THE RACE FOR SPACE

                                                            

                                                            THE RACE FOR SPACE!

On the twentieth day of July 1969 three Americans chaps became heroes during their excellent adventure when they nipped off to the moon.  The world apparently marvelled at the feat.   I remember thinking that in just over three weeks time it would be the first anniversary of the elimination of steam hauled trains on our railways.  This latter date (11/8/68) having much greater significance and bearing on everyday life than an awful lot of money being spent so that  'spacemen' could gallivant for eight days basically 'playing amongst the stars' - though not yet Jupiter or Mars!

Thinking about it, though not for longer than necessary, the most iconic 'leftover' were their footprints which I believe are still extant.  I knew they left an American flag, but then they would do, they are Americans!  What is telling is that whilst scientific equipment remained to continue its work, they left behind tools and bagged rubbish.  Today we witness a solar system awash with debris and not just American debris.  Every nation involved in heavenly flights has sadly left its mark.

Years on, various successes and failures later and here we are once again, this time The Red Planet, Mars! Perhaps it was the colour pics, perhaps it was due to the subject being on Breakfast TV, or perhaps it was seeing Perseverance land slowly and clearly that caught my attention, who knows...

The crispness of the visual recordings were frankly stunning, much better defined than anything I'd imagine being possible.  It was then that the seeds of doubt were sown.  I recalled the theories, continuing to this day, that in fact no-one arrived on the moon in 1969 and that it was all filmed in a studio.  Talk of shadows not being where they should be, a lack of stars in the background and the flag seemingly waving in an airless environment have all contributed to the idea that it was all shot in Area 51 in Nevada.  To be fair,  my money goes on the whole episode being true.   I just can't see the Russians not making capital of the situation years ago.  Mind you, wouldn't it have been satisfying to have learned that it was in fact a hoax, committed in partnership with the British and filmed at either Shepperton Studios or a temporarily revived Ealing.  I'm now flying high in my world of fancy.  Imagine,  cost-conscious Yanks agreeing to and using  British actors for the parts in order to save on travel costs!  I can see Neil Armstrong being played by Arthur Lowe, Buzz Aldrin by Patrick Macnee and Michael Collins by Leslie Phillips, they just need to dub the accents - or retain them on the grounds of class!

Meanwhile, back in the world of startling reality, the 'Red Planet' did match its description.  I was captivated by the NASA website and spent more time than the dog was comfortable with (it was walkies time!).  As I scoured the landscape I stopped at one picture that had been mystifying staff back at the US Ground Control.  What appeared to be a slip of oblong-shaped paper was declared to be a sliver-thin slice of rock.  Oh wouldn't it have been fun if it had turned out to be  part of a 1932 Morris or a label from an 18th century apothecary's jar, or better still, a receipt for a Mars Bar?  What I was surprised to find, and pleasantly so, was the complete lack of reference on any of the planet's surface to 'Black Lives Mattering' or a banner planted on behalf of the LGBT etc brigade.  Mind you, it will probably be mandatory on the first manned flight, hopefully I'll be long gone by then... They do have steam trains in heaven, don't they?

THE REVEREND JAREL ROBINSON AND HIS ANGER ISSUES...

               

              THE REVEREND JAREL ROBINSON-BROWN AND HIS ANGER ISSUES...

It was not without a little disquiet that my attention was drawn to an article concerning the reaction to Captain Tom Moore's passing and the subsequent clapping of hands.  This gesture was to provide the public with an opportunity to share not only the family's grief but to acknowledge his achievements and celebrate a life unknown to the public at large for ninety-nine years and then known world-wide for his last few months.

The option was afforded to all, to clap or not to clap.  What was totally unnecessary was the response on social media by a black homosexual vicar deriding the gesture.  Now, on the basis that freedom of speech is fundamental in a democracy it is difficult to argue against someone posting their views, feelings and observations via Fastbuck, Twatter or any other platform shared by millions.  That said, feathers were ruffled across the white majority of this country - and it is still a majority despite the BBC indicating otherwise.

