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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Trouble At 'Mill

    By caldrail,

    Oh dear.... The floor of the warehouse is crumbling under the weight of the forklifts trundling back and forth. The builders are in, cutting gaping holes in the floor, filling them with concrete, and getting miffed when they discover lumps of cement nearby or a forklifter knocking plastic cones aside.
     
    The guy who fixed the electrics in our porta-palace finally finished wiring up our area today, and slowly (expertly) manoevered his cherry-picker out onto the main aisle, whereupon his platform got wedged thirty feet up on top of a stack of car parts. Oh we had such fun. Pass the beer mates...
     
    The car manufacturer that we share this warehouse with has appropriated a section of floor next to ours (and had armco barriers put in - thats fightin' talk mister...). Thats all very well, but now there's a huge stack of metal and plastic stillages containing car parts right next to a manual work area. Not quite acceptable to health and safety that... For now they're ignoring me jumping up and down, waving my arms and pointing. You can laugh, but you'll be sorry... You will....
     
    Promise of the Week
    AD, my mentor and boss (I base my entire life on his teachings) is aware of my interest in roman history, and mentioned a dig that took place near his home at a building site. The roman walls present were only twelve inches down! He's promised to bring me back a Roman tomorrow. I'm waiting AD.
  2. caldrail

    Its a Cruel World

    By caldrail,

    For a while we've had some cracking weather, lovely and sunny. Today though its cloudy, damp from yesterdays rain, and to be honest, quite a bit cooler. In fact, as I strolled across town in the mid-day gloom I could see my breath.
     
    Then again, things ain't too bad. The rain yesterday didn't amount to a cyclone sweeping Swindon downstream in massive mudslides or tsunami's. nor did an earthquake reduce my local school to an impromptu graveyard.
     
    Nature can be fantastic. A fluke of the weather, a little spot untainted by mankinds need to redevelop, or an animal in the wild close-up, where you never expected. Something that for one reason or another entrances you with its beauty.
     
    Sometimes though, nature ain't like that at all...
     
    Nature's Nasty Side
    If you're squeamish at all - look away now...
     
    On my way to the library in West Swindon I passed through one of those urban playgrounds that no-one uses. The other side of a fence made from railway sleepers I noticed movement on my left. A crow, startled by my sudden appearance. But it was the other bird that shocked me. A pidgeon, clearly badly injured, feathers strewn everywhere and unable to escape, was being eaten alive by scavengers. At times like this you feel powerless, and it reminds you just how cruel nature can be right in your own back yard, away from the media news teams and their cameras.
     
    But on a lighter note
    Right, enough of death and misery, back to my jobsearch. And there's a new winner of Idiot Employee of the Month. I was given a phone number to enquire about a vacancy and duly rang, but the contact wasn't available, so I rang back later. This time however the woman on the phone realised it was a good idea to ask what the phone call was for, and discovering I was after a job, took some details and promised to send me an application form. Next day, the form arrived in the morning post. With absolutely no details of where to send the thing when I'd filled it in. Obviously this is some sort of initiative test isn't it? I think I've applied to be James Bond's apprentice without realising.
     
    Oops... sorry... didn't mean to blow your cover chaps...
  3. 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."
  4. caldrail

    Fast Food

    By caldrail,

    By some fluke of economy I was left with ten pounds the other night. A crumpled tenner in my hand is a gateway to pleasure on a scale unimaginable to ordinary dole seekers like me. So immediately I rushed out into the street with a maniacal grin on my face, braving evening traffic and revellers in a mad dash for the kebab shop across the road.
     
    I made it! Safe and sound on the other side of the road, I entered the bright interior of turkish takeaway cuisine. I think I had some vague intention of buying a kebab for consumption at home. Eating kebabs in the street is an art one can only acquire by practice, and even then, you litter the pavement in scraps of vegetables.
     
    But no, as I surveyed the illuminated menu with entires in some plastic font or crudely scrawled on in red marker pen, I saw the glossy colour advert tacked onto one end. Turkish pizza? Erm... You sell those?
     
    "Yes Boss." He replied with a genuine turkish smile. Such jolly fellows, especially when you're about to order a meal.
     
    Then I'll have one. No, just one. Yes, a bag is okay. No, no sauce. No nothing else. No, really, that's all I want.
     
    And all for less than three pounds! What a bargain. So I ran back across the street with a maniacal grin to consume my fortuitous purchase. Unlike an Italian offering, with a deep pan crust and cheesy tomato tang, the turkish pizza is a wafer thin pitta bread with a savoury topping. More subtle perhaps, but very pleasing nonetheless. Yum.
     
    What Is That Noise?
    For once I can't blame my neighbours for the annoying noise, but of late there's been music audible outside the back of my home. It sounds as if the source is very loud and thankfully not too close. Nor for that matter do I recognise the songs or artists, but considering I gave up listening to the charts in 1979 that's hardly suprising.
     
    Fast Car
    There's a car dealer not far from where I live. The entire forecourt is packed with little buggies in all shades of grey. It's hilarious, it really is. Why on earth would I be even remotely interested in walking into that showroom? What could the salesman persuade me to believe? That the latest model has go-faster cup holders? Or that the styling is state of the art? Have you seen the Nissan Juke? Nissan Joke more like, it looks like a kit car that's been polished up.
     
