Today's Politicians, Compared to Yesterday's, briefly.

It has been reported that Rishi Sunak, the 'would be' PM, has stated that he was not encouraged to speak out during the pandemic.  His claim is that had he been able to speak he would have ended lockdown, masks and other scientific advice, removed all scientists from the public eye and cut down the information given to the people about Covid.  This he says would have encouraged business, the economy and enabled growth, though I do not quote him directly.

This reveals the changes in politicians in my lifetime.

The first half of the 20th century saw two major world wars, a world depression and an attempt, after 1945, to improve life for the nation.  All UK political parties wished things to improve, even though there were disagreements as to how and when.   

Then, after 20 or so years of this came Thatcher!  The idea of working together was replaced by greed.  It could be said that this new economic model enriched everybody, and indeed it did, except for the 3 million unemployed of course, many who never worked again.  Under Blair and Brown the worst excesses of Thatcher were diminished, however, a growing threat came from those growing up in the 'Punk' era.  Having known nothing of war or hunger, even from a distance, having been brought up with a 'silver spoon in the mouth,' though often brought up by uncaring parents, those who became politicians, newspaper and media people, all from the same background, cared nothing and knew nothing about those outside of their circle. 

Today, the new PM is to be Liz Truss, a woman connected to many organisations that wish to reduce benefits, they mean end them, charge for the NHS, drop all protection for workers, the environment and anything that hinders their profits, and we can see how this will work out through the privatised English water companies today.  In short, a return to 'Victorian Values,' without the 'Victorian Social Gospel,' that changed the world for the better.  People no longer matter, they are cogs in the wheel to make the rich richer.  Truss and her kind have been planning this for many years.  Lobby groups abound and we do not know who pays for them, though Koch, Mercer, Pharma companies and Fossil fuel companies are all involved yet we are not officially told who pays.  US money offering US standards to UK people while UK politicians line their pockets and prove unworthy of office!

The futures bright, but not in the UK!

Shops and Service

As the kettle was making far too much noise these days I decided it was heading for the door.  So, in spite my  body's great reluctance, I wandered slowly around the corner to Tesco once again.

As you know this means grabbing a basket, quicker than fighting people with trolleys, selecting goods, and heading for the checkout where we pay, exchange a few words, and move on.  Simple, usually satisfying, in spite of price rises, rude customers who are mostly older men, and children who are either to be enjoyed or eaten, depending on their behaviour.

The other day a facebook picture was presented of a shop during wartime.  A customer or two, with children, were being served by the women behind the counter.  In the background a man selected items from a shelf above.

"How wonderful!" a woman exclaimed. "Such service, you don't get that today."

This got me going on the absurdity of such women.  Clearly she has been brought up in a supermarket world.  This lass has never had to trudge from the butcher to the baker, the grocer, that shop down the lane, across the bridge to the clothes shop, and if she is lucky, spent much time trying on hats in a department store.  All the time lugging the bags with you, none of them plastic, and dragging bored and uninterested kids also.  All this is the heat of summer, the rain and cold of winter.  Add to the joy of such 'service' there is the long queue at each shop, in wartime the ration coupon also had to be administered, and then the chatting women gossiping all day long and saying nothing but holding everybody up while the man behind the counter flirted with them to increase his take home pay.  In short, the 'service,' some loved held everyone up, and when supermarkets arrived women rushed to them as all their needs were met in one fell swoop.  Who caused the end of such shops?  The women fed up of trudging between shops, hindered by queues, and wet through from rain, now made it home quicker and happier than before.

Shops still have service, the Tesco girls are very good, and the smaller shops which remain can offer service, or not depending on which miserable employee is on duty.   Those who long for days gone by probably never lived through them.  I remember as a kid being taken round the corner to what must have been one of Edinburgh's first supermarkets, a small one run by the St Cuthbert's Co-op.  We moved there inn 1953, and the first was a Sainsburys one in London in 1950 so this was a quick spread of the idea.  I also stood bored while mum was rabbiting with women about nothing in the street, my mum would talk to anyone, or in shops, whatever they were.  As for waiting while she tried on hats!  This was avoided by standing with dad on the pavements edge in Princes Street while she wasted time in C&A's or whoever.  A long line of men were to be seen at the pavements edge, smoking and waiting while the woman was indoors doing her thing.

When a man goes shopping, as you know, it is a quick business deal, soon accomplished and home again...

Edward William Cooke - Sunset on the Lagoon of Venice

Edinburgh, Autumn and Football

Louise Rayner - John Knox's House, Edinburgh

A quick glance at this picture and you may think the scene has not changed much in all these years.  This picture, painted in the later 19th century, is full of life and depicts what is supposedly a normal day in the life of the great city of Edinburgh.  We see the High Street, or 'Royal Mile,' as it is known as it leads from Edinburgh Castle down to Holyrood House, has always been a bustling place.  The painting portrays the locals, with a few workers of many kinds included.  The better off by now having moved down into the 'New Town' long since, we can tell the small tenement dwellings are occupied by those standing around in the street.  None are ashamed of hanging out the window and participating in the conversation, none are ashamed of washing hanging from the windows, neither activities being seen done today.  

