A few days ago I ventured into a new experience.  
I bought meat!  

Rising from my pauperism to a level known as 'poverty' I had the good fortune to receive one of those gift voucher cards for Christmas.  So clutching my card tightly in my grasping mitts I ventured up the road to the shop early in the morning.  The rain did not deter me, although I thought it unusual to rain on the first day of February - it’s usually snow!  Sloshing through the smaller puddles to avoid the rain getting in the holes in my boots I soon reached the destination, eager to buy.

It was at the store when I realised  I had a problem.

I hailed a passing assistant, “Meat,” I said, my eyes pleading.

“Over there,” said the lass, her eyes bright and glinting full of light and happiness.

“Thanks,”said I, “But, er, em, this meat, er,... what exactly is it? I haven’t bought any for a very long time”

Her eyes dimmed somewhat and she muttered something under her breath.  

Taking my hand, in the manner of a nurse in a care home, then letting it go suddenly and wiping hers on her uniform, she led me to the counter and explained the red things found therein.

“Some comes from cattle, that’s called beef, some from pigs, that’s called pork, and some from lamb and that’s called expensive.” She spoke as to a six year old.  

"And that?" I questioned, pointing to packets of blackish stuff.

"That's offal."

"If it's awful why is it on sale?"

She gave me a look that would send a shiver through Maggie Thatcher.

"I mean, that this is liver or kidneys."

"Oh, sorry," I muttered. 

What's that over there?" Muttered I, my eyes blinded by the price tags.

"That's all Fowl that side."  

"Foul?"

"CHICKEN!" she said rather too loudly, her eyes becoming white balls with a black dot in the middle. Some people turned round and gave us that embarrassed smile, others moved away silently. I glanced at the prices, searching for those yellow price reduction ones.
"Chicken, goose and," she looked meaningfully at me as she added, "Turkey are all found over there.  Sausages and bacon over there!" She indicated this with an abrupt wave of her hand." 

" Hmmm what.....?" I began, but hesitated as I saw her eyes were now small slits, rather resembling those seen on pill boxes with machine guns peering out. "I, er, em......"

She wandered off clenching her paws and kicking the stick from under an old fellow who just happened to look towards her as she passed.  

I wandered back and forth, annoyed I had not asked her how to cook these strange red shapes, being a woman that sort of thing would come naturally.  I am more used to mince myself, however I was wary about asking another assistant.  There were several to be seen, including the two now picking up the old guy from the floor and returning his stick.  Selecting several items according to price, yellow label, and colour (I mean should meat be a dark greenish shade?) I hovered around until the security man returned once too often and moved further into the store.  

Glancing around I detected a lack of the 'Wal-Mart' types often seen on the web, most people appeared to be normal humans here.  I remembered the Tesco store in Portobello Road in London, now that would be a haunt of such types today I imagine.  Residents here indicate how boring this town is.

Checking the prices of my more usual stock I was impressed how the increase was constantly higher than the rate of inflation, however you calculate this. Supermarkets having killed of all opposition bar other major supermarkets are having a field day in times of austerity.  Beans that were selling at 9p a tin rose to 29p when the economy collapsed.  The store knew people would turn to 'own brand' goods and increased prices accordingly.  They could build a new store on the profit made of one weeks national sales of tins of beans I suspect.

Having carried my basket full of meat (meat!!) round the shop (I always use a basket as it is easier to get past the women with trolleys blocking the path) I selected several smaller items from the wines and spirits biscuit row and proffered my card at the smiling checkout assistant. This one smiles at everyone and her smile reminds me of the ‘Joker’ from the ‘Batman’ series.  I did not mention this.  I offered first the voucher card, then a small dollop of money to complete the purchase, gathered my several thin plastic bags, and struggled manfully homewards.

Passing my friendly helpful assistant as she stood near the entrance I offered a happy greeting and she spat out a retort I did not catch, however the 'Big Issue' seller opposite beat a hasty retreat.    

