Saturday night, on Shed.

 

At the Station

As I have nothing to say, and some people like old foto's of railway stations, here is one from the past of Tunbridge Wells station.  Stupidly I have not noted the photographers name, which is not unusual for me, but it is a simple yet powerful photograph.  It certainly looks very Bert Hardy.

There is something about railway stations and railways in general that entice photography.  Possibly it is the light and shade as seen here, especially when done in Black & White images, and there is just so much to take pictures off.  

The stations and their environs, the buildings, some almost 200 years old, give opportunity for the camera.  The Sheds round the back full of items of which few understand their uses.  The wagons, the engines themselves, and those in Heritage railways give special pleasure when noted, make for super photography.  Add in the weather, whether bright sunshine or dark overhead clouds, a bot of steam or colour and a picture appears.  

The people also, if they do not notice you and belt you one, can give great pictures.  Excited kids or dogs, less excited mothers fussing around, bored passengers awaiting, the items carried and these days the dress sense, or lack of it, make pictures.  With Heritage railways it is mostly 'look a like' men, stomachs reaching out further than the camera lens they carry.  'People watchers' can enjoy large stations for hours.  

I must get on a train soon...

King and Privatisation

The Kings speech took place today.  I did not watch this, I was not invited so I gave it a miss.  This is where the royal comes in, sits on a throne, reads a speech written by his government and has to avoid muttering 'This is absurd!' at every other item.   I would indeed like to hear what Charlie thinks of the speech and the many words he has to proclaim.  I suspect he has already made clear to the PM his opinion of them all.  

Will anything much 'change.'

Some things will be pushed through in spite of obvious dangers, others will benefit the nation in some manner, other bills will slowly die and be forgotten as always.  Most will not affect most of us.  Not this time.  With a large majority of closed minded yes men behind them Starmer will mostly get his way.  Once again the much maligned House of Lords will provide the strongest opposition, and not just from the hundreds of Tory peers put there because of large donations.  The Lords can be a great opposition to governments, Thatcher's main opposition came from there, including Tory Lords.  I suspect more from the Lords now.

One good thing is rail nationalisation.  The greedy operators who took millions out of the railways and left an overpriced, confused system behind will not be missed.  The plan is to have a 'Great British Railways,' in operation soon.  This all sounds just right to me, but hold on, 'ScotRail' is owned by the Scottish Government, how will that ft in with the 'English' 'Great British Railways?'  Keir has not bothered to ask that one.  Railways, like buses, water, gas and electricity ought to be run for the sake of the nation, not private profit.  Way back when Birmingham's then leader Joseph Chamberlain, bought out the 'Coke and Gas Company,' nationalised it if you like, for the sake of Birmingham and saw production, industry and the town flourish.  Why can this not be done nationally with these things now?  There are many excuses as to why, but all come from those investing in these private companies.  It is time these important services to the nation were serving the nation, and come to think of it this includes the Royal Mail.  Let's get that back from Czech hands.

Wednesday Rumblings

Sometime ago I wanted to visit Egypt.  The history, tourist sites, heat and fancy foods all attracted.  Now, I canny be bothered going anywhere.  That said, Egypt, seen here from space, is an interesting phenomenon in many ways.  The ancient history, fancy writing, and those huge pyramids let alone the architecture built by pharaoh this and pharaoh that.  All worth viewing.  

Egypt today is once again run by a dictatorial regime, but can you run such a country any other way?  The vast majority of the populace are young, jobs few, conditions not good, and opportunities up and down.   What hope for the future outside of history?  That appears to be all Egypt produces.  There is agriculture, though whether any arrives here in the UK since the absurdity of Brexit I doubt.  There is Natural Gas, coal and oil, but the poor do not benefit, as 'trickle down' works in Egypt as well as it works anywhere else.  Some very rich Egyptians as well as very poor ones.

Now Islamic, once a powerhouse of Christianity with only vestiges left, and the Coptic Christians, going back many centuries, suffer needless abuse by Islam.  

Egypt guards the Suez canal, a wealth creator if ever there was one, and surely one of the most important waterways in the world?  We saw recently how one ship blocked the canal for a few days and disrupted China's economy by ding so!  

Egypt is a powerful nation in the region, a very large army which keeps itself above the rest.  Always ready to take over government when called upon, and even when not called!  

Egypt is well worth a guided tour if you can keep the hawkers away.

Tunbridge Wells Train Station. Photographer Neil Nevinson, 1950s.

Why is it that pictures like this, taken in the 1950s can be so simple yet so good?  If I try to take this picture it will be very different.  OK, the camera and lens will make a difference, but even so the fact that it is dated, black & white, and the outfits also of a differing age all present a view that varies from anything we can capture today.  

Adverts ought to have a special rate of tax added to them.  The more deceitful they are the higher the tax!  Take this one, three flimsy pathetic non foods, add a few pieces of rounded cardboard and wow, something worth looking at!  All lies!  And apart from what is in the meat, what is the cheese made out off?  We will not ask about the bun.

