tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67848917456233909572024-03-18T23:51:16.927+00:00EAGLETON NOTESNOTES FROM THE ISLE OF LEWIS IN SCOTLAND'S OUTER HEBRIDES AND ANYWHERE ELSE I HAPPEN TO FIND MYSELFGraham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.comBlogger1986125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-72021087458141256882024-03-17T16:42:00.000+00:002024-03-17T16:42:41.683+00:00I'm Back (Again).<p style="text-align: justify;">I left the Island 13 days ago. I returned on the later ferry last night, had some supper and went to bed just after midnight. I slept well and dreamt that I was growing a hitherto unknown lily. I was up at 6.30 this morning and have spent the day unpacking, washing and ironing and checking the garden and, indeed, spending about three hours working in the garden because it was a reasonably pleasant afternoon.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My cancer review and bone scan both went well and my spell in Ayr Hospital went equally successfully. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Once again I have nothing but praise for the staff at every level who look after those of us who need their services.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The next few days are going to be busy whilst I catch up and the first of my Spring visitors arrives on Friday. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">However, in my usually optimistic way, I hope to get some time in Blogland and catch up. What remains of this afternoon will be spent answering letters and writing emails until the time will come for a glass of wine and dinner.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">'Bye for now.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">PS You might find this Facebook post for a local community-run shop and café on the other side of the Island quite amusing.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKReyzPsz5tzobrCpKI-D03bV0iJ_DFzqdZiHRVUYJhkptC-xZaCJwfQunRQz6fAaASpy4Eifa34S6YK_GgyRq76Z7Rp3pdog0LHuTOBuPeDi6ktl98a6vMZhKReWtOKTW0QCc80W1f8NCEgw7Fg04l0LrtycsSQyiOvSotwjOCJ2Fv6LVXlPmeOJGwcRR" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="661" height="859" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKReyzPsz5tzobrCpKI-D03bV0iJ_DFzqdZiHRVUYJhkptC-xZaCJwfQunRQz6fAaASpy4Eifa34S6YK_GgyRq76Z7Rp3pdog0LHuTOBuPeDi6ktl98a6vMZhKReWtOKTW0QCc80W1f8NCEgw7Fg04l0LrtycsSQyiOvSotwjOCJ2Fv6LVXlPmeOJGwcRR=w478-h859" width="478" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-5440033601210352842024-02-25T12:49:00.001+00:002024-02-25T12:49:57.972+00:00Absence and A Funeral<p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As some of you will be aware I have been away for the last couple of weeks. I went down to England to attend the funeral of my younger brother known in Blogland as <a href="https://scriptorsenex.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Scriptor Senex</span></a>. but to me and many as CJ. Most of you will have read my <a href="https://galenote.blogspot.com/2024/01/clive-john-edwards.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">post of 27 January</span></a> about his death.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was fortunate in that my son took his vehicle (which I'm not insured to drive) and drove the 1000 miles there and back. There was a day, not so many years ago, when I drove from Lewis to Tuscany via England, France, Germany, Switzerland and Northern Italy and enjoyed it. Now I will be very happy if I never have to drive in England again. It's full of people and cars! They all seem to me to be in a hurry and to have very little patience. With apologies to all my Englandshire readers who, of course, are not included in that generalisation.</span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As is the case with many of my generation, we and our friends from school and university etc are scattered not just through Britain but all over the world. So it was comforting to know that there were people watching the ceremony via a video link who might be anywhere in the world. </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can’t get to your 80th year without hearing quite a few eulogies. I’ve heard quite a few and I’ve written and delivered some as well. Nothing had ever been as difficult and as complex as trying to distill the vast amount of material that CJ, has provided in his 74 years.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span> </span></p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From his writing (which included amongst many other things two novels and 'The Urban Countryman's Notebook), art in various media, collecting, voluntary work, Postcrossing, and his voracious appetite for reading CJ was a very extraordinary person.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A lot of CJ's life was very serious from his physical condition to his work and many of his interests.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>However, he did have a humorous side and a flippant side.</span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One example that comes to mind was the fact that Jo had told him that she would never marry a man who wore pink socks. At the wedding meal speech CJ concluded by removing the black socks he was wearing to reveal a pair of bright pink socks underneath.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 16px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To celebrate the various facets of CJ, Jo had him dressed for his final journey in his suit to show his serious side, a jazzy tie and purple multi coloured socks to show how way-out and off-beat he could be, and his walking boots to show his love of nature and the outdoors. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Goodbye, CJ. </span></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-5584305597669590692024-02-02T21:06:00.000+00:002024-02-02T21:06:04.245+00:00An Insurance Diversion<p style="text-align: justify;">In amongst all the things I've been doing since my brother passed away is the tiny matter of my car insurance. When checking the policy renewal I happened to notice that one of my included drivers had the incorrect date of birth. Many years ago I'd put down his wife's birthday instead of his. He is two years older than I am. I popped in today to correct it. His wife is two year younger than he is. However he hasn't driven my current car which I've had for 6 years. When I lived in New Zealand half the year he always took the car out to keep it in good order. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">No problem said the NFU Mutual agent. It will just be an extra £10. "Don't bother" I replied. Just remove his name. "OK" she said and then told me that removing his name would INCREASE the premium by over £100. Yes. Really.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">So he is still on my insurance policy. I wonder if I add another octogenarian onto the policy will I get another £100 knocked off the premium. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Any insurance buffs out there who can explain the situation?</p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-88635841340916843722024-01-27T14:49:00.001+00:002024-01-27T14:49:16.400+00:00Clive John Edwards<p style="text-align: justify;">It is with great sadness that I am telling you that Blogland has lost one of its earliest members who was known to some of my longer-term readers of this blog.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">CJ, otherwise known as Scriptor Senex, my younger brother died peacefully in hospital last night having had a massive stroke earlier in the week.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">CJ started started blogging over 20 years ago on a subject dear to his heart: insects and wildlife mainly in his garden. The original blog, which unfortunately I have been unable to locate, was on Angelfire. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Then on the 15 August 2007 he changed to Blogger and started the blog <a href="https://scriptorsenex.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Rambles from my Chair</span></a>. He also had various other blogs over the years.</p><div style="text-align: justify;">More recently a message on his blog made it clear that he was using Instagram and Facebook a lot more and sometimes they were replacing posts on the blog. In reality his poor health meant that in recent years he spent most of his time reading. He was one of the most voracious readers I've known. He had the advantage of being able to concentrate absolutely and speed read but also remember what he had read.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I owe my blogging career to CJ who introduced me to Blogger in its infancy in 2007.</div>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com73tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-27150268061384487812024-01-25T11:36:00.000+00:002024-01-25T11:36:01.342+00:00Being 'Single'. <p style="text-align: justify;">"It's okay for you there's only one of you to look after." is a statement I hear quite frequently from married people.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">WHAT! For some reason when I heard it yesterday it really irritated me. