Tuesday Grumbles

It has been an exhausting few days.  Last week I did too much for my unfit, old frame.  Walking about on Sunday did not help.  So I have done nothing of interest again.  It has to be said, that is now my normal existence.  This morning I reached Sainsburys early but found I was tired, very tired.  I struggled back home and drank coffee and ate whatever I could find, irrespective of what it did to the diet.  This took all day to wear off, and is still hanging around yet. 

Actually, I have done other things, mostly on the laptop.  I have managed to upset gays in the USA, Brexiteers in the UK, and my downstairs neighbour, though that was by just existing.  

So, the time has not been wasted then?

Boris has managed to cause a railway strike, by not allowing his government to take part in talks, also reducing subsidy payments by half, demanding 2500 job cuts, including ticket sellers, replacing them with computerised online tickets (which many cannot use) and refusing wage increases.  He now blames 'militant unions' for troubling the nation.  

'Train drivers are overpaid' some claim, ignoring the fact that train drivers are not involved in the strike.  The 'Daily Mail' reader is easily led.

Postmen are next, Criminal Barristers, those who defend you that is, are also striking this week, most others are soon to follow.  Nurses, dustmen and a wide variety of people now suffering from the cost of living increase are demanding more.  This government of billionaires and millionaires is ignoring them.

On Sunday we remembered it was 'Fathers Day,' another of those imported US celebrations that did not exist when I was young.  Father's, now almost outlawed by Harriet Harmen and her feminist rabble, are given a token day today, but only if they are 'new fathers,' a term which implies all fathers beforehand were bad.  This of course is rubbish, many were bad, just as many were very good, however, books and magazines, newspapers and TV stories fill with tales of the bad ones. For 40 years Harriet and her harridans have been telling us men are bad, many now accept this as true, and this includes young men.

Fathers are important, we are created male and female, no matter what todays fashionable lies tell us.  One male, one female, married for life, are best for children, male and female.  We are all aware of the many failures, we often read about them.  We never appear to read about failed one parent (usually female) families which fail, we never appear to read about gay marriages which fail, couples living together for a while which fail, we obtain only half a story, and children suffer.

One police Inspector indicated that most young black kids in trouble had no fathers, this was quietly pushed aside, as this was not a popular, though true, observation.  I have known black men who have not looked after their children, but many more who have been very good fathers indeed.  Society hears only what it wishes to hear, not what is best. 

I notice Microsoft have been at it again.  While everything was going along reasonably they have amended this and that, especially the 'Photos' and not informed us as to how to change things again.

This did not take long to work out, however, once again it appears 14 year olds are the ones coming up with ideas.  Why do tech companies amend things so often?  Apart from amending mistakes, keeping out bugs, and finding new ways to make use of your data to enrich themselves, which after all, is what it is all about, why do they do this?  Last night, on the new, cheap, spare laptop, which uses the totally useless Win 11, I struggled with normal everyday things.  Sure, I was a bit tired, but the cursor requires fixing, the layout is poor, and nothing works properly, unless they say so.  Firefox etc, cannot be used unless you leave their 'S' security, whatever that means, and all I know is that they are making even more from my useless data than I am making for myself.  

Anyone got a spare 13 year old who can help here?

This brute does not help either!

The other day I was sorting things out and found a man in Amsterdam talking to me!  That cost text money to fix.  Every time I touch it something disappears or even worse, appears!  Now I find it 'topping up' with £20 three times within a week, whereas before it took weeks to do this.  

I went onto the website, struggled to get on, struggled to find the costs, struggled to find what I had paid, and struggled to understand why I am now paying so much more when it all looks the same?  A few more days research here before I dump GiffGaff and find another.  

Saturday Cogitation

I have been cogitating this week on Tuesday's doings.  

