MCAS

...that 'necessary' process when osteoarthritis has been declared.

Musculoskeletal Assessment ''Service'' which in old 'money' is physiotherapy.

Begins with GP referral which is both frustrating and laughable.

Form duly completed by me at the surgery and left for processing. Feb. 3rd

Nothing heard from MCAS until Feb. 28th

Letter informing / instructing me to phone up and make appt.

Then all went pear-shaped.

Person on other end said I'd been taken off the referral list because I had not replied within the fortnight!

Obviously MCAS have a different time-zone.

Letter dated 22nd Feb. received 28th Feb, post-marked 27th Feb - go figure! 

Eventually after much argy-bargy I was given an appt April 10th which turned out to be 45 mins of 'grilling' going thro' a long drawn-out form on computer. Followed by another appt. on April 24th. The later was more ridiculous...trying to get someone the osteoarthritis to do moves as tho' there is no deformity of the hip and no pain. 

Then she added insult to injury by talking thro' recommended exercises and providing me with booklets even tho' I already had downloaded them. Make another appt. for three weeks time? I offered to bow out, but she was insistent.

I am far from sanguine about the outcome...

It's history

When a conversation turns into an impromptu history lesson.

Chatting earlier today we both went back down memory lane with Andy who must be only late 20s at the most. We were talking car registrations, it being that time of year when the new 17 plates come out. 

Both of use could remember our first car reg but nothing much after that. Mine was BFM which a friend suggested stood for Bl**dy fine motor. Fine it was not, but I learnt to drive with it and happily drove in the opposite direction to most of the rush hour traffic that was stop-go into the city as I drove out.

This led eventually to my Marina, not so much as vehicle but welding practice. With a rotten floor that we replaced with pieces of dexion shelving welded into place. A front wing that ended up more 'cocky' as in body-filler than metal. Then I remembered the Marina had drum breaks. we checked them by removal, placing in a large pan on the stove and heating to reveal any cracks.  

Safer modern vehicles have disc brakes all round.

I was hankering after another Yaris until I found out that it still has drum breaks on the back. Also as himself remarked he'd feel happier with more metal to the 'box'.

going against the grain

Mothering Sunday has nothing whatsoever to do with the saccharine Hallmark fest.

Nauseating is the word of choice.

True my long-time friend of more than half a century is and has been a terrific mother. Something that seemed to come to her naturally.

But Sunday as in Mothering Sunday has always been in praise of the Mother Church! Nothing whatsoever to do with sprogging and coping with dirty nappies, feeding one end of the digestive tract and cleaning up the other.

There, I've said it, I've acknowledged the elephant in the room.

To indulge in a mothering one has to have had a baked apple pie caring, hugging and in all ways delightful mother.

There are those whose mothers were just the opposite. Cleaning the house maniacally and thereby making everyone uncomfortable. Two-faced liars putting up a front of congeniality for the rest of the world whilst making family life uncomfortable and threatening. Throwing treasured items away or disposing of them at a whim. Ruining meals and insisting they be eaten. An endless list...

St. Paddy's Day

I'm lucky to have made several journeys to the Emerald Isle as in to Dublin the capital. Suddenly, I had an invite to fill in on an already booked trip. Naturally I agreed. That's how I came to fly to Dublin on the evening of the 14th March and return on the evening of the 18th. Not only did I spend time in Dublin, I also went to another Saw Doctors concert at the Olympia. The last time I saw then was at the same venue.

Usually the hotel of choice is the Beresford, formerly the Isaacs near Garda central and the Busaras. Travel from Dublin airport into the city has been altered by the new tunnel which means entering the city along the banks of the River Liffey.

This time with it being close to Paddy's Day hotel accommodation was at a premium. The Beresford being already fully booked we found ourselves residing in Wynn's Hotel circa 1921. fantastic hotel redolent with history.
"Wynn's Hotel is steeped in History - built in 1845, bombed during the 1916 rising and rebuilt in 1921 using mass concrete, the only building in Dublin to do so at this time."

Wow what a difference, with a concierge at the entrance and service par excellence. No idea of the cost as it had already been booked for someone else who was not able to go.

Favourite hostelries
Madigans - Abbey St. across from the hotel
Robert Reade
Flannigans

Not forgetting the Luas (tram) which knocks all others into the proverbial cocked hat. Bought a 7-day pass so we had freedom to use the Luas whenever necessary. Bonus being it stopped near the hotel. 

signs of the times

I seem to have become  a 'frequent flyer' at the GP surgery.

