Saturday Mope

It's a long time since I have been down at Poole Harbour, which is just visible as a dim hump in the far distance.   I dreamt of buying a wee house with a view such as this over the harbour, but decided the several millions required could be better used elsewhere.  I used to walk near here with a friend and we often contemplated a flat with a higher view, just up the way from here.  We both decided that a million pound for a flat was too much.  There again, having 47pence between us, this was an easy decision.  Dreams are cheap, but the more I look at rich folks throwing their money away on expensive items, mostly for show, I wonder if they are as happy as you and I are in our struggles?  How many are divorced, unstable, depressed, and looking for meaning by gaining more useless items?  I have done similar but at a cheaper level, it does not work.  Obtaining a property such as this may be good fun but you would end up mixing with the type of high flying greedy guts that you prefer to avoid.  Those who can cheerfully afford a £10 million house are not the people I want to live next to.  Obviously some would be decent, but those desperate to be among the higher orders would proliferate, and what a bore they would be.  

It is five years since I took this picture of Corfe Castle.  That seems like a generation ago.  Those living in Corfe, in houses made from castle stones, must be among the rich of Dorset.  A house near to the castle costs around £800,000, but it does come with a couple of thousand tourists outside your door, cameras clicking as much as their tongues, kids screaming, and traffic a couple of feet from your window.  I'm not sure I could enjoy that.  

The thing of course is to be where 'your people,' are found.

Not far from me, the main road north from historic times, dives down the hill.  Traffic flows day and night, yet people pay vast sums, similar to Corfe, to live amongst 'their people.'  In one way this is understandable, in another, I wonder if 'their people,' could be found in a better area?  We like to be with 'our kind,' and object when incomers to the country behave in the same manner.  An example I read of the other day was 'Green Lanes,' in London.  Many are Cypriots who came here in times past.  At one end Turkish Cypriots gather in coffee clubs as they did back home.  Up the road, sharing many of the same shops, Greek Cypriots live similar lives as lived back in the sunshine.  The distinction is clear, but they need to be near one another to live lives as they always have.  Together, but separate.

Humans are funny...

Postman

Freddie was barking downstairs. That's Freddie the dog I must make clear.  He is a wonder at ensuring no-one approaches the door, the back yard, or even passes the front of the house and has the audacity to linger for a moment without Freddie warning them of his presence.

Just after noon he was at it.  With the folks downstairs being at work I looked out to see if it was the postman.  In fact it was the parcel postman, Zac, who had parked at our door, indicating a delivery for the new neighbour.  

Over the three years she dwelt in No 5, I became quite used to receiving packets for Angelika.  The new lass is now doing the same thing, also without mentioning things are arriving.  I wondered what kind of people they would be, it appears to be two young women, but I only ever see one, and I asked one of the Kirk to pray about the neighbours.  The next evening she knocked on my door and presented me with a couple of cakes.  It appears the agent had not bothered to explain where the electric meters are, nor I suspect many other things.  However, politely refusing the cakes while not returning them I indicated what she must do.  All heart me, and all heart and fattened arteries also now.

Anyway, a box arrived and I took it in.  Zac knew I would anyway, and he chatted re the joy of Royal Mail.  After a year or more of strikes, now resolved, little has changed.  All that has been done is to push any further squabbles into the future for Labour to handle badly.  

I enquired re the second, bent and twisted birthday card, that came through the door the other day.  He indicated a young postman, one who has been around for three years or so, is quite useless, and even when put on difficult 'walks' continues to be useless, but will not resign.  It appears he does not have the dedication to the job that is required.  Clearly subtle tactics have been used, but subtlety is not for this young man, it may be an idea to make him a manager!  

Roger, the proper postman, is off sick.  This makes little difference as he has spent much of the time on the 'walk' off sick.  The young lad is doing it now, possibly regularly, possibly only occasionally.  Even Roger was better than this.

I have some good memories as a postman.  The majority of the men were good to work with, there was little strife, only occasional outbursts.  This is good among 100 or so men.  I trusted them all, never expecting any to be found stealing, though one or two avoided some work.  The banter, usually racist in my opinion, against me I still miss.  I of course never said anything to upset them.  When retired the work can be missed, the banter with good men is always missed.

Trying a new exercise regime this week.  The pain appears to indicate it is working.  At least that is what they all say.  I'm not so sure myself.  Losing weight, eating better, exercising differently, all will go into making me a super 11 stone muscle bound hunk, well, in a month or so I will certainly be a hunk, or is that hulk?

