Guardian Angel

Crossing the park for the first time this week I asked him about it, "So, where were you?"
"I was here all along."
"Were you? Were you here, while I suffered full blown 'Man Flu' and you did nothing about it?"
"I wouldn't say I did nothing about it, you did stock up on all essentials, Isobrofen, Conovia, food....." At that point I interrupted him, "I had to rush out early for bread and milk and failing lottery ticket on Wednesday, in spite of my condition" I sniveled.
"Yes, but you did need the air and you really didn't need the Lottery ticket did you? 'My God shall supply all your need' it says somewhere doesn't it?" He gave his smug smile and ducked as I sneezed loudly enough to frighten the pigeons from the tree they were settling into.
"Not that one no!" I muttered through a much deepened voice. "I needed one that would give me millions, not one that would be added to the recycling."
"My God shall supply all your needs, it says somewhere," he repeated with a smug grin.
"So where was the 'daily bread' on Wednesday then?"
"In the shop, and a shop placed as close as you asked for it to be in 1992, remember?"
"What?"
"You asked the Father for a new home, with all amenities close by, shops, road and rail links, buses and a view North, remember?  The accommodation you had was not good enough for you then. Yet even today you are not happy."
His smug expression was beginning to annoy.
"I canny mind all I asked, and I do remember asking to NEVER have another bout of 'man Flu,' and never having to go to Sainburys for bread when sick! So why did this one arrive unwanted and unasked for?" 
"That has not been given me, but working in the snow last week when feeling the early signs of a bug might give an indication."  The smug grin became a leer I thought.
"Listen," I said pointing my grubby paws at him, "You are employed as my Guardian Angel, you are meant to stop me suffering like this!" 
"Oh, where did you read that?  It is not in the good book, is it? There is one lying on your table, I note it hasn't been opened for a week or two, maybe it is worth a peek?"
I aimed a lick at him, "I have been to sick to read!"  
"No point in kicking something that you will not hit eh?" he smarmily grinned. "Reading the book might have helped there also."
I decided to ignore him and cough my way through the town.  It was crowded with people coughing their way through the town! A couple of stalls had arrived early, people shoved past one another full of the Christmas spirit, well dressed men and half dressed women made for places of refreshment, cars parked where they ought not, and the supermarkets were crowded with coughing people grumbling that everyone was coughing and spluttering and shoving them in similar fashion to the way they were behaving. The rain drizzled and the sky darkened as a line of cars left the supermarket car park at a stately two miles an hour, shoving themselves into the traffic on the main road they trundled along joyful that Christmas was upon them. 
"I still don't see why I should be sick this week?" I grumbled as I wandered home. 
"Everyone else has it, why not you," Harold the angel asked.
"Several reasons, 1, because I hate it, 2, because I am me, 3, three because it is awful."
"Hmmm, indeed it is hateful, although I have never experienced it myself, " he grinned in that annoying manner of his, "however being 'you' may not be reason enough not to endure hardship, others suffer, why not you?"
"But if the Father loves me why do I suffer?"
"He loves everyone, and his Son gave himself for them all remember. Even if they reject him on that day he will allow them to go, but he really hates the thought of it. he wants them all, even you!  Many of his children suffer real pain, long lasting and painful, yet still keep the faith, how come you grumble"
"Aye, right enough, I can appreciate their suffering when I endure this, it does make me wonder how folks in some parts of the world cope with their pains. At least I have cold cures, for what they are worth, chemists nearby, and the NHS.  I should be more grateful. I ought to be more grateful for his coming into the world by Mary the virgin for folks like me, doesn't appear to have got him far these days."
"Read the book man!  It says 'he will look on the suffering of his soul and be satisfied,' and he will be too. Stop girning and read the book again. Time you spent giving thanks and less grumbling about 'suffering' and not having enough. 
Back home I emptied several waste baskets of used tissue paper opened the windows, cleared the mess, made the dinner and found life returning slowly. Grateful I am not struck down with anything really serious, long lasting and painful. Grateful also a better life is possible, if I take it.......


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Nothing to say

So here is a picture of the Marco Polo.

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Three Outstanding Portraits

Gladstone

Disraeli

Salisbury

I believe all by Millais and displayed in the Portrait Gallery London.

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Suffering

MANFLU.com

Struggling as I am with this debilitating plague, I managed to discover just how many other men endure their illness so stoically.  This company at least has made an attempt to make a killing aid their fellow man but producing medicinal products specially designed for such a time.  Sadly I am too weak and ravaged by aches to make it to Sainsburys however I will stock up for next time.  Instead I will continue to indulge the enormous number of cups of tea that are keeping my weakened body alive and then I will return to bed again.  Just for you girls here is a shot of me suffering patiently....

