Bus, Jacket, St John's Moulsham, Cricket

In an attempt to avoid the builders/new neighbour/responsibility/laptop/work I took off suddenly for Colchester.  As I got to the bus station the bus drove out exactly on time therefore fooling me completely!  Instead I waited for the six minutes past Chelmsford bus which left a mere five minutes late.  This change of plans somewhat threw my plans out although I was, and remain, unsure what those plans actually were.   So in a day of hot sunshine I walked around the crowded centre of one of the most boring of cities known to man.  I sauntered through the charity shops containing jackets that suit me in every respect bar size!  Three perfect jackets were tried on and none were made correctly.  Tsk!  
The time on that clock was correct in 1896 but I would not trust it at the moment.

 
Tiring very quickly of the shops that do not stock what I want I found a place of refuge at the very far end of the street, a 'Chapel of Ease.'  Here I found rest from the sun and shops and found the company of two friendly church persons.  They were kind enough to allow me to wander around , take pictures and rest my feet for a while and cogitate.  Having done so we chatted for a short while and I found them very welcoming, a joy in any city.

  
The church has been undergoing some modernisation and the work has been going on for some time.  It is fair to say the church has been altering the building since first erected in 1837.  There were several reasons to build, one being the growing development of this area and a second arose when the railway from Liverpool Street was making its way towards Colchester.  The navvies building the line with pick and shovel, in between belting one another with forementioned items, requiring spiritual succour had until then some four or five miles to walk into town.  They usually managed it as far as the pubs were concerned but a 'Chapel of Ease' was raised ensuring they, and any locals, did not have to walk the distance.  How much concern there really was for the navvies might be a moot point, few such men attending church and the many Irish were predominately Roman Catholic anyway, but it certainly suited the incomers to growing Moulsham to have their own church.  The Bishop of London was pleased to open the building giving thanks for the life of King William IV, who was on his last legs while little Victoria was sitting in Kensington Palace awaiting his end, tearfully I'm sure, and the church began to serve its people.

Much altered since the beginning, side chapels and towers followed in the years to come after the navvies moved on and the well established moved in.  I was surprised to see pews still in use.  Most churches today remove them and have chairs in a semi circular style, much better for the Sunday meetings and allows the space to be used at other times also.  These however were distinctively painted and well kept.  Cogitating here in the near silence was good for the heart as well as the feet. I am glad they now have the doors open and folk in attendance, it gives the church a 'lived in' look and connects with the people of the area better.

I wondered about the people who passed this was over those 178 years.  There may indeed have been some navvies, their wives and children, then the important people of the area, who paid towards its erecting, and other locals such as their workers and servants would  certainly pass through.  Once Victoria had married Albert the nation followed her 'happy family' approach to life this did not stop the establishment of class division, snobbery and personal control over churches.  By the end of the Great War church attendance fell, false religion, nominalism, was swept away for the most part and greater wealth or then the depression must have had its effects here.  What happened to those people I wonder?  Certainly they felt the effect of the second war, this town was bombed often.  The Victorian railway had brought new people and as the city developed so did wealth and prosperity for (almost) all.  Late Victorian Britain was a time of improving prosperity, education had become compulsory,  the railways had changed the face of the nation and imperialists had developed an empire and the arrogance that goes with it, not that I will mention this.

An example of improving oneself lies here, Samuel Wackrill a one time draper who by the time he was 64 had moved from living in the High Street, possibly 'above the shop' to New London Road, a move which implied no lack of cash at hand.  he gave his occupation as a 'Landlord of houses,' and I wonder if he was a good one?  Within ten years he was a mere 'retired draper' but living in Chandos House' a fancy name for his dwelling.  His New London Road house were not for the likes of me I can tell you, unless I was a servant.  Samuel left us in 1889 a few years after his wife.  Clearly he was a 'pillar of the church' and has a burial spot positioned where passersby can remember him as they enter each Sunday.  He was unable to take over £3000 of his pounds with him when he left however, not a bad sum when you and I would be earning between 5 shillings (20 to the pound) and £2 if highly skilled a week. 

I wonder about those who are buried with much pomp and remembered with huge tombstones like this one.  Could it be he tries yet to stay alive?  Could it be simple oneupmanship in an effort to prove your importance?  Either way it fails for this chap, his name is non existent now and he is forgotten.  

The accoutrements of an Anglican church often confuse me but while some are easier to comprehend I find the whole setting most attractive.  Many churches here go back far further than St John's but I wonder if the welcome there is as pleasant as the welcome at this church?  The church is the people not the building and while I would find them a little too 'churchy' on a Sunday I would certainly pop in for coffee if passing again.  It is the people, knowledgeable people, who make the place and I found two of them here. 

