Siberian Wednesday

In spite of the blue sky and bright shining sun the weather today has been Siberian! My poor little mitts were frozen by the time I had carried my potatoes home today. The minute I got inside the sky darkened and large lumps of snow have been falling ever since, with short breaks as if taking a breath before once more darkly  jettisoning more snow upon us. Now a thin white film covers the land and making my fingers cold as I wrap them around a mug of (cheap) brandy soaked coffee.I feel sympathy and indeed empathy for those working outside in such weather, although I will do nothing to make their life easier, obviously!

English FA

History they claim has been made, a woman has refereed a first class football match! I did not catch where as it is not one of those things that matter to any normal person, but then I began to think, why? Why are women allowed to referee male football matches? The false equality shoved onto us by the Labour Government of recent years that's why! No wonder kids grow up confused about their sexuality! The clear and unavoidable differences between male and female have been rubbed out by the politically correct in recent years. In their middle class desire to bring 'equality' such differences in emotions, understanding, thinking and all that goes to make an individual what they are have been shoved aside and a middle class social engineering has brought about a confusion among people today. That some women could indeed referee the game is irrelevant, finding a man to do it properly is another question, but in this world women are encouraged into everything while men, especially white males, and working class ones at that, are treated as second class, and indeed, dangerous! There is no requirement for a woman to referee football, and when they do a man, fully trained and as competent as possible, is now looking for work. I suppose the fact that he is more capable than she will cut no ice with those who live in a dream world? The Harriet Harmans of this world, blinded by hatred of men, will rejoice, but this is false equality, similar to the idiotic idea of allowing girls into the Boy Scouts, and considering this equality! Do boys join the Girl Guides, or are they banned I wonder? Playing with 'gender,' (it is never referred to as 'sex' these days) does much harm, and the excuse that this is 'inclusive' is nonsense. There are many things we are all excluded from and social engineering will never change this. I am seriously considering voting Conservative if they save us from such PC absurdities, but then I realise 'Dave' is so keen to get elected that he has forgotten both his 'principles' and his electorate. Sadly I see the dafties of the BNP and UKIP getting many voting for them this time. What a future we face!

 

'Daily Mail'

Talking of Harriet it appears someone unknown (mostly members of parliament) has put her forward for the 'rear of the Year.' Poor sad feminist that she is she will be ashamed to admit she is pleased, even to herself.
However, should she not be better being put in the 'Arse of the Year,' instead?

Christmas Cards

It's all Sir Henry Coles fault! Instead of writing Christmas messages he decided to send a Christmas Card instead! He had helped develop the 'Penny Post' with Rowland Hill and clearly was a man of talent. Talent which taught him how to avoid writing Christmas letters needlessly and his idea, which must have appeared clever at the time, now means we, that is you and I, have to trail through shops full of women to select, buy and post, at great cost, cards to friend (and foe on occasion) alike. Cole thought his card such a good idea that he printed over two thousand of the things. He sold his card at 1/- (a shilling) a time! Remember that in 1843 you would be lucky to earn 15/- a week. (20 shillings to one pound). Clearly the middle class were able to buy, but a quick read (?) of Dickens books reflect real society at that time, at least the bits that spoke to his poverty when young, and 'A Christmas Carol' probably spoke to many clerks who came across it!

I have just returned from being barged around by thoughtless women, and one man out of his depth, intent on looking at EVERY SINGLE CARD before not buying one. I have also looked at every single RELEVANT card and been, on the whole, disappointed. Far too many are slushy, some religious, others just plain unfunny or smut, and that is all too often not funny either. Cards for Mum are the worst. If my mother ever got a card with 'Love for my dear Mother' on the front she would think I had turned funny. Flowery slush is abundant but she has lived 93 years in the real world so she wants something amusing or worth looking at. I tried the 'Just what you want for Christmas - ME!' card once, but that brought a rare degree of sarcasm that need not be repeated. However,'Next year, just try money,' was an oft repeated phrase I noticed. For the younger kids I wanted 'Happy Christmas Brat!' but it appears these are not stocked by any card shop round here. I bet they would sell mind! I think I will suggest this to one of those companies that makes millions from poor suckers like you and me. (Notice that in the UK we can still have 'Happy Christmas' in our cards, not the PC, 'Happy Holidays.' That is what you call a democracy! Until the fascists change it of course!

As for the price! if I wanted to I could pay a fortune for cards, and we do! These folk have us over a barrel. They know that we MUST buy an expensive card for Mum, wife, concubine, daughter, someone important and so on. They realise that if Aunt Jessie sends a card she needs one back, and if we have a business large or small cards (and bribes) MUST be sent to ensure the customer comes back, especially in these world wide recession days, (Thanks for that American Bankers! Enjoy your bonuses!). I discovered however, that simply by not sending cards to those you feel send one to you because you send one to them because they send one to you is a circle that can be broken by 'forgetting' to send them one this year. The next year 'Glory be! you both save the cost as they don't send one because you sent one because they sent one and all are glad. Far too many cards are sent this way, and much dosh can be saved by a Christmas note over the e-mail to many of those you feel may still hope you live well and prosper (is that a biblical phrase, and why are my fingers joining together?) Now I send to those that matter, and in return receive almost no cards back. This, I am constantly being reminded, should tell me something, but I can't think what? When I first got the PC I decided to make my own cards and save money. I ended up paying almost three times the amount I usually spent! Never again!

It is of course nice to receive a good, funny, card stuffed with £20 notes at Christmas, and one year I hope to actually see this happen outwith my cocoa induced dreams. It is nicer to find suitable cards in one shop and avoid trekking around several of the female dominated areas, and they are, pushing aside the one who has clearly died (laughing?) which perusing the stock, and if an appropriate card is found, finding one that is not bent, spat on, or covered in some brats sticky fingerprints! It helps also, I discovered, not to trip over the lassie kneeling at the drawer under the shelving while attempting to replenish the stock. Such language from a lady! I bought a lot of (Cheap) cards from the hospice where my sister died, as I thought this would save money. Oh yes it does, but the kids need their own cards, different from the adults, Mum needs that special card, and then there is another who appears out of the blue and I begin to wonder where the money is going! Sir Henry may well have gone off and bought a stationers after he sold his card, but I would still like to have a word or two about him and his invention. I bet he did this just to encourage folk to use the 'Penny Post,' and by this means rise up the hierarchy at the General Post Office. For myself I hope he got rickets!

