After a successful morning clearing the garden of bulky waste and then returning the hire van, I was home by midday on a lovely sunny spring day. Although the lions share of jobs were done, there was plenty of time to “potter”, what a plan, or so I thought.
Returning from the top half of our two tier garden with tools in both hands, I misjudged the steps that I had approached a thousand times before, and indeed, I had actually built. Missing a step halfway down, I was heading for the ground rapidly and there was little I could do about it, fortuitously my inverted foot broke the fall before the rest of my middle-aged body came crashing down behind it.
Laying face up at a blue sky as my body was performing a systems check, few thoughts entered my mind, least of all how I was about to get up or even if I would be able to, dragging my body to an almost vertical position, I realised that my foot was sending out a mayday for attention. The pain was tolerable and walking was just about possible, well initially, for as time passed, I became aware of some slight swelling on the side of my foot that had bore the weight of a grown man, and ultimately this would cause me to rest my injury for the next three days.
Limping into the house, I discovered both our dogs dozing on the lounge sofa, and hardly raised their heads as I waddled in. So much for man’s best friend I thought and hardly the loyalty that I had grown up watching a certain rough collie had shown, but still they had no need to bark for help I suppose.
The rescue team
How are you coping with the daily diet of politics at breakfast, dinner and for tea? If you have managed to avoid it then I applaud you, but alas most of us mortals are living in a snow cone of blinding false facts and untruths, these of course used to be called lies, as with everything, did not meet the criteria of our hopeful candidates.
Watching these events constantly are the world media, producing a full menu of flowcharts, graphs and polls, and we are slowly becoming numb to any revelations in this mudslinging to and thro banquet of hypocrisy, when the reality is we have already made up our minds regardless of any new titbits that is revealed to us among the feeding frenzy for the top job.
Our only saving grace is that we have not long to go, and although they are bound for the final push, our thresholds will soon be safe from that smiling, baby kissing and reassuring member of parliament, who undoubtedly you will not see for another half decade.
The Grand National is a sporting date that has been followed by many for decades, whether you love it, hate it or believe it to be cruel, you can’t get away from the attention it is given every year. And this event often inspires people that hardly ever gamble to take a punt, and that adds to the excitement of this multi horse race.
We are not talking thousands of pounds and few annul gamblers place the rent money on an outsider, but hopefully only what they can afford to lose, which unfortunately invariably you will. The bookmakers environment, although has changed over the years, does still daunt some when entering. A far reach from the smoke filled cramped rooms of yesteryear, the modern turf accountant premises gives you a bright welcoming area in which to “buy” their products, easy to read instructions and normally helpful staff who undoubtedly can spot the once yearly customer in a heartbeat.
Not everyone enjoys the atmosphere or thrill of the “sport of Kings” and over the years it has had it’s share of controversy over alleged cruelty and false starts, but rest assured the biggest winners of the day are bookies, because I’ve never seen one riding a bicycle.
Although my door is adorned with signs asking not to be included in the myriad of junk mail that is frequently on offer, I often still get it, and if I am about at the time, I remind those responsible that I do not care for this particular type of letterbox invasion.
Generally, I am met with a lethargic response in a accent of foreign shores, and sometimes squeeze an apathetic apology from the unsuspecting canvasser. But today that all changed when I received a foul mouthed tirade from someone spreading the news of a pizza shop under new management.
This time when I objected, I was met with some objectionable behaviour and what appeared to be the only English language our European friend knew and could pronounce, which was clearly not taught at a citizen class at evening school. Quite astounded I withdrew and returned indoors to review my options in response to this assault on my ears, the council, although sympathetic, could do little, the police recorded an incident under the public order act, but I expect to hear no more, and it was at this point I realised the enormity of this guys actions.
It had suddenly occurred to me that because of this attitude his whole day was a waste of time, no amount of posting leaflets will give you a return on bad manners, and for every shiny mailshot distributed there will be ten families that will hear from word and mouth of the poor staff choices made by this apparent fledgling company.
Food banks are becoming more and more common in the UK, helping struggling families to meet a basic standard of living, and I am embarrassed that we should need them. These charities are kept running by either a sterling donation or one of food directly, with support from the public, some supermarkets and local churches, and quite apart from fixing the problem, politicians are more than happy to pose for the camera supporting their great work.
In order to qualify for this support, generally, you have to be referred by an agency or such like, social services, Doctors and in some cases the Church. On arrival you are given up to 5 days of food stuffs in relation to the size of family in question, in some cases clothes and footwear are offered, which have also been donated. We are reminded daily by media puppets and their parliament string pullers, of the benefits culture, but some of these families are just low wage earners, who are quite literally working themselves into poverty.
Historically governments have treated the poor and the reliant with an appalling attitude, entire families in workhouses, orphans shipped off to countries in need of labour, and asylums locking away the mentally fragile, and yes, all this in the 20th century. Hopefully the mistakes of the past will not be repeated in this century and to provide help where it is needed domestically before outpouring our resources to the rest of the planet.
Although I’m totally aware of food banks, I’m embarrassed that we need them.
I am about to embark on a journey of discovery into the budgets and the food available within the governments standards of living.
This will include price comparisons and recipes, both now and in the ration nation that we may have to become again!
Would love to hear your April fool prank or what you were caught out by!