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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Shabby and Unloved

    By caldrail,

    Yesterday morning the weather was overcast, another typical dull British day and disappointing after the spell of spring sunshine we've been enjoying. By lunchtime the sun had burned off the cloud and it was a gloriously warm day. So much so I decided to go for a stroll, and headed north to Seven Fields.
     
    Thats an area of farmland surrounded by housing developments and designated public space, although its still used as hay meadows amongst the wooded hillsides. There's an unspoiled quality to it. None of these manicured parks with denuded foliage that Swindon is becoming fond of.
     
    It is however bordered by two of the three 'P's, the grotty undesirable bits of the town. Park is too far away, but Penhill to the north and Pinehurst to the south mean that urban squalor is staining the outskirts with it's detritus. I wandered along the path that follows the curve of the hill through the woods above Penhill. It resembled South Wales almost. Untended gardens filled with rubbish, shabby unloved houses with shabby unloved inhabitants.
     
    I reached the center of the wood where the large oak had been set fire to four years ago. They'd finally cut it down. Surrounding it was a rubbish dump spread through the undergrowth. Shabby unloved woodland. What can you do?
     
    Complaint of the Week
    A shabby and unloved youngster picked out his DVD from the selection at the library and put his coins into the machine for the ticket to allow him to take the item home for a week. He ambled toward the security guard with a look of bemused outrage on his face.
     
    "I put two pounds in." He said.
     
    The security guard stared back unconcerned. "The machine doesn't give change Sir."
     
    "Yeah but I put two pounds in."
     
    "Sir, the machine doesn't give change."
     
    "....I put two pounds in. I'm supposed to get fifty pencve change."
     
    "And I'm telling you, that machine doesn't give change."
     
    "But I put two pounds in. Where's my fifty pence?"
     
    "Library opens at half past nine. You can sort it out then."
     
    "I should have fifty pence."
     
    And so on, until a librarian had the misfortune of passing by.
  2. caldrail

    Musical Musings

    By caldrail,

    During my high octane, non-stop, action packed lifestyle as an unemployed job seeker, I occaisionally get a few moments to myself in which to relax. Yesterday was one of those, so in an uncharacteristic bout of feet-up laziness, I sat back and switched on the television. Hey, they've added some channels sonce I last watched telly. So I discovered this music channel showing all the hits from the eighties. Wow. This is so nostalgic. Phil Collins still had hair. Adam Ant still had warpaint on his face. The only way was up, and the cast of Neighbours had applied to be pop stars.
     
    Comparing music between then and now reveals just how empty music can be.today. I'm sure I'm not the only one who thinks music in the eighties was better. It isn't nostalgia at all - there was a genuine upbeat feel to the decade. Even the angry punks were happy gobbing at each other. Heck, I still believed I could be a rock star back then. That's how optimistic we were. Of course we didn't have Simon Cowell to puncture our dreams back then. I therefore deduce that Mr Cowell is single-handedly responsible for destroying music as we know it. He is the anti-christ (Sorry Ozzy, love the music, but you're only the Prince of Medium Greyness).
     
    Anyway, I spent a happy few hours remembering where I was when songs first came out. I cannot believe how much time I'd spent in pubs.
     
    Talking of music, yesterday afternoon I heard a brass band out in the street. What's that all about? All the traffic outside was at a standstill, and it turned out to be a parade of some sort, loads of kids in uniforms. It's just as well they held the parade on the Sunday, because...
     
    Weather Report of the Week
    The weather girl popped up on the screen and smiled sweetly for the benefit of the viewers. Why is Britain always beige? Haven't we got a more vibrant colour? Whatever happened to Cool Britannia? Oh hang on... The map is turning blue from midnight onward... "Yes" Said the Weather Girl in happy mode, "I'm afraid the weather is going to get worse from this point on".
     
    Rain. Buckets of it. Just in time for Monday morning. You just can't beat British weather can you?
     
  3. 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...
  4. caldrail
    Cars mean different things to different people. Many buy cars they can afford, others buy cars for covenience. Some buy big 4x4's to compensate for small body parts, some for status at the golf club, others buy sporty cars as automotive *iagr*. Now some cars are icons, others are good value, some are simply excruciating and an embarrasement to be seen in. Why would you pay thousands of pounds for somewhere to put a coffee cup?
     
    The Vauxhall Vectra is right there at the pinnacle of naffness. There must be thousands and thousands of these blasphemies cruising up and down dual carriageways carrying salesmen to their next petrol station. A salesman who used to work for a Vauxhall dealer informed me they were liable to fall apart. I know of one whose gearbox fell out and DS owned one that was incapable of retaining a numberplate.
     
    As I've mentioned before, DS, the frivilous boss I used to work for, believes her Vauxhall Vectra is a desirable car. Thing is, she got promoted for driving one. Seriously. The last company I worked for has this concept that all their senior staff must drive these incredibly dull cars in order to remain incredibly dull people and therefore acceptable to their incredibly dull customers.
     
    Well... DS can hardly be described as incredibly dull, but she is an incredible actress. She claims its all down to personality. Thats an interesting way to describe curves.
     
    Funny thing is, the really important bosses at my previous company tried to tempt me with a Vectra shortly before they pushed me out. They let me sit in front, they showed the sat-nav in operation, they gunned the engine, and demonstrated the suspension by driving over road humps. Wake me when you're done please...
     
    Trouble is, I like cars that are fun to drive. You know, responsive engine, blistering pace, firm ride, sharp steering, flat cornering, looks to die for and a seating position so low you need a winch to get out of the thing. The sort of car that in modern british culture puts you on par with the Dukes of Hazzard or Jack the Ripper.
     
    Ha! Tempt me not with your mass production saloon! I shall not be swayed by this icon of greyness, this symbol of.... "Ok Caldrail, you had your chance. Out you go...". And they drove off leaving me stunned on the pavement. Time to thumb a lift to the Dole Office then...
     
