Book!!!

 

Waterstone's

 

At last, after much struggle, I have reached the end of 'Engel's England.'  Something many of us wish to achieve!  I began reading this book early in Lock Down but just could not find the effort to read anything for a while.  Several dust covered books lie awaiting my eyes so I have begun another two of them.  At least one introduction and one first page!   

Anyway, you may remember Matthew Engel from his previous book, 'Eleven Minutes Late,' so you will know the character of the man.  That book concerned railways, this one involves his journey around every English county.  English only, which is fair enough.  This makes the book a long read, even if some chapters are not too long he does like to spend time in those he associates with.  

There is no real pattern to the journey, he took several years over it, between 2012 and 2014, hopping here and there, and it is worth a look just to see what he thinks is important in the county in which you may have connections.  Ten years out of date maybe but relevant still today.

London here, is treated as a seperate county, and this makes sense.  London has little connection to England, much less to Scotland or Wales, even though the government offices reside here.  London, the government, the Oxbridge set that run the nation, and all the powerful of the land care nothing for anything north of Euston Road, London alone counts with them as that is where their money and friends, make that contacts, are.

Engel travelled around London on his own when around 12 year of age, he lived in Northampton but holidayed with his gran in Temple Meads.  He travelled safely, wandering on and off bus and tube, visiting interesting places.  Boys that age would enjoy such an activity even now, however, I suspect the police, social services and women with short hair and dangly earrings would suffer hysteria at a 'child' exploring on his own today.  Personally I did similar, round Edinburgh, and no harm came to me.  His love of London is clear, possibly because he now lives miles away outside, and here, as in all counties he offers an interesting view of what is around him.

All counties in England are found here, some history, some novelties, some people stories, all the usual things to expect from a travel book.  He missed one bit of Essex mind, this one!   

 

Squabbling Allies and Women

 

Just over a year ago I posted a short review of 'Lords of the Desert,' a tale of infighting between the US and UK as to who gets the oil, position and power in the Middle East.  You may not have realised it but the US came out on top!  We got Oman!  The recent death of the leader there means we may not have that in our Empire remnant for much longer either.  James Barr's study of that relationship is made even more understandable when browsing this book, 'A Line in the Sand.'  This covers the arguments between two similar allies, the UK and France!  

The line in the sand is the scribbled line drawn up between a government agent Mark Sykes, and the French agent Francois Georges-Picot, in 1916.  Basically this split the land between the two nations rather in the manner of the Victorian Empire builders.  However, this was a new century and such methods now longer applied, especially with two rather dubious representatives involved and two wary allies behind them. 

The book begins in the Great War with the UK wishing to invade Syria but were opposed in this by France, they wished to claim Syria as their own having had influence there in past time, they said.  In fact they had been kicked out some 600 years previously.  From the beginning of the Great War until long after the second both sides bickered and fought for control of the Syria, Iraq and Palestine areas.  It is not a nice situation.

While the author indicate the French, especially under General de Gaul, who thought he was France, were arrogant and indeed violently oppressive, he does not fail to mention the secretive workings and many intrigues made by the London command throughout the period.  

For almost 40 years squabbles, leading to many deaths, continued while both sides sought control over the Arabs, while at the same time offering these same Arabs 'freedom' and 'sovereignty.'  The UK it must be said, offered more freedom than the French offered, resistance to French rule was often callously put down.  

Enter into this Zionists.

By the late 30's many Zionists were headed for Jerusalem citing the Balfour Declaration.  The fact that this was a sham to gain support against the French did not matter and by 1940, with the war at its height many were escaping Europe to live in Palestine.  After the Holocaust it is no surprise many thousands more wished to flee.

This gave rise to Israeli terrorists, a series of groups it must be said, more callous than any other, indeed even sinking a ship with their own people aboard.  They do not come out of this well.  Fair to say nobody does.  Mass slaughter all around appeared to be the way forward, closed minds, open arms deals, and in the end both France and then the UK are removed from the scene to let them fight it out themselves.  British soldiers would not be upset to leave such a difficult dangerous and unsettled region.

The book is jampacked with detail.  Facts abound, as in the other James Barr books, and for a clearer understanding of the mess that is the middle East these two books, and his book on Lawrence of Arabia, 'Setting the Desert on Fire,' are all well worth reading. 

