Season Finished

The season finished today.  There are one or two games to go for others of course, a handful tomorrow, a cup final defeat for Hibs, and the like, but our season has finished.  This means there will be no football for a couple of months.  None, zilch, nowt!  Of course we can pick up foreign Johnny's stuff but that's not the same.  Now what shall I do?  Who can I shout at if there is no football?  How can I be cheered or depressed if the game does not take place?  As there are no major competitions taking place this summer (I use the term 'summer' loosely you will understand) this means I have no reason to stay indoors on a Saturday.  No football to watch in the afternoon, not one game, and I sometimes watch three! 

Horrors!  I may even have to go outside and talk to people!  Julie at the museum will hear and drag me in to spend an afternoon stacking shelves again.  My time will not be my own and with no football I will have nothing to converse about.  I may have to listen to women's chat.  

Oh dear.....  

However before it all closes down we have the Scottish Cup Final next week.  You will recall that at this time last season the Heart of Midlothian defeated (easily) the Hibernian by 5 (FIVE) goals to 1 (One) and that it ought to have been 10-1.  Having won the cup once again we let it slide past this year but the wee team have decided to give it another go!  Incredible considering the sadness (giggle) last year and the small but relevant fact that they have not won the Scottish Cup since 1902.  How many years ago is that?  There they are pictured about to start the celebrations by driving along Princes Street in Scotland's capital and heading down to their little ground on the old rubbish tip.  (Hibernian's ground was once the area rubbish was dumped, but in Aberdeen the football ground was built on the area the er, dung from the police horses was dumped.  Watching the team these days people tend to draw comparisons.)  I note that they have planned ahead and given notice of where the open top bus will be travelling when they win the cup this time (stop giggling at the back).  What has not been stated is whether the horses will be the same ones or not.  Tee hee, some of these folks actually think they might win.  You got to laugh aint ya?

One small point.  In every town and city in the UK a cup winning team does this open top bus celebration through the streets.  This however does not happen in Glasgow.  The bus there, for either Rangers or Celtic, would be assaulted by hordes from the other side.  That will not happen in Edinburgh or Leith.  Fat chance of it being required next Monday, that's for sure!      

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Apa...

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Nothing happened today.  The sun rose and caused a mist.  The day almost got warm.  I got ordered to 'get on with it' by the boss at the museum and returned home so to do.  I fell asleep when I got home.  No news anywhere in the world worth considering.  There was an occasion today when a rant or two crossed my mind, unfortunately it failed to stop and passed on.  Now I am left wondering what agitated me. Surely I ask, surely there must be something in the 'Daily Wail' that would get me going?  Indeed there is, but it is just not worth going over that again.  The fact must be said that no matter how I rant Harriet Harman will never be charged with treason and hung. 
 A book from the museum shelf concerning the town records lies glaring at me.  I have to acquire information from this tome but I don't know what I am looking for!  No change there.  Also scattered around are copies of 'Twenty Years After,' a magazine from the late 30's written by and for the ex-servicemen of the Great War.  I began searching through this for info and got caught up reading bits.  That wasted another hour.  That is one problem with research, so much catches the eye and must be read which means the main subject gets pushed back for a little while, about three hours today!  
I was impressed also today by the impression 'Meccano' left on people.  However I know you all preferred the 'Dinky cars' but would not admit it.  Worldwide folks were all over their floors, up to their knees in metal!  Naturally ONLY BOYS would play with this, however one of my great nieces would probably be very happy in those days.  Her dad being a builder she has always made things.  In fact she used to help him fix the car and now does a car engineering course on Fridays.  When I am rich I will get a car and have her fix it for me, I can't!  
I am also impressed by how much I learn from you lot, there is so much I don't know and I know you will know.  One thing I have learned in the past few years is that I know nothing!  That has been hammered home quite well if nothing else in these days.  
Radio 3 has been renown for the higher arts, many ignore it because of this.  However I find lots of good programmes there and one is 'The Essay.'  A variety of themes are offered in 15 minute bites to satisfy the intellect, well bits of it.  This week a famous author I have never heard off gives a memoir of his life.  You might like it if you can hear it where you reside.
Eight p.m. and nothing done.  I must think quickly, I have decided, it can all wait until tomorrow.


