Clinically Obese - or Just FAT?

There is yet another report by someone or other informing us we will all be 'Clinically Obese' by 2050. This is not true, I will be 99 by then and I can assure you few men that age are obese! When I say '99' I mean years of age, I do not imply that I will have become some sort of ice cream and be wandering around with a 'Cadburys Flake' stuck in my head! However they have a point here the nation is obese, and there are many reasons for this. To this weeks researchers the 'environment' plays a part. From what I heard this morning they imply we sit around too much, watching TV, driving, lounging at work, or just being a slob. They have a point! Less stress appears to be put on the food we eat, and the implication I picked up is that there is little we can do about this. I beg to differ. I get the impression that we will, as a nation, do anything to avoid personal responsibility. Our genes make us predisposed to violence, crime, laziness, obesity, and anything else we take a fancy to. Our free will and personal choice to heave half a brick at a referee, or make off with someones wallet is irrelevant it seems. Can this be right?

The idea of changing words to make us feel better is an old one now. It goes back thirty or so years and, as you might expect, we picked it up from the United States of America. We began by changing the word 'scafe' or 'Dustbin men' to 'Cleansing Operatives. Of course by privatising that 'service' we stopped six men working half a day on a lorry and now two or three work half a day, that's progress! Other words changed also, 'secretary' was not good enough, so 'personal assistant' became the norm (and cost more for doing the same). In hospitals the term 'portering Services Operator' replaced the 'Hoi yew!' of my day, and so it goes on. Today the media informs us that we are 'Obese' or even 'Clinically Obese' as it sounds medical and more adult. This is like calling 'Santa Claus,' 'Father Christmas' because that too sounds adult, but in the end is just as stupid. Tell the kids to believe in a fat (sorry, obese) man in a red suit leaving something for nothing but ignore Jesus leaving Heaven and spending his life in sinless perfection before dying or your sin filled nature, oh no that's taking it a bit far eh? yes indeed let us tell the truth, we are not 'Obese,' we are 'FAT!' Yes 'FAT!' Not that is different you see. While 'obese' sounds clinical and even medical, 'fat' is just ugly! Large masses of greed stored in a dirty big pile, usually around the gut in men, leaving those who choose to wear their football shirts looking more than ridiculous, and leaving lumpy women pangs of guilt they will no doubt blame on others, that is 'men' or 'society!' Fat is ugly, I know, I have it! It is disgusting. Standing naked in front of the mirror I swear I could hear someone cry "Captain Ahab! Captain Ahab! There she blows!"

So, why are we 'FAT?' There are several reasons. We eat too much, do not exercise enough, and, well that's it really! Living in a wealthy country we become used to an easy life. The expectation is to have the best we can afford and eat what we like. The worship of Mammon has a downside, we encourage selfishness in ourselves and those around us, the life of ease and plenty is seen as 'the good life' and we end up stuffed but not necessarily happy. The food we eat is all to often pre-cooked. Chilled foods come, not just ready to heat and eat, but full of preservatives that add to the bulge that hangs in front of us. Food manufacturers are prone to add elements that give such meals 'morishness' and we naturally want more! More fool us.
Lifestyles lead us to laziness, and wealth enables a call to the 'takeaway' rather than spending time actually cooking for ourselves. Personally I hate the bother of cooking, after all, is that not what a woman was made for? It takes time to plan, shop, peel, scrape and prepare so that those who benefit can sit back, well nourished and forget to thank the cook for her work. But hey, that's normal life isn't it? That used to be before middle class women began to tell working women they should get a 'career.' Actually many working class women already had a job, and still do, it was the middle classes who thought writing for magazines or sitting behind desks telling others what to do was actually a career. It wasn't, it still isn't. However women work, children are all too often fed junk, grow up fat because mum, and dad, are couch potatoes, and will not take the time to look after themselves let alone the kids. It must be said there are many slim, good looking women who do just that,many working at the same time, but society today is stuffed full of laziness. I am a prime example.

Today I walked to the Tesco on the edge of town. Not the longest walk, but far enough for me. This was part of my exercise programme, (having a doctor refer to you not as 'obese' but as 'fat slob' is an encouragement to this) and was accompanied by lots of sunshine, lovely indeed. As I strolled along I came across many unhappy postmen struggling to recover, financially and practically, from the recent dispute. How nice to see, that both going towards Tesco and on the way back, that they had not forgotten me. Vigorous greetings met me in both directions. This reminded me of the difficulty and danger faced by posties today. The letterboxes often have dangerous springs which catch fingers, sharp points on these cause injury, and of course dogs, and sometimes cats, sit quietly behind the door waiting to pounce on any finger shoved through the gap. I was reminded of this as I noticed just how many of these fellows of mine had fingers missing as they greeted me eagerly. I suppose at least they have lost a few ounces in weight this way eh?

The Morning Cycle Ride

Shrouded in gray damp mist I wandered off on my morning 'get fit' cycle ride. This consists of struggling along being overtaken by schoolkids on BMX bikes designed for jumping over skate board ramps, and old folks with zimmer frames meandering past me as I come to the hilly bits. However I ignored their comments as well as I ignored the pain in my knees. The ides of cycling was to provide stamina, long lost while looking for work (unsuccessfully so far), but all it does is revive the aches left from the postie job! Now I'm not one to complain but when I feel worse after the ride than before I feel something may be amiss!

Today I ventured along quite happily around the old postal round. Because of the changes to the postal routine introduced by the madmen who now run Royal Mail very few postmen were to be seen. The time changes have altered everything and I suspect the new, man on my old round would be far from ready to begin by the time I creaked past. Eventually postmen will work from 7-3, this means deliveries on most rounds will not appear till around 9 am or later. Still, folk complain when they strike but not about the loss of the service element nor the increase in prices which, soon to be, privatisation will bring. What a shame change could not be brought by sensible management!

But I digress again. I find I often digress these days, I am not sure if it is Alzheimer's or just being 56 years old that does it. They say that after fifty you spend an hour a day 'just looking for things,' I agree! Back to the bike. I pushed it along at a marvellous speed, for me, and noted the changes a year brings. The round covered a 'rough' area and some quite nice streets, although I always liked the folks there and enjoyed the work. Some folks have moved on, possibly more have failed to keep up the payments on the house bought from the council, the 'Right to Buy' idea being one of the stupidest of Thatchers reign. I noticed the fellow from No 6 must have moved, there was no broken windows to be seen, of course he could be inside again. The old woman who used to annoy me so much must have died, she would never have allowed them to knock down the fence so they could park the car in the lawn, and the Thomson's seem to have moved. She did not like me as she always complained of getting mail for next door by mistake. When I took over this occurred again, and she was real unhappy. The folks next door were not the nicest you see, and she worried they had her mail, an easy mistake a 6 and an 8 looking similar to a postman in bad light. Naturally I informed her that it was not me but the other chap and I would look out for her. Next day I gave her No 8s by mistake! How do you spell wrath?
However even after a year away other folks did remember me, and that is always nice is it not, it means I have made a mark in their lives, the bricks however all missed.

