Boo Hoo.

    We've got over it, that game of football I wrote about last time. (Derby County v QPR). 'We wuz robbed' is what all supporters say when they lose and this time it's true. (And no, we haven't really got over it.) Irrespective of the financial importance of the result to Derby (around £160 million over several years), non football supporters I'm sure would be amazed how important it all is to so many people. Over forty thousand people travelled to Wembley to see Derby County,' their team'. Now that's a lot of people. I have never experienced so much collective gloom in all of my life. And it's this collective feeling, this joint 'togetherness' I'd like to explore.

    As I mentioned last time, we have many emotional experiences in life, some highs, some lows. But seldom involving so many people all at the same time. I know of no other experience (losing this football match) that has affected my whole existence, my whole well being to such a depth. And I'm seventy four years of age, for goodness sake! England in the World Cup in Brazil, I'm interested, but not particularly concerned either way. Nothing has affected me so deeply and for so long as the result of Derby County's demise. Now why is that so, I wonder.

    There are several factors involved here when you think about it.We need an identity, a sense of belonging. Something to show 'who we are'. An old lady I know who lives in North Derbyshire comes originally from Yorkshire. She flies in her small garden a ruddy great Yorkshire flag. Everyone in the village has an opinion regarding her actions but she doesn't care. Her flag signifies' who she is'.

    There's no doubt coming from certain parts of the country, never mind the world affects the way we live, think, behave. Essex, for instance has gained an image in post war Britain that is brash in the extreme. You have only to watch 'The Only Way is Essex' on television to gain an opinion, however accurate of Essex people and Essex life. All hair extensions and fake tans apparently. (TOWIE is a reality show; a caricature of 'real life, perhaps!)  Yorkshire is the BIGGEST county and often it shows, Yorkshire 'expats' so often feeling they have to show they're the 'biggest and the best'. (Not all of course but enough!) Little old Derbyshire seemingly has no 'identity' of note. Many people I've met on my motor home travels couldn't place Derbyshire on a map however hard they tried. The Derbyshire motto, by the way is 'Derbyshire born, Derbyshire bred. Strong in the arm, weak in the head.'!

    There's no doubt this identity thingumajig is important to a lot of people. Manchester United are followed by thousands of people; many attend their matches weekly; many more follow their progress and support 'their' team without ever attending a live match. How many children over the years have adopted Manchester United as 'their' team, seduced by the glamour of the Bobby Charlton's and George Bests.

    There's not always much to recommend living in Derby, or Nottingham for that matter and standing by a machine all day to earn the proverbial 'crust'. (Times are changing but many still lead hum-drum lives, many haven't even got the satisfaction of a job, however mundane.) Small wonder their local football team, often a traditional thing, is followed with passion and blinkered fervour, come rain or shine. To many it is the event of the week. (The cry often at Derby County matches is 'It you hate Forest, stand up'. Surely the word HATE is a misnomer; or is it?) So to many this football malarky is a traditional think. Forty thousand individuals converging on London to support a football team is impressive. Plus thousands more watching Derby on televisions around Derby itself is awesome. I have never experienced such gloom after the match in Derby. I watched with friends and the gloom was indescribable. And a thought occurred to me. Is the 'collective thing' the important thing here. Is it 'catching'; are we all victims of 'mass hysteria on a grand scale?

    I remember a year or two ago a young marching band performing, Mansfield way if I remember right. It was a sunny summer's day. One or two children began to suffer from the heat. And a trickle became a flood. More and more children succumbed to the heat. Afterwards the suggestion was that the children were victims of mass hysteria, auto suggestion if you like. Derby County supporters, myself included are victims too, I wouldn't wonder! Victims of collective doom and gloom on an epic scale.

    We humans are the ultimate animal. We have feelings and emotions. Dogs and cats cannot appreciate a cracking penalty save or a Beckhamesque pass all of forty yards. (Neither are they daft enough to sit in the freezing cold on a Saturday in January watching a soccer match. You don't sit in the garden in January. So why sit outside at a football match. Who's the clever one now!

    A final thought, courtesy of a friend. This lady suggests we all have a 'spiritual side' to our nature. What is happening, she suggests, is the spiritual side of many is channelled, not towards religion, but towards another outlet; in Derby football supporters case, Derby County. Makes sense, what was it the famous Bill Shankly once said, 'Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much more important than that.

