Edinburgh

Edinburgh has been named as the one city people wish to see 'before they die!' I can understand this! Scotland's capital city has the mighty Firth of Forth to the north and the Pentland Hills to the south, contains within it several other hills tourists long to traverse, and two, yes two, extinct volcanoes. (No I do not mean the corrupting remains of the twa wifies from Canonmills!) Also found there are historic buildings going back hundreds of years, buildings which contained the men, and one or two women, who brought civilisation to the world! History abounds in Edinburgh, from the Castle perched high upon the rock, down the Royal Mile to Holyrood House and all places in between.

The city contains two major universities, and lots of educational establishments, (I learnt one or two things in Edinburgh I can tell you) a financial sector second only to the City of London (and if you doubt this read up about our Fred!) A bright bustling economy which is fighting back against the US led recession, (ask our Fred about this also!) a religious history, many great revivals and missionary expeditions were centred on the Kirk in Scotland, many renown eating establishments, (which I canny afford) and hundreds of drinking ones (ask our friend Mike about those, especially 'The Diggers') a history of great men and thousands of positive steps forward into a better world for all, and of course two football teams. The Heart of Midlothian, Edinburgh's 'big team' and Hibernian, the Leith based 'wee team.'


Naturally the majority of people would wish to visit the city, and not just because I was born there! The Scottish capital came out ahead of Bath, Liverpool, Belfast, Glasgow and Oxford, a town named such because someone saw an Ox in a ford! Certainly one wonders why anyone would wish to visit Liverpool as outside of the Beatles there is nothing of value to be found there. Glasgow, a word which means 'Dear Green Place,' has many museums of course, however most of them are the buildings which house the scurrilous natives. Belfast may bring visitors to see the divided city's war zones and the surrounding country, but little else. Oxford of course is now the haunt of middle class types wasting three or so years of their lives before making far too much money. I actually went there myself so I know what I am talking about.
It was a lovely day.



London, Cardiff, York and Cambridge were the places that followed on as 'places to see before you die!' London naturally requires a visit, just don't live there for over twenty years in case you become old, cynical, and grumpy. I actually spent a night in Cardiff in 1976 and decided I would never go abroad again after that! York I have never visited but a postman who moved there says it is a delightful place, but the people are what Yorkshiremen are, dour, truculent and crabby. And as for Cambridge I don't even know where it is!

These surveys, by 'Travelodge' a hotel chain, always give a limited view of life but certain things can be agreed with, for instance Newcastle was regarded as the friendliest place, with Liverpool and Manchester not far behind. London, Birmingham and Glasgow were regarded as the least friendly, although outside of football matches I always found Glasgow a friendly place in the main. So if you wonder where to visit next Edinburgh is for you, and decent well run, (by two lovely young ladies) self catering 'Edinburgh Villa' accommodation is just around the corner also!

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On another subject Jerry, who dwells somewhere deep in the Ozark Mountains, wishes me to post this. He would himself he says, but his wife will not let him. Chicken!

Click to enlarge.

Portrait of Louise Jopling

Sir John Everett Millais (1829 - 1896)

I love portraits. Once upon a time when I had friends I used to attempt to become another Karsh or Snowdon. It was not to be however I did enjoy it and have a few snaps that I like. Those portrayed often did not like the pictures funnily enough, and this became worse for them when others cried "Oh that's just you!" Funny how we rarely like to see ourselves as we are. Women especially are like this because they will see only faults, and usually faults no man will see, faults they expect another woman to notice, and faults which in the end do not actually determine whether she is worth anything or not - the personality outshines all cosmetic faults.
Some men share the dislike of seeing themselves. This has less to do with the cosmetic side, shout "Hoi Ugly!" to any group of men and most will turn round, then point to their mate! However if the male has an image of himself, good or bad, and the picture reminds him of this, or indeed corrects his assumptions,then he feels attacked and reacts in the time honoured male fashion, he gets either violent and yells blue murder, or he sulks like a nine year old. (By the way, I have no pictures of me on view!) None the less photographs of ourselves will continue to be taken and the rich among you may well have an oil painting or two on your wall of yourself or a loved one. This is actually a good thing because in spite of you being you people wish to have a record of your existence, something the minority in history could possess.

My failure to make the grade is not equaled by Sir John Everett Millais. He became one of the foremost portrait painters, and he was not even a Scot! Louis Jopling was a well known portraitist herself and modelled for this picture. Millais then gave her the portrait as a gift foe her son, his Godson. As a leading member of 'Women's suffrage' she was clearly a troublemaker, although when she applied for a commission (worth £150) she lost out to Millais himself, who then earned £1000! Well she was just a woman after all!

Read about both, they sound admirable, and rich, people. Then study their pictures and take photos of those around you!

The New Season Has Arrived

The new season has arrived. The Heart of Midlothian tramped all the way to Dundee, on a Monday night, in spite of having to fly to Croatia tomorrow for the European match on Thursday. The anti-Heart of Midlothian SFA/SPL can be seen in action once again here!

However the season opens and we have made our first statement of intent - we lost! This was not all bad as I thought there were reasons for optimism in the defeat. Obua and Gonzalves looked good, especially after the defence sorted itself out at half time. Suso was lively and Nade was a lot slimmer than I thought. He must have been a mere 19 atone tonight. No wonder he had to come of after 75 minutes, tired and worn out.

Naturally the bias reared its head early into the game. A foul outside the box given as inside, their goalkeeper carrying the ball out the box ignored by the linesman that gave the penalty that wasn't. Our blatant penalty turned down and Michael Stewart again picked on by the ref just because he wore a maroon shirt!

Overall I was quite happy. I enjoyed the game, am used to us being cheated, and can see the team settling in quite well once the get to know one another better. United looked strong but made few chances, Zagreb on Thursday will be a lot harder.

Another Saturday Evening Post

Cover Browser

Agitated

Early this week all was good. The last 48 hours have left me agitated and 'gun toting!' This really annoys me! I start by wanting to do the best and a thought, a song, or just too much coffee enters in and "I DON'T CARE ANY MORE" about anything and find myself allowing people to notice this, usually when I throw a supermarket trolley at them. This is not what I want but it leaks out before I am aware of it. This annoys me, being annoyed. Then, when annoyed at my annoyance I allow my annoyance to annoy me and that annoys me more!
I'm annoyed now.

