Jump to content
UNRV Ancient Roman Empire Forums

caldrail

Patricii
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    6,246

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    145

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Oh please don't sulk....

    By caldrail,

    My trusty motorcar decided to have a sulk yesterday. I finished breakfast, locked up the house, and walked down to the car to go to work. It wouldn't let me in. The door was jammed solid. I cursed, I begged, I pulled the handle in a frantic tantrum. No, the car isn't talking to me. Can't get in the other side either, the cockpit is too cramped. So I call the breakdown people. They were very sympathetic and promised someone would turn up in an hour. He nearly made it too, despite a bad car crash elsewhere on the Great Western Way and the resulting gridlocked traffic. Needless to say, after some fettling from a gentleman far more skilled in talking to cars than me, the door opened.
     
    UT strode into the yard as soon as I showed up.
     
    "Come on Alfie!" He shouts. Alfie? Since when was I called Alfie? Never mind, there's no point arguing. I wonder what he wants?
     
    "Oi needs to get moi my van in, Alfie. 'As you got a key? You do don' you? Goes and get the key an' lets moi van in." UT as usual has such an air of command. He disappears through the premises of a neighbouring business to fetch his van.
     
    My mobile phone rings. Security has another van at the front gate with two parcels for us. I ask him to send the man round, but the old gent tells me the outer front gate is locked. Aw poo. Right then, I'll dump my bag in the office and its back through the Hangar to fetch the parcels. I open the Shed, and... What the **** is this? Somebody has deposited a large metal roadside map to an industrial estate! Well first things first...
     
    As I stride back across the front yard to the gatehouse the van is pulling away. With my parcels on it. Yes, he's going round the back with Mr Security to open the gates as he goes. A quick jog down the lane and I hitch a ride in the back of the parcel van. I forgot how bumpy this old back lane was, pot-holed concrete and eroded gravel. You will not believe how painful the corners of cardboard boxes can be when you're bouncing around in the back of a van. Anyway, nursing a few bruises, I manage to indicate where to drop the boxes. He's a pleasant character this driver.
     
    "Hope you didn't you get jolted around back there" He says in concern at my flustered face. Parcels duly delivered, he goes, and I turn to UT, newly arrived in his trusty flatbed. He looks at the metal roadside map. He looks at me.
     
    "Somebody must 'ave nicked this the uvver noight. Better run, Alfie.."
     
    I really have no idea if he's serious.... After some genuine heaving the map goes on the flatbed, followed by bits of metal tube. Isn't that the front gate barrier?
     
    "Somebody must banged into it last noight, Alfie. Made a roight mess of it they did...."
     
    AD arrives after a visit elsewhere. He greets UT in his usual disparaging manner, and the two senior citizens then proceed to have a mock fight. As usual, UT's superior strength and aggression win the day, and I console my boss over his defeat.
     
    Sulk of the Week No, not my car, but SB, who is starting to feel the pressure of the impending move and whose patience is very fragile. He 's been very comfortable in that darkened Hangar for many years, and really, having to deal with the outside world for the first time in a decade, its all proving a bit of a shock for him. Poor man. I'd help him but our relationship consists solely of glaring angrily at each other when we walk past. Has anyone got a home for a warehouseman? Well trained, barks at strangers, doesn't need much exercise, and would make a perfect pet for someone with the time and patience to provide a good home. Remember, a warehouseman is not just for christmas...
  2. caldrail
    There are certainties in life. Day turns t night. Summer turns to winter. Bills arrive through the postbox. Nothing to watch on television. Luckily life isn't always that dull. Like yesterday. What a strange kind of evening.
     
    To begin with the weather was fabulous. Another very warm day requiring liberal use of electric fans and cold drinks from the refridgerator. Despite this, the weathermen urged caution, because as the wise man knows, your typical briton has a memory span of three days and can't remember what the weather was before that. I glanced out the front window and beheld a bank of ugly dark clouds hanging almost motionless above Swindon.
     
    From the back of the house a different vista appeared. The hazy sky was almost clear of any cloud whatsoever. Bright sunlight warmed the scene, and also sparkled off the rain that fell from the edge of the raincloud. Rainfall is usually a horrible experience. This was positively pleasant. You know what? Stuff the budget. I'm off for a takeaway.
     
    I decided to head up the hill for chicken and chips. I was in the mood for that. What I didn't expect among the pile of discarded domestic refuse that often litters the alleyway beside my home was a television, a big flat screen television leant against the soft furnishings and bedclothes. The local beggars seem to be doing okay. Shame they've got nothing to watch. I imagine the disappointment of discovering the lack of visual inspiration on the box inspired the owner to throw it away to begin with.
     
    Oh how I chuckled. Will I never learn? Because the worst was yet to come...
     
    Chicken And Chips Please
    After a stroll up the hill I arrived breathless at the takeaway. Ever since that old couple went off to retirement in Hong Kong you never see the same faces in there. It's almost as if the shop has become a training ground for chinese vendors of fish and chips.
     
    "Yes please?" The lady asked. They always smile. I suspect it has nothing to do with politeness, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt. Chicken and chips please.
     
    "You want chicken chow mein?"
     
    No. Not really. Chicken and chips. Good. That's sorted that. I sat down to wait which I have to admit can happen in any chinese takeaway if you're unlucky.
     
    "Thank you Sir." She called. Oh goodeee... My food's ready, except... What on earth is she serving me? A flat container in a plastic bag? Since when did chicken and chips get served like that? Has she sat on it? I looked gingerly inside and realised my piping hot chicken chow mein awaited my pleasure. No, no, no, I wanted chicken and chips.
     
    "Chow mein?"
     
    Chiiiiiikennnn... Annnnnd.... Chiiiiips.... Remember to shout louder. Their english isn't so good. She pointed at a menu to a set meal. Oh good grief no, what is going on here? Chicken and chips is simple. Just a normal bag of chips. Add a quarter of roast chicken. Every other fish and chip shop in the country can cope with an order like that. No, not the set meal version. How difficult does this have to be? One of her colleagues nodded and correctly confirmed what it was I wanted. Do I mind waiting? Why? Has she got a customer service lecture booked? No, I guess not...
     
    "Thank you Sir" She called again with another smile. What on earth is she offering me this time? Whatever it was, it didn't look like remotely like a mouth watering chip shop fest. It wasn't. It was set meal No.93. Chicken, chips (half portion), and peas.
     
    As I left I heard her colleague say "He won't be coming back."
     
    You know what? That option is definitely being considered. It would help if they understood what their customers wanted. What a rubbish takeaway that place has become. Oh dear. I seem to have told the whole world about it too.
  3. caldrail

    Fried Brains

    By caldrail,

    Yesterday was warm. Very warm. We brits aren't used to that level of warmness. Even hardened package holidaymakers were breathing out heavily and wiping sweat from their brow as they dragged their kids from one place to another. I had no choice but to drag myself.
     
    They do say that only mad dogs and englishmen go out in the mid day sun. Guilty. As I left the library after lunchtime to head for the shops, I crossed the triangular space where our centotaph stands. Standing in the shade of the trees was a small crowd of asians, doing nothing more than chatting to themselves and avoiding any need to sweat whatsoever, which is odd, because they were waiting for work to appear at the agencies that have their offices to one side.
     
