Slovenly Sabbath

This was the threat today, along with thunder and lightning and heavy rain.

Feeling a bit peaky over the past couple of days I was intending to remain indoors anyway, so I spent some time watching the weather on 'Microsoft Edge' bringing the rain across at the time I normally leave on a Sunday morn.

They said it would arrive at 10 minutes to 10, but it failed to come.

They said it would be 'light rain,' and it did arrive at 10 minutes past 10, and failed to drop any rain.

'Moderate rain,' was to follow shortly after, the clouds darkened, but no rain fell.

Innit just marvellous!

On any other Sunday I would have proceeded out, as the weather looked OK, and got drenched half way down the road.  Today nothing.  I will trust the BBC from now on.

So, instead of trekking out I remained indoors intent of reading one of these.

I have one I bought back in the 80s when the NIV first arrived.   It is showing signs of wear, not always because of constant reading I should emphasise, and requires to be put aside on the 'retired book shelf.'  It was as I glanced at the scribbles inside the front pages I found a little thing from the late 70s.  I was in the hospital, and short of cash.  One Sunday evening I found myself full of 'faith,' that the money I needed for the week would arrive.  At that time I required £1 a day.  Being paid on Thursdays meant I needed £3 for the week.  I knew this would arrive.

Monday morning I arrived at work as my usual happy self, "Here's old misery," said John the cook as I entered.  I ignored him, and the collection off lesser staff gathered around the front door at 7:30 in the morning.  

I remained full of faith, and on my clock card, remember them?  I found a cheque for £3.

This was a payment owned me by the NHS which had not been paid via my wages as it ought to be.

God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.

So many times, when down on my 'uppers' the Good Lord has provided in interesting ways.

He never leaves us.

(Mind you, he does not make us rich either!)

An answer to my query has arrived.

One of my favourite, beautiful, and highly talented nieces had sent this beer to me.

She has also sent a card which has, so far, not appeared.  This may be because of the incompetence of the Royal Mail management, or some 'dick' pinching it thing money was included.  How wrong he would be.  It may appear one day, as may others that have not arrived.  

I have spent some time in these days looking in to the 'Tour.'

Not that I am really all that interested in who wins these days but I do like watching the background scenery.  

Today and yesterday there was an abundance of small, tight knit villages.  Usually a church and a castle or some once proud, but now broken down building from the days of long ago is glanced as we pass.  These villages today were astonishing.  Crammed together cheek by jowl, as they say, it indicated something of the history of the region, though all I could think was how everyone must have known everything about everyone!  No secrets here.  

I am also impressed at men cycling 100 miles and climbing hills at 15 mph, sometimes faster.  Now, for myself I often had to climb off and push the bike, and that was going downhill!  How do these men do this?  Over 4 hours of cycling today, finishing up a steep, and very high hill, with a wonderful view, but a killer for the man who led so long and got beat at the last.

I think I will make sure I still have my Bus Pass.

Tour

 

Vintage Everyday

 

Cycling is a great activity.  The freedom found moving three times faster than normal walking while on those country back roads is an excellent experience.  Convenient in towns also, bar the psychotic drivers, environmentally healthy, relatively cheap, good for fitness and just good fun.  A great experience cycling.  

However, I watched a few mnutes of this years Tour de France and soon found myself exhausted.  How do they ride uphill at 30 mph?  I could not do that downhill, I had to get off and push.  Today they race on through the rain, lycra hidden behind rain jackets, helmets dripping and roads slippy.  I await the crashes on those white lines at busy junctions.  In fact it was the downhill in the forest that brought the first accident.  Rubbed down by the Medics and his bike replaced off he went, slowly. 

I used to watch this every year, I remember the Spaniard, name forgotten, attempting to win five times in a row, failing sadly at the end, but what an effort.  Since then I have watched much less.  Most of the time I was not interested in the race at all, I was looking at the world around them.  French landscapes pass by, the Alps offer great views, chateau's, castle's, church's, war graves, memorials, housing of various styles, villages and ancient towns, rivers, and their contents, wildlife, and the people desperate to see the 'Tour' go through their town.

In fact I was losing interest I no longer fantasised that I was the break away hero seven miles ahead of the chasing pack, desperate to reach the final before they catch up, and always, always failing.  

Today, I care not.  In fact I find myself wondering why these men do this?   I can understand the need to prove your fitness, to 'be a man,' to 'beat your previous time,' and play your part in the team, after all this is how they make a living.  However, I just find myself thinking, "Slow down, enjoy the view, you might never see this again."  Racing along at high speeds in a crowd these men see nothing of the country they pass through.  I begin to wonder what is the point?  Of course I may be jealous, not getting out much is annoying, and as I see them climbing through a forest, uphill, it causes me pain.  The fitness levels are high among these men, not to say the drug consumption.  Don't say that!

