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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail
    The weather yesterday was nothing short of a battle between the gods. In the blue corner, the sun god, a warm and comforting brightness in his perfect blue realm. In the red corner, the rain god. A bringer of greyness and wet, master of dampening chaos, riding the wind to wreak rainfall upon the land.
     
    All morning the wind was dragging ragged grey cloud across what was otherwise a fine and sunny day. By lunchtime, the first heavy grey mountains were on the horizon, and by the time I was walking through Lawns wood, the first showers had arrived, Woodland is an enviroment I've always loved, and today it was a chaotic mix of conditions with which to enjoy it as I sheltered under the dubious protection of a spreading tree.
     
    The wind in the leaves made tides of white noise, waves of sound that are curiously relaxing if you don't suffer the chill edge of the breeze that causes it. At this time of year the colour in the wood was delightfully diverse. White and pink blossoms. Light green deciduous trees, dark green pines. Behind me, a tall mature tree with purple brown leaves. Over to my left, a solitary cream butterfly flitted around in total defiance of the wind. The pair of magpies, black and white birds with an almost oily sheen to their feathers, remained grounded and watched the butterfly flt past them. Then all activity ceases as dog walkers vanish along with their faithless hounds as the slanted curtain of rainfall that appears around me.
     
    Oh yeah. I got wet too.
     
    Conversation of the Week
    Inevitably I got somewhat dampened after deciding that the tree wasn't as generous with its shelter as I hoped it might be. I had tried stopping at the local art gallery in Old Town to sit out the weather, but the local school had the same idea and hordes of barely controlled kids made that impossible to enjoy. So I trudged down the hill and eventually got a minor soaking.
     
    Two lads were walking past as I reached my front door and fumbled for the keys. "Crap weather innit?" Said one.
     
    "Yeah!" Agreed the other with a chuckle. The art of conversation is not yet dead.
  2. caldrail

    Cash Giveaways

    By caldrail,

    I was browsing the news on the web when I stumbled on a story about an asian couple who ran a petrol station in Rotorua, New Zealand. Apparently Westpac Bank had deposited ten million NZ Dollars into their bank account by accident. The couple are now on the run and some of the money has been recovered.
     
    A few times there's been stories of ATM's going haywire and spewing out money like no tomorrow. I remember one news story going back a few years where people were queueing up to fill their pockets at a Hole In The Wall.
     
    It seems banks like handing out money. If their machines don't give it away by accident, their employees will. But there's other examples of financial silliness. Once again we return to New Zealand (by coincidence) where a three year old toddler bought a large earth mover/digger on an online auction at the low low price of
  3. caldrail

    Damp on Demand

    By caldrail,

    The recent sunny weather has been very tempting, but long hikes in the countryside during hot weather can be a trial of endurance over and above lasting the distance. It isn't just sunburn of course. The heat can wear you down to the point where you get into an unhealthy state - and that's just England, never mind the tropics. Not being as young as I once was makes a difference - it really does.
     
    Anyhow, today was cloudy. The weather reports had suggested our run of sunny days was coming to an end so I'd already decided to make this my venture into the Wiltshire rainforest.. The sky outside early this morning confirmed it wasn't going to blistery hot. It was however, blisteringly humid. The sun made a few hesitant attempts to break through but by and large it was that damp sticky heat that's even worse than sunshine.
     
    I got a few of the usual comments made as I walked through Swindon on my way to the countryside. For the record, I do not look like Ray Mears at all. He's fatter than I am, and blonder. I'm not trying to be Bear Gryll's (though in todays humidity, I might end up having to). I'm not a member of Bravo Two Zero. Come on guys, I'm just out for a hike. Military surplus trousers are relatively cheap and really work against the ravages of undergrowth.
     
    It really does come to something when the builders waiting to start work on the terraces being built round the corner from me do no more than stare in amusement. Today it was the taxi drivers who poured scorn. And how much did you earn from my fares today, hmmm?
     
    Horse Play
    Limping home, I decided to pass through the lower side of Chiseldon. There seems to be a small nature reserve being built along the stream that cuts down between the hillside and the old railway embankment. One of those wetland things? Toads, frogs, salamanders? At the moment, it's little more than dry mud, but what a nice wooden walkway.
     
    I digress. Further on I turned right into a meadow where horses are often kept. Once before I had sat down in that field for a breather and a refill of water. Two horses cantered over in a fit of inquisitiveness. One stood back, the smaller one looked closely at my rucksack, which I imagine resembled a feeding bag. It had that naughty glint in its eyes.
     
    You leave that alone! My warning was ignored. It grabbed hold of my rucksack in it's teeth and almost smiled like a naughty boy. You! Let go! Horses are difficult to catch.
     
    Today however there was one horse and its offspring. The gangly foal stood close to its uninterested grazing mother and just as I prepared to take a photograph - it wee'd. How do animals know when to wee? They have this instinctive desire to make photography impossible. The best instance was at Auckland Zoo, New Zealand. The chimps were lounging on a massive climbing frame with boss chimp at the top. He looked around lazily and saw me watching through an observation window. He promptly stood up, gave an evil grin, and wee'd.
     
    Want to know why I think human beings are still animals?
     
    Reminisence of the Week
    During my walk earlier, I passed by fields full of yellow Rape and along the grass verges, red Poppy's and purple... ummm... Something or others. It was in that very same meadow at Chiseldon that it occured to me just how many wild flowers were sprouting up. Now I don't take much interest in such things, but for that moment I remembered how those meadows next door to our street used to look before Swindon buried them in housing estates. Dandelions, Buttercups, Daisies - masses of them.
     
    Seriously though, it's been forty years since I've last seen meadows like that.
  4. caldrail

    Chucking It About

    By caldrail,

    On another website I came across some collected video footage from the Korean War, mostly concerned with communist aviation. It was interesting to watch. I don't know a great deal about that conflict and this was the early days of the jet fighter, who were still fighting with WW2 tactics lacking sophisticated radar and 'beyond-visual-range' missiles.
     
    Now what comes across is the speed involved, which really shoudln't suprise anyone, but when you consider that at this time the Sound Barrier really was an obstacle for aeroplanes, an unseen phenomenon that caused aircraft to break up, the fact these pilots were flying as close to it as they could and risk enemy fire is worthy of note.
     
    Of course sometimes a pilot was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got hiit. The footage showed plenty of jets exploding under fire, and this was when ejector seats were semi-experimetal items that weren't necessarily safe to use.
     
    Having sat in aeroplanes during aerobatics I'm well aware of the forces generated by tight manoevers. The first time you encounter it the sensation of your head weighing three times as much as usual is a little uncomfortable. With some experience, you would soon get used to that, but the most interesting thing I saw in that the Korean War footage was an in-cockpit view of a russian pilot, rolling his Mig 15 enthusiastically and remaining blissfully calm throughout. He keeps glancing left and right but stays ridiculously unfazed by the forces generated by his aerobatics. Was that a propaganda shot?
     
    My First Aerobatics
    One of the great perks of joining the Air Cadets was the chance to fly in real aeroplanes once or twice a year. We flew from Filton, the same airfield that the British Concorde protoype flew from, and I have to say, that was one big concrete runway. Or at least it was on a British scale. The red, white, and black De Havilland Chipmunk trainers, the very same used by the Royal Air Force at that time, were lined up near the hut where we got our briefings for the day. We all entered the hut staring across at those aeroplanes waiting for us.
     