Insipid Day

This insipid picture sums up my past few days.  Feeling rough and doing little.  This, along with nothing worth reporting in this world apart from the usual Tory corruption, and we are all sick of that, means little of interest has occurred in this house.

The media have spent much time on a pervert BBC presenter, ignoring pervert Tory cabinet ministers, Boris refusing to hand over his mobile phone, the one that condemns him, and the media refusing to ask why is a wee girl put into the Lords, and why is there an injunction against naming the reason?  We could also include Michelle Mone, given millions for dodgy PPE, told to repay the money by the courts, it appears she now resides on a yacht in the Med.  Nobody chases her?  Why?  

We could discuss Nadine Dorries upcoming book regarding the removal of Boris from the PMs job.  I am sure this will be an open, objective report, with no teenage angst being revealed at any time.  Of course, if we review this book we may be just a tad sick, so we will forget it.

Prince William, in another PR stunt, is being portrayed as a 'Great Father,' unlike his dad.  He has many supporters, those who still live their lives through his mum, and those who have absolutely no idea what the royals are actually like.   Being a royal canny be much fun, cameras on you all the time, everyone wanting you to fall, but changes must be made if the monarchy is to continue.

See, nothing happening.

I might ignore Twitter tomorrow, and have a life instead.

Slovenly Sabbath

This was the threat today, along with thunder and lightning and heavy rain.

Feeling a bit peaky over the past couple of days I was intending to remain indoors anyway, so I spent some time watching the weather on 'Microsoft Edge' bringing the rain across at the time I normally leave on a Sunday morn.

They said it would arrive at 10 minutes to 10, but it failed to come.

They said it would be 'light rain,' and it did arrive at 10 minutes past 10, and failed to drop any rain.

'Moderate rain,' was to follow shortly after, the clouds darkened, but no rain fell.

Innit just marvellous!

On any other Sunday I would have proceeded out, as the weather looked OK, and got drenched half way down the road.  Today nothing.  I will trust the BBC from now on.

So, instead of trekking out I remained indoors intent of reading one of these.

I have one I bought back in the 80s when the NIV first arrived.   It is showing signs of wear, not always because of constant reading I should emphasise, and requires to be put aside on the 'retired book shelf.'  It was as I glanced at the scribbles inside the front pages I found a little thing from the late 70s.  I was in the hospital, and short of cash.  One Sunday evening I found myself full of 'faith,' that the money I needed for the week would arrive.  At that time I required £1 a day.  Being paid on Thursdays meant I needed £3 for the week.  I knew this would arrive.

Monday morning I arrived at work as my usual happy self, "Here's old misery," said John the cook as I entered.  I ignored him, and the collection off lesser staff gathered around the front door at 7:30 in the morning.  

I remained full of faith, and on my clock card, remember them?  I found a cheque for £3.

This was a payment owned me by the NHS which had not been paid via my wages as it ought to be.

God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.

So many times, when down on my 'uppers' the Good Lord has provided in interesting ways.

He never leaves us.

(Mind you, he does not make us rich either!)

An answer to my query has arrived.

One of my favourite, beautiful, and highly talented nieces had sent this beer to me.

She has also sent a card which has, so far, not appeared.  This may be because of the incompetence of the Royal Mail management, or some 'dick' pinching it thing money was included.  How wrong he would be.  It may appear one day, as may others that have not arrived.  

I have spent some time in these days looking in to the 'Tour.'

Not that I am really all that interested in who wins these days but I do like watching the background scenery.  

Today and yesterday there was an abundance of small, tight knit villages.  Usually a church and a castle or some once proud, but now broken down building from the days of long ago is glanced as we pass.  These villages today were astonishing.  Crammed together cheek by jowl, as they say, it indicated something of the history of the region, though all I could think was how everyone must have known everything about everyone!  No secrets here.  

I am also impressed at men cycling 100 miles and climbing hills at 15 mph, sometimes faster.  Now, for myself I often had to climb off and push the bike, and that was going downhill!  How do these men do this?  Over 4 hours of cycling today, finishing up a steep, and very high hill, with a wonderful view, but a killer for the man who led so long and got beat at the last.

I think I will make sure I still have my Bus Pass.

Beer Query

Life is full of mystery.

The doorbell rang, ding-dong, ding-dong, as it does, for the second day in a row.  This is unusual.

I fell down the stairs gracefully and opened the door to a driver, from DHL, possibly the best 'white van man' around, and accepted a box, a box that when lifted revealed that glass bottles were inside.

This, following on from the previous day, when a lassie of Indonesian like origin, proffered a large envelope bag to me.  

