Statue

The picture shown above was not A.I. generated. It is a real picture of a real statue that was recently erected at the Trump National Doral golf resort in Miami, Florida. It stands twenty two feet tall and was commissioned at large expense by some of Trump's cryptocurrency buddies.

It appears to depict the immediate aftermath of the alleged assassination  attempt that occurred at a rally in Butler County, Pennsylvania on July 13th 2024. You might remember that event and how Trump appeared to bleed from his right ear. For a few days afterwards,he wore a tampon on that ear but miraculously the bullet left no scar whatsoever,

Traditionally, both here and the USA, statues are almost always commissioned to mark and celebrate the  lives and achievements of great human beings who have made a real impact - benefiting their fellow citizens and their countries.

Obviously, such a statue would normally  be installed in the years following the death of a great one but not so in the case of this statue. Looking back what has Donald Trump done to merit such a visible honour? Personally, I can think of nothing, nothing at all.

There has been too much bluster, too much boasting, too much falsehood. The truth of the matter is that Trump is a dead loss. He talks the talk but does not walk the walk.

It is pretty interesting to watch him falling apart from afar, falling asleep with swollen ankles, getting fatter, losing the plot. If he wasn't The President of the USA, you might pity him because dementia lies ahead for a significant number of elderly citizens. It's not something you would wish upon anybody... apart from one!

Trump acolyte Pastor Mark Burns dedicated the statue at a special unveiling ceremony on May 7th. He said, "This statue is a celebration of life. It is a symbol of resilience, freedom, patriotism, strength, and the willpower to keep fighting for the future of America.”

What utter yukky nonsense! Anybody with eyes should be able to see that Trump is a narcissistic grifting fraud of a president rather like the statue itself. It only appears to be golden but really it is merely covered with superficial gold leaf. The image is fake.

One glorious moment in the future, it will be torn down as surely as night follows day.

Yorkshire

I have just finished reading a 450 page tome about the place where I am from - Yorkshire. Written by Yorkshire exile and journalist,  Rick Broadbent, the title of his work is "Now Then", followed by this strapline: "The story of Yorkshire and its people". 

In Yorkshire it is very common to say to people we meet, "Now then". Sometimes that is short for "Now then, how are you going on?" I have used that greeting all my life but I recognise that in other English-speaking regions of the world and indeed this country, "Now then" will be unfamiliar.

Rick Broadbent was not trying to produce a definitive historical and geographical guide to Yorkshire, he was writing about the county from his point of view - in the full knowledge that it would be biased in several ways and omissions would be glaring.

It is rarely acknowledged that the population of Yorkshire is higher than  Wales and Northern Ireland put together. It is also slightly bigger than the population of Scotland - currently 5,547,000. In spite of its size, Yorkshire folk generally think that we are rather overlooked by the London-based government and media and there's no meaningful devolution here - with very little of the extra funding that Wales, Northern Ireland and Scotland enjoy.

I enjoyed "Now Then" but some sections held me better than others. Rick Broadbent had clearly undertaken a lot of research as the foundation for his writing and he had held worthwhile interviews with a range of living Yorkshire people who have made their mark in the world.

Of course I know my county pretty well and after seventy two years of life and travel and rambling and exploration, there are very few significant places I have not been so it occurred to me - what would I have included that Rick Broadbent overlooked or missed out?

For one thing, there'd be more about Sheffield and I would have interviewed the great Arthur Scargill about The Miners' Strike of 1984/85. Football clubs would have figured more significantly and  I would have made a point of highlighting the fact that modern football was born here in Sheffield.

There would be accounts of visits to Spurn Point, Fountains Abbey, Barnsley and Beverley Minster and I would take readers along The Wolds Way. And Captain James Cook would have a chapter all to himself. And I  would visit Yorkshire pubs and residential homes to talk to old timers, gathering true Yorkshire tales before they are lost. And there'd be more focus upon deprivation and social housing and those who eke out existences when they should be living life to the max.

