He He He!

Two Things

Actually three.
This evening the internet shuddered and the radio programme I was listening to stopped.  Soon it returned but it appeared I had been momentarily cut off, although the correct lights were flashing to indicate it still worked. Hmmm.
Later I noticed I had to sign in again to Blogger and Yahoo but all else was OK.  Blogger will not allow me to post pictures tonight, although it would allow me to post a video!  For spite I refused to post it!
Hmmm strange indeed.


The two points however were totally removed from this.
First John terry.
This man is not a well liked footballer.  
He has many enemies in the game and more in the tabloid press.  The press hate anyone who stands up to them and when he obtained a court order keeping his misdemeanours a secret they were very upset!  His family are to say the least a bit rough.  He has also behaved on the rough side on several occasions and obtained a reputation.  Recently a spat between him and a black player (we are no longer allowed to say 'coloured' say the language Nazi's) during a football match ended up with him in court on a 'racist' charge.  Today he was found 'Not Guilty.'
Now few know what actually happened, most have made their ignorance known anyway.  The court result says something at least and ought to bring the matter to an end.
But what was the real cause?  Racism?  Really?
I am unconvinced racism was at fault.  I suggest Mr Terry, once England captain and regular team member, has many enemies within the England camp and football in general.  His opponent in court has a brother who plays alongside Terry for England and I suspect does not like him.  he may well have good reason for this.  It seems to me this case was overblown and exaggerated merely to have a go at the man himself.  It failed.
Abuse flows through football.  Some players will do and say the most awful things to upset an opponent, racism does appear, rarely in the UK  these days, but on occasion. (It certainly comes in the other direction but we cannot go into that here)  I suggest that here we had a spat during a game when words were passed by both needlessly and political correctness and spite took over.  Sadly the police these days fail to judge such things properly.  Where once a caution and words of warning were offered we now have court cases.  A man yelled abuse at a station ticket collector and called him a Welsh something or other and ended up charged with racism.  A needless court case followed while a caution would have sufficed. I say the Terry case was similar!  However the police were too afraid not to charge him, the media demanded this, many fans demanded this also, and the only way out was for the jury to decide.  usually when players behave like this wise words behind the scenes take care of things.  Nobody appears to have tried!  Maybe too many wished harm to this man.  Some would say who can blame them?


Point two features another unsavoury group of men.  Those who run Scottish football. These short sighted biased people have done their utmost to ensure Rangers (under the new name Servo) play in the Scottish premier League in spite of their many crimes against that league, the tax man and society in general.  The other clubs of the SPL were forced by their fans to oppose this and today the lower league body, The Scottish Football league, resisted immense pressure from outside to place Servo in Division 1.  Division 3 was the choice, by 25 -5 votes!  Pressure from the Scottish Football Association, others behind the scene and the Rangers media (all Glasgow based media is totally behind Rangers as they support the club and make their money there) were ignored by the courage of the chairmen of these lower division clubs.  


Does this mean we can get on with the game now?  
No!  There will follow more dirty deeds, especially at the next SPL meeting on Monday, possibly to attempt an SPL2 as has been suggested already.  Maybe another devious attempt will spring up.  Whatever, the sooner those behind such deals are removed from the game the better.  The leaders of these organisations have shown themselves to consider Rangers, under any name, more important than anyone else.  Shortsightedness, failed planning, bad negotiations have led to this awful time.  Heads may have to roll, new ideas need implanting, but a breath of fresh air may well be approaching Scottish football when Servo take the field in Division 3.  I hope they remain there!  

Blue Sky Thinking

I took this picture of the town hall clock tower not because it was special but because the sky was blue. Read that again - BLUE! Yes indeed for much of the day the sun shone and made us smile, well not the lass in Tesco's obviously. Last time she smiled she was off sick for a week. The sun has made the tower a bit brighter than it was in real life, the clock handles ought to be 'golder' in colour, but my laptop does not enable that to show sadly. However the blue is what I want to see, and lots of it. The golden creature on the top, just what is that supposed to be, and what is it doing? In a week or two I am going on a private tour, with a hundred others, of this 1926 town hall and may be able to catch a couple of pictures. It is very noble inside, with interesting murals and doors, staircases and such like. A reflection of town pride and the pride of the man who paid for it so generously. Of course paying a shilling a week more to his workers might have created a better society but he didn't think of that.