Once more I have spent the day scanning pictures of KOSB's from the past. I find myself beginning to identify with these men, becoming part of their group, a comrade with them. That surely is the most important part of any army unit, the comradeship! Pictures of the march from Poona made me sweat in the hot sun, and I swear, just like they were wearing those packs, that this have given me blisters on my feet. This picture however brought to mind the old, somewhat sarcastic, cry of "Why should Britain fear?"

Because this is what is defending you in 1930 folks, that's why!

Busy Day in China

I have spent most of the day scanning pictures from my dad's old albums onto the PC. This was going to be a short job however after we decided to offer one of the album to the KOSB museum I have discovered just how many photographs there are!

The majority are those taken by dad when a young man with the KOSB in HongKong and Poona (but not at the same time). A box brownie probably, often at an angle, and with little understanding of how bright sunshine interferes with picture taking! So today I have scanned hundreds in, altered most of them and find a whole day has gone.

Many of the pics, like the one above, were professionally taken, bought in sets and he has stuck them in the album. (Note how the word 'Junk' is spelt by the photographer) These give a good image of Hong Kong between 1926 and 1930, but I suggest those living there today would not be able to identify many places amongst the skyscrapers now.

At least this stopped me thinking about Gary Caldwell and Scotland's hopes shrinking.

Scotland Lose

If you want me, I will be hiding in the coal cellar.

Alfred G Buckham

Many years ago I came across a picture of a biplane high over the Forth Bridge. The view was tremendous and against the large puffy cloud formation the plane stood out magnificently. Recently I saw this picture again and while still impressed I noted how memory changes things. There were in fact three biplanes in the picture. it was some time before I realised that the photographer, one Alfred G Buckham, had of course put together several pictures to form the finished image. Later I was to read of him standing, knees bent, beside a tripod and large box camera in a flimsy aircraft, very cold, bouncing along in the turbulence, several thousand feet high, attempting to obtain an image.

During the Great War he had trained airmen in techniques required for aerial photography, and after the war he continued to merge his love of flight with his love of his art. Several crashes did not hinder him, and eventually he suffered from a crash so bad he could not breath and a tube had to be permanently inserted in his throat. he carried on his work. He flew across the UK, and North and South America in all weathers, under many hindrances, and continued to produce art of a high quality. When eventually the flying had to stop he concentrated on merging the images to complete the job.

Celia Ferguson's has produced a new book on this great photographer. Buy it - for me!

'A Vision of Flight'

Sunday Evening

So after cycling for four miles around the village up the road early today I met the minister of the old church. I say old as most of the folks are indeed old. You can tell something about a church by the bible version they use, here it is the Authorised Version, you know the 'Dossers Bible,' 'Dost this' and 'Dost that.' Well a while back he told me he had buried half his congregation and having met him again I thought I would look in. The first thing noticeable was they way he has been going through the rest of his members! About twenty four folks there I reckoned, and four were children. This is a building capable of holding several hundred!

The music was a wee bit slow as his wife has to play the organ and while capable she has no professional training. The hymns tend to be six or seven verses and with chorus's this could take a while to get through! However these folk have come regularly, for many years, and worship their God! The lack of numbers, mad worse by holidays and sickness, about a dozen members are dying slowly at home, was unfortunate but the man speaks very well. I have visited several times and see him as the star of the show! A man no longer young who feels that he is called to serve these folk, which he does in spite of his own faulty heart. This is what a 'calling' and a 'ministry' are all about! Not much glamour, many problems, and too many funerals, but they persevere as they think right. Naturally this canny man is a Scotsman, but I suppose you will have realised a man as noble as this must be. His talks last a mere fifteen to twenty minutes, longer may put too much strain on the old folks, and are always from the head and the heart. A knowledgeable man in the ways of the world, a Glasgow birth ensures that, and knowing his God ensure he does not compromise his words and tells the truth as he ought. This is the type of man who should be doing those five minute 'Thought for the Day' programme on Radio 4 each morning. The secular liberals would not allow this of course, they would be found out! A good morning all round, especially as the sun has shone, the sky is still blue and my knees do not ache as I expected.




Recently Harry Patch died, he was called the 'last fighting Tommy.' Earlier this evening they repeated a programme featuring him alongside several other aged veterans, all but one of whom have now passed away, and they included one Alfred Anderson. Alfred died in 2005 and I had not realised he was in fact the last member of the British Expeditionary Force (BEF) that crossed into France when war broke out in August 1914. The last member of the generation that went into a war none could have expected and so few returned unscathed from.

Serving int the 5th Black Watch, a Territorial Battalion, which he joined just because this gave him a week off from his fathers work, he was the first to volunteer for active service when required to do so during the annual summer camp near Perth. He volunteered first simply because of the alphabetical order in which the names were read out, and was probably too much of a man in that company to decline! Quietly sent off through deserted streets early in the morning the regiment soon found itself in France.

By 1915 Anderson had become used to trench life, and corpses. However as his father was part time undertaker these were not so strange for him. Later he found himself batman to Captain Fergus Bowes-Lyon, the brother of the late Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother. This officer was killed in the opening stage of the battle of Loos on September 25 1915. During 1916 while returning from manning a listening post in 'No Man's Land' a shell burst almost immediately overhead. Anderson received a severe wound in his neck by shrapnel and was removed to an improvised hospital in Norfolk. His active war was over! A training sergeant position for him until hostilities ceased.

Sadly amongst those killed by this explosion was his close friend, and Alfred had been 'friendly' with his sister. On leave he went to offer condolences and was refused admission. They were angry that he had survived and their brother had died. Spurned rudely he left them never to return.

Alfred Anderson died in November 2005 aged 109, and is thought to have been Scotland's oldest man. He was the last known holder of the 'Mons Star,' a medal given to men who belonged to the “Contemptible little Army” and saw action at the Battle of Mons in August 1914. Folk like Alfred Anderson never forgot, and rarely mentioned, their experiences. Today 'our boys' as the press like to call them, are enduring a war and its cost that they too will never forget. What is the bet they will be ignored until their hundredth year in similar manner to Anderson and his
'Contemptables?'

