Quaint Opinions

We are blessed with living in a country where you can vote for the person that you want to represent you and fight for the things that you hold dear. Elections don’t always turn out the way you hoped. Referendums do not always turn out the way you hoped. Still the facts are that we vote those people into power, whether it is at local level or in a general election. 

Once they have taken their place we are stuck with them. Stuck with the decisions they make whilst they have the power that we have given them, which is the job that we have stuck them with. They are then there to take all the insults, protests and complaints. Built up to be knocked down it seems. Voted in, to do that difficult job.

We are a great nation for pointing the finger at people who have made mistakes and I am as guilty as the next person at doing that. I was very angry just recently when the ‘Leave’ vote got more votes than my own choice of the ‘Remain’ half of the voters of land. What one has to remember it that it was a peoples vote and my half lost. 

I did not vote for Tony Blair to be Prime Minister either, but he was voted in to get that job and to select a group of people to form a government. Another thing I did not agree with was his plan to go to war but that decision was not his alone surely. There were meetings upon meetings and advice, from what they thought were reliable sources to listen to, and information given to the elected members of parliament taking part in those meetings. One man cannot decide to go to invade another country on his own, I do not believe that. I do not buy that. In fact, I did go on the big march in London in protest at that move. My voice there too was ignored, as were the many other peaceful people’s voices. 

It seems to me at that point, that all that is left to do is to support our troops. Our boys, our sons and daughters, when they are sent in to battle to do our work. Many of them just wanted a job when they signed up to serve in the forces or to learn a trade to use when they came out of the services. Yet then they were in uniform and under orders. 

I may be a bit quaint in my way of thinking but I do not think the Ex Prime Minister of our country should be treated in the way he is currently being totally vilified. I heard somebody with a megaphone in the background of the news report calling for him to be executed for war crimes.  

He was the one who lead the country into that trauma in name, but he did that as our Prime Minister, duly elected by the people of this country; the man who we elected to make dreadful decisions like that, and rightly or wrongly, he is man enough to say that he believed it was the right thing at the time and would do it again. Now they want to have him put on trial. We need to question ourselves first in my opinion. Put our big mouths on trial, our hand dropping the voting slip into the ballot box.

 

 

 

Miles to go before I sleep

By George I think I’ve got it. I was hanging out the washing and trying to plan how the bloomin’ heck I was going to get everything done, when I had a flash of bright light in my brain. I realised instantly that I was never ever going to get everything done. My endless list is a mixture of what I have to do, for our business needs and my triathlon training, as well as those things that I would like to do for myself, just plain selfishly, just for a moment of calm and peace or creativity. Read a book, write a poet or ten, do some embroidery, make something on my sewing machine, without the nagging guilt of thinking I should get to grips with the gardening or do more housework. 

Back to that great flash of light now. The main shocking thought that came in the blinding light was this; Life is just too bloody short. People say that a lot don’t they, ‘Don’t worry, life’s too short.’ But it’s true. How on earth am I going to read everything I want to read and keep up with all my favourite author’s latest best sellers? All the theatre visits, all the movies. The Camino de Santiago needs walking. 

AND. Here is the annoying bit. I am not a lazy person. WTF do lazy people get through? How do they plan to change the world? I run around at the speed of light trying to get through everything and still cannot claw my way to the end of the list. Rushing around like one of those flies with the blue end, until after dinner I sit down and find that I cannot keep my eyes open past 9pm. 

AND that’s another thing. I have had enough of all this PC nonsense. Its getting to the point where there will be nothing that one can say that does not offend somebody else, somewhere else. My first job, was started on the Monday morning after going for an interview immediately after leaving school at 4pm, running down into the town, still in my uniform, the previous Friday. My first boss, Mr Collier and his lovely wife, continued my education by attacking my sheltered ears and widening my eyes considerably during the several years I worked for them. Mr Collier had lots of funny expressions that would be frowned upon these days. “I see it all now, some of it, said the blind man waving his wooden leg”, was a favourite of his as was “Well cut off my legs and call me Shorty,” if you told him something he didn’t know. That was one non PC side of him. He also insisted that I read his newspaper during my lunch break. Then during the afternoon, when it was quieter in the shop he and his wife would ask me what I thought about this article or that. They never told me not to be stupid either. They did raise an eyebrow here and there though.

