Stunning photographs from Anna and such wonderful poise 😀
So on Wednesday it was the College Awards and although Construction is often overlooked they decided that the Carpentry team was the best team in College.
OK, I was surprised, but actually quite ‘chuffed’ as we say in Yorkshire. The big plus factor was my Level 1 Student receiving Most Improved and my Apprentice receiving Best Apprentice of the year. So, all in all an excellent night. Next week it’ll be back to the usual dribble 😜
Now here are some thought provoking comments on Women’s Day. Check out the full story 😀
Year after year, I keep asking the same question to myself and to my friends, but never have received a satisfactory answer, ever. Why do we need women’s day? Why a day is devoted to us? Why has it been so much commercialized and media making a big deal out of it? Why do we need a day to remind everyone that we are equal or that we women are strong and powerful?
Wait..is there a day for men? Like a Men’s day or something? Or is it that every day is Man’s day but we women need a day to celebrate our being.
Ages have gone by, but till today, in this modern world, we women are asking for permissions, we are confirming our equality by giving ourselves a special day, we need a confirmation to feel special, we need a confirmation to feel strong. We need our men…
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Ever thought dance could help you? If you read what Anna has to say you may be surprised 🙂
Due to world arthritis day in couple of days I would like to say some things about dance and how dancing could relieve the pain of arthritis
Having a waltz around the room or enjoying a yoga class can work wonders for millions of people suffering from arthritis, say researchers.
A study found hospital-based exercise programs such as Pilates, yoga or dance fitness can relieve the pain of the disease.
American scientists studied at the effectiveness of exercise programmes run by the Hospital for Special Surgery in New York City.
They found the weekly programmes significantly improved enjoyment of life and balance, and decreased pain and the severity and frequency of falls.
Sandra Goldsmith, director of the Public and Patient Education Department at HSS said: ‘When participants were asked to report their level of pain severity, there were statistically significant reductions in pain from pre- to post-test.
‘Pain is a…
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But, a trip to the library, Abbey and graveyard and he had the seeds of a story. All I got were a few photos and a blog post. In the library he discovered Vlad Tepes, a geezer who impaled people on wooden stakes during the 1450’s (and you think Donald Trump is bad news) Bram also heard about a Russian ship the Dmitry sinking off the coast some years earlier and ‘voila’ he had a tale about Count Dracula surviving a shipwreck, landing at Whitby and then wreaking havoc. You know the rest, if you don’t check out Christopher Lee. Personally I always found the whole vampire thing quite sexy, but back to the post. The drive to Whitby skirts the North Yorkshire Moors, barren or beautiful? I’ll let you decide.
I indulged in the Fish and Chips (of course) and at the Quayside I was intrigued to see a notice informing me, not only where the fish originated from, but identifying the trawler. No fish from Whitby, hmmm sign of the times maybe? What about diversity!? I hear you cry. No? oh OK 😦 How about a Tattoo Studio alongside a traditional Fishmonger?
Did I mention it that it was pouring with rain? Anyway after a walk along the harbour and seafront it was time to head home, Captain Cook’s house was closed and I wanted to see the Abbey.
The origins of the Abbey date back to the 657 which is long before our old mate Vlad the Impaler and his wooden stake act. It’s spectre still looms over Whitby today and I can see how it caught Bram’s imagination.
So even though it was a cold wet day in Whitby it was quite lovely; especially the Fish and Chips and the scenery is not half bad even if there were no sexy vampires haunting the alleyways 🙂
This is definitely worth a read, Jacqueline has a really interesting take on Fear 🙂
Things I’m afraid of:
- Movies about ghosts.
- People with gun, knives, or other sharp destructive devices.
- Destructive devices.
- Eyes falling out of sockets or losing limbs.
- Out of body experiences.
- Whatever it is that happens when my mother finishes counting to 3.
- Performing stand-up in front of a big crowd.
- Wasting my time.
- Talking to my crush.
- Texting that one guy and asking why he suddenly wanted to be friends out of no where.
- Making the first move.
- Gaining massive success and realizing it wasn’t what I hoped it would be.
Remember this for later.