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Technical Genius, not me.....

As you will have noticed today we celebrate 150 years of Frank Hornby, the man who gave the world 'Meccano,' 'Dinky Toys,' and model railways!  This great man offered the world, especially boys in the days when we knew what boys were, education re engineering, fun and enjoyment through dinky cars, and huge pleasure which many still enjoy through model railways.  What a man.  He deserves a knighthood in my humble, and correct, opinion.  

Being technically deficient I found Meccano a bit of a trial.  The idea was simple enough, strips of metal with holes in, held together by screws and nuts, formed  into a useful machine by following a simple diagram.  The simple idea failed whenever I touched it.  No two sides ever matched, bits were missing, anything that looked like it may work always had one item missing.  Once built it was often impossible to undo the screws someone had inserted with a power drill!  My dad enjoyed it, he made a model DC3 that was excellent for a kid like me.  My brother who was technically minded managed to make everything he touched perfectly.  The Steam engine he made many years later ran around the house quite happily.  My little cranes and slot machines were like Spanish building projects, never completed!

However many went on to great things through this 'toy.'  The budding Kingdom Brunel's of this world learnt much about engineering and making Forth Road Bridges that blocked their mothers house for months on end.  Frank Hornby himself made a fortune, and deservedly so.  After many years of trial and effort he eventually sold 'Meccano' worldwide.

During the 1920s Hornby introduced his 'O' gauge clockwork railway.  Twice the size of the trains that were to come later this sold reasonably well, well enough to encourage the introduction of trackside accompaniment, cars, houses, people.  These items became known as 'Dinky Toys' and as such became a favourite in every child's home ever since!  Basic cast metal toys stayed popular until the early sixties when perspex windows, seats and steering wheels, were added.  Kids of the sixties did not know the hardships we endured!  Today old men enthusiasts collect aged Dinkies, sometimes paying over £30 for a dingy Dinky!  Rare models still in their boxes can raise huge sums, but not from me.  Since 1933 the cars dominated a boy child's play.  Today I do not see them so obvious in shops.  Why have tastes changed?  Political Correctness perhaps?  Recently one company offered 'Boys Toys' and'Girls Toys,' and received a flood of complaints, from mothers, as if they had done something wrong!  No longer can we claim a toy to be for one sex or another, even though boys still prefer boys toys, and girls prefer girls toys.  Social engineering does not amend human nature, stupid mothers!

The greatest thing Hornby ever achieved however came after his death! The great 'Hornby Dublo' 00 Scale electric railways!  The electric train set became every boys dream!  Nothing could compare to having a train set, especially when the surroundings could be changed at will (easy, being made of shoe boxes and other objects) and the mind could develop layouts according to your own desire, until at least someone wanted the table back!  Bah!  My greatest mistake as a spoiled brat was to get rid of the train set and fall for the Scalextric racing cars rubbish!  Did I think I was growing up perhaps?  What appeared as great fun was, like all racing cars, boring!  The train set enlarged the mind, the cars just fell off the track at high speed.  There is of course many such railway layouts run today by men of certain age who ought to know better.  The lure of the railway gets a grip and much money and many web forums are dedicated to (cough) mature men playing with railways.  Not my thing today, but how I wish I had kept my set all those years ago.

Frank Hornby was born in Liverpool of middle class leaning parents in 1863.  He left school at 16 to work in his dad's provision business.  After his father died the business closed and when working for a meat importer he developed the 'Meccano' theme in his own time.  His boss encouraged and supported this financially at first but it was not until 1907 that the name was established as his own business.  By the beginning of the Great War offices were established in Paris, Mexico and Berlin!   By the thirties he was a millionaire and the business well established.  He died in 1936 of a combination of heart disease and diabetes.  He left many happy little boys of all ages behind him.    

