Defamation

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 A Scottish prayer -
 "Oh Lord, we do not ask you to give us wealth.
 But show us where it is!"


  A visitor to an Aberdeen bar was surprised to find the beer only two pence a pint.
The barman explained that it was the price to mark the centenary of the pub opening.
 The visitor noticed, however, that the bar was empty.
 "Are the regular customers not enjoying the special prices?"
 The barman replied "They're waiting for the Happy Hour"


 It is rumoured that the entire population of Aberdeen took
 to the streets with an empty glass in their hands when the
 weather forecaster said there would be a nip in the air.


 You should be careful about stereotyping the Scots as mean.
 There was a recent letter to a newspaper from an Aberdonian which said
"If you print any more jokes about mean Scotsmen I shall stop borrowing your paper."


 Angus called in to see his friend Alan to find he was stripping the wallpaper from the walls.
 Rather obviously, he remarked "You're decorating, I see."
 to which Alan replied "No, I'm moving house."


 "Alan suggested a candlelit dinner last night" Sarah reported to her friend the next day.
 "That was dead romantic" said her friend.
 "Not really. It just saved him having to fix the fuse."


 The Scots have an infallible cure for sea-sickness.
 They lean over the side of the ship with a ten pence coin in their teeth."


 "In some Scottish restaurants they heat the knives so you can't use too much butter."


 McTavish broke the habit of a lifetime and bought two tickets for a raffle.
 One of his tickets won a £1,000 prize.
 He was asked how he felt about his big win.
 "Disappointed" said McTavish. "My other ticket didn't win anything"


 Have you heard the rumour that the Grand Canyon was started by a Scotsman who lost a coin in a ditch?


 After discovering that they had won £15 million in the Lottery, Mr and Mrs McFlannel sat down to discuss their future.
 Mrs McFlannel announced "After twenty years of washing other people's stairs, I can throw my old scrubbing brush away at last."
 Her husband agreed - "Of course you can, hen. We can easily afford to buy you a new one now."


 As a Christmas present one year, the Laird  gave his gamekeeper, MacPhail, a deerstalker hat with ear-flaps. MacPhail was most appreciative and always wore it with the flaps tied under his chin to keep his ears warm in the winter winds.
 One cold, windy day the Laird noticed he was not wearing  the hat.
 "Where's the hat?" asked the Laird.
 "I've given up wearing it since the accident," replied MacPhail.
 "Accident? I didn't know you'd had an accident."
 "Yes. A man offered me a nip of whisky and I had the earflaps down and never heard him."


 When a bus company was prevailed upon to increase the concessionary fare to frequent travellers so that they got six journeys instead of four for a pound.
One elderly gentleman, renowned for his frugality, even in a town where frugal folk are common, was still unhappy.
 "It's all damn foolishness," he declared.
"Now we've got to walk to town six times instead of four  to save a pound!"


 Did you hear about the Aberdonian who got caught making nuisance telephone calls?
 He kept reversing the charges.


 A Scotsman, an EngIishman and an Australian were in a bar and had just started on a new round of drinks when a fly landed in each glass of beer.
 The Englishman took his out on the blade of his Swiss Army knife.
 The Australian blew his away in a cloud of froth.
 The Scotsman lifted his one up carefully by the wings and held it above his glass.
 "Go on, spit it oot, ye wee devil" he growled.


  MacDonald was awarded £15,000 for injuries received after a  traffic accident and his wife got 2,000 pounds.
 A friend asked how badly injured his wife had been in the accident.
 MacDonald replied "Och, she wasn't injured but I had the presence of mind to kick her in the leg before the polis arrived."


 There was understandable scepticism when it was suggested that Napoleon Bonaparte was the grandson of a Scot from Balloch. But now it has been pointed out that there is further proof that Napoleon was indeed Scots - his hand was always under his lapel, to make sure no-one had lifted his wallet...

