Living Death at St Ps

Living Death at St Paul's

Sunday 10:30 am

Grateful for the lift given to me this morning, a mile is a long way to walk these days, I gladly entered the building. As we arrived a large white car proceeded before us, we waited patiently while the driver parked in the next space.  From the car a young blonde decanted and headed towards the church.  We men looked, muttered 'Hmmm...' quietly so his wife could not hear, and thought, this looks good.  I decided to make it my place to greet her.

However, Inside, while I obtained a glass of water to avoid drying up during the service, the young lady, and they are all young to me now, was greeted by Graham and Jenny on the doors in their friendly and efficient manner, and so was I when I walked through the door.  Having been greeted I turned to take my seat in the usual place.

Then it happened!

The blonde was sitting in my seat!

I gasped at Graham, ‘She’s in my seat!’

‘I said sit wherever you like, so she did,’ he replied grinning too happily for my liking.

'But that's MY seat!' I gasped quietly while a cold bead of sweat ran down my neck.  'I've sat there for nearly 10 years,' I muttered.  Graham sniggered somewhat too keenly for my liking, especially as his permanent seat at the back had been claimed already by Jenny.  He was not going to be homeless this morning.  'And you are not allowed to chuck her out either,' he ordered like the sergeant major he wished he was.  He wandered off to greet others while I stood staring into space.  I came ready for anything this morning, but not something as shocking as this!  She was in my seat!  Not only was she happily ensconced there, but all around people were greeting her while aiming more smirks in my direction.  Wars have been begun for less than this!  

Looking around the hall I noticed all the seats at the end of a row were taken. A very Anglican approach. The only empty seats were at the front. 

At the front! No-one sits at the front of an Anglican church, no-one! I began to gasp again.

Gordon however, stood alongside me offering condolences. ‘You could sit on one of the empty seats in the middle of the row,’ he offered somewhat fatuously. No-one chooses to sit in the middle, that is just not done, unless you are accompanying someone. I noticed his sneaky leer as he spoke, he too has his seat booked, though he sits in the middle because she has told him to, and that's that. 'Five empty seats at the front on the left,’ he said, his finger pointing in that direction.  The front!  I began to shake.  'Sit ant the front, and be near all the action,' he said slowly and with cruel intent.  Cold sweat was beginning to run down my neck by this time. My shaky knees were shaking, my trembling hands trembled, and Gordon asked if he should hold my glass before I washed the carpet. This I declined, mostly because my hand was gripping the tumbler hard and I feared I might break it in letting go. I also needed a wet blanket to hold onto at that moment.

I kept glaring at my seat, it had my name on it too! In fact, all the seats have my name on them, I scrawled it upon them one day while no-one was around, just in case.

The blonde did not move, it was not the done thing to throw her out, and people were beginning to gather. The shaking continued, cold beads continued to run down my neck, I stared hard at each seat, including my own now in colonial possession, and prayed, almost out loud.

Glory be!  Just then I saw an empty end seat, though it was on the second row from the front to the right.  This would have to do, Hallelujah! Sweating, I barged past the crowd being greeted by smirk and his wife, forced my way to the free seat, triumphantly grasped the chair, spread myself across the next one also, just in case someone joined me, a trick I learned while travelling on the London Underground all those years ago, and rested while the steam rose from my now, relaxed body.

How close was that? 

Excitement

As I woke excitement filled my heart.  

Now, in days past excitement often filled my heart, gripping me to the exclusion of all but the day ahead.  As a 6 year old the thought of travelling by steam train across the Forth Bridge to Fife was exciting.  A few days with my favourite aunt was always exciting.

When I was 14 the idea of leaving school and entering the adult world excited me greatly.  This I did not realise then comprised spending much time seeking what to eat later in the day! 

The excitement at standing in Tynecastle Park as the football was about to begin was always great.  Across the ground I watched puffs of smoke from lone smokers rise into the air, the sunshine on wet grass provided an aroma never forgotten, as indeed was the fragrance of the embrocation cream rubbed on footballers legs before a game to prepare them for combat.  Standing by the tunnel this was never missed.

Moving to London was exciting, living in my own wee slum excited me.  And slum it was, and probably still is, but it was my home.

Going abroad was excitement indeed, foreign parts, foreign foods, and not being shot by a trigger happy Israeli is always good.

Moving into this luxury home in the sticks was excitement indeed, self contained and never mind the faults.  

So many events brightening my life with excitement!

The arrival just before 2pm of a delivery of slippers from M&S was another thing that excited me.

Today however, I woke excited because I was going to visit 'Iceland' and buy frozen veg.

I think I may be in need of care...

