The Big City, in Comparison....

Early this morning, clutching my FREE Bus Pass, I wandered down to the bus station go shopping in the big town.  I had the choice of two towns to visit and against my better judgement I went into Camoludunum.  There I planned to visit Waterstones, a second hand bookshop, a Christian bookshop, a shop selling almost every odd thing you need but don't have, and acquire a couple of T-shirts to replace dying stock.

From the off there were problems.  For a start the driver did not want to let me on.  
"Is that your dad's pass?" He asked brusquely.  
Tempting as it was to agree with him the woman behind me, whom I once delivered mail to, intervened.
"Nah! He's a miserable old git right enough!" She said somewhat too eagerly.
As I climbed the stairs I mused on how willingly the driver accepted her opinion! Bah!

Ah, upstairs on a bus!  An unusual experience these days for me.  Useful for looking into passing gardens and people's windows, seeing life hidden from normal view and giving a new outlook on the world.  Few others joined us, half term means kids are out and about but few joined us today I'm glad to say.  Two grans brought two primary school kids to the front seats and almost immediately a chinky bloke sat alongside them.  Seconds later the male child was sitting on his knee as a joke, and I noticed the grans holding their handbags cudgel fashion.  When I next looked one gran was quietly sitting behind him.  Subtle.  He was no danger, the man was just socially unaware, as he would soon be made aware if the women misunderstood.

Passing through a village I noticed once again the quaintness of the ancient houses, the narrowness of the road compared to the size of a double decker bus, and recalled that while this place looked interesting the people were, somewhat insular!  English you see, they are not egalitarian like what we are.  During the plague this village blocked the road with barriers to stop the plague getting in!  I must go back there, when the sun shines, and have a browse at the prices in the shop windows.  Sadly the day remained overcast until I was heading home again, and wee villages require sunshine.  The quaint houses compared badly to the shopping centre some miles further on, in particular the new 'Sainsburys' that surprised me by its size!  It was as big as a football stadium!  On the other side stood a 'Boots' with a 'Drive Thru Prescription' service!  Now excuse me but who uses that?  Do you phone up and order the bottle of 'embarrassing stuff' and drive in the side door so no-one can see you?  Typically it is spelt badly, must be Yank inspired.

As we neared town I cleaned my glasses for the third time.  Vision had been quite misty up till then.  It was as I cleaned I realised it was the sleep in my eye, not the film on the glass!  In the town stood a field, several trees, planted a few years ago, stood knee deep in long grass.  Behind them stood goalposts, just the one set, surrounded by a deep layer of brown mud.  No accompanying set of goals were to be seen.  This reminded me of the difference between the British Isles attitude to the beautiful game, and Johnny foreigners approach.  The proper approach is the one we took when young.  A couple of jumpers were deposited as goals, I would take my usual place as goalkeeper, and the rest would spend time crossing the ball in or playing a kind of defence v attack format with one goal only.  However in places like Spain and Italy, where the sun shine most of the year, young men get a ball, meet in a park and do not set up goals.  Instead they pass the ball, dribble, experiment on fancy ball control, and the like.  Technique is all, while getting on with the game was our idea!  The result is the better control of foreign players, and their goalies constant struggle while dealing with crosses.  The British drive is missing although in the south high temperatures mitigate against that.  The cold means we need to run about quick!  A simple thing those posts, but they speak loudly about our game.

I alighted the bus as we entered the centre, a mistake I was to discover later.  Heading straight for 'Waterson's'  I clutched tightly my Book Token given to me at Christmas by a sensible, intelligent young lady, and began to search for something worthwhile, educational, cheap, historical and to suit my exquisite taste, I failed!  They had a few good books right enough but none suited today.  The only decent bookshop in town and I could find nothing!  Shock!  However disappointed as I was I continued on to the Christian bookshop down the road and failed to find it.  It had turned into a shop full of junk furniture and was closed!  Two down, but   was I downhearted?  Yes!  I wandered through the centre, much more interesting than boring Chelmsford I must say.  Lots of interesting shops that appeal to women, and few closed or turned into charity shops, those were found in the lesser streets.  I wandered about this interesting town centre, still showing evidence of Roman organisation in these street patterns, disappointed by the charity shops books also, much better choice than here in this town but not what I wanted.  There used to be an 'Oxfam' bookshop in town, but that was no longer to be seen either.  The odd bits shop I dreamed off I then discovered had closed down!   I began to realise why the temptation to visit boring Chelmsford was so strong!  I was not meant to be here.  Off I trotted downhill to the secondhand bookshop.   I became somewhat worried when I espied an 'Under Offer' sign on the side of the building.  I then noted the 'Books at £1' sign and the closed door and shut gate! The place was closed!  It appeared to me that the M&S T-Shirts I was intending to buy might not be a good idea.  If I found the store I might close it down by attempting to shop!   However, in amongst a lot of poofy a variety of merchandise I found the boring T-shirts I required.  If these fit they might not shrink this time.

