Pane Relief

The appearance of a broken house window that be clearly seen from the street does not give the best impression of the resident and no doubt this also detracts from the wider neighbourhood.

In this case the tenant, I shall refer to him as John in order to preserve his dignity, had caused the unsightly damage in perhaps the most freakish combination of events.

The back story goes something like this.

It had been a long held ambition of John to replace his ageing television.

In the market place where the emphasis in televisual entertainment is based on the slimness and functionality of the appliance you could say that John's existing TV was a bit of a dinosaur.

It had at one time, perhaps even for just a few weeks given the rapid progress of engineering and product design, been the top of the range, a desirable piece of kit and prestigious item of furniture to grace the best of living rooms in the country.

The fact that it took John and three of his mates to remove the TV set and man-handle it up the stairs to its resting place in the back bedroom was a bit of a giveaway as to its bulk and obsolescence.

A couple of repair men had been summoned to see if it was capable of restoration but the unanimous verdict had been that it was beyond economic tinkering.

John was disappointed at the prospect of losing what had been a constant companion to him in his leisure time but also excited in anticipation of getting a replacement.

Cost, however, was an issue as his circumstances were a bit difficult at present what with a prolonged period of absence for work through sickness and a tight domestic budget where rent and food took overall priority.

He made for the High Street and one of the increasing number of retail outlets that offer easy payment terms and for a wide range of goods already discounted as they had been offered by and bought from those needing to raise cash.

John was drawn to a large plasma screen television which was being sold for around one tenth of its original list price. Yes, it may have been superseded by newer models with more features and better connectivity but it ticked all the boxes as far as John's entertainment needs were concerned.

It must have taken the use of a delivery service, taxi hire or a favour from a friend to get the massive TV back to his rented house after affordable weekly terms had been agreed over the counter.

I had to walk sideways through the doorway from the hallway into the front room such was the intrusive bulk of the plasma set. It was stood on a low wooden cabinet and completely filled the recess of the window bay. Just behind it was the cardboard packing and polythene layering of the broken glazing pane.

John, a conscientious tenant, explained how the accident had occurred.

He had been stood, just before Christmas, in front of the TV admiring the quality of the picture when he had felt a sneeze coming on. The violence of it took him by surprise and not yet being accustomed to the much scaled up presence of his new bit of electronic equipment he felt safe to let nature take its course after the initial irritation in his nasal passages. What would have been safe practice in the vicinity of his smaller old Telly had now put him in harms way.

The forward motion of his head in sneezing brought the bridge of his nose in contact with the outer corner of the plasma set.

This had the knock on effect of destabilising the long, slim and upright object which wobbled a bit on its base and then fell backwards with an inevitable impact with the glass in the window.

For his pains John showed me a scar at the point of contact and also a large dint in the metal boxing of the TV.

Physical suffering aside he was mightily relieved that the new acquisition had not been damaged.

On the plus side of the strange affair the Landlord had found further faults in  the larger timber window frame and had decided to fit a brand new double glazing unit and that was to be fitted a few days after my visit.

A bit of a win-dow-win situation you could say..

Money in the Bank

I thought that I was being clever.

After all, I have been involved with the built environment for all of my working life.

Get me talking on any related subject from chimney pot types to corbelled coursing, mullions and transoms, different forms of materials for damp proofing, the most likely place in a house to find woodworm, the seeking out of lead pipework and I could take up a good few hours of your time.

Add in a few historical and environmental facts and I am in my element.

So when it came to answering a simple enquiry about the origins of a particular street name I jumped at the opportunity.

Scorer Street is in the City of Lincoln, UK.

It has a long ,broadly east to west orientation and at its mid point crosses an established land drain. In the latter years of the 19th Century the local area was very much on the fringes of that historic County Town/City. Archive Maps showed such long defunct practices as a Skin Yard and with further acres under glass in horticultural nursery use.

The demand for better housing in the first decade of the then new 20th Century saw The Lincoln Equitable Co-Operative Industrial Society Limited throw off the fetters of its very long title and set about constructing row upon row of red brick built terraces. 1912 was a busy year for house building on what was to be the aforementioned Scorer Street.

