At the Eleventh Hour

 

At the Eleventh Hour

Often this expression is used to indicate action at the last possible moment, usually before disaster strikes. It’s dramatic, perhaps over-used, but what is its origin?

It comes from the parable of the vineyard workers, as related in the gospel of St Matthew (chapter 20, vv1-6)

It was the custom of landowners to hire workers throughout the day to strip the grape vines. Men could be engaged at the beginning of the working day, but their numbers might be supplemented as the day wore on, even at the end, or eleventh hour, of the day. Regardless of how many hours they worked, all the labourers were paid the same amount. This led to some resentment, naturally.

It led me to ponder, not for the first time, why the eleventh hour was chosen to announce the Armistice in the First World War - it was actually signed at 5:45 a.m. in the Forest of Compiègne. Logistically, hours were needed to allow the news to filter through to the commanders and the troops. Indeed, fighting continued until the last moments.

“The fighting continued until the last possible moment. As a result, there were 10,944 casualties, including 2,738 deaths, on the war’s last day. Most occurred within a period of three hours. The last soldier to be killed in World War I was Henry Gunther, an American of German descent, who was killed just sixty seconds before the guns fell silent.”

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month has a resounding poetic timbre, unforgettable, echoing.

I watched all the hundreds of people marching past the Cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday - heads up, shoulders back, pride in every step, a diminishing number every year, some of their places taken by younger relatives.

I watched and thought of them as young, strong men and women, 'doing their bit.'

I watched and saw the older, sadder men and women they had become, maybe diminished, disabled, disillusioned, but still with a spark of defiance and grit, a belief in their cause and their country, a fellowship with their comrades across the generations and the nations.

How long will this tribute continue? How many decades, centuries, must pass before the memories are consigned to history? We don’t as a country commemorate Boudicca’s revolt against the Romans in the first century, the Anglo/Saxon invasion of fifth century Britain, the conquest of the English by the Norman-French army at the Battle of Hastings in the eleventh century. Yet these were important and bloody and life-changing for hundreds, thousands.

Of course, we must never forget the horror of wars and the misery they inflict on all affected by them, but when and how do we move on from the last terrible conflict? Is it a natural process?

It seems inconceivable that the awfulness of both World Wars and subsequent skirmishes across the world should not be marked in a meaningful way, like the Remembrance Day ceremonies. It is essential to try and prevent such atrocities occurring again, to stop young lives being ended or scarred irreparably.

History is vital and must be taught meaningfully. We must remember, lest we forget.

Free gift

 

Free gift

In my groceries today I found a packet of Percy Pig sweets. ‘Made with real fruit juice’ is the claim on the front of the packet. They are vegan, and have ‘no artificial ingredients or flavourings’ (I quote from the Marks and Spencer website.)     

All well and good. Free gifts are often to be welcomed.

I tried a couple. They had a pleasant enough texture, but no discernible, easily identifiable flavour.

They are definitely not something I would ever buy. ‘Something of nothing’ is my verdict. Perhaps others relish them and cannot have enough of them.

I wonder why they are being sent out as free gifts. Overstocked, maybe? I’ll never know.

Free gift? Aren’t all gifts free?

Crackers!

 

Crackers!

I decided to check up on the Christmas cracker situation today. I thought we had drawers full of them, but they’ve all vanished. Maybe they grew legs and pranced away.

I’d better check the Christmas cards!

Silly answers

 

Silly answers

1: An average hen’s egg is two inches long and weighs five ounces.
 An average peacock’s egg is exactly twice the length and two and a half times the weight.
Which has the greater circumference?

Peacocks do not lay eggs. Peahens do.

2: What is impossible to hold for half an hour yet weighs almost nothing?

Your breath.

3: Eight crows were on a wall. After a farmer shot one, how many crows were left?

One. The dead one. The rest flew away.

4:  What is the next letter in the sequence O T T F F S?

S. They are the initial letters of the numbers one, two, three, four, five, six. The next is seven.

5: What is full of holes but holds water?

A sponge.

6: I’m halfway up inside a building that has no windows or balconies, but I have a wonderful view of the city around me. What sort of building am I in?

A multi-storey car park.

7: Mr Smith eats three eggs a day. He never buys eggs, he doesn’t keep chickens, and no-one gives him any eggs. Where does he get his eggs?

Mr Smith keeps ducks and eats duck eggs.

