As clocks go back at Halloween, and November arrives tomorrow, an extra hour is conjured to allow more light this morning and less this afternoon. A whole hour extra to review the rantings of a madman, passing his time imagining better worlds to come, through stories he makes up to promote his past as good enough despite the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune from Shakespeare in his Hamlet soliloquy asking the question To Be or not To Be ... the rest you can read for yourself and find your own answer, and if you thought Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, had issues, try Macbeth, the Scottish play whose name is unmentionable in case of bad luck ... all of which long-windedness brings us to Mac, a friend from Stanhope, whose name is misspelt mistakenly with a K on the end, as he kindly told me yesterday, along with his critique from his story of September, noting that he never made it to the Falklands with his ship, so skipped the horrors of that particular war, which Thatcher used to boost her popularity with voters so easily misled by notions of patriotism, when the war drums beat, flags flutter to evoke national pride, and young men go visiting other young men with their own flags in order to fight and maybe die .. for what and for whose best interests is not always clear to voters without a sense of history ... like WW1 for example, when The Great British Empire, The fading Austro-Hungarian Empire, Russian and French Empires and allies created mayhem in many theatres of war, not least the appalling slaughter on the Somme, as young men killed each other under orders from psychopaths, who thought the sacrifice was acceptable if rewarded with posthumous medals. The Saxe-Coburg blood line ran through from Queen Victoria to Kaiser Bill, Tsar Nick, and King George V .. not to mention our dear old Queen Elisabeth the second and her dead husband Phil the Greek.
And since November provides poppies everywhere, to remind us of the slaughter of the innocents, sent to die in the carnage of the Somme, this old blogger and dissenter is still waiting for the message "Never Again!" to sink in before commemorating those boys and all the rest in wars unending.
Today, Sunday, when the scary ghosts and sprites come out to trick or treat us, let's see later if they find the Retreat House just outside the village ... the custom here is to smile at them and offer a healthy treat, from the pile of apples picked last week, which usually confuses them ... before that Hexham calls, and a Stand in the Park with a rainy forecast so the Bandstand will provide shelter if needed, and maybe a coffee in the dry later at the Beaumont Hotel with whoever wishes to discuss issues philosophical, political, psychological, metaphysical or cosmic ... followed by Waitrose for supplies, organic where possible and a drive back to Stanhope again ...
Tomorrow, the first of November, a visit to Newcastle is planned, and a walk with younger daughter, re-arranged from last week to celebrate her debut appearance on the stage of life, and a Scorpio like her father, whatever that infers. The Gunpowder Plot follows on Friday, when Guido Fawkes failed to blow up the Houses of Parliament, being betrayed by a friend, which was not very nice. Still, the children have a second chance to extort cash from adults, as they request a penny for the Guy they created, maybe with the help of adults in the game ... cynical? Not at all, honestly! Maybe it's time for another go at blowing up Parliament, metaphorically obviously, since honest parliamentarians are scarce these days, as always ... perhaps starting with the Cabinet and working down from there? Johnson is long overdue for ... ahem ... retirement ...
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