Mrs FEEG and I will be celebrating Thanksgiving in the US of A next week and when we get home on December 3rd, I am hoping to find lots of pomes on the subject of “Giving Thanks” for judging in the Month’s Poetry Competition.
There have already been a couple of very good ones, but rather fewer than we might hope for. So, please, put on your thinking caps and start composing.
My thanks to Madiba for giving me democracy
and his able successor, Thabo ~ baai baai danke
For guiding us through those difficult years
took patience and courage to allay people’s fears.
My thanks too to Jacob for steering our ship
no easy task, There could have been many a slip.
A bountiful country with employment for all
Roofs over our heads, public services on call Read more…
The English mindset could always deal with the big picture. For example – the question of how to divide up the Middle East into new countries after WWI/II without consideration of local traditions or affiliations; and how to divide up Nicosia after the Turkish invasion of northern Cyprus. Easy, give a General or an Embassy bod a map, a ruler and a fat crayon. In that respect we’re the descendants of the Romans. Foreign policy is a piece of cake – to be carved at will.
But at home we’re much more touchy-feely, aren’t we? Just like the Romans in fact. Minorities mean a lot. Like Rutland in 1961; and now when regional boundaries are under discussion again.
Auntie paints the whole scene here: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-29934867
Flying over France left me hopeful. There was a fair amount of visibility and it seemed as if the weather would co-operate. Flying over the English Channel did little to break my mild streak of hope of seeing a bit of English coastline from the air. The grey, churning waters were clearly visible. My hope grew as time progressed and Davey’s Follies started appearing below, spin, spin, spinning in the wind. Quietly, gently I hummed “the Man of la Mancha” to myself as my small aeroplane flew over rows and rows of Davey’s Follies. Soon, I thought, I will see the English coast. The colour of the water started to change, more waves became apparent. My hope was rising in a sharp crescendo – the English coast in autumn! Suddenly, my Luxembourg Airlines Bombardier flew into a thick cover of clouds – grey, grey, white and then grey. A few minutes later, the pilot announced that we had started our final descent into London City Airport as the clouds broke and suburban South-Eastern England appeared beneath. “Oh, g-d, good old England” I thought.
The rest of my flight progressed nicely. We arrived in London half an hour late. Passport control was quick and painless – although it took a few minutes for my suitcase to arrive. After a 15-minute chinwag with two members of the Royal British Legion, I purchased my perquisite poppy and set out to see if Boadicea made it from Hove. Not seeing anyone, I purchased a single fare ticket and went to Waterloo Station. Having a few hours to spare, I walked to Westminster and explored the Houses of Parliament from the outside. Security was high and I heard a news-reader announce that the Jaguar that just drove through the gates was bringing Davey of Davey’s Follies’ fame to another session of wrecking the United Kingdom. I could not help myself humming “the Man of la Mancha” again, albeit slightly louder this time in response to the din of traffic.
The plant in the picture is called Wandering Sailor at least that’s what my mother thought. Read more…
The photo competition, which asked for ‘photos which focusses on some detail we may usually overlook’ had an encouraging number of entries, considering how quiet it is currently around these parts.
Ara’s delicate silhouetted tree was the first entry, and a striking one at that, with blue sky and pink tinged clouds in the background, plus the chance to see the flowers and the green of the leaves faintly against the house.
(Personally I feel the strength of the image may have been improved by cropping to keep just the silhouetted image, loosing the house.) Read more…
Steve the plumber has just given our old Potterton Boiler her annual service and the good news is that the old girl is fit for another twelve months: plenty of spares available so no need to think about installing the dreaded condensing boiler just yet. Read more…
I have been wondering for some time why this silly woman had her bottom enlarged to such a ludicrous extent. Now I know.
Most people would just go out and buy a new occasional table.
Our cherished earthlings seem to have gone walkabout – again. Not so much as a byyourleave or abientot or seeya.
Meantime it’ s 14 degrees in new money and clear skies oop narth.