Quiet Saturday

How quiet the morning appears when a holiday is on.  The rat race in the evening was very slow last night, and not because of the crowds.  Just force of habit caused drivers to dawdle at the normal speed for the rush hour.  Today, Saturday appears the same.  How lovely to think those that would normally block our streets in the morning are all blocking the road into Dover as they await a ferry to France.

Tee Hee  You vote for Brexit and then wonder at the result?  The man in charge at Dover claims the French have put on more staff, many on overtime, yet still they wait.  This, he made clear, is a result of Brexit and nothing else!  It is hard to feel sympathy.  However, those going through Belgium have little hindrance, that however, does not make a story for the tabloids.

I toddled to Tesco for bread, I usually run out when shops close for one day, and chatted cheerfully with the man in the queue in front of me.  We both glared thoughtfully at the woman at the front on the only open checkout while she fussed over what we considered to be 'nothing.'  Holding the queue up is what women do we decided, men always just 'get on with it,' and fuss later.  Two women behind me, with a few items each, moved to the next checkout when it opened, looking questioningly in my direction.  I urged them to go as I knew the man in front with a trolley full would be quicker than they with half a dozen items each.  And he was.  We sniggered like schoolboys and moved on.

Later that day my laziness caught up with me.  So I addressed three cards, two for Easter eggs and one for a birthday, all running very late, and struggled back up the road and posted them in the best post box.  The cards ought to be no more than three days late!  My unhealthy body did not like this dawdle, especially as my head wished to be refreshed by crossing the park.  The sight of greenery, council Daffodils, and a dog or two under a blue sky is very helpful  Such small benefits are huge at times.  If I go out tomorrow I must struggle down the long road.  I am not looking forward to this and may reside here.  But it is Easter Sunday, one of the two days in the year when the scruffy church turns up better dressed.  This is a sight to see.  Normally, only visitors make sure they look good before entering.

I noticed the two Crows happily avoiding me as I passed.  Also, I noticed the two Magpies who have taken up resident in the trees opposite me are still there.  This surprised me as I expected the Crows to see them off their land by now.  I wonder if they have noticed, or if they are just waiting their time?

The soap opera's of the wildlife can be interesting.  Last night there was much loud barking, this from a young Roebuck deer in the park, hiding in the darkness.  I heard no reply but his folks must have been about.  These are timid creatures, soon off at a pace if they see you.

A Wander in the Sunshine

In a vain effort to find life again I took off quite early for Tesco.  Saturday morning among the masses is often invigorating.  It was however, like the misty glinting sunshine, quite peaceful and the healthy ingredients sought were soon found.  Healthy, that is those rumoured to stimulate the brain, Bluberries and very dark chocolate for instance, were joined by Flax, Chia seeds and Hemp, the latter for one of my nieces husband's Christmas's, he will probably think it will get him high.  He is one of those convinced cannabis is the answer to all problems, from cancer to covid.  This, he attempts to prove but he so far has not been successful.

The rest is for my latest health trend, and having paid through the nose for these goods, along with my other calorie controlled foodstuffs, I should look like Charles Atlas by Christmas.

This may not however, be the case.

 

I had to look twice at these balls hanging on the trees.  These trees were only planted a few years ago, 10 maybe, and I do not remember any fruit on them last year, though I could be mistaken.  'Conkers,' all around, at least the outer shells, as it appears some kids have been having a go at them already.  The more mature trees all around have certainly passed their fruit onto the public as the mess around their feet reveals.  Many a child, and not a few adults, will now be enjoying themselves with such on pieces of string.  Entertainment is easy, computers or no.

 

 

Having walked home from Tesco carrying a heavy but healthy bag it is almost a delight to walk without any weight attached.  Having lost a stone and a half I rather hoped walking would ease, it looks like another stone must go.  At least once that stone has gone my old shirts may fit once again.  

A sun drenched public garden, with a bit of early haze, is a delightful thing.  All were happy apart from at least once screaming child, the fruit of the children's play area at the top end.   
 

