Taking the Tablets

All Recipes 

The insides as well as the brain have been slightly affected by this weeks germ and my eating has not been according to good health magazines liking.  Last night I was beset by a lack of sweet things in the house and dug out a recipe for tablet, not unsimilar to this All Recipes one, and proceeded to spend a short eternity making a small amount of not very good tablet, too much marge I think. What would nurse say?  

This stuff is what we used to get from my mum after she attended the churches 'bring and buy' sales. These were once regular occurances but died out with the needless imposition of 'Health & Safety.' For offering goods for sale legal frameworks regarding health and compensation for outbreaks of ecoli etc (which never happened) were imposed by the Gestapo.  The many 'fairy cakes' and bars of 'tablet' that once rotted the teeth of such as I were no longer on offer unless provided by properly protected shops. Children however are sleekit souls and have continued to destroy their teeth with an abundance of other sugar filled nasties, nasties which I must say we all like now and again.  

This brown sludge that now lies in the plastic container, not actually that healthy either I suppose, has begun the work of destroying my remaining unholed teeth. As too flavour, well it would never be offered by the women in that churches 'Women's Guild' that's for sure!  

Note also that because of feminist bull the Church of Scotland long since has allowed men to join the 'Women's Guild.'  Quite why that august organisation allowed itself to be cowed by ungodly laws I know not, however it is a broken Kirk today.  I note this gender bending however has not happened to the 'Women's Institute,' could it be some are above the law, e.g. women's organisations, or just that no man in his right mind wishes to be surrounded by the pack of middle class harridans that predominate there? Answers on a postcard and send them to Sheila, instead of me so make it an attractive one.

It has been a quiet few days, I have actually began to attend to the 'To Do' list from way back.  My broken glasses have been glued back together, sort off, the DVDs put in a rack, the books sorted into order and the top shelf of my 'in tray' has been sorted and filed away!  Goodness gracious, I then defragmented the hard drive and I even sorted out the sock drawer!  Then I had to pop into the museum to buy the last Christmas gifts, which I managed, while planning to undertake an expedition into the middle tray of my 'in tray.'  However at the museum I was given two pieces of paper containing work! That finished the afternoon and postponed the second layer for a while.  Ah well there is always tomorrow.... 

       .

Memory, Why Doesn't it Work?

RBK

This aged picture of a London Trotters cart was taken around the 50's/60's, I forget exactly.  I came across it sorting through things tonight.  The Trotters were rag & bone men, an early type of recycling that has long gone out of fashion.  'Steptoe & Son'  is a famous TV sitcom based on one family somewhere in Shepherds Bush trying to make a living.  There is a little emblem on the cart, could it be a council one?  I wish I had time to search through the RBK site now.  This site is full of old pictures and tales from the libraries of Kensington & Chelsea.  Well worth a look.

The use of horse and carts is rarely seen today although some breweries still use them occasionally.  My dad used one to deliver milk in the early 50's and Dunfermline Co-op were still using them until the mid sixties.  I rarely saw them in London when I lived there however one horse, bored with waiting for the boss to come out of the pub, straddled the pavement to ensure he got attention from someone on one occasion.  The St Cuthberts Co-op in Edinburgh not only used horse deliveries into the late 60's they also looked after the queens horses when she bothered to use the Scottish Royal Coach.  I suspect some London based civil servant will have sold it now.  

How good memory is in making such sights appear enjoyable, a light relief from the cares of the day. However for the man working them there was no relief until he had got back to the depot, settled the horse in a stall, cleaned up and made his way home.  It's easier to switch off an engine that deal with a horse. The pay then was poor, nothing for being sick, and sacked for anything almost. Still the sun shone more then, maybe.

Memory is useful when retracing your steps as I had to today.  I noticed the battery in the camera was running low and I mused as to whether it would work if I went out then and now.  No time to ponder, I got ready and made my way out before the rain began.  As I crossed the road the rain began.  I walked through the drizzle gardens, replacing a wreath or two blown by the wind from the memorial, and headed into town.  As I left the 'Poundshop' clutching my three for two bottles of cheap bleach, oh how I live in luxury, I noticed the camera was not in my pocket, a pocket usually kept shut by a zip. Oh dear thought I, someone has pinched it or I dropped it when replacing that wreath. How could I live without the camera?  Bad enough waiting to get it repaired let alone lose it.  What if it had been nicked, how, when, oh dear!  I splashed my way, faster somewhat, through the glistening trail, down the road, through the gardens, back home.  No sign, if dropped it was lifted and gone, no chance of that returning. Naturally as I got home I found it on the desk where I had left it after checking the battery.  The stupid old fool had forgotten to put it in the pocket.  Memory you see, I need one!

.

The Poppies are Packed Away Now.

At eleven this morning many in the nation stood to remember once again.  Large crowds attended ceremonies around the country as the commemoration of the beginning of the Great War came to an end.  Exhibitions and events will continue, I may have one on Friday night if I stay awake long enough, and throughout the country folks are now researching their war dead and discovering surprising news about their families.

I myself did not attend anything today, I made it to the museum, realised my head was spinning from some bug and made my way back home until it ran its course and passed me by.  This did mean nothing got done but hey, that's not unusual in here is it?