The town hall stands where the town market once stood.  Jokes about cattle and Councillor's can be inserted here.  To the modern mind, who often complain about lack of car park spaces, the idea that cattle, sheep, pigs and the like could be driven through the streets a mere ninety odd years is outlandish.  Yet the market square would buzz with the farmers selling their wares and drinking their health in 'The Bull' and other watering houses.  People on strike for that extra shilling that built the town hall also gathered around here because they felt they were treated in similar fashion to the beasts.  They had a point!  before the Great War strikes were common.  In the year 1912 the railways, the builders, many major industries were all on strike.  Conditions were awful in many places, train drivers and their firemen often driving for the whole day and then forced to do another journey after that.  Long hours, short pay, easy sackings, no compensation.  Life was tough for many in those days.  Then came the war!  Well that's a relief, that helped sort the industrial troubles, apart from the strikes obviously.  Did you know women munitions workers could make a pound a week working a twelve hour shift?  No wonder they took to lipstick, cigarettes and local pubs!  Soldiers got one shilling and twopence a day basic, that's eight shillings a week at twenty shillings to the pound!

We still treat soldiers badly.  The pay is better, some after care has improved, but the failure of the private company to recruit and train sufficient security staff for the Olympics has meant a further several thousand troops must be brought in for security duties.  Three million unemployed, many in the London region, yet they have several thousand staff short?  This organisation lacks a wee bit of organisation I think.  There again after having received £280 million to provide a service and offer the minimum wage for hard conditions I suspect I can see where their problem may lie.

Digitaldreamdoor.com

It is fifty years ago today that the Rolling Stones made their debut at the Marque Club in Soho.  While the line up was to change somewhat in the days following before the 'famous five' pictured above became famous, that's how it is with musicians, nevertheless that was the first time this band performed. Fifty years ago? Some of these boys now touch 70, who would have thunk it? One of the great rock and roll Rhythm and Blues bands of our time. This is one of the tracks all aspiring Rhythm and Blues bands played in those days:-

'Scuse me while I reminisce....

Two Pics

One picture spoofs the famous, by now, Second World War poster.  For bloggers it is indeed good advice.  Keeping the mouth shut and listening to what is going on around you can produce openings for items to blog about, and also not yelling a multitude of rude words at the keyboard helps concentration when things go wrong, like spellings, disobedient computer software, and family and friends offering advice. The proof reading, something you will note I fail to do, can stop folks asking if all the schools were on strike when you grew up? Satire is not dead it seems.

Someone passed this onto me, and while I do not know where it came from (Was it one of you lot?) I do think it a fantastic picture.  Someone is a very sharp shot with a camera.

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Desperate Abstract

Desperate to find a photo worth taking today.  Weather didn't help, having too much work to do didn't help, having no talent didn't help.  So I gathered together the pencils and produced this!  Long ago in a photo mag I read that pictures are all around you!  Open your eyes and see them.  This is true but it is not always possible to see them.  Coming from Edinburgh, the most beautiful city in the world, I found that for the first few years living in London I could not 'see' any pictures when I returned to Edinburgh.  The problem was the castle, the buildings, the surroundings were all part of growing up and I just took them for granted.  I could not 'see' pictures for a few years.  There again who wishes to see pictures of wet buildings, ancient or not?  


Tomorrow the kitchen!

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Danger Day

Maybe it's the ever present tiredness that never seems to leave me, maybe it's just being cack-handed, or there again it may just be my luck but today did not go well.  


It started late, I awoke at ten past five, closed my eyes as the 'shipping forecast' was read on the wireless and next thing I knew it was seven!  I stumbled into the kitchen fried tomatoes and the mushrooms that were growing on them and microwaved an omlette.  This took forever as I had forgotten to turn the cooker on.  Eventually my cold toast finished and crumbs filling every crack in this laptop, the phone rang.  For some strange reasom nine o'clock had arrived before I was ready and some spammer was already attempting to sell me something.  I ignored them and let the ansafone take care of it, no message was the reply.  I dialed 1471 to get their number and trace the call but they did not leave one, a spammer!  However I noticed some marks on the phone, the handset batteries were leaking like a tap!   Considerable time later the mess was cleaned up, on the phone, the desk,the laptop - me!  At least the desk is considerably cleaner, although things now fall through the hole.   


