Job Interview

Leith Hospital


Lunchtime saw me wandering through the damp streets to the local cottage hospital (not in Leith, that one is now a block of trendy flats) for a job interview. Naturally I found this exciting and worrying at the same time. Exciting as I have had few opportunities for selling myself, except to some passing Ishmaelites and I don't want to go into that! Anyway, I was looking forward to this but a bit worried that they may mistake me as capable of actually being able to do the work! That would never do! An ex postman already works there and has explained how unhappy he is at the bloodsucking approach they have to his job. This from a man not afraid to work at that! However I went along rather hoping they were developing the staff numbers as a new hospital is under construction at the moment. Alas this was not the case and the work was rather as I had expected.

Still I endured the interview, conducting myself as the lass at the dole office had insisted, no chatting up the girl (it is always a girl interviewing! Sexism reigns in NHS HR Depts), fat chance of that with these two! Age and fat being against them I treated them as my sister, although she is skinny. The questions were not from the heart, they were written down and notes on each answer scribbled alongside. While appearing efficient I could not help thinking this limits the individual asking the questions, no room for thought here. I reckon these two could think for themselves but HR will not allow this. HR, Human Resources, it used to be Personnel but modernising the name helps raise their profile and make them feel important. So far I have rarely been impressed with HR folks understanding of the work they are recruiting for. Maybe I am just cynical? Obeying instructions I answered politely, avoided lies, although I was told to 'develop' my situation, this I refuse as I attempt to avoid deception, even though this does not always prove popular, and even smiled when appropriate. They were friendly and courteous and have already decided my knee is not up to it. This they proved by referring this to the Occupational folk.

Apart from a nurse who modelled herself on the Hattie Jaques 'Matron' character from 'Carry on Doctor,' even attempting to develop a suitable build, the people were as expected. The receptionist was sour, and failed to speak a work, why do they employ menopausal women for these jobs? The lass dishing out the patients meals never saw me, I declined to purloin anything from that trolley, the patients I saw were oblivious to my existence. I noted the sign to the 'Maternity' unit and wondered how many 'Essex Girls' were to be found visiting there. One suspects their mothers and grannies may accompany them, quite nice until you notice 'Granny' is in her early thirties. The hospital is aged now. Once ideal for the town it now fails to meet the needs and the new building is badly needed. Small local hospitals may be expensive, but in small towns these are required and the cost is paid back in the comfort brought to the townsfolk by its existence. Not that the 'suits' care for anything but targets and money now!

Will I get an offer? No! But it was worth wasting their time and imagining what work was like once again. Of course if they offer me the job there will be trouble!

Americans!

Please, please, please hurry up and vote!
Just get your election off our TV!!!!!

Have mercy!!!!!!!

Alexander Selkirk

The BBC website has a report of archeologists digging around attempting to find evidence of Alexander Selkirks stay on a deserted Island in the days of long ago. I wonder if they have yet found the correct island? As a child Alex was a right little brat, and when around twelve years of age he ran away to sea to avoid trouble with the Kirk Session. He then spent some years developing his sailing talents and became important to the ships in which he served. Lower Largo in Fife, like most coastal villages of the time, was a fishing port, no doubt he learned his trade the hard way in the Firth of Forth and the North Sea. However falling out with the man in charge is not a good idea. Becoming worried about the condition of the boat, damaged after a stramash with Spanish vessels, he was put ashore, at his own request, on an island. Some say this was San Juan Bautista, now called 'Robinson Crusoe island.'

He was to remain their alone for four years and four months. No ships approached bar two Spanish vessels. Handing himself over to them would have been more dangerous at that time than remaining isolated. He survived by killing goats and making use of what he could gather round about. He had a bible a gun, some gunpowder and little else. The complete works of Shakespear luckily for him, were not yet available! Eventually he was picked up, by the man who dumped him there. he returned home but could not settle down, once again he returned to the seafaring life. Eventually dying of fever of the coast of Africa. He was buried at sea.

Daniel Defoe, the English spy, not only worked to force Scotland into an uncalled for union with England but stole Selkirks story, told by others, and turned it into the tale of 'Robinson Crusoe.'
Never trust an Englishman! The links provide more details of Selkirks story, with the usual mixture of inconsistances and differences. It's make your mind up time! The basic story is indeed true, and the experience is not one most of us would enjoy, unless too many Soap Operas drive you into it of course. Whetehr this is the island is not possible for me to say, and while material from the correct period have been discovered it is as yet thin evidence. Many ships, including privateers, stopped of on the islands to gather provisions.