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I live in a 100 year old 'family' house. There's only me to clean it and do the maintenance. I have a large garden. There's only me to work in it and maintain it. I eat meals with the usual regularity of two people. There is only me to do the cooking. The difference is simply the quantity I cook. I do all the shopping. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I go somewhere there's only me to do the driving. There's no "I'll drive tonight so you can have a glass of wine". When I go away I have to pay for double accommodation or a substantial 'single supplement'. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">If I get 'flu or break a leg then there's just me to look after me. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">On the plus side there's only one of me to consider if I happen to want to watch the television or radio. 😂</p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-35698339291244147712024-01-21T18:48:00.001+00:002024-01-21T18:48:22.404+00:00Dread<p style="text-align: justify;">Over the next next four or five months I will have to go to The Mainland on three occasions at least. For my annual CT scan combined with my 3-monthly cancer review at The Beatson (the West of Scotland's cancer centre of excellence in Glasgow). Then, possibly April, to have my uretic stent replaced. In June there is a wedding in Edinburgh for one of my New Zealand Family. Immediately after which four members of The Family are coming to stay on Lewis. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">All of a sudden I am grabbed by a feeling of dread at the idea of leaving the Island. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Why?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I don't mind driving (and I have a large comfortable reliable estate car in which to do it). I don't mind the ferry journey from Stornoway to Ullapool (It's only 2½ hours and I'm a good sailor and down the mainland sealoch the scenery is beautiful). If I fly, instead, I am very happy in airplanes despite a loathing of airports these days. And when I'm in Glasgow and other places I have friends with whom to stay and enjoy time. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">So what has happened to me?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">After all It's not that many years since I 'commuted' between my home here on Lewis and my home in New Zealand. I did that journey for a decade until I returned to Scotland for good in 2017 when I was basically told that they couldn't really look after my cancer (which had shown signs of returning) if I insisted on being away for 6 months of the year. In any case life was altering in many ways. So Scotland had to become my full-time home once more.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Since then my summer trips to Europe became fewer and ceased when I was refused medical insurance.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Then, gradually, my visits to England became fewer and stopped with Covid and have not resumed.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm very happy driving on the Mainland of Scotland - after all it is a stunningly beautiful Country. I have to admit though, that having to meet ferry deadlines and wait a week for a booking in summer if one misses the ferry because of hospital or a road accident (both of which affected me last year) have taken the joy out of summer travel. Ferry cancellations because of weather, which I managed to avoid for 46 years, now loom large frequently.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And I love my home, My family, my friends, my garden and and........</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Am I alone? Is it an age 'thing'? </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Ah well. I suppose I'd better do the ironing.</p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com51tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-72658098349260693092024-01-08T18:18:00.000+00:002024-01-08T18:18:09.204+00:00My Diary<p style="text-align: justify;"><a href="https://jabblog-jabblog.blogspot.com/2024/01/new-desk-diary.html">Jabblog</a> on the subject of her new diary recently said, amongst other things, "When I was a teenager, it took me ages to write a letter because I had to keep starting again after I’d made a mistake. Quite ridiculous!"</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I read that at the time that I was filling in my 2024 pocket diary. Without it I am absolutely lost. Like Janice I start off trying to be very orderly and neat. It is helped in my case by the fact that I only use pencil for appointments. However birthdays and other dates are in fine red ink so as to stand out. I cannot understand how it is that half way through the year I will have a few entries that are a day out because I copy across from the old diary without concentrating. I find it irrationally annoying.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have been using the same diary format which fits into a leather cover for many many years. I am used to it. It is a sort of comfort blanket. On the odd occasion that I have mislaid my diary over the years (I have always eventually found it) I nearly have a nervous breakdown. My diary, like my car keys, carry a reasonable reward for its return if lost.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Given that almost everything else I do I do on my iPhone and associated MacBookPro and iPad (which Apple users will understand because everything done on one is automatically available on the others and is instantly backed up in the Cloud) I cannot understand why I don't do the same for my diary. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">However my diaries go back continuously to 1974 well before I had any form of electronic recording device.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Returning to Janice's original point I write a lot of letters using a fountain pen. I have been known to start again because of an error. However a few years ago I decided that this was causing me to lose spontaneity and all of a sudden the occasional crossing out almost became the norm. It certainly doesn't worry me any more. </p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-38289770537534783182024-01-02T19:18:00.001+00:002024-01-02T19:18:56.298+00:00Greetings<p style="text-align: justify;">To those of my friends in the Blogworld and elsewhere I send you greetings for 2024.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I hope that you are all well. I apologise for yet another absence. On this occasion I may have some difficulty catching up with all the posts I've missed to the extent that I hope to read but may not comment.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">For the last two Christmases and Januaries I have been ill with chest infections or viruses. This year I have so far been absolutely hale and hearty.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">However prior to Christmas my son was unwell with what we now assume was influenza. My son and daughter-in-law host Christmas for the two families because they have a house and dining area which can take us all with ease. The 22nd December was my grandson, Brodie's, 6th Birthday. He had a get-together. Two days later on Christmas Eve he found himself for the second time in three weeks in hospital. The first time he had needed intra-venous antibiotics so was an in-patient. This time the tests showed that he had 'flu. As there was nothing to be done needing hospital treatment he was allowed home. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">However Christmas lunch was postponed. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">In any case his maternal aunt and grandfather had both succumbed. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">As it happens a friend of mine of half a century also had her Christmas cancelled so she came over to me for a couple of days bringing duck (instead of turkey) and excellent Champagne. So we settled ourselves down and had a couple of very quiet and very overindulgent days.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I hastily got out my Christmas Candles and cards and my Christmas Trees made by Catriona of my New Zealand Family when she was about the age of my Grandson which adorned my home in New Zealand. Instead of using one of the dining tables we used the 'dinner wagon' given to my parents on their marriage nearly ninety years ago. Together with the huge snowflakes crocheted by Marcheline. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTURlvQ6SaKJBRQ5svW4QNe3N9Ws9Ma1OMMpyEiS0o6joBDX9Mo727dv7sQz8QWk5YOykhb2uvbASZKaHV9nTz-YRWl6p4IyAjkaODfrFZjGIzCHr0iR6wrpdpz-_Rfh0lroE5HBKV7tEJsquUicN0LP3tGT1aWcmldWOe7T3-mFjJj3OgpnLbxyd7lR_/s800/CCFE4EBB-9615-4466-A1B5-E8A5ED52D055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="571" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTURlvQ6SaKJBRQ5svW4QNe3N9Ws9Ma1OMMpyEiS0o6joBDX9Mo727dv7sQz8QWk5YOykhb2uvbASZKaHV9nTz-YRWl6p4IyAjkaODfrFZjGIzCHr0iR6wrpdpz-_Rfh0lroE5HBKV7tEJsquUicN0LP3tGT1aWcmldWOe7T3-mFjJj3OgpnLbxyd7lR_/s16000/CCFE4EBB-9615-4466-A1B5-E8A5ED52D055.