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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Frustrated And Furious

    By caldrail,

    I am officially at war. Never wanted it to come to this but my Claims Advisor has gone too far. After inspiring me to apoplexy the week before, she made sure there were no independent witnesses in the office and attempted to provoke an incident, one which presumably would have me escorted off the premises and quite probably to a waiting police car outside. Sorry, I'm not falling for that one.
     
    As I look for work, I record each step I make, and I mean fairly exhaustively. That list has satisfied claims advisors since I started it in 2010. For some time now I've been copying that information onto a government website to record my jobsearching activity for all to see. Last week I mentioned this to my Claims Advisor, telling her that the records were available. She dismissed it. No use to her at all. Okay. I won't bother posting it then. Less work for me, although I still keep the list up to date.
     
    The next week she asked why the government website hadn't been updated. I reminded her we'd discussed that point previously., but she insisted she needed the information to know what I had been up to. Okay. Would she like a printed copy of the latest information? No, she tells me, it might just be typed up, an argument I found odd because I was only going to copy and paste the same information anyway. So she was demanded information she had already dismissed and then dismissed it again.
     
    And so on.
     
    Finally I gave up after a barrage of demands to account for some discrepancy in her investigation of my activity. I told her I'd had enough of this circus, threw my signing book on the desk, and told her to close my Jobseekers Benefit claim. Which she obviously hasn't, in order to portray me as reneging on my Jobseekers Agreement, which I haven't.
     
    So a little advice to all those unfortunate souls who have by chance found themselves in the dustbin of the employment marketplace. It makes no difference how diligent you are. It makes no difference how honest you are. It makes no difference how much jobsearching you do. When a Claims Advisor wants her bonus for christmas, she is going to find a reason to justify it, at your expense of course. Kiss your reputation goodbye, because as of now you're a dole cheat. Gulty until proven innocent.
     
    Of course if you're sitting on your backside because you don't want to work, that's your problem. I really don't care what happens to you.
     
    Pouring Cold Water On It
    The weather lately has been fairly wet. Hey, this is Britain you know. Yesterday I had to walk across town to attend a course at the local college (intended to improve my marketability in employment). With all the rain, there was a lot of standing water by the roadside. So I got splashed by a passing car. Then a line of three or four cars splashed me one after the other.
     
    Needless to say I vented my frustration loudly. Wasn't much else I could do. But you know, it has changed my mind. All those police video programs you see on television are blatant propaganda, however well intentioned. When do you actually come across a police officer so gentlemanly and fair minded? I'm no longer botjhered by this. Car dribers - or drivers of any other vehicle on the road - if you get caught, it's your own fault. I couldn't care less what hapens to you.
     
    Pilot Of The Week
    There I was this morning, diligently searching for work and making job applications at the Support Centre, when I heard one of their administrators mention to his boss "Hey, you've got a pilot on your case load".
     
    You've got one in the room too, I added. I mean me, if anyone hasn't come across my flying escapades on this blog. Not that it actually mattered as such, but I got to chat up a pretty young lady as a result. Oh yes. Those magnificent men...
  2. caldrail

    Back To The Old Game

    By caldrail,

    You find me in a very reflective mood. It's time to blog again. Not sure why, I guess it's one of those strange inponderables of life. So.... Where to begin?....
     
    The Simpsons has an intro sketch featuring a gag with Bart daubing his lines on a school blackboard before escaping on skateboard, followed by the family gathering to watch tv in novel and amusing variety. Family Guy has the Broadway musical intro. South Park has South Parkesque imagery to tempt the senses and attract those with short attention spans. The Rushey Platt Villa (This blog) has... Well.... this paragraph of text to welcome you to the all new 2014 summer season. Feel cheated?
     
    My cliff hanger ending in the previous post was that I had to go back to work. It's true, I did. My claims advsor believed that going on another 'crappy course' (her words, not mine) wasn't going to do any good, so maybe having to earn my benefits might. So she sent me to a local charity to work as a volunteer on a Mandatory Work Placement. Whether I liked it or not.
     
    Weather Or Not
    What is going on? This is supposed to be August. Here in Britain this is the time for country walks along leafy lanes, sitting in deckchairs waiting to scramble some Spitfires, watching a group of men undergo a strange pagan ritual called Cricket, and arguing with the neighbours about loud parties.
     
    July pretty much met those criteria for a British summer. The days were long and hot, I got sunburnt in the line of duty as an enlisted charity volunteer, and there were a couple of tiffs with neighbours concerning their desire to get into the mood for a night out clubbing. It seems they bought one of those new fangled soundbar devices that improve bass response that make music and television not just bearable, but an experience to be shared with the whole street.
     
    We've had a flaming July, now meet the Arctic August. Temperatures fell to as little as one degree Centigrade last night. One degree? A smidgin above freezing? Somebody got their calculations wrong about Global Warning I think. Bring back the Industrial Revolution - it was the only thing keeping Britain warm in summer and me in gainful employment
     
    Gone But Not Forgotten
    Of course it hasn't all been fun and sun. My mother departed her mortal coil a few weeks ago. To be fair, she was pretty certain to go sooner or later, what with age, infirmity, and that sense that her anchor to the mundane world was slipping. At least she went with some dignity.
     
    I must of course spare some thought for the execution of an american journalist. I never saw the video on YouTube (not my kind of fun saturday night viewing if I were honest) but the circumstances don't suprise me. Islamic State have little or nothing to do with Islam - it's all about rule by violence and fear, which if I'm not mistaken isn't what the Quran suggests its readers should do. They are the natural evolution of the radical behaviour that extremists have been nurturing for a long time. As we suffered the outbreak of international terrorism sponsored by political nihilsim two or three decades ago, now we face the outbreak of international violence sponsored by religious nihilism.
     
    It is sadly part of the human experience. Every so often a group emerges under a leader determined to build power by becomiing the Junkyard Dog, the King of the Hill. Not so much Islamic State, more like Islamic Nazis.
     
    Reminisence Of The Week
    Okay, I admit it, just occaisionally during July we had the odd shower or two, sometimes a bit thunderous. By good fortune and the foresight to believe the weather girls on telelvision I avoided the downpours. In fact, the onnly serious rain that caught me was on the day of my mothers funeral. She had the last laugh after all
     
    Yet despite the doom and gloom of enviromental disasters, wars, inadvertant shooting down of passenger jets, the loss of family, and the occaisional drenching, there is always something about life to bring back the smile. A few nights ago the BBC reached into the archives and pulled out Kate Bush, the waif like singer with flowing dances and high pitched vocals responsible for Wuthering Heights.
     
    I'd forgotten what an impact that woman had made on popular music. Listening to the old favourites once again brought back many happy memories of my younger days. I am of course envious of her talent, her ability to express herself musically. For me musical expression is so much more difficult, so many ideas I'm just not able to breathe life into. It all came so naturally to her.
     
