Archive for August, 2019

Brexit.

August 30, 2019

Okay.  I give in.  Although exactly what I am going to say is still a mystery.  It will have to be Off the Cuff.

It has been difficult for me because I love France,  Brittany actually, to be exact.  I don’t know a lot about the rest of France, and my one trip Down South to Vichy Country wasn’t much of a success.  You can still smell the treachery.

Anyhow, this doesn’t have much to do with why I so wanted Brexit For Britain.  I left England 27 years ago because I was almost terminally tired of trying to make a living while coping with the fear of what was going on around me, and watching Britain go down the pan.  It has only got worse since then.  I never go there anymore.  And I still don’t feel obliged to lock my doors here.  Mind you, The Rotten Little Swine can’t half bark.  He sounds like a Rottweiler.  I caught him barking at a poor little Hedgehog at 3am this morning.  So that’s about the limit of my worries of intrusion.  Hedgehog Fleas ain’t funny.

I saw Brexit as a means for Britain to regain her pride, and I still don’t care if this affects me perversely, although I very much doubt that it will.  The Bretons are kind people and France has been vey good to me, which Britain never was.  I am a Celt, as are The Bretons, which might have something to do with it.

Will The EU suffer from the lack of Britain’s financial input?  I don’t care about that either.  France will survive.  France is a law unto itself these days.  And Germany can go whistle.  I can deal with Francs just as well as The Euro.  Germany has far more to worry about.  Germany thought that it could rule The World economically.  They got that wrong as well.  It’s all down hill from now on.  Britain beat them the last time, and will again.  I hope.

No, I don’t know what will happen in 60 odd days.  Personally, I think that The EU will cave in, but I don’t care if it doesn’t.  This ridiculous Back Stop is basically irrelevant.  So save the 39 Billion.  The NHS could certainly do with it.

I want Britain to be a little bit Great again, but I am becoming weary.  If Britain can be beaten by a bunch of home grown Dictators who don’t give a fuck for Democracy then all is lost anyway.  I do hope that it isn’t.

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Up Dates.

August 23, 2019

Charlotte The Pug.

As some of you will remember, after months of agonising, I decided to have Charlotte put down.  At which point the mad, French Artist up the road rescued her from me.

Four weeks later, Marie decided that I wasn’t wrong after all and took Charlotte to The Vet to have her put down.

The Vet decided that Charlotte was worth rescuing, and the last I heard Charlotte was living with The Vet.  Best place for her.  I couldn’t have dreamed that one up.  She was never what you could call ill, just comatosed most of the time, when not stuffing her face and peeing in the house.  So, Long Live Charlotte.

Turmeric and Circumin.

All was going really well, until I went to Carnac to have a proper look at The Stones.  This involved rattling around on a Tourist Train for several hours, which thoroughly put paid to my neck.  I am in agony again and back to creeping around and popping far too many pain killers once more.

The Stones are just Grave Stones, as I have long suspected, albeit impressive.  Some bright sparks have tried to prove otherwise, and failed miserably.  They have tried digging them up, but just found artefacts.  Glass beads and other such items.  No Bones, but apparently the acidic soil in Brittany took care of those.  It was a very long time ago.  BC something or another, like about 6,000 years before.

They now graze Sheep and Goats to keep the grass down, which seems like a good idea to me.  Worth a visit, but beware of that Train.

The Little Swine.

O’Connor is over a year old now, and still a Little Swine.  I sometimes wonder how he has managed to survive this long.  I sometimes wonder how I have managed to survive this long.

He is still a very beautiful Snake Eye and still very sweet.  My God gave him something by which to survive the slings and arrows of his outrageous fortune.

Heart Beat.

I have now watched all of the Eighteen Series of this glorious show.  Such delight that I cannot begin to explain.  Some really good memories, and some regrets.  I do still wish that I had visited other parts of Yorkshire apart from Leeds, although Leeds wasn’t half bad.  You can’t know what you missed if you never saw Mucky Hunslet.  It’s gone now, but it was a Community and the people were kind to a smart arsed Londoner.  Leeds can only be the poorer.

And then there was Belle Isle.  I used to walk up the hill between Wakefield and Leeds and look down on the factory chimneys and the coal mines, all belching smoke, but with a beauty all of their own.  Quite stunning to a twenty year old Londoner who had never seen anything like that, or imagined that a chimney could have it’s own beauty.

Thanks to a friend, I am now watching Where The Heart Is.  Not quite so good, but with a charm of its own.

 

Lease Holders.

August 8, 2019

Sorry, just letting off steam.

I have owned The FreeHold of a four storie block of very nice flats in Plymouth for nearly fifty years now.  They could only be sold Lease Hold.  The Ground Rent in total is 250 Pounds a year and The Lease is excellent, in which it protects us all.

However, it has been a total pain in the arse for most of that time, although the problems come and go.

It has just kicked off again, albeit the same old same old.  There is always one in any decade that thinks I have just come up The Clyde on a water biscuit.  This one is the ex wife of the last dickhead that I got the better of ten years ago.  I think she’s hoping that I have gone a bit doo lally in the last ten years.  No chance.

I am supposed to pay for everything outside of the building, including the Communal Road, Gardens and Pavement, despite what The Lease says.  Although what makes them think my excellent solicitor would have lumped that on me on 250 Pounds a year remains a mystery.  This is a Private Terrace, by the way.

I do have a very good Managing Agent, again.  The Leasholders got rid of the last one, at which point everything  descended into chaos during which nothing was done, and least of all was my Ground Rent paid.  Not that this was important.  I was never going to get rich on 250 Pounds a year

But it ain’t happening again.  I have a responsibility to these people whether they like it or not.  Noblesse Oblige, or some such nonsense, and I have that in spades, being a hard core Celt.  Celts never did concern themselves much with money.  It’s The Land that is the thing.

The problem seems to be that none of them actually read The Lease before they sign it.  Or perhaps they don’t understand half decent English.  But I understand what “Easement” means, even if they don’t.  It’s in The Dictionary.

Or mayhap they resent some person owning the land on which they live.  So why buy a Lease in the first place when there was no other way in which to buy one of these really lovely flats?

The original Lease was for 132 years, my solicitor knowing what he was doing, with No Increase on Ground Rent during that time.  So as you can all see I am never personally going to benefit from that.  And God knows how many Great Greats I will have when The Leases do finally run out.  Somedebody is going to have some fun with that.

But for a while Eleanor Mitchell has owned one small parcel of land of which she is very proud.  An East End Cockney, Irish, Welsh Celt, and they don’t come tougher than that.

Turmeric and Circumin.

August 4, 2019

Bad Shoulder.  Weeks, Months, Years even.  And then I read this half arsed article in The Daily Mail.  The answer to all aches and pains, so I thought I’d give it a go.

Not exactly cheap, but it wasn’t going to break the bank.  Five weeks later I was still suffering and still popping pain killers by the score.  Pain killers are not something I like doing, and it was also beginning to get really expensive.  “Phfft”,  I thought,  “But I  might as well finish the bottle.”

I am now into my seventh week and haven’t had even a twinge for the last few days.  The aching shoulder suddenly disappeared.  Is this a miracle?  If so then Thank You, God.  You do come across now and again.