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoM3KWkMoCb-713Bspr4ijewz3I7lQNqCE_tS2P3fGpQYY3zzhPAcmzF2moetGYMLvBtnZ-YXjL94p-pMp45EFCnYew2wg3EHLxyJpCwvtUnUcbyV4rLSo_MGq5OpWLppOLiNKQauuD1Dc0q3CEsoXdpOS7dOQ5QWnyfr0BgQJCdWYWm6MZZuA7QmOzUa/s800/IMG_6511.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLoM3KWkMoCb-713Bspr4ijewz3I7lQNqCE_tS2P3fGpQYY3zzhPAcmzF2moetGYMLvBtnZ-YXjL94p-pMp45EFCnYew2wg3EHLxyJpCwvtUnUcbyV4rLSo_MGq5OpWLppOLiNKQauuD1Dc0q3CEsoXdpOS7dOQ5QWnyfr0BgQJCdWYWm6MZZuA7QmOzUa/s16000/IMG_6511.jpeg" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_512n6ooQnnGcsJu6TQF8juLsxEQDDWcxpC5NAnnJjyLXFOcDgE22BdbfcPy5yhcrCEqm0IiS3tIhDiECqGgnn5HFkuCcR7Kkj0H9ZRZmHBUzgETFP-KhPPI0a6projNLJkj9Ms5Qh4yJNfzRDlTsbROZYwcXkD-bQ7CQ2bRYbBtFZOyzqkRA-YsBTUzG/s800/IMG_6508.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_512n6ooQnnGcsJu6TQF8juLsxEQDDWcxpC5NAnnJjyLXFOcDgE22BdbfcPy5yhcrCEqm0IiS3tIhDiECqGgnn5HFkuCcR7Kkj0H9ZRZmHBUzgETFP-KhPPI0a6projNLJkj9Ms5Qh4yJNfzRDlTsbROZYwcXkD-bQ7CQ2bRYbBtFZOyzqkRA-YsBTUzG/s16000/IMG_6508.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsWWYycXxIFeFkn1e5BXEkqwkcymbG4GRurIJCRr9eLydOEZvZVCb34OX6tnbfLUo030ydLUlO2CpZ4RuEBXYKvgofIjy1yZP4-k6FpHGPGdyCv01LyFAyMqGEus4BkbFzMMnBjIq9J_Zhc7SDoQ-mBuxpEIumTR1UWRQfgTJrSzQDumPL4kQcnUM-k7T/s800/IMG_6509.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsWWYycXxIFeFkn1e5BXEkqwkcymbG4GRurIJCRr9eLydOEZvZVCb34OX6tnbfLUo030ydLUlO2CpZ4RuEBXYKvgofIjy1yZP4-k6FpHGPGdyCv01LyFAyMqGEus4BkbFzMMnBjIq9J_Zhc7SDoQ-mBuxpEIumTR1UWRQfgTJrSzQDumPL4kQcnUM-k7T/s16000/IMG_6509.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-16278128539416578062023-12-10T13:39:00.000+00:002023-12-10T13:39:05.617+00:00The Elephant in The Room<p style="text-align: justify;">A number of people in Blogland and also in my personal life have recently been commenting on the fact that we are all getting older and some of us are getting to the stage when there is one helluva lot more behind us than we can look forward to.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Although few of us mention it, many of my friends deep down wonder not so much how long we are going to live but how much longer we are going to function effectively physically, and in many ways far more importantly, mentally. As more and more people I know succumb to dementia of one type or another it is the condition that we all dread but all pretend is something that happens to other people. It is the untalked about elephant in the room.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My Dad was born in 1907 on 11 December so this would be his 116th birthday (and if I have the maths wrong I'm sure someone will tell me). He died at the age of 94.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I've blogged about him on a few occasions because he was a wonderful father and a lovely person.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Today's post is a little story from the last week or so of his life when he had been admitted to a nursing home as an emergency patient with chronic heart failure which meant that he was unable even to raise his hand to his mouth to give himself a drink.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">On being told of his admission I drove down from the Hebrides to Liverpool and went straight to the nursing home.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Just after I arrived a Social Worker also arrived and was shown into the room. She introduced herself and said that she had come to assess my father for his suitability for the facility. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">She then started with the usual questions "Do you know where you are and what time it is?" and so on. At that point I interjected and pointed out that this was a bizarre line of questioning for someone who was virtually blind, had no access to a clock, a radio or anything else and could not read a newspaper even if he had one and that I, who did but who had just driven from the Hebrides couldn't tell her the date, time or even what day it was. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">After she and I had exchanged a few more sentences Dad interjected:</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"For heaven's sake you two!" "The date is...the day is... We had lunch about an hour ago. They presumably serve it around 1230. So it's probably about 1.30. The date is X (I never did know how on earth he knew that), and you are probably going to ask me who is on the throne and who the Prime Minister is etc etc." He then went on to answer the questions he had presumed would be asked. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">At the end of all that the Social Worker turned to me and said "Well that is you and I truly put in our place", put down her papers and started have a proper conversation with Dad and I. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I keep clinging to the hope that as both my parents at the age of 94 and 93 had all their mental faculties there may be hope for me now that I've entered my eightieth year. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">(OK How many of you - apart from Bob if he read this - checked my maths?)</p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com60tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-42537003894950443252023-12-08T19:24:00.000+00:002023-12-08T19:24:33.534+00:00Dr Benjamin Zephaniah<p style="text-align: justify;">Benjamin Zephaniah has never played a large part in my life although I do know of him and some of his poetry. A large part of his persona known to me was his delivery of his poetry. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">He was also a truly amazing representative of the Human Race. If one wants to read about the overcoming of adversity from leaving school illiterate to having many doctorates then I would recommend the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benjamin_Zephaniah" target="_blank"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Wikipedia entry</span></a>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Like almost everyone in the piece of land called 'Great Britain' he was British but.....</p><p style="text-align: justify;">And here I was going to quote in support of a favorite theme of mine a poem of his entitled 'The British'. It's not a poem that I could quote so I Googled it and discovered that YP had already written a post about him and included the relevant poem. So I am not going to repeat it but include a link to <a href="https://beefgravy.blogspot.com/2023/12/zephaniah.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">YP's post</span></a>.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have always avoided political and, on the whole, controversial subjects on this blog because there are other forums for arguments. However, if ever there was a person who overcame every single adversity with which he was born then Benjamin Zephaniah was one of the most shining example of which I can think.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps one of his most amusing poems is Talking Turkeys:</p><section class="elementor-section elementor-inner-section elementor-element elementor-element-d03cb6d elementor-section-boxed elementor-section-height-default elementor-section-height-default" data-element_type="section" data-id="d03cb6d" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #2e2e2e; font-family: -apple-system, "system-ui", "Segoe UI", Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", Arial, "Noto Sans", sans-serif; position: relative; width: 870px;"><div class="elementor-container elementor-column-gap-default" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 890px; position: relative;"><div class="elementor-row" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; width: 870px;"><div class="elementor-column elementor-col-50 elementor-inner-column elementor-element elementor-element-857ecc2" data-element_type="column" data-id="857ecc2" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; min-height: 1px; position: relative; width: 435px;"><div class="elementor-column-wrap elementor-element-populated" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; padding: 0px 15px 0px 0px; position: relative; width: 435px;"><div class="elementor-widget-wrap" style="align-content: flex-start; box-sizing: border-box; display: flex; flex-wrap: wrap; position: relative; width: 420px;"><div class="elementor-element elementor-element-3b890d35 elementor-widget elementor-widget-theme-post-content" data-element_type="widget" data-id="3b890d35" data-widget_type="theme-post-content.default" style="box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; width: 420px;"><div class="elementor-widget-container" style="box-sizing: border-box; transition: background 0.3s ease 0s, border 0.3s ease 0s, border-radius 0.3s ease 0s, box-shadow 0.3s ease 0s, -webkit-border-radius 0.3s ease 0s, -webkit-box-shadow 0.3s ease 0s;"><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.9rem; margin-top: 0px;">Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Cos’ turkeys just wanna hav fun<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />An every turkey has a Mum.