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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail
    Has anyone been watching the Tour De France bicycle race this year? No, me neither, but I did catch that extraordinary accident on the news later that evening. A camera car swerves and takes out two or three competitors before driving off. You can sort of tell it's France because in Britain there'd be four police cars boxing the escaping driver in and cops hauling the driver onto the tarmac before cuffing him to exciting music and a witty comment on the voiceover. No really, I've seen it on Police Interceptors.
     
    The most amazing thing is that the race organisers handed out tee shirts to those brave competitors that survived such assaults upon their person. Medals? Not in France. Real heroes wear tee-shirts. I get the impression that the Tour De France is a tough race. How would I know? I stopped riding a bike when my National Cycling Proficiency Certificate became uncool, but then, in those days we didn't have body hugging lycra swimsuits in bright colours complete with snazzy plastic helmets. Not that I'm suggesting anything you understand.
     
    Me And My Lycra
    Denied the joys of cycling in body hugging lycra? Fear not, for I was not deprived of the experience of stupid clothing. Back in the eighties of course no musician went on stage without looking likea ballet dancer so naturally I had to do that as well. I dumped the black and white clown trousers I considered adequate stage wear and progressed to hardcore silver and black zebra striped lycras. And I thought we kept getting banned for being too loud.
     
    I came off stage at Swindon's Link Centre one time playing for Red Jasper. Gigs in Swindon were rarely a success for us but this one had gone down okay, helped largely by our enthusiastic crowd of roadies among the audience. By the time I'd disentangled myself from the drumkit the rest of the band were in the changing room getting interviewed by a young lady from the local newspaper.
     
    Hi Babe. Let me tell you everything you need to know about Red Jasper. Miss JW was a bit suprised that I was chipping into the conversation. Excuse me? I do happen to be in this band you know.
     
    "Oh" She replied in innocence, "I thought you'd been out running or something.". Clearly silver and black zebra striped lycras were not one of my better investments, and proof, if any were needed, that looking like a ballet dancer was not essential for rock super-stardom.
     
    She tried to interview us, she really did. Unfortunately Robin 'the guitar player' corrected something I said and JW, having scribbled tons of notes rendered absolutely useless, screamed in frustration and called me a cow dung depositer. I never could treat her seriously after that. Every time she had occaision to interview me I always made a point of telling her complete rubbish. Poor woman. How she suffered.
     
    I still have those original clown trousers somewhere. However, since they were measured at a 28" waist, my chances of getting into them again are slim even if I'm not. Maybe when I shrink with old age I'll be able to strut my stuff on stage one more time in genuine Caldrail gear. I'm sure they'll find room for a nurse at the side of the stage. I can fit the kit to my zimmer frame. Make sure JW knows who I am this time. She doesn't know me without lycras on.
     
    Tee In The Park
    Maybe I ought to spend more time watching televised festival gigs. These days televised festivals aren't unusual, but there was a time when such things were not considered family viewing in Bitain. The trouble now is most of them are sponsored by radio stations and feature the sort of acts you'd expect on family viewing.
     
    I had to laugh a couple of years ago. Most of the acts performing at the oversize beach party were clearly those who'd never performed on a large stage before. I know this because they all did exactly the same things as each other. Rush to the left... Sing a verse leaning forward... Rush to the right side of the stage... Sing a verse... Return to centre stage and sing a verse... Repeat until crowd are thoroughly warmed.
     
    But last night it was Tee In The Park, a scottish festival with the Foo Fighters headlining. Earlier in the evening I watched a set by Beady Eye, who came across rather like Oasis playing a soup kitchen after losing their contract. I have to be honest, Beady Eye didn't impress me too much. Their set lacked any real fizz. I guess tomato soup for several days running must get you down.
     
    Not to worry. The Foo Fighters were on later. Do I sound like I was expecting something? As it happens they aren't a band I listen to ordinarily, but their set was a darn sight better. Presence, energy, and I have to say, a massed assault of guitars, kilts, and dubious underwear. No clever stuff and definitely no lycras required. Now that's more like it.
  2. caldrail
    I passed a small advertisment the other. "Life After Death". Apparently if I pop down and attend the lecture I can learn all about what happens when biology stops working. They also claim I can discover the Meaning of Life. I doubt they have a gargantuan supercomputer that's been calculating the answer to life, universe, and everything for the last seven million years, so I kind of wonder where they get all this information from, but hey, who knows? Perhaps I was Julius Caesar after all.
     
    At this point I usually get all philosophical and start dissecting various dead theories. Today though, I will point out two interesting coincidences.
     
    Coincidence No1
    The advert was posted on the plywood fence surrounding the Old College Site. Now you didn't exppect hat shocker, did you? It is quite appropriate. The building is disused apart from a few vandals, beggars, urban mammalian scavengers, and a wandering secuirty guard whose purpose on site appears to be not to notice anything. This building is dead. It has ceased to be. Except the concrete corpse with broken windows and grafitti still stands.
     
    I saw a program about what would happen if humanity simply ceased to be. Our cities and towns would apparently crumble and vanish within two hundred years. So if the owners are so reluctant to redevelop the site, perhaps they should just stick around? Nature will demolish it for them.
     
    Oh yes. The coincidence. Well, as we all know by now, the site is due for redevelopment into Swindons latest tourist attraction, a real live working shopping mall. Not many of those left these days, what with the credit crunch, economic downturns, and carnivorous traffic wardens that fine you for the slightest hint of wanting to stay. An old site with new life. There. I told you it was a coincidence.
     
    Coincidence No2
    Today is the day when I begin my new two year course designed to turn me from a shabby listless scrounger into a energetic, dynamic go-getter with career prospects, smart clothes, and business compatible saloon car. I mean, is that life after death, or what?
     
    If anyone has images of dole claiming zombies rising from the grave and dragging their dead limbs to the nearest workplace where they will toil in undead servitude for their new masters, I wonder if you're right. Is this initiative truly a form of life after death, or merely some shiney new chains in the same old dungeon? At the moment I don't know. Very soon I shall be summoned to that dark citadel where the employment service provider sits upon his throne, plotting and scheming to create a new race of super slaves to boost government statistics...
     
    The government want to breath life back into the economy. They want to put all unemployed people back to work. That includes me of course. I'm not exempt from this government sponsored reincarnation, and if I were honest, I won't mind going back to work at all. At least that way I'll have some chance of paying my energy bills. Also the local burglar declared his intention to "tax" me last night, probably more to impress his friends than actually earn money from stealing my property.
     
    Coincidence No3
    This brings up an unrelated coincidence, as it happens, because in the light of the recent forced entry into a home by four villains, one of whom got himself stabbed by a member of the household and abandoned to die down the road by his friends, has led to a Commons debate about the rights of citizens to defend themselves and their property. As the law stands you can only use 'appropriate' levels of violence, but it makes no difference if you do carefully calcultate the correct force to apply in confrontations because inevitably the burglars rights have been infringed and the police like news headlines. So you get arrested as well as burgled. Like what the government does but without being voted into office. Now there's a coincidence.
  3. caldrail
    Ah yes, saturday night. A time for fun, frolics, or if like me you're an unemployed self-made noble accused by the police of being a fantasist, a great time to watch back to back episodes of South Park. After midnight, with or without alcohol, you begin to appreciate the true message of our two dimensional chums from Colorado. I learned something today.
     
