Awards

Variety

Not watching TV, not looking for what they call 'entertainment,' or 'Celebrities,' in the media I nearly always miss the 'Award' ceremonies that are such a pleasure to the Paparazzi and cretins who live their lives through such events.  Those who follow such ceremonies appear to me to be similar in outlook, if indeed they are different people, from those fascinated with the goings-on amongst the royals.  Quite what is missing from the lives of those who spend hours awaiting the arrival of one after another badly dressed, overpaid, and until yesterday, unknown actress or royal I fail to comprehend.  There is indeed a fascination with other peoples lives that many indulge, quite why someone so useless as an actor or royal inspires such adoration is something that fails to move me.  Those who lead fascinating or  productive lives can indeed be worth learning about, and indeed learning from, but as time passes I see all such are just as human and weak and broken as the rest of us.  This often makes them more attractive to those of us who like reality.

However, the online 'Daily Mail' and similar media outlets consider such events as an awards night deserves half the page filled with sordid details of the arguments, responses, cutting remarks, and (in the 'Mail') all the 'woke' comments.  (The DM does not explain what 'woke' is however.)  Then there are the pictures.  One after another the women line up in a competition better called 'Slappers 'R' Us' than 'Red Carpet.' 

Each tries desperately to outdo the others in exposing skin, dramatic outfit, or just looking as bad as a teenager drunk while on a hen party to Gateshead.  Rarely do they look glamerous as film stars of the past managed to look, though their studio photographers were attempting to make them look good, the paprazzi just want something flashy or rude for the papers and magazines that pay them.  Quality is not required.  

To scribble this I have had to check the 'entertainment' section of the online media, I am now regretting having such a large lunch, thick lentil soup followed by thick sausage stew, and I am glad there were no strawberries left to add today.  My stomach does not seek out such events, they do however, bring a lump to my throat.

                                                     USA Today

Another thing fascinating the media is this queen woman.  Being 95 means she does not get around as much as possible and the media are becoming desperate for her to die!  Careful of those royal fans the media tread gently regarding this woman, making use of info fed to them by the royals 'in the usual manner' and paying a few pounds here and there for details from behind the scenes they are working on the royal funeral details, the new king and his queen, and the opportunity to fill pages and pages with sentimental slop regarding one, and sordid stories regarding others.  The treatment of William and Harry is a good example of this.  As we write books are being produced, kept back until she goes so they can jump on the bandwagon at the right time, with lurid details unprintable when she is alive, but open season once she has gone.  Some of them may even be true.

I canny wait...

The old lass looks like my mother did when she died at 94.  We shrink as we age, walking is hard, moving is tough, especially when colds and such bugs affect us.  No different for this lassie.  Add to that the loss of Philip and the behaviour of Andrew and Harry and her life is not full of joy.  No surprise then that she is missing engagements that mean something to her, engagements that are always overlong, include many handshakes, and wandering about large buildings doing your feet no good.  There is no chance of using a wheelchair for such events.  I suggested this to my mother and received such a rebuke that would frighten that nice Mr Putin!  Liz would react in similar fashion, she knows that once in such a device she is as good as dead.  

The media coverage is sloppy sentimental guff, but we do not forget the attacks on the royals when Diana died, simply because, once again, people lived their lives through her.  It would have been better to have understood her as she was and lived your life in a more satisfactory manner as she never cared for you.

 

  

Busy Week

It's been a busy and tiring week.  The virus tried to kill me at the start when enduring the museum meeting, then a day's work the next day followed by the housework missed since time immemorial.
Thursday saw our Museum awards evening and while I intended to sleep off the week on Friday I was ordered out to take pictures of Keith Flint's funeral as it passed through Bocking on its way to St Mary's, Bocking.

Having survived work (the term is used loosely) I made it to the Annual Awards ceremony where volunteers are rewarded for their time and effort.  All receive something,  mine was for changing a light bulb, and the dressed up and wells scrubbed ladies looked so different from their normal appearance.  Of course normally they have been dealing with children so this does make a difference.
The big boss from the trustees came along and presented the awards.  She done this very well smiling when she had too, listening intensively, asking the right questions, and laughing at the right place.  What she really thought was well hidden.
So a glass of cheap wine and back home to fiddle the pictures taken in poor light and prepare for a day of rest.