We move on from the remembrance ceremonies now, soon the poppies will disappear from the jackets and volunteers will begin counting the cash collected, most likely a bumper years for the British Legion.  I leave it with this poem by Joe Lee, a forgotten yet great poet from Dundee.  He had travelled a bit, worked for John Leng & Co who published the 'Peoples Journal,' a paper he would later edit. and enlisting at 4 years of age spent most of the war with the 4th Black Watch, later commissioned into the Kings Royal Rifle Corps.  A friend of the leading literary figures of the day between the wars he worked in London as sub editor for the 'News Chronicle' and mixed with the great poets of the day.  His work was acclaimed as equal to Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sasson's war poetry yet he never achieved, if indeed he sought it, literary fame.  He has many poems, I liked this one. 

German Prisoners

When first I saw you in the curious street
Like some platoon of soldier ghosts in grey,
My mad impulse was all to smite and slay,
To spit upon you—tread you 'neath my feet.
But when I saw how each sad soul did greet
My gaze with no sign of defiant frown,
How from tired eyes looked spirits broken down,
How each face showed the pale flag of defeat,
And doubt, despair, and disillusionment,
And how were grievous wounds on many a head.
And on your garb red-faced was other red;
And how you stooped as men whose strength was spent,
I knew that we had suffered each as other,
And could have grasped your hand and cried, "My brother!"

Joe Lee.

AllPoetry.com

Joseph Lee


.

Bah!

I found myself writing Christmas cards today.  Not that I write many, you need friends for that, but I had the list of requirements in front of me, selected appropriate cards, cheap ones for them, a couple of good ones for the others, and began to slug it out.  Luckily I soon realised there was one or two things to buy before I could complete the job so dumped it back in the cupboard. 
Some years ago I was sending a lot of cards and realised many folks returned them simply because I sent them one, this did not indicate they wished to know me.  So one year I only sent cards to those who may well have expected one or wished to keep in touch.  Amongst these for some years was an aunt who I always wrote a wee note to around this time reminding her of my need of Christmas presents, I never received any!  She expected something from me mind! having curtailed the cards I sent the next year those who offered cards 'just because' fell away, both saved time and money.  We have family and close friends, we then have friends and acquaintances we know well, around them lies a third ring as it were, these represent people we may meet often, get on well with but do not need to supply with gifts, cards or anything but a greeting and a handshake. Today of course all can be dealt with by internet cards or email greetings, cheap, more efficient than post, and for those who feel the need to describe the past years activities to the world a far better thing all round.  
My biggest expenses  have been paid, only one or two things to think about, one or two funny cards maybe, and then prepare to send them at the beginning of December.  I always post early as I understand what the post is like, this also of course reminds others to get their cards sorted and then send me one.  

       .

Remembrance Sunday Centenary

The Great War began on August 4th 1914, the armistice coming four long years later on November 11th 1918.  To remember the fallen of this and other conflicts we met before the war memorial this afternoon.  A very large crowd attended, possibly slightly larger than last years, and correct observation was performed.  The procedure followed routine, a loud voice, hidden by the crowds, called the uniformed ones to attention. Standards were raised, the 'last post' blown then a 'stand at ease' ordered.  The vicar said a few prayers, a few words were said, then wreaths were laid, first by the dignitaries then by others in order.  All in all the usual short gathering.  However I was feeling a bit let down as I realised that this type of meeting misses one thing only - the names of the fallen! Possibly because I have lived with them for a while I find a gap, an emptiness where each individual ought to be.  No need for all names just one or two and a word on their deeds to enlighten the people. This brings the individual home to us not just a name.

    

The gathering of men in uniform used to be common when I were a lad today it is something unusual. Unless you live in a 'Barrack' town you rarely see uniformed men.  National service and of course war itself meant such sights were part of daily life not any more.  Terrorist threats have meant some units are not allowed to wear their uniform in the the streets in some areas!  I am quite surprised some of the uniformed organisations still manage to enroll so many as the costs must be high however the Air Training Corps members seen here have always been popular, possibly because they might get into an airplane occasionally.  

The police (well PCSO's) were in attendance to control the traffic for the march past, much smaller crowd than last year when several full police officers were in control.  However the local football team were playing a major cup tie at the same time, and losing 0-3 last time I heard, so that is where the constabulary would have operated.  Rarely do remembrance crowds get out of hand.  

From the rear you do not get much of a view of the dignitaries but at least the sound system is good. However I wonder about the names on the memorial and their connection to the people in the gardens.  Many will be there because their child is in the scouts/guides or whatever, others because a relative, whom they may have just discovered is named thereon.  I just wish I could have spoken to some but I recognised only two people in the throng.  

So we have remembered, poppies have been worn, memorials attended, research begun, bands have played, men have marched, and life will return to normal now.  For those in 1926 who attended the unveiling of the memorial the thoughts may have been different.  The names were of sons, husbands, friends, and family.  They left a gap, sometimes a huge gap that was never to be filled again.  Many women struggled to raise the family afterwards, many a heart mourned until their dying day, many a child had their life dented by loss, but the individual just had to 'get on with it,' there was no other choice.  The s'stiff upper lip' and many others being in similar troubles gave no opening for self pity or depression, life had to go on.  

At least here was a place to remember, many knew only the name of the memorial somewhere in France or Belgium where their loved one was commemorated, usually they could not afford to visit. At least if he lay in a cemetery the relative  felt he was taken care off but just a name among the thousands on a memorial is so cold and somewhat inhuman, a soldiers relatives require more.  Some on the memorial lie far off in Gallipoli or Jerusalem, during the second war some fell further away in Asia, others fell from the skies lost for ever.  

