Lonely Nights in the Hospital

At night all was still.  Lights were dimmed, doors closed, outside sounds nullified, stillness, disturbed rarely by footsteps, a nurse heading for her break, the lift doors swishing then moving between floors.  Silence.   Patients slept quietly for the most part, infrequent attention from the nurse dozing nearby for a few.  Seriously ill patients required more careful diligence.  Silence and stillness for the most part.   On such nights I often pondered on those unknowns who had worked there in the century past.  Not so much the medical staff, neurosurgeons and doctors were renowned in their time, I pondered those we never know, porters, domestics, office staff, a variety of functionaries who often spent considerable years in these walls.  These may have been efficient, popular, an important member of the staff yet now they are forgotten.  There are pictures, some in the history of the hospital written in 1958, others hidden in archives. These show stiff nurses in stiff uniforms posing with stiffer patients, ancient, almost frightening equipment that once operated on the brain saving many lives, and the bewhiskered men charged with understanding the nervous systems failings.  These looked more dangerous!  Ancient dark furniture in sitting rooms, coal fires, dark cots containing curious children, plaques above each bed naming the person or organisation who paid for them.  Aged furniture maybe but the layout and appearance very similar to the days of the late 70's and early 80's.  Maybe it's my twisted mind but I often wondered about those who passed through before, especially the people who served for years in that place.  The stories old buildings could tell.  

.

Jocoseness

A preacher said, 
"Anyone with 'special needs' who wants to be prayed over, please come to the front by the altar." 
With that, a Glasgow man got in line, and when it was his turn, the Preacher asked, 
"Jimmy, what do you want me to pray about for you?" 
Jimmy replied, 
"Preacher, I need you to pray for help with my hearing." 
The preacher put one finger of one hand in Jim’s ear, placed his other hand on top of Jim’s head, 
and then prayed and prayed and prayed. He prayed to the 'Almighty' for Jimmy, 
and the whole congregation joined in with great enthusiasm. 
After a few minutes, the preacher removed his hands, stood back and asked, 
"Well Jimmy, how is your hearing now?"

Jimmy answered, 
"I don't know. It ain't 'til next Tuesday!" 

I am a firm believer that the family who prays together stays together. I know its a corny saying, but it is true, so I encourage my children to pray before they go to bed, at mealtimes, and whenever there is a need.

Angelica however does not want to pray; I don’t what it is, but try as we will she refuses point blank to pray. My wife thought she might be possessed but I told her not to be silly, that this house was under the protection of the Almighty.

Then today, at Thanksgiving, with all the extended family gathered around, she astonishingly began to say grace: “Dear Lord, thank you for the food you give us, and the nice things you give us, and Lord, please provide clothes for the children in Africa, and all those naked ladies on Daddy’s computer.”

.

Gun Appreciation Day

.

I Want Spring!

.

People are Stirring up Apa.....

F'ursday Filler

I just got off the phone with a friend who lives in Northern Scotland.  
He said that since early this morning, the snow has been nearly waist-high and is still falling.
The temperature is dropping way below zero and the north wind is increasing to near-gale force.
His wife has done nothing but look through the kitchen window and just stare.

He says that if it gets much worse, he may have to let her in.

I was visiting my son and daughter-in-law last night when I asked if I could borrow a newspaper. 

'This is the 21st century, old man,' he said. 

'We don't waste money on newspapers. 

Here, you can borrow my iPod.' 

I can tell you, that fly never knew what hit it.

RACISM?

Everyone seems to be in such a hurry to scream 'racism' these days.

 A customer asked, "In what aisle could I find the Irish sausage?"

 The assistant asks, "Are you Irish?"

The guy, clearly offended, says, 

"Yes I am. But let me ask you something. If I had asked for Italian sausage, would you ask me if I was Italian?

Or if I had asked for German Bratwurst, would you ask me if I was German?

Or if I asked for a kosher hot dog would you ask me if I was Jewish?

Or if I had asked for a Taco, would you ask if I was Mexican?

Or if I asked for Polish sausage, would you ask if I was Polish?"

The assistant says, "No, I probably wouldn't."

The guy says, "Well then, just because I asked for Irish sausage, why did you ask me if I'm Irish?"

The assistant replied, "Because you're in Halfords, the cycle shop."

.

