Wet, wet, wet

I planned to garden but it is very wet out there, so have scanned the local paper for plants sales. There’s a good one on this morning fairly locally.

I’m creating a new bed this year as my ‘best bed’ is no longer visible from my kitchen window (the extension hides it from me) so I’m planning to plant in front of the yew hedge. Continue reading “Wet, wet, wet”

Immigration?

The BNP, which advocates an immediate end to the “immigration flood” into Britain, lost all 12 of its seats on Barking & Dagenham Borough Council, with the Labour Party winning all 51 seats for the first time in the borough’s history. Council leader Liam Smith said the BNP “has no policy and plays on people’s fears,” while his own party ran a positive campaign, focusing on the council’s record in the area. Many pundits predicted the BNP could gain control of the council, as an influx of immigrants in recent years has caused resentment among the London suburb’s predominantly white, working-class population.

Curiously, although immigration was said to be one of the main issues in this election, why did the BNP fail to gain any support, locally or nationally?

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With apologies to Boadicea,

a report from Vienna. The train and taxi system worked well, Araminta. Just a pity it was raining when we arrived, courtesy of Niki.com, which is Niki Lauda’s latest venture into running an airline.

The weather today couldn’t have been better, with blue sky and sunshine. We finished a day’s walking round the main landmarks with a visit to the Spanish Riding School in the Hofburg. Unfortunately no photography is allowed. We saw the horses in their stables, but were not permitted to pat them and certainly not to offer them sugar lumps or Polo mints.  Each horse has his diet written up outside his stall, according to what training he is doing, and the bedding, either straw or sawdust, also depends on his programme.  They really are beautiful animals. I felt sorry for the one brown one, but apparently the saying is that so long as there is one brown horse in the riding school, the school will survive.

There is a plaque in honour of General Patton who brought the 2,000 horses which the Nazis had moved to Bohemia back to Vienna before the Russian army got to them.  It was basically a moonlight raid to get them all across the frontier in April 1945. So he saved all the original blood-lines.

The stables have their own fresh water supply  and the horses don’t like the water offered them when they go on tours abroad. In a couple of months they will be off for their summer break in the countryside in July and August.  It seems like a great life except for one thing. Only  stallions are strong enough for the “airs above the ground” and they can’t have a mixed stable, so celibacy is the order of the day for many of them. Even at the stud farm they are kept in separate herds, mares with foals and stallions. Obviously some of the stallions are chosen for stud,  but not all.

Those Lipizzaners not chosen for training are sold, so if you’re  looking for that different sort of present …

I’ll be a kid again

Inevitably your election time brings back memories of youth. When you are a kid prime ministers seem to go on forever and the very idea that the man in 10 Downing Street will change is a difficult concept to grasp.
I well remember sitting up all night watching all the results, first Labour were way ahead, but that didn’t mean anything as the country constituencies came in the next day. I the returning officer tra lla traa llee, cheers here cheers there. And Mr Machin is duly ellected. Oh how many times did I hear that. I wonder if it still goes on. Yes I liked elections.

But I did have an existential problem. There was all this forecasting of who would win how many seats and who would be prime minister. But thought I the deed is already done, the votes are in the box the decision is already taken, if only somebody could count the ballots. Stop forecasting start counting the blasted things. How long can it take to count 50,000 votes? A couple of hours?

Anyway life moves on and no Prime Minister could reatain me in theire land. iIwas off, off to France. And the fun of other elections.

My first election was after the death of Pompidou. There was I with my bottle of rouge sat in front of the tele with the expectation of an exciting night. Moi l’officier electoral de jenesaispasoù dit que etc etc.

I knew the voting booths closed at eight o’clock.Tther’d be nothing for a while but I wanted in at the beginning, I was going to see the whole process. 19:40 we were told what the abstentions were and then at 20:00 we were ahem ahem ahem ahem ahem told the result. WHAT, where are the swingometers where are the recounts this CAN’T be, my night is ruined, how can there be no suspense. How can they know at the minute that the polls shut the result?
Magic?
No just good organisation.
So it will be nice watching from afar your old fashioned way of doing things, I’ll be a kid again.