 
Of course you didn't think I would ignore the war memorial did you?  Such a shame the names are now fading.  However the memorial was a good one for the time and in a prominent place for all to see.  

 

 My creaking knees stumbled to a halt when we noticed this creation falling apart in this somewhat run down area.  Further inspection shows it to be an unidentified object in the grounds of what is now the 'Chelmsford Club' a place for businessmen to do business and get drunk together.  Next to it lies the gatehouse, once the entrance designed to keep the plebs out.  As I wondered lost among recent built offices I considered these Victorian buildings more worthy of praise than the quite well built new ones.  These form part of a big house created by James Fenton an architect come engineer who cleaned up the local water supply thereby improving health for the townspeople, he also designed many of the better buildings in the town.  Together with friends he built New London Road later populated by the wealthy from St John's and removed himself to Croydon to improve their health also.  His wealth is seen in the size of the stable block alone! 

Heading back to the bus I tried to get a picture of the entrance to the cricket ground.  This is the home of the Essex County Cricket side.  According to the confusing mess that is their website this county lies at the bottom of the second division, which tells you something.  There however is in my view far too much 'pap' and not enough sensible information, easily consumed, on these pages.  I did however work out that whatever type of cricket they play (what is 'T20 Blast!' when it's at home I ask?) it is clear Essex are not very good at it.  However I could not find my way through the new buildings and it transpires I was far from where I should be so I went home.  The glimpse of the floodlights, probably not working like the players, is your lot cricket fans.  Cricket does not appeal to me much but today the ghastly commercialism really does put me off, it is very different from a mere thirty years ago and this is not an improvement

 
So, no jacket, rubbish shops, too many people, only the church really worth taking pictures off, a nice house, once, and a cricket ground with a failing team.  Nothing could be worse unless the 12:55 bus does not arrive until 13:10 and leave me asking if it is the late running bus or the early 13:15 one?  Being 'First Bus' you do not get to know.  I suspect however that as each old dear (and there were lots of them) got on the bus they asked "Why are you late?" and jumped up and down.  The driver
 would probably answer "Because I was explaining to old women why I was late dear!"  We got home several minutes before we should have done had he come on time, work that one out!

Laughs

 

 

 

 

 

Carnival Day

The eager crowds were out, as was the sun, for the carnival parade.  One day in the year when the entire town meets together.  Most have the responsibility of either their kids beside them or spotting a known child on one of the floats and ensuring you get some money into the buckets and nets they hold out as they pass.  The museum wall made an excellent viewing platform and allowed younger kids a safe place to avoid boredom, at least the one that ran past me fifty times was happy enough avoiding boredom! Gran, forced to chase him, was avoiding boredom well also.

The Saturday staff ignored the few visitors who made it through the crowds and soaked up the sun while being annoyed they had run out of suitable leaflets to force on to  present to the punters.  We had some visit before the parade but most afterwards follow it to the parades end where the fairground has been set up, the children enjoying the many rides, the men ruing the closure of the local hostelry!  That has become a 'Tesco Express.'

 
Naturally, as you do in Essex four hundred miles from Scotland's capital city of Edinburgh, the pipes always lead the parade!  'A Scottish Soldier'  was aired as they passed and I considered them the most musical of all the offerings presented to us today.  I suspect these lead many of the local carnivals and most people probably follow all the carnivals around as each small town and villages has one and this keeps the kids happy during the better summer days.  I suspect most of those participating in their floats show up in each march also!

I saw more of these today than I usually see around town these days, no not our man Stuart drinking his lunch, I mean policemen!  I say that and the police station is behind us and their cars turn the corner all the time, usually going in, not out.  Austerity leads to less noticeable policing as staff are cut, although 'Diversity officers' still get £32,000 a year in comparison to a new Bobby's £17,000, why?  On occasions they will blow the siren near my back window just for spite I'm sure.  Today there were lots of them, some even wearing these strange helmets and rumour has it that a blue lamp is contained within but I have never liked to ask.  He didn't recognise me anyway.

This man was having a ball with his flag!  Whatever the reason for the parade the flag was an instrument to be put to use and he was making hay when I noticed him.  For such is the day made and I assume the flag is now above, and possibly in, his bed!

I don't normally go in for candid pictures especially of children but all around they were having a ball watching on expectantly waiting for the next float.  Maybe I am missing the now grown up kids up north or maybe it is just a granddad phase but I enjoy watching them enjoy these days.  Someone of course ought to have ensured these were given info re the museum programme but no leaflets were ready, not that I am one to grumble as you know but here were three £5's for one special event standing here awaiting information. 

This lass on the right was pointing at the museum and telling her uncomprehending friend something about the place, so I snapped her.  I suspect her school or her mum has brought her in and she has remembered well.  Hopefully she will return and it is a shame the girls behind me did not notice this.