However, this month Edinburgh endures, sorry, welcomes, the Festival.  An orgy of high class entertainment for the paying public.  Alongside this come the 'Fringe,'  this is an orgy of artists seeking fame and fortune, alongside those from previous generations who made it here in the long forgotten past.  This comes with a plague of leaflets no-one reads, mostly scattered about the streets or pinned to any available post, also unread by passers-by

Add to this mix the Dustbin men are on strike for a week!  This means wheelie bins overflow, rubbish piles up, and none gets collected.  The tourists flooding into Edinburgh, while the locals flood out if they can, get the benefit of Brexit Britain in their face, and certainly up their nose.  An excellent idea of the Binmen to make clear what is happening in our country today, low wages, high energy bills, and Brexit failures flood the nation, and the government, in Westminster, has gone on holiday!  As I keep telling the Brexiteers, "You voted for this!"  But they refuse to accept reality.  "This is not the Brexit I voted for!" Is their cry, though there never was any other on the table.  Lies and devious politicians, backed by very rich men abroad has brought the nation to its knees.  And Brexiteers refuse to accept this.  Trains, docks, Royal Mail, and dustmen on strike, and Brexit continues to make problems.  

Boris is on holiday.

400 miles away from all this I sit watching August slowly disappear from us.  Already 22 days in and leaves are falling from the trees.  Possibly this is encouraged by the dry ground, the heat heavy upon us this year, possibly just normal Autumn approaching.  

The sun still shines, though now through much more cloud, and slowly heads towards the west.  Women take their dogs across the quite safe park, enjoying the sun while standing gossiping about their neighbours with others like minded.  The impatient dogs snuffle around the fallen leaves and sun browned grasses always finding something to keep them busy.  

The rush hour now struggles past the door, music of an awful kind emits from one, a ringing phone from another.  Rap, with a capital 'C' passes by at three miles an hour, followed by the airport bus, hydraulic brakes squealing like a crying child.  Every evening the same people, the same slow struggle towards retirement.  Others, often retired, foolishly shop at Sainsburys in time to meet the rush hour.  They have done this for several years, why?  Have they never considered an early morning or late night shop?   I suppose getting up, checking the pills, finding breakfast, walking the dog, and then it is too late for shopping.  In the evening they would not wish to miss the 'Bread & Circuses' provided for them by broadcasters dulling the brain and hindering thought.  

I avoid such TV yet find my mind is dull and thought hindered.  Having exercised, twice early last week, then twice worked in the front to clear the mess I found my self very tired and aching much from Thursday onwards.  Even today, after a trip to Tesco, my body aches.  This, I must say, has nothing to do with the money saving offer on a bottle of 'Jameson's Orange Whiskey'  that was going cheap last week in Tesco.  Irish whiskey does not just possess a wrong spelling of 'whisky,' it is also only 30%, which tempts some to drink more than they ought.  Especially when watching football.  My neighbours now know I was watching football at the weekend.  

Steam in the Highlands - The Jacobite Steam Train (Hogwarts Express)

Rain!

The expected rain eventually arrived, thunder bellowing and lightning flashing somewhere further over.  Jolly nice for those of us indoors suffering only occasional splashes of water, not so much fun for those hiding under the trees across the way.  Situating yourself under a tree during such a storm is not the wisest move, although there is no chance of cover elsewhere around here.  

The power appears to have diminished now and constant steady rain washes the months of mire from the streets, a very welcome event.  However, the cloud now makes the world a darker place.  We have ben used to bright days, brighter, sometimes colourful evenings, and now a dim grayness steals across everything indoors.  We are no longer used to this.  

I could easily survive six long months in the far north during the summer, permanent light would benefit me greatly.  The six months darkness of winter might wells see me dangling on the end of a rope!   How can people, especially young folk, cope with that.  Many years ago I worked in a commercial darkroom loading lots of Black & White film onto a bar which then went through the developing process.  No skill required.  However, at that time of year I went to work in the dark, worked indoors all day, and went home in the darkness.  This did not last for very long which is just as well.  Six months regular darkness does not enable happy people, no wonder Scandinavians drink so much!

Maybe I should try that now while the monsoon rain drumbeats on the kitchen window?

Paris Street – Rainy weather (1877) by Caillebotte

Twiddling Tuesday

So far it has been a nothing week.  At least, I have done nothing.  However, with rain approaching, and smearing the earth last night, I decided to clean up the front yesterday before the rain.  That finished I have reached the decision that enough was done for the rest of the week.  OK, I had to visit Tesco, the staff might miss me if I don't pop in, and sit here playing solitaire for a few hours, but my back aches after yesterdays work, honest.  

