Dreich Time

It's been a bit of a bind in recent days.  My knees not being good, overdoing it on the front and scunnering myself for over a week, then as that eased I fall flat on my face and do my arm.  That will take a while to go, possibly months, and twice today I have screamed after I did this aaaaaaaaaaaaagh, and what is left of the muscles in the arm did not like it.  Ice packs aplenty in here.  I have only been to Sainsburys and Tesco, and that's too far, and now I just wish to sleep all day.  Mind you I am happy with that.   

What limited hope has been from watching England fail.  Sadly this has not happened.  Russian VAR men and a German referee threatened by England before the game saw the officials miss hand balls and gave penalties that did not exist.  5 million Scots very unhappy, let alone the Dutch and the rest of Europe!  Only Rangers fans and a handful of Scots Tories support the colonial imperialists.

Viva Espania I say!

One man heading for the final will be England's Prime Minister.  And I mean 'England's.'  Just in the door and he is already stopping them drilling for oil, his 'Scotland at the heart of Government reveals one cabinet minister only, and Keir's promise to women that he would protect their private spaces has gone out the window as he has installed three women and one man all of whom support the trans lobby.  One calls herself not Miss or Ms but 'They,' the man Kinnock's son, has a son who dresses as a girl, and the rest have no idea about life!  Scotland and women down the drain, I await a 'U' turn soon.

Twitter has been as mad as always, however, most of the Reform bots have gone.  It is interesting to see how many claim to be REFORM, joined Twitter 10 or more years ago, have lots of emojis alongside their name, and have 25,000 followers!  Somehow I fell these are as false as the REFORM candidates that did not exist. 

I also clicked somewhere on a catholic post, I know not which, and have been inundated with people arguing about the Latin Mass.  It was tempting to join in and upset many but I just blocked them all, though others still arrive.  

The algorithm sends hundreds of posts because you 'liked' or commented on one.  No matter what you are then inundated with them.  At least most are UK, up till now they have always been US led and of no use to me.  

Book reading has been slow.  Not helped by more coming through the letterbox, and more on the way.

There is no time to read them, or am I just slowing up?  

I noticed today some 'WhatsApp'  posts I have not answered, and other things are being left undone. Partly this is because of movement difficulty and I suspect too much football at the wrong times and a great deal of sloth could be involved.  Football is however, slowing, and less will be available for a while.   

' O to go down to the sea again,

The lonely sea and sky.

I've left my shirt and socks there,

I wonder if they're dry?'

Spike M.  

I feel like that also.  Though I suspect the beach we see here will be mobbed by hundreds and thousands at this time.  A little bit of sun and warmth and the UK population rush to the coast to get away from it all, and are stranded among millions getting away from it all.  It would be nice.

Gerald Taylor, yet another Costa Rican international who has joined the world's most important football club.  If he is as successful and his predecessor Vargas we will be on to a good thing indeed.  I am not sure where his finica will be in Gorgie...

Ronald Blythe : Next to Nature

There were two reasons for me to select this book, one was it was FREE on Amazon Kindle or possibly cheap, I forget which, and the gentle persuasion of a lady.   I am not sure which was most urgent.

Ronald Blythe lived not that far from me, as the rich persons car has it, but in the middle of the countryside as opposed the middle of a busy small town.  

Blythe was born in Acton, a small village just north of Sudbury in 1922 to a man bred among the farm workers and farmers in the county.  Like so many others his father saw action at Gallipoli and Palestine during the war.  Blythe was educated in Sudbury leaving school at 14 but his mother, who was a VAD nurse during that conflict, bred in him a delight in literature. 

For the rest of his life, he died in 2023 a few months after his 100th birthday, he spent time working in libraries or mixing with the literary and artistic set in Suffolk.  The artist John Nash became a friend, so much so that when he and his wife Christine died Ronald inherited their 400 year old farmhouse called 'Bottengoms.'  No, I never understood why it was called that either.  The house lay at the bottom of a long tree shrouded lane, difficult to find, and no doubt cut off during heavy snows, though I don't think our man objected to that.  