Down the 'Tube'

London Transport Museum

As I passed by the museum on my way home from the horsemeat shop I pondered on the recent festivities on the London Underground.  Being 150 years since the first Metropolitan Railway line opened in 1863 they decided to run a steam special pulling carriages of ancient vintage full of hangers on dignitaries to commemorate the occasion.  Sadly my invitation appears to still be somewhere in the post.  

The first line was one of those 'cut and cover' jobs along the Euston Road.  This road had been built as circular route around the heavily congested centre of London and marked the then edge of the main metropolis.  To avoid railways cutting through this congestion, and knocking down MP's homes, all stations were built on the edge, which explains the setting for Paddington, Euston, Kings Cross and St Pancras.  The idea of an underground railway under this road was clever as little tunneling was required.  The road was dug up, tracks laid, walls and stations built, and the road surface returned once more.  There was little real disruption, except to those evicted or who's homes may have collapsed.  Always some 'Nimby' to complain!  

Running from Paddington, where Rolling stock help was obtained from Mr Brunel's Great Western Railway, hence the large tunnels to accommodate Brunel's 'Broad Gauge' tracks and engines, the line spread east to Farringdon.  Compare the tunnels on this line with the others.  I travelled this line on many occasions, not in the days of steam I hasten to add, and remain awed by the size of the tunnels and the complex arrangements of the various railway lines that run unheeded in the area.    

The idea of hastening travellers was a good one and enabled many to cross the city from one station to another with considerable ease.  The roadway itself soon lost the position as the rim of the city and as while the Metropolitan Railway pushed east to Aldgate to meet the new 'District' line the rising population pushed outwards.  The railways followed soon after.  By 1864 the GWR no longer assisted the Met line as they now possessed their own trains, however the GWR aided the line as it expanded west to Hammersmith, and the Met itself went northwards to chase the middle classes desiring a commuter lifestyle in fresh air in England's 'green and pleasant land,' which they proceeded to concrete over.  

By 1884 the Metropolitan Railway company had joined with the Metropolitan District Railway to create a circle line under London, this time using a new system of tunneling, suitable in the clay soil. Since then the railway, running on electric traction since the 1890's, has been a world of its own.  The experience is never forgotten, especially when the loony always sits next to you!  The warm air as the 'tube' approaches, the roar when the station is entered, the stuff that gets up your nose and the happy smiling faces stay in the mind always.  Only one of those is incorrect by the way.

How to build an underground railway. Pick and shovel!

The dignitaries at Paddington. (1863 not 2013 by the way)

.

Free Speech!

Julie Burchill is a 'controversial' writer.  The word 'controversial' can mean many things.  In her case it refers to her habit of just getting up peoples noses.  It ought to mean writing truth and not being liked because of this, which is very different.  It appears Julie Burchill, a lesbian I am informed, wrote an article, which I did not bother to read, criticising those who claim to be 'transgender.'  Hmmm, pots and kettles spring to mind, although as I say I did not read her words.  Her well known ability among what used to be called the 'chattering classes' to upset people has brought her many enemies.  Maybe she likes it this way?   However now something unusual has happened.  The 'Observer,' the paper in which her article was published, has removed said item and apologised for any offence caused.  Really?  A serious paper apologising for someone writing an opinion, can this be true?  Lynne Featherstone, a somewhat disturbed  Lib-Dem member of parliament and  Minister for International Development in this dreary government, had complained the item was 'Bigoted,' and I believe the word 'Transphobic,' was also used.  

So a loud 'lesbian' comments on 'transgenders' and is opposed by an unstable misandrist MP and the article is deleted?  What happened to 'Free Speech?  Now let me make it plain I see free speech as offering opinions as to how an individual sees the world around them.  It does not mean simply 'rabble rousing,' or deliberately stirring up hatred.  There is a great difference in offering an opinion and sheer hatred.  Which did Burchill offer?  I clearly cannot say but the Observer/Guardian tends to offer thinking people as writers.  I disagree with most of what these middle class 'socialists' say but they have the right to be wrong surely?  Banning their twisted opinions can surely be seen as totalitarian and not the free speech any decent society ought to be proud off.  

