Music.

So what is it about music?  

Chicken Shack perform the type of music that made a joy of my youth, the youth in question being me by the way.  The Rhythm and Blues, plus the Blues itself, were the basis for the music that changed the world during the sixties. The Liverpool bands became so successful because the stewards on the liners that took the rich to New York would bring back records found there that could never be known about via the then BBC 'Light Programme.'  Such records ended up amongst the Lennon's and McCartney's of Liverpool and a new sound arrived.  

But what did it mean?

I enjoyed much of the music, however much the BBC continued to play us with 'Bubblegum Music' instead, but why did that music mean so much to us?

Each generation requires its own sound, it has always been thus.  J.B. Priestley, a somewhat famous English author, spoke of the jazz music whose syncopated rhythms moved his generation.  Today these sounds are rarely heard bar those seeking early Jazz and are considered tame.  World War Two found big band sounds the music which could win the war but the teenager, not a new found creature as some like to believe human nature does not change, the teenager of the fifties with his Edwardian jacket, winklepicker shoes and slim Jim ties was so entranced by 'Bill Haley and his Comets' that he happily tousled his Brylcreamed hair while ripping up cinema seats.  The music was the backdrop to all of this, but why?

Each generation requires music to identify with, each age also, each layer of society decides what is acceptable where and when.  No matter which part of the world you investigate they all have music of a sort.  Music is just sounds, usually made by sticks on a surface, blowing through or over some tube, or via the voice itself.  Japanese music may be acceptable in 19th century Japan but it is unlikely to be popular in Hounslow on a wet Tuesday night when aircraft landing at Heathrow drown out the sound.  

There is so many different kinds of music, yet we usually only listen to a small fraction for our own delight.  Painters and scaffolders love to listen to the local pop channel, loudly.  Young folks, and some old, must walk about these days with headphones in their ears to hear the latest album stolen from somewhere on the web.  Car drivers need the gentler sounds to aid concentration, as indeed do many surgeons.  Football crowds, and the team itself, are often encouraged to get in at them via the playing of the teams song and churches begin to worship by singing praise.  Armies marching to battle gee themselves up with music, the words amended to fit with the enemy and therefore unsuitable for gentler climes.  One Chines General in the 19th century took Christian hymns and gave them new words and discovered how much this strengthened his men as they marched.  Chinese music not being capable of this.  

Music today is all around us and we need it.  However why does it do what it does to us.  How on earth can such a thing change our moods, delight us, infuriate us or just become wall paper? Can even the musical answer this?   

.

Pineapples

Hmmm, funny how when I took that picture, the sun shining through the trees, the blue sky peeking in behind, it all seemed such a good idea.  Now that darkness reigns it has palled somewhat.  I wonder who thought of the idea of placing dirty big orbs on top of gateposts?  This was done around 1880 ish and some clever designer, not an architect I suggest, considers this the way to er, top off the gateposts.  In days of yore pineapples made of stone were used for this decoration.  The pineapple was an exotic fruit for far away and if you possessed one you were indeed wealthy.  Those who had excessive wealth therefore placed stone pineapples on walls, doors, houses, anywhere they would be seen.  Today you get your picture in 'Hello' or the 'daily Mail.'  The intellectual difference between such pictures and stone pineapples is minute, but the stone wins each time.

While ploughing through the update on the Great War memorial I also began to investigate the WW2 one.  Next year is the anniversary of the end of that war and we are doing something for it. My part will be smaller but I may have to search things out.  Typical, these wars come so close together.  I have not finished one and they are starting on another.  Something should be done.

Worse still there is less information on the second war strangely enough because while we all know about it individuals stories are still subject to Ministry of Defence restrictions.  Bah!

To enlighten my boring day I also cleared the ice from the freezer.  It had been building up somewhat and I managed to fill the sink with lumps of ice that took all night to thaw.  Such excitement, it could be worse, one day I must clean the oven.  Where are women when you need them...?  

.

A Tiring Day

The strange weather, neither Autumn nor Winter, has confused the plants and the beasties. Some plants have wonderful blossoms on show and all around lie dead leaves blown off the trees.  Beasties that should only show in Spring occasionally pass by wondering why they are not hibernating or dead yet. It's all very confusing really.  

I was quite confused myself today as I, with two others, attempted to deal with a herd of wildebeest at the museum.  A large school party arrived and sauntered around eight or ten at a time.  For most of the morning we sold our goods, checked the change, indicated £4 was not enough to buy £5:90's worth and helped the maths by suggesting dumping one or two items.  On the whole it was successful but at the end off the first half dozen groups we were reaching for the tea wishing it was brandy!  When I left there was a similar number still to come!  Quite how they got so many on those buses I am not sure.  It was good fun but exhausting.  Quite how people decide to become teachers is beyond me!

