Friday 12 January 2018

Blogger, Trump and Farage, What More Could You Ask...?


Is it just me or is Blogger slow?
Several times when attempting to press 'Publish' the thing has 'hung' for a while before posting.
This laptop is not very good, the buttons are not doing what they are told and often do what they wish so it makes me wonder if it is me or they?
It works but there is a delay.
A couple of days ago everything ceased for a few minutes, nothing would come up and all halted.
I am beginning to wonder if 'Firefox' is to blame?  I went over to 'Chrome' for what I wanted and this worked but it may be things returned to normal by then.
All in  a days grumble...


Poor old broke Nigel Farage is even more broke now.  The EU investigated his claim for an assistant and have decided the assistant was not assisting Nigel in the EU but working on UKIP party work.  This is not allowed under EU rules and Nigel knows this. 
Such a shame the EU have decided to withhold £35,500 from him, half his assistant funds because of this lapse.  He must be feeling ashamed to have made such a mistake, he must be embarrassed by such pilfering of funds and feel really repentant.  Ha!  Some chance!  I suspect he will appeal and blame anti-English EU staff for attacking him.
Poor lad, hasn't he suffered enough...?


Poor Donald Trump, another political success story, he has been getting grief just because he referred to peoples from Haiti and Africa as 'shithole nations' and wished for better, whiter, people from Norway instead.  Norway it must be said has indicated they are doing OK thanks and Haiti and Africa, those that bothered to listen, have responded with an amount of disagreement with him.
It just could not get worse but then it did!
The 'state visit' which gave Donald the impression he would cavort about with the english queen, has been put back and the short visit to open the new American embassy, moved south of the river and based on an idea by Geirge W. Bush, this visit also has been canned.  
The idea of lots of helicopter rides above the traffic avoiding UK citizens indicating their displeasure at his visit plus the truth that he was never going to drop in just to open an embassy, has led to his breaking off any visit to the UK at this time.  Pity, it might have been interesting to see peoples reaction.
Worse still, our own imitation Trump, one Boris Johnson, has risen to his man's defence slighting the Labour Party by claiming it is their fault Trump is not coming.  The Labour Party, who are not at fault, would do well to proclaim this to the rooftops.  Boris is no doubt lying in his teeth, something he does often and is very good at, but he intends to show the UK stands with the US.  Actually we all know this and we also know that Boris considers Trump a liability and awaits the nutter gunman who is scheduled to end the reign of Trump, whoever that may be.  In the USA the chances of someone taking a pot shot at Trump must be high, I just cannot believe it has not yet occurred.

Thursday 11 January 2018

Misty Tuesday


It was like living in a cloud today, not that I noticed as I did not arise from my pit until almost nine  in the morning.  I keep waking up around four or five and remain awake for ages only to find it is late in the day.  The misty day was worth missing and by the time I had got round to eating and checking whether the mouse has got through the steel wire (he had failed to do so) and then read the emails etc it was lunchtime.


I did spend some time on newspaper forums arguing with people.  The 'Daily Mail' is always good for a historical laugh.  The history much loved and accepted by the readership bares no relation to what actually occurred but this suits their wishes perfectly and all the problems are the fault of the migrants who flood the land, or the unemployed or benefit scroungers or Europe or someone else but we don't know who but it is not us and bring back the England we knew in the past (which never existed) and do it now!
They don't like me.
Neither do the gay/secular types who cut and paste  the same queries day after day on suitable items.  Offer an answer and they offer the next question or excuse in line, there is no real debate.  This is probably because these 'bots' just post and run and do not want an answer and those that answer don't want the honest answer just one they like.
They call me names, I am upset.

