The King and Her

The coronation took place today, in case you had not noticed.  Several thoughts coursed through my mind throughout.  One that kept returning was the thought that Camila was only there because she had been told it was a 'Coronation Street' party.  She looked a wee bit disappointed.

My thoughts concerning Archbishop Selby and his fellow Bishops on show were not polite.  While working through the liturgy as if he believed it, he forgot to add that he was opposing it with his 'Stonewall' propositions.  He was asking the King to be 'defender of the Faith,' while all the time moving away from that very faith.  The title itself was given first to Henry VIII in 1521, by Pope Leo X, after he wrote a booklet opposing the works of Martin Luther.  He had it removed a while later when he decided to become head of his own church, an action that begat much seen in today's coronation.  It had actually been offered to Scotland's King James IV in 1507, many years before, as 'Protector and Defender of the Christian Faith.'  It could be said the kings since that date have been defending the Rome version, but I suspect legal moves since have abandoned this. 

Anyway, throughout I was not happy with the Bishops performance, more an event than a Christian service, though the biblical words I liked.  Leaders of the Anglicans in England are becoming more of a shadow of the faith rather than leaders.

One thought concerned the chair.  The throne on which the King is 'kinged,' I note was not as it appeared in the shop.  Behind the king were initials cut into the wood, I spent much time attempting to read them rather than watch the event.  I winder who scribbled on there, when, how?  Probably kids from the choir.

The overlong ceremony did appear to be out of place in today's world.  If we have a king we need a coronation, I understand Charles changed much, but it appears the CoE, therefore the Archbishops, who have the last say.  It is a church run event.  

The BBC coverage continued in the normal royal vane.  The commentators bland, grey voices, the information regarding the marchers, the dresses, what the kids were doing, the false enjoyment of nothing almost 'Daily Mail' like.  Indeed in the studio a royal correspondent from the paper itself offered his opinions.  Who heard the word 'slime ball' there?  Others who appeared to offer their thoughts 'How fantastic,' 'wonderful day,' 'excitement,' and so on.  Gush, gush. gush.  Now I expect much of this at these times, but there is a limit.  I also noted the BBC appeared not to mention the 'Not my King' protestors who were arrested, nor the 'Stop the oil' bairns also.  Maybe the BBC did not know?   

I was more concerned for the troops standing for hours in the rain, sometimes at 'attention.'  All night they will be drying their outfits, scrubbing equipment, polishing steel, and proud to have taken part, well, most of them.  All will be glad they did not faint, drop the gun, trip, or walk behind the horses.

All have done their duty, the policemen working out how much overtime they will get, the rest sitting in a pub before making off home tomorrow, unless there is more overtime.  

Events like this do bring the nation together, however, the generation gap, the Conservative Party, and rising electricity prices have dampened much of these events.  The royals will have to work hard to change their image, and possibly within 10 years we may have another royal funeral, and then 'Dim Wullie' under his wife's orders, will be king.  Oh dear oh dear...

Vote for Coronation

I awoke early, I usually do in Spring when the light shines in, and was greeted with the not surprising news that Labour had won all three seats available in our ward.  As far as I can tell the Conservatives are still in control, but now only by 8 seats.  The Independents, who are doing well in the villages, the Greens and others have filled gaps left by departing Tories.  

The result has been similar throughout the country.  This election only covered England, and so far Labour have won about 200 seats, the Liberal Democrats 60 or so, and the Tories just lose everywhere, especially in what is called the 'Red Wall' seats.  These are areas once totally committed to Labour, but which sold out at the last General Election to Boris Johnsons lies.  They now regret this decision.

We expect the usual statement from the various parties but Greg Hands has topped the lot.  In an interview this morning he claimed he had visited 33 wards and met on the doorstep a great deal of support for what Rishi Sunak is doing.  The implication is that Rishi is not like those who have gone before.  It was put to him that, at the time of the interview, around 150 seats have been lost.  His reply was to state that he found no support for Keir Starmer!  The people, in his view, are supporting the PM by voting against him, and dislike Starmer so much his party has already won over 150 seats.  This interview is a classic of ignoring reality.

In 1968 the SNP won well over 360 seats in the local elections of that year, on TV late at night the head of the Scottish Communist Party was interviewed.  "Our victory tonight," he said, "shows that the Scottish people realise that only the Communist Party has the answer for our troubles."  His party had won one single seat, in Inverness I think!  

I thought our seat would be counted today, but this occurred last night.  However, the majority of seats are being counted today, and thus the damage to the Tory Party will be immense.  There is still support for the Tories, mostly in wealthier areas, but when you consider almost all local elections carry only a quarter of the population to vote, and the nonsense about personal ID has turned away many Tory as well as other voters, there is no doubt this election has been a shambles for them.  By late evening we will know just how bad this has been.

