Sunny Saturday

Sunny Saturday so me sitting inside the museum 'training' a new volunteer. Hopefully he will take over soon and allow me my Saturdays back.  It is difficult tot rain someone when nobody ventures past the front door, well some folks did arrive just as he was leaving.  Typical!  Then I had to rush home and sit through two cup finals.  St Johnstone you will be delighted to know won the cup for the first time in their 130 year history, and the game was full of interest.  I really enjoyed it.  Following this was the less interesting English cup and after a game that enthralled this meant little.  Quite how the English can get interested in their football beats me, ours is far better.  At least it means something to me.  

That sums up my day.  Writing for the boss at seven thirty in the morning, working sort off and football. I will be glad the season is over as it is wearing me out.  Of course I never got any of the sunshine.  

This is good!

An Old Dream

Really Loud

Looking up from my steaming laptop I noticed on the telly a car similar to this one.  This little beats is a Fiat Gamine, and I first saw them in a garage at Blackhall in Edinburgh in the late 60's. At the time I could neither drive nor afford a car, £7 a week does not ensure happy transport! However I was impressed at the little runaround and have harboured a desire for one ever since. There again I have harboured desires for many things since that time and few have borne fruit, although the Heart of Midlothian did win the Scottish Cup in 1998 as I am sure you know and if you don't be happy to let Mr Smith instruct you.   

In those far off days I wore a lot of jeans, as I do now, however as Edinburgh has only two seasons, winter and a cold wet summer, I also wore maroon coloured cords quite a lot.  Indeed some time back I was perplexed as these were no longer to be found in the shops anywhere.  It appears Messrs Levi and Wrangler had ceased production.  After years of searching I discovered online where these could be obtained at enormous cost and very much against my wallet so I let that lie and returned to Tesco for their £6 jeans.  One of the 'outlet' shops nearby is a 'Levi' shop where jeans have been reduced to a cheap price, 'Buy Two for £90' was one offer I failed to run over for, and while Mr Levi made jeans for the gold diggers it now appears the gold diggers are working for him!   

Anyway my little run about, totally useless in cold wet Edinburgh, designed for Italian summers where heat and sunshine are found alongside blue sky and funny tasting wine.  It is of course possible the wine in Italy actually tastes better than the rancid stuff they send us of course.  So poverty and no licence ended my dream, a dream that remains.  Of course if anyone has such a working car they wish to donate please don't hesitate to send cash with it. 

Hard at Work

Here I am hard at work, I am there, I merely collapsed with exhaustion and can be found lying under the table muttering rude words about the Battle of Cambrai!  Six men required, only one finished and August around the corner but I am not panicking!!!!  Add to this I wandered down to the cemetery (it was dead quiet again) to take a few better photographs of a gravestone belonging to a chap who died of disease in 1916.  Information regarding him is arriving and he will be added to our pile so I decided we needed a better photo.  I knew where he lay and went straight there and he had gone!  No sign anywhere of the large cross that stood above him, nothing remained!  This is taking grave robbing too far I thought.  I wandered about for ages but could not find where he had been moved to, cursing my stupidity in not checking the shabby picture I took last year.  Ghouls I decided, had been in during a dark night and nicked him to sell to a medical school somewhere.  Instead I retook pics of other gravestones in the faint hope of improving what I already possessed.  Back home, still before eight o'clock and with the sun shining, I checked the old grubby picture of my man.  Funnily enough he has been moved to a place right behind where I was standing photographing a gravestone.  Bah!

So once again I discover the weighing machine is broken.  It claims I am two pounds short of 16 stone for goodness sake!  Clearly a malfunction.  However as I puffed and struggled up Cemetery Hill this morning as slowly clambered back upstairs it seemed a good idea to lose some of the flab.  So once again I am on a diet.  Once again I am eating healthily, once again it will fail.  But maybe this time I had better make an effort as this fat is killing me!

Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's off to work I go.....

As we discussed the exhibition this morning it came to our attention that August is fast approaching. As my boss discussed the size of the area allotted, the number of panels outnumbering the space for them, the lack of display cabinets, the obtaining this, checking that, the legal things to check, and then deciding that my job now is to produce six tales of local men and an intro to the war for a wee booklet to sell at 50p.  It was when we realised just how close August is that we decided to act courageously, we burst into tears!  As for the six men I have finished one and half way through another.  The rest are as yet in limbo. (Limbo is not a country by the way)
Once again I sit here knackered after a hard day.  Oh yes it was!  Listening to that fellow with the beard was tiring, I think if the rest of the family had not dragged him away he would still be reminiscing, lugging boxes of out of date leaflets to the skip, equality has not given the lassies the ability to do this apparently, and clearing up after the weekend event kept me busy.  So busy my tea was cold before I finished it....again! Bah!   

Nothing else to say, so here is a cat's question answered.

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What a Day!

The plan was simple, I rise early, around six, breakfast, then find something to take away the taste, do the jogging, push ups and physical exercises, then sit down and write up my dead soldiers.  Dead simple and only one or two small matters otherwise to deal with.  Then as I was fighting my way over Teke Tepe in Gallipoli the news came through of  the changes at the Heart of Midlothian. Now I am in agreement that changes were required, reality must come in but shocked as they say constantly in the media, shocked by the mess made today by the new man Craig Levein.  The more I investigate, the more I listen to those in the know, some even do know, the more worried I become.  It looks bad from here.  The new club required changes and a great push forward, this appears to be more of a cost cutting exercise than anything.  Some glaring spaces can be seen, who will be goalkeeper?  Where are the mature player desperately required? Why is Levein not making clear his part?  How much is he paid in the austerity regime?  Many questions and I do not think the much praised Ann Budge understands the job she is taking on. She certainly does not understand the fans. 

