Spring is in the Air

We awoke to snow, wind and sleet this morning.  This of course had been foretold by the weathermen, supported by the screaming headlines in the tabloid press.  The vile tabloids are the reason we see the weathermen exaggerating the forecast.  In times past there have been storms, snow, floods heavy rain and bad weather which have caused difficulties across the land.  Screaming headlines demanding action, which quickly disappear when the sun shines once again, force the forecasters to make clear that winter weather can bring snow, rain, fog, and even a storm or two.  Such weather conditions appear not to have come to the knowledge of the vile people at the tabloids.  

My favourite is the 'Daily Mail.'  A couple of years ago screaming headlines warned of three months of approaching bad weather.  The indications were terrible, we might suffer and die if we did not take careful action.

The comments below were wonderful.

"It's called 'winter' DM."

"Three months, December, January and February, DM?'  

"How old is the writer?"

And so on.

Each year the same story appears, slightly different and with worse grammar and spelling than what you see on here.  It typifies the tabloid approach to anything, not just weather.  A screaming half truth, exaggerated out of all proportion, large headlines, pictures of storm damage (often with misleading scrawl underneath), and occasionally an outright lie.  

It is no wonder such papers are dying.

Anyway, we have this for a few more days.  I will be reluctant to venture out, and endure the comments from way up north where the sun is shining brightly!  

How unfair!

Talk Halted

 

I was going to regale you with talk of my coffee drinking in here today, however, due to circumstances beyond my control, housework, cooking, and sloth, I have not yet got around to it.  I could do it but time is pressing and you have little interest in how I accidentally made the coffee too strong this morning that my shredded brain has not unshredded itself as yet, and my eyes are still staring in a fixed manner straight ahead.

Another reason was the interruption to my day by time spent reading the story of an electric kettle on one young ladies splendid blog.  Through France to Costa as it were for a kettle!  Try it Bead.  

This followed on from a very interesting walk around Bermondsey with another young lady.  (I am open to any young female)  This captivated me and brought back memories from times past and is well worth a read, though I suspect you will have already read both these splendid works by now anyway.  

This, plus watching Saturdays football highlights, means time has run out and so my work here is finished for the day.

Men With a Hobby

 

Edinburgh Bus.  (Canny find @ sorry)

I was looking at a photograph of a cut down bus being used as a repair vehicle for the Bournemouth Trolley Bus service.  Now, before you start I realise you are yawning with your mouth closed but anyway, this intrigued me.  This was not the picture in itself, a routine snap of daily life in the early 1950s, but the follow up comments on Facebook.  Such pictures bring a flurry of men 'who know!'  Indeed, many did know, they knew it was not a 'bus,' as the poster had called it but a repair wagon, a cut down ex-bus.  Soon we knew it was a Huddersfield bus cut down in 1945 and used by Bournemouth buses.  We also knew the date of the picture, the repair man was not repairing but removing trolley bus overhead wires, that bus route had ceased and normal buses were being introduced, and I was somewhat surprised the life history of the man (wearing a tie and jacket) working there was not offered.  

The point of this the need for men to have a hobby!

Men require something to do, something they understand, appreciate, and can show off with.  Buses, their origin, age, design, engine power, and a host of other needless fancies, can fill some men's mind for days.  Show a 1958 'Green Line' bus to some me and they will wax lyrical about the bus, the routes, the tall tales about driver, conductor and passengers, some of which will actually be true.  Their wives will however, roll the eyes, mutter something under the breath and change the conversation to a more practical boring subject, one which we shall ignore here.

One place I worked fishing was the thing.  This I find boring and somewhat needless but when one of the boys laid down a copy of 'Trout Monthly; or whatever it was a long boring, but quite excited, exchange of view of trout, their habits, where they could be caught, how different men went about the deed, and on and on and on and on they went.  But they were happy.  My parents had a friend, Bob, who would go off into the Highlands with his fishing gear, just to get away from her indoors, and one his own or with a friend I know not, but would return with fish for the tea.  Interestingly, this couple had an old black 'Range' on which to cook, well into the 1960s.  Quite how they managed that, and they in Morningside at that!

