Laptop Death

I have decided to write a book!  It will be called 'Your Laptop is Trying to Kill You!'  It ought to be a best seller.

Today, I attempted to download family history info that had been lost some time ago.  I had most of the info in place and was sure of finding what I required once again.  After some faffing about I began to download info onto paper for printing.  Because of the setup I had to first copy and past the info, then paste it onto what they call 'Sticky Notes' as this removes any little boxes and frames the info has been put into.  From there I then paste it onto a 'WORD' or in my case a similar page.  Simple.

Not so.

For a start, right clicking on this machine either does not work, or if it does it then switches off as you use it to cover info or paste info.  This is a constant habit.  As it sometimes requires several attempts before it works things can go wrong.  While copying one piece about 'Margaret' it failed several times, by the time I had copied the details and printed it off I realised I now had two 'Isabell's!' The blasted smug machine had switched back to the previous woman!  

Add to this my confusion caused by one of my beautiful nieces.  She has also been looking into this and managed to place one wife as the daughter of a previous parent.  It took some time before I worked this out.  The unfortunate habit of using similar names in each generation may be romantic to some but it does the head in of those of us today scrawling through hundreds of Margaret's of Isabell's.  As my dad was called Robert, and so were almost all the fathers before him, and others of the same name also used Robert for generations it is quite easy to come to the conclusion those Mad Axe men found in the daily press are not so mad after all.

Of course add to the fun the router.

This is a machine that sits on the desk quietly doing its work.  

Except when it begins to flash!

Green, Orange, still orange, flashing orange with a 'b' and possibly a wi-fi sign, then more orange before Blue appears, before it begins the whole routine once again!   

Mine takes a delight it playing nice until the football begins, then it goes off on one.

When it all works, the swear box is filling up nicely, and the printer is working well, that is when you realise the ink is about to run out.  There is of course plenty of black ink in the cupboard, but no coloured one.  The coloured one runs out.  You glance at the clock, the wee stationer is shut, supermarkets crowded, but if you go there is no suitable ink, and if there is, it is not the one you need.

You pick up the mobile, switch it on, or at least attempt to switch the brute on.  Nothing happens.  You press again and again, yet nothing happens.  You fling the brute down and it switches on.  

You then attempt to count to ten but that is not helping...

Tomorrow I will visit Tesco, I may have to use the self-service machine.

This could mean trouble...

The Morning Shift

 

I hobbled slowly up to the bank just after it opened the doors this morning and made to place a cheque in the 'paying in machine.'  A woman approached wearing a face a doctor's receptionist would be proud off.  

"Yew paying in?" she asked. 

"er, yes," muttered I.

She grabbed the cheque and examined the signature closely while the other staff glared on from a distance.  The vixen passed the cheque around the others who slowly examined the small piece of paper.  

"It looks almost genuine," one whispered.

"Him, paying in?" said another.

In the corner a customer mumbled to the clerk at the 'Information Desk,' "It looks dodgy to me, he has never been seen inside this place before."

The clerk agreed, but added, "However, I have only been working here ten years."

After a quick call to a stunned 'Bank Interpol' service I was allowed to proceed, though the woman with 'Stasi' in her blood did indicate she was watching.  Indeed she was, and soon made clear it the machine would not work while I was doing it  upside down.  Why are self service machines so difficult?

I made for the door, eyes watching me, some red amongst them, others white with little black spots in the centre, I took the opportunity to hide among the early morning throng.  I did notice two men across the way stare at me as I left the bank doorway, "What was he doing there?" one mouthed.

I sauntered through the townscape.  The sun shone brightly, those avoiding the market day crowd sauntered also, mostly in my path I noticed.  Few stalls were seen, though many regulars take holidays in the sunny parts of the world at this time of year.  Push chairs pushed past, invalid carriages also, a dog was walked through the town dreaming of fields and trees, and children were locked in school to everyone's enjoyment.

I felt free.

On my way back to my abode I dared to enter Sainsburys on a Wednesday after 9 am.  I was pleasantly surprised to find the hordes had not in fact gathered there already, it was not quiet but it was almost safe.  Safe that is bar the men not used to trolleys and the women who used them as weapons.  

The security man greeted me with his usual smile, one learned while serving in the Kings Own Royal Deserters, ran that electric weapon searcher up and down me and waved a pair of handcuffs in my face.  

I think he was telling me something. 

I browsed the grossly overpriced fruit and veg, avoiding fingering any in case they made me pay for the stuff.  Dodging two grimacing men facing one another down in the narrow space between the shelving and a staff trolley, and I headed for the meat.  

There was lots of it and the prices were fabulous.  I decided instead to take a walk out to a farm and kill a cow at the weekend, chop it up and shove it in the freezer.  Hard work, but less hard work than paying the prices Sainsburys wish to charge.

