Dreich Day All Round

What a dreich day!  The sky remained gray, often filled with rain, and I wondered about between showers avoiding puddles in case the shoes leaked, they still managed it mind.  The highlight was jumping on the free bus to Freeport and buying two T-shirts that might fit!  I have had enormous trouble finding such garments that not only fit but do not shrink after the first wash. The charity shop is pleased with my buying so far this year.  These items are all made in the far east, usually China or Bangladesh these days, and the Chinese, mostly wee folk about 5 foot 3 inches tall appear fooled into thinking that what they call 'XL' is actually large.  Sadly to me it is more like what we call 'M' and that is before it is washed and shrinks to just above 'S.'  Just who decided asking Lilliputians to make clothing for fat folks better built people was a good idea I ask?  Tsk! These two T-shirts have been made by underpaid employees in a Sri Lankan sweatshop and at first sight fit well.  This means they will be down to 'L' by the first wash and probably 'M' by the second! Grrrrrrr!  Good job they were at a reduced price....

Now I think of it I buy jeans from Tesco, I no longer buy their shrinking T-shirts, and even though I buy the same size jeans each time each pair is slightly different!  The Rupees the Bangladeshi makes from this sale (£6) will not do much for her I guess.  

Nothing else happened. No news worth mentioning, no cards or presents fell through the door, no invites to parties or grub, nothing happened yet again! The kids will be off school now, standing at the windows looking for a fat man on a sleigh, not that you will see him fro the gray clouds above. The mums and dads will be looking also, at the next Credit Card bill when it arrives.  Many's a light will be turned off in those houses next month!  The media will be glad there is no real news, just the usual murder, corruption et al, and they newsrooms can relax and discuss their trips to South Africa, show the family their pictures and chat about the people they met.  The fiddling of expenses will be done later.  The football pages rejoice that they have removed the Spurs manager, one thing they have attempted since the season began, and are now looking towards West ham where the man in charge and his results will be the next to be put under the microscope, discussed (ignorantly for the most part) and his boss pressurised to sack him to give the press a story to fill their pages. Now I am not being cynical here, but they are!  

This is however the last week for a Christmas shop.  Panic buying will set in, men obtaining those frilly negligee's for their wives (returned and replaced with flannelette ones the week after Christmas), children will be demanding expensive goods not available in a any local shop, mums planning the dinner (as they ought) and some greedy shopkeepers rubbing their hands with glee while sympathising with their customers.  Soon be all over and Valentines cards will replace the Christmas ones and Easter eggs appear in the shops.

Mind you I like the eggs...

Life goes on however, whatever we fuss about.  The birds nestling in the wind shaken treetop care little for our concerns.  The face the wind as it howls towards them wishing the leaves had remained a little longer.  Our trials mean nothing up in that tree, life continues as it always has up there.

   

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BBC 

Today the world said goodbye to Nelson Mandela.  He was as I said before a great man, the BBC and other medias coverage of him however was far from great.  The great cause of the middle class liberals was apartheid in South Africa.  For years a small group, larger at important times, stood outside the embassy in London demanding an end to the colour bar.  Once Mandela arrived they went home.  Many journalists visited the country, often being hindered by the authorities as they reported on the conditions there.  To the followers of the cause Mandela was not just a politician, he was their hero, their star, their idol and they arrived in full to worship him at Christmas.  

I suspect however that he never gave them the same degree of adulation they gave him, Mandela was no fool.  He knew what was in a man, especially middle class Brits obsessed with their ideology, and never pandered to them.  he did however respond well, and indeed played up to, the honest support many Brits did in fact offer him and his cause.  Now he has gone and his nation continues, the people not much better off and the leaders happily wasting the cash.

But what about the other causes?

Not one middle class liberal ever stood outside an embassy governed by black leaders abusing or killing their own people.  Does black killing black make it acceptable perhaps?  Journalists may occasionally visit such places and send in clear reports of abuse and murder, but the liberals are not roused, it is after all safer to promote same sex marriage, abortion or whatever this weeks cause may be.  Actually campaigning against black leaders may in fact be called 'racist!'  Much of the rest of the nation fails to get excited, 'they are all the same after all' is the approach there.

'Love,' as in 'Love your neighbour,' is not the same as 'love your neghbour if it fits in with this weeks ideology,' that's just 'loving yourself'

Now I am not one to gloat!  Indeed such an attitude is s far from me that I have often been referred to as 'Mr Generous Heart' himself.  So when I noted the English weaving their merry way to Australia to play the colonials at the cricket I humbly let the occasion pass with no comment. That a comment regarding the loud boasting from the players of the ease with which they would dispose of the marsupial eaters was possible I let slip past.  The crowing on TV and Radio from English 'experts,' as to how easy this game in the sun would be I ignored, something one often has to do regarding English attitudes.  

