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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail
    There's a strange mood in the town right now, and I suspect, across England, because once again our national football team has failed to reach the heady goal of winning the World Cup. This time they failed to get out of the starting blocks, so I understand, but then I don't have any time for football. Nothing wrong with the game as such, but I resent the expectations that I should be interested and discuss the subject at every opportunity. I don't like the blatant commercialism and outrageous incomes football stars can earn, or for that natter, I remain baffled as to why a bloke who kicks a football for a living can be seen as important as politicians on the world stage.
     
    All those national flags displayed in peoples front windows... But I suppose that's nothing other than a sense of disappointment. For David Cameron, it means a major reorganisation of his social diary now that he doesn't have a football team to be seen with at press events. A few less new years honours to promote.
     
    Unfortunatetly it also means that David Cameron has more time on his hands, and with busy politicians who like telling the British how to go about their daily lives, it means he'll have time to think up new ways of getting his face on television, and since trampling on the unemployed is his most popular game plan right now, I dare say it'll get worse for those of us who can't afford football tickets.
     
    As it happens I'm shortly to be put on a work placement. Unlike previous years where you get a small premium payment to make the idea worthwhile, now I have to work for my benefits. Those of you with well paid jobs will no doubt say that's a good thing. But ask yourself this - would you want to work a thirty hour week for sixty odd pounds? Especially if you want to earn a living instead of dossing at public expense? In a country that's so strident in its call for National Minimum Wages and assistance for those unable to pay their ever increasing bills?
     
    Now the Job Centre has warned me that twenty-six week placements are coming soon to a own near you. On the one hand it's a means of engaging those without jobs in some useful social capacity. On the other, the need of a politician to win popularity by forcing those on benefits into what amounts to slave labour.
     
    I'm almost willing to support the England soccer team from now on. As much as I hate football, as least a few goals will keep our politicians busy for a while.
     
    They Are Working On It.
    The Old College site is starting to look like a shopping centre now. Not complete you understand, but getting there. At the back, the car park has the metal underlay almost fitted, obscuring the dark interior and presenting a very bright spectacle when the sun gets low in the evening. Won't be long before the muffled thuds and rumbles from the cinema start intruding upon the normal traffic noise and singing contests.
     
    I saw a man from Morrisons, one of the supermarket chains that are going to inhabit the site. He stood looking dejected on the traffic island, watching the work in progress.
     
    "Give 'em a chance," I told him, "They are working on it."
     
    Sex And Violence of the Week
    The local park is proving to be a popular hoilday destination for alll manner of birds. Geese, ducks, coots, moorhens, pigeons, an assortment of white sea birds, but none of the swans you used to see every year. I watched a flock of geese arrive, circling down in formation and performing a coordinated landing on the water. That made quite a splash.
     
    With such a condensed population of birds you might expect the odd confrontation or two, animals being what they are. I watched a goose making a hasty and noisy retreat as another pecked at its tail feathers in furous pursuit. A coot chased a duck continuously, while the duck cleverly evaded its nemesis by swimming underwater in a random direction, the chase resuming once the coot spotted its quarry again.
     
    I watched amused as a fat pigeon sidled up to every other female asking for a date, or preferably, a chance to make eggs. He danced and strutted his stuff, but the ladies really didn't take to his display and wandered away. If that pigeon was a human, he'd be arrested as a sex pest. or perhaps given a starring role on a comedy show. But he's working on it nonetheless. Maybe one day he'll find love. Must be difficult for pigeons. I mean, it's not like they understand the internet or know how to use dating agencies.
     
    I noticed a certain cat too. It's the black and white one whose face bears an alarming resemblance to Adolf Hitler. I had no idea this feline adventurer ever prowled this part of town, but as cats do, sometimes they travel some distance to find a hiunting ground.
     
    It's all sex and violence, really. Oh well, it was a nice day at the park, but if you'll excuse me, I have work to do. Whether I like or not.
  2. caldrail
    Yesterday afternoon I braved the rain and popped down to the supermarket for my weekly needs. There's a magazine rack near the door from the central concourse and to be honest, I've long given up any interest in it. Basically the magazines on sale either tell you what's happening in the private lives of celebrities, what they're wearing this year, or how men can have a flat six-pack stomach like theirs.
     
