Summer Afternoon Rain

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As I crossed the park this afternoon looking at the sunbathing lassies I observed that as the wind was coming reasonably noticeably from the north east. Not long afterwards Bournemouth, far away on the south coast, was inundated by a terrific rainstorm. This then moved rapidly from the south west and began depositing whatever was left of the rain upon us!  Remember when I moved here they referred to this as the 'driest county in England!'   They lied!  It is difficult to actually obtain pictures of rain from here and the spots on the window do not do justice to the rain that was hammering down outside.  The gutters overflowed and streams of water reached several feet into the roadway. I watched, very concerned, as folks who had failed to check the weather forecast made their way, soaked to the skin, passing by.  I stood at the window and offered a caring smile. This was not returned.


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Summer Afternoon Sky

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I noticed these interesting rib like shapes in the clouds as I tramped back from the market with my shop soiled, reduced price bananas this afternoon.  I am not sure if the warmth in the air was because the clouds keep the heat trapped in or because the sun is attempting to break through them and impersonate summer!
I neither knew nor cared. I was really just looking for some sort of picture, for without one snap there is something missing in my life these days. A PC and a digital camera, How did we live before these things were discovered?  Cyrus may have built a large empire, however he could never photograph anything as he did not have the technology, and he was called 'Great!'  Many powerful men have lived on this earth, but we can take pictures and manipulate them on the PC, they couldn't!  Pah!  Who needs an empire anyway?


And now for some dodgy theology but lovely music. 


                           



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Buildings

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Yesterday, as I hurried along to the meeting place, I noticed this house, with the sun shining on it, and was impressed by the design, if indeed there was a deliberate design as opposed to a builder just 'throwing one up. Victorian builders just built houses according to the way they were taught, probably from their fathers, and rarely used architects.  This one looked better with the sun on it and today the gray skies left it a wee bit depressed with itself. However there are some interesting aspects to the building.
    

This corner house must have cost a packet in its day!  This home is quite large, has bay windows and a turret!  Fantastic property when built, and a credit to whoever erected the thing.  I suspect however this one had some kind of architect involved. This is much to 'out of the ordinary' for the everyday builder. 

I am contacting the Office of Fair Trading about this.  It says 'Free Withdrawals,' yet when I withdrew thousand of pounds from it the bank demanded I hand it back. Something about using your own account they yelled. It does not make that clear I say. 

Another lovely turret, this time on a school entrance.  Those Victorians, or would this be Edwardian perhaps, knew how to build schools. I could not get near enough to get a shot of the sign above the doors, 'Girls' over one, and 'Boys' over another. Actually I could see the 'Girls' sign but not the 'Boys' one.  Now I notice it is under the turret! The foolishness of insisting the sexes mix all the time is a bad thing in my opinion. At our school they kids played separately and this had many advantages for all. Ideology has damaged much in education. Some things boys learn better together, some things girls learn that way.
  

Look!  Another railway picture! Great isn't it?  Oh really, well that's your trouble, your just a woman!  Real men would see this as an inspiration, a challenge and an opportunity!  The line brings a train load of who knows what to us, while the other line takes us into a new life maybe, or possibly the buffers of course.  I have been there already!

Even better! High above, well not that high actually, stands the frame carrying the electric powerline for the trains. I thought it made an interesting image, with the steadily moving gray clouds as backdrop. The occasional blue flash, especially when the non stopping express service flew past at 80 or so miles an hour, was missed by my camera. 


What a lovely day again. Another day trip, another good half hour, another enjoyable train journey.  Even waiting was enjoyable today.  I suppose it was the variety from my routine that did that.  Now of course my routine is out of order and I will have to spend all tomorrow attempting to find where I am.  Ah well.
And so to bed......


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Railway Day Out, Sort Off

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As part of my job search I was forced to journey into the big town today. This entailed finding a suitable train timetable, they all have variations these days and the prices cannot be trusted also, and this morning bright and early, the day not myself, I wandered down to our bit of line. There in the sunshine I joined the late commuters, the London train left an hour ago, and soon climbed aboard the exciting journey that is a trip by rail!  I admit I would prefer a steam engine chuffing along through the countryside but such things are not common today.  Instead we had the usual diesel and while comfortable enough to do the job it neither 'chuffs' nor has the same romance. The 'romance' of the journey began with the train announcement scrolled across the screen above the door informing us where the train had 'arrived at.'  I thought if you have come here pal you have certainly not 'arrived!' Still it could be worse I suppose, it could say 'Arrived at Scunthorpe,' and we wouldn't want that would we? 


