To What Purpose?

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                                                                               Sky News

Last night two Apache Helicopters flew from one of the few remaining Royal Navy ships and attacked targets in Libya. To what purpose I ask? I still find it difficult to comprehend the reasons for being in this conflict in the first place!

Alongside our French comrades (they also sent helicopters after targets last night but our media tends to play that down) we have been bombing and strafing Libya for how long now? This was, we were told, a short intervention to support the peoples demand for a removal of Gaddafi, but he still remains and we are still unsure as to who exactly these 'people' who rebel actually are!

Where is this leading? Nobody knows. Removing Gaddafi may well be a good idea, but is that not the Libyans problem, not ours?  We really want him out, and his oil under our control, yet we are caught in this stand-off about which we can do little.  A short intervention we were told, costs covered by reserve cash, yet already a billion, possibly three, have been wasted on 'Dave's' adventure in 'macho' politics. Like most of 'Dave's' PR stunts this one is not working and looks like it will soon be costing us more servicemen for no good reason! Have we not wasted enough of our men in a needless intervention in Iraq 'Dave?' Another died in a failed operation in Afghanistan last night, just how many more 'Dave?' And for what?

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Excercise and Cycling Early in the Morning.

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Start the day the proper way I say. Stretch both arms high. Ooooooh, not that far.
Stretch again, left arm,
right arm,
left arm,
right arm, ooo let's stop that there.
Touch toes, oooh slowly.  And again, and again, and again.
Grab ankle and pull left leg up behind and streeeeeetcch. 
Now the right one, streeeeetttccchhh.
No more off that!
Swivel head to the left,
the right,
the left,
the right,
the lef...no hold that, I'm getting dizzy now.
Chest expanders now.
Puuuuuullllll oooooh, tsk. I think that can wait.
Stretch arms again,
and again,
and again,
Deep breaths,
In. Out.
In. Out.
In. Out.
In. Out.Right, time to get out of bed.

What a morning! Bright sunshine, clear blue sky, slight breeze. I must get on the bike!
Twenty to six and I am off up the road.
Should I go to the left and up the old railway, or carry on and go down the cutting to the...oh never mind I am not awake and have gone straight on anyway. Early it may be but white van man is about. I know this as he has just attempted to reveal how many coats of paint covers his van. I wish he had found some way other than using my handlebars to do this!  Builders pass by in painted vans, rushing to overcharge their customers and find excuses not to complete the work while the sun shines. Folk head for work, probably these are the ones with keys to open up for the rest, and factory or shop will soon ring to the happy sound of human voices wishing it was time to go home. A cleaner or two passes eager (?) to dust, polish and hoover for £5.96 an hour. I note them all as they head for their destination, although I would have been better noting the traffic lights there as that would have saved that man in the Skoda using language that does not suit this time of day.

I aim to turn off for the railway but fail to negotiate the bend (maybe this is too early?) and am heading down the steep hill at breakneck speed holding the handlebars with two hands and my cap with another. I can foresee trouble ahead!  At the bottom of the hill I pass an adolescent lassie delivering the morning papers, or at least judging by the speed she is progressing possibly it is the weekly free paper she began delivering yesterday?

I grunt and puff as I struggle up the other side of the hill and looking to my right, and avoiding 'P. Grant. Builder and Handyman,' as he zooms along, and watch the sun rising over the fields. Visibility is at least ten miles although the dew is causing a very light haze that makes me eager to stop and take pictures. Summer mornings have a joy all of their own! However if I stop on this slope I may not start again so I continue. I pass through the village full of aged buildings which are very much at variance with the nature of the road that lies in front of them, and turn off into the station (2 miles and 17 chains distance from home) and begin the run home down the slope. Today I am so glad of this slope! Five miles seems like fifty these days, why do teens have all the energy?

Home before six thirty in the morning. Breakfast, read the papers, blogs, e-mails, and it is almost time to do those things that have waited since yesterday.

I er, maybe I will do them later...... 


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Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow.....

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It ought to be done. It is sitting there awaiting doing, and I ought to get off my backside and do something about it. The truth is I just canny be bothered. I mean it requires doing, it needs doing and it ought to be done, but I, er well, I just think it best that it is left until tomorrow.
That's what I will do, I will do it tomorrow when the other things can get done at the same time. Good idea!
Now I can relax and get on with what I am doing, whatever that was?

It ought to be done. It is still sitting there awaiting doing since yesterday now, and I ought to get off my backside and do something about it. It is one of those little jobs that would only take a moment to do, just a few minutes out of my busy time, and it has been waiting since yesterday to be done.
I could do it along with that other little job that is awaiting doing.                                                         Two at once sounds such a lot though doesn't it? Possibly they could both wait until cleaning day and everything could be done with little effort then.                                                                           Possibly.