I got an email regarding the Gas today.  Like the recent Electric one it was forcing a new tariff upon me, a more expensive one, to save me when costs rise soon, while celebrating costs coming down now.  I smell a rat.  Indeed I went for the change, is there an alternative?  I checked the increases, all the while noting prices are falling yet my costs rise.  If the Labour Party was a Labour Party it would be bringing this nonsense to an end, but they will not.  It is clear that this Labour Party is for the  business word, thon billionaire who started 'Phones4U' (if that is the correct name) is now donating to Labour because they are for business instead of the workers.  A true conservative party!  

We have been taken over by a right wing coup, big business, often in the USA or Saudi have made use of the mess we are in to force the Farage's upon us, divide the nation, give us Brexit and now Freeports and SEZs.  Prices will rise, wages stagnate, more social problems lie ahead under Labour.  This may not affect Scotland so much but now we know how the SNP has not got independence in sight, in spite of the latest manifesto.  Deviants and weirdo's may be OK under the SNP but independence is far from important.  The middle class Scot shows his comfort lies in Westminster. 

Corfe Castle Rail

Lime St Liverpool 1954

Trapped indoors hiding from the bright sunshine, though I did risk this at 7:30 when I popped up to Sainsburys, I spent some time watching people at Corfe Castle Railway Station where 'Railcam' have now introduced a live cam.  This is a Heritage line, closed by BR years ago and reopened and worked by volunteers.  A Diesel show was on this weekend, something to bring in the crowds, and many men, and with the castle itself just above us for a visit many women also, camera carrying was in vogue.  I am jealous!

I was at the castle a couple of years ago with my friends from Bournemouth.  We struggled up the hill and struggled down again wishing we had visited the place 20 years earlier.  The view of the railway was a good one, naturally no train arrived until we moved on.  It was a good week however, and I decided then we must go onto that train when the steam is being used.  I then looked up the prices and we have been hesitating ever since.  Now she is not well this trip may not occur for some time yet.

The castle was well placed defensively, situated in the valley between to hills, on the road from the dock which had been used way back into Neolithic times, yes even your granddad was not born then, and the area I suggest sees more pleasure craft than working boats.  

Cromwell decided that it had to be blown up.  His worry was those opposed to him, those King lovers, would retake the place and make it a stronghold against him.  His dynamite worked well.  What also worked well was the locals removing stones to build their houses.  Many down in the town have indications of once being part of the castle, decorative pieces, names, etc.  Today these small cottages will cost you an arm and a leg, just as much as a railway ride!

Railway Station

The picture posted the other day came from this short film taken in Victoria Station sometime during the 1930s.  They say it is Victoria Station however I am convinced this is Waterloo Station at the time.  I could be wrong, this has been known before... 

The historical aspect is interesting, the outfits, the uniforms, the sailors piling of the train obviously from Portsmouth (I say), and the porters rushing to, I assume, the 1st class coaches for the tips on offer. 

Otherwise has there been much change?  

Obviously electric trains abound today, only one is noted on this film, the platform area has been renovated, signalling and information boards modernised, but overall the people, the attitudes, the waiting to go or for someone to arrive remains the same.  Few men are without hats, most have waistcoats, jackets and ties, more ladies have chosen not to wear hats than the men.  Do most appear middle class?  Many rush to the 'Third Class coach,'  It is remarkable that so few are seen smoking, few are eating anything, is this because only seated cafes were available then?  It certainly appears to be holiday season, and if going on holiday the sun ought to be shining, and so it is!  

Lovely to see the engines that arrive, they are used to push the outgoing service on its way.  I was not aware of any steep gradient on those lines, but I suppose we wouldn't notice with the trains today. 

The impression is not of a dirty, grime covered station of our memories however.  Liverpool Street always looked as if it was recently covered in grime, now much improved, Victoria I only saw when renovated, as with Waterloo.  Others may have differing memories.  

 

The film has been 'colourised' by 'Upscaled History,' which boasts a number of ages films they have treated.  Well worth a look.

WikiMedia

Quiet Day

Another day of joy and laughter.

A trip for bread, and a day watching a video of a train from Kings Cross to Hull.  What more could you wish for?  

The sun shone, on the video also, I fell asleep, and ate.

A busy day for me.

A quick look around revealed no news. 

However, that nice Man Vargas did score again the other night, that's two goals in two games, as he begins to adapt to Scottish football.  I told you he would be popular.

Wednesday Rambling Nonsense

 

It is to be regretted the way the cloud cover keeps changing.  One minute bright sun glints of the leaves opposite, the next a dim darkness falls and the leaves lose the sparkle.  Once bright green many are now turning golden as they begin to fall across the road.  Already today the greenkeepers have driven around in their wee vehicles, grass cutting mostly, but also shredding many leaves, either deliberately or by chance.

While a blue sky appears above the treeline all appears well, but we know this means soon the branches will be bare, the leaves biodegrading across the park, and a council worker driving another wee vehicle around the streets early in the morning attempting to scrub the streets clean.  Some hope.