One place I did find was the Priory, a ruin  that stands in the middle of town, and was erected around 1100.  That's not eleven in the morning, I mean the year 1100.  An interesting ruin which I must read up on and I will mention this later as my dinner is burning as I write.  Nothing new there either. 

The journey home began badly.  The bus station was not there!  Someone had closed it down and moved it elsewhere.  I should not have got off where I did.  Eventually a nice man told me where to go, as opposed to less nice men who have told me where to go willingly in times past.  Once at the new station I boarded after a short wait, again accompanied by the socially unaware chink who chose to sit behind the adolescent brat in the front seat even though the bus was empty. Brats mother ignored his placing his feet on the window ledge, something my folks would have never allowed, and her desire to phone a friend and allow us all to enjoy her loud conversation gave cause for concern.  The concern being I had forgotten my chainsaw!  However I sat happily as the sun shone brightly in the window, indicating the soon return of Spring, hooray!  Being upstairs I noticed all those small items, names, carvings, (I canny mind the word) found between windows on Victorian homes, and there were many.  Some were painted, some not, many were intricate and while copied from a pattern book were worth a look.  So were the 80 or so Mercedes Benz parked awaiting customers during these austerity days.  However I suspect that austerity or not they will not be there long.  As the bus began the journey home I also noticed the Oxfam bookshop.  I had walked past the new, larger shop twice.     

I will have to visit boring Chelmsford now, bah!


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Early Morn

Well, earlyish.
A strange sight greeted my creaking knees as I huffed and puffed up the old railway this morning, blue sky and sunshine!  Even the wind dropped, although by the time I propelled the beast home again I had begun not to care.  Just imagine, sunshine!  No dark clouds, no rain, even less snow!  How almost Spring like for a few hours. 

How can things disappear?  I had three wooden spoons, rewards for my efforts, a big one, a small one and a middle one.  I use the middle one constantly but it has disappeared!  It is not where it ought to be, not in the cupboard, not to be found anywhere.  How can anything disappear so completely?  I've searched the cupboards, I've crawled on my hands and broken knees all over the floor,  I've checked the rubbish bins, it's gone!  I wonder who broke in to steal a wooden spoon....?

Soub? Is that you Soub?

Look, blue sky!  Ignore the frost covering everything!

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Saturday Laff

My wife just called me.

She said, "Three of the girls in the office have just received
 some flowers for Valentines Day, they are absolutely gorgeous."

I said, "That's probably why they've received flowers."

Jim asked his friend, Tony, whether he had bought his wife 

anything for Valentine's Day.

'Yes,' came the answer from Tony who was a bit of a chauvinist,

 'I've bought her a belt and a bag.'

'That's nice of you,' Jim added,

 'I hope she'll appreciate them.'

Tony smiled as he replied,

 'So do I, and hopefully the vacuum cleaner will work better now.

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A Day Trip

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Another Old Photo

An ancient shot I took while studying with the Open University.  This was a week long session at the Royal Holloway place in the south west of London.  Marvellous building, fantastic place to be.  It was begun as a college for women, I think since the false equality laws took over it is now open to anyone rich enough o pay the fees.  A week there was enough for me mind, had I been young and studious it may appeal but by that time I liked my own place too much.  I would finish the course but the history on offer is poor and each costs £2400 these days.  Beyond me now, but never mind, I was a poor student and was only doing it for me myself and I.  Lovely individual rooms the girls had I must say.  Sufficiently large for one, possibly cool in winter, own sink and fire, and the stairs would keep them fit!  A real fine Victorian building this.  He also constructed a psychiatric sanatorium nearby, in use until the late 80's, made in similar style.  Some studying might have wondered if they were in the right building at times I suspect. 

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Nil Desperandum Jimi

I trawled through my old albums tonight, amazed at the rubbish shots I used to think so good, and found one or two I had forgotten all about.  Nothing special, although I find the lamp with praying angel quite attractive now.  Beforehand I thought it a bit iffy.  I never managed to get through the door of this large impressive building, and I suspect still evangelical church, but always admired it.  Built of what they call 'Bargate Rag Stone,' with 'Box Ground' and 'Baths - Stone' dressings, as you can tell, it rises high over Bayswater and was erected during the great wealthy days on 1880.  At that time the are only contained the best people, Westbourne Grove' being shopping of high quality, and while the area depressed somewhat, my part full houses divided into bed-sits and small flats, a small flat today would cost about half a million!  It should be noted I moved out.  They knew how to build in those days, especially when labour was cheap and 'gothic revival' popular.  Almost nothing however can be discovered about John Johnson the architect.  How strange.