Gardens

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You may jump to the conclusion that this is my abode, but in fact you would be incorrect, this is a bandstand. I cannot say when the last band stood here, one did play one warm Sunday afternoon but lined up out on the grass, but today the older kids collect here away from normal human beings. Our friend Sydney Courtauld is responsible for this.  His 'Big Hoose' stood over the road and this was part of his private gardens.  However in 1888 he donated the Gardens to the town and since then a trust has run them for the benefit of the townspeople, as long as they wiped their shoes upon entering!  


I was sitting there this afternoon resting my show soles and pondering the future when I realised how quaint the bandstand actually was.  This must have cost a bit to renovate last year and it looks good now.  It has been there since the park was opened and possibly before that.  I can imagine the family having a garden party, band playing, smart military suits and all, servants running about, expensively dressed women bitching behind one anothers backs, bright sunshine, and a garden full of colourful flowers, a lovely sight. A great nosh that would be, and he gave it all up and handed the Gardens to the town.  Since the end of the 19th century the Gardens have been developed of course, and now sweaty, overweight, fat people can be seen gasping during the summer while playing tennis against cool young people.  Children annoy their parents at the playpark, as far away from me as possible, a garden specially dedicated to the memory of one John Ray, a famous naturalist whom I, and probably you have never heard off!  There is a large pond which once contained fish, however early this year I noticed a Heron standing there and have seen no fish since!  

A pathway or two allows folks to wander among a variety of shrubs, trees and bushes while being chased by squirrels for handouts.  I wonder if these squirrels originated in the west coast of Scotland?  There is also a noticeable war memorial and I often wonder how many consider the names on the sides.  On Armistice Sunday a service will take place here and small crosses with Red Poppies attached will be left to remember individuals alongside the many wreaths from various organisations. 11th November is the date of the armistice and the service of remembrance takes place on the nearest Sunday.  A black stone nearby also commemorates the men of HMS Kite who were lost n patrol in the North Atlantic in 1944. Some of those names must have wandered through this garden. Their parents may have brought them to listen to the band and check for fish n the pond and later they may have been checking for the girls in their frilly long dresses and carrying parasols to avoid the sun burning them.  William George Ambrose may well have wandered through the gardens chasing the birds, he fell, a serjeant, at Gaza in 1917, he was 21.  Alex Easter left his wfe Kate to walk here alone after he fell at Ypes. The Coopers, Bertie and George brothers probably preferred one of the towns many pubs by the time war erupted and the manner of their death, one at Arras and the other a couple of months later at Passchendaele,  stands in stark contrast to the childrens laughter and the sound of despairing tennis stars of the future.  


When the park is quiet it is possible to enjoy the vegetation and the flowers, the birds in the trees and the buzzing of insects. Gardens are a requirement we need to stabilise the mind. At one and the same time green surroundings are restful and re-creative. The wildlife takes us out of ourselves, unless we get stung, and a variety of birds brighten the day.  I was told that a badger or two can appear during the night, creeping in from the wild area outside the garden, also a roebuck does indeed appear at times, I have seen it twice rushing for shelter.  Why Courtauld gave the Gardens I know not, although such public spaces were being created in overcrowded cities in those times, and this may have been a realisation that many had no garden or poor housing.  This was indeed a useful benefit to the town then, and still is!

        








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The Day Began Brightly....

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then went rapidly downhill.
Gazing bleary eyed at the dawn leaving its colourful imprint on the clouds racing overhead I spent a moment full of wonder and delight, then I checked the paperwork piled up on the desk. The Water People have decided to raise my direct debit, as also have the Gas people a second letter informed me with a smug grin.  Further down the pile I retrieved a note from 'TalkTalk' who have taken over the ISP duties from 'Pipex.' The pricing for the new deal was complex, and I cannot make out if there is a time limit on this and what the exact price happens to be!  Several others I find later are in the same boat.  I add these to the Electric bill which has not raised its prices, yet!  I suspect this will follow in the next quarter.  Things look bad, I must find a stupidly well paid job soon, but as I have not done so this far I am somewhat perplexed!  