Saturday Evening

Saturday is alive once again! Jeff Stelling, the awful banter between him and his knowledgeable group of ex-pro's. Football results, reports, shocks and surprises. Weeping and a wailing one moment and rejoicing and breathing huge sighs of relief on the other! Football (almost) is back again! I say 'almost' as the actual season does not start for the Heart of Midlothian (bow your heads in respect out there!) until next weekend when the big boys come out to play, however when Jeff appears Saturdays take a turn for the better! This was topped by a great surprise this evening as I was pondering how to bring tedium to the world, the BBC showed WBA against Newcastle! Brilliant! I did not know they were covering the 'Championship' and I was plenty surprised when I came across this. Woohoo! Something to ease a Saturday night here in the Cave of Adullam! It certainly brightened it, what numpty made Newcastle United wear yellow shorts and white and yellow wide stripes on their shirts? I suspect it was chosen by that idiot American owner. The sooner he goes the better!

Of course in recent years this Saturday afternoon has become a time for doing several things at once. Listening to Radio Scotland for the Glasgow based anti hearts report, watching the results come in on Sky Sports with Jeff, and most important,making next weeks meals! Today was no different. Today was a day for throwing a lot of black lentils, a few red one, a handful of green ones, an onion, three potatoes, cayenne pepper, two imitation 'Oxo' cubes, a pinch of coriander and masses of brown sauce into the pot and let it incinerate. Several large doses of E-Coli there for next week I reckon. Of course I did not cook any 'meat' this time, not having obtained so many tins of oily fish. As such fish, so we are told, are good for the brain I expect my IQ to rise considerably in the next few days.
What's that you said?

Ah yes, my improved diet is indeed making itself felt, I have been starving most days! However once again I dragged the aching knees up the old railway around 9 a.m.this morning and went that little bit further than usual. I feel the benefit all over me today. It is there alongside the dead flies, insect bites and scratches that come from nowhere. Mind you at that time on a Saturday out come the joggers. These are folk who I suspect commute to London or whatever and I expect that jogging is something they feel is part of their 'lifestyle.' The women tend to go in for Lycra and carry bottles of water, probably the type with a 'teat' as that is what the models in the magazines do! The men are in paid for T-shirts and shorts. The men who wear Lycra and pose for the world are those who go in for cycling in a big way. They watch the 'Tour de France,' always referred to as 'the tour,' and dress they way they are supposed to, cycle shorts, colourful tight fitting cycle shirt (in team colours), gloves, helmet, and wrap around sunglasses. They have a tendency to despise those of us who just 'enjoy' cycling as opposed to them who travel a hundred miles a day in record time. Both the joggers and the cyclists reveal our desperate desire to be part of the crowd when we show our individuality. Both feel superiour to those outwith 'their crowd.' Both are sad. What is sadder is that we have all been there, and in many ways still are.

We all want to be 'loved' and especially when in our teens and twenties we need to fit in with a group which suits our tastes. Obviously this is understandable, however it also becomes a shield in which we can hide away from the world. Even those of us over thirty five (you know who you are - no girls, not you! Your never over twenty three are you?) who show less respect for fashion (cough) follow the conventions when necessary, and rightly so. After all if you go out of your way to be different you are still shouting out about yourself and not content within. You also become a bore, which is where we were supposed to come in!

Well my health fad is about to be broken for tonight. I accidentally picked up four 'reduced price' sugar covered jam donuts in Sainsburys when I went up for bread. Tsk! They have to be eaten as the date is running out......

I'm Bored!

I'm bored! It's Friday night and I am bored!

The sun is shining,
The sky is blue,
And I, poor soul
Have nothing to do!

Not only that but there is no money to do anything. There is no car, so I cannot go anywhere, there are no friends (bet that surprises you?) to call, no one to annoy visit, and the family are too far away and too busy boring each other anyway! So I am left alone, and bored.

I have no energy, mental or physical today so I cannot be bothered thinking of anything bright, clever, worthwhile or grumbling. Even playing 'Techtris' means little, while reading anything more than simple sentences wears me out. Even watching 'Top Gear' makes me boak as the cars go too fast, although that is normal to be honest. Every time I turn this programme on, and it is always on with 'Dave TV,' there are screeching tyres and clouds of tyre smoke. Why? If you have seen one grossly overpriced car racing along at 150 m.p.h. you have seen them all, yet each week they wax lyrical about something costing £200,000 and expect to get plaudits for it! Not from me pal! Maybe it's because I am no longer 20 years old, or maybe it's because I don't have a small willie (I'm excused shorts girls!) or maybe I have seen too many men trundling past my window in cars they obtained for the image not the usefulness, and here I omit the one who bought a MacLaren willie extender and then smashed it, and himself, into a tree not far from here. That was £200,000 wasted in my view. Of course the programme has some good bits, and occasionally actually informs and entertains at the same time, although while 'entertaining,' driving a car across the English Channel only informed us of the stupidity of attempting this act in the busiest sea lane in the world! But I digress, I was mentioning my boredom which comes from having no friends, no money, no life, and worse, no football to watch!

It never ceases to amaze me that when there is a (proper) football match to watch I need not be bored! It may be boring (Like watching Hibernian) or it may keep me on the edge of the seat, but at least if it is on I am part of the real world and something of importance is happening around me! I even watched Halifax play some unknown side in the 'Blue Square Premiership' once' and felt alive. Where is Halifax exactly? Television you see, while often offensive, insulting to the intelligence (like 'As Seen on TV' for instance! or 'Mutton Dressed as Lamb' 'Loose Women,') and full of mediocrity can in fact be a window on the world. What would folk trapped indoors all day do without a telly? Especially if they can obtain 'Freeview' or satellite TV.' This really can be a window on the world, although tonight it appears closed as nothing but the brain dead can be happy with the offerings being shown! But where is television heading these days. Video recorders were a great boon, especially when they recorded both the start and finish of the programmes, and DVD's and the new fangled digital stuff (I don't know either) make for new 'opportunities' as the TV folk say. The original idea of one channel (the BBC) was revolutionised with the introduction of ITV in 1957. The world changed at that moment, although we had no telly and all I was concerned about was my cardboard fort and the soldiers fighting over it! With TV available on PCs and in hand held 'iPod' like things, with a billion channels available I wonder where TV will take us? Especially as the Football, the news, and little else will have an IQ of more than 10!

