How to be an idiot No 89.

Like debt 'idiocy' runs in our family.  Great Granddad Robert was after all the one who looked down the muzzle of his gun at Ladysmith muttering "I can't see the problem," before getting a close up view of what the problem was.  Granddad also used the term "You and who's army rather loosely," in the 'Red Lion,' before discovering just who's army those Gordon Highlanders belonged to.  My dad cleverly bought my Mum to improve the intellectual gene pool.  She often said she had never had a drink since they met back in 1936 and I begin to wonder why?  Dad of course was famous for going with his mate to enlist in 1925 and finding himself alone in China after his mate was rejected because of 'flat feet!'  He also managed to create me!  


My education in stupidity goes back a long way. Putting my hand into a tape recorder in 1968, to have a feel of the bits inside, while leaving it plugged in and allowing the back of my hand to touch something live was a shock that remains with me to this day. While at primary school I helped my mother clean up after tea by pouring the old chip fat from the chip pan down the sink. It took dad three days to clear that lot. Having watched as the room was decorated in lovely Heart of Midlothian coloured wallpaper I proceeded, as eleven year old's do, to cut open a discarded golf ball to see what was inside. What was inside appeared to be hundreds of tightly woven elastic bands surrounding a small whitish ball. As I stuck the blunt knife in the ball it exploded releasing a stream of white gunk that flew up the newly papered wall. The phrase "I think I am in trouble," arises around this point.

Numerous other instances of idiocy have arisen, the times I have attempted to pick up a tray with bare hands taken straight from the oven, getting on a bus to discover it was going in the wrong direction, indicating to females that their bum is 'blocking the light,' suggesting another should redecorate three days after she had just done so, all these could be construed as idiotic. As does walking home late at night as the Notting Hill Carnival was ending and finding thousands of young black youths coming the other way yet making no attempt to avoid them certainly was a piece of idiot behaviour that startles me yet!

So it was no surprise when, tired as I am from the bug, rising early, and suffering malnutrition from the scraps I scavenge from the back of restaurants, it is no surprise that last night things went haywire. Once more the evening arrived, this time the evening of the 'longest day,' although the clouds and rain made this difficult to verify around here - again! The evening arrived with a promise of European Championship football! Now it has become my habit since obtaining this beastly laptop that hates me to go to bed and watch football in the evenings. The man below gets disturbed by loud noise such as coughing or breathing, and certainly was not happy when I played Lynnard Skynnard that time I thought he was out! So to avoid the axe through the head again I take the beast to bed and watch football in comfort. Very different from the days of long ago when watching football from a damp, cold terracing brought bronchitis and head wounds from flying beer cans, and all that for a poor mid table finish at the end!

The first half of the game went much as some expected. The Czechs made a good start, fell away and Ronaldo spend much time posing for the cameras. "He lifts his eyes to heaven more than the Pope does," said one commentator. However come half time, and after my mug of cocoa, I then decided to publish a quick post. Now the beast does not like watching TV and publishing posts at the same time that much, it strains the memory, so I put up a short but deeply profound post. I decided not to review it as the teams were returning to the field. I posted the profound and found the profound had another of those format problems. That's three in a row. I then went back and fixed it, but found the format had altered another area. This was fixed but not fixed. Time was running out and the game kicking off. Again I fixed the problem and again another fault arose. Grrrrrrrr!

I was of course using only one browser to do two things. One tab had the football (BBC1 iPlayer) and the other had Blogger. Now the BBC website has been getting updated recently, and a fine old mess they have made of this! The iplayer has this week added a large button allowing the viewer to go back to the beginning of the programme, a button that is far too big in my opinion and needs alteration. The laptop keyboard not helping here as the letters are too near one another.  Switching from the mess that now was Blogger to the football to check progress I accidentally touched the return to beginning button. This took me back over an hour and a half to the beginning of the whole show!! So I attempted to 'fast forward' but this only went half way through the first half. By now my language was something akin to Arkkadian! Vile thoughts of retribution on the iplayers designers head filled my mind as I closed the tab, began a new one and fought for the football again, this time succeeding and at the right place. Once more unto Blogger and once more attempt to update and once more (amid much yelling that possibly made my neighbour go out for a walk in the rain) I failed. I decided time was against me and I must delete the whole post! This I did. But I had not done so! Oh no, the professional idiot had deleted the futile post from the day before and had not yet perused the one comment thereon! I deleted the profound, but by now less interesting, post informing the blogger and iplayer geeks what I considered them to be. More gnashing of teeth than even Ronaldo could offer after diving and claiming a penalty was my lot by now! Incidentally my description of the BBC web designer by now would make an ideal experiment in one of those hospitals that specialise in psychotic killers. My consideration for the man who set up the Blogger was along similar lines. Returning once again to the football I found it difficult to concentrate on the shirt pulling hordes as the room was by now filled with steam that had emanated from my ears.

After Portugal scored an excellent goal. making me glad there would not be an extra thirty minutes, my head would not stand that. I lay for an hour and tried to ponder my reactions. Was the tiredness was more than I realised, the bug was a pest right enough, is blogging late was really a good idea, should I have used two browsers, and was it really cocoa I had been drinking?