   
However I managed to finish the 'Wilfred Owen' book that I was reading, one by Dominic Hibberd.  It certainly is a big book and Dominic has spent much time going through as many letters, books, poems etc as possible in the writing of his work.  It is a good book and the details regarding Owen's war experience appear to ring true to me, and they offer an insight into the young officers life in action while doing so. 
Too close to his when young, strangely close in my view, a mother steeped in Victorian evangelicalism but also steeped in class consciousness, a class awareness that never left Owen and often saw him, rightly I suspect, considered a snob.  His joy at being accepted by the poetry society in London, mostly gay as he was, revealed yet more snobbishness as he was delighted to be with 'gentlemen' who had studied at 'good schools' and then university, something he would have liked to do.  His lower middle class background did not reach this level and failed to prepare him for his short attempt at joining the ministry.  
Altogether a somewhat mixed up chap who took too long to get away from mother, his dad appears to be OK but his nearest brother a bit of a dreamer, and once he was finding his feet in the real world the war broke out and intervened with his life.
As an officer he appears to have been decent to his men, though they were of course just 'course' and he found 'batmen' who he was attracted to in a way that the rest of the platoon might have made comment about if they had known.  One at least was shot dead in action alongside him.
His fear was being regarded as a 'coward' and this thought may have just been in his own head, his misreading of another officers attitude towards him.  His time at Craiglockart Hospital, where he met Siegfried Sassoon and altered his poetic style, was replaced by light duties and then back to the front line.  There his courage won him the Military Cross and a few days later death by opposition fire as he led his men across the Sambre Canal.
He died in action on the 4th of November 1918 the armistice arriving at 11 am on the 11th of November almost at the same time as his parents received the telegram regretting to advise that Wilfred had been killed in action.


Having finished my book I wandered in the mist seeking fresh air.  Here I met an old postman who informed me of the death of another postman who died on Monday, that I believe was the very day he came into my mind for some reason.  Then in the gardens I spoke to the chap who twice a week has the job of tending this large space, (that's him in the distance, I was unable to offer help today) occasionally with help and more occasionally with volunteer help.  While it looks dreary at the moment it is still full of birds and beasties and as it lies low the garden prepares for the soon to be Spring show of flowers abundant, blue sky and sunshine, hopefully.



Wednesday 10 January 2018

Too Busy


Too busy moving furniture to fond the mouse hole and fill it with steel wool.
Too busy exercising to get fit.
To busy making stew.
Too busy praying.
Too busy writing up some of the area's 1918 war dead.
Too busy considering writing up a 1917 war dead who is coming into the museum, well one of his descendants is, he is unavailable.
Too busy to have a noon nap.
Too busy to write....


Tuesday 9 January 2018

Mouse, Theresa and Money

This is a small bag of chocolate coins, the type that appear every Christmas to overcharge the parents and vainly satisfy the kids.  These are popular, these are just chocolate wrapped in gold foil, and these were stolen by the mouse!
To combat this menace I have taken obvious action.  Food is hidden, bins removed or sealed, nothing left making it easy for him, and holes searched for.  This however is not perfect.  On my bookcase I
have a cup wrapped in paper which will soon wend its way to the birthday girl on the appropriate date.  Inside that mug, just to keep it somewhere, was a bag of gold chocolate coins.  On the shelf beneath were coins, fivepences, tenpences etc that I take into work to use in the till.  Yesterday morning I came into the east wing and found coins on the floor alongside other detritus, all of which had been knocked from the shelf.  Collecting them I noticed the gold coins had gone, the metal ones to hard on the mouses teeth I suspect, and no trace to be found.  
Eventually I found the hole where he had taken them, only one item of gold paper to be seen, alongside a scouring pad, backed by foam, that disappeared the other day from the sink.  Last night, having moved heavy items of furniture, stacked with books, I shoved the scourer into the hole in a vain effort to seal it, it had been pushed aside this morning, and decided to buy some 'wire wool' as I have heard this deters them as their teeth don't like it.  Now I have some of this steel wool I will spend tomorrow morning filling holes with it and see how mouse likes that.  I may even find the rest of the golden paper.  The cheek of the brute!


Theresa has done it again.  She may it clear a shuffle of her cabinet was under way to prove she was in charge and she would get her personal manifesto put into action.  She failed.  Her Health Secretary refused to move and added another bit to his kingdom, the Education secretary refused the poisoned chalice of the DWP (where sick and unemployed and put to death) and this was later filled by another hard hearted type much loved by 'Daily Mail' readers and lots of nobody's took positions nobody cares about (including our Boris fan MP).  In short it was an abject failure.
The press, especially the ones that hate immigrants, and announcing a 'diverse' cabinet as if they cared while they really want a white, right wing, male cabinet to satisfy their ideas of superiority.  All this while pretending to support the women while striving to have her removed.
I begin to feel sorry for the hard hearted bint.