    This time though I noticed a copy of Mojo, an indie music publication intended for people who understand the secret language of music journalism. Quite frankly I've got little time for discerning the meaning of life from magazines and I can't say music journalists have ever impressed me with enlightenment about the human condition (or even last nights gig), but then I saw the free CD attached to the cover.
     
    Africa Rising it was called. A collection of various artists and their ethnic music. For some reason this intrigued me. Quite why I don't know. Africa has never loomed large in my conciousness and ethnic music doesn't rouse me. I admit I liked the Giant Leap album, the one with Robbie Williams on it, and also No Quarter (Robert Plant & Jimmy Page) which contained ethnic versions of Led Zeppelin tracks.
     
    The genre is full of rythmn with a sort of warm chaos to it, a bit like primitive jazz. Am I developing a taste for African music? Good grief, all my dead heavy metal heroes must be turning in their grave. All I can say is that Africa Rising doesn't disappoint.
     
    Compliment of the Week
    The lady on the checkout till described me as a young man. Isn't it amazing what a copy of Mojo does for your public image? Who needs a flat six-pack stomach anyway?
     
  3. caldrail

    Almost Nothing

    By caldrail,

    Good grief. It's nearly half way through February and my poor deprived readers have had no news and whinges from me since the festive season. Fear not, brave public, you are not forgotten. At no cost to the country's economy and tattered finances, without the need for UN convoys and airlifts, without the need for drone and bombing attacks to clear obstructions, I bring the latest, and I mean late, news from the Rushey Platt Villa.
     
    [bSnowfall [/b]
    There I was, knee deep in cardboard boxes, stuffing them into a crushing machine while fending off colleagues who saw my job as an easier option than theirs, when I spotted it. Snow? Was that snow falling outside? Of course I couldn't miss the opportunity to head over to the door of the warehouse and have a looksee. It was. Nothing special or disastrous, just a few flurries of wintery weather to please the British heart after our lacklustre Christmas.
     
    "What is that stuff coming out of the sky?" Asked a forklifter. He really didn't know. That was the first time he had ever witnessed snow in his life, and in his far off homeland in sub-tropical Goa, snow just does not happen. Another Goan was nervous, not really understanding what snow was, and worried about possible side effects. One the other hand, one Polish girl prayed the snow would get heavier so she could build a snowman like she did back home. Well, despite the repeated warnings on weather reports, the snow flurries across England were fairly feeble and here in rainy old Swindon we got almost nothing.
     
    Fighting Hunger
    There are times we think our employer gives us almost nothing. Oh sure we get paid, but there's an insidious lack of morale as the targets we have to meet only get higher with fewer resources to achieve them. Maybe I'm whinging a little. After all, the company did pay for a Christmas dinner and a week or two ago we got a free fish and chips. Yummy. I notice the bottles of tomato ketchup and mayonnaise left on the tables afterward quickly started evaporating.
     
    President Of The Week
    Who else but Donald Trump? Clearly expecting to rule by decree and change the face of the Earth with clicks of his fingers and swipes of his expensive pens, he has run straight into a lesson on co-operation mounted by the judiciary branch of American government, one we never normally hear anything about in Britain. The funny things was that I debated with a colleague at work about whether Trump would get a lesson, but I confess I thought it was going to be from the security services, not the judges. So his executive order to ban travel from suspicious states achieves almost nothing. Thus he threatens to make another.
     
    How the Russians must be laughing. All that effort to rig the electoral system, all those spies wandering around taking photographs and exchanging envelopes of secret information, all those bugs and whistleblowers and Wikileaks.... All the Russians have to do is follow Trump on Twitter.
  4. caldrail

    Almost Ready

    By caldrail,

    With rain looming on the horizon I was pleased to see a bright sunny morning. Since my first task of the day was another visit to the programme centre, I decided to take advantage of the good weather and take a stroll up the alleyway rather than down the hill.
     
    By this time of year the undergrowth should be starting to bulge along the fence marking the boundary of the old college site. So far there's precious little of it, and instead it looks as if the alleyway has been cleared of foliage. Nonetheless, I did see one spot where the tarmac has burst open as a stalk of 'horsetail' pushes upward to find sunlight.
     