The gas price is a killer as I use so little.  It merely heats the water and central heating, which is only used when it must be.  Putin showing his muscles to his browbeaten population must be rejoicing whenever the bill flops through my door, as will the French money men who probably own the gas company as well as the electric one. Thatchers love of greed while blethering about 'Britain' shows just how stupid she was,  All the energy companies cost a packet and almost all are owned by Johnny Foreigner!  The worship of money gets you nowhere, well it got many of her friends to where they wanted to be I suppose!  Today the 'Daily Mail' the only paper she could understand, proclaims London and the south keeps the country going, allowing that Edinburgh and one or two other places do OK also.  It would be the south of course, Maggie killed of all the manufacturing and jobs in the rest of the nation and only money men in London and Edinburgh can compete!  The electricity that drives their computers while they enrich themselves comes from France but I suppose they care not about that.  The French were no fools, the Germans have banned nuclear fuel as it might b dangerous, their 'Green Party' being very vociferous.  So Germany gets its electricity from France, who create this by nuclear energy.  The same energy that powers the UK half the time.  I believe we also get gas from Norway, which is fine by me, but once again we have none, ours has ran out, or is about to run out.  



Dirty big windmills all around are now producing just enough electricity to power themselves, and we have a bill for this added to our electric bills, well done the ageing Hippies!  Solar power which some add to their homes is not the success that had been hoped for, it may work well in Crete I guess.  The whole things is a mess from start to finish, and we pay and nothing is done about it, except words of wisdom from our PR PM.  Maybe he pays for the needless bottled water that floods Downing Street?  I bet he doesn't pay the water rates for the flat above.  Why is water so expensive?  There is a lot of it about the UK, especially in Scotland and along the west coast, so why does it cost so much.  My bill appears to charge an awful lot fro what goes down the drain rather than what is supplied, could this be a con I wonder?  They appear to make a lot of profit, as do all these companies, maybe I ought to start an energy company? It appears to be a money spinner.

After I had worked my way through the paperwork the day then went further downhill.....hello!  hello!  oh there is no-one here, I wonder why....?



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The Big Hoose

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The park opposite was once the grounds of the man who owned this 'Big Hoose.'  He was one Sydney Courtauld, descended from George Courtauld who opened a Silk Mill in 1809.  Weaving, of one sort or another has continued in this part of Britain for around a thousand years, give or take a few. The lowlands of Europe, the Netherlands, Belgium, Flanders and Northern France, abounded with weavers of high quality and the wool trade at first, and silk later, became major industries. Many small towns, large villages to us today, have huge churches built around 900 years ago, less to worship God than to show the world just how rich the town had become! Various wars and persecutions arose from time to time, almost weekly as far as I can see, and many weavers arrived in the British mainland.  This town has much evidence of this, one small item being naming the many narrow passageways 'Gants' after the Flanders style.  House roofs also show indication of Dutch design, and the establishment of the weaving trade is evidence itself.


George Courtauld had emigrated to America where he gathered to himself a wife and produced eight children, seven of whom survived.  I suppose there was little else to do in the colonies with no football to watch. However he returned to his homeland in the late 18th century and began to work at his trade of weaving.  In 1809 he opened a silk mill creating 'crape' a hard stiff material that was very popular in the 19th century. A Unitarian and a believer in social reform, as long as he made vast profits, his mills were worked mostly by women as they were cheaper to run.  Many were children, aged around 10-13, and  a great many of these came from 'well run' workhouses.  Not quite slavery, although they worked long hours for one shilling and five pence a week, women got five  shillings, the workhouse however got £5, and another £5 after a year.  Where was Dickens at this time I ask?  


George returned to America in 1818 and remained there until his death allowing Samuel his son to run the business.  By the 19th century Samuel Courtaulds had three huge mills, powered by steam, spread around the area, employing many workers, although not on the most generous wage, and naturally sacking those who went on strike. Like his father he was a Unitarian, a supporter of reform and yet failed to develop the workers wages according to his profits.  As wages rose fifty percent, from 5 shillings to10 shillings for women, his profits rose by 1400 percent. Men by they way got 7 shillings and twopence, and this also rose in time.  However fewer men were employed. Today I suspect he would be a Liberal-Democrat, or rich communist if you prefer. He lived in a stately manor called Gosfield Hall to the north of the town and the family graves can be seen in the small Gosfied churchyard, for those who delight in that sort of thing.  Death makes all equal, although the poor have no stone slabs to mark where they lie.