    So children, if you want to get ahead in the workplace, buy the same dull car as everyone else. That way you can afford to buy them.
  5. caldrail

    Making Excuses

    By caldrail,

    As an unemployed person I have to say there are one or two disadvantages to being on the dole. One is that everyone else think you're a lazy good for nothing sponging off the state, the second is that your Claims Advisor thinks you're a lazy good for nothing sponging off the state.
     
    She called my name out and as I stepped forward to her desk, she raised her eyebrows at my suntan. Fresh from my journey home from Newcastle a few hours earlier I looked like I'd spent the weekend on a tropical beach. It must be said, the weather on our weekend in Newcastle was glorious. Somehow, I doubt my excuse will be.
     
    "Hello Mr Caldrail. You alright?"
     
    Ummm.. Yeah... Bit tired... She looked straight at me with that maternal 'I know you've been naughty' look. And it works. I closed my eyes, sighed, and proceeded to explain my naughty weekend. It was a roman history field trip. I guess thats not the usual excuse is it? Her expression hadn't changed. She pointed at my jobsearch record.
     
    "What happened to that part time job?"
     
    Which one? Oh... That one.... No, I got nowhere with it... It was that moment I realised what she meant. I glanced up in horror at the prospect of being blamed for working whilst receiving benefits. She had that maternal look of 'Don't lie to me Caldrail'.
     
    No really, I was on a roman history field trip...
     
    Excuse of the Week
    Goes to Barry George, recently cleared of tv presenter Jill Dando's murder after eight years in jail. "I knew I was innocent" He said, "I was stalking someone else."
     
  6. caldrail

    Open Sesame

    By caldrail,

    Picture a busy day in the Warehouse. Sheets and sheets and sheets of orders are appearing in AD's hands as he emerges flustered from the offices. Our tame forklifter is depositing pallet after pallet from the racks. His quiet smile is very disturbing.
     
    Finally AD and his boss saunter off to their high level meeting. Time now to go into the offfice, sit down, and catch up with some of those tiny administrative duties that are such good excuses for an easy time. Close the door, shut the windows... Ahh what bliss...
     
    Relaxed and refreshed, I decide its time to go back out onto the floor and catch up with some of those pallets clogging our work area. The door is stuck. Ok, maybe there's a trick to this. Nope. The door is stuck, and I'm stuck inside the office. Everyone outside is flashing past on noisy forklifts, totally unaware of my predicament. There's no phone line yet, so no go there. Can't use the internet, we haven't got a connection. The fax is out for the same reason. I have a quick search for rescue flares, but no joy there either. Just as I was about to wave my shirt out the window with a handwritten plea for assistance in black marker pen, I remember my mobile phone. Except that AD is the only person in the warehouse I have a number for and he's switched his off because he's in a top level meeting. Nonetheless, I send him a text... He might read read it in a day or two.
     
    Remembering my survival training I look around to see what I can use to stay alive until rescued. There's a kettle, half full of water, tons of coffee granules, and some sugar in a strangely speckled white and brown colour. Everything I need to sustain myself for a couple of hours before I'm found!
     
    As luck would have it, our tame forklifter drives into our area with another pallet, looking a little confused as to why nothing has moved since his last visit. After some shouting and frantic waving of the arms, he realises I'm in need of assistance. He ambles to the window in curiosity whereupon I ask him to open the door. Please.
     
    Freedom!
     
    Eventually AD returns and I mention the one way door. He listened politely but you kind of get the impression he doesn't think I have any idea how doors function. Nonetheless, he assured me he'll look into it.
     
    I arrive for work the next morning. AD does the decent thing and admits that having tried the door, he couldn't get out either. Apparently he phoned for a locksmith shortly afterward who assured AD that doors don't stick like that. "Well try it yourself." AD suggested.
     
    He did. "Uhhh, lemme out will you?.." A muffled voice from inside the porta-palace could be heard.
     
    The door is now fixed.
     
    Headline of the Week
    The local newspaper had a headline to effect that obesity and poverty are linked. Not really sure how, since surely consuming more food requires a bigger wallet (or perhaps thats the reason in itself?), but don't you think this more reinforcement of social stereotypes? I'm not particulary wealthy these days, but obese? Rubbish. Now if you'll excuse me I'm off to get an emperor-sized burger down the road...
  7. caldrail

    Lessons in Logistics

    By caldrail,

    AD points at a pile of cartons beside our porta-palace. "Caldrail, those parcels need to go by Slick Parcels today"
     
    Righto. Out with the signing book, fill in the details (do they really need all this information?), write up the labels and stick them on the parcels - except this one because that the other order, so carefully peel off the label and reapply it to the correct box... now it won't stick.... get the tape, and the labelling is done. Now to phone Slick Parcels and get this lot out the door. Tap in the number... The phone is ringing...
     
    This is Slick parcels. how can we help you?
     
    Oh hi. I got some parcels I'd like to send.
     
    Certainly Sir. Are you sending pallets or loose boxes?
     
    Loose boxes.
     
    Just let me enter that on my computer sir... won't be a moment.... And how many boxes are you sending?
     
    Three.
     
    And which carriage would you like?
     
    Huh?
     
    We do Economy, Next Day, 24 Hour, Saturday, Timed Delivery, and...
     
    Ok ok, just send them economy.
     
    Certainly Sir... (tap tap tap).... And how large are the boxes?
     
    Well, box sized. You know, sort of so big. You can lift them.
     
    Yes Sir, but I have to enter this on a comnputer.
     
    I've written the dimensions on your signing book, isn't that enough?
     
    No sir, I have to enter the details on my computer
     
    Ok. They're about half a meter cubed.
     
    Thank you sir.... (tap tap tap)... And how heavy are these boxes?
     
    I haven't the slightest idea. I can lift them no problem.
     
    I have to enter the details on my computer Sir
     
    Ok, fine, they're about 10kg each I think.
     
    Thank you sir.... (tap tap tap)... And when would you like us to collect these boxes?
     
    Well.. now would be nice, otherwise this phone call is going to put me out of business.
     