For us today who did not know them personally we can move on easily, only the old remember them, they cannot forget. However they too have had their life, they too have seen younger folks suffer in Northern Ireland, Iraq and Afghanistan, let alone the many 'small' and 'forgotten' wars since 1945. Do you realise that so many people today do not know what the 'Cold Was' was like?  To them it is a History lesson, to us it was always in the background.  Life moves on indeed!

.

Football Commemorations

Football clubs throughout the country have been remembering the men who fell in days of yore.  The Heart of Midlothian today play Raith Rovers both of whom sent men to the 16th Royal Scots in late 1914.  At the beginning the piper played 'The Flowers of the Forest,' a minutes silence was observed by the large crowd, many Raith fans attending on this day also, both clubs wore strips representing the men of 1914.  Other clubs will have held similar events to commemorate their players as the 100th anniversary of the beginning of the war is noted.
Scott of Raith and Ellis of Hearts seen here in this picture both were killed in action.  Paddy Crossan died aged 40 some years after the war, his early death the result of his wounds, especially gas.  The others also suffered, some never playing football again.  Some commemorations of the war are good, this was one of them.

Is This the Worst Big Shop in the High Street?

Much against my better judgement I ventured into this overcrowded mess that is W.H.Smiths and sought Christmas cards.  Usually I buy cards from the St Columba's Hospice in Edinburgh where my sister died but there are one or two folks I like to send specific cards to.  These are usually less than serious cards, the sentimental or unbiblical Christmas ones are not for me so give them a giggle I say, if you can afford the prices!  

I chose some, wandered through the rather dim, overcrowded shelves and made my way to the checkout.  Here the girl was keen to sell me things I din't want, forget to charge the correct price, and then waited until I failed to pick up the merchandise to ask if I wanted a bag.  Several cards ought to be an automatic bag, it is in all other shops, yet for years Smiths have failed to offer them.  This is a small but mean policy disguised as saving the world but really to cut their costs down.  Of course I wished a bag as it was likely that as the yuletide approached I may be going into other shops, and one was produced but I had to pay a penny for it!  A penny?  How much does the bag cost?  Smiths use billions a year and the customer now pays a penny for it?  In some places plastic bags are now taxed at 5 pence for 'green' reasons, however with Smiths it is to increase their massive profits and rob the customer. Fifteen years ago when working nearby I often bought a paper and had to stop the dead assistant putting it in a plastic bag automatically.  Why a man requires such a bog for a paper I know not but she appeared not to care or indeed actually be alive.  Now to save cash we pay a penny for a bag we must demand! 

W.H. Smiths have for several years been regarded as one of the worst shops in the High Street, this year again it came out as the very worst and that is no surprise.  Sales in shop fell by 5 percent apparently but profits grew 5 percent also, probably because people prefer to shop online rather than visit the dump! Sadly however our last local newsagent closed down and this tragic shop remains open. What a rubbish shop, I feel for those who work there who actually care.  I wonder what Smith himself would say if he could look on at what his successful business has become?  His standards were higher than the grasping directors of today.

  

.

Thursday

Throwing aside the grubby ex-army blankets I got up from my laptop and ironed the last three shirts from that pile.  This was cheaper than turning on the heating.  I ensured the frost would not remain on the carpet by also making some luxurious lentil soup.  I say 'luxurious' because this potful actually tasted good when I finally tried some.  This I must confess is not always the case.  You will be gratified to know the rest of my cooking today was awful as normal.

Too much of today has been taken up with searching for folks relatives.  Printing them off if found and waddling all the way to the post office and the smiling Asian lass to send them off.  All good fun in one way but it takes a lot of time. Even updating the website memorial takes at least 30 minutes a go, and with the cold air just now it is not so enjoyable.  This means I take less time to read the drivel found in the papers.  By ignoring most of them I feel so much more relaxed.  I fear less the murderers, bad dentists, danger from eating apples and psycopaths who live round the corner for me, according to what the papers say anyway.  Funnily enough when the paper does not cause great fear and terror such fear and terror happens less around our way.  Ignoring the news also means I hear less from politicians preparing for the election.  The desperate promises from each, the slanted views of their opponents, and acres of newsprint slanted to suit their owners touch me not and I am glad. 

However this five nights a week football is wearing me out.  The sooner these sections are over the better for my sleep patterns.  What makes it worse is some of the games are rubbish, usually featuring English sides I must say.  By Saturday I might be worn out and unable to watch any more, but I will...  


.

Jealous?

The dying sun shone brightly filling the street with the glare right up till I got into position and then it faded!  The intention was good and by the time I found something without people in the way the sun had almost gone.  The sign hangs above yet another ex-public house.  This town once had vast numbers, and a 'beer shop' was almost next door!  Today this houses offices and even then they are not all filled as you can see.

The sun did shine but the north wind howled today and I am freezing!  It has got so bad I had to put the heating on, and this is not a good sign.  I remain free from jealousy concerning those in hot countries who never see temperatures below hot!  I am not jealous, nor was I yesterday when the chap in the museum spoke of his home in Portugal!  I was happy for the boastful tanned individual! 

Now, where's the brandy?  

.

Words.

