Flippant Friday

Tactful

Austerity knocks on the Chancellors door.

Rev I.M. Jolly

.

It's a Terrible Thing....

When the good pictures run out and there is nothing left to say.  However while passing through Shenfield Station I saw this run down apparition parked at the far side.  A guards 'brake van' from the days of long ago.  Goods wagons in the past had no brakes, they merely clinked and clunked against one another when the train slowed down or stopped, the brake van would be used to control long goods trains, often carryinhuge amounts of weight.  When young, the shunter  sorting wagons far from us on a dark night could be heard at my home, the soothing clinking sound coming miles through the darkness.  No such sounds exists today, and the Edinburgh I once knew is far noisier at night than it was then.  Mind you down here in the wilderness the night is quieter but no romantic noises are ever heard, unless you count the Sainsburys lorry passing by of course.  I wonder what this brake in need of refurbishment is doing there?  Please explain.

At Stratford the underground, national rail and the Docklands light Railway meet together along with other transport termini.  A huge amount of work has been done here since I last passed through.  The Olympic Games led to much improvement (they say) and the Euro trains also helped.  However so many of the buildings are modern, shapeless or just plain ugly to me that I find myself thinking the acres of electric pylons and rail lines of the past more worthy of praise.  Note also the strange yellow, blue and white shapes in front of the office block.  I think these are an attempt to deflect noise away from the buildings, I wonder if it works?

Talking of 'dereliction' reminds me of this picture I took while passing by Waterloo on Saturday.  Dismal and gray, and this just after noon at that, this was the best pic my weary hulk could obtain of that palace of rogues.  I see what looks like a large poster high up in the middle of the building, I think it reads 'Guy Fawkes wanted, Apply within.'

That's my lovely warm Christmas now at an end.  No more living amongst warm, generous lovely people, no more good food that has taste, no more warmth and happiness, reality begins to hit home now.  So some rant or other will appear soon, grumbling and complaining and scowling at the world will once again be my lot I suspect.  We'll see.    

.

Cold and Wet

The day we wandered to Poole Bay the weather was cold and wet, the wind blew a gale, and the inclination to believe this was a summers day was strong!  Such was the power of the wind that holding the camera was difficult, hence the pictures are not sharp, and the water was jumping over the edge towards us as we walked.  Many of the small dinghy's near the waters edge were in two minds as to whether they ought to just sink the 18 inches to the sea bed or remain half submerged.  In the distance stands Brownsea Island where Baden Powell held the first Boy Scout Jamboree before the Great War.  Owned by a rich woman for years the island became protected, so we were not allowed to walk over the water to visit.  Instead we forced our caps down over our heads and returned to the car.

Winds like this bring out the windsurfers and many are found in the safe bay area.  Only one was there today, many others crammed into a large van pulling a trailer of such boards and resisted the temptation to catch frostbite.  This fellow spent some time roaming around at speed, falling over, struggling up, and racing off again.  The fact that the bay slopes also encourages water skiing!  The houses overlooking this point start at around two and a half million and rise steeply thereafter. 

   

The calmer waters around Christchurch suffered the same cold wind but revealed the money available for some in these days of austerity.  The narrow opening from the Bay ensures this is a quiet place to moor.  Large numbers of boats can be seen sheltering here on Google Maps.  Personally I find the hard work involved in sailing such craft needless now that motors are available, some folks however take their boats around the world, fighting the raging seas by pulling on ropes and watching the waves at varying angles.  

I have to admit however this looked a fine little ship to me.  Looks older than the rest or maybe it is my fertile imagination.  Does it ever see the sea?  Has this wee boat visited lands afar off and have stories to tell?  It seems a shame to buy such as a mere 'tax dodge' as some do, or waste thousands on a boat and never use it.  The idea of sitting aboard such and just letting the world pass by while drinking tea and cogitating on a fine day has great appeal to me however.  What thinkest thou? 

   

.

