I Hate Microsoft!

So, to speed up the laptop I cleaned out stuff, cleared the history, and began to reset everything, as you do.  Hours later I had finished this task.   What I had not realised was that the mobile phone, that thing that nobody uses to contact me, would be affected by this.  All the main programmes, sorry, 'apps,' had to be logged into once again.  Now I have to do the same with the phone.  Eventually, my fat fingers not according to the ladylike size of the buttons on these phones (can I borrow a 14 year old to fix this?) I kept entering the wrong thing, even when the email address was robotically entered for me.  'Wrong password' lied Microsoft.  AI then refuse to allow me to do it properly 'As you have tried to log in too many times.' Once!  Not 'too many!'  I hate Microsoft, even Twitter works better and that is run by a 12 year old mental case.  In the end I had all things working bar the 'Outlook' programme which keeps telling me to download the app which I AM USING!   👿

I am becoming a little frayed here.  

My latest attempt has not been successful.  This means I now have to go downstairs and search for my phone which is lying somewhere over the road among all those dogs leavings.  I'm just going outside, I may be some time...

TV Football Lack

That is my laptop screen tonight, black!

Not one football match to be found.

Not one.

There are two U-17 internationals on UEFAtv, but I mean that is all.

Well, one French relegation game on a channel I need to pay for, so that's out.

So there is nothing, nothing.

A quick glance indicates one game worth watching, the final of the Unity Cup, whatever that is, on Saturday.  Certainly the Champions League final is also on, but that has to be paid for, and Jamaica v Nigeria looks a stunner.  The Ghana v Nigeria game was a barrel of laughs and this will be also, better than the overblown, overpriced other final.

But after that?

Nothing.

I may be seeing spiders soon.

Dust to Dust.

I am being robbed!

Paying through the nose as we do for anything in Sainsburys is always a trial.  Yet when I make tea and discover the mug is full of dust because the bag is burst I get annoyed.  When I discover a dozen such bags are either empty or emptying across my floor, then I get annoyed again.  

So it has been with this box of tea.

This cheap tea, better than most others, I have consumed for years.  Never have I found so many tea bags flinging dust across the kitchen.  Don't these providers realise I am poor?  Don't they realise I am also mean?  Don't they realise that when I make tea I expect to find a brown colour in the mug, not whiteness covered with black spots of dust.  There is already enough dust in this house, there is no requirement for tea to add to that.

Bah!

'Full English'

In spite of pressure of work I have managed to finish another book.  This one much more acceptable than the last.  During the year 1933 J.B. Priestley took himself of on a journey through England to see what the land was like, an idea I would personally recommend to one and all.  His book is still in print, in several versions apparently, and it appears to be worth a read.  However, while it has never reached my reduced price shelf other versions of this trip have done so.  

Beryl Bainbridge followed his route in the late 80s for a tv programme.  The book she wrote about the series was one I could not put down, it was just not possible not to keep on turning the page.  Beryl herself however, it must be said, was clearly stark, staring bonkers!

Stuart Maconie, possibly stark, staring bonkers also, decided he too would follow the route of his writing hero and produce of his thoughts also.  While JBP wished to see 'England,' he like all English cared nothing for Scotland dragged into a fake union, he did not manage to see as much of England as he might have chosen to do.  His well known route began at Southampton to Bristol and ventured through the Potteries, the Midlands, the North East and many stations in between, until he touched upon Norwich before he got bored.

Stuart follows the same route.

The author often pleads that he is a working class type from Wigan, yet he writes and indeed lives as a middle class London trendy, that's what fame and money do to you.  His writing is easy though he does intersperse the sentences with long words that require a dictionary.  Usually people who do this are attempting to indicate their education or status, snobbery is another word to use here, possibly of course this merely reveals my lack of education?

Stuart is also under the impression that 'England' is an island.  

This is very annoying.

One problem the author faced was the end of the Covid lockdown regime.  This made travel difficult at times.