Several things strike you as you look at this book.  The first is how the name 'Max Hastings' is larger than the title 'Operation Pedestal.'  I canny work out whether this is because his name sells more books or because he wants his name to be clear at the top.  Who knows.  I do know however, that like all Max's books it runs to 428 pages, which makes me glad it is paperback and not a hardback like others of his in my possession.  

The war had reached 1942, and as yet the allies were still on the defensive.  Malta was near starvation rations and Winston Churchill, still fully in control, understood that morale required to be lifted by great adventures.  The year previously a convoy headed towards Russia was attacked deep in Arctic territory.  The commander of that convoy made the disastrous decision to command remove the Royal Navy support and command the fleet to make full steam for the Soviet Union.  Almost all ships were lost!  

Our friend Comrade Stalin was not pleased.

Churchill realised morale must be lifted, the UK must succeed with a Malta convoy, whatever the Admiralty thought, and was determined to convince Uncle Joe that the UK was not finished.

The convoy therefore set out from various parts of the UK, combined at Gibraltar, and headed east into territory controlled by the German and Italian fleet and air forces.  In short, into an impossible situation.  

Off Algiers the attacks began, continuing, and increasing, by air and submarine as they headed towards Cape Bon o Tunisia.  Here the attacks were constant and severe.  From the 11th until the 13th the fleet was attacked by air and sea, not helped by the Admiralty turning back the largest of their escort ships, in case these were lost!  Opinions varied regarding this decision.  The mainly destroyer, escorts did their best in the best tradition of the Royal Navy but were outgunned and outnumbered.  Only on the last days could the RAF help from Malta itself, and courageous they were, but finding the by now dispersed fleet in an ocean is not easy.

In the end 5 Merchantmen arrived in Malta, bruised and crippled, including the oil tanker 'Ohio.'  However, 9 merchant ships were lost.  The Royal Navy suffered the loss of one aircraft carrier, HMS 'Eagle,' 2 cruisers and one destroyer, plus several more being seriously damaged.  Many men on both sides, on ships or in the air, were lost.  The convoy however, provided sufficient supplies for a rationed Malta to endure until November when Montgomery's 8th Army won at El Alemain and turned the course of the war.  The morale boost to the UK with the success of the convoy, while ignoring the mistakes, the faults and anything that might hinder good propaganda, was immense.  The UK showed that it could win, on land and sea, and in February 1943 the Soviet forces ended the siege of Stalingrad and began the long trek towards Berlin.  

The book is slow at the beginning as Max works through masses of information regarding the men the ships, the arguments regarding the convoy.  He then gives details of the ships themselves, the men aboard and much of his info comes from the records of those who participated.  Letters, diaries, official logbooks, are quoted in a manner that brings us close to the action.  And there is action aplenty.  I think as many attacks as possible have been recorded, the men involved, their individual response, their terror, their ship sinking, the salvation attempts, some of which are fantastic, the firing at aircraft and seeking submarines, and the effects of constant stress over several days with little food and less sleep.  You are made to feel you are part of the operation while reading the book.  

Some details are given regarding the part played by men after the convoy arrived.  Not all were rewarded, some court martialled, others faults 'forgotten.'  Like so many other men, they fought a war, took part in exciting action, and after 1945 those who survived and had no great promotions had no choice but to 'just get on with it' like thousands of others. 

I recommend this book.

Moonshine...

Last night, they said, we would see that full moon again, the bright, yellow Harvest Moon.   All we saw was cloud!  I had noticed the moon the night previously, it is often seen hanging around in the eastern sky here, and I got a shot or two of him then.  He did not appear to be any brighter or happier than when he last appeared, and |I doubt he cared about the Harvest, he does not have one himself these days.  It is however, good to have a clear sky in which to see the moon, unlike last night, even though the temperature drops accordingly.  Much cooler this year than last year, Global Warming I expect?    

There were those who used to say 'Lloyd George was on the take.'  But I suspect they could never prove this.  He certainly found the women when required but did he find the money?  I know not, but I read that Keir Starmer has indeed found the money.  Indeed, he has found over £100,000 worth of cash, all  in the form of things given to him by 'friends who wish him well.'  Tickets for major football matches, well Arsenal, Taylor Swift, clothes for him to look like a PM and for his wife to get her hands on the best available stuff, donations of items outnumbering that which no other PM has ever received, and not one iota of shame while allowing the old to freeze to death!  

Some question these gifts.  Some think PMs ought to refuse such things, but in fact the law of the day states they must pay for things received, however, it appears these 'gifts' arrived before Keir became PM, so he can keep them!  The question most ask is 'What's in it for the donor?'  Donors do not donate for love of the individual in politics, they are offering bribes, not gifts.  Quite why a Labour (and I use that word loosely) PM would not comprehend this confuses me.  Lord Ali, his donor for clothes and other things, was given a key to Parliament.  An outcry got this withdrawn.  He however, is still around Downing Street, possibly by the back door?  

