make a start today.  I had a haircut!  Early today I limped round to the Market Square and entered the Barbershop.  Careful praying before leaving was required, Tuesday is 'Old Men's Reduced Price Day,' and therefore I wished to be first!  I entered a quiet shop. two chairs filled, and almost finished, an aged woman looked through aged magazines as she awaited her aged man, the quiet chatter continued as I slid into the seat and waited.

Shortly afterwards the far chair emptied, I was motioned forward, telling the woman, who done me last time, to finish the coffee she had been trying to scoop down.  She refused as by now it was cold anyway, indicating non stop work since opening. 

The chat was amiable, the hair removed in similar fashion to shearing sheep.  The machine bussed, the hair flew, large dollops falling to the ground as she spoke.  Eventually the job was complete, I felt a stone lighter, I saw my ears once again, and at my feet was sufficient wool to knit a pullover.  

I paid my £10, plus £3 more as a tip for more coffee, and almost skipped out the door past the five men now awaiting removal of the grey stuff.  I was happy, and the only dull note was Easter, when asked I mentioned I did nothing but attend church and the response was, er, hesitant.  A good shop however, but interesting.  Two women on today, clipping as hard as they can, though with many of the old boys awaiting there is plenty of room in the middle of the grey hair!

Back home I considered the jobs awaiting.

I ignored them.

So, back to ancient history.

This American lass wants info on the family line.  I have lost much of it and must scramble through what is left and what I have improved upon.  I am amazed at what I have recovered, and amazed at how hard all this is now.  Once it was fun, now it is difficult.  Especially as I am not back into the 1700s and unsure if these are the correct men.  Ho hum.

My father was born in Edinburgh, his father just across the border near Berwick.  The family were farmers, tenant farmers I assume, as they kept moving around.  It was probably the agricultural/economic downturn that drove my great grandfather into Berwick.  Here he ran a pub, 'The Black Swan' opposite the market place.  He also farmed 40 acres nearby.  This makes sense, his girls mostly ran the pub, one was deaf and dumb but worked there for many years, he could manage the small acreage, he had 175 acres before this, and my grandfather worked there also for a while as far as I can tell.  

Great grandfathers father also farmed, back in the 1700s.  How hard was this work?  His father also farmed, but it is dubious which man was his father, not because of 'hank-pankie' but the line offers one or two suggestions.  A lot of the lines include the name 'Robert.'  Father to son we see 'Robert,' and this name is found on all possible lines.  I am hoping this line goes back to the one called 'James!'

Now I am worn out by my mental efforts, it does not take much, and I seek rest and repose.  I may dream, as some can, of travel to far away places once visited, though the Scottish borders are not as warm as middle eastern places some have trudged about on.  I am lucky I can still make Tesco!

Fun Friday...

A day of excitement.

Washed this morning because I thought it was Sunday.

It wasn't.

Spent too long on cereal breakfast while reading papers online and crawling through Twitter.

Amazed at how much space the 'Daily Mirror' gives to Royal stories, especially when they are so flimsy. 

Eventually went for haircut.

On way noticed how much my Tweed jacket has shrunk hanging in the cupboard over the past two years.

Met a museum worker.  Gossiped.  

Had haircut, £9:50, enjoyed chatting to the few customers there.

Wandered home via the park.  I wanted to check out the tent that was appearing as I left the house.

It appears to be connected to the building, a centre for disabled people, and is full of tables, chairs, tea and biscuits I suspect.  I did not go near.

A few people were in the park, just before noon.  

No youngsters, the adolescents were missing, not at school until next week so must still be in bed.

Clambered up stairs, again convinced the landlord has added steps to them.

Put on the washing, annoying the neighbours by doing the heavy stuff.

Made dinner, main meal at midday in bit to ease diet.  This appears to work.

Wasted time arguing with folk on 'Daily Express' comments.

I am now convinced they are either Tory activists, 'Express numpties, or the 77th Brigade.  Some have an enormous amount of postings, some appear to want to continue the argument, using strange posts, and some appear to have several names.

I could be wrong.

 

As the washing hung over a heater I realised it was almost tea time.  This I ruined with a Scots sausage roll, burnt!  The neighbours never ask me to cook.

Now I sit in my bed, realising I am missing the football, whatever it is, listening to the distant sound of the film 'Dirty Dancing.'  I am not amused by that.  Over in the gardens they have a film show once again.  Quite why they always use such ghastly films I know not.  Maybe they are looking for the randy teenage audience?  The music is ghastly also.

The weather is fine, which has helped make the day.

However, I am not sure my heart can stand the excitment daily...