At home with Keith page 1

Changes to the Blogger FTP services

2010-02-14T03:00:00.000-08:00

I received this in an email from Blogger; it's genuine, I have checked.

"You are receiving this e-mail because one or more of your blogs at Blogger.com are set up to publish via FTP. We recently announced a planned shut-down of FTP support on Blogger Buzz (the official Blogger blog), and wanted to make sure you saw the announcement. We will be following up with more information via e-mail in the weeks ahead, and regularly updating a blog dedicated to this service shut-down here: http://blogger-ftp.blogspot.com/."

I use FTP for my this blogpage at http://earlshilton.org.uk/blogger.html (my own domain). This comes as a bit of a surprise because I am currently re-designing thisblog. That idea is now gone out of the window!

The full text of the announcement at Blogger Buzz follows:

"Last May, we discussed a number of challenges facing[1] Blogger users who relied on FTP to publish their blogs. FTP remains a significant drain on our ability to improve Blogger: only .5% of active blogs are published via FTP — yet the percentage of our engineering resources devoted to supporting FTP vastly exceeds that. On top of this, critical infrastructure that our FTP support relies on at Google will soon become unavailable, which would require that we completely rewrite the code that handles our FTP processing.

Three years ago we launched Custom Domains[2] to give users the simplicity of Blogger, the scalability of Google hosting, and the flexibility of hosting your blog at your own URL. Last year's post discussed the advantages of custom domains over FTP[3] and addressed a number of reasons users have continued to use FTP publishing. (If you're interested in reading more about Custom Domains, our Help Center has a good overview[4] of how to use them on your blog.) In evaluating the investment needed to continue supporting FTP, we have decided that we could not justify diverting further engineering resources away from building new features for all users.

For that reason, we are announcing today that we will no longer support FTP publishing in Blogger after March 26, 2010. We realize that this will not necessarily be welcome news for some users, and we are committed to making the transition as seamless as possible. To that end:

o We are building a migration tool that will walk users through a migration from their current URL to a Blogger-managed URL (either a Custom Domain or a Blogspot URL) that will be available to all users the week of February 22. This tool will handle redirecting traffic from the old URL to the new URL, and will handle the vast majority of situations.
o We will be providing a dedicated blog[5] and help documentation
o Blogger team members will also be available to answer questions on the forum, comments on the blog, and in a few scheduled conference calls once the tool is released.

We have a number of big releases planned in 2010. While we recognize that this decision will frustrate some users, we look forward to showing you the many great things on the way. Thanks for using Blogger."

I won't bore you with all the details suffice to say that they have given all FTP users just two months to initiate the change which for me with my currently level of work is not practical.

I'm abandoning this blog as of now and I shall be actively searching for a new host. At the moment Wordpress is favourite, but how long will that last is the question? I originally blogged with Geocities.com (now gone!), then Yahoo (blog service shutdown}, then I went to MeOnLine (that disappeared without warning) and finally to Blogger FTP.

More old pictures

2010-01-11T07:55:00.000-08:00

After seeing the Sepia Saturday posts of my mother and the Twycross school pictures a cousin, Brenda, on my fathers side emailed me two old pictures of our great-grandfather that I didn't know existed.

Rather than wait another two weeks to show you I thought I would put them up now. The quality is good considering their age. I don't think I could improve them in Photoshop so I'll post them as I received them. Click the pictures to see a larger version.

The first on shows my grandfather sitting between the steps and the wheel of the vardo (gypsy caravan). My great-grandfather is sitting at the entrance to the 'bender' (a makeshift tent that the Romani used to cook and eat in). My grandfathers brother, Dick, is on the right of the picture, next to great-grandad.

We cannot trace our family back any earlier that this photo because the Romani didn't register births, deaths or marriages in the old days.

The second picture shows great-grandad years later when he obvious went on a trip to the seaside! We do know that he lived to be 94 which was a great age in those days. Apparently then gypsies lived longer than their 'townie' counterparts because of their diet of mainly fruit, veg, nuts and berries. Surprisingly they ate very little meat, well except for the odd hedgehog now and then. Perhaps we should learn from that and cut out burgers and fatty meats! (Do McDonalds do hedgehog-burgers?)

My great-grandfather was a bare fist prize fighter known on the circuit as 'Brandy Joe Smith' because of his love of French Brandy. In his younger days he took the caravan and the family around all the country fairs in the south of England, and after setting up his tent he would challenge all-comers to a boxing match at 2/6d a time and the winner took the 5 shilling bet. Apparently he was quite good, so he must have made quite a bit of money!