 

 

  

Silly questions

 

Silly questions (answers tomorrow)

1: An average hen’s egg is two inches long and weighs five ounces.
 An average peacock’s egg is exactly twice the length and two and a half times the weight.
Which has the greater circumference?

2: What is impossible to hold for half an hour yet weighs almost nothing?

3: Eight crows were on a wall. After a farmer shot one, how many crows were left?

4:  What is the next letter in the sequence O T T F F S?

5: What is full of holes but holds water?

6: I’m halfway up inside a building that has no windows or balconies, but I have a wonderful view of the city around me. What sort of building am I in?

7: Mr Smith eats three eggs a day. He never buys eggs, he doesn’t keep chickens, and no-one gives him any eggs. Where does he get his eggs?

 

 

  

Dog food

 

Dog food

Through the generations of dogs we’ve had the joy of living with, feeding them has been an ongoing topic for thought and discussion.

I realise this is a First World issue, and am only too aware that many people in this world have not enough to feed themselves and their families. That doesn’t mean that we, more fortunate, should not pay as much attention to what we feed our animals as we do to our own diet.

Our first dog was Whisky, our rehomed three-year-old Labrador. The first meal we gave her was lights. Lights are offal, mainly lungs, heart, stomach (tripe) and other bits and pieces that butchers can extract from a carcase and that might not otherwise be commercially viable. These days, for the nose-to-tail cooks, everything is on the table, or at least in the cooking pot.

She loved her meal, but we did not appreciate the digestive disturbances it caused, so after that she had tinned food, which she inhaled at great speed.

Through the years, we tried dried food, wet food, and raw food. At one time, for a few years, frozen raw chicken, turkey necks, raw bones, and tripe were delivered regularly, and we had a dedicated freezer for it, known as the dog freezer. They really enjoyed it and looked tremendous on it, but there was always something of a question mark over whether they were getting the right proportions of protein, vitamins, and so forth. Raw bones, too, though greatly enjoyed, could be a problem. They might splinter and could not be left in the garden for wildlife to infect with bacteria.

Eventually, the supplier could no longer supply in the quantities we wanted – he was selling to kennels, and our order was quite meagre by comparison. So ended the evenings bagging up frozen meat, to our secret relief. Then we went to dried food.

We didn’t want food that was full of fillers and additives – junk food for dogs - so consulted a site – https://allaboutdogfood.co.uk – a comprehensive and boggling site about many of the commercial dog foods available, and discovered one that seemed good.  We have just discovered that the company providing it, formerly Canadian, has been sold to China, and the ingredients have been tweaked. The dogs are not turning their noses up at it, but we are unhappy not knowing what ingredients are now being used. It’s increasingly difficult to escape the clutches of China, but at least we can still source our own food, and that of our animals.

We found a German company, www.gentledogfood.co.uk and were sent some free samples to try out, to see if the dogs liked them. They are Labradors! They like everything, so it was hardly a rigorous test. They are not at all discriminating in their tastes and wolfed down the samples, and looked around for more. We shall see how they fare on their new diet.

In common with doctors, vets are not given much teaching on the value of good nutrition. Medical students receive fewer than twenty-five hours, often significantly less during their years of training. Veterinary students have about twenty hours.

Thus, it is up to us to research, and refine our diets according to our health, taste, and purses. 

William Morris

 

William Morris 1834-1896

 A William Morris design I particularly like is Strawberry Thief.

The inspiration came from the thrushes he saw stealing fruit in his Kelmscott Manor house in Oxfordshire. It became one of his most popular designs and was printed on cotton fabric for use in curtains.

I have two cushions in different colourways    

a tablecloth. 

and an address book

There can never be too many Strawberry Thieves in my house. 

I am also working on a Strawberry Thief cross-stitch, which is driving me cross-eyed!

Sky burial

 

Sky burial

Dakhma (Tower of Silence) Yazd, Iran

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

'Jim and Barb’s Adventures' commented that vultures are simultaneously fascinating and repulsive, and that reminded me of ‘sky burials.’

Sky burial is not a burial at all, but an excarnation. It is the Western expression for what Tibetans call ’giving alms to the birds.’

It was a practical solution to the problem of finding enough fuel for the more traditional Buddhist practice of cremation. There was no requirement to preserve the body – it was empty once the soul had departed and migrated elsewhere. It was considered a practical and generous ritual, providing sustenance to birds and wild animals.

It is a ritual still practised in many Himalayan communities.

