Renovation

The Death Trap Whisky Bond

For some reason today I contemplated my first job, way back in 1966 before you were born, and made the strange discovery that almost all my previous workplaces had disappeared!  The whisky bond where I singularly failed to make any impression moved shortly afterwards outside of Edinburgh. The death trap building itself may well stand down the bottom of Leith Walk but I have no idea if it remains in use.  Wooden floors, stairs and tons of cardboard boxes mixed with a vat of whisky and thousands of bottles of the stuff do not enable Health & Safety men to sleep at night.  Having departed before being encouraged to leave I moved to Slateford Road where a company making biscuit tins and their plastic inserts paid me almost £6 a week to prove I was not cut out for that job. The company realised that making the inserts was more profitable than the tins and last I heard were developing that side of the business.  The do not exist today.

W&P

Today a modern housing development that greased somebody's hand stands there.  In the modern world 15 and 16 year old's seldom find employment, the government keeps them at school to avoid paying them dole money, but in the past companies throughout the land were employing feckless youth who took the money, chatted up the women unsuccessfully and offered little in return, at least that's what the company secretary told me with an uncompromising stare.

Shortly after this conversation I found work at the brewery.

Tenents Heriot Brewery

Here I remained almost four years, enjoyable years at that.  The work was not difficult, even I could do it, the women threw themselves at me, well if you used a can or two of 'Husky Export' that is, and when my life changed I departed for London and a new life.  The people, almost all of whom I actually got on with, gathered together sufficient funds to pay a one-way train ticket to London for me.  Wasn't that nice?  Now the one time brewery, not far from Tynecastle Park home of the world famous Heart of Midlothian, is a block of overpriced flats.  So that's three jobs where the company has found the premises demolished after I left.  This cannot go on can it...?

After a year of London life, where I found a church where Jesus would speak to me and a job with a charity rehousing folks, I came back to what appeared to be old fashioned Edinburgh, well it was 1972!  The shops shut at five in the evening whereas in London they stayed open longer and one worked 24 hours! After a few months away it seemed so boring to a 20 year old.  I was employed eventually at a Cash & Carry where I happily upset people daily.  Deciding to do something a bit more worthy I embarked on a healing career by joining the Royal Infirmary as an orderly.  Here I was so good the other wards attempted to head hunt me!  I wish they had!  While happy at the time I discovered just how difficult women could be to work with.  Until then I had found no trouble working however in this ward bitchiness from the sister towards her superiors and to her nursing staff did not enable a happy atmosphere.  The patients, even the female ones were better behaved, there again I suppose Sister had the needles!  I returned to the Cash & Carry for another year or two.  Both the Royal Infirmary and the Cash & Carry have been redeveloped!  That's five jobs and five redevelopments, so far.  Naturally I should add the building we resided in while working for the charity London no longer operates as we did.  Our 'Hippy' like approach did not go down to well and that place is now someones home.  The organisation has become another council and who knows what goes on with them today!  The old hospital now has many grand flats, for the rich.  

In 1975 it was important to return to that church in London.  This meant leaving the family that I missed, especially those lovely nieces, how hard that was, and found a few months work in a highways depot in Finchley.  That is now a small housing estate.  After a few months I moved to a slum in Swiss Cottage, since redeveloped, and worked at Maida Vale Hospital for several years. 

This was my best ever employment.  Whether the others agree I know not but this place still appears in my dreams at times.  Happy place to work, something new each day and the people on the whole good to me.  Working amongst the long term sick and others dying gives a differing view of the world.  On occasion this place appears in my dreams and I suspect appear in the ladies dreams also.....what..oh!  The hospital is now a block of flats.

Sadly my long years which followed at Selfridges, in the vans, warehouse and then dreadful office, did not result in the stores imminent collapse.  Maybe I was unnoticed there?  Running from that dead end to temp work and eventually I escaped to the wilderness of Essex.  Here those who employed me know about it.  One closed the warehouse and moved, actually two did that.  One almost collapsed but thanks to cost cutting, e.g dumping staff, survived and one was badly run then collapsed, one lost the account and died and Royal Mail has been sold off in a disgraceful manner and soon will become like the private energy companies, greedy, expensive and out of control. 

How strange I find that so many places that once saw me wandering about in a dream no longer exist.  Was it ever thus I wonder.....?  

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PC Banter

Roy Hodgson makes a poor joke using the term 'Monkey face' or something similar and it becomes a major 'racist' talking point.  Someone (I forget who) claimed Fernando Torres acted like a fairy (or was it jessie) when reacting to the attentions of an opposing player, this caused a complaint which resulted in an apology.  Danny Lennon the St Mirren manager apparently upset the media by speaking against them, today he apologised.  A pregnant MP could not find a seat in the House during Prime Ministers Question Time and the media is in an uproar about ungentlemanly conduct. An English taxi driver ordered to remove the English flag stickers from her car after council receives one complaint, and a circus forced to drop posters after one person says she is scared of clowns.  A transsexual PC seeks money after operator did not believe she was female.