On Tuesday, as you know, I ventured out to the Post Office.  This small sub-post office has been there for some time and I have always liked the way the young lady smiles at me each time.  I have yet to decide whether she is grinning or being friendly.  The PO part must be what keeps this shop going.  Just 50 yards away a 'Tesco Express' was opened just in time for Lockdown.  That must have taken a large chunk from the profits here, but they continue to work all the hours of the day.  I asked the man at the shop counter if he ever takes a day off?  I am not sure he does.  I saw the girl in Sainsburys car park once, I think this was the only time she was allowed out.  Asians, possibly Hindu, they never appear to close.  People like this are being turned away for political points by the vile Priti Patel.  I suggest sending her to Rwanda and employing the shop people in the Home Office!

 

I ventured to the church where a coffee morning was taking place.  It is on this that I have been cogitating.  I was offered tea and while accepting found it difficult to allow the woman in charge to go and make one for me.  I wished to do this myself, partly to avoid making work for her, when had been busy for an hour already with a dozen others, and also because I did not like someone acting like a servant to me!   Had I been in a shop or café I would not have noticed, but having someone I knew doing this appeared suddenly to be wrong.  

I remember a TV programme from around 35 years ago.  This featured a plane load of passengers on a 'Round the World Trip,' and paying £20,000 a go for the pleasure.  I would not like to guess how much the cost would be today.  India, Egypt, Easter Island and other places were visited, with guides, to most people's pleasure.  However, to moments in India remain in my mind.  One was the complaint from passengers unknown, that they were 'seeing a lot of poverty in India,' and they 'did not wish to see poverty.'  Hmmm...  Other passengers shared the same opinion as you.  

The second memory was of these people, on horse drawn carts, being taken two by two, into a grand house for dinner that evening.  As they drove in around the entrance along the path people stood throwing flower petals over them, as if the passengers were famous individuals.  At the time I cringed at this, I felt sure that had I been there I would have got out and thrown petals across those paid a few rupees to welcome the great, rich, visitors.  The idea of serfs welcoming you with bowing and flower throwing may suit some, I find it grates somewhat.  The complaining types will have enjoyed that bit.

I made my excuses and made my second cup of tea myself, though I did find the kitchen full of women getting in one another's way, and forced myself in among them. Later, I sneaked out, washing my cup by myself, partly to avoid overworking the ladies, partly to avoid using them as serfs.  I don't think they noticed, so I wandered of home.  No serfs here, that is why nothing gets done...

    

Working Friday in the Heat

A touch of sunshine today, reaching about 90%F  by middle of day.

I headed for Sainsburys around 8am and the heat was interesting, around 70ish already. Slovenly I wandered back, considered crossing the park for a touch of sun but thought better of it.

Having thought better of that I then went mad and began weeding the front.  Now you may think that's not impressive but I can tell you my back considered it an act of extreme folly.  I cut down what I could, bagged up the scraps and within thirty minutes I was expecting the heart attack.  At one time I did this, and more with no problem, now I was finished very quickly.  I expect |I will pay for this tomorrow.

At the same time as I worked I put on the washing.  By this evening it had all been dried and most of it put away.  That has never happened before!

Boris the clown was supposed to meet MPs 'up north' today.  As always the coward ran away.  There being a shortage of fridges at the moment, the heat has seen them filled with people seeking ice cream, he does his usual trick and runs for a photo op in Ukraine.  

Now President Zelensky is no fool.  He knows why Boris is there and has Boris on a piece of string.  As the bumbling Bunter arrives a list of requirements is produced.  Boris says "Yes sir!" and flies back home, losing the list somewhere inside a bottle under a seat.  Northern Tories are not amused.  He has many enemies, now he has many more.  Each day his hold on reality gets less and soon it appears he will be falling, despite the failed confidence vote recently.

Forced to Purchase Books...

 

It's that woman's fault! 

I was trying not to, but she made me do it.

Today I sat quietly, attempting not to pay out money for anything.

This is good, I like it.

I avoided the usual sites, I kept away from the teasing adverts, I ignored Etsy and E-Bay, and indeed all the online charity shops.  I ignored the book shops as well, especially them.  One look and I am paying out money.

Then she tells me she has found a book on Amazon about  Rome, which sounded tantalising.

I of course would not look into Amazon to find such a book.  

This was a no-go area for me today.