 
The media, run by men, are making a big deal of Carrie Gracie's publicity stunt of the last few days regarding men being paid higher salaries than she was.  She has 'stepped down' as the BBC China correspondent to return to a sea on the BBC newsdesk.  This she did as a complaint regarding BBC men being paid more than women.
She forgot to mention how much she is paid (just under £150,000 I suspect) and she does not lose any of this by moving to another department.  She does however get to spend more time with her family which she claims to have missed though taking a job 5000 miles from home would probably lead to that happening I suspect, and now she is better of than 90% of the population and grumbling about it not being fair.
The phrase 'aye right' goes through my head.
Why is it that the best paid women, doing fewer hours than most, grumble about a 'gender gap?'  
I have never had a job where I got paid more than the women!  Secretaries simply by being secretaries get paid far more than men who have to work.  Office girls are well paid unlike men working on the job and yet grumble about cash.  Media stars have an inbuilt right to more money than anyone else but there appears to be no reason for this.  If you don't like the conditions, which you signed up to, do what a man has to do and find another job.  Then we will see if anyone thinks you are worth what you think you are worth.
Oh and as you are paid a s a 'company' I suspect you pay little tax on this money.



Sunday 7 January 2018

Sunday Search



I am searching for something interesting to scribble.  Nothing comes to mind.
There are reasons for this.
For a start I went cheerfully to church this morning and walked into Janet!
This lovely woman has a way of getting things done, and she done me!  
"The coffee lady is off sick, would you...?"
This is said with the implication of what a refusal might bring.  I obeyed!
So I sit here with washday red hands wondering why we washed up more mugs that those we put out full of tea or coffee?  It is always thus!
Then once home I had to watch three, yes three, English cup ties one after the other. 
OK I fell asleep during the first and missed the excitement and missed the beginning of the second from the same reason but at least I saw Arsenal reserves prove they don't have what it takes to beat a lower division side.
After this I am trying to restore my mind to a state of normality, though this may not be a good idea.




Saturday 6 January 2018

The Calender Year


Early this morning, long before breakfast, I rose into the freezing air and headed once more towards the sorting office.  The land was white with frost, the air clear, and the sun vainly tried to shine through the thin layer of cloud that covered the land.  A similar one to mine was noted over a Scots golf course this morning.  I passed a miserable postman scraping ice of his van windscreen (Van? In my day a bike was all we had!) and joined the well wrapped up folks in the queue awaiting mail the postman had failed to deliver.

 
The small queue moved slowly as the miserable old git struggled to operate the computer system, read the paperwork and remain alive while doing his job.  As I waited I cuddled a female postman who passed by on her way to her van, she was one of the more intelligent women when I was employed here, now she is a mother of three wondering what the museum can do for the kids during half term.  We discussed this while she held the door open allowing freezing air to enter the building thus allowing the others to offer dark stares from under their woollen headgear.  


Eventually misery took my card and half heartedly listened to my description of the goods (large white card envelope for calender) he should search for.  He disappeared into the building and I watched men in red shirts shove items large and small from one place to another.  I knew the man in charge had a good idea what to do but I got the impression he was moving things they had just placed in their place to offer them the correct spot!  Nothing new in 'the box' I thought.  Misery trudged through with the large white card envelope as described and slowly and at the second attempt grumpily flashed the hand held computer over it and passed it to me without a smile.  
Clearly, as I thought, the goods were there when I was telling the girl the other day they were there and some grumpy dope had not put it on the system.  
Twice I have taken my sore knees down there without complaining to collect this and what do I now have sitting here on my desk?  A 'Broons' Calendar!  The 'Broons' are a Scots cartoon family that live in a tenement building somewhere in industrial Scotland.  Originating in 1936 they were intended to be generic of a typical Scots family of the time and their adventures are still recorded in the 'Sunday Post' week by week and remain a children's favourite.  'The Sunday Post' once sold so many 'family' papers that it was thought 80% of Scots read the paper.  The writing style was often called 'old womanish' in its approach though often what is written is far from that these days.  I myself ceased reading it forty years ago and seeing it now it changeth not. However it will decorate this room for the next year allowing me to forget to add birthdays, events etc as I ought....


