I Went to Church on Sunday.

    I went to church on Sunday. Nothing much there, except that weddings and funerals excepted, it must be at least thirty years since I last went.; and no, the building did not fall down! It was sixty years on Sunday since my mother died. She was forty seven, I was thirteen. I placed a small posy of flowers on the grave and said a private prayer of my own. I will speak more concerning the last sixty years but at a later date
    I was brought up in a Moravian household. I suppose to many that in itself is unusual. The Moravian Church is, I believe, the oldest Protestant church in Europe. I will again speak of this church at a later date. When you are young you don't tend to query too much who you are and all that goes with it, so to speak. Moravians tend to have small, originally self sufficient communities all over Europe and obviously including England. My childhood and upbringing was in the main happy, given my personal circumstances. After the war there was often an air of uncertainty and foreboding present, particularly concerning a Third World War. (nuclear bombs were often talked about.) I distinctly remember, somewhat smugly that I, being a Christian and a Moravian, would go to heaven of any case; others would not be so lucky.
    I attended church\chapel twice on Sundays until my very late teens and thought nothing of it. Girls from the local girls boarding school attended the morning service and were an obvious attraction. Liaisons were sought but seldom materialised; teenage boys can but dream! Two hours lost on Sundays and the sermons seemed to go on forever; but undoubtedly a way of life that installed in me moral values that I adhere to to this day. And so to Sunday, 9th September, 2013.
    The chapel was bright and cheerful just as I remembered it. At the front, at the back of the altar a huge, frowning face still surveys its 'audience' But a face not obvious to all. (I checked) Now why have I, forever and a day been drawn to an 'apparition' that most are not aware. You tell me! The boarders from the school still attend; I suspect they have no choice, unlike the rest of the congregation. Attractive girls, but very noticeable the fact that many were of foreign extraction. As Bob Dylan used to tell us, 'Times they are a'changing.'
    The congregation otherwise was sparse and in the main ominously elderly. I have a vision of a splendid chapel, built in the 1750's in the not too distant future sporting a great big sign, not Ockbrook Moravian Church but a more modern message stating simply 'Tesco Express'.
    The minister, by Moravian standards a comparatively young man, delivered the service with enthusiasm and vigour; what a task he has inherited. A too modern approach will meet with disapproval from those entrenched in the traditional ways of the past. Yet one of his aims will be to offer something that will encourage the young to attend and become lifelong Moravians. (Tasks such as keeping a graveyard tidy is, I've no doubt almost beyond the aged, an awesome practicality easily overlooked!)
    The sermon was topical, ernest and no doubt from the heart. Syria and its problems were mentioned several times. I do hope people living in safe, middle class, cosy Ockbrook do try, if only occasionally
 to think of the lives of others in the world not so fortunate as themselves.
On a not so serious note. The minister's 'speel' was delivered under the banner of 'Things that in life are 'risky'. A thoughtful enough sermon except that I misheard him. I thought he said 'Things that in life are 'risque'. Now that would have been worth hearing! Oh well, the joys of getting old! Mind you, I thought it would have been a bit too modern for rather staid old people. Mind you, I bet the schoolgirls would have paid greater attention!
    The church provided a cup of tea afterwards and several spoke to myself and my wife; pleasant  people, are Moravians. If it was an echo of the past, it was a nice echo. The religious side of life for me has changed. But the community side of Ockbrook Moravian life is important. It is very much a part of life for many, all the more so as they get older. I enjoyed my visit, irrespective of the sad event my visit       recorded. Perhaps my next visit will be a little less than thirty years!

Did January Have You Jumping? Grumpy's Alternative News.