    Now regular readers will know that I like my sports cars. Who cares how fuel efficient a vehicle is, or how many safety stars it has, or how practical it is, if it can't go faster than anyone else? I wish manufacturers would show some common sense and revitalise the market with cars that people might actually drool over.
     
    Well, okay, enjoyable cars are somewhat out of my price range for now, but I notice a go-faster car is coming to Swindon next weekend. Apparently Mr Noble is trying to raise the land speed record again. According to the local paper...
     
    The 12.8m-long, 6.4-tonne Bloodhound SSC will travel faster than a bullet fired from a rifle and will accelerate from 0-1,050mph in just 40 seconds. And at its maximum velocity, the pressure of air bearing down on its carbon fibre and titanium bodywork will exceed 12 tonnes per square metre.
     
    Brilliant. It really is. Now that Swindon is the first borough in Britain to junk the speed camera, it's also the first place in inland Britain to host a world land speed record attempt, in a what is basically a wingless jet fighter the size of an articulated truck.
     
    No, I do exaggerate, the car is only on display, as an inspiration for young aspiring engineers to design cars that people actually want to buy. I'm waiting...
  5. caldrail

    Market Demand

    By caldrail,

    The doorbell rang last night. Wow, thats a forgotten pleasure. Most people announce their presence by shouting in the street. So I drop my dry sandwich and rush downstairs in a fit of uncool eagerness.
     
    A hopeful adolescent stood in the hallway, looking a bit uncertain at my raffish squalor.
     
    "Is that your Mazda out back?" He asked. Oh no... Don't tell me it's been vandalised again....
     
    Yes it is, I responded.
     
    "You thinking of selling it?" He enquired nervously. I stared for a second with raised eyebrows. Full marks for chutzpah, but a hot sportscar (albeit a castrated one) at his age? I realise how much he'll suffer. Putting the car back together will cost him far more than he realises, the car is far more demanding to drive than he realises, and the police will be demanding him to stop every five yards.
     
    No, I answered with considerable finality. He left, disconsolate, his dreams of impressing his mates and pulling the girls broken. Poor lad. Never mind, he'll find a cheap hatchback somewhere and find his freedom. Just like I did at his age.
     
    Sandwich of the Week
    Returning upstairs, I grit my teeth to consume the dry sandwich. Bread isn't too expensive I suppose, but so often it's been stored in freezers before sale and it dries out when thawed. Worse still is the cheese. The packaged slices I used to buy have doubled in price since the recent supermarket inflation, so I've no choice but buy these new 'singles' packs. At 50p for ten, you can't argue.
     
    Or so I thought. When you finally extricate them from their clever cancerous plastic wrapper, you get a quivering plastic cheese substitute that doesn't taste of anything at all. I demand cheap cheese! Real dairy produce, stuff that smells of cheese, tastes like cheese, and doesn't vibrate on its own accord.
     
    All I need now is a dog called Grommet.
  6. caldrail

    Point of Honour

    By caldrail,

    A while ago I mentioned AM. he's that geriatric New Zealander who just won't keep quiet. Well, as a young man he was in the East African Rifles in Tanganyika - I assume he is actually telling the truth about that although it would suprise me if its all bluster, he does tend to.. - and regards himself as an expert on all things african.
     
    This morning, as we waited for the library to open, he commented at length on his opnions of the regretable violence that has escalated in Kenya. His opnion was that once the zulu's let loose there's going to trouble. Never mind that the Zulu's are in south africa and aren't involved in Kenya's politics, but we'll leave that point for now.
     
    The jaw dropper was his statement about the the colonial wars of which the British Empire often found itself entangled. "The British couldn't defeat the Zulu's" He said loudly, making sure I was in earshot, "The British Empire didn't know how to fight them!"
     
    Just a small point, but didn't a contigent of british troops stand their ground at Rorke's Drift in 1879 and saw off an attack by an army of four thousand zulu's? That one action saw more victoria crosses (the highest award for bravery in the british armed forces) awarded than any other before or since. As for not knowing how to deal with the Zulu's, I remember the quote from the 60's film about this fight, when Lt Chard corrects the man about the zulu retreat as a miracle, crediting the rifle bullet instead. "And a bayonet Sir" Says the Colour Sergeant, "With a lot of guts behind it".
     
    Honour restored. We'll just not mention the previous defeat at Isandlhwana at the hands of the zulu's...
     
    Whinge of the Week
    Yes, its AM again, who has still not mastered the intricacies of emails. Getting quite irate at being unable to make the computer do what he expected it it to do he fulminated at the poor woman whose task it was to instruct in him the simple task of pressing a button on the screen. Stick to african politics, AM, at least you can convince people you know something about that, at least those people who haven't seen you bullying people off your favourite PC and know what load of nonsense you talk.
  7. caldrail

    Getting It Right

    By caldrail,

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

    Six Of The Best

    By caldrail,

    Six is an important number, or at least it is for me. It is after all the age many people believe me to be. I've always had a preference for the number four. No particular reason, just a nicer friendlier number. But why, you might ask, is six so relevant to me?
     
    It's because my life seems to be bounded by the number six. Those idiots out there who've convinced themselves that I'm a devil worshipper (shame on you) will of course by now be jumping up and down excitiedly and pointing red faced towatd their computer monitor. Christians don't like the number six either. Too statanic.
     