 

You may have noticed by now that a new month has arrived.  We notice this as until recently social media has been stuffed full off 'woofter month,' however, as of today it is 'International Women's Month.'  I thought it already was, every month.  Like myself, you will be aware that there is no, or little heard off, International Man's Month.'  Men do not count, except when paying for the women, and men over 50 count for less than that these days.  So, after a month of gays pretending they are normal and refusing to accept any other view we now have women telling us how hard their life has been.  This usually from women who have never had a problem in their lives other than deciding their hair colour!  So called 'equality,' the lie about earning less, and their hardships in having babies and working at the same time.  How women suffer! 

Of course such women have really no problems, certainly none that cause pain or suffering.  Not that long ago women worked, in factories, mills, shops, offices, and as domestics.  Muttering women today would never sink so low as to actually work.  No, for them it is a desk, a coffee pot, a laptop and a page or two of their struggles.  I feel for them.

Meanwhile, somewhere on the Turkish or Jordanian border, snuggly cramped into an overcrowded tent or UN shack, a women and her children await Syria's war to end so they can go home.  Young men, probably her hsband also, have disappeared into Europe promising to call for them, aye, right!  This woman may have worked also, possibly professionally.  In Yemen similar women, not working, are standing over the grave of their baby child, killed by a UK made missile perhaps, or maybe a stray bullet.  How she wishes she was struggling into work on a crowded commuter train and wasting her life being overpaid for doing nothing very important.  No chance of that however.

Do women need a special month?  Do men?  Not that men will get one, men just get complaints, then have to do the work the women leave for them.

Am I fed up with the March Twitter feed today?

er, I came across this...

Women's Work!

 

The brief glimpse of sunshine that entered via the grubby kitchen window today revealed the dust that not only swirled in the air as I walked but also lay in thick layers on various items of furniture.  This surprised me as I dusted, hoovered, swept and polished two weeks before christmas and cannot imagine how it became so dusty this quickly.

So, instead of doing useful things like reading and playing solitaire I splashed bleach across the bathroom, 'Brillo Padded' the sink, and much of the floor, rubbed, pushed, sweated and struggled until it was half clean.  The Loo floor, where much rubbish landed, can wait.

The dust was scraped from the unused TV and the various bits attached, much to the spiders dislike.  Dust circles around me still!  Tops dusted, here, there and everywhere, and only the hoovering to do to make the place look habitable.  However, as I have lost one piece from a new Jig-saw that my niece gave at Christmas, this comprised an old photogrpah she found turned into a jig-saw, I therefore cannot hoover until I get down on my hands and knees and search all the floor first.  This could take some time.  

Ironing, it can wait, though it does require dusting again...

Then it was the kitchen, the Hob was polished, the metal shelving inside the cooker was scrubbed with the wire thingy, and the cooker itself will be done soon, honestly.  

So, where are all the women helpers?

My back aches, my arms ache, everything else wabbles a bit, and there is still much to do.

Do you remember the 'Flash' advert in the late 50s?  Here a woman with a black and white tiled floor pushed a mop in a straight line across the floor.  A clear distinction was noted between the bit 'Flash' cleaned and the grubby floor around.  Many women fell for this, even if they did not have such floors.

Of course the stuff did not clean any better than what other cleaners offered, and today I saw this in action.  Another powerful cleaner that, if left for 15 minutes, will clean the grubbiest grime.  

No it will not!

They forget to remind you about the muscular effort required!

Even then it is not perfect.

These things are all the same, only the amount of detergent or soap bubbles varies, the results depend on your effort and the regularity of use.  

That however, explains the bath...

Sky News

Parliament Square is choc-a-bloc with Scottish fishing Lorries protesting about the death of their trade caused by Boris and his 'treaty.'  He has been on promising delights in 5 years time, money to support now, and once again lying in his teeth as another aspect of his work falls apart.  Still, the media will support him, Brexiteers will swallow this, especially those living in France and Spain!

 

 

On facebook, that source of knowledge not found anywhere else, I placed a picture of two books I wanted for Christmas. This was good as soon one of these books arrived, then another, and today a third copy of the same book!  How do you keep this from three people?

Three copies, and Mike Smith did not write any of them, sitting proudly on the shelf.  The book is good, I finished it quickly, and the photos were wonderful, however I do think families ought to communicate together better. 
Anyway, the other book is still missing...

 

Book: 'Edinburgh at War'

 

 

I have just finished the first book of the year, 'Edinburgh at War,' by Craig Armstrong.  