But of course "Now Then" was not my book, it was Rick Broadbent's and though I have a few reservations about it, I am very glad that he wrote it. At times it was provocative and I liked that. Yorkshire needs champions and it needs debate.

Guest

Do you remember where we walked today? As pre-arranged, we met in the little car park just behind Hathersage Church where we each donned our walking boots. Both of us were a little stand-offish at first. I guess that was inevitable as previously we had only ever met each other here in the blogosphere.

I told you that Charlotte Bronte had once stayed in the vicarage adjacent to the churchyard and then we walked amongst the tombstones until we came to the grave I particularly wanted to show you - the grave of Little John, Robin Hood's trusty lieutenant. You said, "Wow! Is this for real?"

Some major repairs were happening inside the church so we were not allowed in but that didn't matter too much as the sunny afternoon was already ageing and we had four miles to walk before driving back to Sheffield for R&R and a nice evening meal at Pudding Towers.

Lane up the hill from Camp Green

We walked up the lane through Camp Green, the site of a medieval ringwork castle - probably dating back to the eleventh century. Though the narrow road beyond there isn't especially steep, the hill is remorseless. Up, up you go. You said "Oh dear, may we stop for a rest?" And because you were my guest, I assented.

Rather than following the farm track to Carr Head we took the woodland path towards Toothill Farm where assorted cows with calves were meandering. I reassured you that they would not trample us to death. Still rising, we made it to Carr Head Lane which runs more or less flat to The Dale.

Arriving at Carr Head Lane

We could see the southern end of Stanage Edge with Overstones Farm in its lee and I told you that I had photographed it numerous times. I thought you yawned with boredom but you said you were just tired after your long journey to Hathersage.

Overstones Farm and Stanage Edge

"What's that?" you gasped as you spotted Higger Tor way above Callow Farm that was for very many years in ruins but is now pretty much rebuilt to make someone a special Peak District home. And I told you about Iron Age hillforts.

Higger Tor above Callow Farm

We descended to the old footbridge by Mitchell Field Farm before rising up the opposite bank and rambling on through open fields  to Scraperlow Farm. By this time we were relaxed in each other's company and I sung you a song by Donovan Leitch, its title being "Catch The Wind" and you shared two of your deepest secrets with me - things you had never told anyone before. I promised not to tell another soul.

Scraperlow

Through majestic beech trees our path took us by a  silvery stream and down the hill to Sheffield Road. Just a little further, passing "The Scotsman's Pack" and up the steep lane to St Michael's Church and the car park where Butch the Juke was waiting for us.

You said, "I'm completely bushed!"

And I laughed before driving you back to Sheffield for lasagne with salad and a cold glass of sauvignon blanc. With humble apologies, you were early to bed and after you had gone up, Shirley said you were "very nice".  Your dinnertime tales were very amusing.

From this computer keyboard, I can hear you sleeping in our front bedroom right now. Not raucous snoring but deep, contented breathing. Tomorrow we will be out again. It is a toss up between Chatsworth House or a tour of Sheffield city centre. We will see how you feel in the morning.

Another view of Higger Tor with a drystone wall in the foreground

Notes

I am now in  the habit of leaving post-it notes on our front door when I know that Phoebe is coming round. It's about encouraging her to read and maybe have a little unexpected fun too.

She is only five and in her first year at primary school so these are very early days in the growth of her literacy.

A couple of weeks ago, I left this note on our front door.

When Phoebe read it she was a little outraged and said that I wasn't the best. There was a bit of play actig going on too.  Then she grabbed the post-it notes and bustled in to the front room where she picked up a pen and crouched in order to write this:-

If you cannot decipher it immediately, let me help you. It says, "Everybody is the best in my family". It was a kind of protest in defence of her entire family. How could Grandpa on his own be "the best"? That was not right and in her little five year old mind she briefly  felt she was standing up for justice.

I love that note.

