OLD?

This Christmas my prettiest, and most intelligent niece, gave me the 'Oldie Annual' as a present. The 'Oldie' being a magazine for those who have matured. When you consider that a year ago she gave me the book,'Grumpy Old men,' I am beginning to wonder if she is trying to tell me something?

For one thing I must state I am NOT old! I am merely a rusty 56. For another thing I am NOT 'grumpy!' Of course I will indicate, in a full and frank manner, those moments where a word of advice is required. In fact, not only am I willing to offer such counsel but I often find myself helping those who have not even had the time to request my opinion. But are they thankful? No! It seems to me we are raising an ungrateful population sometimes! I just do not know what the world is coming to sometimes. Dearie me, that is a phrase the old folks used to come out with when I was younger.
I wonder how that came to mind?

The 'Grumpy Old men' book I read from cover to cover, as there seemed little point in reading it any other way, and yet found little to disagree with. I thought the man pulling it all together, one Stuart Prebble, was clearly in the wrong in his arrogant BBC style) insistence that he could drive his car where he liked, and smoke freely with no concern for others. Drivers, as many of you will be aware, are far to self important, and appear to think the roads were made for them! Always complaining about how much they are paying and how little they get in return. However, our towns and cities have been devastated by the combustion engine, and no new building is erected without sufficient space for the users chariots. I am always somewhat surprised by the overweight, over dressed folk driving oversized cars for journeys that could be completed with a ten minute walk! These are the folk, in their large four by fours, dropping kids off at school and complaining it is too dangerous for little Tommy to walk to school! Tsk! As for smokers, well, just visit a lung cancer patient who cannot abide a sheet touching him as it is too painful and ask if he wants a fag? Get a life - by not killing yourself and others!

The 'Oldie' book is very enjoyable. The collection of short pieces, often humorous, sometimes deliberate, sometimes not, with an occasional rant that makes me wonder if some folks on 'BlogCatalog' write for the magazine? Part remembrances, part gossip, and stuffed full of cartoons, I have to say I enjoy this book. If it is to become an annual, er...annual, then I want it, er...annually! The only problem I have is that it is just a wee bit too middle class for me. Tales of wandering through Scotland watching football in the nineteen sixties would be out of place among this lot I fear. While the Scots are much more egalitarian than the English, possibly going back to the tenement living in days of yore, this magazine is clearly aimed at the English middle classes.Still, had I the cash I would subscribe.
Any handouts out there?

The Heart of Midlothian War Memorial

One notable reaction to the losses incurred during the Great War was the deeply held need for a place to mourn the dead. The war had to be fought as a war of attrition, a huge siege war, and this resulted in vast numbers of dead on all sides. This is not the time to argue whether these methods were correct, or who was to blame. Suffice to say the men of the British Army left the war believing they had won a great victory, and they were right! The disillusion with the war was to come later, after the promise of 'Homes for heroes,' and the promise of a job 'kept open' failed. The reaction to this failing led to a new world after the second war. In the years immediately after fighting had ceased the nation was gripped by a wide variety of emotions. Large numbers of the dead lay in cemeteries throughout France, many still lay in hospitals, others were to die slow agonising deaths before another conflict broke out. Some three hundred thousand British and Empire troops still lie missing under the old battlefields.

It was the desperate need to find a spot to mourn the dead that led to many memorials being erected throughout the nineteen twenties. Every town and village, however small, had a war memorial, even if it was just a bronze plaque in a church somewhere. Six men in one village, several hundred in a major railway station would be remembered as heroes for their 'Sacrifice,' and their willingness to serve 'God King and Country.'
The sense of loss shook the nation. The 'Unknown Warrior,' buried in Westminster Abbey in 1920, the same year a temporary cenotaph was erected in Whitehall, was visited by millions. Mothers, wives and sisters passed by, many attempting to believe that this was 'their' man. Such was the response that the Cenotaph became permanent.

In Edinburgh the reaction of the city to the announcement in November 1914 that the Heart of Midlothian football players had voluntarily enlisted in George McCrae's 16th Battalion of the Royal Scots, caused over a thousand men, many footballers from other clubs, fans, students and men not yet enrolled to join in. This at a time when the chattering classes, those unable to enlist themselves, were demanding football and other sports should stop while the war continued. So strong were these cries that a major debate was about to take place in Parliament the next day. The actions of the Hearts men saved the day,encouraged recruitment, shut the mouths of the ignorant and cost them their careers, their limbs and their lives! Six men died in action, one died of disease, several were severely disabled, a few returned to playing. Two were to die from the effects of the war long before Hitler came to power.

It is no wonder then that a grateful city erected a monument to these men at the Haymarket. This busy junction was where the road led to Tynecastle Park, the home of the Heart of Midlothian. Traffic heading to all points passed by daily, this was a memorial for the nation to see how such men were remembered. The pride of Edinburgh in such men was demonstrated for all to see! They were of course not alone. There are many memorials including one at the City Chambers, various churches have individuals commemorated, Waverley Station remembers the railmen who died, several hundred of them, and individual factories and places of work commemorated those who did not return. But the Hearts memorial meant a great deal to many people, and not just the many thousand who attended the unveiling. The whole of Edinburgh, and I may say Scotland also, shared the pride in what the action of these players.

Now however, the City intends to remove this memorial and tuck it away out of sight. Why? Because a new development of tramcars is being rushed through at great cost, and the memorial is in the way! The trams may well be a great investment in the long run for the city, and no doubt will be worth the expense, but need the planners move the memorial away from the area? For one thing, it was to those members of this, and many other battalions, who survived a type of 'holy ground,' given by the city in gratitude for their work. Today, while the Heart of Midlothian fans have begun to remember their actions, mostly through Jack Alexander's excellent work 'McCrae's Battalion,' and people in general are once again understanding the nature of the Great War, the council and those responsible for the trams development appear to be belittling our history. Surely, when the memorial first was erected the trams were running, and in a much more complicated pattern than the new development will, surely it is possible to find a way to keep the memorial honoured? This memorial, like so many others, does not glorify war, few of those who return do that, but it does ensure people and their actions often truly heroic, are not forgotten. Our history is important!

Weight!