  

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Man Flu Again

Will the horrid Lurgi never leave me? For weeks now I have suffered the effects of the dreaded bug!  It leaves for a day or two, then returns and hits me where it hurts, everywhere!  It is not fair I say!  Weary as I was I awake this morning and discovered the cough from yesterday had added throat pains to itself, this has magnified as the day has gone on, and the weariness has increased in spite of my desire to rise and be about my business. Instead I have been forced to sit here and watch football matches all day!  The tablets will run out soon at this rate, yet the aches and pains remain.  Food may become unavailable, yet I am too unfit to do anything about this. My survival may be at stake, yet no compassion is forthcoming!  However I am not one to complain so I will just get on with life, such as it is a the moment, and bear the suffering without a murmur, as always.  I suspect wandering about on Friday, in and out into the sleety snow, has done this.  I wonder if I can sue them for compensation.....?


For surly women who whine constantly about things of no important may need to read this scientific document indicating the prevalence of 'Man Flu' in our society.  Read this and learn how to ease your men's suffering girls!   


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Saturday

Fleet Street 1899. How little has changed!  

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Dreich!

Snow, sleet and ice cold air greeted us this morning.  I longed to remain in my pit but headed instead for the museum where I had been enrolled for a clear up operation.  My associate and I successfully completed the tasks assigned us, once he had worked out what they were, and must say I enjoyed my mornings work. It did mean several trips out into the day but it also allowed me time with a humour filled, cheery knowledgeable bunch, mostly women, who do a grand job there.  It was nice to do something useful and energetic for a change.  I will feel it in the morning I suspect!  


But it was actual snow falling today!  Cold north western air bringing sleety snow all morning.  Yet when I looked at the webcam for both Edinburgh and Aberdeen I noticed while Edinburgh was merely wet, Aberdeen had light clouds with sunshine in the distance!  How come? This is not natural.  


'Dreich' 
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The Thursday Bus

The Edinburgh Reporter

I found a book on my shelves, under several inches of dust, which detailed the history of the bus in Edinburgh. Now that's what I call a bedside book!  Even better it was full of pictures of buses, horse drawn, cable pulled, electric trams and the delightful buses Edinburgh has always been proud to use to deliver the citizens from one place to another.  Since deregulation under the Mad Cow Thatcher things have naturally been made more complicated, less service orientated and much more expensive, but what else would you expect? The book contained many pictures of the city I remember. Much has been demolished yet just as much remains unchanged, bar the increase in traffic. These evoke memories and while I am not usually one to seek photographs of buses in a manner I might use regarding steam trains I do find something attractive with those that originated in the 1930's.   

This beauty and her friends arrived in Edinburgh at the end of the war and with a subtle change of body survived into the 60's.  I do not recall seeing this type but I often used them in the new body shape.  I believe these were 'Guy Arab' buses.  Our bus, and there was only one, was a single decker with the open door at the back.  Unfortunately no picture in Edinburgh colours can be found online tonight. The conductor was a 'Pole' we were told, although he may well have been from the Baltic States, as many of these men remained safely in Scotland after the war.  Those who went home were shot by Stalin! This single decker came over the bridge up the road, collected passengers as it trundled noisily along, and after we alighted it turned a corner and parked up, a journey of ten minutes at most.  A short rest and the bus returned back from where it began, on the other side of that bridge.  I used to wonder why we got the same conductor so often, these two were the only men on the bus, and traveled up and down all day!  This lasted about two years before the service was extended.  By 1960 the journey was a wide circle tour of Edinburgh taking in a huge swathe of the city. 


'The Edinburgh Reporter,' is something I have just come across. Their story concerning the bus depot is the type of daft thing hat I would be interested in viewing, had I been in Scotia's capital.  Sadly I sit in poverty in a cold room awaiting a rainbow to arrive outside my window with a pot of gold at the bottom of it.  The only time I ever saw the bottom of a rainbow I discovered there was no pot of gold awaiting me.  Instead there was just a run down bus shelter, and that was not worth awaiting for! 


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Museum Morning

Brenda Howard

I spent a delightful couple of hours this morning listening to some knowledgeable women discussing Victorian life. The proposed new layout, the items in poor and middle class houses and the ability to die from hundreds of diseases we never think much about today.  Jolly interesting I say!  I learned a great deal, most notably I was again reminded of just how little I do know, and just how much knowledge there is out there in this world!  As we had mentioned in passing the difference smell makes to daily life, and the Late Victorians had a variety of aromas to inhale that we miss out on today, I had a quick look to see if there was any way we could 'imitate' the daily fragrances of the time. Sadly the only think people appear interested in imitating is fake vomit, and I found that hard to swallow.  The health we posses and the economic power we possess, even in such recession times, makes us greedy, keen to grumble at slight losses and ensures we find it difficult to endure today in a way our forefathers took for granted.  Then it was a case of 'get on with it,' as  there was no other option.  I am usually adept at creating sniffs and I am sure one will turn up somewhere.  