As I had to go into the walled city for no good reason I prepared carefully my duties so as to have as little time there as possible.  Naturally this was not to be.  Having managed to stay awake sufficiently to leave the train at my stop, rather than end in down by the coast where I would rather be, although being in Clacton on Sea would not be my first choice of coastal town to reside in (ankle chains and white stiletto's, and that's just the men!), I trooped off via the park and watched life slowly traipse by in the gloom.  At least the rain only threatened, then stopped and this summers gray cloud cheered us no end.  As I made for my destination a man walking the other way grumbled about the papers strewn all over and around a park bench, although I was not sure what I should do about it.  I noticed that he grumbled about those responsible but made no effort to collect the stuff and put it in the bin himself.  Hmmm.


Forced to huddle in a side room with a hundred other layabouts until the lovely Alison sorted things out I was then presented with a PC that suffered much!  The screen resolution was so small I could only see it by leaning right up against it, the window light reflected blocking what I could see, and it would not work!  My neighbour had his working, up to a point, but at least he could read his!  Once we managed to get started the printer would not print.  Both of us, and several others, sent much to the printer and nothing arrived.  The PC's were set to a differing machine.  Somewhere in that building hundreds of wasted sheets of paper are at this minute piling up on the floor.  What were we doing there?  Almost all of us claimed we do more at home.  All of us thought we were wasting time here, and that it cost this company cash it would be better advised spending on an upgrade of the computer system. However these 'Work' programmes are running into a problem. They make money when the 'client' gets a job he keeps for six months. There are three million unemployed and 400,000 vacancies. Most on this programme are the ones nobody wants. Like me some are unfit, some old, some unskilled and some ex-prisoners, not the first you would choose when employing someone from several hundred applications. The course is meant to help but there are just too few jobs, now this programme are getting worried. Conned by this government they are losing cash like water flooding folks houses and there is no improvement in sight. I wasted my time there, got out as quick as I could, and made it home without falling asleep onto the tracks.




I put the chips in the oven as I couldn't be fagged to do anything else and forgot the frying pan and oil therein was lying on the bottom of the oven. I type this with a thin haze all around, the windows open to clear the air, an unfortunate aroma clinging to everything, and suspect that as the night is young still more can go wrong.




I'm off to bed......




Oh good, the kids opposite have their music on, 'Rap' (with a capital 'C') or that dum dum dum stuff I wonder? That's the advantage the States has in such situations, guns! Bah!







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Dead Sunday

Nothing to say.  The papers are full of Andy Murray, a Scotsman, being the first British tennis player in the final at Wimbledon for yonks.  The 'Daily Mail' reader hates him because he  unwisely stated he wanted the England football team to lose, as all sensible, decent Scots do.  Having been imperialists by nature they have turned against him in their usual English way by supporting his opponent.  The facts of history are ignored, and reading the 'Daily Mail' they will remain hidden from them.  Do I car? No.  Tennis means little to me, although I have watched some of it, and naturally in between the camera focusing on the 'B' celebs who must be seen there Murray has held his own reasonably well.  I suspect he will lose as Hibs folk usually do and Federer is a step above most players, not just Murray.  The rain has stopped play as it always does and the roof that cost millions to install has not yet been closed. I am amazed at the dafties who organise such events! 

So now I look for something to blog. My tired mind remains unfocused, the rain inhibits wandering about with the camera, forgetting to eat limits walking about also! The papers have nothing to say except Murray this and Murray that, although they are more interested in the celebs who watch. Meanwhile the rain keeps falling here, flooding some folks and yet parched lands are missing their share elsewhere. Climate change, disbelieved by some, affects those who look up, although preferably under a brolly today!

Does it mean the end of the world? Yes, but that could take a hundred years yet. Does it mean man has damaged the world he was meant to protect? Yes, but volcanoes and other natural events have not helped either, just ask the cows in the nearest field what they give the fresh air around them! This year has been very damp, but warm at least. I am supposed to be out in this at the walled city tomorrow, I bet it lashes down then!

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Corruption?

BBC

Another day, another fiddle in the 'Rangers' saga.


What began with tax fiddling and grew with dubious new owners develops each day into a soap opera of a dimension so strange that no scriptwriter would dare attempt it.  The 'Rangers Football Club' has proved unsaveable and will pass into liquidation (when?) and the latest owner, who may or may not have the money, has attempted to force his way int Scotland's top division (the Scottish premier League) and failed.  He has then attempted to enter the Scottish Football League (the lower division in Scotland) and his friends (one Mr Regan) in the Scottish Football Association (the governing body) and The Scottish premier League (one Mr Donaldson) 
are doing his work for him there.


