A Glaikit Stupidly visits Dunmow Oxfam and Nothing in Witham

Monday morning, weathermen all claiming it would be hot, but I noticed it would  be only 30%C today, so I took a bag to the Heart charity shop and while there searched for a wide brimmed hat.  None were found!  Could it be they had all been sold, or possibly retrieved from charity bags before being taken to the shop?  I had noticed a hat which fitted while in Tesco earlier, but it really was designed for someone sitting watching cricket all day, a bit too pretentious for me I thought.  Other likely shops were of course shut, and the charity shops only had one suitable hat which was too small for my head.

Right, said I, I shall go to the 'Designer Village, and visit 'Mountain Warehouse.'  

However, after waiting in the Bus Park for a while I did not see a suitable bus, so I took the airport bus when it came and headed in the other direction for Oxfam in Dunmow!

I like this shop because the rich folks of the district always place plenty of good stuff in here.

I found nothing!

There were birthday cards aplenty, always good one in this shop, so I filled up on those.  But no suitable hat, nor indeed anything for men at all that I could see.  It appears men are not donating, I shall rephrase that, women are not donating their men's old clobber, possibly because they have already flung out all his favourite outfits and bought new ones.  

Only one other charity shop open in this town, a proper overcrowded, dingy shop, as they ought to be, same story however.  I mentioned to the lass inside that she was lucky to be out of such sun, "You should not be in it then," she said.  "Yes," I replied, "But I am stupid!"  Funny how quickly she accepted this.  Later I was to prove myself correct.  Other shops were closed, and the only one with suitable headgear is very expensive, aimed at the country gent, and that I am not.  I think he was closed as there appeared to be no-one at home.  Nothing for it but to sit and wait.

I sat and waited while taking lunch somewhat hurriedly in a small, but attractive pub, next to the bus stop, the 'Boars Head.'  I say hurriedly as I did not note the times correctly and ended up awaiting stupidly once again in the sun...  Eventually the 133 arrived, on time and driven by the same driver that brought me here earlier.  He drove well, but was not very friendly, he appeared to be possibly Vietnamese or some such, capable but with little English.  A good driver who needs to work on his repartee with customers, though it is hot in that seat I suppose.  

The advantage of the bus was the view of passing Wheat and Barley fields, some harvested, some in the process thereof, and all shining brightly in the sun.  As we passed through the small village (small village, large wallets) of Felsted  I noticed the Rooks, well spread out, chomping on the grass at the famous rich people's school.  Life goes on in the country, no matter what happens elsewhere.  These rooks can sometimes be traced back for hundreds of years as having roosted in one place continually.  

Having decided that I would make use of the 'Boars Head' for 'lunch,' next time I was in town searching the charity shops, I happily enjoyed the return journey, once again noting the rooks still in place, the cornfields, the green of the hedge rows, the half dressed women, some of whom only now reveal that they are actually female, the youths glued to their phones, headphones on, and almost all on the journey, bar the elderly who need it most, carrying water, by now somewhat warm.

The bus dropped me near my door, the driver did not return my grunt as dismounted.  In this area it is normal to thank the driver, most of whom return this greeting, something I never did in either Edinburgh or London, nor did we out in the country areas.  It is good however, and most drivers of all companies appear friendly and helpful for the most part.

At home I searched the fridge for food that was at the 'eat by' date.  So lunch/ consisted of using up four Chicken Samosas care of Sainsburys.  These are not as good as real Indian ones but will do. 

I contemplated lying asleep for an hour, I contemplated just continuing to stuff my face.  I contemplated nothing in the end. 

Then stupidity arose within me once again.

This will be a surprise to both my readers.

Maybe, thought I, I could get a bus to the 'Designer village' and visit the 'Mountain Warehouse,' and get a wide brimmed, safari hat?  Maybe, on the other hand, I ought to lie down in a darkened room?  Maybe I don't require a hat, just a brain?  Of course, to walk out again as the temperature rose to well over 90% would be an act of crass stupidity and only the lowest would consider this.

I caught the 15:20 bus.

I had checked the timetable, I knew the route, I knew what I was doing.  

I even looked at the front heading as we boarded, 'Witham via Stubbs lane,'  it read.  

I wondered for a moment as the other bus I saw earlier had 'via Designer Village'' but I put that aside as my mistake as this was the 38A.

We began the tour in the normal fashion but instead of heading for the 'Designer Village,' ('Designer Village' a replacement for 'Freeport Outlet,' but the same things, rejects and high prices) we turned up Chapel Hill and headed instead for Stubbs Lane.  A tour round the houses I did not mind, I have not been down this way for a long time,  and as we left the town, fought past lorries, vans and too many cars at the roundabout, we then headed away from the 'Designer Village' and out of town!  

I resigned myself to my mistake.  I must have read the timetable wrong.  This bus does not go to the, well you know where, and I decided to sit and wait, visit Witham, and accept my fate.  