I could spare time today although yesterday I had time and didn't make use of it, and tomorrow could be busy and I may not have time then and would be perplexed that I did not use my time better today, just like I didn't yesterday, and then I will be annoyed with myself tomorrow.
Ach is that the time?                                                                                                                                  I think I will do it tomorrow, busy it may be but it is easier to do a lot when busy than one thing when quiet, isn't it?
Isn't it?                                                                                                                                               

Much busier than I thought today, I still havn't done it. Other things are piling up on the 'To Do' list, one or two from last week, and one from last month actually, although it will rain soon so there is no point in cleaning windows now is there?                                                                                                   I really am too busy today to do what I ought to have done yesterday, and now I am annoyed with myself for leaving yesterdays work for tomorrow knowing that tomorrow would be busier than today although now it is today I find it much busier than yesterday! So nothing has been done.                    It, the thing  that need doing, and the others, still lie there, undone.
I will be able to do them, and those other little things, tomorrow.
Yes indeed, tomorrow is the day to do it!

Actually I ought to have got around to it yesterday after all as today has left no opportunity to get on with any of it, even though I allowed time for it yesterday when I ought to have done it the day before. Now it is today and I just cannot motivate myself to do any of it until tomorrow and how I wish I had done some of it yesterday or even the day before, or indeed the day before the day before. Although I couldn't do it the day before that day could I, not as it was. Now I must do it today in spite of allthe stuff that lies undone around me today, much of which came from yesterday and ought to have been done the day before that! Now it must be done today and I cannot fit it in.
I will fix it tomorrow, definitely.
Definitely!


It's all still there. Nothing from yesterday has been done today as yet. There are several things, some quiet urgent that are screaming for attention now. That one has been there since the day before all this started and I had forgotten all about it, what with the job from the other day and all that. I should do them today because I will not have time tomorrow and yesterday turned out to leave no opportunity because I was overwhelmed by things from the day before that required catching up with, urgently as it happened.
Now I have no time to do these things today because of it all.                                                            

I suppose I could leave them until the day after tomorrow when I have more time and.......



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For Leazewell

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Ray Charles

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Pub Crawl

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This morning, being a Bank Holiday, I strolled out through the quiet streets to attempt to take pictures of the houses in which my dead soldiers resided.  By that I mean when they were alive, as they stopped living their when they became dead, the council would not allow it. Anyway it was quieter than a Sunday today, the sun almost shone, the rain threatened and moved away, and I took one or two hasty shots. I am not too keen on taking pictures of houses when people are seen inside. The gruff question regarding what I am playing at can cause offence, I've found. The policeman's quizzical look can also hinder a steady camera and therefore early morning is the most suitable time for such work. Amongst the interesting finds, to me at least, was this old pub I once delivered to.  It ceased to operate as a public house a good few years ago and now houses this small company, and the two attractive young secretaries.  Funny how I always remember such young women. Not that my memory is that good but they were early thirties, wearing green and blue tops, had nice....anyway, the windows. Wisely they have not removed the windows, or indeed repainted the place, although the massive amount of traffic outside their door today means the paintwork suffers badly. If you look close enough you will note the cleverly crafted advert for Spirits which can be seen. 

 

In days of yore all pubs informed the world outside that they offered 'Fine wines,'  'blended whiskies,' and 'Famous Ales,' often on frosted glass panes. Whether they lived up to the adverts depended on how much the drinker imbibed I suppose.  Until the absurdity of the feminist influence some public houses were drinking dens for men only, and I think this may well have been one such. Small, close to the massive Iron Foundry round the corner, and in the evening full of spit and sawdust, heavily drowned in cigarette smoke and a haven for the working man in which to lose his weeks wages before going home to be belted by his wife!  Hmmm maybe this is an improvement!

It appears there were forty three public houses in this small town at one time. There is only about a dozen today. I wonder what that says about society today? We have drunks on our streets night after night the press tell us, is this such a novelty? Could it be it was only drunk working men in days gone by, so that is alright then?  Jesus drank wine, and the best he served up at a wedding, but he was never drunk, so drink has its place, not remembering what you did last night does not. Actually I have trouble remembering what I did last night anyway.

The Victorians had great trouble with water supplies and drinking beer was a much safer option for many. Living in squalid accommodation meant that gas lit pubs, often with entertainment on offer, (this grew into the Music Hall) and the companionship of like minded souls made such places an attraction. Better housing, the radio, TV, the death of heavy industry and the end of male only pubs has brought about great changes in society's approach to pubs. The recession today means more buy their booze from supermarkets and drink at home rather than be ripped off by a 'local.'