The book begins slowly for me in Southampton.  Once again get more information re pubs and eating habits than we do the town.  He stutters his way through Bristol, Swindon and the Cotswolds until he hits the Potteries.  Here, amidst the deprivation led by George Osborne's absurd 'austerity' which did not leave George in an austere situation, here the writing began to grab me.  The descriptions of the area, the result of closing centuries old manufacturing, and the lack of real investment are clearly seen.  From here on the book improves.  Following a route of industrial decline almost everywhere up north the book ends in Norwich where better times can be had.

By the time I got to the end, now knowing almost every pub good or bad en route, and having accepted the working lad made good bit, and indeed enjoyed seeing places I may have passed through in another life long ago, this all made me consider this book well worth reading.  Indeed, I am left wishing I had made more notes when I passed through distant places in the days of yore.   I recommend those who are able to make a similar trip, there is at least magazine articles to be had if not books, and certainly many blog pages.  Well worth it I say.

Wordless Wednesday

 Told you it was wordless.

'Tales From the Fast Trains'

The premise of this book is simple, just jump on a Eurostar train at St Pancras and head off into a lovely city for a weekend break.  Great idea but not so easy if you are in Inverness or Blackpool.  It is also difficult if you have less cash than writers living the London high life.  Another difficulty is Brexit.  Since the book arrived in 2011 things re crossing borders have changed, travel now has hold ups not imagined at the time this book was written.

I already have 'Ticket to Ride' and 'From Source to Sea,' two of the authors other books, both of which were an enjoyable read, so I thought I would attempt this one also.  There was one slight flaw here.  A travel book is about travel, the places visited, and the peoples met.  Good writers, and Tom Chesshyre is a good travel writer, and his writing in this book when describing the places and people visited is indeed good.  However, on this journey he is accompanied by a female referred to at all times as 'E.'

This is where the book falls down.

Instead of travel writing this is a blog for family and friends about the couples weekends.  Weekends in which visiting places and describing the area in a manner which takes the reader into those places is replaced with a quest to see how many references to wine bars and their contents can be found.  Half the book, and I only got half way before I gave up, concerns wine bars and alcohol in various countries, the wine, beer and spirit being alongside details of her problems being more important than the city around them.  Travel brings problems but do we need to know all the minor ones we at home are already suffering ourselves?  

Paris, Lille, Dijon, Lausanne and Antwerp are alcoholic stops for the couple.  Now I confess little interest in visiting any of these places, and the writing does not inspire me, especially as if I were to follow the couple around my liver would need replacing by the time I returned.  In themselves some of the destinations may be worthwhile for a weekend or longer, however, I wonder about those who appear to notice the surroundings via bleary eyes.  I can remove my glasses and get similar pictures and save money.  

I confess I gave up in Lausanne.  His 'E,' may have been impressed by the despotic cleanliness, the views over the lake, and the expensive room, but her contribution lessened the effect of his writing.  It was possible to carry her long with him and stick to describing the places, instead he had to include 'E' in everything.  Very romantic, but poor journalism.  

Next time, I suggest he throws his baggage in the car, and drops her off at her mothers.

I do not recommend this book, but his others are worth a look.

Horse and Cart

In days of your everything was delivered by young men on bikes or pushing handcarts, or older men leading a horse or two pulling a cart.  These could carry an enormous and varied amount of goods usually around the town.  Some would plod slowly for many miles from the country towns into the cities, a long days walk there and a long days walk back.

The cities themselves were full of horse and carts, many working for commercial businesses dealing with business requirements, others spent their time delivering to household needs, and the horse and cart delivering milk was one of the most common.  My father did this before and after the war there being no other work available.  That is his horse delivering from a small dairy in Slateford around Edinburgh somewhere.  The horse knew all the women who fed him apples and such like and waited for his sweet each day.  On one occasion the horse did not wait for the woman to come out of the door and was half way up the path, cart and all, before dad got him back out.   

Edinburgh had many milk deliveries this way, St Cuthbert's Dairy continued to use horses into the 70s. With Usher Vaux Brewery, now long gone like all other Edinburgh Breweries, had two large Dray horses into the 70s, possibly for longer.  We saw similar in Dunfermline when we went there, the local Co-op using horses until the 60s. 