However, while the bus does reach the terminus it travels all around the place.  We passed through as many small villages as we could, one bus an hour it appeared, and I was delighted with the country view, the passing cottages, often 'Jig-saw' perfect, large one time homes of the important people, often large barns now millionaire homes, and once again fields, harvested or awaiting such as we trundled carefully along the narrow, often blocked by parked car, roads.  Small houses built for farm workers 200 years ago, rarely have parking lots attached, those that do are often hidden behind bushes and not appealing to H&S lovers.  Once again, the driver, possibly a brother of the first man, brought along the same attitudes and similar careful skill in taking us to our end.  

16:00 hours and we had arrived.

As we passed some of those large houses in which dwelt large families accustomed to their position in life I felt no jealousy.  On the contrary I realised I do not want such needless wealth.  Comparing what I need, and what is on offer, it would be easy to find a decent place, large enough for visitors (which I never have) or family, and small enough to manage.  Who needs so much space as some have?  I suspect prestige, and living out a fantasy is often involved, as well as believing that you have reached a certain place of importance and this must be reflected in the abode.  Showing off may have a place also.  When I become rich, I will one day, I would hope to make use of the money, not just waste it on prestige projects like a little Boris Johnson. 

Witham, six miles from home, is a world away from Mid-Essex.  This is London overspill territory.  Less than an hours commute from Liverpool Street, it has long attracted those who wish a life while taking London money.  Sadly many less desirable types have also arrived, all brought along with them the London attitudes that are loved worldwide.  There is a word of attitude difference between the towns, though the few people I spoke to there were as friendly as you like yesterday.  However, it was few people as arriving late many shops had shut, and being Monday others had not opened.  I wandered about, catching the sun, knees weakening, body failing, and therefore noticing nothing new about my condition.  I contemplated the 'White Hart' for third lunch, but thought I would check timetables first.  Ah, 16:21 is my bus, thirty or so minutes to wait.

Having checked all the shops, not much to be found here, I obtained a cool water bottle, not quite cold from Greggs.  I thought how funny, this famous bakers and I buy a bottle of 95p water and ignore the cakes.  I have not used Greggs for 20 years, I might never, having little need for them, but they are a formidable success.

Few famous people in this town but Dorothy L Sayers, an author of many books, had a home here until 1957 when she passed away.  She stopped using the house at that time.

I stood at the bus stop, in the shade, watching the women pass by reading the advert over and over. There is little to recommend Witham, this bus stop and car park does not help.  

16:21 the timetable said, and again it was the bus tour of the country I awaited.  The 38A would take me home and deliver me to my dinner.   

I waited.

I waited, checking the time.

I waited.

16:21 came and went.

I waited.

I waited for some time before a 38A, clearly the one that would collect me and tour the nation before dropping me of miles from my door, stopped across the street at the terminus on the other side.

I waited.

The driver, a woman, got out and walked to the 39 Bus behind.  

I  waited.

She spent 15 or so minutes gabbing to the driver.  

I waited.  

Eventually she headed back to her bus, I crossed the road to enquire if she was mine?  I had better rephrase that, I asked if she was the bus I wanted.  "Yes," she said, "But...."

It appears Miss Stroppy was not happy at driving a bus in what she called "40% of dangerous heat."  

Other buses managed I noted.  Short wearing Miss Stroppy was clearly a union girl, and was waiting in 'management' to answer whether the bus would run!  I noted the old couple, laden with shopping across at the bus stop, I would have pointed them out but she was off back to the 39 bus to attempt to avoid work.  What about the passengers I thought?  That couple carrying shopping will find it hard to get home.  I doubt she cared.  My work experience indicated that she was indeed a union girl, and I suspect quite used to finding conditions difficult.  

Earlier I had hesitated walking up the road towards the station where a choice of train or bus awaited, now I stumbled up the hill.

I say hill, because the station when built cut through the hill in normal Victorian 'nothing will stop us attitudes' in the 1840s.  It may be this which revealed the hill was once the beginning of Witham being an Iron Age settlement.  Typical of Victorian engineers not to worry about this.  By 913 AD Old Witham was founded next door to the station.  A Roman temple also was found not too far from here.  The 'Knights Templar' were given land here in 1148, as you know, and realised they could only make limited use of the old town, though they must have used the church there, so they were granted permission to  open commercial premises on the London Road to catch passing trade.  This is where the majority of todays town is based.  

Knights Templar knew how to make a few bob.  

No bus was appearing, and as I arrived people were flooding out of the station, indicating the London commuters were not all working from home.  I pushed in, paid £5:30 for a single ticket from a long suffering lady, I was too rushed to search out and use my Railcard, and took the lift downstairs.  I checked with the young lad trying to keep the toddler happy if this was my train.  "Yes," he said, "It's says so up there." and laughed.  I had not thought to look at the sign now found on all trains telling you where you are going.  I made a feeble excuse and chatted about the kid, who was enjoying the train.  I found a seat, collapsed into it and soon we were on our way.  The ten minute journey saw the end of my, now warm, bottle of water.  I left the train, mixed with the locals most of whom also began their journey at Liverpool Street.  I do not consider travelling an hour a day on a crowded train much fun, let alone when forced to do so for London wages.  However, when in London I often took much, much longer to get home from say North Finchley than many of these people would have done getting home today. 