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Nothing Happened Again

Nothing happened again today.  After breakfast, during which I read good blogs and enlightened my mind, I trundled the bike around the streets at about 6:30.  The sun shone, the early morning rush, seven cars, three vans and four bikes, rushed hither and thither beginning the day without a smile.  I was ignored.  It is amazing just how many people are on the streets at that time. Later the excitement intensified as I bought bread and milk but suddenly the day has passed by and nothing has happened, again.  Where did the day go?  The list of things to do is still there, undone, yet I cannot see what happened today.  It was there stretching out in front of me and suddenly it has passed me by.  What happened out there?  I ate, I read blogs, I .....I must get out more.....

An update on Jerry discovers that he has failed to die is in fact better than thought.  His wife claims to be a nurse and has decided he has not had a stroke but has had a reaction caused by Diabetes.  Of course she also controls the insurance forms so believe that if you like!  He visits a doctor tomorrow, so will be asking for money the day after!  Hopefully Obama will give the Yanks a proper NHS before he leaves to stop the poorest paying through the nose for medicine.

   

Nothing else to say, nothing goes through my mind bar the hope that England get stuffed enjoy their game tonight.  I suspect the England flags seen adorning passing vehicles, not as many as usual I note, will soon be in the rubbish bins as per normal after these games.  The English really do build themselves up for a fall at such times.  They genuinely believe they belong among the best in spite of all the evidence to the contrary.  They laugh at the theft of '66 yet whine still about a non goal from two years ago.  Tsk!  Tonight another anti-climax approaches and I will watch intently, unless I fall asleep.  I might have some fun this time tomorrow however, asking folks where their flags have gone.  Once I am out of hospital I will post again. 

Nope, as you can see nothing of moment to say, nothing has happened, nothing worth blogging, nowt, nil, zilch!  So I leave you with a picture of an ex-army lorry for your entertainment.

9:40  Bah!  Linesman again accepts English gold!  Bah!

Anniversary

Today is the 150th anniversary of the great train service called 'The Flying Scotsman!'  Begun as far back as 1862 because the English government were desperate to keep in touch with Edinburgh, they knew how desperately England needs Scotland.  In those far off days the trip from one end to the other, a distance of some 393 miles, involved three separate trains from a variety of rail operators.  The General Passenger Superintendent of the Great Northern Line (GNR), one Walter Leith, decided that it would be a good idea to a through train all the way.  His idea was adopted I imagine after much in fighting between companies, and the service, at first known as the 'Special Scotch Express,' the 'Flying Scotchman,' or the 'Ten O'Clock,'  began on this date in 1862.  One hundred and fifty years which have seen dramatic, fast paced change in this world, and railways travel played its part in speeding that change.  Railways revolutionised the world and the lines laid down then affect us still. Soon known as the 'Flying Scotsman,' at precisely ten o'clock two trains departed, one from Edinburgh's Waverley Station and one from London's Kings Cross. In 1862 the journey took ten and a half hours, and while this appears a long journey, broken by a thirty minute stop at York, previous journeys by stage coach could take up to a fortnight! Two hours were taken from this time within less than twenty years thanks to improvements on the railways. Heating, dining cars, and corridor trains were introduced with the new century although the stop at York was less. I strongly suspect the heating and corridors were the most important items to most passengers.

Wiki

During the twenties and thirties rail companies competed with one another for custom. Rail times between London and the north came down and trains developed an expertise in comfort for passengers. At one time along with comfortable compartments, high class food, radio, cocktail bars, there was even a barber. In spite of this railway companies still lost money even after the great merger in 1924. At that time all small companies, all losing heavily, were combined into four regional organisations. It is said Churchill wished to nationalise them at that time but no Conservative government would dream of that! However by 1945 no other alternative was available and nationalised 'British Railways' came into being.

Wiki

Most of us link the name 'Flying Scotsman' to the famous engine of that name. However she only came into being in 1923 and took the name from the now famous service. This engine cut the journey time to eight hours in 1928 by running non stop. A second train crew were carried and a pathway through the tender allowed them to change drivers at an appropriate spot thus ensuring there were no stops on the journey. This engine also became famous for the first official recorded speed of one hundred miles an hour in 1934. The engine continued in British Railways use until 1964 when it was retired. Since then it has gone through many private owners hands.

Wiki

For a time the alterations to Britain's railways caused by Conservative governments inability to spend money to save money has meant this famous service was interrupted for a while.  However the present operators 'East Coast' and departs at the early hour of 5:40 a.m.from the Waverley.  This service stops only at Newcastle and is in London in just four hours.  For one who used to take a train from Kings Cross at eight in the evening, snuggling down into the ageing compartment coaches and arriving at Waverley Station at three in the morning  I find the four hour journey quite appealing.  I should add that the night service did not inform passengers it stopped at Waverley, it was bound for Aberdeen and carried few passengers and I suspect has long since ceased to be.  The cheap tickets, booked in advance, were considerably less than the near two hundred pounds I would have to pay for the privilege of rail travel today!

Ben Brooksbank

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Sabbath Day

Some of you may be aware of the existence of Jerry the Rebel down there in Missouri or Arkansas or one of them cowboy areas of the US of A.  His well read blog 'As the Crackerhead Crumbles' may well be known to you.  It may also be coming to an end.  Poor chap has been somewhat unwell (as well as being clearly sick in the mind, which is why I like him), he has been somewhat unwell for a long time.  This has now left him with a lack of feeling down his side and it is possible he has had a bit of a bummer here.  He may not be posting for a while, and if you never glanced at his quixotic (what?) blog make sure you do now, before it either ends or his wife takes over!  