I note the railways are already sending out those trains who's single job is to smear the line so trains do not slide past their stops because of the fallen leaves.  Some suggest cutting down the trees, others raise alarm at the thought.  Nobody is ever happy.

I've enjoyed looking at the swaying trees all day.  There has been no energy for anything else.  The weariness has reached a new height today.  Aches everywhere and tired limbs.  This is not unexpected, but it is worse than feared.  It will disappear overnight while I enjoy a deep brandy cocoa encouraged sleep.  

It is to be hoped that it is less tired tomorrow, then I can start the things I promised to do on Monday.  The 'to do' list sits here crossed out, but nothing actually done.  This of course is not unusual in this house.  There is a list of must do jobs, such as 'Spring Clean,' that have not yet begun, and routine work is haphazard without a woman to bully me.  

I bumble about emptying the sink of its contents, tidying up so I can make a similar mess again tomorrow.  All this eating each day takes up so much time.  I recall the announcements in the press of years ago promising a 'Pill' that would nourish us as well as a three course meal.  Sadly such wonders do not appear to have arrived.  Possibly they are all on space craft wandering around the earth feeding spacemen?  

The books pile up unread beside me, the biblical ones to the right, the others spread about.  It is just too much effort to concentrate for long.  I return to staring at the leaves, watching US trains arriving and departing noisily from railway stations in various parts of the US.  Most US trains are of course found in the US.  

This appears boring to some, and at times it certainly is.  However, for those scribbling notes to one another at each Rail Cam, it is a way of meeting friends, the subject becomes less important than the communication.  All appear happy, friends chat and greet one another in that kind US manner.  Happiness flows.

I rarely comment.

The situation regarding these railways reveals much about the US way of life and how they do business.  It makes the UK appear almost normal.  We see small towns with around a couple of thousand people struggling to survive in one state, while elsewhere a vast metropolis has miles of railways running through it, reflecting their history as well as their trade today.  

Of course they drive on the wrong side of the road.

The rush hour appears dead tonight, hardly anyone trundling slowly past.  All is speed, well, 30 mph, and all ignore the 20 mph side the county council wasted thousands on.  All this rush is wearing me out, time for bed...

Lazy Post

                                                           Crossing the Forth. Terence Cuneo

 

Men With a Hobby

 

Edinburgh Bus.  (Canny find @ sorry)

I was looking at a photograph of a cut down bus being used as a repair vehicle for the Bournemouth Trolley Bus service.  Now, before you start I realise you are yawning with your mouth closed but anyway, this intrigued me.  This was not the picture in itself, a routine snap of daily life in the early 1950s, but the follow up comments on Facebook.  Such pictures bring a flurry of men 'who know!'  Indeed, many did know, they knew it was not a 'bus,' as the poster had called it but a repair wagon, a cut down ex-bus.  Soon we knew it was a Huddersfield bus cut down in 1945 and used by Bournemouth buses.  We also knew the date of the picture, the repair man was not repairing but removing trolley bus overhead wires, that bus route had ceased and normal buses were being introduced, and I was somewhat surprised the life history of the man (wearing a tie and jacket) working there was not offered.  

The point of this the need for men to have a hobby!

Men require something to do, something they understand, appreciate, and can show off with.  Buses, their origin, age, design, engine power, and a host of other needless fancies, can fill some men's mind for days.  Show a 1958 'Green Line' bus to some me and they will wax lyrical about the bus, the routes, the tall tales about driver, conductor and passengers, some of which will actually be true.  Their wives will however, roll the eyes, mutter something under the breath and change the conversation to a more practical boring subject, one which we shall ignore here.

One place I worked fishing was the thing.  This I find boring and somewhat needless but when one of the boys laid down a copy of 'Trout Monthly; or whatever it was a long boring, but quite excited, exchange of view of trout, their habits, where they could be caught, how different men went about the deed, and on and on and on and on they went.  But they were happy.  My parents had a friend, Bob, who would go off into the Highlands with his fishing gear, just to get away from her indoors, and one his own or with a friend I know not, but would return with fish for the tea.  Interestingly, this couple had an old black 'Range' on which to cook, well into the 1960s.  Quite how they managed that, and they in Morningside at that!

Alfred_Stieglitz The Hand_of_Man_

Railways of course add another level of joy to a man.  There is no limit, and no possibility of reaching the limit of knowledge about railways, both in the UK and abroad.  The subject is limitless, and some can go on about it for ever.  I once mentioned in the museum a particular railways engine, sadly I gave it the wrong name!  I was jumped on from every side, where in two minutes I had received a history of the said loco, the proper colour and name, where it is preserved, and how to see it, if I was wishing to do so.  There are almost 20 sites on facebook dealing with railways of some sort, no doubt fishing and buses also, and I keep in touch with one.  Railway enthusiasts, never 'anoraks,' can find details on almost every engine ever made somewhere on line.  There is a man, always a man, who sits and lists all engines, coaches, trucks, stations, sheds, workmen's sheds, nameplates, badges, pay details, drivers names, old lines, new lines, new lines overseas, old lines overseas, uniforms, signalling, flags, hots, oil lamps, shoes, and on and on and on and on.....They also write books, of which I had read some...