Another small point I noticed today was the Englishman and his approach to the weather. As the day started murky and misty, as the weather forecast told us it would slowly clear, and quickly come back again, how does the average Englishman dress? In shorts and T-shirt of course! He struts about in shorts designed for Greece, with his sunglasses balanced on his shaven head, designer polo shirt or grubby T-shirt with 'I'm with Stupid' scrawled across it, and thinks he looks cool! He must be, every other person you meet has a warm jacket of some sort on! Just because the sun is shining and the sky is blue does not mean it is warm. The sun is shining and the sky is clear and very blue at the South Pole but it is 40 degrees below! Tsk!

Just Pondering Like

There follows a stream of consciousness. You may feel that unconsciousness would have been better. How ever I am going ahead with scrawling here my thoughts. The cynical among you, yes I mean you, are wondering whether there is enough ‘thought’ to share, and then would it actually have been worth the time and effort? The world will soon know.

Outside the window, through the stour thrown up by the vehicles of the Saturday morning shoppers running bumper to bumper on their way home, I can discern the sun once again giving life to the decaying leaves on the trees opposite. the fading greens on one contrasting with the rusty red of the tree on the right. dead leaves huddle together against the park fence, swept from their roost by the rain of the preceding days. The natural world goes about its business while humankind drive slowly and stress filled by, ignoring the beauty around them, full of anxiety about life and its delusions. The birds and the squirrels appear less concerned, and just continue feeding happily, or sit enjoying the sun. Simple pleasures are worth more than those procured from Tesco!

But life does need excitement! We are made for excitement, at least when we are in the mood for it. We look forward to things with great anticipation, longing for the day, hour minute that the great event arrives. Today we await the great football match between Scotland and Ukraine! The excitement and anticipation mounts through the day. What will happen? Can we win, will it be a great anti climax? With great hopes of adventure ahead when we win filling our hearts we refuse to contemplate the possibility of loss! Such events are not mentioned in the bible but happened then just as now. Whether great sporting events such as the chariot race, or small things like a birthday celebration, then as now hopes of joy were raised. What is it within us that is made like this? The idea of something good and pleasurable is attractive to us all, sad events and situations we would rather avoid. However we do indulge some such events, in other people. Soap operas and so called dramas play on this daily on our televisions. Nothing positive or constructive is found, only the baddie being found out, the wronged being made right, someone to hate appearing, and lots of needless confrontation. Yet folk question why the nation is full of strife? There are those who claim television does not lead people into actions, yet advertisers spend multi millions each year to do just that! Who is blind here?

The natural world is at one and the same time wild and dangerous. Animals live by the simple act of devouring one another, the wonder of birdsong is often a male warning others of his patch, the slow moving stream gently flowing past could be a wild dangerous death trap in winter storms. Yet each season has its own unique beauty, the song of a thrush is a delight, the view over the hills refreshes the heart. Just like us I suppose. We worry and fret, fight and devour yet there are mountain rescue teams, lifeboat crews, air sea rescue, fire, police and Paramedics who risk their lives for others on a daily basis. Parents who go through agonies for their child, teachers who patiently go over the same ground again, Samaritans who give a listening ear to the suicidal, and each day small and great mercies are seen in every place. This from a people who live among murderers and rapists, thieves and rogues. Ministers of religion, Christians and humanists, Muslems and atheists. Folk who kill for their religion or those who kill for greed and avarice, or maybe fun, and those who’s religion inspires them to good deeds, or humanists who are motivated to see justice for everyone, no matter what.

All around is good and bad, within us the same power, to kill and destroy, or to build and create. How fragile life can be, yet how glorious also. It’s a funny old world saint.

Oh Dear

Here we go, chain mail!

Yes my friend at http://mulledvine.blogspot.com has done the dirty on....I mean extended his circle by including me in one of those 'Tag' things that live in the ether. This bothers me greatly, not that I mind this from him, but he wants me to pass this on to 'three friends!'. This is difficult, as I have none! I suppose I can dum...pass it onto one other, maybe two, but I hardly know them. Hmmmm, what to do?

Mind you, I was praying towards contacting friends from the distant past recently. Folk I have not been in touch with for years. It was time to put right wrongs, and reconnect I thought. Today I found the main man looking for me on 'Facebook!' Dearie me, Facebook has a use after all. Sooo pleased to see him I flung a sheep at him, as you do. Well I thought as he being Welsh it would remind him of home. Though how many sheep are found in Port Talbot remains to be seen i suspect. Prayer answered. What fun!

Anyway, this ra...man asks for seven things my readership (yes, this means both of you) do not know about me. However as none out there no anything about me this could be tricky. I mean do I tell the truth, slant it politician style, or just lie? Let us begin.....

1) I sit at my desk at the window on the first floor of my slum. I hide behind a plant which fills the window but fails to stop folks over the road think I am watching them. I would if these glasses let me see that far!
7) I once fed and watered a sweet young lass who worked for the 'Environment Department' of the local council. Next day my kitchen was closed down, by order!
3) I originated in the Western General Hospital in Edinburgh at nearly 3 O'clock in the morning. Mum got a row from the sister as she was told to hold me in till later. Jings!
5) I am useless at everything. I even failed the scouts tenderfoot stage - twice! DIY means call the fire brigade. I can't drive, I can't cook, I can't sing, although I can switch on the Radio 3 when I need to. I know nothing, but I am very good at putting my foot in it. I would like a job writing a short attention seeking column in a popular paper, I would upset enough folk to raise the sales.
2) I have studied history via the Open University for three years, receiving a '3' for each year and a request to find a change of subject from the last tutor. This study has been suspended by over work, when working, and poverty when not.
4) I have several dozen videos of programmes I have collected over the years. This was used to great benefit when desperate for something worth watching on telly. The VCR machine is bust!
6) Maths is not a strong point.

Now to find three folk who will hate me for ever..........

The Ominous Comma Very funny blog, a must read!
redfinger's forest deep Another good blog. I enjoy this one.

I love this also. Catpaw - diary of an angry cat

Now they will hate me forever! Thanks Mulled Vine.........

How to be an Idiot. No.26.