Just what is going on today?  How come light hearted, and often honest, humour is seen as 'racist?'  Had I complained about the abuse I received while working at the sorting office I could have made millions.  However it was banter, well usually, those signs regarding the English football teams failures might have been made by me after all.  Abuse from friends is common, colour, sex, and anything else should never stop this.  Today however far too many get their moment of glory by shouting 'racist' or 'sexist!'  It makes me wish to shout 'monkey face' or similar at them.   It appears apologies must be made constantly for small things these days yet allowing people to die in a hospital requires much press comment but no apologies and murder or manslaughter charges either!  Something is wrong somewhere.  The hard done by MP was ignored by the male MPS it appears, though most would not have known she was there, and the meia ignore the fact female MPs did nothing for her either.  I wonder why?  As for the PC seeking redress, sometimes we all have to prove who we are to the police, why not you also?  Councils are so busy being PC, as the taxi driver and circus have discovered, that your own flag is offensive or a clown upsetting!  It's your nation, fly your flag!  A clown upsets you, look away!

I am becoming sick of people whining about things that 'offend' them.  Usually those people offend me but if I complain I am seen as 'offensive.'  It is time people stopped being so 'precious,' the poor little darlings.  Vast numbers of things can offend us daily, sometimes they are directed at us, but by turning the other cheek we can survive.  Too many hide behind their sex, colour, sexual problems, age, or any other excuse to whine.  How about just growing up or finding real problems to deal with?  Oh they are too hard, and possibly you cause them maybe? Next time you are called 'monkey face,' ask whether it is banter or an insult.  Humans use banter, humans also look to be offended, it makes them feel important.    

Grrrrrrrrrrr!

British Gas increased their prices by over 8% today.  An announcement everybody knew was coming.  My new bill arrived the other day and at the bottom they happily display where the money goes.  It is listed in such a way as to imply the 7% marked as 'Profit' appears a small amount of the total.  Considering that in the past few years the percentage of profit has risen from 2% to 7% I begin to feel we are being robbed!  Companies require profit, money is needed for investment and correct wages, this is not wrong.  However we all know that in spite of rising Gas prices, running costs and legitimate salaries, the whole thing is robbery!  I need not mention the £10 million given to the retiring chairman in case you boak!  As many are struggling to survive now how will they cope with a cold winter?  For far too many the choice is heat or eat, this will make things worse for many, and these will often be people with jobs.  What makes all this worse in the Tory answer to the difficulty.  "Switch supplier," says David Cameron and his energy minister. Fine, we will do that and be charged just as much there.  

COMPETITION DOES NOT WORK!  

The truth is the smug Conservative Party have allowed privatisation an open door to line their pockets no matter the cost to the rest of us.  Labour may grumble but the m have little idea what to do.  I know what to do, NATIONALISE all energy companies, put them to work for all of us, not just themselves! 

Power Dressing

Another day amongst the past.  Rising before I awoke I combed my hair, longer than it ought to be, but I blame this on swigging from the 'Baby Bio' bottle rather than the cough mixture next to it the other day, wrapped a clean shirt around my wizened body and headed off to the museum. What a difference when the powers that be are locked in a meeting!  Instead of a panic re the things needing done there was a quick word and we three, we happy three, just got on with it. Very happy as it only took two of us this morning.    

I was intrigued however how people approach such meetings.  Apart from the office politics, the infighting over money, plans differing from one viewpoint to another especially the viewpoint of the one empowered to cut spending from those empowered to spend, another interesting fact arose.  The way women dress to face one another.  Our lass looked very good indeed, later I realised it was because she faced a powerful troublesome woman!  While a man may wear a brasher coloured tie, if anything, she must dress for the occasion!  I hope she won!    

Men are limited in their outfits.  A suit for business or council, smartish for shop or office if not suit, 'toetectors' for warehouse, and hi-vis jacket for insurance purposes for almost everything else even if not required.  A woman requires five wardrobes!  Colours must be relevant for each event, let alone the outfit itself, never can it be repeated two days in a row, and while other women will criticise not one man will notice much.  It's a funny old world saint!

We didn't get too busy today, but that will change next week with kids off school, however I get home knackered!  I must rest before the football tonight, I must be ready for the emotional stress.  

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The Awful Smell of Fish!

Fish, the 'experts' say is good for you.  I believed them!  I bought some Haddock from Sainsburys, two to a packet, and on Saturday grilled one until burnt as you should.  I cleaned up as usual, slowly, and left the windows open for a while.  In the morning when I came through from the west wing I opened the door and was greeted by what is best described as the inside of a trawler hull! The place (should that be 'plaice' I wonder?) stunk.  While sitting in it I had not realised how bad it was.  Bah!
Sunday lunch was the other portion of burnt Haddock.  It tasted the same, it probably did me good, but it left the same fragrance throughout the building.  I took the usual precautions, cleaned appropriately, opened windows, but today once again I walked into a thick vapour of fish.  
I cleaned the place again, I even cleaned the oven, and it is nowhere near March, I scrubbed and left windows open, and thoroughly cleaned away the smell.  However after a walk in the rain, where I was reminded about the holes in the soles, I returned to the stench of Tench, well Haddock.  Even the Kippers I once, and only once, bought, did not whiff like these.  So I sit here, windows and doors ajar, the cold wind bringing the rain inside to get warm, while my only source of heat comes from the curried mince I am making for lunch.  Now that is one aroma I can suffer happily!