By the way, Phoebe is left-handed like her father  and left-handedness does not assist in the acquisition and mastery of writing skills in this right-handed world. However, as you can see - she's very much on the road to literacy.

Rape

“Rape is one of the most terrible crimes on earth and it happens every few minutes. 

The problem with groups who deal with rape is that they try to educate women 

about how to defend themselves. What really needs to be done is teaching

 men not to rape. Go to the source and start there.” - Kurt Cobain

Of course rape is a tricky subject and most male bloggers will sensibly stay clear of it. After all, it would be easy to say the wrong thing, to make a thoughtless blunder and it is surely wise to remember that even here in the blogosphere there are rape victims.

Rape is horrible and the legacy of rape is traumatic and long-lasting. Rape is about the assertion of power and the brutal dismissal of victims' feelings.

May I say straight away that I have never been raped and I never raped anybody. When I was a young man I looked for love and sex was a facet of that search. I wanted women with whom I might find love and if we made it into a bed it was a mutual desire. I recognised that the woman I fancied was a human just like me. I wanted equality, a shared experience - not a power game in which I would be an oppressor. My outlook was not at all unusual. It is how the vast majority of young men view the business of dating and mating.

Once or twice I misread the signs. I thought that the kissing and canoodling was leading to a sexual encounter but when I realised that I was mistaken then I ceased my pursuit and apologised profusely. I never wanted a woman to do something that she did not want to do. Assent was vital.

Rape statistics can be problematic but it seems that in Great Britain 7.5% of adult women have suffered rape or attempted rape. In the USA the figure is surprisingly much higher with almost 20% of all women being the victims of rapists  and that figure also includes attempted rape.

With rape, many victims never come forward to report the crime. After all, most rape happens  with known perpetrators - boyfriends, family members or male friends. Reporting procedures themselves can be very traumatic and the legal system is famously male-biased. Reporting rapes will involve reliving the horror of it all.

In this country over the last few days, news of two particularly disgusting rapes has surfaced. It seems that three teenage assailants in Hampshire planned and executed the rape of two very young women  in separate incidents. They were callous and cruel and they even videoed their attacks, laughing as they encouraged each other.

The judge in  their trial focused almost entirely on rehabilitation. He did not wish to "criminalise" the three boys. They have spent very little time in detention and so of course their  victims feel cheated. The leniency shown at sentencing did little to help the two girls who were attacked, making them feel that the legal system had deprived them of the natural justice they richly deserved.

Even our Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, weighed into the debate that followed sentencing - pressurising the courts to refer this case to  formal judicial review. I have a feeling that the initial leniency will be replaced with significant custodial sentences which are of course wholly merited.

Rhododendrons

In sultry heat, I took a path that climbs relentlessly through Blacka Plantation to Blacka Moor and the Hathersage road. The light was as fabulous as the stunning green foliage and ferns all around me and I had just  heard a cuckoo, somewhere in the woods. Overhead, the sky was as blue as a robin's egg, up there above the canopy.

Though I was climbing at a sensible pace, as I reached the top of the gradient I admitted to myself that I needed a short rest to catch my breath.  There was a large smooth-topped rock in the middle of the path and it was wordlessly inviting me to sit there, so I did.

The cuckoo kept calling with its woodwind sound. Two notes over and over. To me the most reassuring sound of any English summer. Only the male calls "Cuck-oo!" as he declares his willingness to mate. The female has an entirely different call, a trilling sound that is less commonly identified than the plaintive male call.

And as I sat there on my rock, I thought I would never leave. A hover fly hung like a miniature drone in a shaft of sunlight. Two bumble bees flitted about, searching and inspecting tiny flowers as an American grey squirrel fearlessly descended a tree  that I could have reached out and touched but stayed stock still and watched the squirrel as he darted down the stony woodland path.

I felt at one with the scene as, like William Wordsworth perhaps,  I looked "upon that inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude". It was only when I heard the impending approach of a mountain biker that my reverie was halted. I rose from my stone seat and proceeded.

