Watching Paint Dry

So far I have managed to paint half a room.
The painting is quite straightforward.  I take the paint, apply it to the roller and spread it over the wall, the ceiling, the floor, the furniture and myself.  This in spite of acres of plastic sheeting, spending half the day just shifting things into spaces that don't exist and being as careful as I always happen to be.  had it not been for the window I would paint naked as it would be easier to clean afterwards.  This suggestion has not met with support from colleagues who muttered "Cap'n Ahab, thar she bows!" In a rather unkind manner.  
This morning, intending to continue on this side, I replaced the items from the other back where they belong.  This was going well until I decided to change things and naturally it has all fallen apart.  The exercise of moving things this way and that might be good for me but it is a pain just the same.
As I spent all day at the museum yesterday (95 children from that school!) I was not inclined to do anything that evening.  I still wasn't this morning.  However I managed to get something done except for the vast amount of stuff all over the floor placed in such a manner to ensure I fall over it constantly.

  
Much of the time has been spent considering better bookcases (of the cheap variety) that would be more appropriate for that corner.  Also deciding whether to move everything around and as always realising there is only one place they can all fit.  That and scraping white dots from almost anything to hand fills the day.  

 

The Conservative Party leadership election continues apace, a slow pace that is.  The rigged Tory only election has been easy to read, with all decent characters, that is able men, ruled out, only inept half wit men were able to stand, they are left with a choice between two women who have all the ideology of Margaret Thatcher but without the intellect.  This is so Theresa May, seen in this rigged picture, will be able to continue destroying the nation as ably as Cameron and Osborne had been doing up till now.  

May keeps herself to herself, has until now few friends in government, a husband who is a director of Group 4, a company who have failed and failed again spectacularly yet for some reason keep getting government contracts to run prisons, escort prisoners, run security at events and the like.  All fail, all cost vast sums and all contracts are renewed at great cost to the famous taxpayer.  

As Home Secretary May has cut the numbers of police, prison warders, and wishes to do more of this.  She hates the NHS and anything socialist, like care for others, and will undoubtedly be created Prime Minister in a few weeks time.

Her opponent whatsername is apparently a Christina and as such has been pilloried by the perverts in the media as you'd expect.  Few have bothered much about her dubious CV, her lack of ability and experience and none have mentioned she is only there to allow Theresa May to win.

The nation trembles.