People get very romantic about pubs these days. The media tell us the streets are full of drunken yobs (shocked that many are women as if that is something new) yet tell us we ought to help keep pubs open as they are centres of the 'Community?'  Really? Maybe in a village situation but not in the real world. Sad to say that these places mean little to me today. Drink is fine in its place but a bottle of Guinness is more than enough for me today.  The desire to spend money on drink holds no joy, although the companionship of good people found there does!  The men who filed in the 'Freemasons Arms' after work, bringing a smell of sweat, cigarettes and iron with them, would be amazed to see the plush pubs on offer today. They would probably be delighted with many of them but regret the passing of their own little hideaway.  The women, rightly stuck aside in the 'snug, would be much happier with the pubs of today, the cleanliness, the brightness, although whether they would care for the twenty foot football screen depends on many things. OK, who's round is it? What? er...is that the time? er, em... I must be off now, I er,  have a bus to catch, bye....


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Strange Week

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I canny mind where I found that picture of Bill Bailey but it speaks volumes and makes me laugh!  There have been times this week when I did not laugh however. Take Tuesday, I logged off the internet around four in the afternoon for some reason, I must have been in the shops looking for the reduced price stale bread.  I attempted to log in on my return and nothing happened. Sometimes there is a hindrance logging in, so I waited a moment and tried again, still nothing.  This continued for a couple of hours and (after six when calls are free) I called Pipex. The woman's voice told me that the call would cost 5p a minute (even if it's free after six?) and blethered for a few moments to scrounge more loot out off me.
"Insert your phone number on the keypad."
I did.
"Insert or speak your date of birth."
"02/07/ 93"
"Please repeat that either by voice or on the keypad."
I keyed in the date.
"All our colleagues are busy at the moment, please hold, your call is important to us."
I held.
Music played. A scratched old 78 of some sort.
"Thank you for holding. Our colleagues will be with you shortly. Your call is important to us."
"It's important to ME too girl!" I said to the machine.
Music, "Thank you for holding....."
Tap finger.
Music.
"Thank you for holding....."
"Thank you for holding.  You are now in position three in the queue,"she said with a self satisfied smile.
Music.
"Thank you for holding....."
Music.
"Your call is important....."
Music......
TAP FINGER!!!
"You are now in position two in the queue," she lied.
Music.
"Thank you for holding....."
Music.
"Thank you for holding....."
Music.
"Thank you for holding....."
Brrr brrr. Brrr brrr
"Good evening, welcome to Pipex, my name is something or other. How can I help you?"
 "I cannot connect......."
That's funny, it's gone silent. Has he cut me off?
No! It's my phone handset. The battery has died! GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

With internet contact restored the sun shines again. I was quite worried for a moment as I feared that I may have to talk to real people for a change. In fact I actually had to do just that on Thursday as I had to sign on the Dole and receive a visit from one of their employees regarding a query on my doings. The first part occurred in the morning. I entered in the usual manner, in rags, unshaven and unwashed, discovered the new system was in operation and prayed I did not have to deal with the lass who last had a thought about seventeen years ago, and she was wrong that day also!  In fact I was attended to by a delightful, somewhat nervous lassie, although females are often nervous meeting me, we famous folk understand this, and while I attempted not to look anywhere but at her eyes I scrawled my name (an alias) and was thrown out again.
Back home the man who arrived informed me I had been overpaid by £178 or thereabouts. After the ambulance man had removed the defibrillator equipment and given the all clear the chap spoke, clearly and slowly, about the work I had done some months ago. I had of course informed them at the time and their robot had sent me a letter disclosing the change this made to my benefit. This was fine, except the robot had not bothered to alter what I was paid and now I owe them about £20. This I may not even be required to pay.

The rest of the week has been taken up with a drained mind which has been entertained by researching (a rather high faluting way to describe it) names on the local war memorial. This does give an impression for the effect the Great War had on this small town. Now holding 35,000 or so, I wonder what the population would have been in 1914?  Already I have discovered four men dead in the local area, and several more not much further away!  The response of the families involved, especially when an only son, a father, or for one poor lad two sons within a year dying is easy to understand. Today the names stand ignored for the most part on the memorial but some who pass must know they are related to them. I wonder what their thoughts are regarding such men and possible uncles, cousins or indeed fathers?

It is amazing what the loss of football can do to an individual? The great Champions League Final begins shortly.  I had better watch this as in two years time I expect the Heart of Midlothian to be playing in this game.  What? ...................oh!  



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Another Door

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They say when one door closes another smacks you in the face. Well this one did just that the other morning as I ambled along searching the gutters for dropped coins. Suddenly I realised that this was an old door! Yes I am bright that way. What I mean is that this door must go back, possibly to Georgian times. I reckon, without having investigated further, that this building was erected before 1850, and possibly nearer the start of the century.  Some wealthy individual had themselves a very nice house, in the centre of town, and on the main road out.  I wonder who it was?  I may have a shot at finding out one day.