Alfred_Stieglitz The Hand_of_Man_

Railways of course add another level of joy to a man.  There is no limit, and no possibility of reaching the limit of knowledge about railways, both in the UK and abroad.  The subject is limitless, and some can go on about it for ever.  I once mentioned in the museum a particular railways engine, sadly I gave it the wrong name!  I was jumped on from every side, where in two minutes I had received a history of the said loco, the proper colour and name, where it is preserved, and how to see it, if I was wishing to do so.  There are almost 20 sites on facebook dealing with railways of some sort, no doubt fishing and buses also, and I keep in touch with one.  Railway enthusiasts, never 'anoraks,' can find details on almost every engine ever made somewhere on line.  There is a man, always a man, who sits and lists all engines, coaches, trucks, stations, sheds, workmen's sheds, nameplates, badges, pay details, drivers names, old lines, new lines, new lines overseas, old lines overseas, uniforms, signalling, flags, hots, oil lamps, shoes, and on and on and on and on.....They also write books, of which I had read some...

Cars also drive many a man mad, and indeed one of my highly intelligent and beautiful great nieces is indeed mad on cars.  Naturally, being a woman she is fussy about which car she wants, the colour, the wheels, the seats, the engine (which she understands better than most men, and she finds I never mention cars to her.  I get bored.

Motorcycles also have men running around, especially when the wife finds him mending the oil caked ex-army 'Matchless' 250cc on the kitchen table.  Some men take great delight in restoring such beasts.

Several thousand pounds, that could have been spent on her, hours and hours of work can lead to great satisfaction and possibly a divorce.  However, keep in mind you can always get another woman.  

The hours spent on bikes or cars, alongside travelling on aged buses, and long distant rail journeys pulled by steam engine cannot be beat by any of the rubbish filling the tv today.  Men need a hobby, photography, cars, fishing, birdwatching, you name it, men will be filling the day doing such important activities.  

Note, I say men.  Certainly women do similar things, have great knowledge and understanding, but it is mainly men who do such as this.  You see them huddle in groups around an engine, all knowing the best thing to do, standing freezing at the end of railway platforms, gazing into the skies around airports listening into radio traffic between aircraft and control.  Men need this.  It would be easy to claim this was because they had lost faith in the living God, but many such men do have such faith.   Certainly their faith enables them to avoid living for the hobby as some do, for many it is all they have to fill their lives, and the faith in the creator God who enabled man to devise such machines as steam engines, cars or aeroplanes gives much pleasure.  A great bug engine which came out of the ground a s a bit of metal, now transformed into this beast is worth considering.  And without the Lords input would they have been created?

We all have this need to do something, to be creative, to use the hands, to write, build, see, follow, and keep ourselves occupied.  Those who do not have such hobbies end up in pubs, trouble or death.  The hobbyist repairing a machine that has not worked for 40 years has more satisfaction than many of us sluggards can ever appreciate.

Urgent Football

 

I had planned a very good post for today.

However, I watched Dundee United v Aberdeen instead...

Daffodils and Books

Another day of coughing and spluttering is upon me.  I am glad, because it was much worse yesterday!  This is a bind however, I do not get out enough and while I made it to Sainsburys I really wish to go further and enjoy the days blue skies.  This explains more Daffodils.

However, with the aid of a bag of casserole veg and some chicken I did made an excellent casserole.  Even I was amazed, and it actually had taste, lots of taste.  Lots of chicken stock and black pepper also I note, and believe me you note the pepper!  This is the first time I have made this, and I am amazed at my talent.  Tonight of course it is cheese on toast...

Pont the cartoonist, understood the nation quite well.  On 'World Book Day' this appeared on Twitter, and I think it sums people up very well.  I tend not to give books away, I may wish to look into them again, and if lent they never return.  I know this as I look at my bookshelves while asking "Where did that come from?"  These days I do not meet the type who read books so much as I used to in the past, the Brexiteer is happy with the 'Daily Express' or the 'Sun' and the women tend to go for girlie books.  The local charity shops offer many books, all too often rubbish girlie novels, and the 'Sue Ryder' shop which used to have many good books available cheap has gone downhill sadly in the past few years, new management I suspect.  

I have two books I have finished sitting here, I may post them, but by that time I may have forgotten what they were about!  Some books take so long to read, one here has 700 pages of small print, indeed, all his books are like that, and he writes many books.  How do these people find the time?  

I have begun a couple of books and already have found a glaring fault in one. This makes me feel very 'Holy Wullie,' but as I read I expect I will be put in my place as I go along.

Radio 4 Extra has a series 'The Book' by Keith Houston, on how books came to be made and on and on about them.  15 minute programmes, worth a listen if you can.  It is amazing that from marks on clay tablets down in Sumer some umpteen thousand years ago, we have now so many books, also on phones and tablets, that I find it amazing that we are still so ignorant!  From the number of sheep bought or amount of beer produced we can read any book from anywhere, now and in the past, via the internet, and so much is available still.  The thoughts of great minds, the humour down through the years, the threats, and the routine daily operation of business, church and politics for centuries can be 

read by us today.  I think reading is great!  

