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Postcard from the Lake District, No 2

A long Weekend in the Lake District, Part One

For those of you that don’t read the comments, or the articles, I live in the northern part of The Lake District. It goes without saying that it is a beautiful part of Britain. Some would say the most beautiful but I wouldn’t be so presumptuous. I thought it might be nice to pretend I was a visitor and construct a long weekend, specifically a late October one, which others might enjoy indulging in.

Coloniescross, Going Postal
Penny Rock Wood from the Mere side

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Victoriana 15

Tachybaptus, Going Postal

Chapter 15
The departure of the cart had not however, passed unnoticed; little Emmeline Trelawney had hardly been able to sleep, partly because of the excitement of being allowed to accompany her Papa and Mama to a Highland camp while her Papa was on active duty, but mainly because of the thought that soon she would be able to ride the delightful Shetland pony that her parents had bought for her to make up for the prolonged absence of her best friend Victoriana.

The Class Struggle is Key

MyHyde, Going Postal

The study of class has never been a major figure of right wing politics. Academic studies are generated by the left and the discussion of class has always had the specter of Marx haunting it, touching it can make one labeled a “Marxist”, and nobody of sound mind wants that. Not many reject the idea of class structures, but so few contemporary thinkers are willing to discuss it from a non-traditional leftist viewpoint.

This is a shame. We can learn and teach so much about the current state of affairs when taking a class viewpoint. Especially when the debate has changed, the power positions moved, alongside the definitions with it demanding a new outlook.

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Gmbd, Evil

Going Postal

Did I say what a great burden it is having psychic abilities, being able to read the mind of others ?
In one way it is a fascinating hobby but can be draining.

I don’t know if it has always being there or if it developed during the constant attention I seem to have given to what is the purpose of my thoughts.
From as early as I can remember, which is around 6 months to a year I was aware that I was occupying a great emptiness.
Sometimes I could make myself a tiny, tiny dot in a great empty void.
To begin with there were not logical thoughts in words but a sense of a connection with the outside of me.
All the nature and the actual world was such a wonder that I sensed as a complete living thing.
At night alien angels would hover in my room.
One night the angels found a little bit of badness protruding out of my skin and they tugged at it and like tree roots extending through my body they removed all of the evil badness from me.

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The War In Iraq 1941, Part Three

Harried by Churchill, Wavell instructed Major-General Clark, temporary commander in Palestine, to assemble a column. It was to be known as “Habforce” with the orders to relieve the RAF base at Habbaniya. It was very much an ad-hoc unit, cobbled together from any formations that could be spared or found. The military units in Palestine had already been denuded by the requirement to support British operations in Greece and Crete. To say that General Wavell wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence was something of an understatement. He cabled London:

Very doubtful whether above force strong enough to relieve Habbaniya or whether Habbaniya can prolong resistance till its arrival. I am afraid I can only regard it as an outside chance…

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Question Time with Going Postal, 2nd November 2017

Question Time with Going-Postal.Net

David Dimbleby chairs topical debate from Kilmarnock.

On the panel are Conservative MEP Daniel Hannan, former leader of the Scottish Labour Party Kezia Dugdale MSP, SNP minister for social security Jeane Freeman MSP, writer and political commentator Owen Jones, and The Economist’s senior editor Anne McElvoy.

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Postcard from the Algarve, No 2

1642again, Going Postal

When Swiss Bob told me that I had won a prize of a week in JustaBritAbroard’s rather nice apartment in the Algarve for a week by dint of my obscure scribblings, he neglected to inform me that it was a working holiday.

As you can see from the photo (your Lord Protector is top right and his eldest top left), the Protectoral family have been indentured for the week to demolish an old apartment block near the sea. Having been given pneumatic drills and 30 seconds ’instruction, we have to break up the concrete construction bit by bit from the top. We are extremely lucky not to be offered hard hats, safety lines or ear defenders, but must balance on the walls we are demolishing. I was however grateful to be given a high visibility jacket which I’m sure will come in handy when plummeting four stories to earth. At least they didn’t force me to wear my full dress armour in the 28 degree heat for the full 12 hour shift.

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Military Ghosts – Lincolnshire’s and other Airfields

Blown Periphery, Going Postal

The ending of Len Deighton’s meticulously researched novel “Bomber” is in my opinion some of the most poignant written words to appear in a book. He describes visiting the fictional bomber airfield of Warley Fen, walking up the steps into the decaying control tower and ending up writing a book about it. A visit on Google Earth reveals the remnants of many more than fifty airfields scattered throughout Lincolnshire, Yorkshire and Cambridgeshire. The buildings may have gone, but the ghostly outlines of runways, perry tracks and dispersals remain. And so according to legends do the spirits of some of the 55,000 young men who died during Bomber Command’s offensive against Germany and the Axis forces.

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