People on trains are the main problem with public transport.  If I could share the coach with nice people instead of ones I disliked life would be easier.  Having traveled on the commuter train on occasion I suspect many there feel the same.  These trains have been fitted with windows that open and one chap came in, took of his jacket, it was indeed a warm day, and opened the window above him and sat down.  How I hate this!  He opens the window for air, yet the air has no effect on him!  Instead it blows over to the other side of the coach freezing the people over there.  The only answer, apart from shooting him New York Police style, is to open the window above you and hope he gets chilblains!  I noticed all the windows were shut today in spite of the warmth and stuffiness around.  Maybe a cop had got on earlier as the train made its way out here?  


A substantial lass also joined us.  She immediately got the mobile phone out!  Now while mobile phones are indeed one of the many blessings we take for granted they are not an advantage on quiet railway coaches!  On this occasion the lady made a quick call, now that is a miracle, and replaced the villain in the bottom of her bag.  Quite why women do this I know not, but when it rings she then spend several minutes hunting for the brute while it plays 'Land of my fathers' in an annoying digital manner!  Some women use the mobile in the manner that once cigarettes were made use off, as some sort of protection while in public.  It is as if being occupied this way there is a barrier between them and the dangers around them.  Many pass my door pushing a pram with one hand, a toddler several feet behind them, on a  main road, while they blether into their phone. Others, male and female, can be seen in the dark evenings like some sort of firefly creature moving around. The person is not seen, just a greening glow from their phone while they read important texts.


Changing trains I took several pictures of the line, secretly as possible to avoid being mistaken for an anorak! This enabled me to obtain not only the above picture but two at angles of 35 degrees and late at my destination, one of the platform itself!  There is something about railways, and something about the view as the line disappears into the distance.  When younger I watched a drama, worth watching in those days, that ended with a young couple on a rail platform as he made his move elsewhere. The story I forget but I recall an longing to move on down that line to find what was at the other end.  Now however, having been there, I find the longing less strong but an underlying desire to go and see does remain.  This time I no longer expect a pot of gold to be found there. 


For a couple of hours I was reminded of things I knew long ago, informed of the wonderful aid to help me 'back to work' that exists, but without being informed as to where the jobs themselves lay, and spent a jolly nice time with reasonable people, in the circumstances.  One thing I noticed was the spaces prepared for around a dozen participants, three turned up and one phoned in sick, he fell down the stairs on the bus or some such.  The rest?  I suspect several will not be interested, one or two will have seen it all before, and then there was us three.  Are these organisations really going to find 'placements' in firms?  If so will this be 'cheap labour?'  Who knows?  It is worth it just for the day out in the sun, the train journey and a few pictures. It makes a change from my usual humdrum routine, and nice to see some interesting, but grubby, Victorian buildings there.  I am back tomorrow for a more serious discussion and I will get a couple of shots of the buildings which intrigue me.  Clearly there was money here in Victorian days. "Who pays the fares?"  They did, good eh?

 


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Sunday Laffs.

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I was going to mention that the 'wee team' (Hibernian) lost 4-1 away to Kilmarnock. However I would not be so cruel as to include this in a post headed 'Sunday Laffs,' would I? What? ...oh!

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A lawyer died. At the same moment, the Pope also died. 

They arrived at the gates of heaven at the same moment. 

They spend the day in orientation, and as they're getting their heavenly vestments, the Pope gets a plain white toga and wings, like everyone else, and the lawyer gets much finer apparel, made of gold thread, and Gucci shoes. 

Then, they get to see where they're going to live?. 

The Pope gets what everyone else gets, a replica of a Holiday Inn room, and the lawyer gets an 18 room mansion with servants and a swimming pool.

At dinnertime, the Pope receives the standard meal, a Manischewitz kosher TV dinner,and the lawyer receives a fine and tasty meal, served on silver platters.

By this time, the lawyer is beginning to suspect that an error has been made, so he asks one of the angels in charge, "Has there been some kind of mistake? This guy was the Pope, and he gets what everyone else gets, and I'm just a lawyer and I'm getting the finest of everything?"

The angel replied, "No mistake, sir. We've had lots of Popes here, but you're the first lawyer we've ever had."

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The Archbishop of Canterbury and the Royal Commission for Political correctness announced today the climate in the UK should no longer be referred to as "English Weather".

