The Tyranny of Experts: By Gove, I think he’s got it!

Brexiter Michael Gove is being pilloried today for stating historical fact in a radio interview.

“We have to be careful about historical comparisons, but Albert Einstein during the 1930s was denounced by the German authorities for being wrong and his theories were denounced and one of the reasons of course he was denounced was because he was Jewish.  They got 100 German scientists in the pay of the government to say that he was wrong and Einstein said ‘Look, if I was wrong, one would have been enough.’”

Einstein smoked
CLICKY: A Song, my fair lady?

*Thank you, Sir Clicky! Don’t forget my ashtray*

Move your bloomin' arse
CLICKY: …/squints

*…/moves …Alright, got it!*

Seems today people aren’t much interested in where the smoking link to lung cancer originated.

It may seem paradoxical that the robust identification of one of the most important environmental causes of disease of the 20th century occurred in a totalitarian state. The first case-control study of smoking and lung cancer originated in Nazi Germany in 1939 and found that heavy smoking was strongly related to the risk of lung cancer.

Experts say smokers are black on the inside
CLICKY: Experts state smokers are black on the inside

*By George, Clicky! Thank fuck photoshop came along to help the Experts present their case. They still can’t explain the transplant paradox… /sigh*

Clearly there were considerable links between the promotion of particular lifestyles and the racial hygiene movement.

*Follow the money? Okay*

In 1942 the Institute for the Struggle against the Dangers of Tobacco was established at the University of Jena, where a second case-control study of smoking and lung cancer was carried out.2 This was a convincing investigation in which the authors showed a sophisticated understanding of the potential biases that could distort epidemiological findings. The institute from which this study was run was supported by 100 000 reichsmark of Adolf Hitler’s personal finances.1

Hitler Feared Tobacco

*Well, if the capno–phobia fits, Clicky… or maybe it’s just about “feel good politics”…*

*Ah, Eliza-who-can-Doolittle, except ask silly questions…*

“Give me three good reasons why Britain should be part of Europe”

*Europe is a geographical name, Clicky… /rolls eyes… I suppose it’s her way of being seen to be ‘above politics’*

Eliza Doolittle

*Indeed, Clicky. Have a Song…*

Cheers!

Cheers

 

 

For the Win

“There’s a postcard here for you.”

Thoughtful Man stood on the doorstep, fist full of mail and an impish grin on his face. He handed me the postcard, picture side up.

I looked at him quizzically. “For me?” Who would send me a postcard?

Missouri Postcard

“Missouri? I don’t know anyone in Missouri.” The doorstep was bathed in afternoon sunlight but the squint I gave him was of the confused variety. I turned it over.

Missouri Postcard message

“Err…” My squint narrowed with suspicion. “Since when have I been Mrs W Hayward, Haywald – is Haywald even a name?”

Still grinning, Thoughtful Man plucked the card from my grasp. “The address is right and you are Win.”

“How do you make that out?” I could barely see him I was squinting so hard. “When have I ever been Win?”

Thoughtful Man’s expression of faux-shock would have worked but for the corners of his mouth, which twitched upwards. “When you won my heart and I agreed to marry you.”

amy eye roll.gif

*Tell me about it, Click*

“Yes, well not withstanding the fact that I’m the luckiest woman in the world, the postcard isn’t for me.”

“Are you sure?” Thoughtful Man squinted himself now as he tried to make out the handwriting. “‘Dear Win, in Mo now, got in last night although my case didn’t arrive’. Oh no! Missing baggage!”

I snatched the card back from the chortling bugger and read it to myself. “‘Love M xxx’. Funny, similar handwriting to Mum’s. What’s this? ‘Harry S Truman Home and Library’. Hmm…”

“Uh oh. I don’t like the sound of that ‘hmm’,” Thoughtful Man said with a sagging voice. “What does ‘hmm’ mean? Are you going to be up all night writing?”

“Possibly.” I winked. “You did say the postcard was for me.”

That’s one way to wipe the grin off his face.