This came to mind when reading of small towns in France once again making use of horses to deliver items, clean streets, school transport and Christmas rides, most often done by vans.   The horses are more ecological, and bring out happiness with the public apparently.  They claim to treat them well, taking care re the weather, wither too hot or too cold, lots of grass to run about in and good shelter at home.  

Yet, some grumble.   

In Brittany there are those who claim such work is like 'slavery' for the horses.  The roads are dangerous, conditions poor, and horses are not slaves.  25,000 people, mostly I bet who do not live there, have signed a petition against the town of Questembert attempting to stop the use of two 8-year-old mares from working this way.  Some 18,000 have signed a similar petition demanding the mares remain, I bet they do live there.   

The Maire will not be beaten by such grumbles, the horses do the work happily and bring pleasure to the public.  Whether they are cheaper is a question but if it is possible in quieter areas to bring back horses doing these jobs I think it well worth while.  Everyone will appreciate seeing them, they do appear to enjoy it and it is better than being bored at home.

Last Home Game

One thing I always like is the end of season games.  The last home game is an opportunity for the fans and players to congratulate one another, or indeed offer points of debate and grudging support to the team.  Last night at Tynecastle the players appeared as always and wandered around the ground greeting the fans.  One or two fans were able to Hi-Five individual players, while some players carried their young children around with them, dressed obviously in shirts with their dad's name on the back.

Having won the game it was an easier encounter than when the team loses, and this has not been a good season.  One manager sacked, a temporary manager for two games, then the new man comes in.  A few months later he too goes south.  Again the temporary manager takes over and again does well.

Grumbles re the board continue, debate about the known new manager also.  However, all this is put aside as the players clap the fans as they walk round.  All understand the situation, all look forward with a mixture of trepidation and hope to the new season.  With one more game to go and then the players depart for Malaga, the Board for somewhere more exotic, and myself for Tesco, we await the last game and the new season.

I must admit, my granddad approach meant that I enjoyed watching the kids with their dads more than anything.  We rarely see the families of players, and rightly so as abuse sometimes follows them, but this allows us to remember them as human beings with all the fragility that brings.  Football is important but families more important.  The kids of course love the occasion even though some are too young to appreciate this.  With luck, some of the boys may one day wear that very important Heart of Midlothian shirt for real!  Lucky them!

Tuesday Hangover

 

I ventured out to the Liberal Club last night.  Our host is in hospital having his brain fixed so we do not expect him back anytime soon.  Naturally we all missed him and decided to make an effort to remember him while he suffers the abuse by physiotherapists and the like, so we ensured all the drinks we obtained were put onto his bill.  Something for him to thank us for when he returns, if indeed he does return.  

Several members of the 'Last of the Summer Wine' were in attendance, and many an unscrupulous ploy was discussed.  We had a laugh, considered what fun we could get up to, then let it all drop when the woman folk came and took their men home.  Ah well.

I sauntered up the road, enjoying the Spring evening but convinced there was someone following me.  I hurried home, shut the main door and let the 'following feeling' pass by.

The response to Keir Starmer's 'Enoch' speech was as expected.  However, that means nothing to him, what matters is getting ahead of Reform.  The inept Conservative's have a failing leader, voters are leaving because the right-wing media tell them it's all because of 'the boats.'  Emotional people, informed their nation is being overrun respond by rushing to vote for Reform because they think they will fix this.  Of course they will do nothing.  Reform is all about rabblerousing and filling Nigel Farage's pockets, nothing else.  If he did win an election and become Prime Minister he would do nothing about anything as he is all about the money.  Those appointed however, may be like the US cabinet living out their fantasies and lack of understanding.

But these ae the front men, not the ones making the decision.  The billionaires and most likely that nice Mr Putin are the ones forcing a right-wing government upon the UK.  They succeeded in the US, Brexit was the practice run, and now they will lie their way into power in the UK in similar fashion.

We note Labour have decided to cut foreign aid, another way to let little black kids die.  This has come out quietly but will be heard spoken loudly once again.  Another right-wing idea to enable the rich to prosper. The voters are emotional, few appear able to see the disaster that awaits them.

If Farage gets in then workers rights will evaporate, wages will decrease, and the lowest of the low will pay the taxes, not the rich.  There are indications of moves towards this among many backbench MPs and most will vote as they are told.  The future is not bright in the UK, so why do people keep coming here, maybe Europe offers a better life for them.

