Appling and Walking as October arrives ...

That's it then, another month ends, October begins, as appling happens in an orchard in nearby Frosterley and Adrian, the kind owner of it agrees the trees indeed flowered later for three of them, and the mossy grass cushioned them as they fell to the ground, assisted by the wind. Pick up as many as you like, he said, and the rucksack was stuffed full yesterday and the day before ... great training since the weight was probably slightly more than when carrying everything required on Camino, which still calls me ... never mind, there are plenty of pilgrim routes in England and Scotland awaiting walking and the feet are itching for a try before winter, which is many weeks away, and anyway, winter walking is wonderful also, especially with light snow laying and Sun shining, reflecting the crystals sparkling everywhere ...

September 2021 was energising and frankly these many months of pandemic madness have stirred the blood and taught me many lessons about myself, which is the first task of philosophy according to Aristotle: Know Thyself! It's an ongoing project, of course, and fascinating, since how else may we understand the others if we don't understand ourselves? Enough of all that me and mine malarkey, that's more or less under control these days, which enables love to flow in amazing ways, beyond the romantic notions of happy ever after Hollywood myths, and finding peace in blessèd solitude, with interludes of storytelling with other human beings.

As often said re vitC, supplements may help, but blackberries and apples stored away for the winter are more beneficial for many reasons, including the joys of foraging organic food in the Sun where vitD is stored and no money is required at all. There's still some weeks of that activity ahead and apple pressing possible again. Last year's Apple Wine, bottled by Malcolm a neighbour and friend, from the juice pressed with Mark up on the Roman Wall, was sampled a while ago and was delicious when shared at lunch with friends ... a sharing economy undermines the trap of the money economy, which surely works for me and others hereabouts.

Wandering in Nature may be considered a remedy for all sorts of ailments, and indeed it can be, especially for city dwellers and other humans staying indoors staring at screens, ordering takeaways and popping pills to allay the existential misery of civilised living. Nature is natural, by definition. Humans, though, thinking themselves separate from it, created fantasy worlds leading to ecstasy, misery, heavens, hells, scarcity, poverty, plenty, excess wealth, good, evil, dark, light and so on. You don't see trees doing that, or bees or birds flying south for winter ... fish swimming upstream to spawn ... are they worried, do you think? And do you think? And can thinking stop, ever? Now, that's a question philosophers ask, but it's not for them to answer, is it?

Yes, you guessed it dear readers! That's for you to discover for yourself. Good luck!

Monday stories

If Sunday Stories are a thing, why not Monday? They may say, if you believe such stories, that Sunday was the day God took a rest after creating the world for 6 days, starting Monday. Now this gets rather tricky, since in the three major religions stemming from Abraham, the very same Creator God, rested on Friday for Muslims, Saturday for Jews, and Sunday for the Once True Faith, the Christians led by a Pope. Leaving the schisms within each religion aside for now, you may begin to see, dear readers, why philosophers ask awkward questions, beginning with Why, while theologians tend to try to explain with answers which make no sense, logically. And let's face it folks, logic doesn't really apply in the case of organised religions, which is why scientists are often Atheists, a belief system itself and also illogical of course, since a system preaching nothing we can't currently prove, defies scientific method, which is always open to evidence proving things new, therefore God, currently moving in mysterious ways but often performing miracles, which may one day be true.

Now then, since it's Tuesday today, yesterday was once today, and tomorrow will be today next ... after the deluge yesterday morning, this morning is forecast dry and sunny, this afternoon raining, meaning a nice long walk after breakfast to see Sun rising and a shorter walk later, equipped with waterproof gear this time. Yesterday's afternoon walk in the village turned out sunny and many folks well known were happy enough to stand about talking to another human showing an interest in their stories, even on a Monday. Life's like that when you wander about, exchanging energy gladly with strangers and friends ... and remember every friend was once a stranger ... that's philosophy for you folks! Book learnt philosophy is limited if not practised and lived, clearly. It's logical, I think ... I mean, what's the point of quoting Aristotle, Gautama, Sartre, Descartes, Marx, Spinoza and the rest, if you Kant be content in this Life and live simply, be kind to everyone you meet, firstly yourself ... and die happy, accepting the inevitability of bodily death, whilst leaving open the question of ongoing consciousness?

Between Monday Stories and today's was dreamtime which may be a time and place equally real according to many philosophers, psychologists and mystics. The dream was of Camino and Cathedrals along the Way. It felt not as a premonition or yearning for Spain again, but musing on the value of huge buildings standing across ley line intersections, where pagan sites once stood. And wistful acceptance of my good fortune to have spent so long wandering along the Ways.