Nice doors, that I almost got into the picture!  I think I took these on the Leica IIIb that I possessed for a short while.  Foolishly I swapped it for something more efficient!  It was a good camera but to difficult for an idiot like me to use.  I should have kept it mind.  The things daft folks do!

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Sir James Young Simpson

Sir James Young Simpson

James Simpson, one of many great and internationally famous Scotsmen, was born into the usual 19th century small Scottish family, he was one of seven children!  His father had moved from a bakers job into accounting for the local bank, which with so many choldren was a good place to be.  James emerged into the small town of Bathgate in what is now West Lothian.  The town had been around since the time of King Malcolm IV (that's the 1100's to you) but while it had an occasional  moment of fame nothing much could be said of it in 1811 when James appeared.  It did have a distillery (that produced 85,000 gallons a year by centuries end) and built a decent large academy, so someone had money as well as the Scottish emphasis on education.  Our James however had been so bright that he had long since left the town and entered Edinburgh University at 14 years of age (the same age at which I departed school!).  Our hero began to practice medicine at 20 years of age and was so bright that he became professor of midwifery at 28!  Here he introduced many innovations, including using midwifes in hospitals, and reorganisation of hospital procedures but became much more famous for his discovery of Chloroform as an anesthetic.

Sir Humphrey Davey, he of the miners lamp, had begun to use Nitrous Oxide in 1799 but the use did cause problems for patients lungs.  Always willing to experiment at a time of much needed innovation, James and his pal doctors experimented on themselves with a variety of substances to aid patients.  In 1847 they found Chloroform was a knock out.  With Doctors Duncan and Keith and some say with their wives also,  he experimented in the front room of his home at Queen Street, Edinburgh, the home of many famous men (ahem).  Each held a cloth soaked in the stuff over their mouths.  When they awoke, the next morning, lying on the floor , they realised they had something here!  It was however, as always, opposed by many and not until Queen Victoria used such while giving birth to Prince Leopold that it became accepted.  Many women breathed a sigh of relief!     

Somewhere along the line James added 'Young' to his name.  Possibly this referred to his age while professor, maybe it was a cause for humour among his colleagues, no reason is given.  His humour was well known, he once sat a freed slave beside a slave owner at one of his dinners, and possibly he took the name 'Young' as a laugh! In 1866 his work and fame war rewarded by the nation, he became 1st Baronet of Strathavon, possibly after the location of his country house, and we all need one of those!  The house I mean, not the Baronetcy.  

Simpson died aged 58 in 1870, and while his worldwide fame was such an offer of burial in Westminster Abbey was made he like all good Scots, was laid to rest in Warriston Cemetery in Edinburgh, Scotland's capital!  A memorial bust was placed in the Abbey while on the day of his funeral a holiday was declared. 100,000 people lined the streets!  What a man!

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So,what was it....?

It lies here, just of the old railway, turning green and falling apart.  It reminds me a lot of myself.  I suppose it once formed part of Farmer Brown's life and was parked here and forgotten.  It may even be a stolen vehicle dumped by thoughtless youths.  Whatever it was it no longer is.  

I came across it after having a touch of the sun this morning!  The sky was blue, the sun shining, and I was fooled into getting in the bike and trundling out.  I became further fooled by the thought that I could meander up the old railway and see the country, even though the fields all around were covered in white frost as I left.  I forgot that the sun shines in Antarctica also!   I donned my cap and thick gloves and sallied forth.  How nice to be up early and on the bike again.  I have not been up there for months.  The place looks a bit weather beaten, much has been cut back by the Rangers, and their keep fit volunteers, although selfish folks with dogs think standing in the middle of the track is funny.  Words could easily be exchanged with some of these dog lovers.  

Just imagine, cold sunshine, snowdrops appearing, even some blossom appearing on one or two scraggy bushes.  The finches sang,  dogs wagged tails, and I now ache all over.  Anyone got time to do massage.....? 

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Let's Go....

I enjoyed that!

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Nothing to Say.....

You lucky people....

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A few days ago I ventured into a new experience.  
I bought meat!  

Rising from my pauperism to a level known as 'poverty' I had the good fortune to receive one of those gift voucher cards for Christmas.  So clutching my card tightly in my grasping mitts I ventured up the road to the shop early in the morning.  The rain did not deter me, although I thought it unusual to rain on the first day of February - it’s usually snow!  Sloshing through the smaller puddles to avoid the rain getting in the holes in my boots I soon reached the destination, eager to buy.

It was at the store when I realised  I had a problem.