We are owned by Corporate figures, the man in the street does not count.  The only woman who counts is Sue Gray, she counts £170,000 as a salary, which she asked for.  When it was suggested she had less than the PM she declined!  Hmmm...

Sauntering Through the Day

Against my better judgement I sauntered very slowly across the park this morning.  The bright sunshine hid the very cold eastern wind which chased me across the pathways.  Needing to phone my sister, who lost her husband about two months ago, I thought I would do this as I walked, trying to cram several jobs into as short a time as possible.  Naturally, I could not get the thing to connect, others clearly managed this as I could listen to the price of their goods delivery if I chose to.  Irked, I continue on to the second job which entailed pushing a letter for the parks/environmental officer regarding the music at the weekend.  I was nice about it, this time, and suspect there will be no more events this year as summer has departed.  However, that said I thought it worth while indicating the voices of the residents around here concerning the punk, and especially the base of the 'rave' type music.  

My knees had decided that a 10 minute saunter was too much, however, I had to continue towards Tesco for one or two things, and this without a list of what was needed.  Most of the needed was bought, and much that was not required followed.  I will have the list next time!

From there I limped into the museum for Honey.  I like to buy that in there, along with a grossly overpriced jam and birthday card, just to help keep the place going.  Nothing here will be wasted and it helps so the £16 I spent was worth it.  

After that my day is complete!

Except the blog, with nothing to say, an email of complaint to the vicar, calling my sister and having my ear bashed for 30 minutes, and whatever else I have forgotten.  

I might even wash later... 

How nice to see fruit appearing on these trees.  The trees have been up a few years now but this is the first sign I have seen of fruit.  They may just be Berries but they look more like fruit to me.  Maybe the size fools me.  Good to see anyway.  Lots of trees have been planted in recent years, the original ones were planted in the second half of the 29th century, and some look as if they are soon to leave us.  A couple have already gone and one huge fir has begun to die from the top.  The need for more to look big and brave in 20-50 years time is becoming urgent.  Well done the council for planting them.

Music deer...

I just happened to be wandering about the graveyard at the rear of the Congregational church this afternoon when I spied this deer at the far side.  I thought I had caught her leaving a mark, but if you look closely, she is giving birth.  Considering this was what she was doing, I remained at a distance taking a few shots, it is unusual to see such a deer in these parts, and watched.  Roebuck deer, those with a loud doglike bark, have been around for years, but this looks more like the Bambi type to me.  I wandered a few feet away and when I returned she and whatever she had with her had gone.

 

I had ventured quietly into the graveyard as it is usually quiet and if you stand still long enough nature moves about.  In fact, a squirrel came running around the corner, stopped suddenly, looked up at me and hastened back the way he had come.  However, he and a couple of magpies were playing about at the far side and I managed to catch this shot of one.  I'm not sure if he noticed me.

 

I had wandered over to the park, as opposed to having a snooze after lunch, because a Skateboard activity was on today.  Naturally, the Punk Band, and I mean 'Punk,' played right outside my house!  Next week, the environment men will get a wee note from me!  

Deep Purple, Cream, Jimi Hendrix, and AC/DC had music along with the noise, that's what made them great!  Each track was different, inventive, had a purpose.  This lot had one note, and a very loud not at that, and a loud, if you excuse the word, singer at the front.  At no time did we notice any words.

Anyway, most of the kids enjoyed it, the man from the Essex Fire Brigade stand informed me of his two paracetamol tablets after this group finished, and much more action occurred, in an organised way later.

By six pm the music, by this time 'rave' music, that is music with a needlessly deep base and little else, finished, now we have peace.

Scottish Football Reflects the Times.

 

I was watching a clip of the Heart of Midlothian scoring 90 goals against Hibernian.  I must point out these goals did not arrive in only one game.  The first clip came from one of our victories in 1959, before I had made it to the ground.  

Several things struck me as I watched these early games.  The goal celebrations were the most obvious.  A goal is scored, with ease against Hibernian, and the players 'jumped for joy,' congratulated the scorer and returned quickly to the centre circle to do it all again.  No sliding needlessly into the corner, no standing on the wall taking the glory.  No rolling about on the ground while other formed a horde about you.  Just get back and get on with the game.

The game was no less serious, the attitudes deep.  The joy of a  win and the despair of a loss great both ways, no less than today, and yet...  

People tackled harder in those days, yet there were less bookings and sending's off.  Both sides fought hard to win and yet there was less animosity.  Indeed, many who bought season tickets for Tynecastle to watch the Heart of Midlothian also took season tickets at Hibernian and watched the teams week about.  This is not possible today and many would not understand this anyway.  