In the top section of Blacka Plantation, the rhododendron bushes are currently blooming. How they ever got there, I have no idea.

The home of nearly all members of the rhododendron family is the Himalayan region in Asia. Until 1763 there were no rhododendrons on this large island here on the eastern perimeter of The Atlantic Ocean.

They were introduced by a certain botanist with the same sort of ignorance that saw cats and rats arriving in New Zealand, rabbits in Australia and European starlings in North America. Why couldn't they just leave well alone? Perhaps we know better now - but I am not so sure.

Rhododendrons are almost as invasive and undesirable as Japanese knotweed. In the nineteenth century they were planted on many country estates and gradually got away, invading moorland, riversides, coastal margins and woods.

Though I am never a fan of invasive species - flora or fauna, I reluctantly admit that rhododendron blooms can be very appealing as I hope my pictures from Blacka  Moor Plantation demonstrate.

Dolls

Thanks to A.I., a new range of lifelike dolls will soon be available via Amazon. Bizarrely, the manufacturers have focused on bloggers. Above you can see the new "Elegant Lady" doll which is closely based on Meike from Ludwigsburg who recently got married to her longtime boyfriend OK. You will be able to have plenty of fun bending Meike's arms and legs and changing her outfits.

The "Captain" figure represents Steve Reed  who fled Trump's America in a small inflatable boat to become a British citizen. Just like Meike, Steve is bendable and he comes with a range of outfits including  redneck "Round House" overalls and a red MAGA cap. Weapons include a miniature AK-47. 

I was hoping that the manufacturers - ACME Dolls Inc. would have made a doll based on me but no such luck. I guess that Yorkshire Pudding dolls would have frightened small children and simply would not sell.

However, it seems that Karl, Tony and I will soon appear in a kids comic strip about three intellectually-challenged football supporters who went to London to watch their team win the Championship Play-off Final trophy:-

People

As well as witnessing a huge football match along with 84,505 other supporters, yesterday was also about people. I spoke with several fellow human beings apart from Tony and Karl with whom I spent the entire day.

1. Middlesbrough fans by Wembley Way

I needed somewhere to eat my Marks and Spencers "meal deal" - a tuna mayo and cucumber sandwich, a little tub of sweet grapes and a bottle of Diet Coca Cola. There was a concrete construction barrier under  a shady tree so I  went over there. Five Middlesbrough fans in their red and white were also hanging out there. Soon I found myself in conversation with them.

Gary was thirty years old. He seemed to know more abut Hull City's squad than I did. He was married with five children below that age of seven. He told me that he was a season ticket holder but had managed to see only a few matches this past season.

I asked why and he said, "Family commitments". He confided that  his sixty two year old father is dying from cancer. There were tears in his eyes.

Another fan in the group spoke about his prostate cancer and the treatment that had left him with, "Erectile dysfunction", admitting his frustration about no being able to have sex with his wife.  It was more information than I wanted to hear.

2. Lewis the London Tigers fan

After the game and the inevitable wild celebrations, the sea of amber and black Hull City supporters edged slowly to Wembley Park tube station. On the Metropolitan line platform, I met a London-based, East Yorkshire exile called  Lewis. That name was printed on the back of his Hull City team shirt. He was my age and knew the underground system like the back of his hand. 

We boarded a train to Baker Street where he kindly helped us to move seamlessly to the Hammersmith and District Line for a connecting train back to St Pancras. He was a man I would happily have been pals with for the rest of my life but when we split it was forever.

3. Helen and Dan on the train home

The 20.35 train back to Sheffield was cancelled like the 20.02 train before it. We climbed aboard the 21.02 train and it was as crowded as hell. We could not find a seat. I was grumbling like a bumble bee in a glass when we made it to the little storage vestibule just behind the driver's cab. There a young couple were squeezed upon the guard's drop-down bench.

The young man looked up at us and said, "Do you want our seat?"