My surfing for smell was interrupted by the landlords handyman who had come looking for a leak.  I misunderstood at first and proferred a carrot but having been shown what to do with it i declined.  It appears the washing machine connection has been leaking for a while on the drip below and dripping on the chap downstairs. So instead of having fun I had to stand and watch an imitation plumber swear at the pipes. That is no fun I can tell you.  What seemed like hours later I got back to business but by then it was time for 'Flanders Stew' and 'Eggheads.'  



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Chilly Dusk

A chilly dusk before four in the afternoon today.  How I long to be somewhere warm!  I was not made for this weather. The sun falling down on the job is the highlight of the day so far. Nothing else has happened. The news is full of grief and squabbling, and not the entertaining type.  No it is sadly just politicians, murders, crooks, attention seekers and nothing interesting whatsoever.  It is at times like these we need a good war to make the news interesting. There again the Scottish system of dealing with neds who attempt to avoid paying fares on the train is one that could be useful worldwide don't you think?

Now that was interesting!
Oh Look, a follow up here.

Daily Mail

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Public Transport

The sky was blue and the sun shone brightly as I trundled unwillingly down to the station this morning.  While I usually enjoy these little journeys into the big city it was a tired grumbling lump that joined the grumbling queue at the ticket desk. The usual cheery efficient member of staff passed me my tickets and called me "Sir," something I am not used to. As I approached the 12 coach train, a normal length at commuter time, I chose an empty compartment towards the front, and as I reached the door two men came from the small covered shelter to the side.  One moved to a door behind and the second followed me on. He murmured some words, as some people occasionally do, but I thought nothing of this grabbing the free 'Metro' that lay on a  seat intending to merely flick through it, and chose a filthy seat at the front. The coach was empty yet this man, muttering about seating, chose to sit on the other side opposite me, still talking. 


"Hmmm" I thought, "a talker," and suddenly became interested in the news I found in front of me.  Now some folks on trains share a few words as they settle into the journey and some choose to talk like an old women, this was one of they!  I remembered the hour long discussion of 'Uncle Joe's toe' on the bus that time and buried my head in the paper. Buried being the word as my glasses are meant for distance and not close up.  I pushed them to the end of my Romanesque nose and used my short sight to read the paper from three inches from the print.  I noticed my neighbour glare and turn to his (Paid for) paper.  I continued to remain absorbed in the adventures of glossily dressed female 'pop' singers, actors with well paid dentists, African 'spiritual healers' with 'POWER,' and women who wished me to call them at 35pence a minute (they say) for a friendly chat. I also then realised why the other fellow from the platform shelter entered by a different door!  Now in my world a train journey gives a great opportunity to see the world.  Trains not only give you countryside but also show you those backyards and hidden places normally missed during our lives and some of us like looking into the back end of industrial estates, peoples gardens and sometimes their windows! The view on some lines can be spectacular, on others merely interesting, so why do some folks insist on talking in very loud voices about last nights' "X" Factor' or Simon Callow show?  Do we really need to know about 'Uncle Joe's toe' while outside the sun shines, horses trot and the occasional sheep stares at the train as it passes.  (The horrid thought strikes me that some on my train may not know that sheep provide their Sunday lunch!)  But I digress. As we approached my station I concentrated on the football league divisions, all of them!  Crawley Town top League two at the moment, did you know?  As the train slowly, oh so slowly, round the bend I concentrated on the Welsh League, Llanelli doing well aint they? Soon we arrived and as I rose my talker glared at me again, I forgot to smile back.  Now I rarely object to sharing a few pleasantries, but an old woman man was not what I required today. Being friendly surely includes not talking too much as well as too little?  I felt a little guilty but I suspect he will soon have bored the pants of those who joined after I left.


Business done I returned to the station and headed home.  Sharing a friendly word with the bored guard at the entrance I noticed a train for Liverpool St standing there.  Would it stop at my stop I wondered?  As is typical on that strangely laid out station there was no screen at that point to find out, so I, along with several others, jumped on. Nowadays all trains play passenger announcements. A lass with a 'come on voice' will inform you, as if speaking into your ear that "The next stop will be Witham." With that town being the delightful London overspill that it is she might as well say "The next stop will be Kabul!"  As she gives you her 'come on' voice a message runs along the narrow indicator informing the deaf the name of the next stop.  All good information and a credit to the railway company! Naturally today this did not happen. No voice was heard and the scrolling message simply stated 'This train is for Liverpool St.' A cold thrill ran through me as I saw myself at Liverpool St station fifty minutes hence attempting to explain to several large National Express Gestapo officers my plight. However we did in fact stop at the usual stations and I relaxed.