Rather than offend a sizeable portion of the UK population, it is now to be referred to as: "Muslim Weather" (Partly Sunni, but mostly Shi'ite)

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One night, President Obama and his wife Michelle decided to do something out of routine and go for a casual dinner at a restaurant that wasn't too luxurious. 

When they were seated, the owner of the restaurant asked the president's Secret Service if he could speak to the First Lady in private.

They obliged and Michelle had a short conversation with the owner.

Following their conversation President Obama asked Michelle why the owner was so interested in speaking to her.
Michelle said that when she was a teenager the owner was madly in love with her.

President Obama then said, "So, if you had married him, you would now be the owner of this lovely restaurant."

To which Michelle replied, "No, if I had married him he would now be President!"

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A 50 yr plus woman was at home happily jumping on her bed and squealing with delight.


Her husband watches her for a while and asks, "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look?, What's the matter with you?"


The woman continues to bounce on the bed and says, "I don't care, I just came from having a mammogram and the doctor says I have the breasts of an 18 year-old".


The husband said, "What did he say about your 56 year old ass?"


"Your name never came up!!!" she replied.

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Man sitting at home on the veranda with his wife and he says, "I love you."


She asks, "Is that you or the beer talking?"


He replies, "It's me............. talking to the beer."

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Saturday Musings

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Daily Mail

Car accidents happen, even the best make mistakes and at speed this can lead to pain and sometimes death.  For many years now all governments have emphasised the importance of not drinking and driving.  The breathaliser and the modern equivalents have helped reduce the number of accidents, saved lives and to please government, saved millions of pounds in clearing up the mess.  Sadly some fail to respond and this car shows the result when one young man decides to drive after entering a car while unfit. The short journey home was taken at high speed while veering unsteadily in the road. A couple walking home from the same restaurant where the driver had been drinking were run down by the car and both received fatal injuries. He is estimated to have been doing around 60 at the time of the accident in a 30 mph built up area. 

My point is simple. It is imperative that judges sentencing a man found guilty, as indeed this driver was quickly proved to be, are treated fairly and mercy must be included while sentence is declared. However there is also a need to ensure that justice, not vengeance, is done, but is seen to be done.  In this instance we have two people dead, they leave behind three grown children and it must be said they will not want for money, houses in that area begin at around the £3 million mark. However they have lost their parents, their lives are suddenly and cruelly changed for ever, and money does not compensate for the loss of a loved one.  Therefore I question the sentence passed on this driver. He was jailed for seven years, and the judge insisted he must serve at least half that sentence. This, it must be said, is not an uncommon sentence in such situations, and my point is to question what this says about the nation today?  

Do we really consider three and a half years jail plus a seven year driving ban, served probably in an 'open prison,' to be sufficient in the circumstances? Remember I am not looking for 'vengeance' here, but 'justice' tinged with mercy. Two people are dead, gone forever into God's hands and lost to their family who must endure this loss, and it would appear that human life is now regarded as worth a mere three and a half years in jail. In fact as two died they are only worth half that! Surely human life is worth more?  Some indeed would say financial crime leads to longer sentencing! I watched a footballer dancing around after scoring a goal last week.  He also had got drunk, smashed his Mercedes into another car, killed a man, robbed a wife of her husband and her young children of their father. He even ran away after the accident, a very serious thing to do, but received a mere six years in jail. He served three and returned to his footballing career, earning I guess around £7000 a week at that time.  He may earn less today as he ages slowly but how does the widow and her brood feel when he dances around as they struggle to survive?  Human life in Britain does not appear to be worth that much these days.  


Surely such an accident should receive a longer sentence, surely more consideration is deserved for the victims?  Surely we have our priorities wrong in so many ways today.  Terrorists can receive between twenty five and forty year sentences, often without actually killing someone, how then can a drunk driver get so little?  I have no problem with a man making a good living after sentence has been served, I do however have a major problem with sentences that do not fit the crime.  I realise that each one of us could at any moment lose control, whether of a car or at work or in the home and death could result. We all share the same weak frame and that is why courts must understand both the nature of the crime, the cause and the damage left to the victim and their family. I am not convinced this occurs today.
     

                         

Sad to say that Robert Robinson has passed away. Robinson came to my attention while hosting the world's greatest quiz, 'Brain of Britain,' and the erudite talk show 'Stop the Week,' both on Radio 4. His ability to make the contestants on the quiz feel at ease, no matter their background, and cheerful manner enabled this powerful contest to fairly fly towards a conclusion.  Even without him it remains the top quality programme although nobody can run it as smoothly as he.  'Stop the Week' was more controversial.  Seen by some as a talking shop for the chattering classes, it was criticised by those very chattering classes themselves, revealing that a nerve must have been touched quite often. Often spoofed as smug and middle class by smug, middle class comedians Robinson continued to broadcast into his eighties when illness made this no longer possible. He died yesterday in St Mary's Hospital in London, a sad loss to British Broadcasting, middle class or not.   

