Saturday Park Football

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Saturdays these days usually means listening to the totally unbiased commentary on the 'Hearts World' site. While I am listening to their clear, sophisticated, objective discussions on the game in front of them, and the nonsense spouted by those commenting on the relevant facebook site, I spend much of that time burning the 'Flanders Stew.' Today was different! With no football because of the international break I looked around for something to satisfy my intellect and I soon found it - I fell asleep! 


When I awoke, about three this afternoon, I drained a pint of coffee and decided to get the bike out and develop some energy. I steered the rusty velocipede towards King George's Fields where I hoped there might be a kick around of some sort taking place, I know there is a rugby club plays there. Indeed there was, just before reaching the rugby club I found two teams, dressed like Dundee United and Scotland slugging it out with all the energy two teams of far from fit young men can slug. 


The one thing that always stands out for me while watching 'grass roots football' is the way folks kick the ball. We become used to professional players, yes even the Christian Nade's and Kirk Broadfoots of this world, being able to kick the ball over a hundred yards and find someone on their side. In Park football finding a man twenty yards from you is difficult for many! However as we have all played there, and I confess to losing more goals in one season than any Hibernian goalkeeper could do during a fifteen year career,  we know it is not the quality that counts, it's the game itself! If we can produce a good save, a telling pass, or score a goal to boast about then it is all worth while. I have seen some people who play hard because they feel they have missed out on a career they ought to have had. Others who realise they would never have made it and after the age of eighteen no longer check the passers by to see if they may be a wandering scout. The only thing such players check these days are the girls watching and the closeness of the local pubs! 


Alas my hard life forcing me to sleep did mean I arrived well after the second half of this game had started and I could not tell which of these evenly matches sides were winning. This appears to be one of those leagues where folks tend to get on with the game. Most of the time folks played the ball and while there were some hard tackling there was little reaction to them. Only one incident near the end when a tackle, hard but fair ball winning tackle, left a player in tangerine feeling aggrieved. His attempt to wrap his legs around the tackler in yellow led to a swift kick in the back and a short period of dissension amongst the two sides. Good refereeing allowed both to continue after a few words, and the game ended shortly afterwards. On a more local park I have come across a Sunday League game which features that type of 'hard man' who spends the entire game shouting rude words at the ref, even if he himself is not watching the action. You know the type. Tackling hard and willing to confront anyone who objects, yet the first to complain if things go against him. This appears to be the only league like it around here as most of the games I have seen are usually played by those who have no need to drag their knuckles on the ground.


Both sides here contained the 'airy fairy' type of player, the one who falls over in a strong wind, and both also possessed one built like a wall, probably nearer to sixteen stone than to eight, and neither of these Goliaths ran more than ten yards with or without the ball! One did remind me of Gary Caldwell, possibly this was more to do with his silky touch rather than his ape like features however. There was one word of advice I would give the yellow sides goalkeeper, don't just fall down when the ball comes towards you, 'leap' towards it, that way your hand will not be so far from it as it hits the post and goes in. 


Oh to be a teen or twenty again! There are times I want to rush out and kick the ball around as in days of yore! Only the heart seizure and bad knee stops me doing this now. The last game I played in was in 1977, and we drew 4-4 with the Spanish Church at a Passchendaele like Wormwood Scrubs. That is on the pitches outside the prison, nothing to do with being inside it by the way. Wiping mud of my glasses when in goals is probably one reason I let in so many, another may well be the difficulty of seeing the ball through the stained lens, yet another may be incompetence but I would deny this! However watching football today I realise just how my goalkeeping has improved as I can always tell whether it was a keepers mistake or someone else's. It is ALWAYS a defenders fault!   


Naturally coming home I now have to make my dinner and a pot full of 'Flanders Stew.' This is easy as I put my one in the oven while doing the stew on the top. Having finished making the stew I looked for my evening repast and discovered some fool had forgotten to switch on the oven! Oh Joy.......

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Thursday

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The above is a picture I took from a moving train as it sped (slowly) from Fort William to Mallaig some years ago. I suspect this was the steam train that runs there during the summer but it may have been the routine service.  It is of course Lock Eil, and we are looking south west towards mountains with unpronounceable names. I loved this view, the differing shades of blue in the mountains as they recede into the distance, the calm water, the boats gently bobbing happily. An idyllic peace filled view, although I suspect that any January morn will find the scene covered with snow. The highlands are wonderful when the sun shines, but not in deep midwinter! Then the locals are joined only by that daft type of man that has to 'prove himself' by walking over the hills and thus giving exercise to the mountain rescue people. A surprising number wear jeans and trainers when endeavouring to survive with a bar of 'Kendal Mint Cake' and a mobile phone. The highlands are to be seen when the sun shines and black cattle are mooing in the fields, sheep are dotted around the slopes and the hotel has a decent view and a warm bar!

