Vote! But not for Gas!

Once again we get the exciting opportunity to vote!  

The franchise allowing the common people to vote only began in 1832, and that amongst much opposition and was given to remarkably few.  Many more received the opportunity when the franchise was widened in 1867, thus allowing Alf Garnett's grandfather to vote.  Men such as him, owning a two up, and two down small house worth a rateable value of £7 could now vote, and many took advantage of this to change the world around them.  The 'Working Class Conservative' began at this era, fooled into thinking the 'upper classes' wanted them to join them in running the country.  This was never the intention!  

After the Great War the franchise was extended, men such as agricultural workers, could now vote, as long as they were 21.  Women of 30 and over also could now vote, and it is interesting to consider that the majority of men fighting during the Great War could not vote!   Much loud noise is made concerning the women demanding a vote, we forget the men who also were unable to elect a man of their choice.  

For centuries, since large cities developed, the common man has been led, with an occasional riot to express his opinions, or vague forms of democracy as in ancient Greece.  The vast majority down through time, and possibly today, have little opportunity to cast a vote one way or another, many have died attempting to offer such a freedom.

This morning, just after 8:15 am, I entered the Polling Station, and fought my way through the crowds taking advantage of the privilege of voting.  

There was no-one there.

In front of me were two tables, as is normal, staffed by council two beings with an array of paperwork in front of them.  Being from the council it is difficult to call them human ones.  Either side ranged the actual Polling booths, designed for private scribbling, and all with thick black pencil attached strongly to a rope!  It is always thus!   

As the polling is conducted in the museum hall and the Presiding Officer is the man who runs the museum I knew there was going to be no problems here.  Not only that, another lass, standing at the side reading a magazine, is also always in attendance at elections in the morning.  I suspect similar patterns are found throughout the nation.  

I presented my credentials, the lass looked for my name on the lists, and struggled to find it.  For a moment I wondered if the council, run by Tories, had cut me off.  However, my name was found, correct ID handed over to a man who had to identify me even though he has known me for ten years, and a slip of folded paper with several names was offered to me.

I was also informed I could vote for up to three individuals, so I asked if any were Revolutionary Communists, or Marxists-Leninists, but was informed searching out the individuals was my job.  So, muttering 'Mussolini?'  'Engels?' and so on, I headed for the booth, choose three names, two to avoid the Conservatives, and one because I knew her and consider her to be an able woman, very capable of doing this job for her area.  She may be the only one to get in.

I returned to the tables, folded and posted my ballot, peeked inside the box and muttered "There's only three in there," which may have been about right.  We chatted for a few minutes, not one soul entered.

I had noticed only one leaving as I came up the road.  And as I left, making sure I had my ID and that the boss had not nicked it, I went over to Tesco's.

Tesco's was very quiet.  

I have never seen it so quiet.

I was able to wander about without being run over by trolleys or children.  IN fact only one schoolboy entered for some shoplifting, usually at this time there are many.  The checkout girl chatted, I paid my dues, and limped back up the road, satisfied with my day.  It was not yet 8:45 am when I reached home.  

My day is over thought I.

No more clambering up stairs.

Then I remembered I had to put the rubbish out, and check the gas meter.

Much later this I did.

The rubbish and recycling bags were taken down and placed in appropriate places.  I then scanned the area around hoping for something interesting to occur, it failed to do so.  So, once again upstairs in spite of the muck left by the man plastering next doors ceiling.

Then I remembered the gas meter!

Fool, that was one of the reasons to go downstairs.

So, back down, check the reading, scribble it down, and once more clamber Edmund Hilary like, up the stairs.  I entered the reading on the Rip-Off British Gas site, noticing that last months had been estimated.  My reading was 08567, their estimate for last month was 08999, the word 'crook' crossed my mind for some reason.  I await their response, which may be delayed by someone being King for a day and the Holiday Monday afterwards.  It may be interesting reading.

A Trip to the Barbers.

