Tuesday Tittering!

Sadly having been busily engaged in doing the thousand and one things required to scrub clean the condominium in search of a healthier environment, walking in search of some fitness, searching for dead soldiers and finding one or two lying about, and since hearing the news regarding American Bill Miller pulling out of the deal to save Rangers form oblivion, I have been laughing so much I cannot post.  So you will have to do with a picture of a 'Clutterbups.'

The bones creak from what went before but the sides ache from this news.  Now why would an American wish to buy a football team he has never heard off,playing a game he has never played and knows nothing about, in a nation he has never visited?  Now he says he has received abusive e-mails from Rangers fans!  Lucky man, some of us have to meet them to receive abuse!  Some of course might say he was a 'chancer,' dealing with the administrators of the tax avoiding club, who are also 'chancers,' while they attempt to sort the mess left by the 'chancer' who saw his chance to make money by he had billions, when in fact he did not, by buying the club from the main 'chancer' who had run up millions of debts and ran away, supported by his lackeys in the media.  Of course I could be wrong here.....  

Here is the latest on Bill Miller, whoever he was!  The Washinton Post also mentions this story, the Tennessee Towing Tycoon runs for home after being told 'Yank go home!' Sadly Bill has no idea of the type of people he was dealing with in Glasgow.  A proper understanding of the situation would have saved him much abuse. What an embarrassment this whole escapade has become.  Yet in spite of it all the press friends of David Murray enjoy their succulent lamb and still refuse to attack the shambles.  Had it been any other club then some journalism might arise, but not for Rangers.  What a disgrace to Scotland this has become.  'Yank go home' for your own sake!

Just published, Douglas Fraser speaks with some credibility here.

.    

Quality Architecture

Early this morning I trundled around on a bike with a soft back tyre.  The incessant rain hindered my health regime and while just sitting there gathering dust the tyre has slightly softened.  I should fix that - soon.  I attempted to avoid the stiff breeze which naturally was always against me but the route did take me past this!  We could pay a guessing game as to what it is used for but being bright you would soon guess I guess.  This aged town has a few interesting houses, some going back several hundred years, a lot of steady Victorian buildings, and large modern housing estates.  Occasionally objects revealing the past occupation come to light and I wonder if this is one of them?


Today this ramshackle tin hut is used as a garage, often a variety of vehicles can be seen parked on the area to the left of the picture.  Always appears busy when I pass and some heavy vehicles are parked there, possibly he specialises in those.  Down the side you can see what once were windows.  I suspect the building of the housing estate in the fifties led to stone throwing brats in the sixties. This has led to corragated iron over said window and darkness inside since then.  It must be pretty cold working there are the whole front of the building opens up to allow access.  Heaters etc are seen inside when passing but even so.  A real workshop, of the type now outlawed by Health & Safety legislation and rare in large garages.  I suspect the two men suffer as it is their business, and possibly enjoyment also.  Rather akin to places that existed fifty years ago.   


Two strange happenings as I scribbled this tonight.  The first was the deep pink glow in the sky far off.  This is the first sunset noted round here for a while.  The red lurking behind the trees indicates a good spell of sun tomorrow, and we need that in this area.  The other thing is aircraft!  Two friends of mine, an extended family of which I am a part and to which I owe a great deal, are flying off to Thailand via Delhi tonight.  By means of Flight Radar a very interesting device, I was enabled to track that they took off on time.  Ten minutes late on an Indian airline is good going in my book.  Tracking the flight I noticed the flight plan took then right over my head!  Possibly the pilot does not know where India is situated, or maybe it's a woman driver.  Anyhow fifteen minutes after take off I could here them pass overhead at just over 17000 feet and heading for 400 miles an hour.  A strange thought that they were so close, and being father and son I suppose they are close, sitting next to one another I mean.  Twenty years ago the idea of tracking aircraft in flight, (they are at this moment at 33,000 feet and travelling at 570 mph just north of Osnabruck) was laughable, in fact it might not have been available to the public ten years ago!  The wonders of the micro chip and the benefits thereof are many.  As i wake around six tomorrow morning they will be attempting to fight their way through the airport in Delhi to catch their connection.  I might think off them there, if I can keep the eyes open. 



.

St Peter's

As I pushed my way through the crowds in the market today I passed a few African types proffering leaflets.  These were regarding their recently established church.  I pondered when they first arrives a while ago quite what made them settle in this town.  For a start I found when I came here some time back that this was a very 'white' English town, a surprise to me after twenty years in Notting Hill!  Why did a small group of Africans begin a church here?  Today there in fact two 'African' dominated churches, and one of them at least contained several illegal immigrants.  This was exposed at a social evening when a young lady indicated in mid conversation that she worked for the Customs people, turning around she noticed half the crowd that were behind her had disappeared!  The churches no doubt are genuine enough, but some amongst them may have a different view of their 'social' role.  Possibly that is why they began their own church rather than do the obvious an check out those already up and running.  The point I am aiming for is almost here so yawn with your mouth shut.