Almost the first thing to arrive at my email on Friday morning was an order to get down to Keith Flint's funeral and get pictures for the museum.
Flint's family moved to Chelmsford and split up and Keith himself had trouble at school.  It appears he was dyslexic and a bit rowdy being thrown out at 15.  He worked as a 'roofer' and became front and took to the 1980's 'acid house scene.'  By 1990 he became the dancer and front man for a music combo called 'Prodigy.'  
This band became famous during the 90's and the 'electronic music' was much admired by that generation because they smoked funny cigarettes while having it blasted in their earholes.  The singles such as 'Firestarter' and 'Breathe' helped them sell around 25 million records worldwide.  This is not my kind of music, music ceased in 1974 when 'Abba' appeared on the scene, but they spoke to a generation as music does and retained a large following in this area.  Keith, known as 'Keef' in the southern English manner, lived in a large house not far from here in Great Dunmow.  Music which sells brings rewards.  
Keith  took part in events in the area and appeared a decent likeable bloke in many ways.  He had an aggresive side, once attempting to get into the pilots cabin by knocking down the door and had to be restrained, possibly the result of drugs, yet remained popular and an animal lover.  His house was designed to attract wildlife as well as having space to play with his motorbikes!  He lived in the house with his Japanese wife but recently they had become estranged and she was in the far east rather than with him.  It appears however he had a tendency to depression and a month ago while alone he chose to hang himself.
He was 41.

The cortege was due to leave at 3 pm, I limped sown to what I thought an appropriate spot arriving at 2:30.  There I, alongside a gathering crowd, waited, and waited, and waited.  We expected things to be late but it was ten to four before the cortège arrived.  
The crowds applauded and cheered, in the background 'Firestarter' and other Prodigy music blasted out as they passed, indeed had been blasting out all day.  The six black horses somewhat nonplussed by the crowds appeared ready to run, I suspect they are more used to reserved occasions and must have been difficult for the driver to control.  
There followed a stream of cars and also motor bikes, Keith had his own team in the Isle of Man TT and was a biker enthusiast.  Crowds then followed and while I would have liked to join them the distance to the church was far too much for my knees.  The crowds at St Mary's danced  away the time, outside and inside the pub, while offering respect for he man and the service relayed on Tannoy outside. 

   
This was a very different happening to the one I attended the night before.  We had a rather happy gathering and I have already begin to prepare my acceptance speech for next year.  On Friday the atmosphere was different but not what you might call sombre.  Death tends to make people think about life yet there was none of that visible in the crowds here.  Not that we can tell what was going on in their heads however the Spring sunshine enlivened people, children looked to the event, beer and who knows what else certainly kept others minds of reality and the well behaved crowd were part mourners and part celebrants of an event, I know that was my position.  Had I not been ordered to attend I doubt I would have noticed the happening.  
  

Kidnapped by Women

Late yesterday afternoon I was kidnapped much against my better judgement and driven at great speed north.  My intention had been to loiter in my bed wasting my life away doing important things such as surfing the net for well written blogs or football played in far distant lands but here I was in a large saloon vehicle with a driver who may or may not possess a licence.  As I was bundled into the car I dropped a note out the scrap of paper out of the window with:

 "Help! I am being kidnapped!" 

  

scrawled in cheap museum pencil.

This was pickled up by a passing police officer who ran ahead and stopped the car.  'Freedom' thought I, but he just gave me a £60 ticket for dropping litter and we sped off down the wrong route avoiding a fat female bus driver who managed to take a corner too fast possibly because she had her eyes shut.

At least this car full of threatening women took me out into the countryside.  The summer sun shone high above the fields filled with green crops dotted with yellow flowerings heading towards their fulfillment.  Occasional newly sheared sheep and contented cows were passed while the lassies gave up their threats to point out the changing architecture the further north we progressed.  The basic design was similar to those in our area but somehow different.  The thatch was more pointed, extra windows, roof shapes more 'Gothic' that Flemish.  Not that they noticed much of this as they spent too much time talking of the sun filled foreign climes they would be visiting while I ruminated on my day out to Little Tey, a hamlet just down the road.  I only got there by accident after getting off the bus at the wrong stop!