Stop saying "Taking it forward."

Stop using terms like "Moving forward."

Speak properly!

If you are commentating on football do not say "Just about" when you mean "He did!"

Why say "frame of the goal" when you mean goalpost?

"Selfie?" No it's a self portrait or 'snap!'

"Awesome" Do Americans only have one word in their vocabulary!?

Language is communication, you inform people what happens, or what you mean.  You do not do this by using the wrong words or words out of contest that do not mean anything!!! 

I'm off to bed before I self destruct!

.

Ackers Jazz

'Stranger on the Shore' is one of those melodies that were first heard in the early 60's and remain in the head for ever afterwards.  Acker Bilk, the name 'Acker' is a term used in the South West of England meaning 'mate,' Acker Bilk made his name with this short track and he saw it as his old age pension!  It made his and his trad jazz bands name and they have been successful ever since.  This was not his only hit of course, the other is often heard even today.  He passed away the other day aged 83.  

.

Nothing!

Another Sunday comes near its end and my mind is empty.  I wore it out emoting today and there is little left once darkness falls and my plate of badly cooked leftovers rots inside.  It started the usual way, I spent several minutes wondering if I was awake or still dreaming.  The voices in my head turned out to be some plonker of 'Talksport' discussing fishing with a man on a mobile phone. As is normal with such calls he was either talking from inside a cardboard box or speaking Chittagonian, I know not which. Either way this did not interest and I scrambled wearily for the remote on the pillow, it being to far to reach out from under the blankets to the wireless, and changed to the early Radio 4, here the weather forecast threatened me. This ended and offered me uninteresting news so I moved to Radio 5's childish news service and quickly amended that to Radio 3.  At last something that did not prattle or irritate the early morning mind.  

'Choice' is one of those buzzwords politicians use when lying through their teeth, choice in hospitals, choice in schools, choice here there and everywhere, however the choice is limited and often unavailable. Radio and TV offer choice, you can tale what they offer or lump it!

Early morning radio is poor and I spend more time on Radio 3 with the music filling the space between my ears than the wool mill like noise that emanates from the morning news hubs.  One lying MP is up against another misinforming the nation or perhaps a supporter of Black faces a White fan and the debate gets nowhere much to some smug BBC voice's satisfaction (and £2-300,000 a year is satisfying!).  

The mind was awake during the wee talk by the minister in the Kirk at ten, or half past when he got around to speaking.  The week I had was not good, much was going wrong and this bugged me all week. The reminder of what we live for, or indeed who we live for was important.  How we respond to his call, opening ourselves to him personally and living it out all  rang bells in me.  I made a list of things to amend, it's about eight feet long, and have already added to it.  Tsk!  If I believed him whom I believe strangely enough difficulties might increase but I would cope better with them.  Life will always have problems.  He has never failed me yet, so I had better up my game I say. 

I spent some time around noon searching the fifty or so TV channels on offer for something to fill half an hour.  The set works fine, good picture, acceptable sound, colour OK.  The programmes consisted of mind blowing pap and little else!  Soaps, forty year old episodes of 'Columbo,' or comedies unwatched in the 70's. Did you watch 'On the Buses' more than once?  How come this is a favourite of so many?  Why is it repeated I ask?  PC stops some being repeated, usually those that had wit and humour, why is 'pap' allowed?  The shopping channels had more talent than that exposed elsewhere, and I do not mean the films so old their colour was fading.  Now there are millions of decent old documentaries hidden away somewhere in this world, some occasionally coming into view, but far too few for me.  Modern documentaries are too concerned to constantly keep moving, 'Locomotion' was so bad at this that to show speed Dan Snow chose to run frequently, why?  The cartoons were not allowed to be themselves, they were animated so that they too were constantly on the move! What sort of 13 year old mind produces this tripe?  Why not stand still and tell the story?
I was so glad when the football arrived!

However the Edinburgh Derby, when the Heart of Midlothian defeat Hibernian is an exciting gripping affair and this dilutes the feeble English efforts at this type of contest.  Watching Manchester City defeating weakened Manchester United was so boring I fell asleep for ten minutes in the second half.  My snoring woke me up and must have annoyed the rest of the house!  Later it was a much more interesting contest, Villa v Spurs, and while not as enjoyable as Spartans versus Clyde it kept my attention from sleep.  
However these games take away all my emotion.  The mind is worn out with stress and rest is required. You will guess that Bach is playing in the background.  Yes indeed Bach is my favourite Welsh composer. Typically the music ends as I write that, innit a game eh?  We now have Handel to use care on.  (Geddit? handle with care? oh forget it.)  
See, I told you I had nothing to say and nothing has been said.  Tomorrows list of things to do lies awaiting being ignored by my side, rain clouds gather above waiting for my early morn dash to Tesco to unleash their contents while others suffer sunburn and have the audacity to complain about the heat!  I had better go and prepare myself by having some beauty sleep, not that I require that of course....  


.

A Criticism.

