Packaging and Pies

There are 'wars and rumours of wars, famine and earthquakes in various places,' volcanoes' in Iceland, the country not the shop.  There are lifeboat men in high seas, mountain rescue services way up mountains, police and firemen struggling to save lives, and my hardest task today was opening the silver wrapper that surround the refill ink for the printer.

As each day passes I find opening the packets things arrive in harder than installing them.   Everything is the same.  Nothing arrives with easy opening capabilities.  I know many items have 'Cut here,' or 'Pull Here' upon them, but they lie!  Even worse are those which offer a thin line with a picture of scissors upon them.  You are foolishly led to believe that scissors can cut the thing, this also is a lie!

Today, with the aid of a 'Stanley Knife,' I broke into the surrounding thick plastic containing the new ink, fought my way through the cardboard box - eventually, and then spend much time opening the silver foil with the lie 'Tear Here' upon it.

Once that was over I was able to install, quickly, the ink.  

Then followed more checks on the work I was doing, which led to several reprints with the new ink, and eventually I decided enough was enough.  

However, I might have a go at the next bit later tonight..

Struggling to plan my ideal diet I fell into the 'Pie Trap.'  Therefore I ordered more pies, steak and mince, at enormous cost, but at least this gives me something I understand in the fridge for when my own cooking fails.  This, if all goes well, arrives on Tuesday from Forres.  

Another Wasted Day

Another day, another attempt at healthy eating falls flat.

Having lost half a stone through the non eating of last week, I am attempting to continue this by healthy diet.  Nothing so far bar Lentil soup and a tin of mackerel in spicy sauce.  Some despise these but I kind of like them.  Tonight it is fish and chips just because, not quite the same, but enjoyable.

I ate so little that at one point I could not think!  This, some may say, makes no difference.  The problem was I was avoiding things like bread, as I need no more fat, but the mind requires some carbs, and I was eating the wrong way again.  

A quick trip early in the morning to Sainsburys the other day fixed that, and I am attempting to eat better, lose weight, and still keep a near clear head.  Doing the family history on Ancestry I need to be clear headed as it is not the best system to use.  This has changed since the last  time I made use of it and not for the better I say.  I may have to live on cheese on toast this week...

Tactful Sunak has done it again.  An off-the-cuff response to Keir went down badly as he asked him whether he knew what a woman was.  Keir of course is unsure as he may lose votes if he answers. However, the mother of a 'Trans' kicked to death' recently, the young killers given long sentences, was sitting in the gallery above having met several of the parties leaders.  What Rishi said is acceptable, the timing has led to another witch-hunt, once again all his own fault.  This man is Prime Minister yet he has no comprehension of the world outside, or the tact required to respond by saying nothing.  Another year of this.

Meanwhile Liz Truss is attempting to create a 'True Conservative Party,'  with Rees-Mogg and the like.  Seek out a  lettuce and note if it lasts longer than her again.

Tech Hate

I survived this mornings fight with the Sainsburys self-service machine, only twice having to ask the young lady to fix it for me.  The man next to me had no bother at all, I will have to use that machine next time!   Grrrrrrrr.

This ought to have been no surprise to me, technology has been giving me a bad time recently.  The router keeps switching itself off, when it returns the speed has gone from 55 to much less.  As it keeps happening each time it returns the speed comes back slower, 48 to 32, to 27 to 14!!!

The air is somewhat blue around here.

I think, as the land line phone is somewhat scratchy, I may need to call in an engineer to fail to put it right.  As we speak the speed is a mere 24, good enough for routine things but not good for things that require a lot of resources such as facebook or the football websites.  

There again Ancestry is giving me gip!  I tried to insert a 'tree,' and it is so complicated, the instructions not clear enough for an ageing eejit, and it took several attempts before I began to understand what I was doing.  Several attempts at deleting things also!

Even worse, last night I lost my mobile.  I then spent some considerable time seeking the brute until finding it in my discarded trouser pocket!   

I hate technology!

Smarmy Sunak took another step into incompetence the other day, betting £1000 with Piers Morgan that asylum seekers would be on the plane to Rwanda before the election.  Has any Prime Minister been more galling than this one?  Even Boris would not have fallen for Morgan ruse.  To think, this man has his finger on the nuclear button!

Begg for Sunday

 

I refrained from going out this morning, instead I listened to Alistair Begg on Samuel.  I was listening to the third of his sermons on Samuel, however, this is the introduction one, that gives some idea of what he is doing.  A good man, speaking with a good accent, which he moved to Edinburgh so he could learn how to speak properly. 

Worth a listen, 37 minutes.

Ancestry and Nicola

Another month has raced by, I did not really notice it as it passed by so quickly.

Another day spent trawling other people's findings on Ancestry to enable me to speed up the search for my friends family.  All very interesting, but so much information is missing.  However, I am back to 1777 which, some of you will remember, was a good year with the English army being defeated by the American rebels.  No tea was hurt in the making of these battles.

This family had a hard life at all times.  Mostly agricultural labourers, with some losing several children before they were 10.  Not unusual for the time however, losing a 5 year old and a 7 year old six months later must have taken a toll.

