Day Off

This ancient picture sums up my day.  Still, misty, calm, quiet.  Nothing moving, except to eat.  Now, as the gentle monsoon rain teems down I eat and relax and enjoy the sounds it generates.  

I suspect those outside feel differently about this.

There has been some time spent on Twitter, much less than usual.  Up till now by using the laptop I have avoided the adverts that appear every three posts, and sometimes more.  Financial, wellbeing, betting and other cobblers constantly reflecting Musk's desperation to make money.  Well, as Twitter under him is a shambles, and no longer any fun I like so many others are leaving it, these adverts are the end.  Bad enough when occasionally using the mobile, but not acceptable now.  Clearly he has worked out how to block AdblockerPlus, which was great up till now, but by doing this he has finished me.  

I have much else to waste time on, many books to read, and I accidentally ordered another today by mistake.  Which reminds me, I have an Amazon card to use also, I must investigate if there is anything worth reading on Amazon books...

Atkinson Grimshaw - Reekie, Glasgow

Happy Baby.

 

The latest Great Niece.

I have so many!

The other day, my nephew, he of startling intellect, his spelling is less than that of a 'Sun' writer, informed me he was coming on Sunday.  Now, Sunday I was taking off as I intended to go to Muswell Hill for a funeral.  However, as I have not seen him for five years, and he was bringing his baby I had to say yes!

So for two days I swept, scrubbed, dusted, moved things, and improved the look of the place.  I then attempted to buy things that may suit them.  Money flowed, and I was tired!  

Anyway, he came on Saturday night to the hotel round the corner, but I was not sure if he was there or elsewhere.  Anyway, I was knackered so ignored him.  Come Sunday I realise where he is and go get him.

There followed a day of delight with a cheerful 7 month old baby, a less cheerful mum, whom I have not met, and who looked bored all day.  There was little to connect us, and I did not meet her expectations I think.  Oh well, most people find this.  

However, I was tired, and walking towards the park, down the slope, I found carrying the babe, which I was determined to do, just too much for my old age.  My wizened fat body cannot deal with things like it used to.   Eventually they left, I scrubbed the pawmarks off the phone, the laptop, the everything else, returned the place to the usual mess, and sat eating all the fancy cakes I bought and they rejected.  

While it was not the happy time I hoped for it got one family visit for mum out of the way.  It enabled me to get my hands on a baby that looked cheerful and full of life and indeed was such.  She was determined to stand, refused to crawl, and is into everything.  In a few months time she will be uncontrollable!  Good job they live in Burnley.  He only came this way as he was dropping her brother off, in Kings Lynn!  Driving is no problem for him, he is used to it, and he thought this would be the only time I might see Nina as a babe, he is right, I could not get to Burnley at the moment.  Good on him!  

I loved having her around, took some poor pictures, fed her, bounced her around, stopped her flinging everything of the desk, and had a great time.  Next time I see her she will be at least a toddler of not more.  

So, that's four Nieces, all good looking and highly intelligent.  Two grown up Great Nieces, beautiful and intelligent, and one new highly active Great Niece.   One Nephew, one grown up Great Nephew, and one Toddler Great Nephew.  I think, there may be one or two more somewhere I missed.  Now I have met the youngest I am happy.  I have dandled them all, spent money on them, and now can die happy - but not yet, not yet!

I ought to have been in Muswell Hill today for the funeral of a long time friend.  This was to be an awkward journey.  I eventually worked out how to do this, Liverpool St to Kings Cross, Northern Line to East Finchley, or train to Alexander Palace, then a bus 134?, onwards.  Already you see I have made it more complicated.  All this to be there by 2:30 pm.

As I searched this out, spending a lot of cash on an 'Oyster Card,' not yet working out if my 'Pay as you go card' will allow me to cover as far as Zone 3, something at the back of my mind grew all the time that I would not be there.  It was a constant thought as I prepared, especially as this was one of my three closest friends.  

Then on the Friday my nephew's call made me realise why this was bouncing around my head.  The Good Lord knew this was going to happen, and after the exertions of the weekend I am glad to sit around at home, rather than struggle there and back for a 30 minute service.  However, I feel so guilty at letting her down.  This was a close friend, a real one.  I am not there, just sitting here acknowledging how I failed her, and I did that often.  I am glad however that her God has been looking after her, is at this moment listening to her only musical outlet, Bob Dylan, and seeking how to meet her demands for chocolate!  Her going might save me around a hundred pounds a year on that alone I say!  But my guilt remains, though if I had forced myself there I may as well have gone on to the crematorium, family only or not, and waited there anyway.  

