Must See News Report....

Quaint!

Forgotten Relics

I was led to this 'Quaint little Railway,' via the excellent 'Forgotten Relics' site.  If you have no life you may wish to spend a few hours a day looking at the films on show at this site.  Some people have disappeared for months watching this selection.  I may be one of them soon. 

Byzantium

This book offers a 'short' history of Byzantium, one of the most famous and in my experience most unknown ancient cities of the world.  We know a lot about Egypt, Greece and Rome but almost nothing about Byzantium and the Greek influenced Mediterranean area after the first couple of centuries A.D. The later Muslim takeover, the influence of the Roman church and self absorption within Europe probably accounts for this.  We have all heard of this city, we roughly know where it lies, how the name changed to first Constantinople and then Istanbul, but apart from sunning ourselves in Bodrum and a passing visit heading for the airport very few bother much about Turkey or this major city.  

So when I discovered this book selling for 50 pence in a Colchester charity shop I decided it was time to take advantage and learn something.  Honestly the price was not the biggest mover here though it helped.  I,.. er, must add that as they had a book sale on I only paid 20 pence and with almost 400 pages that sounds OK to me!  

There are good things and bad things about this book. The author John Julius Norwich has been a renown voice on radio and television, and he has indeed an excellent voice for radio, a voice which can be heard as you plough through the book, and this is a good thing.  The knowledge he imparts fills the empry space in my mind, covering an area unknown to many of us.  The bad thing is that the need to cover the history stretching from the days of Diocletian in the year A.D. 284 all the way to Constantine XI Palaeologus in A.D.1453 by necessity leaves only room for the arrivals and departures of each Emperor.  After a few hundred years this becomes a little wearing.  The emperor is ageing, fading, useless, too powerful, so a son, cousin, general, rebel, distant claimant, arrives and disposes of the incumbent by deceit, knife, sword, poison, helped by wife, daughter, son, general or whatever and takes his place.  He reigns successfully, badly, for a long or short time when he in turn is replaced in one way or another.  The man in charge may or may not be a man of integrity, some indeed put the needs of the empire before their own, but this shortened version of the history can only pass quickly over the adventures which may have covered a term of many years. Not only can we only hear about the top people we cannot have much idea of the life of the man in the street.  What we do learn is that the peasants, and many were just that, could make their voice heard, especially where their preferred religion was concerned.  Riots could occur easily and if the bread and circuses which entertained them in between famine, war and plague ceased they could happily burn down the town.  Happy days.

When Constantine decided to make use of the Christian religion he not only enabled Christians to walk freely in the land he also turned it from a loose collection of churches seeking God to a religious organisation, an ecclesiastical hierarchy in which power and ambition replaced worship. Theological argument ceased to be based on the Messiah's teaching and belonged to theologians spread across the Mediterranean.  'Elders,' were replaced by 'priests,' and celibacy for no good reason became standard practice, possibly influenced by pagan beliefs ensuring the 'priests' were seen as important and above the ordinary.  Dress and ceremony became less about worship and more about presentation.  Candles, widely used in Byzantine royal pomp appeared in the church, fashions changed but church leaders dress did not, all to emphasise their superiority and importance, not God.  The great divide between Rome and the Greek based Orthodox churches arose more from ambition than God and has lasted until this day, yet the reformation is even yet ignored and indeed opposed by such!  Other heresies brought division and danger, the Arian heresy bringing much conflict also, again from church theology and not scripture truth. Wars were fought, tortures aplenty applied, cities devastated and thousands perished all because such religion was used as a power base by various men. The people supporting whatever side they were born on at the time.  How many ever read the scriptures, how many could read?

The Crusades come along also.  Vast armies travel overland seeking to escape purgatory by fighting the Muslim.  Forty thousand began the first and this motley collection of vagabonds, thieves, chancers and escapees raped and pillaged their way across Europe and Turkey, fighting with the Byzantine forces 'escorting' them.  These ended their days in Cilicia, slaughtered by the first enemy army that they met.  Byzantium suffered more from Crusaders than Mohammed ever did!  Indeed many leaders of Muslim forces behaved in a more civil manner than any 'Christian' Knight ever did.  The Knights were more intent for selfish glory and a parcel of land to rule over rather than removing the infidel from Jerusalem.  Most just liked killing people, who they killed didn't really matter.

I avoid referring to any specific emperor bar Constantine, who was at York when he was declared emperor by the way, as there are hundreds of them, covering both the east and west sides of the empire, various patriarchs of the Greek church, popes aplenty, and far too many names to indulge any here.  That in itself tells us something.  The city of Byzantium stood for well over a thousand years and was not overthrown until Sultan Mehmet, then aged just 21, took the city in 1453.  The walls were so strong, the position so strong that defence was comparitively easy, as long as food and water held out.  