Then there are the motorcyles.  Cameramen, standing up to catch the pictures while going round wet corners, a variety of other bikes for TV or security, photographers, who knows what.  Then there is the Skoda team cars to supply drinks and food and bits of bike, and the crowds along the way.  No matter how obscure the area, no matter how high the mountain, people will be standing along the route, sometimes having waited there since late yesterday evening.  Would you?  I would certainly watch if it came by, though when it did a few years ago it remained two miles from here, but clambering several thousand feet high to watch them go by?  Not me.  How long does it take for the parade to end?  Several minutes, including those trailing after falls, but not long enough for me.  

Now I want to get the bike fixed and get out, maybe one day soon.

 

van Dam

 

Wet Tour of Boris

Elite

I was watching the Tour de France this afternoon and wondering why I was losing interest in this muscular folly?  A few years ago I knew the names of the riders, or at least the favourites, now I do not know who was wearing the yellow jersey. 

I wonder why?

Partly I suspect it is the attitude of those 'keen' cyclists we see around here at this time.  Lycra clad, helmeted, expensive bikes, possibly 'hand made,' and wearing a supercilious expression whenever a normal cyclist struggles by.  I also get irked by their attitude on 'A' roads when they ride two abreast holding up the traffic deliberately showing no concern for others.  This occurs around here and can lead to accidents when a long queue of traffic gets annoyed.  

I know, or at least used to know, a few people here who rode a hundred miles or so for fun regularly, not for exercise but because that was their hobby.  Fine by me but all too often groups of them pass by considering themselves more important because they are 'proper' riders.  It comes to mind a small bike shop in Leith, the owner came often into the 'cash & carry' where I worked.  He would not allow anyone in the shop unless they were a 'proper' cyclist like himself.  Only zealots could buy or they were wasting his time.  Good job we did not stop him buying for us as he was not a 'proper' small shopkeeper and was just using us for convenience.    

Cycling snobs, who would have thought, it's just a bike!

Every so often the rain decided to fall today.  I had just been up the road to Sainsburys watching the big black cloud in the distance and shortly after I had returned and settled down the rain fell.  Teeming down with accompanying thunder, no lightning as far as I could tell.  

Ah summer, don't you just love it.

  

Tee Hee!  Boris is planning his new cabinet.  He is threatening to put David Davies, who did not do his homework while in the cabinet, in as foreign secretary while we are at war with Iran, Matt Hancock, former Health man in as Chancellor I think, with Rees-Mogg, the member for the 17th century in as Secretary to the Treasury! 

Is this Boris's plan to get himself kicked out of a job quickly in a manner in which he can blame others or what?  Liz Truss, she of the ridiculous statements ("Boris put London on the map" is one) in a high office probably he wants her to replace the woman he now has floating around, if he can remember her name that is.  

I say again this is a judgement!

We do not get ourselves such incompetent leaders in both the UK and the USA by accident.  These people have no idea of running a country, Trump has shown he has less idea than they, racism and rabble-rousing is used as a tool to pull in support, and create enemies, and a quick war that will escalate and destroy millions to follow do not happen in this manner by chance!

 Jeff Thompson

The Monday Tour

This great French event came within two miles of me today.  To avoid the crowds and the great danger of spending money I watched on TV.  I watched very carefully as they made their way from Cambridge down into Essex, through Saffron Walden and Finchingfield ('the prettiest village in England') and headed towards Rayne.  It certainly revealed a lovely country scene along the way.  The villages, ancient churches,crops almost ready for harvest and the sun shining of medieval but much upgraded buildings.  The commentators prattled on as always, inane ramblings needless facts read from a script, often at the wrong time revealing their ignorance, and as they did so I waited to watch for the pelaton taking the humpback bridge over the old railway at Rayne just up the road.  I wanted to see them as they took the immediate sharp, narrow, right hand turn.  Naturally as the leaders entered the village the telly went for an advert break!

Grrrrrrr!  

Now who wishes to see, for the fortieth time, five minutes of bad adverts? Meaningless and irrelevant to the programme, indeed even the commentators make more sense than the adverts, yet when we enter a village they leave us for them!  Why not on the long boring roadway you eejits?  Grrrrr!

On the first day the 'British' rider Mark Cavendish fell and broke his collar bone. He was one tipped to win the race.  If these commentators manage to get through any sentence, whether about the race, the churches and castles passed by, the crowd or the colour of the sky without mentioning Cavendish I have not heard them.  The bias is unavailing, constantly spouted at every opportunity. Cavendish of course is out of the race. 

Lady DiTn thinks the commentators ought to try Nascar!  I would like to see Phil Liggett there also! Heart attacks abounding!

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