As I sit here cogitating, listening to the rare sound of traffic passing by on wet smeared roads, I wonder how many accidents this will cause? I find myself enjoying the aroma of lightly wet leaves mixed with the cooler air.  The temp indoors is still around 80% it claims, but it feels more like a cold 70%.  Imagine, a cold 70%!

Those fussing about the heat did have a point.  If this is the result of the grasses in the park imagine what the food crops have gone through?  One farmer loudly gave away his onions, they were not possible to pick and make a profit so he called on people to help themselves or they got ploughed back in.  Many farmers, those not yet put out of work by Brexit of Liz Trusses failed ANZAC deals, will be in the same situation.  One reason I cleared up the front yesterday was because when the rain falls, no matter how poor, our front soon is awash with weeds!  Tsk!

It is rumoured the outgoing PM will be staying at Chequers until he is heaved out.  Difficult to know as he is hiding in Greece at the moment.  His furniture (and wallpaper) is being removed as we speak.  His replacement, most likely the inept Liz Truss, will be soon winning the never ending election, and then she will move here junk into No 10 at our expense, so I imagine she will spend the cash liberally.  The future looks bleak.  I wonder if she will last until Christmas?  

John Macvicar Anderson - Westminster

City of London 2: Pathe

 

 The second part of this City of London film. 

 

The City, as Was

Nothing much has happened recently, apart from temperatures heading for the 90s and everyone being sick of the liars contesting the Conservative leadership.  More noise about high energy prices, indeed Boris reappeared at a meeting of energy bosses in No 10.  Nothing happened bar him getting a backhander or two I suspect.  He certainly did nothing for the cost of living increase, however, his lackeys at all levels are keeping up the pressure to bring him back.  

The drought has been declared, so I will cease from washing, though I have done one today.  Tesco and washing sheets, my life is so full!

At least football is back, though to be honest it means little these days.  So much around me has little taste today.  In fact nothing tastes, that is, it means little unlike in days gone by.  Age is having an effect.  I have no problems disliking things, so much I see is trashy and worthless, though my forefathers must have felt the same.  The 'shiny' things of the world mean less as time passes, though if I were to obtain a large source of wealth my ideas may differ.  This of course is unlikely.  So, I will just remain here, a miserable old goat.  A position, I have been told, that suits me admirably.

Atkinson Grimshaw - The Thames Below London Bridge

Joseph Farquharson - A Flock of Sheep in a Snowstorm

With the temperature reaching towards 31c and that means about 92f, I thought some would appreciate a picture to cool them down.   This artist created several similar scenes, I suppose living up north he would find this an easy country view to notice!  He created so many such paintings he was known as "Frozen Mutton Farquharson." 

As you give thanks for not putting the gas on, as you reach for yet another ice cream, consider the sheep, and indeed the painter sitting there in two feet deep snow trying to finish his picture! 

Joseph Farquharson: 1846 - 1935. 

Greasy Trump

Being the 'silly season,' the holiday time when politics and politicians are unusually quiet, the media has been desperate for something to fill the spaces.  Editors everywhere are glad Olivia Newton-John has died, now they have something to say.

Twitter was full of men of a certain age informing us of their first love, things like that I have no wish to know personally, but many who ought to have known better were in tears.  

For myself, a music lover, I was not a fan.  Having seen 'Saturday Night Fever,' when it came out, announced as they all are as a 'film not to miss,' and in my opinion 'with a rifle,' ought to have been added, I had no desire to watch a film full of 'pop' music and meaningless acting.   Naturally, we were all told it was one 'not to miss.'  Again I suggest the rifle.

The disease which took the lass is indeed unfortunate, sad to see a woman of 73 years dying like this.

The music, in my humble view, ought to have died in 1973, long before it came to the screen!

Think

The good news today, also taking up some space, is that the FBI have raided the orange liar in his Florida house.  The hope, and it seems likely, is that they will find stolen documents, items to connect him to 'suspicious activities,' and something to land him in jail.  Whooppee!

Naturally the right-wing press have launched a support drive for him.  Nigel Farage threw in the 'Deep state' word, implying something is amiss.  He is correct, though of course he is the one amiss, and if they come for Trump, they will come for Farage soon.  That is something I look forward to.

'Deep State,' is another of these none existing phrases thrown out by those causing problems.  The implication is that secret organisations are doing them down.  This is true, but Trump and Farage are behind any such organisation, although we know there is in fact no 'Deep State.'  Just like the word 'Woke,' when you ask them to explain what it means there is silence.  Just point over there and say 'woke,' and the sheep will be happy.  This is an old trick going back into prehistory, nothing new in lying.  

Trump is determined to get re-elected, even though most of the US government will oppose this.  Our Donald, Boris Johnson, thinks he too can make a come back.  Both need to as they wish to avoid jail.

Personally I hope they fail and end up inside.  These men have deceived their nations, and the world, caused misery to millions, broken every law, opposed democracy, and unless stopped those paying for them will cause economic disaster to us all.