Unless you are reduced to reading this....

London Scots

At first sight I thought this would be an interesting look at Scotsmen in London during the Great War.  I was however, immediately disappointed.  The book is based on the work done at the St Columba's Church (Church of Scotland) in Chelsea, a prosperous area and thereby indicates the type of Scots we would be reading about.  

Many Scots followed James VI when he took on the role as James I of England.  They were not all welcomed then as now, but many prospered and fair to say the financial districts saw a great infusion of Scots blood, especially after the Lords were bribed and threatened to sell Scotland to England in 1707.  No money in Edinburgh for 50 years after that so they moved south.  Their Tory, Unionist descendants do similar to this day. 

I had hoped for a more detailed life of Scots at the time of the war but while we are given some information much of the book is based on the 'St Columba's Church Magazine of the time, reports of the London Scottish Rugby Club, the London Scottish Regiment, and similar Caledonian organisations. 

All these represent the middle classes in London, the lower orders not only not invited they could not afford the membership fees of many such glittering organisations.  This does not mean they were bad in themselves, it does indicate a small portion of Scots in London, it is not representative of all.

At the beginning of the war it was realised something needed to be done to aid Scots soldiers passing through.  The church, especially the women, you will know then type yourself, decided to be ready to help.  The various organisations in London aimed at Scots soon merged together, if not into one organisation, at least to work together for efficient aid to soldiers in the field, as well as to those passing through London.  Victoria Station was the main departure point for 'the front' and soon Scots troops were being herded to and from the church for a clean up, feeding, and provisioned as they went home on leave or returned to war.  

Indeed, a great and mighty effort was made by the church people here.  It appears their work became known in the line and soon 'sodgers frae a pairts' were awaiting the call at Victoria to be paraded into the church care.  Thousands from all Scots regiments, and one or two others with them, passed through the doors at Pont Street.  

There can be no doubt that whatever their real belief it is clear many a man was inspired, encouraged and developed a faith, or at least some hope, while worshiping in this church.  Especially those returning from leave.

While the various organisations fed the men in Chelsea, they also provided parcels for the front.  Many items taken for granted back home were much desired 'in the field.'  New socks by the thousand, 'Bovril' type cubes, sweets, soap, toothpaste, (many men had to be taught how to use toothbrushes at the time) and other items requested by the men when home were sent out.  Also on offer were newspapers from home, books and magazines, items designed to take the men's minds of the war while at rest (if they got any).  Vast quantities of such things were collected in a well organised fashion and despatched to regiments and individuals. 

Not just the troops out in the line, but also those who were Prisoners of War (POW), some who were so badly injured they were returned home via Switzerland. 

One small objection is the limited time given to the tales of individuals. Partly this is because little is known, partly because such research, as I can tell you, takes time.  Those mentioned on the memorials in various clubs and organisations get a mention: this one born here, educated there, worked in this bank, enlisted, commissioned and shot July 1917, sums up far too many tales.  I want more details, but this is asking a lot from such a book.  The toll of the war is however, clear throughout.  Many passed through the church care, received the gifts and parcels sent out, and never returned.  As many were from the right background and had attended schools that had Officer Training Cadets these men would soon be at the front in charge of 40 or more men.  As junior officers, 2nd Lieutenant, Lieutenant and Captain, they went first at all times and discovered that such officers had the least chance of survival on the Western Front.  Thus the names mentioned were almost all officers, or privates awaiting their commission.  

One section deals with General, later Field Marshall Douglas Haig.  Coming from a Presbyterian Scots background it is no surprise to find him declared an Elder in St Columba's.  One chapter discusses his faith, was it a 'born again faith' or a nominal one.  Some suggest his faith was based on whether God supported him in the war or not and this may well be the case.  Unlike many, I doubt he struggled through scriptural analysis before deciding to fight the war.  He did support the idea of Chaplains to the forces, mostly because they told the men they were on the side of 'right!'  I am unsure of the theology behind this however.  Clearly Haig was popular at the church, he supported it as expected and received much support from the people himself.  In 1928, when he died his body lay in state at the church before travelling to Edinburgh for burial.

While this is an interesting book with many items worth noting, it is quite disappointing regarding the personal thoughts of the many men who passed through, and clearly while their immediate response was positive there are so many gaps to fill.  Overall the book appears like a collection of end of term reports, quite satisfactory but not giving the whole story.  It has its place but not for everyone.