*******

come on then sexy

*/rolls eyes… Well, Clicky, I was wondering what country is twinned with Missouri.*

Last night I read a fascinating post at Zero Hedge. I sent it on to my probing friend, Hugo. Big on the old nuclear connections is Hugo … No, Clicky, just the pix; no hidden extras this time, please*

roobee DMs Hugo unseen

20160613_map_0

Missouri twinned with Denmark

*Thank you*

I may not know anyone travelling to Missouri, but I do know somebody that’s presently holidaying in Denmark, and, to paraphrase Shakespeare, ‘feeling rotten in the state in Denmark‘…

Underdog rotten with man-flu

The Underdog himself…

loading wait

*That’s right, Clicky, not only does the postcard feature the home and library of the only US President to approve the use of nuclear weapons in conflict, he was also…*

Truman’s 1948 election upset to win a full term as president has often been invoked by later ‘underdog‘ presidential candidates.

Amy surprised

*Ha! Score for the win, Clicky… oh hang on, M could also mean… /eyes widen…*

Have a Song.

 

 

 

Invitation to the Theatre

“Do you want to go and see Roy’s new play?” Thoughtful Man asked earlier today whilst sat at his computer. “He’s sent me Facebook message.”

the theatre

Roy is Thoughtful Man’s oldest friend. I’ve mentioned him before.

“Oh that would be great.” We hadn’t been out together in ages…

“When’s it on? What’s it about?”

“Have a guess.” Thoughtful Man grinned his evil smile at me. “It opens next week.” He turned back to his computer and employed Clicky to give me a clue.

Thoughtful Man bobbed his head in time to the music. He swiveled back round to look at me with laughing eyes. Of course I knew that Roy’s plays predominantly feature black characters.

“No… He’s never written a musical called ‘Gaye’?!”

 

“No, but it is set in the 80s.” Thoughtful Man winked at me. “It’s called ‘Soul‘.”

‘You had better tell me what I just walked into’

On April Fool’s Day 1984, hours before his 45th birthday, Marvin Gaye was shot dead by his father in the shared family home they called the ‘Big House.’ What happened there – and whether it was murder or suicide – has been shrouded in mystery since.

Revealing what really happened during Marvin Gaye’s haunting final days and celebrating his extraordinary life, Soul is a searing portrait of the pitfalls of the American dream. Not just the story of Marvin Gaye, but of many a musical icon whose family life has been crushed by the effects of their stardom.

“Soul?” That synced with a conversation I had with my friend Hugo on Twitter last night…

This is insanely brilliant

*I know, Click, but that’s another story.*

“It’s at the Hackney Empire.” Thoughtful Man chewed his lip and scanned the webpage. “Parking will be a bitch. we’ll have to go by train.”

I opened a new tab on my PC to goo girl details of the play. There’s a LoL post in this, I thought to myself.

goo girl doo tell Elizabeth Garrett Anderson
 

CLICKY: Talk of slapping sexuality, Doctor… who?

 

*Ha! Not Hackney but still East London. Nice catch, Clicky!*

Thoughtful Man suddenly burst into laughter. “Have you found it yet? Someone from Doctor Who is starring in it.”

Soul play cast
 

CLICKY: Mother of Dr Martha Jones

 

I'm loving it

*Me too, Clicky. And we have a trip to the theatre to look forward to as well. I think this calls for a Song*

 

That Syncing Feeling – Crabby Birthday

My nephew Jake has just returned from a trip to Rome. It was a surprise birthday gift from his girlfriend, Sam. Thoughtful Man and I went there, 25 years ago for our honeymoon.

Jake brought his mum back a gift. Something she would appreciate…

Juju's gift
CLICKY: Florence?

*/squint… Yeah, we know David is in Florence knot Rome, Click. Butt I’m telling the story of my afternoon…*

*******

“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday Mrs Minge…”

I opened the front door a little wider to let Juju in, without letting a very excited Poppy out.

“… Happy birthday to you.” Juju finished her greeting and kissed me on both cheeks.