Today's Story began well before Dawn, after dreamtime morphed into waking reality, and writing stories began to express the thoughts in case anyone is interested in all these stories, including the blog you're reading now. Other platforms are utilised, as information expands exponentially, and it's useful for the old blogger to pass the time productively, creatively, whilst exploring the purpose of life and it's meaning ... if indeed there is such a thing!
A Walk up the hill to greet Sun rising, was the start of a wonderful wander, with no humans to be found. Sometimes it's better that way, and the exercise is always helpful to keep the organism healthy, suffering being optional as the Buddhists say  ... returning for early coffee around 3 hours later, the head was full of new stories, and writing continued afresh.

Lunch was healthy and YouTube offered short stories in videos to educate and amuse me. Now, it's raining again and some reading may help pass the time in this meaningless life on a planet in trauma for the terrible errors the humans made through linear time ... but first a nap!

Sunday stories. ..

Rain returns after a very warm, humid and mostly sunny weekend, when shorts and t-shirts were optimal for comfort and Sun tanning. A brief walk in the rain proved yet again that skin is a semi-permeable organ, covering the skeleton and inside organs and associated pieces of pipe and things to keep them safe inside, with openings for food and drink to enter, and exit later, plus stuff better not mentioned in polite society involving the messy business of reproduction.

Since the rain persists, it's time to write this ... (please find your own rhyming word for this) ... the creative mind decides to spend more time writing and reading than wandering about talking (see above) to random strangers and friends. Sure enough, Babe the little dog turned up with Malcolm, his human, an old friend living up the hill in Crawleyside. We talked about how wet we were and laughed about how remiss to ... have left the waterproof gear behind! Never mind, talking too much is a problem usually solved indoors, though the internal dialogue persists like the rain ... and blogs don't write themselves, nor do books read themselves ... and now a book entitled "Why The World Does Not Exist" has almost fallen off the shelf by itself, and demands to be read, starting today, before lunch and U.K. Column News on the internet at 1pm.

Yesterday was shorts and sandals weather for the trip to Hexham and friend, with Daisy still nearly full with fuel, and keen to burn it. The company at the Bandstand, The Tribe, was fascinating as usual ... some old friends, some new ... deep discussions ensued, the way they tend to do, and listening to understand rather than listening to take your turn to speak, improves the quality of the discourse no end. Over the road at the Beaumont, a table for eight is reserved at 1pm, meaning an hour for deeper discourse with Marta and Jaqui, two very deep women, plus Bill the wisest of the whole group in my opinion, and not because he lives intentionally homeless and cares little for the illusion of money and likes to split the Bill for the rest with another one who feels the same ... but because he says very little but listens intently, before offering an opinion.  And, obviously, the question of measuring how much each person must pay no longer arises, and everyone throws money onto the table or not, and guess what? As if by magic, there's a surplus for the waitress.

Waitrose comes next, since it's nearly 1, and shopping is required, including the row of freezers mostly empty by order of those running the Scamdemic panic, because they can. Who cares? There's plenty of food in the hedges and woods anyway, and the next stop for Daisy her passenger and driver, is at Lynne's house, for tea and conversation for the two women, while I have a lovely walk in the Sun along lanes lunching on blackberries and finding two strangers to amuse, before returning to finish the now cold tea and drive Daisy and friend home to Stanhope again ... where a new friend, recently moved into the village from South Wales via Austria, appears to talk for a while in the Sun. His story, however, must wait for another day. Now then, where's that book?

Panic please!

Clearly, to panic must obscure clear thinking and actions, and the job of malign governments with dark intentions is to apply tactics to scare the masses into strange behaviours to distract us from accepting the reality of their wicked plan to enslave us.

With this in mind, and with Daisy under half a tank, and plans to visit friends and fellow resisters, with the bus times not optimal for the Newcastle trip, and the village garage closed on a Sunday, along with the bus services, an early visit to top up the tank seemed like the best plan. There were four places to pump the fuel, three of which were in use, leaving one for Daisy to accept enough for several trips, which allayed any lingering anxiety. Of course, if travel is essential, panic may easily ensue, though pennies are dropping about the madness of it all.

Having spent Friday in deep philosophical dialogue with folks from the Tribe, yesterday's trip meant more work for Daisy and a passenger from Stanhope on board to join the demonstration. The weather was warm and sunny, the walk from Heaton to Leazes Park relaxed and steady, with chats with folks along the way, since this old blogger enjoys talking to strangers in towns as well as villages, which deepens the understanding of the way the humans behave and respond to kindness and an interest in their lives. This leads to many short stories ready to be told; too many for this post, but maybe one day ...

The fellow protesters were gathered round the bandstand in the park and were listening to speeches from those who aspired to be leaders, before soon heading off together, with our public servants, of whom there were many, ready to help us cross the roads safely. Armed with copies of The Light to distribute to willing walkers and bystanders, the march was enlivened by conversations with many humans including some already known from previous events, like Rachel and Alan from the Hexham Tribe, Lee a police officer from the Town Moor March, Ray and Jen, fellow distributors of The Light and others.