Daffodils and Rome

Typical Saturday, nothing happening, too much football and not enough enjoyment.  Rushed dinners, bread like concrete (last sourdough I buy), and umpteen cups of tea sum up the day.  The sun shines, the sky is blue, the chill from the north wind has found me, and the electric people wish to install a 'smart meter' they have already been told will not work, but they have asked me for the meter reading also.  This apparently is to avoid me being overcharged!  Pah!

However, I did waste a good 30 minutes on this...

Thursday Twaddle

Dismal week so far.  Feeling a bit rough and today was the first time I could attempt some exercise properly.  The past few weeks have jaded me somewhat with the latest bug.  Things get done but slowly and sometimes twice because I forgot to actually do what I intended to do.

There was some time spent on Twitter defending Kate Forbes from the gay and trans lobby.  How dare she believe something and take it into politics just like they do?  How dare she threaten their privileged position within the SNP and stand up in public and state how she would vote against their behaviour?

Tsk!  Such beliefs ought to be kept to yourself, unlike the beliefs of the gay and trans mob who are free to say and do what they like!  

Such fun!

Especially as the Bishops in England are getting deeper into the mire, and that conflict is ongoing.  So, I had enough of this and have attempted to avoid Twitter for a day or two, I was to tired to continue, and have been dwelling in the realms of fantasy instead.  er, I mean searching YouTube for fantasy seascapes, or ships at sea, to give a background far from home.  There are masses of You tubes worth watching, and being on laptop there are no adverts thanks to AdBlock Plus.   The masses of irrelevant ads on the phone amaze me.  Lying in bed last night, searching YouTube for a video on the phone, reminded me of reading the 'Beano' under the covers by torchlight!  No mother came in to complain.

PlusNet did play up again.  The bill came in and I logged on, but it refused my login even though it has not been changed.  I fussed and raged but it made no difference.  I attempted a new password but still nothing gave in.  I left it until today and it logged on straight away!  Why?  I suppose we will never know.  Tech is such an improvement to our stress.

Sunday Daffs

A combination of things saw me remain indoors today.  However, just after 10, when the shop opened, I wandered across the park to buy bread.  The sun shone, the sky was blue, an aircraft flew 32,000 feet above us making his way toward the Americas, and all appeared well with the world.  

Of course, if we only look at what is in front of our nose we can ignore the earthquakes in Turkey and Syria, the war in Syria or Ukraine, and conflicts in various parts of Africa.  We can also ignore the suffering closer to home as we either do not see or know about it, or it is kept secret from us, not everyone wishes to share their problems with the world.  

So I wandered across the path enjoying being outside in such weather, and also enjoying the sight of greenery in the sunshine.  Just walking through a small area of parkland can enliven the spirit, especially if much time has been spent indoors.  The green has an affect on our spirits, some like to call this 'spiritual,' it is not, but it does hearten the mind.  Others, with or without dogs, were also being heartened though this did not always show.  Quite quiet being early, the shop opened, a few were in desparately filling the trolley, I grabbed my few bits and hobbled gladly back home.   

 

So, having checked that the Daffodills outside the Council offices are well ahead of the other council ones, watched two miserable football matches, and listened to three tracks from AC/DC to bring some excitement into my day, I now end it with tired timewasting on the internet.  

More excitement tomorrow awaits...

 

Daffs are a Drug

You will realise that as the £1 bunch of Daffodils in this old pint mug have overnight responded to the failing light through the window, I will now fill the page with Daffs?  So far two have opened out, and the rest are beginning to follow.  Not bad for £1 from Sainsburys, and they brighten the place up no end.

In the park opposite the council daffs are standing green and ready to open.  This too brightens the area.  A swathe of bright yellow fills the sight, and brightens the heart.  That I suppose is why people steal them rather than paying £1 at Sainsburys.

Flowers are amazing things, so slight, so colourful and of huge variety.  They work also, making use of the bees to keep the world going.  Do they breathe pollution in and oxygen out like trees?  They certainly make the world a better place.

The park was full of youth this afternoon.  I have no idea what was occurring, I thought it was a drugs fest at first, or a gang fight as in days of yore, but instead it all appeared organised, well run and left me with absolutely no idea what was going on.  Most have since dispersed, youth feeding time calls, and those left gathered in small groups teenage style will no doubt disappear soon.  

The past year has seen few gather here to take drugs and hang out.  Each year the faces change, age catches up with them, and in recent years there has been little noise or problems.  Action has been taken to remove one drug hiding place, now someone wishes to build flats there!   Those that are doing deals must be doing them elsewhere these days.  

Friday Frolics...