One or two of the brats were a wee bit out of order, not unusual that, however talking to the lass who plays the Victorian teacher she was going on about the indiscipline in schools today. She herself is a retired teacher, all our Victorian teachers are, and upset that so little personal responsibility is taught. That begins in the home and so many kids do not have a stable home. The nuclear family is the only way and yet many of these kids have no idea of what this could be. Her complaint was really about the 'rage' and 'anger' that she finds in children, 9 or 10 years of age, because of problems at home. Indiscipline in school plus a policy of not touching or shouting at kids does not help.  At one school she was asked to leave because she 'touched children.'  The two boys were fighting under the desks and she pulled them apart!  The teaching assistant complained and she had to leave!  Good grief!  Pull them apart and six of the belt and no more problems, or at least less often problems.  Liberal parents, liberal schools, and a demand your rights approach does not produce kids prepared for life.  They might end up as teachers!   

.

Travel

For the past few days I have been working my way through this book.  Paul Theroux is not one of my favourite authors, he is somewhat dark in his view of the world.  My world is, in spite of what you may think, full of light and brightness, this clashes with the world around me and makes me very annoyed all to often, which explains my grumpiness.  Usually if I seek out such a work I look for something brighter, full of light and good things, Jenny is one such place I enjoy.  Not long into the book I was beginning to weary of his writing but his comparison between the tourists on Gibraltar and the apes found there endeared me to him and so I ploughed on.  

Theroux planned to travel from Gibraltar to Tangiers, between the two 'pillars of Hercules' as called, passing along the coats of Spain, France, Corsica, Italy, the former Yugoslavia (which was then (1994) in the middle of killing one another), touching Albania, Greece, Turkey, Syria, Israel, Egypt, Morocco and possibly somewhere I have missed.     

His travels were by bus and train, not always the classiest kind, where he encounters the real population of the Mediterranean.  This was helped as he travelled during the 'off season' at a time when tourists were at home working overtime to pay for next years week long drink fest in the sun.  While many places were closed the people were often open and friendly.  His descriptions are honest, he details the good and the bad he bumps into and some of his opinions upset people, especially Israeli's, and upsetting Israeli's is difficult to do isn't it?  He clearly enjoyed his time in Bari, Italy, while Israeli security is not an enjoyable endurance.  He is right there as I have endured that also!  His ability to travel around Syria amazed me.  Assad was still in power and while the people feared to say his name Paul's freedom to travel the nation was undisturbed.  

I found the main bugbear on this book was Theroux's incessant on quoting from the books he had read, was reading and the discussion of the authors of such works.  My grumble was because most pf them represented, and still do represent a life of emptiness and futility which such as he found 'stimulating.  I was depressed cogitating on the years in which the writers had spent telling the world their opinions and indulging their brokenness which resulted in empty meaningless lives.  Worse still is the hero worship afforded such by those who envy and wish to copy them, if only they had their cash and could avoid the real world.

That aside I found the need to pick up the book and read to great to resist!  I enjoyed the way he travelled, a hotel there, a cafe, a bus, a train, people to speak to, although most of the ones he met I would avoid!  At times I was close to grabbing my free bus pass and making for Sicily!  At least I made Coggeshall five miles down the road, six miles depending on which road sign you read!  I may take to the road and wander about one day, I did similar in the early eighties going around by bus to 'see' the country and recommend this as you avoid tourist traps and see real people.  Real roadworks, breakdowns and long waits also of course.  

While keen to avoid the people Theroux spends time questioning I know these are the folks you meet while travelling.  A tourist heading from Gatwick to Marbella for a weeks lager louting will meet little of the people in this book.  He has English drunks (oh joy) and Theroux has real people, the weird, the lonely, the desperate.   The locals reflect the mixture of peoples in the region, mixture being the word. For thousands of years these people have mixed, from one side of the sea to the other, religion, colour, food all mixed up and influencing one another, with I suggest local regional differences showing through.  On occasion this leads to hatred, and always has, otherwise it leads to an acceptance of others even when their behaviour is far from usual. 

I never managed to finish the other two books of the authors that I attempted, not sure why, but now I am bereft and desperate for another tour somewhere similar to this!  This formed a light reading in comparison to the three political books I read recently and I have little 'light' reading around at the moment. Maybe I will just get out the bus pass or old man's train ticket and go and write one myself.....what?...oh!   

.  

More!

As yesterday's post was so successful I will post a hundred more pictures from the day.  What's that you say....?  

Usually this river is teeming with ducks but at the time only this family of swans were elegantly dumping their damp feather all over the bank.  Difficult to take pictures when the vehicles are an inch from your heels.  Old villages ideas of wide roads do not fit in with mine.  