I went to Amazon, just to look and see if the book was any good.

Sadly it was, it was also expensive and I dutifully looked away and avoided spending cash.

Then I noticed the 'Kindle' version was only £2:20 so I purchased that.  

Unwillingly you hear.

However, as I was there I glanced, a mere glance, at the wish list I established some time ago.

I found I had forgotten many of the books there, some indeed since obtained on the cheap.

However, accidentally, I managed to notice that one was available for only just on £3. 

Add £2:80 P&P and I was a way.  

Blast!  

I have done it again!

I must never look into bookshops!

It's all that woman's fault...

Everydaypeoplecartoons

Wednesday Slob

This photograph, as you will realise, was taken on slides way back in the early 90s.  I recently found a way to transfer them, with difficulty, to the laptop.  This was great fun, if you like stress.  Now looking at the view, apart from the road obviously, I am wishing I could go up there again for a wander.  This bit itself is a wee boring area, but Glencoe is round the bend and the view there is quite good, in Spring and Summer.  

Wandering anywhere is off at the moment.  Walking to church Sunday, walking to supermarkets Monday, then to the vicars induction, and home in the evening.  Tuesday I went down to the Post Office to post a parcel, and carried on to the church for coffee time.  This morning I was back in supermarket territory, milk does not last long in this heat!  

My knees are not happy with me, they keep creaking and demanding I lie on my bed and snooze.  I must say I have regretfully obeyed them, and intend to do the same tomorrow.  It may be tropical heat outside but I remain indoors, unwilling to move.  Mind you, outside it is hot, inside there is a draught.  It never ends, and while people strip off in the park I wear my jacket!   It was ever thus here, facing the cold north.

Nicola tells us she is preparing for Indy 2 once again.  I will believe this when real evidence is forthcoming.  I fear this is a mere sop to the demands being made by the people.  Nothing will come of this I say.  

Meanwhile Boris is hiding behind Priti Patel, she is attempting to send asylum seekers to Africa, all to appease the 'Daily Mail' reader.  This too is a false front.  They know it will not happen, but votes will come their way, division increase, and they keep power.  I consider a rope too good for of them.

A Night Out

Monday night was an excuse to go outside. on a Spring evening.  What a delight to walk across the park, sun shining, birds singing, knees creaking, while heading for the local High Church version of Anglicanism.  Because the Church of England no longer has money to pay for a proper vicar our man now has responsibility for both our church and this one.  Monday night was the official engagement as it were of that position.  

Cynics may say that the lack of vicars has to do with the lack of cash to pay them, so many now are female, tsk!  And cynics may say if we had less people higher up we could pay for people at the front line?  Those high up are often lost in a world of their own and while contribution fail a better understanding of need arises.  Far too many churches are being lumped together under one man.  Attendance dwindles, this happens, but the answer is always to be bible based, however, it is clear the churches which refuse this are the ones losing ground.  

Our recent curate was happily inducted into his role as vicar a while ago, during Covid.  Today he runs five churches, though he does have a very good support system there.  

Our man here will have a very good support system at our church, quite what the other will provide I am not sure.  Too many elderly ladies who do fine things, but that is not church leading.  Too many aged men, not all able or willing to lead, and too few young people incoming.  

However, the evening was a success, all were happy, everything looks good.  There again, at such gatherings not only does the Bishop, the Archdeacon and lots of spare vicars appear but afterwards there is lots of good nosh.  The women were busy providing, sandwiches, cakes, and our side with an Asian vicar, provided lots of Asian foodstuffs.  I put on weight last night.  All in a good cause.

At the weekend this 1620 house caught fire.  Once at least four doors were seen at the front, homes to agricultural labourers working the fields around, now, one long house, or at least it was one long house.

I do not know what caused the blaze, they are still debating this, but the entire thatched roof has gone, the contents upstairs destroyed, and downstairs probably flooded.  At least the people got out but consider their next steps.  I hope they have a place to abide now.

Nothing Day

 

 

 

Nothing much has happened except the usual business of life.  Shopping, ironing, grumbling and picking fights on Twitter mostly.  The watching of three football matches a day has taken up much time, I think this ends tomorrow.  