I would have relaxed more but for the one thing worse than a talker, a ned with headphones!  The gentle hum of the modern train was accompanied by a 'shish shish shish,' from behind.  I look at my watch and wonder if I, or any other passenger, can avoid decapitating the cretin before the next stop.  I like music, I like loud music, but I do not like meaningless 'shish shish shish,' while observing the world pass me by (as it often does). Would you believe that two more young neds were found on the second train? Surely murder is acceptable in such circumstances?  I changed trains and hung about the platform for an age while awaiting the second journey.  The sky was blue, the wind chill factor high, but although my fingers began to freeze I enjoyed watching the trains pass by.  I loved the other recorded not so sexy voiced lassies announcement that "The train approaching platform 3 does not stop here," which begins as the train is already a third of the way up the platform at 80 miles an hour!  Which brings me to the notice. Those notices, small yellow things, which inform the reader to 'Keep back from platform edge,' and helpfully inform that "Passing trains cause air turbulence, Stand behind yellow line." Now at first sight this appears sensible, but as I read this the yellow line was behind me.  If I then stood behind it I would have found myself sitting on top of a 'Sealand' container and half way to Felixstowe!  Tsk, these signs need to explain the point better I say.  You would be disappointed if I was to end up on the 3:45 and be found half dead in Shanghai wouldn't you?  What...? oh!






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Lionel Walden

I came across this picture of Cardiff Docks by the American artist Lionel Walden  (1861-1933)the other day and am much impressed. I love realism in paint, especially when as bright as this, er... dank,  scene happens to be.  It is real life, full of action and contains a steam train!  What more could anyone ask for I wonder? Cardiff Docks themselves have declined with the years, although still in use much of the area has been regenerated and the 'Tiger Bay' reputation is not what it once was. Waldens pictures are worth a look!


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Friday Musings

These interesting houses were I read somewhere built by one of the Courtauld's for some of their (better) employees. Unfortunately I cannot find the link again and I am going on memory here. I believe they were built as late as 1926 and appear influenced by the 'Arts & Crafts Movement' begun by the middle class socialist William Morris.  They stand alone, backing on to the allotments that join the playing fields. I often wonder what they are like inside, although glancing at the windows brings scowls from the inhabitants I find, and the only disadvantage they have these days comes from the once large front garden now turned into car parking, and the tiny letterbox which annoys postmen!  Whether they are now on open sale or still tied by some agreement I cannot tell, and being broke don't really care, but I do think that if you make homes for your (better) employees you may as well make them attractive like the ones shown here.  

I saw this picture for the first time many years ago and took to it straight away.  The face of the woman, bored, depressed, or what stuck in my mind.  I just wanted to do something for her.  Who knows why this was painted, possibly it was a genuine situation the artist noted, at least it wasn't more young ballet dancers! The reality of the situation still impresses me, and reality is all that matters. 

During the high winds that crossed the centre of Scotland yesterday, causing no little destruction, flooding and turning over of vehicles, someone, I know not who, took this picture from the train while crossing the Forth Bridge. The Forth Road Bridge behind is deserted, closed because of the winds howling up the Forth from the west, and there in between the bridges we see a small boat cheerfully crossing the Forth in spite of it all. I wonder if this is an official boat, Police or Coastguard perhaps, whatever rather him than me in such weather!


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I Don't Know Either.

The brats at the skatepark, being male, do have a habit doing strange and needless things.  For reasons beyond my comprehension the tree towering over the skatepark has been festooned with trainers.  Whether any individual was contained within them when they made their way onto the tree branches is not known.  This is not the first time such decoration has been used to 'brighten' the area, a while back one tree was furbished with what appeared to be a pack of yellow toilet tissue.  Large streamers hung delicately from the tree, much to the annoyance of the council workmen who had to remove them.  No adolescent was hurt in this operation, also to the annoyance of the council workmen!  

 On the other hand there is little reason to expect youths to behave in a reasonable manner when planning permission, controlled by the council, leads to half demolished buildings such as the one behind. Depending on whom you read planning permission has been agreed for either a dozen houses or a hotel containing eighty bedrooms!  Considering the space will struggle to contain a dozen houses, even at the size they build them today, an eighty bedroom hotel is pushing it!  To make matters worse there will be parking space for about six cars!  However owing to some planning regulations that I fail to comprehend to avoid the planning permission running out a start has to be made on demolishing the old clinic. As the observer not wearing dark glasses and looking the other way will note the building is half demolished. Quite how the brats have not yet managed to set fire to the place is a wonder as they have frequently set many items around here on fire, litter bins, post boxes, old huts, even the skatepark itself had the covering material burnt off!  Yet there the mess that is this building stands, unburnt.  I may do it myself if this goes on much longer.  How much for the land, Price on application, which means too much!  I reckon this may lie derelict until the recession is over.  
 


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'Matt' at the 'Daily Telegraph,' is without doubt the most reliable of today's cartoonists. Always relevant and rarely unfunny.  Sadly this cannot be said for so many at the moment.  Too many are busy insulting someone or just being bland and humourless.  Matt is so popular I note the shops now sell birthday cards with his cartoons emblazoned on them as well as his annual book.  I like this one, it comes near to my heart.