Now, as you know, I am not one to complain

In fact this has always been one of the most noticeable things about me, my easy going nature. In fact, when I consider this, I can tell you folk are always saying, "You're not one to complain, oh no, not you!" This is something that happens to me all the time. As I write I recall a place where we had a small printer that produced long thin strips on which we printed relevant identification for the produce. One day one young chap was so impressed with me he used this machine to print 'I'm not one to complain' and stuck this on my white coat. This goes to prove how long suffering I have always been.

However, today I was once more in 'Somerfields' and was able to remind myself of the incompetence that marks this store out from all the others. The store has several checkouts, all running in the usual long line. Naturally only two are open at busy times, and today only one was being used. I took my two items to the cigarette (cough, choke, ugh) kiosk in the usual way to avoid a queue. Of course there were two people ahead of me, both carrying baskets stuffed full of goods. They were also female!

The first was slowly putting her goods into the bag she brought with her. Such folks always bring their own reusable bag in a vain attempt to save the planet. This bag is then placed in the boot of their 4x4 gas guzzler and proceed to drive the half mile to their driveway polluting all and sundry in between. However, this rich hippy finally managed to pack up and proceeded to put her payment card back into her handbag. As we waited for her to move aside to let the next woman in I almost informed her that "HURRY ALONG. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY IN JULY!!!!!!' but managed not to. Female two placed her basket on the small counter along with her handbag (why oh why do women NEED two bags?) and the dork behind the desk began the slow process again. While this was happening a second lass arrived and opened the other till! This one is clever, clearly a girl going places. This I can tell as she appears to be alive, unlike so many of her associates. I placed the two (TWO) items on the little space woman two allowed me, under her hand bag lay the plastic bags I needed. A subtle hint (grabbing the bag and shoving it in her direction) enabled her to make room with a whimpering "Sorry." But I still could not get the plastic bag. When I did the thing ripped as I opened it. I threw it in the direction of the checkout girl muttering something Jesus would never have imagined. By this time the clever lass was holding out my change and expecting me to take it. I ignored her. As I grabbed a bag she did too saying "Take the change and I'll pack it." So I let her.

Now imagine the scene. A small counter, two tills and the bags left on the counter for customers to use. But surely numskulls, if you just put the goods into the bags yourselves then you would have more room on the counter? The customer would leave quicker. We could get home before dark and folks would be happier! Why is it that something so obvious is beyond this company? The larger checkout are smaller than Tescos or Sainsburys and the situation with the bags there is totally inadequate. How come a company with so many employees cannot run itself on common sense grounds?

All that is needed is better use of space, employees with half a brain (an improvement on what is there now) and a common sense approach to moving the people along. This is the lower orders store around here. You know, neds, chavs and those who left school at fourteen like I did inhabit this place. (Hold on, something not right there!) Two of the girls are quite bright and the rest were clearly dropped on their heads at birth. Why do companies allow themselves to be run in such a consistently poor manner?

To make matters worse they would not give me a part time job when I asked!

AAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrggghhhh!

There is NO football on the telly tonight! Because the majority of Euro 2008 has taken place and we await the last three games there will be nothing to watch now. I expect to be seeing spiders crawling up the wall by 8:30 tonight.

Even worse! Not only is there no football and the TV companies are returning to their usual diet of mindless drivel and unspeakable 'pap' but the BBC have now added Wimbledon to the list! Tennis! Yes Tennis! That middle class lawn game that was surely only invented to make Basketball look interesting? It failed there also didn't it! Why oh why with all the resources available to them do the BBC let the football go to ITV and Sky yet insist on spending our money on two weeks of monotony?

I'll tell you why, women! In spite of the feminist lies that fill the world today the fact is women are not naturally team motivated. While men will join with folk known and unknown and support a football or other team through thick and thin (mostly thin down Gorgie way) women tend to go for the one to one option. This is why activities (I cannot call this 'sport') is such a big draw for the girls. Of course they are lusting uncontrollably after some swarthy, tanned, French, Romanian, Australian or Yank nancy boy as they rush about the court swearing at the umpire and acting like the spoilt brats they are, but they are attracted by the single opponent idea. This is also why so many women spoil acres of really good country by insisting on playing Golf there. Would they be so happy to just walk around the woods like men do, and I have noticed some funny men walking around the woods in my time I can tell you, or do they really have the need to hit a wee ball into a far of hole?

You see it is true that while men gather at a football match, a proper sport, they together support 'our' team. Women at football, rugby or whatever, if not there just to pick up a man as most of the young ones are, support 'their baby.' A far more insular thing. They do have a liking for cricket because while this game is a 'team' game it is in reality just between two men. The bowler, the one who throws the ball, and the batsman, the one who tries to hit it with a big stick. So while eleven run about the pitch most in fact do nothing whatsoever. This makes it a great pastime for those who wish to keep themselves in a state of fitness well into their fifties and beyond.

Of course as Tennis is so female dominated, the women play less games than the men and yet get paid the same amount of cash. How sexist is this? As they play less games they can also add to this the doubles and mixed doubles which men at the top cannot find time or energy for. The top lassies therefore take far more money for far less effort from the tournament than the best men can possibly do. Blatant sexism but for crying out loud do not point out facts to these whining self seeking bitches, in this fascist world facts are not wanted, just 'chip on the shoulder' emotion. Being female dominated also means that the Beeb must hold onto it or the women who run the Corporation will stamp their foot and go blue in their faces. They will also talk for hours about such crime, and who would want to endure that? Not those who should no better at the multi national (yet will not give Scotland it's due respect) BBC.

Two whole weeks of this. Grunting and sweating and middle class anxiety over who will win, and why has Britain (meaning England) not produced a winner since Fred Perry the shirt maker? Who cares really? Roll on the football season.

Chris & Jim's

The other day I had my hair cut. I think it's important you know this, just so you do not think that I sit here like some unemployed scruffy ageing hippy! Indeed I am so concerned to send the right signals to those about me that I have doubled my bath time. Yes indeed, I bathe on Tuesday as well as Sunday now. Indeed, if luck is with me the man next door might throw out one of his old disposable razors and I can have myself a shave also. It's good to care for ones appearance I say!