Today I made stew.  A woman who works in catering, tells me this reminds her of those 'Meals on Wheels.'  

"Why?" I foolishly asked.  

"Because this is 'Muck on a Truck!" she said lovingly.  

As I sit here ruminating I am beginning to consider she had a point.

Tonight I am encouraged to wander over to the High Church for Richards induction there.  Our vicar now runs two churches, as the CoE cannot find, nor pay for, another vicar.  This has led to squabbles from some (well, me) as this church is 'High Church,' all robes, parades, candles and tosh, while St P. is 'Low Church, evangelical, bible based, sensible.  They do have their strange ways however, but not like this one.  He is happy, he likes the dressing up, but I am considering standing outside waving a 'No Popery' placard.  I suspect however, most of this lot would not understand what this meant.

Anyway, after my stew I may remain indoors...

No news appears, Boris is lying to us just the same however, this time it is the Northern Ireland protocol and sending people to Africa.  People trafficking, a UK business!  Royals hating one another, Andrew being arrogant, Willie stubborn.  

Nothing new there...

Steam Saturday

 

Continuing my adventurous life, I have been sitting here watching the 'West Somerset Railway in action.  This is partly because I had so many emails to deal with, both of them now attended to, and the lack of energy to take me further than the shops.

This lack of energy has nothing whatsoever to do with the football that fills the screen each night. At five in the evening sometimes, then at seven or seven forty five, but always something of great importance dances upon the screen.  Now I accept that watching highly paid individuals miss open goals, deny blatant fouls, and scream abuse at officials is a terribly sad thing, however, it has been worth it so far.  Tonight there may indeed be blessings galore shown to us.  

At Five in the evening the Republic of Ireland entertain Scotland, if Scotland win this will be highly advantageous for us.  Then at 7:45 England play Italy in Wolverhampton, for reasons unclear,  and when Italy obtain a glorious high scoring victory I can tell you both Ireland and Scotland, plus Wales, will rejoice with exceeding joy.

Not that we have a grudge against the imperialist despots you understand.

However, all this takes away time for other things, such as eating and washing, so during the day, when I ought to be eating and washing, I have to attend to my emails, read the papers, fall asleep, and send time wondering what day it is.  Normal day as it were.

I did receive a nice letter from the Chief Constable.  He replied much as I expected, stating his position and soon I will reply nicely also.  Quite why the two constables were required to deliver this letter, and in doing so beat the living daily lights out of me as part of the reply I fail to understand.  

They were big girls too!

However, this has gone as far as it can so I will move on, once the bruises heal.

Today my interesting life took me to supermarkets, wearing a jacket while the temperature soared high before 9 am, and then to a Norwegian Chilli Salmon for dinner.  I did not realise Norwegians used Chilli!  It may be a Viking leftover.  Now football has begin, I must watch in case I miss something, and then look up the maps to find out where half these teams originate.  Ukraine we now all know only too well, but so many have never heard of Armenia, yet it goes back way into history.  I suspect few have heard of the Armenian holocaust of 1915 the government does not wish to speak off, nor the connections between the Armenians and the Romans in far off days.  And we will not begin on Nagorno-Karabakh! 

Sebald

 

This is a strange book, at one and the same time quite confusing, and yet I could not leave it aside for long, I wanted to turn to the next page.

During 1992 the author, a German born Professor of German literature at Manchester, took a long walk along the Suffolk coast.  This, thought I, would be a typical book of the genre, but I was, like Boris Johnson always is, mistaken.  Indeed, he does walk from Somerleyton to Ditchingham, passing through Dunwich and Southwold, as you must if you walk this coast.  But it is not so much the area that he discusses, instead he takes us all over the world, I almost wrote 'all over the place.'  