Brandy Joe's son, my grandfather, met the love of his life when he was 21, but she was a 'gadjo' (a non-Romany) and her name was Maud Elsie Worthy. They met at one of the country fairs in the New Forest where he was trading horses and ponies. She was rather keen on buying a New Forest pony that he and trained. After a long courtship he asked her to marry him. She said she would if he gave up the travelling life and settled down in a house and got a proper job. He agreed and they married and had twelve children, ten boys and two girls. My father, also named Joe, was the second eldest. Like all good love stories, they lived happily ever after; I think.

Sepia Saturday

2010-01-08T15:50:00.000-08:00

Clic the pic to enlarge
This weeks picture is of all the children who attended Twycross Village School in Leicestershire in 1922. I can't name all the pupils, just my mother, and her three sisters and one of her brothers.

My mother, Mary, is on the back row 2nd from the right. Standing on her left at the end is Harry who died seven years after the picture was taken. In the middle row are Dorothy, Irene and Jessie who are 6th, 7th, and 8th from the left. If you look at last weeks "Sepia Saturday" which was taken six years later (I have been informed by a cousin, Dorthy's daughter) you will see that Robert was obvious too young to have been in the school photo, probably he wasn't even born then.

I do have the original. As you can see it is badly creased and torn and is held together with Sellotape in places. One of these days I intend to process it with Photoshop and try to get the image looking a bit better.

Next week I will post a photo of my grandmothers wedding group taken on 19th April 1911 outside "Croft House", the Henton family mansion, now sadly demolished in the name of progress. The original photo is in a terrible condition and I've been working on it this week and it now looks like it was taken yesterday.

Snowed in?

2010-01-05T13:22:00.000-08:00

What a load of wimps this present generation are! We had a light dusting of snow last night and this morning which reached the impressive depth of 1.4 inches, I know because I have just measured it. I know a lot of you have had it really bad, but south Leicestershire always seems to get away with a light fall of snow.

The news on the local radio station said that there had been numerous accidents in the area and several roads are blocked by snow. How? The picture shows my road, which is a little used side road, as completely clear with no problems, so the main roads around here must be clear of snow.

A further announcement on the radio gave a list of local schools that are "closed for the duration because of the bad weather". So the ever enthusiastic teachers and staff are having yet another day off with pay and the children, for whom the authorities decided it was too dangerous and cold for them to trudge 500 yards through the snow to school, are now out playing in it! My neighbour said she wasn't going to work because her car is "buried under the snow" (see top pic) "but it doesn't matter because I get paid whether I am there or not" she said.

Here is my "When I was a lad. . . " bit. Stand up the person who just groaned!

I remember the winter of 1947 when we had some real snow, several feet of it actually. If you want to see more pics then Google "Winter 1947".

I was 10 years old at the time and my school was just under 2 miles away, which is a long way for little legs to walk, even in good weather. School buses? They were a thing of the future. I do remember trudging through the snow with my friends because our school never closed. When we got there wet through and cold we had to dry out by the pot-bellied coke stove in the middle of the classroom. No central heating then. By late afternoon our clothes were dry enough to start the long trek homeward in the dark and cold. Amazingly we all survived. I think that winter hardened us for life.

If we got stuck in a snowdrift or had some sort of an accident there was no way we could alert anyone because; and this will amaze the younger generation, we did NOT have mobile phones!

Our parents never took us to school or picked us up after, we were left to work out our own salvation. Pædophiles and child molesters didn't seem to exist then, but if one did try anything we were all armed to the teeth, with pellet guns, catapults and our scout sheath knives.

Dealing withText Messagers

2010-01-04T13:17:00.000-08:00

It seems to be common practice nowadays for people to reach into their pocket or handbag during a conversation and take out their mobile phone.

While half-listening to their companion, this miscreant will read any text messages recently arrived in their inbox, sometimes even composing a reply. This is distinctly rude, and I suggest the following reposte.

In mid-conversation reach into your pocket or bag and pull out a slim volume of poetry, and proceed to read a verse or two in complete silence. Then gently place your book back into your pocket, or bag, and turn to your companion with "Excuse me. You were saying?"

Further exasperate your companion by taking out a little notebook and composing a line or two of verse yourself, heightening the effect by gazing skywards and licking the tip of your pencil.

If this doesn't work then you have no recourse but to gently take their mobile phone, and with a swift movement of your arm, throw it under a passing bus.

Sepia Saturday

2010-01-02T07:52:00.000-08:00

This week my contribution is an early picture of my mother and her brothers and sisters. I'm not sure when the photo was taken, but I do know it was before 1929.
The reason I know that is because the boy on the left at the back died from poliomyelitis in 1929.