    How incredible is that? A vulnerable green shoot of vegetation has lliterally forced its way through half an inch of asphalt like it wasn't there. How on earth did it sprout there? Sadly it won't survive, because it's emerging right in the path of cars turning into the yard, but what a demonstration of the tenacity and power of nature.
     
    The trouble is that whilst the alleyway is free of foliage and relatively passable, it also looks bare - a muddy pathway lined with all sorts of discarded material - clothes, bedding, scraps of damp wood, rusty springs, and the skeletal remains of consumer goods.
     
    Ahead of me two people were energetically cutting up branches with heavyweight shears. They didn't see me approach and after politely asking to go by, we got talking. Apparently this couple have just bought one of the houses backing onto the alleyway.and being public spirited types, they've already contacted the council about the waste clogging the path.
     
    That's nothing, I told them, you should see some of the alleyways further west. Some of those are blocked completely by abandoned furniture. They looked a bit shocked by the scale of Swindons rubbish culture.
     
    Not Quite Completed
    The olympic stadium in London is on the news as I type. It looks more like a Nascar track at the moment because the running oval isn't going to be installed until the assets for the opening ceremony have gone in first. But let's not be finnicky about this - I have been proved wrong - they have finished it on time. Almost.
  5. caldrail

    Almost There

    By caldrail,

    In the last few weeks I've rediscovered a television series from the sixties. The Saint were the adventures of gentleman adventurer Simon Templar, played by Roger Moore, a sort of poor man's James Bond without the gadgets and evil villains taking over the world. Moore plays the part with his usual bond-esque humour but it is hard to imagine a real life counterpart so genteel and light hearted. In his world, just like Bond, he's infamous and known to everyone yet can wander around incognito until the he gets betrayed by a twist in the plot.
     
    The thing is, like most sixties television in Britain, production values were very low scale. You can see that corridor is a painted backdrop. That car chase across Germany looks more like Essex. The train carriage is a simple sound stage set. Paris no more than a backdrop of Notre Dame. But you don't mind that, because again, like most sixties television, these programs tell stories. The adventures might be contrived, predictable, sometimes even completely implausible, but unlike modern series the episodes don't rely on emotional wrangling or deep significance. It's actually fun to watch, a guaranteed gritty fistfight in every episode, and the sixties cut scenes and cars add period flavour.
     
    Of course, when Ian Ogilvy took over in the seventies, changing the charismatic Volvo P1800 sports car for a lumbering Jaguar XJS, the mood had changed. Gentleman adventurers were a thing of the past, aside from James Bond. American imports introduced us to the Ford Torino of Starsky & Hutch, Kojak and his lollipops, and in Britain, series like The Professionals had opted for a more down to earth and working class feel. The Seventies - when Britain joined Europe and the Old World finally withered away.
     
    Hmmm... We've just decided to leave Europe. I wonder....
     
    Pole To Port Stanley
    The Douglas DC6 is a pleasing shape in the air, a fifties four engine propliner descending from that old warhorse, the Dakota. In the night sky a few miles south of the Falklands, the Pratt & Whitney Double Wasp engines, each capable of 2400 horsepower, droned on. Below us, hazy patches of sea mist lit by the moon. A few whisps of cumulus drifted by. Above, the stars, strangely static despite our two hundred mile an hour cruise. Most of the passengers would be dozing off by now, too tired by the white knuckle ride on takeofff and the subsequent journey across the South Atlantic to stay awake, too distracted by the vibrating rumble and the stale interior to sleep well. Finally, the radio messages became more frequent, and the command comes through to descend and head for the approach to Port Stanley.
     
    In real life my hand would have spread across four chunky levers, but with a couple of keypresses, the angry noise reduces to a quiet grumble, and the plane starts to lose altitude. But of course this isn't real. Finally with some time to relax and forget the busy schedule of the past year, it was time to break out the flight simulator.
     
    I'd been watching Pole To Pole, a travel documentary by Michael Palin, and fancied a go at flying down there. My first attempt was hopelessly inept. I ought to have known better, given my real life pilot training, but I took off without planning and quickly found the cold air causing engine failure after take off, made worse by the prospect of ending up in the icy waters of the polar seas. Not good.
     
    Okay. Lets think about this. The gravel runway in the simulator at the end of a rocky archipelago was too short for the heavily laden DC6 so I prepared every trick I could think of, and took a lot longer to warm the engines, running them up to power much more gently. Without that two hundred foot cliff off the end of the runway all would have been another disaster, and the random weather I took off in was appalling. All that had been coped with. There was the runway lights at Port Stanley.
     
