A Trip to Waterstones

 

Decided this morning to take action against the 'stir crazy' feeling that has developed around here.  I checked the bus times online, decided I was going to miss the 10:09 so noticing there was a different bus at 10:24 strode manfully for that.  It was not to be found.  Instead the No 70 I was looking for is now a No 370.  The 42B at 10:24 no longer appears to exist, according to the timetable on the shelter at the new bus station at any rate, so 370 it was to be.  

The screen informed me the next 370 would be along in 9 minutes.

I believed them.  

I was right to do so, 9 minutes later the bus pulled into the bay, the wrong bay, but into a bay.  Not quite the 'Zimmer' bus as of old I note this one.  This lot were more the ten different coloured pills a day lot I think.  Anyway, we clambered aboard and slowly the bus made its way out of the terminus and wound round a new route to the far off city. 

 

 

It being almost three years since I last ventured out this way I was as happy as a kid going on holiday.  I expected to see change, and change there was.  Many new housing developments have arisen.  With a Tory controlled council it is no suprise to note these are all houses costing from £400,000 and rising, so as to bring in more Tory voters.  I must admit a sense of growing discontent about this.  Not that I can ever buy, but to purchase a one bed flat here requires about £18,000 deposit, and even then the mortgage people may not accept you.  An actual cheap house may be found at the £300,000 mark, but unless you have one to sell, who can afford this?  

 

Fifty or so minutes later we landed in town and I hastened slowly towards the Cathedral.  There is nothing much else but shops in this town, and I wanted only one of them.  I actually wished to look at the bookstall in here, and on this quiet  day I found a lack of books, a mere smattering on the shelves.  The Diocese office keeps the best ones in their bookshop.  I was not going there.

 

I sat opposite this window, much brighter in reality than in this poor picture, the first time I have really noticed it.   Somewhat Victorian to me.  Just looking at it now I noticed a wee man high up on the left side.  A closer look indicates this is Andrew, according to the cross he holds, and maybe next time I am in I will look again, and with the better camera.  

I departed soon after I had mused sufficiently, hesitating when mistaken for an employee by a young lady entering the building.  Have I sunk so low I actually look like an Anglican now?

 

 

Waterstones was the shop I was heading to.  Here, my £20 gift voucher in hand, I perused each shelf, each table, and almost the Costa coffee shop before I noticed the prices, and, eventually making my purchase and discovering I had £10 on my Waterstones card also.  This I will keep until the next time, probably next week and visit the Camoludunum shop.  

In spite of the masses of books available I was a bit disappointed.  None of them jumped out at me this time, however, after wandering around, almost shoving an unwilling to move woman from one table, and stopping a more polite one from moving at another, I managed to find three books to bring home to the bookshelves.  As always it is a bit of a gamble, will these actually be worth someone else's money?  Will I enjoy them?  Will I find time to read them in between sloth and stuffing my face?     

 

 

The trouble is, I only have one more book token to use, but there are several books I consider I ought to consider.  Maybe I need to drop hints with the family again...?

 

Ridiculous as it sounds I almost went the wrong way heading back to the bus.  Tsk!  I intended to pass throught the market and check out one or two stalls.  On the correct route I passed this.  At first I thought it was the 'Wicker Man,' but it turns out to be a war memorial.

The memorial itself commemorates the Boer War, a massive block elsewhere remembers the Great War, but this one always has a presentation of sorts in November.  Not sure what that is made from but it is well done.

I passed through the very large indoor market, obtaining a variety of meat from the butcher and accidentally purchasing two large slabs of cheese from the cheese stall.  The nurse will not be pleased.  It is a log time since I have been here, these two stalls have not changed, and many of the other stalls remain in place, including the one selling aged cameras at inflated prices.