When I was in training, I was asked to chant the phrase, “Fear is the mind-killer,” while performing an excruciatingly difficult exercise in which I would take a cue from a man banging a stick into the floor, slowly descend my upright body into the ground, while…
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Ahh, breakfast in Paris, OK it wasn’t the Champs-Elysees, but the bread and coffee was good. After a few days Corporal Yarring told us we were taking the night train to Aubagne, Marseille, the Legion’s headquarters and selection. Selection!? No one had said anything about selection. I had expected to be on a camel by now, but apparently there were five hundred other people with the same idea. Ken and I had a sinking feeling. “Don’t worry,” says the Corporal. “Keep out of trouble during the selection and you’ll be fine.” He hadn’t read SILH (7) A Penultimate Tale or indeed ‘I’m Amazing’ I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by keep out of trouble, so we asked him to elaborate. “Don’t get into cliques with other English recruits and no fighting,” he said. I was still confused as I didn’t know what a clique was and I thought we were there to fight, so I nodded using that ‘gormless face’ as my Mum used to say.
The train was great, when someone fell asleep we put matches between their toes and lit them or just painted their face with a marker pen. Eventually I arrived in Marseille with no sleep, no matches and a dry marker pen 🙂 Upon entering the selection camp there were other young men shouting, ‘any English?’ I put my hand up, of course and that was that apparently I was in a clique.
There were lots of tests and when we returned to our billet people had disappeared. Literally disappeared. One day Ken disappeared. This was a little disconcerting, so a few days later when we were at the hospital waiting for another test I asked our German Sergeant. ” Où est Ken?” He frowned at me (I’ve met happier men).
“He is gone, you want to go with him?” I declined his generous offer and returned to my seat. As people disappeared new people appeared, then one day we welcomed into our clique Otto. He was a very large German chap who, we all decided, would be very handy at a later date. Otto’s primary disfunction was that he loved to fight – anyone.
Several things happened around this time. I had chosen the 13th Demi-Brigade as my future home and with my diving/construction experience Combat Engineer as my new career. They shaved our heads, well apart from the Greek guy who, just as the shears were about to make their first pass, pulled off his shaggy wig. Someone did a poop in the showers and there had been several fights, so at the 0530 roll call one morning Sgt LeGrain informed us of these misdemeanours and explained that he had been shot in the Algeria conflict (I didn’t get the connection either) He did make it very clear that fighting and pooping in the shower was punishable by exile. That morning I was detailed to help in the kitchen and observed chef shooting Blackbirds with an air rifle. I didn’t understand why until that evening when there were two little birds on my plate.
Then disaster struck, we were resting on our bunks one evening when ‘little Tommy’ ran in and said that Otto was getting a hiding in the showers. Corporal Yarring’s words didn’t echo in my head, sadly. Our ‘clique’ ran to the showers and had a jolly good scrap. Hmmm, the next morning after breakfast we were escorted to a broom cupboard (yes really) We stayed there for about 2 hours until everyone else was out of the way then walked to a corridor where a man behind a hatch tore up our contracts and told us we were history. We were put on a train back to Paris and released into the wild once more. Oh well 🙂
Rashmi makes some very important observations here, so please give it a read. 🙂
Friends, this post is not a blog at all, I am writing this for the purpose of awareness.
2017 is about to end and nothing has changed.
Today morning I was scrolling my Facebook and I came across a thrilling news that “A 8-year-old girl in Pune Brutally Gang-Raped by 6 Minor Boys from her Neighborhood.”
A 8-year-old Girl? what has she done?
She didn’t even know the meaning of ‘RAPE’.
I think India is not the country for girls because every second girl is getting raped by her neighbor, relative and sometimes even by her male family member.
WHY? BECAUSE SHE IS A GIRL?
Boys, have you ever think about that pain she has suffered because of you?
Have you ever think about the torture that she has gone through because of you?
I think that Rapist is not only the criminal but society too.
Here I am…
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I enjoyed sharing my experiences in the SILH series so I thought I’d write a little more (narcissism? Hmmm) Anyway, I had returned to Jersey after the Spanish adventure SILH (1to 8) and I met a very pretty girl, so that was me, always a sucker for a pretty face. We got on well for a couple of years, but I’m not doing the whole break up thing. I’ve had the great pleasure of knowing many beautiful women, some married me and some didn’t. I have no excuses, no remorse, no animosity and as far as I’m aware we’re still friends. Alone and forlorn I found a friend, Ken (no he wasn’t plastic). He had escaped a jealous boyfriend (don’t date girls whose boyfriends are in prison) a car chase and a shotgun in Manchester.