Before seven this morning I had managed to trundle up the old railway for the first time this week. I was so early there was not one dog walker to be seen before  I made my way back.  The sky blue, the vegetation very well fed by the rains, and a lovely wind blowing me all the way home.  Just a small touch of green is something we need each day.  Quite how I survived London I sometimes wonder.  The sights, sounds and smells off the country are required to keep us mentally and physically alive I say!

On the way back I was once again intrigued by the sun shining through the water at the nancy boy fountain.  The green spot is sun interference, not a lamp on the fountain in case you wondered.  A strange fountain, erected in the thirties, but the sun playing on the water is magnificent I reckon.  

I had intended to photograph the chimneys on this 'Arts & Crafts' type house a while back and managed this morning when all was quiet.  I had not realised that all three chimneys were so very different.  Whether these were used by the builder to show his talents, a permanent advert or 'spam' if you prefer, I know not, but they do make me stop and think when looking at them now.  Three totally different approaches to the same simple job and each a masterpiece in itself.  Well done to the builder, whoever he was!  Sadly I have no note of his name and this building does not appear to have been listed!  

A 'friend' of this blog has sped this on to me as he claims the female readers of the blog would benefit from studying this carefully.  This 'friend' added his thought that 'Ironing,' 'cooking,' 'cleaning,' and other 'female jobs,' could be added to 'sewing,' and the ladies could benefit themselves by practicing the advice found here and benefiting their man by a wise use of sewing when the football is on so as not to disturb what he referred to as 'their Lord and Master.'  When I enquired as to why this was not posted on his blog he muttered somewhat and came up with, "Too much on there at the moment."  Not sure if I believe him.  

His address can be made available for the correct amount....... 

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Quandary

I'm in a quandary here, according to that excellent man Max this blog needs to be entertaining, something people enjoy, something they like, otherwise I will not get rich from the Google ads posted here.  People, especially those spending money, will only come here if the want to, and if they like what they find.  This indeed leaves a quandary!  Surely no-one comes here because they 'like' it?  I thought I was part of some Blogger punishment routine!  What do people wish to read?  What do they like?  What would they enjoy?  I ask these questions regarding this site, not what they really like, enjoy or read in private at home!  I am not publishing the stuff my readers read at home thank you!  There again why should I publish what they want?  I do not read their blogs because they write what I like, I read them because I like what I they write, and have come to like the person behind what I read.  They write for themselves not me, and this works fine.  I suppose that is where the great enjoyment arises.  


If therefore I were to make attempt to make money I must act like a daily tabloid and write what readers want, even if this is half truths and downright lies, features half naked celebrities bonking other celebs, and scandalous tales of rape, murder, conniving politicians and such like.  I am not sure that would be an audience I wish to gather.  I am convinced that may well sell adverts but not to me.  I would rather read the ads than such bile.  For me, I prefer the thinking, erudite, normal folk who pass by here, and I am not sure they wish to read tabloid gossip, well not here anyway.  So, the result of this quick cogitation leaves me spouting bile, writing off the top off my head, misspelling words (UK style), mistyping rambling thoughts and ideas, and being corrected by my superiours day by day?  Yeah, that seems fine to me.  So, no more  enjoyment, just more of the same!  Good eh?  What........oh!

Richard Webb

There again I am surprised to a great extent that I managed to survive this long, what with those early days of malnutrition and post war austerity.  Mince and tatties was all we could afford, and then only if dad grew the potatoes in that plot just outside our cardboard box.  Quite where Mum obtained the mince was never clear but Dad never liked that butcher fellow.  Of course we were lucky!  Some folks had it tough, like the people up the road living in that hole in the road.  Real bad when the rains came I can tell you, and in Edinburgh rain came two days out of three in them long gone days.  It hardly rains at all there now in comparison.  I suppose they and we were lucky, having running water I mean, in the south east of Englandshire that dried up come April and hosepipes for the rich were outlawed.  We never knew what a hosepipe was until 1970.  How we longed for the fish van coming up once a week from Port Seton.  Sixpence worth of scrag ends 'for the cat' Mum would say, and we would feast that night!  Later we actually got ourselves a cat, but that was in the days of 'never having it so good!'  It was delicious!

However my luck has changed.  From today I will be rich and all thanks to NOC!  Yes indeedy the National Oil Company of Libya has sent me an email detailing my winnings (in a lottery In which I do not have to buy a ticket) of $540,000 US dollars in the fight against HIV/Aids.  I am of course sharing a much bigger pot with seven others in the 3rd level of this draw.  This however is brilliant, this will be worth about £350,000 I guess in real money and that might just clear all my debts.  Woohooo!  How lucky am I to receive this, not only unexpected, but unasked for fortune!  I am so happy.  I guess this is all down to removing that Ghaddafi fellow and sharing his oil through a South African (they say) company.  All I have to do is send my details to Mr Angelo Christians their rep in J'Burg and I will be rich!  Ha!  I bet Prince Bauberg in Nigeria, and Akhmed Abedaye in Nairobi are  jealous they did not win, although they have around $25 million dollars (US) they wish to remove from Africa for safe keeping.  I don't need to help them now, I will just live of my (unasked for) lottery winnings.  No more cave in the wilderness, no more cardboard boxes, from now on I will tour the US spending my (US) dollars and flouting their customs patrols searching for Soub and RDG.  Well I will wait until after the Euro 2012 has finished first.

