Louise Rayner - John Knox's House, Edinburgh
A quick glance at this picture and you may think the scene has not changed much in all these years. This picture, painted in the later 19th century, is full of life and depicts what is supposedly a normal day in the life of the great city of Edinburgh. We see the High Street, or 'Royal Mile,' as it is known as it leads from Edinburgh Castle down to Holyrood House, has always been a bustling place. The painting portrays the locals, with a few workers of many kinds included. The better off by now having moved down into the 'New Town' long since, we can tell the small tenement dwellings are occupied by those standing around in the street. None are ashamed of hanging out the window and participating in the conversation, none are ashamed of washing hanging from the windows, neither activities being seen done today.
However, this month Edinburgh endures, sorry, welcomes, the Festival. An orgy of high class entertainment for the paying public. Alongside this come the 'Fringe,' this is an orgy of artists seeking fame and fortune, alongside those from previous generations who made it here in the long forgotten past. This comes with a plague of leaflets no-one reads, mostly scattered about the streets or pinned to any available post, also unread by passers-by
Add to this mix the Dustbin men are on strike for a week! This means wheelie bins overflow, rubbish piles up, and none gets collected. The tourists flooding into Edinburgh, while the locals flood out if they can, get the benefit of Brexit Britain in their face, and certainly up their nose. An excellent idea of the Binmen to make clear what is happening in our country today, low wages, high energy bills, and Brexit failures flood the nation, and the government, in Westminster, has gone on holiday! As I keep telling the Brexiteers, "You voted for this!" But they refuse to accept reality. "This is not the Brexit I voted for!" Is their cry, though there never was any other on the table. Lies and devious politicians, backed by very rich men abroad has brought the nation to its knees. And Brexiteers refuse to accept this. Trains, docks, Royal Mail, and dustmen on strike, and Brexit continues to make problems.
Boris is on holiday.
400 miles away from all this I sit watching August slowly disappear from us. Already 22 days in and leaves are falling from the trees. Possibly this is encouraged by the dry ground, the heat heavy upon us this year, possibly just normal Autumn approaching.
The sun still shines, though now through much more cloud, and slowly heads towards the west. Women take their dogs across the quite safe park, enjoying the sun while standing gossiping about their neighbours with others like minded. The impatient dogs snuffle around the fallen leaves and sun browned grasses always finding something to keep them busy.
The rush hour now struggles past the door, music of an awful kind emits from one, a ringing phone from another. Rap, with a capital 'C' passes by at three miles an hour, followed by the airport bus, hydraulic brakes squealing like a crying child. Every evening the same people, the same slow struggle towards retirement. Others, often retired, foolishly shop at Sainsburys in time to meet the rush hour. They have done this for several years, why? Have they never considered an early morning or late night shop? I suppose getting up, checking the pills, finding breakfast, walking the dog, and then it is too late for shopping. In the evening they would not wish to miss the 'Bread & Circuses' provided for them by broadcasters dulling the brain and hindering thought.
I avoid such TV yet find my mind is dull and thought hindered. Having exercised, twice early last week, then twice worked in the front to clear the mess I found my self very tired and aching much from Thursday onwards. Even today, after a trip to Tesco, my body aches. This, I must say, has nothing to do with the money saving offer on a bottle of 'Jameson's Orange Whiskey' that was going cheap last week in Tesco. Irish whiskey does not just possess a wrong spelling of 'whisky,' it is also only 30%, which tempts some to drink more than they ought. Especially when watching football. My neighbours now know I was watching football at the weekend.