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Rain, the weekend's almost here......

After a night of rain I raced slowly to Sainsburys to be overcharged for my breakfast.  On crossing the car park I remembered the holes in my shoes and spotted the great sky above the church opposite.  The picture doesn't quite get the brightness of the glow of the sun or the rays shining through.  Somehow it cheered up the dismal day.  Naturally it is raining for 24 hours now!

The Gas people asked for a meter reading the other day and the bill showed I had been using too much, in summertime!?  One Electricity company has increased their charges by 8% and others will follow suit soon.  Yet today we privatised Royal Mail (is it still Royal?) while previous privatised utilities charge reckless amounts and hoard the profits in the directors pockets.  How stupid can government be?  The only privatised railway that makes money is trhe East Coast line, and that is because the company running it failed, dumped it back o the nation and now it has made £281 million profit.  I think there is a lesson here!

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What...?

I pass this often, it is attached to a very nice house indeed, it looks as if it has not been in use for decades, but I sometimes ponder on what it was used for?   The first thought concerns gardening, gardeners usually are quite adept at making use of old spring mattresses, sheets of iron, bits of wood and the like on which to grow their vegetables.  There are some wooden spars here, a sheet of corrugated metal, a sheet with a window cut out looking like it was pinched from one of the old 'tin gospel halls' that once abounded.  It might even have been used by someone who ran racing pigeons, although I doubt that with this particular dwelling.  
Whatever use that construction was put to someone from the electric board thought it funny to place an electric sub station next door, just what you want innit?   At least it prevents bad folks clambering over and breaking in.  That does not in itself look as if it would prevent a cat burglar attempting to enter the building.  Of course this would be a waste of time, I know for sure that gentleman does not possess a cat.

As I was scribbling this one of the longest running programmes on TV began on BBC4, 'The Sky at Night!'  This was, and remains, one of the few intelligent programmes left on TV today. Beginning in 1957 with Sir Patrick Moore as presenter it became the longest running programme with the same presenter as he remained in position, in spite of age and infirmity, until his death in December 2012.  Famed for his knowledge as well as his character, once during an early live broadcast a bluebottle entered his mouth as he spoke, he swallowed it and continued!  The programme has continued after his death, no doubt it will change as time passes, but at least it continues informing the many astronomers, young and old, amateur and professional throughout the land. The British have a strange attraction to the night sky, possibly because it is so attractive and more probably because it is so rarely seen!  
Educational, informative and interesting, three words that usually kill programmes on telly today, yet long may this one continue. 

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A Boring Picture...

That, says you, is a boring picture.  Aye, agrees me, but I like it.  I like it because the sky in the background looked good, the autumnal trees show their colours and it shows that I was once again wandering across the park.  It has been almost three weeks since I done this.  Three weeks since what some women call a 'wee chill,' and all men agree is a serious bout of 'Man-Flu,'  laid me low and ruined my life.  It's ridiculous that something that used to come and go in three days takes almost three weeks now.  Can it be the virus is changing, or is it my health failing?  The muck that fills the skies unseen cannot be doing us any good, it also may well be changing the way virii adapt.  What a great difference a day makes.  Yesterday I attended the museum but was far from awake.  I sat there staring into space rather than doing anything, disturbed only when a few stragglers entered.   I was glad it was quiet, but the museum needs visitors.  Today however I was almost alive and raced out slowly to peruse the market and keep my cash in my pocket.  I did however notice a lass drop a bit paper.  As I arrived on the spot it turned into a £5 note, this meant running at least seven steps to catch up with her. I still have not recovered!  

In an attempt to find a prettier picture I ventured out this afternoon, eyes peeled for enticing sights.  Sadly few appeared under this ever darkening gray sky.  However the falling leaves can produce interesting pictures, however whether this is one is debatable.  

As luck would have it the foto opportunities enlarged as a poor soul required aid from the first response unit.  This has parked in the bay as he ought but the following ambulance just stopped in the centre of the road.  Probably a woman driver I would conclude myself.  The traffic behind may grumble as it is impossible to pass, but most will accept this.  Hopefully the patient will survive, the trip to the nearest hospital is fifteen miles away!  However in spite of the Tories desperate attempts to sell the NHS to their friends it exists still and the cut down ambulance service still manages to save lives in spite of them. Sometimes we forget just how lucky we are to have an ambulance at the other end of a phone.  We take such benefits for granted, benefits not always available, nor so efficient, elsewhere. 

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Grumbling....

The news today is as always depressing.  The ineffectual leaders of the English parties are desperately reforming their ministers and juniors in a vain attempt to convince the nation to vote for them.  So far I am far from impressed.  One clean cut young lady has appeared on local TV telling the world she is glad to have stepped down from her position (who? what? No idea!) and is doing the most important thing, caring for her constituents.  Lies, all lies!  Others, also unknown, have moved to lesser jobs and accepted this just to keep the position by their fingernails and also the money that goes along with it.  What difference will it make to you and me?  None!
Roll on the election so we can remove this bumbling idiot Cameron and replace him with another barely elected bumbling idiot in Milliband.  At least Clegg will disappear without trace.