    Predictably, the ordinary english blokes all venture forth in baggy shorts and adopt a sort of holiday demeanour, or at least, without the drunkness. Young adults wander around town dragging their 'dangerous dog' puppies with them as symbols of their... Erm... Somethingness.
     
    I do find it strange though that women in Britain always seem to tie their hair back in weather like this. They all wear sunglasses and all of them look completely identical, give or take a few pounds. It isn't like the beaches of Miami I saw portrayed on television, where every woman is young, individually pretty, wearing a tight swimsuit, and displays permed hair in wavy bucketloads that must have cost them a second mortgage or a night on the casting couch.
     
    It might not suprise you that I don't adopt the latest fashion. Mostly that's because I don't know what it is and wouldn't care less if I did. Some years ago I had to do one of those online character tests to see what my perfect career path would be. The end result of countless psychological profiling was that I was always destined to be a hat designer. Hat designer? Yesterday Miss R commented that despite my misgivings hat design relies on form and substance. Three dimensional awareness and.... Oh stop it. I have as much fashion sense as a french snail.
     
    The good news is that I have another psychological test to complete. The programme centre has decided that now I've been unemployed for more than three years, it's time to find out what I really ought to be doing to earn my money. With a bit of luck it'll suggest something fun, action packed, or interesting. Like the competitive world of hat design for instance. Is the government hiring spies in Swindon this year? What I would give to drive an Aston Martin with machine guns right now.
     
    When You're Ready...
    As soon as I opened the web page I recognised the test immediately. I did all this stuff back in november. It's all about ordering statements and choices in order of priority. From that the system can determine what sort of person I am. I'm amazed it doesn't ask for my star sign. Well, it's either this or a social gathering with Miss R. Which is the lesser evil?
     
    Very quickly I rediscover the numerative skills section. Accountants would love these questions. If country A uses 5,500MW of power derived from windpower which is expected to rise by 1.2% next year, and that windpower is 5% of the total generated power, determine the required rise in windpower for country C if that nation must generate twice the total power of country A and currently creates 3.8% of their total energy output from windpower..
     
    What? I don't understand the question. My brain is old and tired, incapable of solving deep mystical problems concerning international eco-friendly power distribution. There are twenty questions like this and I've probably only got another twenty years to live. There's a whole list of these questions for personality, literacy, spacial awareness, and some other stuff which could only be of use for those applying for jobs with NASA. Apparently I have one and a half hours to finish it. What is this, an astronaut application form?
     
    Buy A Chevvy
    Incredible. I've just seen a television advert for Chevrolet cars. In Britain? I didn't know our roads were straight enough.
     
    Doing My Bit
    Watching disabled ex-soldiers prepare themselves for an attempt on the Paris-Dakar rally brought mixed emotions to me. It's impossible not to be impressed by the determination of these guys to make new lives for themselves. It's impossible not be saddened by the sheer futility and waste of able bodied men ripped apart by hidden explosives.
     
    The strange thing was how useless I felt. Not out of any sense of being unable to wreak vengeance against the people who did that to them. Nor was it any misplaced sense of guilt that I wasn't there when it happened. It's that they're already beyond my help simply because of their own efforts. Pride can be a powerful motivation and too much help causes more damage than it alleviates.
     
    So where do I help a man brought low by a twist of fate? Some years ago I was standing at a bar enjoying the mood of the evening. The pub was packed out, the music loud, the bar staff frantically keeping their customers happy.
     
    A chap came in on a wheelchair. His was a lost cause. None of the bar staff could see him and I remember that sullen 'Why am I here?' look on his face. No. He had every right to enjoy a night out. I caught the attention of a barmaid and made sure he got the drink he wanted. It turned out he was a victim of a motorcycle accident, but we didn't dwell on misfortune. He genuinely brightened up with someone to talk to.
     
    It wasn't a huge gesture was it? Nothing heroic, nothing worthy of medals at Buckingham Palace or biography on the best seller list. But he went away happy. His sister thanked me for that a bit later. I'm proud to say I only did what I could.
  4. caldrail

    Selling Slaves In Swindon

    By caldrail,

    My search for gainful employment continues. Here in Britain we have job agencies, people who sell people to companies as employees. I don't know about you, but thats perilously close to slave labour in my view. However, the reality is that if I want a well paid job, then I'll probably have to do business with them. Then again there are job agencies and there are job agencies. Some inhabit plush air-conditioned office, others have small dingy first floor rooms with coffee making equipment that was declared military surplus in 1958. The first will expect you to be a hotshot executive able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, the second doesn't care as long as you can clean thirty toilets an hour. Take your pick.
     
    Funnily enough, I chose the former. My previous experience with the agencies in-between the extremes I described has not been outstanding, so perhaps I'll aim a little higher and see if appearances really do make a difference. So I wandered in, and the busy executive office was crammed full of shirts and ties. The lady on the reception politely asked me if she could help, and her professionalism allowed her to keep smiling when I said I wanted a job. "What sort of work are you looking for?" She asked.
     
    Well now. Warehousing, but I'm experienced in admin, I.T, and my last job was as a trainee manager. She beamed with delight. I wasn't a scruffy beggar after all, but a real person down on his luck. "Wait there, and I'll fetch someone to see you."
     
    Cheers, thanks. I waited for a while. They even asked me if I wanted a coffee. That never happened before. At last a young man, full of confidence and clearly someone used to dealing with Sir Alan Sugar introduced himself. He whisked me upstairs to a quiet meeting room for my interview, where I accentuated the positive. He very slyly asked me if I wanted some manual labour to tide me over. Ahhhh... no... you mentioned that other job that pays three times as much?
     
    Turned out the job was too far away, and since the car is immobile, that was that. But he promised to look further. Agencies always make that promise. I have noticed that unless they can fit you in right there and then, you get forgotten. So I went home, carrying the business card he gave me.
     
    Two months later, I rang him. Whats happening? Any jobs likely in the near future? "Oh... Yes... We have one. Why not drop by?"
     
    Excellent. I turned up for my appointment and was introduced to a young lady who would be conducting the interview. No offer of coffee I see... Having been dropped by the male executive, I was now at the level of a woman wearing leopard skin shoes. I answered the same questions as last time, and made the same replies. I suspect I'll get the same brush-off when they can't sell me, so what happens next? Am I to be interviewed by some blue rinse dragon with a cigarette hanging out her mouth asking if I can clean thirty toilets an hour?
     
    We shall see....
     
    Morale Boost of the Week
    The lady who ran the agency further down the road sighed. She looked me straight in the eye, and suggested I do bar work. In sheer frustration I thumped my forehead on the desk a few times, and she waited impatiently for me to leave. Same time next week? She gave me a brief acidic smile. You know, I do believe she's warming to me....
  5. caldrail

    Blue Skies

    By caldrail,

    Here we go then, monday morning. By the time I've posted this most people have alreadty had the bad news from their boss or failed utterly to get to work thanks to illness, car reliability, road maintenance, idiot drivers, or simply a desire to avoid monday morning at all. I'm not one for pulling 'sickies' but I know some people do. There used to be a guy at work who always seemed to phone in sick every friday. His boss realised quickly he was getting drunk on thursday evening with a paypacket in his hand. So he got every friday off unpaid, with moday to thursday thrown in as a bonus.
     