Neither had I ordered.

The first contained items originating in Edinburgh, a hamper for my ageing birthday.  A note inside indicated the sender, one I had been warned to accept.

This second box however, contained no information as to sender.  Nothing on the outside, nothing on the inside of the extremely well packed box.  A box that will be re-used come Christmas.

So, having begun a new diet regime, a diet so successful that the other day I ate very little, yet overnight increased weight by 6 pounds!  These later arrivals have not helped.

Last night, the new neighbour knocked on my door.  No-one had shown them where the electricity meter was!  To ask, she offered me two cakes, of outstanding quality, from the shop where she works, I could not refuse.   I had one for breakfast, this lasted me for a good while.

Strangely, the weight has lessened!

However, the four tempting bottles of beer, standing over there offering to increase my weight and kill my brain, are still unaccounted for.  I mean, who sent them?  The family have not replied, it is Saturday I suppose, but I remain in the dark as to the origin of the booze.

I confess, remaining in the dark is not unknown in this dwelling.

Mary L.

I was a wee bit stunned yesterday evening, to receive news of the death of a long time friend.  One of the three close friends I have.

Mary, seen here enjoying recently playing the Great Aunt with her new Great Nephew, has been a friend since first meeting her sometime in the 80's at the 'Grove' in London.  This at a time the church there was beginning to go through a great transformation.  

In time, several of us often met to pray, and mostly argue and give rude lip to one another.  Mary developed a talent for of prayer and hearing God speak to us.  Very important to us at the time.  For some reason she was impressed by Shakespeare and one Saturday afternoon when more important things called, she dragged me of to the Barbican to watch 'Henry V.'   We sat at the back, high up, and I spent a couple of hours with her moaning and grumbling because she wished to be at the front, joining in!  The 'Welsh' character at one point used the term 'Weasel Scot,' and this was heard quite often for the next 12 months!  It has been heard since of course.

Times change and we both moved away eventually.  Both retired in time, and for many reasons have not met up directly for 30 years.  Phone, email, and even Zoom have been used, and I feel guilty we did not use more of this in recent days.  The emails however, retained her grumbling and rudeness.  A rudeness I myself would never offer, honestly.

It transpires that last Sunday Mary suffered a serious stroke, and died on Thursday.  

I am stunned at the news.  I am at the age where the aged fall away, however, I did not expect this from Mary as yet.  At least now the Good Lord has her in his presence, the Jesus who died for her sins, rose for her justification, and called upon her to repent and follow him will now be rejoicing that she has truly come home.  How he will cope with her tongue is of course another matter.  I will have to get used to the silence.

For my Bones...

It's been a physically tiring day.  

I am just going to sit in tonight and sip this for a while.

This might oil the bones and give me energy for the morrow.

 

Snowballs and a King and Queen

Baking With Granny

I was watching a film clip from the war regarding the lack of food, and they pointed out that in the film you never saw a fat person.  Of course many were in the services, and others had not been eating that well from well before the war.  Today however, you rarely see a man without his belly filling his shirt.  Don't look at me like that.

Kids we see are mostly thin, school checks on their lunch habits helps here, and careful mums and the 'cost of living' has helped keep some slim.  Adults on the other hand are fat!  Several reasons for this, one is wealth.  I spite of everything most people have enough, and enough to eat more than they require, thus getting fat.  The word 'obese' is used today to avoid giving pain to fat people, I will use 'fat' as that is what causes the bulges everywhere.  Wealth, greed, poor choices of foodstuffs, and carelessness are the main causes in my view.  

Those who are poor however, may put on weight by eating badly by indulging potatoes, chips, bread, and in my case bread and sugar as it was cheap and filling.  That was about 1980, I reached 13 stone then, and considered myself fat!  Today, having lost two pounds, I am under 15 and a half.

The trick is the 'balanced diet,' this I work on, but very slowly this time.  

The snowballs in the picture, a recipe is on that site, like the 'fly cemeteries, and wee brown round things I never knew the name off, are reminiscent of the buns we found in bakers shops in my youth.  The bakers shops of Edinburgh are one reason we were healthier in the past in comparison to today.   

In any supermarket mum will buy stiff for the kids.  These biscuits, cakes etc, are all mass produced, full of add-ons, and the explanation means nothing, and all have an effect on kids, along with the chemical sweeteners in the drinks they choose.  