  
The Heart of Midlothian lost an important match on Saturday, now the fans are indulging in the usual empty recriminations.  How quickly fans turn against their team.  Heroes are loathed simply for not being as good as the crowd are, in their own heads.  Players and their dispositions are discussed in an all knowing manner by those who know nothing.  Those who failed to make the grade in any way are happily criticising those who did.  Tsk! That's something I never do......wot..?
However it got me thinking just how easy it is to grumble about others way of working, whether we have any experience or not of their work.  Clearly politicians are one area we all grumble about, however today the grasping corruption probably annoys us more than incompetence.  There is no doubt we can always do better than others at their job, be it running railways, buses, government, or fixing the car or repairing the plumbing.  Sometimes we are right, but how often do we end up suffering because we are vexed and those that vex us walk away happily?  It's a funny old world Saint!

Must See News Report....

Quaint!

Forgotten Relics

I was led to this 'Quaint little Railway,' via the excellent 'Forgotten Relics' site.  If you have no life you may wish to spend a few hours a day looking at the films on show at this site.  Some people have disappeared for months watching this selection.  I may be one of them soon. 

Byzantium

This book offers a 'short' history of Byzantium, one of the most famous and in my experience most unknown ancient cities of the world.  We know a lot about Egypt, Greece and Rome but almost nothing about Byzantium and the Greek influenced Mediterranean area after the first couple of centuries A.D. The later Muslim takeover, the influence of the Roman church and self absorption within Europe probably accounts for this.  We have all heard of this city, we roughly know where it lies, how the name changed to first Constantinople and then Istanbul, but apart from sunning ourselves in Bodrum and a passing visit heading for the airport very few bother much about Turkey or this major city.  

So when I discovered this book selling for 50 pence in a Colchester charity shop I decided it was time to take advantage and learn something.  Honestly the price was not the biggest mover here though it helped.  I,.. er, must add that as they had a book sale on I only paid 20 pence and with almost 400 pages that sounds OK to me!  

There are good things and bad things about this book. The author John Julius Norwich has been a renown voice on radio and television, and he has indeed an excellent voice for radio, a voice which can be heard as you plough through the book, and this is a good thing.  The knowledge he imparts fills the empry space in my mind, covering an area unknown to many of us.  The bad thing is that the need to cover the history stretching from the days of Diocletian in the year A.D. 284 all the way to Constantine XI Palaeologus in A.D.1453 by necessity leaves only room for the arrivals and departures of each Emperor.  After a few hundred years this becomes a little wearing.  The emperor is ageing, fading, useless, too powerful, so a son, cousin, general, rebel, distant claimant, arrives and disposes of the incumbent by deceit, knife, sword, poison, helped by wife, daughter, son, general or whatever and takes his place.  He reigns successfully, badly, for a long or short time when he in turn is replaced in one way or another.  The man in charge may or may not be a man of integrity, some indeed put the needs of the empire before their own, but this shortened version of the history can only pass quickly over the adventures which may have covered a term of many years. Not only can we only hear about the top people we cannot have much idea of the life of the man in the street.  What we do learn is that the peasants, and many were just that, could make their voice heard, especially where their preferred religion was concerned.  Riots could occur easily and if the bread and circuses which entertained them in between famine, war and plague ceased they could happily burn down the town.  Happy days.

When Constantine decided to make use of the Christian religion he not only enabled Christians to walk freely in the land he also turned it from a loose collection of churches seeking God to a religious organisation, an ecclesiastical hierarchy in which power and ambition replaced worship. Theological argument ceased to be based on the Messiah's teaching and belonged to theologians spread across the Mediterranean.  'Elders,' were replaced by 'priests,' and celibacy for no good reason became standard practice, possibly influenced by pagan beliefs ensuring the 'priests' were seen as important and above the ordinary.  Dress and ceremony became less about worship and more about presentation.  Candles, widely used in Byzantine royal pomp appeared in the church, fashions changed but church leaders dress did not, all to emphasise their superiority and importance, not God.  The great divide between Rome and the Greek based Orthodox churches arose more from ambition than God and has lasted until this day, yet the reformation is even yet ignored and indeed opposed by such!  Other heresies brought division and danger, the Arian heresy bringing much conflict also, again from church theology and not scripture truth. Wars were fought, tortures aplenty applied, cities devastated and thousands perished all because such religion was used as a power base by various men. The people supporting whatever side they were born on at the time.  How many ever read the scriptures, how many could read?