Things began to go haywire towards the end of 2014 when I found myself in hospital recovering from a major op. Since then 'himself' has spent time in hospital twice once in 2015 and again in 2016. Now he's had two replacement ops, one knee and one hip.

For some few years I've been rather creaky and put it all down to tempus fugit. Whilst I was doing Tai Chi regularly twice a week until my op the creaks were kept at bay. It took months of recovery after the op before I could begin Tai Chi again. Then disaster struck in June 2016 the Friday class ended. This left the group at a loss how to continue and we ended up joining in with another group. Theoretically Tai Chi but bore no resemblance to the real thing. For a while I got himself to take me to Lymm. But that's such an awkward place to park that I gave up.

Now I have a hankering to return to Lymm for proper Tai Chi to keep the aches and pains at bay. Himself asked if I could D.I.Y. the Tai Chi on my own but I really want to go back to having proper tuition. I'm certain it will help.

This year I've had an x-ray of my hips - Result - right hip is within normal parameters but the left shows signs of osteoarthritis. 

Now there's a tale to tell...

In Feb. the G.P. referred me to MCAS the musculoskeletal assessment service. What a hoot! I waited and waited and weeks went by.

28th Feb. the post brought a letter from MCAS.
Written Feb. 22nd
Posted Feb. 27th - Stamped by postal service 27th Feb.
Received Feb. 28th

Here comes the funny-business...

I phoned MCAS to make appt. as requested by the letter just received.

But...after holding the line for some 15-20 mins I was told (much to my surprise) that...
I had been crossed off for not replying with the fortnight.

With apols to Flanders and Swann

"Oh, it all makes work for the working man to do."

Back in September 2016 there was the indoor flood as the old lead pipe rising main gave way.

19th September aka 'give a little man a job'.

It would appear we have been labouring under the misapprehension that we have a water meter and that it was fitted last September.

According to the billing section of United Utilities the water rates charges have been based on rateable value as we have no meter. Of course the letter arrives with the Saturday post so nothing can be done before Monday. 

Big companies must waste far too much money sending out computer generated formulaic documents. 
Some property requires a water meter?
Send out letter informing of site inspection visit...
Send forth little man to conduct the inspection...
G.A.L.M.A.J. 'give a little man a job'.
Hopefully little man returns to an office with the information...
G.A.L.M.A.J. 'give a little man a job'.
Send team of little men to install meter?
G.A.L.M.A.J. 'give a little man a job'.
That's what was assumed to have taken place nearly six months ago....

Hence my reference to Flanders and Swann

Next there's yet another 'we will send out someone to perform the inspection'.

Phone-call again to UU and reassurance (eventually) that the visit is to fit a meter.

Wouldn't it be fun to find a meter already in place and staring at them when the lid is lifted!

and with apols to the late great Sir Terry Pratchett -

UU would stand for the

Unseen University

wouldn't it?

To everything change...

There's a backwater in the furthest stretch of Cornwall that's made its way into news media. Over the years Pendeen remained the quietest of quiet backwaters undiscovered by many until Winston Graham's 'Poldark' series was made anew for the small screen. Its 1st on-screen incarnation was before the days of mass media. 'Poldark' was a quaint series starring Angarhed Rees (1944-2012) as 'Demelza' and Robin Ellis as 'Poldark'. In the 1970s that was one of my favourite TV series to watch.

Moving on to the 21st century and another airing this time a much more modern version, more of its time and less truthful to the original books, So what? on might ask. Isn't it good to update series? For what it is worth I have no problem with the various incarnations of the story.

The problem lies with a body that likes to portray itself as conservationist and all-round do-gooder.

They have noticed an influx of visitors travelling along the Cornish coast to view locations made famous by the recent TV series.

Rubbing their hands with glee; they have set up machines to collect money from sight-seers.

This has annoyed and upset local people of the Penzance - St. Just area. They are incensed at the insensitivity of the large organisation...and quite rightly so. 

Contrary to the stated 'coastal management' scheme mooted by that organisation...this wild coast does not require 'management' nor interference from them 'Up country'. 

According to media reports, the first toll machine at Levant was soon uprooted and destroyed. Vehement protests have been made by locals at the lack of respect for the area shown by the organisation demanding charges. 