    An interview with comedian Steve Coogan told how she came to see his show which lampooned her work, and was polite enough to remark that it was good to hear all those old songs again. She's right. It was.
  3. caldrail
    There's a strange mood in the town right now, and I suspect, across England, because once again our national football team has failed to reach the heady goal of winning the World Cup. This time they failed to get out of the starting blocks, so I understand, but then I don't have any time for football. Nothing wrong with the game as such, but I resent the expectations that I should be interested and discuss the subject at every opportunity. I don't like the blatant commercialism and outrageous incomes football stars can earn, or for that natter, I remain baffled as to why a bloke who kicks a football for a living can be seen as important as politicians on the world stage.
     
    All those national flags displayed in peoples front windows... But I suppose that's nothing other than a sense of disappointment. For David Cameron, it means a major reorganisation of his social diary now that he doesn't have a football team to be seen with at press events. A few less new years honours to promote.
     
    Unfortunatetly it also means that David Cameron has more time on his hands, and with busy politicians who like telling the British how to go about their daily lives, it means he'll have time to think up new ways of getting his face on television, and since trampling on the unemployed is his most popular game plan right now, I dare say it'll get worse for those of us who can't afford football tickets.
     
    As it happens I'm shortly to be put on a work placement. Unlike previous years where you get a small premium payment to make the idea worthwhile, now I have to work for my benefits. Those of you with well paid jobs will no doubt say that's a good thing. But ask yourself this - would you want to work a thirty hour week for sixty odd pounds? Especially if you want to earn a living instead of dossing at public expense? In a country that's so strident in its call for National Minimum Wages and assistance for those unable to pay their ever increasing bills?
     
    Now the Job Centre has warned me that twenty-six week placements are coming soon to a own near you. On the one hand it's a means of engaging those without jobs in some useful social capacity. On the other, the need of a politician to win popularity by forcing those on benefits into what amounts to slave labour.
     
    I'm almost willing to support the England soccer team from now on. As much as I hate football, as least a few goals will keep our politicians busy for a while.
     
    They Are Working On It.
    The Old College site is starting to look like a shopping centre now. Not complete you understand, but getting there. At the back, the car park has the metal underlay almost fitted, obscuring the dark interior and presenting a very bright spectacle when the sun gets low in the evening. Won't be long before the muffled thuds and rumbles from the cinema start intruding upon the normal traffic noise and singing contests.
     
    I saw a man from Morrisons, one of the supermarket chains that are going to inhabit the site. He stood looking dejected on the traffic island, watching the work in progress.
     
    "Give 'em a chance," I told him, "They are working on it."
     
    Sex And Violence of the Week
    The local park is proving to be a popular hoilday destination for alll manner of birds. Geese, ducks, coots, moorhens, pigeons, an assortment of white sea birds, but none of the swans you used to see every year. I watched a flock of geese arrive, circling down in formation and performing a coordinated landing on the water. That made quite a splash.
     
    With such a condensed population of birds you might expect the odd confrontation or two, animals being what they are. I watched a goose making a hasty and noisy retreat as another pecked at its tail feathers in furous pursuit. A coot chased a duck continuously, while the duck cleverly evaded its nemesis by swimming underwater in a random direction, the chase resuming once the coot spotted its quarry again.
     
    I watched amused as a fat pigeon sidled up to every other female asking for a date, or preferably, a chance to make eggs. He danced and strutted his stuff, but the ladies really didn't take to his display and wandered away. If that pigeon was a human, he'd be arrested as a sex pest. or perhaps given a starring role on a comedy show. But he's working on it nonetheless. Maybe one day he'll find love. Must be difficult for pigeons. I mean, it's not like they understand the internet or know how to use dating agencies.
     
    I noticed a certain cat too. It's the black and white one whose face bears an alarming resemblance to Adolf Hitler. I had no idea this feline adventurer ever prowled this part of town, but as cats do, sometimes they travel some distance to find a hiunting ground.
     
    It's all sex and violence, really. Oh well, it was a nice day at the park, but if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Whether I like or not.
  4. caldrail
    Those of you who know England will also know that somtimes, just sometimes, the rain goes away to ome back another day, leaving us with a few days of glorious weather. Like today, a warm balmy day, and with all my chores done it was time to seek a quiet corner of the local park and relax in quiet solitude, away from the noisy daytime activity of my home town.
     
    It isn't all that quiet if I were honest. An ocaisional gravelly rasp of a light aeroplane overhead, the distant subdued roar of a transatlantic airliner, the insistent clangs of the town hall bell, on the hour, every hour, and the incredible range of bird noises from the trees and lake.
     
    The squirrels weren't so keen to be idle. I saw a few bouncing around the earthy woodland trail. As I sat, one headed toward me, almost oblivious to my presence. It knew I was there, and stopped for a moment when I shifted my position, but otherwise I was just another human lowering the tone of the neighbourhood. It's unusual for a squirrel to be so tolerant of people. Most are quite nervous. For this squirrel, it was another day, another nut to carry away.
     
    Damp Squibs
    Those of you who know England will also know that sunny days soon change to weeks of dull rainy weather. A week ago it was exactly that. The worst wet weather coincided exactly with a job interview. This was an unusual interview for me, the first time I'd attended a three hour assessment session with al sorts of things going on. I even gave a fifteen minute presentation on Roman history. The assembled junior management were either bored by the lack of graphs showing a year on year increase in imperial profit, or perhaps stunned by my Roman revelations. Maybe a prior presentation had already melted their brain? Perhaps managers have no comprehension of presentations? Who knows?
     
    On the way home I came across a length of road with a lot of standing water. I had to stand back and wait as motorists ploughed past with big sprays that threatened to drench me. At last there was a gap in the traffic, and I thought I might have enough time to clear the danger area before that lorry arrived, the one just turning the corner a way back down the road. Sometimes you just know that the driver is going to do something. It isn't an inner voice, or any visual recognition of body language, just that strange spidey sense I really ought to have taken notice of.
     
    Of course I didn't. You might be experiencing a similar sensation right now, reading this. As I tramped along the wet pavement I heard the sloshing sound coming up behind me. Fearing the worst I glanced behind... Splash!... A tall wave of water caught me from head to foot. Right in the face too. Of course the lorry drove on, either oblivious to his transgression of the Highway Code, or perhaps gloating over his handiwork. Sir. I salute you. One finger only.
     
    Sunset of the Week
    As the sun descended behind the the cinema building now occupying my view of the landscape from my back window, the high altitude cloud was lit bright. I suddenly noticed a stunning resemblance of a map of Britain composed of whispy clouds. Where Ireland ought to have been was a broad rainbow, formed by the sunlight refracting in ice crystals tens of thousands of feet above the Earth. The conicidential map of Britain soon distorted and was lost in the gentle migration of the clouds, but for a moment, it was really stunning to see.
  5. caldrail

    Bang!