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Don’t eat it, keep it alive,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />It could be yu mate, an not on your plate<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Say, Yo! Turkey I’m on your side.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />I got lots of friends who are turkeys<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />An all of dem fear christmas time,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />An humans are out of dere mind,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Dey all hav a right to a life,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Not to be caged up an genetically made up<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />By any farmer an his wife.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.9rem; margin-top: 0px;">Turkeys just wanna play reggae<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Turkeys just wanna hip-hop<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />‘I cannot wait for de chop’,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In many ways like yu an me.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.9rem; margin-top: 0px;">I once knew a turkey called…Turkey<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />He said “Benji explain to me please,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Who put de turkey in christmas<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />An what happens to christmas trees?”,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />I said “I am not too sure turkey<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />But itÕs nothing to do wid Christ Mass<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />An business men mek loadsa cash’.</p><p style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.9rem; margin-top: 0px;">Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Invite dem indoors fe sum greens<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Let dem eat cake an let dem partake<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />In a plate of organic grown beans,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />An spare dem de cut of de knife,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Join Turkeys United an dey’ll be delighted<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />An yu will mek new friends ‘FOR LIFE’.</p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></section>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-6674505959285957842023-11-17T18:21:00.007+00:002023-11-17T21:13:14.413+00:00Priorities<p style="text-align: justify;">Everton Football Club has been 'fined' 10 points by the (English) Football Association for financial overspending. This puts Everton into the relegation zone. They are by no means the only club facing such sanctions.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Do I care? Of course I don't, even though as a schoolboy I was an Everton supporter.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">However, I do despair that with the atrocities in Israel and Gaza and the war in Ukraine both (and everything else of importance) have been knocked off the evening news top spot in favour of the punishment of a football club.</p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com40tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-84477388968791272372023-11-09T09:28:00.000+00:002023-11-09T09:28:27.478+00:00The Old Shop, Bayble<p style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday afternoon I did a shift in The Old Shop, Bayble. I had rather assumed that I had blogged about it before but, if I have, it's not coming up in any searches. The Old Shop, Bayble is a not-for-profit community association, staffed entirely by volunteers. Any profits go to support local community projects.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The aim is to contribute to community life by keeping a much-loved historic building in community use, helping to reduce waste and show-casing locally produced crafts and many other interesting and unusual items.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">A mixture of new speciality goods, eco products, crafts and "nice things to buy" as well as quality used clothes and other items you might find in a charity shop/op shop/goodwill store are available to buy.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">You can also enjoy a cup of freshly ground coffee and 'home made' cakes and treats. A range of fine teas and ever-popular ices and vegan sweets are also available. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq-UiHZdHMbf6C4eWZQpTPYoe56Gq6ySbfEaOZUhEXP_d8yN-AAqriRTxnLOR7wsFXr2HKfPQe44WCZFzTQEo9Cphg6_yazsw9SpCHeOuTtGSWMYWUt_D0X3HhPvVgYHOa3nu4VuW3C5uv5MF1WRwPUesZdnbxJH6do563p46NdteBKnJi0XLsFWTNvd7-/w640-h480/IMG_0565.jpeg" width="640" /></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz97jz95jckN7YnP1WLNCuDCZJnCRTUAO8V9WdZYuXC1OEl2Mm5i58NN3AW36_2cfB73xkXqQqtXaJdcBhM4BWB-DAFW6XMNr-pgTmUQOy3pl7VN1_M73P7DDfr6Um0jrun1M1WhJrAIsslTLKAtM8JYQCeToOZ3ejI3WioEH1ACH5kK4FeIkR6P2GB6OE/s800/IMG_9669.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz97jz95jckN7YnP1WLNCuDCZJnCRTUAO8V9WdZYuXC1OEl2Mm5i58NN3AW36_2cfB73xkXqQqtXaJdcBhM4BWB-DAFW6XMNr-pgTmUQOy3pl7VN1_M73P7DDfr6Um0jrun1M1WhJrAIsslTLKAtM8JYQCeToOZ3ejI3WioEH1ACH5kK4FeIkR6P2GB6OE/w640-h480/IMG_9669.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF70aUsPt87t4o_ni8gntbpmD8Y-eA_4Vfe1ceBWkbTjRs7C2xQYTXg6069CIKJKAhocvEhIFDGIdPofyXANw-GwbMPmehyphenhyphenWEaLGAmcLkSziRi1JUWBgG9Gb1nn-cH69e4zfO0k1LlFBw8JzEl0rHjOWlkuHEIJjjN-VSOs-uwMxC0KrLsiQhU7TF06qB3/s800/IMG_8894.jpeg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF70aUsPt87t4o_ni8gntbpmD8Y-eA_4Vfe1ceBWkbTjRs7C2xQYTXg6069CIKJKAhocvEhIFDGIdPofyXANw-GwbMPmehyphenhyphenWEaLGAmcLkSziRi1JUWBgG9Gb1nn-cH69e4zfO0k1LlFBw8JzEl0rHjOWlkuHEIJjjN-VSOs-uwMxC0KrLsiQhU7TF06qB3/w640-h480/IMG_8894.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzdp1RQX10l-CMdAOuUKhSsubm67vzaXFF_8wqPcXlnHLirEG4IyRshMQwpfZflNqhOw6nl4BBgB3BIEks7JwpRiCxaeZrDtFbcbValK0wDkP9WjnV9PIpKrcub3DimDiVaE7unkMacfbnsD5hoAU4Xd5tA7QBF7Lb2SuDz7upPYH2VJnNjcTsJ1gsv-G/s800/IMG_1651.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdzdp1RQX10l-CMdAOuUKhSsubm67vzaXFF_8wqPcXlnHLirEG4IyRshMQwpfZflNqhOw6nl4BBgB3BIEks7JwpRiCxaeZrDtFbcbValK0wDkP9WjnV9PIpKrcub3DimDiVaE7unkMacfbnsD5hoAU4Xd5tA7QBF7Lb2SuDz7upPYH2VJnNjcTsJ1gsv-G/w640-h480/IMG_1651.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCQZUmeb6TgbDiolRYXyXYGYmqL3G_7gSt6QPElefwBblER9kUBrcbqoYXw5d4v4FiD4VtMVdkuiHoNYVnwMyQ38sOfjSsWrwxv_55-o5Vi83gyKBn41zPBgqRU3a8uQ9rGU7hPQGD02cUzWcDCkDy5mcOULE3mUsDKpjCmXuxY3iyIvQK2hQI1PK_-9q/s800/IMG_1648.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLCQZUmeb6TgbDiolRYXyXYGYmqL3G_7gSt6QPElefwBblER9kUBrcbqoYXw5d4v4FiD4VtMVdkuiHoNYVnwMyQ38sOfjSsWrwxv_55-o5Vi83gyKBn41zPBgqRU3a8uQ9rGU7hPQGD02cUzWcDCkDy5mcOULE3mUsDKpjCmXuxY3iyIvQK2hQI1PK_-9q/w640-h480/IMG_1648.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDkhyphenhyphenja8iKse00_EyDK-3qsoVpejTrNqmkSNQvcki8UPj08misnm5bwkN_SkIHOvanAbJgn1eM4yQwOaKb2qZct804KgH0l_2dGCzUMdYkRowotza11nXR9HngW8fZl61iIV8oMI1I_hD7LmUVP43jC9dDjDnZRY5BUxyVLW24Mca9q86GV8guw9q8Teef/s800/IMG_1647.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDkhyphenhyphenja8iKse00_EyDK-3qsoVpejTrNqmkSNQvcki8UPj08misnm5bwkN_SkIHOvanAbJgn1eM4yQwOaKb2qZct804KgH0l_2dGCzUMdYkRowotza11nXR9HngW8fZl61iIV8oMI1I_hD7LmUVP43jC9dDjDnZRY5BUxyVLW24Mca9q86GV8guw9q8Teef/w480-h640/IMG_1647.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzoYK_yZGkIFlhYziw_e2dOjQQ8m3nxLyncPK1GU4qqbObLuN4wVvA_iMnMMBWl15hyphenhyphen0fuC5aywe95_O7SWFWWCa84LU0fq_mZvSY7mKugvyGbEGwXHZ8Gxee9SJCfDCHjGCMg2UxlVOmaLiqR2JYTEEQBlCxoc78BdraeFhD85BnMmHT8LizhfOxweaH/s800/IMG_0558.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzoYK_yZGkIFlhYziw_e2dOjQQ8m3nxLyncPK1GU4qqbObLuN4wVvA_iMnMMBWl15hyphenhyphen0fuC5aywe95_O7SWFWWCa84LU0fq_mZvSY7mKugvyGbEGwXHZ8Gxee9SJCfDCHjGCMg2UxlVOmaLiqR2JYTEEQBlCxoc78BdraeFhD85BnMmHT8LizhfOxweaH/w640-h480/IMG_0558.jpeg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A small sample of some of the beautiful woodturning and wood products of one of the volunteers</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-23815335674199704232023-10-25T23:12:00.000+01:002023-10-25T23:12:18.413+01:00Single-mindedness<p style="text-align: justify;">In a <a href="https://racheldubois.blogspot.com/2023/10/one-task-day-is-enough.html?sc=1698232346925#c5474011148098847653"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">recent post</span></a> Rachel made the point that, for her, 'One Task a Day is Enough'. Obviously when Rachel talks about 'one task' she is talking about something that is consuming of time and energy both physical and mental. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Unlike many people I know and admire I have never been single-minded in anything. Eleven years ago (I really can't believe that it's that far in the past) I wrote a post about ARADD (Age Related Attention Deficit Disorder) with a very amusing video. It was entitled <span style="color: #2b00fe;">'<a href="https://galenote.blogspot.com/2012/08/just-thought.html">Just a Thought</a>'</span>. Only one of my regular commenters today commented then so it may be worth a wee look although many of you will, I'm sure, have seen the video.