Now look! After Christmas I realised I had once again put on weight. I was touching 16 stone again, and I had dropped at least half a stone before that. So the other day I began the exercises. Walking at least thirty minutes, moving around, doing things rather than just sitting here, eating less and more fruit and veg. Today I not only walked for hours around the market, being barged around by the bullying woman found there, but I also got on the bike for a while this afternoon.
I sit here aching with all the strenuous effort I have put in. I am stretching both legs backwards as I type, and with one hand I am lifting a dumbbell. I know that when I leap (leap?) out of bed in the morning I will be confronted with all over stiff muscles. I did ask that nice young lass at the fruit and veg stall if she would like to help my aching back with some embrocation but she did not seem too keen. I finally removed that melon from my big gob by tea time. Tsk! Some folks are touchy, or not as the case seems to be here!
However, when I weighed myself, expecting to see the little needle slowly roll to the 13 stone mark where it should be, it read 16 and a half stone! After all this effort I am putting on the weight! I think I will start one of those fasts, the type those hermits used to go in for. Sitting there on a pole, high above the world, they sought enlightenment. Personally I think they just got fed up with the local 'Lose weight now! Ask me how!' type folk peddling their lies. The chance of enlightenment seems slight to me anyhow, Jesus appears to have eaten well enough. I am not sure if he wants us to live on bread and water in such a public show anyhow. Eating well and eating less is the only way to lose forty two pounds. The exercise is just good for you. Until that is, the morning after.

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!

Work

Once more I look forward to another day of seeking work. There are several forms to fill, pleading letters to write, and, lets face it, little hoe of success with the forms in front of me now. It is over a year since I was last employed, and in spite of the hundreds of forms sent out nothing has materialised. There are three reasons for this. One is my age,56, another is the beginnings of arthritis where the leg was broken years ago, and thirdly my being an idiot! It is true to say however that most do not put these three in this order! Confidence,that thing only women and footballers lack, is nil.There is nothing I consider I can do, and feel nervous about everything now. If I had followed the advice of my dad and trained as a joiner it would not be so bad, although no joiner would have let me finish an apprenticeship! Well, not alive anyway! I am not trained in anything but lifting and carrying, hence I was happy packing boxes or delivering mail. The sophistication of dealing with the cretins who fill offices all to often was beyond me, I discovered the hard way the unwillingness of secretaries to actually work, the desperate need of men to climb the ladder rather than do the job, and the soul destroying nature of office politics. My humour did not always find an appreciative audience amongst those so tight arsed that they had to be handled like Ming china vases. Sadly I sometimes failed to do this and indicated my opinions somewhat too force ably. Hmmm, fun though! In large office complexes the word 'work' is not to be used where the general run of employees is concerned, it just upsets them. These creatures usually start late, finish early, shirk when possible, pass the buck, and get paid far too much. This type of person complains postmen do not work! They consider dustmen beneath them, and that the janitor and cleaners are lesser specimens than they, just because they sit at a desk. Tsk! "To see oorsels as ithers see us." I agree some work, and work well, but I find the warehouseman and the postman, the dustman and the cleaner often more reliable than the one more concerned about their position or their 'feelings.'

So, as I have little training in desk bound jobs, unable to do what my little mind can cope with, and in a town where suitable work is scarce, and I must admit, not keen on working these days, I set myself to my task with little emotion. In the past I have been unemployed and wanted to work, although temp work was available. Such is not now because of the knee, well not the right type of work anyway. However I heard there may be a job working from home dealing with one companies complaints! This sounds OK, as it will be ideal if it can occur. But it will be a day or two before I hear if it is actually available. Cheered me up mind as it gave me a hope that I had lost.

The dole office decided that I had been out too long, and they have been very helpful for the most part. I was put onto what they call 'Workstep.' This it turns out is an offshoot of work done by the British Legion of all people. I suppose they consider I am playing the 'Old Soldier!' So I was introduced to a lovely 29 year old who has revamped my CV, crying "Dire" when looking at the original one, given me instruction on interviews, which was a waste of time, and spent the rest of the time chatting. If I get an interview I am supposed to take her along as she needs to fill out forms! Like taking your mother I say! Mind you, dad would have been awfully pleased if mum had looked like this! An excellent lass who browbeats folk into the ground but is actually willing to work. Not the type I have seen to much off I must say.

I have not done badly during this time. I needed time off after the last job, although not this much, and have spent much of it wisely. It is amazing how many things we take for granted we do not need, and only when they break down or cost too much do we realise they are not that important. Once money comes in, I suppose I shall start wasting it again. And it will come, the right job is out there waiting for me, I just need my eyes open, and the gumption, to find it.

Sandbanks

The fuss in the press in recent days concerning the possible move of 'Arry Redknapp from Portsmouth to Newcastle United several times mentioned his house in Sandbanks. This did intrigue me as I have often been down that way. The beach at Bournemouth is one of the best in the UK, and the sun shines there also! This small peninsula has Poole Bay on one side and Poole harbour on the other. This leaves a wonderfully attractive site, so attractive that houses built on this, near island, cost many millions of pounds.

From the photograph this may not appear to be the case, but a quick perusal of houses for sale show just what is on offer!

Swapping this for the cold gray of the north east may not have gone down well with Mrs Redknapp of course who may not have thought Gateshead as attractive as Sandbanks. A wise woman! 'Arry was quick to claim that he could not leave because he did not want to "Let down the players I have brought in!" and that he was 'Appy in the sarf." I suggest he forgot to mention Portsmouth, who's great improvement in 'Arrys time would come to an end, leaving them open to relegation once again, made him an offer he could not refuse. Our 'Arry knows all about wheeling and dealing, and one would not be surprised that the Newcastle trip was done to 'encourage' Portsmouth to loosen the purse strings.
Cynic? Me?

By the time I had finished going through the details of these houses, many newly built since the last time I was there, I was somewhat disappointed. I would love a place where I could see the sun coming up over the 'Old Harry' rocks and going down over Poole Harbour, as one thing I miss is being near the sea. But in the end I think the pretentiousness of so many of these houses, and the people who buy them, left me flat. Market forces might increase the price of better property, but seven million for a house? Nothing wrong with being wealthy, nothing wrong with having good quality furnishings, but there is something wrong with those who see this as the best that life has to offer. How many personality clashes occur in those expensive homes? How many are on there latest marriage? How many are content? Maybe a smaller house, overlooking the sea so I could watch the sun go down at night in the west, and have enjoyed its warmth in the morning would suit me.

Of course, a lottery win might change my mind for me.