Parsis (Zoroastrians) traditionally placed the bodies of their dead in Dakhmas (Towers of Silence) for the vultures to consume. The Parsis of Mumbai in India have tried to maintain the practice, but it is difficult because the population of vultures declined dramatically in the late twentieth century. The cause was the use of diclofenac, commonly prescribed for ailments like arthritis and migraine. It is toxic to vultures.

Some mountain tops had been designated as charnel grounds, but the practice was banned in China in the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976) though it has been re-established in some areas.

Other forms of air burial involved putting the cadaver in a hollow tree.

Australian Aboriginal people placed the bodies of their dead on raised platforms and covered them with grasses and leaves. They would be left for a year. The purpose was to prevent the ghost of the departed returning to plague the people.

Some North American peoples similarly raised their corpses to the sky in tall trees, leaving them there for two years, after which they would be retrieved and buried.

Thus, for some, such practices were undertaken to dispose of a body no longer occupied. For others, it was a way to ensure that spirits were appeased so that they would not return to haunt.

Gilbert the Good

 

Gilbert the Good – special!

It’s a special day today. It’s my birthday and I’m three years old.

 I’ve had a smashing day. I went for a splendid walk in the woods (it’s actually part of Swinley Forest) Well, I do that every day, I know, but Roxy and I went in the comfortable car today because there’s something wrong with the dog box. The air bag warning light has come on, and the speedometer and other lights aren’t working. It’s at the garage now.

Anyway, Roxy and I had lots of swimming in lots of ponds. We met some other dogs and played with them, too. It was a really excellent walk and lots of people wished me a happy birthday, so I feel very cheerful.

I’m tired now, but it’s the sort of tiredness that comes from having lots of fresh air and exercise, when my lungs have worked hard and my muscles have stretched. You may be sure that if I were invited to go for another walk right this minute, I’d be only too delighted.

Supper to look forward to now.

                                            Roll on tomorrow!

TTFN

 

Gilbert

Oft-repeated

 

Oft-repeated

One of my favourite songs is ‘All God’s creatures got a place in the choir.’ The version here is by Makem and Clancy.

The song was written by the American folksinger Bill Staines (1947-2021)

One of my oft-repeated phrases is that everything has its place in the world.

All things in nature contribute to the ecosystem, though it’s sometimes hard to appreciate the role of the less attractive.

One that makes people shudder is the cockroach. They have been in existence for about three hundred and twenty million years.

Associated with decay, dirt, and disease, there are four thousand, six hundred species, and of those, around thirty are associated with humans. They live in a wide range of locations, from Arctic to Equatorial, and the members of most species are insignificant and innocuous. Many are social, gregarious animals, living in close proximity to each other, for protection and to reproduce.

They range in length from 3.5 mm to 97 mm and most of them are rusty brown in colour, though the Domino cockroach is black with white spots.

Repulsive as they are, they are vital agents in the removal of decaying matter, like dead animals, plants, and leaf litter. They are one of Nature’s refuse collectors.

They also enrich the soil with their droppings. They are an important food for animals, like birds, reptiles, and small mammals.

As they dig through soil and fallen leaves they function as aerators, breaking up and improving the earth. Some even assist in seed dispersal.

They have been studied extensively in the fields of locomotion and antibiotic research.

Nonetheless, cockroaches do not live in isolation, and where there is one, there will be others nearby, possibly dozens, or even hundreds of others.

Baby snail

 

Baby snail

Almost the last of the apples were gathered this morning. One of them carried a tiny passenger, a baby snail.

The UK apple harvest has been phenomenal this year. The trees in our garden always crop well, but have been outstanding in 2025. The dry mild spring was beneficial for pollination, and later, when the blossom was setting.

A hot dry summer, the warmest on record apparently, gave more than enough sunshine to develop the fruit and give them sweetness. We had worried that there hadn’t been sufficient rainfall, but it seems there was enough to satisfy them.

Commercial apple growers are overjoyed, with harvests exceeding their best for more than a decade. Cider producers, in particular, had crops so heavy that boughs were breaking under the weight of the fruit. Some producers have bought extra tanks to hold the juice. It is a good year for cider!

The prediction was for a superb pear harvest, too, but our trees didn’t receive the memo.

It is still mild enough for infant snails to feed and strengthen their shells before hibernating. I hope they won’t be caught out by a sudden cold snap or a sharp-eyed blackbird or the carelessly placed boot of a human.