This is one of two that appeared to me to be about that Alice woman.  Someone we know wrote a book about her.  Standing at the rear gossiping is Alice herself, ignoring her fans.

I never knew this lot existed and I suppose that is one reason they join in the parade, a good free advertisement.  I preferred this lot to the numerous stick twirlers of varying ability who passed by.  Exercise helps you lose weight they told me, it was my considered opinion that some majorettes have not discovered this yet!  These lads however looked fit enough and this appeared to be a well organised youth group.  As a teenager this would be an attractive option - apart from the bruises and broken bones of course.

 

Then the aging 'Mods' arrived.  Usually they sit at the 'greasy spoon cafe' on a Sunday morning.  No doubt regaling one another of daring do against 'rockers' on their 'BSA's,' 'Triumphs' and 'Norton's' on Southend beach back in the sixties.  The scooter I think is a good way to get around town.  Until recently Stirling Moss, once Britain's greatest racing driver, used one as it was easier in London than anything else.  Only age made him give this up.

 Rent a Princess?

A singing group from afar, six miles away, appear to be putting on a show but I have no idea what it might be.  The cannon firing smoke was good however.

Throughout the country this sort of event will be occurring now.  Not the most earth shattering of events but certainly full of fun for the young ones.  They enjoy parading, mostly sitting waving from a forty ton truck, something mum probably has heart stopping worry over, while dressed up appropriately as a character from the theme.  Something I once disdained as of no interest I now find enjoyable, possibly because of the reaction to certain of the personnel involved as we watched this go by. 
Back to boring old European Champions League final now..... 

Kidnapped by Women

Late yesterday afternoon I was kidnapped much against my better judgement and driven at great speed north.  My intention had been to loiter in my bed wasting my life away doing important things such as surfing the net for well written blogs or football played in far distant lands but here I was in a large saloon vehicle with a driver who may or may not possess a licence.  As I was bundled into the car I dropped a note out the scrap of paper out of the window with:

 "Help! I am being kidnapped!" 

  

scrawled in cheap museum pencil.

This was pickled up by a passing police officer who ran ahead and stopped the car.  'Freedom' thought I, but he just gave me a £60 ticket for dropping litter and we sped off down the wrong route avoiding a fat female bus driver who managed to take a corner too fast possibly because she had her eyes shut.

At least this car full of threatening women took me out into the countryside.  The summer sun shone high above the fields filled with green crops dotted with yellow flowerings heading towards their fulfillment.  Occasional newly sheared sheep and contented cows were passed while the lassies gave up their threats to point out the changing architecture the further north we progressed.  The basic design was similar to those in our area but somehow different.  The thatch was more pointed, extra windows, roof shapes more 'Gothic' that Flemish.  Not that they noticed much of this as they spent too much time talking of the sun filled foreign climes they would be visiting while I ruminated on my day out to Little Tey, a hamlet just down the road.  I only got there by accident after getting off the bus at the wrong stop!

We reached our destination, tyres screaming as we tore through the streets the driver not aware of the signs with large 30 or 40 numbers at the side of the road indicated the maximum and not minimum speeds to use.  The difficulty of interpreting those blue signs with white arrows also caused some problems when ignored but with both hands over my eyes I can say little more as to whether they were ignored or obeyed there.  I did however hear some scraping noise and a scratch or two on the vehicle told its own story. 

We came to a halt in Bury St Edmunds a town named after St Edmund who lay worshipped in the Abbey here some years past.  Who was Edmund?  Little is known but myths grow easily, just look at the propaganda in the media!  It is possible he was killed by the Danes while leading opposition to their incursions in the year 869.  Tales tell of him being killed by arrows because he was a Christian, his head removed and thrown away and a wolf crying out revealing where it landed, and so on.  It appears to me these are later additions.  By the late 900's a cult had grown and King Canute began to build an abbey here over his shrine and the cult and town grew until Henry VIII came along and dissolved the monasteries in his loving manner. 

The old abbey lies in ruins with a new somewhat disappointing one standing a short distance nearby.  The picture is off the gatehouse to the old Abbey and this is grander than many buildings and this leads to the ruins which have now become a rather enjoyable green space in this small town.  

Many pilgrims in days of yore passed through our town on their long trek to this place to pray for healing, forgiveness or wealth from the dead man.  The abbot, like most in those days, was more concerned to increase the size of his steeple, so that it was higher than that of Ely some distance away, rather than deal with the troubles generated by the growing middle class of the town or attempt to communicate the gospel to them, such is ecclesiastical power!  The Reformation could not have come soon enough! 