Another month that made you feel sad, glad and sometimes mad. I see the ambulance technician who didn't attend a heart attack victim (in Scotland) because he was on his 'tea break' kept his job. Not so the teacher in Wales who took a sledge to school in the snow so that pupils could enjoy themselves. He failed the written risk assessment. Health and Safety still rules OK. And I see gun sales in America went up after the tragic shootings in Tucson, Arizona. (A ten year old is at present on trial in Ohio accused of shooting his mother; the police found four weapons in his bedroom.) I despair of the place, cheered only by those who plead for sanity, but in vain. Sadly talking of guns, in Sweden an annual cull to kill twenty wolves has attracted around 6,500 hunters. (despite an EU ban.)

It's enough to drive you to drink. A bit like the dozens of starlings who 'drank' themselves to death in Constanta after consuming grapes left over from wine making. Doubtful, though that the flock of around 3,000 red-winged blackbirds that fell from the sky above Beebe in Arkansas had been drinking. (suspected cause lightning.) And not so the pigeon outside a Columbian prison. The amount of crack cocaine strapped to its wings meant it was mission impossible where take off was concerned. Most people like animals. Penguins have come out top in the Edinburgh Zoo 'adoption scheme'. (At its sister Highland Wildlife Park polar bears came top.) And pandas are never far behind. Edinburgh Zoo has been 'gifted' a pair of giant pandas by China for ten years. Mating is the aim but its not easy. (for pandas, silly.) Many zoos have tried various methods and failed. Encouraging them to stand up (strengthens pelvic muscles). Showing them films of pandas mating, even viagra (honest); nothing seems to work. Mind you, evidently for 362 days of the year pandas are not interested in sex. Sounds about right! So don't hold your breath. But animal of the month has to be Heidi, the cross-eyed opossum. now in Leipzig Zoo and soon to be released from quarantine; she is ensured instant fame. She already has a Face-Book page with 50,000 friends, a hit video on YouTube, a song and a replica doll. Remember you read it here first!

The world is one hell of a place. I notice The Home Office has been named as the most gay-friendly employer. I read also that Sir Elton John's baby Zachary, born to a surrogate mother, has 'two mothers and two fathers.' Campbell's soup is returning to Britain and I hadn't even noticed it had gone away. Houses in Wimbledon Village (SW19) averaged more than £5 million each between 2006 and 2010. No wonder people like Sarah Vine, a Cabinet minister's wife buys marmalade at Harrods costing £8.95 a jar. (David Cameron's father left him £300,000 tax free in his will; estate worth £2.7 million.) Mind you, who needs money. James Stevenson, an IT manager didn't. He defrauded the Sainsbury system out of 17 million Nectar points. He could have gone to Alton Towers 2,700 times. As Tommy Trinder used to say 'Now there's a funny thing.'

Mind you, money's not everything. Certainly not where the Royal Mint is concerned. Some of the £2 coins issued for the anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot read 'Pemember the Fifth of November'. Worth £10 on e-bay so I'm told. (I have a 'nine bob note ' on my wall, but at least that was done deliberately.) I cannot understand when all they do is make coins and notes they get it wrong. Doesn't anybody check? They should let Tesco run the Royal Mint. They seem to want to run everything else. Not long ago they went into pawnbroking. Now they're talking about opening beauty parlours. Phones, food, banking, what next, Tesco.
And that's about it. My more sensitive readers, please finish here. For I couldn't resist the news that the ladies in the red light districts in Holland are to face stricter income tax enforcement. 19% value added tax on every sex 'act'. Every little helps towards their state pension. Mind you, the inspectors are sympathetic. Sex toys and rent, tax deductable (between 33% and 52%) plus the following advice. Because of fire hazards, 'all clients involved in sado-masochistic acts are required to be bound and gagged in a way that would allow them to free themselves in 30 seconds.' And, 'All bedside tables to have a pair of wire cutters in the drawers.'

There will of course be three more monthly 'reports'. But evidently not May. for, according to 'We Can Know', a Christian organisation based in North Carolina, Judgement Day is to be May 21st.

So there you have it, and I repeat, 'Don't forget you heard it here first!

Deja vu, Deja vu, Deja vu.

