Seriously?!

17th April, 2023

No Accounting for Taste …

Shoes.  Statements.  Never to be ignored.  While eyes may be the windows to the soul, shoes speak volumes.  Yes, look down.  How much thought went into those boots, or, God forbid, white stilettos?  Most of us probably pull on the same ones most days, for comfort and practicality.  Old friends.  Regardless, you chose them and, thus, they tell me about you …

A voice.  Your voice.  Again, individual to you.  Of course, one’s accent is all-important; all-important.  Good-looking, well-dressed and then he/she opens his/her mouth …  Make or break for me and, with the Queen’s English all but dead, it’s like Russian roulette!   The thing is, never be fooled into thinking that first impressions are attributed to ‘looks’ alone.  Good hair, twinkly eyes, a ready smile (own teeth); nice shirt (white, linen or checked), chinos – so far, so good – and, then …  Actually, that’s not going to work.  The guy in question obviously has taste and, therefore, is unlikely to fall at the shoes.  I would assume he’d be wearing desert boots, suede Chelsea boots or loafers but, for argument’s sake, let’s imagine he had trainers on his feet.  I know.  Hideous.  Particularly, ‘old’ men in trainers!  Get my drift?  The classic example of bad taste, though – in men’s shoes – is brown (usually, that hideous bright tan) with a suit; or brown with a kilt; bright brown shoes with a black belt?  Then, there’s the shiny ones with the pointed toes …  Run for the hills!

Taste.  Totally subjective.  Each to his own, of course, but I do have a thing about shoes – little in comparison to my huge thing about voices and accents which, at last, brings me to the subject of this post … the works of Alexander Pope!

To laugh out loud is a rarity for most these days and as one who subscribes, whole heartedly, to the words of the late Robin Williams – ‘You’re only given a little spark of madness and, if you lose that, you’re nothing.’ – any such occasion should be celebrated.  So, permit me to share …  Saturday morning.  Radio 2 (very discerning now).  Claudia Winkleman.  I do love her sarcasm and she does make me laugh but my admiration for her is tinged with an all-consuming bitterness stemmed from the belief – nay, knowledge – that I, too, could chat into a microphone and be extremely sarcastic for three hours on a Saturday morning for several hundred thousand pounds!   Honestly, it’s all down to your parents, who you know, right place at the right time, length of your fringe …  How can I have got so much so wrong?

Anyway, gritted teeth and all that.  One of Claudia’s guests, on Saturday, was to be some woman who analyses dreams – read, makes stuff up – and, thus, she invited listeners to ring in with their ‘phantasies’.  Cue the caller in question.  Actually, first, let me interject with a question: what sort of person phones in to the radio?  I confess, I have been tempted.  In fact, only the other day, I found myself scrambling for Jeremy Vine’s number, so enraged was I by the mind-numbing ‘debate’ on the junior doctors’ strike but, somehow, sanity prevailed.  Back to Claudia and the caller who perceived her dream to be sufficiently interesting.

Her voice.  Immediately, I was picturing her in my mind.  Politely?  The sort of person one desperately avoids at a party; next to whom, one doesn’t want to be sitting on a plane; once, the girl one tried to dodge at school – the teacher’s pet; a pumpkin pain!  Believe me, I remember them well …  Got the voice?  Low, monotone, masculine.  Humourless.  Surprise, surprise, then, her opening gambit was that she loved Crocs!  Spot on.  In fact, such was/is her love of Crocs that she has them in a multitude of colours, some even with sparkles on them.  Perfect.  Her dream?  Within it, she made/baked a pair of Lemon Meringue Crocs and ate them!  No surprise there, either.  Meanwhile, not a hint of laughter in her voice.  Perfectly serious.

Claudia was quiet – probably stuffing a hankie down her throat – and handed straight over to the dream analyst/master fabricator.  All due reverence to her, though, as she – seemingly, with great sincerity – expounded her critique, attributing much creativity, individuality and artistic flair to said caller.  That was as far as I got, so distracted was I by the snorting in the background and the muffled hilarity as Sally Traffic made a futile attempt to conceal her amusement – no doubt, only mirrored by Claudia’s.   How I loved it!  Genuine laughter at the utterly ridiculous, made even funnier by the fact that the ‘Croc-aholic’ caller was oblivious to any humour whatsoever.

It takes all sorts, and there is no accounting for taste, but that five minutes of radio gold was a much-needed reminder of ‘that little spark of madness’ for which I, for one, am forever grateful.

17th May 2022

In Search of Intelligent Life …

Found it!  The Girl Guides Association or, Girlguiding as they insist on calling it now (shouldn’t that be two words?).  Quick question?  How have the Girl Guides escaped the wrath of that poxy little minority known as ‘woke’?  Surely, in their pathetic little minds, that’s discrimination, never mind the use of the word ‘girl’, four letters teetering, positively, on the brink?   Don’t look to the modern-day equivalent of Superwoman as the protector of women’s rights, though.  Why, only this week, Michelle Obama denied her own sex and half the world’s population when she referred to ‘women’ as ‘womxn’!  Intelligent life?  Back to the Guides.

Perhaps, it is believed that only girls need empowering, for that is the promise of the Association: to ensure the fairer sex thrive, grow and give back through fun, friendship, challenge and adventure.  The quintessential embodiment of The Famous Five – just without Julian and Dick!    In other words, perfect pickings for the little green men OR maybe not.  Cue sound effect: screeching of stylus pulled from record …

Once upon a time, I believed joining the Girl Guides meant learning skills which equipped one for life.  Skills such as reading a compass, lighting a fire from nothing, First Aid, threading a sewing machine (only kidding).  There were badges of excellence for those resilient enough to scale such dizzy heights.  There was pride.  There was honour.  There was greatness in Great Britain.  Intelligent life?  Read on …

Turns out the latest challenge for the young, fairer sex is to walk to the chip shop.  Seriously?!  Oh, yes.  There is a coveted Chippy Hike badge – emblazoned with a female French fry in hiking boots brandishing a fork – on offer for those willing to accept this daring challenge.  (Oh, and there is a similar challenge involving a pizzeria.)  Any mockery, however, should be offset by the skills involved in said challenge and the obvious benefits in its undertaking: independence, for one, enjoyment of the outdoors (?!), money management, following directions and independence – not to mention successfully devouring a large portion of chips!  I repeat, seriously?! 

Let’s break it down.  Enjoyment of the outdoors?  What?  Inhaling excessive carbon monoxide fumes while negotiating a traffic-laden street?!  Anyone know a chip shop at the end of a leafy lane?  Following directions?  Well, if not familiar, there’s always Google Maps.  No skill involved there.  Merely the trauma of engaging phone which would otherwise be taking selfies or documenting ‘country stroll’ for the purpose of Instagram …   Money management?  Of course.  Silly me.  Swiping a card billed to one’s parents is pure learning on the ground!  As for independence?  I’m done

Credit should be given to Piers Morgan who alerted me to this lunacy on his hourly rant – otherwise known as Piers Morgan, Uncensored, 8pm, TalkTV – on Monday past.  Thank God for sanity!  I could write the script myself, sharing the same despair.  For, funny though it may be, such lunacy has consequences as the UK is set to become the fattest country in Europe with 30% of the nation qualifying as obese by 2030.  The evidence is everywhere.  Now there’s a badge in celebration?!  Girlguiding, you should hang your heads in shame – and, yes, the new name is entirely appropriate.  The Girl Guides Association, as was, would never have sunk to such depths, openly inviting mockery and derision.

Intelligent life?  Extinct.  Yes, extinct.  Extinguished.  Grey matter?  Lost the will to live.  Yes, succumbed to the plague of the utterly inane, ludicrously insane who seem to have multiplied beyond fathomable limits with the passing of the decades.  Intelligent life?  Not a sign.  You see, like all muscles, a brain must be exercised – I know, I know, look it up – in order to maintain the ability to process and react.  In the absence of any stimuli of note, said brain will cease to function resulting in the propensity to spend one’s time in casual attire, relaxing on one’s lovely black sofa watching wall-to-wall soaps (interspersed with Gogglebox, Love Island and Naked Attraction, of course) whilst indulging in culinary delicacies delivered straight to one’s door.  Cutlery optional.

Apologies to the little green men.  Half a decade too late.  Such high hopes, on escaping Tiger Lily, but, sadly, just more of the same.  There is no escape, believe me.  In search of intelligent life?  You have more chance of finding that in your antennae!  Methinks Planet Anywhere Than This is your best bet.  Just one question: room for one more?

P.S.  So naive.  Of course, the Girl Guides were not immune to the good old Tyranny of Tolerance.  Turns out that, in 2017 – complying with the Equality Act 2010 – there was a radical change to the rules.  Going forward, membership was to be judged on ‘self-identity’ rather than biological gender.  Excellent.  So, in other words, boys could now be Girl Guides if they identified as female …  Guess who’s sleeping in my tent?!  Chips all round?  Suddenly, ‘lashings of ginger beer‘ sounds positively magical.

2nd March, 2022

Guess What? It’s Not All About You!

Where there is darkness, there is light.  Where there is black, there is white.  So it is that, while we are witnessing the horror in Ukraine at the hands of a brutal dictator – the terror, the devastation, the indescribable heartbreak – juxtaposed, all the while, is the incredible bravery and patriotism of the Ukrainian president, Volodymyr Zelensky, and his people; the incredible, selfless acts of kindness.  The contrasting emotions invoked are truly draining as one struggles to grasp the enormity of the situation; to empathise with those in its midst.  Social media is inescapable, of course.  Crucial as a source of communication – now, more than ever – it does, however, also serve as a spotlight on those too self-absorbed to notice.

Scrolling down through my newsfeed on Facebook on Sunday evening, I clicked on a video of a father saying goodbye to his wife and little daughter – she must have been about six – as he put them on one of the packed trains out of Ukraine while he remained to fight for his country.  The little girl was crying as her Daddy hugged her close, desperately trying to conceal his pain; desperately trying to banish thoughts of the unthinkable.  That footage could not fail to break one’s heart …  The post which followed immediately below, however, coined the pitiful side of both Facebook and humanity, the insensitivity too startling to comprehend.

Facebook, for me, is a vehicle for my blog.  I have never felt the need or desire to post photographs of my food nor divulge the mundane, minute detail of my life.  What’s more, I have never felt the need or desire to delete any ‘friends’ – until now!  Admittedly, this ‘friend’ was, once, a friend of Becca’s who sneaked into my fold but, sadly, he is testament to the fact that people change.  Enough said.  Anyway, the post was a ‘Woo-hoo!  Look at us!’ with minute-by-minute photographs of he and his husband partying the weekend away in self-indulgent luxury in celebration of the latter’s birthday.  Look, party on with your friends.  Drink cocktails, eat lovely food, be chauffeur driven back and forward while posing for photos at every turn but do we, all, need to see them?  Particularly NOW?!  I was so desperate to comment, ‘You are aware that Russia has invaded Ukraine?!’, but I was sat on!  No matter, that’s what the ‘Delete’ button is for.  Look at me!

Huge lack of sensitivity, it was still on my mind come Monday when, following a news bulletin, on came Loose Women.  My ‘favourite’ in the hot seat, Charlene White, the main topic was, of course, Ukraine.  All as one would expect until Charlene did her usual and saw an opportunity to focus on racism.  Of course!  In case anyone hadn’t noticed, she is black.  I repeat, she is black!  And?  Well, apparently, she has the monopoly on victimhood.  The Ukranians?  Fleeing in fear?  Yes, but there are some who are being segregated according to the colour of their skin; because of the colour of their skin.  I, for one, was unaware/ had never considered racism in a war zone of this nature.  I stand corrected but what is the mentality of a human being who, in a life-or-death situation, does not stand side by side with every one of his countrymen regardless of the colour of their skin?  One thing I do know, that person is not deserving of his inspiring, brave leader – Volodymyr Zelensky.  A hero in every sense of the word.

Thoughts on Charlene White, once more, bringing everything back to her?  For that is exactly what she was doing whether she was aware or not.  Ukraine was the overriding topic for discussion, the harrowing images depicting the true victims of war: the innocent.  Not black.  Not white.  Just human …

28th February, 2022

No Words …

 Wednesday, 23rd February 2022.

Imran Khan, Prime Minister of Pakistan, lands in Moscow on a two-day visit to Russia despite the warnings of geopolitical analysts apropos the unstable climate.

First Pakistani Prime Minister to visit Russia in twenty-three years.

Welcomed by Russia’s Deputy Foreign Minister, Igor Morgulov.

‘What a time to come.  So much excitement.’

Yes, unbelievably, the words uttered by Khan and, moreover, delivered with a smile.

‘Absolutely.  This is the right time to come.’

Morgulov’s reply.  Quote, unquote.

Thursday, 24th February 2022.

Russia launches its attack on Ukraine at dawn.

In a matter of hours, Prime Minister Khan lays a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier – a WWII memorial – by the Kremlin Wall in Moscow before continuing on to his meeting with President Putin …

Before the flashing cameras, the Pakistani Prime Minister shakes the hand of Putin.

I have no words …

The irony, the hypocrisy, the gross insensitivity!  This man is not stupid.  Educated, he studied PPE at Oxford.  Arrogant, egocentric, ambitious, then, never mind cold and callous?  In an interview Khan gave to the state-run Russia Today channel, prior to his visit, he dismissed criticism that it was ill-timed:

‘This (Ukraine crisis) does not concern us.  We have a bilateral relationship with Russia and we really want to strengthen it.  What we want to do is not become part of any bloc.’

And there you have it!

From international cricketer, renowned playboy to Prime Minister of his country.  On paper, a story of success.  However, how does one define success?  In terms of glory?  Acclaim?  Material wealth?  Can it be that it truly is ‘all about me’ regardless?  What a lonely place to be.  You see, in the words of the poet, John Donne …

‘No man is an island, entire of it self.’