The beauty, to someone who was living in London at the time, of the distant outback of Britain was the routine annoyances of the locals. I do not refer to the tourists although that must rank high, but I mean the way the guard and the driver have to leave the train and wander down the track to the lock gates and close them properly, some English tourist joyrider having failed to do his job. The danger of falling off a lock gate into a Loch is not one often heard of in Paddington.  When I was there I did detect a cynicism towards tourists, one I can understand. I did however get bored with surly service in shops from those unhappy with their lot. Just because you are trapped in a mediocre tourist trap does not mean you have to let your feelings show Hamish! I say 'Hamish,' but I think many are actually English folk who have been attracted by an escape to the country and found it is harder work than they thought.

As I espied this church it spoke to me of centuries of worship among the ancient clans of Scotland. In my minds eye I could see them, wrapped in their plaids, scurrying along on the Sabbath to worship. Generation after generation must have trod there I thought. Families going back into them midst of time gathering here each Sunday morning as the bell sounded around the hills.

Nonsense of course. It turns out it was a Catholic Church built in the late 19th century and already looking as if it has been closed down. So much for the romance of the hills.Another shot taken from a moving train and I am quite happy with the result. Using the PC to alter it slightly, cutting of the faded bits of the print, and removing the streaks that ought not to be there, is a great improvement to my photography. One day when rich I will buy a better camera and enjoy myself taking shots both good and bad, but having a great time!

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Wednesday

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Bright sunshine, blue sky and warm air forced me outside today. I actually drew back the old sacks that form curtains over the window and opened the window to let some cold air in and discovered it was almost bearable! After visiting the market, collecting fallen veg from behind the stalls, I strolled through town, avoiding those charity collectors, and wandered home via the park. The bright blue sky, the puffy clouds, the greenery all around refresh the mind and made me believe it was summer again. The holes in my shoes indicated different.  

  


Since moving here from London I instantly realised why John Constable was so impressed by clouds. They are everywhere! In such a flat land as this, with its gentle rolling hills (unless you are cycling of course) ahead of you towers the sky and the cloud formations contained therein! Admittedly Constable did not have passing jets heading for Germany or Hong Kong leaving trails in the sky to confuse him, but he was able to study clouds because there are so many around here!  These things fill the eye as I cross the park, and lead me into walking into benches and irate young mum's prams. I find them fascinating, although not as the 'Daily Mail' appears to do. Most days they feature a picture of a cloud that looks like the UK, or Jesus, or a bag of chips! I suppose I like them as having been brought up in Edinburgh I have only ever seen dirty big gray ones until now!


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Monday

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Why is it that every time a sporting event begins the opening ceremony is described as 'spectacular?'  Such events are required of course, speeches with all the right platitudes, dancing children, examples of the home nations culture, and so on. However I question why they are always called 'spectacular' when a better word to describe them might be 'dire?' I tend to avoid such 'spectacular' overblown events as they turn out to be irrelevant to the actual events that follow, are all to often meaningless, and in some cases, yes I mean the French at the opening of the World Cup finals, so 'arty' that not even the home nation understand them..
Dancing children do have fun and are left with a cherished memory, however an overpaid Diana Ross ruining the USA's 94 World Cup opening is just left with cash and a publicity stunt. I reckon there must be a better way to open such events, or at least if not better, maybe shorter!

So I bought the ticket for the Lottery. Never mind failing to provide the correct numbers for the £82 million on Friday evening I still dreamt my dreams of being out of debt via the Saturday draw. Success indeed! The numbers were similar, riches beyond my dreams awaited me. Life could begin anew! I raced up to Mr Patel in the newsagent. Smugly I passed over the ticket.
"Four and a half million please," I said in a calm self controlled manner, adding that there was a fiver in it for him.
"Oh good," said Mr Patel smiling that smile he keeps for the deranged. He fiddled with the machine, sniggered, printed off two tickets and handed them over to me, along with £2.
"What's this?" I said somewhat stunned.
"Your winnings," he grinned.
"Two pounds?"
"No, you won £10." Mr Patel stood then smiling. To his side his wife attempted to hide her giggling.
"Excuse me for asking," I ventured, "But two is not ten. And these tickets.....?"
"Ah but it is," said Mr Patel in that voice doctors keep for mental patients. "You won ten pounds yes?"
"Yes....."
"I take five, as you promised me, from your winnings, that leaves five for you!" He stood then grinning that self satisfied grin, the one that deserves a good slap.
"But, but, I...didn't mean a fiver from ten pounds. I meant from the four and a half million that you have not given me!"
"Ah but you didn't make that clear did you?" He turned to his wife who nodded agreement and sniggered again. He looked to his side where his brother in law agreed heartily with his exposition.
"Yes but.....and anyway why only two pounds?" I stuttered.
Well, as you have won you will be tempted to a ticket for the Wednesday night draw won't you?" he waited.
"er, well, er...yeah!"
"And then," he added without sympathy, "you will wish to have a chance for the Friday £112 million draw won't you?"
"er, ..yeah, well, maybe....I...I er....um..."
"So that leaves you two pounds doesn't it?"
As he said this Mr Patel and brother in law helped me from the shop and I stood there, rain dripping of my glasses, two lottery tickets in my hand, wondering, just wondering........