    That wasn't me, by the way.
     
    One Of Our Arrows Is Missing
    Over the weekend I looked out the back window as I often do when I want to get a breath of fresh air and save myself from tearing my hair out with yet another dispute over who whether me or my computor is in charge. Among the ragged grey and white clouds stretching toward the horizon I could see what looked like a trail of smoke from an air display somewhere. It was a curious omen because I later discovered the tragic news of a Red Arrows aircraft crashing after a display at Bournemouth.
     
    In my younger days the Red Arrows regularly got featured on the annual televised broadcast of the Farnborough Airshow. Raymond Baxter would provide the commentary in perfect queens english and at the end of the show he would say "And here come the Red Arrows..." It was expected. Part of British culture, in a way, but then people were more air-minded back then.
     
    I've only seen the Red Arrows live once during a Great Warbirds display at Wroughton in the nineties. The show had gone quiet and everyone knew they were arriving shortly. I happened to look over my shoulder and they they were, approaching low and fast across the english countryside before blasting overhead barely more two hundred feet over the audience before going into a low level routine that I have to say was incredibly impressive.
     
    Naturally I'm saddened that one highly skilled pilot has lost his life in the entertainment of the crowd and the advertisement of RAF flying skills. Things can happen very quickly in aviation especially when you're in a fast aeroplane. I've been lucky during my flying career. Although I've had close calls here and there, nothing happened that was actually serious. Only once did I wonder if I'd blown it spectacularly but as it transpired I got out of that predicament unscated . For some people though, luck runs out, and as my instructors used to impress upon me at every opportunity, low flying is inherently dangerous. They were right.
     
    Douglas Bader lost his legs before WW2 because he responded to a taunt and disobeyed orders regarding low flying and aerobatics in his Bulldog fighter. It is ironic that someone whose inspirational determination to get back in the cockpit was the result of his own foolishness, but I can't take his personal courage away from him. I also remember a tale about two typhoon pilots who decided to indulge in a mock dogfight during a training mission. Being competitive types, neither would give in, and they ended up chasing each other between trees with engines bellowing, completely unable to grasp the risks they were putting themselves in.
     
    I'm not suggesting for a moment that the pilot at Bournemouth was doing anything foolhardy, being a professional and highly trained air force officer in the modern safety minded world. Flying isn't actually dangerous as such. Rather it's a very unforgiving enviroment when something goes horribly wrong. That so few accidents happen regarding aeroplanes is a testament to the efforts made by authorities, air traffic control, engineers, and those very same pilots themselves to prevent disasters. I remember an in-cockpit film of a test pilot trying out a new helicopter, commenting on why he was constantly looking out the window rather than concentrating on the camera and his commentary. He explained "There are three things I want to take care of. An expensive aircraft, my passengers, but most of all, me."
  6. caldrail

    Worser And Worser

    By caldrail,

    At first glance you would think this was a summers day, The sky is blue, the sun is shining. It just doesn't feel warm though. There's an uncomfortable chill in the air which is quite unseasonal. Of course this good weather only arrived earlier, as I notice the ground was damp from overnight rain.
     
    There are of course other things putting a damper on todays fine weather. You might describe it as doom and gloom, at least potentially. Firstly there's an increase in energy bills coming our way again, just in time for winter. Hot water is becoming something of a luxury for me. Might have to invest in some thermals. But it won't make any difference because the gas company will still charge me nearly as much claiming it's the fee they require for ensuring the gas is connected.
     
    And it gets worse. Now the government are seeking savings from councils, probably to pay for the policemen they can't make redundant after those riots caused a political furore, which means that like around 16,000 other recipients of Council Tax Benefit, I might be facing extra bills this year. If the rioters or burglars don't get you, the council will.
     
    With a bit of luck I'll have enough left to eat. I've been living on sandwiches this past week as it is. Oh yeah... I forgot... Food prices are rising.
     
    Think About It
    I see IBM are claiming they've invented a computer chip that learns for itself. That's just great. Next year all cars will be fitted with back seat drivers that really will know better than you. And instead of just not doing what you want in dumb insolence, your desktop computer will be able to tell you what an ignoramus you are. I can't even begin to tell you what I think those 'android' powered smart phones will be capable of.
     
    As an advance in technology it is fantastic. But, inexorably, we human beings strive to prove that science fiction was right all along. You don't believe me? Think about it. A machine does what we design or program it to do.
     
    Doom And Gloom of the Week
    Of course if I get a job all my prayers will be answered. That's what they tell me, though I do wonder if I might find my bills increase as well as my earnings. No matter, the government want me to work for a living so once again I trawl through the vacancy lists for something to get rejected for.
     
    "We found this vacancy for you" My advisor told me, shoving a piece of paper under my nose that has no contact information on it whatsoever. "Can you do that job?"
     
    What? Manual labour in a warehouse? Good grief I've had seventeen years of warehousing ranging from sweeping the floors to running the premises. I think I can manage a few more years of it. Hardly a challenge there.
     
    Well, I got the reply from the recruitment agency the other day. Not enough experience.
  7. caldrail

    Big Issues

    By caldrail,

    There's a lot of nuclear weapons out there. That probably won't suprise anyone, but so far, according to a documentary I saw last night, there are at least 23,000 warheads out there and probably more unaccounted for. America, Russia, Britain, France, Israel, China, India, Pakistan, and North Korea are countries known to have them. South Africa briefly built three before deciding such weapons weren't desirable, opting out of the big league by disassembling them.
     
    It's a chilling thought isn't it? Of course the documentary made a meal of it, scaring their viewers with advice from ex-CIA agents about the difficulties of stopping nuclear proliferation on the black market.
     
    There's nothing new in this threat of random destruction. I grew up during the Cold War with both sides ready to launch within minutes of the other making the wrong move. it so nearly happened. The 1961 Cuba missile crisis for instance, when both sides stared each other in the face.
     
    There was a moment in the 70's when a technical fault convinced senior russian officers that a first strike was in progress against them. A lowly lieutenant managed to restore commonsense before the soviets mistakenly responded in full.
     
    During the 90's the soviets wwere advised of a mundane missile launch off Norway by the Americans, and because the message hadn't reached the Kremlin, senior officers marched into Boris Yeltsins office asking for permission to respond. As it happened, this was a day when Yeltsin wasn't drunk.
     
    Finally, a failure of a small microchip caused the Americans to prepare for a retaliation strike. Mutally assured destruction was within minutes of actually happening.
     
    As if improvied explosive devices in afghanistan weren't enough of a worry. Al Qaeda have stated their intention to kill four million americans to 'even the score'. We used to say in the 80's how mad this all was. Where's the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament now? CND made a huge fuss back then, but why aren't they telling rogue countries and religious nutcases that nuclear weapons aren't as good as woolly hats and songs around a camp fire?
     
    Big Collisions
    I've seen the latest Hubble photographs of a pair of galaxies about to collide - or rather, about to collide 450 million years ago, because that's how long the light has taken to reach us. The same thing will happen to our galaxy eventually since Andromeda is speeding toward us. Don't hold your breath though. Might be a few billion years before both galaxies begin to coalesce.
     