Daily Telegraph

The Tower of London has become the scene of what is described as an 'artwork' commemorating the First World War.  This was as you will recall involved the United Kingdom from the 4th of August 1914 right up to the armistice at 11 am on the 11th day of November 1918.  Around 10 million died, possibly many more.  The UK lost 750,000 soldiers plus men at sea and in the air. Between the armistice and the beginning of the Second World War on the 3rd of September 1939 thousands more died of the effects of war through gas inhalation or wounds that never truly healed.  Guilt at actions taken, guilt at surviving while others died, stress, unbalanced minds and the difficulty of relating to those around them also caused death and suffering to the survivors.  Those who remained at home also changed, and change was in the air before the war, they too suffered even though for many life improved.  The twenties did not see a better life for the returning'heroes,' often unemployment and despair were their lot.  They had returned victorious having won the the war and found despair all too often.

To commemorate this event the museums, churches, military organisations, football clubs and others have organised a variety of events.  Most are heartfelt and represent individuals and organisations who commemorate the fallen annually.  Some however worry me. This display at the Tower has brought thousands to walk around admiring the poppies.   People travel from across the nation to see the event, and that is for me the worry, 'the event.'  For many this commemoration will be just another event, like the queens jubilee or some royals wedding.  An event in which those who participate enjoy the spectacular more than the commemoration.  

The UK has in recent years began to remember fallen troops in a manner that had passed away in the 60's.  Northern Ireland, the Falklands and the Iraq and Afghanistan conflicts have brought home the men who serve and the cost they pay.  However for far too many exhibitions such as that at the Tower do not commemorate, indeed they celebrate and offer something interesting to see and enjoy but takes away from what the Great War actually meant to those who were there.  

Armistice Day will dawn, the events will cease, many exhibitions close, plays run their course and then the nation will return to the daily grind and forget once again.  The 'event' has ended. 

.

Write, Right?

I have been listening to one of those wireless programmes again, this time it is called 'The Write Stuff' and features questions of books but specialising in Jerome K Jerome.  You can hear it here if you wish. The spoofs of the chosen authors books at the end are always good and JKJ would no doubt laugh at those heard here.

Once again however this got me thinking about writing a similar book to 'Three Men in a Boat.' Like everyone else I have wished to emulate this success and so far I have only the booklet re the Great War exhibition.  Fame at last!  However writing a book that would travel outside this area is somewhat harder as it has to resonate with readers everywhere.  This makes things harder. Also having an editor rough it up to improve it makes for double work!  

What is the book you are trying to write?  

They say everyone has a novel in them, although I have no wish to write a novel, more a factual book worth reading and offering a light yet serious view of the world.  Travel books are idea, yet the last trip was five miles down the road! An autobiography, but that was cause suicide to the readers.  I read one chaps excellent ' The Goalkeepers Guide to Britain.'  This took the period since the war, set in his home area of run down Islington in London and through the varieties of goalkeepers since gave us an excellent readable social history, at one and the same time personal and understandable for all.  Super stuff, shame he has already done it.  

Ah well, it's good to dream, innit?

.

It Rains Here

Trapped inside all day by the wet stuff falling like I was in Scotland!  Naturally I had no bread and had to brave it while searching Tesco for breakfast.  Surely in this day and age we can fix things so it only rains at night?  Bah!
I therefore spent an exciting day looking for peoples missing relatives.  When they were alive in the early part of the century some things can be discovered. However The Ministry of Defence does not release details of servicemen from WW2, this I reckon is so they can charge £30 a time for a search fee if you enquire about them.  This government will smell cash and privatise the records soon.  Oh look, they already have!
One lass failed to give sufficient info, one mentioned the ships dad had sailed in and these two took all day to investigate.  Poor dad, he was on three ships and I suspect he was on one of them when it went down, all three were lost.  He survived but gave little away as is normal.
He served at one time on a ship that went down while Lord Mountbatten was a mere Captain then.  Well a Captain of a Flotilla of five ships.  Two were lost in 1941 south of Crete and a film was made later starring Noel Coward called 'In Which we Serve' telling the story.  

The rain was such a pain that I even ironed four shirts rather than do something useful.  Just think what  could have done had the sun shone? I could have walked away from the laptop for a start!

Oops must go....football has started....  

It's Over.

Aviationist

It's over!  At long last the futile Afghanistan operation has ended and Camp Bastion, the British HQ in Helmand province has been handed over to Afghan forces.  The million questions will continue.  Was it worth the lives of our men? Did the Taliban lose control?  Could it have been dealt with better?  

The reason we went there as I understand it was because of 9/11.  Both the intention of dealing with bin Laden and dealing with the Taliban amongst whom he was hiding appeared to contain some merit. The PR Puff informed us that this action would make the UK and the west safer.  Did it?

It was understandable that the US would chase bin laden, I have no problem with this.  However if we go into Afghanistan a plan of action was required, and not only did we appear to be unsure of this political games led to a failure to deal with the situation properly.  An example was the deployment of 16th Airborne Division to Sanguin.  3 Para were sent there not because this was part of the plan but the American General in charge insisted.  Why did he do this? The Afghan President wished to support his corrupt Governor of this province and 3 Para were forced to act as his shield.  Their thoughts on this are best not known.. That town had it's successes but it also saw lots of needless fighting, which 3 Para won!  From the start it was a mistake as was the different approaches to handling the situation chosen by the US and UK troops.  British troops are much more 'Hearts & Minds' in their attitude, they learnt this during the Malaya conflict years before, while the US took several years to develop this.  So many things were wrong, so much of the strategy was misplaced and political changes, week by week, did not help anyone.

