Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 16 October 2015
Money, money, money...
2 hours ago I was bombarded with about fifty 'posts' trying to sell me movie downloads, and I cannot find a way to get rid of them, let alone get Google to get rid of them for me. I think they emanate from Indonesia, as I once had an attack like this before.
The worst thing about them is that I have to trawl through them all to find your genuine posts, and there is no 'delete' facility that I can find. Now that Google has taken away the ability to allow us to block individuals (this one is called 'Richard', although I think it is many more than one) the bastards can do what they like. Can anyone help me sort this out please? Weaver?!
Over on Facebook, Shawn has asked all her friends if they have ever heard of 'Christmas Adam' to describe the day before Christmas Eve. I certainly haven't. They have put the decorations up over most of Bath, but this year my eye is drawn to the tell-tale signs that outside contractors were used to do this. Each component has a plastic tag on it which says, 'BATH'. The fitters are a bunch from somewhere up North, and they spend weeks traveling around the country working nights, putting up all the festive crap.
High up on Lansdown Hill, there is a council graveyard with all the Summer flower arranging supports stacked up and rotting alongside all the old, pre-digital Winter decorations. These date from the good old days before out-sourcing, funded by the businesses of Bath in conjunction with the Chamber of Commerce - if such a body still exists.
We are supposed to ignore the lights until they are actually switched on, and this happens as soon after the Memorial Day march as is deemed decent - i.e. just after November 5th and the fireworks. Last year they were supposed to be turned on by Sir Cliff Richard, but then he was accused of buggery by the Witch-Finder General, so they made do with a boy band that nobody had ever heard of, let alone buggered. The year before we had Mary Berry pulling the switch. Nobody in their right minds could ever accuse her of buggery, or at least I hope not. Bake-Off would never be the same.
I have just looked up to be shocked by the sight of a seriously bright, fluorescent strip of red running alongside the grandstand of the Bath Rugby field over the river, and it clashes horribly with the subtle Autumn colours of the trees in front. It took me a while to realise that it is a massive bank of LED advertising board, probably for a match tomorrow.
I tried to photograph it to show you, but the lurid red shows up as a pale cream in the picture (see above). This must be some effect of the different frequency of LED light which I had not understood. There is a sinister side to this lighting after all!
What happened to sport for sport's sake, and non-commercial Christmases? Did the latter ever really exist after Dickens? Cromwell? Anyone?!