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Lots Of Noise

wiir wiir wiiir wiiiirrrrrrriiiiiirrrrrr   One of the hassles of living near to a garage is the sound of mechanics working. Normally things are fairly quiet and I don't notice their activities too much, but this morning is was out with the power tools and they got to work on somebodies car with a vengeance.   wiir wiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrr wiiir wiiir   As it happens I'd decided somewhat foolishly to enjoy a lay in. I mean, it was a cold moring and I'd been up late last night. So every time I rolled over and buried my ears in an attempt to snooze a little more, I was brought back to the real world. I had no choice but to grin and bear it I suppose.   It would no use sleeping in the front room either. Firstly it was even colder than my bedroom but also out front the pavements are being dug up in a vain attempt to rectify all the faults the victorians built in to their civic engineering. Lots of white and orange bollards, heaps of dirt, and dayglo gorillas sat drinking tea in-between bouts of destruction with pneumatic drills. It's the british way.   Stop Press - It's My Fault It's my own fault! I discovered that a few minutes ago here in the library.   Apparently it serves me right for impersonating a soldier. That was the opinion of a librarian who passed me by. What on earth is she drinking? In what way am I being punished? And what gives these punishers the legal right to exact their sentence upon me?   Sorry lady, but at no time have I ever attempted to claim I was a member of anyones armed forces, though on a few occaisions in the past my military surplus might have given that impression. She might also want to realise that vigilantism is not legal in Britain.   Stupid woman.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Warnings And Preparations

My world is very quiet of late, apart from the odd squabble among among my neighbours. About the only event worthy of note is the inspection of the property by my letting agent. They do tell me that they're not overly concerned at my lifestyle or how tidy the place is, but my days as an air cadet still afflict me with an instinctive desire to avoid having to clean the place all over again until I can eat my breakfast off it.   So I had a bit of tidy up. That didn't hurt, did it?   Plans The latest plans for Queens Park are posted at the library. Now that the council has disbanded the parks department to save money they might stop ripping all the foliage out of the park. Or will they? Time for me to head down to the display boards and find out what is going on.   More Weather There's more warnings of persistent cold weather to come. That's the trouble with february. Almost every year it does this. Just when you think winter is all over and you've gotten away with it, along comes icy blasts from Siberia or the North Pole.   It's supposed to be the coldest day this winter so far but it doesn't feel like that. Certainly not warm but there's none of that sharp coldness that demands long johns and gloves. Now that I've been warned things are getting colder, should I rush out and purchase protective warm clothing? My own attitude is very much that I've suffered far worse in the past and that I can hack it and so on. Then I saw one of those television experts telling us that older people do tend to say that before they die horribly of hypothermia. I've been warned.   Whinge Of The Week I see Argentina is whinging to the UN because Britain sent a warship to the Falkland Islands. They say it's 'militarising' the area. I'm sorry, didn't Argentina send an entire army there in 1982 and leave a legacy of minefields all over the islands?

caldrail

caldrail

 

Cold Nights

This was the weekend when the weather finally hit Britain. It did in some places, with Heathrow restricting flights and so on, but as usual Wiltshire got away with it. Most of the snow went elsewhere. All we got in Swindon was a dusting of snow that was practically gone within the course of the next day. Nothing like the siberian conditions that eastern europe have undergone.   There are some extraordinary places in the world. I discovered one yesterday. Shoyna is a russian village inside the arctic circle. You wouldn't think so. Most of the houses are buried in sand drifts. It looks more like the sahara than a coastal tundra region.   As often happens, the enviroment of this fascinating place is man-made. Intense fishing in previous decades ripped up the local sea floor vegetation and loose sand was driven ashore by the tides. Now it drfits with the wind, burying the rickety wooden houses overnight on a regular basis. Residents are wary about being trapped in their homes, not by snow, but sandrifts. You don't get this sort of thing on a David Attenbrough series.   Droids Of The Night In the beginning was a man with no girlfriend. God made him that way apparently so I guess being omnipotent isn't quite what it's cracked up to be. Anyway that got sorted - twice, as it turns out. Sometimes though his descendants aren't so lucky. What then? How does a man calm his primal lust?   Well God certainly thought of that one didn't he? However for some us a fun appendage doesn't really cut it. Not suprising then that enterprising women have gone into the worlds oldest business since blokes realised what that fun appendage was actually supposed to be for. Blame Eve. She persuaded Adam to eat that stupid apple in the first place.   You would think those options would solve the problem, but no, sometime later somebody invented the blow-up dummy. I've not used one nor found anyone who admitted that they have, but I'm assured these things do exist. Now scientists are working on female robots as companions for those blokes who need something a little more animated. It's inevitable they tell us.   If nothing else it proves how fecund human beings can be, or more to the point how desperate they can get when fecundity is unavailable to them. My own view is just how incredibly sad it is that people want to build and use artificial companions. Not just because of the admission that they can't get a real girlfriend, but also because they actually want an obedient slave. I mean, science fiction has been warning us for nearly a century about this sort of thing.   Still, look on the bright side. At least scientists are likely to have forgotten to program your friendly robotic lover to remind you endlessly that you should have closed the toilet seat.   Bumps In The Night It seems that my own castle is still under siege.. The enemy have made some covert attempts to gain access over the weekend, including the attempted use of a power tool in the small hours. Yep, I heard that one.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Chill Out

"So, how are you, really? You sound entirely too stressed. This is not normal." Dad hit the nail on the head, as we were driving to lunch today.   Let's face fact: I'm a creature of habit, as we all are. I'm just one of those creatures who likes to plan ahead, organize as much as possible, so that when the poop pops upward, I know where things are, what can be done, etc. I see it as being prepared, so that I can work a ton and then have plenty of time to relax in between responsibilities. Others consider it being anal retentive. I point to my high-fiber diet and bathroom visits to prove them wrong.   No, I just get my knickers in a bunch when people don't do their jobs, which in turn sets me behind on mine.   I got a call at the beginning of January to take on a class at a campus 45 minutes from home. It's a bit of a haul, sure, but the pay is good, and it gets me back into a district that I used to teach in...this, in turn, could lead to more work in the near future. Usually, if people get me in the system and give me the necessary information quickly, I can plan out a full semester course in 2-3 days. Then again, this relies on people getting me set up so that I can do all this. Instead, due to office people being sick and others not returning emails and phone calls for 2 weeks, I didn't get to plan my class until 5 days before I had to teach. Not to mention that I had to scramble around and get my employment documents done.   About 5 days after I got that initial call, I received another offer to teach staff and faculty of a local high school district. I said sure, only to be put on hold for 2 weeks before I could get planning. And I'm thankful that I had my survey ready to go for the prospective students, the results of which showed that I had to do a completely different plan than the one that I was told would be necessary.   So, if you're counting at home, that's 2 courses (one full semester, one an 8-week job) to plan in a span of 10 days. And it takes time to get all of my ducks in a row, to get the entire course planned for the semester, to upload the online content, yadda yadda yadda. Of course I can get this done, all while also working my other teaching assignment (that got underway mid-January), and the other things on my plate. Sure, why not?   Stressed? Yeah, a bit.   Then again, it'll all be over soon. Semester-long class has been fully planned and is underway. 8-week job is still in need of planning, but until the first week I can't do much--I gotta see how much work these people figure on doing, before I kick them into reality   But, hey, it's all good. Between the cat and the boyfriend, I have enough goofs around to keep me laughing. Now I just need Dad to lighten up about me (hah) In the meantime, .