Tonight's 'Edinburgh Evening News' gives us the sad news that Johns Hughes has left Hibernian by 'Mutual Consent.' In short he has been paid off. This is indeed sad news as his Hibernian side had been woeful, and that, I am sure you will agree, is marvellous to behold!  The team who claim to be the home of 'Flair Football' (@Hibernian Myth.com) have been left lying on the 'flair' week after week. This was of course good to see! Now however Rod Petrie the chairman has dug into his piggy bank and scraped together enough cash to remove the 'worst manager in Hibernian's history' since the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that..... ad infinitum. I await with baited breath the next numpty to take the 'hot seat' at Easter Road. Whoever it is the Heart of Midlothian remain Edinburgh's 'Big Team,' and the Hibbys remain the 'Wee Team.'  

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Brilliant Economic Analysis!

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Steamhammer - 'Passing Through.'

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Proper music, none of today's rubbish!

SKIN ALLEY - 'Living in Sin.'



Proper music!

Door in the Wall

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Some people like doors and some people like brick walls. I like both! The walls are things I often bang my head against, usually meafo.. mentaph .metaphorl.. in my head, and sometimes in reality. The doors I tend to walk through, opening them first for the most part naturally. I am not sure if this door has been opened in a long time, I am standing in the church graveyard as I take the picture, and to walk through the door you may need permission from the various bodies concerned. Behind the wall lies a farm, although whether the wall belongs to the farm or the churchyard, the church is made of similar brick, I cannot say and I suspect you really don't care one way or the other. I suspect the farm belongs to the 'Big Hoose' that lies, surrounded by fir trees rather like a tall green wall, just down the road behind the farm. The Lord of the Manor in England liked to have his own church near by, even if there was a Parish Church available. Maybe the original house was through there and this was the main man's personal door to the service, who knows, and I again suspect you are beginning not to care! 


The amount of red bricks made in the south of England over the years, and particularly in the nineteenth century, must be enormous! Houses, churches, farms and industrial buildings, rail bridges and walls around the many manor houses and landed gentry's properties gave much work to bricklayers in times past. I suspect this is a nineteenth century wall, possibly built when the church was renovated in 1840. Such artisans would meet at weeks end in a designated public house and an offering of sixpence was collected into a fund. From this payment would be made when one of the men met with sickness, accident or distress. This is why there are so many pubs called 'The Bricklayers Arms.' I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often. I cannot remember what is the point of the big 'S' metal spar in the wall. I read about these once long ago and promptly forgot what I had read. I do this often.

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Rich Footballers and Jealous Hacks!

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The Daily Mail

Today's 'Daily Mail' features one of their 'We are jealous' stories aimed at middle class desperation to be rich! The majority of their readers hanker after Mammon and see the world as those people who work for their money and fail to receive a just reward (Themselves) and lazy selfish scroungers who get money for nothing! (Those on benefit, overpaid footballers, actors, singers, and members of parliament who fiddle expenses). Underneath their middle class appearance lies black hearts full of greed and jealous avarice. Now we all want to buy a Rolls Royce, even if like Mr Wright-Phillips we need several cushions under us before we can see over the wheel, and we all wish to avoid hard work and seek something remunerative and pleasant instead. However the 'Daily Mail' reader will never be satisfied. The paper is full of 'celebrities' and their doings, their 'ups' and their 'downs,' although in truth the reader prefers the 'downs,' rather than the 'ups.'      

Today's whine features a rich footballer and his flash car. Claiming, without evidence, that he earns £60,000 a week, although it is possibly close (and they as always deliberately forget the 50% tax he pays) they inform us of all the big cars he has possessed. This includes the photograph of the one featured, the latest Rolls. It has been noted that they have blocked the numberplate as always, yet I must ask how many such Rolls Royce s drive around Manchester?  Details of the story are as usual incorrect, Volkswagen do not make Rolls Royce, it is owned by BMW, but we are used to incompetence with the 'Daily Mail' reporters aren't we?. Now we know footballers are overpaid, Murdoch and his 'SKY' football coverage have seen to that! Yet there will be no condemnation of Murdoch, not while he has a connection with this very paper! Footballers like many others do get overpaid, singers, actors, and bankers come to mind here, but are they happy I ask? Just as many rich folk call the Samaritans as poor people. There are just as many 'Up and outs' as there are 'Down and outs.' Money does not make for happiness and the 'Mail' reader hopefully will discover this one day. It is better to be comfortable while depressed of course, but happiness comes to both poor and rich. Until then this paper (note I avoided the word 'newspaper') will continue to be read as people fantasize of wealth and happiness beyond they reach. The question is who is the poorer? The reader in their suburban dwelling living life through 'celebs,' or the illiterate hack writing demeaning articles about the rich and famous?