Cars also drive many a man mad, and indeed one of my highly intelligent and beautiful great nieces is indeed mad on cars.  Naturally, being a woman she is fussy about which car she wants, the colour, the wheels, the seats, the engine (which she understands better than most men, and she finds I never mention cars to her.  I get bored.

Motorcycles also have men running around, especially when the wife finds him mending the oil caked ex-army 'Matchless' 250cc on the kitchen table.  Some men take great delight in restoring such beasts.

Several thousand pounds, that could have been spent on her, hours and hours of work can lead to great satisfaction and possibly a divorce.  However, keep in mind you can always get another woman.  

The hours spent on bikes or cars, alongside travelling on aged buses, and long distant rail journeys pulled by steam engine cannot be beat by any of the rubbish filling the tv today.  Men need a hobby, photography, cars, fishing, birdwatching, you name it, men will be filling the day doing such important activities.  

Note, I say men.  Certainly women do similar things, have great knowledge and understanding, but it is mainly men who do such as this.  You see them huddle in groups around an engine, all knowing the best thing to do, standing freezing at the end of railway platforms, gazing into the skies around airports listening into radio traffic between aircraft and control.  Men need this.  It would be easy to claim this was because they had lost faith in the living God, but many such men do have such faith.   Certainly their faith enables them to avoid living for the hobby as some do, for many it is all they have to fill their lives, and the faith in the creator God who enabled man to devise such machines as steam engines, cars or aeroplanes gives much pleasure.  A great bug engine which came out of the ground a s a bit of metal, now transformed into this beast is worth considering.  And without the Lords input would they have been created?

We all have this need to do something, to be creative, to use the hands, to write, build, see, follow, and keep ourselves occupied.  Those who do not have such hobbies end up in pubs, trouble or death.  The hobbyist repairing a machine that has not worked for 40 years has more satisfaction than many of us sluggards can ever appreciate.

Hunt & Railways

This millionaire wishes people who have retired after 50 or so years of work, to return to work to save his party from defeat.  That is not how he described it, but that is what it is.  Instead of obvious solutions, return to the EU, or at least the 'single market,' tax the filthy rich like himself, Sunak and those who 'carelessly' forget to pay several million pounds in tax, as this is difficult, we get old folks to work long hours and die.  I wonder which millionaire came up with this?  Too clever for Hunt, but maybe a Tory loving civil servant seeking promotion thought it a wheeze.  

Guess what the nations response is...

HS2, that multi Billion waste of time and effort, has failed once again with the news that it might not reach all the way into London, they place it was supposed to start from.   This exciting news raised blood pressure everywhere, but, for once, the Tories have risen to the challenge with Hunt,  (see previous) has made it known HS2 will indeed end at Euston Station.  Possibly.   

There was no need for this.  The railways could be improved as we all know, but surely improving what is there rather than introducing something new covering similar grounds was another 'Boris type' piece of flannel.  Badly thought out, badly planned, and l still have no idea how much work has already been done.  I know huge machines have created vast tunnels in places, I know many have lost houses and lifestyles because of this railway, I know the Leeds part has been scrapped, but how much has actually been completed, if any?  

Still, we can afford this even if we cannot pay the railway workers, the nurses and NHS staff, the postmen, the ambulance staff, the....

The dying embers of the day produced a mild pink in the sky.  This is to warn us tomorrow will be as chilly as today I suspect.  The winter has been mild so far, and the energy people are not happy with the warmth.  The prices will however, remain high.  On that note the water people have informed me that in spite of the cost of living crisis they must put the water charges up.  This is to pay the fines received for polluting rivers, streams and the seaside with sewage rather than spend money cleaning it up.  So the money I am charged for 'sewage' is now paying the bill for the sewage they did not bother cleaning!  Privatisation blessing here.

Ticket to Ride

This is a good book.  

Published in 2016, Tom Chesshyre road the rail in 2013/14, so it is slightly dated.  Non the worse for that.  It is understandable that situations have changed somewhat in some of the countries Ton

m has travelled through.  And what countries, what trains!  

Written from the point of view of someone who likes trains without becoming an anorak train enthusiast, Tom travels through China, India, USA and Russia amongst others places.  Detailing the trips, the people, the country that he meets on board and sees through the window.  

The fact that he has put so many trips into the book means each trip could have been a single book in itself, though I suspect his run in with a mutinous bunch of Aussies who rebelled against him he probably does not wish to cover again.  

His writing style is good.  We are there listening to the Chinese coughing loudly, we see the red soil of Australia fade into the distance, we note the differing attitudes of guards, both at the borders and on the trains.  The North Korean guards are not what I expected, the drugged up lout in New York was. 

In most nations Tom comes across ano rail enthusiasts.  Those who travel on every line, ensuring all they see, trains, coaches, signals, stations, drivers are photographed, and those who just like travelling by train.