The last of the roses blossomed happily in the sun.  A large bush, almost a tree, once full now with only this lot left in any decent condition.  The volunteers who help the gardners do a great job of keeping these plants going.  

 

The idea was to walk round and energise the bulk, instead I felt my knees objecting.  Naturally, this park is on a slope, and to go homewards meant going uphill.  I await my lottery win so I can employ a servant to drive me uphill when my knees tire.  This however, may be an unfulfilled dream.

I wandered about, as always getting strange looks from women with kids, clearly women who read 'those stories' and listen to 'old women's tales,' and most of them appear neurotic as a result.  Even young dad's look sheepish, though that might be because they are not used to doing such work as watching kids.  

 

As I headed towards the gate I saw this man stiing low down and apparently unaware I was approaching.  Moving slowly along the path I got two decent shots of him before he felt he had posed enough and disappeared under the bush.   Usually Robins are very wary, quickly flitting out of distance and hiding in the tree.  This one may have been asking himself what life was all about, or where has the wife gone, or wondering what football was on today.  He appeared preoccupied but once he moved he did not show up again to ponder.

I don't think much of this fountain myself, it's all a bit weird I say.  There is a rumour it represents a kid who drowned in the river.  I don't blame him if he thought they would do this to him!

I kept going when common snense told me to return home, eat and sleep.  Common sense is as you know in short supply these days and it failed to appear with me also.  Instead I continued up the slope, across the town, passed all the workers still attempting to finish refurbishing the High Street, and noticed the old church had a door open.  I peeked in, something was going on, so I entered and enquired off the two young ladies on guard what was amiss?  "It's a Ladies Day," they said grinning.

I made my excuses and left!

I wandered into 'Clintons' Card shop and glanced at the horrendous Christmas stock on display, almost none of which was suitable for my needs.  However, I purchased three £25 Amazon cards towards the Christmas present stock and was picked up off the floor by the helpful young woman working the till after I fainted when I realised just how much I was paying for this.  She grinned as I explained the vast number of women I had to serve in the family and how I was failing to remember the pin number I have used for almost 30 years.  A very helpful young woman, not unsual around here I must say.

Heading home I met a young man from the Kirk and we put the church world to rights, OK I mean we grumbled a lot, and then were joined in our grumbling by one of his old workmates, so our grumbling widened to include much of the local world.  In all, this was a very enjoyable imitation of a group of gossipping old women.  I then headed home much to my knees relief and now await the Scotland football team playing Israel for the (I think) ninth time in 3 years!  The draw for competitions must be changed I say.  

M and H and a lot of Bull...

Lucky us!  A missing woman has been found dead, murdered allegedly, with the investigation centering on a police officer.  How lucky for us as this distracts the small minded press from the Meghan and Harry soap opera that has unfortunately filled the spaces everywhere.

As always we must ask when such stories fill the papers what is hiding behind them?  What is being pushed through by Boris and his gangsters while the plebs gape at these millionaires telling us of their suffering?

The nation is divided, half support poor, hard done by, racially insulted Meghan (a woman), while half support the poor, hard done by queen (a woman), who suffers through all this while half, like me would prefer them all to go away.

Maths @tabloid press.

How easy to gain sympathy by slipping in the accusation, with 'no names,' about the child being black! What sales arise, what support from half of the United States Black population, who it must be said, have absolutely no idea what the royals are all about.  A throw away line that generates mass publicity.  I wonder who thought that one up?  Possibly the same person who decided her 'Mental Health' was suffering?

The 'Daily Mail' reader has of course stood up for 'Our poor, hard working, long suffering queen,' who, while counting the millions she has banked away in foreign banks, suffers daily the indignities of her role, or at least of the behaviour of her family.  

So, we have two millionaires, one living off the royals while claiming he has no money, claiming they have cut him off (including the child?), one a bint on the make marrying into royalty, like his mum, while crying loudly (overacting?) about how hard life is being a well paid royal with responsibilities she did not wish to bother about, and an interviewer, who failed in the UK, but has made millions by being black and female in the US.  I feel great empathy for these poor struggling people.  

