A Foray into the characters of my early life. Number One - Aunt Ivy

A Foray into the characters of my early life


Number One - Aunt Ivy

In this article you’ll hear about “The captain of the winkle barge.”

Ivy Rosetta Evershed, I think, was her name but I expect she had one or two other names as was customary in her day. I would guess that she died aged about 80 in around 1985, so that would mean that she was born around 1905. She was, as far as I recall, the first born (in Durban, I believe, South Africa) to Charlotte (Lotte) Evershed (nee Philips, I think), her mother and, I think her father’s name was David Jonathan Evershed, but that may have been one of her three brother’s names. I probably have a photo somewhere of her and I will try to find one some time and add it to this post. Ivy had two sisters, Edna, the next eldest and then my mother Marjorie (Madge). Amazingly even though she was the first born to Charlotte and David, she was the last of the siblings to pass away.

She was never married – a spinster – and a very tough ‘old bird’. I was the child that she never had and she doted on me and variously had claimed that she had brought me up. I was in my late thirties when she died and one of my three children, Rebecca would probably remember her when she (Rebecca) was a toddler.

I say she was unmarried but my mother, Madge and my father Harold (known to friends as “George”) both used to ‘pull her leg’ mercilessly about her some time boyfriend “the captain of the winkle barge” (I remember that phrase so clearly) but although I suppose that he existed, I never met him but would have liked to have done just to establish what his nautical credentials actually were!

In a way, Ivy was a poor soul in that she got caught for being placed in the position of a second mother-figure to back-up her own mum after the father ‘disappeared’ to start a new life in West Sussex with a new woman who bore him two new children (one, Stephen, being slightly older than me and still very much alive, living in Denmark). Oddly, he is technically my step-uncle.

What did Ivy look like? I only really recall her in her later years. She was very slim, bordering on thin and a little scrawny. She was small – only about 5 foot 4 inches tall – almost slightly wizened-looking. Her face was small, rosy and with dark, slightly deep-set eyes. She always dressed as though it was winter – well wrapped-up and often wearing her own-knitted scarves and woollies. I remember her knitting lots of clothes especially for babies and for me as a child. I am sure that she aspired to motherhood and expressed it through gifts and the spoiling of children that passed through her life.

I was the ‘apple of her eye’. On the whole I could do no wrong and she would always try to take me out for the day when my family visited her when she lived for many years with just her aged mother Lotte at 263 Hale End Road, near Highams Park in north-east London. Her home at “263” was a well-built Council House with, as standard, a very large, long garden, provided, in principle, no doubt, to sustain families in home-grown veg and she was a very ardent and hard-working gardener right into her retirement years. She grew everything from potatoes to fruit and I remember in her back garden was a lovely swing rigged-up on an apple tree that I spent many happy hours on as a child.

(This is an interim post – pending continuation as soon as possible)

Nasty free speech?

Is this a story of nasty free speech??

Harry Miller speaks out (via Twitter) - gets reported (at his workplace by the police) but is told "no crime - just hate" but judge rules that he is just exercising his right to free speech about trans issues.

When my wife and I were a victim of non-gender-based hate crime by neighbours the police just said "nothing we can do about it."

C'est la vie.

A tentative sit at the laptop ... to write something eh?

Got a seed of an idea. Self-therapy it'll probably be in essence. Go tentatively putting a few things down on paper (laptop of course). See if it starts to 'spill'. See if the over-dribbling becomes a small pond and then a lake and then Storm Dennis; hope so.

Thing is - I've been creatively inactive for so long. Grieving. Mourning. Starting to begin the end now I hope. Realising that there is no piont in this perpetual vicious cycle of analysis and re-analysis. Reappraising where they and ... or ... I went wrong - how we could all end up with no communication - my family that is.

Now I'm back on it (writing that is) - annoyingly I see that Blogger has removed the spellchecker feature and Firefox (my preferred browser) allegedly has a spellchecker (which is ticked) but it, so far, is doing nothing (as proved a moment ago with an intentionally misspelt word).

My seed of an idea is:

Could I possibly list or just turn into very short stories all the little anecdotal memories that I have of what I think my children and their children ought to want to know about? That's people, places, experiences - not just mine - but even some of theirs that they may have forgotten about.

