A Century

This is my 100th post. Since I started blogging on 8th April, 208 days ago, that is almost but not quite a post every other day. As I've had several long and blog-free holidays in that period that's not to bad a record.

Blogging has replaced my previous hobby, which in pre-blog days was studying French. Many older people seem to suffer from insomnia, which seems to take two forms: those who go to bed but can't get to sleep, and those who drop of easily but wake up very early. Thankfully I fall into the second category and, rather than waste time tossing and turning and trying to get back to sleep again, I get up and do something useful but undemanding. For over ten years the undemanding routine was to attempt a few French language exercises, revise a few pages of my French vocabulary book and conjugate a few irregular verbs. Now all that has been put to one side and instead I blog.

Friends ask me how I feel about the fact that possibly no-one is reading it. Obviously some people do since there are occasional comments, and I'm grateful to Chris and Jaime for regular contributions. I have not signed up to one of those systems that tell you how many "hits" you've had. My only guide is the number of "views" of my profile. This has now topped 300, although some of these are me looking to check the total, and obviously many of them may not have looked at the blog more than once. However, although I'd appreciate a wide audience (and being quoted by LibDem Voice)I'm happy to regard the blog as a diary of opinions which happens to be available to the public.

I stand by my first post written during the election campaign, which deplored the fact that all three major parties took the idea of a financial crisis as a given, that this is nonsense (and still is) and that the Tories are using it as a heaven-sent opportunity to roll back the state. I remain bewildered and dismayed that the Liberal Democrats, heirs to the party of Beveridge and Keynes, have fallen for this ploy

Anglo-French Walks

There have been no posts for the past few days as I have been walking in the Forest of Dean. The occasion was the valedictory ramble of Anglo-French Walks, a group formed by John Winter, then an "early retired" teacher of French, nearly 30 years ago, to enable English speakers wishing to improve their French and French speakers who largely seem to have no need to improve their English but are willing to put up with us, to walk together, practise our languages and generally enjoy each other's company. There have in the past been some 15 or so walks a year, each of a week's duration, held in both Britain and France, all organised and mostly led by John. Each walk usually attracted half a dozen or so of each "language."

Now John is within a few days of his 80th birthday and no longer sure he will be fit enough to lead another year's worth of walks. So for the last "official" walk, in the Forest of Dean, friends organised a "secret" augmentation when some 50 of us joined the dozen or so there for the whole week for the final day's ramble. and a farewell and thank-you dinner.

However, AFW II way arise from the ashes as some members are hoping to organise a "do-it yourself" programme on the internet. An example of the Big Society in action?

Lofty Conncetions

My house overlooks the Parish Church and Graveyard of St Peter, Birstall, though you can't see much of either at the moment because the trees are in full leaf. I was baptised in the church on the 3rd October 1937 by the then vicar, Canon Harry Taverner Robinson. According to a genealogist called Roy Stockhill, who runs a website called "Findmypast", Nick Clegg's great-great-great-great-grandfather, Christopher Clegg, was baptised there on the 12th February, 1775, probably using the same font, which goes back, I believe to the 17th Century, though probably not by Canon Robinson. Like one of my grandfathers, Christoper Clegg was a collier. He died in 1894, aged 74, and is buried in St Peter's Graveyard along with over 100 other Cleggs and my four grandparents.

So Daily Mail readers need not be alarmed. Nick Clegg may have some exotic blood, but he is really of solid West Riding stock.