It Takes Allsorts

Sadly, I'm hooked!  

Yes indeed!  I bought a packet of these to share with the girls on Tuesday, but have discovered I need to keep eating them myself.  For some strange reason these small sweets have taken over and I must eat them, in spite of the damage they are doing to my teeth!   

The sad thing is the pink ones which surround the black liquorice, and the little square layered ones appear to need me eating them.  You will understand I hate to disappoint.  Also as this lovely hot weather is making eating a lazy thing I am forced to eat 'Allsorts' just to keep me alive because cooking is hot and uses energy that I cannot spare.

I am looking for an answer to this problem.  If you discover one, keep it to yourself!  

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The Shows!

Ah the 'Shows.' the funfair to you, has arrived.  Dodgems, Ghost rides, and burger Bars have already begun to set up shop.  Shortly afterwards the overpriced smaller stall will offer us the chance to be robbed blind.  I know things will be charged too high as the posters all around inform the victims that 'All Rides Half Price!.'   Half price?  What price were they before then?  Now I have no problem with this lot, they have been here before, and the chances of me going on any of the offerings is zero, however if there is opportunity to whine and complain I see no reason to give it a miss!  
However what I remember of the 'Shows' when they arrived in Edinburgh all those years ago was then bright lights in the dark night and the tremendous noise given off by the huge growling lorries that supplied power for the attractions.  'ERF,' 'AEC,' and other large lorries going back to the thirties I suspect rumbled away all night, the cables offering huge opportunities to break necks as we passed by.  The modern ERF appears too clean and nice in comparison with the growling engines of the fifties.  The noise and pollution is less, but only just, but the atmosphere offered in those dark far off days (oh how far off) is better than what we have tonight.

These two stuffed dummies offer up the local news programme on the BBC, 'Look East.'  I rarely watch it, especially as the ITV version usually has real people on offer, but the local news anywhere is always dreary.  It appears to me nothing happens often, so often that 'Look Eats' fills the programme with visits to the NHS.  Almost every night they are pounding the corridors of a hospital looking for a sob story (how difficult is that?)or possibly a GP or local health unit, maybe a woman suffering some illness, anything related to health to fill the programme.  Tonight I switched this on, they offer unsafe hospitals,  woman with a disease and... I then switched off!  How do these folks get away with this?  It is time to reduce such programmes to ten or fifteen minutes and put on something worthwhile, and not anything to do with Health!    

Meet Fred

This is Fred.  For the past few days the wonderful, enjoyable, sizzling heat, which will no doubt cause all sorts of pains later, has led me to keep all the windows open to some extent.  How lovely that is you rich folks in warm climes will never comprehend.  However with such benefits as heat the open window sees many bluebottles pass through in the mistaken belief that herein lies a MacDonald's, Indian takeaway or council rubbish tip.  They may be near the mark with the last one mind.  These beasties usually seek the quickest way out when approached, fly's however, called walks if you tear their legs off I suppose, hover around the lamp dangling in the middle of the room for ever and ever I find.  Quite why they follow such irregular patters in flight I know not but I certainly do know they avoid rolled up newspapers very expertly indeed.  

Fred however comes into a different category.  For one I have no idea what he, although intellectual he aint, and for two it may not be him, it may be lots of him, about that I am not sure.  Let me explain.  

The kitchen window opens from the bottom, day by day I have found Fred trapped inside the window, when open, without the wherewithal to sink down two inches and fly away.  Instead he rushes around getting frustrated by his inability to get through thin air which is so hard beneath him.  His mum never explained glass to him.  Daily I have been using my hand, or a small piece of paper, to guide him down about two inches to the freedom of the skies.  Sometimes I do this several times yet he never appears to learn.  Constantly he returns, constantly I help him out.  he will never meet a Mrs Beastie like this!   I canny understand why he does not avoid the window, indeed I am not sure where he comes from.  Maybe there is a nest of these just below my line of sight under the window?  Maybe he is not Fred but lots of Freds?  There is no doubt they are all daft if that is the case.

In the Democratic Congo folks are killing one another, Syria sees hundreds die daily, Egypt is in a ferment, Christians in Vietnam, North Korea, all the nations with 'Khan' in their name and in the middle east are being tortured or persecuted, hospitals fill with the sick waiting for aid, accidents occur or roads daily, economic plight keeps millions awake, yet I worry about Fred?  

Sometimes I wonder about me, I really do....... 