Health and Safety

There was an item on the local news yesterday about a village being banned from hanging flower baskets from lampposts. This was something done annually as the village prepared for on of the 'Village in Bloom' type contests. The council however deemed this unsafe on 'Health and Safety' grounds. Now is it just me or are we becoming just too 'safety conscious?' All to often it appears that 'common sense,' the ability to recognise something is a danger, is being replaced by an absurd state of neurosis.

The local council workmen wanted to fix a section of guttering in a house. Simple job, a ladder up against the wall, a man holding the foot of the ladder, and shortly afterwards the job is done. Not now. Today they must collect a scaffolding set if they want to do the job. So they replace the whole section of guttering and cost the council hundreds of pounds taking several days to do a job that took a mornings work before. I say a mornings work as we all know council men do not work in the afternoon!

Similarly a window cleaner told me he now has to use a scaffold if he wants to clean windows above the ground floor! The reason is of course not health and safety at all, it is insurance! Money, not concern for your welfare drives the health conscious today! Postmen, as you probably know, are like most folks working outside these days, required to wear Hi-visibility jackets,orange ones in this case. One young manager passing through one day drew attention to my somewhat worn Hi-vis. He wanted me to wear a bright new one because he said,"The roads are dangerous." I was amazed! Here was I, who had been working for forty years, and I had never at any time realised that the 'roads could be dangerous!' During those many days when I cycled up the Ferry Road from Leith with lorries thundering past to all points of the compass, or on the occasion of my cycle from Edinburgh to London I had never realised that the 'roads could be dangerous!' I was so glad he had been reading the Health and Safety material that his role demanded. I think I may have said as much, at least he never bothered me again!

Royal mail at one time demanded all cyclists wore helmets and sacked those who refused. Again this was not from Health and Safety as they proclaimed but for insurance purposes. These money grabbing folk will not pay out if you did not wear the helmet or the authorised shoes! Many drivers now carry the official shoes in their van while wearing trainers. If they have an accident they intend to change gear and claim the cash!

This morning I found a similar problem as encountered by Moo-Dog in his 'must read' blog. His troubles were caused partly by health and safety and , well read it for yourself, it's very good. My problem today was safety again. I attempted to use one of those sprays full of stuff that removes the after effects of hard water from sinks etc. To avoid kiddies getting their hands on it and using it as a water pistol or even drinking the stuff it comes with a protective plastic cover. Could I get this off? NO! I struggled for a good while trying to work out how to open it, no instructions of course, and in the end broke it in pieces. Where are women when you need them eh? These 'childproof' tops on bleach and paracetamol containers are a joke - only kids, Mensa members and women can open them! I wasted most of the contents when I ended up with the lid in bits. So that's more money down the drain, so to speak. Do you think I can claim on the insurance for 'hurt feelings?'

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!

Knowing God

What matters supremely therefore, is not,in the last analysis,the fact that I know God, but the larger fact that underlies it - the fact that He knows me. I am graven on the palms of His hands. I am never out of His mind. All my knowledge of Him depends on His sustained initiative in knowing me. I know Him, because He first knew me, and continues to know me. He knows me as a friend, one who loves me; and there is no moment when His eye is off me, or His attention distracted from me, and no moment, therefore, when his care falters.

This is momentous knowledge. There is unspeakable comfort - the sort of comfort that energises, be it said, not enervates - in knowing that God is constantly taking knowledge of me in love, and watching over me for my good. There is tremendous relief in knowing that His love to me is utterly realistic, based at every point on prior knowledge of the worst about me, so that no discovery now can disillusion Him about me, in the way I am so often disillusioned about myself, and quench His determination to bless me. There is certainly, great cause for humility in the thought that He sees all the twisted things about me that my fellow - men do not see ( and am I glad), and that He sees more corruption in me than that which I see in myself (which, in all conscience, is enough). There is, however, equally great incentive to worship and love God in the thought that, for some unfathomable reason, He wants me as His friend, and desires to be my friend , and has given His Son to die for me in order to realise this purpose. We cannot work these thoughts out here, but merely to mention them is enough to show how much it means to know, not merely that we know God, but that he knows us.



From 'Knowing God,' by J. I. Packer. I recommend this book.

HELP!

HELP!!!! I need help! I have allowed something to slip my mind. You see I was hurrying to enrich my life with a nourishing sausage dinner. I fixed the pasta that was being used as a base, and added tomatoes and a large broccoli. Marvellous and almost healthy!

It was delicious! Of course the special sauce did improve it, as it always does, and I sat back with the small portion of Christmas pudding content and happy. What more could one ask?

So, I went cheerfully to do the washing up, even though it truly is woman's work! This was accomplished efficiently amid a flurry of soap suds, all except the tray used for the sausages! I looked everywhere but could not find it. This was a mystery I could not answer. I remembered taking the sausages out the oven, deciding the were not quite ready so chopped them up to speed the process and returned them to the oven for a few final minutes.

Oh dear! I had a sudden thought. I remembered switching off the oven and ....oh dear! Yes indeed there in the oven were the blackened remnants of my beef sausages! Now usable in some form of engineering or possibly as Royal Artillery shrapnel! As sustenance they failed badly.

I blame unemployment. If I had work that stimulated the mind instead of the dullness that has set in during the past few years I am sure this sort of thing would not occur! The work I have done has often been repetitive, even when enjoyable, but the brain needs stimulation. So far the greatest incentive comes from perusing other folks blogs. Surely that cannot be good enough!

Leith

The weather today was cold, very cold. The sky was dull gray and little white drops, not quite snow and yet not large enough to be sleet, slowly dropped from the sky. naturally one thing came to mind - Leith! let's face it, this is Leith weather!

I have many memories of Leith as in the fifties Saturday was Edinburgh's early closing day, Leith had their half day on Wednesday so Mum would do her shopping there. I went along. We could get the bus straight down the road into the dark four storey buildings of Junction Street. At that time the Kirkgate was a dingy old street awaiting redevelopment. The new breed of hope filled architects were desperate to remove the slum housing and give the people decent accommodation. In the rush many decent homes were created, and I benefited from a 'Miller' built stair for one, but alas too many nice we boxes were built without understanding the people who would inhabit them. Now we realise, too late, that renovation was better for such places. While the old Kirkgate was decrepit the New Kirkgate, with its shopping centre and small tower block, may be approved by the health and safety people but it has no character! The populace were of course proud Leithers not Edinburgh folk by the way. Leith remained a separate burgh until 1926.