    Being military machines, parachutes were required. The 'seat' type we had to use were uncomfortable and awkward, making you look like a ninety year old duck as you walked back and forth with a large pillow slung under your bottom. I hated them.
     
    It was winter when we turned up to fly that day. No snow, but it was cold. It was also my misfortune to be the first cadet to fly, so in front of the others and bearing the brunt of childish humour, I waddled to the waiting plane. The mechanic told me to wait. We weren't allowed to sit in the aircraft whilst the engine was started. So I stood there, eager and totally naive about the aspects of flying aeroplanes that I was about to discover.
     
    The first was windchill. In the propellor wash the wind was frighteningly and extremely cold, way beyond the ambient temperature. By the time I had clambered up the wing and intop the rear cockpit, I was utterly frozen. The mechanic helped me strap in and he seemed completely unaffected by that arctic wind. The engine noise was considerable, warbling away at just above idle, but I remember the vibration most of all. The machine felt alive and that was a curious sensation.
     
    Once everything was in place the pilot taxied out to the runway and introduced himself over the intercom in a sort of parody of the sort of thing you hear in airliners. "So sit back and enjoy the ride..." He finished with. Yeah, okay, when I recover from frostbite...
     
    The surge of power and the acceleration down the runway is something the novice doesn't expect. The ground fell away, and I was flying, watching Bristol recede beneath me through the slightly distorting perspex canopy. Out over the Severn Estuary, the suspension bridge off to my right, and I was starting to enjoy being up here.
     
    "Right then," Said the pilot in clipped RAF english, "Four thousand feet, no-one about, barrel roll to the left.. Here we go..."
     
    Huh? What? Hey, what's happening? My world was gyrating. The sensation of being upside down at that height was alarming.
     
    "Now to the right..." He said. Oh no. Not again...
     
    "Now we'll try a loop. Gain a little speed, fuill throttle, up we go..."
     
    I'm strapped into an aeroplane with a homicidal sadist! My head wobbles around hilariously under its own volition. I feel helpless.
     
    "Now a spin. Nose up, power off, wait for the airspeed to reduce...." A loud whine is hesitantly filling my ears. That's the stall warner. Suddenly the right wing drops and the aeroplane noses down in a mad spiral. "Recover... Now spin the other way...."
     
    It was a thirty minute flight. That's all you get. I emerged from the cockpit back at the hut bravely smiling, weak at the knees, totally shaken but thankfully not stirred, and very much the wiser about aerobatics than my childhood fantasies of spitfires and messerschmitts over the Channel.
     
    See you next year then.
  5. caldrail
    Man the Hunter must live by his instincts. The smallest detail of his enviroment can make the difference between life or death in the wild animal infested wilderness in which he survives by wits alone. The Swindon Library isn't exactly a wilderness, though you do get a few animals inhabiting the computer cubicles, and if I were honest the most deadly thing in there is a boring book.
     
    My primeval hunting instincts were aroused by the realisation that everything was quiet... Too quiet... And so it turned out to be. Having ascended the stairs to the hallowed halls of the second floor I discovered all the computers were down for scheduled maintenance. That was why no-one bothered to turn up. Good grief, who goes to a modern library to read books?
     
    Rare Books of the Week
    In fact, Swindon's main library does have some rare books on display in a glass case. One is an account of the first ever balloon flight in England, made by Vincent Lunardi in 1784 in front of a huge crowd. He was secretary to the Neapolitan Ambassador in Britain and one suspects he found his lucrative job incredibly boring. Either that or the Kingdom of Naples was attempting bomb London in a startlingly prophetic adventure. Had Lunardi also invented a bomb, we might well have been in trouble.
     
    Another is a suprisingly pristine copy of Jules Vernes first ever book, Five Weeks In A Balloon, published in 1863. One wonders where he got the inspiration. Of course five weeks is a long time to be stuck in a balloon with an Italian politician, so I guess Jules Verne spiced the story up a little and turned him into a mad dictator hell bent on taking over the world. It is interesting that James Bond was fighting the same kind of villain a century later. Double Oh Seven is of course the modern personification of Man the Hunter. And so literary evolution brings us full circle back to page one.
     
    Oh brilliant. That means someone is going to reinvent Harry Potter all over again...
     
  6. caldrail

    A Bit Hard To Believe

    By caldrail,

    Life in urban England is often portrayed as a struggle against ignorance, decay, violence, and theft. I've made the same noises myself sometimes, so I guess there's a little truth to it, having witnessed the depressing state that society sometimes gets into. Of course there are those who want to stop the destructive tendencies in our midst. A worthy cause, or perhaps a cause to further someones poltiical career?
     
    The trouble with dealing with problems of this nature is the uncompromising response it requires. To stifle violence one may well need more than the courage of their conviction, especially if the offenders sense they are stronger than you.. All too often, we don't want to get involved. Self preservation is a natural instinct though perhaps not our most glorious one. On the other hand, there are incidents in which those willing to stand their ground pay the price in injury or even death.
     
    Public behaviour seems to rising to the fore just of late. In particular, the easy availability of alcohol and the gimmicks designed to sell it are very much in focus as recent calls for controls on alcohol sales have demonstrated. However, things have gotten a litle more ridiculous. It's been suggested that mock fights should be staged on city streets in England to test and provoke public response. The idea, as far as I can tell, is almost to educate the public that they too can help maintain law and order on the streets. Possibly they can. However I wonder if this 'training' isn't more likely to result in more casualties, because confrontations are as likely to provoke violence as constrain it, and much depends on perceived threat. The attempt to create a community spirit that is willing to risk violence brings with it the risk of vigilante behaviour, and as is often recorded in news stories, the risk of finding yourself on the wrong side of the law in trying to confront others is very real, whatever politicans like to say.
     
    I'm reminded of a story I once read in a magazine many years ago, a true one apparently, although much of the detail I've forgotten since my teenage years. It concerned four men in the 'Wild West' at the end of the nineteenth century. They planned to rob a bank, and strode calmly inside holding the good people at gunpoint whilst they collected the money as quietly as possible. Unfortunately for them, an ice-cream seller (proof this wasn't a 'one-horse' town) recognized some of the baddies, and alerted the townsfolk. When the four robbers left the bank thinking they'd gotten away with a healthy sack of customers cash, they found themselves facing a town full of armed and aggrieved citizens. They were all shot dead.
     
    Is that really what British authorities want? The Police always tell us to phone them in such situations, and certainly the firearm laws in Britain preclude shooting villains without some form of legal restraint. The same applies to baseball bats and missiles. We are allowed 'appropriate' levels of violence to defend ourselves. Are we then allowed the same to confront others? What is 'appropriate' levels of violence? The considered appraisal of a judge in a courtroom, or the snap decision in the heat of the moment? It seems a bit hard to believe that to counter violence the public are being asked to risk it.
     
    Cattle Dog of the Week
    On my way to a session at the College yesterday I bumped into an old chap walking his dog, an incredibly cute canine with perky ears and stumpy legs. We got chatting and naturally I asked what breed it was. He did tell me the name, but I've forgotten it. However he explained it was a Swedish Cattle Dog.
     
    Oh? They have dwarf cattle in Sweden? The old chap was right. It is a bit hard to believe.
     
  7. caldrail

    A Poor Showing

    By caldrail,

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

    Good Business

    By caldrail,

    I am partial to my takeaways. I know fast food isn't always as healthy as we'd like to believe, but they say a little of what you fancy does you good. As it happens, there's plenty of outlets in my neighbourhood. Down the bottom of the hill there's one kebab shop that changed hands and re-opened a week ago. Curiosity got the better of me last night.
     