I between bursting into tears over the mess at Tynecastle I managed to finish my report on Serjeant Ambrose, make soup with which to poison myself, and eat badly.  However listening to the reports on the news, reading fawning fans forums, reading despairing fans forums, and wandering the streets attempting to photograph the wonderful display of mixed clouds that passed by today meant that I was unable to start on the next man.  Back to the museum tomorrow, so no writing there as I will be busy with visitors, hopefully!  Ho hum!

Sheila at 'A Postcard a Day' has been kind enough to fix my Google problem. Informing me it happens to be just another Google 'improvement.'  Bah!  Why must these computer geeks change things all the time, improving what need not be improved?  The BBC have done this, Facebook do it, Google also, and Twitter.  Just because it is free, apart from the FBI knowing where I shop and my shirt size, that does not mean it has to be changed unexpectedly and badly, as this has been!  Bah!  At least Sheila's site changes not and is well worth your perusal!  


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

So for a while the laptop has been doing strange things, one of which concerns Google.  Normally on Chrome I have the Google UK picture, and on the right hand side a link takes me to the next page where the 'Add-Ons' are found.  Now when I click a tab the Google page that appears is different, and the next page link on Google UK has gone.  The new page is not 'Google UK' but a Google page with no Google mail, images, +You link or indeed the email address as usual.  There is nothing aIong the base either, instead under the sign there are links to places I have been, none of which I use as I don;t trust this, and attempting to use the type an address in the address bar takes over.  What is this? Is there a way of fixing this?  I have run the anti bad guys stuff but none have worked so far.  This irritates me, and I am not one to complain.....

There is the usual fuss in the media concerning this appalling event.  It appears this took place last night when I was busy having a life.  As usual banal, trite melodies offered by perverts and weirdos won the day.  It is long since this vapid bilge ceased to be an opportunity for struggling singers and became a replacement for the psychiatric hospitals Thatcher killed off, but why do people watch it?  This freak show 'entertains two thirds of the European public, yet there is nothing there!  I am more and more convinced the end is nigh, when you see what won can I be wrong?

"You'll never get out of here alive!"

Once again I spent Saturday morning at the museum as nobody was available to work it.  Next week l, off my own free will and kindness, will be there on Saturday again.  You see I am so kind and caring gentle and sweet.  I was also knackered!  I did manage to persuade the boss to make up a short advert looking for volunteers for the museum to fill in the empty spaces, far too many are sick, dying or finding jobs, and sweet as she is this happened.  So I shoved them into three churches letterboxes as there are people there who will be available I am convinced.  As one of the churches has many older "cough" peoples there will be historical knowledge also.  We will see!

Hours I have spent looking for my family.  So far none have been in prison but several have disappeared, if only one or two others would join them?   This has helped with finding dead soldiers but there is so much to do and I have hours of work to do to get through it all.  This and watching the football takes up so much time!  Of course dithering, falling asleep and wandering to the shops to obtain reduced price goods has also been required, the falling asleep bit being most popular.  However uncomplaining I battle on, my day ahead is planned out, nothing will deter my study, rise at six and plod on till midnight!  But I ask, what happened to my man George....?

Yet Another Book

With so much to do, constantly piling up things to do and leaving them to do themselves, rushing down to the museum when yet another soul does not turn up or gets a proper job, and gazing at the laptop in in effort to think of something sensible to say about yet another dead soldier, running to the shops for urgent supplies, all this leaves little time to read!  Of course you will say watching all those football matches at night, wandering the streets in a daze or just bloody laziness also plays its part but I must state that this is not the case! OK, well it might play a teensie wee part but whatever the reason the only place I get peace to read books these days is in the bathroom!  There is indeed little else to do there of course and while imitating a Knight of the Bath there is great pleasure in soaking away the muscle pains while recreating the little gray cells that desperately require recreating!
So in the smelly box that constitutes the escape from the world I have a pile of books, all half read, that get attention from time to time.  Usually at the top lies the number one bestseller, bought from a charity shop, that has gripped my little minds attention and is devoured before I add the Eau de Cologne.  The top book recently is an old one, put together in the 1930's by one of the great travel writers, and later South African dweller and racist, Henry Canova Vollam Morton.  'In the Steps of the Master.' (No I don't know how he got the name either!)

During the early 20's H.V.Morton began writing a 'London Life' column for a the 'Daily Express,' his father edited the 'Birmingham Mail,' so that's where he learned the trade.  These were so popular they soon appeared in book form, 'In Search of London,' 'In Search of England,' 'In Search of Scotland.'  By the thirties he was in the British mandated Middle East.  While the book gives the impression he spent some time alone wandering around it transpires he had his wife with him (they divorced in 1934 and he soon found another) and he made several trips in all at various times to complete his project. Whatever, the finished results are excellent travel documents at a time when travel in that area of the world was popular among those with money.  It was easier and safer as all came under the control of the British, God bless the Empire (stand to attention while reading this part!).  What once pleased a population unable to travel as they were only paid £3 a week also spoke to ex-servicemen who saw action or service under the Crown in this part of the world.  The popularity has never waned as now they speak to us of a time so long ago yet just a short time back.  The changes in a mere 80 or so years are phenomenal!

