Heard on a bus

There’s a woman in a niqab, talking to her son in a non-English language.

On the seat in front of them: a white man, who turns around and tells the woman that she’s in the UK and should be speaking English.

On the seat in front of the white man, is an elderly white woman who points out: “We’re in Wales, and she’s speaking Welsh.”

 

Mae yna fenyw mewn niqab, yn siarad â’i mab mewn iaith nad yw’n Saesneg.

Ar y sedd o’u blaenau: dyn gwyn, sy’n troi o gwmpas ac yn dweud wrth y wraig ei bod hi yn y DU a dylai fod yn siarad Saesneg.

Ar y sedd o flaen y dyn gwyn, mae’n fenyw gwyn oedrannus sy’n nodi: “Rydym ni yng Nghymru, ac mae hi’n siarad Cymraeg.”

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Help Is Here

This is America. Not the rubbish we see in the papers and on TV, not the over rich politicians who have no idea what it is to be hungry, or have nowhere to rest, not the overpaid sports, media, and entertainment “stars”. These are the stars!

that little voice

I returned home just days following Hurricane Harvey’s rampage through this part of Texas, getting a first hand view of the devastation to some 100+ families, not including the dozens of businesses that were impacted in our small town. The saddest part of this tragedy is most of those affected could not afford these life changing events.

They lost everything…except each other. They have no clothes, no shoes, no food, no furniture,  no school supplies, no homes, no direction…and no money.

Rebuild? How? With What?

Move? Where?

Pull yourself up with your boot straps? Who has boots?

I sat with a restaurant owner yesterday as she handed out grocery store gift cards, clothing store gift cards, and cash to her staff members who have no place to live, and no means to ‘start over’. It was important that the restaurant open because these folks needed to get a paycheck, and that wouldn’t…

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All Creatures Great and Small

A great story here from Nan’s Farm. Well worth a read – and a follow!

Nan's Farm-Inside Out

Part One – The Sheep

The sheep minus the lambs

We’ve all done those trips down memory Lane haven’t we?  My own trips often include the cast of ‘All Creatures Great and Small’.  Sheep, pet lambs, goats, ponies, cats, dogs, chickens, rabbits, hamsters and a couple of parrots that all became part of our family.

Right now, it’s the beginning of August and as usual at this time of year, the lambs have been separated from the yews and have been moved a mile up the hill to fresh grazing.  I enjoy watching the lambs grow and still feel a twinge of sadness when it’s time for them to move on, their mothers however, appear to get over it in less than twenty four hours!

When our children were young we all looked forward to springtime and the new lambs. It was a time when if we were lucky, we would have the opportunity to bottle feed the pet…

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The Rescuers Final Reward

For animal lovers everywhere, a lovely tale to brighten your day, with maybe a little tear!

The happy Quitter!

Image result for rescuer at the rainbow bridge

Of course, I know about the “Rainbow Bridge.” It’s a cute story that is supposed to cheer us up when we lose a furry friend, but until today I didn’t know there was a second part. The second part is for rescued animals and rescuers. 

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The Hurtful Truth

I’m sure you’ll enjoy the twist in this tale from “Funsie”. Well worth a read.

Simply Me

My nature of job required me to be away for months, and sometimes even years. I met Clare on board my ship. It was love at first sight. Few months later, we were married. However, one month after our marriage, I was called on board to replace Jake, my best friend who called in sick.

Although I was reluctant to part with my newly wedded bride, I had a duty to fulfil. Every passing days felt like years. I missed her so much. The only comfort I had, was to gaze at the stars every night knowing that we were looking at the same sky wherever we were.

After several months on the sea, I was finally back in town. I could not wait to see Clare. My heart was thumping with excitement. My footsteps were as light as feathers. It did not take very long for me to reach…

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You’re Going To Kill Me

You may want to kill Ward Clever after having read this superb piece. That is if you haven’t died laughing!

Ward Clever

Warning: Reading this story will cause mental anguish and distress, blindness and rage. Consult a doctor before reading it.

Shelly Holeinfence had just changed her name from something ridiculous. She did this to win the affections of the object of her desire, or one of his friends. It didn’t work, so she moved deep into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Not, like, under them or anything, you moron, but a fair distance from any civilization.

And that’s when she saw the elves.

