Scribbling....

I was given a small task the other day, writing details in capital letters in a record book.  I was appalled!  Since I took to the PC my writing has deteriorated to the extent that I cannot read it myself.  OK capitals may be simpler but I fear the slackness may be difficult to overcome.  
This got me thinking just now about pencils, why I know not as it is a specific pen we will use for that book, but a pencil crossed my mind.  It caused me to ponder on writing and how useful it is, where would we be without it?  
Stone age man did not write.  For several thousand years he lived a nomadic lifestyle requiring no writing but lots of flint arrowheads and the occasional stone axe.  Some became wealthy, we know this because of ceremonial stone axes, the stone being a highly polished Jade, found high in the Alps.  However there is no written record of this.  Huge earthworks, of diverse shape arose, taking years, even centuries to complete, but not one word is found to explain the reason. Standing stones, often brought form distance, are found everywhere with not one attempt at writing thereon.  Thousands of years pass without writing and little artwork to explain their thinking.  Just standing stones, mounds and Cursors.  In some places the inside of the Barrows feature circular and other designs, similar some claim to the effects drugs profuse interestingly, yet no attempt at explaining themselves.  Surely trade with others required some method of record?  Possibly these were small family groups, coming together only to work on the major projects or at special annual festivals, therefore there was no major trade.   
Writing certainly appeared in Mesopotamia around three thousand BC, not so much as writing but as record keeping concerning goods traded.  Withing a thousand years this became actual writing of one sort or another.  India, Egypt followed southern Iraq at this time, as indeed did South America, and now some say China may have taken to writing slightly earlier, we might never know.  
Had my brain been fully awake I would do more research on this but really I just wish  to contemplate actual writing.  Larger gatherings of people changed social outlook, some rose to rule, others took the lowly place.  Sixty thousand lived in Uruk 2000 years BC if memory serves me right and clearly the powerful required control of the resources and writing was important here.  Since then the better societies have encouraged writing both as a practical tool and for retelling religious and mythological tales.  These bound the nation together just as they do today, so knowing truth is a requirement so we can differentiate truth from fiction.  
"The pen is mightier than the sword," unless someone is stabbing you, but a pen can change the world!  This is because of the brain behind it, present writer excepted, and the offering of the thoughts within.  How fascinating that scribbles on a building a thousand years ago can let us into the lives of our forefathers.  Words scratched on a prison cell speak of personnel torment, historical situations, and reflect the heart of the person.  I find this fascinating! A five year old struggling with very big letters can change the heart of a miserable old git miles away, words on potsherds reveal a commanders fears of his enemy and desperation for support from his King, words etched into a cliff in several languages of the day show us how one Emperor sought to impress his world.  
Writing is a gift, that is what I am trying to say.  Today we are so used to words, books, papers, letters, bills, fancy phones all these make us forget how important writing really is.  Take it away through accident or blindness and the individuals words changes, and not for the better.  Maybe of course there are too many words, possibly we read too many, just imagine reading a 'White Paper' regarding some new political Bill, or a lawyers letter?  Anyway, my tired mind just thought the use of writing is a fascinating and important part of society, a gift, ignored or not required for thousands of years, impossible to live without now.  What thinkest thou?  

   

One Bright Spot

This is the one bright spot today, the late sun reflecting of the murky pond.  Sadly it is not as I saw it, the brightness does not translate very well.  It has been dreich all day until late.  The man on the radio this morning said "The weather. Fog, cloudy, cold, November." This summed it up well.  Nothing else occurred.  Our gracious leader David Cameron is jumping on a 'Daily Mail' bandwagon for votes.  His latest cunning plan is to limit benefits for those Romanian & Bulgarian immigrants flooding by the trillion into the UK.  Emphatically declaring that "Britain is not a soft touch," he fails to say a that better leadership would have done something, more humane, three years ago, about the time he took office.  Tsk, could he be worried about UKIP pinching his voters, at least the ones he has left that is?   
What else?  It appears Nigella Lawson, the cook come slapper, who is divorcing her very rich husband because he is bad to her, suddenly has been discovered to be spending her life high on heroin.  Tsk!  I hope she doesn't mix it up with the flour or her rich fruit cake might become too fruity.  The lives of the rich celebrity are more mixed up than the nutter living down the street.
Interestingly the Romans, oops, Italians have now rid themselves of Mr Berlusconi, that nice Italian 'Bunga Bunga' man.  Voted out by the Italian parliament today it appears his career might be over.  Tsk, he will only have his several TV stations, A.C.Milan football club and several young bints on call, not counting the Viagra order.  How will he cope?  Actually if his lawyer fails him he will be coping in prison if it all goes wrong, so he may not see much of the other items.
Are you listening Tony Blair?
The most interesting part of the English press today was the complete disinterest in Scotland's Independence debate after the SNP offered their independence white paper yesterday.  One small item here and there was all on offer while the main story was Nigella and her doings and the accusation that RBS Bank has been killing businesses to make itself a fat profit!  Scotland is disregarded and yet they demand a Union?
See, nothing happened again.....

