Bank Holiday Baloney

It was warm enough when I went to Tesco at ten this morning and the sun has reached 31/87% at the moment.  
I am inside!
Today is a rest day, not that I intended that, I have just done nothing but shop and eat or sleep since. 
Suits me.
Being a Bank Holiday there is of course no news just pictures of people burning in the sun or getting ready to travel slowly along 'A' roads back from the seaside.  Boris however finds a space by declaring Pork Pies are sold to Thailand but cannot be sold to the USA because of trade restrictions.  Immediately he is proved wrong by the Pie makers who have never sold pies to Thailand and don't bother with the US as it aint not worth it.  Good old Boris getting his facts wrong.  The fake news offered continues when he claims foreign observers ought not to talk to those opposing Brexit because it cannot be stopped, just like all his other promises this is incorrect also.  The more time he spends with Trump, the saviour of the world, the more time he becomes a little Trump.  Maybe it's an Eton thing?

   Amazon

Meanwhile I have been finishing some books.  This one was a bit slow, the author tended to spend to much time on detail better omitted and stick to the flow of the story, though I suspect he was attempting to establish Bonhoeffer's 'Christology by doing so.  He is also American speaking to a generation that emerged long after the war and therefore has to explain thing most people came to know in the 50's and 60's.  
Bonhoeffer grew up in a  wealthy family with legal leanings and for some reason chose early to read theology.  He, like his family, was not a church going type so the reasons for his choice are unclear.
He was then educated at a liberal type theology college and was to spend his life in study rather than normal pastoral roles.  These did come later during the 1930's when Adolf Hitler was making his mark and it is remarkable that this man's learning gave him the desire to oppose the rise of the Nazi Party.
The church in Germany had a close connection to the state and many Christians happily went along with a Nazi ruled church, the minority opposed this and many were not to survive the war, and mostly not from enemy action.  
Bonhoeffer did his best to prepare men for leadership in the church, especially after the war,all the time becoming more and more evangelical in this thought as he did so.  However this was not clear enough and he fell into the trap of associating with men who wished to remove Hitler and spent much time in jail as a reward.  Killing Adolph was not a Christians job, something he failed to appreciate, terrible though such men are they have to wait in God's time not ours.  By 1944 unknown to Bonhoeffer the allies did not wish Adolph killed as he was seen as their best general!  His tactical knowledge, or lack of it, his insistence on standing strong by 'the power of his will' did not reinforce the men at the front as he had hoped.  
Bonhoeffer, like most of the conspirators died before the war ended, Bonhoeffer on the 9th of April 1945 one month before the ceasefire.   His call had been clear for a long time, if you follow Jesus you must do so even if it leads to death.  Death to self is a Christian calling, on occasions it must be taken literally.  It is to Dietrich Bonhoeffer's credit that he took that line seriously.  We are left wondering what would have he produced had he lived?

While fire engulfs the Amazonian forests creating profit for cattle farmers and a variety of national presidents Dunfermline proved they too could manufacture fire for no good reason.  Here a 14 year old proved this by setting for to his school and destroying at least the 'Additional Support Needs Department which I suspect he knows well, and damaged at least a fifth of the school buildings.  There are now 1400 happy pupils (sorry, students) wandering around upsetting locals by not being locked in their classrooms.  Anything right wing South American dictators can do Scotland can do better!

Sun, Houses and Radio 4

Sunshine tempted me out early this morning, long before breakfast, to visit Tesco!  Since then, trapped inside cleaning, sorting and lazing about, I have avoided the sun as strangely for an August Bank Holiday weekend it is still shining.
After all the hard work of the morning I dreampt of having money and moving to other parts of the world, well Scotland, where I could live in peace and see out my days undisturbed by people.  This is a dream as my piggy bank offered only £3.78 and one Israeli shekel.  However using Right Move I  considered places as diverse as Seton Castle, a snip at £8 million plus, a nice view from Largs at just under £400,000 to a parking space in Edinburgh for a mere £30,000.  The car will not cost as much!
There is much fun to be found looking into other people's very much tidied up houses they wish to escape from.  There is much more fun using Google Maps to check on the surrounding area to note the items the photographer has omitted, schools, petrol stations, nuclear power stations and the like, items which on closer inspection might tend to put buyers off.  Then of course you may not know the area, the local people or how many drug deals are done in your street each night.  
This was a good way to pass the time, my piggy bank reminded me it was nothing more than that!