50 years No Change

The elite who dominate television today are much more careful of the effects programmes can have than they were in the past.  Or possibly it is that in the past TV producers were really trying to prove the power of TV and also wished to change society for the better, today TV people are the elite and wish to keep it that way.  Therefore the screen is dominated by pap!  Soap Operas dominate, drama is mere soap opera with guns and explosions and the day is filled with mind numbing emptiness.
Anything that shakes society is not allowed, any programme that investigates the powerful is hindered all the way, even the BBC news broadcasts are strictly limited by government influence these days, how bad is that?
During 1966, when I was a mere 15 years old and therefore open to radical thought, a programme appeared on screen during a series called 'The Wednesday Play.'  Today this would be middle class angst at best or soap opera pap at worst but in 1966 these plays tackled social issues in a manner never seen before.  Radical, outspoken and bringing the reality of life into the home for many thereby disturbing the nations settled existence.
One such programme was 'Cathy Come Home,' a play concerning the break up of the happy life of a young couple left to defend themselves against an uncaring state.
The story is simple enough, young and free they marry, get a house, get a job and begin a family.  All goes well until illness means he loses his job, bailiffs throw them out of their house, they end up squatting in ruined homes, he runs off and eventually the kids are taken away from her.
Watching this in my happy Edinburgh home I was seriously touched by the image in front of me in the way only a 15 year old can be.  The nation was touched also.  How could such things be in our state?  Questions were asked in parliament, debate raged in the media, and in the end nothing changed.
In the early 60's some were working to change the situation regarding housing in the UK one of them a Church of Scotland minister called Bruce Kenrick.  This man worked in Notting Hill now the paradise of £1 million pound one bed flats but then a hell on earth of bed sits and crooked landlords. On top of this there were racial tensions as the locals objected to black and Irish immigrants moving into the area, many flats for rent had signs, 'No Blacks & No Irish.'  Riots occurred in Notting Hill during 1958 in which local 'Teddy Boys' attacked those they disliked.  All lived in squalid poor accommodation and the lack of decent housing was one cause of the problems.
Bruce Kendrick began the Notting Hill Housing Trust with no money whatsoever and this has since grown to manage some 28,000 properties.  I spent a year working there moving people into new home back in the early 70's before you were born.
A few weeks after 'Cathy Come Home' was screened Bruce brought into being the housing charity 'Shelter' which has become established throughout the land campaigning for better housing for all.  It is noticeable that since Thatcher their work has been harder still!  
The quality of the production, using radical techniques unknown at the time to TV audiences heightened the power of 'Cathy Come Home.'  It hit hard and has often been seen as the best TV programme ever offered.  Maybe this is indeed the case, the effect has never left me and was one reason for my joining the charity work in Notting Hill in 1971.   However the programme made little difference, governments then, Conservative and Labour, were concerned with keeping their jobs rather than running after TV programmes and public outcries.  Fuss and bother has never moved an MP to radical action and it did nothing in 1966 and does nothing today under an ever more elite governing class than what existed in the 60's.
I just remembered how things were after the war, then there was an urgent need for housing and various governments wondered what to do.  The Conservatives led by Churchill (a Liberal by nature) instructed Harold MacMillan to build 3 million in three years.  This he did in less time!  These council homes were on the whole decent enough and if the people were good the area was good.  The people decide if it is decent  not politicians.  Until Thatcher all was well but the greedy money loving uncaring brute allowed these to be bought by the residents cheaply, these decent homes were soon sold for a fat profit (by Labour 'socialists' as well as Tories) and now we have a housing problem.  I wonder why?  New houses today will only be built by developers for fat profit not for the people. 
Only strong political leadership can change a nation, we appear to have had little in the past and certainly have none whatsoever today.   

Normal Day

Back to normal today.  
Busy morning tending to people who come to the museum to borrow things for other museums or discuss items from the recent deceased they will to donate, or a gas man wondering if he has to dig up the mains into the building.
All the usual stuff.
Oh and one young Star Wars Jedi came to see the exhibition and left happy to have stood near Darth Vader and some strange looking creatures I know nothing about.  I can recognise Superman and Batman, Spiderman and Darth Vader but some of these things are beyond me and my will to ask about.
Still it brings people in, brings in enough to pay for the exhibition (privately owned exhibits, owned by a Mr Luke Skywalker!) and during the summer hols will entertain the kids, the weirdos and no doubt we will enjoy it also.

The eyes on these creatures is quite something but my wee camera does not capture it properly.
Just wandering amongst them made me wonder about the people who think up the variety of creatures shown here.  Someone has to sit down and design them, where do they get their ideas from?  I know the models used in the film, the huge space ships, the flying things and the lights were all made somewhere in the UK, and when put into a film look brilliant.  

  
Not too sure about this creature, nor the lighting they have used on him!
What sort of superhero canny fly anyway?

My Joy Continues

Returning home yesterday morning from St Paul's where I had been persuaded to add my name to the church booklet (does this mean I'm an Anglican heretic?) I discovered the place swarming with these bees.  The kitchen was full of the brutes and having cleared them out I spent the rest of the day forcing more, in one's and two's, out of other windows.
Where did they come from?
I have a horrid idea that a Queen has found a home in the side of the house and we will have this lot all summer buzzing around the kitchen window, hovering across my delicacies and being annoyed by my swiping them with a rolled up newspaper.
Oh joy!