Now the freezer has sufficient for a month.  The cupboards are bulging, and when I eat I am almost satisfied with life.  I noticed today also that the helpful assistant now works for Morrison's up the road, you know, the store I never go into........

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Contention

All day I have been involved in contention, yet have never left the house.  'Belligerent is I' has been the order of the day.  Why?  It began yesterday and was with me all day today.  Irritable and ready to yell at the slightest thing, unable to concentrate for long on anything, and just plain irked from dawn to dusk!  

A normal day then......

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Monday Mirth

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Voice of Nonconformity

Keith's Histories

I've been enlightening myself by reading through Keith Ives excellent history of the nonconformist church at the turn of the centuries just over a hundred years ago.  In England the term 'Nonconformist' was given to any who during the period of the reformation (which you may have heard about, it was in all the papers) refused to attend the Church of England services.  The church in Scotland had, naturally, a different approach to reformation, partly due to the influence of one of the leading men, John Knox, and also because Scots tend to make their feelings known if the situation requires this.  Free church and Nonconformity basically mean the same thing.  To study the late 19th century church position Keith Ives has concentrated on one forgotten man, indeed one I had never heard of until now.  Yet this man had an great influence on church opinions and indeed following this he also had some effect on the changes to British society through his contact with leading men, Lloyd George being the most important.  

William Robertson Nicoll entered the world as a 'son of the manse,' and not just any manse but a 'Free Church of Scotland' manse.'   In 1843 the 'disruption' ended with a third of the Church of Scotland leaving to form their own church, the way people of integrity do.  His father was content to minister in a small church in rural Aberdeenshire, satisfying his desire for knowledge by reading widely and giving a love of such knowledge and reading to his son.  William however desired bigger things and once qualified found himself a church in Kelso in the borders in which to expend his preaching talents and imbibe his listeners with evangelical truths.  His time there was cut short by a  variety of illness and stress and it was recommended he move south to what was termed, 'warmer climes!'  His lung was so badly damaged that he had to seek a very different kind of employment to feed his family.  

Since his days at Aberdeen University Nicoll had contributed articles to the press.  This had continued ever since and once in London Hodder & Stoughton, who had known him for some while, offered him a chance to work as an editor.  So began his influential time ad editor of the 'British Weekly,' a religious paper that he made the leader amongst all such press of the day.  For the next thirty or so years Nicoll was in the centre of theological debate, attempting to hold on to biblical truth while also allowing many teachings, mostly from Germany, to influence both himself and his readers.  In the middle of the 19th century some in German universities decided to use a variety of 'criticisms' to investigate the truth of the bible.  This normally ought to be encouraged as the truth has nothing to fear, however man's 'reason' cannot understand the book God has given us unless it is also open to the supernatural and the leading of the Holy Spirit.  Too many 'discovered,' to their own content, mistakes, changes, alterations, that suited their understanding. Such teachings have influenced people ever since, in spite of alternative views being offered.  Nicoll himself was so impressed that he gradually began to ignore the Old Testament altogether and began to concentrate on the cross of Christ, the centre of Christianity.  However it is not possible to drop half the book, and much research has backed up much of the history of the OT.  This debate added to the Darwin evolutionary theory which caused many believers to wonder what was truth.  

Many leading men of the day were swayed one way or the other, it appears even some of the leading lights, often men who wrote in Nicoll's paper, took extreme views, some so extreme they soon were moving elsewhere.  Such debates could not be new to a man brought up in the Free Church of Scotland.  The 'disruption' left many men without a manse and their congregations without a church building.  Soon after this another conflict arose and some left to form what became known as the 'Wee Free Church of Scotland!'  A walk along the bank of the River Ness in Inverness shows some 16 church buildings there.  The ones mentioned plus Baptist, Catholic, Congregational, Methodist, Reformed, Presbyterian and so on.   Most arising from theological disputes, some from pride, the great killer.  Should this be?  Not really, but heresy will always arise, and secondary things, such as infant baptism, music and the like cause some to meet with like minded people, nothing wrong in this.  Paul and Peter both had early disputes with those of the Circumcision Party, who thought all Gentiles ought to become full Jews.  Later Gnostics, Arians, Pelagians etc became points of discussion.  This has been a constant theme as both man and demon wish to turn us away from the central importance of Christ's finished work on the cross.  Small things often cause division to our shame. 