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Tsk!

A Painter called Goodwin

Holyrood 

'Holyrood' by Albert Goodwin caught my attention this morning.  A striking, though somewhat dramatic, impression of the area at the foot of the Royal Mile.  The bright red uniforms of the Guards lit by a gas lamp, a few bright spots in the windows, an umbrella, and the typical Edinburgh rain with just a touch of light in the sky show that he painting this during the height of summer!  Poetic licence allows for an image the camera cannot catch but this is not harming anything.  There were enough photographs indicting the terrible housing conditions round the corner from Holyrood to show life was not good for the lower orders at this time.  The rain however, remains constant!

 Westminster

Albert Goodwin was born in Maidstone in the year 1845, the same year my grandfather chose to be born.  He was born on a farm on the border while Albert arrived in a builders home, one of nine children!  It has been said that photographs from the Victorian age contain many children, while in the present time they contain many older people.  Large Victorian families died out after the second world war, better wealth, better health, and better control helped.  I need not point out that my mother often referred to me as an 'accident,' without explaining why.  How many young men are called 'Albert' these days?  By marrying Victoria and becoming the queen's consort Albert gave his name to the nation paying his way.  Male children called 'Albert' did abound, as did 'Albert Road,' 'Albert Street,' 'Albert Terrace,' and a few 'Albert' pubs no doubt.  I could go on but I will generously spare you that.  Now our Albert was talented, especially in water colours which he made his specialisation, so talented that the 'Pre-Raphaelite' Ford Madox Brown among others took him under his wing when young and while he was only fifteen years of age Goodwin had one picture on show at the Royal Academy.  John Ruskin the famous man of letters, I am a man of letters also, mostly begging, Ruskin took him across Europe where he sketched and drew later turning the results into many pictures.  His paintings did have a 'Turner' like effect, at least they made an impression on me, and his landscapes delight at every turn.  Ruskin was a man who encouraged the Turner influence.  he wished Goodwin and all to paint 'beauty,' which meant the uglier side of life was ignored. 'Beauty' was supposed to lift the individual, which indeed it does, but so does a proper wage and a home with heat!

Whitby

Allowing for that artistic licence, which is another way of saying artists cheat, there is a great deal of history in the pictures.  'Westminster' for instance reveals how close the docks were to parliament.  What is now Victoria Park was at that time home to many boats, possibly their maintenance was involved although it might well be goods were transshipped even here.  The lighters, sails, and occasional figure offer a peaceful 'end of day' appearance.  This would be gladly welcomed by those working the boats as their day had started by six and was probably ending more than twelve hours later.  On top of this that artist fellow keeps shouting, "keep the boat still will you?"  The angle from which he paints the ruins at Whitby, the inspiration for 'Dracula' as you know, enables the artist to avoid all those horrid dwellings with the people in them.  

Nile Sunset

Albert Goodwin passed away in 1932 after a life travelling the world painting pictures which he hoped would show God's beauty in the world around us.  Ruskin's influence taught him the importance of drawing as well as colour, Turner and Pre-Raphaelite taught him beauty but in the end he was himself, doing what he thought right.  Historical facets can be gleamed in the many pictures he painted, around 800 in all, but it is a pity he did not show more reality of the world around.  

Why Alfred Goodwin Matters    Albert Goodwin Information & pictures    Albert Goodwin Wiki

Today's Highlight

Today's highlight has been the cheery chirping of the starlings as they gather together on the rooftops.  How these birds like to chatter!  You may have come across a tree, or indeed trees full of these boys talking loudly at or to each other, very nice when passing but dreadful if they choose a tree outside your window!  A thousand starlings do not a restful night make.  These birds often flock together high up on the Police radio mast.  They cover it with around a thousand at times, all chattering, and no doubt leaving a message for those below while they are at it!  It appears to me that there are fewer these days, maybe it's the climate or the food supply, the bad weather of the last couple of years caused by the moving jet stream, or possibly they have moved town.  I read somewhere that Dickens, once a famous writer, wrote about the millions of starlings that roosted in the centre of London.  It appears they gathered from miles around, flying in from places like Kingston to gather in Leicester Square.  Certainly years ago I saw them filling the trees there but the mess was such that Ken Livingstone the then London Mayor was forced to take action and the place may well have been renovated by now.  The spread of London may well keep many further out as they sought to roost in the warm centre, plenty heat elsewhere nowadays.  

It is quiet tonight.  Rarely does a car roll past the window, although a rolling car is something I would not wish outside my window, a dog barks occasionally in between sniffing trees over in the park, footsteps hurry past rushing to get away from the icy cold.  An unidentified beastie flits between the trees lit only by the dark amber street lights, the branches wave listlessly in the slow, cold wind.  The loudest sound is the cheap clock bought from the pound shop, its only competition the occasional whining of the laptop which, like me, wishes to sleep.  Abed people contemplate the morn.  The rush to work, if there is any, the joy of school for some, the word 'joy' being used in the satirical manner here, plans rush through peoples heads while providence may be planning other happenings for them, oh the joys of a Sunday night as the new week beckons.  
Shall I plan my day, make a 'to do' list, or will I just rise, eat breakfast, and return to my pit for a few hours?  Yes that sound s best, I hope you can do so also. 