Life has changed in the last 70 years.  Our attitudes to football reflect this.  It appears to be that attitudes have hardened somewhat, football success is more important than it ought to be, and this is reflected with many no longer watching great European games and preferring to watch teams further down the ladder where 'real football' can be seen.  This includes standing on a near empty terracing, banter between fans, and the occasional dog demanding attention, especially when eating the miserly pies that are on sale from the van on the corner.  

Football has got wealthier alongside the nations, neither have become better because of this.

Overfed

I wandered out to have my haircut again, it was only done about four months ago, and after the helpful young lass had cut all the grey stuff off and blown it away I headed towards Tesco.  This being a Wednesday made it Market Day, though hardly any stalls could be seen, the cold air had mostly put them off.  However, the Albanian lass with her bread and cakes was there!  Jolly good, thought I.

Tesco was quiet for a Wednesday, again the weather had left all the old folks indoors practising for the loss of the 'Winter Fuel Allowance.'  I therefore strolled around, avoiding the trolley pushers, and quickly paid my debts to the young man at the checkout.

Back at the stall, I bought this Italian bread, wondering if it was big enough for one?  Indeed, it was!  I could not manage the other items I bought, however, and doubt I will need breakfast in the morning.

 

Shorn and overfed, I trawled Twitter looking for interesting items.  None were found.  However, Keir, Thatchers true Son, has been at PMQs again and following on from all previous PMs since 2010 he did not bother answering questions, a point Sunak the ex-PM mentioned, apparently.  The irony there!  Keir appears to consider answering questions the job of someone else, certainly not Rachel, both she and he did not attend the House while the WFA was debated, and had no intention of answering any today.  

The die is cast, as someone once noted, the 'Lower Orders' can die, they do not matter.  What matters are the Corporates and Private Equity people, big business and the billionaire movers and shakers behind the scenes, the ones paying for Rachel and Keir.  They are certainly paying for Rachel, and I cannot see Keir being strong enough to oppose her.  Concession bus passes to go next.  It’s kill the old to save the rich time!  Blatantly and with no opposition from Labour.

 

Monday

All across what we call the 'West,' people rise at various, too early, times and greet Monday morning.  By far the majority of working people look forward to a five day week and a very quick weekend to follow.  Lucky people!

Those who do shit work, a week from 7 am to 3 pm, followed by a week of 3 pm to 11 pm, or even a rolling week when the beginning moves forward a day meaning the weekend is never a proper weekend.  Some of course today work 4 day weeks, 12 hour days and 3 days off, great, according to the work that is.  Shift working people often have the lowest jobs, the smallest wage, and the lowest place in society even though many are well educated and often have had 'better' employment.  

The vats majority however, keep to a five day week, Monday to Friday, a rota that never changes and while bring helps you to remember what day it is.  Most are office and shop workers, though many office workers can remain at home thanks to the internet and a good landline, shop workers often have to include a Saturday rather than a Friday finish.  

I well remember the joy of a Monday morning.  The struggle to get out of bed, searching for breakfast, searching for a shirt, searching for a brain.  The 9-5 meant a bus to some workplace in an office full of two faced people.  Not always, but all offices have them.  Even the best include the type of person who would sell their grannie, if they had not already done so.  These places were run by smiling, cheery people who offered good cheer and a knife in the back when no-one was looking, a great thing to look forward to on a Monday morning.  

The commuter, travelling across town in a rain soaked bus, or the early riser meeting the train t 06:35 hours and travelling for 90 minutes into town knowing that in spite of the money earned they will not see home again until 13 hours or more have passed.  Is it worth it I wonder?  During Thatcher's 80s people working in London took to moving to places as far away as Doncaster, here a train at 07.00 hours would drop them at Kings Cross close to their 9 am start time.  In the evening, the 17:23 north would get them home 2 hours later and they would still arrive home before many in London had reached their destination!  The Doncaster house may have cost £28,000 while the London flat £190,000!  It is understandable while people commuted.  The stress is less than that found by living in large cities.  Some of course drive for hours instead of public transport, blocking the roads, having accidents, but being 'free!'    

The only time joy can be found on a Monday at work is when you begin a new, and hopefully, a positive job.  Here you see higher wages, better conditions, superior people, and a hope for the future.  This will of course die, but at the moment you are positive, a wee bit nervous and happy to rise that wee bit earlier.

By Friday all this may have changed...

Those of us missing out on the joy of a Monday, by selecting the cheaper versions of goods in the nearest supermarket, can stand at the window watching people hurrying to work from early on a Monday morning.  Sometimes we wave from the widow while holding our coffee cup but the return waves, often hidden somewhat in the mirk, are not always positive ones.  Ah well, we need some enjoyment while Keir steals out heating support and laughs are always in short supply around him.  With Keir and Rachel every day is a Monday.

