Although being born an Englishman automatically qualifies one as an honorary meteorologist – we tend as a nation to greet our friends, neighbours and indeed, complete strangers, with our opinions of the current weather situation – no modern English weather-man has summed up the British climate in a single sentence better than the Roman historian Cornelius Tacitus, who in AD94 wrote:

“The sky is overcast with continual rain and cloud, but the cold is not severe”.
-Cornelius Tacitus, Agricola, 12.3.

Nothing changes does it? Well, obviously since Tacitus wrote that it’s got fu. . . bloody colder!

Julius Cæsar described Britannia (Britain) as “the Empires arsehole” in his journals. (Because it was a terrible place or just full of shit?) Being posted to Hadrians Wall in Roman times was like being posted to the Russian Front in the German Army during the last war!

I was looking through some old family photographs when I found one of my old grannie Henton. She was a great character and loved by all the family. She was born in 1889 and died in 1960. In fact I took the picture in 1960 only a few days before she collapsed and died.

She used to say and do the strangest things at times. Whenever she visited me, or any of the family, she would draw an imaginary line across the threshold with her cane before entering and say, “With this cane I draw the bound, all malice and bane I thus confound”. Her walking cane always had a fresh flowers or bunch of herbs tied to it.

One of her favourite sayings was:

“When I die, please do not cry,
For I will leave you riches,
A knife, a fork, a cabbage stalk
And a pair of mouldy breeches”

Another one was:

“Farting is such merrie fun,
It giveth great delight,
It cheers thee in the daytime,
And keeps thee warm at night”.

and :

“Where ‘ere thee be, let the wind go free,
For t’was the wind that killeth me”.

I can’t remember many more and I wish now that I had written them down at the time.

When we went to the farmhouse for a meal she would always recite this “grace” before we ate:

“We wish that all people everywhere will have food to eat, water to drink and friends to meet. May the spirit of the Gods be at this table and in the hearts of all those we know and love”.

We all missed her when she died because she kept all the family together and sorted out any differences that cropped up, as they do in a large family group from time to time. Now 50 years on what was a united family unit has gone, every one has drifted away because of silly arguments and other unpleasant situations. I have lost contact with cousins and their siblings, and even my own sister has become a stranger now.

My Gran lies in Twycross Church graveyard next to Grandad, three of my aunts, two uncles and a cousin who died young. Every year at this time I buy eight red roses and place one on each grave. All the graves are in a row under a big tree, and don’t have any headstones or memorial.

Perhaps it’s a good thing that Gran can’t see what has happened to the family she was so proud of once.

In reply to Guyana Girl‘s question in the previous post of what constitutes a “yob” I will try and define the meaning as I see it.

I thought everyone knew what a yob was, goodness knows, we see enough of them nowadays! A precise definition is difficult – in the early days before the youth of today got really out of hand, it was a ‘backwards boy’, y-o-b!

What constitutes yobbish behaviour? At what point does shouting, excessive drinking, swearing, graffiti, fighting, drug taking, mugging, stealing etc. become anti-social? In the Governments book, never it seems, they just put it down to high spirits but in my book just behaving in an anti-social manner and being a pain in the neck constitutes a yob. Incidently yob can also be a young girl now, because some of them are worse than the boys.

I’m afraid that I’ve lost my respect and confidence in the younger generation; I don’t trust any of them. In my waning years now I have had too many bad experiences at their hands so I avoid contact with them whenever I can. Sad, I know, but I prefer it this way.

I bought a copy of the local paper again today to be confronted with yet more evidence of the “falling crime rate” in our area, as you can see from the front page.

A Leicester based paper said that my town, and the adjoining town of Barwell, have the highest crime rate per head of the population than anywhere in the Midlands!

Where are the police you ask? Honestly, in my 13 years of living in this area I have never seen a policeman actually walking the streets. I have been told that they have been spotted by eagle-eyed people on the odd occasion. I have seen some lady ‘Community Support Officers’ at times, but only in daylight hours and walking in two’s or three’s. Until the Earl shilton Bypass was built we used to get police cars racing through the town with their fairy lights flashing and making enough noise to wake the dead. Now the bypass is in use we don’t even see them anymore.

Nowadays young offenders are just given a caution, in other words a “telling off”. In just eight years 1,873 criminals received at least 10 “cautions” each (Home Office figures)!

When youngsters learn from the outset that they have nothing to fear from the law, is it surprising that so many choose crime as a career?

Must go now to raise the drawbridge, lock the gates and instruct the sentries on the battlements of ‘Smithy Castle’ to stay awake and be alert at all times.

I have the current “Hinckley Times”, which also covers the local area including my town Earl Shilton, in front of me. One report states ‘Crime in the town has fallen’ and goes on to say:

“Overall crime in Hinckley (I suppose that means the district as well)is down 5.5%, equalling 135 fewer victims.

Figures show incidents of racially aggravated crime are down 42% (not surprising, there are very few immigrants in this area), incidents of criminal damage are down 20%, incidents of anti-social behaviour are down 14.6% (obviously the person who quoted this figure doesn’t live in Shilton!)are there were 27 less burglaries compared to a year ago”.