Thanks to common sense for once, the organisers from our side and the public servants had met to agree the route and tactics to be employed, which did not include fighting, since that achieves nothing positive in the end. Of course many marchers were angry due to the evil plans against which they were protesting, but clearly our public servants have a duty to protect their employers as well as us, who are there to oppose the wishes of the fascist government. Now, only following orders is a tricky defence for officers of the Law, as most know well, but pointing fingers at them is more likely to annoy them than persuade them to change sides before it's too late.

Laura, a charming police liaison officer, an Inspector no less, engaged in dialogue as we marched together down Grey Street, searching for common ground which was soon found, since in the end all human beings are basically kind, and those who are not, clearly have psychological reasons for their bad behaviour and may respond to kindness eventually! Ranty speeches by Baltic on the Gateshead side, rather undermined the peaceful nature of the demo, but that's would-be leaders for you, elected or not, their motives are not always clear, but it's often observed to be this need for attention human beings need to thrive. Needy or not, more folks were engaged in the crowd and on the return to Heaton up the Ouseburn, as we wandered back to find Daisy, sitting patiently waiting to drive us home to Stanhope safely, after a thoroughly nice day out in Toon. And no panic!

Time to stretch the legs as Sun thinks of rising in the East, ready for another warm day and a drive over the hills to Hexham again ... and The Tribe by the Bandstand in the Park.

Local Marine and others

Stanhope is not a big village, or a small town these days. It has a Town Hall and a Town Football Team, but a village vibe as defined by me. Of course I'm not a Local, it's impossible by definition after all. I was not born here, and that's the minimum requirement. Still, the locals are kind enough as long as you are kind to them and help out where you can, without trying to advise them that you know how to improve their Dale, which is a common mistake.

Anyway, being an incomer of some years, and intending to stay until the bell tolls to call me home again, the regular ritual is to walk around the village to see who's about early. This morning it was Dmitri, or Dell, who landed here some months ago, with his wife Karen. He was once a Marine in South Africa, and now trains folks over here. She worked for the Police Force, investigating corruption, including within the forces of Law and Order, believe it or not! After a pleasant walk with Dell, a kind man with an open mind, I moved on up the Dene, until Nigel appeared for conversation, followed by Janet, also resident of Crawleyside, up the hill from Stanhope.

Now Stanhope attracts all sorts of people, some of whom are now my friends. Take Mack, for instance, a Scot who served in Naval Intelligence and commanded a small warship during the Falklands war against Argentina. He's long retired and his wife died earlier this year, after spending her past few years dying with cancer. Mack likes to walk with Pepsi his little dog, and we often speak of how we spent our youth on the opposite sides of the fence, what with me playing Che Guevara and him in navy signals intelligence, tapping into the wires of crazy reds trying to overthrow the state. Thatcher the Iron Lady was the fascist then, now it's Johnson the tosser!

So what's coming next? Well folks, you read it here, so please remind me if I guessed wrong. Reading between the lies of the media, where the lying Beeb reports on Keir Starmer planning for a 2023 General Election, and a new Labour government unlikely ... The Government of National Unity,  a coalition, after a snap election in October 2021. Remember The Great Reset rolls on in 2021 to 2030 as phase 2 brings the softer regime ... financial crisis and gas price hikes, winter deaths through the roof? Or can our esteemed PM carry on through to November for international infamy in Glasgow at Climate Crisis time? The voters of any country seem to elect the Leader they deserve, as was observed before, which is not great news for the U.K. is it?!

Never mind, wood is in for colder weather, blackberries too, apples on the agenda tomorrow and a demo Saturday ... Sunday's for the Tribe again and life at A Place to Be is fine ...

World becomes weirder ...

How much weirder can this world of my imagination become? After the to-ing and fro-ing of the long weekend, yesterday was for resting to embrace the silence and peace of what is currently called Home. A deep sleep rested the mind and body quite briefly, and the Full Moon Equinox energy demanded a walk before Sunrise, which was a wonderful way to use the energy and see Sun rising and Moon waning, and no humans to be seen for an hour or so, before dropping down to the village and some conversations with friends, then home for early elevensees before nine.

Writing for you, dear reader, took a while, as did sorting the bins for recycling, before settling down for reading and more writing and light lunch; after which legs demanded more walking so we set off towards the village, now thronging with human beings, not to mention the charity shops, of which we have two. The first meant a visit to see Beryl, and Andrew her son, whose delicious preserves may be found on the shelves ... a jar of orange and date chutney later, the walking continued through the village to the MS shop ... where friends were found serving, Jan and Phoebe, plus Sarah and Catrina, young mothers shopping with their babies. A stranger approached the counter with a copy of a book by Bill Bryson, erstwhile Chancellor of Durham University, and American author who fell in love with Durham when he saw the cathedral from his train. Now, the name of this Professor of Sociology I discovered and learnt to pronounce it, but to write here risks a error I have no wish to make, since Chinese, even in Latin script, is tricky for this old brain to imagine. And having accepted the invitation to come to the Retreat House to see the library, he may well read this blog. Anyway he borrowed a copy of the book written by a well known marathon runner and Professor of Social Anthropology, Mike Crawley, a good friend from years ago, the son of a dear friend sometimes referred to in previous posts of Wear & Dao, now living near Kelso in retirement, after her distinguished career as a Reader and teacher of cognitive psychology, with her PhD from Durham University, at Sunderland University ... at the mouth of the River Wear on the North Sea.