    Realism? Well, Microsoft might claim its as good as it gets, but I certainly wasn't. Might have to practice a bit more before I get that phone call from a desperate airline.
     
    Crisis Ot The Week
    This star prize has to go to Brexit. it must have been obvious there was a chance the British public would choose to go, and everyone quickly forgot that until we kick off Article 50, nothing changes, and even then, there's still a two year negotiation period. Come on Simon Templar. Shoot the bad guys, kiss the girl, and put Britain back on course. At the moment you're a lot more real than some of our overpaid politicians.
  6. caldrail
    Yesterday evening the weather was warm and sunny, tempered by a cool westerly breeze. I enjoy a hike into the country now and then, and in order to try for an atmospheric or dramatic sunset photograph, I climbed the torturous footpath up to Burderop Ridge. Getting photographs like that isn't as easy as it sounds because nature invariably displays its best when you're least prepared, but lets try nonetheless. So I found a comfortable grassy spot overlooking the local countryside.
     
    The first event was a mechanical rushing noise behind me. At first I thought it was a lorry on the back road, then realising it couldn't be, I turned around as two army helicopters flew by a few hundred yards away at treetop height, turning to overfly wroughton airfield before I lost sight of them. Well that was certainly dramatic, but my cantankerous camera refused to switch on. Typical.
     
    After that helicopter flypast, I wondered if nature was going to able to better it. I waited for the sun to go down. There were birds flying around, mostly pidgeons, but then one hawk flew over the top of me slowly, very low, beating its wings powerfully against the wind. My jaw dropped in suprise at being so close to a bird of prey in the wild. Its less than ten feet away! Quick! Get a shot! (fumble) Oh no, I don't believe it, the camera is playing up again! I sat and watched helplessly as the bird of prey swung right and swooped down the incline out of sight.
     
    To be honest, the photos I did get were lacklustre. Compared to the ones I should have got, they were rubbish. Nature had done what it always does - displayed its best when I wasn't ready.
     
    UFO Incident of the Week
    Mind you, that helicopter flypast might have been a top secret mission to intercept UFO's. Don't laugh, the army have been reporting them just lately. Well, in order to save the government several million pounds worth of investigation, it was only me and the camera... Must have been the flashlight... Sorry guys...
     
    Talking About Nature...
    Shame about the photo's but never mind. It was a lovely evening, watching the cropfields ripple in the wind, clouds drifting by, birds wheeling overhead. At least it was until the sun went down. Up on the ridge, without shelter from the wind, it got very chilly, very quickly. Once I was back down amongst the hedgerows and trees, it was noticeably warmer. Just a reminder how harsh the climate can be in exposed places, even in summer.
  7. caldrail
    Another day, another job interview, and another bag full of documentation and proof of who I am, what I was, and why I think I could be. For a moment my trusty old CAA pilots license passed through my hand. I hadn't seen it for some time as no-one had ever asked to view it, and as for flying, I haven't been at the controls of an aeroplane since 2002, which at my age means to exercise the full privileges of licensing means another round of costly dual instruction and expensive medicals. Not really a practical lifestyle choice at the moment, not with my career wading through the mud.
     
    I happen to be one of the last Britons on the old UK CAA lifetime PPL's. These days a pilot can either get a UK recreational license, restricted to British airspace, or the full European JAA five year license. I wonder what will happen now that Britain has voted for Brexit?
     
    Those were the days. I would come out of work early on a Friday afternoon, glance up at the sly as I walk across the car park, and decide whether to pop down to the airfield. Looks like a lovely day. Let's go!
     
    After an hours blast across southern England in my trusty old Toyota sports car I arrive at the field. There's no fuss or nonsense getting in, and I park up to visit the flying club office, where I ask about availability (always a formality, they had enough aeroplanes to go around) and sign out my choice of aircraft. Then it's up to the tower to look through the NOTAMS (Notices To Airmen) to make sure I don't do something stupid, ignorant, or just plain illegal.. Check the weather report. All looks good.
     