The Crusades come along also.  Vast armies travel overland seeking to escape purgatory by fighting the Muslim.  Forty thousand began the first and this motley collection of vagabonds, thieves, chancers and escapees raped and pillaged their way across Europe and Turkey, fighting with the Byzantine forces 'escorting' them.  These ended their days in Cilicia, slaughtered by the first enemy army that they met.  Byzantium suffered more from Crusaders than Mohammed ever did!  Indeed many leaders of Muslim forces behaved in a more civil manner than any 'Christian' Knight ever did.  The Knights were more intent for selfish glory and a parcel of land to rule over rather than removing the infidel from Jerusalem.  Most just liked killing people, who they killed didn't really matter.

I avoid referring to any specific emperor bar Constantine, who was at York when he was declared emperor by the way, as there are hundreds of them, covering both the east and west sides of the empire, various patriarchs of the Greek church, popes aplenty, and far too many names to indulge any here.  That in itself tells us something.  The city of Byzantium stood for well over a thousand years and was not overthrown until Sultan Mehmet, then aged just 21, took the city in 1453.  The walls were so strong, the position so strong that defence was comparitively easy, as long as food and water held out.  

Visiting crusader armies, peasants living in stone built huts with turfed roofs, knights in grander houses and castles, gazed in wonder at the mighty buildings in this city.  The splendour was to overpower many of them, indeed the Crusaders occupied the city and ruled, against the peoples wishes, for some time.  The richly dressed leading citizens, the pomp of the Emperor, the bejeweled populace made Europe appear dingy and covetousness arose among the Crusaders.  The majority of citizens in any empire live bleak lives, the wars that destroy their towns or farmlands, famine, the need to fight someones wars, the recurring plagues all tend to keep the people in need of leadership.  Hmm sounds a bit like the UK today I hear you say!  However when it came to pomp, art, and splendid architecture Byzantium possibly led the world.  Tribute from all around filled the city, art flourished, Santa Sophia still stands as a tribute to this, and yet in the UK we know so little about this past.   

I appear to have wandered around.  My mind has done that a lot recently. However I found this book well worth a read simply because I knew nothing about this great city and while the somewhat crushed royal history can be wearing it does reveal why the Balkans turned out as they did, that life is a constant war and we ought to be thankful for the years of peace we have enjoyed, and now I have a slightly better understanding of this ancient and almost ignored empire that affected our civilisation so much without our noticing. 

  

Constantine the Great

Football,

Sir Walter Scott

Then strip, lads! and to it though sharp be the weather,

And if by mischance you should happen to fall,

There are worse things in life than a tumble in heather,

And life is itself but a game of football.

Sir Walter Scott

I'm watching football, for a change...

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The View From My Desk....

The view from here is somewhat limited even yet.  The Lurgi hangs around leaving a fog on the mind as well as a cloud in the chest.  The result leaves me sitting indoors as the idea of trudging around in the late sunshine does not appeal, the camera is somewhat disappointed with this. Three times I have found the camera looking mournfully out the window desperate to eye up the world.  I know how it feels.  Instead my dim mind suffers the papers lack of intellect, the older radio programmes that I have searched out, and finishing off the books that litter the place. Quite how several can be sitting half read and forgotten always amazes me, especially as I cannot remember beginning the things in the first place.  Too often I put the book down and take months to get back to it, even if it is a good one.

So like the camera I sit here moping, my eyes scanning the scudding clouds crossing the late September blue sky, only to discover today is October!  Who stole the time?  Only the other day I watched the trees budding and small green leaves appearing.  Has someone fiddled time somewhere?  Anyway the trees opposite have already began the shedding of rusted leaves, one while offering a dazzling display of bright red berries for the birds delight.  The season of 'Mists and mellow fruitfulness,' sounds romantic but ignores the chill blended in the wind, a hearkening of approaching winter.  Those who venture out reflect the dubious nature of the seasons.  Young men wander abroad in tee shirts emblazoned with 'witty' phrases, multi-coloured shorts, reaching beyond the knees, all the while carrying water bottle to make them look 'cool.'  More 'mature' people wear a jacket as they have been caught out by British weather far too often for their liking.  Surely the brown edged leaves lying across the pavements indicate to some that summer is over?  A bright sun does not indicate warmth, just ask any passing Eskimo.  The dark misty mornings keep the Blackbirds asleep till well after five these days.  A silence broods over the land early in the dark morning, enhanced by the council switching the street lights off to save money. (They have not cut the leading men's salaries however.  The silence is broken only by a raucous coughing, from me, which I think gave the birds their wake up call.  Soon they were all off, barking out (Can birds bark?) their warning to other birds and claiming their patch, a claim that will be heartily defended as the cold weather leaves feathers ruffled in the search for nourishment.
As I write the light begins to fade, indoors darkens sufficiently to demand a light is used, the sky loses its brightness while trying to decide whether it will end with a pink glow or a damp squib. Once more we enter the long nights which herald the commercial escapades of Halloween and Christmas after that.  Once again catalogues begin to fall through the door, their bargains thumping onto the floor and lying their unwanted.  The world is once again forgetting why they exist and follows the crowds into Argos, Tesco and local shopping malls.  Our reason to exist is lost among the urgency to obtain, to satisfy others or ourselves, to forget real life.  Unless of course the reader is a 'benefits scrounger,' (@'Daily Mail') and has nothing to spend on fripperies yet again, not that the 'Daily Mail' reader will accept that.