The author begins by lying in a hospital for some reason unknown, not quite sure where he was and suffering the effects of the painkillers.  He spends far too much time on a literary woman who spends her time living her life through the writer Gustave Flaubert, before he fastens on a book by Thomas Browne.  Thomas Browne, 1605-1682, was a polymath, a title I once believed referred to a man who counted parrots.  Instead it appears Browne wrote on many scientific, health and natural world subjects, and was well known in his day.  Sebald becomes fascinated with him and spends many pages discussing his life and work.  I was not so interested in this chapter.

Referring to fishermen noted on the coast, or the ones we used to have, the author launches into a history of the Herring, and quite interesting this is.  Sebald describes the dereliction that is Lowestoft and the reasons why, as he passes through.  

He continues this way throughout the book, describing people or places, those he knew or the subject of the moment, sometimes intriguing, sometimes boring as you will.  

This was made irritating by a man who was a professor of literature who could not make paragraphs.  Each page of the book is dense with words.  Not a break between subjects, no paragraphs, just one story merging into the next on the same line.  He may have thought this trendy but I think it makes following the subject difficult.  Maybe I am just used to books that are paid out properly but his paragraphs, when you find one, are pages apart.

Nonetheless, I finished the book, learned once again about Dulwich, trees falling in the hurricane, Empress Tzu-hsi, who murdered her way to power, Joseph Conrad and the Belgian Congo, and the troubles in Ireland after the Second World War.  Most of which we knew already.

Apart from the tales the author speaks of the thoughts in his mind.  He describes his dreams in overlong passages, speaks of his thoughts of things brought to mind by small coincidences, and in general made me wonder if the hospital had given him too many of the wrong type of tablets.   

However, that said I had to finish the book, skipping through the last chapter on Thomas Browne, and if this not yet been read it may be worth a look for many people.  I do not think however, I will rush to buy any other of his works for the moment.

Three Things

 

 

First Thing

 

The Conservative Party held a confidence vote in their Prime Minister last night, this he won by 211 viotes to 148.  However, this is a hollow victory, no PM with a third of his party against him can stand. Normal behaviour of decent PMs is for them to resign after such a loss, Boris of course will not do this.  Instead he is appearing as bumptious as always, vowing to continue to 'work for Britain,' or at least for the 23 major donors who have given him and his Party billions over the past few years.  What, we ask, have they got from this?

Boris now remains as a limping PM.  He cannot trust his party ro support him, he cannot call a snap election as he fears the result, he can only contnue hoping something will turn up in his favour.  There is however, little chance of this anytime soon.  

 

 

Second Thing

 

A new laptop arrived yesterday.  A cheap affair but required as a 'spare' as my actual spare is now nine years old and too slow for doing important things such as watching the football without cuttting out every now and again.  

So yesterday, for quite some time, I sat in front of the new one, using Window 11 which I have not used, downloading, inserting passwards, finding them refused, inserting them again and again until I found the correct passwords, and so on all afternoon.  Just after five in the early evening I gave up.  Much is still missing, lots require attention, but the new one works well, so much better than the second hand spare which really looks dated now.  This one also gives a good clear picture without breaking down of the football.  What more can I ask?   Win 11 will take some time to get used to mind.

 

Third Thing 

 

Essex Police yesterday posted this picture on Twitter with a message concerning flying the flag for 'Pride.'  

The strapline:  *We're monitoring our posts. All hate crime will be reported & investigated* was I considered quite threatening.  

So much so I queried this at the time.  Later, it emerged they had 'hidden' my posts and many, many people were asking why?  Indeed, all day, and into today, many people, from many backgrounds, have posted straight forward questions regarding flying this flag and the threatening strapline.  I found myself with many questions here, were Essex Police becoming 'Thought Police?'  Are they going to ban or hide all posts objecting to this?  Will they knock my door down in the morning?  Are they paid for flying flags?  

I was so annoyed I wrote today to the Chief Constable asking this and other questions.  'Stonewall' and like people, have infiltrated the heart of governments, police, industry and even the NHS and this is not a  society I am willing to live under.  So I wrote to one or two other important persons who might have something to say about this.  At least I hope so, if not I will write again and ensure light has been brought into a situation where a certain minority rule the majority.  This is not acceptable.

 

 

Through Bollington. A real-time narrowboat journey on the Macclesfield c...

