"Excellent"

Insalutary Tale.

From John Snow's blog:

As we sweat ourselves through what is promised to be the most painful UK budget in thirty years, there is an insalutary tale from far afield.

Ken Talbot and the entire Board of the Australian Sundance Resources company has been wiped out in an air crash in the Congo. Their plane, piloted by French and British pilots was flying from Cameroon into the Congo to visit a mine.

Ken Talbot was worth a billion Australian dollars. In flying in the same plane he and his board broke corporate protocol.

Talbot had also been mired in a corruption scandal, and was due to appear in court in August. He was the CEO of Macarthur Coal, but had stood down after being charged with bribery in his home state of Queensland. He had pleaded not guilty to all alleged charges.

At one level it is of course the most terrible tragedy. But on another it may say something about finance, politics, wealth and the frailty of human life.

Talbot faced some thirty five charges of paying ‘commissions’ to the disgraced Australian Labour MP Gordon Nuttal, jailed last year in Queenland for corruption. Named in his trial was one Ken Talbot.

Mr Talbot now only has to make his reckoning with the grim reaper, the charges against him are wiped from the slate.

But how fickle life is. By all accounts Talbot had everything. But there it is, it’s all over. He leaves an awful lot of money, a lot grief, a company with no Board, and criminal charges the outcome of which we shall never know.

Why do I blog about it?

Because on Budget day it tells us something about our transitory lives. Perhaps too that money isn’t everything – whatever the Chancellor may do about it – and that we are all well advised to play it straight.

Oh, and if we care about those we leave behind, we shouldn’t all be found aboard the same plane when flying in inhospitable conditions on a twin turboprop a long way from home.

John Snow.

Luke 12.

Then he said to them, "Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions."

And he told them this story: "The ground of a certain rich man produced a good crop. He thought to himself, 'What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops.'

"Then he said, 'This is what I'll do. I will tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I'll say to myself, "You have plenty of good things laid up for many years. Take life easy; eat, drink and be merry." '

"But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?'

"This is how it will be with anyone who stores up things for himself but is not rich toward God."

Appleby Fair Question Time.

Appleby Fair Question Time from Travellers Times on Vimeo.

The Appleby Horse Fair is a horse fair which is held annually at Appleby-in-Westmorland, Cumbria (until 1974 Westmorland) in England.
It is held every year in early June and has taken place since the reign of James II, who granted a Royal charter in 1685 allowing a horse fair "near to the River Eden". Since then, around ten thousand Gypsies and Travellers have converged each year to buy and sell horses, meet with friends and relations, and celebrate their music, history and folklore.
Another thirty thousand people visit the fair during the week.
The fair is one of the oldest horse fairs in Britain. The fair is held outside the town on what was formerly called Gallows Hill (named after the public hangings that were carried out there), which is now known as Fair Hill.
The fair customarily starts on the first Thursday in June, unless that is on the 1st in which case it starts on the 8th. (From Wikipedia.)

Letter of the Law.

Letter To A Young friend.

I Lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend,
A something to have sent you,
Tho' it should serve nae ither end
Than just a kind memento:
But how the subject-theme may gang,
Let time and chance determine;
Perhaps it may turn out a sang:
Perhaps turn out a sermon.

Ye'll try the world soon, my lad;
And, Andrew dear, believe me,
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad,
And muckle they may grieve ye:
For care and trouble set your thought,
Ev'n when your end's attained;
And a' your views may come to nought,
Where ev'ry nerve is strained.

I'll no say, men are villains a';
The real, harden'd wicked,
Wha hae nae check but human law,
Are to a few restricked;
But, Och! mankind are unco weak,
An' little to be trusted;
If self the wavering balance shake,
It's rarely right adjusted!

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife,
Their fate we shouldna censure;
For still, th' important end of life
They equally may answer;
A man may hae an honest heart,
Tho' poortith hourly stare him;
A man may tak a neibor's part,
Yet hae nae cash to spare him.

Aye free, aff-han', your story tell,
When wi' a bosom crony;
But still keep something to yoursel',
Ye scarcely tell to ony:
Conceal yoursel' as weel's ye can
Frae critical dissection;
But keek thro' ev'ry other man,
Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection.

The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd love,
Luxuriantly indulge it;
But never tempt th' illicit rove,
Tho' naething should divulge it:
I waive the quantum o' the sin,
The hazard of concealing;
But, Och! it hardens a' within,
And petrifies the feeling!