Yet another trip into town today, this time for a meeting that never happened.  I expected something of an educational experience but found I would have been better off at home. Still the folks are nice and I did learn something in the end.  There was a wonderful sky outside the window and I wanted to grab the camera and run out but was not in a position so to do.  Heading towards the station the twilight was aching to be photographed yet I could not get a space to take advantage of it.  By the time the train arrived it was dark. and I landed on the last train before commuterland comes alive. Considering the snow up north and the biting wind a picture of the old weir, I wonder if a mill stood here once, looks jolly in the sunshine.  The river is very high however. Not very exciting but difficult to photograph at this place.

We ought also to remember Japans biggest mistake, the attack on Pearl Harbour, 70 years ago today.

Museum

The other day I sat listening to several intelligent and knowledgeable women talking about a renovation of a museum display. Clearly they had years of experience and much knowledge both of the objects and the people who use such places. When my opinion was sought it was to be polite as I was clearly a 'know nothing' and it showed.  My role was clearly marked out for me and I just obeyed, with women around this is usually the safest option. The town museum is linked with the museum at the old weaving mill, this town being famous for the home of two major weavers in times past. Next week at some undecided date I am privileged to spray anti woodworm stuff on bits of wood that make up an aged loom in preparation for the removal of same to the Mill itself. Two looms are on display, the one referred to which was used for complicated patterns and was operated mostly by men, and a smaller one worked by women (cheaper), simpler and used for high volume work, mostly in Victorian days, funereal black cloth.  For me a small step into something useful, in a historical setting, and for them cheap labour. There are three white wooden mills still standing in the town, much changed since the mills closed in the 70's.  This one contains offices (empty) and the museum archive.

      
From the museum on the right of this picture, with the strange addition of  a fancy entrance to entice business requiring office space to apply, we look across to the other mill now a combination of business and several flats.  As a postie I found the flat letterboxes confusing, but I am not one to complain so I will not mention this.  There must have been hundreds employed here at one time. Highly skilled work was taken on, and still is as part of the museum work.  Silk was one material woven for the Queens coronation in 1953, and is still called for now. Th east of England has a thousand years or more of weaving history.  The abundance of sheep made the nation wealthy, hence the Lord Chancellor used to sit on the 'woolsack' in the House of Lords, he may still do although I believe there has been changes there. Many small villages and towns host churches with very large towers, Lavenham being one, which reflects the wealth of the area and the desperate need to show the world just how rich these locals were!  That is a village well worth a visit, although few locals smiled at us when there some time ago!  
There again few people never smile at me, laugh yes but smile, no.






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Edinburgh Pandas

Frank Boyle Edinburgh Evening News 

Frank Boyle captures the arrival of two Pandas, on loan from our friends in China for ten years, and satarises the Edinburgh love of chips covered in both salt and brown watery sauce! The Pandas have arrived in an effort China is making to join the real world,  and reflect Scotland's desire for an international presence, especially among the 'big boys!' Russia and the USA will be next I suspect.  I once, a long time ago, wandered around the London Zoo at Regents Park, a sad imitation in comparison to the one sitting on Corstorphine Hill. I journeyed there to see the two Panda Bears among other things, animals in captivity upsetting some poor souls but not those like me who would not see them otherwise. I can assure you the Pandas gave me a similar reception to that which pretty young lassies do when I whisper in their ear. One was not to be seen and memory indicates the other was engrossed in the bamboo and cared nothing for those who paid through the nose to see them.  They, like me, failed to breed, a habit that helps the bears to die out slowly in their mountain homelands. I am reliably informed that there are some women who wish their men were more like the Panda, I do not understand what they mean by this.  It is to be hoped that Edina's balmy atmosphere will aid the passion of these two, if they can put the bamboo down for long enough.

Edinburgh chip shops are, or at least were, highly important to the society.  Until the 70's shops had a terrible habit of opening from 9-5, and that included an hour closed for lunch. This led to folks suffering when an important item was not to be found in the house, often there was no way of obtaining goods after five. Chip shops provided the answer as they sold some goods and often acted as the corner shop.   However at that time many Asians were thrown out of East Africa where their forefathers had journeyed in the days of the Empire to build railways for their considerate employers.  Being Indians they soon took over all the commerce of Africa, and by the 70's many were being persecuted by the Idi Amin's of this world. A great many arrived in Leith and opened shops, one in Leith Walk learned his English, as did his fat slob son, by speaking to his customers. Most were successes, this success based on the simple idea of opening between 8-6 and not closing for lunch. It does not matter how many supermarkets open most folk want a corner shop and these men were good at that business. Some even opened up to seven at night, a revelation in Edinburgh at that time, now wonder some became millionaires.  I remember one telling us how he increased the price of his tinned beers when Glasgow football fans were passing his shops on the Saturday, he would reduce it to normal price once they had gone!