Imagine my surprise then at the latest news from our contacts overseas!  It would appear that this 'England,' are not the superior chaps they supposed themselves to be, indeed the opposite could well be true.  On the off chance I have overheard some of the previously loud boasters on TV now indicate questions regarding the men out there swinging those stick things they carry. It appears from their conversations that what once were referred to as 'Ace,' or 'Superior Batsman,' and even 'World beaters,' could in fact be overpaid numpties who ought never have been allowed near a cricket field ever!  Tsk! Who would have thunk it eh?

Now I must make clear my views here.  People who stand around all day on a piece of grass that ought to have been developed into a football field, throwing a ball at a man armed with a thick stick, the intention being to stop said ball hitting thin sticks behind him, clearly have not yet found the meaning of life. The majority of one team hide in the dressing room playing on their iPads, tablets or other players girlfriends while two of them fight the opposition.  I say two fight the opposition but in fact only one throws the ball at them, the others merely stand around ion what sun breaks through the clouds while they scratch themselves.  I ask you is this any way for a grown man to pass the time of day? What is the point of this?  Why do Englishmen, working men at that, get so excited over this nonsense? In Scotland we never played this game.  On the odd occasion as kids it was attempted, more as an experiment to attempt understanding of the southern neighbours folly, but it never lasted.  The idea of standing around while others work is not the Scots way, I found many Englishmen who in my experience considered this a good working method however.   

I will not gloat that the imperialist army, known as the 'barmy army,' with good reason, have headed ten thousand miles into destruction, but I could.  There will be no gloating that those who desired an open top bus trip after a lucky win against a feeble young Aussie side last year have found themselves dangling on the end of a rope.  Laughter will not cross my mind when the defeated sun burnt 'sportsmen,' drag themselves back to their bank accounts.  No smug smiles here, but I might just go out and buy a bottle of Australian wine for Christmas!

      

Before you eat, be it breakfast lunch or tea, do not click on this link.  Click nothing until you are in a healthy state, far from dangerous weapons or fragile items.  This may make you laugh or it may make you boak!

Wal-Mart Called...

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Another Day of Joy Passeth.

By the time I slogged wearily off towards the veg stall in the market the sun was situating itself low in the morning sky.  It brightened up the leafless trees, cheered the blue sky, warmed the air sufficiently for me to wear only one jacket, two pullovers and a thick shirt.  I went back for my jeans when I was half way across the park.  This augured well for the day.   By the time I returned, pomegranates and all, I was smugly happy that the day would be good.  

I then burnt my breakfast, these frying pans are a disgrace!  I cooked the mince, which burnt as I was watching TV, watching the Celtic v Hibernian match I rather hoped Celtic would put eight past them and instead a feeble team beat the wee team by only one  nil, this was a disappointment, but not so disappointing as watching The Heart of Midlothian being robbed 2-0 by Inverness Caley! For a moment I considered the brandy bottle.  However mindful of the cost of brandy, and that therefore there was none in the house, I drank tea instead - from reused tea bags.  Nothing could make things worse today, nothing!

Then as the rain began this arrived.....  

.What is it about Australians that makes their women spiteful?

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A Song, A Book (two books) and a Cartoon!

Carol, another sun worshiper, supplies a delightful song for Christmas - she says - in which people in shorts and Santa hats sing joyfully. Tomorrow I may go outside and do likewise - if the rain stops!  Bah! Humbug!

 Triple J's

and she gets six weeks off for Christmas!

Bah!

I noticed Bob has begun to spout on about his book again.  For some reason that I cannot comprehend authors continue to promote their works even if the whole world has the book three times over!  When my tome is published it will fly off the shelves so well there will be no need to publicise it, word of mouth will be enough for me.  Of course I have yet to begin writing, but it will be worth the wait.  Bob's book has been round the block several times but for those comatose when first published here it is again.

Reflections of Grace

For some obscure reason another author has contacted me by shouting loudly from his attic window in Leith reminding me of his latest best seller which I must remind the more discerning reader is still available after yet more reprints.  Mike Smith took considerable trouble to ignore my preferences when working on this but still made millions from his book, but don't tell him I said so!

Hearts Greatest Games

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Foggy Night

Having spent the foggy morning in the museum feeding mince pies to the old folks listening to the children's choir as they entertained them I was not available when the postman called to deliver yet another Christmas parcel.  So tonight I dragged my weary bulk down the long slog to the sorting office. The fog had worsened, the night had fallen, the opportunity to attempt night shots beckoned.