  
How old is this oak tree?  This one has sat here near a p-lace called 'Hanging Hill' for many a day.
i wonder if it is 300 years old or thereabouts?  They do last a long time.
Whether 'Hanging Hill' was used for hangings has not yet been proved but the name comes from somewhere.  Possibly a corruption of an old English word, possibly where they hanged miscreants. Rough justice in these parts in days gone by.  There again the justice was served by the local nobles and not near this place, and hangings took place shortly after sentence unless you were an important bod. 
So who planted the trees down by the river?  Did they occur naturally or was there a plan?  I suppose we will never know.  Today this is a pleasant but muddy wander along the unseen river at this point.  That appears later when a wooden path has been constructed. 

The far banks were until recently the grounds of a convent of some sort.  Here the nuns and their visitors could relax and contemplate while pushing one another into the river for fun.  Next time I take the bike out I will trundle down the councils newly laid path that runs around this area and see if I can find anything interesting.
Treasure chests, dead bodies, plastic bottles and empty beer cans possibly. 

The rain clouds, complete with a tiny airplane, threatened me all the time I wandered along.  Pah!

Now I have to spend the morning furniture shifting, wall painting (which will go on for ever at my rate) and go to the museum for an afternoons volunteer get together.  When, ask I, will I get my siesta?  

O.A.P.

I couldn't take it any more.
The red eyes this morning told a story.
Breakfast was poor.
Weather was windy.
The item I bought early on did not fit.
The trip I planned fell through.
I reviewed my life.
The years of stupid actions.
The mistakes.
The failings.
The time I stood among Hibernian fans instead of the Heart of Midlothian fans and cheered a goal.
The failings with women, "psst missus, fancy coming up and ironing my shirts?"
Failure in the hospital, "You cut off what when shaving the man?"
The failure at work, "I disagree boss..."
The failure at writing begging letters and end up sending them money.
I sat in the cupboard and downed cyanide tablets but they were out of date.
I went to drink turpentine but there was non.
The razor blades don't work.
There was nothing for it but the river.
So attached to an aged mill stone I jumped in, you can just make out the ripples.

I am 65 today.   

 

2nd Battalion Essex Regiment, Somme 1st July 16

The Somme battle was a result of war co-operation between the allies Britain, France and Russia for the offensive's in 1916.  While Britain and France 'pushed' from the west Russia was to launch an attack in the east on the Austro-Hungarian forces.

The Germans however got in first by attacking at Verdun in such a manner as to 'Bleed France white.'

Such was the weight of the battle that the French began to drift from the Somme attack and left this to General Haig to command.  Haig did not wish to fight at the Somme but the London government were in awe of France and insisted that he follow their lead as they had done the year before when forcing the then Commander in Chief Sir John French to fight at Loos.  That was a disaster and the fighting there continued until 1918.

A huge logistical operation was undertaken and a line sixteen miles long became the battle line.  Over 1500 guns were to spend an entire week firing at the German line in an attempt to break the enemy wire and damage their trench system.  Shortly before the attack mines spread along the lone were to be exploded, damaging the trench system and the shock allowing the allies to penetrate the enemy line.

The majority of battalions participating in this battle were the men who volunteered willingly in 1914.  Over two and a half million men volunteered between August 1914 and December 31st 1915. Some had been in France since Spring 1915 and seen action of some sort, others arrived on the day of battle and few of these had fired a shot in practice let alone in anger.

On 1st July 1916 the mines went off, the barrage lifted to the second line and over 100,000 men left their trench and advanced on the enemy. 

Only then were the failures to be revealed.

The enemy wire in many places was uncut, trenches often undamaged and the early firing of the Hawthorn Ridge mine ensued the Germans were ready and waiting when the attack came.  Many of the million and a half shells had failed to explode or went off early.  The shock element was limited and with both machine gun and artillery, and artillery which had been 'hidden' by the Germans, opening fire the attackers came under a hail of fire and advance bent over as though walking through heavy rain.  In some places the front line and further was reached but in many the British fell within yards of their own trench.  

Two men from this region fell that day. 