Beginning in Jerusalem Morton walks where Jesus walked, allowing for two thousand years of change, several major sieges, and tourist guides who can show you exactly where Jesus bought his shopping. The Holy Sepulchre is of course the place to visit.  I went there just before the first Gulf War in 1990 and it was so quiet I was alone, bar from a nun working there, inside the tomb itself. Normally it was more like Morton's time, crowded!  Later after travelling around he watches the Easter ceremonies from the various groups based there. Elaborately dressed, incense, candles, parades, and languages used that go back to Jesus day.  Not my idea of a Sunday morning but there you are!  The British Police were out is force, as Israeli police are today as one wrong word, one misuse of a fellow monks lamp could lead to rioting.  Those candlesticks make great weapons among the beloved!  A walk over the Mount of Olives, Bethany, the River Jordan and on to the Dead Sea.  The descriptions he gives are captivating. Much of his route would be impossible today.  The road to Jericho offers us the English traveller at his best.  He stops the car at one point to remove his coat as it was getting to hot, just think, in that heat he was driving while wearing a coat!  In Jericho he is confronted by a Cocker Spaniel! Following this arrives a man in plus fours and tweed jacket, the British governor of the town.  He was awaiting the British version of Pontious Pilate, they were going shooting don't ya know!  Soon his eminence arrived in large black car, suitably dressed for the grouse moor and off the went leaving Morton to wander over the ruins of ancient Jericho.

Via Gaza and the Philistine country Morton wanders north via Samaria as was and stays at the Sea of Galilee.  Clearly enjoying this part of the trip he stays a few days, even persuading fishermen to take him out fishing so he can watch their manner of catching fish, then still as Peter and his mates would have used. For the writer and many of his audience these places would have been well known through bible stories most likely heard as children at Sunday School. For the man himself it led to a better understanding of the bibles accuracy, often objected too by those who at that time had no chance to travel to research. Everyday happenings, very unlikely in the modern world, could be seen, reflecting biblical stories and making them real.  The advantage of the 1930's tourist was the unspoilt land, population changes, building and war has changed much since then.  
The author moves on through Lebanon, under French control at the time, then to Damascus even standing by the tomb of Saladin the Great.  Morton offers great praise to this considerate opponent of the murderous Crusaders but appears not to realise Saladin may not have seen him in the same light. The tale takes us down to Machaerus, one of the astounding fortresses built by Herod the Great and later the place where Morton concludes Salome danced before Herod Antipas and was rewarded with John the Baptists head on a plate. He might be right.  There again after the hard slog to get there, accompanied by a member of the tough and efficient Arab legion his mind may have been taxed a wee bit.  Ending with a trip to Petra, the town cut from  the rock, he returns for Easter at Jerusalem.

On his travels he encounters Arab politeness and danger, wonders at the poverty of so many living among the ruins of biblical places and crusader castles, and on one occasion saves a dogs life to the wonder of the Arabs who would let it die because it was 'only a dog.'  Morton's biblical conclusions are often reasonable considering what was known at the time.  His writing is easy, and enjoyable, occasionally bringing wry humour out of the situation he finds himself in.  Years ago I read this book and it made me want to visit these places.  How different things were in 1990, how much more so today!  Books such as this cover not only the area as it was live so to speak in 1933 or so but take us back hundreds and thousands of years to what happened there before. Then the book seen from our today takes us forward again to yet another world, it is possible it might even take us into the future if read with an open eye.

H.V.Morton

H.V.Morton Society

Radio 4 Morton prog  (30 minutes)

Amazon

OK, Explain This!

Wandering home from the museum after a very quiet day I passed this in one of the centuries old rights of way.  Today this is merely a path between houses but it has been in use since time immemorial, which means a long time ago.  Plastic bags, crisp packets, tin cans and the like can often be found lying about the streets of this litter mad society, but in this town sights like this are rare, indeed never seen before.  Who and why has someone dumped all these old boots here I wonder?  Did someone rob a bag from a charity shop and get the wrong stuff?  Is it a foot fetishist who has changed his mind?  
While enduring 20 odd years on London such sights were not unusual, indeed round our way they were common before gentrification took hold.  In this wasteland the tipping is usually done in a farmers field well away from homes and usually of trade waste, not second hand footwear.  I must keep a look out for a family with no shoes.  Then I will know the culprit.  What did I do about it did you ask?  Nothing........ 

I found this also, a picture of a Glasgow shop!

Bank Holiday Monday Again

This is a scene in Edinburgh's Granton area a couple of weeks ago, it may still be there.  The UKIP poster, (United Kingdom Independence Party with the UK to leave the EU, and many consider them racist for not wanting high immigration) is found planted alongside an advert for tents claiming 'No Poles Required!'  There has in recent years been an influx of young folks from Poland into the UK leaving some to demand whether these posters placed side by side was a deliberate act on someones part.  I doubt it, but even so, it is quite funny.
There can be no doubt immigration is a big issue today.  However who knows what the actual numbers of immigrants actually happens to be?  Government figures cannot be trusted, even by governments, UKIP or any other lobby group certainly will not tell the truth, and the only fact is that the entire UK is overcrowded.  However, once Scotland becomes independent you will note only England, and Wales, become crowded, Scotland having masses of highlands bereft of life bar English incomers looking for a better world.  UKIP remains an England First Party, probably some members are racist, some certainly a bit loopy, however many similar remain within the Conservative Party but the papers do not mention that, certainly not during the lead up to an election.  
The European Election is with us in 20 or so days.  We ave the opportunity to send people into obscurity on vast wages, huge expenses, long hours of wasting everybody's time, and changing not one iota of life for you and me as far as I am aware up to this point.  The EU is such a farce. The accounts have never been signed off for 20 years, nobody knows where the money goes, few if any care or understand the financial side, yet nothing is done!  Talk is loud now, action unseen tomorrow.  Laws are passed, ignored by France, yet important here!  It is time for a rethink.  Let us work with Europe, but not in a Federal state.  Let us trade, help, aid, develop the poorer parts, but first let us remove the millions earning vast sums in Strasbourg, Brussels and wherever else they dwell.  I'm thinking of voting either 'Green' or 'UKIP,' as both would serve them right and keep them away from us!
   