Witham Station often has fast express and fast Freight trains hurtling through.  At 9:27 on the morning of September 1st 1905 the Liverpool Street to Cromer express passed through.  As the express hit the crossover tracks a rail had been loosened by men working to insert ballast under it and had not completed the job as the train arrived.  The rail worked loose, with the speed of the train derailing the 14 wooden coaches and hurtling them across the platforms at speed.  Ten people died, including one railway worker on the platform, and 71 were injured.  The worst, so far, accident in Essex rail history.

I had considered leaving the train one stop early as this would drop me off at the 'Designer Village.'

Sense overruled.  

I left the station realising what had gone wrong.  As we passed yet another new development for £400,000 houses we passed the 38A going in the other direction.  A wee while later we passed another!  This made no sense as they run at hourly intervals.  Then I realised, the other bus was a 38 and on the front were the words 'Via Designer Village.'  Fool!  

I checked the online timetable today and saw indeed two buses, and I had managed to not only get on the wrong one in the first place I failed to get back on the same wrong bus later, as it was "Too Hot and dangerous."   

As I wearily, and I mean wearily, climbed up what now became an enormous hill towards home a 38A bus, with driver, came round the corner.  That driver is yet wondering why that nutter on the corner was waving his fist at him.

As I ate my frugal 'eat what you find and eat it again' meal I contemplated the day.  This was difficult as my eyes were closing after I ate, with the pint of Gin & Tonic I was drinking, and yet another pint or two of water to follow.   It had been good to see the countryside, to be outside, to meet people and go the wrong way, so somethings were worth while.  Maybe next time I will do things differently?  

However, with the warm nights sleep can be fitful, last night slumber began around 10:30 and lasted unbroken until 5:40.   

Today, when the ParcelForce man arrived at lunchtime with my Forres Pies I mentioned to him it was 106%F.  I also gave him a bottle of cool water, which may be the best tip he gets today.  I noticed the van had another dozen boxes on board!  How hot was his van?  Of course these men are all franchised today, this means that if they do not deliver they do not earn money.  Unlike Miss Stroppy he cannot grumble it is too hot and dangerous, he just has to continue, concentrate, and hope for cold drinks everywhere.  

31.5 indoors today, and facing north I do not get the sun directly.  That I suppose is 107%F...

I sit starkers and frighten people each time I rise from the seat.  Good innit?  

Sunny Sunday

I remained indoors this morning, sleep was fitful during the night and I did not fancy the walk.  The possible lift did not call so I remained eating and fiddling about instead of Kirk.  Naturally, with the sun at the zenith, around 12:30, I walked out across the park, round the gardens, and back down past the town centre.  Not that far, about 45 mins or so, but in the bright sunshine.   

My thermometer reads just under 80F, and tomorrow it may get worse.  Maybe I ought to have bought that overlarge hat yesterday anyway?  Nothing much appears to be happening.  Things are quiet as people sit in the sun, or hide from it, Twitter is full of Tory lies and bull, nothing in the press about Boris having a wedding party at Chequers on the taxpayer, thus indicating all the press men were there.  He has not gone, and he cannot be trusted!  He is up to something.

So, a feeble football match to fill the afternoon.  I would have been better asleep, catching up on what I missed last night.  Waking up every hour yet unable to return to sleep!  

Nothing new is on the horizon today.  The sun is keeping folks busy.  Boris's party has given them hangovers.  Tomorrow it all starts again...

Saturday Waffle

Only an idiot goes out twice on a Saturday that the temperature reaches 78%. 

So, just after 12:30ish I headed across the park.  Roads are quiet for the time, few about, sensible people remaining indoors.  However, once I reached the town centre I found plenty of them, mostly pig ignorant, blocking the paths, allowing kids to run wild, and playing at being the only person in the world!  I only killed three of them.

I first went out to Tesco to avoid the crowds, before 9am all was friendly and efficient for the most part.  Smiles and helpfulness abounded, no one rushed, pushed or stamped their feet impatiently, though we could have.  Happily I trudged back home with my reduced price bargains, but not with the hat to protect me from the sunshine, only one available and that too large.  

Yes, I thought that surprising also.

I went out the second time because I needed to walk, my head needed the view of something different, and the sun might have caught me this time.  I look forward to Monday when it gets to 39C.  I am already sitting/walking around starkers which has upset many wandering past across the road.

Elsewhere, the world continues to revolve around the failures of the tory party, various polls put various people in the lead.  Never trust a poll run by the Tory party!  I am becoming bored of it all.

Friday Wedding

Noon on a Friday may not be the normal time for a wedding, however, this was a wedding involving an Indian!  The vicar hails from Halesowen, but spent most of his time in Oxford.  His father was an Indian who came over many years ago and became, or perhaps was, an Anglican vicar.  Therefore when his daughter is getting married it is done in Indian style, even though the groom is English. 

Grooms do not matter on wedding day, they just say "I do," and shut up while the girls "coo" and "aaaaaah" over the bride.  The boys just admire the Rolls-Royce's. 

Last Saturday they had the eating celebration part, I did not make it, but the food was overpowering they say.  Being Indian style, presents, mostly of money, are handed over, I think as contribution to the funds.  There was certainly money amongst this lot today, Asians work, and work hard!  