Everything one does impinges on someone else.  A sobering but defining thought.  Too late for Imran Khan, though, whose callous, flippant remark on landing in Moscow on Thursday, 24th February 2022, I shall never forgive nor forget.  I suspect history may write the same.

2nd February, 2022

Jacqui Smith?!

February 2nd, 2022.  9.15am.  Jeremy Vine, Channel 5 …  No!   Surely not?!  Jacqui Smith (that’s ‘Jacqui‘ with an ‘i’ and no ‘e’, remember.  Makes it cool and trendy – not!).  I repeat, Jacqui Smith?  Yes, yes, it is, indeed, she, ensconced on the panel as one of today’s guests.  Despite the obvious attempts at a change of image – notably, the long, peroxide blonde hair – the face, the voice, the demeanour remain.  Here she is, raising her head above the parapet once more, the same Jacqui Smith who had little choice but to resign her post as Home Secretary in 2009 being one of the highest profile politicians involved in the parliamentary expenses scandal.  Jog any memories?  How about a re-cap?

In February 2009, it was reported in the media that Ms Smith had falsely claimed that her sister’s house in London was her main residence.  In truth, she merely stayed in the spare room while in the capital.   Skewing the facts in this way, however, enabled the now Home Secretary to claim the parliamentary allowance allocated for a second home in respect of her main family house in Redditch.  Confused?  No matter.  The only information one need glean is that the Home Secretary successfully requisitioned over £116,000 in light of this falsehood.

Furthermore, it was revealed that she had claimed for other items, in addition, including a flat screen television, scatter cushions and two porn films!  Her husband’s, obviously.  Deemed a mistake, she would repay the amount.  How noble!

Meanwhile, her justification for the £116,000 housing allowance claimed for her second home – actually, her main family residence – was this: seemingly, it was the ‘nature of the job’ that MPs had to furnish and run two properties.  Of course, it was.  Obviously, no onus to be entirely truthful, though.

Interestingly, amidst the uproar, Gordon Brown – Prime Minister at the time – supported Ms Smith, saying she had done nothing wrong.  Really?!

No leverage with Sir Alistair Graham, however, the former Chairman of the Committee on Standards in Public Life whose criticism of her actions included the words ‘near fraudulent’.  Nor with John Lyon, the Standards Commissioner who, in October 2009, concluded that she was in breach of Commons rules.  How, then, does one explain why she was not told to repay the £116,000?  She had to apologise to the House by means of a personal statement but that is as far as it went.  £116,000 and a ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card!  One would think Jacqui would be relieved – and grateful?  Not her.  Instead, she is quoted as saying that she was ‘disappointed that this process has not led to a fairer set of conclusions, based on objective and consistent application of the rules as they were at the time.’  My God, the ego!  Most would have been behind bars for a deceit of this nature resulting in huge monetary gain; in fact, there is a five-letter word for it …

Two years on, the lack of remorse appeared ever more honed when, in an interview in Radio Times published in February 2011, she claimed that she had been a victim of sexism:

‘I know that it was my expenses people looked at first because I was a woman and should have been at home looking after my husband and children.’

Enough.

Suitably re-acquainted with this woman?  She, who, spectacularly, got away with it!  Somehow, her past has been snopaked.  Now divorced, she has desperately tried to glam up and erase the frumpy image, presenting a new ‘I’m so much fun!’ persona which led to her taking part in Strictly 2020.  She does, also, pop up on Good Morning Britain from time-to-time and, for the life of me, I shall never understand it.  As an MP – and, later, Home Secretary – she, falsely, claimed £116,000 of taxpayers’ money in parliamentary expenses; money she was neither asked to repay, nor did she volunteer to do so.  A huge sum, she bears no guilt nor displays any remorse.  How is it that we have, seemingly, forgotten?  How is it that Jacqui Smith is still entertained on such programmes; that she is given any public voice?

Today, she was a guest on the Jeremy Vine panel, giving her opinion on Boris Johnson and his increasingly fragile leadership.  Surely a new low when the ‘corrupt’ is invited to lay criticism on the ‘corrupt’?

31st January,  2022

‘Misinformation’.  Timeline Leading to Misnomer

Greed.  Definition of:

‘an intense and selfish desire for something, especially wealth, power … ‘

Conflict of Interest.  Definition of:

‘a situation in which a person is in a position to derive personal benefit from actions or decisions made in his/her official capacity.’

 Manipulation.  Definition of:

‘the action of influencing or controlling someone or something to your advantage, often unfairly or dishonestly.

Fear of/Refusal to Debate: Reason for: 

One cannot challenge the truth.  Only those who can argue from a place of integrity have nothing to fear.

Censorship.  Definition of:

‘the practice of limiting access to information, ideas or books in order to prevent knowledge or freedom of thought.’

BUT

Nothing to Gain and Everything to Lose

What of those prepared to sacrifice their careers, reputations and even livelihoods in a bid to fight for the truth; for justice and freedom?  Those whose medical or scientific pedigrees cannot be questioned such as Dr Robert Malone and, most pertinently in this country, Dr Steve James?  Courageous journalists, not paid to adhere to the party narrative, such as Bev Turner who was labelled ‘toxic’?

WHAT NOW?  Easy.  Blanket labelling of anything contrary to the party narrative as …

Misinformation

‘ False or inaccurate information, especially that which is deliberately intended to deceive.’

Oh, the incredible irony!  Oh, that the blind could see … 

19th November, 2021

Bank Transfer or Cheque, Rafiq?

Better make it a Bank Transfer. Might not have enough time for the cheque to clear before the truth comes out …

Recently awarded a six-figure pay out from the Yorkshire cricket club he has, single-handedly, all but brought to its knees as damages in response to his claims of racial harassment and bullying, it took less than 48 hours to reveal the man! Azeem Rafiq was sent an image of a message exchange between himself and another cricketer in which he used anti-Semitic slurs regarding Derbyshire player, Atif Sheikh, in 2011. Surely not?! Just let me check if the money is in my account. Phew! Grovelling apologies. Come on, he was only 19! He says he’s a different person now …

Turns out, he’d better keep these apologies coming, though, for it seems he also shared a meme on social media in 2017 containing a derogatory joke pertaining to African people. Oh, Rafiq! ‘Only a matter of stupidity’? Of course, that’s alright, then.

Anything else? Well, yes, he was found guilty of racial abuse, himself, by the Yorkshire panel which was appointed in response to his own claims that the club was institutionally racist. He called team-mate, Gary Ballance – who was born in Zimbabwe – ‘Zimbo’. Just an abbreviation of the name of his country of birth and, after all, Rafiq had enjoyed the hospitality of Ballance’s family, becoming a close friend of his brother, and invited him to his wedding in Pakistan. So … that was just friendly banter, surely?

Apparently, Rafiq cited 43 allegations of racism and bullying of which only seven were upheld by a Yorkshire-appointed investigation. Not satisfied, he gave evidence at a DCMS Select Committee Hearing at Westminster on Tuesday when, weeping, he told MPs how the abuse he suffered had cost him his career – and nearly his life.

What’s the saying, ‘People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones’? Seems Rafiq is guilty of exactly that of which he is accusing everybody else …

4th November, 2021

And Breathe …

I could sit here all day, every day, writing about the lunacy of life but there is a suggestion of humour in those words which is misleading. There is nothing funny about the ‘woke’ brigade hijacking the world and, nose-diving, we are gathering speed in our bid for the lowest common denominator, denying the inevitable crash into utter confusion as the sane are held to ransom by the feral few. I say ‘few’ but, perhaps, that is the problem. The Tyranny of Tolerance is gathering momentum, aggressive in its execution, and, tapping into the real pandemic – apathy – most are too indolent – or too ignorant – to care. The ‘few’ are becoming the ‘many’.

By 9am this morning, I was bursting with frustration, bombarded from every angle. Take the Thursday general knowledge quiz on the Zoe Ball Breakfast Show on Radio 2. Consisting of five questions, Jay Flynn tests Zoe and her team, one of whom is Richie Anderson, he of the travel updates. It is fun – if not more than a little competitive – but much of the hilarity is at the expense of Richie and his lack of general knowledge. To be honest, there have been times when I have thought his answers hand-picked for their comedic value, so disbelieving of his ignorance but … not anymore.

Listening in the car between 8 and 8.30am, the question was: In Roman numerals, what number does the letter ‘L’ represent? Richie confessed, to much hilarity, that he didn’t know and had written down one hundred. Funny? I don’t think so. This is a guy in his thirties (strangely, can’t find his year of birth anywhere), earning a fortune reading the travel reports on the radio and now, increasingly, appearing on television and his general knowledge does not stretch to the letter ‘L’ representing the number 50 in Roman numerals? Forget funny, that is embarrassing! In fact, unacceptable. Guess what, though, it dawned on me that – in this ‘woke’ world – I can neither say nor write that. Why? Well, Richie happens to be black and, therefore, it now follows that any criticism is deemed racism. He is not a person, for goodness sake, he is a colour!

Perhaps, I may have been less rattled had I not heard two items of news earlier. Firstly, the burgeoning racism furore involving Yorkshire County Cricket Club: Azeem Rafiq raised a legal case against the Club in 2020, suing them over claims of racial abuse and discrimination during his two spells representing them, culminating in 2018. An independent inquiry, however, cleared a player they declined to name, concluding that ‘regular use of the word ‘Pxxi’ came during ‘banter’ between the pair’. In the context of ‘banter between friends’, they believed Rafiq might be ‘expected to take such comments in the spirit in which they were intended.’ No disciplinary action would be taken.

The story emerged last week, however, and Gary Ballance was named as the former teammate responsible for reducing Rafiq to tears, repeatedly. Ballance has, today, released his own statement in which he cites his close friendship with Rafiq. ‘He was my best mate in cricket and I cared deeply for him. To my knowledge, it has never been alleged that I reduced Rafa to tears.’

Perhaps, one regards these as shallow words in view of the accusations; no justification. Azeem Rafiq clearly does and has treated them with disdain. He will not let this go and the momentum is gathering as major sponsors cut ties with the Club: Tetley Tea, Anchor Butter to name but two. After all, the accusations are of racism and that word, alone, demands conviction without trial. Accused? Guilty. Context? Irrelevant.

‘A LOT of people watched me cry.’

Searching for more information, I pulled up the above article by Martin Robinson in this morning’s Mail Online. I had heard some of Gary Ballance’s statement on the radio. As I read on, taken out of context, anyone would deem Ballance’s taunts unacceptable but there’s the rub – taken out of context! In that light, of course, my sympathy is with Rafiq but, again, read on until one comes to the statement – in its entirety – of Gary Ballance. In fact, look at this key paragraph:

‘Rafa and I remained closest friends throughout the time we exchanged these inappropriate comments. One winter, I suggested that Rafa and his bowling coach travel to Zimbabwe to stay with my family, which they did. He lived in my family’s house in Zimbabwe and spent time with my parents and my brothers while he trained in Zimbabwe. He would later become very good friends with my brother and the two of them stayed together regularly when my brother was in the UK. Rafa was always very grateful for the support and love which my family gave him and he regularly expressed this to me. I was honoured to be invited to his wedding in Pakistan which I sadly could not attend.

Context! If Ballance was the racist monster portrayed by Azeem Rafiq, repeatedly reducing him to tears, why the hell would he go and stay with his family in Zimbabwe, befriend his brother and, then, invite him to his wedding in Pakistan?! I have no words other than to say, once again, I am not surprised. If I had not read the entire article – and it is long – I would be ignorant of that vital background information. The two were, clearly, close friends – as Gary Ballance states. Sadly, it seems, however, that Azeem Rafiq believes his friend worthy of sacrifice in his bid for victimhood. Oh, ‘woke’, how bitter …

The other news item responsible for raising my blood pressure? Castleview Primary School in Edinburgh has asked boys to wear skirts today – as young as three – in a bid to ‘promote equality’! Oh, boy! To be continued in my blog post tomorrow. Meanwhile, I need to lie down in a darkened room or attach myself to a Gin drip – perhaps, both!

 25th August, 2021

Wokey!  Wokey!  Anyone for Tea?

The beloved children’s classic, The Tiger Who Came to Tea, was Judith Kerr’s first book.  Published in 1968, more than fifty years later, it remains a firm favourite with children and adults alike, spanning generations.  Full stop!  Telling the story of a tiger who arrives, unannounced, to share tea with a mother and daughter before proceeding to eat them out of house and home, the father returns with the perfect solution – to eat out.  Simple.  Fun.  My children loved it and, to this day, we often recite the last words, ‘ … but he never did.’ amidst hoots of laughter.  Our joke.

Hold on, though, according to Rachel Adamson – co-director of Scottish (had to be!) campaign group, Zero Tolerance – children’s stories such as this ‘are causing sexual harassment and rape because they reinforce “harmful” gender stereotypes.’  Apparently, Ms Adamson has a problem with the tiger being male rather than female or gender neutral and questions the old-fashioned ending of the father coming home and saving the day.  Give me strength!  What is wrong with these people?  Zero Tolerance?  They are deserving of none.

Daniel Sanderson’s article in The Telegraph (23/8/21) continues:

‘The group’s co-director claimed on Monday that removing some books which feature gender stereotypes, such as housewives, female nurses or secretaries, from nurseries would be “a small price to pay for the lives of women”.’

The lives of what women?!  Am I missing something?  Are we under threat of extinction?  Actually, that is not so far from Ms Adamson’s reality which, apparently, is a war zone.  However, I am apt to question her concept of Biology: the requirement of both male and female in order to procreate?  Then, there is her grasp of the origins of Man: Adam and Eve?  In fact, why stop at children’s books?  Why not just go the whole hog and re-write The Bible?!  Let’s see … no Adam and Eve would mean no Ms Adamson.  No Zero Tolerance.  Yes, there is a God!

‘Featured in a suggested children’s reading list compiled by Zero Tolerance is a story featuring a transgender pre-schooler and a book about a boy who wants to become a mermaid.’