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Tudor House

The 'Tudor House,' built about 1620 they say, was home to a Bocking Clothier.  Weaving was the strength of Bocking economy.  For many years this highway saw pilgrims pass through the hostelries prepared for them on their journey to Bury St Edmunds a trade that passed away after Henry VIII decided to run the English church his way.  Flanders weavers moving into Essex developed their cloth trade, a trade that lasted well into the late 20th century.  Clearly the builder of this house knew his business well!  Renovated in 1974 it is once again a family home.  However it also stands at a busy crossroad and suffers constant and heavy traffic outside the door.  Made of hand cut oak timber and wattle and daub walls, a few locally made bricks used in creation of a chimney and tiles also made nearby, the building has stood the teats of time. The small ground floor windows would have used expensive glass while shutters would have been on upstairs windows.        

A close up of the bressemer, the wooden beam supporting the jettied upper floor.  

The end view has changed somewhat from a 1920 picture.  Not only does the building lean forward much more it has also lost the brick chimney that rose up on the outside passing the window above.  The door has been inserted since then also.  I suspect the open hearth, where all cooking would have been done in medieval times, was the reason for the chimney stack here.  Gas and electric cookers would enable a removal, and the dangerous lean might have demanded a removal of the chimney itself.   

This period saw Henry VIII take the throne, the reformation, Henry dump the Catholic church so he could dump his women, burnings at stake, Elizabeth take over, and bales of cloth from here enable the town to do very well thank you.  It was a truism that the Flanders weavers always told the truth.  Buyers took to not inspecting the 'bays' when delivered because the weavers always gave what was promised, and of good quality!  

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A Summer's Day........

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Ernie Winchester

When I followed the Heart of Midlothian around Scotland's bonnie football grounds (the word 'bonnie' must be taken on trust here) I was young and foolish enough to express my opinion regarding a players ability in a full and frank manner.  Knowing what I was talking about did not appear to matter much.  Ernie Winchester, who died on the 8th of May, was one such player.  

Ernie began his long career with Aberdeen in 1962 and became something of a cult hero.  A big strong centre forward he banged in seventy goals in a hundred and twenty four appearances.  He then moved to the NASL and played for Chicago Spurs, who moved following the strange US franchise system to Kansas and became the Kansas City Spurs.  He scored regularly there also.  Then his life improved.  From 1968 until 1972 Ernie achieved the greatest height any footballer can attain, he joined the Heart of Midlothian!  Playing alongside the great Donald Ford for the most part Ernie offered a bustling heavyweight up front.  As I recall he was not a great goalscorer for the Heart of Midlothian, instead many at the time decried him a carthorse, a waste of space and simply there to pose for the action shots of the photographers.  This I recall was a general opinion at the time, however I note fans forums today have many claiming they 'always liked him.'  Aye, right!

One Wednesday night we travelled through to Glasgow to play Rangers.  Once again these so called 'Glasgow Giants' were going through a bad patch and a mere 13270 turned out.  The 'loyal' are only 'loyal' when they are winning.  Rangers one only one game in 13 during this spell, and it was this one!  The bus I travelled on, being more sensible types than others, chose to stand in the enclosure for this game.  Many Hearts fans did likewise and we were rewarded with a display of ineptitude that would grace an 'Idiots Anonymous' meeting.  Withing 20 minutes we were two goals down and the fight left the side.  After one hour in was 3-0 and half the players may well have died as they appeared to have disappeared.   One vexation was being made well known in the vast, near empty arena.  This mood was not lessened by the sight of Ernie Winchester, our one substitute in those days, warming up.  As he ran up and down in front of where we stood we gave him hell.  We made our thoughts clear that he was inept, the team poor, and as we were three nil down and the game entering the final ten minutes we wished him to retain his seat as we gave vent to our feelings that he would not change things.  He heard every word.

With ten minutes remaining he entered the game.  Almost immediately he galvanised the side and scored a goal!  Four minutes later he enabled big Jim Irvine to score a second!  The next six minutes of play, plus injury time, showed the entire Rangers team inside their own six yard box with almost the entire Hearts side desperate to get the equaliser!  We cheered every move and almost expected to win let alone draw.  