I hailed a passing assistant, “Meat,” I said, my eyes pleading.

“Over there,” said the lass, her eyes bright and glinting full of light and happiness.

“Thanks,”said I, “But, er, em, this meat, er,... what exactly is it? I haven’t bought any for a very long time”

Her eyes dimmed somewhat and she muttered something under her breath.  

Taking my hand, in the manner of a nurse in a care home, then letting it go suddenly and wiping hers on her uniform, she led me to the counter and explained the red things found therein.

“Some comes from cattle, that’s called beef, some from pigs, that’s called pork, and some from lamb and that’s called expensive.” She spoke as to a six year old.  

"And that?" I questioned, pointing to packets of blackish stuff.

"That's offal."

"If it's awful why is it on sale?"

She gave me a look that would send a shiver through Maggie Thatcher.

"I mean, that this is liver or kidneys."

"Oh, sorry," I muttered. 

What's that over there?" Muttered I, my eyes blinded by the price tags.

"That's all Fowl that side."  

"Foul?"

"CHICKEN!" she said rather too loudly, her eyes becoming white balls with a black dot in the middle. Some people turned round and gave us that embarrassed smile, others moved away silently. I glanced at the prices, searching for those yellow price reduction ones.
"Chicken, goose and," she looked meaningfully at me as she added, "Turkey are all found over there.  Sausages and bacon over there!" She indicated this with an abrupt wave of her hand." 

" Hmmm what.....?" I began, but hesitated as I saw her eyes were now small slits, rather resembling those seen on pill boxes with machine guns peering out. "I, er, em......"

She wandered off clenching her paws and kicking the stick from under an old fellow who just happened to look towards her as she passed.  

I wandered back and forth, annoyed I had not asked her how to cook these strange red shapes, being a woman that sort of thing would come naturally.  I am more used to mince myself, however I was wary about asking another assistant.  There were several to be seen, including the two now picking up the old guy from the floor and returning his stick.  Selecting several items according to price, yellow label, and colour (I mean should meat be a dark greenish shade?) I hovered around until the security man returned once too often and moved further into the store.  

Glancing around I detected a lack of the 'Wal-Mart' types often seen on the web, most people appeared to be normal humans here.  I remembered the Tesco store in Portobello Road in London, now that would be a haunt of such types today I imagine.  Residents here indicate how boring this town is.

Checking the prices of my more usual stock I was impressed how the increase was constantly higher than the rate of inflation, however you calculate this. Supermarkets having killed of all opposition bar other major supermarkets are having a field day in times of austerity.  Beans that were selling at 9p a tin rose to 29p when the economy collapsed.  The store knew people would turn to 'own brand' goods and increased prices accordingly.  They could build a new store on the profit made of one weeks national sales of tins of beans I suspect.

Having carried my basket full of meat (meat!!) round the shop (I always use a basket as it is easier to get past the women with trolleys blocking the path) I selected several smaller items from the wines and spirits biscuit row and proffered my card at the smiling checkout assistant. This one smiles at everyone and her smile reminds me of the ‘Joker’ from the ‘Batman’ series.  I did not mention this.  I offered first the voucher card, then a small dollop of money to complete the purchase, gathered my several thin plastic bags, and struggled manfully homewards.

Passing my friendly helpful assistant as she stood near the entrance I offered a happy greeting and she spat out a retort I did not catch, however the 'Big Issue' seller opposite beat a hasty retreat.    

Now the freezer has sufficient for a month.  The cupboards are bulging, and when I eat I am almost satisfied with life.  I noticed today also that the helpful assistant now works for Morrison's up the road, you know, the store I never go into........

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Contention

All day I have been involved in contention, yet have never left the house.  'Belligerent is I' has been the order of the day.  Why?  It began yesterday and was with me all day today.  Irritable and ready to yell at the slightest thing, unable to concentrate for long on anything, and just plain irked from dawn to dusk!  

A normal day then......

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Monday Mirth

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Voice of Nonconformity

Keith's Histories

I've been enlightening myself by reading through Keith Ives excellent history of the nonconformist church at the turn of the centuries just over a hundred years ago.  In England the term 'Nonconformist' was given to any who during the period of the reformation (which you may have heard about, it was in all the papers) refused to attend the Church of England services.  The church in Scotland had, naturally, a different approach to reformation, partly due to the influence of one of the leading men, John Knox, and also because Scots tend to make their feelings known if the situation requires this.  Free church and Nonconformity basically mean the same thing.  To study the late 19th century church position Keith Ives has concentrated on one forgotten man, indeed one I had never heard of until now.  Yet this man had an great influence on church opinions and indeed following this he also had some effect on the changes to British society through his contact with leading men, Lloyd George being the most important.  