Perfect.  Welcome, children, to a world of utter confusion in which innocence is removed at birth!  The only saving grace is that Judith Kerr is not here to bear witness to this insanity; the acclaimed author who was born in Berlin and had to flee Nazi Germany, as a child, in 1933.  Zero Tolerance?  Such irony.   Perhaps Ms Adamson, in her narrow-minded world immersed in grievance borne of trivia, should take the opportunity to glean some perspective from the story of this brave lady …

(Quotes are courtesy of Daniel Sanderson’s article in The Telegraph of 23 August 2021: ‘Sexist’ Tiger Who Came. to Tea causes rape and harassment, say activists.’)

 2nd August, 2021

Discriminate to End Discrimination?  Of course! 

Perhaps I would have remained blissfully ignorant to this particular gross hypocrisy had I not been alerted to a post on Instagram publicising an advert for a writing competition.  A collaboration between The Sunday Times Style magazine and the Black Writers’ Guild, it is an invitation to submit a short piece related to fashion and beauty with an eye on the prize of personal mentoring by the magazine plus the publication of three of the winner’s articles.  A coveted prize for any aspiring writer interested in that particular genre; or, in fact, any aspiring writer!

The ‘celebrity’ who chose to post this advert on Instagram shall remain nameless, although it beggars belief that anyone would choose to support such a venture.
Of course, alarm bells should have rung at the title: STYLE and the Black Writers’ Guild join forces.  Black Writers’ Guild?
Replace one word and there would be outrage!
 How can that name possibly be sanctioned in a world policed by ‘woke’?  The answer lies in the question.

White Writers’ Guild.  There.  Anyone have a problem with that?  Well, of course they do.  It’s racist!  What relevance does colour have in relation to one’s ability to write?  Sorry?  I can’t hear you.  None whatsoever!  Correct answer.  Go to the top of the class.  Oh, hang on a minute, you’re white.  No can do.  Yes, yes, I know your answer was correct but merit is obsolete now.  Today, one must be seen to sacrifice the privileged white in favour of black; after all, only black lives matter.

‘Open to Black writers aged 18-25’
Aside from the fact that I am not sure why ‘Black’ has a capital … the hypocrisy is glaring!
I had no idea that the way to tackle discrimination is by discrimination.  The very same!
‘Discrimination’: the unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people, especially on the grounds of race, age, sex or disability’.
I repeat, what relevance does the colour of one’s skin have in the context of this competition?
None, other than to promote segregation.
Adopting the stance of devil’s advocate, I would go as far as to suggest the exclusion of aspiring white writers could be construed as demeaning – to black!  Is it not that the end goal is an even playing field?  Inclusivity?  I believe said exclusion suffocates merit and who, among us, wishes to win when only half the field is competing?

Can there be any valid justification for the exclusivity of this competition?
Whether it be Black writers, Black Girls Hike or the Black Swimming Association, the very presence of the word ‘Black’ is unacceptable, deeming the fight against racism a joke!
(The following link is relevant: Trish-Trash.com 11th January, 2021)

End discrimination by discrimination.  Fight racism with racism.
Devoid of honour, there is nothing to be gained.
A mockery of the Black Lives Matter movement, it is little more than revenge.

Black Writers’ Guild.
 Inspired by ‘woke’.  Designed to revoke?
Sadly, racism it merely promotes!

 10th June, 2021

‘The past is a stepping stone not a millstone.’    Robert Plant

I feel totally battered and bruised; war-weary.  The battles are never-ending but one I shall never concede is that against ‘woke’.  Stupid word.  Ignorant minority …

Throughout this week – sneaking in behind the incessant COVID statistics and the incessant vaccine push, not forgetting Harry and Meghan’s incessant insensitivity – the name Ollie Robinson has been cast into the public domain.  Not in light of his prowess as a pace bowler, however, gaining him his debut place on the English cricket squad in the first Test against New Zealand at Lord’s but, rather, as a result of his suspension from international cricket pending an investigation into historical racist and sexist tweets.  Age 27, he has been dropped from the squad for the second Test which begins today at Edgbaston on account of tweets which, posted when he was 18/19, just happened to surface last Wednesday.  Since then, he has apologised saying he is ‘embarrassed’ and ‘ashamed’ but, in this ‘woke’ climate (God, I hate that word and everything it represents), apparently, that is not enough!  In the words of Michael Vaughan, former England Captain, speaking to BBC Sport, ‘He has got to go away, learn and educate himself – and become a better person for it.’.  Michael Vaughan, we are not worthy!  Thank you so much for your words of wisdom, he who, obviously, believes he never made any errors in his youth …

According to the Gospel of John, the Pharisees – in an attempt to discredit Jesus – brought a woman charged with adultery before him, adultery being punishable by stoning under Mosaic law.  Challenging him to judge the woman, their hope was to, then, accuse him of disobeying said law.  From thence came Jesus’ famous quote: ‘He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone …’.  Have we learned nothing?

Hands up, I have made no attempt to research Ollie Robinson’s tweets of a decade ago.  I have little interest.  Ten years on, he is a different person; it is a different world.  Once upon a time, there was no social media.  Babies, now, have slots for ipads in their potties.  God forbid they ‘write’ anything on them for which they could be held accountable until the day they die!  My mind is running overtime surmising the thoughts of a little genius on his/her potty – which I cannot share – but that is how ridiculous it is.  Each and every one of us has said things, in private, which are inappropriate.  Yes, I know, I choose to write them but …  Ollie Robinson was stupid enough to tweet on a public domain ten years ago!  I repeat, ten years ago!  Nothing to do with his cricket prowess, today, he has held his hands up and apologised yet, still, he has been suspended indefinitely.  Just who has the right to judge?

‘Woke’, I believe, should be a criminal offence!  Weakness, too, in its wake.  Unchallenged, the ignorant, it seems, are being given a free rein to dismantle the very foundations of this country; its history.  Interestingly, ‘the ignorant’ are not always of this land …

‘Oxford student who led ‘woke’ move to remove Queen’s portrait is American’ 

The above article, courtesy of Lee Brown, can be found in the New York Post of yesterday, June 9th.  I’m searching for the right words to convey my disgust; disgust at this arrogant, jumped-up 25-year-old American student but more so at Magdalen College, itself, who sat back while he instigated a vote to remove the Queen’s portrait from the College’s Middle Common Room claiming it was unwelcoming as the Monarch ‘represents recent colonial history’!   Magdalen’s president, Dinah Rose (nationality?), meanwhile, stressed that the students do not represent the College but that it ‘strongly supports free speech and political debate’.  Bully for it!  Where will this end?  Hark back to September, 2020 when an American PhD student of two years instigated an online petition – at Edinburgh University – to change the name of the David Hume Tower, citing the renowned enlightenment philosopher’s racist leanings.  Receiving less than 1,800 votes in a university boasting in excess of 35,000 students, in the wake of the death of George Floyd, Elizabeth Lund’s whim was granted.  Amidst significant backlash from both senior academics and alumni, the tower was renamed, temporarily, as 40, George Square.  Why?

Permit me to quote an excerpt from an article I came across with regard to the above which is suitably scathing in its mockery.  Note, ‘Pete’ is in reference to Peter Mathieson, the Principal and Vice-Chancellor of the University of Edinburgh.

‘A more resolute response from pusillanimous Pete to Elizabeth Lund and other student signatories would have been: ‘The David Hume Tower was so named long before you arrived and will be so named long after you have left.  If, in the meantime, you are so disturbed by a footnote written three centuries ago that it prevents you from studying in a building bearing Hume’s name, perhaps the University of Edinburgh, or indeed any seat of learning, is not for you.’ 

Gary Oliver, ‘University takes the knee to woke warriors’, The CONSERVATIVE WOMAN, September 18, 2020.

Perfectly put – and I love the use of the word ‘pusillanimous’!

Matthew Katzman of Magdalen College and the aforementioned Elizabeth Lund are, notably, both American.  American postgraduate students who, ironically, seek to make trivial changes to our esteemed seats of learning from whom they, also, seek to glean a coveted further education – at great cost, I might add.  Is that the crux?  Money?  They’re paying so humour them?  The fact that they are both American, also, led me to wonder how any memorials to the likes of former presidents George Washington and Thomas Jefferson are faring in their own country?  Slave owners, both.  Just a thought …

‘Woke Up!’  Inspired!  Trish-Trash.com, ‘A Voice Outwith the Crowd’.  Meantime, the adjective ‘pusillanimous’ is, I believe, key to the increasing prevalence of this lunacy: ‘cowardly, faint-hearted, timorous’.  Those who do not stand firm in defence of our heritage are the living embodiment.

21st April, 2021

Sacred Ground

It is a known fact that one never stops learning.  However, it would, now, seem that my education was flawed, not only lacking ‘vital’ information but, moreover, imparted in a building bearing an ‘unacceptable’ name.  Reminds me of the 1971 Morecambe & Wise/Andre ‘Preview’ sketch when Eric, at the piano, insists that he is merely ‘playing all the right notes but not necessarily in the right order.’

‘Black Lives Matter to Jane Austen’.  Apparently, the proposed title on one of the future display boards at Jane Austen’s House, the museum in her name.  The cottage in the Hampshire village of Chawton was where the acclaimed author spent the last eight years of her life, penning both Emma and Mansfield Park before her death in 1817.  A place of pilgrimage, attracting thousands of visitors from all over the world – pre-COVID – it is dedicated to her life and work.

But …

That was before George Floyd and the birth of Black Lives Matter; before ‘woke’; before the ‘Tyranny of Tolerance’.

It was Sunday when I read in The Telegraph online of the proposed plans to subject Jane Austen to a ‘historical interrogation’ over alleged links to the slave trade.  My reaction?  Incensed.  Utter lunacy!  Lizzie Dunford, Director of Jane Austen’s House should be ashamed.

Planned new exhibitions at Chawton will highlight links between the author’s father, Reverend George Austen, and his Oxford University friend, James Nibbs, who became the owner of a sugar plantation on the Caribbean island of Antigua, naming Rev Austen a trustee in 1760.  However, as Ms Dunford conceded, when speaking to The Telegraph,  

‘The slave trade and the consequences of Regency-era Colonialism touched every family of means during the period.  Jane Austen’s family were no exception.’ 

So, what, then?  Re-write history – all of it?!

There’s worse!  Jane and her family liked to drink tea, to which, brace oneself, they would add sugar!  All this and she chose to wear a wardrobe of cotton, too.  I mean, forget Pride and Prejudice and Mr Darcy, this woman and her family were nothing more than enablers!

‘Though quite secluded as a family, Austen saw tea as a ‘comforting, refreshing, recuperative beverage’ which provided reason to socialise with her neighbours, and she even wrote the drink into several of her books.’

Seriously?!

Now, those at Jane Austen’s House …

 ‘want to look for potential connections to slavery through her use of sugar in her tea and her wearing of cotton clothing, which experts say are all ‘products of empire’ brought back to Britain from colonies in Africa.’ 

Oh, help!  Personally, I find the use of the word ‘want’ interesting.

(Please note, the above quotes are taken from William Cole’s article of 19 April 2021 in MailOnline: ‘Jane Austen museum launches BLM-inspired ‘interrogation’ of author’s love for drinking tea and wearing cotton due to slave trade links.’)

Quite honestly, I am exhausted living in a world without courage.  A world too scared of militant, minority groups to protect its history; our heritage.

Where will it all end?

21st April, 2021

Altruism or Bust?

It was Thursday, 8th April when I heard the voice of pharmacist, Alison Astles on the morning news on Radio 2.  I remember it well as I was en route to Edinburgh to re-discover my face: in other words, to have my long-awaited, couldn’t come soon enough hair cut!

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.  This was the sister of Neil Astles – a 59-year-old solicitor from Warrington, Cheshire – who died on Sunday (4th April) from a blood clot on the brain after having the Oxford AstraZeneca vaccination on 17th March.

Here she was – a mere four days later – on national radio telling anyone who would listen that her brother had just been ‘extraordinarily unlucky’!  The risks were extremely low and, despite her anger – as a sister – it was her belief that everyone should still go ahead and have the vaccine!

Seriously?! 

Covid: Blood clot victim’s sister urges people to get AstraZeneca vaccine 

According to the article above, Neil Astles began suffering from headaches and nausea about a week after his first injection and, then, approximately eight days later, began to lose his vision.  Taken to the Royal Liverpool University Hospital on Friday, 2nd April, doctors discovered a huge blood clot on his brain and he died on the Sunday.

Forget, for a moment, the bigger picture.  Driving to Edinburgh on Thursday, 8th April, I was listening to a woman cold-bloodedly endorsing a vaccine which was responsible for the death of her otherwise healthy brother four days before!  It made no sense whatsoever.

Or did it? 

She reveals, in the article above, that she was told by doctors that they were 99.9% sure that her brother’s death was due to the vaccine and, furthermore, ‘his blood results mirrored similar cases in the UK.’ 

Help!  I am not sure which is more scary: a woman whose brother has died only four days before – and as a direct result of the vaccination – who is prepared to promote the very same, or the reality of the cynical motive for her decision?

It has, now, been advised that the healthy under-30s be offered an alternative Covid vaccine to the AstraZeneca version due to evidence linking it to ‘rare’ blood clots.  Of the 79 cases occurring in the UK by the end of March, 19 were fatal.

Six days ago, Denmark stopped the rollout of AstraZeneca, completely, until further notice.  Several European countries have, also, paused its use, previously, due to safety concerns …

Meanwhile, promotion of the vaccine, here, has been ramped up tenfold as both Government and media seek to quell the increasing fear regarding a potentially fatal side-effect – however rare – which has only, now, come to light.

Why is that?

Simple.  Time.  A case of not enough!  Developing a new vaccine by means of new technology within 10 months naturally prohibits the discovery of all potential side-effects, let alone those which may emerge long-term.  

‘We are monitoring …’, an increasingly familiar phrase.