The Unitarian heresy was taken up by all the family and a great many 'good works' proceeded from this. Various members of the family built hospitals, public gardens, houses, schools, town halls and the like.  Some also went on to encourage the arts, got involved in public service, such as becoming members of parliament and participated in a variety of benefits to the districts in which they lived. However these benefits, positive as they indeed were, came from the low wages paid to the workers. Would higher wages meant less benefits, I wonder?   


Bocking Place gardens were indeed laid out by someone with a very good eye.  A walk across the park in summer shows a remarkable variety of excellent trees, thoughtfully planted, and it is sad to think that the designer would not see his design at its best. The huge house was sold around 1920 and and later became a girls school. This closed in 1993, and occasionally an ex-pupil will be seen skipping over parts of the grounds once strictly forbidden. The glee these, not so young girls have in this is astounding!  The house has now been developed into flats for those who wish to emulate the rich.


While it would be nice to say this building is home, it represents a somewhat pretentious approach to life, now long gone.  Essex has many large houses, once owned by the rich and important, all surrounded by large well laid out grounds, now rarely used as homes, although my landlord lives in one!  His staff are underpaid and overworked also!  Today's rich still like the pretentious big house, but while some may be businessmen others may well be footballers, actors or musicians.  The days of the landowning powerful have not gone, but they have certainly shifted. Personally a small house would suit my little life, I have no desire to be that important.  There again, I have no chance anyway, ho hum.....       

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Brain Dead Sunday

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This was not stolen from the Ben Lomand Free Press, honest....

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Almost Derelict

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Before the sun was up this morning, and it never bothered to get up in truth, I wandered out to catch the early worm.  My eating habits are not what they were!  Passing one of the crows so intent on removing a snail from its shell it allowed me within four feet of himself before he looked up, somewhat irritably, and glared as I moved away.  Not much else moved even though the market was opening up. This line of garages manages to look almost derelict and because nobody had bothered to rise I took this snap.  Usually the doors are open and mechanics are very busy chatting while attempting to work out how much to overcharge the car owner who's precious beast is undergoing surgery there.  It may well be these are just the workshops of the building on the right that constantly offers large cars at bargain prices.  They do not mention such cars are cheap to buy and horrendous to run!  Petrol, repairs, spare parts all cost a fortune, that is why muggins (always men who have watched 'Top Gear') falls for the cheap prices.  I would like to take better pics of these but some folks like to call the constabulary for some reason.  

    
As winter is closing in let's have a warmer picture for Saturday night. 'Off Scarborough,' by Ernest Dade. Very nice and makes me want to go to sea again.  It's not that I once went to sea, it's just that I wanted to go to sea once before.  I didn't, it was too cold.


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Friday Mix

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Did the economy collapse again? Everyone is saying there's no more Jobs.

The media has been full of adulation for this man Jobs.  I find myself a bit underwhelmed. He may have been bright, inventive and very clever at getting his creations sold worldwide, but was he that important?  Did people see his 'Mac' and 'iPod' as earth changing, or did his fans see him as the good one and Bill Gates as the bad perhaps?  Gates certainly has not made friends by his attitudes and behaviour, but was Jobs any better? Gates at least is known to have given away masses of money, Jobs appears to have kept his £8 billion. This man has been almost worshipped in the media, several articles in all papers and histories of his life, his work and so on and on.  He died from a horrible disease, and that is terrible, his active m,ind created some interesting machines (which I have never used) but does the hero worship not reveal the empty part of us that needs a God to look up to?  Clever he may be, but surely the coverage is overblown?

   

This is the 'Swan' tavern.  You can tell that by the name 'Swan' written on the front.  I had a look through the web but in spite of this pub standing here since at least 1560, and some similar creation probably dates back for a thousand or two years before this, I could find no relevant information regarding this pubs history,  except a list of names of landlords for some years back.  How sad I thought.  Mind you it is some years since swans were found around here, ugly ducklings yes, swans no!