The accommodation, a bit better than the older two up two down format, was initially for rental rather than outright purchase. Tenancies were taken up by a growing population of workers in the main City activities which included heavy engineering and railways. A few years later what had been referred to in the interests of secrecy as Water Tanks for Mesopotamia  would roll off the production lines just up the road and help to turn the course of the First World War in the favour of the Allies. It would be the first use of armoured vehicles in a wider theatre of conflict.

At some time during the development of that street it will have been necessary to give it a name.

In similar circumstances a local landmark may have been adopted or if the road led to a specific place then that could figure in the naming ritual.

I have in the course of my work in the property sector come across some great street names. These always have an interesting back story, sometimes steeped in the mists of time or folk lore. I like to find out about such things. I wrote a few weeks ago about the dodgy dealings, misrepresentations and downright lies that caused one land purchaser to give its location the name Bad Bargain Lane as a warning in perpetuity for others not to be hoodwinked and swindled. The intriguing and poetic Whip Ma Whop Ma Gate in the City of York comes from Old English and means "neither one thing nor the other". Mad Alice Lane appears self explanatory although has been given a more socially aware name to spare the public form potential insult and upset.

So, back to Scorer Street in Lincoln. A unusual name.

Did it refer to an ancient trade or practice carried out in those parts?  It could be perceived  to be referring to a process in the leather tanning or clothing industries for example.

Given the deep rooted history of Lincoln including sometime occupation by Roman Legions and even earlier indigenous tribes, Scorer could be a bastardisation of the name of some leader or even a prominent invader or defender.

I didn't have to look too far for what I felt was a convincing explanation for its origins.

That land drain bisecting the street is called Sincil Bank. For any fans and supporters of English Football that name is very familiar being the same as the ground of Lincoln City. The team was founded in 1894 and unless anyone tells me differently I assume that they took up residence in that location shortly after being established. That would have meant a gap of around 18 years until The Lincoln Equitable Co-Operative Industrial Society Limited finished printing their expansive letterheads and started to put up the houses within earshot of the football ground.

As they say, "Dah, Dah", naming riddle solved. To get to and from the match many of the supporters would walk down, yes, Scorer Street. Apt, stylish and definitely a good marketing ploy for the Lincoln Equitable......etc, etc.

However, I am wrong. So very far off the truth. Scorer refers to a Lincoln based Architect, William Scorer (1843 to 1934) obviously very well thought of and also attaining the position for some time as Lincoln Diocesan Surveyor.

I can't be right all of the time. Interesting though.

Chinese Super League Explained (Again)

Here is a bit of a sweeping statement but one that through a bit of research seems to have a good bit of truth in it. 

China will not really be accepted by its own people as a global super power until it attains similar status in the world rankings of the sport of football. 

The undeniable fact is that, for such a huge nation China is crap at the beautiful game.

This was not always the case as before the Civil War, in the 1930’s, the National Team dominated the competition in their part of Asia. 

The victorious Communist State policy prioritised football as very low and it was not until 1979 that China rejoined the Federation of International Football Associations (FIFA). 

Since then underachievement has persisted with no qualification to a World Cup Finals and just two wins, five years apart in the East Asia Cup. 

There is no doubting the popularity of football in China with legal and other transmissions of English Premier and European League games with potential to reach a 1.35 billion audience. President Xi Jinping is a fan and his perception of the commercial and propaganda value of football has been a contributory factor behind the State goal to make China a football world power by 2050. 

As in other Socialist Market economic policy areas the Government set out the rules and then these tend to be interpreted by the State Bureaux, Provincial leaders and private enterprise with the outcome being, in reality and practice, quite a flexible version of the original. 

Western Media has, in the last 12 to 18 months been swamped by the hype and hysteria of the Chinese Super League (CSL) even to the point of it appearing to pose a major commercial threat to the dominance of the rich and influential Premier and European Leagues. 

The CSL was actually formed in 2004 when the existing Jia-A League was rebranded. This earlier incarnation of football had seen brief populist and financial success in the 1990’s but was plagued by match fixing, widespread abuse of gambling and endemic corruption. Even under the refreshed form of the CSL the same worst excesses persisted by 2010 and although sanctioned still lurk in the background. 

