A (different) place for us?

‘Hey, Pancho!’ quoth Don Quixote. Or was that the Cisco Kid? Any road up, the house on the harbour turned out to be a goldfish bowl. Great location but overlooked from every angle and at the mercy of marauding German sailors of a mid-summer’s night. But undaunted our heroes found an 1850 ship-owner’s pad on the town square; big enough for us at 2,000 squ.ft., fully restored and with a glimpse of the sea from upstairs. Its walled garden backs onto the church with the wonky spire. Negotiations in progress.

3 Days in May

Went to the theatre last night (Trafalgar Studios) to see a play called 3 Days in May with Warren Clark playing Churchill.

Play was about 3 days in May 1940 just before Dunkirk or rather as Dunkirk was starting and as the French gave up (nothing new there) and sucked up to their new German masters.

It is a story of what may have been said in the cabinet war rooms between the heads of the coalition government and how Churchill forced his way into Britain carrying on with the war. The one comment that made me smile was about us making an agreement with the Germans, French and Italians and Chamberlain stated “I wouldn’t trust any of them, they jsut want to take us over” seems a familiar story now.

Yet on that note I have decided to do my bit for Greece and the Greek economy on account that I am half Greek. What have I done?

I have ordered a new car, how does this help Greece? I have ordered another Audi , so by helping the German economy it allows them to continue to bail out Greece. 🙂

Rhino Horns – For Soutie

Hi Soutie, I know this is a subject close to your heart, and mine.

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/Content.aspx?id=162979

I think this chap presents a sensible solution. I particularly agree with this observation:

“Most donor agents appear not to like the idea of a regulated trade; maybe because it is the most likely solution, and a solution is not what they seek?

The public should be cautious about donating money to these agencies. They may be perpetuating the crisis.”

Under the great blue skies.

It’s official now. I’ve been accepted into a graduate programme in history.

It’s not where I’d ever thought to go, somewhere in the middle of the middle of the middle of the USA. It’s a mid-sized university in central Minnesota. The state tends to be liberal, though in the past decade it has grown somewhat more conservative. The specific part of Minnesota is quite conservative, an area populated primarily by the descendents of sensible Lutherans from Germany and the Nordic countries with relatively little diversity. The city, St Cloud, is quite safe and life is quiet. The people are welcoming but a bit staid, sobriety and orderliness are requirements in order to get on well with the population.

The university itself receives a satisfaction rate of over 90 pc, is fully accredited, and is cheaper than a comparable university in California. The cost of living is also significantly lower. I accepted the offer, naturally. Though the course selection is somewhat limited, it’s adequate.

This is a bit of luck, or at least it seems to be. The promise of a change of life, a change of settings which was desperately needed. San Francisco, a disappointing city in which to live, has grown ever less acceptable. Getting assaulted by another student in class, getting harried by an obsessed fan, getting clawed on a bus, losing thousands of dollars in fraud, having to run from hoboes begging for money, having to try to avoid the wrath of a drug-addicted drag queen whose affections I spurned have all been a bit too much to live with.

A life, a quiet life, along the shores of the great Mississippi in a region famed for its dullness, its blandness, its decency is something I very much look forward to.

Parents’ evening

Tonight’s early evening sky had a wash of palest blue, with a flush in places of rose pink, all overlaid with smudges of windswept charcoal.  I watched it change, and as we travelled the blue deepened until it was truly dark.

I noticed this on the way to Scout’s parents ‘student review evening’  just after we had squeezed around the roundabout, avoiding the turning where the ambulance and police cars were acting as an effective road block. By the time we reached school is was completely dark. We commented on how the evenings are really drawing out now.

Continue reading “Parents’ evening”

Bugger educating the kids, let’s give the Windsors a little gift

Our wonderful Education Secretary, a minister in HM’s government Michael Gove, has suggested that the nation give the happy couple a gift for the Jubilee this year.

(Hang on, didn’t we have a Jubilee only 10 years ago? Why another one already? He’s nearly dead and she must be getting a little knackered, give her a rest poor love!)

What a lovely thought bless him. So what might that be you wonder?

BBC linky thing here.

Hey – a new yacht costing £60 million. Fantastic idea – especially when cuts are being made everywhere, including the stopping of building any new schools – a policy Mr Gove brought in within minutes of being given teh education portfolio. Continue reading “Bugger educating the kids, let’s give the Windsors a little gift”