Chris and Jim are to lads who have opened this shop and developed the place into the towns premier barbers, sorry, hairdressers. Their approach to their customers, their attitude, humour and far from exorbitant pricing has brought them a good solid customer base. So much so they have now one or two others helping out at times. However the barmaid like blond working the day I went in was not allowed to run her fingers through my tresses for reasons that were not made clear. Maybe it was the way I suggested this idea.......

One thing is for sure, while these two may be excellent hairdressers they would never make a success among the trendies, there is no fear of these two running their fingers through your golden locks. A wrong word about their teams latest defeat might mean an accidental slicing of one off your ears mind!

Their sides, Spurs and Liverpool, mean that they are not in a position to laugh at the Heart of Midlothian. This is an advantage as some among us would confirm. Nothing worse than listening to someone who has a side that is top of their division, heading for glory, cash rich, and, in my view, heading for a fall...hopefully! With the cranky directors and lack of success enjoyed by their clubs they are not in a position to laugh at Vlad, after all, they could be next!

I am amazed at how many barbers/ hairdressers there are in this town. There are only around thirty five thousand souls dwelling here, and there seems to be an ever increasing number of such 'salons' to cope with them. We have six barbers alone in the town centre, and five at least for the lassies. This does not take account of those who freelance from friend to friend for half the price and twice the gossip. Nor the shops I have not noticed as keeping note of the females dens around here is something I tend not to do. Having said that I am tempted to stand at the window sometimes and look in. When I visit Chris & Jim's I sit there until called, have a sheet to catch the hair (where does that gray come from?), and then allow my swollen head to swing from side to side as they hack their way through the foliage. Females I note, tend to sit their with their heads covered in bits of paper. From the perspective of the passerby it looks as if they are a Christmas tree covered in kids requests for free stuff or maybe a horse dressed up for the local gymkhana. A cynic who knows the lass involved may feel obliged, when the ordeal is over, to point out that, allowing for the sixty, seventy, or even a hundred pounds that have changed hands, there is little change to be seen. A wise cynic of course keeps his trap shut.

But what are they doing in there? How long does it take to have your hair done? Considering the neurotic nature of women, and their absurd fascination with things that do not matter, the horror if one hair is out of place must make such employment fit only for those who have great patience, or are just fusspots! I just say to the lads, 'Chop it off,' and they do. It looks OK, and no-one laughs, at least not like the time my friend Christine cut my hair for me. It was going well until I sat down and she placed on my knee a book called, 'Hairdressing at home.' Somehow I felt this may not go well. However, from the front it looked OK to me, although I am not a 'fusspot' about such things. It was when I went to my then regular barber, George the Greek, I realised that things were not what they ought to be. He leaned over and asked, 'I didn't cut this, last time did I?' The look of relief on his face when I said .'No,' made me realise just how bad things had been.

She didn't get the chance to do it again, no matter how she pleaded.

Weather Girls

The United Kingdom, a you know, has a reputation for discussing the weather more often than is really necessary. A frequent opener of conversation is the state of the weather, usually involving a great degree of surprise that in January the weather is awful! It never fails to amaze me that people are often stunned that snow and gales should cause traffic disruption and be found knocking down trees. Possibly during the few thousand years of habitiation of this earthly paradise the Atlantic waves crashing against the coast and eroding the hard rock found there has not been observed. Maybe the loss of many East Anglian towns caused by the sea removing the land on which they were built has gone unreported in some parts, but certainly not in East Anglia! It is winter therefore it will rain, the temprature will drop, and the wind will blow making everything worse. That is how it usually happens, but when it does, shock! Obviously the further north we go the worse the climate becomes, those living on the West Cost of Scotland the the North West of England being well aware that two days out of three 'might be wet.' A good summer equals one day in three being sodden and the sky being a naval gray as opposed to a deep gloomy immitation dark night. How do we know when the seasons change? With the road from Tomintoul we find one way to recognise winter has arrived, when it becomes blocked by snow that is the start. However this may be slightly defective as this often occurs in August! For those further south the end of the summer holidays and shops being stuffed full of Christmas gear warns of winters approach. Mind you that could brng us back to August again.

Foretelling the weather has long been an occupation of this island race. Farmers, shepherds, fishermen were from the earliest times always watchful of the sky for the signs of changes in the environment around them. World wide folks watched for 'Red sky at night, shepherds delight,' even Jesus mentioned this, and such simple signs would be recognised by anyone living in the country. Animals behaviour often indicated weather patterns changing, and fishermen noting the oceans which so easily took their lives away were always alert for danger indicators. Not so today. Today we have a simpler, and more attractive, indication of how the heavens will affect us, weather girls! Yes indeed, we no longer need to stare at the sky each evening hoping for deep pink clouds, nor do farners have to rise early and wonder of their cows are sleeping standing up or lying down, oh no, today we confront a pretty young thing, usually blonde, lying in her teeth!

Liars? These pretty wee lassies lie?Oh yes they do!
Imagine a postman watching the 'Anglian News' one evening. Along comes the weather girl, attractive, smiling, personable, and informs him that there "May be one or two showers early on, ut nothing to wrooy about." Next morning he sets of to work dressed appropriatly, sorts the mail and heads of to commence delivery. As he cycles out of the office a few spots of rain appear, he grunts and continues reassured that these passing drops will soon fade.Wrong! Four and a half hours later he returns, soaked through to the bone, his bags sodden, the mail turned into paper mache and as he enters the building the manager, coffee cup I hand looks skywards and mutters, "Good, it's clearing up. I'm glad as I'm of home now" The postmans response earns him an official warning. Why do these weather girls use the word 'shower' when they mean 'downpour?' Is it because they are female, or just because they specialise in cruelty?

Weather forecasting today is a highly technical operation. Girls like the one above are not just your Scandinavian bint on the make but highly educated clever wee things. The girls who appear on Anglia share the competent yet relaxed image of the programme, and image that leaves it head and shoulders (which their hairy probably doesn't need) ahead of the BBC. 'Look East.' is a show staffed by wax dummies and the weather girl there, however competent, makes Mrs Beckham look fat. Who can truly put faith in the advice of a stick insect I ask you? Now however, as I look at the sodden picture outside my window I can see the results of yesterdays forecast actually being proved right, it is belting down. Tomorrow they say snow from the north, and then the bitch smiles sweetly! Snow! What is there to smile about? Right then, if that's the case I had better go back to bed and cancel all my appointments.