From hailing the miracle vaccine to pushing it incessantly, its rapid development laid bare the risk of potential problems down the line.  Thus, it has been a case of all hands on deck, recently, to stem any hesitancy in uptake fuelled by the disclosure of ‘extremely rare’ fatalities.

The thing is, does all hands on deck include ‘securing’ the support of the sister of one such ‘extremely rare’ fatality?  Is one to believe in the existence of a sibling so cold – or could her endorsement be rooted in altruism? 

In this cynical world, there is only one feasible explanation …

16th January, 2021

Black Girls Hike.  Black Swimming Association.  Seriously?!  Apparently so and, what’s more, seemingly applauded.  Why?  How could that possibly be so?
Isn’t inclusivity what it’s all about?  A great big melting pot of a world?  Why, then, promote segregation?

Recently featured on Countryfile – Black Girls Hike, that is – the articles I, subsequently, googled were nothing less than sycophantic.
I ask one question:  if one substituted the word ‘White’ for ‘Black’, what would be the reaction?

I rest my case.

Trish-Trash.com: 11th January, 2021. 

1st December, 2020

Could it BE more obvious?  In a world of pollution, whether it be carbon dioxide, carbon monoxide, COVID or politics, littered with egos, self-promotion and corrupt agendas, Nature affords the only escape.  Wide, open spaces offering distance, calm and time to reflect in the fresh air.  No crowds.  No two metres.  No need.  Or, am I missing something as would appear to be the case, frequently, of late?

Throughout lockdown, from March to July, my daily, evening walk on the West Sands proved my solace.  As the sun met the water on the horizon, I was, invariably, alone.  It was idyllic.  My therapy.  No charge.  Now, as the year – or sentence – draws to a close and patience is hanging by a thread, I want to shout from the rooftops, “We are not stupid!  Stop treating us like fools!”  That, for me, though, has proved the scariest revelation of this whole nightmare: namely, the stark reality that fools abound!  Accepting, unquestioning, apathetic fools awaiting instruction …

As winter closes in, I have taken to walking on the beach in the early morning, conversely, as the sun is beginning to break through the clouds.  The wild geese convey the only urgency as, in successive plumps (yes, Millionaire, here I come!), they seem, suddenly, desperate to leave these climes.  I don’t blame them.  They can!  The tide is far in the distance laying bare a vast expanse of firm sand on which to walk, comfortably, well away from ‘the contaminated’ – sorry, one’s fellow man!

So it is that twice, in recent days, I have seen – at a distance – the same couple striding along the wonderfully all-but-deserted beach WEARING MASKS!!  Someone explain how, in God’s name, these two people can possibly believe there is any chance whatsoever of them catching COVID-19 in the great outdoors, breathing in the freshest of air, ‘miles’ from anyone?!  Seriously?!

Could it BE more obvious?  There is only one explanation and the ease with which our liberty has been withdrawn is dependent upon it.  Don’t make me spell it out …

26th November, 2020

The Definition of Irony.  Yesterday – 25th November – in the Opinion section of The New York Times, was an essay written by Meghan Markle.  Making worldwide news – and invoking worldwide sympathy – she revealed that, in July this year, she had suffered a miscarriage.  she does not disclose how advanced the pregnancy was.

Miscarriages are extremely common, occurring in approximately 10 to 20 percent of known pregnancies.  As one who has had personal experience, it is devastating, traumatic … and private!  It is not something one wishes to discuss beyond one’s inner circle and, most certainly, not in a major newspaper of international readership.  Or maybe so …

Blazoned over every newspaper, the headline of every news update, the ‘essay’ seemed to garner overwhelming empathy – and applause for her courage in speaking out about an experience so personal.  My question is why now?  Her ‘answer’, of course, was suitably altruistic: to help others.  She is a humanitarian, after all.

Call me cynical but this is Meghan Markle we are talking about!  She, who was, supposedly, rendered fragile by the public scrutiny which accompanies a major royal role; she, who presented herself as the innocent victim, deserving none of the negative press.  Of course, the criticism was all borne of her colour …  Of course!  (Note to self: do not type word which comes naturally!)

Hand to forehead, precursor to a swoon, she had to step down from the Royal Family for reasons of self-preservation.  She needed privacy – and that meant returning to LA and her publicity machine!  It also meant taking Harry with her, extricating him from family, friends and everything he has ever known.  Sadly, he is the golden egg.

As humanitarians, it is fitting that they chose to buy an £11million home complete with swimming pool, spa, cinema and sixteen bathrooms.  From there, she can, comfortably, execute her legal case against The Daily Mail whom she is suing for Breach of Privacy for publishing extracts of a letter she wrote to her father.  That does constitute a huge breach of privacy but, in context?  This is Meghan Markle!  She, who organised that they be followed by a photographer when, chauffeur-driven from door-to-door, she and Harry delivered food parcels to the needy; she, who accompanied Harry, with a celebrity photographer, on Armistice Day when they went to lay flowers – touchingly, picked from their estate, sorry, garden – at the graves of two Commonwealth soldiers.  One knows how much this means to Harry but a spokesperson commented that ‘It was important to the Duke and Duchess to be able to personally recognise Remembrance in their own way …’.  In other words, with a photographer!

So, back to yesterday’s news and Meghan’s essay in The New York Times about the most private of pains revealed in the most public of arenas.

‘I dropped to the floor with him in my arms, humming a lullaby to keep us both calm, the cheerful tune a stark contrast to my sense that something was not right.’

She describes watching her husband’s ‘heart break as he tried to hold the shattered pieces of mine.’.  The dramatic, emotive rhetoric is, surely, fitting of a Barbara Cartland novel – not that I can claim to ever have read one!  With two new, significant additions to their PR machine prior to the launch of Archewell, this was no spontaneous laying bear of personal grief.  Quite the opposite.  This was an attempt to elicit public sympathy and gain positive press.  Calculating and manipulative, who could dare to criticise in light of such a sensitive subject?  Camilla Tominey and me?

‘But I fear the central message is in danger of being lost, with the discussion now focusing on whether this was about seeking good publicity when much of it has been so negative in recent weeks and months.’

‘Your Royal Appointment’, The Telegraph, 25/11/20.

A most delicate way of putting it.

Ultimately, if one, genuinely, craved privacy as opposed to publicity – and had been responsible for so much sacrifice in a bid to secure it – would one move to LA, employ a high profile PR team, sign a multi-million pound deal with Netflix and ensure one is shadowed, everywhere, by a photographer?  Moreover, would one ever donate such personal pain to the public domain?  The definition of irony?  You decide …

11th November, 2020

Children in Need versus Kylie? 

‘So, tonight Kylie Minogue has been ignored for most of the show while Alex (personality like nails on a chalkboard) Jones and Michael (lucky to still have a career) Ball bang on about Pudsey Bear and people doing bicycle challenges.  Nobody is watching this awful show for these stupid stories.  Just interview your damn guests!!!’

I could just leave it at that.  Four lines, sufficiently damning in themselves …

Some words cannot be taken back.  Some are unforgivable.

The above was written on Facebook following The One Show last night.  I am ashamed to say the person is known to me.  Furthermore, he happens to work for a well-known charity …

Friday marks the 40th anniversary of BBC Children in Need, an incredibly important and indisputably worthy cause which has raised over £1billion for disadvantaged children and young people.  Matt Baker – former co-host of The One Show for ten years, alongside Alex Jones – has become synonymous with the programme’s Rickshaw Challenge, to date responsible for raising £35,373,713.  As I have written many times, Matt Baker is deserving of a Knighthood!  Over the past ten years, he has covered thousands of miles, cycling alongside six heroic young people, each taking his/her turn on the rickshaw.  These brave kids have, all, benefitted from a charity supported by Children in Need and this is their way of giving back.  Suffering from debilitating, life-threatening and, often, terminal illnesses – or endeavouring to cope with bereavement or trauma – this is their proudest moment as they dig deep, defeating all the elements, to make it home.  The two, non-negotiable ingredients?  Tremendous courage and Matt Baker!  He is their strength, the one who rides alongside, always there for encouragement, support and kindness.  Sir Matt Baker!

Despite leaving The One Show in March, Matt has returned for the Rickshaw Challenge.  He is invested in it – in the children – and, in turn, it would be nothing without him.  So, last night, The One Show cut to him on his makeshift rickshaw, at home – something to do with COVID! – before a segment on one of the six participants, a young girl with cerebral palsy.  Her story, it ended with her delivering her speech – as they, all, do – to a pre-COVID audience and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house!  The courage; the bravery.  Truly humbling.

Back to Kylie with her signed, new album … trivia.  Not the title, just the subject matter in comparison with that which went before!  Or, maybe not?  What if, like the Scarecrow and the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz, one didn’t have a brain or a heart?  Then, perhaps – just perhaps – that would go some way towards explaining those, otherwise, unforgivable words on Facebook …

20th October, 2020

Money doesn’t grow on trees.  That was a comment I heard on Jeremy Vine’s Radio 2 show this lunchtime.  The topic was – obvs – the stand-off between Boris Johnson and Andy Burnham, Greater Manchester Mayor.  He had until Mid-day today to agree to the City being subjected to a Tier 3 lockdown – the highest – but was refusing to comply unless the Government agreed to a support package of £65million; a fair financial framework offering protection for low-paid workers, the self-employed and businesses which would be forced into collapse by the restrictions.  Mr Burnham concedes that people’s health comes first but believes that it is inextricably linked to so much more than controlling the Coronavirus.  In his view, regional lockdowns have proven to be ineffective, in the long term, and he is in support of protecting the vulnerable and allowing business to remain open.   Amen to that!

Literally.  As I write, the deadline passed without agreement – neither party willing to concede £5million – and Greater Manchester is to be placed into Tier 3 restrictions, unilaterally, for 28 days. 

So it goes on but Andy Burnham is right!  It is not the virus that is going to destroy this country; rather, it is the complete mayhem which has ensued – from the onset – due to lack of strategy, lack of consistency, lack of any unification whatsoever and a complete lack of vision.  The absence of clear leadership, coupled with the round-the-clock indoctrination at the hands of the media, has seen the country all but crippled and there is no end in sight.  Lockdown after lockdown, whether it be regional or national, is non-sensical now.  The financial and mental toll is too great – clearly.  Life must be allowed to continue.  The alternative is not an option.  The key?  A viable Track & Trace system which would enable the protection of the vulnerable whilst the nation resumes some form of normality, released from dictatorship.  It has been seven long months and the testing situation would be laughable were it not so critical.  What is wrong with this country?  As I have said, time and time again, I drive past the walk-in (?!) Testing Centre every day, in this town, and have done so since it was established – probably eight weeks ago.  Not a sign!  Not one person have I seen walk in.  Instead, pupils at the boarding school, here, were sent to Perth for testing!  Why?  In this digital world, one in which one’s every move is monitored in data, how can it be that a simple test to detect a virus – positive or negative – cannot be procured? 

Money doesn’t grow on trees.  Is it all down to money?  Let me see …  There’s the prospect of a £3,500 pay rise for MPs in 2021.  Anything for nurses?!  There’s that awful Margaret Ferrier, SNP, who is refusing to give up her basic salary of £82,000 per annum – have pity, for goodness sake, Coronavirus made her act out of character!  Perhaps the worst of all, though, is the hundreds of thousands of taxpayers’ money being spent by the Government on Unconscious Bias Training!  Sorry?!  Read on …  https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-8701859/MPs-pay-consultancy-7-000-design-unconscious-bias-course-taught-giant-blue-PUPPET.html.   

Forget the 1962 horror film, The Day of the Triffids, whose plot sees an aggressive – and intelligent – species of plant killing everyone in its path (the product of spores resulting from a meteor shower), this is real life and, quite honestly, this infantile woke culture is the last thing we need!  Reading that article above, one can only shake one’s head in disbelief … and then remember that this is the same Government which has agreed to a ‘White Privilege’ wall.  Seriously?!

11th October, 2020

‘Flu season is coming up!  Many people every year, sometimes over 100,000, and despite the vaccine, die from the Flu.  Are we going to close down our Country?  No, we have learned to live with it, just like we are learning to live with COVID, in most populations far less lethal!!!’ 

@REALDONALDTRUMP

6/10/20

‘It’s been against my moral identity to tweet this for the past four years, but I hope he dies.’

@Zara Rahim

2/10/20

It seems in a world in which one can, publicly, wish someone dead, one is not allowed to express one’s opinion!

Trump’s tweet was removed by Facebook and flagged by Twitter, soon after he posted, claiming it to be false.  In fact, the CDC (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention) estimates that 12,000 to 61,000 Americans have died from Flu each year since 2010: ‘estimates’ up to 61,000?  Meanwhile, according to data from Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, Maryland, COVID-19 has killed over 210,000 Americans over the last eight months.  How accurate are these figures, however?  If, as in this country, anyone who has tested positive for COVID in the 28 days prior to death is registered as dying from COVID, then, surely, that figure is open to debate?

In exercising his right to Freedom of Speech, Donald Trump may have exaggerated in his attempt to make a point.  One thing he didn’t do was wish someone dead!

Bias.  Corruption.  Whatever happened to just being fair?

22nd September, 2020

Job Vacancy:
Marshall, Covid Testing Station, Scotland.

Preferably tall, well-built, the successful candidate must, first and foremost, have a long-held desire to exert control over his fellow man.  While no qualifications are necessary, the position requires skills of assessment and the ability to make snap-decisions.  Training will be given but there is scope for displays of mis-placed authority.  The post of Marshall requires a uniform of black with a yellow Hi-Viz waistcoat.  A black mask must be worn, at all times, ensuring an intimidating demeanour.  Duties involve standing outside an empty Testing Centre chatting to one’s fellow Marshalls while being ready to challenge anyone who approaches – beyond the barricade of bollards – in an attempt to be tested.