I began work there in 1966 as a fifteen year old office boy, or 'useless idiot' as the straight talking folk there would say. This I have to say is a talent I have developed so well I may ask for an Arts Council Grant and make my fortune! I began my career as a failure in a whisky bond, one of many that were then found in Leith. These were dour 'Calvinist' faced places, constructed of large stone blocks,with iron bars in every window, locked doors, wooden floors and stairs, very much products of the nineteenth century. These buildings were filled with whisky in vats, Hogshead barrels, and thousands of bottles stored in cases floor upon floor. With the cardboard for the boxes to add to the congested area it is easy to see how these places were death traps.

Our bond was smaller than the one shown in the picture, but the idea was the same. Most bottled the whisky on the premises as we did, some blended it also. Our goods were destined for South Africa, the USA and to anyone with the cash to pay! Distillers are not prejudiced where money is concerned. The death trap is sadly a truth. In 1960 a large bonded warehouse in Glasgow caught fire and resulted in the deaths of nineteen firemen! The firemen just up the road from us had this thought in their minds constantly I reckon.

Of course some things helped remind them of the dangers of their job and our building. Now one of my jobs at that time was testing the fire alarms. This entailed phoning MacDonald Road Fire Station and letting them know I was about to run the test. "Aye right son," would come a somewhat tired voice, and then I would open the box and pull all the buttons out. "OK, right son!" the voice would say, and that was that. One day, not long after other firemen died during the course of their duty, I opened the alarm box at the right time, pulled several bell levers and stopped. I had forgotten to ring the firemen! I rang. This time there was no tired voice, just a man standing up and saying, in an alert and 'just in control of his words' voice, "Don't do that again son!"
I didn't!

The warehouses as you can see have all been developed into overpriced flats. The typical Leith folk have been edged out and a new, trendy type, is now found taking drugs in the pubs and the new cafe's and bars that have sprung up. I doubt however they will have many sitting outside today! The old public houses where workers, sailors and some extremely rough types, and I mean rough, used to carouse now are meeting places for 'Rory' and his friends. I think myself I preferred the chaps just of the ships!

The picture by the way (© 2003 Edinburgh-Scotland.net) comes from this excellent site!
I recommend a look if you wish to visit Edinburgh one day. http://www.edinburgh-scotland.net

Radio 3

Well my new year started in the normal manner. Within three minutes I had received my first spam e-mail! (You signed up for this on Dec 14th - Oh no I didn't!). Two days in and around twenty more have arrived. Once again one entered the fray as I was reading the proper e-mail, s meaning they too know the address is live and more will follow. Anyone for a 'replica watch' out there? The weather is dreich, damp but until this morning it has been mild. Naturally, as I consider walking the streets looking for dropped coins, the temperature has fallen. Even the birdies have put scarves on and are gathering around any branch where the sun alights. Contact with Edinburgh has been limited as some up there have indulged in high frolics on Hogmany and have been paying the price. My sensitive, caring cries of "I told you so!" appear to cause some resentment. Hee hee!

However I have once again discovered the joys of Radio 3, and in particular 'Late Junction.'
This is a programme described as 'A laid-back, eclectic mix of music from across the globe.' It is indeed! Using the 'Listen Again' button I let this run as I misspell my words, thus entertaining my mind if not yours. Fiona Talkington and Verity Sharp present in a suitably laid back manner, and I tell you I am jealous as I would love a job like theirs. Especially as it only runs three days a week! Radio 3 has understandably been given a reputation for musical snobbery! A reputation it thoroughly deserves. Clearly many associated with 3 do think of themselves as above the normal run of the mill music world, and indeed the world in general when it comes to that. This however is not because of the music, but because they themselves are snobs and justify their existence by looking down on others. Poor sad, deluded folks. They kid only themselves. Mind you anyone who looks down on the output of Radio 1 or the BBC in general can be considered a snob if they prefer quality to pap. As I said before, and only the Daily Mail's, female, Tory readership could disagree, when the Conservative party insisted in the 80's that the 'Left Leaning BBC' was made to pay its own way a 'dumbing down' was obvious. I hope they are happy!

Radio three has many good points, the news, which comes rarely, is read without the needless emotion that is seen everywhere else. Just why newsreader need to slant stories like the tabloid press is beyond me, facts are enough as those listening are not stupid. If programmers treated the audience as somewhat intelligent rather than regarding them as Orcs all programmes would surely improve! 3 does not dumb down,well, not in any obvious way,although it caters for its own audience and their self opinion! The presenters in general tend to be laid back and knowledgeable, the talk programmes rare, but often enlightening, and if they decided to cut out all female opera singers the programming would be near perfect. If I want a screeching woman I can soon find one.

If you too have an 'eclectic' ear, if you want something more mind stretching than the mind sapping inconsequential 'pap' that fills the airways these days I suggest giving Radio 3, and 'Late Junction' in particular a try. In truth you do not need to be a snob to listen in, there are many in the residuum alongside me who listen regularly, with their ear pressed up against the gramophone in case the Gestapo discover them. It is a must to wash your hands before listening however, for decorum's sake.

Happy New Year!

May I take this opportunity to say
All the Best to You and Yours
for 2008


May Yahweh bless you and keep you,
Yahweh make his face to shine on you,
And be gracious to you,
Yahweh lift up his face toward you,
And give you peace.

Fashion

I was thinking today about my desperate desire to obtain the purple corduroy, safari jacket that once meant so much to me. I wished to add it to the maroon cords that I wore in days gone by. It seemed just right at the time. However I could never afford the £5:10/- that the jacket would cost. My hopes were dashed as I was only earning £7 at the most in those days. I yearned for years for that jacket, and sometimes, while howling at the moon I still do. A decent jacket is the only item of clothing that really matters to a man, and once he has the right jacket, with the right number of pockets (and why oh why is there never TWO inside pockets in a jacket), life is perfect. Men who fuss about other items of apparel are either under thirty, worried about getting old, or just very sad. The desire to appeal to the fashion conscious of today has long since slipped my memory, as anyone who meets me can tell. Some appear willing to go out of their way to indicate this!