In the UK job searching starts with the newspapers and the Job Centre. In one we read the local work available, in the other an Internet search can be made of work opportunities nationwide. Both, I find, lead to dead ends! That however may just be me of course. Anyway, I have sought work through these means, and one or two others, diligently,in spite of what the folks at the Job Centre claim. What does the word 'Malingerer' means anyway? But I digress, I discovered another mode of idiocy this past week.

The job appeared ideal! Working a small machine making frames for pictures, or maybe just scanning documents as part of the process for a small friendly company not to distant and paid well enough for me. So I sit down and write! I compose a letter detaining my suitability for such work. It was good I thought, succinct and honest. I had the print out from the screen in front of me, and the one I obtained from the Job shop a few days ago. two different jobs available! Great! I pondered the chance of one at least being open for me, and I even began planning my day according to their hours.

The letter pleading my case, and I am told I am a right little pleader, appeared just so in my eyes. The references from previous work, and what passes for education from the dim and distant, oh so distant, past were clear. I checked the e-mail address and sent it to the Mrs someone or other as required, spellchecked for the third time,just in case, and after a brief run through sent it off.

Phew! That had taken all evening. But I was sure that if I was turned down, again, it was not for the want of effort on my part! That was a good letter,I felt smugly satisfied as I awaited the soon to be response. Deep inside I wondered how they could resist! OK others may be better, younger, experienced and all that, but apart from that, I was a very good option for this little job I thought.

Later, clearing away the deep layers of papers, books, cups and assorted detritus that appears like magic every so often on the desk I picked up the Job centre form with the job details printed in large black letters. It just happened that the name at the bottom was different from the name I had sent the e-mail to. Hmmm,two folk running the show I thought. On further examination of the two item details I discovered, much to my shock and woe that it was in fact two different companies, working in the same compound! I had addressed my details, really suitable for the first business to the second one! Woe is me. Do I try it again? Shame faced and embarrassed I pondered why I had mentioned my famed organisational ability, my attention to detail and my efficiency.

I sit here now, staring at the park opposite lacking the will to live any longer.

Writing Blogs

Yesterday, while busily going about my day, I had a wonderful blog post going through my mind. Now at this moment I cannot remember what I was doing at the time, but there again I cannot remember what I intended to write! At the time I thought it excellent. It was informative, relevant, humorous and I thought worth posting. I got the first couple of paragraphs into my mind when something distracted me, I think I may have been hiding from the rent collector, anyway I lost it! try as I may, like a dream that leaves an imprint in your mind when you awake, but disappears forever deep into the gray matter, it has gone.

I wonder if it concerned my 94 year old mother? She has developed a back problem and the pills the doctor gave her make her unwell anyway, as is often the case. Was I going to bore you with her details, how she is doing well for her age, until now? Does she know Jesus, and does the church she has attended since 1936 really evangelical. You know the type, they want God but water things down a bit, doubting miracles but seeking Jesus anyway. Was it about the guilt I feel being 400 miles away and having no money to visit? Could it be about the guilt I feel when speaking to her? Her conversation is now limited to her world, which gets smaller all the time. And there is no connection to mine, especially as she informs me of the goings on amongst people I have never met, nor heard of nor am interested in! Who are they, and why do I care of they are of to Italy with their boyfriend and have no job?

I don't know if that was interesting enough to waste a few minutes of your life reading, so don't do it! What? oh.... Ah well, Maybe I was going to fill a post about rain? Yesterday it rained all day, almost. For reasons I fail to understand folk in this island act as if this was either unusual or criminal. Either way they can talk about it for days! Mind you, I live in the driest county in England, well so they said when I got here. They also claimed it was flat! Anyone who has cycled around this town delivering post will be very quick to indicate the mistake in that statement! The rain busily knocked the leaves of the trees making the streets greasy and the street cleaners life murder. However, late in the day the sun decided to show itself and as I walked across the park I saw the glorious site it presented. To my right the sun brought out the colours of the rusting leaves. A golden glow came from the trees, a more heartwarming glorious site than any man could produce, and it was all free! Such a simple pleasure, watching the remaining green leaves protruding among a vast array of yellow, rust coloured and golden leaves. A wall of splendour that had been hidden all day behind a gray mist. That is worth posting about!

Is it age? I enjoy watching the autumn colours and feeding the squirrels in the park as much as I enjoy watching the football team winning or listening to good music. Simple pleasures are longer lasting. Mind you, so has this post, and I have had nothing to say........

Words mean So Much

"Sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me." That was one of the common things we used to say as kids, usually after someone calling us names had just hurt us! Words, as you know, mean so much. usually it is not the words themselves but the way we use them. In the UK it used to be common to describe any Asian who was seen as 'Paki.' Paki as in short for Pakistan. In Edinburgh in the seventies it caused no offence, except to that nice Mr Kyaham who insisted he was "Indian and no bloody Paki!" No-one of Pakistan descent worried about it. later of course it was used in a derogatory fashion by neo right wing groups and fell out of use. 'Jock' is a term for Scotsmen, and I think should always be viewed as complimentary. After all, what can be better than saying "I am a Scotsman?" However on occasion even that word can be used to hurt and insult rather than compliment.

Words are often misunderstood. When she asks "Does my bum look big in this" and you honestly answer that it does, she will deliberately use that as an excuse to remain stonily silent for several hours. Women seem to specialise in misunderstanding words in such situations. A "Yes" often appears to mean "no" and if you misunderstand and accept at face value here word all sorts of trouble can arise. Possibly women and words needs to be for another time?

Politicians and words are marvellous, the emphasis on the 'lous' part. If they lose a vote they will claim they have actually got everybody on their side! In 1968 I remember a Communist being elected in a council seat I think in Inverness. "This is a sign that the people are turning to us," said the leader of the Scottish Communists, ignoring the Scottish Nationalist Party winning 368 seats on the same night! To reach the top in politics it is advisable to avoid truth and stick to being devious. No one wants an honest politician anyway, they might expect it back from the citizens. That would never do!

One day every idle word we utter will be brought back to us,as I discovered when I found some things I wrote a hundred years ago. How frightening is that? Did I really think those thoughts and say those words? What else have I said in all these years I have drifted through life? The mind boggles at the cobblers I have come out with! Anyway I found some folks who may also regret the words they have used, but at least they give us a laugh.

Moving from Wales to Italy is like moving to a different country - Ian Rush

I never criticise referees and I'm not going to change a habit for that prat. - Ron Atkinson

"Whenever I watch TV and see those poor starving kids all over the world, I can't help but cry. I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff." --Mariah Carey

"Smoking kills. If you're killed, you've lost a very important part of your life," -- Brooke Shields, during an interview to become spokesperson for federal anti-smoking campaign.