    The usual crowd of late night wallies migrate from one watering hole to another. Some laugh, others squabble, but mostly they make loud noises. I have no idea what these noises mean. I suspect, after all this repitition, that they've long since forgotten but do it anyway because otherwise they'd have nothing to do between drinking holes. This is saturday night you know.
     
    Then I heard one wally with slightly less alcohol in his blood. "The truth is he doesn't do anything." He explained to his mate. I assume he was talking to his mate because otherwise he'd be talking to himself, and as we all know, that's sad.
     
    I see... So... I don't do anything... It's a funny thing but I seem to be dogged by that sort of comment. It's almost as if some people are too envious or too dismissive to accept that my claims are genuine. That's gone on for years, with one self appointed biographer after another proclaiming that I 'm not what I say I am. If I was a bit paranoid, I would probably come to the conclusion that these individuals are secretly coached in dismissal techniques, choreographed by experts to make their announcements during the silent moment between television adverts, and spend the rest of their week practising in front of a mirror.
     
    It's becoming very puzzling to me. Despite being a fairly honest chap, it's as if authority can't accept that I'm telling the truth. Policemen see my report of a stolen car as a cry for attention. Doctors are trying to tell me to stop smoking when I haven't inhaled from one of those stupid tar-sticks in my life ever. Claims advisors pull me to one side and try to persuade me that it's in my interest to be truthful. No, I tell a lie. It's getting a bit irritating.
     
    But what exactly is it that I don't do? Well I grant you that it's been quite a long time since I was frenetically gigging as a rock drummer but I'm working on that problem. Please be a little bit patient, I'm not as young as I was. Coping with twisted music leads does get tougher as you get older. Oh come on... Stupid cable... Gah!
     
    Nor do I fly aeroplanes anymore. That's simply because as an unemployed person the government won't pay me enough money to do that. Nor can I drive sports cars anymore for much the same reason, though it helps if my car doesn't get stolen. I therefore conclude that the spirit is willing but the wallet is subject to government control. Trust me, Mr Policeman, that's not a fantasy.
     
    Doing Stuff - My Big Plan
    With my reputation as a person who does things now ripped to shreds, I have no choice but to respond to that challenge. That's what blokes are supposed to do, isn't it? You know, beat your chest, shout louder, and if all else fails get yourself arrested so you can tell your mates afterward what you did last saturday night. God forbid they find out you didn't do anything.
     
    After much tapping of fingers on the desk I decided to make an action plan. All the agencies that have trained me to find work have taught me to make action plans. Carefully work out the optimal strategy.... What is the desired result... How can I achieve it?... Which steps must I take in order to make this plan come to fruition?
     
    After realising that I was beginning to sound like Adolf Hitler in his Berlin hideaway, and considering that world domination by next weekend probably isn't a realistic plan anyway, I then decided to head for the fridge and a cool refreshing drink. Oh yes. Drinking is what you do on a saturday night. I know, because everyone outside reminds me every week.
     
    Done Stuff - My Big Reminder
    Oh yeah... That hit the spot... Just in time for the next episode of South Park. So what is it that I'm supposed to learn from all this denigration and denial? Is it a lesson about conformity? Am I being cajoled into some adolescent struggle for placement in the pecking order of saturday night revellers? Is this an attempt to rescue me from middle aged mediocrity? Is someone trying to persuade me to take a certain action by way of deconstructing my self esteem?
     
    Dunno. Don't care. You see, if I were to build my self-worth, or indeed my public image, on the basis of acting on other peoples whims, in what way am I worth anything? Do you see how self defeating it is to surrender to peer pressure? I think it's someone else who needs to learn a lesson. As for me, I'll continue to express my individuality, choice, and freedom to pursue my lawful interests without undue interference. Next episode of South Park comin' right up after the break.
  4. caldrail
    We return once again to the issue of the Old College site. It's.. Erm... Still there. Only the other day I saw a youngle couple taking photographs of the rather shabby edifice blocking the afternoon sun at the bottom of the hill. Or rather he was, she was patiently waiting for him to do something interesting.
     
    This morning I received another newsletter from our ever enthusiastic labour party. All the political parties put these comunity newsletters through our postboxes in the optimistic hope that we actually believe their statisitcs, excuses, and triumphant claims of achievement.
     
    The excuse for the old ruin still standing was that no-ones talking to each other any more. The site is in private hands and it's up to the developer as and when the demolition goes ahead. So the councillors went ahead and told everyone it would be demolished by now. We've all been misled, claims the pamphlet. Yeah? No kidding. I guess that's politics.
     
    Oh, before I forget, demolition starts in August. The pamphlet says so.
     
    Palin: The Undefeated Years
    I see Sarah Palin is releasing a film made about her rise from obscurity to bear hunting political almost-running. It's called The Undefeated. Not sure the title is entirely suitable, since she hasn't actually achieved her perceived goals, but I guess there's a fair few bears and fish that fell to her amazonian lust for victory.
     
    I can see it now. ordinary housewife with fishing boat encounters violent hoodlums from a rival political party determined to eradficate bear hunting. After they leave the area filled with overturned burning cars and immobile stuntmen, she grits her tetth, cocks the pump action shotgun, and heads for election success. Good warm hearted family fun.
     
    Do I sound a little sarcastic? The problem with the american film industry is the stereotypical production line it pretends not to be. There's a familiar pattern to Hollywood productions. Boy meets girl, girl needs rescuing, british achievements get rebranded. Just add lots of lame gags, fuel based explosions, and keep blank ammunition makers in business. How can you go wrong?
     
    Okay, I still sound a little sarcastic. Do you really blame me? Why can't this Sarah Palin film be about her inability to make a speech? Or about the character interplay inside a damaged space capsule with little hope of returning to Earth? Or about standing on the prow of a ship that's about to sink very dramatically?
     
    You know what? I'm struggling to be serious here.
  5. caldrail
    Scientists are busy discovering why african naked mole rats live so long. Apparently they can live for thirty years, nearly four times the lifespan of their genetic cousins, and don't suffer from cancer. Naturally scientists believe that studying the hairless little mammals might have beneficial consequences for us too.
     
    Sometimes I wonder if the answer isn't a bit more obvious and doesn't require intense study of graphs, spreadsheets, slides, and scanner imagery. These little mammals don't sunbathe, drive cars, smoke, or eat too many packets of crisps. They aren't subjected to party political broadcasts or propaganda about global warming. They don't have bureaucratic tyrants like politicians, bank managers, or traffic wardens to ruin their entire day.
     
    Am I jealous? No... Not really... Since I've already lived nearly twice as long as your typical naked mole rat. Not sure living in a dark earth tunnel would suit me all that much either. But then I'd never get planning permission for it anyway.
     