Even the wireless is boring tonight. At the moment Radio 4, the middle class intellectual (they say) channel airs 'Any Questions?' One of these programmes where four people are asked to lie in their teeth if they are MP's, push themselves or their daft ideas on everyone else (If they are not) or as tonight four nobodies which means no-one cares any which way. Radio 1 meanwhile is being ignored by normal people, Radio 2 has 'Friday Night is Music Night,' a programme that was first aired I think when the Luftwaffe were passing overhead. Listening tonight I can assure you they would be welcomed back with open arms if they make an appearance any time soon! Radio 3 (the real intellectual station (I listen)) covers the 'BBC Proms!' They are now in the middle of the interlude so a stimulating talk regarding the Influence of Fascism on Italian music during Mussolini's time is pontificating in a dry fashion. Radio 5Live (can it air when dead?) has some hope as it covers the first match of the English Championship season, and Radio Scotland is playing music, again! When in Edinburgh I was amazed at the number of stations playing music! There appeared to be little attempt at all, except during the News broadcasts and that was very insular, especially if you were from Glasgow! There is a need for sensible talk and that seemed to me to be unobtainable there! It was so bad I had to listen to my sister at one point!

What was I saying? Oh yes, bored! Well I am and if my knees did not ache after my cycle ride today, why is the wind always against you when you head for home I ask, I would wander the streets looking for dropped coins. It is true, the wind is always against the cyclist! Before I leave I look to the sky and if the winds are from the west I head in that direction, however, when I head back the wind is from the east, blowing strongly and full of Siberian promise! Does this happen to others, or are the weather girls still upset at the letters I write them I wonder?

Oh I'm bored with this, as most of you are as you stopped reading long ago. I'm off to put my head in the gas oven!

UK citizenship test Update

Only one person so far has passed the test, (with 100%).
WE are all of to Tristan de Cunha tomorrow (Bring your own food!)

The UK Citizenship Test

The UK Citizenship Test

I came across this today, twenty four questions on UK citizenship. You are given 45 minutes to complete the practice questions (found on the link under the picture of the book) and if you pass the official test you may well become a citizen of the United Kingdom.

I got 13 out of 24 correct and failed!

What is even more worrying is that others who have attempted these questions, and what questions they are, have also failed. In fact not one British citizen has actually passed the test! Who set these questions? Nick Griffin the leader of the British National Party perchance? While some of them make sense we are asked things that most folk will not understand unless they are either involved in that line or just a know-all, and this result proves some folks opinion of me wrong there then! Ridiculous questions and I could think of more relevant ones if asked.

Take the practice test and see if you can become a citizen of the United Kingdom. I fear none will pass!

You Canny Trust the Welsh!

Now, as you know, an Englishwoman has claimed the English invented the Haggis, Scotland's national dish. This imperialist attempts to acquire Scotland by stealth, piece by piece and pudding by pudding, it appears! The fact that her claim is based on a recipe found in an English book from the sixteen hundreds shows the lie. Scots women did not use recipe books, their mothers taught them domestic chores from childhood, as indeed proper mothers have always done! Just because this middle class girl possessed a mother more intent on her career rather than teaching her daughter the important things, like how to cook, make curtains and look after the male of the house, is no reason to imagine folk living in 'Black Hooses' in Scotland were not brought up properly, they were! While herding the cow, and sowing the oats (not like that) the lass of the hoose also ensured the haggis were caught, skinned and cooked without looking at any recipe book. Just as well as nobody taught them to read until the reformation came along!

Anyway we move on to another lesser people attempting to purloin Scots culture - this time the Welsh! These sheep chasing hill dwellers have long been renown for their gathering on hillsides in order to form 'Male Voice Choirs,' - at least that is what they say, and for having more rain fall on them than any other part of the United Kingdom. As the lesser of the Celtic nations, they come just above Cornwall and Brittany, and even then that is better than their Football World Cup record of course, the Welsh are renown for 'hanging on the coat tails of their betters, and by this I mean especially, the Scots. This desperation to be accepted as a proper nation, as opposed to being just a large English county full of biggish hills that have failed to become mountains, and inferior type rugby union players, this desperation has led to them over reach themselves and to go where only the Japanese have gone before - they are making counterfeit WHISKY!

Not only are they calling this cold tea, 'whisky,' but they are actually calling it 'Welsh Whisky' as if this is something to be proud off! Ptah! To make matters worse these purveyors of the dupe liquid (known as Wisgi Cymreig to them, at least to those that actually speak that strange garbled tongue which they claim is Gaelic) these purveyors are charging up to £320 a time for a bottle of the amber fluid! Have they gone mad? (Actually that gives me an idea. Maybe I ought to open a whisky shop?)

Naturally one ought to be happy about such imitation. For one, unlike the Japanese, they did not call it 'Scotch,' nor did they use a name such as 'Queen George IV,' so things could have turned out much worse. Mind you they have forgotten to put the strength of the stuff on the label, did you notice? For another thing there is no doubt the Welsh, like the English wumman, are merely admitting what we all know, that the Scots are indeed superior to those South of the border, or in the case of the Welsh, just 'over the hill!'

Trees

This picture does not do justice to this view, but whenever I cycle past this I am tempted to attempt to picture these trees. Had I been wealthy and owned one of those big wooden glass plate cameras Victorian photographers used then I might do this little view justice. There is just something about this small plantation of very tall trees that grab the attention. Today I attempted a picture, specifically of this broken tree. Either a storm, the hurricane of 87 perhaps or an extremely strong squirrel has broken it about sixty feet up! It lends a little something to the scene. The light falls between the trees giving it a specific ambiance which does not appear elsewhere around here, at least not where I have rambled.

You see, I am back to being amiable. Possibly because I have been so busy doing lots of those things that have lain on the 'To Do' list for so long! I am just too knackered to grumble. I should of course point out that I am by nature not one to grumble generally, as I am sure most folk will have realised by now. It may be true that when there is a situation that demands a comment, judiciously indicated, I may well be the one on whom the duty of indicating the point at issue, but I always do so reluctantly! The Royal Mail manager who repeatedly, and needlessly in my view, referred to me as 'Alex Ferguson,' was just being sarcastic.

Tomorrow I expect to pay for my exertions today. The hard work, (Oh yes it was!) the cycling up the old railway, the long walk, head down, through the busy streets looking for dropped coins, and the decision to eat less in an effort to halt the weight once again reaching fifteen and a half stones will catch up with me tomorrow. I expect weariness, stiffness, and possibly even a small girning as my legs give way when I fall down the stairs looking for the mail!