The Phone Trials

I finally found the courage to set up the new phone.  With the old one constantly running amok I thought it was time to move on.  It was surprisingly easy in one sense and wearing in another.  Several things went smoothly, though I am still seeking others from all around, and Google, bless them, made it much easier, as long as I gave them everything!  

As always the changes are better, except those that are not.  Much time was wasted fantasising on how to deal with Californian 14 year-old Geeks!  And not in a pleasant manner.  To them, making things easier, quicker, and more helpful, is to me a nonsense which makes no sense whatsoever.  Do they have no schools over there?  Or do they spend so much time dodging bullets from mad pupils they cannot see a straight forward way to do things?  Innovation is not always required!  

Anyway, while tap, tap, tapping and getting no response i was trying to look through the mirk at Scotland getting gubbed by Australia.  Edinburgh in September has the most wonderful skies.  Deep blue flaked with black, cool air, the lingering aroma of a recent summer, the promise of more tomorrow.  Naturally, the clouds covered all this and the game is being played in a near mist!  All around people are wrapped in winter outfits, though a few short wearing eejits can be seen, and not just the young trendies either.  The desperate Edinburgh middle class man proving his mettle in public for all to see is here.  Cameramen shrouded in black coverings could be mistaken for nomadic tents, while the schoolkids of course have not yet noticed the weather, they are just seeking autographs or attempting to catch the ball when it runs out.  

That said, my new phone keeps making noises and I canny see why.  This will keep me awake all night I bet. 

Meditative Music

Samuel Collins of Braintree.

Samuel Collins became vicar at Braintree in the year 1610.  The previous hundred years had seen the arrival of the Reformation, vast changes in England's churches, and in 1603, in an attempt to avoid civil war, England invited James VI to become King of England.  While this avoided civil war it did not enable a peaceful church.   James had a liking for Catholic ways, something which did not go down well in Calvinist Scotland, and James was determined to have his way in an England he saw as more open to his ideas.  

The Reformation had arrived in England not via good preaching from courageous men but by a deranged King desperate for a male heir.  The conflicts that followed Edward, then Mary, then Elizabeth had left their mark and James did manage to bring equanimity to the nation if nothing else.  His desire to be seen as an academic brought about his translation of the bible know to Christians as the 'Authorised Version,' (AV).  James had already attempted such a translation by himself.  

However, in 1625 Charles I became king as he had neither his fathers religious knowledge of faith but he had inherited his approach to the 'Divine Right of Kings.'  Therefore until his death the nation had much trouble.

Charles employed William Laud as Bishop of London and then Archbishop of Canterbury.  This led to trouble for Samuel Collins and all vicars who leant towards Puritanism.  Collins was not of an ilk to leave the Church of England, and rather despised those who did.  However, he did support those who did as much as was possible without losing his job.  Essex being a Puritan county there were many churches run by Puritan leaning men, usually with a similar mind set off the congregation.  This was trouble.

Archbishop Laud was not a Puritan!  He was no Catholic, but he strongly opposed the Puritan influence on the church and instructed all to follow what many considered 'Popish' ideas.

Over the next few years many men lost their livelihoods, were refused the right to preach, and soon people were leaving for Amsterdam or New England.  When the 'Lyon,' left for New England in 1640 some 15 leading families from Braintree went with it.  Such numbers caused many practical problems, let alone the loss of revenue, usually suffered by the vicar who's income was hit by the lack of tithes. 

During these years Samuel was seen as a man who held off, at great risk to himself and family, Laud's approaches, preached on Sundays and led many other meetings.  Led the 'Four & Twenty' leading citizens who formed a type of council, provided cash to aid the poor and other emergencies and was seen as a man who spoke for God at all times.  He was clearly loved by most of the people, trouble coming only from those who felt he ought to join them and leave aside the 'Popish ways' demanded by Laud.  Of a population of around 5000 in the two towns of Braintree and Bocking, some 800 would meet in John English's barn to worship freely in what they considered a biblical manner.  No wonder Laud was Irked!  But that is typical Essex.

In spite of his troubles Collins was popular enough to last as vicar from 1610 until 1661 when he retired, probably worn out!  He lasted longer than Archbishop Laud who's troubling antics came to an end in January 1645 when he was beheaded.  I think this a good way to deal with heretical Archbishops and Bishops myself.  Laud was not lauded when he lost his head, Samuel Collins was.  The sermon preached at his funeral in 1667 was some 60 pages long!  Try that today!  His biblical approach, his love for God and people, his determination, indeed his impatience, led to many favouring him.  This included those who sailed away to the New World.  (incidentally, of the approx 125 who sailed, there are some 3 million descendants, including those called 'Kellog,' consider that when eating breakfast.)  

A vicar who had a large congregation, a powerful town council, an angry Archbishop, Puritans separatists, Civil War, and loss of congregation to foreign parts, yet attempted to follow his Lord through all this, often at great risk to himself.  Samuel Collins is a man who ought not to be forgotten by this town.