One drunken night we decided to join the Foreign Legion.Now, once I have an idea I believe it has been written, I probably would have made a good Bedouin. So I called the French Foreign Legion and they said no English until April, this was June, so we went anyway. We spent several days in France walking, hitch hiking and asking politely, “Where is la Foreign Legion mate?” my French from school extended as far as “Mme Tibou a acheté un nouveau chapeau.” ‘Mrs Tibou has bought a new hat,’ it wasn’t helpful. One day we met a friendly shopkeeper and with a series of hand signals and despite her laughter we established the phrase we so badly required. “Où est la Légion étrangère s’il vous plaît?” We decided to get a train to Paris.
I do not recommend walking through the streets of Paris asking, “Où est la Légion étrangère s’il vous plait?” In the early 80’s there was a certain stigma attached to young men wanting to join the Foreign Legion and so people shook their head and hurried away, leaving us baffled. Sometime later as the tumbleweed blew by, an old man pointed us in the right direction and explained many people who join the Foreign Legion are on the run from the law and not escaping a false accusation as portrayed in Beau Geste. At least the gate lived up to the reputation.
I knocked on the door (really). A small hatch slid open to reveal quite the most fearsome face I had ever seen. “Oui?” He grunted. I politely asked the face if he spoke English and the hatch closed. At this point we considered running away, but decided to stick it out and eventually the great doors opened and we were escorted to some seats whereupon man mountain said “Wait” (I think) he definitely grunted something. As we waited young men kept appearing with sticks which they hit into their hand in a most aggressive manner. I presumed they were trainee Legionaries or maybe on work experience, but eventually we were rescued by Corporal Yarring, a Cockney time served Legionnaire. He explained that they were full and could we come back tomorrow? He asked us if we had any money as he didn’t want us sleeping rough and that we may find it hard to get a hotel as the Paris Air Show was on. He then told us not to believe articles in the newspaper and that they don’t break recruits limbs or bury them up to their neck in sand. I wasn’t aware of said articles but felt some relief all the same. We were told to report back at around ten thirty and sent away, a little bemused. We found a hotel which could be described as ‘seedy’ if you consider stepping over two drunken prostitutes in the doorway as ‘seedy.
Upon our return the next morning Corporal Yarring explained all the new recruits had been shipped out to Marseille the night before, so now there was room for us. He promptly took all our belongings and clothes and gave us some ‘combat greens’ to wear, which strangely enough were ex US Army. A day later we were ushered into an office where a high ranking officer explained some ‘stuff’ to us and we signed a five year contract. So our adventure had begun. Our first job was to place huge rocks around the tennis court as a sort of feature, so far this Foreign Legion malarkey semed OK. Things have changed during the past forty years I guess Legion Etrangere (this is their Facebook page) 🙂 Next week, ‘Off to Marseille.’ 🙂
You know when your darling partner says can we go……… and you have that impending sense of a wasted day but you agree because you know that somewhere in the future you will want your angel (an angel is sexless so could be girl/boy or any other form of human life) to accompany you on a wasted day? This particular day it was Denby Potteries to purchase a new dinner service in their 60% sale. I have to admit this wasn’t on my lifetime bucket list, certainly not up there with Macchu Picchu or the sale of my first novel (still waiting) but hey, I guess even Hemingway ate from plates, we all have our needs and hers today was a dinner service, so I acquiesced with good grace. The drive through the beautiful countryside of the North of England was enchanting. it’s heartwarming to know that people can survive in such an environment.
Eventually, surviving what could be reminiscent of a nuclear winter, we arrived. I was surprised how large it was and delighted to discover they had a restaurant. I’m a very fickle person, promise me food and I’ll go anywhere. It struck me that there may be a blog post here (we all do don’t we)
After a scoot around and a bit of snapping with the iphone it was suggested we eat. The food was very good and the service friendly. It was time to spend some money, so off we trundled to the shop. It was there that I discovered that you can take a tour and ‘have a go’ now that would have been fun, but they don’t do them on Saturdays, which I can understand as the factory is probably closed. We entered the shop and I have to admit I was impressed their range is very good and chip proof which is one reason we were there. Our IKEA pottery wasn’t chip proof and my co-ordination isn’t what it was.
Now it began, these or these, or even these. I always take part knowing full well the decision has quite possibly already been made and I am being guided slowly but surely to the correct choice, all the different designs were examined and eventually there were two left this one
and this one
I pondered and shuffled uncomfortably, it was scowl or smile time. As the drum rolled I chose the latter and she smiled. Eureeka! I had passed. We paid, loaded up and headed back through the frozen wasteland home. 🙂