We reached our destination, tyres screaming as we tore through the streets the driver not aware of the signs with large 30 or 40 numbers at the side of the road indicated the maximum and not minimum speeds to use.  The difficulty of interpreting those blue signs with white arrows also caused some problems when ignored but with both hands over my eyes I can say little more as to whether they were ignored or obeyed there.  I did however hear some scraping noise and a scratch or two on the vehicle told its own story. 

We came to a halt in Bury St Edmunds a town named after St Edmund who lay worshipped in the Abbey here some years past.  Who was Edmund?  Little is known but myths grow easily, just look at the propaganda in the media!  It is possible he was killed by the Danes while leading opposition to their incursions in the year 869.  Tales tell of him being killed by arrows because he was a Christian, his head removed and thrown away and a wolf crying out revealing where it landed, and so on.  It appears to me these are later additions.  By the late 900's a cult had grown and King Canute began to build an abbey here over his shrine and the cult and town grew until Henry VIII came along and dissolved the monasteries in his loving manner. 

The old abbey lies in ruins with a new somewhat disappointing one standing a short distance nearby.  The picture is off the gatehouse to the old Abbey and this is grander than many buildings and this leads to the ruins which have now become a rather enjoyable green space in this small town.  

Many pilgrims in days of yore passed through our town on their long trek to this place to pray for healing, forgiveness or wealth from the dead man.  The abbot, like most in those days, was more concerned to increase the size of his steeple, so that it was higher than that of Ely some distance away, rather than deal with the troubles generated by the growing middle class of the town or attempt to communicate the gospel to them, such is ecclesiastical power!  The Reformation could not have come soon enough! 

We however were not allowed to go look see as I wished, instead I was dragged by these harridans into the large 'Athenaeum' where an award ceremony for volunteer museum folks was being held.  This building was erected in the early 1700's as Assembly rooms capable of holding large numbers for any meeting.  It became the Athenaeum in the 1850's and retains much of the aged designs of the time.  Not quite to my taste bu suitable for large gathers still and now of course a wedding venue for the rich, and this area of Suffolk has many such!     My opinion of our get together was that this was needless a waste of time being ignored I was frogmarched therein while they headed, somewhat eagerly for the free champagne.  Such events make me wish to hide in a cupboard as I think being in the background better than being seen, especially by large groups in this vast auditorium.  This is not my world, my world is hiding in my cave and yelling at the world through a keyboard.

There were several distinct awards on offer, there being a 'Highly commended' and a top prize of an Award to the winner.  Eventually the crowds gathered and the girls scrutinised the people as they entered comparing the women to themselves and the men to their wishes.  I was unable to look past our own attractive lassies, they had blindfolded me.  

I was amazed at the wide variety of peoples involved in voluntary activities throughout the region.  Museum of all kinds in every place were represented, each struggling for cash and run for the most part by a few paid employees and many volunteers.  From researching historical events, repairing broken items, entertaining adults or children and unblocking 'U-bends' the variety of skills on offer amazed.  The hours some people put in to their museum never failed to surprise me.  Age, class, background all made no difference, all that counted was an interest in the museum, the purpose thereof and a desire to help.

  

Only one museum was capable of winning two awards, one highly commended and one Award itself.  This I am proud to say was our museum where Karen and Lynn received the 'Highly commended' award for 'Front of House volunteer.' This was rightly so!  They keep the shop in good condition, amending displays, greeting visitors and putting right the actions of the Tuesday morning staff.  Such a well deserved mention for them both.  It was clear to us then that no museum would win two awards when would you believe our lass Vanessa won the 'Bringing Innovation Award' outright!  Quite right too.  Behind the scenes she has improved much including the monthly newsletter and improved the museums image to the online visitor.  I however failed in my attempt to win my category 'The Miserable Grumpy Git' award as there were far too many in the competition.  It must be stated here that all these were names suggested by female members of the staff.  No male suggested any individual for this section!