Visiting crusader armies, peasants living in stone built huts with turfed roofs, knights in grander houses and castles, gazed in wonder at the mighty buildings in this city.  The splendour was to overpower many of them, indeed the Crusaders occupied the city and ruled, against the peoples wishes, for some time.  The richly dressed leading citizens, the pomp of the Emperor, the bejeweled populace made Europe appear dingy and covetousness arose among the Crusaders.  The majority of citizens in any empire live bleak lives, the wars that destroy their towns or farmlands, famine, the need to fight someones wars, the recurring plagues all tend to keep the people in need of leadership.  Hmm sounds a bit like the UK today I hear you say!  However when it came to pomp, art, and splendid architecture Byzantium possibly led the world.  Tribute from all around filled the city, art flourished, Santa Sophia still stands as a tribute to this, and yet in the UK we know so little about this past.   

I appear to have wandered around.  My mind has done that a lot recently. However I found this book well worth a read simply because I knew nothing about this great city and while the somewhat crushed royal history can be wearing it does reveal why the Balkans turned out as they did, that life is a constant war and we ought to be thankful for the years of peace we have enjoyed, and now I have a slightly better understanding of this ancient and almost ignored empire that affected our civilisation so much without our noticing. 

  

Constantine the Great

Football,

Sir Walter Scott

Then strip, lads! and to it though sharp be the weather,

And if by mischance you should happen to fall,

There are worse things in life than a tumble in heather,

And life is itself but a game of football.

Sir Walter Scott

I'm watching football, for a change...

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The View From My Desk....

The view from here is somewhat limited even yet.  The Lurgi hangs around leaving a fog on the mind as well as a cloud in the chest.  The result leaves me sitting indoors as the idea of trudging around in the late sunshine does not appeal, the camera is somewhat disappointed with this. Three times I have found the camera looking mournfully out the window desperate to eye up the world.  I know how it feels.  Instead my dim mind suffers the papers lack of intellect, the older radio programmes that I have searched out, and finishing off the books that litter the place. Quite how several can be sitting half read and forgotten always amazes me, especially as I cannot remember beginning the things in the first place.  Too often I put the book down and take months to get back to it, even if it is a good one.

So like the camera I sit here moping, my eyes scanning the scudding clouds crossing the late September blue sky, only to discover today is October!  Who stole the time?  Only the other day I watched the trees budding and small green leaves appearing.  Has someone fiddled time somewhere?  Anyway the trees opposite have already began the shedding of rusted leaves, one while offering a dazzling display of bright red berries for the birds delight.  The season of 'Mists and mellow fruitfulness,' sounds romantic but ignores the chill blended in the wind, a hearkening of approaching winter.  Those who venture out reflect the dubious nature of the seasons.  Young men wander abroad in tee shirts emblazoned with 'witty' phrases, multi-coloured shorts, reaching beyond the knees, all the while carrying water bottle to make them look 'cool.'  More 'mature' people wear a jacket as they have been caught out by British weather far too often for their liking.  Surely the brown edged leaves lying across the pavements indicate to some that summer is over?  A bright sun does not indicate warmth, just ask any passing Eskimo.  The dark misty mornings keep the Blackbirds asleep till well after five these days.  A silence broods over the land early in the dark morning, enhanced by the council switching the street lights off to save money. (They have not cut the leading men's salaries however.  The silence is broken only by a raucous coughing, from me, which I think gave the birds their wake up call.  Soon they were all off, barking out (Can birds bark?) their warning to other birds and claiming their patch, a claim that will be heartily defended as the cold weather leaves feathers ruffled in the search for nourishment.
As I write the light begins to fade, indoors darkens sufficiently to demand a light is used, the sky loses its brightness while trying to decide whether it will end with a pink glow or a damp squib. Once more we enter the long nights which herald the commercial escapades of Halloween and Christmas after that.  Once again catalogues begin to fall through the door, their bargains thumping onto the floor and lying their unwanted.  The world is once again forgetting why they exist and follows the crowds into Argos, Tesco and local shopping malls.  Our reason to exist is lost among the urgency to obtain, to satisfy others or ourselves, to forget real life.  Unless of course the reader is a 'benefits scrounger,' (@'Daily Mail') and has nothing to spend on fripperies yet again, not that the 'Daily Mail' reader will accept that.

The reader may by this time have noticed I ramble, I blame the cough mixture, the whisky, the tired mind, the Lurgi!  In truth, it is just me, nothing else, ho hum.......    

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Monday Mirth

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London Observed

Little London Observationist

The above photograph was taken by a sweet young photographer a wee while ago.  You will realise that this picture came to her 'eye' as she wandered that area of London made famous by the 'Jack the Ripper'murders of the late Victorian age.  Jack has of course been named since the murders took place, named about fifteen times but so far no-one has produced conclusive proof, yet they still try.  Any way this barber/hairdresser had the right idea.  I have in mind a chip shop or fishmonger also can be found there, 'Jack the Kipper,' but I may be confused.

Anyway, Steph, the young lass who is the photographer has an excellent blog with a great many wonderful pictures called 'Little London Observationalist,' and I think you ought to peruse this. Now her talent has been awarded with an opportunity to show her pictures for a week in a gallery.  Naturally she is excited about this and naturally she requires cash to get the thing on the road.  Naturally I have deleted her. 