Tours to the Island are available from this, and other, organisations. The rich among you may fancy this.


Alexander Selkirk

Woodes Rogers, A Cruising Voyage round the World

Alexander Selkirk

Joke

Beethoven Symphonies

A tourist in Vienna is going through a graveyard and all of a sudden he hears some music. No one is around, so he starts searching for the source.

He finally locates the origin and finds it is coming from a grave with a headstone that reads: Ludwig van Beethoven, 1770-1827. Then he realizes that the music is the Ninth Symphony and it is being played backward! Puzzled, he leaves the graveyard and persuades a friend to return with him.

By the time they arrive back at the grave, the music has changed. This time it is the Seventh Symphony, but like the previous piece, it is being played backward.

Curious, the men agree to consult a music scholar. When they return with the expert, the Fifth Symphony is playing, again backward. The expert notices that the symphonies are being played in the reverse order in which they were composed, the 9th, then the 7th, then the 5th.

By the next day the word has spread and a throng has gathered around the grave. They are all listening to the Second Symphony being played backward.

Just then the graveyard's caretaker ambles up to the group. Someone in the crowd asks him if he has an explanation for the music.

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about" says the caretaker. "He's just decomposing!"

Electrician

So the electrician eventually arrives at ten in the morning. I had moved the desk, shifted vast amounts of stuff and all the accompanying dust, and fifteen minutes or so after he was in the building everything was switched off. Remember we are all electric, bar the gas boiler, and that uses electric to ignite the flame! The temperature is low, and nothing is working except two electricians pulling the old boxes out, with much banging and quite cursing. By lunchtime I enquired as to progress, rather hoping they might soon fix the sockets in here and i could get the place back to normal. It was then I discovered those who had gone before had botched things badly and much work was required. This was believable! Nobody has ever bothered to leave details of work done in past times, and much has been done by a wide variety of tradesmen, some of them qualified! Plumbers, electricians, bodgers of all kinds have moved pipes, installed wires and filed to leave info regarding where things are. The men spent two hours in the loft attempting to trace cables!

However, while they sweated up there I decided that it was so cold in here I needed to go out to get warm! Walking in the sunshine was better than freezing indoors. This place faces north and it is always cold. A slight breeze lowers the temperature,a north wind and I think I am in Greenland! I wonder if I could post from there? I trailed along the old railway stunned by the warmth, the bright light and the colours of nature all around me. When I returned, desperate for a steaming hot drink, I found them still in the lost and no hope of heating. No food, no tea, no computer, no radio, by three o' clock I was seeing spiders crawling up the windows! It was four by the time things were normal. All heaters were on and soup was burning! The house was returned to normal, in spite of the ache this will leave in all my muscles tomorrow. So much furniture to move for one socket! How do folks cope when they are flooded or the house catches fire? What is the response during a real emergency? This was routine upgrading work. This leaves me wondering what major works involve?

Good job I am not one to complain!

Confused

This is another of those things that clatter into the inbox without an invite.
The point it makes is quite good however!

QUESTIONS:

In 1923, who was
President of the largest U.S. steel company?
President of the largest U.S. gas company?
President of the New York Stock Exchange?
Greatest wheat speculator?
President of the Bank of International Settlement?
Great Bear of Wall Street?



ANSWERS:

Charles Schwab - who died a pauper
Edward Hopson - who died insane.
Richard Whitney - who was released from prison to die at home.
Arthur Cooger - who died abroad, penniless.
Leon Fraser - who shot himself.
Cosabee Livermore - who committed suicide
However, also in 1923, the PGA Champion and the winner of the US Open Golf tournament was Gene Sarazan.

QUESTION:

What happened to him?

ANSWER:

He played golf until he was 92.
He died at the age of 95.
He was financially secure at the time of his death.

MORAL:

Stuff work, play golf!

Portraits

This painting is called 'The Beaver Hat' and is by the Scots painter Edward Arthur Walton.
I post it simply because I like it. In the days of long ago I used to attempt to take portrait photographs and became quite adept at this. In fact of the thousands of pictures taken I found three that were worth looking at! Sadly I have not succeeded in continuing this success story through a lack of models, although I have enquired about the availability of several lassies as they passed by. The ASBO hinders this somewhat now.