I hadn't reckoned on writing this post. I have, through other commitments, got in the habit of writing only every five or six days. Then granddaughter Angelina forgot to take her coat to school and who gets a phone call, granddad of course! She regularly forgets things, Angelina, mother calls it her Stevens gene. So off we, my wife and I drive, plus coat to the school three miles away. What, after all are granddads for!

We took the opportunity to call in the local Tesco in Mickleover. It was a bitterly cold morning, dark, gloomy and raining. At the roadside outside, near the entrance stood a 'Big Issue' seller; a middle aged lady, perhaps younger due to life's stresses. I approached her and explained, somewhat apologetically, I had bought one near Blackpool very recently from a Romanian gentleman. The ladies English was very limited, but she recognised the name Blackpool. 'Ah,' she said, quite excited, 'he my brother.' Evidently she had travelled from Birmingham to stand in Derby's rain.

I suggested she stand under cover. 'No, she replied, 'it private.'

We communicated as best we could, I shook her hand and went in the shop.

I sought out a staff member and asked was it necessary for the lady outside to stand in the rain. If not allowed in the shop, a covered area nearby would have been a drier, if not warmer alternative. The young staff member was sympathetic and directed me to Customer Services. I found the required counter and asked if it was possible to speak to a duty manager concerning the lady outside. And boy, did 'officialdom' kick in. No, I couldn't, and no the person outside shouldn't be there. Evidently Tesco issue some sort of permit, she hadn't got one and that was that.

I felt ashamed to be British. You missed the point completely. Rules, regulations, so what. People matter more, all people.That the store is full of Christmas merchandise, tough. That the person was cold and wet, 'hard cheese', presumably Romanian street sellers have neither rights nor feelings.

I was amazed at the response in someone comparatively young. The lack of concern for others who, though low in the pecking order of British life, are still human beings; what have we become.

Are such people so enveloped in the Tesco culture of profit and dominance that they have lost sight of basic decencies. Tesco, please don't shout from the rooftops all you do for communities. There's always an ultimate motive. If you want to be loved, instill in all, not just some of your staff GENUINE compassion, not a superficial 'Be polite to customers and that will do' syndrome.

I was angry, shocked, saddened, you name it. And whilst I was having my 'difference of opinion' with 'officialdom' an interesting thing happened. A well dressed lady customer heard my vehement protest and decided to add her 'halfpennyworth'.

'They shouldn't be here' she stated emphatically. 'You should fetch the police and move her on.'

Ignorance personified.

'There you are,' said Customers Services' triumphantly, not all OUR customers agree with you.'

Have they no idea as to how the Big Issue system works. Happy Christmas, ladies. Mind you, I reckon Mickleover, mainly affluent Mickleover always was a 'fur coat and no knickers' sort of place. I asked for Tesco's head office number and walked off, definitely not amused.

I left the place fifteen minutes later. The rain continued to howl down. Outside my Romanian friend was still there. And lo and behold, the Lord had partly answered my prayer. No, the place was still standing and no-one had been struck dead. But the Romanian lady now sported a brightly coloured umbrella. I smiled and pointed to the umbrella.

'From inside' she said, 'I have to take back.'

We talked again briefly, I gave her a pound coin, she gave me her blessing and I went on my way.

Someone had had second thoughts after my little 'discussion'. I trust it was for compassionate reasons and not to 'cover their back' in case I rang head office. I shan't do so, I cannot see it achieving anything, sadly. I am sorry for returning to the subject of this post in a way. But the incident caused me great anxiety during the night. All you people out there, what do you think?

'Five Things That Did My Head In.'

