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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Hot And Dirty

    By caldrail,

    Eat your greens. I wonder how many kids these days get that traditional command? Sometimes I wonder if the whole point of the old Popeye cartoons was not to entertain, but to sell truckloads of unwanted spinach. Of course Popeye was violent so like Tom & Jerry, it doesn't get shown on television these days. Without the mighty forearms of Popeye to inspire kids to engage each other in fistfights, these days the kids resort to knives anf firearms in a playground arms race.
     
    Our boss at the museum (the real one, not Young L) has found a solution to the problem of that most hated of all vegetables, the ghastly Brussel Sprout. He made a Brussel Sprout Vindaloo. For the purists among us that isn't possible without meat and potatoes, but these days anything that sets fire to the taste buds is measured in curry type.
     
    There are some people who say that you can't taste hot curries. I'm not one of them. Of course you can taste it - if you can take it. Mind you, a recent competition to eat the hottest curry saw loads of people ferried to hospital recently, and what about the withdrawal of Lloyd Grossman's disease-inducing curry sauces? Some years ago I had to stop cooking with very hot jalapeno peppers because they were starting t do strange things with my stomach. But I still like my vindaloo's. Yum.
     
    So I guess the prospect of a volcanic curry isn't so daunting for me. But brussel sprouts? Sorry. No curry, not even if radioactvely hot, is ever going to make me want to consume those horrible things. So I guess when Claude Van Damme gets tired of advertising lager, there's a career just waiting as a fist fighting champion of the downtrodden given strange violent powers by consuming brussel sprouts. I mean, wouldn't you be pee'd off if you were served them?
     
    It Might Rain
    Here we go again. The Prophets of Global Warming have prophecised that extreme weather is ever more likely. Well it would be. We're still coming out of the previous Ice Age and the last few thousand years have been unusually stable. With an estimated fifty thousand years of very warm climate before the glaciers return in the next ice age, surely this would be expected? But we humans like scapegoats. Let's scape the car, or industry, or people who fart.
     
    I was reading a learned volume about climate changes and it points out that there are cycles in the climate, some short, some long, linked to wobbles in the Earths orbit or the variations in the Sun's output, that cause these wild swings. But I've said this all before. The UN never listened when I asked for national independence, so I doubt they'll listen to my prophecies of climate change. Actually I'd better stop whinging or they'll be imposing sanctions on me. Good grief, I might be in danger of UN Peacekeepers patrolling my premises. Oh well. At least they might shoot the burglars for me.
     
    It Might Download
    As something of a ferro-equinologist, I do like to explore the virtual world of railways. It's okay, I admitted this years ago. Lately one of the librarians has decided my hobby is against regulations. Worse still, she seems to regard it as something like the straw that broke civilisations back. Either that or her eyesight can't tell the difference between a russian diesel and a naked lady in a silly and provocative pose. Then again both of them are dirty, right?
     
    So a few times now I've gritted my teeth at being refused permission to access my favourite railway website because it falls within the category of evil decadence. Finally I managed to negotiate the bureaucracy involved in accessing such politically incorrect sites.
     
    Ahhhh.... Time to relax and browse the 3d replicas that talented modellers create for download. This site looks interesting... It's all written in cryllic so I haven't a clue what the text says, but after a while you sort of get used to it. Hey wow! Look at this! That I have to download!
     
    Except that I can't because I personally exceeded the total bandwidth used by the native Russians and unless I pay thropugh the nose for it, they've forbidden me from completing the download. Yeah? Really? Listen you Russian secret agents, if I can get past the obstacle of the local librarian, the FSB is no challenge at all.
     
    Errrr.... Where's my phone?... Oh hi. Is there a Mr Bond there?
  2. caldrail

    Six Of The Best

    By caldrail,

    Six is an important number, or at least it is for me. It is after all the age many people believe me to be. I've always had a preference for the number four. No particular reason, just a nicer friendlier number. But why, you might ask, is six so relevant to me?
     
    It's because my life seems to be bounded by the number six. Those idiots out there who've convinced themselves that I'm a devil worshipper (shame on you) will of course by now be jumping up and down excitiedly and pointing red faced towatd their computer monitor. Christians don't like the number six either. Too statanic.
     
    Many years ago when I was a struggling would-be rock star, I had a small fan club who used to foloow me around on Red Jasper gigs just to hear me play a drumkit. Bless them all. Thanks for the pints as well lads. I did appreciate it, really.
     
    Now that the seed of my return to fame and fortune is starrting to sprout - a mere white shoot in a dark forest of giant trees as yet, but you never know - I seem to have accumulated a new fan club. All six of them.
     
    Mr D, one of my colleagues at the museum, took pity and promised to raise my fan club membership to seven. He's a genial retired maniac, a fellow member of the Free Society of Military Surplus Trousers, and true to his word he began using one of those little hand held gizmo's to access the internet. His web search couldn't find me. Not a single page. Fate has decreed I have only six fans.
     
    Good Boy!
    Those afflicted with Parkinsons Disease might be pleased to hear that a new treatment has been devised to ease their suffering. Apparently the idea is to retrain your brain. I imagine there's a few claims advisors who want me to undergo that kind of therapy as well. So therefore I can look forward to a healthy life fetching slippers or running for the ball. I must remember to raise a paw when asking for food at the supermarket.
     
    Oh My God!, No, It Can't Be Happening
    Guess what? There's going to be some shock twists to the plot at Alberts Square this year. For those few individuals who have had no contact with english civilisation since the invention of the soap opera, Eastenders is that London fantasy land where everyone sleeps, fights, and gets one over each other - and they still stop for a chat at the local pub.
     
    But back to the plot. Why on earth would anyone be shocked at the shocking prospect of shock storylines. Eastenders have been doing that since they began filming the wretched show. The only shocking thing is that it's still going. Never the same after they killed Dirty Den.
  3. caldrail

    Sweating Heavily

    By caldrail,

    Sex, violence, and financial wobbles - In no particular order. That's pretty much the news every night and yesterday was no different. With Greece failing to please the rest of the world share prices have tumbled. What? Again? People have been dealing in shares since big curly wigs were a fashion statement. You would think by now we'd have learned that shares were a risky investment. Much like cheating at cricket for instance.
     
    However, the wobbles of the Eurozone are not the last word in financial disasters according to certain experts. I'm not sure the greeks agree, but the government is determined to persuade us that their gameplan to recover from the last recession continues without hindrance.
     
    Talking about hindrance, I notice that anti-capitalist protestors are busy. Blockading St Pauls Cathedral and embarrasing senior churchmen. Now they're now setting up camp outside the next G20 conference. Whilst it gives them something to do it doesn't keep them off the streets, does it? Yet the idiocy of it is incredible. I agree these bureaucrats aren't always as public spirited as they like to claim, but who generates the wealth for these protestors dole payments?
     
    Time then for me to help the ailing economy and buy something from the shops. There was a time when buying things was hardly a consideration. These days I must weigh up the value of the goods I want and decide if the proce is affordable. Ohh to heck with it. I'll buy it anyway.
     
    On the way down to the local high street I noticed cars were queuing up at a road junction. As I turned the corner I saw why. A police car had blocked the road whilst they bundled three youths into the back. I imagine that has caused a wobble in the local drug supply. Do the anti-capitalist protestors realise how much money some of these drug dealers make from trading pills and powder? More to the point, I wonder how many of them do business with our back street alchemists?
     
    Sorry Madam
    Sometimes however you're not allowed to purchase the goods you want. Take the case of a 92 year old lady who was refused a bottle of whisky because she couldn't prove she was over 18. That certainly proves you're as young as you feel.
     
    Spit And Polish
    Today I decided to clean the cooker. For me that's like wandering into the jungles of New Guinea and asking the natives what they fancy for lunch. Nonetheless the cooker must be cleaned.
     
    It must be said the effectiveness of modern cleaning materials is much better than I remember. With a few squirts of Kooker-Kleen and a vigourous wipe with a rag, the forlorn apparatus is once again white and shiney even if I'm not.
     
    And I did it all myself, unlike Snow White, who needed an entire horde of cartoon animals to finish her household chores for her. But then she wasn't covered in grime afterward. I'm not entirely domesticated you know.
  4. caldrail

    Warning Signs

    By caldrail,

    Iraq has been returned to sanity. Libya has been returned to sanity. Egypt, Tunisia, and Yemen are undergoing counselling. Afghanistan was always a pretty insane place to begin with and so far has proven difficult to pacify. Now President Assad of Syria has spotted the trend and warns the west that intervention will cause an earthquake that will burn the whole region.
     
    Now apart from his complete ignorance of geology, this does sound like the usual arabic vitriol. "Rivers of blood" is another popular warning. You get the idea? One might wonder if Assad is feeling a bit exposed at the moment now that the worlds media have no other middle eastern country creating any news stories worth reporting.
     
    I have no idea if the western governments plan to liberate Syria from despotism. They have been keen to aid the overthrow of them just lately, and as for worrying about how Gaddafi died, that would seem to be little more than crocodile tears. That's the problem with regime change - it has lethal ramifications.
     
    In democracies you can simply oust your least favourite dictator by marking an X on a ballot paper. In many foreign lands, they don't generally take any notice of other peoples opinions and ultimately if the decision is made that the tyrant has to go, you might need to apply something a little more forceful, like a riot of armed men or a battering from military jets.
     