    Planning Permissions Much Sought After
    The people who campaigned against the developers who wanted to build new housing estates on the farmland surrounding Coate Water struck a victory in my view. With planning permission refused, the bureaucrats for once made a sensible decision that kept the area as a place of natural beauty. In the newspaper this newspaper today is the warning that the developers are trying again. Round two. Ding ding. Please guys, just build those horrible bland dwellings somewhere else.
     
    Oh ye gods. I'm turning into a NIMBY.
     
    Results Just In
    I'd like to thank everyone who voted for me yesterday (you [ii]did[/i] vote, didn't you?) but sadly democracy wasn't powerful enough to prevent me from getting wet. I therefore hid under a tree and continued to get wet. Believing the rain was easing I attempted to dash home, and succeeded in getting wetter. C'est la vie.
     
    I have heard though that the government are planning to send millions of pounds worth of aid to those suffering the terrible conditions in the horn of Africa. Sadly, naked mole rats don't qualify unless they sign up for medical experimentation, but the heartbreaking film clips of infants barely breathing isn't easily dismissed despite the blatant message the filmmakers are putting across.
     
    It is a bit ironic isn't it? With benefits capped and claimants kneecapped if they don't jump through government sponsored hoops, not to mention cutting the armed forces down to size, the efforts to reduce costs don't appear to be helping our own citizens. Instead, we're helping starving africans or the irish economy.Or rather, the government is. Maybe they're getting some practice at dealing with poverty?
  6. caldrail
    The bells... The bells... Ten o'clock and all is well. I know the time because the bells are tolling. You see, the library is built as an annexe to the old town hall, now used as a dance studio, and the clock tower is clearly audible. With victorian engineering to rely on, how could I possibly be unsure of the time? There was a time of course when the Great Western Works sounded that old steam horn at regular intervals. It was to mark the start and ends of shifts in our local dark satanic mill of course, but the whole town lived by it. I even used it as a child to warn me my lunch break was over and that school awaited my studious presence (or else).
     
    Nonetheless, all is well. The library is quiet, and even BFL thought better of attempting to engage me in conversation. So she started talking to someone else, and lo and behold, she's having problems with her Open University Social Sciences course because she's lost the email address to send her homework too. You see, that's the trouble with modern technology, you just can't depend on it in the same way as great chunks of mobile cast iron.
     
    On a slighter lighter note, I bumped into Sideshow J again. This time he was walking his bicycle up the hill. Despite the introduction of moder materials and manufacturing, bicycles haven't greatly changed since the days of flat caps and coal sacks. So far, at least as far as I'm aware, bicycles don't come with flappy paddle gear changes, crumple zones, or crash protection airbags. Anyway, we exchanged our usual jovial greetings. So... You're not in a hurry today?
     
    "No" He chuckled, "Buit you could have stopped me the other day."
     
    Pardon? At the speed you were cycling uphill? I'd still be laid there spreadeagled on the pavement with tire marks along my chest.
     
    Again he chuckled and enquired how things were going. You know, the usual. "Have you been on a course lately?" He asked.
     
    A course? Oh gawd no, not another class for people who never attended one in the first place. No thanks.
     
    "No no no," He insisted, "There's lots of courses. You could do one on business management. Get a certificate."
     
    A certificate? Wow. Imagine what I could with that! Alan Sugar, you're fired. So there you have it. Buy a victorianesque cast iron machine, make sure you have a certificate, and success will be yours. Good grief, I'm starting to sound like my claims advisor. That reminds me... I need to send him my job search record. What was his email address again? If I'm not careful my claims advisor will end up with a report on the significance of adolescent divergence from traditional and cultural conformance, whilst BFL gets a list of vacancies applied for, which I have no doubt will be advertised loudly at her next library appearance.
     
    Not All Certificates Are Gold
    I see in the news that a driver who bought a personalised number plate from the Driver & Vehicle Licensing Agency for
  7. caldrail
    It's a funny thing about storms. I mean, if it rains, there's every chance you'll get wet. No matter how careful you are with watching weather reports or how many folklore rhymes you recall, wet weather is out to get you. I speak from bitter experience.
     
    But storms? Almost invariably you're indoors when they announce their presence. Niw I find this peculiar. There's no obvious warning in many cases other than heavy looking clouds, yet like virtually all the other animals, wild or domestic, you just seem to know that a storm is about to unleash rain, thunder, and llightning in no particular order.
     
    It must be that electricity in the air, that sense of buolding tension, that feeling that if you stay outdoors something bad will happen. Yet despite this useful instinct, some @ people a year still get hit by lightning. Some people never learn.
     
    With rumours of storms crossing the country last night I made sure I sat down and watched the weather report on television. Yes, I know, they never quite get it right until it's about to actually happen, but unlike @ a year, I haven't so far gotten myself zapped by 13,000 volts. Imagine my disappointment when the screen animation showed some feeble spots of pale blue evaporating over my home town. No storms then? Typical. Now I'm going to have to re-schedule my entire day.
     
    The Best Bits From Tuesday
    I have a strange optimism about tuesdays. After the average monday, it can only get better. I like to believe that for fear the rest of the week will be just as bad. After all, my AOL horoscope says a friend will create problems for me all week. Not really sure what friend they're talking about, but hey, if it's written in the stars...
     
    Anyhow, I ambled down the hill for my daily dose of internetting at the library. Sideshow J, our jovial and strange-haired coordinator at the work club, shot past me on a bike and refused to stop. Very important man is Sideshow J, and he had business to attend to. Hmmm.... That doesn't appear to have caused me problems.
     
    I reached the traffic island, the last stop before entering the hallowed gates of Swindons brave new library, when I heard a familiar sound. You know how it is when you hear something in the background and react without thinking? Of course the sound was an original 60's series Star Trek communicator warble, which some idiot decided to use for his mobile phone ring tone. I actually stopped and looked around. Hopefully no-one noticed what a trekkie-phile I am.
     
    Sadly the delights of internetting have to wait untiil I've done my chores. Trawling through the ads for jobs here and there I click on 'apply' in rapid progression. Is it just me, or is the job market getting silly? Administrator wanted. Must have lifetime experience of office enviroment, able to leap tall cabinets in a single bound, must be faster than a speeding memo, and obviously only graduates will be considered. And that's for a three month contract only. Sheesh.
     
    Click on 'apply'. Yes, I know, I don't even come close to their requirements, but the job centre will have me turned into a refugee from a Charles Dickens novel if I don't make the effort It's getting like that everywhere now. Employers and angencies are asking for stupid qualifications and qualities.
     
    It wasn't just me of course. A chap in the next cubicle was trying to find work as a security guard. There was a time when security work was easy to find. They couldn't get anyone to apply at all, such was the low pay and terrible conditions they offered. Now, with government regulations introduced, only the highest calibre square jawed hero may be even considered for permission to apply. And of course you need SIA certification.
     
    Unfortunately the chap was being assisted by a librarian whose knowledge of security work is not extensive, and he mentioned that a CIA card was required. Really? Wow, that's cool. Where do you get one of those? Five minutes later a stranger with an american accent approached him asking questions about using the computers. I kid you not.
     