Am I the only one that gets things in my head; silly, irrelevant things and they won't go away. Plus they implant themselves so firmly that I lie in bed with them going round and round and round. Take last month for instance. I collected items for my 'Alternative News' slot and some items refused to go away.
British Rail are introducing trains with no toilets on South Coast rail routes for journeys of less than ninety minutes. Not funny for the elderly in particular and official comments take the proverbial biscuit. You are advised if 'caught short' from December to get off at the next station, use the station toilet and catch the next train. (At the moment the train stops in the station and waits for you to use the lavatory. Which inevitably makes it late!) By the way, they are also disposing with the drinks trolley! Now I've been on a train once in the last twenty years, so why should this silliness stay in my mind?
Christine O'Donnell is running for the US Senate. Besides once dabbling in witchcraft she has a most impressive CV. Unfortunately a large proportion of it is lies. She claims to have studied at Claremont Graduate University, not true and that she also studied at Oxford University again a 'porky'. She is in good company. Jeffrey Archer talks of his time at Oxford University, but omits to say he only did a diploma course. Just another 'fibster' who claims to be a graduate when he or she isn't. What is it about famous or rich people that they need to fantasise about their lives or their importance. Presumably they are inadequates who need to booster their egos. Pathetic, but why should I care?
A man in a trailer park in Breathitt County, USA shot dead five people. And the reason for his insane behaviour? A relation of two victims said simply. 'He just got mad at his wife for not making his breakfast right, and he shot her.' Now, irrespective of the American attitude to guns and gun ownership, and irrespective as to how he liked his eggs cooked, what an amazing occurrence. I think the reason it stayed in my mind was that it is yet another example of a total lack of self control in some people. Is it something in the water, in the upbringing, the lifestyle, pressure of modern living in the so called civilised world that takes people 'over the top', causing totally unreasonable, unacceptable behaviour? Remember the 'Moat' saga that dominated British headlines not so long ago. But why should I worry. Such people are not part of my life. Or are they lurking round the corner?

The Association of Aesthetic Plastic Surgeons recently met in London. They announced that the latest part of the body to benefit from their undoubted skills is the backside. Evidently the Miami Thong Lift is the in thing for those who have already benefited from liposuction, face lifts and breast implants. American surgeon Dr Constantino Mendieta suggests the buttock is the next big thing in cosmetic enhancement. (Note the Freudian slip.) 'It was always a dirty word, but in reality it's instinctively attractive to men' he pontificates. The 'bottom' line is, it no doubt pays very well. Now why should I be remotely interested? Is it that such skilled physicians could put their undoubted skills to better use, or are there deeper deeper psychological implications in my psyche?
Tesco are to sell viagra, and at a price cheaper than Boots! (there's a juvenile joke there somewhere.) What's their motto, 'Every little helps'. Is there no end to Tesco's endeavours. I get the impression they won't stop until they rule the world. (My local pub closed recently and is now a Tesco Express.) But it's not just their avaricious side that won't go away. Viagra for goodness sake. Evidently you have to have blood pressure and cholesterol tests plus a diabetic screening. And as a Tesco high flyer states, if men pass the tests OK, 'Then we will discuss their options.' Now the queues at the check-outs are bad enough. And don't the little check out girls have enough on, so to speak without extra tasks, or have I got it wrong as usual. Plus it's only available to those between forty and sixty five. Lots of room there for schoolboys, and indeed extreme geriatrics to provide forged documents. But why should I worry. (And of any case I don't shop at Tesco!)

Remember the comedian Arthur English. He used to end his act with the words, 'Play the music, open the cage'. I felt like that on occasions. That is, until I read a recent report. The work of Relate and Talk Talk, it states that the 35 to 44 age group are the loneliest, most dissatisfied with their marriage and unhappiest at work. Anxiety over money, mortgages, pensions, ageing parents, all give them grief. Everything from their sex lives to their work experiences seem to give many of them more problems than people of more mature years. In other words, 'mid life' crisis are not so 'mid life' any more. So what am I worrying about! I might be an argumentative, cantankerous old has been. An arthritic, forgetful dinosaur, yes. But still here, yes, just. So no more laying in bed with a head full of irrelevancies. I'll go back to counting sheep. Better still I'll lull myself to sleep with a bit of Dire Straits, for as they so succinctly put it, 'Why Worry'.