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Saturday Shopping?

Another morning in the Museum shop saw the beginning for Christmas shopping.  Our cards are ready, our shelves stacked, and I only took around £15 this morning!  Not only that but few wished to discuss History of some type and on top of this by the time I got home I missed the first half of the football!  Tsk!  However it was a good morning  as the people were on the whole decent, chatty, and friendly while nothing much went wrong.  This was good as only two of us were in and the bosses hiding themselves this weekend.  The football I missed was rotten also, being Hibernian it would be as you would realise but tired and weary as I was after this the veg would not turn up at my door so out I trek to the market.  With typical results, the veg man was not there, either he has given up, taken sick or gone home early, which is most unlike him. This meant I had to endure Tesco veg stall on a Saturday afternoon.  This was bad enough but as I forced my way through the throng the pressure was made worse by the adolescents running about being well, adolescent.  A Community Police officer was haranguing them outside, and indeed inside at one point, unfortunately he was not armed with a pump action shotgun, a great mistake in my view.  Banning the birch was a mistake I say!  Back home I was so exhausted I almost forgot to tune into the late football show on BBC Alba.  That at least was worth watching. Now I intend to sleep all day tomorrow. 

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Friday Finkin.....

He's deid!

He's deid but he won't lie down.  The one thing that guarantees lasting fame is being shot at the right time.  Lincoln, John Lennon, Julius Caesar, all made their name by being bumped off.  Now I realise they did one or two other things, song writing, political chicanery, invading Gaul and all that, but had they lived would they be as famous, or as popular?  JFK has been cannonised since his death because his writers gave him tremendous scripts at just the right time. He offered a new view of the future to a world leaving behind the old wars of the past.  To 'go to the moon, because it is hard,' was tremendous, even though it was really just to outdo the Soviets.  Pride is a costly thing.  What did he actually do?  The Cuban missile (pronounced 'missile') showed his strength as well as his willingness to listen to others.   However most of his ideas were pushed through later by the much derided Lyndon B. Johnson!  Now there is much to deride about Johnson but he could control Congress and he did change the US for the better.  His mistake was the usual American failure to understand the world, this led to increased involvement in Vietnam, an involvement begun by Kennedy.  Kennedy offered hope, a new beginning, and got shot.  The myth remains, maybe this is better than knowing the real man, for he was just a man.

     

The story concerning three women kept as slaves by a couple possibly of Malaysian origin has opened many strange doors.  Some will find this fascinating, some find it disturbing, I see it as just another facet of the human condition.  Since Adam and Eve left the garden however you conceive it, man has forced others to do his bidding.  Slavery has been around since the beginning and has never left us.  It has been known for years that the many rich Arabs coming to London brought with them Philippino, Indian and other poor women as 'domestic servants, usually no more than slaves!  The UK governments desire not to upset the rich has allowed many to continue suffering, although I understand changes have been made regarding these women today.  Now let's face it we would all like slaves wouldn't we?  A quick browse of the bible shows us ourselves and the awful depth of the corruption within us.  Admitting that deep within, covered up by layers of 'civilised society' lurks the deep desire to make others do our bidding, no matter what.  It is an awful dire realisation.   Naturally we would treat slaves well, the 'Letters of the Younger Pliny,' show how he regarded his slaves well, insisting that at harvest time there would be no 'chained slaves' brought in to operate on his farms.  He still executed Christians mind.  We would be nice to slaves, treating them as friends wouldn't we?  Unless we were in a bad mood, after all they are just property!

How close we are to ancient societies abuse of others in slavery was seen as recently as the nineteen forties when the Nazi's allowed such attitudes freedom to roam Germany.  The Germans, an educated intelligent people, were led into this through patriotism, hunger and a willingness to believe in a false Messiah, how close are we to this also?

There is much to yet discover re this particular story.  It does have some unanswered questions and the obvious one is how did this all begin?  There are more out there, hidden away in London flats, large town houses and country estates.  They also exist in your area.  People trapped by one thing or another, trafficked across the world (more money trafficking people than drugs) and it would appear most 'saunas' offering 'extras' are staffed by such girls.  Thirty million slaves exist across the world they say, yet in the west the concept of 'sin,' is laughed at?  I wonder why?

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Can Things Get Worse...?

After the soup and other disasters my life has provided I hoped for better today. It rained, it was cold, the potato scones stuck to the pan!  Bah!  Still, it couldn't get any worse could it?  