Churches begin for a variety of reasons.  English churches often began on pagan spots when the Romans were around, wooden churches were raised under the Saxons, the Normans altered those with stone, later many Lords decided to build their own, to stop them mixing with the lower orders I suppose.  A variety of reasons saw 'parish' churches and non conformist churches to develop.  Theological differences and Pride often split churches causing new ones to emerge, as indeed did personal ambition.  In Victorian days 'Livings' as they were called, were often controlled by the most powerful man, or organisation, in the district.  Anthony Trollope wrote about the infighting of the Mid Victorian Anglicans in his delightful book 'The Warden,' and several others that followed.  We have reached the point at last, sip coffee, sit up straight and listen.  St Peter's Church came into being because a rich woman fell out with the vicar of the parish church.  That is why the building stands there, in what was once a field on the edge of town!  That is the crux of this tale.

Miss Frances Wakeham was the daughter of the Rev Perryman Wakeham, most probably vicar of St Michael's the parish church.  Certainly the house in which she resided, 'Marshall's' was very large, with an extension added in 1850 that was bigger than most houses in the area at the time, and vicars in those days were very well off indeed.  The vicarage opposite the church, mentioned some time back, possibly arose when this lady moved into her Big House, set in the mid century in pleasant gardens of some size. This lady, as was common in that age, most likely knew her social importance.  Indeed she also was a granddaughter of a man who had once been Dean no less!  However there came a time long after her father had gone the way of all vicars when a dispute arose.  The residing vicar of St Michael's wished to 'move tombs' for reasons not stated, possibly hygienic or to improve the grounds, although this is unclear. Whatever the disagreement it appears she lost out, and possibly revealed the reason she remained a spinster all her life, her personality, her attitude.  Maybe she was indeed to be found in a 'Trollope' novel?  It was said she claimed she would 'Pay the vicar back,' and her Christian commitment was such that when she died she indeed did do this! 


The blessed lady left £4500 (and this is 1893 we talk about) to the church.  However she did not give it to the parish but ensured it went elsewhere.  Now this town actually is two separate towns joined as one in the 19th century. The Roman road that runs through the town separates the two halves and the parish to the north came under an Anglican 'peculiar.'  A what?  It appears the way Anglicans run their organisation means that a church is tied to a local cathedral, the home of a 'Bishop.'  However for historical reasons that are two complicated to understand the northern parish, under St Mary's, belongs to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and is described as a 'peculiar,' as indeed are many Archbishops. Quite what he wishes to do with it is not made clear.  However the money was provided specifically to establish a new church.  


Now spiteful Frances, (Can I call you 'Fanny?' What.....Oh!) realised that St Mary's is some distance from the Roman road and the parishioners required a new church nearer the road, especially as the town was growing apace.  The English way was to have people attend a local parish church rather than the nearest.  To prevent some slipping over the border into St Mikes parish she arranged for a new building close by.  By insisting the church was built within two years or the cash went elsewhere she ensured a rapid building process would follow.  The first service took place in 1897, in a building designed for growth.  Holding some three hundred seated, but designed for alteration to 600 when the time came, St Peter's now has a strange, indeed ugly, look.  The interior they say is excellent, but I have to take their word for that.  An effort has been made to ensure the grounds are neat, and the rain has enabled the plants at least to flourish.  Much of the land once given (half an acre 'given' by one Mrs Southcott) has been sold for housing, and that of a decent quality.  

As with all things life changes in ways not expected.  The church continued but the growth did not. The population stopped growing, War arrived and changed attitudes to all things, the cash to add the tower, let alone the expansion, never materialised.  The church was left with a stunted look on the outside, somewhat similar to many houses I noted built in the thirties back home.  Nowadays this 'Anglo Catholic' church attempts to play its part in the town.  The bells ring when folks get married, services are held, and a vicar has been appointed once again.  The crowds however do not come.  A church cannot be established unless the good Lord sets it up himself.  Man's ambition, personal desire, theological debates, and pride, as here, are not good grounds for God's Kingdom.  He himself must inspire the creation of a church, not a dispute regarding tombs.

The Dean who laid that must have been strong!

.

Rainy Thursday

I sit here perusing the things done today while the rain pitter patters on the window once again, and I cannot remember what I have done today.  It has been quite busy but for the life of me nothing appears to have changed in here.  The 'To Do' list is now approaching its second volume, so I have not touched that, the carpet is gray with dust, so no hoovering, and the sink blocked with dishes, so that's normal.   What did I actually do?  I wrote a couple of e-mails to intelligent folk, begging, perused the press and was depressed by it, bought milk and bread and argued with the woman in 'Morrison's.'  Actually I argued with the 'self service' machine.  These brutes always go wrong for me, and this one is particularly bad.  Not only is it badly designed, possibly by a 'work experience' teenager, wearing headphones and a sulk, but the woman nags all the way through and at the wrong times.  The bag is to far from the basket of goods, the voice constantly tells you "Please wait for an assistant," although you are not aware of any fault, and of course it will not progress until a long suffering assistant arrives. 
"Place item in the bag," the ratbag says in that irksome voice. 
"IT'S IN THE B-A-G!" In inform her, "Please wait...."  
Eventually I enter four items only into the bag, choose, under her direction (three times) how to pay, enter the cash, once I have worked out how to, into the appropriate slot which doesn't look appropriate to me,  and stand there awaiting action. 
"Please enter your cash......"
"It's in woman, as your head will be soon!"
Assistant enquires wearily, and rushes of to other machine as "Please wait....," rings out. 
A short eon later the change arrives, the receipt pops out, just after "Please take your bag."
I head for the door muttering. 
 "No wonder your man left you, divorce was not enough, drowning in the bath would be better."   "Please take your bag" 
"I've got the bag woman!"  
"Thank you for shopping at Morrison's." 
"Get lost!"
Those smiling checkout girls at Tesco look better to me as I wander away, muttering......