Anyway, I’m not playing anymore, because I think it has all got pretty silly. Do you remember when the comics and everybody else told Irish jokes? Later in life I discovered that they were more of less the same jokes that the Dutch told about Belgians, although they usually involved chips! The same jokes more or less that many Americans told about people from Oklahoma. My favourite piece of bad humour was for some years the one about the Irish tap dancer who fell in the sink! So I’m Not Playing. At least not for the rest of the day, I may calm down later. Rant over.... for now. Watch this space.

 

 

 

Feet back on the ground

The first day back to normal after a trip away is always a bit of a downer and I am blaming that today on the fact that I am tired both from the journey that ended up at eleven hours and still from being part of the back up team for a friend doing Ironman Frankfurt on Sunday.  

We had a very early start for that, having woken up before the alarm at 3.30 am local time. The race swim start was about fifteen miles out of the city and there was a diversion that made it even longer. Then a long enough walk in to the start area. Being a supporter is a tiring job in itself though it is as nothing compared with doing a massive endurance race like that.

 

So leaving for a long drive home the next morning is an effort and when you get home there is all the unloading of our van that in our case includes two bikes and a pile of sports kit too. So this morning started with unpacking the bags and piling mountains of clobber out by the washing machine for the big clean up operation. 

The fifth load of washing has just been pegged out on the washing line on our little garden. That is when you know that the holiday is really over. I do a bit of hand washing during a vacation but once home I am a bit obsessive and like to make sure that pretty much everything goes in the washing machine, has a flutter on the line, get folded nicely and placed in the cupboards designated as the needs ironing pile. 

My first job when I left school at fourteen was in a small dress and separates shop in Worthing just off Montague Street. I was given a lesson on how to do ironing correctly and then proceeded to iron every newly bought item of stock before it was placed on rails or on shelves or displayed in the shop window. Many of my friends say they just fold things up carefully so they don’t need ironing but having been trained to make every piece of clothing look neat and presentable I could not possibly hang things in the wardrobe without having carefully ironed them first. 

Between loads of washing and hanging etc. I wrote a nice blog page and was just going to place it on my diary page when the phone rang. I hastily shut it down without saving and so lost it completely, a page and a half! That did not do a great deal for my blood pressure and after a couple of good searches decided not to drive myself mad and told myself to close the door on that particular piece, not even trying to re write it. Guess it was just being so tired.

 

 

 

When I Am Prime Minister

Having listened to a LOT of talk radio on our journey home it seems to me that our country and the politicians who are supposed to run the country are in much less that a state of complete flux. This one is resigning and that one is going to soon, everybody is calling for new leaders and there is no backbone left anywhere. They are all changing their tunes and it’s plain that there is not a person left that you can trust to make their case be believed. 

Therefore the time has come for me to step out of the shadows and make my view clear here and now. So following is the same plan for the way forward as set down several years ago, proving that I am a woman of my word and will stand my ground…. I repeat these words. 

When I Am Prime Minister 

The day when Prime Minister I become

Leadership fairer and much more sage

Will make new laws and change will come

For the young and those in older age. 

Plain bad manners and rude words

Will be absolutely and completely banned

Guilty ones sent out to live in wild herds

Guarded only by the Almighty’s hand. 

When much too much, are ones is earnings

Weekly charity work will be enforced

There will be monthly town centre burnings

Of rapists and paedophiles endorsed. 

For spending years in invalid caring

This investment will be compensated

Replaced will be the rags they’re wearing

Nurses, for just rewards rightly nominated. 

Lesser crimes still will not pass free

Pavement blocking shoppers admonished

They must endless footage of themselves see

Staring into space as if astonished. 