Robert Leslie Ratcliff a 19 year old Bocking man was one.  Born Bocking in 1897 a resident of Panfield Lane Robert enlisted in the 2nd Battalion of the Essex Regiment.  It is most likely he did so with friends from the area at the time.  Also serving in the 2nd Battalion was 19 year old George Leonard Smoothy from Chapel Hill.  George came from a family of ten children, not uncommon for the time.  George had enlisted in the 12th Battalion of the Essex Regiment, a 'Kitchener battalion comprising local volunteers and been rejected because of faulty vision.  However with a brother a 'regular' in the 2nd Battalion he turns up there in time for this battle.  His brother fought through many major battles surviving the war yet died from appendicitis in 1919.

The battalion advanced and came under heavy machine gun and artillery fire the moment they left their trench. Firing from the residue of the towns of Serre and Beaumont Hamel on either flank hindered the advance however some parties advanced 2000 yards into the enemy line reaching to  Pendant Copse until enemy bombers forced a return to the trench system known as the 'Quadrilateral.' Here a stand was made until relieved during the night.

Somewhere during the battle Robert and George fell, their bodies were never recovered and their names are engraved on the Theipval Memorial along with almost 72,000 others from the Somme conflict.

Battalion Casualties were 22 officers and 400 other ranks.

Total casualties that day were around 19,000 British dead and another 40,000 wounded.  By the end of the battle, or series of 'battles' there were almost 400,000 British and similar German casualties.  However in context of the time the 'Brusilov Offensive' where the Russian forces attacked across what is now Ukraine against the Austro-Hungarians some 1,350,000 were casualties.  

By the end of the war Britian lost less men that France, Germany or Russia and their Generals were not hounded as some of the British Generals were by politicians, like Prime Minister LLoyd George trying to avoid responsibility for the deaths. 

Braintree & Bocking Great War Memorial 

A Signpost or Not

I have been so confused re the stuff I have scribbled recently that I am not sure which way I am headed.  In deed so unsure am I that I just spelt 'sure' as 'shure!'  I am not used to work, let alone with deadlines.  
Taking the laptop into work today I managed to complete one paragraph of three sentences because of all the interruptions.  Who allows people into a museum when I am busy?  Why do they keep asking questions when they can see I am thinking?  Yes thinking!
Bah!

So after all his careful stabbing in the back Boris Johnson is not going to be Prime Minister!  
His devious Aberdonian mate Michael Gove looks now to be the front runner and the man to destroy our economy sleekit like instead of by handfuls of incompetence that Boris offered.
Now he and several others, that means Theresa May, will fight it out for the job.  Does he wish the responsibility of leaving the EU?  She says she will but is in favour of it, some say anyway.  He is not in favour of the EU yet was in favour of lying in his teeth to get the position.
Doomed, we are all doomed!
Which way now UK....?

Laptop Shaped Eyes

Having spent most of the day typing the wrong words into the laptop I am not willing to type many more.  Pictures, yes, moving images, yes, line after line of words, no!
Once I shook of the early morning lethargy, around ten, I began scribbling away.  Naturally I had no idea what I was talking about (The Somme and our local men's involvement) and all the links I looked for turned out to be useless!  My ever helpful array of books did not have the information I wished, the Google search was fruitless much of the time but eventually I found the lost links and got what I required.  
I was writing about five dead men killed under a hail of bullet and shell, why do I grumble when little things go wrong and nothing makes sense?  
Anyway I wandered away to address other problems and returned to the by now switched off laptop.  Coming back to life it went haywire and I found myself with my old 'Word' asking which saved copy I wished.  Neither were the one I was working on, that had disappeared.
I chose the best, returned to rewriting the whole thing and by long after the curfew I managed to scramble something together that will not do at all when she sees it in the morning.  
Muttering things of the top of my enormous head here is one thing, writing for others who can read and think at the same time with no understanding of my mental outlook is quite another.  When I enter the premisis tomorrow I expect blank looks and rude words for my efforts.