We however were not allowed to go look see as I wished, instead I was dragged by these harridans into the large 'Athenaeum' where an award ceremony for volunteer museum folks was being held.  This building was erected in the early 1700's as Assembly rooms capable of holding large numbers for any meeting.  It became the Athenaeum in the 1850's and retains much of the aged designs of the time.  Not quite to my taste bu suitable for large gathers still and now of course a wedding venue for the rich, and this area of Suffolk has many such!     My opinion of our get together was that this was needless a waste of time being ignored I was frogmarched therein while they headed, somewhat eagerly for the free champagne.  Such events make me wish to hide in a cupboard as I think being in the background better than being seen, especially by large groups in this vast auditorium.  This is not my world, my world is hiding in my cave and yelling at the world through a keyboard.

There were several distinct awards on offer, there being a 'Highly commended' and a top prize of an Award to the winner.  Eventually the crowds gathered and the girls scrutinised the people as they entered comparing the women to themselves and the men to their wishes.  I was unable to look past our own attractive lassies, they had blindfolded me.  

I was amazed at the wide variety of peoples involved in voluntary activities throughout the region.  Museum of all kinds in every place were represented, each struggling for cash and run for the most part by a few paid employees and many volunteers.  From researching historical events, repairing broken items, entertaining adults or children and unblocking 'U-bends' the variety of skills on offer amazed.  The hours some people put in to their museum never failed to surprise me.  Age, class, background all made no difference, all that counted was an interest in the museum, the purpose thereof and a desire to help.

  

Only one museum was capable of winning two awards, one highly commended and one Award itself.  This I am proud to say was our museum where Karen and Lynn received the 'Highly commended' award for 'Front of House volunteer.' This was rightly so!  They keep the shop in good condition, amending displays, greeting visitors and putting right the actions of the Tuesday morning staff.  Such a well deserved mention for them both.  It was clear to us then that no museum would win two awards when would you believe our lass Vanessa won the 'Bringing Innovation Award' outright!  Quite right too.  Behind the scenes she has improved much including the monthly newsletter and improved the museums image to the online visitor.  I however failed in my attempt to win my category 'The Miserable Grumpy Git' award as there were far too many in the competition.  It must be stated here that all these were names suggested by female members of the staff.  No male suggested any individual for this section!

We drove home through the quieter roads as the sun began to lower itself over the greenery.  High above a few trails and occasional very high white cloud set off the deep blue colour of the sky, not that we could see it from the tyre smoke as we swung from side to side as the driver 'got used to a new car.'  My keen suggestion that taking her foot off the gas pedal and looking at the dials in front of her might have helped was not heeded.  The lassies, grasping their awards and preening themselves, did not notice our plight, they contented themselves by showing their awards to the citizens in the cars we overtook, sometimes legally.  It was only as we missed the taxi at the crossroads in Sudbury that I realised the driver was indicating an interesting house on the right with one hand and a similar building on her left with the other hand at the same time that I understood the reason for the driving skill.  That same skill helped lose the car with the flashing blue lights that followed us for a little while.  

In town I jumped out at the roundabouts wishing I had waited until she stopped and wandered slowly up the road looking at the bright late evening sky glad once more to be alive.  I took deep breaths of the fresh air and delighted myself with the summers evening.

Maybe it's not so bad getting out now and again after all.

  

    

Water

 

Earlier today I was feeling sorry for myself as I did not have one of those, a shot at that and lots f those over there that they have, when I came to myself and considered those who have less than I and are often happier than me.  Folks in some African townships live in mud huts or tin shacks that I would consider somewhat less reliable at keeping out the rain than my landlord's roof.  Others have to work 16 hours a day for little to make the constantly shrinking T-shirts that I buy, others toil in fields for the veg that I allow to rot because it is too much like work to cut it and use it.  

One blatant suffering is that of water!

Some years ago a programme on TV gave the impression the next war would be caused by water, or the difficulty in sharing it.  The vast amount of water that covers the earth is undrinkable and our limted technology will not allow us to make it drinkable, or at least will not pay to do so!  Surely it must be possible to ensure each one of us can access clean drinking water wherever we are?  It surely is but money, politics, selfishness and greed are probably the most likely causes in hindering delivery of clean water.  

Of course some people try to supply the need.  All across the globe governments can be found making decent attempts to supply such although too many do not and charities work tirelessly to provide in many places.  This does not always work successfully however.  Some years ago Oxfam, I think it was, spent vast sums drilling wells in Bangladesh and provided clean, safe water for the peoples.  Soon afterwards it was discovered that ALL the water was contaminated with arsenic!  This was because of a natural fault in  the area and now those using the water have to add tablets of some unknown to me substance to counter the effects.  Good try though.

Considering this I remembered a picture I took of a village pump some time back.  This stands in Little Dunmow a few miles from here, a small probably expensive hamlet that once housed a huge church building, now considerably reduced.  This Victorian looking pump was probably the main source of water for all the village for many centuries.  It is possible farmers had their own well, for themselves and their animals, and maybe the pub brewed it's own beer from water found in a well, that seems likely to me.  But I have not bothered to research as I was too busy contemplating my navel.