 

Another day of speculation, blame and buck passing passes after Nicola's resignation from office.  Naturally, the facts are blurred, lies and deceit abound, and yet she remains in office at least until the new man is sworn in, and the Stasi in the SNP are deciding which one will it be?  It is unlikely to be either of the girls who object to the genderbending, they do not fit the image, nor will it be lesbian Joanne Cherry KC, as she speaks out too often against to many of the Stasi.  She has stood down as she claims too many obstacles lie before her, this may well be true.  However, she would seek independence, and this may upset some in the SNP.  By March 27th the next lackey will be chosen, then what?

Another day seeking info on the man I sought info on yesterday.  This appears to have reached an end, though there are one or two more areas to search.  I wonder how I managed this a few years ago?  I find it all so tiring now!  This man we know a bit about, hence the search, but I laid it aside as Covid and remodelling of the Home Museum up north meant nothing could be done.  I then forgot about it.  The info once gathered will be posted to Margaret, who opened the search.  The one question is whether she herself remains about!  

This lad joined up with a 'Home' Battalion.  This means they did not venture overseas, but passed through this town on their way to Ireland.  This was after 1916.  While here, he was billeted with a family in South Street, and wrote to them when in Ireland.  Clearly they got on well, this was not uncommon at the time.  Many young men far from home were looked after by mothers missing their sons, many of whom did not return.  This man was 26 when here, obviously popular with the family and made this clear to his sister up in Darlington.  

During 1918 he somehow made his wat to France.  I suspect this was after the last great German Push in March 1918.  Desperate measures were called for and as far as I can say he moved from his 'Home' Battalion to the 'Overseas' one and took his place in the front line.   There, during September of 1918 he fell during the attack on the slowly retreating enemy.  

At the time he was called a Private, but it appeared from various sources he was a Lance Corporal and had been awarded a Military Medal.  A sis so often the case nothing could be proved, not all MMs were recorded as they ought to have been.  Also he fell as a Private, so where did the promotion come from?  The war diary, as always, does not mention his name, only officers or those with very special merit are named, but clearly during the last battle it was decided by his officers to regard him a s a Lance Corporal, and put him in for a posthumous Military Medal.  This takes time and sources never catch up for at least a year in the circumstances.  

This is all very well, but more is required, and tomorrow is football day, beginning tonight.  Margaret may have to wait a bit longer...

Nicola News

 

Surprising news indeed.  Nicola Sturgeon steps down from office as First Minister.  

There can be no doubt that the loss off trust among the Scottish public regarding 'Trans prisoners,' that is violent, often rapist, men pretending they are women, being placed in women's prisons has led to this change.  This is unfortunate as there is no doubt Nicola was indeed a powerful First Minister.  Many think she would be better as a Prime Minister than any of the last five who have occupied that office.  After the next election it is possible the SNP could form the official opposition in the House of Commons.  If she stood as an MP she might yet make it!   

Nicola entered Holyrood during 1999 and rose to the position of Deputy Leader in 2004.  When the SNP took leadership of Holyrood Alec Salmond the leader remained a member of the House of Commons, as such his deputy, Nicola, ruled the Scots Parliament.  

The failure of the 2014 Independence debate (Don't even begin to ask about the corruption here) led to Alec resigning as leader, something the Conservatives need to emulate, and Nicola became First Minister when the SNP won the next election.

Alex Salmond scandal:  During 2019 Nicola attempted to smear Salmond with a court case alleging harassment of female employees.  The female judge, the Scottish jury of 15, dominated by women, quickly noted that the women called to witness had been coaxed to speak against their own will, possibly by Nicola and Leslie Evans the top civil servant.  There was no case to answer and the court awarded Salmond £500,000 at the end.  Neither Leslie Evans or Nicola stood down as they ought to have done.

Quite what brought this about may not be clear, but the only other politician who could match Nicola is of course Alex himself.  There are no quality MSPs or MPs available at the moment to replace either as far as I can see from here. 

There is of course the matter of some £600,000 that appears to have gone missing.  The dubious 'loan' from her husband, which she knew nothing about apparently, of £100,000 or thereabouts, and the real possibility of the constabulary now entering the fray to ask questions.

Now Nicola has stepped down among much rejoicing from Unionists. I avoided her goodbye speech as I suspected it would not be pleasant, we must find a new leader for the Scottish National Party.  One is required who will move away from the misandry of recent years, the support for gays and trans, and concentrate on reviving the economy under Westminster interference, continue sensible social policies, and seek a properly thought out independence procedure.  All this within two years or less!

I do not think such a person exists!

So, now we await the election, possibly slanted to Nicola's preferences, and possibly opening up wounds kept quiet for some time.  We wait and see.