This man, Ed Millibrand, is the new leader of the Labour Party, and I am surprised! I thought he was called Dave! For 24 hours I have seen him in  my minds eye as the loser, but it is the one I thought won who has lost! Elected by the Unions, but with an open mind. Aye, right! The futures bright, but not in UK politics!


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Caring Women

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Barry's

A woman was in town on a shopping trip. She began her day finding the most perfect shoes in the first shop and a beautiful dress on sale in the second.


In the third, everything had just been reduced by 50 percent when her mobile phone rang. It was a female doctor notifying her that her husband had just been in a terrible car accident and was in critical condition and in the ICU.


The woman told the doctor to inform her husband where she was and that she'd be there as soon as possible. As she hung up she realised she was leaving what was shaping up to be her best day ever in the boutiques. She decided to get in a couple of more shops before heading to the hospital.


She ended up shopping the rest of the morning, finishing her trip with a cup of coffee and a beautiful chocolate cake slice, compliments of the last shop. She was jubilant.


Then she remembered her husband. Feeling guilty, she dashed to the hospital.


She saw the doctor in the corridor and asked about her husbands condition.
The lady doctor glared at her and shouted, 'You went ahead and finished your shopping trip didnt you! I hope youre proud of yourself! While you were out for the past four hours enjoying yourself in town, your husband has been languishing in the Intensive Care Unit! It's just as well you went ahead and finished, because it will more than likely be the last shopping trip you ever take! For the rest of his life he will require round-the-clock care. And he will now be your career!'


The woman broke down and sobbed.


The lady doctor then chuckled and said, 'Im just pulling your leg. Hes dead. Show me what you bought.'

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Brilliant Site!

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Saracen Personnel Carrier

I have found another brilliant site! This one is aimed at those men, and it will always be men, who spend their time collecting model cars. Now my poverty, and I will not mention it as I don't want you bursting into tears while I sit here starving, as I was saying, my poverty will not allow me to purchase such things, if indeed I wanted to. However many do and I found this site brilliant when I discovered vehicles I once owned or can remember others having. In fact most models here come after my time of playing with such things, you can tell my era. the cars with no plastic windows, seats or movable doors, simply metal cars on wheels, that is my era! However this site is worth pondering, the cars evoke memories, and for some of you the police cars will be more relevant than they are for the rest of us! 

The Saracen pictures is a 'Matchbox' model. I had a similar vehicle but made by 'Dinky,' or possibly 'Corgi,' I cannot mind which, marvellous stuff from the days when playing games in which thousands of Germans and Japs were wiped from the face of the earth. Political Correctness has removed the kids fun by stopping them playing with guns ("This encourages violence") or doing anything physical, ("This encourages Competition and that leads to exclusion and we don't want that do we?") and we soon find boys playing with dolls and girls with boats! No wonder kids are confused today! Funnily enough this is the generation of well bred children who gather outside folks homes and harass them to death! However middle class liberals know best. I bet they have 'Baby on board' signs in their cars! 

But I digress, the cars on show here sell in a shop near me. One of those shops run by a family of miserable, grumbling numpties. The Gran followed me around the first time I went in there as if I were a 'Hoodie' or something. I used to deliver to the daughter, a girning old biddy who last laughed when she got her money back pressing 'Button 'B.' The young son now runs the shop, smugly grinning at one and all and boasting of his wealth. With prices like the ones in the window I am not surprised he can be smug! This is a shame as there is obviously a sale for such items, as well as the many aircraft and other things on offer, such a shame as they could treble their sales by learning how to smile.

Diecast Toy Cars is the place to look to evoke memories and just enjoy life for a while!   

I wondered why I had to shave twice a day. I was confused as to why I was sitting on the roof howling at the moon, and I was pondering the need to roam the streets furtively creeping around the seedier parts of town. It was as I howled last night I realised that it was a full moon, and possibly had been for a few days. I should have known there was a reason I had taken that chainsaw and sorted out the crowds annoying me by living within a hundred feet of me. Tsk! The full moon has an effect right enough. 
OK you've had your fun, open this cell door now. Hello!  Hello?

Heart of Midlothian  0 v 2  Motherwell 

As has to be expected the defence was much stronger than during the week, we only lost two goals this time. The hard hitting forward line din't hit anything, and I am wondering what is the point of it all. A normal Saturday for the fan of the Heart of Midlothian! 

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Baby

That excellent man Mike has posted a short rant opinion on those folks who insist on placing stickers like the one above in their car windows. The idea is that you will drive carefully because there is a child in the car. This means that a single person, usually a male, is a target I suppose? This is so typical of parents today. In days of yore a child was born, raised, and life continued. In the last thirty years the feminist lie has made women see themselves as the only person in the world, as if they needed encouragement to do this? Women who are boasting to their friends that they are a 'proper woman' now they have had a child impress no-one, but annoy plenty. Also the 'New Man' phenomena, in which a 'man' behaves like his wife, although he probably doesn't marry her because that is a mere 'bit of paper,' this type of 'man' ensures he changes nappies, irons his shirts and even cooks the dinner. It makes you wonder why he bothered buying her in the first place doesn't it? He walks down the street pram pushing and showing of his kid to the world.