The bright lights are dimly shining in the town.  More are to be switched on soon, and I have discovered I must help out.  Tsk!  Christmas decorations are not my thing.  Puritan Christmas for me, Bah! Humbug and I do allow Christmas pudding and cake, but that is only because of my need to feed my weak brain nourishment.  Santa and snowmen get shove it!  Did someone start singing "Tidings of comfort and joy" just then...?  

Something not very wonderful about this at the moment.  It needs lights and twinkling ones at that to offer a cheery welcome.   I saw this earlier today when I took the holes in my shoes for a walk, I did not intend to walk, I intended to 'bus' it, but I had to walk because of my dementia.  I wandered down to the bus stop heading for PC World.  Now two bus stands er, stand together. Both operate the number 70.  Both arrive around the same time.  One goes to the right, one to the left.  Simple enough for anyone, if they stand at the right spot. As I approached a bus, number 70, stood standing at the stand.  The word 'Chelmsford' entered my head, on the right hand, busless, stand the notice board read 'Chelms Bus Stn,' so I crossed over.  I stood, I looked around, I wondered at the houses opposite, once housing the better off at the turn of the old century, now sometimes whole houses, sometimes flats.  I yawned and feet shuffled while I waited, as did the others waiting. The bus at the stop moved off, it turned left, the destination board read 'Colchester.'  I stared.  Then it crossed my mind that I ought to be getting on the Colchester bus, not the 'Chelm Bus Stn' one!  My trip to PC World drove away uncaring.  I hid my shame by walking away as if I had remembered another date.  With a doctor preferably!

I'm running away.....

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Another Dreich Day, Hooray....

Start the day with a smile they say, and get it over with.  Well I did that this morning.  Rising before the sun by seven thirty I had dumped the rubbish, eaten what is laughingly called breakfast, began to make soup, planned the 'wartime shortbread,', and made a list for a Tesco visit. 
Naturally it all went wrong
Too early to thump around the kitchen without waking neighbours (why are they not at work today I ask?), I noticed rain beginning which by eight was teeming down and remained so for hours, and I became immersed in some rubbish in the online papers and then facebook.  
The soup.  This was simple, add black lentils (I canny spell 'lentilles vertes'), rinse, boil for ten minutes, simmer for thirty five, then add stuff.  The mistake was to put all the lentils in the pot. As they were small I dumped in the whole packet, I did not realise they would swell up so much! I expected some degree but it meant there was insufficient space for the rest of the veg.  Onions and sauces only!  Tasting it much, much, later brought to mind a cartoon from forty years ago, a couple stand by the cooker on which a large pot bubbles, he holds a spoon to his mouth while she intones, "You can add salt if you like, but it won't get your socks any cleaner."  That is what this tasted like.
As I spoiled my lunch I made use of the recipe, using rough, wholemeal bread plain flour as it gives a better result in my opinion, and slid the hastily created biscuit into the oven.  As I toiled at the laptop, the rain hammering on the window drowning out the sound of my chattering teeth, (why is winter always cold?) i noticed a burning smell.  I ran to the soup, which simmered nicely, I opened the oven and stood back from the smoking black object therein.  Still, it will fill a gap I suppose.  Probably the cracks in the walls.
The cold rain kept me indoors, although if it's cold inside it is usually warmer out, and with the use of those woolen gloves with the fingers cut off I listened into Radio four's Agatha Christie tale.  Not a story but a chap following her adventure as she took the train to Baghdad!  A repeat maybe but very interesting.  
Late in the day I managed to spend far too much in Tesco's, and still forgot several things.  The picture above fits well.

The Scottish Independence Referendum is less than a year away.  All the media is London based, even the TV and Radio have a London bias among the staff.  Almost everyday there is a scare story informing Scots of the end of the world if Scotland becomes an independent state.  All arise in Westminster, all are indubitably nonsense.  One even had Rowan Williams the ex-Archbishop of Canterbury talking of the disaster if the union breaks apart.  Tsk!  The real truth is that Westminster NEEDS Scotland.  It needs the money that flows into Osbornes exchequer, England cannot survive without Scotland, that is why in 1707 Scotland was forced needlessly into the union in the first place!  While treating Scotland as a second class citizen who is expected to doff the cap to the mighty at Westminster the powers that be lie in their teeth to pretend they care, some not even being sure where Scotland actually is, it's somewhere beyond Watford is all they know!  The banner was, I am informed, placed on the headquarters of the people demanding a 'NO!' vote in the referendum, and was an excellent way to represent the peoples opinion.
Vote 'Yes!'

To Answer a Query

A cack-handed young lass enquired as to the origin of 'Cack-Handed.  Naturally I had absolutely no idea!  So when I came home from the museum this afternoon having a sleep, stuffing my fat face, and watching Scotland freezing in Norway I decided to investigate.
I didn't get far.
Not one person could give a clear lead as to the origin.  Many could define the word however:

The Oxford dictionaries say:
Definition of cack-handed in English
British informal
1: inept; clumsy: a great song ruined by cack-handed production
2: derogatory left-handed.

