Opening Day

Amidst pirates, a large elf, Cinderella and characters aplenty the grand opening of the new exhibition concerning children's stories was my destination for the day.
Mums and kids soon arrived, only one problem re the kid scared of pirates and crocodiles with Jack Sparrow and a crocodile the first thing he saw!  Otherwise few problems beyond the normal with kids.  There appeared to be thousands of them but this could be a miscalculation caused by the rushing around and general mayhem. 

Of course in the hall we had some furry creatures.  Not all furry and I refused the invitation to cuddle a giant cockroach, I preferred the hairy rabbit that I did eventually get my hands on, she was not impressed.  The skunk remained asleep throughout the day hidden in his little hiding hole.  

The Queen and I stood outside Tesco in the glaring heat offering leaflets to all and sundry, dressed as we were, sadly no photos of my garb, we did however draw some glances when we ventured inside to obtain ice creams for the rest of the staff.  I paid...monarchs do not carry cash.

Face painting was as always popular and the kids were happy to queue, not sure the mums were.  
The kids were happy, some stayed for hours without grumbling.  However my knees gave out after two and soon enough I slogged my way home and attempted to sort the photos.  I am knackered and my knees ache. I will sleep for a week.

Camulodunum Trip

Dragging myself out of my pit I raced slowly into Camulodunum today on the zimmer free bus.  This because I wished to peruse the many charity shops in that rich and prosperous town.  This indeed I did but was again frustrated by all charity shops refusal to stock items that fit me!  Usually they are too small, today the only option was to big.  That does not happen often and I suppose I could grow into it but I wish my weight to go in the other direction.  I slogged around even visiting 'Primark' the new shop that sells things cheaply, though I noticed that in the three years since I last visited prices have risen and I am sure the Bangladeshi workers have not had a rise.  Possibly they have made the sweat shops safer since the last disastrous fire there a few years ago.  However I did require cheap jeans and I have them, they fit, sort off, will they after being washed however...?

  
Lunch was taken at noon in a surprisingly quiet pub, £4:65 for a pint of 'Maltsmith IPA' indicates why. The drink was indeed good and worthy of buying again but not at that rip-off price.  It was clear this was an evening venue (Called 'After Office Hours') and aimed at twenty somethings with too much money and not enough brains.       

The modern trend of vast empty spaces and few seats as folks crush together getting cheap thrills and meeting the right people.  The wooden flooring was genuine in pubs I used to visit in days gone by, not s clean and much busier at all times of day, not just overpaid trendy types either.  I suppose we were the trendy types then, sad innit?
Next time I will go back to the 'Hospital Arms' they are just as unfriendly but considerably cheaper.  When I think of it a similar but busier pub down the road was the one I used last time, the beer wasn't so good but cheaper and the girls better looking and alive.  I'll remember that for next time I am charity shop searching.

The bus was of course ten minutes late.  We stood at the stop grasping our varied travel cards and coins glaring hard towards the buses parked just around the corner willing ours to move out.  I retook my seat and allowed the remnants of the beer to chase around my body giving some sort of life to my weakened knees.  It did not liven me up much.  Eventually he  came and I was afraid the women would start shouting at the driver and he would respond by closing the doors and running but they were wise enough to shut it and clamber aboard while they still lived.  

The view, while enjoyable, was not at its best.  The grass in many places has withered and green fields were the colour of the wheat and barley seen in many other places.  Those crops while many were being gathered in are smaller than they ought to be as the several weeks of drought at the wrong time have not helped them.  Here something green, cabbage possibly, difficult to tell when moving, was a decent colour but small in size as seen from the omnibus.  The crops are being gathered and tractors of enormous size block the roads cheerily and very soon such produce will be enabling Tesco to increase their prices 'because of the drought.'  It is rather a shame as it spoils the view somewhat but there again just being out of town and watching the fields instead of the hovel in which I live is a needed change.

Nothing to Say

Nothing to say so here is a picture of a Ferret Scout Car...just because...

Grass...