Whilst the angry young - well, 29year-old man - may not wish to join in  a public mark of respect for Captain Moore, his comment that the clapping was a 'Cult of white British nationalism' smacked of all things tribal and sadly becomes all to easy to mock.  The very fact that this black homosexual wishes to spend his time sniping at his fellow indigenous white neighbours whilst taking employment from a religious cult is fairly ironic in itself! Just how 'christian' is the man? 

You can garner a taste of his bile when he describes Boris Johnson and Priti Patel as 'Oppressors'.  He goes on to argue that the British honours system is 'Deeply married to white supremacy' before labelling those involved 'Ignorant white christian men'.  The poor boy does seem troubled...

Apparently Mr. J R-B was recently appointed to a pointless posting at a presbyterian church  by the equally pointless Bishop of London, a gal who goes by the name of Sarah Mulally.  At least the cult's hierarchy deemed their great black hope's views with concern describing them as 'unacceptable, insensitive and ill-judged'.  There is also a review to be launched by the Highly Pointless Archdeacon of London.  Talk about jobs for the unemployable.  Still, it keeps them off the streets and cocooned in their  little world of historic abuse and denouncement of sin perpetrated by those outside their church! (Wry smile time)

Hard on the heals of his social postings, as opposed to an overseas posting, which is what I'd give him, he has been subjected to 'Racist abuse'. Surprise, surprise!  The man clearly hates our native population and our country. He should do the honourable thing and leave our shores,  never to return, Go! Bugger off, your'e clearly not happy here... But then, people like him never are.   He would rather remain and whinge from within, possessing as he does a lifelong shoulder chip of black origin. 

During one of his social media rants on Twatter he opined that the 'UK government do not want those experiencing poverty or homelessness to survive this pandemic'.  He clearly has a problem with authority and his role in society.  True to form, and close to his ethnic heart he commented, somewhat predictably on the Home Office's decision to deport 50 blacks back to Jamaica.  He said 'The Home Office can go to hell. 50 Black Brits are to be deported tomorrow. Utter injustice and wickedness'.  These 50 undesirables are all criminals.  Why should British taxpayers continue to support them in this country, we have enough undesirables of our own to contend with let alone those who arrived from foreign climes - either recently, or those who are the offspring of immigrants arriving several generations ago.  To me they are merely passport holders and will never be British, certainly never English!

Last November he commented that 'Jamaicans should build a device to direct all the flood water to Britain because those landslides and severe flooding are a legacy of colonisation and poor infrastructure'.  As I said, the poor deluded sap has problems.  He is to publish a book this coming July entitled 'Black, Gay, British, Christian, Queer'.   Well, you can't say he isn't hanging all his hangups on a single mast. Hmmmmm...Just thinking, perhaps I should take inspiration from his title and call my next book 'White, Straight, English, Atheist, Normal'.  Can't see me getting much publicity on the BBC though... 

NOW THAT REMINDS ME...

                                                     

                                                         NOW THAT REMINDS ME...

I received a phone call early last week from my local health centre informing me that I was being offered the chance to be vaccinated against this 'ere Covid virus.  My appointment was for Sunday the 31st January, five days after the call.  I was impressed and thanked the lady for her courtesy.  I noted the time in my virtually unsullied diary - 6.50pm - and wrote alongside 'Lakeside Club'.  Now, the Lakeside Club, or 'Potters' is where Darts competitions take or took place.  Not being a fan of the 'hobby' or 'leisure interest' - you can hardly call it a sport - I recalled the times that a small group of us in the 70's and 80's would make the ten minute journey to Frimley Green and partake in a 'Chicken in the Basket' meal whilst awaiting the entertainment that took to the stage some time later.  There was, I suspect some form of entertainment leading up to the very reason you were there in the beginning, but it certainly wasn't memorable.  I remember seeing Les Dawson there once. He took to the floor, picked up the mic and wiped his hand across his face. He said absolutely nothing, but it was his timing.  The hall erupted in laughter. he told jokes, he told stories, he played the piano - badly and well.  I cannot remember how long his act was, but I do remember hoping he would finish as my sides were aching to the point of discomfort.  Yes, he was that good.

At 6.15pm last Sunday evening I set sail... well I turned the ignition on in the Kia and sallied forth to my northerly destination.  I was met in the rain by a very pleasant lady who directed me to a parking spot before pointing the way to the main entrance.  Cheerful lady after cheerful lady took my temperature,  confirmed my address, another checked my appointment time before a finger pointed to a free chair tucked around the corner.  There seemed to be about ten doctors and paramedics all seated at socially distanced stations with willing participants called forward by yet another smiley person.