Our dopey dachshund rolled onto her back, presenting her soft, pink belly and wagged her tail. An arc of pee hit Juju’s shoe.

“Ugh, Mistress Ploppy! Every time!” Juju laughed. I handed her a roll of conveniently place kitchen towel and made for the kitchen. Now, sister just loves to make an entrance but, as far as Princess Poppy is concerned, any accompanying splash is entirely the dog’s prerogative. It is her house, after all.

Later, ensconced in the Library with hot beverages and smokes, we caught up on each other’s news. Juju gave me my birthday cards and told Thoughtful Man and I about Jake and Sam’s recent trip to Rome.

“They loved it. Absolutely, loved it. Did you see what Jake got for me?” Juju handed me her cigarette case and her lighter. “I’d recognise those bollocks anywhere.”

 

“But isn’t David housed in Florence?” I lit a rollie and handed the lighter back. Reluctantly.

Juju smiled. “That’s what I said to Jake.But I don’t care. I love it all the same.”

“Florence? I’m just reading a story about Florence.” Thoughtful Man stirred himself from his computer screen and turned to us. Poppy was laying contentedly across his knees, on her back. He stroked her belly. Bond villain cats have nothing on our girl.

“A massive sink hole opened up there this morning. Swallowed up a bunch of cars.”

Florence Sync hole

“Blimey!” I woke my PC from it’s snooze and opened a new page to look for myself. I’d been tweeting before Juju’s arrival.

“OMG! Is that the time?” Juju clocked the time onscreen and eased herself off the library sofa. “I’ve got to go and get something for Jake and Sam tea. Give the boys a kiss from me.”

Poppy and I saw her to the door just as two shadows loomed large through the glass. The boys were indeed home from school.

“Happy Birthday, mum.” Louis smiled broadly as he handed me a bunch of flowers. “The card is from my friends.”

Card from school

I turned it over.

Birthday message from Loopy's friends

I read the card out loud. “‘Dear Louis’ Ma. Thanks for giving birth to such an amazing friend. From Callum, the llama you adopted.’ That’s very sweet. And you went the extra mile in Design and Technology as well. Well done.”

Thoughtful Man joined us in the hallway and scooped up a hyper Poppy so she could give Juju a thorough goodbye lick. Juju hates that more than the wet shoes welcome, as Thoughtful Man is well aware.”They wanted to surprise you for your birthday. They swore me to secrecy. I gave them a fiver.”

“We only spent £2.50.” Kit Kat whispered solemnly in my ear and patted his jacket pocket. His favourite lesson is Business and Finance. He loped off to raid the fridge.

We said our goodbyes and Juju made her escape from Poppy’s sloppy farewell kisses. Loopy went to look for a vase for the flowers and Thoughtful Man went looking for Kit Kat to get his £2.50 change. Poppy and I returned to the library sofa.

Juju had forgotten to pick up her cigarette case. I opened it and found a lone rollie and a promotion card she’d picked up from her recent trip to New York.

Juju rollie case

I examined the back of the card. “goUndergroundforlunch.com.” Curious, I opened another page on my PC and typed in the address.

Better being Underground

 

I smoked Juju last rollie and smiled.

*******

Birthday flowers

*Pretty. Okay, Clicky. Let’s finish up this birthday with a Song.*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gawd ‘Elp Us… period

Just a month to go and Project Fear’s UK tour is in full flow. So far, we’ve been assured, a vote to leave the EU (pronounced ‘ew’) would result in war, famine, pestilence and the other one…

Brexit causes cancer
CLICKY: Have you seen this?

*/rolls eyes… well, 23rd June does fall within the star sign of ‘cancer’, Clicky.* 😉

So wrapped up in making us fear for the future, our esteemed Chancer of the Checkered Past seems to have missed a trick in the here and now…

Tampon Tax Headline
CLICKY: Bloody moron!

‘But in March the EU regulations were relaxed, allowing countries to extend the number of zero rates for VAT and therefore making it possible for the UK Government to scrap the tax.’

