Blandford Biter

‘The Blandford fly The Blandford fly (sometimes called blackfly) is found in east Anglia, Oxfordshire and Dorset.
Blandford fly bites are common during May and June, and are very painful, frequently occurring on the legs. They can produce a severe, localised reaction, with symptoms including oedema (itchy, pale pink, or red, swellings), blistering, fever, and joint pain.‘ Information here. The bites seem often to become infected. Continue reading “Blandford Biter”

‘Hatching’ Easter eggs

Autism speak

I thought that I’d give you a little insight as to the workings of an autistic child’s mind.

We had Easter eggs this week, similar to the ones pictured left, you know the ones, chocolate on the inside with a hard white coating.

Well, these were hard, impossible for a child to crack with their jaw, after a couple of tries the first child held his egg in his hand and banged it against the table, good idea, bad idea, the egg shattered into hundreds of pieces and scattered all over the floor!

Quick as a flash, the second child approached me with her egg and said “Uncle Soutie, would you hatch it for me?”

The Baltimore Icon(oclast)

A good man died this week, William Donald Schaefer aged 89 was one time Governor of Maryland and prior to that the best mayor the city of Baltimore will ever have.

He really cared about the dirty, crime ridden wasteland that the city had become. During his time as mayor he revitalized the decaying inner harbor area and built lasting facilities that continue to attract crowds and money to the city even now. Baltimore’s Inner Harbor is now home to fine dining, a world class aquarium and is close to the new Baltimore Orioles home field at Camden Yards, all due in large part to Schaefer.

He was one of a kind, he cared little about anything but the city and the stories of his attempts to clean it up are legendary. His morning ride to city hall in the mayoral limo always followed a different route, when there he would seek out the police chief and tell him ” At Fourth and Pratt this morning I saw an abandoned car I would like it gone by the time I go home.” Later on he would simply say ” I saw another abandoned car today, find it and remove it” This in a city of 700,000 was quite challenge for the chief and pretty soon abandoned cars were hard to find in the city. Continue reading “The Baltimore Icon(oclast)”

8th poetry compo – results

Africa

Submission time for this period’s competition has come and gone.

The rules weren’t too taxing, any genre to include at least one African place name or personality.

We had three entries and I enjoyed each and every one (as I always do.)

Araminta’s submission continued the woes of Monty Mouse and his holiday plans, I do enjoy the trials and tribulations of poor old Monty, thank you Ara keep ’em coming.

Bearsy submitted a very clever piece on financial fraudsters leaving even close family members destitute. It reminded me of close friends of my parents who were left in a similar situation back in the ’80’s, they lost almost everything, thank you Bearsy, I love it when these competitions make us sit up and think.

Christophertrier submitted a haunting entry on post colonial Africa, will things get better? Christopher doesn’t tell us but I’d like to think so.

And the winner is….

Christopher, congratulations, over to you for the next one!

Guilt’s end.

Growing up I was drip-fed a steady stream of guilt. Germany is an evil country, one without a soul or hope for national redemption/salvation. Germany, in fact, existed in a historic vacuum only emerging on occasion to be the villain, the bogeyman for the world. Often, the only time when Germany would really be discussed in any meaningful sense by most people, in the times I was living in the USA, was in the context of wars — mostly WWII, sometimes WWI. There were the occasional references made to Germany’s music, literature, art, and engineering. Most of the time, though, it was the war. When in Germany we sought simply to get by in life. The war was not a common subject of discussion — though the scars were everywhere, it was something best left alone. Things such as flag waving were simply not done and patriotism was passively discouraged. Even quiet guilt is still guilt, scars are merely nature’s way of covering a wound.

These scars were not the scars of victims, however. Germany started WWII and it was Germany that was guilty of the tens of millions of death — civilian and military. Germany was responsible for the Holocaust. In time, however, wounds heal — not quite forgotten, but the memories fade ever further into the back of the national consciousness as more and more things take place after that. Germany was divided, Germany was held hostage by France for its political motivations. Germany survived and it thrived. We rebuilt, we became strong, and I would argue better, that we had ever been before. Still, there was that spectre hanging in the background. Then something happened — the World Cup. The entire world saw Germany as it is, not as it was then. A new country, a country without jackboots or criminally insane dictators with ugly moustaches. Suddenly Germany was reborn, or rather, Germany was brought forward in its best.

On a personal level, my sense of national guilt had already been dispersed before. This guilt was a bit stronger than most. Two great-grand-uncles were involved with the Nazi government. One was a high ranking regional official, the other a slave labour “farm” manager. It was a family matter for me, not just a national matter. Yet, when I met Holocaust survivors — I’ve had two experiences — they had no bitterness for me, nothing but kind words and warmth. I was not their enemy, nor should I, could I, ever apologise or feel shame for that. That guilt, that blame was not my own. That was done by others decades before I was born, before my parents were born. To have someone who watched virtually her entire family shot in front of her eyes or starve to death after being worked to the point of immobility shake my hand and say that to me carried more weight than anything. To have a man whose entire family were executed in front of his eyes tell me that I had no need to fear his hatred as he had none to offer was worth more than all the gold in the world.