Mind you I am not so sure those queueing up at the Food Banks that now proliferate throughout the queens Kingdom feel the same way.  

At least the press have tired of them and have a murdered woman to make the most off.  Twitter is awash with women telling of their struggles shaking off unwanted men (no tales of them chasing men who don't want them for some reason) and inspiring fear in all women by telling them how they will all be killed by a stranger/friend/policeman/sadist as they walk down the street.  They tend to forget Rose West and Myra Hyndley for some reason.   

Ah the media, this wide world, nearly nine billion souls and the press concentrate on soap operas and half truths that cause fear just to sell papers.  It appears journalism is dead, just as most of these papers are dead.  Maybe one day they will note a reason for the death of the press?

 

At £1 a go I decided rthe place required brightening up!  Brilliant idea!  Immediately the sun went in,  clouds covered the land, rain fell, pushed along at high speed by strong winds keeping sensible people indoors.  I might have to place a lamp next to the Daffs just to pretend it is Spring!

 

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...

Grump!

It's been a grump day indeed in this house.  The bug has reinstalled itself Microsoft fashion.  I didn't ask it just came back.  Last night I felt not to bad but coughed a lot trying to sleep, I slept little, woke early with headache and return of symptoms and wondered if I had died.  It took most of the day before the headache went, the rest slightly dying down.
This bug began seven weeks ago at least.  Four weeks of coughing which still remains.  Now I hear from all around folks elsewhere have the same problem.  Typical!  What sort of bug is this? 
I blame Putin!

International wimmens day again.  Another day for middle class wimmen to fill the airwaves with their hard luck stories telling us how hard their lives are and that men get paid more than them.
I feel for them.
On Sunday a team of yellow clad men will be moving the telegraph pole outside my house to a safer position, I suspect no female will be found working alongside them.  I suspect those filling the pages and the airwaves today will not have much regard for the checkout lass who will appear beneath too many of them, she however actually works for a living.
When is it international man's day...?

Women's Work!

It's been a day of women's work!
From the off I was setting the washing machine in motion, then hoovering the floor with a broken Tesco hoover before attempting to clean the layers of putrescence that lay in the bathroom.  Just who uses a place in that state I ask?
When I had finished annoying the neighbours with noise, hopefully they were out but with the hoover and the washing machine I could not tell, I then went off to town to visit the 'Savers' shop which my sister informs me is cheapest for cleaning stuff.

There I discovered that indeed in many ways they were cheaper even if the one thing I really needed as opposed to buying because it saves doing so later was not available.  I did however get a look from the local gay boy that left me considering pouring a bottle of 49 pence thick bleach down his throat.  That look was in no way similar to the one offered by the badly paid not over keen lass at the till.  I considered smiling but I thought that might produce a case of hysterics as in her case it was not something she would be familiar with.  I produced my bag and she deliberately rang up the small items first, doesn't she realise you always put big things in first?  How do these folks get a job?  I know how, they accept jobs that pay low wages for a while and go back on the dole while moving from one low paid job to another.  If they have any talent they chance of showing it is hard to find and as I know only too well decent jobs are few and hard to find around here.  It would not surprise me if this woman has to use one of our two foodbanks.  Remember we are a Tory area and our MP is a junior minister on the make yet we have two such places!  He does not visit them.

My pitiful lunch was followed by my pitiful falling asleep, from overwork I think, which led on to ironing shirts for the week.  It was at this point I phoned the job centre and advertised for a wife.  
Just put a card up for me I said but received a somewhat strangulated reply from the feminist at the other end. When I suggested she came round and did my ironing for me, as that is what women were made for.  She rang off saying something I didn't quite catch.  Still the worst is over, bar the bits forgotten, just don't look at the sink, yet this will have to do as tomorrow is museum day and I am so looking forwards to seeing all the young ladies there and asking if they can spare ten minutes to do a small job for me...  