    And The Storms?
    Nope. Not a flash or rumble anywhere. I can only conclude that this was a CIA plot to prevent Cliff Richard singing at Wimbledon.
  8. caldrail

    Thunder & Roars

    By caldrail,

    I'm not by nature a couch potato, but let's face it, every so often the urge to sit slack-jawed in front of a television gets the better of us. By saturday night, I too was in couch potato mode. Even the energy drink I was sipping from made no difference. I just couldn't be bothered.
     
    The trouble with television on a saturday night is that it seems to be designed for people who have embarrasingly low IQ scores or lack the skills to socialise. It's almost as if media companies don't want people to sit in on a saturday night, because they then have to pay staff to maintain services who would rather be out socialising than catering for couch potatoes. Hey, I pay for thuis service, you know?
     
    Enough of my griping. Eventually I settled on watching the news channel. That was about the only thing worth watching. A general tells us that the campaign in Libya has achievable goals... Glad to hear that. It's rather an expensive way to give pilots some target practice. Then there's news of more trouble in Syria.... It's a wonder we're not bombing them too. Oh... I forgot... Defence cuts.
     
    Then we got to the weather report. heat wave? What heat wave? The cheery fellow pointed at the map to red circles with absurdly high temperatures. What on earth is going on?
     
    Sunday morning I found out. Leaving the house mid-morning I walked into a wall of hot air. It was baking hot out there. This morning is no different. Baking hot out there still. However, the news is that this sudden burst of tropical temperatures is about to come crashing to an end with thunderstorms predicted for tonight and tomorrow. I 'll bet the weatherman is smiling about that too.
     
    Man Fights Lion
    I've just watched a video of a man getting into a cage and attempting to take on a fully grown male lion in a large cage, while members of the public look on. He went in with shield and staff, poking the lion, who was clearly more interested in a siesta than ripping this idiot apart. Nonetheless, the prodding did upset the lion a tad. Well it would, wouldn't it?
     
    As it happens the irritated lion tried to paw the mans stave away and stayed in the corner where it wanted a kip. I have to say, as beast fights go, the Romans were somewhat better at it. But then again, they didn't have to contend with animal rights groups.
     
    Fact is though this was more of a political stunt, and if I were honest, treating a lion in this manner isn't really what I want to see. Do I think highly of the man for braving the threat of an angry wild cat, a ferocious heavyweight lion? No, not really. After all, following the video of an infant giggling by a glass window as a lionness tried to attack him from the other side, it all seems very much part of the human condition.
     
    That said, the urge to grab a sword and take on the local ginger tom doesn't manifest itself either.
  9. caldrail

    Urban Survival

    By caldrail,

    Every so often I see news footage of some disaster or conflict that results in people abandoning homes to live in tented shanties. Like most things reported by television, it's all very terrible and you know people are suffering, but the filmed sequences never really prepare you for the reality of it. After all, when you're watching these things, the chances are you're comfortable in a warm secure house with no particular worries except how to afford the bills.
     
    Just of late there's been a series of adverts asking for donations to feed starving africans. The images of listless and almost lifeless infants are something to stir pity, whilst the adverts as a whole attempts to stir guilt about our prosperity. A few quid every month and this woman can feed her kids. It's all very humane of course, but the problem with paying money to good causes is that it never seems to help, and in any case, if those infants survive, they breed kids of their own and the problem multiplies the next generation.
     
    That's a hard message isn't it? Unfortunately we're not exempt from the Rabbit and Fox diagram we studied as kids at school. If we can't find food, we starve. If we eat, we have have children. it's the same around the world. Much is made of green issues. Pollution, deforestation, species reduction, and so forth. Truth is, there are too many humans. Do you really want to do something about that to make life better for the lucky few? That's a harder message still.
     
    Recently I received a message from a lady who asked to get to know me. I'm always a bit wary of internet friendships, and the sites like Facebook never really draw my attention. It all seems very ethereal and meaningless. For some people, merely a popularity contest. Hardly real friendships in many cases. Still, you never know. Lonelieness is a plague in our modern anonymous society, and I do understand how that can affect people. So I replied on face value, a brief message to let the lady know she wasn't being rebuffed mercilessly.
     
    Today I received another email from her. A young african woman, very attractive, posing against a palm tree and explaining her difficult circumstances. I must admit, it looks very much like a honey trap. If the young woman is being honest and her life really is that difficult, then my heart goes out to her. On the other hand, it begins to look rather more like a blatant attempt to survive in somewhat wealthier circumstances than west africa can offer her. Boy, is she going to be disappointed.
     
    Survival of the Fittest
    There seems to be a new cat on the block. There it is. Black, white, and ginger splotches, easy to spot when it's prowling around the asphalt areas but no doubt all but invisible in shadows beneath foliage in winter and autumn. I've seen it out in the yard, patrolling its territory and looking for birds and vermin to play with. Once, as I opened the back window, it looked back at me from thirty yards away very suspiciously and kept an eye on me as it wandered toward a secluded part of the buildings on the street further away. What was it expecting? For me to leap onto the back roof, jump down into the yard, and chase it?
     
    Obviously that's all part of survival in the rainforests of Darlest Wiltshire. Might have to raise my game then. Where can I book a class in gymnastics?
     
    Survival of the Fastest
    There's been a few wonderful cars spotted driving through Swindon. Just the other day a silver Noble rumbled past with that slightly sharp exhaust note, a subdued hint of the screaming performance the car had available. This morning an old model Lotus Esprit was sat in the Old College car park, still resplendent in black and gold paint, a hangover from the glory days of Lotus's Forumal One days. Itmight be a seventies wedge design, harsh edges and lacking refinement, but it sure looks good. Great to see old sports cars are still surviving out there despite the best efforts of manufacturers, salesmen, politicians, and policemen.
     
    I wouldn't leave it there mate. Sports cars vanish in this area. I wonder if that cat knows anything about my missing Eunos? Hmmm....
  10. caldrail

    Ready And Waiting

    By caldrail,

    No-one could accuse me of not being prepared. With the risk of heavy showers predicted by our faithful prophets of the television weather report, I was not taking chances. Okay, I wasn't in hiking mode, dressed in outdoors survival gear, but in clothing I know from experience is able to cope quite well with the minor downpour or two. So military surplus it is then.
     
    All day long I was going here and there, seeing to my daily business, and to my utter disgust the dark clouds came and went without discharging their load of rain. Swindon does this. No matter how prepared you are, something else happens.
     
    I had all but given up. Finally, late in the afternoon, it began to rain as I headed home from the supermarket. Everyone else headed for shelter while I continued on my merry way, beaming with delight that I was immune to the effects of rainfall. At least temporarily. But that's okay. The shower only lasted less than a minute.
     
    All In The Stars
    Would you believe it? A lunar eclipse for yesterday evening. I wonder how many times I've heard of astronomical phenomena to be observed only to find the british weather has denied me the opportunity. It would be worth catching this one as the next won't appear in british skies until 2041. Good grief, I'll be an eighty year old man when that one comes around - and I'll bet the clouds will obscure it. Like they did last night. Patience. Everything comes to he who waits.
  11. caldrail
    It was such a lovely afternoon yesterday that I couldn't help taking a wander around some of our local open spaces. I was in the mood for a break. The aggravations of job searching seem especially aggravating right now, simply because it feels like I'm trying to wade upstream right now. After nearly two decades in warehousing you would think I'd learnt a few things, but apparently job agencies regard me as lacking the necessary experience. Pardon?
     