    What is your 'drug', greatest passion in life? Do tell! Now I'm going for a lie down. All this thinking is making me quite tired!

April Showers. Grumpys Alternative News.

Where to start?
We are all interested in 'dosh' so I reckon some 'money' stories. I see the Church of England was one of the most successful investors last year, returning 15.2% on its investments.The RC's aren't doing so well, a cross and ring belonging to Pope Paul VI is on E-Bay, starting price £522,000 and an RC priest in Connecticut stole $1 million of church money to fund a lavish life style, including male escorts.
A scam involving the Chinese 'reassembling' scrap German Euro coins was worth at least £20 million whilst a woman in a London divorce court was awarded a mere £2.8 million. Not bad though for eighteen months marriage! I see David Frost is selling 300 bottles of wine, expected to fetch £120,000 whilst the piano used by Paul McCartney to write Yesterday fetched £150,000 in a London auction. At least these immensely rich sellers will get their money, which is more than can be said for those having money in a bank in Lucknow. Termites ate 10 million rupees in notes (£137,000) stored in a steel chest.
Kelly Fannin, a 'professional' thief at least got value for her ill-gotten gains. Never employed, aged thirty-three, her spendings included £4,500 on breast enlargements. About as bright as the moustached, deer-stalking robber of two convenience stores in Sheffield. Later unmasked as Alison Lee, aged forty two. Oh well, worth a try!
All reported in the Times. How interesting the same paper reported the Athenaeum sacking a butler for stealing barbecue leftovers. It is indeed a world of the 'haves and the have-nots' I fear.

Now for the award of 'plonker(s)' of the month.
The Chief Constable of Devon and Cornwell who left his valuables in his car overnight. I know it shouldn't happen, but was he surprised when his radio and personal belongings 'walked'. Plus the 20,000 drivers of police diesel vehicles in this country who filled them up with petrol; average cost of repair, £93-£960. You and me pay of course, not the drivers!
The Indonesian politician involved in the passing of strict pornographic laws. Only to be caught on film staring at porn websites by a photographer. Oops! And the Czech President, Vaclas Klaus, caught on camera pocketing a pen belonging to his Chilean counterpart, Sebastian Pinera. Oops again!

A short spiel on traits in countries that I find alarming.
The French for their frightening arrogance. (My Mother in law is French and a wonderful woman. in case she reads my blog!) They are fighting new rules that do not permit the drinking of wine by riot police whilst on duty. (Frightening that someone would even try to defend such privileges.) We British are as bad. Note the behaviour meted out to Ian Tomlinson in London presumably by riot police that presumably hadn't been drinking.)
Austrians who baked cakes and decorated them with Nazi themes. Its the fact that they don't see it as offensive that I find most alarming.
Americans who allowed their six year old to take a loaded gun into school, which he promptly dropped in the cafeteria, injuring three children. And likewise the parents of an eight year old boy who sold his father's gun at his school in Flushing Queens for $3.00. Plus I presume the eight year throwing a tantrum at school in Denver was a problem. But did the police really have to use a pepper-spray and handcuffs to subdue him?
The world is full of blinkered, unthinking individuals. And Britain has its fair share of those too. A teenager was impaled on railings after a cycling accident in Barnstable North Devon. The council's reaction? Send him a bill for damage caused! It's no good apologising afterwards, think for goodness sake. But there are people and places that cheer me up in an often god forsaken world.
Laura Vikmanis, left by her husband for a younger women. Did she mope; did she heck. She became a cheerleader and is now the oldest cheerleader in the American National Football League at the age of forty two. Good on yer, gal! (Her story soon to be a Hollywood film.)
The Australian tribunal that decided British teacher Luke Webster was unfairly dismissed for trying to to teach non-English speaking students the correct (some might say incorrect) use of the F-word. Come on, fellas, it's not as if Australia is exactly the home of the Queen's English, elocution and all that!
Pc David Rathband, blinded by the gunman Raoul Moat. Who, completely lacking self-pity, competed in and completed the London Marathon. And the group of British servicemen amputees who trecked unsupported to the North Pole. (Joined for part of the journey by Prince Harry.)
The whole of Mexico who, contrary to expectation, came out top in a league of hard workers. (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development.) They work longer than other nations and are still the third happiest nation in the world.
Still on a happyish note let our animal friends have the last word. The RSPB are using plastic puffins to lure the real thing back to Ramsey Island after being absent for one hundred years.
A Hertfordshire farmer is puzzled as to why his thirty seven white ewes and one white ram has produced sixty black lambs. (It might be worth checking nearby farms!)
A gorilla called Komale in Bristol Zoo surprised everyone by picking up a duckling and cuddling it. Amazing, but as they say in Derbyshire. 'Don't push your luck, ducky!'
Nonja the orang-utan had some Lego blocks for his birthday. He normally does paintings, his keepers in Vienna Zoo hope the blocks might encourage him to move on to sculptures.
Finally, who can resist the picture of the dog (plus his 449 companions) rescued by activists on his way to a restaurant in Jilin to be served as the plat du jour.