These have the look of Victorian Alms Houses, designed for the 'deserving poor' to keep them in their old age.  Quite who qualified and how I know not but it is better than the Workhouse. Who lives their now?  Something at the back of my mind indicates they have long since been sold.  I do like the statue at the door however, that is the first time I have seen one that fits in place!

This is Spooner's House dating back to 1467 they say.  It does look like two houses have been knocked together and what once was doors are now two large windows.  I preferred the doors that once stood there but I suppose these folks like to see what they are eating.  Of course since they were built all these houses have changed inside and out over the years.  If only my landlord would change our windows instead of just painting them to make them look as if they are OK.

Outside one of the remaining junk antique shops i saw this bike used as dressing for the shopfront. Very good indeed I thought and I was impressed by the finding of a bike in worse condition than mine!  I suspect this bike was dragged from the bottom of the river but whether the lass riding it at the time was also recovered is not made clear.  

Of course if I have nothing else to say I will use the other pictures....

.

Morning Off!

The return of the camera justified a day out in my twisted and perverted mind. Luckily the weather decided to agree and off I jolly well went to the nearby village of Coggeshall.  This hamlet contains around 4000 souls and 300 listed buildings.  Built around the old Roman road called Stane Street running from Camoludunum to the west and with the River Blackwater passing through. Many of the houses and of course the pubs date back hundreds of years, the Chapel Inn operating legally since 1554 and illegally probably long before that.  The building once housed the Sheriff of Essex and Herts who was somewhat upset to be attacked by rioting hordes during the Peasants Revolt of 1381.  Henry III, about whom no-one wrote a play, granted a market over 800 years ago and once a week the tatty stalls appear still.  

    

The Ford over the river is probably the reason for the settlement, possibly from the Roman times, coins from early on have been found, and it may well go back into Stone Age days also. The people I met may well do so.  Smiles were rare but that could be the village attitude or just the way I snarled at all who came close.  Few of the older houses are brick or stone in spite of brick being made here in early medieval times, the majority are built from timber frames and plaster walls, quite normal for this area and many several hundred years old.  

    

There are only two or three main streets, one of which is Stane Street, and a few side roads also containing some interesting buildings.  Note how a hundred years of development closes little shops and turns them into expensive homes. Funnily enough industry was popular here in the past, wool, silk and later Tambour lace were major employers and of beer was brewed!  Little remains and the sight of derelict industrial buildings dating back possibly to 19th century times, maybe later, is quite surprising. They appear somewhat out of place in this expensive middle class village.  The narrowness of the streets cause congestion, one or two legally parked cars against a number 70 bus and the buildings shake.  I noticed last time I passed through the rusting iron base of a sign that once protruded from the first floor, right in line with the doubledecker!  

The 'Old Black Boy' Bistro is up for sale for a mere £300,000 and reveals the narrowness of the road and openness of the minds here.  No PC busybody telling you to change the name, no customers either or it would still be open and not up for sale I suggest.  How successful such an establishment may be I could not say, Colchester and all its wild delights is a mere 20 minutes away by BMW, and folks here would know all the local eateries. Next door used to be antique shops but I notice these are less noticeable now than before.  So many chancers antique dealers operated in this area that a BBC programme, 'Lovejoy,' a right load of cobblers, centred on a woman magnet (under lots of make up) was filmed here.  

St Peter ad Vincula, the parish church fists installed a vicar in 1296 according to their notes.  Like so many of these buildings it does of course go back further into Saxon times and this large edifice most likely stands where a smaller wooden Saxon one one stood at the edge of the village.  It stands on the edge of the old village but did the village move from the church as sometimes happen or was the church erected deliberately outside of the dwellings I wonder? This would make folks parade to the church and also allowed the ecclesiastical hierarchy to remain aloof from the plebs.  Actually I have just realised an Abbey stood near the ford so that is why they are a distance apart.  The Abbey was dissolved by Henry VIII and the bits moved into other uses.  This is a pleasant light building, lightened by a dirty big hole the Luftwaffe made in the wall during 1940.  The rebuilding allowed for light and glass panes instead of darkening stained glass.  The angel carved in the 19th century must be the treasurer, he has got the lute.

Some glass remains stained but is difficult to photograph correctly in the circumstances.  I was delighted with the quietness here today in spite of one or two working to dress up the building for the weekend.  The only fault was my ability to wander around looking up while not noticing the step beneath my feet. Dumbo!  

  

The graveyard went back a long way as did many of the tombstones.  I cannot resist walking around such places, they are dead quiet, and this one like many others has a wildlife area with several irritated birds informing me my presence was not required!  I moved on.  