The current CSL consists of 16 teams, all located in main population centres in the eastern part of China. The climate of low temperatures determines that the season runs from February/March through to November/December. Under the broad State remit to attain a high world ranking many of the technical and business aspects of global football have been adopted through the importation of management ideas, professional standards and of course, through the importation of selected foreign personnel from on and off pitch specialisms. 

The shopping list of foreign star players heading for China remains a matter of intense speculation and rumour in the media. CSL teams were, from 2011, allowed five foreign squad players but with only four including an Asian Confederation player to be allowed on the pitch at any one time. The top three teams at the end of the season have eligibility to play in the Asian Champions League and the bottom two teams suffer relegation to China League 1. 

Centralised State Control is overriding but the funding and day to day business operations of the teams is from the wealth and power of the Chinese private sector in industry, commerce and finance. 

The 16 CSL participants show their corporate identity with the suffixes to their home towns being not ,as in English football United, City, Town and Athletic but the branded names of some of the largest companies in China. Guangzhou, who have dominated the CSL for the last few seasons are run by Evergrande, a construction conglomerate. Other parent companies include the Port of Shanghai, Investment and banking groups and in the Property and Medical sectors. The huge spending power, branding awareness and commercial profile of the companies has been behind the massive hype although many have published financial losses in their football operations. This clearly illustrates that football is a loss leader within the much bigger promotional picture of the main business interests of the owners. 

However, such has been the emphasis on furthering the image and public perception of the core companies that the consequence has been the excess of moneys targeted to lure foreign stars to play in the CSL. This has caused significant concern at State level and at the mid point of the current season (2017)  the Chinese Government firmly applied the brakes to the spiralling situation. 

The transfer fees for overseas players were effectively doubled with the imposition of a levy equal to the fee (if under £5.3 million) to be directed to the Youth System of the game and above that threshold to a State Development Fund. 

These measures have quickly stifled the speculation of the massive deals of up front payments and obscene, even by Premier League standards, weekly wages. 

Keeping in context the CSL is still very much in its infancy and as such the teething problems of run-away commercialism are to be expected. 

In the 2016 season the total CSL attendance was just under 6 million and with an average crowd per match of 24,000 which remained around the same in 2017 so about the average gate seen at English Championship level. 

The development of Chinese players has been slow. The season end Golden Boot Award for top scorer has gone to a foreign player for the last four years but with the best Chinese striker, Wu Lei, topping the scoring statistics with 27 goals in 29 games in the 2018 season. 

There are models globally where fledgling National Teams have successfully learned all aspects of the game from foreign imported players. The US MSL is now predominantly of home grown talent and with an improving record of performance on the American continent and the World Cup. 

China has attained global Superpower status in just about everything else through central planning and strong governance but the business of making football work for the benefit of the State is proving to be bit more difficult than expected.

Mammoth Effort, just after elevenses

It is definitely a throwback to distance ancestors from the Paleolithic period that, sometime towards the middle of the working day, I take on the role of a Hunter Gatherer.

This is in the quest for a nourishing, satisfying and cost effective lunch.

Of course I am not having to battle with unruly elements, unruly elephantine mammoths, Sabre Tooth Tigers or a predisposition to a rather short and unhealthy lifestyle as those early humans will have faced on a daily basis but nevertheless in a modern world context the same anxieties, stresses and insecurities are very real.

There is ample choice which is thanks to the supply chain networks and point of sale logistics of a consumer economy. A complicating factor in my case is that my work takes me all over the place and although I use well trodden and familiar routes I cannot always be sure that these will coincide with a suitable sales outlet or establishment to cater for my needs.

I have been known to be organised with a packed lunch or sufficient snack items to get me to tea time but unless I stow away my provisions in the boot or the car or at least out of arms reach they will not even last until 10.30am before being eaten.

My geographical coverage does include some of the best food producing areas of the UK, either in raw materials from the vast Yorkshire agricultural hinterland or served as home made or made to order products or goods.

The latter includes fish and chips from my forays to the glorious coastal stretch which forms the eastern extremity of my territory, pies and pastries from market town traders across Gods Own Country, salad bowls and delicacies from independent delicatessens or even as a last resort as my energy and stamina fades in early afternoon, a burger or chicken take-out from a National Chain.