I like looking at portraits as they tell us so much, mostly indirectly. While we look at the individual shown we learn much about the society around them as well as the portrait painter or photographer. It appears to me that far too many today tell us more about themselves and little about the subject. This is very sad. 'The Beaver Hat' tells us that the date is pre-war, the 'Great War' that is, but says nothing about the lassie posing. Had she been important I suspect her name would have been well known in artistic circles, and a large fee paid for the painting. This must therefore be a model. Such hats were popular amongst the girls of the day, if they had cash, and kept many a trapper happy in the wild west, although they may well have been travelling by Model 'T' Fords by this time! This is a lovely picture, simple and straightforward, a limited background, (looks like some bedsits I have known, dull, dirty and dingy,) with the lassies face highlighted and standing out from the rest. I like it. I wonder how much this would cost in today's 'Credit Crunch' society?

Sell - by Dates

Some time back I was searching in the fridge belonging to my spiritual mentor. Naturally this fridge did not actually belong to him, it was hers, and he just paid for the thing. She was the one who stuffed it to overflowing with a wide variety of trappings. Only a woman would find a reason to hide bottles of milk at the back until they turned sour, why? "They were needed for cooking." No-one in the house could work out what she cooked with sour milk, but when they discovered the remnants of vegetables and meat products being put into what she called a 'Fool' for pudding, then that was banned and a closer watch on her work entailed. I still do not know why dead milk was, and probably still is, turning green high up on the back shelf.

At that time I was looking for something to put on the bread. I noticed a jar of peanut butter as that was the 'in thing' at the time. Naturally I pounced on this, having moved cabbages, yogurt pots and 'Blue cheese (I think it may have started as cheddar) out of the way first. I stuck the knife in greedily and found great difficulty is getting the stuff to move. It appeared a little 'stodgy' and I found it very unwilling to leave the jar. A glance at the lid indicated it was two years out of date! TWO YEARS! I pointed this out to the host (from Aberdeen, a place famed for its Scrooge like attitudes). "It will be all right!" she exclaimed unashamed, "It'll be all right."
That next meal was eaten with much hesitation as the family grumbled as to the contents of the 'pie' we shared. Her explanation of the contents did not receive much belief, but we had second helpings having decided to die together and leave a mystery for the local police to work out. The headline 'Six suicides at dinner' was the headline we half expected to see the next day, although thinking about that we would not actually have seen it would we?

I remembered this last night as I went through the contents of the 'Medicine Chest.' This ex-ice cream tub gathers dust in a corner and sorting through it I discovered everything but a strange silver, sharp, metal object was well out of date. 'Halls' cough sweets died last November, 'Vicks' vapour rub had been past it sine Sep 2006 and the 'Vaseline' tub had passed away in June 2005! What a shame I had no use for it! I had a swig of the cough mixture the other day and am wondering if I ought to have checked it first. It did seem a little sluggish in leaving the bottle. Maybe I will leave that till another day.

The Road to Morocco

When I were a lad Sunday afternoons were taken up with aged black and white films on the telly. Alas rarely did we ever enjoy a live football match, and while there featured some memorable programmes I have let them memorably slip from my mind, rather like the way I pay my debts. The 'Road' films, featuring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, would sometimes appear in between those dreadful romances that had originally been screened during the war. The cinema was of course one of the places to be during war time. Not only could the citizens cuddle in the dark, but it took them away from the ever present dangers, at home and abroad, especially if they were doing the cuddling! Women not only wept through the romances, not nearly as much as the men did, but the ideal of wealth drenched America,with its large houses, constant sunshine and big automobiles tempted many to run of with chewing gum toting Yankee soldiers. Whether the delights of Idaho and Brooklyn lived up to the films image I know not! The thing is that in the early sixties films (that's movies to Americans) had to be ten years old before they were allowed on our screens! This meant nearly all were very dated. However it did give an outing to many 'B' westerns and excellent comedies. The Marx Bros and the 'Road' films sticking in my head more than most.

