Monday Mumbling

The milder weather, only two pullovers on today, brought me a visitor this afternoon. Taking his ease on the grubby window a butterfly enjoyed the view through the dirt ingrained pane.  My pondering as to whether he was better off inside or out ended after I downloaded the pics I took, almost all out of focus, and returned to find he had disappeared.  I suspect he realised he would starve to death in here and hopped it towards the park.  Can he survive the winter I wonder?  Will such a frail creature endure the cold?  If only he had turned around and rested on the pane, then I may have obtained a better shot and worked out what he was called.  

You might have picked up from the news, if you had been listening carefully, that Mandela had died.  Being unwell, ninety five years of age, and quite famous I thought we might hear more about him hmmm?  I liked this man.  He was no messiah as some appear to reckon him, he was not even a great president, he was however a great man!  Having spent so many years in jail it meant his ability as leader was limited.  Others were in powerful positions and he himself was not as young as he had been, his close knowledge and awareness of his people were now limited by the long separation.  However with one magnificent gesture, offering forgiveness and reconciliation, he avoided a possible civil war, with the attending bloodbath, and set about creating a new nation.
It has not happened, with the present generation of leaders it will never happen, and the poorest still face unending struggles and dangers day by day. Many have found life much improved, others find life has more dangers.  I had a run in with a chap who considers all TV as 'anti-white,' this Afrikaner is willing to tell of the many whites killed by black folks, but forgets the oppression of the past couple of centuries.  He and I did not get on.  For many whites South Africa is indeed a dangerous place, not all see things his way however.
There has been a certain amount of idol worship around Mandela in the past few days, this is wrong, and he would object to this.  He ought to be seen as the man who saved South Africa, donning a 'Springbok' shirt to do so, encouraging reconciliation and forgiveness, which may well have been hard for him inside, and setting forth a positive view of a new nation.  This did not make him a messiah, but as I said, it made him a great man, and he ought to be regarded as such.

Saturday saw the town centre awash with Christmas shoppers. naturally a donkey, plus two sheep, appeared in town.  Cynics may say the last thing we need is another donkey wandering about here, but I say nothing.  As you do folks were attempting to pet the animals, and as they do they just wanted someone to shove hay in their mouths.  I think the animals came off best here.  I note that a 'Morocco Market' was arranged by one town but fell through at the last minute as the Moroccans could not get visa's, just in case they did not go home again, and the camels got stuck on the motorway!  Whether the brutes were walking or using the bus was not made clear, the camels I mean, not the Moroccans.     

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Truth?

This show, created by Graeme Garden and Jon Naismith, involves contestants, usually comedians, offering a short speech on an individual, and often wacky subject.  Each talk will contain five truths among the deliberate lies and the three others must identify the truths to win points.  Much harder than it appears and the programme has had a decent run.  The two instigators have produced a book on this (I'm not buying!) and the 'Daily Telegraph' for reasons of its own has published a few of these.  Try this link and the 20 questions offered.  My score was 62% and I suspect you must do better!

The Unbelievable Truth

Also by special request a Railway Video!

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Books

If there is one thing I could waste cash on it would be books.  Having bought a Gift Card from W.H.Smith the other day I was suddenly grabbed by a desire to get my £5's worth from my £5 off a purchase over £20 voucher.  The nonsense in spending money to save money when you don't require what you are buying does not escape me.  However I went forth regardless!  This enabled me to avoid the dusting, hoovering and other women's work that lay before me. Anyway I could not find the scraper to remove the dust from the mantlepiece.
After a great deal of pondering amongst the limited stock on view I made my decision, obtained three books, paid the surly, half dead employee (a grand example of why people under 21 should not be employed), and made my way home with a smile on my face.  
Much later, after lunch I made off to the shops, just to get out of the housework again, and found myself perusing the charity shops bookshelves.  Like W.H.Smiths trash dominates these shelves.  In this area tons of women's book line the shelves, with the '50 Shades of Gray' continuing to take an ever larger share there.  So large a share that the Dan Brown books are being shoved aside and sometimes even bought!  The nearby charity shop happened to provide me with another couple of tomes of interesting detail I hope, and I happily took them to the aged crone at the counter.  Bones creaking she struggled to her feet, considered slowly and demanded a pound.  Proffering a coin I smiled, a smile I offered just to annoy her as she appeared incapable of this action, and wandered home through the throng of grumpy Christmas shoppers gloating that my Christmas gift and card shop was over.
When I got home I realised I needed another card for someone I forgot! Bah!
Later I piled up the books I am reading, the ones I have to read, and pondered whether I need to review the way I am working through all these volumes.  I confess some are not easy reads, occasionally a book will begin to weary, and sometimes something arises that makes me head off in another direction.  By such methods I have a dozen books half read all over the place.  Now and then a book grips me so hard that I can do nothing but read through the thing, no matter what, but usually I plod along happily, pretending I understand all the big words and bigger ideas on offer.  On occasion I actually comprehend what they are saying, but this is rare.  
You will note none of these are story books, I do not harbour them.  Actually I lie, one I obtained in the charity shop was a Victorian detective novel set in Edinburgh, long before Ian Rankin arose with his rather dark books.  I think he needs some attention myself.  Story books are of low interest to me, I prefer the real world but now and then I will attempt a book that calls itself literature!  
Now I am writing this I am unable to read any of the books on the dusty shelf. There are just not enough hours in the day!