You will be thinking that the foregoing sounds mightily unhealthy but applying a bit of restraint, rotation of menus and the need to be very active in the pursuit of my livelihood does result in a reasonable calorific balance.

I cannot say from day to day what my lunching urges or choices will be. There are many influencing factors at play.

These include, primarily, pressures on my running schedule with no one diarised job being of the same unitary duration and also the imponderables around having to drive a lot between such jobs.

Complications or complexities involved in each job can easily disrupt a well intentioned schedule and add to that any unforeseen traffic hold ups and there is plenty of scope for either a wonderfully fluid day or a series of frustrating events out of my control which can cause the day to be a bit of a problem.

The Hunter Gatherer in me is therefore understandably present and ready to spring into action.

So what makes for that ideal lunching experience?

I have not really thought too much about. If I am hungry I must eat. It is that much of a natural and primitive thing.

However, I did hear a description of the components of an ideal meal from some Celebrity Chef or big cheese in the food industry which made a lot of sense, to such an extent that it is now a self imposed standard in my relentless search for that important part of my working day.

All of the following have to come together to meet my new exacting criteria and so much so that I have found myself chanting in my head or under my breath the mantra anytime from about 10am onwards of " hot, cold, sweet, sour, crunchy, soft".

For a bit of variation I may rearrange the order for a bit more of a lyrical flow as in "crunchy, soft, sour, sweet, cold, hot" or in the ultimate mash up "cold, soft, sour, hot, crunchy, sweet".

The combinations and rythmic possibilities are endless. Unfortunately I may have set such high expectations according to this sing-song list that nothing may meet all of the requirements.

Homeland Security

In a quiet moment, you know the type, in between noisy moments, I got sidetracked into attempting to answer the questions in the British Citizenship Test.

I failed.

It was very technical and I would actually challenge the majority of  born and bred Brits to do it and contend that they too would fall down under such telling questions of pomp, circumstance, parliamentary procedure, demographics, religious convictions and who was the least talented and convincing James Bond. Apparently not a)Connery, b) Lazenby, c)Dalton, d) Brosnan or D).Craig.

I was never very good at written examinations so wondered if there might be a practical test by which to qualify for ongoing membership of these isles. Also, could I possibly be a bit picky about which specific constituent part of the British Isles I would like to be a citizen of?

I would definitely choose Scotland. This is not on account of the oil reserves, a natural propensity to be successful when exiled to anywhere else in the world, no qualms about deep frying a Mars Bar, white pudding , a secret supply of single malt whisky to sustain life after the meteorite hits or the beautiful wide open spaces but because I have some ancestry and within a couple of generations.

I have already started to compile a scrapbook towards a formal application to be Scottish if for some reason I do not pass the DNA test to confirm beyond doubt my Viking bloodline.

The first page has a portrait photograph of me. Green eyes are inherently a characteristic of those natives north of the border. If I let my eyebrows and stubble grow out of control there is a distinctive and undeniable reddish tinge. I am, I have summised on many occasions, but a small amount of chromosones away from being a full blown ginger person. My Father, through whom the Scottish ancestry was perpetuated was a red-head and I have already warned my own children that their future offspring may well follow the strawberry-blonde route. They are prepared for the inevitable or at least as best they can without going into expensive and prolonged therapy.

Page 2 shows me in my tartan kilt in which I was wed. Those who have seen this photograph have mentioned, that for some reason the Thomson Tartan is somehow familiar. I keep quiet but only because the distinctive material was used by Vauxhall as a fancy upholstery finish for some of their Astra Hatchback models in the late 1980's.

Page 3 is of me holding a Practice Chanter when I enrolled into classes to learn to play the bagpipes. It was a horrible experience. Am I the only person who dares to say that all the notes, and there are very few of them anyway, are flat and quite tuneless? I hate myself for thinking this because I am always the first to experience genetic based emotional palpitations and stirrings when a Pipe Band inflate and tentatively start some march or dirge.