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The Quiet Early Morning

At 6:30 the morning is very quiet, especially on a Sunday.  Rattling along on the bike I could listen to the birds singing as I headed up the Matterhorn like incline at three miles an hour.  Someone, slightly fitter than me raced past at five miles an hour, giving a grudging nod in my direction as he did so.  I noticed how he slumped down to three miles an hour further up however.  There is something blissful in such an early morn.  The silence, even the by-pass was relatively quiet, the birds singing or chasing one another through the trees, the lack of people, especially brats, the warmth of the sun as it climbs high and brightens the world.  All such a change from the vehicles outside my door, the numpty with 'Rap' blasting out his open window as he passes, people stopping to converse at my window enthralling me no end with tales of the sore feet and liver troubles,  the helicopters that must pass over my house and now I turn the telly on I am confronted by another bloody cook and to avoid this I meet with adverts!!!  Now I am not one to complain as you know, but really does my weekend need ruined by such as this, especially when there is no football?  

I apologise for keeping you waiting and I apologise for using so many words!!!!!

Normal Saturday

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Something Different

Greenery

The picture looks a bit bland, that's because it is.  The wee camera does not do distance very well and if I had left my bench and gone closer some nasty thieving type would have taken my place.  They are very selfish like that around here.  So I took the pic from where I sat and ruminated awhile.  
It was the green that caught my eye.  You see we notice it all around us each day, especially after the rain we have endured, but we never 'see' it.   I have noted this before, many times, but few notice what we see as it's so obvious, it stares in our faces daily.  I suspect gardeners will be well aware of this but maybe not.  What I am seeing is the vast shades of green in those trees.  there is at least six shades there, allowing how your PC reads the colours of my picture, and there are many more shades of green around.  
This park began as the home of a rich man, the gardens surrounding the building were planned by a clever chap whoever he was.  The wide and interesting variety of trees today stand tall yet the designer could see this only in his minds eye.  After forty years and the money running out the house became a school for girls for decades.  A while back, just after the building had been reopened as flats, I passed a grinning woman walking over a grass verge.  Her happiness came from walking where she had once been banned on pain of death!  It took forty years but she was now skipping like a Spring lamb!
Small pleasures are the best!
I am making the most of the greenery.  The nights are drawing in, it was darkish by eleven last night and Christmas gods will be in the shops soon, some folks are ahead of us in this already!
So I am getting what I can when it is there.


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How to be an Idiot No 153.

So the urge came upon me.  It doesn't happen often.  Suddenly I decided to fix the kitchen sink!  Some time back, in the days of never ending rain, I obtained a tube of sealant for the job.  The sink required urgent repair as the sealant was fast falling apart.  This was a result of the building moving slowly, oh so slowly, over time.  I had replaced the sealant about ten years ago in a similar situation and now I noticed the gaps along the wall, plus the tiles separating from one another by some distance.  I decided to act!  
Some months later I bought the sealant and placed it in the corner so I would not forget.  Cold weather, very cold and lots of it accompanied by freezing rain, distracted my well meant intentions.  Time past, only a few months or so, but today the great day arrived!  I got to work with a will, well a small Stanley knife actually, removing the remnants of the previous badly bodged job.  This went well.  By the time I had finished this small area was covered with foul, used sealant, several tiles that fell down, one breaking as it did so, plus an amazing amount of muck from who knows where!  
Was I dismayed? Well yes actually!
Anyhow I organised the job, took the old tube of sealant still in the sealant gun all those years later from the gun....hold on how does it come out?  
I pushed it, I pulled it, I turned it this way and that.  I twisted that bit, pulled this bit, cursed it a lot, but it would not remove itself.  This is daft thought I as I had this trouble before and in the end it was a simple thing to remove the old tube.  I just couldn't do it!  Pull, push, twist, curse, drop it, start again.  Look at it carefully from all angles, inspect every part, it is simple, it must be that bit, no it isn't, try this, didn't work.  
Isn't it always the way.  Instruction manuals always say 'Place part 'A' in part 'B,' then using Philips screwdriver screw bolt.'  Simple, but you don't have that screwdriver, the part 'A' doesn't fit and Part 'B' is a different shape from the illustration.  Now I had that sort of problem.  
Naturally I threw it down and had tea.
Later, much later, I picked up sealant gun and just pulled and pushed at both ends and the old tube fell out.
Apart from almost breaking my toe I was pleased!   
Insert new tube.  Cut top off.  Place hose bit on end.  Take aim.  Fire!
I slowly began to squeeze the trigger, aiming carefully at the chosen line.
A thickish stream of sealant came out and failed miserably to follow the line which I was taking.  Hold on!
This stuff is grey!
What?  
In my anxiety to purchase the cheapest of the several thousand tubes standing at attention in Wickes I forgot to check the colour!  It was Grey, not white!
Grrrrrrrgnarllsnarlgrrrrrrrrrrr etc.....
Insert new tube, a tube of white sealant, hold on, I don't have one.  
Off to Tesco!  Much closer than Wickes.
One tube of £1:49 sealant, much cheaper than Wickes, later I start again.  This time the job is done, and done very badly indeed!  Technical things, like switching on a light, turning a handle and sweeping a floor, are all a bit much for me.  Inserting a never ending toothpaste like substance into a long slender gap that keeps moving was asking for trouble.  Much later the gap was filled, very badly indeed, so was the sink, the tap and even a gap on the cooker behind me!  How?  
What a mess!  It has revealed a talent unequaled since thon fellow claimed the tower at Pisa would stay straight as a die for ever.  
Tomorrow I do the bath, where, at the moment, only one tile requires replacing.  At the moment......