Cold caller menaces who a phone call place

The very plague of these modern days

Will be dispatched by rocket ship into space

Hurtling on into the suns burning rays. 

Vote for me should you like these words

Rather than a much more sinister minister

Laws as loud and clear as Beethoven’s chords

Oh yes we can, when I am Prime Minister.

 

A Good Day

 

 

A good day can be many things. It can just be when things went well at work, or dinner turned out well and nice things were said. It could be a day when something you had been dreading turned out not to be too bad after all. 

Today was an exceptionally good day; when two people who had worked very hard for a result had both achieved their goal. For my husband it was especially good because he had simply helped and encouraged the other person to achieve a goal that they had set themselves some time ago. Steve had taken very seriously the act of simply standing by an athlete in whom he saw both potential and spirit. He has helped him work hard to improve his swimming and been there just to chat about how things were going with no thought of gain for himself. Just a plain old fashioned kindness, it would seem on the surface, except that he spent hours in consideration and thought about how best to help an athlete who was prepared to give that extra effort that is what makes the difference between wishing and hoping or knuckling down with a quiet determination to do better, no matter what the odds, or the difficulty or the sacrifice or the pain.  

Steve had for the second time gone as far as travelling to Germany support the man who has so much commitment. Steve knows that it is very hard to get through a monumental event without support from some quarter and it does not always matter where it is from, the only important thing is that the support is genuine.  

Craig Hunter has today reaped the reward for his total commitment to his aim to improve his performance and gain a much improved result. He has so quietly gone about his training; much of which is managed by himself, to his own programme to suit his lifestyle, work and family commitments. He is a quiet, modest man, not openly competitive but keeps his competitive streak to himself, within the confines his own head. There is no showing off for this ultra modest man and he is in a way only competing with himself, perhaps even his younger self. 

A major goal was achieved today with one of them nearly bursting with pride and openly emotional, whilst the other is bound by self control to a point where one wonders if he realises just how great his gain truly is. 

Craig Hunter competes in the 40-44 age group. The last time he tried to win a qualifying slot for the Hawaii Ironman World Championships, he got a slot on the roll down. Today he finished much higher: 5^th in his age group (that was about 500 deep.) He was 69^th Male overall. A massive improvement.

 

 

Nights in White Satin (Tri in White Lycra)

It was around 1967-70 when Justin Haywood with The Moody Blues first caused my jaw to drop when I heard him sing, Nights in White Satin. I stood transfixed like a rabbit caught in the headlights, knowing then that I would always love that song. Today I watched it on YouTube and was stilled again by his voice and forgave him for his carefully straightened shoulder length blonde locks and even let him off for the generous amount of black eye liner. All is forgiven Justin, because of your voice and the song never faded from being one of the all time greats.

 

However, I will never forgive any male athlete, who thinks he can get away with wearing white Lycra! This is an unforgivable sin. Tight white Lycra on a man of any age cannot be allowed. This rule of mine is not simply because if it rains it becomes completely transparent; it is also because there is no way on Gods earth that the wearer cannot know that this is so. This alone means, that it is nothing less then indecent exposure in my book. Do they not look in the mirror when they make the purchase? Do they not cast at least a quick glace at themselves in the mirror before leaving their hotel room?  

This morning my long suffering husband and I sat in the vast reception, lobby, bar area of this very pleasant modern city centre hotel, waiting for our friend to arrive for a chat and a few moments relaxation, before going to the bike check in. Ironman Frankfurt is tomorrow which is also the Ironman European Championships. As we sat there waiting for Craig to arrive, there appeared a man wearing the Bianchi triathlon top and Skinfit tri-pants IN WHITE and positioned himself right in the centre of the lobby. He stood still for a moment and then as if he was a fashion model took two steps forward and turned sharply and then two steps in the opposite direction and turned again. He then took a right hand grasp on his bits inside the skin tight pants and hoiked them into what he felt was a comfortable position. Moments later, another, dare I say member, of his group arrived and the rapid Italian chatter began. 