Various threats have been issued, and those connected with the Ibrox club have issued many threats this year, threats have been issued to the SF: members that refusal  to obey the wishes of those in charge could see millions lost to the game as SKY TV pull out (Sky deny they will pull out)
and several SPL clubs failing and dying.  Loss of cash will affect the lower divisions leaving many of them to go to the wall also.  Clubs are worried, rightly, and annoyed at the threatening manner in which this debacle takes place.


On Friday the SFL clubs meet to decide the new 'Rangers' fate.  This club has no accounts, no players, and a dubious owner.  Whether he has the cash to keep his 'newco' afloat is unclear, his long term intentions are just as unclear.  The clubs today discovered a new twist in the corruption within Scotland's football.  The SFL leaders now wish tod ecide by themselves where this club plays.  Clearly most wish them to begin at the bottom, Division 3, but this idea will simply place them into Division 1 so, they say, to stop money being lost to the game!  This is a disgrace and hopefully the smaller clubs will stand up to this!  Disgraceful!  


There can be little sympathy anywhere for any Ibrox club today.  The bullying gerrymandering of Regan, Donaldson and others reveals the depth of corruption and desperation to keep a sinking ship afloat.  I begin to think dumping 'Rangers' out of the game altogether is the only way forward, followed by the personnel responsible for this mess.  It is time for UEFA and FIFA to step in.  Their rules have been broken, Rangers did go to the Scottish courts to overturn a lenient punishment (which as yet has not been reheard), the shambles behind the scene to keep this club afloat shows the bias within Hampden, and to save the game, with the season less than a month away, someone has to take control NOW!  


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Red Sky at Night...

Sadly the picture cannot convey the sky form one end to the other covered in a deep pink hue.  Oh to live higher up and get a clear picture! What a wonderful sight this was, and well past ten O'clock at that! Wonderful evening, the rhodur... rhodand.... the big bush over the road filling the air with fragrance and setting the scene nicely.

Red sky at night, 

Shepherds delight!

Since the back of two this morning the rain has been coming down constantly!  The papers, radio  and TV are full of scare stories.  A months rain in 24 hours is expected today, floods, disasters, catastrophes and would you believe that when the storm eased this morning as I went to Tesco's   I saw a man in sailors uniform!  It was that bad they have called out the navy!  

The Daily Mail Scream Loud Story

If you see any shepherd's while out today, run them over!

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Proper Comedian

A sad loss today was the passing of the great comedian and script writer Eric Sykes.   For those of us of a certain age Sykes was an institution all our lives.  From small beginnings in the forties Sykes, like many other ex-servicemen, began a career in show business that was to make him an institution.  His influence was everywhere, or radio, TV, stage and films.  Both acting and directing, his film without words 'The Plank,' was a great hit when it appeared in 1967.  He wrote for Frankie Howard, Britain's highest paid comic at the time, for 'The Goon Show,' an institution in itself, and wrote and acted with Hattie Jacques as brother and sister in a long running sitcom.


Sykes comedy was gentle, clever fun.  His was not the cynical comedy so popular today, although he could laugh at any powerful soul if need be.  He was one who laughed with you, not at you.  Comedy arose from any situation and Eric knew how to put a funny slant on it.  This success made him Britain's vest paid writer in due course, which must have pleased his family, and came in spite of going deaf.  He wore glasses which contained no glass, instead they conveyed sound vibrations to his ears so he could see.  With them he continued to act, even appearing in a 17th century comedy play wearing them!  His eyesight also failed but he continued to appear as often as possible.  A great wit, a great comedian and a great actor.  he gavce the impression of being a great man also.  His comedy will be much missed.

  

BBC

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As we have avoided pics of the park

As we have avoided pics of the park for a while I thought I would cease your anxious wait by allowing a peep at the gray, dreich, damp weather that in the UK we call 'summer.'  I would have preferred to leave the house around six and picture the sun rising slowly over the trees, however reality sank in and I stayed in bed until seven.  The rain, continuous and heavy, stopped about lunchtime.  Only then did I consider wandering out.  Having considered I waited until I was sure the rain would stay off.  After three I left the house and by ten minutes past it was raining again!

As I crossed the road back to my condominium I pondered on the history of the road I crossed.  For several thousand years people have trod this way.  Long before the Romans arrived I suspect a path through the woods which covered the area was formed by the feet of travellers.  With the early Britons established in what is now Colchester a firm trail must have led this way.  Roman engineers then remodelled the road according to their engineering principles and thus earning the way the term 'Stane Street.'  