I find early man fascinating.  These people wandering about the earth had to feed themselves by the 'sweat of their brow' and those with gardens know how hard that work can be.  Yet ancient man fed himself, sheltered and clothed himself, and eventually built cities and expanded across the globe.
I find using the hoover hard enough...
However some thing's puzzle me, who was first to drink cows milk?  Who discovered flax could be turned into cloth?  Who stood looking at grass and worked out which grasses could be made into bread?  Let alone who ploughed into the water and discovered rice!  We take such things for granted but for many years early man had to work them out for himself.  Looking at the grass the gardener has allowed to grow in the gardens I began to puzzle over such important questions, this of course not being connected to Francis Pryor's book 'Home' which I just happen to have begun reading.  

Imagine yourself growing up in a family somewhere on earth, you needed a family to give you birth, and with the whole world before you the search for existence begins.  Already the family have discovered much, a nomad existence following the herds, killing one every so often as required, seeking water, carrying all the treasures of the house, if you had one.  Are there pet animals?  Donkeys were not domesticated until around 5000 BC or was it later?  If you possess anything it must be carried as you move.  How often do you move?  I suspect that each day means an effort to seek an improvement in the tools and materials you use and eat.  Fruits come in season, who plants them?  Experimenting all the time with new foods and materials how quickly does your technology advance?  
Then there is pain and sickness.  Early man has been shown to have attempted brain surgery in many parts of the world.  Sickness would kill children early as it does still in too many places, and what pain relief do you have?   A nomadic existence has its drawbacks but this does not mean you do not think, indeed the opposite as considering the options is often urgently required.  There must also be many philosophic questionings when looking at the world around you or the heavens late at night.  
And what about those living by the sea, the view from there must change the mind set and be very different from those living high in the hills or in a desert.   
Francis Pryor and his type find a great deal of information regarding such as those living in the Fens in days gone by but what about those so much further back, so little is known about them.  Leaving no writing is a bind really as the diaries would be very interesting and travelling about hinders research into them.  Times and dates are often spurious, these change from one 'dig' to another I notice and opinions vary according to taste often enough. 
I think I must have been on the grass this afternoon...!

A trip round all the charity shops today did not aid me in my quest for an outfit for next weeks opening.  The suggestion of Mr Grumpy could not be achieved neither could the Child snatcher from some film I have not seen however that appears a good suggestion.  Some sort of nasty children's story character sounds good if I could think of one.  However the walk through the parched gardens was uplifting, big fish as well as Goldfish in the pond, some flowers bright and cheerful and this rose on the way down there hanging over a wall.  It makes you wonder when you consider the variety of 'grass' that fills the earth.

Thoughts...

Wandering about the shop today I had to ask myself who writes this stuff? 
There is a lot of it about and it appears to em to be selling very slowly.  It may be when the main summer exhibition, aimed at kids, opens next week the mums will decide they need something like this to keep them going for six long holiday weeks.  I suspect however a bottle of gin might be better.
This sort of thing leaves me imagining a wee girl surrounded by MIlls & Boon books, lots of women's mags across the floor and dreams of a Prince Charming filling her head, at least a Prince Charming that will let her do what she wants!  It does not appear to be the writing of one who spends her working hours at Tesco checkout.  'Love without limits' just wait till the child is teething at three in the morning or when you are on a crowded bus, see how the love flows then darling.

I am not sure what is inside the jar, Novichok possibly, and while the sentiment has some grounding in truth again I wonder re the individual who creates such items.  I believe them to be female, middle class, work from home, craft oriented and with limited knowledge of the real world.  Possibly they write birthday cards also!  However I suspect they are making a bomb selling these to similar females in overpriced shops in all the best places.  Quite what made her in the office imagine we could sell these I know not but being female she sees something in such as this that I fail to understand.  

 
We need to dress accordingly for next week and so far I have little idea of what to do, her suggestion that I go as 'Mr Grumpy' did not meet with my approval, it did not seem to fit...
So for the next couple of days I will search the charity shops for an idea, a cheap idea...