    By caldrail,

    Saturday night in my area is never entirely quiet. My street hapens to be a major path between Old Town on the hill and New Swindon at the bottom of it, with clusters of clubs and pubs at either end. So as you might imagine, the Swindon branch of the Inebriated Debating Society often pass by.
     
    If that wasn't bad enough, my neighbours are keen on playing music before they go out for the night on the basis it puts them in the mood. For what? Annoying people? It seems to work, because at half-past one they returned with a crowd of like-minded friends in tow, holding an emergency session of the Inebriated Shouting Society. I gather the Police stopped by to quiet them down.
     
    Then, an hour later, when their society meeting had run its course and they'd dispersed to spread mayhem around the borough of Swindon, my neighbours decided to play music, because they were in the mood. This time I had to bang on their door. Is that your music?
     
    "Erm... Yes it is..." Said the startled young lady at the door, "You want me to turn it down?"
     
    Might be a good idea at this point.
     
    Finally, in the wee small hours, long after all the fast food and indian restaurants are closed, somebodies girlfriend outside my home side "I'm hungry.... Fooooood!". Of course she could have been a wandering werewolf or perhaps a zombie searching for brains, or maybe an immigrant from the jungles of New Guinea, I don't know. What I do know is she will very likely go hungry until she gets home. Somebody point her in the right direction please...
     
    Indian Restaurant
    Having mentioned indian restaurants, I shoukld mention that I tried a new last night, during the somewhat quieter period when my neighbours were summoning their allies to the relentless thud of a nightclub metronome. The food was very good quality, I have to say, albeit something of an expensive extravagance for my income, but a little of what you like does you good (until today, when the race for the toilet becomes an excruciating exercise for your lower cheek muscles). However, whilst I waited for the meal to be cooked and handed over, I became aware that all the customers were Asians. Every last one of them. I don't begrudge them residency in Britain or the availability of dining out, it's just a very strange feeling to be the only Briton in a restaurant in Britain.
     
    Question Of The Week
    Who is Barry Scott anyway? I ask this because we often see him on television advertising a certain cleaning product, looking glassy eyed after experiencing some purple painted form of high speed transport. I susect those of you spared British television won't even have heard of him. But it occurred to me he's perfect for the US firearms industry.
     
    "Wow, that was a fast reload.. When you need home defence... Bang, and the dirt is gone."
  6. caldrail

    Crime Time

    By caldrail,

    I was watching one of those Police 'fly on the wall' programs recently. Not sure which, there's quite a few of them. Police Patience On Patrol? Motorway Mental Cases? Worlds Wildest Policewoman? Don't know. Anyway, this particular program featured Police action from my own home town. It was a little wierd watching them chase a joyrider outside my home. Given the date and time of night, I was undoubtedly at home, playing Grand Theft Auto into the wee small hours, tutting about yet another police siren whizzing up and down the street. Such is life.
     
    Nonetheless crime does go on around us. Just last night I was woken by something, suddenly aware that the diesel generator powering the array of amber and turquoise lights in the Old College site had gone silent. A distant command "Stop!" was clearly audible. Sadly life isn't quite the same as television or film, so there was no "You'll never take me alive copper!" and whatever drama took place, it was done largely silently. You never know, I might see the drama replayed with exciting commentary on television next year.
     
    It does appear however that for someone life did get a bit more dramatic. This morning I left the library having completed my job searching for the day, and saw two police cars parked in the square. You do see policemen at the library sometimes, and once I watched a troublemaker manhandled out of the building. No-one seemed to know what trouble he had actually caused, but since he was definitely a bit irate, shouting at the policemen to let him go with references to their parentage, then by the rules of television documentaries he was guilty as charged. But today there was no action. Just those police vehicles, but I couldn't help thinking that something more sinister than a tantrum had occurred.
     
    Then I saw the constable on guard duty outside a bookies. So something had gone down. A van labelled as belonging to the forensic team turned up to show what a serious incident had taken place. Journalists milled around outside with oversized cameras and busy phone calls. People like me stood around waiting for something to happen. Of course, it already had.
     
    The Case Of The Missing Eunos Cabriolet
    Nope. Still no leads on the fate of my stolen car. Not even after watching a documentary about police action in my area. But at least I know the first names of several police officers and their favourite make of car. You never know, could be valuable information in my enquiry.
     
    Issue of the Week
    This has to be the huge concerns of subsidence in my area given the huge chunk of the hillside recently removed by building contractors. My home is, and I quote, "right on the firing line". Rather worringly I have noticed a few new cracks in the wall though not so serious as the 1885 Baptist Chapel at the other end of the alleyway, which is no longer fit for use and has a huge great steel support bolted on the side to stop it falling over. Currently disused? I'm suprised no-one round here has thought of nicking it.
  7. caldrail

    Network Fail

    By caldrail,

    After that farce on Friday I was glad to get an invite to start work. Dutifully I made my way to the Network Rail site - ironically one I'd been sacked from once before by a different employer - and arrived on the dot just as my supervisor from the agency was parking his car. The security guard was one of those smiling happy south east asian types. Friendly to everyone. I can imagine him throwing me off the site for a misdemeanour with a cheery "Have... a... nice day. Yes."
     
    The company site manager pulled me into an office for a welcome to work chat. "This is not an interview" He smiled. Never trust a manager who smiles. I have to say I didn't much like the look of him. He was one of those 'cold' management types. Never really showing any leadership, never inspiring any dedication or loyalty, just expecting everyone to work until they break then throw them away as rubbish. You can't trust people like that.
     
    Sadly I was right. I couldn't trust him. Within fifteen minutes he'd decided I was surplus to requirements (or more accurately, rubbish) and my services weren't required. He even expected me to accept that without any display of negative emotion. The man is an android, programmed for ruthless management, and I suppose luckily for me, I will not be assimilated.
     
    So I stomped off angrily for the gatehouse. Like you do. The cheery security man smiled and as I signed myself out, said "Have... a... nice day. Yes."
     
    Stupid Person Of The Week
    So it was back to the Job Centre and the humiliating ritual of attempting to persuade government bureaucrats that your life has turned for the worse and please can I have some money to pay my bills. As it happened the benefits were confirmed without problems (I guess the Network Rail Android is known as a serious hazard to continued employment). So it was only necessary to attend a short interview to sign a few forms before I went back to the job of finding work.
     