Rain

Drawing back the filthy rags that pass for curtains here I noticed the sky glowering darkly overhead. The Sky, I should add, is usually overhead of course, but I thought it wise to make this clear. The dark gray clouds came racing in from the south west and dropped the contents at a rakish angle. People lucky enough to be heading for work walked, head down or hidden behind those deadly weapons umbrellas! Surely folk should have a licence to carry one?

While watching a dog cheerfully meander from tree to tree I noticed the postie arrive. She looked up from under her large orange hood and noticing me at the window expressed some concern at the weather. It must be understood that rain, apart from wind, is the worst weather conditions in which to deliver mail. Rain gets everywhere! No matter what you do rain finds its way into the bag. By the time the postie is half way through his day he finds that he is shoving paper mache through letterboxes!
Wandering to the door, slowly, and carrying a coffee cup in my hand I opened the door. Placing the mail in my hand she again referred to the rain in a derogatory manner. "Oi," says I, "These letters are wet." Once more, and in a language too rough for members of the Royal Navy, she indicated that the weather was somewhat unsettled this morning. She then slapped me on both sides of my head with her sodden arms. Then she smiled! Typical woman!

Without this rain we would of course not have a nation as lush as this. While the rain soaks through the holes in my shoe it also soaks deep into the earth producing those fabulous flowers and trees, bushes and meadows that can be found hidden behind the concrete and brick that surrounds us. In short we are made by the weather! While attending a course for the Open University the tutor disagreed with my view that the land shaped the people. Sad thing when someone disagrees with me I say,not sad that they disagree, but sad when they are wrong yet are getting paid huge sums of money for being wrong! Australians brought up in the bush have a very different view on life from the tutor, brought up in middle class liberal England. Those fishermen living on the Scottish islands would possess an outlook at variance with a lass living in an Iranian village, and not just because of the religious culture either. The land shapes us, it gets into our mentality, and disagreements between the continental members of the EU and Britain can be said to begin with the national outlook. The sea around us has also given us an attitude at variance from those with a history of shifting borders.

Brits cannot meet without mentioning the weather. King George V began each days diary entry with a comment on the weather, encouraged by his early training with the navy. Football matches, and the laborious cricket ones also, and often threatened by rain or wind, Wimbledon not only suffers from rain but from Cliff Richard and his singing! How bad is that? Parents concerned about their siblings will always ask about the weather, as if they want to make sure the child, now in mid twenties, is dressed appropriately. They never learn! The weather, that really means the rain, becomes part of British life, and is it therefore any wonder that folk flock to sun filled resorts in the summer. I myself have now developed a desire to live in Crete! Why? Because I saw a picture of a sun filled Crete on telly the other day and I am off as soon as I am rich enough.

Global warming is going to increase the temperature in this land they say, but what will happen then? Vegetation will not appear as well as it does now, crops will suffer, gardeners will be forced to save water in barrels and then we will all start complaining that it is too hot! Holidays will be taken in Finland just to see snow and long dark nights, expeditions to monsoon lands to laugh with glee at the rainfall will be highlights of some idiots year, and I will still be left by an uncle I have never known an umbrella factory. twas ever thus!

US Elections

Watching the news regarding the results of the latest primary votes in the States I could not help but think what a feeble collection of candidates are making themselves available for election. It seems to me that with each US Presidential election those who put themselves forward are less capable than those who have gone before. There is no doubt the future for the United States is not healthy with this collection of candidates.

The unknowns, at least on this side of the Atlantic, who are making the attempt to replace Bush as the Republican leader make almost no headlines in the UK, such is their importance! The Democrats, who's candidate is clearly favourite to be the next president, take all the attention, and mostly the Woman and the Black man get the majority of that. I say 'Woman' and 'Black Man,' rather than use their names as it appears to me that this is one of the main selling points here. Political policies are less important in chasing the No 1 spot, having a face that fits seems more important. For instance, a glance at the TV interview of Mrs Clinton, voice almost breaking, tears just appearing, probably helped her to win this primary. There is a strong possibility it may win her an 'Oscar' at another ceremony in a few days time! How many fell for that? Enough to get out there and vote for her. Try that in the UK and they will soon see through you, or consider you not up to the job! Some say her husband gave her many causes for tears, but in truth,if you came home every night to that would you not want to run off with a proper lassie? If she wants tears I am always willing to help her in that regard. Her opponent Mr Obamu, has not deliberately used his colour to get any advantage, although he does not need to mention it in race obsessed America, but clearly many will vote for him just because of the colour of his skin, although possibly not in Alabama! If he goes marching through Georgia looking for votes he may find himself hanging around for a while......

The quality of the Democrat and Republican candidates is worrying, the world is entering a dangerous time and these people may not be up to the job. The only candidate with the experience for the job seems in my view to be Mrs Clinton, and she is the last creature I would want on the throne. Her ambition to be the first female president overpowers all else in her life. Pushy, selfish, and unwilling to listen to another point of view (well, she is a woman), she is what Radio 4 listeners would call 'Feisty,' and then spend an entire hour tearing her apart as the sisters do. But her experience as 'wife of Bill' does give her an understanding of how the world works, an experience that puts her well ahead in the capability stakes. Obamu may do well enough as a senator, and a relatively young one at that, but what does he know, and indeed what do his adviser's know about the real world out side of the US? I doubt he, and they, are ready for such a job. His wife is a bit of alright mind and if she wants to learn about the UK I am willing to offer my services - as long as she brings her credit card with her.

The Republican contenders, who are they anyway? The Republican contenders will be vanquished after the George Dubya Bush adventure. Even America can only take so much of that! So unless the oil companies and certain other 'friendly' countries contribute heavily to their expenses I doubt they will have much chance. At the last election Bush spent $273 million while his opponent only spent $249million. (BBC NEWS) Where did that come from, and is that really all the cash he raised then? Nothing is ever really clear in politics. Unless Bin Laden intervenes again I doubt any Republicans chances now.

There is never a 'safe' time in any period, there is always some problem or other to deal with. A war or two here, a terrorist outrage there, and always Israel and the middle east. But where are the big names,the men of political clout? Roosevelt would walk any election now in the US, Nixon, for all his many faults, was a canny operator and knew his way around the world, another Kennedy will not appear soon. Not that any Kennedy actually achieved anything except the art of bullet catching of course. I fear for America, and I fear for the world. The US political system, with its absurd checks and balances, its election of a president but not his cabinet, allows for the wrong people to take office. Money counts, not ability, and this time it could all go badly wrong.