Was it Sainsburys or Tesco whose shareholders voted against a pay rise for the staff recently?  One of them gave their staff a box of 'Quality Street' chocolates as a Christmas gift!  As they sell at £4 a time and cost the store considerably less I am amazed at the generosity!  

Carrying a basket enables me to avoid the slow, old people that hinder so much in supermarkets.  Thus I collected the needful and headed for the checkout.  Alas!  The aged population had queued up, blocking the main passageway ignorantly.  This is not surprising from a generation that always considered themselves before anyone else, and so I went off and joined the other young people like myself at the self service tills.  

The young lass, who I had not seen before, was quick to aid those requiring help, even though she at first offered a visage fit for those seen sitting behind Tory Prime Ministers at PMQs.  While we passed items across the pinging till she amused herself by dreaming of her boyfriends/better job/bank balance/way of escape, until a cry of help was uttered.  I think I would rather sit at a checkout that be forced to run back and forward from one till to another constantly as in this job.

Once she had cleared my mistakes, once the security man had ceased glaring at me from across the hall, I moved out into the cold sunshine and braved crossing the by now, full car park.  Dodging the man with the trolley that did not go in the direction he was going, avoided the woman in the red car putting makeup on her face while the car moved, and stopping to allow an ungrateful couple pass with their pushchair, I halted to catch the sun above the church.  

Naturally it comes out dark, that's what happens when you point the camera at the bright sunshine, but I like it and do not have many other opportunities on days like this.

Back home, while the sun hid itself behind cloud and the temperature dropped like a stone, I concentrated on things that mattered.  So, I slept, ate, slept and ate.  Seems good to me.  My knees agreed, and we have decided not to wander out again until Friday or Saturday, and spend the time available doing things that matter.  

So, not much will be done this week again...

A Bit About Britain

I was persuaded (that's another word for 'ordered') to obtain this book.  This I did, read it I did, and shove it on the bookshelf I am about to do.

The author has a website devoted to bits about Britain.  This, as you know, usually means 'England.'  The author is English, claims a Scots wife, claims a university education in History, and claims to have 'reason.'  

The book itself is an excellent example of turning a blog into a book.  Whether this was the original idea or not it has certainly worked.  Covering the UK from the earliest known dates, and dates as you know are always changeable, he works forward until the period after the second world war.  The method chosen chows how difficult it is to deal with history in a simple manner.  Far too much must be left out simply because of lack of space, include too much and people turn away.  This book manages to cover the whole period remarkably well.

Clearly there are areas to disagree with, what historian would ever accept a book as flawless?  The authors chapter on reason is clearly unreasonable.  He omits to say where his great pride in his reason comes from, nor why we ought to accept his opinion as 'reasonable,' when clearly it is far from that.  His view is clearly from an English perspective, his understanding of Scotland somewhat at variance from mine, and the very nature of the beast means much information a reader such as I wish to see must be omitted.

That said there is much credit in this book.  In fact, when considering the number of asylum seekers arriving on these shores it became clear to me that most will be very ignorant of the land in which they arrive.  When I came to this region of English wilderness I sought out the local press, visited the library, went to the museum and bought a small booklet detailing the towns history, and discovered what it was, or had been about.  This book could do the same for newcomers to the land.  Instead of absurd questionnaires designed to stop people taking up residence this book ought to be given to those allowed to stay.  Clearly this simple, one off book, will teach them more about UK history than what they will learn from the far from free press, TV or talking to neighbours.  

While this book has faults it clearly is ideal as a quick review of UK history, and also details a Timeline that is quick and easy to follow.  Those who find delight in certain passages will soon visit their local museums and libraries to discover more of their chosen time period. 

I recommend this book as a quick history of the UK.    

Books! & Family.

So, in spite of my better judgement I wandered off up the road to the wee shop, entering just after they had opened.  I am always wary of this shop, on the few occasions I have used it I have been confronted by what we refer to
as 'wide boys.'  However, after a quick prayer, and a quicker breakfast of stale hot cross bun and coffee, I made it anyway.  They were still sorting themselves out for the Saturday traffic and quickly I explained my desire and quickly the packet was forthcoming.  Soon I was heading home via Tesco.  This surprised me as I was aiming for Sainsburys but fell into a dream and found myself at the wrong shop.  This may not surprise anyone.  A quick wander round for the needful, and a fight to stop the girl at the checkpoint stealing my packet, and home I stumbled.  Another exciting Saturday in flow.

I have always liked the H. V. Morton style.  Especially as the books date mostly from the 1920s and 30s and as such offer a differing view on life.  Already I have mentioned his book on Scotland which I have somewhere on the shelf.  The link also offers the other Morton books I have read, and one on the man himself.  While his books offer an insight into the world of his day they also offer an insight into the man himself, this is not always pleasant.  