From left to right at the back is Harry, Mary (my mother), and Jessica. At the front is Dorothy, Robert, and Irene. The picture is a copy of the original, and that's the reason it's cut at off at the side and bottom.

I don't know where the original is. The photo was taken on my grandparents farm at Twycross in Leicestershire.

The farm has now disappeared and in it's place is a new housing estate called "The Oaks", which is ironic really because all the oak trees and hedgerows were cut down to make way for the houses and roads!

January Man

2010-01-01T12:26:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year to you all.

My daughter just sent me the words of a folk song which I think so very true. So here is my New Year post:

January Man
Dave Goulder
Oh the January man he walks abroad in woollen coat and boots of leather
The February man still wipes the snow from off his hair and blows his hand
The man of March he sees the Spring and wonders what the year will bring
And hopes for better weather

Through April rain the man goes down to watch the birds come in to share the summer
The man of May stands very still watching the children dance away the day
In June the man inside the man is young and wants to lend a hand
And grins at each new comer

And in July the man in cotton shirts he sits and thinks on being idle
The August man in thousands take the road and watch the sea and find the sun
September man is standing near to saddle up and lead the year
And Autumn is his bridle

The man of new October takes the reins and early frost is on his shoulder
The poor November man sees fire and wind and mist and rain and winter air
December man looks through the snow to let eleven brothers know
They're all a little older

And the January man comes round again in woollen coat and boots of leather
To take another turn and walk along the icy road he knows so well
The January man is here for starting each and every year
Along the way for ever

Hitler is alive. . . . . .

2009-11-07T06:54:00.001-08:00

. . .and well, and is now employed as a Car Park Attendant in our little town.

A few weeks ago one of my many friends said he was going into town to do some shopping and would I like to accompany him. I had some library books to change and I needed some bits and pieces myself so I said yes.

It wasn't a particularly busy day in town so there was oodles of room to park. Another reason there was plenty of room is the fact that the town is dying because of the greed of the local Council, (car parking charges recently increased) and the business rates on the shops also increased. Consequently as the shops are closing down (3 this week) people are now going to the nearby towns to shop. But I digress....

We parked the car, paid the exorbitant fee required, and displayed the ticket in the windscreen as ~~requested~~ ordered by the Council notice and made our way into town. After completing our business we went into a local hostelry for a beer and a bun.

Clic the pic to enlarge
We returned to the car with half an hour left on the ticket, but to our surprise there was a ticket on the windscreen stating that we had committed a "Violation"!

Our car is the red Peugeot in the centre of the picture. Apparently we had inadvertently parked with one wheel over the line of the parking bay and had picked up a £50 fine!

Clic the pic to enlarge
Sure enough when I looked closely at the notice board I could see quite clearly that we had committed a dastardly crime! If the car park had been full and we were preventing someone else from parking in the next bay I could understand it, but look at the car park . . . practically empty; so what did it matter if we had parked a bit over the line? This is bureaucracy gone mad! Haven't the peasants the Council employ got any brains and common sense? Perhaps they have their orders and must "obey at all times"

As you can imagine, we were hopping mad and set out to find this little jumped-up Hitler but he had vanished back into his bunker somewhere. If we had found him he would probably have said "It's more that my jobs worth mate".

My friend had to pay the £50 in the end. He tried to appeal against it, but to no avail. Guess which two people are not going shopping there ever again. In future it will be Leicester.

Microwave your brains!

2009-11-07T05:37:00.000-08:00

I just received this video from Sandy. If you think that your mobile is safe and all the rubbish about the "microwave radiation from them is harmless" the media keep telling us, then watch this:

This DIY "Make your own popcorn" video should convince you that they are dangerous. Next time you hold one against your head just think "I'm frying my brains. Great!"

What sort of damage are they doing to the children of to-day who use them continually, 24/7? It doesn't really matter about us old 'uns, our brains are curdled anyway!

Gun Crime

2009-11-02T02:07:00.000-08:00

The graph says it all.
Created from Home Office figures. The figures in the left hand column are per million of the population.

Just for Halloween

2009-10-31T12:53:00.000-07:00

Give us a treat, or else!

2009-10-28T04:00:00.000-07:00

Two years ago on the cold and windy night of October 31st my doorbell rang. . .and again. . .and again. . . So I dragged myself reluctantly away from the mucky video I was watching (about pig farming actually. Your minds!)

I opened the front door to be confronted by three girls of about 9 to 12 years old dressed in witches gear, and brandishing a broom and a BIG bucket. "Trick or treat?" one said.