Rudimental - a smaller version!

As a comparison to my last post ...

Rudimental ft John Newman - Feel The Love (Album Sync Live HD ft Heritag...

This is a good example of the sort of orchestral cool modern music that I like:

A new start in life?

A New Start in Life?

Yesterday I was (rightly) ticked-off by my wife for talking publicly about a friend's private life and this bad habit comes about because of my inherent and almost compulsive habit of having to be "open" about everything - transparency rules! - But she had a point and I apologised.

Having said all that - here I go again ...

Again its been many months since I blogged and that's (this time) because I have been drowning in a family feud that manifests itself by the fact that none of us communicate any more. So no contact with anyone - not even our much loved grandchildren - let alone my three children or their husbands or wives.

Here we are at the end of the decade and having been in the depths of despair at this fiasco - I am just emerging, hoping to write again. Finger's crossed I can pull it off.

I say "a new start in life" because our situation is so bizarre now as to really constitute a new start. Most would say - maybe by nature, including me, that this new start is not an improvement but actually it may be, painful though it is.

It all started ...

You know when I indulge myself and open-up to friends a little and start to tell them how this all started - I see their looks of disbelief and what I see as incredulity at how any family could end up in this sad and sorry state. That annoys me! It annoys me that friends imply by their reaction that it is my fault. It's not - just because the ratio is high - it doesn't mean that the majority (the offspring & co lot) that take a negative stance are right - I'm right - yes I am.

All I wanted was an apology from my daughter - but I didn't get it - I got ostracisation. -And the surprising thing was how they all hung together - like a strong industrial union - including the only sprog that I thought I had a relationship with, Owen.

I could spend days typing out here what led up to me seeking an apology from my daughter Rebecca but it'd be a waste of time. That annoying saying "it is what it is" applies here too.

 Let's experiment!

So, I am going to try an experiment ...
... Instead of drowning in sorrow and making my wife's life a misery (and mine) I am going to accept what has happened. I am also going to not blame either myself or them. The latter will be very difficult - but truth be known - they are the product of their mother's (and her family's) influence - that I'd rather call her "brainwashing". Her (the ex-wife's) manipulation of the (now adult) children's minds was an intentional criminal act. I am not sure if it is "criminal" but if it isn't - it ought to be.

I have always tried to maintain contact with my children over the years - tried to be a good father although "apart" from their mother. Terrible fathers fare better than I do. It is ... very un-fair - but then I implied that I was going to stop moaning; so I will.

I have a burgeoning receptacle of creativity (my brain - even though at first I typed my brian ... life of maybe). Let it free again. That's what I say! I'm going to give my Brian a life (again).

I need to write again. I probably ought to learn to play that bloody stringed instrument too that I bought a strap for and a tuning app placed on my phone.

Kate Bush is inspiring me today (thanks to Chris - that's Christine). "Aerial" is the album.

More textual information (on the amazing album) here.

Hear (a nice) part of it here. At 5 minutes 30 seconds in is an amazing section with a flamenco guitar etc.!

Note that this has Rolf Harris on it (that was before his disgrace I think) and a later remastered version cut it out.

New year approaches. New year - new world.

If you want to have a good cry - don't hold back!

Well hello all!

It's been a long time ... over three and a half months in fact since my last blog post.

Why the gap when I was so prolific previously?

Simple; preoccupation with moving - well actually - not moving.

I say "not moving" as although we might like to move, we don't NEED to move and indeed although we are, as it were, 'open to offers' (that's coded language for on the market) nobody's interested.

Yes we went on the market two calendar months ago and no one is interested (not so far - and I have a hunch - not at all). That's all another story for another time.

So, what about the title of this brand new, out-of-the-blue blog [post] (which ain't as easy to say as to write)?

So why am I writing about people crying?

I am trying to highlight (as I approach a significant birthday at the end of this month) the importance of being able to express your emotions and indeed just plain expressing yourself  (never mind the emotions!) - this all compared to sweeping everything 'under the carpet'.