I was called forward and after a few further checks and advice on 'Do's and Don'ts' post-injection it was a case of 'Left shoulder Forward'.  Not even an 'Ouch', didn't feel a thing. Bidding the lady with the power of life over possible death 'Goodbye' I made my way to the stage area where everyone takes fifteen minutes out in order to check that they are not suffering from a reaction to the injection.  Incidentally the lady with the syringe mentioned that I was being  given the English Oxford variety.  Possibly slightly presumptuous, but I'd assumed that it would naturally be provided to all Surrey residents.  After all, when God created Earth he used Surrey as his starting point, it was all downhill from there on - Joke!! (NOT about G starting in Surrey but the very idea that there is a God!!)

It never occurred to me that I might be feeling any after-effects until I followed the 'Way Out' signs and found myself opening a cupboard door and mingling with a gaggle of mops and their appropriate buckets. Apparently it was the NEXT door on the right!

I drove home thinking of the wonderfully efficient service everyone had  provided with grace, manners and not a little humour.  There was even a lady sat on the stage overseeing the volunteers charged with wiping down the seats we had sat on for that fifteen minute 'Recovery Period'.

It's so refreshing to be proud of one's country for once.  So pleasing to see that when the chips are down and it's a case of 'All hands to the deck' we can actually pull it off...  even more satisfying of course when you read of Europe's little distribution problem.  I shall sit quite smugly as the autocrats in Brussels point fingers, play the 'Blame Game' and ponder as to who follows the UK out of the EU!

THE THREE D's - DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY!

                          

                             THE THREE 'D's - DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY, DIVERSITY!

I was brought up in the so-called 'Golden Age' of television.  From 'Sunday Night at the London Palladium' to 'Top of the Pops', 'Morecombe and Wise' and 'The Two Ronnies', 'Match of the Day' followed by 'Parkinson'... or was it the other way round?  It matters not, it was great television.  The BBC was the flagship, it not only commissioned innovative programmes covering history, the arts, science - 'Tomorrow's World ' - but it assumed a place in society as a paragon of faithful reporting that transcended continents. BBC 1 and 2, Radio 1, 2, 3, 4, and 5 plus that bastion of all that was fair and square, the BBC 'World Service', they did us proud.  Anchor gents and anchor ladies interwove programmes seamlessly without the listener feeling that their senses had been derailed by something cheap and nasty infecting the airwaves.... Oh how times have changed and our culture diminished.

The BBC's left-wing bias has been apparent for many a broadcast, but diversity?  There is not a programme, a news story, a filler that doesn't have a disproportionate number of ethnic actors, presenters or newsreaders.  I recall the days of Moira Stewart and Trevor McDonald waving the flag on behalf of ethnicity and offering the viewing public a glimpse into the world of diversity.  That is all we needed, a glimpse.  We certainly didn't need the word shoved down our collective throats as is current, and I suspect, will remain future policy.

Subtle inroads into previously enjoyable programmes have been made over the past few years, but the speed of change has put paid to an awful lot of pleasure where black and Asian staff have been added to a team or cast and the mix becomes rather skewed in favour of the so-called minorities.  I no longer watch 'Countryfile'.  It used to be presented by white men and women.  Anita Rani was added to the staff.  I have no problem with the lady, she seems very nice, but thin ends of wedges rapidly become thicker.  They never know when to stop.  Recently these in charge of recruitment added a presenter called Sean Fletcher. Again, a pleasant enough fellow, but I do not want those from an ethnic background informing me of the problems facing our countryside be it Brexit, climate change, interesting places to visit or walks in Cumbria.  And before anyone shouts 'Racism', let me tell you that if I was Ugandan, Kenyan or Indian, the last person I would want showing me around - whether it was harvesting coffee in Zirobwe, trekking with the Maasai tribes or growing rice in Kashmir  - would be a white presenter whose family originally hailed from West Byfleet!   It is their country, with their history. Being second or even third generation doesn't give anyone title to that country's background.  You cannot feel the same empathy as that of the native occupant.  You may be white and possess a Jamaican passport, but it doesn't make you Jamaican, you are still an Englishman abroad.  Similarly, in my book, a Jamaican may well hold a British passport, but they will never be British, let alone English!  Incidentally, as I write, there are viewers raising their irritation concerning a recent episode of 'Countryfile' featuring a group of walkers calling themselves 'Black Girls Hike'.  Other than the obvious kudos of ticking another ethnic box, can someone tell me why this group was singled out for nationwide promotion on primetime TV?  Could you imagine such publicity if it were a group called 'White Girls Hike', there would be hell to pay!