Saturday sees Charlies big day.  After a lifetime of waiting, longer than I have lived, just, he now has the chance to fill his destiny.  The reactions to this are interesting.  The Mall is lined with the usual collection of women of a certain age, some men and a lot of foreign types, awaiting a glimpse of the royals as they pass.  Quite what motivates some of them leaves me wondering.  

We also see an immense, and not very worthy, amount of cynicism regarding the monarch and the coronation.  How much genuine thought has gone into this I suggest is limited in scope.  Once again we see the 'divide and rule' at work, where genuine patriots will support the monarch, and non patriots will refuse.  There is no nuance in this.  Age is one part.  Many royalists are "cough," older people, many opposing, young whippersnappers.  

The war left a large impression on those who lived through it, including the children.  While children usually enjoyed war, many interesting happenings almost daily, they grew up in a patriotic culture, a culture impressed on such as I, in the years after the war.  The passage of time amended many understandings of royalty, and Scottish Independence adds to this, and it is a long time since many of my generation 'respected' royalty by doffing the cap.   For those born in more recent times with no memory of Empire, little connection to those who ran it, and with absolutely no understanding why it existed, they can be excused for wondering about all the pomp of a coronation.  

The pomp goes back into history, mostly English, concerns a variety of kings and queens, mostly of dubious morality, and reflects the imperialist attitude of the English mind.  Scotland of course, is still nothing more than a colony under English rule.  The coronation reveals the constitution crafted over many years, entwining the king (because of the mad Henry VIII) with the church, and obliging many an unbelieving monarch to play as head of the church.  Such is the confusion over the constitution that to separate church and state would be a bonanza for the lawyers, take many years, and cost Billions!  

This also does not take into account of attitudes on far off one time colonies.  Their opinion is not sought. 

I am not one to throw eggs at the King, he is there, this is how it is, and if we wish to change it this must be done by debate, not middle class wee boys with placards.  Neither those who support the monarchy, for whatever reason, or those who oppose, will find support from me.  The monarch debate will begin now, especially if Charles dies within 10 years and his dumb son and wife take over.  That really will be the end.

I will watch the coronation, for historical reasons, and to cogitate over those attending at the side of the road or elsewhere.  A procession is always worth watching, and who knows what will happen?

 

Vote! But not for Gas!

Once again we get the exciting opportunity to vote!  

The franchise allowing the common people to vote only began in 1832, and that amongst much opposition and was given to remarkably few.  Many more received the opportunity when the franchise was widened in 1867, thus allowing Alf Garnett's grandfather to vote.  Men such as him, owning a two up, and two down small house worth a rateable value of £7 could now vote, and many took advantage of this to change the world around them.  The 'Working Class Conservative' began at this era, fooled into thinking the 'upper classes' wanted them to join them in running the country.  This was never the intention!  

After the Great War the franchise was extended, men such as agricultural workers, could now vote, as long as they were 21.  Women of 30 and over also could now vote, and it is interesting to consider that the majority of men fighting during the Great War could not vote!   Much loud noise is made concerning the women demanding a vote, we forget the men who also were unable to elect a man of their choice.  

For centuries, since large cities developed, the common man has been led, with an occasional riot to express his opinions, or vague forms of democracy as in ancient Greece.  The vast majority down through time, and possibly today, have little opportunity to cast a vote one way or another, many have died attempting to offer such a freedom.

This morning, just after 8:15 am, I entered the Polling Station, and fought my way through the crowds taking advantage of the privilege of voting.  

There was no-one there.

In front of me were two tables, as is normal, staffed by council two beings with an array of paperwork in front of them.  Being from the council it is difficult to call them human ones.  Either side ranged the actual Polling booths, designed for private scribbling, and all with thick black pencil attached strongly to a rope!  It is always thus!   

As the polling is conducted in the museum hall and the Presiding Officer is the man who runs the museum I knew there was going to be no problems here.  Not only that, another lass, standing at the side reading a magazine, is also always in attendance at elections in the morning.  I suspect similar patterns are found throughout the nation.  

I presented my credentials, the lass looked for my name on the lists, and struggled to find it.  For a moment I wondered if the council, run by Tories, had cut me off.  However, my name was found, correct ID handed over to a man who had to identify me even though he has known me for ten years, and a slip of folded paper with several names was offered to me.

I was also informed I could vote for up to three individuals, so I asked if any were Revolutionary Communists, or Marxists-Leninists, but was informed searching out the individuals was my job.  So, muttering 'Mussolini?'  'Engels?' and so on, I headed for the booth, choose three names, two to avoid the Conservatives, and one because I knew her and consider her to be an able woman, very capable of doing this job for her area.  She may be the only one to get in.

I returned to the tables, folded and posted my ballot, peeked inside the box and muttered "There's only three in there," which may have been about right.  We chatted for a few minutes, not one soul entered.

I had noticed only one leaving as I came up the road.  And as I left, making sure I had my ID and that the boss had not nicked it, I went over to Tesco's.

Tesco's was very quiet.  

I have never seen it so quiet.