Let me tell these parents a secret, the world doesn't care!


The world has also pushed prams, but did not ensure the 'right people' noticed. The world has also shown consideration to children, but in an appropriate manner, the world has also changed nappies and does not wish to do so again, and the world finds this obsession with children a pain in the potty! It is important that car drivers show consideration to all the other idiots on the road, not just 'yummy mummies' with their bairns. It is important that men show care for their child, but not just because it is a passing fashion she has read about in a magazine! It is time folks considered that others were as important as their offspring, and encouraged the 'fruit of their loins' to do likewise. That way the world would be a better place.

Paul McIlroy

Following on from the excellent disused rail stations of yesterday, which only a woman could object to, I came across this picture on 'Geograph,' this evening. As you can tell, this is Dunfermline Town Station! This station of course used to be known as 'Dunfermline Lower' because of the other station called, cleverly, 'Dunfermline Upper,' They knew how to name things in the old days! Being deprived by a lack of money our holidays in the days of steam trains often took us to relatives in Fife, either Cowdenbeath or Dunfermline, and I have fond memories of the excellent people found there. On the whole good times, although I was often bored in Dunfermline and found myself wandering along to the railway to gaze at passing steam engines that thundered along this busy line. Pacific's headed from London to Aberdeen, sometimes the 'Mallard' type streamlined Pacific's' would pass, heavy goods trains, innumerable coal trains with fifty or more wagons trundling along from Fifes many pits, and all the local traffic you could wish for. I cannot ever mind of observing any of the diesel, 'Deltic' type, engines in use, but the imperialist English never allowed the Scots the latest traction, we only got the older stuff pushed up north out of their way! 

The station now looks forlorn, the buildings on the left hand side of the picture no more than shabby blocks which replace the intricate Victorian waiting rooms, with their intricate designs, and excellent cover, that once stood there. Now this station, once the main line for thousands passing by, which shook to the cries of the porters,passengers, and hissing engines, now finds one train an hour headed in either direction, mostly commuters aiming for work in Edinburgh. I suspect the photograph is taken from the old bridge where I used to hang over the side as trains passed beneath, enjoying the experience of being covered in steam from the engine. I found it hard to understand my mothers complaints about my 'black face' as the steam was always white! Women, they have no understanding or heart for things of value, have they? 

Today

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Today I sat around feeling completely knackered. Not that you care of course! The sickness that never leaves me (sickness as in illness not mental derangement I mean) plus two short days of work are really wearing me out here! I was so tired Tuesday night I could not sleep properly! Today in an attempt to find my mind I wandered out across the park, breathing in the sweet perfume of the newly mown grass, and evading the psychotic mower driver as he swept past vacant expression on his face, and I wandered along enjoying the remnants of warmth in the air.
I did not find my mind, I did find an interesting cloud cover above me however. The weather racing on from the east coast of the USA, another item they dump on us, brought strange clouds and as I took the picture, rain! I made it home, limping for effect and impressing nobody, just before it began to teem down. The driest county in England - once again saturated! The farmers will be pleased, I'm not, especially with the shoes beginning. to fall apart.  However I am not one to complain as you know, so I will just keep rolling along....

   


Stupid boy! Craig Thomson gets sent off playing against Falkirk and tells the manager after the game, "My foot slipped." Quite clear on the pictures I saw later that the only thing to slip was his intelligence, he clearly stamped the man with his right foot! Idiot! This is a player with great 'potential.' Most of them are of course and this was really has what it takes to reach the top. However he has much to learn in the game and keeping control is one of them. Other clubs will now attempt to annoy him and get him to retaliate, leaving him once again off the field. Had he remained playing the other night we may well have won the game, going forward we appeared to be doing well. It is defensively that we struggle at the moment. Sort yourself out Craig or your career will fall apart!

Subterranea Britannica

This is brilliant!

If you are the type, like me, who likes to wander around disused premises reliving the lives that once occurred there, then this is for you! The site takes you to links of underground Britain, the places you may have heard of but never wandered into. One part of the site leads to the nuclear bunkers that litter the countryside. (There is one near here. It can be found by following the road signs to the 'Secret Bunker!') 

Amazing how many of these are now on sale to those so inclined, and just as amazing how many are still secret! A variety of disused military bases of various kinds from times past, industrial buildings, Mines, and my favourite section - disused Railway Stations! Who can fail to love an old railway station? This site, and it's many links are a great way to spend several hours far from the maddening crowd!