To catch dame Fortune's golden smile,
Assiduous wait upon her;
And gather gear by ev'ry wile
That's justified by honour;
Not for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train attendant;
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.

The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip,
To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honour grip,
Let that aye be your border;
Its slightest touches, instant pause-
Debar a' side-pretences;
And resolutely keep its laws,
Uncaring consequences.

The great Creator to revere,
Must sure become the creature;
But still the preaching cant forbear,
And ev'n the rigid feature:
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range,
Be complaisance extended;
An atheist-laugh's a poor exchange
For Deity offended!

When ranting round in pleasure's ring,
Religion may be blinded;
Or if she gie a random sting,
It may be little minded;
But when on life we're tempest driv'n-
A conscience but a canker-
A correspondence fix'd wi' Heav'n,
Is sure a noble anchor!

Adieu, dear, amiable youth!
Your heart can ne'er be wanting!
May prudence, fortitude, and truth,
Erect your brow undaunting!
In ploughman phrase, "God send you speed,"
Still daily to grow wiser;
And may ye better reck the rede,
Then ever did th' adviser!

Robert Burns.

Midsummer Day.

Midsummer Day.

In a brightly printed cotton dress
styled for a Midsummer day
She sat beside me on the bank
of a meandering river Tay

The fragrance of wild flowers
infused the hazy breeze
From the bank across the river
bird song filled the trees

Wisps of delicate pollen
floated along on the air
Leaning back she ran her fingers
through her sun bleached hair

We looked up at the deep blue sky
as a little cloud covered the sun
Then we covered each other's eyes
and listened to the river run

We walked the path along the river
to where the Tay and Lyon meet
then sat and talked beneath a tree
shaded from the midday heat

We talked about the future
we talked about being together
and from the vista of our youth
our future seemed forever

I didn't know how beautiful she was
life and love were all brand new
I didn't know such precious moments
could only be precious few

The elements of nature
seldom by will or chance of play
In moments of alignment
converge to make a perfect day

I thought about her yesterday
while walking on the shore
I thought I'd give
whatever time was left
to live that day once more.

Supper.

Until Supper Time.

Tell me

all your secrets

and I

will tell you mine

and we

will whisper precious things

until
supper
time

your eyes

are like an ocean

very deep and very blue

your complexion

is aglow

by the loveliness in you

your hair

is very fragrant

your lips

are warm and sweet

and I

will love you completely

when I

wash
your
feet.

Clockwork Orange.

It usually takes a few years for our Leader to develop this level of arrogance:

David Cameron has warned the public sector it must take its fair share of the cuts burden. Unions are angry that the Government will target public sector workers
It is thought public workers will face a pay and pension squeeze in next Tuesday's emergency Budget.

The Budget is expected to be the toughest in years with the Government launching action to tackle the record £155bn deficit.
The annual £180bn public sector pay bill and pension schemes - the cost of which is set to triple to £9.4bn over the next five years - will be targeted.

However, the Prime Minister said there was no agenda against public sector workers.
"There are three large items of spending that you can't ignore and those are public sector pay, public sector pensions and benefits," he told The Times.
"We revere and want to stand up for people working in the public sector.

"There is no animus against people because they work in the public sector. It is just a question of how do we best deal with this budget deficit in a way that is fair."

Welfare payments are also expected to be squeezed.
But Mr Cameron said that was not enough: "There is no way of dealing with an 11% budget deficit just by hitting either the rich or the welfare scrounger."

Mr Cameron said the formulation of the Budget was a "collective process" within the coalition with the Lib Dems.
"I pay tribute to the Liberal Democrats. I didn't predict that we would come together and agree properly robust fiscal action but we have, and that's all for the good," he said.

The PM would not be drawn on which taxes will rise in the Budget but insisted that any hike in capital gains tax (CGT) would bring only "some modest additional revenue".

Meanwhile, business leaders have warned against a large hike in CGT after a report suggested that such a move would reduce the amount of money the Government receives.

The one striking a pose second from the left
is our Leader David Cameron.

Afghanistan.

KABUL, June 17th - Afghanistan's mineral deposits may worth 3 trillions U.S. dollars and the government would utilize it for building economy and development, Afghan Minister for Mines Waheedullah Shahrani said on Thursday.