Until their arrival chip shops were split into two, many still are, and they played the part of the corner shop. A tin of beans, a packet of cigarettes or sweets for the kids were all supplied for the section to the side used for that purpose. These places were never licensed for alcohol. The main business was fish and chips, pies, sausages and chicken, and today kebabs and anything that sells.  In Edinburgh salt was lavished unhealthily onto the chips and a brown sauce, impossible to describe but a 'must have' on Edinburgh chips, was liberally applied. Some folks just preferred vinegar, and a surprise to foreigners from England, the woman in the shop applied the salt & sauce, they did not wrap it up and leave you to unwrap it and apply the needful yourself!  Pies also were not wrapped in paper as the English offer them, a strange behaviour I have never understood, and of course were always 'mince pies,' made with mutton, and similar to the manner of many customers dress sense.  In short chip shops throughout Scotland were excellent in every way, and even better around the capital city where salt & sauce abound. 

Of course there is in all things one slight drawback to all this, a combination of cigarettes, to much alcohol (Mr S are you listening?) and lashings of fish and chips, salt drenched, when leaving public houses has led to Scotland having one of the highest rates of heart failure in the world. Still, you canny have everything, can you?  I wonder how long Panda and his mate will survive.....?   

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BRyn Haworth, Christmas Blues

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Another Saturday Night

One of the joys of any winters Saturday night is to dwell on the satisfying football result from the afternoon. This, as any supporter of the Heart of Midlothian will remind anyone willing to listen, is a pleasure to be enjoyed, but not expected!  To have a concern for this side means carrying around a deep cynicism based on hard reality.  Success is a mere step away and yet we find ourselves drifting in a sea of despair. The treasured European place awaits us but once again we are far from there and Christmas is upon us once again. This afternoon I listened in to Radio Glasgow's actually quite decent commentary on the game against St Johnstone. This we knew would be a difficult occasion as the Perth side have had excellent results this season and attempt to play good football. Naturally we also knew we would win.
We lost 2-1.
Not only were they probably the better side but we missed a penalty and they scored one! Now our disappointed players, who have not as yet been paid, have to prepare for the game against Celtic next week. We ought to beat that rag tag and bobtail bunch of misfits, but I wonder.....

Why are 'St Johnstone' called 'St Johnstone' anyway?  
Perth is an old established city (although now called a 'city' for some daft reason) and the area around Perth has been inhabited since Mesolithic times, around 8000 years ago. The River Tay was crossed at low tide here and settlements grew around it. The Tay contains the largest volume of water of any British river, and it it very cold indeed. This does not stop some folks dipping into it almost daily! They must be dafties! Perth was the residence of some of the past royalties, an important town during the Reformation, and possessed many industries, especially that of whisky. The main Kirk, or church, was dedicated to St John the Baptist and became known as 'St John's.'  The town became known as 'St John's Toun' during the middle ages although the Pictish name Perth (meaning 'wood') was reinstated.

None of that interesting aside brightens the gloom here mind. The footballers have not yet received their wages, and the cash may well have run out. The owner wishes to sell and I would gladly buy him out for a £1 if I could find someone to lend me £30 million to pay the debts. Woe is us, the futures bright, for those who carry a candle in their pockets.






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All Done

All my Christmas shopping and card writing has now been done.  Nothing cash wise to spend so little bought, cards cheap, stamps and postage dearer than I reckoned, but everything done. Pah! Some people have not even started yet, would you believe that?



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St Andrews Day

          



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Leadership

Herman Cain is one of the many Republican candidates for the American presidency.  Somewhat unsurprisingly a woman has come forward claiming to have had a 13 year long affair with him. I say 'unsurprisingly' as it appears every other candidate is found out by his dallying with a woman of some kind at some time. In'the land of the free' some things are not 'free' after all.  

There is something worrying about all this. Apart from the loose living candidates, not to mention their women who appear always to be the 'innocent' parties, at least when they appear on television talk shows, in the press and in magazine articles for months and years to come, apart from all this there is a hypocrisy in requiring high standards from leaders while not living in similar manner ourselves.  American presidents must be married, to one wife, no girlfriends, no sexual perversions, nothing 'immoral' must be found upon him.  However this is a nation in which many demand the absurdity of 'gay marriage,' in which millions are aborted annually, millions on the welfare schemes, and those who have resist strongly sharing their wealth with those who have not, especially the sick or old!  Surely something is amiss?  The UK is of course no better.  We demand from leaders that which we allow elsewhere, especially where we are concerned.  

An individual, whether king or peasant, ought to have a private life, and we can see with the inquiry into the UK media just how little privacy anyone actually has, yet we demand from them a moral stability that we can respect. Surely the first thing that matters must be their ability, not the faults they share with us all?  Lord Palmerston had many women at his beck and call, and often they were involved in other nations governments, and this helped him, and them, no end. he lasted until he was 81 in high office, although Victoria would not allow him into Buckingham Palace as he was 'not respectable.' Today he would be hounded out. Churchill drank and was called a drunk, although in fact he was never a drunk in any way, JFK had his women and at that time it was ignored, he would not be seen as a hero today by many.  How many leaders of ability were 'moral?'  Few if any.  The very job makes straight forward moral decisions difficult.  The US requires a leader with the ability to do the job in front of him, his peccadilloes may tell us much about him but must not be the predominant factor.  If they are many good leaders from the past would never have got there.        