That was yesterday. This morning in the two hours between setting off to walk and returning, a slim book, The Gifts of Reading, by Robert Macfarlane, was dropped through the letter box by an anonymous person. Upon reading the inspiring book, it soon became clear, from the references to China, that the donor was my Chinese friend from yesterday!

Anyway, the Equinox went well, and the body and mind are rested. What's coming next, who knows? Saturday seems set for a protest in favour of Freedom in Newcastle, so maybe a ride on the bus at 10 will make for a day out in town. Have bus pass, will travel!

What a life ...

Full Moon Equinox

Well, that was quite a weekend as we move into the Full Moon Autumnal Equinox, and seasons change, food is gathered in to see us through the colder darker days and nights of winter. Beware of malign authorities dangling October school holidays like carrots, to draw us into their fear agenda of food shortages this Christmas, as the false pandemic and quite normal annual flu season produces the pressure on our dear NHS they create themselves, cases become illness and often deaths, as evidence that the so-called freedoms of the summer, must be the cause ...

Saturday, Mally Barnes, the Poet Sweep, arrived for the annual flue clearing and entertained the old blogger with his humour and tales of chimneys swept around the Dales. Then Jan arrived to discuss the issues of concern as The Great Reset rolled on and she found herself, like many others, bemused by the scale of the mass hypnosis around the world.

Sunday started damp and drizzly, as this old blogger set off early, in search of organic cream from Wheelbirk's Parlour, ready for the Monday trip to Scotland to visit the health conscious elder daughter, before the weekly Stand in the Park in Hexham. Sun emerged as friends from the Tribe gathered to review the political situation in its cosmic context, to lift the Fear created by the Dark forces identifying as governments and authorities, but obviously Luciferian. The afternoon was straight from there to the Magical World of The Garden Station, where Jill and Terry prepared a wonderful birthday party for Joe, aged 8 and Martin some decades older, with tribal friends enjoying the company of other human beings enjoying coffee, tea, scones and cake, in the full Sun, with excited children running around, the sugar rushing through their veins, and fortunately no vomits to report at the party itself. A huge dark cloud came over later, and water fell from it in great quantity, to green the grass and wash the cars, as Daisy made her way over the hills to Rookhope and Stanhope, and a some more Sunshine.

Early yesterday, Daisy set off up the hill before the Sun had appeared, and when he did, in the East again, some whispy cloud created a marvellous painting in the sky, which quite entranced me. On we went along the A68, up in the sky and down into the various valleys where thin mist was lying after Sunday's downpours. Photographs will never describe the awe, or these few words - so, dear readers, you may use your imagination, get up early and follow the journey, using time travelling techniques, and feel the awesome inspiration for yourself ... bearing in mind, that all incoming data is processed through each individual, uniquely conditioned mind. So it's tricky.

At the Scottish Border, after a swift hour, no barbed wire or armed Jocks were found to demand passports, so we continued swiftly on to Jedburgh, for fuel and a welcome pee. After which, the journey slowed a little as we turned off the A68 towards Kelso and round the bypass to try to find the quickest route to Duns. Having chosen a longer route, mistakenly, and having no satnav, maps, nor seeing any signposts saying Duns, this way, a side road right saying Farmshop open, seemed the sign best obeyed. A mile east Stewart, a butcher at the Farmshop, greeted me kindly and offered directions across to Duns, via Hume and Greenlaw, neither of which I'd seen before, meaning a whole new experience and route to Duns, where we stopped to admire the market town as it started work and children were going to school, and still being in plenty of time to arrive 5 miles North, since the elder daughter was taking her foster son to school in Berwick.

After a coffee in the market place, the well known route to the remote cottage tucked away in the hills, was found without further diversions, with time to spare to bump into Kit, a neighbour who stopped to talk, when synchronicities surprised us, since he sang in the choir in Salisbury with his wife, before relocating north ... the retired Bishop of Salisbury and his wife live now in Stanhope and are well known to me. The elder daughter returned and disclosed that her wife had been asleep after a night shift and she got up for a hug and a chat, before heading South to visit her Granny in Whitley Bay for the day. This left the elder daughter and me to take a delightful walk with Dot the dog over the hills with wonderful views in the warm Sunshine. What a life! After lunch, we went to Berwick to collect the foster boy for some limited conversation due to circumstances and another walk, before Daisy and I headed home to arrive to catch a sight of the Full Moon rising.