She finished today!  The reader finally ended her work and jumped off a bridge to ensure some happiness for those close to her.  The author sadly did not.  There is nothing worse than listening to a woman talk about her baby, today we had 15 long minutes of a woman confused by her daughters behaviour when they entered adolescence.  Comparing their behaviour to when they were sweet young things and discussing this with other mums in similar situation it was clear there was shock that teenagers, especially young ones, would be what they have always been.  Is it just me?  Have people not always been thus?  How come this 'educated woman' did not know this?  Mind you, she was educated at an all girls boarding school, possibly that helped her avoid real life. 
The reading of this book, while increasing the number of listeners now queueing up at the doctors for anti-depressives, told us much about the narrow confines of the 'witty and clear thinking' author. For one 'wit' was not something she revealed at any time, for another 'clear thinking' was used instead of 'needless cogitating of the obvious.'  Clearly this was was indeed writing a play, or rewriting a Greek play for the stage, and she had little hope of ever becoming a lawyer, doctor or someone in the real world.  The Greek play, in which she wishes to change the plot to make the cruel and violent woman appear to be a 'hurt woman defending herself' also reflects her middle class colour supplement reading.  Maybe she ought to visit Holloway Prison for a wider view on life?       
At least she has now gone, the authorities are cleaning up after the readers demise, and we look to something interesting and hopeful next week, I wonder what it is?  Oh great, a man tells us of his life in care and how he survived.  
I can't wait... 

Angela, Boris, Donald, Radio 4

There is no doubt that Angela Merkel is by far the best politician in Europe.  Having run Germany for 14 years, having come from a poor background and yet established herself solidly at the top and having no obvious competitors she is a woman in which there is much to admire. 
Here we see her greet Boris Johnson with all the pomp of state to make him feel important, he would love that.  A banquet at night, deep discussions on many topics and after he has got back to his bedroom he realises she has him over a barrel. 
Quietly she has offered him a chance to discuss Brexit and No Deal provided he can come up with an answer to the Backstop.  Of course she, and he, knows he has no answer, there is no answer, and while dressed in all the panoply of government he is in fact a King with no clothes.
She has him round her little finger.
Today Boris meets the French president, one who is clearly annoyed with Brexit and has no wish to continue the needless fuss.  I wonder what blundering nonsense he will offer when he returns from that meeting?

Now, what is to be said here?  Donald Trump has claimed God has put him there to fight China.  He accepts a tweet that claims he is 'King of Israel,' and appears at last to have clearly gone of his head.
Or at least is no longer afraid of being open about his instability.
I think Jesus is quite bemused by this.
Add to this his huff when he wished to 'Buy Greenland,' and found himself rebuffed, even though Greenland was not for sale and no proper bid made.  Being rebuffed and ridiculed he has refused to follow through on a state visit to Denmark and gone of into the White House to be comforted by what remains of his loyal staff (his daughter).
Such a noble nation the USA but so democratic it can do nothing about this three year old sitting in the White House!
What next?

She was at it again, the reader speaking in that 'slit my wrists' voice, yesterday I found myself agreeing with her moaning.  She referred to airports and the way in which those employed treat passengers passing in front of them especially if they are black, weak or unimportant.  In my rare occasions of airport travel I have found staff often rude and unhelpful.
I must say that anyone who faces the public all day, often with stressful situations around them, there is reason to become pig ignorant of the masses passing by, often more pig ignorant than the

staff can ever be.  Her point was good and it was developed well, even if I was sucking in Valium by the bottle at the end. 

Today the wrist cutter was once again bemoaning home.  Her home was part of her, the family abused it damaging her.  Deep inside her home, well her London flat, was part of her.  In a way she is right but it appears the author looks so deep into everything I fear she may have Donald Trump style problems ahead.  The home reflects you indeed, what that says about me I do not intend to reveal, but must the author be neurotic about everything?  

There is still no evidence of the 'witty' part as yet.   I might have missed that while putting my head in the bath for ten minutes.