    Nevertheless, that gives us time to organise efforts to prevent this calamity. So stock up on tents, gas stoves, woolly clothes, and join the Campaign for Galactic Avoidance. Stop this madness now!
     
    Protest of the Week
    Talking about daft protests, it seems the civil rights brigade have decided that sentences handed out to rioters in the wake of disorder in Britain more than a week ago are too severe. It seems these poor helpless rioters are being given draconian sentences for a little bit of fun here and there.
     
    Yes. I know. Hanging's too good for them. I've heard the expected calls for National Service to be brought back, and even some suggestions of adopting the american 'three strikes and you're out' rules, which is ordinarily unthinkable in kind caring britain.
     
    You know what? I don't care what happens to these louts and looters. They can moan about how bad society is toward them, but if they can't get on with society and observe its laws, what in the name of all that's sensible do they expect?
     
    I don't suppose Australia is still open for business, is it? Can you imagine Mad Max in british yoof style? Look, those survivalists have got petrol! Wicked! Lets joyride our stolen cars around their camp!
  8. caldrail

    Seasonal Grief

    By caldrail,

    You would never know it was August. It's as dull and chilly as late Autumn. Not only that, with our recent strong winds, some trees are convinced that Summer is over and are shedding brown leaves everywhere. You feel like shouting "No! Stop it!" but you just know the trees aren't going to listen to some gesticulating and noisy ape descendant.
     
    'C' That?
    Remember the Sinclair C5? Those of you who can't, it was a sort of sports model mobility buggy. available in any colour as long as it's white. Except they were never entirely mobile. Not really a success for a vehicle intended to redefine urban transportation.
     
    When these came out years and years ago, I only saw one man brave enough to drive it on the public road. On my way to work there was a traffic jam, and the vehicle causing it was a man who was without doubt the advance guard of the eco-car movement. If only he could have advanced faster.
     
    Within a few days he'd given up, his morale crushed by lines of amused and irate motorists, not to mention his first encounter with rainfall. That really was the last time I ever saw one in action.
     
    Not any more. Last night some youngster was pedalling one around the area. A new generation has discovered the joys of green... I mean, white, motoring. Despite all the criticism our education system has received over the last twenty years, this young man has realised that obstructing the free flow of irritable motorists is a dumb idea, and prefers to send pedestrians flying in all directions as if he was riding an aerodynamic three wheeled skateboard.
     
    We used to blame Clive Sinclair. Now we could blame Bart Simpson. On the other hand, we might just as well blame the ecological movement for making people think the C5 was a good idea after all. Then again, the young driver might quickly discover he hasn't addressed the second major flaw in the C5 design.
     
    Riding On The Pavement
    Maybe it was high spirits. Maybe he was just showing off to his friends. Maybe he was jealous of my new
  9. caldrail

    If You Want To Know

    By caldrail,

    What's going on out there? This is a big old planet, however small Ryanair makes it seem. Time then to switch to Auntie Beeb, Britains most watched news channel, and check out world affairs unfolding from the comfort of my comfy chair.
     
    More huffing and puffing about the US debt crisis. Apparently politicians are under pressure to find a solution, which is pretty much what ours do for a living, so obviously crises aren't as common across the Pond. Come on guys, sort yourselves out, we want something interesting to see.
     
    What else? Well, more huffing and puffing from british politicans over the question of health funding, a very fertile subject of debate and scandal going back decades. Come on guys, sort it out. Or do politicans deliberately leave things unsorted to justify their jobs? Certainly hasn't helped them in Syria where government crackdowns have probably killed 130 people or more.
     
    Is that it? Pretty much. There were a few time fillers like the news that UK drivers applying online for licenses must state whether they wish to become organ donors, or a wall mosaic buried in Rome since the time of Nero has been uncovered. Is it just me or is the british television news a tad boring? They seem utterly unable to find anything interesting and instead focus endlessly on yet more revelations, however minor, of the same old scandal that's been covered for a week or more. It feels as if our television news is planned ahead of time rather than reacting to events around the world with enthusiastic journalism.
     
    Time then to switch over to Russia Today. I do this occaisionally because I find it helps to see news from a different perspective, and in any case, I like to see somethiing different than our dour repititious analyses of debates and scandals. And what a difference!
     
    I watched a fascinating piece about how Russia is planning to get rid of many legal requirements regarding private flying in the former Soviet Union. The reporter showed a mass of files required to operate aeroplanes over there. Even transcripts of conversations between mechanics and pilots are required to be recorded, even if they happen to be the same guy. Hilarious. Quite an eye opener too, in case anyone is currently getting fed up with JAA rules for flying in Britain.
     
    Also in Russia is news of devastation caused by tornado's. It isn't the just the US that suffers these problems. Mount Etna is erupting again and raising concerns. Serbians are blocking NATO convoys for some reason. Another bomb blast in Southern Afghanistan. A shocking report that SS veterans are gathering in Estonia to celebrate their nazi past. Oh, and there's a debt problem in the US. Join the queue. Greece is way ahead of you. I know. RT has reported on it.
     
    The most incredible report was about Belgium, considered by the british to be the most boring country ever recognised. But no! It's in danger of splitting apart. They've had no effective national goverment for fourteen months. France has already prepared the way to accept Wallonia as its 28th province. Astonishing that something like that would happen in this day and age, and a possible harbinger of further seperatism that could affect even the United Kingdom.
     
    Do you see what I mean? Colour, variety, and some incisive enquiry into what is going on out there. We're all conditioned to believe that the Auntie Beeb is incontestable, and given Russia's penchant for selective reporting in past decades, there will always be a suspicion that not everything is quite what they say it is. But at least I feel there is a world out there having watched it. The Beeb seem to have forgotten it.
     
    Mission Impossible
    My mission, should I chose to accept it, is to attend an interview with Miss R at the Programme Centre. She's suspected of being part of a gang of work programmers preying on innocent jobseekers. Worse still, she's believed to be a trained dancer and is wanted in connection with offers of social engagements. As it happens, we've met before, and yes - she did invite me along to a social gathering.
     
    I have to admit I was pleasantly suprised. Not only has she learned to cope with her former clumsiness, she's improved her image to the point where her offers of social gatherings start to sound interesting. Yes - she did invite me along to a social gathering.
     
    Hey... Does anyone know what this burning fuse is attached to?
     
    This could be tricky... Well, I'm not worried too much, because I know my affairs are too lowly for the BBC to fit into their busy news schedule. If I can just escape the notice of Russian journalists.... So this is all top secret. Careless talk costs lives.
     
    Oh who am I trying to kid? The Russians read everything of ours for decades.
  10. caldrail

    Feathered Friends

    By caldrail,

    I sat down last night to write up my thoughts for the day as I usually do. Most of it concerned the days odyssey into the wilds of Darkest Wiltshire, walking the hills and dales of the Marlborough Downs, documenting the variable weather and its obvious effect upon me. Truth is, what happened yesterday was something more important than a mere journal of yet another hike along familiar paths.
     

     
    Instead, it was two encounters with wild animals that made all the difference. Usually such meetings are very fleeting experiences as the animal makes a quick exit, more concerned with its own survival than anything that brought it there. There are occaisions when the experience is just as short but more intimate, something much deeper and more vivid. This sort of thing happens rarely, but regular readers of my reminisences might remember my encounter with a fox as I played truant from a school cross country run. Or before that, the robust gaze of a female black panther suckling her cubs at a wildlife park, impressing upon me the potential for violence within her.
     