    Well Mr Assad, I can understand your concerns. You might want to reform a little bit quicker. That might impress the west rather better than a shaking fist.
     
    Tremors
    On the news pages I spotted an article telling us chaps how to watch out for mini-strokes. Like the persistent earth tremors that warn of an impending eruption, these mini-strokes are tell tale signs that a major stroke will occur within four weeks.
     
    Good grief, I've had those symptoms for twenty years. Not sure whether I should be relieved or worried. The article says phone 999 immediately. Should I warn the doctor that there will be rivers of blood? Decisions... Decisons...
     
    Look Left, Look Right
    This has been a weekend of idiocy on the roads. Drivers are going the wrong way up one way streets, pedestrians are running in front of cars, and bus drivers have lost any sense of safe braking distances. Not to worry. The clocks went back an hour this morning so everyone should be calm and accident free again.
     
    Stand Up
    There's a standing joke at the museum - literally. When I'm sat there on duty at the front desk no-one comes in. The moment I stand up and walk away, crowds rush through the entrance in a mad desperate bid to pay for a ticket.
     
    Your first thought might be that I'm frightening people away. Apparently not. Last night I was sat quietly doing boring un-weekend stuff when I heard a voice in the street say "The truth is you're a wuss."
     
    Actually the truth is your opinion means nothing. Face it kid, you don't amount to anything. So why should I be worried because you have a big mouth? Oh, and by the way, I couldn't tell if you were a boy or a girl. Sorry about that.
  5. caldrail

    Hey, Chillax Bro!

    By caldrail,

    As I sat down to type this entry, I was distracted by the sound of rain against the window. A heavy downpour from a grey sky. Yet earlier this morning it was such a fine morning. Chilly, for sure, but you'd expect that with open skies at this time of year and it was a noticeably colder night before.
     
    Almost as soon as it arrived the squall subsides, leaving only overflowing gutters to drip water in long thin streams. In a whie it might be safe to go outdoors again.
     
    During the sunshine this morning I bumped into DW, our intrepid online journalist. You never have to make any arrangement to meet him, ever, because sooner or later he's there, somewhere ahead of you, popping out of thin air like a Star Trek Away Team. Only without the silly nioses and special effects. So we had a little chat. Business, you understand, nothing for the world to know about, but just for you lot we discussed sex with young ladies. A good, healthy pursuit for all ages. Most of the time anyway.
     
    Even earlier than that I was back at the Programme Centre being interviewed by one of the attractive young ladies. If ever there was a reason to stay unemployed, that was it. However despite my middle age randyness (some might say optimism) it was of course business. So it's bye for now and I wander off to lower my pulse rate.
     
    Sometimes we need to relax. A sort of deep breath and clearing of the mind. Sometimes we have to chill out. Like relaxation, except you need to lounge in a much lazier fashion and wear dark sunglasses. Sometimes you need to be somewhere between. I would have called that cool, but DW, for whom relaxation is an alien concept, struggled with the idea and mangled his words, telling me he needed to "Chillax".
     
    I have to say, I'm in a kind of chillaxed mood today. A new word in the english language has been created. Designed by DW, marketed by Caldrail. Go ahead. Stop what you're doing and chillax. You know you want to as well.
     
    Chillax Man
    I do not believe my eyes. Space Invaders? You mean that eighties arcade game is still out there? Even more astounding is that a guy in america has scored twice the previous high score made in 2003. Now there's a guy who serious likes playing computer games. Even the older boring ones. I hate to ask this, but is Mr Knucklez an older boring person too? At least in my case a social life is too expensive.
     
    Jeez, Mr Knucklez, chillax. Or get a girlfriend. If you've forgotten how or never learned the appropriate social skills. I'm sure DW can give you a few pointers.
     
    And Now?
    The clouds have drifted by. The sun is shining again in a blue sky. Time for me to go about my lawful business and just chillax.
  6. caldrail

    Nothing New

    By caldrail,

    I hear the news that one of the local pubs has reopened for business. Not, as you might imagine, because of a swarm of drunkards making an appearance after midnight, but because it was reported in our local newspaper.
     
    These days it isn't enough to simply paint a silly sign and open the doors to the general public. Commerce demands that the pub is able to attract customers. In this case the pub has decided to sell 'historic food'. Again this isn't what you might suspect. By 'historic' they mean reproductions of menus dating back to the 1600's, not what was left in the freezer from last year.
     
    That is nonetheless a fascinating idea. How much has food changed since 1600? They certainly didn't eat cornflakes for breakfast back then. Not so long ago I stumbled across a menu from the 1700's that was served by a pub in Marlborough. That made interesting reading. Most of the stuff listed was more or less what you can buy today although cooked in a much more straightforward manner without foreign vegetables or spices. The prices betrayed a certain trend toward serving the gentry passing through the town. Servants meals were considerably cheaper.
     
    I wonder what the difference was? Did the servants actually get lower quality food, or yesterdays left-overs, or was this simply a means of extracting cash from a gentleman's purse?
     
    What Do We Do With Them?
    Swindon's love affair with crumbling old buildings continues. Our local newsletter continues to moan about the continued existence of the abandoned Old College. Scandalous, they call it. Typical more like.
     
    What about the Mechanics Institute? If anything qualifies as a historic building, surely that does? Half the roof is missing to foestall a collapse and nobody seems able to to do anything with the site.
     
    Now the same situation is developing with the Locarno, a building dating back to 1852 which suffered a fire some years ago. Not quite the same eyesore as the other two buildings perhaps, but apparently there's been a number of planning requests made to the council, none of which result in anything being done.
     
    What is going on in this town? As much as we'll probably hate the result of action being taken on these sites and despairing of the commercial motives to changing the buildings use, but why can't anything be agreed between developrs and council officials? Do they want Swindon to look ruined?
     
    What Does Wootton Bassett Do Now?
    In the news is the imminent royal visit to Wootton Bassett. Also turning up is David Cameron apparently. With the change in arrival point of repatriated dead from foreign wars away from Lyneham airbase, Wooton Bassett will no longer get all the media attention and today the impending celebration of the towns significance is local news.
     
    I'm not blind and deadf to the sacrifice of those who served in the British Armed Forces, but there's a part of me that remains suspicious about the way the return of these dead men is being exploited. Soldiers have been killed in little wars or security operations for as long as I can remember, and I'm sure they suffered casualties before I was born. So in that respect, what has changed?
     
    It seems to me that whilst the good people of Wootton Bassett turned out to pay respect to the fallen regularly, this idea that the town is somehow worthy is simply a matter of circumstance. The town just happened to be on the route between the airbase where the transport landed and where the bodies were being taken. I don't remember anywhere being used in this fashion before.
     
    Using military virtue for political ends isn't a new idea at all. As much as I commend our lads for the work they do, I cannot help feel that so much of this circus in Wootton Bassett has been deliberately stage managed. Frankly I don't care which town the bodies travel through, or that royals and politicians will be there to celebrate the lines of mourners. I'm sure any town in England would respond similarly to the arrival of the fallen.. I do care that people are dying out there in some dusty hellhole. If the war is meant to achieve anything, surely we should be celebrating success where the operation is going on?
     
    It does beg the question - What will the town of Wootton Bassett do now their part in the war is over? Apparently it's going to be a stage for media events. I'm sure those respectful citizens of a small wiltshire town will be thrilled to know they've made a politician look good.
  7. caldrail

    Way Out West

    By caldrail,

    Quite some time ago I suggested that the british government of the day wanted a return to victorian england. Mostly, I suspect, because they rather liked the idea of masses of hard working citizens doffing their caps as they trundle past in expensive limousines. That's always been a feature of human society - the desire of the wealthy to accumulate even more wealth, status, influence, and comfort. Another feature of human society is the inevitable backlash as the downtrodden rise and.... Good grief, I sound like a bolshevist. That will never do.
     
    Prices are steadily going up and like me, many britons are finding life isn't so comfortable any more. Ten years ago a weeks food and drink could be had for as little as
  8. caldrail

    Todays Tuesday Report

    By caldrail,

    That about wraps it up for the warmest October on record. Still humid, still sweaty, and a damp drizzly day. "That's a right ol' rain that is." Commented some old guy as I left the library this morning. He was right. It was like being sprayed by a fine hose. Clearly a gentleman with much experience in the ways of Wiltshire weather.
     
    Yesterday was of course a good deal sunnier and I wandered around Croft Wood, taking in the solitude between dog walking shifts. It's never going to be as quiet as it once was with new housing developments sprouting nearby but for now you can still wander among the trees and spot the occaisional wildlife doing wild things in the wilderness. Except I didn't see anything.
     
    As we endure the end of the warm season and go straight into winter giving autumn a miss, I see a report on the internet news about the possible causes of an apocalyptic end of the world. Among the reasons we might cease to be was a lack of sunshine. Forget aliens, people - Keep watching the weather report!
     
    You Heard It Here First
    Having observed that Swindon was not a priority for the Conservative Party Conference in Manchester, I was thrilled to bits to see a slighty dampened news reporter on television pointing at a pamphlet about housing and telling us that Swindon didn't want all those new houses and reduced planning restrictions. There you go. You heard it here first.
     