Waterloo Station

Waterloo Station boasts very this impressive entrance which doubles as a memorial to the railwaymen who served during the Great War.  A fantastic offering for the many men who fell, their names are listed just inside the entrance.  The armies in France required professional railway operators specifically for the British forces.  These ensured the goods and men reached the intended area on mainline and light railways throughout the British lines.  Hard work, under fire often, just as dangerous as well as those who served in the army directly.  The picture is difficult to obtain because of the road traffic behind.  Most using this station will enter and leave by the underground entrances rather than this door, I wonder how many who do come this way stop to look?  

In spite of carrying a ludicrously heavy bag I wandered through the maze of tunnels under the street to the embankment in an attempt to obtain a picture or two.  Naturally the drizzle came down, the place was crowded with damp tourists getting in the way, I was tired, afraid of missing the train connection and found the whole experience of being back in London quite unsettling.  For 21 years I lived here, I thought I knew the place and was disconcerted to discover how my unfit hulk could no longer run about like I used to here.  What would have taken ten minutes now appeared to take for ever!  The bag did not help of course.

This colossal brute was not here in my day.  Who dumped this here?  And why is there a long, damp, queue waiting in the drizzle to climb aboard and slowly go around in a circle aboard this creature?  A view from high up can be a marvellous experience but I wonder about being trapped in a space bubble while doing so myself.  It seems somewhat out of place against the huge imperialist buildings and associated history all around it.  

I made it to Waterloo on the two hour and five minute journey from Bournemouth.  Because of engineering work on the line between here and Poole the trains were often using the wrong platforms.  This meant I followed instructions on one platform and almost ended up aboard this train which landed in Manchester!  Good job that porter was there!  The difference in the people aboard the intercity trains and those on the underground remains notable.  While there are some similarities the step down from the train to the tube is like entering a dark world, a darkness not caused by being in a tunnel either.  I'm just glad I used the new Jubilee line and not the old Northern!  Could I live there now?  Even if I had the money I wonder if I could cope.

.

2013

A Good New Year to all my good Friends!

The year ahead will bring its share of wars and rumours of war, destruction, floods, terrors, and woe.  Hunger and thirst will rise and fall, nations will cry against nations, prices will rise, weight will increase, disease will remain.  Murder, crime and corruption will continue.  Life will proceed as it always has and will until the end of time.

However you and I can make our world a better place.

Where we are depends on us, not on the circumstances around us.  These will often be awful and difficult to bear yet we can help one another to make life a little better by our response.  

So let's ignore those problems we are not directly involved with, let us instead concentrate on what we can do to make a better world for ourselves and others.  

You can do this if you choose to.

Anyway I'm glad I know you.

. 

Christchurch Priory

To get away from her indoors for a few hours out of the house he and I drove around the edge of town looking at the horrendous flooding that has occurred in this region.  Huge acres were covered in water, much more than in previous years.  The fields were covered in numbers of swans rather than horses.  Interesting to look at from the safety of the car, although not when the stuff swamped the roads, but not what I would wish outside my door.  Driving through some small interesting red bricked villages, never designed for vehicle traffic, we arrived eventually at Christchurch where we sauntered among the Boxing Day walkers braving the howling wind.  The swans eagerly gathered around those foolish enough to wear themselves out and sit on the sheltered benches for a sandwich.  The tide here was so high at one point it had actually reached as high as the benches, these were covered with the detritus left behind by the water.

Much wealth found around this area.  Even in the days of long ago this area was inhabited, it was well developed by the time the Romans arrived and later saw the Saxons move in.  It is thought a chap named Birnius erected a minster here around the late 600's.  This was demolished by the Norman chaps once they took over and in their humble manner they rebuilt the place in solid stone.  The church was part of the Augustinian Monastery which began in 1094 and lasted as such until Henry 8 dissolved the monasteries in1539 to find himself an heir. It Typical Norman stone arches stand proud and are always worth a look in my (very) humble opinion.

The 'quire' stalls are decorated with intricate carvings.  It was here the monks would worship during compline or matins.  Whether the constant construction and reconstruction bothered them I know not.  Today I notice the stalls have red cushions on them, I wonder if this was always the case?  