A deep sleep ensued before the energies of the Moon Equinox conjunction sparked me back to life, ready for an early walk and a sight of the Moon, which moved up and over the sky Westwards, while Sun appeared in the East. .. yet again.

Who knows what's in store today? Apart from writing this blog, of course, dear readers. It takes a while to make this stuff up you know, so I hope you enjoy it. If not there's plenty of other tall stories in circulation, including those made up by The Applied Behavioural Insights Team in Whitehall. And if you believe that shite you'll believe anything!

A sunny Friday ...

Busy long weekend starts today, in unexpected ways ... after postponing seaside trip, Stanhope provides blackberries for vitC, Sun for vitD and humans for energy exchanging. Energy being fundamental in the whole universe, as is known. High quality interactions around the village amuse and energise your old blogger, and one day when the full story is told, if ever, all will be revealed! Or at least what can be recalled may ...

The fake pandemic continues to energise, as General Elections are mooted, quite likely in many other nations as the scenery changes ready for the next Act in the Play ... what shall we call this production folks? Sure, it's tragedy, romance, kingdoms lost and gained, comedies of errors, including Nicola Macbeth ... Midsummer Nightmare maybe? So, if the theories of great conspiracies are right, and the Great Reset proposed last summer by the illustrious emperor, the Chairman of The whole World Economic Forum, Herr Schwab is in play, then the Shock and Awe in Act 1 is finally done, since most plebeians seem to have swallowed the narrative and submitted to onging surveillance and regular nanobots inserted under the skin, in order to thin the herd and train the humans to serve as slaves. A new normal, where we will own nothing and be happy.

Naturally, in 1984 and Brave New World, there were a few troublemakers, even in dystopias. There are quite a few in this one too. Despite the dire censorship, some never trusted televisions or news papers or politicians and scientists with ambitions and pockets stuffed with cash from the Corporations with drugs to flog and profits to share ... others even declared the arch-narcissist Lord Boris, Emperor of the British Empire, except the bits that weren't actually England's Green Unpleasant Land, as Wm Blake didn't write in his famous hymn, Jerusalem.

Meanwhile, The Light people funded paper no.13 is here to enlighten the darkness again. UK Column News is at lunchtime today. Later, Anita down the Dale will receive her copies of no13 to spread the propaganda to those prepared to see through the lies, and some along the way in Frosterley and Wolsingham. Information flows in through virtual channels to encourage Lightworkers to embrace their roles, Fearlessly ... the 5th Dimension beckons ...

The sheets are on the line, drying in the Sun. A light lunch is calling, before Daisy heads East with the good news. Tomorrow will come soon enough, Sunday is full-on, and Monday we're off to Scotland again, over the Border, to see the elder daughter, her wife, foster child and small dog called Dot ...

Tuning in the Tribe Vibe

The second day of the Stanhope Show was skipped in favour of the trip over to Hexham, to learn from the wise ones more or less on the same wavelength, and happy to adjust their dials to hear clearly the viewpoints of the Tribe. This infers energy is primary and material matters secondary, in trying to comprehend deeper versions of Reality ... it's taken a century and more to see Descartes' view as a partial truth, therefore essentially a fallacy, when seen sub-atomically ... and tempting as it is for inveterate punners, suggesting Renè had the cart before his horse, is not quite accurate in fact. Let's say his view of "I Am" assumes the one who thinks is primary, whereas quantum reality sees it as not that, but the opposite! For Francophone pedants by the way, je suis desoleè for the grave error on the two "e"s, and hopefully your shock is not acute. That's blogging on a tablet for you folks ...

As time speeds up, partly due to advancing decrepitude and partly to increasing awareness in the human beings, the importance of continuing the journey of questioning everything, trusting one's experience and how it is framed by preconditioned mind, energises an old blogger, who wishes to analyse coolly and calmly, whilst embracing the excitement of new experience, noted at gut level, especially when in relationships with other humans, feeling safe to express the universal form, Agapè, as primary, now that erotic love, Eros, is in the past.

So, how shall we define "My" Tribe? Words like Tribe have different meanings depending on context and subject. Anthropologists tend to visit less civilised groups of people in backward countries, whilst Philosophers and Sociologists prefer borrowing the concept to suggest highly civilised groups of people declining to accept the validity of national boundaries. Further definitions are required to explain "civilised", "backward" and "highly", not to mention "My"! Language eh? How can you trust it? Let's be clear, NLP is nothing new, just the phrase. Neuro-linguistic Programming, also known as the keys to power, has been used since words came into being. Some say Reality itself emerges from The Word. Maybe in the Judeo-Christian creation myth ... their Bible certainly held billions of humans spellbound by the fantastic stories! I mean, honestly, can you Adam and Eve it? Original Sin? Says who? I blame Eve for tempting Adam, personally. Standing there naked in the Garden, flaunting herself, brazenly. Then priests presume to punish men and women for enjoying the action, instead of simply procreating decently, with the lights off, and no nudity at all; just a fumble under the nightie and good night without a thank you or a question about how it was for you?