    Yes sir, but we do need to book the collection on our computer...
     
    Ok ok, as soon as possible then.
     
    Thank you sir.... (tap tap tap)... And where would you like us to collect these boxes?
     
    The Warehouse, third on the left, the industrial estate off the road near that big roundabout.
     
    Thank you sir.... (tap tap tap)... And what is the reference number?
     
    What? We haven't got a reference number!!!! Couldn't you just turn up and take them away? All this stuff s already written on the signing book..
     
    Yes sir, but we do need to enter the details on our computer...very well, I'll enter a reference number for you... Won't take a moment... (tap tap tap)... And where are the parcels being sent to Sir?
     
    Weesellitt UK.
     
    Ahh.. Now you need to book a delivery with that company Sir.
     
    Pardon?
     
    You need to book a delivery time Sir. They don't take parcels as and when. You can do that on the internet Sir, I'll give you the address...
     
    Hang on a minute. All I want you to do is come and pick up a few parcels and send them to Weesellit. is that too much to ask?
     
    You need to book a delivery time Sir. I have to enter it on my computer.
     
    But we haven't got an internet connection. Can't you deal with it?
     
    No Sir. You need to book a delivery time Sir. I have to enter it on my computer.
     
    Tell you what. Cancel the collection. I'll send it by another carrier.
     
    Certainly Sir. Could you state the reason you don't want our services? I have to enter it on my computer....
  8. caldrail

    Paradise Lost

    By caldrail,

    I've mentioned before about a scheme to build a canal through Swindon. There used to be one, the Wilts & Berks, and the last stretch of this water still exists on the outskirts of town. There is however a lobby for recreating it and they occupy the Old Collectibles Shop opposite the new permanent library currently under construction (Swindon had a temporary library for thirty or forty years). I spoke to one of their people the other day.
     
    The plan is to go under the road at Kingshill, follow the course of the main road past the GWR Park (The canal originally ran behind the houses, not in front) and divert northward to Swindons boundary. It means digging up one of the major through routes for motor vehicles, which I suppose in the anti-car regime we have in Britain today this is no obstacle at all.
     
    So who pays? I had images of horrendous council tax bills and to be honest so do other people, which is why the lobby set up shop. Apparently the European Union pays for it, because they like urban beautification schemes and the assumption is that the canal will bring in money. They want Swindon to be a place to visit. Come and see our canal!
     
    A place to visit? There's nothing here to attract visitors at all. We just don't have any tourist traps. Ok, sure, there's the railway museum, but its nothing like as impressive as York and a disappointment for those aware of Swindons railway history. The biggest problem with Swindon is the problem its always had. Its embarrased by its working class railway history. Swindon likes the future, its all about redevelopment and there's plenty of those bland new office blocks in evidence. Yet all those victorian pidgeon nests were what gave Swindon its character. So many of those edwardian brick shool houses are gone now. I remember the atmosphere of the places, the tangible sense of tradition, now replaced by modern schools that whilst being more efficient in terms of energy look horrible, become horrible in a few short years, and simply don't command the same respect.
     
    But what about Swindon College? That 60's edifice is about to be pulled down (the campus has moved to North Star) and whilst I studied engineering there for five years, to be honest I won't shed any tears. It was a horrible building. I remember Production Engineering B classes in the early afternoon on the south side, with the sun beating down through the windows. The whole class nodding their heads semi-comatosed by the heat. In its place is going to be a new shopping arcade, a cinema, a hotel etc. Its the sort of civic renewal that looks great on paper but looks undesirable after the natives have lived in it for a few years.
     
    There's been a thread on the forums about finding old photographs of your home town. Swindon is well blessed with those. A chap named Hooper went about in the 1900's photographing anything and of course with Swindon being the old railway town it was, there were always other people making records of life in Swindon. You know, the Great Western Railway did much to make life bearable for its employees. It built an entire housing estate for them (the 'Railway Village'), a park, a hospital (now closed), and of course the now derelict Mechanics Institute for social matters. The modern National health Service was inspired by the success of the health schemes set up by the GWR. You just don't see this sort of civic responsibility with employers now, and they probably couldn't afford it anyway. Swindon was once a quaint little isolated market town on the hill, changed forever by the arrival of the GWR works to the north. Now its changed forever again, its past demolished to make way for the future, like an old lady who dresses up in the latest fashions and nightclubbing to attract the young men. Its all a little sad.
     
    I've been leafing through those old photographs again. Occaisionally I see things I remember. The old canal warehouse on Milton Road. The market hall on Commercial Road. The greek style frontage of the chapel on Temple St. That old greenhouse in Queens Park. The Goddard Manor House at Lawns. The arched iron bridges crossing the canal behind the main roads. The huge stone and brick workshops of the GWR. The oddly rural railway station building, and those quiet farm fields in little pockets here and there now buried under housing estates. There's a part of me that wants the old Swindon back. It had style.
  9. caldrail

    Cyclone of '08

    By caldrail,

    The huge storm in Burma has left as many as ten thousand people dead. Its hard to understand the scale of disasters like this. Even the secretive burmese government has felt it has no choice but to ask for foreign assistance. No doubt many people are pointing fingers and blaming Global Warming etc etc. Its as well to point that terrible storms have happened before, its just that the modern media make us so much more aware of what happens around the world now and that given we only live for a short time, so much of what has happened in the past is something we're not often aware of. We've certainly been made aware of this one.
     
    I'm thinking in terms of something like the change in british climate in 1314-15. Previous to that was the Medieval Warm Period, a time when agriculture could have done better if the agricultural system hadn't been held back by tax and the manorial system. But in 1314 it all changed. The summers were exceptionally wet and the winters hard. Starvation became commonplace.
     
     
    Doesn't this all sound familiar? Our recent summers have been wet also, the flooding exacerbated by settlements in flood plains and little opportunity for rainwater to soak away where great swathes of concrete and asphalt cover the ground.
     