Most Afghans did not want anyone near their land, no matter who.  While content to see the Taliban removed they continued under the local warlord, or will do now the troops have left, irrespective of what happened during the past ten years.  Their life will carry on for the most part as usual, the cities may well educate girls and develop some sort of democracy, the rural villages will not. While money fills the leaders hands the people will see little of benefit reaching them and few will enjoy a better life, but enjoy this they will.  The Taliban will probably never gain control again over the whole nation but they do remain active.  The people will support them, unless the crops need attention, and a better organised army might just protect the cities from Taliban incursion.  It could just be another Pakistan, oh joy!

The UK is no safer, and possibly in line for a reaction to these years from the extremist groupings.  The failure to understand the Afghan mind is repeated in the Middle East where we also saw Iraq blown apart for no good reason.  That too has blown up in our faces now.  Since the end of the Great War we have failed to consider the mindset of the local population in these parts.  Our thoughts were only for our needs, oil, peace, revenge, or whatever we required. At no time did the needs of the locals get consideration.

We wash our hands of Afghanistan, we mourn our needless dead, politicians responsible fade away, families mourn, we move on.  What a mess and it has not finished yet, has it?  

Time/Timely

The good news is the clocks going back one hour and offering an extra sleep in the morning.  It goes without saying that I awoke at five, that was six and struggled to sleep properly until ten minutes before I had to rise.  Tsk! Struggling into the cold east wing I began looking for all the timepieces that required changing.  As always during the day others appear out of nowhere and I sometimes wonder why I have so many clocks is useful positions that I never notice except when the stop or require moving forwards or back one hour.  

Having succeeded in registering time in the house I looked to having my weekly bath, what with this being Sunday and all.  The boiler would not work!  It has been giving problems off and on and now it was just off!  The starter has decided not to start and the little red light says call for the man!  So I sent an email to the woman who calls the man who calls me and turns up probably sometime during the week.  Just as the weather turns winterish all the boilers fail, this year it's my turn.  Ah well, I suppose I can have a bath next week, no need to fuss is there. 

The thing about the Edinburgh derby is that you must realise the Heart of Midlothian always win it!  OK on occasion the wee team sometimes scrape a victory but since 1875, when we beat them one nil on Christmas Day, the Heart of Midlothian have always been the superiour side.  This is one of the blessings I have received, to be born into a Hearts of Midlothian family, how lucky is that! Hibernian fans, those few, those noble few who follow the wee team do not like this situation.  Indeed since we defeated them in the cup final, again, in 2012 one or two of the most likeable Hibs lads have only referred to me in grunts, and that via the web!  

Today the Hibs had some idea that they were in a position to defeat this mighty team, jokers that we are we played along with this allowing them to convince their feeble minded followers that a victory was on the cards.  Indeed they even managed to get the ball into our goal and with this one goal lead the happy bunch were celebrating a win long before the end.  90 minutes had been played, 4 more added by an excellent referee to cover injury time and other happenings at the end when cheering Hibbys had reality restored.  That great man Alim Ozturk strode forward into enemy territory, unleashed a shot from close on 40 yards and watched as it sailed into the air, dipped, and off the bottom of the crossbar rocketed into the Hibs net!  Oh what a shot, what a goal, what a laugh (in love obviously) as the Green and white clad lower orders stared in disbelief.  Once more they had failed to win, once more the BIG TEAM took a point, we should have had three) once more i expect to hear grunts over social media soon, when they come out of the pub/sulk/coma. 

Some feardies thought Hearts were going to lose?  Some, like me, are not old enough to experience the shock of being defeated by Hibernian.  Tsk!  The Edinburgh derby, one of the most one sided in the world.  Still, it's a giggle innit?   

.

Commemoration Event

As part of the Great War commemoration event we had a replica Bristol MC-1 fighter standing in the yard.  This magnificent beast brought attention to the event extremely well as being Saturday market day many passed by and came to join us.  The real version of this fighter spent most of its time in the Middle East shooting Turks.  This one was hand made, with as much original material as possible.

Had I been able to climb inside I may well have been tempted to fire that Vickers machine gun.  I suggest however the library opposite might have objected to their windows being broken.

It came complete with appropriate knowledgeable staff and the kids loved it, no matter their age!

The Braintree Cadets joined us also, happily scaring young children with their outfits, especially when wearing the 'tin helmets.'  Strangely enough wearing the 'tin helmet' we offered was one of the more popular choices by the same kids!  So many men comment on the weight of these weapons and I was surprised to find the German gun much heavier than the British Lee-Enfield rifle.  Still I know why my dad complained now.  These two young men give an immediate impression of the type of soldier who served during this conflict.  Young, fit, able, clever and willing to serve.  There were many like this from these parts some who did not return.  A local choir singing tunes of the time, both inside and outside the building, serenaded the public, an event that was much enjoyed.  I of course missed this as I was stuck inside, but I am not one to complain.  I failed to obtain a second portion of 'trench cake' either, even though I saw two lying there as we were clearing up - where did they go I wonder?  You canny trust nobody. 

In the hall several experts gave a demonstration of the operation of such weapons to interested parties. This Vickers Machine Gun amongst them.    

Some things useful to the soldier, 'tin helmet,' water bottle, bayonet and a variety of clubs to deal with any enemy gentleman who happened upon your trench one dark night.  Going 'clubbing' meant something different in those days.