On such trips people open up about themselves and life in general.  By avoiding controversy guides can become quite friendly and open in even the most 'locked in' nation.  Train travel, especially on long journeys, does tend to loosen the passengers, drink also helps.  Speaking to a stranger, often about their private life, is possible for some, especially when you will never meet again.  Something about train travel relaxes people, the smooth ride possible on most lines today, the sights from the train, green verdant land, streams, seas, mountains, all calm the mind.  

Of course there is the other type.  The drunk, the lout, the man or woman on the phone sharing their work or private life with one and all.  Surely murder is not wrong in such situations?  The staff, sometimes happy, sometimes grumpy, depending on where you are and how they have been treated.

'Ticket to Ride' offers all this.  It was a book I found hard to put down.  Also, the trips being separated means this book need not be read in one go, each chapter a differing delight.  The descriptions of the train delights the anor fan, the hope to be there one day delights me.  

I recommend this book, both as a 'railway' book and as a travel book.  

Tom Chesshyre

I've just realised I have read one of his before.  'From Source to Sea.'  A walk from the source of the Thames to the sea.

Soup, Spiders and Australian Railways

 

Because a bug attached itself to me I have managed to lose almost half a stone by not eating.

Today however, I began to eat.  I put some chopped Chick Pea things, I forget the name, in the pan last night and covered them with water.  This morning I boiled them, flattened them, sort off, and added the ingredients.  These are easy to find, I just put in what is lying around.  Salt, brown and red sauce, cayenne pepper, vinegar, turmeric, coriander oops, too much, chicken Oxo and tin of chicken soup.  Add onions, green lentils the only tin available, and some frozen leeks, heat, simmer, and wait.

I now have a coriander soup.

This is not one the local cafe's will be asking about any time soon.

I did my best, ate two bowls of this, er, stuff, and cooled the rest for the week.     

My prayer, "Lord, I'll get it down, if you keep it down."

I have been hosting quite a few of these guys recently.  One has been above me in the corner for several years now, though whether he, or she, is the same one I cannot tell.  Above the window a long legged creature has been moving about for some time, first here, then there, sometimes just 'hanging about to my left.'  This smaller fellow is living on the wall just outside my door.  He has been there several days now.  No web, no friends, possibly no idea where he is heading, but he is still there, though he has managed to move several inches during today.  

None of these are the Australian type, small, non dangerous, and mostly wanting to keep in the dark places rather than a hallway with occasional lights.  My aunt, who moved to Australia in 1926 I think, was not impressed with my sisters response to what she referred to as a 'small spider.'  My sister was not impressed by what she considered a 'dirty big brute.'  I think Aunt Lizzies tales of the spiders she met while living in one of the big houses (as caretaker) on one of Sydney's many bays put my sister of her dinner for several days.

They can stay in Aussieland.    

When I am rich, I will take the train, the Indian Pacific, from Perth to Sydney one day.  There is only one way to meet Australia, to see the lie of the land and to understand how the people develop, but by train travel.  Railways open countries, first of all in the days of long ago, and now in the days of tourism.  Commuter travel is still a busy rail service, though clearly it is quicker to cross such land masses by air.  To see the land however, you must take the train.

Hmmm...I canny even get to the train here.  I must jump on one soon, before all the strikes restart. 

Steam in the Highlands - The Jacobite Steam Train (Hogwarts Express)

A Glaikit Stupidly visits Dunmow Oxfam and Nothing in Witham

Monday morning, weathermen all claiming it would be hot, but I noticed it would  be only 30%C today, so I took a bag to the Heart charity shop and while there searched for a wide brimmed hat.  None were found!  Could it be they had all been sold, or possibly retrieved from charity bags before being taken to the shop?  I had noticed a hat which fitted while in Tesco earlier, but it really was designed for someone sitting watching cricket all day, a bit too pretentious for me I thought.  Other likely shops were of course shut, and the charity shops only had one suitable hat which was too small for my head.

Right, said I, I shall go to the 'Designer Village, and visit 'Mountain Warehouse.'  

However, after waiting in the Bus Park for a while I did not see a suitable bus, so I took the airport bus when it came and headed in the other direction for Oxfam in Dunmow!

I like this shop because the rich folks of the district always place plenty of good stuff in here.

I found nothing!

There were birthday cards aplenty, always good one in this shop, so I filled up on those.  But no suitable hat, nor indeed anything for men at all that I could see.  It appears men are not donating, I shall rephrase that, women are not donating their men's old clobber, possibly because they have already flung out all his favourite outfits and bought new ones.  

Only one other charity shop open in this town, a proper overcrowded, dingy shop, as they ought to be, same story however.  I mentioned to the lass inside that she was lucky to be out of such sun, "You should not be in it then," she said.  "Yes," I replied, "But I am stupid!"  Funny how quickly she accepted this.  Later I was to prove myself correct.  Other shops were closed, and the only one with suitable headgear is very expensive, aimed at the country gent, and that I am not.  I think he was closed as there appeared to be no-one at home.  Nothing for it but to sit and wait.