Christchurch took this name in the 12th century when the story of the 'miraculous beam' began.  Since the dissolution the church has served as a parish church for the area.  Just as well this is a wealthy area, the upkeep must be enormous.  It must always have cost a fortune to keep the fabric of the building in shape.  The number of masons and such like who have worked here must be enormous also.  The carvings found here are worth a look.  When in such places I cannot help but think of the thousands who have passed through for whatever reason in the past, some leaving their graffiti as they did so, others their memory is found on a tablet folks rich enough have placed on the walls.     

Today the vicar is a man who actually knows his God, something unusual amongst Anglicans I can tell you, however he is far from perfect, he is an American!  Imagine!   The Victorians naturally decided the vicar required a home equated with his status and a red brick house stands at the edge of the grounds.  As always I cannot ignore the lovely door, note the beginning of the yellow lines at the bottom of the steps.

What a way to spend Boxing Day, while stayed where she ought to, cooking lunch for our return.  What a great woman!  The one thing that keeps her inside at such times is the idea of passing by the waterside, especially in a cold wind.  She hates that.  Such trips ensure a constant supply of fabulous dinners.   

2012 ends soon and I will be glad to see the back of the year.  Hogmany will hopefully bring a better year tomorrow.  I hope so for all our sakes.   

   

O Happy Week!

What a lovely Christmas time that was!  I was so happy I never thought about the missing laptop until I wanted to play around with the photos I'd taken.  Goodness gracious, who would have thunk it?  A whole week without reading the online Mail, grumpy folks on football forums, 
and spam merchants clogging up the web.  Wonderful!  Of course Mr Anonymous had left several thousand posts for me to remove but that has been done and the papers really don't need reading do they?  

I started on the Monday in the hope of missing much of the weekend traffic, and bar a pair of women gossiping behind me forcing the aged Walkman out of the bag the train was quite enjoyable.  Of course I had to change at the new interchange at Stratford and climb aboard the Jubilee line.  How long since I endured an underground journey I fail to remember but little appears to have changed.  Almost no English to be seen, which is not something to complain about, no smiling faces, no helpful gestures, no view out of the window after we left West Ham.  Glancing around I noted the majority no longer read newspapers, now it is ipads, tablets and the like.  My Walkman hid quietly at this point.  At Waterloo the one real problem was the daft idea to buy a coffee before boarding.  There I was suitcase in one hand, coffee in another, and no hand left to put the ticket through the gate!  A smiling lady employee used her key, rushed through, smiled and let me wait outside!  Grrrr!  However I managed to balance the £2.05p worth of coffee (worth about 15p actually) on the far side of the gate, maneuver the ticket into the slot and barge through without spilling anything.   

  

How lovely to stay in a clean house, warm, well fed, and not required to do anything but look out the very wide windows at the birdies squabbling among the feeders hanging in the garden.  The Robins, Blackbirds, Finches and Tits fed happily undisturbed, bar the intrusion of a Buzzard which spent an hour or two hiding in the corner until we decided it was better chased off.  Having found the garden empty on arrival, been fooled by a fluttering leaf to dive to the lawn the bird sneekily hid behind the garden shed and watched carefully through the windows at the feeders.  You may find it difficult to believe how enjoyable the garden scene is but I assure you he and I spent many an hour, with her grumbling in the background, discussing the activities of the feathered folks.  Of course it would have been better still if the sun had shown up a little more often, sulking behind clouds was it's major occupation most of the time. 

Can you see the Buzzard?

Some folks have difficulty finding one family, I have two!  How lucky to be able to find two families!  Not only that I get on with them.  I suppose I would not be there otherwise.  Work and poverty stopped me getting down there for years and it was a week of restful tender loving care - for me at least!  So much so that I spent hours watching the kind of TV I would normally abhor!  More than this I found myself enjoying what was on offer and getting involved with the hero's problems.  The feeble young Viking befriending the injured Dragon brought tears to my eyes.  Quite why he and the girl hero had American accents and the older Vikings Scots accents escaped us.  Do Americans not realise Vikings (who do not have horns on their helmets) come from Scandinavia   Look it up on the map!   So slouched on the couch, yet another mug of tea in hand, chocolates around, possibly home made fruitcake in hand, I passed the week amongst intelligent conversation and laughter.  Made a change from talking to myself.