Being a bank holiday, in which everyone bar supermarkets and greedy shops take the long weekend off, there was nothing happening today.  This made no difference whatsoever to this small town!  Actually it does, most shops shut, businesses closed and many took advantage of a reasonably warm day to clean the car, go visit in-laws, or even have a happy time.  I did nothing, so no change there.  The bright blue sky caused me to cycle up the old railway however, puffing up that slope far more than any F5 engine ever did I can tell you.

     Pah! You call that steam!

Clearly this is doing me good health wise, or so they say, but it did not feel this way at the time. There were few about, which always make it worth while.

The morning sun makes me want to take pictures but there was nothing but this aged gate, once entrance to a busy coal depot, the only interesting object on view.  I can tell it bores you, it did little for me.  However this depot must have been important in the coal fired days.  Every house required coal, all stations along the line had similar layouts busy with bags of coal being transferred to lorries and taken to almost every house in the area.  I say almost as with all the woods around in the past I suspect many chopped their own for the fire, saving money and keeping fit.  Today we just turn the switch and grumble at the power companies ripping us off. Where are all the old coalmen now?  Dead I suppose. Any living will be well into their eighties, probably older, but I suspect still fit! Jobs come and go with the change of lifestyle yet as far as I know few tears were shed for coalmen who lost out to the Clean Air Act.  Yet for well over a hundred years such men kept the nation warm, industry working and when stocks were low suffered the abuse for something they could do little about. Now they are forgotten.  So many old jobs once commonplace have gone in fifty years.  Factories, railway sidings, once the employer of thousands now turned into small shops, scout huts or out of town supermarkets.  How quickly we forget.    

Do you know muscles used rarely hurt when used?  As I write this rubbish my muscles are informing me of this very fact.  When I rise in the morrow I wonder if they will remind me then also.....?
  
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It's been a long day.

I like work!  I'm a great believer in it.  In fact there are times I spend much of the day just looking at work, either indoors or out, I'm ambidextrous that way. Work I say is good for the soul, especially the watching others do it part.  I'm very keen on that part.  In fact I was hoping to spend much of today doing that very thing, watching others spend their Saturdays working, at the market, cleaning the car, on the farms, anywhere as the sun was shining and the sky was blue.  

It didn't go to plan!

Museum Big Boss One (who does not do Saturdays) asked me to be in this morning, 10 am sharp, to meet a couple of women who wished to talk about the Great War for some musical project they were involved with.  I was there.  I'm like that, scared to refuse.  To be there meant missing out on watching folks work but it had crossed my mind I could watch the other museum staff work instead while I chatted. Come ten the women gathered and I locked us in the dim office, I forgot to open the blinds, and offered the material I had prepared and that left out for us by Big Boss One.  I should add that for the past couple of days I have been attempting to find info on several dead soldiers for these girls, working until late last night to sort things out for them, even searching the web before seven as I ate my burnt breakfast, and yet not a word of complaint passed my lips.  I'm like that.  So today, once locked in, I asked what exactly they were looking for.

Women! That's what!

They have decided to do a musical project (in August?) on women, and how the Great War changed their lives and the changes it led to up unto our day. Naturally I found my mind numbing at this point. Everywhere you look the commemoration of ten million dead men, 750,000 of them ours half of who's bodies were never recovered, are centered on what wimmin did during the war! One did enquire as to what the grating sound was, the car park outside I lied and stopped my molars grinding and turned their attention to the work women were doing in this area for the war effort.  

The next two hours were spent discussing (talking) the situation.  Around a thousand women worked at one factory alone making shell casings, ammunition boxes and lots of money.  The soldiers daily rate of pay was one shilling and two pence, around about ten shillings a week and more if he had some particular skill.  The girls earned at least a pound a week, sometimes more as they were paid the same as the men.  Not only to cut absences through sickness the factory had a surgery and looked after the staff well.  Vast numbers of shells were produced for the war this way, cheaper than via the normal manufacturers.  The lassies drove lorries, worked machines, wore lipstick and smoked cigarettes.  The thought that things were black and white had to be removed from these women, both friendly and efficient clever capable women at that, and no doubt although we only scratched the surface they have some better idea of what they want now.

I wanted sleep!

I had expected ten minutes, half an hour and heard the clock chime twelve before we ended the day. Time for lunch thought I.  Naturally Big Boss Two (who does work Saturdays) then smiled, cried and tore at my heartstrings pointing out that someone had not come in, the one who had was off to lunch, she herself (not these are all women!) was busy and had to meet a man (for the presentation) and was very busy.  Having run a handkerchief under a tap she dabbed her eyes and pleaded for help.  Naturally I said "NO!" as I would miss the football, naturally I was still there an hour later!  

At least during this time something good happened.  Yes it was a shock but it happened.  This chap came in to discuss the war, he was a bit unsure as to what he was after but he did mention his relative who died, Ambrose, the very man I had been researching!  This was his great nephew!  I mentioned that a woman had sent me a picture and some info but he could not work out who that could be.  It turned out to be his wife!  This was a lovely man, much fun, and we had a good chat.  That really did make my day.  A living connection with the name on the memorial, more of this please! 

Lunch over, a replacement for me found, I began to head for home.  However the man who does the odd jobs on a Saturday needed help with his Butt.  The water butt that is, there was a jam and we had to empty this vast amount of water so he could fix it.  

I then headed for home, quietly picking up my jacket and sneaking out when no-one was looking.

As I got through the door my arm was grabbed by Big Boss Two who wants me to do it again next Saturday!  I said "NO!" and headed for Tesco. 