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My Eyes!

My eyes are wearing out looking at this new blog.  I have been checking the links and some fool has made them too small.  In between increasing the size, looking for their origin and general laptop use I find my eyes strained to breaking point!  If there is a breaking point for eyes that is. Now I am attempting to watch Ukraine play France and someone sent a huge rainstorm that has caused a major hindrance to the game.  It has been suspended for ages and might just go ahead.  Tsk! The emotional strain this causes  the fan.  Jings the game has started, I'm off....


Not worth watching at the moment, I hate to say it but the rain has dampened things down.  Also they will delay the next game for fifteen minutes.  This means it will be well after cocoa time when I get to bed again.  Although on this occasion it may be worth is if Sweden beat England!  Now that is worth staying up late for, innit?  Must go and fix food as it is now half time.  Now where is that pie & Bovril.....?

Too Busy....

Too busy to post.  For a start I had to wait in all morning for an official 'official' calling to officially pass me as being me.  That done I know await several sheets of paper to officially fill in as required.  I then await the day when I am officially passed, officially.  That done I had little time or indeed inclination for anything else.  The sun shone and pulled me out of the house to reveal how weary I feel.  Quite why I don't understand, but weary I felt, so I returned to cleaning up the new website.  Now stuffed with mince and tatties I find the other main reason of my sloth lies ahead of me - Euro 2012!  Yes indeed the football tournament kicks off at 5 in the evening and after that game another begins at 7:45.  This means that long after my bedtime I am sitting, without my cocoa, watching a game draw to a close.  Naturally in the morning I am rising later and somewhat bleary eyed.  It was after six when I got up today and usually it is just after five!  Tsk Football!  It does not know what it is doing to me.  Mind you I am convinced now that Spain, or Espana if you are foreign, will win as they are clearly the best side.  However I have noticed that no goalkeeper stands out so far.  This is because few actual shots are reaching them.  Good teamwork  and not enough cutting edge in attack I say.  No goalie has been really bad either so Hibernian will not find a replacement here  this year.  

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Braintree & Bocking War Memorial Website

Well I have been busy.  At last I have managed to get a site put up for the dead soldiers I have been pursuing all this time.  It is not going to win any awards, but that matter not, it will however offer a few bits of basic info to the searching masses and possibly lead to better info regarding the Great War centenary in 2014.  Naturally all did not go well.  I wrote the info on 'Word,' and transferred it to the free 'Google site.'  I was then struck with an unexpected problem, the format went haywire!  Several days of struggle eventually saw me find an answer.  Changing the font to one that matched was quite obvious, so I did not think of it, and after trying the 'Word' settings, Normal, web, print, I put it all onto 'Open Office,' and then used their print setting.  This gave some sort of satisfaction and I have left it at that.  Of course having chosen a theme that contains red I found that many of the words turned red for no good reason.  I also had to go over all those red bits to amend the bold bits which had become, er 'unbold.'  Much still to do, check the links, ensure I have not breached copyright (too often) insert contact address, and so on.  But the brute is up and running.

Braintree & Bocking War Memorial 

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Gant

What?  You don't understand?  It's quite clear isn't it, this sign I mean?  Are you so slow you fail to understand a name plate, a simple address I ask?  Tsk!  The standard of blog reader is lowering.  OK we will take it slowly. 


In the days of long ago weaving was very important.  The south east of Englandshire was chock a block with sheep.  Counties like Suffolk, Norfolk and Essex grew wealthy on the export of wool or the weaving that followed.  Much was sent over to the Low Countries, what is now Holland, Belgium, Flanders  and Northern France.  At the same time weavers flocked over this way, either because English Kings tempted them with better pay or a persecution of some sort made the weavers flee with their kin.  Well into the twentieth century the weaving and allied trades were big business.  Far East competition killing the trade in the years after the war.  

The influence of the Flanders incomers can be seen in many areas around here.  Spitalfields in London is one such area. Many weavers houses remain, much tarted up, although the windows betray the need for light, and shutters and rooftops often reflect attics more often seen in Belgium than here.  This house for instance has what seems to me to be an nineteenth century porch but with a Lowland influenced double attic, a not uncommon sight.  A bit late for the weavers perhaps but a lingering architectural legacy maybe? 

A terrace of houses elsewhere in town are thought to have belonged to weavers who worked from home.  It is said the dozen or so houses shared one attic which ran the whole length of the terrace.  This enabled long bales of cloth to be stretched out for whatever purpose they had in store.  The windows also look high and allow much light.


However you wonder about the term 'Gant,' don't you?   It is a word left behind by such folks and simply refers to the alleyway between the tight packed buildings.  These buildings began as a large square where goods were traded on market day.  These developed first into stalls and later into proper buildings between which these 'gants' ran to enable access.  The term has remained and reflects the Flemish weavers language.  I suspect other words are used daily in the UK which arose this way but have become part of the fabric and we neither know where they came from nor really care. Other words to refer to alleys used in England are 'Jennels, Jitties, Jiggers and Snickets,' possibly 'Vennels also should be mentioned.' The naming of the gant does not imply this is a tourist site worth visiting I must add.  In fact this gant leads on to another named 'Leatherworkers Gant' if I remember correctly but is now mostly used solely the butcher for deliveries, so it is somewhat uncouth!  