*Clicky, I know. The idea of actually demonstrating recent flexibility within the EU, to roughly half of the voting population, hasn’t occurred to those that wish us to remain…*

Shit a brick

*Ha! And that’s the only ‘follow through’ the Project Fear Mongers appear to be interested in*

*******

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

Ann and Eileen shared everything including boyfriends. Because Ann was flighty, it was not unusual for her to have more than one boyfriend at a time, so confrontations were not rare.

The front door at 4 Wilson Grove was never locked; the family was so large that if you were to open the door to every member of the family, with all the comings and goings, you would never get any rest. The key was on a piece of string, hanging behind the letter box and you simply pulled it through to open the door.

Of course this meant that it was quite easy to do a bunk, so to speak, and the sheer number of inhabitants made it virtually impossible for Grandad Alger to keep tabs on everybody. A great deal of shenanigans went on over the years, but everybody banded together and covered for each other.

The girls were quite strictly brought up with regards to virginity and wholesomeness. But, as we know, that really doesn’t make much difference – if the urge is there, we will find the opportunity.

I will add a note on growing up in those days. Although Nanny Alger was always pregnant Nanny P said that she and Ann knew nothing about sex. She said that nobody at school talked about it and certainly their Mother didn’t.

When she was in her early teens, Eileen didn’t even know about periods. One day she woke up and started to scream because she thought she was bleeding to death. Nanny Alger came up and said ‘hang on I will get you a sixpence’.

Intrigued? You will be.

‘Take this sixpence down the road to Mrs Johnson and she will tell you all about it and fix you up’. Nanny P duly went down to Mrs Johnson, who told her about the facts of life and gave her a bundle of rags with a length of bandage. The rags were wadded up and strung on the bandage, and the bandage was tied round the waist. There, you have a sanitary towel circa 1922.

What happened when you were heavy? Well, you had to wash them and hang them on the line. I know that on more than one occasion, when Nanny Packer was strapped for cash, I too had to use this method. But was never reduced to washing them – Dickie had no idea where his old clothes when to. Nanny P never did come to terms with a tampon.

On a political note, girls, do you realise that you have to pay VAT on sanitary wear? I have always believed that it was disgraceful. They should be free on the NHS or make them zero rated for VAT purposes; after all it is not our fault that we suffer this medical condition on a monthly basis. If one bled in an emergency room, one would get plastered for free after all. I once wrote to our MP to complain but got nowhere. Mind you I waited until the wrong MP was voted in. He wrote back saying, ‘I know, dear, I have the same problem.’

*******

in or out

*Oh, I’m voting ‘out’ – I think we’ve been tucked up enough already, Clicky. Now, why don’t give Dear Reader a Song?*

 

Posty McPost Haste: Saving Face Farce

Sew… the Government has stepped in to save the blushes of NERC…

David and the Sub
CLICKY: JoJo was a man who thought he was a woman *taps fin*

*Clicky, it’s ‘loner’…*

Jojo Tickle and Goliath
CLICKY: Jojo’s a girl…

*Oh I remember watching that with the boys when they were little. You’re right, Clicky…*

‘The series is set in Circus Town, a self-sufficient city whose cultural center is the “Big Top” tent. The story focuses on JoJo Tickle, a young female clown, and Goliath, JoJo’s pet lion. She and Goliath study at the Little Big Top Circus School, where all young soon-to-be circus performers learn under their teacher Mrs. Kersplatski. Along with her friends, JoJo explores and learns while dealing with challenging situations.

‘JoJo’s Circus relies on repetition in its structure. Each segment always begins with JoJo searching for her pet lion Goliath who is always hiding. JoJo then is presented with the situation that will occupy the theme of the show. A song, usually about the resolution of the situation, is then sung by JoJo.’

*A bit of sync that, Clicky, as I tweeted the ‘Dark Side of the Rainbow’ to Hugo & Kitty this morning…*

Hugo Kitty and Roobee on Y'Ello Twitter
CLICKY: Huge Cat that hides?