Dave seeking inspiration for his next PR disaster.

Good old 'Dave.'  He is working hard to fulfill the saying, 'Don't open your mouth and put both feet in as you will not have a leg to stand on.'  His latest gaff is to stand in the House of Commons and inform the world that the Metropolitan Police were failing to handle the riots until he returned early from holiday! He was backed up on this by his Home Secretary Theresa May, who as you know does a very good female impersonation. The police reaction was swift, '"Rubbish!" they said!  The constabulary realised, they admit, that their tactics were failing, adding this was not aided by having too few officers to deal with the troubles, they amended their tactics and took control, as much as was possible in the circumstances.  'Dave was to busy drinking Italian espresso to help out himself.  'Dave,' and his desire to be seen as responsible for the improvement, has alienated himself even more from the police while still insisting on cutting their numbers, in spite of the situation during the last few days.


Not only but also!  Yes indeed he has gone further!  This time he wishes to make an American head of the Met!  Has this man's desire for show no end?  Some famous Yank Cop, who nobody has heard off, has been approached, without informing the police themselves, and informally offered the job as Commissioner!  This produced a one word comment from a senior officer, "Stupid!"  He is right you know! Listening to the methods of foreign policemen is indeed worth the time, but asking someone from a completely different justice system to take control leaves not only the impression that the London police are incompetent but that 'Dave' has no idea what he is talking about.
Actually, that last bit might well be right!

Violette Szabo

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Born in Paris in 1921, Violette Bushell was the offspring of a French mother and a British soldier who she met during the Greta War.  The family of four returned to London where her father drove a taxi and when war broke out in September 1939 Violette was working as a sales assistant in a department store. 
War brings changes to an individuals life, and young women are enticed by the opportunities that arise as much as the young men who's lives are about to change for ever. Sexual norms are amended as many develop a 'live now because tomorrow we die,' attitude. Possibly this had an effect on Etienne Szabo,a 31 year old French soldier when he met the 19 year old in 1940.  They were married within a month. Szabo left to fight in North Africa and suffered fatal wounds while involved in a diversionary attack during the Battle of El Alamein.  He died in 1942 without ever having seen his new born daughter. One of the sad results of war has been the number of children who have never known their fathers. Some were killed in action and many were the result of a moments passion.  Many such children have lived with an emptiness inside all their lives. 


The Special Operations Executive was an organisation developed by Winston Churchill to work behind enemy lines in France and disrupt their communications, there being little other opportunity to hit at Hitler's rule other than through Bomber Command. "Set Europe Ablaze" was his order.  After the death of her husband Violette decided to join this organisation.
She endured a tough training round, unarmed combat, explosives, weapons and the like, all that was required to hurt the heart of the German occupation. It was thought by some that her French was too influenced by English and that she lacked the initiative required for such work. However senior officers overruled these fears and she was declared fit to send into action. Using 'Louise' as a code name she parachuted into France during April 1944. In France she rebuilt a broken resistance organisation and gathered information regarding German munitions. A successful mission for the twenty three year old mother. 
Szabo's second mission occurred after D-Day when she met with resistance workers attempting to hinder the German fightback. An unlucky meeting with a German roadblock led to a quick firefight in which she was captured. Possibly her English tainted accent had an effect here? The young girl met little sympathy and was handed over to the SD, the intelligence unit of the SS. Here brutal treatment failed to discover information on her work or her companions and eventually Szabo found herself in Ravensbrook Concentration Camp.  Here some 300 women slept three to a bunk in each hut. Malnutrition, harsh treatment and hard labour were common.


Violette Szabo was executed in February 1945.  Other SOE women were to suffer similar fates in this camp.


In 1946 a posthumous award of the George Cross was awarded to Violette Szabo.  A year later the French awarded her the Croix de Guerre and the Medal de la Resistance was also added in 1973.

Violette Szabo SOE


Violette Szabo


Young Brave and Beautiful


Szabo


Violette Szabo Museum


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Our Dave is Back!

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More here from the Daily Mail

Our 'Dave' is back, showing leadership in bringing an end to the riots and to all the looting and thieving!

