Samhain (Scots Gaelic: Samhuinn) literally means “summer’s end.” In Scotland and Ireland, Halloween is known as  Shamhna, while in Wales it is Nos Calan Gaeaf, the eve of the winter’s calend, or first.

With the rise of Christianity, Samhain was changed to Hallowmas, or All Saints’ Day, to commemorate the souls of the blessed dead who had been canonized that year, so the night before became popularly known as Halloween, All Hallows Eve, or Hollantide.

November 2nd became All Souls Day, when prayers were to be offered to the souls of all who the departed and those who were waiting in Purgatory for entry into Heaven. Throughout the centuries, Pagan and Christian beliefs intertwine in a gallimaufry of celebrations from Oct 31st through November 5th, all of which appear both to challenge the ascendancy of the dark and to revel in its mystery.

In the country year, Samhain marked the first day of winter, when the herders led the cattle and sheep down from their summer hillside pastures to the shelter of stable and byre. The hay that would feed them during the winter must be stored in sturdy thatched ricks, tied down securely against storms. Those destined for the table were slaughtered, after being ritually devoted to the gods in pagan times.

Bright Blessings this Samhain to all my friends, and those daft enough to read my blog for this past year.

Now I’m off to fetch the cattle and the sheep down from the mountainside before the winter storms come!

Senior officers say smashed car windows and other damage to cars should not be classed as criminal damage if nothing is stolen. They even accused front line bobbies of being “too quick” to assume that an offence has been committed when motorists report damage to their vehicles. Unbelievable!

Apparently it is only classed as a crime if someone gets hurt in the incident, either the owner, the perpetrator or a third party.

Added to this is the fact that “anti-social behaviour” is not a crime it’s, well, just anti-social behaviour probably on a par to a child being naughty and vandalising the furniture because its parents wont let him have some sweets.

Adding these two facts together it is tantamount to giving the street yobs a licence to smash up someones car just for the fun of it, and because they haven’t committed a crime they get away with it scot-free! This is apparently what happened last week on the public car park in our town.

I parked my car on the public car park last week to go shopping and nearby I saw this badly damaged car. The owner, a young woman, was standing by it extremely upset. I asked her what had happened and she replied that she lived in a flat near the car park and had gone out intending to go to work and found it in the condition you see here.

She told me that she had only recently moved to Earl Shilton and didn’t know many people and couldn’t imagine who would do such a thing to her. She also told me that the police had only just left, and apart from walking around the car and taking notes they had issued her with an “incident number” to give to her insurance company when she claimed for the damage, they told her that it was not advisable to park on a public car park overnight. Then left.

Can you imagine how this young woman must feel? How would you feel if it was your car?

I think that de-criminalising vandalism on cars is one of the things the police have done to massage the crime figures. I keep reading about how the crime rate is falling in this country, yet I only have to look around our town to see what appears to be an increase in local crime. Even one junior ranking officer said in the above article “It is outrageous to attempt to manipulate the crime figures and make things look a lot more rosy than they are. . . . you can imagine the anger of a member of the public when a constable has to explain to then that vandalism is not criminal damage.”

So now that vandalism isn’t a crime anymore perhaps the police can get on with the job of catching the real criminals . . . . the motorists!

Click the images to see a larger version, and then again to see an even bigger pic.

Yes, that is a paving slab that was thrown at the windscreen!

Yesterday morning I was browsing through my “Taste of France” cookbook looking for a nice meal for last night.

I finally settled on Bœuf à la Gordienne (Beef stewed in red wine?). This recipe is for six people so I had to scale down the ingredients for one person; me! I had most of the ingredients in the house except for the bacon, shallots and a calfs’ foot. I decided against the calfs’ foot, well it does say “optional” and I’m too old to go chasing around the fields after a calf anyway, and besides its mother would take a dim view of me chopping off one of its feet even if I caught one!

I added the ingredients I needed to my shopping list and went to a local ‘supermarché’. Now this supermarket is ultra modern and does not sell food in small quantities, i.e., everything is sold prepacked (it makes it easier for the staff on the checkouts, they only have to waft it across the scanner instead of tapping in individual items). It’s called “progress”.