And finally, finally, a piece of mind-bending unimportance. Men with ring fingers longer than their index fingers are more likely to be rated as handsome by women. (Findings of Camille Ferdenzi, a Geneva psychologist.) Don't say you never learn anything from Grumpy's blog!

Grumpy's Alternative News June

It's been a right old time for bodies. Not long ago a couple were distributing body parts all over the country in a bid to avoid detection of a murder. Recently a body was discovered in a green wheelie bin. It had apparently been there for three weeks with a foot sticking out of the top. The dustbin men (sorry refuse collectors) said they don't empty bins unless the bin is on the pavement. This one apparently was still on the driveway That's all right then!

And blow me, another leg has turned up on farmland in Hertfordshire. (No, not connected to the other two cases, silly. Unless the first case was Jake the Peg.) The police reported this last leg was thought to be 'from a white or Asian male'. Only one or the other, how strange. As a matter of interest, I wonder how difficult it is to identify a single leg as male or female. It would certainly not have been easy had it belonged to some of my female acquaintances in my younger days!

Our police are on the whole pretty good but even they have their moments. The new Met Police Commissioner joined his men in a pre-dawn, high publicity raid to arrest a gang of burglars. The press were there, eighty police including riot squad officers, taser stun guns, helicopter, the lot. Only when they broke into a house, it was empty. Their suspect was already in custody and no one had informed the Commissioner. Oh well, you can't win them all!

Mind you, our police are often superior to their New York counterparts. A man lay dead inside a van for weeks as parking tickets piled up on the windscreen. So much for tinted windows. Of any case the New York police have a policy of not searching parked vehicles.

A little sideline. The suspect in the 'bin body' was arrested in Malta. Evidently Portsmouth has been dubbed 'the new Malta' in a Southern Rail poster campaign. A bit tongue in cheek, Boris Johnson described Portsmouth as 'one of the most depressing towns in southern England.' Perhaps why our suspect went to the real place instead of Portsmouth.

Luckiest couple of the month were the pair who won £25 million on the EuroMillion lottery. He, the husband says he's going to use part of the money to get professional advice as to how to grow better carrots on his allotment.

Unluckiest was the Israeli women whose children threw away her old mattress and replaced it with a new one. The old mattress contained her life savings, nearly one million US dollars. They are still searching local landfill sites.

Even more unlucky was the tourist killed by a shark in the Red Sea. Bad publicity for the tourist industry. I suspect the environment official had this in mind when he tried to minimise the seriousness of the situation. 'This very rarely happens. It seems the victim aggravated the shark or presented it with food.' Well done, sir, that certainly helps!

Saddest individual of the month was perhaps the arts therapist who swore at patients, smoked cannabis, fell asleep during sessions and suggested that patients take advantage of 'unlimited sex'. Not surprisingly he was struck off as these were only some of his misdemeanours.

Equally foolish was the vicar who sent salacious text messages to a teenage girl. Evidently he was under strain. I wonder if being sacked makes it worse. But the saddest for me was the Mafia boss who burst into tears in front of the parole board saying 'I'm really depressed and I can't take prison any more.' All together now, all say 'aaah'. A Mafia boss, I ask you. He has now been transferred to house arrest.

So there you have it. A mite bit depressing but nothing political. I leave you with two more snippets. A new NHS unit in Ilkeston, Derbyshire is playing Beatles music to help dementia patients. What would be your choice? Finally, it has been revealed one in three organ recipients believe he or she takes on some aspect of the personality of the donor. Some report strong psychological connections. With this in mind whose bits would you like. And please keep it clean!