I was able to wander about without being run over by trolleys or children.  IN fact only one schoolboy entered for some shoplifting, usually at this time there are many.  The checkout girl chatted, I paid my dues, and limped back up the road, satisfied with my day.  It was not yet 8:45 am when I reached home.  

My day is over thought I.

No more clambering up stairs.

Then I remembered I had to put the rubbish out, and check the gas meter.

Much later this I did.

The rubbish and recycling bags were taken down and placed in appropriate places.  I then scanned the area around hoping for something interesting to occur, it failed to do so.  So, once again upstairs in spite of the muck left by the man plastering next doors ceiling.

Then I remembered the gas meter!

Fool, that was one of the reasons to go downstairs.

So, back down, check the reading, scribble it down, and once more clamber Edmund Hilary like, up the stairs.  I entered the reading on the Rip-Off British Gas site, noticing that last months had been estimated.  My reading was 08567, their estimate for last month was 08999, the word 'crook' crossed my mind for some reason.  I await their response, which may be delayed by someone being King for a day and the Holiday Monday afterwards.  It may be interesting reading.

Lauriston Castle

 

This is one of my highly intelligent, beautiful, and clever great nieces.  This one obtained her parchments in Archaeology, and has begun to make short video's of Edinburgh and Scotland's history.  

I am so proud of this lassie.  Good looking, wise, clever, with bouncy personality, knowledgeable, and well able to put over her knowledge to inform and entertain us.

She is a bit like me...

 

What?...oh!

A short video and hopefully you will like it.

 

Bank Holiday Drivel

Being a Bank Holiday, one I did not realise was in the air until late last night, the weather has arrived as normal.  Bright clouds in the morning, rain threatening ones now.  This is how UK weather works.  It offers the prospect of sunshine early on, waits until the family have ventured out into the great outdoors, and darkens the skies, ruins the day, adding extra rain if possible, and leaving tension and fury abundant.  It happens all the time and they still fall for it.  Men in shorts, dark glasses fixed, walk past ignoring the chill in the air and muttering about cold drinks for lunch.  The English, probably the stupidest nation on earth.  I mean, who else would still try to claim Brexit worked?  And this why we find them adjusting the dark glasses in the rain!

I remain closeted indoors.

With nothing happening, and the only live football not appearing on my screen, I am forced to think for myself about the world around me.

Silence.

I tried coffee but this did not inspire.

No news to react with.  Nothing but fillers concerning Charlie's big day.  An occasional murder, a grumpy tv presenter, and myriads of Bimbo's in the media.  Nothing worth noting.

I have watched the steam engines on the West Somerset Railway passing by.  This was interesting, though I would much rather have been there on the train itself.  In fact my Railcard, offering reduced travel, ran out and I had hardly used it and therefore got no bargains from it.  That must be changed and I must get onto a train soon.

I could read books, there are plenty I am reading all at the same time alongside me.  But the effort is so trying.  They must be lifted, carried, opened, read and sometimes thought about.  Too much on a Bank Holiday I say.

I discovered this the other week, this has some interest.  The author runs around Edinburgh tenements

seeking the stories of those who have lived there in times past.  He checks on them through the local papers.  The lives lived are mixed as much as you can imagine in Edinburgh.  Rich and poor, good and bad, but all worth a look I say.  ''Tenement Town' sums Edinburgh up nicely.  Large and dominating tenements thrive in Scotland.  This was due to the 'Feu Duty.'  A tax paid to the owners of the land.  This did not exist in England, and the way around this was to build tenements four story's high.  Each had four flats on a floor and this meant in buying one flat you only paid part of the 'Feu.'  The flats were usually then 'let out.'  I was reared for almost three years in one before moving to the then, new estate.  Some were inhabited by those with money, others like us!  The better ones had a complicated door mechanism.  The front door, the main door was locked.  The brass bells were on the side, you chose one and pulled hard.  This rang a bell outside the chosen flat, if they wanted you they came to their front door, pulled another brass lever, this clicked it's way to the main door, lifted the latch, and allowed entrance.  I remember many of the better buildings having these in the 60's.  I suspect the lower orders moving in has either meant the main door is unlocked or new bells are installed, with a phone attached!

Men and Movements in the Primitive Church, by F.F. Bruce

No doubt you have already read this book.  I read it years ago when the somewhat academic style exercised what is laughingly called my brain.  Recently, in need of some stimulus I opened it once again and found it easy to read and very satisfying at that.

F.F. Bruce came from a 'Plymouth Brethren' background, he became professor at Manchester, and was a famous biblical scholar grounded in biblical truth.  Therefore not all people liked him, many prefer to have itchy ears and hear what suits them as opposed to what the bible teaches.  

This book is not new, my copy first appeared in 1979, long before most of you were born, and come from a series of lectures delivered in the years previous.  

As 'Rylands Professor of Biblical Studies,' Bruce found himself more and more absorbed with the Apostle Paul.  To study Paul however, you must also study what was going on around him at the same time, therefore, this study comprises the messages, as far as they can be obtained, from Peter, James, John and Stephen and those around them.