My mum used to bake cakes, not fancy, but using her own flour etc.  These were similar to the cakes and buns bought in local bakers, as the baker also used similar material, devoid of chemical add-ons and fed us happily without offering a long term problem.  Most mums did similar.  They were healthier than those found in fancy bakers today, although I am sure small bakers still produce their own bread, cakes and buns in similar fashion, but the costs keep going up and trendies demand fancy, not basic stuff thee days.

Basic feeding produces healthier kids, maybe more granny's are required to cook...?

Yahoo

The King arrived in Edinburgh to receive his coronation again.  In a vain attempt to pretend Scotland matters, other than as a storehouse for England's requirements, he arrived with full pomp at St Giles Kirk and was presented with the sword, mace, and crown of Scotland.  This he did not place on his head, I wonder why?  A short service, directed by Charlie himself, with all the required high heid yins in place, and a number of hanger-ons who will boast of this for many a day,  a parade of military personnel, a lack of violent or offensive protestors, Andrew was not present, and a handful of professional republicans, mostly from the west coast, and the party retreated to Holyrood House and dinner.

I watched this for the historical interest and because it is an event, and we all like to see an event.  There is a need for some pomp at such times, though the truth is the royals are not as popular in Scotland as in imperialist England.  Slightly left of centre Scotland does not like to bow the knee to those who get above themselves.  This does not means the couple are disliked, and who actually knows what they are like?  But it shows Scots want more input into the choice of king.  I suspect dim Willie will not be popular in any way whatsoever, and his publicity seeking wife will be told to cut costs or scram.

I fear she will end up like his mum, playing with the Tabliod's and suffering because of them. 

The usual voices spoke in the Kirk, but what the moderator of the Church of Scotland was talking about I could not understand.  I expected her to mention the cross, the saviour, and what his will really is, but she blethered in an American accent for a while and the royal four looked somewhat bemused. I was disappointed with her.  

Another event over, another block on the business life of Edinburgh, another excuse for pontificating in the English owned and controlled media.  All very tiring isn't it?

Nothing to Say

 

So here is a picture of the seaside.

 

 

Birthday Kirk

 

Wiki

I wore my Jeremiah hat this morning as I trudged down the road in the varying heat and chill.  Traffic was quite light, and I eventually hobbled into the Kirk, worn and weary, as always.  

Three women of unknown age were gathered in the entrance sorting out books and leaflets.  Julie turned to me, grinned disgracefully, and grabbed me while saying too cheerily, 'Happy Birthday,' in too loud a voice.  I usually keep this quiet, but some thoughtless woman has scribbled it down and the Kirk sends me a card every year.  This year those in attendance, not as many as normal, made the most of my embarrassment when David asked from the front if there were any birthdays, a normal routine.  I looked away, not noticing many people pointing in my direction!   'Happy Birthday' was sung, but no gifts were forthcoming.  How embarrassing.

Jeremiah, who we touched on this morning is a favourite of mine.

Here we find a young lad, his age must have been just sufficient to count in that society, who had been chosen to stand alone against his nation.  For around 30 years Jeremiah brought the word of God to the people, and the people laughed at him, hindered him, and attempted to kill him.  Another, unnamed prophet doing similar work ran away to Egypt, the people went after him, brought him back and killed him.  This was not a pleasant job.

The Lord told them to repent as desperately wanted to give them the best, they refused and eventually the Babylonians took many of them away.  Those who were allowed to remain continued to sin, as did those in Babylon itself.  Prophets brought the word of God to them, they refused to listen.  How like Christians today.

It was a further 10 years of abuse before the Babylonians returned as God had said through Jeremiah, to remove the rest of them.  Jeremiah had warned daily suffered abuse and threats, but remained loyal to his God.  In the end a third rebellion kidnapped the prophet and took him to Egypt where he disappears from history.  

He is a great example of someone holding to God, in spite of being more or less alone all the time.  

I read the English are complaining about cricket cheats.

Isn't cheating the Englishman's job...?

Quiet Saturday

Not a great start to a day that has not started greatly.  Overcast, with patches of blue peeking through, wind blowing tepid air in my face as I staggered drunkenly up the road.  My intention was to head for 'B&M' and obtain one or two things for the kids, and something for myself before the crowds arrived.  

There were no crowds, and there were no items I wanted either.  All those toys and not one suitable for either of them.  What I wanted, a new small clock, was not to be seen either.  At one time thousands of these wee clocks were to be seen in such stores, not one can be found today.  Have they all run out? Did the ship sink on its way from China?  Who knows. 

I wandered back across the park as the weather began to spitefully rain on me.  Even the dogs there this morning ignored me.  

This exciting life continues...