Urban Dict

1. cack handed

It means an awkward or inept way of doing something; originally meaning left handed, 

stemming from cultures that use their right hand to eat 

and their left hand to wipe their behind.

Dictionary Central

cack-handed

Definition: Slang

adjective:  clumsy, inept. 
The term originally meant left-handed, probably deriving from the idea of handling cack (excrement). Although the connection seems obvious, this expression is probably too old to be influenced by reports of the Muslim practice of eating with the right hand, wiping away excrement with the left. This pejorative adjective seems to be country dialect in origin; it is now fairly widespread and not particularly offensive.

Origin and History of “cack-handed”

Cack comes from a 15th-century dialect verb meaning ‘defecate’, which probably came from middle Dutch cacken. It goes back via Latin cacāre to an ultimate Indo-European base *kak-, from which a lot of other Indo-European languages get words connected with ‘excrement’. The connection with cack-handed is usually explained as being that clumsy people make a mess; on this view ‘left-handed’, which cack-handed also means, is a secondary sense derived from ‘clumsy’. It may be nearer the mark to place ‘left-handed’ first, however, bearing in mind the traditional role of the left hand in many cultures for wiping the anus.

Somewhere else:

Cachus was Old English for a privy, and both words come from Latin cacare, to defecate.

The general consensus, with absolutely no proof, is that it refers to the use of the right hand for eating and the left for er, the other end.  The derivation from the Latin into English and the use English folk made of such genteel terms indicates this may be correct.  

Interestingly the word 'right' is used in many European cultures for 'correct.'  

The Latin 'SINISTRA' meaning 'left,' gives us 'Sinister.'  
People therefore considered anything of the left evil.
Make of that what you will!

You might like:

Anything Left Handed Shop

RU-Left-Handed

Cracked

Addendum:
A left hander writes-
You seem to have omitted lots of stuff about all cack-handers being geniuses... 

'Cack,' a diminutive of crack, meaning elite, special, esp. referring to military units...

hmmm...

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Dreich Sunday

Dreich, damp, dismal, and looking to depreciate further.  The weather appears to be doing the same!  Trees are rapidly losing their leaves, standing stark against the intermittent drizzle.  Yet one bush in a garden appeared to have buds in Spring like mode.  They will not like what they see if they open any time soon.  The drizzle drizzled all day.  I moped, managing to do nothing but watch Bradford City play Coventry, most interesting that was!  Then I moped, a bit more, attempted to discover why a road was given the name 'Grenville,' in the early part of the 20th century, failed, and did the decent thing, gave up!  

However, regarding the left handed jibes the other day that nice man Dominic offered us an interesting, musical piece regarding a left handed piano.  This is one is a must for music lovers, who are left handed......  

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A Wee Motor

To unwind what I euphemistically refer to as my 'mind,' after leaving the busy museum this lunchtime I wandered through the joyful throng in the market place.  While bumping into one another, grumbling about prices, and then threatening the kids, they all beheld the tannoys cheerful Christmas music with delight.  Naturally I muttered "Bah! Humbug!" at every smile I noticed.  In the middle of all this I came upon the 'Kit' car.  There she sat, chatting away, as people crowded around taking pictures.

The owner stood by proudly, occasionally chatting about the car to interested passersby, mostly men.  The inside looks a bit like something out of TV, er I mean....  I've noticed the car here before during special events, and if you own such a creature you really need to show it off now and again or it's just a waste of time and money.  Whether he created the car himself or bought it I know not, but looking at this tells me I must get the tyres on my bike pumped up again.     

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Life is Funny

Life is indeed funny.  Yesterday I wrote nothing and I got several happy replies.  In days past I have written deeply thoughtful, penetrating, insightful, and objective posts which have been largely ignored!  The conclusion is either my readership (25 read my last post) has the intellectual depth of the 'Daily Mail' reader, or  er, something else!  Either way it is all so confusing.  

Another confusing yet funny incident occurred far away today.  Our beloved leader 'Dave,' has made use of the Commonwealth leaders get together to have a go at the Sri Lankan boss for hurting those Tamil folks.   That is the Tamils Tiger folks who conducted a viscous war for forty years leading to many terrorist deaths.  The army crushed them once and for all a couple of years ago and now people bleat about 'Human Rights.'  I am somewhat cynical here, certainly the army took no prisoners and is no doubt guilty of abuse however after so many years of war something had to be done.  Now there is a peace, even if it is far from perfect.  Sad to say that if you 'live by the sword, you die by the sword.'  For me this has an element similar to those who say the bombing of Germany should never have happened, or dropping the bomb on Hiroshima was wrong.  Had we not bombed Germany we may have lost, had we not dropped the bomb more may have fallen later, on us!  Guess who would be the first to complain then?  Similarly those not hurt by the Tigers may well criticise Sri Lanca, but I would hesitate.  Had I been the boss down there confronted with 'Dave' and his crocodile tears I would immediately take a trip to Ireland and congratulate the IRA on their war.  'Dave' may not like that.  There is no doubt that David Cameron is not right for his job.  Soon he will be gone but the mess will not be cleared up soon, and probably not by what takes over.  Life is funny, and it might get funnier soon.  I've an idea, lets get that chap from Toronto to take over.......