As time passed and his influence grew Nicoll became involved with politics!  His other great love had been literature, which I regard as mere story books, and he had placed much emphasis on reading 'good books,' and gave such space in his paper, introducing stories in the copy also, not unusual at that time.  However the political side became a good escape from theology as the nonconformists were always the leading light in reforming British society.  The state church rarely motivated change.  The early leaders of the Liberal Party were almost all nonconformists of some sort, and even the Labour Party front men were from working class chapels as opposed to state churches.  This aided the introduction of pensions under the Liberal government of 1909, a time when Labour exchanges and unemployment 'dole' money also appeared.  Many improvement to society occurred at that time, and Nicoll and the 'British Weekly' was in the centre of developments.  Exactly where Christians ought to be today!  

However the nonconformist churches were  beginning to appear as middle class Liberals rather than evangelicals.  While many trade unionists were from the churches the majority of the working class were not.  The rise in wealth from the 1850's onwards had been made on their backs.  Pit and mill, shop and farm found many now literate workers who considered they had the same rights to a better life as their so called 'betters.'  Therefore their vote went to the Labour Party as it grew, and more so as Nicoll, who had been Knighted for his 'services' had given full support to the war effort once that broke in 1914.  After the war the Liberals were tainted by coalition with the Conservatives who followed their normal practice of throwing workers on the dole in a time of austerity, while remaining well fed and warm themselves.  'Homes for hero's' never arrived as the Tory chancellor claimed there was no money in bankrupt Britain.  

The free churches were also tainted as middle class, theologically dead, and people seeking a new satisfaction in life after the war sought refuge in pleasure, if they had the money, and socialist politics if they had not.  The nominal dropped the church, those confused by fifty years of debate wandered elsewhere, and Nicoll must take a share of the blame for this.  He had been one major instigator in moving into the political sphere, he had encouraged what was called 'believing criticism,' and the people had moved away with no certainties to depend on.  William Robertson Nicoll never lost the centrality of the cross, but he lessened the hold of this for many.  Either the book was true or not, if the OT was a doubt why not the NT?  In academic circles such debate can continue with little damage, the man in the street often requires more easy to read information.  The failure to explain, the lack of dependency on the Holy Spirit guided by scripture, the more people became confused.  

Nicoll died in 1926, the free churches had lost their flocks after the war, and many of the members had given their lives for that cause believing it to be fighting for freedom and for God!  Sadly the Germans also had similar ideas.  It is important not just to read the bible but also to study it.  To understand the main biblical doctrines and apply them to life each day.  Far too many during Nicolls time did not do this, attending because everyone else did, reading the book sparsely, and understanding little.   The free church has never recovered.  The state church in England is a mess, with 95 per cent non evangelical and with agendas unknown in ancient times.  The Church of Scotland is heading the same way, and for many years the leading men had little belief in the supernatural God.  It is the minority that know him.

'Voice of Nonconformity' speaks to us today about the danger of following trends rather than Jesus himself.  Biblical study is a must for anyone who wishes to know God through Jesus his Son, but there are many wide theological roads that lie open to the unwary.  Read, study and think, would have been William Robertson Nicolls suggestion, use your brain, but I fear he himself was entrapped by fame, politics and position while struggling with theological disputes.   

       

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Who is the Driver?

And was she walking the dog in the park or spending money in the shops?
Or just drunk?


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Empty Men Gesturing

Times

Here's the first.  A man famous for empty gestures.  Once a footballer, something he ended the day he married his stick insect, now a mere 'image.'  Aged 37 he signs for the desperate for attention PSG in France, a club that earnestly desires to be one of the big clubs in the world.  Beckham will offer no football advantage to him, his talent was always less than his reputation, and at 37 he will struggle to play in a side now in the latter stages of the Champions League.