However those of you who like pictures of London, and not just the usual run of the mill stuff, may well enjoy forcing yourselves to look at her results.  The 'arty' types will enjoy much of what is on offer, and the rest can laugh at the pictures of folks attending the London Fashion show. On the other hand they might just have been passersby of course, London being what it is!  So as it is not everyday we get the chance to show off our talent, and many excellent photographers are among yous out there I must say, it would be nice if some support, in words at least could be thrown the girls way. This explains all:  My First Solo Exhibition

Sadly my pension is limited so I er, well, whisky is so expensive these days and I was not well, and what with the heating and .....

KickStarter Exhibition

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The Web!

Surely that is what they mean by 'the web...?'
Quite how the spiders connect via an ISP I know not.  However as several have made their home on the telegraph pole it appears there must be some method available.  Note also we refer to a 'telegraph pole' yet the 'telegraph' as such no longer exists.  What do we call these things now I wonder?

During the last week I have made use of the web, mostly to listen to the 'wireless,' although that today must be called the 'radio.'  There again as many listen to the 'radio' via their mobile phone can we call it 'radio' any more?   I am getting confused now.  When I use the laptop to listen to the radio, via a wireless connection, am I using a 'radio' or a 'wireless?'  I am beginning to blow a valve, bring back the old certainties I say!

The radio I listen to mostly is BBC Radio 4, Radio 4 Extra or Factual, BBC World Service, or even Murdoch's TalkSport (who's link doesn't work for me!). World Service News until recently has been the best in the world. The cutbacks have reduced this somewhat, especially early in the morning when 'Daybreak,' an African 5Live style offering appears instead of the proper news programmes that once held sway.  Still some news programmes run during the day and have proper journalists most of the time.  The usual liberal BBC policy drives the choice of subjects and narrows the spread of news somewhat I find.  I have tried other nations radio stations, in English as my Finnish, Russian and Serbo-Croat is somewhat lacking, but not as much as my command of English of course, some offer a good news service but usually at limited and awkward times.  In days of old I often spent hours listening to the Eastern European stations under Communist control.  The slanted viewpoints, boasting of successful agriculture, factory output (how many tractors we made today) and diplomatic successes, came over as interesting in comparison to the views expressed by western media.  I suspect their radio stations are better these days, at least the newsreaders will not have rumbling stomachs like the Romanians and Bulgarians used to suffer!  Some US local news stations, the type named after leftover 'Scrabble' letters, offer five minutes of screeching adverts followed by one minute of extremely fast 'news,' then it returns to the ads.  I heard several like this, mostly in New York and the like, and wondered what the point was?  If you cannot make out the words because the speech is so fast and the majority of the hour is adverts i have to ask why bother?  Better US stations always begin by asking you for money, something you cannot do in the UK.  It would never work!   

Radio 4 is filled as you know with Middle aged, Middle class females telling us their many problems, which reflects greatly on the women who arrive on here, they always appear so normal so why does the Beeb look for this particular hung up type I ask?  However in amongst this we can find a great many decent programmes, especially if we use the 'Programmes A-Z bit.  I often do this and the documentaries on radio have as you know better pictures than those on the telly.  History is very well covered alongside a wide variety of topics, I particularly like those many short 15 minute programmes that have appeared in recent years.   This week I discovered the story of a female Chinese Emperor, some things about Henry VIII and a tale regarding H.V. Morton the travel writer.  Some are available for a week only, others hang around for a year! Radio 4 Extra and the Factual stations also offer past titles, 'Extra' dealing in Comedy where I find 'Hancock' and 'The Goons,' regularly offered.  All such making a change from the drivel that fills the majority of daytime TV and Radio. So many radio channels offer nothing but music, and usually at a time when I wish to hear something spoken.  It is most irritating that these people do not appear to cater for me specifically which is disappointing, although the web now makes a better choice available through searching.

When lying in bed I usually listen to the wireless.  Radio 4 may offer the 'Shipping Forecast,' which can lull one to sleep after the midnight news or wake you gently just after five in the morning.  Many non sailors are keen to see how 'Forties,' or 'Cromarty,' will do today.  "Easterly 5,  Moderate, Rain, Poor," are just the words required to delight or terrify those who go down to the sea in ships.  Usually we struggle to comprehend what they mean but the chaps in small craft, fishing boats and the light still listen in spite of all their modern equipment so it clearly serves a purpose still.  Alvar Lidell was a famous BBC announcer who spoke the Kings English properly as you should, he I think it was, would end the shipping forecast with "Good fishing gentlemen," or some such phrase, as in those days vast numbers of trawlers worked the seas. Such niceties are less common today, as indeed are the fishing boats. Often I switch this off and turn to 'TalkSport.'  As the laptop cannot offer this it means the radio, or is that a wireless I wonder?  This station offers 'Sport,' usually football with occasional other things thrown in at quiet times.  Owned by that nice Rupert Murdoch I find that whenever I switch it on the adverts are running. The adverts, always loud and bolshie and often with an English working class voice' to sell it to the people, take up so much space because it means the presenters don't have more time to fill I suspect.  After the ads come the ads for the stations programmes themselves in the usual Murdoch loud and empty boastful manner.  The major topic is always the top four football sides, the rest not counting to hacks, and the main story of the day, whether real or imaginary, will be discussed in urgent fashion for hours, long after those involved have forgotten it.  'White van man' is a regular contributor, calling from his mobile phone on an unintelligible line at three in the morning to make his point concerning a player or club.  His knowledge is lacking, he clearly knows nothing, and yet he makes more sense than the presenters, possibly because the line keeps going down!