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Dawn, George and Storm

The dawn came up not quite like thunder this morning revealing a bright sun glinting off the clouds.  The day ahead beckoned brightly.  When the sun shines the world is a better place, people almost smile, and indeed beneath the thick clothing they had wrapped themselves in they may well have been smiling, it was just impossible to know.  

George Osborne must have been delighted.  Before leaving for the House of Commons he entered his office at the Treasury, sat in one of the newly installed seats (the office revamp costing a mere £10.2 Million) and began to read his notes on cutting public spending by £3 Billion.  

For the most part I have ignored what he said.  An attack on the lazy young was not unexpected, they do note vote but the 'Daily Mail' reader does, and shifting a pittance here and a pittance there he hopes to rescue his party from destruction at the next election, and replace Cameron as leader.  After all he is the one doing all the work, right George?  Whatever he says makes little difference to most of us.

  

Yesterday, as the sun raced far too quickly below the horizon, I crossed the field heading for town.  Today the rain hammered down at a 45% angle.  The wind reached 25 miles an hour here yet way up north in the Scots Highlands winds of 148 miles an hour were recorded!  Snow fell, winds blew, trains were halted, lorries turned over and sadly people died.  Much nearer here along the East Anglian coast a combination of wind and high tides threaten to engulf the homes of many.  Electric pylon falling all over Scotland, followed by flooded houses near here.  I become grateful to be housed, upstairs, in an area that rarely suffers damage like those poor folks endure.   

There is something about a tree bare of leaves that stands stark against a blue sky.  I do not refer to the blue sky being so rare, my thoughts concern the contrast between the two.  There are photographs in there, however I fail to get them out. 

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Sounds and Smells

In her comment yesterday Jenny mentioned the sound of her door closing being the same sound the original owners would recognise from over a hundred and something years ago.  This got my little mind considering the sounds and indeed smells that greeted peoples in differing ages.  Jenny lives in the centre of the big city, very different from my surroundings but many similarities would be seen.  The noise of doors is just one, doors being better made then!

The pub pictured above for instance, this has been a hostelry for some time, the first publican I found was noted in 1793 and the building dates from that century.  Outside you note the road sign offering directions, a car is parked, usually several are found here, and the road itself suffers constant traffic, sometimes quite heavy.  The air can fill with fumes, children pass in droves from the nearby school, shoppers swarm daily.  The ambulance station further up offers blue flashing lights and sirens, as do the occasional police vehicles.  Little aroma is offered, unless you stand close to the chip shop or Chinese take away. Nothing is noted of any vegetation, only the farmers compost from distant fields once or twice a year fill the air. This then is the normal traffic of a small but busy market town.
Compare the picture below, dated to the early years of the 20th century. 
In the far left just behind the pram stands the Inn.  No traffic passes, not even a horse!  Carriers left daily from here for local villages or London, each day a different direction.  This was the only means of trading goods until the railways arrived.  Coaches taking passengers at six miles an hour shook them up all the way to distant places, also leaving from the various Inns around the town. The noise was less, the smell of horse and carriage would be notable, as indeed would the carrier himself be!  Gardens close by would offer fragrance from flowers, next door the bicycle makers would give the sound of metalwork and accompanying smells.  Men with shirt sleeves rolled up would finger the watchchains on their waistcoats waiting for their lunch break in the pub. Somewhere dogs would bark and a gardener would ensure the horses leavings would aid their crops in the back garden, in spite of that aroma.  Smoke from chimneys may well rise lazily into the air, the distinct smell not being noticed by nostrils taking it for granted, they would notice it when rain brought it down upon them, leaving soot on the buildings and her washing on the line.  No radios blare, no car horns or engine noise, no army helicopter noisily heading for Colchester, no adolescent deafening himself with lousy music at a hundred decibels, no woman pushing a pram while checking her mobile, though she may well be talking loudly into it!  
The sound of silence at night would be manifest to the modern ear.  Animals in the distance would be heard, the factories working nights would make noise in the distance, a train puffing along would be a sound remaining in the mind for ever to those who heard it.  The depth of the darkness around would shock while it would enable a clear view of the stars above, unless it rained!  Streets lights, gas lit later in the 19th century, would only exist in town and the surroundings would be very black. The main form of transport would be coach, or bike, however by the early 1900's a car may be occasionally seen ruining the atmosphere.  Most would still walk everywhere while trains would be used for longer distance.     

