Afternoon music
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[““HE WAS OLD ANYWAY… SO WHAT DOES IT MATTER?”
Those are the words a paramedic says were spoken after 86-year-old Edward Anderson died alone on the floor of his bedroom.
Let that sink in.
Edward was a husband. A father. A hospice patient. A human being who deserved dignity in his final days.
According to investigators, his overnight caregiver, Beatrice Taylor, fell asleep during her shift. Around 1 a.m., she allegedly heard a loud thump and found Edward trapped on the floor with his head wedged between his bed and a nightstand.
He was alive.
He was conscious.
Investigators say a call to 911 at that moment could have saved his life.
Instead, authorities allege she walked away and went back to sleep.
Hours later, investigators say she spent nearly 40 minutes on the phone with her parents before checking on him again. By then, Edward was unconscious. Even then, deputies say 911 was not called immediately.
Emergency responders weren’t contacted until 5: 37 a.m.
By the time they arrived…
Edward Anderson was gone.
The medical examiner ruled his death positional asphyxia, meaning he slowly suffocated while trapped.
Investigators say data from his pacemaker showed he survived for a period after the fall, and that prompt medical assistance could have prevented his death.
Then came the statement that has left so many people outraged.
A paramedic reported hearing the caregiver say:
“He was old anyway… so what does it matter?”
It matters because every life matters.
It matters because growing old does not erase a person’s value.
It matters because no one deserves to spend their final moments frightened, trapped, and alone when help was only a phone call away.
Authorities charged Beatrice Taylor with aggravated manslaughter of an elderly person.
Edward Anderson deserved compassion.
Instead, prosecutors allege he was abandoned when he needed someone most.”]
I suppose that, in time, that sort of work will be done by robots. After all, no pay (and no fried chicken) required.
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A few brutal weeks of basic training, and that man will be on the crumbling front-lines of the Kiev regime. After having been deployed, he will probably only be alive for a few days or weeks.
“Rivne” is the Ukrainian name for the town of Rovno, in Western Ukraine: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rivne.
Looks as if the young lady’s father has been kidnapped by the goons of the Kiev regime, and will suffer the same fate as the one shown in the previous above clip, in which a man was abducted from outside a chemist’s shop somewhere in Ukraine (looks like it was in Dnipro/Dnepropetrovsk).
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ukrainian_conscription_crisis
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Busification
A Pakistani woman with a faked “backstory” (e.g. a virtually non-existent “legal career”, consisting of a 6-12 month Bar pupillage followed by 1-2 years working as a low-level “gopher” in a provincial firm of solicitors).
Many MPs have CVs that are largely faked. Look at Iain Dunce Duncan Smith. He is also a criminal fraudster, who should have been prosecuted.
Burnham’s “strategy” of “majoring in minor things” has not —yet— angered many people precisely because of that. Ipso facto, if you like.
Perhaps surprisingly, Labour now sits quite high in the polls, around 30%.
In the country, in our society, though, the slide continues. Migration invasion, housing crisis, cost of living crisis etc. All worsening. Daily.
Talking point
Good men. All volunteers, no expectation of financial reward.
https://youtube.com/watch?v=WdYk2sYL9wM&is=_J-YUWZsnA3v5EI5
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I cannot watch any videos like this without crying. The weird thing is, I do not have a drop of British blood in me. Ethnically, I am 100% Italian, but I was born in Argentina. I always felt awfully sad looking at the photographs of WW1 soldiers of every nation. The ones that I found most moving are the ones that show them happy and cheerful. As my wife said: “They were beautiful human beings”
My dear late wife said that I must have been a soldier in another life. Well, I am not sure about that, but the fact is that there is no logical explanation for my crying.
My wife was English. We met in Australia, and every 25th of April (that´s ANZAC Day, the anniversary of the landing in Gallipoli) we were at dawn at the cenotaph. I am crying now as I type this, remembering how we cry listening to the “Last Post”, and I am also crying for her, who died 43 days ago.
LEST WE FORGET
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