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Silly Season Approaches

The papers this morning were unable to share the same headline.  The problem is Wimbledon is over, holidays are beginning, Parliament is looking to the break and no major bill will be fought over until the Autumn, and the media begin to despair as to what to write.  Certainly there is the usual EU courts ruling, a murder or two, a famous person arrested and all that sort of thing but no major story.  The birth of the royal baby (yawn) will fill the media in a short time we read, pull out sections being readied as we speak, commemorative tat being unpacked in shops throughout the land, and miserable old gits wishing Wimbledon was back as even that was better!  Not that I am one to complain you understand....

My uncomplaining nature, my kind heart, my willingness to help, all came to the fore when I wandered in to the museum to return a book I had wasted my time with.  By the time I had left I had volunteered for three Tuesday shifts in a row.  The term 'volunteer' ought to be used 'army style' at this point.  I said "Morning," and she said, "Oh good and if you can do it next week and i'll put you down for three weeks......" and I was shoved out the door!  I sat in the park for fifteen minutes getting a bit red (maybe I ought to get some sun cream as this sun thing might be here for a few days more?) and cogitated on how women twist folks round their finger.  Men don't behave like this.  Men are always thoughtful and considerate I find.  
What?.........oh!

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It's Five in the Morning.....

And I am taking pictures of the rising sun shining in on the cupboard!  Summer is here again today!  For several days the sun has shone, the heat is high, the parks full of white bloated creatures turning blotchy red.  The northern breeze is welcomed by some lying there surrounded by plastic drinks bottles as swifts race across the light blue sky, dogs sniff for one another in the grass and adolescents avoiding school avoid the litter bins situated right next to them with equal lack of guilt.     

I wandered out to buy a couple of reduced price shirts.  It appears the shirts in the cupboard, some of which go back many years, have begun to shrink somewhat.  Quite why this strange phenomenon should occur I know not but it has happened before, around a dozen years ago.  At that time I required shirts for the work in which I was engaged, whatever that was, so obtained the regular cheap shirts (made in China) and by wearing one on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and the other on Tuesday and Thursday I made it through with little effort in washing and ironing and nobody noticing.  Of course a summer like this one and they might have noticed by Thursday mind.  So, that's two cheap shirts that fit, these are the er, XL type (Made in Scotland!).

I spent a decent amount of time early today informing the English press that Andy Murray is not 'British' as they emphasised continually, but he is Scottish!  Each and every English media outlet had made determined efforts to ignore his nation and use the word 'British' at all times.  Occasionally the word 'Scot' might break through, but this was tokenism at best.  The fact that the world considers 'England' to be 'Britain' is reinforced by this blatant English racism.  Such was the effect that the 'New York Times,' one of the colonial newspapers, tweeted "After 77 years Murray and England rule."  Sadly I was not able to answer this at the time, the FBI would be here by now if I had!  Others indicated their mistake and they amended things quickly.  The English media are desperate to claim Andy as 'British' to live off his glory, not unusual for them as the best 'English' are usually foreign.

Some of the commentators in the pages of the 'newspapers' in which I made clear my opinion resisted stoutly my gentle reminders of their imperialist racism, at least those of my comments that the papers published that is.  For some reason these appear to believe we live in a 'United Kingdom,' while at the same time putting down Scotland.  One day they will learn.

Anyway, congratulations to Andy Murray on winning the Wimbledon Championship, the first Scotsman since Harold Mahoney in 1896.  

'Lang may yer lum reek son!'

I was here today.....

Another epic journey of four miles and 35 chains, and back again!  Wot?  A 'chain' is a measurement used on railways, and in other engineering works, it measures 66 feet, or 22 yards, or 100 links, or 4 rods.  10 chains equal a furlong, 8 furlongs a mile.  Railway distances are measured in miles and chains from the starting station.  Each object, bridge, station etc, is listed as so many miles and chains from the starting point. By inquiring in my book on this railway line I can tell I cycled around this distance.  The doubtful bit is me getting to the line which takes a few minutes.  So today I went a mere 9 miles, almost!  This 'Halt' was added to the railway to encourage passengers during the twenties.  Bus travel was hitting the railway money, which was never strong, and folks walking the half mile from the village would hail the train, climb the steps lowered  by the guard, and go their way. 