On the other hand where do we draw the line?  How does an opinion become offensive?  Does being right bring offence?  Is this wrong?  Of course not, although many will be unhappy and oppose vigorously the truth!  Others can decide if our Julie was being offensive or just bitchy, most women columnists tend to be that way, and MP Lynne might be honest enough to tell us if she has a secret she wishes to hide.  

Far too many jump on the offended bus today, and not because they are offended but because others opinions differ from them.  If you don't like others opinions, right or wrong, should we drown them out like certain groups today tend to do?  'Equality' and democracy cuts both ways.    

Toby Young's view

.

Snow Horrid Snow!!!!

The lovely Dina has been happily posting pictures of the unusual weather that has hit her hometown.  I am now unhappily reporting in a less cheerful manner!  SNOW!  That horrid, cold, wet, miserable portion of the weather that the Good Lord has chosen to dump upon us, has arrived once again.  The trains will soon stop running, buses disappear, traffic slide off the road, football matches postponed, news will cease in the media while weather fills the front pages, and some clown will tell us how enjoyable all this can be.  Shoot them!

Snow is horrid!

Now look!  Not long after I got home the world is white, and cheery folks claim this will last for days!!!!!  I wanna be somewhere warm!!!!!!

.

Life...

.

THE DIFFERENCE IF .....

.........YOU MARRY A SCOTTISH GIRL!!

Three friends married women from different parts of the world.....

The first man married a Greek girl. He told her that she was to do the dishes and house cleaning. It took a couple of days, but on the third day he came home to see a clean house and dishes washed and put away. ...

The second man married a Thai girl. He gave his wife orders that she was to do all the cleaning, dishes and the cooking. The first day he didn't see any results but the next day he saw it was better. By the third day he saw his house was clean, the dishes were done, and there was a huge dinner on the table.

The third man married a girl from Scotland.  He ordered her to keep the house cleaned, dishes washed, lawn mowed, laundry washed, and hot meals on the table for every meal. The first day he didn't see anything, the second day he didn't see anything either but by the third day, some of the swelling had gone down and he could see a little out of his left eye and his arm was healed enough that he could fix himself a sandwich and load the dishwasher. He still has some difficulty when he urinates...

.

Old Troopships

Rummaging through some old photographs I came across pictures dad took during the Kings Own Scottish Borderers trip from Hong Kong to Poona in 1930.  He included this postcard of the SS 'The City of Marseilles,'  ship built in 1912.  I suppose many would call this a 'tramp steamer' these days but she sailed happily from 1913 until 1940 including time between 1923  to 1930 when she carried troops around the Far East.  A mere 8250 gross tons she managed 14 knots with the wind behind her.  Ellerman's Hall Line provided accommodation for 141 first class and  46 second class passengers, what the troops were classed as I would not like to say.  A tough old girl she was attacked by a submarine en route Liverpool - Bombay in 1915 and hit it by her gunfire but survived by running!  

For me, a journey over the sea waves in tropical warmth would be an acceptable adventure.  For a thousand troops it may have been less enjoyable.  The playing of 'Housie Housie,' was allowed, probably to avoid the men throwing their cash away on gambling, deck quoits and other innocent pursuits may well have appeared to some the height of luxury, or as high as they might reach anyway.  The thought of leaving Hong Kong where five years had been spent kicking the Chinks around defending the Empire and moving to another foreign soil, India, may have been seen as exciting.  India had been the 'Crown Jewel' of the Empire had it not, surely this was worth visiting?  It appears dad liked a change from the routine.  His sense of morals had led him to spend time in the Military Police while in China and now in India he joined the RAMC and worked as an orderly, or nurse perhaps, in the Hospital there.  I have his note book of drawings and medical information which shows he was well taught.  I suspect Beri-Beri may have been the biggest problem!

Sadly the poor ship continued to plow its course until once again requisitioned by the needs of world war two.  She survived hitting a mine off the River Tay in 1940  but repaired having journeyed later to Ceylon she stranded herself in 1943.  She was scrapped 1947.