Luckily for him he was not considered soldier material during his war and enabled to survive peacefully in his county paradise.  He was a Lay Reader in the Church of England, and obviously popular with many.  Clearly of a 'High Church' persuasion as the majority of those attending the three churches he ended up covering were.  I doubt whether his theology would endear him to many Baptists but it is clear he successfully earned his non fees for many years in the area.

I did find his style in this book a bit hard to get used to.  Sentences ran from one subject to another as we are taken through a year at the farm.  Once mastered it became one of the 'light' reading books, short chapters, self contained, each giving an impression of the land as the seasons past.

We see the constant work in the garden, always watched by the white cat but never aided, the time the birds complained late in the year that he was not letting them roost by cutting wood, and the visit by the postman wending his way down the narrow lane to deliver.  Council workers passed by cutting hedges, not always to Ronald's pleasure, and all the year the crops were being planted and slowly growing towards harvest, a harvest that changed greatly over the hundred years of his life.  When he was born there must have been 30 men working a farm, when he died there was a farmer and his man, until the harvester arrived to harvest by computer. 

We see into the three churches and their flocks, the slow loss of numbers, the lack of knowledge as to what each one actually believed, if anything.  The traditional Anglican services (I wonder if all three of his churches still operate?) the occasional mention of the vicar who had oversight of all three and who knows what else, the burial of individual churchgoers, some of whom had been friends for many years, and the individuals who keep such churches open, bell ringing, cleaning, maintaining.

All in I liked the book and have another now lying, somewhere, to follow one day.  A light gentle read with perceptive insights of the land around him, the changes over the years, and nature itself as the wildlife around adapt to change as it has done for hundreds of years.  A wee book which is well worth a read, especially if free.  

Baking Books

I appear to have done it again.  

I have accidentally collected too many books to read. 

Certainly I took advantage of an 'Amazon' card to obtain three 2nd hand books via 'World of Books' for just over £7, this I find the best way to obtain them, but am I to blame for other books being given or er, found in places?  They cannot be left lying around, someone might steal them, so taking them to a safe refuge such as my bookshelf is important.  

Looking at these books I am wondering why I was looking through the 'Amazon' shelves again just because there is another £7 or so pounds to be used up.  Shall I go for more Ronald Blythe, or another trip around the country?  Possibly yet another 'must have ' Great War book that ought to be on my shelf?  Suggestions, and I get them, to obtain books teaching spelling, grammar and 'How to Write Properly,' will be ignored as they were while I was at school.

A woman on Twitter the other day mentioned how she attempted to offer books to the local school.  They were grateful but only took one.  It appears kids will not read books, possibly the mobile phone and online research is good enough to get them through, depending on the subject.     

Trying to warm the place up cheaply, I decided to bake what one woman called 'Wartime Shortbread.'  Whether it has any other name I know not.  4oz, marge, 8 oz flour, 2 oz castor sugar, she says, though I tended to just dump it in, and 20 minutes later out comes a biscuit.  

The last one I made tasted OK, though some fool had put in too much castor sugar.  The same fool accidentally put in more this time.  I need something late at night to accompany my tea and this is the answer, a cheap biscuit.  Even I can do it, but it will never sell.

A similar version using oats worked last time, but it tends to put on weight when you just eat the lot in one go!

Books

No, like you I did not bother listening to Jeremy Hunt offering a lying budget.  They are always lies, and tomorrow the clever people will have torn them apart as always and then we will know how little we have gained.  And how much Tory donors have gained.   So here is a photo of a Seagull learning how to live on a pension.

This is so true!

The world is full of people who take good books and turn back the corner of the page!  

Now this is fine if it is just some run-of-the mill detective story, or some girlie slop, but not if it is a book worth something, like say, one of mine! 

I have seen people reading good books and turning down the corner as if this was normal.  I see them folding the book like it was a magazine, or leaving it open face down ON THE FLOOR!

What is it with these people?

Have they no mothers?

Apparently today is one of these 'World Book Day' that you have never heard of before.  There appears to be such an event daily these days, almost anything can have an 'International or World Day' if you put it up on Twitter.  