    Having Mentioned It
    Also on the news was a report that wiltshire police are changing their strategy and ensuring that more police are on hand to deal with anti-social behaviour, especially that caused by drunkeness. That certainly worked over the weekend. Unfortunately the police weren't on hand when a bad tempered guy wandered into the job club area of the library and attempted to bully his way onto one of the computers set aside for claimants.
     
    As it happens you don't normally see bad behaviour like that in the library. Occaisionally some youth doesn't understand that a library is not a social club and insists on telling everyone at the top of his voice what his facebook mates are up to, but the ladies soon rip youngsters like him to pieces. Once I did see a tall black guy sneak onto a computer while the geeky user was looking for a book on the shelves and used his code for his own purposes, clearly grinning at his ability to intimidate the geek into letting him read emails on someone elses time.
     
    We claimants stopped what we were doing and looked over our shoulders with a disapproving scowl. Realising he was about to be ganged up on, the interloper decided to go bully someone else. He's still in the library now, wandering up and down in the forlorn hope of finding one that's free.
  9. caldrail

    Fifty? Who Cares?

    By caldrail,

    Take a deep breath Caldrail. Today you are fifty years of age. Funny thing is I don't feel like I'm fifty, apart from the usual disintegration of the male body in middle age. They say you're as young as you feel and coincidentially I keep getting people telling me that I'm still young. It seems the average person has a very poor understanding of human biology.
     
    Fifty is one of those milestones in your life. Quite why the number fifty is significant is a matter of curiosity to me. There's no legal or cultural change at that age. I don't look any different. I don't feel any different. All I did was wake up this morning, study the crags in the bathroom mirror, and plodded off about my business as usual. Heaven forbid that I should take the day off from my jobsearch. Since they don't respect my title in any way whatsoever, I seriously doubt my birthday will impress them.
     
    That brings me to an interesting point. By now a typical reader might be speculating the orgy of festivites I'll be facing tonight. It's expected that I endure some large party to celebrate my fiftieth. I suppose in better circumstances I would. It is after all expected. There's almost a competitive element involved in which I must stage some spectacular celebration or be considered a loser, fit only be spurned and scorned.
     
    Let's be honest - it isn't going to happen. Fifty? Not this year. Does that make me miserable and upset? No. It doesn't. During the last weekend I attended a group discussion on how an individual can make a positive contribution to society. One young chap spoke up, a sufferer of Aspergers Syndrome, and he said that his life was being dragged down by those around him until he made a concious decision that happiness was his to command. That might seem a tiny or irrelevant thing to say but it wasn't. The fact that my fiftieth won't be marked by some massive party in which six hundred drunkards will fight to the death, several thousand chickens slaughtered in a mindless buffet, or teams of hot hatches racing around the local area in a daring attempt to win the honour of being crowned champion, is neither here nor there - though I suspect the police will be relieved.
     
    Okay, my world is not as wondeful as it might be. But who cares? Awww what the heck. I am going to take the day off. Don't care. It's my birthday and I'll enjoy it if I want to.
     
    Ding!
    What's that? Someones ringing my doorbell? Probably someone's got the wrong door, which is usually what happens, but you never know. It might be a birthday present sent to me by some kind person that needs signing for. Nope. It wasn't. Instead I was greeted by two plain clothes policemen. You mean... No... Surely not?... My stolen Eunos Cabriolet has been found?
     
    My hopes were cruelly dashed. Cast your mind back if you will but long time readers might remember that the Job Centre once began the rigmarole required to get me a shotgun license. All I ever did was make a sarcastic remark when I was in a bad mood and asked by a claims advisor if there was anything I needed. I never expected anyone to take that request seriously.
     
    One might have hoped they'd wish happy birthday but there you go. Anyhow, the policeman politely explained that someone had reported an attempt to obtain a firearm and they needed to eliminate me from their enquiries. Luckily they didn't seem to be armed. Aren't our policemen wonderful? That's what you get for having an argument with a jumped up arrogant busybody at the Job Centre I guess. No problem. I merely explained the circumstance and that the event had happened ages ago. The policemen left happy knowing I wasn't about to commit crime or violent rampage. I went back inside grieving for my poor lost Eunos, youth, and any sign of birthday present deliveries.
     
    By The Way
    Ye gods this is a warm day. Glad I took the day off. Maybe I did get a birthday gift after all? Always look the bright side.
  10. caldrail

    While We're Waiting

    By caldrail,

    A few nights ago I took a moment to take in the view overlooking the valley below my home. In Roman times it was verdant countryside with a farmyard at the bottom of the hill. Even in victorian times it was a green belt between the old market town on the hill and the new industrial village built for Brunel's new railway. Now it's urban sprawl, with an abandoned college building dominating the view.
     
    I'm used to seeing movement in the back yard and the alleys leading from it. People use the area as a shortcut to and fro their favourite drinking holes. They sometimes park cars there in the evening in the search for a cheap place to hopefully leave their vehicle undisturbed. Revellers occaisionally wander back and forth along the street nearby. At this hour however, it's the quiet after the socialising is done and before the local burglars come out to play.
     
    It seems the local wildlife sense that too. I guess they become accustomed to our movements and know full well that the wee small hours are the safest bet for an undisturbed scrounge in the rubbish we leave behind. Urban foxes have made a name for themselves doing exactly that, though as I predicted, the piercing screech they make has been absent for a while now. But I wasn't dissappointed. As I watched, a solitary badger trotted down the lane, crossed the road, and headed for his favourite scrounging ground. Unlike the foxes the badger remains silent, preferring not to draw attention to itself, and moves quickly in case someone does spot it.
     
    Somewhere nearby the badger will find discarded chips, kebabs, or any other takeaway that a drunken customer couldn't keep hold of. Nature doesn't miss a trick, does it?
     
    Wetness Expected
    The morning is cloudy and although it isn't actually damp, you can sense the rain waiting to unleash wetness upon unsuspecting Swindon residents. it is of course the remnant of Hurricane Irene that's heading across the country, now downgraded to a band of rainclouds. As I headed for the library this morning I could feel the rain in the air, that sort of prickly sensation on the face that precedes something a good deal wetter.
     
    People don't seem to be aware of the forecast rain. Despite the drab greyness, most of those I see outside on the street are still dressed in summer clothes, though oddly scarves seem to a fashionable addition. Their faith in scarves is probably not going to help them this afternoon, but then, I've been caught in one too many downpours to believe that staying dry is all that easy in Britain. How fortunate then that really strong cyclonic winds are so rare in our otherwise dampened contry.
     
    No Longer Flat
    So concerned are the Netherlands that the approach of Irene will cause flooding that they're investing millions of euro's to build an artificial mountain, Holland's first ever At last the dutch will be able to enter an olympic skiing team, though infairness, their athletes had better hurry because London 2012 is but months away. I know. I've seen the constant reminders on television.
     
    It does occur to me that all of a sudden there's a danger to aviation in the area. Pilots do have a slight tendency to make controlled flight into terrain now and then, so anyone hoping to fly in Holland beware. There's a new mountain to avoid very shortly. Imagine if the nazi's had thought of that one. None of the Dambusters would have made it to the Rhine.
     
    Having A Say
    "Have you got any ideas?" The boos at the museum asked me, looking for inspirtation to extend the social activities that keep customers arriving through our doors. Why? Why does he think we're struggling? My last 'graveyard' shift was the busiest ever, with zombies arriving to pay the entrance fee at a regular pace. Some of them even bought books from the museum shop too.
     
    I thought for a moment, considering the possibilities and the sort of people we encourage to visit, and just as I was about to speak....
     
    Whirrrrrrrr
     
    Evil robot, perched on the side of the front desk, made an electronic groan. Shut up.
  11. caldrail

    Little Reminders

    By caldrail,

    Yesterday I was called upon to attend another internet session at the programme centre. Nothing unusual there except of late I've had to sit and wait before they open the room. I mean, don't they know I'm Lord Caldrail and must not be delayed? Apparently not. I had to send them a letter reminding them that I wasn't plain old Mister Caldrail anymore. People do struggle to remember that I notice, unless they intend making light of it like those two single mums I passed in the street.
     
    Yes, ladies, sometimes people do call themselves Lord. Sometimes we get rewarded for doing so,. It's called 'perks of the job'.
     
    Back to the plot. As I sat down a young lady decided to start a conversation with me for no apparent reason. I have to say it's unlikely, as sexy as I am, that she actually fancied me and although it's increasingly common for plebian women to express their mirth at my assumed status, she was genuinely polite and friendly.
     
    I soon learned she had been unemployed longer than me despite her youth. It turns out she was born the day before Halloween. Not sure what the significance of that fact was, but I understand her brother was born on April Fools Day. If anyone can figure out what all this means, please let me know. Just remind me what this was all about.
     
    Reminder Of The Week
    Remember to feed your dog everyone. Apparently one guy forgot to feed his for two weeks and was probably eaten by them when he returned home. Personally I think it was a revenge attack for their doggy friends finding their way into a curry, but who am I to say? Clearly hungry dogs are not to messed with. They are, after all, domestic wolves.
     