    Anyway, that's enough of a gripe. The weather was fine and a cool breeze made it very pleasant indeed. Maybe it's just as well I took advantage of the sun. Apparently the weather is to return to standard british format by friday (which for those of you who aren't acquainted with England, that means rain).
     
    Swindon Indiana
    Sometimes I get bizarre offers of employment. There' a job for
  12. caldrail

    Hail and Horns

    By caldrail,

    There's nothing like lazing in a hot bath. Now that I'm on metered water it's become a luxury, yet the pleasure of lying in hot water and just relaxing for an hour is great. So last night I followed the usual ritual and slid into the water with a satisified sigh.
     
    Outside all was not well. The weather reports had warned of showers but what followed sounded like I was under siege. The heavens opened and down came hail, rattling and pinging on the roofs arund the bathroom like incessant arrow fire. I knew the house was a sturdy shelter against ice falling from the sky, but the sound echoes oddly and half the time it sounds like it's coming through the roof and bouncing around indoors.
     
    That was pretty savage for a british hailstorm. Mostly we get short spurts, indifferent little pellets that sting annoyingly when they find their target. Most often it's mixed with rain and never lasts long. Yesterdays assault went for ten minutes. Good grief.!
     
    Bump
    I've just watched the video for that alarming crash by Allan McNish at the Le Mans 24Hr. For those who haven't seen it, McNish clips another car and slides off the track and across the gravel trap, hitting the guard barrier with such force the car lifts into the air spinning as it dismantles itself.
     
    Such things can happen in motor races. It only takes a little nudge to spoil a cars balance. At high speed, reacting and coping with sudden unexpected forces tests the best racing driver and even they often cannot react quick enough.
     
    Walking back from Commonhead a few days ago I heard a horn sounding on the dual carriageway in the distance behind me. Probably someone moved across without careful observation. Actually that would have been much the same cause as the Le mans crash although in this case no more than tempers were frayed.
     
    Then a bunch of cars passed me. The dual carriageway is speed restricted these days but no-one seems to have told the driver of a silver Ford Focus. He was determined to push through the knot of cars come what may. Again he blasted his horn, squeezing between vehcles moving at the speed limit with very little margin for error.
     
    Now I do admit I've driven cars speedily in my younger days, but never like that! If the road is blocked, it's blocked. Actually it does remind me of one time when I drove into Wales for a day out in the Black Hills. On a nearly empty dual carriageway I overtook a slower car properly and and at legal speed. A BMW behind me decided he wanted to get by. With a low sun blinding my mirrors I had to be a little patient before pulling back into the slow lane - didn't want to cause an accident - but the BMW pushed past me on the right virtually scraping the central barrier.
     
    Bearing in mind what I saw in that visddeo, it's a bit thought provoking how a little impatience can create dangerous situations.
  13. caldrail
    For the last couple of days the weather has been interesting. One minute the sun is out and everyone is relaxed. The next a massive spread of towering grey and white cumulus unleashes rainfall on the unsuspecting. I had to shelter in a doorway two days ago while one downpour opened up. Not only rain, but hail mixed in. Ten minutes later the clouds drifted away to reduce someone else to a drowned rat. Now I can go about my business again, safe in the knowledge that my school swimming certificate isn't required.
     
    More Parking Costs
    While Swindon experiments with cheaper parking (about half price if the report I saw is correct), there's a welsh town that took the step of getting rid of their traffic wardens, admittedly because the of cuts in services. Now thee's chaos as drivers park anywhere and for as long as they want, causing frustration and punch-up's as people cope with random parking.
     
    The welsh townsfolk want some order restored to their car infested borough. Perhaps Swindon could send them some of ours?
     
    Have Some Turkish Delight
    One of the treats we get in England is Turkish Delight, a sort of sweet purple gel encased in chocolate. Yum. My boss has returned from a holiday in Turkey (Mrs Boss insisted on going abroad) and brought back a colourful box full of Turkish Turkish Delight.
     
    Firstly, it looks nothing like the picture on the box lid. Secondly, it tastes a bit bland, if pleasant nonetheless. Thirdly, everyone keeps asking me if I want another one. No, I've eaten loads of them already and I still prefer the english stuff.
     
    Come to think of it, we only started getting rain after my boss came back from holiday. That box has altered our climate!
  14. caldrail
    Time to take Ol' Reliable down from his perch on the kitchen surface. As microwaves go it was a simple beast. Put your food in, select a cooking time... Three minutes?... Yes, let's try three minutes. If I see steam building up I know it's time to cut the power early. How simple is that? No complicated programming or indeed any intrinsic knowledge of cooking required. Just hot food, on demand.
     
    There can be no sentimentality in the cutthroat competition of consumer electronics. Ol' Reliable has served his time and the gleaming replacement awaits it's chance to shine, and very impressive it looks. Oh... Hang on... This has loys of heiroglyphs all over it. Ahhh, now, you see, this might be a bit more complex. Time then to swallow my pride and read the instruction manual. Please don't tell anyone I did that. Men aren't supposed to read instrucion manuals. It's why army NCO's have to shout at recruits you see.
     
    The list of do's and don'ts is a bit alarming. Apparently I can wreak havoc if the microwave is not used properly. I stand a real risk of being crispy fried, mutated, or spending the rest of my life glowing a shade of neon green. Okay. I get the message. Surely somewhere in the packaging is a rotating amber beacon to fix to the roof so that everyone within cooking distance of the kitchen is alert and stands well back.
     
    Don't laugh. This device is the most powerful microwave I've ever come across. It probably registers on orbital satellites searching for astronomical anomalies. So if you're a professional astronomer and you can't figure out that strange blip on the screen - Sorry, I was hungry. It isn't proof of intelligent life on other planets. So if you've already made that hysterical phone call to the President, you might want to start thinking about a career break.
     
    Well, no point being afraid of it. Switch on - and the machine gives me a cheerful bleep to tell me that it's primary defence mechanisms are armed and awaiting the ignition code. Put my food in... Now what buttons do I press? I have a horrible feeling this microwave was designed for people who know what they're doing in the kitchen. Let's not get clever. Tune the power down to what Ol' Reliable was and try... Three minutes? Yes. Let's try three minutes...
     
    Wait For It... Wait For It...
    The three minutes went by and no steam rose from the plate. With my former oven, that meant it was still cold. Yet when I try this one I find... The food has been thoroughly re-cooked to the point of being completely inedible. Since there's no Lady Rail to shout at me for being a klutz, I have no choice but to curse and pick up the instruction manual again. Somewhere in this document is the secret of succesful cooking...
     
    No. This is too hard. Looks like it's a takeaway tonight then. Am I already too old to operate consumer electronics successfully? No, I can't accept that. It's too much of a blow to my self worth. I'll figure the microwave out eventually. Therefore I've set the scheduled date for completion of this goal to December 2012.
     
