Healthy Tuesday

It was the security man at Sainsburys who started it.  'You are a man who brightens a room,' said he.  'Move the beer belly away from the door and brighten this place.'  Back home I weighed in at a mere fifteen and a half stones, a mere 217 pounds to some, and I decided he may have had a point.  At one stage I was down to fourteen and a half stones, how on earth did it all return?  Well, apart from bad, lazy eating habits that is.  

So, it is green tea, this time with 'Orange and Lotus Flower.'  It remains still an acquired taste, if I am being nice to it...  I'm looking forward to my left over 'Pea shoots' and 'Coleslaw.'  What more could I desire?

Climate change has been appearing once again.  Edinburgh has had sunshine as well as rain, we have sunshine at around 30% and yet people deny the world is changing?  Some say the world is heading towards its end, well yes, I have been saying this for some time.  Jesus did say the world would only get worse, not better.  The earth is broken, and volcanoes, earthquakes, famines, floods and the rest will be added to, and the cause of, the wars that erupt so easily amongst us.  Only by holding on to Jesus will we make it through.  I suspect however, it may be some time yet, but you never know.  That nice Mr Putin may resort to some skullduggery that brings in other nations.  The Chinese may have a change of leadership, North Korea may press the button by mistake, and of course Sunak may start a war to win an election.  Stay in the shade until then.

This is one of three signs outside our door.  The other day the middle one said 'Let Agreed.'  Within hours it had been changed back to 'To Let.'   I realise a rent of around £800 a month is hard for many, but in truth our landlord is cheaper than others, but so many are having difficulty, even if there is two of them, in finding the money.  I can jump to conclusions as to why this has fallen through, but the UK is not the place to go seeking accommodation these days.  Houses that are built are only for those who have £400,000 or over, young folks can get no mortgage and some companies are no longer offering them.  You can tell we have a Conservative government.

The Old Manor House,

The view the pigeons up there in the loft have includes The Old Manor House.

As far as I know, there is little information regarding this building.  The timber and plaster built hose was erected in 1550, during Tudor times, and that is a period in which this area is devoid of information.  Those who choose to study the Tudors round here find almost no information whatsoever.  

However, that year the imperialist English were involved in the 'rough wooing,' which began when Henry VIII sent his failing army to invade Scotland, to force a marriage between Mary, Queen of Scots, and his young son Edward VI.  He failed, and an agreement was reached at Boulogne, where he also had troops attempting to steal French land, though by the time of the peace Henry himself had passed on.   

John Napier was amongst those born that year, you know how he created Logarithms and so upset schoolchildren everywhere, especially me.  Who needs such things?  Thomas Cranmer's 'Book of Common Prayer,' introduced the previous year, was now in use everywhere in England.  The reformation, caused by Henry's desire to bump off his wife, had taken over the land, and while some of a Catholic persuasion led short lived revolts in the south west, the reformation persisted.  The 'Ale Houses Act,' licenced such premise's for the first time, much to landlord's joy.   It continues bringing joy to licensees still.  

Abroad, the Spanish were taking over South America, leaving Brazil for the Portuguese.   Chocolate is introduced into Europe, by the Spanish I suspect, so women everywhere rejoiced as never before.   The 'Society of Jesus,' is created, so you can expect a knock on your door any time soon.  

Wiki

The family of Sir Thomas Moore, indicate how the rich were dressed in the 1550's.  Lower orders were dressed according to class, including the type of headgear allowed them.   Of course even if you were wealthy, having the head cut off, or being burned at the stake, were occupational hazards in those days.  It was fine to gain enough money to build a nice house, have a wee estate, but ensure you keep in with whoever was winning, and this meant following the Kings religion, or you were headed for the block.  Politics was a hard place in these days.

Around a hundred years later, England was in the middle of yet another war, this time a civil war, though how 'civil' the people were to one another is unclear.  This town was a Parliamentary Town, that is, they sided with Oliver Cromwell and his 'roundheads.  Indeed many men from here may well have been part of his army.  This county has always been a rebellious one.  I myself have met many a revolting peasant round this way.  

During 1648, Sir Charles Lucas led his royalist troops into Braintree seeking the weapons stored there.  These had been removed by the parliament supporters in the town.  Lucas moved to Colchester and the next day Thomas Fairfax, 3rd Lord Fairfax of Cameron, arrived in the town.  It is believed, though no real evidence has come to pass, that these men, or possibly the townsmen, damaged the royal sign above the door of the Old Manor House.  Being so badly damaged no-one is quite clear as to who the sign represents.  Then followed the Siege of Colchester, which killed many and lasted a good time.

