Tajinder was not impressed........Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
The World’s End
Don’t panic, it’s a pub. Where else would you think I’d be.
Mrs W and I like walking, and pub lunches. But some while back her feet started playing up [arthritis] and the walks got shorter and slower, and then stopped. So, I haven’t been pounding the Public Footpaths for a while. But a couple of Sunday’s ago I was back in my walking boots. I dropped off Mrs W at her mates in East Tilbury – they were going to some garden thing in Orsett.
So while they were off, I walked from Coal House Fort to Tilbury Fort along the north bank of the Thames, I wanted to see the BNP’s gun emplacements. It was a nice sunny day and not having Mrs W with me to fuss I forgot to put the sun block on and got well and truly sun burnt where I don’t have any hair anymore. It took and hour and 10 minutes so it is around 3-4 miles.
Coal House Fort itself is a really pleasant family spot. Lots of families there having picnics and playing cricket, and a really nice children’s playground. Once past there I was pretty much on my own. Except for the steady stream of container ships overtaking me on their way to Tilbury Docks bringing lots of stuff for the shopaholics regular fix.
The tarmac path gave way to a rough track and then moved inland a bit. Here a stretch of bank about 30 feet wide had been cleared of vegetation by some sort of mechanical bulldozer. It looked like a ploughed field, except there were about a dozen human heads peeking above ground level at various intervals. They were all digging holes – big deep ones. I had to ask. They were looking for bottles. Ah well.
The path then dropped back down to the river with a huge concrete wall to my right and every so often there was a ladder. I popped my head over the wall from time to time so see what was there – a flood plain. Sort of makes sense that doesn't it? Along this stretch there was lots of flotsum and jetsum including millions of little straws about 3 inches long and either white or blue. At first I though it was stripped wiring insulation but no, they were the middle sections of Q-Tips or cotton buds. The two cotton bits had presumably disintegrated. A most inappropriate use of plastic I’d say.
Past what is presumably a power plant and a sewage works and I get to Tilbury Fort and sure enough the BNP are ready. I didn’t stop there, I was straight on to The World’s End for two pints of Abbotts and an environmentally friendly Tuna Baguette. It must be the most blatantly sexist pub I have ever been to. The sign on entry was "no shirt no beer". There was no requirement for "no blouse no gin" not that anyone seemed to be taking advantage.
I had a snooze in the Fort and took a photograph just outside the main gate to illustrate just how high the flood defence wall is above ground level.
On the way back I spotted a really good piece of Reuse, and old railway rail being used as a fence post, and the holes had been partially filled. I didn’t check to see if they had collapsed with someone still in it.
Photos:
The World's End Pub
No Shirt No Beer
Stuff arriving.
Sewage and Power
Reuse.
Infilled hole.
The BNP are prepared.
The flood defence wall.
Mrs W and I like walking, and pub lunches. But some while back her feet started playing up [arthritis] and the walks got shorter and slower, and then stopped. So, I haven’t been pounding the Public Footpaths for a while. But a couple of Sunday’s ago I was back in my walking boots. I dropped off Mrs W at her mates in East Tilbury – they were going to some garden thing in Orsett.
So while they were off, I walked from Coal House Fort to Tilbury Fort along the north bank of the Thames, I wanted to see the BNP’s gun emplacements. It was a nice sunny day and not having Mrs W with me to fuss I forgot to put the sun block on and got well and truly sun burnt where I don’t have any hair anymore. It took and hour and 10 minutes so it is around 3-4 miles.
Coal House Fort itself is a really pleasant family spot. Lots of families there having picnics and playing cricket, and a really nice children’s playground. Once past there I was pretty much on my own. Except for the steady stream of container ships overtaking me on their way to Tilbury Docks bringing lots of stuff for the shopaholics regular fix.
The tarmac path gave way to a rough track and then moved inland a bit. Here a stretch of bank about 30 feet wide had been cleared of vegetation by some sort of mechanical bulldozer. It looked like a ploughed field, except there were about a dozen human heads peeking above ground level at various intervals. They were all digging holes – big deep ones. I had to ask. They were looking for bottles. Ah well.