So I slogged away at this, quite warm as the laundry was drying on the heaters, and gave up before my head exploded.  Almost immediately an e-mail arrived with info regarding the Great War memorial.  A wee bit confused so that will be the task tomorrow, my mind has stopped now.

Not a fan of the ex-First Minister, however, from what I have seen of the Covid Inquiry yesterday there was little attempt to uncover facts, just unmitigated assault on a woman they all fear.  Both Alex Salmon and Nicola Sturgeon are powerful politicians, and Westminster fears them.  They know either could enable Scotland to lose its colonial position, a move that would weaken England greatly, so all media was brought to bear on Nicola.  

The English fear and loathe her because of their fear.  I was dropped from one 'Daily Mail' column because people disliked my support for her stance.  Tee Hee, how they hate easily.  The imperialist English cannot cope with Scots putting them in their place, and you can bet there is much more of this to come soon.

    My router keeps failing so I may find myself in this position sometime soon...

 

Palin's Uncle and Mithras, as it were...

Having been touring Ancestry myself recently I found it interesting that Michael Palin, famous from all his many TV appearances, would have been doing similar, though he being able to afford a proper genealogist to do much of the hard work for him.  However, he had to do his part, aided by documents, diaries, letters and so on that were donated to him from various family members.  Luckily, his family dated back into the mid-Victorian era, a time where such people kept all letters for posterity.  My Grandfather dated from a similar era and if there are any letters, bar demands for rent, they have disappeared into his first family vaults somewhere.  Such documents are treasure trove to a family history detective.  They give information and insight into the person like nothing else.  That is, if they speak their mind and not just simple messages.  

The author decided to investigate the Black Sheep of the family, his Great Uncle Harry.  Harry was the 7th child of the Vicar of Linton, a typical well-to-do family, with their own particular history.  However, though all the boys attended Shrewsbury School, one of those famous 'Public Schools' that only the rich can afford, two brothers went on to do well, one a doctor and the other a solicitor.  Harry failed at school, that is he left after two months, and was clearly not one to follow his family paths.

Palin follows Harry as the family send him to India, hoping the Raj will stimulate what all good Victorians sought, success according to the fashion of the day.  He spends 3 years in an unsatisfactory job, at least the railway thought him 'unsatisfactory,' and was then dumped on a tea plantation in the hope he would 'make something of himself.'  This too failed.  Clearly he as not built for such things.  

The story unfolds as Great Uncle Harry, though he would not have called himself that at the time, made his way to New Zealand, worked on a farm, possibly found some happiness, yet when war was declared in 1914 he joined the colours like thousands of others.  

What made men beginning a new life thousands of miles from home enlist to save the 'old country?'  

We follow Harry through the 'Nzeders' at Gallipoli, and then on to the 'Western Front.'  Here, somewhat inevitably Harry perishes on the Somme.  

Michael Palin makes a good effort at trying to piece together a  story, a story in which so much is missing.  No living person spoke to Harry, Harry himself did not reveal much of his thoughts in his letters and diary.  So the author has to guess rather too much at what was going through the mans mind as he moved around and 'sought himself,' as the Hippies used to.  Though there are gaps in the story I still found it interesting and the book easy to read.  Well worth a glance I say.

Another example of Rhiaan's research 

Sabbath Begg

They said the new moon was different from all the other moons so the other night I had a quick look.  However, having looked closely at the thing it appeared to be the old one returning once again.  If however, there are other moons out there surely they would have either appeared brightly high in the sky, or possibly only during the day when one of the suns was up and therefore hidden?  All this astronomical stuff confuses me... 

I found myself with one of those 24 bugs this morning, though it was not there 24 hours ago.  I skipped breakfast and after some hesitation remained indoors.  This it turned out was a good idea.  Not only could I wallow in self pity but I could listen to some music, better than what was on offer at the Kirk today, also I chose to listen to an old Alistair Begg talk.

This was from 2019 and is his beginning of wandering through 1 Samuel.   I have already heard some of these and decided to start at the beginning and possibly, work through the lot.  This will take time, todays sermon was 37 minutes, and requires listening.  This I am not used to.  

While he has based himself in Cleveland, USA, and even become a US citizen after all these years there, he still retains his proper Scottish accent.  This he developed properly by working at Charlotte Chapel, then in Rose Street.  It is not unusual for those from the west to move to Edinburgh to learn how to speak properly.  His easy manner, developed over many years, makes him easy to listen to, his biblical knowledge is good, and he ranks amongst the better speakers of the day.

Anyway, this is how I spent my day while watching poor English football, a small riot, and easing my insides back into play.  That may take a bit longer, and I need to lose pounds.    

Naturally, being so popular at the KIrk no-one has contacted me to check on my welfare...

And when you are not eating what arrives on screen...?

His and Hers you will note...

Research

 

 

I foolishly agreed to search for a friend on Ancestry.  So, cheerfully I began the search, cheefrully I continued, until less cheerfully I could not find Joshua.  After much searching I gave up.  Yesterday I tried again, this time looking for the man's actual name!  I had asumed the name 'Josey' was short for 'Joshua' or some such but I was wrong.  They already had a 'Joshua' so called him Josey.  I suppose when you have 9 kids you lose interest in names?  

