Wednesday, 28 August 2019

Of course I blame the cats.

Self willed, uncontrollable but controlling, demanding and un-appreciative.

It's the cats who use their ancient and cunning powers to create and control tropical storms and hurricanes, simply to let we mere mortals know who is in charge.

The storms are as unpredictable and uncontrollable as are their feline manipulators.

It started as tropical storm Dorian.  Now it's been "up-graded" to Hurricane Dorian.  

But where it it make land?   Who knows?  Not even the meteorologists!

Oh for goodness sake, let's hope that it by-passes Puerto Rico and the small Islands, whose residents have suffered enough hurricane damage (and in the case of the American territory Puerto Rico, via the cruel tongue of the American President Donald Trump).

The storm is expected to go up the east coast of Florida or Georgia.

We on Florida's west coast watch,wonder and wait.  We remember that Sarasota was supposed to be in the path of Hurricane Irma in 2017, but the storm (like a cat) had a sudden change of mind and moved east.  We were spared the worst, but even then some Sarasotans were without electricity for six weeks.

I checked my emergency box today.  My "Coleman" camping stove, flashlight, headlight, lantern, battery operated radio, candles and matches are all in good shape.

I have two gallons of bottled water.  

Before Friday I will fill my car with gas/petrol, and get some hard cash from an ATM - just in case.


Back in about 1978 when a hurricane was threatening eastern Massachusetts and I was new to America,  my mentor DeWolf Perry advised me to fill my bathtub with water. 

At first I thought that this was  a bit of anti-cat magic.  Then I learned that a bath tub of water would be useful source to flush a toilet should the worse come to the worst.


All checked and tested.


The (almost) best that I can do.

But whatever transpires I'll know that the cats are to blame.

Tuesday, 27 August 2019

When kidnapped African Women, Men and Children were enslaved.

Guns made in my home City of Bristol, U.K.

Not women and men, but Bucks and Wenches (with a Picinniny)

You pay your money and you take your choice. 

Small Negro Girl or Potatoes

Ox team, Fox Hounds, or Negro Slaves. Commodities one and all.

When the Boston authorities decided to enforce the Fugitive Slave Law

Rewards for the apprehension of the runaway enslaved

The "Dow" index of 1857

Monday, 26 August 2019

It wasn't slavery.

At various places in the United States the 400th anniversary of the importation of a new commodity to the shores of Virginia is being noted.

"The 400th anniversary of slavery" they say.  I hate and despise that generic word "slavery".

Rather it should be called "the importation of human beings as a commodity"  -  women, men, girls, boys:  ripped from their villages, homes, religions, history and culture; shackled and chained; beaten and whipped; shoved into the cargo holds; taken westward across the ocean to be sold in the market place (if they survived the passage).

To call it "slavery", or "the slave trade"  makes the whole enterprise seem bland.  It was the enslavement  of mothers and fathers, of their beloved girl and boy children.

It was the destruction of a peoples' history, language, culture, tradition and religion.

The commodity on sale  (not in the American South, but in Chicago, Illinois).


Some well meaning but naive and unimaginative Christians in Western Massachusetts,  (and other places), decided to mark the anniversary of the trade in humans by ringing the Church Bell for four minutes on Sunday 25th August 2019. One minute for each 100 years of the human commodity trade,  Here they are in all their pious glory.

Dammit all, why are some of them seated, and others are standing comfortably,   when all of them should be shackled and chained together in the smallest and darkest room in the Church Cellar - for at least fours hours -  one hour for each 100 years of the vile trade.

I speak as a (sometimes) nice, (sometimes) pious, always white skinned middle class and progressive Christian.

Shouldn't we move away from comfortable piety into the direction of costly reparations to the descendants of the enslaved human persons?  What might those reparations look like?

Sunday, 25 August 2019

Canine Concierge Company

Those of you who have super memories will recall that I took a trip to Inverness FL as long ago as (gasp) last Tuesday 20th August.

My dog, Prince Zion of Sarasota, spent the day at the Bayside Pet Resort in Manatee County, (at the back end of SRQ Airport, just over the County line).

It's a great place.  

I left one of my Tee Shirts with Zion in the hope that he would be "comforted" with my smell.

Not a bit!  He shredded it to pieces

This is what I'll do if you leave me alone, if only for nine hours.


Then his canine remorse set in.  He used Auntie Ashley's Canine Concierge Company to order a replacement Tee Shirt from "Three Dog Bakery" at the University Town Centre Abomination.

Sadly Zion got my size wrong, so I went to the store this morning, and replaced the "extra large" Tee Shirt which Auntie Ashley bought at Zion's instruction with a "large" size.

What fun:  "I am just the man at the end of the leash"!


What fun and joy:

I couldn't resist buying this wooden plaque which I saw at the "Three Dog Bakery".

Dog owners will understand and say Amen.