A trip to Poole Bay to be blown away and around the corner to watch the ferry and sit admiring the view of the sea.  Gales of wind blowing folks hats from their heads while aboard the Swanage Ferry gave us a laugh.  The view gave us reason to sit and stare for a while.  There is something healing to the soul sitting and watching a view, either of the sea or the land.  Some wrongly call this 'spiritual,' what they mean in 'tranquil.'  We need deep inside to get away from the workshop or office, the sink or the routine and refresh the mind by sitting and just watching the almost still view.  Try it today!

The view of 'Old Harry,' the rocks at the far end of the bay from high above on Canford Cliffs was well worth a look.  'Old Harry' is the solitary rock sticking up at the end of the land in the centre of the top picture.  What a day to be there!  This has been a favourite view of mine since the day I first came here in the late 70's.  The beach below is clean sand, well controlled by the lifeguards, although only one dunderhead was actually swimming in the freezing water, and the long slow walk along the front is one I long to do once again, possibly next time.  

The view in the other direction, to the left gave a clear view of the Isle of Wight.  The chalk cliffs reflecting the sun.  Wonderful!  The flats behind us along Cliff Drive in Poole have this vista daily and I want it also.  Please lend me half a million and I'll pay it back  as soon as I can.    

Now I am back in the smelly home with a bagfull of dirty laundry. Rejoice, rejoice......   On the other hand I have dozens of the other photos to post, can you wait....?

I hope your Christmas week was a good as mine!

.

The Reason For Christmas

.

Christmas 2012

As I'm off (hopefully) for the week may I wish all my online friends

A Happy Christmas

And may this week be all you wish it to be!

.  

Penguins

Dead Penguins - I never knew this!

Did you ever wonder why there are no dead penguins on the ice in Antarctica ?

Where do they go?

Wonder no more ! ! !

It is a known fact that the penguin is a very ritualistic bird which lives an extremely ordered and complex life. The penguin is very committed to its family and will mate for life, as well as maintain a form of compassionate contact with its offspring throughout its life.

If a penguin is found dead on the ice surface, other members of the family and social circle have been known to dig holes in the ice, using their vestigial wings and beaks, until the hole is deep enough for the dead bird to be rolled into, and buried.

The male penguins then gather in a circle around the fresh grave and sing: 

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

"Freeze a jolly good fellow."
"Freeze a jolly good fellow."

The Shortest Day

At last!  The darkness has descended and the night has begun!  At last the days will begun to stay around that little bit longer.  At last the year is turning and Spring is on the way, after a couple of months of hail, snow, wind and freezing weather of course!  How lovely to think there will be more light, buds on trees, blossoms and gaiety all around once more.  The shortest day celebrated the fact by almost allowing the sun to shine.  The rain fell where it belonged, elsewhere, and when I sauntered around the town the clouds had a bright golden edge to them.  

I wanted to do a post full of insight and significance but the bug has worn me out again.  My little brain is dull tonight, and wasn't much better this morning.  As I did the women's work today, hoovering and such like, I left the front door ajar.  An ambulance paramedic approached enquiring for a shop selling hot food.  When I have a bug the mind often blocks things and as I attempted to send her to the bakers shops for overpriced pies and soup I could not remember the shops name, it has only come to mind now I write this, 'Greggs.'  It has taken all day to arrive, and possibly it has taken the ambulance crew all day to find the shop after my directions!  Why does this 'block' happen I wonder?  I am sure my mother had this, and I suspect it runs in the family, like debt.  

I am worried about my week away over Christmas.  I will not be able to take the laptop as they use Sky and not Talk Talk.  There is growing within me a sensation of desperation here.  A week without fingertapping on this wee keyboard.  A week without emails, a week without anon spamming me, a week without contact with the real world.  A week in which I will have to talk to people!  Oooooh.  I think I am off to bed, I feel giddy.....

.