After I had bought my essential items, bread and milk etc., I went to the meat counter to get my beef. No problem there, I got the right quantity. The bacon was different. I needed three slices of smoked bacon, but when I looked for a pack of four thick slices the shelf was bare. Next to it were packs of eight slices and the sign proclaimed “Buy one get one FREE!”

I don’t know about you, but “Buy one, get one free” is the same as “Two for the price of one” but I suppose it sounds better, so I thought that if I took one pack I would get it at half price then I could give next doors dog the five slices I didn’t need. I don’t use bacon very often, and the thought of cooking the remaining five slices and storing them in the freezer was out of the question. It’s only a small ‘one-person’ fridge/freezer and it’s already crammed full of veg from the garden.

When I got to the checkout and the girl (who looked as if she had only left school the day before) wafted my goods through the scanner, and as usual threw the bottles of wine down the slope at the biscuits and fruit making sure that they were broken and bruised. Then she threw my tinned stuff at the bottles! Great; saved me the bother of breaking the biscuits myself!

As she passed the bacon through she stopped and said “Did you know you could get another packet FREE?” to which I replied “I don’t want another packet, thank you”. This seemed the phase her for a second, “But you are entitled to one!”, and with that she pressed the concealed button under the counter and as if by magic another school-leaver appeared. “Can you fetch another packet of this bacon for this gentleman?” she said, waving my one packet in the air. Despite my protests she wouldn’t scan the rest of the items until the other girl reappeared with the bacon.

It took her all of five minutes to get back with it, exclaiming that she was waylaid by other people asking questions and that she couldn’t find the item. (I suppose she must have looking on the sweet counter or somewhere). Meanwhile back at the ranch checkout the people behind me were muttering about being kept waiting and it was the old git at the front causing it. Dunno who they meant, I couldn’t see an old git.

So now I had thirteen slices of bacon I didn’t need or want. I also had to buy a pack of twelve shallots just to get two for my recipe, but at least they will keep in the vegetable rack.

You will be pleased to know that I made my Bœuf à la Gordienne, and it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, but next doors dog enjoyed it. . . . .

Last week I borrowed a neighbours chainsaw to cut back a diseased old apple tree in the garden.

He warned me to take great care when using it because, as he said, it is a lethal piece of kit in the wrong hands because it can fell a mighty oak tree in minutes. It would cut through a human limb like it was soft butter!

“A minute, my arse!” I told him the next day when I returned it, “It took me five hours to cut through one of the smaller branches.”

My puzzled neighbour apologised, adding “There’s nothing wrong with the chain. Perhaps the air-to-fuel ratio is all wrong, it sometimes happens. I’ll just check.”

With that he pulled the cord that was hanging out of the casing and the saw roared into life.

“Bloody hell!” I shouted, “”What’s all that noise?”

I recently received a very nice email from a pupil of Castilleja School, an exclusive independent school for girls located in Palo Alto, North California. It is one of the top schools in America for its success in preparing students for the exclusive American Universities!

Her name is Aurora Real de Asua (I hope she doesn’t mind me mentioning her name!) and she writes “My English class this year focuses on observations of people and places, and one of our assignments was to find a blog online and to begin to follow it”. Now get this, she continues “… before stumbling upon the treasure that used to be called ‘At Home with Keith’…”

Did you catch that? Treasure! Don’t you other bloggers out there feel just a teensy-weensy bit envious and jealous of me?

I don’t understand what she means by “used to be called At Home with Keith”. It is still called that, and I hope it will be for a long time to come!

She says, “I have been following your blog for a couple weeks now, and I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful posts. Your musings provide a window for me to look through, and you have never failed to make me laugh …”.  Apparently Aurora and her friends have been lurking in the background for two weeks now, reading my blog and not once commented!

So you see, I do have at least one fan; someone who appreciates my genius, sparkling wit, intelligence and vast knowledge of the English language.

Aurora finished with, “Simply wanted to congratulate you on your priceless blog and thank you again for providing me with such a worthy English subject”. Thank you Aurora for that, you  made my day. I wish you every success with your studies, and I hope that a have done a little bit to help you.

In my last post I stated that I hadn’t quite reached the ‘Grumpy Old Git’ stage yet. Well, I was lying, I have.