'Homes under the Hammer' is another example of ethnic incursion and kow-towing to diversity. From it's inception in 2003 until 2015 the programme ran very nicely co-hosted by Lucy Alexander and Martin Roberts.  In that year Dion Dublin joined the cast - why?  Why employ a third member, be they black, white or any shade in-between?  It didn't need three presenters.  It didn't add anything, but the move no doubt hit an ethnic target set by some un-named individual or committee within the BEEB's hierarchy! Lucy Alexander left in 2017 to be replaced by a Scottish lass named Martel Maxwell, again, seems like a nice girl.  The powers that be have recently announced that the 'Gang of Three' is to be enlarged to become the 'Famous Five' with the addition of Tommy Walsh, a chap who made his name on 'Groundforce' several lifetimes ago and a black lady, whose life no doubt matters, called Jacqui Josephs.  The team appear as overcrowded as some of the streets within which they ply their trade.  But... and it's a big but, another target has been hit.  Twenty per cent of the cast are now from an ethnic background.  How smug and self-satisfied those in control must feel!  So, another programme consigned to my viewing history.

Last night I watched 'House of Games', a half-hour programme hosted by Richard Osman.  Just before the programme commenced  the male continuity announcer informed the viewing public in an accent that left you in no doubt that he was black, that following 'H o G' would be a show called 'Lightning' at six-thirty, both pronounced without the 'T'. Why do the BBC employ staff and then let them loose on licence payers when their diction is so sloppy and lazy?  Presumably it's all to do with equality whilst quality can go to the wall!

Do you remember 'Wish You Were Here', a travel show presented by Judith Chalmers from 1974 until 2003?  You knew where you were with 'Our Judith', ably assisted over the years by the likes of Chris Kelly and John Carter.  Nobody dropped their 'Aitches' and 'T's back then, the BBC had standards.  All gone sadly.  The modern day equivalent is a glossy, loud offering compressed within BBC's weekend Breakfast programme and fronted by a variety of chaps and chapessess, one of whom sticks out for all the wrong reasons.  It's not that he is black or in a wheelchair, though it ticks two boxes on the BEEB's Wishlist.  Again it's the dreadful diction. Football commentary is ruined by the likes of Micah Richards, Clinton Morrison, Ian Wright and Karen Carney.  

All is not lost or without fairness and one must be seen to be whiter than white!  There are those from foreign climes and backgrounds who I would promote as 'beacons of light' from within in the vacuous media and acting world.   Perhaps Samira Ahmed and Art Malik could be persuaded to use their  silky, well-honed diction and speech patterns to further the education of todays 'yoof' brought up on a diet of 'Eastenders' and  reality shows,  where everyone speaks badly and pronunciation is a word too far!  Oh for the days when commentators spoke in 'BBC English'  and MOTD was presented by Barry Davies, John Motson, Jimmy Hill etc.  These were class acts to a man from an age when diction came as standard.  No thought was given to the possibility that one day their successors would be required to commence their commentary with a doffed cap and an ingratiating reference to certain peoples' colour, giving the impression that one mattered more than another!

IT'S ALL IN THE NAME...

                                                            

                                                            IT'S ALL IN THE NAME...

Companies spend umpteen million pounds on marketing.  The aim is to sell, the greater the sales the greater the profit.  That is basic capitalism and I have no problem with that.  No-one can afford to run any business at a loss so marketing teams across the globe strive to create stand-out slogans, catchy messages and memorable images.  And that is the problem, the only ones I can remember having any lasting effect are the ones from the fifties, sixties and seventies. 

