BBC News – Shamima Begum: IS bride set to be granted legal aid
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-47934721
The moment Miss Begum chose the terrorist life, she gave up her rights to any legal help from this country.
She chose to support a group of people who took away the rights of hundreds and thousands of innocent people.
Why should we grant her any rights ?
Is Soldier F getting legal aid ?
What is this world coming to ?
A man is assaulted, albeit with an egg. He retaliated with a couple of slaps.
The Australian Prime Minister says the assault victim should be charged !!!
The victim, Australian Senator Fraser Anning, may be anti Muslim but he was assaulted and in my book was perfectly justified in his reaction.
There should be no support for his assailant.
Compare the reactions here in Oz to those seen when British MP John Prescott was egged. Prescott actually punched the assailant. His boss, Tony Blair, is reported to have said “John is John when asked to comment.
Time to get real and focus on real issues methinks.
Support this couple on their epic journey.
Slept well in Le Clos de Bourgogne. Suitably refreshed we had a nice breakfast although it nearly became a disaster when Gerry went to crack open what she thought was a hard boiled egg. The eggs were in fact raw which is why they were sat in a basket by the egg cooker. Luckily a member of staff spotted what Gerry was about to do and interceded, just in time.
Straight after breakfast we set out for our next stop, the delightful town that is Troyes. We had stopped there before, in fact we were returning to the hotel we had stayed at previously.
The drive was event free and we soon arrived the Hotel Relais Saint Jean. Once again we checked in, had a cuppa before heading out for a walk around Troyes.
I wish I could say that everything about Troyes was as good as it had been on our previous visit. The town and our hotel were just as we remembered. Unfortunately, our evening meal was mediocre. We chose to eat in a restaurant that we had used before. Back then the meal was superb, not this time. I had opted for a burger which, according to the menu, was made from boar. It was actually pulled pork. The bun was soggy, caused by the excess liquid in the pulled pork. The menu said home made buns so I was expecting a rustic bread. What I got was a bloody brioche. So sad to say the meal was a sad end to what had been a great day.
During our stay at La Calsade, our voyages out into the French countryside would often take us through the village of Carlat. Each time we would say “We really must visit”. So the decision was made to stop and explore this little village.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carlat
Carlat is a commune in the Cantal department in south-central France.
The “Rocher de Carlat” or rock of Carlat situated above the picturesque commune was once the site of one of the most powerful and impenetrable chateaux in all of France. It was the seat of Jacques d’Armagnac, Duke of Nemours and often the center of intrigue, resistance and rebellion against the kings of France. Completely razed by order of the king in 1604 to alleviate the inconvenience of rebellious and ambitious southern relatives, hardly a trace of the chateau remains. The site is now a park, open to visitors and commanding sweeping views of the Carlades.
Carlat is another of those places where you cannot drive in, unless you are a resident. A car park is provided on the outskirts, and visitors are invited to make the short walk in. There isn’t much to see but it is pretty. There is a school and the children were playing happily in the sunshine. There appeared to be only the one shop and that was closed. So our stay was quite short.
From the gite, part of its fabulous panoramic view, we had discovered that there was a church on top of a flat topped hill (plateau).
Curiosity decree’d that we had to go search it out. So off we set from Carlat. Cutting across country, driving down narrow, single lane roads and tracks that dropped down into, then climbed back out of the tree covered gorges. Directional decision making was dictated by any sighting we made, as we crested the various hills. Eventually we reached a village, Cros Ronesque, and as we passed through noted the folks sat having lunch outside a local hostlery. That set the juices going. Coming out of the other side of the village we found that we were within spitting distance of the church. Soon we were following a winding lane which took us up to the church. Actually, I think we were supposed to park up about 500 metres below. However, I decided to play the dumb Brit and drive right up to the church. We were the only ones up there so I guess nobody really cared where we parked.
https://travelguide.michelin.com/europe/france/auvergne/cantal/cros-de-ronesque/rocher-de-ronesque
Formed on the site of an old peneplain, then covered as a result of volcanic activity and deeply sculpted by vast valleys, this rock is one of two basalt plateaux in the Carladès (part of the Vic-sur-Cère region). You can drive to a tiny chapel from where the magnificent panoramic view takes in the huge plateau, with the monts de Cantal to the north and the Aubrac mountains to the southeast. Below, to the right, stands the Château de Messilhac, overlooking the Vallée du Goul.
What a great decision it was to search out this place. Fabulous views, 360 degree. Little church, graveyard, cross, as well as North and South orientation tables. We tried to see our gite but should have had the binoculars to hand.