Roman troops marching he fifteen miles probably encamped at this spot where the road from London to Lincolnshire crossed heading north.  Hence the beginning of a hamlet on this spot.  Later development around 1200 under Church auspices saw great growth for the market.  The number of animals brought along this road to market, the number of troops, the individual travellers over the years interest me.  Thousands, millions of journeys have been made over the years.  

I suspect most of them grumbled about the summer rain!

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Maudlin Monday

With the football season ending last night I am now able to concentrate on blog writing.  Isn't that good?  What?... oh.  


Anyway as the season has now ended this means there is no football until the new season begins again.  Luckily for you and me training began this morning at Tynecastle Park and the Scottish Cup Winners (5-1 over Hibernian you remember) will soon be up and running and ready for the new season.  Rejoice!


However this does leave a gap in the TV schedules.  Filling it with pap may suit some folks but not me.  The wireless offers more hope, especially a careful use of the BBC iplayer, which sadly is not available outside the UK I think.  In spite of the absurd renovation of the website, huge empty pages, large ugly picture of some unknown, and little content, rather like the person who designed it I fancy, the programmes do sometimes offer thirty minutes worth listening to.  Today I found a little to listen to as I busily scribbled down names from a  film made by a one time local cinema in 1919.  Two films in fact, each containing still pictures of men who were serving in the armed services at the time.  I found them fascinating!  Many names were new to me, indicating they survived the war, and several were the men I have been searching for!  Fantastic and indeed stunning to be honest, to see an actual photo of a man who's grave I have stood beside.  Suddenly the names on the memorial are that bit deeper and more relevant!  Sadly only a handful can be positively identified as yet, however others are likely our men, and hopefully we can bring this together before long.
if you are interested in two short silent films, six minutes long, they are found here and here.

After scrutinising the films, adding the names, and contemplating life the universe and everything I spent some time cogitating on my life so far.  Today I reached 61 years.  Again, as I think this the sky darkens, rain falls, a heavy weight comes upon me.  I took that heavy weight down to the pond in the gardens this morning and holding it tightly leapt in!

Two rather needlessly gruff gardeners pulled me out again, muttering about by-laws and the pond only being two feet six inches deep. How disappointing! They through me out and flung the weight after me.

Add to this the arrival of the 'Winter Fuel Payment' forms cheered me no end as this also tells me I am officially old. 

Rejoice, rejoice.....

Normal Service

Will be resumed as soon as the European Championships are over!

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Password

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This Means Trouble

On the 28th of June 1914 Gavrilo Princip, along with several others, attempted to assassinate Archduke Franz Ferdinand.  Princip succeeded where the others had failed, shooting both the Archduke and his wife.  As Ferdinand was heir to the throne of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and Princip a member of 'Young Bosnia,' a group supported by the Serbian 'Black Hand,' organisation, this meant trouble, and trouble in a big way.
Europe had been creating empires for some time.  These spent their time being wary and jealous of one another, fighting over land stolen from the peoples of Africa, India, South East Asia and wherever material gain was to be found.  Military alliances arose in order to prevent their empires destruction by other military alliances.  Pride, patriotism, selfishness and arrogance mixed well, but careful forethought was ignored.  How the spirit of the air laughed!
By 1914 the generals of all armies at least knew a war was inevitable, human nature being what it is, they also knew that if a war of movement was not won quickly a stalemate would lead to a situation they could not predict.  Millions of men were armed and ready for war, whether regulars, conscripts or reserves, millions were being spent on enlarging the navies, diplomatic sabres were rattling everywhere and a small blue fuse was all that was required to ignite a full scale, and welcomed by everybody, war. So it was in 1914. The death of the Archduke led Austria to demand 'satisfaction.' Serbia was invaded as Austria led her forces in a war to gain revenge, the blue fuse was lit.

While the British parliament urgently debated the 'Irish question,' fearing a civil war in that land, Earl Grey the foreign Minister interrupted their discussion to mention the death of the Archduke.  He added that this could be serious, they concurred but thoughtfully did nothing.  What could they do but wait?
Within days of the Austrian invasion (and defeat in the first battle!) Russia mobilised, Germany therefore mobilised, France mobilised, and suddenly Europe was at war!  Tsar & Kaiser, Emperor and King, politicians from all sides, had lost control of a situation.  A few stoutly preached peace, most raced willingly or unwillingly for war, caught up in forces out of their control.  
By the fourth of August, unexpectedly, Britain was at war!  Seven days from the assassination of a man in a nation most thought little of even if they knew of its existence a war that would cost ten million lives began amid much cheering!  This war was to leave a legacy that still resides with us, a war that changed the world for ever!