    The Turkish lads waited patiently for select my choice of meal and promptly informed me that they only did that at lunchtimes. Oh you don't want to say that I told them, or I'll walk out. Give customers what they want - It's good business.
     
    It seems I do speak Turkish after all. All of a sudden the lads were all smiles, one giving me a playful handshake. As it turns out they cook a decent kebab too. The art of haggling is not yet dead.
     
    Business Enterprise
    With defence cuts looming in the wake of rising national debt, the RAF have taken the decision to lease their aeroplanes out to commercial operators. Can you imagine?
     
    Hello? Is that RAF Coltishall?.... Yes, I wonder if you can help. I've got an urgent business meeting in Amsterdam and... You have a back seat on a Tornado fighter available? Oh that would be great....
     
    I do actually presume they mean transport or tanker aircraft only. So if anyone wants a cheap holiday in Afghanistan, nows your chance. They expect reservations to be available for a few decades yet. Plenty of sunshine and excitement.
     
    Joking aside, this decision is an interesting reverse. Back in the 1970's there was a plan to save costs by using commercial airliners as 'stand-off' missile platforms. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking... We are currently cruising at thirty thousand feet, and if you hear any strange noises, don't be concerned, it's only our on-board nuclear missile being fired at Russia. Please enjoy your flight...
     
    Monster of the Week
    We do like monster stories. From time to time Nessie emerges from the Scottish loch for a photo shoot, or Sasquatch ambles past the sights of a backcountry deer hunter, or another rumour of an Abominable Snowman wandering around the mountains of Tibet. Dinosaurs have always been popular. I knew them all when I was a kid, and from what I see on the bookshelves today, it's no different now.
     
    It seems one film studio is cashing in by leaving a film prop on an american beach, dubbed the 'Montauk Monster", which has caused a stir. Now a strange beastie has been clubbed to death (albeit without any obvious wounds) by youths in Panama. Actually it bore a slight resemblance to E.T., Spielbergs cuddly alien. Not cuddly enough it seems. Boys will be boys.
     
  9. caldrail

    And Back Agan

    By caldrail,

    What can I say that adequately describes the events since my last entry? Let's see.... This is a tough one... Well, I got chatted up by a tall leggy blonde. No, really I did. She was standing outside a bakery tempting customers to consider her wares. Does this sound a tad obvious? Just another sales pitch in the great market place of life I guess. But we had a nice chat all the same.
     
    Lovely Weather We've Been Having
    What can anyone say about two months of sunshine and showers that resulted in a complete and utter victory for dampness?
     
    Firstly we haven't had it as bad as Cumbria. As far as I'm aware, there's been no collapsing bridges in Swindon, and thus we were spared the tragic deaths that resulted from human futility in the face of natural forces.
     
    Secondly, I 've gotten very adept at avoiding downpours, but I suspect I've gotten so used to it I'm not as fussy about damp weather as I was. Then again, as depressing as it is, Rainy Old Swindon doesn't get the floods that render thousands homeless and bereft of family and friends.
     
    I should apologise to the chap from the British Red Cross who stood in my way as I strode through town and attempted to make me understand what it was they actually do. Of course I drew the conclusion they collect charitable donations, and yes, that was the point of his lesson, so I wasn't wrong. I just hadn't thought any further than that. I do get stopped a lot, especially by those two clowns selling Jesus.
     
    If that young man was truthful and those charitable contributions are indeed used to help those people flooded out or whatever disaster that qualifies them for aid, then I can only say I'm sorry for not adding my name to your mailing list. But, as I explained to the young man, it so happens I'm on charitable aid for being unemployed.
     
    I don't usually stress that condition, though I did to one sanctimonious young lady from a job agency the other day who considered that the need to earn a living was not a sufficient reason to be offered a job interview. What did she want? Perfect teeth? A halo? Or do I drive the wrong make of car?
     
    A part of me wonders whether employers are overly worried about silly details of appearances in the quest to achieve the perfect workforce. They seem to have this idea that talent and ability are highlighted by haircuts and brown tongues. I suspect to a greater or lesser degree that was always true, it's just that getting a job now has less probability than winning the National Lottery, and played out pretty much the same way.
     
    The difference between me and a homeless person in floodland is that I have to ask for the assistance the government offer to unemployed people and regularly prove that I deserve it. i doubt the British Red Cross would regard me as a worthy recipient! Whilst the point is to save government spending and rout out those who claim illegally, the constant ennui, failure, and virtual begging do nothing for the self esteem. A part of me wonders if that isn't all a little counter productive if I have to impress an employer to get off the dole queue.
     
    Neither does turning up for an interview soaking wet.
     
    Mexican Takeaway
    For weeks we'd had nothing but windy and wet weather. Funny thing was that it meant the average temperature was well above normal for October/November. Then there was a break in the endless assault of rainy days and the temperature plunged.
     
    It was that evening I found myself with a few quid in my pocket. What shall I do? Get drunk? No, that's too unemployed wino... Definitely don't want to go down that road. I know, I'll invest in a mexican takeaway. There's a shop that does that stuff down at the Brunel Centre, only a five minute stroll from where I live.
     
    In the course of ordering and paying for my meal I met a young woman, a dark haired girl of affable nature, sat on a bench wrapped up in winter clothing in the square outside. A bit odd. Girls of her age are normally very sociable and found giggling in packs of several. I made a joke about it being too cold to sit there phoning her friends. Usually that sort of gag receives a polite chuckle and a look of horror that this old geezer is trying to chat her up.
     
    On that particular night though this particular girl was more open to my obtuse humour. So we got chatting. Turns out she was wrapped up warm because she expected to wait all night if necessary to earn her pay.
     
    Eileen, please, you're a lovely intelligent girl. Get a proper job before it all goes sour.
     
    Clowns And Perfect Lives
    Just lately we've had a number of clowns in the town centre. One bunch stood on stilts in victorianesque costumes and played as a band. Truly bizarre, but still entertaining despite the surreal 'Blue Meanie' moment.
     
    As for the two clowns handing out printed cards to passers by, I take issue with the comment one made when I told him to go away and stop bothering me, as they have regularly. As I stomped off feeling very unimpressed with Jesus's sales department, he called at my back, holding a card in the air, telling me I will need that phone number one day.
     
    Maybe it's just me, but I really do suspect the phone number won't matter one jot.
     
    Sympathy For The Fallen
    A few years ago I was driving baclk from the countryside and I chose a back road down the valley from Chiseldon. It's a quiet road through a private wooded estate that has a wonderfully unspoilt feel. Perhaps, ironically, that's more to do with careful stewardship and watchful gamekeepers.
     
    As I approached the single lane bridge over the motorway, an intrusion of the modern world that's hidden from view below the line of foliage, a rabbit decided to cross the road right there in front of me. Animals do this occaisionally. They choose the worst moment all too often, and indeed, this daring bunny ran for all it was worth in the face of my oncoming vehicle.
     
    I'm not heartless. I tried to avoid the rabbit. It made no difference. The unlucky mammal went under a front wheel and whether it was crushed or not, I heard it banging around in the wheel well. You can say what you like about sympathy for the soft and cuddly, but I could hear what that animal suffered. I wasn't proud of it.
     