We were sitting in two cosy chairs around a circular table at which four more chairs completed the setting. The two moved toward ‘Our table’. Steve turned to look out of the window as I said in a stage whisper “Oh no, no, no, please,” as the two guys moved toward us. Thank God in Heaven, all the Saints and Angels, several others arrived to join the Bianchi group; two were wearing the far more modest black model of the same suit with the white shirt only. The meeting in the centre of the lobby was held almost captive because it was lashing rain outside and riding in the rain on normal roads, would result in not only the dreadful transparency occurrence, but would also make sure that road grime would add a grey black bushy squirrel tail to the already ghastly appearance.  

By this time, I was repeating softly into space “Please go away now”, two of them looked around, wrongly presuming that I was talking to Steve. Who is covering up the fact that he is laughing into his chest behind his hand, at my complete lack of control. Craig will be wearing his dark blue Tuff Fitty Club kit I am pleased to report.

 

 

 

Driving through Austria and Bavaria

 

We left Reifnitz early this morning at the end of our ten day holiday there for the Ironman Austria that marked Steve’s 31^st Ironman race. We hit the road at 7.20am with a 450 mile drive in front of us. Austria if so very pretty; wherever you drive there are mountains all around you to feast your eyes upon. The first few miles today was over the early stages of the Austrian Ironman bike course and then turning off towards Villach, then turning towards Salzburg, where all around then scenery is fairy tale beautiful and put me in mind of the very elaborate train sets you see in exhibitions that have little farm houses and fluffy trees, artistically placed over green matting except this is true. Every mountain side is dotted with perfectly placed houses and tiny villages and the little trees that you can see from the vehicle window, looking so tiny in the distance are in reality 60’ high fir trees and spreads of orchards. Everything is laid out with immaculate precision and all kept in scrupulously neat and tidy condition and it is that that looks so unreal yet exquisite in its perfection. 

Although the sky was not as clear and blue as it has been the clouds were something special today with several snake clouds sliding through the sides of valleys along our route, just like the famous one that creeps up the Maloja Pass and into the upper Engadine Valley into St Moritz and featured in a film last year that I loved, called, The Clouds of Sils-Maria. These snakes today were exactly the same and really did look like giant fat white and grey snakes, miles long; such a treat that we were so thrilled to see as we were driving along.

 

 

Approaching Salzburg the road passes near to Berchtesgaden where we made a day trip to a couple of years ago, we had taken flights to Munich and hired a car for a change instead of driving the whole way. We stayed a few nights in Salzburg. Salzburg is such and interesting city with a splendid old town and some fabulous places to visit. We drove to Berchtesgaden, then and took a tour bus up to The Eagles Nest, that is so interesting but quite depressing with the WWII Exhibition there. In Salzburg we had visited Mozart’s house that was divine for me. I loved wandering around that house defying DO Not Touch signs. We also enjoyed an evening with a string quartet; that might not be everybody’s cup of tea, but I nearly melted with pleasure. So much to see there, that we must go back again some time before we shuffle off this mortal coil. Life is far too short and there is so much to do and see.

 

Now Hear This……. It is only a few days since the selfish ‘Leave’ voter’s, who were thinking only about immigration, and don’t try to tell me otherwise, voted us out of the UE. When we reached the border with Germany, vehicles from the UK were being stopped. I saw this ahead and dug out our passports and had them at the ready. We were asked where we had been and where we were going and for how long, before being waved through. That is the first time in……. I don’t know….. What?... Twenty years? Back into the dark ages. 

Bavaria is also extremely pretty and we loved seeing the beautiful expanse of the Cheimsee from the road south of Munich. Munich is huge and seems to take forever to pass by as we drove on to Nuremburg and then on to Würzburg before hitting the major traffic jams that always seem to hinder travellers on the way to Frankfurt. We got to Frankfurt in 7 hours.45 minutes which was actually pretty good time considering all the traffic.