With the book on medieval churches I failed to realise that is contains over 400 pages of small font!  It looks historically interesting, probably is, and will be very interesting to read.  However, with several other 'heavy' reads on the go it may not appear here for a while, possibly this year!  

There are quite a few books I am slowly working my way through at the moment, and one of my sensible nieces has given me an 'Amazon' voucher, this means I will have to make use of the second hand books available there and save money and increase the book pile.  I am not sure this is a good idea...

I will start looking on Monday!

Yes its a baby.  Yet another great niece for me to spend money on.  However, on this occasion, the mother has brothers and family without nieces or nephews to spend money on, so I will not venture much more than I already have.  As far as I can count, that is four nieces, one nephew, three great nieces and two great nephews.  Though I may have missed one.  They are all at a distance, only the latest two require anything, the rest all successfully grew up and found work, bar the archaeologist who still has to decide whether to find work or study for a PHD.  

Her dad says 'Work!' 

Boring Again

 

It's been a boring couple of years, and there appears little excitement on the horizon for me.  I have not been getting out, and if I try to get out now I am unsure of busses or trains at the moment. One or other will be on strike, and this corrupt government under another gooseberry will not be able or willing to do anything about this.  Not as long as they are coining it in.

On top of that inactivity has made me less inclined to activity, my knees tremble easily and therefore I rarely venture far.  This does not do me any good but that is how it is at the moment.

This sums it up.

My head wants to see other things, find strange places, take bad photos, invigorate the brain and stimulate the intellect (don't laugh).  But the bulk of my body wants to sit here watching Scottish football, eat, and sit some more.   The knees like the rest but I know they need exercise.  We argue about this often.

Anyway, tomorrow, Saturday, I must trot up to a shop, one I consider the biggest chancers in town, to collect a couple of books UPS have left there.  Or at least that is what I am told has happened.  These were bought via Waterstones at beginning of December, it took me a while to work out they were not coming, apparently had been attempted delivery, but no card left, no idea what happened.  When I contacted them I was told they had been left in a safe place.  What place?  No idea.  Today I have the paper telling me where they are (HA!) and tomorrow I find they are not there.

Ah well, some excitement I suppose.

If You Canny Find Rinso...

 Do it the Hard way, let the SunLight up your life.

An Angry Post!

Speed and Coffee Talk

Not that long ago a workmen's van arrived, stopped across the road, unloaded gear, set up a security fence, climbed the ladder, placed this sign on the lamppost, collected the gear, and drove off.  Thirty minutes work.

Nobody has taken a blind bit of notice!

As I trudged down to the Post Office to finally post my card to the new born, the rain began, the cars splashed, and none looked up to find a big '20' sign in front of them.  I suspect this is because there is no sign at the beginning of the road, nor one following on from where the supermarket shoppers join the road.  Ignorance is bliss for many, deliberately from some.

Whether such a speed on this main road helps is debatable but few are debating at the moment.  I can understand this on the side streets where people often wander on the road, but this is a main carriageway and heavy traffic can be found on many days, including 'rush hour' traffic that never reaches 20 mph on any day.  

Having posted my cards 'Special Delivery' (£6:85) to ensure they get there this week, I wandered around to the church coffee morning to get out of the increasing rain.  The occasion is an excuse for old women from the locale to join old women from the church, and one or two men, for a mornings gossip.  It is one of the things that keeps such women alive.  Many are lonely, one or two not quite right, and all like to gossip.  During the day they get bored, at night they watch dumb TV, and the next day they find another church with tea on the go to fill a moment.  My mother used them when she aged, and enjoyed them all.  Here, my beard growth was encouraged by one women in the hope I would play Santa next year!  My reply was curt.  

After being offered a lift home I returned to eat and sleep.  Which sums up my life at the moment.

The abode requires urgent cleaning, and much has to be done.  However, there is no urgent cleaner on show at the moment, and none of the women, bored as they are, would offer.  So it may be left until next week...

That's That Then...

 

Well, I'm glad that's over.

I have spent much of the past few days attempting to work out what day it is.  Either that or deciding what to eat before the sell-buy date, or because it might start growing mushrooms.  And my teeth are sick of chocolate, especially the liqueur type.  No more longing for the postman with the parcels, they all appear to have arrived, no more expectation of cards, nor any to send.  At last I can get back into a proper rhythm and return into the slob stage where I belong.  Spending is now for me, not others.  

Still, I enjoyed it.

 

Twitter have banned me again.  The first name remains banned, as I will not remove the post that offended the 'Trans Lobby.' The second has been banned because I upset the 'Trans Lobby.'  I appealed both, and have every right to be returned to my position, however, the 'Trans Lobby,' is strong in todays UK Twitter staff.  I will not remove the post, which was correct.  Twitter, under the weird owner, promised 'Freedom of Speech,' where is it Elon?  I may try the other one, Mastadon is it?  But I am not bothered, maybe it is time for other things.