Sometimes looking back the world appears easier back then.  We ignore the rickets, five and a half day working, at least, ten or twelve hour days, washing by hand for a large family, what several children could do to a mother, if she lived that is, poor pay and real class distinction.  We really are better off today, so why are so many having to use 'food banks?'  It would be glib to say we have a Conservative government but that clearly plays a part.  The outfall from the 2008 collapse affects us still and many suffer.  Some of the diseases that endangered the children in the postcard view may well be a danger today!  That aside life is better for the majority now than it was then.  The vast majority are in danger of being fat and all the attendant problems this brings than they are in danger of hunger.  The minority require food banks but I can tell you how close that is to us all.  A disease, redundancy, and a badly managed recession can put anyone in that danger.  For most of us however we will look back on the past and say "It was better back then!"          

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Another Empty Post

Having spent a quite busy morning in the museum, managing to work the till with no mistakes today, I was aware of an increase of traffic caused by the 'Christmas shop.'  People sauntered around checking prices, sifting through the sale items, and sometimes buying things.  A good morning, in spite of staff shortages, a day when all the right people wandered in.  
Some even came to visit the museum or the old photo exhibition.  Looking at old pictures of your home town is a strangely interesting occupation.  To remember how it was twenty, fifty or even a hundred years ago, though few remember that far back, is a pleasure to many.  Several have noted their own house under long gone previous ownership, their church or school, and certainly the shops that once filled their homes with furniture, foodstuffs or toys.  The long gone staff are remembered, sometimes relatives are observed and memories flow.  It has been a happy exhibition so far.  
One man however had a different object in view.  He was looking for info regarding his ancestor who died in 1918 somewhere in Belgium.  Alas I had little on him and have spent a while searching for more info.  Not counting the time I fell asleep I have been thus occupied for hours. At least I have more idea of the canal the poor fellow may well have been wounded fighting over. It is possible he was wounded and died a few days later but of course unless we find actual details, which is unlikely, we may never know.   
The picture was taken a few days ago, I placed it there to remind me what the sky looked like before the clouds arriving then blocked out the sun and turned all around a gray colour.  The cloud cover increases the temperature but a smiling weather man cheerfully told me tonight it will freeze on Friday.  I switched him off!  Bah!
  

Some Christmas Shopping Cheer!

Extravaganza, almost.....

Well not as much of an extravaganza as we had hoped.  The town lit the Christmas lights tonight and this meant the museum joined in.  Marcel offered his Punch and Judy, balloons and stuff, fun and games were on offer and the Twirling lassies performed.  However it appears most who came into town were drawn away from us by the variety of attractions elsewhere.  The shop was nowhere near as busy as hoped and far too few of the regulars were around today.  This Sunday, being the first of the month has tempted everybody to put on a show at the same time and left us all bereft.  Enough came to make it worth their while and we were happy chatting to those who arrived.  Much of the early morning was spent attempting to get three 'pricing guns' to work. I feel we failed at that!  How is it that something that is so easy to operate is impossible to reload?  Not one person had any idea, and four of us were at it at one point!  They still don't work, probably caused by the bashing they received.  

They would not let me on the train!  Pity, I like trains and as a kid always thought these roundabout wonderful attractions.  The other open with  variety of transport on board used to fascinate me, especially if we could climb upstairs.  The kids love them still, and only £2 a go, we used to pay 3d if I remember right.  

The girls attempted to do the Majorettes thing in spite of the cold sunshine.  Few were watching bar passersby heading into town, probably to the coffee stalls.  The girls appeared happy enough and I am told get around the country doing their show.

Some of the usual stalls appeared, all the way from Italy, via north London I expect.  Vast array of goodies on show which are beyond my miserly pocket.  This is a shame because all the fattening bread they and others offer I find delightful.  Mind you it does cost over £3 a go!  

  
I reckon this van did itself a lot of good today.  Both they and the fudge stall next door must have loosened a few purse strings, especially as they were right in the centre of activity.  Parents were pulled this way and that by eager kids, an occasional balloon would escape the owners hands flying, Helium powered, high into the sky, leaflets were shoved into unwilling hands for this and that, stallholders cries were renting the air, machinery ground away as turntables ran their course and almost smiling security men wandered, alert, through the throng.  It was good to see happy families with the kids, well cared for it appeared, occasional adolescents in the throes of first love strolled shyly hand in hand, six foot snowmen and furry animals greeted young children while the balloon seller wandered abroad with twenty balloons high above him leaving me wondering why he does not take off?  I left early as there were plenty of peoples to deal with things and headed home for the football, about which nothing shall be said.  The rest entertained with a choir, offered hot punch and lit the lights on the tree outside.  The council enlivening the decorations with blue lights on the town centre trees as opposed to an actual Christmas one (which of course has nothing whatsoever to do with Christmas!).  They looked good and I went out in an attempt to picture them.  