Friday 5 January 2018

Sorting Office Blues.


The staff at Royal Mail must remember me.  I can tell that by the way they hate me!
Yesterday I managed to find time to hobble down to the sorting office, little red card in hand, to collect the goods that were ''its too large for your letterbox."  He did not add "I was too stupid to read the note above the bell saying "BELL BUST: KNOCK LOUD" so I rang the bell and got no answer."  
'He' being a new young lad who looked lost while trying to find his way around the 'walk.'  Why he was on it and not the regular man was not made clear.
Anyway I dragged myself up to the counter enquiring as to the goods of which I had no knowledge.
"We don't have them" said the attractive blonde young lady working behind the anti-gunman/knifeman/violent person/weirdo screen.
"You must have them," said I "As you left me this card."
I thought this example of reality would aid her understanding.  
It did not.
It crossed my mind that few attractive young women become postmen and I wondered why she had not been there when I did the hard walks from this office with never a word of complaint?
I gave up this thought when a second thought crossed my mind, that thought muttered 'She was still in school when you worked here' and I let the matter drop. 
"It is not logged on our system," she explained, as if that was an answer.
I indicated that I had once worked in this place and I understood the efficiency of postmen therefore the system may not be telling the truth.  
My understanding of the situation was clear, the goods were in the building yet not on the system, "Why not go look at where they ought to be" said I using common sense and deep understanding of how postmen, especially relatively new ones, operate.
This brought an excuse re the 'new system and way of work' meant that if not on the system they could not be 'here,' that fooled no-one, especially me.  
In the end she photocopied the card, and promised to identify the eejit postman and make enquiries, she took my number, I had already taken hers, as it were.   


This morning I awoke full of joy and happiness as always.
Well OK, I awoke.
The call from the postman never came, this did not surprise me as I know how busy they can be early in the day and how passing the buck and avoiding contact with the public is always a good thing, however I planned to await the delivery from the man himself which would come in due course.
I therefore checked about 10:40 as the regular man often arrives at this time but nothing was to be seen but dust.
Later my neighbour arrived and I mistook his entrance for the man.  This neighbour has been back home in the Ivory Coast for around six weeks, "Some holiday," I said looking at the woman with him, "No, this is my wife." 
I congratulated the lucky man and wife (who sadly only speaks French) and wished them well.  The thought also crossed my mind that I will not go to the Ivory Coast on holiday if it means a French speaking wife returns with me!
I sat here awaiting the postman's knock (Insert joke here) and continued my half asleep ravings on this laptop.  
I heard no knock.
After lunch (around three in the afternoon) I was forced out to buy bread, here I found my mail with another wee red card with ''its too large for your letterbox" scrawled upon it, and the time of 12:20 indicated on the back of the card.
I was HERE at my desk at that time! 
At this point re-read the bit about notes re knocking on door and not ringing bell.  It's his neck that requires ringing !!!!
The brutes at the office never phoned but I suspect they have found said item, which I now know to be a large white hard envelope containing a calendar, and have passed it on to the man to deliver.  
So tomorrow I will trudge wearily once more down to the big fat bearded miserable lump who will be on duty instead of the attractive young lass to enquire if they have done their job properly!  
I may indicate displeasure, I may point out such incompetence is wrong, I may indicate that before privatisation things were better, I might mutter about knowing the manager (actually I don't and the new ones I know are rubbish), I certainly will resist indicating the name of the postman who once delivered to 'Walnut Grove' the mail that ought to have gone to 'Chestnut Grove.' That will remain confidential! 
Accidents will happen....  


Wednesday 3 January 2018

Normality Resumes


The world is back at work, even Scotland has returned now, and the 'peace and joy' of the Christmas period is once again replaced by the grumpy faces we have become used to.
Nothing happened, Theresa May said the NHS has no crisis while Jeremy Hunt the inadequate Health Secretary apologised for the NHS cutting back on routine work because there is no crisis.
The press made a lot out of another daft named storm.
Footballers are beginning to transfer from one club to another.
Donald Trump is in trouble again.
People who live in a road called 'Bell end' wish to change its name but others, who have lived there for years object.
London fire brigade complain to BBC after a character in a children's programme was called a 'fireman' and not a 'firefighter.' 
I still have a mouse.