    I know how rational this idea is. Our dog had to be starved for a day before going to the vet, and made a desperate grab for some chocolate I carelessly had in my hand when it rushed in through the door afterward. Trust me. never come between pets and their food. You will lose.
     
    Mind you, there was one time when the folks were on holiday and left the dog with me. As this wasn't my usual chore I completely forgot to feed him. Realising this mistake in the late evening, I went off to the kitchen and started preparing his bowl of brown goo that dogs have a love/hate relationship with.
     
    I heard his footfalls on the kitchen floor behind me. The dog stared at me with a hilarious look of mystified innocence as if to say "But you don't feed me..."
     
    Phew. Close call there.
  12. caldrail

    Getting It Right

    By caldrail,

    How many people actually read their horoscopes? You see them everywhere, books, newspapers, and websites. All of them giving a paragraph of advice for the day. As of this morning I'm beginning to wish I'd read mine. At least that way I would have known what was about to happen.
     
    "Face it, you're desperate!" Yelled a woman in a spasm of irritation ealier today. There I was, dozing comfortably on a sunday morning, and out of the blue I'm woken by some woman somewhere. I have no idea who she was yelling at, but since people have a habit of yelling outside my home, it's a fair bet it was intended for me.
     
    Desperate? Really? In what way? Okay, I could do with a bigger income and the government are threatening to remove the pittance I get if I don't find a job, but usually when you're described as 'desperate' it's about sex. Or more accurately, the lack of it. Or more accurately still, the extent to which your attempts at getting any are considered feeble and embarrasing.
     
    I struggle to understand why this criticism applies to me. At my age, sex is a bonus, not a necessity, and in all honesty the ravages of aging mean that I'll probably be just as embarrasing if I attempt it. Pornography doesn't float my boat and never has. Despite all those adverts for dating websites, I still haven't tried one, partly because I have better things to do on the internet such as finding a job or writing this blog entry.
     
    I freely admit I like to flirt. Why not? Flirting doesn't hurt anyone. Yet I can't help wondering whether that woman who yelled at me did so because I haven't flirted or embarrased myself with her. She did sound a bit on the jealous side. Furious denials will do you no good, dear.
     
    When you stop to consider what Mankind has achieved over the millenia, it's quite astonishing. We've gone from a primitive ape descendant on the brink of extinction to a global species that now feels guilty about all the other species it's brought to the brink of extinction. We can arrive anywhere on the earths surface within 48 hours. We can talk to someone on the other side of the globe. We can even put people the surface of the moon for a short while too. How about that? Yet we still can't get our love lives right.
     
    Advice From The Stars
    Let's not be too niggardly. Perhaps the woman who yelled this morning was only trying to help. I know, I'll get some advice from my trusty horoscope. After all, how can the movement of stars and planets in the night sky possibly be wrong?
     
    It tells me my world is advancing at an ever increasing rate. If I were brutally honest, it isn't. I'm no closer to driving a ferrari than I ever was. However, I'm also informed that my goals are clear cut and that I have all the confidence and vitality to achieve them. That's good news. Many blokes of my age suffer erectile disfunctions or female migrains.
     
    However, it's not all good news. It's a shame the stars don't mention where I'm going to get the money to finance my ambitions from. Also my goals will take me away from the limelight and develope my creative and other talents in silence and solitude. Oh brilliant. Well I'm sorry to disappoint the lady but the stars have spoken. At least sex isn't entirely beyond my reach. Come on guys, we've all done it, right?
     
    But look on the bright side. The stars say I'll be perfecting my skills and style. Come on girls, it's worth the wait, right?
     
    Quietly Does It
    There's another fox on the block. Saw him trotting down the road the other night. This one is smaller and lacks the grey fur of his noisy predecessor. He lacks the need for constant screeching in the small hours too. Obviously this fox, despite his modest size, clearly has no trouble with his sex life and for that matter doesn't seem too troubled with human beings getting in his way. Probably because he doesn't yell at people.
  13. caldrail
    Another one of those articles on how to be successful at dating the opposite sex has appeared on the boards. It makes interesting reading but clearly anyone following the advice is going to struggle. Let me explain...
     
    A connection
    A man can tick all the boxes in the world, but in so many cases if the woman feels no chemistry, it
  14. caldrail

    Inert Boxes

    By caldrail,

    You can't have a museum without exhibits. Every so often we find new ones. Or should that be old ones? Anyway, our boss came across some stuff being thrown away at Portsmouth and couldn't resist an ancient computer. You should see it. Straight out of a 70's Doctor Who episode.
     
    It turns out our new exhibit is a bog standard Bloodhound missile control box, or in civilian guise, a nuclear reactor control box. I'm not joking. Some power stations are still using these things to this day. Our boss grinned mightily and made clear his intention to get the old machine fired up. when we finally figure out how it was done.
     
    So if you see a missile trail on its way to Moscow, or loads of people fleeing the immediate area of the local nuclear power station, you'll know we succeeded. In the meantime we need to find some dusty instruction manual before the KGB do. Who said museums were boring?
     
    Are You Blind?
    Having spent the week finding more and more 'apply' buttons to press on job websites, enough is enough. So I wrapped up, logged off, and made my usual noisy exit from the office. The girls at the programme centre laughed at that. Not because I was actually funny, but at the suggestion that I worked there.
     
    Oh great. It's raining. Pretty heavily too. I think I'll wait until I leave the premises.
     
    Meanwhile I became aware that someone was trying to get in to the building. They have this security door now that stops you until you speak into a metal grille and telll some disembodied female voice who you are. But this chap didn't seem to know that. He just stood in front of the door pressing the wrong button.
     
    In a sudden inexplicable need to be generous I decided to open the door for him, so I walked over to the exit button and waited for him to realise he could enter. He stared back through the glass patiently. This is pretty spooky.
     
    Oh! I see! Or rather, he doesn't. I physically opened the door for him and asked if he was blind. He was and we had a chuckle over it. He didn't need any further help, finding his way around the programme centre without too much difficulty. Normally I don't encounter blind people other than stepping politely around them. I was struck by how easy he made getting about seem. Fair play to him.
     
    Well, I can't stay here all day. Time to brave the weather and KGB assassins.
     
    Down Again
    Having previously booked a session on the library computers, I made my way upstairs. Barely had I noticed how few people were up there than a librarian kindly informed me that the system was down. Amazing how quiet it gets up there when no-ones got a computer to play with. Funnily enough, it got even quieter after I went back downstairs.
     
    Strange coincidence that. Almost as if the computers were sabotaged by the KGB in an insidious plot to prevent me discovering the lost instruction manual.
  15. caldrail
    Every so often we museum folk like to do something different. Some people might argue that museums are inherently dangerous with hazards that include customers, tyrannosaurus rex skeletons, or egyptian pharoahs with chips on their shoulders and enough bandages to cope. I would have to admit our little museum is a little less well stocked with such horrors.
     
    Today we had Robot Day. Over the years there have been all manner of commercial robots available to the public. Some are clothed in false fur and look like cartoon birds. Others look like angular dogs, baby sauropods, or science fiction warriors. What could we possibly do with such robots?
     
    Firstly we managed to make a recording of the largest collection of furry bird-like robots ever gathered in captivity. The cacophony of these artifically communal bird-droids had to be heard to be believed. We risked our hearing, never mind our sanity, to make that recording. These are the services to Mankind that our museum provides.
     
    Of course we had to stage a three way fight to the finish between three robot dogs. Wow. Watch those dogs bump each other. No quarter asked for, none given. (No actual dogs, customers, or museum staff were harmed in the making of this entertainment).
     
    But, when it's all said and done, Evil Robot stole the show. He has a charisma all of his own, plus a neat soundtrack when he does his automated dance routine, and plenty of one liners that make it obvious this was a robot that could destroy civilisation as we know it. Two of our younger visitors were immediately pounced upon. Try as hard as they might, they could not switch Evil Robot off. So they asked us if we could help.
     
    Eventually we had to drag Evil Robot away and make him stand in the corner. The remote control was placed well out reach on the desk. Nevertheless, Evil Robot is not completely obedient. His warped programming still allows him to act if he manages to overcome his restraining bolt. So, at the moment he gained self-volition, we were all startled by a loud electronic groan. As we watched, Evil Robot stretched his arms out, and fell forward on his face. He is such a show off.
     
    Easy Does It... Woah!
    Barely has Top Gear talked about Rowan Atkinson's high mileage McLaren F1 than he goes and crashes it. If nothing else it demonstrates the demands these cars place on their drivers, although in fairness I don't know what caused the accident, and let's be honest, he's an experienced capable driver who's very familiar with his favourite toy.
     
    There are people who believe such cars are inherently dangerous. I'm not one of them, though I do recognise that additional training would be advisable before purchase. Sadly not everyone is a Stig, or even a lowly Formula One Driver, and it ought to be realised that faster reactions are needed for faster cars even when you don't drive at faster speeds. Remember - it's the sports car that always gets the blame, something Ive been aware of since I started enjoying the more modest performance cars that I could afford.
     
    There was once an occaision when I had to drive to work after a snowfall, a distance of nine miles between Swindon and Cricklade. Those of you who are living in regions accustomed to slippery conditions might not understand, but we brits do not have any ability to deal with winter at all. We just don't understand the concept of snow and ice on our roads.
     