This is because of the 'repartee' between the main protagonists, and the way it was handled in these films. However I have just found 'The Road to Morocco' on a video tape (ask dad or some other old person what that is kids) and now see it for the dated creature it is. It tells much about Hollywood's understanding of Morocco and the Arabs! Large palaces straight from the 1001 nights, and camels, unfortunately the wrong type for Morocco, and each and every Moroccan with the ability to speak perfect English, with an American accent! The film was released on November the 8th 1942, and two days later American troops landed in Morocco in their first real entry into the war against Germany. Good job they were not shown this movie on the way, the reality would have disappointed them somewhat! We forget how much television has revealed the world to us in a way film never did in the forties. Let's face it we were quite ignorant of the world even into the sixties and television pictures, usually in the 'News' informed us of the world outside. This film could never be made today. The humour, not nearly as good as I recall, does last. Near the end, during the usual fight scene, the camels look on and one says that watching humans she is glad she is a camel, her mate responds, "I'm glad your a camel too Mabel." His eyes then revolve happily. Earlier when arriving at the bad guys tent in the desert, (which like the 'Dr Who' 'Tardis,' was huge inside and kind of small from the outside) Crosby says, and there is only two of them, "We must rescue the girls, we must storm the place." Hope replies, "You storm the place, I'll just stay here and drizzle." That is what made these films. Nearly seventy years on they lose something but become interesting from the 'social history' aspect. (aspect? I sound like an estate agent!) Still, worth a look in comparison the dross on telly today.

Winter Sets in

This morning the clocks go back. Most folk enjoy an extra hours sleep, although those working overnight may lose out and others with pets and children may find no difference of course. This time change signifies winters approach, and a glance out the window ensures us it has arrived. Clouds swoop over the land drenching the north west of the nation and sweeping the loose leaves from the trees. No wonder Americans call this time of the year 'fall.' Not only do the leaves fall from the trees, those of us walking over the slippery beasts fall flat also when meeting them. Onlookers love that mind.

Redistribution of Wealth

The following came through my spam collector today.

Today on my way to lunch I passed a homeless guy with a sign that read "Vote Obama, I need the money." I laughed. Once in the restaurant my server had on a "Obama 08" tie, again I laughed as he had given away his political preference -- just imagine the coincidence. When the bill came I decided not to tip the server and explained to him that I was exploring the Obama redistribution of wealth concept. He stood there in disbelief while I told him that I was going to redistribute his tip to someone who I deemed more in need--the homeless guy outside. The server angrily stormed from my sight. I went outside, gave the homeless guy $10 and told him to thank the server inside as I've decided he could use the money more. The homeless guy was grateful. At the end of my rather unscientific redistribution experiment I realized the homeless guy was grateful for the money he did not earn, but the waiter was pretty angry that I gave away the money he did earn even though the actual recipient deserved money more. I guess redistribution of wealth is an easier thing to swallow in concept than in practical application.

Now for me this sums up American politics. It misses out so much just to get a point across, and you can decide what the point is for yourself! It does not say why the homeless guy was homeless. Was it his fault? Is he just a lazy bum or someone who life treated badly? Is he injured or sick, or made redundant when it was not his fault? We are not told.

Neither are we told that in many American diners the staff are badly paid, if paid is the word, and live on the tips, hence the smiling service. This is not good service from someone who cares, just desperation for the cash whether they deserve it or not!

So many Yanks are full of the myth of America and talk of 'liberty' or the 'American dream,' and sometimes I wonder if their feet ever touch the ground. Now we have all met good Americans, and some post comments here - and if not are thinking comments at this moment which may be better off posted elsewhere! America has much to give to the world, yet their love of money destroys them, for in the end that is what the 'dream' comes down to. Freedom to do your own thing and get rich, this equals happiness! Wrong! This leads to the rich getting richer, the poor being downtrodden and those climbing high climbing over anyone who gets in the way. That does not bring any happiness because when they get to the top there is nothing there!

The redistribution of wealth has been suggested before. Under Reagan Catholic bishops wanted more given to Americas poor and were branded as 'Communistic and un-American! The desire for democracy as opposed to monarchical rule ends with monarchical rule by those with the money and connections to get to the top. The voting system being manipulated by some to keep things this way. Maybe this time it will be different, but will anything really change?

Redistribution of wealth is not 'socialist' not 'communist,' it does not give to those who do not try, nor does it take from those who work for it, instead it cares! Those who love mammon do not care, for others or themselves, they are enslaved by greed and that is idolatry. The desire to have and keep it all destroys all who go after it, while those who seek their needs and share find life! Jesus never commented on wealth sharing, although the poor are with us always, but he did tell us to care. Paul spoke of the 'Love of money' being the 'root of all evil,' and still we pursue this! If America wants to be successful it needs to share its wealth with itself and the world. Then the likes of 9/11 would never happen, Yanks would never be told to 'Go home' ever again, and the world, and America, would be a happier place.