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">My latest visitor, Anna, has returned home after ten days here when we spent most of our time socialising, walking (when Storm Babet let us) and generally having an enjoyable and relaxing time and we got some gardening done too. Unlike many of my readers once I'm engrossed in looking after guests, I can't usually find time to blog and may only read blogs without commenting. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">So this morning was a day for catching up with laundry, ironing and housework and so on with a wee excursion at coffee time into Blogland. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">This afternoon I'm doing my stint in the Old Shop, Bayble. I've never blogged about it so I'll do that shortly. It's very quiet and very cold!</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I've spent a lot of this evening on the telephone.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was going to say that I have no idea how some of you fill your days with so much and still blog. But many of you are organised of mind and body and it is obvious from the fact that you can build a house or do a day's work at the office, feed the family etc etc and still keep us all up to date that you can concentrate properly on things as you go and thus achieve many things in a day.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I struggle to think and chew gum simultaneously. No. I'm not being self-deprecating nor modest. I am just someone who knows my abilities and limitations and lives with them. I have other strengths but concentrating on one thing at a time is not one of them. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">As a result this simple post has been written over a period of 14 hours. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Anyway be happy and, above all, wake up tomorrow.</p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-23356881074485597792023-10-10T17:08:00.001+01:002023-10-10T17:08:23.562+01:00Outsmarted<p style="text-align: justify;">I'm not really a 'pet person'. I kept mice and later white rats when I was a child and admired them for their characters and intelligence. They lived in very large cages and had pretty good lives with lots to do considering that they were in captivity. The rats were incredibly smart and worked out how to open the hasp and staple door lock by removing the peg. </p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;">I inherited a cat at one stage. I can't remember his name but he was generally known as BP (short for Big Puss because of his considerable size). He died of kidney failure just a few days before my first trip to New Zealand. He probably knew something was up. He was at least 16. Until then he's never been to the vet apart from innoculations etc in early life. When he came into my house for the first time and tried to come into my bedroom I said 'No' firmly and put him outside the bedroom door. For the rest of the many years he lived here he would lie down at the bedroom door but he never crossed the threshold.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMO8pgf2iT1G2Q6IRKpPXpqLynEyZ-8F7mFsJxrfpN4OHb4cKA88QChDptJtVYoGg_i-mgvnUhup6yAUnQQhXLO-AwCbB5duZsjqmk0T3ynk016iYrzJJRJzkaktSvga6Q_r-PWWzrVq_R3htdMe5dxPcpRc1Ns-12_OMat74SrxWJlBmhOIobuVxkH1D/s2048/DCP_1661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXMO8pgf2iT1G2Q6IRKpPXpqLynEyZ-8F7mFsJxrfpN4OHb4cKA88QChDptJtVYoGg_i-mgvnUhup6yAUnQQhXLO-AwCbB5duZsjqmk0T3ynk016iYrzJJRJzkaktSvga6Q_r-PWWzrVq_R3htdMe5dxPcpRc1Ns-12_OMat74SrxWJlBmhOIobuVxkH1D/w400-h400/DCP_1661.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Big Puss aka BP</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: justify;">However the <i>piece de resistance</i> of an animal outsmarting me was a border collie named Bobby whom I looked after for a friend while he was away. I'd been given instructions on his walk routines and routes (he lived nearby) and at the allotted times he would sit at the front door and wait to go for his walk. He would walk to the intersections to see which way we were going on any particular day and the second he got an indication he was off. It was all very organised and routine for the first two walks on Day 1.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">However, at 5pm on the dot he was again by the door and indicating that it was walk time. So I assumed I'd not understood my instructions and this walk was repeated when he went to the door at 5pm each day. I never did understand how he knew the time down to the minute for each walk. I don't have any such routines so it was all a bit alien to me.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">On the day when his owner was due home we were on the 5pm walk when his master returned in his car. He said it was very good of me to add in an extra walk but he hoped Bobby wasn't going to expect this in future because he wouldn't be home from work to give him it.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I could almost see Bobby grinning from ear to ear at having completely outwitted me.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I've never trusted an animal since!<br /></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-76069644808278691812023-10-07T15:43:00.002+01:002023-10-07T15:43:22.354+01:00An Interesting Flight<div style="text-align: justify;">Many many moons ago in the '70s I was flying from Stornoway to Glasgow on a Vickers Viscount (a four-engined turbo prop passenger plane).</div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8ndQvQKfY64gRWntKdgTajTsuKls9Y3aBCmONieE_Ol1tbYozo3nBi0rica9f2hdwZThh1-PvU2bcB_q-Pvc-jTIoMxaqxZx_s5Xtpm_gW6WjPym7UnO6qFZr6QLlyGvyYRzS8DAlwZfr65gck-Ba0y_gp2C4hB7F6mVj_yifmjw_e-PSWJPqihIhY0Y/s500/Viscount.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8ndQvQKfY64gRWntKdgTajTsuKls9Y3aBCmONieE_Ol1tbYozo3nBi0rica9f2hdwZThh1-PvU2bcB_q-Pvc-jTIoMxaqxZx_s5Xtpm_gW6WjPym7UnO6qFZr6QLlyGvyYRzS8DAlwZfr65gck-Ba0y_gp2C4hB7F6mVj_yifmjw_e-PSWJPqihIhY0Y/s16000/Viscount.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was a fabulous day and the Captain announced that we were flying towards Fingal's Cave (Fingal's Cave is a sea cave on the uninhabited island of Staffa, in the Inner Hebrides of Scotland, known for its natural acoustics and made popular in music by Mendelssohn's Hebrides Overture.). He went on to say that he was going to make a low pass and that passengers on the port side would get a really good view. He then went on to ask passengers not to all crowd over to the port side or we would tip the plane over.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was a <i>really</i> low slow pass which I'm sure would not have been countenanced by the Powers That Be.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_rHrI7tCceV4TzSPhoY9kBnEgmQcP2f7Eyd_UtNVeSwP-ibQyaUqpu2Z3JfKlW9RgQ-1miXulGrALYR3XUqYdGRzI56TLvWpTN2-mo8a_fsBza8TlECnQL7XekncXegVhyxmqXeTdhdz3U-nzkqBtfwenwsnSUL9N2m713h2Jk1FkZ6I-uz4qzE0FxB_/s1554/island-Fingals-Cave-Staffa-Scotland-Inner-Hebrides.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1554" height="472" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_rHrI7tCceV4TzSPhoY9kBnEgmQcP2f7Eyd_UtNVeSwP-ibQyaUqpu2Z3JfKlW9RgQ-1miXulGrALYR3XUqYdGRzI56TLvWpTN2-mo8a_fsBza8TlECnQL7XekncXegVhyxmqXeTdhdz3U-nzkqBtfwenwsnSUL9N2m713h2Jk1FkZ6I-uz4qzE0FxB_/w640-h472/island-Fingals-Cave-Staffa-Scotland-Inner-Hebrides.webp" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">However, he got a rousing cheer of thanks from his passengers and I think everyone on board would have retold that story many times.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">In this risk-averse world where such actions could not be hidden or overlooked because of modern monitoring in and outwith the plane such experiences are unlikely. I think the world is a sadder place as a result.</p><p></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-10925801560141141212023-10-02T15:02:00.000+01:002023-10-02T15:02:02.325+01:00On Not Being Important<p style="text-align: justify;">When I was 4. I used to go to Sunday School. It was fun. I thought. We sat in inward facing circles with children of our own age with about six children in each circle with space for a 'teacher'.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">One Sunday we were singing a hymn. I have no idea which one but presumably one suitable for young children. At some point I opened my eyes and realised that no-one in my circle was singing except me. So I stopped singing.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">When we finished The Teacher leading the Sunday School called me up to the front of the hall. My circle was one of the nearest to her so I didn't have very far to go.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Why did you stop singing?" she asked me.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"Because everyone was looking at me." was my lame, but I assume truthful, reply.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">"What makes you think you are that important?" she responded and sent me back to my seat.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">That was about 75 years ago and I can remember it as if it had happened yesterday. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It was an unspeakably cruel thing to do do to a child that age and at the time it stung and made me self conscious and, of course, made me the butt of teasing for a good while.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">On reflection though it was probably one of the best things that ever happened to me. I rarely get embarrassed when something potentially embarrassing happens to me I automatically remember her words and realise that, in reality, no one is looking at me. Everyone is far too concerned with their own world. </p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-53449420180454101552023-09-27T16:35:00.000+01:002023-09-27T16:35:30.123+01:00Act in Haste<p style="text-align: justify;">...and repent at leisure. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I volunteer, when I can, to do a shift in a local community interest charity/opshop/thrift shop which has at its roots a desire to assist low-impact living. Perhaps I might blog about that another time.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Today a delightful couple came in for coffee and tea. She had local connections and she and I had a chat while he was otherwise engaged. He is a retired clergyman. He said they lived in Inverness.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">On their way out there was a discussion about the fact that I was "not from here". Although I suspect that I have lived here longer than they did given that I'm not far short of having lived on Lewis for half a century.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">He then asked if he could preach me a short sermon. I declined the offer, gracefully I hope. There was an ensuing discussion as to why I'd declined his offer during which, of course, I refused to be drawn. He said that I had obviously seen The Darkness and not The Light.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Since that occurrence an hour or so ago I have been asking myself why I did that. What would it have cost me to just accept? I would not have created the possibility of him losing face in front of his wife. He could have gone away a happier man having felt that he had helped another sinner on his way to salvation.</p><div style="text-align: justify;">"Act in haste and repent at leisure." is believed to have been adapted from the proverbial saying first expressed in print by William Congreve in 1692. It's been around a long time. I wish that I had remembered it earlier.</div>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com52tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-91498629732177002342023-09-24T17:14:00.001+01:002023-09-24T17:14:14.013+01:00Punctuation Day<p style="text-align: justify;">Today is Punctuation Day. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Quoting from Brian Bilston's book <i>Days Like These </i>"Punctuation Day, which occurs annually on this date, is a day on which pedants come together to criticise the punctuation and spelling of others, as they do on all other days. Things can become rather heated in the process, with arguments often spilling over into violence. This has led to colons being extracted, infinitives split, bullet points fired, and commas inverted. And for the improper use of ellipses...</p><p style="text-align: justify;">He follows that, as he does for every day of the year, with a poem. Today's is entitled "Greengrocers Apostrophe's: and other Punctuation". It is an amusing read as are most of his daily poems. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It made me think, though, that the subject of sloppy and just plain erroneous punctuation seems to have fallen off the agenda. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">I wonder if anyone these days even remembers Lynne Truss's book "Eats, Shoots and Leaves"?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Does anyone know if punctuation is taught in schools nowadays?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Does anyone care about punctuation any more? </p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com44tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-44434370187596315332023-09-22T11:20:00.000+01:002023-09-22T11:20:09.444+01:00The Drive Home<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Many of you may already have seen and even viewed the return journey from Gisla. If not, here it is.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="293" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/R__FPJdYmVI" width="492" youtube-src-id="R__FPJdYmVI"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">If you want to avoid the bits you have already seen, albeit going the other way so the view is quite different, then at 11mins 30 seconds into the journey, when you come down into the first roundabout in Stornoway just after the 30 mile per hour speed limit starts, you can get the journey through Stornoway and out to my house in the sticks.</div><p></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-60651306628207696392023-09-20T16:17:00.006+01:002023-09-20T16:20:00.149+01:00Blogger - Spam - Again!<p style="text-align: justify;">Well I have caught Blogger well and truly this time.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I have become fastidious in checking my 'Comments' folders ever since comments I was certain had been posted and had not been there previously have suddenly appeared later. I have just completed today's check. It contained amongst other comments:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0bKku9cRiFovO6NSZlnZWtQ7O9FjrwnB5SdUZHQy26ks_SI3ZN-FmaAfe8OezI-t5Pj6rM6y_Znn9Uia9IzAzd-GlTB1ZbqHVLwsUpfJcPfj3K3IYRjmckbSr6fPwhgjUq61pAtY-r71ri67eULcn-3Mr1Y4zEcc5UsvtjQgFW7guH8EDQSYR-D5692X/s1968/Screenshot%202023-09-20%20at%2016.08.50.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="1968" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0bKku9cRiFovO6NSZlnZWtQ7O9FjrwnB5SdUZHQy26ks_SI3ZN-FmaAfe8OezI-t5Pj6rM6y_Znn9Uia9IzAzd-GlTB1ZbqHVLwsUpfJcPfj3K3IYRjmckbSr6fPwhgjUq61pAtY-r71ri67eULcn-3Mr1Y4zEcc5UsvtjQgFW7guH8EDQSYR-D5692X/w626-h119/Screenshot%202023-09-20%20at%2016.08.50.png" width="626" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">which is dated 23 August. So I went to the 23 August post and found:</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5NxGenskdMaqOz6W5DejqopZQsvxBkg_PclH-MdDowfb8OECvbc6Pc-B3MA7dLXT8yVbx4q9jk4Py6nGT7yYKSgTtBC_r-eBd0KNRIgXynas_El9kmWASpjXDQruqNO0rK5hQn0xinQYQqhi8hiPAevP36e5gAjqM6220-SSSOjGqY4ZcOHEn_BEv_3y/s1836/Screenshot%202023-09-20%20at%2016.01.06.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="1836" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5NxGenskdMaqOz6W5DejqopZQsvxBkg_PclH-MdDowfb8OECvbc6Pc-B3MA7dLXT8yVbx4q9jk4Py6nGT7yYKSgTtBC_r-eBd0KNRIgXynas_El9kmWASpjXDQruqNO0rK5hQn0xinQYQqhi8hiPAevP36e5gAjqM6220-SSSOjGqY4ZcOHEn_BEv_3y/w612-h341/Screenshot%202023-09-20%20at%2016.01.06.png" width="612" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Which shows, pretty conclusively I think, that Blogger is now removing random comments from old/previous posts and placing them in 'Spam' and, presumably, heaven knows where else.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've now removed the comment from Spam and, guess what, it's back where it belongs.</div>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-36636550530943091632023-09-19T08:51:00.001+01:002023-09-19T08:53:10.335+01:00A Drive Across Lewis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Over the years I have been asked by many to publish more photos of the Islands and I've tried to oblige. One aspect of living somewhere for half a century is that, as a general rule, I don't stop and take photos because when I'm travelling I'm usually going somewhere as compared with travelling as a tourist to view the scenery. I just accept it and take it in and be thankful for the beauty around me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">However whilst an old friend was alive in recent years I travelled across the Island every week to visit her. One day it occurred to me that the dashcam footage could be made into a YouTube video. Not by me but Adrian (who many of you will remember) is a real whiz at this sort of thing. So he offered to do the video for me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The journey itself takes a while and could be very boring so what Adrian has done is speed the footage (is it now called meterage?) up. So please note that I was NOT exceeding the speed limit and travelling at rocket speed in some parts. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">This is just the journey from The Woodlands where I spend so much time with friends drinking coffee to Gisla. There is another video of the return journey which includes the 7 miles from town to Eagleton. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="300" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/e072ofCvqTw" width="482" youtube-src-id="e072ofCvqTw"></iframe></div><p>I'm sure that most of you will know that to view the video in full screen you can tick the wee square in the bottom right of the YouTube front page.