    Many years ago when I was a struggling would-be rock star, I had a small fan club who used to foloow me around on Red Jasper gigs just to hear me play a drumkit. Bless them all. Thanks for the pints as well lads. I did appreciate it, really.
     
    Now that the seed of my return to fame and fortune is starrting to sprout - a mere white shoot in a dark forest of giant trees as yet, but you never know - I seem to have accumulated a new fan club. All six of them.
     
    Mr D, one of my colleagues at the museum, took pity and promised to raise my fan club membership to seven. He's a genial retired maniac, a fellow member of the Free Society of Military Surplus Trousers, and true to his word he began using one of those little hand held gizmo's to access the internet. His web search couldn't find me. Not a single page. Fate has decreed I have only six fans.
     
    Good Boy!
    Those afflicted with Parkinsons Disease might be pleased to hear that a new treatment has been devised to ease their suffering. Apparently the idea is to retrain your brain. I imagine there's a few claims advisors who want me to undergo that kind of therapy as well. So therefore I can look forward to a healthy life fetching slippers or running for the ball. I must remember to raise a paw when asking for food at the supermarket.
     
    Oh My God!, No, It Can't Be Happening
    Guess what? There's going to be some shock twists to the plot at Alberts Square this year. For those few individuals who have had no contact with english civilisation since the invention of the soap opera, Eastenders is that London fantasy land where everyone sleeps, fights, and gets one over each other - and they still stop for a chat at the local pub.
     
    But back to the plot. Why on earth would anyone be shocked at the shocking prospect of shock storylines. Eastenders have been doing that since they began filming the wretched show. The only shocking thing is that it's still going. Never the same after they killed Dirty Den.
  9. caldrail
    Yesterday I made my way into town and to do so, I need to cross a busy road junction. There's a pedestrian crossing there so it isn't an onerous task.
     
    I approach the traffic light and looking to my right (We brits very sensibly drive on the left) a car was slowing down to turn left into the College car park just before the crossing. The van behind had nowhere to go. So taking the opportunity I strode across the road, with the traffic lights changing from red to flashing amber (Thats 'You can proceed if the crossing is clear')
     
    I heard a loud yell behind me. I think the unintelligible bellow said something like "Get out of the way!" seeing as the van swerved behind me and shot off down the road almost mounting the pavement in its eagerness to get past. Without doubt, it was a dubious manoever. Even if he had a clear signal, it was a pedestrian crossing and he had no legal right to force me out of the way.
     
    It was a close call. I was nearly an ex-Caldrail. If the man behind the wheel keeps on behaving like that, he'll be an ex-driver before long.
     
    Investment of the Week
    Goes to North Korea, whose starving population must be filled with joy at the prospect of seeing their nation launch a missile with a 4,200 mile range. Thats going to make their lives better isn't it?
  10. caldrail
    Tis the season for tree surgeons. The groundsmen at the park around the corner from where I live are still burning foliage. It's a wonder there's any left. That far side of the lake might be tidier but come summer it will look bare and artificial if they manage to keep the nettles and thorns back.
     
    Last night I took a look out the back of the home and saw that old elm tree at the other end of the alleyway was missing some foliage too. The entire left side of the tree was denuded of branches. This morning it had gone completely. Along the main road out front the greedy rasp of chainsaws were at work, stripping the tree nearest the house and... Hallo, what's going on here?... Trees behind the fence on the old college site are vanishing.
     
    No... It can't be happening... Surely the old college is here to stay, bats, vagrants, and security guards alike? Nope. Passing a newsagent this morning the word is out that the Old College is coming down. Okay, it might be a dishevelled eyesore, but truthfully I'm going to miss the old place.
     
    Serenading The Ladies
    Don't you just hate Valentines Night?
     
    If you go down to the pub tonight
    You better had open your eyes
    If you go down to the clubs to dance
    Prepare all your chat-up lines
    For every bloke that hasn't a girl
    Will be on the the town to give it a whirl
    'Cos tonight's the night that single men try to find one
     
    Was that you a couple of nights ago? If so, might I suggest that yellling your heads off on a quiet moonlit street at three o'clock in the morning is not going to attract a female? Take a tip - Read some Shakespeare.
     
    Bumps In The Night
    With all the knocks and bangs I can expect during demolition of the site almost next door, I seem to be getting some practice. One of my neighbours has gotten into the habit of bumping around in the small hours, closing doors with a hard clonk that walls and floorboards cannot obscure. Not only am I getting tired of it, so is another of my neighbours. So after the one finishes for the night, the other starts sliding heavy wooden abjects around.
     
    Sleep? Pfah! I laugh at those weak willed people who need a dose of shut eye to bump zzzzzzzzzz.... zzzzzzzzzzzz..... zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....
  11. caldrail

    Watch Your Language

    By caldrail,

    There's a tree in Savernake Forest that I know of. An unremarkable tree at first glance until you discover how old it is. That old fella was sprouting out of ground, fresh from the seed, roughly the same time William the Conqueror was striding ashore at Hastings.
     
    That day in 1066 changed everything. From that point forwards, England and France would be uncomfortable neighbours, no doubt made worse by the Germanic roots of the Anglo-Saxons. Of course now we're on good terms, despite my successful attempts to enrage my French teacher as a child. Nobody else liked her either.
     