The early church quickly had different shades.  James became the one leading the 'Jewish' Jerusalem church, many of whom may well have come from the Pharisee background.  Another Apostle led church was influenced by non Judean Jews, Stephen came from this section.  These were Jews who had accepted Jesus as Messiah but lived in far flung areas, well away from the stricter Jerusalem Jews.  Then Peter introduced Gentiles into the church, Antioch being one of the main areas here, and so a third strand arose.  

All this teaches us that nothing is easy in the church, differences arise, often leading to conflict, yet all suppose to follow Jesus.  This is not different today.

Bruce discusses all these differences, often reflected solely through Paul's letters and the Book of Acts, far too little genuine documentary evidence to be found elsewhere.  What can be discovered is the underlying truth that all proclaimed, the similar gospel, the unity in spite of the outside influences, and the genuine support one for the other.  Some like to create differences between Paul and Peter, but it was from Peter that Paul learned much about his Lord.  I fail to see them not appreciating one another.

While Bruce tries to write in an open readable fashion he cannot get away from the academic style which appears here and there.   However, I found this an interesting and wise investigation into his subject and wish more people would read such books and understand the background to what we possess today.  Like all church life it is not easy.  Problems of doctrine and style, personality and fashion, taste and discernment always arise.  Then we have ambition, pride, sin and outside influences both fashionable and political attempting to dictate what believers believe.  And then believers failure to believe what they believe and act upon it ruining everything on top of the rest.  

This is an interesting book, and all books by F. F. Bruce, as I may have mentioned before, are worth reading.

Scotched Rishi

Sunny Sunak visited his Scottish colony the other day.  He was attending the Scottish Conservative get together.  However, it appears he was about the only one attending.  They could not fill the 360 seat hall.

A press conference was to be held but trouble came when only a handful of press, all from the right0-wing papers, 'Sun,' 'Mail,' 'Express,' etc were allowed in.  Trouble followed, a vote was held, and even the men from the 'right' papers refused to attend unless all could come to the press conference. 

After much squabbling this was allowed, but only one question, and that chosen by Sunak's guards. 

This too was refused.

Eventually 6 questions were put, few answers, and the TV media allowed to ask 3 more.  

Few answers.

This is how the UK is governed by the fascist government today.

No questions to be asked, only the right questions, no answers given.

The people, especially the English people, voted to be under this fascism.

With the May local elections due we will understand just how many will once again vote for this corrupt party.  I think a great many will, believing they will be 'on the right side.'  Once again they will be deceived.

Note:  Little coverage of this in the press, the TV, and certainly not the BBC.

Costa Rica Coffee and Eon Inflation

I am Mr Lucky!  There can be no other person as lucky as I.  

Just last night, as I tidied up in the kitchen, I lifted my cafetierie thingy from the washing up and smashed it against the bunker!  

How lucky am I?

Luck was in again as I am hooked on Costa Rica coffee at the moment and without this coffee maker I was going to start seeing spiders up the wall.  At least, apart from the actual spiders that now inhabit my wall.  

Lucky me had intended to remain indoors this morning, stretching my weary limbs and doing nothing beyond my mental abilities.  So, you will realise, nothing was to be done today.  However, the Costa Rica coffee, which I had run out off, called very strongly to me, and by 8:15 I was in Sainburys painfully looking for a new, unbroken cafetiere thingy.  Good grief!  They had one, at an amazing cheap price of only £7:50!  'Only,' is a word used by shops to lie to the customer!  I packed my bag with all the required goodies, including the coffee cafiterie (You spell it your way, I will spell it mine), the bag was overfull as I was buying for the weekend also, and stumbled slowly back up the road, watching the workers heading into town to pretend they are earning a living.  

Back home, having remembered to purchase the Costa Rica coffee also, I packed away my treasures, mostly with 'reduced' labels upon them, sat down at my laptop and swallowed Costa Rica coffee, with double cream obviously.  

Wonderful.  

I cogitated on doing nothing but sitting here with my feet up all day watching the Gala at the West Somerset Railway.  Old Great Western Steam engines plied their way back and forth over the aged rails.  What fun! Several visiting large engines on show here today.  Jolly good show I say!

It was then I remembered I must take the electric meter reading.  

This, as you know, means stumbling downstairs, wandering round the back, lifting the large wooden, filthy lid, and descending down into the bowels of the building to where the meters tick away day and night, never feeling any guilt as they do so.  

What fun!

So, this I did and found going down to be harder than coming back up, somewhat surprisingly.  I also noticed the rubbish lying about down there, no idea where it comes from or who dumped it.  It remains a mystery as to how things find their way into the cellar.

Note taken of the meter, in spite of the dog downstairs barking as he did not recognise me, back upstairs, enter number, ('It's so easy' say EON, forgetting that making £3 billion a year is easy for them, not us.) and send it off.  Within 24 hours the EON AI will tell me I owe them £10,000 and must increase the monthly payment to £500 a week!  Or something similar.  