 

Somewhat surprised at my energy I went to the bus station.  At the stop the numbers indicated had changed.  I queried this with a driver hesitating to begin his shift.  He informed me how things had been revised, where my stop now was, and we both laughed when I asked why there was now a Number 70, as well as a Number 370 bus on the same routes.  "I have no idea," he said holding wide his arms.  We both laughed at the managers and clever people high up who direct things but never see them in action on the ground.

I checked the bus stop.  Lots of old pill pushers stood there.  The indicator claimed the No 70 was coming in 34 minutes, the C1 (what's that?) in 1 minute.  I went to the 'Tesco Express,' bought an overpriced bottle of water, returned to the stop to find only a couple waiting.  The C1 went off to the Hospital taking the pill pushers with it.  Now the indicator said No 370 in 6 minutes.  I sat of the two rails that form a poor seat and the No 370 drew in behind me!  

Catching a bus takes lots of patience, exercise, sarcasm and hope in this area I find.   Still, I was heading home.

 

What delight to see old houses (costing a million) blue sky, green grass, growing crops and hedges filled with birds flapping about.  Though to be honest it was mostly Crows I heard murmering.  It was good to be out, especially as the day passed quickly with no troubles.  Within three hours I had returned, eaten lunch and began to stiffen up.  A good day, which I will pay for tomorrow.

 

Wednesday Wittering

 

On this day in 1812 the Prime Minister, one Spencer Perceval, was assassinated.   I do not mention this as a suggestion for anyone to take note off by the way, I am just mentioning it in passing.  Security, by the way, has since been tightened somewhat at the House Lobby.  Spencer, a 'run-of-the-mill' Prime Minister had done nothing to upset his assassin except be PM while the gunman tried to get recompense from his trials, though the government as a whole was guilty in the assassin's eyes.  

One John Bellingham was the man responsible.  While in Russia during 1802 he had discovered an insurance scam in operation.  However, Russian corruption has not changed its spots and soon he was serving 5 years in prison on trumped up charges.  Eventually released, he demanded compensation and was ignored.  Back in the UK about 1809 he spoke to his MP and a Treasury official seeking compensation for this injury.  This led nowhere.  Advised to take 'whatever means he thought proper,' Bellingham obtained two pistols, quite easy in those days, and sat by the fireplace in the House of Commons Lobby.

When the PM entered said Lobby Mr Bellingham quietly rose, walked towards him, produced his gun, fired at Perceval's chest and stood quietly awaiting arrest.

The Prime Minister on the other hand fell to the floor and said "I am murdered."  He was not mistaken.  He did not rise again.

Bellingham dd not run, merely informing all those around him that he had been badly treated and Perceval was responsible for this.  However, now that he had found sufficient justice had been done he was satisfied.

The 'Old Bailey' was satisfied that he was not 'insane' as he pleaded, but guilty of willful murder, and thus sentenced Bellingham to hang.

His greiving wife was however, not left alone.  Public money was gathered and she was provided for, especially as within a year she was once again married.    

I spent some time watching the 'West Somerset Railway' today.  This is what today is called a 'heritage line,' but to many of us it is just a Steam Railway, a remembrance of times past.  Several stations here have live camera's available, though apparently not Minehead where I believe the line terminates.  

Any such line deserves respect.  Many were closed under the famous 'Beeching Report' in the 60's, I wonder if this is what happened here?  Watching two steam engines pull around eight renovated coaches in either direction was quite impressive.  The fact that these locomotives, not always young when bought, had to be paid for by donation, renovated along with coaches, station buildings and track, and all by many part time volunteers is very impressive.  Remember also that such railways cannot cut corners, all British Rail legislation must be obeyed.  Operation at all times must be according to BR best practice, anything else, apart from not being true to life, can be dangerous.  Inspections are tough and costly, each engine must have the boiler replaced every ten years, and that is not just a big job but a very expensive one.    

I had the live shot from Williton on in the background, and it gave me a very good idea of what working on such a railway in past times must have been like.  Certainly there would be more traffic, including goods vehicles, and very possibly a yard at the rear with a large hut and a couple of lines, plus space for coal to be deposited.   