A week is indeed a long time in politics.  That shot meant trouble indeed!


Franz Ferdinand   Gavrilo Princip  The IWM Podcast refers to opinions from that time, listen in!

This means trouble also!  This is the dead PC that caused me so much grief.  This occurred when the engine, seen in the top left hand corner, began to smoke.  I soon realised this ought not to happen and switched off.  A new engine, or power unit if you wish to be fussy, arrived and has, after much blood, sweat and tears been placed in the proper place.  It works!  The fan goes round, the chip fan goes around, the hard drive fan goeth around!  The motherboard does not switch on.

Grrrrrrr!  I lay on the floor crying "Why me, why me..." for some time - before being thrown out of Sainsburys.  I think things may be getting to me.

Good job I am not one to complain.......


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Exercise

This building here houses one of those gyms so popular today with certain types.  Behind the darkened glass running along the length of the building, on the right of the picture, it is just possible to make out figures exercising.  These folks are using running machines, weight machines, stretching and straining and then returning to their cars to rush home and sit on the couch. As I passed, on my bike, I wondered if leaving the car at home and walking to the gym would be a better idea?  Maybe walking more, sitting less, and dumping the TV might be beneficial for the body and cheaper on the wallet?  Spending time at a  desk, in a car, on a couch I can assure you does the figure no good whatsoever.  I say this as  a lithe ten stone muscular chap myself  (pictures available for cash) but observing the people in this town shows me I am right.  The idea of paying money, and a lot of money at that, to exercise after a week of sloth might seem a good one, but is it really?  Do the girls who use the gym do so for health reasons or for their looks?  Are the men thinking a muscular body will bring the lassies rolling in, I have never found so myself, personality tends to be better I find, or not in my case.  Looks attract but many lovely girls are just poison, and muscle bound males are often as thick as their biceps.  I confess it is good to feel healthy, we all benefit from that, but less sloth leads to health cheaply.  Men digging holes in the road have cardiac responses of athletes, can we be surprised while working at such a job?  Builders must be of similar health, yet a muscle bound clot in a suit may be more trustworthy to some because of his outfit.    For me it's time to be healthy and I once again attempt to exercise.  I done five minutes yesterday, walked around the block, and went back to bed.  Today I left out the walk.....




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How Old?

 

                                                                       Young at Heart

                                                                         Slightly older

                                                                       In Other Places

 

                                                                          Don't Worry

                                                                    About Your Health

                                                                          It'll Go Away

 

                                                                           I'm Retired

                                                                 I was Tired Yesterday

                                                                I'm Tired Again Today

 

                                                                            At My Age ....

                                                                    Happy Hour is a Nap

 

                                                                        Live Each Day

                                                                    Like It's Your Last

                                                          One day, You'll Get it Right

 

                                                                           Life is Easy

                                         It's the Freakin' People Who Make It Difficult!

 

                                                            I Always Cook With Wine

                                                Sometimes I Even Add it to the Food

                                                                I'm Speeding Because

                                                            I Have to get There Before

                                                             I Forget Where I'm Going

 

                                                                           At My Age

                                                                        "Gettin' Any?"

                                                                         Means Sleep

 

                                                                Be Nice to Your Kids

                                                              They Will Choose Your

                                                                      Nursing Home

 

                                                              I Believe in Having Sex

                                                                    On the First Date

                                                                  At My Age, There

                                                               May Not Be a Second

 

                                                   The Only Trouble with Retirement

                                                     You Never Get a Damn Day Off

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Big Town Again

'The Marquis' is a pub on the North Hill created out of a 16th century dwelling.  Timber framed, black and white frontage I didn't bother picturing as the sun hid at the time.  The doorway caught my attention, pub doorways do catch some of my readers attention I know, and this featured two faces, one carved into each wooden corner.  Whether for decoration or some other reason I fail to say because as usual I can find no info on this building online, just details of the pub itself.  However it appears they have preserved much similar woodwork inside.  I have to plead poverty of course and walk past in spite of searing hunger and exhaustion.

The plastic pipe is not 16th century.