As the teams left the field those around me did not give much support to the players, we all felt ashamed, but were too macho to admit this.  One of my football regrets is that I did not climb over the wall and apologise to Winchesters face.  I still feel bad about that today, he deserved an apology.  His attacking style did not change, but my appreciation of the man himself did.  Then one day his luck changed.  Jim Townsend, our midfield general, indicated to a Celtic player at a home match that he ought not to kick him.  The referee took action, he sent Townsend off!  This required altering the team and big Ernie moved into midfield where he was a revelation!  It transpired that at heart he was a defender and had only become a forward at Aberdeen's then managers bidding.  He continued from then on as an attacking midfielder, and one he left Heart he played centre half for Arbroath.  He scored 14 goals in 75 games for the Hearts, but making some of us look fools was the best thing he ever did.  They used to say 'Play the man' in spite of what others say or do to you, Ernie Winchester 'played the man' that miserable night at Ibrox and almost saved the game.

We need more like you in this world Ernie.  RIP.

Ernie Winchester

18 May 1944 - 8 May 2013

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'The Apprentice' is a TV programme in which one rich business man works his way through a bunch of applicants looking for a job.  He is famed for his shoddy Amstrad products, his support for the Labour Party and his move, under Labour, into the House of Lords.  The screen offers us a hyped up badly presented shower of TV wannabees desperate to become famous through this programme.  I should mention I have the sound off as I have no wish to hear what is said.  Sharp suited, slick, self possessed, male wastes of space are joined by over painted hussy's on the make.  The last winner of this drivel claimed she was given a non-job by Lord Sugar, the hero of the programme, and took him to court in a bid to claim money.  She lost!  What does it say about her that the court believed him instead of her?  Television today panders to the small minded who adore such stuff.  I just want to reach for a gun.  Any NRA men out there.....?

Sir Alex Ferguson has stood down as commander of Manchester United.  The media have responded with a frenzy of excitement  details of his every victory in cup and league, his life, his temperament, his battles, his mind games and the vast number of players he has made use off.

All bar the fact he once managed in Scotland!

This I need not let you know fair scunners me! 

His record with East Stirling, St Mirren and Aberdeen were ignored.  So much so that a report claims that on Sky Sports a discussion re the man to take his place (David Moyes) included the comment, 

"Moyes does not have European experience" 

and received the answer, 

"Neither had Ferguson when he arrived." 

Aberdeen, his previous club, as you will know not only played many European matches they also under Fergie won the European Cup Winners Cup.  Not that an English broadcasting company would know this.

'Dunderheid' is the word indeed!

 

Look Up!

Hubble

I was listening to Heather Couper blethering away on her 15 minute programme Cosmic Quest earlier and it struck me how rarely we see the stars today.  Even on dark winters nights we rarely consider the heavens above us, rushing to and fro, wrapped up against the cold we tend not to stop and stare upwards.  Even if we were to do so would we see anything?  Our world is so polluted by light, necessary light at that, that the wonders of the stars are rarely observed.  Few of us live in areas isolated enough from those orange streets lights enabling us a glimpse of what is above.  The park opposite does offer the possibility of such sights of course, however the abundance of brats loitering there tends to make this difficult unless a Kalashnikov is in ones possession.  

The heavens declare the Glory of God they say, and indeed they do!  Vast numbers of planets, stars, galaxies and who knows what out there.  Huge clouds of dust cover thousands of miles either forming planets or the remnants of collapsed ones.  The only thing not seen are space ships carrying wee green men.  Such as they are found only on earth.  Some years ago, during the Soviet days, reports of aliens appeared regularly from the far reaches of the Soviet Union.  At the same time young girls were reporting visions of the Virgin Mary in Latin countries, while in the UK people were constantly finding Elvis Presley at work in local Burger bars.  I feel these may all be one and the same thing myself.

Go out and find a clear sky and see if you can find these images near you!  Hubble Images

A Day Off.....

I need one.....

How's the flat you're living in in London, Jock?" asks his mother when he calls home to Aberdeen.
"It's okay," he replies, "but the woman next door keeps screaming and crying all night 

and the guy on the other side keeps banging his head on the wall."