I replied with surprised thanks, adding discreetly that a member of my little team had a "medical condition". Their kind and selfless act  meant that Karl had somewhere to sit on the two hour journey home. His face was looking like uncooked pastry with beads of cold sweat.

Before the couple disembarked at Chesterfield,  I shook their hands and made them chuckle when I said I  would nominate them for a "Pride of Britain" award, insisting that not many people would have done what they had done. They had been down to the capital to see a matinee performance of the stage musical, "Titanic". 

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There were others too. The three birthday women who sat opposite us on the way down. The Coventry City supporter who boarded the train home at Derby. He studied Geography and Transport at The University of Leeds. The young British Asian mother with her two children on the steel benches near the Sheffield platform at St Pancras and the tattooed young man with long ear lobes I met in "The Sheaf Island" pub as I walked home before midnight from Sheffield Midland station.

"You'll get relegated next season," he claimed.

But I did not give a damn for we had won the match on a truly magical day when the sun shone and all was well with the world. I felt entirely alive.

"City till I die!  I'm City till I die! I know I am, I'm sure I am. I'm City till I die!"

McBurnie!

Just back from London! What a day! A poacher's goal from Oli McBurnie and we are back in The Premier League. The stuff of dreams...

Hull City 1 Middlesbrough 0

News

Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

Cheerio, here I go on my way

Your correspondent will be London-bound in the morning. Not to see our Ian and Zach but to visit the national football stadium at Wembley. There, my team - Hull City will be playing another Yorkshire club - Middlesbrough - in The Championship play-off final. The prize will be a place in The English Premier League.

I just hope that our lads put up a good fight. If we lose - so be it. May the best team win.

Hull City have been in two previous play-off finals - 2008 and 2016. We won them both - first against Bristol City and then Sheffield Wednesday. I attended both matches and blogged about them here and here.

My best mate, Tony, will be with me all the way along with another Tigers supporter - Karl from Rotherham. Tragically, he is fighting the demon they call Cancer so this big match is extra special for him. It is good that Tony and I will be with him because he is on heavy duty medication as you can imagine. Let us hope that City win it for him.

Normally I never dress in club colours but tomorrow I will be getting out the same team shirt that I wore in 2008 and 2016 as I join the black and amber army. "COME ON YOU 'ULL!"

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In other Yorkshire Pudding news, your faithful correspondent walked out of the house this warm day in late May and walked and walked in a four mile loop that took in Ecclesall Woods, Dobcroft Road, Millhouses Park, London Road and Ecclesall Road. It was all about exercise but you never know what you might see along the way:

Messing

Blogger David Godfrey in his dream car

I have been doing a bit of messing about with AI- produced imagery courtesy of Microsoft Image Creator. You load up a  photo of your own and the AI machinery does the rest in the twinkling of an eye. It's all quite amazing really and to think that AI is still  very much in its infancy. The possibilities are surely boundless.

If you think you might get a kick out of making your own AI images , go here. This is the facility that I have been using though I am sure there are other pathways into creating AI images.

This was our little Margot on World Book Day...

And here's the AI version with Margot as a toy figure:-

Here's my new friend Richard Hines:-

And here are two AI takes on him:-

This was me and Phoebe on the occasion of my seventieth birthday:-

And here we are as a pencil drawing:-

This is my wife, Shirley as a fire fighter

And finally, this was the three grandchildren last weekend. You might remember the photo that spawned this simple AI image:-

Oh yes blogmates, you can have hours of fun making images with the help of AI. Please don't ask me why - it's just fun.

Things

The end of my mother's life came in a residential home for the elderly in Beverley, East Yorkshire. She lived there for two years as her savings dwindled away to pay for her accommodation.

It was quite a nice residential home. She had her own first floor room and the staff - who mainly came from Bulgaria and The Philippines - were great. For some odd reason, Mum imagined that they all came from Kosovo.

If you are interested,  I blogged about the end of my dear Mum's life here and here and here. She was eighty six years old when she died. I still think of her as a warrior. She taught me so much that I would not know where to start. 