In spite of being brought up in Edinburgh after the war (long after) I had little knowledge of events that occurred there during seven long years of service.  Obviously there were little stories that leaked out, tales of woe or funny situations, occasional photographs and the tales my dad offered re his wartime service.  However no details as such of the changes that occurred during this time.  This book goes a long way to answering the questions I was to stupid to consider asking.

Taking the war year by year the author offers tales from the media of what events appeared important, the building of defences, the formation of defence forces, in fire and medical areas, the rise of the Home Guard, and the results of enemy action.

All these things changed as the war passed.  Here we read of the grumbles, early was confusions re sirens and blackout, the council (Corporation actually at this time) action or lack off, and of course the cost of war.  Men in action if France, Dunkirk, Middle East, Far East, and once again in France and Germany.  Actions in the air, the first attacks from the air were on shipping in the Firth of Forth, the reaction to this, other bombing raids, those killed, damage caused.  Action at sea, in the air and on land involved men from this area, and all the while industry boomed making war equipment, Leith docks created many a vessel for action.  

Not surprisingly much attention is given to celebrations at wars end and royal visits.  While quaint in some eyes these reports speak of the attitudes of the day, reflected in many who were children at the time, the language used in the reports take us into the time, for those like me much is recognisable and other aspects explain the attitudes of parents for many years.

Simple things remained, the siren gave out the 'all clear' once or twice a year just to test them I suppose, treats offered kids in war, such as a rhubarb stick with some sugar, was current when we were kids also.  'Make do and mend' remained throughout the 50s and well into the 60's, in this house it remains still!   

 

I learned a great deal from this book, and it comes with relevant photogrpahs which can only help.  I recommend it to one and all.   

'Pen and Sword Books' cover many other towns and cities in this series, from Aberdeen to London, including 'Cardiff and the Valleys.'

Mars, Books, Twitter

The other night, the clouds having departed, I saw Mars close to the Moon.  Rushing for the camera I wasted timme trying to get a decent shot of both, these two blobs are the best I could manage.  The Moon is the one on the right...

It appears Mars will not be this close for another 15 years or so, I may not get another chance to see it like this.  Since then however rain has stopped play with late night stargazing out the kitchen window late at night, I may be able to resume come April.

On Twitter early today they war anoraks were offering pictures of their bookshelves.  Masses of war books, and someone claimed, Enid Blytons, were to be observed.  My shelf looks puny in comparison, although many more big ones lie elsewhere.  It is interesting to read people who consider books so important.  One man offered a view of his home where several large bookshelves groaned with books, mostly Military ones.  Isn't it funny how we, and by this I mean men, get caught up in something and fill our world with this hobby.  War books, often ex-servicemen or historians, photography, trains, football, cars, motorbikes, cycling, hill walking, and so on, once something gets a grip of you it remains forever.  Of course women can be found here also, especially in the hill walking areas, I will go looking tomorrow, and they can be most helpful as they make the sandwiches.  

I recall the tale of a woman dumping her man, he might starve now, as he filled the house with Manchester United paraphenalia.  The walls were covered, cupboards filled and for reasons unknown she got forgotten in this.  Other women are happy the man has a hobby, whatever it is, as long as it is harmless, and she will probably have one also.  Helpful if they share the attraction.

 

 

I was watching the second Scottish Cup Semi Final on Premier TV this afternoon, another group ripping off Scottish football fans, and found myself getting very annoyed by the faltering picture.  I took to  Twitter, a good idea if you wish to embarrass someone, and yelled at Premier!  Minutes were lost, I missed a goal, and then in one of the papers they had a list of people similarly crying out re lost vision. Eventually all returned and the wrong team one.

Too often I find myself these days shouting at things, there is of course a lot to decry!  Corrupt government, people, wrongs that need righted, but in the end I am becoming Victor Meldrew, and grumble too much, even though, and it must be said, I am right!

So, I will give Twitter a miss to save my blood pressure, few will notice, and I will peacefully spend my days contemplating trains, football, and other lovely things.  Anyone got a spare mirror?

 

Absent minds...

 

Toon Pool

 

My mind has been elswhere this week, it has as yet failed to return.   

This morning, urgently, I sauntered round to Tesco.  I was congratulating myself on how quickly I was gathering the few needfuls when I realised the manager, and an accolyte, were chatting in front of the chocolate (I need this for my calorie controlled greed).  Without thinking I indicated I wanted in there and helpfully grabbed his arm and pulled him aside as you would do a friend.  His sarcastic answer I did not catch, and only later did I realise what I had done.  Mind you I could have mentioned that he was not just taking up space but failing to wear a mask, I wish I had now!  In fact I think he was teaching a new manager how to cheat, how to lay out goods to entice the unwary, and increase sales, something stores do all the time, that is what increases his opportunities for advancement.  He will be on £30,000 or so I reckon.  