"Your food stamps will be stopped effective March 1992 because we received notice that you passed away. May God bless you. You may reapply if there is a change in your circumstances." --Department of Social Services, Greenville, South Carolina
"If somebody has a bad heart, they can plug this jack in at night as they go to bed and it will monitor their heart throughout the night. And the next morning, when they wake up dead, there'll be a record." --Mark S. Fowler, FCC Chairman

"As God once said, and I think rightly..."
- Margaret Thatcher.




Think before you speak, you know it makes sense.....

Murder!

Murder! two lads who beat a man to death have been jailed for a minimum of twelve and a half years. What does this tell us about our society? Does it speak of life as being important? Or is life so cheap that twelve and six months jail can satisfy justice? Now I have been against the death penalty for the simple reason far too many folk were hanged in times past before their innocence was proved. Add to this the criminal is then brought face to face with their maker. The second death is not something to be treated lightly, even for a murderer! However it remains a singular fact that in the UK today far too many sentences appear lenient.
In Inverkeithing a while back,two neds beat a man to near death, set fire to him while alive, and walked away. One received a minimum of Fifteen years, the other twelve.
Was this justice?

Someone is murdered, for no good reason, and leaves behind a wife and children. Their family lose a breadwinner and loved one. Friends miss a friend, a business needs to replace a worker, the problems with housing, insurance and legal factors appear to stretch into infinity, and the repercussions of such an event are in the end incalculable. Is a dozen years in prison justice?

I suppose in some ways we should be glad these culprits have been caught and jailed. When serious crime occurs the police do appear to make every effort to solve the case and bring the offender before the courts. The police in this instance cannot be held responsible for the sentence given. However their responsibility lies with curtailing the many lesser crimes committed on our streets daily. Here they all to often fail, and fail spectacularly. Today a man has been in court for catching three youths, part of a gang of around thirty, who had been throwing paving slabs around his home. The police charged the man who confronted them with assault! After a year of trauma the case came to court and within thirty minutes he was cleared! The police inspector heading up the case claimed he had to operate 'within the law' and
take action. No action was taken against the three youths, nor it seems any of the other yobs! I wonder what the inspector thinks a policeman's role is in today's society? Whose side is he on?

Until the late eighties, when the compensation culture and political correctness began to emerge, the police confronted by such a situation would have sided with the householder, taken the youths aside and made it clear what would happen if they did not desist. Often this could be an excuse for thuggery, more often it was an excuse for old folks and others being free to walk the streets without worrying about ned's. Of course the parents share responsibility. As PC culture grew so did the selfish attitudes around us. There were many contributing factors to this. Thatcherism and the growth of greed played its part, but this was less because greed was new, it had always been there, the cultural cohesion decayed as alternative lifestyles came to the fore, societies recognised disciplines disappeared and we are left morally bankrupt because we are spiritually empty.

A society that does not know where it is going, has no unity, and no purpose leads to confusion over what is right and what is wrong. 'Each did what was right in his own eyes,' is a phrase from Israels history concerning a period when there was no one emphasising the law. We are in a similar time today. If we as a nation had a clearer understanding of right and wrong there would be no problem with justice. If judges 'in wrath remembered mercy' we would have better sentences on criminals, more treatment, mental, chemical or whatever, for those who require this, and a more stable society. We would have stable families, and that is the centre of society, and youths less undisciplined by their parents.

How sad those days have gone.

Television, Why is it so Bad?

Now if a TV station offered you a certain type of programme you would understandable expect to watch such programmes, surely? Yet in recent days the station calling itself UKTV History has singularly failed to offer us history! Why? Instead we are confronted with a series of soap operas masquerading as history and failing to convey anything of the times they represent.

We have recently been subjected to 'Dunkirk,' which claimed to represent the actions from that time and obscured the facts behind a tour-de- force-de-overacting from men who clearly had no conception of what war is like, cameras that moved constantly, obscure camera angles, needless close ups, and left this viewer with no knowledge of the events although a growing desire to fix bayonets and fire a Lee Enfield .303 at the producers of such tripe!

This was followed by 'Rome!' A production with yet more actors found unfit for a run in 'Coronation St' or 'Eastenders!' Toga's abound, as did blood, overacting and sexy women, were there no fat ugly women in history then? And, as a passing thought, why is there never a drunk smashing the jukebox or being sick in the background, or fighting with the barman in such pubs? is the beer watered down perhaps? The reality conveyed by Rome, and by the fall of Pompeii, or indeed any other 'historical drama' is NOT history!

History requires an uncovering of facts. These facts are then interpreted and explained, usually argued over, as all historians are always right! But actors never give facts! Instead the viewer fails to see Henry VIII as he was, he has the image of an actor, using today's feeble acting techniques, and is left not with Henry but a famous actor! This nonsensical approach reached a new level when a stature of William Wallace, the Scots freedom fighter, was revealed and found to have the face of Mel Gibson the four foot six Australian bam who attempted to portray the six foot seven ginger haired hero in the film 'Braveheart.' He failed spectacularly! Actors and representation of folk from the past fail to give us history, they give us soap operas,and usually therefore concentrate on the bits the small minded wish to see, fights, arguments,and of course, lots of sex! The idea of allowing the real person to appear is smothered by the need to sell the programme, and what sells better than a naked breast or two?

Well that sells to me anyway!

As UKTV shows yet more episodes of 'Sharpe,' a lot of cobblers set in the Iberian war against Napoleon, I look to other channels for either entertainment or information. What do we find early in the day? news programmes that are as dumbed down as possible. BBC breakfast News is like it's ITV counterpart, more interested in the goings on in Britney Spears confused life than in thousands dying in Darfur. More attention is spent by Lorraine Kelly on a handbag than on the collapse of the economy. A child's eating habits, caused by a lazy mum more concerned with her so-called 'career,' is worth fifteen minutes debate, the threatened invasion of Iran by the dunce in the White House may get a passing reference in the news bulletin - unless a cricket player breaks a thumb of course! Sky, both News and Sports follows the same pattern, dumbed down news, repeated ad nauseum, short and simple as the audience cannot concentrate for more than a few seconds. Are they following the audience or pandering to them?

Now I understand why such programmes exist, but I do not want history reduced to a mere numb drama, I want proper news with real explanations and comment, I want Television for those who have a life as well as those who don't! yet all we are offered in the main, is Dumb TV.
I am told it is worse in the USA - woopee! That tells us how Reagan got elected then!