*It was in response to Hugo’s stirring seas post last night. And featured David…*

*My, the Beeb got that out early; he’s not 90 until Sunday, according to his we-key page, Click. Mind you, it’s been that kind of a year so far for celebs*rolls eyes* … Ooh that’s interesting…*

‘In May 2015, US President Barack Obama interviewed Attenborough at the White House in Washington D.C. Together, they discussed the future of the planet, their passion for nature and what measures can be taken to protect the environment.‘

*’discussed the future of the planet’, Clicky. Legs’ story of, or possible from… he is a Doctor… /drifts … Um, ‘For Whom the Bells Jingle‘. Just last night, Leggy wondered if Hugo would like to read it.*

Aten hun Hugo
CLICKY: Don’t forget the face

*Ha ha… there just had to be a face sync. Come on, Clicky, let’s finish with a Song* 😉

 

*******

*Clicky! Attention … Blue Universe Frank posted overnight about the ‘Never-Ending Craziness‘*

*Ha! Crazy wins… /rolls eyes…*

 

 

British Home Stories

This week the BHS bubble went pop.

*Yes, Click, I was familiar with the original store having grown up in the 70s, above the glass canopied market in Brixton. But the one I knew best was on Oxford Street during the 80s.*

*Ah, I think I know what game you’re playing Clicky! Juju and I used to call it ‘Fish’* 😀

Eddy

*Eddy… /rolls eyes…*

*******

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

I remember Mary and Tub’s son Tony because I lived with Nanny and Poppy Alger, so hardly a day went by without some child or another visiting with their children. And, remember, there were still unmarried Alger children living at home.

Grandad Packer was still in Egypt, so Nanny Packer and I lived at 4 Wilson Grove with Nanny and Poppy Alger. Uncle Jim lived there because he was not married. Auntie Clare, too, because she was not married. Auntie Winnie, who was Auntie Clare’s friend and Agnes who was another, also lodged with us. Uncle Bernard lived there before he was married, so together with assorted cats, dogs, chickens, rats and bugs, you can imagine what a nightmare it was.

I did what every self respecting Packer (as I was then) would do and that was to watch, listen and learn. Some people without soul may call this being nosy, I ,on the other hand, prefer to call it ‘interested’.

Because I lived there, looking back on it now, I can see that I was incredibly spoiled. When the other grandkids came to visit, I always felt that I had the upper hand and by God I used it. Poppy Alger might have been theirs temporarily, but I knew he was mine and I made sure they knew it, horrible bitch that I was.

Poppy was a bully. He bullied his wife, his children, and he bullied his grandchildren. Not only did he bully, he hurt, physically. He would beat his sons and some say his wife. He kept a razor strop on the kitchen door to beat them with.

It was not unknown for him to wait until everybody was assembled for dinner or tea and then upend the whole table full of food for no reason other than he had woken up bad tempered. His argument was that he had paid for it, he could do what he liked with it. They were all scared of him.

By the time the grandkids came on the scene he had somewhat mellowed. By age? Perhaps, but Jim says it was because all the boys had rebelled and had all, at one time or another, belted him one with his own strop.

However, in the true tradition of a dyed in the wool bully, Poppy Algar thought he would find his grandchildren easier prey. He tried it with me but I hit him on the head with his own poker (so to speak) and he never touched me after that.

The visiting grandchildren, on the other hand, were petrified. Whilst the women were gossiped he would torment the children. He would pinch the pads of their fingers, dig them, even put the poker in the fire till it glowed and threaten to burn them with it. When the grandkids cried he would call their mums and say, “Take your squalling kids back home to the suburbs. They’ve got no backbone.”

Nice man, huh? And believe me I have not used poetic licence – he really did those things. So the kids were not only scared of him, they were scared of me too. It felt kinda good actually.

When Tony came to visit, he was perfect fodder for Poppy Alger’s little games. Tall and skinny with glasses, Tony acted like a frightened rabbit and Poppy went to town on him. We both thought him weird. What his adolescent years were like I don’t know because Grandad Packer had returned from Egypt and we had moved into our new home.