Maybe now I know why I did so little after that......


.

Now look....!

Enough is enough!  Being weaned in Edinburgh I am used to rain.  Gray skies are my birthright!  However I do think this constant gray sky and rain is a bit much.  Now as you know I amnot one to complain, and I am grateful this rain makes up for what we have missed, and this will benefit us all when Farmer Jones gathers the crops, however I could do with sunshine again.  We had some yesterday while travelling to Chelmsford, and more on Monday so I am grateful for that, but it seems to never end, a bit like a normal Edinburgh summer really.  Having endured the '76 drought in smoggy London, and having been evicted chosen to move to the country I expected that sunshine, green views, peace and quiet and all day long blue skies would be mine out here in the wilderness.  However the 'driest county in England' proved, during my time as a postman, to be a lie.  As indeed was the idea that Essex was flat, I can tell you it aint mate!  However this constant gray skies, rain, and smiling weather forecasters warning that more, much more is to come, and from the freezing north at that, then I begin to think it is time to be peeved.  Now the advantages of rain is to be seen everywhere.  The park is covered in Daisy and Buttercup (the flowers not Farmer Jone's milk cows) as you can see.  This is wonderful to me, and attracts lots of wildlife, at least those that have not been drowned or frozen already!  Only people who have to cut the grass object to such rain!  I watched some Starlings bounce off the tree in the park and flounce around like House Martins.  Lovely I thought, but when the rain, and it will be torrential, comes tonight where will they nest?  Mrs Blackbird passed me earlier, her beak stuffed with hay like items, heading for her nest, I wonder how she will fare tonight?  I cannot understand how birds survive in such times?  Some will however.

As you bring out the galoshes cogitate on these:-

Jesus loves you. Nice to hear in church, terryfying to hear in a Mexican prison

How many Spanish guys does it take to change a light bulb? Just Juan.

Two negatives make a positive but only in Scotland do two positives

make a negative - "Aye right."

After announcing he was getting married, a boy tells his pal he will be

wearing the kilt. "And what's the tartan?" asks his mate.

"Oh, she'll be wearing a white dress," he replies.

 

.

The Meeting

It was chauffeur driven to Chelmsford for me today.  Yes indeed a meeting concerning a Great War exhibition, of sorts.  This was the second meeting apparently and as such little had been formed, nothing decided, and it seems to my little mind that is still the case.  A glance around the room at people from several museums, bodies, and interested parties (me) told me that several wished to increase the tempo of the meeting.   Leaflets, websites, educational resources, who do we aim at, objectives, these were some items discussed in a manner that forced me to yawn with my mouth closed.  Funding I knew I would not comprehend, neither did anyone else, and the discussion dragged on leaving me amazed that so many people had so much time to give, and waste. Sadly I am sure they did not have that time and endured for the sake of the project, knowing that speed, direction and result will appear, maybe money also.  The project to commemorate the Greta War is indeed a huge one, but when so many people are coming from differing angles possibly now is the time to break up into small groups and develop differing aspects that way, but I managed not to say anything, just in case I was right.




.

Sunshine

A shot of village England from the train as we passed at high speed today.  A shot a second or so earlier would have given a slightly better view, however the big houses, the church, and the green represent the usual English village that tourists love.  Whether the pub remains open or whether actually living there is good is another matter.  The TV programmes often show folks looking for a small, quiet village to retire to.  They talk of community spirit, a local friendly pubs, and give the impression they can fit in anywhere.  Maybe so but do the villagers take to them I wonder?  Some folks live forty years in a village and are still reckoned as outsiders by those born there. I suspect if you have money and do not upset the routine you may be alright, but it could be too cosy for some.  Occasionally incomers are known to demand the church bell stops ringing as they came to the country for quiet, some even demand local chickens or cattle in fields are removed.  That is not how to endear oneself to the locals.  One or two houses are available however £6-900,000 would be required for the bigger ones, good luck!

While up town being browbeaten and nagged by Helen (Is there a school women attend where they learn to bully males?) concerning job searching, I noticed the river was deep, fast flowing and as you can see a bit murky.  This reflects the rainfall over the past month.  I noticed from the train the river had flooded in many places, on occasion filling ready made holes and flood basins, yet we know the rain is insufficient to find its way deep into the earth, to fill reservoirs or aid farmland in the long run.  Personally I think we have had enough, but I do not posses a garden, a crop nor a vast need for water.  The hosepipe ban continues but some would say there are still too many mains pipes leaking that water companies are too busy counting their profits to notice.  They may have a point.