    In each case there was for a short time an unspoken communication. You sense what the animal is thinking, it's character, and I'm pretty sure the animal senses who you are and your intent. It's a genuinely strange experience. Have you ever bumped into a stranger and felt you've known this person for a lifetime? The feeling is similar.
     
    Hello Mr Robin
    The long but gentle ascent of Smeathes Ridge is very wearing on the legs with a pack on your back, and having already spent hours walking southward on the old railway line I was in need of a rest. A farmhouse cafe was nearby. It seemed a good idea at the time. I must be honest, I'm not a person who needs much sophistication in life, however pleasurable it can be in small doses. So I opted for a cheeseburger and sat down on the wooden bench to enjoy my somewhat expensive meal.
     
    The little robin startled me by hopping on to the edge of the table beside me. I'm not used to small birds being that bold. Clearly it had designs on my food and stood there waiting hopefully for a chance to fly away with something. It cocked its head sideways, staring at me. It was happening. I knew this bird. A cheerful character albeit a cocky one.
     
    I moved too quickly and instinct took over. The robin retreated to the next table and sat down to wait patiently for some pickings off my plate. Sorry Mr Robin, I can't encourage you to hassle clients of the cafe. But nice meeting you all the same.
     
    Hello Mr Hawk
    There's a long cinder path leading down off the plateau that I sometimes use. After a distance the barbed wire fences are buried by lines of trees either side. Under one of those trees I became aware of a hearty birdcall above me. My attention was diverted from the approaching rainclouds and I looked up.
     
    There he was. A medium size hawk of some species I don't recognise. He looked down at me, making loud cries, spreading his wings as if it meant to display it's presence. Hello Mr Hawk. Why are you trying to attract my attention? Ahh, you're just fed up aren't you? You thought this would be a quiet spot and it turns out we humans use it a bit too much. Sorry about that.
     
    I don't know if the hawk actually understood my demeanour or simply got annoyed, but it decided to fly somewhere else anyhow.
     
    What To Make Of It?
    Our distant ancestors clearly evolved spiritual beliefs concerning animals that our archaeologists uncover on a regular basis, and such concepts are still present in the modern day if you search for them. I can see why they occur. Connecting with an animal of another species is something special, revealing something not only about the animal concerned, but also ourselves and our place in the natural order of things.
     
    If you have any religious beliefs, I daresay your answers must be apparent to you. I have my own answers. Not entirely religious ones either. Just an observation about an experience I shared with two wild birds that day.
     
  11. caldrail
    It seems the Norwich By-election was grabbing the media attention last night. For those confused by the subtleties and intricacies of British politics, a by-election is the one where you don't get to run the country, so quite why the Tories are making such a big deal of Chloe Smiths victory is beyond me.
     
    Newsnight, our regular evening current affairs program, ran last nights show asking 'How did the Labour Party lose the election?'. I already know the answer to that one, it's called the vote. Another thing that bugs me is why the Monster Raving Looney Party candidates are always so jolly when they've just been soundly thrashed by established parties full of bigger idiots than they are.
     
    I speak with some authority on the subject, having once been the drummer for Screaming Lord Sutch's party band (please think about that description), and that the singer of Red Jasper (remember them?) once tried to get his dog elected as a member of Parliament.
     
    Gordon Brown of course merely states that it was "Clearly a disappointing result". Certaintly was. Not a hint of scandal whatsoever. Dear me Gordon, you are getting lazy aren't you?
     
    Potential Scandal To Watch Out For
    Now here's a hot tip for those thinking about which issues are going to be the big scandals of the future. Check out the electrication of the Great Western main line between Swansea and London. The one that passes through Swindon. The government are authorising an upgrade to rail travel to the tune of one billion pounds. They tell us that electric trains will be cleaner, greener, meaner, and altogether better than heavy, dirty, smelly diesels. As it happens they might well be right, but do I really want to believe a Minister of Parliament?
     
    Stimulation
    On the way home from that hike I took the other day I dropped into a supermarket in Old Town. Not my usual haunt, but conveniently on the route home. One bottle of Red Rooster, one of those highly caffeinated stimulant drinks, this one pleasantly fruity and cheap. Oh come on, I'm not young any more, I need these little boosts of energy (Please note - this was not product placement).
     
    The lady on the till observed that "You look tired."
     
    Uhh... Yes.... It's a heavy pack. I've walked a long way. It's been warm and wet out there.
     
    "The army uses packs like that on assault courses." She told me. Actually she's wrong, they don't, mine is a civilian one in olive green, but there you go. I told her I was too old for that sort of thing. Hopefully she'll believe that. I was way too tired for anything else and given she was twice my weight and physically incapable of fashionable clothing, my chances of survival in hand to hand combat didn't look good.
     
    Injury of the Week
    My wanderings around the countryside sometimes leave me with the odd injury. Mostly it's nothing at all. The odd blister, scratch, or perhaps in the most rarest circumstance, a minor bruise. Usually it's sore shoulders and tired legs, both cured by a hot bath and an evening of rest and relaxation. Unfortunately the Wiltshire wildlife sometimes gets an opportunity to cause me harm and this time they did exactly that. Some sneaky insect has sucked blood out of my arm leaving me with a persistent itchy lump. Not the first time an insect has done that to me, but annoying nonetheless.
     
  12. caldrail

    Fantasy Island

    By caldrail,

    Today we discuss the subject of fantasy. I don't mean pictures of naked women in silly positions (though I imagine the people who like those sort of images rely on fantasy more often than not) nor getting dressed in medieval style clothes and running round ruined castles with rubber swords. No, I have other things in mind.
     
    In the wake of the shocking explosions in Norway, the media have been keen to show photographs of the perpetrator dressed like an all action special agent. It does illustrate his personality - even the psychiatrist reckons he's nuts - a sort of inner need to be something he wasn't. A fantasy in other words, one that went hand in hand with his extreme opinions and fertilised his acts of violence.
     
    At times I've been accused of being a fantasist. There are still some people, even now, whpo refuse to accept I once flew light aeroplanes or that Red Jasper existed as a hard workin' rock band. In the former case I have my licenses and log book. So that's real. In the second, it's my painful duty to tell you that yes, Red Jasper did exist, and we did subject most of Britain to our own brand or overly loud, overly fast, and over-rated folk-rock. Evidence? Some album sleeves and perhaps a few photographs lurking here and there. The camera never lies, does it?
     
    Some might question the difference between photo's of a saddo posing for his own satisfaction, or someone caught on camera doing what he actually did. however pointless or optimistic his efforts may have been. There is a difference between fantasy and reality there. The problem comes when we can't tell the difference. When we no longer realise that our own conception of the world around us is defined by our own desires. When we seek to recreate that fantasy by manipulating others to satisfy those desires with or without their consent.
     
    They say clothes maketh the man. I don't really believe that. My penchant for military surplus trousers doesn't make me a soldier nor does it inspire me to act like one. Nor do I wax lyrical about wot I did in the war. You see? I'm not really a fantasist, am I?
     