It is a former mining area and family ties run deep. Everyone knows everyone else in the locality. Upset one and you upset all. Historical events are alive for the local folk. They still remember the Levant Mining Disaster as tho' it were yesterday.

Last of the group of friends

SEDGEMAN Jimmy On Monday 16th January 2017, suddenly at Treliske Hospital, William James (Jimmy) aged 80 years of Pendeen.

An 80-year-old man has died after his car was involved in a crash with a parked car in Pendeen this week.

Emergency services were scrambled to Boscaswell Terrace at 8.55 am on Monday after a silver Ford Fiesta collided with a parked car - a purple BMW - but police have only just released the details.

At the time of the collision the 80-year-old local man who was driving the Ford was taken to hospital with what was thought to be a minor head injury.

However, a spokesman for Devon and Cornwall Police has since confirmed that the man has died.

Kel phoned several times this week with news of Jimmy. The local grapevine insisted Jimmy died at the scene, but the local newspaper says otherwise.

Geevor mine where Jimmy worked closed years ago. The group of friends had known each other from schooldays. Most if not all spent their lives in the village of Pendeen on Boscaswell estate.
True Cornishmen with strong Cornish accents. It took time to tune in to what they said. Women of any age were always (allus) addressed as 'maid'. Men were allus 'pard'. At the weekend they spent time in Penzance, wandering along the Promenade, 'aving a bit of a natter. Then they went on their routine pub crawl. They drank and smoked heavily. Often opinionated, some had hearts of gold. They could always be counted upon to 'set the world to rights'.
Theirs was the generation that went down the mine on leaving school and spent their working lives down there.
If the mine had continued, the next generation would have followed in their footsteps.

History repeating

The older I get, the more noticeable it becomes as events clash with one another. 

December is already marred as there was the anniversary of a funeral on the 18th. 

January is forever marred by the events of 1984. What an appropriate year you might say with the Orwellian story '1984'.

33 years ago, but it feels much fresher in my memory. But, it isn't every day you lose someone that was of great importance to you. Or that their sudden demise coincided with your dear friend's birthday. The events of January 1984 resound across the years. At least nowadays I no longer sink so rapidly into the depths of despondency. 

This is were social media raises its ugly head. There folk post poignant remembrances which at this time of year tend to hit a nerve.

Putting on my tech awareness 'hat', it makes me uneasy to read how much really personal information folk share so openly and so carelessly on-line. Less is more as in asking those folk to omit personal data, leave it stored safely in that most human of memory-banks - your brain.

Curious

Borrowed from a post by an on-line friend.

Granted I have a soft spot for all things owl in many forms. Apparently this image is of a plaque on a building in Cambridge.

Two dates might be someone's life from 1851-1934.

The owl clutches a scroll in its' claw - often a sign of learning, accomplishment sometimes a degree. It's perched on a mortar bowl with accompanying pestle. Then there's the 'ribbon' with necessary Latin tag-line.

Curious...hoping it'll be made clear eventually.

Spoilt rotten

Yesterday evening MJM went for a celebratory Chinese meal in Woolton. There's a restaurant on the High Street that's been run by the same family for many years.

My neighbours had decided we had a good reason to celebrate as according to them, I've now joined the Silver Threads like them.

They'd planned the meal. Over the years we've refined our menu choices and opt for the Early Bird menu. Mavis is on a restricted diet, yet allows herself a few what she calls 'naughties' when dining out. We used to have duck with pancakes etc. but Marilyn had decided it was not for her. We'd taken to having dry spare ribs instead as none of us like the sauce that usually accompanies the ribs. 

When they chose the banquet including duck, I queried it and ingenuous as ever, Mavis said she and I like it and we'd order spare ribs for Marilyn.

The meal progressed, the staff know Mavis well as she goes there fairly regularly with different sets of friends. 

We began with chicken and mushroom soup. Nothing unusual you may think, apart from it not being on the menu. None of us drink alcohol with the meal so they lalways provide a jug of iced water (without charge).

Next, we each choose a different dish that we like. Typically, Marilyn hardly touched hers and asked for a 'doggy bag'. That way she has her Chinese meal at home the next day.

As I was looking in my handbag to pay my portion of the bill, Mavis dropped the 'bombshell'. They were paying the bill for me! 

How lovely to have such thoughtful, caring friends.