There are less rude emails about now...

At Prayer (no details)

Lancaster by John Nichol

This is a good book!

I was unsure about buying it, but I had to use the book voucher from last year and only two books in that shop were worth having.  An unusual voucher in that few shops accepted it!  Only W. H. Smiths did, but only senior staff knew about this!  Tsk!

Having dumped it aside while I vegetated it was a while before I opened the book.  Having done so I read it through in a very short time.  John Nichol is not the greatest writer, but having been shot down over Iraq himself he understands something of the mindset of the men he quotes freely throughout the book.

We read something of the needs of the day, the war was in full flow and a need for a heavier bomber than what was available was noted.  A plane called the 'Manchester,' flying on two engines was designed.  This was underpowered and ineffective.   One Roy Chadwick and his associates fought through the red tape and official obstructions to produce the improved version of the 'Manchester.'  After much fighting the four engined 'Lancaster' was born!  This powerful beast, much loved by those who flew it, became the backbone of RAF 'Bomber Command,' in the fight against Nazi Germany.

Using personnel stories of the men who flew these aircraft John Nichol takes us through the building of the aircraft, thousands of high quality pieces, many made by women workers, the conditions in the factories, the relationships good and bad, and then the actual tales of combat.

Skilfully integrating individuals stories regarding the team of seven men aboard the aircraft, and on one occasion one woman, a friend of the pilot, who was stowed away on board, once!   We read of the preparation, instruction, ground crews who worked tirelessly on the aircraft, flights to the destination and the bombing of targets.  

The author is very good at making you feel part of the operation.  Memories from those who were there describing the appearance of a burning city, the flak from the ground attempting to kill them, the searchlights seeking them, and the desperate manoeuvring to avoid them.  All through this the steady, quiet voice of the bomb aimer as he sought precision to drop the bombs.  If he missed you came back the next day and tried again, this was not popular.  'Bombs Gone!' the plane lifts several feet into the air, a photograph is taken, and then the escape, at high speed, out of the flak area.  This meant heading for home, avoiding ground flak and Luftwaffe fighters on the way.  Sometimes the plane had been hit, an engine dead, flaps broken, and then the lower altitude as you struggled for the Channel and home.

Not all succeeded.  

A fully loaded Lancaster hit before dropping the bombs could explode killing all aboard.  Others would fail to make the coast, men dropping from the, often burning aircraft, forced to leave behind wounded colleagues, and then try to avoid capture on the ground.  Here, whether in France or Netherlands, the populace would do their best to aid fallen airmen.  However, it was not easy, had they been caught they could all be in a concentration camp and dealt with.  Inevitably, though aided, the men found themselves in POW camps.

One such was Cy Grant, one of 500 or more West Indians who served with the RAF during this time.  He was aided in the Netherlands but there was no choice but to hand him over.  Cy was in the camp made famous by the 'Great Escape,' though he did not take part, a black man would stand out in German held Poland at the time.  Several West Indian men are featured in the book, no racism was recorded, indeed the RAF strongly opposed this.  Only one US airman from the deep south made any comment, and he did not get far.  

This book covers the daily experience of men in action, the sleeping arrangements, the women, the pubs, the fact that death and the lost were never mentioned again.  Young men, rarely over 25, flew 30 'ops' before they could be relieved.  Many never made it, the chances of succeeding were low.  Cy Grant, as a Navigator, was part of a 'Wellington' crew who survived their 30 'ops' intact, the only crew on 'Wellingtons' to do so.  He then volunteered for Lancs!  

Some lives are continued into the end of the war and the rebuilding afterwards.  No-one wished to know their story.  All were rebuilding their life, many had even worse experiences in Army and Navy, and the joy of life, family and future lay ahead.  But the war left nightmares and a desire to find those who had fallen, to visit graves, and meet those who rescued them long years before.  This book covers all this well.

Fighting a war is hard, humans are expendable, even to the most careful General.  This book covers the hardship of war and the human reaction to it, and the life afterwards.   I recommend it.