If I remember right the pump has since been done up and now is a different colour, it is some years since I took this picture, and it is clear the village has made it a centre piece and rightly so!  The town had a pump well into the 19th century and a friend buying an old house noticed on original deeds from when the house was built that the owner had the right to use the pump two doors down!  Sadly this has now gone.  

As I sit in the bath - well on Sundays anyway - I contemplate the cost of every inch of water draining away (the draining water is charged at about 90% of the water costs, the crooks!) and consider myself lucky to have a bath, lucky to have water on tap and the money to pay for this instead of lugging bucketfulls (a woman's job) back to the house.  Somewhere in Africa a woman is walking several miles to collect water each day, there is no guarantee it is clean either.  How privileged we are to have so much.

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Like a Bird

Like a bird I flew through this day, until that is I fell asleep when I got home.  The wind howled as I made my way to the museum and it increased in strength as the day reached noon.  Thankfully the rain stayed up north where it belongs.  
Our first visitor got talking about the birds he feeds in his garden, he has many feeding places for them and one or two nests where he has created space for them.  He noted how few small birds were seen today.  Tonight I notice only Starlings and Sparrows have so far been at the feeder.  This is worrying as I was told the wind last night was terrible.  I, it must be said, slept through this terrible wind.  However it may be the wee birds have been flung from their nests and lost to us.  Possibly they have been flung far away and might return, the first thought however is that they may be lost.  Few Blackbirds sing tonight, that is a worry.   Ah, out in the trees over there a bird sings happily, some sort of Finch perhaps, maybe all is not lost.

The day was much better than yesterday, my rant file was not working, I smiled at people and spoke nicely to them and all was well, even though few staff were in.  However my colleague and I took control of the situation and we worked as a team - he did everything!  We now stock all sorts of things suitable for the few tourists and passersby that arrive including these jams and chutneys.  They have sold well, I noticed one had gone today!  The weather kept many away but a few toddled in and we had a chat about all sorts of things yet not one bought even a postcard!  Meanies!

Now I am not one to criticise learner drivers but really only a woman could miss a tank coming down the road as she comes out of a side road!  Tsk!  The 'Daily Telegraph' records the name of the road as 'Tank Ring Road!'  Did I mention she was female...?

Glancing through the papers just now I wonder about the number of attention seekers on show.  The ones keen to tell us they are gay or transgender, the singers/actors who just happen to have photographers with them when they divorce/marry/fall over/wear little, or as happens so often in the local press those who have to show us their accident/sickness/hardship.  Why I ask do people run to the media in these situations?
I can understand when you have been badly treated by some business and wish to embarrass them, I can understand the desperation of 'celebrities' to further their failing careers but why must we see your failing love life in the papers?  Why must we see your sex problems day after day?  Even worse why run to the local paper to tell us you have a disease, hundreds have such problems why are you in the paper?
Maybe it is that I would not wish anyone to know if I had been run over/took sick or become pregnant, especially the last one.   I would not see any reason for publicity, indeed I prefer to keep out of the way from that sort of thing.  I was very reluctant to be photographed for the museum when something was being put in the press, that is what the women are for I say, not me.  So I find it strange that Mrs Jones has caught a disease and we all get to know about it.  Those who need to will already know, those who don't need to don't care!  I know sick people here I have no requirement to be told of others.  I have no need for peoples private lives, nor their sex changes, nor their self seeking adverts.  If you have a broken life get it fixed and sort yourself out, don't fill the media with it!  Do what the rest of us do in these situations, keep it to ourselves!  I don't want to know.

I scribble this as it is clear that is the sort of thing people increasingly wish to know.  This is 'bread & circuses' for the masses.  Living their lives through the mess that others are in.  These folks need aid, and such aid will not be fund by rushing to the nearest newspaper office I can tell you!
  

