Welsh Farmer

A Welsh farmer is overseeing his animals in a remote part of the Country

when suddenly a brand-new BMW advances out of a dust cloud towards him. The

driver, a young man in a designer suit, Gucci shoes, Ray Ban sunglasses and

YSL tie, leans out the window and asks the farmer, 'If I tell you exactly

how many cows and calves you have in your herd, will you give me a calf?'

The Farmer looks at the man, obviously a yuppie, then looks at his

peacefully grazing herd and calmly answers, 'Reet, why not?'

The yuppie parks his car, whips out his Dell notebook computer, connects it

to his Cingular RAZR V3 cell phone, and surfs to a NASA page on the

Internet, where he calls up a GPS satellite navigation system to get an

exact fix on his location which he then feeds to another NASA satellite that

scans the area in an ultra-high-resolution photo. The young man then opens

the digital photo in Adobe Photoshop and exports it to an image processing

facility in Hamburg , Germany .

Within seconds, he receives an email on his Palm Pilot that the image has

been processed and the data stored. He then accesses a MS-SQL database

through an ODBC connected Excel Spreadsheet with email on his Blackberry

and, after a few minutes, receives a response. Finally, he prints out a

full-color, 150-page report on his hi-tech, miniaturized HP LaserJet printer

and finally turns to the farmer and says, 'You have exactly 1,586 cows and

calves.'

'Wow That's right. Well, I guess you can take one of my calves,' says the

Farmer.

He watches the young man select one of the animals and looks on amused as

the young man stuffs it into the boot of his car.

Then the farmer says to the young man, 'Listen! if I can tell you exactly

what your business is, will you give me back my calf?'

The young man thinks about it for a second and then says, 'Okay, why not?'

'You work for the British Government', says the farmer.

'Wow! That's correct,' says the yuppie, 'but how did you guess that?'

'No guessing required.' answered the farmer.

'You showed up here even though nobody called you;

you want to get paid for an answer I already knew, to a question I never asked.

You used all kinds of expensive equipment that clearly somebody else paid for,

you tried to show me how much smarter than me you are;

and you don't know a thing about cows ....... this is a herd of sheep.

Now give me my dog back.

A Wall

I have nothing to say. This is unfortunate as my fingers have got into the habit of bouncing across the keyboard, in no organised order, and keep doing so even if there is nothing to post, not e-mails to write and no begging letters to invent. so here is a picture of a wall.

I like this wall. In fact, since that Bolton steeplejack and his travels around British heritage, that is the industry of the past, mostly Victorian, I have been fascinated by brickwork. The Victorian brickie must never had a day off work! Buildings by the thousand were built as cities expanded, bridges for the railways, factories and countless work projects by government and local councils gave an opportunity to work anywhere in the nation. This church wall for instance is red brick, (and how many red bricks were used in the south of England?) with darker bricks used to create a simple pattern. Rail bridges nearby were built at awkward angles and the brickwork bends as the bridge crosses the line, and in many homes delicate towers and pillars are built in to the building as attractive pattern or to fit into awkward corners. The skill of the brickie from the past is without equal, today the brickie has a simple job as cost does not allow for the exhibition brickwork of the past. The brickie in late Victorian Britain got into the habit of joining with others for protection and help. All artisns did the same, paying sixpence or so a week into a fund, and when sick enabled to withdraw a few shilings a week to keep alive. Usually such gatherings occured in public houses which often became known as the 'Bricklayers Arms.'

Company Christmas Party Arrangements

CHRISTMAS PARTY

FROM: Pauline, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: 1st November 2008
RE: Christmas Party
I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place
on December 23rd, starting at noon in the private function room at the Grill
House. There will be a cash bar and plenty of drinks! We'll have a small
band playing traditional carols...please feel free to sing along.

And don't be surprised if the MD shows up dressed as Santa Claus!

A Christmas tree will be lit at 1.00 p.m. Exchange of gifts among employees

can be done at that time; however, no gift should be over £10.00 to make the

giving of gifts easy for everyone's pockets. This gathering is only for employees!
The MD will make a special announcement at the Party.
Merry Christmas to you and your Family.
Pauline
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FROM: Pauline, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: 2nd November 2008
RE: Holiday Party
In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees.
We recognize that Hanukkah is an important holiday, which often coincides
with Christmas, though unfortunately not this year. However, from now on we're
calling it our 'Holiday Party'. The same policy applies to any other employees who

are not Christians. There will be no Christmas tree or Christmas carols sung.

We will have other types of music for your enjoyment.
Happy now?
Happy Holidays to you and your family.
Pauline.
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FROM; Pauline, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: 6th November 2008
RE: Holiday Party
Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous
requesting a non-drinking table...you didn't sign your name. I'm happy to
accommodate this request, but if I put a sign on a table that reads, "AA
Only", you wouldn't be anonymous anymore!!!! How am I supposed to handle
this? Somebody? Forget about the gift exchange, no gift exchange allowed now
since the Union Officials feel that £10.00 is too much money and Management
believe £10.00 is a little cheap.

NO GIFT EXCHANGE WILL BE ALLOWED.
Pauline.
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FROM: Pauline, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: 7th November 2008
RE: Holiday Party
What a diverse group we are! I had no idea that December 20th begins the
Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which forbids eating and drinking during
daylight hours. There goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a
luncheon at this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees'
beliefs, perhaps the Grill House can hold off on serving your meal until
the end of the party - or else package everything up for you to take home in a

little foil doggy bag. Will that work? Meanwhile, I've arranged for members
of Weight Watchers to sit farthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant
women will get the table closest to the toilets, Gays are allowed to sit
with each other, Lesbians do not have to sit with gay men, each will have
their own table. Yes, there will be flower arrangements for the gay men's
table too. To the person asking permission to cross dress - no cross
dressing allowed. We will have booster seats for short people. Low fat
food will be available for those on a diet. We cannot control the salt used in
the food we suggest those people with high blood pressure taste the food
first. There will be fresh fruits as dessert for Diabetics; the restaurant
cannot supply "No Sugar" desserts. Sorry! Did I miss anything?!?! ?!?!?!
Pauline.
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FROM: Pauline, Human Resources Director
TO: All F****** Employees
DATE: 8 November 2008
RE: The F******* Holiday Party.
Vegetarian pricks I've had it with you people !!! We're going to keep this
party at the Grill House whether you like it or not, so you can sit
quietly at the table furthest from the "grill of death", as you so quaintly put
it, you'll get your f****** salad bar, including organic tomatoes, But you
know tomatoes have feelings too, They scream when you slice them. I've heard
them scream. I'm hearing the scream right NOW!!

I hope you all have a rotten holiday, drink drive and die.