Today there were no presents, just a ceremony in St Peters, a church that does all the dressing up stuff, all which makes good pictures for the photographers.  (Not me however, I left that to them).   Dad officiated, his mate Geoff led, and the choir led with a song that went on too long and was beyond most of us.  That is after the Indians had gathered!  Timekeeping is not their best habit, especially when coming a distance, and with kids, so the noon start was not expected and did not arrive!

However, all went well, Jesus was preached, 'Love' was spoken off, the brides mother was happy and relieved, the vicar beamed, the couple sat in the white Rolls Royce, one of three, the black one once used by Princess Margaret, and cameras and phones took pictures everywhere.  

Few from St Paul's appeared, work and other commitments holding them back, and so I felt out of place here, especially standing beside the Rolls.  

Sadly my pictures inside the church were none to good, however, this matters not as hundreds will be found elsewhere.  So, outside I just took shots of the people, though far too many people standing in my way for the pics I wanted.  I did manage a few of the young women however, quite by chance.

Standing around was not doing me any good, so off to Sainsburys on a Friday afternoon, to save me rising early in the morning, and bought some Onion Bhajis, again by chance.  Then home to seek a physio or a matron to ease my aches.  

Typical, none available...

Pink Laundry, Conservative Liars and Pies.

After several sad episodes this week I rose determined to ensure a successful day.

I was careful to make sure the kettle was filled with water, that I switched it on to boil, and that the tea and milk were in the cup before I filled it.  Special care was taken not to spill tea over the (now very clean) laptop again.

I also placed my shoes near the door so that I would remember to put them on before leaving.  Something I failed to do twice this week.

Impressed by my ability I continued my day by changing the bed, removing the new scarlet duvet cover after a month or so, and thrusting it into the washing machine along with the routine T-shirts and stuff.  I selected a shorter wash slot, I put the 'Poundland' soap goo into the machine, switched on, and left it.  

Being Thursday, (Thor's Day, named after the Norse God, why?  Was it his day off?) I took the rubbish bag and the recycling bag down into the cold weather (only early 70s today) and dumped them in the appropriate smelly places.  

Naturally, when later I made my lunch, I discovered so much veg in the fridge had gone off and another trip to the bins was required an hour later.  My lunch was delightful, as long as taste is not required, reduced priced pork chops with tomato and cucumber.  The choice based on whatever was lying around.  It will do.

After this the washing machine cranked quietly to a halt.

I removed the bundle of wet, soggy material and dumped it in the west wing.  

It was then I noticed a slight flaw in the day. 

The white shirt, of considerable age and, to put it mildly, somewhat done, had changed colour to pink!  Not wishing to be mistaken for a member of a 'Pride' parade this was dumped! 

Also found in the heap was a once white, hankie, and several other items which had darkened or changed colour, not always badly it must be said.  The scarlet duvet was untouched by this I am happy to say.  Hanging to dry, it appears to have suffered no harm today.  I might have to be wary next time...

Politico

 

Talking of mistakes, another vote occurred regarding selecting the person to lead the Conservative Party into oblivion at the next General Election.  The crassly stupid Braverman woman has been removed thankfully.  However, the crassly stupid and incompetent Liz Truss remains, and appears to be the 'Daily Mails' hope.  Mordaunt, possibly more vile than Braverman remains in second place.  The others, though I once had hopes for Tugendhat, will fail next time.  

We have had Cameron, who we thought looked like a PM but wasn't one, was bad. He failed because he fell for the ERG ruse about Brexit.  Theresa, equally useless, attempted not to be ruled by anyone, including those who spoke the truth and offered facts, instead appealing to the 'wide eyed loons,' and failed.  

Then we had Boris.  

I considered it impossible to find someone worse than Boris, but we have Truss, Mordaunt and Sunak in the lead!  I tell you, this is a judgement on us!  

Murdoch Butchers Forres

Having done all, with little energy left (how do women do all these jobs?) I found I had a space in the freezer.  Hmmm thought I, how about filling it with pies and Sausage Rolls, good ones?  So, it was off to Murdoch and by this time next week the fridge and freezer will be, like me, groaning!

Good innit?

Oh, and another thing, never go food shopping when hungry!
Don't ask how I know...

   

Intellectual Talk at SPAM re 1707 Bribery

1707 Bribery

Last night, after an attempt at recovering from my day trip, I headed down the long road to the Liberal Club for some Liberal chat with the fellow members of SPAM.  As always the early birds were in first, as always good cheer and friendliness were abundant.

I soon stopped that nonsense.

It happened, I mention this in passing, that I was wearing a loose fitting T-shirt, one eminently suitable for the weather.  I also mention in passing, for you information, that across this blue T-shirt were emblazoned the words 'Scottish not British.'  This was fine in my book, and the attractive young barmaid greeted me warmly, as always, and with a smile.  As I took my seat without checking my change, it is not that I trust then barmaid, it is just that I am not arguing with her, again, a comment from one senior member excited the gang around him.  

"You believe in Scots going it alone?" 

"Yes indeed," replied I.

At this point 'Daily Express' educated nonce across the table cried out.