An almost twenty year old picture there, but the weather has not changed much, except for getting worse of course.  How can I excercise when the wind outside is so strong it blows my bike back the way I have come?  Worse on a hill!
So instead I exercised inside today as I hoped this woudl stimulate the brain.  
It failed but it did stimulate several muscles to screech blue murder as I did so.  Now other areas are indicating they did not like such efforts either.  It's not as if I did much is it?  Yet I fear for the morning as it will be rougher when I wake.

Iceland Make me Giggle.

The sad faces around town today after England's ignominious defeat by Iceland in the European Championships has really made my day.  All the vehicles yesterday festooned wth little England flags are suddenly  without them and nobody wishes to bring them back to memory.
It's a giggle innit?
Naturally I have said little, few at work care, but it is clear if I play my cards correctly I can wander round to the 'Iceland' supermarket and carry one of their bags for a few days in an irritating manner just for fun.  Well fun for me anyhow.
The TV & radio appear disinterested in the result.  An attempt at hanging them all has been underway but there is no real heart in it.  Before they went they knew deep inside they would fail so resentment is hard to collect.
In fact so little trouble was caused in this small town that it took over an hour before a set of blue flashing lights made its way towards the pubs.  In the past it would take around ten minutes for trouble to brew.  
Ah well, real football begins on Thursday anyway.

     
A hard slog today.  Suddenly I was ordered to dig out material so that we could put something in the local paper.  
"When do you want it?" I foolishly asked. 
"By three!" Shae replied.
 Yikes! It's half one now!
Coming home the workman was next door and he started to ask about his dead uncle who served in the war.  Foolishly I began a search.  Finding nothing Idiscovered I had ten minutes to send something I had not done by email.
Doing said project I discovered it was a daft idea.  So I did another relevant one and sent it on.
"Good."  Came the reply,  "I can make use of this mess and rewrite in English."
Happily I relaxed.
"And I want a full blog on this NOW!" 
I have started it and have been given the impression it must be in by tomorrow or bits will be cut off.
Women are such hard taskmasters.
I have not had my siesta because of this and I feel the lack of it now.
Bah!

Rabbit & Squirrel Breakfast

Rabbits, those cuddly creature loved by kiddies and hated by farmers, go back a long way.  Excavators at Boxgrove in West Sussex found evidence of then dating back to half a million years BC.  The Ice Age soon chased them away and the Phoenicians recorded them in Spain 2000 years BC.  Some claim the Romans brought them to Britannia but that is not yet proved.  Certainly the Romans farmed them, except when the beasts dug deep and escaped, and somehow or other farmers can prove they exist in Britannia now.  The Romans ate them as a useful food source but the Old Testament classed them as 'unclean' foodstuffs as they like pigs, camels and other banned creatures  scavenge and live off anything around and are therefore unhealthy.  You would not eat pigeons today for the same reason, whether wild rabbits are healthy only farmers can say as I believe many still eat those they shoot.

Six thirty in the morning is a good time for breakfast.  Fattening food from chip shops or takeaways do not bother some people however.  If it's free go for it is the attitude even if it is raining hard.

 
Not sure I would eat him either mind.

Spy Woman, Fat and Mess

Last night, as there was no football to stimulate the mind, I wandered round to the museum to hear a talk on Krystyna Skarbek by a local author Clare Mulley.  It seems this was a well to do Polish lass who  was a bit of an adventure seeker.  When the Germans invaded she was in South Africa for reasons I forget and made her way to London and offered herself for spy work.  The British of course had no women in such roles and espionage and behind the lines work was considered somewhat dangerous for wee lassies early in the war.  Later when things were organised several women died, often horribly, for work behind the lines in France.
Eventually Krystyna got work via the Polish forces and spent some time gathering information and boyfriends along the way, I told you she was adventurous, predatory possibly one said.  She worked in dangerous situations in Europe with a husband/boyfriend I forget which there were lots, and only by feigning TB did she manage to get the Germans to throw both of them out.  Their escape across Europe led them to Cairo where the British considered her a German double agent!  Lifes like that.
Later from London she entered France and worked alongside several others annoying the Germans before and after D-Day.
She was awarded many medals including a George Cross, the highest civilian award for bravery, an OBE and the Croix de Guerre plus the usual things.  Not bad for a wee lassie.  She also ended up with two husbands, several men and lots of associations.  As the Soviet KGB also knew about her she was of no use after the war to the British spy network so she was dumped.  She was also refused British citizenship, something this continues today where such folks are concerned, but eventually settled under one of her many names in London. 
Here however an angry boyfriend stabbed her to death and ended her life in 1952.  A somewhat sad end to a woman of adventure and er, romance.
The talk was interesting even though the acoustics are not great and my hearing failures meant I missed much of it.  I would have bought the book but through no fault of my own I ended up washing the cups! 