    Since the black death spread from India thirty years later and reduced the population of europe by 3/4, lets hope the similarities aren't too close
     
    Important Reminder
    Its Compost Awareness Week next week. Make sure you know where your compost is, and use your compost responsibly. As long as compost levels are properly controlled, we can offset our Compost Footprint and escape the worst of Global Composting.
     
    Log-On of the Week
    BJ, our new all-singing and dancing Lord mayor of London, has succesfully logged on to his PC in his new office. Way to go B. Keep up the good work.
  10. caldrail
    I was fascinated by a documentary aired a couple of nights ago. A teenager in 1997 discovered a fossil in North Dakota, which turned out to be an extremely important find, because the creature was mummified and soft tissue had survived. It was a hadrosaur, a common grazing animal living in wetlands (the area found was once a wide river near the inland sea that once split north america in two during the cretaceous period).
     
    The reamins were not complete, and a large portion had gone missing (eaten?), and a further suprise was the discovery of an unlucky crocodile lodged in the carcass. Unfortunately, the main body could not be succesfully scanned with x-rays because the rock was too dense, so work continues, but its noticeable that the amount of soft tissue meant that modern reconstructions of dinosaur skeletons are incorrect - the vertebrae need to be spaced out more and the length of these animals needs to be increased by around 5%. Colour does appear to important to dinosaurs - the relative sizes of scales on their bodies suggest different patches of colour as modern reptiles do.
     
    What annoyed me though was the typical modern documentary style. After every commercial break, the voice-over re-introduced the program saying exactly the same things - and we saw the same computer generated imagery repeatedly. Please - tell me something.... Anything.... I know the teenager found it, you said five times already.... Please... Aww no, not the 'falling over dead' sequence again.... I won't mind if you prove they smoked cigarettes and became extinct because of lung cancer.... Just for something original....
     
    This program suffered from one major flaw - they didn't have enough to say to fill an hour.
  11. caldrail

    Hawks And Pidgeons

    By caldrail,

    Starting the day in a good mood I went about my business. Everyone seems to be in a good mood too. Happy smiling shop assistants, and warm if cloudy weather. It just feels like it's going to be a good day. Or at least, it would be if I hadn't cracked a rib during my collision with the supermarket car park. It only hurts when I laugh.
     
    "Step into a recruitment office if you want to play soldiers" Growled a voice as I bounded joyfully up the stairs at the library. Oh great. Another clown. That's put a damper on my day. As it happens I know that voice and he ought to know better than advise members of the public in such a sneering manner.
     
    Play soldiers? I haven't done that since I left the Air Cadets. That was way back in... Erm... Ages ago. Decades even. Oh, I see, another sanctimonious upstart doesn't like my habit of wearing military surplus trousers. I don't care. They're available tio anyone on the high street, they're comfortable, useful even, and well suited to my hikes in the countryside. Hiking is about getting out and enjoying the countryside. It doesn't involve special operations behind enemy lines.
     
    As I waited for the woman on my booked computer to stop making her face up, I glanced out the window and spotted a guy in head to toe autumn tree bark cammo gear, driving a military surplus land rover equipped for an invasion of Normandy. I see him driving around now and then. I wonder if he gets any hassle?
     
    Why on Earth would I want to step into a recruitment office anyway? According to the news, the British Army is getting rid of 19,000 troops over the next few years, plus I'm nearly fifty, suffering middle age health issues, and I discovered yesterday that I'm not as agile as a teenager.
     
    As it happens I made a promise to someone as a child that I would never join the army. My grandfather had gone ashore at Gallipoli in World War One to assist in bayonet charges on turkish positions, and later went to the muddy hell of Verdun, France. I remember asking innocently what he'd done in the war, or something to that effect. He didn't relate any tales of derring do, or patriotic pride in doing his bit. Instead he made me aware of what war was. The simple fact was that he didn't want me to suffer the same experiences as he'd done in his younger days. He was a good man. I'll keep faith with him.
     
    Worse still for my male ego is the realisation that I was never born to be a warrior anyway. My calling was elsewhere. What's the point of playing soldiers when you're never going to be any good at it? You have to be true to yourself and I see no good purpose in allowing myself to be forced into a life I will never be happy with. That was always the problemn with my father, who wanted me to be soldier, just like him. He was, is, and always will be a petty corporal. If I can blame anyone for lifelong interest in things military, I can lay it at his feet.
     
    The army puts adverts on television to the effect that they spot talent and encourage it. Maybe so, but that message clearly never occurred to him, nor for that matter has it reached their casual recruiting agent at the library.
     
    But all of that doesn't matter. As always happens when someone wants to apply peer pressure, he spoke to my back. In my book, that's not courageous, admirable, or worth my attention. You stupid, stupid man.
     
    Oh the pain... The pain...
     
    Birds To The Rescue!
    The local newspaper tells me that eagle eyed shoppers have noticed birds of prey patrolling the library. I noticed them too this morning. A pair of handlers strolled around the building with a pair of very large Harris Hawks impatiently waiting for another chance to decimate the local pidgeon population.
     
    It seems pidgeons are a big problem. Their droppings filled five large sacks during the clean up operation lately, and I understand they spread more diseaes than rats. Given the government are now tackling badgers for the same reasons, I wonder what birds they'll be using? Huge south american condors probably. That'll be a sight.
  12. caldrail
    What is it with german cars? These days it seems ownership of a product from Stuttgart is an essential qualification for success in life. That means I hate them already. I want choice. I want to select my dream car from a manufacturer who understands that not exeryone who likes a sporty car wears a suit and an expense account stomach. Mercedes, BMW, Porsche - they all want businessmen to drive their cars as status symbols. I once called into a porsche dealer to enquire as to whereabouts of another dealership, and I remember the rather wealthy businessman of a mature age looking disparagingly at me over the top of his Financial Times. All right mate? How yer doin'? He flicked the paper rigid and concerned himself with the finer points of economics. At least Porsche look like sports cars. At least Mercedes and BMW attempt to give their cars some sporty appeal. But Audi? For a start, they look horrible. You can't help feeling the styling was done by the same man who did those panzer tanks in 1945... All they need is a gun barrel protuding through the windscreen.
     