Thrice

For three years - Nov. 2014 to Nov. 2016 inclusive we've coped with me being hospitalized (2014) and him 2015 and 2016. At least his came under the heading of elective surgery; for mine there was no option. Nov. 2016 marked the passing of two years since my op. Officially, it has mended as well as it's going to be. I've adjusted as the saying goes. Here's hoping that neither of us have to cope with ops and nursing for the foreseeable future.

Christmas has been and gone but, it has left behind some unknowns. The card list has omissions, something unheard of in previous years. There's an underlying niggle - might some be lost in the post? Wondering if some folk refrained from sending cards this year or might one particular person no longer be with us.

On a positive note, MJM neighbours three have birthdays in Nov. Dec. and Jan. Knowing how eateries struggle to cope in Nov. and Dec. we sometimes celebrate out birthdays all together by going for a Chinese meal at our favourite place. Something to look forward to in the near future.

Wolcum Yole

Benjamin Britten 'A Ceremony of Carols' is the essence of Christmas. 

Doing the last bit of shopping this morning, I was struck by the frenetic trolley stuffing of those that just had to buy more and more. I had a few odds and ends in mine, but I saw tandem shoppers, those that had a trolley each rushing round to fill both. Then there was the bloke behind me at the checkout whose trolley was all alcoholic beverages.

Social media is stuffed with images of Christmas trees of all shapes, sizes and decorations. It's also the place for folk to dwell on those no longer around, anniversaries of deaths and funerals.

November to January deaths seem more telling. Now my Christmas card list contains more crossings out again this year. 10th Dec. 2006 Pol died and her funeral was on the 18th Dec. For ever more those dates have those memories. November is when several long-time OUers departed this life. My former colleague always has a difficult time at Christmas because her husband died on Christmas Eve. 

My personal loss was January 1984, a month that rocked my life permanently off its even keel.

Advert slots are for perfumes and gifts, with twee saccharine versions of Christmas. 

My neighbour calls it grumble time, quite rightly. She always wants to be left be from Christmas Eve to after New Year. Yet, 3 different sets of people 'want her' for Christmas. The run up is marked by Jan & Ron squabbling over what to eat. Carol and Dave too squabble and make timetable changes depending on who of their family wants to do what. Paul & Ann think neighbour ought not to be alone and vie to get her to be with them.

News Alert!
There are those that do not mind Not joining in with the Revelry. Especially those like my neighbour who for health reasons has a very restricted diet. She's happy in her own company, knowing the her neighbours are nearby just in case. 

Christmas can be a time of ill-tempered and totally selfish behaviour. In the run up so many folk a stressed out trying to achieve the unattainable. 

Then there's the myth of childhood Christmases past. 

The highlights of my Christmases were walking to church and taking part in various services. Only to return home to find 'armed neutrality' and a feeling of 'stepping on eggshells'. No details. Except for the time we saved Christmas by rescuing the food and heaving a sigh of relief because mother stormed out. (Not an unusual occurrence).

Ending on a happier note...
There were the times when as part of a choir, I sang at performances of
Benjamin Britten - 'A Ceremony of Carols' and Handel's 'Messiah'.

for what it is worth

December sucks good style...
Far too many posts pretending bonhomie. 

December 10th happens to be the birthday of my neighbour and the brother of my long-time best friend's husband.

Another anniversary is not as welcome as it's 10 years since my friend's mother gave up the ghost. Making December 18th a decade since Mrs H's funeral. It was a grey day and I headed north to meet up. The part I remember most clearly was by the graveside and the memory haunts me still.

You know someone is your long-term friend when both of you attended your respective parents' funerals.

Being there for the significant events in other's lives is a sign of long-term friendship.

So whilst those that have 'n' number of folk to share the celebrations; others have almost nil, nada. 

My memory cherishes the time when I spent part of December in a small Derbyshire village; accompanying Auntie Doris to St. Matthew's Carol Service.

Now Christmas is tarnished yet again...

A brief comment to the effect that Fred might be suffering from dementia.

Fred a rock upon which almost 50 years has stood.

The guy that has always been so ebullient, so full of life writ large...now brought low.

He achieved so much...Ribblesdale Secondary Modern basically let him use his practical skills and that was all.
ICI taught him and employed him as Apprentice Welder; only to dismiss him once he qualified.
Next, he went to Israel on VSO Voluntary Service Overseas; returning as a shadow of his former self (welding in those relentless temperatures).

Then there was a curate's wife who encouraged him to try nursing (mental health). He worked and accrued qualifications at Calderstones. There he used his compassion and his talent for everything artistic.

