Nothing's new.

The young militant woke LGBT brigade seem to think they are avant-garde trendsetters, and that the rest of the world needs to wake up to their radical new, never seen before, life-styles.

Well let me point them to April Ashley (below). Ms Ashley was born in 1935, and had reassignment surgery in Morocco in 1960. She soon became a much sought-after model but after having been maliciously 'outed' as having had a sex change, much of her work stopped. She had been photographed by David Bailey amongst others.

She was a good friend of Dali's muse Amanda Lear, and claims that they worked together in drag bars in Paris during the late 50's. Ms Lear has always claimed (and still does) that she was born female, but evidence proves otherwise.

April became big news in the early 60's. Her story was new, such 'things' were not common knowledge back in those dark days. I do remember the headlines, but I don't remember any criticism or anti sex-change banter. It simply was what it was.

She later received an MBE for 'services to transgender equality'. Good for her!

 

Dustmen.

 

On Monday morning at around 7.30 am, I heard an ENORMOUS crash/explosion whilst walking with Billy. I asked a fellow dog-walker what she thought it was, but we were as baffled as each other.

Later in the day I learned that it was a dustcart that had overturned just down from the park, about 50 yards away, but out of our sight. It had been travelling downhill and turned right just where the camber of the road was against him. The inevitable happened; I imagine he was going a tad too quickly. The dustcart landed on its side and was eventually righted by a huge crane. Below is the slightly crumpled result. It looks considerably less damaged than I would have imagined.

Later that day I had a short chat with a dustman who empties the (dog poo) bins in the park. He's such a nice guy, and is very conscientious. He assured me that the driver of the dustcart was OK.

On the way to the park on Tuesday morning (the next day) I noticed a lot of rubbish in the twitten behind our garages, and made a mental note that if I could find a plastic bag I would tidy it on my way home.  Luckily I did find an escapee bag and filled it with several beer bottles and cans as well as some clear plastic containers and a few small gas canisters. Some bin men with a machine not unlike the one above had been watching what I'd been doing, and applauded me. 

How nice of them; it made my day!   

What makes you mad?

This is the night-time view from the balcony outside the large window in our Brighton bedroom. All very dark, and quiet, other than one building.

I'm not sure who owns the building, but it's been lit-up like this EVERY SINGLE NIGHT since we first moved here, at least 20 years ago. The building is unoccupied at night.

In these days of austerity, we try to use as little electricity as possible, as I'm sure do most people.

So, I can only imagine that this building is Council owned, as they are the only people that I can think of who couldn't give a shit care less how much of other people's money they waste. I think I mentioned previously that we have a 'Green Minority Control' Council, with a heavy presence of Labour. A classic case of 'Tax-n-Spend'.

We don't get much for our very high Brighton house taxes, but we do get plenty of weeds growing on our pavements, as well as lots of totally useless lighting.

I'm not 100% certain that it's Council owned, but I shall certainly be making enquiries. If I'm proved right I shall be having words with our so-called 'GREEN' Council; who act more like a murky brown sludge coloured council. Hypocrites.

 

A Brief Encounter.

"Are you from North of the Border?" he asked.

"No, I'm very much a Southern boy" I replied.

"I only ask because I see you've bought Haggis and Black pudding" he continued. 

He was about my age, white haired and had a big pleasant smile.

"It was the last Haggis on the shelf, so I thought I'd better buy it whilst the going was good" I said laughing. 

"There'll be plenty more" said the check-out lady. "The shelf might already be filled again" she said optimistically.

"How do you eat it?" asked the old gentleman.

"I expect the Scots would have me hanged for it, but I cut 1cm slices (it comes in a thick tube) and fry for a short while" I replied. "None of the neaps-n-tatties for me I'm afraid, I'm a rebel"

"Is it good?" he asked.

"For a commercial product it's OK. There are other ones that I prefer, but M & S is my nearest supplier, so when the urge is there I buy wherever I can".

I paid my bill, wished him a good day, and returned home for my Sunday breakfast (above). What a very pleasant couple of minutes at a check-out desk.

 

Here we go again.

In these financially difficult times, what the country needs LEAST is being brought to a standstill by a bunch of junior layabout anarchists (The Corbyn brothers et al).

Ill-advised groups such as 'Just Stop Oil', CND, and 'Insulate Britain', have joined forces with the usual rabble, including ASLEF RMT and the Corbyn Bros, to attempt to bring central London to a standstill (as one does).

They were moaning about low wages, the cost of living, and the climate crisis, and this was how they hoped to solve it.

However, I'm not sure how disrupting life in London will help with the cost of living, nor am I sure how it would tackle the climate crisis. Perhaps they know something that the great majority of the world's population don't. Also, how pouring a bucket of mixed human faeces/urine over Sir Tom Moore's new memorial will help their cause is anyone's guess!

What I do know however, is that if either Jeremy or his conspiracy theorist brother Piers Corbyn are leading some silly march, then it's bound to be nonsensical and/or illogical. 

N.B. Just as a matter of interest, the marching lovies might like to know that a standard 42 Gallon barrel of crude oil creates not only about 20 Gallons of petrol, but a 22 Gallon residue that goes towards products as diverse as car tyres, deodorant, paint, insect repellent, guitar strings, telephones, golf balls, and even heart valves. Let them tell me that they never use any of these. The hypocrites!

Oh, and by the way Jeremy; that big plastic banner you're holding is an oil by-product. Tut tut!

It kinda makes their silly marching look rather uninformed and irresponsible.

 

The new car.

 

She has finally been delivered. The new 'Compact Royce' has landed, and I've never seen a car as spotlessly clean.

I've stuck with my old favourite manufacturer, as (for me) having a French made car is the wise option. Our previous car was described by Jeremy Clarkson as 'An OAP's shopping car'; which is exactly what I wanted. This one is simply a newer model. As an 'Estate' she has plenty of room, and as we always have the back seats permanently down, it leaves an even bigger usable space. 

                                         

She does about 50 MPG, and will reach 120 MPH if encouraged. She also has gangster-tinted windows and a sliding roof. She even beeps if I'm about to hit someone whilst travelling at speed in reverse. At the same time she does NOT have too many confusing buttons, knobs, etc; although it'll take me a while to discover exactly what's what. 

                                                     

She has travelled very few miles, the annual insurance costs just under £270, and Road Tax is £165. We don't have Road Tax in France, but with the combined costs it isn't much above what I was paying overall in France per annum. Of course, here in the UK we have an MOT test every year, whereas in France it was once every two years.

I will have to get used to right-hand-drive again. I haven't driven one for about 50 years.  I've also noticed that the petrol filler cap is now on the other side.

Aesthetically she is very pleasing, she is comfortable, and drives perfectly. All in all I'm very happy, and I just pray that I'll stay that way. I really don't want to have to buy another one.

Lady M has given me a good talking-to about keeping the inside clean; the last one was like a farmyard.

Leigh Bowery (1961-94) at Harrods

I'd always thought that Leigh Bowery was English (he sounds English) but in fact he was born in Melbourne Oz.

He moved to London as a student, and soon established his famous performance art and club scene. 

Just in case Bowery has passed you by, here he is at Harrods, in some of his iconic outfits.