Usually such stations had a Station Master, a ticket clerk, possibly a signalman if they had a yard, maybe in larger stations a shunter engine with driver and fireman also.  There would be two or three porters, and as the station was open most of the day I expect there were two shifts to operate.  Today, at Williton I saw one Station Master, a signalman, and two "cough" not so young porters moving noticeboards and talking to passengers.  Who knows how many volunteers work at the busier weekends or during the summer? 

It appeared to me working on such a line in the past would not be a bad job, though possibly not making the worker rich.  In between trains there may be long periods of silence, broken only by various duties, including at many stations tending flowerbeds, while preparing for passengers and trains to arrive and depart.  Such silence today I found enjoyable.  I suspect that when younger I would be anxious for adventure, now however, I loved the silence while we awaited the arrival of the next train.  Winter time in such exposed areas might be silent also, but I suspect not be so much fun.

Railwaymen in the past did tend to remain loyal to the company, though not all companies treated them well.  Often men followed fathers, and their sons followed them.  A good secure job, with possible promotion or movement elsewhere, and a guaranteed employment for life, after all nothing could overtake the railway, could it?

I notice someone has already claimed the £184 million from the Lottery win last night.  This means nothing to me as you know, though I have checked with all my family, friends, acquaintances and people passing my door, just to be sure it is not them.  I would not wish anyone to be ruined by such sudden wealth...

Tuesday Twaddle

 

I have just watched Charles practising to be King while reading out the Queens Speech to the country.  It takes years of practice at keeping a straight face to read such a speech without laughing out loud.  No doubt Charles, an intelligent man, was remembering the 40 hospitals and other balloons Boris has promised since stealing the top job.  Here the future King was faced with page after page of promises, all with the singular intention of keeping Boris in that top job.  

None of it will come to pass, apart from the 'relaxing of EU standards,' which will allow businesses that fund Boris to lower standards and increase pollution, unhealthy food, and other H&S bothersome things that save lives but increase costs.  The other legislation will only occurr if Boris thinks he needs it.  That is if he remains in his job of course, ask the Met Police about that.

 

Watching the sun outside my window, while the lovely young lass next door hoovers the stairs, I note the grumbles re the Queens Speech are appearing.  Empty, nothing to say, and only lowering standards for his friends appears likely to happen. 

Meanwhile Central Office keeps telling Tory MPs to build up 'Beergate,' and now the papers that pressurised Durham Police to investigate Starmer are now claiming Starmer has pressurised the Durham Police by claiming he will stand down if found guilty.   

Tee Hee!  Poor Paul Dacre does not know which way to lie...

"The Places in Between" by Rory Stewart

 

This is a very interesting book.

Rory Stewart, a diplomat, a man who has planted thousands of trees, spent time as a Governor in Iraq, a man who has walked over almost all Asian nations, decided, having lived in Afghanistan for three years to walk across northern Afghanistan in winter!  This book describes his travels and is well worth a read.

His ability to speak local languages, or at least part so some, opened doors in the way a non speaker could not make progress.  His understanding of Islam and how the villagers lives, especially as he was walking during 2002 just after the end of the Taliba war, enabled him to live overnight under locals hospitality.     

Accompanied until around the halfway mark, and against his will, by a couple of security men, whose real role he often wondered about, especially as they brought their sick friend along, he trecked across the northern trail in increasingly cold weather.  By half way through the snow was lying thick and never let up until he reached kabul.  

Rory followed the route taken some 500 years before by the Moghul Emperor Barbur from Herat to Kabul as he headed towards invading India. He too travelled in winter, though he had a large retinue following him.  His work is quoted throughout the book.

Afghanistan society is divided among many tribes, all following a form of Islam though age old culture is the real influence here.  Indeed, in some places Rory discovered few if any could read, and as the Koran is written in Arabic which few spoke, this was a handicap.  Nnetheless all prayed at the right time, many were anxious about Rory and whether he was Islamic (he lied quite a few times to remain alive) and only those who had gone into Kabul, Pakistan or Iran had a view on something of the outside world.  Only one tribe, much harmed as all others were by the wars, whether with Russians, Taliban or one another, with blood feuds going back into eons, only one tribe allowed women freedom to speak and join debates.