What is it about Jose Mourinho that fascinates Sky Sports News so much? At each and every opportunity they will present him to us as if he is a celebrity worth knowing about. We are told he wants the England job, the Manchester United job, any job as long as it is in England! That is where the money is and that is where he can make a name for himself. Jose has always known how to please the media and has them hanging on his eyelash at all times. They laugh at his jokes, love his answers to meaningless questions and fill countless hours of TV and radio and print millions of words about the man that treats them as if they were important themselves. Ah, maybe we have found out why he is once again on our screens. But in my view he is not a 'football man!' To me Jose likes to beat the other man rather than win a football match, victory is all but the 'game' is nothing! His idea of football is to use gamesmanship at all times, play for dreary one nil wins, and spend far too long selling himself on the telly. His Porto side won the 'Uefa Cup' by falling down and playing dead, stifling the game and general time wasting tactics and unsporting behaviour. All teams can use these tactics, but he appears to know no other.

( However, the sixty five million Celtic fans who were at the game did, according to the Celtic myth, behave very well and were loved by one and all!)

The Ashes.
Who cares?

The Niceness Wore Off Today!

Indeed for the last few days life has been good, my moods have been positive and life's little trauma's were kept in their place. I wandered abroad with a benevolent smile on my fat puss and carried with me an aura of freedom from concern. There were of course difficulties, as there is in everyday experience but those I sailed through wafting a perfume of peace and love (Hippy style) to one and all. Not even the queue in Tesco on a Saturday morning could make me bring out the hatchet and place it where it was required. First off all on the two women who thought that splitting the goods in two, and then arguing over who ought to pay for what, should be discussed, at great length, at the checkout. Nor did the old man who took for ever to produce his cash, gave no thought to putting his good in the bag, and instead spent half a lifetime placing his change where it should be, then began, slowly oh so slowly, to bag up, not even he made me buy a combine harvester and test out its various capacities on him! Certainly the lass at the checkout and I did discuss whether he actually had died while standing there or not. I am still unsure as to whether his was thoughtlessness or a mental problem, it certainly was not conducive to fun.

So I have been beaming at children and leering at their mothers smiling at their mothers, I have been allowing others to go first, accepting delays, and failing to swear when caught out in the sudden rain showers. I have even walked and cycled in an effort once again to find fitness, (and when I am fit I will even put some air into the tyres), breathing fresh, warm, air and enjoying the opportunity to awaken in the morning with knees that require two members of the 'Thai Massage and takeaway Curry House' to make usable again.

However today normality returned.

Maybe it was the coffee, strong and dark like I like my women, maybe it was tiredness, maybe it was just me leaking out again (I often do that these days) but something niggled me and I wanted to spit! It was a small thing in itself but I have spent much of the day carrying an imaginary baseball bat in the hope, which cannot be fulfilled, of meeting someone who annoyed me. Instead of allowing this to pass I have allowed it to fester and ruin the day, which was a bit boring anyway, and in spite of watching Houston Dynamos beat DC United 4-3, (a good (proper football) match at that) I still feel miffed. So if you hear of a smart ass, who pushed his luck too far with one comment to many, being found abandoned in a skip somewhere, possibly laid up in one or two different hospitals, or floating down some river trussed up and heading for the open sea, don't mention my name, I have an alibi.

I was on here talking to you while wearing a self satisfied smug grin!

The Best Sight an Englishman Will Ever See!

What could be more heart warming to anyone, especially an Englishman, than the sight of God's own country looming up ahead? The nation that has produced more genius's than any other, the most humble people on earth, those most friendly and generous of people - the Scots, await all who enter here!

Just think what is left behind! Miserable grumbling people. Back to back red brick houses full of people with their hands deep in their pockets. A land overcrowded with dole scroungers on one street (Liverpool) and 'Daily Mail' Fascists on the next (any suburb). A capital city in which the word 'Smile' has been outlawed, honesty is banned and the sun is not allowed to shine.

The rest of the whole wide world flocks to Scotland because of the hills, the fishing, the whisky, the history, the ancestors (was the Garden of Eden in Edinburgh I ask?) and the people! The come from the States, Germany, Africa and the Far East, all seeking to wash away the world and spend a few days where life is better and everything is right!

(Please do not read Mikes post after reading this!)

Friday Evening

I thought, being Friday evening, and not in the mood to complain or rant about things, I thought a nice photo to finish the week was in order. This one, of St Ives beach, I obtained, as you can see, from the excellent 'FreeFoto.com' site, which I heartily recommend! While some of you take wonderful pics, and are appreciative of others efforts, this man manages to wander the world and find some lovely stuff which lie all around us. I say 'lovely,' and some would dispute a bus can be lovely, however the photographer recognises that the blogger and many members of the public need pictures of the everyday alongside those special photographs that represent a special part of our lives. A huge selection available to bloggers as long as you include the link to FreeFoto.com and do not claim them as your own or amend them. Seems fair enough.

I hope your evening is as interesting as mine has been.

The Adams Platoon 1942

Before the King sent a personal request to my dad he enrolled in what became known as 'Dad's Army.' This was the volunteer defence force that was intended to supplement the British Army if the German Army invaded. Many of these noble and determined men were of course ex - servicemen and this showed through at times. A little known fact is the practise attack on a South Coast harbour conducted by the regular army. This small town was defended by 'Dad's Army' and they wiped out the invading regulars in short order. The defences learnt at Ypres and the Somme were not easily forgotten twenty years on. While some of these chaps were too young for the 'first lot' as it was referred to, they prepared for 'call up' in such a force as this. A glance at the pic shows a variety of types representing Edinburgh's finest in 1942. Dad was 'called up' by that note from the monarch but at 34 was too old for the front line. He was posted to an artillery battalion and spent much of the war training so far behind the lines he nearly came upon the enemy from the rear!

The television show 'Dad's Army,' became a hit soon after first appearing in the early seventies. It was a gentle mocking of the bumbling men who often filled the roles, from the pretentious, self important banker who became the Captain and leader, to the Lance Corporal who had seen service in the Sudan so many years before. His bumbling behaviour was based on a true character. However as I looked at this lot I realised that not all platoons were guided by the decrepit ex-servicemen from the past. This lot had a Lance Corporal who may well have seen action in the last war, and did not look the type to gently molly coddle his men.

"Look into my eyes......"

Edinburgh View

This is an example of the view from the window in Edinburgh. Looking north towards the Forth and over to Burntisland on the Fife side. The picture does not really show it but the sky at night there is always worth looking at. (Click on the picture as it enlarges the image.) That is one of the things I missed most about Edinburgh. The twinkling lights from the towns over the Forth, and the dark blue sky, occasionally black, but at this time of the year, never dark and dreary! Simple joys for simple folks.