Grey Day

The mass of swirling light grey cloud now covering the land does not engender hope as another week begins.  The English schools return during this week leaving many a child hoping for a 'Blighty one' in an endeavour to avoid going back.  I am with them!  School had its uses but I never enjoyed it much.  Football in the playground, History, Geography and Art were OK with me, but the enclosed confines, half the class, and the outside world being beyond reach were always irksome.  I rejoiced the day I left, at 14 actually, I was 15 the next day, and then finding work discovered the outside world was not as easy as I had hoped.  And we never played football at lunchtimes.

Anyway, as kids return, none outside my window so probably a Wednesday date for the locals here, the older children are also returning.  Yes indeed Parliament is back!  The grown up children take their place all awaiting orders from the front bench.  Labour, that is the Red Tories, will fill the benches happy to be well paid for obeying orders.  Across the aisle the Blue Tories are still fighting about  anew leader, this makes me wonder if Sunak will bother returning from California for this?  Robert Jenrick, a man who's personality never formed, is one of two leading contenders here,  James Cleverley, once failing Foreign Minister, reduced to failing Home Secretary,  is the other main man.  Kemi Badenoch, another with mixed motives and little positive ideas, is the leading woman though that does not say much.  Six contend for this position, the nation hopes they will all fail.  

The Lib-Dems will rejoice in the largest turn out for generations and quickly turn on one another and make an almighty mess of the opportunity given them.  The handful of SNP remainers are grateful for the £91,000 hand out, plus expenses so they can keep their heating on, and have no desire whatsoever for independence.  MI6, the Special Branch and Nicola have ended the SNP challenge there.

So, as the gathering cloud darkens the room while dark clouds gather over schools and Westminster we await the right wing press attacks on the government that have been subdued and meaningless over the long holidays.  The meaningless will continue however, that is all they have to offer.  

The dark clouds, clouds of a darker grey it must be said, hover threateningly over Tynecastle.  Here, we find the Heart of Midlothian, in spite of the best efforts of Costa Rican internationals, losing games with a zeal akin to a Tory PPE handout.  8 games no win.  Bottom of the league, European games ahead, the manager not yet hanging upside down from the floodlights as he and his coaches ought.  Twitter abounding in explanations from those who understand best the position, though each one failed to make it at that level, and emotional responses to the difficult situation which always help to obtain positive results.  

Yesterday, the sun shone high and long brightening the world and offering a heat pensioners in December would not understand.  Today we are cloud covered, dark and getting darker.  I think I preferred yesterday...

Tory Women

This is Rachel Reeves, the Chancellor, the woman in charge of the money.  She is standing there surrounded by the 'Three word slogan,' which is a 'must have' for politicians today as they know voters prefer a slogan to facts.  People, especially today, do not want long explanations they want an understandable slogan they can gather around,  'Fixing the Foundations,' is the one the Labour Party have chosen to lie to the people with.

Now, after 14 years of Tory corruption it is to be expected the foundations are indeed adrift.  Corruption, nepotism, graft, and incompetence have all led to the nations' downfall, let alone thousands of deaths for which they can just walk away freely.  However, the way to fix foundations is to tax the rich, change the Law concerning lies in the press, stop money being hidden abroad as a tax dodge, and spend on the NHS, prisons, probation service, social security, and housing, all this will generate wealth and improve the individual's life.  

But not Rachel.

She has bowed to the corporate and private equity world, her own world as it happens.  The world where they make money and you, the peasant, die!   So, she takes heating cash from those with little money, taxes rich pensioners, reduces payments to the unemployed, the disabled and of course the NHS.  The desire to kill off the NHS is clear, doctors are not being employed, just badly taught incompetents, probably all from Tory houses, in a move to force people into private health and kill of the NHS, all this for the corporate and private equity wealthy.  

You do not matter.

Just wait until all these 'Freeport's' and 'SEZs' get going, just wait until they see the whites of your eyes and steal everything they can from you without recourse to the courts.  

This from the Labour Party, once a party seeking the best for the lowest, now totally sold out to the wealthy.  How easily political elite own the rest of us.

 

Fuss has arisen because Keir has done something most thoughtful people would do, he has removed the portrait of Thatcher from Downing Street.  The fascist rags are up in arms, full of faux anger.  The woman who took away employment security, reduced the NHS budget and disorganised the whole enterprise, cut cash for schools, social security, prisons, police, and public libraries, and began the whole make the rich richer by starving the lower orders way of government, is their hero, as long as they are making money.  Today her children are continuing to destroy the nation by following her selfish policies.  Now, they fuss about her picture. A suggestion has been made that putting the portrait to auction and selling it off would fit her policies and must be tried.  I hope Keir considers this.

