Blogcatalog Friends

The number of 'Friends' I have made on Blogcatalog' never fails to amaze me! I don't refer to those who I have added to my 'Friends' list, nor those excellent folk who waste their valuable time regularly reading my scribbles, I of course allude to those who call me 'Friend,' yet never read the blog! There have been several lately. Almost all of them selling something, or attempting to make money through me. Wrong idea there pal!

There is nothing more enjoyable to find an intelligent reader has taken delight in my mentally unstable viewpoint, and been so keen that they have decided to call again, leave a comment and add me to their 'Friends' list. Pretty young girls always welcomed. This always leaves a sense of achievement with me, and a doubt as to their sanity also. So far no-one has failed the sanity test, which is good. It is a simple test, if they walk the streets with out wearing a straightjacket they are fine in my book. (Not counting Glaswegians obviously!)

However it appears to me far too many do not read the blog, if they do they don't like it, nor understand it, yet they add me as 'Friend,' and ask, almost demand, that I do the same. Those who leave a message seem more interested in gathering numbers rather than reading blogs. There are a huge amount of blogs in the world and the best way to meet them is through 'Blogcatalog' in my view, but if folks just want to 'get rich quick' by telling me how to 'get rich quick,' they are wasting their time and mine! I want to read something interesting, humorous, or worthwhile, and while I want to have each reader click the 'Ads' to make me rich I will not demand this, nor is this the reason for the blog. I must say these folk are beginning to annoy me now. Everyday someone who just wishes to inform me of their sales technique leaves a message, quickly deleted, and I become one of their two hundred Friends.' How lucky am I? I add 'Friends' because their blog is 'top rated,' by me. I add 'Favourites' because there are only ten spaces in the screen I can see. All are worthwhile, all ought to be read, and all need to click my 'AdSense Ads,' to make me rich, but if they do not I am happy if they just feel inclined to read this, let's face it, sad empty bawling they find here.

But please, don't 'add ' me just because you wish to get rich!

Christmas Adverts

I cannot make up my mind. Is the advert for this fragrance the worst advert on TV, or is it one of those cheesy ones with groups of happy party goers stuffing their faces? Maybe it is one of the 'magical Christmas' ones that get up the nose in the way the 'Walton's' used to? It's a difficult choice really. This 'I Million' advert is full of fast images lasting a few seconds. Each portrays something young, modern, trendy, and it makes me want to throw up! Worse than the advert is that this is a 'fragrance' for men! Stone me, don't they make 'Old Spice' any more then? I can't get my head around how much this stuff will cost. Only football players and TV 'celebrities will be able to afford it, and yet the people who buy it will be the dreamers who imagine wearing this stuff makes them part of the 'In crowd!' Believe me, don't join the 'in crowd,' there is nothing there!
As for those happy, well dressed party folk. You know that they really would not pay £9 for a cake, even one with a Cognac filling. They would however contribute somewhere to a family get together that will probably descend into chaos. You know the idea,they all dress up, get stoned on cheap wine and occasional brandy and bash one another for a while. Instead of smiles there is bad feeling, divorce, prison and I have just remembered why I have not heard from my brother for a while! He must be tired of being 'detained at the Queens pleasure.' Though quite what pleasure she gets out of it I fail to comprehend.....
TV adverts attempting to stuff food down your throat, sell you trinkets you don't need but the family demand, and warn that your life is nothing if you are not doing what the 'best folk' are doing are annoying me again! Christmas trees, with no biblical significance whatsoever (burn them I say!). 'Peace on earth,' although the book actually says, 'Peace to men of goodwill,' so that changes it then, and 'a magical Christmas' experience, that leaves us empty and deflated afterwards. Family get togethers can be fun, and I like them, but a Christmas of greed, drunkenness and strife, is not what Jesus came to bring us.