.  

Hope Springs Eternal.....

Hope sprang this afternoon after I hobbled home from my walk around the various town banks.  Being the Sabbath the banks are closed and I merely looked in the windows and allowed myself to dream for a moment.  Having done so I made my way home to my cocoa when I espied the fuzz parked outside the park!  Hooray I thought, a raid!  Visions of armour clad polis waving large truncheons practicing for Olympic duty crossed my mind.  As I approached I was disappointed to note only one vehicle parked there.  I was more disappointed when five custodians of the law sauntered from the park, no adolescent brutes gathered, no blood on their truncheons and no sign of removal of the half grown miscreants!  It appears a mere general enquiry was under way, no arrests, no reason to whine to the council, no chance of closing the park to the screeching brats, no happy thoughts after all.

Still, one day.....

I had wandered out after a morning filled with rain hammering onto the dirty window panes, an afternoon watching Celtic taking Rangers apart while avoiding shouting 'Third Division, you're having a laff' at them.  I followed this giggle by sniggering my way through Hibernian's feeble attempt to defeat a poor St Mirren side.  Oh the satisfaction of knowing that by the grace of God I was born into the Heart of Midlothian family, such joy!  Sometimes I sympathise with those lesser people not of such a privelaged life.  The rain ceasing offered an opportunity to see the outside world once again.  Sadly it had closed and I merely spent my time as  windowlicker outside the various banks.  One day I will actually be allowed inside one.  

.

Customs Post

Angela Merkel lands at Charles de Gaulle airport.

Customs man: "Nationality?"

Merkel: "German."

Customs man: "Occupation?"

Merkel: "No, just a few days."

.

I Have Nothing to Say

It's one of those weeks. The things that have impressed themselves on my mind, the museum, dead soldiers, Rangers men lying in their teeth, and our corrupt government have not been the stuff to raise laughs or interest those in far flung places such as Texas or Dalkeith.  No sir my scrawls have gained little attention and on top of this the rain keeps coming down.  The weather is of course a talking point in the UK.  With the vast Atlantic on one side and the continent on the other weather patterns vary considerably.  Left over US hurricanes lash our western coast and drop rain everywhere while snowdrifts from the Arctic arrive via Siberia from the east.  This leaves a lush, green landscape in which crops can happily grow.  However it can also depress those who spend several days at a time with raindrops falling on their heads.  Gray skies do not bring smiles, although in the UK blue ones don't do that either.  Walking into a closed glass door however can bring a smile to those standing nearby!  It has been known for the wind (The Mistral?) to blow north from the Sahara to arrive in the south of England on occasion.  While it deposits vast amounts of sand grains in the southern aspect of Spanish homes, while leaving the north grit free but chilled, rarely does the dust come this far.  It does however bring a welcome warmth, we miss it at the moment.  What is arriving, whether from west or south, is Atlantic rain!  Tons of it is falling, a months supply at a time, and the plucky Brit is doing what he does on such occasions, he grumbles!  Of course while the rain is indeed heavier and more persistent than usual it is Springtime and this weather occurs every Springtime to some extent.   The plucky Brit of course has forgotten this and merely whines about how bad it is, global warming, ice age, and the Labour Party's fault!  Unless we have to the answer is to stay indoors unless the sun shines, but that would lead to folks complaining about being trapped I suppose.

Not being one to complain, or indeed to blow my own trumpet,  and I remarked as much this morning in Tesco's where the lass made a comment about kids behaviour.  "I wasn't perfect," she claimed, "But they are so bad today." I took the opportunity to remind her I had been perfect as a child, and her story changed. "So was I," she lied!  The young woman following on suddenly woke up to add, "That makes three of us."  I decided I was in a store full of gloating maniacs and left before anyone else joined in.  But is it true?  Are kids really worse today than 30, 60 or 100 years ago?  I doubt it.  Human nature doesn't change and certainly not in that time.  Culture does, discipline does, and we live in liberal times where freedom easily becomes licence. Personal freedom is more important than other people, and consideration for them lessens from parent to child.  However all is not lost and never indeed was in danger of being lost.  People were just as bad in the past, two major wars, a depression and less wealth all round covered up selfishness and human sin.  Things are more open today, exaggerated by tabloid press, and the good that has always been done by all manner of people still continues.  However that said all brats should be locked in school 24 hours a day, seven days a week in my view!