 
The night pictures are not too successful tonight as I did not take the time, too much clearing up going on and vehicles knocking me over were a bit of a nuisance.  However the roundabout was not too bad.

The place is quickly bereft as folks race home to eat their fill.  The kids grasping those balloons, some shaped by Marcel into dogs, spacecraft or swords, mum wondering if they are going to sleep with their faces painted like tigers or clowns, parents happy to get their feet up and watch trash on the telly.  For many an enjoyable day out.

Scribbling....

I was given a small task the other day, writing details in capital letters in a record book.  I was appalled!  Since I took to the PC my writing has deteriorated to the extent that I cannot read it myself.  OK capitals may be simpler but I fear the slackness may be difficult to overcome.  
This got me thinking just now about pencils, why I know not as it is a specific pen we will use for that book, but a pencil crossed my mind.  It caused me to ponder on writing and how useful it is, where would we be without it?  
Stone age man did not write.  For several thousand years he lived a nomadic lifestyle requiring no writing but lots of flint arrowheads and the occasional stone axe.  Some became wealthy, we know this because of ceremonial stone axes, the stone being a highly polished Jade, found high in the Alps.  However there is no written record of this.  Huge earthworks, of diverse shape arose, taking years, even centuries to complete, but not one word is found to explain the reason. Standing stones, often brought form distance, are found everywhere with not one attempt at writing thereon.  Thousands of years pass without writing and little artwork to explain their thinking.  Just standing stones, mounds and Cursors.  In some places the inside of the Barrows feature circular and other designs, similar some claim to the effects drugs profuse interestingly, yet no attempt at explaining themselves.  Surely trade with others required some method of record?  Possibly these were small family groups, coming together only to work on the major projects or at special annual festivals, therefore there was no major trade.   
Writing certainly appeared in Mesopotamia around three thousand BC, not so much as writing but as record keeping concerning goods traded.  Withing a thousand years this became actual writing of one sort or another.  India, Egypt followed southern Iraq at this time, as indeed did South America, and now some say China may have taken to writing slightly earlier, we might never know.  
Had my brain been fully awake I would do more research on this but really I just wish  to contemplate actual writing.  Larger gatherings of people changed social outlook, some rose to rule, others took the lowly place.  Sixty thousand lived in Uruk 2000 years BC if memory serves me right and clearly the powerful required control of the resources and writing was important here.  Since then the better societies have encouraged writing both as a practical tool and for retelling religious and mythological tales.  These bound the nation together just as they do today, so knowing truth is a requirement so we can differentiate truth from fiction.  
"The pen is mightier than the sword," unless someone is stabbing you, but a pen can change the world!  This is because of the brain behind it, present writer excepted, and the offering of the thoughts within.  How fascinating that scribbles on a building a thousand years ago can let us into the lives of our forefathers.  Words scratched on a prison cell speak of personnel torment, historical situations, and reflect the heart of the person.  I find this fascinating! A five year old struggling with very big letters can change the heart of a miserable old git miles away, words on potsherds reveal a commanders fears of his enemy and desperation for support from his King, words etched into a cliff in several languages of the day show us how one Emperor sought to impress his world.  
Writing is a gift, that is what I am trying to say.  Today we are so used to words, books, papers, letters, bills, fancy phones all these make us forget how important writing really is.  Take it away through accident or blindness and the individuals words changes, and not for the better.  Maybe of course there are too many words, possibly we read too many, just imagine reading a 'White Paper' regarding some new political Bill, or a lawyers letter?  Anyway, my tired mind just thought the use of writing is a fascinating and important part of society, a gift, ignored or not required for thousands of years, impossible to live without now.  What thinkest thou?  

   

