Chelmsford.

A moment of madness struck me last night, 'I will go to Chelmsford tomorrow thought I.'  So, just after 9:30 this morning I was hobbling down the slope, in spite of the bad pavements in Station Approach, towards the station.  Here, an attractive young woman gave me the £8:25 tickets along with the patient smile she usually keeps for he granddad.  I noticed on the receipt that they gave me her name, but not her phone number...

The train arrived, the non talking, non smiling passengers boarded silently and soon we left, without announcement, dead on Anglian Railways 10 am service.  A smooth ride in these new 720 trains.  Nothing but other passengers to upset the travelling public, and those two men in red coats checking tickets of course, they upset some.

The announcement came just after we had left the station and were proceeding at 10 miles per hour towards the next.  

At Witham she gave out the cry 'Do not forget to take your luggage, otherwise they may be removed.'  Very fitting announcement for London Overspill Witham I thought to myself.   A couple of Witham locals with pushchairs entered, I noticed the young men getting off give them a glare as he did so.  Here we saw an example of London overspill manners!  Me first, I have a baby!  At Chelmsford I allowed these two women to get off first, then I fell against a polite Asian gent in a suit man as I alight, I apologise and seek the lift, too many stairs in this station.

I walk through the huge indoor market, check cheese stall and butchers, and pass on.  This is one of those 'must see' markets as you never know what will be found there.  All the usual stuff of course and those stalls that have a variety of tat, often the tat you and I find interesting.  I passed on wondering if I could make it to the High Street and back to the market, l was loath to miss the cheese shop.

I walked through the huge expensive shopping centre with all the right shops noting the girls passing through there not noting me.  Have they no 'Specsavers' here?

Anyway, I was becoming desperate for some form of liquid but loath to try these overpriced coffee shops.  There is always a coffee stall in the paved High Street among the stalls.

There were no stalls in the High Street today. Bah!

I limped along, wondering if I was doing the right thing, through Bond Street where all the new expensive shops can be found. I searched John Lewis for kitchen knives, eventually finding them locked in a glass case.  At those prices they will be remaining locked in glass cases for me.

I did NOT go in!

No fool me, I am unable to afford such shops without book vouchers.  So I resisted stoutly.  Several people asked if i was OK as I was shivering somewhat as I passed by the shop.  Anyway, I shivered as I passed by coming back again heading towards the Oxfam Book shop.

Here I accidentally fell into the Oxfam Book Shop, and I mean accidentally.  There is a small 2 inch step at the door which I found by almost landing flat on my face, nobody moved.  I saved my self by damaging a display of I know not what to my right, and stood up to face an elderly woman who peeked round expecting to see me on the floor.  She sounded disappointed.  The volunteer at the cash desk did not look up.

Again I accidently did something, this time I hope wisely.  I bought two bags of 'Café Direct' coffee.  One from Peru and one from Chiapas, Mexico.  I have coffee, which costs me £4 from Sainsburys and £3 from Tesco, but are they worth it.  These bags cost £4:59 each, which I thought expensive, then I realised they contained, they say, 200 grams of coffee, the supermarket stuff contains 100 grams.  Each 100 gram of Oxfam Fairtrade coffee therefore costs ££2:30, much cheaper.  But is it better? It's worth a try.  The volunteer was trying his best, but he does not work there every day I suggest, and the couple of our age who let me go first were friendly while I gathered my goods.  Several people of an over 50 age group were friendly, those under it slightly less so, as you would expect. 

Stumbling like an old man in search of a coffee stall that I could afford I reached M&S.  Upstairs I came across an interesting situation in that to get to 'Menswear,' you must first pass through 'Lingerie.'  Now I passed through easily enough, there was no reason for that security man to insist I moved, anyway I replaced my camera into my pocket and searched the jackets (male).   A summer jacket, made I suspect in Cambodia, was costing £99.  £99!  And they wonder why M&S is not what it was?  I once again passed through the lingerie into the food hall.  Here, I searched for bottled water but by accident found a bottle of wine that suits me.  I searched diligently for red wine, staring at the £55 level, descending to £30, the £20 and finally £6 level at the bottom.  The bottle of Rich and Smooth at £5:75 appeared to be right for me in every way.  

What...?

Anyway, they use self service, and I wanted some loose change so chose a cash option.  Naturally, not having been before it took the lassie next to me to show where to put the cash.  Having dark tills in a dark corner, served by an attractive and bright blonde dressed in black so nobody could find her is not in my view wise.  Eventually I and all the confused Essex ladies of a certain age made it to the door.

On my way out I passed a man with a guitar and amplifier killing several songs very well.  He may well be famous one day but only when Simon & Garfunkel sue him for murdering their work.

Having decided I was going to suffer anyway I continued back to the market.  Spending money is easy I find, even if I do not have any.  The cheese shop beckoned, so I walked past the girls in the shopping centre glaring at the camera I was forcing into their faces, and came out a different exit.  Walking past the proper Oxfam shop I could see from the large window that nothing there enticed me in.  

Now normally, I would sit in the Cathedral when in town but I am not keen these days as this Bishop, a strong candidate for Canterbury, has let the gay mob rule in here, so therefore I have lost interest.

First the butcher for chicken ( 5:99 or 2 for £10) to fill the freezer, then a couple of large cheese chunks £7;50, that will leave me with cholesterol poisoning by Friday, and then hobble slowly, so very slowly up the road to the station, a station that not only appears so far away but it greets you with three steps to climb up!  Three steps after two hours of this?

  

Up lift.

Watch the fat station woman boss people about, give them a stripe and they rule the world.

I sat in the sun for a while knowing my train would be ages yet.  However, possible delays, caused by a troublesome passenger, had delayed the last one so I decided to move to Witham, where I watched my by now very heavy bag. 

This one came in at 12:34 exactly on time.  The trains were running smoothly, the few minutes lost to previous train was made up quickly, and the Anglian Railways staff were good at all times.  I did notice so many more hanging about the Chelmsford Station, a clear clamp down on far dodgers, which is why the corporal and her men were wandering up and down all the platform length, to stop folks jumping in or out.  Good luck jumping out from that height.  

The journey home smooth.

However, climbing up the Arthur's Seat impersonating hill that once was a gentle slope was trying.  It is at moments like this you notice the far from smooth pavements, the areas where tree roots come through, and the loose paving slabs that once I unloaded from lorries at a thousand a time. 

Up the road, up the stairs, hey who put the light out?  Indoors, feet above heart for 10 minutes, eat sausages and cheese, lots of cheese, lots more to come later, sleep for a few minutes, and give thanks for a day out without calling an ambulance.

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)