The museum has a Victorian classroom, a very good practical idea in my mind, that educates the brats on past teaching methods.  Dressed accordingly, but with shoes not worn by kids in the past, they learn the highly disciplined schooling of the mid Victorian times.  I thought of this yesterday while attending a meeting to discuss a new layout for the museum.  Surrounded by knowledgeable people who knew their subject i was a bit out of place, but opened the gob anyway, and found truly I was out of place.  After a morning discussion I confess to still not being sure of what has been decided, my lack of concentration, the debate, and many suggestions means I await the next news.  The Victorian times do interest me.  Vast changes in western society, influencing the entire world, mass movement of people, railways, leading to industrial development, increasing wealth, and indeed leisure times.  They are so near to us it is possible to identify with Victorians in a way we cannot with those of previous centuries, they were too different in every way.  Our towns are still based much on Victorian development, as is the rail system and much else.  Prices have changed somewhat mind!  It's a very interesting period and I would like a time machine to go back there for a look around, although taking all the medicine I require with me of course!

 I did however discover a wonderful thing today.  The old telly, no longer used since the 'analog' was replaced by 'digital' signal, does in fact play the videos that are stacked around here.  This is good as there is many wonderful programmes available, much better than the junk now filling TV.  I was beginning to wonder if I would ever get use of them again.  I remain content with small results.  Great events shake me not!  Who said cheapskate.....?  

Of course much of my time has been taken up on newspaper sites adding pertinent comments on the Rangers FC situation.  This club, sectarian to make money, arrogant and offhand to the rest, has been discovered fiddling the taxes, around £49 million, and this added to failing further tax by fiddling the way they paid players doubling the money owed by the 'loyalists' to the queen they sing about each week.  The abuse, the threats and the refusal to accept blame has risen to a level that would embarrass residents in Barlinnie Prison.  Pleading a 'special case' because '"It's us," appears to be the theme.  I am happy to report few attempt to justify their behaviour on the comments, almost all condemn them.  It is the club that whines and bleats in a shameful manner, blaming this one and that but never admitting their fault.  Regrettably  the more they speak out the more I hope for their demise.  An altogether terrible situation all of their own making.

Not much to laugh about, although I did laugh at Rangers, saw humour aplenty amongst the volunteers at the museum, laughed at folks blogs, where intended I mean, and am within myself beaming these days.  Have I been drinking......?

.   

Market Day.

Businessweek

Market Day failed miserably as the thunder and lightning, rain, hailstones and wind tended to put the buyers off.  In between storms I braved the elements and set out, just to avoid listening to Rupert Murdoch lying to the Leveson enquiry.  If he was not going to lie he was going to put someone else into the mire.  He is not called the 'Dirty Digger' for nothing.  When I was a lad there was an attitude that appeared to say 'respect your leaders, betters, adults and other people.'  Today it is impossible to find this attitude and the behaviour of those very souls has made it thus.  Of course teaching kids to listen and respect is a good thing, but respect also needs to be earned, our leaders, in politics, media and even sport, do not deserve respect.


I broke off to listen to various news report and enjoy my repast of 'Flanders Mince.'  Murdoch was it seems intent on his fantasy world.  'The Sun,' being the only 'independent' newspaper he claimed. He is kind of right of course, all others have their own slant, Murdoch goes where he thinks the money is to be found, so I suppose that is a kind of independence.  His integrity was surpassed by Jeremy Hunt, a cabinet minister, as he defended e-mails sent from his department to Murdoch company during Hunts investigation of Murdochs BSkB takeover.  It appears Jeremy knew nothing and his assistant has fallen on his sword.  How convenient!  I remain convinced myself that the minister has absolutely nothing to hide!  Integrity is this governments watchword. The honest 'Daily Mail' loves to fill its pages with Murdoch's troubles.  it remains less keen to state that the editor may well be given the boot for his performance at the enquiry that now attempts to hang Rupert. You will be pleased to know that our leader David Cameron stands by his cabinet member.  He might as well, soon he will be standing beside him in the dole queue! Oh by the way, that nice mentally unbalanced friend of Dave's, George Osborne, the one ion charge of the money, he has admitted we are back in recession.  I suppose he will once again lower the taxes of the rich because of this next week. 

Football of course is run by honest men, integrity is their watchword!  Unfortunately Rangers owner Sir David Murray forgot to pay the income tax as required, some £49 million worth of forgetfulness!  It appears there was dubious dealings with payment to players also and now the tax man is investigating.  To avoid trouble clear up the situation Murray dumped the club on a fall guy sold the club to a multi millionaire businessman who paid £1 for the club and promised to sort things out.  It appears he was in fact a fantasist and has since been banned for not paying taxes (£19 million?), selling four seasons of season tickets to 'Ticketus,'  has been playing fast and loose with the money, which he doesn't have, and is now the man the media attack for hurting their club.  Murray however they never mention, hmmmm?  Sanctions resulting mean the club may die.  All Scotland is in a ferment!  Rangers fans demand action, Scottish football fans demand the club dies.  We await the result of several inquiries, police investigations, court cases, and hopefully the Rangers dumped into Division 3!  


Has there ever been 'integrity' in football, or indeed politics, media or anything else?  I doubt it.  Hammurabi made his famous laws several thousand years ago, the bible is full of crime condemned, and as Thudydides says,"Human nature doesn't change."  The only honest person can ever be our self, everyone else cannot be trusted.....

Oh and it rained a lot today....

.

A Good Use for the Brute!