@Bob Herriott

        

Late Delivery

 

No rain this morning.  Cloudy sky yes, rain no.  So I prepared for a haircut!

Shoes on, not the slipper things I tried to go out with the other day, jacket on, glance out the window and off I go downstairs.

I open the door and the rain is thundering down!

One huge dark grey cloud hovers above me, drenching the park opposite and all who were dwelling therein.  To my right heavy drops crashed onto the road, the cars, the people sheltering ineffectively under the brolly.  To my left bright blue sky beckoned, a white cotton wool cloud reared up to the heavens, speaking of warmer climes.

I waited inside the door.

Eventually life moved on.  My hair was cut by a lovely young lassie who, when I remarked on all the grey stuff lying around, informed that this was 'Very fashionable today.'  What a clever lass.

While she was being a clever lass I was not being so clever.  I went off to find something interesting to post and having failed, completely forgot about this post.  This will disappoint few.  

The new day is already half over, the sun is shining now I am indoors, and once again nothing has happened.  The media crow over their defeat of the woman in charge of 'Coutts Bank,' as she resigns her position, after Government threats.  Even the burning tourists are pushed aside for this one.  What else are the press ignoring/covering up?  The question as to why a wee girl, known to Boris, gets into the Lords perhaps?

Thursday morning.

Dreich.  

Once again I forgot about this.  I was so busy doing nothing that I forgot until late at night.  Too late to finish of a meaningless post.

So I will take up the meaninglessness this morning.

Good news at last.  Kenneth Vargas, the highly thought of SC Herediano player, has agreed to join the Heart of Midlothian to 'progress his career,' and get sold on to one of the big clubs around Europe.  This is good business for the Heart of Midlothian, at least, as long as he turns out to be worth having!  The Scottish game is not like those in Central America, as he will soon find out.  

The usual international clearances are required, but as always it is the Visa that is a problem.  This as you will know, is controlled by the English Colonial office in Westminster, and they may decide he is not wanted, him being foreign and all that.   So we wait and see.

David Roberts - The Aqueduct of the Nile

Mirk Monday

Another summers day.  

The rain began just as I returned from the shop.  Light, fiddly rain, the type that makes you feel you are walking in a cloud.  This, nor the harder rain that followed, did not stop the dogs taking their people for a walk.  There will be many a dog towel in use today.   And another on the owner I suspect.

Meanwhile, 'Blaze,' is seen here taking his owner on holiday.  A week up north, in a place they have visited twice before, Scots beach, mostly empty, sea, cottage, and the man of the house left behind to give them peace.  My niece and her daughter, in the daughters car,  with one delighted dog leading the way.  He loves the car, loves driving around, and loves being on holiday way up north.  Considering his health problems he is always keen to get out and about.  This will be a good week for them, rain or no rain, and let's face it, these three are well used to rain.

This 'X' is the new Twitter logo.  

Musk, or is it 'Mush?' has changed it amidst a flurry of propaganda attempting to pretend this is important.  It is in fact nonsense.  He paid £34 Billion pounds for Twitter and is losing cash hand over fist.  The loss of advertising, at a time when all suffer such a loss, is I am told about 50% of the total.  Memories of course may vary.  The constant tweaks, the daft changes, the stupidity of buying something, sacking half the staff, and then desperately trying to make it pay is quite sad.  

I wonder if Putin put him up to it, just to attack the west? 

David Roberts - Pyramids of Giza

Ottoman Odyssey, Plus...

This is an interesting book.  

Alev Scott roams around the former Ottoman Empire speaking to as many as possible, at least those who would speak, about their life today, and their intriguing double life.  A double life in that so many are born in one country yet long to be 'at home' in another.

From Turkey, a nation she finds herself banned from re-entering, and the complex population, including some Afro-Turks, descendants of one time slaves, living at the poorer end of Turkish society.  Few Turks know of their existence.  We meet Greeks in Turkey and Turks in Greece, though the majority were 'exchanged' during the conflicts of the 1920s, a conflict begun by Lloyd George!  The descendants often confused as to where home lies.  Armenians, with much to grumble about, and the confusion of Cyprus and the politics involved there.  