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Late Afternoon

Wandering about on a fruitless search for work I dragged my weary body through the streets.  Nothing happened. That sums up the excitement for today and reveals the staggering joy of my life at the moment.  Now that winter has arrived bringing cold temperatures, wind which cut through the thin layers of my coat, and make me wander about outside as it is warmer there than inside my palatial palace, I may find dragging my body harder work, wearing all those old anoraks like......  Nothing of any interest happened this morning again, I did not expect it would. The weariness from that bug still hangs around and it takes ages to do anything unless pushed into it.  I did struggle through the aches to begin some of my duties, but not many.  Still I am not one to complain.....


There is a growing number of inflatable snowmen standing outside folks doors these days.  Plastic reindeer's, Santa's climbing up walls, lights strung up alongside houses and a pitiful few decorate the centre of town.  Christmas trees drop their needles on many a carpet and 'It is tidings of comfort and joy,' everywhere.  You can see it in the happy smiling faces of the people as they blow their car horns loudly at one another and growl meaningfully at passers-by. Those carrying trees or rolls of wrapping paper are happy to share their joy by shoving them into your back in their hurry to get home to share their joy and happiness.  Shops increase the price of their cards, toys and paper as they inflict Chrismassy tunes on the shoppers to get them 'in the mood.'  It certainly creates a mood in me all right but not one that ought to arise at Christmas, or any other time come that.  In the 70's the boss of the Cash & Carry where I worked put Christmas tunes on the Tannoy.  It took minutes before we all wandered around tight lipped and fuming at the music on offer, several days later we were word perfect on they tunes but some chose to change the words and insert others referring to the boss himself.  He may not have been pleased had he heard them. 


Mid winter celebrations are a must for us here in the cold, wet, northern hemisphere, and it is rather sad that Christmas is abused at this time.  Much better to follow the Scots way and celebrate new year.  The idea of covering up a pagan celebration with a Christian one was understandable but a slight misjudgment there I reckon. Jesus birth ought to be celebrated properly and a drunken commercial event does not do this.  However I will accept cards and gifts, reluctantly, if proffered!   

Does this car belong to anyone you know.....?

     

I thought the owner of this number plate would have a better car.....

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Sunday Night

Sunday night entertainment was spent crawling through the ever darkening streets attempting to find a spot where I could picture the sunset and feature the large crescent moon.  By the time I found a spot it was quite dark and the moon itself looks awfully small in this pic, but it is there!  Wonderful sky tonight, the colours are hard to beat as the sun sinks below the distant horizon (there must be hundreds of them there, one goes down there every night!).  In spite of the beauty of the skies above I noticed that few appeared to notice.  How we miss so much by looking no further than our nose!  

Star

The football world was upset today by the news of Gary Speeds death. He was found hanged at home early this morning. Police state that no suspicious circumstances were involved. Forty two year old Speed was manager of the Welsh football team and had a good reputation within football.  Only yesterday he had appeared on a TV football programme and had spoken to one or two of his friends and appeared outwardly to be happy enough.  Both TV and radio have been filled with stunned friends and colleagues sharing their shock at his death.

The reason for his suicide is not yet known but several articles end with reference to the Samaritans and stress the importance of 'talking to someone' if a man has problems.  This is a wise precaution as many men feel despair at their various situations yet will not talk about it to anyone.  Some feel weak if they talk, others embarrassed.  The Samaritans, as well as doctors and other agencies have seen it all before and are well able to offer a non judgmental listening ear, and able to direct individuals to the help they require.  No man needs to suffer in silence!  

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Saturday Night Out

So I decided after the dubious replies this morning that I needed a night on the tiles.  I intended to seek the bright lights of the town centre (paid for by credit card) and eat at the 'Thai Curry House and Takeaway Massage' where I have, er 'friends.'  Then head for the 'Independent Bar' where the landlord assures me there are no drugs allowed on his premises. When I pointed out to him when I met him in the street yesterday that a chap flung a brick at the head of another in his bar he replied, "Yes he did, but drugs were not involved. Just needless violence."  I couldn't argue with that.  However it may be better I reckoned that I went to the 'Nags Head,' or whatever it is called now.  There again I hesitate, what with the doormen, sorry 'entrance control officers' and the 'incident,' I must reconsider.  'The Bull' has stood in the market place for well over a hundred years, serving the public and being well recommended by one and all. Once it was filled with farmers and their ilk as the market pens were opposite the entrance. Cattle, sheep, and servants would be bought and sold in between 'refreshment in the 'Bull.'  I think it is a legal 'must' that every market town or village in England has a pub in the centre called 'The Bull!'  Today there are few farmers there watching the football on one of the may screens, few young males watch it in the early evening as young females wearing pelmets arrive and distract them. Hmmm that might affect my heart too much so I am not sure about that one. There is of course the ancient 'Boars Head,' and the other place next door, a third watering hole down the road full of rich trendy folks (they think) stoned out of their head, all of which can give one like me an evening of fun and jollity (laughing at them).  Pubs restaurants, happy young people, loud music, wine, dancing......hold on, wait a minute, it's raining!  Well forget it, I canny go out.  I have a hole in both my shoes and I am not squelching about in my condition.  Now, what's on TV instead....?     