D Trevor Towe

How it was done. No doubt 'Health and Safety' would stop this now!

Early morn but the sun was already high and I made several attempts to capture the light rays coming through the gaps in the trees.  The problem was the sun was too bright, something the camera and I are not used to dealing with.  Out of the treeline the sun made everything too bright to capture easily.

The brickwork on Victorian bridges is much admired however every so often a weakness arises.  Possibly this one took cracks from bad weather, rain turning to ice and over time developing cracks that threatened to collapse.  Only one house lies over the bridge, a farm, so what passes can be quite heavy even though the road is only occasionally used.  The repair will hold it up, no doubt for years, and also allow people to pass safely.  However it is not worthy of the original architecture, but it will be cost effective and safe.

Naturally real life returned during Andy Murray becoming the first SCOTTISH Player to win at Wimbledon.  The brats over the road have somehow managed to make something catch fire. Who knows what it was, I could not see for the trees, but these firemen will have a busy time in the sun, there is always someone setting dry haystacks on fire somewhere around here.  Tsk! 

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Sunshine!

The sunny Saturday saw me running about slowly catching up with several things that needed caught, bread, veg and sleep.  Thought was not much in mind, and life was improved no end this way.  The heat was rising long before eight this morning as I trekked across the park with my loaf, so warm that I sat there for fifteen minutes sunbathing!  The traffic warden passing by compared his lowest point, 9 degrees below zero, with the 25 he expected today!  He had promised to take long tea breaks to avoid the sun and I expect many avoided tickets this way!   The sun beat down and I will spend more time in it tomorrow if my knees will get the bike started.  Much of today was spent poncing about sadly.  However Hamish posed in the evening sun for me.  He plays a tune if you squeeze him, and poses happily for no fee!  A winner I say that!  

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Ancient Rural Scene

As my bike and I shook and clattered along the ageing path I stopped to cogitate on the farm in the distance.  I wondered how long folk had farmed this land?  Certainly there was a Celt Iron Age settlement around here somewhere when the Romans brought us roads, wine, revolting Boudicca and failed to take Scotland.  Interestingly enough Tacitus wrote of his father in law who was governor here twice in the 70's and 80's.  That's first century by the way!  His name Agricola, as in Farmer!  Good job his dad was into growing things and not a plumber.  Not that Agricola did much in the way of farming, unless you call dealing with rebellious Celts a kind of reaping.  Hunter gatherers from the distant past were in Essex 8000 BC and by 2000 BC some had become resident in the district.  It is possible the trees which covered the area were cleared soon after this time I guess and so for around three thousand years this area has provided fodder for the people in one way or another.  Not long when you consider Iraq has been doing the same for about ten thousand years but I find this strangely fascinating.  Not so the farmer who rushed past me in his Japanese 4x4 leaving the dust to settle on my almost clean bike.  I blame the EU!

That church has stood there for between 800 and a 1000 years also.  It may sit on a Roman cemetery, which may sit on a Celt one, and the Saxons may even have built the first church around 600ish there, or not as the case may be.  So rarely do i see this view it took me by surprise.

I also came upon this poppy sitting almost alone among greenery in a siding.  These excellent bright plants appear almost everywhere at this time of year.  The colour stands out and as they are found everywhere, and probably unstoppable at that, I suspect they will be around for a very long time.  I wonder if some Afghan will go around and make some money out of them in a wee while....? 

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Problems, Problems....

Problems indeed but not for me.  The woman next door fell through her kitchen floor again.  It has been repaired once but she managed to do it again.  This made her somewhat unhappy, although it was just her foot, no damage was done, and she failed to go through the ceiling below.  Our handyman boys came round, two bodgers hardworking lads, and fixed it this afternoon while she sat and sulked watching dumbed down telly.  This is a young couple who have a lot to learn about living in the real world.  No doubt they come from decent homes where all things were in good condition, this however is rent-a-flat-land, the real world if you like.  You get the best you can but it is never going to be what your dreams desire.  The chances of them ever buying a house is remote, you require around £150,000 at least and both need to be earning about £20,000 annually to obtain this.  No chance around here.  I wonder however if they will still be together in twelve months time anyway.  Kids today eh?

After fixing this little problem the boys noticed the first step at the bottom of the stairs was a bit damaged, this was quickly fixed.  (The phrase 'a bit damaged,' is not quite literal) While doing this the floor sagged somewhat also and on investigation the discovery of a leaky pipe resulted.  A slim crack had appeared on the joining bolt which was allowing water to gush out.  Naturally I was concerned - it might have been mine!  As it belonged to the downstairs chap I relaxed, awaiting his reading of his next water bill, just to see if he notices!  