One Bright Spot

This is the one bright spot today, the late sun reflecting of the murky pond.  Sadly it is not as I saw it, the brightness does not translate very well.  It has been dreich all day until late.  The man on the radio this morning said "The weather. Fog, cloudy, cold, November." This summed it up well.  Nothing else occurred.  Our gracious leader David Cameron is jumping on a 'Daily Mail' bandwagon for votes.  His latest cunning plan is to limit benefits for those Romanian & Bulgarian immigrants flooding by the trillion into the UK.  Emphatically declaring that "Britain is not a soft touch," he fails to say a that better leadership would have done something, more humane, three years ago, about the time he took office.  Tsk, could he be worried about UKIP pinching his voters, at least the ones he has left that is?   
What else?  It appears Nigella Lawson, the cook come slapper, who is divorcing her very rich husband because he is bad to her, suddenly has been discovered to be spending her life high on heroin.  Tsk!  I hope she doesn't mix it up with the flour or her rich fruit cake might become too fruity.  The lives of the rich celebrity are more mixed up than the nutter living down the street.
Interestingly the Romans, oops, Italians have now rid themselves of Mr Berlusconi, that nice Italian 'Bunga Bunga' man.  Voted out by the Italian parliament today it appears his career might be over.  Tsk, he will only have his several TV stations, A.C.Milan football club and several young bints on call, not counting the Viagra order.  How will he cope?  Actually if his lawyer fails him he will be coping in prison if it all goes wrong, so he may not see much of the other items.
Are you listening Tony Blair?
The most interesting part of the English press today was the complete disinterest in Scotland's Independence debate after the SNP offered their independence white paper yesterday.  One small item here and there was all on offer while the main story was Nigella and her doings and the accusation that RBS Bank has been killing businesses to make itself a fat profit!  Scotland is disregarded and yet they demand a Union?
See, nothing happened again.....

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Tsk!

A Painter called Goodwin

Holyrood 

'Holyrood' by Albert Goodwin caught my attention this morning.  A striking, though somewhat dramatic, impression of the area at the foot of the Royal Mile.  The bright red uniforms of the Guards lit by a gas lamp, a few bright spots in the windows, an umbrella, and the typical Edinburgh rain with just a touch of light in the sky show that he painting this during the height of summer!  Poetic licence allows for an image the camera cannot catch but this is not harming anything.  There were enough photographs indicting the terrible housing conditions round the corner from Holyrood to show life was not good for the lower orders at this time.  The rain however, remains constant!

 Westminster

Albert Goodwin was born in Maidstone in the year 1845, the same year my grandfather chose to be born.  He was born on a farm on the border while Albert arrived in a builders home, one of nine children!  It has been said that photographs from the Victorian age contain many children, while in the present time they contain many older people.  Large Victorian families died out after the second world war, better wealth, better health, and better control helped.  I need not point out that my mother often referred to me as an 'accident,' without explaining why.  How many young men are called 'Albert' these days?  By marrying Victoria and becoming the queen's consort Albert gave his name to the nation paying his way.  Male children called 'Albert' did abound, as did 'Albert Road,' 'Albert Street,' 'Albert Terrace,' and a few 'Albert' pubs no doubt.  I could go on but I will generously spare you that.  Now our Albert was talented, especially in water colours which he made his specialisation, so talented that the 'Pre-Raphaelite' Ford Madox Brown among others took him under his wing when young and while he was only fifteen years of age Goodwin had one picture on show at the Royal Academy.  John Ruskin the famous man of letters, I am a man of letters also, mostly begging, Ruskin took him across Europe where he sketched and drew later turning the results into many pictures.  His paintings did have a 'Turner' like effect, at least they made an impression on me, and his landscapes delight at every turn.  Ruskin was a man who encouraged the Turner influence.  he wished Goodwin and all to paint 'beauty,' which meant the uglier side of life was ignored. 'Beauty' was supposed to lift the individual, which indeed it does, but so does a proper wage and a home with heat!

Whitby

Allowing for that artistic licence, which is another way of saying artists cheat, there is a great deal of history in the pictures.  'Westminster' for instance reveals how close the docks were to parliament.  What is now Victoria Park was at that time home to many boats, possibly their maintenance was involved although it might well be goods were transshipped even here.  The lighters, sails, and occasional figure offer a peaceful 'end of day' appearance.  This would be gladly welcomed by those working the boats as their day had started by six and was probably ending more than twelve hours later.  On top of this that artist fellow keeps shouting, "keep the boat still will you?"  The angle from which he paints the ruins at Whitby, the inspiration for 'Dracula' as you know, enables the artist to avoid all those horrid dwellings with the people in them.  

Nile Sunset

Albert Goodwin passed away in 1932 after a life travelling the world painting pictures which he hoped would show God's beauty in the world around us.  Ruskin's influence taught him the importance of drawing as well as colour, Turner and Pre-Raphaelite taught him beauty but in the end he was himself, doing what he thought right.  Historical facets can be gleamed in the many pictures he painted, around 800 in all, but it is a pity he did not show more reality of the world around.  

Why Alfred Goodwin Matters    Albert Goodwin Information & pictures    Albert Goodwin Wiki

Today's Highlight

Today's highlight has been the cheery chirping of the starlings as they gather together on the rooftops.  How these birds like to chatter!  You may have come across a tree, or indeed trees full of these boys talking loudly at or to each other, very nice when passing but dreadful if they choose a tree outside your window!  A thousand starlings do not a restful night make.  These birds often flock together high up on the Police radio mast.  They cover it with around a thousand at times, all chattering, and no doubt leaving a message for those below while they are at it!  It appears to me that there are fewer these days, maybe it's the climate or the food supply, the bad weather of the last couple of years caused by the moving jet stream, or possibly they have moved town.  I read somewhere that Dickens, once a famous writer, wrote about the millions of starlings that roosted in the centre of London.  It appears they gathered from miles around, flying in from places like Kingston to gather in Leicester Square.  Certainly years ago I saw them filling the trees there but the mess was such that Ken Livingstone the then London Mayor was forced to take action and the place may well have been renovated by now.  The spread of London may well keep many further out as they sought to roost in the warm centre, plenty heat elsewhere nowadays.  