    A couple of weeks ago I saw a news item on the net. A sixteen year old girl was waving goodbye to her friends at a railway station. As the train pulled away she ran alongside, tapping on the window for a final acknowledgement, and in attempting to run in high heels, fell over. She slipped between the platform and the moving train. I could hear that rabbit in my head all over again.
     
    Sympathy For The Falling
    This year I found Remembrance Sunday a somewhat less than humbling experience. There's been a change in the way we regard our military in the last few years, with sympathetic documentaries, political speeches, pop albums, brass bands, and indeed, an attitude impressed upon us that our servicemen should be regarded in a certain light, a somewhat idealised and gentlemanly heroism.
     
    Foreign wars have been very much in the news for some time. The reports of men shot or blown apart in a dusty region of Somewhere Else have regularly scrolled across the bottom of the tv news. I'm not blind to the grim finality that warfare entails or the political reality that sometimes requires it. But the stories of equipment shortages and shortcomings have always been a part of warfare and whatever the politicians tell us, always will. These obstacles will be overcome, as they must always be to secure victory.
     
    Neither is it the politics of our foreign wars that bothers me especially. Perhaps in the various decisions made to send the lads there is something worthwhile, a point to it all, something more relevant than political slogans and careers that stand to ain from success in the field. Certainly without the moral purpose we would have a morale problem.
     
    People do squabble occaisionally. Given human nature it's impossible to do otherwise. I can't help thinking that it might be worth fighting over something better than thousands of square miles of mud brick walls and dry ditches, but then perhaps the democratic solution we seek at the barrel of a gun is more important than the venue for its birth.
     
    What I find most intrusive about it all though isn't the affiliation with martial virtue or the patriotic sentiment that underpins it. It's the sale of an attitude for which I will be castigated if I decide not to buy it. I have every respect for our armed services and always had done. That I was turned down for service twice doesn't affect those sentiments. Not everyone is born to be a soldier however much our society values such endeavour. Perhaps our willingness to devalue less aggressive paths is formed by the ability of some to profit from selfishness?
     
    The label of 'hero' is very quickly used these days, especially for politicans seeking to gain votes in television interviews. The constant pressure by the media to regard all servicemen as heroes for no more than signing up for a few years is starting to bother me. As risky as it is, the armed services don't actually have a monopoly on heroism.
     
    I was always taught that a 'hero' is someone who risks their life for someone elses. As it happens I know one or two people who risked their own life, health, or safety in emergency situations. They've never sought medals, television interviews, or praise from politicians for what they did, and I find that most of the people who act selflessly on another persons behalf remain selfless about their achievement afterward.
     
    Society though needs its heroes. We need examples of those we consider courageous. I'm sure there are plenty of servicemen in the field who fall into that category and I recall mentions of personal bravery that reached the autocues out of the many unsung stories that deserved that attention. On the other hand, I'm also aware that not all servicemen are quite as angelic as some would have us believe. Hopefully, disgraces to the uniform are a rareity though I confess I have bumped into one or two in my time.
     
    Those who have acted beyond the demands of their calling at risk of their lives may certainly receive the title of 'Hero' from me. Those who suffer for that service may certainly receive my sympathy and good will. Those who speak for them without personal profit or reward may receive my attention. The rest of you, as you were.
     
    Now You See It...
    When our main library was back at the temporary site under that new apartment block they built in the town centre, I wandered along the racks of the reference sections and found a wonderful title written before the second world war that described Saxon settlement in Wessex in loving detail. Some of those old books are incredible. They really are.
     
    A couple of weeks ago I was reading an article about stone age culture written in 1869. You might think it would lack a certain insight, given the typical learned academic of the time, but I was suprised by the parallels the man drew with cultures of his time, and in particular, he emphasised the influence of enviroment and demographics in surviving a wilderness by the simple expedient of describing the Shoshonee Indians of North America, forced out of their bountiful happy hunting grounds and reduced to a wretched condition subsisting on whatever they could dig out of the ground. The villains were of course their enemies the Blackfoot tribe, who had a slight advantage by virtue of buying guns from the Hudson Bay Company. Contemporary regard in a land thousands of miles away for a disappearing world, one hundred and forty years ago.
     
    Now of course I want to find that volume on Saxons again, and despite the patient searches by librarians whose sense of duty (dare I say it) borders on the heroic, the desired book seems to have vanished off the face of the planet. So here's some contemporary concern for a disappearing book, three weeks ago.
     
    On The Bright Side
    I do feel I have to reward anyone who's read this blog entry right to the end. It seems a sad reflection on things that most of the content was a little depressing. So, on the bright side, I've finished with the frustrating phone calls, expensive solcitors, avaricious vendors, and fussy consumer protection groups. I have a working computer again.
     
    Ain't life wonderful? I knew you'd be pleased. Especially since the police gave the guy who had sold me the computer originally a right ticking off for parking offences outside my home. Just when you thought there wasn't any justice.
     
  10. caldrail

    Just For A Change

    By caldrail,

    It's snowing!
     
    Lots of snowing!
     
    It's been snowing since midnight last night. This can't be happening, it isn't possible, Swindon doesn't get snow. Hang on a moment, I'll look out the window, just to make sure I'm not imagining it...
     
    It's snowing! Everything is white. It's a complete snow fest in Swindon...
     
    Somebody stop the snow!
     
    Meanwhile, back at the world
    Oh, lot's of things going on. Gordon Brown is facing a possible coup from his MP's, a flashy powerboat used by demonstrators got sliced in two by kamikaze whhale hunters, Yemeni police caught an Al Qaeda chief, MP George Galloway caught in an Egyptian police riot, and lots of other stuff. And I don't care... Because it's snowing!
  11. caldrail
    Monday means back to work. Despite the early morning start I couldn't resist staying up last night and checking out a program about animal life along the upper west African Rift valley, that starts in Ethiopia and cuts south. It includes the worlds only lava lake, and I was genuinely suprised by the number of african volcano's littering the area. Great shots of foxes hunting mole-rats, mountain gorillas sitting around waiting for something to happen, or simply just playing and having a great time in the grass (and one or two getting a little annoyed at the presence of the camera crew!).
     
    Well... It was getting late, so set the alarm, into bed, and doze off hoping I still had enough hours of darkness left to sleep in. About four o'clock I was woken by a noise that could only sound like a door being prised open. I had a long around, but nothing moving, nothing heard. Maybe it was just the people downstairs, they get up early too.
     
    Then again... As I was leaving the house to come here to the library, the letting agent had their photographer visiting next door. Curioser and curioser...
     
    Foreign Workers
    The people at work had said they had a couple of french people working for them. It seems they got a job in order to improve their english, which is a bit odd because 1) They weren't speaking any english 2) No-one was talking at all.
     
    Curiouser and curiouser...
     
    Checking My Work
    Today I was stockchecking, an age old ritual which involved opening boxes, counting the contents, resealing the box and daubing the contents and stock level in big marker pen grafitti for everyone to ignore. One young lady slipped past the pillar and saw my stuff in a disorganised pile on the floor.
     
    "I need some of those." She pointed.
     
    Aww what? Can you take some of these instead? I've just counted that lot.... Oh no, she's got that 'I want that stuff on the floor' look on her face. Sigh. Okay, I'll recount it....
     
    Who said the Age of Chivalry was dead? Then again, maybe I'm just a sucker for a pretty face. One advantage to working in a department store stockroom is a plethora of pretty faces. I like this job. Anyway, I'd better get on and....
     
