Thursday, 9 February 2017
Wednesday 8 February
A brilliantly sunny day, but a keen southeasterly wind made it feel cold in exposed areas. Went on a walk to Lews Castle, and had another look inside.
Brexit and Scexit - 9 February
Parliament in Westminster is approving the legislation that will enable Prime Minister Theresa May to commence the process for the UK to leave the EU. I find the utterances of the Scottish Government on this issue totally irrelevant. Foreign Affairs and Trade are matters that are not devolved to Holyrood (the Scottish Government), and Brexit can therefore not be halted by the devolved administrations. I would expect them to be consulted, but a special deal for Scotland is simply not on the cards. Scotland is an integral part of the United Kingdom. The "threat" to organise another independence referendum is slightly hollow, as such a referendum has first to be sanctioned by (you guessed it) the UK government.
I just wished the Scottish Government devoted its considerable energies to addressing those problems in Scotland for which they have the powers to address. Banging on about independence is getting very, very tiring.
I just wished the Scottish Government devoted its considerable energies to addressing those problems in Scotland for which they have the powers to address. Banging on about independence is getting very, very tiring.
Monday, 6 February 2017
Trump - 6 February
Since President Trump came into office, just over two weeks ago, his decree on immigration has stirred up a storm of controversy. In my postings on Facebook, I have attempted to formulate a balanced opinion on this issue. That is proving to be difficult, particularly with the strong emotions at play, emotions which resound here in Europe. In a BBC report this morning regarding the on-going battle between the President and his judiciary, one line stood out.
The illegal immigration from Latin America is something that Trump thinks he can stop in its tracks by building a wall along the Mexican border. That, many people feel, would be a way of dealing with that problem. Legitimising the many 'latinos' in the USA is not held as acceptable, and there is a lot of irritation in the USA, as I understand it, about the multi-lingual options on government phonelines.
The second aspect of immigration is intermingled with the Muslim contingent of migrants or refugees (lumped together in one category by many). Since the 9/11 attacks on the WTC in New York, there has been a lot of hostility against Muslims in the USA - and this is what I mean by high emotions - and not just in the USA. Every time there is another terrorist attack, claimed by people who say (!) they're Muslims, the flames of hostility are fanned. Trump's edict against immigration from certain Muslim countries is designed to allay those fears.
The president feels that his loud protestations that he is acting in the best interests of national security justify all means and methods. The judiciary see fit to disagree.
Public opinion on this issue is sharply dividedWhen a controversial figure like Trump becomes popular and gets voted into office, the first question to be answered is WHY. It almost always signals that there is an issue in society which the previous administration has failed to deal with adequately, or that a large section of society feels is not being dealt with properly. Immigration has become such an issue, and not just in America, by the way.
The illegal immigration from Latin America is something that Trump thinks he can stop in its tracks by building a wall along the Mexican border. That, many people feel, would be a way of dealing with that problem. Legitimising the many 'latinos' in the USA is not held as acceptable, and there is a lot of irritation in the USA, as I understand it, about the multi-lingual options on government phonelines.
The second aspect of immigration is intermingled with the Muslim contingent of migrants or refugees (lumped together in one category by many). Since the 9/11 attacks on the WTC in New York, there has been a lot of hostility against Muslims in the USA - and this is what I mean by high emotions - and not just in the USA. Every time there is another terrorist attack, claimed by people who say (!) they're Muslims, the flames of hostility are fanned. Trump's edict against immigration from certain Muslim countries is designed to allay those fears.
The president feels that his loud protestations that he is acting in the best interests of national security justify all means and methods. The judiciary see fit to disagree.
Saturday, 4 February 2017
Monday, 30 January 2017
Friday 27 January
I returned to Stornoway today, after a journey that went well. Apart from a bottleneck at the security section of Schiphol Airport, the trip proceeded according to schedule, and I was back at base by 8.30pm. As I was not sitting next to a window, I could not take many pictures, which I regretted for the section between Inverness and Ullapool. It was a beautiful winter's afternoon, which I would have loved to have captured. Never mind.