Hey ho! Always look on the bright side, that's me!

Market Day Murder

I made a mistake today. Not for the first time I can tell you and most likely not for the last. The mistake was to forget that today being 'Market day' the town would be full of people. Add to that the second mistake, the idea of wandering amongst the stalls and shops in the middle of the morning when the place was at peak 'women shopper' time! This mistake ranks alongside the man at Decca telling the Beatles that 'Three guitars and a drummer is old hat folks,' or 'Old Moores Almanac' claiming foretelling the future for September 1939 as 'Peace!' While some may say there are differences between market day and these examples I suggest you attempt to squeeze past a fat woman and a stall selling biscuits, then negotiate between two old dears looking at each other and pointing in different directions caring nothing for the hordes attempting to pass. Subtle hints like barging into them with a pushchair (and what sort of creature takes a pushchair into such a small space anyway?) or throwing a small child at them fails to get any recognition. Similar types push themselves in front of you as they leave the 'Special offer' shops, ignorant of normal people (male) attempting to gather a few precious needs. As you enter a shop you note that what you require is at the back and the obstacle course comprises too many stands, full of delicate things that fall far too easily, and yet more large unseeing females who think shoving a coat hanger in your face as you pass is nothing to complain about. The store, which of course has exactly what you want at exactly the wrong size, has to be fought through once again as you head for the door, the shop staff convinced you have some stolen item inside your jacket. The fact that you have your arms pinned by their sides by the crush of thoughtless shoppers is not a thing they would notice.

Having fought against the hordes of Vandals and Huns who comprise the normal Wednesday morning market day to the fruit and veg stall, and discovering the best stall is not there, only the Essex boys with their cheery wit and lying smiles and rotten fruit placed by sleight of hand into the bottom of your brown paper bag, you head back they way you have come. This time the bird in the red jersey, worn such a manner to inflame the desire of the men she fancies and enrage the jealousy of the women she passes on the way, this bint decides to grab you attention by skillful use of the pushchair her greeting faced brat is screaming blue blazes in. She also uses blue words when confronted (in love) about her driving ability. Short and frank is the conversation, as indeed are many others at this time. The postman pushing his trolley loaded with business mail around the town 'accidentally' lets you know he is also passing by muttering 'Some of us have jobs to do you know.' Knowing he spends half his day having free coffees and buns (something I never obtained on any walk when I was a postman) another short conversation takes place.

Why do women stop in the middle of the way and stare? What is it that hinders the ability to move to the side and let folks pass? Just because you are looking at a stall, or a window display, for some magical treat you neither need nor actually can afford, is there any need to hinder the rest of the world. MOVE!!!! But no. Females must stop the traffic just to contemplate something, anything, that is in front of them. Ask them what it was two minutes later and they cannot tell you! I have been taken, by force I can tell you, through a department store, up hill and down dale, until we reached the curtain department, one of my favourites I can tell you, just for her to take some material in one hand, rub it between her fingers and mutter, 'Hmmm.' Then we left. 'What was that about?' says I. 'I just wanted to look,' says she. All this for 'Hmmm?' says I. 'Yes,' says she, as if the hour had been worth it in some way.

However, today I surpassed myself. Coming out of 'Woolworth's' were the Mongol Hordes, pushing and shoving, and attempting to avoid the bookstall and the girl selling overpriced candles ('Ideal gift,' for who?) while not stumbling into a woman searching her handbag in the middle of the remaining space. Behind me a crowd of stampeding cattle were being held up by this female. The narrow space in which we crushed seemed to get smaller as we waited for her to do something and, finally, she did. She stopped looking in her bag and just stood there with a soporific smile on her face. From the other direction I thought Ashur-bani-pal and his Assyrian army were coming towards us,but I may have miscounted, the stalls around us swayed and yet more arrived from 'Woolies' as another pushchair arrived to scream its way into the fray. Just than a small still voice came from behind a hand proffering a leaflet with Santa prominent on it,
'Merry Christmas' said the voice cheerfully. It was at this point that I took out the chainsaw and cut the old bint in twain. I then proceeded to carve my way through the Assyrian army, any runaway cattle and each and every pushchair headed in my direction. As I got to the end of the market I found that I had been followed by several dozen men. 'Thank the Lord for that,' said one, I thought I'd never get out of there again!' The others said the same. 'Never shop on a market day again,' said a big ex army type,'It's far too dangerous if you ask me.'
We looked back at the carnage brought by the chainsaw, and were satisfied.

Tesco's

Ah Tesco's, or the 'Happy Smile Club' as I like to call it. As I wander around I want to shout 'Is everybody happy?' But never quite get round to it. Today was not too bad, in spite of it being noon and the kids being on holiday. I think most of them were wandering around filling mum's trolley while mum put all of it back as soon as she noticed it. The rest were sitting in the fridge, climbing up the shelving units and just generally getting under the feet and up the nose like brats do. But they were at least happy!

Ah happiness, where does it go when you enter a supermarket? Here, in the midst of vast wealth, where goods from every part of the globe are displayed, where overweight, overdressed (well except for her in the gray outfit, doesn't she know it's October?), folk with large 4x4 vehicles and houses filled with stuff they never use and don't need, here amidst all this wealth folk never smile! They wander around lost in their own world. occasionally you will see a deliberate nudge used to 'encourage' someone to move a bit further up the meat counter, a glare when a trolley is pushed over a foot, and, when I am around, questions asked as to why it takes a woman so long to 'pay up and get a move on out the way woman!' The cry 'I didn't need a shave when I came in!' may follow this. But I am so irritable these days, age you know. But how often do folk smile? Ask them a question and in this small town some women will respond helpfully and cheerfully, others will regard you as a rapist! Suggest with a smile they move their trolley so one can pass and receive a stare that Margaret Thatcher would run from. I blame women's magazines myself.

I ended up with a checkout lass who, although she filled the small area given to her with ease, the 'healthy option' stuff she obviously avoids, had eaten her good nature along with her porridge. A smile, received a grunt, a helpful suggestion received a silence, a comment that I was sick and at deaths door received the question 'Why don't you knock then?' I muttered thank you as she through the card back at me and raced for the door. I am just glad she was in a good mood!