    For me it was a daunting prospect. Nine miles on untreated roads early in the morning, handling at least one very steep hill, and some country lanes known for poor drainage. That in a mildly warm Toyota MR2 with rear wheel drive. This could be fun, or this could be expensive. Come on Caldrail, where's your Battle of Britain spirit? Right. Let's go.
     
    I crossed Swindon without problem. Driving gently solves most problems in such cars. Then I reached Blunsdon Hill. I could of taken the back road and risked worse conditions, but I took the dual carriageway, and that led to Blunsdon Hill, which in slippery conditions resembles an olympic ski-jump. Only when the road began to gracefully droop ahead of me was my peril obvious.
     
    That was the most hair raising drive of my life. In low gear, foot off the throttle, foot off the brake, the road markings buried under fresh snow, and some guy in a Ford Sierra determined to save fuel economy by following on close behind on the theory that if I could make it, so could he.
     
    Needless to say I made it to Cricklade minus a few years of my life. I drove up the carriageway exit and came to a roundabout, a particularly british winter challenge that required a sharp turn. I let the car coast forward. Gradually the snow dragged on the wheels and I knew sooner or later I was going to have to add a touch of power to progress up the very shallow slope leading into Cricklade.
     
    Too early. Just a mere smidgeon of throttle, barely a shetland pony-power, and round I went, a graceful slide that followed the curve of the junction so well I ought to have told everyone I meant to do that. Naturally the Ford Sierra driver, who worked at the same place as me, glanced over his shoulder to make sure I wasn't trapped in a mangled burning wreck, then he carried merrily on his way.
     
    The funny thing is that a higher power sports car would have trundled round that bend without needing throttle, thus proceeding in a safe and composed manner rather than my embarrasing gyrations. But wait a moment - despite losing control on a slipery bend, something I only did the once - I didn't damage the car, the local area, or anyones reputation. When I spoke to the Ford Sierra driver and whinged about my near-accident, he looked astonished.
     
    "I thought you meant to do that" He said. Praise indeed. But I'll bet Mr Atkinson had no intention of crashing his McLaren either.
  16. caldrail

    Truly Amazing

    By caldrail,

    Once I've finished my chores for the day the world is my oyster. A small one if I'm honest, but that's the trouble with living on benefits. So with an afternoon to kill, what should I do? Something creative? Prose, artwork, or music? You have to be in that mood. Play computer games? I just don't feel the inclination. Yes, you guessed it, I decided to watch television. Why, I don't know, I just sort of felt that way.
     
    Finally I settled on a channel called Quest. They occaisionally show some interesting programmes you wouldn't normally find elsewhere (You might want to guess why) but who could resist a program called A Plane Is Born? Not me. My passion for aeroplanes knows no limits and once aroused, I sat back in my seat, opened a can of drink, and vegetated for all I'm worth.
     
    The program follows a presenter's efforts to learn to fly and build his own aeroplane from a kit. Now that takes me back to those heady days in the nineties when flying was a reality for me. In my younger days I wanted to build my own aeroplane and I even naively designed one, at least as far as I was able to before I learned engineering at college.
     
    I watched the presenter cope with his first flying lessons. Does he know anything else to say except "Amazing!"? Foir me learning to fly was not a new experience. I'd flown in aeroplanes as an air cadet, including hands on control, mostly in De Havilland Chipmunks but also Slingsby Venture motor gliders. At a time when the dominant lads at school thought they were cool riding their very first noisy little moped, I was buzzing overhead in a military trainer.
     
    So for me learning to fly began with dusting off those teenage cobwebs. I learned to fly in a Cessna 150, an aeroplane lacking glamour and excitement, but one that was sturdy and even dependable most of the time. I don't ever remember saying "Amazing!" myself though I did smile in between getting told off for doing something dumb..Make no mistake, flying an aeroplane is a busy activity and not until you accumulate skill and experience does it all become second nature.
     
    I never did get the point of building an aeroplane. Membership of the Popular Flying Association, essential for correct inspection and certification of your project, taught me what I might be letting myself in for. Truth was, I could never afford it and had nowhere to complete my dream aeroplane. So I rented Cessna 150's instead. However, I did get to say "Amazing!". For that, I spent a total of five and a half hours flying a Beagle Pup Series 2, with the larger 150hp engine. Sweet. And after flying mostly bog basic trainers, it was pretty amazing. There you go.
     
    My Worst Ever Flying Nightmare
    It wasn't always amazing. Flying can sometimes throw problems at you that you didn't expect, and however difficult or frustrating it gets, you have no choiuce but to deal with it. Once, it was a nightmare. This happened when I was an air cadet on a gliding course at South Cerney. It was a no-win situation. I was being tested to destruction. That was my first experience ever of a stern military style instructor and I was gradually losing reach of my objective, a long glide back to the field, and worse still, my confidence that I could have done it without that withering disapproval from the right hand seat. That was the last time I flew motor gliders.
     
    My Bestest Ever Flying Experience
    Sometimes, when I didn't have to worry about whether an air traffic controller wanted to kill me, or worry about whether the British weather was plotting to kill me, or whether my flying was going to kill me, I got this feeling of... Well... I'm not sure how to describe it. There's an elation that you're flying, defying gravity, completely in charge of your own destiny, at liberty to travel anywhere you want, and despite the engine and propellor making a right old racket in front of you, you feel completely at ease. Peaceful. Content.
     
    Nothing, not even completing your stamp collection, relaxing after great sex with an attractive woman, or showing the world how a sports car should be driven, nothing else in the entire world makes you feel like that. Amazing.
  17. caldrail

    Too Sexy

    By caldrail,

    Earlier today I saw a young woman ambling from shop to shop, dressed in her chosen summer wear, totally at a loss to comprehend why it wasn't baking hot under a blue sky. It was as if rainfall was an alien experience to her. So either she's a seductress from another planet sent here to spawn a new super-race with us lowly earth-beings, or she's suffering the same limited memory span that most of us do. Yes, dear, sometimes it rains. Even in Swindon.
     
    As it happens I think the rain is long overdue. Sunny weather is great as long as it isn't too hot, but Britain was never designed to be tropical. We keep getting warnings about low water levels in reservoirs so any rain at all is a good thing, unless you happen to be living in one of the areas suffering flash floods because of it, which I imagine might well adjust opinions somewhat.
     
    Thing is though - Whenever we get these sudden rainy days I invariably have to go somewhere and end up thoroughly drenched. Today is different. I've gone about my business and remained mildly damp. Perhaps this is a lucky day?
     
    Now I've never considered myself particularly lucky. After all, I've never won more than forty pounds on the National Lottery since it started. Then I start to realise that I'm not missing any body parts. Neither have I ever suffered a bad car accident. Neither have I been savaged by a dog, sat in an airliner about to be used as a missile, kidnapped by somalian pirates, or abducted by a UFO.
     
    Hi babe. Are you from Venus? Wanna share a Mars Bar? No? Oh well. Guess it isn't my lucky day after all.
     
    Too Sexy For My Planet
    Perhaps I should have checked my horoscope for the day. It says I shouldn't put myself down. Yes, I agree, that alien seductress has no idea what she's passed on. Or perhaps she does? Let's be positive. Perhaps I should have realised I'm too sexy for my planet? If only my horoscope had warned me...
     
    It is a funny thing though. We blokes are supposed to make the first move by law. Failure to make the effort reduces your manliness to the point of verbal abuse from the male population of your area, even though most of them haven't done anything either and desperately want to avoid the same treatment. I've encountered this so many times in the past. If a woman gives off the signals, then it's mandatory to make at least some attempt to spawn a new super-race. Failing to notice is no excuse.
     
    Of course a gentleman shouldn't tell. I usually remain silent about my love life though in my case that's enlightened self-interest. Husbands and boyfriends are notorious for violence when outraged. But, even in my poverty stricken middle age mediocrity, there are still contenders for that coveted scratch on the bedpost.
     
    Contender No1 - This is the one I've known for longest, though so far we meet infrequently. She's a busy lady, always doing something interesting that you hadn't expected, and I'll be honest, she is jolly attractive. I suspect she isn't difficult to please, but difficult to keep interested nonetheless.
     
    Contender No2 - This young lady sets off car alarms as she walks past. Don't get me wrong, she's got style, class, and is wonderfully understated. She's also the most intelligent of them and I think she's already cottoned on to what I'm after. Chances are she's already reading this right now.
     
    Contender No3 - A recent entry to this competition. Not especially pretty but plenty of character. She smoulders, she really does. In a way this one is like plastic explosives. Safe to handle provided you don't detonate her. There's something primeval about playing with fire, isn't there? It's the thrill factor.
     
    Contender No4 - Of the four, the most obviously sweet and innocent. I don't think under normal circumstances she would bother with me at all, but we keep catching each others eyes. So far it hasn't provoked a socially awkward situation. As a bloke, the pressure is on to provoke one.
     
    There you have it. The horoscope said I shouldn't put myself down, so I've given the world a little insight into the steamy sex secrets of Rushey Platt. Now you know I'm not gay. Okay? Now if only that mouthy idiot in the newsagent would learn to read, he'd know too.
     
    Oh. I forgot. Contender No5. Alien seductress who doesn't like Mars Bars. But like The Apprentice, there can only be one winner. Lady - you're dumped.
     