At Chagcharan Rory loses the remain companion, the two others had failed long before, and he was at last free to walk, as he had always intended, alone to Kabul.  Here however he met the British Army as a large airbase had been established here.  The cockney voices intrigued him after not hearing English from the villagers, especially as they all considered him, quite rightly, mad!  

They however, did feed him and his new dog Barbur, which he had been sold somewhat unwillingly, on his travels.  Barbur is a Mastiff, used to protect the people and sheep and cattle, when they actually had them, or as fighting dogs.  Badly treated by the locals, as they had little consideration for their animals, or those they had left after the fighting, and Barbur was very timid when Rory raised his stick, all walkers require them, to fend of packs of dogs that attacked them on the road.  Years of abuse not easily forgotten.

In spite of those who favoured the Taliban hindering the journey Rory reaches Kabul and his friends there.  His dog, which he had sent on ahead before he entered the last tribal area, they would not have allowed the dog to survive, enjoyed Kabul.  Here the friends fed him meat, on the journey little food was found, mostly dry bread, and the life of Riley was now available to the dog.  Sadly, he was given a sheeps bone, something he was unused to eating, and shreds of bone entered and rupruted his stomach and he died.  

Rory Stewarts prose enables us to walk with him through deep snow, very unfriendly areas, passing through high mountain passes blocked by snow that sensible people would avoid, and receive somewhat grudging hospitality from poverty stricken villagers who had little hope or expectation of a better life.  For eons Afghanistan, and Pakistan, have nursed mountain people into their own culture.  The idea of imposing western democracy upon this is laughable, but far too many tried.  This book reveals the heart of the country, the villagers outside the cities, the one who support much of the Talibans ideas, partly because this ensured some peace, partly because they are their people.  The west had no chance to improve the lot of many as wished, because they were dealing with people but not their culture.  That culture will not change easily, especially today with the Taliban once again in charge. 

Interesting to me was how this reflected the book of Judges, and the tribal society of early Israel.  The people followed generally one Law, were mostly an agricultural village society, fought more with one another than those outside, had their local leaders rather than national, and were open to all sort of outside influences, but wished to remain themselves at all times.  

We could learn much about the world and real life from this book.  I recommend it. 

 

Friday Frippary

The tingle in my toe indicates I sit around too much, similar tingles in my fingers indicate repetitive strain injury caused by too much time playing solitaire working on this laptop.  Therefore more walking and exercise is required, but this aches the knees, it doesn't do much for the back either.  However, this morning I crossed the park, wandered the long way, that is another five minutes, through the town, and limped home hungry for lunch.

This afternoon I returned the empty beer vinegar bottles to the recycling bins at the supermarket, with great difficulty.  For a start the bag appeared heavy for some reason, and the actual bins had not been emptied.  The lids were bursting open, bags crammed with bottles lay all around, beer bottles, wine bottles, spirits of many kind bottles, all stood to attention awaiting disposal in amongst the discarded plastic bags and broken chips of glass that always lies everywhere here.  At least people are trying to recycle and save the planet.  

Having added my bag to the flock I meandered towards the bank, took cash from the 'Hole in the Wall,' and marvelled at how easy this was.  In times past Scots banks were not keen on customers, after all, they had work to do, so they opened at 9:30, closed for an hour at lunchtime, and closed again to the public at 3:30. These are all ideal times for the man in the street to make use of a bank!  Today I just inserted the card, pressed numbers, pressed another couple of buttons and money appeared from the wall. This is great!  

I wonder who the card belonged to?