Of course stubborn folks will then as about the 'pigs head' and the 'pottage pot,' which is to be expected.  When new streets require names, and any postman will tell you streets arise out of nowhere, then the town asks local historians for suggestions.  I also was asked for a suggestion by a Councillor once, he called the police!  Anyway this chap has done some research and came up with this name which he implies, but does not say, could refer to a pub that once stood in this area  in times past.  A bit slack if you ask me, although references in ancient deeds mention the pub but with insufficient clarity sadly.  A further 'gant' has been names after a business that once flourished there and I suspect names will be found for those, if any are left, that are as yet unnamed.    

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I May Have Found....

The towns Achillies heel..... 

Discus....

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Power and Beans!

As you will recall the power unit of my pc decided to take up smoking.  Bright little me deduced from this that there was a problem, no fool me!  Having struggled with the vexing laptop long enough, and only now having it under control, I managed to scrape money for a new power unit for the pc.  This afternoon I installed the brute and having done so I find the fans go around but the pc does not work.  Something is not right.  See I am clever.  A quick web search found too many helps available to make sense of this afternoon!  There was only one thing to do, I'm off to watch Euro 2012 instead!

Luckily I have stocked up sufficient food stocks for the Euro competition!   

I might need more pies mind......

   

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Blank

Blank, that's what is in my mind, just blank!  I sort of forgot to eat today and my mind dies when food has been forgotten.  This is sadly becoming a habit with me.  However after I discovered a half eaten hamburger in one of those polystyrene containers so loved by 'take away's' around here dumped on the wall outside I felt more inclined to consider the world and all its riches.  Having  considered the riches of the world I fell asleep.  

This evening I had intended to write something deep and thoughtful concerning the great moments of today.  However when I found myself reading a summary of Mussolini's career for reasons unknown I realised most deep, thoughtful moments are less important than they appeared at the time.  If history teaches anything it is that what is today once was before and will be again.  Nothing ever changes, it was ever thus!  At first this may appear depressing, like listening to David Beckham talk about himself and Victoria,  but it need not be so.  The past teaches us about ourselves, and by careful thought can prepare us for tomorrow.  Historical study was ignored during the nineteen thirties in Europe and world leaders failed to grasp human nature under the leadership of determined strong men.  Human nature never changes, whatever the passing fashion of the day says.  Il Duce us teaches that fame is so short lived that we ought to do what is right and best for all, not follow our own ideas for short term gain.  He found that it also teaches that if short term gain gives some success don't throw it away on an ambition too far.  Had he remained out of the war he would not have ended up hanging from a lampost with his missus!  A more modern example would be to check a picture of the world leaders at one of those great summits they are so fond off.  Check the last three or four summits and you will find so many great men have disappeared, and their ambitions and plans along with them.  Short term plans leave no trace, had they planned long term for the good of the world some may even have become popular, maybe.

So nothing deep and meaningful tonight, just an end picture of the covers of the 'Scottish Football Historian,' a magazine I can no longer afford but once did enjoy greatly, and nothing else worth reading. That makes a change doesn't it? What.....Oh!

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Wednesday Trivia

I discovered this interesting quiz in the Graniud the other day.  It is well worth wasting a few minutes of your valuable time to get the wrong answers here.  Have fun!

Where should you emigrate? Click here!

I didn't mean to post this but this laptop has a mind of its own. 

 I may be wrong but is that a 'For Sale' sign I see before me.....?

This beastie reflects my mood this week.  You see I had a great time on Monday.  My best looking, most intelligent, classical trained and favourite niece came all this way out of grotty London to see me.  How lovely to have a visitor.  At least the place has been cleaned up, the dust polished away and the floor hoovered.  I also found where most of those frozen peas went that time!  Hiding the remaining stench behind vanilla candles she cooked my dinner (oh joy!) and we discussed the family, the world, her future, Bartock and Stravinsky (which she has played magnificently) and all sorts of meaningless rubbish (the family) and I at least had a real good time.  Since that visit my life has been lonely, dark, empty, and shorn of joy.  The lifted heart droops when you know she will not reappear for another ten years, or at least it will seem that long.  So I look like yon joker placed there to bring fun and joy to the carnival at the weekend.  I don't think I can go on, I feel suicidal, the empty cold rooms, no bright young thing to listen to.......

Hold on, what's that?  Oh yeah!  Football starts tomorrow night!  EURO 2012.  Oh well it's just as well she isn't here. You know what women are like when football is on......  

A more important piece of trivia is shown on this picture.  It was here on the night of June 5th 1944 that D-Day began.  Men of the Ox & Bucks Light infantry landed here in gliders and took possession of the bridge over the Caen Canal.  The 6th Airborne Division thus began the liberation of Europe.  The film 'The Longest Day' portrayed this action quite well.  This is not surprising as John Howard, who led this action advised and Richard Todd, who took Howards part in the film, landed with the paras shortly afterwards to reinforce the hold on the bridge!  A further piece of trivia comes from the new French president visiting war graves at a British cemetery at Ranville Cemetery.  Many of those buried there fell in this action.  This act is notable as the French have made a point of ignoring Britain's part in freeing France from occupation.  The royal family themselves were snubbed at the 65th D-Day commemoration when Sarkozy went to Omaha Beach and ignored the British contribution.  Today's event was meant to patch up that mistake, but Sarkozy himself was not around to participate!  The French leaders have never liked to admit British help in two wars, most French people are less reticent.  