"The minerals and untapped treasures in the country may value 3 trillions U.S. dollars," Shahrani told a news conference here.
He made the remarks just days after the U.S. influential daily The New York Times citing United States Geological Survey (USGS) reported that Afghanistan has mineral deposits worth one trillion U.S. dollars.

"More study and survey needed to identify and explore the underground resources," Shahrani emphasized.

Afghanistan has huge untapped natural resources which have enormous potential for our economic development and growth, the minister said.
However, he also said that there are challenges and security remains a big challenge in the country especially in the south to explore minerals.

According to the minister lack of corridors and major highways in the land-locked militancy-plagued, Afghanistan is also among the challenges to explore the natural resources properly.

The Ministry of Mine has been closely working with the international organizations including World Bank and United States Geological Survey to ensure that the war-torn country benefit from its rich natural resources.

According to the official, the biggest deposits discovered so far are iron and copper the quantities are large enough to make post-Taliban Afghanistan a major world producer of minerals.

However, Afghanistan which is mired with over three decades of war does not have any mining industry or infrastructure to explore natural resources properly, so it will take decades for the country to exploit its untapped underground treasury appropriately.

Editor: Yang Lina.

Contact: Addresses - UK and Afghanistan.

Stella.

Stella.

Strait is the spot and green the sod
From whence my sorrows flow;
And soundly sleeps the ever dear
Inhabitant below.

Pardon my transport, gentle shade,
While o'er the turf I bow;
Thy earthy house is circumscrib'd,
And solitary now.

Not one poor stone to tell thy name,
Or make thy virtues known:
But what avails to me to thee,
The sculpture of a stone?

I'll sit me down upon this turf,
And wipe the rising tear:
The chill blast passes swiftly by,
And flits around thy bier.

Dark is the dwelling of the Dead,
And sad their house of rest:
Low lies the head, by Death's cold arms
In awful fold embrac'd.

I saw the grim Avenger stand
Incessant by thy side;
Unseen by thee, his deadly breath
Thy lingering frame destroy'd.

Pale grew the roses on thy cheek,
And wither'd was thy bloom,
Till the slow poison brought thy youth
Untimely to the tomb.

Thus wasted are the ranks of men-
Youth, Health, and Beauty fall;
The ruthless ruin spreads around,
And overwhelms us all.

Behold where, round thy narrow house,
The graves unnumber'd lie;
The multitude that sleep below
Existed but to die.

Some, with the tottering steps of Age,
Trod down the darksome way;
And some, in youth's lamented prime,
Like thee were torn away:

Yet these, however hard their fate,
Their native earth receives;
Amid their weeping friends they died,
And fill their fathers' graves.

From thy lov'd friends, when first thy heart
Was taught by Heav'n to glow,
Far, far remov'd, the ruthless stroke
Surpris'd and laid thee low.

At the last limits of our isle,
Wash'd by the western wave,
Touch'd by thy face, a thoughtful bard
Sits lonely by thy grave.

Pensive he eyes, before him spread
The deep, outstretch'd and vast;
His mourning notes are borne away
Along the rapid blast.

And while, amid the silent Dead
Thy hapless fate he mourns,
His own long sorrows freshly bleed,
And all his grief returns:

Like thee, cut off in early youth,
And flower of beauty's pride,
His friend, his first and only joy,
His much lov'd Stella, died.

Him, too, the stern impulse of Fate
Resistless bears along;
And the same rapid tide shall whelm
The Poet and the Song.

The tear of pity which he sheds,
He asks not to receive;
Let but his poor remains be laid
Obscurely in the grave.

His grief-worn heart, with truest joy,
Shall meet the welcome shock:
His airy harp shall lie unstrung,
And silent on the rock.

O, my dear maid, my Stella, when
Shall this sick period close,
And lead the solitary bard
To his belov'd repose?

Robert Burns.

Commonality.

Little Hand

You don't know
you're breaking my heart
or how I wish
it could be me instead of you
I sit at the bottom of your bed
and there's nothing I can do
I pray my earnest prayer
for God to let you stay
but know deep inside
he's taking you away

Carefully structured expectations
unspoken hopes and plans entwined
though struck by such a feeble hand
collapse entangled in the mind

This is the last of carefree days
of youthful jest and childlike joy
but captured moments of these and more
this day will not destroy

And the wounded heart will never
let go of this little hand
still reaching where the treasure is
will sojourn only in this land

And the wounded Saviour will never
let go of our grief and pain
God knows we do not understand
it's hard enough to be sane.