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This Poster

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This poster appears to be the most popular item searched for on my blog! Here am I attempting to change the world and the millions of readers (all right I here you!) just want to look at this poster and keep it for themselves. This speaks volumes for my readers! I need not delay you with the post that accompanied it of course, I am not the one to repeat myself am I, especially as most of you ignored it then anyway! However while perusing the referrals I found one or two surprises. Clearly several folk are studying Victorian politics as the 'Adullamites,' a group of young MPs in the nineteenth century, attract much interest and some find their way to my blog through a Google search for them. There length of stay at my blog never beats one second! .  There are a few Germans, of all people, who search for Sir John de Stricheley, one of those imperialist English knights who attempted to steal Stirling Castle and the country in which it was built. He is still there defending it of course, they found his bones under one of the old chapels when renovating the place a few years ago. Obviously I am to conclude that my posts are of no interest to the world. I may have to divert into a wider range of subjects. 

I must also point out that the Heart of Midlothian travelled up to Inverness and defeated the local side there by three goals to one. For TV reasons this game kicked off at midday, and I remembered this at about twenty minutes past! Still it could be worse. I once turned on the Edinburgh derby just in time for the final whistle! Boo! However the result today means the Hearts are back in third place in the league, the least position we ought to occupy. Maybe, possibly, hopefully we can improve on this, and there is much to improve in this side, and possibly we can be assured of a European place next season. maybe...

Thadguy.com

Thadguy, who's site is worth a browse, indicates a problem for me. In days past colds would last three days, and the side effects a week or two. This however is no longer the case. My cold has been running around my frail, delicate body for at least two months now. I get light headed for a day, the stomach is bloated for a day, the throat hurts for two or three days (most days at the moment) and then the cough that lingers almost for ever. Various symptoms come and go and just never end. In truth this has bugged me for years now,in fact this appears to have begun around 1987, before most of you were born!. A cold that once came and went just lingers on and on. Why? Nothing seems to help. When I was a postman it began to really interfere with me, leaving me more tired than I ought to be. Being unemployed ought to have ended this but the weariness in my head, and body, continues. It worries me regarding work. I do two days at the moment and the three days after this leave me suffering the symptoms greater than before. How can I keep a job when the various symptoms make me exhausted, and indeed extremely irritable?  (At this point I would like to apologise to the woman in the supermarket who I decapitated, and the man at the market who annoyed me by saying "Hello.' I hope his widow gets the pension OK.) Here I am again, tired, throat aching, my mind wandering all over the place as concentration is difficult, and nothing on TV to distract me and suffuse my mind with purpose and joy. It's a good job I am not one to complain you know!

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Pope

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Edinburgh Evening News

Watching the Pope greet the English queen and parade along Princes Street today I was struck by how reverential people were towards him and how smarmy the commentary was. The hangers on VIPs and the faithful gathered to meet him in Holyrood House were looking to him as if to a god, and that is the word to use. This irked me, and I am often irked, because at no time would the Apostles ever accept being regarded in such a manner. Peter and Paul and all the early Christians pointed people, all people, to Jesus the redeemer and refused reverence for themselves. Benedict may not look for such treatment but his position brings this to him like it or not.  


I followed his car through Edinburgh (on the TV, not in person like) and found myself wishing I was back there. Possibly this has more to do with the lack of gray clouds and driving rain than anything else. To see Edinburgh without such weather is indeed a miracle! Two or three things stood out for me and they are not all good. The commentators, all of them, were at their oleaginous best throughout. (OK, I did use a Thesaurus smart guy!) Enthusing about the 'enthusiasm' and the 'huge excitement,' and 'atmosphere,' all the usual flannel from commentators either truly impressed or sticking to the usual tried and true words for such an occasion, whether they fit or not! Language at such occasions is important as during a state funeral it is important not to say "Now comes the main body of the parade." The fact the Pope had a tartan scarf draped around him drew much acclaim (hooray!) and Scots pride was to the fore. The Saltires waved by the kids naturally drew comment, although Tony Blair would have replaced them with English flags had he been in power. Nonentities in the background spouted platitudes for this man, speaking of how wonderful, important and marvellous the visit was. (Whoopee). He brought one said, a message of 'Hope,' but what hope did she mean? Others spoke, with dripping tongues, of 'peace' and 'interfaith dialogue,' but what do they expect to get from that? People of faith (whatever that Labour spin word means) meet daily living their lives. What end does such 'dialogue' lead to? Flannel abounded this morning, alongside smiles and cheers. Prince Philip noticing all the tartan asked the female leader of the Tory Party (Who she?) "Are you wearing tartan knickers?" Diplomacy was never something ex sailors were asked to perform. 


Who is the Pope and what is the Roman Catholic Church?
From a Christian viewpoint the Pope is of no importance whatsoever! The church based in Rome was doing very well until the third or fourth century when things began to go wrong. With other major elders (The word 'Bishop' is best translated 'Elder' or 'Presbyter') around the Mediterranean world, Constantinople, Antioch and Alexandria to mention just three, Rome was no more important than anyone else, indeed much of the time it was of little importance to the rest of the world. There were constant theological disputes of course, some important some not, and eventually one elder at Rome decided to use the Apostle Peters death, believed to be in Rome around 64 a.d. and the line "You are Petras (Rock) and upon this rock I will build my church. I will give you the keys of heaven." (I am afraid I have forgotten the precise verse and which Pope this was 'Leo' I think. Google them!) However he was chancing his arm and this was a claim never made before. In the first century no church took precedence and none should do so today.