    I'm still an ex-rock superstar though. Well, almost.
     
    Case Of The Missing Eunos - Chapter 4
    Crime drama on television tends to follw a familiar pattern. The hero of the tale, the downtrodden private detective, has a broken family life. Yep, I sort of qualify there. The next issue is that he must - and I mean must - drive a ridiculously unique car. Yep, I qualify there too, although in this case the car is the basis of the plot because it got nicked. Have I mentioned that?
     
    The story now goes into an intense all action phase. Obviously I can't have shoot-outs with the villains because only film stars are allowed to use guns without fear of arrest or career-killing enquiry, and so far, Hollywood superstardom has eluded me. Darn.
     
    Instead I had a very... erm... genteel confrontation with one of my suspects. He seemed to think he'd gotten away with something after giving me a fusilade of "I wasn't there... I had flu that day... You can ask anyone...". What I learned was...
    a) What a complete con-merchant he is.
    That I may have been conned.
    c) That since the crime desk officer told me to investigate the theft of my car myself, he has to all intents and purposes empowered me as a special constable. I am Deputy Caldrail. Hey, if I'm going to indulge in a fantasy, at least let's make it useful to society, eh?
     
    Question of the Week
    Why, I was recently asked, am I so keen on sports cars? Forget all that stuff about testosterone and adrenalin pumping power, handling, and impossible looks, the real truth is that I drove a Nissan Cherry 5-door hatchback for eight years. Face it, in my place, wouldn't you want a bit of excitement? Clearly you have never owned a Nissan Cherry. I want lots of automotive excitement. Please, let me have this fantasy, just once...
  13. caldrail

    Big Metal

    By caldrail,

    It turns out that I'm among the first recruits for the Work Programme. If anyone wants to know what being a guinea pig is like, I might be able to tell you. Already I've set a record by being the first claimant to have done his initial assessment twice, though I have to confess, that's because the first one was mislaid.
     
    "Things always go wrong when you're around." Observed one other claimant, a chap I remember seeing here and there over the last couple of years. He was one of my fellow forklift trainees so I suppose he does have some insight. Oh all, right, I admit it.
     
    As with all things official, there followed a health and safety orientation. Someone was obviously paying attention. I notice they didn't have any oxygen masks hanging from the ceiling but then again the programme centre isn't the fastest way to travel to exotic holiday destinations. That's the trouble with health and safety orientations. Your mind is always elsewhere.
     
    "Has everyone understood?" Our trainer asked. Questions? No-one told me there were going to be questions. Is this going to be on the test? She continued "What do you do if there's an accident?"
     
    Umm... Well... I guess you scream, hold the injury, and rock gently back and forth with your eyes closed. How did I do?
     
    Big Metal World
    Whilst this was going on, the office boss hovered around his minions like a frantic bumble bee. Someone asked him something and he whinged that he'd been on the go since seven that morning, driving here and there.
     
    Get a better car, I suggested helpfully. No-one should drive a car and feel it's a chore.
     
    "Oh I like driving." He wearily responded, perhaps a little puzzled as to why a claimant was engaging a superior being in conversation.
     
    What car do you drive?
     
    "BMW." He announced. Well there you are. He's not driving a car to express his personality, or feed his petrol habit, or even thrill at the razor sharp handling and throttle response. It's all about the badge. He's driving a BMW saloon because he wants a badge of office, to express his oneness with the Ancient Order Of Management, and be known to all throughout the land as He Who Must Be Admired. The man has no individuality at all.
     
    Owners Operation Manual
    Haynes have been selling books on car maintenance for yonks plus ages. What an innovation that was at the time. Drivers freed from the tyranny of the roadside ornament, shown the arcane secrets of making a car start, and defying the sharp intake of breath from the garage mechanic.
     
    As I sat in the library, I spotted a Haynes manual on the shelf. No suprise there - there's loads of them, mostly for makes and models that rusted away long ago when their owners chose foolishly chose not to purchase a Haynes manual. But this went from the sublime to the ridiculous. It was a manual for the RMS Titanic.
     
    I must admit, I've never considered what a labour of love it must be to operate a transatlantic cruise liner. I mean, it's too big for a roadside recovery truck isn't it? Now anyone can maintain and drive their cruise liner secure in the knowledge they know what they're doing.
     
    Is such a large vehicle a little bit showy? I mean, we moan and complain about all terrain trucks filling the roads when the the kids need transport to school, or when something extremely expensive blasts past us on motorways in the superstar lane. But sailing into your garage with a fog horn guaranteed to be heard in the next town isn't exactly being inconspicuous is it?
     
    Look on the bright side. Although the turning circle is a little generous, and parking might prove difficult if not prohibitively expensive, there is literally tons of luggage space, and so many cup holders you really could invite your mates for a party. Ride quality is univerally recognised as the best there ever was.. Even better no-one's yet thought to put speed cameras on the ocean.
     
    Trouble is, there aren't many Titanics out there. Not to worry. I happen to know there's one still on the market. One careless owner, needs new chassis, some rust. Perfect restoration project.
  14. caldrail
    There are those who say I don't write enough about sex. Certainly they want more gossip about my girlfriends, but unfortunately, since becoming long term unemployed I can no longer afford them, and in any case, women aren't usually turned on by flirtacious old fogies unless they also happen to be filfthy rich. Despite continued investigations by the Department of Work & Pensions, it appears I'm just another poverty stricken claimant.
     
    However, I shall not be daunted. Here then is the scandalous truth of what goes on behind the scenes at respectable museums...
     
    Last night the museum crew gathered for our secret meeting to plot this years conspiracy against those members of the public who think museums are dull uninteresting places that cost too much to visit. I did suggest making a ring of exhibits and 'sacrificing' young maidens at the dead of night to the baleful god of entry fees, and although the boss heartily approved of my pagan initiatives, we did forsee a number of issues that might arise. Such is the extent of biscuit addiction among our members that radical action has been planned.
     
    My boss has admitted to singing in a public place. I think someone called it karaoke or something, one those japanese imports that society doesn't need, like yet another small economical box-shaped car designed fior chic urban living.
     
    "Don't know why I did that" He told me.
     
    Could I suggest that alcohol was to blame?
     
    "You think so?"
     
    You learn these things in life.
     
    "Maybe you're right. At one point, they tell me, I committed strange acts upon other people."
     
    Exactly how much alcohol did you drink?
     
    "Lots. But the sex was only simulated."
     
    The best kind. No arrests, expensive by-products, and the museums reputation for being boring is preserved. I can imagine by now that readers of more austere and devout religious beliefs are probably frothing at the mouth, pointing their fingers, and dragging hordes of colleagues to view the evidence of decadancy in british culture. Fear not. No bunnies or chocolate biscuits were harmed in the making of this story.
     
    Bunnies?
    Talking about bunnies, one suggestion was made to introduce animals into the equation. What could attract families to paying an entry fee more than fluffy bunnies to oggle and pet? I looked around and told the young lady who suggested the brilliant idea that I look at her with new found respect. She declined the offer to loll across the front desk in a bid to attract new visitors. Probably a good thing. We'd never get any work done.
     
    As it happens, I did know of something more attractive than fluffy bunnies.
     