I did think of trying for a job like that, part time. But the more I look at the folks doing it I can see why they get so uppity - folk like you and me! Imagine having to deal with the public? I have done it, so I know why it is so demanding. I would kill if I was on a checkout, it seems easy but how wearing and boring it must be day after day and hour after hour. hard to smile then.

Of course after I walked the long way home I realised I forgot the milk......

Saturday in Town

Any Saturday in town is a busy day. Folks come in from the outlying district, locals rise early to drive the short distance to the queue to enter Sainsburys car park, mums with kids make sure their little darlings are on their worst behaviour before leaving home, and to start the day the postman rings the wrong bell at 7:30 just to let you know he has been up since 4:30!

The fruit and veg stalls in the market do manage to look attractive in the sunshine. I have always been tempted to get the camera and attempt to capture the great colours shown there. I have never managed to get round to it, but one day, one day…. It is a small market town, much changed since the days cattle were penned in the town centre and real country folk wandered around speaking only in vowels, Ooo, aaarr, and all that. If you ever come across those that remain you feel you are trapped in an episode of Radio 4s ‘The Archers!’

The towns size is small, around 30,000 when I arrived eleven years ago, touching nearer 40,000 nowadays, yet on Saturday few appear to relish travelling the fifteen miles to one or other of the bigger towns in the area, instead I am under the impression they all want to be in ‘Tesco’ at three o’clock just when I am buying my ‘two for £5’ chickens. Now why should that be? Have they all deserted the other supermarkets just to annoy me? It seems so. The impression I am left with when in ‘Tesco’s’ at such a time is that I have some sort of sign across my forehead or on my back saying ‘This One!’ This gives the women permission to shove their trolleys straight at me as if I was not there, the aged men, always the older ones, permission to stand in the middle of the alley with a trolley and stare into space, and it also allows any brat within miles the right to scream and yell at much more than the regulation ninety decibels whenever I am in the vicinity. It never fails to amaze me the way mothers go on after you shove a kiwi fruit in the gob of such children, I mean it is full of Vitamin ‘C’ is it not?

Of course, after standing for a short eternity in a queue of folk who have no idea how to smile or communicate in anything other than confrontational grunts you then find a youth on the checkout who is going through his ‘hardman’ phase.’ Glancing contemptuously at you he hurries the goods through the till and repeats the total cost in an urgent manner while you struggle manfully to open the bag. Then taking his time to return the change, deliberately pushing it for all it’s worth he utters either a cheeky word or throws the money in such a way you drop t under the feet off all and sundry. The phrase ‘forgive your enemies’ comes to mind at this point, although by this time you have grabbed him by the throat and granted him your best ‘Glasgow Kiss.’ Unfortunately, not coming from Glasgow it hurts you as much as him. Then of course everyone else in the queue starts to complain, as they will have to wait longer. Then there is the problem of the other staff, the security man, the two, rather large and unpleasant police constables, the surly desk sergeant and the uncaring magistrate to deal with – and all for two chickens! Well, that’s how it usually works out for me anyway…..

Taking your headache through the market, being crushed by passing pushchairs at one side and ridiculously fat women at the other one heads for the charity bookshops. Well, they actually sell all the usual dross and are always full of women finding cheap clothes that make them look good, while what I buy makes me look like I have been to the charity shop! How come? Anyway it is the books we look at, I really need nothing else, the place is already full of tat, I glance quickly at one sometimes two or three rows of books and wonder what they tell us of the folk who live here. In this place we learn that the women are drenched in Catherine Cookson and Barbara Taylor Bradford type tales. In short, pap! Row after row fill the five charity shops we have left here, nothing more stimulating than those large annuals loved so much by the kids who received them at Christmas that most have pages missing, badly drawn stick men all over them, and the occasional remnant of sticky bun holding the thing together. When I lived in London the nearest ‘War on Want’ shop was in an area full of middle class trendies. The shelves were packed with good, and often pretentious, things. Vast quantities of books on architecture, history, art, society stood alongside photographic works from the best around, religious and philosophical works rested by books on advanced maths, which I ignored, and the society reflected was an educated thinking populace. Not, it must be said, a better one, although many thought they were, but a ‘thinking’ population. Here we are blest by Jilly Cooper……

Fighting past the hordes who stand with their pushchairs blocking the passageways, getting as close to the stall with the radio tuned to the football, and wondering just how the fat woman over there will ever attract folk to her driving lessons when surely if she enters a car it will tip to one side, passing the man selling cheap watches, my last one from him lasted exactly 24 hours, and resisting the attractions on offer at the ‘Wimpy’ bar I make for home.

Watching the queue at the cashpoint I wonder that there is anything left by this time of day and collect yet another leaflet, not from the ‘Kings Church’ this time, the local music group advertising their next out of tune spectacular. The traffic which has polluted the atmosphere while arriving now does the same on the slow road home. Piled high in the boot are masses of real bargains from the supermarkets that will no doubt be thrown out rotten and unused in the weeks to come. It lies alongside the desperately wanted shiny new objects that will soon lie gathering dust under the bed or broken on the floor of the kids room.

Cynical, who me?

Maybe, but this is real life, well, with a slight exaggeration here and there, and I suddenly find I love it. How funny. This is home, in spite of it all, and it’s better than some places I’ve been.

I must be sick…….

Essex Weather

When I arrived here just a touch past eleven years ago, I discovered that I had come to the 'driest county in England.' I rejoiced! Naturally enough it has rained a lot ever since! This year, while we have had some good days, and I have really enjoyed the Spring flowers and such like, the weather has been kind of dreich. Today the clouds hang overhead, gray and sullen, they don't seem to keen to move, and are not keeping the temperature as high as it should be. I listened this morning to a science type informing me that it was definitely man's fault that global warming had occurred. We could not blame the suns temperature changing, as it does from time to time, but we were at fault and no-one else. So why I thought, if it's called 'Global Warming' did I need to put the heating on first thing today? Anyway, not long after midday and the sun is not out, and neither am I! It looks like it will stay this way. Anyway, why is it always man's fault and not women's? Sexist!

Sarah Called

She called to say that claiming women nag is a stereotype! She went on to indicate this should not happen! Apparently I have no right to say such things. She was so upset she actually created a blog just so she could log on and tell me. Sweet eh?