Intellectual Political debate in the USA reaches new heights! 

Is that you Max?...... Jerry?

I bet he's from the South!

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River

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I found myself by the river again this afternoon.  Lucky I found myself otherwise I may not have got home again!  The council have been improving the muddy track that has been in use possibly for thousands of years by tarmacadaming it.  The improvements I am sure have nothing to do with the building of new houses on the flood plain part of the river!  This involved the cutting down of dozens of old trees and their replacement with homes for those who can afford one.  I think more are to be added and the newcomers probably do not appreciate walking through mud like some of us did, well sort off.  It is likely this will indeed improve the river walk, and about time some say, but will they replace the trees?  Will they replace them with oaks or some popular cheap replacement I wonder?  We gain on one hand and lose on the other.  "It's a funny old world Saint," as a glove puppet once remarked.


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Wha's like us? A study in humility

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The Scotland Yard Store Wha's Like us? As the average Englishman moves about the home he calls his castle, watch him enjoy a typical English breakfast of toast and marmalade invented by Mrs Keiller of Dundee, Scotland; see him slipping into his national costume, a soiled raincoat, patented by Charles MacIntosh, a Glasgow druggist; and follow his footsteps over the linoleum flooring invented in Kirkcaldy, Scotland. On The Road Out he goes - along the English lane surfaced by John MacAdam of Ayr, Scotland (known as the MacAdamised road), smoking an English cigarette, first manufactured by Robert Croag of Perthshire, Scotland. He hops aboard an English bus, which is using tyres invented by John Boyd Dunlop, of Dreghorn, Scotland and later completes his journey by rail. (A reminder the James Watt of Greenock, Scotland invented the Steam Engine).  At the office he is presented with the morning mail containing adhesive stamps invented by John Chalmers of Dundee, Scotland; and periodically during the day, he reaches for the telephone, invented by Alexander Graham Bell, born of Scottish parents. At home in the evening, our English cousins wife is preparing his national dish of roast beef of old England - prime Aberdeen Angus, raised in Aberdeenshire, Scotland. This sets the patriotic heart beating a little faster, and he enters the dining room whistling "Ye Mariners of England" written and composed by Thomas Campbell of Glasgow, Scotland. After dinner there follows a scene typical of English domestic bliss. Young Albert is packed off to Boys Brigade, founded by Sir William Smith of Glasgow, Scotland; Ted goes to the Scouts, the present Chief of which is Sir Charles MacLean of Duart, Scotland; and little Ethel plays on her bicycle, invented by Kirkpatrick MacMillan, a blacksmith of Dumfries, Scotland. Mother, in the kitchen, bleaches clothes with bleach invented by James McGregor of Glasgow, Scotland. dad listens to the news on the television, invented by John Logie Baird of Helensburgh, Scotland, and hears an item about the United States Navy, founded by John Paul Jones, of Kirkbean, Scotland. Maybe, just maybe, he will remember that the radar with which the U.S. and other fleets are equipped was invented by Sir Robert A. Watson Watt, of Brechin, Scotland.  Once the children come home, Dad supervises the homework, using logarithms invented by John Napier of Edinburgh. The English course contains familiar books such as "Treasure Island" by Robert Louis Stevenson, and "Robinson Crusoe", based on the life of Alex Selkirk, of, Lower Largo, Fife, Scotland. If by now he has been reminded too much of Scotland, he may in desperation pick up the bible - here at last to have something without Scottish associations; but he is disillusioned - the first man mentioned in the bible is a Scot, James VI, who authorised its translation. Its hopeless. Nowhere he can turn to escape the efficiency and ingenuity of the Scots. He could take a drink - but we supply the best in the world. He could stick his head in the oven - but the coal gas was discovered by William Murdoch of Ayr, Scotland. He could take rifle and blow his brains out, but. of course the breach loading rifle was invented by a Scot. Anyway, if he survived, injured, he would simple find himself on an operating table, injected with Penicillin, discovered by Alexander Flaming of Darvel, Scotland; given an anaesthetic discovered by James Young Simpson of Bathgate, Scotland; and operated on be antiseptic surgery pioneered at Glasgow Royal Infirmary. On coming out of the anaesthetic, he would probable take no comfort in learning from his surgeon that he was as safe as the Bank of England, founded by William Paterson of Dumfries, Scotland. Poor fellows only hope would be to receive a transfusion of good SCOTs blood which would entitle him to ask "Wha's like us? Gie few and thur aw deed!" More detail here And here p.s. it is a known fact that the vast majority of clever Americans have Scots blood flowing through their brains.