'HMT Nevasa.'  This card accompanies the above ship and suggests they both were involved in moving the troops in some way.  HMT, as you know, stands for His Majesty's Troopship.  Not that we have many of those these days, if we have any boats left at all under this cost cutting bunch of incompetents!  Built in the Clyde, as most were in those far off days, the 'Nevasa' became a troopship in 1915 and later served as a hospital ship also.  During the twenties she returned to commercial work travelling to East Africa and India.  Consider for a moment how many people were on the high seas in those days.  Today the vast number of ships will probably be container vessels, with a large number of ugly looking cruise ships touring the warm bits of the planet, but between the wars vast numbers of people sailed the seven seas, many on Imperial business.  Today we fly and think little of it but then travel took time, enabled the passenger to adjust to the differing climate, and allowed the young women to look for wealthy, proactive men heading up the gravy chain as they sailed.  Sometimes they just looked for willing men of course.  A month long voyage, away from family and friends, possibly with several years abroad ahead, this sounds a better way to go than crammed into a Jumbo Jet!  I can hear the splash of the waves a s the boat cuts through them, the gentle thumping of the engines down below, I feel the warm air, note the helpful service, the pretty girls, and the pretty awful ones who will cause trouble, the clink of glasses filled with gin and tonic, all this while typing in woollen gloves with the fingers cut out.  'Sigh'                                               Roll of Honour : Ships

Also spotted on what I think may have been a Kodak Box camera, the folding ones would be too dear, and I remember one being used by us as kids, we see a blurry 'HMS Enterprise.'  Protecting the Empire demanded the Royal Navys presence in the Far East Station and 'Enterprise' spent time there from 1928 onwards.  Yet another John Brown ship she was launched in 1919 but not commissioned until 1925, I know not why, they wouldn't tell me state secrets.  Her twin gun single turret was an experimental type and the heat must have been great as in the picture a shelter is provided for the men working beneath.  This gallant little ship was reduced to the naval reserve in 1938 yet when war cam she served in the Atlantic, Norway, South America, the Indian ocean, the Med and also on D-Day.  She served well right through the war and was rewarded by being scrapped in 1946.  Not much different treatment than what the sailors themselves received.

Look close, in the middle of the Chines harbour there lies an aircraft carrier!  Squint your eyes through the heat haze and note the difference between this one and the huge beast being built for the Royal navy today.  Yes, that old one has aircraft!  You like the harbour, I wonder how different it appears today?

How peaceful with no skyscrapers, flashing lights or hordes of people.  It is however busy and many still live on such craft today.

No, he didn't take the last two did he?  His album is full of pictures he bought out there.  Small pictures, the originals only a few inches as some will remember.   I am fascinated to see the type of picture he took, his keenness to photograph the men, often happy to pose, and wonder whether my brother and I took after him this way, my brother having the talent.  Every time I look through these pictures I learn more about the father I never knew as a selfish brat of a child.  Too young to comprehend his past, too selfish or stupid to care about anything but myself, and now I want to meet him anew and see how we would get on together.  Ah, it's that 'if only' once again! 

The Gas Bill

Today the Gas bill arrived.  Naturally we arose to frozen landscapes, home and feet!  This in the week the Gas company ended the connection with their chairman, offering him a mere £13 million payoff.  The tax payer however will be happy, the taxpayer is not paying for a nationalised gas company.  Those who 'Told Sid' under the Thatcher tyranny and rushed to buy shares in these companies can possibly gather enough from their dividend to pay the colossal bills 'Sid' and his greedy friends are charging for the gas.  I wandered round to the library to keep warm reading books but found the place full of poor people reading books to keep warm there.  

The Electric company have generously warned us the bills will all rise because of this governments absurd energy policies so I am looking forward to that increase.  I have modified the payments to suit myself, and now will be running on the spot and stretching a lot to avoid hypothermia.  

Good job I am not one to complain.....

.

BBC Heir Hunters

I'm watching this programme where companies search for relatives of those who died leaving no will and no next of Kin can be found.  When an individual dies leaving no will and no heir can be found the estate goes to the Treasury.  There are variations in Law between Scots Law and the Law of England and Wales, but in both cases the end result will be the same, the Crown wins.  If no relative is found within 12 years the money goes to the Crown.  The Treasury publishes a list containing the names of the outstanding individuals, the 'Bona Vacantia' list.  'Bona Vacantia' means 'Ownerless Goods,' as you know.  Many companies now operate a search system hoping to discover the missing heirs and obtain a cut of the cash.  Some £14 Million goes to the Treasury each year therefore a large estate will pay well.  