    The afro-caribbean lady behind the desk was humoourless. Not that unusual in Job Centres if I were honest, although things have improved no end from the dour 70's. She wasn't being rude or anything, it's just that she called me "Mister Caldrail". Gasp! So I attempted, forlornly, to prove that I was entitled to be called "Lord Caldrail". I had the evidence, I pointed out where she was going wrong, then I was interrupted.
     
    "Sorry... Did you say I was stupid?" She hissed icily. Uh oh. This was the ragged edge of a possible racism incident. Now I get it. She's a problem case given a niche job. Staring her in the face, I slowly confirmed that I did not say she was stupid. So the interview concluded in the same detached officialism she started, believing she had won a victory over racist abuse.
     
    Well. Now I'm going to say it. As much as I was being respectful and polite, lady, you are stupid.
  8. caldrail

    My Foggy Day

    By caldrail,

    Weather... Funny thing weather... We seem to have more of it than any other nation in the world and yet we seem uttely incapable of coping with it. All part of being British I supose.
     
    Over the last few days we've had fog to contend with. You would think that might cause a few problems with getting around.and you know what? You're right. It has.
     
    As for me I had a job interview to go to. The agency that put me onto it was so worried that the fog might put me off that they called me on the phone while I was on my way there. Am I going? Yes. Do I know where to go? Yes. That sorted her out.
     
    I arrived at the site and luckily for me the interview was being held in a premises I'd worked in once before. That way I knew where it was without resorting to GPS, anxious telephone calls, or simply sending up a rescue flare if all else fails. Thing is thoug, the lady on the reception desk looked perplexed when I announced myself.
     
    "You are not on list" She replied in deep Polish lilt. Really? My mobile phone says different. Obviously fog is not so thick in Poland. Anyway, I stood my ground, she lost patience with me, and went to fetch a manger.
     
    The manager didn't know what I was talking about either. So he phoned his manager, and he didn't know either. This fog really is stern stuff. It reduces memory, intelligence, amd many higher brain functions. I should know. The ability test I had to sit through comprised of fiendish maths and english questions designed to fool the illegal immigrant, thwart the dimwitted, or basically accelerate the degeneration of brain tissue that still clings on for dear life inside my aging skull. But I passed. Fog or no fog.
     
    And the sun has come out! What a nice day. Start work on Monday fella. No excuses. Not even fog.
  9. caldrail

    England Expects

    By caldrail,

    ...Once more unto the rain, dear friends, once more...
    ... Those who were not here shall hold their dryness cheap...
    From William Shakespeare's play Henry The Absolutely Soaking Wet Fifth
     
    Britain has a problem. As much as we like to discuss our weather, we seem to have rather a lot of it right now. So much so that hordes of BBC journalist more used to comnfortable studio newsdesks are now presenting news and views live from those areas of Britain unfortunate enough to be anywhere near a large river. I can't help thinking the BBC are trying their best to convince that our license fee is value for money or that the flooding in the Somerset Levels is something we haven't already heard about.
     
    Okay, Britain is a bit under the weather right now, but come on BBC! Cameron has already said there's no limit to the amount of money he will spend drying Britain out, even if his cabinet deny blank cheques are available or that unemployed people like me are going to have to fund relief efforts on the Somerset Levels sooner or later.
     
    Sky News is more concerned with impending Scottish independence and the revelation they can't keep the English chequebook, plus a controversy at the Sochi Winter Olympics. Russia Today talks about riots in Venezuela, Ithe release of Iraqi prisoners agaijst American advice, and of course the stream of Russian victories at Sochi. But Al Jazeerah walks away with the prize for reporting Korean squabbling, Turkish squabbles, squabbles in Kenya, attempted coups in Libya, unrest in Iraq, Belgian euthenasia, the inprisonment of Al Jazeerah journalists in Egypt, and for ignoring Sochi altogether.
     
    I breathe a sigh of relief when the adverts pop up. Then I discover that Africa doesn't have enough water to go around and would I mind paying a meagre sum to supply one person with water that isn't full of urine, faeces, bugs, and little children playing. Sorry. have a television license fee to pay for.
     
    Job Interview Of The Week
    Applying for jobs online is easy most of the time. Choose a vacancy and click on 'Apply'. job done. Sometimes however the unthinkable happens and someone notices that pweople are applying for these jobs.
     
    That hapened to me recently which was very unexpected. Normally I get rejected or forgotten completely. The mistake I made of course was discovering the interview I'd agreed to attend was not in my home town, but miles away, out there, in the wilds of Darkest Wiltshire. So I discussed the problem with the employer and we agreed it was sensible not to proceed.
     
    Unfortunately England Expects That Every Jobseeker Shall Do His Duty, and thus the Job Centre, as soon as they found out, decided I had committed heresy. "We can stop your money if refuse an interview" My claims advisor advised me. I hadn't refused it.All I did was... it was no use. The Job Centre decided I was in the wrong and so I had to phone the employer and ask them very nicely if they wouldn't mind letting me attend the interview after all. They said yes.
     
    First the interview was postponed until the following week. Then I was asked if it was possible to come in later during the afernoon instead, because the company was having a problem with suppliers. Then finally, after my miserable bus journey and a walk through some town on the edge of civilisation, I was within a few hundred yards of the employers premises. Just a few more yards... Almost there... Oh hello. my phone is rininging.... Interview postponed until next week
     
    NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
     
    Right then. My claims Advisor owes me
  10. caldrail
    It doesn't take a lot to cause traffic chaos. Many years ago I was heading home through Wootton Bassett when I encountered a driver having difficulties getting his car up the steep hill that enters the town from the southwest side. Being a genreous sort, I stopped to help. Pushing a vehicle uphill, especially one with an unwilling engine and a large female occupant who refused to step out of the vehicle, wasn't easy and no-one else volunteered to help. Within minutes traffic was backing up in both directions, traffic wardens were closing in to find what the trouble was and inflict terrible financial maulings to anyone guilty of the slightest infraction of the Highway Code. So I helped the guy reverse the car by gravity as close to the side of the road as possible and left the area sharpish. My work here is done.
     
    But it isn't always my own fault. The other day I was walking home by the Old College site. Roadworks have spread across the junction in front of it, diggers ripping out more and more mud, flourescent yellow droids with working class accents yelling incoherently at each other. Unfortunately this has restricted the the road a good deal.
     
    In one direction, a large low-loader lorry and trailer was trying to negotiate the turn into the building site, blocking the only remaining lane. In the other direction, another lorry driver decided to use the temporary access road as a short cut to the site, depite the "Give Way" and "Left Turn" signs, blatantly pulling across the wrong way in a one-way system, and blocking traffic behind him. And so chaos was brought to Swindon.
     
    I didn't do it.
     
    Data Protection Of The Week
    Right now I attend a support centre to assist my job-searching. Internet access, personal assistance, and free stationery. Very useful. The only downside is the constant form filling and register signing that I have to put with. Every session I need to fill out a report form detailing my activities for the day. it must be completed fully and correctly or my benefits are in question. Like being in the army except no-one shouts at you.
     