    It's an instinctive thing, this antipathy between the British and French. Even some of our insults derive from our little upsets. The English two-fingered salute originated from medieval archers who taunted the French by showing they still had their bow fingers - the French had taken to cutting them off every time they caught one of them.
     
    We don't fight wars with the French any more, and to be honest, I'm a bit old to annoy French teachers now. Instead, we have a rivalry over language. A couple of decades ago the French created legislation to stop their countrymen using anglicised words in everyday conversation. They felt it was poisoning their traditional language. Imagine then my suprise when I see on the news that the French government are encouraging the education of English in their country. How times have changed. I watched as their schoolchildren underwent physical education classes entirely in English. They have free lessons and language camps out of term time, just to learn how to speak our tongue.
     
    The pervasiveness of the English language is something we take for granted. Usually when an Englishman encounters foreigners who don't understand him he simply shouts louder. Despite this traditional English ignorance of foreign languages, I did learn some French at school, inbetween annoying teachers. On an industrial visit to France back in my college days I had many opportunities to display this mastery of conversational French. I don't know if the bus driver actually understood me or not, but he took my money anyway and I arrived back at the hostel safe and well. As for the toilet cleaner we asked directions of, I can assure him we did find the Harbourmaster later that day. As for that idiot I tried to buy chocolate from - I wanted two bars of the stuff, not to haggle over the price. So I got to shout louder at a foreigner after all.
     
    Phone Call of the Week
    Talking about communication, I got a wierd phone call the other day. I found it on my answering service, three minutes of wheezing and a distant voice asking "Are you done yet?".
     
    My phone tells me there was no phone number, so I'm inclined to believe I have been contacted by aliens from the Planet Zarg who want to abduct me for sex. Thanks for the call guys, but lets stick to taking you to our leader, yes? Oh.... They've hung up......
  12. caldrail
    Oh look. It's the end of the world again. Someone has worked out by complicated mathematical formulae based on a date arrived at by a medieval monk (no doubt according to complex mathematical formulae too) that the end of the world takes place on May 21st.
     
    So if anyone fancies the pretty girl in the office and never had the courage to make a pass, better get a move on. Time is running out. Joking aside though, how you would you spend your last 24 hours on earth?
     
    This subject came up with the guy running the job club this afternoon, which is why I discovered the world was ending. Ignorance is bliss it seems. Anyway, I went into my usual denounciations of idiocy and dishonesty regarding predictions from religious sources.
     
    "Chill, man..." He said in his laid back East Indies style, "Go somewhere, do something, spend your money and have a great time..."
     
    Yes, but that's you. Your character. Not everyone would want to party the rest of their life away.
     
    "Why? Why wouldn't they want to enjoy their last day?"
     
    Because some people would want to come to terms with their existence ending tomorrow.
     
    "Nah." He replied. "No time for that."
     
    Never mind, it's all round to Mr J's house for partying on down until the world suffers an earthquake of biblical proportions and the universe catches fire. Hey, that's what the prediction is. Don't blame me if the party ends like an episode of Thunderbirds.
     
    "Nah. I ain't got any money in the bank anyhow."
     
    People never learn, do they? Ever since mankind discovered religion and learned how to preach, the end of the world was going to happen tomorrow. Except, as we all know, tomorrow never comes. So anyone waiting for the Rapture will just have to wait a bit longer. And the only Tribulation I'm going to get is more bills and red tape.
     
    What is the point of making a successful prediction for the End of the World? I mean, saying 'I told you so' is a waste of time if no-one is left alive to get irritated about it. You can't become rich and famous when the universe goes up in smoke, the dead rise, and Jesus invites the meek to bail out. Hang on a minute... Didn't Jesus say the meek would inherit the Earth? Inherit what? A post-apocalyptic ruin of a world in a universe made of charcoal?
     
    But why am I worrying? A recent study suggests half the bible is a forgery anyway. With a bit of luck, I'll be in the half of the universe that doesn't end in disaster. That said, I live in Swindon. The odds are not good.
     
    The New World
    Astronomers are claiming they've discovered a habitable world twenty light years away. As holiday destinations go, it might not be the best. The journey time is going to be somewhat excessive (once in a lifetime visit and return tickets extra), and although the world should be on the cold side, the proportion of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere calls for very, very warm experience. If that wasn't enough, the gravity is about twice as strong as ours, so falling over drunk is twice as likely to get you into Accident & Emergency.
     
    But why bother? The universe is going to burn up in a day or two so we're told. So unless you had the foresight to build your own interstellar ark by now, you might as well cancel your holiday plans.
     
    Another Alien Invasion
    I've been warned that aliens are descending on north Swindon shortly. No, that's not some crackpot prediction made by complex mathematical forumlae, but a news item from a charity that mounts these invasions to raise money for good causes. Which is pretty much the excuse used for all invasions since the dawn of Dr Who.
     
    I wish the Daleks well in their attempt to exterminate North Swindon and hope it raises oodles of cash for the good cause.
  13. caldrail

    Failure To Communicate

    By caldrail,

    Cold. Wet. Dull.
     
    Welcome to a very average Tuesday in Swindon. I'd like to say more but there's only so many times you describe the realities of the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire.
     
    The highlight of the last twenty four hours was bumping into the boss of the museum as I dragged my weekly shopping home. We had a nice little chinwag, mostly about recruitment agencies, and we're both agreed that agencies are the curse of western civilisation.
     