Cultural folks like you and me will turn to the BBC iPlayer and search BBC 3's site where music abundant is found as well as sensible (?) programmes on the Arts.  My favourite is 'The Essay,' where fifteen minute programmes discuss various subjects.  The Anglo Saxons offered many worthy fifteen minutes which I enjoyed thoroughly, most are still available and well worth a listen.  Since this quality station has so few listeners, it has a certain (deserved) snob approach to classical music and life in general, many despise it, however again a little digging brings success.  One day I hope to hear my clever musical niece playing in an orchestra here.   She is playing a part in Messiaen - Et exspecto resurrectionem mortuorum, making a noise on Tubular bells I believe.  At least I hope that is the same thing that she is involved with, they all sound the same to me I sometimes get confused by the foreign names.  

I would bore you with more but instead I am off to bed to listen to a variety of foreign stations in an attempt to find something I like.  


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The Man Flu Diaries

Monday

Is that daylight out there?  In spite of intense suffering I have improved my situation from my Monday photograph where I was at deaths door to reach the satisfactory situation found today.

Today

You see today I am eating again!  Not only this but early this morning I made it to Sainsburys and now have tea with milk for the first time since Tuesday! What a difference, not that I cared until 9am today at least.  

What a horrendous week this has been.  My empathy for those with chronic pain has grown once again.  My ability to fail to sleep for 48 hours has impressed me.  The fact that ignoring the news has not changed the world one bit tells me something else also.  Paracetamols, three at a time, failure to remove the throat pain was a surprise!  The requirement to have 'Cockaleekie Soup' on standby has also been noted.

My thanks Lee for your generous offer to fly over from Queensland to make such soup for me.  I am sorry the ticket failed to arrive but the cheque appears to have bounced!

All references to Man-Flu by the female world appear full of sarcasm and cynicism.  The need for a comparison with childbirth fails to ring true with me.  Childbirth happens daily and they are always happy about it, no man likes Man-Flu!  Tsk!

It's good to be alive, but only just.

Oh, and I've just found this newspaper report!

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Go Away, I'm Dying

OOPS!

Wiki

The above is a picture of Goldsboro, North Carolina, USA had the bomb dropped from a crashing B-52 exploded when it fell out of the sky!  The 1960's were not a good time for American bombs, they fell not only on the USA itself but also into the sea off Spain and probably elsewhere on areas not yet revealed by whistleblowers.  

During the late 50's and early 60's Inter Continental Nuclear Missiles had not reached a sufficient degree of development.  Therefore B-52's and other giant aircraft flew in formation over the Atlantic, Pacific and Arctic Circle on a flightpath that took them close, oh too close, to the Soviet airspace.  The Soviet 'Bear' bomber of course did exactly the same in reverse.  The RAF have many photographs taken from 'Lighting' fighters that intercepted such planes as they crossed towards our airspace.  Usually the crew are pictured waving to one another, such flights all part of the game and they all knew it.  President Putin reinstated such activities recently in an effort to make Russia once again appear as a powerful force.  It does not really succeed in doing so, but the home public like it.

On the 23rd January 1961 the B-52 went into an uncontrollable spin, the pilot (apparently) released the bombs, possibly as part of training routine, and allowed them to fall over North Carolina.  Whether he considered the heads of the people below when he did so is not recorded. One bomb fell safely to earth the other underwent action stations!  Having been dropped this bomb, with a capability 260 times more powerful than the 'A'-Bombs that fell on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the bomb understood it had been dropped on purpose to attack an enemy.  The Mark 39 Hydrogen Bomb went through all the arming procedures required bar one, two of the arming routines failed because the B-52 was breaking up when released, one successfully activated when it fell but a low voltage switch failed preventing the bomb exploding and Goldsboro and much around it vanishing from the earth.  'Friendly fire; from American forces is something British troops have known since the Great War, such 'friendly fire' on US soil is taking things a bit far surely. 

Was it General la Fey the man in charge of the air force during President Eisenhower's time in office?  I only ask because after beginning the flights with fully loaded 'A' and Nuclear Bombs he forgot to tell the president he was doing so.  It was a case of him not 'needing to know,' after all he was just a politician!

I wonder how many Soviet incidents like this lie unreported?   

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A Better Bus....

A better bus took me to Chelmsford, one of the dullest towns known to man.  The main street has been pedestrianised and today contained several stall offering the usual fruit and veg, bread, cakes and stuff.  None offered coffee funnily enough but 'Costa' cafes appeared every few minutes.  Another wasted search for that jacket, although I did find a chap with a similar search to me.  Neither of us have been satisfied by the major stores.   

Coffee was provided, for £1, at the excellent stall in the Market however.  Not as good as the Colchester chap but better than overpriced 'Costa!'  I prefer such places as this.  