Loose Women

Just what is the point of this programme 'Loose Women?' Is it to show us the considered debates about life today from a group of 'liberated ladies?' Or could it be it wants the viewer to believe that women should never have been given the vote in the first place as clearly there is no intellectual ability of any depth to be found here among these ageing slappers? Just what is the point of this? Just because you are of a 'certain age' does not mean you have to appear as 'mutton dressed as lamb,' and there is a lot of 'mutton' on show here! Nor does it mean you have to bring the conversation around to yourself constantly, which appears to be the only subject on offer - themselves! Four women sitting in a row talking about their bodies, sex, themselves, lipstick, sex, themselves, drink, sex, and themselves! A thousand million are at starvation level, millions go to bed hungry, a credit crunch is closing work places worldwide, possible nuclear war bides its time in the middle east, and these bints talk only about their weight problems and sagging skin, both subjects which need no introduction to the viewer it must be said! Just what is the point?

Now put four men in a row and what will they talk about? Their weight, their sex lives, their skin condition? I doubt it although rude remarks may pass and be replied to. No men would discuss thongs outside of themselves, football, war, motorbikes, indeed anything that matters, yet they are never given a programme in which to do this. I wonder why? Women's absurd fascination with trivia, as heard while waiting in Tesco for another self indulgent bint filling her bag while discussing nothing at all with the checkout girl, and she could get onto this programme quite easily I can tell you, their fascination with talking about nothing never ends! Why? If you have nothing to say don't say it! This will enable you to move your trolley out of folks way in considerably less time than it does now! Then you can go home and watch video tapes of 'Loose Women,' it doesn't matter how old the tape is, the subject will be the same, as will the unbelievable outfits!

Edinburgh Trams

I pinched this picture from Richards Blog, a blog centred on the National Tramways Museum at Crich, Derbyshire. I can remember the time these beasts roamed Edinburgh's streets, rattling and shaking and terrifying me at the time. I always hated the things but there were times they just had to be used. Of course kids could find fun on these creatures, the seats were simple wooden benches, not acceptable to the overweight, overdressed wealthy types of today, with a backrest that was adjusted at the end of each trip and the tram turned around. The adjustment was simple enough, the back was just pushed forward and the seats were ready for the return journey. The conductor changed all the seats, the driver ensured the power was connected from the wires above via the connecting rod, and then moved to the other end of the tram and they were away, although they probably had a long break first!

Edinburghs cobbled streets remain today but the rails have long since gone. However a new style tram, with comfy seating will soon be appearing, and once more these silent, environmentally friendly beasts will reappear. Whether this is a good idea remains to be seen, and the citizens will complain constantly about the disruption, the cost and , well anything to be honest. If it is a success they will then complain about something else. Such is the happiness progress brings. Personally I would like to go to the Critch Museum and wallow in nostalgia for the trams I once disliked as a kid, they were removed in 1956 when I was only five years old, and probably get a lot of joy from pushing the backs of the seats around as I once did in the distant past. Sad I know, but I love it!

Hero's Wall

The other day I noticed the photo albums, hidden high up in a cupboard, hard been tainted by damp. So I spent a long time digging them out and ensuring future generations will benefit from my out of focus and strangely angled photography. The memories found therein varied from depressing to amusing, and I had lots of fun attempting to remember who many of those pictured actually were! Obviously they meant a lot to me at the time! Now I think some of the pictures were quite good, my brother, who spent many years in that business, considered them somewhat 'amateurish.' The fact that he is right has not yet stopped me taking pics. Among them are many I took when wandering around London looking for money lying in the streets. I did this because folk always told me the streets of London were 'paved with gold!' and for years I believed them. I made 17 pence in 21 years!

The poor picture above is a notable one, not for quality as it is too small on here, but for content. A better picture can be found on this 'Postman's Park' site. The photo shows a number of plaques put there by one George Watts, a philanthropist, who wanted to commemorate Victoria's Jubilee by remembering those who gave themselves for others. He erected this wall with dedications to those who had attempted to save some from drowning, or fire or other disaster, and in doing so had lost their own lives. A notable memorial! The link gives close up pictures of the plaques and details of their heroic deeds are there for all too see. For me this is a great way to remember such folk. What a shame nothing like it exists today.