Excuse me, I am off to write another one.  

No, I have not actually written a book, but I have several that are at least a page and a half long failing to come to fruition.  I may as well begin another...

Palin's Uncle and Mithras, as it were...

Having been touring Ancestry myself recently I found it interesting that Michael Palin, famous from all his many TV appearances, would have been doing similar, though he being able to afford a proper genealogist to do much of the hard work for him.  However, he had to do his part, aided by documents, diaries, letters and so on that were donated to him from various family members.  Luckily, his family dated back into the mid-Victorian era, a time where such people kept all letters for posterity.  My Grandfather dated from a similar era and if there are any letters, bar demands for rent, they have disappeared into his first family vaults somewhere.  Such documents are treasure trove to a family history detective.  They give information and insight into the person like nothing else.  That is, if they speak their mind and not just simple messages.  

The author decided to investigate the Black Sheep of the family, his Great Uncle Harry.  Harry was the 7th child of the Vicar of Linton, a typical well-to-do family, with their own particular history.  However, though all the boys attended Shrewsbury School, one of those famous 'Public Schools' that only the rich can afford, two brothers went on to do well, one a doctor and the other a solicitor.  Harry failed at school, that is he left after two months, and was clearly not one to follow his family paths.

Palin follows Harry as the family send him to India, hoping the Raj will stimulate what all good Victorians sought, success according to the fashion of the day.  He spends 3 years in an unsatisfactory job, at least the railway thought him 'unsatisfactory,' and was then dumped on a tea plantation in the hope he would 'make something of himself.'  This too failed.  Clearly he as not built for such things.  

The story unfolds as Great Uncle Harry, though he would not have called himself that at the time, made his way to New Zealand, worked on a farm, possibly found some happiness, yet when war was declared in 1914 he joined the colours like thousands of others.  

What made men beginning a new life thousands of miles from home enlist to save the 'old country?'  

We follow Harry through the 'Nzeders' at Gallipoli, and then on to the 'Western Front.'  Here, somewhat inevitably Harry perishes on the Somme.  

Michael Palin makes a good effort at trying to piece together a  story, a story in which so much is missing.  No living person spoke to Harry, Harry himself did not reveal much of his thoughts in his letters and diary.  So the author has to guess rather too much at what was going through the mans mind as he moved around and 'sought himself,' as the Hippies used to.  Though there are gaps in the story I still found it interesting and the book easy to read.  Well worth a glance I say.

Another example of Rhiaan's research 

Books!

 

The problem I have now, with the year ebbing away, is which book do I read first?  Considering there are several already open and at varying degrees of accomplishment it is trying attempting to work out how to read them all at once.

This however, is a common occurrence.   There does tend to be books lying around in all corners, on the couch, in the Loo, through in the bedroom, and all around the desk.  Some are short, one of  chapters such as books re travel reports, others feature a policeman's life tales, or history reports from various periods, not books that need to be finished, rather books to dive into when the desire rises.  Others are a bit more reference like and can be read regarding certain periods or events.  Some, like my favourite at the moment, must be read through because I am captured by it.  Next week something else will take its place, hopefully.

That means I must add these two the piles.  This is 'First World Problems,' and not something that will worry those seeking fresh water to drink, and end to the bombing, or shelter for the night will worry about.  Should I complain?  No., I have it so easy really.

Especially with the single malt around...

 

'Indian Summer' & 'The Great North Road,' Steve Silk.

 

The 'Indian Summer' as we used to call it, continues.  This leaves me wondering why we no longer call it 'Indian Summer?'  Has someone complained?  You know what to say to them!  Yesterday and today we have seen a haze caused by Saharan sand blowing high into the atmosphere, and sometime landing upon us.  You can just see a bit of haze in the photo.  With the temperatures reaching over 30 C outside you can understand how nothing is happening.  Not that much happens here anyway.  A trip to Tesco before 9 am was a warm walk there and back.  Their air conditioning was cold, I was too warm outside, and the talk was of spiders, one ran across the checkout as I gathered the goods.  She can keep that one as a pet, but appeared unwilling.  I think she has got down off her stool by now.  