Medicalisation

 

Medicalisation

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

As ever, I can only read the ‘headlines of Chris’s posts at ‘Always smiling,’ but I had to smile at the heading of her latest post, ‘I feel I missed out.’

Her post was about menopause. There’s peri-menopause and post-menopause as well, so there’s no escape from all the ‘research’ that goes into this mysterious condition that affects every woman if she lives long enough.

Of course, some women have gynaecologically challenging times, and deserve sympathy and practical help. Most women I know have ‘just got on with it.’

My apologies if I’ve trampled on any toes, but my gripe is a general one, that we live in an increasingly medicalised world.

Natural conditions are transformed into marathons of ‘experience,’ with ‘problems’ to be faced and ‘overcome,’ as if we are climbing a mountain and need to be provided with ropes, axes, and crampons. Don’t forget the ‘special diet,’ either, to compensate for all the things that will now and forever be missing, or to provide for the ‘new’ and ‘challenging’ things we will face in any new or unfamiliar condition in which we find ourselves.

Of course, it is essential to be aware and alert, to monitor our health and take steps to preserve strength and wellbeing. It is also important to maintain a sense of balance.

There is no cure for life.

 

Samhain

 

Samhain

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,

Every nighte and all,

Fire and sleet and candle-lighte,

And Christe receive thy saule.

The Lyke-Wake Dirge, folk song in Yorkshire dialect

This song was beautifully performed by Pentangle, with Jacqui McShee’s sublime soaring voice and perfect diction.

Samhain (Sauin in Manx) is the Irish and Scottish Gaelic name for November.

The festival of Samhain begins at sunset on October 31^st, to mark the end of harvest and the beginning of winter.

It is said that the veil between life and death is at its thinnest on this sacred night. The spirits of the dear departed may visit their homes and in some cases, places are set at table for them.

It is common to speak of dying as passing away. Maybe it is not simply an anodyne way of referring to something distressing, but a reference to Samhain. It is comforting, for those who do not robustly deny such beliefs as outdated nonsense, to think that souls slip from one realm to another through the sheerest curtain.

‘Pass’ meaning ‘die’ has been used since the beginning of the fourteenth century and was used in that sense by Geoffrey Chaucer (1343-1400) and later by Shakespeare (1564-1616)

 ‘Passing away’ came into the common lexicon in the fifteenth century. The belief then was that a person’s soul remained until the funeral rites were completed, after which it could ‘pass away.’

 

Just to get you in the party mood and ready for those wonderful jokes inside Christmas crackers. Prepare to groan.

 

Q:  What do you give the man who has everything?

A:  Antibiotics.

 

Q:  What goes, ‘Ha, ha, ha, clonk?’

A:  A man laughing his head off.

 

Q:  What did baby corn say to mummy corn?

A: Where’s Pop corn?

 

Q:  Why did the thief take a bath?

A: So he could make a clean getaway.

 

Q: Why do black sheep eat less than white sheep>

A:  There aren’t as many of them.

 

Q: What do you call a fish with no eyes?

A: A fish.

 

Q: Where would you find a dog with no legs?

A: Right where you left him.

 

Q: What did the hat say to the scarf?

A: You hang around while I go on ahead.

Endless dancing

 

Endless dancing

Red Shoes (Boots) modelled by Power Ranger Jason Lee Scott

Fairy tales often conceal dark thoughts and fears. Frequently, they’re based on unpleasant and unpalatable facts, and are used as moral fables.

The Brothers Grimm wrote the story of Snow White in 1812, though it traces its origins to earlier folk tales in which a mother wished for a beautiful child, ‘’with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and hair as black as ebony.”

In Snow White the lovely child was born and adored, but her loving mother died soon after the baby’s birth. Her father married a beautiful woman who was excessively vain and despised the pretty little girl. Many times, she sought to kill her, but each time her efforts were thwarted.

After the trials and tribulations visited upon the poor child by her stepmother, Snow White was awoken from her living death and married her handsome prince. The evil stepmother was invited to the wedding, but was overcome with envy and hatred at seeing the lovely young woman, who had displaced her as “the fairest in all the land.” Her wickedness was repaid with a curse. She was compelled to wear a pair of shoes of red-hot iron and dance until she collapsed and died.

Evil is as evil does, you might say.

A little more than thirty years later, Hans Christian Andersen wrote The Red Shoes in 1845.