Next thing I know, Tony is getting married to a very pretty girl called Maureen. It must have been in the 50s because I was about seven or eight when we attended the wedding. It was a big do with all the trimmings and they both lived happily ever after.

NO NO NO! What do you expect from our family?

One day, Mary came to our house in tears (watch, listen and learn). It seems that Maureen’s Mum had a big house in Brockley, and as immigration had just starting in a big way, had let out rooms to newly arrived West Indians. Anyway, during the course of visiting her mum, Maureen decided to test the sleeping accommodation (while a lodger was still in residence) and had gone and gotten herself impregnated. You can’t hide that for long; divorce ensued.

History lesson: when I was a kid there were no black faces. Then in the 50s, everybody had jobs but there were not enough people to go round, so the Government did a massive recruitment drive in the West Indies. They gave assisted passage to the UK, with guaranteed jobs in the NHS, on the buses, trains and the Underground. I had never seen a black person until I was about 10. When I did, I ran and hid because I was frightened.

*******

That’s enough for now, Clicky… /stretches… I’m off upstairs now. Thoughtful Man wants to watch ‘X Men: The Last Stand’ – we’re having a bit of a fest… Wanna choose the Song to end on?

 

Peep ‘Ole REGN… Oo’er MRS!

*So, Clicky, ‘Pop’ was the decision. Interesting…*

LAST TIME AT THE LOL
 

CLICKY: Victoria would…

 

Receiving word that a Prince of Pop had pops his clogs so shortly after I’d popped the question, was a surprise. Thoughtful Man was the bearing of the news… again.

“You’ll never guess who’s died now?”

I hadn’t heard him come downstairs as I was still engrossed over at Hugo’s second site. I removed my headphones. “What another? Who?”

“Prince.” Thoughtful Man looked shell-shocked. He’d once queued 10 hours to get tickets for one of his concerts. In his teens, Thoughtful Man had considered Prince and his music the bee’s knees.

He slumped down onto his chair and tapped his keyboard. “Prince is dead.”

*Clicky, you’re racing ahead – Thoughtful Man didn’t show me that until following day… I told Hugo about it.*

*******

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

When uncle Jack was alive he phoned me one evening to see if I could get Jeremy into John Lewis. I think he was working at the time in some kind of government office. I did get him an application form, but nothing came of it.

At that time I did not know that he was gay. Looking back on it, considering that the men’s second floor loo at John Lewis was advertised as a meeting point for gays in Gay Weekly (and that 75% of males working there were gay), I wonder if he had an ulterior motive.

After several sackings of staff for being in the loo instead of being on the shop floor, memos were fired out. Staff were banned from using them and a security man was posted on duty there at all times.

I don’t know how open I should be with you all, but what the hell you are all adults.

I went into said loo after hours, of course, courtesy of the Chief of Security. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about and it was an eye opener indeed. The toilet stalls had all been lined with stainless steel to stop chaps from making holes in the walls, but someone had brought in a drill. They all had holes in them. Apparently meetings were quite anonymous and frequent, but I can assure you that Aids had not reared its ugly head yet. When it did there were a lot of frightened chaps working there.

Before I left and moved to Southend in 94, I went to several funerals and numerous visits to hospitals, including the Lighthouse. I did a bit of buddying. Mrs Moon worked there and I became interested.

Unfortunately, because aids was new and terrifying and people were uneducated about it, any mention that you even had contact with an aids sufferer and people would shun you.  They thought it was catching. Even at Branch Council meetings people wanted a different set of cups and cutlery for gays than for straights, so we had to get training packages together and send everybody on them to allay the fears.

One particularly funny incident did happen though. One day a cubicle had been locked for some time and a security guard, on his rounds, looked under the door. He saw a pair of feet and a large John Lewis carrier bag, the cardboard type used for men’s suits or expensive frocks.

When, on a second tour of duty of those toilets, the same feet and the same carrier bag were still in the same cubicle, the security guard decided to investigate further. Inside he found two men, one of whom was standing in the bag.