A War Story

Wood's book is one of a number of local history books that have been appearing over the last 20 years or so.   This is one of a number of books from 'The History Press,' that look likely to be worth a read.  This is one of a number that concentrate on the History of Essex and the locals involved in recent past times

The subject of the book is born just before the war breaks out.  His Jewish grandparents came from the east trying to escape pogroms there.  Based in London the family are moved to Basildon, a small hamlet in Essex just outside London, not far from Southend.  As the war progressed the young lad and his mum remained in accommodation supplied by a 'friend' called JL.  This came through his two aunts, women who would enjoy life during war with the number of men available at the time.  JL was what is referred to these days as a 'wide Boy,' one with his hands in every opportunity and not all were as honest as they appeared.  However, he had accommodation the family could make use of while heir home in London endured the 'Blitz.'  David's dad travelled into work, finding a new workshop close to a few more 'wide boys' and 'east end' types.  This while the 'Black Market' was about to get into swing during rationing.

The tale concerns the boy David growing up from a 5 year old until his 11 Plus at the end of the war.  Not all children suffered during ww2, many indeed enjoyed it.  There are a huge number of interesting people and objects that come into the hands of many a youth during such times.  This author was to mostly enjoy his time as scary experiences were rare.

Written well by a man who is not an author, the life lived as a child, but told as an adult looking back on a war, now knowing so much more about the war than possible at the time, is interesting.  Information was not easy to obtain, except via the press or 'Pathe' or 'Gaumont' newsreels at the cinema.  While the propaganda was to be seen there is no doubt the UK knew more about the war than any German would know, unless he tuned to the BBC secretly.  

The houses, the friends, the Black market, even German POWs are encountered.  His aunts behaviour left him somewhat bemused at the time, and when able to visit the towns around his mother dragged him along window shopping!  How tedious for a boy!   

Anyone familiar with Basildon today would not recognise the place, now a modern 1950s town.  The area has changed, the boy has grown, and written a decent short book covering his childhood, a better childhood than many today!

Lazy Saturday

Saturday has been a delightful day of rest.  

I ignored Twitter's demands, read fitful news, and ignored the world's problems.

Fair to say the world ignored mine.

I lounged, I ate, I read books, I daydreamed, though I may actually have been asleep, I ignored the outside world.  

It was a good day.

With the main football being last night, and today's being Scottish cup games and little else, I have avoided much football also.

Until tonight.

Tonight I watch the 5:30 game.

This will end the day quite well.

I need more days like this.

Synod Day

The Bishops have pushed through their sin encouraging today.  Almost all of them supported the motion allowing blessings of gay marriage.  This could lead to an exodus from the CoE, but this is still far in the future.  However, it may well be that action can be taken by the more powerful churches to make a stand and hinder this motion.

I doubt it will be successful.

Far too many in the Anglican church merely attend, those who believe oppose this motion, however, they are only a third, at most, of the congregation.  What will happen now?  The strange organisation that is the CoE does not work like normal people would work.  It has tradition, History, ecclesiastical heritage, hindrances abound, and masses of paper work that would tire out a barrister.

Who knows what now.

Of course on Twitter, such as Twitter is these days, the gay boys are out grumbling.  The use of 'bigot' and 'hatred' abound, and as always they come in a crowd, never alone.  It is as if they need the reassurance of others to convince them their 'tendency' is normal, while they know it is not.  However, in love and biblical truth I saw them off, especially those who are just abusive, they are blocked.  They remind me of children.  When a child cannot get what it wants it cries 'You hate me' to the parent, when the parent is loving them.  Gays these days use the same tactic, a tactic like others learned from lobby groups.

Those tolerant of the gay life are very intolerant of any who indicate it is wrong.

Funny that.

Jesus cries over this, but he is used to crying over Satan's attempts to destroy his church.

 

Chilli Mist

So pleased with myself for getting out at around 9 am this morning and spending an enormous amount of cash in Sainsburys.  This was not because I bought too much, it was because they have been going around the shelves increasing the shareholders payout.  There was 10p on tins here, an increase there, and all this surrounded by shelving claiming 'special offers,' none of which were.  Even their reduced stuff is to expensive.  The supermarkets have us under control.  They tell us what to eat, what to buy, how to live, if we do not keep our eyes open.  They will not give Sainsburys staff bonuses at Christmas but they will give big payouts to shareholders, the very shareholders who refuse to vote for staff bonuses at Christmas.  There are more Tories in this world than you thought.

A mere saunter around the white, frosted park was a change for me.  I have not been getting out lately, again.  The bright sun shone through the mist glistening of the frozen branches, warming the puffed out chests of the pigeons sitting high in the trees, satisfied, I think, with their breakfasts.  I suspect it was freezing, or just above this morning.  I ought to have worn the 'Tam O'Shanter' as it would have prevented my weak head from being frozen.  However, wearing this scruffy beard has certainly been an advantage this morning.  