If you find yourself in London, take a break from the tourist traps, the shop, and the masses who live there and wander through here, it's not far from St Paul's. Nearby stands the headquarters of what was then the General Post Office, and the park was frequented by workers during their break. Small and surrounded by buildings it is one of London's many anomalies, the park, not the General Post Office, and I suppose in Victoria's day it may have been frequented by Anthony Trollope the author himself? he worked for the Post Office, mostly in Ireland, and is credited with inventing the pillar box! Not a lot of people know that. Few know either that he did not get on too well with Rowland Hill, then head of the GPO, and the man who invented the postage stamp, of which the 'Penny Black' was the first. See, education is here for those that want it. Of course you may have to check any facts given!

Silence Again

Too tired to cogitate, nothing to rant over, and no inspiration hanging around. I have many thoughts circulating around my head but none suitable for publication - no, none of those missus! For some reason I am so tired all the time, is it age or lack of stimulation? Could it be too much 'Flanders Stew?' Or am I just a slob? Answers on a ten pound note please (used). I have filled some time tonight watching BBC 4, the Freeview channel that I can just receive thanks to the wonders of an indoor Aerial. However, whenever a car drives past the picture wobbles, a bit like my stomach does. This is a shame as tonight there have been several programmes worth watching.

Several programmes have concerned themselves with steam railways, and what could be nicer? Certainly some are old stuff from the nineties, BBC 4 does this, but even so they are far better than the usual line up of soaps and dramas that are no more than soaps. These trailers for such cretinous events appear between the shows here and make me swear at the telly! Routinely such 'dramas' involve a woman, adultery, bad men, a threat or two and an explosion. All the same crap day after day! Meanwhile in the real world I watch a steam railway wandering beautifully through the Devon countryside. Steam rises and flows behind and slightly to the right as she coasts along the coast, a wonderful sight! The sea of the Cornish Riviera greets her, and the hills resound to the whistle as she passes. Indeed there is nothing more romantic than a steam locomotive passing by.

Ah me, I am in love!

Another programme shows a lass wandering along old railways closed by Dr Beeching in the 60's. He was the business man brought in by Ernest Marples to curtail the money being spent on British Railways. Marples had made his money in the motor trade and he was going to support that in place of the rail traffic. While it was clear changes were desperately needed, and nothing had been done since the war, and no railway made money before then, Beeching cut far too much, destroyed jobs, businesses, and much tourism. Very much a Thatcherite before the time. No thought was given to the effect on the society being destroyed, money was the only thought! Buses were supposed to replace the rail service even though it was well known the infrastructure did not exist! It is even worse after the mad Baroness herself took a hand! The lack of a rail service devastated many towns and villages. Now the car rules and the UK has I believe more cars proportionately than any other. But I could be wrong here. The old line fromGalashiels into Edinburgh was lost, the 'Waverley' line, there are plans to reinstate this, forty years on, indicating just how foolish the loss of railways has been.

Anyway, I still want to drive one. Listening to the whistle blow, the clank of goods wagons (the had no brakes and just clanked into one another), the puffing of trains in the distance and the availability of seats! Trains pulling ten or more coaches are replaced now by two or four couches on long distances! No wonder trains are overcrowded. But I digress. These programmes are making my TV licence almost worth the money. I cannot say that every day.

See, I told you I had nothing to say.

Mirror

I'm not one for awards, especially when they are only to reflect Mulled Vine and his ravings.
Such awards are meant for truly Christian blogs, and while I recognise Gods gave up his Son, and at what a cost, and the Son gave up himself for me, and , sometimes, I attempt to give myself back to him, this particular blog is not about that. This merely reflects my ravings and my slice of intellectual suicide for all to see. While I would like nothing better than to sit here suffused (good thing thesaurus's) in God and just enjoy him, although living with him is harder but better, I am sorry to say this blog reflects the reality of my life.

Pray for me...........

The Letters of the Younger Pliny

Pliny the Younger (61-113 AD) came from the aristocratic class of Roman society. He developed a career as a lawyer and a taste for Literature pursuits. Later his diligence and ability saw him sent to Bythnia and Pontus as Governor. The letters found here give an interesting insight into the workings of Roman society. Allowing for his editing of the letters before publication, the attitudes and concerns of Rome are revealed. There we see little difference between their preoccupations and ours. Marriage, families, advancement for friends, occasional news worthy stories, the deaths of friends and servants arise again and again. People, in spite of the culture in which they dwell are at heart, the same worldwide and at all times. While not writing history as such his letters betray the inner workings of the Roman mind and the society around him.