Bright Lights

Howling wind, pouring rain, freeezing cold (this is the weather forecast) and in the shopping centre we have a man selling Candy Floss!  Now when young I LOVED candy floss, who didn't? However I just could not find enough pennies in my pockets (full of holes) when required so had to do without.  As it happens the man appears to have gone walkies so I am out of luck anyway.  I was hoping for pictures of people with brollies against the bright lights but it did not work out they way I wanted.  In fact it is very difficult to picture rain.  You can photograph umbrellas, rain drops, rain on windows, puddles etc, but rain itself, even when heavy, is hard to picture.  Another problem is that the photographer gets wet, and I can do without that thank you!

Roll on tomorrow, the Shortest Day!

.

UK Sunshine

The TV these days is stuffed full of adverts crammed with smiling people offering things we don't need.  Glitter abounds among the adverts, whitened teeth constantly flash, fat red clothed overpaid men insult the intelligence by playing Santa (Father Christmas to the middle classes) and amongst the gifts, false happiness,  bright lights, and girls giving the 'glad eye' to the producer of soap operas, we find snow!  Snow!  The horrible stuff that blocks the roads, stops the trains, grounds planes, destroys industry, kills and maims thousands, and NEVER FALLS AT CHRISTMAS!  The chances of snow in the UK at Christmas anywhere south of Aberdeen is  as likely as my Grandmother playing professional football.  And we all know she preferred rugby!  Our weather, and years of experience proves this, is yucky almost all the year round.  Some times the summer is long and hot, sometimes the winter is full of snow, but only every twenty years or so.  The adverts, made in May, are full of the stuff!  Shopping centres full of those false smiles are surrounded by snow, yet not one damp patch appears on screen!  Sleighs fly through clear skies over a snowbound world yet never at any time does that blasted sleigh run into dark brooding clouds.  Nor at any time do the reindeer smash head first into one of the passing 'Easyjet' flights heading for Christmas sunshine, with real sun, in the Med.  This I feel is something of a shame in my view.  Today the shops are full of miserable unsmiling folks fighting over mince pies, Christmas cake and Turkeys.  The gray sky darkens as evening approaches (roll on the 21st!) and my picture captures the sun almost at the zenith.  No snow, just mirk!  

Bah!

AND another thing, why are adverts for perfume so bloody awful?  Each one makes less sense than the one before.  Either a slapper rolling around as if on some drug, a bunch of 'yoof' dancing badly to aboriginal music, or a blue tinted one where some bint fancies a bloke posing at the microphones.  Poor lass, such men are usually queens dear.  Read the Sunday papers!  Why do these ads have to be so obscure?   Could it be they like the 'wrinkle cream' and 'face paint' ads which are banal and meaningless, appeal to women?  If so take the vote from them now!  The cost of each bottle of this pong is enormous.  Huge profits can be made by the producers.  Many years ago at work I used to see invoices from the producers of these substances, the price they charged was huge, add to this the companies profit margin and overheads and lassies pay enough to clear the Greek debt by the end of January!  Someone somewhere is making a lot of money out of little. 

Bah!    

.

Megalithic, Mesolithic, The Past

I bought some reduced price books from the museum a few weeks ago and have been enjoying myself pondering life here several thousand years BC.  After the 'Ice Age' went away, and some occasionally fear may not have gone that far away, the land soon sprouted grasses, trees, animals and human life.  At that time the British Isles was connected to the European landmass until the melting ice caps flood water created the North Sea and flooded the area now known by some as 'Doggerland.'  Fishermen regularly collect bones of Mammoths and other long dead creatures from this area, the depth not being great.  

Peoples spread from the continent and made their way to the very tip of the land mass.  However it was not until around 6000 BC or so that they took to creating the many mammoth monuments that dot the land.  These often took the form of tombs, sometimes containing bones, sometimes not, and when bones were found these were often incomplete!  Later occasional pieces of pottery were to be found.  Different areas offered a variety of such tombs, some containing several niches, others additional tombs were added much later and the 'barrow' increased on size, often by a large mass.  Usually these comprised earth piled high, in northern regions stones expertly worked together creating very large barrows.  Many still remain almost untouched, others have been flattened by farming methods over many centuries.  