Tuesday 2 January 2018

Joyful Return to Work


The day of depression descended on the town gently this morning.  The deep red sky, much brighter than I have seen for a while rose with the sun and disappeared by the time I grudgingly left the house.  Those forced back into reality after the Christmas period slogged along to work, shops, museums or wherever their steps were leading them, few with a cheery smile on their face.  It was easy to understand their reasoning.  The early brightness reflected against their blue thoughts as the populace reset their minds for the real world.
I have already been informed by one rough Leith type that Scotland is still on holiday and many football matches are shortly under way.  I am about to watch one on BBC Alba and regret that down here in the wilderness of England we have to return while sensible people are still on New Years holiday.  I am not one to complain you understand...


In spite of the threat of rain, high winds and another named 'storm' I proceeded eagerly to the museum where in spite of my aching knees removing Christmas was made compulsory.  This meant clambering on unstable stool to reach high up, without once complaining, and dismembering the plastic Christmas tree, an ungodly Easter European pagan symbol.  
Nothing else, outwith abuse from certain staff members, occurred until many minutes past noon when someone came in!  She had a query, soon dumped upon the boss, and then proceeded t spend money, I smiled keenly at this.  Two other figures appeared in the doorway, glanced at the many leaflets and went away.  All this to the joyful sound of non Christmassy music which has filled our ears for several weeks.  I choose music fitting the exhibition, an album re 1970 music and the Beatles White Album.  
The world returns to normal once again.  Next week all the schools will be back, most will have forgotten Christmas, the weather will be dreich, and life with broken new year resolutions will return to the same state it was in a few days ago.
Oh yes and tomorrow Scotland suffers depression and blues as they return to work.  Hee hee!

Sunday 31 December 2017

2017 Draws to a Close...


Torrential rain, high wind and darkness ends the year.  A year I am pretty glad to see the back off.
Glancing through my diary I note several birthdays, one visit from a  niece, one trip to see her perform and vast amounts of money paid into Tesco's!  
The rest of the year has been taken up with long term cold like symptoms that would never leave, and rusty knees that will never heal.  Let joy continue!  The intention to get slim and fit has failed and I have gone into reverse, indeed the ache from the fitness attempts remains with me still.
Good job I am not one to complain.
The Conservative government (If that is the word) continues to fumble no opposition bar the SNP exists, and the people, certainly many round this area, continue to accept the 'little englander' lies of the main tabloids.  The political future looks grim.
Football wise, which is more important, the Heart of Midlothian are once again beginning to return to form.  I expect glory any day now.
One bright spot in my miserable life that I never complain about is of course St Paul's church, the Anglican church that has now become a second home.   The theology is often dubious, very Anglican in that way,  but they wish to see God and seek him correctly.  I am used to these secondary things that irk but even I am now expected to read a 'lesson' occasionally, such as I did today.  The accent drew blatant racism from two ladies who ought to know better but considered this a reason for giggling like schoolgirls.  I will get them back...


Hogmany today while magnified by the tourist board and local media is not what it was.  In the 60's we went from house to house after midnight 'seeing in' the new year.  It was a generally happy time in which drink flowed, people shook hands with strangers and all was delight.  But in my mind and that of many others it is less happy these days.  There is more of an edge, getting drunk for the sake of it, rather than the party these days.  This is disappointing.  Know doubt age does not help and many will enjoy their evening but far too any now remain at home, possibly asleep, when the midnight chimes chime and the overpaid telly hosts croak above the noise of fireworks.  I might be one of them, those asleep, not the fireworks.  I may find the mysterious bottle of Highland Park malt whisky that arrived yesterday must be put to the test first of course....

 

Saturday 30 December 2017

Sunny Saturday


There is an unlimited amount of fuss in the media at the moment regarding the 'Honours.'  This is the system where the nation rewards individuals for what they have done for the nation or at east one small part of it over a lifetime.  Most of course go to the high and mighty regardless of worth though many indeed deserve a reward for their labours.  The benefit of such a system is that Lollipop ladies, gardeners, charity workers and individuals who have benefited those around them by helping out can get recognised and a wee bit of deserved publicity. 
The media however concentrates on media stars, celebrities or politicians and debate whether they deserve or not such rewards.  Personally I wonder at some 'celebs' who are given Knighthoods and Damehoods unless of course it is a suggestion, and not too subtle a suggestion, that it is time they retired and never came back.  On the other hand it is a wonder that certain people wander the streets as 'commoners' while many of us consider them worthy of such a reward, maybe their face doesn't fit?
At this point I must make clear that I have not been awarded a Knighthood, OBE, CBE or a BBC, in fact I have been ignored once again.  But there again I'm not one to grumble...