Naive heart.

The stomach is full
the bed is soft and warm
but the soul
is oh so hungry
in the restless night
Everything seems so small
and so far away
the attendant murmur of age
mingles with the distant sound
of children at play
And little lights
almost in view
once cities of interest
now glow for a moment
only to fade
into the dull sameness
of what has been
The naive heart
enquires for purpose
in a frivolous void
of diversion
and the penitent
subconscious soul
confesses nightly
to the God
inescapable.

Lonely road.

O my God
I feel so empty inside
falling through the void
of my own emptiness
there is nothing
only fear
so afraid of living
so afraid to die

The desolation of my soul
has met me on a lonely road
and every way I turn
and all I try to do
seem only moments of distraction
from this unknown life
and knowledge of death

No one is old
seventy is not old
seventy millennia would not be old
and still not long enough
to learn to be a man
We are children
lost in a dangerous world
the present uncertain
the future unclear
and our deepest needs
will not be found here.

Heaven's Gate.

Meriden Villagers block gate to land owned by Travellers.

Sonnet 29

When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings

W. Shakespeare.

Waiting for the rain.

Noah's Ark from Travellers Times on Vimeo.

This story reminds me of this verse from the Bible:

Hebrews 4:12
For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

And this Poem:

Milk for the road

Subtle sickly sweet hypocrisies
turn them sour overnight
xenophobic by morning
Police and men from the council
demand that we move on
from their picturesque village
and neighbourly people
We are breaking the law
of aesthetic ambiance
causing the people
to become transmogrified
by our vicinity
to their cocoon
of acceptable association.

I have been aware for some time now that Travelling People
do expose the intentions and motives of the human heart.

Isaiah 53.

Isaiah 53

1 Who has believed our message
and to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?

2 He grew up before him like a tender shoot,
and like a root out of dry ground.
He had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him,
nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

3 He was despised and rejected by men,
a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering.
Like one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

4 Surely he took up our infirmities
and carried our sorrows,
yet we considered him stricken by God,
smitten by him, and afflicted.

5 But he was pierced for our transgressions,
he was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,
and by his wounds we are healed.

6 We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
each of us has turned to his own way;
and the LORD has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.

7 He was oppressed and afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
he was led like a lamb to the slaughter,
and as a sheep before her shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth.

8 By oppression and judgment he was taken away.
And who can speak of his descendants?
For he was cut off from the land of the living;
for the transgression of my people he was stricken.

9 He was assigned a grave with the wicked,
and with the rich in his death,
though he had done no violence,
nor was any deceit in his mouth.

10 Yet it was the LORD's will to crush him and cause him to suffer,
and though the LORD makes his life a guilt offering,
he will see his offspring and prolong his days,
and the will of the LORD will prosper in his hand.

11 After the suffering of his soul,
he will see the light of life and be satisfied ;
by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many,
and he will bear their iniquities.

12 Therefore I will give him a portion among the great,
and he will divide the spoils with the strong,
because he poured out his life unto death,
and was numbered with the transgressors.
For he bore the sin of many,
and made intercession for the transgressors.

The Value of Pi with Delia

The Value of Pi.

"You may ask"
Why I'm lying in bed
I've been thinking
The tree growing in the ground
the rain falling from the sky
the fruit ripening in the sun
It takes such a lot to make
apple crumble pie.

Anyway - I've been all over
I tried to be a soldier
but the trade is dead
I tried to be a farmer
but the crops won't grow
I tried to be a builder
but you can't build on the snow.

It's the same old story
The money men have it all
they've formed a consortium
and are gathered in the square
they're burning barrels of money
and it's warm and cheery there.

We should get ready
and go down
to warm our hands and toes
it won't last forever
you know how money goes.

Delia Smith will be sixty nine
on the 18th of June - I don't believe it!

The importance of being David Bowie.

Thai Sea Gypsy.

This man is a sea gypsy in his longtail boat near Lipe island
in southern Thailand.

Travellers Trailer Video.

The fifth Trailer shown is a Westmorland Star in the 60's my Parents had a Trailer exactly like this one. This link has some information about who made them.