Coventary & Mudlarking

Radio 4

Every morning at 9:45 Radio 4 offers a 'Book of the Week.'  Usually it is some women's book, often concerning how hard their lives are, while occasionally something interesting drops by.  I thought this week the book sounded quite good at first sight, 'Coventry,' a book by Rachel Cusk, the Radio schedule tells us the book is a 'new collection of witty and clear sighted essays.'  I looked forward to something other than the usual.  Having heard the first, read by an Amelia Bullmore, a woman who's voice indicates she is on the verge of suicide, and cogitated on the fifteen minutes of grumbling about other people's driving habits I found myself not over happy with the results.  Her driving, mostly around narrow roads near the sea appeared hindered by slow drivers, tourists gazing at the view, people wondering where the next turning was and then she ventured onto the motorway somewhat reluctantly.  Her moaning continued, everybody was at fault, and I was wondering if possibly she herself could be a problem on the road.  Other people getting in the way are indeed a nuisance.  The 'wtty' bit was lacking and her 'clear sight' blocked by 40 ton lorries I think.
This morning I gave her another chance, however the second programme is one in which she labours on about how her parents kept 'sending her to Coventry,' something she claims they have done all her life.  Fifteen minutes with none of the 'witty or clear sighted' writing hove into view.  Depression, desolation, gloom and wrist slashing while throwing oneself of a railway bridge certainly did however.  Is it part of the female psyche to consider such things witty I ask?  A combination of the tale of woe with a melancholic reader do not in my mind result in 'witty and clear sighted' essays.  There are three more programmes like this and by Friday I expect the Samaritans will be calling out for more volunteers to answer the phones!
Last weeks book, 'Mudlarking,' by Lara Maiklem was similarly spoiled by her revealing her personality all the way through and then reading her own book with an unsuitable voice.  The actions of the 'Mudlarks' are often very interesting in themselves but their broken lives are revealed all to easily in five 15 minute programmes.
I spent a very relaxing day after this downloading lots of 'Podcasts' from the BBC.  Thanks to 'BBC Sounds' replacing the 'BBC iPlayer' it took long enough to find 'Podcasts' but find it I did.  I then wandered about therein seeking items that have been heard before, many I had not known existed and others that will require listening to soon.  I will put them in the 'Brexit hoard' as after then there will be a shortage of programmes as the only thing to be heard will be wailing and gnashing of teeth! 

Painting with Cassette Tapes

Due to the weekend and an unfortunate bout of laziness I have only just finished painting the window frames I began last week.  Today, in spite of the howling wind coming through the gap in the window, I managed to get the job done while listening to an old tape from Radio 4, Siegfried Sassoon's 'Memories of an Infantry Officer,' a fictionalised account of his war.  I realised when this had stopped and all I had to listen to was the voices in my head, thoughts from here and there, good and bad, going nowhere, which explained builders who turn on 'Radio 1' loudly, even though they are far from that age group, just to have something lively in the background.  I'm reminded by this of a cartoon on a building site from long ago where one young man with a perplexed expression is looking for his transistor radio.  Smirking brickies carrying on regardless in the foreground appear to have mistaken this radio for a brick, it now takes its place in the wall.  
I can understand his mates also!
The main problem with finishing the window frames is that it leaves the need to now finish the other rooms also.  This is more difficult.  This means moving things, hoovering behind items unmoved since yon time, dusting, washing, then preparing.  Somehow the enthusiasm appears to have disappeared.  Enthusiasm is not encouraged when looking at the other jobs undone, half done or just waiting to be done.  
I er, think I need to listen to the wireless and cogitate to work up enthusiasm again...

 

Smiths and Cake Slice.

By accident I happened to wander into W.H.Smiths today and exchange a small book token given me when I was thrown out of the museum.  I entered, reasonably smartly dressed, browsed, passed the manager checking perfectly stacked books near me, watching what I was doing as if I were a thief,  and found no books worth buying.  typically for this area the vast majority of books are junk novels.  However I found a shelf I had never noticed before containing these books, and more beside, a novel occurrence in here to find books I think I'd like.
Ignoring the Cement Freud lookalike manager who strutted around as if he was important and not the customer, I paid the new young lass at the desk, in spite of the machinery falling apart worrying her, and took my prizes home to join others awaiting on the shelf.
Am I becoming obsessed I wondered feeling the book jackets and petting them like you would a dog or cat?  I failed to come up with an answer as it was feeding time and soon I took a book into my hand and fell asleep...

  
First World problems!
Greggs the Bakers have upset fans of their 'Custard slice' by halving the size and retaining the £1 price tag.  Greggs claim this is part of the 'war on sugar' and the cake is 20 grams less in sugar and better for customers.
Fans are not happy!

"It's a national favourite that's been completely ruined."
"I am disgusted...."
"It is clearly to boost their profits."

I have never been in Greggs.  
I suspect it is about 20 years since I went into such a shop, maybe less and then for bread not cake.
All a little over the top in my view, but just wait until after Brexit and there is no sugar available!
Just wait till you see the slices then!

Historical Music for my Family

Life has been so trying recently.
The painting, the repairs, the weather, the knees aching, all have been irking me.
So for two days I did nothing.
This has not helped in any way but I am enjoying it anyway.
Actually I did catch up on family research.  An American, one of the more sensible ones, contacted me regarding an email from 8 years ago. 
He moves at my speed.
Looking into my records I realised they were in a mess and have had to go through what little I have found and put it into some order.  This has been effective as Robert had disappeared and I could not find any details about him.  However I now know he died in 1898 and have sent off for the birth certificate (£24) to discover why he died at 24.  It was rumoured he took poison and this is likely.  His mother (my grandfathers first wife) ended up in a lunatic asylum, this guy apparently died by suicide and by the time she was 13 a sister of his was living in Whitley Bay with an aunt. 
Something was not right in the house.
No wonder granddad took to drink!
The girl in Whitley Bay eventually married well, her sister in Edinburgh did also.  Both died early from disease I think and the Edinburgh one was replaced by the elder sister.  Keep it in the family I say.
One brother joined the Royal Navy and so some service during the Great War, not much I reckon.  Another had moved to Canada just in time to enlist in 1915 and do the decent thing and get shot at Ypres in 1916.  Now I need to know why Robert died! 
Robert is a problem name as almost everyone with our surname made use of it, from father to son and on, brother, cousin, uncle all of them had Robert somewhere and there were many with that name in the borders!  There are many false leads to chase here. However that took up much of my time and didn't involve walking anywhere.  Today I have completed that part of the task and now need to check those one step backward, being 'backward' was an accusation often offered to my family, notably myself for some reason.