The door is what caught my eye, at least the steps up to the door I mean. Until the 20th century I think this street would not have possessed an actual pavement. ( That's 'sidewalk' to those who do not speak properly) The main road would not be tarmac but dirt, and the pavement ('sidewalk') would be merely an extension of this patrolled by passersby. Horse drawn traffic, leaving their aids to growing rose bushes behind, added to the general smell and unhealthy street. With rain the place would become a sticky, mud mire.  That is why all such houses had steps leading up to them, along side of which would be metal scrapers (removed from these steps) which would be used to clean the boots before entering. Surely a town such as this would have paved the pavements  ('sidewalks') by the end of the 19th century I ask?  I am not sure they did. I must examine those old pictures later.

However this building is still in possession of rich folk. It is now a lawyers office with a very nice garden come car park at the rear.  While the light above the door is no longer gas lit I am sure it works just as well with electricity. The actual door is not represented that well but I think it is considerably later than the original one. So not worth investigating. There are several old houses here, now all offices of one sort or another, and only one appears to be used as a home, and that owned by a successful artisan!  I'm not jealous.....


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Oh Joy!

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I was delighted to read that the local jobless numbers had decreased somewhat in the past few weeks. It may well be an opening for a useless plonker (unskilled is the proper term) may yet appear I thought.  A few objections have of course been raised to any encouragement by the revelation that these figures may well have been somewhat distorted. Gosh! Who would have thought that?  Those gaining 'work placements' I understand are removed from the numbers. Invalidity claimants (or whatever name it has now) are also omitted even while many do seek work. Other 'positive accounting' takes place in an effort to smooth the politicians (and the HEO's) progress. It still remains that five people apply for every job. Or to put it another way Five hundred apply for the appropriate (easy, unskilled, overpaid, sedentary, numpty) jobs I look for.  I stare into the future with my head held.........well in my hands actually......

Good old 'Dave!' Twice today he has shown us where his heart is. First he has announced he wants to encourage marriage to strengthen a 'stable society.' By that he probably means he will make folks live among the horses I suspect. He considers marriage to be the basis of a stable society and I agree with him. Will he therefore decide that benefits appropriate to this would arise? Tax benefits etc?  Would he therefore encourage job creation and 'positive discrimination for married persons perhaps? Hmmm. PR is all very well but policy is no use without money Mr C.

He has suddenly come off the fence regarding papers publishing 'Kiss & Tell' stories. Suddenly he is claiming that it is unfair that Social media can publish names while papers cannot. Well I wonder why he speaks out now? Has Mr Murdoch been on the phone perhaps? You know Murdoch, that nice man who owns the 'Sun.' That is the paper yon tart was attempting to sell a 'Kiss & Tell' story to regarding a Premiership footballer.  He had the courts stop revelation of his name, yet someone (surely not an employee of the 'Sun') placed his name on 'Twitter,' thereby breaking the injunction.  You would not ask me to believe that such a man as Murdoch would now be influencing the Prime Minister of England just because he wishes to make a fast buck would you? Just because he sneaked up the back stairs into No 10 the minute Cameron forced his way in does not mean Murdoch has an unholy hold over this PM does it? Well, does it....? I am sure 'Dave' is thinking for himself, not for Murdoch, nor indeed for personal advantage. I trust this PM as much as I trusted Tony Blair, and you cannot say fairer than that!  

cf with this excellent piece. Auld Reekie Rants





p.s.  I am thinking of taking a job as a contortionist, just to make ends meet.


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The Saturday Night Rock 'N' Roll Show

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Cemetery

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While some find cemeteries eerie places I tend to find them interesting for a variety of reasons. This morning the sun shone, a Blue Tit (or was it two?) hustled back and forward from a very small hole in the wall as it fed the chicks inside. two local village dog walkers ignored me from a distance and I was left to enjoy the sunshine and blue sky. Peace and quiet in such places gives the opportunity to think.  This small churchyard, with once again a church comprised of millions of red bricks, contains many graves of the wealthier sort from Victorian and Edwardian times. You could tell by the bricked in tombs and iron gates placed there to stop grave robbers removing the corpse, only the rich could afford these. These are actually more for show than effectiveness as I suspect a grave robber wants a fresh corpse, not one weeks old. What is less obvious is the part of the graveyard where the poor were buried, this is unmarked, and who knows how many were laid therein?  For a while I mused over one unreadable stone, most were sadly, guarded by a low iron railing, as to the day of this funeral around a hundred years or so ago. Who was he/she? What was the weather? I could imagine the elaborate Victorian hearse, drawn by two horses (there is at least one still in use around here), the mourners gathered around, the vicar and the whole performance. I wondered if anybody today in this village knows who he is?   

Several memorials, such as the iron one seen below, contain the name 'Richardson.' It appears likely that family will have relatives still around here. However once the third generation pass on who can remember the deeds of those who lie here? Whether they were good or bad, whether they managed to contribute anything positive, are lost to us now.  So many lives and so many stories. These iron memorials abound around here. Many are like this round one, containing names and details, now difficult to read, with others being small crosses. I wonder if this a local idea? I have not seen them elsewhere. 