However back in the real world rain has fallen all over the nation.  This of course has put a dampener on the activities of riot type folks and indeed to most of the rest of us. The people of Britain respond to this type of weather with the usual comments: 

"Why is it wet?"   

"Where is the sunshine?"

"I remember when the sun shone in summer."

Why can we not have some good weather for a change?"

"It's Global Warming!"

In fact the reply is simple, this is the British Isles, and with the Atlantic Ocean to our left and warm and cool air making their way from the Americas towards us minute by minute this causes rain and wind to arrive in summertime. For the most part it arrives daily.  My mother was 94 when she passed away and she was still puzzled as to how it could rain in summertime!  I want a long hot summer, but the last was in 1976 and then people complained it was too hot! " 'Drought' was the cry, and how terrible this is!"  The pubs were full mind. 

This is typical British weather.  The worst effect is in the north and the west, and the best is in the south east of England. As I look out at the damp streets and watch the drizzle saturating everything I remind myself that this is the driest county of them all and not long ago farmers were moaning about lack of rain.  Tsk! For myself I cannot abide folks who spend their time moaning.  Either do something about it or shut it I say! Tsk!

    

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Pondering Woman's Ways and Riots

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After trailing through the town on market day I sat, exhausted, on the park bench doing my best wino imitation, although with no wine.  I ought to have placed a hat at my feet and gauged the kindness of passing strangers I suppose, however as too many of them were accompanied by dirty big dogs I declined to attempt this.  By 'dogs' I do of course refer to animals, terriers, Labradors, German Shepherds and a Marmaduke impersonator or two. At no time did I mean to infer a comment on the woman alongside the dog handler, although I suspect he often questions where the slim, 8 stone, blonde beauty, who went like a rabbit, disappeared to as he awoke one morning to find a 13 stone lump grumbling like a steam engine after a thousand mile journey lying beside him.


Anyway I digress.  I sat on the bench enjoying the blue sky above as it blew the cloud cover eastwards, and dug deeper into my frail jacket as the same wind attempted to freeze my neck.  I pondered not on these changeable beauties of nature but instead I pondered on pathways. A pathway is of course a means for an individual to get through the surrounding obstacles. Today my pathway led me through the market and the many stalls on show there. Now it at once becomes clear that a male of the species will attempt to pass through the pathway between the shops on one side and the stalls on the other in a straight forward manner. He makes his way positively though he will give a sidelong glance at the stall he passes, taking in all that is on show therein, and also glance at the shop window thereby taking in a closer look at the well stacked blonde standing at said stall at the same time. He will make his way quickly from one end to the other and continue cheerfully on his way.


The female of the species however appears to find this action difficult to accomplish. Whether being of a size comparable to a Blue Whale that has failed to succeed at 'Weightwatchers,' or a skinny model suffering from anorexia, the female appears unable to do anything other than block the pathway!  Often while attempting to make it to the grocery stall a blockage is caused by one of these creatures staring, seemingly, into space. Her eye has noticed something and this holds her attention, even if no-one else on the planet can understand what she is looking at. Cats, you will notice, also suffer from this affliction. On occasion she will actually be looking at a stall, cogitating on an item there while ensuring that she, her pram, her brats, or her bags will block the pathway so nobody can pass until her work there is done. Whether she actually buys something is of course another matter, as is whether she actually needs whatever she may buy! Time it must be said here, is an irrelevance, unless of course 'Loose Women' or some such tripe is about to begin talking about men and sex once again on TV!  One woman can block a path, two could block the M1.


Human nature is a wonder sometimes, and on that note I come to pondering on the riots!

                                              Daily Mail

This of course is not the first time riots have occurred in England  (Note: Unlike the English press I use the word 'England' as all riots so far have been there. The English press use the term 'Britain' in such circumstances although had this occurred in Scotland the term 'Scotland would of course be used. These riots have been found only in England, please note!). Beginning in north London after a peaceful vigil for a man shot dead by police the riots quickly escalated. Various parts of London soon found themselves ablaze with many, mostly young, yobs keen to destroy wantonly, steal and loot from every shop in sight, and on occasion injure any who stood in their way.  Soon Birmingham, Liverpool and even the small town of Gloucester got in on the act.  Police shortcomings have been exposed here, and while a more positive approach is now being seen it is much too late, although is has to be said nobody could have seen the widespread 'copycat' events that occurred later.