The latter is of course The British Way. The British are often portrayed as reserved and unemotional.
Over the years I have come to realise that, for example, my three grown-up children and indeed their mother (my ex-wife) are all good examples of The British Way - not wishing - or maybe incapable - (of 'taking the brake off' and) of expressing their emotions.

I, other the other hand, are the converse. Whether I want to or not I struggle to keep my emotions bound-up. In principle I happen to believe that expressing one's emotions (not at inappropriate times) is not only OK but is actually good for one. When I say "not at inappropriate times I mean if one was held by terrorists and they made a video - better not to cry - which would be interpreted negatively by all viewers. If one was The Prime Minister and making one's departure speech - possibly better not to cry (as she did) although it gave one a unique experience of empathy, even sympathy.

The thing that's prompted me to write this blog post is that a few days ago I was just coming out of a deep depression caused by an exchange with one of my two sons. Sadly and unjustly that depression affected my wife (who is also my lover, not meant necessarily in a sexual sense - moreso in terms of affection) very badly. If you love someone and you see them hurt and believe that that hurt was heartless and spiteful you're going to feel almost as upset as the one that was directly upset by events.

So, yes I know, you want to know what happened don't you? One reader will already know as that reader might be my son, Neal. This is not Facebook. I used to (about three to four years ago) be an avid Facebook user, that was until I started to see how it could be used so maliciously and how the proprietors failed totally to intervene, suggesting that their rule was to maintain so-called free speech. Anyway - so I came off (mostly as a result of my wife and I being vilified, totally unjustly on Facebook, sometimes by total strangers that had been incited by neighbours). - That too is another story for another time. So, in consequence my only kind of Facebook is this - my blog - my only public way of expressing myself without being blocked by anyone (as can be done on Facebook of course).

What happened?

My son is married to a girl whose parents live in Shrewsbury. I have only met those parents at the wedding of my son and daughter-in-law and they appear to be 'good upstanding people' (whatever that could be). So, I thought fairly reasonably, I asked my son (who spends a lot of time with his in-laws in Shrewsbury, the county town of Shropshire of course) if he knew of, or his in-laws knew of, any B & Bs that we could utilise as we wanted to explore (an area unknown to me) The Shropshire Hills AONB (Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty) as we half-fancied moving there (another story some time). My son at first said he might ask a friend who lived there (no mention of the in-laws) and then in a casual throw away line in a WhatsApp text said "isn't that what Trip Advisor is for?" - I'd already stated that obviously I could do self-research (as I am computer literate) but someone in the know is always helpful but he clearly wanted nothing to do with my request and expressed that dismissively at best and rudely and coldly at worst. It was the latter undoubtedly.

I am convinced that there is a hidden agenda here - much more going on than may be obvious to someone reading this or a casual observer. My son Neal, out of all three offspring has always had a problem with me (his 'distant dad'). He was approaching toddlerhood when his mother and I split-up, so he was the youngest child so I suppose he has a bit of an excuse for having no (or little) relationship with me. He was probably closer to his mother's live-in lover (partner I suppose I should say) who also left when he was, I think, approaching, or in, his teens - so he may have a distrust of anything resembling a father.

My son, Neal, wonderfully, became a dad himself recently and he has a delightful little daughter Orla and since her birth, Neal seemed to 'soften' a little towards me but every time I start to feel positive that things are improving with he and I relationship-wise, suddenly I get 'kicked in the teeth'. It may be a throw-away comment or what he classes as humour or actions that indicate not negativity but hate or that I am dispised. I see similar but not so extreme behaviour from his siblings from time to time and indeed from my ex-wife occasionally (whom I 'bump into' here and there at family gatherings).

So, to get more to the point ...

I told him that he offended me and he said I was too sensitive and I retorted that the perpetrator was insensitive and there has been no contact since (a week or so). I have also had 'run-ins' with my other son and my daughter over various matters and they share info and gang-up. Despite all this I have received Fathers' Day cards from all three offspring (and one from grandchildren too) and even a gift from my middle son, Owen. There was what could be deemed snide humour (from Neal's card) - even from Owen's (but not spiteful) if one could class it as humour from the words on it, but I rather like humour and can even take it when I am the butt of it - but not when designed to hurt. I am happy to join in the laughter but not to feel hurt whilst others laugh as that is spitefulness.