"You asked to join."

This nonsense was soon put in its place.

"You can't survive without Britain paying for you." (Note the use of 'Britain' here)

This nonsense was soon put in its place.

Voices were raised, as were a chair and table or two, until the attractive young barmaid got of her seat across the way and came over and belted us.

That brought the discussion to an end.

We moved onto safer subjects.  

One thing that became clear is the rising prices, with Brexit to blame, beginning to be recognised by the 'Daily Express' educated peoples.  They are beginning to understand, somewhat reluctantly, that Brexit was a lie, that it costs a great deal, and they are paying for it.  There remains a hope that the new liar in Downing Street will improve things, a faded hope at the moment as all agree none of the prospective leaders are worth having.  It appears that we will not have a new leader until September the 5th for reasons as yet unclear, but simply to allow Boris to ruin much more before he goes.  

It has to be said the Labour leader, whatisname, is bringing a motion to the House to demand his removal forthwith, using another couple of sex and bribery involving women as a reason.  There is however, no doubt that they lackeys will ensure this does not succeed, even those who wish Boris out will not be enough to ensure he is removed.  Keeping in with the important people is important for backbench MPs.  

  

With Jeremy Hunt promising to scrap the Ban on Hunting we moved on to circuses.  In days of yore all of us had seen animals in the circus, one member of out tribe related the abuse from anti-circus protesters as he drove to the big tent.  He was frightened by the banging on the roof and screaming abuse.  I indicated this was similar to the attractive young barmaid a few minutes ago, and he retorted that this mob was worse.  This caused us all to gasp!  

It appears a new, small zoo has opened up new Maldon.  This is a good thing, for those that can get there.  Maldon has seen large animals before, elephants in a circus came one year and were taken to the large pool there for a  wash.  The children were in there with them and all had a great time it appears.  Elephants are very family orientated and would love the attention and fun water games offered.  I doubt if such a thing would be allowed today, too many rules, H&S, and just generally spoilsports around to let kids have fun with elephants or other animals.  Mind you in 1936 a lion escaped from the circus here as it arrived, this took a few hours before it was captured.  I thought I had scribbled about this before but I cannot find the details.  Most annoying.  Just imagine wandering into the garden and finding a lion there!  

Having debated Scotland, zoo's, circuses,' various long gone public houses, varieties of beers, and the vicars daughters wedding in Indian style on Friday (apparently last Saturday a feast was held for this, table groaning with food, as indeed were those who attended while I sat at home with a cheese sandwich.) and the taxi with the wife in had come for our noble leader, we decided to depart. 

A mixed groaning as stiff knees and backs were removed from chairs, glasses trembled as tables were jarred, screeching as chairs were moved (on carpet?), and goodnights exchanged while we still knew who we all were.

And so to bed.

I appear tired today...

 

Caesaromagus for Waterstones Books.

With the temperature heading towards 90% only a person of limited mental intellectual ability would venture outside in the heat and without a hat.

I caught the 9:56 bus.

Like myself others were trying to figure out which stand to sit at, which n umber bus was ours, and is it really 45 minutes to wait?  It was not.  Our bus arrived on time, racing into the bay.  I did not get a reply from the driver for my cheery good morning, he appeared a bit disgruntled.  Indeed his driving as we headed towards Caesaromagus indicated he was not working from joy and happiness.  However, we arrived safely, and possibly early, and we left the bus, clutching tightly our bus passes.

The heat was indeed hot, but as I was brought up in Edinburgh I am used to the heat.  We had to sit right up close to the fire to avoid frostbite when I was young.

I squeezed my wee camera into my jeans as with the sun being out I saw this as an opportunity to find photographs, of an artistic nature, of all the half dressed females around.  This however, did not turn out to be the spectacular joy I had envisioned.  Indeed, it reflected badly on the Pizza sales in this town.

and hobbled off down the road.  I took the back road to walk through the market, forgetting it was closed on Mondays, and via the Oxfam rag & bone shop I made it to Waterstones.

My delightful Niece and Great Niece had given me a book voucher for lots of money and it was sitting staring at me, so I had to get out and use it.  I clambered upstairs, scoured around, Travel, religion, railways, History, Biography, women, War, and failed to find anything leaping out at me.  In fact I had to make a real effort to find things worth taking home and placing on the ever growing 'To Read' pile.  The effort was worth it, I managed to obtain four books, hobbled slowly downstairs, and paid with the card and the cash on my Waterstones card, leaving me £2:94 on the Waterstones card.  No cash left my hands!  The young lass treated me like she would her granddad who was attempting to work his phone, however, with £2:94 on that card I may have to go back again, or at least try the Camulodunum shop.

No market today, just a coffee shop in the centre walkway and this man loudly revealing why he has not made any money from music.  Mondays are the best time to shop, unless you want the markets, as most people remain indoors.  The musician, and I use that term lightly, was wise enough to sit himself under the tree as a great deal of shade was coming from that.

Making my way past the people who were in town, and all wishing to walk into me, London overspill style, I headed towards M&S.  Now this I did not like the idea off.  For a start they are expensive and aimed at old people, not my smart trendy style.  I also find it difficult to work out how to get back downstairs again once up there.  Hiding the 'Down escalator' behind the women's lingerie which is always in such shops next to Menswear for reasons I have never discovered, does not help.  