Cruel Women!

Searching through the old albums for pictures to scan in I came across this. Here is my poor brother in law, soon after he married my sister in 1961, trapped in the kitchen with a small portion of the work she had designated as his! The honeyed words, the gentle promises, the bright future living 'happily ever after,' that he had been led to believe lay before him, revealed as a chain to the kitchen sink! He would have been better joining the army!

Never trust a woman!

The Great War and World War Two

Some of my less intellectually developed readers have defamed my person with regards to the Great War. The idea that I was in the trenches during 194-1918 and as a result of the conflict endured what has come to be known as 'Shell-shock' is an idea I wish to refute! In spite of now being, er..over twenty one, I can assure the more enlightened among you, (and by this I mean you! er, No Fishy or Mike, not you!), that at no time did I serve His Majesty's Forces during that war. I should add here that the later conflict, (the second which the United States population ignored while shooting Indians, Mexicans and any Black men who came past), was indeed another that I was born too late to join. Scurrilous rumours from those propping up the bar in one of Midlothian's less well respected taverns or running around the Ozark Mountains hiding from Brown Bears can be discounted.

However the question, "Why pay more attention to the 'Great War" as opposed to the Second World War needs an answer. I grew up in the aftermath of the Second World War and this filled my young mind at all times. Every adult you met had been in the forces, those who had not would have been too old, or in jobs that stopped their enlistment, such as mining, munitions or black market spivs! (I believe Mike can give more info on spivs....) When I started school in 1956 we ran around chanting:-

"We won the war
in nineteen forty four"

That in itself shows the effect the war had on the United Kingdom! The games we played were often war winning games, the comics we read were full of 'Mosquito' pilots, or brave commandoes fighting over France. On the wireless comedians, amongst others, frequently made mention, not just off the war itself, in which they had all served in one degree or another, but to the troops still stationed in Germany. When TV came along this was also the case, although by the late fifties the other aspect that dominated this era was more important, the economic upturn!

The early century had seen a huge patriotic attitude within the UK. At the turn of the century the Boer War brought crowds into the streets celebrating the relief of Mafaking, and Ladysmith. Places few had any hope of ever seeing for themselves! Such 'Jingoism' remained when the Germans united and under the weak boastful Kaiser William attempted to match Britain's greatness. Sabre rattling, 'Dreadnought' building and crass stupidity combined to bring about the Greta War of 1914. By the end false patriotism was removed, the victory won by our men was rewarded, not with "Homes fit for heroes," but by lies, unemployment and soon afterwards an American led recession. (Now where have I read that before?) Only the inadequacy of Adolf Hitler and the rise of totalitarian states brought about the end of that recession, and then followed another fifty or so million deaths! The people of the UK had seen fifty years of conflict and wanted a new life! The failings in 1918 were not going to be repeated and, in spite of the bankrupt nation, the Labour government did indeed begin to make a 'New Jerusalem' in the United Kingdom. People had had enough war, in the fifties folk wanted to move into the new housing estates, make the most of the wealth from the full employment that arose, and start lives in a peaceful free society. War, and the Great War itself, were put behind them and most attempted to forget and enjoy a new life.

While the last war still filled the minds of those who endured it, books, films, and TV programmes still went over our marvellous victory. A victory when the nation had stood together in the face of a Nazi invasion, stood alone and was willing to fight alone, a victory that could not be forgotten but was better to watch on TV rather than endure. The nation, home from work, with the tea on the table could cope with this as all around wealth gradually came into the warm, well lit, airy homes. The kids grew up free from fear (although not from the bully boys down the road) and with a standard of health their parents and grandparents could only dream about.

However, the society changes in the sixties when "Make love not war," echoed around (But more like "Make tea not war" where I was concerned! Thanks for nothing Valerie!) saw the end of the new Jerusalem and the entrance of what enduring peace always brings, liberty that becomes licence! The greed of the seventies, both managers and Unions, who's mismanagement of the world led to the Thatcherism selfishness of the eighties also saw people beginning to wonder what the 'Great War' was all about?

I started to read about this strange foreign land in which millions died in mud filled trenches as "Lions led by Donkeys," and discovered this was not the case! As with all war 'spin' is more important than reality. The desire to forget war had led to us forgetting the men who fought the first war, and often the second also, as their story was less urgent than the fear of Hitler and the opportunities that arose later. We knew many men who wandered about with shrapnel or bullets or some iron object deep within their bodies from the first war, some living happily into their nineties! Many men walked about Edinburgh on crutches having lost a leg between 14 and 18, yet it meant little as they were 'just there' and part of the landscape. However by the eighties and into the nineties they were dying off and then people began an interest in their war.

Today I have read dozens of books on the subject and watched probably all the film available at one time or another. Dozens of books are published annually on the war, either regarding an individual, a regiment, a ship, or a battle, and innumerable websites are available for those seeking information on those who served. For instance the Heart of Midlothian, like all Scots football clubs, saw the men leave to fight in a greater game, seven Hearts players did not return and many more could never play the game again! This Hearts site tells more on them.

The more we learn about the Great War the more we can see one of the greatest period of change in the century. Society began to lose the class differences, and while these remain they are nothing compared to the attitudes of 1914. The world sped up, aircraft became common, skirts became shorter, a more liberal but not necessarily happier society appeared. Political 'spin' saw Prim Minister Lloyd George, terrified of the reaction to the dead, encourage his friends in the press to blame the generals for the seven hundred and fifty thousand war dead in Britain, most of whom remain in the battlefields where they fell. Such propaganda was powerful and even today General Haig is seen not as the man who won the war, which he did and was respected for at the time, but as a 'butcher' and a 'bungler.' In fact he lost less men than anyone else, was always open to new ideas and while full of failures remained the best man for the job! However a politician cares only for his self preservation.

I have spent my life reading about war and now I am sure much of the reading done today is because we find it easy to cope with a situation in the past once it is over and done with, rather than attempt to comprehend the society around us today. That is too difficult, and the results too demanding. Writing when half asleep is also demanding and maybe I ought to have prepared this better? However that may be I am off into the past again. I am looking through photo albums my dad collected during his time in China and Poona in the twenties and thirties. No war then, however I have some of the stuff he possessed from his WW2 service also. That needs collating although at his age (34) he was never likely to be near any real action. He was not daft you know!