Hitler's First War

This is an interesting look at Adolf Hitler's Great War.  

It is important in that little is actually known about the soon to be Chancellor's war experiences.  Partly this was because Adolf ensured much was hidden or destroyed, and others did not wish to be involved, certainly after Adolf's second war.  

The author has researched widely, seeking official documents where they survive, memoirs written before the Nazis came to power, letters, photographs and occasional interviews, all the usual, often hard to find, records that open up the background to any individual.

We all know Hitler was Austrian, we all know he managed to get himself into the German army during 1914, and we all know something of his family past.  This book goes some way to explain his role during the Great war from August 1914 until he was demobbed after the war.  We knew he served but had few details of what he actually did, whom he served with, and we also get some idea of what his officers saw in him.

Hitler enlisted in the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment (RIR 16), as in the manner of the Great War such regiments took their officers name, or the name of the man who originated such a regiment.  The 16th were named the 'List' regiment after Julius von List their commanding officer who was to die in action at Ypres.

Germany then as now is a federated state, a mass of small Germanic states working, in theory, together as Germany.  However, the Bavarians looked to their own monarchy rather than Kaiser Wilhelm for a lead, as I suspect other similar regiments throughout the nation did also.  

After basic training, some say very basic training, the regiment eventually found itself at war at Gheluvelt, part of the 1st Battle of Ypres.  This was a terrible battle, leaving Hitler's Regiment with 725 dead after the few days fight.  Once withdrawn however life changed for our Adolf.  With the casualties promotions were given out to replace the lost, and Adolf was transferred to a place of relative safety, Regimental HQ and classed as a despatch runner.  

Runners did indeed have a difficult and dangerous life, however, the German regimental runner was based almost two miles behind the line and his messages were deposited at the HQs of each individual Company.  From there the Company runner would take messages into the trenches whatever the conditions, while the regimental runner went back home to relative safety and warmth.  

In short, the danger of front line warfare never again affected Adolf Hitler, he remained where he felt at home, and in almost, perfect safety.  Certainly there were dangers from long range shells, machine gun and occasional rifle bullets, but the danger was considerably less than that of the company runner in the front line trench!  His front line service was a mainstay of his claim on others throughout his rise to power, and indeed a constant talking point until his death.  

Hitler did receive one wound in the leg from shrapnel from a shell that landed close by, he was in a dugout at the time.  Long after the war, a one time comrade wrote that this cost him a testicle, however, that author has been dismissed by most Historians as unreliable.  His work is confusing, often wrong, and as a man with criminal tendencies he is not a good source.  Likewise those who claim a degree of homosexual activity from Adolf and one of the other runners, this too appears nonsense.  

The author of this book goes into some detail as to Adolf's enjoyment among the company of despatch runners.  Not only comparatively safe but also this took the place of a family for him, and interestingly he never wrote home to any relative during his time in the war.  This company of comrades certainly appear to have left an impression upon him, an impression that added much to his organisation of the Nazi party years later.  

Hitler served his time, earning mostly support from his superiors, and indeed an Iron Cross 1st Class, recommended by a Jewish officer!  While many Jews did indeed serve in the regiment there appears to be no trace of anti-Semitism in the army at this time, certainly none from Adolf.

After the war Hitler joined with the Red Revolutionaries who took over Munich for six months.  This was something he appears to have almost scrubbed from history, certainly he never mentioned this to anyone.  Author Thomas Weber inclines to the view Adolf had no real politics at the time but was looking to a group that would be nationalistic and classless, and soon both Communist and Fascist groups would offer this.  

Working for an old army friend he came across the German Workers Party, and here he once again found a home.  The Weimar years were not good to a man who had decided a one party state was the answer for the nation, wealth and democracy obscured his hopes.  However, the great crash of 1929 soon left Germany devastated, a situation which politicians with easy answers and clear enemies can take power.  The party, now with National Socialist attached to the name, made inroads with a hungry population.  By 1933 when Hitler took control, to the surprise of many army men who knew him, the despatch runner was a life saver, to others a danger.  

The 20s and 30s were not a great time for Europe, Germany suffered greatly, Hitler soon offered a way of escape and huge numbers hoped for a better time through him, few were actual Nazis, and ever fewer understood he wished to create another war and even demolish the Soviet Union.

The research in this book is extensive and a great effort has been made to seek sources and investigate the findings.  Since 1945 much has been destroyed, many have refused to speak, or indeed consider what they were doing at the time, but the author does give us a clue as to Adolf's growing political outlook, his many, many lies and misuse of facts, even in his letters when at 1st Ypres, he was born an exaggerating liar, and by the way we get an inside into what makes people obey a leader who goes bad.  That alone is worth knowing today!

Published in 2011 the book is well worth a read.  Especially when obtained free on Amazon gift cards! For those interested in this subject it is well worth a go.