    As it happens one of my recent job applications was for a personnel department administrative post. Manufacturing experience required? Why? I clicked on 'apply' anyway. So I got a reply saying that the employer required manufacturing experience.
     
    Yeah? And? I sent a reply pointing out that I had such experience. I received an answer that said my experience was in distribution, not manufacturing. So I was part of the Honda parts supply chain for nothing? Quality control, material allocation, and liaison with shop floor assemblers? Correct me if I'm wrong but that does constitute manufacturing experience.
     
    Not according to the agency minion who categoricvally stated that her twenty five years experience in preventing people from getting a job entitles her to interpret my CV in completely the wrong way. Madam, I don't care how long you've been making phone calls, you're an idiot.
     
    Radiation Flare
    I wondered what all this stuff about the Aurora Borealis on the news was about. Apparently our planet has suffered a terrible solar flare and communications were disrupted by angry radioactive particles seeking to be brought before our leader. I think one or two hit a certain job agency.
  14. caldrail

    Can't Talk, Won't Talk

    By caldrail,

    The other day I was chatting to a colleague about popular music. In my youth music was scarce, hard to come by, and watching Top Of The Pops on a thursday night was an event to be savoured even with Noel Edmunds introducing the evenings mime actors. If one of your mates bought an album, a fragile twelve inch disc of black plastic, we all converged for that all important first listen. We all sat around admiring the artwork of the cover, wondering who all these names were on the credits, or discussing when we too would be releasing our very own record.
     
    Now you get music everywhere. Delivered electronically to your latest gizmo for entertainment for the busy lifestyles of the modern day. As much as music has improved in quality over the years I can't help feeling that so much of this garbage we download is... well... garbage. All you need is a steady thump and a wierd chorus and success will be yours. You think I'm joking?
     
    Take one of the latest offerings. "I got the moves like Jagger" the singer repeats a few times before his vocal chords are warped beyond human performance by the technological boxes that enslave creativity. The thing is though, the odd sound is no more than a gimmick. So desperate are the producers to make this song stand out that they've resorted to idiot melodies that no-one could sing without admitting to having extraterrestrial parents. The listener simply has to put up with psychological trauma.
     
    What's worse is the message of the song. That's about slavery too. Apparently the singer believes that behaving like Mick Jagger will make him a sexual tyrannosaurus, bringing helpless females to point of orgasm, totally reduced to abject obedience in the face of an imminent bonk. It is in fact arrogant sexist tripe, but then, what do you expect with nightclubs? No wonder the song's been doing well in the charts.
     
    That said, pubs and clubs aren't doing so well these days. Those that put on live acts appear to be doing better. Those that play recorded music seem to shutting up shop faster than european banks. Is that a coincidence, I ask myself?
     
    I chuckle as I switch on the television. In a way I consider myself lucky to have experienced popular music in the good old days. As it happens a channel is running repeats of Top Of The Pops from the seventies. With a sudden urge to savour the nostalgia of my youth, I sit back and watch Noel Edmunds telling us which mime act is on next. You know what? They say you should never revisit the places of your youth. Good grief - I never realised what a complete load of rubbish we were listening to....
     
    Little Burdens
    We were expecting a party of 'special needs' children at the museum and they arived pretty much as expected. Unless you meet these children and see for yourself, the phrase 'special needs' doesn't mean anything. Most were what you'd expect, hyperactive kids with no attention span whatsoever. Others had different afflications, such as one youngster who seemed unable to interact with anyone or anything unless it was a vehicle, real or toy. It saddened me. It also left me with no shortage of respect for the patience of the teachers who shepherded these kids around our hallowed halls.
     
    For some reason our events manager decided that I would introduce the museum and recite the instructions for safe enjoyable visits. To tell the truth I wasn't in the mood for that, still less after the events manager put me on the spot. What made it worse was that he wouldn't shut up. By the time he'd finished talking, everything had been pretty much said. I think I uttered one sentence to complete my duty.
     
    After a short silence one lady asked "Can we go in now?"
     
    Oh yes. Please do.
  15. caldrail

    Weekending

    By caldrail,

    Monday morning again. If there's one certainty about life it's that at some point you will be forced to endure the misery and agony of finding your leisure time has run out. You might claim with some justification that being unemployed means my monday mornings are non-existent. Well, not today. Finding myself unable to sleep I was hard at work typing this blog entry at five in the morning.
     
    I want to be positive about the world. I want world peace, an end to starvation and disease, gainful employment, the local burglars hung drawn and quartered, and for the young urban fox living across the fence to finally find himself a girlfriend. Truth is this weekend wasn't the most uplifting ever. Mostly I suspect because none of my wants occurred, but at least it kept some journalists in full time employment.
     
    The biggest downer is the increasing presence of youngsters who seem to have nothing better to do than shout about how they intend to deprive you of your property. Guys - seriously - I don't know what goes through your heads other than alcohol and suspicious substances but silver service tableware, polished roller on the pristene gravel drive, expensive paintings by famous masters, private jets and homes large enough to need a map and compass? Fantasy. This is Swindon, not The Apprentice. Haven't any of you noticed the military surplus trousers?
     