The Bitch from HELL!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!! !
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FROM: John, Acting Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: 9th November 2008
RE: Pauline Lewis and Holiday Party
I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Pauline a speedy recovery, and
I'll continue to forward your cards to her. In the meantime, the Management
has decided to cancel our Holiday Party and instead, give everyone the
afternoon of the 23rd December off with full pay.

John

How to be an Idiot, and repeat it.

So there I was the other day cutting the bread. It was a three day old loaf, and beginning to get a little stale. Having bought it because it was going cheap I tolerated its somewhat hard exterior quite happily. However while slicing away I inadvertently cut into my thumb. This I thought to myself was a mistake. I was right. There then followed an interesting experience of searching for an Elastoplast to stick over it. In the cupboard, the one with those red marks all over it, I found a box with a few ageing plasters there. With the cut being on my thumb as I attempted to open the paper in which the plaster was enclosed I discovered what disability means. These things cannot be opened with one hand, and the lack of a thumb makes life impossible! If you wonder if God exists or whether we evolved from monkeys question the thumb. Without a thumb we could do nothing, how lucky one evolved! After a short fight I won because my teeth are better than the paper and soon I was placing the plaster in such a manner as to keep my thumb together. Relief all round!

The next day I had been using a lot of water, in spite of the cost, for the monthly wash, and in the course of this the plaster went AWOL. However I found this could be beneficial as air is good for minor emergencies. (I know it is minor as that woman at the ambulance station would not send paramedics, and indeed could be said to have been somewhat rude about it!) During the day I had occasion to slice one of the onions I found after the market was closing the other day. Would you believe I caught the knife on the previous wound! Once again, but clearly practiced, I bled onto everything and reached for the plasters. However this time I had replaced the ageing plasters with a box of new ones from Tesco! This proved even harder to open! Bleeding profusely, it seemed to me, I used one hand, half a hand, and several teeth to attempt to prise the plaster free but it stuck to the paper! I thought maybe the paper was meant to be there, but no, it was mere spite on behalf of the (probably Chinese) maker!

I am reminded of this now as that plaster has just walked away from me and I am also reminded as to the reason I never made the attempt to become a nurse. I wonder if I can convince the NHS to send a nurse round to check me out? If they did this could be useful as she can do the ironing that has lain there for yonks at the same time. Well, she is a woman isn't she?

Things Folk Believe and Where it Comes From

I was looking at a picture of a family group. Well not exactly a group as they were nicely posed either side of a tree. Mum one side with one child, dad and second child coming out from behind the other side. This reminded me of a comment passed by someone in the family many years ago. A newly married couple were pictured leaving a church, but there was a large pillar between them. The comment concerned the 'fact' that they said "Couples posed like that means the marriage will not last!" This reminded me of a similar thought from a lass I once worked alongside. (In her case the word 'work' need not be taken literally). My colleague Mary and I were in our usual positions. I working away, Mary looking for her glasses which had once again disappeared under the pile of needless paper in front of her. The door flew open. Standing in the door the girls grumpy, and somewhat loud voice intoned, 'Mary! It's true what they say. It's in this magazine! If you have flowers in the room when pregnant your baby will be born with no sense of smell!" I forget her name, although I do remember her very attractive legs, as I also remember how Mary and I sat open mouthed, but not too surprised by this announcement.

Where the first comment came from I have no idea, but I have rarely seen a divorce caused by being photographed separately after marriage, but I can think of one or two other reasons. The second came from, or was confirmed by this magazine, whichever it was, and reveals just how important it is to get confirmation of opinions, especially from such a source. There are numerous daft opinions flowing around in our minds, I once believed the moon was made of cheese, but education and millions of US dollars have proved me wrong. However we have a terrible tendency to believe what is written, and when questioned will tell folks, "It said so in the paper" as if any paper available in the UK (or elsewhere) is holy writ. I can assure you they are not. What gets put into any paper is what sells, not what is fact, and what gets put into some women's magazines would appear to have little basis in fact. Myths are encouraged by senseless gossip and emotions used instead of brain power. Brain power which I realise is fading as it is well past my bedtime and I am off for my Cocoa.

Dysfunctional

This has been a bad week. Never have I felt so bad about, well most things. It's fair to say I just gave up on Saturday, rather like the Heart of Midlothian so often do! One of these weeks when there was no point in striving any more, nothing was worth the effort and all was going wrong. In fact nothing was going anywhere at all. Only one good moment shone out, managing, in very heavy rain, to drive around that town and the narrow streets without collecting any more old wifeys. Then it was back to nothingness, a kind of Nirvana but based on reality not empty philosophy. Things were so depressing I put my trust in the Lottery, several times, and thoughts of how to spend the cash filled my mind. However a quick check of houses with indoor swimming pools noted they started at around £495,000, so that went on the back burner. if I win I may have to move elsewhere. I did note the house next door to 'Arry Redknapp, down there in Swanage has been reduced in price to a mere £7,600,000. If I give it another couple of months it may be reduced again! However this remained one of those weeks when nothing tasted, rather like my 'Flanders Stew,' which for some reason this week appeared to have too much Castor oil contained within. At least it kept me on the move! We all go through bad times, sometimes caused by our stupidity, sometimes by illness, sometimes caused by others, but this was an interesting and unfortunate experience for me which arose suddenly last Saturday morning when I was out looking for fallen coins. Still, as is the way, some parts of this downturn were enjoyable, however harmful and wrong they may have been! Dysfunction, I find, is common when reality sinks, and when in such a mood, reality appears awfully close.

I have had little care in writing anything, which will please folks everywhere, and the football lost all interest for me. Having spent almost fifty years following the Hearts this ought to have happened long ago, however a cynicism is bred into Hearts men and this stopped that happening. Naturally at this time I had to explain to the dole folks what I was doing re finding work. "Nothing." I said cheerfully. "Right," said Gladys, "I will stop your payments." She then shuffled some papers and came back to me, "Forget that, It takes too long to fill out those forms." I like her, she has been around too long not to understand how life is for folks like me. She still gave me the usual 'handbagging' mind! Today I wake to a clearer mind and more rain belting down. Bang goes my exercise of walking up the old railway. I have spent the week lounging around, staring at the ceiling, stuffing myself with whatever came to hand, and now the weight has returned, so quickly! I walked around a lot yesterday in a vain effort to lose some, but Saturday brings out the dog walkers and the quite old line was crowded with families and dogs, even worse,with their children, the families, not the dogs.