Rome's Original Tituli

I obtained this book on the cheap via Amazon's Kindle, as early church history intrigues me.  However, I have only managed to make my way half way through and I have to say I am disappointed.  I hoped for a book that could offer guaranteed evidence that these are indeed the houses once used as gatherings for the Roman Christians in the 1st century.  Sad to say this is not quite what I have found.  

The author takes us round a variety of Roman churches, many dating back centuries, but there is little real evidence to be found that this church actually stands on a home once used by the early Christians.  It is certainly possible that the churches were, some 300 or so years later, built on houses said to have been used this way, folk memory can indeed be strong.  However, I am dubious about many of the claims made for the origins.  I am certain Peter did not 'say mass' in one of the houses, he may have 'broken bread' or taken part in an 'agape' meal, but here was no 'mass,' taking place, the author is limited on scripture, trusting only to the RC church teachings.  

The impression given is many tales may have had some origin in the past, however, these have been developed by many 'old wives tales,' and these are difficult to accept for those who read the scriptures.  Indeed, when you remember that for many years Rome refused to allow individuals to read the bible for themselves, and some Popes burnt bibles to stop this happening, you can begin to understand where many of the tales came from in past times.  Bible ignorance leaves room for fairy stories.  

Too much of the book is an adoration of RC architecture, detailing altars, statues and chapels.  The US author appears in awe of the RC surroundings, the very surroundings that leave me dead inside.  

It is possible some of the information in this guide book is correct, however, I would need to look at a better more historical tome to discover if it is possible to know for sure whether individual houses were indeed made use of by early Christians.  For some this book may be worth a look, for me it is too limited in approach and with too little historical evidence on offer.

Victorian Fishing Scene

What a good picture this is.  'The Mornings Catch,' by James Clark Hook, 1877.

This tells us much about the rough lives out forefathers lived.  Not just the danger of all night fishing in rough seas, often quite far out to sea, but also the hard work left for the women in the morning.  The fish has to be sorted, taken by creel to where customers lay in wait, and hopefully a good deal done, possibly door to door.  This on top of whatever house they possessed, possibly rented, stone or hard dirt floor, outside toilet, no running water, several children at that time being sent to school, and normal daily routine had to be followed.  

There was of course no pension, no welfare state, and people worked until they dropped, unless they, or a relative got lucky and made a fortune.  Fortunes in the 19th century could of course be made and lost within a generation.  Limited medicine, no painkillers bar chloroform, smoking, poor diet, though the fisherfolk and farmers could manage reasonably well, and most dead by their 50s.   

James Clark Hook 1819 - 1907, became quite famous for his sea pictures.  He painted so many they were known as 'Hookscapes.'  

I must admit I like sea pictures and this one, the view, the colours and the reflection of life in late Victorian Cornwall (at least many were painted there) appears true to life.  Painting however, does not indicate the smell of the fish!  In this way we are lucky.  

High Church Morning

 

It was off early this morning to the High Church.  For reasons of economy, or something devious, our Low Church has been attached in a Benefice to this Bells without Smells church, all robed and organ blasted, very unlike ours.

I arrived in time, as I opened the door I heard a hand held bell tinkle, I entered to find the parade awaiting the off.  As the organ began the choir also began, the Beadle (I suppose) in front carrying the cross on a long pole, quite normal for such churches.  Behind him the berobbed choir moved, followed by the church warden holding high above his head  a red book, most probably a bible, behind which our vicar, now responsible for two churches, starred in the procession.

As they marched I slid in to my seat in the rear pew.  The church has the usual layout, two rows of pews, at the front on the left in a box, hidden somewhat by curtains in case we see him sleep, is the organist, in front one of those large Eagle shaped brass lecterns and a small table with a candle burning.  On the right another lectern, for the routine stuff, while the pulpit rises above for the preacher to overlook the congregation while speaking.  These stand in front of an imitation 'Rood screen.'  The 'Rood screen,' which once separated the clergy from the plebs, had above it a cross, a 'rood.'  This one was never complete as far as I can see.  The archway allows us through to the choir stalls, and I must say the choir was indeed very good at their job, and this also allows us to get close to the altar bearing four large candles and other items, imposing itself somewhat above us.  The Catholic version of such would never allow us to be behind the screen, we were always kept apart.  Many churches show evidence of how various conflicts from Reformation times affected the church layout, this one, being built in 1900 avoided such trauma, but has seen two world wars.

Bright windows towards the rear, emblazoned with three small heraldic signs, and a large sculpture of St Peter, though we cannot know what he looked like, comes forth from the wall.  A large wooden war memorial, commemorating the fallen and a previous vicar, fills much of the rear wall, almost impossible to photograph properly because of the oversized font that stands in front of it.  How do they make use of that?  