    Anyhow I did my duty for the day and dotted every eye and crossed every tee. The manageress who runs the office spotted me droppin g my form on the assigned administrators desk and immediately turned it over. "It's okay" I ventured helpfully, "I'm not ashamed of it". Sadly she lacks a certain sense of humour and merely replied "Oh it's the data protection act". I see. I post my job search details on a government website as ordered, email those details to any administrator who requests it, my bank details and statements to a national office dedicated to catching dole cheats, and to some extent, reveal my activities to the world via this blog. But no-one, repeat no-one, is allowed to see that report form.
     
    You have been warned.
  11. caldrail

    A Matter Of Time

    By caldrail,

    According to the BBC, ten million of you watched the Dr Who special marking the 50th year of time travelling mayhem and alien invasions of Earth. I strongly suspect far fewer of you are going to be reading this, but who knows, perhaps one day this blog will survive the ravages of time and become an indispensible guide to how life in Swindon really was before Professor Cox was proved right.
     
    I do note however one aspect of Day Of The Doctor that most people might not have noticed. The good Doctor turns out to have been an utter cad. He sent Rose Tyler into exile in another dimension so he could snog Elizabeth 1st. Perhaps worse than that, children have learned that our foremost warrior queen married a nine hundred year old alien with really bad fashion sense. No wonder she kept that secret.
     
    Dr Cox
    A little while ago I spotted a news item on Yahoo in which Professor Brian Cox was quoted as saying that time travel was possible. I disagree with him vehemently and posted a somewhat sarky comment to that effect. You see, he says that einsteinian time dilation due to excessive speed allows a traveller to go into the future. I say it doesn't, because the traveller hasn't left his own present and cannot move independently of his own local time, thus he isn't time travelling at all. Physics is really easy when you don't listen to physics lecturers.
     
    Lo and behold within days a lecture by Professor Cox was aired on television in which he discussed whether time travel was possible. Actually he spent most of the lecture dazzling his audience with the inner mysteries of light cones, and only at the very end suggested a possible time travel paradigm. He said that if you could warp space so that the end met the beginning, then hurtling through space at near-light speed would get you into the past.
     
    He is of course wrong. If he was right, all it wouldl do is get you ten penalty points on your license and a three month ban on driving time machines. Not only are there speed cameras everywhere,to catch you flashing past at 186,000 miles per second, your arrival at your destination will very likely be in the history books and therefore you're guilty as charged. According to the history books I've read, no-one from the future ever turned up.
     
    He did confess that the energy required to warp space like that would be enormous but tried to inspire the television audience to try anyway. Clearly he hasn't dealt with energy companies. If he had, he would know that no-one in Britain could afford to power their time machine.
     
    Survival Without Central Heating Update
    Cold... So cold...
     
    Time Machine Of The Week
    So you want to follow the good professors advice and build a time machine? Well, you don't need to build a weird victorian chair with rotating umbrella, a 60's police box, or a huge underground complex in the American desert. Just follow my simple instructions and you can travel through time.
     
    Step 1 - Sit comfortably.
     
    Step 2 - Wait. Twiddle thumbs if necessary.
     
    Step 3 - Done. Finished. You have just travelled through time according to Professor Cox. Admittedly you won't be able to snog Elizabeth 1st, battle Daleks, or act the idiot with a sonic screwdriver, but there you go.
     
    You see, in order to travel into the past or future then the past or future has exist in order to visit it. That means that Time must be dimensional, which unfortunately for Professor Cox means the past is already defined, and since the future is merely a part of the Time dimension we haven't reached yet, it too is pre-determined , which means there's nothing you can do. The bank will foreclose on your mortgage, Schrodingers Cat will die of starvation, and the number 10 bus will squash your dog. There's nothing you can do because Time is already defined.
     
    As for me, I say time travel cannot possibly happen because there isn't any Time, only Now. A single existentent moment that changes on a quantum level incredibly fast like a stop-frame movie with a frame rate of billions upon trillions upon quadrillions of frames a second, varying locally according to such einsteinian things like speed and gravity. All the atoms that made Julius Caesar still exist, albeit seperated and changed. A vibrating universe that has no past or future, merely a present that experiences Change. Time is therefore not a seperate existence, dimension, or place you can visit, just our experience of Change.
     
    Sadly I can't compete with Professor Cox when it comes to inviting celebrity audiences to a television physics lecture, but I've taken your advice Brian. I've made a start. Trouble is, my time machine cannot possibly work.
  12. caldrail

    Thou Will Be Silent

    By caldrail,

    Many many years ago in that Jurassic era I call my childhood, I sometimes made a journey across the countryside to Lydiard Park. Back then West Swindon didn't exist. Just abandoned railway yards, farmland, and overgrown flak emplacements from WW2. I always remember passing through a village on the way where beside the road was a brake of trees that never seemed to grow any leaves, just existing as towering stalks of dark grey, always surrounded by flocks of crows that made the most unholy noise.
     
    Of course now the village is absorbed into West Swindon and the unholy noise is made by late night drunkards. The crows have gone. Maybe that's because they had more sense than to stay. After all, crows and ravens are very clever birds.
     
    I've seen a video clip of a crow using its puzzle solving abilities. Within seconds it retrieved a little metal basket full of food from an upright plastic cylinder by using a small metal rod with a hook at one end. I have to say, it was a very impressive display of animal intelligence.
     
    A few weeks ago I was taking a shortcut through my local park. Normally it's quiet, a useful quality for a remembrance garden, but on this occaision four crows were having a bit of a tiff. They flapped their wings ceaselessly, hopped from branch to branch in some avian parody of martial arts fighters, going at each other hammer and tongs.
     
    I can't remember what I said. Something like "Oh shut up" as I remember, and whaddya know? The crows stopped making noises, stopped moving, and the garden returned to its normal peaceful condition. Thank you.
     
    So there you have it. Crows and ravens are not only quite intelligent, but very polite too. Don't know where they learned that from. It clearly wasn't the average Swindon youth.
     
    Sermon Of The Week
    I lost my temper. I really did. There I was, minding my own business as I strode homeward, when I encountered those pesky christian preachers. As they often do, one bellowed praise of Jesus and excerpts from his best seller whilst his mate handed out little cards with his phone number on them.
     
    Out of the corner of my eye I couldn't help spotting his approach (the card distributor, not Jesus), grinning like a cheshire cat and determined to intercept me. That was when I lost my temper. "How many times do you have to be told NO!" I barked at him. Poor bloke. He backed off ever so quickly. He wasn't in much danger of course - a policeman was but yards away chatting to a member of the public and must of heard me explode. Funnily enough the preacher stopped shouting too.
  13. caldrail
    Where shall I go today? The library, so I can do more internetting? Or the Support Centre so I can do more job searching? It doesn't really matter because I'll end up doing both today as I do every day.
     