  

Of course I am now worn out, my 'Chilli stew' was not chilli enough, the sun remains shining as the cold draft comes through the old window frames, and I want to go back to bed.

Nothing changes...

Monday Morn Sun

The day began brightly, the clouds were red tinged and the sky was blue.  This meant the temperature must be about freezing, and it was.  Having wiped the condensation from the windows, stuffed aged 'hot cross buns' down my throat for breakfast, I switched on the heater and wrapped up.

This was a day where the light tempted me out and the cold tempted me back in.

I remained in.

I worked through another chapter of the book of Amos and wondered how nicely this book fits in with the government of the day.  Both Westminster and Holyrood, and indeed Wales, have corruption at the centre these days.  Being in power is on one hand an opportunity to do good, it is also something people do not like to let go off.  The Westminster power does not appear to have the intellect or political savvy to hold their position, not heled by Boris and Liz obviously.  Nicola has some talent, she ought to be PM not FM, but her weird obsessions may bring her down.  Her gender failure may be too far from Indy for many.  

Next I spent a few minutes pretending to exercise, I will feel the aches in the morning.  And followed this up by dusting!  The stour flew all around, thick clouds filled the house, lost items were recovered, much more exercise was involved, and after this was over I considered hoovering to finish off.  However, instead I made lunch and spent the rest of the day seeking out live pictures from various parts of the world.  I had to, the effort had worn me out.  I realised the bug that hindered my earlier this year was still hanging around.  An underlying weight hindering life.  This has hit the UK hard this year, and while I am quite used to suffering this was for months on end it has come as a shock to all those who used to call me lazy.

I give them no sympathy.

So, I sit smugly here, happy with what has been done, planning tomorrows day, and seeking a decent football game to finish of the day.  As I wait I watch the Blue Tits flitting through the trees, I note the happy attitude that comes with the shorter nights and brighter mornings, and an expectation of Spring soon calling us from afar.  This keeps the news of the Chancellor, multi-millionaire he, who is going to increase our energy prices come April once again.  The Conservatives, the party that cares...

My Saturday Evening Post...

 

Grave Thoughts

Working my way down the new Twitter stream this morning it struck me how many people have died.  Now this is not new, people have been dying since people began, in case you did not notice, and sadly, one day we will join them.  It is a thing to be noticed that there are more dead than there are living in this world, and the number of the dead increases all the time.  

I was becoming more aware of this as people I once watched on TV or listened to on radio have departed.  At my age when musicians from the 'Punk' era are dying it makes me feel old, as they are still in their 60s.  Yet more and more people who became famous, or perhaps infamous, have departed and they are still doing this.  Singers, TV personalities, comedians, footballers, actors, troublemakers, strikers, politicians, good and bad, all pass on.

In my family only two of the original 6 remain, and I keep reminding my sister that she is much older than I. The aunts and uncles have long gone, friends, neighbours, those who make up my past have moved on.  The life I grew up into has long gone, and most people with it.  How strange.

Yet this is life as it has always been.

My mother lived until 94, all her friends went long before her.  Friends and family from her youth have long passed on, their sons and daughters also!  All that remained were memories and some fading photographs.  

Of course, not all we knew have been missed.  Many we saw regularly on TV or in the press ought to have benefited society by going sooner.  A great many harmed society in many ways, politicians, businessmen, celebrities, and spam merchants.  These are not missed by many.  

Others are missed, even if we knew them only from TV programmes, mews headlines, and goal scoring feats at the football.  Many a musician is missed today as there is no one to equal them now.  In the locale there are always people who benefit the area by doing those little jobs, such a 'Lollipop Lady,' escorting kids over busy roads, or by just keeping an eye on disabled or lonely folks.  These are irreplaceable.  

In our town, population around 40,000, each one has a story to tell.  Some well known faces, some well known to the constabulary.  Each known to someone.  How many have lived here since Neolithic times when a handful of people foraged in these then woods with stone implements to survive?  Since the town blossomed 2000 years ago many have walked the lanes, built houses, had lives and loves, fought wars, made babies, traded goods and services, and fought for better conditions.  Holy days were celebrated, as there were few other holidays, some were serfs, others made it big.  While most worked the fields there were others who travelled the world, usually in an army or a boat.  Many went to the new world, others were forced to Botany Bay!  Still other came for the work on offer and their descendants remain.  