Before the thunder & lightning returned this morning I headed East into the sun on my rusty old bike and made my way around town in an effort to get fit.  I got stiff knees and aching back so this fitness idea is working.  However the weight is creeping up rather than falling and later today as I visited the Turkish Market that appeared the other day for the second time and came home with a large bag of Mediterranean sweet cakes I wondered why?  You know what I refer to?  The Middle East sweet cakes stuffed with healthy things and wrapped in greasy unhealthy stuff?  I love them and rarely see them so I bought too many the other day and foolishly ate them!  I may need to ride the bike to Inverness to lose the weight I am putting on today!   
However I managed to buy the black cord jacket I have been looking for since three years ago for £12 in an expensive charity shop.  This idea of smartening myself up appears to be working.  Now I look like a poor man's Jeremy Clarkson but without the talent!
Good news however football has returned for a while.  Are you not all glad?

Well it worked!  Farage told them what they wished to hear, Boris scared them with talk of millions of immigrants and the people who read the 'Sun,' 'Daily Express' & 'Daily Mail' fell for it.  Now everyone with an Irish ancestor is applying for an Irish passport so they can travel in Europe, buisnessmen will have to fill reams of paper to visit EU nations, young folks are unable to work in EU as they are no longer part of it and even today some nations will not exchange the pounds in tourists pockets because they do not know hos stable the Pound actually is.  Well done Boris!
Interestingly the people who will discuss the leaving strategy have excluded Nigel Farage the rabblerouser who led from the front with his lies.  Poor thing how I feel for him!  
We now have a 'lame duck' Prime Minister who will not do anything to help the Brexit folks who have cost him his job, he cannot bring in legislation as he has no control over his party, the main contenders for his job, Boris Johnson, Michael Gove and Theresa May are collecting friends and stabbing each other in the back as we speak, well they are stabbing Boris as no Conservative member really wishes him as leader.  George Osborne however has disappeared altogether, where is he?  His faulty handling of the economy, his high handed approach to the nation and his failing budgets mean few Tories will vote for him. The Labour Party is divided and the lack of leadership worrying, The Lib-dems mean nothing and only the Scots nationalists have a clue what to do.
Another independence vote is on the cards soon.  Just see how many companies cross the border and settle in Edinburgh then!  In Ireland even those who wish to remain 'British' and looking for Irish passports, and the Belfast government has no choice but to discuss unity with Dublin.  Europe on one hand laughs, on the other is afraid others will wish to join England.  
All is amiss and if Putin wishes to invade now is the time!

  

Sick!

In three months time one of these two, George Osborne the incompetent Chancellor and Boris Johnson the man who as Mayor of London sold it to the Chinese and Russians, will be leader of the Conservative Party and therefore Prime Minister!   This is the result of the referendum in which the little englanders with their fear of immigrants roused voted for Boris and to leave the EU.  From what I could gather, and it is not easy to gather EU info, we were better off inside attempting to change things.  Now we are out, the trade deals worse and they will change the EU without us.  Scotland will soon attempt another referendum on independence.  This will be a 99% success if Boris or George come to the throne.  Neither know where Scotland is, neither care.  The only good thing about all this fuss is the removal of David Cameron.  From now on he tours the world getting paid extortionate fees. 

