Who are we to Judge.

I watched a recording of the Shadow Home Secretary Chris Grayling wittering on at the Tory Conference as to how he would solve Britain's problems if he were in government. I was particularly interested in his attitude to alcohol. Evidently he thinks the answer is to put extra tax on super strength alcohol. The price of a four pack of extra strength lager, he suggests, should rise by £1.33, alcopops under the Conservatives would cost £1.33 more. And where was I
when he was making these pronouncements?
I park my motorhome on a car park in a far from salubrious part of town when my wife goes to the opticians. I did so this week, my wife went about her business so to speak and I sat in the van reading. Two men approached, cans to hand.
'Nice van' said one.
'What's the picture on the back' said the other.
(It's actually Mam Tor in North Derbyshire.)
They were pleasant, curious about me and the van so I got out of the van and we chatted. I gave one a motorhome magazine which was studied profusely. These men were unemployed, perhaps unemployable, the motors on display in the magazine cost thousands of pounds yet there was no envy displayed.
I was offered a drink and declined but was curious concerning their choice of drink. Yes, Mr Grayling, it was exactly 9%, cost £1.36 from a shop across the road. We chatted amicably, others joined or merely passed through our little group. Suddenly the lager was secreted under my van, coinciding with the arrival of two policemen only yards away. We were 'eyed', of interest but not approached. It was some time later that I realised the pole alongside my van had a sign attached that simply read 'Alcohol Free Zone'. I have no doubt that my presence prevented the police from investigating further. I am also sure my number plate is now either in a little black book or on the computer at headquarters.
All concerned were alcoholics, but were not proud of it. Two had serious mental health issues. One has recently paid an £80 fine for drinking at the same spot. He seemed the only one with money and fetched a further supply for all. Even more interesting was the fact that he continued to drink in the same spot, though the tin and contents were secreted in a plain paper bag. They were civil and in the main far from unintelligent. All had worked at some stage in their lives; all were of working age. Alcohol was doing none of them any favours but they don't need you and me to tell them the obvious. No Mr Grayling, preach to the converted at conferences and retire home with a 'haven't I done well' feeling. By the way, Mr Grayling, a bottle of wine costing around £3 is likely to be 11% and would have the same effect. No mention, surely not because wine is a middle class drink in your eyes! You blinkered ignoramus, don't you realise my new friends will switch quite easily if you meddle with their supplies. And if still alive, will continue to drink under the sign or nearby. (One has already lost his wife due to alcoholism, one looks after an alcoholic mother.) The latter without the caring allowances to which he is undoubtedly entitled. My wife was shocked that I was still with the group when she returned. I have no answers. But the day I totally ignore my fellow man I will be ready to meet my maker, so to speak. For 'there but for the grace of God go I.'
Our little meeting was far from gloomy. One, suffering from depression and recently out of prison had tried selling dusters and similar. That is, until he had wandered, large bag at the ready, up the drive of a posh house in Breaston, near Long Eaton. Where he was quickly surrounded by fearsome, large men with guns. He dropped the bag and put up his hands, expecting the worst. He had had the misfortune to wander up the drive of Geoff Hoon, MP and Secretary of State for Defence at the time. No wonder my friend now prefers the comparative peace and quiet of a car park. The average British Bobby is far less threatening than MI5.

Weekend Wind Down

We all have our favourite places, but how many have six feet pictures of it on their vehicle. Sad, maybe and you may even scoff but as Lauren is prone to retort, 'Am I bothered?'

On the back of our motorhome, is the constant reminder of Castleton, Derbyshire and in particular Mam Tor, otherwise known as the Shivering Mountain; a favourite overnight stop, always eagerly anticipated, seldom disappointing. The attraction after a week at home in downtown Derby immediately apparent. The scenery, breathtaking, the pace of life, slower, a weekend 'wind down' often after a weeks 'wind up'. Yes there are those who energetically rush around the place; mountain bikers abound; quad and scrambling bikes disappear over rocky ridges at intervals. Determined hikers of all ages and sizes, some striding, others staggering are viewed, sometimes with admiration, occasionally with amusement by locals and ourselves alike.

However our energies tend to be reserved for the constant cooking of bacon and eggs and leisurely short walks usually ending in a favourite public house, where we are inevitably greeted with friendly banter and an excellent choice of beers, though a connoisseur real ale snob I am not.

Castleton is always full of overnight visitors of a weekend and combined with local trade the mix is always interesting. We talk with a group of, dare I say it, elderly visiters from Hull, seven in number, one having gone to bed early; perhaps the pace was too much. Excellent company, humorous and outgoing, designerware on display. (definely bling bling, and why not, why should the young 'uns have the monopoly on life.) They are an excellent advert for retired living in the 21st century. I think back to the fifties and the drab tired people; My mother, worn out at forty, dead before fifty. Thank God for life today.

I talk also to three equally delightful young ladies who are local and 'doing the rounds'. ( My wife winces at my tendency to 'chat up' all and sundry.) The girls attractive and vivacious, drink via straws what I take to be soft drinks but am informed is a mixture, Jack Daniels being only one of the ingredients mentioned. In search of young men I fear they are destined to be disappointed, a dearth of similarly aged young men seems inevitably apparent. We talk of the lack of excitement at least for lively young ladies. I suppose everywhere on earth has a drawback for someone, somewhere. Strangly enough I remember on a previous occasion a young man from a Midlands city who had brought with him two young ladies for a night in a nearby hotel. He was almost tingling with anticipation, he could not hide his excitement. Never underestimate sleepy little villages like Castleton.

We leave, eventually, park up outside the village (my wife is conveniently a non drinker) and so to bed. Much as we love the place we have no real desire to live in Castleton, for where would we go for weekends of pure pleasure; we are indeed blessed.