The war memorial is rumoured to stand where a Zeppelin dropped a bomb during the Great War. Standing at the edge of what is now a slice of parkland it shows the bombaimer was not much good. Most Zeppelin bombs in this are missed their mark, the minority caused death and destruction.  Raids on larger towns and cities were more productive.  While researching the war we read through one woman's 'One shilling diaries' of the time.  There were plenty of 'Walked to town,' and 'Tea with vicar' comments but the talk of the war was less noticeable.  Clearly well to do she 'did her bit' in a charitable fashion could not get the car out as lights were banned during the blackout.  How the rich lived. If only we could work out which house she had.

The south facing gardener can grow figs if he is lucky!  I never knew this until I spotted these a few years ago.  Here they are still producing and the changes to the weather this year shows a harvest approaching.  Imagine, figs growing here!  I will return when ripe....

Life goes on and this hamlet has watched Romans, Saxons and revolting peasants pass through. The threat from Napoleon required the raising of a militia and soon this force stood strong, 20 officers and 3 privates were enrolled.  It is not clear if they partook of any action.  The Black death passed this way, as later did the aforementioned peasants, but while industry rose and fell and agriculture continued it seems to me money somehow made its way into the place.  Houses range from £300,000 to over a million.  Those in the centre have the traffic at their window, and this after a bypass takes the majority away, the rumble of traffic, the ability to hear the neighbours bad choice of music, and being well aware of each and everyone's life stories could be a bit wearing to me.  Yet it is the middle classes who move in, house prices going up not down.  An attractive well organised village but not one I would wish to live in.    

.

Thursday Forget to Post again Post.

.

Home is Where the House is.

We were chatting in between those irritating interruptions called visitors this morning about home and house.  What I refer to is returning to the place you were born or in which you grew up.  Home in your mind, yet just another dwelling to the passerby.  
My 'home' disappeared when my mother died.  The flat that we always called 'house' was handed back to the council for use by a new family, well once they chucked the two nancy boys who moved in forts out that is.  Why did they get a three bedroomed place when a family was waiting I ask?  Mum could have bought the place under Thatchers ridiculous sell off the housing stock idea for £5000!  She refused and we agreed that she enjoyed moving out of a tenement of two rooms and a small toilet into the three bed place with kitchen and bathroom, what luxury in 1953!  Because we wished another family to get a similar benefit she turned the idea down, and we could have sold it after she left for around £100,000.  I hope the new folks get on well there. 
However when I return to Edinburgh I will be without a 'home' as that is no longer mine.  I can no longer walk in unexpected without getting six months in prison.  The family have dispersed and each has a new 'home' where their kids and grandchildren will gather at the centre of their individual little families.  A strange sense to no longer have a home while everyone else has.  
Of course this is my home, but not as 'home' was home.  
For many home is a flat or a three bedroom house, for others a collection of iron sheets or mud walls but the sense is the same, and by the way happiness may be better in such places, that does not come from wealth as we have found.  'Home' remains in the mind as my colleague found when she returned to her long gone parents house, one of the elderly neighbours remembered her and chatted about past times yet things were different, nothing remains the same and the past is in our minds, not in front of us.  There must be many who would never return to a home as their past was to say the least rotten. Family or circumstantial difficulties may leave bad memories and returning would be a terrible time for some.  Just be glad that you may be able to return 'home' even if only in the mind, that home is a good place to be.

.

Ruff

Museums and Objects

In museums you get used to old objects lying around.  Penny farthings, looms, Roman vases and occasional old members of staff asleep in back offices.  The shop therefore attempts to stock goods that will sell and reflect the aspects of history that are the main reason for the museums existence and this is always a good thing.  However, and I am not one to grumble as you know, when you look at the imitation Trench Whistle, the key ring made from a pretend bullet and a cut out castle you do not wish to see a copy of a shilling (priced at £2.40) that once formed part of your everyday experience!
We now sell part of my past as HISTORY!
Now I may be on a pension, I may remember Black & White television and steam engines form a fond memory for me but to place my youth into a museum is not acceptable I say.  Lets face it I only look 25, my mind tells me I am 15 and while my body insinuates I am 87 it should not be believed, though it might make a noise tomorrow when I restart the exercise programme!
The shilling, which today equals five pence, has been around for hundreds of years.  Back in Anglo Saxon times, that covers the lower half of England today, a shilling of twelve pence was the price of a sheep. What you got for the money and what you did with it was not recorded.  No actual shilling coin was around until the late fourteen hundreds when a coin called a 'testoon' appeared.  No I don't know why either, but in the fifteen forties Edward VI issued a coin called a shilling and put the date on it. Whether he made them by hand himself or employed a lackey I have not bothered to check, but I suspect he counted them all just in case, Kings were like that.  Since then shillings as such, worth twelve pence, were in circulation right up to decimialisation in 1970 (or was it 71?). Not only but as they were worth five pence they continued until the early 1980's before being finally replaced by the five pence coin. Today smaller five pences carry on the tradition of lining the pockets of the rich and falling down the back of couches or filling children's piggy banks.  
The designs have changed constantly over the years, however it was only George VI who bothered to ensure some shillings had a design on the back representing Scotland, only England had mattered before, but you will guess that.  He of course married a Scot.  Today Lizzie still sits on all these coins while the designs today have a modern absurd appearance which pleases the daft folks.  
Strange to say that often when discussing prices I fall back onto shillings.  If something is a mere 80 pence I might refer to it as sixteen shillings and many a customer acknowledges that is what they were also thinking!  It makes understanding prices much better you know.    