    "I was hoping you'd volunteer." Replied the boss, remembering my suggestion that we could stage a 'Love Your Computer' event on Valentines Night for nerds without girlfriends.
     
    No no no. A few days back I was strolling past a farm and there were these baby shetland ponies. I mean, there is nothing, and I mean, absolutely positively completely without shadow of a doubt nothing more cute than a baby shetland pony.
     
    "Couldn't you have obtained one or two for the museum?" Asked my boss, clearly disappointed at my lack of initiative.
     
    Well, probably, but having lots of shotgun pellets inserted into my backside at fifty yards is not one of my ambitions.
     
    Question
    Hands up anyone who thinks working in a museum is dull and boring? You do? Okay, go back to the top of this blog entry and start reading again...
     
    The Democratic Way
    When we sent aircraft to bomb targets in Libya, the government assured everyone that this was in order to forestall attacks on civilians by forces loyal to Colonel Gaddafi. There was no intent to get involved in regime change, they told us. Gunboat diplomacy is seen as unfashionably imperialist these days and with moslem nations very senstitive to the military initiatives of the Geat Satans little brother, it's obviously very wise to inform the world that we're not gangsters or minions of evil, but instead responsible humanitarian aid workers with laser guided bombs.
     
    Please don't think I'm knocking the armed services. They do a great job with all the wrong equipment. Let's be honest, the Gaddafi regime doesn't score very highly as a group of publicly spirited all round nice guys, do they? There will always be a case for saying we shouldn't intervene. That it's none of our business. However, if I was a civilian being attacked by my own government forces, I guess I'd be pretty happy to see infidels blowing them up.
     
    Now I hear on the news that only the new National Council is recognised by the United Kingdom as the legitimate government of Libya. Diplomats of the former regime are sent home, and demonstrators gather outside the embassy to replace the green flag with that of the National Council.
     
    I couldn't help laughing. No, we're not changing the regime, we're simply choosing to talk to the other one from this point forward. It's the democratic way.
  15. caldrail
    Funny how sometimes we get reminded of things we did long ago. Watching a progam talking about the private lives of those vivacious and intense Roman citizens I couldn't help but smile.
     
    A little while ago I was contacted by an old friend who wanted to know if I was interested in a get-together over a pint. It meant a night in the company of a former girlfriend, P, but to be honest I was only too happy to meet up and swap stories. P and I had been in a casual relationship for years. Although it did fall apart somewhat, we're stil friends. Game on.
     
    So we got busy laughing and joking. Only one of the old crowd wasn't there. P's friend S, a quiet, quirky lady whose company we accepted as the normal course of things. She'd been... simply... there. Where was she, I asked? The world was not at one with itself without S in the background.
     
    P looked at me with that sort of face that concealed secrets, guilt, and things I was not meant to know. Oh no. There are no secrets between P and me. The gentle interrogation began and finally she sighed and asked "You remember that day we went to Savernake?"
     
    I did indeed. On that particular day I wanted to go hiking in Savernake forest. P was never a woman keen on walking further than she had to but I guess she wanted some excuse to escape her daily routine and opted to come with me, at least as far as the car park. Her friend S came with her for company. I got a day in the forest, they got a picnic in the woods.
     
    Finally I returned to the car, weary, footsore, but as always refreshed by my wanderings around what passes for wilderness in England. Immediately I noticed an odd atmosphere in the car. Were those two enjoying a joke at my expense? The more I probed for an answer, the more they shared a glance and giggled. Women... I dunno... But that was a long time ago.
     
    P rolled her eyes and in one breath admitted that S had made a pass at her. S? S made a lesbian pass at P? I was utterly fascinated. Back when I first met S, she was always looking at me and until I got used to her I always wondered if she fancied me. One night I decided to find out. No, said S with a firm gesture, no. But it made no difference to the dynamics of our social group. No hard feelings.
     
    Nonetheless I had nagging doubts. On one night in a pub I was sat with both P and S together and some bloke sauntered past enquiring which of the girls I was with. For some reason that annoyed me and I quickly answered "Both of them". Neither of my lady friends made any denial. Both were happy with my declaration. Does that sound a bit odd? It somehow felt that way.
     
    I looked at P with new found respect. My former girl was a lesbian? Did you, I asked with an amused stare? "Nooo!" P answered quickly. There it was again. That look on her face.
     
    Well, not to worry. It's a funny thing about human relationships that we can sometimes be very tolerant and open about them. P bit her tongue as I made fun of her. I know her too well to be fooled by that innocent playfulness with a wine glass. She probably doesn't know this but it was all too obvious that things had gone further than an awkward enquiry between friends. Not that I minded at all, because as it turned out I was having as much fun as she was.
     
    Local Crime Of The Week
    Just the other day I discovered that police are looking for a man who robbed some teenagers at gunpoint round the corner from where I live. That sort of thing doesn't usually go on in England and never outside a big city. Makes me wonder if the death threat I got last weekend wasn't entirely paranoia. Or maybe it is. Kinda hard to tell by now...
  16. caldrail
    The lightning revealed the outline of the brick terrace house in Swindon's Old Town. There, perched on the side of a hill, a terrible scientific experiment was about to take place. In the beige dungeons of of the house, beneath the slanting archways, Doktor Kaldrailstein made the last few adjustments to his work. Soon he would pull the industrial strength lever that allowed the electricity to flow, and breathe life into his creation. The terrible hybrid creature, made from the parts of deceased computers, lay inert on the floor.
     
    Oh hang on, I need to plug this cable in too. Ahhh, that's better. I, Doktor Kaldrailstein, will now make this computer live!....
     
    *click*
     
    Live! Live ! Mwuahahahaaaaaa!... Oh go on, please... hang on... The screen is changing. My computer is alive!... Oh, it's all frozen up. I'll just thump it on the side here, wake it up a little.... Yes! Kaldrailsteins Monster is booting up! They all said I was mad, that it couldn't be done, but I have proved myself correct.
     
    Errr... Hang on.... This all going wrong.... No... No.... Stay back.... What have I unleashed upon the world?
     
    Good News Of the Week
    My PC is running. Not entirely eagerly it must be said, but I can get it going. Just thought you'd like to know before crowds of irate Swindoners chase me through the night with torches and pitchforks in indignation at my repair job.
  17. caldrail
    Not an especially nice morning. Damp and dreary, another Monday, and despite the elation of getting my PC going - or more accurately, going when it can be bothered - today just doesn't have that 'Get Up And Go' feel about it.
     
    Of course my Uncle, now sadly deceased, would have said I wasn't a 'Get Up And Go' person. I think he was wrong there, but I have to confess his determination to find a job when he got made redundant was the stuff of personal heroism. So I must concede his point and call myself a 'Get Up And Think About It' person.
     
    Maybe something in the letterbox will cheer me up? You never know...
     
    The Great Bank Statement Affair
    A letter from the bank I see. You can tell because they have a particular franking mark on their envelopes. What will that be about? A brand new account you have to pay for? Insurance offers? Nope, it's a bank statement. Pages of it this time. Okay, lets check through it and... Hang on... Where's my benefits payments for the last fortnight?... Have they stopped my benefits without telling me? After all the stuff I did at the Programme Centre?
     