SKY NEWS

Once again we find ourselves in the dark re what is happening re Brexit.  May has called off the vote she would lose, MPs are annoyed, the country fed up with it all and the future still bleak.  She returns to the EU to beg for amendments she will not be given all this to save her job.  Her party squabbles are more important than the nations health.  No change there with Tories. 
I have spent some time today irritating Brexiteers on the local MPs facebook page by asking for a sensible comment re Brexit, such as 'Give one positive result.'  All I got was insults,nothing regarding an argument to persuade me Brexit will work.  The fact is people vote emotionally and the whole vote is based on a fantasy that people by into even if it will not work.  Facts are ignored while emotions are roused and all we here is 'It was a democratic vote.'  Actually it was far from that as foreign money was involved so it was illegal.  Now we sit and wait while the local MP desperately seeks which possible next PM he should keep in with.

 

Wimmen

The girls in the museum for reasons of their own posted this picture today.  It features some of the 2000 women who worked at Crittalls during the Great War making shell casings and other required items.  They were paid the same as the men and began at 12/6d a week ending in July 1918 at £2/10/- a week.  Considering the soldier began at ten shillings a week and few got much more the lassies were doing well. 
Having posted this I sent it on to the local facebook page where so far 13 women and one male (he says) have 'liked' this.  Typical women self obsession.  How many would have liked it if men were shown doing the real hard work at the foundry?  Tsk!

I thought I would add this to it as if they are interested they might part with all that money they earn and buy one of the books relevant to women.  I have not read them myself though I did look through the one on terrorists called 'The Suffragettes.'  It only costs a pound yet so far only one has sold.  I wonder how many of these women who 'liked' the post actually vote round here in UKIPLand?  It would be sad if they refused because 'it makes no difference.'  Sadly we have no vote this next local election so none of the Conservative members offering us rate rises and service cuts will notice the public apathy on May 3rd.

It was a quiet day with no schools in, only three visitors and three other callers, even the phones were quiet.  This is usual in between exhibitions.  However I still managed to fall asleep for half an hour after lunch anyway.  I expect it will be full of females for the next week or two as we have the textile (yawn) exhibition on.

So it Continues...

 

It is not enough for movie producers to be attacked by poor hard done by women but we must also continue the attack on these poor soft touch women abused in the house of Commons (no mention of the Lords I note).    

Daily the media spout nonsense about hard done by women and always ignore the fact that women abuse men in similar fashion also.  Once again the man is bad the woman good and this is not questioned.  It appears our PM has found 36 Conservative Members of Parliament, including two cabinet ministers, who have abused, sorry are accused of abusing women in one way or another, no mention of anyone in any other party being accused.  

I found a refreshing item in the 'Online Daily Mail' (Yes I thought it unusual also) where Kathy Gyngell speaks of the many years in parliament where women made use of their bodies to get benefits from men as much as men abused said women.  How refreshing to find an open minded approach in among the hysteria.  This did not stop Harriet Harman exposing the chip on the shoulder she developed as a 13 year old girls school pupil reading 'Spare Rib' magazine.  A magazine my grown up sister dumped.  Men are horrid she says, allow women (e.g. Me!) to control the world. Such comments ignore the bad women in this world, only today we read of female concentration guards who were worse, they say, than the men in those Nazi camps.  Possibly Harriet and her friends never paid attention in school.

Sadly men and women continue to regard one another as they have always done.  A few years of confused feminism will not alter human nature nor stop women using the femininity to get where they wish to go nor men taking advantage of those willing to use what was available.  All that is lacking is honesty on the part of those seeking publicity now, years afterwards and with no regard of aiding other women who may be hurt.

 

I was sitting here last night, head down eyes glued to the screen, when I realised something was amiss.  I found my emotions stirred by loneliness, a touch of fear, there was depression in the air and I wondered why?  Then I realised, it was night time!  It was in fact not long after seven in the evening yet it was dark, curtains closed, light on, heater off because I was too lazy to get up, and the feelings were controlled by the darkness.