So an afternoon was spent making tea for the workers, she wouldn't as she was in a huff, refusing to even offer a black bag for the rubbish, and I took the poor souls in for a break.  Mind you I have known them 20 years and have offered them many broken bits of this flat to repair, sometimes they have done this properly, sometimes I have to remind them that window is still stuck from the outside.  The landlord continues to drive his new Bentley, one of two I believe, having allowed all the Jaguars to rest awhile in the garage.  It sounds rough and ready here but it isn't really.  When I despair of accommodation and dream of a three bedroomed place with a sea view and a small garden I consider the places I lived before, at least one of which is no longer a slum -being torn down and rebuilt!  In many parts of the world people live in tin shacks made out of oil drums, and in North Korea they have Stalinist flats - only if the obey!  Now as the sun shines in revealing the inch of dirt on the window, I am content having a bright room, food inside, and internet contact with the real world.  A real world that has recently shown me several very nice friends indeed. 

Not a lot of people have such as this.     

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Oh Happy Day, sort off.

The delight certain person who know who they are take in informing suffering souls that "I'm younger than you" delighted me no end I can tell you.  Revenge will follow.  I am grateful for the more mature who offered sympathy and that brought the cartoon above to mind.  I am deeply, deeply indebted to RDG, both for her sympathy and her wisdom!  You can see how bright she is!

So now I am in a good mood I will start girning again!  

Parliamentarians salary is decided today by some sort of 'independent Commission.'  These 'High heid yins' decide what MP's pay should be, and possibly the expenses allowance that goes with this.  The House then votes and usually takes the increase complaining it is not enough.  

A member of the UK House of Commons receives £66,000 as far as I can tell, plus expenses for secretary and assistant or whatever.  The committee has decided a wage increase of £10,000 is in order.  Now an awful lot of people are wringing their hands at this, especially those who do not earn £10,000 in a year as it is.  While all cabinet ministers usually (not always happily), refuse any increase in their £132,000 or thereabouts, Nick Clegg, who claims to be Deputy Prime Minister has already said he will refuse this increase.  He of course can afford this.  

My personal opinion is that members of all the parliaments ought to be paid very high salaries indeed, three or four times what they earn now.  The more they earn the better the candidate I say, and there are many of this present lot who should never be allowed back into any parliament in my opinion today.  Of course many have other deals on the side.  Not just as directors or supporters of various very well remunerated 'causes,' but from the job they left to become an MP.  Often they still practice this, and very well paid when they do also.  Directorship or 'support' may bring in many thousands a year.  Very few of these men are suffering I would say and the increase should be curtailed at the very least.  To increase substantially an MP's wage when the nation is suffering two and a half million unemployed, jobs being lost daily and many struggle to pay both their mortgage and the energy bills would be a big mistake.  There again if a man cannot survive on £66,000 a year should he be an MP?

Channel 4 Have upset folks.  They have announced they will deliberately seek controversy by screening the Muslim call to prayer during the coming Ramadan.  This has upset many.  Not only does it appear unfortunate so soon after the murder of a soldier at Woolwich but it appears they wish to provoke a reaction.  It has not been noticed by many that this screening takes place at the first light of dawn, around three in the morning!  Few there are who will notice.  However the 'Daily Mail' types worldwide have begun a campaign of abuse because of this.  Hundreds, let alone the BNP and EDL types, are demanding it be stopped.  So C4, a channel few watch, has got itself publicity everywhere for nothing.  Who would have thunk it?

Does it matter?  Islam is a 'pushy' religion.  Most Muslims will settle happily and live their lives, a smaller majority will however make demands for Islam to an extreme and get support from the more outwardly placid type.   Around 2000 young men are suspected of being drawn into actual terrorism.  Islam must be shown the limits and kept there, otherwise some will indeed make greater and greater demands on this liberal nation.  It never fails to surprise me that when such liberals do their best to kill of Christianity they also fail to oppose Islam demands because they are afraid of being 'racist.'  Young girls in Rochdale suffered the effects of that nonsense recently.

In itself I see no reason why this call to prayer should not be aired for the couple of million Muslims.  Many of whom will indeed be awake to hear this.  However will C4 also show a proper Christian service on Sunday mornings also?  That is something sadly lacking today.  The BBC does its best to hinder real Christian witness, the aged 'Songs of Praise,' being watered down so much these days, and services on Radio 4 more politically correct than genuine.  Will Hindus have coverage from Four, will Jews also?  Certainly atheists and Gays get plenty of coverage on all media and a proper, objective, thoughtful cover of any religion is hard to find.  In amongst the pap offered by C4 there is a market awaiting that they could cover, they are supposed to be aimed at 'minorities are they not?

Right, who do I grumble about next?

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Bleak

I'm 62
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And the Band Played....