Anyway I perused the price tags on shirts, tee shirts, or 'vests' as they insist on calling them, the few jackets on show, jeans which all have the wrong length for me, odd numbers in M&S while I seek an even number length, and of course the overpriced shoes.  

I could justify using my card on.  I was unusually caught in a  shop, with free money and nothing to purchase!  This was unusual.  However, if the free bus still runs I may pop down to the Freeport, or is it Village Outlet shops and see if M&S remain there.

Walking in the hot heat with knees that cried out all the way, I noticed the floodlights high above.  These are of interest for those who follow cricket.  These floodlights mark the Essex Cricket Ground.  There is a smaller ground in Colchester where they sometimes play, found at the bottom of the slope leading up to the castle.  Most games are however played here in Caesaromagus.  Cricketers are of course stupid enough to stand around all day doing nothing in bright and hot sunshine.  Only a really stupid person would wander about in such heat.

A few minutes before the bus I stopped off in the cathedral for a minute, praying for strength to get to the bus.  

This was an error.  ought to have been praying to find the bus!  The 70 I came on, I have discovered, only runs from my stop to here.  However, interspersed with this is the 370, which runs all the way to Camulodunum every hour.  Many are confused by this.  The driver however, was very helpful, explaining to me, and then an old lady (you see how easily old people get confused), the situation as it is.  We waited almost contentedly for the bus to take off.  Eventually, with all the windows open with the smell of bus fumes still filling the air, we headed homewards.  

Tonight is SPAM.  Tonight the boys get together, if the women allow them out.  I may have fallen asleep by then.  Maybe I will ask one of their women to give me a call, just in case...?

What?   oh!

Agape Love

 

I sweltered down to the kirk this morning, the weather not something I am used to.  It was good to spend a couple of hours not confronted with lying MPs trying to convince the Tory voter that they have 'Integrity, seek truth, and will pull the nation together.'  

All lies.  

One favourite is Rich Sunak telling us how he will sort out the economy, forgetting that he has been Chancellor for three years.  Paying his and his wife's taxes would have done that already.  Mourdant, (who she?) has made a video featuring a great many famous people.  Now almost all want to be removed from the video and are asking why she did not seek permission to use their image, music, whatever.  Hunt, the one time hated Health Secretary, offers 'truth,' which the NHS staff are finding laughable.  

Braverman, the inept Attorney General has gathered mostly weirdo's to her gate, as normal people keep indicating she was not fit for the job.  She wishes to leave the ECHR as this will set the UK 'free.'  However, the ECHR is part of the 'Good Friday Agreement,' the Scots/Welsh parliament agreements,' and she ought to have known this.  She is the 'top lawyer!

More lies and untruths from the hopefuls to come.

Jings!  I have just read Priti Patel has been asked by several MPs to stand!

Patel!  How low can they go? 

The sun shone inside the Kirk however, those late 1950s style church architects  always had light in mind so large windows were to be found.  Worship was plentiful, even if the words would not appear on the screen.  And we made it through without serious mishap, though I managed to offend three this week.  

I do begin to wonder sometimes is offering coffee before the service might be better rather than afterwards?  Maybe it was just me not concentrating at that hour? 

"Love one another," he said.  

This is a good idea.  However, some think this means 'feeling love' towards others.  This cannot happen.  Hunger, tiredness, sickness, and those strange up and down moods that possess most of us do not enable such feelings at all times.  Feeling warm inside when a pretty girl approaches is not always er, 'love.'  And when a man approaches it is often the opposite.  However, 'Love' means accepting them as they are and 'acting towards them' as we ought.  No mother 'loves' her child at three in the morning when he is playing soldiers in the living room, yet they 'love' their child, though the feelings may say different.

'Love' is an action, not a feeling.

The problem is the English language.  This, as you know, is inadequate.  Greek, in which the New Testament was written, had four words for love, the one used in scripture is 'Agape.'  This may be better as 'brotherly love' in my view.  The action we see from people daily.  For instance, someone drops something, another picks it up and returns it to them, a person asks directions and is shown where to go, someone without enough cash in a supermarket finds another willing to pay for them, all these are 'agape' love.  Usually for people we do not know.  No feelings involved, possible loss, time wasted, but all 'agape' love.  

Of course, it sounds easy but it is always so hard to do at the time, our feeling may go against it.

How Doggerland Sank Beneath The Waves (500,000-4000 BC) // Prehistoric E...

Nothing Friday

Nothing happened today. 

Boris is still here (though the Chequers Party is off).

The hot heat descended as I hobbled up to Sainsburys.

It remained hot as I cleared up much of the remaining weeds in the front, cutting down much of the rest, leaving it until I can be bothered to collect and dump it. 

Then, aching, I sweltered indoors, avoiding the sun which has hit my handsome face somewhat.

Nothing new occurred.

Leading MPs are trying to become the new 'worst ever PM,' and Richi Sunak has taken an early lead.

Nadine Dorries claims she will try and run.

Tee Hee.