One much read letter describes the eruption of Vesuvius as it buried Pompeii and Herculaneum. From the other side of the bay the young Pliny watched as his uncle attempted to rescue those engulfed by the volcano. His uncle dying in the attempt. His description is so good those who study such things use it today to help understand eruptions of this kind. One of course is expected any day soon. Good luck Napoli!

Pliny comes over as caring, for friends, for honest endeavour, for his country and indeed for his servants, his slaves. While some treated slaves badly Pliny appears to have looked after his well, suffering when they were sick and depressed when they died. His refusal to allow 'Chained slaves' to work his land shows his humanity towards even the lowest strand of society. This does not mean he opposed the concept of slavery, and possibly never thought much about it, slavery was there and it was a punishment for crime against the state so was acceptable. Cruelty he appears not to have enjoyed, although he appears willing to allow the death penalty whenever it was required.

He did however use torture on slave women, the normal method of the time, to enquire about Christianity when governor. This he decided was '..a degenerate sort of cult carried to extravagant lengths.' Those who refused to renounce their belief he had executed as '..their stubbornness and unshakable obstinacy should not go unpunished.' He was remember, a decent Roman! The cruel ones leave little room for imagination.

This is an excellent book well worth reading. It says much about Roman society and indeed about ourselves. For in history we see ourselves as we really are!

Credit Crunch

Once upon a time in a village in India , a man announced to the villagers that he would buy monkeys for $10.

The villagers seeing there were many monkeys around, went out to the forest and started catching them. The man bought thousands at $10, but, as the supply started to diminish, the villagers stopped their efforts.

The man further announced that he would now buy at $20. This renewed the efforts of the villagers and they started catching monkeys again.

Soon the supply diminished even further and people started going back to their farms. The offer rate increased to $25 and the supply of monkeys became so little that it was an effort to even see a monkey, let alone catch it!

The man now announced that he would buy monkeys at $50! However, since he had to go to the city on some business, his assistant would now act as buyer, on his behalf.

In the absence of the man, the assistant told the villagers: 'Look at all these monkeys in the big cage that the man has collected. I will sell them to you at $35 and when he returns from the city, you can sell them back to him for $50.'

The villagers squeezed together their savings and bought all the monkeys.

Then they never saw the man or his assistant again, only monkeys everywhere!

Welcome to WALL STREET.

Sunny Sunday Afternoon

I decided to walk the two miles up to the village today, then realised how far uphill that was and took the bike instead. Dressed for October I discovered the sun thought it was August. Quite why it thought August was October it did not bother to explain, I find the weather is like that around here!

The 'Sunday drivers' were out today. I discovered how thick the paint on several cars happened to be as I zigzagged my way west. The jacket I wore was excellent at keeping the chill of the wind, noticeable when going down the hill at 12 miles an hour, and even better at keeping the heat in when struggling up the other side and just over snails pace per hour. All part of my weight loss programme I lied to myself. Naturally, the one set of traffic lights in the vicinity decide to change to red just when my old velocipede and I arrive there. It must be said I had by this time no reason to apply brakes! As my foot hit the ground, and I looked all around me to see no vehicles in sight, the lights change and off I start, bouncing over the holes that are never filled in and just avoiding a car that appeared from nowhere!

I noted the one Indian restaurant in the place and wondered if there was any part of the UK, or the British isles at that, which do not contain at least one of these places? The British these days live on Indian or Chinese takeaways. Curry, in it's many forms has become the number one dish among the populace. So much so that some restaurateurs make fools out of us. One enterprising chap, in Sheffield I believe, decided to start selling 'Balti Curry,' and it became a national dish. years later I discovered that 'Balti' simply means 'Bucket!' Most of the folks here remain in peaceful ignorance of this, not that they would care if told of course.

