I don’t know whether I’m Carmen or Cohen

Well, I do know that I’m neither of them but I’m in the middle of an identity crisis.

You see, I’m Cornish.  Born and bred.  Grew up here, went to school here, lived here all my life. Well, apart from the times that I lived somewhere else that is. Oh, and the  born and bred bit. It’s a minor technicality really, but as I grew up just on the Cornish side of the border, on the occasion of my birth the hospital in Plymouth was closer than the one in Truro, so I was actually born in Devon. Makes no odds though,  ‘cos as they say down here “Iffen the caat ‘as kittens en the oven it doan maken pasties do et?” So that’s it then, Cornish bred. I can belong to the story that at the bottom of every deep mine in the world you’ll find a Cornishman, similar to the other popular story that in every ships engine room you’ll find a Scotsman. Ahh….. another minor hitch. My father was actually born in India. He wasn’t of Indian descent it was just that his father, as part of the great British Raj,  lived in India  and designed bridges during the construction of the railway system. Dad’s parents were both Scots and at the age of four he was shipped back to boarding school in Scotland where he spent  the remainder of his formative years. Apparently he didn’t see either of his parents again until he was seven, which was considered quite normal then. Extraordinary

I digress

So technically then, I’m a Scot.  That’s great, I can handle that. It’s still part of the big Irish, Welsh, Cornish, Breton celtic thing. I’ve just got to realign myself to be part of the engine room story instead of being at the bottom of the pit. So I and all the thousands of the rest of us stood in engine rooms throughout the world can look forward to receiving our ballot papers for the up and coming Scottish independence vote then?

Err……. No.    Apparently you’re only Scottish enough to vote if you actually live there, even though both you and  your parents might have been born and bred in Prague.

So there you go. Gave up my beloved Cornishness to become a Scot, only to be told I’m not one.

Stand up and be elected

It’s refreshing to see that the worlds of politics and entertainment are finally merging with Backside’s hero – the toffs’ answer to Russell Brand – threatening to return to the House to lead the ever-amusing Tories into the next election.

So all together now!


Bring me Sunshine, in your smile,
Bring me Laughter, all the while,
In this world where we live, there should be more happiness,
So much joy you can give, to each brand new bright tomorrow……..

Repeat ad nauseam

A new sub-prime on the way?

I was amazed to read in the Huffington Post that the Occupy Wall Street movement has plans to introduce a credit card.

http://www.huffingtonpost.fr/2013/10/01/occupy-wall-street-carte-bleue-credit_n_4023270.html?utm_hp_ref=france&ir=France

This seems, as many have pointed out, alien to the movement’s original philosophy.  The scheme is to collect 900,000 dollars and to issue prepaid debit cards to those who would not normally qualify for credit.  Of course if people can amass say $50 to put on their debit card , then they might as well just pay cash for their purchases, one would think.  Charges on the proposed new card would be lower than on standard credit cards, but I still can’t see the point of the system.

Another site gives more details

http://www.cutimes.com/2013/07/26/occupy-wall-street-intends-to-step-out-with-visa

The fee suggested is 99 cents per month.  So you put your $100 or whatever on your card and then pay another dollar a month for the privilege.  Might as well stick to the sock under the mattress – it’s free.

Choose Life

My good pals, Google, are now in the business of curing diseases. Project Calico’s goal is to expand human life expectancy. This slowing of the anti-aging process is an ambitious undertaking but there‘s easier ways of fighting death.

Me, I’m going to follow Hob Gadling’s philosophy on life. “The only reason people die is because everyone does it. You all just go along with it. It’s rubbish, death. It’s stupid. I don’t want nothing to do with it.” Hob said that in 1389 and I was only talking to him the other day where he said. “Death is a mug’s game”. So that’s all there is to it, as another immortal is known to say.

Repolissez votre français

I have a book which my Auntie Jean gave to my Mum for her birthday. There has to be a good chance that it was her 17th as the book was first published in February 1930 and was in its 4th impression by April of the same year. Mum was born in June 1913.

The book was written by WG Hartog, MA (London), Docteur de l’Université de Paris, Officier d’Académie and Senior French Master of St Paul’s School. His little masterpiece’ Brush Up Your French’ is a compilation of the 75 conversations which he wrote for the ‘Daily Mail’ together with invaluable ‘hints and vocabularies’ which he added so that’those who go to France will seldom be at a loss for a word or phrase’. Continue reading “Repolissez votre français”

Cheats always prosper

Human nature stinks so often, especially in so-called sport.

I always think of Dean Richards, the Leicester, England and Lions no. 8 who starred in the Bloodgate Incident; and Luis Suarez, the mercurial Uraguayan footballer who has an outstanding record of crossing the line. (Don’t even mention the countless cyclists.)

Both of my named cheats are now ‘reinstated’ and prospering. Does that mean we are expected to forget their transgressions? Is it OK to ‘put your hands up’ when you’re caught and go back to ‘normality’?

I don’t think so.

A formulaic poem for the J man

I am mad, it makes me holler
I go purple round the collar
This rage happens when I see politicians
Sounding off like an empty drum
I would love to kick them up the bum!

This takes me back to my days as a research scientist. I can only just about remember Ohm’s law these days and I really do not like present day pollies, as you may have guessed. 🙂