I even thought about cycling up there again this morning, that is I thought about it again, not cycled again, if you see what I mean. I often think of doing things and for some unknown reason It never gets done. Nasty folks, families, friends, passersby, tend to use words like 'Laziness,' or 'Sloth,' or 'indolence,' but as I don't know what that means I will take it as a compliment,and go back to staring at the ceiling. It is indeed funny how folks often misinterpret what one says, at least they misinterpret and misunderstand my words and actions. If they understood me correctly she would never have called on her big brother that time would she? I didn't wait to see him. There is a strange phenomenon in that what I say, or write, is not what you hear or read! Ask any preacher or politician and they will confirm that folks hear what they want to hear, and misinterpret, often willingly, to their own advantage. We all do it, usually innocently. I am of course, positive that my readers will understand my words here without any confusion arising.

That's funny, there is a police car drawing up outside.....

Charmed I'm Sure

That constant pain in my sid....friend Mulled Madness, has presented this award to me, one who does not agree either with awards or with the 'Tag' that follows. In this case I need to present this to eight, yes eight (*) friends. Well I assure you that in all my twenty four years on this earth I have never had eight friends, unless you count the motley collection on that supporters bus we don't speak off. Friends may not be the word to use their, acquaintances may be preferable! However I add this to the others (I say humbly) I have received from others duped by my scrawls, and pass this to other charmers, whether they like it or not.

They naturally will detest this interruption of their happy lives, but can I make it clear that Mulled Madness is responsible. Feel free to pass on your complaints to him.

Scottish Diary, and their two charming ladies.
Mom's Crazy Life. For not being a crazy Mom at all.
Sicarii. Just to annoy him
As the Crackhead Crumbles. For the same reason.
The Bible Thumper, for returning to posting once again.
Crotchety, who is far from crotchety in my view.
Auld Reekie Rants, who for reasons I fail to understand has never received any awards.
Channel of Healing, for her sterling service.

And may God bless all who sail in these awards.....

The Thick Gray Mist in my Mind

My mind is dead. There are no words flowing from the dead centre of the little gray cells, and scouting through the many news networks reveals nothing of any note upon which to pontificate or rant. There is news of course, much of it banal or routine, and it is covered by all channels and being of little worth just makes the adverts a welcome relief. However I doubt I could be bothered wasting the keyboards time if it were not for my fingers desperation to write something. Before I switched the clunking PC on my fecund digits began typing words I had not yet thought off. I consider this somewhat worrying! This, to be honest, is considered worrying by others also, especially when the aforesaid digits began doing this in the dole office the other day. I got one or two strange looks I can tell you! However, had I still dwelt in the conurbation called 'London,' not one soul would have noticed, and if they did you would not have been able to tell they were aware of strange behaviour. That's the London way!

To enable some spark of intellectual endeavour I slurped, and spilled all down me when the phone rang suddenly, wrong number of course, coffee. This brightens the mind, encourages a more 'wakened' approach, and helped not a jot! It did mean another fleece for the wash however. I have always thought of coffee as an American drink. This is because 'Wagon Train,' and all those other cowboy programmes that lied to us about 'how the west was won.' TV cops, always in New York or San Francisco it seems to me, (don't they have crime in backwoods America?) always appeared to drink coffee, and for some reason none of them ever appear to finish the stuff. I imagine there are cleaning ladies picking up cups half full of dregs and muttering foul words in the direction of the users. Possibly being America they may just smile and mutter,'Have a good day ya'aall.' But I doubt it. However those Continental chaps, you know those ones who speak in unintelligible languages, like the French and Germans, they drink coffee. At quiet times, and in quiet area during the two wars, it was known that on occasion British troops have been known to swap 'Bully Beef (corned beef to you) for German 'Kafe,' along with the other delights their respective 'NAAFI's' had to offer. Whether such acts helped or hindered the war effort I am not sure. I wonder if coffee only really became popular here after the war when 'instant' coffee became available, and folks wages also began to increase. Now I believe we actually drink a little more coffee than tea. maybe that is why we are becoming more highly strung? I doubt we could live without 'Nescafe' these days. While some say the lessening of tax on tea powered the industrial revolution there is no doubt Britain would collapse if coffee was with held. Delirium Tremors throughout out the land would be the result, and 'Cold Turkey' would not just be for the days following Christmas!

Coffee failed me, and my mind remains dull and covered with a thin gray mist. I say thin as this shows how a clearing has appeared. It was a thick fog for the past few days and any effort of thought caused an ache which I wished to avoid in the manner I use to prevent myself being cornered by those who proffer collecting cans in my direction on the street. Now that reminds me of a story in tonight's 'Edinburgh Evening News.' (Now removed as it contained the picture which could interfere with any court case) Many shops sell the Red Poppies on behalf of the 'British Legion,' and several have been swiped from such shops. One enterprising shopkeeper has posted the picture from his CCTV camera in an effort to trace the two miserable swine who he reckons nicked the cash. Good for him I say! Not that I went into a shop to buy one mind. In fact the only things that I could write about through the dense mass that comprises my brain was concerning the Great War! This is because I have read a great deal about it, and TV has gone mad over it the past few days. Repeats of many programmes, most of which I have on video already (ask an old person re 'video' kids), and I am already ploughing through some 40 editions of a magazine which was produced in 1938 aimed at old soldiers. 'Twenty Years After' was written for those soldiers unable to take a trip back to the old battlefields, places none would ever forget, and 'then and now' pics were shown for comparison. Excellent stuff, but I cannot scribble about the war again, even if the brain is lifeless. So having nothing to say I will go and lie on the floor, stare at the ceiling and cogitate on the reasons for the dearth of words.

November 11th, 90 Years On

Ninety years ago today the Great War was brought to an end. Since the summer of 1914 the armies of most of Europe had bled one another to death. While to day we look back in horror and blame those we regard as responsible we tend to forget that the majority of the combatants went willingly, or with remarkably little encouragement. Conscription in the UK did not begin until well into 1916 and by then over two and a half million men had volunteered! Patriotism was high at that time and all nations followed the 'spirit of the air' at that time. The generals are blamed for the conditions in which the men fought, and Haig in particular is blamed for the deaths of 750,000 UK citizens, plus 250,000 from the Empire. The reason for that is simple, the politicians, and Lloyd George in particular, blamed the generals to escape blame themselves! Haig in fact wrote in 1909 that the coming war with Germany would be a war of attrition. he demanded an army of nearly one million men, by 1914 the British forces were not even half that number. The Germans, with a large standing army and a vast conscripted reserve force,also possessed a huge number of guns. and guns were needed in this war. Britain did not develop a large artillery until 1916. Nothing ever changes.