.

Now I'm Not One to Complain, but...

Now as you know I am not the complaining type.  I suffer in silence in spite of the hardships and sufferings I endure.  Not one to make a fuss I happily allow things to pass that even the mildest mannered chap would lose his cool over and start waving a poleaxe about.  The need to make the world know that you have been twisted, cheated, robbed or dealt with in an underhand and despicable manner is not the way in which to face the world I always say.
However, I passed the museum today as I returned from the market with a bag full of fruit when a screaming banshee at he window called me inside.  The boss had seen me limping along and desired my presence in spite of four of them sitting there doing nothing!  I told you I do all the work!  Anyway she just wished to indicate all the new stuff brought in to the shop, and good it all is far more acceptable and practical than what we stocked before.  So we chatted as not one person was visiting and then I gathered up my fruit before they nicked it and headed home to catch the football (the Heart of Midlothian won again as you will know).  
Typically it began to rain as I made to leave, not even rain by cloudbursts fell in great drops the size of my hand as I hurried slowly up the road.  Why me? There are around 40,000 people living here why rain when I walk out?  What's wrong with landing on them?  One or two could do with a good soaking I can tell you.  So here I sit now, hours later, the clothes still damp, the shoes reeking, and no doubt flu will result!  
But I will not fuss or make a complaint about this.  I will accept this suffering in good grace in spite of people passing in big cars gloating at me as they did so. In spite of not being offered a lift by these rich selfish peoples.  In spite of standing in the East Wing dripping like someone rushed out of the shower by a dirty big spider, many off which exist in this building I can tell you! In fact I will not mention this to anyone.  

Fraught Friday

I have sent my sick camera of to my sick brother so he can remove the dust from the lens.  He is the expert and I am banned from such tech work, mostly because of ineptitude and the possibility I would set the house on fire!  Since school where my four legged magazine rack sat happily on three legs right up to the massive holes in the wall that appeared when attempting to pin a picture up there my mechanical skills have been as efficient as everything else I get started on.  Having a wee bit more time I look around the house and not the things that await correction, most will still be awaiting in a years time I reckon, those not waiting will have been seriously wounded but not necessarily healed.  At least some form of camera will return, probably by Christmas!

so fraught I watched the football and forgot to finish this...

Dreaming...

Yonks ago I was down at Maldon wandering along the quay there.  A lovely estuary with a couple of barges and some other boats to be seen.  Most of this part of Essex is low lying estuary  filled with the yachts of the wealthy.  At least you need to be wealthy to buy one of these things and then learn how to drive one.  There have been such craft sheltered around here for generations, indeed one reason the Romans chose Colchester as their home was the ease of boats from Rome trundling up the river and almost into the town.  The yachts are a wee bit more sophisticated today but admirable as they are I refer something with a bit of character and this Tugboat suits me more than an expensive boat.
Now I realise you are indicating somewhat caustically that the last time I was at sea was standing on the old bridge at Leith harbour and even then I felt seasick however I would like to dream about being a sailor!  The crossing off the oceans, on a quiet day that is, would be enjoyable I say.  Slowly cruising past Greek Islands, wandering about the Indian ocean, or viewing the landmass of Australia - from a distance, would be intriguing.  Actually all that on a small cruise ship, with good lunches and competent crew, might be better than slogging around on an old tug.  The only problem with cruise ships as far as I can see would be the other passengers!  
Ho hum, I must go and dream on....

.

The Parties Over....

The Party Conference season is now over, the election us upon us.  This week have heard heard the Tories turn to lie and as to be expected they offer tax cuts to the hard done by middle class (who vote for them) and freeze increases on benefits on the poorest (who do not).  Pensions will survive as pensioners vote for the Tories and the richest will be allowed to keep their tax havens although George Osborne says he will make them pay tax (aye right!).  In short lies just like those we heard for the other parties and as we have heard them often before.

The sad thing is that we have heard it before and the people will still vote for these people. Some, indeed many will actually believe them, some will claim they will benefit and the nation also!  These people live in a dream.

The work is slackening off however as the wee book we are doing is almost at an end.  The exhibition is doing well and all I will have is the constant update of the memorial.  By the end of the month the booklet will be done and so will I! All the writing, the amendments by the editor, the alterations, the editing, all that red stuff and 'must do better' will soon end.  About time too!