'Guy' on Keir

Keir Starmer gave a speech on immigration today.  

'Guy' has summed it up well.  

When a cartoonist gets it right words are not required.

Sycamore & Pope

The main story this day is either the new Pope having a mass, in the Sistine Chapel of course, or these two brigands who decided to cut down the 'Sycamore tree' on Hadrian's Wall.  Which, I wonder, is more important?

The Pope, whatever you think of him and his, is a powerful individual who has a major influence on the world.  Not only do around a billion and a half claim to be Roman Catholics but his influence can have a political effect in nations large and small.  

His influence on those behind him in the Vatican might be difficult, strong popes before him have struggled with various power lobbies in Rome, and one banker was of course found hanging under a London Bridge some years ago.  Not a job for one with no comprehension of those around him.

I suspect this pope will understand the difficulties ahead, he has been working in Peru after all and that is no less corrupt than any other nation.

Of course if he reads the bible and discovers better doctrine he might indeed change the world.

The other 'main story' everywhere concerns two rather dim men who decided to cut down the famous Sycamore Tree that has stood in the gap in Hadrian's Wall for over a hundred years.  These 'saps,' (see what I did there?) have claimed they thought it 'was only a tree,' but drove some miles, equipped for tree cutting, one did the deed, while the other filmed the event.  

They ran away in the dark giggling to themselves over various social media comments and news reports made after the event.   

The costs incurred have been totalled at £622,191 with damage to the wall itself caused when the tree fell being another £1,144.

The jury at the trial, where both pointed the finger elsewhere, took 5 hours before declaring them guilty.  They now face possible jail time as the emotional effect of chopping down the tree has been immense for some as the judge made clear.

My niece was upset by this, she had dragged her mother there to see the tree not long before these lumberjacks set to work.  She, and many others, will be glad tonight.

VE-Day 80th Anniversary

 

It is 80 years since VE-Day, 'Victory in Europe Day.'  

I wandered about the town hoping to see some reaction from the townsfolk regarding this event, while there was some it was pitifully small.  

Two shops in the High Street had a display, one or two others some small degree or remembrance was shown.  The town council on the other hand, unlike 40 town and village councils around the district had nothing to show.  It may have cost money so it was ignored.  The local paper managed a decent splash, the museum had no display but offered some relevant posts on Facebook, and the big businesses in town did nothing. 

There are 85 names on the memorial and I have discovered several more.  Some 88 men and one young woman died during the conflict, yet the council forgets them.  Several were killed by enemy action in the town, one by an accident, it appears they do not count.  Houses were destroyed, many passing aircraft left damage behind, injured were treated, and V2 'doodlebugs' fell all around the town killing one.  But the council have decided that is in the past, money is short, and others can commemorate the Victory in Europe Day, but not us.  

I hope the 10 men who died in the Far East will be remembered come August 15th, VJ-Day, 'Victory over Japan,' but I hold out no hope for that.

Another Sunday Morning

Sunday mornings happen every Sunday.  As usual they come long before I am ready for the day, and when preparing to go out as I did this morning the hours disappear faster than Labour voters at an election.  I rose, made an omelette and soon regretted this.  I ought to have eaten the two gluten free hot cross buns, reduced price that's why they were bought.  

My chauffeur arrived before I had got myself downstairs, the 1956 Rolls Royce estate being unavailable again we were back in that grey thing he has.  We trundled along to church discussing their holiday in the sun, mostly in their back garden, or the sick amongst us in the Kirk.  And there are a lot of them once again.  Being old brings certain drawbacks but it also brings lots of support from those around you that understand the position.  That was in operation today once again.

A decent turnout today, the girls as expected were looking for me, and all appeared quite harmonious.  When the wife of one man now in hospital with a serious problem came to me I realised how accepted I am by the people here.  We need each other, even if we meet rarely.  That's how it ought to be I suppose.

The 'Sharing of the Peace' is always interesting.  During lockdown we had to 'wave' to one another and now we can move freely about the hall offering peace to one and all.  Naturally, this leads to a stramash with bodies charging this way and that, elbows swinging, hands shaking, people hugging and falling over one another.  Peace it is not.  