The reader may by this time have noticed I ramble, I blame the cough mixture, the whisky, the tired mind, the Lurgi!  In truth, it is just me, nothing else, ho hum.......    

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Monday Mirth

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London Observed

Little London Observationist

The above photograph was taken by a sweet young photographer a wee while ago.  You will realise that this picture came to her 'eye' as she wandered that area of London made famous by the 'Jack the Ripper'murders of the late Victorian age.  Jack has of course been named since the murders took place, named about fifteen times but so far no-one has produced conclusive proof, yet they still try.  Any way this barber/hairdresser had the right idea.  I have in mind a chip shop or fishmonger also can be found there, 'Jack the Kipper,' but I may be confused.

Anyway, Steph, the young lass who is the photographer has an excellent blog with a great many wonderful pictures called 'Little London Observationalist,' and I think you ought to peruse this. Now her talent has been awarded with an opportunity to show her pictures for a week in a gallery.  Naturally she is excited about this and naturally she requires cash to get the thing on the road.  Naturally I have deleted her. 

However those of you who like pictures of London, and not just the usual run of the mill stuff, may well enjoy forcing yourselves to look at her results.  The 'arty' types will enjoy much of what is on offer, and the rest can laugh at the pictures of folks attending the London Fashion show. On the other hand they might just have been passersby of course, London being what it is!  So as it is not everyday we get the chance to show off our talent, and many excellent photographers are among yous out there I must say, it would be nice if some support, in words at least could be thrown the girls way. This explains all:  My First Solo Exhibition

Sadly my pension is limited so I er, well, whisky is so expensive these days and I was not well, and what with the heating and .....

KickStarter Exhibition

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The Web!

Surely that is what they mean by 'the web...?'
Quite how the spiders connect via an ISP I know not.  However as several have made their home on the telegraph pole it appears there must be some method available.  Note also we refer to a 'telegraph pole' yet the 'telegraph' as such no longer exists.  What do we call these things now I wonder?

During the last week I have made use of the web, mostly to listen to the 'wireless,' although that today must be called the 'radio.'  There again as many listen to the 'radio' via their mobile phone can we call it 'radio' any more?   I am getting confused now.  When I use the laptop to listen to the radio, via a wireless connection, am I using a 'radio' or a 'wireless?'  I am beginning to blow a valve, bring back the old certainties I say!

The radio I listen to mostly is BBC Radio 4, Radio 4 Extra or Factual, BBC World Service, or even Murdoch's TalkSport (who's link doesn't work for me!). World Service News until recently has been the best in the world. The cutbacks have reduced this somewhat, especially early in the morning when 'Daybreak,' an African 5Live style offering appears instead of the proper news programmes that once held sway.  Still some news programmes run during the day and have proper journalists most of the time.  The usual liberal BBC policy drives the choice of subjects and narrows the spread of news somewhat I find.  I have tried other nations radio stations, in English as my Finnish, Russian and Serbo-Croat is somewhat lacking, but not as much as my command of English of course, some offer a good news service but usually at limited and awkward times.  In days of old I often spent hours listening to the Eastern European stations under Communist control.  The slanted viewpoints, boasting of successful agriculture, factory output (how many tractors we made today) and diplomatic successes, came over as interesting in comparison to the views expressed by western media.  I suspect their radio stations are better these days, at least the newsreaders will not have rumbling stomachs like the Romanians and Bulgarians used to suffer!  Some US local news stations, the type named after leftover 'Scrabble' letters, offer five minutes of screeching adverts followed by one minute of extremely fast 'news,' then it returns to the ads.  I heard several like this, mostly in New York and the like, and wondered what the point was?  If you cannot make out the words because the speech is so fast and the majority of the hour is adverts i have to ask why bother?  Better US stations always begin by asking you for money, something you cannot do in the UK.  It would never work!   

Radio 4 is filled as you know with Middle aged, Middle class females telling us their many problems, which reflects greatly on the women who arrive on here, they always appear so normal so why does the Beeb look for this particular hung up type I ask?  However in amongst this we can find a great many decent programmes, especially if we use the 'Programmes A-Z bit.  I often do this and the documentaries on radio have as you know better pictures than those on the telly.  History is very well covered alongside a wide variety of topics, I particularly like those many short 15 minute programmes that have appeared in recent years.   This week I discovered the story of a female Chinese Emperor, some things about Henry VIII and a tale regarding H.V. Morton the travel writer.  Some are available for a week only, others hang around for a year! Radio 4 Extra and the Factual stations also offer past titles, 'Extra' dealing in Comedy where I find 'Hancock' and 'The Goons,' regularly offered.  All such making a change from the drivel that fills the majority of daytime TV and Radio. So many radio channels offer nothing but music, and usually at a time when I wish to hear something spoken.  It is most irritating that these people do not appear to cater for me specifically which is disappointing, although the web now makes a better choice available through searching.