The setting, when the sun shines, is lovely indeed. The sun, the blue sky, the trees covered in birds and bees, and the green fields behind with growing crops. Another small gate leads to the fields and is irresistible to anyone with a camera! The only disappointment remains the fear of theft that locks all church doors around here. A wise precaution but a nuisance just the same.

  

 
It was as I was having a last look around I heard the singing. No-one was to be seen, all was quiet and peaceful. Birds flitted through the trees and a bumble bee buzzed around flowers left at a grave when I heard the song.

"Come and join us

 Come and join us"

 

I got on the bike and decided I had finished my exercise for today. I got home much quicker than I had got here......

 

 

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Hitler : Nemesis

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Amazon UK

After I broke my leg (Thanks Charlotte!) I recuperated by reading William Shirer's 'The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.' This started me on a trek through many books in an attempt to understand the reasons behind Mr Hitler's actions. Having grown up during the 50's I was always aware of the Second World War (we ran around the playground in 1956 chanting 'We won the war, in 1944). All adults had been involved in some way, reference was constantly made on the wireless, some BBC programmes linked soldiers in occupied Germany with home, and comics and films were naturally dominated with warfare. While Britain slowly recovered, all Britain got from the was was a moral victory for 'standing alone' and bankruptcy, the NHS created, main industries nationalised, and vast numbers of houses built, the war nevertheless weighed heavily on many people. How heavy it must have weighed with the single woman next door and her two year old daughter was seen in the routine visit of the milkman to 'comfort her.' Not far from us stood a rusting anti aircraft base, bus conductors were often 'Poles,' who had remained after the conflict, although they may well have been from the Baltic States, and our main games often involved guns of one sort or another.

Since reading Shirer's book I have read many others, far too many my brain tells me, and recently I acquired (free) the second of Henshaw's great work on the man. 'Hitler' Hubris' was the first and details his early life and rise to power.  I confess I struggled to finish this excellent tome and I strongly suspect that the author was feeling similar thoughts as he ended his years of study. The writing as the book draws near the end gives the impression he wanted to lie down in a dark room for a year! I know how he feels.  Three men stand out when in comes to such study, Ian Kershaw, Alan Bullock and Lawrence Rees. All three have studied diligently and produced works that aim to explain the Nazi era in both a scholarly and readable manner.  The facts are presented without hysteria or embellishment, nothing is hidden or glorified. All are worth reading and also Rees has produced a great many TV programmes that are available on many aspects of the Hitler years.

The Nazi Party took power in 1933, it crashed into oblivion a mere twelve years later. During this time a well educated, highly sophisticated nation gave itself over to one man. One man who in his short reign occupied Austria and Czechoslovakia by sleight of hand, and Poland by force and trickery. His incredible failure to understand the British mentality, he wished Britain to keep her Empire while Germany ruled Europe, and his belief that if he defeated the easier option (Soviet Russia) Great Britain would offer peace terms! With great encouragement from the army and people who disliked Poles Hitler was allowed to introduce the vicious policies that were to lead to such suffering in Russia and eventually the Gas Chambers. Indeed at this point while most wanted an end to the war, the RAF were dropping bombs on all main cities by now, the idea of defeating the Bolsheviks was very popular throughout Germany.  Of course it failed, nobody can defeat the Russian winter, and the land he sought to conquer ended up as Stalin's property. An all or nothing policy that failed completely.  

Germany had for a very long time a belief in its superiority, and after the end of the Great War many chose to believe they had indeed been 'stabbed in the back' by Communists and others and not defeated at all. The short lived democratic government failed after the 'Wall Street Crash' and the Nazi's took advantage of many attitudes at that time to take power. Hitler had great support from his people and had he died in 1940 he would be seen by them as a political hero who made Germany great again. The war had to be fought to a bitter end to finish once and for all the 'master race' attitude that lay in the psyche of the nation. Only such total devastation could end this for ever. the ruin of the country millions dead, Twenty million on the Eastern Front alone, and the majority of the leading men committing suicide or being hanged after war's end.  A sad end to a sad story. 

And as to finding out what motivated Adolf? I still don't know! So many things affected him. His nature, his bullying father, his protective mother (he kept her picture with him all the time, even in the bunker. She died when he was in his teens) his laziness, his failure to get into the academy as his art, while picturesque, was not of a high enough standard, and the Great War in which he found himself a purpose.So many things added to his 'Germanic Consciousness' and unstable personality to produce the man. The state of the nation, the somewhat twisted heart of Germany, added to this and circumstances arose, and were manufactured, to ensure one day Adolf Hitler had millions of Germans at his feet in adulation!  It shows once again how easy it is for unstable and dangerous people to rise to the top in any society, none are free from this danger.