The Reformation arose because the Roman church had long forgotten the creator and had become a mere political power base. Christianity was attempted by many but the theology was often confused.  Luther, Calvin, Knox and others brought about a split between those who wished to know God and make him known, and the Roman church which sadly refused to change its ways. The fact that this is the 450th anniversary of the Reformation and the Pope comes to Edinburgh, one of the centres of this event through the work of John Knox has been noticed. Deliberate perhaps? During his speech the Pope did mention Margaret of Scotland, but appeared to forget our man John, absent minded maybe? The RC church has deviated far from Apostolic Christianity and sadly appears to be showing no wish to reform itself even now. Therefore from a Christian point of view the Pope is of no consequence. The bible, the revealed word of God, is the only guide.


There are many problems within the RC church. People forced into the role of nun or priest by family pressure fail to live according to their duty, and who can blame them. I have known some such and their troubles are many. Celibacy has destroyed many lives and requires to be dropped for humanity's sake if nothing else, it has no biblical foundation. The huge size of the organisation has allowed homosexuals and paedophiles to find places to hide themselves. Clearly the desperation to avoid scandal has led to cover ups a plenty, and of course many guilty men have wormed their way into top positions. Will they, I wonder, will they ever be revealed? A return to biblical truth, the end of the priesthood, (Jesus is the Great High Priest, and no man should stand between you and God bar Jesus the sacrificial offering and priest himself!) An honest clear out of criminal men is urgently required before the RC church can put this shady past behind them. Difficult though it may be and I suspect the next Pope will be the one who will have to finish this work.  


There are many good people amongst the Catholics. Many who work very hard for others throughout the world, often with little praise. These will always be ignored while the majority live a nominal faith and others hide behind the church and abuse the vulnerable. Such sin is of course found in other denominations, in large and small businesses, and possibly in the street where you live. Businesses and others also cover up their wrongdoers but when a church denomination does this it is a dreadful failure.  The desperation of some to meet the Pope, for a 'blessing' or just to meet the famous was indeed sickening however. The reverence for the man, the brown nosing by some, the lack of knowledge of biblical truth made me despair. Will this visit recharge the RC church? maybe. Will it be forgotten next week? Definitely!


An 'off the ball' slant on the visit.... 



The Pope comes to Glasgow and asks "Anyone with 'special needs' who wants to be prayed over, please come forward to the front by the altar."


With that, wee Brendan got in line, and when it was his turn, the Pope asked, "My son, what do you want me to pray about for you?"


Wee Brendan replied, "Your Holiness, I need you to pray for help with my hearing."


The Pope put one finger of one hand in Brendan’s ear, placed his other hand on top of his head, and then prayed and prayed and prayed. He prayed a great prayer for Brendon, and the whole congregation joined in with great enthusiasm.


After a few minutes, the Pope removed his hands, stood back and asked, "Brendon, how is your hearing now?"
Wee Brendan answered, "Ah don't know. It's no' 'til next week....."


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Long Lie?

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As the gray ex-army blankets fell to the ground at seven this morning, and my mind followed a long way behind the rest of me as I fumbled along to the coffee, I noticed this chap through the filth on the window. The poor lad was enduring the early morning in similar fashion to myself. He of course was not looking for coffee to waken him he was looking for sunshine to warm him up after his early morning breakfast search. Normally these guys wake early, around half five just now, sing or 'coo' for a while, and then eat whatever is available at the 'Greasy Spoon Cafe.'  Afterwards they will play with the wife and sit in the sun warming themselves. Maybe she was not playing this morning, females are not known for obedience, and the sun, rising behind him, has failed to penetrate the thick layer of cloud. They often sit on that rooftop, usually with one eye on the world around them, but this morning he was too busy puffing himself up for warmth to care I reckon. He will be more miserable tomorrow as it will be colder, with rain. No chance with her indoors, or should that be, her outdoors, then!

My antipathy towards the selfishness of our parliamentary leaders knows few boundaries, and those who oppose the heartless cutting of jobs require to be opposed, no matter how bad the nations finances happen to be. Changes and cuts are inevitable, however they manner in which they are made is important, and the Con-Dem hypocrites show no regard for people in their public announcements. However this means the Unions will start to talk about taking action, and this leaves me in a dilemma. For to be honest I have less admiration for the leaders, and many of the representatives of trade unions than I have for politicians and tabloid journalists. Bob Crow of the RMT Union is one who really is a disgrace to the working class! So today General Secretary Brendan Barber, at the TUC Conference, led calls for opposition to the government approach.