Will this situation improve? No! Ratings talks, money talks, adverts are aimed at the majority and the majority want 'pap!' Money comes from adverts so the independent channels, and Murdoch's Sky, will always follow money. The BBC with the 'public service' element has an opportunity to give quality, aimed at the smaller audience, and does this in Radio 3. But seems unwilling all to often to reach out .I suppose it is more important to be a secular liberal and ensure your face fits inside the Beeb, and also ratings make you famous.

Great! I'm depressed now, I think I need some dumbed down telly to cheer me up - there is plenty of choice......

Tub of Lard!

Now I am not sure where the copyright for this picture originates so if it's yours let me know won't you? However it goes well with my thoughts that arose while watching a BBC2 prog about fat tubs of lard improving their diet, and this encouraged me to do the same- again!

Just how many times have I returned to the raw veg and fruit intake diet? It happens every so often and you find yourself cutting celery, carrots, tomatoes and peppers into strips, adding a tin of mackerel and brown bread filled with healthy bits, and with a dash of

mayonnaise (light) you start full of zeal. Of course this keeps you on the run for a while but sheer lack of time, and the effort required means you soon find yourself stuffing buns bought cheaply when Salisburys are near closing instead of Bulgar wheat and watercress.
Somehow it seems more satisfying.

The scales lie and tell you that you are nearly 16 stone- minus a pound or two, but you just convince yourself that is because they need oiled. In fact you are the one that has been oiled - with lard!

Such an improved diet does lead to a better all round feeling, instead of just an all roundness, and is worth while I say. It does make me feel better in every way, and makes me more keen to find some form of fitness to accompany the health. Amazing really, I used to walk

everywhere in London, for hours, with no problems. Now I can hardly walk without the 'postman's knees' strain aching away. It was while I walked for two hours round the forest and decided it was stupid aching like that when I realised that was the end for me as a postie. The arthritis was a bit of a surprise and a worry but the creaking knees are a nuisance.

Now this diet has already had benefits and I have only been at it a short while, days as yet, and already things are better. But already I am sick of peeling carrots and chopping green stuff! This is hard work! Cutting, cleaning, scraping, shredding, slicing, no wonder today's mums buy ready made meals for the kids.No wonder the kids are less healthy than we were with our mums potato soup instead of a quick burger and chips!
That potato soup kept us alive and done us more good than what is on offer in far too many houses today. Women want a career but what is more important, children or career? Kids first and when your career collapses they will be big and strong and able to keep you! I can understand the effort needed in cooking is a trial, I hate it.I just want someone else to cook as it holds little joy for me, but the eating is something I can usually manage however. What on earth makes men want to become cooks? Are they mad?

Anyway, 'eat well and prosper' as someone once said.......

Dictionary of Cynical Quotations

Some years ago, when visiting my Spiritual Mentor and his family, they presented me with a copy of this book,'Dictionary of Cynical Quotations.' What me, cynical? I had never realised how cynical I had become. naturally I reacted in the correct manner - and blamed them!

But in the United Kingdom today we have a cynical approach. Much comedy is based in a cynicism, and not just with today's life, it has been created here over many years. The improvement in the condition of folks in the UK in the nineteenth century, and it was an improvement, came along with a strong sentimental streak. This was destroyed by the Great War, as indeed were many other 'myths' of daily life. The 'British' had developed a black and ironic humour, much used in such times to keep folk going, and one of the blessings this country possesses. It was much needed during the period between the wars when the 'homes built for heroes' never arrived and when work disappeared. The depression and poor housing, the Jarrow Crusade' and soup kitchens, all these have left a mindset in the UK that will never disappear. Add to this a second war and the time is right for sarcasm to arise!

As wealth grew apace during the years of peace (peace? 50 million or more dead since 1945 in various wars! Peace eh?) the inevitable happened. We have become fat and empty of values. I wonder if this is why a cynical attitude arose, and grew in the years of Margaret Thatchers rule? Possibly it was the 'British' personality added to the cruel Tory attitude of the eighties in which people were less important than money! Since the war and attitude, of hidden by various domestic squabbles, existed in which, generally, the 'service' element existed. This was by the late seventies seen as corrupt, and they have a point, and needed radical change. The change reawakened the lust for Mammon that lies within us all, cynicism thrived, especially with politicians and 'leading people.'

The 'Cynics' originated in ancient Greece, the word coming from the word KYNICOS, the adjective for dog. Cynics, it appears took the dog as a kind of badge! Diogenes was a leader among them who rejected the world's view, and often in somewhat crude ways! Their story is quite interesting if you wish to strain your mind trying to understand them, but worth a go one quiet rain filled day. Anyway I was given this book as I appear to have a cynical view on the world, and I thought I was loving and kind.

However I recommend cynicism, especially when listening to politicians, news reports on the telly, and indeed anywhere else, and when reading adverts that offer to make you rich or beautiful or famous for £19.99! Cynicism has a value. But it can be misused, we can disbelieve facts when they are presented out of habit. Use it wisely.

Saturday in Town

Any Saturday in town is a busy day. Folks come in from the outlying district, locals rise early to drive the short distance to the queue to enter Sainsburys car park, mums with kids make sure their little darlings are on their worst behaviour before leaving home, and to start the day the postman rings the wrong bell at 7:30 just to let you know he has been up since 4:30!

The fruit and veg stalls in the market do manage to look attractive in the sunshine. I have always been tempted to get the camera and attempt to capture the great colours shown there. I have never managed to get round to it, but one day, one day…. It is a small market town, much changed since the days cattle were penned in the town centre and real country folk wandered around speaking only in vowels, Ooo, aaarr, and all that. If you ever come across those that remain you feel you are trapped in an episode of Radio 4s ‘The Archers!’

The towns size is small, around 30,000 when I arrived eleven years ago, touching nearer 40,000 nowadays, yet on Saturday few appear to relish travelling the fifteen miles to one or other of the bigger towns in the area, instead I am under the impression they all want to be in ‘Tesco’ at three o’clock just when I am buying my ‘two for £5’ chickens. Now why should that be? Have they all deserted the other supermarkets just to annoy me? It seems so. The impression I am left with when in ‘Tesco’s’ at such a time is that I have some sort of sign across my forehead or on my back saying ‘This One!’ This gives the women permission to shove their trolleys straight at me as if I was not there, the aged men, always the older ones, permission to stand in the middle of the alley with a trolley and stare into space, and it also allows any brat within miles the right to scream and yell at much more than the regulation ninety decibels whenever I am in the vicinity. It never fails to amaze me the way mothers go on after you shove a kiwi fruit in the gob of such children, I mean it is full of Vitamin ‘C’ is it not?