    Going Out Clubbing
    If it comes to that, when did you last see military surplus trousers at nightclubs? My evening wear would probably evoke violence from an outraged doorman. Personally I hate night clubs. It all seems such a soulless way of finding entertainment. Some people literally cannot imagine life without clubbing. I'm struggling to understand what sort of life you could find in a club. The whole ritual seems to be designed to get you hospitalised as hedonistically as possible.
     
    It's more fun down at the local job club during the day. At least you hear what people are telling you. That doesn't mean my little world is perfect. The most annoying thing about job clubs is the reason they exist. Let me explain. For those who don't know, a job club is an informal self-help group who utilise facilities laid on by the programme centre to help people look for work. The centre doesn't assist directly for various reasons, so if you need help, help yourself.
     
    That's fine as far as it goes. However, the internet access and other useful things means that I come in to the programme centre focused and determined to find several vacancies to apply for. What I don't need is a queue of hapless individuals who don't have the slightest clue what a CV is, or what a computer is used for, or that the government insists they have to find work. That unfortunately is why people get sent to job clubs. No-one teaches them these things - they simply send them somewhere with the vain expectation that someone will do it for them.
     
    Don't get me wrong, I don't mind helping people, but there comes a point where you end up feeling exploited. Go away, I'm busy jobsearching. Recently there was a continual stream of people coming into the club. All had been sent by the job centre for the very reasons that annoy me. One by one they ended up being told to go somewhere else to get help. A part of me feels sorry for them. Getting the run-around like that is just as annoying. But - The government says I must find a job - and that means I must be a little bit selfish before I help others.
     
    So much so that the programme centre has laid on a volunteer to help others. Hey... Waddaya know? Maybe things aren't so bad after all.
  16. caldrail

    Read All About It

    By caldrail,

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

    Fizz And Bang

    By caldrail,

    In case anyone didn't notice, it's now 2011. That means I haven't written an entry in this blog since last year. Strange... Only seems like a few days since I last typed a message... Oh well, never mind.
     
    With the new year the weather has ceased to be quite as frigid as it was prior to christmas. I've even turned the heating off again. Maybe I'm just getting used to living in cold conditions that I can't bear being in a warm room any more, at least not without dozing off every five minutes.
     
    But hang on... I am dozing off. Where's all the seasonal festivities? The conga lines wandering down the street? The late night chorus of taunts and chest-thumping displays? The shrieks of party girls for whom anything entering their perception is a reason to recoil in amused horror? Where's the police siren rushing up the up toward Old Town? Darn it... Where's the party?
     
    What a damp squib of a new year. Okay, I know someone celebrated the arrival of 2011 because I heard a couple of fireworks going off. I suspect the insidious influence of television. I note that countries around the world seemed to vying for the title of the Worlds Most Extravagant Firework Display award. I wonder who won that? Good reviews of all entrants makes the decision a tough one, especially for someone like me who thinks watching people celebrate on television is sadder than stamp-collecting.
     
    All right, I admit it, I haven't helped the situation at all because I too didn't bother. Instead I stayed in and got bored with the thoroughly unispired television schedule. Don't know why I didn't emerge from my cocoon as I might of done once. Perhaps my current poverty dissuaded me? Or perhaps, like everyone else, I'm just getting bored with the same old expectations.
     
    Therefore my New Years Resolution is to do something unexpected this year. Stay tuned for developments as they occur.
     
    Bonfire
    Having said all that, I notice some of the prisoners at Ford Open Prison have rioted and set fire to the buildings in a frenzy of drink related arson. At least they wanted to party. On the other hand though it hasn't escaped my attention that the people who wanted to party were banged up in jail, the violence precipitated by a crack-down on booze found inside the wire.
     
    A New Year To Play With
    Glancing out the window I can see the clouds losing a battle to dominate the weather. Here and there the blue sky, a pale winter blue, is making itself felt. What a good omen.
  18. caldrail
    Back to school again. Every week I have to attend a session at the programme centre and sit through the lessons intended for people who don't have any education whatsoever.
     
    Our groups subject was Child Adoptions By Same Sex Couples. The discussion of course immediately turned to football with me sat in the middle of opinions and observations about a game for which I have nothing but disinterest in with every fibre of my being.
     
    Each group had to nominate someone to stand up and deliver a talk to the class about our findings and answer any questions. My presentation revolved around saying NO to same sex couples adopting children. At least that was my particular view. I did note that the Catholic Adoption Society have just won a high court case arguing against laws that force them to consider same-sex couples. Ye gods
  19. caldrail
    During my last years at school I was a little less than well behaved. Nothing malicious, just totally unable to act in a mature or acceptable manner. It was of course a teenage rebellion. The teachers were not impressed and I remember stern lectures and demands to know what I intended to do when I left school and went out into the big wide world.
     
    I chose to join the Royal Air Force. So I popped down the recruiting office and the man in uniform there said "Sorry, Son, no vacancies". Huh? Well that sounded a little odd. So I travelled to a nearby town and applied there. They told me I couldn't hear properly.
     
    Now that I'm a lot older, I've come to notice certain trends in people who once served in the armed forces. One of those trends for instance is the delight ex-squaddies take in telling people who ask about their service that it was in a special unit. Usually they weren't, but your average civilian doesn't know that. Ex-RAF men always seem disgruntled. My local locksmith mutters darkly about his lack of promotion. He spent long hours poking a machine gun out of the back of a helicopter and considered that a waste of his talent. At least he had some.
     