The 'Heir Hunters' programme concerns the efforts made by the gold diggers companies to find relatives and take their cut.  The individual stories reflect a wide variety of people, many sad, some heroic.  Yesterday a solitary woman who gave away no information turned out to be a wartime member of SOE and operated in France during the war.  Her suffering included a time spent in Ravensbrook Concentration Camp, from which she escaped and made it home.  She only spoke on record once to a TV documentary, and never to any other it appears.  Rich and poor it appears end up dying alone, lacking contact with relatives, sometimes happy and sometimes sad and lonely people.  Life can be hard for some, even in a populous town.

However what strikes me is the viewer who makes this programme popular.  The viewer lives in hope their name will appear on screen, they await the stranger knocking on the door and carrying news of a large windfall, their tongue hangs out as the programme reaches a crescendo and some lucky relative receives a cheque!  I see similar people queuing at the Lottery desk, especially when a large turnover is available.  We have all been there, at least once in our life.  

Hold on, someones at the door, must go, quickly.......   

.

Cultural Differences

Reading the excellent 'The Venomous Bead,'  I began to muse on the differences in 'culture' that have befallen my miserable existence.  It was in 1969 that I first encountered London life.  I had been in one or two norther English places, to visit or watch football, but London is a world apart from everywhere else.  The buses were different, poor quality, noisy 'Routemasters,' rough but eminently suitable for the job.  Edinburgh always prided itself on decent quality buses for the citizens.  People stood outside pubs in London, something never done back home, although weather may play a part in this.  The biggest shock was cricket!  I left the Leadenhall Market one midweek day while wending my way around the City and as I crossed the road I noticed a crowd gathered outside an office window.  In this window was a TV, set to face the road quite deliberately, and offering the Cricket Test Natch being played 'somewhere in England!'  I was amazed!  A crowd of 40 or more people were standing watching this event, with a City of London policeman ensuring a path  was clear for passersby!  Incredible!  Some of the men were actually standing in the gutter to watch cricket at lunchtime!  Goodness gracious!  Never would this happen in Edinburgh, unless a football match was being shown obviously, but cricket?  Don't be ridiculous.  When I began to work in North Finchley in 1975 again I was surprised to hear working men getting excited over cricket.  It would never happen among normal Scotsmen.

In '75 I settled after a rough month or so in Swiss Cottage, in a slum that I believe no longer exists, I think it may have fallen down.  I would look to the newsagent for news of Scottish football and be disappointed.  I could get papers from Egypt, France, Spain, even the USA but not from Scotland 400 miles up the road!  The radio, a small very cheap radio, offered London and national news, and later what was then the excellent World Service of the BBC, but little concerning Scottish affairs.  Had I learned several languages I could have been knowledgeable of world football everywhere but north of the border.  It was as if Scotland did not exist!  This has not changed.  

Getting the Routemaster to work showed me a different culture, and one that would not work up north.  There were two types of bus stop, a bus stop where buses stopped, and a 'request stop,' where you had to stick your hand out or they just passed by.  Edinburgh drivers then, and most likely now, can tell if you want the bus and stop for you.  The 6:09 bus, when driven and conducted by a regular able team, always came on time and did the job happily.  However on many occasions a wee black fellow was the conductor.  This driver would stop at all stops, irrespective of passengers or not, and wait until conductor pressed the bell.  Conductor, who never collected fares, merely stood and stared out the door.  Driver sat there awaiting the bell and refused to move until it rang.  Incredible!  I would be more 'assertive' today than I was then. 

I had spent a year between 1971-72 in Notting Hill and after returning north I found Edinburgh old and boring.  Shops opened at 9, closed at 12, reopened after lunch at 1 and closed at 5, in London I had a 24 hour shop around the corner!  When the Indians were chased out of West Africa by the Idi Amin's ( a King of Scotland apparently) and arrived in the city they changed it overnight for the better.  Shops opened at 8 am, and closed at 6!  What a revelation!  Some even    stayed open later and more, they stocked exotic fruits like peppers and eggplants.  Incredible to think so many things had only been found in the expensive shops if found at all.  