The reason for this remains shrouded in endless chatter and blame sharing. Police and 'ethnic minorities' have had trouble relating in London for years. The liberal types point out the police failings, and they are many, and few have the courage to stand up and indicate the black 'minority' have a fair part of the blame also! In the eighties Commissioner Paul Condon claimed eighty percent of muggings were caused by young black males.  A huge outcry was heard, mostly from black politicians, and the only people to suggest he might be right and that something ought to be done were black pastors of local churches and black imams of the mosques. There were few who wished to face reality, but many who wished to make the most of the position. (I spent 21 years in the centre of London and found hardly any race issues amongst the black folk I knew!).  A lack of family values, far too many single mothers, gun gang crime based of Hollywood movies, and money from drugs lies at the bottom of this. Heavy handed policing does not help, especially when people die in police custody and no-one is to blame!  How often does it happen, usually to a black man at that!  These are often thuggish black men it has to be said, not innocent passersby.  Rarely does this happen to a black meteorologist or computer engineer, dentist or taxi driver, the usual recipient of violent treatment is often a man with a violent record, missed by few!  This does not dismiss the police failings, not the number of occasions such event occur, and there was in the past a certain amount of racism in the Metropolitan Police Force, although to consider it wholly racist was just wrong!  This weeks situation began with a man shot dead by police, whether a criminal, a suspect or an innocent man, in truth nobody either knows, or is saying at this time. The truth will arise eventually, maybe.

The trouble that followed was not based on youths feeling ignored by society. This was not a rebellion against a world that kept them down.  Many would have had jobs, many rejected jobs to stay on the dole and make much more money selling drugs, others were still schoolkids, some from primary school!  The vast majority involved were following that aspect of human nature we like to pretend we do not possess, the part that likes to hate, and likes to take whatever it can when opportunity arises no matter the cost to another. Greed is idolatry and it has been seen this week.  Rarely do we admit to ourselves that we enjoy hating an enemy, unless the world around us agrees with our opinion. Rarely do we admit that grabbing loot from a damaged shop is great fun and personal gain!  Rarely do we admit just how awful human nature really is, and many reading the reports in the media, a media full of bullshit it must be said, rarely do we admit to a jealousy that we were not near enough to go and grab that item we really wanted!  The suffering of those who lost businesses, homes, jobs or everything they possessed may move us slightly, but how many of those involved, when moved as many will be, by such emotion will give back their booty and show their remorse by an action? 

The circumstances of being at the bottom of society, ignored by the government, treated badly by the authorities actually affect many more people than the young or any 'ethnic minority!'  Nothing today justifies the behaviour seen in the past week. There can be no justification for the burning of homes, nor the robbing of others, this behaviour comes from the fallen human heart, and circumstances allow this to reveal itself in all the horror it can get away with.  The worrying thing is that while we do not wish to believe it this conduct is within us all, the human heart is rotten to the core and only Jesus and his finished work on the cross can cure this. He has seen riots like this many times before, since the dawn of time. Britain, and I mean Britain not England, has often been troubled by riots, in the eighties in Brixton and Liverpool, during the twenties when men returning from the war found the promised jobs failed to appear as did the promised houses, and even many officers were found sleeping rough in our cities. Riots in the past over Corn laws, and parliamentary reform, riots over bad working conditions and poverty have returned to Britain many times. Today we do not have riots because of poverty, or even lack of opportunity or bad police relations.  We have riots because human nature likes to steal, rob and destroy. One day we will admit to ourselves that this is so, if we have the courage to do so.

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The Nights are Drawing in!

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This was the scene about 8:45 last night.  It would have been brighter had it not taken me so long to get a place to get a shot without buildings being in the way.  However I returned to a dark room, and others already had lights on, and it was just after nine O'clock!  Darkness means a small light to type by, more expense, and pains in the eye from straining at the screen.  Now as you know complaining is not my forte but surely I ought to have won the lottery by now?  This would enable me to move to a country where the light hangs around a lot longer.  I am sure there will be a Greek island on the market cheap enough for a small lottery winner to purchase?  Darkening nights, leaves are turning yellow, falling and littering the streets,  daft folks are already talking about Christmas, and as soon as the school holidays are over the gifts will start to appear in the shops. Makes you glad to be alive!

Now pardon me for asking, but is this how the American woman of yesteryear prepared for the winter? While some bemoan snow drifts ten feet deep this proto-feminist is shivering in her swimsuit (and shoes) acclimatising to the cold. Are you sure she was about to prepare 'Mom's apple pie?'  The ladies of Edinburgh knew better than she, and they did not throw 'motor oil' onto their coal fires in a somewhat thrilling method of heating the house.  Is she related to any of my readers perhaps.....?