We drove home through the quieter roads as the sun began to lower itself over the greenery.  High above a few trails and occasional very high white cloud set off the deep blue colour of the sky, not that we could see it from the tyre smoke as we swung from side to side as the driver 'got used to a new car.'  My keen suggestion that taking her foot off the gas pedal and looking at the dials in front of her might have helped was not heeded.  The lassies, grasping their awards and preening themselves, did not notice our plight, they contented themselves by showing their awards to the citizens in the cars we overtook, sometimes legally.  It was only as we missed the taxi at the crossroads in Sudbury that I realised the driver was indicating an interesting house on the right with one hand and a similar building on her left with the other hand at the same time that I understood the reason for the driving skill.  That same skill helped lose the car with the flashing blue lights that followed us for a little while.  

In town I jumped out at the roundabouts wishing I had waited until she stopped and wandered slowly up the road looking at the bright late evening sky glad once more to be alive.  I took deep breaths of the fresh air and delighted myself with the summers evening.

Maybe it's not so bad getting out now and again after all.

  

    

Charmed I'm Sure

That constant pain in my sid....friend Mulled Madness, has presented this award to me, one who does not agree either with awards or with the 'Tag' that follows. In this case I need to present this to eight, yes eight (*) friends. Well I assure you that in all my twenty four years on this earth I have never had eight friends, unless you count the motley collection on that supporters bus we don't speak off. Friends may not be the word to use their, acquaintances may be preferable! However I add this to the others (I say humbly) I have received from others duped by my scrawls, and pass this to other charmers, whether they like it or not.

They naturally will detest this interruption of their happy lives, but can I make it clear that Mulled Madness is responsible. Feel free to pass on your complaints to him.

Scottish Diary, and their two charming ladies.
Mom's Crazy Life. For not being a crazy Mom at all.
Sicarii. Just to annoy him
As the Crackhead Crumbles. For the same reason.
The Bible Thumper, for returning to posting once again.
Crotchety, who is far from crotchety in my view.
Auld Reekie Rants, who for reasons I fail to understand has never received any awards.
Channel of Healing, for her sterling service.

And may God bless all who sail in these awards.....

Mirror

I'm not one for awards, especially when they are only to reflect Mulled Vine and his ravings.
Such awards are meant for truly Christian blogs, and while I recognise Gods gave up his Son, and at what a cost, and the Son gave up himself for me, and , sometimes, I attempt to give myself back to him, this particular blog is not about that. This merely reflects my ravings and my slice of intellectual suicide for all to see. While I would like nothing better than to sit here suffused (good thing thesaurus's) in God and just enjoy him, although living with him is harder but better, I am sorry to say this blog reflects the reality of my life.

Pray for me...........

Perseverance Award

Sicarii, that wise and thoughtful writer, has been kind enough to present me with this 'Perseverance Award!' This surprised me as I thought 'Perseverance' was an English knight from medieval times who was knocked off at Bannockburn. But it appears I was wrong! Once I had looked up a dictionary, and accompanying thesaurus, I realised it meant viz :-

WordNet - Cite This Source - Share This

perseverance
noun
1.	persistent determination [syn: doggedness]
2.	the act of persisting or persevering; continuing or repeating behavior; "his perseveration continued to the point where it was no longer appropriate"

I think the last line sums things up perfectly! I am sure you will agree!

I will save this award, and at the appropriate time, following the description given by 'WordNet,' pass it on to the appropriate person. You know who you are!

Friday Night

Friday Night. Everybody is out gallivanting, or being hassled by wives and families, possibly just getting over the week and resting the brain that has been tested once too often this week. This means they are unable to post therefore leaving us, the unwanted dregs of society, to post away into the ether. Possibly this means our scribblings may never be read, but will that hinder us? No! However it is with regret that I find myself with nothing worth posting! Tsk! So, I will scrape the barrel bottom just to fill time while my gruel is burning on the pot hanging over the fire.

I could make mention of the award given to me by that wise man Sicarii. Yes another award, (excuse me while I stand in front of the mirror patting my hair while a bright glint is seen emanating from my teeth). While I grasp this with both hands (please excuse the filth on them, I have just washed my face), I must refrain from adding it to the board itself. You see he, and many others, post specifically about their spiritual lives while I just rant and spout whenever I have had too much coffee, or the Prozac runs out. Some may have noticed this.... While gratefully received it would intimate the blog is something it cannot be and give the wrong impression. I leave such blogs to those who can properly write them, I just spout whatever flits through my mind, leaving me able to cover other important subjects, Football, er...and,.......... there must be something else...