William Robertson Nicoll entered the world as a 'son of the manse,' and not just any manse but a 'Free Church of Scotland' manse.'   In 1843 the 'disruption' ended with a third of the Church of Scotland leaving to form their own church, the way people of integrity do.  His father was content to minister in a small church in rural Aberdeenshire, satisfying his desire for knowledge by reading widely and giving a love of such knowledge and reading to his son.  William however desired bigger things and once qualified found himself a church in Kelso in the borders in which to expend his preaching talents and imbibe his listeners with evangelical truths.  His time there was cut short by a  variety of illness and stress and it was recommended he move south to what was termed, 'warmer climes!'  His lung was so badly damaged that he had to seek a very different kind of employment to feed his family.  

Since his days at Aberdeen University Nicoll had contributed articles to the press.  This had continued ever since and once in London Hodder & Stoughton, who had known him for some while, offered him a chance to work as an editor.  So began his influential time ad editor of the 'British Weekly,' a religious paper that he made the leader amongst all such press of the day.  For the next thirty or so years Nicoll was in the centre of theological debate, attempting to hold on to biblical truth while also allowing many teachings, mostly from Germany, to influence both himself and his readers.  In the middle of the 19th century some in German universities decided to use a variety of 'criticisms' to investigate the truth of the bible.  This normally ought to be encouraged as the truth has nothing to fear, however man's 'reason' cannot understand the book God has given us unless it is also open to the supernatural and the leading of the Holy Spirit.  Too many 'discovered,' to their own content, mistakes, changes, alterations, that suited their understanding. Such teachings have influenced people ever since, in spite of alternative views being offered.  Nicoll himself was so impressed that he gradually began to ignore the Old Testament altogether and began to concentrate on the cross of Christ, the centre of Christianity.  However it is not possible to drop half the book, and much research has backed up much of the history of the OT.  This debate added to the Darwin evolutionary theory which caused many believers to wonder what was truth.  

Many leading men of the day were swayed one way or the other, it appears even some of the leading lights, often men who wrote in Nicoll's paper, took extreme views, some so extreme they soon were moving elsewhere.  Such debates could not be new to a man brought up in the Free Church of Scotland.  The 'disruption' left many men without a manse and their congregations without a church building.  Soon after this another conflict arose and some left to form what became known as the 'Wee Free Church of Scotland!'  A walk along the bank of the River Ness in Inverness shows some 16 church buildings there.  The ones mentioned plus Baptist, Catholic, Congregational, Methodist, Reformed, Presbyterian and so on.   Most arising from theological disputes, some from pride, the great killer.  Should this be?  Not really, but heresy will always arise, and secondary things, such as infant baptism, music and the like cause some to meet with like minded people, nothing wrong in this.  Paul and Peter both had early disputes with those of the Circumcision Party, who thought all Gentiles ought to become full Jews.  Later Gnostics, Arians, Pelagians etc became points of discussion.  This has been a constant theme as both man and demon wish to turn us away from the central importance of Christ's finished work on the cross.  Small things often cause division to our shame. 

As time passed and his influence grew Nicoll became involved with politics!  His other great love had been literature, which I regard as mere story books, and he had placed much emphasis on reading 'good books,' and gave such space in his paper, introducing stories in the copy also, not unusual at that time.  However the political side became a good escape from theology as the nonconformists were always the leading light in reforming British society.  The state church rarely motivated change.  The early leaders of the Liberal Party were almost all nonconformists of some sort, and even the Labour Party front men were from working class chapels as opposed to state churches.  This aided the introduction of pensions under the Liberal government of 1909, a time when Labour exchanges and unemployment 'dole' money also appeared.  Many improvement to society occurred at that time, and Nicoll and the 'British Weekly' was in the centre of developments.  Exactly where Christians ought to be today!  

However the nonconformist churches were  beginning to appear as middle class Liberals rather than evangelicals.  While many trade unionists were from the churches the majority of the working class were not.  The rise in wealth from the 1850's onwards had been made on their backs.  Pit and mill, shop and farm found many now literate workers who considered they had the same rights to a better life as their so called 'betters.'  Therefore their vote went to the Labour Party as it grew, and more so as Nicoll, who had been Knighted for his 'services' had given full support to the war effort once that broke in 1914.  After the war the Liberals were tainted by coalition with the Conservatives who followed their normal practice of throwing workers on the dole in a time of austerity, while remaining well fed and warm themselves.  'Homes for hero's' never arrived as the Tory chancellor claimed there was no money in bankrupt Britain.  