    What is that pile doing there? Uh oh. I've left a pile of stock from a previous box, and I don't know which one it is. Looking around me, I realise that somewhere in this wall of cardboard boxes is the one I need to open. Here goes...
  12. caldrail

    Off The Course

    By caldrail,

    Today was another session at the Work Experience Programme, in which we are supposed to fit a jobsearch in between the various group activities. I always find this very frustrating because what I'd like to do is turn up and get on with it, without all these infant school distractions.
     
    Todays distraction was about presentations, and our group (composed of the noisier elements of the class, myself included) were given a brief to assemble a presentation on facilities and assistance for drug and alcohol abuse. I did make a valiant effort to organise things... I did try... But to no avail.
     
    Miss T was there, bright and bouncy, and totally self absorbed as she always is. She and her gang wanted an excuse to get out of the classroom and wander around doing something they considered more interesting, which amounted to light hearted socialising with an official excuse. In the end I let them go and promptly they all vanished out the door. Fine with me. I found lots of stuff on the internet concerning the topic at hand.
     
    Now that sort of makes me sound like a party pooper. In my defence I have to say that Miss T was well on form today. Her constant need to be the center of attention is making her bolshy and scornful. She's literally starting confrontations for her own amusement. This time however she went too far. Not with me, I have to say, but rather her need for attention resulted in a disciplinary followed by an ejection from the premises ten minutes later.
     
    Miss T wasn't the only one. One of her friends, a skeletal blonde girl whose experience of life, the universe, and everything makes her uniquely unable to understand anything beyond a late night party, followed her shortly after. Short attention span Miss M has been warned. And warned again in case she'd forgotten.
     
    The Great KS Mystery Solved
    The absence of KS from work was due to a sudden bout of flu (which I probably inadvertently gave him) that kept him in bed for two days. He looks properly cured, fit, and able to resume his role as the King of Banter. Tomorrow I shall need to stay alert, to stay banter-ready. He needs to stay at work, because he's already used up all his absence allowance and could easily be dismissed from the course.
     
    In fact after todays session we both both strolled down the hill, engaged in steady banter (the sort of non-intellectual non-stop gag kind that isn't funny to anyone else in the entire cosmos). Cheeky beggar reckons my home is in a crime ridden area. How did he know?
     
    Good News
    Our resident sex-change person has landed a job interview in Bath. I wish her(?) well and hope she(?) lands that job.
  13. caldrail
    Thursday is jobsearch day again, and that's official. You would expect that we get access to facilities and resources to assist us in the quest for gainful employment and up to a point you'd be right, but what might suprise you is the extent to which the advisors go to obstruct and prevent us from actually making any attempt to apply for a job.
     
    As usual TB began her class in... erm... whatever it was, I've forgotten already... Oh yes, I remember now, it was a group thing about a hypothetical product or service and present a sales presentation on it. One table actually attempted this, discussing a baby-alert thingy,
     
    We have a television show in Blighty called Dragons Den in which a panel of business success stories offer investment and executive input if the hopeful guests impress them
  14. caldrail
    Today is big news for me. I have published my first book, available from all good booksellers, entitled Introspective and Non-Triumphant Behaviour Among Adolescent Roman Males (by Caldrail). Took me ages to research the subject. Finally finished and out on the shelves. Woo Hooo!
     
    You are all going to buy a copy, aren't you?
     
    This was of course a complete April Fools joke and the said book does not exist. It also happens to be a subtle if somewhat abstract poke at some of my dole-seeking friends at the Work Experience Programme Centre and my early exit on Thursday. Oh come on... Who'd buy a book with 'Caldrail' on the cover?
     
    Proof of Pyshic Powers
    I was right. I am psychic. TB did indeed attempt to call me. Unfortunately I set the wrong year on my mobile phone so the message never got through. Whoops. Must remember not to make mistakes like that again.
     
    Proof of Jobsearch
    Todays activity at our weekly Jobsearch Day was to make a milk smoothie. I have absolutely no idea why flavoured dairy drinks have any meaningful benefit to our unemployed status, but there you go. One lady was perusing the various recipes on the net, usually involving lots of expensive strawberries, but I made a few helpful suggestions, such as...
     
    Vindaloo Smoothie. Lots of fiery chilli, potato, and a meat of your choice, plus the knowledge that you will find a use for all that excess toilet paper you bought in the last weekends sale.
     
    Brussel Sprout and Vinegar Smoothie. Let it not be said th at I don't cater for vegetarians. Full of sprouting goodness.
     
    As usual our chimps tea party took no notice of the what was going on and resported to loud debate concerning football results, Miss M's ever eventful love life, the Malignant Pixie's sex aid, the latest gossip from Facebook, and for those who could bear it, rap music from the PC's. It seems I was the only one who heard TB say that if we applied for enough jobs we could go home earlier. I was a little delayed due to a snail having been reincarnated as a computer, but fifteen minutes later I was triumphantly waving a wad of print-outs and away I went. See ya, KS. Enjoy your day at the Programme Centre.
     
    Note The Date
    Some of you might have spotted the date. I take no responsibility for trips to the bookstore and long-winded enquiries to members of staff. In fact, all in all, I've had a very irresponsible day!
  15. caldrail

    Cold Blasts

    By caldrail,

    I had intended to go on a hike yesterday but the unsettled weather put me off. Today however was due to be sunshine and showers, and after looking at the weather map on tv I decided to risk a venture into the countryside. So this morning I was up early and all packed. My intention was to climb to the top of Liddington Hill, the highest spot in Wiltshire and not too far away, although the route I planned to go by meant following the road south then doubling back up the escarpment, a fair distance to walk with a weight on your back.
     
    Trudging through the mud is a very tiring experience. So I decided not to go the long way, and instead followed the country road east from Chiseldon and clambering up the grassy hillsides. It's been a long time since I've been up there, and since I hadn't arrived via the Ridgeway as I usually would, I discovered to my suprise and delight that their were ditches and ramparts guarding the slightly less torturous inclines of the plateau behind the hillfort.
     
    As for the weather I encountered no showers at all. Cloudy, some sunny spells, and a chill breeze. That all changed when I got to the top of Liddington Hill. Up there the wind was fiercely cold and unrelenting. Ye gods you'd need to be tough to live up there during winter. No wonder the hillfort was abandoned more than once.
     
    The view of course is brilliant. You can see over the plain to the north, and into both valleys tracing southward either side. A light aeroplane flew past me, climbing through cloud and revealing just how low the cloud was above my head. It was nice to get up there again - but a whole lot nicer back down again!
     
    How Not To Pat Dogs
    The lady had been trying to call her dog for a while. Trouble is, a dog's nose is so much more an effective sensory device than our own it's hard to realise what vistas of information they uncover as they sniff the urine left by the previous canine visitor. Eventually the dog obeyed. This bulky muscular dog then spotted me returning to Swindon on the footpath and decided to investigate.
     
    Hello Dog. How are you? Let me just pet you.. Woah!... For a moment I thought the animal was going to bite. The dog thought I was going to slap him. So we sort of both backed off. "He's quite harmless" The woman said. Yeah, I know, they always are at home when everythings normal. Still, the dog showed some initiative and began a game of Can I Get Close Without Him Stopping Me?.
     
    Uhhh... Lady?... I'm getting bored of this game. Could you call your dog?...
     
    Youngsters
    The Neighbours have rediscovered the delights of loud music. I think young people should be banned. Just ban them. All of them. The world would be a better place.
  16. caldrail
    I woke up this morning in a sort of tired downbeat mood. Sort of like that monday feeling but delayed by two days for extra suffering. Wednesdays in Swindon are always greyer than normal. Don't know why, they just are. It's traditional.
     