    Of course I exaggerate. The R8 seems to be an excellent budget supercar which just goes to prove that armoured fighting vehicles can be fun too. But this is all beside the point. Why do I think Audi's are naff? It was recently announced on Top Gear that all those brainless idiots who used to drive BMW M series cars are now driving Audi's. I think they're wrong. Brainless idiots have always driven Audi's.
     
    There I was, years ago, driving through Marlborough - sensibly - in a cheap Nissan 100NX. No, please don't laugh, people used to compliment me on my taste in cars. Well, they did in Swindon anyway. The white Audi pulled up to the mini-roundabout ahead from the road coming down the hill. The driver looked at me, my car, and decided I was unworthy of ordinary respect. So, flouting the Highway Code, good manners, and common sense, he simply pulled out in front of me when I had right of way. The gauntlet has been thrown....I know what you're thinking, but no, I didn't. Marlborough is a peaceful little market town where people live and do whatever market-townies do. I stayed driving sensibly.... until.... Yes, the audi is leaving Marlborough up Postern Hill. Its a double lane on that stretch, and seeing an opportunity for justice... Come on little Nissan, this is your moment of glory. I know you're just a tinnie little 1.6 litre but we can't let the Wehrmacht dictate who has right of way on British roads...
     
    YES! In your face Mr Audi Kommander! My little Nissan made short work of the heavy Audi uphill. I was in front, where I should have been, probably grinning madly and feeling very pleased with myself. I patted the dashboard. Well done that car. The Audi Kommander was not happy at all. Having been shown a clear set of wheels uphill, he switched into nether-region mode and decided to overtake me at the first opportunity. He drew up close, almost driving in the center of the road, getting more and more frustrated at the oncoming traffic. He was unable to blitzkrieg past me before the road got to the windy bits further on. There my manoeverable Nissan shook off the lumbering tank on my six. He wasn't going to give up. The Burbage Bypass was next - a wide and fast stretch of road. The oncoming traffic was still choc-a-bloc, and ahead - oh no! A tractor! A lumbering agricultural civilian blocking my escape....
     
    As chance would have it, a gap in the oncoming traffic presented itself. So I timed my arrival at the gap just at the right moment to zip past the tractor, just before a long left hand bend, and the Audi was trapped. I had escaped! I so desperately wanted to do a victory roll... Maybe the insurers might not like that.
     
    A part of me says I was an idiot too, apart from choosing my moments to overtake a little more carefully than Hauptman Von Audi. But thats the trouble with businessmen. They buy these big powerful luxury saloons as status symbols and think that the accelerator is their divine right. And the companies that make these cars do feed their fantasies don't they?
     
    Canal Update of the Week
    Incredibly, some local councillors have forced the council to hold a local referendum before they rip up central Swindon to build a new canal. There you go, democracy can work. Since the money to build the canal comes from the EU, perhaps those councillors might try to persuade the EU to take notice of referendums after all...
  13. caldrail

    Out Of This World

    By caldrail,

    Swindon to Newcastle is about six hours by train. Time to settle into the seat, relax, let the train take the strain. I watched the towns and countryside roll by. It was all going too well. The stop at Sheffield Station was a long one. The minutes ticked by and there was no sign of movement. Platform staff who usually shepherded the trains away were curiously absent. Please don't tell me another strike is in progress... Then the tannoy bleeped into life to make a passenger announcement.
     
    "If I could have your attention please," The Train Manager said, "I'm afraid there will be a delay before we can depart for Doncaster, as the track is broken."
     
    Broken? You broke the track? What did you do? Drop it? In situations like this all you can do is grin and bear it. Oh hang, the tannoy is bleeping again...
     
    "I apologise for the delay in services, but we're waiting for the track to be repaired. There will be a delay of at least another half an hour."
     
    Ok, I'll try to grin. I look around for something to occupy myself with and quietly lift a newspaper from the opposite seats. There's a story about scientists finding another planet thousands of light years away. I've decided to name it Sheffield. Hang on, the tannoy is bleeping...
     
    "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. Since the delays to services will probably be at least two hours, we're going to divert to another route. We will not therefore be calling at Doncaster so any passengers who wish to get off at Doncaster should leave the train to await further assistance."
     
    Nobody moved. Perhaps Doncaster isn't a popular stop? Or does no-one wish to admit they live there? We will never know. At last! The train edges forward out of Sheffield and my journey continues. About five minutes later the Train Manager enters the carriage.
     
    "Can I have your attention please? Is there anyone in here who is travelling to Doncaster? Only we're not stopping there... Ok."
     
    I settle back to enjoy the rest of my journey to Newcastle, and ten minutes later, the tannoy bleeps again...
     
    "Ladies and gentlemen, our next stop is Doncaster..."
     
    Douglas Adams Moment of the Week
    There's a cut on my left knee. According to Douglas Adams, the sci-fi/comedy author, this sort of thing happens all the time. But in case you're worried, I can assure you I return from Newcastle unscathed. Don't know what happened to the whale...
  14. caldrail

    More Rain Predicted

    By caldrail,

    The last week has been a miserable procession of rainy days. Not those romantic downpours so beloved of Tina Turner, its those claggy dull grey squalls that we British like to call weather. But now I think about it, what happened to August? We hardly had any sunshine at all, and the indian summer we sometimes get in September looks like being a washout.
     
    Its hardly Global Warming is it? But then it occurs to me that since we get most of our weather second-hand from America, and that they get full on hurricanes, I can hardly complain if I get a little damp. At least I have a roof on my home.
     
    Roof of the Week
    This accolade goes to the school around the corner from where I live. It looks as if they decided to re-tile the whole building. Its an old building of course, a christian school next door to a church. On this occaision though they didn't just rip off the tiles and have tea-breaks, they built a huge scaffold over the top of the building and draped plastic sheeting over it.
     