What a dilemma. We now know that during the 'Beer and Sandwiches' discussions of the Harold Wilson era the union leaders who earnestly talked of 'A fair days work for a fair days wage,' were in fact fighting for position amongst themselves as they looked for percentage increases. The workers and the nation were the last thing on their mind, and it has always been like this! During the Genera Strike of 1926 all the unions decided to back the miners until the end! Within seven days the miners were on their own! They remained on their own for six long months! During the late seventies Rodney Bickerstaff asked the TUC to support the workers in the NHS (and we were very badly paid in those days) by putting aside their private health policies. Not one union agreed! Now we notice these leaders talking tough and playing to the crowds. How many jobs will be saved by these men? Few, and the situation will not be helped by their play acting. We must rely on the hope that the government are exaggerating the cuts so that when they arrive amendments will mean they are less harmful than they now claim. However this is a Conservative led government we speak off, and consideration for others is low on their agenda.

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Saturday

So we travel to Celtic Park in Glasgow to play Celtic. We have Celtic Fan Willie Collum as referee, and there are two highly debatable offside decisions, both to Celtic's advantage. Jovial Jim Jefferies indicates to the ref that he is none too happy that the linesman on this side has forgotten to go to 'Specsavers' and wishes him to do so straight away. Willie sends him to the stand for noticing the advantage wearing a Celtic strip gains an individual. While JJ has apoplexy in the stand the team struggles without one or two regular players, and eventually let in another goal at the end. Are we surprised at this turn of events? No. It is understandable that mistakes are made, however it is strange that they affect us more than they, isn't it!

   


While drowsily considering removing the army blankets early this morning the radio was blethering about people living and working on a canal 'up north.'  As I struggled, with both hands, to open the eyes I dreamed (or is it 'dreamt'?) of living in a boat on a quiet river, or on an inlet by the sea. While listening to the Glasgow Football Mafia rob us blind (Me biased? Never!) I trawled the net (geddit?) and allowed my mind to believe I could afford one. This beauty here is fabulous, and on board we find all we can desire. Well renovated, all mod cons, and lovely view of the inlet and the passing rich folks on their yachts. All I need is transport, £200,000 and I could while away the hours happily watching the world sail by. The hundred yards walk carrying everything, unless there is a high tide, could be a bother mind!  What a nice relaxing way to escape from the world for a few days on a regular basis. I may cry myself to sleep tonight!

Clegg, Osborne & Cameron

Talking of crying, I watched the Prime Ministers Question Time (PMQ's) from the house of Commons on Wednesday. Because of his father's serious illness David Cameron was not there and Nick Clegg took his place. Jack Straw opposed him, in the usual manner of the House. I was not only unimpressed by left feeling very sad indeed. Straw struggled to make his points, the sudden need to take over leaving him unprepared, and Clegg appeared confident and, to put it bluntly, haughty. Here was a man who had put aside his Liberal Democrat policies to join this coalition, a man who was content to say and do anything as long as he sat on the front bench on the government side. Cameron of course, like Clegg lost the election but happily used this man to take the position of Prime Minister, any sop would do as long as he got the job it appeared.


Adding to this was another 'Daily Mail' story, (Why do I read them?) informing us of George Osbourne, the Chancellor (The Finance Minister) demanding more cuts in welfare. Once again we find three rich men telling us how to suffer in an effort to 'balance the books.' The smug men in sharp suits cutting benefits from the 'workshy' when there is already three million unemployed and thousands being thrown out of work weekly is sickening! Of course some folks happily live on benefits, some taking home much more than they can earn, some of course, and I know of one, wonders how to afford new shoes as his are wearing out! 


There is an attitude of "I'm all right Jack" about these men which leaves me depressed. Even Thatcher, the heartless beast, had some idea what she was about, these three seem clueless. The reason of course is simple, she had some form of ideology - worship Mammon probably - these men only desire to be the ones in charge! That is the thing that disturbed me most about the house, there was no 'belief!' There is no longer 'Left' or 'Right,' there are no politicians who have an agenda to change the world. No Socialists, no Christians, no anti Europeans, nobody with any clout who believes in anything these days in the higher echelons of the parties. So they continue to live in their own parliamentary world, grumbling about their expenses, arrogantly pushing forward their non policies, disregarding any of the public who oppose them, even if they belong to the 'Daily Mail' world!


"Where there is no vision the people perish" it was said in a different context, but it rings true here also.  'Dave' and his smug friends will continue to cut the spending, meaningless men in the armed services, less policemen on the street, less workers in the civil service or local council, less money for projects big and small, more unemployment, potential for riots, and much distress. But not to worry, with no opposition bar the smug, well off, leaders of the Labour Party (A new leader will be chosen in a few weeks time and he also possesses a smug smile.) the boys will continue with their policies until we all fall over the cliff.

It's the same the whole world over

It's the poor what gets the blame

It's the rich what gets the gravy

Ain't it all a bleeding shame

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