Read this book, although beginning with the first one, 'Hubris' is the best idea. Very thick books which give the definitive tale of Hitler and the Nazi Party during these years. There are other good books already mentioned but this is the place to begin.

 

Waterstones

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A bit of a door

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If truth be told the rest of it wasn't that exciting!  When first built this door would have seen many pass though and clamber aboard for the short journey to wherever. This line was a mere 17 miles (and 72 chains) long and never really fulfilled the expectations of the builders. While serving a purpose in transporting Victorian and Edwardians to and fro, especially Edward VII who often stopped off at Easton Lodge with his friends for partying at the 'Big Hoose,' the increase in bus transport during the years following the Great War took passengers away from the more expensive line. Farmers of the area did have an efficient way to deliver their goods to market. London was now within reach as the line connected to the main Cambridge to Liverpool Street taking their produce straight into the city.  Being a small village of a few hundred people, although I am not sure of the Victorian population, the majority would have been slogging it out on farms and related occupations. The number who could take time off from their 12-16 hour days to travel into town must have been few, and mostly female. As always the men would be suffering while the girls, at least the wealthy ones, shopped and gossiped. The maids would gossip also, but still have far too much to do before 'Madame' returned.

The increase use of lorries after the war led to a decrease of freight on the line in similar manner to the introduction of buses ruining the passenger traffic. While both ran reasonably successfully until after the Second World War it was clear the line was unprofitable. By 1952 passengers were no more and only freight used the line until it closed in the early seventies.  After some years of neglect it has now been turned into an excellent nature pathway, as I may have mentioned before. The station itself is the headquarters of the Rangers Service and has become a tourist centre. One other station, of similar design, has become a private house who's privacy is enhanced by the removal of the bridge over the road giving them a bit of security. I feel the owner must have been somewhat disappointed when the council put the goods yard into use as a Gypsy encampment! Another is being renovated at the moment I believe. It was offices for a while and probably will remain so now.  One has disappeared and now lies under the new bypass, not much for the railway enthusiast there! It does reflect the change in society well. The radical transformation of Britain, and the rest of the world, that occurred when railways arrived came to an end after 1945 with the increase of motor traffic. The road lobby in the fifties saw an end to railways as we knew them (not that I knew them that much!) and by the early sixties private cars abounded even in our street. Today they are everywhere except outside my door. Poverty is a horrid thing!

 In the centre of the picture, at the gate, you can see a short stretch of the single track line preserved as a memento of what once has been.  It is to be regretted that the old Johnson designed 'Little Sharpie' 2-4-0 engines no longer exist.
 

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It's Over!

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Tynecastle Stadium

It's over! The football season struggled to an end today after several long months of agony, ecstasy, highs and lows, and of course Neil Lennon and his paranoia attempting to destroy everything. Will the SFA step in to end the sectarian bigotry of the Rangers and Celtic I wonder? No is the answer! They are too involved themselves.  The Heart of Midlothian however secured their place in next years European competition, although they came very close to losing it by forgetting to pass the ball to one another as you are supposed to do. It is fine and dandy playing nice football but putting the thing in the net is also a good idea!  One or two young lads have of course been bloodied in competition showing the future looks good, if that is, the promise can be developed as well as little Templeton's has been. Many promising players coming through just now. One or two senior players may well arrive during the summer as they are required, also one or two we already have will be moving on. The lack of a replacement for Kevin Kyle when he was injured cost us dear. There again injuries also played a major part in the struggle at the end and the squad, which many claimed strong, was clearly not strong enough from the experience point of view.  All in all however we show we are the only side to challenge the bigot twins, which is what anybody would expect. Next season, if all stays well, if the referees play fair (HA!) if Neil Lennon is taken away in a straight jacket for the good of the game, and if the mini huns and the real ones are banned form the game along with the IRA fans at Parkhead then things will improve for us and Scottish football next season, except Hibernian of course, another season of bottom six for them I fear. Shame.

Now what do we do with no football to watch.......?

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Brickies

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Ever since those 'Fred Dibnah' the Bolton Steeplejack were on telly I have become fascinated with brickwork. Not that I am found staring at brick walls because this reflects on the excitement of my life, but the patterns revealed, the skill required and atrophy of mind are all involved. As I pedal up the old railway I pass a couple of bridges carrying roads over the line. This one served a farm or two and runs at an angle to the line. When you consider the skill required to build such an arch, let alone ensure it remains in place for over a hundred and fifty years, an admiration for these artisans grows. Bricklayers were one of the many groups of artisans that made full use of the 19th centuries desire to 'better oneself.' Gathering in groups they would pay a few pence a week into a kitty and when sick or short of work could draw a few shillings from the common purse. One near here went on to develop a brick making factory in the gravel pits opposite the railway station. Many houses were built from his bricks and he himself made this edifice from his own bricks and must have been quite important by the late Victorian age. Wasted as office space for far too many years this house once must have appeared a marvel to those who studied 'Self Help' books at the time.