    Cheap Parking
    Just lately there's been a billboard outside local newsagents proclaiming that the council are planning cheap car parking. Can you imagine that? Obviously since no-one survives parking in Swindon anymore, no-one stops to shop. The other day I was at the check-out of the supermarket when the lady behind the till looked outside and mentioned that some person was about to get booked by a warden.
     
    Funny that. Cars used to be a status symbol, now it's a ststus symbol if you can park safely.
     
    In the meantime, roll up, roll up, get your car parking spaces here. Kids at half price. All day family specials. Open all weekend. See real wild traffic wardens prowling in their natural enviroment (Please do not feed).
  15. caldrail

    Afflictions

    By caldrail,

    As weekends go, this was not a good one. For once monday morning has come as something of a relief (How often do you hear that?). The source of my agony isn't anything to do with the usual gripes. There was no hassle with benefits, noisy neighbours, or things that go bump in the night. It was instead my own fault.
     
    Always cook your food properly. How often have I heard that? Normally I do of course, but the exotic flavoured chicken dish I spotted in the supermarket was too good to miss and perhaps I wasn't all that careful. I mean, we all cut corners don't we? Go on, admit it, you do. Anyway I did and suffered a spot of what might well have been salmonella poisoning. There was quite a nasty fever which has thankfully subsided by now, although I'm still suffering mild diarrhea.
     
    Not only is the experience incredibly uncomfortable, it also renders you exhausted every time you lift a finger. So naturally when my microwave decided not to play anymore I had no choice but to pop down the road to the local domestic hardware store and - gulp - purchase another. It was then I discovered how weakened i was. Microwave ovens aren't hugely heavy as such provided you don't have to carry them seven hundred yards. I made it uphill with three rest stops and under the circumstances consider that an achievement. Now please, just leave me alone - I want to drop into a chair and rest...
     
    A Different Affliction
    I read this morning of a tragic case where an online-game obsessed teenager killed a young girl to obtain cash to feed his habit. Immediately there are calls to ban the game and statements that games are bad for you. No, they aren't, it's addiction that's bad for you.
     
    There's a chap I used to work with who's addicted to bingo. Although on a good wage, he never has any money to spend, because he fritters it away on crossing numbers off on a card, hoping that he at last will be the one to shout "House!" and walk away with a few quid.
     
    I honestly confess I'm an avid games player, within certain boundaries. Why not? It passes the time when I'm not busy. Then again, part of my motives for using this software is to add to it. These days it's common to find a cottage industry of talented people creating 3D models and textures to extend the gameplay. I find that an interesting and creative hobby albeit a little frustrating at times.
     
    Despite growing up with Tom & Jerry cartoons, years of destroying countless alien and demonic invasions on a computer, and maybe the odd game of Dungeons & Dragons (Be honest - you haven't lived if you haven't), I have not felt compelled to end someones life for another few minutes of pleasure. Most of us don't. Sadly though you will always find people who become too attached to gaming because it allows them to escape the reality of their own mundane or worthless existence.
     
    No-one can use these games as an excuse. Nor is some infernal power to blame. We make our own evil.
     
    Please Excuse Me
    I'd love to stop and type more, but my bowels are sending warnings that should never be ignored under any circumstances. Must... clench... buttocks...
  16. caldrail

    My Name Is Lord

    By caldrail,

    I can't tell how how pleasant a day it is right now. Bright sunshine and a cool breeze. Even the mood is relaxed as I go about my business among the throngs of people feeling exactly the same way as I do. Okay, I avoided the marching band, but hey, each to their own.
     
    The museum has been unusually busy too. Paying customers? Whatever next? Asking that question was my mistake. For those who've ever watched the comedy series My Name Is Earl, Karma is alive and well outside of California too.
     
    Karma never misses a trick. Unable to blow a winning lottery ticket out of my hand for asking dumb facile questions, or have me mown down by a passing saloon car and thus sent to hospital to think about my place in the universe and how to be a better person, it instead created a problem for the guy who runs the job club. So he's not in today.
     
    Most of the time being Lord Caldrail isn't a problem. Even yesterday a very polite lady phoned me about a vacancy I applied for and asked me if she needed to call me by my title. Bless. Course you do dear - although I was equally polite and told her 'Caldrail' was sufficient.
     
    Unfortunately, some of the time you need to do stuff. Laurence Olivier (as "Crassus") said it best in the 60's film Spartacus - "The problem with being a patrician is that sometimes you're obliged to behave like one".
     
    So Karma arranged for me, as the senior unemployed noble, to run the job club today and cope with computer illiterates and other disadvantaged jobseekers. My name is Lord.
     
    What's In A Name?
    It's a funny thing really. My Employment Mentor did her level best to persuade me that using my title was not helping my job search. I knew she was wrong of course. Half the time it seems the title wasn't even noticed at the top of my CV. But it was nice that one job agency rang me and confirmed that the title got me noticed.
     
    I knew I was right all along. Thanks, Karma.
  17. caldrail

    The Morning After

    By caldrail,

    My usual Monday ritual begins at the Job Centre. Walk in, pass by the swarm of security guards as they appraise me for terrorist capability, and ascend the steps to my assigned floor where I sit and wait for an interview... And wait... This appears to be the latest wheeze designed to catch me out. No searching the database for vacancies, just sign and go after a long wait. Presumably this will lull me in to a false sense of laziness.
     
    "Sorry to keep you waiting." The gentleman said as he led me to his desk.
     
    That's okay. I'm getting used to it.
     
    Not A Fluffy Add-On
    Cameron is thumping his fist and telling us all that his vision of a 'Big Society' is not a fluffy add-on. Correct it isn't. It's a slogan, designed to inspire some sort of response from the apathy that is british life. There's a sort of messianic quality to this sort of politics. It becomes a sort of religious sermon. After the disappointments of this weekend I have to ask myself whether politics and religion are any different. Both promise much and fail to deliver. So without any real policies and ideas to make Britain a better place, Cameron tries to get us to do it for him.
     
    In fact, I qualify as one of Camerons zombies, rising from the grave to work again. Come to think of it, zombies get a raw deal. I mean, all the films and television shows portray them as evil mindless killers hell bent on world domination. Most of the zombies I know have lost all sense of purpose. Some drift into a very real zombie-hood. Some drift into a dark and mysterious lifestyle that the government agencies hunt down and destroy.
     
    Me? I'm still trying to push the coffin lid up through the dirt. After all, I'm not a fluffy add-on either, despite the opinions of some zombies in my area. I have accrued years of experience of groaning and smelling badly in public places. But you see, in this cut throat world of cataclysmic change, it's the fluffy add-on security blanket that people want and need.
     
    Jesus Is A No-Show
    Hands up anyone who got raptured this weekend?... No, not sex with the missus, I mean vanishing into thin air leaving behind all your worldly goods. No-one? No-one at all?
     
    They say you shouldn't mock the afflicted. My horoscope for today says I'm putting other peoples needs to the fore, and that I should waste no more time with dogs barking up the wrong tree. I'd be happy to if they'd stop barking at me.
  18. caldrail
    Today is not a good day. And the subject of my woe? That's an interestng question in itself. It ought to be about my car, the Eunos Cabriolet slowly disintegrating with a little help from a vandal or two. Reason being that it's gone. Vanished. Disappeared.
     