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Gas Works Chimney

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Too brain dead to write the earth shatteringly important 

post that I had intended.  Instead here we have a picture 

of the disused gas works chimney.  

I know you will enjoy this as you are all art lovers.

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Last Sunshine?

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I snapped this bright blue sky this afternoon as I suspect this may be the last hot day of the year.  They say the temperature will drop considerably over the next few days, that the remains of another US hurricane will be deposited over us, with the accompanying winds to boot!  It appears a proper autumn is upon us now.  I may not go out for the next six months!  

Lady Campbell

As some enjoyed the portrait of Reynolds I add another, Lady Colin Campbell painted by Giovanni Boldini in 1897.  I first saw this large impressive painting in the English National Portrait Gallery, which you ought to visit, and was very impressed by it. The impression I received is dimmed somewhat by the restrictions of a blog, but this is a marvellous portrait. 


Gertrude Elizabeth Blood, who married Lord Colin Campbell and joined a higher social society than that in which she was bred.  However he was a philanderer and appears to have passed on a nasty disease to her. The following divorce caused a sensation (yawn) and high society rejected her in spite of he being to blame.  Well they were all at it were they not?  They still are, no morals among the high society at any time.  She turned to literary work and mixed in artistic circles. She died in 1911 in her early fifties. 
Check the link for more.


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This is how it should be!

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Rudi Skacel who opened the scoring with a thunderous drive.

Ryan Stevenson who finished the job

The Heart of Midlothian defeated the Celtic by two goals to nil this afternoon.  


This is how it should be!

When I began trudging to Tynecastle I expected us to defeat the grim Glasgow ogres, and indeed everyone else.  This is how Scottish football ought to be, us winning, the league being open, and the Heart of Midlothian being the team to beat!  

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Joshua Reynolds

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I like portraits.  This self portrait of Sir Joshua Reynolds is particularly good I thought. Instead of the usual sidelong glance and hands akimbo that we often see here he has cleverly put his hand over his eyes and brought life to the portrait.  Very good indeed I say!


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How to be an Idiot No. 87

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Yesterday the lovely Jenny Woolf informed m that today would be better.  She was wrong! Quite how such an intelligent well traveled woman could think things would improve escapes me for the moment, but wrong she was.  Last night I went very early to bed, just in case I set fire to something, and rose as expected totally knackered yet unable to sleep on at 6:30.  By 7:30 I had wandered around Sainsburys, early to escape the hordes of Friday women shoppers barging their trolleys into one and all, and gathered my few requirements.  All was going swimmingly!  The shop was empty, I avoided the staff filling shelves and even evaded the trolleys they pushed hither and thither.


It was when I emptied the basket (I always use a basket as it is quicker and easier to evade women with trolleys) on to the belt where the almost friendly half asleep Phillipino awaited my goods. It was then I allowed the basket to over balance and dropped the brown sauce onto the floor. "Dearie dearie me," or something, said the supervisor at who's feet the bottle landed.  She was not referring to the brown sludge at her feet, she was referring to me lying on the floor crying "Not again! Not today also!" for several minutes.  They helped me out quite quickly after this.


By 10:30 I had locked myself indoors, dropped the milk out of the fridge, barged into the furniture while hoovering,lost dozens of cassette tapes down the back of the unit in unreachable places but as yet have not set fire to anything. I updated the answers to the comments, as I had forgotten them for several days while looking for my head.  Now I am back off to bed, wake me when it is safe to come out again!