The thing people wish to see at football is goals, lots of goals.  So you can imagine how I feel having sat through two nil-nil draws!  The first was disappointing in that the sectarian bigots failed to either kick one another off the field or institute a riot.  This was disappointing as one would hope for this in a vain effort to have them both closed down.  This surprised me also as the home side, Celtic, ought to have been far ahead by half time and then in the second half they allowed their blue bigot opponents back into the game and indeed to make the better chances. All very disappointing.  In the end I was just wishing the depressing bigotfest to cease and allow me to have my after lunch (which was terrible) nap.
Then I had to ignore football completely until six in the evening.  At that time BBC Alba offered the full Aberdeen v Heart of Midlothian game, a proper football match between proper football teams, or at least they are on paper.
This game also ended as a no scoring draw but was much better in that we were involved.  The main grumbles were the BBC Alba director who felt the need to look deep into the eyes of each and every player,that is when he was not watching some character in the stand, the Aberdeen manager or someone on the bench applying an ice pack to a wound.  Someone needs to tell him that the game is played on the park and that close ups off ugly men are not required!  I wonder if it is a woman?  This would explain the incompetence as she searches for someone to pay her way.
The only other grievance was the expected one, John Beaton the referee has to send off a Heart of Midlothian player at each game, it is in his SFA contract!  This he did by practicing yellow cards for Hearts men but not for Aberdeen ones, even if the jumped into a defender leading with an arm and collapse him.  We have seen such refereeing before and no doubt will see it again.    
However having established a six game run without conceding a goal we can see how the team is being rebuilt, the right way from the back, and once all the injured players return and new ones come in the January sales we will see much improvement in going forward.  That reminds me will someone  give Isma Gonzalves his spectacles back sometime soon? 


Friday 29 December 2017

Sundown Again


A gentleman said to me "You are the type who brightens a room," then tapping me on my beer belly added," simply by walking away from the window!"  A similar experience today after the rain that has fallen for the last 24 hours and continued this morning gave way in the afternoon to bright skies and an attractive sundown.  
So attractive was this I left behind the heater and ventured out into the freezing cold.  Crossing the park offered the usual collection of Christmas holiday types, kids with new motorised vehicles, scooters, bikes, girls in bright outfits, and adolescent males in tight groups pouting at passers-by as they huddle around their new iphones.  Most of then texting the male standing next to them I suggest.  Grumpy people also pass by, these are the workers, they have no holiday and have been up since six in the morning and resent not having time off like so many others appear to have.  Occasional dog walkers, well wrapped up freeze as they pass while the dog wags its tail as it happily explores exciting smells all the while not realising the weather is cold no matter how often the owner mentions this.  
Then there is the council smokers.  In spite of the weather a couple of women, dressed for indoor activities, stand smoking and shivering against the wall.  A third, wrapped in large coat, smokes rather too obviously as she wanders across the damp grass ruining her shoes as well as her lungs.  Why are people allowed to have 'smoke breaks?'  If I suggested having 'Standing in the park just looking' breaks would they be acceptable?  How can people take ten to fifteen minutes out of their day several times a day to smoke when others cannot do this just to stand and stare?  And why do people smoke these days anyway?  We have known for sixty years that it kills you, few now accept it as normal behaviour, yet people from many walks of life insist on participating in this ugly habit.  They have never seen the fear on the face of a man being investigated for sickness obviously.  This is not a nice sight.
Many men still smoke as this is what 'rough men' do.  It is part of 'looking hard' and many men participate because that is what their mates do.  Usually they are not the brightest or just feel that, like swearing, it has to be done to keep in with the boys around you.  Women often smoke thereby giving them something to do with their hands, hiding behind a cigarette, while others smoke funny cigarettes and claim it gets them through their day, they never blame that for their mistakes however.  One of the best laws in recent times was banning smoking indoors, it cleaned up so many environments and saved many lives.