 

I read somewhere that two thousand left handed people are killed each year by using right handed equipment.  I did laugh!  Naturally we should not laugh at such things, left handed folks are all around and normally everything is aimed at right handed peoples.  Quite right too I say, although one or two cack handed types of my acquaintance tend to differ.  The difference between a normal house and theirs is exposed when you use a utensil of some type.  Potato peelers that are back to front, although I never peel potatoes myself, scissors that don't fit the hand, even the pens are odd to hold, and as for the cups!  The museum Victorian School setup occasionally has trouble with a left handed kid.  In Victorian days you were forced, like it or not, to write right handed, the normal way, and such left handed children as arrive are forced to do this in the Vic school.  They do suffer, but even into the sixties I think it was normal to force kids to write right handed?  Again I laugh when considering how dangerous it can be to be left handed, hospitals you see often have the results of accidents that make you laugh, sometimes serious ones.  For example each year around a dozen people visit hospital because they burn themselves ironing, that is, ironing clothes they are wearing!  So a left handed accident could well be amusing, but I do wonder how on earth they manage to kill themselves?  Any lefthanders out there?  Are you ambidextrous?

Any complaints re spelling today....?

Something

There is nothing to say.  This is not to say I have nothing to say, it's just that nothing I have to say fits with something you wish to read, so I will not say it.  This leaves me nothing to say, so I look for something to say that you will read, if I can find something, and if you will read it,or consider it nothing you wish to read.  
It is not that I have done nothing, but how much can be said about buying a loaf of bread or doing the washing?  You see, you did likewise and failed to find anything worth writing about it also.  How much can be said about a loaf of 'Malted Grain' bread?  Tesco do their best but in truth it is not very exciting.  Even the crowded store was not enticing.  How foolish to shop when busy, normally I go early, before the women are up and the kids are still asleep, not using their pushchairs are barricades throughout the store.

I could tell you of the BBC iPlayer and the 15 minute programmes thereon, once again I am enjoying them.  At the moment I am listening to Alistair Cooke and his 'Letter from America,' which is always interesting, even though he himself is dead.  I could inform the reader that the 'Daily Express' wants to believe four inches of sow will arrive next week.  Further investigation reveals it will only land in Scotland, so that's all right, that's where it belongs.  

As I finger my bus pass and wonder whether an hours trip to Colchester tomorrow is worth considering I note Jenny has once again posted about warm countries, blue skies and good food.  How the rich live!  There again there is the 'Bead' who transports us to Costa Rica or France, and maybe even Spain while the cold winds blow.  However you will not want to read well written blogs and travel to the sunshine.  It would just make you hungry, so you might be better of visiting Queensland, where I remember the sun shines also.  You will be surprised to find her swanning about Singapore, where it's cooler.

Did you note a hint of jealousy there?  Bah!
Now, where are my gloves with the fingers cut out?

Wednesday Wonderings

One thing I wondered about is the way the sun the other day gave off a very bright light, enhanced a blue sky, yet failed to emit more heat than a candle!  If you are built of ten thousand billion nuclear explosions I feel it right to demand a temperature higher than 'just above freezing' when I am out.  That nice BBC weather man cheerfully informed his waiting public that next week there "might even be snow."  I am glad he did not hear my remark at that moment, anyway it would have been drowned out by the cheering at British Gas headquarters! Being regarded as a pensioner I'mentitledto £200 heating allowance.  I can tell you that I am happy for this, especially as this flat faces north so little heat arrives at any time, and writing, reading, or doing anything outwith the 15 tog duvet is an arduous business.  With this in mind I am early in bed, laptop on top, noting that the blood has begun to return to my fingers once more.  And people say I have it easy?  Well yes I do these days.

The financial worry has eased considerably, I am trained in cheap living, and it is possible to do so happily, also my running costs are now low.  Not counting heat of course.  However I wonder about those who really do struggle.  Some fail to buy properly, expect cheap energy while using far too much, leaving lights on all day and the like, and appear not to comprehend the value of money.  These are not lazy or selfish folks, just those that cannot shop well. Others have less than me, debts still hanging over them, family and friends that demand constantly, and do without to help others.  My mother was a bit like this, although in Scotland she was not allowed to suffer.  Food banks will do a roaring business at Christmas.