    I mean, did someone ctually bother to steal it? You couldn't just drive it away. But gone it most certainly has, snatched away more or less from under my nose yesterday afternoon.I only realised it was gone late into the evening. I doubt it was stolen to be used. Maybe the alloy wheels paid for a snort of suspicious substances? Who knows?
     
    One has to wonder at the attitude of the police. Frequently they tell us to report crime and be proactive in preventing it, yet the response I get is baffling. Last night, as I attempted to call the local police station, the officer I spoke suggested I investigate the crime myself. He seriiously said that, though I should point out that policemen are notorious in Britain for taking the mick out of the public in this way when it suits them.
     
    "There you are, see?" He prodded me, "You do have lines of enquiry."
     
    Oh? Is that so? Can you imagine how successful I'm going to be at solving the Case of the Missing Eunos? All I'll get is mystified looks and shrugs. So why the self-help course from PC Plod? Was he in a bad mood that night? Am I on some list of people to send on wild goose chases? Was it my own sorry fault for purchasing a slightly sporty car in the first place? Or does standard policy in dealing with worthless dole claimants render us ineligible for receiving the benefits of law enforcement? Goood grief, is this some covert attempt by our local sheriff to run me out of town?
     
    I should be worried. Instead I'm shaking my head.
     
    Tackle The Metal Thieves
    Not all bad news it seems. Todays local newspaper tells me that police are determined to catch metal thieves. The theft of metals, including lead, copper pipes and cables, remains a concern throughout the county and can have a significant effect on homeowners, businesses, schools,, places of worship, and public buildings.
     
    Hmmm... Seems not all policemen have been reading their emails.
     
    It'll Get Better
    the current catchphrase is regeneration. Everything about Swindon is regeneration these days. backers of all these developments are proudly telling us how great it will be in the future. Except... It won't... Because Swindon still has the same thieves in afterward.
  19. caldrail

    Bruised Ego's

    By caldrail,

    I woke this morning to discover that bruises have a life of their own. Sounds strange? Well, the bruise obtained in my argument with a door the day before has now migrated from a large lump over my eye to a black ring around it. Oh no. I have a black eye. I look like like I've done ten rounds with Mike Tyson, though in all fairness, experts would probably note I only have one bruise thus did not last beyond one punch. Doors are tough opponents.
     
    What bothers me though is that I nearly achieved a fifty year unroken record for not getting a black eye. Now look. I'm the same as everyone else, except that I wasn't drunk when it happened.
     
    Will They Or Won't They?
    The tension was mounting. Would the department store ring me or not? Would I be offered a fast paced and rewarding career in furniture removals, or be cast aside as a worthless loser by high street consumerism?
     
    This is nailbiting stuff. A failure brings a risk of further humiliation from the Job Centre, who have already sent me another accusation that I didn't apply for an offered vacancy. They don't ask whether you applied or not. The office have no record of it, so you haven't. Please grovel, apologise, and make some useless explanation before they decide to stop your money.
     
    They've done this sort of thing before. No matter. The form is sent off, along with evidence of application and one of ny trademark 'irate citizen' letters. Actually, humour aside, this sort of things bothers me immensely. English law is supposed to based on the principle that you're innocent until proven guilty. Apparently no-one told the Department of Work & Pensions about that.
     
    tThe Finale To Caldrails Big Interview
    The votes are in, the phone lines are closed, and now the golden envelope is passed to be read out in front of the audience... Todays winner of Department Store Recruit of the Year 2011 is.... Not me. Not invited to the induction. Do not pass Go, do not collect
  20. caldrail

    Oops And Ouch

    By caldrail,

    Time for another health check this morning. The slightly confused nurse asked me what my appointment was for. I told her it was for another blood test.
     
    "Who put you forward for that?" She enquired. You did, three months ago. At least my memory isn't failing. Then again, it never pays to upset a nurse. She brought out her needle and loomed menacingly over me as she strapped my arm down.
     
    This won't hurt a bit....
     
    Oh To Heck With It
    The burned out shell of the Locarno, most recently a nightclub in a victorian merchant house, was touted as part of an italianate development to improve the Old Town enviroment. Trouble is, no-one can think of what to use the Locarno for. So they're thinking of demolishing it.
     
    Use it or lose it. That's Swindon.
     
    Hot Tip of the Week
    If anyone is tempted to find a new and inventive method of using a door, you might like to know that I attrempted the "Whoops I've tripped and headbutted the door" method this morning. So using the door handle is still the most efficient and pain free means of access.
     
    If anyone wants visual confirmation of my results, I have a big bruise over my left eye and no, the nurse didn't do it.
  21. caldrail
    It might be sunny out there, but what a chilly morning. A brief stroll through the park today was a bitter briefer than I anticipated. More like a brisk stroll.
     
    I notice the lake is lower than usual. That gravel beach is exposed again. of course the birds love it, it allows them to get in and out of the water easily and somewhere to sleep on dry land away from the footpath inhabited by loud drunken human beings.
     
    Except for a solitary canadian goose who seemed very keen to find someone with breadcrumbs on offer. Too early in the morning matey. Sorry. The old ladies aren't out of bed yet. But sadly my superior human communicative capability doesn't include making this clear to the deluded animal.
     
    Ooops!
    Animals are brilliant. They really are. Gibbons and their frantic split second accurate gymnastic chases. Orang-utangs and their lazy acrobatic skill. Human beings and their alcoholic meanderings. Or birds, with grace and style in conquering the skies.
     
    Except... There was this one crow this morning. It swooped past me toward a willow tree overhanging the lake and when it tried to alight upon a branch, it didn't, basically. The clumsy bird vanished into the foliage in a sudden flurry of feathers and disturbed vegetation. Ooops. Let the side down there, a little bit. Even I made better landings than that in my flying days. Then again, I generally avoided the trees.
     
    Now... About Your Shotgun...
    It never pays to make a flippant jest in front of a claims advisor. Trust me, they have no sense of humour whatsoever, and will interpret everything you say as a declaration of intent.
     
    So at my latest job searching interview the lady glanced up from her hotes and asked "So you want an ADR for your Shotgun License?"
     
    Erm... Pardon? I don't have a shotgun license. I don't need a shotgun license. I have no legal purpose to buy and keep a weapon on my premises. Weapon ownership is specifically excluded by my letting agreement.
     
    I would then be interviewed by police officers seeking to assure themselves that I was a responsible mature sane individual with correct secure storage for legal weaponry.
     
    "I see Sir, and why do you require a shotgun license?"
     
    My claims advisor thought I wanted one. it's tough getting a job out there you know...
     
    Wow. That's going to impress them. ADR for Shotgun License cancelled. Must remember to keep a straight face next time I sign on...
     
    Meanwhile, Back At The Programme Centre
    At last I'm back in a warm office with all day to get on with my jobsearch. As it turns out, a chap is sat next to me and since his english isn't too good, he's latched on to me as his assistant in wading through the rituals of using computers.
     