This is a good book.  It is of a type I like.  Here the writer gets on his bike and cycles 400 miles from London to Edinburgh following the 'Great North Road.'  Today, this road is called the 'A 1' but as you may expect the road has varied from the original, whatever that was, over the years.  Take into account the changes, the double carriageways, the 'Motorway' aspects where this becomes the 'A1(M)' and the ever present danger of vehicles attempting to eat the lone cyclist, you will understand that it is not possible to ride the actual, possibly unknown, original, 'Great North Road.' (GNR).  

This sort of book features the author trundling through the country, explaining the history, the lie of the land, the places to eat, sleep, and the people met along the way.  Some have great humour, this one only in passing.  Nonetheless, it is well worth a read.

Of course, as I may have mentioned around 500 times already, I cycled in the other direction in 1974, when I was considerably younger, and even more stupid than I am now.  Then I had an idea for a cheap holiday, buy a bike, ride off and enjoy.  This I did, but only after riding the bike up the hills to the Royal Infirmary where I worked and coasting back down again at night.  I did not realise that six months of hard riding was required preparation!   

Steve Silk, a man in his 50s was less stupid than I.  He spent time riding over 100 miles gaining strength and planning his route.  He also made notes for a book, clever man.  This is the result.

Steve begins his ride from Aldersgate in London's centre.  Then he works his way north via Smithfield and Islington, though whether this is the exact GNR I am not convinced.  Struggling on a bike through London' snarling traffic is no joke, I have done it and would never consider doing it today, he makes his way north.  London, as anyone with a map can see, is big, very big, and cycling north takes time.  On the way a cyclist is able to see the world in a manner car drivers will never understand.  He describes London's variety, the rough has always lived close to the smooth, and all the time he picks out historical pubs and events as he rides.

As the author describes London's variety he also notices the world changing as he goes north.  Attitudes north of Watford, as well as accents, change constantly.  The further north, the friendlier and more chatty the people.  Chatty friendly people in London?  Your having a laff mate.  

The people change, as does the names of cakes and bread rolls, the land and the people produced reflect the history he passes, and he passes much history.  Battles have been fought for thousands of years on these lands, some famous, others forgotten, no matter how bloody.  Many a battlefield has gone into history but no-one actually knows where it was fought!  This author finds many a battlefield on his ride up the GNR.

Eventually he reaches Edinburgh, his ride from Berwick via Dunbar revealing the state of English knowledge of Scots and English history.  He appears surprised that English thugs savaged Scotland with countless raids, implying only Scots did this!  All to often the scant English knowledge of Scotland creeps out.  Crossing the border he likens it to a county crossing, wondering why the Northumberland 'England' sign is accompanied by a Northumberland flag, an English flag and a Union Jack, yet the 'Scotland' sign has only three St Andrews saltires flying.  He has no grasp of his own history or understanding of Scotland bar eating porridge for breakfast!  

In Edinburgh he again ignores the city determined to get back on the train south.  His mate, he has been accompanied for the last three days, forces him to look at the old town, where once again he fails to understand the city.  Two hours after arriving he heads south.

The authors failures as a historian of Scotland and England are to be expected.  His ride does contain much worth reading, in England, and gave me the same senses I felt in my ride of long ago.  While at that time I did not take into account the history in the same way, I certainly saw the changes of the land and the people.  This book brings back memories for me, and will do the same for any who cycle out into the country.  Riding a bike is hard work, but the back lanes offer views most miss.  The ability to stop and look anywhere is a joy for a cyclist, and today many cafe's and eating places abound in a way they did not in the past.  

This book reflects the changes to the 'Great North Road' over the past 50 years as well as the people living on and near the great highway.  The millions who have trod this way, or close by, from people individually, drovers with cattle, merchants walking or on horse or stagecoach, to the drivers in the years after the war, lorry drivers pounding hundreds of miles a day, to today's comfortable car enthusiast or mad cyclist, all have memories of this Great North Road.