Thus, increasingly I am being forced to conclude that they (my offspring and the ex) are quite diametrically different from me (and my wife for that matter) in that they are under carpet sweepers and I and to a degree my wife are look at the dust people. Everything they do suggests this - avoiding what is at the heart of problems - issues, whereas I want to examine issues - head-on and resolve them or accept them as may be possible.

I cry at the drop of a hat, my wife less so and my blood relatives, it seems, not at all. I certainly had a cry about recent times. I don't hold back because I know that crying is good for you. They don't follow this. I read this article: Does crying actually make you feel good? I also read: Is being reserved such a bad thing?

I am going to have to accept that we're different and they don't understand me and I don't understand them. Sadly, I suspect ultimately that may mean separation and we and the grandchildren will undoubtedly miss each other and either way none of us lasts forever, but I do not expect that veiled 'threat' to carry any weight either (I wouldn't call it a threat - they would - it's a truism).

Happy Fathers' Day and Happy Special Birthday - I say to me - no one else gives a damn (oh except my wife of course - to whom I apologise for being such a misery of late).

I love you Jane. I love them too but I am but a speck to them. - A spot of dust under the carpet?

Would you pay a quid to listen to Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd and/or Cream?

I am always telling, particularly my southerner compatriots, that (loony) Lincolnshire has a good music scene.

When I was 18 years old, having left my South London family home, my life was so full on with unmentionable things that, rather annoyingly, I overlooked that for the princely sum of one pound I could have experienced such unknowns as ... The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Pink Floyd and Cream in a 'flowery' place called Spalding.

You know ... nothing's changed here in loony Lincs. Last night (Wednesday night 16th. Jan 2019) we went as we often do to the regular 'open mic' night at Old Nick's Tavern in Horncastle and we listened to around a dozen musicians ranging in age from around 25 to 85 and music as diverse as a spontaneous 5 man band formation (with as good a drummer as you'll ever hear being I would estimate, 70 odd years old, and a young (named Josh) guitarist

C'est la vie.

Potholes - are you as sick of them as me!

I live in rural Lincolnshire and I am sick to the back teeth of seeing (and being the driving victim of) potholes all over the county that I reside in. It is shameful and Lincolnshire County Council is almost literally getting away with murder by their lack of adequate and timely action in getting these dangerous road hazards fixed.

Have a look at this BBC website article.

What can one do about it?

The above question is going to be left open for contributors to answer over the next few, likely very cold (and therefore conducive to the creation of more potholes) months during this 2019 cold period.

Answers as contributed:

1. Report all potholes quickly and monitor the council's progress at fixing them (Tim's first response).

Boston Belle (another spontaneous poem).

There's more information about the Boston Belle and her trips out into The Wash and up the River Witham here.

BOSTON BELLE

by Tim J Rhohn-Sayers 

Autumn 2018

Today I was aboard the Boston Belle.

It wasn't exactly what I'd describe as hell.

- But it was definitely somewhat lacking

And the woman serving at the bar needed sacking!

You'll think, I suppose, I'm unkind.

- But I booked for relaxation and to unwind.

However, she made it stressful;

Her behaviour utterly inconducive to restful.

A challenge to get a bacon butty.

Anyone who did, seemed to be devouring incinerated putty!

Having asked at least thrice for one,

She gave so many excuses, I gave up on one ever being done.

Such was her poor service, disinterest and belligerence

That for bloody mindedness I decided to reward her ignorance

By sitting half-starved, such,

That I started to feel sea-sick just a touch.

On principle, no money for the boat's coffers

As she couldn't be bothered to serve or make offers.

This brings to an end my day on The Boston Belle.

Suffice to say, what a story I made sure to tell!

Just a little spontaneous poem written a while back.

My wife and I took (for the second time since living in Lincolnshire) a boat trip from Boston on The Boston Belle out into The Wash ...

Poem written during the return voyage from The Wash.

Untitled.

My boredom forced me to writing a poem

As we returned up the now calm River Witham.

The sun shone bright and the breeze blew good,

Even out in The Wash, no need to put up my hood.