I sat and waited while taking lunch somewhat hurriedly in a small, but attractive pub, next to the bus stop, the 'Boars Head.'  I say hurriedly as I did not note the times correctly and ended up awaiting stupidly once again in the sun...  Eventually the 133 arrived, on time and driven by the same driver that brought me here earlier.  He drove well, but was not very friendly, he appeared to be possibly Vietnamese or some such, capable but with little English.  A good driver who needs to work on his repartee with customers, though it is hot in that seat I suppose.  

The advantage of the bus was the view of passing Wheat and Barley fields, some harvested, some in the process thereof, and all shining brightly in the sun.  As we passed through the small village (small village, large wallets) of Felsted  I noticed the Rooks, well spread out, chomping on the grass at the famous rich people's school.  Life goes on in the country, no matter what happens elsewhere.  These rooks can sometimes be traced back for hundreds of years as having roosted in one place continually.  

Having decided that I would make use of the 'Boars Head' for 'lunch,' next time I was in town searching the charity shops, I happily enjoyed the return journey, once again noting the rooks still in place, the cornfields, the green of the hedge rows, the half dressed women, some of whom only now reveal that they are actually female, the youths glued to their phones, headphones on, and almost all on the journey, bar the elderly who need it most, carrying water, by now somewhat warm.

The bus dropped me near my door, the driver did not return my grunt as dismounted.  In this area it is normal to thank the driver, most of whom return this greeting, something I never did in either Edinburgh or London, nor did we out in the country areas.  It is good however, and most drivers of all companies appear friendly and helpful for the most part.

At home I searched the fridge for food that was at the 'eat by' date.  So lunch/ consisted of using up four Chicken Samosas care of Sainsburys.  These are not as good as real Indian ones but will do. 

I contemplated lying asleep for an hour, I contemplated just continuing to stuff my face.  I contemplated nothing in the end. 

Then stupidity arose within me once again.

This will be a surprise to both my readers.

Maybe, thought I, I could get a bus to the 'Designer village' and visit the 'Mountain Warehouse,' and get a wide brimmed, safari hat?  Maybe, on the other hand, I ought to lie down in a darkened room?  Maybe I don't require a hat, just a brain?  Of course, to walk out again as the temperature rose to well over 90% would be an act of crass stupidity and only the lowest would consider this.

I caught the 15:20 bus.

I had checked the timetable, I knew the route, I knew what I was doing.  

I even looked at the front heading as we boarded, 'Witham via Stubbs lane,'  it read.  

I wondered for a moment as the other bus I saw earlier had 'via Designer Village'' but I put that aside as my mistake as this was the 38A.

We began the tour in the normal fashion but instead of heading for the 'Designer Village,' ('Designer Village' a replacement for 'Freeport Outlet,' but the same things, rejects and high prices) we turned up Chapel Hill and headed instead for Stubbs Lane.  A tour round the houses I did not mind, I have not been down this way for a long time,  and as we left the town, fought past lorries, vans and too many cars at the roundabout, we then headed away from the 'Designer Village' and out of town!  

I resigned myself to my mistake.  I must have read the timetable wrong.  This bus does not go to the, well you know where, and I decided to sit and wait, visit Witham, and accept my fate.  

However, while the bus does reach the terminus it travels all around the place.  We passed through as many small villages as we could, one bus an hour it appeared, and I was delighted with the country view, the passing cottages, often 'Jig-saw' perfect, large one time homes of the important people, often large barns now millionaire homes, and once again fields, harvested or awaiting such as we trundled carefully along the narrow, often blocked by parked car, roads.  Small houses built for farm workers 200 years ago, rarely have parking lots attached, those that do are often hidden behind bushes and not appealing to H&S lovers.  Once again, the driver, possibly a brother of the first man, brought along the same attitudes and similar careful skill in taking us to our end.  

16:00 hours and we had arrived.

As we passed some of those large houses in which dwelt large families accustomed to their position in life I felt no jealousy.  On the contrary I realised I do not want such needless wealth.  Comparing what I need, and what is on offer, it would be easy to find a decent place, large enough for visitors (which I never have) or family, and small enough to manage.  Who needs so much space as some have?  I suspect prestige, and living out a fantasy is often involved, as well as believing that you have reached a certain place of importance and this must be reflected in the abode.  Showing off may have a place also.  When I become rich, I will one day, I would hope to make use of the money, not just waste it on prestige projects like a little Boris Johnson. 

Witham, six miles from home, is a world away from Mid-Essex.  This is London overspill territory.  Less than an hours commute from Liverpool Street, it has long attracted those who wish a life while taking London money.  Sadly many less desirable types have also arrived, all brought along with them the London attitudes that are loved worldwide.  There is a word of attitude difference between the towns, though the few people I spoke to there were as friendly as you like yesterday.  However, it was few people as arriving late many shops had shut, and being Monday others had not opened.  I wandered about, catching the sun, knees weakening, body failing, and therefore noticing nothing new about my condition.  I contemplated the 'White Hart' for third lunch, but thought I would check timetables first.  Ah, 16:21 is my bus, thirty or so minutes to wait.