Tone Deaf

Remarkably it is 50 years since the great music festival of Woodstock! 
Quite how those years have passed without me noticing is worrying. 
Sadly we never made it to the USA for the event, we could not get time off and on £8 a week the travelling costs were beyond us.  However we made it to the 'Caley' cinema in Lothian Road for the three hour film off the event which we enjoyed and I still remember of the acts.
Proper music, off its time and representative of a movement that was intended to change the world for the better.  The 'establishment' did not like nor understand it however, it certainly did not suit the neat shirt and tie, short haired US image that so many had foisted on them, and still do in places. But it spoke to the youth of the world and still does.
Of course it was based on a lie.
'Love one another' but it forgot about human nature.  Many of the acts were not loving to one another, human nature was seen all around even if the majority attempted to get along with one another you can bet there were hurt feelings abounding.  Only Jesus can change us and while 'Woodstock' represented a movement of a sort it failed because of our natures.
The music was good, it still is, while today's shallow computer made ballads fronted by women who all look the same does not make any attempt to improve the world in any way.  There was a desire for change, today's music only appears to reflect emptiness or selfishness.  Maybe I am wrong.

Eggs in the Loft!

I have been up in the attic this morning.  
It makes a change from the usual routine.  
There has been strange noises from there for a while, including lots of 'coo-ing' noises which could be irritating if allowed to continue.  So I got out the stepladder and tried to get up there to investigate.  Naturally the thing has only three steps and I could not get far in.  On top of that a redevelopment in the 70's meant that I could not see far enough into the loft as a wall cuts off the view.  So it was time to contact the landlord.  
However, the flat being a bit dingy I thought I had better clean up before the landlord or his man came hence the decorating.  He came today to remove the birds.  So the landlord himself came, spent a while trying to work out the new style stepladder and we then ventured up into the darkness.  Good job he brought a light...
I let him clamber over the confused morass that lay in front of us, just how some of that stuff got up there is a mystery, and on hands and knees, bumping his head on the timbers he managed to force a brick into the gap the birds had used to gain entry.  
I stood at the top of the ladder and helped...
He returned with these four eggs which will now not hatch.  This is quite sad but it is not a good idea to encourage birds up there.  I feel quite guilty about this.  I now do not know what to do with the things!  
When I first came there were several openings in the roof beloved by many types of birdlife.  This included a Swift which screamed in to feed the young and screamed out again.  This was most disconcerting at first.  All those openings have long been fixed and we must await now to ensure they do not return.  
Still, all this activity meant I did not have time to return to painting the other window, instead I passed on a small bag of chocolates for his wife and assistant who I have since discovered thought that was a great idea!  
Bribery is always handy...

The Unthinking!

Guardian

Caroline Lucas MP, looking in this picture the very essence of a Brighton resident, has until now offered some interesting points regarding the Brexit farce.  Today however she revealed that underneath her positive exterior lay the real fault at heart of the 'Green Party,' a failure to understand human nature.

She has demanded as as answer to Brexit a 'unity cabinet' comprising a number of female only MP's, indeed some who are not even members of this parliament.  Putting aside the constitutional legality of such an idea and considering her motivation we are left with head in hands wondering what goes on in the minds of those who read feminist books.  She states, "“Why women? Because I believe women have shown they can bring a different perspective to crises, are able to reach out to those they disagree with and cooperate to find solutions.”  She then offers one or two examples from the past when women have done something helpful.  She apparently did not notice any man ever doing similar.  I wonder why?  

This is the fault at the heart of feminism, it's bollox!

You see feminism is, and always was, based on middle class girlies who have never worked at anything in their lives, mostly American ones at that, telling other lassies that they have had a hard life.  No forgive me if I misunderstood but maybe women in coal mines, woollen mills, selling fish or clothes or any other goods might have noticed they had a hard life, often when confronted by middle class women who treat them like skivvies!  

The second fault is also here, these women do not understand women.

I do, I have worked with them, under them, amongst them and I can tell you it is very much the minority, and not always middle class minority, who know what work is like and how human nature works.  