At the Bandstand two new folks arrived to tune into the vibe, as a few went off to meditate together and some stayed to listen to the music with other folks arriving for that purpose. Other tribe folks sloped off for coffee at the Beaumont Hotel and more discussion and adjusting of dials. Energised, as always by the Sunday treat, your old blogger from Weardale called into Waitrose before retreating over to Stanhope and home.

Monday and Tuesday were planned for more peace and quiet after the busy weekend, which more or less turned out as planned ... meaning the usual walks for exercise involved meeting friends and strangers to discuss issues of concern, tuning in with local tribe vibes and accepting that if the wavelengths were different, then adjusting dials was pointless, of course. At this stage of the crisis, humanity seems to be coalescing around fixed forms at different levels. Fear does that.

When Fear is not, Love IS!

Ohmmm. .. it's early on Wednesday morning and in this hour before Dawn everything's possible.
Well, not everything, literally, of course, but options and possibilities. A bus ride direct to Toon at ten? Why not? Walking in Stanhope, gathering the blackberries for winter vitC again? Writing words for readers or just to pass the time? Reading words in books from sages through the ages? In a way, Life is just occupational therapy ... we have a short time on the planet, becoming shorter every minute, so why waste it worrying about things we can't change? What to change today is the question. Meanwhile, trips are planned to the seaside to see the sea, paddle and maybe swim; to Scotland to see elder daughter and family ... and, most importantly the chimney sweep on Saturday morning, cleaning the flue ready for the chilly nights to come, as the traditional winter flu arrives around October ... it's rumoured that the Sars Cov 2, normal flu, covids, drugs for and against, will all combine to divide and rule us further in a perfect storm.

Buckle up folks, things could get bumpy! Stay calm - crises are for a reason. If it's a battle between Dark and Light, Good and Evil, then the choice is obvious ... Love always wins!

The Show

The Annual Stanhope Agricultural Show in Stanhope returns after two years, since the Junta banned it last year, because they could. How on Earth the humans gave up their freedom for a shower like Johnson and his gang, is hard to comprehend,.There are glimmers of hope from folks finally waking up from their nightmares, but it's taking a while, and many are so hypnotised they still think dangerous drugs, delivered free of charge, made by charlatans making fortunes, since free at the point of use, means taxpayers footing the bill, again.

An early visit on Saturday enabled a wander round the field, marquee and stands, chatting with friends not seen for ages, starting with The Churches Together crew outside awaiting folks of a religious nature, now that it's been seen that Blake's observation, All Religions Are One, is the best way to rescue the various versions of Jesus Christ's message from the slide in popularity apparent in Britain for at least two decades. The reason for eschewing the Marquee was given as caution about being infected by a dangerous disease thought to be circulating in big tents not set up for social distancing, since you can't be too careful, can you? Can you? Having spent some time in the Marquee throughout the day, discussing philosophic questions with captive stakeholders not wearing masks, and whole families risking their lives, blatantly close to complete strangers, we await reports of a surge in cases as a consequence.

The Methodists representing all the Christians were open to philosophical discourse, which went on for quite a while, on and off, and the customers were few, despite the lurking dread of death evident all round the world. Maybe the heathens are still not convinced of the message of the Christian God, that the End Times are arriving and now's the time to decide whether to go to Heaven above or Hell downstairs. Other versions of this scary story are available in different churches of course, hence all the Churches in the Dale, except the Catholics, uniting for economic reasons. Basically that's the two versions of Methodists, Primitive and Wesleyan, plus C of E, which is the Catholics without a Pope, more or less.

The search for the fascist MP, Rich Holden, went on all day, since further questioning was required to establish his reasons for bringing Fear to the Dale, as well as Consett, Burnopfield, Willington and Crook, where the Red Wall crumbled at the last General Election, much to the surprise of Holden and the chagrin of Katie, his girlfriend, who supposedly ran out of the Louisa Centre in Stanley when the results were announced, in tears at the thought of having to move out of London to mingle with the Great Unwashed in the South West Durham seat in North East England. Eventually a small marquee was erected, with a charming photo of Rich smirking, blatantly advertising his intention to be elected again, unless he could find a safer seat somewhere further South for them to mingle with the stockbrokers, the natural habitat of Tories. Anyway, Holden was wandering about the field, and the questions were shared with Douglas, who did the dirty work for Rich, doubtless with ambitions of his own. He escaped when a personal friend, Ian, arrived to explain why he'd decided to work the Dark Side and did he really trust a friend of Johnson. Well, we parted friends, and disagreed about the politics. He trusted the Labour Party less than the Tories, which is quite normal in Durham, since the County Council is well known for its corruption. Showing that divide and rule still operates, and Democracy is basically Tweedledumb and Tweedledee ... or Tweedledumber.