The path then dropped back down to the river with a huge concrete wall to my right and every so often there was a ladder. I popped my head over the wall from time to time so see what was there – a flood plain. Sort of makes sense that doesn't it? Along this stretch there was lots of flotsum and jetsum including millions of little straws about 3 inches long and either white or blue. At first I though it was stripped wiring insulation but no, they were the middle sections of Q-Tips or cotton buds. The two cotton bits had presumably disintegrated. A most inappropriate use of plastic I’d say.
Past what is presumably a power plant and a sewage works and I get to Tilbury Fort and sure enough the BNP are ready. I didn’t stop there, I was straight on to The World’s End for two pints of Abbotts and an environmentally friendly Tuna Baguette. It must be the most blatantly sexist pub I have ever been to. The sign on entry was "no shirt no beer". There was no requirement for "no blouse no gin" not that anyone seemed to be taking advantage.
I had a snooze in the Fort and took a photograph just outside the main gate to illustrate just how high the flood defence wall is above ground level.
On the way back I spotted a really good piece of Reuse, and old railway rail being used as a fence post, and the holes had been partially filled. I didn’t check to see if they had collapsed with someone still in it.
Photos:
The World's End Pub
No Shirt No Beer
Stuff arriving.
Sewage and Power
Reuse.
Infilled hole.
The BNP are prepared.
The flood defence wall.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
The Ugly Duckling..
.. of British Industry may not get the chance to blossom into a Swan.
Vestas make exceedingly good wind turbines.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Decisions, Decisions
Well, I really do want to vote in this but I’m having trouble in getting my shortlist down to 10, let alone putting them in order. There are so many good blogs out there. You may think it’s easy given the list in the side bar, but that’s just me being lazy. “A selection of Greens” [Green Feed] has a whole bunch of good blogs and there are more on my feed list that I just can’t be bothered to put in the links section. There are also a couple over there that are not really eligible, they have to be based on UK politics, not South American or Ireland, Derek.I need some help, or to be more precise some form of financial inducement, to assist me in making up my mind. IOU a pint, preferably plural, is acceptable.
This is an open auction, bids in the comments please. But I reserve the right to respond to private offers via email.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Five Word Meme
Jim has given me five words that remind him of me. The point of this meme is to take the five words and “waffle” about what they mean to me. Jim gave me Community, Green, Blogging, Ale and Humour.
Community
To me community is all about communication. A community is a group of people who communicate with each other. It doesn’t have to be in one physical location, although that is how it developed. Whilst there are millions of bloggers there are a few other bloggers with whom I consider myself to be one of the gang, a community. Those are the ones I talk to, and who talk to me. Same with work. The one’s you go to the pub with. Then there’s football, yer mates you go to the match with and talk bollocks with in the pub afterwards.
But let’s get back to what most people think of as community, their physical locality or neighbourhood. It is strange that people whose next door neighbour is 200 miles down the road are much more open and friendly than those living in a row of Terraces. If you are out walking in the countryside it is common to say hello to strangers you meet. But not in the High Street. Why is that? Towns and villages where the population are/were dependent upon the local Mill or Pit for employment were quite strong communities. Even in the early days of big Cities there were local communities. But it’s changed and what has changed it is the motor car. You go out of your front door, get in your car and drive to where you want to be. Nobody walks anymore. So you don’t meet your neighbours. To a limited extent this is overcome by mums at the school gate and the children making friends at school.
But when we are focussed on paying off the mortgage and bringing up the kids, and spend hours per day commuting [another community word] whilst ignoring everyone, there is little time or energy left to explore the wonders of community. Until you retire. Then you become part of the retired mate’s favours community. The plumber, the electrician, the decorator, the carpenter, the tailor, the seamstress, the cook…..