Some time ago I heard an interview on the radio with an eminent economist. The discussion was based on sustainable resources and the effects of over population depleting those essential resources. The economist predicted that the UK’s resources will be seriously undermined or even completely depleted because of the massive levels of population growth in our country. He went on to explain the ideal population levels for a country of our size and how its resources in the form of housing, land for food production, electricity, water supplies, roads rail and other transport means plus excellent health care and education system for the people could be sustained. The economist said that the ideal population level for all of the above, in a country of the size of the UK, would be around 15 million rising to a maximum of about 21 million people.

It was not difficult to believe that he was correct. Can you imagine just what a wonderful country ours would be with a population level between 15 and 21 million? There would be sufficient numbers to produce the wealth that the nation needed. Enough land to be virtually self-sufficient in food, our roads would be less crowded and not grid locked as at present. Housing would be planned to cater for the needs of the people and their families. The health and education systems would cope more than adequately, providing excellent services. And, perhaps most importantly, there would be sufficient space both in urban and rural areas for the people to breathe without a sense of claustrophobia. They would have the space for peace and quiet if they wanted it.

It has been predicted that our population will reach 70 million in only a few year’s time, and this is probably quite a realistic prediction. This rise is not the result of the native population having so many children as the cause, but is the result of the social engineering policies of successive governments who deliberately flooded our country with foreigners who, traditionally, have large families thus adding to the burdens placed on the use of our resources and space, to the detriment of the native British, (especially the English).

What the politicians, academics, ‘intellectuals’, planners and other assorted ‘liberals’ and ‘free thinkers’ have done to our nation is nothing short of a criminal act of treason to the British people. Yet these same people who have committed this criminal folly have always found ways in which they avoid living with the consequences of their actions. - Grumpygit.

Today I received notification that the local surgery are doing this years flu-vaccine jabs for us old ‘uns on October 30th. Great! This must be well into the flu season and probably most of us will have had the flu by then anyway. The old saying about the horse and the stable door comes to mind.

Last year they asked all the old gits and their wives, partners, and “bit’s-on-the-side” to attend surgery one Saturday morning for the flu jabs. Bearing in mind that there must be about 100,000 thousand oldies over 60 in our town.

When I turned up at the allotted time the car-park was full, and even the driveway to the car-park was jampacked with BMW’s, Mercs, and Chelsea tractors (Where do all these rich Old Sage Pensioners come from?). They had even parked along the road on the double yellow lines; all showing their Disabled Wretches Badge of course. When I finally struggled through the crowds and got into the waiting room we were standing shoulder to shoulder and it smelt like a condemned care home, y’know, stale wee and other nasties.

We all lined up down the corridor and it went something like this: “Stand in line, roll your sleeve up!” - JAB - “Next! . . . For Christ’s sake Mr Smith, get up and stop acting like a baby, it’s only a small prick!”  God, it was painful, and I didn’t even get a lie-down, cup of tea or a biscuit. I think the nurse who did me trained in Auschwitz (she certainly looked old enough).

If you read my last post you will see that I, along with most people I know, have already had the man-flu, or was it the bubonic plague? It certainly felt like it; put me right off my beer for two weeks it did.

So it looks like I don’t really need the jab this year, I should be immune now for the next five years, but I may go along to watch the fun as the two nurses deal with most of the old grumpies of the town. Thank goodness I haven’t reach the Grumpy Old Git stage yet.

Nobodys noticed, or even cared, that I’ve not posted for a while. (sob) Still, I’m used to it. I could be dead and busily decomposing away in my little hovel and the neighbours wondering where the terrible smell is coming from.

I have have just had a severe case of man flu, and this is why I haven’t posted for a while. Has anybody bothered to email me, or added a comment to show their concern at my long absence from these pages? No! Huh, some friends you are, I would have expected Interflora to keep knocking on my door with bunches of flowers from all my friends in Bloggyland, the postman delivering boxes of Belgian chocolates and other goodies with loads of “Get Well” cards, but no, you all chose to ignore me. Don’t you feel guilty? No? Ah well, you win some, you lose some.

Now that I’m feeling a bit better I shall be posting some more rants, lies, and useless information soon.