And There Goes September. Grumpy's Alternative News.

Another daft month. So what's new! Where do we start.
Animals are always interesting.
I read that you are more likely to see a fox in an urban garden than in the country.(Almost 40 per cent as against 23.)I'm not really surprised, we have no guns in the town.Well, not many!
I see the villagers in Carhampton, Somerset are fed up because pigs keep digging up the graveyard.Lucky pigs, certainly luckier than Ben, a labrador from Beaumaris who weighed seventy kilos. Rescued by the RSPCA, he has already lost four and a half kilos. Equally fortunate Clyde the cat that travelled 2000 miles from his home in Tasmania to Cloncurry in the Outback.(Including 185 miles across the Bass Strait.)
I often think animals are preferable to humans. Certainly not as stupid. I can forgive the lady in Wythenshawe who took a hand grenade she found in her loft to the police station, causing it to be evacuated. For the ladies are often not as cowardly as we men. But the fugitive in Kansas who took two hostages was not the brightest. He dozed off after they gave him a pillow and blankets. And did the man growing cannabis on the central reservation of the Athens-Salonika motorway really expect to get away with it? They were nearly six feet tall prior to harvesting. Plus Abdul Baset Ali al-Megrahi, the freed Lockerbie bomber had his first visitors in hospital. a delegation of 150 African MP's. It is said he looked very ill. No wonder, I know how I felt when three came at once to see me in The Derby Royal Infirmary.
I see The Prince of Wale's organic biscuits are to be marketed by Waitrose as 'Duchy Originals from Waitrose'. (General opinion, expensive and rather naff.) The Right Reverend Stephen Cottrell announced to the nation that if Jesus were alive today he would shop at Asda or Aldi. Though Neil Stanfield, the boss of Onefood-the One, also called Swaddles Organic, suppliers of so called organic food to the likes of Fortnum and Mason might not agree. He bought his produce, non organic from Waitrose and Tesco and repackaged it. Simple when you know how!
I have, like many of you no doubt a complete mistrust of those in power at all levels. Not surprising when a government decides that people who walk other people's children to school need police checks.(The government will no doubt drop such nannying interference in the light of public disbelief and mirth.)
Is it any wonder when the Scout Association in its infinite wisdom decrees that Boy Scouts must no longer take a penknife to their scout camp. Give people power, put them on a committee and sense seems to vanish.
McDonalds spend millions fighting a Malayan restaurant because they dared to call their establishment McCurry. Despite their size and mighty lawyers, McDonald's lost.Power seems for some to suggest importance and immunity from good sense.
The Forest of Dean Council falsifies photographs as evidence in a parking dispute. They are caught out but no one loses their job. Rochdale Council in its wisdom allows five minutes 'lift time' as a 'perk', amounting to twenty hours a year for some in high rise offices.
Now to confess a personal interest in the 'power and authority' stakes. In the summer we, my wife and I received a parking ticket on a car park in Wales. My appeals have been, in my opinion, dealt with in an arrogant, dismissive manner. (More later, I am now in the hands of the Welsh Ombudsman.)
One final comment on stupid misuse of power, funny but pathetic. A certain authority, concerned that children's reaction in their canteens to that evergreen favourite 'Spotted Dick' was not acceptable (they're children for goodness sake) has solemnly declared that hence forth the dish will now be known as, wait for it, 'Spotted Richard'. You couldn't make it up! It was, of course a Welsh authority. (Lest anyone think I have it in for the Welsh, the people not in authority were kindness personified.)
One last titbit from the month of September that I couldn't resist. Please excuse the bad taste.
A Turkish woman accused of cutting off her lover's penis must wait eighteen months for verdict and sentence until a court determines whether the reattached organ still functions.
The mind boggles. They're lucky not to be at the mercy of petty British officials.

Comments welcome, please keep them clean!