 

 

Isn't it always the way that when you buy cards for birthdays and the like there is not a suitable one in the drawer!  I have just looked through a pile of cards and not one is suitable for the purpose I have in mind.  Why is this?

If I trawl round the appropriate shops, at least three here, I will not find one that fits today.  There will be billions that will fit next week, but will have gone by then, but today there is nothing.

It is because of such major traumas I am now insane.

 

Is it just me or is nothing happening just now?

The media appears empty of real news, Sunak made a statement yesterday which has disappeared quickly, and even Boris spouting in the Mail' has drawn little response.  Have we all given up?

The only excitement concerned Farage.  

Making an appearance on TV bemoaning being locked out of UK ,was intended to gather support from his Blackshirt followers.  Instead, it has sponsored rumours about his Russian money, with Twitter offering many photos of him with Russian ambassadors and the usual crew of Brexit ner-do-wells.  Little sympathy has been on view, this, in spite of a spirited defence by all the usual rich right-wing faces filling the right-wing media.  

Poor little rich lying nazi.

 

Saying Nothing

A wearisome day.  The muggy weather varies from chilly to too warm.  Cloud covers the land now offering a dreich view of the world.  Early this morning all was bright, if chilly.  I hobbled up to Sainsburys, enriched the CEO who is on around £4.5 million a year, that's over £2000 an hour, this while a member of the House indicated today, while his staff begin on £11 an hour.  He, the CEO, sent a woman who knew nothing to defend him.  Answer came there none.  The £11 an hour staff were not required today, I even worked the demonic self-service machine without trouble, and was wafted home by a following wind.

So wafted was I that I then unpacked my bag and headed out towards Tesco.  How exciting, two stores in one day!  I have not done that for a while.  

Apart from the fat woman who found moving to let me pass difficult all was well, except I did not find all I required.  I did however, buy four Tesco Vouchers, some of my family may prefer this at birthday time, maybe not, but I bought some in case.  We are in birthday season, each month it is someone's turn and I notice that in spite of having 30 cards in the drawer none fit the person at the time!

Just like home.

Books everywhere, half read, not being read, awaiting reading, wish I had never read, and occasionally how did that get there?  The 'Purely for Show' books I got rid of years ago.  We all had them, the kind of books the bets people read and we got them also, and also never read them.  Dumped them, but some are there to prove I had a brain once, and almost used it.  That however, was also for show.  Today I know my place, just north of the gutter, avoiding contact and having to react, letting others take their place.  I will still read books mind...

The Pieman Calleth

 

There was a bit of a worry yesterday.  The phone rang, or at least made beeping kind of sounds, and a well spoken Scots voice was on the other end.  Clearly this was not a family member.  No indeed, this was my butcher up in Forres.  He was warning me the pies would be delivered late.  Apparently, the regular 'Parcelpost' man was off and his order had not been collected.  He assured me they would collect today.  What a nice man, what service for a small order of Steak Pies and Sausage Rolls.  

Today, around 10:20, the van arrived and a friendly driver offloaded a white box containing the long awaited pies.  Being careful regarding space in the small freezer I only obtained a handful of butcher made steak pies and sausage rolls, and these fitted nicely into the freezer, though I may have to eat some tonight.  No mince pies this time, maybe next.

Nothing else to say, and the sausage rolls look good...

Read about Scotch Pies History: Threadinburgh

Tuesday Grumble

This touched a nerve this morning.  Especially after I had returned from Sainsburys where I obtained the things forgotten yesterday at Tesco.  I like to think I am a careful shopper, and I glanced ruefully ate the woman in front of me and her vast trolley full of goodies.  It turns out these are for two weeks, which makes sense, and indeed she appears to have bought wisely, or as wisely as you can with supermarkets gaining 45% extra profit!  So often I notice baskets full of overpriced crap, easily replaced by 'Own Shop' substitutes, and I am aware how fussy kids can be, but so much is bad shopping, or am I just a snob?  

When profits rise they rarely come back down again.  While both gas and electric have claimed they are reducing my charges, but not by how much they have increased, the supermarkets are unlikely to lower prices now they have us trapped.  So we can expect to continue being ripped off for years to come, especially as they are donating to whichever government is in power at the time.  

The Prime Minister, in his £3500 suit, may not feel the problem, which is why he has told the nation to 'Hold its nerve,' while failing to eat properly, but worry not, his wife has still not been asked to pay tax, so he is OK.