A Day at the Braintree Museum

This horror, feigning sleep but actually busy kicking mum in the back, came today to wear me out.  Three years (almost) and full of energy.  The intention was to visit a local heritage railway, however, the traffic alterations had made them double back, and I was not keen on my niece driving around too much on strange roads.  So, I convinced them to visit the museum as this was just around the corner and I knew he would love it.

The exhibition concerned the local Fire, Police and Ambulance operations down through the years.  It is a fantastic display with lots for kids to do, and he was soon taking over the fire station.  There are many old items from those who served as 'retained firemen,' sometimes for many years.  Bits and bobs of equipment, some for obvious use and others which make you wonder!  

 

 

I particularly liked the model fire engines on display, such as this pre-war engine, and the WW2 gray versions, usually staffed by those who had a full-time job during the day also.  They had some call-outs round here. 

 

Fire, Police and Ambulance were enjoyable, but when he found a wee shop he was in his element, shopping is a thing for him.  So, we had to spend some time while he bought his shopping, though no money appeared to pass by, and then dad and I disappeared into a darkened room to colour in pictures.

 

Hunger forced us into the adjoining café, where we scoffed toasted delights and the little 'un bounced on the seating.  By this time he had got used to me and was happy to make me read a 'Mr Nosey' book to him, before he ate.  Then it was home and playtime at the holiday cottage for him and brandy and bed for me.  

A good day.

Rough Wednesday

A wee bit rough this week.  It took me to last night to realise the bug was hitting me, that is why I keep falling asleep.  Tomorrow, I am being dragged out early, possibly to visit this village, by my niece and her son, aged 3.  Why not next week I ask to myself.  I am looking forward to this but feel lousy, hopefully I will sleep this off.

Nothing has changed, the Tories are still in power, this time calling themselves 'Labour.'  Promising suffering and despair, but not for the rich corporates who fund them and their Free Ports.  Rich me in various places now run this country much more openly than they ever did.

Clement Attlee managed to rebuild the nation after the war with huge debts and little help.  

Why not Keir?   

Bank Hol.

 

Today, being a 'Bank Holiday,' people in England are enjoying a day off.  The weather here is not too bad, the roads are quiet, bar those folks returning home from some distance away, and I did not realise the holiday was today until last Friday.  No-one tells me anything!   

The Banks are indeed closed today, though High Street Banks are not organisations that see themselves as charity shops.  Ina  magazine from 1909 a man tells the story of how a London Bank Teller treats him with snooty contempt while he cashes a cheque.  Nothing much has changed.

The shops are of course mostly open, Bank Holidays is when they make money, and Sainsburys at 10 am was busy today.  I went today hoping it would be quiet, how wrong I was!  Still, that means no wandering out tomorrow.

Packet of Fury

There is of course little connection between a 'wise man' and myself.

One day recently, I was sitting happily scrolling through E-Bay looking for one thing when I came upon some Chinese tat that might do.  As you know, shiny things attract, and I was attracted to the cheap price.  Only once it was ordered did I realise it was coming from China.  Usually these things are stored in warehouses here all along.  Tsk!

Anyway, I was notified the tat had arrived in the UK 48 hours later and would soon reach me.  This was Friday, the goods should be here by Tuesday.

On Wednesday, I began to wonder.  Then the E-Bay info said it was posted and on it's way.

'Yodel,' the carrier, did not have this on their site, however.

Nothing happened.  

On Thursday I checked again, I made use of the 'Live Talk' button and talked live to a human being with a Pakistani name.  It's on it's way, they said.  

Then, the driver could not find the address!

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

I may have mentioned somewhat surly like that the house has been here for 200 years and the road itself for over 3000 in the middle of town, and he could not find the address! 

The person on the other side tried hard to be polite and helpful, they did not deserve me.

Friday, I waited, I waited, the Yodel site did not show the packet was coming out.

By lunchtime, I fumed myself into a tizz and emailed the man who sent the goods.

Not in Chinese I should say.

I pointed out that the packet had taken 48 hours to come from China several thousand miles away and 7 days to come to me from Ipswich 33 miles up the road!  Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!  I said Grrrrily.

In a much nicer manner than I had the two days previously with the customer service folks who probably were in Pakistan.

I sat back irked out.  

I had told them! 

30 minutes later, the packet arrived at my door. 

Hmm....

MAD!!!

To be continued...

 

Finding a Birthday Card is not Easy & Yodel Make me Wait.

With three birthdays arriving soon, and one or two just past, I have had to make the long slow search of suitable cards for each individual.  This as you know is not easy.  The Great Nephew, aged 3 in a week or two, cannot read, does not understand, but forces me to buy a card for him, or mum might say something.