    A gentleman I used to work with once served in the RAF too. He is prone to fits of anger, and with a complete inability in handicraft (he originally applied as an RAF mechanic), his idea of assembling flat pack furniture is to demolish it with a hammer because screw A does not fit in hole B. As he was so incapable of doing anything else than punching sergeants on the jaw, once released from punishment they had him working on nuclear weapons. Seriously. Unless he's pulling my leg too, but then he's a disgruntled ex-RAF type.
     
    So.... Why is it ex-Royal Navy personnel never ever discuss it at all? Or even tell anyone they were sailors?
     
    Plea of the Week
    A cat has adopted my parents. Would the owner please reclaim this animal before it enslaves them totally. Thank you.
  20. caldrail

    Going Horribly Wrong

    By caldrail,

    Greece has gone horribly wrong. One expert interviewed on television predicted that Greece was doomed. I must admit, as a casual observer, you do get a sense that Greece is sitting there waiting for the final catastrophic collapse. Not even the barbarian hordes of english holidaymakers seem to be making any difference. Increasingly it looks as if the EU want to dump it by the roadside.
     
    So what exactly do you do with a bankrupt country? Oh yes. I remember now... Cue UN food relief and huge pop superstar events to raise money to feed starving greeks.This empire building stuff isn't always so easy is it?
     
    Still Healthy
    Here in Blighty we like to complain about our health service. That's a little unfair because politicians haven't quite finished constructing it yet. Worse still they also have to deal with ever increasing demands of the sick and injured public who seem hellbent on injuring and infecting each other. There used to be a time when a doctor would call, pronounce the person dead on arrival, and receive the thanks of the poverty stricken family whose loved one did not respond to a jar full of leeches. Not any more.
     
    Thing is our readiness to whinge has made us forget all those horror stories of big bills for treatment offered in American hospitals. That's if you can afford a doctor who won't accidentially poison you of course. Now I find that hospitals in Los Angeles have closed for business all over the place. One site only stays open as a film lot. That means the fire service are providing emergency medical services instead of simply putting fires out. That's if they can find anywhere to send their slightly singed patients.
     
    This news did of course emerge from the sages at Russia Today who take great delight in documentaries showing the collapse of western civilisation. Old habits die hard I guess. Therefore I take pride in announcing that our NHS is safe and secure. I know this because RT haven't even noticed it exists yet.
     
    Recipe Of The Week
    Most of our favourite foods are imports. A wander along the fast food outlets reveals american style burgers and dismembered chickens. Big lumps of dead turkish kebab slowly roasting on a spit. The heady scent of anonymous meat cooking in exotic asian sauces that all taste more or less the same. The impossible task of choosing which permutation if rice is best for you from a chinese takeaway.
     
    Compared to that british cuisine does seem to lack a certain something. Images of cloth caps and smog ridden industrial slums quickly come to mind and compared to the arcane morsels offered by televisions chefs, it's always stodgy and unpalatable. Food for factory workers in other words.. No wonder so many british factories have closed.
     
    So, with no further ado, let me present No3 in my series of fave rave recipes. Peanut Butter Mushrooms On Toast.
     
    Fry chopped mushrooms with a little added soy sauce.
     
    Make two slices of toast.
     
    Spread peanut butter on the toast. If the peanut butter is a little dry, remember to add a touch of olive oil to lubricate it.
     
    Spread the fried mushrooms on the toast and serve.
     
    Enjoy, which I'm sure you will unless you're an allergy sufferer or use mushrooms normally considered the preserve of witches, assassins, and idiots. Supermarket mushrooms are probably safest but cost a little more than a stroll to the local wood.. Mushrooms obtained from dubious looking youths on street corners wil probably result in stange dreams, handcuffs, and stern lectures from important people. So don't blame me when it all goes horribly wrong.
  21. caldrail

    Watching Car Chases

    By caldrail,

    I was watching one of those cop programs last night. The usual sort of thing, car chases across america with exciting heavy metal music and a breathless commentary. There was one that stood out. It started as they all did, with a suspect making a break for it and piling down the highway without regard to safety. At one point he swerves to avoid an obstacle, and at over a hundred miles an hour, very nearly loses it completely. Thing is though, what I notice with all these chases is that the suspect runs out of enthusiasm. The police obviously don't give up, and refuse to do anything that causes collateral damage or injury if they can help it. Anyhow the suspect has been through the initial 'high' of the chase, the desperation at trying to escape it, and finally comes off the pace feeling in a hopeless situation. He actually pulls into a petrol station to fill up! At this point he's dawdling along with a multitude of police cars with whooping sirens and flashing lights dawdling after him. Then, all of a sudden, one police car rams him sideways at some speed. A somewhat frustrated police officer there I think. The suspects car smashes into a pump, ignites it, and the police audio says "Oh no, he's hit an Exxon!".
     
    No he didn't. He was rammed into it. I do understand the frustration of the police officer concerned but this was one instance where collateral damage took place!
     
    There's a part of me that views this sort of program with some concern. Its turning justice into entertainment, and to be honest it doesn't actually do anything to dissuade others from this behaviour other than the cops always get their man, but since the criminal mind always believes he won't get caught isn't there a danger that such programs encourage car chases?
     
    Illness of the Week
    This time its me, suffering a bout of flu or some such bug. All sympathetic replies most welcome. Sniffle.
     