Bring on the Clowns

I were doing my favourite past time, ear wigging in a pub recently. What an enlightening experience. Cut glass accents and nauseating bilge.

'Must get the BM' serviced; isn't steak getting expensive, eating out more than twice a week's quite exorbitant; I say, it's so cold, can't wait for Christmas in the Bahamas; and aren't gym fees getting expensive.'

Now it's nowt to do wi me but what daft apuths. Who sang 'Times They are A'changing'; a truism indeed.

Owd yer sweat and stop yer grizzlin', yov no idea 'What's it all about, Alfie.'

Ow were dragged up in Ockbrook, a very desirable place to live in Derbyshire. Now full of some very posh people; or at least they think they're posh.

We 'ad nowt thenadays but we didn't do the chunterin' this lot do.

Right mardy boggers. They don't know what it is to scrat for the rent. Steak, there were no steak when I were young. If yow got bread and dripping for snap you et it an' gor on wi' it.

And nesh buggers, they don't know what code is. I've bin all of a shek wi code many a time. It's starvin, so what. A birra snow never urt no-one. Pura another ganzi on and stop mitherin. And if their doolally div kids did more instead of slormin about at 'om they wouldn't feel the code 'alf so much. Plus they wudna be so fat. Gym fees, gym fees, that's a belter. We just put our pumps on and ran roun' village until we were taitered. Us kids might 'ave been lairy but there were no fat kids in our day. I cud clonk em, I really cud. If they want to talk rammel, it's their, whats that posh word, preg, prog, progative. But as my mother would have said, 'Ah canna abide snobs, mi duck, but ni mind eh.'

Colloarders of the World, Unite

I don't throw much away, hence the length of time it's taking to sort out our possessions lovingly carted from our previous abode. I don't know whether you'd call me a genuine collector or merely a hoarder, hence I think I'll settle for 'colloarder'. This week its the turn of my mug collection to be examined, some displayed and some returned to the loft for another twenty years! (I've just done a complete reverse turn and had a loft ladder fitted, having sworn blind eight weeks ago I was filling no more lofts in my ever decreasing lifetime.)

I was given a pewter mug as a leaving present many years ago; I can't even remember the occasion. But it kindled an interest that means I now own many, many assorted mugs and jugs, heaven forbid, made of pot, pewter, EPNS, leather, wood or copper. (I would have many more but my DIY skills are both infamous and legendary. Hence shelves fall with regular monotony, taking their contents to a noisy, earsplitting end.)

Many of these prizes were bought at car boots, value, not much but some having a sentimental value beyond mere monetary considerations. Thus you remember a large car boot at Ripon Racecourse on a hot day and the bitterly cold wind at a similar, much smaller event at Beadnell.. An indoor cattle market at Hexham; a market stall in Nuneaton, a craft fair in Bakewell and so on ad infinitum. From twenty pence to twenty pounds, treasures carted home and lovingly displayed. Often an education in themselves if only you take the time to examine them closely.

Commemorative offerings are commonplace but always of interest. 'Burton Albion, FA Challenge Finalists at Wembley, May 9th, 1987.' a pot reminder of coming second; who was it whose song included the words, 'nearly there'.

A large pewter mug with the inscription 'T G Grawstorne, 2nd in the Junior Steeplechase, Eton, 1895. One hell of a prize, I wonder what you got for coming first!

Mugs commemorating the Silver Jubilee of the Derbyshire Fire Service in 1973 and the Queen's Silver Jubilee in 1977. (Plus sad reminders of Charles and Diana's wedding, 29th July, 1981.)

I'm not surprised I have a mug issued by 'The Beer Swillers Union', less sure why a mug with the inscription 'Temperance Union' is in my possession.'

Some jugs and mugs bring back memories of companies lost but not forgotten: Bass, Flowers, 'E', Ind Coope, Stones. Plus items made by firms whose products have stood the test of time. Elaborate Irish Wade, made for display only and plain but far more functional Pearson Pottery stoneware; Gibsons and Arthur Wood. Empire Porcelain and Lord Nelson Pottery. Pewter made by James Yates and Gaskill and Chambers, plus much to my surprise, two ancient mug with the simple inscription 'Made in China'. So what's new. Super mugs, though you would be ill advised to drink from them. The pewter has a high percentage of lead and the bases are one hundred per cent lead. What was the life span of the average Chinese person a hundred years ago!