The 'Tea Party,' taking literalism a step too far!

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Strange Friday

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After I left the dole office today I wandered through the sun drenched streets watching the half naked women and found a park bench on which I could sit and gaze at the clouds above. As you know since coming here I have become fascinated by these clouds and today was no different.  Huge puffy clouds rolled slowly along, reaching thousands of feet into the air one minute and the next stretching for several miles in length, amazing to watch. Higher still were other clouds streaking the sky and while thin stretched for ever casting a thin veil over the blue above. The shade as a large, somewhat mucky, cloud moved in between the sun and the ground led to a drop in temperature that some regard as 'fresh!  I have my own word for this!  Truly I was made to slumber in a Mediterranean white walled town, not Essex! A strange day, my mind still suffers a kind of dreich emptiness, not helped by the lass in the dole yesterday and having to go there again today (another new idea from Ian Duncan Smith for me to try now) but at least the fellow was a good man, like most there are. In spite of sleeping, eating and faffing around I still retain a mind as sharp and active as a member of the 'Tea Party. Now that is sad.

 Had I not been a human being (who sniggered?) I might have had a good time as a cat. What can be better than to be an independent creature, capable of living of the land and indeed everybody else, finding a home to go to anywhere in the world, and yet be mastered by none? Dumb people, usually men, find themselves a big dog and take it for walks in a vain attempt to fool the world into thinking they are strong.  In fact they are as dumb as the dog which considers chasing a stick to be entertaining.  Mind you in comparison to Saturday night television.....

Cats on the other hand live with you, if you behave, if you are a failure they leave and find a better home elsewhere. The dog, like the man, sits there awaiting instruction. (That is why wives were invented) This cat pictured appears to find the company of a posse of horses, in spite of the smell that filled the field that morning, quite appealing. There is nothing to bother the cat, nothing to eat (farmer Jones breakfast probably went down this cats throat about six O' clock that morning, and now he sits dominating the world while the horses live of grass!  I suspect that soon after this he retired for a snooze (male cats require about fourteen hours a day) and then ate someone's lunch! That's the life for me, and no stick chasing either!

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Murky Dawn

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Well not quite dawn actually.  I just liked the sun attempting to force its way through the cloud cover this morning. The old fountain with the old bird on it came out quite well there.  I am not getting many pics these days, a walk around town soon uses up all the options, and in recent times I have suffered an almighty lethargy, in the head and in the poor wizened body that I hulk around.  Any attempt to get moving soon falls flat.  Woe is me.

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Gate

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Lovely overgrown gateway to what once was a middle class garden I suspect. The remaining house, now offices, look mid Victorian and I suspect another stood here. The area behind was a school built, and ran by, in the eighteen hundreds by the Congregational Church, but by the seventies it had been sold and turned into the Council Offices. That in turn is now being refurbished at great cost. This may appear reasonable however a plan is in motion to move the council elsewhere!  The word "Bung," never crossed my mind, never!  The one time house may well have been demolished along with the school, possibly these were connected, but clearly nobody has ventured to attend to the garden for some time. Why is it that places that once were have a strange drawing power while places that now exist often do not?


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Bill Shankly

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The socialism I believe in is not really politics. It is a way of living. It is humanity. I believe the only way to live and to be truly successful is by collective effort, with everyone working for each other, everyone helping each other, and everyone having a share of the rewards at the end of the day. That might be asking a lot, but it’s the way I see football and the way I see life.

Bill Shankly




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Bridge over the Atlantic

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Innish

There are still those in the world that refuse to believe that a bridge crosses the Atlantic. You can tell them till you are blue in the face but they still will not believe you. "Where is the evidence?" they spout rudely. "If I cannot see it, I will not believe it," they proclaim with all the assurance of an atheist about to be shot at dawn and receive one almighty shock. "No bridge crosses the Atlantic ocean, none whatsoever!"  But they are wrong. So wrong as one was built over the Atlantic in the year 1792 by John Stephenson or by Robert Mylne, depending on whom you wish to believe. It appears to have been designed by the great Thomas Telford and locals say that their man Stevenson (or Stephenson depending on who you talk to) did the work, and his name is recorded by 'The Royal Incorporation of Architects in Scotland (RIAS) as the man, yet others credit Mylne. I suspect however it was local men paid a pittance who actually did the hard graft. They did the job well as with a little bit of modern strengthening the bridge is still used today, and forty ton lorries can cross it safely.  Though quite why anyone would take a forty ton lorry to the Isle beats me! Some folks do have strange tastes mind. 
The bridge crosses the Atlantic taking the traveler from the Scottish mainland, in the rain, to Seil Island, where it rains harder, and for longer. This is not a populous part of the world but makes for excellent, but damp, holiday excursions. The purple of the Fairy Foxglove guides the tourist, and how we love them, to the hills and sights of the island.  Make sure you investigate Tigh an Truish Inn - the House of the Trousers! 