This big beast is 'Jumbo!'  He once supplied the towns water but now is undergoing renovation as a home for some lucky (wealthy) person.  I cut off the bottom as it is hidden behind wooden fencing etc belonging to the developers.  The last time I looked every ledge all the way up was home to the pigeon, masses of them, and I suspect the first job will be to insert netting to prevent that if someone will actually live there.  The view from the top must be fantastic!  The town spread out beneath you, the river leading to the estuary in the distance, the roads running off in all directions and the rain clouds hiding all this from view!  The Romans were not keen on the weather either!

The Romans were keen on building however and also they became very keen on defence at this spot.  What is shown here are the remains of a Roman Gateway known today as the Balkerne Gate. Having invaded successfully in 43 AD the Romans settled down in their small city then known as Colonia Victricencis (City of Victory, but you knew that.)  This settlement was unfortified at the time, which was unfortunate as the Roman in charge upset a woman after her man, the local King, died.  He took all she had, raped her daughters and killed one or two.  As we all know that sort of thing means trouble.  Boudica decided to vent her wrath by burning  Colonia Victricencis to the ground, along with all therein. The only building to survive was the base of the basillica, this now forms the base of the 'castle.' Rome was not best pleased. After removing the Queen of the Iceni and her threat a wall was constructed around the town. She visited in 60/61 AD and the walls have been dated to around 65-80 AD. Lucky for us this almost complete gate survived by being hidden by overgrowth which preserved it in reasonable condition. Around a hundred years ago the structure was dug out and forms a real historical connection to the Roman era we have all read about. During Victorian times the then owner of the pub next door demolished half the wall to allow his guests to see the new railway. This brought him much in the way of custom then and abuse from history lovers today! It was then the pub became known as the 'Hole in the Wall.' The floor of the gateway has been somewhat modernised to cope with visitors and occasional repairs have taken place but most of the wall dates from the first century and reveals the Roman thoroughness when it came to defence. They did enjoy their engineering did the Romans.

Before the pub landlord intervened the gate was double in size and would possibly have been dedicated to the Emperor Claudius.  He had visited while claiming the victory of 43 AD and then received the surrender of the Britons there.  He then hopped of home before he caught cold.  He also named his son Britannicus, and hoped he would become heir, however the lad  was bumped him off later to prevent this.  That nice Tacitus tells us more about that intrigue.  This gate, the oldest and best preserved, faced west and lined up with Londinium, a place you may have heard off.  The opening on the left, a round room, possibly became the guard room but I wonder if anyone actually knows?  Do tell if you know.  The lads needed somewhere to hide when Joe Public was around didn't they?   I love the red bricks used by the Romans.  There are vast numbers on this wall, and indeed on many ancient buildings throughout areas they dominated.  These strong bricks have been reused in houses, walls and church buildings and stand out well.  The soldiers would have been the ones building the wall.  This kept them occupied in between bashing any who may have decided to rebel.  In 'Agricola,' Tacitus tells of his father in laws work in taming this island.  he is accurate in every detail I am sure.   

You wish a close up?  Sure!

A few modern bricks inserted to stop collapse in places but the nature of the structure clear from the top of the gate.  The road outside sinks away but this came from a more recent development, nevertheless the wall plus the previous ditch dug by the Britons left the defenders high above anyone who wished to attack.  The name Balkerne comes from 'baulk,' as in Roman times the gate was baulked up, closed up and sealed, other gates having come into preferred use it seems.  Road widening and later building or renovations have removed almost all traces of previous gates.  One or two remnants remain but nothing as good as this gate.  During excavations in the sixties when the road works were undertaken archaeologists discovered a great deal about the Roman occupation and later times.  They decided to make use of the gate and as the roadworks involved a bridge over the roadway many people pass through today.

More, much more, can be found at Camulos and that is worth a read to those who find such things fascinating.  I recommend this.

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A Man's World

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How to be an idiot No 89.

Like debt 'idiocy' runs in our family.  Great Granddad Robert was after all the one who looked down the muzzle of his gun at Ladysmith muttering "I can't see the problem," before getting a close up view of what the problem was.  Granddad also used the term "You and who's army rather loosely," in the 'Red Lion,' before discovering just who's army those Gordon Highlanders belonged to.  My dad cleverly bought my Mum to improve the intellectual gene pool.  She often said she had never had a drink since they met back in 1936 and I begin to wonder why?  Dad of course was famous for going with his mate to enlist in 1925 and finding himself alone in China after his mate was rejected because of 'flat feet!'  He also managed to create me!  