    Today I'll be flying one of the Piper Tomahawks parked out on the grass. The PA38 is not exactly exotic, just a simple two seat American trainer, and good enough for an hours flying to keep my hours up. The metal airframe is hot to the touch under the summer sunshine, even with white paint, and the moment I open the cabin door I feel the heat inside - it's like a cooker in there. So, leaving the cockpit to ventilate and hopefully cool down a tad, I leave the door open, stow my bag, and wander around on my preflight check. You really need to do these habitually. You cannot assume an airframe is ready and safe to fly.
     
    After testing this and pushing that, I conclude this aeroplane is okay to fly. The cockpit is still uncomfortably hot, but I expected that, and put up with it. A few more checks, then the business of starting up can begin. These aircraft are not sophisticated. Their design, both airframe and engine, dates from 1930's technology and that means I have to do some jiggery-pokery with the plumbing to persuade that lumpy four cylinder engine to turn. Not like a car at all. Even with an electrical starter like this installation, there still needs to be a number of controls set just right. I push the primer pump a couple of times, set the mixture, set the throttle, shout "Clear prop!" to prevent anyone lurking under my Tomahawk from being minced by the propeller, and try the starter.
     
    The engine doesn't like being woken up. It turns over with a click and whirr, the innards doing everything except firing. Woah! There it goes, bursting into noisy life. Immediately I reset the throttle, check the readings on the instruments, and prepare for movement. Call the tower and tell what I intend to do today. They reply with the usual terse permissions and advice, so now it's just me, releasing the brakes and letting the Tomahawk trundle forward. On the grass it waddles and rocks about, so go careful, because if that propeller hits the ground my flight is over before it begins.
     
    Now I arrive at the end of the runway. A last minute check that the controls are working as expected, that the engine temperatures and pressures are within safe limits, and run the power up briefly so I know the engine is working properly. I have to know that - take off is the most dangerous part of the flight, the moment when the engine is under the greatest strain and the aeroplane at the slowest speed. One last call to the tower and they confirm the runway is mine.
     
    Lining up on the runway is quite an experience, no matter how many times I do it. The width of the tarmac, the knowledge of what the strip is for, and the anticipation of a sudden burst of speed and power to get this aeroplane into the air. With everything ready to go there's no more delay. The throttle lever is pushed steadily forward, the engine bellows loudly, and the little Piper starts to accelerate. Unlike a Cessna which almost flies itself, the Tomahawk is a reluctant flyer and needs persuasion to lift off. A pull on the yoke at around 50 knots and with a slight unsteadiness, I start to leave the world behind me.
     
    For a short while I'm in a tiny little world of my own, a metal can suspended half a mile in the air, growling loudly around the sky. Occaisionally a voice over the radio interrupts, sometimes quick orderly exchanges with air traffic control, or simply someone else talking on the same frequency that doesn't involve me at all.
     
    As usual, the air is a little hazy, and although I steer clear of the white cumulus tufts as the law and commonsense dictates, I can't really see that far, just a dozen miles or so, and the various thermals and gusts of wind make the aeroplane wobble and jolt. I see another light aircraft flying a little way off. A military helicopter blasts past below at an impressive speed. A couple of gliders in the distance wheel about looking for the same thermals I'm trying to avoid. Maybe you might spot a car on a road down there. For the most part, my little world is a solitary place, the world outside strangely empty and silent.
     
    Sooner or later I either run short of fuel or money, so the flight has to end, thus I head back to the airfield and call them to announce my imminent arrival. They reply with instructions on which approach to use, and it's up to me to guide my aeroplane correctly. The runway looks ridiculously small from there. Getting down accurately is a skill that requires practice, one I enjoy completing successfully, and it is a necessary part of flying. What goes up must come down.
     
    I adjust the power to control my rate of descent. I adjust the aeroplanes attitude to control my speed. A little counter-intuitive perhaps, but that's how flying works, and I've done it often enough not to have to think about it. With a few more adjustments the aeroplane settles into an approach I'm happy with. The runway gets larger, and closes on me ever quicker. Start to ease off the speed and descent, trying to judge it so the aeroplane is hardly descending when... There's a hesitant whine from the stall warner. A quick screech and bump as the tires touch the tarmac. All power is off and I'm down, keen to get off the runway and open the cockpit before it starts cooking me.
     