This church was built on spite.  The main church in Victorian days remains that today, a woman living in a very grand house on the edge of town was daughter of a previous vicar, and appears to have considered her opinions important.  However, she fell out with the vicar of her day, probably because he did not see her as important to a similar degree to herself, and so when she died she left thousands as a bequest to build this High Church.  Why not do so when alive?  Gladstone, one time Prime Minister, questioned why people left money to charity in their wills, "Why not give it when alive?" he asked.  Maybe she wished to avoid the grumbles that she may have faced?

A few years back, not long after I arrived in town the then vicar of this church was removed to a place recommended by Her Majesties Pleasure.  Or at least by a judge if not her majesty herself.  Sadly a collection of items on his computer were not fitting for his role.  Eventually, a man was found to take his place and he has, over some nine years I believe, built up a healthy High Church congregation.  They appear organised, keen, regular attenders, friendly and happy with their lot.  The credit for this must go to the vicar.  What a job he had at the beginning.

This morning the service I thought was too long, made us stand too much, making me aware of the pain in my back, and we followed the order in the yellow book, ensuring I failed to find where I was at the beginning, and made use of heavy song books which included the music for those who really can sing.  

I am not one of those.

The sermon was not clear, the acoustics are not great, the readings were followed via the weekly handout, and the prayers were from a quiet spoken lass.  As always in such places, the choir might chant, the congregation also, or a bell will ring, a halleluiah appear or some such, now and again, catching us lot out most times.  

I confess all this does little for me, though I did appreciate our own church all the more.  That is what a service ought to be, informally formal, with a controlled service, and making us all comfortable, rather than struggle with books and scripts!  

I did find Jesus speaking to me through one of the readings, and as we approached the Lord's Table.  This gave me much pleasure and much to think  about.

I left soon after the end, too many hovered about at the rear causing confusion, and as I walked a friend accompanied me chatting about his time in the US air force as a dog handler.  A Yank who came home when he was sent here.  Mind you, at that time we used Pounds, Shillings and Pence, and for him this took some doing to learn!  Home, a bad dinner, especially as I burnt my fingers and have had them in cod water since, and two poor football games to watch.   No wonder I am tired tonight.

Saturday Slop

 

Surely this is what women were made for?

I had to iron today, a Saturday at that, as I found shirts for tomorrow were running out.  I managed three before I gave up.  How can anyone expect a man in my condition, (Lazy, idle, slob) to work so hard in such heat?  Not only this but my dinner war burning also thereby increasing the warmth in the room.

I noticed an advert saying 'Shirts Ironed,' and looked closer, £20 each!  That is more than they cost!  What a rip-off.  I winder if I can persuade the 12 year old round the corner to do them all for £20?  She needs the money doesn't she...?

With the 'Leadership Debate' still ongoing it is nice to see those Tories who wish one or another to win actually getting bored with the whole thing.  Every channel has a session with them, I ignore them all, we know what they are saying, and boredom, not excitement is the result.  Sunak will introduce private cities, crime and corruption, Truss will introduce lies, corruption and money for the rich, while standing on opposition, and Labour fall asleep, like the rest of us.  None of these people care or understand the country.  The fact that they don't care is more important.  What matters is their people, they ones paying for them, get what they want, the public can go hang.  The unspoken agreement found after the war that change must come, and change for the better, has long since died.  The 2010 Conservative government saw that off, Boris has brought Victorian days back to us all, and his people want him to return.

I like this.  This is an example of the clever advertising I have seen recently.  Another on Twitter came from Specsavers.   No cameras are allowed in UK courtrooms but 'artists impressions' are.  A picture of one from the two celeb slappers arguing showed a poor representation of one of the woman.  Specsavers used this picture calling for the artist to 'Pop in and visit us.'  Very clever.  We need more like this.

Camulodunum, Charity Shops, Gays in Gents, Hastening Bus Drivers, War Memorials, and Corn Fields and Blue Skies.

I hesitated about going out today yesterday, I was tired physically but my brain was needing a change of scenery.  Just being indoors I begin to go 'stir crazy.'  So, I trooped of early to catch the 10:20 bus.  We left at 10:28, and not just because of the Zimmer users.  I looked forward to green fields, waving corn, and gray skies.  At least the sky was often gray.  

We had not gone far, just about to leave the town border as a woman with pushchair and 3 years old attempted to leave the bus.  The pushchair was easy enough but the kid would not move.  Mum encouraged, demanded, apologised to the passengers, took his toy, but he would not leave the bus.  Screaming ensued, from him, while we all grinned and laughed.  Mum took action, slinging him screaming over her shoulder and forged her way off the bus.  Everyone laughed, almost all of us have either been the mum or the kid, as it were!

Having left 8 minutes late we naturally arrived one minute early!  Considering we faced three road blockages, one from BT Outreach replacing telegraph poles and digging holes, one from routine road works, and one from traffic blocking cars half parked on road and pavement.  Why not on the pavement, there is no-one around, it's a country house, why block a busy road?  

On arrival I hobbled slowly through one or two remaining charity shops.  Some have gone since I was last here about 4 years ago. It amazes me how things change so quickly.  What were charity shops were now doing good, but expensive business.  How can such shops survive here but not in our town?  