Of course, after standing for a short eternity in a queue of folk who have no idea how to smile or communicate in anything other than confrontational grunts you then find a youth on the checkout who is going through his ‘hardman’ phase.’ Glancing contemptuously at you he hurries the goods through the till and repeats the total cost in an urgent manner while you struggle manfully to open the bag. Then taking his time to return the change, deliberately pushing it for all it’s worth he utters either a cheeky word or throws the money in such a way you drop t under the feet off all and sundry. The phrase ‘forgive your enemies’ comes to mind at this point, although by this time you have grabbed him by the throat and granted him your best ‘Glasgow Kiss.’ Unfortunately, not coming from Glasgow it hurts you as much as him. Then of course everyone else in the queue starts to complain, as they will have to wait longer. Then there is the problem of the other staff, the security man, the two, rather large and unpleasant police constables, the surly desk sergeant and the uncaring magistrate to deal with – and all for two chickens! Well, that’s how it usually works out for me anyway…..

Taking your headache through the market, being crushed by passing pushchairs at one side and ridiculously fat women at the other one heads for the charity bookshops. Well, they actually sell all the usual dross and are always full of women finding cheap clothes that make them look good, while what I buy makes me look like I have been to the charity shop! How come? Anyway it is the books we look at, I really need nothing else, the place is already full of tat, I glance quickly at one sometimes two or three rows of books and wonder what they tell us of the folk who live here. In this place we learn that the women are drenched in Catherine Cookson and Barbara Taylor Bradford type tales. In short, pap! Row after row fill the five charity shops we have left here, nothing more stimulating than those large annuals loved so much by the kids who received them at Christmas that most have pages missing, badly drawn stick men all over them, and the occasional remnant of sticky bun holding the thing together. When I lived in London the nearest ‘War on Want’ shop was in an area full of middle class trendies. The shelves were packed with good, and often pretentious, things. Vast quantities of books on architecture, history, art, society stood alongside photographic works from the best around, religious and philosophical works rested by books on advanced maths, which I ignored, and the society reflected was an educated thinking populace. Not, it must be said, a better one, although many thought they were, but a ‘thinking’ population. Here we are blest by Jilly Cooper……

Fighting past the hordes who stand with their pushchairs blocking the passageways, getting as close to the stall with the radio tuned to the football, and wondering just how the fat woman over there will ever attract folk to her driving lessons when surely if she enters a car it will tip to one side, passing the man selling cheap watches, my last one from him lasted exactly 24 hours, and resisting the attractions on offer at the ‘Wimpy’ bar I make for home.

Watching the queue at the cashpoint I wonder that there is anything left by this time of day and collect yet another leaflet, not from the ‘Kings Church’ this time, the local music group advertising their next out of tune spectacular. The traffic which has polluted the atmosphere while arriving now does the same on the slow road home. Piled high in the boot are masses of real bargains from the supermarkets that will no doubt be thrown out rotten and unused in the weeks to come. It lies alongside the desperately wanted shiny new objects that will soon lie gathering dust under the bed or broken on the floor of the kids room.

Cynical, who me?

Maybe, but this is real life, well, with a slight exaggeration here and there, and I suddenly find I love it. How funny. This is home, in spite of it all, and it’s better than some places I’ve been.

I must be sick…….

Stop Abuse!

Someone somewhere has decided we should join together to 'Stop Abuse!' A somewhat strange use of terminology I thought as it does not indicate what it means by abuse. However I am willing to go along with it and am aware not only of the many forms 'abuse' can take but sadly I am also aware how easy it would be for me to join in certain types of abuse, and then justify it to clear my conscience. How come you say? Because I am human, that is why. Anyone who seeks knowledge of humanity will soon realise that the best of us indulge in 'abuse' of one sort or another.

Venom is often found in humans at football matches. We feel united with those around us as 'our' team takes on the opposition. Sometimes this teamwork, this unity, confronts opponents who cheat or 'abuse' 'our boys.' The reactions we feel often erupt into venom , often deeply held from previous encounters with such opponents, and released with only limited control. On occasions this leads to groups rioting, and individual acts of violence which we say we abhor, but often feel were justified by the other sides behaviour. usually it is seen in shouts and bad feeling, and is controlled so well we can satisfy ourselves we did not step over the mark. Jesus however never 'abused' his enemies, even from the cross! I wonder how I can feel so much resentment at the way a referee seemingly aids Rangers every time we play them? Somewhere it says, 'Speak frankly to your brother, but do not hate him on your heart.' Even at mere football matches most of us fail in this.

But it happens in the workplace where we talk about others, gossip is abuse. It happens when we short change our customers or our boss, when we don't help when required, when we look the other way, when we encourage others to indulge TV, drugs, films or anything else that destroys them,no matter how mild it may seem.

But some abuse is nasty. Those involved need help and sometimes straight forward restraint if they will not change. There are many examples.

Domestic Abuse. Usually this refers to women assaulted by their husbands and other men in the family. Certainly this is the case, and I have come across this on occasions in surprising places. Class, wealth and situations do not cause nor hinder such abuse. However men also suffer much abuse at home,often physical, more often emotional, constant nagging, being ridiculed and finding their woman playing around with other men. Which is worse, abuse of women or abuse of men? Neither, both need help and as a society we are biased towards women, but I feel it is time we judged justly and offered help to both male and female in these situations. Strange how in this world today so many 'counsellors' can be found, on TV, Radio on and magazines, mostly women's magazines, yet as a nation we spend so little on Marriage guidance or 'common sense' relationship counselling.

Animal Abuse. For a nation so keen on pets we treat them very badly. if we don't fatten them so they can hardly walk, abuse by kindness, we leave them in plastic bags in the river, or kick them to death for fun. The RSPCA & SSPCA can curl your hair with the stories of ill treatment of animals. Yet we allow anyone to buy almost any pet and there is no check on them except the animal organisations. Dangerous dogs should for one be sold only to those trained and capable of handling them. But I suppose that costs money!

Aged Abuse. So many folk find it so easy to abuse the elderly. I do! How many times have you been walking through a street or a shop and been held up by some old fogey dithering about in front of you? Did you smile sweetly or curse under your breath because you were in a hurry? I have. Geriatric wards of hospitals are full of old folk who never see visitors. Sometimes they are senile and difficult to deal with, sometimes far from home and soon forgotten by their family. I used to think this awful, then realised how I have failed my ageing mother. How easy that is.....