Wome, in spite of the needless increase of women's football, do not work well in a team.  They tell you they do but this is a lie.  In open plan offices women work in small groups of three or four, ignoring all others, I have seen this so often.  Men, the bad people on the planet, can work in groups, are made this way, and in similar operations work well together.  It has been said and disregarded by feminists, that when at a football match men support 'our team,' women will support 'their baby.'  This sums it up nicely.  No woman will accept this as they try accept the lie that they are the same as men, they are not.  

I could give hundreds of examples, I may write a book about this if I found a publisher who was not too scared to publish.  The lie of 'unisex' has led to gay marriage, trans people, and who knows what to come by ignoring how we are made.  Normal life has been stolen by the Lie and the world has swallowed it.  Men and women are different, are meant to be different, have different ways of viewing the world and are made this way to work together.  Spewing lies and half truths, usually in feminist books all varying from one to another, does not help especially when it comes down to the woman on the Clapham Omnibus through grubby newspapers or colour supplements.  Ask any woman the 10 commandments of feminism and she will not know, she may invent some however.  They do not exist and vary everywhere.

This leads us back to Lucas, she has the idea woman can do what men cannot, bring peace to this nation, forgetting the different outlooks of the women she has called, the different political spectrum,the underlying bitchiness from the previous encounters of some of them!  

The only answer to Brexit is to forget it!  

Certainly we will now have a General election, six weeks I think from the date called, possibly the EU leave date will be put back, certainly a referendum must then be called,  and that way a better understanding of the situation might appear.  This answer would be clearer if the voters failed to vote for the party and voted for the country, that way some of these louts, both male and female will be removed!

 

Leisure Hours...

In between the return of the bug which leaves me lying on the floor wishing I was dead I have moments of action.  The word 'action' may be a bit strong here.  However this week I took it upon myself to finish the Spring cleaning I started about two or three years ago.  This meant examining the wooden sash window frames, which appear original, and that means 1812, to clean them and ensure the window opens properly.  In the end it was easier to make use of Matt white emulsion and just wash them down and paint them.  Old small windows with lots of squarish small panes mean lots of awkward wooden bits to paint while at awkward angles!  The front one is now done, notice I am ignoring the demand to add gloss paint on top, and not only the small kitchen window also but the entire kitchenette walls I finished this morning.
I now ache all over!
Being to sedentary means such an effort, once quite easy, although it is years since I painted the windows last, now it means aches everywhere and a desire to sit and read books.  However I am glad I have got that far, the bedroom window, and indeed the walls require doing nest!  Just wait until I start moving everything...actually we will just do the window for now.  The wall can wait...

Books

It so happened that I came into possession of two more book vouchers yesterday.  Having ended my time at the museum, they indicated that as we have a 'Dinosaur' exhibition on at the my attendance might confuse children so I left, having left I was in receipt of these vouchers and a lovely card with words such as "I'm glad you have left," scribbled upon.
This sadly means I now have to slug my way into town to the proper bookshop and select more books for the 'To read' pile.  This as you will imagine upsets me.  So many books, so little time!

The problem is the charity shops around here.  Most sell books, mostly women's trash it must be said, but occasionally they possess something worthwhile.  The Sue Ryder shop in particular attracts a lot of good books, the hardbacks here were available at 2 for £1 and I am not one to resist such prices.  A proper charity shop, though it must be said it makes its money from the quality of the furniture it sells rather than books.  
I noticed in one of the papers a woman talking about the second hand books previous history.  She of course, being a woman, was merely using story books, a waste of time in my view, and conjecturing on the people who bought the novel first time.  This is interesting right enough, who originally bought the book that ends up in a charity shop?  Was it bought or a gift?  Did it delight or bring despair?  Surely if it was worth reading it was worth keeping?  Now I would throw out story books, though I would keep 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' as I liked that when I read it ( I bought it for my niece in a charity shop 30 years ago and had to read all the others) but I would dump the rest.  However my books are interesting and worth something, they are always of use as reference in future times, unlike novels.  So who throws them out?  Was the missus clearing out again?  Did someone die?  Did the owner get bored with the subject?  I wonder if the reader got satisfaction from the book?  
What sort of house did the buyer live in?  The middle classes keep their books to show off their knowledge and impress people, other like Siegfried Sassoon had thousands of books up the stairs, on landings, on shelves, in libraries and knew everyone of them.  When asked he could indicate where each book was to be found.  Few are like that.  I wonder where his library ended up?  I know where my small collection will go, my niece has divided them up already and she gets the lions share, I am surprised...

Argos Beatles...