This is because until relatively recently the curtains were open and light of whatever sort came in.  Now it was dark early the world becomes a cold place, light opens our hearts and minds, darkness closes them.  It is not surprising to know that in lands where darkness reigns for 24 hours a day people take to alcohol and suffer terrible depressions.  It is no surprise to understand that suicides are less frequent in the 24 hour light than in the dark.

We all suffer that three in the morning attack where we wake still half asleep yet cannot return to slumber and instead fill our minds with dreadful thoughts.  All our failings, fears, worries loom large yet after another couple of hours sleep they dissipate and are forgotten.  Darkness, not even street lights here at that time these days, silence, weariness all add up in the mind at that time.  If however we worked nightshift and woke in the middle of the day would we be depressed I wonder?  On the occasion I worked nights I cannot recall if this is so but it seems likely that light would ease the mind not make things worse.

I must keep a light on tonight and see if I wake with a smile on my face...

I had another one the other day, a 'selfie.'  Not one I took OH No but another one taken by one of the girls.  By another I mean another and another and another!  I cannot imagine taking so many photos of myself when a teenager why do they do it now, especially the females?  Every new hairstyle, and there are too many off them, new outfit, new day, every meal, every small item is put into a 'selfie for the world to see.  I am all in favour of photographs with which to remember the day but really enough!  I don't need to know you now have green hair, I have no wish to see you in the 'guising outfit,'  I certainly don't want pics of your lunch (the same as yesterdays).  

A few decent, sensible photos are all I ask, like my 'selfie' above.  That is all we need, nothing more.

   

Nothing Happened Again Today.

Trapped indoors by the rain that has fallen continually since late this morning I can tell you truthfully nothing has happened.  Wullie the wood pigeon sits on the aerial also enduring the rain and does not look too happy about it.  Surely he is old enough to know this is 'summer' and this is how 'summer' is every year.  Nothing on the news today as politicians are either on holiday sunning themselves in foreign climes or on 'fact finding trips' at the public's expense.  I wonder if any 'fact' they find comes to fruition somewhere in the nation?  
Some consider Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh, retiring from his duties worthy of comment.  To me the benefit scroungers of the royal family possibly all ought to retire or find themselves something useful to do all day.  At least this man, born on a kitchen table to a deaf and dumb mother somewhere in Greece, did at least keep up a good record of the 'public duties' he undertook.  He opened events, named railway engines and paraded around factories asking all the right questions and feigning interest as he ought.  The fact that he called Chinese folks 'slitty eyed' and questioned Scots workers drinking abilities at work is of course not relevant.  He often said what others wished to say and we must respect a man who endured many a 'Variety Command Performance' without once producing a shotgun and ending all of the tat that appeared on stage to the benefit of all of us.
Some women are heard grumbling about the changes to their pension and whine about the struggle they endure.  They appear in the paper, they are on TV and radio constantly grumbling that they are losing out.  I note none of them grumbled about men working until 65 while women retired at 60!  This went on from the early 50's until recently and not one objection was made then, possibly this was neither 'sexist' or did not upset 'equality' not that men ever get any of that.

 
Searching the cupboards I think I have found something that might help us cope with the kids and mums at the museum.  Either make use of it early and smile your way through the day or wait until home and then indulge for a while as the cares and bruises of the day slink away into the past.  However after six weeks of this I suspect some folks might become addicted so possibly this is not really a long term answer after all.  I might try it later and see if it works.

So the Heart of Midlothian reach another historic moment.  The departing Ian Cathro brought a breath of fresh air to the stilted Scots football world, received abuse from jealous failures and in the end failed to get his message across and obtain the results his style deserved.  Either he or the players failed, it is difficult to know which.  We now await the new man, whoever he is, and hopefully he will be attack minded and capable of leading from the front.  We await with trembling nerves.