    Today I will go to the library first I think. Nothing ike variety in the working day. The road crossing outside the library also happens to be where the main entrance to the Old College building site is. The tarmac is crumbling under stress and has become a building site all of its own as repairs to the road take place.
     
    With lorries coming and going from the Old College site regularly, combined with the wet weather we've been having , the road is a shade of sandy brown with little ridges of half dry mud. The lads on the gate are often seen sweeping the mud away and occaisionally a lorry is parked nearby with a tank of water and cleaning apparatus.
     
    I've gotten used used to it I suppose. But I had to laugh earlier - I was following a pair of east european lads when one of them stopped short of the muddy entrance and refused to go any further. It's just a thin patina of mud, my friend, not quicksand. Honestly, they leave friends and family behind and travel hundreds of miles to discover that despite our wonderful benefits payments, they're just as at risk of getting their clothes dirty.
     
    Our Wonderful Benefits Payments
    It's a wonder I still qualify now that our glorious leader has declared war on claimants. Just the other day I received a huge form to fill in. it must be returned by the due date or payments may stop - the information must be correct or payments may stop - it must be retuirned in the correct envelope or payments may stop - Okay, okay, I get the message. I'll run around everywhere like a headless chicken collating all the information demanded. Phone the doctors surgery to get an exact date. No point phoning the Council - their phone system is designed to induce apoplexy in those attempting to pierce its defenses. I swear there are skeletons with boney fingers around a handset with a tinny voice repeating periodically "Please wait - we're trying to connect you to an advisor".
     
    Apparently I missed an interview at the Job Cente about my future as a jobseeker, which is why the form arrived through the post in the first place. It might help if I received it before the day afterward. But hey, that's how things are done in rainy old Swindon.
     
    Annoyance Of The Week
    Yes, it's our old friend, BFG. This morning I had the misfortune to be at the computer when she decided to sit in the next computer. If anyone else made the same running commentary of her woes concerning the library computers she'd throw a tantrum. Just ignore her. When she realises we're not paying her any attention, she'll eventually shut up.... Except she discovered the young lady on the helpdesk is a very helpful person and basically demanded that she ran errands while BFG struggled with her argumentative computer.
     
    Ding ding... Round three...
  14. caldrail

    Zippidee Doodah

    By caldrail,

    My oh my what a wonderful day. Plenty of sunshine heading my way.
     
    That's what I like to tell myself. In reality it's now four years since I had a full time job. Somebody else seems to have noticed that as well because I got a terse text message from the programme centre the other day telling me to turn up to a mandatory activity session. The next morning a letter arrived telling me to turn up or else.
     
    "Does everyone know why you're here?" Asked the lady presenting the session. No-one answered. It turns out the government has decided that we're all going to be assigned jobs where-ever they can be found. No interviews required. The staff at the programme centre seemed a little baffled by the lack of response from us jobseekers. It wasn't that we all wanted to sit on our backsides at public expense - those that did soon revealed themselves with a desperate excuse as the truth dawned on them - but rather that here was a job given to us on a plate. Almost all of us were long term claimants. For years we've been bombarded with pep talks, warnings, advice, and training to turn us into succesful jobseekers. so where was the achievement? I wonder if the programme centre staff have realised that?
     
    Out of the Box
    Every so often someone pops into the museum with bags and boxes of stuff that's been lying around the house in some forgotten corner for long enough. Usually it's nothing but rubbish so when this very scenario occured today I groaned inwardly.
     
    Customer service... Smile for the customer... Listen politely to the tale of how this stuff has to find a new home or get thrown out.... As it happens this time the customer rhad brought in a box full of old vacuum tubes, some dating back to the Second World War. I looked through the collection, discovering that the black ones marked 'RCA' were american, those marked 'VR' were british military surplus, and... hallo.... What's this? German?
     
    It was. An old tube in good condition from a Luftwaffe radio set. I asked him about it and he confirmed he'd been billetted at former german airfields after the war. Young L couldn't understand why I was making a fuss. "What's the big deal?" He asked me. History, lad, history. We're so used to regarding these contributions as nothing more than other peoples unwanted rubbish that we forget some of this stuff really is a piece of the past you can reach out and touch.
     
    My oh my... What a wonderful day...
  15. caldrail
    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?
  16. caldrail
    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.
  17. caldrail

    Cold Nights

    By caldrail,

    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.
  18. caldrail
    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.
  19. caldrail

    From The Top

    By caldrail,

    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.
  20. caldrail

    More Stuff And Nonsense

    By caldrail,

    "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?
  21. caldrail
    With all the spare time I seem to be afflicted with as an unemployed person it's inevitable that watch a bit more television than usual. So far I've avoided the mind numbing tedium of Countdown (never the same after Carol Voorderman left) and apart from Shaun The Sheep, childrens tv doesn't fill my spiritual emptiness.
     
    However, lately there's been a series of japanese animation films. They're all pretty similar in style. Slightly surreal, always western in cultural depiction despite the oriental language, and strangely absorbing. Most are actually pretty dire as stories. There was one about sky pirates that ought to be used for prisoner interrogation. Fifteen minutes of that and you'd reveal every top secret you 've ever heard of.
     
    There was one that caught my attention - Kiki's Delivery Sercvvice. Not because of the story, which was pure sugar and very cringweworthy, but the background. It was a sort of 1930's France in feel. It felt oddly familiar. Those of you who've read the Tintin Comics will know what I mean - the direct influence of real world places and objects makes the cartoon so much more reali no matter how simplistic the drawing is.
     
    The rendition of the town was very appealing. I wanted to take that tram ride along the wide cobbled boulevard where the wealthy people lived, or stroll down that narrow winding road between the shops. Shame it's only imaginary really. Maybe that's because I'm getting a little bored of red brick Swindon.
     
    Apologies To Monty Python
    A tourist enters North Korea.
    Tourist:: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint.
     
    (The official does not respond.)
     