Yes indeed at last I can justify using this brute of a laptop. In spite of things moving when they shouldn't, links disappearing and the spelling failing miserably I have found this machine to have one great use, I can use it while lying in my bed!  Yes indeed, here I was tonight, watching the football in comfort while glancing outside at the pink and blue sky, and drowsily ending my day, who could ask for more?  Well me for one, but this is at least one advantage the PC could not offer.  Sadly however as I was awake at five this morning, and rose at six after manfully attempting to return to my dreams, this means that I fail to see clearly while watching the game on the laptop as my eyes keep closing.  This is somewhat annoying.  The wonderful post that ran through my mind today has turned to slush.  Possibly I could still use it, some say it would fit!  The rain that spent much of the day drenching the world  forced me to stay inside and clean the oven, and it is not yet six months old!  Still is stopped me looking for dead soldiers for a while, and while I keep finding info on some I can see I am only half way through my list.  I wake in the morning to the sound of military music from 1914 these days.  I pull my second hand gray army blankets over my head while I drop off into slumberland with the news that Chelsea defeated a football team tonight by using Walter Smith style tactics.  How depressing!           


.

I was Surprised...

I was surprised as I made my way through the town early this bright and sunny morning to find St Georges Day was being ignored by his people.  One pub was making money ready by flying four flags outside but no others bothered.  Has patriotism worn off I wonder?  Could it be people really are turned off so much by the English Defence League and other bams flying the English flag that they do not wish to be associated with it?  How strange!  Now I can understand most not wishing to be linked with the type who join the EDL, however your nation needs you, as someone once said?  Only the Irish seriously wish for a 'Saints Day' and that only for the Guinness!  However pride in a nation does not end because of toughs or the reformation.  The recession, being a Monday, and the dismal weather which poured from the sky all afternoon may well be dampening enthusiasm for the cause. English weather, sunshine & rain at the same time, does inhibit enthusiasm.  Possibly when the European Championships begin a flurry of flags will appear on vehicles passing by, and soon they will fill the wheely bins as England fail once again.  Brings a tear to the eye, don't it...?

.

Trapped

This time it's a passing shower, earlier it was large hailstones, much of the time merely rain!  Trapped I remained by the damp streets and holes in my ageing trainers. There was nothing for it but to watch football.  This reveals an insight into my luck however.  I watched some of the Manchester United v Everton game, until that nice Mr Rooney scored United's fourth.  At that point I switched over to watch Motherwell playing Celtic.  This game was rubbish and I was too weary to avoid watching.  At the end I discovered Everton had scored twice after I left them and I missed this excitement to become brain deadened by the Motherwell dross.  The hail then fell again - through the open window in the bedroom!  The picture attempts to capture the sun shining through the rain lashing down at an angle.  It failed. 

.

Lost Relatives

I have spent much of this week in a daze.  Another of those bugs has been irking me and my concentration levels have been low.  A pain as I had the museum meet on Monday and found myself involved with preparations for the 2014 centenary of the Great War.  The bug meant I ate little so was quite content to play couch potato and sit at this brute of a laptop and look for dead soldiers, some of whom I actually found. (By found I do not mean I discovered a dead soldier in the back garden, I mean a record of his death.  I know one or two of you are a bit slow.....)  However I was dragged out to the museum to discover I had been volunteered for more work.  How nice I thought, although I am yet to be let into the secret as to what this entails.  I hope it's not brain work, I tend to fail at that.     

Tonight however as the bug had worn off, I decided to eat without burning the chips (yes oven chips can be burnt) and look for dead relatives.  My granddad married grandma when both had been widowed.  Three kids she left as he drunk too much and for this reason dad, and my aunt, rarely if ever spoke of him.  I think it made my dad very family orientated later.  Aunt Annie did allow some information eventually, but she was always very careful with what she revealed.  It appears two previous sons may have taken poison, but I wonder?  I looked tonight in all the (free) places where info might arise and found nothing.  Plenty of relevant names to be found, all the wrong ones, and almost all in the US!   

I did however go through that strange emotion again of wondering about the lives of those who went before.  Each link brought information which while irrelevant made me wish to wander off down alleyways into stories untold, well to me at least.  It was as I allowed my mind to wander through the grimy smoke filled streets of the past that I realised my chips were done, well done.  I think I will have salad tomorrow....

.

Victorian Door

Sadly as I passed the other morning the sun was shining on the other side of the street.  This is unfortunate as I would rather this door stood out a bit brighter than it does.  It belongs to what was once the vicarage, and Victorian vicars were very important indeed.  Powerful in the world around them their houses reflected their importance.  To obtain such a 'living' was something to be sought, although whether they cared  about God or not is debatable.  Anthony Trollope spoofed the Anglian church of the mid century in his book 'The Warden.'  It was so good even I read it!  Today things are somewhat different. large vicarages, rectories and deaneries have now been sold off, turned into flats, demolished or like this one put to a variety of uses.  Here we find offices and living accommodation together I believe,  and I do know a lass born here when dad was vicar, and that must have been around the time of the second world war.  How times change.