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A Day For Ranting

I've been ranting all day.
It began when I awoke, continued when I browsed the meaninglessness in the papers and continued ceaselessly all day.  I have no idea why!
Maybe it is I am just feeling a bit rough, maybe I need to eat better - the diet is failing - and maybe it is just par for the course.  Anything and everything got me going today.  The laptop started it really.  You see I have been attempting to speed it up and naturally after all my work it goes much slower than ever.  I informed the component parts, the people scribbling advice that I browsed and indeed most of their relatives of my considered thoughts on the matter.  It made no difference.
Later i took a break from the labours of cleaning the sink, it has been some time, and played patience on the laptop.  It is funny how playing this game often allows the thoughts to wander as the requirement to think is not great.  Wandering thoughts made me rant about and too all sorts of people, I am open minded that way.  These subjects were of course important at the time however my mind has managed to forget what such important matters were.
The attempt to finish the ironing, it failed by the way, led me to listen to the radio, then watch things on the TV while doing so.  I soon found things to grumble at, and told both my opinions forceably.  Whoever they were ignored my comments.  Using the BBC iPlayer I watched the 'Sportscene' version of the two big games at the weekend while stuffing grub down my throat.  This led to my opinions on Rangers football club, under several names, being offered freely to the gentlemen on view.  Being recorded on Sunday evening they were unable to hear my wise thoughts and ignored me.  This little problem was not enough to hinder my free expression.
I am reading an excellent Great War book called 'The War the Infantry Knew' by a chap called Dunn.  As he considered the Brigade, then Division, and then Corps staff I found myself sharing much of his opinion of their work ethic also.  If you wish to plan a war go and see what the situation happens to be, a thought that few amongst them appeared to share.   Dunn, in the firing line, made clear his opinions of them.
I have decided I am again suffering something, that explains the rants, the tiredness and the lack of sensible things to say.  I could rant at those who inform us that winter down there begins at 23 degrees and rising while we suffer high winds, rain, and Spring!  But I will not.  I wish them well and go off for a hot toddy....

I'm Lost.....

I'm lost here.  
The last match of the Scottish football season has ended and there are no more to come.  I realise an international or two and the European Cup Final still awaits but otherwise there is no more football, proper football until August!
What am I going to do?
There is an unhealthy thought that I might have to actually do those things that have been awaiting doing since, well since the season began last August. But really nobody wants to do that do they?  Anyway just think of all the dust that has accumulated over the time.  
I could write a book, I could do the things for the museum that need doing but all that requires thinking, football does not require that!  
My head hurts considering my options.
I may have to lie here in the evenings and stare at the ceiling or something.  That is similar to watching Hibernian play at any rate.  
O woe, thrice woe!

I have been forced, since the last game finished, to sit for hours attempting to photograph the Robin that has decided to feast at the hanging feeder.  So far I have got the wood pigeon and nothing else!  Bah!  

Saturday

Today I spent hours attempting to speed up the laptop.  After Malarbyting it, Virus checking it, 'CCleanering' it, defragmenting it and howling abuse at it there is little difference.  It must be more RAM is required but that is too expensive.  Later I will remove stuff.
That has been my day, as the machine had to be used to watch the Scottish Cup Final I had to stop the clean and watch the game.  How lovely to watch a game and want both teams to win!  Unusual as normally there is always a reason to prefer one or despise the other (yes Celtic & Rangers I mean you!)  Even referee Willie Collum, known as 'Gollum' to most, did not do too badly today.  Then as the machine defragmented I watched the second rate English Cup Final, the one in which you always know which team will win.  Today, to celebrate my victory in the 'Prediction League' I once again forecast a 4-0 win, and as always I was right!  No prizes but a smug smile will do.

Now watching the end of the football I took to ironing shirts.  This is the result of females not doing the job they were clearly made for.  Three shirts I managed to iron without burning them - this time - and that will do for a few weeks.  Tsk!  A woman would have done them all in the time it took me to do three.  Which reminds me...

 

Big Town

The watery sun tempted me to strive for the big town today so placing several shiny shillings in my pocket I hurried of for the bus.  The journey was slightly longer than usual as the early twentieth century roads struggle to cope with twenty first century traffic, especially as Farmer Jones on his tractor or his wife on the Landrover doddle along the road with no sense of hurry about them.  On top of this the stupidity of speeding motorists who consider crashing into any oncoming traffic, motorbikes, cyclists or horses a sensible thing to do when all it does it kill one or two bend your car and cause massive hold ups for miles along the way beats me.  Today we only had a tractor or two hindering progress but come harvest time huge machines jump from field to field grabbing crops and annoying bus passengers.  
I made it however with only a few minutes delay and immediately sped for the charity shops, I, you see, was after a new summer type jacket on the cheap.   One such shop out of many investigated offered the perfect jacket!  A darkish gray corduroy jacket in immaculate condition.  One thing spoiled it all, it was one size too small!  I replaced it unwillingly and noted the 'half price' ticket reading £2:50.  I would gladly have paid £5!
The rest of them offered nothing for me and a rushed chase through the chain stores discovered only hugely expensive items near the mark and a disappointing array of summer apparel aimed at the colour blind and stupid!  How anyone could wear most of what was on offer let alone pay the price required had me heading back to then charity shops.  I note that 'Harris Tweed' jackets were available also in several shades, for a mere £195.  I could buy a house on Harris for that!
I returned to the crowds who walked slowly in front of me, turned right or left with no consideration, blocked the path while staring, gossiping, seeking directions or just lost in space.  With my usual grace I kicked them out the way.