The italics are mine.

The front page headlines on this paper show a Senior Citizen covered in blood after a vicious attack by three youths who set upon him and stole the takeaway meal he had just bought. They stamped on his face and he finished up in hospital. The paper states:

“The law prevents these boys being named because they are under 18″.

However the three were given “referral orders”, (wrists slapped, and warned that if they do it again they will be told off again!) supervised by the ‘Youth Offending Service’. Yet another politically correct do-gooder organisation to help the little darlings get over the traumatic experience of beating up an old man and robbing him.

But I digress. Other news items in the same paper include:

‘Girl, 5, breaks leg after being hit by a car that failed to stop’
‘Store raid terror for workers at the Co-op’
‘Man punched after fracas outside takeway’
‘Police hunting three men after attempted abduction’
‘Man in cider theft’
‘E-fit released after vicious assault’
‘Appeal after an assault in Station Road’
‘Director’s council tax fraud’
‘Man stole from gran’
‘Man faces drugs rap’
‘Devastated at barn stock theft’
‘Man bailed on crack cocaine charge’
‘Sheds broken into and contents stolen’

These are all separate incidents, and this is all from one weeks local paper. Every week I have noticed that the number of crimes is increasing. Twenty years ago there were perhaps one of two crimes reported. Believe me there are a lot of “minor crimes” in our town which go unreported.

Twenty years ago I very rarely locked up at night; naughty I know, but I felt I could trust the people around me. Not now, I lock the front and back door at all times now and never leave a window open at night or when I’m out. I always put the safety chain on before answering the door because recently I  had “persons unknown” trying to open the back door on two occasions when I’ve been in the house!

This morning I woke up bright and early. The sunlight was streaming through the window, the birds were all of a twitter and I felt really great and nicely relaxed. Not even the usual hangover!

However, that was soon to change. I clicked onto “Yahoo” to read my emails and the news and there, in large letters on the right of the screen, “YOU COULD DIE TO-DAY. Could your family meet the bills, etc.” You’ve probably seen the adverts. The insurance companies are getting desperate for customers in this time of ‘austerity’ (big depression!) and the ‘credit crunch’ (BIG depression!).

“Ah well”, I thought, “Thanks for making my day Mr Yahoo, aka Aviva Ins. Co.”. Feeling slightly off colour now I munched away at my toast and Marmite, then I heard the postman dropping to-days allocation of junk mail into my postbox.

Now, I don’t know who is putting it about that I am an incredibly old git who needs all sorts of very expensive aids like stair-lifts, walk-in baths, walking sticks, mobility scooters, recliners and the like, but just lately the junk mail has turned from ‘Start a new career’ courses, work from home, gymnasium leaflets, meet the lady of your dreams, holidays in exotic places, to the oldie type junkmail that now chokes the postbox. If I find out who it is I shall hit them with my zimmer frame!

This morning was no exception. I received a catalogue for medical aids with such things as leak-proof incontinent underpants and other things that a sex pervert would appreciate more than me! I had a free trial copy of “The Oldie” magazine that “one of your friends has recommended for you”. Huh! Some friend!

You know you are getting old when you look in the Gents Outfitters and think “Hmm, that’s a nice cardigan. . .”

Now I’m depressed. I’m going out to throw myself in front of a passing blonde.

This video is one of my all time favourites.

My old ironing board is getting a bit like me now; unstable, rickety and falling apart (Yes, I do iron my clothes; better than any woman!). So off I went to the local shops to buy one. I looked everywhere for a decent one but they all didn’t seem very well made or had the right shaped pointy end for ironing shirts properly. Another fault was that they were all designed for midgets or a woman (Boy, am I digging my own grave or what?)

I sat and wondered where on earth could I find a good sturdy one that, most importantly, was designed for a tall man (ironing board that is, not a woman; heaven forbid!). I say that because I get shoulder-ache trying to use a “woman size” one (There I go again. I’m only making it worse for myself, innit?). None of the ones I looked at were tall enough, even on the highest setting.

Flash of inspiration! I would look on t’Internet for instructions on how to make one. Brilliant!

The first site I encounted gave very concise instructions; no drawings or ingredients, but let me show you the instructions here:

Step 1
Construct the top of your ironing board. The flat surface on which you iron should be made out of a durable material that will not melt. Medium density fiberboard (a wood product) is a hefty, but wise choice.

Step 2
Legs for your ironing board. Legs can be made with a variety of materials: wood, metal or anything else your heart desires.

Step 3
Attach the legs with screws. This process is as simple as picking out screws of a length that will securely hold them to the flat ironing surface. Drill through the top of the ironing surface and into the legs to safely secure them.

Step 4
Protect the top of your ironing board by wrapping it in Bacofoil. The foil will protect the wood of your board and also provide a reflective surface to help make your ironing perfect.