In summary, this position is suited to someone seeking the opportunity to do nothing other than exert control over entry to those unwell or worried enough to seek a test for COVID.  It involves long hours standing, requiring both patience and the ability to converse with one’s colleagues, whilst maintaining a demeanour threatening enough to discourage advance.  The ability to work in a team is necessary as the entrance to the Testing Centre is manned by at least four Marshalls, at all times, in order to cope with the large numbers …

Long-term position.  Minimum six months.  Probably forever!

20th September, 2020

In the beginning there was Adam and Eve … and look how far we’ve come!  Let’s just agree that every species is on this planet to procreate.  Adam and Eve – male and female, for clarity – were the genesis of mankind (no, not humouring).  Biology dictates that the male provides the sperm to fertilise the female egg.  Not difficult.  Nature.  However, as with everything, there are exceptions.  Between black and white, there is charcoal, grey, cream etc. and so it is with gender.  Accepted.  It does not alter the fact that only a male and female can make a baby!  Once upon a time, they were called parents.  Oh, for the simple life …

Fast forward to today and there are those who insist there are upward of 100 genders – and I think I am prone to a large gin!  Parents are mix and match and, apparently, there is no norm.  No role model.  Anything goes.  No longer a mother and father, with siblings from the same gene pool, it is more a case of made to measure; made to order.  I want means I shall have.  Nature?  To hell with that.  The child?  Well, he or she (not ‘they”) will be loved and that’s all that matters … but it’s not.  A child needs role models, a template as such, inclusive of grandparents.  He/she needs security; needs to fit in.  Admittedly, in this lost world, the traditional family is disappearing fast but look at the result.  What a mess!  Confusion abounds.  As a new gender is added every five minutes, trans would seem the new norm and, moreover, not in any way preclusive to procreation.  Take the following …

A couple, male and female, decide they want to have a child.  Perfectly normal.  However, both male and female are transgenders.  Have ‘equipment’, will conceive.  The mother, subsequently, gives birth to a baby boy whom, despite his genitalia, they refuse to acknowledge as such.  He – sorry, ‘they’– will choose ‘their’ gender when ‘they’ are ready!  Star, as the child is named, decides, age seven, to be a boy.  Well, there’s a blessing!  Meanwhile, his biological father has completed his transition to a female.  Star has always known him – now her – as Mummy.  His biological mother, while still on the waiting list for the operation to complete her transition to a male, he calls Daddy.  Seriously?!  How is this little boy expected to cope?  Daddy is Mummy and Mummy is Daddy?  Moreover, surprised he wasn’t given the name ‘Pierce’ to reflect their penchant for such facial enhancement …  Could they not just have got a pet?

The world has gone mad.  Accepting.  Inclusive.  Live and let live.  Of course.  We are all different but the fundamentals are not.  It requires a male and a female to produce a baby.  That is the norm; how it was meant to be; cannot be disputed.  Nor should the majority be swept aside for the minority; tradition derided by the ‘woke’.  Children have so much to deal with today, none of it good.  Childhood is a thing of the past; innocence forsaken.  Now, there is social media, LGBTQ+ and … isolation, bullying, anxiety, self-harm, eating disorders, learning difficulties, depression and suicide.  Once upon a time, there was a traditional family unit with a Mummy and Daddy and a sibling or two but, then, we dared to believe in fairy tales.  Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning …  Sadly, there is no Tinkerbell and no dust anymore, just lost boys – and girls.

18th September, 2020

Rainbow Decorating.  The new grey.  Heard of the latest trend?  Apparently, there is a series on Netflix which is promoting this ridiculous way in which to brighten up one’s home.  Yes, all that is required is that one invests in books – not to read, silly, but with the purpose of arranging on shelves in rainbow colours.  Oh, and once arranged, take lots of photos and upload them to Instagram.  Note the absence of exclamation marks.

Nothing surprises me anymore.  If the sheep amongst us wish to conform and live in a grey box devoid of character then that is their choice.  I had all but accepted that.  However, to, now, suggest reducing books – in the world of interiors – to nothing more than a colour is indicative of so much more in the demise of the human being!

Books.  I couldn’t be without my books and bookcases.  Moving after twenty-six years, the first thing I did on arrival, here, was spend days, painstakingly, arranging my precious tomes – an extension of me and my life.  Seriously, one can take one look at someone’s collection of books and glean so much about that person from his/her selection.  Moreover, they look amazing adding both colour and character.  Oh, help!  Yes, I love the aesthetic enhancement they bring to a room but, to my mind, I have earned it.  My books were bought to be read not to adhere to the latest trend in interior design!

There seems little point in justifying the importance of books.  If one is unaware of their wealth then there is little hope.  As for kindles and e-books?  Driven by practicality, they may be, but at what cost?  Each cover is individual, the pages within painstakingly written and compiled with the power to enrich, transport and educate.  Not lost online?  I beg to differ.  What, too, of the pleasure gleaned from touch?  The feel, the smell, turning the pages … just holding a tangible title?

The Demise of The Book

Progress dictates that digital replace.
No more to be read, by ‘experts’ be led.
Purchase a few, according to hue
Then arrange, as per colour, on shelves from Ikea
A rainbow so fine, on Instagram to shine

Now, who could dispute the fact that every cloud has a silver lining?

1st September, 2020

I didn’t come down the Clyde in a banana boat, did you?  Big problem for our diligent, vigilant, caring First Minister who has worked tirelessly throughout this pandemic, focusing on nothing else but the health and welfare of ‘her people’ …  Scratch that!  True to self, she has been doing no such thing.  She has fooled nobody – well, certainly not those of the supposed ‘posh’ variety who recognise her ilk and abhor the thought of a Scotland cut loose from the Union and plunged into an abyss of cheap stilettos and bamboo!  The scale of embarrassment would be unfathomable and, quite frankly, I am still struggling with that Holyrood monstrosity which, itself, should serve as warning enough.

Back to caring Nicola whose focus has never wandered … from INDYREF2!  Yes, she has been omnipresent throughout the fiasco of this pandemic and she has manipulated it brilliantly for her cause.  Cleverly, she has ensured that her strategy for Scotland has forever been two steps behind that of Boris, enabling her to diss his failure or copy his success while appearing to err on the side of caution.  Win-win.  That said, I was a little surprised to see her take the ‘initiative’, today – ahead of Boris – on the quarantine of those returning from Greece.  No question, it was strategic, but in adding to the confusion in the United Kingdom, as a result, she has merely highlighted the importance of working together.

Arrogant as ever, however, she also chose today to warn of the imminent unveiling of the ‘dissertation’ she has been working on, ‘covertly’, since March; that based on her raison d’être since becoming First Minister in November 2014 in the wake of the ‘once in a lifetime’ Independence Referendum which crashed and burned.  In short, during a speech in Holyrood (or ‘Tarzan’s lair’), in which she was outlining the Scottish Government’s agenda for the next parliamentary session, she announced that she would be detailing the Indyref2 timing, terms and question within months.  Did she now?  Have we missed something?  When, exactly, did she usurp Boris as Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, the one who, actually, has the power to expedite – or veto – her tedious proposal?

The answer is ‘No!’.  Westminster says ‘NO!’.  In the ‘once in a lifetime but we’ve got our fingers crossed’ 2014 Referendum, the people of Scotland said ‘NO!’.  Does Ms Sturgeon not understand English?  Perhaps not.  Her preference, after all, is Scottish …

One has to hand it to her, she never falters.  Egocentric to the last, a global pandemic is no obstacle; instead, let politics plunder the pandemic!  Her selfishness knows no bounds; her narrow-mindedness ensuring a focus on her ambition, alone.  What about the real problems in light of COVID19 and the ensuing lockdown: unemployment, anxiety, education, the homeless, to name but a few? 

Who mentioned Indyref2?  Who could possibly be that insensitive given the current clime?  Only Nicola … AGAIN!  Please, someone grant us, all, a favour – raise the microphone stand or, alternatively, cut the heels off her stilettos!

27th August, 2020

The Pride Train …  Every day, we should count our blessings that we live in this world of contentment; a planet enhanced by beings who care about the welfare of their fellow man; beings who neither covet nor begrudge, whose focus is merely to make the world a better place; to be happy and live life to the full.  World peace!  Oh, sorry, an old script from Miss World of the Seventies.  My mistake.  That was cancelled!

Quite frankly, real life – as I once knew it – has been cancelled.  What the hell has happened?  This country is now run by a minority (please, God!) of PC extremists and the cheerleaders of the Greatest Victim brigade, adamant that their lot is the worst!  How is that possible?  The Tyranny of Tolerance, of course.  Black.  Gay.  First prize!  Define oneself by one’s colour or one’s sexuality; make it one’s raison d’être and it will become just that; all-consuming and borne of anger.  Whatever happened to the person inside?  Whatever happened to merit?  Whatever happened to treating others as one would have others treat oneself?  Enough!  Everyone else is not to blame!  Meghan Markle made her own mistakes.  As for her friend, Serena, is she black or an amazing tennis player?!  In the words of my friend, Ben Fogle, ‘Look Up!’.

Had to get that off my chest!  This victim culture has grown legs and, not only is it unacceptable but it is, both, debilitating and divisive.  Divisive.  Is it not true that the ultimate quest is for inclusivity?  Cue the Pride Train …

Still seething at the ridiculous debate apropos Land of Hope and Glory and Rule Britannia!, disbelief was to follow with the final item on Tuesday’s ITV Lunchtime News (25/8/20).  There, onscreen, was footage of the new Pride Train – complete in its rainbow glory – on its maiden journey from Central London to Manchester.  The first LGBTQ+ train of its kind, the operator responsible is Avanti West Coast.  Hurrah for them!  The pièce de résistance?  The Pride Train is fully-staffed by LGBTQ+ employees.  (Help!  I have just looked up the definition of the aforementioned: ‘Two-Spirit Queer’ and ‘Questioning’ being the ‘Q’ and the ‘+’.  Seriously?!)

Fully-staffed by LGBTQ+ employees?  Forgive me, does that not amount to discrimination?!  Am I correct in the assumption that heterosexuals need not apply?  Makes perfect sense.  Claim exclusion then exclude!  Move the goal posts as, and when, necessary.  It seems, now, that this is an accepted plan of action.  Rather, call it manipulation.  One can only imagine the uproar if the shoe were on the other foot: the advent of a train celebrating heterosexuals, wholly staffed by heterosexuals and, thereby, to the exclusion of all but heterosexuals.  The LGBTQ+ community would be positively apoplectic!  Hypothetical, anyway.  Nobody dare upset them.  Why?  They are in possession of the Get Out of Jail Free card: choosing to define themselves by their colour, sexuality – or both – they claim the monopoly on life’s hardship.  Sadly, self-obsession can render one too blind to see …

‘The train will fly the rainbow flag 365 days a year, now, as a symbol of its commitment to diversity and inclusion.’ 

(Avanti West Coast)

… but employ ONLY those belonging to the LGBTQ+ community.  No, you’re right.  I should apologise for even suggesting there is anything ironic about it.  Of course.  That would just be silly and uncalled for!

4th July, 2020

Margaret Thatcher Street.  Ban All Zoos Terrace.  No IndyRef2 Crescent.

New Street names.  Just because …

Sorry?  You don’t like them?  You don’t agree with them?  You don’t want them?

Irrelevant.  I do!

What authority do you have to add a new name to a street?

None?  Oh, of course, you did it in the dead of night, anonymously!

Why was that?  You knew it was illegal to do so?

Is that not cowardly?  Why not have the strength of one’s convictions?

Rhetorical question.

Expecting any legal comeback?

Doubt it.  You see, that is the Tyranny of Tolerance.

Nobody has the right to put up a new street sign at a whim.

Black Lives Matter, though, and to wave the strong arm of the law would be racist!

The thing is, nobody is denying that Black Lives Matter; however, that umbrella does not provide legal immunity.

Oh, it does?

Then this is a free-for-all.

Good Luck!

10th June, 2020

Mad to be Normal.  In one of my notebooks, I found an old yellow post-it note inscribed with those words.  It must be a quote from somewhere but I am none the wiser.  Suffice to say, those four words are pertinent today.

Usual, typical or expected.  These are the words attributed to the definition of the word ‘normal’ in a dictionary.  I expect there will be call, in the not-too-distant future, for it to be removed if today’s climate is anything to go by.  Freedom of speech would seem a thing of the past as aggressive minorities demand, nay dictate the blanket acceptance of the world according to them; a blanket acceptance involving, first and foremost, an overhaul of the English language!

So it is that J K Rowling has been taken to task after posting a Twitter response, on Saturday past, to an Op Ed (what the hell is that?) entitled ‘Creating a more equal post-COVID-19 world for people who menstruate.’  Her response: ‘I’m sure there used to be a word for those people.  Someone help me out.  Wumben?  Wimpund?  Woomud?’  Hallelujah, J K Rowling!  The courageous voice of reason this new world is trying so hard to extinguish.

Of course, the tweet was immediately called transphobic but, thankfully, J K did not back down, replying, in part: ‘If sex isn’t real, the lived reality of women globally is erased.  … erasing the concept of sex removes the ability of many to meaningfully discuss their lives.  It isn’t hate to speak the truth.’  Amen to that.  (Sorry, I feel as though I am the echo in a gospel choir!)

Now, I am a big fan of Daniel Radcliffe, aka Harry Potter, but he has taken a swipe at JK, following her voicing her opinion, at which I am disappointed.  He wrote a piece, on Monday, for The Trevor Project, an LGBTQ youth, non-profit organisation.  Help!  That could be a Fastest Finger First question on Millionaire!  Anyway, he wrote: ‘Transgender women are women.  Any statement to the contrary erases the identity and dignity of transgender people…’.  I’m sorry but I am confused, here – everywhere – how, exactly, is one supposed/allowed to define the word ‘woman’?  It is getting ridiculous!

Worse, still, ‘Harry’ went on to apologise to fans for the writer’s remarks, ‘particularly if they negatively impacted the way people associate with the Harry Potter series.’  Seriously?