Hopefully Saturday is more productive.

Boris Resigns, But is Still Here...

 

                                           Madame Tussauds

Delighted as we all are at the hopeful, but not yet confirmed news that Boris is going, Madame Tussauds of Blackpool have stood their Boris Johnson waxwork outside the local Job Centre.  One of many responses to the news.

However, he has not yet gone.  For a start he has not 'gone to the queen' to offer his resignation.  That would make Victoria amused, I canny imagine how Liz will react.  Also, he is insisting on remaining in charge 'until a new PM is appointed.'  This could be three months!  He has already remade the cabinet, at least with those willing to return or stay, he is also planning his departure by seeking ways in which to ensure he does not actually depart.  The spoilt little brat will try every trick he can find to remain PM.  He must be removed and replaced by a temporary PM, I note Raab has claimed he will not stand for PMs job, so he can be stand in PM.  

I actually listened to his speech at lunch time.  A comparatively short one for him, but overlong for me, in which he offered no excuses, no remorse, but only passed the blame on others (Tory Herd Think) and at no time blamed himself.  Self-pitying, buck passing, blame avoiding, he never appeared anything but contemptuous of those listening.  I several times indicated my displeasure by commenting but he appeared not to listen.  Being 150 miles away is a disadvantage I suppose.

    "...them's the breaks."  It is clear that he wrote this bluster by himself.  

Train at the Station for Boris

I have been searching for steam engines.  You see my grandfather, who died in 1917, before I was born, drove steam engines in the 19th century.  On the census pages for 1881 and 1891 he is described as a steam engine driver, a very skilled operation.  He certainly left home and was living with his sister in Edinburgh opposite the great engine depot at Meadowbank when 15.  His sister had married an engine driver so this made an ideal place to learn.  Eventually, after returning home for reasons unknown, he was found in Edinburgh, growing family with him, and probably, but I remain unclear here, probably worked for the NBR, the North British Railway.  Incidentally, you see the arrogant English owners abuse of Scotland in that name!   He was of course working as a general labourer b y 1901, this was either because of various family problems, his wife ended up in a lunatic asylum and one son died in mysterious circumstances, or he got sacked for the drinking.  I wonder if he went home during his teenage years for similar activity?  He did return to driving with the new Gas Works at Granton.  There he worked the small loco used for moving tender of coal and whatever around the large yards.  He left there we think because of drink.  By this time his wife had died, he had remarried and by 1911 he had lost two more jobs, his wife, his home and his kids.  He lived out his time for 6 years in the workhouse.  The family, with my grandmother, moved to Granton by chance, and he met the kids once a week.    

Why am I blethering about this?

Well I was searching for possible engines he could, maybe, possibly, have driven, and I wondered what he would have thought about the Prime Ministers of his day?  He would have been born under the Premiership of Sir Robert Peel, way back in 1845.  While a young man tasting beer in Edinburgh Lord John Russell, famous for opposing the Corn Laws, and encouraging the Reform Act, would have been exchanged for the Earl of Derby, and while puffing back and forward across Scotland and possibly Northern England he would have witnessed, if he cared, the antagonism of Benjamin Disraeli and the great William Gladstone, who was also the MP for Midlothian at the time.  By the time he was reorganising his family, the eldest daughter really took over the mothers part very early, and settling in to a labouring job the 3rd Marquis of Salisbury was opposing home Rule in Ireland and supporting claiming as much as possible of Africa for the crown, and this while the Boer War of imperialist expansion continued.  Arthur James Balfour declared little of interest at this time, not even commenting in granddad's success at the gas works.  Henry Campbell Bannerman, a man who encouraged free school meals for children, Home Rule in Ireland, and led the Liberals to their last victory in the House in 1906,  he merely snorted when he realised our patriarch had been dumped from another job.  I am sure Henry Herbert Asquith, the last PM grandad would know, often considered drunk while on the front bench, would sympathise, though he never visited the workhouse.

For myself, I was born under the great Clement Attlee, a man who revolutionised the nation in a proper manner, first noticed Harold Macmillan, was old enough to understand Douglas-Home going down, and watching the rise of Harold Wilson, and keeping your eyes on Harold was always a good thing.  Ted Heath, who took us into Europe in the hope of avoiding another war, Callaghan who also had served in one, and then Thatcher of whom the less said the better.  John Major, decent but just a manager unable to cope with the Brexiteers, Tony Blair, who did many good things, all lost when he entered Iraq, and Gordon Brown, another decent man who came too late and was caught out by rising right wing nasties.  Since then we have entered a new world.  Attlee would not comprehend the depth of right wing anti-EU hatred.  Thatcher herself would fail to understand why we left the EU when that is where the money is!  And David Cameron, 'I went to Eton you know,' and Theresa May, (was she ever alive?) leave us with Boris Johnson.

The record for ministerial resignations was six.  As I scribble this Cabinet Ministers, junior ministers, PPS, and various others have been resigning, five on one letter!  By the time you notice this few will be left.  However, unless he fails to find sufficient to form a cabinet Boris can stay, even if he loses a vote of no confidence.  The royal house has little influence today publicly, however, as I understand it , the queen can step in and remove a PM and government in certain circumstances.  This is not one duty she would enjoy, but maybe in the lying PMs case, she might offer a giggle.