My education in stupidity goes back a long way. Putting my hand into a tape recorder in 1968, to have a feel of the bits inside, while leaving it plugged in and allowing the back of my hand to touch something live was a shock that remains with me to this day. While at primary school I helped my mother clean up after tea by pouring the old chip fat from the chip pan down the sink. It took dad three days to clear that lot. Having watched as the room was decorated in lovely Heart of Midlothian coloured wallpaper I proceeded, as eleven year old's do, to cut open a discarded golf ball to see what was inside. What was inside appeared to be hundreds of tightly woven elastic bands surrounding a small whitish ball. As I stuck the blunt knife in the ball it exploded releasing a stream of white gunk that flew up the newly papered wall. The phrase "I think I am in trouble," arises around this point.

Numerous other instances of idiocy have arisen, the times I have attempted to pick up a tray with bare hands taken straight from the oven, getting on a bus to discover it was going in the wrong direction, indicating to females that their bum is 'blocking the light,' suggesting another should redecorate three days after she had just done so, all these could be construed as idiotic. As does walking home late at night as the Notting Hill Carnival was ending and finding thousands of young black youths coming the other way yet making no attempt to avoid them certainly was a piece of idiot behaviour that startles me yet!

So it was no surprise when, tired as I am from the bug, rising early, and suffering malnutrition from the scraps I scavenge from the back of restaurants, it is no surprise that last night things went haywire. Once more the evening arrived, this time the evening of the 'longest day,' although the clouds and rain made this difficult to verify around here - again! The evening arrived with a promise of European Championship football! Now it has become my habit since obtaining this beastly laptop that hates me to go to bed and watch football in the evenings. The man below gets disturbed by loud noise such as coughing or breathing, and certainly was not happy when I played Lynnard Skynnard that time I thought he was out! So to avoid the axe through the head again I take the beast to bed and watch football in comfort. Very different from the days of long ago when watching football from a damp, cold terracing brought bronchitis and head wounds from flying beer cans, and all that for a poor mid table finish at the end!

The first half of the game went much as some expected. The Czechs made a good start, fell away and Ronaldo spend much time posing for the cameras. "He lifts his eyes to heaven more than the Pope does," said one commentator. However come half time, and after my mug of cocoa, I then decided to publish a quick post. Now the beast does not like watching TV and publishing posts at the same time that much, it strains the memory, so I put up a short but deeply profound post. I decided not to review it as the teams were returning to the field. I posted the profound and found the profound had another of those format problems. That's three in a row. I then went back and fixed it, but found the format had altered another area. This was fixed but not fixed. Time was running out and the game kicking off. Again I fixed the problem and again another fault arose. Grrrrrrrr!

I was of course using only one browser to do two things. One tab had the football (BBC1 iPlayer) and the other had Blogger. Now the BBC website has been getting updated recently, and a fine old mess they have made of this! The iplayer has this week added a large button allowing the viewer to go back to the beginning of the programme, a button that is far too big in my opinion and needs alteration. The laptop keyboard not helping here as the letters are too near one another.  Switching from the mess that now was Blogger to the football to check progress I accidentally touched the return to beginning button. This took me back over an hour and a half to the beginning of the whole show!! So I attempted to 'fast forward' but this only went half way through the first half. By now my language was something akin to Arkkadian! Vile thoughts of retribution on the iplayers designers head filled my mind as I closed the tab, began a new one and fought for the football again, this time succeeding and at the right place. Once more unto Blogger and once more attempt to update and once more (amid much yelling that possibly made my neighbour go out for a walk in the rain) I failed. I decided time was against me and I must delete the whole post! This I did. But I had not done so! Oh no, the professional idiot had deleted the futile post from the day before and had not yet perused the one comment thereon! I deleted the profound, but by now less interesting, post informing the blogger and iplayer geeks what I considered them to be. More gnashing of teeth than even Ronaldo could offer after diving and claiming a penalty was my lot by now! Incidentally my description of the BBC web designer by now would make an ideal experiment in one of those hospitals that specialise in psychotic killers. My consideration for the man who set up the Blogger was along similar lines. Returning once again to the football I found it difficult to concentrate on the shirt pulling hordes as the room was by now filled with steam that had emanated from my ears.

After Portugal scored an excellent goal. making me glad there would not be an extra thirty minutes, my head would not stand that. I lay for an hour and tried to ponder my reactions. Was the tiredness was more than I realised, the bug was a pest right enough, is blogging late was really a good idea, should I have used two browsers, and was it really cocoa I had been drinking?


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