It's often said that "Google is your friend."
You must have heard it. When you need to know something reasonably obscure, like 'How much does a traffic cone weigh?' or 'Can a goldfish sing?', you'll often hear it said - Google is your friend. Indeed it is. I found the answers to both those questions ('up to 4.5kg' and 'yes' are apparently the answers??).
However it seems that if you want to take a non-literal stroll down Pages Lane in Essex and pop in for a virtual brew at White House Farm, you cannot. Which is a shame, really. Here's how it looked when a couple of friendly coppers were standing guard by the entrance to Pages Lane the afternoon after Jeremy Bamber supposedly killed his family:
So I decided I'd take to Google Maps and get myself down there. Except you can't. Sadly. You get stopped by the entrance to Pages Lane and are allowed go no further, a bit like 1985 all over again. :-(
Might it just simply be that Pages Lane is a private road and thus Mr Google was not allowed to take his camera car down there? Might it be that those now living at White House Farm (about a mile or so down and on the right - all publicly available information...) just want some privacy and to be left alone to their thoughts after all this time?
Well it appears not. Those crazy critters love a good camera! In fact, they've opened up the doors to White House Farm for so many documentaries that it's a wonder they don't stick a cafe in there and have everyone in for scones. Look - here's Ann Eaton with one crew near the Aga cooker in the White House Farm kitchen:
Trauma and tragedy? It doesn't look like it. She'll show you what you need to know. Not sure what the caption here is but it may be she's saying "My nails made this one, and we used a fork for the other one..." I obviously couldn't comment.
So if it isn't privacy they want, why can I not take Google for a ride? Have they something to hide?
I might well ask Google - it knows the answers to the craziest things, after all. I just typed in "How was Jeremy Bamber ever found guilty and why is his still in jail?"
The explanation is about as believable as a singing goldfish!
Monday, 22 September 2014
Monday, 5 May 2014
WHAT A DICK-Y BOW!
De Miller’s Tale
Tolleshunt D’arcy Tales - by Jeffri Saucer
Twas in the in ye summer of ‘85
that there Bamber did shoot his familie,
I was in the farm house the day o’ the killin’
And I distinctly remembers,
That the laydie in question,
had a gun which had moved
each time I laid mine eye upon her.
I was a scratchin’ my head
because she’d been dead
For at least seven hours or Morse.
At first it was fun to be movin’ the gun
While we set about training our troops.
But we did look a bit thick
To find in our tricks
The camera had recorded them all.
From the body to window,
To the bed to the floor,
Did the gun move around
And much more.
Then after that date,
as statement I made
Leaving out true the notes
of my pocket book for sure.
Much later on when Dickinson he dun,
A review of the case some more,
The cat out o’ the bag did come,
From our own firearms boys
That the body had moven’ it’s self some more.
Then in ‘91 when,
I was almost done
For perverting the course of justice,
We was lucky enough,
to get one of ye olde friends,
From down City o’ London Police our way.
They beavered away,
with Barry McKay,
and wiped all away,
Our corruption charges hooray!
And so ends my tale
without going beyond the pale,
That appeal courts and nonsense
will never catch me by the tail,
I never left a good enough trail,
But I’ve made a few quid out of
Dr Who and Dickie Bows too.
Unlike in Chaucer
there has been no debaucher
no, bottoms, nor bums nor glee,
but it’s ok for me cos I get on T.V
to make more silver for me!