Anyway, I have been trapped here behind a laptop, finding info and screaming quietly as things went wrong, the laptop hit the wrong button, and things disappeared again.  Just like old times!

This morning I finally found a wife.  That is, she was not on the 1881 census, but as several kids were I knew she had to exist somewhere.  It appears she passed on between 1872 and 1881.  Possibly with the last child, but this I canny confirm.

Just think, 9 children all living plus 3 either miscarraige or still birth.

However, I had enough by this time, he can have what I have found and wait until next week for the rest.

I hope he realises his folks never married...

 

The Harbour Window, 1910 Stanhope Forbes

 

Burns Night 2024

Naturally, on Burns night we all know how to celebrate his birth.  Haggis, neeps and tatties, with whisky to wash it down.  Being unable to obtain a proper Haggis from way up north I had to 'make do and mend.'  So tonight I had egg and chips.  Rabbie would be proud of my ingenuity.  

On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough,
November, 1785

To a Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murdering pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ requet;
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuing,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves and stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see,
I guess an’ fear!

Strange to say I remember nothing about Burns being taught at my school.  We did have to memorise 'Monarch of the Glen,' which I have long since forgotten, and this was nothing to compare with Burns output.  Maybe Burns would have been too radical for our 'Simple Simon' school? 

A Man's a Man for a' That

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an’ a’ that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that.
Our toils obscure an’ a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man’s a Man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that,
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His ribband, star, an’ a’ that,
The man o’ independent mind,
He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.

A Prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that!
But an honest man’s aboon his might –
Guid faith, he mauna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities, an’ a’ that,
The pith o’ Sense an’ pride o’ Worth
Are higher rank than a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth
Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s comin yet for a’ that,
That Man to Man the warld o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that.

---

Some in our class would struggle to comprehend Burns, though most of us would have been glad to consider him.  I wonder why he was never mentioned?  I am convinced our teachers would have been keen on a 'Burn's Supper' or two.  

Whether they would all have joined in with our singing of this is questionable.  The SNP were not yet a force, the war was a mere 20 years away, most had done something for their King and Country.  Scots independence may not have found a home in some teachers, but it is not possible to know from this distance.

Scots Wha Hae

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,—
Or to victorie.—

Now ’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud Edward’s power,
Chains and Slaverie.—

Wha will be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a cowards’ grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
—Let him turn and flie.—

Wha for Scotland’s king and law,
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Free-Man stand, or Free-Man fa’,
Let him follow me.—

By Oppression’s woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty ’s in every blow!
Let us Do—or Die!!!

Robert Burns did lead a hard life.  We were taught, now I recall one primary teacher telling us, that he died because of his hard work on the farm.  No suggestion of drinking too much, womanising, or any other problem.  

Talking of womanising...

Poems from the Scottish Poetry Library

Computer Slow

 

I asked a 13 years old tech kid for help with a slow computer.  It was driving me mad, especially with football to watch tonight.  He came round, pouted, muttered things, played awful music, and got to work.

A few buttons pushed, lots of things deleted, at least that I know now, and then the case was opened and we found out why things were going so slowly.  

The AI had not been fed properly.  Tsk!  I should have realised...

Nothing to Say, Again

It is very much this time again.  Nothing to say, and lots of it about.

The political world has become just a farce, so bad that satire cannot cover this.  Rishi is in hiding, Hunt is boasting from a dark room, Starmer is asking 'Conservative Home' what to say, and Ed Davey is forgetting the £200,000 he made sending PO workers to jail.  Every so often a Tory grandee will appear on TV and attempt to prove Donald Trump is not the worst liar in the world.  Two have appeared on interviews to indicate the 'leftie BBC bias,' neither could provide any, however, one suggested 10 minutes of the 'News Quiz,' a satirical programme on Radio 4, was biased for 10 minutes.  As this was pointed out not to be actual 'news' but satire, he had no answer, nor any other evidence.  This bas claim all begins and ends with the 'Daily Mail' and Murdoch! 

In Gaz Netanyahu is hoping to exterminate them all, not for biblical reasons as far as I can see, though to be fair he would not recognise them if it were, but to keep his job and wipe out all Arabs.  God is controlling the world, what is he allowing here?

The media are filled with important stories concerning celebs divorces, films, records, and general PR stunts.  Or else  a woman falling down stairs, cutting her finger on paper, and printing any 'human interest' story to avoid mentioning the needs of the hour.  Their owners would not like this.    

Much space given over to the 'terror' of a storm.  The type of storm we have endured every winter for 20,000 years, but the tabloids insist is the worst.  Maybe climate change is responsible you say?  They do not respond.

Anyway, if the rain puts off tonight's football I will be annoyed.  Especially as our friend Mike will be sitting being drenched there while I moan at the cameraman to 'wipe the lens.'  And drink tea...

Saturday

 

This has been me the past few days.  

Sitting puffed up by the heater, trying to catch the sun.

Nothing much else happened.

However, that Costa Rica superstar headed our first goal today and overall played well.

Ah well, back to the single malt...