The picture?  I have no idea.  She stands there, marching all in black, along the street, why?  What or who does she represent?  I have no idea.

Having ensured sufficient water before I left I visited the Gents.  While clean and modern they are also these days a meeting place for gay boys.  I entered not long after what I assumed to be a normal man but found him standing right next to a another with several spaces empty.  I noisily, very noisily, used a not so clean cubicle.  A perversion, legalised for the privacy of your own home, now appears to be standard in this Gents as it is in so many others.  If such activity is legal how come they are gathering in such places?  Have they no clubs to meet in, no cafe's, why use this place in an underhand manner.  The man I followed had left as I made for the door, but the early arrival was still there.   I was tempted to say something but would only have caused offence.  At least offence I may not be too unhappy to cause.  However, I refrained and moved on.

Having searched more shops, Millets (nice hats with huge prices), Edinburgh Woollen Mill (Based in Hawick, full of old people and charging £210 for a Tweed jacket), and a walk through Waterstones without looking in case I bought something, I took the obligatory War Memorial picture.  This one says so much about the people of the time, the need to glorify a war in which so many died, the need to show off the towns wealth, and the link to fables as History.  I do however admire the statues on offer, though spiders have been making use of them these days.

I considered rummaging through the crowds, sitting in one of the overpriced pubs, or eating at a greasy spoon café, but decided to run for the bus instead.  My knees had seen enough, nothing worth buying had appeared, and I was realising just how weary I had become.  So, obtaining, for £1:19, a bottle of 'Aqua,' a plastic bottle of cold Romanian water I made for the bus stand.  Romanian bottled water with a Latin name?  Well I suppose since Trajan took over what was then called Dacia in the year 106 AD, the Roman influence has been felt there.  The name, or one similar is attested some 400 or so years back but how Roman the people are today after the last couple of hundred years is anyone's guess. 

The water was almost cold, the bus was almost due, my task was to find it.  Once again the bus stops had changed.  Many people stood staring at the timetables while searching for their bus, their stop and soon their bus passes.  I was one of them!  After some time I worked out what 'Ac' meant, wandered slowly in that direction, found the bus waiting but without a driver.  Several waited, glancing at the watches, while the driver, sitting on a seat nearby, ignored them.  

The bus driver on the 10:20 was a happy soul, this one, when he arrived, was not.  Grunting to the boarding passengers he then treated us to a display of sharp braking, caused by going too fast and suddenly finding a stop required.  Consistently racing along when he could, only to sit in a suitable place and wait while the timetable caught up with him, and he even attempted to avoid one man trying to board as he did not wish to miss the green light at the road works.  We spent an hour being thrown forward constantly until we arrived, still breathing bus fumes in spite of all the open windows, at our destination.  We clambered off, but not as fast as the driver, as he headed for home.  At least we know why he was miserable, the end of a long, warm day driving a bus full of the public!

On the way, while bouncing back and forth, I attempted to make use of my little aged Leica.  This wee camera is old, full of dust, and I was looking through a filthy window that has not been cleaned for a while.  The results as you can see are not great.  I was however, glad to see the fields, though quite a few have been turned into expensive houses for the Camulodunum elite.  

On occasions the sun had shone, the clouds gathered, and after I got home the rain fell.  I let it, I was too tired to care.  I have to realise I am not fit, I and not 32 as I claim, and I canny do too much at the same time.  I must pace my wizened body better.  Last night I ate everything that lay around, finished the Brandy, and slept well.  Today I eat and sleep, while clearing up all those things on the laptop that are outdated or useless links that have long since died.  

In truth yesterday was a disappointing day.  The town itself was quieter than usual, I think they have stopped buses running through the main streets, the shops same as always, most people quite sociable, and half the bus drivers happy at work.  Imagine, not only did I walk through Waterstones without buying, I avoided the other bookshops, the charity books also, and came away with nothing.  I really was too tired!

Another Nothing Day

Another day where nothing has happened.

With Boris running around playing games and filling up his 'Bucket List' nothing occurs, especially as all the MPs are running from their second jobs to holiday in Hawaii or thereabouts.  What news there is merely slants towards either Sunak or Liz, according to what the newspaper owner wishes to see.  Liz is popular with all the press barons as she will be following whatever they tell her.  I suspect the plan is to allow her to fail and in a year attempt to bring back Boris.  We shall see.

Tonight the two inept cretins feature in a face to face debate.  I shall ignore it.  Nothing will be said, nothing can be believed, neither are worth having.  Much space will be given to this, and many of the 300,000 or so who can vote, including many unaccountable overseas, will provide us with a new lame duck PM.  

Where is the outrage?  Where are the protests?  Where is the media scramble for truth?

A coup has indeed taken place, and the public have slept through it.

Meantime UK weather appears, warm cloud, cold wind, sneezes common, and Englishmen in thin T-shirts pretending they are in Marbella.  At least most of the fires are out as the water levels are low and heat will be around for another week, maybe.  Firemen might get a night off this week.

