The Cow Jumped Over The Moon

 Saturday. 9.15 a.m. I was due to take Alfie out, as usual. But there was a slight problem. Slight being the operative word; I couldn't find him. It turned out he was under my bed. Problem two: Having to get down on the floor is quite a problem for me. I left this until around 8.45 as I thought it was important that he went out. Eventually, I caught sight of his tail and grabbed him. I felt sorry for the old boy, as he was fast asleep.

Sunday. 3.15 p.m. We had Café Church this morning. That means that there wasn't a time of worship, but fellowship, allowing everyone to interact with one another, eat cake, drink tea and coffee and generally have a good time. It allows those who probably don't attend a church to come along and find out more about Shenley Christian Fellowship and discover that it's a friendly place. 

I arrived as I usually do on a Sunday and discovered that the place was locked.  At first, I had a thought that perhaps I was an hour to early, a bit like when the clocks change and we lose or gain an hour. But it wasn't that.   There are usually people there, some setting up refreshments and the band rehearsing in the main hall. Julie, who is one of the leaders at SCF, was sitting in her car. She couldn't open up the building, as she didn't have a key and also had no idea how to switch off the alarm system.

Monday. 9.55 a.m. Warm and pleasantly sunny. The temperature is currently 27ºc according to the digital thermometer.

Time to sort recycling. Not the most exciting of jobs, but it needs to be done, otherwise my cupboard overflows. Some of the cartons are difficult to either fold or tear. I have two plastic bins of recycling and one black bin of other household rubbish. I carry the black bin, together with one plastic bin, take it to the bin store, open the first door and leave the two items in the inner room and then go back for the remaining bin. I then return to the bin store and open the outer door, and then discover the row of bins for recycling are full and there's no room for my two worth of recycling! I put the black bag in another allocated bin and then haul the two full plastic bins of recycling back to the flat. I will now have to leave it where they are until tomorrow, after the bin men come and empty the bins and then return to deposit my two bins with the recycling in the, hopefully, empty bins. What a performance!

Alfie is currently fast asleep on the kitchen floor and somewhat in the way when I am sorting the rubbish, but it doesn't matter as I can step over him. He snores, and it is somewhat amusing.

3.35 p.m.Vashti, the S.H.O. at Dexter House, told me that I ought to take my rubbish to the bin store at the other end of Dexter House. I had never thought of it, but I have now got rid of it, and we aren't apparently getting a visit from the bin men tomorrow. Do I get the feeling that they are only doing collections fortnightly? If so, we're likely to be overflowing with rubbish, recycling, etc.

We are only having Vashti here for half of the week. It's due to Milton Keynes Council running out of money and deciding that sheltered housing will have to cut its staff's hours in each unit. Vashti will be here in the afternoons and cover other units for the rest of the time. This makes sense now. The Council is run by Labour, in a coalition with Liberal Democrats. Labour is useless at financial management. Just look at the current Starmer government. Total disaster, and we're heading for a bailout from the International Monetary Fund, a replay of the 1970s when we had to go cap in hand to sort our economy out, and Labour had to make cuts to various services, and inflation went through the roof, and we had the infamous 'Winter of discontent.' I remember dustbin workers striking and going into London and seeing black bin bags piled up at the side of the road, the three-day week, shortages of things in supermarkets and television closing down at 10.30 because the miners and electricity workers walked out. They say, history repeats itself, but that's so true. 

Winter of Discontent 2; The Sequel

Monday. 8.45 a.m. Yet another bright and sunny morning. It seems almost spring-like, but, knowing the weather in this country, it's likely to change at very short notice.

As I'm sure I've mentioned in these blog posts at some stage or other, I am in the process of reading a set of books, although in no way connected by authors, which cover the history of Great Britain from around 1870 right up to, as near as possible, the current time. Of course, when such a book is being researched, the author has to allow some material, usually government papers, to be de-restricted, which is generally after 30 years, and in some cases, even more, usually where there is an element of secrecy involved, such as material which might be deemed sensitive, which might put the security of the nation in jeopardy.

I have now reached the 1980s, with the rise of Margaret Thatcher. During the 1970s we had endless strikes, which I remember vividly. Edward Heath and Harold Wilson and eventually James Callaghan met their match with the various unions in that period, which lead to each administration's downfall. 

I was thinking, with the current crop of strikes which are happening at the moment, such as rail workers, N.H.S. nurses and others, as well as teachers (and possibly others, which I can't remember which or whom.), it does somehow seem we're in the midst of the 1970s 'Winter of Discontent.' The difference I can see is that there are acts of Parliament in place to keep control of such actions the unions took in the 1970s, such as mass picketing, and there aren't as many people in unions as there were then.

Tuesday. 6.40 a.m. Alfie insisted on being taken out at around 6.20. I think it was rapidly approaching an emergency. He kept poking me with his paw, so it seemed a good idea to do as he wanted. I put him in the lounge with the door shut and no sooner had I shut the door than he began barking. t then took me five minutes to get myself fully dressed and I took the small torch with me when we got out onto the grass alongside Strudwick Drive, I found a slight frost. I will now have to check that the car isn't iced over as a result of overnight frost before I drive off to Camphill this morning.

4.40 p.m. I had to scrape a certain amount of ice off the car's windows before I went to Camphill. It wasn't much effort and, even with the sun shining, it was quite chilly this morning.

At Camphill Terrie is absent (she's the leader of the theatre workshop.) as well as several other members of the gang. As 'Twelfth Night' has finished, we're beginning to get ideas for the next play. Paul, who is Terrie's assistant, was in charge of things, and he had a whiteboard on which other people involved with the play had come up with what they had enjoyed about 'Twelfth Night' and what they'd like to do as the next production. The general idea is to allow the Camphill theatre workshop gang to have their say on what is produced. We then watched a video, via BBC iPlayer, of a production of 'Twelfth Night,' which was on at the Shakespeare Globe Theatre in London. 

Wednesday. 8.20 a.m. Quite a sharp frost this morning. I'm unsure whether there's ice on the car windows and I have to drive to Sainsbury's, so I'm likely going to have to scrape any off before I drive off.

I pay a service charge at Dexter House, and I have always paid it with my debit card online. It is usually a simple matter of going to the Milton Keynes Council website and entering my details, but it changed completely this morning, so I couldn't pay. I have made several attempts, but with no success. It seems someone has decided to change it, making things difficult. No doubt this will be resolved at some point in the next day or two, but why change something which works perfectly well?

10.45 a.m. The situation regarding the payment, as mentioned above, is now resolved. Paid and sorted out.