Exciting Celebration...

I went up high to see how the Queen's celebrations were going.  Clearly the fun and frolics were well under way.  Possibly others were partying elsewhere. Only I and two adolescent girls were on the roof, until the saw me, stopped whatever they should not have been doing, and left, clearly when this car park is empty people are elsewhere.  Many shops were open, the Bank Holiday spirit not affecting the bosses of retail outlets it appears.  Possibly they are well paid, possibly double time, possibly not.  

Nothing else happened

Apart from annoying the gun lobby on Twitter, one or two gay folks left over from yesterday, and watching a poor football match, there has been nothing much to do.  I read a chapter of a book, more of that soon, and ate too much to use up leftovers. 

Not much of a bank holiday is it?

The queen very sensibly remained indoors during the long sombre service from St Paul's.  The usual dressed up royals and hangers on, the Prime Minister and temporary wife Booed quite clearly coming and going.  Even Thatcher did not get that sort of reception at such events.  It was made even better when Boris had to read the Lesson.

Philippians 4. "Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! 5 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

8 Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. 9 Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

'Peace, true, noble, lovely, right, pure, excellent, praiseworthy....Boris read these words?  

May the Spirit bring them home to him. 

Tomorrow will suit this queen better, she can sit and watch a horse race on the widescreen telly and lose some of her millions at her favourite Betting shop.  She of course never places a bet, one of the Ladies in waiting do that for her.  She rips up her own tickets when they lose however.  

When will all this excitement end...?

Trooping

Inverness Courier

 

I rose early this morning as sleep evaded me after 6 am.  By 9 am I had been in both Sainsburys and Tesco, the fridge and freezer were full, cupboards almost stacked, and second breakfast consumed.

This strangely enough was timed just fine for the 'Trooping of the Colour.'  

Why troop the colour?  In days gone by soldiers needed to know where they were on a battlefield, it was very easy to get mixed up in such circumstances, and so officers would march up and down in front of the paraded troops, thus 'trooping,' the flag, and each would take note of his regiments flag. This of course goes way back into time, the Romans always paraded their standards for the men to follow.  It was of course the duty of the enemy to capture such banners, carrying the flagw as always a dangerous experience.

For many years the flag has been 'trooped' on the monarchs birthday, not that the monarch was needing to know which flag to follow, and this practice continues today. 

The Guards regiments, along with the Household Cavalry, and the Royal Artillery (I forget their proper designation) march in turn before the Queen, (today it was Prince Charles standing in for his aged mother) after she has recognised the flag.   All this involves a lot of pomp and circumstance, with the gentry in the crowds, all the high heid yins appearing, parents of individuals guardsmen boasting, and the camera's always watching, watching, watching, hoping for a mistake from a royal, or something 'adorable' from the kids.  Afterwards they all go home, bar the soldiers who spend the rest of the day cleaning, polishing, and boasting to family that "I was there!"

In times past my dad always watched this, back then on our 'Ferranti' black and white TV.  In the late 50's and 60's it was clear that all over the nation ex-servicemen were watching the drill of the busby wearers closely.  It was clear that like my dad, they were yelling at the screen "Call yourselves soldiers?" "That line is not straight!" "Put your busby on properly!"  And so on.  Millions of men who had endured such drill under Army, Navy or RAF corporals always knew the best way to drill, and the Guardsmen were never doing it correctly.

How did we win that war?  

 

Not being much of a royalist I have tended to ignore this event over the past few years and today I found myself wodnering if it really was worth having?  Certainly pomp such as this exists in most countries, even if not quite the same as here, but has the time for this past?  Should such events be renovated?  If the monarch is to remain the troops will need to look to him, such events are therefore required.  However, the sight of men who have fought their way up the military ladder (literally in some cases) wearing aged hats adorned with feathers does speak of a past time that no longer rings true.  