I was listening to Joe Caulfield's show from last night, and very funny she is too, but it was interesting how she, and the women in the audience, thought the number of comments about fashion and relationships were funny! Joe often makes humour out of women's fascination with clothes! I mean, how can you find so many jokes about getting ready to go out? All you do is get ready, but no, a woman has to go to a friends, and get dressed there. No man would even think of this! Relationships, yes OK in their place, but don't go on about it. Some years ago a lass I worked with displayed the girls attitude to clothes well. Her man pointed out he had two pair of trousers, a jacket and a suit. She had three wardrobes! When the kids came along this lessened, but then the girls developed the same habit. He never changed, and probably still has the suit!

Anyway, 2007 has not provided me with much, and I cannot even fond the cord these days! I did eventually find some, not quite the same 'jeans' design, and costing £34! However M & S appear to have the correct thing. I bet they are expensive! I think it is time to wander round the charity shops again.

The Honours List

The Queens New Years Honours list has come out. Once again I have been ignored, in spite of many letters in support of my application. No knighthood once again it seems, and after all that effort I put in and those stamps cost me a packet! I must make clear to the younger generation that the 'Queen' mentioned, is in fact the English queen, Queen Liz, not the plastic pop group full off nancy boys called 'Queen.' They do not give out honours, well, not to me anyway so they have something in common with her. I think I should point out to the historically unaware that Queen Liz II is of course queen only of England although they use the term 'Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. That term of course reflects the inherent racism at the heart of the UK. Scotland, as you must surely know, has never had a Queen Elizabeth, only England and it's junior partner Wales have that distinction. This fact does not stop the English from demanding we bow down and become part of Englandshire, and they know only to well what they can do with that idea!

Each New Year this Queen, through her ministers, announces the names of those honoured by her. She, according to the unwritten constitution (a very good idea in my view) has little if anything to do with the names put forward for selection. I believe she is made aware of the awards, and indeed does hand out several special awards by herself, but while she may or may not agree with the names her views are subject to the will of the government of the day. Lucky her! Her job is too stand for several hours at a time, pinning medals on some, touching the shoulders of the lucky new knights on occasion, and dreaming all the while of her day out at Ascot when she can actually enjoy herself. She always manages to keep her own opinion of the recipients to herself, quite a good idea when holding a sword in ones hand I would say.

Now the honours system is a good idea to me. Any nation ought to publicly acknowledge the hard work and diligence, the acts of bravery and the commitment to help others that comprise most nations. From top to bottom there are individuals who indeed deserve awards and recognition. What a shame then that those who are awarded all too often appear uninspiring.
This year Michael Parkinson, who has made his name allowing 'B' celebrities from all over the western world to bore the pants of the intelligent among us, has received a knighthood. Could this be a way of thanking him for retiring and getting his programme full of nonentities off the screen? Sadly I fear not. Kylie Minogue, a one time 'soap star' and now mediocre singer, has been awarded an OBE, why? Possibly because she is popular and this appeals to the younger generation, well men in their thirties actually! That, popularity, alas is today the real reason for awards. They are given less for talent and endeavour than to appeal to the mass market. Give the public what they want by awarding their favourites and appear to be reacting to the popular mood. That's the thing!

Once again Sir Ian McKellen is awarded, for services to the homosexual Mafia perhaps? It seems to be all he talks about, I cannot see it being for his undoubted acting talents as he has already been knighted for that. If indeed he was knighted for that reason. The token English sporting failures are awarded, Jason Robinson for failing to succeed as England captain this year, and the coach, both are rewarded for keeping up the standard. No doubt some token Scot will be found to present a lesser award. Not that there is bias here of course, although Denis Law has never been made a Knight, and Jock Stein was refused one in 67! Alf Ramsey, the sour England manager, received a knighthood gratefully for cheating in 1966, Law is unrewarded still.

I am however much in favour of Lollipop Ladies and charity workers, those unknown folks who care for the sick and lonely, those who work away for years keeping the world turning getting an award of some kind. Whether an OBE or a CBE or indeed any kind of honour matters not. What does matter is that the nation respects the actions of each and every one of us. Wherever we are, whatever level of society we exist at, whether rich or poor,those who ought to e rewarded and recognised as having done something worth commending need to be rewarded openly. This is good for our society. The only question to be asked, and it is a fair one, is this the correct way to do it? In spite of changes in the manner in which these awards are offered there is still the feeling that some receive honour simply for being in the right place. Which I suppose, is why I have never been able to turn one down.

'The Might That Was Assyria' by H.W.F.Saggs.

A short while ago I wandered into the library section of this dingy abode and searched the many bookshelves lining the wall in a suitable manner to hide the cracks. Many leather bound volumes gleamed in the dim candlelight, first editions gathered dust here and there, library books that should have been returned when the Tories were in power sat guiltily on an old desk and strategically placed under the shaky table leg I found 'The Might That Was Assyria!'
This excellent book I purchased from the 'Al Saqi Bookshop ' in Westbourne Grove around 1990, but whether the bookshop has survived as well as the book has I cannot tell. Recently I decided to have another wander through the book and I am glad I did. If you desire an easy to read, very informative introduction to the Assyrians this is the book for you. Beginning with the geography of the region, and then describing the earliest agricultural settlements, around 9000 BC, Saggs, in an easy to read narrative, brings us through the rise and fall of the Assyrian Empire. From the vassaldom under Mittanni the growth of independence, then the inevitable domination of the region, we see human nature in action. Saggs has a terrible time excusing the empire building of the nation he very much admires. He claims their expansion was merely a result of ensuring their own borders, which on occasion meant raids into neighbouring lands. At times these 'raids' led them to the Mediterranean and eventually into Egypt and to possess the greatest empire known at that time!

Poor old Saggs does not want to refer to the bible. The prophets in Jerusalem had a terrible habit of putting the Assyrians down, and tend to consider them bad. However, Mr Saggs has to refer to these prophets and their writings to back up his arguments regarding his boys. How he must have hated that! Of course the most common reference to the Assyrians in the bible is when they did venture right up to the gates of Jerusalem under Sennacharib and were forced to flee, although our friend Saggs claims this was because of a Babylonian uprising, not Gods intervention. Some of us can testify that every day events are often just the way God does intervene in his world. It is amazing how coincidence happens when you pray!