Of course it was just as easy to lose everything overnight in those days and many did. The John Brown who owned 'Hollywood' leaves little trace that I can find but he achieved some success for a while at least. One other famous bricklayer was of course Winston Churchill! One of his 'rest cures' was to build walls in his house at Chartwell. The combination of creativity and a chance to rest the mind in the sun and inhaling fresh air and mortar did him good. He actually became a paid up member of a bricklayers union, and not many Conservative Prime Ministers could say that!  Looking at the bridge I was interested at the manner in which the brick ends are forming such a delicate pattern. The skill shown in many bridges, walls, and especially expensive houses shows much taste. Today of course only multi millionaires could contemplate such brickwork, so we end up with plastic and concrete! Ah well, it could be worse I suppose.


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Language

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ukstudentlife

Some folks have difficulty pronouncing the word 'Scone.' Quite often they will say 'Scone' when in fact they mean 'Scone.' This annoys some of us who have spent many some time in learning how to speak proper like. Therefore it is important for all out there to always say 'Scone' when they wish to obtain a 'Scone' and not pronounce it 'Scone' as that is not only pretentious it is quite erroneous. Even worse are those people who have a little knowledge, which as you know is a dangerous thing, such people take it upon themselves to pronounce the word 'Scone' which is totally wrong as 'Scone' is in fact a place. Scone as you will all know was where Scottish Kings were crowned in times past. The 'Stone of Destiny' resided there as a stool for them to sit on while being created 'King of Scots,' and what a privilege that was. The stone was nicked by the imperialist thug Edward I in 1300ish and kept in Westminster Abbey until John Major returned it in a vain effort to obtain votes. You will note that unlike the English barbarians the Scottish King became King of Scots, not King of Scotland. The land was not his, just the peoples loyalty. Of course being a democratic and egalitarian type if such a king failed in his duty then a democratic vote would result in a new king and an old one chasing his head down a hill. Words of course can be tricky when dealing with the pronunciation. American famously fail to say 'Tomato' when they try to say 'Tomato,' and 'Potato' also appears beyond their abilities to pronounce properly.  'Edinburgh' cause many problems as it tends to be called 'Scotland' by English TV people.


UK Student Life has an excellent easy recipe for 'Scones' which I will try.
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Trash!

Trash! I'm sick of trash! Everywhere I look the world is full of it! I sit through thirty minutes of the pretence that is Prime Ministers Question TIme, watching the stooges play out their game with no thought for the public. What matters to them is point scoring and discussing with their aids how to improve the image, while doing little about the subjects involved. It's all a game for the cameras and worthless for the nation. Power is to be grabbed, as it always has been, but at the present time it is being fought over by people empty of a belief system other than 'ME!' I turn over to the other side and find an antiques programme, one of many that fill the screen daily. While 'Bargain Hunt' may well be one of the few worth watching it sits amongst the dumbed down morning telly that fills the screen. Turning to ITV I find worse! 'Loose Women!'  Good grief! This programme has for several years now featured ageing women all dressed up and with nowhere to go, and no wonder! Talk is all about themselves, men, themselves and, well, men!  The limited world knowledge is at variance with the number of years these crones have spent in it. Trash indeed yet it appears five days a week! Then we have the cooks. Every channel requires its cookery show, all with a 'celebrity' who nobody knows. Add the desperate need for 'competition' into every programme and we have the 9 year old level satisfied.Just why there is such a need to find out who will be first I do not know, but it is everywhere these days. Trash!  There is around forty channels available to some in this country and almost 95% of what is on offer is trash!  I can understand having such programmes as part of a daily offering but  they are the predominate type.

I turn to the 'Independent' newspaper for news. I find 'Fergie' the 'Duchess of York' living on her title on yet another American TV programme telling us how hard her life is. Apart from the fact she is a chancer on the make, apart from the fact that Oprah is worse, apart from the vast amount of cash she gets for appearing I have to ask why this occurrence is in the press? A so called 'serious' newspaper needs such stories? Surely this belongs in the 'Express' or the 'Mail?'  News is not selling, possibly because of radio and TV's 24 hour a day coverage, however it leaves much space for deep thought which is not found in TV and rarely in radio these days. Thought ought to be found in such papers yet the 'celebrity' is what is selling instead. Trash! The 'entertainment' business is full of trash. Whatever film, whatever special effects are used, in the end it is a man in a white hat beating a man in a black hat, with sex added. TV is full of soaps and dramas that are just soaps. The media is empty and bereft for the most part  and I am heartily sick of it all!

Getting old is no fun when you see what is good drowned out by trash!