I myself, in a vain attempt at historical dress, sat at my Great War laptop attempting to send people to the right place to find information about their relatives.  This was successful in that I now have a dozen men to look for to aid damsels in distress, folks with no laptop and those who smiled sweetly.  I have also noticed one has omitted to write down her email for me.  Bah!  We did however sell a good number of the booklets which I had to sign for the admiring audience.

I am so tired I fell asleep during tonight's football.  It meant nothing to me as I could not find my brain. With little to do this week I will sleep a lot and spend the rest of the time looking for other peoples dead men. 

The large crowd who attended kept order very well, although the sergeant and corporal from the Military Police patrolling the establishment kept the rowdies away!

Difficult to get such men in focus when trembling.....

.

Travails.

As I turned in I noticed two postmen I knew, good men and true, one on his bike heading out bearing that constant smile on his face, a smile that makes us wonder what he had been inhaling, and the other who appeared to all purposes now to work in this office.  I took my ticket and collected the note detailing my winnings.  The money amount was clearly marked at the top and as I glanced at the £24,000 there I noticed to my surprise the other prizes also.  Two weeks in some sunny rich man's playground far away, a week elsewhere, and other lesser but quite welcome prizes.  It was then I noticed the prize money was in fact £200,000!  Much better and as I began to work out where I could get a wee house for that amount I turned towards the desk to claim the winnings when I heard John Humphreys muttering banalities on the 'Today' programme muttering about the time.
"Drat! Not even got my head of the pillow and already I have lost £200,000!"
So I entered Tuesday in the manner in which I intended to continue, as so it proved.  The day was dominated by another ex-US hurricane which were supposed to flood us out, knock down all the trees and high buildings and cause mayhem everywhere.  Indeed in places this was the case but it does appear we now err on the side of safety and urge warnings a wee bit too keenly I reckon. The use of common sense by the populace is lessening.  
I persevered.  Slowly I went through the routine, slowly I ate, slowly I ignored the news, slowly it dawned on me that I was watching the clock say ten minutes past ten.  "Ah, I can get ready at half past I thought.
Suddenly the fog lifted, I was supposed to start at ten and it was ten past already!
Dementia has begin folks.
I faced the struggle to the museum bravely even though driving rain threatened to wash me away as I limped up the road.  It stopped once I arrived and remained quiet until I came home!  
Busy as we were, fixing those little things that needed fixing, cutting thinsg that needed cutting and sellotaping things that should not have been cut, dealing with lots of visitors, including in fact one real dementia patient and her escort - what a sad sight that was - discovering a school class was quietly wrecking the joint and another event was on today so that much of the day was taken up with others running around daft for that.  This left me alone much of the time and luckily nothing demanding occurred.  I also took delivery of large old books, for myself, which I bought (cheap) from a colleague which then required lugging home.  Lots of heavy reading lies ahead.  I made two trips and collected the rest today.  How heavy can a book be I wondered?   My arms now reach my knees. At least our own book is now in stock and should be on sale today.
On top of this my knees ache and carrying heavy bags does not help.  Having got two lots home, up the stairs, and onto the floor I then lay beside them gasping for breath and demanding oxygen from whoever heard my groans.
No reply came the reply!
The fog over the mind all day was so bad that even though I attempted to watch two football matches I could hardly concentrate on the first, it just tired me out, and the second failed so badly I actually had to switch it off and sleep.
That reminds, me I must buy some brandy....

Today began without losing vast amounts of money, and the £150 million is still available in the lottery if I buy a ticket.  Instead of dreaming of wealth beyond my wildest dreams I hobbled all the way to the Post Office, waited while the man in the steel helmet, visor and armoured outfit delivered the new stamps, and then I posted three expensive packets.  Tripping over my own feet on the way back I wondered why those men never smile?  Is it part of the training to look tough in case the old women in the shop attack you?  So far when meeting such men they give the impression of being soul dead. Rarely do they look the type you would employ let alone trust with valuables.  I suspect most are recruited from ex-prisoners. 
I limped to the museum, collected my remaining heavy books and asked if the girls there could help by massaging my knees for me.  They flung me out the door somewhat rudely and left me to collect myself and climb back over the wee wall from the garden bit where I landed and attempt to make my way home. This proved difficult as today's Victorian school arrived like a stampede of Buffalo and ran over me once again.
As I climbed the stairs thanks were offered for bits of me still working.

Then came the painters.  Limited in their work by the rain nothing has been done for a week, one being afraid to climb the ladder in the high wind yesterday in case it blew him off, the big Jessie!  I see no reason for this as he has already fallen off one so must be used to it.  Today, as the rain ceased they glossed the bottom windows and following his success of leaving my living room window jammed for five years jammed the bedroom one!  Much later, we both struggled after he had released the window from his six inches of paint and attempted to get the thing to shut again!  He almost fell off his ladder that time, but I changed my mind and didn't push!  Sash windows can be difficult, especially when he is around.  This pair also involved me with clambering up and down stairs to assist lost motorists find places when their map failed to include the one way systems.  I also had to convey tea to the workers. 'Workers' is a word used loosely around these parts. They have not finished and have been called away to other jobs.  They might be back by February.  My windows are open, downstairs remain jammed!


.

Pope, Football and Knees.