Dreaming of a hearty club sandwich

At the Eastern European open air café

I hear the SOS message through the emergency bandwidth.

Will we need the life jackets?

Will we be on the cinema's news Pathé?

All calm again as heading to Boston

As I reflect on how much bacon butties add cost on.

Never again, I say.

Rather sit at home hearing horses neigh.

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Nothing wrong with the pleasant voyage and the seals but one crew member left much to be desired in her manner and her food was almost inedible.

Some hometruths to start 2019

Good morning all (or any) ...

Noticed that both of us were awake here and there overnight. Not surprising really - lots on our minds - so I am up at half four, typing away (therapeutic). Our disposition was not helped by the film we three (including our guest) saw last night "The Favourite" - whatever you do - don't see it - unless you've eaten something bad over Christmas and new year and need to throw it up!

The film was disgusting and I never thought I, of all people, broad-minded as I know I am, would use those words about a film but disgusting is the right adjective.

Every conceivable swear word was used in the film including numerous times using the "C" word mostly used by women too. Every sexual act you could think of was portrayed in as disgusting a way as one could dream-up (well some might dream up). There was virtually no story or plot and even if one blotted out the disgusting nature of the film, the entire film could only be deemed about Queen Anne's relationship with two of her female servants - not much more. Some will no doubt call it "art" - I call it "gratuitous filth" - two words that I never thought I would use in my life.

So this post (with all of the above film info) must now be included in my reviews section too (and by the way - the cinema - or The Kinema as we locals call it) was packed to capacity.

 HOMETRUTHS: View looking south east from our land towards the fence erected by RDS and their land showing one of a few sycamore trees (on our land) that we had cut down to protect both our horses and RDS donkeys from danger from potential poisoning from sycamore tree seeds that can be deadly to all equines. You'd think RDS might be grateful - no they wanted me arrested for criminal damage. On the right side background of the photograph, on RDS land you can clearly see an old ash tree (that does have a preservation order on it) but that the donkeys have been allowed to eat all the bark off, thus the tree will eventually die. Equines, typically, will eat such things as bark when they are missing something in their diet. We protect our trees by having horse-safe electric fencing which gives a humane and safe shock if touched.

 

Hometruths

We are being hounded out of our village, Huttoft, by a few ghastly individuals who have axes to grind for whatever 'sad' reasons:

Here's a couple examples of what is going on around about:

• An Essex woman (no I am not naming names - just like those commenting on Facebook - don't - they just make sure that everyone knows who they are commenting on - namely me), an incomer, like me, also like me, having lived in the village for a number of years is offering to give a character reference for the "dick-head" (that'll be me) to the person that runs RDS who is also 'agin' me. The Essex person was also the person that revealed her breasts to me when she was drunk and her husband and my wife were chatting with their backs to us (she being a convicted drink driver who was 'intelligent' enough to drive her car home from a pub some 200 or so metres away one night a few years ago). She was undoubtedly 'grassed-up' by someone that night and I bet she thinks it was me but it wasn't, for the record. I expect it was the publican of the pub she was at - but who knows and who cares? - At least it may have saved a life. Both her and her husband used to drink drive all the time, choosing out of the way pubs and out of the way quiet rural roads and routes to avoid detection. One now wonders if he too has lost his licence as I see he is on a disability scooter in the village but perhaps the poor man has a disability. I wouldn't wish that scenario on my worst enemy and he is certainly not my worst enemy, despite his wife once saying to me, bizarrely, "you must really hate - we'll call him Fred - not his real name." I replied by saying, truthfully, that I have never hated anyone in my life - and indeed I am not sure that I would know how to do that and certainly life is not worth all that stress and negative energy to constantly be thinking about hating someone - ghastly thought.
• RDS (who is run by what we have established are 'crooks') has raised two separate hate campaigns against me, one two years ago, one recently, which is simmering currently as we await a reply from their solicitor. This has come about since we were falsely accused of "stealing" land from RDS. They have thirty acres, we three point five acres - that's quite a lot isn't it? So, we don't need to "steal" any - we have enough. This came about as we gave notice of tree work on poisonous sycamore trees (that can poison our horses and the RDS donkeys). We were willing to pay for remedial action, which we took, so they called the police to have me arrested for criminal damage to what they claimed were their trees on their land. Incorrect, of course and I still run free, unarrested. I, of course have photographs of the fence beyond the trees (i.e. showing the trees my side of the fence - the fence that RDS put up about two years ago themselves). So I paid for the helpful work to be done and I am the culprit allegedly. I wonder how many sycamore trees are on RDS land?
• We hear that apparently someone put out there that RDS is not open until April 2019 now because they assumed that they went away for several months to the Caribbean on the funds donated to the donkey sanctuary. Even I know that is a falsehood. The co-owner of RDS stated by reply, apparently, that she did not have a passport - probably quite true. The truth about what happens to all the funds will never be quite known I do not suppose but one does have eyes and all of the following have been seen to happen at RDS in the last few years:

1. New double glazing at their home.
2. New driveway laid at their home.
3. Giant tortoise garden pet acquired.
4. Large mock-antique customised van appeared at rear of drive advertising a local vet's practice. Seems to be there permanently.
5. Approximately 30 acres of new post and rail fencing erected.
6. Large mobile home acquired and positioned behind their house.
7. Very expensive highly-enriched haylage (rather than healthier hay) delivered regularly to RDS.
8. New Ifor Williams horse trailer on drive.
9. New-looking pick-up vehicle acquired.
10. Rough-looking van acquired.

That'll do for now - but there's more of course (like, we understand, an increasingly large collection of motor bikes being stored). The difficulty that they have is concealing and/or spending their donated funds - i.e. avoiding paying it into a bank as most businesses might normally have done.

New Year's Eve 31-12-18 Looking back (in anger?) 2018 reflection

 2018 - a reflection ...

How was your year? Why not tell me via the comments section? Yes I really would be interested in how yours went, say compared to mine (or ours).

Mine (ours):

About half this year was dominated with ill-health and many posts reflect that where I couldn't sleep for what seemed months on end, to the point where I was on the edge of getting depressed from sheer exhaustion and with no prospect of understanding what caused the frozen shoulder (the medics don't know what causes it) and the only NHS remedial action being belated and in my view ineffectual physiotherapy sessions - but that's all another story, as, fortunately, that issue is becoming a matter of history only.

As a generalisation I'll say that I was becoming aware that my lifestyle was getting downgraded by an increasing need to stay at home (i.e. no holidays, no breaks away) because of the need to 'service' our horses' needs at our farmstead. It seemed to me that we used to go away here and there (maybe a few times a year) - whether a holiday or a short break away, without too much bother but for whatever reason, our main horse-sitter seemed to become more and more resistant to offering to cover for us whilst we were away (or wanted to be away).

She herself has horses (indeed numerous animals, both pets and livestock) and indeed we always stated that we would be happy to look after her 'dependents'. - Trouble was, although in the past we had willingly looked after her 'lot', she seemed more so than ever to not ever be going away herself, thus the reciprocal nature was getting eroded but frankly I think she just couldn't be bothered to help out - even if and when we offered a payment for her services - she didn't want to know.

I perhaps ought to make clear that my wife would be happy never to go away. She's not as keen as me on people at all, really, and of course apart from having a change of scene (which I find exhilarating) I really like a chance to meet new people - which one does on trips - especially on a holiday abroad.

So the whole thing of being tied to home was for my wife a non-issue but for me becoming a serious issue.

I kept thinking ...

..."I ain't got that long (at age 69) - I still want to see places and people before I physically can not any longer, for example, travel, say abroad."

Well, the good news is we have found a woman who sells her horse care services and thus, for a price we can get away now (and if I have my selfish way we will next year 2019).

My reflective thoughts about 2018 are overwhelmingly pre-occupied with the last few weeks of the year and it annoys me that neighbours can so affect one's life.

I do, seriously, try to 'count our blessings' as we, compared to many people (like the poor souls that fight, facing the possibility of drowning in The Channel, to get to a better life in the UK), well we are very fortunate.