Why is it that, today, there is this over-riding need to cause controversy where there is none?  To misconstrue that which is blatantly obvious?  To be wholly intolerant of another’s right to an opinion?  To, seemingly, re-write life?  Life!  At the end of the day, each species is here to procreate; to ensure the longevity of its own.  Now, I think, since time began, biology has dictated that this requires a male and a female?  A man and a woman.  Usual?  Typical?  Expected?  The definition of ‘normal’.

‘People who menstruate’.  That controversial phrase supposedly used as a means of acknowledging that some people who are gender non-binary and transgender men also have periods.  Again, help!  I know I am not alone in struggling to keep up with the terminology, alone. Continuing … since forever, women have laid claim to menstruation – not through choice, I might add but, rather, for reasons of procreation.  Like it, or not, that is the norm!  That is not to say, however, that the norm is it!  In an ever-changing world, gender is multi-faceted and discrimination must not be tolerated.  Humanity, by definition, favours inclusivity.  I am, forever, harping on about the individual but, in truth, each one of us is different and acceptance is key.  Realistically, however, the collective mentality which abounds affords a confidence in numbers which, in turn, only serves to incite.  History cannot be re-written.  Biology cannot be changed.  Male and Female are, for the sake of terminology, normal; the norm.  No slight intended.  J K Rowling was right.  Women menstruate!  Of course, there are exceptions – and there is nothing wrong with the word ‘exception’.  The world is full of exceptions and thank goodness for that!  It is just a word.  Actually, while on the subject of words, I might add that I object to the word ‘straight’.  Always have.  However, it pales into insignificance in light of that which I discovered today: ‘cisgender’.  Apparently, it is a term for people whose gender identity matches the sex that they were assigned at birth and, thus, I am termed a cisgender woman!  No!  Not in my lifetime.  I am me! 

There have been calls for J K Rowling to apologise for her tweet.  May she not succumb.  One should never be forced to apologise for the truth.

6th June, 2020

The need to obey?  Apparently, I am missing that gene but, seemingly, I am in the minority!

Lockdown at the end of March.  The nation was instructed to stay at home venturing out, only, for food supplies and one bout of exercise per day to last no more than one hour.  No driving to exercise and no driving to second homes or other households.  We obeyed.  Correction.  We didn’t read the small print which declared Catherine Calderwood and Dominic Cummings exempt!

Then, Dutch-born Annemarie Plas initiated Clap for Carers having seen the same on a Dutch WhatsApp group of which she was a part.  A means of showing one’s appreciation for all on the frontline and connecting communities, it would take place on a Thursday evening at 8pm precisely…   It seems the nation came to a standstill as the streets were filled with residents clapping and making noise, in every which way possible, in a bid to be heard.  Every Thursday at 8pm.  It was a ritual and, once again, the nation willingly obeyed.

There followed 10 weeks of media scaremongering.  Constant updates on the number of fatalities and dramatic rhetoric worthy of an Olivier award.  The nation was terrified, venturing nowhere but every Thursday at 8pm, without fail, people stood on their doorsteps, ventured into the street – all the while observing the two-metre social distancing – or hung out of their windows to Clap for Carers.  Just an excuse to venture beyond the bars and socialise or programmed to obey?

Then, suddenly, the nation was told that Clap for Carers was to end and Thursday, 28th May would be the last.  What?  Sorry, of course, the nation obeyed.  No questions asked.  No more Thursday night ritual.

As the rules of imprisonment – sorry, lockdown – are beginning to ease, Ikea was one of the first retail outlets to re-open.  The images were haunting, at once, bringing to mind those of Tiananmen Square!  Just me?  No cars in the car park just people, queueing – two metres apart – snaking round, endlessly.  They were prepared to wait for four hours!  Why?  Programmed.  Told they were allowed out, they obeyed. 

Now, it seems there is a new lockdown law – in England – making it illegal to have sex with someone who is not part of one’s own household.  Seriously?!   You know what, though, most will comply, scared of the consequences – and programmed to obey!  (Sorry, remembering, always, that Dominic Cummings – and the likes of Catherine Calderwood – are exempt!)

This whole thing has been scary!  Of course, the virus, itself, is threatening but not to everyone.  The number of reported deaths is staggering but the handling of this pandemic – and the appalling disregard for the elderly and the vulnerable in care homes – has been eye-opening.  More than anything, however, I have been staggered by the mass willingness to obey without question.  There has been a marked disregard for common sense – never mind intelligence – throughout as we have been issued with rules and instruction courtesy of all media outlets.  Indoctrinated from dawn to dusk for more than ten weeks, most have willingly complied foregoing all need for personal input or decision-making.  Programmed to receive, the masses have obeyed, too scared to do otherwise – or just too lazy.

As though waking from a long sleep, I find myself surrounded by aliens.  No, not these little green men stuck in Tiger Lily on a futile search for intelligent life but, rather, fellow human beings who, seemingly, have an On/Off switch where, once upon a time, there was a brain …

24th May, 2020

Yesterday, we were in the midst of what felt like a hurricane – Hurricane Take That!, I call it – but the sun shone, intermittently, and we needed to get out of the house and so Becca and I walked into town.  Blown to pieces, we made it, walking over 8,000 steps on the way.  We picked up some shopping before Manny collected us and, missing the beach, we decided to drive down and take a look before heading home.  The tide was way out, judging by the expanse of sand, but the water was close into the wall near town and appeared angry.  There were no waves, as such, but, rather, a swell and ripples of white blowing out to sea thus very different from the norm.  It is a Bank Holiday weekend, though!

A large police car pulled out in front of us and headed down to where the road stretches out along the front.  Now, we could see some kind of road block ahead with a further two large 4X4 law enforcement vehicles stopped – three cars, six policemen in all!  Clearly, about to be waved down, we were in utter disbelief at the scenario.  Here we were, nine weeks into lockdown, with the virtual handcuffs on the brink of being loosened, and six policemen are deployed to wave down any lone car which braves the weather and attempts to drive along an empty beach!  I re-iterate, this is a Bank Holiday weekend and assuming the glorious weather would continue, they had predicted people.  Excellent.  Pencil in three cars to enforce the lockdown rules!  However, Nature is nobody’s fool and, prone to bouts of sadistic humour, decided to hit back.  That being so, there would be no crowds to control and no need for any police.  Help!  Malfunction!  Unable to adjust programme.  Must assume position at beach, regardless …

So it was that there was a three car, six police roadblock for … well, us, really!  A suitable metaphor for a lockdown paying no heed to intelligence or common sense.  Programmed to receive.  Unable to adjust.

Interestingly, there were no masks or gloves and the young guy – who was very nice and seemed embarrassed – leant in the car window disregarding any enforced two metre social distancing!  He asked where we were going and, when told we had been shopping and were, merely, going for a drive along the beach, he explained that we were not permitted to drive here and could only walk on the beach if we lived within walking distance.  This would change next week but for now …  We wouldn’t be fined, on this occasion.  How utterly ridiculous!  Apart from the fact that we could just park up on The Scores and walk down, I have driven to and walked along that beach almost every evening for the past nine weeks, undisturbed.  Now, because it is a Bank Holiday weekend, they appear like robots, programmed to receive, ultimately to control, bereft of the, once, human ability to make intelligent judgement.  Seriously?!

27th April, 2020

Knight Frank.  Synonymous with wealth and prestige.  I used to aspire to one of the beautiful country piles marketed by the big KF, back in the day.  When it came to choosing an estate agent to expedite the sale of our house just over a year ago, however, Knight Frank was never in the running.  That echelon – well, not reached yet!

That aside, not long ago, I happened to hear good things about a recent recruit to the New Property fold of the Edinburgh office.  Returning from London where he had spent time working for the esteemed Marsh & Parsons, he was soon recognised, internally, when a client expressed his gratitude, in writing, for his help and kindness when his very pregnant wife collapsed on a viewing.  Nice guy – both!

Similarly, unknowingly subjected to the scrutiny of a ‘mystery client’, he reaped a score of 85%, slipping up, only, on one piece of follow-up material.  The summary, however, recognised his natural way with people and, thus, his propensity for sales.  Believing he had found his niche, he made it known that he was keen to learn all aspects of the business.

This guy appreciated a warm welcome into a close-knit office, seemingly friends as well as colleagues, and the ambience was further assured by the presence of the two four-legged regulars.  Quick to recognise a kindred spirit, apparently they were never far from his desk, often accompanying him on walks in his lunch hour or, even, on viewings.

Knight Frank.  Not only deserving of its prestige from a client prospective but in the eyes of an employee, too ….

Hang on!  Fast forward a couple of months.  This guy is no longer employed.  With a month remaining of his six-month probation, COVID-19 reared its ugly head.  Lockdown became inevitable, as did the effect on businesses and he was dispensable.  No contract.  No furloughing.  No commission – earned – forthcoming.  No friend.  No colleague.  Ranks closed.

I chose Rettie & Co to sell our house and am so glad I did.  Knight Frank?  Just another reminder that all that glitters is not gold …

4th March, 2020

Cyclists.  Well, let’s start with cycling, in general.  So many positives.  1.  Great exercise.  2.  Huge plus in terms of the carbon footprint.        3.  No petrol required – economical.  4.  Dispels with need for contact with general public.  Could there be a more convincing positive … Chandler?!

All very well but what of the negatives?  Just one main one, really – the fact that it is contraindicative to a long and happy life with limbs!

Seriously!  Who, in his right mind (therein lies the key!), could possibly believe negotiating irate people in cars – in a city, in rush hour traffic – was a sane idea?  In the absence of cycle lanes, Russian Roulette would seem more attractive.  However, insanity abounds and the afflicted, seemingly, continue to raise one finger to the odds.  Now, I am no fan of public transport (surprising, I know) but I do have plans for a future.

So, having established all cyclists are mad – or, alternatively, have an acute aversion to the public with whom any contact increases one’s chances of the plague/Coronavirus – does that excuse, or explain, their behaviour at traffic lights?  Why? Just, why?  As a conscientious, placid driver, one pulls up at the red and, from the inside left, appears a cyclist who proceeds to pedal into position, centrally, right bang in from one’s car.  Sorry?  Did I miss something such as the development of a turbo-powered bike which is faster than a car?  Negative.  So, as an, erstwhile, placid driver – when the lights turn green – I, now, have to negotiate an idiot on two wheels who is on a power trip!  Superb.  No, still completely calm and singing ‘Que Sera Sera’ aka Doris Day.  I mean, this poor cyclist is either intellectually challenged or just worried about the Coronavirus?  Couldn’t possibly be that he is arrogant and hellbent on scoring points!  Don’t be silly.  That would just be negative …

29th February, 2020

Extendable Leads.  The must-have for the lazy owner who cannot be bothered to spend the time, nor put in the effort required, to train his/her dog.  Warning!  Said owner has no control over said dog.  Boxer on extendable lead?  Sprint!

29th February, 2020

Firstly, check the date!

Emojis.  Love them or hate them, they’re everywhere.  Wonder if you can guess which category I fall into?  I have friends who seem more familiar with them than the actual alphabet but, personally, they leave me cold.  I don’t look at them but, then, I can’t see them!

That said, I was, recently, enlightened to the fact that the availability of these pesky symbols is to be updated to include – specifically – ones of the gender-inclusive variety.  So … bring on the transgender flag, the gender-neutral Santa, a gender-neutral person in a tuxedo and a moustached man wearing a white wedding dress and veil!  Confused?  You will be

The world has gone stark raving mad.  We harp on about mental health and its increasing decline manifested in depression, anxiety, self-harm, eating disorders and, worst of all, suicide but is it really any surprise?  Our entire infrastructure has crumbled along with the family unit.  There is nothing certain anymore; no anchor on which to rely; no strong foundations.  Anything goes.  Seriously!  Carry on but it’s the upcoming generations I feel sorry for; the children of the future.  They have no hope.  Devoid of traditional role models, labels are everywhere.  Never mind the individual, it’s all about inclusivity and laissez faire.  Two fathers, two mothers, gender neutral, answering only to the pronoun ‘they’ …  Stop the clocks!

A minefield.  Meanwhile, on similar lines, the opportunity to personalise my own sticker popped up on my phone the other day.  Sitting in my car, I thought, why not?  So, choose hair, colour, eyes etc, etc and job done.  Wrong!  I was there for hours as the options unfolded …  Eyebrow piercing, nose piercing, tongue piercing and the rest.  Seriously?!  I thought freckles were pushing it!

23rd February, 2020

Easy as Do Re Mi …

Driving along – how else does one drive?! – last Monday, I was listening to Steve Wright on Radio 2 when one of the factoids hit home.  In truth, it was hardly a surprise but that makes it no less depressing.  See what you think.

Approximately one third of people in the UK have written nothing by hand in the last six months!

No words.  Actually, I have plenty but I just don’t know where to start.  Is this what we are faced with, a world of illiterate clones entirely dependent on the microchip?  The joy of reading is all but lost, now.  Social media has ensured its demise with Facebook, Instagram and Twitter allowing no time for respite; the invaluable escapism offered in the pages of a book; another world.

There will always be a necessity to read – by some means – but I am more worried about the fragility of handwriting.  Justifiably so, according to the factoid.  Typing this on my laptop, the hypocrisy seems blatant.  Yes, the ease lies in the ability to delete, to save and to print – given – and even I rarely reach for a dictionary any more but I love to write by hand.  Always have.  Always will.  Few can read my writing but no matter.  It is mine!