Hoover got it right, their slogan was 'Hoover beats as it sweeps as it cleans'.  There was a jingle that accompanied their television advertisment and it still flows to this day.  It told you, the consumer, what it did and all in words of one syllable!  You referred to your vacuum cleaner as a Hoover whether it was or not!  Guinness became a force in style and innovation, you didn't have to like the drink, but the distinctive adverts told you exactly what it was they were selling. 

OXO!  How can anyone in their sixties and seventies not remember that long-running series of ads starring  that paragon of domestic bliss portrayed so ably by Katie...or was it Katy?  No matter, the viewer felt as comfy as her traditional family, you remember - husband, wife, two point four children... probably a dog... '  OXO gives a meal Man Appeal'.  Can you imagine that now?  Oh how times and social acceptance change, and rarely for the better!

I only watch a programme televised by a commercial channel if it has been recorded.  That way you can fast-forward through the four minutes of unedifying, unfathomable dross, and there can be six four minute ads within a film... 6 x 4 = 24 minutes. 24 minutes of your life could be wasted every time you sit down for the evening.  That adds up to a large part of your life if you don't control it!  I did catch an advert recently at someone else's house, I hasten to add, and it was for a car.   I cannot remember the make but what struck me was that the silky-voiced young lady who read her lines so sensually, imparted little if anything about the virtues of the vehicle that would make me sit up and consider a replacement.  The car took off at great speed, the goddess smugly driving the shiny beast, negotiating highways, byways and forests before stopping on a deserted beach and taking in the view - and not a car was overtaken, a traffic light encountered... not even a cyclist - so some good news!

Companies sell their goods through their 'Brand', and everything is a 'Brand'.   Football clubs are described by the money men as 'Brands'.  Will you tell them or shall I?  They own or manage a football club, however grand or merely in survival mode, it is still a football club. Y ou go shopping, not now, obviously, but in times past and hopefully at some stage in the future.  There are high street names that lack inspiration, but in one case project perspiration!   'Sweaty Betty'... Who came up with a name like that?  It certainly wouldn't encourage me to shop there if I was a gal.   I required some new ink cartridges for my printer.  Deciding to browse the options available on-line and compare prices, I stumbled over a company called 'Stinky Ink'.  Why?  That style of branding is probably considered 'Hip' or 'Cool' by the techno-geeks of today, but me, I'd  warm to a company calling themselves 'Empire Ink' or 'Imperial Ink', or thinking about it - 'Imperial Ink Inc.' - not because I feel a particular empathy to the names, but if it hacks-off just one Liberal -Democrat or other political refugee, then it has all been worthwhile.

I recall perusing a pub menu and espying a 'Dirty Burger'.  How off-putting is that?    It wouldn't matter a jot how mouth-watering the contents might look on closer examination, but I would never consider such a ghastly named option for my choice of main course - or any other course  - of course!

SO WHERE EXACTLY IS ALL THIS POVERTY?

                                      

                                    SO WHERE EXACTLY IS ALL THIS POVERTY?

Poverty is a very subjective issue. It is an aspect of life that can so readily be used for political gain.  The Left dish out so-called 'Hunger' as bait for the government and a sop to voters, particularly those in the north of the country who 'betrayed' their socialist roots and voted Tory at the last election.

I recall Jamie Oliver leading the march against unhealthy school meals some years ago now, can't remember what happened exactly, but if something did change it certainly wasn't long lasting.  We are where we are, chefs on TV seem in general to be white so enter Sir Marcus of Manchester who leads the latest charge for nutritional change.  That's not forgetting quality, value and volume of course. 

This is everything the BBC's publicity machine could dream of, a famous footballer who shows his caring side, his concern for the welfare of others and with all his wealth still remembers his roots and his upbringing.  But best of all, and this must have had the Beeb's executives salivating in their several course lunches, he's black!  I have nothing against the fellow, he seems like a nice lad who cares for his mum, but where is this poverty?  I am aware he lives in the north and the constant rain and over exposure of Lowry is enough to cloud even the strongest of souls' minds but not everyone up there is feckless... surely? Jumping on the 'They shall eat cake - and everything else that's free' bandwagon is a veritable army of chefs all very concerned with school meals, welfare and personal exposure. 