The old entrance to the Essex County Buildings reflects the Edwardian elegance and pretentiousness considered so important at that time.  Around the corner the new portion of the building reflects the modern pretentious style.  I much prefer this door!  Clearly this building did not satisfy the needs of the populace, or their councillors at least as an addition was added in 1929

It is of course the panel on the right indicates Chelmsford Council however I canny find any information on the building and at the moment have too little time to search.  Quite why a rams head, if indeed it is that, sits above the letters I know not, there again there is no reason for another ram or what might be a vulture above the date 1929.  That was of course the year of the Wall Street crash so I hope the builders were paid before people started to throw themselves from 67th floor windows.  I checked the pavements round about but they were no worse than normal.

Along the old canal I wandered, strengthened by the coffee and discovered 'Boris the Spider' hard at work under the road bridge.  My knowledge of such beasties is somewhat limited, usually limited to crying "AAAARGGGH!" and running away, so I am not clear as to the real name of this one.  I have seen lots of these around here and usually have a couple on the windows living of other beasties.  You can keep this one if you like....  

I am much happier disappointing the ducks by not feeding them.  This lot were ganging up to threaten a toddler for his lunch just before I arrived.  Once he had been deprived they looked for other mugs.  I never expected to find a large pond in this area.  An excellent feature and much more interesting, when the sun shines, than the High Street and its crowded shops.  In Primark, a place I never entered before, I discovered an imitation Harris Tweed like jacket for £28.  Not far away a similar jacket, made with slightly better 'Tweed,' cost more than twice as much at a 'reduced ' price.  It crossed my mind that the same sweatshop slave earned fourpence for making both.

Running across the top of the park lies the Liverpool Street Railway.  High above on this excellent viuduct the trains run several minutes late regularly, especially at rush hour when people jump in front of them or lorry drives crash into the weaker bridges!  It was not possible to get the whole thing into a photo, it continues behind and into the distance, but the number of bricks is very impressive and a credit to the men who erected in during Victoria's reign.

As I said goodbye to the ducks that followed in a forlorn manner I headed back towards the bus station grasping my Free Bus Pass tightly in my hand.  However I was distracted by a statue in the distance that at first I thought referred to the Theatre that stands nearby.

With the light right behind the poor souls head it merely leaves him a dark silhouette but this man holding the 'lightning flash' in one hand and what looks like an old fashioned phone in the other is Guglielmo Marconi, the inventor of 'wireless.'  He in fact was not the actual inventor but he did play a serious development role and created a successful factory in the town that survived until recently.  It may still be found as part of GEC, if that has not died also.  You may recall him as the chap who sent a wireless signal across the Atlantic to Newfoundland, in spite of opposition from the men running the Telegraph system!  

Naturally I missed the bus!  As I approached I noticed the bus maneuvering about in a tight space.  Quick thinking, and a fast walk against my will, took me around the corner to the next stop which I reached, puggled, by the time the driver had made it past the traffic lights.  I was quite proud of my quick thinking.  I could tell by his snigger the driver had watched my attempt at speed and did not mistake me for that Bolt fellow.

I snatched this picture of the 'St Annes Castle' as we sped along because I noticed the sign on the other wall claiming that this was 'The Oldest Inn in England,' with a date that I think may have been possibly 1171.  I began to wonder how many other 'Oldest' Inns there may be, there is always a pub claiming to be the 'Smallest,' and how many can claim 'Elizabeth Ist Stayed Here!' Claims such as these have limited evidence but one of the must be right.  Inns such as this, on a road probably going back long before Roman times, must have carried many travellers requiring sustenance, so it is possible it was around a thousand years ago.  Here is the pubs own information regarding its age.   The place is mentioned in the Domesday Book, which you will recall, though not from personal experience, was written in 1086.  I may go down there to check it out one day myself....          

                                       

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Now I'm not one to Complain, but.....

I went down to board the 'Worst Bus' this morning and found it living up to it's name.  Who, I wish to know, considers using a single decker bus on a busy route that includes hordes of degenerates heading for Sixth Form College?   The bus filled with them, and at each stop, so many stops, more got on each one absorbed in his 'iPad' (who pays?), 'Walkman' or discussing (loudly) their lives with their neighbours!  The ability to absorb knowledge concerning the important subjects that cause the poor dears such trauma come exam time appears not to include an ability to move from the front door of the bus until the driver chides them, blocking access or escape, and general consideration for others!  Bah!  In my day we had jobs and kept the wheels of industry turning, none of this needless education until we sign on for three years for my generation.  On top of this the brats had the best seats, my late arrival meant I had one of those low slung seats where the sun is enabled to burn your face as you travel.  Oh joy!