Sure it was an awful war, sure those who served never forgot the sights around them, sure it should never have happened, but it was always going to happen. Human nature being what it is a major war was inevitable. Ambition, greed, pride and stupidity come together to produce carnage, and it is not always the leaders who suffer. However in this war all did. generals and MPs suffered and died, as did their sons, Prime Minister Asquith lost a son, Ludendorff the great German leader lost his stepson near the end, and this almost unhinged him! The world, they say, is a different place after September 11th, it was a very different place after November 11th 1918. We benefit from the social changes of that time, and the inevitable following war twenty years later. We ought to appreciate those that endured in those days.

Refugees

The idea of 'Uniting for refugees' is a good one, although I doubt anybody in power will pay the slightest attention! Certainly recent fighting in the Democratic Congo has resulted in an avalanche of 'international action.' But will it last now this has gone from the news? Over the last few years some five million folk have been killed in the fighting there. That is more than the population of Scotland, yet do we care? It has hardly ever been mentioned in the media and the refugees in that vast land, with the largest rain forest after Brazil's, have been given less attention than those in Darfur, and they have once again gone from the headlines.

While we in the west sit in comfort, stuffing ourselves with unhealthy food and complaining we don't have all we want, but some in this world would be glad for what we throw away. I believe it was the United Nations which announced that nearly a thousand million people would be starving in this world this year, almost the population of India! Do we care? To be forced from home, lose all you have except what you can carry, suffer injury, rape, and possible death, are not things expected in the west these days. Refugees have not been seen here since 1945, and there were many millions then. Without the United States and its vast resources Europe would not have survived. Should we not care for those elsewhere in this position? Actually we had some refugees in the Balkans not so long ago, I almost forgot them! However there were less refugees than in the Congo, but only because so many just got shot!

The BBC have an excellent report on refugees world wide for those interested.

Tom Gracie

19024 Cpl Tom Gracie was a Glasgow born footballer. Born 1889 he became a meat salesman to trade but his footballing talent soon had him a place with Shawfield Juniors. From there he progressed to Strathclyde F.C. and then in 1907 he signed for Airdrieonians. A year later young Tam was moving to Greenock Morton and from there his talent impressed the large English club Everton while he was standing as a reserve for the England v Scotland game. He appeared to fail to make the breakthrough, so much so he went across the town, or is it park, to play for arch rivals Liverpool, now one of the giants in the game. At the end of season 1913/14 the Heart of Midlothian had a financial problem. The new stand was nearing completion and the club required money to pay for this, the only course was to sell, and the big name to leave was Percy Dawson! The high scoring forward joined Blackburn Rovers for £2500 and Hearts replaced him with Tom Gracie. Money being tight, somewhat like the directors, they found their man for a mere £400 at Liverpool! His 'scientific' football was too good for the Liverpool side,and he felt 'unappreciated there.' However Tom fitted in well with the Hearts players and in what was hoped to be a championship winning side he became Hearts record goal scorer with 29 league goals in season 1914/15. His total was 34 goals from 39 appearances, a bargain buy! His scoring skill earned him a international cap against the Irish league in 1915.

By November 1914 the early surge of enthusiasm for enlistment had began to fade a little. Returning wounded brought news of the reality of war but the energetic patriotism of those who were not able to enlist grew apace! There were many who frowned on those who played football while others died for their king and country just over the channel. Letters filled the pages from aged patriots desperate to enlist but unable because of, well anything that suited them really. Yet their delight in the war against the German impertinence did not diminish. Girls gave out white feathers in the streets to young men in civvies, other blatantly snubbed them, and all the while pressure built on the footballers going about their business. It takes about a year to train an army, yet many had enlisted yearning to fight immediately, others wished all available men to join them, and eventually this pressure told. Some Hearts men had already gone off to war. One or two were Territorial's or reservists, others had enlisted straight away, along with friends or family. Then Sir George McCrae decided to enquire if the Hearts men would join the battalion he was raising. After 'persuasion,' several did, others were soon to find a place elsewhere in the army.

Tom Gracie enrolled in McCrae's 16th Royal Scots, and along with the rest of the squad endangered their clubs very real Championship chances. Military training, much of which involved long route marches, by seasons end led to some players suffering so much from blisters and other problems they played in boots two sizes to big, stuffed with several pairs of socks! Celtic however claimed the title with hearts a mere four point behind, this when Celtic players had not enrolled, and Hearts players trained to fight a war, was an extraordinary success! For Tam this was only half the trouble. He was in fact very ill, and frequently rose from his sick bed to score goals for the Hearts. The situation must have been desperate during 1915 yet the truth was kept from the rest of his mates, on manager John MacCartney knew. While the battalion was stationed at Ripon, Yorkshire, a major training area, late in 1915 Tom was sent home to Glasgow because of his ill health. He died in Stobhill Hospital, Glasgow on 23rd October 1915. He was twenty six, and had the football world at his feet. His great goalscoring success was even more remarkable when the truth came out, Gracie had been suffering from leukaemia!

He was laid to rest in Craigton Cemetery, Glasgow. His brother had been killed recently at Loos, and his brother in Law in Gallipoli. Sadly typical of so many Scots families at that time. When people speak of 'hero's' or 'brave men' I suggest Tom Gracie is included. To play so well and score so frequently when enduring army life and serious disease must rank as 'heroic' in a manner few others have ever achieved. On the anniversary of the armistice, let us remember this man particularly, while remembering others who sacrificed their lives on the field.

Elections

Naturally, when I awoke yesterday morning I was looking forward to a US Election less day. However the first thing on the news was the Glenrothes by election! here colour did not matter even if the Labour Party are run by an English government, no one hates the imperialist, domineering, vile, thugs, instead Scotland just wants its correct place in the world and to be treated equally in the Union, or else end it. There were no long queues waiting for hours, and certainly not in that rain, and no confusing election papers required, just put an 'X' in the box next to your man's name and there, your done! The media thought this important enough to fill the day with English based commentators telling us what this means for Scotland, but mostly Gordon Brown. Thanks a bunch, now can we go on? Well no actually.

The by election was seen as a chance for the Scottish National party to win another seat at Westminster just so they could unsettle Prime Minister Gordon Brown, and get up the nose of the Englishmen found in the House of Commons. They are unhappy that Scots should vote on English issues, but ignore the voting on Scots ones which have gone on in that place for three hundred years now. By the way 'Hypocrite' is a word not allowed under House of Commons rules. Anyway what chance had the Nationalists got at Glenrothes? Situated in the 'Kingdom of Fife,' an area famed for its coal, mines have been worked here since the sixteen hundreds, and staunchly Labour for much off that time. In 1935 Wullie Gallagher was elected the M.P for West Fife, and became one of only two Communist members of parliament! He was elected member for East Fife in 1945 but lost out in the 1950 elections. The mines were dreadful places to work in the early years of the twentieth century, my uncles worked down there and never allowed their sons to follow them, they were forced into a trade of any description to avoid 'going down the pit.' Naturally the Independant Labour Party and the Communists were strong in Cowdenbeath where they lived, and a fair equality for all was the watchword, and reflected they way they lived. Doors were never locked in mining villages and towns. The mine owners were greedy hard hearted men and the general strike of 1926 left mining towns bereft for six long months. Winston Churchill was the man responsible for bringing the strike to an end, although fellow members of the Trades Union Congress had run back to work within a very short time, and even Churchill began to hate the mine owners. At that time he suggested nationalising the mines, an idea rejected by his fellow cabinet members, but when back in power in 1950 he made no attempt at denationalisation. No 'Thatcherite' was Churchill, he believed the workers ought to be well treated unlike the mad Baroness!