Then communion follows.  This is a more solemn affair here, we are guided out row by row, usually bending at the rail, stand if you wish, for the bread and wine to come around.  More ;churchy' than I would like, but the Anglican rules must be followed.  It would be easy to make a comedy clip of old folks attempting to knee, or indeed rise here, let alone stepping up onto the low platform to reach the rail.  Many have almost gone flying here.  Naturally, I would never do anything to cause laughter here, usually.

Home in time for most of the Rangers v Celtic waste of time.  More sectarian bigotry, more throwing of empty 'Buckfast' bottles onto the field, more wishing I was watching Scottish football and not Irish football.  My mood not enhance by my mostly bean stew, nice as it was I was hoping for something more exotic today and this was all that came from the freezer last night.

Tomorrow is a May Day holiday.  Shall I make a banner and walk the streets demanding a new, New Labour Party, or should I just lie in bed as it will make no difference what I say?  Yes, bed it is.

Brandy for Labour

A wee while back I decided to ensure I no longer fall for those 'shiny thing' buys.  You know, when you see something and desire it now, then spend an enormous amount of money on the shiny item only to somewhat regret the purchase not long afterwards.  We have all been attracted to that latest tech gadget in the shop window, you know, the one that has been lying at the bottom of that cupboard for years, and we wonder why we spent all that much missed cash on the brute.  

I decided that there would be no more of that!

Yesterday, I took delivery of a bottle of Armagnac brandy that crossed my mind the day before.

The thought of the stuff was placed into my mind by a sick person.  I allowed this to wait there as I knew how much such a shiny thing costs, however, I realised there was a little cash left in the Amazon vouchers inserted in that company famed for caring for employees website.  A quick look, a quick purchase of the 'reduced price' cheapest, and yesterday a man with an accent I fail to recognise brought home the goods.  

Obviously I regret this shiny thing purchase...

"Enemies to the right of us, enemies to the left, enemies in front of us, we go forward!"

Such is Keir's attitude on responding to the collapse of the Labour vote, though not as great as the collapse of the Tories vote, and no apology for possibly using the wrong manifesto, the Tory one!

So far, the local elections in England have left Labour down 118 and the Tories down 430.  The Lib-Debs are up 78 and Farage and his rioters are up 466, mostly taken from the Conservatives.  One By-election has gone to Reform, one at least Mayoralty, and lots of council seats.  We are left wondering how many will be councillors by Christmas?

A newly elected Labour mayor has attacked Starmer's policies, a losing Labour candidate also, how many more before he, and the strange power behind the throne Morgan McSweeney, decide to become the Labour Party again.  Stealing from pensioners and robbing the disabled and sick gets Tories votes, until the people cry enough, so why did Labour continue this?  Add also the ridiculous idea of killing off the sick and aged to save money while not taxing billionaires, who are not running out of the country by the way, and you lose votes.  

Something strange is going on amongst those who run the country, I wonder what that could be?

Topic: Bluebells

Attempting to fix the broken doors to the cupboard I discovered a bag inside that had been put there by person unknown long ago.   I used this for short travel, a day or three away and that sort of thing. 

There has been little in the way of travel, though I did walk around the gardens yesterday.  However, I took the bag down to dust it off and remember how big it actually is.  A small bag, useful for people who work and carry their lunch yet big enough for a day or two away.  I do not carry much and never have.  

There was nothing but dust and a smell of damp inside, often found around me, and these two 'Topic' bars.     

"Lunch!" thought I, but then I decided to look at the date on the back.  

'19/07/15' it read. 

Suddenly I was not so hungry after all.  

If it's Spring then it must be Bluebell time!  

Indeed it is.  Across the world these delightful flowers are appearing en masse in some places.  Here, we have three offering each year, this year I notice they are spreading outwards and little individual Bluebells are cropping up where they are not supposed to crop up.  I let them be!

I finished tidying up the front, not that some would notice, dumping used cardboard into recycling bags in a manner those who dumped the stuff could not work out.  The weeds I pulled yesterday have found a home with the residue of damp cardboard that I also left, all now safely in the wheelie bin to surprise the dustmen next week or so.  