    Pleasure Cruise of the Week
    Last night I heard the news that a pleasure cruiser docked at Southampton was raided by police, who found a record breaking
  18. caldrail

    Hawks And Pidgeons

    By caldrail,

    Starting the day in a good mood I went about my business. Everyone seems to be in a good mood too. Happy smiling shop assistants, and warm if cloudy weather. It just feels like it's going to be a good day. Or at least, it would be if I hadn't cracked a rib during my collision with the supermarket car park. It only hurts when I laugh.
     
    "Step into a recruitment office if you want to play soldiers" Growled a voice as I bounded joyfully up the stairs at the library. Oh great. Another clown. That's put a damper on my day. As it happens I know that voice and he ought to know better than advise members of the public in such a sneering manner.
     
    Play soldiers? I haven't done that since I left the Air Cadets. That was way back in... Erm... Ages ago. Decades even. Oh, I see, another sanctimonious upstart doesn't like my habit of wearing military surplus trousers. I don't care. They're available tio anyone on the high street, they're comfortable, useful even, and well suited to my hikes in the countryside. Hiking is about getting out and enjoying the countryside. It doesn't involve special operations behind enemy lines.
     
    As I waited for the woman on my booked computer to stop making her face up, I glanced out the window and spotted a guy in head to toe autumn tree bark cammo gear, driving a military surplus land rover equipped for an invasion of Normandy. I see him driving around now and then. I wonder if he gets any hassle?
     
    Why on Earth would I want to step into a recruitment office anyway? According to the news, the British Army is getting rid of 19,000 troops over the next few years, plus I'm nearly fifty, suffering middle age health issues, and I discovered yesterday that I'm not as agile as a teenager.
     
    As it happens I made a promise to someone as a child that I would never join the army. My grandfather had gone ashore at Gallipoli in World War One to assist in bayonet charges on turkish positions, and later went to the muddy hell of Verdun, France. I remember asking innocently what he'd done in the war, or something to that effect. He didn't relate any tales of derring do, or patriotic pride in doing his bit. Instead he made me aware of what war was. The simple fact was that he didn't want me to suffer the same experiences as he'd done in his younger days. He was a good man. I'll keep faith with him.
     
    Worse still for my male ego is the realisation that I was never born to be a warrior anyway. My calling was elsewhere. What's the point of playing soldiers when you're never going to be any good at it? You have to be true to yourself and I see no good purpose in allowing myself to be forced into a life I will never be happy with. That was always the problemn with my father, who wanted me to be soldier, just like him. He was, is, and always will be a petty corporal. If I can blame anyone for lifelong interest in things military, I can lay it at his feet.
     
    The army puts adverts on television to the effect that they spot talent and encourage it. Maybe so, but that message clearly never occurred to him, nor for that matter has it reached their casual recruiting agent at the library.
     
    But all of that doesn't matter. As always happens when someone wants to apply peer pressure, he spoke to my back. In my book, that's not courageous, admirable, or worth my attention. You stupid, stupid man.
     
    Oh the pain... The pain...
     
    Birds To The Rescue!
    The local newspaper tells me that eagle eyed shoppers have noticed birds of prey patrolling the library. I noticed them too this morning. A pair of handlers strolled around the building with a pair of very large Harris Hawks impatiently waiting for another chance to decimate the local pidgeon population.
     
    It seems pidgeons are a big problem. Their droppings filled five large sacks during the clean up operation lately, and I understand they spread more diseaes than rats. Given the government are now tackling badgers for the same reasons, I wonder what birds they'll be using? Huge south american condors probably. That'll be a sight.
  19. caldrail
    "Does anyone know anything about the Work Programme?" Asked the lady giving us our induction to what is a two year course aimed to return long term unemployed like me to the workplace.
     
    Well there' been some horror stories circulating.
     
    "Like what?"
     
    That we will have to do 38 hours a week on our job searching.
     
    "Oh no!" She chuckled, "That would be like a full time job wouldn't it?"
     
    Exactly my thoughts. Well so far the programme seems very easy going, but I did hear hints that it could get much more stringent later. Sounds like we're bing eased gently into our New Model Army of Jobseekers. The square-bashing will pick up later. I wonder if we'll be issued uniforms? There's no point moaning. We're all in it now.
     
    Who do you think that you're kidding Mr Manager
    If you you think we're sat on bums
    We are the boys who will make your staff look lame
    We are the boys who will make you think again
    So... Who do you think that you're kidding Mr Manager
    If you think that job's not ours
     
    Well what did you expect? A song from Dame Vera Lynn? There'll be bluebirds over, the local job centre, tomorrow, just you wait and see.... No. We'll search in the hills. And in the valleys. We'll apply on the beaches. We will never surrender. Wel we can't can we? Our money gets stopped if we do.
     
    Quite A Thought
    Thirty years. It never really occured to me before a feature documentary on television last night covered the last flight of the space shuttle Atlantis. There was one guy who's been fitting heat tiles to the shuttles for nearly all his working life.
     
    Thirty years. I was barely out of school when they started firing up those oversize fireworks. I remember flipping through dozens of instrument panels in Space Shuttle Simulator and wondering what on earth all this stuff was about.
     
    How long will it be before anything else so significant to our efforts to conquer space rises from the countless ideas mooted around? It was interesting that the head of shuttle flights said that a future space vehicle of this kind will need to simpler and more reliable. Our space rockets don't look much, but their complexity is mind boggling. So are the risks they're built to defy.
     
    Famine? You Mean... That Famine?
    Fifty years. That's almost how long parts of africa has been living off international aid. In other words, they've been on benefits since 1963. The UN are moving toward getting people to raise crops, sorgum for instance, a hardy wheat that grows in arid confitions. Africans can make porridge from it. Food handouts ae therefore being reduced.
     
    Unfortunately for this brave new world the sorgum fields are afflicted with a disease that ruins the crops. Might be a while before this East African famine crisis gets resolved. And yet, despite this continual history of hardship in the area, we still see the media portraying it as if this was a disaster that happened yesterday. I guess it sounds more dramatic that way.
     
    Not Just Amy Winehouse
    Everyone who could get near the internet has already posted their thoughts and tributes so there's no point my adding to the huge response to her untimely death. Especially since I never listened to her music. My loss I guess. Well sadly she lost her health to such a degree that her body gave up on her. That said, it wasn't really all that shocking, was it? Hands up anyone who really didn't know in their heart that she was destined to be a tragic figure.
     
    It's easy in these cases to get philosophical. To talk about how fragile life can be. How fleeting the human experience is. Some of the people I knew in the music business are no longer with us. Good people. Talented people. Who remembers them?
     
    And As For Top Gear...
    I made a bit of a criticism of last weeks program. No, not this time, last nights show was better. Who could possibly be dissatisified with a trio of seventies moustaches? Richard Hammond succeeding in looking debonair against all odds, James May looking like that middle manager who now has to go home and tell his wife he's been made redundant, and Jeremy Clarkson looking like he dates old women for cash. Brilliant.
     
    But it gets better because I too had a moustache in the seventies. Yes. It's true. I am an Interceptor (cue title sequence).
  20. caldrail

    Read All About It

    By caldrail,

    Okay let's see, what can I write for the blog this friday? I've done hikes, injuries, insults, urban foxes, job searching, and finally resorted to lame gags about badger culling. Luckily for me, I didn't have to think too hard about anything else because the museums resident journalist, DW, made his appearance.
     
    I first met DW when he was running a modelling agency which he assures us with a big grin was earning him truck loads of cash. After organising one event at a local night club with a number of celebrity guests of which even I had heard of, he sold the business, and refuses to talk about that cash anymore. Now he's a journalist for a community website.
     
    For some reason the conversation got around to the fairer sex. It usually does when DW is nearby. Today he was moaning because his girlfriend has just proclaimed her undying love for him. In true journalist style, DW refuses to acknowledge that love makes the world go round. Only money has that physical property.
     
    Nonetheless, I think DW is living in a world bereft of human kindness. He hugged our resident evil robot and attempted to hold hands with it. DW, you need a girlfriend.
     
    Talking About The Fairer Sex
    Our boss warned us to expect Miss M at eleven. She's a recent addition to the museum crew. I've seen her around once or twice but she got one of the interesting jobs downstairs, leaving me and the rest of the trolls to snare members of the public. Caught one today trying to sneak in without paying.
     
    By half past, my fellow troll manning the front desk concluded that Miss M "Isn't turning up", at which point she duly walked through the door as a brilliantly well-timed demonstration on the art of being fashionably late. Of course I found the whole thing very amusing and she rolled her eyes.
     
    Talking About Particle Colliders
    After Miss M went off to join the museum elite to create new interesting displays, the conversation got around to the CERN particle collider. It's that big circular facility buried under Switzerland that scientists spent millions to play sub-atomic marbles with. My fellow troll told me that the japanese built something similar twenty years in order to find a cure for cancer.
     
    Pardon? Curing cancer with a particle accelerator? That's like conducting life saving surgery with a machine gun.
     
    Case Of The Missing Eunos - Chapter 3
    The latest update of my investigation concerns a woman who was one of the four individuals who asked if I wanted to sell the car. She was in fact the only one whose name I knew. Hi babe. My car got nicked recently.
     