5 pm, the resignation total stands at 32.

I will wait a wee while before posting, we may see more yet!

5:14. resignations stands at 35.

5:28.  Count no 36.

Both the newly appointed Chancellor (chancer certainly) and the new Education Secretary have joined the senior MPs delegation in No 10 to tell Boris to go!  That's loyalty.  

17:53 Still only 36.

All awaiting Boris's response to the delegation.

Attention All Shipping, Connelly.

 

This is a delightful, short, easy to read book.

Charlie Connelly is not the first to scribble a book based on the Shipping Forecast, he is not the first to travel to all the areas mentioned either.  His version is however, worth a look. 

The Late night Shipping Forecast, broadcast by the BBC since the 1920s, however, it began way back in the 1860s.  Vice-Admiral Robert Fitzroy began broadcasting known weather patterns via Telegraph in an effort to save lives and avoid the many shipwrecks around the coast.  Island life cannot avoid the combination of bad weather and outcrops of rock!  His basic service saved many lives.  The service developed through the use of radio after the Great War, the areas becoming well known to seamen.  The areas themselves developed as time passed, and the forecast service also continued being broadcast four times a day, these days on Radio 4.     

The author begins with a chapter on himself and his limited nautical family history, then a chapter on the Forecast itself and how it originated.  He is allowed to sit by as a BBC reader  gives the lunchtime forecast, and is impressed by the timing and skill on show, no wonder.

From there he attempts to visit all the sea areas mentioned during the forecast, of course having to fly or take a ferry across one or two unreachable otherwise, such as Dogger.  He gets drunk at a party in Utsire, having enjoyed a rough ferry crossing,  tastes Arbroath 'smokies,' and in Cromer (Humber region) learned the remarkable story of Lifeboat man Henry Blogg who's crews, in over 55 years service, saved some 873 persons from the waters around him.   Remember, when Henry began in the lifeboat it was all manhandled, no engines, just strong, determined men rowing into a gale.  The attitude he displayed has not changed, if you want real heroes read about Henry Blogg and the men of the RNLI.

Visiting the Isle of Wight, (sea area Wight) Charlie finds the people of the island like to make money out of one and all.  In his desire to see the far distant Tennyson Monument he gets caught in a heavy rainstorm, not for the last time.  So he continues his way around, from Portland to the Basque country, Ireland to Iceland, the Faroes to Shetland.  Each time he finds stories, often concerning his failure, seasickness, small aircraft or accommodation as well as the people living around him, almost all of whom carry on as if  people like him were common visitors.  The tales are easy to read, the humour help to carry the tale, and the book very readable indeed.  I often could imagine myself in the places mentioned, the circumstances retold, and often the suffering involved.  It was interesting how open people were, especially on the islands.  The difference between his London home and a small cottage on a sun filled or storm tossed island was interesting.  

The book is not new, published in 2004, and reprinted several times until 2009.  Some items are therefor dated somewhat, the easy travel across the EU for one, but this does not detract from the tale.

I recommend this book.

So, the first one has gone!  Javid has resigned from the incompetents government, soon followed by Chancellor Sunak.  Bothe men will now begin to openly seek election as PM.  Nadine Dorries may well resign by accident.  Two senior men gone, all because of a groper getting caught, not because of Boris Johnson's many other failures!  The end is nigh it appears.

    

Moaning Monday

The world outside is unusually quiet for a Monday.  Is this because Boris is hiding from all the sex crimes of his people?  Can this be because we all know Brexit has failed?  Little mention is made of Starmer and his Party refusing to reject Brexit.  Instead he promises to 'make it work.'  All this for votes from the 'Red Wall.'  How sad.  The Lib-Dems will be loving this.

Being 4th of July not a soul in the UK noticed the date.  However, the 'Online Mail,' with thousands of clickbait awaiting in the Republican lunatic party, did insert one or two old stories re the difference between the UK and the US.  Language is different, habits are different, ending phone calls is different.  

The only thing that comes out of the stories is that in the USA money is all that matters.  Get rich, grab cash, let the individual die!  No wonder Jeff Bezos is so rich.  The idea of service appears unheard off.  Have an accident, call an ambulance, but pay $200 or more dollars first.  Eat in a café, give a tip as the waitress is not paid and lives off tips, how ridiculous!  Get sick, take up to three weeks off, but it comes out of your holidays!  The USA is a slave state still.   

This is the type of nation Boris and his liars want to create here.  Stupid people vote for him, even if they knew this would happen, just so they could get out of the EU they did not understand.  Xenophobic racism mixed with blind obedience leads to the loss of all the voters actually held dear, but they will not admit it.

As I reached home on Sunday I noticed the Muslims were having a day off.  I was very tempted to wander across and visit the many food tables out there but hesitated, once I taste proper food I canny eat my own afterwards!   I ate, slept and tried to put the aroma out of my mind...

Today the aroma was that of cooker cleaning, kitchen washing, and loo cleansing.  Had I not stopped when I did I would have wash day hands by now.  Any volunteers?