Harry Patch

Harry Patch died last night aged 111.

He was the last surviving British soldier who fought in the trenches during the Great War.
Only one serviceman remains, an Englishman who served with the Royal Navy and now lives in Australia. All other members of the British force have now passed away. A handful from Canada and elsewhere live on but soon will join their comrades.

Patch served at Pilckem Ridge, near Ypres in 1917, the Battle of Paschendale, the battle that made the Flanders mud the living image of the war. Nearly half a million men from both sides fell into the mud during this tremendous, and possibly needless some say, fight. Patch was lucky, the three mates in his Lewis gun team were hit and killed by a chance shrapnel shell, (a shell that explodes in the air above the troops and discharges around a hundred bullet like rounds) while he himself received only a portion of the shell in his groin. While it was painful to remove it meant he survived the war.

Like many others who lived on he never forgot those comrades who fell.

Those living at that time, including the children born then, are now passing away. That generation, their ideals, their hopes, their understanding of life, is passing from us. In some ways it was better and in some their ideas were wrong. The fact remains that they endured a cataclysmic war that few today can begin to comprehend. This left it's effects with them till their dying day and has impressed itself unknowingly upon us also. Let us develop the good things and remove the bad, preferably without any major conflict such as that generation endured.

Puzzle

Walking along Silverknowes we came across this!
Not only did we wonder what it was but who did this and why?
Originally the iron bar curved over and met the broken stub on the left of the picture, and after many years has fallen into disuse, but disuse from what? We could not work out any purpose as the tide does not come in very close and it can have no relation to the many ancient war material whose remains appear every now and again. So what was it for?

Now the question is who grabbed this with both hands and bent it this way? Just what sort of individual would wish to tie a knot in an iron bar? I suspect one of those psychiatric patients, usually referred to as 'artists' may well have been involved. Possibly this was the only place for an exhibition?

Answers please on a postcard, and don't forget the stamp this time!

Silverknowes

On Saturday after going to see my mother for the last time, my brother and I drove through Leith, getting lost in Newhaven which no longer is a through road, it was in 1975, and ended up in Granton passing the new creation that arises there. At Gypsy Brae we walked along the front enjoying the view over to Fife, the seabirds yelling and the dogs running around having the time of their lives. Unlike the people who would have to dry the creatures out when they got back home. My little camera is not much use for the wide expanse that lay in front of us there but the shot over Cramond towards the Forth bridge was not too bad.

The time in Edinburgh was a mixture of sadness and enjoyment. My mums passing was sad, an end of an era indeed, and a loss of a 'home,' a home that has existed for 56 years! How strange this will be. It was however, thanks to the prayers of the saints, a good time with the family over all. We got on well, even though my brother and I took three days to work out how to switch off the heating, spent many minutes attempting, with a match, to light the gas and discovered it lit via the electric push button, and when in the car constantly argued over whether to go right or left, this way or that, and always took the wrong option whatever we decided. That explains getting lost in Newhaven and ending in someones driveway!

I have several of the older photo albums and intend to put some on the web so have started to scan them in. The memories and the stories that we find there amaze me. Add to this listening to those outside the family speak of my mother and I am much more impressed by her than I was before. How little we know of our own family! Because I grew up with her there I could not see her as others did, and I have a new respect for both her and my dad, especially considering what they endured for us! I feel even more guilt now!

Now I am totally knackered! I am in the middle of writing to many folk I met there and already have blisters on two fingers. I write this with my toes! Praise the Lord for e-mails! had I to use stamps this would cost a fortune writing to people. Worse still if they don't reply! I had to apologise to several fat women for not recognising them a the slim young lassies I once knew, my how they change. All look like their mothers now! Ah well, it's nice to be back to the routine, grumbling, worrying, complaining, noting the worlds idiocy and reading your own good writings. Thanks for the kind words.

Edinburgh

Off to Edinburgh until Wednesday when
normal (normal?) service will be resumed.
Would you believe it's raining!

Quiet Thursday

A quiet day today.
I have nothing to say as my mind is befuddled. The irksome 'cold' bug that never seems to leave my side dulled the remains of my brain last night and left it sluggish this morning. Exercise (Ha!) did not alter this, neither did what passes for nourishment in this house. My mind has rarely got into gear although one or two necessary jobs got accomplished. Much of the time has been spent looking at the e-mail waiting for someone to send something. It was that sort of sluggishness! There were lots of mail in the 'Mailwasher' and much of it wanted to extend bits of me or supply me with 'Canadian Meds.' Funny how so many different addresses offer me the exact same substances! All I need to complete the set is the Nigerian prince who wishes my help in removing $24 million dollars from Nigeria.

It is late, my brain has not got over the shock of buying a pair of comfortable 'insoles' for the shoes that have a hard interior and getting them home to find they come in packets of one! I just couldn't be fagged to do anything about this so fell asleep instead. I also have the desire to write much humorous, intriguing and bum clenchingly funny stuff, but have not got the energy mental or otherwise. So instead here is a picture of Gladstone!

Wednesday

A day to relax!

Indeed a day to relax as all those difficult jobs and problems have been overcome. Prayer works indeed! From the moment the answer to the printer problem slapped me in the face before I was awake, I should wake any time soon, to the death certificate arriving, (a nurse misunderstood the situation and they were very apologetic and kind to my niece when she arrived with a shotgun this morning), to the funeral being fixed for 2:30 Monday afternoon all the major problems have been sorted. Well done those who prayed and wished us well. One or two smaller problems arise but this is too be expected. Imagine having to have a woman minister as the real one is on holiday? Tsk! What would Thomas Chalmers and John Knox say to this?

Solemn though death is it can lead to humorous situations. When my father died many years ago young pat, somewhat inebriated attempted to offer condolences whilst crouching in front of my mother. Her attempt to stifle the giggles as he swayed this way and that while blethering incoherently ended any tension the day had for her. A good man in the church in London died. Our car was held up at traffic lights and, being late in the day, the gate to the cemetery had been shut. Knowing there was another entrance some eight cars raced there and entered Kensal Green Cemetery and began a race. We raced along to the middle, stopped amid rising dust from the gravel pathway, and stood peering in various directions into the gloom searching for the event! More driving, and not at hearse speed, another stop, more peering and slamming car doors as we moved on again, far too fast in the situation. More screeching brakes, more dust, and this time success. The, by now, sweaty occupants suddenly became sedate, solemn participants and slowly made our solemn way to the graveside. The dust was still hanging in the air when we returned to the cars!