Home in time to miss the start of the football, burn my dinner, eat not just today's but tomorrows also as I was that hungry by now, and then discover three replies to my quest for information regarding dead soldiers!  How lovely! So after watching Manchester City defeat Everton (Naismith still has the Rangers habit off falling down for no reason) from my bed, I am not proud, I respond to these with a smile, content with the world, the lovely deep blue sky outside, the gentle music playing in the background, and deciding some work is not as bad as all that and I might have to do all this, or something like it, next Saturday again.

Cute!

That advert, like these others, seems fine to me.  

Surely everyone would agree? 

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Open Minded Comments

The day started early and lingered on a long time.  I became immersed in the papers.  One of the great leaps forward provided by the internet has been the free availability of the half truths and downright lies offered by the UK media. On top of the slanted items on view comes the readership, both those who succumb to the propaganda and those who oppose.  To give an impression that a great many of those who add their comment at the foot of these stories, and stories must be the word, are small minded, blind, self seeking cretins might be a wee bit wide of the mark, or maybe might not!  Which is worse I wonder, the distorted news item or the distorted reader, it's a difficult one.
The brazen manner in which the media offers tales based simply on what the reader wishes to read, yes 'Daily Mail,' I mean you, is simply staggering.  The desire of folks to read and accept what is published staggers also adding more than a hint of worry about just who is sitting next to you on the bus!  A direct opposite news priority wise is of course the 'Guardian.'  While the 'Daily Mail,' appeals to those of the lower middle class and those working class Tory voters aspiring to be 'middle class,' the Guardian's appeal is to the liberal middle class. That is those educated, or indoctrinated might be a better word, by their class fellows and proudly boast of their ability to think, yet manage to come out with the same opinions!  These opinions are on the whole totally opposed to those underlying the 'Daily Mail.'  
Each paper on offer aims only at its readership an attitude leading to a desperate lowering of standards such as they were in the hope of keeping the paper afloat.  UK papers have lost half their sales in the past ten years and some now ask for money from those of us reading their online versions.  'The Times,' one of Murdoch's papers, now offers his opinions at a cost, his already dumbed down 'Sun,' now also asks for a contribution.  Neither get any shekels from me.
The advantage of online versions is the ability to increase advertising that reaches the soul of the reader, so far none has reached this soul as far as I can see.  The disadvantage is employees are required to moderate the online comments offered by those seeking fame, attention, a soapbox and being able to anonymously project these to the world via a keyboard.  
What are you looking at me for?
Cost cutting has hit 'journalism' hard.  Proper journalists as well as tabloid ones have lost their jobs and we find their meaningless drivel now presented by 'Workies.'  That is those offered a full time 'interns' job with no pay.  These are willingly accepted by young trainees desperate to break into the business, a year later heard offering the famous cry, "Do you want fries with that?"  One job workies do is moderating comments.  No doubt some are good at this, no doubt someone with appropriate training is able to weed out the libelous stuff before it goes out to the world.  One thing is clear, any comment that criticises the paper itself is almost always removed!  Don't ask how I know, just believe me.  The Guardian allows all sorts of perversions to be aired yet will not allow a degree of sarcasm or disagreement, either removing the offending post, moderating the offenders next posts, or banning them altogether for a while. Don't ask how I know this either.  Many of my some peoples 'Daily Mail' posts do not appear, even when they claim not to be moderating.  I think I have upset one of the workies.  It would not be too difficult to work out which one I suspect if I ever saw them alive.  The 'Glasgow Herald,' that famous Rangers supporting paper, is all for a free press but reluctant to allow questions about one time Rangers boss David Murray.  My posts rarely go up there either. 
Those who comment fit certain boxes.  In the 'Daily Telegraph,' now dumbed down into an upper middle class 'daily Mail, these chaps, and it is mostly 'chaps,' are concerned only with the Conservative Party's main concern, money!  Almost everything comes down to the economy.  So unlike the 'Daily Mail' where almost everything come down to, er the pound in your pocket. Both have many commentators happy to follow the agreed line, even if it is absurd, thus revealing a great deal about the attitudes of the average Englishman, and they are mostly English.  The anti-Europe UKIP Party will gain many votes from this crowd, especially in the 'Daily Mail,' while the 'Guardian' sees that party as racist and against all immigrants, gays and blacks.  Neither see what is actually written by the other, neither wish to, the papers and the comments are merely to support personal opinion not offer facts to enlighten.
On several occasions I have quietly posted obvious facts on papers, the abuse received is worse than that offered by women I have worked with!  I am talking about clear obvious facts, not the 'wind ups' I sometimes accidentally offer for consideration.  On occasion I am amazed at the closed mind seen on the comments sections, I am so pleased my mind is always open to others ideas, as long as they are not ones I disagree with.......
I expect all comments to be open minded, thoughtful and generous, other wise they get banned!            


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Tuckered....

Museum, lots of kids, group of handicapped, visitors, home, lunch, dead soldiers, dead brain, bottle of beer, deader brain, goodnight.....

Musing Wasted.

I sat in the early morning freshness the park offered this morning and mused. This resulted in a wonderful post concerning friendly people, dogs, crows and daisies.  The east wind caused a wee bit of a chill and at eight in the morning the sun had not removed the cloud cover yet leaving what to me was a perfect Edinburgh Summer afternoon.  Up there the folks would be taking their shirts off, putting on dark glasses and asking for sun cream!  Here they wrap up in large coats and mutter about the cold!  Tsk!
Sadly however while I enjoyed the fresh air, especially as I had not really got out yesterday, and I was intending to hide my face behind the laptop today, first to remove the glitch that has arrived and them seek out dead soldiers, things did not turn out right.  The thing is I did manage to work out how to fix the Windows Live Mail, it would not send photos and IE came up by itself and that would not work.  It appears something has been switching things off.  The 'proxy' setting was on, but it ought not to be on! That fixed Windows Live sent pics again.  Little things have been arriving, a strange new 'Google' page for one, yet the defenders claim all is well.  Bah!  The search for dead men got somewhere, a better picture emerges, yet there is such a long way to go, and now I have to meet someone on Saturday to offer information we don't have! Tsk!