Next, he raised funds and helped a boy with cystic fibrosis.

Then he bought and refitted a coach to take disadvantaged youngsters on short breaks.

The next venture was to buy and remodel an old cottage. At the time I was at college only returning home for holidays. A must do was to spend time with Fred. He happily showed off the cottage and how homely he'd made it. That was when he rediscovered education along with literacy and numeracy skills.

An old 4 or 5 storey warehouse across the road was his next ambitious target. I remember visiting when he'd discovered an old well there. One side of the building was open to the elements. He'd taken it all back to the original stone walls. Access was only by stepladder as he'd taken it all back to scratch.

Another lasting memory is the house warming party. He'd created a 'granny' apartment using the first floor for his elderly parents.

To think that everything knowledge-wise that was Fred is being eaten away is soul-destroying. 

Tempus fugit

It's definitely an age thing. This inevitable growing older has knock-on effects.

Why post?

I suppose it's that time of year, coupled with people's birthday's in October - one person turned 65 and the other 31. 

65 another milestone year, especially when you worked out many years ago that in the family the ages for dying appear to be 34 or 73. You then notice 73 on the horizon even tho' it's still a few years away.

Next, your nearest and dearest have suddenly turned over seventy. The news keeps on showing (with monotonous regularity) those famous names you grew up with that are now no more.

All too suddenly, there are far fewer people around and you seem to know more that have passed on than still exist. Add on to it the fact that your best friend has announced that she's planned her funeral...

The next train of thought reminds me that December is a month of anniversaries. Happily a neighbour's birthday is on the 10th.

Unfortunately along comes the memory of a funeral one week before Christmas and that a long-time friend dislikes Christmas time as her husband died on Christmas Eve.

No matter how long ago, the losses continue to resonate.

Assheton, Derby, Delacy, Lumb and llewellyn

Assheton and the village of Downham
Derby, as in Lord Derby
Delacy as in the Lords of the Manor of the Honor of Clitheroe

Three 'houses' named after various Lords and the other two, 
Lumb and Llewellyn past headmistresses. 

The Assheton family have controlled the villages of Downham and Twiston since 1558.
Visitors to the picturesque village of Downham will look in vain for telephone poles and lines. Yes, the village was connected to the telephone system; but the then Lord Assheton did not want the landscape marred. Similarly, there are no TV aerials, satellite dishes, road markings, nor indeed a village name post. A village stuck to all intents and purposes in the 1950s. The Manor house, is home to the Assheton family and the village dwellings are all rented from the Asshetons. 

Derby - Lord Derby

The Stanleys were Earls of Derby
They had connection with Clitheroe and with William Shakespeare.
'Prescott Playhouse' was the only purpose built theatre in England apart from Shakespeare's 'Globe'.

De Lacy sometimes written Delacy
De Lacy Street leads off Castle View, Clitheroe and was originally a steep, cobbled street of terraced houses, with one gas lamp half-way up on the side with most houses.
The De Lacy family were Lords of the Manor of the Honor of Clitheroe.

Lumb
Miss Lumb former headmistress

Similarly
Llewellyn 

Excursion

Last Saturday, I found myself catching the 8.10 train to Manchester. Ahead of me lay several hours in the Mary Seacole building of Salford Uni. 

First, I needed to go to Manchester Oxford Road station to get a connecting train to Salford. I chose to travel from Hough Green Station, because it has only 2 platforms - up to Manchester and down to Liverpool. Similarly, Oxford Rd. has 5 platforms with no. 5 being a terminus and the line to Liverpool. When suffering from anxiety, the fewer decisions, the easier it becomes to travel.

Travel by car was a no-no as it would mean rush hour traffic. Queues to get to Manchester begin miles away e.g. junction 10 Winwick on the M62. You start queuing west of Warrington to get to Manchester. Previously, I've looked across from the train to see the queues.

I detrained at Oxford Rd. and the 'fun' began. Cutting a long story short, I struggled up 20+ stairs and down another 20+ stairs platform 5 to platform 1. Up 20+ stairs and down 20+ stairs platform 2 to platform 5, before finding a member of staff to make my inquiry. Finally up 20+ stairs and down 20+ stairs back to platform 2 for 'my' train. 

A couple of stops later, Salford Crescent station. At least there was a large hording that said. 'SALFORD UNIVERSITY' but nothing about the various buildings. Fortunately another person was heading to the same venue and eventually 3 of us made our way to the right building.