It's ironic that I have a friend, yes he is a friend, that seems very xenophobic and he is a member of what I think is called "Britain First" and he is very anti-Muslim, even to the point that he refused to join us for a meal in a lovely Italian restaurant run by a charming Turkish man - why? ... Because he was probably a Muslim man. We seem able to maintain our friendship despite our political differences and I am quite proud of myself for being able to do that, but maybe we have a ticking time-bomb - who knows?

Lincolnshire:

Fifteen years here. What do I think?

Well, firstly, what a delightful picture that is above that I found on Creative Commons Images! Its an 18th. century painting of Boston with "The Stump" in the background at the side of the River Witham (known as The Haven in the Boston area).

My feelings about Lincolnshire have become very negative and I have to try to resist that attitude as I am busy writing a (what one hopes will be an upbeat) book about the county in terms of being an incomer to it. It'll be finished sometime in the new year and I will publish it.

I am beginning to conclusively agree with my own thoughtful assertions that many, many people, and not just indigenous people in the county, are incredibly narrow-minded and often devoid of wit and even sometimes a sense of humour at all. Some are downright nasty and as you'll hear in a new post soon, some are bloody evil.

Yes, here and now, I am going to put it in writing today on this New Year's Eve - I'm not a happy bunny any more here in Lincolnshire!

Don't get me wrong here - this doesn't mean that I think I would be happier anywhere else but whenever I picture in my mind, other (picturesque) places my psyche is calm and 'my mind smiles'. I am so sick of the damned injustice hereabouts - injustice to me, injustice to us.

Here ... have an example or two now:

We own horses which we keep at our farmstead that borders the main housing area of a village. We are on what I call the dog-walking route and many people, attached to one or more dogs walk past our home several times a day. Often they do not look, let alone speak. When they do speak, it's to offer implied criticism of something or somebody.

Sycamore trees:

Know anything about them? We do. They are potentially fatal to all equines including horses (and donkeys of course) - and we live next door to a Donkey Sanctuary - Radcliffe Donkey (So-called) Sanctuary (RDS). It's the seeds (helicopters as I and many people call them) that can kill equines if ingested. Scientists (and vets) have only comparatively recently - last couple of years - known this fact conclusively. We became aware of the dangers of the trees in the last few months after an article in "Your Horse" magazine.

My wife and I were very worried about our horses and even the donkeys next door as some of our sycamore trees were on our land but adjacent to RDS. We, after a bit of discussion, decided that we could never forgive ourselves if we allowed our horses to continue to graze in a paddock that had sycamore tree seeds fluttering into it. Note that we had been picking the seeds up for months - a very tedious and ad hoc arrangement. So the difficult decision was made to cut five trees down including one very big one. We love trees; all trees - but what were we to do?

December 21st. 2018:

All five were cut down at our behest by our contractors. I'll give another post about the detail and spin-off of this later.

This week (after the event above):

People, mostly dog walkers, have been walking by where two of the trees are now stumps and commenting or asking things:

"They didn't have TPOs did they?" (TPOs are tree preservation orders). No they bloody didn't you stupid person, I thought but replied politely "no". (This was said by a Parish Councillor's wife.)

"When are you doing the rest?" (Meaning cutting down all the trees that align my narrow local lane.)

"Only these - they're poisonous to horses." (Thinking mind your own fucking business: my trees - I'll do what I like with them.)

I can read their thoughts - who the hell does that Tim J Rhohn-Sayers think he is cutting lovely trees down? Everyone here is intimidated and held-back by what people may think and I don't give a shit and apologies for the language here but I do get riled by their narrow-mindedness.

Here in Lincolnshire there is what I call 'local mafias' - usually those old-fashioned 'village elders' - often parish councillors that 'rule the roost'.

A while back I met and talked to for a long time at a Lincolnshire craft fair - a woman exhibitor from Essex (living like us for many years here in Lincolnshire) and she was relating many stories about how she had been admonished, over the years, by particularly, indigenous Lincolnshire folk who thought she was abrupt and overly assertive. She made me laugh when she related how she had told one criticising person - "you think this is aggressive - oh no, I can show you aggressive and believe me you'd know aggressive was very different from what I do - which is assertive." She was making the point, very well, I thought, that life in London and the home counties is not pussy-footing around like here in Lincolnshire - we call a spade a spade. She, like me, certainly would not show deference which is what so many look for here in Lincolnshire. Respect needs to be earned; not automatically given just because you are, say, a Councillor or whatever.