Unfortunately, there was a slight problem in that she spoiled her argument somewhat by adding "Women only nag when they have to!" See the problem? Bet she doesn't, even yet. The thing is dear, who gives you the right to nag 'when you have to?' Who decides 'when?' I know who does, you do! Get it now?

No, didn't think you would. You see, the thing is, when your mind is so self absorbed, and you care only for your opinions, you miss out so much. The main problem wee girls have today is the mouth opens long before the brain, and all too often that does not arrive. I suggest you put aside the girlie magazines (no dear, not that type) and go out into the real world with your mind open and your mouth closed. Ask grown up women what life is like, preferably not middle class ones, they are a wee bit like you see. Learn about things, get out of the rut you are in. Make friends.

Oh, and don't watch 'Eastenders.' It makes you think mouthing off is clever. Try smiling instead.

Nagging women, or is it Woman?

Why do women nag? It appears that no matter what part of the world a person visits, you will find a nagging woman! Of course, you will also find she has no reason to nag? There never is. How can a woman nag when she is surrounded by men? Men are the most reasonable of souls. Men tolerate the most unreasonable girls, the most thoughtless behaviour, the needless routine questions about their appearance ('what haircut?'), and an an inability to be anywhere on time.
Yet women complain? Why?

One example of this is Blackberry Juniper. She ignores me for what seems like years, spends all her time concentrating on her man, never phones, never calls, never e-mails, yet complains when she is not mentioned on these ramblings! Now she has been mentioned in the past, but has not noticed. Did I complain? Did I hold my breath until I went blue in the face? NO! I did what all men would do in the circumstances, I just got on with watching the football. Now there's another thing! Watching football. How many women will complain that it's '...always the same...' then go of and watch some soap opera? Tell me the changes in any soap opera over the last ten years? You can't because there has not been any changes! This one is still the baddie, that one the womaniser, she still the bitch, that one the tart! IT'S ALWAYS THE SAME RUBBISH!!!!!

Yet the women who watch it week by week don't notice. Why? Yet, if you wear the same shirt to work you wore yesterday they ask why? I have known men forced to change ties because 'You wore that one last time you went there.' A toilet seat being up becomes war at home, while hoovering when the cup final is on is OK??????????

No excuse to nag exists, yet women do. The toilet seat, the shirt, the ignoring the hair ('what hair?'), forgetting a birthday ('you're 48, I thought it was tactful to forget...oh 45, sorry.'), the anniversary slipped the mind ('I thought I would take you out on Saturday, honest'). If a man so much as throws a paper on the floor, in his house, she tells him to put it where it belongs ( he would like to!), he opens the window she wants it shut, she panics because the child needs a new school bag and he is not panicking also, so she complains, long and loud. If she e-mails, and he does not respond within her time frame (which changes constantly) he is nagged, constantly. Forgetting to mention a woman on here (and I am always pointing out their foibles her ooh missus) and sly comments will pass, like. MENTION ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Blackberry Juniper is of course a sweet young thing. Good looking, attractive, highly intelligent, capable of doing anything she chooses, wise (usually) hard working, good humoured, and on top of this a best selling novelist (tomorrow). Bet she nags me soon mind.........

Women

God created women so they could know him and praise him. So that they could experience life in all its fullness. How easy it is for men to forget this and abuse them. We look at pictures of their naked bodies and let our fantasies run free. married or single, old or young we justify it one way or another. Christian men are well aware, not only that it is wrong, but of the harm it does to them, and themselves. yet we still watch a bit of porn, indulge our feelings, and forget that these women, like ourselves, belong to God, not us!

Muslim women tend to be treated very badly indeed. Usually this is because of cultural , rather than religious, motives, but nonetheless the women are rarely free. Afghanistan and Saudi may be amongst the worst, but they are not alone. African women tend to be more independent, but suffer much in many areas. Indian women, especially in the village backwaters, of which there are vast numbers, suffer also.

Women in the 'west' are constantly complaining of their lot. But these women are free, able, and very well off. Rarely do they have genuine deep complaints no matter what they say. The men in the west suffer just as badly, but are expected to just 'get on with it!'

The point is, no matter where we are in this world. No matter what century we lived in, God in Christ Jesus created all women. Each one is precious in his sight. Each and every one cost the life of the saviour, none are left out of the finished work on the cross. They are meant to be free in Christ, meant to have a life of fulfilment, meant to be praising him in all things, and meant to know him and enjoy him for ever.

Can we Christian men stand around ogling them? Are we entitled to sit back and allow women in other religions or cultures to suffer? Is it right for us to forget they belong to God and not us?
Married or single, whatever our area of life, the sex urge does impel us to look at women. We want one, usually 'now!' The way they dress in the west does not help us of course, and their own sexual liberality is a distraction. But it is for the individual male to remind himself that they belong to God. We all know this can be hard when sex rears its head. Single men, especially young ones, find control difficult. So do married men. Their wives are often very unhelpful and a woman who treats her man thoughtlessly and ignores his sexual needs does indeed encourage him to look elsewhere. Consideration for the other is very important here, not all women understand, or indeed care at this point.

Let us then see woman as God sees them. Let us love them in Christ, and that is not always easy! We know that! Let us endeavour to ensure that God can get the best out of the women he has made. That she is aware of him and his love for her. That she is enabled to praise him and enjoy him,whatever the situation. Slave or free, rich or poor, black or white, known unto Jesus or not, let the male love them as Jesus loves his church.

Prostitute Killings

Five dead prostitutes naturally leads not only to a massive police hunt, but also to a media frenzy.
Nothing pleases the hacks more than sex, and sex connected to murder, and a serial killer at that, is glorious for the muck raking press of this nation. How they have enjoyed dredging up all the stories they can concerning the lives of these girls. Almost twenty four hour coverage on SKY News alone! This has gone for over a week and already there are indications of irritation among the hacks that so far no one has been found. Not that they would be trying to force the investigation eh? Claims of some being interviewed are rebutted by the police, yet those claims still appear in a press desperate to fill pages with 'Revelations!'
Suddenly prostitutes, usually regarded as 'dregs of society' are seen as 'our sisters and family.' Those who would not want them within a hundred miles of their homes tell us of their concern for the girls welfare. Those claiming to represent what they call 'sex workers' appear on every channel and paper. Concern for the girls well being is promoted at many levels.
But do they really care?