Ah well, now I just have to fly up Friday evening, and the cost is greater than I thought, and meet the family and some I will not recognise unless they carry name tags! Next Wednesday, when I return, I will return to cynicism, sarcasm, complaining, objectionable behaviour, and being a wimp yelling at the world. I may even have a rant about airports, rain, Edinburgh, family, and something or other I bet!

But let's face it, that is what makes me so lovable doesn't it?

They Have Lost Her

When my mother died early on Saturday morning she had not been in the hospital for twelve hours. Under Scots law this means a death certificate cannot be issued. I am assuming a report is made as we were then told that this would be passed to the Procurator Fiscals office (Google it!) and then a decision would be made whether a Post Mortem was required or if the certificate could be issued.

This would be passed to my niece, she would then discuss with the undertaker the arrangements, and an attempt would be made to fit in with the minister and the crematorium. Naturally, being our family, things are going wrong. For one they have lost her! The paperwork (a yellow form) has not appeared in the Procurator Fiscals office. They have looked and found none. My niece has not thought of phoning the hospital and enquiring from that end, as some ward clerk is probably still sitting on it, and so we await developments again tomorrow morning. Add to this the minister leaving on Saturday for two weeks holiday! While he is willing to fit in as much as he can, including Saturday morning, it would be difficult to find a place for refreshments afterwards and anyway I for one think this would be a bit of a rush and am opposed to rushing this!

Tonight I attempted to book a flight on Easyjet and with each touch of the keyboard the costs rose even more than I had expected. That is irrelevant as it just has to be done. However, as I planned how to rob the bank or mug old ladies to pay for this I had a problem. The printer, which printed OK the other day, has once again refused to print! I suspect the PC and the printer are not talking to each other. However this means too much work for tonight and I have done what I can.

When my sister informed me that she was missing we considered whether she really had gone missing. It crossed our minds that maybe, just maybe, she had got out of bed the other morning and found another woman to whom she could chat. Possibly the wrong lass has been declared dead and my mum is now sitting amongst a pile of empty cups chatting happily to a woman she has never met before. It was her way. The fact that four days have past would not be noticed by a couple of Edinburgh's finest would it?

Another Monday

Not far from here is an Anglican Church which has these bells atop the building. I passed that way yesterday and thought them striking (gettit?) This church is one of many in England that were built less for the glory of God than for the glory of the benefactor who built it. If I remember correctly a woman of standing, that means 'rich,' decided she wanted this church built to her plans. This was sometime in the late Victorian days and the town already possessed one large 12th century Anglican building and not far down the road another was to be found. However this structure was designed to be quite large and for some reason it was not completed as she had planned. To the side stands a large buttress designed for a far greater edifice than this. Whether the money ran out or she died is not clear, but her plan did not reach the conclusion she desired. The bells can be heard whenever a couple get married there, whether this is a joyful sound or a warning is not clear from here. Today this is the towns Anglo Catholic Church, the other being more main line as far as I can tell. Where is this leading you ask? Nowhere. It's just as I passed by I was intrigued by the bells standing clear against the blue sky and decided to snap them.

Such small enjoyments helped when writing to the council re the noise nuisance. At least I will not be arrested because of that letter, unlike the one I was mentally writing on Saturday! Tsk! Why can people not make noise when I want them too and not at their own selfish pleasure! Tsk!

Strange and Annoying Day

Being informed of my mothers death first thing did leave me full of thoughts. Some were good and some bad. She had been a marvellous mother who put her children first all her life. I am not convinced she got nearly as much back from any of us, especially me! At 94 years of age this is not an unexpected event, although as she was so well for her age it was not expected this week! However I spent the morning pondering, as you do, not really thinking and awaiting instructions from Edinburgh as to what to do as there is a problem, isn't there always. Under Scot law a death certificate cannot be given as she was in the hospital for less than twelve hours. Dying quietly in the early Saturday morning meant nothing can be done until Monday, and then only when the Procurator Fiscal gives the go ahead. That of course could take days! There again my sister and my niece, who went through this a few years ago when her mother died, are well capable of dealing with all arrangements.

My ponderings were disturbed by those Christians yesterday. In the park opposite they had a little outreach programme. Fun and games for the young of the town. Naturally, after I had several times complained about noise nuisance from such activities, they built a stage that pointed straight at this building. A distance of 100 or less yards enabled me to hear everything, at over 100 decibels, of the music that was mostly 'rap,' and 'rap' with a capital 'C' at that! I have as yet been unable to finish my e-mail to the council, the wording so far would get me at least six months, and it must be said, would embarrass a football player. Quite why this was aimed in my direction I do not know but I spent much time chasing my coffee cup across the desk as the beat moved it half an inch with each blow! "Come to Jesus," shouted the man. He has no idea how near his words became, "Come to....oh, hullo Jesus! Why have I got an axe in my head?"

As I tired in the afternoon, and my thoughts became strained I wondered the use of an axe in such situations would be classed as murder, or manslaughter under diminished responsibility? Billy Graham yesterday has no idea how providential the intervention of my guardian angel was. I still have no idea where all the 'blunt instruments' have gone. From 11a.m. till after four this went on and I could well have done without it. There again as is the way I feel bad about being here and wish I was up north again. Strange how it is better to be useless up north instead of useless down here.

I did get a surprise when checking travel prices however. I once travelled by rail regularly from Kings Cross to Waverley. A grand journey especially with a cut price First Class ticket where one can avoid the plebs! Yesterday I discovered the basic price for Standard Class (What we used to call Second Class!) is well over £200 return! The First Class, (What we used to call unatainable) is over £300 and the National Express company has recently claimed they are losing money running the service! This line has now become Nationalised, as indeed they all should, but prices like this on an enjoyable run are far too expensive. The Easyjet return from Stanstead will cost me less than £200 if I book early, and just over a hundred depending on my return date. No wonder I didn't get home often!

Mum Dies

First thing this morning I got a call from my sister informing me my mother had died early that morning. She was 94, and it appears had been sick all week. The difficulties of being 400 miles away show at times like this. Now I have some strange emotions, guilt, loss etc. The "If only" bothers me now. A good woman who deserved a better family and now gone. As she would say, we just have to 'get on with it' there is nothing else to do.

Free Car!

So my niece promised me a car.
A promise fulfilled indeed!
Just a little smaller than I thought it would be....