That steamroller must have been going at some speed when it hit this fellow!

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Carnival Time

I have already mentioned the carnivals found in small towns nationwide at this time of year.  Ours took place on Saturday.  As always the sun disappeared and the lorries carrying the floats full of children dressed in a variety of outfits floated by in a dull haze.  I missed it of course by falling asleep.  This year, possibly because the queens jubilee is also this weekend, several strange paper mache creatures have appeared in town.  These are the best two, probably made by schoolkids, with a little help from their friends.  The darkened skies, the rain, wind and dampness all come together at this time of year to inform the populace that this is summertime, get used to it!  After the carnival a few went off to street parties, I fell asleep.  Still this type of event shows there is a large support for a monarchy in the UK, less so in Scotland of course as that nation is ignored so often.  People, for whatever reason, will turn out on such occasions and the UK is a long way from a republic at this time.  I should have attended one or two of those street parties carrying the 'Socialist Worker,' or the 'Morning Star,' and attempted to sell them perhaps?  Not that I would actually do this, nor would I actually read them!  The 'Socialist Worker,' is written by the well educated middle class, and sold by Glasgow or Liverpool dole scroungers.  Few, if any, have ever actually 'worked' in their lives.  There used to be a few 'socialists,' who came through to Edinburgh on a Sunday to speak at 'speakers corner' at the mound.  We often saw them at Ibrox when through to watch football, work was a thing they had never bothered about. The 'Morning Star,' I thought had died long ago when UK communists fell out with one another in the way representatives of the people tend to do, and there was few enough of them at the time.  I wonder what that lot will say when the Olympics begin?  My thoughts however are not welcome on that either I think.




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QE2

There are three ideas about the monarchy.  One is the total opposition, based on democratic equality or just spiteful jealousy.  Hard line anti monarchists usually don't think through their opinions and just whine about 'cap doffing,' and 'rich snobs.'  They certainly have a point, and several members of the royal party (yes Andrew I mean you!) could be eliminated without any fuss.  On the other hand there are many monarchists out there. Some with memories of the royal family's attitudes during the war, and the PR was excellent at that time.  During the blitz the queen was asked if the young girls would leave London. "They won't leave without me, and I won't leave without the King, and the King won't leave," came the reply.  For the populace that was what they wished to hear at the time, and that impression remained for years, following on as it did the previous King's resignation for an American gold digger.  Today thousands, mostly women, identify with Diana, another self publicist, and fill their homes with union flags (calling them Union jacks although those are only flown on ships) pictures of royalty, and always at the forefront at street parties and flag waving occasions.  The majority are somewhere in the middle.  Like me they enjoy such pageants, the boats, the crowds having a laugh, the attention seekers, and especially the stories which accompanied the boats yesterday.  We don't support a monarchy and worry about a republic.  A head of state like this queen costs far too much, but a president would have political influence, would probably be a Tony Blair type, and would fail to bring in tourists.  In fact that would have several bad effects all round!  Yesterdays expensive parade was a laugh, except for the drivel offered by the BBC presenters.  "Amazing, fabulous, beautiful, brilliant" they repeated over and over and over, instead of giving something sensible.  My favourite was when some bint came on to discuss the outfits, i had ti turn the sound off then but not before the BBC suit had used the phrase "The queen is like a pearl," at which point I vomited.  Quite what she or Phillip would have said at that point I would not wish to hear.


I find these things hard to take when Union flags are flying.  My inner revulsion at a flag used by England, for England, by a nation that considers the 'United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland,' to be no more than :Greater Englandshire' somewhat repulsive.  I note that at no time did the well trained broadcasters use the phrase 'Queen of England' as so many foreign johnnies do. and complimented them on their fear of a Scots backlash.  My e-mails do make a difference.  I also found the desire of the cheerleaders to encourage the fans to cheer at every opportunity tiring. We know the soggy royalists wanted to let of steam but this was embarrassing.   Not quite as bad as the painters outside Tate Modern, the home of daft art, attempting in the rain to paint the queen as she passed by at 4 mph.  Still it's only a bit of a show, a bit of a laugh.  A time for the kids to have a memory, a time to bring people together, a time to sell Jubilee Mugs and tat. An inoffensive occasion, enlivened by around 80 wet protesters (hundreds the 'Morning Star' claimed which surprised me as I thought the 'Morning Star' died 20 years ago) whining about anti- monarchy, and few noticing.


The UK has a love hate relationship with the monarchy.  The press reflect what matters by surrounding the queen with pictures of Kate and Pippa, this time neither showing tits or bum first, and fussing more about these girls than the occasion.  A great number still want a royal family, the reasons why are many, usually not thought out, and it will take a major mistake or thirty years before any revolution takes place in the UK regarding them.  Of course by then Scotland will be independent, and much less concerned with all this.


It is hard writing early in the morning while stuffing cheese on toast down the gullet.  No wonder this is a mish mash worse than usual!  never mind, I'll get the butler to fix it later. 
 

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Lazy Saturday Evening

Too lazy busy to post so here are some pics that have found their way to me recently.  Not sure where they all originate, possibly with you, but interesting anyway.

The UK with no cloud!  Amazing!

A 'Jenny Lind engine!'