The free churches were also tainted as middle class, theologically dead, and people seeking a new satisfaction in life after the war sought refuge in pleasure, if they had the money, and socialist politics if they had not.  The nominal dropped the church, those confused by fifty years of debate wandered elsewhere, and Nicoll must take a share of the blame for this.  He had been one major instigator in moving into the political sphere, he had encouraged what was called 'believing criticism,' and the people had moved away with no certainties to depend on.  William Robertson Nicoll never lost the centrality of the cross, but he lessened the hold of this for many.  Either the book was true or not, if the OT was a doubt why not the NT?  In academic circles such debate can continue with little damage, the man in the street often requires more easy to read information.  The failure to explain, the lack of dependency on the Holy Spirit guided by scripture, the more people became confused.  

Nicoll died in 1926, the free churches had lost their flocks after the war, and many of the members had given their lives for that cause believing it to be fighting for freedom and for God!  Sadly the Germans also had similar ideas.  It is important not just to read the bible but also to study it.  To understand the main biblical doctrines and apply them to life each day.  Far too many during Nicolls time did not do this, attending because everyone else did, reading the book sparsely, and understanding little.   The free church has never recovered.  The state church in England is a mess, with 95 per cent non evangelical and with agendas unknown in ancient times.  The Church of Scotland is heading the same way, and for many years the leading men had little belief in the supernatural God.  It is the minority that know him.

'Voice of Nonconformity' speaks to us today about the danger of following trends rather than Jesus himself.  Biblical study is a must for anyone who wishes to know God through Jesus his Son, but there are many wide theological roads that lie open to the unwary.  Read, study and think, would have been William Robertson Nicolls suggestion, use your brain, but I fear he himself was entrapped by fame, politics and position while struggling with theological disputes.   

       

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Who is the Driver?

And was she walking the dog in the park or spending money in the shops?
Or just drunk?


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Empty Men Gesturing

Times

Here's the first.  A man famous for empty gestures.  Once a footballer, something he ended the day he married his stick insect, now a mere 'image.'  Aged 37 he signs for the desperate for attention PSG in France, a club that earnestly desires to be one of the big clubs in the world.  Beckham will offer no football advantage to him, his talent was always less than his reputation, and at 37 he will struggle to play in a side now in the latter stages of the Champions League.

However 'image' is what matters!   His wife has manipulated the media so well that every haircut, every daft tattoo, everything he says, and wisely he says little, is headline news around the world.  Moving to Paris, on the last day of the Transfer Window, enabled him to grab all the headlines.  The donation of his salary (around £3.5 million) has gained great appreciation, although the personal appearances, sponsorship and advert etc, will gain his ten times that much, and give her room to play the field among the money men.  

The adulation he receives, his worldwide following accepting him as a family man (I wonder what that secretary thought of that - allegedly),  the people, even footballers, who consider him 'cool,' or a 'role model,' when at all times he is as honest as a six pound note!   Alex Ferguson saw through him and his bird straight away, how often he must have relished kicking that boot at him!  From the day he met her stupidity has ruled, and some claim it found an early home there, and the happy family image has been encouraged in the drive for fame and fortune.  But is it true?  Is there anything underneath bar a pair of empty people seeking fame to fill empty lives?  I think not.  I do however despair at a younger generation that sees this man as one to follow.  There are plenty of 'real men' out there!

Talking of empty men!  Once again our hero PM has gone a hunting war!   He learnt from Tony Blairs experience in Sierra Leone that people vote for strong leaders.  he forgot that people dump those that take them into wars for wrong reasons, and has yet learned that 'mission creep' is foolhardy.'  Therefore he has yet again sent  troops into action, this time backing the French in Mali, a place in which the French have much experience and the UK absolutely none whatsoever, and is talking about fighting nasty people there.  He has toured several North African nations, including a stop in a security cleared Libyan square, to meet the people "we supported."  He has not gone to the ares where the people we supported are now Islamic terrorists I note.  Pity!  The Great Leader penetrated to Liberia to attend an international summit on poverty.  While meeting schoolchildren with his condescending plastic smile against their genuine ones he found that many wished to be Teachers, Lawyers, Doctors and politicians.  He informed said kids that in the UK schoolchildren just wish to be footballers and pop stars.  How nice of him to insult his own nations children, a great many of whom will become Teachers, Lawyers, Doctors and politicians, but I don't suppose he would notice.  Since taking office he has offered empty gestures day after day.  No real benefit has been met by the UK society, although many more are on benefits and constantly informed to find jobs that do not exist by millionaire cabinet ministers.  As Dave chairs the summit I ask will anything change, except the UK offering less money to ending poverty?

er, no, it's not worth it is it, not really.....