John Cumming 1930-2008

On Saturday John Cumming passed away after a long and sad illness. He was one of those rare players who can actually be called both a 'Legend' and a 'Great!' Along with Dave McKay and Freddie Glidden John formed the backbone of the Great Heart of Midlothian side of the nineteen fifties. John was renowned for tough, but never dirty tackling. Bobby Murdoch, who went on to run the midfield for the Great Celtic side of the sixties, spoke of his introduction to Scottish football. "The ball came to my feet and I found myself lying ten yards away. I had been tackled by John Cumming. Not a foul, he played the ball, but it was like a tank!" That summed John Cumming up. He was a man who played the game, and was well respected by all.
He earned two League Championships medals, Four League Cup winners medals, and one Scottish Cup winners medal.
I saw him many times as he ended his career, mostly running the reserves. Playing at centre half he always encouraged the younger players, the cry of "Haud it Haud it Haud it!" still rings in my ears. Respected by all he scored an own goal at that time and brought the house down, with laughter! He was approachable by fans and always had a good word for all who came near him. He was a great man and a great player.

John Cumming, sadly missed.

The Bad Samaritan

Brother Can You Spare a Dime, well, a Pound Coin or two actually?

It was when I was looking up the AdSense site, in the desperate search for wealth, that I began to cogitate on what it is like being skint. Yes skint! Broke, penniless, impoverished and insolvent. (Insolvent does NOT mean I have run out of glue by the way). Now for some of you this is an experience you cannot understand having been born into opulence, wealth and gracious living. Your purse (or his wallet) has always been a bottomless pit with servants aplenty to acquiesce to your every craving, or at least most of them that are allowed. This is not, and never has been my experience. This is where the idea of placing 'Google Ads' and an 'Amazon' widget comes in. My dream was to obtain sufficient funds to buy a refill for my ballpoint, with possibly a potato or two for my tea. Investigation however, reveals a paltry $23 in the account so it looks like a pencil stub will continue to be used for some time, especially as nothing will be paid until $100 worth is reached! Now while I am happy to wait, (Oh yeah!) the overdraft is somewhat less so and again I return to pondering the nature of poverty.

Like Charlie Chaplin in those old films I have discovered that eating old shoe leather does not satisfy the inner man. And as I wander down the street, head bowed in case there is a coin or two lying about, I have a tendency to keep my hand in the pocket where my money used to reside.This constantly reminds me of the paucity of my situation. I miss the slight jingle you sometimes hear when coins clash together in the pocket, and then I find myself dreaming of the old days of pound, shilling and pence! Ah L.S.D. (not that kind) l loved how those big old coins would jingle-jangle as I strolled along, head high and not a care in the world. Young, handsome and rich, what more could a girl want? Actually, now I think about it, they were not slow in letting me know just exactly what they wanted, and who they wanted it from! However I digress, the fact that coins made a lot of noise did not of course indicate a lot of wealth. When decimalisation came in (on the 15th Feb1971) I was probably on £9 a week! This may have seemed a lot at the time, but when we went to that 'disco' (That's 'Club' to younger viewers, and 'dump' to those that remember it) we had to buy the girls a drink. (and one knows how much Edinburgh girls can drink!) Now pints of lager were two shillings and sixpence, the lassies,naturally, wanted 'Brandy & Babycham' at five shillings a go, so a round cost fifteen shillings! As you know there was a mere twenty silver shillings in a pound so we made sure we only bought one round each! Those girls were never grateful enough to make it worth our while either. So much for 'Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker!' Ogden Nash was clearly earning more than £9 a week when he came up with that! Anyway, any chance of success with those lassies would have brought on a recession far too quickly for my liking!

Today we specialise in small change.The five pence piece is so small it easily falls into any hidden recess and brings joy only when fingers are used to prise the things back into the world. Excuse me while I rummage around a recess or two. I days of yore I found a small coin when removing pews from a church. (legally honest). This was a 'Groat,' a coin worth fourpence, and was circulated in the middle of the nineteenth century. It had lain undisturbed for over a hundred years! Similar to many folk sitting in church pews today I must add. The first thought was the discovery of great treasure, but the condition was such that it was actually worth about six pence today! An elder (a loving, caring, honest man) 'borrowed' it from me and I have not seen it these twenty years! I must say pound coins have also shrunk in similar manner to the value it represents.Today the shape is hard to distinguish from ten pence pieces and old folks, like my friend Mike S, easily confuse them, but not when with me for some reason. As for pound notes, it is possible the Clydesdale Bank in Scotland still issues them but I don't actually know for sure. No one else does these days. I do have a 'Bank of Scotland' five pound note on my wall that has 'Use in case of emergency' written on the front. However the 'emergency' arose long after the note itself was withdrawn from circulation. Typical.