I returned home, gleefully dumping the shelf filling stuff and resting my laurels and planning the next job.  This entailed hobbling to the charity shop which asked for books.  I had gathered a few aged books of no worth and those that I decided I could live without and packed them in a couple of bags.

This was not easy, it is not easy to put books out, especially as in the next 12 months I will probably buy one or two back again!  These books were, it must be said, no longer any use to me.  Funnily enough, Waterstones have indicated I need to buy now or my £10 voucher runs out.  That comes next.

 

 

It was as I left the charity shop, something to do with heart attacks, I realised I had forgotten to buy a Digital timer for the night heater, the old one having died of excess.  So into Tesco I go, upstairs by 

escalator, downstairs by creaking, find what I want and on to queue up alongside large bottles of spirits going cheap to use the self service machines.  This, as you realise is not wise.  Two items and I struggled!  The blasted machine would not let me move on!  I banged it intellectually, thumped the timer on the bag space, and muttered sayings from of old.  Then the young lad came over and indicated I was doing it the wrong way round.  I had put the items in the bag space and was trying to transfer them to the basket space.

I cried.

 

I have spent the rest of the day watching trains to calm down, once I found a railway that had trains running that is.  

Saturday Cogitation

 

 

 

I've finished a book!

This is the first book I have got through in ages.  This is not from having ceased trying to read, I just could not be bothered with all the big words.  The effort to read was too much, possibly 'Lock Down' having an effect, but few words other than those required to identify items on supermarket shelves or football results were asked for by me.  This obviously did not stop me buying books!  The shelf is creaking with unread words, none in cuneiform but some dealing with that sort of thing, others just cheap, old books, that were a sudden desire.  They are now collecting dust until the right time to read them.  One lass sent me the wrong book, they all look the same don't they?  When I pointed this out and offered to keep the wrong, but perfectly acceptable book, and happily pay for it she allowed me to keep it for free.  I doubt she paid much in the first place, it is quite aged.  That was good.  I think she may be working for home for 'pin money' selling books she has collected from all around.  Good luck to her.  'Be Inspired' is the name she goes under on Amazon, though the rest of the books in her bookshop did not inspire me today.   I will however keep a look out.

Paiul Theroux's book is a condensed version of his travels.  I like his books, well written and honest. The tales do occur some time ago but allow us a glimpse into the lives of many in far flung places often in difficult times.  'The Great Railway Bazaar,' 'The Old Patagonian Express,' 'The Kingdom by the Sea,' where they miss Edinburgh for no good reason, and other travels are detailed.  These are shortened versions of his books put together in 1991 so a bit dated but still worth a read I say.  

I of course paid little for it.  

Did you know that there is an election occuring in the USA?  They kept that quiet didn't they?

It appears that the present President, a madman by all accounts who suggested first that the Coronvirus did not exist, even though he was informed about this in January, and then told his subjects to take Bleach to cure it!  Two did and died apparently.  He also caught the virus, he says, and recovered informing his people not to be afraid of the virus.  He ignored the 200,000 dead and millions till suffering while it appears he tries to stifle free health care in the US.  

Joe Biden is the other man.

That's all we need to know to vote for him, whoever he is.

 

 

As I look up from this monotonous Celtic v Rangers game I note the traffic has not lessened this Saturday in spite of the county being in a tighter 'lock down' from today.  Nothing appears to have changed, most here obey the rules and Saturday shoppers are ignoring them as much as usual.  To many football matches to watch for me to stir outside but as the death rate is higher I suspect the care homes are suffering a bit once again.  That is, both patients and staff!

 

Tuesday Mutterings

 

 

St Margaret of Antioch 

 

You would think, looking at the Anglican Church, St Margaret of Antioch, in the village of Stanford-le-Hope, that you were in a 'typical' English village.  Certainly not far away lie fields, and indeed a river, but the river is the River Thames, which carries the new 'London Gateway' container port terminal just down the road from this village.  Once an Essex rural site now it has become at best commuter land for the big city or the huge works nearby, both industrial and shopping.  