What I would like to see published is an honest assessment of who exactly it is we are providing free meals for?  Who is collecting handouts from food banks? Y ou can bet your bottom hard-earned penny that if the opportunity for free food wasn't available there still not be one person certified as having died of starvation.  This assessment report would have several sections under various headings.  There would be the usual questions, ie Name, Address, Age, Sex (Two choices only!), Colour, Place of Birth, Religion, Number of children, Homeowner or rented? and Working or unemployed?  This last heading's answers would contribute greatly to any handout that followed - if any.  I have no problem with genuine hardship being supported through state welfare assistance.  What I object to is the long-term freeloaders who exploit every nook and cranny of the system in order to get the most for the least. Unfortunately the social conscience has over-ridden the desire for many to work, it's all too easy not to sadly. 

The cries of those pleading poverty and calling for free everything should be met with the question as to why they feel the need to sponge off the taxpayer when they have three or four children with another on the way!  If you can't afford them, don't have them!

Last summer when foreign labour was in short demand for varying reasons, UK farmers encouraged applications from Brits who need work.  Our fruit and vegetables requires picking.  It is hard work, it is repetitive  and physically taxing.  How sad then to read that so many farmers were let down by lame ducks who lasted a week, some a day and basically couldn't hack it.  Hard work you see, not in their mindset. Wonder just how hungry their families were at the end of their non-working day?

As a footnote, a couple of years ago I was very kindly invited to give a talk to a ladies' group in a Hampshire coastal town.  The club concerned  had hired a community centre for their meetings and shared the hall space with a group collecting for a food bank.  A member of their team was present that day and I enquired as to the genuine need of those who had partaken... or probably just taken... Anyway, she defended their course of action and its need but interestingly commented that several people collecting their un-worked-for loot rummaged through to check the contents before leaving and in many cases asked to swap items in their pack for an item in another.   She also remembered one lady swopping a jar of coffee for another as 'She preferred Waitrose coffee to the Tesco she had inherited'!  Bloody cheek, bloody unnecessary!

WHATEVER HAPPENED TO STOICISM?

                                                

                                           WHATEVER HAPPENED TO STOICISM?

Much of the past years news has been taken up by the NHS and its ability to manage the pandemic along with all the other responsibilities and services it has to deal with on a daily basis.  Credit goes to all that serve in the Good Ship NHS, but why oh why do we witness such weakness of mind and spirit.  Might I suggest that media in general and the BBC in particular has done a ruddy good job of spreading gloom and despondency over so long a period that no-one has any metaphorical balls left anymore.  There are those who have 'stepped up to the plate', but the burnout rate is phenomenal.

Only yesterday my attention was caught by an item on the BBC's Red Button service regarding those who  are suffering all manner of after-effects.  The story reads : 'Many hospital staff treating the sickest patients during the first wave of the pandemic were left traumatised by the experience, a study suggests. Researchers at Kings College Hospital asked 709 workers at nine intensive care units in England about how they were coping as the first wave eased.  Nearly half reported symptoms of severe anxiety, depression, post-traumatic stress disorder or drinking problems.  One in seven had thoughts of self-harming or being 'better off dead'. 

As Captain Mainwaring might have commented 'What sort of talk is that Wilson?'.  It's their job, get on with it.  It does make you wonder whether the interviewers skewed their questions so as to obtain a more sensational set of statistics.  Would we today find a group of 19year olds champing at the bit to take to the skies in a Spitfire or Hurricane in order to punish the Hun and defend Dear Old Blighty?  Can you imagine the Health and Safety exams, the Diversity indoctrinations, the Equal Opportunities battering?  Now that WOULD be stressful!  Listening to some Oxbridge educated buffoon with degrees in Pointlessness and Unworldliness blather on about the importance of 'Inclusion' before you're allowed in the cockpit would be enough to consider a life as a mercenary... a white supremacist... though still possessing a model railway for those 'quieter moments', obviously.

Meanwhile, back in A&E, Intensive Care etc, are those serving today really so fragile?  Did Florence Nightingale and her ilk when tending soldiers who had suffered appalling injuries seek counselling for that myriad of cop-outs discussed earlier?  We seem to be breeding a generation that lacks spine, backbone and guts.  Still, they are all medical conditions one way or another,. A case of self-healing possibly...