Wiki

But I have no idea who built the house in the first place.  As Henry VIII died in 1547 it is clear the builder had chosen the protestant faith, young Edward VI was very much in favour of the reformation. 

After him came a time of trouble, with Mary I ascending the throne eventually much death and trouble arrived for the protestants.  It is always possible that the builder of the 'Old Manor House' was exiled, or dead within a few years.  So far we do not have evidence for his life.

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.

 

Slack Wednesday

Reading the bleating press as they grumble about Harry and Meghan spending over £2:5 million on renovating the house caused many thoughts to pass though my little head.
For a start the media that whine about Meghan are delighted they have a 'Bad Person' in the Royals soap opera, every soap opera requires one.  Since this American 'actress' with a dubious family background who happily take large amounts of green dollar bills to 'reveal' stories while living in 'White Trash Land' first cottoned on to Harry the media have known there were pages and pages of empty space she would fill.  The media just had to decide if she was good or bad, that came easily enough.
Secondly she has, it would appear, caused friction within the royals, separating Harry from his brother and his wife, upsetting back room staff left right and centre, supporting strange policies and making it easy for the royal chattering classes to chatter classlessly.
Spending money on such a home to keep her and him apart from him and her and the rest fills pages in tabloids easily and the royal sap licks it up.
Of course William and his bint have a £5 million pound in Wales they never use, one in Eats Anglia somewhere also unused as  far as I can see, and their London home in the royal complex.  No tabloid has mentioned this or indicated a problem.  We need not mention the vast amounts being spent on Buck House either.
This crossed my mind on Saturday as I burnt myself in the hot sun while awaiting the bus.  Here ahead of me a not unusual sight around these parts.  One long expensive home, possibly divided into two semi-detached properties, but once either two, or four, or six, possibly even eight properties made use of by the many farm labourers who once toiled all day in the sunshine in the fields around. Now one or possibly two families live there. 
The moneyed classes can make use of old houses and renovate them as they please, those in the public eye have however to ensure they keep their fan base happy while the private classes need not worry.  I am beginning to ask myself, not that I really care, when will Harry take his woman to France, as 'Duke of Windsor' to hide behind French privacy laws and keep her out of trouble?

I had a lot more to say, very important and relevant stuff at that however I also had a pile of shirts to iron, there is a selfie of me above doing the work.  This meant my day was ruined as after that tedious and hot effort I sat in a daze for a while before sinking into a bath, and it's not even Sunday!
No head left to think with after that...ironing is what women were made for!

The View From Here

The building in which I dwell was erected in 1812, or so my late Landlord told me.  Life then before Victoria came to the throne was I suppose quite different.  Whether the occupants worried over much about that nice Napoleon chap who was spending the year in Russia, a place that rejected him in similar manner to many others taking also the lives of many thousands of his soldiers, I do not know but they were probably more concerned with the goings on at the ‘Big House’ behind or the many farms in the locale.  I suspect the educated women were more concerned with the likes of Jane Austen’s ‘Sense and Sensibility.’  There being no census at the time it is difficult to work out exactly who resided here or how they made their name.  The building indicates some degree of wealth.

Comprised of two dwellings one house would be a quite small but for the day more than acceptable. The smaller would have three rooms upstairs, the larger possibly four.  Modern amendments to the layout make it difficult to understand the original, the rear section being knocked down and rebuilt slightly amended from first.  Questions arise that I cannot answer, most irksome.  Before the car park they could at least get the gardener to grow veg in the rear of the house and possibly kept a horse in a nearby stable.

Had they been the types interested in the world around them I suppose they would have purchased some sort of newspaper or rely on common gossip, and there would be plenty of the latter around. The years happenings would not escape, news travels fast, bad news travels faster.  For a start there were ‘Luddite’ risings in various parts of the country, something they no doubt hoped would be kept ‘up north’ where such behaviour belonged, there was also Lord Byron, home from Naxos to upset married men everywhere objecting to a Bill demanding the death penalty for Frame Breaking at the same time publishing a book, ‘Childe Harold.’  ‘Childe’ as you know being a medieval title of a young candidate for knighthood.  Having travelled across Europe, missing out the bits that were at war Byron says too much about himself in the poem.  Young men sick of the many years wars seeking some adventure in their lives, young men from wealthy backgrounds that is with nobility thrust upon them of course.  Most men wold be lumbered where they were at the time.  Byron of course found distractions, mostly female, and a purpose in fighting a war for Greece, not bad for someone avoiding war.