Page 4 is a montage of family photo's to prove a number of consecutive years of holidaying in Scotland. This has not just been the main tourist venues but some pretty remote and barren locations including a loch-side in Perthshire where we, as children, spent a week retrieving the fresh water bleached bones of sheep out of a mountain stream and almost collected enough to form a perfect skeleton back home in the playroom. Hazy images are not a fault of the photographer but a consequence of standing amongst clouds of ravenous blood thirsty midges. We camped a few yards away from the main electrified railway line from London to Inverness but did not realise until the night-sleeper thundered through like an avalanche. Whilst out on an idyllic walk on forest rides we would suddenly find ourselves cowering from fear under the flight path of very low flying RAF fighter bombers. As they say, Welcome to Scotland.

Page 5 consists of memories of my Scottish Gran. Helen was born in Wick, right up towards the north east corner of Scotland. I went up their once with my fiancée and we found the old house and also the grave of one of her brothers who drowned in the sea whilst fishing off the shore. I do not remember much about my Grandfather apart from his broad scots accent and chain smoking. I learnt a lot about the home country from my Gran and she did say she would put in a good word for me if I ever needed to flee across the border.

I am currently and at this very moment working on the contents for page 6. I have acquired a set of ingredients including beef heart, lamb lungs and oatmeal and, on this 25th January Robert Burns Night in commemoration of that great Scots Son and poet, they are blended and cooking through nicely in the oven. Served with neaps and tatties we will soon, as a family be feasting on a traditional Haggis. The wrapper in which it was purchased from Tesco's will compress down quite nicely under a pile of Sir Walter Scott books over the next week before being carefully inserted and glued into my Scottish Citizenship Application Folder. Oh, and they are running regular repeats of Braveheart on Freeview so that I can get the historical facts absolutely right in my mind just in case a question crops up.

Hot Topics from Robbie Burns

It is the celebration of the Scottish poet, Robert Burns tomorrow, 25th January and so to get us all in the spirit of the event here are a few olde worlde Scottish sayings and words and other more modern ones...

• I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug! – I’ll give you a slap on the ear.
• Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye! – What’s meant to happen will happen.
• Skinny Malinky Longlegs! – A tall thin person.
• Lang may yer lum reek! – May you live long and stay well.
• Speak o’ the Devil! – Usually said when you have been talking about someone – they usually appear.
• Black as the Earl of Hell’s Waistcoat! – Pitch black.
• Failing means yer playin! – When you fail at something at least you’re trying.
• Mony a mickle maks a muckle! – Saving a small amount soon builds up to a large amount.
• Keep the heid! – Stay calm, don’t get upset.
• We’re a’ Jock Tamson’s bairns! – We’re all God’s children, nobody is better than anybody else – we’re all equal.
• Dinnae teach yer Granny tae suck eggs! – Don’t try to teach someone something they already know.
• Dinnae marry fur money! – Don’t marry for money – you can borrow it cheaper.
• Is the cat deid? – Has the cat died? Means your trousers are a bit short – like a flag flying at half mast.
• Haud yer wheesht! – Be quiet.
• Noo jist haud on! – Now just hold it, slow down, take your time.
• Hell slap it intae ye! – Means it’s your own fault.
• I’m fair puckled! – I’m short of breath.
• Do yer dinger. – Loudly express disapproval.
• Gie it laldy. – Do something with gusto.
• Ah dinnae ken. – I don’t know.
• Haste Ye Back! – Farewell saying meaning “return soon”.
• It’s a dreich day! – Said in reference to the weather, when it’s cold, damp and miserable.

Some Scottish sayings that are not so old ……

• Gonnae no’ dae that! – Going to not do that.
• Pure dead brilliant – Exceptionally good.
• Yer bum’s oot the windae – You’re talking rubbish.
• Am pure done in – I’m feeling very tired.
• Am a pure nick – I don’t look very presentable.
• Ah umnae – I am not.
• Ma heid’s mince – My head’s a bit mixed up.
• Yer oot yer face! – You’re very drunk.
• Yer aff yer heid – You’re off your head – a little bit daft.