I wonder also about architects!  The fashion today is for an architect with a 'big name' to be employed erecting the tallest structure in the world.  To my mind these monstrosities, such as the 'Gherkin' or the 'Shard' are not only ugly but reflect the Genesis verse, "Come let us build a tower that reaches up to heaven, and make a name for ourselves."  That is what such creations reflect.  These is no requirement for them, little purpose (the Shard is still half empty) and probably far to expensive to run.  To build a tall building might be required in places, Edinburgh had ten stories or more in a confined area hundreds of years ago, but those developments worldwide in recent years are merely for show. An 'Empire State Building,' a 'Post Office Tower' (BT to you),  or an occasional showpiece is one thing, cities full of them just a mess!   The picture I took many years ago to compare the craftsmen who built Leadenhall market and the architect who built the Lloyds Building next to it.  One reflect craft, the other plastic!  Both may well function properly inside however the outside, which is what most of us see is ugly! I am sure you agree.

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Policing, Dangerous Work.

Late at night, after I finished posting yesterdays blog, it struck me how strange a job policing can be.  The girls on duty yesterday had a simple enough routine role but for such as they life could be more, er, interesting.  The lass at the top of the road blocking traffic is what they call a PCSO, a kind of lesser policewoman.  Many police officers consider this role irrelevant and want the money spent on fully qualified men on the beat however the idea is to give a (cheaper), more easily accessible individual, closer to the people, leaving proper police to get on with their job. Hmmm, while those I speak to, by choice I must say, are capable I can see a full time officers point.  
I am digressing from my thoughts.  The thoughts were that not that long ago two policewomen answered a routine call to suspicious activity at an empty house.  On arrival they were met with gunshots and a couple of hand grenades!  Both were killed.  Another copper had a gun fired in his face which blinded him a while back, numerous have been assaulted to some extent 'in the course of their duty.'  I suppose that stopping you riding the bike on the pavement, blocking the traffic at an 'incident,' or asking you why you loiter in shop doorways (admit it, you do that too!), are all troublesome to the personal freedom we all enjoy, however stopping a bank robber, a guy with a knife or risking life to save another gives a different view on things.  

What does it take to do such a job?  My father attempted to join the police after the war but in those days the minimum height rule, six foot two, stopped him by a wee bit.  he would have been an ideal copper in the forties and fifties.  Helping old women over the road, controlling yobs,  and if required dealing with drunks in pubs or men with guns.  Twice in the army, and a military policeman for a while at one point, prepared him for the job.  Today however he would not cope with the political correctness required, nor the absurd requirements put upon an officer today. There again most men of those days would feel the same.  Anyone, including some of the dafter officers, deserves some degree of credit for this job.  Few of us would take the risks, most demand them to come when called, and without delay, yet rarely d we praise them for what they do.  Maybe the corruption of those at the top, the backhanders lower down, and personal experience put us off, but without them, full proper police or PCSO's, life would be intolerable.

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Braintree & Bocking Remembrance Sunday 2013

It was under a bright blue sky, sunshine filling the chilly air as Braintree and Bocking gathered to remember their war dead.  The memorial contains the names of 202 from the Great War, 85 from the second, and we know that there are others who's names were omitted from the memorial for one reason or another.  Maybe one day we will add those who have fallen in the 'End of Empire' wars and other conflicts since 1945. The British Legion members led the parade, the Air Training Corps followed, and several youth groups of various types brought a huge turnout for the commemoration.  The police, the firemen, the Salvation Army joined many others left their wreaths as individuals left small wooden crosses remembering family and friends also. 

I was impressed by the number of others who attended, whatever their reason.  Two hundred or more people felt sufficiently interested to appear, because of personal interest or a family member on duty in the parade.  Whatever it was a good turnout. As is usual in such situations a short service, led by an Anglican vicar, was held.  A prayer hoping for an end to war and friendship between enemies, a reading from John's Gospel, possibly the only time many will hear this in today's world, and all accompanied by the commands to "Attention," or "Stand at ease," offered as you may expect by a chap who had no use for the microphones on offer!  Was he a corporal once I wondered...?  

 
I found the discipline of the march, the commands, the obedience, quite strange.  We live in such an indisciplined society that anything that veers away from the 'me first' attitude is indeed strange.  Yet discipline, for ourselves and others is so needful.  Without it anarchy does indeed reign, both within and without us.  Formations of troops, as here, could not take positions without proper leadership and acceptance of their orders.  Sometimes this can be somewhat funny, usually it gives at least an organised parade where each knows what is expected of them.  Today's society lacks both discipline and an understanding of where they are in the world.

The High Heid yins turn out as they ought, to lay a wreath, to remember, to represent the electorate.  This is not wrong, indeed it is their duty.  Last night during the commemoration at the Albert Hall we saw a ten year old lass burst in to tears as her father, who she thought far away on service, enter the arena.  Who was not touched as she ran to him in front of the  assembly?  What I wondered did David Cameron, Prime Minister and the man most responsible for men's lives, think then?  The camera caught him as the war widows entered, did he flinch, or was that just my interpretation?  Some say such men have no thought for servicemen when an order is given to advance, others are aware of the pressure that command can leave.  The responsibility to send a man to what may mean his death is an awesome one, generals usually can take it in a professional manner, most having been at the front line themselves at some time, politicians do not always appear to comprehend the enormity of it all.  Of course many have been at the front.  Harold MacMillan spent two nights and three days in a shell hole at the Somme with a broken pelvis, Churchill had been a soldier, of sorts, Jim Callaghan served in the Royal Navy during WW2 and Ted Heath in the army, these men understood the nature of war and strove to avoid it.  What can a man like Cameron, who was young during the 'Punk' era, really know about war?  