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Friday Night Entertainment

There was a time when I couldn't wait for the No 17 bus to arrive.  At 7:30 on the dot, except when it was late as it was most Friday nights, I would clamber aboard and head for the bright city lights.  Usually this meant a pub in Edinburgh's  Rose Street called the 'Goblet.'  There we would carouse along with other citizens as we wasted our money and lives on lager at one shilling and elevenpence a pint. Oh that was living!  Actually no it wasn't but there you are.  Gordon Brown was one of the residents of the lounge, although we didn't know he was Gordon brown until many years later.  He was just one of the student oiks who sat behind the door. Nice blokes but clearly students as they had more to drink than we could afford!  Friday nights around the world remains the same for many. Seeking the life of adventure, company, friends, entertainment and jollity they crowd the city centres, the pubs and clubs and other places of 'entertainment.' Once I could not wait to get out and join the happy throng and not be trapped in the house. Friday, and Saturdays for that matter, meant I had to do something 'out there, I could not be inside while 'life' happened and I missed it  My life needed to be where it was all at, even if it wasn't actually, but at least I was there when life didn't happen.


I was cogitating on this earlier tonight as I happily browsed the 48 page 'Tesco Big Price Drop' brochure,  selecting bargains with which to fill my kitchen cupboards. Rejecting the page full of '£1 OFF' vouchers as the products so reduced were not worth having even if free I checked the prices of a wide variety of special offers, all of which are way over the cost of the 'Own Brand' versions, even when reduced. Comparing the price on the 'Jacobs CLUB' with the price of 'Raisin and Lemon Pancakes' I suddenly realised that I was an old woman.  I ought to have known this as it is something that has been pointed out to me quite often before. By 'quite often' I actually mean daily since around 1960.  Before that I was just 'stupid brat!'  In spite of all the evidence to the contrary I have continued to ignore this rather obvious revelation even though I now have a collection of Supermarket 'Special Offers' leaflets going back to 2001. Doesn't everyone keep theirs....? Man how prices have changed!  So here I am no longer concerned with the bright lights nor the drink that makes them brighter, the attractions of the world appear to me to be empty, worthless and stupidly expensive.  Yet I am happier in many ways now than I was then.  Life is strange, innit....?



 Oops, 8:45 pm, almost time for the cocoa.......        



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Old Photos

This is Paris 9111 by Alfred Stieglitz. I like this, especially enlarged.  This is not a great subject but it is real life and I like that sort of thing.  Photographic fashion changes over the years, possibly reflecting society, possibly reflecting the photographer, possibly just folks playing around with the camera.  Stieglitz didn't 'play around,' and produced some interesting pictures in his day. Born in New Jersey in 1864 he was presenting his first pictures by the 1880's. Considering the bulkiness of the cameras and the difficulty of developing and printing in those early days it is amazing how quickly photography caught on. Alfred was a man at the centre of the American photographic world until his death in 1946.

Henri Cartier - Bresson 1908-2004 came later and was the master of the candid picture. He was not however keen of being photographed himself which is a bit unfair.  Considered one of the greatest of his time he was aided by the invention just before the Great War of the Leica Camera. The compact nature and quiet workings enabled him to pry on people take candid snaps.

Bert Hardy 1913-1995 came to fame as a Picture Post cameraman. This magazine combined news stories with good quality pictures and was popular until the days of television took away the public. Bert's pictures combined gritty reality of life in Britain before and after the Second World War. Whatever the subject Hardy gave realism a human edge, these were real people and readers of the magazine could easily identify with them. He is without doubt one of the great British photographers. 

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Music Comparison

CCR are a group that have been around for many years.  I like this type of thing now and again and today I found them on YouTube  Not the most intellectual group, they are from the south after all, but I do like a stomping band every so often and they fit the bill.

On the other hand I like this also. (No not because of the cover which I suspect was designed by a man)  While CCR records last about three minutes 'A Winged Victory For The Sullen,' lasts over seven minutes of deep thought and cogitation. A mellow sound very different from CCR.  I like both.

What thinkest thou....?

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A Foggy Day

Just visible in this pic is the hazy mist that has hung about all day.  Behind me, but difficult to picture, the mist was thicker in the lower lying ground.  Until midday the mist was very thick and ideal for clever photographers to make the most of the opportunities.  One amateur was either in his kip or stuffing his face to much to make the effort to go out however and that football does not watch itself.  More of this tomorrow as autumn takes hold of us and winter begins to lower the temperature before it arrives.

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