I took the opportunity to hobble out at one point this morning to experience some sunlight and blue sky. That interesting colour scheme when leaves begin to die was to be seen everywhere yet hanging from the branches were many young caterpillar type beasties convinced it was Spring! The warm weather may end tomorrow as the US is sending us another storm apparently. Just when the Gas and electric men are beginning to wonder where their million pound bonus's are coming from a storm approaches.  If even October is this warm how cold will February be I wonder?  

The day had begun with the BBC's continual support for the gay lobby.  The main news being Pope Francis and his desire to accept gays as people.  There was of course other news but that was way down the list at the BBC.  If only the news had been that he wished to accept that the reformation was what required study.  Jesus accepts gays and all others who do wrong simply because he came to earth to save sinners, not righteous folks.  Francie makes only two mistakes in his speech, he refuses to accept the word of God as written for him and does not proclaim Jesus first words - 'Repent!'
Jesus died to make us acceptable to God, however the turning from our was and turning to his way, repentance, is required.  We cannot continue doing our own thing, and when we do it brings misery I can tell you!   Real life, abundant life can only be found in him. 
I like Francis.  His poor theology aside he is a man who has attempted to build bridges with all around him, even the president who disliked him, and had an evangelical friend as his financial manager.  He clearly has a concern for the poor, he does wish to bring people together and is open to discussion with anyone, except the US Archbishop whom he has moved to a lesser position because he was too 'conservative' for him.  It all gives the impression of a man who wishes to accept everyone, just as God wishes to accept us all.  However without emphasising the death and resurrection of the Messiah on the cross and our need to be born anew his message could easily be seen as 'be nice to one another.' Eternity goes on forever and those unrepentant will not spend their eternity with Jesus.  
There is a thin dividing line between following Jesus and doing it our way.  At the moment Francis does it his churches way and this could deceive many. However there is always the possibility it could turn many back to considering God in their lives, and how we need this at this moment in time.

If you are going to make a mess of things do it properly I say.  These Queens Park Rangers men certainly did today.  They outplayed Liverpool from the start yet managed to score two, yes two goals for Liverpool!  At the end they lost 3-2 and had only themselves to blame.  
It's a funny old game and Jimmy Greaves never said, even if you are the best you still lose. Usually you lose because they score, not because you score for them and certainly not twice! How much do they pay these defenders I wonder?  
Pope Francis supports San Lorenzo by the way.

There was nothing else to do today.  I could not walk far as my pins ache from pulled muscles and aching other bits under strain from the way I walk.  This exercise is a good one, what a shame it is crippling me!!!

.

PM's

This small book about Clem Attlee, Labour's great post war Prime Minister, is one of two such books I read recently, the other concerning Lloyd George, a man who could make Tony Blair look innocent. These small but well written books are great overviews of the lives and works of previous Prime Ministers. Attlee comes out of his looking like a humble man from a wealthy background who found his role in life in bringing about a fairer society, and this he did well. Not the type to enrapture audiences, his speeches were short and to the point, and some say somewhat lacking, but his heart was for the people.  His lawyer father in the better class district of Putney, better class then, saw his son spend more and more time in the youth club in the east end of London endevouring to improve the lives of the people there.  After much time in local councils and as MP he fell into the leadership of the Labour Party as all the other contenders fell out!  When the war arrived his office management style suited many and when Winston Churchill toured the war areas Attlee ran the cabinet as deputy PM. Efficient, short of words yet to the point he allowed others to debate while he summed up the discussion.  Almost always his summary was accepted.  His leadership saw the nationalisation of the railways, electric companies, gas and water boards.  The pride of all was the National Health Service, the greatest thing ever produced in this nation, now sadly put on sale by the Conservative Party.  Attlee lived humbly, his holiday was driving his wife around the south west in their little car, no escort, no publicity.  His like will never lead us again sadly.

Lloyd George however was very different.  While keen to improve the state of the nation, he introduced pensions, dole money and more in his 1909 budget, he was very happy to pocket any cash that came his way.  Very able and far from slow in coming forward his speeches could rouse an audience and bring others round to his viewpoint, or just bamboozle them.  His work rate was also enormous, the Great War could not have been won without him!  With the nation behind Germany in every way he alone improved munition work, fighting spirit and every area of the home front and much of the firepower at the front itself.  His failing was he was no soldier and thought the war could be won by the back door. Hence he and his friend Churchill produced the failed Gallipoli campaign, the waste of Salonika, and encouraged other Middle East enterprises. In between all this he noticed lots of women around, especially his secretary. There is no doubt he was one of the , if not the, most important politician of the early twentieth century.  His morals were simple, 'me first!'  'If it works, do it,' let others worry. While he actually loved his wife he managed to love his secretary and 'venture' with others along the way, women do like a 'powerful man' don't they.  His failure to support Field Marshall Haig could have cost us the war, his attempt to smear Haig via his memoirs, by insinuating Haig cost 750,000 British lives, fails when we remember Lloyd George was Prime Minister!  His memoirs read could have been titled 'It wasn't me, it was him!' He was however wrong!  

Attlee a powerful politician, unassuming but capable, Lloyd George loud, aggressive, powerful yet which benefited the nation more.  Both partook of major war efforts, both attempted to lift the poorest, both made major changes to British society and the world order.  Lloyd George shaped the Middle East during the twenties, Attlee brought about the 'end of Empire.'  Attlee was clearly the better man, as a man, Lloyd George the more powerful politician who got things done.  he could not however fire Haig, there was none better!

   .