Back to the loss of anything pertaining to the individual …  Once upon a time – sadly, appropriate – the ability to read and write was all-important.  Letters were the building blocks for children and the key to it all.  Not anymore.  Now potties come with slots for ipads and babies are digitally programmed before they are weaned.  What need is there to learn the art of handwriting?  Manners are no longer offered and, thus, the ‘thank you’ letter is obsolete.  Far easier to send an impersonal email.  In fact, the invitation is all but dead, too.  No handwritten envelopes or cards denoting beautiful script.  Instead, check your inbox!  Nobody writes diaries or notes – it’s all on their phones.  Excepting in my case.  I do both!  Always have.  Always will.  I still write letters, too – and shall never tire of the thrill of receiving one in return.  I have the most special friend, Ginny, who is, quite simply, amazing!  Her energy, selflessness, talent and huge heart know no bounds.  Now in her late eighties, I wrote to her over thirty years ago and, not only did she carry my letter in her handbag, but she sent a personal one in reply and we have been friends ever since.  She has the most wonderful handwriting, totally ‘Ginny’; totally unique.  Suffice to say, I have kept every one of her letters and cards and they are among my most treasured possessions.

Do you know, seeing 1917, last week, renewed my determination to visit the Imperial War Museum in London.  It is something, I believe, which should be compulsory for all and I am ashamed to admit I have not yet been.  One thing I do know, however, is that handwritten letters are amongst some of the most treasured and poignant exhibits.  A lifeline for both soldiers and their families in World Wars I & II, what is the equivalent today?  An impersonal, printed email?  Worthy of neither a glass cabinet nor longevity.

23rd February, 2020

The BAFTAs, The Oscars … been and gone for another year leaving little more than the memory of the frocks!  Both huge events in the entertainment calendar, some of the hideous/ridiculous creations never cease to amaze me.  A budget to die for, the importance a given, yet so many get it so wrong.  Take Saiorse Ronan’s peplum Gucci gown – why the lampshade round her waist?  Few have learnt from the innate elegance of the past epitomised by Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly.  Simple, understated and oozing class, is it so hard?  Perhaps it all comes down to confidence.  Those who choose to wear the ridiculous in a bid to be noticed try too hard, lacking the self-assurance and experience of those who have no need to do so.  Renee Zellweger deservedly won the Academy Award for Best Actress following her portrayal of the legendary Judy Garland in the biopic of her final weeks, Judy.  A superb film, the costumes were stunning and Renee could not have chosen a dress more fitting to accept her award.  The candy pink Prada column gown was perfection.  So elegant, so simple and so of that era when ladies delighted in their own femininity and, in turn, the appreciation of gentlemen which it demanded … halcyon days when manners and etiquette were a given.

Fast forward more than sixty years and confusion abounds reflected in every sphere of life.  The fashion industry seems to herald those who have a name rather than a talent.  Victoria Beckham?  Is it just me?  Her clothes – I hesitate to call them designs – alternate between the deadly dull and the utterly ridiculous.  She seems to have a fixation for the over-sized, over-long, over-everything!  Perhaps she’s just allowing for growth.  Anyway, those willing to pay the price do so in more ways than one.

Similarly – though in another league – is Stella McCartney.  Now, I was a huge fan of her mother, who can be given much of the credit for my being a vegetarian, but Stella and her clothes – seriously?!  While I applaud her ethics, her designs are, for the most part, questionable.  I was reminded of this when I saw a photograph of the actress, Olivia Colman, on the Red Carpet at the Oscars.  Her dress, courtesy of Sir Paul’s daughter, was of midnight blue velvet – if you didn’t see it, google it.  Simple enough, save an unnecessary cape, it was the sleeves!  With two ridiculous cut-outs just below the shoulders, the design was totally incongruous.  It looked as though she had walked through a narrow doorway and caught both arms in the process or, failing that, the seamstress was an Origami addict!

So it is that Stella, through no fault of her own – or her talent – is fêted in the world of fashion.   I suggest that those lured by the name, however, would be well advised to make an early appointment at Specsavers!

6th February, 2020

‘Failed to meet the standards required.’  That is the quote attributed to the Scottish First Minister, Nicola Sturgeon, in response to the revelation that her Finance Secretary, Derek Mackay, had – for the last six months – been sending inappropriate messages to a sixteen year-old boy he had never met.

He ‘conducted himself in a manner unbecoming’ – Prince Andrew’s description of Jeffrey Epstein’s behaviour.

Both subject to damage limitation with no heed to morality.  Ego and cowardice.  Condemn as applicable …

6th February, 2020

Tracy Brabin, Labour MP, House of Commons, Tuesday, 4th February 2020.

I’m not sure where to begin!  Was it a statement?  Was it a dare?  Was it stupidity or just downright ignorance?  Who, in her right mind, would think an off-the-shoulder ‘number’ appropriate to these surroundings?  This is her job, for goodness sake, and, apparently, she was content to dress for a night out with the intent of debating serious issues.

The subject of a huge backlash on social media, she said people should ‘listen to what we say not what we wear.’  Personally, I would find it hard to listen to what I wear but …  Surely, it’s a given that one should dress demurely if one wishes one’s audience to focus on one’s point?  From what I can see from the photographs, Ms Brabin’s fellow MPs had every reason to be focused on how much they were about to see as she leant forward!

Of course, there are the inevitable retorts of sexism but this has nothing to do with sexism.  Instead, it is justifiable criticism of an MP who was dressed totally inappropriately given her job and surroundings.  Nobody listened to what she had to say – she, alone, made sure of that.  Respect?  Only she who shows respect is deserving of it.

Meantime, Boris is at home debating which t-shirt and short combo he should wear to ‘give weight to’ his comment on the latest SNP embarrassment?   They say black suits all …

4th February, 2020

Just remember to always look up – or not!  Ben Fogle is mid-way through his tour entitled ‘Tales from the Wilderness’.  The live version of his 2018 book, Up: My Life’s Journey To The Top of Everest, he is on stage for almost two hours as he delivers a very personal account of his life and his bid to exorcise the expectation of failure he came to accept growing up – regardless of an idyllic childhood.  A superb raconteur – although laying claim to incredible shyness – he is inspirational and his words are further brought to life by the accompanying stills and film footage on the big screen behind him.

Superbly put together, the introduction is a dramatic montage of his amazing adventures and achievements accompanied by music evocative of the danger he faced.  It is, most definitely, demanding of attention and, particularly, that of those who have chosen to come and listen to this fascinating guy on a Sunday evening …  I had seen him before in Glasgow – almost a year ago in March – when, a huge fan of New Lives in the Wild, I had bought two tickets for Manny’s Birthday. He was in London and missed it but Ben’s story is tailor-made for him and I desperately wanted him to see it – so it was, a year later, I got my wish and he loved it!

Seriously?!  You may question why Ben is on this page?  Not for long …  Seated in plenty of time, I was so looking forward to Manny’s reaction with so much for him to glean from Ben’s attitude to life as, meanwhile, we got up and down to let people into their seats.  Always a study, they were an eclectic mix – many sporting fleeces, shall we say – and the couple in front of us had adhered to the ‘dress code’.  Relevant?  Not really but I assumed they were ardent fans.

7.30pm, lights down as the dramatic film montage and accompanying music struck the mood in preparation for Ben’s arrival on stage.  The anticipation was palpable but …  Hang on!  I forgot to ‘check in’ on Facebook!  No, not me, the woman in front who looked like she’d just been up Arthur’s Seat!  It was Manny who pointed it out to me as she proceeded to miss the entire opening while she told everybody she was there!!  Seriously?!  So many words come to mind, and most I shouldn’t write, but allow me ignorant!  Disrespectful?  Embarrassing?  To add insult to injury, she spent the entire interval checking for ‘likes’ rather than sharing her thoughts with the person next to her!  What is wrong with these people?  Am I missing the on/off switch?!

The irony is glaring.  Always remember to look up.  Did Ben get through to her?  Not a chance in hell but, for those of us there to listen and engage – affording this guy the respect he has more than earned – he was truly inspirational.

Meanwhile, I think he thinks I am stalking him …

28th January, 2020

Just call me ‘Michael‘!  I happen to really like the name ‘Michael’ but it’s not mine!  Seemingly, however, that doesn’t matter to Aviva, the insurance company where everybody knows your name – if it’s Michael!  So much fun to be had with this …  It was only brought to my attention on the lunchtime news whilst driving home and listening to Jeremy Vine (nothing wrong with setting the scene …).

Anyway, thanks to a ‘temporary technical error’, several thousand customers were sent emails wrongly addressed to ‘Michael’.  Promptly followed by an apology from Aviva and the assurance that no personal data was compromised, it, nevertheless, does make one think.  In this digital age – and on the brink of replacing ourselves with robots – will one’s name be of any note in the years to come?  Cloned and devoid of character – let alone gender – we might as well all become a bunch of ‘Michael’s.  I mean, it could be worse.  Fast forward to Planet of the Robots and the name of choice might be ‘Nigel’!  I rest my case.

28th January, 2020

Bring Back The Bush: Where Did Our Pubic Hair Go? Yes, it, actually, does say that! It was a scheduled programme on Channel 4 last night (27/1/20) at 10pm. How do I know that? Did I watch it? Are you kidding?! Channel-hopping. Do so at one’s own risk, apparently! I’m not sure what to say, here, except that the depths to which television has stooped are nothing short of the dregs – as Pop would say. To think that the Queen’s English once emanated from that box in the corner – now, most commonly, a cinema screen the size of an entire wall rendering void the need for wallpaper – and one was bid ‘Goodnight’ at Midnight by a Cary Grant/David Niven-esque announcer before the National Anthem marked the end of transmission … Ah, the days of gentlemen and ladies, when English was a recognisable language and manners were expected. When humour required talent rather than four-letter words and families gathered round the television, together, content in the knowledge that the entertainment was for all. What happened?

We, now, pay for a plethora of channels, most showing utter garbage. Evening slots are dominated, nightly, by seedy, depressing soaps which would drive even the most balanced to drink! Most, six episodes per week, no wonder there is only time to order a take-away in the bid to keep up …

Thank goodness for the likes of Ben Fogle: New Lives In The Wild, the too few but unrivalled travelogues of both Michael Palin and Joanna Lumley, Jeremy Clarkson’s Who Wants to be a Millionaire? (worthy!) and numerous repeats of old classics from the era when television reflected life – wholesome, gentle, balanced. There was an unspoken pride. Nail on head! That was then and this is now. Like it or not, life, today, is geared to the lowest common denominator and nobody is permitted to complain – oh, excepting the minority! In a world in which ‘privilege’ is a swear word and education replaced by ignorance, it is no wonder programmes such as Naked Attraction and Bring Back The Bush exist. On the bright side, we can’t sink any lower … surely?

13th January, 2020

I remember how infuriated I was in the lead up to the ‘once in a generation’ Scottish Independence Referendum of 2014.  Granted, the very idea infuriated me but, on repeated occasions affording the opportunity for questions, nobody broached one very relevant subject: free university tuition fees for Scottish students, introduced by the SNP government in 2008.

First Minister, Nicola Sturgeon, is happy to cite the flagship policy as evidence of Scotland’s innovative, generous government but, in practice, it is nothing more than a clever deception, affordable only because said government imposes a cap on the number of places held for Scottish students!  Who knew?  Well, those who have been denied a place at the university of their choice as a result – my son, for one.  Eventually managing to secure an appointment with the Admissions Officer at Edinburgh University, he was blatantly told that there were places available on the course of his choice but they were, specifically, for fee-paying students.  What’s more, she went on to say that the University had an ‘arrangement’ with China!  Supporting one’s own.  Way to go!

How has Nicola Sturgeon succeeded in, seemingly, avoiding any meaningful backlash in this regard thus far?  Baffling.  So it was that I could hardly contain my delight at seeing Simon Johnson’s piece in The Daily Telegraph (13/1/20), ‘Scots ‘squeezed out’ of places at university’.

A few facts (and quotes) from said article: latest figures from UCAS, the university admissions body, show only 55% of applications from Scotland resulted in an offer of a place compared to an offer rate of 74% for fee-paying students from the rest of the UK and 65% for those from elsewhere in the EU. (The Sunday Times also disclosed that offer rates for Scots have fallen from 70% in 2008.)

14,200 Scottish applicants failed to gain a place last year, equivalent to almost 3 out of 10 – according to UCAS, a total around 60% higher than before the SNP brought in ‘free’ tuition!  Blamed on the cap not keeping pace with the demand for places, it is reported that the proportion of Scottish students north of the Border – across the board – has fallen from 75% in 2006 to 65%.

‘Overall, Scots make up only 44% of new entrants to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Aberdeen and St Andrews.’

Seriously?!  Difficult to argue figures and, in the week in which Boris has issued an emphatic ‘No’ to ‘Indyref2’, it would seem this flagship policy has been exposed in all its glory – or maybe not!

15th October, 2019

I entitled this post, Margo, which would be lost on all but the very few but, suffice to say, we had the most horrendous neighbour of that name and she always reminded us of Nicola Sturgeon!  I know I should avoid politics – guaranteed to offend – but, a huge advocate of free speech, I feel compelled to vent.

Picking up yesterday’s Telegraph (14/10/19), one of the sub-headlines on the front page was the following: ‘SNP don’t rule out hard border.’  The First Minister (how did that happen?) has admitted that a hard border between Scotland and England may be the necessary price to pay for Scottish independence – apparently not her fault, of course!  Threatening an imminent request for a second referendum within the next few weeks, speaking to the BBC’s Andrew Marr at the SNP conference in Aberdeen, ‘she also re-iterated that her MPs will reject any deal Boris Johnson brings back from Brussels …’. (Simon Johnson)  Intelligent?  Mature?  Neither.  Just deliberately difficult.  Meanwhile, the irony is the herd of elephant in the room …

This country (United Kingdom) has been in utter turmoil for more than three years, unable to reach a Brexit agreement because of the problem regarding the Irish backstop: the endeavour to insure against a hard border between Ireland and Northern Ireland.  However, Nicola Sturgeon is – and always has been – singing to her own tune and she cares not a jot that her current quest for independence – of course, rooted in EU membership – would, at this point, demand exactly such a border between Scotland and England.  Hellbent on her place in history, she saw in Brexit the perfect excuse for a second referendum, regardless.  Has she such an allegiance to Brussels?  Is there any guarantee that the EU would even want, or welcome, an independent Scotland?  Irrelevant.  All that matters is that she plays to the grievances of the masses, feigning empathy long enough to achieve her egotistical goal.  Chapter Two: Tragic Consequences.  Nicola’s Way.  Chapter Three?  Exodus.