I met a friend for coffee this morning, thus avoiding the continuation of last years Spring clean, and walked by the 'Argos' shop and collected a new catalogue of priceless merchandise which I don't want.  
And why are they named after a long forgotten Greek city anyway?
I noticed they retain the cover blurb from before, 'You're Good to Go' and began to ask myself what that is supposed to mean?  The previous one had the word 'WOW' upon it if I remember correctly, and 'wow' was found on most pages leaving me asking if anyone in this cynical nation was impressed by this?  Marketing people do not in my understanding live in the real world, yet earn vast sums of cash for such as this!   Long years ago a friend earned £40,000 a year, his main work was designing an advert for a 'Findus' fish product which may or may not still exist, I doubt it does, as from what I recall there was not much to it.  He also had his own Audi from the company.  I was not jealous even though in those days I could not get a bus pass.  I did not go out of my way to buy his product however...

Standard

It appears the Beatles still produce a reaction these days.  50 years after they crossed the road in what I thought then, and still think now, was a rather poor cover photo people have rushed to commemorate that picture.  
Now not only did I work just up the road in what was then a somewhat run down hospital passing this corner day after day.  At that time we worked Monday to Saturday early shift, then Sunday to Friday late shift, we then got a weekend off.  How the rich lived!  
Even then, 1980-81, the 'Abbey Road' street sign was covered in scribbles from little girls informing Paul or whoever of their thoughts.  He was of course not there.  He did have a house not far from here, a nuisance to his neighbours, while he himself sat around in New York or Scotland avoiding the fans and counting his money.
Not long after leaving the hospital I was delivering in this area, 1983 on I think, and three times a week we would visit Abbey Road, knock down one or two foreigners crossing the road while being photographed and receiving instructions from the driver on how to behave.  Today would have led to mass murder US style had we been there.  Actually I have just thought it would not, we did Arsenal and that area on Thursdays, lucky for them!

This Sucks...

Walking barefoot across the floor I left a trail of footprints in the dust.  It crossed my mind that I must get a new hoover sometime soon. 
The one I have does work, at least through the hose bit, the rest burnt out a while back.  This means it takes time crossing the floor and I tend to let things lie, well dust, crumbs and those little white bits that appear from nowhere, usually after I have finished hoovering!  
So I started searching for prices etc and instead just got confused.
Pages of strange stick instruments telling me they were 'cordless' or 'pet care' and 'bagless' met me.  Online the screen was filled with the same offerings.  Nowhere did a 'Hoover' type hoover appear.  At last I found hoovers from 'Hoover,' and rejected them.  They were upright, as they ought to be, had bags, cords and tubes, however being 'Hoover' hoovers they were rubbish!  That anti EU man 'Dyson' had many strange grossly overpriced Malaysian made offerings on show, not for me Mr anti EU but live in Singapore or New York thanks.  If you wish Brexit live in the nation you give it to.
These strange skinny hoovers, where does the dust go?  'Bagless' I understand, I see how that works, and cordless, sounds great but this means plugging the thing into the electric for hours to charge up, how much does that cost you?  I prefer a cord here.   

I have not yet really got used to the prices.  The cheapest is around £129, some go up into the £500's!  Who needs to pay that for a hoover?  Are these folks mad or is it just show?  A vacuum to match the fancy car outside perhaps?  Either way I was not much in love with things of high price.  There is evidence that I was confused!  What to do?  
Maybe I ought to go for an expensive one that will last, 'Miele' perhaps.  That is a company with a decent reputation, or at least it had in the past.  A wander through the shops tomorrow is now on the cards.  Being Wednesday it will be busier and less chance of me accidentally buying something.  

This morning, in another attempt at fitness I walked down to the Post Office where the young girl smiles at me.  It appears to get further away each time I go there.  Not only did she ask for £3:50 for a packet containing a couple of books but she didn't smile either.  She did not offer a happy sight, she was upset at someone in the shop, I know not whom.  Disappointing as when I wandered back I continued to Sainsburys where the girl there offered a grumpy appearance to one and all, mind you I was using those 'self service' machines which are horrible.  I only went there as the Post Office did not have what I wanted and so I slogged all the way up the road.  After this, to enhance fitness, I exercised (though this would not be what an expert would call it) and now am totally exhausted!
Happily this stops me doing anything else...

 

Football, Church Women and Holidays

Life has been much enhanced lately, yes Friday night football is back, and today the Heart of Midlothian are slugging it out with Aberdeen as we speak.  I will watch the delayed broadcast on BBC Alba at 6pm.  What a great use of a TV station!  No more Friday evenings wondering what to do, no more Friday evenings staring out the window watching people without TV football wandering about bereft.  At last life has returned to some normality.  
I have lost BTSport however, I could obtain it via Plusnet but this will cost £10 a month, and that is not on, I went there to save cash, anyway BT have BTSport only for this season then it moves to SKY.  This season I may take a 10 month ticket with Now TV to enable me to see Scots football on Sky, along with English rubbish.  I might be able to afford that.  
Of course after Brexit all these English players will be returned home, Trump fashion.  Then what will happen to English football?  A collapse at the top level is on the cards and Boris and his strange backers will line their pockets and run I expect.