St Margaret herself goes back around a thousand years as such churches tend to do.  Rebuilt and added to many times it has seen Essex life grow around it.  Rural deprivation, nearby 'Fobbing' was a centre of the Peasants Revolt not long after the great plague.  The usual upheavals, a war memorial in town centre, and now commuter land and a rising number of houses, many since the 50's and 60's.  Not much of a village today but elements remain.

St Margaret herself was supposedly martyred in 304, if, that is, she actually exisited.  Some of these 'saints' are not what they were you know.

From here UPS despached their van at 6:30 this morning to rush a parcel to me.  Where once such vans encountered a long line of traffic heading into London now they meet a long line of parcel delivery vans rushing back and forth, all seeking to deliver too many parcels in too short a time.

I went through several links before I found the UPS page that informed me when the delivery would be made.  DPD, if you remember, gave me not only a one hour slot when the delivery may arrive but a wee map showing the drivers progress.  UPS, when I eventually got to the page having 'signed in' again, told me the package was 'Out on delivery' and would arrive, 'near days end.'  Very helpful!  As it was the driver, who made me feel slim, told me he attempted to finish his individual drops by lunch time, and he arrived at around 12:30, and clearly was happy to almost be finished.  'How is Stanford?' I asked, 'Bloody Hot,' he replied.  It was very hot outside today.

I remained busy indoors.

 

In spite of 'Lock Down' or indeed this more open regime I still find how little I am reading books.  Quite why I do not know, but they not only pile up all over the place, half read, unopened, or just gathering dust, but there is little desire to look inside at the moment.  Latop problems do not help, weariness that has hung over me does not help, but just getting involved in the books remains difficult.  Those with small fonts and 700 pages of big words can be easy to ignore.  However, even those written easily are hard to pick up.  My weaak brain is dying, I think it is the lack of football has bruised it somewhat.

 

I found this cartoon quite revealing.  How the media have used this lie for many years.  While the nation is standing on the beaches with Farage repelling asylum seekers in rubber rafts the Press Barons continue to lien their pockets, move the goalposts, inform Prime Ministers what they are to do, and sit happily surrounded by lackeys yet with no life, in spite of their money and power.  

Spending your life being important and powerful might bring a thrill but if it rots the world around you it leaves nothing behind.  I did read one portion of Paul Theroux travelling in China some years ago.  He went to Chairman Mao's birthplace and found it deserted.  While some years before the Red Guards had flocked in their thousands to his birthplace it was now a lonely museum, even the shop had no postcards of him, nor any of his 'Little Red Books.'

Ozymandius came to mind.  

Great power can change the world for good or it can destroy it.  Mao, in spite of the present 'Communist Party' name has been forgotten and discredited.  His understanding, and cruelty, challenged millions but it was his successors who turned China back into a really powerful state.  His legacy is empty.  The Press Barons end will be the same.

Now, I'm Not One to Complain, but..

Not only has Blogger gone to pot but now Microsoft have 'updated,' that is, made a mess off, Outlook.

One post gets a reply and all are piled together, why?  By clicking at the side they open up, why not leave it as it was?????  Now it is more complicated, difficult to read, and yet another 14 year old geek is fooled into thinking he is clever, he is not!  What is the matter with these people?  Why adjust what does not require adjusting?

And Blogger is still rubbish also!

At last I have finished this.

The author wanders along paths, mostly inspired by the poet Edward Thomas.  Other people tell me how wonderful this poet is, I tend to disagree.   However the last chapter or two on him was quite interesting. 

Otherwise the author tends to use far too many pretentious words, can offer lists of things that go on too long and can be boring in places.  I suppose that can reflect walking long distances as you must pass over boring stretches of land where there is little of interest.

The final chapter does have some interesting finds, and these north of Liverpool of all places.  We walk alongside footprints found as the sea recedes, footprints that go back 5000 years.  Fascinating!  

To follow the steps of someone who is watching the various deer up ahead, hoping no doubt for a catch.  Women and children, possibly searching for sea creatures for food, and a variety of animals that have long since departed this earth, fascinating! 

Shame the early chapters were not so interesting however.

Still, some may like it, I do not think I will go for another of MacFarlane's works mind.

A Walk in the Park...