The flag waving patriotic crowds love parades, which is fine, kids like it, especially when royals walk among them, something the queen and Charles have done often.  But the monarchy has to change, not just because Charlie is coming to it.  He appears to have indicated a cut in the costs, Andrew will not be pleased, and changes are required, but will he speak out on the political situation once king? I think not.  Many wonder why £28 million has been spent on this while people are struggling, but it has always been thus with a  monarch.  We wait and see, but cannot avoid pages and pages of this in the papers over the next few days.

 

 

 

A Trip to the Barbers.

When people begin to offer me money "For a cup of tea," as I stand vacantly looking into shop windows, I realise it is time for a haircut.  Just as well the beard has not got far or I would be 'moved on' by the constabulary.  That is, if there were any passing by.  The days of the local Bobby have long gone, the police constantly tell us they can reach an incident quicker by car than by having a man walk the streets.  There is indeed truth in this.  However, shoppers in town centres feel more security when a man in uniform passes by occasionally.  This also gives more 'intelligence' regarding the people on the ground when a local copper is on the beat.  I note a nearby town has two 'Special Police officers' who operate on a beat regularly.  This is the type of thing that must be encouraged, as well as asking retired officers to work a couple of days occasionally also.  Many would as this would mean little overtime, much less stress, and quite often successful policing on the cheap.

Being the Wednesday Market the usual collection of stallholders were improving their tans while hoping to improve their wealth.  The sun shone, the clouds floated, and the English perambulated by in a Summer like manner, in spite of the chill in the wind.  Did that chubby lass with almost nothing on atop not notice the breeze?  Did her fat protect her as it does whales and Walrus's?  I am not sure where that comparison came from. 

I looked the other way as I passed the cake stall, wandered through the centre hoping for some action, which did not occur, and hobbled back down the newly laid pedestrianised High Street.  To imagine two way traffic going down here only 50 years ago blows the mind away, especially as buses went two ways also.  At least one photograph shows a 'coming together' at the corner of Sandpit Street, now 'Lane.'  Quite how they extracted the single decker from the corner shop I know not.     

I wandered along, tempted by the coffee shops but not by the bunting displayed everywhere for the monarchs Jubilee.  Small kids on bikes or scooters raced past, first one way then the other, mother seemingly unaware they were in the thoughts of several dodging their travels.  A black Labrador dog waited with the owner outside one shop, rising to greet someone who came out to speak to it, who then passed an item to the boss, and returned inside.  The dog was pleased with any acknowledgement, are they not all like that?  

I turned the corner and entered New Street.  Once this was notorious.  Four public houses stood here, three were renown for their 'entertainment.'  The Three Tuns, also known as 'Little Hell,'  The George Tavern,' also known as 'Great Hell,' and the 'Green Man, this was known to all as 'Perdition!'  It may surprise you to know that the 'Cage,' the town 'Lock up,' much in use until a Police Station was erected, was located at the bottom of this street.  Two 6 ft cells often entertained visitors as much as the pubs.  The 'Three Tuns,' has long been absorbed into other buildings.  'The George long since knocked down and rebuilt as shops and offices, and the 'Green Man' now a house, though I think in fact it is now offices. 

My barber, sorry, Hairdresser, was empty when I arrived.  Being market day he has less customers than usual.  He complained that on market day "...people just come to shop, no-one comes for a haircut!"  As the one man just about to leave was also a pensioner this meant little profit for the Bar.. hairdresser today.  There again, £9:50 is a lot for a haircut, especially when some of his customers have so little hair unlike I.  

but This man likes himself, he is not so keen on me.  Most of his customers are 'Brexiteer' English types, who share his views and predilections.  I must be careful when I speak as a man with a sharp pair of scissors is not a man to argue with when roused.  His desire to speak well of Boris Johnson was indeed a trying time.  However, we agreed that Boris had indeed, "Spat in the face of his voters," and almost agreed he ought to be hung up.  

One thing was clear, Boris spoke for such as he, and I suspect many here.  Boris has touched the English Imperialist heart, he has made them believe he will stop all those black men spoiling 'their' country, and they still believe in him.  This when they know him to be a liar, untrustworthy, unfit for the job, yet many will still support him come election time.

No wonder dictators have long time support.  How  can it be ended?