Overworked posties vans rested for the night, overworked posties did likewise. Whether they rush home to note the price of their free (cheap) shares, donated by H.M. Government as a bribe to keep them sweet I don't know, but most will be well aware of their value today.  How lucky these van drivers are to deliver around the rural areas, especially in summer.  No struggling along with a huge bag on a bike, or pushing one of those absurd trolleys that the management now wish to insist all postmen use thus making deliveries even slower than they are now!  Sometimes you wonder how the men in the offices get their jobs. Could it be that when you have no experience of a job you will be able to suggest a better (e.g. cheaper) way of doing it?  Could it be an office wallah is just incompetent?  Most  sorting office managers had at one time been postmen today however many have little work experience (of any kind) and those above them clearly none whatsoever.  The future of mail delivery in the UK is not good!

This building was once the social club of the major works that stood opposite. After a hundred or so years of operation the company shrank and moved on, it may even yet operate in a small way elsewhere.  The building has served many purposes since, being closed by the constabulary occasionally, and now appears to be a mere pub.  The naming of such places tells a great deal about the area and the history thereof, it reflects on the clientele as well as the owners, it speaks of the townsfolk and indicates something of the local culture.  This one is called, 'The Pub!'  No doubt it tells you all you need to know of the locals!

Can you just imagine what life was like when we used coal to heat us?  Each house, plus every factory, pumping out coal smoke drifting over the towns. Weather like this brought down the mixture of smoke and fog which we referred to as smog, a choking blinding substance that encouraged bronchial disease, blackened buildings, led to traffic accidents killed more people than cold weather does today. Dickens 'Bleak House,' begins with a vivid description of Victorian London in the rain, people slithering down one side and up the other at Holborn Viaduct, or before that was built to be more correct.  Rain, mist, smoke, people, all mixed in together.  It must have been awful when smog fell and folks were so unhealthy anyway!  

Ah well, I got my packet, a tin of toffees and struggled home while looking for pictures. My life you see is so exciting, are you envious, what?......oh!    

   

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Very Sad....

Having spent much of the day doing this little jobs that mean so much, putting the hanging edge of the curtains back on the hook, dusting "cough," cleaning the loo ugh, and making soup, reading Jeremy Bowen's 'Arab Uprising,' and 'With the 1/5th Essex in the East,' books,  however I did not do these all at the same time, I failed to get enough time to rant about something.  This is sad.

I could have got annoyed when I noted some were desiring the removal of Gary Locke from the role as manager of the Heart of Midlothian but I controlled myself.  With no cash, no players, indeed three senior players now injured, no possibility of replacements as there is no cash these numpties cry for the manager to be removed and a 'big name' to take over!  The stupidity of the Hearts fan knows no bounds!  It's like those folk that are told there are no cakes left and say "I'll have two!" What do they do for brains?

Instead of decapitating them I went back to my work, my books, but mostly my books!  

If you want me I am either in Egypt as the revolution is stalling or half way up the ridge next to Hill 60 in Suvla, keep your head down when you call!

Misty Morn

As I headed off to the museum this morning I was impressed by the mist.  The rising sun was beginning to show through and as I walked I took this shot. From the museum shop I watched the sun attempt to warm the land, and fail!  This is what the weatherman calls 'mild!  
However the day was good, customers wandered in to browse, ask for the charity cards that we don't sell, and wander out again.  I had three of them at once at one point!  Would they look around the shop before disappearing, no! Bah!  It was interesting to note the male customers hung about the many kids toys longer than the lassies did.  
As I fiddled the prices about sticking new barcodes on goods a gent arrived looking for a picture. Now this was good and within a mere hour I had obtained the pictures from our extensive range, filled in the form for him and sent him home happy.  To discuss his memories is for me what the place is all about, especially when he pays lots of money!  If local people cannot revive memories a museum is of no use to them.  If kids cannot learn what has gone before it is wasting time.  If this one does not keep me off the streets then I will be on here more than I am, and you don't want that do you!  Actually I have been dragged into returning to the museum on Thursday.  I like to think this is because of my bedside manner with the customers, it may be we are just short of volunteers....

Now I mention it charity cards sell very well but how much actually goes to the charity involved? The lass that runs the sale in the town ensures all the money collected is sent on but how much actually gets to the people at the sharp end? Each charity will spend the cash in relevant ways but to be honest I am becoming rather wary of some charity organisations.  More appears to be spent on staff, especially fund raising staff, than anything else.  After the disaster in Haiti millions were sent there, much of this from the USA, yet 200,000 still have no homes!  New vehicles, expensive hotels for staff and charities still 'working' there yet little appears to benefit the people!  I used to support one charity, which pays the big boss much less than others do, as I am sure the money was well spent, I am no longer sure about others.  The news has just mentioned 'Comic Relief' and how their money is used or abused.  Such money invested in many cigarette companies is totally unacceptable to me!  
What sayest thou, mush?
    
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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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