BE GRATEFUL FOR SMALL MERCIES – GIN AND CURRIED BEEF
Watched the Graeme Norton show last night. Very entertaining with Tom Cruise smiling handsomely. He confessed that he was of Irish descent, and had actually been presented with a certificate when over there because of some good deed done by his great-great-grandfather as a landlord to his tenants. There you go! His co-star also on the show was Olga Kurylenko, a beautiful if skinny girl who also claimed to be part Irish. She blamed the fact that her bust was not big enough to suit her on the fact that she did not eat enough cabbage as a child. That is according to her mother.
A sad, sad story about the six children burned to death in a house fire started by their father. His wife was an accomplice, along with another man. This appears to have been a twisted attempt to blame his girlfriend for the fire, largely as she had left taking her five children with her, and her contribution to the household income. The horror of a man like Philpott who, it seems, attempted to be seen as a hero by the public when he supposed he could rescue the poor children. It is a horrible story, all bound up with the fact that Philpott was claiming large sums of money from the government for the support of eleven children altogether. Besides that, both his wife and the girlfriend, while she also lived in the house, were in work and handed their wages over to him. He was a control freak, a ghastly, violent bully and thank God he has been put away in jail. How can such parasites exists among us? It makes one shudder.
The fact that George Osborne used the example of Philpott to support his cuts to welfare benefits for large families is ludicrous. There is only a very small percentage of families with large numbers of children and the Philpott case is unique. When Osborne appeared on TV with his “Mockney” accent (put on to try to sound like one of the people) attempting to justify the cuts in welfare to those in financial difficulties, he, with his millionaire background, made a sad situation even sadder. Just like Ian Duncan Smith riposting to a poor market trader who had to live on £53.00 per week, oh sure, he could live on that much if he had to. Once again we get empty rhetoric from a politician living in the lap of luxury.
Where will it all end? When will we solve all these problems of the rich and the poor, the good-living and the downright villains? I count my blessings. Right now, I am being offered to join G. for a drink in the hotel down the road. Poor Gerald, he doesn’t drink much but likes to treat me. Also I have made a beef curry which awaits us for dinner tonight. So that can’t be bad! Tomorrow Laura and Gordon are coming to the house. Gordon is making us a raised-bed in the garden for the growing of herbs and vegetables. Hooray. I can’t wait for that project to start. The Martin family have gone to London, all the men in kilts for a wedding of a nephew to take place in a church of mainly black people. The custom of the congregation is to sway and sing during the service. The mind boggles of how the two sides will merge together. Good luck to Kevin and his family, and to the bride and groom.
Say a prayer for me next Tuesday, all you believers, as I am to have a knee replacement in Raigmore Hospital on the good old National Health Service. Speak to you soon, I hope!