End of World Cup 2018

Well praise the Lord that's over!
I was beginning to think it would never end.  For weeks I have been trapped indoors while watching people kick lumps out of one another in an endeavour to win this trophy.  Now at last I can save electricity and switch the TV off until something else important comes along, like another football match.  The TV will be used sparingly once again as the fifty or so channels offered by Freeview are mostly junk and a sad reflection on human kind.
Good things came out of the WC this time however, the enthusiastic flag waving of the English as their team headed for another anti-climax was worth watching, as indeed was the come down when they got stuffed.  The overall performances were reasonably entertaining and the use of VAR to determine decisions enabled lots of argument.  In the end Croatia were robbed by such a system and lost out to a decent but far from great French side.
Now, when does the real football begin...?

 

He has left the country and it has not been a moment too soon. Interesting that reportedly Prince Charles and his son William were supposed to consort the queen during his visit but both refused!  A game of golf with Andrew was cancelled and few wished to be associated with him unlike Obama who had them queuing up to meet him.  This is why the queen met the ignorant oaf alone, a very unusual happening, just as well Philip was unable to be there as he would have made his opinion known. 

On his way out Trump failed to reveal where he obtained the £200 million he spent on a failing golf course in Ayrshire.  There again we know little about how he gets his money and if indeed he actually has any money.  Trips to small tyrannical rich men may well have obtained cash for him but the question must be is it his and what has he done for it.  Maybe we will see his tax returns soon also. His meeting with Putin will not equal the dim Regans meeting with Gorbachev, once again a foreign leader has Trump hanging on a piece of string.  Watching Trump reminds me of Robert Maxwell and I wonder if he too will one day disappear off his or someone else's yacht any time soon.

Another Book Finished

Blunden's war memoirs are not like other peoples.  They discuss his two years as a young officer spending time at all the best places, Bethune, Ypres, Somme etc, his regiment the 11th Royal Sussex being moved from one jolly spot to another.  With each move less and less of the original members remain and the 'feel' of the regiment alters as time passes.  
It is that 'feel' rather than a day by day account of war that we find in the book.  Some go into great detail of battles and the regiment and the people involved yet while those are clear enough Blunden wishes to write for those that were there as they alone will understand what life was like at war.  The book offers many asides in passing, the dead lying around a battlefield from six months or more before, the description of Ypres or the Somme, the broken villages in comparison to those well behind the line and of course the comradeship of a battalion facing daily danger.  'The 'feel' of being there is real and it is understandable that many regard this as the greatest war book of its kind.

 

Blunden later claimed he had survived two years at the front because of his small stature which is unlikely.  He did avoid serious injury although on several occasions he walked away from a portion of trench which then received a direct hit causing losses.  In writing this book he does mention his venture forward on patrol one cold dark night at Thiepval where he and his batman accidentally came upon the enemy front line.  In the dark they two face the fire of an enemy believing they were under attack and therefore unleashed a torrent of rifle, machine gun and a variety of artillery shells upon the foe.  The foe, both of them, ran helter skelter in the dark desperate for their nearest dug-out and eventually falling into one at some distance.  Working their way slowly back to base they were greeted, much later, with surprise as the sheer scale of the response convinced their Colonel that they were dead.  The enemy action meant a planned attack, one the battalion did not wish to make, was cancelled and Blunden mentions this in his book also later revealing his batman obtained a Military Medal for his part.  Blunden forgets to mention the Military Cross he was awarded also.    
His poetry is attached at the end of this book.  Sassoon believed the war had affected Blunden more than any other poet, which is saying something, and his poetry is amongst the best of the war.
I liked this book and recommend it to any who know something about the war.

     
Here we see the England side sneaking home after the anti-climax of their world cup venture.  While the media grasped at the famous victory that was never to be the hopes rose and flags abounded everywhere.  
None are seen today.
The excuses abound instead, some media attack the manager, players and anyone but themselves but as yet quite gently, after all it is not truth these people offer but what they consider the public wish to hear.  As soon as possible they will stick the knives in, none can escape.
Still, it's been a giggle innit...?