    You see, the thirteen weeks of my placement are coming to an end. I hate to admit it but I've actually enjoyed being there. Well, maybe not quite all the time, just enough of it to bring a tear to my cheek as I look back and remember my time as J's disciple. So inspired were we by his leadership, his sense of humour, his complete lack of respect to authority, and his general "What am I doing here?" attitude, that we left a big message scrawled on carboard and taped across his favourite baler. "WE LOVE YOU J" it said.
     
    Now before you start thinking that working in a clothes shop has radically altered our sexuality and self image, I would like to point out that KS today made strong hints that his love life isn't over. And that from a guy who reckoned he was temporarily celibate. So to celebrate our last day under J's tutelage we headed down to the sandwich bar at lunch and got all nostalgic. To be honest, what I really wanted to do was get drunk, but...
     
    Stupid Tax of the Week
    The Chancellor of the Exchequer had announced in his latest budget that cider is going up in price. Oh brilliant. Does the government really think I'm going to apologise for my criticism of their cack-handed financial skulduggery? Not only have they made life more expensive for me, but now they want me to foot the bill for it too. Except... The second item of good news today is that the government might not be able to raise the price of duty on cider after all, because they're all so busy fighting for their political lives now the election date is set for May 6th. Woo-Hooo!!!!!!!
     
    Stupid Repair of the Week
    Today they fixed the air conditioning. So now the winter is over the heating has been turned on. "We want it at least twenty degrees all over the store" Proclaimed the management. More like twenty five to thirty. It was sweltering hot under that renovated fan. So hot in fact that I felt it important to my well-being to strip off and enjoy the summer-like heat.
     
    Mrs T even popped her head around the corner in disbelief I'd done that. How she giggled. She was in such a good mood she even let KS play with his mobile phone. And she came past for another look. J saw me too and crept past in embarrasement. The Rampant Rabbit saw me but claimed he hadn't looked. And my boss enquired later that afternoon as to why I had my shirt on. Miss L had already gone home and was spared the psychological trauma of seeing me in the flesh.
     
    Song of the Week
    That old classic by The Eagles
     
    On a dark Swindon highstreet
    Cool wind in my hair
    Warm smell of burgers
    Rising up through the air
    Up ahead in the distance
    The place to earn my pay
    My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
    But I'd found the shop okay
     
    There I stood in the doorway
    I rang the outside bell
    And I was thinking to myself
    "This could be heaven or this could be hell"
    Then a manager opened the side door
    And he showed me the way
    There were voices down the corridor
    I thought I heard them say
     
    Welcome to the lonely high street stockroom
    Such a lovely place
    Keep up the pace
    Plenty of room in the racks of the lonely stockroom
    Any time of year
    You can find it here
     
    The manageress is twisted
    She got the Mercedes-Benz
    She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys
    That she calls friends
    How they dance in the shopfloor
    In amongst the clothes
    Some dance to remember
    Some dance to forget
     
    So I called the supervisor
    "Please bring me my pay"
    He said, "We haven't had any money here
    Since 1968"
    And still those voices are calling from far away
    Wake you up in the middle of the day
    Just to hear them say
     
    Welcome to the lonely high street stockroom
    Such a lovely place
    Where we work in haste
    They're living it upstairs in the darkened stockroom
    What a nice surprise
    Bring your alibis
     
    They've just fixed the heating
    At some outrageous price
    And she said, "We are all just prisoners here
    Of our own device"
    And in the managers chambers
    They gathered for the feast
    They stab it with their steely knives
    But they just can't kill the beast
     
    Last thing I remember, I was
    Running for the door
    I had to find the passage back
    To the place I was before
    "Relax," said the night man
    "We are programmed to unpack
    You can check out any time you like
    But you'll only get the sack!"
  17. caldrail

    Imminent Freedom

    By caldrail,

    My last day at the Work Experience Centre! Free! Free at last! Free to experience sunlight, fresh air, and sensible intelligent people! But until that actually happens, I have to sit through the usual lecture and group activity. A part of me hopes my wierd brother will be waiting outside with his second hand ex-police car in a cool black suit and shades, mostly because of the fun adventures I
  18. caldrail
    The stifling warm spell seems to run its course. Last night was a blessed relief from lying there gasping for breath, a definite cooler feel to the air, and this morning was actually quite chilly. At last... A chance to get some real sleep....
     
    But no. For some reason every alarm in the neighbourhood was going off. The abanonded office across the road made its usuall insistent bleeping. Car alarms went off one after the other in the streets behind my home. A burglar alarm sounded into the small hours. What is going on? A mass invasion of teenage thieves? I just want to sleeeeepppp......
     
    A Question of Time
    Here's something for the scientifically minded to ponder....
     
    Our view of space time is effectively einsteinian. That is, we have three dimensions plus time, which Einstein recognised is linked to our mundane cosmos. Most people wouldn't go any further than that - it isn't a big real world issue. Now, most people would simply regard our three dimensions as all there is and that it's a simple rectilinear description of the volume of space we observe. There are theories that other dimensions exist, seperated from the ones we can perceive, and curled up so small they'd be invisible anyway. But our familiar three dimensions might not be so rectilinear. Einstien himself recognised that space-time is curved. A theory now describes the universe as 'crinkled'. In other words, although we see everything as sort of flat, it isn't, because light and other electromagnetic energies we use to observe the universe around us are simply following the curves, thus we don't see them.
     
    Now we consider dark matter. A strange, mysterious substance that cannot be detected yet accounts for a bulk of the theoretical mass of the universes contents. It should be there, but we can't find it. A theory describes dark matter not as some exotic form of 'stuff', but as the gravitic footprint of ordinary matter like stars and planets that to us appear very, very far away, but that because of the folds in space -time are actually quite close.
     
    Now consider time. Traditionally this is seen as a dimension of its own, like a river, or in some peoples imaginations, a container for all possibilities. Scientists are now coming around to the idea that time does not exist. There is only Now, this moment, flicking from one quantum state to the next at the rate of ten to the thirty four times a second. This means there is no past and no future, no co-existence of things happening in other time periods. So this means that time travel really is impossible.
     
    But wait a minute. We know space-time is curved, We know time runs at different rates according to velocity of the observer and the gravity well of whatever mass is close by. We think electromagnetism follows the curvature of the universe, and that gravity doesn't. What if then, if it were possible to do the same as gravity - to cut across folds in space? Certainly that would make science fiction come true in that you could travel huge distances instantly, but because of the relative variations in time rate, you would also be travelling back and forth in time, because everything is relative to the observer.
     
    Think about that the next time you see a blue 1960's police telephone box. Or not. Depending on how much time you have, how busy your social life is, or whether you give a monkeys
  19. caldrail
    I hate the internet. It all looks colourful, quick, and easy. But no matter how much I try, there's never a version of the interesting looking pages in english, the downloads get filtered out by web security, the online application system sends you round in circles, and the company that requires you to log on doesn't send you the password reminder. That about sums up the day so far.
     
    I've wasted tons of time trying to get this to work. Now I've got ten minutes to write todays blog entry. Okay. I'm up for a challenge.
     
    Bump In The Night
    I think my neighbour is getting fed up with my long nights over a hot PC. It isn't that I deliberately make noise but it just isn't possible to be completely quiet, and the edwardian floorboards are creaking like an old galleon every time I move. So early this morning he was banging draws and doors. Okay, okay, I get the hint. Maybe if I put a spot of oil on the floorboards they'll stop creaking? A part of me so wants to try that.
     