Farm types would have heard about the meat cannery that had opened in Bermondsey and questions would have been asked concerning whether this was a good idea or not.  The use of hammer and chisel to open such cans would imply a negative approach at first I suspect.

While few would have heard or cared about the birth of Charles Dickens and Edward Lear that year the women of the house would certainly have heard about and been willing to participate in the new dance that swept Europe, the Waltz.  Even Byron mentioned this. 

One event that could not escape notice was the shooting of the Prime Minister Spencer Perceval during May that year by one John Bellingham.  Bellingham had been working in Russia and fallen foul of intrigue and spent several years in prison before being allowed to return home.   His feeling was he had a justified grievance and wished for compensation from the government, something the government was not willing to give.  Having been advised by one civil servant to “Take whatever action you think right” Bellingham obtained a pistol and was noted often hanging around the Lobby of the House.  At 5:15 on the 11^th May as Perceval was making his way to a committee Bellingham stepped forward and shot him dead, the only British Prime Minister ever to have been murdered.  The deed done he sat down and awaited his fate.  At his trial an attempt was made to prove he was insane but the judge disagreed and three days later Bellingham was hanged, he had however for various reasons some degree of public sympathy.

Whether there were arguments for and against the shooting of a prime minister in these houses is unknown but as they trimmed the wick in the oil lamps and huddled under several blankets in a vain attempt to keep out the northern winds hammering against the windows such events must have caused a reaction.  Such things did not occur along this road however the highway to the north did have a gallows at one point where offenders were left hanging about for considerable time, as a warning to others.

I am not sure this worked.

Outside the view over fields would be acceptable, a cow or two roaming there, slow moving traffic on the dirt road, few houses further down leading out of town but as this was the main road to Colchester it may have seen many a traveller pass by let alone the workers heading to and from the fields. 

The road had indeed been a busy one for many a year.  This road was aged by the time the Romans decided to harden it, thus giving it the name ‘Stane Street,’ and enabling their well armed troops to pass on their journey elsewhere quickly.  ‘Quickly’ is not the best word as it is around fifteen miles to Colchester and that was around a day’s march for a man carrying his equipment over his shoulder.  Resting here for the night they would continue West for a day before the next stop at Dunmow a further fifteen miles away.  Long before this traders as well as armies had passed by this area.  The Trinovantes reached over this area even though their capital was in what is now Hertfordshire when Julius Caesar popped in.  Trouble brewed with those to the west and it was Julius who convinced the Catuvellauni to cease attempting to take over the area and remain back home towards Swindon, their home area, this they did but once he retired to Gaul they returned and became lords of the district.  The road was old even then with people having moved around long before the North Sea came into being so possibly ten thousand years have elapsed since this trail changed to a muddy track that soon turned into a major road for the Romans to harden.

An archaeology dig in the centre of town has revealed the road layout from the past with a large centre at the junction of roads from east to west and north to south existing for considerable time. During the creation of a town centre shopping precinct many Roman and Iron Age artefacts were discovered alongside an idea of the homes used by the locals.  Edinburgh, that huge, magnificent and important city has been a powerhouse for over a thousand years yet this wee market town has been around longer, a lot longer.  The meeting place would provide accommodation and respite and in 1108 the Market Charter developed the town economically.  I bet the shops were better then than now.

As I speak cars pass by mostly ignorant of those who have preceded them on this road.  Do people care these days as to who came before them?  Some find History dull but we need to know who came before us to ensure we understand just exactly who we are.  Sadly this upsets our chosen outlook on life all too often and we reject what we see.  Myth is better than fact.  I cannot travel this road without considering the many feet that have trodden before me.  Something I never did in Edinburgh but some time ago I realised we lived on an aged drovers road, a road many had driven their cattle or sheep along for eons before us.  When children we discovered a cave made from a small rocky outcrop that many years before had become a drovers bothy.  There was a clear door and indeed a window therein so possibly this had also been home to someone, a shepherd possibly, one not from afar off but based here, the local castle still has sheep on its land after all.  However as kids naturally we called it ‘The Witches House.’  It may well be hidden amongst trees surround the new well to do housing in that area today.  Whether witches reside there I do not care to know.