Sunak attended a garden party the other day along with many Tories, a smattering of Labour and others, and that nice Mr Starmer also came around.  Quite what Labour people are doing at a Rupert Murdoch garden party I cannot say, but this does not look good to me.  Keir hoping the 'Dirty Digger' is on his side.  'The Dirty Digger,' is himself hoping he wills till be alive to see Keir as PM.  He cares not who is in charge, Rupert knows he is the one that matters.

Another secret deal is under way.  Apparently, the government is trying to acquire houses, the old council houses.  Now, I am not sure if they mean those still available, or those now occupied by local tenants, but the government wishes to house a million or so highly educated, highly skilled immigrants from Hong Kong in them!  

While the public are told to 'Look at the 55,000 on the wee boats,' the government is allowing a million rich Chinese into the country quietly, because they are rich and will vote Tory.  No suggestion of money to build houses for council tenants, under whatever name, no cash, just 'hand them over.'

                                                    Glamour

Willie has been given, is demanding, is seeking, but not from his pockets, £3 million to end homelessness.  Some say, 'Well done William,' I say, 'Publicity Stunt.'  Another excuse to pretend the royals have a purpose, another excuse for pictures of Will with the peasants, and probably her also touching poor people.  

I ask, 'How much money will he put into this?'

Not a penny.

'Will he build houses in his Cornwell estates for the lower orders?'   

Not a chance.

'Will he be given a free ride in the right wing press?'

Certainly.

'Will government policy be changed?'

No.

'Will suitable homes be built?'

No.

'Will the PR stunt continue?'

Only if people fall for it.

Karsh

Another Hoo-Ha in the 'Daily Mail' this week.  St Pauls Cathedral has a magazine, and one item online intimated that Winston Churchill was a 'White Supremacist,' among other things.  Naturally the patriots, few of whom can actually remember Churchill, are aghast!  Fulminating as only those with no historical information bar that gathered from the press they cry out against such blasphemy!  Twice I have indicated to the 'Daily Mail' that Winston was indeed a man of his time, a 'White Supremacist,' an ungodly believer in 'providence' and 'destiny,' a dreamer, an Empire builder, and a racist.

They did not print that, not any other that spoke the truth either.

Idling

 

As I opened the window in the west wing my eye fell on the books gathering dust above the bed, which incidentally, also gathers dust.  One book of note comes from Jerome K. Jerome, the great comedy writer of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  As you know he became famous for his 'Three Men in a Boat' book which touched the hearts of many as they also had been through similar experiences at the time.  He never again found such success.  That book is a 'one off,' a book that sells, and continues to sell today, that had such a success that writers can only dream of emulating.  No other Jerome book reached that height.

He continued to write of course, and in spite of his age, he was 55 in 1914, spent time working for the French Ambulance service during the Great War, the British refused as he was 'too old.'  

One book on the shelf that caught my red eyes was a collection of papers first published in the magazine 'Home Chimes,' as was the way at the time, called 'Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow.'

How suitable for me that is I thought, my mind wandering towards the cream I was intending to spice my Costa Rican coffee with this morning.

I intended to reach out and collect the book, 'Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow,' but I was too idle to do this, reaching that far early on could be dangerous for one so idle as myself.  So I idled for a moment, then left it and hurried into the kitchen.

Sustained by coffee and porridge filled with raisins I cogitated on being idle. 

I cogitated so long some passing by outside looked up and considered I was just being idle.

How dare they.  I knew how to handle such people, I drew the dust covered curtains and blocked them out.

Being 'idle' is not always a good thing.  Men 'laid off' from factory, docks or mines were often 'idle' but not too keen on it.  Being idle is fine if you have coffee and porridge with raisins, if however, you fail to afford bread it can become somewhat wearisome, as most of us have found out one way or another.  On the other hand, being fed and watered, being able to stand at the window watching men hurtling past early on heading for work in factories, warehouses and Royal Mail while I stand there drinking coffee does bring a smile to my face.  Especially when it is raining and I am inside!  These type of men often wave back I notice...

Later, the women pass by, aiming for shop or office work, always moaning about how hard life is, ignoring the men digging holes in the road meanwhile, and sitting at a desk, possibly all day, while they grumble about their hardships.  These do not wave, they merely put their nose in the air as they pass.

Once 9 am has passed I notice how 'Facebook' gets busy.  I often wonder why.  

I also get busy, I plan my day, make tea, possibly Green Tea with Orange and Lotus Blossom, or work hard watching the housework that I am avoiding, it may be too hot just now, or too cold later, so let it lie I say.  I then fill the time on here, reading the online newspapers, at least the free ones, watching the world continue on its normal progress to destruction, though each day it varies somewhat,  and then instead of idling I decide to take on an adults responsibilities, and ponder what is for lunch.