Further up I passed the typical English village pub, into which I have never ventured, and noticed folks sitting at the tables outside, something never done in Scotland. I found this strange when I ventured south in days of yore, as Scots pubs had frosted glass windows and severely closed doors. As kids we would attempt to peer through the cracks and work out what was happening until some gent informed us of our need for a belting! Down south people regularly stood around outside drinking, I was amazed! Of course, a form of Calvinism and the ten degrees of colder, much colder, weather were the reasons behind this. Keep the drinking hidden and keep the drinkers warm being the order of the day. The drunks seen on the streets in all towns and cities were of course seen there in the past. However it had not become a media story, and most of the media were in the middle of it then anyway. I suspect they still are. One pretty lady lounging at the table did glance in my direction. Failing to interpret my look as 'Give us a drink luv,' she instead gave me a look mixed with ridicule and contempt, mostly contempt. This, along with her large half filled cider glass, her blond hair and scowl, reminded me of two others of my acquaintance, both up north and probably indulging in similar activities as I went on my merry (?) way.

In the course of time I reached my objective and headed for the old railway line. I hesitated as I approached as I noticed it was very busy with cyclists pedalling past and Essex girls pushing prams. (Are you sure you are 16 dear?) However I joined them and began the lovely slow (If the brakes work) descent homewards. I say slow but was fascinated by the number of men, often in their forties, who were pedalling furiously downhill! These nutters have a need to wear shorts when on a bike, the English have this abnormal desire for wearing shorts, if the sun shines get out the shorts even if it is freezing, they reckon if the sun is out it is warm! Something not right with such folk I say. However, while they exercise at speed I meander along, enjoying the birdies singing, the sun dappling the trees, "Praise God for dappled things", the dogs ignoring everything bar the smells found around them, and the pretty girls doing their best to ignore me as I pass. Lovely all round I say as I talk to myself on the journey.

Naturally I now sit here with aching muscles slowly stiffening while I wonder how a short time ago I had little problem cycling up and down these slopes, especially the down ones. Soon I will have to choose between walking outside to ease the knees or stuffing my fat face with whatever I can find in my neighbours dustbins and call it 'curry.' I think I know what will win, and it will not have any cider to go with it.

Ach Well

Another international, another excuse to despair. What is it about Scotland that we can beat France and shake Italy yet fail against Macedonia and Norway? Scotland v Norway was another story of effort with no cutting edge, desire with no ability, and tactics that failed. Now Norway are no pushovers, they posses many top quality, experienced players. However we did not really have the cutting edge we needed. The man from Coatbridge may have missed the easiest chance, and not the worst miss ever in spite of what the media are saying, but the strikers were not given the chances to miss were they? Wrong to play one up front, wrong to give to much respect to Norway and wrong to have defenders who find it difficult to pass the ball forwards or indeed to one of their own!

We could revel in our despair, and Scots do enjoy that after a defeat, but we are faced with the nigels lucky win against a vibrant Kazakhstan. This youthful side came to Wembley and chose to ignore ITVs commentators description of their pride in playing there. Instead they took the game to England knowing that an early goal would lead their hosts to implode. Sadly they failed in this endeavour. The visitors gave their all and in the course of time showed the English defence for what it was, as shaky as a jelly on a skateboard. However it held firm enough until the visiting goalie, their poorest player, floundered at a cross. A second fluke goal followed and while Kazakhstan obtained a deserved goal England ran out winners by five goals to one. The tired visitors neither overawed and a credit to their nation - wherever it is!

So it is the worst of all worlds, they win, we fail. Beating a small side will bring eulogies from the English media and talk of Walcott as a second George Best - except he was Irish, and a class above the wee lad. Scots press louts will concentrate on attacking George Burley until he is named the next Rangers manager. Then of course he will be admired widely. As I watched today I wondered how many times have I seen this type of result? Hundreds of times I thought, both for the Scotland national side and the Heart of Midlothian. I suppose there are millions worldwide like me. Huddled over radio or burning TV set, crying out, advising the numpty on the ball as to what he ought to do with it, blaming the ref, the grass, the ball, everybody, and desperate beyond belief to be the one on the field who can put things right. The sad truth is that while only eleven men can run around kicking the enemy, we can only dream of being there. And sadly it is true that all too often we wonder if my granny could do better than a player who is earning untold thousands each week, and she died in 1945, sad because we would play for nothing, indeed we would pay for the privilege!

Ach well, it could be worse - I could be English, and I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy!

Group 9 (Group Nine) Table

Group 9 Table - October 11 2008

Pos	Team	P	Pts
1	Scotland	3	4
2	Netherlands	1	3
3	Macedonia	2	3
4	Norway	2	2
5	Iceland	2	1