docoflove1974

docoflove1974

 

Important Calls To Mr President

So far astronomers have found seven thousand asteroids orbiting close to Earth, of which nine hundred are at least one kilometre in diameter. That's like a mountain floating around up there at tens of thousands of miles an hour. Some of you are probably predicting this is going to be a paragraph or two about the frightening hazards whizzing silently over our heads. Correct. It is.   The worrying thing - and the television documentary deliberately portrayed it in a manner designed to raise hair on the back of your neck - is that smaller asteroids are almost impossible to detect until it's too late, and their destructive power is pretty impressive. The evidence was a recent asteroid that fell in North Africa, prompting very important phone calls to the President and satellite photographs showing an impact point glowing as hot as the sun.   Apparently one particular rock band cancelled a gig in New York because the lead singer was convinced an asteroid was headed there. With a bit of luck he also saw the documentary last night and has done the right thing by deciding not to sing in public any more.   As it happens the solar system has mellowed after its incredibly violent youth when rocks were colliding like rush hour traffic in Mumbai. The known asteroids are in benign orbits that are not going to cause us any concern for at least the next century. Good news for us because insurers can't use astronomcal phenomena as an excuse for raising premiums. Unfortunately for Iran it's very bad news indeed. Partly because divine retribution against Israel appears unlikely, but also because using asteroid deterrence as an excuse for building nuclear warheads is not going to wash.   Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch... Talking about imminent disasters the weathermen have downgraded the risk of snow to Defcon 4. You may now sleep safe in your bed,. Even better it means that very important transatlantic phone calls to the President are unnecessary so you can save on your phone bill too.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Sharp Teeth And Biting Cold

Nature programs often fail to satisfy. David Attenborough is of course an old hand at it (no pun intended) and knows the score, which is one reason why his programs are worth a glance or two even if he does get a litle messianic occaisionally.   Last night though he was nowhere to be seen. Instead we had a guy from India relating the tale of a tigress released into a nature reserve to repopulate an area cleared by poachers. Like many people I find big cats absolutely irresistible. Powerful, dangerous, charismatic. You just can't help but admire these hunters - it's a feral thing, something deep in our psyche, and the sheer majesty of a tiger moving stealthily through the undergrowth is hard to deny.   Tiger tiger burning bright In the shadows of the night   Fascinating details emerge. How they serenade their potential mates with muted roars. How two tigers introduce themselves (carefully) and start dating, seeking the company of another tiger as much as wanting sex. How leopards are rivals for territory and prefer not to mess with the bigger tiger, stealing food very much at their own risk. How tigers eat grass to aid digestion of meat and study the movements of potential prey to figure out where the best ambushes can be laid.   I can see why this indian photographer has such a passion for his subject. Whether the storyline was genuine or cobbled together as nature programs often are, I found myself entranced by this tigress and her struggles with a new enviroment. The lady has class. And big teeth.   Cool For Cats? Weather fit for siberian tigers is threatening our merry little island. It's hard to escape the news that eastern europe is having a hard time of it as temperatures plunge to nearly minus thirty degrees centrigrade. It is considerably colder outside today after that clear night. Not quite the siberian conditions of eastern europe that have caused frostbite and hypothermic deaths in tragically large numbers, but it's below zero for the first time this winter here in Blighty. Boy are those weathermen having fun for three minutes on the hour, every hour, as they gleefully plot the freezing of western civilisation.   Cold Spot Of The Week The Oasis, Swindon's crumbling leisure centre complete with artificial tropical lagoon for people who have holiday withdrawal symptoms or simply can't handle air travel, is to get a makeover. Better yet, our town will get a snow dome. For the first time, Swindonians will be able to stay cold all year round. Great news.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Life's Little Up's And Down's

No... This can't be happening... Three phone calls in the same day. Those of you with social lives might not understand this but communication on this scale is beyond my experience as an older unemployed person. Not only that, but the phone calls were all from an employment agency who've almost ignored me for three years. Normally they email me a rejection the same day I apply for vacancies so imagine my suprise that my existence has finally been recognised.   Not Any More For the first time since Antony Blunt was revealed as an artificial soviet rock placed on a London pavement, the Forfeiture Committee have acted. A little belatedly perhaps but then this was a committee decision. Not treachery against the state this time but behaviour unbecoming following our recent financial wobbles.   In the wake of Fred Goodwin's dishonour (his knighthood was 'cancelled and anulled' yesterday) can you imagine what's going through the heads of those communists in the Job Centre who have tried to have me shot at dawn for assuming a title? Right now they'll be muttering darkly, making promises of dire retribution, and trying to figure out how to have me hauled in front of a magistrate. Probably much like they have for the last two years.   Fighters For India Oh no, not again... Those pesky frenchmen have persuaded India to buy thier Dassault Rafale (whatever that is) instead of our shiney new Eurofighter Typhoons. I share David Cameron's disappointment on that decision but hey, look on the bright side, if Britain ever chooses to recolonise their former empire at least air superiority will be a little bit easier. Unless of course, those pesky frenchmen have occupied the Taj Mahal and are taunting us about hamsters, elderberries, and gaseouis discharges in our general direction. The secret of their success must be their outrageously silly accent.   Store Of The Week I would like to take this iopportunity to congratulate Maplins for their first class customer service. I had a slight problem with a recent purchase and they not only exchanged the goods without complaint or attempt to fob me off, but took the time to prove the replacements worked as expected. Well done that store.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Problems Big And Small