One of the features of the Public Gardens is an occasional Summer outing for the brass band.  These enthusiasts play a selection of gentle well known tunes while all around people relax in the sun listening, kids kick dad around while others eat ice cream that appears from who knows where.  I sat amongst this, mostly ageing, crowd happily burning in the sunshine.  It was so warm, and I foolishly sat for fort minutes, that when the sun moved behind the treetops I was quite content to dwell in the shade.  Goodness gracious, that's twice this year the sun has been hot, has someone paid the bill?  A very gentile way off life this Sunday treat.  I read my book, small kids raced their bikes back and forth, people dozed and the music swung along.  A large crowd disposed itself in a huge arc around the green, many bringing their own seats, picnics and reading materials, well used to attending these events.   The band appear to be amateur but well used to their instruments and needed little encouragement from the conductor.  This I think was just as well as when I passed to take the picture he was merely moving the baton up, then down, across, then back, all to keep the beat rather than anything else.  I doubt this lot required any more guidance they appeared proficient and happy in their work.  Of course there is one empty seat at the back, has the triangle player gone home perhaps?

One of my favourite, but usually busy, parts of the old railway is this bit.  Something about the size of the trees, the leaves and the general greenery always makes me stop and look.  You may also hear the sounds of birds chirping just loud enough to be heard above the noise from the ever busy by-pass.  I took several short clips at 6.30 this morning, only two others about and that because the dog forced them out, the weather warm, the sun rising fast.  Sadly the cheap video does not catch the brightness of the sun properly, I am still attempting to work the buttons on it so this is a bit duller than reality.  

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The Height of Excitement!

Look, a bridge made out of bricks!  Not only does that reveal the height my excitement reached today it also shows how far I cycled.  Not far and watching the 'Tour de France this afternoon I noted my four miles fade somewhat when they said they had only another 122 kilometers to go!  That, as you will have worked out, is just under 76 miles.  The riders had been on the bikes for three hours and more when I turned it on.  My knees could not stand any more so I went out and sat in the park.

The park was filled with people having fun.  A Muslim group had organised a fun day and kids were bouncing off castles, stalls were offering sweets and meat, not together, and people in general were having a real good time in the sunshine.  Naturally that was not for me so I went back indoors and sulked.

Bah!

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Junk!

My heart knows no joy to equal the arrival of the weekly Free Paper!  Week in, week out, in sun rain or snow the free paper drops through the letterbox and spreads itself carelessly all over the floor.  As the present delivery operative (e.g. a snotty, uncaring 13 year old forced to deliver such to learn the meaning of life) insists on delivering three, one for each disinterested apartment, we needs gather an ever increasing pile of junk that accompanies this periodical.  I say 'we,' but in this place I mean 'me!'  I am the one who tidies up, I am the one who changes lightbulbs, I am the one who hoovered the communal stairs this morning.   Good job I'm not one to complain I say.  

This weeks delightful offerings inform me that I can refreshing deals for summer at a store that exists miles from here.  There is a small version of the Co-op somewhere down that way there but in no way can it compete with the major supermarkets.  The offer prices almost always remain higher than the cost of 'own store' brand merchandise that is just as good and sometimes better! Still the fattening products on offer are the ones folks buy.  Still this glossy leaflet arrives weekly without fail and rushes to join the recycling campaign.  Off more interest is the 'BIG Unbeatable Sale' from the electrical dealer offering prices for TV's, radios, fridges, cameras and laptops that I can buy at similar 'unbeatable' prices at Tesco.  It surprises me not that is guy went bust a year ago and was taken over for a small fee by a man who I reckon is on a loser.  Austerity hits home with items such as these!  These delights are bought only when old ones need replacing today,  no more rushing out to purchase just because the woman next door has got a new one.  The money is just not there to be spent.  

My favourite junk today is the nationwide chemist offering to make me young forever if I plaster my face with £14.99 worth of cream.  'Anti-wrinkle- cream it says, yet we all know these make not the slightest difference to wrinkles, just ask Anne Robinson!  Women will buy this stuff and the latest con is to advertise this stuff for men, and some men buy it!  I bet their boyfriends buy it also!  I am reminded of the cartoon comparing the few toiletries a man uses, one tube of toothpaste, one soap, one shampoo against those a woman would require, an entire row from a supermarket!  All that to make you attractive and at great cost!  Just give him a bottle of beer and it will have the same effect and save hundreds of pounds for you each year.  