    T:'Ello, Miss?
    Official: What do you mean "miss"?
    T:I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint!
    O: We're closin' for lunch.
    T:Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about your leader who I tried to visit not half an hour ago from this very office.
    O: Oh yes, the, uh, Kim Jong Il...What's,uh...What's wrong with him?
    T:I'll tell you what's wrong with him, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with him!
    O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting.
    T:Look, matey, I know a dead politician when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now.
    O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable fella, the Kim Jong Il, isn'he, ay? Beautiful clothing!
    T:The clothing don't enter into it. He's stone dead.
    O: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting!
    T:All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up!
    (shouting at the cage)
    'Ello, Kim! I've got a lovelyweapons of mass destruction for you if you show...(owner hits the cage)
    O: There, he moved!
    T:No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage!
    O: I never!!
    T:Yes, you did!
    O: I never, never did anything...
    T:(yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO KIM!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call!
    (Takes Kim Jong Il out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter. Throws him up in the air and watches him plummet to the floor.)
    T:Now that's what I call a dead politician.
    O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned!
    T:STUNNED?!?
    O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Korean politicians stun easily, major.
    T:Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That person is definitely deceased, and when I visited him not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that his total lack of movement was due to bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged speech.
    O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the rice paddies.
    T:PININ' for the RICE PADDIES?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home?
    O: Kim Jong Il prefers kippin' on his back! Remarkable leader, isn't he, squire? Lovely uniform!
    T:Look, I took the liberty of examining that person when I got him home, and I discovered the only reason that he'd been sitting on his throne in the first place was that he'd been NAILED there.
    (pause)
    O: Well, o'course he was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed him down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart withhis bare hands, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee!
    T:"VOOM"?!? Mate, this bloke wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through him! 'E's bleedin' demised!
    O: No no! 'E's pining!
    T:'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the throne! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-POLITICIAN!!
    (pause)
    O: Well, I'd better replace him, then.
  22. caldrail

    Driving Me Mad

    By caldrail,

    Right. Chores completed, job clubs attended, shopping done. Time for me to head home and do the usual 'feet up' routine. I might be unemployed, but I need to stay in practice for when someone figures out how to get Britain out of the recession. Whichever one it is we're currently suffering from.
     
    As usual there were crowds of unemployed immigrants standing on street corners just about everywhere. At least I think they were unemployed. No matter. I have seat to fill at home. So with a quick glance over my shoulder I stride across the road junction and pay the crowds no further attention.
     
    As I did so a young manager type in his spotlessly white and chrome base model executive car decided to turn into the side street. I was about halfway across when it was obvious I was about to be run over. Luckily the driver in this case was a moderate sort who didn't believe in mowing down innocent pedestrians. Unfortunately, he was one of those who likes to challenge pedestrians for ownership of the ashpalt.
     
    So without further ado he drove right up to me, and I mean, within inches. I made my displeasure known to him. Well clearly that young man either hasn't read the Highway Code or considers himself exempt by virtue of his base model executive transport. I suspect my angry response didn't teach him anything either. A part of me hopes he'll learn an important lesson about patience and respect for other road users, but it does appear that eventually it's going to be a magistrate who instructs him.
     
    Snow?
    Snow? What the...? The warning symbols as the weather report got underway were something of a suprise. I mean, it might have gotten colder of late, but in real terms it really isn't that bad for this time of year. Oh, I see, it's just Scotland that's going to get it. Oh that's all right. They're used to it. Let's face it, there some drivers who can't handle snow south of the border. Can you imagine? Snow on a monday morning? What a disaster that would be.
     
    News Of The Week
    "Hey!" Cried an breathless Young L as he rode his bicycle through the door of the museum. "Have you seen the news about Jeremy Clarkson?"
     
    Funnily enough we had. I'd even mentioned it on my blog a day or two before. Sadly Young L regards football as more important than my literary efforts so once again he launched into a series of anecdotes about his favourite Top Gear moments. I think it was a series. Bit difficult to tell because he didn't pause for breath. Either that or the lads from Dunsfold made one heck of an episode.
     
    Finally I could take no more. Interrupting Young L in full flow, I turned to Young S and asked him how many episodes of Top Gear had ever been made. That many? Really? Okay, carry on...
  23. caldrail
    Six More Years Of Pain.
     
    Falling standards of living, lower pay, fewer jobs, and all the other doom and gloom of austerity predictions. Makes you feel good to be British, doesn't it? I was only a child during the Winter of Discontent. The financial wobbles that ended the yuppie era barely affected me. Well, I'm certainly affected now.
     
    Funny isn't it? Today there's a public service strike across Britain. Signs have been posted to invite the public to attend the rallies, and almost everywhere in town there are canvassers attempting to gain our support. I can understand the concerns these people have for their pensions, but I really don't think they understand that we pay for them as well as our own. I suspect their schemes are probably more likely to fund their old age too. Sorry, but no, I'm not interested.
     
    As for me, well, I don't seem to be too popular right now. Last night I had two phone calls out of the blue from people who wanted to respond to my efforts to find work. In one case, a training organisation offered me a course on warehousing. Oh brilliant. So I get a piece of paper after a couple of weeks telling me I know how to do the stuff I've been doing for nearly twenty years? I felt like calling him an idiot, but no, these things are sent to try us.
     
    The second call was from an agency. "You applied for bar work?" He asked me. Bar work? I don't think so. Mind you, I did apply to your agency earlier today for....
     
    "Oh yes" He suddenly remembered, "That admin job. I'll pass the application on to the right desk. The emails must have gone astray."
     
    Seems to be a lot of things going astray right now. It isn't the first time I've gotten the bums rush from a job agency. One had phoned me a few weeks ago, the boss herself, and whilst she's never so much as recognised I existed, now she took the trouble to fob me off personally. A few years ago, the boss of another invited me to the office for a personal put down. Funnily enough she advised me to look for bar work. Bit of a coincidence there.
     
    Actually some of my woes are spiteful mischief makers attempting to goad me into using my title as an excuse. Sorry, but that's not what my title is for, so I'm afraid that as much as these idiots are enjoying the human talent for crapping on others, it isn't going to happen. Since getting a job from agencies doesn't look like it's going to happen either, I do feel sort of excused from any shame in being unemployed. But don't worry, I'll carry on applying for jobs. That's what the government pay me for after all.
     
    Christmas Trees
    It isn't just Britain suffering. I see on CBS that Texas is undergoing a harsh drought right now. So bad in fact that one farmer is unable to profit from sales of christmas trees. She grows christmas trees? In Texas? But it's okay. With a mind to offsetting the worst of any further climatic wobbles, she's investing in christmas trees sourced in Arizona.
     
    I'm speechless.
  24. caldrail

    Can't Talk, Won't Talk

    By caldrail,

    The other day I was chatting to a colleague about popular music. In my youth music was scarce, hard to come by, and watching Top Of The Pops on a thursday night was an event to be savoured even with Noel Edmunds introducing the evenings mime actors. If one of your mates bought an album, a fragile twelve inch disc of black plastic, we all converged for that all important first listen. We all sat around admiring the artwork of the cover, wondering who all these names were on the credits, or discussing when we too would be releasing our very own record.
     
    Now you get music everywhere. Delivered electronically to your latest gizmo for entertainment for the busy lifestyles of the modern day. As much as music has improved in quality over the years I can't help feeling that so much of this garbage we download is... well... garbage. All you need is a steady thump and a wierd chorus and success will be yours. You think I'm joking?
     