"Never you mind," says his mother, "don't you let them get to you, just ignore them."
"Aye, that I do," he says, "I just keep playing my bagpipes."

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Busy Weekend

It's been a tough weekend.  Not only did I have to interrupt my day yesterday to watch half a football match from China, listen to the Heart of Midlothian defeat St Mirren on the wireless (I don't mean they were playing on a wireless there, I meant I used a wireless to listen to the game)  and then, exhausted as I became I then had to watch Dundee United play St Johnstone.  This was tiring I must say, but I endured bravely.  Today, in between many other duties, I found that the requirement to indulge Ross County at home to Celtic was thrust before me, this too I bravely endured.  I then took a break out in the sunshine just to obtain that picture for you.  I almost obtained on of the girls but resisted  partly because I don't like taking 'candid' shots of strangers, I see that as an intrusion, and partly because my teeth are already loose enough.  I must get out more as the opportunities for something new to photograph are limited here.  Returning back home I discovered that Kilmarnock versus Hibernian (yaboo sucks!) was on telly.  So I sat back to watch and discovered this to be an enjoyable game which is unusual with Hibs.  However the game was abandoned after a spectator suffered a heart attack which halted play, required the assistance of both club doctors and the on stand by ambulance and led to the game being halted.  A short while ago during the game v Inverness a man died in similar circumstances at this ground, and one players father also died this way after a major game.  No wonder they wished to call it off!

On a different note, here is something quite er, different.....

Stolen blatantly from Rab at the Ben Lomand Free Press

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It's Curtains for Me.

Life was hectic this morning.  I was out on the rusting bike by five past six, cycling slowly around as I refound muscles unused for a month.  Before seven I had cleaned the window.  That is I moved the plant, books and other detritus that have blocked it since Adam was a boy and mucked it out.  Then I replaced the curtains after their annual Spring wash, or is it bi-annual, I forget?  How long does it takes to place the brutes on the runner?  Why on earth does the bit to stop them running of the end not go back on?  What woman designed this thing anyway?  After almost killing myself hanging on to the brute, screwdriver in hand to turn the screw that would not turn, I gave up and am happy to let them hang badly until the next wash.  I then went for veg, had breakfast, had a 30 minute kip, far from curtains, and it was not even nine by the time I had finished grumbling my way through the online papers.  The light mornings do make it easier to get things done.

Later I decided to wander through the town watching the citizens rush about eager to get the shopping done.  Quite why such folk go shopping when the town is busy I never understood, and it's always the same people!  Try shopping early, or late even, and then you need not fret so.  I meanwhile smugly promenade.  This eventually took me past the cricket ground where the local team were struggling to beat their opponents.  I still find this a strange game this cricket.  One man throws a ball at another, he in turn swings a big stick at it.  All around a dozen others loiter in the sun.  A man wearing several hats and a white coat every so often makes strange hand signals, possibly Morse code I suspect, and after every thrown ball missed by the one with the big stick the others cry "Well done," and applaud even though nothing has happened.  You quickly realise this game was invented by an Englishman!  "Play up! Play up, and play the game!" This is what it says on the mural outside Lords Cricket Ground, once the home of cricket itself, until India nicked the game.  Yet the English have always cheated.  I watched the excitement for a while, none of the gentlemen noticed me, and I was impressed by the response of the other team members gathered around the scoreboard, they too were happily ignoring the, er, action!

One interesting aside from the County Council election came in the constituency for the other half of town.  The UKIP candidate was named as Philip Avramovich Maximenco PALIJ.  This made me laugh, as do those folks called Conneletti or Patel who stand as candidates for the Scottish Nationalists!

You may find this LINK useful at some time.

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Up The Pole

For a change I removed my bulk from the chair and wandered the streets looking for unusual things to photograph.  The sun is out, the weather delicious, the sky blue and having sat in the park studying the near naked mothers with their brats book on local history I took with me I was not in need of lounging around again.  Not if they react like this mornings mums did anyway!  So I strolled around and became captivated once again by the manner in which BT keep the phone lines operating in this country.  The simple elegant manner in which the operators sling wires over the road is a wonder to see.  Whether these lines reach the correct phone is not revealed from here but that van containing the perplexed BT man is often working around this area.  Still the confused wires against the blue of the sky captivate my eye.  One wire in the wrong place could lead to people speaking to the lamp instead of course.