 

Look, blue sky!

Not what we expect from January.  Of course, as I wander down to the Post Office tomorrow the rain will return, you bet!  Good job I do not complain.  

New Years Day, 2023

 

The new year started with a damp saunter down to the Kirk.  The clouds did their best to hinder the sun brightening the morn.  Few were out this early.  A couple of dog walkers were dragged along by eager pooches, a car passed now and again, and a patrol car containing two sleepy officers wended its way down the road hoping everyone would stay quiet, at least until they were awake.  

Many were missing today from church, family gatherings, the cold bug, and left overs from Christmas keeping people inside.  A lot of old women will not come out when the weather is dodgy either.  Still, we managed to murder a couple of songs, pass our bugs onto one another, discover how many had fallen down or been manhandled by the kids or dogs over Christmas, and made our way home rejoicing, sort off.

I failed to 'see in' the new year last night, I was asleep by 11 pm, and even the fireworks from those who ought to know better did not trouble me much.  On YouTube someone walked about Edinburgh at night, offering the live view of the rain drenched city.  People massed about, glittering lights glittered, and wet streets offered an opportunity to break a leg or two.  The thought of mixing with crowds was far indeed from my mind as I watched.  I was glad to be sitting here wearying myself watching others.  

It is now when I come to understand the attitudes of the older generation I knew when young.  Why is it we understand things long after the time when we require to understand things?  And why do young folks have all the energy when people like us, over 35, need the energy more than they do?   

Life can be so unfair!

At this time people tend to either look back or look forward, to my mind it makes no difference.  Whether it is the 1st day of January or the middle of summer life, will go on as it is.  There will be hard times, tragedies, sad occasions.  There will also be good times, excitement, joy and happiness, often.  Just as life normally offers.  

You go into the year trusting yourself, and that has seen you through so far hasn't it?  I go trusting Jesus, well usually, knowing he will always be there, usually gnashing his teeth and asking "Why did you do that?"  He has been leading me for 50 years or so and I cannot fault him, though I have let him down often.  He is our only hope, in good times and in bad ones.  He never fails.

 

I hope you have a 'Happy New Year' indeed.

 

Happy New Year 2023

 A Happy New year to one and all.

May this year bring happiness to you.

Terms and Conditions Read?

Us dreich, miserable, types arose on the last day of a dreich, miserable year, to venture out into the dreich, miserable damp day to collect the several items forgotten yesterday when we visited Sainsburys.  An early start in the mirk was required as the rain lessened and the met office live map indicated very heavy rain to follow shortly.  They were correct.  As I huffed my way upstairs the rain had already began the days offering.  This the result, they say, of cold weather pushing down into north America thereby shifting the jet stream to the south.  This brings mild, but wet weather, or the Atlantic Ocean as we call it, upon our heads.  Climate change ensures this has made things worse than usual.  Rivers are higher, some places flood more, but at least the Water Companies sewage floating therein is swept away more quickly.  Touching innit?

At least the post is catching up.  The cards have been arriving, a parcel or two also, and a delayed box from up north has arrived full of excellent goodies.  I do not deserve women like these girls.  Of course the 'Private Eye' mag from three weeks ago has not yet appeared, and I am unsure if one ought to have arrived this week.  No doubt there are other items lingering in those large sorting offices placed at the edge of towns which will arrive in due course.  I understand how this happens, a 'York,' a large stand upright basket if you will, full of mails in bags arrives, it is pushed to the side with all the others.  Day after day, strike after strike, more mail arrives and the 'York' is pushed to the back.  Therefore later mail gets through first, until someone realises what is happening and changes things around.  This kind of thing, believe me, is easily done.  The dreich, drookit and miserable postman delivered my box today but without a smile.  Mind you, in all the years I have known him smiling was not seen as his normal habit.  Anyway, that's more chocolate for my few remaining teeth, a pullover that fits and another book to read.  This is a good one.  She has always chosen very good books for me, though I suspect her son helps, and this is another good one, which you will hear about in good time I suspect.  

So, we leave this year of joy and happiness, several Prime Ministers, umpteen Chancellors, and goodness knows how many cabinet ministers have come and gone.  The stability under the teeth now residing in No. 10 is based on making more money for the rich, not upsetting the 'wide-eyed loons,' and selling off whatever is left on the Tory ideology list.

More strikes then?

The year makes no difference.  Life goes on whatever the year.  We decide what happens, and the Good Lord rules over all the feeble upstarts leading the nations, both good and bad, mostly it is true, bad.    

No need to despair, Jesus continues to rule, our lives will have their ups and downs, there will be good times and bad, tragedy and laughter, and hopefully you will enjoy much laughter in spite of the many tragedies that we will face.