I stumbled home across the park, greeted by a dog with a ball in its mouth.  It did not want to throw it, the Beagle (?) just wanted to greet me (twice) and hide behind the seat with the ball.  He had no intention of letting me touch his ball!  He gave every evidence of being happy, though finding the heat a bit much.

Thrilled with my popularity, with dogs, I came home to find the Blackbird singing for me.  As I badly concocted a form of lunch he disappeared, his place later taken by the wood pigeon who normally takes that spot.  

After lunch I played with my mobile phone.  I deleted things that were no longer required, attempted to delete a call from the other day and ended up calling a man on holiday in Amsterdam!  I could not work out how to stop the call!  What sort of an idiot designed these things?  Why are they so complicated? The laptop is so much easier to operate, why not the phone?  Bah!  Now, two texts at Amsterdam prices, prices which increased after Brexit, I have no idea how much this has cost us and am afraid to look.  I will hear in a week or so mind...

Stane Street

Tramping out of Camolodunum’s Balkerne Gate head west, Roman soldiers, mostly born in places better referred to as France and Flanders, probably knew little and cared a lot less about the age of the road along which they would trample.

The Balkerne Gate is still there by the way, half knocked down, and somewhat secured by recent council action. When the railway arrived around 1850, way down the hill, the publican situated at the gate took it upon himself to knock portions of it down thus enabling those arriving by train to see his Hostelry. It was an unwise step from a historical viewpoint, and I doubt it was very successful from his viewpoint as the walk uphill is indeed steep, but few would notice his pub from the station.

The wall had been built not long after Boudica and her Iceni friends arrived and burnt the place to the ground. Only the large cellar of what is now ‘Colchester Castle,’ remained, and that filled with burnt corpses. The people, now Romanised, were not regarded as loyal to the lady, therefore she treated them to the same regard she had already passed over to Verulaneum and Londinium. She was quite keen to share slaughter between all Romanised types.

Thus the wall that had not been erected in her day arose. An unfortunate mistake the Romans did not make again. No matter how trustworthy the Brits around them, the Romans built walls and defensive fortifications where they required them.

The soldiers would notice the road. It is possible they themselves had been involved in hardening the road themselves. Roman soldiers quickly learnt how to build fortifications, roads, and buildings to accompany them wherever they went. Partly this kept them busy, partly it kept them fit, always it enabled fast travel by the standards of the day for this vast military machine.

To this day the road remains almost exactly as it was then, heading west, it stretches out for 15 miles, up hill and down dale, nothing the soldiers would have found troublesome however, and after some fifteen miles (a days march) they would stop at a crossroads for the night, eat sleep and continue in the morning.

Sleep would be welcomed after the march as unless a few horse drawn carts could be found the soldier had to carry his own equipment, around 80 pounds in weight, similar to UK soldiers today.

He wore a tunic under his armour, a helmet on his head and his red cloak on his back. On his feet he wore military boots while carrying his shield and Pilum (his spear) and his sword dangled from his the belt around his waist. On the march much of this was thrown over his shoulder to make life easier, though how much easier the army personnel may dispute. On normal marches they would build a fort each night, a hard but important job in dangerous places. I suspect this was not required in what is now Essex as surely such accommodation as required was permanently built. However, I know not if this is the case.

Leaving the walled city was always dangerous for Romans, while most Brits were happy in these parts the experience of Boudica had left the Romans and the Romanised locals wary. At no time did Rome believe this land was secure enough to withdraw troops, they remained for several hundred years because of the troublesome natives.

Leaving the city the march takes them through Lexden, now a nice suburb for those who can afford it and then the outer reaches of defensive ditches created in the first century BC. Long ditches were dug in several places, with more added over the next 200 years. The Trinovanti had long suffered problems from the Catuvellaunii who ought to have remained in Hertfordshire where they belonged. This they did not and eventually took over Catolodunon (as called before the Romans changed the spelling) including the area of Lexden where a number of tombs can be seen, or mounds may be a better description, including one supposed to contain the remains of Cunobelinus, known as Cymbeline to some, the King of the Catuvellaunii.