I attempted a picture of the flowers but the phone is not great for pictures, and they are in an awkward spot to try and photograph.  So, I took action and did the correct thing, I left it all and went upstairs for coffee.

Sunday Wander

Having been trapped inside for a few days and dodging the kids service at Kirk, I wandered around the Gardens in the sunshine.  Nothing much happening, even the kids play area was empty, though I suspect many are still away on holidays at the moment.  Flitting in and out of the bush was this young bird, a Robin yet to develop the bright red chest colouring.  Not too sharp a picture as he would not let me near him.  

As I took this pic a couple nearby did their best to pretend I did not exist.  This would not have occurred 30 years ago, however, the incomers into the vast housebuilding projects, housebuilding for those who can afford £400,000 houses, has seen an increase of population and a decrease of the civility that once was common.  London type attitudes from London based people possibly.

Volunteers are supposed to manage the gardens these days, and when you see flowers like this you consider them efficient.  Some places need work I notice, however, mentioning this leads to an offer off work, so I keep quiet and pass on.

It was quiet for 11 am on a Sunday.  Few were to be seen.  An occasional mother with child on small bike learning how to fall down, a couple playing tennis with new balls, bright and emerald green, a man reading something indistinguishable on a bench seat, and a handful of individuals standing in a group in the sunshine as I wandered around.  The number had increased as I came up the slope but why stand in the sun when you can sit in the many seats all around?  'I bet they are Baptists,' I thought to myself.  For no good reason.  They might still be there.

A good walk, I returned, drank coffee, and rested for the rest of the day.

Friday Rambling On...

I'm just posting this picture in the hope that it will inspire the sun to come out from behind those clouds once again.  I possess no confidence that this will work.  All is quiet.  The neighbours are off on a sun soaked holiday somewhere sunny.  Wine will flow, foreign food will be tested, they do like that, and I suspect little touring the neighbourhood will take place.  Here, I have reached Tesco, and returned the glass bottles to the recycling box.  Life is so unfair!

You may have noticed that the latest Pope has died, at the age of 88.  He was not one to retire, nor was he one to stop working just because one lung did not operate properly.  The theology on offer did not resound well among reformed circles, though it is fair to say his work among the poor and downtrodden, long before he became Pope, was better than most evangelical works.  

Now the conclave begins, with an Irish cardinal at the top of the selection committee.  I suspect they will do this better and quicker that the Anglicans are doing with their Canterbury operation.  None will be following scripture of course.  If scripture was followed there would be less hierarchy, more workers, more believers, and a better Christian witness in most churches.  Office Johnnies like to build their own empires rather than do the work before them.    

One laugh was Darren Grimes, a well known far right proponent of whatever Tufton Street offers him.  Consider a BBC photo of a short row of black hooded nuns at a service for the Pope somewhere in Italy.  Darren asks 'Why have the BBC shown Muslims?'  

You have to laugh.  

 

It is unfortunate when valuable 'works of art' are mislaid.  Maashorst Municipality, unfortunately did mislay several copies of Andy Warhol's prints of Queen Beatrix.  Anyone can make a mistake and during renovations fill wheelie bins with art works as there is nowhere else to store them.  Anyone can then sit back and watch the rubbish men take the bins, empty them in to the lorries and smile happily not realising what was inside.  Simple life really.  

Of course, if it were up to me all such 'artwork' would be disposed of in similar fashion.  Art is seen in the eye of the beholder, and art is one of the great cons of the world, just like fashion.  The people who matter dictate what you are to like, and galleries are soon stuffed with people liking what the chattering classes tell them to like.  It would not be good to be seen to demure from their opinion.  

So much art is junk.  Yet museums and galleries, and even town councils pay vast sums for the items that keep them in with the right people.  Councils art works usually do not keep them in with the people who vote of course.  I loved art way back in time when I went to school.  'It is too early to say whether he has any real talent,' lied the art master to my mother, breaking off from touching up the teacher from the other art class.  I had no talent, none has ever shown, but one of my abstract junk pieces did get put up on the school corridor wall.  It was nice, but it was junk really.     