.

Tuesday Talk

Instead of working this morning I spent a very happy hour or so searching deep in the bowels of the Old Town Hall for a picture.  For some reason the high heid yins have decided to allow us mere volunteers choose a picture for display.  This may be to make us feel part of things, although we probably already do, but it did give opportunity to peruse the pictures, both painted and photographic that have been donated.  Some very interesting stuff there and I could have hung around longer.  I did choose a print dating back to the early 19th century showing a view of the Meeting House from over the fields.  The cows have long since departed, the Meeting House however remains and the field has been a rich man's dwelling, a school sports area and now forms the park opposite me. Two hundred years of change are seen in one picture, let alone the dissent that ran through Essex in days of yore that led to the erection of said Meeting House.  I chose well I thought, my companion chose one that looked like a night picture of a big city, dark with lots of bright lights on it, painted by a local artist probably, and probably drunk at the time I suggest.  Still it adds to the mixture and I look forward to when they are eventually displayed.  

Ally

I could not post any uninteresting items last night as I did something I never do, I watched Rangers playing Hibernian!  Normally I wish to enjoy watching Hibs lose, it's a nasty habit they have, but when they play one of the evil twins from Glasgow I always wish them to won, for the sake of Scottish football. However last night was going to be difficult.  A dark trip through to 'Castle Grayskull,' the home of the Orcs is never pleasant especially when Hibernian have failed to win a game all season.  The Blue loyalists however have dominated Scots football for so long, and to its detriment it must be said, are famed for their arrogance and pay their players wads more than Hibernian can ever afford to pay, so I was hoping Hibs might do a good job.  Of course with the Heart of Midlothian (5-0 victors at the weekend) top of the table anything that extends the gap between us and second place Rangers must be welcomed.  

As it was by half time Hibernian were three goals ahead!  By then I, sitting in my bed to be comfortable and watching via the laptop, was in a state of near hysteria!  My pot belly aches from the laughing at the arrogant ones who looked so proud and soon their loyal followers where booing and yelling things at them. One should never gloat when an enemy falls, but in truth it is a giggle here. Ally McCoist, who likes to be seen as the 'cheeky chappie' is not very good as a manager.  His fans wish him to go but the clubs arrogance is such that he was paid a million pounds a year when they were forced, for financial fiddling, down to the Fourth Division. In spite of further money troubles he was paid similar in the Third Division and only recently accepted a cut of around 50 per cent to help the club through the trouble. Greed lies at the heart of this club!  Even though they fail the chairman wants his bonus, around £3 million!  

I want to start an "Ally must stay" campaign as it is clear he and the rogues who run the club are doing it no good whatsoever, and that is a good thing in my mind for Scottish football!   

.

'Clue.

'I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue' is one of the BBC Radio 4's better efforts.  Smutty in bits it also possesses much humour.  This particular episode features the great Humphrey Lyttleton as chairman.  Sadly he died 19 days after this recording.  You may, or may not, like this.

.

Saturday Filler

Facebook and Twitter and any other social media you may use have great benefits when used in the correct manner.  However one of the problems of such media is the repetition of posts that mean little to you individually but are posted constantly by one of your 'friends!'  For instance one chap on Twitter likes American Football.  Now this you will realise is without a doubt one of the most dull, boring and meaningless activities known to man yet he gets very excited by this long drawn out activity.  Every thrown ball, every catch, every rare Touchdown gets a comment and not always polite!  This leads to hundreds of posts to be noted on the feed, usually in the morning as he stays up all night watching this rubbish, and ignored while an effort is made to find the important ones.  If you log onto sports or news sites or individuals repetition of the same news can also be wearing the fifteenth time it arrives.  No matter how important this is irritating and as you know I am one of the most placid people on this earth.  Facebook is similar and does reveal hidden hobbies obscure activities often obscured from the world in general.  To discover a normal individual has hobbies suitable for those less intellectually gifted can be a surprise.   On the other hand of course my own, and yours, interests can be boring to those with no life.  Then there is the 'friends.'  One lass has over two thousand 'friends!'  This comes from several large groups who she is involved with but leaves us reading posts that say important things like "It's Tuesday!" or "The Hall!"  Now around three hundred will understand this, but what about the rest? It is interesting how those who read your posts will react to your interests and your attitude towards them.  At least I find so.  Friends join on Twitter because they have read something you post and figure you are one of their type of people, soon they unfriend as they discover their mistake!  Four 'Albert Camus' became friends after one post on another Twitter post, one or two Christian quotes and whoosh they had gone!  Truth removes nihilism!
I find both these services good for keeping in touch, finding interesting information and discovering what celeb is drinking coffee at the moment.  Both services have their uses, especially if you install Adblockplus and lose the adverts.  Now if I could just remove all those blasted meaningless news stories they offer at the top of facebook!