Sennacherib was an efficient king, his rebuilding of Nineveh and his other construction works were extensive and he clearly was a leader of men. His name reflects one of the sad notes of his time, the death in childbirth of so many young, it means 'The god Sin has replaced the brothers,' pronounced, 'Sin-ahhe-eriba,' or 'Sennacharib' to us. The brothers clearly were those who died in childbirth, even the royal house suffered like the rest. Ashurbanipal was, as well as an imperialist, a man who collected manuscripts. These were usually the clay tablets covered in cuneiform script but also material written on other material, sometimes in other languages. His concern mostly being with the supernatural. When you are aware that life can change for the worst at any moment it is wise to attempt to read the future. Omens abounded in the kings library, showing his thin hold on power, and the fragility of life in Mesopotamia.

After taking us to the end of the Assyrians, the Babylonians took their place as the major power for a short while, Saggs then gives details of the religion, medicine and army organisation etc of this once great empire. His bias towards them ensures he manages to explain away their savagery to those who opposed them. 'Just to punish the rebels' is the idea he puts forward, although being skinned alive is one way to punish I suppose.
However the one thing that stuck in my mind was the fact that the Assyrians were just like us! In the UK we only know them via the Old Testament where they are denounced and clearly feared. So disliked were they that Jonah, when ordered to tell them to change their ways or else, would not go because he knew YHWH would forgive them if they did repent! That did not please our Jonah. However, here we see them as people, just muddling through as best they can, just like us! They had their wars of 'freedom' and then their empire, their kings lording it over them, and occasionally the people rebelled, most of course having little option in their choice of life had to take the best out of what was on offer, many good times were had, just as there were bad times. People, in spite of the 'culture' or the time in which they exist, are all just the same in the end.
'We are all Jock Tamson's bairns.'

This book is worth a read as it enables us to understand ourselves as well as the OT. One day, when rich, I will seek out his 'The Greatness That was Babylon.'

Pakistan

Well done Pakistan!
Just what the nation needs, another dead political leader!
Now what for that nation? The planned elections in January must be delayed, a new leader for her party must be found, and nothing but instability dominates.
Who benefits from this? Bhutto had many enemies and it may never be known who sent in this 'suicide bomber.' I say bomber, but latest reports talk of bullet wounds to the neck. No doubt information will change in these early moments. However, somebody planned this,somebody was willing to kill and wound several hundred Pakistani people, somebody obviously thought this worth it. I hope they are satisfied.
Blame will be passed around from side to side now. Riots will take place, assaults and deaths will follow, but will it change Pakistan for the better? Will the people benefit? I doubt it somehow. The people will continue living their lives, being used and abused, both by politicians and a wide variety of dissident groups.
Some things never change, Jesus still weeps.

Heart of Midlothian 0 St Mirren 1

Losing to Inverness Caley was a disgrace. Losing at home to a St Mirren side not fit to grace the Premier League can only be described as a disaster! We not sit third bottom of the SPL! Third bottom in the season you claimed we would win the European Champions League! Third bottom, just one point ahead of St Mirren, a team full of fight, and only ten ahead of bottom placed Gretna. Looks good doesn't it Vlad? Just what is to happen now? Have these Lithuanian numpties got no idea just what this football club represents? Does the chairman think that winning(how exactly?) a televised dance competition is more important that making this club what it ought to be? If he does not, I am more than willing to remove the ignorance from him!
Today, even the best players cannot pass the ball, the rest just stand and look. It is not enough Vlad to employ people who you can trust, they need to be able to do the job! This your men are clearly not able to do! However, it is clear that while these men, those silent men who never face the press, while these men could be replaced by a proper manager that has man management ability and tactical nous, too many players have either lost their ability or are just not up to this level of football. That however must be obvious even to you Vlad! I am just glad that we no longer play Hibernian on New Years Day. In spite of their problems they would just murder us, and how could the fans cope with that?

First person to say "Rejoice! 'Tis is the season of goodwill." Gets it!

Christmas Day 2007

For those producing TV programmes and adverts, Christmas cards and the like, Christmas scenes must always be dominated by snow! This annoying tendency has no substance whatsoever, unless these overpaid creatures are based in Norway! However, Christmas Day 2007 starts the way they so often do, gray skies and pouring with rain! Possibly this fails to sell products, and telly shows set in a rain drenched mist fail to cheer the fat potato loafers watching.
The telly itself sets yet another standard for failing to satisfy! Of course few people are actually watching the thing, especially early in the day. Kids are breaking most of the precious gifts, several bones and a TV or two by now. Families are arguing about the time for dinner, someone is grumbling about the gift they did, or did not, receive, and uncle Billy is already half way through the bottle of Sainsburys Cognac and looking for his first fight of the day!
Soap operas, cartoons and repeats of the usual Christmas films dominate the screen. I am so glad UKTV History has done the decent thing and is giving us an all day presentation of the excellent 'World at War' series! Just the sort of thing we need on Christmas day! Well I like it, and it is better than any of the other rubbish!
There was the token 'Christian Service,' as always from one of those English Cathedral things. Lovely buildings but hopeless in producing worship. Men in robes following a formal liturgy, a congregation happy to be seen on telly on Christmas day, well prepared choirs singing their hearts out, children reading prayers others have written. But is it worship? Not to me it isn't, and I find it hard to take. While there needs to be control and organisation during a service, this formality hinders rather than helps worship. No doubt those leading were believers, but how many attending really cared? Many turn up at Christmas but never return. Too often this type of church service bores people to death and turns them away from the life Jesus offers.
But I have to laugh when they offer one another 'The Peace.' Hands are shaken and 'blessings' passed on in an embarrassed manner between people who do not know each other. One Anglican church I knew used to have a 'Kiss of peace' until the vicar became aware of one couple being just a bit too-too peaceful. It was handshakes from then on....

It is however better to give than to receive. I have been given things today by the family and am left guilt ridden by my inability to give to them the things I wish to give. I prefer to be the one giving to them rather than taking from them, it just doesn't seem right! So I sit here with my new books, including 'Hearts Greatest Ever Season,' and 'Baminals,' a gift from the youngest great niece - she understands me, and full of guilt look forward to my lamb lunch.
The lamb is not so pleased I must say!