When I worked in Maida Vale Hospital at night, I often wondered about the many who had gone before.  The doctors who had created the Neurological studies during the 19th century had left their pictures in the Board Room.  The nurses, passing doctors, porters and other staff were rarely shown this way.  Occasional names arose but many staff had worked for years in the building and at that time they were now forgotten.  Just like we will be in the days ahead.  

Depressing though this may appear it is not so.  This is life as it is.  We all go through it, some more easily than others, and the good news is the bad days that surround us, which are not as bad as they have been or could be for us, will end one day.  The rogues who hamper us will meet their end, the situations that are difficult will soon leave us, and possibly we will see better days yet.

I confess, if it was not for Jesus it could be a depressing time for me.  However, I look forward to better days, and life is already improving as the days indeed are getting longer.  Nothing better than rising with the sun shining in the kitchen window, and the rush hour beginning with the setting sun brightening the skies outside my window.

Frith, Paddington Station

William Powell Frith - The Railway Station

 

I think this is a great painting, of Paddington Station, supposedly as the train prepares for departure. 

Frith liked pictures that were long, and had a rise in the middle, here supplied by the porters loading luggage onto the roof of the coach.  Rail travel in 1862 was exciting, adventurous and also dangerous.  Apart from the danger of human beings being themselves there is added class distinction, a signal system nowhere near as efficient as todays, and train times that are as believable as railways anywhere in the world.  

However, I like the picture as it is full of life.

Clearly Paddington, it is always recognisable, the train sets the scene, the smouldering engine awaiting at one end, the long line of wooden coaches, terrible in an accident, and the wide selection of human nature to be seen on the platform. 

Brunel's spectacular Paddington Station building had been completed only a decade before this picture emerged in 1862.  Frith would no doubt have used it before, he certainly reconnoitred the place to get this right.   He also ensured his family's fame by placing them in the left centre of the picture.  The woman kissing a child goodbye in the near foreground, possibly the son of to school, is Froth's wife, he himself stands behind with his elder son.  The bearded man next to them had given Italian lessons to Frith's daughters, and appears to be haggling over the taxi fare.  As the porter scrambles to pick up the luggage and possibly a tip, a bridal party in full Victorian overdress fusses about nothing before clambering into the coach.  These coaches were not very big inside, how did all those women fit in?  Or did they just dump the Bride and Groom and send them on their way?  I guess so.  

A Sherlock Holmes lookalike is being accosted by two Police Detectives, accompanied by a uniformed officer.  This apparently is based on real incident.   

The picture is full of the confusion, worry, fear and nervousness so many experience at railway stations.  Add the class distinction, the need to be in the right place, the distracted children staring at the huge arena about them, the noise of the engine warming up for the off, the smell of the smoke, Welsh coal was the best coal for engines it appears, the noise and bustle, the thoughtlessness of those in a hurry or just used to the fuss, the dogs, the mixture of uniforms and the journey ahead.  All are caught in this wonderful painting. 

Frith sold it for £4500, plus another £750 for not showing it at the RA.  This allowed the buyer to show it in his gallery at one shilling a time.  Louis Victor Flatow saw 83,000 visit his gallery for a peek.  It was also shown elsewhere and I suspect he easily regained his cash.

I think this a great picture in so many ways.

For Christmas, could you buy it for me...?

Bacon

 

I took this picture eons ago while trundling up the old railway, or 'Flitch Way,' as it is called.  The name derives from the competition that takes place every leap year in what until recently, was the Flitch Pub' in Little Dunmow.  The winner receives a 'Flitch of Bacon.'  Like many such pubs this is now a restaurant.  Because of the size of the event the judgement now takes place in Great Dunmow.

The competition, which goes back many years into the 14th century, they say Chaucer mentions this, is simple in outline.  The idea is to find a couple who have not regretted their marriage since being married in the past year and one day.  The award is a 'Flitch of Bacon.'  Aggressively questioned by magistrates, and providing witnesses that they have not regretted their marriage once, a jury then decides the outcome.  

It appears few 'Flitches' were ever awarded!  

I wonder if any of my readers have gone a year and one day without regretting the marriage?  Of course you must ask the spouse this also, no magistrate will question you, no jury decide.  There again the bacon will come from Tesco if you had won. 

I wonder if I will ever ride that bike again?  I doubt it now.  Things do not appear to improve and I am losing interest.  I may have to find someone who needs a bike to take it on, do it up and have fun.  

I miss the Flitch Way itself mind.  A  two mile long stretch up to Rayne, busy at times with dog walkers, and how the dogs love it, people strolling along, and much further on the horse riders out for a trot. 

It gave some nice pics also.

Coming Soon...