And some Scottish slang words ……

• Aboot – About
• Ain – Own
• Auld – Old
• Aye – Yes
• Bahooky – Backside, bum
• Bairn – Baby
• Bampot- Idiot
• Barry- splendid
• Baw – Ball
• Bawface – Describes someone with a big round face.
• Ben – Mountain, or through
• Bevvy-drink
• Bide – Depending on the context, means wait, or stay.
• Blether – Talkative, when referred to a person. To “have a blether” is to have a chat.
• Blutered- very drunk
• Boggin-filthy or disgusting
• Bonnie – Beautiful
• Bowfing – Smelly, horrible
• Braw – Good, or brilliant
• Breeks – Trousers
• Coo – Cow
• Clorty- Filthy
• Crabbit – Bad tempered
• Cry – Call, as in what do you call him?
• Dae – Do
• Dauner – Walk – “I’m away for a dauner”
• Didnae – Didn’t
• Dinnae – Don’t
• Dour- glum
• Drap – Drop
• Dreep – Drip
• Drookit – Soaking wet
• Druth- thirsty
• Dug – Dog
• Dunderheid, Eejit, Galoot, Numptie – All mean idiot
• Dunt – Bump
• Eedjit- idiot
• Feart – Afraid
• Fusty- mouldy
• Frae – From
• Galoot- idiot
• Gallus – Bravado, over-confident
• Gang – Go
• Gaunnae – Going to
• Geggie – Mouth, as in “shut your geggie”
• Glaikit – Stupid, slow on the uptake
• Goonie – Nightgown
• Greet – Cry
• Gubbed - Badly
• Gumption – Common sense, initiative
• Gurne- Sulk
• Guttered- Drunk
• Gutties - Plimsolls
• Hae – Have
• Hame – Home
• Hammered- Drunk
• Haud – Hold
• Haver – Talk rubbish
• Hing – Hang
• Hoachin’ – Very busy
• Hokin’ – Rummaging
• Honkin’, Hummin’, Howlin’ – Bad smell
• Hoose – House
• Houghin - Revolting
• Hunner – Hundred
• Hurkle Durkle - messing about
• Huvnae – Haven’t
• Invershnecky- Inverness
• Jobbie - going for shit
• Keech - bird poo
• Keek – A little look
• Ken – Know
• Lum – Chimney
• Mair – More
• Mannie - little man
• Manky - Filthy
• Merrit – Married
• Messages - groceries
• Mockit, Mingin’, Boggin’ – All mean dirty
• Moose – Mouse
• Naw – No
• Neep, Tumshie – Turnip
• Noo – Now
• Numpty - idiot
• Oot – Out
• Peely Wally – Pale
• Piece – A sandwich
• Poke – (to poke – to prod) (a poke – a paper bag)
• Pus - Mouth
• Radgees - Crazy young lads
• Reek – Smell, emit smoke
• Riddy – A red face, embarrassed
• Scran - Food
• Screwball – Unhinged, mad
• Scullery – Kitchen
• Scunnered – Bored, fed up
• Shoogle – Shake
• Shoogly – Shaky, wobbly
• Shuftie - take a look
• Shunky - Toilet
• Simmet – Gents singlet
• Skelp – Slap
• Skoosh – Lemonade (or fizzy drink)
• Skrechin- shriek
• Sleekit – Sly
• Stookie – Plaster cast (for a broken bone)
• Stour – Dust
• Swally - drunk
• Tartle - panic when forgetting someones name
• Tattie – Potato
• Tattyboggler - Scarecrow
• Telt – Told
• Teuchtar - someone for far north west Scotland
• Thon – That
• Wean – Child
• Weegie- Glasgow person
• Wellies – Wellington boots
• Wheest - be quiet
• Whit – What
• Willnae – Will not
• Widnae – Would not
• Windae – Window
• Wummin – Women
• Ye – You
• Yer – Your
• Yin – One

A little bit warmer............

With the 2019 Burns Night Celebration  being prepared in 'oor Hoos (Hull, Yorkshire actually)  for the 25th January I have been looking back through some of my past writings on the Man and his great legacy. 

I am looking to update an exercise commissioned by the BBC in 2009 on the issue of just how much does the Burns Brand generate for the nation?

Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Ayrshire in 1759.

Image form New York Public Library

In his relatively short life, he died aged 37, he produced great works of prose, poetry and song in the Scottish dialect and these have endured amongst a home grown and worldwide audience. He was not always appreciated in his own lifetime, indeed it was not really until the late Victorian era that an interest was shown in all things from North of the Border from fashion to design, art and crafts, literature and furniture.