Now, a real idler would of course have a woman to do this, after all that is what they were made for,  however, the Good Lord took away the only woman I wished to keep, and rightly so, and left me searching the freezer for something I forgot to remove last night.

Corned Beef again I think today.

Being Saturday I would normally spend idle time watching football, however, none is as yet available.  So, instead I, er, what do I do?  

I suppose I will just have to sit here and stare out the window today.

Funnily enough, it comes to mind how so many people cannot idle.  You have met they type, always on the go, cannot sit down, must be 'doing' all the time.  Such people die if they are forced to retire, or engage in wallpapering, gardening, climbing mountains or voluntary work, anything to avoid idling.  What is wrong with such people?

You meet them while working, always keen, always volunteering for jobs, never hiding in a cupboard like others I could mention, and being taken advantage of by managers everywhere.  Some of course become managers, and are a pain to idlers everywhere.

Today, I have indeed been idling.  The idea of work in such warm weather, the temp gauge claims 27% c, although the sun has been hidden behind clouds all day.  I know this as I have been watching it hide for hours.  When it does decide to pop out the leaves on the trees opposite gleam smartly while bobbing up and down gently in what the weather people refer to as a 'gentle breeze.'  It is not usually as 'gentle' as they claim.  

So, as I stand here jingling the keys in my pocket, watching the Saturday world go by, I say, young women did not look like that when I was young, did they all have those bits?  Anyway, watching the traffic makes me jealous of those who car afford a car, I would like a little cheap one to get about, and the maroon coloured Landrover I have asked for these past 20 years has not as yet materialised.

If I was not so idle I may have had one by now I suppose?

This typing is hurting my fingertips, I think idling is set before me for the remainder of the day, and I may as well do that through in the West Wing where comfort is assured.

Confused?

Mothers often quickly disabuse children of wrong understandings.  Some do this by long intellectual discussions regarding the various options, some with a simple, straightforward and now not so popular, slap, others with a simple honest word.  This mum does it well here.

Gender mistakes are common today, encouraged by psychiatrists who themselves are confused and mixed up children.  It is to be regretted that such have had a powerful influence on society in the West in the last 20 years.

The biblical view, not one supported by many Archbishops and Bishops today, is that we are born either male or female.  The only exception being those who are known as 'intersex,' a terrible situation that may be difficult to rectify and complicated for the health professionals let alone the child.  You and I and either male or female, and scientists who study such things indicate it is impossible to be born in the wrong body.  

This does not end the belief many have that this is the case.  Some are encouraged by others to take drugs and even operations, to change their appearance according to taste, others are mentally ill or have serious life problems.  These require care and help to find normality, they do not require to be encouraged into a false position.

Schools appear keen to accept whatever self ID a child may demand.  The mother in the picture would, in my view, make a good teacher in such situations.  Truth would defeat passing temptations.

Let us consider, the trauma of your life, have you ever been tempted to become gay, trans, or a cat, because of the trauma?  Has the treatment offered by life damaged you in your response?  Those who suffer this way, and suffering it is, require our care, not condemnation, they are just like us in the end, but we are luckier than they.

With the news of the Billionaires submersible having imploded and scattered wreckage around the 'Titanic,' the press have been forced to return to the royals to fill space.  There is little real news, a murder or two, rising interest rates, and the usual squabbles which do not demand large headlines, are all that remains.  There is a mass of real political crime of course but the right wing press will be keeping quiet on that, especially as their owners are involved, allegedly.   

So Kate fills the page, drunken women at Ascot take up space, and elsewhere the many voices attempting to find someone to blame for the submarine fail.  The concert at Glastonbury also gives an excuse to see near naked women, people struggling in mud, and dope being peddled.  All just what the 'Daily Mail' reader wants to see.  

Football says nothing much either.  Speculation regarding players moving clubs, the training restart, pre-season friendlies announced, and all the time the media filled with non stories to fill space and keep up the clickbait hoping an advertiser might fall for it.  Nothing much to see here.

I sit at night staring at an empty screen, except for the spiders crawling about everywhere.  

One thing is good this week, the washing has been done, two machine loads in two days, and it dried quickly, that speaks volumes for how hot it has been in here.  This room is usually a cold one.

Long Night, Long Day

Another tiring day.  