With such a history throughout Fife it leaves a mark and there was little chance of the SNP actually winning. Good work by Labour brought a result, rain kept others indoors, and a fear that the breakup of the Union may not pay worried others. I note today that the media are struggling for any worth while news. They will be glad the football is on and that can fill up the spaces!

Obama. Only One Question.

How long before some white, right wing, nutter shoots him?

Job Interview

Leith Hospital


Lunchtime saw me wandering through the damp streets to the local cottage hospital (not in Leith, that one is now a block of trendy flats) for a job interview. Naturally I found this exciting and worrying at the same time. Exciting as I have had few opportunities for selling myself, except to some passing Ishmaelites and I don't want to go into that! Anyway, I was looking forward to this but a bit worried that they may mistake me as capable of actually being able to do the work! That would never do! An ex postman already works there and has explained how unhappy he is at the bloodsucking approach they have to his job. This from a man not afraid to work at that! However I went along rather hoping they were developing the staff numbers as a new hospital is under construction at the moment. Alas this was not the case and the work was rather as I had expected.

Still I endured the interview, conducting myself as the lass at the dole office had insisted, no chatting up the girl (it is always a girl interviewing! Sexism reigns in NHS HR Depts), fat chance of that with these two! Age and fat being against them I treated them as my sister, although she is skinny. The questions were not from the heart, they were written down and notes on each answer scribbled alongside. While appearing efficient I could not help thinking this limits the individual asking the questions, no room for thought here. I reckon these two could think for themselves but HR will not allow this. HR, Human Resources, it used to be Personnel but modernising the name helps raise their profile and make them feel important. So far I have rarely been impressed with HR folks understanding of the work they are recruiting for. Maybe I am just cynical? Obeying instructions I answered politely, avoided lies, although I was told to 'develop' my situation, this I refuse as I attempt to avoid deception, even though this does not always prove popular, and even smiled when appropriate. They were friendly and courteous and have already decided my knee is not up to it. This they proved by referring this to the Occupational folk.

Apart from a nurse who modelled herself on the Hattie Jaques 'Matron' character from 'Carry on Doctor,' even attempting to develop a suitable build, the people were as expected. The receptionist was sour, and failed to speak a work, why do they employ menopausal women for these jobs? The lass dishing out the patients meals never saw me, I declined to purloin anything from that trolley, the patients I saw were oblivious to my existence. I noted the sign to the 'Maternity' unit and wondered how many 'Essex Girls' were to be found visiting there. One suspects their mothers and grannies may accompany them, quite nice until you notice 'Granny' is in her early thirties. The hospital is aged now. Once ideal for the town it now fails to meet the needs and the new building is badly needed. Small local hospitals may be expensive, but in small towns these are required and the cost is paid back in the comfort brought to the townsfolk by its existence. Not that the 'suits' care for anything but targets and money now!

Will I get an offer? No! But it was worth wasting their time and imagining what work was like once again. Of course if they offer me the job there will be trouble!

Americans!

Please, please, please hurry up and vote!
Just get your election off our TV!!!!!

Have mercy!!!!!!!

Alexander Selkirk

The BBC website has a report of archeologists digging around attempting to find evidence of Alexander Selkirks stay on a deserted Island in the days of long ago. I wonder if they have yet found the correct island? As a child Alex was a right little brat, and when around twelve years of age he ran away to sea to avoid trouble with the Kirk Session. He then spent some years developing his sailing talents and became important to the ships in which he served. Lower Largo in Fife, like most coastal villages of the time, was a fishing port, no doubt he learned his trade the hard way in the Firth of Forth and the North Sea. However falling out with the man in charge is not a good idea. Becoming worried about the condition of the boat, damaged after a stramash with Spanish vessels, he was put ashore, at his own request, on an island. Some say this was San Juan Bautista, now called 'Robinson Crusoe island.'

He was to remain their alone for four years and four months. No ships approached bar two Spanish vessels. Handing himself over to them would have been more dangerous at that time than remaining isolated. He survived by killing goats and making use of what he could gather round about. He had a bible a gun, some gunpowder and little else. The complete works of Shakespear luckily for him, were not yet available! Eventually he was picked up, by the man who dumped him there. he returned home but could not settle down, once again he returned to the seafaring life. Eventually dying of fever of the coast of Africa. He was buried at sea.

Daniel Defoe, the English spy, not only worked to force Scotland into an uncalled for union with England but stole Selkirks story, told by others, and turned it into the tale of 'Robinson Crusoe.'
Never trust an Englishman! The links provide more details of Selkirks story, with the usual mixture of inconsistances and differences. It's make your mind up time! The basic story is indeed true, and the experience is not one most of us would enjoy, unless too many Soap Operas drive you into it of course. Whetehr this is the island is not possible for me to say, and while material from the correct period have been discovered it is as yet thin evidence. Many ships, including privateers, stopped of on the islands to gather provisions.

Tours to the Island are available from this, and other, organisations. The rich among you may fancy this.


Alexander Selkirk

Woodes Rogers, A Cruising Voyage round the World

Alexander Selkirk

Joke

Beethoven Symphonies

A tourist in Vienna is going through a graveyard and all of a sudden he hears some music. No one is around, so he starts searching for the source.

He finally locates the origin and finds it is coming from a grave with a headstone that reads: Ludwig van Beethoven, 1770-1827. Then he realizes that the music is the Ninth Symphony and it is being played backward! Puzzled, he leaves the graveyard and persuades a friend to return with him.

By the time they arrive back at the grave, the music has changed. This time it is the Seventh Symphony, but like the previous piece, it is being played backward.

Curious, the men agree to consult a music scholar. When they return with the expert, the Fifth Symphony is playing, again backward. The expert notices that the symphonies are being played in the reverse order in which they were composed, the 9th, then the 7th, then the 5th.

By the next day the word has spread and a throng has gathered around the grave. They are all listening to the Second Symphony being played backward.