    Target of the Week
    I do hear that the US are preparing to shoot a satellite out of the sky. The malfunctioned object has a fuel tank full of poisonous hydrazine and understandably the US don't want it plummeting to earth on a sensitive area. I guess this sort of thing is one hazard of space flight. Mind you, what happens when Virgin finally manage to get their orbital joyrides going?
     
    This is your captain speaking. We're experiencing technical difficulties at the moment so please be patient whilst our cabin crew do their best to restart the engines. Incidentially, if you look out the right side, you can see the US missile on its way to intercept us...
  22. caldrail

    Why So Popular?

    By caldrail,

    What is going on? Usually I get pretty well ignored by passing motorists, heckled by one or two, but today? All day long I've had people beeping their horns and giving me a cheery wave. Haven't a clue who they are. Haven't a clue why they're waving.
     
    Well if you want my autograph I'm not running after you....
     
    Todays Country Hike
    Not too far, just down the track that runs round the south side of the local golf course. You never see anyone use it, but typically for Britain, it was a mass of wintery puddles and muddy ruts, that dark grey sludge you get from leaf mould. I think I spent as much time on todays hike walking sideways and slipping back as I did going forward. Just in time for....
     
    Dog owner of the Week
    Goes to the woman I met on the Polo Ground, whose dogs seemed to derive great pleasure from charging at me. When I joked about their aggressive play she told me that dogs left to their own devices go wild in twelve hours. What? Who exactly is going to train these dogs to survive in the wild? All their life they've gotten sustenance from small metal tins pulled from a kitchen cupboard and even then they need a human being to open them. Ok, dogs are good scavengers (some even scavenge from the kitchen) but they can only susbsist that way when there's a surplus to be scavenging from, and nature being what it is the local wildlfie will soon cotton on that there's food lying around. Most emancipated canines would starve very quickly I think. But what do you expect from old wives?
     
  23. caldrail

    Closed To The Public

    By caldrail,

    Something unusual made the headlines in the local paper recently. It seems our new library has given state-of-the-art facilities. 'Green' toilets - as if that means anything to me. Now I don't usually spend much time in public toilets (although I understand that is one way to get your name in the news - thanks for the tip George) and I haven't seen these new facilities. However, just like the previous locations, the locals have been creative in using them and so the after a few weeks the toilets have been closed 'Due to misuse'.
     
    Given what I used to see in warehouses, I can just imagine. I am so tempted to recall the tale of AW and his 'flappy paddle appendage', but I suspect I've said enough. Let your imagination run riot. You're not wrong.
     
    Driver of the Week
    Goes to the gentleman who quietly and gently turned the wrong way down a one way high street in Swindon and seemed completely unpeturbed, albeit somewhat mystified, by the rows of traffic coming straight at him gesticulating angrily. I have a suspicion he's not from around here...
  24. 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!"
  25. caldrail

    Are We There Yet?

    By caldrail,

    Apparently farmers in Sub-Saharan Africa will benefit from detailed digital maps of soil nutrient quality. At last they'll know why their farms are not doing well. Isn't technology useful? Perhaps not, considering the Skycar, a para-sailing dune buggy, currently setting out on a three thousand mile journey across Africa. These skycars are ridiculous. They proved it was a daft idea back in the fifties. Can you imagine the telephone calls from frustrated motorists?
     
    "You have reached Traffic Control Helpline. If you wish to reserve a parking slot, press 1. If you're hopelessly lost over southern England, press 2. If you want to declare mayday, press 3. If you want to speak to a Controller, press 4..."
     
    Press 4.... Aha, the tone is ringing.
     
    "Yes Sir."
     
    Ah Right. This is Mr Caldrail of 22 Acacia Avenue requesting clearance for local flight to Jones Industries routing via the Primary School, over.
     
    "Roger that Mr Caldrail. Taxi to main road and hold short, weather is 23 degrees and light rain expected, please be aware traffic is heavy and currently you are number thirteen at the roundabout."
     
    Thank you Control. Roger and out.... Now kids, stop messing around back there and buckle up your parachutes.... Johnny! Stop hitting your brother with your oxygen mask.... No, we're not there yet....
     
    Its Your Fault... No Its You...
    The squabble between Russia and the Ukraine concerning gas supply goes on. Someone didn't pay, someone didn't supply, someone cut the supply again, someone sent gas through the wrong pipes... Meanwhile, people in Europe are freezing. Having suffered some low temperatures this January, I have every sympathy for those without heating at this time of year.
     
    The problem with the Russians is that they have a reputation for pulling wool over peoples eyes thats well deserved. It seems the Ukraine has learned that lesson, but you can't help feeling this is a squabble over cash. Not so much whether people get paid, more about who gets paid. For the moment it still goes on with accusations flying back and forth.
     
    Are we there yet?
     
    Wagging Fingers
    A statistical study has suggested a link between the link of a man's finger and his success in the financial center of London. Good grief, did someone get paid to research that? Seems to me that Pinnochio has already proven that financial success is more dependent on the length of your nose.
     
    Slogan of the Week
    I shall take George Bush's advice and not misunderestimate Hilary Clinton. She gets Slogan of the Week for telling America that their foreign policy should employ Smart Power. What a fantastic piece of politics that is. When you look at what she's suggesting, it means they're going to do exactly the same as before but now they have a plan.
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