This junk comes at three items a week from Royal Mail also these days.  people complain and grumble about it but for every ten thousand sent out one person buys something, and these leaflets pay!  There is no doubt these much maligned leaflets sell goods.  When I used to deliver I often had objections from customers concerning the junk mail, yet I noticed they all checked out what had arrived just the same, few just dumped them.  They also pay for Royal Mail that is why they wish the postie to deliver eighteen a week!  This was then reduced to nine but strong objections from the workforce kept this to three.  You can tell the managers today did not start as postmen can't you?  On top of these we are lucky enough here to have several Pizza Parlours, Chick-a-Lick takeaways, and chip shops, selling Mediterranean cuisine (That's Kebabs to you).  How lucky we are to be such a haven for cuisine!  Cuisine that delivers to your door and never appears to have any change, or so I'm told, I would always get it myself and save a few bob if I could ever afford such luxury.   Folks offering to cut our grass (which is covered with stones anyway) clean our windows or do our accounts (accounts?) also periodically dumped cards on us.  If these people think this building consists of potential customers it indicates the rest of their operation will not have been thought through properly.  I would avoid them!

The free paper itself is a wonder of the past forty years.  There was a time no self respecting newspaper would ever consider something free.  The lure of personal ads however has enticed them.  Who has not been attracted to 'Sweet Knight sought for young fifty something. GSOH. Likes Dancing, pubs, snakes and arc welding. No weirdos.'  Just who writes these things, and who falls for them?  Yet each week the back page is full of people desperate for love.  True adverts here are very poignant and some sad desperate people may be seeking an end to a lonely life.  Others may not be quite so honest however.   No, no-one ever answered mine thanks for asking.  In amongst the adverts, Double glazing, Solar heating, weddings and 'Are you deaf?' headlines we find snatches of last weeks news as if it mattered.  A week old, long forgotten, but cheap, anything to fill the spaces.  Spaces often filled with adverts for adverts by the publisher!  These papers arrive week by week without fail, no matter your situation.  You may recall the episode of One Foot in the Grave' where they return from a Spanish holiday to find the house burnt down.  He pushes open the front door, the only part of the building still standing, and finds a fresh, newly delivered copy of the free paper behind it!  That rang a bell throughout the nation.   

All this is now in the recycled box as I have not been impressed to buy, not even the reduced price ice cream from the shop or the £89.99 camera that would at least be useful.  The papers will either be reused to make fresh newsprint, magazines full of emptiness or, more likely, be dumped somewhere in the Philippines or the backside of Africa as this is cheaper than actually reusing the stuff.  It makes you proud that doesn't it?


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Lazy Wednesday

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Ichabod and I

Ichabod, the bike that is, and I struggled up the old railway early this morning before my mind was wide enough awake to realise what I was doing.  My knees are now well able to explain the short trip, and loudly at that!  A chap I know belongs to one of those cycling groups, you know the type, helmets, shorts, bright tight jerseys and riding bikes costing several hundred pounds, well he was commenting on their 'run' of just over a hundred miles.  They had done a bit more the day before!  These imitation Tour de France types sometimes come past here, and if on telly I will watch it myself.  Men like the idea of being tough or strong enough to ride up hills and speed along straight rods, always comparing the time between your past time and some other superstars.  Incidentally I watched a programme featuring Clare Balding, a lass referred to by one man as 'Dyke on a Bike,' cycling around the hill of Devon in one of those excellent short travel programmes.  Indeed I like this type of thing and Balding does present herself well here.  However she mentions the small point that she was on a 'short run,' of just 30 miles!  I considered this during my ride up the slope and calculated that by turning back I would get home after completing 3 miles.  My knees agreed that was far enough today!

Farmer Jones will be happy that in spite of the rain his crop is succeeding this year.  I am claiming this is wheat but I expect you experts will tell me it is something completely different, like mango or the like.  His wide field looks in quite good nick in spite of the refusal of the council to allow him to sell some fields to a builder who wants to create 500 homes there.  Luckily even our Councillors are too busy planting said 500 houses on a different farm to care for him.  I am glad as this would spoil the old railway for many of us.

It seems like years since I have been up here and the rain has developed the vegetation somewhat!   This stuff lined the path all the way up, in spite of being curtailed by the Rangers who have stopped it encroaching the entire path.  There is something refreshing about breathing in such an atmosphere (unless you have Hay Fever or Asthma I suppose), listening to the birds singing, beasties rummaging through the undergrowth and cheerily allowing occasional cyclists to rush past as they must get to work before eight.  How I love not having to do that these days.  I miss the good bits, the people, the routine but not the hassle, office politics, grumpy folks, and of course the public!  

  
How much better this looks when greenery is everywhere, also when the way home is downhill!

Occasional remnants of the old railway.  A sign to indicate the rise and fall of the track ahead.  Just ride a bike pal and you soon find how far the track rises and falls!  

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Mick Aston, Sad Loss

Mick Aston

Quite sad to hear of the passing of Mick Aston from the Channel 4 'Time Team' programme.  Professor Mick has been a stalwart since the beginning of the show, indeed he was the instigator when he declared it was possible to evaluate a site in three days!