Many do not realise how much of the Balkans was Ottoman controlled, only the war of 1912 saw them pushed back to the area around Istanbul.  This leaves a confused area behind.  Some loyal to Turkey, and Erdogan ensues such loyalty by large spending in some areas, many strong opponents.  No matter who is in charge the Balkans will always be filled with a variety of conflicts, large and small, usually between close neighbours.

What is clear is the variety of religious and language divisions in the Middle East, in this case emanating from the Ottoman Empire. For many this was no problem, Muslim, Christian and Jew, went their own way worked, ate, lived alongside one another, under whatever controlling body.  Rarely did strife break out.  Since the end of the 'Sick man of Europe,' after the Great War, the conflict intensified, thousand died in battle and massacre on both sides, many removed from homes lived in for generations, as the area is purified.  

This is a good book, it gets close to those who's families were forced to move, to people seeking a return that is never going to be possible, and an underlying image of the majority willing to just get on with their lives no matter who the neighbour is.   

This is a good book for getting to the people on the ground in the one time Empire, real people, not the high up's.  It is well worth a glance.

As the threatened rain had not started, it awaited the afternoon to arrive, I dumped my bag  by the door after returning from Sainsburys and wandered across the park.  It was good just to walk around the green area.  Not the greatest in the world, but a lot of green trees, leaves, bushes, grass, and as such is just a wee bit refreshing for the mind.  

I also met a young lass with two dogs, one friendly the other not so.  He, now 11 years of age, was interested only in chasing the ball she flung via one of those long plastic throwers things.  For an 11 year old dog he was full of life, and I suspect will be for 3 or 4 more.  The other, one of those hairy imitation 'Chow' type dogs, lovely to look at, and keen to meet people.  I suspect at home he sits on the couch on top of the lassie.  The other will just dump himself on the floor and ignore everyone.

Some colour to be seen, but the cheap camera I was using found the grey cloud cover difficult to defeat.  Most wildflowers appear hidden now, the Springtime brings them out, but these days we only have a few around.

Albert Goodwin - Venice

CROOKS!

The Eon Crooks have been at it again.  

They sent a lying email informing me the costs will be coming down,  almost immediately I get another making clear the Tariff has ended and I must choose another.  Both are rip-offs!  One offers a dear monthly payment, that may go up or down according to electricity costs.  Lies all lies!  This will never go down.  The only alternative is a high monthly cost, and summer will soon end.  Crooks, Tory bribing crooks, and inept Labour following on crooks also!   

I am already in credit, but the costs have risen.  Standing charge, day and night charge, and 'line my pockets because you cannot do anything about it' charge are all up!  I cannot use another company, they demand 'smart meters,' and with the meters being in the basement those do not work.  Indeed, the chancers called me the other day, I suspect from the Philippines, demanding I install one.  I reminded the woman that the engineers stated they do not work.  I suspect this will make no difference to these incompetent crooks!

I am not pleased.  I suspect the Gas will do similar shortly.

The 'Daily Mail,' and their fascist friends, have been making a lot of noise re Nigel Farage being chucked out of 'Coutts Bank' because he is a Russian agent.  They are plastering the pages with tales of woe, all because this lying fraud lied in a fraudulent manner about his account being worthless.  I suspect Steve Bannon, the fascist organiser, is behind this latest publicity spiel.  'Outrage' and 'Fury' abundant, all based on lies, and possible fears that they may be next.

No outrage about real problems mind.

Daily Star

We read in the 'Daily Star,' that Aled Jones, a singer, wandering about Chiswick close to home,  was attacked and robbed of his £14,000 'Rolex' watch, by a 'machete wielding' man, possibly as young as 16.  A suspect was found, but so far no 'Rolex' watch.

We ought to feel sympathy at such a loss, however, my reaction was to feel none whatsoever.  Who needs to pay stupid amounts of money for a watch?  Thousands do, singers like Aled, footballers, MPs and others earning amounts high enough not to notice the electric price robbery.  Personally, unless such an item was required, there is no reason to spend thousands on a watch!  We often read of women losing their bracelets or watch to such robbers, I feel no sympathy.  If your understanding of money is such as this you deserve none.

Barcos en el puerto - 1881

Boring Life

An indication of how boring my life is these days is the fact that I have now begun reading 1 Chronicles. The long boring lists of names, collected most probably by Ezra himself to remind the Hebrews in Babylon of their history, is surprisingly interesting.  