And do not forget Covid is still around, but the medias are  keeping quiet, following the governments instructions.

Sunny Sunday

Because of the heat we need to be beside the seaside.  

Of course I am not!

Instead today I had to hobble to Kirk in the great heat once again, about 76% at the time.  This was acceptable I suppose, a normal summer in the UK today.  

Church was enjoyable today.  Marina massaged my neck for a minute, Matt told me the tale of his wife, and I felt welcomed and part of the place, which is always nice.  A service which was unusual, intended mainly for kids, almost none of whom were to be seen.  The weather has taken many out, the summer holidays has a few still trying to cross over into France at Dover, and others will be sunning themselves in downmarket Espana.  This did not matter, we all enjoy the kids things more than they do anyway.  The leader today was not used to the job, he prefers to stay at the back like me, he took us through the 'Lords Prayer,' bit by bit and once again I was struck by the need to forgive all those many enemies of mine, avoid temptation (sorry Morag you must leave), and recollect how he offered me strength to obey and follow him many years ago.  

Why have I failed so badly to do this?  Tsk!

Revived sufficiently by a mug of tea and an argument with Gordon, who was meant to be washing the mugs, I once again trekked along the road in the increasing heat.  I forgave, eventually, a driver leaving the petrol station who refused to see me and almost got me.  I avoided the temptation of reaching for the sub-machine gun US style, and made it home for a bacon roll.  

Lunch time on a Sunday is often glorious like this.

There was also a mediocre football match on display, which I was forced to watch while I pondered furiously what to scribble tonight.  Nothing came.

  

I spent some few minutes posting once more on the new blog, concerning my late brothers time in RAF Sharjah during 1970/71.  These featured a holiday jaunt into the desert of Muscat to recognise the world they were defending.  Here RAF mechanics managed to get one of the Land Rovers waterlogged!  Britain need not fear!

Interestingly, or not as the case may be, after all that sunshine I see from my position, seated in my bed staring out the window while tapping on the spare (Win11) laptop that the rain clouds are gathering.  Does this mean summer is over for another year? 

Maybe I need a different kind of hat this week....?    

Broken Camera

The one problem at the moment (only one?) is the wee camera.  It has been working fine but with the warm weather I have been carrying the thing in my jean pockets.  The other day I took one or two awful pictures and the lens jammed.  It would not retract, and now just sits there glaring at me.  

Whether the weather had a part in this I know not, but being jammed in the pocket is not good.  I made use of all my brute force and ignorance, but this failed this time.  

A quick search of the web brought several videos regarding repairing G11 problems, so this is good.  

I will soon attempt to play with it and maybe get it back working.  After all, when I have put my technical abilities to work elsewhere I have discovered, er, failure!  Ah well.

This is a good wee camera for £40 pounds, and no replacement is available at the cheap shop I obtained mine from.  However, by rummaging among the drawers I have found the old Leica wee'er camera that might do for now.  This was given to me by my brother when working at Leica, made up from broken camera bits!  It was good at first but will be shown up by the other cameras around now.  However as it has been lying for a while it is a bit dusty,  and I forget how to use the bits on offer.  

Still, I am not one to grumble.

I note the programme to bring Boris back into power is under way.  Watch the press carefully.

Housework Thursday

Busy day today, housework, some of which has actually been done.  I then set about posting some of    my late brothers pictures on a new blog.  I tried WordPress but found it so slow at posting pictures that I scrapped it and turned back to Blogger, where I ought to have started to begin with.  The pictures come from his time in the RAF in the Middle East way back when.  What was then a dusty airbase is now adjacent to Dubai!  The runway now forms part of a road way, nothing else remaining.  It has to be said life at the time was very different there to what it is now.  Whether the people at the bottom have benefited remains to be seen.

Having done enough of that to begin with I have prepared a simple tea, ignored the rest of the jobs awaiting, and scribbled this while trying not to do anything more, though I have ensured the rubbish has gone out, most important and the place smells sweeter now. 

I went nowhere, unlike like yesterday when filled with sausage roll I ventured out on a 38 bus, the correct one, to the Braintree Village.  The entire place is being modernised to fit the plastic 'village' concept.  It looks tacky.  The usual shops for the most part remain, the overpriced Levi's, (£115 a pair!), the usual girls shops, M&S & Mountain Warehouse.  M&S a disappointment as the men's section has shrunk, allowing more room for females clearance stuff.  Nothing of any kind there appealed.  The Mountain Warehouse, shiny new bright appearance, but same nothingness for me.  The only shop where I found myself wishing I had money was 'Barbour!'   Several of their items appeal to me, but a waistcoat costing £60, a reduction, puts me off somewhat.  Another failing trip in the sun, but at least I know the 'Village' has not changed, it is still, for me, a waste of time.  Maybe next week I will visit Camulodunum?