Wednesday, 11 January 2017
January 2005 storm - in memoriam
On Tuesday 11 January 2005, we were about to experience the worst
storms in 50 years. At 3pm, exactly as forecast, the wind whipped up to
hurricane force. Powerlines went down all over the island, leaving
people without electricity for anything between a few hours and up to 6
days. Property damage was widespread and severe.
Staying in South Lochs at the time, I lost power at 6.20 that evening, not to get it back for 48 hours. From the darkness, I could see blue flashing lights across Loch Erisort. Later, it became clear that this was the police, closing the A859 Stornoway to Tarbert road. A lorry driver had reported as sheep flying past his windscreen. The driver on the last bus into South Lochs had a terrifying time keeping his vehicle on the straight and narrow.
Staying in South Lochs at the time, I lost power at 6.20 that evening, not to get it back for 48 hours. From the darkness, I could see blue flashing lights across Loch Erisort. Later, it became clear that this was the police, closing the A859 Stornoway to Tarbert road. A lorry driver had reported as sheep flying past his windscreen. The driver on the last bus into South Lochs had a terrifying time keeping his vehicle on the straight and narrow.
By 6pm, people
in Stornoway were physically blown off their feet. Some sustained
injuries as a result. Trees in the Castle Grounds were falling like
match sticks, boats were ripped off their moorings and tossed onto the
harbour wall at the Newton Basin. Flooding affected the town centre.
Down in the Southern Isles, a family of five found their home in Iochdar, South Uist, being pounded by pebbles and flying spray from the nearby sea. A flurry of phonecalls arranged a move across the causeway into Benbecula. Two cars would carry the grandfather, two parents and two young children across the few miles.
Dawn broke at 9 o’clock. The islanders, from Barra to Lewis, were mentioning that it had been a particularly nasty one, and people were comparing notes what damage everyone had sustained. A phonecall disturbed the sense of relief. People were reported missing in South Uist. A search party started combing the South Ford, which separates Benbecula from South Uist. The bodies of five people were found in the course of the next few days. They were those of a grandfather, two parents and their young children.
The funeral service, a few days later, was attended by 1,500 people, one out of every three islanders in the Southern Isles. Only 500 could actually enter the church, the rest followed the service outside, as it was relayed through loudspeakers.
Total damage was estimated to be worth £15 million, including severe storm damage to the causeway system stretching from Berneray to Eriskay. Repairs are only now being carried out.
This post is dedicated to the memory of those lost in the Iochdar tragedy.
(Annual repost)
Down in the Southern Isles, a family of five found their home in Iochdar, South Uist, being pounded by pebbles and flying spray from the nearby sea. A flurry of phonecalls arranged a move across the causeway into Benbecula. Two cars would carry the grandfather, two parents and two young children across the few miles.
Dawn broke at 9 o’clock. The islanders, from Barra to Lewis, were mentioning that it had been a particularly nasty one, and people were comparing notes what damage everyone had sustained. A phonecall disturbed the sense of relief. People were reported missing in South Uist. A search party started combing the South Ford, which separates Benbecula from South Uist. The bodies of five people were found in the course of the next few days. They were those of a grandfather, two parents and their young children.
The funeral service, a few days later, was attended by 1,500 people, one out of every three islanders in the Southern Isles. Only 500 could actually enter the church, the rest followed the service outside, as it was relayed through loudspeakers.
Total damage was estimated to be worth £15 million, including severe storm damage to the causeway system stretching from Berneray to Eriskay. Repairs are only now being carried out.
This post is dedicated to the memory of those lost in the Iochdar tragedy.
(Annual repost)
Wednesday, 21 December 2016
Christmas & New Year
I am not blogging regularly these days, but as I am travelling to Holland today (21st December), I shall reopen my Shell Gallery blog for any updates. I'll see you all there.