    Annoying People
    There's a guy in the next cubicle who keeps making heavy breathing noises, rather like someone who's personal life is entirely devoted to photographs of naked women in anatomically impossible poses. Glancing across the website he's browsing seems inoccuous. There he goes again. Wheeze.
     
    Now on the other side is a guy who fidgets. He just can't keep still. Always coughing, gesturing, clearing his throat, and now he's testing the contours of his balding head. Sorry mate, but the brain isn't getting any bigger.
     
    More Rubbish
    More rubbish has filled the alleyway beside the houses where I live. Where is all this stuff coming from? Mattresses, clothing, bottles, all sorts of stuff. I notice some of the clothes look vaguely asian in style. So let me take this opportunity to point out to our immigrants that we have bins in this country to put rubbish in. I know the council and their recycling is a pain in the butt, and that you have to sort your own rubbish into fifteen different plastic bins these days, but please try.
     
    Gun Law
    I was reading on another forum about one chaps uncle, who apparently owns live .50cal machine guns. It all sounds dubious to me. Automatic weapons have been banned from public ownership in Britain since 1937. If you look at the legislation, it's been rising exponentially ever since, and these days toy guns are illegal to sell if they're anything other than cheap lurid yellow plastic. Following yesterdays alarming and tragic shooting incidents in Cumbria, clearly the next step is to ban shotguns too.
     
    I suppose there's a case for that. If you don't have a gun, you can't shoot someone. And it would prevent those idiots I passed in the countryside last year from posing and looking macho with shotguns draped all over them. But then - if all these pistols and rifles are illegal - How come people still own them?
     
    More Gun Law
    Israel has done it again. After my comments about Al Q'aedas recent loss I've no doubt serious islamic revolutionaries are howling for my blood and demanding to know why I'm not speaking out against Israel for its heavy handed approach to national security. Well... Perhaps if you didn't keep threatening them, they wouldn't be so bullish. other than that I just don't care, because if I don't get a job soon, the government will shoot me for being a drain on their financial resources.
     
    On the Bright Side
    The weather is nice.
     
    And I still Have...
    Woah! Two mintes left. Just enough time to press submit. Job well done.
  20. caldrail

    Talking Cars

    By caldrail,

    Another day, another takeaway vindaloo. Having ordered my meal I sat down and watched the world go by outside. Regents Circus is a busy little road junction and all sorts of people stroll by. Sometimes you see odd things. Now I'm no expert on ethnic dress, but the young moslem lad in a beige dress did look odd to my decadent and preconceptive western eyes. Even stranger was when he calmly walked across the road and drove off in a Bentley Continental GT. How much is this curry costing me?
     
    That White Car Again
    If I've mentioned this before then I apologise because I don't remember doing so. It's just that a few times lately I've spotted a white sports car driving down the hill. At first I wondered what it was. A sort of squarish style but not entirely displeasing. I couldn't see any makers badges and it was beginning to annoy me that I couldn't recognise this car at all. What on earth is it? Eventually I walked by when the vehicle was stationary at the traffic lights at the bottom of the hill. Embossed on the rear was the word "Pontiac".
     
    Pontiac? That's not a Trans-Am, the usual stateside offering we sometimes see over here. Then a moment of realisation hit me. This was a Fiero. Pontiac Fieros are mostly known in Britain as the donor vehicle for kit cars, thus we rarely see the vehicle in its pristine 'as Pontiac intended' form. Who knows, perhaps a kit car is due to hit the roads hereabouts in the near future?
     
    Prancing Horse Or Plodding Donkey?
    On my way to the curry house I pass a more upmarket resteraunt across the road. Parked outside the establishment so the owner could keep a wary eye on his vehicle was a gleaming red sports car with Ferrari badges. A pair of youths sat on the low college wall debating what it must be like to drive it.
     
    I should have spoken up. I really should. Because I know exactly what it's like. Not just driving the real thing which I've done on track days, but the Toyota MR2, the chassis on which this lookalike kitcar was based. Except it didn't really look right. Not one of the better ones. But at least the owner had the two youths completely fooled.
     
    One Last Word
    And before I sign off, a quick word to the Top Gear team. Just in case you really did think everyone was watching the football, let me assure you I wasn't. I did in fact suffer psychological trauma from discovering that Porsche are going horribly wrong, seeing an american muscle car that almost handled well, and finding out that the Stig is not the fastest cyborg on the planet.
     
    Under normal circumstances I would claim Incapacity Benefit whilst I recover my sanity but the current coalition government have banned claimants from ill health. Some might say I shouldn't have risked this trauma by watching Top Gear. Maybe, but I thought that was preferable to letting my brain atrophy watching overpaid haircuts play football.
     
    I hate to say it... But after being trounced by a certain Brazilian gentleman... Is the Stig old technology? Is he becoming obselete? The pressure is on.
  21. caldrail

    Mood Changes

    By caldrail,

    I opened the curtains this morning to see a clear blue sky. That happens sometimes, and there's no reason to be concerned, because the sky usually clouds over within a couple of hours.
     
    There's a very lazy mood in Swindon right now. The garage mechanics across the yard are more bothered about cups of tea than mechanical problems, but then they always were. The yard isn't full of cars either, but then, with all the rubbish being deposited in the alleyway that allows access, that's no wonder.
     
    Over the last few days I've seen a crowd of suits, shirts, and ties wandering down the back road toward the rear gate of the Old College site. Given how rough that part of town is, old victorian brick terraces filled with thieves, layabouts, and druggies, they do get noticed. Looks as if the site will be demolished soon. I was tempted to ask the security man if I could wander around outside and take some pictures of the old place now it's covered with foliage (looking very post-apocalyptic), but he had that 'Don't mess with me, son' demeanour having waited all morning for the VIP's to turn up. Sometimes you just know you're asking for trouble.
     
    Unusual Car Spotted
    I came out of the internet cafe on Commercial Road and hey, what's that? A brutal, muscular car in silver paint parked around the corner. I couldn't resist the temptation to wander past and give it a perusal. It turned out to be a new model Camaro, a suprisingly charismatic vehicle, this one on french plates of all things. You don't see that every day.
     
    I'm not sure I want one, but it certainly grabs the attention in dour residential Swindon.
     
    Who?
    I've just a rumour that a Pope has been seen in Britain. Why is everyone fawning over him? I don't get it. Okay, he's the head of a religion, but let's be honest, he's just a guy in a funny costume who pops his head out of a window every so often. I thought God had a monopoly on worship?
     
    It was however nice of him to praise Britain for its stand against extremism, such as Hitlers Nazi regime in World War Two. So he should. At least we actually did something about it. Now, what was that about not dealing decisively with child abusers in the Roman Catholic Church?
  22. caldrail

    Getting To Know A Stranger

    By caldrail,

    Walking home on sunday lunchtime I came across a lady walking her dog. Out of curiosity I engaged her in conversation about her canine companion, which turned out to be a Husky. We get a few breeds that are similar, such as Alaskan Mamelutes and such, but most of those have thicker coats so I didn't recognise this one.
     
    The Husky in question was a perky little animal, friendly, and very keen on pulling its owner across Swindon. Whilst I was chatting a couple passed by with their bruiser of a dog, stocky build and short face. The two dogs immediately started wagging tails and approached each other for a sniff, as dogs do.
     