Next trial was to find the right room. Using the lift to the first floor and then the trek around that circular floor began. Good thing I'd built in leeway time to my planning. Half an hour and numerous wrong rooms later I found 'my' room. Another lady had similar difficulty and arrives after me.

What I could not understand was none of the tutors nor the caretaking staff made any effort to label the rooms. 

Anxiety took over and led to tears of frustration.

If anyone is wondering about the image - Hayfield - some of the tutorial stuff was taken from biased accounts of events in 1932.

The more qualified the tutor, the more impractical the person

At present I'm a student with the Open University. Over the decades they have built up a good reputation. Sadly the 'organisation' is now an omnishambles (what a lovely word). An alternative would be the American expression fubar which involves swear words. Suffice it to say, the OU has become effed-up beyond all recognition.

For many years I've been interested in accessibility of educational materials. Even in the 1970s we learnt how to make displays of educational materials. They had to be eye-catching yet legible and clear to read. Jump forward to now and to my mind the same should apply to on-line materials which in truth are easier to construct and to produce.

Imagine the frustration when having succeeded in joining an on-line tutorial it descends in to death by PowerPoint. I complained as the slides were difficult to read. Then, today the same tutor chose

Adding insult to injury, the screen was crammed with small print in black / navy-blue.

Then there were info sheets taken from a book as in clipped using the original tiny font.  Typically, I'd spent time yesterday making properly accessible copies for myself. It grieved me to see others struggling with the tutor's version.

Confusion...delving into the past

In conversation the other day himself & I were wondering about life a few hundred years ago and the far S.W. of Cornwall in particular.

Although it's now several years since we went there, one particular friend keeps us informed of the day-to-day goings on in and around St. Just (the one near Penzance). The area might be familiar to viewers of Poldark whichever series. Series one in particular was filmed partly around Botallack and Boscaswell (Pendeen).

One of the charming things about Cornwall is place names - Tre, Pol & Pen.

'By Tre, Pol and Pen shall ye know Cornishmen'. Indeed it takes quite a while to get to grips with some of the pronunciations. Men are often addressed as 'pard' and women of whatever age 'maid'.

Looking into family history for our Cornish friend, one soon finds that the biggest on-line archive well-known for wanting £££s has a cavalier attitude to spelling.
Not only spelling but also geography. It's most annoying when they lump together - Dorset, Devon, Cornwall and the Scilly Isles.

Cornish place names not only frequently begin with Tre, Pol or Pen but they are often named after Saints. St. Piran patron saint of Cornwall is remembered in place names. In Cornish he's known as St. Peran, Sen Peran.
Perranporth - St. Piran's port.
Perranarworthal - what a lovely place name!

What a taradiddle

is a highly implausible story; often told as an excuse...

There are so many, it's difficult to choose. Media reports no matter where they stem from, all now seem fatuous  Whether it's across the pond, or across the Channel nothing rings true. In fact I'm tempted to abide by Simon and Garfunkel's motto - I get all the news I want in the weather reports.

The more I hear, read or watch of the on-going circus across the pond; the less I understand. Social media is cram-jam full of media reports, and last night's 'debate' was followed blow by blow on one of our premier broadcasting networks. From time to time I've heard snippets of interviews. Various folk attempting plausible deniability in all shapes and forms. One poor deluded soul opined that by voting for a billionaire, some of that largess would come their way. Crass, insensitive and frankly obnoxious views / opinions broadcast by a billionaire are swept under the political carpet. Similar words expressed over here would doubtless be seized on avidly by the Crown Prosecution Service.

Having had a look see, I'm wiser in some of the differences in 'freedom of speech'.
Our neighbours across the pond have a different idea to those in good old Blighty.

In the UK originally, as in the Magna Carta of 1215 - the freedom of expression was permitted as long as the law did not prevent it.


Then there's the aftermath from the 3rd week in June. 
Speculation is rife verbal and investment-wise. It is selling newspapers, providing fillings for column centimetres. Social media is awash with 'impassioned' verbiage. Carping and criticising, bemoaning and making spurious allegations turning individuals and groups of people against each other. 
The bitter irony being that the individual whose much vaunted 'promises' at party conferences and scribed in his manifesto started the rot. He preened, strutted and pontificated on and from the political stage...before lighting his promised touchpaper. Only to slink off and wash his hands of the consequences. Now society is riven; the media are fuelling dissent and fanning the flames of confrontation.