Naturally the watery sun had left us with watery rain.  This pleased me no end so I climbed back on the bus, having been caught between two stops when it approached, and rested my now aching hulk on the top deck.  The timing was good as no kids were on this time.  Half term sees mum drag the brats onto buses to share the pleasure of their company.  I found sharing the pleasure easier when they stay at home.  Cogitating on the near miss with the jacket I pondered as to why jackets suitable for men of a certain age cannot be obtained these days.  Thousands of other types are available, like the one I was looking for last year and could not find, but cord jackets cannot be obtained outside of charity shops.  That's at least three times this has happened to me, good job I am not one to complain.

Lashing rain came down so hard at one point it began to leak through the roof of the bus.  Quite how it got in i could not see but the few of us up there managed to avoid it.  This is the end of May, just wait till 'Blooming June' arrives and then we will see rain!  
We turned off the road to trundle through a small addition to a small village. This comprises several streets of 1960's style houses, three or four different types on view, most of which featured large windows to let in light and all of which wore net curtains to keep it out!  I cringed at these little boxes.  These are in themselves nice wee houses right enough, probably nothing in themselves worth grumbling at, but it is the number of them, in all the streets, the sheer boring nature of developments like this make my skin crawl!  
Now I realise many have old folks wasting away their lives here, surely life has more to offer?  Others might have young families growing up in safety, but it's so boring!  This small, neat estate may well be safe, secure, and near to town but it would not suit me, or indeed most of us.  
I realise also that the lives behind the lace curtains may not be so quiet, wife swapping, demon worship, psychopathic killers, and would be accountants dwell in them thar places.  Several of the neighbours will not talk to one another, some are alcoholics, worse still some are train spotters whose anoracks can be seen drying out in the back gardens as we pass.  
I was glad the bus moved through without stopping, just in case one of this lot wished to get on!  The sight of proper houses dating back several hundred years, maybe more depending on the condition of the paint on the house, was a delight and heartening after the sheer boredom of such housing estates. 

No excitement tomorrow, just two cup finals to watch as I rest my bones.

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The Queen & Austerity

Yesterday saw the opening of Parliament, the UK parliament, the one that fiddles their expenses and housing allowances at Westminster.  This is one of those 'pomp and circumstance' days so beloved of tourists and 'Daily Mail' readers.  Here the aged outfits are brought out, the Lords, the Queens speech is always read out by her in the House of Lords, the Lords dress up in borrowed ermine and fill the chamber, ensuring they have signed in to get their £300 a day attendance money.  The parade through parliament, cries of "Hats off strangers" and other obscure aged ceremonial lead up to the Queen sitting on the throne where she is presented with the speech drawn up for her by the fawning smug David Cameron.  It is a wonder royals have not at this point in times past muttered a variety of comments regarding the content therein, it is clear they have not always agreed with them.  One would like to have been at the private meetings with between the queen and the mad Baroness Margaret Thatcher.  She did not exactly despise the woman but clearly indicated she disagreed with her in many ways, slapping her in public was probably going a bit beyond royal protocol however!  
The speech which is read is written on fancy parchment and contains details of all the present governments political chicanery for the coming session.  This wish list sometimes succeeds in turning into law, sometimes it fails.  As she reads it is important to watch how she resists turning up her nose at certain sections of the speech and where she turns with eyebrows raised and looks to the heavens.  This usually indicates a question has arisen in her mind.  The manner in which she spits on her hands and then rubs down her dress after shaking hands with the Prime Minister also indicates something according to royal watchers.  
An interesting picture came my way today.

This got me thinking, while the 'hat' is worth considerably more than the price quoted it has to be remembered that this speech is indeed about 'austerity.'  Chancellor George Osborne has decided to save some billions from the budget, mostly by robbing the poorest, while ignoring the £120 billion dodged tax that his friends take out of the country year by year.  A question then arises as to austerity and royalty.  Whether we require one or ought to be a republic is always an argument that can lead nowhere but as we have a monarchy should they not participate in austerity?  It is understood Charles has plans when he becomes King to reduce greatly the outgoings of the royal house.  This is not it appears going down well within the family.  Millions are spent by the royal house, much on the nations duties, launching ships, meeting dignitaries and hangers on, selling the nation abroad, opening supermarkets and selling programmes at football matches, all well and good for the nations traditions.  However other monarchs have cheaper programmes, less million pound houses and fewer holidays abroad, this Princess Beatrice, whoever she is, has had 15 already this year, could she not get a job at 'Poundland' or something?  Prince William, the next in line after Charles, the one with his mothers brain and a wife to match, he has three houses, each costing the nation millions and all having been done up for him at around three to four million pound a time!  Does he need three homes he does not use?  Interestingly I have just remembered, the staff in royal houses are not well paid, mostly gay, and threatened strike action recently because many were being dumped and thrown out of the house that goes with the job, a very caring employer is the queen!  
If a woman with a million pound hat can talk about austerity on TV I suggest she begins at home putting right her staff situation, selling off needless houses to rich Russians and Chinese who appear to buy anything that moves today as well as line the pockets of the Conservative Party, and then cut down all needless expenditure on that which the nation cannot afford. 
If we have 'food banks' the royals can have less holidays. 