The numbers of folks risking infection grew steadily, and the competing sounds of humans speaking, tannoys annoying from at least two directions, paying attention to the stories of folks with opinions, not necessarily just to refute them, but to understand how humanity in this epoch, in the Western World, have embraced such a variety of versions of Truth ... whatever that is ... meant ears ringing, peace and quiet needed, and a retreat from the field, around 2pm.

Today, by the way, it's Tuesday already, and this post is late, due to Sunday and yesterday being less frantic but still active ... reports from the village say the two day show was a huge success, with record numbers of tickets sold ... 20,000 ... not to mention all those working the field or otherwise not recorded. Due to short attention spans, that's it for today dear readers. It's early and still dark. Sunday and Monday events and reflections may follow later ...

Heat Wave to Heaven

Well well, the short heat wave was hot alright! Even the lying beeb got the forecast right. A wonderful wander up and along the ridge between Weardale and Teesdale towards Wolsingham seemed a good way to pass the day, which indeed it was ... heavenly in fact. Full Sun most of Wednesday, with shorts and sandals only after the hour or so climbing up to the Elephant Trees, and no human beings to disturb the tranquillity until the descent into Wolsingham four hours later, and coffee. A message requesting assistance with the unanticipated arrival of a sick Grandchild was tricky, but a swift return along the valley footpath meant a fun afternoon walk with Dan, in need of exercise, fresh air and Sun to help him recover from his malady. It's well known that modern medicine is often more likely to make you sick than healthy, not to mention eating good food and drinking pure fluids, so Nature's Remedy helped cure him, despite his insistence that he really felt sick and might benefit from a second day off, this time with his other Granny. His younger brother seems to have missed the extra holidays, but at his age school is sometimes fun and teachers like to take the pupils outside in the Sun for fun and games of football. Teachers, of course, also like to play outside in the Sun, so it's win win all round!

Yesterday saw rain, some heavy, which was good to green up the scenery and help the fish wishing to spawn in a few weeks. The forecast for the weekend is fair, and some Sun, some showers today. Stanhope Show is always best with sunshine, though the stallholders in the marquees prefer showers, since it gets too hot inside for them and the punters.

This morning's early walk was still warm and sunny as the heat wave turns into a warm wave, with thunderstorms later. Imagine my delight, dear reader, to meet an old friend from the medical profession, early retired and having earnt extra on piece work, injecting mug punters with drugs with serious side-effects, and dubious ingredients. Of course, your old blogger is no expert in anything at all, and listened carefully to his answers. We disagreed on the lethal nature of the jabs, and the wisdom of inserting them into the bloodstreams of humans; but we agreed on the danger of trusting politicians or drug companies, long known for bribing or "influencing" those susceptible to earning a few bob extra to do their dirty work.

A bargain book from the charity shop, an illustrated history of the Civil War in the USA, only just small enough to fit in the rucksack, now joins the rest of the essential reading for a would-be polymath with a curious mind. Or any would-be historians like Dan, of course!

Time to clean the house a bit, since a new would-be Buddhist may turn up to read some books later today or tomorrow for the Show; the big event of the year in Stanhope in Weardale, by the River Wear, making its way from the hills near Wearhead to the North Sea at Wearmouth, via Bishop Auckland, Durham City and Sunderland.

Abundance again

September slips in with changeable weather and the Agricultural Shows hoping for sunny days and enough rain in the nights and weekdays to keep the Dale green, the river high enough for the return of the fish spawning and the grass growing for a second or third crop of silage or hay for the winter. The Autumn Equinox arrives later this month, and it's clear that it's getting late earlier each day. Berries are collected and early apples too, ready for pressing and storing for human consumption since we are not evolved to munch hay all day. Actually, we are not evolved to breathe in CO2 either, and workers in Waitrose yesterday expressed their relief that their managers permitted them to desist from working with the filthy masks on their faces, as the Health and Safety at Work Act had suddenly returned after a long absence. Trade Unions are another example of the corruption rife throughout the world, as Big Pharma rewards shareholders, including government officials and elected representatives.

Saturday was special, spending an afternoon lunching with a family near Hexham. Such a joy eating home grown food, made with love and consumed by three teenagers, two boys, one young woman of 18, plus one 22 year old young man, sitting around a farmhouse table, discussing with each other, as if such behaviour was quite normal. When I was their age it was compulsory, but such ideas went out of fashion years ago, along with dining tables. We four resisted it then, and appreciate it now. Well the third one does, the two sisters can speak for themselves, and our brother, who died rather young in Australia, is in no position to express an opinion, on this side of the veil at least.