Scotland has produced, for its population, a disproportionate number of exceptional individuals in science, philanthropy, the arts, invention and as entrepreneurs. The Victorians wanted to be associated with such a progressive cultural attitude and Robert Burns was at the forefront of the movement, albeit posthumously.

It was not therefore instant stardom and celebrity for the man.

Even as recently as 2004 the sustainability of Burns as a national icon was under pressure when funding organisations withdrew from their support of the Birthplace Museum in Alloway. Declining visitor numbers led to dwindling income. Deterioration of the Museum building allowed the Burns Family Bible to be damaged by a roof leak and it was only when the National Trust for Scotland and Lottery Money stepped up in or around 2009 that any sort of future was assured.

Huge investment to coincide with the 250th anniversary of the birth of Burns  allowed construction of a new Heritage Centre and attractions in Ayrshire and the future of the Burns Brand was assured.

In 2009 the BBC consulted the great and the good in order to come up with an estimated figure for the revenue generated by all things Burns.

They considered five broad categories of income that were intrinsically linked to the current cult-status  centred on the poet.

1) General Tourism. There are millions of visitors to Scotland every year and Ayrshire is a destination for many followers of Burns. Income is derived from hotel accommodation, restaurants and shops, taxi fares, bus fares, guide books and services.

2)Burns Merchandise. The Heritage Centre and on line shops have a range of quality products in the Burns Brand ranging from expensive lyric -engraved jewellery to chess sets and snowglobes to the best selling fridge magnets. Summer visitors like the themed postcards and as Burns Night, 25th January approaches, the sales of napkins and tea towels ramp up.

3)Haggis. Not many foodstuffs have their own poem in celebration. This blend of lambs lungs, offal, oats, gravy and other things.....is available all year round but with a spike in volumes for the traditional Supper. It is quite a scrap in my local stockist to secure an elusive MacSweens Haggis for this occasion. Don't forget the tatties and neaps. Oatcakes and soup sales also peak. The range of perhaps the most famous Haggis Maker, McSweens has extended into Gluten Free and Vegetarian versions to give wider appeal.

4)Whisky. I do  not have much to add to the production figures for this national tipple by way of emphasising the income generating ability of this product.

5) Miscellaneous items. These are as varied as kilt and sporran hire to fees for a Piper, choirs, Master of Ceremonies, Guest Speakers and admission prices for Corporate Events.

The wide range of inputs in this calculation does, as you will appreciate, give potential for a huge margin of error.

Since the 2009 BBC guesstimate there has been inflationary and other pressures at play. 

One single element has been the increase, over that period, in the adult admission charge to the Heritage Centre from £5 to £9.

Crunching the numbers, in my update, produces a figure of £196 millions.

Robert Burns would, I think, be pleased about his 21st Century wealth generating capabilities although ironically he struggled in his lifetime with his own finances.

Not that he was really bothered by material things as a line from his "Country Lassie" testifies "Content and Loove brings peace and joy"

Warm up for Burns Night 25th January

                                                                              

 Country Lassie

                                             Robert Burns




In simmer when the hay was mawn, 
And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea,
And roses blaw in ilka beild; 
Blythe Bessie, in the milkin-shiel, 
Says, I'll be wed, come o't what will; 
Outspak a dame in wrinkled eild, 
O' gude advisement comes nae ill. 

Its ye hae wooers mony ane, 
And lassie, ye're but young ye ken; 
Then wait a wee, and canie wale,
A routhie butt, a routhie ben: 
There's Johnie o' the Buskieglen, 
Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre; 
Take this frae me, my bonie hen, 
It's plenty beets the luver's fire. 

For Johnie o' the Buskieglen, 
I dinna care a single flie; 
He loes sae weel his craps and kye, 
He has nae love to spare for me: 
But blythe's the blink o' Robie's e'e, 
And weel I wat he loes me dear; 
Ae blink o' him I wad na gie 
For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 

O thoughtless lassie, life's a faught, 
The canniest gate, the strife is sair; 
But aye fu' - han't is fechtin' best, 
A hungry care's an unco care: 
But some will spend and some will spare, 
An' wilfu' folk maun hae their will; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 
Keep mind that ye maun drink the yill. 