 
At church this morning I noticed the three 'old' women gathered together again offering a view of a female 'Last of the summer wine.'  I began to imagine the kind of adventures they would become responsible for.  

'The Guild & the Missing Communion Wine.'  
Nobody knows what happened to the Holy bottles of QV Sherry procured from the Co-op but it was noticeable at the 'Bring and Share' Sunday they girls would not allow the children to drink the raspberry cordial on their table.  It remains unknown as to whether this played any part in their dancing on said table later in the day.  
The curate was later found in the vestry, tied up with string and with an offering bag over his head. 

Sometimes I laugh when folks talk abut little old ladies.  The impression given is of weak and not too bright women.  I remember being in a room full of ex-missionary women, their husbands, those who had one, had all died long before, and feeling more unsafe than when I was in some football grounds.  These women had had to succeed in difficult and often dangerous places, the Belgian Congo was one where many missionaries died, and in inhospitable habitations far from help.  These were not women to men with!

These summer days make me wake early each morning, usually so early that by 10 am I am back in bed!  I am surrounded by people telling me that they are off to Spain, Iceland, Majorca or some far off land while I mention my trip to Chelmsford to by sausages.  This does not seem right to me in some way.  
I keep asking for a pretty young lass who speaks French to drive me around the battlefields in France and Flanders but have so far met with little in the way of encouraging responses.  One or two have been specifically unresponsive I must say!  There again I have little desire to go where others go.  Spain for the sun, especially for those with kids sounds good but would be boring for me.  Iceland might be interesting but expensive and would mean eating a lot of fish!  For Majorca, sitting reading books sounds good but why go there.  If I go somewhere, if the knees let me, I would wish to see something!  Why g abroad to lie about all day?  What a waste.  The old battlefields would be interesting, foreign nations with a history far from tourists might also satisfy, but lounging about amongst lager louts can be done cheaper at home.  Not for me thanks.

 
 

Eat Moths

This healthy eating is always a good idea in my view.  Tonight however I found choice limited and made do with what was available.   Do you think this can be considered healthy...?
'Yorkshire Bitter,' have you ever met anyone from Yorkshire that wasn't bitter..? 
At the supermarket I always inform the girl that the booze is for my breakfast, sad to say one or two of them appear to believe me! 
I wonder why?
Anyway a law ought to be passed where a woman is instructed to make dinner for men who canny cook.  Surely this would be right?  I can see benefits with this, indeed they can do the ironing and hoover the floor as well, it is what they were made for innit?

This morning a friend sent me this picture.  I had to increase the size as the beastie was very small.  We spent a while searching for pictures of Butterflies before deciding this was a moth!  They all look the same don't they?  After a while we decided this was a Jersey Tiger.  Satisfied with this I realised we had spent hours staring at pictures of beasties, many of which looked similar, and time was passing fast.   
The fascination variety of wee beasties amazed me.  So many different colours, patterns, sizes, most shaped similarly but then there is the caterpillars from which they grow, also a huge similar variety. 
It does not surprise me when I hear it said that a great many insects have not yet been discovered, that variations of those known are still to be found and billions of them are all around us daily and we don't notice them.  Unless of course the window is open and the light is on, that brings them home!

  

Another Book!

A somewhat lazy day sitting around reading books, watching the screen and muttering to myself.  A normal day perhaps.  
I did finish another of these 'Penguin Monarch' books.  This one concerns a woman I knew absolutely nothing about.  My school history was rightly more concerned with proper Scots history and Mary I was never mentioned.  She did come to mind later occasionally as 'Bloody Mary,' a well known expression, often when I was working I remember, but rarely did she ever get a real mention.
For a start I did not know she married an Italian prince who became King of England!  As King of Spain I had heard of Philip but not that he married Mary, or was that a later Philip?  The book stops when Elizabeth appears.  

Mary 1554

Born February 1516 she had the misfortune to be daughter of Catherine of Aragon, the first wife of Henry VIII.  While it appears Henry liked this woman she had a stream of miscarriages which meant he failed to get himself an heir.  The world of that time had its own pressures and as time passed Henry suffered somewhat from too much jousting and removed the wife from his life.  This meant Mary, and later Elizabeth, both went into a kind of hibernation as far as monarchy was concerned.
Henry had his troubles, usually badly handled I would say, with the Pope and became head of his own 'reformed' church.  The increasing protestant religion found a home in England and Henry encouraged this, stripping the Catholics of all he could obtain, closing monasteries and parcelling out the land he did not retain.  This did not make him popular in Rome.