If only we had an election?  If only we had an opposition? Something could then be done about all this. The future is bleak, and will not improve much for the UK.

M&S & EVRI

I began this post days ago.  Life however, as you know can be tiring, and sloth can creep in unexpectedly in this abode.  So, having nothing to say, nothing appears to have happened anywhere, bar the M&S/EVRI incident, there was little purpose in scrawling anything.

Ah yes, M&S/EVRI.  

You see, for reasons of cost, M&S now make use of the couriers with the worst success rate, and lowest reliability in the world!  I comprehend the need to cut costs, and M&S like all others have problems, but so many companies now use EVRI in spite of the missed deliveries, lost goods and total failure of the company to do what it is paid for.  Why?  The loss in missing goods, customer satisfaction and return shoppers must out way any benefits?  

So, anyway I ordered, via a voucher, a belt.  A belt to replace the 'Cowboy' thick brown belt that has held me together for around 45 years.  This has been on my mind for a while, so I took advantage of the voucher, ordered some T-shirts, and then later, as they arrived quickly, I ordered an appropriate, I thought, belt.

M&S told me they had my order.

M&S told me the order was on its way.

M&S told me the courier had the order.

M&S told me it was being delivered today. 

Here I made my first mistake, I believed them.

The EVRI tracking system told me they had the goods, and the goods were 'out for delivery,' expected around 15:30- 16:30.

I waited in.

15:30 came and went.  16:30 came and went.  

I checked the tracker once more.

"Sorry, we cannot deliver today, we will deliver tomorrow." 

Lies!  All lies!

Tomorrow came.

Same messages.

'Out for delivery at such and such a time.

Now, I believe the main sorting office for EVRI is in Harlow, miles away.  This means this driver, who leaves about 10:30 in the morning, arrives here in time for the rush hour.  If he knows the area he avoids small packet drops as he sees no sense in slowly driving through two miles of traffic for one small packet.  So that is why the first delivery failed.

Delivery time came and went.

Check the tracker. 

"Sorry, we cannot deliver today, we will deliver tomorrow." 

More lies, more lies!

Being a long weekend it was never going to come.

I contacted, eventually, after much struggle to find a contact, and left a short sharp message.

A young lady, she says, left an apologetic note and refunded carrier costs, how nice, if I use them again.

Silence.

Nothing happened for days, I lost interest, relying on things to work themselves out.

I relied to young lady again.

Message came back informing me that this is not a sight answered by M&S!

I struggled to find a contact, none came to sight.

So, it was onto Twitter, Musk or no Musk, where I dropped a note publicly there.

An answer came an hour later.

Details exchanged, goods re-ordered, and on Saturday night (6:19pm) they were delivered to my door.

One small packet, that could have gone through the letterbox, was delivered by a young lady pushing it through the letterbox as I tumbled down the stairs.

At last!  Success!

Of course the belt is not as thick, wide, as the old one.  It is black, not brown, I hit the wrong button, but it does fit, and has space for expansion at that!

What a palaver over a small item.  I have the belt, and a few pence on the voucher still, M&S are still far too expensive, but I have the £3:50 refund voucher also.  The belt does not suit my hippy imagination, but it works.

And, today, as I began my repast the bell rung.

A foreign man delivering to the flat around the back, but not unusually with this building, cannot find it.

His English poor, so is mine, I point in direction, he succeeds in finding correct address.  I return to my dinner.

Will EVRI ever give me rest?

Sabbath Journey

Somewhat reluctantly I downed a rather too strong coffee and limped off to the Kirk.  Several things made me hesitant, the threatening rain which was gathering as I walked, the aches as I walked,and being an 'All Together' service I hesitated to attend, most remain at home on these days.  This service is run by the youth leaders, I always wish them well, but sometimes we have to grin and bear it.  

I slogged on as the rain spat at me, or possibly someone from my past in a passing vehicle did.  Encountering two woolly sheep like dogs (small Chows?) I spoke to them and they were more keen than the female owner to speak to me.  They are lovely looking dogs, and she was alright also. 

Entering the building I was met by one of the best men, the best ones are those who allow me to get in, take off my coat, find a half pint off water and let me sit sipping this while doing breathing exercises to recover from the walk.  The bad ones come over and talk.

Several came today!

As I scribble this I am reminded of how lovely some of these people are.  Especially when considering theor situations and problems, often serious difficulties.  One I spoke to had just returned from a stay in the NHS hotels.  He could not tell us much about it as the first he knew he was waking up with a tube in his mouth and nurses all around.  Clearly God has been good to him, the consultant the next day was surprised he was still alive!    

Being led by the leaders they filled the day with Five songs, FIVE!  This means, along with the readings, and other bits, we bounce up and down almost as if we are in a gym somewhere.  I remained seated throughout.  