Basically what I am saying is that hereabouts everyone wants to know you're business and everyone's out to get you, especially if you do stuff off you're own bat without kowtowing to the local mafia.

My big 'crime' hereabouts was part-leading an opposition group against a wind farm that would have brought in vast funds for some local farmers and the parish council. The wind farm was unanimously rejected by the larger district council eventually (but it'll always be 'on the cards' for a new application when the political atmosphere is better suited to the renewable energy giants). So 'my card was marked' years ago - so there's always a large local contingent that ostacises me. Small-minded and grudge-holding people. We are seen as well-off, even rich, southerners hereabouts and that is resented, no doubt. - Jealousy at the core.

Facebook and small-minded people have a lot to answer for (more later).

Summary:

We are well, horses more or less are, cat is. So, overall we should say - not a bad year - but even my wife, now, wants to get the hell away from here. People, not the beautiful unspoiled wild natural area, are to blame.

Why nothing for a month?

Empty folder? Nothing to find?

Hi followers (as Jesus said for the first time, today, his birthday December 25th., a fair old while ago, that is, if you believe that stuff, which I do not any more - whilst not wishing to offend those that do - your choice, as it is mine).

So, why, after such a prolific time with posts over the last few months, was there this nothing gap?

Simple - two reasons:

A) Health - i.e. frozen shoulder became a lot better (not over it by any means but got 70% movement back in left shoulder and, mostly, pain has gone - that kept me awake at night). So improved health means more able to get out and about and do stuff, whether pleasure or DIY tasks at home, and even the latter can sometimes be fun too.

B) Of late (although post was started 25-12, I am continuing it 31-12) we have had unbelievably dreadful problems (again) with our next door neighbours Radcliffe Donkey Sanctuary - RDS (Steve and Tracy Garton) which have involved us with potential litigation.

B above, I suppose is why, for the last week or so, here and there (as before when my shoulder kept me awake with pain) now thinking about RDS is also getting me awake at, as they say, "silly o'clock", hence today 31-12 typing at 5 something and up at 4 something.

Thieves steal a horse stable (Lincolnshire) and almost kill a horse.

We own horses and in the winter their grass and hay staple diet needs supplementing with extra food which typically will be sugar beet based and often that feed has to be watered down as if not it would swell-up in the horse's stomach and could prove fatal.

The BBC story (link is here) about these thieves stealing a stable (or field shelter may be more accurate) also involves the thieves ignorantly feeding a horse the above type of food without watering it down - so a potentially highly dangerous thing to do and forcing the poor horse and owner into urgently having a vet attend and give remedial intervention.

I do hope that the thieves are caught.

New baby (Hugo)

I am delighted to announce that my wife and I have a new grandson, Hugo, who was born, aged zero, on Wednesday November 14th. about a week later than expected. He is the third child of my daughter Rebecca and first with her new partner, Michael.

100 years ago today (a poem to remind us).

The Poppy in our time

an impromptu poem

by Tim J Rhohn-Sayers

 

It took a hundred years to reach our conscience – to impress our mind.

We needed a symbol to focus on all the men and women left behind.

In the trenches, in the control towers, in the bunkers, wherever they strived

To make Britain free no matter how hard those Nazis contrived.

We flew, we marched, we protested, we appeased but still the onslaught.

In Flanders they saw, in fields, the bodies, the red, men fallen like petals.

Their blood flowing as rivers as the death trains arrive and Brookwood settles

The beauty we see in a field of red,

But not nowadays counting the dead.

Instead we count the waving, bright, garish stems of the deep red poppy.

The poppy, our symbol, the future, after the war to end all wars.

The poppy, afloat in our minds today as at eleven we all pause.

And reflect, remember and think of better things, our grandchildren (Poppy), our family our friends,

As we, in trivia, play with our phones, we tweet and observe the trends.

Refocus, lest we forget, it is thanks to those lost that we can waste our time

In such sweet inconsequential ways that are so sublime.

Thanks be the Poppy. Our past, our future, our time.