As has been stated, while all want to stop the killings and few if any would wish the girls dead, there are none who who welcome prostitutes either walking their street or working from brothels nearby. Where they operate problems of anti social behaviour mount! Women living in the area are accosted by men looking for women, the same girls worry that their men are accosted by those women working the streets! Most want them far from their children. Legalising brothels to keep the girls safe sounds a good idea. But who runs the brothels? Gangsters? Where do the girls come from? Too many here already are sex slaves from all over eastern Europe! Would they not be put through such brothels?

More important must be the actual people involved. How can it be acceptable that women should use men for money? The implication today is always that men use women, while the idea of the reverse is ignored. Human nature teaches us otherwise. If not kidnapped and used as sex slaves where do the girls come from? Most in Ipswich are drug users, 98% according to one group working among them. Girls from a variety of backgrounds hooked on Heroin or cocaine. Can it be acceptable to allow them to use 'safe' brothels while not saving them from drug dependency? We must not forget some girls go on the game for other reasons. Lack of love in their life, from childhood upwards. Inadequacy feelings, maybe they just realise that there is easy money to be made out there! Nothing in such a lifestyle is straight forward.

Legalising the 'oldest profession' would not help anyone. Care for those involved, men or women, as men prostitute themselves also, is required. Those who sell themselves have many problems and unless we recognise this we cannot help them. Allowing them areas to operate just keeps them trapped in a world that dehumanises and destroys them. The false liberals who wish to allow them freedom to operate do not wish to help prostitutes, they just dump the liberal lifestyle on them and run off and let them fend for themselves. This is not care, it is selfishness!

What sort of man or woman needs to use prostitutes? Again we see broken lives and desperate needs. Again care and understanding is required, and a more positive acceptance of responsibilities will lead to a satisfying life.

Blackberry Juniper

Another Saturday came. I woke early. I had no choice, I was no longer dreaming so I must have been awake. I rose from the bed with all the grace of an arthritic camel. Bleary eyed I looked at the mess that comprised the living quarters. Dust rose from the carpet as I walked about, wondering what I was doing. Blackberry Juniper I suddenly thought! My mind raced, I gave concentrated thought, but I could not figure out a way to get her to come and do my housework.
Suddenly it occurred to me, it was Saturday! She might be here with her man! She might choose today to pop round! I looked at the mess, oh dear I thought. I looked at the red eyed creature in the mirror and noticed three weeks growth strewn with last nights supper. Oh Dear!

By nine o' clock, the floor was hoovered, the windows had been opened (so that's what fresh air smells like) dust had been eradicated, tidiness prevailed! A bath had been taken and a rusty blade used on the face.

I waited.

And waited.

The phone rang! Jings, crivvens that is her, she is coming today after all!
The phone went down. I do NOT want to take part in that survey!
I return to waiting.
And waiting.
And waiting.

I knew the way to make her come or not. I searched the web for a football match.
If she was coming, now would be the time!
She didn't!

Anyway, watching the football I forgot all about her !

Mike Newell Luton Town Manager

Mike Newell criticised the use of women to officiate at professional football matches. I have to say I agree with him! For too long we have seen an erosion of common sense in the UK. One example is the false equality that thinks that placing women in a man's world is a good thing.
It is not. Instead it erodes the difference between men and woman, an ungodly idea, and one encouraged by the enemy of our souls.
We have seen the damage feminism has brought. Instead of giving females the freedom to be themselves we see generations of women unsure as to what they really want! However, hope can be seen by so many women who have discovered that what they want to be is female! Rejecting the nonsense spouted by lesbians masquerading as female, these girls now have a chance to be themselves. Good on them!
Others still encourage the false notion that wherever men are found, women must be there.
This is a notion that must be rejected. We ought to encourage each individual to be themselves. They must be free to understand what the person really wants. however far to many are led by what they read in women's magazines. half truths and downright lies which fail to enable them to see the life ahead of them. There are many jobs women can do in this world, refereeing professional football matches is not one of them.

Neurotic Women

Why must women be so neurotic? Watching a Gran and daughter walk through a park with the six year old boy and his dog I got the impression this kid will never survive the year!
'Watch the road!' they yelled, even thought the road was a hundred yards away. 'Do this , do that!'When the kid was happily running around bothering no-one. I almost cried out 'Leave him alone you stupid women!' 'There is no danger so why the fuss?'
Such needless vexation just irritates the child, and could lead to long term damage. For one thing he is male. Therefore he will not think, act, or understand the world as they do. Will they comprehend this? I doubt it. Does he have a father? I wonder. Too many stupid girls get themselves pregnant, expect the state to provide for them, and raise a child in circumstances God did not intend. There are many unbalanced kids growing up and raising similar kids today because of such poor parenting. Of course not all kids suffer badly, nor do they all go wrong. Many turn out to be excellent citizens. But why is their life made harder by having a dysfunctional family from the beginning?
Mothers need to worry less. Today's mums do show their neurosis all to freely. In the past women recgnised the dangers and made sure kids did also. Now angst is the order of the day all to often. Why? Because they feel for the child as a mother should? No! Because they feel for themselves. It is not the child but them that counts. He is not a child brought into the world to be reared in the right way, he is an extension of her personality. This is not good. The child ought never to leave a mother, but has to be regarded as an individual, not a continuation of the mothers ego.
The answer? Mothers, and women in general need to spend less time reading magazines that feed their deep seated need to be reassured, and more time just getting on with it. Assurance will follow. It is the same for us all. It is the way for millions of women in deprived countries, who have a real need to worry. So why not here in our fat over developed land?

Female Historians

What is it about these females who think they are historians?
Why is it they always write about women, and always, 'feisty' or 'independent' or 'heroic' women? Are they studying history or themselves?
Not for one moment can it be said these women need their stories told to enlighten us about the past. Nothing in the many volumes produced in recent years changes our understanding of history. No, all we have is a desperate attempt by middle class lassies, who have never had a real job, to live out the prejudices built up during their formative years. The benefit to those girls working on Sainsburys checkout, delivering the post or driving lorries is hard to define.
The fulfilment in writing a book that satisfies one girls desire to right a wrong that never existed, except in her own mind, is a vacuous one.
Come on girls, write about a historical subject that is not an extension of your angst, but a subject that will enlighten us all, even if it will not sell to like minded middle class wasters!

*******************************************************************************