Now, I had had a bad day. That morning my porridge was lumpy, I burnt the toast and my fingers. The goldfish turned belly up just as I was feeding the damn thing. I wouldn't have minded so much, but I had just bought a new tub of fishfood; jumbo size at that!

In the afternoon I was knitting myself a new balaclava ready for the winter when I realised I had missed several lines out from the pattern so I had to undo it and start again. The cat was sick on the bed (I think it was the goldfish I gave him for his tea).

Anyway enough of that; I think you get the picture that I wasn't very happy when the little ~~brats~~ girls confronted me demanding money with menaces. So I politely told them to "go away" in my best Anglo Saxon.

Later that evening I was settling down in front of the Hi-Fi with a bowl of gruel to listen to my LP of "War Songs of the Third Reich" when a god-almighty BANG shook the house. I dropped my bowl of scalding hot soup on the cat and he shot under the couch and shit on the lino.

Upon investigation I found that some person or persons unknown had put a bloody great firework through my letterbox. Luckily it was on the stone floor and the only damage appeared to be a scorch mark up the back of the door. Apart from the soup all over me, the cat, the carpet and the chair, and the cat crap under the couch, everything seemed OK.

This year I have screwed the letterbox flap down, put a bucket of washing up water on the windowsill above the front door ready, and installed an automatic sensor in the outside light (don't want to miss the fun do I?). Oh yes, and I bought myself a "The Boys Own DIY Minefield" kit. and if I catch them I can try out my "Junior Hangman Kit"!

Happy Halloween everybody peeps! Grumpy? Who? Me? Perish the thought.

N.B. Hover over the LP link before clicking.

Scratch cards

2009-10-24T16:16:00.000-07:00

Wendy here again. I really must relate this little story because I hope that anybody reading it will learn from it.

A good friend of mine opened up the local paper and out fell a scratch card. Now on the card it stated that if you scratched off the silver coating in the three boxes and the three emblems exposed matched, you "could" win up to £1,000,000, or other prizes of £100,000, £10,000, £1,000 etc., down to a £2 shopping voucher. You get the picture?

So, being a naive sort of a twit, she scratched off the foil and surprise, surprise she had three matching emblems in the shape of bats (the flying sort, not the cricket sort). She read the instructions on the back of the ticket which instructed her to ring a phone number; that just happened to be a 0960 number (£1.50 per minute), to get her 'claim' number. She was on the phone for 7 mins waiting for an available operator. When she finally got the number she had been on the phone to them for 12 minutes which cost her the princely sum of £18.00!

She then filled in the form on the back of the ticket giving her name address, phone number, email address and the so-called 'claim number'. Several days later she received a letter congratulating her on the fact that she had won a £2 shopping voucher which would be sent under a separate cover and stating that three matching bats was only worth the shopping voucher. She needed three matching 'cars' to win a major prize!

The result? She spent £18 to win a £2 shopping voucher, which to date she hasn't received (and I doubt that she ever will), but she is now getting a load of spam mail in her inbox plus loads of junk mail through her letterbox!

What a wally! Some people will never learn will they?

This sort of scam is perfectly legal, the perpetrators haven't broken any law so they can't be prosecuted. They made it clear on the ticket that you 'could' win fantastic prizes.

I wonder if anyone ever did win the £1 million.

Bradgate Park

2009-10-17T04:25:00.000-07:00

Here's another little video from my friend Jim. The ruins of the house was the home of Lady Jane Grey who was Queen of England for nine days. Hence the saying "a nine day wonder" meaning a sensational event that evokes widespread interest but is soon forgotten.

Old John Tower at Bradgate Country Park.

Old John is the distinctive tower and arch overlooking Bradgate Park and is Leicestershire's most familiar landmark. The Folly stands some 690 feet above sea level and was built in 1784. It has commanding views across Leicestershire and surrounding counties. It was a favourite place for radio amateurs like myself, (G8AFY/G8SUM) and Kevin in Salford, (G8FYK), to set up our portable transmitters, aerials and receivers on 144mhz and 432mhz to contact other amateurs as far away as possible.

Here is an old postcard (date unknown) of the tower especially for Anji:

Note that the archway has been restored since this picture was taken.

My Son

2009-10-17T03:55:00.000-07:00

Glenn Andrew Smith, 16th Feb 1962 - 17th Oct 1990
19 years ago today my son Glenn died. He had bone cancer. He was twenty eight years old, and had everything to live for. Not only was he my son but he was my best friend.