Beginning with Adam and following the line from his descendants, we see many famous names appear.  Occasionally the wife is named, sometimes several wives, which reminds me of Watchman Nee's remark that no man in the bible who had more than one wife had an easy life.  Yet some of these men also had 'concubine's,' I suppose in case the wife was tired...

Er, a son of Judah, must have been a laugh.  Whatever he did is not stated but it was 'wicked,' and 'the Lord put him to death.'  Sin brings it's own reward.  

This is not History as we would wish it to be, Ezra and his staff would search out the long lists from all he record stores, including some from nations round about, and put them together in some sort of order.  A very difficult operation at the time.  They do give an interesting insight into the times of long ago.  A dangerous society, often under attack, sometimes from those who were their Hebrew 'brothers.'  Great men followed their God, often in difficult circumstances, and soon their sons and grandsons, and other descendants are falling away and seeking easier gods and simpler lifestyles.

Jabez stood out from them.  Suddenly he appears crying out to God, after being declared 'more honourable than his brothers,' and God granted his request.  The Good Lord hears a request from one man amid many others, simply because he 'believed God.'   The Lord hears all that we say.

He however, still has not given me that Landrover I asked for many years ago...

The world is strangely quiet, and it is not the summer weather.  Politics is quiet as the parties gear up for the three by-elections next week.  Only Keir Starmer blethering nonsense and pretending to be a Tory gets any coverage.  Football has returned, and already some managers jobs are at risk.  Huge heat is hitting some parts of the world, though China, recording 52% still dig for coal without asking why?  This makes no difference in the UK, the weather here is always unreliable at all times.  

Nothing else has happened here...

Saturday Mope

It's a long time since I have been down at Poole Harbour, which is just visible as a dim hump in the far distance.   I dreamt of buying a wee house with a view such as this over the harbour, but decided the several millions required could be better used elsewhere.  I used to walk near here with a friend and we often contemplated a flat with a higher view, just up the way from here.  We both decided that a million pound for a flat was too much.  There again, having 47pence between us, this was an easy decision.  Dreams are cheap, but the more I look at rich folks throwing their money away on expensive items, mostly for show, I wonder if they are as happy as you and I are in our struggles?  How many are divorced, unstable, depressed, and looking for meaning by gaining more useless items?  I have done similar but at a cheaper level, it does not work.  Obtaining a property such as this may be good fun but you would end up mixing with the type of high flying greedy guts that you prefer to avoid.  Those who can cheerfully afford a £10 million house are not the people I want to live next to.  Obviously some would be decent, but those desperate to be among the higher orders would proliferate, and what a bore they would be.  

It is five years since I took this picture of Corfe Castle.  That seems like a generation ago.  Those living in Corfe, in houses made from castle stones, must be among the rich of Dorset.  A house near to the castle costs around £800,000, but it does come with a couple of thousand tourists outside your door, cameras clicking as much as their tongues, kids screaming, and traffic a couple of feet from your window.  I'm not sure I could enjoy that.  

The thing of course is to be where 'your people,' are found.

Not far from me, the main road north from historic times, dives down the hill.  Traffic flows day and night, yet people pay vast sums, similar to Corfe, to live amongst 'their people.'  In one way this is understandable, in another, I wonder if 'their people,' could be found in a better area?  We like to be with 'our kind,' and object when incomers to the country behave in the same manner.  An example I read of the other day was 'Green Lanes,' in London.  Many are Cypriots who came here in times past.  At one end Turkish Cypriots gather in coffee clubs as they did back home.  Up the road, sharing many of the same shops, Greek Cypriots live similar lives as lived back in the sunshine.  The distinction is clear, but they need to be near one another to live lives as they always have.  Together, but separate.

Humans are funny...

Postman

Freddie was barking downstairs. That's Freddie the dog I must make clear.  He is a wonder at ensuring no-one approaches the door, the back yard, or even passes the front of the house and has the audacity to linger for a moment without Freddie warning them of his presence.

Just after noon he was at it.  With the folks downstairs being at work I looked out to see if it was the postman.  In fact it was the parcel postman, Zac, who had parked at our door, indicating a delivery for the new neighbour.  