However it is possible for handsome young men like me to cope with poverty, and even in the coldest winters one can thrive. A day spent in the library not only keeps the fingers from developing frostbite but gets one an education also. Many hours can be filled by looking through the shelves at the young ladies on the other side, or at least until that menopausal old bat comes from behind the desk and throws you out. Wandering around supermarkets, and other large shops (not Woolworth's as their going bust brings ones own pauper state to the fore) can keep warmth in during winter, and wandering around the park in summer can be beneficial as the small kids tend to drop sweets quite a lot, (at least if you come up behind them suddenly they do), and lunch is served!

I was chatting to a man next to his 'top of the range' Landrover (£60,000) quite late on, at the far end of the darkened car park, about the nature of poverty and how to deal with it.In the course of our discussion, shorter than I expected I am sorry to say, I indicated that while he had a large five bedroom house, several acres of land for his horses, a wife adorned in expensive fashions, holidays in Guam and Hawaii, and a wallet inside his 'Saville Row' suit stuffed with twenty pound notes, all I had was this meagre carving knife! I showed this to him, I placing it just above his belt so he could see it properly int he poor lighting such places possess), and he was so touched by our discussion that he very kindly 'lent' me the contents of wallet! A very nice gesture I thought, possibly resulting from his kind heart and realisation of my desperation I suppose. He was a nice man, but I was a bit surprised at his speed when leaving the car park.

Of course many are worse of than me, and I survive with the help of such donations, but even in the west folk struggle to survive. In the USA some 37 million are in poverty, and they have jobs! The wealthier a society the more we want, and the more advertisers inform us of things we really do 'need!' The 'credit crunch' will bring home to many what life is really like. For fifty years we have developed a constantly growing economy, with occasional concern for the 'poor starving elsewhere.' Maybe this will shock us into a better comprehension of the value of money? But somehow I doubt it, human nature being what it is.

The Things You do!

Of course, had I been 'middle class' and a 'Daily Mail' reader, I suspect I would have headed that as 'The Things One Does.' However I didn't but I did manage to have a bite at the middle class 'Daily Mail' reader so it's not all bad! On Monday, in between grabbing the wheel at the big roundabout,("What lorry where?") my instructor asked if I was feeling fit. Naturally I went through a long list of aches and pains, and covered the many sufferings this never ending 'bug' wishes to give me. He cared not a jot! So this morning I found myself, in zero degrees I should add, wandering the streets sticking his leaflets through folks doors. He had come upon a sad problem, too many of his pupils have passed the test and now he has run out of work. I had suggested his kids, and his latest woman, should be out there doing this, but as I have mentioned before, he cared not a jot! However it was fun, and almost like working again!

Of course I came across the old problems postmen face daily. Dogs barking, gates which are shut, take ages to open, are covered in grime and rainwater, and get you a volley of abuse if you leave the thing open! Who needs a gate anyway? It is only a psychological barrier against the world and IT DOESN'T WORK! Many Englishmen are fearful of immigrants, especially black ones, coming here and taking the jobs they don't have and running of with the wife they now detest. Oh the problems of being such a person, and you defend your kith and kin with a dirty, rain covered gate! Well done! Women complaining that putting a leaflet through the letterbox, which 'clangs' loudly, wakes their child as if this is your fault, is another interesting problem. I have an answer to this but apparently this is illegal now. Pity. Letterboxes with a stiff 'brush' behind it in a vain attempt to keep out draughts also keeps out leaflets and mail. yet these folk complain their mail is bent! Some daft folk also have a metal plate, which 'clangs,' behind this brush. Are they all mad I ask? Paving slabs which rise up to me you and holes which hide until you find them are not helpful. And what can be said for the cat? Running to you as you come up the litter strewn path, this was not the best of areas to leaflet, little puss rubs herself into you, meows kindly, and as you walk away without opening the door and letting her in gives you a look that would make Margaret Thatcher tremble! Naturally I saw few postmen at work!

It almost make me feel like I was working again! My fingers went from frostbite to almost thawed in less than an hour, my knees ached, the sun went in and dark brooding clouds came over, threatening rain, and I felt like going back to bed. Yes indeed, it was just like being at work once again! I still have two thirds of his leaflets here! How many did he give me? I shall do more tomorrow, if it does not rain, and then I hope he will give me a free hour, or two!