Naturally all these creatures left the bus at my stop thus blocking the pavements for miles around and folks with important shopping had to force their way through as they discarded their breakfasts across the streets.  However was it worth the effort?  No it was not!  The desperately required jacket was not available in any shop that I entered, well once or twice something similar was on offer, at prices ranging from £65 - £180!!!!!  Yer having a laff pal!  In BHS (I think, they all look the same to me) not only did they almost have what I wanted, almost at the price I might pay but having a stand of some sort of cards next to the jackets, so close that I knocked the some off the rack, picked them up, as others fell, picked them up, carried on with my research while knocking more cards, hooks they were hanging on and then more cards off the rack, which I then just dumped on the floor under the stand.  Enough looking at their prices with restocking their display stands I thought.  No member of staff moved, or appeared to care.  I lost interest in the jackets and there were no lingerie nearby to ensure I remained in that store either!

  
The 'Castle' is undergoing a major renovation that must be costing millions of pounds.  Our little museum will be doing similar shortly.  The miserly government that happily encourages massive losses on privatised industries, MOD spending, and Tax dodging by their friends, has cut funding for 'Heritage' projects UK wide.  No moneyed friends in this business obviously, so all such organisations have to go into debt to prepare for self funding.  Many will close I foresee.  This little exhibition in the gardens can be given a well deserved Gold Star in my view.  They may have stolen Edinburgh's Chinese Pandas but they have done this very well.

St Botolph's admirable doorway.  Standing next to the old priory ruins mentioned earlier this year this impressive building is hidden behind the main road.  Once upon a time it must have been in an open space I reckon.  I called this 'impressive,' but really is dark gray, darkened by years of smoke soot, really the best brick to use for such a building?  At least this building is still in general use. 

It's tower is quite tall, too tall for my wee camera.

Good news and bad news!  The good news is the discovery of a proper bookshop!  Hooray!!  The bad news is the fact that it is closing down!  Boo!!  The only real bookshop, and this is a very real bookshop, in Colchester is about to end its days.  The owner is retiring, not going bust, so the shop surely can continue, however no-one is keen to take over and keep the shop open, this is very sad news indeed.  The shop contains lots of shelves, lined up in such a way as to make browsing enjoyable.  Books of all types are found there, even in boxes on the floor, with much more upstairs.  A proper bookshop with knowledgeable friendly staff and with no intention of buying books today, indeed I rushed about the Oxfam Bookshop with a less than friendly member of staff, as books were not in my mind today, yet I found myself missing my bus having browsed with no intention of buying for forty minutes.  As however the shop is closing and all books a re Half Price I managed to buy three for a mere £5, less than I thought as I did not really calculate the cost as I browsed, very unlike me I hear you say.  A wonderful place to go, especially when you have not found a proper bookshop for many year.  Want an investment?  Buy this shop!

St John's Gate is all that remains of a Benedictine Abbey built C.1400.  After the 'Peasant's Revolt' in 1381 it was decided to strengthen their defences, how these folks helped the poor eh?  After the English Civil War and Henry VIII all that remains is this gate.  Does it go anywhere?  I know not as I had no time, or energy, to clamber over all the roads to find out.  Shooting into the sun is not easy, especially as I had to cut out the road signs that made fitting the gate into a picture.  

At the bus station I decided to stay alive by spending big on a coffee.  Normally I would not waste my cash on such, grossly overpriced coffee from the abundant cafe's never appeal to me,  yet as I was close to death after running around I considered it worth a gamble.  "Cheapest Coffee Please," I requested, and was given the cheapest (£1:50) by the helpful friendly chap at the stall. Poor man, his sales are increasing while the weather deteriorates but he also is suffering from the weather, which will make him deteriorate as time passes.  However the coffee was good and kept me alive, much to many others displeasure, and I may well head for this place next time I am in town.

Happily the bus home appeared as a double decker!  I smiled smugly to myself and soon lost the leering grin as other degenerates appeared from cracks in the pavement and boarded in their turn.  At least upstairs I got a decent view from the front, everything looks better from high up. However the bus decided to pick up all the old folks with free bus passes ("cough!").  They take their time boarding, each stop provided more of them, and indeed at each stop we stopped!  I was beginning to wonder if we would ever leave the town and arrive at the countryside again.  After a short lifetime, and I have had a few of those, we eventually found the open road.  This, naturally, was blocked by a rubbish lorry and the following parade of vehicles each one determined to get through in spite of the bus blocking their progress!  Bah!  

When we eventually arrived at the village with its narrow streets we found a white van man buying his lunch.  His van allowing cars past but not our bus.  The driver had to get out and chase him from 'Spar' before we could continue.  Arriving in town again and dreaming of lunch he stopped the bus on the outskirts and switched off the engine.  Sighs, deep and heartfelt, were heard throughout the bus.  We have all been there, the bus stops and an announcement, "We have broken down, a replacement will be along soon."  The bus companies use of the word 'soon,' might breach the trades description act!  However after a radio conversation including the words, 'red button comes on,' and 'bus station,' we began to believe we might make it home.

We did, and I decided that I will adjust the hours in which I travel, but I must travel back there, the bookshop closes in October and it is a great shop.  Now I must find some money for my next trip, and I forgot all about the jacket....