The Lady Mayor lays a wreath at the separate memorial to the Braintree supported sloop HMS Kite that was sunk by enemy action with the loss of 241 souls.  Only 17 were picked up as the ship went down in a ball of flame within ninety seconds!  Of these only nine survived.   I understand the last remaining survivor passed away a short time ago.

Amongst those responsible for crowd control was this personable, friendly and efficient young WPC.  Luckily for her she was given a position where the sun shone upon her while the cold breeze was deflected by the trees and shrubs around.  The rest of us noticed the weather I must say.  While such work is a requirement on such occasions it must be boring for the officers who can do little but stand around being mostly ignored by the crowds and enduring the weather often with no chance of escape.  This attractive young lass was doing her job very well, as indeed what her companion further up the road.

As always, even in England, a piper is called to play 'Soldier Laddie' as they march past the dignitaries, he being led by the big base drum, which may have been playing a differing tune, I am not sure!  A sight seen throughout the land today, a sight seen since the years following the Great War when memorial large and small began to appear in town and village, factory and office.  

 

Once the streets round here were flooded with uniforms of one sort or another, we ought to be glad that those days have gone and the minority are required to serve.  Still it is somewhat strange to see military uniforms pass by on parade.  Hopefully the young, eager members of the cadets never see the action their forefathers endured.

 Braintree & Bocking Great War Memorial

Braintree & Bocking WW2 Memorial

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Remembrance, is it a Bandwagon?

There is something not right about the nations 'remembrance' today.  A few years ago the UK had almost, but not quite, forgotten how to remember the war dead.  Today it is in danger of exploiting them!

Remembrance began after the 1914-1918 war ended.  With the armistice in November 11th the world attempted to return to normal, no matter how impossible that could be.  With over 300,000 men missing somewhere under the soil of France and Flanders, Mesopotamia, Salonika, Gallipoli, Africa, and of course so many lost at sea, relatives were desperate for a place to mourn, to remember their dead.  The Cenotaph, the empty coffin at the top of the memorial, stood for those who's bodies were never recovered.  Millions responded to this.  Towns and villages, churches, offices, factories, railways stations and clubs placed their own memorials to their lost and each year paid tribute, with many doing so knowing the truth of the sacrifices that had been made.

Following the 39-45 war the nation continued to remember, but wished to create a new world and move on from constant war and deprivation, deprivation that was the lot of the majority in previous years.  By the sixties when my generation were pretending to be Hippies and find a new way to live life, Peace, Love and 'Make love nor war,' which was more, 'Make tea not war' in reality, people at that time did not want to remember the war or encourage uniformed military society.  This was not to denigrate the sacrifices made, we knew all about those, but young folks look to the future not the past, new happenings were, er, happening.  It was later we realised human nature does not change, life as it always was continues.

The need for an army returned during the Irish 'troubles.'  While army requirements had lessened during the end of Empire, conscription's last intake being 1959, the tendency to ignore military matters ended when troops were placed on Irish streets.  Several years of murder and mayhem did not attract the nation to uniforms, we really did not want to know about those murderous Irish who used religion as a shield for their political malevolence.  However soldiers did gain some respect for their courage and in 1982 the Thatcher inspired jingoism (mostly English it must be said) that erupted during the Falklands dispute gave a degree of respectability to men in uniform once again.  Relatives if those killed in Ireland were noted at memorials, more took note of the following memorial services after 1982.  The Gulf conflict in late 1990 and fear of Arab terrorism, the second (needless) Gulf War and of course Afghanistan brought the requirements of the servicemen to the nations conscience more deeply.  A rise since the early eighties in the study of the Great War itself helped a new generation to appreciate what those men had gone through. The aftermath of the second world war hiding the sufferings of the first a great deal.

Today it is both popular and it appears almost compulsory once again to wear a poppy and remember the war.   TV stations will not allow any individual to appear without one, thereby debasing the thing entirely, and a rise of talk, discussion and forced remembrance is leading us not to 'remember' but to remember in a false manner.  Many rightly recall their fallen friends, especially those of recent years, but there is an underlying falseness creeping in of which we must be wary.  

I am all for remembering the dead of all wars and on all sides.  However the present attitude is in danger of becoming a passing fashion.  This makes it obligatory to 'remember,' and leads once the emotional side has passed to a wearing off of remembrance and a falling away from the whole thing.  

We need to remember, I do not wish the dead or their struggles to be forgotten, but we must remember correctly and for the proper reasons.  Otherwise it will all once more fade away like an old soldier, and we don't want that.