That's enough abuse. Stop it the best way you can by helping wherever possible those around you who suffer, even if that means calling in the authorities. But the best way to stop abuse, and the hardest, is to avoid abusing others ourselves. I suppose that is part of 'Loving your neighbour,' I must make more effort in this......

Phone and Broadband Troubles

Terrible fear gripped me the last few days. The phone, which I hardly ever use, started crackling.This was not just a nuisance on the few calls I made but the Broadband connection failed regularly. The answer was to log on to BT and report the fault, simple really. However anyone with experience of BT and their ability to delay a repair will understand my fear. A fear based, not on the time and the nuisance value, but on the fear that without the connection to the outer world I might have to get a life!

Yes indeed,without this small, black, broken box of tricks I may indeed end up actually speaking to people. This could be life changing! Lack of phone calls I could endure.I use an ansafone anyway as there are so many folk out there who want to sell me double glazing or a new broadband/phone connection. Some sell insurance and some sell kitchens but whatever, they get the same answer. Some indeed reject the answer, and the manner in which it is put , however, the Christian can always use a simple and useful, time consuming trick with such folk, tell them about Jesus. Many here the news for the first time, and not at any time will they call you back, even though they have your number! Evangelism and and end to nuisance calls in one go. Lazy folk use the ansafone, as they never leave a message.

However living without the web? I would be seeing spiders within a week! On the occasions I have had to return to Edinburgh to visit my aged mother I find my fingers running over imaginary keyboards. Looking at the TV and I see a monitor, and with the bilge she watches I can tell you a Google search box is a more inviting sight! The PC is the way I keep in touch with my football team, this way I get up to date info from those in the know, the fans. I can, thanks to linking to Chinese systems, get live football, sometimes involving the Hearts. Through this black box I can read Blogs from a wide variety of interesting people, papers worldwide can be read online, I can send E-Cards on birthdays thereby saving cash, when rich I can shop for books and other things. Information on any subject under the sun can be found - sometimes accurately! Churches worldwide can be contacted in a flash, friends can be acquired,or lost, commerce can take place,and most importantly, I can sit here and tell the world where they are wrong, not that the world listens to me of course. I can spout any rubbish I like and only a few ever bother to disagree - and I ignore them.

Without this box I would instead be forced to watch TV, or read the papers, or worse still, I may have to go out there and communicate with real people! This would be a disaster - I have forgotten how! However the blessings were not taken from me, BT and their marvellous engineers, in whom I never lost faith, fixed the problem, at least it works now. The phone line sounds clear, the PC works without failing every few minutes, and I smile a lot.

Well, at least I got the windows open and the curtains drawn back for a few hours, so it's not all bad eh?

Still Unemployed

Yes indeed how lucky am I? I am so important to the world, so necessary to the nation that I am still out of work one year from leaving Royal Mail. The reason I left was the wee pain in my knee caused by the beginning of arthritis, or so the doctor thought. I confess I was happy to go along with that. My knees, both of them, were giving me much pain anyway and a change was on the cards. The climbing five story blocks of flats six days a week had done my knees no good. One day a week would have been sufficient for them to recover but they have never got over the strain that began then. I was delivering over 750 drops at the time, far more than anyone else, and getting no help whatsoever, and when I came of that walk they shared it between three others! The knees however never got over the stress and although I ended with an excellent walk, flat and delivering to good people on the whole, it was getting too much for me. Now I understand another 100 houses nearly are being added to that round and the young lad doing it is finishing an hour later than I was!

However glad I was to leave there are several problems trailing after it. One is my age, 56 now and even though I look 24 I feel 70 at the moment. Another is employers reluctance to know about arthritis and the third is my lack of 'skill' at anything other than humping and carrying. The fourth is the undoubted fact that I am dumb! This is not exactly a surprise to some! However having no skill, I have never even got around to learning to drive, money and time never came together, I know lots of things that are useless where employment is concerned, and my knee prevents me taking on most of the temp jobs on offer as they almost all involve standing for long periods or humping things. Both are against the docs advise. I could do some temp work, although I am now so unfit through a succession of flu type virus that just keep returning, and the lack of exercise that work gives, and I am on my own and as such wary of the long term effects which could arise.

What to do? There are jobs, and age, knee and sometimes sex, hinder. Far too few jobs are suitable, and I am wary of the physical side. Now you are saying what I, and many others are saying, 'Get off your knees and get on with it,' but I honestly have no idea what to do now. I occasionally get depressed, at the moment am to tired to care, but with the cash run out and nothing in the pipeline I sometimes wonder what to do. When I pray about this I am afraid to look skywards. I expect the gray clouds to part and a blinding, shining light to appear and a voice, full of love and care, to say 'Just get on with it!'

VIRUS

Why is it that when a virus does the rounds t always finds me? Is there some sort of signalling device implanted within me? Has a previous virus, cold or flu type, left some sort of 'spyware' within me so that the next generation of bug can seek me out all the easier? I wish I could have it deleted! I sometimes think I have been carrying this bug since 1987! Since then colds and flu type virus changed their approach. Up till that time a bug would land, waste me for three or four days then leave. Now they arrive piece by piece, affecting one part of the body for a few days, then moving slowly around the rest, one area at a time. This means one bug can last three months and leaves only so the next can move in. I know this happens to others so I wonder if it is our age or, more likely, a change in the beastly things.

Today one of my online friends asked prayer for a wee lass suffering real illness. A wee prayer for Emma would be appreciated here. This lass has a real sickness yet I let everybody know about mine! In the days of long ago I worked in the NHS, one of the great successes of the Labour Party of 1945. In one hospital , neurological, we came across Multiple Sclerosis sufferers, those with brain tumours and many such serious sufferings. Some died, some were left crippled, some were Christian most not. I often think of them when the bug hangs around and wonder how those folk coped. I am not sure I could.

Blogcatalogue Avatar

Now here is a thing. On Thursday I changed my avatar from the bust of Thucydides to the Rampant Lion flag of William I. Yet nothing happened! I tried again, and still nothing happened, and so I thought I had failed. Just now I log on and LO! The avatar has changed - four days late! Is this a miracle? Could it be the system is always four days late?
I suppose the wise man would check what shows up as his last post - but I canny be bothered so I won't. I had to change it. After Scotland's wonderful win on Wednesday I thought it appropriate, I also wanted something a bit more colourful, hence the Lion Rampant as opposed to the Saltire.