Matt, Daily Telegraph

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Service

After careful scrutiny of the financial situation, and the fact my feet were protruding through my trainers, I took myself off to the 'Shoe Zone' today.  Now I am not keen on buying shoes as they never have the ones I want in my size (12), and no matter what I do I am never happy with the brutes.  Strangely enough I also find I do not wish to lose the hole riddled ones I have been wearing as they are now comfortable, so how that works out I know not.  In this town I find service in the shops comes in two shades.  One is friendly and almost like dealing with family, almost, the other is surly, disinterested and often teenaged.  Today I met both.  The girl in the shop kind of smiled at me, the kind of smile she uses on her uncle when he repeats the story she has heard countless times before, and was busy shelf filling when I dumped the cheapest I could find on the counter.  Her boss arrived, devoid of smile, but this time the strained "I've had enough" kind of non smile, indicated me beginning a  queue.  Smile less service followed and I departed wondering.  

Now long ago I dealt with customers in a Cash & Carry and can appreciate what people go through.  The great British public is an ignorant pain in the neck at times, the job is boring, the future bleak, however it is work!  My great nephew obtained a shop in a 'cheap end of the market' sports clothes shop and came home on his first day grumbling about the customers, "They are so rude!"  I can imagine the young who are employed in such shops, their life stretching out ahead of them, excitement calling at every dawn and instead it's enduring fussy women, grumbling children, men with no idea or indeed too much idea as to what they want, and a company pressure to make sales.  It is not what you wish to wake up to is it?   I suspect these folk are being paid the minimum wage, and that reluctantly.  If the boss and you, and possibly others have little time for one another life can be hard.

I was left wondering if using older folks as staff, especially part time, might be an idea here.  Few wish to employ folks over fifty and I think shops especially suffer because of this.  If unemployed they could do the legal 15 hours work while on the dole, give some meaning to their day, and this might bring about a better atmosphere in such shops.  Older staff know they only way to make such employment work is to have fun.  This is not easy, but boring jobs are lightened by laughter, even dark humour.  I think such shops should consider this idea, although they probably only ever consider the pennies.

On the other hand I had to contact the Pensions people the other day.  A question arose regarding Pensions I knew nothing about.  I know I will benefit from around £1000 p.a. from my time at Selfridges in the 80's, but I discovered the NHS has automatically enrolled me in their pension also. Whether this was during the seven years at the hospital or the two years of angst in the health authority I do not know.  I did not realise I had been enrolled automatically and nothing was ever said re this.  The NHS authority folk spent most of their time fighting for position, the care for patients never crossed their minds!  I was not popular whenever I mentioned this, and I did! 

The nice young lady at the pensions encouraged me to contact the NHS folk quickly, mostly on the basis I may have a large lump sum coming!  I think she may want some.  However when I called today they had no note of my existence.  Typical!  I now have to dig out addresses long since forgotten and try to discover where I was living when enrolled.  This is difficult as a quick look at Google maps shows some places have been redeveloped.   Mind one one or two were indeed slums!  However the point is both persons contacted were highly efficient, patient and helpful.  (I wonder how much they earn?)  

Management often has no consideration regarding staff contentment.  If staff are treated right, given proper support, and the work has some degree of enjoyment they will respond.  It always appears to me far too many shops work on the cheapest basis.  'Young staff are cheap, people need shoes, customers will come.'   It may give you a number of shops up and down the land, but this does not lead to a better world. 

The new trainers?  They are OK, so far.

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Propaganda

Seattle Times

We believe what we read!

We live in a modern world with a ‘free press,’ and a host of communication systems.  We have several television stations offering news, sometimes 24 hours a day, many news radio stations, and newspapers in hand or online.  We can surf the net for independent thought regarding every happening of the day, foreign newspapers and media, bloggers, books, photographs, videos and live streams of events far and near.  All these allow us to reach independent opinions on the world’s events, but we still fall for ‘propaganda!’

We accept without deep thought anything put in front of us.  The majority in the UK watch the BBC for news, or scan a tabloid paper.  While the BBC and other TV and radio news agencies may have quality journalists among them this does not remove the inherent bias, and the news placed in front of us must be the choice of each editor, and editors follow the party line as much as the next man.  The Leveson whitewash inquiry has shown, as if we did not know, how one man's opinion is found throughout his newpapers.  An important world story, say regarding the present Syrian situation, might be considered an important world event but may pushed further down the agenda because a member of the royal family has fallen down stairs or a famous actor has died!  Millions, mostly women, would rather hear of ‘Kate’ wearing a new dress than a thousand Arabs having their throat cut.  News from a ‘far away country of which we know nothing’ is less important than Lady Gaga being banned from Malaya!  This is something the tabloids have always known.  The fake front page of any downmarket tabloid reads, “LADY GAGA STRIPS OFF,” and “FOOTBALLER CHARGED, ” while lower down in small letters, “World War III breaks out, see page 5.”  A remarkable example of this occurred in the small town of Bishops Stortford some years ago.  At a time when Glenn Hoddle was famously known to be manager of the England football team he was mentioned in the local paper as “Glen Hoddle, who used to own a sports shop in the High Street…..”  Local news is always more important than anything else.