    "Be good." Said the others dog's owner, "It just wants to get to know you."
     
    The Husky dived in, up close and personal. I'm not sure what the correct phrase is for that particular activity, but rest assured the terrier was not displeased. Yep.... Thats what I call call getting to know you.... I mean, dogs just don't care, do they? This was graphic stuff, right in front of all witnesses, and we all burst out laughing. What if humans behaved like that? Can you imagine, an interested woman walking up to you all smiles and wiggly bottom, asking you to drop your trousers in the street?
     
    Why do human beings make such a big deal out of courting? All that teenage angst, endless preparation, damage to the liver, impaired hearing, endless advice on how to be good at it, visits to the doctor when you are, and so forth. A part of me thinks it ought be like the films. One action sequence, a blast of violin music, and away you go. hey, how could a century of Hollywood block-busters possibly be wrong?
     
    On The Box
    One of the downsides of all these new television channels is that I now receive a handful of x-rated ones. Yopu might ask why that's a problem. Well, a couple of nights ago I got curious and investigated this source of lewd and decadent entertainment, purely in the name of scientific research you understand. One channel showed a woman doing slow motion gymnastics to get you make a phone call before the channel encrypted itself. Lots of quickfire adverts showing various women enjoying themselves and such, but mostly a grinning lady waving a mobile phone at the camera. Nope, not excited.
     
    Another channel was a pair of young ladies in a paddling pool together. Now this looks more promising.
     
    "We've been naughty" One enticed me to see more, "We've both had girl on girl action and we liked it."
     
    So... Do they do action replays? Or is this just two girls chatting in a paddling pool?
     
    "So phone us now on 0123456789"
     
    And there they were, filmed chatting on the phone. Is is just me, or do dogs get a better deal than humans? Face it, the mobile phone is destroying decadence as we know it.
  23. caldrail

    Noise Alert

    By caldrail,

    This weekend is going to be noisy. Today is after all Guy Fawkes Day, when we celebrate a plot to blow up the British government hundreds of years ago. Given how sensitive the authorities are to security issues right now, I'm probably going to be arrested for this blog entry.
     
    The weather is not encouraging. It's a damp morning, grey and unwelcoming, and I suspect a lot of firework parties tonight will suffer the problems of setting off their noisy and colourful gunpowder fests.
     
    That of course won't stop the evening revellers from having a great time. They'll be hooting and whooping, chanting football songs, and shouting taunts all night long. Bless.
     
    I did see a bit in the newspapers that police have stated that a large portion of their law enforcement takes place because of nightclubbers wandering around drunk without having found a camel to wake up beside. I mean, wasn't that obvious? Is that the sum total of expertise of law enforcement garnered over the years since John Peel decided truncheons were a good idea?
     
    How To Win Friends And Influence
    Having mentioned fireworks, I was stunned to find my current claims advisor chatting about them in a friendly manner. What? Isn't this the guy who signs me on half an hour late and hardly says a word before he tells me I can go? Amazing what happens when you get shirty and remind a pleb he's talking to nobility (even if it is a little faux)
     
    Actually, most claims advisors don't like treating their customers as anything else than people to be bossed around. It's a social status thing. They happen to be employed by a government agency, and possess some authority over us. We on the other hand are lazy good for nothing's who darn well ought to know which side of the bread is buttered.
     
    It's been nearly a year since I got my title. Three people have voluntarily used that title in a respectful manner since. Incredible, don't you think? To a large extent that's down to my appearance. I just don't resemble most peoples idea of an upper class person in any sense whatsoever. Partly it's my circumstance, since I'm unemployed and upper class persons aren't supposed to claim benefits, or even work for a living, as John Prescott proved recently.
     
    Well, since my claims advisor has decided to be friendly, I'll let him get away with it. Especially since in the not too distant future I might well get my tail feathers singed. Fireworks? There's a lady in the Department of Work and Pensions who has demanded my attendance and proof of identity. Uh oh.
  24. caldrail
    As predicted, the temptation to set off fireworks was too much for the local inhabitants. As damp and dreary an evening as it was, they set to work creating as much mayhem as possible.
     
    The early shift started around seven o'clock. I looked out the back window of my home, which has a narrow view across the west of Swindon. Usually on bonfire night one area sets off, finishes, then another begins elsewhere. Not this year. Stretching into the distance was a display of pyrotechnic fountains in all sorts of bright colours, little showers of twinkling light as far as I could see.
     
    Given the weather, the effect was extraordinary, and I've never seen that before. Also, some peoples rockets were penetrating the cloud base, and whilst the burst was hidden from view, the cloud lit up with a dull colour briefly, giving a sort of surreal stormy effect.
     
    With the window open, I could smell the smoke. In one of the gardens backing onto the alleyway, a family were having their own firework party and the wind was sending the smoke in my direction. Again, it was a surreal thing, watching a bright glow appearing behind the fences and garages like something out of a fifties sci-fi B movie.
     
    They're Coming!
    Talking of things from Outer Space, I see there's an alien invasion planned to conquer our local library shortly. Naturally I will be there to defend mankind and fend off their fiendish schemes.
     
    Luckily I doubt the invasion will require any nuclear response, but given that such weaponry has proven to be futile against alien armour, I shall have to resort to coughs and sneezes. Hey, it worked once before pretty well, didn't it?
  25. caldrail

    Bangs And Rattles

    By caldrail,

    My neighbour was not happy. He left for work this morning by slamming the door, which results in the house moving slightly. Seriously, it does, you can actually feel the movement caused by air pressure.
     
    Not only that, but passing lorries on the road outside make the house shake. Worse still, the vibration causes my bedroom door to rattle, and that, I suspect, is what kept my neighbour awake and got him all riled up. Even my usual strategem of wedging a plastic bag under door made no difference. The brassy rattle kept on sounding.
     
    As it happens, I do have some sympathy. It kept me awake too.
     
    Rushing About
    Another rainy day. This morning I got up a little late and realised to my horror that I'd forgotten to fill in my jobsearch booklet last night. Why is it that when you're in a hurry, the human bladder refuses to empty? Come on! Come on!....
     
    So I rushed down to the Job Centre braving the nasty weather. Thankfully the rain wasn't that heavy, but it certainly wasn't fun. Then again, attendance at the Job Centre never is. Some claims advisors really don't like happy claimants. It's a sign that life is too easy and they start all sorts of machinations to wipe that smile off your face.
     
    On the plus side, I was rescued this morning. A good natured claims Advisor, Mr T, has taken me onto his caseload again. I have to say he's polite, helpful, and doesn't display the wicked satisfaction many advisors show when their customer is squirming under scrutiny.
     
    talking of which, I'm die to be placed under scrutiny shortly. An interview with Customer Compliance no less. Do I really need to describe what's going to happen? According to Mr T, a few claimants have had their money stopped already. Nothing to worry about, he tells me.
     
    Big Bangs
    I hear on the news that the Hadron Collider in Switzerland has succcesfully recreated little 'big bangs'. Actually it didn't. It simply reproduced for a brief instant conditions that existed moments after the Big Bang had happened. Not that I'm worried of course, but creating a new Big Bang isn't likely to teach us much, because the last one caused an explosion whose debris is now spread across countless light years of space.
     
    Funny thing really. I spent my childhood living under the threat of soviet nuclear missiles, now I live under the threat that some scientist might light a bigger firework than he intended.
     
    I wonder? Is all this quantum research going to do anything useful? Like cure the rattle on my bedroom door?
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