I am thinking of joining the thousands who at this moment are heading north to Scotland and a fairer society.  Nothing can stop this bar the lack of money and rain, I am sick of rain!

At least it is over, however after October we will possibly have a general election  and go through all this again.

Will we Stay or Will we Go...?

Using the 'Learning for Life' centre, part of the museum, as a voting booth may well have struck some of those gathering to choose their nations future as appropriate.  There can be no doubt that if the 'Little Englanders' and those who wish to bring back the Empire get their way and follow Boris (Let me be Prime Minister) Johnson then the nation is done the tubes without much hope of redemption.  The great fear of immigrants 'Come over here taking our jobs, living off the dole,' in areas where there are no immigrants has been exaggerated by Messrs Farage & Johnson and others for their own ends.  Far too many Englishmen, and it is Englishmen not Welsh, Irish or Scots who follow Johnson, are happy to believe the rabblerousing of these desperate men.  
Still it was useful as it enabled me to put my cross in the box marked 'Scottish Nationalist' and really confuse the folks counting the ballot papers late tonight.  It appears 46 and a half million people can vote today, whether the majority will be able to is a question.  Hopefully we have a 75% turnout as at least we will get a decent view of peoples opinions.  Opinions that have been hard to discover as the lies, boredom and sheer incompetence of the protagonists has put many off.  It was difficult to attempt to work out the truth but I thought I got some idea, whether it was right we will have to wait and see.
Tomorrow about seven we might know the answer as to who has won. 

Travel Thoughts

Funny how our thoughts change with time.
I was reading a blog in which a young man tells of the difference between spending time travelling and then returning to the real world.  I think reading it we can all find something to identify with in his tale.
He talks of hitchhiking around, the people he met and places he visited.  He discusses the differences in attitudes between those friendly folks he met while walking and the daily grind where smiles do not exist.  We have all been there.
I can recall similar attitudes.  The difference between the behaviour of the people on the Edinburgh to Kings Cross train and the attitudes found in the deep, dank London Underground come to mind.  People travelling long distance often, but not always, show a more relaxed approach to those around them while the man in the 'tube' cares little and fears much from his companions.  I understand that!  People who pick you up when hitchhiking along the A1 I found were often friendly and helpful, not counting the old fella late at night south of Newcastle who offered me a fiver for a little job!   
The fact is when in your youth travelling around, especially slowly, lets you see the country in a way never seen by staying in a boring job or never leaving one place of residence.  Changes in landscape, how others live, local foodstuffs, dialect and language differences all leave a mark and returning home life seems in many ways safe but boring.  
My adventure in 1974 in which I bought a bike, not having ridden one for years, piled stuff into the saddlebags and two or three weeks later cycled off to London gave me similar thoughts.  It also gave me the thought that I ought to have bought the stolen bike six months before not three weeks! However I saw a world I would have missed, met people I would not have known and been considered mad by folks who did not know me as well as those around today who consider me mad from experience.
Those rich kids who can travel to exotic places, Europe, the Americas, Australasia or Greenock benefit even more by finding sunshine, exotic foodstuffs, large spiders and Berri-Berri, all this makes the mince and tatties of their childhood pales into significance, especially the Berri-Berri, however in some cases it may become all to familiar!
However in the end reality sets in.  Home, wherever it is made, means work to earn the cash to pay for the lifestyle.  No matter what you do, no matter how talented, no matter how freelance you may be there are always deadlines to meet and people to obey.  Freedom from work does not exist until you retire and for many a cheap life is all they have then.  Mind you when in the 90's a cheap life is what most need!  I will soon know. 
The joy of heading down the road into the sunshine is great when young.  I recall returning to Edinburgh and watching a drama in which a young man heads off by rail into the future.  As he stood discussing this with his near tearful girl the rail line stretched out behind him and as a 20 year old I so wanted to follow that railway - anywhere!  Today I know that at the other end life is just the same as here, such a disappointment!  
We are lucky that in some cases our life improves when we follow the railway.  Jesus took me back to London and life with him is better than any other.  Others make a good life even if the rainbow does not land outside the door, some of course fall through the net and vanish.  In the end the desire to see the world and the newness of life fade somewhat.  Life can be good but age and experience alas arrives.  The good things alongside this can make up for this, family, friends, wealth, hobbies, lifestyle and the like but the youthful outlook will perish. 
Such a shame innit.  