Over the three years she dwelt in No 5, I became quite used to receiving packets for Angelika.  The new lass is now doing the same thing, also without mentioning things are arriving.  I wondered what kind of people they would be, it appears to be two young women, but I only ever see one, and I asked one of the Kirk to pray about the neighbours.  The next evening she knocked on my door and presented me with a couple of cakes.  It appears the agent had not bothered to explain where the electric meters are, nor I suspect many other things.  However, politely refusing the cakes while not returning them I indicated what she must do.  All heart me, and all heart and fattened arteries also now.

Anyway, a box arrived and I took it in.  Zac knew I would anyway, and he chatted re the joy of Royal Mail.  After a year or more of strikes, now resolved, little has changed.  All that has been done is to push any further squabbles into the future for Labour to handle badly.  

I enquired re the second, bent and twisted birthday card, that came through the door the other day.  He indicated a young postman, one who has been around for three years or so, is quite useless, and even when put on difficult 'walks' continues to be useless, but will not resign.  It appears he does not have the dedication to the job that is required.  Clearly subtle tactics have been used, but subtlety is not for this young man, it may be an idea to make him a manager!  

Roger, the proper postman, is off sick.  This makes little difference as he has spent much of the time on the 'walk' off sick.  The young lad is doing it now, possibly regularly, possibly only occasionally.  Even Roger was better than this.

I have some good memories as a postman.  The majority of the men were good to work with, there was little strife, only occasional outbursts.  This is good among 100 or so men.  I trusted them all, never expecting any to be found stealing, though one or two avoided some work.  The banter, usually racist in my opinion, against me I still miss.  I of course never said anything to upset them.  When retired the work can be missed, the banter with good men is always missed.

Trying a new exercise regime this week.  The pain appears to indicate it is working.  At least that is what they all say.  I'm not so sure myself.  Losing weight, eating better, exercising differently, all will go into making me a super 11 stone muscle bound hunk, well, in a month or so I will certainly be a hunk, or is that hulk?

Insipid Day

This insipid picture sums up my past few days.  Feeling rough and doing little.  This, along with nothing worth reporting in this world apart from the usual Tory corruption, and we are all sick of that, means little of interest has occurred in this house.

The media have spent much time on a pervert BBC presenter, ignoring pervert Tory cabinet ministers, Boris refusing to hand over his mobile phone, the one that condemns him, and the media refusing to ask why is a wee girl put into the Lords, and why is there an injunction against naming the reason?  We could also include Michelle Mone, given millions for dodgy PPE, told to repay the money by the courts, it appears she now resides on a yacht in the Med.  Nobody chases her?  Why?  

We could discuss Nadine Dorries upcoming book regarding the removal of Boris from the PMs job.  I am sure this will be an open, objective report, with no teenage angst being revealed at any time.  Of course, if we review this book we may be just a tad sick, so we will forget it.

Prince William, in another PR stunt, is being portrayed as a 'Great Father,' unlike his dad.  He has many supporters, those who still live their lives through his mum, and those who have absolutely no idea what the royals are actually like.   Being a royal canny be much fun, cameras on you all the time, everyone wanting you to fall, but changes must be made if the monarchy is to continue.

See, nothing happening.

I might ignore Twitter tomorrow, and have a life instead.

Slovenly Sabbath

This was the threat today, along with thunder and lightning and heavy rain.

Feeling a bit peaky over the past couple of days I was intending to remain indoors anyway, so I spent some time watching the weather on 'Microsoft Edge' bringing the rain across at the time I normally leave on a Sunday morn.

They said it would arrive at 10 minutes to 10, but it failed to come.

They said it would be 'light rain,' and it did arrive at 10 minutes past 10, and failed to drop any rain.

'Moderate rain,' was to follow shortly after, the clouds darkened, but no rain fell.

Innit just marvellous!

On any other Sunday I would have proceeded out, as the weather looked OK, and got drenched half way down the road.  Today nothing.  I will trust the BBC from now on.

So, instead of trekking out I remained indoors intent of reading one of these.

I have one I bought back in the 80s when the NIV first arrived.   It is showing signs of wear, not always because of constant reading I should emphasise, and requires to be put aside on the 'retired book shelf.'  It was as I glanced at the scribbles inside the front pages I found a little thing from the late 70s.  I was in the hospital, and short of cash.  One Sunday evening I found myself full of 'faith,' that the money I needed for the week would arrive.  At that time I required £1 a day.  Being paid on Thursdays meant I needed £3 for the week.  I knew this would arrive.