However 'image' is what matters!   His wife has manipulated the media so well that every haircut, every daft tattoo, everything he says, and wisely he says little, is headline news around the world.  Moving to Paris, on the last day of the Transfer Window, enabled him to grab all the headlines.  The donation of his salary (around £3.5 million) has gained great appreciation, although the personal appearances, sponsorship and advert etc, will gain his ten times that much, and give her room to play the field among the money men.  

The adulation he receives, his worldwide following accepting him as a family man (I wonder what that secretary thought of that - allegedly),  the people, even footballers, who consider him 'cool,' or a 'role model,' when at all times he is as honest as a six pound note!   Alex Ferguson saw through him and his bird straight away, how often he must have relished kicking that boot at him!  From the day he met her stupidity has ruled, and some claim it found an early home there, and the happy family image has been encouraged in the drive for fame and fortune.  But is it true?  Is there anything underneath bar a pair of empty people seeking fame to fill empty lives?  I think not.  I do however despair at a younger generation that sees this man as one to follow.  There are plenty of 'real men' out there!

Talking of empty men!  Once again our hero PM has gone a hunting war!   He learnt from Tony Blairs experience in Sierra Leone that people vote for strong leaders.  he forgot that people dump those that take them into wars for wrong reasons, and has yet learned that 'mission creep' is foolhardy.'  Therefore he has yet again sent  troops into action, this time backing the French in Mali, a place in which the French have much experience and the UK absolutely none whatsoever, and is talking about fighting nasty people there.  He has toured several North African nations, including a stop in a security cleared Libyan square, to meet the people "we supported."  He has not gone to the ares where the people we supported are now Islamic terrorists I note.  Pity!  The Great Leader penetrated to Liberia to attend an international summit on poverty.  While meeting schoolchildren with his condescending plastic smile against their genuine ones he found that many wished to be Teachers, Lawyers, Doctors and politicians.  He informed said kids that in the UK schoolchildren just wish to be footballers and pop stars.  How nice of him to insult his own nations children, a great many of whom will become Teachers, Lawyers, Doctors and politicians, but I don't suppose he would notice.  Since taking office he has offered empty gestures day after day.  No real benefit has been met by the UK society, although many more are on benefits and constantly informed to find jobs that do not exist by millionaire cabinet ministers.  As Dave chairs the summit I ask will anything change, except the UK offering less money to ending poverty?

er, no, it's not worth it is it, not really.....

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Trust Mum

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Viewpoint

I took this picture about 25 years ago.  I was standing on 'Suicide Bridge' at Archway.  The hills to the north of London give a wonderful view of the city, if it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.'  From here you can see the Barbican complex, originally built as council houses, now sold at huge price to the rich.  Many MP's reside there.  What was known as the 'Nat West Tower,' until the IRA blew up the street below causing the National Westminster bank to move elsewhere, towers above everything else.  The view must have been excellent but not when a thunderstorm raged.  

I wonder what the view is like today?  Huge ugly erections have arisen since I took that grainy picture.  Buildings climb into the sky, the creators 'making a name for themselves in the world.'  To my mind, tired of the emptiness that claims to be success, I find them unappealing.  The 'Shard' just looks ridiculous, as does the one called the 'Gherkin!'  More to do with an abundance of money and a desire to use it to do something different rather than fulfill a function artistically.  

'Suicide Bridge,' built in 1900, carries Hornsey Lane high above the 'Archway Road.'  The bridge was enhanced by a row of iron spikes in an attempt to stop people flinging themselves therefrom.  Sadly such measures failed to stop three men clambering over the bridge to their deaths in three short weeks in 2010.

Wiki

John Nash's original bridge shows the height above the road.  An excellent view from above, but a long way down for some.  The horses no longer struggle up the slope, instead expensive tin cans carry millions of canned people at high speed up the A1, the Great North Road.  That is the road the Londoners of yore took when running to Scotland for some fresh air.  Not far from here is found the hill where Dick Whittington and his cat turned around and went back to London, so he says, but as he was a politician I have my doubts.