O gear will buy me rigs o' land, 
And gear will buy me sheep and kye; 
But the tender heart o' leesome loove, 
The gowd and siller canna buy; 
We may be poor, Robie and I, 
Light is the burden Loove lays on; 
Content and Loove brings peace and joy,
What mair hae queens upon a throne.

This song was mentioned in a letter which Burns sent to George Thomson on 19 October 1794.

W.O W.

By my crude mathematical reckoning you would expect a probability of 1 in 133 to witness a devastating natural phenomena.

To be a little more exacting, a wall of water in Yorkshire.

The coinciding of a major flood event with the then resident population of the small village in Ryedale, North Yorkshire was a piece of misfortune given this statistical data.

It happened in June 2005 but the memory and impact of the inland tsunami remains strong amongst those who still live in that village, in the same houses and wider local area.

It is a picturesque bit of God's Own County as is the romantic but justified title given to the largest administrative district in the UK.

Most travellers might not even make a note of the rather long name of the village as it is displayed on the millstone marker as theirs is a wholly different quest, namely to get a good run up to the foot of Sutton Bank and then almost freewheel all the way eastwards to the coastal attractions which include Scarborough and Whitby.

Sutton Under Whitestonecliffe is the village referring to its proximity to the huge land feature which includes Sutton Bank which has one of the steepest gradients for a main road in the country at 25% maximum and a hairpin bend to complicate matters.

I was at a nice stone built cottage during the week just at the Listed bridge over the peaceful River Rye.

The only perceived hazard in that vicinity was attempting to cross the busy trunk road from where I had parked the car to get to the front door set just behind a low boundary wall.

Prior to my visit my usual research had flagged up some horrific personal accounts and very disturbing photographs of a wall of water that had descended from high ground to the north of the village, unannounced and wreaked havoc only falling short of any fatalities or serious injury to those who happened to be in its path.

It had, all of those 14 years ago, been a Sunday in June.

The occupants of the cottage had been enjoying a typically seasonal day which was in the middle of a bit of a heatwave.

By about 4.30pm the brightness of the day was replaced by a sinister "End of Days" type darkness and in the ensuing 3 hours the skies dumped 76mm of rainfall, a monthly average on the rolling terrain.

Of course, heatwave induced torrential downpours are a common occurrence and the Met Office are skilled in tracking and predicting such events but not their potential intensity and path of destruction.

A 1 in 10,000 year event is usually of a magnitude to re-shape landscape features, irrevocably change the courses of rivers and streams and shift huge volumes of shale, gravel, rocks and vegetation. In earlier times this would have gone largely unnoticed but where the countryside is cross crossed by roads, houses and other man made features there will always be some collateral damage.

One contributing cause of the wall of water that day was attributed to a Reservoir Lake in hilly woodland just a few miles uphill of the village. Although this artificial feature, excavated in the 19th Century to provide freshwater to the nearest large town of Thirsk, was decommissioned in the years following the flood over concerns over its integrity it was subsequently cleared of any culpability. The locals still contest this analysis and blame an overflowing spillway below the reservoir dam.

The sheer volume of rainfall did overwhelm other small watercourses and this resulted in a torrent descending the contours at 80 mph.

The cottage which was the subject of my visit was fully in the path of the wall of water.

Its owners just had to stand and watch from a slightly elevated position as the 3m high flow pushed out the very substantial stone walls of their garage/ workshop, took up and removed two cars and a boat across the garden, wiped out the conservatory and washed through the whole of the ground floor of theirs and their neighbours home.

The sheer force of the wave was beyond comprehension particularly the ease with which it had demolished the stone buildings that had until that day stood up to a couple of centuries of weather and exposure to the elements.

Village spirit kicked in and the displaced residents were accommodated at the local pub until the water had subsided.

There was left a trail of rubble, waste and detritus that had to be carefully cleared in the proceeding days and weeks to allow the lengthy and costly remediation works to be carried out.

The owners of the cottage have a framed collection of photographs from that day as a reminder of the frailty and folly of human existence in the face of the unstoppable forces of nature.

They did not hesitate to stay put but then again the odds of another freakish incident on that scale appear to be in their favour, just about.