In the old folks' home, they sometimes sold off, at bargain basement prices,  the left behind belongings of those residents who had shuffled off their mortal coils. It was at one of those sales that Mum bought a "Winnie the Pooh" glass. Typically, it was an act of kindness. She wanted our daughter to have it as a gift. Trapped in an old people's home - what else could she buy?

Frances was on the verge of leaving home to begin her student days at The University of Birmingham and didn't want to take a used Pooh glass with her so it stayed here in the family home.

It has been upstairs on our bathroom window sill for nineteen years now and hardly a night goes by without me drinking a few gulps of water from it. And I swear that every time I do that, I think fondly of my mother. It has become a constant reminder of her existence. Once she was here.

Mum with Ian and Frances on the East Yorkshire coast in 1990

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And here's another "thing" that has been in our house for a long time, sitting in the spice cupboard. I bought this green and white tub in Britanny, France in 1998. It is  "Sel de Guérande" or salt from the salt marshes of the Guérande peninsula in Britanny . The words at the top read, "Sel Marin Moulu Aux Aromates" which means "Ground Sea Salt With Herbs".

The sell by date on the tub is "31/12/2002" but it was only last week when the contents of the tub completely ran out. I only ever used it to season boiled eggs and even then I used it quite sparingly. So yes - it took twenty eight years to disappear.

Boiled eggs with ground pepper and salt is not quite the same - as I discovered yesterday morning. Consequently, one of my most immediate goals in life is to somehow acquire myself a replacement tub. In Britanny, the producers are still trading though the tub designs have been upgraded. If the worst comes to the worse I will ask my ex-pat brother Robin to source some "Sel Marin Moulu Aux Aromates" for me.

How can I live without it?

Quiztime

Hello quizzers! And welcome to another fantastic episode of "Quiztime" with your genial host Quizzy McQuizface! And the theme this time is...(drum roll) creatures of the deep - partly in honour of Sir David Attenborough who turned 100 years old on May 8th. That special man has done so much in his lifetime to encourage humans to cherish and protect the other creatures that share this planet with us and that includes the creatures of the deep. Answers will be given in the comments section as per usual. Good luck!

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1. The image below shows a whale but what kind of whale is it?

(a) a common minke (b) a Sowerby's beaked whale

(c) a beluga (d) a narwhal

2) This tropical reef-dwelling fish is widely considered to be the most colourful fish in the world but can you name it?

(a) Mandarinfish (b) Gaudyfish

(c) Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat Fish (d) Quietly Understated Fish

3) Washed up on a beach near Cape Town, South Africa four years ago but what is it?

(a) a giant shrimp (b) the stomach of a blue whale

(c) a giant squid (d) a giant jellyfish

4) This a less well-known shark resting on a sandy bottom but can you guess what it is?

(a) a cabbage shark (b) a lemon shark

(c) a strawberry shark (d) a blackberry shark

5) As far as we know, how many species of sea urchin may be found in the seas and oceans of the world?

(a) 9 (b) 95  (c) 950 (d) 9,500

6) What kind of sea creature is this?

(a) a sea centipede (b) a sea turd

(c) a sea sausage (d) a sea cucumber

7) Where in the oceans of the world are all freshwater  eels born?

(a) The Sargasso Sea (b) The Sea of Marmaris

(c) The Scotia Sea (d) The Sea of Japan 

8) What kind of sea turtle is this?

(a) a hammerhead turtle (b) a loggerhead turtle

(c) a sleepyhead turtle (d) a bullethead turtle

9) Which country catches the most fish from our oceans and seas?

(a) Japan (b) USA

(c) China (d) Russia

10) This is one of the rarest creatures in the oceans of our world. Though huge it has only been spotted a few times and photographed even less but what is it?

(a) Pink Incandescent Jellyfish (b) Bulbous Monster Jellyfish

(c) The Attenborough Jellyfish (d) Giant Phantom Jellyfish

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That's all seafarers! How did you do?