She saw them out her window one day, dancing in a fire. And a few seconds later, jumping around and howling in pain as the brighter elves danced around the fire while EMTs (elven medical technicians) attended to the burns. She tried to stay hidden from the elves, but they knew she was there, because it was difficult to hide a cabin in the middle of the mountains.

Over…

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Handfasting – a poem

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Handfasting_(Neopaganism)

Handfasting was very prevalent in the Hebrides, the Inner, and Outer, islands off the west coast of Scotland.

I had the unique privilege of living on St Kilda, a remote archipelago, some 45 miles West North West of North Uist, for several periods, mostly 6 weeks at a time. Stays sometimes proved to be longer, because access is always determined by the weather! In total, I spent some 8 months of my life there.

St Kilda has a strange hold on all who set foot there, rather akin to desert fever for anyone who has experienced true desert.

I follow a page, https://www.facebook.com/groups/St.KildaHebrides/ , on Facebook, dedicated to St Kilda, and, as part of advice being offered to a would be visitor, came across this poem written by Andrew Lane in 2009.

I do not know Andrew but, from what I’ve seen and read, feel that we would get on very well. He is a musician, so this may well have been written to perform. In any case, I hope that you find the poem at least a little interesting, especially those who may know nothing about the Scots, or their unique language.

Andrew has a lovely “lived in” face, and someone commented that it was obviously the result of someone’s advice:

“Smile a lot when you are young so that when you grow older, your wrinkles will all be in the right place”

THE HAND-FASTING

Oh, lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.

Bring the lassies from the wheel
To spin themselves a proper reel.
Bring the laddies from the loom
To weave a dance beside the groom.

Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.

Bring the stoddart from the braes
And leave the hoggie to its ways.
Bring the fisher from the shore;
This man will be a boy no more.

Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.

Set your creels upon the ling
And bow the fiddles till they sing.
Take the whistle from your poke
And pipe a tune for dancing folk.

Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.

Set the bellyrive aboot,
And spread the meat upon the cloot.
Place the whisky pig beside
And you shall see the hand-fast tied.

Lassie, place your hand on mine, and Alastair will fetch the twine
And bind us at the wrist for aye, for this shall be our wedding day.

Stoddart – a herdsman. Hoggie – a young sheep. Bellyrive – a feast.
Cloot – cloth. Whisky pig – a whisky jar.

©Andrew Lane July 2009

 

We need to talk about Diane Abbott. Now. (EXPLICIT CONTENT)

Anyone not in the UK will probably be totally bemused by this article. However, I felt that it is entirely appropriate to re blog this on the day that we are deciding who should form our government for the next 5 years.

COOKING ON A BOOTSTRAP

This is not a recipe. I wrote this as a series of tweets today and readers asked for it as a blog post, so here it is. Our politics may differ, so feel free to skip straight back to the recipes if that’s what you’re here for.

WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT DIANE ABBOTT.

Right one of us political writer people needs to do this and it looks like it’s me. Grab a seat. I wanna talk about Diane.
Diane was first elected as an MP in 1987, the year before I was born. She has been dedicated to serving the British public for longer than I have even been alive. Hold that thought. Understand it.
Diane was the first black woman to have a seat in the House of Commons. She MADE HISTORY. Her father was welder, her mother a nurse. How many working class kids do we have…

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The little sods from the !st Monchen Gladbach Scout Troop

Read this fantastic story of Scouting of yesteryear told by John. He is now retired, both from stealing from the Tuck Shop, and from his legal duties. He can still sing the old scouting songs though!

Broadsides

scouts-threeIt must have been the summer of 1961. Certainly before the Beatles. The music that year was all Dean Martin and the Drifters, or itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini.* And I recall being in love with a girl in the 4th form at Queens’s school in Rheindalen, Carol, and constantly singing a song to her called “Oh Carol”.** And there was Elvis of course. Anyway, I was in the boy scouts then. Moved on I had from the cubs, left behind all that Akela and dib dib, dib, dob, dob, dob stuff. Cubs had sixers in charge. I had been a sixer when a cub. Born to command I was. Now, in that summer of ’61, I had graduated to the scouts and I was quickly made a Patrol leader. Sometimes I even wore long trousers.

They would meet once a week, Wednesday evening…

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