    Can't think why.
  15. caldrail

    Pointing Guns

    By caldrail,

    On my way to the sports center I passed a billboard announcing the latest headline from our local rag - Man Accused of Pointing Gun At Policeman. Well I can understand his frustration, but its more evidence of the steady creep of gun culture here in Britain.
     
    Following the Dunblane Massacre, the government effectively banned the private ownership of guns, aside from shotguns but you still need to justify that ownership to the authorities. The sort of massacres we see played out in America are very rare here, and Dunblane provoked a knee-jerk reaction. That too is understandable, but all the government achieved was to create a black market of discarded weapons. Thats why the british police declared amnesties regularly.
     
    Swindon hardly seems the epicentre of gun crime though, comparing it to events in London and Birmingham. A recent petrol station robbery involved someone waving what appeared to be a firearm, and during one amnesty, one young gentleman calmly walked down to the nearest police station to hand over his Bren light machine gun. I remember back in the seventies a policeman showing me the photographs of the weapons made in a cellar just up the hill from where I lived (for no illegal purpose, it was someones hobby, and he hadn't realised it was illegal to do so).
     
    It seems as civilisation is crumbling around me, until I watch Vinnie Jone's Toughest Cops. yes, its the usual expose of hardmen in uniform, with hard stares from the presenter into the camera and no nonsense commentary. The two programs I've seen describe the activities of policemen of special units in Columbia and El Salvador, neither the most law-abiding nations of the world. The dangers these paramilitary men face on a daily business was self evident, and I guess I can excuse the slightly macho male-orientated approach, showing one officer telling the camera crew that he leaves the safety catch off in order to gain vital split seconds in a confrontation, or the close ups of a woman nicknamed Nikita, a police sniper. Chicks with guns. I can imagine the teenage fantasies going on in bedrooms.
     
    The reality of course is that these places really are dangerous. Although every policeman interviewed said pretty much the same thing - that they felt they had to do something to deter this level of violent crime - the truth is they also said they enjoyed it. The addiction to adrenaline is insidious. Its also a very inherent part of human psychology, and ultimately the reason why the gangsters continue to face off against law enforcement when they know that there's a good chance they'll lose. The program didn't spare you from a close up of the aftermath of a robbery in a roadside cafe either, with two workmen lying crumpled over the furniture in a pools of blood. So far, this doesn't happen in Swindon, so I guess the next time a young copper eager to make an impression starts throwing his weight around, I'll just grin and bear it. So far, he isn't going to pull a gun on me.
     
    Advert of the Week
    At a local hotel there's going to be a Psychic Fair, with clairvoyants, faith healers, etc etc. Obviously telepathy is a bit too difficult, or the advert wouldn't have been necessary. Telekinesis might also prove incapable of getting me there without any physical effort of my own, and as for hypnotism so far I've shown not the slightest inclination to turn up. Or act like a chicken.
  16. 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.
  17. 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...
  18. caldrail

    Same Old Songs

    By caldrail,

    The temperature has dropped alarmingly. It's actually cold getting out of bed, if that wasn't difficult enough on a Saturday morning. I glance out the window and see nothing but dreary english fog.
     
    It turns out to be so cold even the internet is frozen. I've been searching all morning for a place to log on, with internet cafe staff frantically trying to stop their customers wandering away. I think thee's a telephone company employee who's going to need stress counselling.
     
    Then again, the cold weather is down to the time of year. Its already the Commercial Season, with ads everywhere telling us that if we buy their goods, we too will have a happy smiley Christmas. How? How can you enjoy Christmas with all the Christmas songs played endlessly on the radio?
     
    In America, I imagine you're suffering "Walking in a Winter Wonderland". Here in Blighty, its "Merry Christmas" by Slade. It was cute in 1978, but we've heard it, ok?
     
    Thens there's good old Bing, brought out of the golden oldie cupboard and dusted off to remind us that placing a bet snow will fall on Christmas Day is not a good idea. Paul McCartney tells us that "We're.. all.. having... a wonderful Christmas time". I'll bet you are. You can afford the prices. Cliff Richard of course gets all his his songs direct from God, which must leave Somin Cowell a little perplexed.
     
    What we need are gritty, rough tough no-nonsense Christmas songs. I want to hear Ozzy Osbourne singing "Suicide Sausage Rolls" or "Mr Crosby". How about Judas Priest performing "Living After New Year" or "Breaking The Wind"?
     
    Oh yeah. Songs from the heart.
     
    Survey of the Week
    Customer surveys are such a waste of time. Did we really need to them to do all that research to discover that the French use the largest condoms on average? Mind you, I was relieved to discover that Greece use the smallest. Must be why they import so many british holidaymakers every year.
  19. caldrail

    While We're Waiting

    By caldrail,

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

    I Woke Up This Morning

    By caldrail,

    Yep, it snowed. I woke up to the sound of people falling over. A garage mechanic shovelling snow off the ramp to the yard made sure I got out of bed. I'm going outside. I may be gone some time.
     

     
    What is going on? Swindon is alive with people. Cars crawling forward sensibly at a steady pace. People laughing, joking, gritting pavements. Youths dragging plastic sleds they got for Christmas four years ago and never thought they'd ever use. Help... Drowning in community spirit....
     
    A ten year old threw a snowball at his mum. He missed, but hey, it doesn't snow too often around here. "This is quite fun isn't it?" He observed. Yes, kid, it is when you're ten years old. For the rest of us, we have to avoid.. woah.... wooooooooaaaahhhhh!
     
    Splat. Oh no. I've fallen into someones footprint. Sheer walls of snow at least three inches deep. Aww man, how do I get out of this? At least I'm not injured. Can't phone Mountain Rescue, I left my mobile phone at home. Guess I'll just lie here, surviving on melted snow, until a walking shag pile carpet turns up with a barrel of rum under its chin to lick me to death...
     
    Return To Form Of The Week
    AM was sat at the PC 'doing his emails'. In the next cubicle, a young man was discussing something with his friend whilst he pointed at the screen.
     