When lying in bed I usually listen to the wireless.  Radio 4 may offer the 'Shipping Forecast,' which can lull one to sleep after the midnight news or wake you gently just after five in the morning.  Many non sailors are keen to see how 'Forties,' or 'Cromarty,' will do today.  "Easterly 5,  Moderate, Rain, Poor," are just the words required to delight or terrify those who go down to the sea in ships.  Usually we struggle to comprehend what they mean but the chaps in small craft, fishing boats and the light still listen in spite of all their modern equipment so it clearly serves a purpose still.  Alvar Lidell was a famous BBC announcer who spoke the Kings English properly as you should, he I think it was, would end the shipping forecast with "Good fishing gentlemen," or some such phrase, as in those days vast numbers of trawlers worked the seas. Such niceties are less common today, as indeed are the fishing boats. Often I switch this off and turn to 'TalkSport.'  As the laptop cannot offer this it means the radio, or is that a wireless I wonder?  This station offers 'Sport,' usually football with occasional other things thrown in at quiet times.  Owned by that nice Rupert Murdoch I find that whenever I switch it on the adverts are running. The adverts, always loud and bolshie and often with an English working class voice' to sell it to the people, take up so much space because it means the presenters don't have more time to fill I suspect.  After the ads come the ads for the stations programmes themselves in the usual Murdoch loud and empty boastful manner.  The major topic is always the top four football sides, the rest not counting to hacks, and the main story of the day, whether real or imaginary, will be discussed in urgent fashion for hours, long after those involved have forgotten it.  'White van man' is a regular contributor, calling from his mobile phone on an unintelligible line at three in the morning to make his point concerning a player or club.  His knowledge is lacking, he clearly knows nothing, and yet he makes more sense than the presenters, possibly because the line keeps going down!

Cultural folks like you and me will turn to the BBC iPlayer and search BBC 3's site where music abundant is found as well as sensible (?) programmes on the Arts.  My favourite is 'The Essay,' where fifteen minute programmes discuss various subjects.  The Anglo Saxons offered many worthy fifteen minutes which I enjoyed thoroughly, most are still available and well worth a listen.  Since this quality station has so few listeners, it has a certain (deserved) snob approach to classical music and life in general, many despise it, however again a little digging brings success.  One day I hope to hear my clever musical niece playing in an orchestra here.   She is playing a part in Messiaen - Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum, making a noise on Tubular bells I believe.  At least I hope that is the same thing that she is involved with, they all sound the same to me I sometimes get confused by the foreign names.  

I would bore you with more but instead I am off to bed to listen to a variety of foreign stations in an attempt to find something I like.  


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The Man Flu Diaries

Monday

Is that daylight out there?  In spite of intense suffering I have improved my situation from my Monday photograph where I was at deaths door to reach the satisfactory situation found today.

Today

You see today I am eating again!  Not only this but early this morning I made it to Sainsburys and now have tea with milk for the first time since Tuesday! What a difference, not that I cared until 9am today at least.  

What a horrendous week this has been.  My empathy for those with chronic pain has grown once again.  My ability to fail to sleep for 48 hours has impressed me.  The fact that ignoring the news has not changed the world one bit tells me something else also.  Paracetamols, three at a time, failure to remove the throat pain was a surprise!  The requirement to have 'Cockaleekie Soup' on standby has also been noted.

My thanks Lee for your generous offer to fly over from Queensland to make such soup for me.  I am sorry the ticket failed to arrive but the cheque appears to have bounced!

All references to Man-Flu by the female world appear full of sarcasm and cynicism.  The need for a comparison with childbirth fails to ring true with me.  Childbirth happens daily and they are always happy about it, no man likes Man-Flu!  Tsk!

It's good to be alive, but only just.

Oh, and I've just found this newspaper report!

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Go Away, I'm Dying

OOPS!

Wiki

The above is a picture of Goldsboro, North Carolina, USA had the bomb dropped from a crashing B-52 exploded when it fell out of the sky!  The 1960's were not a good time for American bombs, they fell not only on the USA itself but also into the sea off Spain and probably elsewhere on areas not yet revealed by whistleblowers.  

During the late 50's and early 60's Inter Continental Nuclear Missiles had not reached a sufficient degree of development.  Therefore B-52's and other giant aircraft flew in formation over the Atlantic, Pacific and Arctic Circle on a flightpath that took them close, oh too close, to the Soviet airspace.  The Soviet 'Bear' bomber of course did exactly the same in reverse.  The RAF have many photographs taken from 'Lighting' fighters that intercepted such planes as they crossed towards our airspace.  Usually the crew are pictured waving to one another, such flights all part of the game and they all knew it.  President Putin reinstated such activities recently in an effort to make Russia once again appear as a powerful force.  It does not really succeed in doing so, but the home public like it.

On the 23rd January 1961 the B-52 went into an uncontrollable spin, the pilot (apparently) released the bombs, possibly as part of training routine, and allowed them to fall over North Carolina.  Whether he considered the heads of the people below when he did so is not recorded. One bomb fell safely to earth the other underwent action stations!  Having been dropped this bomb, with a capability 260 times more powerful than the 'A'-Bombs that fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the bomb understood it had been dropped on purpose to attack an enemy.  The Mark 39 Hydrogen Bomb went through all the arming procedures required bar one, two of the arming routines failed because the B-52 was breaking up when released, one successfully activated when it fell but a low voltage switch failed preventing the bomb exploding and Goldsboro and much around it vanishing from the earth.  'Friendly fire; from American forces is something British troops have known since the Great War, such 'friendly fire' on US soil is taking things a bit far surely. 