Green
Is a choice. Do you want to be the type of parasite that kills its host and therefore yourself, or the type that lives in harmony with its host – symbiosis? This planet has, from time to time, had a good old scratch and got rid of the irritating itch it was getting from its “inhabitants”. We call these scratches “major extinction events”. Frankly we’ve been taking the piss lately and we need to wise up pronto. All the waffle about green left, eco-socialism and the like is just distraction bollocks. Green is survival – period.
It is also the colour of a football pitch.
Blogging
Is the equivalent of shouting at the television or radio. Except, if you are lucky a few people get to know what you are shouting about and why. It is also a method of instilling some discipline. You have to think carefully about what you write, because others are going to criticise. Frustrating when you can’t just get the words right, or you start arguing with yourself, and the word file remains unposted. I’ve got loads of those. It’s also about engagement with a community and can be very, very rewarding when you meet someone you don’t know and they mention that they read it, without knowing it’s you.
Ale
Yummy! I drink beer, me. Lots of it. But not just any old beer. It’s good old fashioned British Bitter for me. None of that foreign rubbish Lager stuff. And the nearer the brewery is to where I live the better. London Pride, Shepherd Neame, Greene King Abbotts, Marstons Pedigree, Ruddles County, Old Speckled Hen…… but I have been known to occasionally take a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale or Guinness when I’m hungry. It’s my contribution to the local economy and the local council’s recycling targets. And I haven’t bothered with one of those fancy can crushers. I’ve got a block of 3x2 and a 10lb Punner in the garage. That’s really fun on the day before kerbside collection. It’s also exercise. It’s important to get exercise when you drink as much as I do. Walking seems to do it quite nicely, because you can plan your walks around pub locations. Of course it will probably kill me in the end, but I’ve instructed my children to stand well clear if they decide to have me cremated.
Humour
There are those times when someone doesn’t get the joke. That’s OK, we all do it. What really gets on my tits are those people who have had a humour by-pass operation or are genetically programmed not to laugh – like the Germans. Believe me it’s true. I’ve got a German Aunt and I know her family. They were over here for the World Cup in ’66 and boy they didn’t get the joke big time. Humour is a safety valve. It is an essential element of psychological, emotional and physical well being. Those people who take themselves way too seriously are in serious danger of their heads exploding and we don’t want that do we, it’s messy for the rest of us. Oh, and those people who don’t like humour about “minorities”, you know the Politically Correct brigade who get squeaky bums within 100 yards of an Irish Joke; and for the benefit of Derek I don’t mean the Irish Green Party, so I don’t.
Laugh Long and Prosper in a Green Community Pub with WiFi access.
Community
To me community is all about communication. A community is a group of people who communicate with each other. It doesn’t have to be in one physical location, although that is how it developed. Whilst there are millions of bloggers there are a few other bloggers with whom I consider myself to be one of the gang, a community. Those are the ones I talk to, and who talk to me. Same with work. The one’s you go to the pub with. Then there’s football, yer mates you go to the match with and talk bollocks with in the pub afterwards.
But let’s get back to what most people think of as community, their physical locality or neighbourhood. It is strange that people whose next door neighbour is 200 miles down the road are much more open and friendly than those living in a row of Terraces. If you are out walking in the countryside it is common to say hello to strangers you meet. But not in the High Street. Why is that? Towns and villages where the population are/were dependent upon the local Mill or Pit for employment were quite strong communities. Even in the early days of big Cities there were local communities. But it’s changed and what has changed it is the motor car. You go out of your front door, get in your car and drive to where you want to be. Nobody walks anymore. So you don’t meet your neighbours. To a limited extent this is overcome by mums at the school gate and the children making friends at school.
But when we are focussed on paying off the mortgage and bringing up the kids, and spend hours per day commuting [another community word] whilst ignoring everyone, there is little time or energy left to explore the wonders of community. Until you retire. Then you become part of the retired mate’s favours community. The plumber, the electrician, the decorator, the carpenter, the tailor, the seamstress, the cook…..
Green
Is a choice. Do you want to be the type of parasite that kills its host and therefore yourself, or the type that lives in harmony with its host – symbiosis? This planet has, from time to time, had a good old scratch and got rid of the irritating itch it was getting from its “inhabitants”. We call these scratches “major extinction events”. Frankly we’ve been taking the piss lately and we need to wise up pronto. All the waffle about green left, eco-socialism and the like is just distraction bollocks. Green is survival – period.