We had so much in common, amateur radio for one thing. We were both passionate about telecommunications. My callsign was G8AFY and his was G8SUM. After he died the Licensing Authority gave me permission to drop my own callsign and take on his as a mark of respect and to keep his radio station "on air".

I still think about the good times we had to-gether and I try to keep this day special. He would have been 47 this year.

I felt so helpless that I couldn't help him. Shortly after he died I wrote this to him.

How can I say goodbye to you, my son?
Now that for you, tomorrow cannot be.
Where shall I find the strength to carry on?
When all that I have is going away from me,

As these last fleeting hours speed by,
And I sit at your side and hold your hand,
My eyes so full of tears that I cannot see.
I know that you, my son, will understand.

These few years we spent together, you and I,
It seemed so short a while we had to spend.
And yet we shared so great a love
That Death itself can never end.

So very much as we are, that now
We find no need of words as others do,
Both knowing so well within our hearts
That a love like ours is granted to so few.

So rest now, Glenn, until the very end,
For soon it will be time for us to part.
Then I will close your eyes, and kiss your cheek,
And you will be gone, and with you goes my heart.

23 October 1990. - Dad.

There was a special page on Yahoo/Geocities personal pages dedicated to him, but only this month Yahoo have closed all the Geocities pages and it's gone.

Fear

2009-10-10T01:36:00.000-07:00

There should be nothing in this life that you are afraid of. If there is, then you need to do something about overcoming it.
I don't like heights, and I do everything I can to avoid getting into a situation that involves being in a high place.
A few years ago I had to unblock the guttering around my house, because to employ someone to do it was too costly. I borrowed a ladder, and gritting my teeth I climbed up repeating to myself "I am not afraid, I will not fall" over and over again as I scooped the muck out and casually threw it onto my neighbours garden. I continued going up and down the ladder as I moved around the house, when suddenly I realised that I was not repeating that phrase anymore and I felt more confident.
So later, when I was recovering in hospital, I thought that whatever your fear, you must face it head on and overcome it.

Leicestershires biggest hill

2009-10-06T03:50:00.000-07:00

My friend Jim produced this little video from his collection of photographs about a former beauty spot in Leicestershire know as Bardon Hill. I say "former" because it is slowly being destroyed in the name of progress. I used to spent a lot of time walking the paths and exploring, but now I'm old and bent, knackered and worn out I can't manage it any more!

This hill is the highest point in Leicestershire at 278 metres (912 feet asl). Locally it is referred to as the "hill with two faces" – one half preserved as a site of special scientific interest (SSSI), the other slowly being removed by Bardon Hill Quarry. It is also the site of a radio mast.

I live on the hill directly south from there, and from my bedroom window I can see Bardon Hill on the horizon, along with Old John at Bradgate Park, home of Lady Jane Grey.

"Older Peoples day"

2009-10-05T01:48:00.000-07:00

October 1st was the “UK Older Persons Day”. I know the younger people (under 50) who read this post won’t understand, but it is a day invented by this stupid Government to celebrate the contribution that the over 50’s make to society.

This year I didn’t see any OAP’s (Old Age Pensioners) dancing in the street or setting off fireworks to congratulate themselves on their magnificent lives and their so-called “contribution to society”! There were no flags, bunting or bands playing.

I bet most of them were at home –over three million, if the Conservatives are correct- living in poverty, pulling on an extra cardigan and working out how to make ends meet this coming winter as the nights draw in and it gets colder and the heating costs go up yet again.

They sit at home, trying to keep warm over a tiny electric heater, counting the escalating cost of food and other essentials of life. Or slumped in armchairs in poorly run state care homes crying out for proper regulation, lying on trolleys in hospital corridors or slowly starving in mixed sex filthy wards

To add insult to injury to a generation stripped of their dignity, a PR company behind the publicity for the OAP’s ‘special day’ have insisted that organisations use photos of older people who looked affluent and in the peak of health, such as those living in the luxury of high-class retirement homes. Models who look more in their 30’s and 40’s have been used, shown them cuddling, running happily on the beach, on holiday cruises or preparing for a workout at the gym.

There are no photos of the elderly in armchairs, care homes, filthy hospitals, fighting for lost pensions, and working until they are 80 to supplement their meagre state pension. No photos of them huddled over a one-bar electric fire with a hot water bottle. There is nothing in the publicity handouts to depict the true picture of old age for some in Britain today.

Pensioners are so desperate to keep warm, eat decent food and pay their bills that they take out loans they have no chance of repaying. In debt and under stress when they are over 65 is hardly a great advert for being old in this country. According to government statistics pensioners in Britain owe a staggering £57 billion! More that a million still have a mortgage to pay, with one in seven owing more that £50,000 and can’t get state aid to help them.