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Busy

Busy watching the UEFA Cup Final so you will have to make do 

with this poor picture of a wee flower.

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The Tuesday Repose

Repose it is indeed as after a busy morning I need to place my blubber filled hulk into a chair and do nothing that taxes the intellect.  This I hear you cry should not take too much bother, and I find myself unable to disagree with that opinion at this moment in time.  
In this neck of the woods it is half term holiday and the schoolkids are filling the streets.  They also filled the museum this morning as we put on little happenings for them.  When I arrived I had not realised this was half term week, I thought it was next week, so I had to prepare for the crowds.  This would have been easier had my colleague turned up but he also was off this week, indeed two others were also leaving me at one end and her who must be obeyed at the other.
The shortage of materials means we must limit the numbers of kids, many have booked themselves in, most have previously paid, but as always others turn up on the day and we hope somebody drops out.  So while several happy mums and kids went through to the event (making volcanoes indeed!) I was met with several who were disappointed.  Hard hearted folks just say 'Too bad' but I felt rotten for the kids as they were a wee bit down, as were mum and a dad or two.  However as the sun shone for once many who bought the whole week ticket (£5 a session or £7 for a whole weeks events) did not bother to turn up, or indeed tell us they were not coming as some of them usually do, so I could send all my disappointed down to the other end.
The stress is killing!
The folks were good about this on the whole but one or two were peeved.  Once they got down there, cutting and pasting, filling and painting, making mess and having fun (mums and dads covered in paint also) they were all delighted and no complaints received.  Most will be back tomorrow!  
The exploding volcanoes (don't ask me how) were used last year and as popular then as now.  The kids thought it great and most took them home.  
Add to this the other customers passing through, the impossibility of leaving the front when I needed to several times, and shop customers actually spending money I found no time through the day to weary.  But I was weary at the end.  By the time I left after helping clear up, more paint on tables than on volcanoes, all was quiet.  How do teachers cope?  How do mums cope I wonder?  I canny mind what it was like to have kids running around, that was so long ago, and in the days of yore I had energy.  In fact several grans and granddads were in today being led by the nose by children.  The men especially were on a lead!  They will be delighted when the week is over!
Now, back to WW2...

Laurel & Hardy

It is said that one or two Laurel & Hardy films are to be seen in UK cinemas sometime during this year.  I should think so too!  In spite of their age they are masterpieces of comedy, featuring many tricks learnt in Music Hall and Vaudeville.  Some call it mere slapstick yet the greatest UK comedy moment the people chose was a piece of slapstick from 'Only Fools and Horses.'  What is funny, if done well, is always funny. The films appear slow to us today but remember they had to do the same film several times, in a variety of languages! French, German and I think Italian.  No dubbing them so they just remade it each time reading idiot boards.  A Class Act!

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A Literate Evening

'Ware Tomato Juice

An accident happened to my brother Jim

When somebody threw a tomato at him ---

Tomatoes are juicy and don't hurt the skin,

But this one was specially packed in a tin.

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Mary had a little lamb
Her father killed it dead
And now it goes to school with her
Between two lumps of bread.

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The rain it raineth on the just
and on the unjust fella.
But mostly on the just because
The unjust steals, the justs umbrella.

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Responsibility 

‘Tis easy enough to be twenty-one:

‘Tis easy enough to marry;
But when you try both games at once
‘Tis a bloody big load to carry.

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 Here lies the body of Emily White,
She signalled left and then turned right.

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 Here lie the bones of Elizabeth Charlotte
Born a virgin, died a harlot.
She was aye a virgin at seventeen
A remarkable thing in Aberdeen.

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Erected to the memory of
John Macfarlane
Drowned in the waters of Leith
By a few affectionate friends.

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"Ozymandias"
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

Percy Byshe Shelley

 

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 The elephant is a bonnie bird.
    It flits from bough to bough.
    It makes its nest in a rhubarb tree
    And whistles like a cow.   

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Elegy in a Country Churchyard

    THE men that worked for England
    They have their graves at home:
    And birds and bees of England
    About the cross can roam.

    But they that fought for England,
    Following a falling star,
    Alas, alas for England
    They have their graves afar.

    And they that rule in England,
    In stately conclave met,
    Alas, alas for England
    They have no graves as yet.

 G. K. Chesterton