The promise of another hot day made me leave the condominium before 10 this morning.  I wandered across the green of the park, avoided by several gents keen on a 6ft distance, glad to be outside before the park fill with dafties seeking sunshine and virus exchanges.  
Slowly I passed the long queues at the supermarkets, all well distanced, and the market, each stall with distant keen customers, was remarkably quiet.  I did wonder if the Tesco queue could be longer, I suspect they could wait nearly an hour today.  At Sainsburys at least he sun shines on you, not at Tesco. 
On the one had I noted how efficient people were regarding 'social distancing' yet also the great fear that was among them all.  Elsewhere long queues of traffic were piling up as people headed into the sun, here the locals, most of whom voted for Boris, were wary of an early lock down ending.  This makes me wonder how many will send their kids to school on Monday?
In an attempt to divert attention from Dominic's wrong doing Boris has forced the schools back and offered a 'Test and Track' device.  Many will not attend school and the Test App has already been found to be full of holes.  One QC has indicated the language used is US legal terminology, make of that what you will. 
Dominic, I must say, is guilty and must go!

Since returning from my waddle around town I have done nothing but read my book.  The intention was to finish it today, but there is yet another chapter appeared!  The book has me in its grasp, I must stop and eat but I must pick it up and read also.  I am worn out!  
As such I have little idea what is going on today.
A quick glance at the news shows a surprise, Professor Jonathan Van-Tam says we are ending Lock Down too early, as do two other 'top scientists.'  This is not Dominic speaking!
Near naked women will dominate tomorrows pages as the media report on crowded beaches and parks.  The one opposite me has not in the end been crowded.
Another attempt to bring back English football and finish season is planned.  How will they cope if a player goes down?  What about black players susceptible to this virus?  Money is what matters here!
Scottish football may restart. or may not, Hearts may go down, or they may not, reconstruction may happen or it may not...normal service via the SFA/SPFL.
Meanwhile in Minnesota in the 'Land of the Free' it is common for Police to kill Black men because they are back, then the 3 year old in the White House refuses to condemn the killer and grumbles about the resulting riots.  'Shoot them' He says!  The bumbling idiot clearly has no idea what leadership is about, I suspect he thinks the cops will vote for him.

Now, having scanned the press I am left wishing I had not bothered.  I do note Boris is hiding, would he be caring for his child perhaps...?

There is Less to Say Today...

If yesterday was boring you will find it much, much worse today.
The main delight was to do the 'washing.'  This is interesting in that round here they call it 'laundry,' and do not understand what you mean.  Just as in Edinburgh women, for that is what they were made for, will go for the 'messages,' but in these parts they say 'shopping,' or 'Supermarket,' or 'I have a woman to do that sort of thing.'  When I lived in Edinburgh there were many phrases I took for granted but which cause puzzlement in these parts.  A woman asked the time, 'The back of three o'clock' I said.  She stared at me blankly.  She, it must be said, was indeed reared on a farm.  'Do you mean,' she enquired nervously, 'After three o'clock?'  I stared blankly.  What else could I have meant I thought.  Only then it struck me how everyday expressions we grow up with at fixed to a locale.  Just as many words are found only in certain areas phrases and expressions are similarly found in limited locales.  
Of course round here they all speak with the same accent, acceptable but not one to boast about.  When an individual from Lancashire or Wales or Scotland appears I always enjoy the improvement.  Such accents are delightful, while a 'Scouse' one, named after a type of stew, is not so endearing. 