Mary I

Once the King died and the short lived attempt to put Lady Jane Gray on the throne failed, Mary had her head removed, Mary took their reigns and soon began reverting things back to the RC manner.  Now the author of this book is somewhat biased in his opinions.  He is a lover of Spain and Mary and throughout the book is intent on portraying her in a good light.  All very noble.
He makes a point that she was not 'Bloody Mary' and only did what she had to do according to the ways of the world at the time.
Four Bishops burnt at the stake and 283 others leading protestants who also died may disagree here.
Her short lived reign saw many others follow if they deviated from her spiritual path.  Over 800 well to do people fled the country at this time.  
Her beliefs were based on her Spanish grandmothers influences, clearly Mary was a clever lass, well educated, well read but family pressures possibly kept her from the new reformed faith, especially if she was looking to be crowned and then had to deal with large Catholic super states in Europe.
After she suffered a false pregnancy, possibly from desperation to have a child, she was 38 when she married Philip, her husband moved to France to participate in the ongoing war there.  He only returned once, not long before she died.  
Mary died from  a variety of internal problems, not helped by Flu which took her away during November 1558, she was 42.   She had by this time enabled Elizabeth to replace her as queen.
Whatever was in her mind this author was trying to make her reputation better.  I am not convinced he succeeded but he did offer a concise look into a world I had never known.  We know lots about Henry, too much in my view, the English are obsessed with him for some reason, and we know much about Elizabeth but Mary I know little off.  I am better educated now as these short books are indeed a treat. 

Sunny Picnics and Boris

Leaning awkwardly through the back window I glimpse the sun offering us the appearance of summer once again.  Outside people pass by in flimsy outfits, T-shirts and shorts, dark glasses and thin dresses.  All pretending the weather is hot because the sun is in the sky.  Inside, I sit with a pullover on under my old man's cardie watching the temperature aim for the mid 60's, that's about 17% to you modern people.  By noon it might become summer properly again. 
Interestingly I was reading about one of those murderous English queens, Mary, the Catholic one who married Philip of Spain in an attempt to bring happiness to her people.  His first ten days in the country, in mid summer, were a torrent of continuous rain!  Add to this the diary of King George V, the one who served during the Great War as King, his 1914 diary is full of grumbles re the weather up to the end of July when it turns hot.
Some things never change.

  Nat Rec Scotland

Reading Jenny's blog brought back memories of Sunday School picnics in the 50's & 60's.  In times past it was normal for the church to organise a bus trip out of town for all the kids, his must have begun in Victorian days, horse drawn carts if lucky, walking far otherwise.  Charabancs in the 20's and buses by the 30's.  All the buses we saw in Edinburgh would have streamers hanging out the windows, some places using double deckers as the numbers were so high.  By the late 60's these had died out, the car, lack of numbers possibly, personal travel far afield ensured such events lost glamour to the wealthier society.  However the picnic, especially with a decent crowd, has not lost enjoyment as Jenny's pictures show.  
If lucky the place chosen for the picnic would be clear of sheep and cows and indeed their aftermath.  But in those days we did not complain, we were just told to 'Leave Pat alone and carry on.'  There were occasional races, competitions, though I canny mind any now, and a strange look from the Minister as I approached.  I am unclear what was going through his mind but it did not appear to be "Let the children come to me."    
I have vague memories of the strange smell of the plastic mug, even worse the tin one that enabled whatever we had put in it lost all flavour!  A bag of buns and I suppose sandwiches were given, I canny mind sandwiches but i do remember Edinburgh's buns!  In those days little side street bakers made their own cakes and buns, snowballs, 'fly cemeteries,' and brown things covered with chocolate were the thing!  When I was last in Edinburgh such dank bakers still existed, I wonder if they do now?  I miss the snowballs!  It is rather sad that 'Greggs' and the like and considered better than the corner baker.  
Of course Scots died from eating 50 years worth of such things...

Boris has 'visited' Scotland.
The Scots informed him of their opinion of him so successfully he left by the rear door!  
Unlike in England where many threw coloured balls at him as he passed nothing but 'Boos' and jeers greeted the bumbling PM.  In the west he had blethered on about the EU 'dropping the Backstop and showing 'common sense and intelligence,' failing to mention Theresa came up with the Backstop.  He also failed to mention why the EU should back down when he wishes to leave not them!
Ruth Davidson, the strange wee lassie who runs the Tories in Scotland, refuses to accept the 'No Deal' scenario and has made that plain to him while offering her full support, 'Tory style' I suspect.  
In short he has been shown the door by Scotland but like all at Westminster he will care not about that, his friends and his position are what counts to him.

 

Now I'm not one to complain...but..

Does this rain ever stop I wonder...?