I recommend this book.

Daffodils and Books

Another day of coughing and spluttering is upon me.  I am glad, because it was much worse yesterday!  This is a bind however, I do not get out enough and while I made it to Sainsburys I really wish to go further and enjoy the days blue skies.  This explains more Daffodils.

However, with the aid of a bag of casserole veg and some chicken I did made an excellent casserole.  Even I was amazed, and it actually had taste, lots of taste.  Lots of chicken stock and black pepper also I note, and believe me you note the pepper!  This is the first time I have made this, and I am amazed at my talent.  Tonight of course it is cheese on toast...

Pont the cartoonist, understood the nation quite well.  On 'World Book Day' this appeared on Twitter, and I think it sums people up very well.  I tend not to give books away, I may wish to look into them again, and if lent they never return.  I know this as I look at my bookshelves while asking "Where did that come from?"  These days I do not meet the type who read books so much as I used to in the past, the Brexiteer is happy with the 'Daily Express' or the 'Sun' and the women tend to go for girlie books.  The local charity shops offer many books, all too often rubbish girlie novels, and the 'Sue Ryder' shop which used to have many good books available cheap has gone downhill sadly in the past few years, new management I suspect.  

I have two books I have finished sitting here, I may post them, but by that time I may have forgotten what they were about!  Some books take so long to read, one here has 700 pages of small print, indeed, all his books are like that, and he writes many books.  How do these people find the time?  

I have begun a couple of books and already have found a glaring fault in one. This makes me feel very 'Holy Wullie,' but as I read I expect I will be put in my place as I go along.

Radio 4 Extra has a series 'The Book' by Keith Houston, on how books came to be made and on and on about them.  15 minute programmes, worth a listen if you can.  It is amazing that from marks on clay tablets down in Sumer some umpteen thousand years ago, we have now so many books, also on phones and tablets, that I find it amazing that we are still so ignorant!  From the number of sheep bought or amount of beer produced we can read any book from anywhere, now and in the past, via the internet, and so much is available still.  The thoughts of great minds, the humour down through the years, the threats, and the routine daily operation of business, church and politics for centuries can be 

read by us today.  I think reading is great!  

Unless you are reduced to reading this....

Meanderings

A surprise this week, the new Prime Minister is still in office!

Not only that, but few have made serious claims about his mental health.  I suspect this will not continue.  Naturally, his cabinet are lying bare-faced to the world, but that is what we have become used to.  Not much else will change in the near future.

The leaves are falling fast from the trees, the fields and pavements are overflowing.  Only the driver of the town cleansing truck, the one used to run along pavements clearing them away will be happy, all that overtime from 7 am tomorrow!  The colours are good, but it is always sad to see the branches revealed once again, and the occasional birds nest high up on many.  

The clocks also go back one hour on Sunday, thus giving one more hour to ponder breakfast.  Unless you have a cat, a dog or a child of course.  I may take the opportunity to rise early and stumble down to church.  Though rain is once again returning the minute I leave the door.

I am ploughing through three books at the moment, one has 700 pages of small font, and lots of big words.  It is not easy to keep track.  The other two are easier but football fills the air and reading is slow.

How did people live before books?

Writing only arrived around 3500 years BC in southern Iraq, a place called Sumar.  Not much later it arrived in China and South America also.  Was this because of rising populations?  Trade opening up? Before that there were no books, but I suppose story tellers filled the gap.  An evenings entertainment listening to the history or folk tales of the locale.  Hero's and giants, and some right old rubbish also.  A little bit like the UK's free press I think. 

How could we live without books today?

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.

Attention All Shipping, Connelly.

 

This is a delightful, short, easy to read book.

Charlie Connelly is not the first to scribble a book based on the Shipping Forecast, he is not the first to travel to all the areas mentioned either.  His version is however, worth a look. 