    "I am ver sorry to get in your way" He apologised very politelly. Don't worry mate, I have to wait for a phone call anyhow. "But I need to upload my CV. I have been told to make CV. Now I must upload it to this company"
     
    Yeah, I sort of know what you want. Okay, finish your CV... Done it?... No, finish it off... Yes... Now you need to save it.... No, the other one... That's right... Now type in the filename...
     
    "They what? Filename?"
     
    Yes. Filename. So you can recognise your file, like 'My Name CV' or something.
     
    So he typed mynamecv and saved it. Oh well. At least he listened to me.
  22. caldrail
    Another blow to my individuality stares me in the face this morning. In my emails is a reply to a job application which says my attempt to persuade a certain job agency that I would like to be put forward for this particular role is now considered spam.
     
    If that doesn't confirm what an obstacle to finding a job the employement agnecies are, what is? So many vacancies are now exclusively in the hands of these agencies who frankly worry more about their contracts than their customers. I hate agencies. Utterly. Modern slave traders.
     
    On The Plus Side
    What a nice day. Sunshine, blue skies, everyone relaxing before the big wedding tomorrow.
     
    Except I have to visit the Job Centre and be interviewd by Customer Compliance. Again. But lets not worry unduly. After I've been savaged in a life or death struggle with a claims advisor, I have the prospect of a long walk to look forward to, so I can enjoy the bright sunny weather.
     
    And pay the postage on a letter the postman wouldn't put through my door.
  23. caldrail
    Something's wrong. I know something is wrong. Part of me thinks this might be paranoia, yet I cannot escape the evidence of the light through the bedroom curtains. It looks distinctly un-sunny. Oh no!
     
    My worst fears were confirmed as I glanced bleary eyed out the back window. A grey, overcast day, with a sombre mood. How strange! Normally it rains on a Bank Holiday Monday but all we got was blistering sunshine. What it must have been like trapped in a traffic jam with a family of bored kids whilst slowly melting in your five-star safety rating oven on wheels is anyones guess. Sounds like my idea of hell.
     
    How To Enjoy The Royal Wedding
    Of course the reason that our sunny weather is evaporating and normal dreary dampness restored is because of the Royal Wedding. What national event in Britain could possibly take place without a deluge?
     
    Just now I looked at a news item that tells the world where to enjoy the Royal Wedding. The list of places was predictable and uninspired, being restricted to public parks, medieval castles, or stood with all the other punters along the route. Failing that of course there's always YouTube. The royal family have booked a page to delight us all with talking corgi's and stumbles.
     
    I think we need to show more imagination as a country. Surely there's more exciting and interesting places to watch the wedding from? Certainly not afghan prisons, as the timely escape of Al Qaida inmates shows. Certainly not Ireland, with dissident terrorists plotting to reduce the wedding to the status of a war crime.
     
    I know. Let's not watch it at all and go instead for a holiday in some remote exotic locale? After all, with everyone converging on London for the practice of the Queens Funeral, surely there's some good deals going down at travel agents?
     
    Departing Live
    As if the Royal Wedding wasn't bad enough, I see there's plans to show a man dying live on television. Please forgive me for being a bit of a party pooper here, but I really do have better things to watch.
  24. caldrail

    Sun And Stars

    By caldrail,

    "Just like being on holiday" observed a shaven haired monster of a man sat with his family on the streetside tablle under a cafe awning. "Swindon On Sea".
     
    He's right. There's a huge crowd of people milling around aimlessly for no other reason than aimlessly milling around. Come on people, do something! There's shops all around you. Stop obstructing the pavements with aimless miling and buy stuff. Save the economy and create new job opportunities for me to apply for.
     
    The Bike Sheds
    I was right too. I knew I would get slapped for being slow off the starting blocks with last weeks job search and sure enough my mentor at the programme centre took me to task for my unmobile phoning style. At least she was nice about it. She is quite a nice lady, bless her, but whereas she can spot minute grammatical errors at three hundred paces, she does have slight gaps in her education.
     
    I noticed a vacancy for a bike-hut mechanic. Someone actually gets paid to build and repair those things? Oh, I mused aloud, I suppose it has some perks, especially with the opposite sex.
     
    "Why's that?" My mentor asked me.
     
    What? You never had bike sheds when you were at school?
     
    "I never used bike sheds" She commented with a look of confused innocence. Why am I not suprised to hear that?
     
    The Planet Sun
    There was a news item on the web page about Stonehenge being an overrated tourist attraction. I mean, what do the public expect? Hordes of dancing dwarves sweeping majestically across Salisbury Plain? Guest appearances by has-been rock bands? And so the conversation got around to the inner mysteries of our most famous megalithic monument.
     
    "Stonehenge?" My mentor wondered, "Isn't that the one aligned with planets?"
     
    Not as far as I know. The sun and moon certainly.
     
    "But the Sun is a planet." She stated authoritively. Oh please! No, dear, it's a star, and I was eventually thrilled to discover that although she has stellar recognition difficulties, the time wated in class was not all in vain. She knows what a star is.
  25. caldrail
    A bright and early start for Caldrail this morning. My quest to discover the causes of my health issues now leads me on a major expedition into the countryside where Swindons hospital now resides. Of all the daft places to build one it's miles out on the fringe of wilderness. At least there's a footpath all the way there. Someone thought of that.
     
    The Great Western Hospital has attracted a poor reputation of late. As far as I could tell, the staff were efficient, courteous, and very helpful, pretty much what we expect the NHS to be. Luckily though I wasn't parking my car there. Now there's a bone of contention, with too few spaces charged enthusiastically, and I noticed the parking attendant eyeing me suspiciously as I walked past the bus stop. His laser rangefinder was locked on to me. Sorry mate, I'm walking.... Yeah yeah, next time, eh?
     
    Allow two hours for your appouintment, the letter said. I expected a chat with a doctor and a few simple tests. Instead I was poked, prodded, irradiated, and made to break sweat on a walking machine. "It's going to get faster... In ten seconds..." The nurse told me as I hung on for dear life wheezing and dripping with sweat. I'll bet she has a riding crop in her desk.
     
    However, it wasn't all bad news. Having pretty young nurses rub all sorts of exotic gels on my body is not entirely an onerous experience. Help... I'm sweating....
     
    Oh yeah. I'm nearly as fit as a fiddle. Apparently all I'm probably suffering from is aggravated middle age. So a job with NASA is still on then?
     
    it's A Hot Day
    No sooner had I recovered from exertions in the hospital than I had to walk home again, and the sun is extraordinarily warm today. Help... I'm sweating....
     
    It's A Hot Meal
    A quick pit stop at home before embarking on the next part of my busy day. Haven't got time to cook anything, so it's the left over chilli from the weekend sitting in my fridge. Gulp. Not sure if that's a good idea.... A few minutes in the microwave... Ping!... And now to torture my tase buds with exotic spices the likes of which have ne'er been swallowed before.... Help... I'm sweating...
     
    Meanwhile, Back At The Programme Centre
    Oh heck... I've got jobs to find and so little time left to apply for them before the centre closes for the afternoon. Help... I'm sweating....
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