Constantly rising interest rates, loans for food and essentials, fuel and Council Tax bills and the realisation that they can’t rely on their savings alone -if they have any left- because of the State pension crisis. Those who made provision for their old age might as well not have done because they are dire straits now.

Not all OAP’s are SKIs –“Spending their Kids’ Inheritance”- and playing golf. After a lifetime’s hard graft, paying their taxes, contributing to a pension scheme, they are now scrimping and scraping and spending every penny –and more- on necessities. It’s a case of not what they want, but what they need to survive

Summing up, a day to celebrate old age is an insult to those who have nothing to celebrate. So many feel forgotten, scorned, neglected and disillusioned. Hardly the way to see out a decent, hardworking life.

It’s a disgrace that in the 21st century, with so much of the taxpayers money needlessly squandered on pointless projects, PR campaigns and spin, that the very people who should be looking after their older generation are lining their own pockets with high wages, expenses and allowances.

I didn't celebrate on October 1st and if others like me saw the nonsense of this so-called special day then they obviously didn't either.

Continental Market

2009-10-04T02:55:00.000-07:00

On Friday I went to Germany, France, Poland, Spain and other countries in Europe.

In actual fact I went to Leicester to have a look at the Continental Market, not intending to buy anything because I'm just a poor old pensioner.

There were stalls selling such wondrous things such as garlic chocolate, spuds provençal, duck flavoured merangue, foiegras and even gluhwein. As one old lady remarked to the stall holder when he offered her a sample, "Glue wine? Are you mad? Nobody in their right mind is going to buy that!"

This market is held every year in Leicester on the last week in September. It is a great hit with the "multicultural population" (Don't get me going on that subject).

The big drawback with these markets is that the prices tend to be rather high, but some of the produce is worth that little bit extra. The reason for the high prices I suppose is to cover the stallholders expenses in shipping the stuff over here, i.e., ferry fares, hotel bills, fuel and so on.

As I said, I didn't intend to buy anything, I just went for a look-see but I weakened. I tried a Polish beer with a German bradwurst for my mid-morning snack. Then I saw a beautiful tablecloth from Provence (which see) that I couldn't resist because it looked so bright and cheerful. I thought it would help to brighten up my otherwise dull and hum-drum life!

Then I thought "What the hell! You only live once. Get some nice food and to hell with the expense". I bought some Kabanos from Deutschland and some lovely French Cantal cheese, a bottle of expensive wine (a bit different to the usual 'Chateau de Battery Acid' I buy from Asco!). To go with it I bought some fresh French country bread (well, I suppose it came in a freezer van and was finished off on the stall).

Sorry about the picture, but the food looked a bit better about ten minutes before!

Re: Fiona Pilkington and her daughter.

2009-10-04T01:52:00.000-07:00

More victims have told of their years of torment by yobs following the tragic case of Fiona Pilkington and her daughter.

Melissa Robinson, who has learning difficulties, told the newspaper of four years of fear when she was harassed by a gang of youths, aged between 12 and 16 and says between 2002 and 2006 she was targeted because of her disability.

She said: "I got to the point where I was so scared about what was going to happen next. Eggs were thrown at the house as well as stones – it was a constant stream of abuse because they could see I got on a bus for a special school. I was called 'dippy' and 'stupid'. It really hurt me to hear that. I found it hard to cope with."

Miss Robinson, who has since moved, said: "Just because I'm born different it's not my fault and why do we have to put up with hate crime? I called the police once about the problems but they said they couldn't help me.

During the Pilkington inquest, former Leicestershire assistant chief constable Chris Tew, outlined the force's policy changes and training programmes put into place after the pair's deaths.

In December 2007, two months after Fiona Pilkington commited suicide, it was decided it would become policy to categorise repeated offences against disabled people as hate crimes, meaning they would be taken more seriously.

Before this, the Pilkington family's calls were dealt with as incidents involving "anti-social behaviour".

Driving down that road this morning I noticed that the police presence and the TV vans have all disappeared. It looks like the yob family haved been moved for their own protection and, more than likely, given new identities!

The road was strangely quiet, I never saw a soul. Now somebody in another area is about to inherit some problems. Have you had a new family move in near you in the last two days?

Fiona Pilkington and Frankie Hardwick

2009-09-29T16:37:00.000-07:00

No doubt you will remember the incident on the left (click the pic to enlarge) on 23rd October 2007. It has taken nearly two years for the full story to emerge.