Organised Work

Too early, too, too early this morning I crawled on my hands and knees down the Avenue to the museum.  The warm welcome was not forthcoming, indeed they grumbled each time they fell over me without a word of apology.  However I attended to my duties with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.  This lasted about five minutes.
I had to endure a trip to Tesco to replace the yoghurt like milk in the fridge, a happy occupation mostly but today I bought my 'K' rations at the same time only to discover half the town was at the checkout when I arrived.  The very attractive young lass in front of me with a weeks shopping allowed me very graciously to go ahead of her and this enabled me to make it back before opening time at the shop.  
Then, once I had made my tea, sorted out the mess left by others Peggy, who told me she was on holiday for two weeks, arrived.  She then lied about this but did produce another cup of tea which I managed to accept graciously.

Nothing then happened.
However there was a period of confusion over the distribution of leaflets to schools in the area which any man would have organised properly.  I made this comment and was immediately and wrongly declared 'Enemy No 1' as women always react this way to honesty.  That reminds me, who swiped the other bag of chox I placed on the desk?
Silence then ensued as nothing happened for a long time.
An occasional individual would appear, grumble and leave.  Two visitors, two with queries, one phone call and nothing else happening was my day. 
Taking the opportunity when the clouds parted slightly to attempt (with a real camera) to catch the Bees hovering around the garden I made off and in spite of a dozen blurred pictures obtained my goal, almost.  These are the best I have managed for a while.
Fantastic to note all the pollen (if that's what it is) on the fur.  Once long ago in Edinburgh I watched a Bee such as thee sit on the window sill and brush all this collection into the pockets on his legs before heading of to the Hive.  That was one reason I wished to have a camera capable of such shots and today I almost found a decent shot.    
I then checked the shop, sat down and waited...
Nothing happened.

I glanced at the work involved in preparing the next exhibition, realised how hard this was and returned to my place.  So as my leaving time approached my replacement drove in and nothing was happening I began to organise my departure.
Peggy then arrived with a handful of small stools obtained from a type of Ikea shop.  One table was placed in front of me and a pleading lady asked me to finish what she had started.  Once finished she produced the others and this with five minutes before I left!  Had I not been (on my own) struggling with the 'Allen key' I might have mentioned this ought to have been brought to my attention a  wee bit earlier, like two hours ago!  Three tables later I ran for the door before others arrived, ignoring the unpacked table behind me. 
I slept like a log once I got home.

Day Off

The Chancellor in the English Parliament has offered his Budget to the nation.  The chattering classes are chattering twenty to the dozen to convince us it is a good/bad thing for us all.  I suspect it will be a good thing for those who already have plenty and not so good for the rest of us.  I have dealt with it in the usual manner by switching it off and awaiting the reports tomorrow which give a better indication of what it all really means.  What it all really means is the ones who already have more than enough will have more and those without will have less, as always.  Not that I am a cynical type you understand.

Quite whether I need to make use of the dregs from this ancient bottle I know not as yet but listening to the clever people often drives me to such as this!  Being a day off, I must open the curtains sometime soon, I am in no mood to do anything that demands thought so maybe thisis a better idea than at first contemplated.

This is 'International Women''s Day' and on Twitter and Facebook vast numbers of pictures of women are appearing along with the #Womansday hashtag.  Naturally I wished to do my bit so apart from enquiring when is 'International Man's Day' I have posted pictures of women, such as the one above, with the required hashtag.  For reasons as yet unknown no reply has been received on either social system but at least on one the number of pictures has lessened.  On a newspaper (that word is dubious) a lass is demanding 'equal pay' and I agreed with her.  I requested similar pay as to what she is receiving as a member of the Scots Parliament, I have as yet received no reply.
One day men will be equal to women...

Pondering on Bikes

TdY

I caught a wee bit of the Tour de Yorkshire today and event that took place in high winds and cold rain.  Judging by the snow atop the distant mountains I suspect the riders met sleet or some snow on their way from Beverley to Settle.  These poor blokes must have spent hours in the saddle up hill and down dale keeping to their team leaders orders and hoping at the end it was all worth it.  