    "Your car was stolen?"
     
    Yes.
     
    "The white one?"
     
    Yes.
     
    "Oh... I thought you'd sold it."
     
    No, it vanished.
     
    "Oh."
     
    Well it seems the police didn't interview her despite my mentioning her name as a possible line of enquiry. Oh yeah... I forgot... I have to investigate this crime myself. Usually in these circumstances the private detective (that's me) starts a relationship with the woman on the basis that whilst she might be responsible for 90% of car thefts in the area, she's also a perfect soul partner, and until we've done the sex scene I cannot exclude her from my enquiries. I had no idea searching for a lost car was such fun.
     
    Can't wait for the car chase.
  21. caldrail

    A Poor Showing

    By caldrail,

    The lady on the supermarket till is an endangered species these days. They're all being replaced by robots. Well, until a bunch of guys with dark suits and sunglasses escort this particular lady to a large black vehicle waiting outside, I'll avail myself of the customer service.
     
    "Are you going to Fairford?" She asked. I looked out the window, surveyed the grey clouds and damp ground, and said no, I wasn't. She meant of course the RIAT air display, our annual traffic jam north of Swindon. Fairford is a bit far to walk anyhow.
     
    Usually on a RIAT weekend you know there's an air display going on. Crowds gather in Swindon shopping centres. Formations of jet aeroplanes cruise overhead. This year I witnessed none of that. Only on the sunday did I spot a distant pair of aircraft turning west of Swindon. Only once did I hear that familiar distant roar of afterburners fading in and out.
     
    What a miserable day for an airshow. Low cloud, patchy rainfall, and actually quite blustery. Worth a few hours wait to get out of the car park afterward?
     
    Couldn't Get To RIAT?
    Yesterday, as you all know, I was taking a wander out into the local countryside while it still exists. On my way back along the disused railway (I know its a cycle path these days but I remember it with tracks still present) I heard an approaching aeroplane. An unfamiliar metallic vibrato.
     
    To my pleasant suprise a 1940's Beech twin flew over about five hundred feet up, taking care to stay below cloud level on what was also a none too sunny day. I watched the silver painted aircraft head southeast toward the Marlborough Downs. Well, I might not have been able to get to RIAT, but that was a nice little airshow all of my own.
     
    Poor Show Lads
    I am unashamedly a Top Gear fan. Or rather, I enjoy the show and remain fanatical about some of the more extreme cars they enjoy driving on our behalf. It's a public service they provide.
     
    Another public service was the burning of a caravan, this one the buffet car on the Audi train. Maybe it's just me, but wasn't that a bit predictable? They got away with doing a fire on a camping holiday in Devon. The jokes been done twice now and it's wearing thin. We viewers demand more for our license fee. Why wasn't the entire train set alight? They could have burned the Audi too. How we would have smiled.
     
    I suppose I can forgive them for that, the reason being being they hit a lower point still. Having invited Rowan Atkinson onto the show, what do they do? Hand him a list of words to say in a funny voice. The audience obediently tittered when required, but be honest, it wasn't funny. It wasn't amusing. If you're going to interview a celebrity, then give him something more interesting to say. Like a witty story maybe?
     
    Not their finest moment.
     
    Laugh of the Week
    Bob.
     
    Aww come on, it worked for Rowan Atkinson. Oh great, now I'll have to think of a joke. No wait, I don't have to, because I've just spent the last two days phoning a woman at a job agency who tried to phone me. Apparently she can't understand that I don't live in an office, and I can't understand why she does.
  22. caldrail

    Totally Ear Bashed

    By caldrail,

    Sunday morning and the rain has eased. Some might claim that was proof God exists, but I know different, because he wouldn't have foisted BFL upon the world. There she was in the library foyer, sat waiting to find her next victim. She smiled to herself as I scowled.
     
    Luckily Mr R opopped in. He's a regular at the library too, a cheerful chatty sort of guy who seems to spend all day there playing 'fruit machine' programs. Before he gets there though, he too runs the gauntlet of BFL.
     
    Too late. She's seen him, and in a swift move she pounces, launching into a conversation with me stood nearby desperately trying to avoid shrapnel.
     
    "I've had enough" She told him in no uncertain terms. Apparently her studies are testing her patience. In true generosity, she shares the pain by testing ours. No sooner had she realised that no-one was interested in her studies (it seems the psychology part of her social sciences degree course is paying dividends) she moved on to travel.
     
    You may not know this, but BFL likes train travel. No, really she does, I heard it from the horses mouth. It makes her feel in control, she says. Pardon? Has no-one told her the front compartment is for the engine driver? Also she regards a bicycle as a lonely means of travel, and coaches are the work of the devil.
     
    At last! The bells! The town hall clock sounds half past nine and the security guard opens the door for us all to rush inside in a mad desperate attempt to escape BFL first. She always takes the elevator. Partly because she doesn't like the stairs (yes, she told us that too) but also I suspect because she gets thirty seconds of conversation with other people who can't escape.
     
    Mr R climbed the stairs beside me and asked how I was. A bit ear bashed, but okay.
     
    Case Of The Missing Eunos - Chapter 2
    Never fear, Caldrail Holmes is still on the case even if the police have given up. So far I've eliminated Al Qaeda from my enquiries, and I still haven't found any evidence that UFO's abducted my car.
     
    "All he has to do is buy a Toyota"
    (Comment made on the street late saturday night 16-7-11)
     
    What an interesting comment. Normally I get reviews of my manhood, but what, I have to ask, is manly about Toyota's? Have you seen the local dealership? Packed full of mobility buggies in monotone colours designed to blend with the urban landscape, or perhaps the hair colour of their buyers. More to the point, why is buying a Toyota going make any more difference than other makes and models? Is that what the streetwise private detective is driving this year? Curiouser and curiouser.
     
    Have You Tried Our New Burglary?
    "Don't worry, we'll get in the next time he goes to town"
    (Comment outside the back of my home, 7:45am Sunday 17-7-11)
     
    Thanks for the heads up guys. It's nice to know that our friendly neighbourhood burglar is so publicly spirited to book an appointment. Sadly I'm going to have to cancel as I've just discovered that burglary is in fact illegal, and has been for some time.
     
    Political correctness means that we don't chop the hands off convicted thieves anymore. Nor, as science fiction script writers have predicted, do we transport criminals to an island where they can live out their lives in anarchic barbarity - though I do believe we tried that for a while some time ago. Obviously not a succesful policy for the government of the day as the criminals descendants tend to be better at cricket than us.
     
    The police don't seem interested. I guess there's not enough news headlines in it. Never mind. If they won't listen, I'll tell the whole world instead.
  23. caldrail
    Okay. I've managed to get myself back off the floor. Wiped the last tears from my face, and given a last chuckle or two. But why, you may ask?
     
    A couple of posts ago I mentioned that I would fall off my chair laughing if I ever heard a boss moaning that he couldn't find the staff. When I checked the local paper for job vacancies an editorial piece headlined with "Skilled Workers Are Hard To Find".
     
    No, they're not. You simply have to create them instead of fishing in a market that everyone got to before you. One fun way is to have lots of sex but the more efficient (and probably cheaper) method is to invest in training. Ask Lord Sugar. He'll know what I'm talking about. Or maybe he doesn't, because he's just spent twelve weeks and oodles of tv license payers cash getting a horde of idiots to prove that British business is rubbish. I already know that. They keep firing me.
     
    A Meeting With Big C
    Another guy who's been fired is Big C. Grizzly bears step back and let Big C pass by. They have to because he's blocking the pavement. Or the sunshine if you're stood in his shadow. So a couple of days ago I experienced an eclipse of the sun and knew at once Big C wanted a word.
     
    Actually he's a pleasant chap and we both had a chat about all these changes to welfare that the government have introduced. No, he doesn't understand it either.
     
    Do It Again Caldrail
    The seasonal rush to find skilled teachers is currently underway and our local council website lists lots of seductive offers for all sorts of posts in education. Most of them are are out of my reach since I'm not a skilled teacher, but surely the number of skilled teachers has improved since I was a schoolkid?
     
    However, I did come across a job for a teaching coordinator, a role that not only allows me to capitalise on my experience, but also allows me to finally get revenge for all that homework I was forced to complete. For most vacancies you apply online and attach your CV. Easy. Just wait a few days and you get a rejection email.No hassle, no complications.
     
    Applying for jobs in education though doesn't seem to be a simple process. Send an email to specified address. Receive an email with an application form attached. Complete that. Send it back. Receive an email telling you to do it all again because you got it wrong.
     
    I can see I'm dealing with highly trained people here. No wonder they're screaming out for teachers. They're all working in Human Resources.
     
    How To Survive Thursday Evening
    All work and no food makes Caldrail a thin boy. Tme then to gird my loins and head for the fast food chains in the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire.
     
    As I aproach the bottom of the hill the various fast food outlets can see me coming a mile off. I wonder what goes through their minds? This is early thursday evening. It's not as if customers are queuing to be served. There's only a group of five or six revellers and if I were honest they don't seem to be revelling very much. So why don't these traders try to attract my attention?
     
    "Hot wings! Get your hot wings here! Only twenty kilo's left and we have to sell them all!"
     