The Late night Shipping Forecast, broadcast by the BBC since the 1920s, however, it began way back in the 1860s.  Vice-Admiral Robert Fitzroy began broadcasting known weather patterns via Telegraph in an effort to save lives and avoid the many shipwrecks around the coast.  Island life cannot avoid the combination of bad weather and outcrops of rock!  His basic service saved many lives.  The service developed through the use of radio after the Great War, the areas becoming well known to seamen.  The areas themselves developed as time passed, and the forecast service also continued being broadcast four times a day, these days on Radio 4.     

The author begins with a chapter on himself and his limited nautical family history, then a chapter on the Forecast itself and how it originated.  He is allowed to sit by as a BBC reader  gives the lunchtime forecast, and is impressed by the timing and skill on show, no wonder.

From there he attempts to visit all the sea areas mentioned during the forecast, of course having to fly or take a ferry across one or two unreachable otherwise, such as Dogger.  He gets drunk at a party in Utsire, having enjoyed a rough ferry crossing,  tastes Arbroath 'smokies,' and in Cromer (Humber region) learned the remarkable story of Lifeboat man Henry Blogg who's crews, in over 55 years service, saved some 873 persons from the waters around him.   Remember, when Henry began in the lifeboat it was all manhandled, no engines, just strong, determined men rowing into a gale.  The attitude he displayed has not changed, if you want real heroes read about Henry Blogg and the men of the RNLI.

Visiting the Isle of Wight, (sea area Wight) Charlie finds the people of the island like to make money out of one and all.  In his desire to see the far distant Tennyson Monument he gets caught in a heavy rainstorm, not for the last time.  So he continues his way around, from Portland to the Basque country, Ireland to Iceland, the Faroes to Shetland.  Each time he finds stories, often concerning his failure, seasickness, small aircraft or accommodation as well as the people living around him, almost all of whom carry on as if  people like him were common visitors.  The tales are easy to read, the humour help to carry the tale, and the book very readable indeed.  I often could imagine myself in the places mentioned, the circumstances retold, and often the suffering involved.  It was interesting how open people were, especially on the islands.  The difference between his London home and a small cottage on a sun filled or storm tossed island was interesting.  

The book is not new, published in 2004, and reprinted several times until 2009.  Some items are therefor dated somewhat, the easy travel across the EU for one, but this does not detract from the tale.

I recommend this book.

So, the first one has gone!  Javid has resigned from the incompetents government, soon followed by Chancellor Sunak.  Bothe men will now begin to openly seek election as PM.  Nadine Dorries may well resign by accident.  Two senior men gone, all because of a groper getting caught, not because of Boris Johnson's many other failures!  The end is nigh it appears.

    

Forced to Purchase Books...

 

It's that woman's fault! 

I was trying not to, but she made me do it.

Today I sat quietly, attempting not to pay out money for anything.

This is good, I like it.

I avoided the usual sites, I kept away from the teasing adverts, I ignored Etsy and E-Bay, and indeed all the online charity shops.  I ignored the book shops as well, especially them.  One look and I am paying out money.

Then she tells me she has found a book on Amazon about  Rome, which sounded tantalising.

I of course would not look into Amazon to find such a book.  

This was a no-go area for me today.

I went to Amazon, just to look and see if the book was any good.

Sadly it was, it was also expensive and I dutifully looked away and avoided spending cash.

Then I noticed the 'Kindle' version was only £2:20 so I purchased that.  

Unwillingly you hear.

However, as I was there I glanced, a mere glance, at the wish list I established some time ago.

I found I had forgotten many of the books there, some indeed since obtained on the cheap.

However, accidentally, I managed to notice that one was available for only just on £3. 

Add £2:80 P&P and I was a way.  

Blast!  

I have done it again!

I must never look into bookshops!

It's all that woman's fault...

Everydaypeoplecartoons

'Dipper Books'

 

I have begun reading these two, what I call 'Dipper' books.  That is, they are full of short chapters on a variety of different subjects and therefore do not requre long term attention.  Ideal for bathrooms everywhere.

'Reportage Scotland,' was first published in the year 2000, this version in 2005, 'World of Books' tempted me again.  This attempts to give reportage from 'eye witnesses' or as near as possible down through Scotland's History, beginning with Tacitus detailing in 'The Agricola,' the adventures (always successfull) of his father-in-law, Agricola.  Some famous, some notorious I suppose, and many unknown people offer their view on events they see.  