It is quiet tonight.  Rarely does a car roll past the window, although a rolling car is something I would not wish outside my window, a dog barks occasionally in between sniffing trees over in the park, footsteps hurry past rushing to get away from the icy cold.  An unidentified beastie flits between the trees lit only by the dark amber street lights, the branches wave listlessly in the slow, cold wind.  The loudest sound is the cheap clock bought from the pound shop, its only competition the occasional whining of the laptop which, like me, wishes to sleep.  Abed people contemplate the morn.  The rush to work, if there is any, the joy of school for some, the word 'joy' being used in the satirical manner here, plans rush through peoples heads while providence may be planning other happenings for them, oh the joys of a Sunday night as the new week beckons.  
Shall I plan my day, make a 'to do' list, or will I just rise, eat breakfast, and return to my pit for a few hours?  Yes that sound s best, I hope you can do so also. 

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Saturday Shopping?

Another morning in the Museum shop saw the beginning for Christmas shopping.  Our cards are ready, our shelves stacked, and I only took around £15 this morning!  Not only that but few wished to discuss History of some type and on top of this by the time I got home I missed the first half of the football!  Tsk!  However it was a good morning  as the people were on the whole decent, chatty, and friendly while nothing much went wrong.  This was good as only two of us were in and the bosses hiding themselves this weekend.  The football I missed was rotten also, being Hibernian it would be as you would realise but tired and weary as I was after this the veg would not turn up at my door so out I trek to the market.  With typical results, the veg man was not there, either he has given up, taken sick or gone home early, which is most unlike him. This meant I had to endure Tesco veg stall on a Saturday afternoon.  This was bad enough but as I forced my way through the throng the pressure was made worse by the adolescents running about being well, adolescent.  A Community Police officer was haranguing them outside, and indeed inside at one point, unfortunately he was not armed with a pump action shotgun, a great mistake in my view.  Banning the birch was a mistake I say!  Back home I was so exhausted I almost forgot to tune into the late football show on BBC Alba.  That at least was worth watching. Now I intend to sleep all day tomorrow. 

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Friday Finkin.....

He's deid!

He's deid but he won't lie down.  The one thing that guarantees lasting fame is being shot at the right time.  Lincoln, John Lennon, Julius Caesar, all made their name by being bumped off.  Now I realise they did one or two other things, song writing, political chicanery, invading Gaul and all that, but had they lived would they be as famous, or as popular?  JFK has been cannonised since his death because his writers gave him tremendous scripts at just the right time. He offered a new view of the future to a world leaving behind the old wars of the past.  To 'go to the moon, because it is hard,' was tremendous, even though it was really just to outdo the Soviets.  Pride is a costly thing.  What did he actually do?  The Cuban missile (pronounced 'missile') showed his strength as well as his willingness to listen to others.   However most of his ideas were pushed through later by the much derided Lyndon B. Johnson!  Now there is much to deride about Johnson but he could control Congress and he did change the US for the better.  His mistake was the usual American failure to understand the world, this led to increased involvement in Vietnam, an involvement begun by Kennedy.  Kennedy offered hope, a new beginning, and got shot.  The myth remains, maybe this is better than knowing the real man, for he was just a man.

     

The story concerning three women kept as slaves by a couple possibly of Malaysian origin has opened many strange doors.  Some will find this fascinating, some find it disturbing, I see it as just another facet of the human condition.  Since Adam and Eve left the garden however you conceive it, man has forced others to do his bidding.  Slavery has been around since the beginning and has never left us.  It has been known for years that the many rich Arabs coming to London brought with them Philippino, Indian and other poor women as 'domestic servants, usually no more than slaves!  The UK governments desire not to upset the rich has allowed many to continue suffering, although I understand changes have been made regarding these women today.  Now let's face it we would all like slaves wouldn't we?  A quick browse of the bible shows us ourselves and the awful depth of the corruption within us.  Admitting that deep within, covered up by layers of 'civilised society' lurks the deep desire to make others do our bidding, no matter what.  It is an awful dire realisation.   Naturally we would treat slaves well, the 'Letters of the Younger Pliny,' show how he regarded his slaves well, insisting that at harvest time there would be no 'chained slaves' brought in to operate on his farms.  He still executed Christians mind.  We would be nice to slaves, treating them as friends wouldn't we?  Unless we were in a bad mood, after all they are just property!