</p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-61419572333433341192023-09-10T16:58:00.000+01:002023-09-10T16:58:02.802+01:00Cookery Books<p style="text-align: justify;">This morning I read <a href="https://jabblog-jabblog.blogspot.com/2023/09/how-many.html#comment-form:~:text=jabblog,-%27Be%20yourself%2C%20everyone"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Jabblog's</span></a> post about about cookery books and the collection or otherwise thereof.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I was married to a lady who was a superb cook and hostess (and mother for that matter). After we were married my wife announced that she would do the cooking and the ironing and I would do the housework. I asked if that was negotiable and the reply was in the negative. Having said that I can't say that I did all the housework all the time. However, I was not allowed into the kitchen to cook. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">So when we separated I had to rely on what knowledge I had gathered and cookery books. I was fortunate in that my Mother believed in her children being taught all the elementary aspects of running a house including cooking. I thoroughly enjoyed cooking and a dinner party for 12 (the maximum my table can take) held no fear whatsoever and as people kept accepting invitations I assume that they were reasonably happy with the results.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">As for cookery books, like any other subject in which I became engrossed, I collected many. Very many. Far too many. Indeed a few years ago I had a massive cull of my bookshelves and, despite a few recent purchases including "Bosh" I only have 21 now (just counted!). Having said that most of the time when I want to try something new now I search the internet for ideas and rely on my books for old favourites. In addition I have a folder with favourite recipes and tips in it and I also keep quite a lot of recipes on my computer.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">The Hamlyn Books were my originals and I still refer to them. By far the most important at one time when I was doing a lot of dinner parties was "50 Great Curries of India". I learned a lot about curries but they can take days to make and I rarely make them from scratch now. I've kept the book though because my late son gave it to me because, I think, he was friendly with the author's son. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLTswRmNDpw53AZS0-EXwc5bIPPWCAbWVnkp51T2PfvwNaItwrFB4YKNnac_-xxMDvBCOQihZDfbzFoD1jTourOy_OStocK79gbBAejc62GxPpArR8QtensBR8rvhTq4zCPc5rmjagoJDqqU3PZretg0QxndpT_4wvnltvlaweTK63WYNJxd9i5Cz5k4U-/s800/IMG_5625.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLTswRmNDpw53AZS0-EXwc5bIPPWCAbWVnkp51T2PfvwNaItwrFB4YKNnac_-xxMDvBCOQihZDfbzFoD1jTourOy_OStocK79gbBAejc62GxPpArR8QtensBR8rvhTq4zCPc5rmjagoJDqqU3PZretg0QxndpT_4wvnltvlaweTK63WYNJxd9i5Cz5k4U-/s16000/IMG_5625.jpeg" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Whilst writing this post I thought I'd see just how popular cookery books are these days. The answer according to Google is that a great many are written and published. and bought - many probably as presents. Many end up in Charity Shops and apparently some are used. </p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com55tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-65701966290837334272023-09-07T22:03:00.002+01:002023-09-07T22:17:28.391+01:00Friendships and Safaris<p style="text-align: justify;">I have been one of the luckiest people on this planet in so many ways. Today I was reminded of one of the things which makes that true for me. My life in New Zealand and the wonderful friendships I made there: many of which endure today albeit, for most of them, at a distance.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I started a New Zealand blog because my UK friends and family kept wanting to know what I was up to. The blog was more a diary than anything else. Which, in many ways was how this blog started off.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">One day (I can't remember the details) because I had never been up to Northland a fellow blogger suggested that if I went up there she would show me around. It sounded like an opportunity far too good to miss. So on 11 December 2009 I pitched up at Whangerei Airport having made absolutely no arrangements apart from a return flight. I was sure that my fellow blogger would know the most appropriate hotel etc where I could stay. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The person concerned turned out to be both a superb tour guide and real 'people person' so my natural shyness which can manifest itself in so many different ways completely evaporated. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">We drove out to the Whangerei Heads and I saw a New Zealand that I'd never seen before. It is a country of many many different geographical, geophysical and human personas. I was loving the new sights and the commentary and the company.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">By the time we got back to Whangerei it was getting on a bit and I wondered about accommodation. But my hostess just kept on driving....and driving... into the wilds of Northland. Until we reached her home. Just as it had never occurred to me that someone I had never met except via our mutual blog comments was going to house me for the stay it had obviously never occurred to her that she wouldn't be offering hospitality. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">And so started a truly wonderful friendship with a number of safaris in Northland, Hawkes Bay, Lewis and Harris and the Scottish Highlands. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">What made me think of this today? Pauline's post <a href="https://paulinespaddock.blogspot.com/">here</a>.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNm6xUlFY5BjlAL6hW8dAR2IBEa7RfGdHmOsooayzoxWUq1fJUJVxgd6reTIcEPR4q4SJIe7X8dapsCylDcTr10zkHlaG-S5Ujbnw1VO6OX6AOaudWcOXORFaZ8oultFDotfYmzJNFc7dQWufi5iWO7kouevF9SpdK0vQYmO59_UPnM6zXd1XBEJz8S4h/s800/DSC02535_2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNm6xUlFY5BjlAL6hW8dAR2IBEa7RfGdHmOsooayzoxWUq1fJUJVxgd6reTIcEPR4q4SJIe7X8dapsCylDcTr10zkHlaG-S5Ujbnw1VO6OX6AOaudWcOXORFaZ8oultFDotfYmzJNFc7dQWufi5iWO7kouevF9SpdK0vQYmO59_UPnM6zXd1XBEJz8S4h/s16000/DSC02535_2.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first view from the plane of the 'Uppity Downities' although I didn't know that at the time</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwA6qUc6v4xHYKfBMpuXLpFjdnZRNm8MPin52--pAqHxM5pXg0S43O-AGug09qrph9mBchbAtjYQ718WVHa4hKozZJ9LXtukrDi9Qnh-yhK9pEcJildTNxwyo_O3nTLS2iWEaufJEugMDbFEPi-hXDgXEqWG1O6Jm6Pk8cZNwHHrebg80-lwOQmEYHJIF3/s800/DSC02580.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwA6qUc6v4xHYKfBMpuXLpFjdnZRNm8MPin52--pAqHxM5pXg0S43O-AGug09qrph9mBchbAtjYQ718WVHa4hKozZJ9LXtukrDi9Qnh-yhK9pEcJildTNxwyo_O3nTLS2iWEaufJEugMDbFEPi-hXDgXEqWG1O6Jm6Pk8cZNwHHrebg80-lwOQmEYHJIF3/s16000/DSC02580.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whangerei Heads</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0X8iPquEO0uFvzY1ZU44N3SJL2dC4FuU_VfRJIS9hkR6Ik9W428cDVUWQDCrGXXP5ELODTbXeuexJ50f3eh4UsKtgxVpZ0PBm6zVH4Qx3Fl3RXkmsQ6u5PLU3dRilOMKvRLxvFF5Q0MQz_pSKqpVHm9Yg4_REfwdJtGWOFPjLuU0-pTGf4_qVFCnZD448/s800/DSC02654.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0X8iPquEO0uFvzY1ZU44N3SJL2dC4FuU_VfRJIS9hkR6Ik9W428cDVUWQDCrGXXP5ELODTbXeuexJ50f3eh4UsKtgxVpZ0PBm6zVH4Qx3Fl3RXkmsQ6u5PLU3dRilOMKvRLxvFF5Q0MQz_pSKqpVHm9Yg4_REfwdJtGWOFPjLuU0-pTGf4_qVFCnZD448/s16000/DSC02654.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first Northland Coffee at Reva's in Whangerei</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWp1qurA-aUbPFCXCmIBh7hkqI-Bz28SKWZaf58aOIhJUAgHEgmpwFnBi-nZB3ZFOTLFxDsoA0OpeDRIDMJEIizlCJeEs4ltefDRtR5z0w7j4by03Grciy_TdHxhYH48SxKhAEXPpx0C0E1w1JGiB0Q00grR1xy2uR8jRSnP-UULTunsY7YFDbrftlp6Ht/s800/DSC02665_2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWp1qurA-aUbPFCXCmIBh7hkqI-Bz28SKWZaf58aOIhJUAgHEgmpwFnBi-nZB3ZFOTLFxDsoA0OpeDRIDMJEIizlCJeEs4ltefDRtR5z0w7j4by03Grciy_TdHxhYH48SxKhAEXPpx0C0E1w1JGiB0Q00grR1xy2uR8jRSnP-UULTunsY7YFDbrftlp6Ht/s16000/DSC02665_2.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reva's Café, Whangerei<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzof6OtPTVvqvh52EQ4eUzDvbKz6nDkYGRGVY9sDbI3e2Y26b5n5_7jRUWRn--DR5yYANjCE9k1-t2josWvS9P4qTegqIevGfkNPJmbh8UrSoU3Fn07JGcYIH5fmNr5_9sJnEr0u4XA5EEfuU62fwX7kXTy8eIk0W8supl_ARtCpDQCIwZzovRSFPj_dss/s800/DSC02697.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzof6OtPTVvqvh52EQ4eUzDvbKz6nDkYGRGVY9sDbI3e2Y26b5n5_7jRUWRn--DR5yYANjCE9k1-t2josWvS9P4qTegqIevGfkNPJmbh8UrSoU3Fn07JGcYIH5fmNr5_9sJnEr0u4XA5EEfuU62fwX7kXTy8eIk0W8supl_ARtCpDQCIwZzovRSFPj_dss/s16000/DSC02697.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Vodafone Mast on The Uppity Downities - the locator beacon so I knew where I was.</td></tr></tbody></table>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-32801321820256941892023-09-02T16:27:00.000+01:002023-09-02T16:27:28.299+01:00Travelling (A bit of a waffle)<p style="text-align: justify;">This post was originally inspired by Jayne's post <a href="https://smallvan-bigadventures.blogspot.com/2023/06/busy-doing-nothing.html?sc=1686482020352#c7987519019156129656 "><span style="color: #2b00fe;">here</span></a>. However since then Jayne has posted with more adventures and some of her commenters have added very much to the discussion. Jayne has also added a post <a href="https://smallvan-bigadventures.blogspot.com/2023/09/going-it-alone.html?sc=1693559699238#c6621027568083743278"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Going it Alone.