John Knox, the great reformer, gives his view on the death of Cardinal Beaton, a candle-maker in Leslie in Fife writes later to a freind of the problems caused by the bandit Rob Roy, and the 'Caledonian Mercury' of 1778 discusses John Paul Jones, a Scotsman who had joined the American revolution and later founded the navy.  The trial of Burke and Hare, or at least Burke, Hare had turned Kings Evidence and got off, in 1828 is here, as is the 'Edinburgh Evening News' report from 1890 concerning the opening of the Forth Bridge.

I love such books as they give an insight to historical events, important and less so, from the people who were there.  As always there is a need to understand from what perspective they are writing, but I think this is a great book.

'The Modern Explorers' published first in 2013, is slightly newer.  It follows similar short chapter settings where modern explorers speak of the sights seen and endured, as they continue to traverse the earth into places as yet unknown to most of us.  Polar regions, Deserts, Mountains and the like are covered by those brave, or stupid, enough to cross them.

One advantage of such books must be the short chapters.  Any that bore can be dumped and another chosen.  Another advantage is that you can learn something from someone who was there, or maybe near enough.   

 

A Trip to Waterstones

 

Decided this morning to take action against the 'stir crazy' feeling that has developed around here.  I checked the bus times online, decided I was going to miss the 10:09 so noticing there was a different bus at 10:24 strode manfully for that.  It was not to be found.  Instead the No 70 I was looking for is now a No 370.  The 42B at 10:24 no longer appears to exist, according to the timetable on the shelter at the new bus station at any rate, so 370 it was to be.  

The screen informed me the next 370 would be along in 9 minutes.

I believed them.  

I was right to do so, 9 minutes later the bus pulled into the bay, the wrong bay, but into a bay.  Not quite the 'Zimmer' bus as of old I note this one.  This lot were more the ten different coloured pills a day lot I think.  Anyway, we clambered aboard and slowly the bus made its way out of the terminus and wound round a new route to the far off city. 

 

 

It being almost three years since I last ventured out this way I was as happy as a kid going on holiday.  I expected to see change, and change there was.  Many new housing developments have arisen.  With a Tory controlled council it is no suprise to note these are all houses costing from £400,000 and rising, so as to bring in more Tory voters.  I must admit a sense of growing discontent about this.  Not that I can ever buy, but to purchase a one bed flat here requires about £18,000 deposit, and even then the mortgage people may not accept you.  An actual cheap house may be found at the £300,000 mark, but unless you have one to sell, who can afford this?  

 

Fifty or so minutes later we landed in town and I hastened slowly towards the Cathedral.  There is nothing much else but shops in this town, and I wanted only one of them.  I actually wished to look at the bookstall in here, and on this quiet  day I found a lack of books, a mere smattering on the shelves.  The Diocese office keeps the best ones in their bookshop.  I was not going there.

 

I sat opposite this window, much brighter in reality than in this poor picture, the first time I have really noticed it.   Somewhat Victorian to me.  Just looking at it now I noticed a wee man high up on the left side.  A closer look indicates this is Andrew, according to the cross he holds, and maybe next time I am in I will look again, and with the better camera.  

I departed soon after I had mused sufficiently, hesitating when mistaken for an employee by a young lady entering the building.  Have I sunk so low I actually look like an Anglican now?

 

 

Waterstones was the shop I was heading to.  Here, my £20 gift voucher in hand, I perused each shelf, each table, and almost the Costa coffee shop before I noticed the prices, and, eventually making my purchase and discovering I had £10 on my Waterstones card also.  This I will keep until the next time, probably next week and visit the Camoludunum shop.  

In spite of the masses of books available I was a bit disappointed.  None of them jumped out at me this time, however, after wandering around, almost shoving an unwilling to move woman from one table, and stopping a more polite one from moving at another, I managed to find three books to bring home to the bookshelves.  As always it is a bit of a gamble, will these actually be worth someone else's money?  Will I enjoy them?  Will I find time to read them in between sloth and stuffing my face?     