The point is that while much presented is factual the choice of what we are shown is indeed limited to that which suits the media.  This gives us an overall impression of how they wish us to see the world, and this is not always to our advantage.  The ‘spirit of the age’ is both reflected and encouraged by the media.  Propaganda comes from news, drama, comedy on TV and radio as well as from news programme.  While they claim this media reflects society it also drives that society.  The 'Eastenders' show has gone worldwide teaching the generations watching that shouting abuse, immorality, hurting people and never smiling is normal.  While it may be the case in some areas it has never been the world in which I dwell.  And the 'East End' today is mostly full of Bangladesh types, and this is never shown, I wonder why?  The opinions of the media form propaganda and we let them without question offer it to us. 


During the Great War the papers were the only news media and the sole means of informing the nation of the progress of the war.  The press barons worked ceaselessly, to their own advantage, to support the nation by offering the propaganda that began with the war cabinet.  Writers tirelessly informed the nation to enlist and serve, and question those who don’t.  Many writers spent a great deal of their time writing in the American press in a desperate struggle to gain support, the French and Germans doing likewise.  It was one of these men, H.G.Wells, who came up with the phrase ‘The war to end wars.’  A notable but nonsensical phrase which has stuck in our minds to our detriment ever since. Much quoted it represents nothing about how the war was viewed at the time, but propaganda at its best keeps the phrase alive.  Lies and half truths stay with us, probably because we wish them to stay as we wish them to be true; even though we are well aware they are absurd.  Famously Lord Beaverbrook produced the ‘John Bull’ magazine.  This was well named as it was full of ‘Bull,’ while intended to inspire the men in their cause and stir the nation to work for victory it was detested by the men as it bore no relation to the war they knew.  On a trip to the ‘front,’ the press baron himself was photographed looking over a trench.  The noble Lord claimed to have “Been at the front line,” and “Looked over the top.”  Beaverbrook was in fact far back in what represented the third line of a quiet area, and even then was afraid to put his head over the top when encouraged to do so by the photographer, although this was regarded as quite safe at the time.  He passed an officer and corporal as he took up his position and alas did not hear the corporal ask “Shall I bayonet him now sir?”  Nor did he hear the reply, “No, that’s my job.”  Propaganda does not work among those who see reality.

During world war two the BBC resisted Churchill’s attempts to turn it into a propaganda machine.  Lord Reith had served in the trenches and was keen to ensure a fair and balanced news service.  While it served the war effort in many ways it refused, and still refuses, to be a government mouthpiece.  This brings many attacks from the government of the day, especially when the faults are paraded and policy questioned.  The BBC ended the war with much respect worldwide for the honesty it offered.  Many Germans soldiers have reported listening to the BBC reports in an effort to understand how things stood.  The had learned early not to believe their own radio.   The dictator must always control the TV and radio, and in the world today struggles to dominate the internet.  


However the ‘spirit of the age’ permeates the BBC.  The programmes are full of today’s opinions and these are often following fashion rather than a cross section of public opinion.  Several themes are seen to be offered at all times.  A ‘liberal’ view of the world is taken for granted; this is not surprising as media people tend to be liberal, as is the entertainment industry.   Programmes therefore push forward their liberal agenda. For instance, ’Great Lives,’ once an interesting programme on ‘great lives,’ now appears to be concerned only with homosexuals and lesbians, either as a ‘great’ or someone choosing to offer such an individual as ‘great.’  Maybe ‘Gay Lives’ would be a better name for this show, a preferable name to the well known gayboy presenter, and one time Tory Member of Parliament, Matthew Parris.

A more blatant attempt at propaganda has failed, yet still continues in Scotland.  The Glasgow football media during the last year have gone out of their way to indicate a man called Craig Whyte is responsible for all the problems at Rangers football club.  They have deliberately ignored Sir David Murray, the man responsible for the mess, while doing this.  To their shame all Scotland knows the situation yet the press persist in lying barefaced about it.  This as we know is because there are more Rangers folk buying the nonsense than anyone else.  Propaganda or sheer greed, you decide!  The media today is desperate to survive, newspapers are dying everywhere as the internet and TV/Radio speed the news direct into our homes.  What matters now is what sells and meaningless celebrities such as Gaga and Beckham sell more papers than a North Korean bomb falling on Seoul.  In my humble view dropping a North Korean bomb on Beckham or Gaga would cause me to rush out of the house to buy every paper that wrote about it, if only!   There is some suggestion at the moment that doctors may strike over the attacks on their pensions, I recall the ancillary workers striking in 1979 and the media propaganda of the day.  The press became full of wild headlines about people dying and patient suffering because of this strike.  A while later the junior doctors also struck, the media was then filled with many reassurances regarding the safety of patients!  Maybe patients were safer under the porters and cleaners?

We accept at face value what is written all too often.  Fear, disinterest, self concern, all leave us with a lack of appreciation of what is happening to the world around.  In 1914 Europe followed the imperialist, nationalistic spirit that arose during the late nineteenth century and that collapsed with the Great War.   We still follow what we are told by the world around us without thinking deeply about what they say.  Who informs us about the world?  What is their personal agenda, or that of their employer?  What are they NOT telling us about?  What is deliberately hidden by the reporter or the authorities.  How free and independent can an individual journalist actually be?  The political developments in Europe are beyond us, so we ignore them, the moral changes about us are ‘none of our business,’ and 'each to his own,' so we carry on regardless,  we are surely sleepwalking into the future accepting so much of what we are told, as if those who speak to us are trustworthy!  How many of us can perceive the world as she really is?  Do we care?        


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