One culture that destroys Scotland is the hangover from Northern Ireland.  The sectarian divide between protestant and catholic, neither side seeking God of course, which lingers throughout the land but is very dominant in the west of Scotland.  Both sides are at fault and for most it makes no difference to their lives as whatever and whoever you are the treatment offered is the same.  However there are quite a few who relish the difference and would happily contribute to trouble if it arose.  The vile history of Rangers and Celtic, the 'Old Firm,' encourages such attitudes and only by removing the sectarian bias from both clubs can this ever be eradicated.  They decry this as that is the cause of their wealth, and anyway, isn't it all the other guys fault?  In England it is difficult to explain this divide to those who cannot understand it, and no wonder. 

The difference between two cities can be very wide,  Six miles from here is a similar sized town full of 'London overspill,' where vast numbers commute regularly down to the big city.  Their town has an 'London attitude,' while here we are all 'nice,' well usually.  Further north and the town there is much more rural and the thought that most of the locals are related is difficult to remove from the head.   That's country life for you I suppose.   This blog encompasses the world, and the cultures vary enormously, imagine if you will towns full of Yorkshiremen!  Just imagine that!  On second thoughts......

.

An 'Acquired' Video

.

One Dreich Morn

While Australians sit on the beach grumbling about the 40% of heat I wandered across the damp park looking for a chink in the gray clouds above.  They fight fires in Tasmania which destroy homes and lifestyles, around here we light fires in the streets just to keep warm!  It's no fair so it is!  I was inspired this morning to sit here after what passes for breakfast and watch the folks outside cough their way to market.  By lunchtime the dank atmosphere has lightened to allowed me out for the cheap veg.  "Happy New Year," greetings came from the veg stall, desperate to keep their loyal customers.  (The other stall has many more for no good reason)  It made no difference to me, I am still using up the left overs in the fridge!

Glory be!  The afternoon saw the sun appear and left us with this lovely dusk view, Once I chopped of the view of the back streets at the bottom of the picture.  It is always a good piece of advice to ;look up' rather than around you.  The place you stand may be a dump but the sky almost always looks good, unless the clouds are gray of course!  Tonight the sky was fab, and hopefully it will stay this way, well, not when dark I mean.

.

Flippant Friday

Tactful

Austerity knocks on the Chancellors door.

Rev I.M. Jolly

.

It's a Terrible Thing....

When the good pictures run out and there is nothing left to say.  However while passing through Shenfield Station I saw this run down apparition parked at the far side.  A guards 'brake van' from the days of long ago.  Goods wagons in the past had no brakes, they merely clinked and clunked against one another when the train slowed down or stopped, the brake van would be used to control long goods trains, often carryinhuge amounts of weight.  When young, the shunter  sorting wagons far from us on a dark night could be heard at my home, the soothing clinking sound coming miles through the darkness.  No such sounds exists today, and the Edinburgh I once knew is far noisier at night than it was then.  Mind you down here in the wilderness the night is quieter but no romantic noises are ever heard, unless you count the Sainsburys lorry passing by of course.  I wonder what this brake in need of refurbishment is doing there?  Please explain.

At Stratford the underground, national rail and the Docklands light Railway meet together along with other transport termini.  A huge amount of work has been done here since I last passed through.  The Olympic Games led to much improvement (they say) and the Euro trains also helped.  However so many of the buildings are modern, shapeless or just plain ugly to me that I find myself thinking the acres of electric pylons and rail lines of the past more worthy of praise.  Note also the strange yellow, blue and white shapes in front of the office block.  I think these are an attempt to deflect noise away from the buildings, I wonder if it works?

Talking of 'dereliction' reminds me of this picture I took while passing by Waterloo on Saturday.  Dismal and gray, and this just after noon at that, this was the best pic my weary hulk could obtain of that palace of rogues.  I see what looks like a large poster high up in the middle of the building, I think it reads 'Guy Fawkes wanted, Apply within.'

That's my lovely warm Christmas now at an end.  No more living amongst warm, generous lovely people, no more good food that has taste, no more warmth and happiness, reality begins to hit home now.  So some rant or other will appear soon, grumbling and complaining and scowling at the world will once again be my lot I suspect.  We'll see.    

.