Anyway, I hobbled down the road passing many mum's returning the kids from the schools, crossed the park once again and amazingly sat on a bench to enjoy the warmth of the day!  It was heading towards 70ish degrees today.  Short sleeves abounded, women putting their noses in the air expecting all men to admire them, I look the other way to annoy them, all around the unexpected relief that summer might be nearing.  Ha!  I thought it was getting cloudy now, the weather man has promised rain tonight!  Typical.

 

 

Sadly the local elections turned out to be disappointing for us all.  While the Tories lost heavily it was clear they did not lose heavily enough.  Worse, many continued to vote for them, in spite of the mess they are leaving us.  Labour have done well in Scotland, but elsewhere they have gained many local seats but not enough to encourage hope in a general election.  Boris may yet try for an early general election if he thinks he will gain enough of a winning margin.  I doubt this however.  There again there was not sufficient displeasure amongst the faithful to call for his removal, but underneath the ground is shifting.

 

 

My day of excitement will end with the second leg of Inverness Caledonian v Partick Thistle tonight.  The play-off time is here again and always to be welcomed.  The first legs are not always so enjoyable, however, when the game is there to be won in the second leg it gets interesting.  These are good games to watch.  However, not all is good in Scottish football, last nght the blue bigots won through to the final of a European competition.  This is sad news to me.  The last thing we need is the sectarian pair getting more cash, they will waste it on themselves and continue to spurn Scottish football. This is not a good moment for Scotland.

 

US Troubles

 

The USA is a strange place.  A society that possesses a 'myth' that claims to offer 'freedom,' yet demands laws that protect individuals.  There is a clear problem here.  If I am free to do what I like so are you, but what happens when this leads to interference between one another?  Where does your 'freedom' end and mine begin?  

This weeks US freedom rage concerns abortion, the killing of unborn children.  It appears, through a 'leaked' document, that the Supreme Court may be deciding to reverse the 'right to abortion,' and this has caused much angst, at least among the media.  Naturally facts are not involved only emotion, facts get in the way of the cries on both sides and makes thinking difficult and decisions hard.  A failure of leadership from the top over many years has also failed to give guidiance.

I spent much of yesterday 'discussing' this with emotional women on Twitter.  The discussion with one was fruitful in that she had a true and awful tale of woe to reveal.  She had an abortion after beng raped many years ago, the child not being healthy, possibly unlikely to have any life whatsoever.  It is hard not to to feel for this woman.

However, we cannot avoid the fact that most abortions are not from stress, rape, poverty, or serious defects, the majority are women who now use abortion as a form of contraception.  Why?  Loose sex lives, a failure to take responsibility for their actions, and quite often having no idea or care as to who the father may be.  It is likely adulterous relationships also encourage a desire to dump the child to save face.  It has become known that Asian children are often aborted when it is known they are female, many only want male children, or have too many girls already.  Other children have been removed because of having minor faults such as a 'hair lip.'  These are not legitimate reasons for such drastic action.

How can we, in a caring manner, support such women?  

First we need to encourage women to take responsibility for their actions.  'Keeping their legs together, as many did in the past, is not an idea that is encouraged.  Indeed, this I note is called 'repulsive' by some women, reflecting their desire to blame the man at all times, and allow the woman to live as she pleases.  A great many women considered this view acceptable!  

These people can vote!

Another responsible attitude would be to ensure the father had a choice in the abortion decision. The father today has no choice, he must be given such.  There again, this requires the father to take responsibility for his actions also and whatever the choice ensure he supports the woman. Sadly this, I suspect, is too much for many men.  They should be held accountable.  

Any decent government would ensure suport for such women, including proper aid in decision making, would be available, this is not the case today.  Indeed, it appears many women do not want this.  What does that tell us?  

Since 1967 some 10, million children have died through abortion in the UK, just imagine how this holocaust is repeated worldwide?  In Scotland alone last year over 14,000 abortions occurred, can you convince me this is making these women happy?  I feel for their minds and hearts in the days to come.  You can stifle a conscience  but it never dies.