There are other bridges over the Atlantic but this is the most important one.    
Secret Scotland


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Cynic, me?

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Amy Winehouse was buried today bringing to an end a sad story. I noticed however the cynical manner with which the media covered the tale. The one regarded as 'Shameful,' who suffered 'Horrors,' all of her 'Own Making,' has lost the 'SHAME,' tag and now it has become, 'Tragic.'  The 'Sad' life of  'Poor Amy,' now brings out the sentiment from the 'popular press.'  Sympathy oozes from the media (in spite of which they continue to take 'up close' pics of tearful mourners) as they recognise many are saddened by her untimely death. So it is out with stories of 'drink and drug crazed happenings' and in with 'tears,' for the 'poor girl.'
Please let the tabloid press be closed down, please?

Our 'Dave' has run for the hills once again!  While he is on 'holiday,' his right hand man, no not Clegg, don't be silly, has been left in charge. William Hague, the Foreign Minister, is covering for the Prime Minister, and as we now expect from 'Dave' a major event is being unveiled when he is not around to comment.  The major event, and major it really is, appears to be the end of the Libyan conflict and not by military force as 'Dave' had hoped but by allowing President Gaddafi to resign his position and yet continue to live in Libya!  

 Brilliant!

First he attacks and expects Gaddafi to collapse like the other North African countries have under the Arab Spring, this does not happen.  Then the Yanks have decided two wars have been enough and they cannot afford to even lend us their aircraft anymore ('Dave' has sold of most of ours).  Now the French, our co-conspirators in this daft attack, are urging talks with Gaddafi and the suggestion that he can stand down and stay in Libya comes from them, they have a presidential election coming their way soon haven't they!  So William has to inform the world, under cover of the Norwegian tragedy, that it might be possible for an agreement to be reached!  

How the mad president must be rejoicing! Reagan, when awake, attempted to kill him and missed, we have tried it and missed also, wherever he is, and now we offer peace terms!  Does anyone really expect him to rush forward and kneel before us?  He realises he has the nap hand, he is on top, nothing can end him now can it?  Half his nation may have been lost, possibly most of his people are against him, but he has survived again and the mighty west are now seeking an end to a war they ought not to have started and have clearly lost!

Still, another 'U' Turn for 'Dave' is part of his 'Big Society' isn't it?  A 'U' Turn a day keeps the er, well it keeps his staff busy hiding him in foreign land if nothing else.  Another failure for this mistake of a PM.  Just how did he get his job I wonder, how did he get into such a position?

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This is my Sunday Post

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Season Starts Again

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David Obua, Once much abused by the lesser intellects of the Heart of Midlothian support, he scored our first goal of the season today, and now that he is playing in his proper position, I suspect the first of many this season. Being played out of position has not helped this Ugandans performance, however I knew he had talent, and was shouted down when I said so.  I am being proved right! He may never be the greatest player in football but he does give his all and this is beginning to show through under JJ.  The diving Naismith may well have equalised, but we all know that was against the run of play, at least that is how it looked on radio. Anyway a draw at Castle Grayskull to start the season and a defeat for the wee team tomorrow to add the icing on the cake.  A decent start to the long, long, oh so very long football season.

  Daily Mail

Now here's a sad thing.  I clicked on the paper tonight and found myself taken aback by the headline "Amy Winehouse dead at 27." I was suddenly depressed by this, and I did not even like the woman.  To me she was a mixed up clot who spent far too much time appearing in the press, and rarely for any good reason.  Her music was stale, and while she had a voice it was wasted on her I thought. I first saw her on one of 'Jools Holland's Hootenanny's' one New Year and asked "Is this the future of music?" She pawed her thighs in a strange manner, all the world looking like a six year old, and her song was almost inaudible.  However the thought of her sudden death left me deeply depressed. The last thing I would wish was for her to die this way, probably a drug overdose, deliberate or accidental, and left me wondering why I could not do something to stop this.  Stupid question.  Had she lived next door I would probably have finished her off myself, but I did feel real unhappy at her death.  What a waste of a life, and what a sad end. 

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