Cold and Wet

The day we wandered to Poole Bay the weather was cold and wet, the wind blew a gale, and the inclination to believe this was a summers day was strong!  Such was the power of the wind that holding the camera was difficult, hence the pictures are not sharp, and the water was jumping over the edge towards us as we walked.  Many of the small dinghy's near the waters edge were in two minds as to whether they ought to just sink the 18 inches to the sea bed or remain half submerged.  In the distance stands Brownsea Island where Baden Powell held the first Boy Scout Jamboree before the Great War.  Owned by a rich woman for years the island became protected, so we were not allowed to walk over the water to visit.  Instead we forced our caps down over our heads and returned to the car.

Winds like this bring out the windsurfers and many are found in the safe bay area.  Only one was there today, many others crammed into a large van pulling a trailer of such boards and resisted the temptation to catch frostbite.  This fellow spent some time roaming around at speed, falling over, struggling up, and racing off again.  The fact that the bay slopes also encourages water skiing!  The houses overlooking this point start at around two and a half million and rise steeply thereafter. 

   

The calmer waters around Christchurch suffered the same cold wind but revealed the money available for some in these days of austerity.  The narrow opening from the Bay ensures this is a quiet place to moor.  Large numbers of boats can be seen sheltering here on Google Maps.  Personally I find the hard work involved in sailing such craft needless now that motors are available, some folks however take their boats around the world, fighting the raging seas by pulling on ropes and watching the waves at varying angles.  

I have to admit however this looked a fine little ship to me.  Looks older than the rest or maybe it is my fertile imagination.  Does it ever see the sea?  Has this wee boat visited lands afar off and have stories to tell?  It seems a shame to buy such as a mere 'tax dodge' as some do, or waste thousands on a boat and never use it.  The idea of sitting aboard such and just letting the world pass by while drinking tea and cogitating on a fine day has great appeal to me however.  What thinkest thou? 

   

.

Waterloo Station

Waterloo Station boasts very this impressive entrance which doubles as a memorial to the railwaymen who served during the Great War.  A fantastic offering for the many men who fell, their names are listed just inside the entrance.  The armies in France required professional railway operators specifically for the British forces.  These ensured the goods and men reached the intended area on mainline and light railways throughout the British lines.  Hard work, under fire often, just as dangerous as well as those who served in the army directly.  The picture is difficult to obtain because of the road traffic behind.  Most using this station will enter and leave by the underground entrances rather than this door, I wonder how many who do come this way stop to look?  

In spite of carrying a ludicrously heavy bag I wandered through the maze of tunnels under the street to the embankment in an attempt to obtain a picture or two.  Naturally the drizzle came down, the place was crowded with damp tourists getting in the way, I was tired, afraid of missing the train connection and found the whole experience of being back in London quite unsettling.  For 21 years I lived here, I thought I knew the place and was disconcerted to discover how my unfit hulk could no longer run about like I used to here.  What would have taken ten minutes now appeared to take for ever!  The bag did not help of course.

This colossal brute was not here in my day.  Who dumped this here?  And why is there a long, damp, queue waiting in the drizzle to climb aboard and slowly go around in a circle aboard this creature?  A view from high up can be a marvellous experience but I wonder about being trapped in a space bubble while doing so myself.  It seems somewhat out of place against the huge imperialist buildings and associated history all around it.  

I made it to Waterloo on the two hour and five minute journey from Bournemouth.  Because of engineering work on the line between here and Poole the trains were often using the wrong platforms.  This meant I followed instructions on one platform and almost ended up aboard this train which landed in Manchester!  Good job that porter was there!  The difference in the people aboard the intercity trains and those on the underground remains notable.  While there are some similarities the step down from the train to the tube is like entering a dark world, a darkness not caused by being in a tunnel either.  I'm just glad I used the new Jubilee line and not the old Northern!  Could I live there now?  Even if I had the money I wonder if I could cope.

.

2013

A Good New Year to all my good Friends!

The year ahead will bring its share of wars and rumours of war, destruction, floods, terrors, and woe.  Hunger and thirst will rise and fall, nations will cry against nations, prices will rise, weight will increase, disease will remain.  Murder, crime and corruption will continue.  Life will proceed as it always has and will until the end of time.

However you and I can make our world a better place.

Where we are depends on us, not on the circumstances around us.  These will often be awful and difficult to bear yet we can help one another to make life a little better by our response.  

So let's ignore those problems we are not directly involved with, let us instead concentrate on what we can do to make a better world for ourselves and others.  

You can do this if you choose to.

Anyway I'm glad I know you.

.