The things started well, but after lunch all fell apart.  I fell asleep, diner took for ever, I sauntered out, and once the muck I called dinner was over my sister phoned.  You will of course realise that as she is a woman and has not been on for months she had lots to say!  She did!  Lovely it may be, informative, enjoyable, but my ear burns now!  This means my wonderful erudite post fell from my brain and once again, late, unready, I am filling space waffling contacting the real world via the internet, which may not be wise after all.  Why does the brain function so well at different times. My body gets weary yet my brain offers deep thought late at night, however before that, around now, it is befuddled.  Early in the morning I am either still asleep or desperate to get going, but the brain is not always as sharp as it is late at night, why?  Who knows what state it will be in if I wake at three in the morning.  Bah!

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Stiff Upper Lip?

At the beginning of the Edinburgh Derby this lunchtime there was a moment of remembrance for two who had passed away this week.  The crowd stood and applauded for one minute in an act of remembrance and then the game got under way.  This is not an unusual event, sadly such moments occur throughout the season, occasionally involving the entire league, often at a local level involving only one club.  This is of course perfectly acceptable behaviour and is to be itself applauded.
However I mused on the emotion involved in society these days.  Until recently such moments passed in complete silence as this was considered appropriate at someones passing.  The increase of televised football coverage allowed us the sight of Italians at such moments applauding for one minute and many considered this appropriate to introduce.  There are other reasons, some clubs fans are unwilling to allow such respect to pass without abuse of the dead or their supporters, on at least one occasion my own club has some fans who indulged in such ignorant abuse.  For this reason applause is sometimes suggested instead of silence.  However the individual who has died on occasion finds such respect from the fans they automatically respond in whatever is the better style.
This also reflects on the increase of emotion allowed, or all to often encouraged, today.  Where once we were told to 'don't show you are hurt,' or 'make the best of it,' 'get up and sort it,' today raucous whining appears to be the order of the day.  Self control is less important and respect offered for the dead often is not extended to the living!  People at heart remain the same as when we left the Garden of Eden, however you imagine that.  Culture however changes all the time.  I suspect the mess that was 18th century Britain (and I refer only to the UK here) with the five year old alcoholics, industrial revolution and the resultant problems and social breakdown all helped to develop an attitude of a more organised society in the 19th century.  The influence of preachers cannot be ignored as the men changed during the 1700s by the preaching of Wesley, Whitfield and the rest often produced families who worked their way up in society over the next fifty years bringing change wherever they went.  Add of course Queen Victoria once she had found Albert as consort there arose a fashion for respectability allied to Christian influence which reached everywhere.  The 'Public Schools,' never of course open to the 'public,' developed the 'Masculine Christianity,' line whereby you took the knocks and carried on.  Being able to take knocks without complaining sounds good but often it was abused by others who enjoyed inflicting knocks and grumbling if you did not like it,'Take the knocks and be a man,' they would say, while leathering you!  
This stiff upper lip society reached it's zenith during the Great War, and survived!  So many writings from the time show that knocks were expected and folks just 'got on and dealt with it.' This is certainly an attitude gone from us today.  'Daily Mail' readers blame the benefit society, while really just disliking any of their tax helping the poor, or indeed anyone else.  Religious blame religious faith wavering, political minds blame systems, clever people debate endlessly, oh how endlessly, on TV and radio to no end whatsoever.  Indeed wealth has made society lazy, the ability to always have what we want makes us greedy, deprivation is almost intolerable to us today while the house remains filled with expensive 'must have' things that are rarely used.   While emotion has always been part of football it is not what it was in my view.  Football was emotional in the 60's but better, today the intensity is greater, the game less enjoyable.  Money plays its part but football or TV or money or politics or any other thing takes a different place in our emotions today from what it did before.  Two world wars and a depression followed by a time of new hope, housing, NHS, and full employment are replaced by wealth undreampt off by our grandfathers, well mine at least, items filling the house our forefathers thought only the rich could dream about, holidays abroad (well Bournemouth) cars, planes and the internet all affect our outlook and lessen the 'still upper lip' as it appears not to matter today.  What matters is satisfying the self, nothing else.  'Me first' has always been part of society, today 'me' and my emotions appear to dominate.

Maybe of course I just ramble.  However the result of the football was yet another victory for the Heart of Midlothian, thus giving me the giggles in a manner I am unused to.  I spent much of the game sniggering at the Hibbys and giggling like a lassie every time the camera focused on one with his head in his hands.  I did all this in love of course, but I had to laugh, and have been cackling ever since.   

 

Get on Your Bike!