Saturday, 17 December 2016
Old teachers
Learned that the headmaster of my secondary school died a few days ago at the age of 83. Yes, I left school that long ago. He was a nice man, whom I met a number of times in recent years during my Christmas visits to Holland. Not the last few years, as he was in a nursing home. I'm a little sad.
I also remember my maths teacher, who passed away a year after I left school. He was a formidable north country man, who was dedicated to his final year-students. Although very ill with stomach cancer (I later learned) he came in specially for us. He gave me the insight in the world of algebra, differential and integral calculus as well as trigonometry that had eluded me for so long. I remember him with respect.
Then there was the religious education teacher who did not read the Bible with us, but insisted on showing us videos about real life. About sex. About what goes on inside the oven of a crematorium during the incineration of a body. I had to write an essay about Mahatma Gandhi (at the age of 17), for which I was granted 10/10, as it was 20 pages long. But he did wonder whether I had actually learned something from him. Not at the time. I have now.
Not all my teachers were wonderful. Some smoked in class - this was the late 70s, early 80s. Two got into a fight with a pupil. That is unforgivable, and unspeakable. I don't think either of them are still alive, and I quite frankly don't really care. Neither do I care much about the bearded geography teacher who got pissed off with the know-all that was me who knew all the answers to his questions, and finally shut me up by saying "would you like to take my position in front of this class?"
Tragedy struck at least once, when a fellow pupil was cycling along a road and a car driver opened his door into his path. The lad was knocked off his bike and promptly run over by a car coming in the opposite direction. He died later that night. I sometimes think about him, he had a whacky sense of humour.
Hilarity was also not far off, particularly when we went on a schooltrip at age 12. We went to the Ardennes (a very hilly area in eastern Belgium) and were made to walk the Hautes Fagnes. That translates as the High Bogs. We slept in youth hostels, and the one at Bevercé (near Malmédy) was less than clean. But, horror upon horror, whispered the boys and girls, there was a boy and a girl who had snogged. And had S. E. X. Just as well we had to do more walking the next day. The journey home was punctuated by the radio on board the coach playing "Dancing Queen" by ABBA. And that's where I'll end this trip down memory lane.
I also remember my maths teacher, who passed away a year after I left school. He was a formidable north country man, who was dedicated to his final year-students. Although very ill with stomach cancer (I later learned) he came in specially for us. He gave me the insight in the world of algebra, differential and integral calculus as well as trigonometry that had eluded me for so long. I remember him with respect.
Then there was the religious education teacher who did not read the Bible with us, but insisted on showing us videos about real life. About sex. About what goes on inside the oven of a crematorium during the incineration of a body. I had to write an essay about Mahatma Gandhi (at the age of 17), for which I was granted 10/10, as it was 20 pages long. But he did wonder whether I had actually learned something from him. Not at the time. I have now.
Not all my teachers were wonderful. Some smoked in class - this was the late 70s, early 80s. Two got into a fight with a pupil. That is unforgivable, and unspeakable. I don't think either of them are still alive, and I quite frankly don't really care. Neither do I care much about the bearded geography teacher who got pissed off with the know-all that was me who knew all the answers to his questions, and finally shut me up by saying "would you like to take my position in front of this class?"
Tragedy struck at least once, when a fellow pupil was cycling along a road and a car driver opened his door into his path. The lad was knocked off his bike and promptly run over by a car coming in the opposite direction. He died later that night. I sometimes think about him, he had a whacky sense of humour.
Hilarity was also not far off, particularly when we went on a schooltrip at age 12. We went to the Ardennes (a very hilly area in eastern Belgium) and were made to walk the Hautes Fagnes. That translates as the High Bogs. We slept in youth hostels, and the one at Bevercé (near Malmédy) was less than clean. But, horror upon horror, whispered the boys and girls, there was a boy and a girl who had snogged. And had S. E. X. Just as well we had to do more walking the next day. The journey home was punctuated by the radio on board the coach playing "Dancing Queen" by ABBA. And that's where I'll end this trip down memory lane.
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