    Take one of the latest offerings. "I got the moves like Jagger" the singer repeats a few times before his vocal chords are warped beyond human performance by the technological boxes that enslave creativity. The thing is though, the odd sound is no more than a gimmick. So desperate are the producers to make this song stand out that they've resorted to idiot melodies that no-one could sing without admitting to having extraterrestrial parents. The listener simply has to put up with psychological trauma.
     
    What's worse is the message of the song. That's about slavery too. Apparently the singer believes that behaving like Mick Jagger will make him a sexual tyrannosaurus, bringing helpless females to point of orgasm, totally reduced to abject obedience in the face of an imminent bonk. It is in fact arrogant sexist tripe, but then, what do you expect with nightclubs? No wonder the song's been doing well in the charts.
     
    That said, pubs and clubs aren't doing so well these days. Those that put on live acts appear to be doing better. Those that play recorded music seem to shutting up shop faster than european banks. Is that a coincidence, I ask myself?
     
    I chuckle as I switch on the television. In a way I consider myself lucky to have experienced popular music in the good old days. As it happens a channel is running repeats of Top Of The Pops from the seventies. With a sudden urge to savour the nostalgia of my youth, I sit back and watch Noel Edmunds telling us which mime act is on next. You know what? They say you should never revisit the places of your youth. Good grief - I never realised what a complete load of rubbish we were listening to....
     
    Little Burdens
    We were expecting a party of 'special needs' children at the museum and they arived pretty much as expected. Unless you meet these children and see for yourself, the phrase 'special needs' doesn't mean anything. Most were what you'd expect, hyperactive kids with no attention span whatsoever. Others had different afflications, such as one youngster who seemed unable to interact with anyone or anything unless it was a vehicle, real or toy. It saddened me. It also left me with no shortage of respect for the patience of the teachers who shepherded these kids around our hallowed halls.
     
    For some reason our events manager decided that I would introduce the museum and recite the instructions for safe enjoyable visits. To tell the truth I wasn't in the mood for that, still less after the events manager put me on the spot. What made it worse was that he wouldn't shut up. By the time he'd finished talking, everything had been pretty much said. I think I uttered one sentence to complete my duty.
     
    After a short silence one lady asked "Can we go in now?"
     
    Oh yes. Please do.
  25. caldrail
    One of the enduring qualities of the ancient Roman Empire is an instinctive need by europeans to revive the idea of a continental empire. The European Union was supposed to be a collective of nation states although clearly there are politicians who saw it as a vehicle for imperial ambition. Others saw it as no more than a convenient gravy train. I suspect the same was true two thousand years ago.
     
    Things aren't looking too good. Those nations scrounging from the pot have been told to pull their socks up. Austerity measures and changes of leadership have resulted. For me there's still doom and gloom since much of Britains prosperity now depends on the EU, and with the foundations of europe's new empire wobbling, unemployment is not getting any better.
     
    Usually at this time of year there's an endless demand for temporary workers to shovel stuff from here to there in time for Christmas and the January sales. This year it's harder to find such relief from signing on. Fewer employers are hiring and many are imposing strict regulations on their annual intake of slaves. In one advertisement for a temporary manual job, the employer was making clear that high standards were expected. What? Monkeys need to be groomed this year? No picking fleas at that place. Only those with the right attitude would be tolerated. That's a telling statement.
     
    Every year the amount of mail surges as the festive season approaches. One agency has forwarded my name to the Royal Mail for a short term job sorting letters, driving vans, delivering mail, or other such matters vital for the war effort.That's okay with me.
     
    The odd thing is that the agency who put my name forward to the suprisingly secretive Royal Mail is based in Leeds. For those with no comprehension of things english, that's foreign territory to us Swindoners. A whole different culture, steeped in strange accents and customs, with clever and cunning natives that confound and befuddle their prosperous southern neighbours.
     
    DS was from Leeds incidentially. She was my boss for a while, and despite the complete chaos and dodgy deals that followed her everywhere, she maintained that Leeds is the true home of sensible englishness. Can't quite see that myself. To confirm my suspicions, I keep getting phone calls and emails from the sensible Leeds agency telling me to respond to an email I'd been sent and book myself an interview at the local post depot.
     
    Erm.... What email? All the links I've tried send me back to their website. It's a bit like being caught in an endless circle. Worse still, the clever and cunning Leeds person I spoke to asked me for my password so he could faciiltate the application process. Pardon me? You want my password?
     
    Welcome to sensible Leeds. Stay alert people.
     
    Pardon Me For Squirming
    Another quiet day at the library. Even the businessman who received a very important call on his moble tried frantically to persuade the caller that everything was working out just fine so he could hang up and carry on using a computer in peace and tranquility. But some people are never satisfied.
     
    BFL was sat a few cubicles away. It's hard to miss her really since the world tends to stop when she comes upstairs. She can be persistent, demanding attention and assistance for the sheer pleasure of getting people to act at her whim. She's tried pulling my strings once or twice. No, sorry, I haven't the slightest idea how that printer works. This is a library. Go and ask a librarian. Jeez.
     
    The rest of us grimace as every possible obstruction to her very important studies is removed. Every day she's at the helpdesk asking a librarian for help. There's no escaping her. Like a child throwing toys out of a pram, she's learned that making a big noise results in things happening.
     
    It was therefore inevitable that the atmosphere of the library was suddenly shattered. At the top of her voice BFL suddenly blurted out "Do you mind? I'm doing some very intense study and I can't concentrate because you're constantly jumping up and down!"
     
    "Is there a problem" Said the librarian, poised to pounce upon some hapless victim. BFL said no more. As to who was jumping up and down I have not the slightest clue. Maybe I breathed too heavily? Maybe someone was thinking too loud, maybe there wasn't the right mix of hormones in the air, or perhaps BFL was getting frustrated by the lack of attention she was getting? Who knows?
     
    Oh. She's leaving. With a bit of luck she won't bother to announce it.
     
    Might There Be A Winter?
    There's been a definite chill in the air these last couple of days. Still not cold enough to see your own breath, which is unsual for this time of year, but the relatively balmy weather we've been having appears to be receding. I saw a young lady standing outside the shopping centre, waiting to hand leaflets to any interested passer by, wrapped up in fur lined coats and ear warmers as she watched the disinterested majority pass by.
     
    As it happens Swindon has relunctantly decided autumn is here. The trees are finally dumping their leaves for the winter shutdown. At least with the trees in hibernation they won't be disturbing BFL. Now that Swindon is becoming a cold and depressing place again, perhaps BFL might consider a holiday in warmer climes, like Leeds for instance. I'm sure she'll sort those insolent natives out..
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