Let's see... According to this instruction manual, this lead plugs into that socxket there... And this other one goes there... and that bit of plastic needs to removed.... Now I just need to switch on and... phuttt!. Huh?   Early yesterday evening I switched the device on and the power went off. Oh great. I checked the lights and none of those worked. I fumbled for a torch and found the batteries had long since gone flat. Nothing electrical in the house worked. Did I do that?   Despite my fears everything sort of checked out. After a stubbed toe and a bruised shoulder I managed to find my mobile phone in the gloom. Please please please work. Yes! Hello? Is that the electric company? I don't seem to have any power at all.   "I see Sir. Where are you?"   At home. In the dark.   "No Sir, I meant whereabouts in England."   Oh right. Swindon.   "Are you anywhere near Arthur Street?"   I don't know an Arthur Street. Could be around here, I dunno, I mean I've only lived here nine years. Am I expected to know every side road in the entire area?   "I see. Are you anywhere near the High Street?"   Not really. That's a quarter of a mile away.   "Not to worry Sir. We're getting reports all over the entire area."   Oh brilliant. Singlehandedly I've plunged North Wiltshire into the middle ages. All with the flick of a switch. But of course it wasn't me, though I note my neighbour seemed strangely amused by the lack of electricity coursing through his ring main. The company said it might be three hours before resumption of service. It took only twenty minutes. Glad to see my money is being well used.   Thieves Of The Week This prestigious award has to go to those baboons at the Zimbabwe border. Having plunged his country into economic meltdown, Mugabe's monkeys are now resorting to outright theft with menaces from vehicles, especially those laden with maize. Apparently the guards are getting a bit frustrated because these baboons, being clever little primates as well as violent kleptomaniacs, are accomplished tricksters and have learned how to get into vehicles.   Before long they'll be stealing entire trucks and selling property on e-bay. Or at least they would be if anyone in Zimbabwe still had a computer.

caldrail

caldrail

 

A Matter Of Time

In one of the science magazines lately they devoted an issue to Time. What is it? How much does it cost? What could you do with it if you could afford it? It's a remarkable thing that we experience one moment after another but that causes us to assume we know what time is. So helpless are scientists to explain exactly what Time is that instead of turning to Professor Cox, they're asking philosophers to explain it. Proof therefore that Time is an illusion.   Unfortunately for everyone knowing that Time isn't real doesn't prevent monday mornings from happening on a regular basis. I should know - I've suffered at least fifty in the last year alone. So for those of you who now think that the passage of Time is something you can safely ignore, please be advised that your boss will not accept sensory phenomena as this weeks fun excuse for being late for work. Trust me on that.   That Time OF Year The end of january is upon us and with it the inevitable chill of february.As if to confirm that observation the weather typically grey and cold. Not the sharp chill we associate with snow and ice, but that dreary dampness that causes old fogeys like me to complain about how our poor old bones are suffering. You know what I mean. If not, ask your grandad. I'm sure he'll tell you..   Truth is this winter has been remarkably mild. So far we've hardly had a frost at all. Only now are the weathermen beginning to warn us that some areas might see a light snowfall. Certainly not enough to convince the boss that you're being honest about struggling with blizzard conditions. Another little tip there.   About Time Too Just this morning on Russia Today is the astonishing revelation that US and Taliban representatives are meeting in Qatar for talks on building trust. A few less IED's might help.   It is however a very interesting development. We all know that the west is tired of the continual sniping and sweeping that wars like that in Afghanistan entail, yey the doggedness of allied presence in the middel east seems to have finally persuaded the Taliban that the only way to get rid of the Great Statn is to persuade it not to hit them anymore.   Not On Time? Recently the removal of the Whalebridge roundabout has caused considerable traffic delays for those avoiding the South Swindon Bypass at Wichelstowe. Now I see traffic is avoiding the former Whalebridge site altogether and instead using a rat run through the nearby residential area. Lo and behold there's a long queue of cars every morning in what used to be a quiet street all utterly convinced they're getting around the delays on what is now an empty dual carriageway.   Sheesh. Build a road and no-one wants to use it... What is the world coming to? I must therefore conclude that todays best chances of persuading the boss that you can't make it into work is that your car is currently trapped in a wintery time-space anomaly caused by Taliban insurgents on the Princes Street Carriageway.

caldrail

caldrail

 

A Quiet Day

Looks like this could be a quiet day. Not sure why exactly, though the lack of noise appears to confirm my hypothesis. Only a solitary ring tone interrupted our silent vigil at the library this morning. Everyone turned and looked over their shoulder.   Normally you get a ceratin proportion of people who ignore protocol and good manners in a desperate urge to tell someone else loudly where they happen to be right now. Not today. The embarrased owner of the mobile phone didn't even attempt to whisper a reply. What a refreshing change.   The Lady Who Objects To My Internet Use seems to be the only person doing much right now. The other day she silenced a naughty young child who ignored the parental demand for silence simply by walking up close. It was almost as if she'd reached for the 'off' button. Today she's striding here and there, clearly on a mission, and I notice she made sure to glance over my shoulder to see which website I was accessing.   Except she couldn't because I was typing this in a text editor. Saved by the blog.   Horribly Wrong It's all gone horribly wrong for Swindon's roads. Our new junction to replace the Whalebridge Roundabout has caused no end of delays and tailbacks. Just as I predicted. Even better it the news that a new bypass in south Swindon is more or less empty. Nobody uses it. "Please use our bypass" Say concerned councillors.   The problem is that the new bypass links two routes in and out of the town centre. There seems to be this idea that in the rush hour drivers wanting to pass through Swindon centre can now avoid the jams, except that at rush hour everyone wants to access Swindon town centre. If you use this road to escape a traffic jam, you simply find yourself in another at the other end. Which brain cell thought of that one?   I applied for the job of road planner when it came up a couple of years ago. Obviously I didn't get the post, but let's be honest, the chap who got it isn't making a very good impression, is he?

caldrail

caldrail

 