If you have ever wondered why ‘Karen’ became a pejorative term for rude, privileged women, the clue may lie within the story. It wasn’t adopted as an insult until the twenty-first century, after an unpleasant incident in Central Park, New York. 

In defence of Karens everywhere, I have known several by that name, all perfectly pleasant.

In the story, poor orphaned Karen was adopted by a wealthy lady and indulged in everything, growing up spoilt and conceited. Spotting a pretty pair of red shoes in a cobbler’s shop window, Karen could not rest until she acquired them. Once in possession of them, she could not bear to remove them.

 Dressed in white for her confirmation, she refused to change them for something more appropriate, greatly upsetting those around her, particularly her guardian. Later, as her guardian lay seriously ill Karen wore the shoes to a ball, giving little heed to the woman who had taken her in and looked after her.

To her shock, as she left the ball, she found herself dancing and unable to stop. An angel appeared and told her she was cursed to wear the shoes and dance through all eternity. In desperation, Karen begged for her feet to be chopped off, and they danced away from her. She was then given wooden feet and crutches, and lived the rest of her life humbly.

That is a profound object lesson.

There are shades of eternal dancing in the Pied Piper of Hamelin, another story written by the Brothers Grimm. It is a strange tale that has its roots in history.

After the Pied Piper had been cheated of his agreed fee for ridding the town of Hamelin of its plague of rats, he took his revenge by enticing the children to follow him out of the town. The children could not resist the strains of the Piper’s tunes, and danced away to a lair in the mountains, never to be seen again. One poor crippled boy, unable to keep up with his companions, was left behind to tell the tale.

As always, there are several versions of the story, but there is a street in Hamelin which is said to be the last place the children were seen alive before they disappeared. It is called ‘Bungelosenstrasse,’ (street without drums) and no music or dancing is ever allowed on that thoroughfare.

The Dancing Plague of 1518

 

The Dancing Plague of 1518

Dance at Molenbeek. Pieter Brueghel the Younger (1564-1638)

A depiction of dancing mania, on the pilgrimage of epileptics to the church of Molenbeek

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Having recently twice heard mention of this phenomenon, I wanted to learn more.

 It’s not clear what caused an outbreak of enforced dancing. One theory suggests that it was food poisoning, from eating rye affected by ergot fungus, which can cause hallucinations. This causes twitching and convulsions rather than dancing, but is similar in composition to LSD, and was also implicated in the frenzy surrounding the Salem witch trials.

 An alternative theory proposes that it was mass hysteria related to stress brought about by impoverished living conditions, disease, and starvation.

Whatever the cause, on 14^th July 1518, Frau Troffea left her house in Strasbourg and began dancing. After several hours, she fell to the ground, exhausted, but began dancing again the following day. She continued to dance for six days, despite the pain of her bruised and bleeding feet. Others joined the dancing, until around four hundred people were involved. Some danced themselves to death, dying from heart attacks, strokes, or exhaustion.

At the time, in a region where St Vitus was honoured, people believed that prolonged dancing was a punishment visited on sinners.

St Vitus was a Christian martyr from Sicily. He is the patron saint of dancers, comedians, actors, and dogs, and protects against snake bites, storms, oversleeping, and epilepsy. He is most commonly associated with St Vitus’ Dance, which is now known as Sydenham’s Chorea. Sydenham’s chorea is caused by an autoimmune reaction to a streptococcal infection (strep throat) It can cause involuntary twitching of face, hands, and feet, and imbalance and poor coordination, resulting in an unusual gait.

They believed that Frau Troffea had sinned and was controlled by the Devil. They led her, with others, to a shrine in the mountains to atone for their sins.

The dancing mania, Pieter Brueghel

It is believed that sometimes strong men were employed to support exhausted dancers.
Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

By the beginning of September 1518, the plague began to abate, and the dancing stopped completely after several weeks. Although the Strasbourg outbreak is probably the best-documented, there were at least ten similar occurrences centuries before, all equally inexplicable.                       

Worrying

 

Worrying

Arthur, trying to make sense of it all.

Our middle daughter lives in South London, not far from Crystal Palace. Early each morning she goes for a run with her dog, Arthur. This morning, she discovered something disturbing in the woods. She took photographs, but did not investigate closely and would not allow Arthur too near, either.

Instead, she called the police, for what she had found looked worryingly like a body. 

 A police car and an ambulance arrived on the scene and after a short while the authorities determined that the polythene wrapped ‘body’ had probably been deposited as a Hallowe’en prank.