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Radio Programme

Jerome K Jerome

On Sunday BBC Radio 4 did something worth listening to, the 'Classic Serial,; usually a waste of time in my view, offered instead one of the greatest tales ever told, 'Three Men in a Boat!'  This version continues next week and this programme fails at that date sadly.  So I urge you to listen TODAY!  You will enjoy this version of the gentle tale.  Starring Hugh Dennis, Steve Punt, Julian Rhind-Tutt and not forgetting Montmorency the dog, this hour long show gently meanders along following the book as the boat must follow the stream (allowing for the fact that they actually rowed upstream).   

The book appeared first in 1889 and has never been out of print since.  A literary wonder the book began as an attempt to describe the topography of the Thames but grew into one of the worlds best loved books.  Few others achieve such fame.  Deceptively simple, gentle in tone, wit aplenty the book is historically informative on the boating pleasures of Thames of the day and gives an insight to human nature revealing that it has changed not one bit since. This apparently easy to write book is very difficult to achieve, Jerome could never match this book again though he tried.  Many have attempted such, even I, indeed I almost got to the bottom of the second page before giving up, but such light reading is harder than at first appears.  

The Classic Serial does this book justice and I recommend a listen while there is still time!

'Three Men in a Boat'

Culture 24  

Telegraph

Another Maudlin Monday

Before nine this morning the day looked to be full of action as the firemen appeared outside once again dealing, I thought, with the brats setting fire to something on their way to school. Possibly this is part of Michael Gove's (education minister) new curriculum, 'Arson for Beginners.' Usually there are one or two schools set ablaze before the new term although round here we lost one by some sort of fault.  Helpfully the primary kids now travel 14 miles to continue their education!  Once again the authorities were their usual unhelpful selves when enquiries as to what they were doing was concerned. Several who asked were heard to reply, "And you!" before continuing on their way.  

The day darkened when for reasons unknown the lights went out.  The box switched itself off at the mains and once reconnected everything appears OK. Why does electric do this?  Could it be it is preparing for the country running out of power once all the coal fired power stations cease to operate?  Could it be nuclear power stations may once again be built, and guess who will pay, certainly not the power generators!  Even the desperate for love Liberal-Democrats have now agreed the vast number of windmills dumped across the nation cannot supply our needs, as if we didn't know this forty years ago, and they have accepted nuclear is required in spite of the problems associated there.  

The day has once again been terrible.  I am convinced I am suffering a serious disease, unknown to science, that makes me lazy, slothful, shivering, and wake up tired in the mornings.  The bug that first arrived in 1987 may be taking its toll at last.  

I noticed however, between bleary eyes, that Obama is paying for his throwaway 'red line' comment last year.  At the time he said this I got the impression it was 'off the cuff' and he had no idea it would be brought up once again.  When chemical weapons were used, but by whom we don't yet know, he had to take action on this comment or look weak.  With the military machine determined to smash Iran it was inevitable their Syrian adventure would require statements of intent from the president.  The cry was 'Go get 'em,' but his heart was not in this and when the UK population made it so very clear that they would not tolerate 'our boys' in that adventure he saw a way out.  Pass the buck to Congress!  If the UK parliament could stand up and be counted for once then possibly the US could do the same.  However John Kerry, the anti-war veteran, offered 'unbelievably small' attacks while Obama said he 'Didn't do pin-pricks,' showing some confusion.  Confusion also where it was important to stop CW falling into 'wrong hands,' meaning the rebels.  Now however in the 'right hands' it appears to have been used, so who is the right hands today?  Russia possibly, tee hee!  Note nobody asks where the CW comes from, although the UK has sold most of the chemicals required to make them.  The US supplied masses to Saddam when  he was their man fighting the Iranians, but we don;t talk about that, nor the CW held by Israel.  Of course we talk about CW but ignore the routine weapons that are killing the population on both or any side as that is not important just now.
Obama found escape from attacking Syria through his friends in the Soviet Uni oops Russia.  The political nous that enabled them to jump in and obtain a promise from Assad to hand over the CW (to whom?) therefore doing away with the need for missiles.  The Russians have of course won a great victory, celebrated by Assad's men, and put Kerry's ever increasing threats into place. Obama must be relieved that an unpopular war has been avoided, however the Pentagon appears sure that some 75,000 men on the ground are required to remove the hidden (where?) CW.  Where will they come from, how can they do the job in a few months with a civil war, backed by the US friends Saudi Arabia and Quatar, is raging all around?  No-one knows, no-one cares.  As long as we don't get involved we don't care either.  The homeless, the wounded and the dead might have an opinion, but politics is not about them.

As we speak another success for the National Rifle Association at the Washington Navy Yard.  A man with a gun, possibly two men, have opened fire and killed one or two.  It makes me feel safe walking UK streets when I see this!  Guns have their place I suppose, but in the middle of a major city?
   
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It's Lee's Fault!