Friday Frolics

I was forced out of my bed early today as I was off to see one of my babies.  This wee sweetie came to the museum with her mum, a one time exhibition putteroner.  Now as a full time mum she is happy and this wee thing has her dad hanging on the end of a string.
This meant getting up before nine this morning, even though I was tired, and being ready to meet them around noon, or near enough.  This is a strain on my painful knees and my urgent requirement for beauty sleep.  It was worth it as I am now in love!

The mouth has done it again.  It no longer surprises us to hear this clown spouting ignorantly about this country.  To criticise the policy of the home PM, offer support to a failed ex-cabinet member who wishes to take her place and claim the nation is in a mess reveals a man with no tact, little intellect and something to hide.
What he hides is in fact open to all, his working with Boris Johnston, the owner of Amazon, Cambridge Analytica and his friend President Putin to separate the UK fro the EU to satisfy their greed.  The fact that so many have allowed this to happen reveals the real state of things in this country and the west at large.
The lies told by Trump to get elected, encouraging racism against Obama, lies re Hilary and Mexicans let alone his bombastic talk about making an already great country great again ( a line stolen from Regan and many other liars before him) reveals something of the stupidity and lack of biblical knowledge amongst the white middle class in the USA.  A man who abused women, has been married four times (the fifth is on the way), who lies and cheats gets elected only by people with no morals.  It is easy to see why he likes Boris Johnston.
Now he is welcomed by a failing PM who understands that leaving the EU is a disaster but will push it through merely to keep her job!  The nation will be bankrupt for generations after this yet these people, all millionaires with vast resources in foreign tax dodging off-shore accounts, care nothing.  They will sell out the nation for the sake of themselves.  This is a Conservative Party policy and has been the policy since Disraeli!
What will the UK get from this?  Nothing!  Trump gives an interview in the 'Sun' yet today calls this 'Fake news.'  How can you trust such a man?  Theresa May, the worst PM since David Cameron, refers to a special relationship with the US knowing that this is a fallacy and has always been such.  Of course we work together on many things, we share many policies yet always the US uses this for themselves.  Until now this was a subtle truth now it is out in the open under Trump.  Whatever comes out of this unwanted visit Trump will claim a victory and the UK will lose out.  Even worse is he encouragement this visit will give Boris in his desire to play at PM, and that will be the end for us all.

   
The kids exhibition takes shape.  Clearly 'Alice' is involved in some manner, on the opening day I might go dressed as he Mad Hatter or possibly a white rabbit.  I will have to do something on the opening day.  

Nice Day...

As I teetered my way up to Sainsburys this morning I glanced around the slowly filling car park and failed to notice any English flags today.  Possibly they were all over in the corner, beside the recycling bins...?  The social media was far from sociable today, only Scots, Welsh and Irish appeared keen to comment on last nights game, sullen resentment appearing to be the approach from English quarters.  I like that!   One chap gave the sad "Scotland didn't get there" reply and I saw him off with "UKIP are raging!"  Now he will not speak to me, him being black and that I mean...
However the suggestion that Nicola Sturgeon ought to make July 11th a national holiday in Scotland has as far as I know not yet been debated in the Scots Parliament.

A man masquerading as a US president has been found wandering the streets of the English capital surrounded by high security.  Police for many areas have been drafted in to protect the public and Humphrey the Downing Street cat has hidden itself away after hearing comments about Trump and his love of 'pussy.'  
There have been some daft US presidents, in the 19th century one or two were not exactly civilised, but in recent days we have become used to a more sophisticated politician than the market trader now in that office.  Others have brought opposition, Reagan and Dubya among them but none have been regarded in such a low manner than this lout.  What a shame for decent Americans.

Apart from ensuring Englishmen suffer I have done little but waste away today.
I think it was worth it!

Wednesday Ramblings

My celebratory whisky for Croatia's marvellous victory tonight was sadly tempting and I had to accidentally break open the bottle this long hours before the game actually starts.  However I look forward to finishing the bottle tonight.
Tomorrow I think I will go to the recycling bins at Sainsburys and fix a notice saying 'Place England flags here' onto one of the bins.  There ought to be many flung from cars by ten in the morning.  