Winterbourne

Questions remain regarding the ceremonies that took place at such places, no writing was left, and the lack of personal material implies we may never know what really went on there.  A few years ago a man from Madagascar was taken to one area of 'Standing Stones.'  He was informed that no-one could understand their meaning.  In surprise he mentioned that it was obvious, these were commemorating the dead!  That is what happens in his society, and it is a decent enough observation, although no other evidence appears.  Did thousands gather to remember their dead, the past generations?  Could it be that these Barrows and Standing stones were less to do with the solstice and more to bring peoples together?  Today we so similar.  Families gather at weddings and funerals.  Nations gather at Armistice Day, or around major national events.  Sometimes football matches can be used in this manner.  Did Stone age man use ceremonies, possibly sporting or other activities, and certainly feasting at some places, to unite the peoples of an area, sometimes a quite large area at that?  What a shame they did not write this down.  

What happened before such tombs were built is generally unknown.  Hunter gatherers left little in the way of memorials,and possibly were constantly on the move.  It would be a more static society that combined to erect large monuments.  Possibly these were stating this was their area to outsiders, possibly it helped them sink roots deep into the land through their ancestors.  Nations need a 'myth' to build their self esteem.  The Athenians held to the belief that they had 'always belonged in Attica,' even though historians indicate they actually moved in from the north some years before.  The 'Myth' keeps the nation together.  Whatever the reason almost suddenly things changed.  Possibly it was wealth, or an increased population, but most likely ideas coming through contact with the continent.  The large works, which may have taken generations to build, were no longer constructed.  These continued to serve as places for ceremonials however, but individual tombs began to appear, and these began to contain grave goods.  

Wessexarch.co.uk

All this changed when the Romans arrived.  Not only did the world around them become Romanised, the incoming gods accepted, but the arrival of Christianity saw the end of any connection with past ceremonials.  The Druids concerned were probably wiped out by Paulinus before Boudica began her revolt.  She and hers followed almost immediately.  Six, seven or ten thousand years ago people just like you and me wandered the land, hunting, farming, building shelters, developing tools, and going forth and multiplying, and evidence for that is found amongst some items left at the meeting places!  Did they have a philosophy?  Did they sit at the door of their round huts or cave dwellings staring at the sky and wondering?  Was the daily struggle such that little time was left for cogitation, or did they just wish they could watch TV and read the tabloid press?  One thing is sure, the women gossiped, the men boasted of their imported stone hammer from Poland, someone was proud of their expensive pot with intriguing design brought from far away.  Human nature never changes, whatever the culture.              

I find them fascinating, and several 'Time Team' programmes this week on one of the obscure channels have encouraged my fascination, with their existence in those days.  How trees could be felled by brute force and stone axes, flint could be made into a razor sharp knife, and deer antlers could be used to create the huge embankments and Barrows, and later hill forts, all makes me wonder at the human ability to make the best of the circumstances.  Great stuff, but I am glad I live in the days of photography and laptops myself.  Especially when the weather is rough.

.

Genius

.

Rotten Rain

Trapped by pouring rain today.  Snow, wind, ice, igloos and passing Eskimos, now rain!  Bah!
Still, I managed to finally almost get my Christmas dinner sorted.  I think I will be at sun drenched Bournemouth from next Sunday for a week.  I have not been there for several years and am looking forward to this.  On the other hand I am not used to being with people all day everyday and this will be a strain.  Also the laptop will not work as they are on a different ISP.  This means there is a distinct possibility I may go mad!  Of course I will save money on electricity and gas, and waste it on travel, them, and whatever I find to waste it on.  How will you cope without me? What?........oh!

A chap has appeared on TV playing Chopin's 'Etudes,' whatever they are.  This is something similar and the intelligentsia among you will appreciate this.

 

.

The Guilty, The Smug and the Suffering.

These are the guilty.
The coalition of Conservative and Liberal-Democrats who have wormed their way into power and smugly go about their business while the nation suffers.  

For instance, Culture Secretary Maria Miller is happily forcing gay marriage on both the nation and the Churches.  While this fascist like approach pleases some, mostly in parliament, she herself is now to be investigated for possibly, note the words, fiddling her housing claims.  Some £90,000 is the money involved.  An appropriate body will investigate and it may well be she is found innocent of all wrong.  We are right to wonder if the 'Daily Telegraph,' who were about to break the story,  claim that a No 10 junior informed the DT editor the running this story may be 'unwise.'  Hmmmm.  Oh yes, Maria is also leading the investigation into the possible new Press Control Commission, if there is to be one.  Two sides dishing the dirt.  Maria may well be innocent of all wrong, others however have been guilty.