After that nearly all the men’s loos were turned into standy up ones except for one with the permanent security detail.

God, I have digressed haven’t I?

*******

Later on Friday, Blue Frank posted a performance of Prince and Red Frank put up his ‘Purple Reign‘ post…

Merovee Purple Reign

 

And I took a naked selfie…

Roob Dreamy Unmade up selfie
 

CLICKY: Click the pix for another

 

*Enough, with the selfies, Clicky. I’ve have ironing to attend to and a curry to cook. Do us a flavour and please give our Dear Reader a Song*

 

Hop or Pop?: Let’s Doo IT!

Previously at the LoL

CLICKY: With one enormous chair…

Thoughtful Man’s Apol!Fon chirruped alarmingly, disturbing the calm before the Boys’ return from school, a.k.a. ‘The Storm’.

“Oh no, who’s died now?” In 2016, it’s the natural response. My money had been on Brucie.

He squinted at the screen and then looked at me in surprise. “Victoria Wood. Wow, I didn’t feel that one coming.”

I took a deep drag from my cigarette and smiled back sympathetically at him. “You might be losing your touch but actually, if you think about it, it kinda syncs.”

Now Thoughtful Man squinted at me. “How so?”

“The Ballad of Barry and Freda…” I looked at him him expectantly but he continued to stare at me blankly. “It was an answer on the episode of ‘Pointless’ we watched yesterday. Richard waxed lyrical about it.”

As is often the case, he dismissed my synchromystic observation with a roll of his eyes. But then, Thoughtful Man wasn’t aware that Vik had only just paid a visit the LoL…

Roobee knot ISIS Victoria Wood

CLICKY: Selfie? 

*Go on then, Clicky. I should explain to Dear Reader: I post knot-ISIS of syncs in the Red universe … as opposed to helping to reveal ‘The Stink’ in the Blue. And it’s knot the smokers to blame. Reality in 2016 is built on junk science.  Sum times it makes my blood boil…

Oh well, what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.* 😉

*A bonding moment, Clicky? Really? /rolls eyes…*

*******

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

One year we went hop picking together. For those of you who don’t know what hop picking is, here goes.

The breweries needed hops to make the beer and the best hops were grown in Kent. But there was no machinery in those days to pick them, so poor families, who could not afford a holiday, went hop picking. It gave a break from the city, a kind of holiday, and some income for the work that they did.

The workers were nearly all mums and kids as the men all had full time jobs. They only came down to the hop fields for the weekend. I think it must have been before Dickie and Christine were born because I don’t remember Dickie at all. Then again he might have been a baby and I tended to deny his existence when he was a baby.

One afternoon an open backed lorry pulled up and on the back were Flo, her kids and half of their home. We piled on with half of our home and we all went to Paddock Wood in Kent.

I remember it so clearly and yet I must have been very young. When we got there the farmer gave us a hut with a large wooden bed frame and a straw mattress. That was about all. Outside was a lean-to with an open cooking hearth and a variety of large cooking pots and utensils.  Flo and the kids were in the next hut and we shared the cooking and washing between us.

I remember that Nanny Packer had to sweep up cow pats before we moved our stuff in because the farmer had been using the huts to house them during the winter.

The next morning we went to the field that had to be picked that day. Every family was given a station to work from. You literally had to fill these large canvas containers with hops and take to the weighing station. The amount you had picked was credited to you in a large ledger. You were then paid according to how much you picked by weight.

At first it was a novelty and we all helped. But after a while it became boring and one by one the kids went off to explore. I remember that was very exciting, exploring the streams and trees, all the animals and things we never saw in the city. Scrumping apples and eating them even though they were cooking apples and I got a belly ache.

It was just like a little city: they had a shop for provisions and a doctor called regularly and so did a priest. The atmosphere was good.

Flo and Nanny cooked over an open fire and we all had to bathed in a tin bath. Because I was the youngest I always got the last of the water but hey ho.