Contrasts - 1905   William James Aylward (1875-1956)

Keir Speaks

Keir has come out of hiding to admit that women are women, 'An adult human female,' at last.  This was something he had difficulty in pronouncing before, maybe his wife never undressed in front of him?  Anyway, the recent, and obvious, Supreme Court decision has put it straight, men are men and women are women and men must keep out of women's spaces, even if carrying a card saying 'I am a woman.'  The absurdity of any man claiming to be a woman, dressing and acting like one being accepted by any government is an absurdity 40 years ago that would have been laughed at.  Today 'Gender Recognition' is accepted by many.

Lets face facts, you are born female or male, nothing else.

It has to be accepted that in this sin filled world some will have a mix up within them when born, these however, are the minority.  Others, through trauma or life problems turn to dressing as women, some women dressing as men, in order to deal with trauma.  A great many are just dressing as women to get in amongst them, these need locking up.

Jesus accepts us all, he cries 'Repent,' which means turn to him, leave your life and follow Jesus to find a real life.  For all of us this is difficult, for gays, transvestites, those who had trauma or were assaulted, or any other problem that leads them into lifestyles that destroy Jesus says 'Come to me, I will lead you, give you life, and eternity.'   He means this and will do it.

Society however, does not like this.

Society wishes people to be able to live however they choose, no matter how absurd.  This leaves the individual alone to face the world, but allows those sending them out to life as they wish to also live as they wish, in spite of reality and possible trauma to themselves or others.  Life is real, a manner of life instituted by God is also real.  We do not follow this and fall into strife.  

Let us love those with problems, but let us always speak the truth to them, we ourselves are also suffering our own difficulties, all are sinners after all.

Easter Sunday 2025

We read off the women going to the tomb early on the first day of the week.  This would be early, around 4 am when the sun begins to rise.  At the tomb they are somewhat surprised to find the large stone rolled away, the strips of linen covering the body lying there, and the cloth across his head lying folded to the side.  Possibly it was the thought of a man folding the cloth that surprised them most?  One, possibly two angels then appeared, dressing in robes that shone like lightning, they reassured the women and informed them Jesus is not here, he has risen!

The girls run back to tell the disciples what they have discovered though Mary Magdalene actually meets Jesus himself.  She remained while the others rushed back.  Shortly afterwards Peter and John arrive, find the tomb as was said, the cloths lying there and the body gone, and return wondering what all this meant.

Imagine the house, door locked for fear of Jewish leaders reprisals, several houses with other disciples who did not know about the tomb being empty carrying on their day, stunned at Jesus death.  Now the leading disciples were puzzled and unbelieving at what the women told them, it made no sense, people do not rise from the dead.  

Later that night Cleopas and another disciple who had walked off to Emmaus came back claiming Jesus had joined them!  Mary had seen him, these two had met him, the tomb was empty.  What was going on?

What was happening in Jerusalem at this time?

The city, stuffed full of people because of the Passover, would be returning to some sort of normality for the occasion.  Some would discuss the three crucified the other day, most others would be dealing with the needs of the hour.  The women arranging the foodstuffs for the gathered family, the children playing with their cousins and getting in the way, breaking things, and having a laugh.  The men would continue working or attend the Temple for prayer.  With so many around money was to be made and opportunities taken.  Family gathering would require responsibilities also, and the men would be meeting, discussing and possibly trading with family members at this time.  The women would also be trading, their sons for the best wives possible I suspect!  

Life would continue for many while those who had heard Jesus in Galilee and elsewhere would be stunned at the death, and that on a cross.  We know that before he departed Jesus left behind some 500 disciples, how many met him in the days after he rose?  We have no information regarding them, yet I assume he met others individually or in small groups.  Who knows?  

While the disciples we know about fretted and wondered Jerusalem and life in general continued.  I am struck by how important this event, the death of the Son of God on a cross for our sin, and his rising again as foretold in the prophets, met with indifference among so many in Jerusalem.  Another leader goes down, there will be another along in a moment.  Jerusalem carries on, unaware of their rejection of Gods Messiah and the future punishment soon to fall on the city.  

Are our eyes open to what all this means?  

Good Friday 2025