AIDS

As I lay on the floor, brandy bottle at hand, staring at the ceiling and my mind whirring with roundabouts, 'A' roads, and people driving six inches behind your backside, I thought of Annie Lennox. This woman, who made her name with a pop group in the eighties, had been spouting on about AIDS and how bad it all was on Breakfast TV, the BBC I think, difficult to tell as they are all the same! She decried how awful it was, how something needed to be done, how we tended not to mention it, and she got right up my nose!


Yet another 'celebrity' telling us how she has 'raised' a million pounds towards AIDS charities, and demanding something is done! Can I ask how much of her millions were put into such charities? I suspect those who inform us of the horrors around us may appear to care, but it seems to me, care more for the pound in their pocket than the ones needing the cash! We are all well aware of the problems caused by AIDS, we all know of charities, at home and abroad, which deal with this. However do these 'celebrities' really care for the suffering I ask? or do they actually care for themselves through the people? The number of pop singers, film stars, and TV personalities seen in recent years seeking help for AIDS sufferers, gives an indication of concern, but concern for what? You see I do not believe such folk are concerned for the other, there is no 'Love your neighbour' here, but they are concerned for themselves! Rarely do such people show concern for kidney patients, or those with liver disease. heart problems do not concern them much, neither does Multiple Sclerosis or a wide variety of other diseases. No what really concerns such folk is the danger that their loose sex lives may lead to contracting AIDS! As long as they indulge such liberal attitudes several diseases are open to them, and this one kills!

Nothing funny in this, nothing funny in the disease or the attitudes shown. Let me show you an example. Robert Mapplethorpe was a photographer known only to the 'chattering classes' until his death from AIDS in 1989. From that day on he was a hero! His books, full of naked men, he was homosexual, sold to the trendies (only they could afford the price!) and from being almost unknown he became nationally renown in bookshops, newspapers and magazine articles. All because as a homosexual he died from AIDS. However, did anyone 'love' him? If they met him would they have liked him? Who can tell? How many others have become famous from dying of this illness? Without dying, would anyone have really cared? Princess Di, that royal hanger on, made a lot of fuss of AIDS patients. Can you remember one name from all those she was photographed with? You remember her publicity however, don't you?

On Saturday, while the Heart of Midlothian were destroying the vile beasts of Rangers Football Club players wore armbands concerning World AIDS Day. One Hearts player, David Obua, is a Ugandan. I wonder what stories he could tell concerning the damage done to his nation by AIDS. I remember a Cliff Richard film, from around fifteen years ago, showing a school run by Christians which contained around 150 children all of whom had become orphans because of AIDS. The church had to support them as no-one else could. A dying woman was shown, this was the grandmother, the sole survivor of her house, attempting to care for the grandchildren while dying herself! The parents had already died.

What is the cause and what is the cure? Is the cause a virus that spread from monkeys? In truth I neither know nor care, but I have an idea of the answer, it's marriage, and marriage as God intended! One man, one woman committed for life! That is not the easiest answer, but the alternative, while attractive to most of us, leads to many complications, and as we see, many diseases. A true marriage commitment is hard indeed, but so is moving from one to another, taking advantage whenever it is offered, and in general enjoying a hedonistic life. It is attractive, at least to me, but loose sexual behaviour destroys in many ways. AIDS is the most serious as it kills, silently and with no chance of survival. Had Africa followed this behaviour there would be no epidemic, no deaths, and happier people.

That said, after thirty or more years in which Africa has been the superpowers plaything, while leaders kept all the available cash to themselves and we in the west enjoyed our wealthy lifestyle it can be no surprise that any belief in a moral life would be regarded somewhat cynically in far too many places. Who can blame those with little to live for when they enjoy any pleasure, whatever the risk, I can't? While medical research strives for an antidote, it would be a pleasure indeed to see pop stars encouraging a healthier lifestyle, and then donating their money to those who search for cures or bring what aid they can. However, I suspect they may be too drunk or to busy finding a new 'partner' for their next publicity stunt!