As I sat ogling pondering this morning I considered the reaction to the election.  UKIP, The United Kingdom Independence Party, scored many victories in parts of white England that finds itself crowded with East Europeans.  Lincolnshire in particular took them to its heart.  Overall the idea of UKIP as a contender does not now appears likely but their use as a 'protest vote' mostly against Cameron's Conservatives has been successful.  Poor Dave is now so worried he appears on screen totally calm and happily accepting he cannot just insult UKIP, as indeed he has been doing.  Indoors he will be seeking directorships with which to line his pockets after the next General Election.  He has many friends in the City of course.  UKIP won a few seats here, but not ours.  The Labour man came second by a mere 31 votes, and UKIP were 150 behind.  However in South Shields, where the Labour Party were bound to win the By-Election the Lib-Dems came so low as to gain less votes than the BNP, the British National Party!  The other side of town gave their man here 36 votes, which shows how big his family and friend reach appears to be.  The nation is shaken, although only one in four bothered to vote here, and the three out of four who didn't will no doubt be the first to whine.  

Sunshine planned for the weekend, a bank holiday with sunshine, it has never been known!
 
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Vote! Vote! Vote!

Around half past nine this morning I joined the happy throng of concerned democrats crowding the entrance to the polling station.  Having opened at seven in the morning the four members of the council controlling the station had been overwhelmed by the twenty individuals urging a rethink of county council and government policy.  One of them put down her book to attend to me and having noted my name on the card which I proffered to her asked if I was who I was.  You cannot defeat democracy when such security is in operation!  It crossed my mind to return later with the card belonging to an ex-neighbour who returned home to India, and informing her I was Mr Salivati.  It might have worked.  

The selection was simple, insert one cross beside the name of the individual you wished to be your chosen representative.  At this point I wished to insert a name of my own choosing, but this is not allowed.  In front of my dim eyes lay five names about whom I knew very little.  The Conservative is smugly sitting in the council at this moment and expects to stay there, the Labour man was removed some time back, the UKIP, Green and LIb-Dem are perennial also-rans but someone keeps appearing on their behalf.  How I longed for a 'Pro cycling and anti smoking,' or 'Monster Raving Looney Party,' representative, alas they were not available.  Maybe I should stand next time as the Scottish Nationalist?  It would be interesting to see how many votes I gathered.

Having selected my numpty I then sat in the park while the sun warmed me and the east wind chilled me at the same time.  I exchanged words with pretty scantily dressed girls as they passed by, I used several words, they used two.  The blue tits flitted among the trees chewing at the new budding leaves, a dog or two wagged its tail, the newly cut grass gave off a fragrance unlike that given off by the brats who litter the place later in the day.  Men wore shorts and dark glasses (why do men wear shorts in public?), silver aircraft reflected the sunshine as they passed by on their way to exotic places or Majorca, and one passerby stopped, stared and put ten pence in my hand so that I could "get a cup of tea mate."  

Now I sit alongside the list of things to do that await doing.  

Much later, I'm still sitting........ 

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Tuesday Titter

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The Wait

I've been watching this crisp packet for several days now sitting lonely and forgotten on the railings.  Some thoughtless brat, most likely male, has dumped it on the railing and wandered on dreaming of adolescent girls and football fame.  I hope he gets mumps instead!  I took this pic to see just how long the bag sits there.  I did this once before as a similar bag sat there for seven days before disappearing, possibly owing to the wind.  I wait to see how long this one lasts.  The skatepark beyond is naturally a place excelling in litter.  Several new bins were put in place, notices regarding fines for littering abounded, and the gardeners cleansed the place once again.  All this much to the derision of many of us.  The council folks cleaning the park next morning commented on how nothing had changed!  It made no difference to their habits.