Struggled to wake this morning, forced myself up, and breakfasted on a stale roll.  Some folks have less than this of course.  I cogitated on the day and decided I wished it to be a restful one, except of course I had the parcel to post.  Another birthday, another waddle down to the Post Office at the corner shop, I go there because the young lady always smiles at me, unlike the miserable dragons at what laughingly, is the main Post Office in town.  So, sun cream applied, desert hat on head, off I hobbled.  

There is a wind at the moment but the sun was about 70% as I headed east.  I could feel it on my face, in spite of the hat, and my absurd appearance meant several vans and cars slowed down to let me cross the road when required.  They needed the laugh I suppose.

After this my day was over.  Groomed and fed I just dozed away for a while.

This is the Longest Day, and the sky has been bright since very early, which I did not see.

The reason for the sloth this morning was easy to find.  Last night I began to watch Scotland playing Georgia, a 7:45 kick off time.  However, before the game began there had been an almighty cloudburst and 6 days worth of heavy rain fell in a couple of hours.  Now, major football grounds have systems to remove rainwater falling during a game, this was too much for Hampden however, and some decisions had to be made before the game went ahead.  

In spite of Michael Stewart constantly referring to having played in worse, which was a lie, the water was forming huge puddles, the ball did not run, bounce or flow, there was indeed now ay to play in such circumstances.

UEFA however insisted the game went ahead.

Players splashed about in dire conditions, Scotland even scored a goal, but the ref then left the field and we began well over two hours of debate as to whether the game ought to continue, or be abandoned and play again the next night in Paisley.  Any sensible person would play the next night.

UEFA insisted the game continued.

So we saw the ground staff, ball boys, volunteers aplenty attempt to brush the excess water from the field.  Eventually, well after 9:15 pm the game restarted.  Georgia were far from pleased, and quite rightly, and they were even more unhappy when Scotland scored a second goal and eventually ran out winners by 2-0.

The game finished at 11:20 pm, at lest what I made it, the crowd had remained throughout, they had paid their tickets and no information was forthcoming thanks to UEFA, and many a child was late for school this morning, many a man was asleep at work, and all considered it worth while.

During the waiting time the announcer played music over the Tannoy.  Above we see the list of songs played, many enthusiastically supported by the crowd joining in.  'Don't let it rain on me,' by a Glasgow group, the favourite of the night.

Allsorts Today

 

After a very tiring day, I actually had to work again, I sat down to scribble something of great note.  However, just as I did this I realised there was football on the TV, or at least on this 'Viaplay' nonsense, an organisation that demands money so you can see your country playing football!  England, you will note, can see their team on terrestrial TV, why not Scotland?  Anyway, we were not playing, that is tonight, but my tired mind was happy to watch whoever was kicking lumps out of one another.  This meant I scribbled nothing.

The walk to Kirk on Sunday, then the shopping early Monday, a desire to lose weight pushed aside by a desire to make oatmeal biscuits, which turned out no bad, wrapping a parcel for the niece, followed by a rather stupid determination to weed the front wore me out.  This was harder than I imagined.  I ache all over now.  Still, the front is cleared, the biscuits are acceptable, the diet is still on as everything else appears to be vegetable today.    

Today however, my mind is still tired, I am doing nothing of any importance, and time for connecting to the real world has returned.  However, I then look at the real world and wish the football would start.

Last night the house of Commons voted by 354 'Ayes' to 7 'Noes' to accept the recommendation of the House committee to declare that Boris Johnson had lies to the House.  128 Tory MPs voted for the motion, 7 against.  The rest ran away and hid from their responsibilities.  This included our pretend PM Rishi Sunak.  His style of leadership meant he did not appear in the House all day.  Surely this is unacceptable.  The result means Boris is out on his ear officially now, and the joy remains amongst all decent people everywhere.  

Today the right wing press, do we have anything else? ignored the result and splashed a tale of a sunken mini submarine hunting the Titanic.  This is a glory trip for those willing to pay £195,000 to be taken 13,000 feet down to view the wreck.  However, they have not resurfaced, contact is lost, and we will all be aware that rescue is impossible in such circumstances.  

The truth is of course that the right wing press may fear the loss of a Billionaire aboard the craft, but they mostly wish to detract from Boris's defeat last night, anything will do.  

Apart from the thunderstorms that have come up from the south, watering the front and encouraging more weeds to sprout, little else appears to be happening.  It remains warm and sultry, rather like in the tropics, but without the parrots, snakes and beasties.  A few flies and moths at night attracted to the light.  

Nothing much else is happening, although some fuss is being made about cricket.  But we don't care about that, do we...?   

So, it has been 'Allsorts Today,' with little of any use to man nor beast.  

At least I did not ruin your teeth...