April 28, 2017

So it has been a while since our foreign travels and I have thought about producing a Journal post. So what’s happened since then then? It seems like a busy time of house letting, painters and roofers. Sadly the tenant who I wrote about in a previous Post, where I played the role of an inadeqaute agony aunt, didn’t resolve her problems and they both left, which was very inconsiderate for our revenue stream! 

However, on another level then It seems that life has returned to normal with an Election in the news, whether British or French. Picking up on another Post that I have written, then the worst thing about it is the media saturation and the BS we’ll have to work our way through until June 8th, in fact I think most folk know how they are going to vote this time and so bothering with the hustings is a waste of time. I feel that it can only ramp up with hysteria in the intervening days and if the campaign has no exciting things for the media to write about then I imagine we’ll be latching onto ‘Armageddon’ like comments from anyone in Europe about our future.

Of similar pleasure was a trip to the dentist for a chipped tooth. This occurred in the IKEA cafeteria, which was scant reward for good behaviour. Instead of having the meatballs and chips I had a piece of grilled salmon with a risotto. (My daughter’s boyfriend had the 15 meatball option and a hot dog at the Exit on his departure – I well remember when I could stick this stuff away with no weight implications). I avoid the dentist and can see no reason for check ups – pain or mechanical problems lead me to his seat. The injection for numbing the gum does feel like he’s inserting something like the blunt end of a metal coat hanger into your cheek. Let’s hope the teeth now behave or I will contemplate moving away from consuming solids.

Yes, the sign is not a protest poster but a sign from the Council. Read it slowly!

One of Anna’s many delights is that when I pick a concert to go to then she likes the fact that most of the audience are younger than her. This is often a reality born out of my taste in music. More of the edgier stuff, with a younger audience, is not her bag and this observation about age is likely to continue for her. We went to one of our favourite venues – Pocklington Arts Centre – to see The Blues Band. I had seen them twice previously – both times in Southend in another life and over three decades back.

Paul Jones, lead vocalist, of Manfred Mann and BBC Radio 2 fame was 75 and looking well on it. However for all the modern marketing that makes you cynical about how many ways they want to empty your pocket then old men have a neat line. Shamelessly he plugged a band or solo CD’s as they played every song. They then all disappeared at the long interval into the foyer to flog and sign them at £12 a piece. Concert merchandise is not new but they are usually a pleasing side benefit for the audience rather than the main reason for the band being there! I spent some of their set adding up the number of seats, number of CD buyers, CD costs and number of nights to work out that Paul was well into four figures of profit by the end of the tour.  Let’s home he gets the very best Care Home. An unlovely experience frankly.

As an update on my reading then I am ploughing through Roy Jenkins biography of Gladstone, the 19th Century Prime Minister. It is 650 pages of close print and is not an easy read. I was saying to Anna that it is a brilliant cure for insomnia because after about four pages then the eyelids become leaden and sleep beckons. To borrow a phrase, more associated with Crimbo, then I have another 40 sleeps before I finish it.