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Trust Mum

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Viewpoint

I took this picture about 25 years ago.  I was standing on 'Suicide Bridge' at Archway.  The hills to the north of London give a wonderful view of the city, if it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.'  From here you can see the Barbican complex, originally built as council houses, now sold at huge price to the rich.  Many MP's reside there.  What was known as the 'Nat West Tower,' until the IRA blew up the street below causing the National Westminster bank to move elsewhere, towers above everything else.  The view must have been excellent but not when a thunderstorm raged.  

I wonder what the view is like today?  Huge ugly erections have arisen since I took that grainy picture.  Buildings climb into the sky, the creators 'making a name for themselves in the world.'  To my mind, tired of the emptiness that claims to be success, I find them unappealing.  The 'Shard' just looks ridiculous, as does the one called the 'Gherkin!'  More to do with an abundance of money and a desire to use it to do something different rather than fulfill a function artistically.  

'Suicide Bridge,' built in 1900, carries Hornsey Lane high above the 'Archway Road.'  The bridge was enhanced by a row of iron spikes in an attempt to stop people flinging themselves therefrom.  Sadly such measures failed to stop three men clambering over the bridge to their deaths in three short weeks in 2010.

Wiki

John Nash's original bridge shows the height above the road.  An excellent view from above, but a long way down for some.  The horses no longer struggle up the slope, instead expensive tin cans carry millions of canned people at high speed up the A1, the Great North Road.  That is the road the Londoners of yore took when running to Scotland for some fresh air.  Not far from here is found the hill where Dick Whittington and his cat turned around and went back to London, so he says, but as he was a politician I have my doubts.

Can I add that suicide is not a good idea.  No doubt we have all considered it at some time, even as a remote thought, but not only does it hurt others, especially if you fall on them, it fails to answer our problems.  It must be very difficult to convince someone that desperate or mentally unwell that Jesus gave us bright blue skies, green grass and sunshine to indicate life does have a meaning beyond out problems.  However it does!  One lass at the hospital killed herself one night, she had been crying for months, and nothing could be done.  I stopped her cutting her hand on one of the small windows she broke but during the night she ended it all.  Life may not be fun, but suicide does not improve it.

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Bus Pass

Tour Scotland

I have my bus pass.  Another sign that the years are passing is the ownership of a Free Bus Pass for old folks.  This is indeed a boon for those desperate to get about the world and short of cash, indeed it is, but it means I am old.  
I sent of the picture, included my birth certificate (I mistook it for my dad's at one point until I realised I did not possess my dad's birth certificate!) and awaited a response.  Within a few days the paperwork returned.  Within another few days the credit card sized Free Bus Pass also fell through the door.  
I'm old.
I think I need a walking stick and a bottle of 'Sanatogen.' 
The problem is the bus times.  I looked them up today, and while there are frequent buses to where I ought to go it takes for ever!  Journeying into the big towns takes about an hour, which I expected, but even dawdling six miles away takes almost 45 minutes!  The bus passes through little villages full of yokels, trundles along country lanes, and takes for ever!  

Now you will realise a problem with this.  Sitting on a public transport omnibus means that the public will clamber aboard said bus and behave like the er, public will do.  This is the very reason the members of parliament were to willing to forego their first class tickets on the trains, they would have to meet the public!  I need not remind you there are no first class seats on a bus.
The last time I went on an hour long journey on a bus the women who boarded discussed Uncle John's foot for most of the journey.  I need not inform you of my opinion of this needless (loud) chatter, especially Uncle John did not belong to any of them but a next door neighbours friend over the roads, neighbours brothers uncle John!  
The return journey was badly times as the bus filled with adolescents from a collage who wished to play bad music (Tish Tosh Tish etc) on headphones, discussed their wishfull thinking love lives, and reminded me where I left my chainsaw.
    
The other niggling problem is that I look 25.  This means the drivers will not believe the card is mine.  I foresee many an argument ahead here. However the good side is that I may travel anyway, and this means photos from places as yet unseen!  Isn't this good?
What? ....oh! 

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TV Football

The African nations Cup has indeed been a boon to those of us who despair when offered umpteen channels showing 'pap' day by day.  ITV4 has obtained the rights to show this African tournament and freed us from the banal.  Mind you it must be said that much offered by the continents best has been pretty dire.  In spite of some of the world's best players showing up I have occasionally despaired.  Niggling fouls, overacting and referees who cannot tell when a foul on the goalkeeper is not a foul.  Bah!  

Still the alternative is programmes about houses, antiques and mediocre American dross.  No sane person wishes such day after day.  There again some of those programmes have been on the go for about 20 years!  The Yank cop shows include offerings from the 70's!  Dearie me.  Football playing in the background is so much more acceptable, it's live, has a point, and interesting.  Something that cannot be said about Jessica Fletcher!  