Not Working

Every so often I'm summoned to the programme centre for a job searching session. I don't mind doing that, but the hassle is that their network was set up by a company from Ireland. No, really, it was. So consequently nothing works.   Is the printer working? The young lady hosting the session confirmed that it was. At last! Useful too because I need to print stuff off and I'd rather not have to find a public facility costing me ten pence a sheet. Open the document... Click on 'Print'... Huh?   I knew things were going horribly wrong when the default printer wasn't even a printer. Each and every computer listed on the options did nothing. No-one rushed into the office waving a sheet of paper demanding to know who it belonged to. In other words, the printers didn't work.   Eventually the staff realised we jobseekers were becoming disgruntled or distinctly amused, and set about trying to fix everything the irish IT company had fixed over the previous four days. One chap offered to print everything we sent him by email. He was then forced to find envelopes for us, followed by requests to pop down to the post office and fetch stamps. An administrators lot is not a happy one.   One person wondered aloud why nothing worked. I announced that the whole thing was a complete eff up, all the while unaware that a senior member of programme centre staff was sweating his sorry little shirt off trying to get a printer connected and working. Ooops.   Year Of The Dragon It's soon going to be the chinese new year and completely breaking my new years resolution to stumble through it unaware of astrological warnings, here's my chinese horoscope...   It will take longer for long term aims to come about but persevere. Although you prefer to stick with definite ideas and arrangements it would be better to keep plans flexible in 2012. Unexpected changes can cause problems and these will seem more difficult to resolve if you aren't willing to bend. You will be prepared to do whatever is necessary to make money from your job prospects even if it means working longer hours or taking on new commitments. Friends are helpful.   Longer? Good grief I've been unemployed for three years. I've been working toward ferrari ownership for more like thirty. How much longer is this going to take? The ferrari salesman is going to have to help me across the forecourt and find enough room in the boot for a zimmer frame. "Now this is a very fast car Lord Caldrail.. You can see without glasses?... Do please be careful... BRAAAAAAKE!"   What worries me is this idea that I'll be prepared to anything to earn a living. Worker required. Must have own sleeping bag.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Failure To Communicate

Cold. Wet. Dull.   Welcome to a very average Tuesday in Swindon. I'd like to say more but there's only so many times you describe the realities of the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire.   The highlight of the last twenty four hours was bumping into the boss of the museum as I dragged my weekly shopping home. We had a nice little chinwag, mostly about recruitment agencies, and we're both agreed that agencies are the curse of western civilisation.   As it happens one of my recent job applications was for a personnel department administrative post. Manufacturing experience required? Why? I clicked on 'apply' anyway. So I got a reply saying that the employer required manufacturing experience.   Yeah? And? I sent a reply pointing out that I had such experience. I received an answer that said my experience was in distribution, not manufacturing. So I was part of the Honda parts supply chain for nothing? Quality control, material allocation, and liaison with shop floor assemblers? Correct me if I'm wrong but that does constitute manufacturing experience.   Not according to the agency minion who categoricvally stated that her twenty five years experience in preventing people from getting a job entitles her to interpret my CV in completely the wrong way. Madam, I don't care how long you've been making phone calls, you're an idiot.   Radiation Flare I wondered what all this stuff about the Aurora Borealis on the news was about. Apparently our planet has suffered a terrible solar flare and communications were disrupted by angry radioactive particles seeking to be brought before our leader. I think one or two hit a certain job agency.

caldrail

caldrail

 

From The Top

Top Gear USA? You gotta be kiddin', right? Out of curiosity I watched a few episodes. As part of a franchise there were aspects I found familiar. The stage set, the theme tune, the general format of the show, and having some celebrity race a cheap car around a track. All well and good. But of course this was an american show and so I was struck by cultural differences.   Firstly the presenters, who despite their obvious enthusiasm for wrecking telegraph poles, abandoned houses, pulling trains, and generally driving huge pickup trucks where no pickup truck driver was ever meant to go, came across as incredibly bland. Not entirely characterless but there was nothing about them that said 'television personality'. Mind you, they were driving huge pickup trucks.   Then they got around to the Rally Fighter, a sort of cross country muscle car, which was an extraordinary vehicle designed for the headcase to go where-ever he wanted faster than anyone else. Not only that, but I can confirm that the presenter driving the thing tackled a sharp bend. Cornering skills? In America? It seems the Top Gear franchise is changing civilisation as we know it.   Money Walks, Bullstuff Talks Of all the stupid things a british politician could have said, it had to be that reducing or capping benefit payments doesn't cause any misery. No, he said confidently, it's unemployment that causes misery.   What planet does that idiot come from? With people losing their homes because they don't receive the miminal assistance any more? Unemployment you can get used to. Constant price rises and threats from politicians to reduce your means is something else. I challenge him to spend three years as an unemployed person and find out for himself just how important money can get.   Think about it. No chauffeurs, gleaming limousines, haute cuisine, big homes in upmarket parts of London, or even all those fair weather friends that surround a fat wallet. Not because you're unemployed sunshine - it's because you won't be able to afford it.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Secret Mission

Friday morning and a chance to nip down to the local library and do my internetting for a couple of hours. The onlydrawback to friday morning is that the Lady Who Objects To My Internet Use is often on duty then.   Deliberately I stroll in after the doors are open to avoid attention. Up the stairs... Oh no. She's there, at the helpdesk. For some reason she thinks I'm up to no good. No idea why, but as you can imagine, having her stare at me all the time and glance over my shoulder on the off chance I'm doing something arrestable gets a bit tiresome.   She's looking the other way! That means I can dash across to one of the computoers hidden behind the bookshelves and hopefully she won't notice I'm here. Libraruians do move around sometimes but that's an occupational hazard of accessing the internet here.   Darn it.... She picks up the phone and.... "Yes, he's here... In the last five minutes... No he's looking the other way...."   Mission compromised chaps. Looks like train related sites are very dangerous to look at this morning. No, I'm going to risk it.   Suspicion Rocks Well whaddaya know? The Cold War isn't quite over just yet. Apparently six years ago the FSB, the successor to the ubiquitous KGB, our russian intelligence adversary since Stalin thought we were going to invade the Soviet Union, spotted a suspicious rock which turns out to be a sort of data gathering device.   Clever stuff. The spy saunters by, looks around to see if no-one is looking, takes an innocent pee up the nearest tree if they are, then downloads his ill gotten info and wanders off. The rock is retrieved later and the info beamed to M at MI6 so James Bond 007 can be shaken but not stirred one more time.   I wonder iif I could adapt that idea for browsing at the library? Now there's a thought. Trouble is She Who Objects To My Internet Use would probably suss out why I pee against a bookshelf every time she glances in my direction. This is not going to go well, is it?

caldrail

caldrail

 