"If at first you don't succeed, give up and go to bed!" 

Robert the Bruce.

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How to be an Idiot No. 86.

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The day was destined to be bad.  I woke sluggishly to the gentle sound of Gregorian chant, chased those monks away from my window, and headed of into a day of woe.  I felt a bit hebetudinous and went around making a mess of things. Failing to type correctly, putting the tea bag in the cup, then doing it again, and wondering why the world appeared a bit 'off,'  I then put my glasses on and the world returned to some sort of normality. Having to sign for my scrounging layabouts allowance today I had to ensure the paperwork was up to date, it was, somewhat.  I then sauntered around to the dole, wearing my jacket, and found my penthouse condominium fails once again to inform me of the weather outside. Inside it was chilly, outside it was very warm indeed.  Sweltering I scribbled something that once was my name and in the following short conversation I said things I regretted afterwards.  "What an idiot," I thought!  My big mouth!  I then went home, sweltering, hitting myself as I went.


This afternoon I went into the town again, see above 'Jumbo' the old water tower, now I believe converted into living quarters.  Naturally I was out the door into a higher temperature again wearing the jacket as I had forgotten the warmth.  I did notice one side effect was the lassies insistence on making the most of the years last few hot days by stripping off as much as possible.  If only I had taken one of those famous blue tablets the spam merchants are always offering!  The meeting, with yet another man who suggested what has already been attempted, went as well as could be expected. I made my way back to the station happy I had not made any more stupid remarks or done any foolish things.  The train journey was short and sweet and I happily changed for my connection.  A train stood on the platform and I glanced at the monitor informing me of the 'Liverpool St' Destination.  I did not however notice the time!  I sauntered past the waiting train and stood idly gazing down the track at the distant signals and fast disappearing train I had just left.  I mused on the Kestral high above circling around and around, scaring even the crows who rose to greet him.  I watched an attractive dark haired lass give me the "drop dead creep" look, I noticed a station operative (we used to call them porters) enter a locked room with a teenage lad and a police officer (he unlocked the room before entering before you ask).  The 'Beep Beep' sound came from the train.  The doors closed and I watched as it began the journey to London.  "Hello I thought, why is he reversing?" He was not reversing, he was my train and I had misread the times on the monitor!  I waited a full hour, in the heat, until the next train (full of London commuters) arrived.  

It's all becoming a bit of a circus actually

I am off to the 'Deed Poll Office' tomorrow to change my name to 'Dostoevsky Idiot,' as this seems to me to be more appropriate.  

There is a train down there somewhere with a few very irritated passengers.  I suspect the driver may well be a relative....


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Dear America....

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Ladybirds

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As an experiment I used the feeble 'Macro' on this camera in an effort to picture the ladybird on the park bench.  She posed happily while I pussyfooted around and when at home I used the HP system to crop and enlarge the pic.  This is the best I can do with the little camera and I am quite pleased with this.  The beasts colour makes her very popular, especially with kids, and the children's storybooks called 'ladybird Books' have sold around the world. These are of course just beetles and if they were black most folk would turn away from them as unattractive.  Gardeners love them as each of these beauties can devour 5000 aphids in their year long life.  They are so good at this that they have been deliberately introduced into the USA to deal with the aphid problem there. Lovely beasts and very popular, except when strong winds bring billions over from France and swarm all over the south of England.  


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Political Party Conferences

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Monday sees the real opening of the Labour Party Conference.  Once again the news will be filled with the speeches, the outpourings of a variety of suited men and coiffured women, most of whom will remain unknown until their retirement.  Leading actors (and this is a good word here) will flit across the screen pouting and lying with little real understanding of what to do about the major economic problems of the day.  Ideology, all too often ill thought out by the present bunch in the 'House,' will govern they speech while underneath the real purpose of every word you hear is "I want to be King!"