St Andrews Day

Scotland's Calvinist background has meant St Andrews Day had no meaning whatsoever. Today however, while St Andrew himself is of no importance to the majority of the populace, the day has once more found a place. Scotland, and independent nation dragged into a Union in 1707 by English aggression, has never submitted to an English yoke. This does not mean a union is not possible, and indeed beneficial, however it does show how the arrogance of England has never been accepted by the Scots. The union could work but only if England and the English joined in. Something they have never done! To them 'Britain' equals 'England.' An unacceptable idea to a free people. Indeed there was a serious intent to call Scotland 'North Britain' at one time, and when that failed, as it would, their arrogance's in the South merely chose to refer to Britain as 'England,' an attitude common around the First World War.

Scots independence from England had been in the middle of the nineteenth century when Conservative politicians (no less) felt Ireland received more money than Scotland. (Tory policy is always money dominated!) The growth of independence saw an attempt at a 'Home Rule' bill which was hindered by the outbreak of the Great War. It must be added that in spite of this, and at a time Scotland was in full employment and economic growth, Scotland responded wholeheartedly in support of the war. Unlike England, half of the men of military age enrolled, most suffered as the Scots divisions fought in every major battle during the conflict! In the twenties an independent movement continued, and again the depression and Second World War brought this to an end. However after much institutional English racism, not allowed against blacks in the BBC and elsewhere, but acceptable against Scots, Scotland once again has a degree of self rule. Nationalism grows when people are mistreated, or worse, treated with contempt, as the Scots have been by their English neighbours. This is a pity, as for the most part, Scots would work well with a people they have so much in common with, but it has never been an English habit to regard anyone but them selves as important. One example of media racism was noted, not against Scots, but the other Celtic nation Wales, today. The report on the BBC regarding England's loss to New Zealand at rugby concentrated on England. The report on the Welsh defeat of Australia spoke not of 'Wales' but of a 'Northern Hemisphere' victory! The commentator would not accept a Welsh win over an English defeat. Unconscious maybe, but reflect the racism that lies at the heart of England.

What about St Andrew himself? Well as we know Andrew was Peter's brother, and Peter, and he were appointed apostles by Jesus himself by the lake of Galilee all those years ago. That Andrew continued with Jesus during his earthly walk is clear, but what then? No-one knows! While it is true there are a myriad tales of his exploits, writings and deaths, (he apparently died in several different manners) nobody actually has any real idea of his story. There are tales of his bones being kept in Constantinople, and by various means working their way to Britain. From Hexam, where there stood a major Abbey, a monk brought them to Scotland and told the inhabitants there, Picts as it happens, the bones in the bag were St Andrew himself! They must have been amazed as a town of that name now stands on the Fife coast. A sign in the sky of two long streaks of white on the deep blue background (possible airline passing over) at that time became the Scottish 'Saltire' flag. The flag of St Andrew!

Who really knows? In days of yore when few could read, and the bible was a closed book to many, superstition abounded and religion was second to political gain. No change there then! Lacking a biblical understanding people came to put their hope in 'saints' of many sorts, some even Christian, and in time all nations had their own personal 'saints' who would plead before God on their behalf. The new Testament makes clear that only Christ Jesus, the great high priest, pleads before the throne, and that using his own blood shed on the cross. By no other name can men be saved. A 'saint' by the way, is simply someone who receives Christ Jesus death on behalf of his rotten nature, believes Gods mercy and Holy Spirit and finds a new life. Each Christian is in fact a 'saint.' No need for anyone 'special,' bar Jesus himself.

Have a happy, though frozen, wet, dreich, St Andrews Day. That's how Scots have become used to celebrating it. Only Scotland could find it acceptable to have a saints day in the middle of winter! Why not July I ask? Because it would rain then also. that's why!

WoooooHoooooooooo!

Heart of Midlothian 2 Rangers 1

WooooHoooooooooo!!!! We stuffed them good! Great first half against the overwhelming arrogance of the blue bigots! Two goals in a minute or two, their defence run ragged as it should be, and then an accidental own goal while Karapidis was being fouled by Scotland's cry baby Kris Boyd! Daft approach in second half where we let them into the game, although Rangers had not the skill to take advantage, and the crass stupidity of Lee Wallace (a Hibs fan) in getting himself sent off. However that apart we were tremendous!
The future,once again, is bright! The future is MAROOOOOOOOON!

The World According to America

Well?

Christmas Cards

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

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

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

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

Tarique Ghaffur

Tarique Ghaffur, an assistant commissioner with the Metropolitan police, and Sir Ian Blair in particular, has withdrawn his complaint for racism and accepted an out of court settlement. This unfortunate case leaves many questions unanswered, and I doubt we will see answers.