How 'BT' must enjoy this day! The calls that will be made to family or friends,if you can work out where they actually are what with folks running round those who 'must' be visited, and the length of time spent listening to the young ones blethering, for hours, about the loot they have acquired. Old folks will talk for ever, just because nobody listens most of the rest of the time, and half the time will not hear a word spoken because of the deafness. Some folks will even consider Jesus and read about him, some will just find an emptiness afterwards, an emptiness that comes when the obtaining gift like we did as a child no longer holds the same meaning, and we are left wondering what the point of it was. Especially those who suffer breakup, divorce or heartache. For folks who are down Christmas hits them hardest, because we are all supposed to be merry and having fun, aren't we? Time for them to realise why we have Christmas in the first place.

Hmmm, how long does a lamb need to burn before it is cooked? Does that blue haze over the cooker usually occur? Oops, must dash, the fire alarm is going off....

Age!

So last night I put the chicken in the oven. "Two hours should do it," I says to myself as I withdrew the Imitation Peshwari nan from the top shelf. I then happily stuffed my fat face with the aforesaid nan and cheese. I live well here!

Today I decided to clean up the PC, hopefully not repeating the mistake of the other day when I deleted the connection with the CD which, by the way is still defunct! So I press 'Start' then press the appropriate button.Or at least I thought I did,but suddenly this broken, secondhand, laptop was switching off! I had automatically pressed the 'Shut down' button. What seems like an age later I had finished the start up process and promptly forgot what it was I had been intending to do in the first place. I remember now, but maybe I will leave that for another time.....

I have however attempted to put another nan into the oven, but failed. The reason? Some fool had left a chicken in there all night,uncooked. The said fool had taken the Peshwari nan out the oven, turned it off, and forgotten the chicken was inside. What a life for that chicken. Maybe she was free range, maybe she saw some daylight, although with all the bird flu scares I doubt that. Passing through a factory complex, she is killed, defeathered and trussed up like a...well, turkey! reduced in price to help Tesco increase her profits, she ends up, cold, bare and lonely in an oven that last saw cleaning fluid in 1996! Why did the chicken cross the road, I can guess she had foreknowledge and wanted a better life!

Heart of Midlothian 2 Inverness Caley Thistle 3

I've not calmed down yet!
How this club can allow the situation to continue is beyond me. Owned by a self made man who cannot trust anyone to do their job. Run by lackeys who's jobs depend on him. Coached by a man who has put his mortgage before the club! Players know those chosen for the side are not there on merit, but on the whim of a distant owner, so motivation dies.
Fans are reaching the end of their patience, and now this!

Inverness Caley are a team with a new manager and a new heart. A competent hard working side who play to their strengths. It is hard to believe even their best players earn anything like the cash available at Tynecastle. Yet they work harder, have more will to win, and beat us! Certainly we came back from two down and equalised, but we should never be in that position! While Frail chats to the press, more for his publicity than the clubs needs, we implode once more and are now ninth! Yes Ninth in the league! A league we should be challenging to win, and here we are in danger of relegation!

Angry? Yes! Frustrated that there is nothing I can do for my club!

Now this is strange, because when all is said and done it is only a game! But football clubs get into your life. It is easier to change your wife than a football club, although they both treat you the same! With contempt! I was so angry at them all yesterday, Frail especially. It is all right standing there holding your knees pal, get of them and tell Vlad to bring in a proper manager and run the team the way it ought to be done! if you lose your job so what? We are losing a club, and you will soon find another job, you have been fronting the press with that in mind for a while now!

Ridiculous. it is only a football team. Why does it mean so much? I mean I am four hundred miles away, I only ever see them through the PC, and that usually in highlight form. Yet I allow this to be more important than anything else. When they win I am happy but it does not rule my life. When they lose it is a pain, when the club is being destroyed by someone who does not understand what it means it is frustrating and makes me mad, and I need no help there thank you very much! Jesus never suffered this problem, although in his day the fans of chariot racing divided into the 'Blues' and the 'Greens,' would you believe, and support their star drivers. Rioting only when necessary of course. The attitude was there if not the football. How strange we are, getting upset over a game.........

Christmas Songs for the Unfortunate

1. Schizophrenia - Do You Hear What I Hear?

2. Multiple Personality Disorder - We Three Kings Disoriented Are.

3. Dementia - I Think I'll be Home For Christmas.

4. Narcissistic - Hark The Herald Angels Sing About Me.

5. Manic - Deck The Halls And Walls And House And Lawn And Stores And Office And Town And Cars And Buses And Trucks And Trees And...

6. Paranoid - Santa Clause Is Coming To Town To Get Me.

7. Borderline Personality Disorder - Thoughts Of Roasting On An Open Fire.

8. Personality Disorder - You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why.

9. Attention Deficit Disorder - Silent Night, Holy Oooh Look At The Froggy, Can I Have A Chocolate, Why Is France So Far Away.

10. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder - Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells.........

William Topaz McGonagall

Time for culture I think. Culture with a capital 'K' at that! I refer of course to what Spike Milligan called that great "Poet, tragedian and twit," William Topaz McGonagall! This man has become one of Scotland's most famous sons.
Not because of his great talent, indeed his fame comes from the lack of them!
William was born of Irish parents in Edinburgh sometime between 1825 and 1830, depending on who you believe. His family eventually settled in Dundee and although he had some education, most of Wullie's time was spent as a hand loom weaver. He claimed that in 1877 he discovered
the 'muse' had come upon him and he was a poet. He had already tried out the acting in 'Macbeth.' From this moment on he began a life as a poet, travelling around performing in pubs and halls wherever he was welcome. He was always welcomed, for while he perceived himself to be a poet the audience perceived him to be a 'Bam!' It became the thing to invite him to give a reading just so the motley crew gathered there could ridicule him, sometimes in the most violent manner. Abused and assaulted, pelted with rotten veg and other vile armoury he continued nonetheless to believe in himself and his abilities as a poet. All this, in spite of the reality! On one occasion he walked fifty miles to Balmoral to see Queen Victoria in person. The police constable at the gate turned him away in a fashion that would not occur in these politically correct days. It was also strongly emphasised that he should not return! Over two hundred poems were published during his twenty five year long literary career, a career which even took him to New York at one stage, but he was quickly on the boat home again.
Did he realise he was a joke to the world, and therefore play to them as this was his only means of income? Some would say so. Sadly it appears he may well have considered himself equal to Burns and other famous bards. His poetry has however remained popular, mostly because it is awful! Because of this he has become one of Scotland's most loved, and quoted poets. Not however in the higher echelons of Scots poetic society! Maybe had he read Burns a little closer he would have considered more the line "To see ourselves as others see us," and gone back to the weaving. It would have been our loss mind if he had!