As you will know the Labour Party grew among working men who suffered appalling conditions while the rich enjoyed the benefits of both Empire and their workers slog.  Change had to come and now, after two major wars, years of depression, and several self seeking governments we have a wealthy nation confused and fearful of global economic collapse.  What does this Labour Party, under it's somewhat insipid leader, have to say to those losing their jobs, homes and hope?  Nothing  except words I suspect.  While millions suffer the majority have much, much more than they really require, a complacency exists among many who still have an income, and many talk of 'poverty' while real poverty is only found abroad in the Third World still. 


One year, when I was rich, I had a year off and done a course with the Open University and done occasional temporary work to keep sufficient funds for luxuries, like bread and mince.  I also watched all three major parties conferences, and I am not sure I could stomach this again.  The liberal Democrats at that time were far from government, had lots of talk, many ideas, most hair-brained, and spent much time lying to camera while planning to stab one another in the back.  The Labour Party, sorry, 'New Labour,' were very different.  In days of yore the conference debated all major policy points, not by the time of Tony Blair.  Only his agenda was followed and all went smoothly, except those speaking lies to camera while stabbing each other straight in the cheat!  The Labour folk never hid their differences.  The then governing Tories were "All together fighting the socialists" while lying to camera with false smiles and stabbing one another in the back.  I just cannot bear, or is that bare, to think what it will be like when they meet this year.  Cameron the PR guru will be more airbrushed than ever, the speeches full of self satisfied bumf and the leading millionaires will wander around looking down on their fellows smug in the knowledge that they, and their tax avoided millions in foreign banks, cannot be touched.  


The populace, w will just have to make do and mend with this lot for a while.  No beliefs, no policies that work, no real idea how to handle the real economic danger, and I have the feeling we are sleepwalking to disaster.  You know I agreed with this early this morning, "No sense in being pessimistic, it wouldn't work anyway," But now I am not so sure!


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Sunday Mist Rising

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There are three main benefits from rising early on a Sunday morning.  One is the sight of the rising sun clearing away the mist that lies in the valley.  This allows some lovely pictures, if you have a longer lens than my little camera possesses.  The second benefit is the healthy body that is obtained by riding the bike up slopes you did not realise were around that bend you had never ventured along before.  This is enhanced when you get to the end and discover this is a dead end and the road sign has been removed by person or persons unknown when leaving the 'Six Bells' late one night.  A certain desire to knock 'Six Bells' out of them crosses the cyclists mind at this point. The third benefit arrives after lunch when watching the poor picture of the Heart of Midlothian being roundly stuffed by St Johnstone you find the drowsiness overtaking you so that you manage to miss much of the slaughter!  I suppose there is a fourth benefit not connected to the early morning, the mental exercise caused by asking who the Heart of Midlothian's next manager might be, Derek McInnes anyone...?


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Misty Dawn

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The best part of this Saturday was the sight of mist rolling, cloud like, across the park. Dragging my bulk from the bundle of rags that for a bed I strolled out to take pictures.  A few moments later I returned and put some clothes on and tried again.  As luck would have it the mist was rolling away southwards which meant the park was being bathed in bright sunshine and high above the sky was increasingly turning blue.  The only thing to do was saunter around and hope the exercise would wake me out of my slumber.  As I sauntered I noticed how the mist was gathering over the town centre.  I headed that way and grabbed a couple of shots where the mist hid the run down appearance of one of the grubbier streets.  The houses are not actually bad, and the people whom I have met are indeed fine examples of decent humanity but the actual road is somewhat depressing itself.

  

I wandered around and ended up back in the park where the local drunk stood talking to the park in the manner he usual  keeps for the town centre.  Poor man, his head was blown away by drink and drugs long ago and now spends his days drinking himself into Hades.  What state his liver is in I hate to think.  We all talk to ourselves but not usually loudly amongst crowds in the busy Market Place. I pictured him from afar but fell some guilt.  I am not keen on 'candid' shots as this appears to me to be an intrusion.  However it did look a good opportunity, although I am not sure if he realised what I was doing or not.  

The bright weather that followed the removal of the mist by the suns heat was followed later by some of those big dark clouds that fill too many Autumn days.  Still, pics are possible here also, if the battery in the camera does not give out!  

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