I picked this book up again, I found it under a pile of detritus, and luckily it was open at an interesting bit.  Here MacFarlane walks around in the West Bank with an Arab walker to guide him.  In a another chapter he was walking with a man who picked up odd bits he found as he walked, made a small 'book' enclosing his finds, over a thousand such books in his possession, and his left me wondering about what goes on behind peoples front doors.  The Arab, Raja is his name, had walked many Wadi's in the West Bank and made maps of his walks, not something to carry about with you when soldiers or settlers might be met.  MacFarlane describes in his usual, normal, current, regular, customary, familiar overblown style as he walks.  On occasion this can be interesting, sadly not often enough.  However they walk up and down the slopes, ensuring they cannot be seen by Israeli or settler guards as the area is technically out of bounds.  The word 'technically' means they get shot if seen, US style, no questions asked.
For such hardened walkers this is great fun.  The author walks along investigating the limestone rocks and describing the rivulets where water has over the centuries run down into the Wadi.  Such men enjoy the toil, even with a heavy backpack, possibly considering that this makes them appear 'real men.'  Walking across parts of Israel crossed by many feet over thousands of years in indeed intriguing but while these two considered the stones I would be considering where the nearest Falafel takeaway joint was to be found.  They trudge along wary of figures on the horizon while rain begins to fall.  This, as is the way in such places soon turns the area into clinging yellowish mud as the rivulets allow water to run down.  This is what done for Sisera all those years before.  Arriving with all his trained charioteers he found Barak at the foot of Mount Tabor.  To him this was an easy victory but the rain came and that area was full of streams.  Soon his chariots were stuck in mud and his men, trained to fight on the move, were no match for the 'Infantry' of Barak, especially when they were aroused.  Sisera himself managed to escape the carnage hiding with the Kenites, he saw them as friendly locals, and was lulled to sleep by a milky drink given by the woman Jael.  He may not have known the Kenites were descended from Moses father-in-law and Jael, when she saw he was asleep, did the decent thing and put a tent peg through his scull.  Never trust a woman I say!  Never trust a woman who lulls you to sleep with a milky drink!
My head hurts now.
Those ancient hills in the West Bank must have seen many a confrontation over thousands of years. The chances of peace in that area now is still slim.  
Anyway that is the sort of area MacFarlane is walking over in this chapter, his style has not changed, the people he meets appear regular walkers, I am talking about walking across Spain, or France or some such, just for the adventure.  These are his type of people.  I am left wondering about them myself. What makes people take off into the wild, possibly living alone far from humanity, possibly in rough areas in the hills or by the sea, obsessed with the world around them, oblivious to the rest?  Why do they do this?  I suspect we have all met them, sometimes envious of them, as they head out into adventure.  But these are not all young people, some have done this for decades.  As I said, when you go into someone's house you never know what you may meet.  I found this in the 80s when delivering in London, normal houses may be done up like castles downstairs, just for decoration, other rather run down properties were a wonder inside, this was the dream house for someone.  Another was an ex-sailor, very aged, with dozens of large models of Royal Navy ships, most of these were ships in which he had served during the Great War.  Poor old man was lonely and wished to talk about them but I had to rush on.  I regret not being able to remain for a while, both for him and for me!
Anyway, I might finish this book yet, depending on the nutter individual found in later chapters...

Sunday Suffering...

 

Dismal weekend so far.

Weather grey, occasional rain, yet Saturday traffic very busy.  Some folks are getting bored with being inside I reckon.  Many are now taking to the roads for a bit of 'exercise.'  Sunday returned to the quiet however, the grey clouds limiting the most eager jogger.  

There was little for it but to read a book.  This however is not possible all day, some form of outside entertainment is required just to allow the mind to breathe.  Now many question whether my mind has breathed at any time, these people follow from a long line of teachers that I have known, but after reading three chapters we need refreshment.  

There is none to be had on TV, none found outside in the mirk, even less found looking inside my head.  I could of course have restarted all those many books that I have been writing, I have dozens, some of which even reach page two, but the muse has left on all of these and it may be they will join the myriad other ventures that I have toyed with and watch go down the drain.  Which reminds me the sinks require cleaning and a bottle of that smelly stuff dropped down them, just in case.  That is something to do tomorrow.  I could clean the bike in preparation for the sunshine that will surely come this way soon.  My knees may not like it but I would like to get out on it again.    

I may prefer to read books...

I could have continued the research on the local police force that I began years ago.  This did not get far.  The latest police station, the previous two, one with attached Magistrates Court all now housing, and the 'Lock Up,' known locally as 'The Cage,' where drunks were place in one of two small cells to keep the populace safe until sobriety returned.  These gentlemen would remember such actions well.  

I started this when the aged locals were fussing about too few police and 'it was better when I was young,' and I discovered the town had an enormous police force, not untypical of similar towns of the day.  Most of these 'local Bobbies' would probably have had to walk miles around the local villages as well as patrol the town.  I hope they were supplied with bicycles!  The village postman had to walk many miles each day, six days a week, I suspect these men did similar.  

The point is that while many look back to the days when things were better they forget they were actually the same as today.  We were better, younger with a keen outlook to traverse the world and see bright shiny things everywhere.  We forget the fears, problems and difficulties and keep in our minds only the good things. We certainly remember the good things when in the 'Cage' for the night.