How close we are to ancient societies abuse of others in slavery was seen as recently as the nineteen forties when the Nazi's allowed such attitudes freedom to roam Germany.  The Germans, an educated intelligent people, were led into this through patriotism, hunger and a willingness to believe in a false Messiah, how close are we to this also?

There is much to yet discover re this particular story.  It does have some unanswered questions and the obvious one is how did this all begin?  There are more out there, hidden away in London flats, large town houses and country estates.  They also exist in your area.  People trapped by one thing or another, trafficked across the world (more money trafficking people than drugs) and it would appear most 'saunas' offering 'extras' are staffed by such girls.  Thirty million slaves exist across the world they say, yet in the west the concept of 'sin,' is laughed at?  I wonder why?

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Can Things Get Worse...?

After the soup and other disasters my life has provided I hoped for better today. It rained, it was cold, the potato scones stuck to the pan!  Bah!  Still, it couldn't get any worse could it?  

The bright lights are dimly shining in the town.  More are to be switched on soon, and I have discovered I must help out.  Tsk!  Christmas decorations are not my thing.  Puritan Christmas for me, Bah! Humbug and I do allow Christmas pudding and cake, but that is only because of my need to feed my weak brain nourishment.  Santa and snowmen get shove it!  Did someone start singing "Tidings of comfort and joy" just then...?  

Something not very wonderful about this at the moment.  It needs lights and twinkling ones at that to offer a cheery welcome.   I saw this earlier today when I took the holes in my shoes for a walk, I did not intend to walk, I intended to 'bus' it, but I had to walk because of my dementia.  I wandered down to the bus stop heading for PC World.  Now two bus stands er, stand together. Both operate the number 70.  Both arrive around the same time.  One goes to the right, one to the left.  Simple enough for anyone, if they stand at the right spot. As I approached a bus, number 70, stood standing at the stand.  The word 'Chelmsford' entered my head, on the right hand, busless, stand the notice board read 'Chelms Bus Stn,' so I crossed over.  I stood, I looked around, I wondered at the houses opposite, once housing the better off at the turn of the old century, now sometimes whole houses, sometimes flats.  I yawned and feet shuffled while I waited, as did the others waiting. The bus at the stop moved off, it turned left, the destination board read 'Colchester.'  I stared.  Then it crossed my mind that I ought to be getting on the Colchester bus, not the 'Chelm Bus Stn' one!  My trip to PC World drove away uncaring.  I hid my shame by walking away as if I had remembered another date.  With a doctor preferably!

I'm running away.....

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Another Dreich Day, Hooray....

Start the day with a smile they say, and get it over with.  Well I did that this morning.  Rising before the sun by seven thirty I had dumped the rubbish, eaten what is laughingly called breakfast, began to make soup, planned the 'wartime shortbread,', and made a list for a Tesco visit. 
Naturally it all went wrong
Too early to thump around the kitchen without waking neighbours (why are they not at work today I ask?), I noticed rain beginning which by eight was teeming down and remained so for hours, and I became immersed in some rubbish in the online papers and then facebook.  
The soup.  This was simple, add black lentils (I canny spell 'lentilles vertes'), rinse, boil for ten minutes, simmer for thirty five, then add stuff.  The mistake was to put all the lentils in the pot. As they were small I dumped in the whole packet, I did not realise they would swell up so much! I expected some degree but it meant there was insufficient space for the rest of the veg.  Onions and sauces only!  Tasting it much, much, later brought to mind a cartoon from forty years ago, a couple stand by the cooker on which a large pot bubbles, he holds a spoon to his mouth while she intones, "You can add salt if you like, but it won't get your socks any cleaner."  That is what this tasted like.
As I spoiled my lunch I made use of the recipe, using rough, wholemeal bread plain flour as it gives a better result in my opinion, and slid the hastily created biscuit into the oven.  As I toiled at the laptop, the rain hammering on the window drowning out the sound of my chattering teeth, (why is winter always cold?) i noticed a burning smell.  I ran to the soup, which simmered nicely, I opened the oven and stood back from the smoking black object therein.  Still, it will fill a gap I suppose.  Probably the cracks in the walls.
The cold rain kept me indoors, although if it's cold inside it is usually warmer out, and with the use of those woolen gloves with the fingers cut off I listened into Radio four's Agatha Christie tale.  Not a story but a chap following her adventure as she took the train to Baghdad!  A repeat maybe but very interesting.  
Late in the day I managed to spend far too much in Tesco's, and still forgot several things.  The picture above fits well.

