Hi ho, hi ho.

The last clear definite function of Man - muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need - this is man. To build a wall, a house a dam and in the wall and house and dam to put something of Manself, and to Manself take back something of the wall, the house, the dam; to take hard muscles from the lifting, to take the clear lines and form from conceiving. For man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments. This you may say of man - when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when narrow dark alleys of thought, national religeous, economic, grow and disintegrate, man reaches, stumbles forward, painfully, mistakenly sometimes.

and all because the lady loves.........

No,wait, scrub that mission, she wasn't on the boat after all, she was at home in Dorset

Do rats really leave a sinking ship? (or "Oh Captain, my Captain!")

At last I have seen the light. I now realise what all those `time wasting`courses I had to attend during the latter half of my 30 year police career were all about.

I always felt that "Diversity Training" was a pathetic substitute for reasonableness, good manners and of treating one's fellows as one would wish to be treated. I never felt prejudiced about anyone because of their race, colour or ethnic or religeous origins and inclinations. I laughed at lots of jokes, winced at lots of others, voiced the occasional comment of disapproval and on a few occasions I intervened and gave a few quiet words of advice. With one noteable exception, my words and advice seemed to carry some gravitas and honours were usually left even.

So when I see stories like this I refrain from telling tired old wartime jokes about Italian tanks having one forward, and eight reverse, gears - it's not funny and it's not clever.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;   For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;     Here Captain! dear father!       This arm beneath your head;         It is some dream that on the deck,             You’ve fallen cold and dead. (Walt Whitman)

Nothing topical

Sorry but this little `pot boiler` of a post is something of very little or, one could say, much ado about not very much.

I thought about commenting on the mysterious case of yet another Iranian nuclear scientist getting himself blown up,but that is hardly a mystery. Then there was the survey today about some of the nations children being `unhappy` but, again, nothing new there especially from my own anecdotal evidence of screaming, uncontrolled brats, gathered in the various shops and supermarkets of this here vicinity.

A bigger mystery was `who killed the peacocks?`. There were six wandering at large in the village. By the time we moved here 3 months ago they were down to three, then we saw one half a mile up the road or, to be precise, on the verge, `brown bread` as a dorrnail. Sadly, there was one lonely chap on our roof today, pining for the fjiords - or his late departed friends and as feral as peacocks can be, which is pretty tame and laid back. I think someone told us they were abandoned when a couple divorced - wonder how their children fared? Either way it was heartbreaking to hear him honking for his missing chums.

Finally, an update on Chez Hog. We have a new first floor in the barn, as well as new rafters, felting and that fantastic Celotec insulation board. Its quite snug up there and I reckon mother-in-law would be very comfortable when she comes to stay. This afternoon I started to lime-putty wash the ground floor walls. This is not whitewash although it looks the same, sort of ... white. It's lime putty wash, which is lime putty 50% diluted with water, because the barn is made of clay lump and is also a Grade 2 listed building so one must be sympathetic to this rare construction material. My old police firearms team flame resistant coveralls are now a white flecked pattern, ideally suited to the Royal Marines Mountain and Arctic Warfare Cadre. At least if it snows before Spring I'll be a bugger to spot.

I'm re-typing my story about how I ended up starring in Fred Zinnerman's classic film, "The Day of the Jackal" and may well type it on Wordpress, although I haven't deserted Blogger yet - apathy may yet rule.

Hope you enjoy reading the interesting links I've added to the text.

Bye for now.

Blogger Hitch

For anyone who accessed the blog and got a title, expecting a post and ended up with more gobbledegookthan usual, there has been a monumental mess caused by the system (not me). I have pretty much had it with Blogger and am in the process of finding out how I can transfer my current stuff onto a new form of blog publisher. I'll be back after this short intermission. (Grumbles off for tea and Xmas cake, cussing and griping about bloody google blogger and all things computerish.....)