Monday morning I arrived at work as my usual happy self, "Here's old misery," said John the cook as I entered.  I ignored him, and the collection off lesser staff gathered around the front door at 7:30 in the morning.  

I remained full of faith, and on my clock card, remember them?  I found a cheque for £3.

This was a payment owned me by the NHS which had not been paid via my wages as it ought to be.

God moves in a mysterious way his wonders to perform.

So many times, when down on my 'uppers' the Good Lord has provided in interesting ways.

He never leaves us.

(Mind you, he does not make us rich either!)

An answer to my query has arrived.

One of my favourite, beautiful, and highly talented nieces had sent this beer to me.

She has also sent a card which has, so far, not appeared.  This may be because of the incompetence of the Royal Mail management, or some 'dick' pinching it thing money was included.  How wrong he would be.  It may appear one day, as may others that have not arrived.  

I have spent some time in these days looking in to the 'Tour.'

Not that I am really all that interested in who wins these days but I do like watching the background scenery.  

Today and yesterday there was an abundance of small, tight knit villages.  Usually a church and a castle or some once proud, but now broken down building from the days of long ago is glanced as we pass.  These villages today were astonishing.  Crammed together cheek by jowl, as they say, it indicated something of the history of the region, though all I could think was how everyone must have known everything about everyone!  No secrets here.  

I am also impressed at men cycling 100 miles and climbing hills at 15 mph, sometimes faster.  Now, for myself I often had to climb off and push the bike, and that was going downhill!  How do these men do this?  Over 4 hours of cycling today, finishing up a steep, and very high hill, with a wonderful view, but a killer for the man who led so long and got beat at the last.

I think I will make sure I still have my Bus Pass.

Beer Query

Life is full of mystery.

The doorbell rang, ding-dong, ding-dong, as it does, for the second day in a row.  This is unusual.

I fell down the stairs gracefully and opened the door to a driver, from DHL, possibly the best 'white van man' around, and accepted a box, a box that when lifted revealed that glass bottles were inside.

This, following on from the previous day, when a lassie of Indonesian like origin, proffered a large envelope bag to me.  

Neither had I ordered.

The first contained items originating in Edinburgh, a hamper for my ageing birthday.  A note inside indicated the sender, one I had been warned to accept.

This second box however, contained no information as to sender.  Nothing on the outside, nothing on the inside of the extremely well packed box.  A box that will be re-used come Christmas.

So, having begun a new diet regime, a diet so successful that the other day I ate very little, yet overnight increased weight by 6 pounds!  These later arrivals have not helped.

Last night, the new neighbour knocked on my door.  No-one had shown them where the electricity meter was!  To ask, she offered me two cakes, of outstanding quality, from the shop where she works, I could not refuse.   I had one for breakfast, this lasted me for a good while.

Strangely, the weight has lessened!

However, the four tempting bottles of beer, standing over there offering to increase my weight and kill my brain, are still unaccounted for.  I mean, who sent them?  The family have not replied, it is Saturday I suppose, but I remain in the dark as to the origin of the booze.

I confess, remaining in the dark is not unknown in this dwelling.

Mary L.

I was a wee bit stunned yesterday evening, to receive news of the death of a long time friend.  One of the three close friends I have.

Mary, seen here enjoying recently playing the Great Aunt with her new Great Nephew, has been a friend since first meeting her sometime in the 80's at the 'Grove' in London.  This at a time the church there was beginning to go through a great transformation.  

In time, several of us often met to pray, and mostly argue and give rude lip to one another.  Mary developed a talent for of prayer and hearing God speak to us.  Very important to us at the time.  For some reason she was impressed by Shakespeare and one Saturday afternoon when more important things called, she dragged me of to the Barbican to watch 'Henry V.'   We sat at the back, high up, and I spent a couple of hours with her moaning and grumbling because she wished to be at the front, joining in!  The 'Welsh' character at one point used the term 'Weasel Scot,' and this was heard quite often for the next 12 months!  It has been heard since of course.

Times change and we both moved away eventually.  Both retired in time, and for many reasons have not met up directly for 30 years.  Phone, email, and even Zoom have been used, and I feel guilty we did not use more of this in recent days.  The emails however, retained her grumbling and rudeness.  A rudeness I myself would never offer, honestly.