    "Do you mind?" Demanded AM, "We're trying to concentrate. This is a library. Its a place for people to concentrate.". Wow. That shut him up. ?
     
    An hour later AM was struggling with his emails. "How do I save this?" He demanded, "I've only got thirty seconds left..." I waited with undisguised glee for him to fail to save it. He dragged a poor unsuspecting librarian to assist him. She shrugged, helpless to satisfy AM's need for instant assistance. His time ran out.
     
    "Oh ,look at that. That was a big story, and now I've lost it. Useless. I come here, I try to use my emails, and I can't save it. I should throw this computer through the window.." And so on, endlessly. He started lecturing his neighbouring PC users about how bad the computer system is.
     
    I was tempted to remind him that we needed to concentrate, but I was enjoying his performance too much.
  21. caldrail

    Nothing New

    By caldrail,

    I hear the news that one of the local pubs has reopened for business. Not, as you might imagine, because of a swarm of drunkards making an appearance after midnight, but because it was reported in our local newspaper.
     
    These days it isn't enough to simply paint a silly sign and open the doors to the general public. Commerce demands that the pub is able to attract customers. In this case the pub has decided to sell 'historic food'. Again this isn't what you might suspect. By 'historic' they mean reproductions of menus dating back to the 1600's, not what was left in the freezer from last year.
     
    That is nonetheless a fascinating idea. How much has food changed since 1600? They certainly didn't eat cornflakes for breakfast back then. Not so long ago I stumbled across a menu from the 1700's that was served by a pub in Marlborough. That made interesting reading. Most of the stuff listed was more or less what you can buy today although cooked in a much more straightforward manner without foreign vegetables or spices. The prices betrayed a certain trend toward serving the gentry passing through the town. Servants meals were considerably cheaper.
     
    I wonder what the difference was? Did the servants actually get lower quality food, or yesterdays left-overs, or was this simply a means of extracting cash from a gentleman's purse?
     
    What Do We Do With Them?
    Swindon's love affair with crumbling old buildings continues. Our local newsletter continues to moan about the continued existence of the abandoned Old College. Scandalous, they call it. Typical more like.
     
    What about the Mechanics Institute? If anything qualifies as a historic building, surely that does? Half the roof is missing to foestall a collapse and nobody seems able to to do anything with the site.
     
    Now the same situation is developing with the Locarno, a building dating back to 1852 which suffered a fire some years ago. Not quite the same eyesore as the other two buildings perhaps, but apparently there's been a number of planning requests made to the council, none of which result in anything being done.
     
    What is going on in this town? As much as we'll probably hate the result of action being taken on these sites and despairing of the commercial motives to changing the buildings use, but why can't anything be agreed between developrs and council officials? Do they want Swindon to look ruined?
     
    What Does Wootton Bassett Do Now?
    In the news is the imminent royal visit to Wootton Bassett. Also turning up is David Cameron apparently. With the change in arrival point of repatriated dead from foreign wars away from Lyneham airbase, Wooton Bassett will no longer get all the media attention and today the impending celebration of the towns significance is local news.
     
    I'm not blind and deadf to the sacrifice of those who served in the British Armed Forces, but there's a part of me that remains suspicious about the way the return of these dead men is being exploited. Soldiers have been killed in little wars or security operations for as long as I can remember, and I'm sure they suffered casualties before I was born. So in that respect, what has changed?
     
    It seems to me that whilst the good people of Wootton Bassett turned out to pay respect to the fallen regularly, this idea that the town is somehow worthy is simply a matter of circumstance. The town just happened to be on the route between the airbase where the transport landed and where the bodies were being taken. I don't remember anywhere being used in this fashion before.
     
    Using military virtue for political ends isn't a new idea at all. As much as I commend our lads for the work they do, I cannot help feel that so much of this circus in Wootton Bassett has been deliberately stage managed. Frankly I don't care which town the bodies travel through, or that royals and politicians will be there to celebrate the lines of mourners. I'm sure any town in England would respond similarly to the arrival of the fallen.. I do care that people are dying out there in some dusty hellhole. If the war is meant to achieve anything, surely we should be celebrating success where the operation is going on?
     
    It does beg the question - What will the town of Wootton Bassett do now their part in the war is over? Apparently it's going to be a stage for media events. I'm sure those respectful citizens of a small wiltshire town will be thrilled to know they've made a politician look good.
  22. caldrail
    One of the enduring qualities of the ancient Roman Empire is an instinctive need by europeans to revive the idea of a continental empire. The European Union was supposed to be a collective of nation states although clearly there are politicians who saw it as a vehicle for imperial ambition. Others saw it as no more than a convenient gravy train. I suspect the same was true two thousand years ago.
     
    Things aren't looking too good. Those nations scrounging from the pot have been told to pull their socks up. Austerity measures and changes of leadership have resulted. For me there's still doom and gloom since much of Britains prosperity now depends on the EU, and with the foundations of europe's new empire wobbling, unemployment is not getting any better.
     
    Usually at this time of year there's an endless demand for temporary workers to shovel stuff from here to there in time for Christmas and the January sales. This year it's harder to find such relief from signing on. Fewer employers are hiring and many are imposing strict regulations on their annual intake of slaves. In one advertisement for a temporary manual job, the employer was making clear that high standards were expected. What? Monkeys need to be groomed this year? No picking fleas at that place. Only those with the right attitude would be tolerated. That's a telling statement.
     
    Every year the amount of mail surges as the festive season approaches. One agency has forwarded my name to the Royal Mail for a short term job sorting letters, driving vans, delivering mail, or other such matters vital for the war effort.That's okay with me.
     
    The odd thing is that the agency who put my name forward to the suprisingly secretive Royal Mail is based in Leeds. For those with no comprehension of things english, that's foreign territory to us Swindoners. A whole different culture, steeped in strange accents and customs, with clever and cunning natives that confound and befuddle their prosperous southern neighbours.
     