William wrote this when the Tay bridge was opened in September 1878:-

The Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay

BEAUTIFUL Railway Bridge of the Silvery Tay !
With your numerous arches and pillars in so grand array
And your central girders, which seem to the eye
To be almost towering to the sky.
The greatest wonder of the day,
And a great beautification to the River Tay,
Most beautiful to be seen,
Near by Dundee and the Magdalen Green.

Sadly this bridge was struck by a gale on the night of the 28th December 1879, and the design faults and construction failures led to a weakening of the central girders. As the Edinburgh train reached the 'High Girders' the weight and the gale combined to bring the edifice crashing down into the Tay. The Tay is wide at this point and is renowned as carrying the largest volume of water in the UK. There were no survivors. The engine was eventually lifted from the depths and went back into use until 1908. With typical Scots black humour it became known as 'The Diver.'

Once again William Topaz McGonagall found reason to write, and produced what has become his most quoted poem. It gives an excellent example of his style, if that is the word, and surely leaves a desire with all readers for more!

The Tay Bridge Disaster

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."

When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."

But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.

So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.


Those who wish to learn more about this great man, and surely you want to, can find his poems at 'McGonagall Online.'
Well worth a browse over the Christmas period.

News Reporting

Funny how news is reported. A train crash in Pakistan gets little mention in our press, even though around fifty people are dead and almost two hundred injured. It is not important because it happened far away, and anyway Pakistan is where all the terrorists are to be found is it not? None of our folks are involved so who cares?
Some years ago a daily tabloid reported an avalanche in the French Alps which killed several and injured dozens under the headline 'Two Britons Safe!' But the short story only mentioned the dead at the end.
When Glen Hoddle was manager of England the Bishops Stortford local paper referred to him in one story, not as the England manager, but as, '...Glen Hoddle, who used to own a sports shop in the High Street...' Now I am not saying some folks are a bit introspective but.....
I did notice that apart from a passing reference nobody has bothered about the train crash, 'hands free' driving and government slackness counts for more.

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Nothing to do with Arbroath is one of those blogs that leave you wondering whether what you read is funny or sad. A collection of weird and wonderful stories from around the world. The stories often appear crude, but not for the sake of it, and do show us the strange, sad experiences of folk worldwide. This is one of those blogs you must look at and see what you make of it. Some of it is hilarious, but isn't that the way when others get into trouble!

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As one or two of you will read this at what you call 'work,' I have come across this little game to fill in the time before you have a break. It is a simple Paper Aeroplane game, which most of my more intelligent readers will already have discovered. There should be a health and safety warning about that fan, it's dangerous!

Magna Carta

The Magna Carta was a document drawn up in 1213 by the then Archbishop of Canterbury , one Stephen Langton. His intention was probably to secure his church from attacks by King John rather than purely humanitarian or democratic ideals. The barons of the day, sick of Johns demands for money and failed foreign policies, supported his intentions and forced John to agree to limit his powers and sign the document at Runnymede. This document was revised on occasion and for some time considered irrelevant. Later parliamentarians rediscovered the ideals contained therein and brought it back to prominence - for their own sake. True humanitarian gestures are rare, and the nobles who signed the original were in no hurry to let their vassals force them into similar gestures! In Cromwell's day his middle class landowner attitudes affected his understanding of democracy also.

The Magna Carta is seen by some as the first statement of democracy, no matter how limited. But it was not the only such statement of freedoms in those distant days. In 1320 The Scots nobles, no doubt aware of Magna Carta also made clear their free state in the Declaration of Arbroath. Although how many of the common people knew, or cared, about this is unclear.

Whether the French understood the principles in Magna Carta or not, they did have themselves a revolution in the eighteenth century which some like to see as walking in the same footsteps. This in turn is seen as the precursor of the American Declaration of Independence in 1776. The American dream is in many hearts based on the Pilgrim fathers and the Declaration of Independence, Life, Liberty and filling your pockets with cash! The idea of bullying other nations and invading them when it takes your fancy appears to be an 'add on.' The Yanks were of course to busy killing Indians, oops sorry, 'Native Americans,' after they found their freedom and taking their land, or ensuring black men, oops 'African Americans,' stayed as slaves, to bother about other nations. Once of course they had grabbed all they could and released the slaves, and kept the 'Jim Crow' laws, they cleared the Spanish out of the Philippine's and then grabbed it for themselves. It takes more than a document or two and a 'myth' of a nation to bring freedom.

However, the Americans do look to the Magna Carta with admiration as the basis on which their nation is founded. Those that have not been spending their time drinking Coca Cola or shooting one another have of course been worshipping at the throne of Mammon! As such one chap has spent £10.6 million (that's $21.32 to you) on the only copy in private hands. It had belonged to Ross Perot the one time presidential candidate, and you will be pleased to hear, now is in ownership by David Rubinstein, whoever he is!

This leaves me wondering, what would you spend £10.6 million on? A rare important document, or something substantial? I like things. I like expensive things that are worth the money, but for a document that you cannot touch because of its age, not keep in the house because of its value, not do anything with except say,"Hey. it's mine!" No thanks. Stick it in a museum and let the folks see it. Tell the kids its history, even if they are bored, but spend your money on something useful. Perot will use the money on wounded veterans and medical research, which sounds more useful. I wonder what Rubinstein does with the rest of his cash?

Bloggers Unite

Bloggers Unite to do something good today!

So I have decided to do something good for all my friends, relatives and associates. In fact the whole wide world!
I am going to leave them alone!

That usually puts a smile on their faces.

How to be an Idiot. No. 65

This lesson in idiocy is a simple one.

First decide there is too much 'stuff' on the PC, and then remove it.
Use all the usual tools, 'Ad-Aware,' 'AVG' and the like, then progress to a little function called 'Find Junk Files.' A useful tool for removing dead links and,would you believe, junk files.
Simply run these programmes and delete.
Easy.

The important thing of course, especially with the 'Find Junk Files' operation, is to fail to check just what exactly is being deleted! It is clearly displayed in front of you, and a check is recommended, but of course you need not bother because, 'They are all junk surely?' is the grand attitude!
At least that as my attitude.

Now the CD Rom will not play, the 'My Documents' and 'My Pictures,' files will open but fail to display, and I await with trepidation whatever else will malfunction during the course of the day.