Explain this!  Why does any man shave off all the hair on his head yet grow a dirty big beard? Does he think it looks good?  Has he become a Muslim?  It is possible Tim Howard the Everton goalkeeper, for it is he, might be looking backwards to some all American image he has deep in his subconscious, for American he is.  It may be, and I think this is the case, he is just daft! There is no doubt he is not fashion conscious.  Worse still are such men who shave the head and allow wisps of hair to grow under the chin and on the upper lip, all to often fair haired men at that, so it hardly shows.  What is the point?  The things passing fashion does to us all. 

Friday Frippary

So, by well over 500 votes to 43 the House votes for action, via the RAF, in Iraq.  I had the debate on the telly most of the day and was intrigued by the debate.  Many I saw were keen to inform the leaders of their party that they were doing what they were told, others, usually more experienced and past minister opportunities, were more willing to tackle the hard bits face on.  The House was clearly afraid of mission creep and all were aware of the Iraq situation of the past.  Their constituents have made it clear this will not be tolerated again!  Quite right too!

Of course it has to be remembered in May 2015 a General Election takes place and this insipid lot are afraid to lose their seats.  At moments like this they do listen to their people.  The only problem is the somewhat unfortunate fact that nobody really knows what will happen next.

God might be about to punish us.

Guilt is a terrible thing.  You do bad things and need to confess them, either that you repress the truth and hide the guilt deep inside.  One guilty secret I hide away and rarely allow to come to mind is the walk to the record shop that once stood at the top of Leith Walk opposite London Road, and spent six shillings and eightpence on this record!  With the Beatles and Stones, not to say dozens of other top groups abounding at the time I chose to waste my money on Tom Jones! What on earth went through my head?   

However I suspect you out there may have chosen badly also.  Any guilt to be confessed?

Here We Go Again!

One of the ideas that entered David Cameron's head some time ago was the one that said a successful Prime Minister was a strong 'war leader.'  He has been looking for his war in order to show himself strong ever since.  We have seen him act in Libya, pushing Obama into an action he attempted to avoid and we now see that country divided amongst several groups, none of whom we intended to allow such freedom.  He wished to intervene in Syria but was put off by Obama and his own defence people.  For some undeclared reason he avoided intervening in the Ukraine difficulty except by mouthing words against Putin and offering solace but nothing else to Kiev. Cynic I may be but the billions of Russian money, taken from the people in a style admired by the Conservative Party of which Cameron is the head, could possibly have influenced him.  The Russian's having all that gas amongst other things we need certainly coloured his thoughts. Cameron will not have noticed any conflict in Africa, or indeed any other poor nation with no oil or other item we require, but he will possibly send them a Christmas Card, if he remembers.

We are about to involve ourselves against this weeks bad guys, ISIS, or whatever the name is this week.  We do this party for humanitarian reasons and we are told, and Scots recognise how the media is used for propaganda purposes, we do this because ISIS are a danger to us and need to be dealt with. Therefore the RAF will join in with bombing whatever the targets provided happen to be.  

Now the interesting thing here is the participation of both Saudi Arabia and Qatar (both Sunni) the very people who provided weapons and cash to encourage the Sunni rebels to break up Syria (Mostly Shia) and yet now joined in this bombing!  Other Arab states such as Jordan are indeed unhappy and willing participants but Saudi and Qatar, really?  Call me a cynic but.....

"No boots on the ground," is the cry.  Our soldiers, or what is left of them after the stringent cuts, will not be 'on the ground in Iraq.'  We know the SAS types are there, this is where they show their worth, but with little understanding of what will happen tomorrow can Cameron really believe that troops will never be put into Iraq?  I doubt it as I do not expect any Arab or Iranian force to be capable of dealing with ISIS face to face.  The Iraqi's ran away last time!  

Once again we enter the unknown, watch this space.

  

Once a week, if the timetable permits, according to the unwritten (and better) 'British (that means English) constitution the Prime Minister meets with the monarch and discusses affairs of state.  This may be a long or short meeting depending on the importance of the issues and whether the monarch is in a hurry to go to watch her horses racing at Newmarket.  Now these meetings are always confidential, no PM has ever uttered a word concerning the exchanges as far as we know.  This when the meetings have not always been enjoyable. Disraeli flattered Queen Victoria and was popular with her but even he ion occasions wished to strangle the stubborn woman (stubborn woman? Surely not?).  She disliked Gladstone who addressed her, she said, like she was a public meeting, and he was around a long time! In recent years no PM has gone beyond cautious courtesy when referring to meetings with the monarch but recently blabbermouth Cameron could not resist boring some foreign leader with his victory over the Scots, a victory achieved by cheating, lying and the aid of the media.  'The queen was, he said, 'purring' at the news.  Well she would be as she owns half off it!  He could have asked her to send donations to the many foodbanks by Barmoral!  However, the point is he discussed the discussion with the monarch, this is a bad thing to do and this idiot PM gave no thought to the cameras, microphones or the devious nature of the two faced media who instantly blasted this story to the world.  Now the PM has to go cap in hand and apologise to her for his blemish.  One hopes she will indicate her opinion properly, possibly by allowing Prince Philip to get his gun out! If a premier cannot be trusted with such a small thing can he be trusted with military action?