Niece's and great nieces will not object if nothing comes for them on their birthday, though they will remember this!  Therefore I have to have a pile of cards, along with an 'Amazon' voucher included, in the desk.

Naturally, when the birthday approaches none of the cards are suitable.  

Therefore I stand in a shop staring at a vast array of cards, some asking prices that would make a CEO of an electric company jealous, while looking for 'that' card and that one alone.

It is of course not there.

So, we visit one shop, then the other, the first offering a huge shop full of dull, boring cards that grannies are supposed to like  The type you send to people you do not know very well.  This causes me to ask, why then are you sending one?  You leave the shop deflated, refuse to peruse 'W. H. Smith,' voted annually 'the worst shop on the High Street,' and enter the 'Card Factory.'

When this shop first opened it was full of tat.  The cards were mostly unfunny, unless you were still at school or read the 'Sun.'  Otherwise it was cheap and cards marked for 'Mum,' Cousin,' or '3 Today,' type cards.  Also on offer were a variety of cheap gifts of various types.

Recently I noticed the cards have improved, the prices dropped, the ones I bought were £1:49 each, and the quality much better.  The others were still available, as the cheap China made tat, but much better in my view and I bought several to fill the desk with, even though they are not the greatest cards but will do the job for some.  

The young lady at the desk added things up, studied the reading on the screen and told me that as there was 'Buy 2 get one free' on some I could have 3 more cards free.  Naturally I raced back and found 3 more, at which she then totalled up and took my cash.  Note, CASH!  Shops such as this can take cards but many prefer to pay cash.  Some trendy places are dropping the cash bit.  Soon it will arrive here.

Such good staff, not unusual in this town, it does not always occur but many do act very well here.

Now I sit here trapped.  Trapped waiting for the man from Yodel delivering a wee packet.  It is now past 6 pm and no sign of him yet.  He comes from the Ipswich depot, possibly has 500 drops all over middle Essex, and gives me no indication of when he may arrive.  This is unfortunate as most carriers these days at least give a 2 hour gap when they may deliver, not Yodel. Of course the driver, on possibly £3:25  drop, may not be keen to rush about, or else he is working so hard he might have come off the road somewhere.  Yodel are the carrier company that make people use Hermes!  

This is the period of time when I am considering moving through to the west wing and settling down in my bed to watch/read/cogitate/ or encourage somnolence.  Especially after trawling through town looking for cards, being spoken at by two women from the Kirk, and enjoying the delights of almost, but not quite, buying something.  I am ready for the west wing.  

However, as you know I am not one to complain.  I will sit here listening to a podcast of some sort, avoid Twitter wars for a while, and getting agitated by the podcast.  First World problems I suppose.  I am too used to getting what I want easily and grumble when it does not happen.  Tsk!  I need a good slap!

'Past Mistakes'

David Mountain studied Biology and Geology, worked therefore in Kenya and Java, moved to Edinburgh where he now considers himself an expert on History.

Don't we all.

His basic premise is that we have been lied to about History and we have not noticed yet, he will put this right.  I'm so glad no-one else has tried this before him.  

Mountain begins with an overview of how history was viewed through western eyes, where else would it be viewed from if we were here David?  Informing us how wrong the bible was, and it appears almost everybody else also, it may be his view coloured his reading of history somewhat.

That said, if we allow for his overlong chapters filled with words, his insistence on using quotes in what I call an American manner throughout the book, and his opinions to the forefront, I still think the book is worth a read.

He exposes Pythagoras as a fraud, or at least the idea of his mathematical genius as a fraud.  His chapter here goes into the rise of the myth of the man, while his fame spread and his followers were considered 'hippies' by Greeks after his death his myth increased as it does.  As we know most mathematics were developed in ancient Sumer long before the Greeks appeared on the scene, they of course developed this and happily take the credit.  

The author discusses interestingly Barbarians, Vandals, Romans and Islam.  While the west fought over land it is true Islam had many scientists, mathematicians and preserved many Greek documents from long before.  Did we not know this?  

An interesting chapter also concerns Christopher Columbus and his discovery of America, well Dominican Republic that is.  The image offered here is not pleasant.  The promise of gold and slaves and future wealth did not do the man much good and he, like so many others, ended in ignominy. 

A sordid tale well told, and again with many pages.  

So he continues putting the world to tight mentioning how we mistreat women, and his tale of the Wild West not being as wild as the west is today.  He implies the westerns on offer were fake!  Who would have thought this?  Well we all knew that and this chapter again is well worth a read.

However, while there are good chapters in this book it is written by an untrained history lover, one who has read well, possibly without much opposition to his opinions at home.  An overview so wide cannot be totally exact but it is worth a look and will keep the reader entertained.

At the end he mentions how we can read into history from where we stand, and this is very true, I am not convinced he has understood that this is what he has done on several pages himself.