The service went through its routine, including an amatuer short drama which made me annoyed.  Annoyed that I had left my phone behind and I could have been doing something useful while that was on.  

We made it through, Paul reminding us of the love God has for us, and is always with us.  How nice that is to hear, especially for those who have been through tough times.  We even had evdence for this in front of us, via the NHS.

And life got even better as the day wore on.  A lift home, a poor dinner, the fridge is empty, but at least in the evening Rangers got beat!  I realise this means Aberdeen are now five points ahead of us, but five games to go anything can happen and it is always good to see the old firm lose!

Now, it is bed, emails, whisky cocoa and a good nights sleep.

Rush for Raab

I sit here listening to the rumble of the rush hour traffic.  It is Friday, the industrial estates came out ages ago, Sainsburys has drawn the shoppers, and a bus or two is trapped among the rushing traffic.  The rushing traffic moving at a cars length every so often, thus allowing the poor taste in music once again to invade my space.  Single occupier every so often making for home.  Working men in vans full of expensive equipment, white van man, trapped by lack of knowledge of the area (probably Evri again), some cars with families, occasional partners, lots of grocery bags strewn across the seats.

It is almost warm, but not quite, however, the cars are warm, the drivers hot and tired, the kids grumbling, the wife also.  The sun shines in the window, one wishes it open, the rest closed.  Ahead lies the double mini roundabouts with possible work being undertaken there, good luck with that!

I am tempted to gloat from my window while sipping tea and looking smug.  

Some listen to dreadful music, others to various news programmes, so many and none worth listening to.  A variety of radio stations, run by rich men, offer alternative right wing slant to the news.  Few offer objective analysis.  If trapped in such a car at this time what would you listen to?  A CD of appropriate music, Cellos, violins, Jimmy Shand?  I suspect most listen to the same channel each day,  while seeking work and heading home.  Of course 'podcasts' are now becoming popular, many will listen to these, and a variety of podcasts is now available.   I have linked to many and yet never appear to have the time to listen to them.  Football, political, God, History, almost anything can be found, yet I never seem to listen to them.  This is however, the nearest thing to free choice on the airwaves these days.  But I think people will just follow the one that tells them what they wish to hear.

Some may be listening to the discussions regarding that nice Dominic Raab who 'offered' his resignation today.  Accused of 'Bullying' by civil servants in many departments, he has been ousted by Rishi to save Rishi's skin.  Dom did not go quietly.  His resignation letter denied bullying and cast aspersions on the ones to blame in a manner that sounded somewhat bullying.  There is no doubt he will be missed.  His place has been taken by a proper Barrister now, as indeed it ought to be, and a loyalist of Rishi has taken the deputy PM job.  How nice.

Family History, Berwick on Tweed

I finally finished the family History printing and sorting.  This was to take a bit longer than intended, as my great niece had manged to insert a child into the wrong spot.  It was as I attempted to work out how a man could be Baptising his child in 1815, when he himself had only been born in 1808 that I realised something was amiss.  Young Mary was sent to her actual father and was probably the better for this.

So I sent off what I thought relevant to the lass somewhere in Canada.  Hopefully she is able to make the journey to Edinburgh and Berwick.  I would like to go back to both places sometime, but not at the moment.  

It is somewhat strange to look at streets 150 years after the forefathers have lived there.  Outwardly much remains the same, yet the conditions were very different.  Gas lighting in the streets, if any that is.  Oil lamps in homes, horses and carts, Cows, pigs, sheep and other farmers goods in the street on market day.  Fancy outfits, all revealing class, especially from the upwardly mobile.  No NHS, leave school at 13, or earlier if no one looking, no radio, tv, yet there was an abundance of newspapers and magazines readily available.  Some like to think this was a better time, unless you had TB or rickets I suppose.

This little intrusion does make me want to look again and check all the facts that we know.  However, as most were farmers in the borders this means I must pay more to the Scotland People site to seek info.  Quite why they could not do a Scotland Ancestry instead of a separate organisation I know not, but I smell money here.

However, here is a short tour of Berwick on Tweed.

Barbers For Shearing

In an effort to lose weight I decided to make a start today.  I had a haircut!  Early today I limped round to the Market Square and entered the Barbershop.  Careful praying before leaving was required, Tuesday is 'Old Men's Reduced Price Day,' and therefore I wished to be first!  I entered a quiet shop. two chairs filled, and almost finished, an aged woman looked through aged magazines as she awaited her aged man, the quiet chatter continued as I slid into the seat and waited.

Shortly afterwards the far chair emptied, I was motioned forward, telling the woman, who done me last time, to finish the coffee she had been trying to scoop down.  She refused as by now it was cold anyway, indicating non stop work since opening. 

The chat was amiable, the hair removed in similar fashion to shearing sheep.  The machine bussed, the hair flew, large dollops falling to the ground as she spoke.  Eventually the job was complete, I felt a stone lighter, I saw my ears once again, and at my feet was sufficient wool to knit a pullover.  