</span></a> which is a guide to travelling by camper-van alone.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">All in all the whole question of travel is so significant in many of our lives that books rather than simple blog posts have been written on the subject. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">It made me realise that we travel for different purposes: work (when I was a young man the 'commercial traveller' was often the most-travelled person I knew); relaxation and exercise (YP and my Munro-bagging son immediately come to mind); to visit friends, family, second homes and so on; to go on holiday to (often far-away) places for rest and relaxation; and then there is travel undertaken for the pure pleasure of being a tourist. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I was a youngster most of my travelling was to spend a fortnight in a country cottage somewhere in Wales or The English Lake District to go walking and visit anything of interest that we could find in the area. Generally most people were not well-travelled unless they were wealthy. Most people when I was young had two or at most three weeks holiday a year. In the UK that would generally be considered derisory today.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Much of my 'travelling' as an adult has simply been driving or flying from home to Germany, France, Italy, Spain, the Balearics or Canada and Australia to stay with friends or stay somewhere on holiday. Ultimately I flew between my home in Scotland and my home in New Zealand for 9 years. In the grammatically correct use of the word all this was travelling. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">However, in reality, the journey was not the point of the exercise. It was simply a means of getting from home to where I was staying. On the other hand I have travelled to and around some of those countries and California, Australia and New Zealand as a tourist a well.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I was a young man I read the Russian novels with ardent enthusiasm. A friend and I (he became a Church of England priest) planned to go to Russia but I met my wife and got married instead. I never did get to see Russia although I got a taste of what it might have been like when I visited East Germany before the fall of The Berlin Wall.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm conscious of the fact that this has been rather a waffle but I'm genuinely interested to know what makes people travel and who travels simply for the experience of travelling rather than, say, business or visiting family.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">A few photos of me being a tourist in South Island, New Zealand:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16BtmbTPQywniY1cOguQ5cOAy-gdZQNdLtLZopJoFqbQeGxHqvBOX7ysL1NmjDh3eirVSZNDQGNDkumG4KIfALYIF7S1Mz6N3pNrxel06psyK_rIf7tJltuu6SJ-5zgquDp-CCn3X67Ohvywhk6oKCJUjWomSt_bVoPtATcdfxLtXn99G2UgNdSO4AbNl/s800/DSCF0273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj16BtmbTPQywniY1cOguQ5cOAy-gdZQNdLtLZopJoFqbQeGxHqvBOX7ysL1NmjDh3eirVSZNDQGNDkumG4KIfALYIF7S1Mz6N3pNrxel06psyK_rIf7tJltuu6SJ-5zgquDp-CCn3X67Ohvywhk6oKCJUjWomSt_bVoPtATcdfxLtXn99G2UgNdSO4AbNl/s16000/DSCF0273.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hele-hiking on a glacier</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkClhCySaesUASt53JyQlvzd_DpFjKtQQhFU6_98jfxMllohrW3grKwuPJeeUUUXbymL37Q3pABfmM4UOYzmQn1twuRaH6Kdm2gzIk0O7UELgE_WtMkD2ZJ0sVrFtTt8h_-J_BqioIDr_9HfPjFpouc3R6qxIh-3Bv77KkU2R3L1OHhHdL4Gz3cRNP3cd4/s800/DSCF0276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkClhCySaesUASt53JyQlvzd_DpFjKtQQhFU6_98jfxMllohrW3grKwuPJeeUUUXbymL37Q3pABfmM4UOYzmQn1twuRaH6Kdm2gzIk0O7UELgE_WtMkD2ZJ0sVrFtTt8h_-J_BqioIDr_9HfPjFpouc3R6qxIh-3Bv77KkU2R3L1OHhHdL4Gz3cRNP3cd4/s16000/DSCF0276.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From a helicopter above the glacier</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyK0TLzSHQagyfC7jJqigtHOkn8fzr6teGP06m7XM0PXYkWE1b88tMQaglRaU5oX3dKIkKcUnuihAWlagQL67DPqjdkVMbpMxAtGfNPUqP3z1Idt3aAFm7Giwbx7JMmD3mEJGHaUrI5IWA0YLgnd0bFNEe9dfxU1BeUG6kdrLFHMargOXW6iDmpa3Z6diZ/s800/DSCF0281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyK0TLzSHQagyfC7jJqigtHOkn8fzr6teGP06m7XM0PXYkWE1b88tMQaglRaU5oX3dKIkKcUnuihAWlagQL67DPqjdkVMbpMxAtGfNPUqP3z1Idt3aAFm7Giwbx7JMmD3mEJGHaUrI5IWA0YLgnd0bFNEe9dfxU1BeUG6kdrLFHMargOXW6iDmpa3Z6diZ/s16000/DSCF0281.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flying over whales.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLRlK9I3LcAXMFiUAWQllZHY2WKcpXKNQgmo4iyhHNlUFk9tTKKaCZ8DEsdfG390FhaDKafZLY0CuNmrnhJWE_EC8uWixmoixb9TxdOt6cIcE7Jadji44kZi6aYrA9p2S5C3977NTFe8wI6N21Y0X-4KhKgntDDnR5Q1EimsDefUHTjK1zCpNEU0R-f3u/s800/IMG_1630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLRlK9I3LcAXMFiUAWQllZHY2WKcpXKNQgmo4iyhHNlUFk9tTKKaCZ8DEsdfG390FhaDKafZLY0CuNmrnhJWE_EC8uWixmoixb9TxdOt6cIcE7Jadji44kZi6aYrA9p2S5C3977NTFe8wI6N21Y0X-4KhKgntDDnR5Q1EimsDefUHTjK1zCpNEU0R-f3u/s16000/IMG_1630.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Chain sculpture, Stewart Island (the most southerly inhabited Island in the New Zealand chain)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8pxtTAt4SQZe9Fz7WtnzANY_4BDyzxf3fWPRcDulnfdV9UKldoWquNXDfgg4eSk3Wf67qG-G4TkaWljrpH-NNpyxdHYqZFOpRM__Q1200JU2Cvu-ZSOgZYiC0FbXJfpKtKHykPdzJin5AglCwWHTHrTVqtx4wv36GwFrfeshjegMhCoS8Tqv8gj4rEjw/s800/IMG_1734.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8pxtTAt4SQZe9Fz7WtnzANY_4BDyzxf3fWPRcDulnfdV9UKldoWquNXDfgg4eSk3Wf67qG-G4TkaWljrpH-NNpyxdHYqZFOpRM__Q1200JU2Cvu-ZSOgZYiC0FbXJfpKtKHykPdzJin5AglCwWHTHrTVqtx4wv36GwFrfeshjegMhCoS8Tqv8gj4rEjw/s16000/IMG_1734.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fjordland</td></tr></tbody></table>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6784891745623390957.post-11876134270354264672023-08-26T08:52:00.000+01:002023-08-26T08:52:02.580+01:00Speed<p style="text-align: center;"> <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"><b>IT'S A LIMIT NOT A TARGET *</b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioDuHLPAPxigPGH8Ie8QsMLay3Z_iYKGm9wTqcoiFaefM9ASX7a2Njun6fMRSfJ7GeE0uNQz1PtIzONnUtkzni6_hpmOsuri-wojXQdg9liCjwdwBfgWPMjz62pNd42esZ7GxKaZ_f8UaDAQJITYkBED8zSwy0SZo2GFU--CZbiT_iHvHprnOOnzywoNrN" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="612" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioDuHLPAPxigPGH8Ie8QsMLay3Z_iYKGm9wTqcoiFaefM9ASX7a2Njun6fMRSfJ7GeE0uNQz1PtIzONnUtkzni6_hpmOsuri-wojXQdg9liCjwdwBfgWPMjz62pNd42esZ7GxKaZ_f8UaDAQJITYkBED8zSwy0SZo2GFU--CZbiT_iHvHprnOOnzywoNrN" width="320" /></a></b></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;">I just read<a href="http://hiawathahouse.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"> Red's post</span></a> about exceeding the speed limit.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I'm obsessed by a fear of exceeding the speed limit. It's something that has been with me almost ever since I started to drive on the roads at the age of 16 when I had a 50cc Vespa called <i><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span><a href="https://galenote.blogspot.com/2020/05/sid-58-hippogryph.html"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The Hippogryph</span></a>.</span> </span></i></p><p style="text-align: justify;">When I was in my late teens or early 20s I went on a police driving course for civilian drivers. It was incredibly instructive and I still have my copy of 'Roadcraft' the Police Driver's Manual although many of the techniques from those days are no longer relevant. Who, for example, can still double de-clutch (my car now is an automatic anyway) or uses hand signals?</p><p style="text-align: justify;">However the thing that stuck in my mind more than anything else were the images of the damage to a child being hit by a vehicle at different speeds. It was gruesome and those images have lived with me for ever. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">If I killed a child who ran out into the road I'd not be able to live with myself. The idea of going to prison is, however, very real deterrent too. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The "It can never happen to me" principle is not one that I have ever subscribed to. Too many things that 'could never happen to me' have happened to me! </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Another thing many people fail to realise is that they must declare all speeding penalties to their insurance company and failure to do so could nullify their policy. It can also lead to an increase in premiums.</p><p style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: red;">* this was the slogan of an anti-speeding television campaign in New Zealand which has stuck with me.</span></p>Graham Edwardshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11196744947133121475noreply@blogger.com42