    "Come on ladies and gentlemen, you can't get piri piri chicken like this in the shops!"
     
    See? Imagine how much more business they'd do. By now I've made my choice and head for the chosen outlet. Having seen which outlet I've chosen, the revellers decide to try that one too. It's a customer service I provide.
     
    "Jamie!" Screams the young woman with the money, "What chicken do you want?"
     
    "I dunno." Says Jamie, obviously trying to be outrageous by being the only guy in Swindon who's this drunk so early in the evening. "Just buy some."
     
    "Make a choice! What chicken do you want? Tell me!" She screamed
     
    Somewhat worringly Drunken Jamie decided to trap me in the corner. It's a bit uncomfortable with some guy standing too close breathing alcohol fumes into your face. "Good food here." He tells me.
     
    Phew. For a moment I thought I might have made a mistake.
     
    "We're getting married soon." He says, pointing toward the young woman who seems to be ordering her meal by telepathy. Phew. For a moment there... No... That's too horrible to think about.
     
    "You married?" He asks, beginning to waver dangerously. No... No I'm not...
     
    "Well, I don't whether I should 'cos it's scary, you know, I mean, what could happen?" He rambled on. Well hey, that's life, if you don't try, you don't know. He seemed to accept my superior wisdom. That's the kind of customer service I provide.
     
    Realising the danger I was in, the cooks supplied me with emergency rations and I was outta there. You see, Bear Grylls would have energetically got in and out via a disused ventilator to snatch a raw burger for much needed protein.. Ray Mears would have demonstrated how the crew of a crashed bomber survived by eating out for ten weeks. Me? I prefer to be served before I find myself trapped in an awkward social situation. All part of survival on thursday evening.
  24. caldrail

    Endangered Species

    By caldrail,

    "EEEEERGH!"
     
    Believe me, at three in the morning, that high pitched screach is enough to scare the living daylights out of you. Yes, it's the urban foxes again, lurking in the darkness to hunt smaller nocturnal animals lurking in the darkness, or the bonus of edible rubbish we humans have discarded, or as I've come to believe, just to wander around and annoy people with high pitched screaching.
     
    This time the fox was very close to the backs of the houses where I live. That's unusual. Normally they wander around the far side of the yard where they can scratch out a living from the other street. Now they're prowling around the backs of ours, no doubt searching for that unwashed white Eunos Cabriolet they used to see there.
     
    Or is this the start of a more sinister and dangerous trend? I haven't forgotten that story in the news a little while back where people were getting attacked by urban foxes in their sleep.With a bit of luck, they'll eat the burglars and grafitti sprayers making local residents lives a misery in this part of Swindon but I guess in all probability they'll just make do with a resident or two.
     
    As an unemployed person I've sort of gotten used to being at the bottom of the heap, despite equality legislation, but if I were honest being at the bottom of the food chain isn't something that appeals to me. I mean, we humans are supposed to be top dogs on this planet, not lunch. What's the point of of being intelligent, technologically advanced, and able to walk on the moon if we just end up on a late night menu?
     
    Our american cousins are probably chortling when they read this. After all, if they get threatened with wildlife, it's usually much bigger and fiercer than a fox, and they also have firearms to deal with it. Then again, without the bigger and fiercer carnivores to occupy the upper reaches of the food chain, perhaps the British Urban Fox is a much nastier species. Perhaps we British need stronger measures to deal with them. You see, in Britain we don't bother with petty little hunting rifles (unless you're a wierdo out for revenge against society). We use dynamite.
     
    You just wait Mister Fox. That Old College site is going to be demolished soon. Probably when you least expect it...
     
    Still Going Down
    Airshows are inherently risky. Every so often there's a news item where some aeroplane or other got into difficulty and ends up in a ball of flame. Thankfully the crew often escape in the nick of time and all we get is a dramatic (and expensive) addition to the spectacle. Tragically though being strapped into a fast moving vehicle barely above ground level does make for a very unforgiving experience when it all goes wrong.
     
    Flying old warbirds is always going to have an element of risk, whether at an airshow or not. Sadly, the list of aeroplanes coming to grief is starting to lengthen. Like that B17 in America, crash-landing and burning out recently, or the loss of a P51D at Duxford this weekend. It was quite alarming to see a photograph of this much cared for World War Two fighter pointed seventy degrees downward little more than fifty feet to go. Just as well the pilot got out immediately. He wasn't going to survive that.
     
    I've always been in favour of keeping old warbirds flying. It's a sight to thrill the heart because there's so few of them, because they're so iconic, and because they're the result of one man's vision rather than a computer program, they're often achingly beautiful to look at. For those airframes no longer considered airworthy, there's always the museum, but as I usually say, it's like looking at a stuffed bird in a glass case. Dead. Sterile. None of the sounds, smells, and visual wonder of seeing that familiar shape rumble overhead.
     
    What I read in the aviation press is not encouraging. I can honestly see a time coming when insurance and operating costs will simply force these old warbirds into retirement forever. Enjoy them while you can. Warbirds are an endangered species.
     
    But Not Out
    Another flying species, our friendly neighbourhood mosquito (the sort that likes to bite us) is proving to be ever more resistant to chemicals designed to control them. Why that should suprise us is a mystery to me. We've killed off all the weaker ones.
     
    Also, inbetween the relentless adverts for starving african children, is that advert for helping the Amur Leopard. There's only thirty five of them left apparently. That's far less than a viable population for most species but I also note that with conservation and legislation the Amur Tiger recovered from a similar precarious toehold in the wild.
     
    That leaves me with a moral dilemma. Spend my money on big cats that cause problems for their human neighbours? Or help africans survive terrible drought conditions though they might also grow up to be armed with AK47's and RPG's with which to cause trouble for their neighbours? You see, when you take the emotional attachment out of the equation, it all looks a bit different. Maybe that's why the wildlife advert promises us a cudly toy to persuade you to invest in saving leopards.
     
    And Finally...
    Sadly nuclear weapons are not going to go away either. They've been invented, we know how to build them, and various nations around the world want to join the list of users because having a big dangerous weapon to hand is a very appealing idea to human beings. But this isn't a tirade against nuclear lunacy, or the current covert war being waged to prevent loonies from getting their hands on one, but rather the stations set up to detect illicit detonations of these devices. As you might imagine, a nuclear weapon makes a big bang. So it's possible to detect when someone has set one off without telling anyone else.
     
    Interestingly, there's been a spin-off from this technology. Now we've learned that roughly every decade a large meteoroid explodes in Earth's atmosphere with similar power to nuclear weapons. Remember that Tunguska Event in Siberia when hundreds of square miles of forest were mysteriously flattened by a mid-air explosion?
     
    Sadly UFO and conspiracy theory buffs will be disappointed, because this sort of thing is going on all the time and probably always has. It isn't an alien UFO blowing up on re-entry, nor some warhead fired in pre-nuclear times. It is however a chilling thought of what one of these rocks from outer space could have triggered during the Cold War. That would have spared you the trouble of reading this blog.
  25. caldrail
    Do my eyes deceive me? Is Hollywood really planning to make a big screen blockbuster movie about the alien invasion we all helped to fend off in the eighties? Yes, Space Invaders, the most pixellated enemy of mankind, is about to change tactics and emerge upon our cinemas near you.
     
    Am I supposed to be excited? If this is an attempt by Hollywood to create a new film rather than just another sequel, it's failed utterly. I mean, how many times has Earth been invaded by aliens? We've been fending off all manner of alien threats since Plan B From Outer Space. Mostly they make a mess when they get here so a film about hitting them with little coloured squares whilst still approaching would be different, if only puppetmaster Gerry Anderson hadn't already fended off alien invaders as they flew toward earth in his series UFO.
     
    Well, my spies have delved into the secret offices of Space Invaders - The Movie to bring you this slightly not real spoiler...
     
    RADAR MAN - Sir? There's something on radar
     
    GENERAL - That can't be son. I haven't been informed
     
    RADAR MAN - Look sir. There. Lots of (pause) blips.
     
    GENERAL - My god.
     
    RADAR MAN - What are they sir?
     
    GENERAL - Pixels, son, lots of pixels. Call the Pentagon
     
    RADAR MAN - Yes sir (pause) President on the line sir
     
    PRESIDENTS VOICE - What is it General?
     
    GENERAL - Pixels, Mister President. Arriving in force. I can see three (pause) No, four lines of them.
     
    PRESIDENTS VOICE - You know what to do, General.
     
    GENERAL - Yes SIr. Those pixels don't stand a chance (puts down phone) Okay, son, open fire.
     
    RADAR MAN - But Sir, we can't lock our weapons onto them. They keep scrolling.
     
    GENERAL - Oh my god.
     
    And Now For Plan B
    Not to be outdone by the American film industry, Russia is planning to send the Olympic flame into space. Deputy Prime Minister Zhukov says "Previously the cosmic peaks of sports records were always just a metaphor but now we have the real opportunity to send the symbol of peace, friendship, unity and excellence beyond earth's frontiers."
     
    Well I'm sure the enemy alien pixels will realise we just want a sporting competition and not all out war after all. Plus, if they hurry, they might receive tickets to the games. Who needs a square jawed hero with white teeth and a very, very big gun when you can shoot flames into space instead?
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