Was it General la Fey the man in charge of the air force during President Eisenhower's time in office?  I only ask because after beginning the flights with fully loaded 'A' and Nuclear Bombs he forgot to tell the president he was doing so.  It was a case of him not 'needing to know,' after all he was just a politician!

I wonder how many Soviet incidents like this lie unreported?   

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A Better Bus....

A better bus took me to Chelmsford, one of the dullest towns known to man.  The main street has been pedestrianised and today contained several stall offering the usual fruit and veg, bread, cakes and stuff.  None offered coffee funnily enough but 'Costa' cafes appeared every few minutes.  Another wasted search for that jacket, although I did find a chap with a similar search to me.  Neither of us have been satisfied by the major stores.   

Coffee was provided, for £1, at the excellent stall in the Market however.  Not as good as the Colchester chap but better than overpriced 'Costa!'  I prefer such places as this.  

The old entrance to the Essex County Buildings reflects the Edwardian elegance and pretentiousness considered so important at that time.  Around the corner the new portion of the building reflects the modern pretentious style.  I much prefer this door!  Clearly this building did not satisfy the needs of the populace, or their councillors at least as an addition was added in 1929

It is of course the panel on the right indicates Chelmsford Council however I canny find any information on the building and at the moment have too little time to search.  Quite why a rams head, if indeed it is that, sits above the letters I know not, there again there is no reason for another ram or what might be a vulture above the date 1929.  That was of course the year of the Wall Street crash so I hope the builders were paid before people started to throw themselves from 67th floor windows.  I checked the pavements round about but they were no worse than normal.

Along the old canal I wandered, strengthened by the coffee and discovered 'Boris the Spider' hard at work under the road bridge.  My knowledge of such beasties is somewhat limited, usually limited to crying "AAAARGGGH!" and running away, so I am not clear as to the real name of this one.  I have seen lots of these around here and usually have a couple on the windows living of other beasties.  You can keep this one if you like....  

I am much happier disappointing the ducks by not feeding them.  This lot were ganging up to threaten a toddler for his lunch just before I arrived.  Once he had been deprived they looked for other mugs.  I never expected to find a large pond in this area.  An excellent feature and much more interesting, when the sun shines, than the High Street and its crowded shops.  In Primark, a place I never entered before, I discovered an imitation Harris Tweed like jacket for £28.  Not far away a similar jacket, made with slightly better 'Tweed,' cost more than twice as much at a 'reduced ' price.  It crossed my mind that the same sweatshop slave earned fourpence for making both.

Running across the top of the park lies the Liverpool Street Railway.  High above on this excellent viuduct the trains run several minutes late regularly, especially at rush hour when people jump in front of them or lorry drives crash into the weaker bridges!  It was not possible to get the whole thing into a photo, it continues behind and into the distance, but the number of bricks is very impressive and a credit to the men who erected in during Victoria's reign.

As I said goodbye to the ducks that followed in a forlorn manner I headed back towards the bus station grasping my Free Bus Pass tightly in my hand.  However I was distracted by a statue in the distance that at first I thought referred to the Theatre that stands nearby.

With the light right behind the poor souls head it merely leaves him a dark silhouette but this man holding the 'lightning flash' in one hand and what looks like an old fashioned phone in the other is Guglielmo Marconi, the inventor of 'wireless.'  He in fact was not the actual inventor but he did play a serious development role and created a successful factory in the town that survived until recently.  It may still be found as part of GEC, if that has not died also.  You may recall him as the chap who sent a wireless signal across the Atlantic to Newfoundland, in spite of opposition from the men running the Telegraph system!  

Naturally I missed the bus!  As I approached I noticed the bus maneuvering about in a tight space.  Quick thinking, and a fast walk against my will, took me around the corner to the next stop which I reached, puggled, by the time the driver had made it past the traffic lights.  I was quite proud of my quick thinking.  I could tell by his snigger the driver had watched my attempt at speed and did not mistake me for that Bolt fellow.

I snatched this picture of the 'St Annes Castle' as we sped along because I noticed the sign on the other wall claiming that this was 'The Oldest Inn in England,' with a date that I think may have been possibly 1171.  I began to wonder how many other 'Oldest' Inns there may be, there is always a pub claiming to be the 'Smallest,' and how many can claim 'Elizabeth Ist Stayed Here!' Claims such as these have limited evidence but one of the must be right.  Inns such as this, on a road probably going back long before Roman times, must have carried many travellers requiring sustenance, so it is possible it was around a thousand years ago.  Here is the pubs own information regarding its age.   The place is mentioned in the Domesday Book, which you will recall, though not from personal experience, was written in 1086.  I may go down there to check it out one day myself....          

                                       

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