Many Edwardian mugs commemorate our British heritage. Pictures of famous hostelries adorn many a mug; The Old Coach House, Stratford and The Great White Horse, Ipswich are two in point. Scenes from Charles Dickens are frequently shown, 'Master Bates Explains a Point' for example.

In the main Edwardians were fairly serious as to what they chose to display on their sideboards. Some mugs are humorous but lighthearted and very inoffensive. I am unsure as to the exact date of the mugs that depict 'The Motorists Prayer' and 'The Gamblers Prayer' are likely to be later. A mug very reminiscent of saucy seaside postcards depicts a working class couple outside the Law Courts looking embarrassed by the sign pointing to 'Queen Anne's Chamber'. Very risque but not as rude as the mug showing a young lady with a movable chest with the inscription 'Let Them Swing'. Perhaps funny, perhaps not but quality wise not in the same league as earlier examples I have on display. Which suggests that sadly quality is often though not always a thing of the past.

Then there are the puzzling items that test your research skills. For instance, the pewter mug with the inscription, EGW 1918-1939. To what does it refer? Ancient copper mugs with the stamped 'The Wheatsheaf'. Which Wheatsheaf, there must be thousands. The mug with the flag and the name 'Orsova' is obviously concerning a ship, but why, were they given away or bought as souvenirs. And the mug inscribed 'The Viner Cup, 1966, who why and where I wonder. Plus what happened to poor old Bill. I have his pint pot inscribed simply 'To Bill from the Lads.'

We all have our foibles, I'll bet I'm not the only hoarder come collector in the blogging community. What do you collect, in fact what's your 'bestest', favourite possession?

All in the Mind 3

Thursday Number 3

I was eating breakfast recently, bacon and egg when I felt something unusually hard in my mouth. I manoeuvred it away from the food, retrieved it and was surprised to find the tip of a very sharp knife. Unusual and potentially very dangerous, large enough to do serious damage to ones inners. It must have been my lucky day, so to speak and undoubtedly luck plays a part in our lives. Some believe in Fate, everything in life being preplanned but that is not a theory in which I have any conviction.

When I was around fourteen years of age I used to join others, some older near the river at Spondon, Derbyshire. The other boys swam, the water was both warm from the power station emissions and deep. I was a non swimmer at the time so amused myself in other ways. One day I crawled out on a tree trunk and fished dead fish from the water with the aid of a long stick. (The fish were killed by the sheer warmth of the power station discharges.) Only the tree trunk was dead, broke as I reached the point farthest from the bank and pitched me into the water. I was down stream from the swimmers but someone, I can't remember whom immediately spotted my plight and unceremoniously hauled me to the bank. No damage was done, except to my pride and I spent the next hour sitting on the riverbank naked, to my embarrassment and passing train passengers amusement.

In the same era, two miles down the river, at Borrowash a young boy and his father fished. The river was high, the young boy fell into the river, his father went in after him and both died. Stark contrast to my lucky escape.

I recall both instances clearly as a result of my 'breakfast' incident. But in a way they don't count as random recall, I have written of both instances before in an autobiographical work I intend to publish at a later date. But it brought to mind an incident from the recesses of the mind long forgotten.

We had as visitors all of thirty years ago, a friend and her son aged around six, the latter a pain of some significance. He lacked the proverbial 'common sense', had a short attention span and took some watching, so to speak. I noticed he had one of our daughters glass marbles but thought little of it until he embarked on a coughing fit of some proportion. Red in the face and apparently choking his last breath he was an alarming sight. I quickly assessed the situation, grabbed the young man by the feet and hauled him upside down while my wife rapidly thumped his back. He was not amused, coughed ever more, his face even redder, no matter, that we were saving his life. Only beginning to despair we were too late, I glanced to one side and espied on the floor one shiny glass marble he had lost interest in minutes earlier.

He never did visit us again and I noticed he was in the local papers on occasion in later life for various petty criminal offences. I hope his treatment at our hands was unconnected with his future development.

Three recalls in three days. Now it gets interesting. Is my old damaged brain up to it I wonder.