Since 1967 the love of 'freedom' in the USA and the rest of the west has resulted in a loss of responsibility for our actions.  Freedom only exists where we control ourselves and take responsible decisions.  The lax laws offering a society abortion, gay sex, same-sex 'marriage,' 'Trans' people, encouraging loose sex lives, and independent living with the ability to walk away from difficulties has not produced a settled, stable society.  Instead we see suicide rates growing, confusion among the young, and the loss of 'absolutes' in morality.  This begins at the top of government and leaves us a fractured world in which almost anything goes.

I note, as an example, Akihito Kondo, a 35 year old Japanese man who in 2008 married a virtual reality hologram!  This kind of wedding is not unusual, I have read of women marrying a fence, one married a wall, and I am unwilling to look for any others of this ilk!  However, we note that the story of Akihito does not have a happy ending, the company that serviced the software terminated it and his 'wife' disappeared from screen!  

The lack of an absolute morality has weakened the world.  It takes little to scratch the surface of human beings to see that the sinner lies just below the surface of us all.  Note the actions of men in Ukraine today!  History records the selfishness, violence and uncaring attitudes within us, indeed, in the 'west' we are lucky to live in such peaceful times we can allow society to descend into such absurdities.  

In poverty ridden lands the search for daily survival means there is no time for such fripparies.  How grateful we all should be to have such an opportunity of life.

How can we stop abortion?  Responsible lives, a society built on strong marriage between one man and one woman, care for children, and governments that take resonsible attitudes to the needs of people rather than care only to keep themselves in power.  This present UK lot are indeed the worst I can remember, reflecting their PMs lack of concern for others and responsibility to his job.  But responsibility we must take, who knows what the end of western society will be?

Again....

 

Spider

 

Yet another Bank Holiday, yet another boring day.  

Yet another day to watch lots of mediocre low level English teams, Salford, Newport, Port Vale, Manchester United, struggle vainly in a bid to reach a higher level.

Nothing much else to do bar watch the spider up in the corner.  Esmarelda, lets call her, has been there for  some time now.  I am not sure how long they live for but she has been there years.  Occasionally I sweep away the excess web and it's dead occupants, but mostly I leave her alone.  In the warmer weather she earns her keep by removing lots of flies and creepy crawlies that otherwise would be a pest.  I am grateful for her hard work in this regard.

There are lots of such used webs around this house, as I discovered doing the Spring Clean, well, at least the bits of the Spring Clean I finished.  Some down the back of things which rarely move, others just hanging about here there and everywhere.  There is even one in my wallet.  One or two had occupants of various types, no duplicates to be found.  This is surprising as when they give birth, and eat their mate, the lass spews forth around a hundred young.  

Where do they go?  

I am now checking under the bed.

After that, I am off to check for a ''Dominator Tractor.'  Apparently they are all the rage these days...

 

And Jesus said "...

 

Spring at Last?

April comes to an end with bright sunshine and chilly wind.  Less chilly than the other day, yet many Englishmen once again, as normal, reveal their intelligence by wearing tee-shirt and shorts early in the day because it is 'warm.'  Normal people do not do this.  Young males certainly, but they are stupid as you know, and merely trying vainly to impress the girls who are ignoring them.  I had normal Spring jumper on under my jacket, a warm Spring does not arrive in Edinburgh so I know how to dress, global warming has not yet made it real Tee-shirt weather in Essex yet either.

 

I meandered across the park, being studiously ignored by the old dear with the wee dog, and cheerily greeted by the probably, retired man as he passed.  People are funny.  In the past folks were happy to greet others, today many do not.  The many newcomers to town have lessened the homespun atmosphere and casual greetings are lessening.  Fear appears more common.  

Maybe of course it is just me...

 

I meandered through the town as the market was getting into gear, ensuring I avoided all the people I wished to avoid.  Naturally, one lay in wait for me.  A feeble excuse and I was off.  This is unusual, normally it is others who avoid me!  I was not in the mood for a man who talks like a woman.  