High above us and almost unnoticed the moon keeps watch.  
In spite of Brexit and other follies, riots in Iran, bombs in Kabul, and a decent but not great footballer being transferred for £75 million the moon just waxes and wanes as normal, going about its business with little concern for such small things.  The business of raising and lowering the sea levels is business enough for the moon, that and watching lovers stare blindly at it while thinking of words to rhyme is enough for any moon.
When a lad we read in the 'Eagle' and other magazines how we would live on the moon, so far, in spite of preparing to reach Mars, we have not done so.  It appears cheaper to spend three years travelling to Mars, UFO's permitting, rather than establishing one of those glass domed centres that would transform the moon into valuable living space.  The dreams of the early 1950s have never been accomplished in my view.  The moon was reached, more from national pride rather than human ambition, but in so many ways the future that looked so bright has turned out to be very dull.  Human nature keeps getting in the way or possibly it was reality that got in the way?


Thursday 28 December 2017

Typical!


I had to rise around two in the morning last night as I heard the mouse chomping away at something.  I searched and failed to find him but scared him off again at least, or so I thought.  In the morning I found he had been in the bin (covered to keep him out) all the time!  Humph!  That requires a change of place today.
However as I dozed back into sleep I thought of something of real importance to scribble, scribble, scribble down here.  As I lay in the dark I wrote it out in my befuddled mind and it appeared good.  I continued this as I drifted into slumber happy in the knowledge that I had a decent worthwhile post awaiting me in the morning.
I have forgotten what it was....



Wednesday 27 December 2017

Warmest Year 2017 They Say...?


I glanced at an item in the paper the other day regarding statistics indicating 2017 had been the warmest year since whenever.  I thought of this as the man on TV informed me it would be snowing all day and winds up to 40 mph would bring that same snow through the cracks in my windows.  It was impossible to disagree with his forecast.  Today we reached a 'warmth' of one degree 'C' which must please people who normally live in Siberia, they would consider this tropical, we living in the outer reaches of soft southern England find it means a lot to us!  While I am told constantly I should be used to this having been brought up in a nation that is often 'colder than Moscow' it must be remembered that having been on this difficult mission field since 1975 I have become somewhat accustomed to the constant high temperatures that prevail, tomorrow they claim it will be 13C near this area, we await such high temperatures with expectancy.  Mind you I notice the setting sun has left a noticeable pinkness in the sky so maybe we need not be too expectant.



Tuesday 26 December 2017

Boxing Day


Boxing Day is a day for actually looking at the gifts that have flooded through the letterbox.
My family are beginning to understand the best way to make progress is to send books or a book token, this is what they have done.  For reasons that remain unclear two of my nieces appear to think smelly stuff is a requirement that goes with book reading.  
One niece, her opinion of me is noted in the 'Mr Grumpy' stuff at the front, sent a Levi shirt, this made possible by her new job in one big Edinburgh department store where the staff concessions make up for low wages (she says).  The other continued her unspoken hints (recent gifts have included  the 'Oldie' annual and 'The Real Dad's Army' amongst others, and she added some 'Old Spice' to the book she sent.
Next year I may go up there and see if they can alter their opinion.  
Well actually now I think about it....    


As always there was fifty channels on the TV showing nothing at all.  I did however spend a little time watching the Beatles in 'A Hard Days Night,' a film that still provides good music and was enjoyable in the background while I scrambled together something for lunch.  
Otherwise there was the usual films and old series filling the screen, the non news that occurs at this time of year with one or two tragedies thrown in, and even worse no football to watch!  Only English games of little worth and I just could not be bothered struggling to find them.
Nothing to do bar send thank you notes by email and search social media for something other than political comments.  These could be avoided on Boxing Day, indeed all week but once they are posted a desire to reply appears.  
I did however rush up unwillingly to Sainsburys, the only supermarket open (I think they take it in turns to cover Boxing Day) for milk and bread as tomorrow the rain that is now falling hard will continue all day.  On top of this the temperature will drop and winds increase so I will hide away with my books and the heater.
And so to bed...



Monday 25 December 2017