New Exhibition

With the rain postponed until tomorrow when I wish to be out and about I walked to work in some degree of sunshine and warmth this morning.  Englishmen, being what they are, wore T-shirts and shorts and pretended they were in Marbella rather than Essex, but there again that is the Essex mentality, rather blank.  
I was somewhat surprised to note the Textile exhibit had ended, I forgot to check dates again, and soon afterwards the people arrived to set up the new Sci-Fi exhibition.  For the next few months we are being Star Wars, Aliens, Harry Potters, Superman, Batman and other such fantasy people, if indeed 'people' is the right word.
Super hero's aplenty will be seen wandering the museum, or at least standing against a wall hoping they do not fall down when some wee brat pulls at them.  There was a great deal of work to set up the exhibits and unfortunately I was busy in the shop clearing the mess left behind from Saturday and checking in large amounts of new items that arrived.  I so wished to help the men in the gallery.

The curators husband arrived at one point with some tools that were required for the workers.  he dumped them, chatted as you do and as he left we exchanged a few words regarding the exhibition.
In my innocent manner I indicated this would draw all the weirdo's who think they are Jedi into the museum.
"JEDI!" He exclaimed forcefully. Indicating the correct pronunciation.
It struck me I had struck a cord here.
This man was a 'Jedi.'
"We are in our forties and fifties you know," he stammered, "We have jobs and everything!"
He left offering me a glare.
Hmmm thought I, I touched a nerve there. 
His wife indicated he was not yet in his forties, he was into 'Jedi' and was not far from giggling at his response.  I suspect she will have taken this further when she got home.
He might use his Jedi self defence skills on me next time.

The fellow organising the exhibits told me there have been seven Star Wars films and there are ten more in the making!  The man who took the rights to Star Wars did himself a favour here.  How many millions has he made through these films, or at least the spin offs from them?  I myself have only seen one, the first one, and bits of the others.  Movies are not my thing, I get bored.  However I am now envious of the money he has made!  Just think, if I had his money I could afford to buy some of the Star Wars films merchandise!

Good night Jedi everywhere.

Now I'm Not One to Complain...

Midsummer's Day, the longest day of the year.  The sun rose almost before it went down and we could not see this as the clouds swept across the land drenching everyone and everything is a manner unknown outside of the 'driest county in England!'
The best day of the year in my mind, although the shortest is actually better come to think about it as the days get longer after that.  Tomorrow the days shorten and the nights begin to draw in.  The rain will continue however and we bless the good Lord for his gift, but ask that it might stop sometime during the day.
 

The people rejoicing in the gift of rain that brings forth crops, grass, flowers and trench foot!
 

A women's sense of dress does not take into consideration the weather so much as the place she is going.  No trench coat here, no need for spending lots at the 'Burberry' or 'Barbour' shops when a brolly will protect you from lashing rain that sweeps across the park! 
 

Whether it was to care for the young or whether it was because the rain brings worms and other beasties to the surface it was clear the big birds were not put off by the rain.  Indeed they appeared tor relish it as a large group gathered to inspect each blade of grass and listen for the worms gurgling their way to the surface.  
Monsoons strike Essex as often as they strike the colonies you know...

No Euro, Music

This was all I saw on TV this afternoon. 
NO FOOTBALL!  On a Sunday!  By three o' clock I was seeing spiders let alone cats! 
By the time I returned from St P's I had developed an appetite having forgotten to eat properly before I went out and combined with hunger and tiredness came the empty TV screen.  No football!
What a cruel world.

While I await the football here is some wonderful music.