Slippery wet roads and steep hill climbs do not make for fun cycling and I am glad that such opportunities are unavailable here in the hot and warm sun filled south.  (That's satire by the way) 

One thing I like about these races is the view behind the riders.  As they chase down the breakaway mob at speeds of thirty or forty miles an hour, sweating and gnashing teeth as they climb hills in the lowest gear, I find my eyes wandering to the sights around them.  Today we had somewhat bleak Yorkshire moors covered in purple heather and stone walls, hand built, that stretched for miles.  On occasion the helicopter above startled sheep who raced across the fields each accompanied by their new born lambs.  Strange pot marked fields, small tree lined streams and many stone hump backed bridges that must be a delight to the speeding motorist passed by with the occasional isolated farmhouse looking ideal for a TV adaption of one of the Brontes dark and dismal books.  

It crossed my aged mind that these men grappling with the hills ought to slow down and just enjoy the view.  Yes I realise that this is their employment and that the desire to prove yourself capable of cycling hundreds of miles over tough conditions is important to young males but in the end the majority finish in what they call the 'Pelaton' and while satisfied in many ways they have missed watching the country around them.  These international riders have missed the whole of Europe at one time or another.  Head down they have raced through France, Italy, Belgium and Germany never once noting the wildlife or the beauty of their surroundings.  OK they get a wage and are able therefore to pay their bills but bus drivers get a wage and they at least can enjoy the scenery!

These races do make me wish I was out on the bike.  Hopefully the weather improves over the Long Weekend May Bank Holiday and I might get a trundle around the quiet streets.  I will of course require a massage afterwards and any young lass who is free can call.

I stopped off at the museum today to chat with the curator about a question on photographs and met her as she was off out to lunch.  That ended that query, to which she has still not emailed the reply, and this left me with the Friday girls gossiping as they usually do.  As I was asking important questions of great moment I was instructed to carry three boxes of copy paper to the store.  This struck me as interesting as it reveals the harm feminism and the false equality nonsense has brought us to.  In 1915 in an effort to aid the war effort Edinburgh women, though most likely these were lassies from Leith, went out of their way to fill the jobs done by men.  Here we see such delivering coal to a house and not one of them is demanding a man lifts and carries for them.  Today two strapping fit women could not move three boxes as a man was in the vicinity, Tsk!  I blame Germain Greer and all those other middle class women (mostly without men) who's daft unrealistic ideas have ruined womanhood.

I wonder if the massage lady could iron some shirts when she is at it...?

For My Women...

Spam Art

During the past couple of weeks I have begun to relieve around 20-30 spam a day from clearly one crook.  He uses several names as addresses and changes them almost daily.  Among the names are  @cisco.com, @excellentcalls.net, @life.net, @claims.co.uk, @SYNTAX_ERROR and around thirty others.  Some contain my first name, others offer the usual trash.  This sort of thing happens now and again and I suspect it is the same people responsible from times past.  No idea what they are after, I doubt anything they sell is genuine, and I have not clicked on them to see what they offer.   However it is annoying to get so many constantly from the same crowd of crooks.  Sending millions of these worldwide is fine if people respond but how many actually do respond?  I suppose someone somewhere does or they would not bother.  Surely folks would realise they are chancers?
I came upon this piece by a spammer telling folks how to grab the unwary's attention.  Sugar
This may be someone selling legitimate items unlike my visitors but non the less I could do without so many at one time.  These are easily deleted by the system but it does annoy having to link each name. 

As you may be aware my opinion on 'art' and much of what is offered as 'art' is far from what can be called appreciative.  Similarly the enormous time squandered on 'wimmen' when it is not required can cause some a reaction however the Edinburgh Evening News, a rag that died many years ago has informed those still bothering to read it about an exhibition of wimmin artists at the National Galleries of Scotland.
Now I do like portraits and this one caught my eye.  It is by one Dorothy Johnstone and this, and indeed many of her other pictures, are well worth a look.  One or two of the other girls mentioned look quite interesting also but some are clearly mental, like so many other 'artists!'  So much did I appreciate this that if I lived in the capital city I would pop along and see this for myself, even paying at the door if required.  Some of these girls did have a fair bit of talent and this must be worth seeing.