Unwelcome Guests

As I woke this mornign it was obvious the weather wasn't all too pleasant out there. Another rainy day? This has to be Swindon. The other day I was strolling home along the canal path. The weather was damp rather than rainy, a typical grey day for this part of the world. This being winter, green was in short supply. Most vegetation has withered away leaving pale yellow weeds and brown woody bushes.   Allotment gardens, our modern re-invention of the medieval vegetable plot, look little better. A few wood and corrugated iron shanties, some with primitive greehouses, stand forlorn among the bamboo frames and grassy walkways between the featureless rectangles of muddy soil.   Further along I expected a similar dreary scene at the abandoned playing field. This had been a sports centre in days gone by. Now the pavilion has gone, the outhouses demolished, tennis courts looking like anglo-saxon relics. However, I notice the field has been mown and the thick bushes and miniature moorland that had conquered the cricket field were visibly missing. The field was a flattened patchwork of green and ivory.   Hang on... Was that a horse over there? I stopped and looked closer. Over by the east tennis courts a pair of horses idly grazed in between staring vacantly at anything that moved. I doubt these two steeds had mown the field all by themselves though I'm sure they'll a fine job of keeping the foliage back. It's an odd sight to see horses in a town centre. In this case, it seems unlikely that a responsible owner would leave animals there. Travellers?   Of course the canal itself is also long gone. Now it's a long muddy grass strip and an asphalt footpath to one side. I find this a handy route from time to time and so do others, particularly the moslem chap in something of a hurry. Certainly no spring chicken but he was trotting down the path effortlessly. Very impressed with his fitness.   Not so impressed with mine. Granted my health isn't what it was but a walk of this length shouldn't have me feeling like this. My medication comes with a warning that one possible side effect is tiredness. They weren't kidding.   OnThe Ground Guess what? Word has leaked that despite assurances to the contrary the british had special forces on the ground in Libya during the anti-Gaddafi revolution E Squadron, a mix of SAS and SBS who work closely with MI6. Also unarmed plain clothes army officers helped coordinate rebel deployments. Why would anyone be suprised? If you send in jet fighter-bombers, nine times out of ten someones marking targets for them.   Apart from news reports of sensational actions or the dubious descriptions in the popular press, my knowledge of the special forces is, to say the least, factually limited. I have a deep suspicion of anyone who claims to have been a member of the SAS. There are a lot of fakers out there and I'm told that such claims are commonplace among ex-servicemen seeking mercenary... sorry, security work. I've heard such claims myself and not one of them sounded genuine.   By coincidence I'd spotted yet another novel by one of those Bravo Two Zero people. Andy McNab or Chris Ryan, I don't remember which one. Authentic? I suppose so. The thing is I was struck by how unlikeable the central character was. He was contemptuous of anyone and everyone, especially his colleagues whom he spent the first two chapters sneering at. It was all about a very opinionated and nasty man. Well, I realise warfare isn't about feather dusters and football in no-man's land, but surely even a military thriller ought to be enjoyable if it deserves the best seller list? Come back Tom Clancy, all is forgiven.   Unwanted Visitors I see my home security system detected an attempt by someone to creep in last night while I was snoozing. His identity is already known to me, but he's welcome to provide proof of it if he wants.

caldrail

caldrail

 

What Am I Looking For?

For no apparent reason I came over all philosophical last night. The big question however was not life, the universe, & everything. Professor Brian Cox has cornered that market. Instead I had humbler questions to ask of myself. Like what is it that I look forward too?   Before anyone thinks I was getting depressed and feeling sorry for myself, that really isn't the case, so all you missionaries out there trying to make me believe I'm cursed, haunted, almost an alcoholic, or nearly a drug addict are wasting your time. I don't listen to wierdo's, messages from Jesus, or the occaisional taunt from idiots who think I listen.. Glad we got that settled. But I digress. The question!   Some years ago I was chatting to GH, a work colleague, and as is probably inevitable with me the subject got around to ferrari's. I don't remember what I said exactly, but GH replied "Never mind - you can always dream."   Well... Yes... I supose so, but dreaming doesn't make things happen. It was almost as if he was trying to persuade me not to strive for success and I'd always put that down to his desire to be important in the office. He was grooming me to come second. After all, his ability to achieve results by sitting down with a cup of coffee all day had less to do with talent and hard work than some naughty editing of the computer files. He actually thought I was going to listen to him and stop working at a pace that suited me.   Admittedly the ownership of a gleaming red supercar is somewhat ambitious given my circumstances. In actual fact that isn't my immediate objective anyway. My world, as an unemployed dole claimant, is too small for those lofty fantasies even if the locals could be persuaded not to dismantle it during the night.   The government want me to view finding that job as my goal in life. That's understandable if somewhat patronising and shortsighted. The Job Centre want me to view conformity as my goal in life. They see that as a necessary qualification for employment. I see conformity as an impediment to it. I mean, with twenty people chasing each vacancy, being the same as everyone else isn't going to make an impression is it?   Last night I realised just how short term my objectives were becoming. A dream is only worthwhile if there's some hope of it becoming reality. Plans for the future are only worthwhile if you have a future to plan for. I've gotten used to the slow crawl of existing on the dole. Now it seems the only inevitability is that tomorrow is another day. I wonder what I'll do tomorrow? Pie & chips? Or a chicken burger down the road?   Decisions, decsions....   Decisions, Decisions... Sometimes I have no choice but to put my fingers in my wallet and fork out cash for something I'd rather not have to buy. That happened this morning. With a need to purchase another surge protector I poppped down to PC World and stood aghast at the emptiness of the large premises. A decade ago this shop was filled with goodies like an technological aladdins cave, gizmo's to delight the senses, and plastic boxes in every colour of the rainbow. Not any more. There's barely anything to choose from. Want a surge protector Sir? We sell that one...   Groan. Oh well. As it happened there was a choice of three that suited my purposes and naturally i chose the cheapest. Imagine my suprise then when the girl at the till announced it was going to cost me almost twice as much. You what? But fear not. All was settled asmicably and I got the product for the price I believed it to be. Seriously though - PC World aren't doing themselves any favours by such a withdrawal of range. What's the point of walking all the way down there when I could have picked up a similar product closer to home? Choice matters.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Here they come, the beautiful ones.