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Daydreaming

Danbury

There was a competition in a magazine today offering a prize of a campervan! How very Hippy I thought and slipped into a day of dreaming of travelling the country, stopping off in out of the way places, snoring to my hearts content in distant lands like 'up north' or Wales.  The freedom of the open road, but not at a very high speed I imagine, enjoying distant parts of the land without worrying about expensive accommodation.  That's for me I thought.
The lack of money that running such a vehicle would cost does not disturb dreams, only reality. Therefore I could see myself parking alongside the wide empty white beaches on some deserted part of the highland coast, parked under some ancient castle, drinking coffee brewed on the primus stove while wallowing in the view of deserted silent giant hills.  The crowded roads, cost of petrol, or standing at the side of the highway while the man from the AA worked under the van attempting to replace the bits that had eroded away and fallen off never at any time entered my dream world, I was good like that.  
At first sight it does appear a jolly good way to see the country, to visit people and places at the moment far out of my ken, but the cost will always upset a dream, even if the vehicle itself is free.  Ah well, maybe I will not buy their yoghurt anyway, it would be a tragedy if I won and had the brute parked outside tempting me to go visit relatives.  Actually that last thought might not be too strong!  
What are the chances of winning any competition?  Possibly a couple of million people will not the competition on the side of the tubs of various products, the majority not being interested as it means little to them, they have transport, the kids would hate it, and therefore the numbers entering would be a mere few thousand, possibly.   How many would forget to buy the goods? How many forget or fail to enter?  So the numbers with whom we compete lessens and we have more chance here than we have with the Lottery.  Could it be the computerisation of shop goods can tell the company whether the individual entering often buys their products, therefore enabling then to reach the 'right' person for the prize?  As I have never bought whatever it is they sell I would have little chance.  
Ah well, if the rain stops I will get the bike out instead tomorrow.....

 

My Exciting Life!

Giving a revelation of how exciting my life can be I present a picture of a wall. Not just any wall but the wall surrounding a shopping centre.  Not just any shopping centre but one full of clothes the original shops failed to sell, in short rejects!  I suppose I should feel at home here.  The place was quiet, possibly because the kids have not yet left school, they throng this place after leaving adolescents being very concerned with their outfits.  For myself this was like a day out.  Not staring into a laptop hurting my eyes and not finding what I am looking for given a miss for a while.  That job made worse by the machine playing up as they do with things disappearing and suddenly showing up again. I had at one time to use the system restore point and go back a few days thereby finding one or two things missing, not that I can remember what they were of course.  Now everything has to be resigned in, or accepted by the Firewall or whatever.  Good job I am not one to complain that's all I can say.  

There is no complaining about buying three T-shirt, 'XL,' and trying them out at home to realise that after one watch they return to 'L,' as they always do!  Why do Bangladeshi's not understand that we are ever so slightly fatter than they?  I realise that the £5:99 that I paid for these shirts would pay half the wages of the sweatshop but at least they could allow for a stone of ugly fat, surely?  I suspect sadly that the word 'fat,' is meaningless to the majority of the downtrodden in Bangladesh.  The difference between the lives of the workers there and the more expensive shops here is huge.  How lucky we are to be born in the grumbling grasping west.

I have once again resorted to eating less in a vain effort to lose weight. Topping this with a more stressfull active day, clearing up the front of the building, exercising for oooh five minutes, walking the streets looking for dropped coins, and taking the free bus to the glamorous shops. Actually for me there is almost nothing worth looking at there, quite what folks see in it fails me as the bigger town shops are better.

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Rejoice!

A typical scene this afternoon as England rejoices in its patron Saint!  The crowds flock together, gathering happily in throngs dressed in the red and white flag, wearing similar hats, hired outfits, and England football shirts. Well I saw four of them dawdling along, and a maiden (Ha!) underneath a large flag followed by her minder also intent on cheerfully commemorating her saint.    
In short they were going for a piss up!
I strongly suspect their knowledge of George from Lydda is faint.  His Christian stance that led to torture and decapitation is probably not the motivation for their gathering, and as for their flag originating with Ambrose, one time Archbishop of Milan, well that will be something beyond their ken. The real motivation is 'white van man' racism!  This lot indeed come from the lower sections of society, not all do of course, but movements are felt deeper amongst those losing the most.  A desperate longing to have a nation to which they can belong is something the Englishman suffers daily.  The Scots, Welsh and Irish have no problem being happy with being themselves, the English have no understanding or idea of what 'being English' is all about.  Poor souls, jealous of the Celts rejoicing they have in recent years become quite vindictive and bile filled regarding other nations.  The inbuilt superiority that dwells within their soul is well at odds with the reality around them.  The Englishman sees himself as the dominating member, reality is hard to accept.
A reality made worse by the nation being overrun by foreign folks, many of whom are black!  This fact alone has made many an Englishman feel very threatened.  Whole towns are now a variety of colours and any who indicate unhappiness are referred to as 'racist!'  In fact I very much disagree here. The place in which you are reared does mean something to an individual, if this overnight almost becomes like a foreign country where people with different cultures fill the locality it can indeed, and rightly, be difficult to accept.  That is not racist, it is a normal human reaction, colour being a secondary problem. That certainly happened in Scotland many years ago when cheaper Polish labour put Scotsmen out of work, not racist, just human response arose.  For today's Englishman, especially those at the lower end finding Poles, Bulgarians and other East European types taking their jobs a natural resentment can arise. Genuine fear over immigration, unbalanced maybe but genuine, stirred by politicians and papers on the make does not help.  Scotland rightly demanding independence upsets many English as they continue to believe we are all one happy family, in spite of the reality.  Only yesterday several highly intelligent women I met failed to comprehend how Scots feel about the issue, it is something that has not crossed their minds, after all Scotland is so far away, but useful for holidays!  'White van man' reads his 'Daily Mail,' if he is pretending to be 'middle class,' or the 'Sun,' if he is being honest, and finds Scots draining money from his pocket and being ungrateful!  That lie shows how little he understands, yet how much the media misuse him for their own ends! 
This resentment, and it is strong in some areas, had led to a revival in 'Englishness.'  In 1996 they found their own flag instead of using the Union flag as theirs, now it appears at all times, while Ambrose ought to get a percentage I say, and is flown by some at every opportunity to pretend they have a nation.  
Have they?
England is more divided than the mere border that separates England from Scotland.  The northern culture is not similar to the south's, and the north is ignored by the rich south east corner.  Birmingham, the second largest city, is never mentioned on TV or in the media unless it really has to be mentioned. Yet this from one of the richest parts of the nation! The richest, Norfolk and Surrey pay their own way, all the rest needing grants from the centre, yet these two counties resent their cash going to where it is required, does that make for a nation?  The folks in the countryside vote Tory, the towns and cities vote Labour neither caring what the other wants, who knows what the next election will bring after the shambles of the last.  Thousands use 'food banks' while others live off benefits needlessly, millionaires fill the cabinet while over two million are desperate for a proper job, London dominates at all times, the rest are an afterthought.  This 'England' is not one nation in any respect.  