Just then the graveyard's caretaker ambles up to the group. Someone in the crowd asks him if he has an explanation for the music.

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about" says the caretaker. "He's just decomposing!"

Electrician

So the electrician eventually arrives at ten in the morning. I had moved the desk, shifted vast amounts of stuff and all the accompanying dust, and fifteen minutes or so after he was in the building everything was switched off. Remember we are all electric, bar the gas boiler, and that uses electric to ignite the flame! The temperature is low, and nothing is working except two electricians pulling the old boxes out, with much banging and quite cursing. By lunchtime I enquired as to progress, rather hoping they might soon fix the sockets in here and i could get the place back to normal. It was then I discovered those who had gone before had botched things badly and much work was required. This was believable! Nobody has ever bothered to leave details of work done in past times, and much has been done by a wide variety of tradesmen, some of them qualified! Plumbers, electricians, bodgers of all kinds have moved pipes, installed wires and filed to leave info regarding where things are. The men spent two hours in the loft attempting to trace cables!

However, while they sweated up there I decided that it was so cold in here I needed to go out to get warm! Walking in the sunshine was better than freezing indoors. This place faces north and it is always cold. A slight breeze lowers the temperature,a north wind and I think I am in Greenland! I wonder if I could post from there? I trailed along the old railway stunned by the warmth, the bright light and the colours of nature all around me. When I returned, desperate for a steaming hot drink, I found them still in the lost and no hope of heating. No food, no tea, no computer, no radio, by three o' clock I was seeing spiders crawling up the windows! It was four by the time things were normal. All heaters were on and soup was burning! The house was returned to normal, in spite of the ache this will leave in all my muscles tomorrow. So much furniture to move for one socket! How do folks cope when they are flooded or the house catches fire? What is the response during a real emergency? This was routine upgrading work. This leaves me wondering what major works involve?

Good job I am not one to complain!

Confused

This is another of those things that clatter into the inbox without an invite.
The point it makes is quite good however!

QUESTIONS:

In 1923, who was
President of the largest U.S. steel company?
President of the largest U.S. gas company?
President of the New York Stock Exchange?
Greatest wheat speculator?
President of the Bank of International Settlement?
Great Bear of Wall Street?



ANSWERS:

Charles Schwab - who died a pauper
Edward Hopson - who died insane.
Richard Whitney - who was released from prison to die at home.
Arthur Cooger - who died abroad, penniless.
Leon Fraser - who shot himself.
Cosabee Livermore - who committed suicide
However, also in 1923, the PGA Champion and the winner of the US Open Golf tournament was Gene Sarazan.

QUESTION:

What happened to him?

ANSWER:

He played golf until he was 92.
He died at the age of 95.
He was financially secure at the time of his death.

MORAL:

Stuff work, play golf!

Portraits

This painting is called 'The Beaver Hat' and is by the Scots painter Edward Arthur Walton.
I post it simply because I like it. In the days of long ago I used to attempt to take portrait photographs and became quite adept at this. In fact of the thousands of pictures taken I found three that were worth looking at! Sadly I have not succeeded in continuing this success story through a lack of models, although I have enquired about the availability of several lassies as they passed by. The ASBO hinders this somewhat now.

I like looking at portraits as they tell us so much, mostly indirectly. While we look at the individual shown we learn much about the society around them as well as the portrait painter or photographer. It appears to me that far too many today tell us more about themselves and little about the subject. This is very sad. 'The Beaver Hat' tells us that the date is pre-war, the 'Great War' that is, but says nothing about the lassie posing. Had she been important I suspect her name would have been well known in artistic circles, and a large fee paid for the painting. This must therefore be a model. Such hats were popular amongst the girls of the day, if they had cash, and kept many a trapper happy in the wild west, although they may well have been travelling by Model 'T' Fords by this time! This is a lovely picture, simple and straightforward, a limited background, (looks like some bedsits I have known, dull, dirty and dingy,) with the lassies face highlighted and standing out from the rest. I like it. I wonder how much this would cost in today's 'Credit Crunch' society?

Sell - by Dates

Some time back I was searching in the fridge belonging to my spiritual mentor. Naturally this fridge did not actually belong to him, it was hers, and he just paid for the thing. She was the one who stuffed it to overflowing with a wide variety of trappings. Only a woman would find a reason to hide bottles of milk at the back until they turned sour, why? "They were needed for cooking." No-one in the house could work out what she cooked with sour milk, but when they discovered the remnants of vegetables and meat products being put into what she called a 'Fool' for pudding, then that was banned and a closer watch on her work entailed. I still do not know why dead milk was, and probably still is, turning green high up on the back shelf.

At that time I was looking for something to put on the bread. I noticed a jar of peanut butter as that was the 'in thing' at the time. Naturally I pounced on this, having moved cabbages, yogurt pots and 'Blue cheese (I think it may have started as cheddar) out of the way first. I stuck the knife in greedily and found great difficulty is getting the stuff to move. It appeared a little 'stodgy' and I found it very unwilling to leave the jar. A glance at the lid indicated it was two years out of date! TWO YEARS! I pointed this out to the host (from Aberdeen, a place famed for its Scrooge like attitudes). "It will be all right!" she exclaimed unashamed, "It'll be all right."
That next meal was eaten with much hesitation as the family grumbled as to the contents of the 'pie' we shared. Her explanation of the contents did not receive much belief, but we had second helpings having decided to die together and leave a mystery for the local police to work out. The headline 'Six suicides at dinner' was the headline we half expected to see the next day, although thinking about that we would not actually have seen it would we?

I remembered this last night as I went through the contents of the 'Medicine Chest.' This ex-ice cream tub gathers dust in a corner and sorting through it I discovered everything but a strange silver, sharp, metal object was well out of date. 'Halls' cough sweets died last November, 'Vicks' vapour rub had been past it sine Sep 2006 and the 'Vaseline' tub had passed away in June 2005! What a shame I had no use for it! I had a swig of the cough mixture the other day and am wondering if I ought to have checked it first. It did seem a little sluggish in leaving the bottle. Maybe I will leave that till another day.

The Road to Morocco

When I were a lad Sunday afternoons were taken up with aged black and white films on the telly. Alas rarely did we ever enjoy a live football match, and while there featured some memorable programmes I have let them memorably slip from my mind, rather like the way I pay my debts. The 'Road' films, featuring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, would sometimes appear in between those dreadful romances that had originally been screened during the war. The cinema was of course one of the places to be during war time. Not only could the citizens cuddle in the dark, but it took them away from the ever present dangers, at home and abroad, especially if they were doing the cuddling! Women not only wept through the romances, not nearly as much as the men did, but the ideal of wealth drenched America,with its large houses, constant sunshine and big automobiles tempted many to run of with chewing gum toting Yankee soldiers. Whether the delights of Idaho and Brooklyn lived up to the films image I know not! The thing is that in the early sixties films (that's movies to Americans) had to be ten years old before they were allowed on our screens! This meant nearly all were very dated. However it did give an outing to many 'B' westerns and excellent comedies. The Marx Bros and the 'Road' films sticking in my head more than most.