                                   

like so many others the vicar would merely cross the road to his church and begin his work, although he ought to have been working before this I say!  His church has stood on this site since the 12th century, possibly following on from a Saxon construction and even a Roman cemetery.  The town was a mere fifteen miles from the Roman garrison in Colchester, a days march and this may well have been a regular stopping point.  Certainly a small hamlet of some sort was erected here.  Lots of bits have been found from that time.

As the vicar crossed the path to St Michaels church he would possibly note this niche on the back of the church.

In times past as pilgrims made their way across to various shrines, there was St Edmunds in Bury St Edmunds, and another at Walshingham in Norfolk, they would make use of such niches where some form of blessing could be found.  Sadly I cannot remember all the details and I have no info to hand.  I could spend time on Google but my chips are beginning to burn so I will let you ponder on the blessing received b y the neds empty beer bottle and KFC bag instead.  

.

Braintree District Museum

I spent an enjoyable morning at a volunteers get together at the Braintree Museum this morning. (Where most of the pictures come from) Delightful to see so many willing to do something to aid the town's history.  We had an lovely time attempting to decide what we liked and disliked about the museum.  Small groups gathered to discuss the various sections, I managed to claim one Warners section was not my favourite, it just happened to be the company the lass next to me had worked 28 years for!  I meet people when I am rude.....

It was generally agreed the outstanding aspect of the museum was the Victorian school room.  This receives groups of young folks (children were considered 'small people' not 'children' in Victorian days), dressed in period costume, who endure a Victorian type education for an hour or so before experimenting with this or that elsewhere  Playtime features suitable games, no iPads allowed!  As the building was a school built by one of the Courtalds in the late 19th century it seemed an obvious idea.   

My primary had desks like these!  The teachers however had more appropriate 1930's style desks, containing a 'strap' (a Lochgelly Tawse) for punishment.  I am not quite sure where the spears at the back came from.  There are shields and drums of an African origin elsewhere and I wonder if these are the fruits of English imperialism?  We heard of future projects and priorities for the museum, and the Warners Archive, for which we were shown the new website.  Warners had a large mill nearby and the archive not only keeps alive the history it is an active producer of material.  Silk manufacture is a highly skilled affair and designs and materials are still produced and sold there today.  Not quite the same volume as in times past of course.  Warners Archive

Note the obvious mistake with this Victorian tableau!

I love the Victorian era, especially as I did not live through it, but my aged family were close to it, one uncle being born in the 1890's.  The attitudes of the day was seen to some extent in the family members throughout the seventy years or so they lived.  Much of Victorian infrastructure lies about us still, railways, buildings, crowded High Streets, churches for a sample.  We are much closer to Victorian days than we realise.  

However I also like the distant past and artifacts that reflect life here from 2000 BC or thereabouts are very interesting.  To be in possession of a daily object from so long ago releases a strange emotion.  I am not sure what it is, maybe I had too much porridge for breakfast.  Anyway I love bits of aged pottery, a coin or an axe head from the distant past, it connects us to those who lived and died here so long ago.  Why should people be forgotten?  I am frequently amazed at how little information appears concerning men who lived, worked and served in this are from a mere hundred years ago.  Many of their houses remain but just as many have long since been demolished, and with the house goes the memory of the individual.  It often appears as if they had never existed, but an effect of their life remains with us all, usually never realised.

When the school took us to the Royal Scottish Museum in Edinburgh as kids we were forced to sit in front of a large glass display and listen to a wifie discussing the stuffed birds found therein!  How enthralling!  At least on one occasion we were confronted with a Japanese crab with claws six foot long.  Why I have absolutely no idea, there were few of those around our way.  Some people find Museums to be boring and kids need to do something, not be lectured about stuff.  Make them enjoy something, even if it appears to be boring, and they will remember it.  Folks remember humour better than dullness.  Dressed up like 19th century waifs, but smelling much nicer (well up to a point), the urchins have a more 'hands on' affair in the museum today.  The RSM had one or two very expensive machines that revealed the working of coal mines and the likes, but miserable teachers insisted we ignored those and stopped sliding along the polished floors and sit down and belt up.  I am happy to report no miserable, bullying, harridan like witches were found teaching there today.  Instead I found a group of interested knowledgeable volunteers who wish to discover more and make the towns history known.  I myself am happy in a dogsbody role, to me this is a promotion, and I am learning from those that really know.  I am well impressed with the knowledge found here amongst professional and volunteer workers.  

So that's where my old bike got to!

.

What a Great Day!

Heart of Midlothian F.C.

Never in all my 25 years did I ever expect to see a Heart of Midlothian versus Hibernian Cup Final!  Today, by defeating the green half of the evil twins, the Heart of Midlothian stormed through to that very final! Of course after a hundred and what years these two Edinburgh sides have met before in cup competitions, with the Maroons usually, but not always, coming out on top.  The last time was a few years back when the Heart of Midlothian walked all over the wee team at the semi final at Hampden by four goals (count them) to nothing (count them!), and continued on to win the oldest cup trophy in football once again.  