The Scottish Independence Referendum is less than a year away.  All the media is London based, even the TV and Radio have a London bias among the staff.  Almost everyday there is a scare story informing Scots of the end of the world if Scotland becomes an independent state.  All arise in Westminster, all are indubitably nonsense.  One even had Rowan Williams the ex-Archbishop of Canterbury talking of the disaster if the union breaks apart.  Tsk!  The real truth is that Westminster NEEDS Scotland.  It needs the money that flows into Osbornes exchequer, England cannot survive without Scotland, that is why in 1707 Scotland was forced needlessly into the union in the first place!  While treating Scotland as a second class citizen who is expected to doff the cap to the mighty at Westminster the powers that be lie in their teeth to pretend they care, some not even being sure where Scotland actually is, it's somewhere beyond Watford is all they know!  The banner was, I am informed, placed on the headquarters of the people demanding a 'NO!' vote in the referendum, and was an excellent way to represent the peoples opinion.
Vote 'Yes!'

To Answer a Query

A cack-handed young lass enquired as to the origin of 'Cack-Handed.  Naturally I had absolutely no idea!  So when I came home from the museum this afternoon having a sleep, stuffing my fat face, and watching Scotland freezing in Norway I decided to investigate.
I didn't get far.
Not one person could give a clear lead as to the origin.  Many could define the word however:

The Oxford dictionaries say:
Definition of cack-handed in English
British informal
1: inept; clumsy: a great song ruined by cack-handed production
2: derogatory left-handed.

Urban Dict

1. cack handed

It means an awkward or inept way of doing something; originally meaning left handed, 

stemming from cultures that use their right hand to eat 

and their left hand to wipe their behind.

Dictionary Central

cack-handed

Definition: Slang

adjective:  clumsy, inept. 
The term originally meant left-handed, probably deriving from the idea of handling cack (excrement). Although the connection seems obvious, this expression is probably too old to be influenced by reports of the Muslim practice of eating with the right hand, wiping away excrement with the left. This pejorative adjective seems to be country dialect in origin; it is now fairly widespread and not particularly offensive.

Origin and History of “cack-handed”

Cack comes from a 15th-century dialect verb meaning ‘defecate’, which probably came from middle Dutch cacken. It goes back via Latin cacāre to an ultimate Indo-European base *kak-, from which a lot of other Indo-European languages get words connected with ‘excrement’. The connection with cack-handed is usually explained as being that clumsy people make a mess; on this view ‘left-handed’, which cack-handed also means, is a secondary sense derived from ‘clumsy’. It may be nearer the mark to place ‘left-handed’ first, however, bearing in mind the traditional role of the left hand in many cultures for wiping the anus.

Somewhere else:

Cachus was Old English for a privy, and both words come from Latin cacare, to defecate.

The general consensus, with absolutely no proof, is that it refers to the use of the right hand for eating and the left for er, the other end.  The derivation from the Latin into English and the use English folk made of such genteel terms indicates this may be correct.  

Interestingly the word 'right' is used in many European cultures for 'correct.'  

The Latin 'SINISTRA' meaning 'left,' gives us 'Sinister.'  
People therefore considered anything of the left evil.
Make of that what you will!

You might like:

Anything Left Handed Shop

RU-Left-Handed

Cracked

Addendum:
A left hander writes-
You seem to have omitted lots of stuff about all cack-handers being geniuses... 

'Cack,' a diminutive of crack, meaning elite, special, esp. referring to military units...

hmmm...

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Dreich Sunday

Dreich, damp, dismal, and looking to depreciate further.  The weather appears to be doing the same!  Trees are rapidly losing their leaves, standing stark against the intermittent drizzle.  Yet one bush in a garden appeared to have buds in Spring like mode.  They will not like what they see if they open any time soon.  The drizzle drizzled all day.  I moped, managing to do nothing but watch Bradford City play Coventry, most interesting that was!  Then I moped, a bit more, attempted to discover why a road was given the name 'Grenville,' in the early part of the 20th century, failed, and did the decent thing, gave up!  

However, regarding the left handed jibes the other day that nice man Dominic offered us an interesting, musical piece regarding a left handed piano.  This is one is a must for music lovers, who are left handed......  

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A Wee Motor

To unwind what I euphemistically refer to as my 'mind,' after leaving the busy museum this lunchtime I wandered through the joyful throng in the market place.  While bumping into one another, grumbling about prices, and then threatening the kids, they all beheld the tannoys cheerful Christmas music with delight.  Naturally I muttered "Bah! Humbug!" at every smile I noticed.  In the middle of all this I came upon the 'Kit' car.  There she sat, chatting away, as people crowded around taking pictures.

The owner stood by proudly, occasionally chatting about the car to interested passersby, mostly men.  The inside looks a bit like something out of TV, er I mean....  I've noticed the car here before during special events, and if you own such a creature you really need to show it off now and again or it's just a waste of time and money.  Whether he created the car himself or bought it I know not, but looking at this tells me I must get the tyres on my bike pumped up again.     

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