Having checked all the shops, not much to be found here, I obtained a cool water bottle, not quite cold from Greggs.  I thought how funny, this famous bakers and I buy a bottle of 95p water and ignore the cakes.  I have not used Greggs for 20 years, I might never, having little need for them, but they are a formidable success.

Few famous people in this town but Dorothy L Sayers, an author of many books, had a home here until 1957 when she passed away.  She stopped using the house at that time.

I stood at the bus stop, in the shade, watching the women pass by reading the advert over and over. There is little to recommend Witham, this bus stop and car park does not help.  

16:21 the timetable said, and again it was the bus tour of the country I awaited.  The 38A would take me home and deliver me to my dinner.   

I waited.

I waited, checking the time.

I waited.

16:21 came and went.

I waited.

I waited for some time before a 38A, clearly the one that would collect me and tour the nation before dropping me of miles from my door, stopped across the street at the terminus on the other side.

I waited.

The driver, a woman, got out and walked to the 39 Bus behind.  

I  waited.

She spent 15 or so minutes gabbing to the driver.  

I waited.  

Eventually she headed back to her bus, I crossed the road to enquire if she was mine?  I had better rephrase that, I asked if she was the bus I wanted.  "Yes," she said, "But...."

It appears Miss Stroppy was not happy at driving a bus in what she called "40% of dangerous heat."  

Other buses managed I noted.  Short wearing Miss Stroppy was clearly a union girl, and was waiting in 'management' to answer whether the bus would run!  I noted the old couple, laden with shopping across at the bus stop, I would have pointed them out but she was off back to the 39 bus to attempt to avoid work.  What about the passengers I thought?  That couple carrying shopping will find it hard to get home.  I doubt she cared.  My work experience indicated that she was indeed a union girl, and I suspect quite used to finding conditions difficult.  

Earlier I had hesitated walking up the road towards the station where a choice of train or bus awaited, now I stumbled up the hill.

I say hill, because the station when built cut through the hill in normal Victorian 'nothing will stop us attitudes' in the 1840s.  It may be this which revealed the hill was once the beginning of Witham being an Iron Age settlement.  Typical of Victorian engineers not to worry about this.  By 913 AD Old Witham was founded next door to the station.  A Roman temple also was found not too far from here.  The 'Knights Templar' were given land here in 1148, as you know, and realised they could only make limited use of the old town, though they must have used the church there, so they were granted permission to  open commercial premises on the London Road to catch passing trade.  This is where the majority of todays town is based.  

Knights Templar knew how to make a few bob.  

No bus was appearing, and as I arrived people were flooding out of the station, indicating the London commuters were not all working from home.  I pushed in, paid £5:30 for a single ticket from a long suffering lady, I was too rushed to search out and use my Railcard, and took the lift downstairs.  I checked with the young lad trying to keep the toddler happy if this was my train.  "Yes," he said, "It's says so up there." and laughed.  I had not thought to look at the sign now found on all trains telling you where you are going.  I made a feeble excuse and chatted about the kid, who was enjoying the train.  I found a seat, collapsed into it and soon we were on our way.  The ten minute journey saw the end of my, now warm, bottle of water.  I left the train, mixed with the locals most of whom also began their journey at Liverpool Street.  I do not consider travelling an hour a day on a crowded train much fun, let alone when forced to do so for London wages.  However, when in London I often took much, much longer to get home from say North Finchley than many of these people would have done getting home today. 

Witham Station often has fast express and fast Freight trains hurtling through.  At 9:27 on the morning of September 1st 1905 the Liverpool Street to Cromer express passed through.  As the express hit the crossover tracks a rail had been loosened by men working to insert ballast under it and had not completed the job as the train arrived.  The rail worked loose, with the speed of the train derailing the 14 wooden coaches and hurtling them across the platforms at speed.  Ten people died, including one railway worker on the platform, and 71 were injured.  The worst, so far, accident in Essex rail history.

I had considered leaving the train one stop early as this would drop me off at the 'Designer Village.'

Sense overruled.  

I left the station realising what had gone wrong.  As we passed yet another new development for £400,000 houses we passed the 38A going in the other direction.  A wee while later we passed another!  This made no sense as they run at hourly intervals.  Then I realised, the other bus was a 38 and on the front were the words 'Via Designer Village.'  Fool!  

I checked the online timetable today and saw indeed two buses, and I had managed to not only get on the wrong one in the first place I failed to get back on the same wrong bus later, as it was "Too Hot and dangerous."   

As I wearily, and I mean wearily, climbed up what now became an enormous hill towards home a 38A bus, with driver, came round the corner.  That driver is yet wondering why that nutter on the corner was waving his fist at him.

As I ate my frugal 'eat what you find and eat it again' meal I contemplated the day.  This was difficult as my eyes were closing after I ate, with the pint of Gin & Tonic I was drinking, and yet another pint or two of water to follow.   It had been good to see the countryside, to be outside, to meet people and go the wrong way, so somethings were worth while.  Maybe next time I will do things differently?  