As I recall William I left Scotland with little bar the flag. he served Scotland for many years and not always wisely. Here is an excellent, brief, history of the king of Scots from so long ago. Note, he is King of Scots not Scotland. The democratic Scots did not allow the king to own the land. Indeed if he failed the Scots he was removed democratically - usually with a democratic battle axe!
http://members.aol.com/skyelander/thelion.html

Heart of Midlothian 4 Rangers 2

Now there is no reason to think I am going to write about football that often, but I will today!
Once more the Heart of Midlothian were written off by the world around. Once again the media hype overstated the merits of Rangers Football Club. Once again their winning start to the season was put in its place by the men from Tynecastle. Rangers Football Club, the most arrogant in the league, came to Tynecastle gloating in their five previous victories. Victories indeed, against the clubs from the lower reaches of the league. Now however they faced the biggest club outside of the 'Old Firm,' the club more than capable of dealing with them. A club with a bad start to the season, losing 5-0 at Celtic Park, but a club who's players have got together and sorted themselves out. Rangers, and their grovelling media, ignored this of course. In the minds of Walter Smith and his men the Hearts were a week team to be rolled over and left behind.

This did not happen!

After running the bluenoses from Mordor into the ground we are left with a storming 4-2 victory! We took them on, including the ref who failed to send the goalkeeper off after his awful kick at our striker, failed to book several players because they wore the blue shirt, and ignored a blatant elbow! But he booked ours easily enough. Mind you, he had a good game! Ii must say I thought he benefited the Rangers in a way he would not apply to other clubs. I could be wrong, and some disagree, but that was my reading of his behaviour.

I rejoice in the win, why? Because they are a big club and a big club full of arrogance, sectarian bigotry (just like their friends Celtic), and supported unquestioningly by the media - simply because that is where the money lies! I have to admit I do get hyped up about these games. So many times I have seen us beat them and been robbed by a referee, from Glasgow, or bad luck, or some unfairness. These things happen, but they happen more against the 'Old Firm' than anywhere else. This includes our major city rivals Hibernian! I get s angry, uncontrollably at times, and it worries me. My emotions are so out of control sometimes, age, a bit of a bug, and the result of the years, all have their effect. It worries me mind. I think next big game I should miss.....

Still, we are on the way back up the league. Another few wins and we will be at the top and the spirits will be lifted. Funny how a simple thing like football has such an effect on us. Cities and countries can be boosted by a good football result. A successful side is mentioned often on TV and industry benefits. Businesses flock to that town, money arrives at the door, production increases because the people are happy! Yet how depressed we can be when we lose! What a strange people we are.

France 0 Scotland 1

WooooooHoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Cry your eyes out French boys! World Cup Finalists, some of the greatest players in the world, and we stuffed you!!!!! Woohooooo!

Now I am not one to gloat, that would be unkind, however after Mr Trezeguet was seen gloating after a victory over Scotland a few years ago, and after we beat France at Hampden earlier in this tournament a certain Mr Henry went into one of his huffs and was heard saying 'Wait till we get you in Paris.' Well Mr Henry, we waited, and we won! WooooHooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!

Will you blame the ball boys this time? Will you question the French fans who jeered you at the end, and indeed during the game? Will you turn on the manager, although he has been subject to much abuse for some time? Will you do anything other than humble yourselves and start disciplining yourselves to play according to your ability and work hard to make the most of that? For France that is the way forward, for Scotland it is more hard work, good tactics and teamwork. That has always been the way, especially as we have few of the great talents of yesteryear available these days. The folks like McKay, Baxter, Law and all are few in number today, but the hard work and discipline and skill of those available can produce more good results like the one last night.

By the by, where have all the talented players gone? Kids do not play football five nights a week like we used to. In fact a field we used has been planted with several trees and these have taken root and now grow steadily on what used to be the centre spot for 'big games!' How times change! When a 'No Ball Games' sign appeared it was soon disappeared quicker than someone who opposed Al Capone! Today kids will play football if they go 'training with their club.' Now this is fine as they have better coaching than we ever got, we in fact had no coaching whatsoever. But the disadvantage is they are now limited in the number of games they play 'In case it has an effect on their future health,' what rubbish! Playing 15-25 a side games did no harm to Alan Gilzean or Denis Law. Too much of the 'nannying' of kids does not a footballer make. of course it can be said the little brats don't want to pay football anymore, preferring computer games and studying for 'O' levels and Highers that do them no good in future lives. But they stopped playing before computer games were invented, so there is a culture change. I wonder what caused it?

However, for today we rejoice in McFadden's goal and Scotland's victory. We know there are three more very hard games ahead, if e avoid complacency, work hard, and get the luck elsewhere we can actually qualify for a tournament we usually miss out on. While England always get easy routes to the finals, as they have again, we get the World Cup Winners AND the Runners up! Some things never change!

But this time we can do it! 'Mon the Scotland!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

H.V.Morton 'In the Steps of St Paul'

I have just finished reading through a tattered ancient copy of this book. I first read it many years ago and found it gave a very good understanding of the background in which Paul moved. Reading it again I found that had not changed. Morton travelled through the Mediterranean in 1936 and describes the contemporary world at the same time as the world long gone. I was left wondering if the changes from 1936 to 2007 were greater than those over the preceding two thousand years.

He begins his travel in Jerusalem and journeys through Syria (Antioch), Ataturk's Turkey (Tarsus), and visits what was left of Lystra and Derbe while staying at Konya (Iconium). His time at Ephesus left me wishing I could up sticks and go there now. How important this city once was, what wealth, what influence both secular and religious, now a pile of stones! Morton also continues as well as he can to the Greek towns (Phillipi, Corinth and Athens) where Paul once struggled and suffered, ending his journey in Rome. On each occasion the writing gives a good indication of the towns as they once were, Pauls possible life and work, and, f or me, left a desire to visit at once

H. V. Morton was once famous for his travel books, many are still available, and his writing style is easy on the eye. This makes the books easy to read as well as informative. I was left with a new understanding of the daily life Paul endured. We think of him as a tough man who suffered so much for his God, but he also had times of comparative wealth and hard labour. While working to avoid living of his converts he shows us his integrity his concern for the church and each individual member is seen in his concerned letters. At all times he faces opposition from one section or another. Lessons for all there today. I found how practical Paul was. No superstitious saint he, while he worked miracles by the power of God he also made his own plans and did not expect Jesus to lead him by the hand in things he had to do himself. His was a realistic faith in a practical God. All to often I will not act until I 'feel' it right. This is more 'daft' than 'Spiritual.' Paul, while led by the Spirit shows no 'daft' approach.

These books are n one sense out of date, however Morton gives us insights into the NT that we often miss. This i the type of book I recommend to folk as it is easy and informative. Too many Christian books are either too heavy or to 'Spiritual' to be much use.