 

 

The trouble is, I only have one more book token to use, but there are several books I consider I ought to consider.  Maybe I need to drop hints with the family again...?

 

Ridiculous as it sounds I almost went the wrong way heading back to the bus.  Tsk!  I intended to pass throught the market and check out one or two stalls.  On the correct route I passed this.  At first I thought it was the 'Wicker Man,' but it turns out to be a war memorial.

The memorial itself commemorates the Boer War, a massive block elsewhere remembers the Great War, but this one always has a presentation of sorts in November.  Not sure what that is made from but it is well done.

I passed through the very large indoor market, obtaining a variety of meat from the butcher and accidentally purchasing two large slabs of cheese from the cheese stall.  The nurse will not be pleased.  It is a log time since I have been here, these two stalls have not changed, and many of the other stalls remain in place, including the one selling aged cameras at inflated prices.

 

Somewhat surprised at my energy I went to the bus station.  At the stop the numbers indicated had changed.  I queried this with a driver hesitating to begin his shift.  He informed me how things had been revised, where my stop now was, and we both laughed when I asked why there was now a Number 70, as well as a Number 370 bus on the same routes.  "I have no idea," he said holding wide his arms.  We both laughed at the managers and clever people high up who direct things but never see them in action on the ground.

I checked the bus stop.  Lots of old pill pushers stood there.  The indicator claimed the No 70 was coming in 34 minutes, the C1 (what's that?) in 1 minute.  I went to the 'Tesco Express,' bought an overpriced bottle of water, returned to the stop to find only a couple waiting.  The C1 went off to the Hospital taking the pill pushers with it.  Now the indicator said No 370 in 6 minutes.  I sat of the two rails that form a poor seat and the No 370 drew in behind me!  

Catching a bus takes lots of patience, exercise, sarcasm and hope in this area I find.   Still, I was heading home.

 

What delight to see old houses (costing a million) blue sky, green grass, growing crops and hedges filled with birds flapping about.  Though to be honest it was mostly Crows I heard murmering.  It was good to be out, especially as the day passed quickly with no troubles.  Within three hours I had returned, eaten lunch and began to stiffen up.  A good day, which I will pay for tomorrow.

 

Cruel Monday

Life is cruel!  All morning I spent looking for the postman deivering my books.  

All morning!  It was only when I looked once again at the Royal Mail email I realised it said deliver 'Wednesday!  I could have been out, round Sainsburys and have something worth eating for tea, but no, I did not read the email properly!  This is happening more regularly to me now.

Then this afternoon I was again stuck indoors awaiting another book from Amazon.  I ordered two, one came via one courier, the other will arrive, probably via a different one, sometime soon. 

Having used up the last shirt in the cupboard I have also spent all day, and I mean all day, ironing the rest of the shirts piling up on the back of the couch.  Considering how old some of these are, a little tighter than they once were, a sensible rich person would dump them on a charity shop and buy new ones.  However, I am poor, as my report cards always used to say, and the cheaper option is ironing them and hoping new ones arrive (fat chance) at Christmas.

Now, book arrived and placed in appropriate Xmas pile while awaiting others, shirts, bar the ones I just could not be bothered doing, hanging in the cupboard shocked and neatish, I await the rest of the day. Nothing else has been done.  

Then tonight I must drag myself the hundred yards down the road to the Club for the Spam meeting.  I have to wait and not rush out as I expect one of my women to call regarding her visit to the doctors last Friday.  This could take an hour, wear out my ear and make me wish she could use emails!  Some forty or so people praying for several years have led to the dialysis she ought to have undertaken years ago not being required.  The doctors smile and nod when she explains why. Now, at 80 years of age, she is still continuing to live but they do not understand how she does so well in the circumstances.  Other problems remain, and while she has suffered for 30 years with things the Good Lord will not let her undergo this.  Quite something.

After that call I will need to be at the Club, just for the quietness.  It will not be empty but the people there will be quieter than her voice on a phone.