Time Team began in 1994 attempting to bring archaeology to the masses.  It did this superbly!  The format was simple enough, Mick Aston led the 'dig,' Phil Harding, the one with the west country accent, silly hat and scraggy hair was usually the one in the muddy trench, Frances Pryor also leading on prehistory digs, and Tony Robinson with the job of explaining the experts findings to the layman.

The format was simple.  The scene was set by Robinson, Mick, following discussions with the rest would decide on what lay before them and where to dig.  Usually this depended on the results of the geophysics team led by John Gator.  This revealed the many layers under the surface, indicating what possibilities lay there.  Phil Harding and his fellow 'diggers' would then dig down, carefully noting the lie of the land and changes in soil colour.  Sometimes they would dig deep before finding anything, if indeed anything was to be found, on occasions much was close to the surface thanks to regular farmers plowing.  Tony would offer to the viewers an enthusiastic description of what was found, the experts would argue as to what this meant, discussions would continue as day ended, usually for this team, in a pub.

The programme would follow through the three days with expert analysis, many intriguing finds discovered and at the end Tony would narrate the results as a computer image gave a very real impression of what lay in a long barren field many years ago.  All this was done in a cheery enthusiastic manner, the indications being that for the most part the team enjoyed making the programme and being together.  Arguments there were but the impression was of a genuinely happy team.

The team investigated many parts of the British Isles, claiming also to have written more academic papers on their finds than all others put together, revealed to us what lies under our feet sometimes inches from our doors, in both town and countryside.  Occasional use has been made of reenactment groups, with Matt Williams often participating as a slave, Roman soldier or railway navvy.  This gave real insight into how the past was lived, revealing how hard life was for many in the past.  How lucky are we today!

Although one or two specials have yet to come the series ended this year after a disagreement regarding the experts involved.  The TV company, Channel 4, wished to 'liven up' the failing viewer ratings by bringing in 'experts' who were there for their looks, not their knowledge.  Mick rightly opposed this and refused to participate.  How right he was!  The girls brought in did not convey any worthwhile information and were only there for their looks, and possibly they were keen to show them off.  One even had the audacity to criticise 'sexism' in TV history programmes claiming men were preferred to women, yet she has already had series of her own.  Mick was indeed correct in his approach, he left the programme.  'Time Team' concentrated on the story, not the personalities, even allowing for the mixture of genuine personalities found therein!

Mick Aston was famous for wearing multi-coloured jumpers and his flowing untidy white hair, his quiet thoughtful approach to the dig, his commanding knowledge, especially of the medieval period which was his subject after all, and a confident quiet manner with which he explained the setting that lay before the viewer.  It is indeed people like him we need presenting history programmes, not those who present themselves.  All university types are a  wee bit 'liberal.' Mick was indeed like that.  His own man, thoughtful, charitable yet a bit of a loner he did not relish being so much of a TV celebrity, who can blame him for that?  He will be much missed by many both within his profession and those couch potatoes digging up the past at home.

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Ah! Harp Music!

This is all Soubs fault!  His latest post features a lassie singing a song in Welsh (or Welch if you prefer) and she is ably accompanied by a Harpist.  I like harp music and had forgotten all about it for a while.  So I am glad he has reminded me.  It is something gentle and quiet to soothe the soul and enable the mind to refresh itself, well sometimes anyway.  I think you will like this.  The Harpist here may well be Irish rather than Welsh but that matters not in music.

Murray

Wimbledon has begun.  Once more the BBC is filled from morning to night with tennis!  You know tennis, that game where a ball is hit with a bat over a net and then returned by hitting it with a bat over the net and it is returned and on and on and on and oh so much on, except when the ball hits the net or a player hits the ground with his bat and uses rude words.  This game for girlies, and thousands of them go to south west London, queue all night in the rain, pay stupid money to get in and plonk themselves down on a hill to watch a TV screen!  Why not stay at home and make your mans tea?  It's what you are there for!  

This middle class game has many asking "Why so few British players?"  Well it is middle class, to be the tops requires great determination and money, clubs are few, support limited and the chairman if the Lawn Tennis folks gets paid over £600,000 a year.  I can see one way of raising cash to encourage new players of this drab, repetitive, mind numbing game, but the LTA will not approve my idea.  This fortnight of boredom, endlessly spouted on TV, radio and newsprint, happens year in year out to the eternal question, "Will he win it?"  This time Andy is once again the man most likely to become an anti climax and thence return to being a 'Scot' rather than 'British!'  Of course he will not win it, at least three others are miles ahead of him (and one, Nadal, has already gone out) and the trophy will go to them.  After a Sunday afternoon is wasted come Monday and tennis has already been forgotten!  Hooray I say, bring it on!


p.s. Can I point out that 57 people have looked at my Saturday post and the majority have refused to comment. That tells you something!

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The Saturday Post

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