The truth is that following any major and many minor roads in the UK we walk in the footsteps of many who have gone before us.  Thousands of years of life, in spite of ice ages, have left their mark. Almost all main roads and many faintly visible today go back millenia.      

   

Friday Floundering

The problem with putting things off is that they eventually turn up.  So this morning I was trapped by an ironing board as I had run out of shirts.  This done to the accompaniment of 'Last of the Summer Wine' a programme that reminds me of several men of my acquaintance.  The delight of finishing this chore was enhanced by the arrival of two books that popped through the door.  I must remove that Amazon button.  I did however manage to place these so far from me that I was able to continue work and forget all about them.  Buying books is a habit that must end!   

  
Duty done I sauntered off towards the town and made my way to the charity shops, this one in particular is always offering excellent books, and I happened to accidentally walk in the door as it was open.  However the bad habit of mixing fiction with non-fiction that has appeared recently hinders searching as there is only so much of Victoria Hislop that I can take.  A browse elsewhere in the shop left my money in my pocket though I was irked by others there with their habit of walking into me as if I did not exist, I blame the parents.
One thing I did reflect on was the two men I saw in the distance, one I wished to avoid as I did not wish to speak to him as I have not the four hours to waste, thus I moved the other way, the second man did likewise to avoid me!  How strange to feel ever so slightly miffed at being ignored while ignoring another leaving him possibly miffed, if he actually noticed me.  What a strange conflict there.  Both are decent men, both are worth knowing and both would be acceptable at another time, this was not it.  Yet I feel guilty re one and miffed re another.  Stupid boy!

Here is an interesting thought.  They knocked down the old clinic that once stood here and have almost finished building several tightly packed houses costing up to £340,000.  A glance though the local house ads show that the white ones facing us are still available while the red brick to the right appear to have been purchased.  
I wonder if the reason the most expensive homes on the block have not gone might be the fact they back onto the skatepark?  Now skateparks tend to be where young folks gather, playing on bikes and skateboards during the day and gathering around to share drugs, and sometimes music, at night.  Could it be that this might be said to be a problem when attempting to sell houses?  
There has been some trouble here over the years, gang fights at first, drugs, yobs on motor scooters and now almost silence in the evenings for some reason.  This years adolescents have not gathered to scream and shout late at night like previous groups have done, not as yet anyway but they will.  Would you wish a house there?

The promised Indian summer is not arriving, tomorrow means rain from early on.  No doubt cold, wet weather will soon be a constant and it is a week on Monday before my boiler gets fixed!  Bah!

The Sea! The Sea! As the Greeks said...

It's possible a Greek or two were wandering about when we landed on one of Europe's best beaches.  It ought to be best as they spend vast sums dredging up sand and piling it on to keep the beach in good condition, they succeed well.  Here we see one of the growing dunes that are being manufactured, the majority have grass planted to bind them together and lower the risk of the tide sweeping them away and the result is a more natural beach, natural if you remember much of it is dredged form somewhere out there.

  
Bournemouth beach on a Wednesday morning is one of the safest around.  Flags fly to indicate safe places to swim, large huts contain lifeguards sitting on watch, dogs are allowed but in parts restricted, security prowl looking for those who wish others harm. All in all they work hard to ensure a safe day out and it works well in my view.

The wind offered an opportunity for those who like sailing yet few were to be seen from here.  The cloud to our left allowed some sun to appear to our right where the 'Old Harry' rocks are situated.  The sea meanwhile gave different shades of light to us and I failed to capture the 'silvery sea' in front of me.  The settings wrong again!   Bah!

After inhaling all the sea breeze we could and discussing great affairs (she was back indoors scared of the sea so conversation could be deep and satisfying) it was decided to head upwards and get the view from on top of the cliffs.  

A great view of the sweep of the bay from Old Harry rocks to the far end at Hengisbury Head, a place she indoors will not let us travel as it's too windy.  On the beach we could not see these four yachts trailing one another yet up here all sorts of things appear in front of us.

What was he carrying as he jogged along the sand?  Such running is good for the fitness but in what looks like a wetsuit and carrying a deflated banana of huge proportions?  Maybe his dog was well ahead of him?