Prof Brian 'All the guys want to be him, all the girls want to be with him' Cox   I mentioned in my last blog that the excellent Stargazing Live program started on the BBC on Monday night. It was a treat for us all. For the comedy fans, there was both the towering genius that is Dara O�Briain, and the much underrated Andy Nyman. For pretty much everyone, there was Prof Brian �All the guys want to be him, all the girls want to be with him� Cox. For fans of people who have 'the right stuff', present via comm-link was the chiselled and craggy all-American hero Capt Eugene Cernan, veteran of several Apollo missions, and the last man to set foot on the Moon (that we know about, eh, conspiracy theorists?)   Capt Gene 'Right Stuff' Cernan   Rounding off the team was Liz Bonnin (who surely must adorn the bedroom walls of many pre-pubescent nerdy-boy) reporting on the SALT telescope in South Africa.   Liz "Nerdy-boys'-dream” Bonnin   They were joined on the couch by the handsome Dr 'Boy-Next-Door' Kevin Fong, and the very easy-on-the-eye Dr Lucy Green. Are all astronomers good looking, or do the BBC just choose beautiful people to appear on our screens? I remember having quite a crush on Heather Couper when I was a pre-pubescent nerdy-boy, so maybe they are. If I ever get to own a telescope, will I become good-looking?   Dr Lucy 'Easy-on-the-eye' Green   As an aside, Prof Brian Cox is also beautifully, refreshingly and relentlessly intolerant of woolly thinking. I would love to be that intolerant of woolly thinking, but out of politeness and professionalism, I often have to tolerate it, and it pains me to do so.   Dr kevin 'Boy-next-door' Fong   I digress. I heard on the radio yesterday afternoon that live stargazing events were to be held around the country, and there was one only twenty minutes� drive from Aquis-of-the-Romans. I had to go. So myself and Mrs OfClayton headed out to the Visitor Centre at the foot of the mighty Pons Abus. We were not the only ones. The place was heaving . . and very, very dark. After briefly pausing to watch the weather being presented by the North of England�s premier comedy weatherman, giving a rare outside broadcast, we hit the sea of telescopes that had been set up on the grass beside the centre, all pointing at a different bit of the firmament, gloriously cloud free and twinkling with infinite majesty on this particular evening. I immediately joined the queue to look at Jupiter through a Dobsonian reflector (see, I know the lingo!) the size of a dustbin. Perfect view! The bands across the planet were clearly visible, as were the four principle Jovian satellites (Ganymede, Callisto, Io and Europa). I briefly looked up to see a BBC film crew bearing down on the telescope�s owner. �What are we looking at here?� asked the reporter. �Jupiter�s moons�, replied the astronomer. �OK. Could you two stage a conversation?� he indicated me. �Ask what you�re looking at, that kind of thing.� �Righto!�, I said. My whole life is an act. I could do this. They started filming, and I looked into the eyepiece. After a considered pause, I said, �Wow! Is that Jupiter?�, with a degree of enacted naivety. �Yes,� the (strangely not as good looking as a TV astronomer) telescope�s owner said. �You should be able to see the dark bands across its surface.� �I can,� I replied. �And there are some bright points of light either side of it. What are those?� That�s when it hit me. I was playing the part of the casual visitor beautifully, but people I know would be watching. They would be nudging each other saying, �That�s thickee OfClayton. He doesn�t even know about Jupiter�s moons. Ha, ha!� The thought comes too late to stop myself saying something to the effect of, �Jupiter has moons?� Oh, God! Horrid realisation that this may be more than a local BBC fiim crew, they may be national. This may go out on Stargazing Live. It may be going out as we speak. Is it also on BBC America? The BBC World Service? I could already be a global laughing stock. �EXTRA, EXTRA, the Chicago news vendor would shout across the city. �THIS JUST IN. GHOSTOFCLAYON THICK AS SHIT�. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I watched the local news later. I was on, but only as part of a sweeping shot that got the back of my head looking into a telescope. They did, however, show a vox-pop interview with the woman who had been behind me in that queue. She was far better looking than me!

GhostOfClayton

GhostOfClayton

 

Caring & Sharing

There was a change in the air after my traumatic visit to the job centre. The library was way emptier than usual, clearly indicating most of the regulars had frozen to death overnight. I was almost pleased to see Mr Fidget arrive. He began his daily ritual of slapping pockets and searching bags before he even sat down, with a whiole morning of uninterrupted fidgeting to look forward too.   Even the Lady Who Hisses At Me was in a friendly mood. She is now officially the Lady Who Whispers Objections To My Internet Use. But there's somebody missing. Among the casualties of our freezing weather was....   Nope. I was wrong. BFL had indeed survived the night and instead of bringing a sense of order and direction to everyones lives at the library, had decided to colonise the supermarket where I encountered her a couple of hours later. I think that's the first time I've ever seen her there, which is a bit worrying because someone might blame me for having led her there in the first place.   Sure enough the till queue ground to a halt as BFL was served. Nothing to do but wait until the supermarket staff have been browbeaten into surrender then.   Favourite Spot "This is my favourite computer" Mentioned a lady as she waited for the assistant to log her on with the job club PC's. She's right. We all have favourite computers. I joked about them being reserved individually. How we would throw a tantrum if someone else nipped in ahead of us. Joking aside, we do tend to be creatures of habit. Therefore today I have broken with tradition and increased the number of applications I've made by a third.   Someone, somewhere, is probably cursing my name right now. Yes, I have applied for that vacancy once before. Serves you right for advertising it again.   Shared Homes Big on the local newsletter is the issue of shared homes. Apparently some home owners and landlords are attempting to cash in on the high cost of property by sub-dividing their property into smaller and smaler units. By now it's probably possible to rent a toilet cubicle at sensible low low rates. Worse still these pesky landlords have discovered a loophole in planning regulations which means they can effectively expand the size of their properties by making new homes out of them.   I can see why the local councillors are up in arms. Before long there's going to be skyscraping towers of brick tenement with staircases requiring oxygen masks. Even that new house across the alleyway has finally been completed in a mad rush after laying there disguised as a ruin for several years.   "We've got enough shared houses!" The complainers say. I agree. After all, the rotten scoundrel who's been pilfering my goods hasn't paid a penny in rent.

caldrail

caldrail

 