This is because of the 'repartee' between the main protagonists, and the way it was handled in these films. However I have just found 'The Road to Morocco' on a video tape (ask dad or some other old person what that is kids) and now see it for the dated creature it is. It tells much about Hollywood's understanding of Morocco and the Arabs! Large palaces straight from the 1001 nights, and camels, unfortunately the wrong type for Morocco, and each and every Moroccan with the ability to speak perfect English, with an American accent! The film was released on November the 8th 1942, and two days later American troops landed in Morocco in their first real entry into the war against Germany. Good job they were not shown this movie on the way, the reality would have disappointed them somewhat! We forget how much television has revealed the world to us in a way film never did in the forties. Let's face it we were quite ignorant of the world even into the sixties and television pictures, usually in the 'News' informed us of the world outside. This film could never be made today. The humour, not nearly as good as I recall, does last. Near the end, during the usual fight scene, the camels look on and one says that watching humans she is glad she is a camel, her mate responds, "I'm glad your a camel too Mabel." His eyes then revolve happily. Earlier when arriving at the bad guys tent in the desert, (which like the 'Dr Who' 'Tardis,' was huge inside and kind of small from the outside) Crosby says, and there is only two of them, "We must rescue the girls, we must storm the place." Hope replies, "You storm the place, I'll just stay here and drizzle." That is what made these films. Nearly seventy years on they lose something but become interesting from the 'social history' aspect. (aspect? I sound like an estate agent!) Still, worth a look in comparison the dross on telly today.

Winter Sets in

This morning the clocks go back. Most folk enjoy an extra hours sleep, although those working overnight may lose out and others with pets and children may find no difference of course. This time change signifies winters approach, and a glance out the window ensures us it has arrived. Clouds swoop over the land drenching the north west of the nation and sweeping the loose leaves from the trees. No wonder Americans call this time of the year 'fall.' Not only do the leaves fall from the trees, those of us walking over the slippery beasts fall flat also when meeting them. Onlookers love that mind.

Redistribution of Wealth

The following came through my spam collector today.

Today on my way to lunch I passed a homeless guy with a sign that read "Vote Obama, I need the money." I laughed. Once in the restaurant my server had on a "Obama 08" tie, again I laughed as he had given away his political preference -- just imagine the coincidence. When the bill came I decided not to tip the server and explained to him that I was exploring the Obama redistribution of wealth concept. He stood there in disbelief while I told him that I was going to redistribute his tip to someone who I deemed more in need--the homeless guy outside. The server angrily stormed from my sight. I went outside, gave the homeless guy $10 and told him to thank the server inside as I've decided he could use the money more. The homeless guy was grateful. At the end of my rather unscientific redistribution experiment I realized the homeless guy was grateful for the money he did not earn, but the waiter was pretty angry that I gave away the money he did earn even though the actual recipient deserved money more. I guess redistribution of wealth is an easier thing to swallow in concept than in practical application.

Now for me this sums up American politics. It misses out so much just to get a point across, and you can decide what the point is for yourself! It does not say why the homeless guy was homeless. Was it his fault? Is he just a lazy bum or someone who life treated badly? Is he injured or sick, or made redundant when it was not his fault? We are not told.

Neither are we told that in many American diners the staff are badly paid, if paid is the word, and live on the tips, hence the smiling service. This is not good service from someone who cares, just desperation for the cash whether they deserve it or not!

So many Yanks are full of the myth of America and talk of 'liberty' or the 'American dream,' and sometimes I wonder if their feet ever touch the ground. Now we have all met good Americans, and some post comments here - and if not are thinking comments at this moment which may be better off posted elsewhere! America has much to give to the world, yet their love of money destroys them, for in the end that is what the 'dream' comes down to. Freedom to do your own thing and get rich, this equals happiness! Wrong! This leads to the rich getting richer, the poor being downtrodden and those climbing high climbing over anyone who gets in the way. That does not bring any happiness because when they get to the top there is nothing there!

The redistribution of wealth has been suggested before. Under Reagan Catholic bishops wanted more given to Americas poor and were branded as 'Communistic and un-American! The desire for democracy as opposed to monarchical rule ends with monarchical rule by those with the money and connections to get to the top. The voting system being manipulated by some to keep things this way. Maybe this time it will be different, but will anything really change?

Redistribution of wealth is not 'socialist' not 'communist,' it does not give to those who do not try, nor does it take from those who work for it, instead it cares! Those who love mammon do not care, for others or themselves, they are enslaved by greed and that is idolatry. The desire to have and keep it all destroys all who go after it, while those who seek their needs and share find life! Jesus never commented on wealth sharing, although the poor are with us always, but he did tell us to care. Paul spoke of the 'Love of money' being the 'root of all evil,' and still we pursue this! If America wants to be successful it needs to share its wealth with itself and the world. Then the likes of 9/11 would never happen, Yanks would never be told to 'Go home' ever again, and the world, and America, would be a happier place.

Loose Women

Just what is the point of this programme 'Loose Women?' Is it to show us the considered debates about life today from a group of 'liberated ladies?' Or could it be it wants the viewer to believe that women should never have been given the vote in the first place as clearly there is no intellectual ability of any depth to be found here among these ageing slappers? Just what is the point of this? Just because you are of a 'certain age' does not mean you have to appear as 'mutton dressed as lamb,' and there is a lot of 'mutton' on show here! Nor does it mean you have to bring the conversation around to yourself constantly, which appears to be the only subject on offer - themselves! Four women sitting in a row talking about their bodies, sex, themselves, lipstick, sex, themselves, drink, sex, and themselves! A thousand million are at starvation level, millions go to bed hungry, a credit crunch is closing work places worldwide, possible nuclear war bides its time in the middle east, and these bints talk only about their weight problems and sagging skin, both subjects which need no introduction to the viewer it must be said! Just what is the point?

Now put four men in a row and what will they talk about? Their weight, their sex lives, their skin condition? I doubt it although rude remarks may pass and be replied to. No men would discuss thongs outside of themselves, football, war, motorbikes, indeed anything that matters, yet they are never given a programme in which to do this. I wonder why? Women's absurd fascination with trivia, as heard while waiting in Tesco for another self indulgent bint filling her bag while discussing nothing at all with the checkout girl, and she could get onto this programme quite easily I can tell you, their fascination with talking about nothing never ends! Why? If you have nothing to say don't say it! This will enable you to move your trolley out of folks way in considerably less time than it does now! Then you can go home and watch video tapes of 'Loose Women,' it doesn't matter how old the tape is, the subject will be the same, as will the unbelievable outfits!