Fiona and Frankie committed suicide in a lay-by less than two hundred yards from my house on the A47. That night I was in the “Plough” pub next door when someone looked out the window and said that there were huge flames and smoke rising up above the trees.

The road where I live is on a hill overlooking the A47, but it’s not possible to see the lay-by because of all the trees on the side of the hill. Everybody in the pub thought it was the local riding school, which is in the lay-by, burning old bedding straw etc., and paid it no more attention. It wasn’t until the morning when the news broke that we learned the full horror of what had happened.

I cannot reproduce the article in the “Hinckley Times” here because it takes up three full pages in the paper and would fill this blog! The online version is very brief:

"THE POLICE handling of Fiona Pilkington’s catalogue of anti-social behaviour complaints has been described as “strange” and “poor” by the coroner leading the inquest into their horrific deaths.

Olivia Davison slated the way the Leicestershire force handled the series of events, stating “more could have been done”.

Former Assistant Chief Constable Christopher Tew was grilled by Ms Davison over two days as he revealed the staggering array of complaints made to police from Miss Pilkington, her mother and several neighbours over a seven year period.

During that time no-one was arrested or prosecuted.

Fiona, 38, doused the inside of her Nissan Micra in petrol before the car exploded into a fireball in her desperation over the abuse.

Her daughter Francesca ‘Frankie’ Hardwick, 18, was sitting in the passenger seat as the car burst into flames killing both women.

For a full in-depth report on the inquest so far, see your Times today".

A better report of the inquest can be found here and here.

Don't believe the picture in the second link, it has been specially posed by the paper to show the police in a good light. Yet another case of 'bolting the stable door after the horse has gone'. In fact around here police are as rare as hens teeth!

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We have lots of problems with anti-social behaviour and vandalism here in Earl Shilton with gangs of youths roaming the town centre at night. I'm surprised that there hasn't been a serious incident here yet! The situation here is so bad now that vulnerable people like the elderly dare not leave the homes when it's dark. Even I would not walk to the town centre to the local shops and supermarket at night because of a problem that has been created by the smoking ban in pubs. I know that sounds strange, but there are two pubs on the main street and the yobs that use them have to stand in the doorways in order to have a cigarette.

They are usually well tanked up on drink by then and feel brave enough to spend their time outside verbally abusing passersby like myself. You dare not answer their comments or even catch their eye otherwise you are "dissing" them (showing disrespect?) and the situation could turn physical.

One of my neighbours did just that. He is about 80 I think and always dresses smartly with a suit and tie and has an old-world sense of values and respect from his younger days. He was on his way the Constitutional Club for his evening pint. As he passed "The Red Lion" some young men standing on the pavement, drinking and smoking, called him an 'decrepit old git' and other names then burst out laughing. The enraged him, so he told them off. They surrounded him, punched him and knocked him to the ground, he told me later. Fortunately he wasn't hurt, just his pride, but he won't go out at night now; it really shook him up. He wouldn't report it to the police for fear of repercussions from the youths involved.

Let's face it, in this day and age they would probably have just got a telling off and a slapped wrist!

Pudding

2009-09-27T10:19:00.000-07:00

Wendy again! I am due back at the office in Winchester early tomorrow so I shall be leaving for home in a little while. Dad suggested that I do a post about the special sweet I made as an after dinner treat for him during next week. He said that Sablonneuse (Hi, Sandy) would be interested in the recipe because it originally comes from the area where she lives.

I once had this in a restaurant in Toulouse and I was so impressed with the taste that I managed to persuade the owner to let me have a copy of the recipe. He said yes, providing I didn't tell anyone else about the secret ingredient. So I said I would never breathe a word to anybody about the vanilla essence.

It's called 'Alsation Apple Tart' or in French, 'Tarte aux Pommes Á L'Alsacienne'.

Here's how to make it:

300g of sweet pastry.
500g of Golden Delicious or pippin apples.
4 egg yolks.
90g of fine sugar.
4 pinches of ground cinnamon.
200ml of heavy (double) cream.

Preheat the oven to 215°C. Butter a 26cm deep tart plate. Roll out the pastry dough into a 30cm circle and line the plate with it. Core the apples (I use a special tool for the job) then peel and quarter them. Cut each quarter in four slices. Arrange them evenly over the pastry in the form of rose, staring from the outside and overlapping the slices slightly. Bake for 15mins.

Meanwhile combine the egg yolks, sugar and cinnamon. Add a few drops of the secret ingredient and beat well. Chuck in the cream and beat well again. Coat the apples with the mixture and bake for another 35 - 40 mins or until the apples are tender. Serve warm with ice-cream. Fantastic!