When people begin to offer me money "For a cup of tea," as I stand vacantly looking into shop windows, I realise it is time for a haircut.  Just as well the beard has not got far or I would be 'moved on' by the constabulary.  That is, if there were any passing by.  The days of the local Bobby have long gone, the police constantly tell us they can reach an incident quicker by car than by having a man walk the streets.  There is indeed truth in this.  However, shoppers in town centres feel more security when a man in uniform passes by occasionally.  This also gives more 'intelligence' regarding the people on the ground when a local copper is on the beat.  I note a nearby town has two 'Special Police officers' who operate on a beat regularly.  This is the type of thing that must be encouraged, as well as asking retired officers to work a couple of days occasionally also.  Many would as this would mean little overtime, much less stress, and quite often successful policing on the cheap.

Being the Wednesday Market the usual collection of stallholders were improving their tans while hoping to improve their wealth.  The sun shone, the clouds floated, and the English perambulated by in a Summer like manner, in spite of the chill in the wind.  Did that chubby lass with almost nothing on atop not notice the breeze?  Did her fat protect her as it does whales and Walrus's?  I am not sure where that comparison came from. 

I looked the other way as I passed the cake stall, wandered through the centre hoping for some action, which did not occur, and hobbled back down the newly laid pedestrianised High Street.  To imagine two way traffic going down here only 50 years ago blows the mind away, especially as buses went two ways also.  At least one photograph shows a 'coming together' at the corner of Sandpit Street, now 'Lane.'  Quite how they extracted the single decker from the corner shop I know not.     

I wandered along, tempted by the coffee shops but not by the bunting displayed everywhere for the monarchs Jubilee.  Small kids on bikes or scooters raced past, first one way then the other, mother seemingly unaware they were in the thoughts of several dodging their travels.  A black Labrador dog waited with the owner outside one shop, rising to greet someone who came out to speak to it, who then passed an item to the boss, and returned inside.  The dog was pleased with any acknowledgement, are they not all like that?  

I turned the corner and entered New Street.  Once this was notorious.  Four public houses stood here, three were renown for their 'entertainment.'  The Three Tuns, also known as 'Little Hell,'  The George Tavern,' also known as 'Great Hell,' and the 'Green Man, this was known to all as 'Perdition!'  It may surprise you to know that the 'Cage,' the town 'Lock up,' much in use until a Police Station was erected, was located at the bottom of this street.  Two 6 ft cells often entertained visitors as much as the pubs.  The 'Three Tuns,' has long been absorbed into other buildings.  'The George long since knocked down and rebuilt as shops and offices, and the 'Green Man' now a house, though I think in fact it is now offices. 

My barber, sorry, Hairdresser, was empty when I arrived.  Being market day he has less customers than usual.  He complained that on market day "...people just come to shop, no-one comes for a haircut!"  As the one man just about to leave was also a pensioner this meant little profit for the Bar.. hairdresser today.  There again, £9:50 is a lot for a haircut, especially when some of his customers have so little hair unlike I.  

but This man likes himself, he is not so keen on me.  Most of his customers are 'Brexiteer' English types, who share his views and predilections.  I must be careful when I speak as a man with a sharp pair of scissors is not a man to argue with when roused.  His desire to speak well of Boris Johnson was indeed a trying time.  However, we agreed that Boris had indeed, "Spat in the face of his voters," and almost agreed he ought to be hung up.  

One thing was clear, Boris spoke for such as he, and I suspect many here.  Boris has touched the English Imperialist heart, he has made them believe he will stop all those black men spoiling 'their' country, and they still believe in him.  This when they know him to be a liar, untrustworthy, unfit for the job, yet many will still support him come election time.

No wonder dictators have long time support.  How  can it be ended?

I stumbled home across the park, greeted by a dog with a ball in its mouth.  It did not want to throw it, the Beagle (?) just wanted to greet me (twice) and hide behind the seat with the ball.  He had no intention of letting me touch his ball!  He gave every evidence of being happy, though finding the heat a bit much.

Thrilled with my popularity, with dogs, I came home to find the Blackbird singing for me.  As I badly concocted a form of lunch he disappeared, his place later taken by the wood pigeon who normally takes that spot.  

After lunch I played with my mobile phone.  I deleted things that were no longer required, attempted to delete a call from the other day and ended up calling a man on holiday in Amsterdam!  I could not work out how to stop the call!  What sort of an idiot designed these things?  Why are they so complicated? The laptop is so much easier to operate, why not the phone?  Bah!  Now, two texts at Amsterdam prices, prices which increased after Brexit, I have no idea how much this has cost us and am afraid to look.  I will hear in a week or so mind...