After absorbing the fabulous views it was time for a beer. That bar/restaurant, the Auberge de la Sapiniere, that we had spotted earlier in Cros Ronesque was calling, so we set off back down to the village where we satisfied that craving.
After the beer we headed back to the gite. Amazingly it only took about 10 minutes to get back, whereas it took over an hour to get to the church. It makes a big difference when you know the name of the place you are trying to get to.
BBC News – Why 56 black men are posing in hoodies
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-47298111
So Cephas Williams is fed up with being lumped in with the “hoodie” stereotype.
But he says people don’t see him for the person he is – and are quick to judge and stereotype him.
Perhaps he needs to take a closer look at the CCTV images showing yobs terrorising neighbourhoods, showing the folks robbing local newsagents and betting shops. Take note of how many of the perpetrators are wearing hoodies. Admittedly they are not all black. But the ubiqitous hoodie is there to the fore.
Cephas is right that it is wrong to judge people by their colour and by the clothes they wear. But with, regard to the hoodie, I think he probably needs to remove himself from that stereotype, before society as a whole will change their perception.
I for one, wrongly perhaps, tend to view a group of youngsters wearing hoodies in a totally different way than I would, perhaps, if that same group were wearing jackets and scarves.
“I know so many black men doing great things, as postmen, nurses, city traders and fathers. But when these guys put on a hoodie, their success becomes almost invisible.
“I want to live in a society where I can put on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and be seen as who I am: not a thug or a brute, but just a guy going to the gym after a long day at work.”
The same is true of all people, not just black men and women. None of us are carrying signs identifying our achievements, our individual characters or our intent.
It’s unfortunately a fact of life that the hoodie has taken the place of the criminals use of the balaclava / ski-mask and tights.
Personally, I wouldn’t be seen dead in a hoodie. That’s my choice, it seems to much like a uniform to me. Due to my size and the way I have my hair cropped short, people may view me as a thug. They don’t know me and they don’t know how far wrong they are. But I don’t care, I am who I am. If they choose to find out who that is, that’s up to them.
To be quite honest I get a little tired of hearing how society has to change to suit individuals rather than the otherway round.
And finally …
“I am taking the shoehorn out and showcasing a bagga man who are doing great things and – who look like me.”
I had to google the above to understand what Cephas was trying to say. And while I get it, methinks he should know his audience. If he wants to feel included he shouldn’t alienate folks by using Jamaican patois.
After the previous days travels around Murat, St Flour and Garabit we decided on a gentle start to the day, followed by a short afternoon trip over to Polminhac, where we planned to visit Chateau Pesteills
https://www.chateau-pesteils-cantal.com/
Perched on its steep rock, 750m above sea level , the old fortress Polminhac proudly dominates the valley of Cère.
The imposing dungeon symbolizes all the majesty of the castle of Pesteils and evokes the Middle Ages in its harshest expression, glorious testimony of what was to be this stronghold of Cantal.
Beautiful frescoes of the 15th adorn the interior.
The seventeenth century enriches the main body with remarkable painted ceilings.
Tapestries, paintings, furniture, parent richly this set.
Enlarged and restored in the nineteenth century, the castle has been owned since 1608 by
the family of Cassagne de Beaufort Miramon Pesteils who still lives today.
The chateau is a very interesting place, although the English language printed guides provided were very confusing, mixing information from various rooms and floors with wild abandon.
The rooms are furnished and decorated in line with the history of the chateau.
Moving our of the main chateau we headed up to the “donjon” (keep). Climbing the spiral stairs up through the many floors, of the keep, we were greeted by a bat. On one occasion it flew out of the fireplace on one floor, into and back out of the medaeval loo, back in and up the spiral staircase to the higher floors. At one point it darted out the window on the top floor, out into the bright sunshine. I always thought bats were nocturnal. Obviously this one couldn’t make up its mind if it was a bat or a House Martin. Maybe it’s only the vampire variety that fly at night.
As we climbed, many of the upper rooms were infested with flies, all swarming the windows. Their buzzing was very reminiscent of crime movies when a long dead body is discovered. Thankfully, we did not encounter any bodies.
We ascended to the top of the spiral staircase, which terminated on a walkway under the eaves of the roof of the keep. The walkway consisted of metal grid plates spread across the roof buttressed. You could see all the way down to the ground. Something of a heart stopping, stomach churning sight.
Leaving our two partners, Dave and I stepped out onto the grids to circumnavigate the top of the tower. The views were stunning but we were constantly reminded of the drop below our feet. This uneasy feeling was not diminished by the crumbling state of the stone butresses on which the grids rested.
The following are a few images from around the grounds…..