It's all Lee's fault!  She made a post today all about Fish & Chips! That got me going hungry as I was at the time.  Actually when I think about it she was really blethering on about 'fast food' in general and this delicacy came into her thoughts.  Reading her post about a variety of 'fast foods,' meant I ran to make myself baked potato and beans in the microwave, which was the fastest I could manage at lunchtime.  The chatter about fish and chips filled my little head with memories of the joys they brought.  As kids we rarely had such delicacies, it was too expensive for a family of six, and while we often had a bag of chips (3d) when coming home from cub scouts or such like fish and chips from a shop was rare.  Mum instead cooking the way mothers ought to cook on the cheap and ensuring we ate properly.  Of course the supermarket ready meals did not exist then.   As I got older, and richer, I was often out and about, and when following the football on a Saturday the journey home from the delights of Glasgow or Dundee was broken by a stop for beer and fish and chips.  When young it was the chip shop often buying chips for the older men, when older the chips were delivered to us, often in the pub.  Milnathort and Harthill both had two excellent and well used 'chippies' in those days.  The best such feed I ever obtained came from the chippy lying a few yards from the Arbroath football ground.  Sadly Google Maps show this grand shop has disappeared.  In those far off days the harbour was full of fishing boats and the fish supper was fantastic, I am not sure if this was because of the freshness of the fish or the oil used in cooking but no chips have ever tasted better!  The wholeness and nourishment in what in Edinburgh is referred to as a 'fish supper' is proved by the many football teams similarly feed their players this way on the bus journey home.  While richer sides fly by chartered airline or dwell in five star hotels the majority have to board the coach for the journey home.  Inverness Caledonian certainly do this making use of a regular stop on their way home, possibly alongside the few fans who have followed them on their day out.  

The manner of presentation of the delicacy that is a fish supper varies wherever you live.  In Edinburgh (pronounced Edinburra), Scotland's Capital City the correct manner is followed.  The the fish and chips are wrapped and laid in front of the schoolgirl earning a pittance behind the counter and she will enquire if you wish 'Salt & Sauce' on them, the correct answer being 'yes.' At this point heart attack levels of Salt & Sauce will be sprayed over the meal before it is wrapped and handed to you.  The sauce is 'chip shop sauce,' a brown vinegary sauce and one of the worlds greatest delicacies.  The EU need to protect this I say.  Scotland you will note has the highest rate of heart attacks in the world.  I blame smoking and drinking myself.   In Glasgow, one of the provincial towns, I believe the heritage of poverty leads them only to offer 'Salt & Vinegar' to heighten eating pleasure, a very poor deal if you ask me.  Most shops also have cheap sachets of other condiments, Tomato ketchup, mayonnaise, whisky and the like if that's your pleasure, at a cost however.  One Glasgow man allowed into Edinburgh claims racial discrimination because he has to pay for tomato ketchup when refusing brown sauce.  He reckons the sachet ought to be free as is the salt & sauce.  He is clearly the product of a poor education as he insists on refusing the 'ambrosia' while asking for tomato sauce, tsk!  

When I first ventured south I was amazed at the failings of the English chip shop.  Not only do they not offer this delicacy on your chips, they just wrap it up and dump it in front of the customer.  Once you pay you then have the bother of unwrapping the thing, adding salt and no sauce is on offer!  Not only this but the pies are not proper 'mince pies,' instead these strange things come with a tin foil tray and wrapped in paper!  Why?  Is it not possible to remove the wrapping before cooking?  What is wrong with proper service?  On top of this crime the chips themselves are foul!  Scottish chips have a wonderful soft flavour, in England they all appear stale to me.  Where do their chips come from, China?  All chip shops here appear the same to me, all chips taste dull.  The fish also is different, in Scotland a fish supper means Haddock, down here it is Cod.  Judging by the prices when last I looked it must be caught in the Pacific and flown business class to Billingsgate!   One of the three chip shops here has a nasty habit of asking what you want, taking your money and then making you wait!  Just try that one down by the 'Doocot' on a Friday night pal!  The small towns nearby have nothing in the cooker until someone comes in and orders.  I have never come across this before.  In Halstead there is one small shop where each night a long queue wait mournfully as they cook the dinner slowly, one by one I reckon at the time they take.  No fast food there! 

I'm hungry again, and being now to close to 16 stone to eat anything much, where's the lettuce....?  It's all Lee's fault!

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Sodden Saturday

Wandering about in the drizzle I noticed this bike chained up against a lamppost.  As it has been there for two weeks I am now wondering about the quality of local thieves.  A bike chained up for any length of time would disappear in many parts of this land yet here not even the gypos have gone off with it!  When you consider the number of people passing by, kids interested in bikes, stragglers, van drivers, it is a surprise to see this one remaining here.
On the other hand who owns it?  What happened to them?  Have they forgotten the thing? Did they arrive on the bike before popping in to the registry office behind the wall, get married and lose interest?  Were they arrested for a discretion in the park and find themselves detained at her majesties pleasure, or are they in the council offices waiting even yet for an answer to their query?  They could be some time yet I fear!  Is it of course possible they parked it to speak to a passing alien and now reside on Alpha Centura?  Maybe I could sell the 'Daily Star' a story to that end, they might go for it.  Short story writers could have a field day with this situation.  

The crow claimed to know nothing.  He and his mates gather here daily, encouraged by the brats in the park leaving their lunch strewn across the grounds, but while seeing everything say nothing. Instead they just eat, wander about snootily, scare of the passing seagulls and go about their business in the manner of their forefathers.  
Of course, he could be a Rook you know....

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