Edinburgh Trams

I pinched this picture from Richards Blog, a blog centred on the National Tramways Museum at Crich, Derbyshire. I can remember the time these beasts roamed Edinburgh's streets, rattling and shaking and terrifying me at the time. I always hated the things but there were times they just had to be used. Of course kids could find fun on these creatures, the seats were simple wooden benches, not acceptable to the overweight, overdressed wealthy types of today, with a backrest that was adjusted at the end of each trip and the tram turned around. The adjustment was simple enough, the back was just pushed forward and the seats were ready for the return journey. The conductor changed all the seats, the driver ensured the power was connected from the wires above via the connecting rod, and then moved to the other end of the tram and they were away, although they probably had a long break first!

Edinburghs cobbled streets remain today but the rails have long since gone. However a new style tram, with comfy seating will soon be appearing, and once more these silent, environmentally friendly beasts will reappear. Whether this is a good idea remains to be seen, and the citizens will complain constantly about the disruption, the cost and , well anything to be honest. If it is a success they will then complain about something else. Such is the happiness progress brings. Personally I would like to go to the Critch Museum and wallow in nostalgia for the trams I once disliked as a kid, they were removed in 1956 when I was only five years old, and probably get a lot of joy from pushing the backs of the seats around as I once did in the distant past. Sad I know, but I love it!

Hero's Wall

The other day I noticed the photo albums, hidden high up in a cupboard, hard been tainted by damp. So I spent a long time digging them out and ensuring future generations will benefit from my out of focus and strangely angled photography. The memories found therein varied from depressing to amusing, and I had lots of fun attempting to remember who many of those pictured actually were! Obviously they meant a lot to me at the time! Now I think some of the pictures were quite good, my brother, who spent many years in that business, considered them somewhat 'amateurish.' The fact that he is right has not yet stopped me taking pics. Among them are many I took when wandering around London looking for money lying in the streets. I did this because folk always told me the streets of London were 'paved with gold!' and for years I believed them. I made 17 pence in 21 years!

The poor picture above is a notable one, not for quality as it is too small on here, but for content. A better picture can be found on this 'Postman's Park' site. The photo shows a number of plaques put there by one George Watts, a philanthropist, who wanted to commemorate Victoria's Jubilee by remembering those who gave themselves for others. He erected this wall with dedications to those who had attempted to save some from drowning, or fire or other disaster, and in doing so had lost their own lives. A notable memorial! The link gives close up pictures of the plaques and details of their heroic deeds are there for all too see. For me this is a great way to remember such folk. What a shame nothing like it exists today.

If you find yourself in London, take a break from the tourist traps, the shop, and the masses who live there and wander through here, it's not far from St Paul's. Nearby stands the headquarters of what was then the General Post Office, and the park was frequented by workers during their break. Small and surrounded by buildings it is one of London's many anomalies, the park, not the General Post Office, and I suppose in Victoria's day it may have been frequented by Anthony Trollope the author himself? he worked for the Post Office, mostly in Ireland, and is credited with inventing the pillar box! Not a lot of people know that. Few know either that he did not get on too well with Rowland Hill, then head of the GPO, and the man who invented the postage stamp, of which the 'Penny Black' was the first. See, education is here for those that want it. Of course you may have to check any facts given!

Silence Again

Too tired to cogitate, nothing to rant over, and no inspiration hanging around. I have many thoughts circulating around my head but none suitable for publication - no, none of those missus! For some reason I am so tired all the time, is it age or lack of stimulation? Could it be too much 'Flanders Stew?' Or am I just a slob? Answers on a ten pound note please (used). I have filled some time tonight watching BBC 4, the Freeview channel that I can just receive thanks to the wonders of an indoor Aerial. However, whenever a car drives past the picture wobbles, a bit like my stomach does. This is a shame as tonight there have been several programmes worth watching.

Several programmes have concerned themselves with steam railways, and what could be nicer? Certainly some are old stuff from the nineties, BBC 4 does this, but even so they are far better than the usual line up of soaps and dramas that are no more than soaps. These trailers for such cretinous events appear between the shows here and make me swear at the telly! Routinely such 'dramas' involve a woman, adultery, bad men, a threat or two and an explosion. All the same crap day after day! Meanwhile in the real world I watch a steam railway wandering beautifully through the Devon countryside. Steam rises and flows behind and slightly to the right as she coasts along the coast, a wonderful sight! The sea of the Cornish Riviera greets her, and the hills resound to the whistle as she passes. Indeed there is nothing more romantic than a steam locomotive passing by.

Ah me, I am in love!

Another programme shows a lass wandering along old railways closed by Dr Beeching in the 60's. He was the business man brought in by Ernest Marples to curtail the money being spent on British Railways. Marples had made his money in the motor trade and he was going to support that in place of the rail traffic. While it was clear changes were desperately needed, and nothing had been done since the war, and no railway made money before then, Beeching cut far too much, destroyed jobs, businesses, and much tourism. Very much a Thatcherite before the time. No thought was given to the effect on the society being destroyed, money was the only thought! Buses were supposed to replace the rail service even though it was well known the infrastructure did not exist! It is even worse after the mad Baroness herself took a hand! The lack of a rail service devastated many towns and villages. Now the car rules and the UK has I believe more cars proportionately than any other. But I could be wrong here. The old line fromGalashiels into Edinburgh was lost, the 'Waverley' line, there are plans to reinstate this, forty years on, indicating just how foolish the loss of railways has been.

Anyway, I still want to drive one. Listening to the whistle blow, the clank of goods wagons (the had no brakes and just clanked into one another), the puffing of trains in the distance and the availability of seats! Trains pulling ten or more coaches are replaced now by two or four couches on long distances! No wonder trains are overcrowded. But I digress. These programmes are making my TV licence almost worth the money. I cannot say that every day.

See, I told you I had nothing to say.

Mirror

I'm not one for awards, especially when they are only to reflect Mulled Vine and his ravings.
Such awards are meant for truly Christian blogs, and while I recognise Gods gave up his Son, and at what a cost, and the Son gave up himself for me, and , sometimes, I attempt to give myself back to him, this particular blog is not about that. This merely reflects my ravings and my slice of intellectual suicide for all to see. While I would like nothing better than to sit here suffused (good thing thesaurus's) in God and just enjoy him, although living with him is harder but better, I am sorry to say this blog reflects the reality of my life.

Pray for me...........