Step 5
Cover your ironing board. By using a pre-made ironing board cover as a pattern, you can choose any style and color of fabric that you like to personalize your ironing board. If you make several you’ll never have to worry about being caught without a clean cover. Dark colors work well to mask scorch marks that might occur over time. (Scorch marks not a problem, sweety, I never burn anything -Keith.)

Have fun!

True, thats all it gives. Anyway onward and upward to the next likely looking site.

The next one was unbelieveable. I though it was a Monty Python page, but no, it was perfectly genuine but you would have needed the loan of a shipyard to build it. First up was the material list:

• sheet of medium density fiberboard (can be substituted with a flat metal sheet)
• 4 thick metal rods
• sheet of iron (eh?)
• mechanical heavy-duty drill
• 2 metal nuts
• 2 metal bolts (Oh, so wooden ones are no good then?)
• 6 short nails
• hammer
• handsaw
• sandpaper
• thick foil
• welding equipment (I don’t believe it!)

Well, I haven’t got any sandpaper so that one is ruled out for starters.

Honestly, this the truth. May my socks rot and a plague of locousts enter my tent if I’m telling lies.

By now I was getting a teensy-weensy bit frustrated until I stumbled across this video:

My problem is solved. Now all I need is a barrowload of money to buy it.

I could fix it to the wall in the loo (toilet, for my readers in the Colonies), and in the mornings I could do two jobs at the same time; sitting down as well! No more aching shoulders. . .

One of my interests on t’Internet is to log onto a Blogger page, like John Gs for instance, and then keep clicking on the “Next Blog” icon.

I have found so very interesting blogs, some great, some sad, some very instructional ones and a lot of awful examples of how not to blog.

One particular site had so many smelling pistakes and bad grammar that it was almost unreadable. How that person ever got through school (if he ever went!) is beyond me. He was not just a teenager; from the photo he looked in the 25-35 year old range. I know I drop a few clangers in the spelling and grammar department occasionally, but my excuse is that I’m old and bent and suffer with demen . . . . . .What was I saying? Oh yes, about bad blogging techniques.

One site I came across had so many flashing colours, god-awful pictures and grotesque fonts that it was really unreadable. A bright red background with mauve text that hurt my eyes just to look at it. I think the owner was just trying to show off her somewhat dubious skills in HTML and JavaScript. Christ, what a mess!

No, I’m not going to put links to them; that would be unfair because no matter how bad a blog is the owner is invariably proud of it and it would be hurtful if people logged on and commented that it was a load of crap. I would certainly be offended if people told me mine was rubbish, when in actual fact I know that it is absolutely brilliant and well worth reading!

The one site that takes the cake, literally, was one that was all about knitting cakes and fruit. No just one post, but all the posts were on that subject. It gave knitting patterns for all types of cakes, apples, oranges etc.! How sad that someone finds it necessary to “knit” cakes and fruit. What a waste of time, wool and server space. What’s the point? If she put up patterns for clothes and baby toys etc I could understand it. Now if that person gave recipes for making real cakes and recipes for using various fruits that would be interesting.

I think I’ll start a new blog on the various ways of juggling soot, knitting paint and engraving frozen peas then perhaps it’ll be more popular than this one!

Now I’m off to do some more exploring in the bloggie-world. A tout à l’heure!

I commented on a recent post from Zoe about her son, Todd, who seems to be a bit of a “tearaway” as my old Gran (silly old bat!) used to say when she described me in my teens as a “Teddy Boy”.

Then I got to thinking about those halcyon days when we didn’t have a care in the world. That is until the media attacked the Teddy Boy culture in 1953 following a murder from a ‘gang’ stabbing on Clapham Common and moral panic ensued condeming all teens dressed in the flamboyant Edwardian style. We were banned from dancehalls, restaurants, some cafes and cinemas if we dressed in our “gear”.


Teddy Boys were part of a continuum of male peacockery that descended from, among others, the London Spiv. Teddy Boy styles and attitudes spread from London to the rest of the country where they fused into regional variations like Tony Curtis haircuts, sideburns, drape jackets or drainpipe trousers. In general we were pretty harmless, although we did rebel against the authority of our parents, the police and anybody who had a go at us. All we wanted to do was “pull the birds” and have a good time hanging around “Banner’s Milk Bar” on a Saturday Night, and walking around the “Monkey Run”. (A local arcade in the town where boys met girls). The boys walked around in small groups anti-clockwise, and the girls in a clockwise direction and eventual paired off and disappeared in the local park for a bit of “snogging”!

In those days the pubs closed at 10:30pm and you had to be 21 and over, strictly enforced, before you could buy alcohol but our gang wasn’t interested in booze anyway. Drugs were rare, in fact I don’t think any of us ever tried them, I much preferred to have a Strawberry Mike Shake in the company of a nice girl! I still sometimes sneak into McDonalds for a sly milk-shake, but the company of a nice girl has long since eluded me.

Yes, we did go to Margate and Skegness on Bank Holidays and raise hell, but although there were a few scuffles with the “Mods” we didn’t go in for shooting and stabbing that seems to be so popular nowadays.