The police officer who was the first to investigate agreed that it looked very suspicious. It is a shame that one person’s idea of a joke results in money being wasted on public resources, but such things must be examined.

Not long ago, the various parts of a dismembered body were found near this location, so police are aware and alert at all times. This time, fortunately, it was just a poor joke in bad taste.

Where?

 

Where? 

It’s a bright sunny chilly, morning with a breeze so slight it’s almost not there. The clocks have celebrated by going back.

No-one is quite sure where they have gone, but at some point during the night they grew legs and scurried off to their lairs, in caverns in the mountains or caves by the seashore. Some scampered away to deep forest hideaways while others returned to open moors. A few unfortunates found themselves restricted to towns, to skulk near rubbish tips and keep company with the foxes and feral cats.

The grand church clocks and their relations from the town halls across the land strode purposefully to their ancestral homes, while the sarsens (not the vinegar – that’s Sarson’s) flexed their enormous muscles and lumbered away from Stonehenge and Avebury and Clatford Bottom to take their repose.

What the humans see on awakening are impostors. The originals will return in the Spring when the clocks travel forward again.

It is the end of British Summer Time.

What of the digital timepieces? Do they really deserve the title of ‘clock?’ They are soulless, with no heartbeat and no agency. They are not worth consideration.

 

Wrong directions?

   

                                

                            Why is there a bus in the forest?

                     Did TomTom give inaccurate directions?

 ‘Take the next turning on the right’ can often lead the unwary into a dead end or a field gate or even the driveway to someone’s house.

We’ll never know why the bus was there. It was a strange sight.

 Leaving?  The car looks rather like a taxi and there's another vehicle beyond the bus which could be a Forest Ranger's four-wheel drive.

 

The engine

Marlene from Poppypatchwork asked about the engine in my header.

It was drawn by my son, Gareth, when he was about four, I think.

I love it. I like the pencil lines of his original drawing. I like the details he included - the chimney, the couplings, and the four wonky wheels. I love the way he used a black wax crayon to colour it in so vigorously. There are two roughly rectangular white spaces to the bottom right of the engine. I don’t know what they are – maybe they represent the steps up onto the footplate.

I can see when the energy began to lag. The wheels are not so thoroughly coloured, the last one, on the right hardly coloured at all. He was a dear little boy and developed into a caring and loving husband and father.

One day, I will ask him if he remembers drawing this.

Children’s drawings can tell us so much, if only we care to look closely enough.

The law is an ass

 

The law is an ass

                                        Enforcement officer

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Welcome to today’s rant!

A woman in Richmond, West London was recently fined £150 for pouring the dregs of her coffee down a roadside drain. She was about to catch a bus to work and didn’t want to spill the remains of her drink on it. She was accosted by three ‘enforcement officers’ who issued the fine.

 Richmond Council employs enforcement officers to deal with violations of parking regulations and issue fines where necessary. They may also investigate fly-tipping, dropping litter or refuse in the street, or the incorrect way of presenting refuse for collection (!)

 She was unaware of the law, which, as we all know, is no excuse!!

It can be found under Section 33 of the Environmental Protection Act 1990. There are 164 sections, and 16 Schedules, 20 if you count the sub-schedules.

The miscreant asked the enforcement officers, all three of them, if there were any signs or information warning of the requirements of the law, but received no answer. She found the incident quite intimidating, but Richmond Council maintained that the body cams worn by the three officers showed that they had not behaved in an aggressive manner.

I think the sight of three officers approaching me and telling me I was breaking the law and needed to pay a fine would make my heart beat a little faster, too.

The lady asked what she should have done with her left-over beverage, and was told she should have poured it in a nearby bin. Richmond Council stated, “We are committed to protecting Richmond’s waterways and keeping our borough’s streets clean and safe. Enforcement action is only taken when necessary,”

This begs the question. ‘What should I do with left-over tea, coffee, or other drinks at home?’ Should they all be poured into the bin, rather than emptied down the kitchen sink?I wonder if this was a box-ticking exercise, 

with the results to be charted to prove that ‘efforts are being made in our ongoing campaign to improve conditions in our borough,’ or words to that effect.

If the lady who has committed the criminal act pays the fine within fourteen days, it will be reduced by £50 to £100. She is intending to make a complaint when her case will be reviewed.

Postscript: The fine has ben lifted. Commonsense prevailed.