Ian Duncan Smith is the Tory hatchet man determined to make the sick work so as to stop paying benefits.   He went to a decent school where he failed well.  Failed academically and ended up in the army.  This used to be where the idiot son of the wealthy would be dumped.  Ian wandered about Rhodesia, which we lost, and Northern Ireland, carrying a bag for the Major General there.  He did not patrol the streets, or see action  it appears.    He spent time on the dole, something he now thinks criminal, living off the state happily enough (and claiming child benefit for all the kids when they arrived) until a state training course (free) enabled him to get work selling arms to beloved tyrants for GEC-Marconi.  Honesty and integrity not required here I suggest.  He then showed admirable understanding and vision by moving to a property firm where the market collapsed and he was thrown onto the street!  He then joined 'Janes,' selling gun magazines and worming his way up the ladder.  He decided to climb on the state employed ladder once again but his attempt to become an MP failed at the first go.  he eventually obtained the job that lines pockets and has wormed his way here into the cabinet.  From this position he is determined to get the 2,51 million unemployed into the 400,000 vacancies.  I mentioned his academic career failed didn't I?  To ensure those claiming sick benefit, under whatever name it is called now, he constantly implies they are scrounging, as he once did, and ensures ATOS claims they are fit to work, even if they are dying.  A man only the Daily Mail/Telegraph reader and the Tea Party could admire.

The suffering is interesting.  Note one ex-soldier.
Alex Smith, a Gulf War veteran (once described as 'hero' by the smug lot) has been forced out of work by an infection that has damaged his heart and leaves him '15 seconds from death.'  He awaits a second operation, the first installed a device which pumps blood around his body constantly.  A walk with the dog leaves him exhausted and he is unfit for work.  Until now that is!  Ian Duncan Smith and his ATOS friends have decided he is indeed 'fit to work.'  A man at deaths door?  How can this be IDS?  The result of this is his benefit has been cut, possibly they hope he will die of cold?  It sounds the Conservative way.  Daily we hear of such stories.  The man told he is fit to work who died the next day, the young male paralysed since birth 18 years before told to attend a job interview when he cannot move and is too mentally damaged to understand the letter!  It doesn't stop there does it IDS?

Today we read of Patricia Taylor.  She has been divorced, has developed cancer, lost her job and is unable to pay the mortgage.  The bank, Barclays, claim they attempted to help her but have now reclaimed the house and flung her out onto the street.  Over 50,000 are homeless, local councils cannot cope, the smug cabinet does talk about creating houses - for sale, but does nothing to stop this type of situation, which is increasing daily in this time of austerity.  Even America, the land of the greedy has under Obama refused to indulge in the austerity of George Osborne, possibly because Obama knows how the poor suffer.  Our cabinet neither know nor care.

How long until the next election?  How much government time wasted on gayboys and women bishops when the real imperative is improving the country?  Stop the tax dodgers (they have removed almost half the tax collectors from their jobs and wonder why so many, mostly Tory voters, dodge tax), spend money to save money, show some understanding and compassion, and then you may get a few votes.  I doubt that mind.   

Jack Frost

At just before 12 noon on the 12th day of the 12th month of the 2012th year of our Lord I took this picture of our frozen landmass.  The sun was at its zenith and having had my hair cut shortly before I can tell you the suns batteries had run out!  The novelty of 12 noon on 12/12/12 did not occur to me at the time.  I was merely attempting to record the front covered country around us.

This sight as I woke explained why the air had been so cold during the night.  This sort of thing is fine up north, Inverness played Ross County where the temperature was -5 at 7:45 kick off last night, these folks expect such horrors, I don't.  However there is something fabulous about a frost bitten land when the sun shines upon it.  Another 24 hours and all this will turn to our more usual rain.  Oh joy!

Oh Spring, wherefore art thou pal? 

.

Looking...

.

For Men Only

An Advent Calendar 

.