The funny thing is some women object to football being shown.  For reasons that escape me girlies appear to consider soap operas more important.  Could it be their brains don't work properly?

Quite why the chap in the poster has 'Touch Down' on his rattle I fail to understand.  FOOTBALL, played with the feet, has nothing to do with any game in which the ball is thrown by the hands.  

Possibly it is one of the many mistakes the colonials go in for.  

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Shock!

The temperature rose!

Rain fell through the night and washed away the snow that had been beginning to thaw, wonderful!  The birds pushed aside the blankets they had been hiding under, removed the scarves and gloves went feeding.  The heating has been turned off, yes no more candles under my nose keeping me warm, half the blankets and coats have gone from the bed and I even opened the windows to get some fresh air, two weeks is a long time with no air!  

Naturally the wind is howling and blowing everything down, but I will stay safe inside, unless the chimney falls off.  Rain and wind are threatened by the gutter press in that screaming manner of theirs, which means it will be normal stuff I suspect.  The sun even shone, the sky was blue, dogs capered in the park, and gritter lorries were seen parked up, panting, in the council depots.    

What a difference sunshine and blue sky makes to the world, especially as the days grow longer and the light hangs around till tea.

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Business is Business

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January 25th

The Bard's birthday.  The greatest poet produced in this land, a great man, a womaniser, a customs official, a farmer's boy and a drunk!  Yet many in then Church of Scotland consider him a saint!  Robert Burns was a thinking man as well as a natural poet.  He indicated his feelings in poetry, not always to others liking, and once he had tasted the Edinburgh high life as well as their high ladies he returned to where he was more at home.  Robert Burns

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The Bell

Several days running the postman did not ring the bell.  One had the audacity to claim he had rung the bell and I didn't answer, the cheek.  I pressed it while he voiced his lies and it didn't work, I pressed again and it did.  He smirked and shrugged shoulders.  Wimp I thought.  The bell remained silent and several visitors, police, council, debt collectors, friends mostly, also indicated by moaning loudly that the bell was bust. 

I bought batteries.

I struggled on two tables, one upon another, to reach up and change batteries.

It didn't work.

Christmas approached.

I left bell until that was over.

Several times I had to visit the sorting office to collect parcels, visits doubled because the postman had not yet returned!  Made note to always collect next day!  When bell worked no parcels were sent!  Bah!

Christmas came and Christmas went.

New Year came and New Year went.

I went, to Wickes, for a bell and stuff for the sink, which is falling apart.

The bell was there at £14'99.

I left it there.

I bought stuff for sink.

Sloth Difficulties arose that made it hard to get down to B&Q for a cheap bell. 

Eventually I got there, they didn't have the one I needed.

Those they had were too dear.

A few days later I was back at Wickes for the £14'99 bell.

The efficient checkout lass took my cash with all the care of someone who didn't care.

Two days later I collected tallish furniture and placed this under bell.  I climbed up to the bell. 

Five minutes later I climbed back down for the right screwdriver!

With brute force and ignorance I removed the bust bell, (the spring had gone) carefully remembering where all the wires went.

The new bell was almost exactly the same as the old, but the holes for screws were all in different places!  Brute force and ignorance enabled me to fix the beast to the wall.  The dust can be dealt with later.

Wires, such as they were, were fixed.  

Batteries inserted.  

I clambered down, slowly, from a  great height.

It didn't work!

It still doesn't.

It's too cold to feel my fingers at the moment so it can wait!

Bah!

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Miscellany

News from the desperate front.  Dave has realised the UKIP party are in danger of stealing Conservative votes while he continues to act like a Liberal Democrat.  This means he will loses not just votes but his job, and have nothing but a meaningless life on speaking tours of the world telling others how to run the world and earning millions he makes hereby means nothing to him, honest.  His answer to this threat is marvellous.  He appeals to his anti Europe members by promising a referendum on Britain's place in the EU, calls the UKIP bluff, cheers his party and makes this a promise to be fulfilled after the NEXT election.  Brilliant!  Not only did he promise this before the last election and did not fulfill it, like hundreds of other promises, but we all know he has little chance of winning the next election.  Brilliant and the media are falling for it.  So are his voters, both of them.  This government is bad, just imagine what the next will be like.  Dear oh dear.  

   

Now I'm not one to boast, my humility will not let me, so I will happily instead commend Helen for her wisdom in offering this award to me.  Her perspicacity, imagination, intellect and wisdom deserve rewards also.  It is presumed that I will pass this on to others like we are supposed to, however last time I tried this I was rewarded with untold abuse, by Jerry, Max, 'A,' Soub, Mo, RDG, PDP, Lee, Jenny, Kay, Mametz, Dina and Angelika, so I'm not doing that again! No sir.

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