The Scots, Welsh and Irish have their own history, they are well read in this, English history is seen by many as one dynamic victory after another, they are always the 'top dog, and yet the deeper truths of what life really was like for the average Englishman is not what comes to the average Englishman's mind when waving a flag.  Scots know all their bad bits, only too well, does the Englishman drinking his European Lager, eating his Curry, and wearing his Bangladeshi made clothes know his nations bad bits? Does it matter?  As long as he has a nation to belong to he has a place in the world, a family, even if a stand offish one.  
The return to a Saints Day, by a nation keen to be atheistic we are told, is all about being a nation again.  But to be a nation you must know what the nation actually is.  Those gathered raucously in the pub will struggle to sing English songs, 'Greensleeves' will not suit that establishment I fear, indeed few songs regarding their nation will come to mind.  George, lying somewhere underground in Lydda today, will wonder at his name being used in a nation at the ends of the earth.  He would wonder a lot more at the confused people wearing his flag, not that he knew it was his flag, and feel a great deal of sympathy for their lost souls.   

 

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Leaning on a Lampost

Once I got a moment I stopped at looked at the lamp in the corner this morning.  It has been in the museum for a while yet I never look at it.  At one time it lit up the station platform aiding the inspector and guards to catch fare dodgers and find dropped coins when the passengers had passed through.  It is amazing to think we used to light all our lamps by gas!  Houses, churches, theatres and pubs were all gas lit.  This gave the benefit of also warming the place up but made the people drowsy somewhat. That must have annoyed many a preacher and aided many a pickpocket I suspect.  
The daily round of what we called in Edinburgh, 'the Leerie,' who went around with a long pole with a wee light on the end opening each lamp, lighting the wick and passing on to the next.  All over the land men wandered about with their pole, kids chasing them asking for a shot at lighting the lamp, a job mostly occupied by aged men, possibly unfit for any other purpose.  How long would it take to light a town during the 19th century, especially when some 'Jack the Ripper' type was urging you to hurry up so he could get on with his er, occupation.  
Some gas is still in operation, Buckingham Palace is lit , outside, by gas lamps, as are the royal parks and Covent Garden area!  Berlin has some 44,000 lamps in operation as have some areas in the USA. With the privatisation of gas I suspect to have gas lit streets today would quadruple a towns costs! Today the street lights around here go off between midnight and five am to save cash. The railway must have been more atmospheric in those days.  Mist, gas light, steam engines, the mixed aromas, nothing like that exists today sadly.

Interesting to note Google offered a hummingbird for 'earth day, yesterday Charlotte Bronte's birthday was commemorated but nothing was on show for the risen Christ.  Google deliberately avoids Christian festivals although all sorts of obscure American personages and scientific ones are on offer.  Militancy at work, certainly not 'equality.'

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OK Everybody, Back to Work!

Right, that's it, holidays are over, the kids are back to school tomorrow, you return to work, unless you are in Australasia where you are already sitting on a bus heading for the destination longing to be back enjoying the high life. Others will emote that depression later in the next 24 hours.  I also look to struggling out in the morning as being Tuesday I will be attending the folks at the museum.  Now the school hols are over we will not have a thousand bairns wandering around leaving glitter all over the floor, drawing rude pictures on the old school blackboard, nor putting sticky fingers on glass cases.  We will have adults doing that instead!  Of course soon after lunch I will be back home full of ideas to forget in the following days, and probably asleep and dreaming of delights unknown for a wee while.

You are I am aware sick to the teeth of my preoccupation with dead soldiers, so let me shake your molars once again.  Having succeeded in finding Private French, the last man in that cemetery, I today soldiered on in my quest to find the last Great War grave in the main cemetery.  For the umpteenth time I wandered around the dew covered grass, in what was becoming a very warm sun, searching diligently for a man who would not acknowledge my calls. Then today, while wandering fruitlessly in a corner I found him, right under my nose! Several other men are buried nearby and somehow Sergeant Smoothy had hid himself.  Still I found him now and all the local men buried here are identified at last.  

A sad tale indeed lay in front of me.  I suspect Smoothy had been a regular soldier at the outbreak of war and fought his way through some of the bitterest fighting at Ypres, Loos and probably the Somme also.  His Division was demobilised early in 1919 and on a 'first in first out' basis he returned home to his wife and almost two year old son.  However within a few months he developed an appendix problem and died in hospital leaving his widow with the son to look after.  A year later this poor lass suffered again as her three year old only child died and joined her husband in the grave.  The effect must have been traumatic but she herself lived on until 1963 when at 80 years she rejoined her husband at last. Love is a strange thing, she never remarried, possibly because of love, possibly because she was in her thirties also, possibly because the trauma did not allow her to.  How very sad.

Also quite sad is the name on the foot of the fallen crucifix to the side of our man.  I had a quick look but the name is not found on Google.  This couple lived their lives and passed on leaving so little trace even Google cannot find their name anywhere!