 
Now what for Boris?
He has walked from the cabinet hoping to obtain much support from the 'wild eyed loons' but the only one to show such was the Rees-Mogg creature and a couple of junior ministers of whom the nation had no knowledge.
What now?  Will he offer himself for the leadership, this requires 49 MPs to support him before he does, they do not exist I fear.  Will he fade into the background?  Not he, will he bide his time until May shakes once again?  It is all a quandary.  
I do wonder however what would happen if someone proposed a vote of confidence in the PM?  Is such a move feasible?  This would force such as Boris to vote for her in spite of his mutterings, otherwise she might lose and an election be called.  This might lose Boris his seat, especially after his failure at the Heathrow runway fiasco.  If she won such a vote it would be one in the eye for him and the rest of the loons.  Losing might benefit Corbyn, though what he would make of it is unclear, rather like most of what he says.
What a farce, and now with Trump arriving spouting nonsense as always things will get even more farcical in the next few days.  I wonder who will get most knives in back?

Tennis is on, monotonous innit...?

Tiring Work...

Returning to work, I use that word loosely, I discover the workmen still around, scaffolding in place and the new exhibition beginning to appear.  This will be for the summer months filling the place with kiddies and others.  Based on kids stories it will feature things they like to read about and get involved with.
I cannot tell how much I am looking forward to this...

 
Making the mistake of using the bosses name when saying hello to this boy earlier was not, I discovered, the thing to do!  My explanation that the teeth confused me did not provide an acceptable response.  Hers are actually harder as I soon found...

While the banging and screwing, cursing and raging continued in the gallery I was entrusted with using the computer to find school addresses.  This is a simple enough work but not when the password does not let me in, not when the mark at the end turns out, after forty attempts, to be an exclamation mark and part of the password, and then the cursor decides to go where it will for no good reason whatsoever.  A ten minute 'cut & paste' job lengthened immeasurably.  However I 
finished it and left her with the problems.  
You may ask what is the bear doing?
I have no idea but I will soon find out.  I wonder if it eats children...

Rail Today

You will be delighted to know there are no more pictures of water.  Instead, with the temperature now lowered in this grubby room to a mere 79% from a height on Saturday night of 85, I consider the railways on which I travelled.

  
Running a railway has always featured one major problem, disruption!  That disruption might come from heat bending the rails as it did recently, points not working properly, signals failing, copper wire being stolen, doors jamming or some such technical problem, let alone the sole passenger taken seriously ill or the one jumping in front of the train, all these hinder the smooth running of the railways.
Last Monday as I arrived I noted the people gathered around the station, something was up.  Far away near Clacton the points had failed leading to an upset railway.  The trains could not get through, they thus blocked the main line hindering all services.  Too alleviate this the 9am from our station was turned around six miles away and left our people fuming in the heat awaiting the train at ten, my train. As I bought my ticket from the stressed sole representative of the railway all around me people gnashed teeth and muttered under their breath.  I smiled and stood back...

My journey was smooth enough, the carriage was not busy even by Stratford where I changed.  This marvellous new complex offered me the chance to spare my knees by using the lift, this I did and found myself totally lost!  I used the wrong lift!  The one I wanted was further down but nobody told me so I ended up wandering around, up stairs and down with no lift, until I eventually found my place here at the underground.  Sensible people would have checked where they were going and followed the signs before they came out!

 
This Jubilee Line is very busy but I planted myself near the front of the coach and with the window open it was not too bad.  The train is fast but the variety of passengers is amazing.  Many were passing through from one station to another, tourists transported fat cases full of her clothes, other tourists were set on sightseeing and paying for it also, locals, surly and ignoring the world around them, put their heads into the technology and lived apart.  
Checking the timetable I raced slowly for the train, it beat me.  Two or three of us were halfway up the platform when the first five coaches moved off, as did the rail operative... 
This was good as thirty minutes later, on the same platform, I took the remaining five coaches and found a decent seat.  Here I also found a guard who done her job well and with a slight degree of humour.  I asked when we would arrive and she said "Not soon enough" and giggled.  She had just had a run in with  man carrying the wrong ticket and demanded £140 from him for the real fare.  This had not gone down well.  We shared a few joke comments along with another passenger and the women selling coffee, she could not get the trolley to move, and settled down to half read my book and watch the greenery, where crops were actually green, pass by.  The hot weather has ruined many crops and while some can be gathered the size is much reduced. Prices will rise.