Incidentally friends have been hosting one of their grandsons during his break from University.  This is typical of them and typically of the young male he has never been house trained.  Their house is of course spotless, even the son now living with them keeps their house as it should be, bar his room obviously!  The grandson has never been taught little things such as how to use a bin, tidy up or make the bed.  If he has been taught, and his mother was keen on tidiness  he has quickly forgotten all he has learned.  This of course is normal for a male of his age, men see no reason to fuss unless it is required, and cleaning is not that great a requirement.  Women however have a nasty habit of dusting when there is no dust to be seen, hoovering neat, clean, floors and demanding people who know better to remove their feet from the table.  Some girls even insist on washing the dishes every day!  Surely once a week is OK?  

Not all women as so keen of course.  Friends I used to visit shared a flat, my job was to clear a space in the living room in an effort to find the chairs!  Quite how a small room could be hidden, daily, by the detritus of daily life I could never understand.  Another local hero had built bookshelves at the recess by the fireplace, these were bereft of books and were well hidden from view - behind the books once taken from the shelves and never returned!   A visit to the loo meant searching for the bowl, all was hidden under drying washing.  It may still be this way!  My residence is as always perfectly clean, neat, tidy, and at least as clean and tidy as I myself.  What's that you say....?


Jings! The bag has gone!  The wind must have returned!

Sunday Weather

The observant will have noted Soub's comment regarding the British weather.  He pointed out that sunshine in one part of the UK is met by rain a mere hundred miles away, something that surprises Americans and others who have more stable weather patterns.  This style of weather is typical.  The Atlantic sends the leftover US storms, Hurricanes and detritus to our shores in the same manner with which English courts used to send convicts to Australia, and look what happened there.  I was musing on this as I wandered about early on, the sun shining, the sky blue, and ever expanding vapour trails appearing high above.  An occasional Spitfire flew noisily above preparing for the many air shows later this year.  The birds sang, dogs tails wagged, women gave me the 'I want you' look.  (One of these three points is erroneous ) This walk took about 20 minutes and was taken while I 'Checkdisked'  the laptop which is running slowly.  I made my way past the screeching kids in the gardens (Hey mum, there is a pond here, take them there!) sat in the sun for ten minutes, and mused that while I enjoyed sunshine Soub would be suffering dark clouds and rain some 150 miles further north.

Indeed while watching the Motherwell v Celtic match the commentator stopped pandering to the Celtic hordes and indicated the dark gray raindrops on the screen were being enlightened by the floodlights coming on.  He added the time is twenty minutes past one o'clock.  It was indeed dark and gray, although on the many occasions in which I have been at Motherwell the town was always dark and gray, but maybe that's just me.  Anyway as I arrived from my short ramble I noted the sky above had changed somewhat.

 It has been getting cloudier ever since, rain to follow, pah! Cumulus are building up to head south from Lanarkshire and Yorkshire and will be here soon. 

David Cameron has said the WMD issue muddies the waters regarding chemical weapons in Syria, indeed it does Dave.  Sharmine and Iona have their opinions on this also.  Politics is indeed a murky game.  Sometimes secrets are rightly kept, sometimes the UK participates in such dealings for the good of us all.  Sometimes we are not so sure.  These girls writing here may well have their own agenda, Sharmine appears to be on Assad's side, maybe not.  The points made are interesting however.

The other day, for no obvious reason this thing has started to go slow.  That is when I log on to a site it takes ages to download, when up till then it came straight through usually.  After I cleaned the cache a week or two back the Facebook certainly became slow in loading, but now almost everything is slow.  I've done the usual clearing out and running checks but so far nothing helps.  Maybe it's just age, like me......

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April Showers

As summer lashed against the window I noticed the BBC and others were claiming the US and UK had found evidence of chemical weapons, Sarin, being used by Assad in Syria.  In fact there is no 'evidence,' just US intelligence agencies believed 'with varying degrees of confidence,' that Syria had used chemical weapons.  Hmmm.  No journalists have been allowed into the area where this 'discovery' was made.  No independent evidence has been proffered.  No faith can be placed in the agencies involved.  As the US claimed months ago Assad was using them, and lied, and as Assad has no reason at this time to use such a weapon, why should we trust such a report?  The US is already offering weapons to the 'rebels,' whoever they actually are.  The UK is rushing to support, while wary of the WMD shambles, clearly someone has decided to enter Syria in force, just as the successfully did in Iraq!   The things folks do to stop Iran having nuclear weapons, yet do nothing about Pakistan's.  Which nation is more unstable I ask?     