I paid my £10, plus £3 more as a tip for more coffee, and almost skipped out the door past the five men now awaiting removal of the grey stuff.  I was happy, and the only dull note was Easter, when asked I mentioned I did nothing but attend church and the response was, er, hesitant.  A good shop however, but interesting.  Two women on today, clipping as hard as they can, though with many of the old boys awaiting there is plenty of room in the middle of the grey hair!

Back home I considered the jobs awaiting.

I ignored them.

So, back to ancient history.

This American lass wants info on the family line.  I have lost much of it and must scramble through what is left and what I have improved upon.  I am amazed at what I have recovered, and amazed at how hard all this is now.  Once it was fun, now it is difficult.  Especially as I am not back into the 1700s and unsure if these are the correct men.  Ho hum.

My father was born in Edinburgh, his father just across the border near Berwick.  The family were farmers, tenant farmers I assume, as they kept moving around.  It was probably the agricultural/economic downturn that drove my great grandfather into Berwick.  Here he ran a pub, 'The Black Swan' opposite the market place.  He also farmed 40 acres nearby.  This makes sense, his girls mostly ran the pub, one was deaf and dumb but worked there for many years, he could manage the small acreage, he had 175 acres before this, and my grandfather worked there also for a while as far as I can tell.  

Great grandfathers father also farmed, back in the 1700s.  How hard was this work?  His father also farmed, but it is dubious which man was his father, not because of 'hank-pankie' but the line offers one or two suggestions.  A lot of the lines include the name 'Robert.'  Father to son we see 'Robert,' and this name is found on all possible lines.  I am hoping this line goes back to the one called 'James!'

Now I am worn out by my mental efforts, it does not take much, and I seek rest and repose.  I may dream, as some can, of travel to far away places once visited, though the Scottish borders are not as warm as middle eastern places some have trudged about on.  I am lucky I can still make Tesco!

Sunday Sloth

A short service today, followed by an AGM.  Add in the end of the holiday weeks, a touch of sickness and pre-arranged dates, few people were around.  However, I bravely staggered along the road, noticing how it was almost like Spring this morning.  I noticed also the marks on the pavement indicating work was to begin on the area surrounding the double mini-roundabouts.  This will lead to long tailbacks, especially as work begins when all the industrial estates return.  

Spring like indeed but walking there and back was wothout a spring.  Knackered at home, quick and easy lunch, fortified by this cheap plonk.  Can French wine be called 'plonk?'  Isn't it supposed to be the best?  Not to me it isn't, and too be fair anything would have done this lunchtime.

So, at home I wasted time on mediocre football, and searching for news.  None was found.  With everyone on holiday or hiding from the press the media only features yesterday's stories refurbished, and celebs spouting.  Nothing worth knowing.  

Tomorrow is another day of fun, frolics, laughter, and laundry.

Ain't life great...? 

 

Spam History

My night out on Monday was a delightful one.  SPAM was a small meeting, the holidays meaning many are far off and only the 'leftovers' gathered for a cheap drink.  I say cheap, but £2:95 is a lot to one who is poor.  However, I worked my usual magic by turning up late.  This ensured they all had purchased their drinks so I only needed to buy my own.  

The chat returned to all the old favourite places, boring in many respects, but we managed to put the world to rights and agree happily with one another that we are right.  A little bit like a 'Daily Mail' comments section but actually right, as apposed to just biased.

Of course in the middle of this Doug decided he needed a drink and, as only five of us were gathered, offered to buy for all.  Naturally, having a half filled glass, I refused, but he insisted, so I was forced to accept a gift.  Tsk!  Such is life.

Doug and I then warmed to the Bishops motives, both agreeing in principle that something must be done.  At the moment we must await developments, which in the CoE means lots of carpets turned up, files lost, and meetings arranged.       

By now I decided to rise slowly from my seat and return the empty glasses, the barmaid asleep at the bar, and I did so the offer to buy fell from my willing lips.  Sadly however, the taxi arrives to take the old men home.  Being afraid of her indoors they all ran for home, sadly, saving me money.

That is the fourth time in a row I have got away with this...  

I received an email from a woman in the USA seeking advice on tracing the family tree.  According to the DNA results we undertook some time ago we hail from the same region (penury I suspect) and she was asking family questions.  Well, I sent her an immediate answer and promised to look into it.  This is the point where I remember I lost all the stuff  a while ago and did not replace it!  So, I have begun to trawl the links, not understanding half of them, and have missed half the day while doing so.  While it is unlikely we are directly related it is possible some distant cousin fled the land and sailed off into the west hoping for success.  I hope he found some.

Now my eyes hurt...

Spring, Irish Biden, Google Spit!

Blue sky above, freezing wind below, yet the birds are chasing one another about the branches, and the buds are beginning to bloom.  By the weekend we may have leaves once again adorning the trees.