    I snarled with rage and rolled up my sleeves. I was not going to be treated like this! The Job Centre was shut. Lucky for you lot. So instead I burst upon the Council reception centre and proceeded to explain my sorry circumstance.
     
    "Oh. Well, we don't have anyone here who can deal with this." Said the bemused woman behind the desk. My face was reaching the darker shade of red by this time, so she advised me a telephone was available down the hall. I stomped down there and having found the phone, discovered the frustrating fact that Swindon Council have not yet developed the technology to make them work.
     
    "Calm down!" A young woman interrupted me, worried my skin was going green and my shirt failing to contain swelling muscles (not to mention the risk of inadvertant damage to a disfunctional telephone). I think I might have lost my temper at that moment slightly.
     
    Embarrasement of the Week
    Having eventually found someone to talk to who understood what benefits were and had the authority to answer my frantic queries, I realised the bank statement sheets were in the wrong order. I had indeed been paid my benefits. If anyone I savaged and tore limb from limb is reading this, then I apologise for getting a tad upset. Popular opinion to the contrary, I am a klutz.
     
  18. caldrail

    License To Xmas

    By caldrail,

    Three weeks of winter mayhem they promised us. We do tend to get wintery weather second hand from the States, albeit weakened by its long journey across the Atlantic, and the news reports of deep snowdrifts over there certainly seemed to confirm our impending doom. So what happened? We've barely had a cold day and it's end of December. No white Christmas then. And now the weather warnings are telling us to expect more winter mayhem. In fairness it does seem that some of us are being stopped by snow. Is there any other country in the world so completely unable to cope with a few flakes and icy conditions?
     
    License To Kringe
    Someone at work said you can always tell it's Christmas when a James Bond movie gets aired on television. That might have been the case ten years ago, but high definition digital tv has pretty much destroyed the significance of MI5 and their loveable assassins in our xmas celebrtations. I'm suprised there isn't a James Bond channel by now. Or perhaps there is. I've got so many channels on freeview now that finding something I want to see is turning into anything between a desperate search for the lost entertainment and a nail biting agonising decision over which program is the one to watch. I never knew being a couch potato was so stressfull.
     
    Now I come to think about it, Christmas seemed to be a bit muted this year. Even my local supermarket didn't start their annual assault on the nerves with Christmas Hits Of The Last Century until they had two weeks to go. Just enough time to fit them in on a never ending loop interminably then. Not that I'm complaining mind you - one of their shop assistants said hello to me for the first time since I started shopping there twelve years ago. Just another step on my ladder to fame and fortune I guess.
     
    I don't know about James Bond movies any more, but certainly at Christmas there's a sudden outbreak of singing and busking. Sure enough this hapened just recently. A smiling rastafarian making the worst racket you've ever heard on some badly tuned tin drums, a small choir in the town centre who hadn't realised that singing in tune sounds better, and a down and out guitar player who repeats the same song over and over just to pass the time of day. It wasn't all bad. There was an amusing puppet mandolin player (the actual player was in an oversized backpack).
     
    Funnily enough there were none of these people around when a police car idled by along the pedestrian way.
     
    No Deal Of The Week
    According to the letter from the Department of Work and Pensions, they can't pay me the benefits I claimed from November. Cute. So I exceeded the terms of my Jobseekers Agreement by an order of magnitude, conducted a consistent jobsearch record even when I wasn't being paid for it, and accepted an offer of paid employment way below my level of skill, education, and experience. Worse, I suffered accusations of fraud, defamation of character, and found myself financially coerced into a deal that pretty much amounted to enslavement.
     
    Sorryy Eva, but you should have been honest. You reneged on the deal, not me. Lord Rail is back.
  19. caldrail

    Get It Whilst Its Hot

    By caldrail,

    I got the good news last night. The International Monetary Fund have suggested that Britain might be in recession for as much as twenty years, struggling to pay off debts while the rest of the west recover nicely thank you. Twenty years? You mean I'm going to bleat on about the economy and my lack of good fortune for two more decades? Should I cancel the Ferrari then?
     
    Now That I Come To Think Of It
    Until a few years ago, life was simple. I had money in my pocket and a slightly fast car on the drive. Now I'm a pedestrian. My last boss wanted me to drive BMW's. I suspect that was part of the reason for getting laid off. My boss previous to that wanted me to drive Vauxhall Vectra's. I'm almost convinced that was one reason why they let me go. The Police aren't happy about my driving hot Eunos Cabriolets either, but they let me go. My mother wants me to drive a cheap, economical, safe Toyota Prius. Only she's not letting go.
     
    "We went to Evesham yesterday.. In the car..." She told me over the phone. Yeah, whatever. Can't think of any reason to go to Evesham, can't understand why I need to take several more hours to do the journey than I used to, and I certainly don't want to be seen driving in a Prius. "Did you apply for that job?... Do you need a car for that job?...". Ahh no thats ok. Good grief, she'll have me wearing womans clothes in public next.
     
    As a Genuine Retired Has-Been Wannabee Rock Star who used to strut in skin tight zebra-striped lycra's with hair down to my waist, I have my standards. The Prius ain't one of them. Now I imagine there's a few people out there shaking their heads saying it's only a matter of time. I have to, because my blog isn't a world best-seller. So if there's anyone still out there who's patient enough to put up with my tales of doom and gloom, rest assured I'm still buying the occaisonal car magazine.
     
    Now that I come to think of it, I buy the occaisional train magazine too. Hey, Rod Stewart has a model railway doesn't he? Thing is, at the shop where I buy them, the train magazines have migrated to the top shelf along with the porno monthlies. One copy of Steamy Nights, and... yes, I'll take a copy of Railroad Dreams... Oh, and the latest issue of Railroad Model Photographer... They're doing an article on chain coupling. Unmissable.
  20. caldrail

    Cold Winds

    By caldrail,

    There's a very cold wind blowing through the trees of Rushey Platt. Cold air from Russia has blown in and already the weather reports are warning of severe conditions. The AA have advised motorists to take warm clothing with them as gale force winds and drifts of heavy snow are expected. The reverse is going on in Australia right now, where winds from the continents interior are blowing hot air over the coastal regions where everybody lives.
     
    There's going to be comment about Global Warming of course. People will say carbon dioxide is to blame and that cars must be banned to stop these freak weather conditions from happening. But then, I had to give up driving last yearand now the weather has gotten worse? Obviously the sports car is not the villain we think it is.
     
    We like the weather to be predictable, not this mobile disaster area sweeping across the land. It seems people are only happy when life is the same from day to day. They like the monotony, the familiarity of the same old pattern, the certainty of the same old things. Not me. I like some variation. So today... lets see... what can I do today?.... oh stuff it, I'm off down the library.
     
    The Tale of the Library Whistler
    Once upon a time, in a library far far away, there was a person who made just a little bit too much noise. The Wicked Witch of the Library turned him in into a newt, and all the public at the library remained silent and happy. All was quiet until yesterday, when a young man, rash and headstrong, decided he would whistle as he browsed the internet. The Wicked Witch had long since retired, so the young man thought himself safe. The security guards were roused from their slumber. They talked into their radios then shrugged. So eventually a policeman came and took the young man away.
     
    Times have certainly changed. I blame the wind. Luckily Mr Policeman stopped the young man before he broke his.
×
×
  • Create New...