    DS was from Leeds incidentially. She was my boss for a while, and despite the complete chaos and dodgy deals that followed her everywhere, she maintained that Leeds is the true home of sensible englishness. Can't quite see that myself. To confirm my suspicions, I keep getting phone calls and emails from the sensible Leeds agency telling me to respond to an email I'd been sent and book myself an interview at the local post depot.
     
    Erm.... What email? All the links I've tried send me back to their website. It's a bit like being caught in an endless circle. Worse still, the clever and cunning Leeds person I spoke to asked me for my password so he could faciiltate the application process. Pardon me? You want my password?
     
    Welcome to sensible Leeds. Stay alert people.
     
    Pardon Me For Squirming
    Another quiet day at the library. Even the businessman who received a very important call on his moble tried frantically to persuade the caller that everything was working out just fine so he could hang up and carry on using a computer in peace and tranquility. But some people are never satisfied.
     
    BFL was sat a few cubicles away. It's hard to miss her really since the world tends to stop when she comes upstairs. She can be persistent, demanding attention and assistance for the sheer pleasure of getting people to act at her whim. She's tried pulling my strings once or twice. No, sorry, I haven't the slightest idea how that printer works. This is a library. Go and ask a librarian. Jeez.
     
    The rest of us grimace as every possible obstruction to her very important studies is removed. Every day she's at the helpdesk asking a librarian for help. There's no escaping her. Like a child throwing toys out of a pram, she's learned that making a big noise results in things happening.
     
    It was therefore inevitable that the atmosphere of the library was suddenly shattered. At the top of her voice BFL suddenly blurted out "Do you mind? I'm doing some very intense study and I can't concentrate because you're constantly jumping up and down!"
     
    "Is there a problem" Said the librarian, poised to pounce upon some hapless victim. BFL said no more. As to who was jumping up and down I have not the slightest clue. Maybe I breathed too heavily? Maybe someone was thinking too loud, maybe there wasn't the right mix of hormones in the air, or perhaps BFL was getting frustrated by the lack of attention she was getting? Who knows?
     
    Oh. She's leaving. With a bit of luck she won't bother to announce it.
     
    Might There Be A Winter?
    There's been a definite chill in the air these last couple of days. Still not cold enough to see your own breath, which is unsual for this time of year, but the relatively balmy weather we've been having appears to be receding. I saw a young lady standing outside the shopping centre, waiting to hand leaflets to any interested passer by, wrapped up in fur lined coats and ear warmers as she watched the disinterested majority pass by.
     
    As it happens Swindon has relunctantly decided autumn is here. The trees are finally dumping their leaves for the winter shutdown. At least with the trees in hibernation they won't be disturbing BFL. Now that Swindon is becoming a cold and depressing place again, perhaps BFL might consider a holiday in warmer climes, like Leeds for instance. I'm sure she'll sort those insolent natives out..
  23. caldrail

    Goodbye to the Shed

    By caldrail,

    Thats it, my last day in the shed. Big H was friendly and almost engaged us in conversation! Especially with AD, who he never forgave for comparing a sheepdog as his dad. First time those two have spoken in twelve months.
     
    I notice an english teacher got arrested in Sudan for allowing kids to name a bear 'Mohammed'. I get called names all the time but no-one arrests them. I'd shout back at them but under british justice the poor dears would get me arrested for breaching their peace. On the news last night they reported that in numerical memory tests chimpanzees beat human beings. Comes as no suprise to me. I get demonstrations of human intelligence every Saturday night.
     
    Conspiracy Theory of the Week
     
    Apparently this year the humble hedgehog has been observed in huge numbers - particularly for this time year. Its proof of Global Warming I tell you. They're thriving on our sub-tropical winters and unleaded fuel. Nothing stops them, not even their carbon footprints. We now know they breed faster in wet weather too, because the July Floods forced them out of their little hidey holes and made them to act together to survive. Don't laugh, you have been warned... The Hedgehogs Are Coming!
  24. caldrail
    There I was, blissfully asleep after a long night before, woken by my mobile phone. Its AD, asking me if I wanted to come in on my day off. No, not really, but one has to make sacrifices to impress the boss (don't really want to be dumped by the roadside again). So, hungover and bleary eyed, I trudge into work to find that AD has decided to take the day off and so I must assume command of the operation.
    Lorries turn up to collect our goods but don't know what they're supposed to be taking away. I don't know which vendor I'm supposed to be supplying. Daily and seasonal picks delayed by our move are now going live. Where's the pallets? Where's the shrinkwrap? More containers coming in and I can't subject them to qualtiy control because our machines are stacked up in the racks. Not that it matters, we still don't have an office. Has AD done this on purpose? Is this some sadistic trial by fire designed to forge the ultimate manager? Stay cool Caldrail.... Oh no, not another stock query....
     
    Obituary of the Week
    Its with some sadness that I must announce that my poor car, Maxie, is been put in mothballs, probably for disposal at some future date. The various unrequested modifications and mechanical defects, not to mention an engine that is now solely responsible for global warming, has meant that getting it through a Ministry of transport Test is all but too expensive. She's going to be a hard act to follow.
  25. caldrail

    Thunderbirds Have Gone!

    By caldrail,

    I strolled into work this morning expecting to have to clear everything away so our new portakabin can be inserted into place. My jaw dropped spellbound as I entered the warehouse. The old cabin, that looked like a refugee from an abandoned railway line, has gone. In its place was a huge palatial (and clean) cabin.
     
    I was so looking forward to watching another foul-up and writing it up in loving exacting detail, but I can't. International Portakabins have arrived in their green articulated truck (the one with a white '2' on the side), done the job, and gone back to their pacific depot.
     
    Our tame forklifter tells me that the old cabin broke another window when they lifted it out. Gerry Anderson usually gave us catastrophic explosions at the end of an episode, but I guess that will have to do.
     
    Shower of the Week
    Sunshine and showers the weather report said. It was raining when I walked to work. It was sunny when I was inside the warehouse. Yep, it rained this afternoon, and guess what? It rained on me as I trudged home. You just can't beat British weather!
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