  

Tuesday

The Labour Party have a conference.  This is the last big moment before the General Election in May 2015 for Ed Milliband to make play for being the next Prime Minister.  What a choice, Ed or Dave.  At the last election I was given the choice of six candidates, and the Tory always wins with eighty percent of the vote here, and I didn't want any of them!  Worse still I knew almost nothing of most, and what I did know was not inspiring.  I always vote and this year I am hoping the Monster Raving Loony Party will stand, I will vote for him!  The UKIP candidate, more dotty than the Tories, will put on a good show this time and cut the Tory boy's majority by half, but he will still win.  Democracy, don't ya love it?
What did Ed say?  Does it matter, really....?


.

Musing

I had a call on Thursday from the landlord's lassie.  She informed me he was arriving about three to look over the property.  This was kind of her as it gave me a couple of hours to hoover, clean, wash, scrub, and hide all the faults that I ought to have fixed, mended, repaired and painted long ago, indeed a very long time ago!  I must say he is a good landlord and his staff are excellent, I have no complaints there, but this year little has been done that ought to be done as I have been too busy!

Naturally he did not arrive although I had my excuses laid out for him.  

He has the eyes of a hawk and would see all the faults I have kindly hidden and he would not see the work I have done in maintenance, because it aint been done!  ooer!  I assumed he may come therefore on Friday so I took evasive action, wandered down to the bus station and got on the first bus to arrive. This at a time when I would rather have spent the day sleep after my exertions of the day before! However it was good to get the bus pass out and drive past fields of green, with a mist in the distance, or was it a house on fire, not to sure.  I wandered about the bits of boring Chelmsford that I had not been bored by before, and this without a camera to picture the one or two old and interesting buildings, mostly Victorian, that survive in the badly rebuilt town. The motor car has led to the pedestrianisation of the centre of town, which is fine, but there are dual carriageways running next too them which is less attractive, especially as old streets and buildings have been demolished for the important vehicle.  This may be practical but is not enhancing the city.  Some towns have managed to improve themselves even with an increase in vehicles and selfish drivers but far too many have knocked down good buildings for roadways.  It is not an attractive place now, practical but boring.

Of course as I returned footsore and weary he had not visited.  I might check tomorrow if I need to urgently visit Colchester!

Braintree Museum

Saturday at the museum began well.  The thunder and lightning overhead shook the house during the night and as I prepared my good looks in the morning the rain thundered down also as lightning continued to reverberate all around.  As I arrived the Big Boss grumpily let me in and muttered something about alarms.  Indeed the lightning had switched off all the alarms, knocked out the town clock (he is responsible for the Town Hall also) and rain flooded their basement.  In his hurry to be in several places at once, and having been up half the night with all this, he forgot he had the only key to the light switches.  We therefore had a dark museum, not fire alarms, and a kids event to run.  This had to be cancelled at the computers and photocopier all failed also. 

I wandered about switching on anything that worked but the young lass was afraid to move through the darkened museum to open some of the locked doors, until the torch on her iphone was used to guide her as she ran through! Just as well we got it all going as by eleven we were busy for a while.  How nice to meet interesting people and kids who don't wish to go home as they enjoy what they are finding.  

Tonight I realised my ansafone was also dead because of the storm.  I should have closed down the laptop during it as lightning landing nearby once killed the old modem in my first PC and led to me being ripped of in my ignorance of such things.  

.

18th

.

I no longer have a nation!

I no longer have a nation!
The people of my nation sold themselves in a cowardly manner to be the lapdogs of the English Empire. Throwing away the opportunity to be 'a nation again' instead they trusted to the financial 'security' of George Osborne!
My Scotland no longer exists. Instead a cowardly bunch, happy to live with the bedroom tax and foodbanks, have become a nation of Toom Tabards.
We had the potato famine, the Highland clearances and Darien yet this ranks as the worst disaster Scotland has ever suffered and the people responsible are the Scots themselves!
I await the announcement from some back bench MP that form tomorrow Scotland will be known once again as 'North Britain.'
They will have deserved that!

.

Thursday Night

We will soon know if the Scots become a free independent state or 

chosen to enslave themselves to a foreign power.