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Quizzes
I am watching the 'Eggheads' quiz at the moment, as the smell of burning gruel drifts past, and I wonder what is it about such programmes that take hold of us? I first started listening to the 'Brain of Britain' quiz around 1975/6 time, and I have been hooked ever since! Why? What is it about the general knowledge quiz ? I very rarely miss this programme, even though the excellent Robert Robinson no longer holds sway, and thoroughly enjoy a quiz that is much too hard for my little bonce. A recent radio programme investigated the 'Pub Quiz' and the somewhat cynical presenter admitted at the end he was hooked! Small five question quizzes appear in most papers these days and several people can be seen struggling to find the answers. Such a simple formula and so satisfying when a high score is reached! TV and radio stations must have some for of quiz show. Often these are dumbed down, a simple choice of three answers from a stupidly easy question to help raise cash from those calling in, or just to offer a prize that will keep the audience eager. Flashing lights and big name 'celebrities' to ask questions helps ratings, especially when some over hyped lass is in tears at her £several thousand pound success. This begs the question,why must they all be so hyped up? A dull show we do not want but hysteria, is it really necessary? The calmer scene on 'Mastermind,' or 'University Challenge' does not detract from the show, but maybe tabloid everything is what sells best in this world. Funny how worldwide a little thing like a quiz can be so popular
Hmmm I did not do too well on this edition of Eggheads, the questions must have got harder!. And while I scrape this black stuff from the pot I will consider a little quiz for next week maybe.

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Joke

On the way to my job this morning, I rear-ended a car at the lights down the road.
Somehow I just knew it was going to be a bad day after that.
The driver got out of the other car, and he was a dwarf, poor soul.
He looked at his dented car and then looked up at me and said angrily "I am not happy"
I said, "Well, which one are you then?"

Anyway that's how the fight started.......

Friday

I was given this award by the Channel of Healing very nice it is too! Not often I get rewarded now is it! I do often get given things mind, folks round here are very helpful, you recall that only the other day I had a note, attached to a brick flung through my window - the note read, "Your window is broken!" Not everybody would take the time to do that, but lots of folk here put themselves out in this way I find.

The north wind doth blow today and it is rattling the windows so to help forget the weather I have stole....acquired some jokes that may, or may not, waste some time for you today.

In a recent poll the British population were asked if Polish immigrants were a problem.

23% said ''Yes its a serious problem''.
77% said ''Czesk bardzo mi milu gdzie d jest toaldta''.

I went to a bookstore and asked the saleswoman:
"Where's the self-help section?"
She said that if she told me, it would defeat the purpose.

f(x)=6x+3 walks into a bar, goes up to the barman and asks “
Can I have a couple of sandwiches please?”
The barman replies: “Sorry mate, we don’t cater for functions”

I’ve told my wife I want a wooden leg for Christmas.
It’s not my main present; it’s more of a stocking filler.

Q: What do you call an Essex girl with half a brain ?
A: Gifted!

Q: How do Essex girl braincells die ?
A: Alone.

Q: Why should Essex girls not be given coffee breaks ?
A: It takes too long to retrain them.

How many software engineers does it take to change a light bulb?

*None. "We'll document it in the manual."
*None. It's a hardware problem.
*1.000000001.
*Two. One always leaves in the middle of the project.
*Four. One to design the change, one to implement it, one to document it, and one to maintain it afterwards.
*Four, plus one senior analyst to manage the project, one technical writer to correct the spelling and grammar of the one who documented it, one light bulb librarian, a sales-force of at least five to drum up enough users who want to turn the light on, 274 users to burn out the new bulb, at which point we go to tender for another light bulb change,...
*Five. Two to write the specification program, one to screw it in, and two to explain why the project was late.
*Only one, but she's not available till the year 2000.
*"The change is 90% complete."
*"It's hard to say. Each time we separate the bulb into its modules to do unit testing, it stops working."
*Of course, as everyone knows, just five years ago all it took was a bunch of kids in a garage in Palo Alto to change a light bulb.