Coming back I cleverly let the fast train depart and waited ten minutes for the slow train.  This ensured a seat, even though it contained only four coaches and not five, and a relaxed atmosphere was around me.  Not everyone felt this, not the woman who had not paid and was forced to pay full price by the guard.  He however was good to me informing me of faster trains when he saw the details of my long journey.  I preferred the seat without crowds rather than speed and he understood.  However by journeys end I was changing my mind.  
Some railways are doing away with guards, now often called 'conductors.'  This I see as a foolish idea as many questions are asked on a train and the sight of a guard eases some peoples apprehension re travel.  It is funny how folks are more likely to converse on long distance travel, possibly because of nerves, than in local travel.  Maybe the excitement of the change brings this on.  Personally while I am happy to be pleasant (yes I am) I prefer folks to shut it and look out the window and enjoy the sights which are many.  The place of the guard however remains important on any train as he represents the company, gives reassurance, collects fares from dodgers, answers questions ("No idea love") and is a requirement railways cannot do without.  Yet to save money some wish to drop them.

 
In between trains!
A sweltering day and a constant flow of hundreds of passengers is it any surprise to see staff exhausted in such circumstances.  he has just answered the thousandth stupid question of the day and awaits a thousand more before rushing home, can you blame him...?

   
The Jubilee Line takes no chances with folks falling in front of the trains underground.  These panels open only when the train stops and always at the doors, so far, and facilitate passenger movement.  I must cease from using 'passenger' as they are all 'customers' in today's rail world.  What nonsense!

 
With the ever present danger of hold ups late in the afternoon I jumped on the first train at platform ten, once I had gone the wrong way in the wrong lift for the second time, this one being a four coach vehicle for Ipswich.  This appears wrong to me as there were five coaches of people aboard and standing was the only option, no guard appeared unsurprisingly.  Surely such trains require five or six coaches?  Later I discovered a train for Norwich was cancelled, all this because someone along the line had gone in front of a train!  Deliberately or what?  Who knows and I never found out.  This is at once tragic and annoying, for a variety of reasons people kill themselves but why do it on the railways?  Someone has to clean up the mess, pick up the bits, reassure the driver it was not his fault, why put others out while you are depressed or worried?  Trains could be held up for over an hour as I was two years ago when someone done that on the southern part of the route.  Is it cruel to say 'Kill yourself at home?

I had time to ponder this, but not set up this picture properly, while waiting for the connection.  Also cogitating on what was being transported in the long trains that come from Felixstowe docks where containers full mostly of Chinese tat race past.  Longer trains return the other way charging through at 90 miles and hour leaving a slipstream upsetting for girls in summer frocks.  Brexit will however end all this.  Long lines of lorries at Dover unable to cross without proper paperwork alongside container ports stuffed with goods we cannot get to Europe because Boris wishes to be Prime Minister.  A disaster waiting to happen and they continue with this farce in spite of it all.  Today's news of David Davies resigning is good, but will things change?

  
While waiting in cold wet weather can be irritating the chance to ponder and watch life go by in a rail station is quite enjoyable I say, the more so if it is a busy station.   Not only can you 'people watch' as some enjoy but a selection of trains from various regions passing through I find interesting, yet I am not an anorak!  Some I note know everything about every train, two such on the trip home got off at Eastleigh as they were train hunting there in the big depot, but I just like watching them.  This is like having your own toy train set yet on a large table.
I got home tired and weary, I ought to have stuffed my face while in Waterloo's rip-off shopping precinct, but instead I relied on my watered down now warm water bottle.  This was insufficient I say now.
Today I sit here planning my next rain journey, Studying the timetable and looking for inspiration, and the cash to pay for it, long live the senior rail card!   

The Train Now Departing