Sunday was the regular ride over to Hexham, to Stand in the Park beside, but not inside, the Abbey. New standers and old standers stood discussing issues. Some even sat down, which was better for Lynne, using her motorised wheelchair. Disabled access is still an issue, despite many years of legislation against discrimination, though modern shops are designed to comply and big shops have to offer employment to differently abled folks. Regular readers with reasonable memory will recall Steven the lip reading wine expert finding the expert customers wishing to show off their knowledge of wine to Steven, declining to remove their ridiculous masks and ignoring him and just blatantly buying overpriced wine. This seems like casual disabilism, and possibly cause for complaint by the shop about customer behaviour. The two hours by the Bandstand was energising as always, and when the choir performing on the Bandstand started singing, beautifully most rebels found deckchairs and enjoyed the show in the sunshine. This left three caffeine addicts slipping off to the Beaumont for further philosophy, and the spare chair was soon filled by Sophie, a wise and feisty white witch. A little later two more wise women joined the gang, for further philosophy and witchery, since it's well know that women with strong opinions were often rewarded with a label and a barbeque. If not the bonfire, the ducking stool was employed to remind women who was in charge, by drowning them. Ah, the good old days, eh?

After the shopping trip, congratulating employees without masks, which was most of them, a friend who missed the Park in the morning was greeted with warm hugs, then two old locals expressed interest in resisting tyranny and promised to come along next week.

The tide appears to be turning from Fear to Resistance, and maybe Professor Schwab and crew are ready for the next phase of the Great Reset. Just don't imagine their new normal is better, or that the coming winter flu season won't ramp up the Fear. Many are waking up from the brainwash, but many are still asleep too. The question for each of us is: What shall we do to improve our lives, the lives of friends and family, and the lives of our communities.
To be honest dear reader, this crisis has not been hell for a retired old blogger, more like heaven actually, since it is abundantly clear here at Wear and Dao, that the crisis like all crises, is the ripening of conditions, and the metaphorical apples are ready to fall. And as the fallen apples rot on the ground, new seeds produce new trees, locally maybe, and often as far as the birds can fly, before they shit and drop the pip with it.

A small heatwave is promised, let's see about that. Meanwhile, there are berries and apples to pick, plus mushrooms, of course.

Gaunts, Gurus and Aristos

High energy visit from Mike, who spent time at Gaunts House before your blogger teamed up with Sir Richard, a baronet, to develop a farm he owned called Honeybrook. Being an aristocrat, and loaded with farms, land, alternative ideas, long hair, strong opinions and a Buddhist in his mind, the idea of forming a limited company, with two shareholders investing 5k each, with equal rights was optimistic to say the least!

Now, this impecunious pseudo-philosopher, required a monthly income, since he planned to work full time on the great idea shared with the rich pseudo-buddhist. Neither of us had a clue about business or how money worked, but a rational business case was constructed to justify further investment, especially since the capital asset of the Farm, the buildings and the land, belonged to Sir Richard. By this time, of course, the initial 10k was spent and Richard invested more to keep me going. Clearly, the power had shifted, as if an Eton boy with money to burn could seriously consider a common Grammar School lad and ex-communist, as an equal, Buddhism notwithstanding.

Meanwhile, the neighbouring aristocrat, Lord Shaftesbury, outranked a mere baronet, Eton or not, since an Earl is a Baron, which meant Richard was inferior, of course. Some decades before, the Earl had a plan to convert the Horton Inn from a pub to a posh restaurant and hotel, which he did, having invited the yokels to confine themselves to the public bar, unless they wanted to dress properly and pay posh prices for the caviar, steak tartare and chocolate brandy mousse all served from silver platters onto posh plates by waiters ... which was the job of the Grammar School boy, whose Dad encouraged the four children to work as well as study, since he thought work was a good thing in itself! We disagreed about that, on philosophical grounds, since hard work never appealed and the aim in life was to enjoy it, not be a slave.

Now Anthony Ashley-Cooper, the double barreled Lord, had a penchant for young women and gambling, which was his downfall, since the latest and last Lady Shaftesbury in Tony's life was a Rumanian beauty, aiming to shaft him and outlast him. When his body was found in a ditch on the road overlooking Monaco, the gendarmerie asked the young Lady for her alibi, which she had prepared earlier. Her brother, however, had no alibi plus the same motive and you don't have to be Sherlock to work out the case for the prosecution. You can find the gory details by searching on a searching engine, if you are interested in premeditated crimes.

Let's just say, the moral of the story is: Try not to be too rich, or to dump your spouse for a younger model with a gangster brother. Meanwhile Sir Richard had similar issues arising from cold parenting and more money than sense. Eton Boys eh, legends in their own minds, often psychopaths, always seeking the love of a mother advised not to turn their sons into softies or poofs. These days we say gay or queer of course. And more than one or two yearned for a return to the canings and penetrations they learned at boarding school.

Back in Stanhope, a new weekend begins with a damp start for the Wolsingham Show ... rather busy for an old blogger, prepared to wait for a week, and Stanhope Show. Maybe a heatwave, or Indian Summer? It's quite possible in Weardale in September!