You will notice in the picture above that a piece of the tart is missing. That is because I'm eating it as I type this.

Here's a photo of Dinky watching me as I made the tart. I think he was secretly hoping that the carton of cream would fall on the floor!

I'll give Keith his blogpage back now. Bye everybody, hope to hear from you soon.

Desecration

2009-09-09T02:29:00.000-07:00

St Johns Church in Manchester was sold to Muslims because they wanted a "Training and Educational Centre". To make a car park for their members they bulldozed the graveyard and crushed the gravestones to make hardcore for the foundations. Watch the video to the end. It's very interesting.

I may be a bit thick, and possibly even a 'racist', (as somebody is bound to point out) but can some kind person explain to me why Manchester City Council gave planning permission for this to take place? Or even allow it to happen?

Was this reported in the national papers or TV, and I missed it? Perhaps there is a logical explanation for the above and I'm just being paranoid as usual.

A Rant

2009-09-08T02:52:00.000-07:00

I noticed that today the papers are full of reports that Nick Griffin may appear on Question Time soon. So what? He is a member of a legitimate political party and in this country of “free speech” (I use the term in the loosest possible context because in reality we all know that this is not the case now) he is fully entitled to his views and opinions as much as the gangsters and hoodlums who are running this country at present.

Although I don’t necessarily agree with everything the BNP stand for, I do agree with them when they say that this country is overcrowded now, and with unemployment reaching ten million we should shut the door on immigration unless the people coming in have a job to go to, have skills that we require and other qualifications we need. A similar situation to Australia’s present policy in fact.

I do object strongly to the BBC and the papers referring to Nick Griffin as a Nazi without any foundation to that statement. I lived through WWII and believe me, compared to the real Nazis; Griffin is a pussy-cat!

When people like that worm Alistair Campbell say “Griffin's world-view is repulsive, his political methods equally so . . .” it makes my blood boil. A person like him who claims a massive wage, expenses and allowances from the taxpayers and does very little in return should keep his mouth shut. ‘People who live in greenhouses shouldn’t throw stones’.

Another member of our beloved Government said “We want to show them (BNP) up for the nasty party that they are”. The pot calling the kettle black? The greedy vicious collection of Labourites who run this country are, in my opinion, the most nasty party ever, and the elite at the top only care about themselves. They have neglected the elderly, the sick, the unemployed, the homeless. They have let crime escalate, reduced education standards etc., I could go on but you all know that they have dragged us down into poverty just to line their own pockets.

Why does the media always refer to the BNP as being “far-right and fascist” but never refer to Labour as “far-left and Marxist”; which they certainly are.

It’s certain that after the next election we shall have a Conservative Government. Personally I always seemed better off when they were in power, but this time I’m not so sure. Perhaps the ruling party’s name will change, but it will still be “the medicine as before”. End of rant.

French trip

2009-09-07T16:08:00.000-07:00

When I was in a town in rural France I noticed that the attitude of the teenagers was vastly different to their counterparts in Britain.

Generally the youngsters here tend to be rude, disrespectful and drink excessive amounts of alcohol. I was pleasantly surprised to find the French youngsters were somewhat different.

I was sitting at a table outside a cafe in St Céré enjoying a glass of iced tea and watching the world go by when two teenagers, dressed in the usual T-shirt, scruffy jeans and dirty trainers, sat down at the next table. They smiled and greeted me with "Bonjour monsieur, comment allez-vous?" I replied "OK, et vous?". Just then the waiter came with his little pad and asked them what they wanted. I thought "I bet it'll be two large lagers!", but no, they order two iced teas!

After a few minutes another teenager arrived and the pair at the table stood up and shook hands with him and greeted him in the same courteous manner, then ordered another drink. I must admit that after observing youngsters in the same situation in our country and their generally ill-mannered behaviour towards each other, it was a refreshing change to see decent behaviour from the French kids.

Then two teen girls turned up and the lads stood up and kissed each girl on the cheek and asked after their health. They all sat down and a rather animated conversation ensued and I never heard one 'F' word, or "merde" at all!

When they finished their drinks they got up to leave and they all smiled and said goodbye to me. I thought at the time that this is the sort of thing you don't very often come across in Britain nowadays, the kids here don't seem to be taught the social graces and good manners at school or at home any more.

The cattle market. I don't know quite what was going on here, but there was a lot of bidding and shouting with vast quantities of money changing hands.

A quiet back street.

An interesting old house in Bretenoux.

Market Day. I managed to get some nice cheeses and local wine very cheap.