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Swifts

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Science Museum

Today I saw the first Swifts of the year! This is always a great moment in my little mind. These fabulous birds have travelled all the way from Central Africa, fought their way, possibly up through Israel, Turkey, the Balkans, crossed Europe including gun crazy madmen in France and take up homes, usually last years, somewhere in the UK.  Others may have crossed the Sahara desert, jumped over to Gibraltar, avoided the dangers in Spain, and France and now screech across my skyline!  Such tiny creatures yet they travel so far. Animal migration is one of the wonders of creation. I believe there is a type of butterfly that makes its way from South to North America, why? Such slender creatures and with such a short life. For me the sight of House Martins and Swifts gambolling in the sun, or even in the gray overcast days of summer, really makes the summer.  It fascinates me how Swifts manage to  do everything but lay eggs in flight.  They close one eye and sleep up there, still chasing one another around in groups. The smaller House Martins follow similar behaviour but I believe they climb into the nest to rest. I was in Cumbria some years ago and a host of these birds formed a constantly moving ball of birds, about thirty feet across, playfully chasing one another. A great sight but I wonder if there will be as many around today.

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Tyres

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Tyres are filthy beasts! It is only when you turn the bike upside down and attempt, with much grunting and sweat, to remove the wheel that you realise just how much muck there is on the things. There is a slight possibility that not cleaning the brute since before winter began might have something to do with this. Anyway this morning among much feculence I spent a considerable time prising extremely small pieces of glass shreds from the tyre. These are the result of the kiddies beer bottles that appear to lie strewn over far to many roads and byways these days. There was of course an almighty struggle to get the type off the wheel, a similar struggle to that which ensued when placing it on there the last time. According to the books on the subject the repair begins just by placing a tyre lever in the right place and lifting it slowly. Bah! For one, where is the tyre lever? it was in the toolbox but has now walked into the cupboard! Then the thing goes under the tyre but will not move sideways, and if it does the tyre replaces itself as you move!!! 

Having lost several pounds in weight struggling to get the tyre off, two levers on both sides required, I then discover several little holes in the tyre stuffed with glass. As I searched, first in the cupboard then in the toolbox where it actually was, for the repair kit I also found a new inner tube! I must have bought this when flush with cash a while ago!  Great stuff, the repair can wait!  A straight forward hour long fight with the tyre, an inner tube that kept attempting to be outer tube,  and lever that keep crawling over the floor, I quickly fixed the problem. Another 'Mein Kampf' got the wheel back on the bike and this morning and later in the cool of the evening I trundled happily about the town, dodging late evening joggers, blackbirds looking for supper and families cycling the old railway together. Now I find my knees stiffening up again and the mind is filled with the thought that I am getting fitter, although cynics may refer to this as more like rising from the dead considering how unfit I really happen to be.  Now where did all that oil on the floor come from.....


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May 8th 1945

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May the eighth is the day to commemorate Victory in Europe Day. Britain with its obsession with the war ought to be marking this day is some manner, but it appears to be ignored by all bar 'Google!' Even the war obsessed 'Daily Mail is ignoring this and concentrating on 'Kate's family,' and 'Muslims targeting Prince Harry.' The dead of the war forgotten for more relevant stories. The celebrations in the streets of the UK on that day in 1945 brought the end of six long years of war. Britain had stood alone, lost about 400,000 dead, suffered damage in most major and many minor places, and now the nation had to pick up the pieces and return to normal. The conflict with Japan may rage on for a few months but most were just glad this 'lot' had come to an end.  What did Britain gain from the war?  Standing alone while the rest of the world looked on gave a moral superiority but little else. The social change hoped for after the Great War that never arrived was demanded this time and Britain had the largest civic change in its history in the following years. However the nation was bankrupt, rationing continued for ten years, the winter was awful, and it appears to many that Germany gained more than Britain did!This causes some to question whether the war was worth it? It was, it had to be fought, and we do those involved an injustice by not at least mentioning them at least in passing.

The Spring light makes me wake at around half five these days, but with a little effort I can doze till nearer half six! Then I jump on the bike, yell loudly, get off and get dressed, and then jump back on the bike, a little more comfortably, and cycle for half an hour. Being Sunday the streets were very quiet and I toddled around in that vain attempt to encourage fitness. On the last lap up the slope in the park the back wheel began to cause problems. A puncture, probably caused by the remnants of the kiddies beer bottles left crashed around the pathways, and joy of joys as always it is the back wheel that has got it. No comments on my weight making that more likely please! My technical abilities will rise to the fore tomorrow. I suspect it will be Thursday at least before I get this fixed properly!  Bah!  Note how clean the bike looks in that photo? Around 14 years alter it looks a bit worn, and now I could not reach the spot in the old railway where I pictured the thing. Oh the aches, oh the muscular pains, oh me.....




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