Was this man suffering racism from his senior colleagues? He had reached the second top level in the Met police, where he had served for 34 years. "In a press conference in August, he claimed he had been sidelined, discriminated against and humiliated in his role as boss of security planning for the 2012 Olympics." Is it possible to believe that the 'Institutional Racism in the Metropolitan Police' is so strong yet he was been in charge of one of the UK's biggest ever security operations. Would someone reach such a level if he had suffered racial discrimination?
After thirty years in the force he discovers racism, surely if it exists he would still be on the ground floor?

Now from my experience of the London police, where a 'macho' culture must exist, I suspect there are some who possess real racist attitudes. However if you are subject to constant abuse by gangs of young blacks and other 'coloured' groupings who build a wall between you and they, is it that unusual? Life for some is made easier if you can identify an enemy. In Northern Ireland it is political or nominally religious, in London it is race. That is so much easier than accepting people as people and life as your problem! I suspect what we have here is not racism in any shape or form, but something much worse, human relations. Sir Ian Blair, from what we can tell, is not a man who inspires confidence in me. I suspect that soon after these two men were introduced to one another s dislike appeared and has grown ever since. Neither appear to be adaptable to the other and a working relationship has not developed. Whether a 'racist' angle existed I doubt, but it may have crept in afterwards, but from which direction?

It has to be said that a man who complains of 'racism' and then accepts a £300,000 pay of and a pension of £!68,000 a year appears to be less interested in 'principle' and more interested in the money! I have no problems with his pension, but if there was a crime, and 'racism' is a crime, it ought to have been given its day before a jury of Londoners. Why was this not allowed? Certainly the cost would have been high, but that is what courts are for, and cost in this case would have been well spent. Cost wise it is cheaper to pay him off, but it leaves the question open as to the Metropolitan police having something to hide as well as Ghaffur being on the make. If there is genuine racism it ought to be exposed, if there is not Ghaffur should get nothing but an early retirement and a reduced pension.

Harold

It had been a hard day, a very hard day.
He struggled slowly up the stairs, threw his paperwork on the desk and sank into the chair.
On the sofa Harold grabbed the brandy bottle and gulped deeply.
"Oi!. You're not suppose to do that!" he shouted."Not only is that mine but as a Guardian Angel you don't drink!"
"You are of course right," said Harold, passing over the bottle,"But I am not a 'Guardian Angel,' I am just an 'Angel.' And my role is that of messenger, to bring the bosses word to you." He placed his feet on the small table used as a stool, put his hands over his face and muttered, "It was only when I was sent to you that I realised I had to guard you also. Now I am an alcoholic!"
Taking the bottle from his protector he swigged it down, noticing it was still full. "How do you do that?" he asked.
"None of your business. But after that drive it is a necessary act - for myself!" He groaned and curled up on the sofa.
"You don't need sleep either mate!"
"Not till I met you I didn't murmured Harold."
It had been a hard day. The bug was still hanging around and his concentration was not one hundred percent. Poor Harold must have forced several vehicles to brake and left buses, impatient women drivers and 'white van men,' wondering why. Driving with more confidence, but still without sufficient intelligence he had stalled turning corners, braked too hard, ignored road signs, held up traffic, mistimed roundabouts and really worried the cows in that field!
"The thing to remember," said the instructor," You are going faster, and this shows you are improving." He still wore the crash helmet however, and had grabbed the wheel when that nutter yelled as he passed us. The rain hindered his view, the roads were slippery, and fellow road users remained far closer than the 'two second rule' suggested. Of course the sun came out in between the rain and aimed straight for his eyes. The rear window was smeared with muck and the washer did not work making the rear view mirror useless. Heading home the sun took up position in the same window ad attempted to blind him. On top of this every village was a thousand years old and the roads had not been mended since Henry the second was King of England.
"Do you realise I sweat?" asked Harold shaking. "No other Angel does. Cold sweat every time you go get into the car. I asked for a transfer last week but the boss threatened to transfer me to Montana, so I decided to stay. I can only take so much Country music."
"Lies, all lies." He said as he lay on the floor staring at the ceiling, the road still swimming across his eyes. Mentally his feet pressed the clutch pedal and he found himself glancing to right and left checking non existent mirrors.
"Look." Harold said shock in his voice, "I am getting gray hairs! That's your fault. No other Angel has gray hairs, just me. I will be the only bald angel soon."
"It wasn't that bad."
"Not bad?"
"We lived."
"Only because I stopped the Renault from hitting you on the roundabout."
"I was in the right,he was miles away and had time to brake."
Harold sat upright and stared at him. "You give way to traffic coming from the right. You ignored him and went round the roundabout. No wonder he screamed at you that way."
He knew Harry was correct but decided to check his Highway code, dated 1976, and confirmed what he already knew. "It was near the end of the day, I was tired, a little lack of concentration was to be expected."
Harold groaned the groan of one under stress. "Another lesson next week, and if he passes the test......." His thoughts trailed away. "I may need assistance. I wonder what Michael is doing these days?"" Praise the Lord," he muttered, but there was an element of sarcasm in his voice.