Some new stalls were to be glanced at, £20 for a bottle of liqueur,  several pounds for cider, and huge amounts for large slices of cake.  I almost hesitated at the stall with a old suitcase full of tat.  This is the type of box I used to love in the museum, you never knew what you might find.  I made use of common sense and left before I wasted a day searching and spending cash.

 

 

Spring may indeed have arrived.  This blackbird was happily singing as I passed, he left when the camera saw him.  Blackbirds singing are a good sign of warmer times.  I hope to hear more of him and his mates.

Bills, Bills, Bills...

To please the greedy EON Electric people I've had to stumble downstairs, then stumble further down the dead leave covered, slippy, narrow steps into the dim, dank basement to check the meter.  Brushing aside the cobwebs I managed to work out the numbers (I always forget what to do), scribbled them down, and looked around at the dingy surroundings.

 

 

I always find myself asking what that space is for?  These houses all begin with one room, added to over the years.  When did they dig the basement?  What went in that alcove?  This extension at the rear was rebuilt when the landlord took possession, possibly in the 1990's, I am not sure of the date.  

Old maps show the previous building extension but do not explain what it was used for.  It may have been used far back in the past but the building was bought from a doctors, they used the house as a surgery, I doubt they kept a pharmacist down here.  

 

The original steps down are seen covered in slime and dust and filled with rubbish donated by ex-tenants.  It never ceases to amaze how people feel free to dump stuff when they leave.  The old maps show the extension but at no time do they mention what it was for.  A wash house perhaps, with no water?  Until 1861 water had to be brought from the pump of course.  Nothing in the old census indicates the occupants employment.  There again it is not always easy to identify the correct name at this address, the census writers were not helpful to folks like me.  The latest 1921 census is only available on 'Find my Past,' a bunch of money grabbing crooks they are too.  To check the census itself, giving many but not all details, is £2:50, a copy costs £3:50.  It was free on Ancestry once you paid you dues!
 

Anyway, the numbers taken, back up the slimy stairs I slipped, ensuring the door is shut from rats and other vermin.  Before I creaked back upstairs I took a poor shot of our Bluebells.  Three of these come out annually, they have possibly been doing this for centuries!  Delicate things, possibly the original British Bluebell's which are illegal to pick these days.  The only Blubell's I knew as a kid were the 'Bluebell Matches' my dad bought to light the cigarettes that killed him.  Those bulbs bought now in garden centres I believe are Spanish.  Not that I would know, but Brexiteers may get annoyed.   

I inserted the numbers, once I found my way through the many pages, sent off the details.  Today I find the new bill, this tells me how much I pay and how I am £7 in credit.  I am never sure how these chancers work these things out, but they always come out on top.  Once, and if, the weather warms up of course much less use to be made of the electric or gas.  Hooray!  More climate warming around here say I.

Thursday Blah!

 

Been affected by a bit of a bug this week.  This meant little was done, so today was spent catching up.  Tesco for foodstuffs, including eggs which I forgot.  Sainsburys for eggs and other things only they have.

I forgot eggs!

Still, washing done, house tidy again, new oven still clean, emails sent, new second hand books delivered, and exhaustion has set in once again.  Though I did forget to eat properly I have just realised.  Tsk!

I just could not stomach watching Boris lying at the House on Wednesday, it infuriates me how he continues to blatantly lie and his party support him.  On Twitter, several who ought to know better give him support.  These use spurious biblical readings to do so, they also do not like the replies offered.  This is because these men, while educated, knowledgeable, and scripture educated, are xenophobic English who do not wish asylum seekers to come to their England.  The Archbishop of Canterbury makes clear the biblical message to 'welcome the alien,' and 'welcome the stranger,' but they use 'Daily Mail' reasoning to oppose this.  There are many 'far-right' Christians it appears in the UK.  Politics has ruined their faith.  I am, by the way, not popular...