Can I add that suicide is not a good idea.  No doubt we have all considered it at some time, even as a remote thought, but not only does it hurt others, especially if you fall on them, it fails to answer our problems.  It must be very difficult to convince someone that desperate or mentally unwell that Jesus gave us bright blue skies, green grass and sunshine to indicate life does have a meaning beyond out problems.  However it does!  One lass at the hospital killed herself one night, she had been crying for months, and nothing could be done.  I stopped her cutting her hand on one of the small windows she broke but during the night she ended it all.  Life may not be fun, but suicide does not improve it.

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Bus Pass

Tour Scotland

I have my bus pass.  Another sign that the years are passing is the ownership of a Free Bus Pass for old folks.  This is indeed a boon for those desperate to get about the world and short of cash, indeed it is, but it means I am old.  
I sent of the picture, included my birth certificate (I mistook it for my dad's at one point until I realised I did not possess my dad's birth certificate!) and awaited a response.  Within a few days the paperwork returned.  Within another few days the credit card sized Free Bus Pass also fell through the door.  
I'm old.
I think I need a walking stick and a bottle of 'Sanatogen.' 
The problem is the bus times.  I looked them up today, and while there are frequent buses to where I ought to go it takes for ever!  Journeying into the big towns takes about an hour, which I expected, but even dawdling six miles away takes almost 45 minutes!  The bus passes through little villages full of yokels, trundles along country lanes, and takes for ever!  

Now you will realise a problem with this.  Sitting on a public transport omnibus means that the public will clamber aboard said bus and behave like the er, public will do.  This is the very reason the members of parliament were to willing to forego their first class tickets on the trains, they would have to meet the public!  I need not remind you there are no first class seats on a bus.
The last time I went on an hour long journey on a bus the women who boarded discussed Uncle John's foot for most of the journey.  I need not inform you of my opinion of this needless (loud) chatter, especially Uncle John did not belong to any of them but a next door neighbours friend over the roads, neighbours brothers uncle John!  
The return journey was badly times as the bus filled with adolescents from a collage who wished to play bad music (Tish Tosh Tish etc) on headphones, discussed their wishfull thinking love lives, and reminded me where I left my chainsaw.
    
The other niggling problem is that I look 25.  This means the drivers will not believe the card is mine.  I foresee many an argument ahead here. However the good side is that I may travel anyway, and this means photos from places as yet unseen!  Isn't this good?
What? ....oh! 

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TV Football

The African nations Cup has indeed been a boon to those of us who despair when offered umpteen channels showing 'pap' day by day.  ITV4 has obtained the rights to show this African tournament and freed us from the banal.  Mind you it must be said that much offered by the continents best has been pretty dire.  In spite of some of the world's best players showing up I have occasionally despaired.  Niggling fouls, overacting and referees who cannot tell when a foul on the goalkeeper is not a foul.  Bah!  

Still the alternative is programmes about houses, antiques and mediocre American dross.  No sane person wishes such day after day.  There again some of those programmes have been on the go for about 20 years!  The Yank cop shows include offerings from the 70's!  Dearie me.  Football playing in the background is so much more acceptable, it's live, has a point, and interesting.  Something that cannot be said about Jessica Fletcher!  

The funny thing is some women object to football being shown.  For reasons that escape me girlies appear to consider soap operas more important.  Could it be their brains don't work properly?

Quite why the chap in the poster has 'Touch Down' on his rattle I fail to understand.  FOOTBALL, played with the feet, has nothing to do with any game in which the ball is thrown by the hands.  

Possibly it is one of the many mistakes the colonials go in for.  

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Shock!

The temperature rose!

Rain fell through the night and washed away the snow that had been beginning to thaw, wonderful!  The birds pushed aside the blankets they had been hiding under, removed the scarves and gloves went feeding.  The heating has been turned off, yes no more candles under my nose keeping me warm, half the blankets and coats have gone from the bed and I even opened the windows to get some fresh air, two weeks is a long time with no air!  