Sunday Morning

As I struggled awake this morning my bleary eyes were greeted by the sight of snow falling and the ground disappearing under a blanket of wet, white, frozen rain. I realised I must stop sleeping in the park and find somewhere warmer. Looking around me, and while brushing the snow of my person I used many examples of Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia, none of which can be broadcast here, as I wished the snow to return to the Artic where it could do some good in fighting 'Global Warming!' Now this brings a thought to the forefront of my addled brain. 'Global Warming,' if it exists, why are we getting colder I ask? It seems to me since the fashion for 'going green' to 'save the planet,' this area has got wetter and colder. and this idea is considered right by most folk of my acquaintance. In fact in recent years the temprature has actually risen, and nothing abnormal can be reported by the metro..meter..weather folk. Once again our minds eye notices what is not there. A look through historical references to weather will find people complaining that the weather is "Worse than when we were young," and that the summers were "Longer, the sun hotter, than is is today." Lies, all lies! The weather in the British Isles never changes, it is always bad!
The day has been filled with fun! As I went for a bath, it appears the only way to heat myself up, Iset the 'Malware finder to scan. This took about an hour, and I returned when the water began to ice over. The room felt warm then! The burning of my lunch saw me set the AVG (Free) to scan while I attempted to enjoy my gruel. This took over an hour to run and found nothing but cookies from those adverts that fill pages. To be sure I then (foolishly) set 'SpyBot'(Search and destroy) to work. This took nearly FOUR HOURS to complete its journey through the PC! It found one,yes ONE cookie from an advertiser. (We do not collect private information, only information regarding pages visited, they lie) You can imagine the result. I had to do something useful, and in the end search for TV worth watching. Not eating yesterday left me with little energy, and that is a substance that appears to have vanished from my life about twenty years ago. If you find it, plese send it home.
This is good!
I stol...borrowed it from my friend Tom who's blog is well worth a look and is found HERE!

1. Open Notepad

2. Type "Bush hid the facts" (without the quotes)

3. Save it as whatever you like, wherever you like

4. Close notepad and open the file

5. Hmmm.

Hmmm indeed!

Let's Not Bring That Up Again!

The intention was to make a sausage sandwich rather like the one portrayed above.
It did not take that long, although sausages grill very slowly, and once I had settled down, happily planning the rest of the evening, I realised I had poisoned myself! Now I have little regard for sausages usually as their food content is normally zero, also I have not eaten pig in any form for a long while, yet the first sausage sandwich I make attempts to kill me! I am not paranoid but I do happen to believe the world has it in for me and this latest episode is just one example of the worlds attempts to do me in! The thumb cutting is another and no doubt a poisoned tipped umbrella will be aimed at me within the week! However, weakened though my slender, frail frame may have been, I managed on a rice cake and a coffee until lunchtime, I have almost returned to normality and proper, non- sausage, food has now been taken. Naturally in my weakened state I find it difficult to fulfil my normal Saturday duties so I think I may just lie here listening to Jeff Stelling and the boys getting excited over the football. If I am still alive later I may post properly. I wonder if I called the doctor he would send a nurse.........?

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
------------ --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---------
--------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---
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.
------------ --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---------
--------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---
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.
------------ --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---------
--------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---

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.
------------ --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---------
--------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---
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!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!! !
------------ --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---------
--------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- --------- ---
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.