Andrew John Assinder

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Andrew John Assinder

Andrew John Assinder

@andyassinder

European. Professional Mechanical Engineer, 20 years Interim Manager

England, south coast Присоединился Mayıs 2009
525 Подписки224 Подписчики
Andrew John Assinder
Andrew John Assinder@andyassinder·
So the Cotswolds were in the Lake District in 1926, when it was over half the size of the UK? 500 miles Windermere to Coniston !!!! I didn’t think Hurricanes were flying until the 1930s. And photographed from a Canberra which was also a sea plane or maybe a boat then. AI?
RAF_Luton@RAF_Luton

Fact of the Day: The Hurricane was the seaplane fighter jet, it was first flown on the 31st Feb 1926 when Sqn Ldr Mo Stash-Copp took off from Lake Windermere (Cotswolds) and flew a 800.85km flight to Lake Coniston (Cotswolds) Photographed from a Canberra

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Andrew John Assinder
Andrew John Assinder@andyassinder·
Does that excuse the crumbling inadequacy of the UK roads system to even carry its own traffic? Decades of failure to plan and invest in our infrastructure. Millions of people waste 000s of hours of their lives, air pollution, industry damaged; third world quality of life.
DC #FBPE🇪🇺@Damo_C79

@andyassinder France's road network has been designed to carry a large amount of through traffic for neighbouring European countries. Ours doesn't have that burden.

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Andrew John Assinder
Andrew John Assinder@andyassinder·
And yet daily and weekly markets all over Europe still deliver fresh produce to a healthy and discerning public. We are what we eat. Fresh food is not part of the British staple diet anymore.
Sama Hoole@SamaHoole

The British wet fish van was, from roughly 1920 to 1995, the way coastal Britain delivered fresh fish to inland towns. A small refrigerated van. A man called Eric, or George, or Ron, who had been driving the route for thirty years. He left the harbour at four in the morning, after the boats had come in, with that day's catch packed on ice in plastic crates. He drove the same route every Tuesday and Thursday, through three villages and one market town, parking in the same lay-by at the same time, sounding his horn twice, and waiting while the housewives came out with their shopping bags. The slab in the back of the van, opened on a hinge, was a wet fishmonger's counter in miniature. Cod, haddock, plaice, sole, herring, mackerel, sprats, smoked haddock dyed yellow with annatto, kippers in pairs, oysters on Tuesdays if the boat had got them, brown shrimps from Morecambe Bay, cockles from the Thames estuary, and a crab or two for the household that knew how to dress one. The fishmonger boned the fillet on the lid of a plastic crate with a knife he had been using since 1976. He weighed it on a brass scale. He wrapped it in newspaper. He took the money in coins. He drove on to the next village. The wet fish van required: a coastal fishery, a working harbour, a road network, a refrigerated vehicle, a knowledgeable operator, and a population that knew what to do with a whole fish. The fishery collapsed in the 1970s through industrial overfishing. The operator retired. The population forgot what to do with a whole fish. The van is in a barn in Lincolnshire. The horn no longer sounds in any village. The North Sea is still there.

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