Now that I have sat in here all day scouring the web for ancient houses in this district, and finding they are called 'tenements' or 'messuages,' not houses, I note the clouds have moved on and the sun is shining.  I suppose we ought to be glad the rain is not freezing cold, instead it was somewhat tepid.  Raking up the town's past is interesting when every so often a report arises from an individual brought before the Assize and 'recognized' with the support of two others, to stop beating harassing or troubling some other citizen.  The same names crop up, sometimes centuries apart, showing how long lived some folks family have been.  What is surprising is how little can be discovered about men who were important in their day but now lie forgotten in one of the variety of churchyards.  I gather masses of trivia but little real info so far.  Still, it keeps me off the streets.

Though April showers may come your way,

They bring the flowers that bloom in May.

So if it's raining, have no regrets,

Because it isn't raining rain, you know, (It's raining violets,)

And where you see clouds upon the hills,

You soon will see crowds of daffodils,

So keep on looking for a blue bird, And list'ning for his song,

Whenever April showers come along.

Can someone tell Al Jolson that if May is not a flood of Violets there will be trouble!

Clouds Intrigue.

I've had my head in the clouds again.  These fluffy clouds racing along several thousand feet high formed an intriguing shape.  Are these Cirrus or Cirrostratus clouds?  The names of clouds are hard enough to pronounce let alone remember!  There were higher clouds which must be Cirrus, so what be these?  A quick read of WikiClouds indicates that the names all have Latin bases, are still difficult to pronounce, and are subdivided into many further classifications.  I am no further forward, but still intrigued.


Source: metoffice.gov.uk

The BBC tell it well I say.  Worth a read. Not that those of you in tropical climes need worry about clouds.


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Signs of Life!

The wind was blowing gently from the west, the blackbirds and thrushes nipped in and out having breakfast, the sun shone brightly as I awoke, I thought how lovely, then thrust aside the old newspapers and rose from the park bench and went looking for coffee.

How nice to almost feel human this morning.  How nice to see the sun, how nice also to find nothing worth reading in the papers.  Many headlines, cries of 'Outrage,' and 'Fury,' but no real substance behind them.  The best is the Canada story of some Muslims who are working with Al Queda and Iran to blow up trains in Canada.  Now Al Queda, bin Ladens lot, are of course Sunni Muslims, Iran is Shia.  These folks are at present happily blowing one another apart in Syria (to bring democracy?) so the chances of two groups violently opposed working in Canada is a bot of a laugh.  This sounds like 'Chemical weapons' in Syria or 'WMD'  in Iraq to me.  Coupled with the FBI failure to stop the Boston bombings we require a more cynical approach to our security services and their masters. 

A failed attempt to capture the sun against the weeping whatsit here.  The colours much brighter before I played with the image, bah!  Almost like summer, but not quite.  However it cheers the soul.  One noticeable absence was the lack of English flags to be seen today.  What with their new found nationalism, or is it patriotism, I thought being 'St George's Day (their patron saint) would bring out the flags.  Possibly they forgot again.  Never mind, George, if he existed, was born in Cappadocia, which as you all know is part of northern Turkey today, and reared, so they say, in or near Jerusalem.  Quite how the English got a hold of him I know not, but the fact remains the best Englishmen are usually born outside of England!  

There is a row of these ancient park benches resting at the side of the tennis courts in the gardens.  I suspect they have sat there since the 1880's when the gardens were donated to the town.  Rich Victorians often donated green spaces to allow the citizens, at least the well behaved ones, to breathe fresh air in congenial circumstances.  Such air was required by the workers after a ten hour, six days a week shift I suspect, although the sabbatarians may have insisted it closed on Sunday of course!  They did in Scotland.  I rested not there as I was in a rush to burn my dinner, and at that I succeeded!  

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