With Twitter now becoming Trumps home once again I am looking for a free twitter world to join.  There must be one out there somewhere open to debate without numpties allowed to spue forth Trump nonsense.

 

Straw Hats

 

From a Museum Friends Magazine.

Funny?

 

ANZAC DAY 2022

During the Great War Australia and New Zealand 

provided a great many men for the war.  

 

Some 60,284 Australian men died.

Around 18,000 New Zealand men died. 

Add to this Australian wounded: 155,133.

New Zealand wounded: 41,000.

 

Several thousand others became POWs. 

 

 

Maldon Again

It is not possible to admire blossom unless you have sunshine, this was lacking somewhat as I crossed the park to post another offical document through the council's closed door.   I ventured through the town market early, few around before nine in the morning, bought sherry milk from the store and have remained comatose since.  I am beginning to like it this way.  

Very annoying that the other week I took seevral shots of the 'Yellow' moon and none of them worked.  I used to be able to manipulate the image to give a fair impression of the surface, recently this talent has evaded me and my camera.  I must blame the camera for this, surely it canny be my fault...?

 

 

Several commentated on the Maldon post, (well, two!) and in particular this man Byrhtnoth who led the defence of the nation.  This nation is the one beginning to be called the 'English' nation, though they were 'Saxons,' not 'Angles,' from whom the name derives.  The 'Angles' were found from the Forth to the HUmber, so why did 'Saxons' on the south east coast become 'English?'  Typical England, steal from others and call it your own.

The Scots at this time were busy building hospitals, schools, and benefiting others by spreading Good News and care worldwide...

Here, for those interested, is my previous post from way back, regarding the 'Battle of Maldon.' 

 

A Memory Post

Today is another boring day.  The highlight was taking the rubbish down for collection tomorrow and eating a bad lunch.  This comprised a (reduced price) veggie lunch which claimed to be a 'Turkey Wheat Protein' thing.  Having cooked it, been scared by the noise of the alarm that I forgot was on the oven, and chewed my way through this 'wheaten' mass, I came to the conclusion that it was in fact bread!  This I reckoned because of the word 'Wheat.'  Take wheat, mix with various things, add nuts, cook forever, and wonder why you did not just make a thick sandwich?  'Thick' was a word going through my mind.  Maybe I ought to read the labels better rather than just look at the price?

Anyway, here is an old picture of what was once a thriving port called Maldon.  A few years since I was there last, and I kind of miss being by the sea, even if it is just this little estuary.  Ships did sail far from here in times past, a great many of the Barges sailing up the Thames to London carrying various goods, often agricultural to London, other goods in return.  Huge loads often on the barges but only two men usually operating the vessel.  

Like Maldon the two railway museums will have been missing visitors.  This very evocative view of the water tower at the Colne Valley Railway reminds me off a good day there before Covid.  Quite quiet that day so it was possible to get around with little trouble.  A trip on the DMU was included, though we did not go far, and plenty to see for a museum with so little space.  I like that sort of museum.

 

When in Colchester one time I came upon this school.  It had a very attractive 1920's type building (possibly earlier) and above the doors there were signs indicating for whom the doors belonged.  We had nothing like this on our 1932 primary, though we were segregated into boys and girls, and today sadly the kids are mixed together at all times.  I disagree with this as male and female are made differently, boys and girls need to play with their own kind and this forced mixing is not good.  Even if they were separated on say, Tuesday and Thursday only, this would enable them to develop much better.  

The results of present day cohesion are all around us, boys who think they are girls, girls who think they are boys.  Confusion reigns in many young minds rather than being allowed to be what you are made.  Good grief that gives enough problems anyway, why did women teachers insist on this as it does no-one any good.

 

How many of you still have one of these lying around the house?  That is, hidden in a cupboard, unsused and with nothing to add it on to.  I have one in a cupboard, I have records, mostly scratched, and possibly ruined by the cold weather.  No way of playing them now.  However, many people are buying such records, money can be made, but I am not parting with mine...