However, with the warm nights sleep can be fitful, last night slumber began around 10:30 and lasted unbroken until 5:40.   

Today, when the ParcelForce man arrived at lunchtime with my Forres Pies I mentioned to him it was 106%F.  I also gave him a bottle of cool water, which may be the best tip he gets today.  I noticed the van had another dozen boxes on board!  How hot was his van?  Of course these men are all franchised today, this means that if they do not deliver they do not earn money.  Unlike Miss Stroppy he cannot grumble it is too hot and dangerous, he just has to continue, concentrate, and hope for cold drinks everywhere.  

31.5 indoors today, and facing north I do not get the sun directly.  That I suppose is 107%F...

I sit starkers and frighten people each time I rise from the seat.  Good innit?  

Train at the Station for Boris

I have been searching for steam engines.  You see my grandfather, who died in 1917, before I was born, drove steam engines in the 19th century.  On the census pages for 1881 and 1891 he is described as a steam engine driver, a very skilled operation.  He certainly left home and was living with his sister in Edinburgh opposite the great engine depot at Meadowbank when 15.  His sister had married an engine driver so this made an ideal place to learn.  Eventually, after returning home for reasons unknown, he was found in Edinburgh, growing family with him, and probably, but I remain unclear here, probably worked for the NBR, the North British Railway.  Incidentally, you see the arrogant English owners abuse of Scotland in that name!   He was of course working as a general labourer b y 1901, this was either because of various family problems, his wife ended up in a lunatic asylum and one son died in mysterious circumstances, or he got sacked for the drinking.  I wonder if he went home during his teenage years for similar activity?  He did return to driving with the new Gas Works at Granton.  There he worked the small loco used for moving tender of coal and whatever around the large yards.  He left there we think because of drink.  By this time his wife had died, he had remarried and by 1911 he had lost two more jobs, his wife, his home and his kids.  He lived out his time for 6 years in the workhouse.  The family, with my grandmother, moved to Granton by chance, and he met the kids once a week.    

Why am I blethering about this?

Well I was searching for possible engines he could, maybe, possibly, have driven, and I wondered what he would have thought about the Prime Ministers of his day?  He would have been born under the Premiership of Sir Robert Peel, way back in 1845.  While a young man tasting beer in Edinburgh Lord John Russell, famous for opposing the Corn Laws, and encouraging the Reform Act, would have been exchanged for the Earl of Derby, and while puffing back and forward across Scotland and possibly Northern England he would have witnessed, if he cared, the antagonism of Benjamin Disraeli and the great William Gladstone, who was also the MP for Midlothian at the time.  By the time he was reorganising his family, the eldest daughter really took over the mothers part very early, and settling in to a labouring job the 3rd Marquis of Salisbury was opposing home Rule in Ireland and supporting claiming as much as possible of Africa for the crown, and this while the Boer War of imperialist expansion continued.  Arthur James Balfour declared little of interest at this time, not even commenting in granddad's success at the gas works.  Henry Campbell Bannerman, a man who encouraged free school meals for children, Home Rule in Ireland, and led the Liberals to their last victory in the House in 1906,  he merely snorted when he realised our patriarch had been dumped from another job.  I am sure Henry Herbert Asquith, the last PM grandad would know, often considered drunk while on the front bench, would sympathise, though he never visited the workhouse.

For myself, I was born under the great Clement Attlee, a man who revolutionised the nation in a proper manner, first noticed Harold Macmillan, was old enough to understand Douglas-Home going down, and watching the rise of Harold Wilson, and keeping your eyes on Harold was always a good thing.  Ted Heath, who took us into Europe in the hope of avoiding another war, Callaghan who also had served in one, and then Thatcher of whom the less said the better.  John Major, decent but just a manager unable to cope with the Brexiteers, Tony Blair, who did many good things, all lost when he entered Iraq, and Gordon Brown, another decent man who came too late and was caught out by rising right wing nasties.  Since then we have entered a new world.  Attlee would not comprehend the depth of right wing anti-EU hatred.  Thatcher herself would fail to understand why we left the EU when that is where the money is!  And David Cameron, 'I went to Eton you know,' and Theresa May, (was she ever alive?) leave us with Boris Johnson.

The record for ministerial resignations was six.  As I scribble this Cabinet Ministers, junior ministers, PPS, and various others have been resigning, five on one letter!  By the time you notice this few will be left.  However, unless he fails to find sufficient to form a cabinet Boris can stay, even if he loses a vote of no confidence.  The royal house has little influence today publicly, however, as I understand it , the queen can step in and remove a PM and government in certain circumstances.  This is not one duty she would enjoy, but maybe in the lying PMs case, she might offer a giggle.

5 pm, the resignation total stands at 32.

I will wait a wee while before posting, we may see more yet!

5:14. resignations stands at 35.

5:28.  Count no 36.

Both the newly appointed Chancellor (chancer certainly) and the new Education Secretary have joined the senior MPs delegation in No 10 to tell Boris to go!  That's loyalty.  

17:53 Still only 36.

All awaiting Boris's response to the delegation.