Not A Good Start

Now this is more like winter. A sharp frosty morning, gloves required, my trainers crunching on thin ice and feeling very insecure. As if it wasn't cold enough inside, at the job centre was Big R himself. Yes, Big R, the yorkshire brawler who gave me the benefit of his opinions somewhat strongly not that long ago.   Try as hard as I might, I could not help snarling inside. There's something feral about human beings, or at least the male half of them, that doesn't sit easily with humiliation and scorn. On the face of it I might seem a bit childish but I could not hand my paperwork to him first. Instinct, you see. he blew my respect away and no matter how sharp his suit, to me he will always be a pompous scumbag.   What was that he just just called me? Mate? Who's he trying to kid?   Saturday What happened to Saturday morning? Something is definitely wrong with Saturdays. I know this because I innocently turned on the television for something to occupy my attention while I got on with boring stuff. As a rule Iwouldn't normally bother with television at that time of the day and I think the world has changed since I last bothered. I remember Tom & Jerry cartoons, the Pink Panther Show, low budget family films, and lots of presenters coping badly with exotic animals.   None of that happened. Adverts for dating websites? On every channel there were queues of semi-famous ladies telling us how to make your face to look like Hollywood intended, rather than the hideous reality your magic mirror reveals at dawn. What is going on? Why has the world changed like this? Why is saturday morning devoted to cosmetics? I have to say I have pretty much zero interest in cosmetics. There are products intended for the unfairer sex so I'm told. Body sprays? Fragrance for men? Ugh. I don't think so.   After being fooled by aftershave adverts in the seventies (Remember Hai-Karate and the terrified user fleeing from hordes of aroused nymphomaniacs?. Trust me on this - that does not happen), I don't think smelling like a flower bed is going to improve my chances of being chased by hundreds of blonde female television extras.   Sunday Sunday rescued my little world. One tv channel showed back to back episodes of Fred Dibnah, the high priest of cloth cap engineering from a bygone age. Time to sit down and be dazzled as plump Fred in his blue boiler suit invited us into his natural enviroment of the railway siding.   Fred - This 'ere is a Nigel two six four wi'double flange frame 'n shovel injected firebox. Ah used to dream o' driving these when I wur young. Used t'see 'em running past me dad's coal shed. This one 'ere is restored t' workin' order. It wur made just as steam finished on British Railways, so it's almost new, this. With a bit o'luck, driver will let me on footplate... Allo thur.... Can ah come up?   Driver - Like you arranged previously, you mean?   Fred - Ahhh yes. Nice this, int it? Bit more complex than steam engine at 'ome. You get a fine idea o'what it wur like in olden days, steaming down track. Can we give it a go?   Driver - Hang on - I wasn't told that we were....   Fred - Reverser... Regulator... Mind owt thur... Brakes off.... (WOOOOOH!... Woooh WOOOH! pffffshhhh clank chuff chuff chuff). Heh heh heh... Sorry 'bout that. Bit jerky on take off int it?   Driver - Ten miles an hour along here Fed.   Fred - Eh? Oh aye. Picks up speed nicely, dunt it? Ah remember good old days when trains like these wur all the rage.   Driver - Mind the speed Fred. We're approaching the buffer stops.   Fred - Nice smooth ride this. Must have been a thrill back when these engines ran on British Rail main lines, 'cos back then see engine drivers had no cab for protection.   Driver - Fred, you want to start slowing down!   Fred - Exposed to elements they were....   Driver - FRED! BRAAAAAAKE!   Fred - Oh aye... That'll be that lever thur... (Clunk Squeeeeeeeeeeal hisssss). There we go. Enjoyed that ah did... You all right thur? Gone all pale like... Grand engine.is this.   Bless the old chap, he's no longer with us, but what that man could do with a nine and five sixteenths wrench, a box of dynamite, and a few lumps of coal demonsrates how the British Empire was forged and ultimately rusted away. Singlehanded he almost made brass bands fashionable. Sadly missed.   Stargazing - Live! A program devoted to standing out in the freezing cold staring up at the night sky? I nearly fell off my seat laughing. Surely if you want to stargaze you switch the tellly off and walk outside? Still, at least couch potatoes can now study the heavens too.

caldrail

caldrail

 

(Sitting on) The Dock of the Bay

I have no idea why, but is my absolute favorite song by Otis Redding.  I mean, it's not really about San Francisco; it's really about him. Yes, I know, he was sitting on a pier that ran into the San Francisco Bay when he wrote the key line, but the rest of the song was written by Steve Cropper--and he purposely wrote it about Otis. Evidently, Otis hated writing about his life, but Steve found it full of inspiration.   I guess the rhythm of the song does remind me of sitting at some of my favorite beaches along the coast--Pescadero Beach in particular. Or better still, of sitting on the pier of my great-aunt and great-uncle's place on Tomalas Bay, just north of San Francisco. They sold it in the mid-80s, when I was but a wee lass, but I still remember going fishing with my dad off that pier, and sitting on it to enjoy the sunset.   I guess its purpose is to have us reconnect with some vague memory...it does with me.

docoflove1974

docoflove1974

 

A North And South Divide

Many years ago I wanderd into a pub, expecting genial conversation and relaxing with the other hustlers around the pool tables. On that particular afternoon, the pub was almost empty, and since I was the only person walking in, the scotsman drinking at the bar immediately engaged me in a chat.   Before long the conversation got to how brilliant Scotland was. Best country in the UK, best country in Europe, best country in the world. There was no stopping the man. As Scotlands first unofficial Minister For Propaganda he was doing a grand job. Finally I could stand no more. I retreated and sought other people to talk to, people with interesting news or funny jokes, people who understood that a scottish accent does not legally demand attention from passers-by. Finally he realised he had failed to convert me to scottishism. He got quite annoyed.   Mind you, if Scotland was such a great place, why did I keep hearing the scots complain about it? If it comes to that, you had to ask yourself what this solitary scotsman was doing in a Swindon bar if his homeland was quite that good, but there you go.   So now Scotland wants independence? Some of the scots do, especially the politicians who seek to glorify their names for having achieved it. The funny thing is though that the United Kingdom came into being not because Scotland was conquered, but because a scottish king inherited England, Wales, and Ireland after Good Queen Bess popped her clogs without provision for an heir. Okay, I know James II did a runner and the dutch were invited in, but all the same the irony of this situation is that Scotland effectively wants to be independent of the realm it set up.   This should also serve as an illustration of what the European Union can expect if they attempt to go further with integration - which they inevitably will, because as we see from history, those who want to rule rather like ruling as much as they can get. My point is that however many boundaries they change, however much they hand out euro-compatible names, nationalism will never go away. People identify with cultural roots no matter how divorced they are from their heritage. Look what happened in the balkans after Yugoslavia finally fell apart.   On a more serious note, I hope these scottish politicians don't expect the UK to pay their bills? If they want their own chequebook, they don't need ours.. Oh yeah. If that scotsman is reading this, please stop talking.   Pooh In one of those colourful community newsletters that sometimes pass my way I noticed a paragraph concerning the lamentable state of our pavements. Nothing to do with potholes or drainage, but the amount of dog pooh left lying on them. Maybe that was why the scotsman I encountered was so unimpressed with english prosperity?   That makes me a bit curious. The amount of pooh I see today is nothing compared to how it was in the less responsible seventies. Back then you needed to watch where you put your feet. Nowadays you might be unlucky. Not just where you put your feet either. Toddlers in the last few years have adopted the idea that throwing pooh is funny. That disgusting habit hasn't gone away since it emerged and I discovered I'd been targeted a couple of weeks ago. Nine times out of ten you don't know until you spot strange stains appearing around the house.   What bothers me though is the attitude of their parents, invariably young themselves, who seem to do absolutely nothing to correct their little darlings, and on one or two occaisions I've even wondered if those parents spurred their kids on to do it. Chances are it's only one or two individuals who would dream of doing that. In the local newsaper the police have taken the unusual step of naming and shaming four scoundrels who have, in a town in excess of 60,000 people, committed more than half of the burglaries reported in the last year.   Thing is though, as bad as this all sounds, what ought to be remembered is why individuals are allowed to continue making peoples lives hell. Community spirit does appear to somewhat fickle, doesn't it?