This one made several attempts to put out to sea but appeared to get no further than fifty yards before returning to shore.  Quite what he intended I was not sure but he did not go far.  It is not uncommon for people to row canoes (Kayaks?) around the British Isles but it is hard work in the seas round the coast.  In some ways I understand this, we all wish to do something rather daft that exercises the body, I cycled from Edinburgh to London once (once!) in 1974 at around fifty miles a day.  Not bad for someone who did not have a bike until a few weeks beforehand, rather stupid now of course!  The adventure of doing something physical and unusual is within us all, even though it is often daft!  I hope he makes it.

Behind us stood a long row of houses developed to take advantage of the view.  Some dated a little like this one (I will take a penthouse please), others replacing 1930's houses with modern three story blocks of wide windowed apartments costing just over a million each.  Down on Sandbanks where the rich live a modern home on the front could set you back five or six million, unless you wanted a big one.  Personally I prefer this block to the modern sleek trendy minimalist offerings.  I would wish for a home not a cold austere trendy flat, that is not a home just something to show off to others. 
My wishes of course make no difference, neither are coming my way nor I suspect will they come yours.  The view is great however and it is free to walk along the front inspecting where the ground has slipped away or sit and cogitate while gulls fly over the head and a Kestrel hovers over the cliff seeking lunch.  We saw one hover and suddenly swoop down below but we did not see him rise up again.  I wonder if he got fed or is still there chomping away?

    
This area was quite quiet while we sat and pondered but down below every 250 yards or so sat small pockets of people, usually a couple of women and a huddle of children, near the water and chucking down sandwiches in between enjoying the beach.  With the holidays round the corner it is clear that this area will be a mass of people doing similar and I will be happily above on the cliff rather than down there in that throng on that day.

These Scots thistles get everywhere, you see it is a fact of life that without Scotland or Scots this world would not work!  I er, will not attend church today in case any racist comments and or bottle throwing erupt during the service as comments regarding last nights result might be considered provocative....

We scurried home for lunch stopping only at the gorgeous Poole Bay!  Here those who stand on surf boards armed only with a sail learn to develop their hobby in the knowledge that this water is less than two feet deep.  In the distance sits Poole Harbour, which along with Christchurch at the other end of the bay have been the only workable harbours here since the Iron age, that's from around 500 BC until today.  Bournemouth itself was no use to anyone bringing goods ashore as these two places provided the harbour for the area, it being fear of Napoleonic invasion and the occasional smuggler that led some to seek the Militia to defend the beaches against such invasion that brought the Bourne Mouth to prominence. Lewis Tregonwell, a captain in the militia secured this area and after his wife suffered depression when their child died they holidayed in the area.  They loved it so much they built a house in 1812 and moved in.  Knowing sea bathing had become the cure all for all sickness Tregonwell built large villas, for the rich, to indulge themselves while holidaying, secured his fortune and created Bournemouth.  Now it possesses almost 200,000 souls and combined with Poole, Christchurch etc, almost half a million live in the area.  Too crowded for me.

 Naturally the water means a great many live as they have done for generations on the water.  Quite what this one was doing was unclear but I suspect his boat gets more use than those that appear unloved around him.  It is not unusual to see such craft slowly die and disappear into the mud.  Cheaper than having them broken or removed I suppose but there again do they not pay mooring fees?

Having lunched, how nice to eat properly for a few days, we two returned to the front late in the afternoon.  This meant parking in the cheapest place and how attractive such car parks can be!  Several levels of concrete with millions of pounds worth of debt laden cars in buildings using cheap paint to keep costs down.  Few holiday here but it is clear why movie makers often find themselves in such places.

   
Walking though the gardens to the pier we saw something of the huge numbers of young folk who fill this town while attending the University or the many language schools.  Vast numbers filled the park, kicking balls about, shouting, chasing one another, or as here on the beach, posing so as to attract the girls.  We sat amongst the throng, something you realise we were not too keen on, people watching for a while.  How much better the view was from high up above the cliffs than sitting amongst so many people here at the centre of beach life.   While it is right folks ought to enjoy the beach, and it is a great beach, I wished it was November, then the beach would still be great but these folks would be elsewhere!

Like the gulls we were wondering 'who ate all the pies?'  Or was it 'who drank all the 'Stella?'

Did I explain I enjoy Bournemouth?  My spiritual mentor was there, and she just as important in this even though the phrase I mostly hear her say is 'Shut up!'  The beach, comfy bed, good food, the sea, the countryside, the castle and the variety of intriguing houses built by the wealthy over the years are a delight to me, especially as I have not been there with them for two years.  Enjoyment is the word to sum it up.  You will be glad I am off home now...