It is also the colour of a football pitch.
Blogging
Is the equivalent of shouting at the television or radio. Except, if you are lucky a few people get to know what you are shouting about and why. It is also a method of instilling some discipline. You have to think carefully about what you write, because others are going to criticise. Frustrating when you can’t just get the words right, or you start arguing with yourself, and the word file remains unposted. I’ve got loads of those. It’s also about engagement with a community and can be very, very rewarding when you meet someone you don’t know and they mention that they read it, without knowing it’s you.
Ale
Yummy! I drink beer, me. Lots of it. But not just any old beer. It’s good old fashioned British Bitter for me. None of that foreign rubbish Lager stuff. And the nearer the brewery is to where I live the better. London Pride, Shepherd Neame, Greene King Abbotts, Marstons Pedigree, Ruddles County, Old Speckled Hen…… but I have been known to occasionally take a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale or Guinness when I’m hungry. It’s my contribution to the local economy and the local council’s recycling targets. And I haven’t bothered with one of those fancy can crushers. I’ve got a block of 3x2 and a 10lb Punner in the garage. That’s really fun on the day before kerbside collection. It’s also exercise. It’s important to get exercise when you drink as much as I do. Walking seems to do it quite nicely, because you can plan your walks around pub locations. Of course it will probably kill me in the end, but I’ve instructed my children to stand well clear if they decide to have me cremated.
Humour
There are those times when someone doesn’t get the joke. That’s OK, we all do it. What really gets on my tits are those people who have had a humour by-pass operation or are genetically programmed not to laugh – like the Germans. Believe me it’s true. I’ve got a German Aunt and I know her family. They were over here for the World Cup in ’66 and boy they didn’t get the joke big time. Humour is a safety valve. It is an essential element of psychological, emotional and physical well being. Those people who take themselves way too seriously are in serious danger of their heads exploding and we don’t want that do we, it’s messy for the rest of us. Oh, and those people who don’t like humour about “minorities”, you know the Politically Correct brigade who get squeaky bums within 100 yards of an Irish Joke; and for the benefit of Derek I don’t mean the Irish Green Party, so I don’t.
Laugh Long and Prosper in a Green Community Pub with WiFi access.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Dear Boris
I believe you are the Chairman of the Metropolitan police Authority.
"Paradoxically, it is often actions such as kettling that lead to violence breaking out. Often, the best thing authorities can do is leave a crowd to its own devices."
New Scientist: Why crowds are best left to their own devices.
Please read, digest and act.
Yours
Weggis
CC Jenny Jones
"Paradoxically, it is often actions such as kettling that lead to violence breaking out. Often, the best thing authorities can do is leave a crowd to its own devices."
New Scientist: Why crowds are best left to their own devices.
Please read, digest and act.
Yours
Weggis
CC Jenny Jones
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Vacancy
Leyton & Wanstead MP, Harry Cohen, is to stand down at the next General Election. He wishes to spend more time with his family rather than filling out expenses forms. Applications should be submitted on a ballot paper to the electorate of the constituency.
Local Labour activists have denied that they are to re-brand their Party from NuLab to NoLab. While the Liberal Democrats are using the voting statistics from East Grimshaw [I don’t know where it is either] to show that "only they can win here", complete with [non-aspect ratio] bar chart.
Meanwhile, the Greens are lurking in the background planning a surprise offensive – putting forward sensible policies with a sensible candidate.
That's them fucked - Tory gain!
Local Labour activists have denied that they are to re-brand their Party from NuLab to NoLab. While the Liberal Democrats are using the voting statistics from East Grimshaw [I don’t know where it is either] to show that "only they can win here", complete with [non-aspect ratio] bar chart.
Meanwhile, the Greens are lurking in the background planning a surprise offensive – putting forward sensible policies with a sensible candidate.
That's them fucked - Tory gain!
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