caldrail

caldrail

 

Animal Instinct

The other I was watching a tv documentary about web sex. How the internet and mobile technology has changed our social behaviour. Not for the better it would seem, though I doubt those who enjoy their success at texting others into bed would agree.   The last decade has seen an exploration of how this technology can be exploited socially. Boundaries have been pushed as a result, largely because there's less risk of judgement in the anonymous world of e-dating, but also because the technology allows the sexual predator to hide before he pounces. Apparently most of those involved in this sort of interaction are indeed men, straight or gay, and very few reveal their faces openly. Does that suprise anyone? Man the hunter has found new fertile territory.   It seems to me that while there are many who benefit from e-dating the expansion of boundaries is less relevant than the opportunism of the information jungle. If I sound critical, I am. It's all done selfishly. Even if the idea of rewarding relationships is cast aside there's still a certain satisfaction derived from mastering the traditional skills of pulling ladies and somehow all this e-dating stuff comes across as cheating. But, human instinct will out, and the victor gets the spoils.   How does this mobile phone work, again?   Exploiting The Games Console Many years ago I stated that you have to recreate civilisation with each generation. I wasn't talking about some communist year zero, or any other such brave new world, but rather that unless kids are taught to be part of society, al you get are little barbarians running around causing havoc. Don't take my word for it. Look around, see for yourself.   Has anyone noticed how difficult it is to communicate with youngsters these days? They sem to live in a world apart with social rules invented by themselves. A few times I've noticed attempts to impose their immature society upon me. It's almost as if they want the world to be just like the school playground, the only world they actually know.   A news report showed a ground breaking new initiative to teach computer skills to our youngsters. No longer must they suffer boring typing lessons, but thanks to new ideas and input from organisations like Microsoft and Google, kids can learn how to use computers by playing with them. Literally these kids are being taught with games consoles in their hands.   I'm stunned. Really, I am flabbergasted. There's no point wailing on about the poor level of education in the younger generation if this is how they're taught. One of the most important things a school can impart to pupils is a measure of self discipline. How to concentrate on something difficult. How to seek assistance when the difficulties are too much and the social skills that result. To encourage thought and creativity. Whatever happened to the work ethic? That doesn't happen by accident.   The kids say ordinary lessons are boring. Yes, I agree, they often are, but then kids today seem to expect the world to open at their feet and instead of being creative and entrepeneurial, or even encouraged to be so, they sit around moaning that there's nothing for them to do. In other words, this new style of education fails in one important angle - it does not prepare kids for the boring world they have to live in. It's boring because it doesn't doesn't owe them a living, and they clearly expect it too.   Exploiting The Workers At the programme centre the other day I was talking to a fellow jobseeker. Apparently Royal Mail, who successfully managed to keep me from getting hired in their distribution depot over the festive season, didn't pay the ones who got through the door. Looks like my instincts were right. I knew there was something shabby about the way they were hiring people.

caldrail

caldrail

 

More Stuff And Nonsense

"There's going to be a hundred thousand new jobs in London to assist the Olympics" Said Mr G, our ever helpful and jovial assistant at the job club. I had to laugh. Unemployment down in London? Can you imagine how difficult it's going to be to claim benefits there this summer? You won't stand a chance.   Mr G found that equally amusing. I imagine though that the prospect of less unemployment in the capital, even temporarily, might well be another bone of contention in the Houses of Parliament. David Cameron will be pleased to announce that jobless figures are down. Ed Milliband will respond that Labour started this olympic opportunity to begin with. David Cameron wil brush Milliband aside with dismissive amusement. Ed Milliband will scowl and mouth silent objections while Cameron moves onto another subject.   Talking about Ed Milliband, he made an attempt to persuade us that his government will be different. That the Brown/Blair years are behind them, and that only his party can deliver a fairer Britain with less money available. Aside from the fact that their policies were one reason for less money being available, it's hard to believe that the financial instincts of Labour have actually changed. I mean, neither Brown or Blair really achieved any lasting sense of change from the idea that you can spend your way out of trouble. That was why Thatcher got voted in. It's simply what Labour does.   "We must accept the new reality of austerity" Ed Milliband claims. The last Labour government were keen to claim historical achievements. Looks like they intend to claim another one.   Is Our Future Fast? Around the world nations are investing huge sums of money in extremely fast railway systems. Here in Britain we're not used to these mass transit missiles and to be honest, I don't think people here in Blighty comprehend just how fast these trains are. We're used to trains that require several announcements on the tannoy before they even rumble into sight.   So now our glorious government wants Britain to have a high speed railway. London to Birmingham at more than two hundred miles an hour. Quite why you need or want to go to Birmingham so quickly is a bit hard to understand. On the plus side, you'd escape from there quicker too.   For those who are horrified that their sunday afernoons in the garden are going to be interrupted by intercontinental ballistic armchairs, I do sympathise. I wouldn't want my summer days spoiled by that either. That's when they've finished it. Imagine the fun of having forty thousand modern day navvies working across the fence at the bottom of your garden. Especially since I doubt they'll finish the route quite as quickly as they intend to run it. Come on. This is Britain, however much Ed Milliband believes in it.   Cheap Eating Proving how badly the cost of living has risen, I see a television superstar chef has been caught shoplifting from a supermarket. Mate - you and the others of your genre have spent years telling us how easy it is to feed the family on several pence a week. Clearly it isn't as rewarding as you thought, is it?

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