On Friday evening, all the men arrived on the train from London Bridge to spend the weekends with the families. I remember them all going to the pub and sitting outside. The kids got a glass of muscatel and an arrowroot biscuit. If we were lucky, we would get a packet of plain Smith’s crisps with a small blue packet of salt in the bag. We thought we were in heaven.

We stayed for the whole six weeks of school holidays and came back sun tanned and absolutely lousy with fleas. We had to be deloused but it was worth it.

*******

*Sew then, Clicky… what should we do about Vik’s suggestion? *

*Alright, take your time… /looks at watch and sighs… Meanwhile I’ve got a job to find and another story to submit for The Underdog Anthology. I’m popping over to Hugo’s… Whilst we’re waiting, have a Song*

 

Bohemian? Man, what a shambles!

It’s funny how things sync… fingers link…

Merovee The Oscar and James Bond
CLICKY: Bonding?

*Yes, Click. On MEROVEE we do it all the time. The first time, I think, was when Frank made a connection between Bond titles and news headlines… and then we all piled in* 😉

Angels feature in the latest post in the Red Universe…

Merovee Blink

Today, Angel A… Angle Cur… agreed to a Turkey… Turn Key… prosecution of a joker call Boehmermann.

Boehmer etymology
CLICKY: Customs? Like free speech?

*Collected and placed with the rest behind a muslin curtain? Possibly…*

*Filmed in Prague… /rueful smile… Never tear who apart, Click? /raises eyebrows*

Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)

I think that Dickie may have been too young to remember Gillian, but she was a smashing girl. She was so full of life and mischief and had her fingers in a lot of pies. She was so funny and really used to make me laugh.

Gill was very sporty, playing Table Tennis and Badminton and she loved to dance. She used to go to Victor Sylvester’s in Lewisham on Saturday night.  I was officially too young to go anywhere with her (because I was only fourteen) but with a bit of splosh on my face and a mature air, I managed to get away with it.

The first weekend she took me to Victor Sylvester’s with her friend named Rita Winkle. She insisted it was pronounced Winekel but we called her Winkle anyway. Rita was older and very sophisticated and made up like a model. I really felt like a poor relation, after all they were both at work and I was still at school and a bohemian to boot. All my high ideals about bohemianism were sorely being put to the test.

What was I doing borrowing clothes and makeup, actually going to a dance and pretending that I was eighteen? The biggest problem was that I could not even dance. Oh yes I could shuffle, but this was pre-Beatles days and you either jived or ballroomed. I could do neither.

I remember that first night clearly. It was probably quite shabby but to me it was magical – little tables with lamps and a band, boys in suits… I did not know a boy with a suit.

I will always remember the smell of the ladies’ room, hairspray and perfume, whilst excited girls put on makeup and checked stocking seams, wondering who would ask them to dance with them tonight. It was a situation I had never encountered before and I was excited.

I had lied about my age and said I was eighteen. I was terrified. Gill was popular and seemed to know everyone, Rita was the belle of the ball and I felt like Cinderella.

When two blokes came and sat with us and bought us drinks, I really felt like the odd one out. Gill and Rita seemed so sophisticated and the blokes seemed so old. The evening progressed and I shuffled around with a couple of blokes.

When it was time to go home, the older of the two blokes said he would give us a lift home. Now, to have a car in those days was rare, so Rita’s eyes lit up. I assumed that the boys were taking home Rita and Gill and that I was an also ran. But when we got to Bellingham Lane, the guy stopped the car and told Rita she could walk from there because she lived out of his way. This probably sounds harsh by today’s standards but in those days things were much safer and we were used to walking. If we had not got a lift we would have walked from Lewisham to Bellingham – it’s a long way but we could not afford taxis.

Now I was really scared. Although I knew lots of boys from the youth club, I had never had a boyfriend with a car. They took us home and had coffee and arranged to meet us the next day in Catford to take us to the pictures.

One weekend with Gill and I had pulled. Bohemianism was losing its charm.

*… spare him his life for his pork sausages… doo be doo be doo be doo… Okay, Click, good choice of Song to end on*

Headbanging