5th October, 2019

I was convinced I uploaded this post yesterday but …  apparently not.  Memory.  Tricks.  Don’t mention Birthdays …  Anyway, suffice to say, my observations were worthy of the notebook as I drove into town last Saturday on a beautiful, autumn morning.  The pavements were alive with robots!  Well, not quite but the sea of students in gym gear, all ‘plugged in’, looking down, isolated and detached, struck me.  What is wrong with this world?  St Andrews is home to the famous West Sands, a stunning beach.  Stretching for miles, it is unspoilt, largely unpeopled and clean.  Nature’s own playground, it is perfect for walking, running, riding … exercise of the traditional kind in the fresh air!  Why is it, therefore, that the default, today, is to frequent a sweaty, germ-infested gym, choosing a mindless treadmill alongside all the other sheep?  Therein lies the answer: sheep.  The overwhelming need to do what everybody else is doing; to run with the crowd.  God forbid!  Take a look around.  See!  Unplug and, ironically, reconnect.

3rd October, 2019

Driving in the dark.  Should I burst into song?!  No, seriously, car headlights!  What is going on?  Licence to blind or what?  Never a fan of driving at night, now it’s a bit like Russian roulette – a hit or a miss.  How is anybody supposed to see the road ahead when the oncoming traffic has headlights worthy of the Gestapo?!  Totally blinding and that’s when dipped.  Fine on a motorway but what of winding country roads?  Of course, silly me, it’s all down to memory,  Thankfully, I know the roads round here like the back of my hand but, then, can the same be said of the person coming the other way?  Help!

Anyway, point made.  Anybody listening?  Somehow I think most would be in agreement.  Just another example of the lunacy that is life today.  Who is in charge?  Please get me the Manager!

19th September, 2019

Incensed.  To accuse Justin Trudeau of racism because someone has dug out ‘incriminating’ photographs of him at a private party in 2001 – 18 years ago – is nothing short of pathetic! It was a fancy dress party, the theme of which was Arabian nights, for goodness sake.  He went as Aladdin; Aladdin who has dark skin and wears a turban. Fact.  In what way does that make him racist?!  There are so many undercurrents, here, it is scary and the speed at which the piranhas have gathered, telling.  What is wrong with this world?  Political correctness is the invisible dictator and that which incites.  Poised to attack, the majority buckle and conform, brains dis-engaged.  Were that not the case, perhaps the real agenda would be exposed and the venomous minority would be deprived of their anonymity. In other words, stop!  Think twice – or even once would suffice.  Justin Trudeau is not a racist.  He attended a private fancy dress party 18 years ago and went in costume, as per the invitation.  The character he chose was of dark skin.  Guilty.

The human race is both multi-cultural and multi-coloured and the world, today, is much more inclusive.  People are black.  People are brown.  People are white.  Fact. Stopping short of banning all costume parties and dressing up boxes for fear of offending, think about it.  The real racist is not Justin Trudeau but he who accused him of being so; he of that mindset.  Most would not bat an eyelid were it not for those politically correct extremists who incite trouble where there is none.  To quote a good friend, ‘If your mind is dark, you can never see light.’  (Okey, Rome, 22/10/18)

Further incensed, tonight, by The Cameron Years (BBC One, 9pm).  To be continued in this coming Sunday’s blog post …

18th September, 2019

Does anyone else have a postman who drives his little red van from door-to-door?  Seriously?  I’ve watched ours as he gets in and out and drives a matter of feet, in some cases, to the next house!  Apparently, he’s in the pub by lunchtime.  Life and sussed come to mind: minimum input, maximum enjoyment.  Inclined to mock; deserving of envy.  Just thought I’d share …

15th September, 2019

I pressed the Red Button on the television, yesterday, whilst writing my blog and I am so glad I did. Thoroughly enjoyed the live coverage of BBC 2’s Festival In A Day and Status Quo were absolutely superb!  However, inevitably, I found fodder for this page …

An eternal bugbear of mine: those that sit on shoulders, loving themselves, at concerts.  Unbelievably selfish.  No thought for the people behind who, too, paid for their tickets and have the right to see the stage rather than someone else’s back.  Thing is, in today’s society, everybody is afraid to say boo, unsure of the repercussions: a mouthful of abuse, at the very least, or worse. Anybody who is devoid of manners or any consideration for others is unlikely to be apologetic.  However, that is exactly why they do it – because they can!

Not a fan of the Pet Shop Boys, I really wasn’t concentrating by the time they came on. Headlining, apparently.  I was aware, however, of the multi-coloured balloons and multitude of inflatable, multi-coloured fat suits on stage with them; moreover, with stockings over their heads to conceal their identities. Sinister.  Then, it dawned on me.  Multi-coloured? No identity?  Gender fluid! Or maybe gender neutral?  Confused?  You will be!  My reaction?  Too much. Unnecessary.  As with Brexit – tired of it all.  Switched off.  Why couldn’t the Pet Shop Boys just let their music do the talking?  Rhetorical?    Status Quo and Westlife knocked them out of the park relying on talent alone.

12th September, 2019

Did anyone see Seahorse:The Dad Who Gave Birth on BBC 2 on Tuesday night (10/9/19)?  We caught it while channel-hopping and I have to say, it was gripping – for all the wrong reasons; utter disbelief being the most notable.  Making notes, I was going to devote my blog to my thoughts and reaction to said documentary but the very subject matter is a minefield.  Don’t go near quicksand if you know it is there!  So, a synopsis …

It was a film which followed Freddy McConnell – a gay, transgender man – in his determined quest to carry his own baby.  Obviously still wrestling with his demons, though believing that his true self was always male, he originally decided to co-parent with his friend and occasional partner, a fellow transgender man. (I need to pause, here, after reading an article in Tuesday’s Telegraph (10th), online, courtesy of Sarah Hughes.  Apparently, Freddy’s transgender friend/partner, CJ, liked to be known by the plural pronouns, ‘they/their’.  Thus, CJ changed their mind.)  Seriously?

Suffice to say, Freddy became pregnant using a sperm donor and the film charted his progress up to – and including – the birth of his … son.  Oh, help!  How is that child ever going to cope?  Imagine having to explain that his Dad – because that’s what Freddy wants to be called – used to be a girl, transitioned into a male, wanted to have a baby, used a sperm donor and voilà!  Now, the slant of the film was very much from Freddy’s prospective and very much sympathetic. Freddy wants so Freddy shall have.  Not a thought for the poor baby with no biological father and a birth mother for a Dad! Yes, by all means, sympathise with Freddy being born in the wrong body with all the soul-searching and problems he has had to face but that is nothing in comparison to what his son will have to endure.  Completely and utterly selfish!  Why create another life?  In his quest for unconditional love, why didn’t he adopt a baby who needed his?  Freddy’s mother was totally supportive and tearful as she declared her son brave.  What was she thinking?  She will have to live with the part she played.  Meanwhile, that little baby boy – her grandson – will need all the courage he can muster in life.

11th September, 2019

Just a quick question – or two!  Are there no universities in America?!  Are there any Scottish students at St Andrews?  Seriously?  William and Kate have so much to answer for!  Too many exclamation marks …?

9th September, 2019

Perhaps I should be gagged when it comes to slamming social media – the word hypocrite comes to mind.  I detest it for so many reasons – many of which I frequently state – but I do use it and, let’s face it, there is little choice in today’s climate.  So, hypocrite, I am.  I don’t like it but I’ll take it!  That being so … help me understand this:  why does anyone find it necessary to post on Facebook one’s wedding anniversary?  An achievement it may be and feel free to gush forth about the attributes of one’s husband or wife but, surely, said gushing is for your other half alone – in private!  Why does anyone else need to be party to it?  Do one’s friends need to know she/he is an incredible mother/father or that she/he has been one’s rock?  I’m sure they know.  What happened to a card?  Silly me, that might involve writing or even buying a stamp.  Or maybe, not – I am forgetting that website of the hideous name!  Enough.  Rant I might but, then, is it any different to the old-fashioned request on the radio?  What of Steve Wright’s Sunday Love Songs?  Guess what, I love the music but the dedications are, quite frankly, bucket-worthy! Just me?

5th June, 2019

The invasion of the Dog Walkers! There was a time when one needed a licence to own a dog. Now one is merely required to pay a small fortune for someone else to walk one’s ‘best friend’ – preferably driving a white van! Seriously? Why have a dog if one is unable to look after it oneself? Of course, there are those whose circumstances change but to most, now, a dog walker is just another household direct debit in ‘status symbol land’ (Pleasant Valley Sunday, The Monkees.)

Of late, a huge white van arrives daily to collect the daschund next door before, regularly, ringing the doorbell across the road (the driver, that is) to be handed the dog and lead by the owner of said dog who cannot be bothered to take it for a walk. Far better that someone is paid to exercise one’s pet, en masse, ensuring the pack mentality is alive and well and said pooch can then be ignored for the rest of the day unless someone drops round requiring of a display of feigned affection. God forbid, one has to open the cage! What is wrong with this world?

4th June, 2019

Other drivers! Isn’t it strange how the car seems to fit the driver? Then there’s the things dangling from the mirror … why? The minute I pull out, it’s the same old story testing patience, endurance, my ‘secret’ grasp of expletives and, ultimately, forcing an acceptance that not only is chivalry dead and buried but manners – the very concept is alien to most fellow road users. Perhaps a few examples: the one who drives at a snail’s pace in the outside lane – a full ‘shop’ dangling from the mirror – who then sees the lights change to red up ahead and all but grinds to a halt leaving space for the Titanic! His ‘cousin’ who, in a queue of traffic, leaves space for a juggernaut between himself and the car in front … Not forgetting the rest of his ‘family’ who, when kindly let in or flashed to go, never say ‘thank you’! What happened to lifting one’s hand in acknowledgement? Don’t be ridiculous, that would involve effort. Just press a button. Then there’s the battle of wills scenario when two lanes merge into one – great design – and the boy racer on the left, requiring a booster seat to see over the steering wheel, is hell-bent on proving his manhood. Easier to take the bus? Now that presents a whole lot of other problems!

24th April, 2019

Does it really require two people? Shopping, that is. Whether it be in the supermarket or shopping for clothes, couples are everywhere and there is nothing worse than the sight of a hen-pecked husband or boyfriend trailing around after his other half, seriously! If nothing else, they are just unnecessary bodies in a confined space … A long-time bugbear, I might add. Marks & Spencer is the worst. Twee in the extreme, there they are on a Saturday afternoon obediently feigning interest or pushing the trolley with the ‘incentive’ of a coffee and a cake in the café afterwards with all the other clones. I just hope they remember to take the required pill or they may malfunction! Scary or what? Makes me feel positively claustrophobic … but they seem happy.

2nd April, 2019

Am I the only person left who cannot stand multi-coloured bunches of flowers? It would seem that the whole world wants nothing more than a glorified bouquet of ‘garage’ blooms incorporating every colour available. This week, I couldn’t find one single bunch of white tulips in Marks, instead faced with bucket loads of purple, pink and yellow ones wrapped up together – as if they even go! No sign, either, of my long-stemmed cream lilies so … That’s today’s supermarket shopping for you – not a place for the minority. Nothing for it but to go and live on a small holding with everything ‘organic and handmade’ (quote from legal archives!).

23rd March, 2019

Marks & Spencer. What can I say? In an attempt to be brief, order over the phone at one’s own risk! In an act of kindness, I decided to purchase a pair of boots for Becca and placed an order with the lovely Emily. Something simple seemed to take forever of course and, complaining of a computer malfunction, she had to phone me back. Eventually, purchase of one pair of boots complete. Well, yes, but she had taken it upon herself to order another two pairs just in case there was a problem! I received an email notifying me that £135 had been taken from my account – but, not to worry, Marks & Spencer had refunded me £90. Good old Marks & Spencer! The fact that the refund would take 3-5 working days to go back into my account … my direct debit account. Spending time I shall never get back on the phone in utter rage, I was told that this had never happened before and they had no provision whatsoever for transferring the £90 straight back into my account. Be warned. I, for one, shall never order from said shop again.

24th February, 2019

What of Meghan Markle’s extravagant Baby Shower in New York this week? Private jet to New York and staying in suites costing £45,000 a night? Let’s look at those involved: my favourite, Serena ‘Tantrum’ Williams and prominent Human Rights Lawyer, Amal Clooney to name but two. Great to see they’re all saving the planet and watching the carbon footprint about which they so fervently preach. Well perhaps not Serena who is too busy harping on about women’s rights whilst designing her outfit for her next match. What of the homeless and human rights? Don’t be ridiculous! Seemingly select amnesia goes hand-in-hand with obscene wealth and charity most definitely begins at home. Personally, I think Amal Clooney should hang her intelligent head – yet again!

15th February, 2019

I was watching Graham Norton tonight when he introduced Calvin Harris and Rag ‘n’ Bone Man (refrain!) in the music segment near the end of the show. Graham Norton attracts big names who seem happy to perform live, solo or with band, full stop. No back drops, no light fests, the focus is the song. Not in the case of Calvin Harris and ‘Steptoe’! One stood at the back ‘mixing’ (??) while the other sang, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that he was surrounded by a holocaust of dead Christmas trees! Being that it’s still February, could it be that there is a connection between the discarded trees and Rag ‘n’ Bone Man? I know the collection of rubbish leaves much to be desired these days but … Why, though? What was the point? Just think of the effort, the expense and the whole thing just looked ridiculous adding nothing to the song, Giant. Perhaps I am missing something? Perhaps not. I did, however, watch closely to see how they were going to climb out of this dead forest to make it over to the couch. Seriously?