Naturally the wind is howling and blowing everything down, but I will stay safe inside, unless the chimney falls off.  Rain and wind are threatened by the gutter press in that screaming manner of theirs, which means it will be normal stuff I suspect.  The sun even shone, the sky was blue, dogs capered in the park, and gritter lorries were seen parked up, panting, in the council depots.    

What a difference sunshine and blue sky makes to the world, especially as the days grow longer and the light hangs around till tea.

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Business is Business

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January 25th

The Bard's birthday.  The greatest poet produced in this land, a great man, a womaniser, a customs official, a farmer's boy and a drunk!  Yet many in then Church of Scotland consider him a saint!  Robert Burns was a thinking man as well as a natural poet.  He indicated his feelings in poetry, not always to others liking, and once he had tasted the Edinburgh high life as well as their high ladies he returned to where he was more at home.  Robert Burns

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The Bell

Several days running the postman did not ring the bell.  One had the audacity to claim he had rung the bell and I didn't answer, the cheek.  I pressed it while he voiced his lies and it didn't work, I pressed again and it did.  He smirked and shrugged shoulders.  Wimp I thought.  The bell remained silent and several visitors, police, council, debt collectors, friends mostly, also indicated by moaning loudly that the bell was bust. 

I bought batteries.

I struggled on two tables, one upon another, to reach up and change batteries.

It didn't work.

Christmas approached.

I left bell until that was over.

Several times I had to visit the sorting office to collect parcels, visits doubled because the postman had not yet returned!  Made note to always collect next day!  When bell worked no parcels were sent!  Bah!

Christmas came and Christmas went.

New Year came and New Year went.

I went, to Wickes, for a bell and stuff for the sink, which is falling apart.

The bell was there at £14'99.

I left it there.

I bought stuff for sink.

Sloth Difficulties arose that made it hard to get down to B&Q for a cheap bell. 

Eventually I got there, they didn't have the one I needed.

Those they had were too dear.

A few days later I was back at Wickes for the £14'99 bell.

The efficient checkout lass took my cash with all the care of someone who didn't care.

Two days later I collected tallish furniture and placed this under bell.  I climbed up to the bell. 

Five minutes later I climbed back down for the right screwdriver!

With brute force and ignorance I removed the bust bell, (the spring had gone) carefully remembering where all the wires went.

The new bell was almost exactly the same as the old, but the holes for screws were all in different places!  Brute force and ignorance enabled me to fix the beast to the wall.  The dust can be dealt with later.

Wires, such as they were, were fixed.  

Batteries inserted.  

I clambered down, slowly, from a  great height.

It didn't work!

It still doesn't.

It's too cold to feel my fingers at the moment so it can wait!

Bah!

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Miscellany

News from the desperate front.  Dave has realised the UKIP party are in danger of stealing Conservative votes while he continues to act like a Liberal Democrat.  This means he will loses not just votes but his job, and have nothing but a meaningless life on speaking tours of the world telling others how to run the world and earning millions he makes hereby means nothing to him, honest.  His answer to this threat is marvellous.  He appeals to his anti Europe members by promising a referendum on Britain's place in the EU, calls the UKIP bluff, cheers his party and makes this a promise to be fulfilled after the NEXT election.  Brilliant!  Not only did he promise this before the last election and did not fulfill it, like hundreds of other promises, but we all know he has little chance of winning the next election.  Brilliant and the media are falling for it.  So are his voters, both of them.  This government is bad, just imagine what the next will be like.  Dear oh dear.  

   

Now I'm not one to boast, my humility will not let me, so I will happily instead commend Helen for her wisdom in offering this award to me.  Her perspicacity, imagination, intellect and wisdom deserve rewards also.  It is presumed that I will pass this on to others like we are supposed to, however last time I tried this I was rewarded with untold abuse, by Jerry, Max, 'A,' Soub, Mo, RDG, PDP, Lee, Jenny, Kay, Mametz, Dina and Angelika, so I'm not doing that again! No sir.

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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.  

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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.”

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Gun Appreciation Day

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I Want Spring!

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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."

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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)

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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

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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!!!!!!

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Life...

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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...

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