 

'Source to Sea,' a Walk

Waterstones

Isolated as we are, banned from walking the earth as we wish, and quite simply unable to hike 215 miles alongside a river this book is a good way to get ourselves outside, in comfort.  
The author, a Londoner who lives and works close by the river, decided one day to leave the travel desk at the 'Times' and travel along the river, from 'source to sea,' thus providing himself with a title and some blisters.  Walking from pub to pub, with occasional hotels, for rest spaces he completed the task covering 368 miles in 21 days.  His detours, not always deliberate, added to the length of the journey.
What can be said about a walk by a river?
The early stages cover paths blessed by a wide variety of flowers and wildlife, cattle, horses or sheep appear in fields around, swans and sucks paddle past often silently.  The stopping places and foodstuffs get good coverage, some would say too much but if you follow the trail you will see this as wise advice or warnings.  Old pubs often go back several hundred years, all have their tales of famous or infamous deeds and people, some of them true.  Occasional houses, usually for the very rich, are passed all along the line of the river.  Near the beginning gardens from aged cottages costing a million reach down to the waterline, often with boats at the ready.  Near the ending London apartments cost double that with views of the river front and former warehouses turned into just as expensive flats.  Neither indicate prices we can afford.
From the bird covered countryside London appears, as do industrial estates, lower priced housing and dereliction.  You will note I miss out Reading!  "One does not linger in the neighbourhood of Reading," wrote Jerome K. Jerome, out Tom considers this good advice!
I'm torn with wanting more descriptions of the house, churches and past sights throughout the book while being somewhat bored with the repetitious nature of much of the writing.  It must be difficult taking notes on such a walk and even more difficult to find new ways of describing similar daily experiences.  The fact that so many historical or interesting places, events, situations arise on such a walk along a river that has seen two thousand years of history, more than that we cannot discover much about, means there are several books to be made from such a walk, possibly half a dozen at least all the way along the river.  
I could be being greedy of course.
Eventually, having wandered through London itself, again the contrast between the rich and the poor appears, he snakes his way to the finish a black stone that marks the official end of the river authority and the beginning of the North Sea.  Two stones, one at either end mark the course, one at the sea the first in a dry field!  Later in the year it is wet they say!  From this trickle that cannot be found to the far end the book holds out attention, not least for his honest descriptions of those he meets.  Several bars are to be avoided, some to be looked out for.  
This is the type of book I wish I had written, although it must be said the grammar is better in this book.  However I have not made such a journey in recent years, I am unlikely to make one soon, unless a description of walking early to Tesco will do?  I recommend this book a s worth a look for those who are trapped indoors, like rivers and pub food and have 'spare time' to read...

Idiot of the Week No 104.

Being an idiot is easy.

I have, unlike some, never required to take lessons on such a subject.  Indeed, many have claimed I could make a fortune by teaching ‘Idiocy’ to the masses.  Adding only that if anyone came to such teaching then those individuals would already have qualified in ‘Idiocy’ anyway. 

That made me think.

Now I have not reached the level of the American couple who asked me the way to Princes Street in Edinburgh many years ago.  I pointed to my feet and said, “You are standing on it.”

They were indeed, outside ‘Binns’ as was and at the beginning of the most famous street in the world.  To be extra helpful I indicated the castle, soaring high above, and avoided any remarks that may offend.  I got no tip.

Stupidity has been a hallmark of my life. 

In the museum I made it to the kitchen early on, filled the kettle, placed cups etc in position awaiting my friend and colleague as she arrived, returned to my position and opened the doors. 

Shortly afterwards the cleaners, making their way home, came past laughing and pointing at me.

It appears that I had left the kettle lid ‘up.’  This meant the kettle boiled and did not switch off.  The small kitchen was saturated in moisture as a result.  Words were exchanged by the non-tea or coffee drinkers as to one individual’s mental health.

The other day I accidentally bought a book through Amazon.

I tracked my package through the system, happily noting the imminent arrival this morning.  Just after 12:30 I raced downstairs slowly and retrieved my package as it hung through the letterbox.  Our front door is upside down!  This means the letterbox is quite high and wee Sue struggles to reach it.   I obtained my package, but once again the Wednesday delivery of ‘Private Eye’ failed, and hastened upstairs to rip open and read.

As I did so I realised I had read one book about Clement Attlee, and this book was about him, some time before.  I had checked my shelves and had no such book but it was in my mind.  I looked at the cover, the drawing of the greatest ever Labour leader reflected his quiet but efficient manner.  How I wished one such as he was around today.

I then thought the book looked familiar and once again checking the shelves I found that my idiocy had worked a treat!  Yes indeed, that very book I had in my hands was already on the shelf exactly where it ought to be!  Not only that the first copy I reckon was bought on the cheap, this one full price.  

I might not bother getting out of bed tomorrow…