Spring is the best time of the year.  The future is ahead, the blossoms and wee flowers begin to appear, the weather heats up, soon, and Blue Tits gorge themselves on thousands of would be butterfly's.  

How enjoyable simple things can be.

Nothing else has happened as most are on holiday.

Big fuss by the 'Daily Mail' concerning a junior doctors strike leader going on holiday when the strike is on.  They do not mention the Secretary of State for Health, who ever he is, is also on holiday, but that appears OK.

Joe Biden continues to astound, he fails to comprehend the Prime Minister, though neither do we, he mistakes the 'All Blacks' New Zealand rugby side, for the 'Black & Tan!'  He continues seeking US pretend Irish votes by stressing his Irishness, if he can find some, and talks down the UK just because he needs those votes.  'Special relationship' indeed.

Maybe he just forgot?

I have used a lot of swear words this day. 

I am trying to amend the war memorial and it just will not work.

First it does not allow me to insert what I was inserting, unless it is giant size.  There is no means to reduce the size.

Then while attempting to amend things the whole portion disappears! 

Where did it go?  No idea!

The arrow button brought it back, but where was it, and why did it go?

Eventually, I decided to delete that portion and start again.

This I did.  I copied the words, deleted, reinserted the words, and then the picture item as before.

As before it would not work.

In doing this several pictures decide to join in for some unknown reason.  Much of the day was spent trying to unjoin them.  Why do this?  The old system worked perfectly, so a 14 years old improved it so it does not work simply.

Now, after several words I have not used for years, I find I am close to success, except the next portion has disappeared!   A photo I wished to insert there, is also huge, and now deleted.  

This is not the time for a would be councillor to knock on my door and suggest voting for them!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!  I left it unsaved and with work to do, later.

A Bee concerning Royal Mail

Royal Mail again!

The privatised mess that is Royal Mail continues to exasperate the public.  The need to feed the shareholders, paid £400 million of the £700 million profit past year, is destroying the service, or at least what remains.  The man at the top, paid £750,000 a year, has proved to be incompetent, sat in front of a Commons Committee and failed twice to appear in control of his company or his knowledge of said company.  The man on the street delivering mail has less control, less money, and all the grumbles this man at the top avoids.

Chris, our postman, works a three day week.  This is quite common, and gives employment to men over 50 keeping them busy and offering a decent public service.  The problem is while Christ covers Monday to Wednesday the rest of the week is covered by overtime.  Royal Mail no longer allow overtime, unless the entire 'walk' is finished!  So, nobody delivers here Thursday to Saturday.

My beautiful, wise and clever niece posted a packet containing family stuff to me.  It had not arrived.  This of course is the Easter Weekend so Friday and Monday are holidays.  WOB, the book shop, posted a packet of three cheap books to me and told me it had been collected.  Indeed, on Saturday night a Royal Mail man logged the packet into the system informing me it was with them.  This morning I checked the tracker and found the packet lodged in Chelmsford, awaiting forwarding to the sorting office.  Nothing today thought I.

At around 11:30 Chris rang the bell, offered me two packets, one from WOB and one from my niece. He also mentioned that the ban on overtime continues, his 'walk,' one I used to do, has increased in size by the addition of yet another street!  Madness!  He has not got enough time as it is to finish the 'walk.'

This results in certain streets being left until tomorrow, which is actually a crime, not that the man at the top cares.  He also made clear that he is no longer allowed to log packets in the morning before delivery.  If he does this allows the customer to know he is arriving, but if they are out it has to be returned to the office.  By not logging it in the customer does not know they have tried to deliver and remains ignorant of the fiddle until they happen to be in.  Customer service, not since privatisation at Royal Mail.

At least I have some books on the shelf, and a pile of old letters and photographs to work through.

The Conservative Party ideology is based on privatising everything to save state money.  In the long run it destroys all services, social, transport and practical, enables some to make money from shares, their friends, and donations aplenty to arrive from those running private companies.  Corruption is the word.

Prisons, probation, railways, buses, Royal mail, DVLA, Passport Office, you name it, anything privatised it does not work, too few staff too many board members lining their pockets.  Has anything privatised worked?

And another thing, stamp prices.  Now I think £1:05 for a first class stamp is a bargain, as it ought to be at the destination overnight.  Under this regime, a good word, it is failing and price increase appear unjust to many.

  

Rain

Rain, teeming rain! 

No real surprise, this is an Easter Bank Holiday Monday, the day people race of to the seaside for a day out.  Naturally the weather will be bad!  I recall standing at Craven Cottage, watching Fulham, including the great George Best, play Plymouth Argyle.  What I recall most is Best's superb work rate and ability, and the sleet and snow which spent much of the time slapping me in the face.  

This is the UK in Spring!

So, nothing for it but to watch English football on the laptop. including Braintree Town defeating the team that had just won this lowly division, and splashing out £9:50 for the privilege, me that is, not they.  

Being a holiday nothing else happened. 

So I am doing nothing else also, bar an evening at SPAM with the men.