Today we merely scored two delightful goals against Celtic, for some reason cionsidered favourites.  Lord Rudi Skacel's delightful left foot (seen above) scoring the first just after half time.  We continued to look good after that, with no failures of any sort amongst our maroon clad side.  Allowing the overhyped Glasgow side an equaliser (and offside at that) was not a good idea so close to the end of the game.  However minutes later the smiles were removed from the knuckle dragging beasts when a hand from a Celtic defender blocked a goal bound shot and ensured we had a penalty right at the death.  They even had a cheek to claim a clear handball was not a penalty!  Tsk!  That nice Mr Beattie sent the idiot goalie the wrong way and we were through!  

You may now stand on a chair, raise your voice, and yell WOOOPEEEEEEEEEE!  

I just did.

Heart of Midlothian F.C.

The Edinburgh clubs did meet once before in the Scottish Cup Final, but that was back in1896 and even I was not around then.  Hearts won by goals from Davie Baird, Wullie Michael and Alex King.  The Irishmen, and there were twenty five thousand who had emigrated to Edinburgh by this time, scored through Jo 'O Neil. Jo then disappeared into obscurity where Hibs folks belong. Seventeen thousand that day attended the match, the supporters of the Maroons, in the majority, throwing their hats in the air as victory was achieved.  Their descendants will do likewise in May.  I suppose the Irishmen just vanished when the game was decided, usually there are a lot of them disguised as seats at these games.  The final was actually played in Edinburgh, at a place called 'Logie Green,' the one and only time the Glasgow based SFA made a sensible decision.  There will be suggestions that this game ought to be played in Edinburgh, at rugby's Murrayfield Stadium, but I doubt this will happen.  It must be remembered that the Hearts have defeated Hibernian so many times that to equal our victories it would take Hibs, at four games a season, twenty years to equal our victory totals.  The present Hibernian side comprises many loan players, two or three neds, and a dope.  

I feel confident.  

London Hearts

London Hearts

TV coverage was poorer in 1896 I must say.

Another Sign of Spring

Just as mist heralds the dawn, daffodils and bluebells brighten the world, umbrellas in many hands, and men in shorts appear so cricket reappears in our midst heralding Spring!  The first chance to dress in whites bring the English male out in huge numbers, age and lumbago not wearying such men.  The sun is shining, the windchill bad, yet there they are, sweating off the pounds gained watching cricket from overseas on the couch throughout the winter.  What do they see in this slow, ponderous, yet still more intellectually satisfying than baseball, game?  One overweight man throws a ball towards another, armed only with a flat stick. He swipes at the ball hoping to hit the thing far away, if he misses the balls flight may take it onto other sticks embedded behind him, if they hit he loses his place.  When the ball goes any distance those surrounding shout and run to collect and return it, while the batsmen run back and forward the 22 yards between sticks.  With no less than six or seven hours a huge score of 200 or more 'runs' can be gathered this way.  How enthralling.  Everybody claps at such a score. From eleven in the morning until six or even later in the evening the chaps stand around, clapping occasionally, taking turns to swipe at thin air, and then replace the poundage lost by sitting  in the nearest pub until 'last orders' is shouted.  Using the ground this way is better than building yet more desperately needed homes I suppose, especially as no-one can afford them these days but just what is the attraction that grabs Englishmen so?  In Scotland working men rarely play or even consider cricket, in England this disease affects all classes.  Vast volumes are scribbled on the rules, personnel, history, events, places connected with the game.  If rain hinders play two men, any two, will find an eager audience willing to listen while they drone on endlessly about any of said subjects.  Have these men no lives?  They certainly could not have wives!  Think also of this, today is semi-final day in the English cup and these men ignore it to play cricket instead of watching the football, are they victims of  'mad cow disease' perhaps?

.

Springtime in Utopia!

By popular request I have been forced to stand outside on an early Spring morning to photograph the sun rising over the park.  Quite why people are so obsessed with the park is beyond my befuddled mind, but who am I to object to a request from one of my deluded readers fans?  So I have been out, the damp soaking through the soles of my aged trainers, choking in the mist as the frost rises from the ground filling the air, if it can find room there with all this low lying cloud around.  On the far side of the park bright yellow daffodils shiver and curl up in an attempt to prevent a premature death, their luminosity at variance with the world around them.  Heads down, the few passers by failed to notice and be cheered by them.     

The few passing through, scurrying to work, may grunt a short greeting to those who gather at the park bench in the early morn for their 'breakfast.'  Each day, before most have pulled back the duvet, three or four chums gather to imbibe a varied breakfast from different labeled cans.  Often subtly hidden behind a plastic bag or placed at their side as one passes.  Friendly enough, harmless, not as young as they once were, and humoured by the way the dog insisted on shoving its nose into my Tesco bag one morning in an attempt to steal my (proper) breakfast.  

Spring is indeed with us, rain (and the hosepipe ban continues in this drought), wind, mist, with more showers to follow, indicates Spring is well under way and soon Summer will be declared officially.  I expect Thunder, lightning and floods.  The hosepipe ban will continue however.  

Springtime is here.....