It transpires that last Sunday Mary suffered a serious stroke, and died on Thursday.  

I am stunned at the news.  I am at the age where the aged fall away, however, I did not expect this from Mary as yet.  At least now the Good Lord has her in his presence, the Jesus who died for her sins, rose for her justification, and called upon her to repent and follow him will now be rejoicing that she has truly come home.  How he will cope with her tongue is of course another matter.  I will have to get used to the silence.

For my Bones...

It's been a physically tiring day.  

I am just going to sit in tonight and sip this for a while.

This might oil the bones and give me energy for the morrow.

 

Snowballs and a King and Queen

Baking With Granny

I was watching a film clip from the war regarding the lack of food, and they pointed out that in the film you never saw a fat person.  Of course many were in the services, and others had not been eating that well from well before the war.  Today however, you rarely see a man without his belly filling his shirt.  Don't look at me like that.

Kids we see are mostly thin, school checks on their lunch habits helps here, and careful mums and the 'cost of living' has helped keep some slim.  Adults on the other hand are fat!  Several reasons for this, one is wealth.  I spite of everything most people have enough, and enough to eat more than they require, thus getting fat.  The word 'obese' is used today to avoid giving pain to fat people, I will use 'fat' as that is what causes the bulges everywhere.  Wealth, greed, poor choices of foodstuffs, and carelessness are the main causes in my view.  

Those who are poor however, may put on weight by eating badly by indulging potatoes, chips, bread, and in my case bread and sugar as it was cheap and filling.  That was about 1980, I reached 13 stone then, and considered myself fat!  Today, having lost two pounds, I am under 15 and a half.

The trick is the 'balanced diet,' this I work on, but very slowly this time.  

The snowballs in the picture, a recipe is on that site, like the 'fly cemeteries, and wee brown round things I never knew the name off, are reminiscent of the buns we found in bakers shops in my youth.  The bakers shops of Edinburgh are one reason we were healthier in the past in comparison to today.   

In any supermarket mum will buy stiff for the kids.  These biscuits, cakes etc, are all mass produced, full of add-ons, and the explanation means nothing, and all have an effect on kids, along with the chemical sweeteners in the drinks they choose.  

My mum used to bake cakes, not fancy, but using her own flour etc.  These were similar to the cakes and buns bought in local bakers, as the baker also used similar material, devoid of chemical add-ons and fed us happily without offering a long term problem.  Most mums did similar.  They were healthier than those found in fancy bakers today, although I am sure small bakers still produce their own bread, cakes and buns in similar fashion, but the costs keep going up and trendies demand fancy, not basic stuff thee days.

Basic feeding produces healthier kids, maybe more granny's are required to cook...?

Yahoo

The King arrived in Edinburgh to receive his coronation again.  In a vain attempt to pretend Scotland matters, other than as a storehouse for England's requirements, he arrived with full pomp at St Giles Kirk and was presented with the sword, mace, and crown of Scotland.  This he did not place on his head, I wonder why?  A short service, directed by Charlie himself, with all the required high heid yins in place, and a number of hanger-ons who will boast of this for many a day,  a parade of military personnel, a lack of violent or offensive protestors, Andrew was not present, and a handful of professional republicans, mostly from the west coast, and the party retreated to Holyrood House and dinner.

I watched this for the historical interest and because it is an event, and we all like to see an event.  There is a need for some pomp at such times, though the truth is the royals are not as popular in Scotland as in imperialist England.  Slightly left of centre Scotland does not like to bow the knee to those who get above themselves.  This does not means the couple are disliked, and who actually knows what they are like?  But it shows Scots want more input into the choice of king.  I suspect dim Willie will not be popular in any way whatsoever, and his publicity seeking wife will be told to cut costs or scram.

I fear she will end up like his mum, playing with the Tabliod's and suffering because of them. 

The usual voices spoke in the Kirk, but what the moderator of the Church of Scotland was talking about I could not understand.  I expected her to mention the cross, the saviour, and what his will really is, but she blethered in an American accent for a while and the royal four looked somewhat bemused. I was disappointed with her.  

Another event over, another block on the business life of Edinburgh, another excuse for pontificating in the English owned and controlled media.  All very tiring isn't it?

Nothing to Say

 

So here is a picture of the seaside.