    Finally I arrive at the parking place. On with the brake, shut off the fuel and electrics, letting the engine stop itself, and finally, a chance to get that door open and breathe fresh air. My ears are buzzing in the odd silence that follows a flight. There's a stiffness in the legs after having to push rudder pedals for the last hour. All I do now is finish off putting everything back where it belongs and close the door behind me, then back to the office to sign off the airframe. That was a good flight. I enjoyed that.
  8. caldrail
    Walking toward the supermarket I spotted D a little way off. He's a tall guy, very individual, a sort of happy go lucky bloke who doesn't let life get him down in any way. I used to work at the same warehouse as him when I was employed by DS, but more to the point, where's his mate?
     
    "He's in there.." Says D smiling, "But he's not my mate"
     
    Thanks for the warning. D's mate is MS. He's another jovial chap, shaven head, but someone with a more direct way of achieving his ends. Years ago he was jailed for soccer violence. Now he says he's a reformed character, so he only spars for fun. Actually, joking aside, the man has a confidence about violence that is very impressive. For him, fighting is automatic, something he can do without thinking, so he's very calm and quick, and given his mischievious nature, you need eyes in the back of your head!
     
    He was in there, but I didn't spot him. Once though I saw a side of him that was even more interesting. In a mischievious mood myself, I yelled across the warehouse in a typical sergeant-major fashion...
     
    S! Get your hair cut!!!
     
    He looked around in a state of horror. He admitted later that for that moment, he thought one of his old prison warders was in the warehouse. Its a very telling moment.
     
    Years ago I did some part time delivery driving. Once I had to drop some parcels off at a prison. From the main road, you couldn't see it, but eventually someone kindly pointed out the lane I needed to go down. Whilst I was there, I caught a glimpse of a barbed wire stockade towering over the surrounding administration blocks.
     
    Don't think I want to stay there.....
     
    More Floods...
    South China gets hit again. The upper mississippee suffers severe flooding too. It must be devastating to have your home indundated like that, and I do have sincere sympathy for those affected, not to mention people who've lost friends and family. Britains rainy season is soon to be upon us...
  9. caldrail

    An Open Answer

    By caldrail,

    There I was, sat at a computer in my local library happily webbing and internetting, when some bloke stolled past, leaned over, and whispered to me as he passed by. "Turn to christianity and all your problems will go away" He said.
     
    Well, problems are just part of life, which means his offer has an unintended fatal aspect. The thing is though, what he just offered can be considered at best unsavoury opportunism, or at worst, a form of blackmail. If he can stop my problems, then his morality in not stopping them until he benefits from it - and lets be straight about this - he intends to profit from me - is typical of the greedy Romanesque attitudes that christianity harbours to this day. I had actually decided not to post this issue on my blog after al - my temper having subsided - but since I've been threatened by some anonymous person to take back what I said or else, I've decided 'or else'. I'm not a servant.
     
    Not that long ago, a woman I used to know from my school days engaged me in conversation. Or more accurately, a sales pitch. She told me how one of her colleagues astounded doctors with a medical miracle as his ailing heart was mysteriously replaced by a healthy strong one following prayers when his mortal fate seemed imminent. I too could be part of her movement and enjoy the patronage of her favourite supreme being. To be honest, I suspect modern medicine and some obvious dishonesty by her colleagues has more to do with the man's recovery, if indeed he was ever ill.
     
    This is an issue that's been part of my life since I was a child. My mother made my conversion more important than any other aspect of my upbringing, and even to the end of her days, tried to get me to adopt her religion. Her methodology was to create situations so that I would learn about life and God. All she succeeded in was rendering me utterly baffled as to why things happened the way they did. And most importantly, she had made this very same offer. That I could be everything I wanted to be - if I signed up. She was however a somewhat misguided woman, however well intended, and don't they say that the Path to Hell is paved with god intentions?
     
    The structure of christian belief hides a form of virtual enslavement that I cannot agree to. I am, after all, somewhat Roman in my desire to preserve my free will and self determination despite the best efforts of those who want to pull my strings. Indeed, why would I turn to something I do not believe in? God will not rescue me from my problems because firstly I'm almost certainly too insignificant as an individual compared to the scale of the cosmos, and secondly because he doesn't exist. He's fiction. Invented by a society thousands of years ago to perform a social purpose that I refuse utterly to comply with.
     
    The truth is that divine intervention has a rather more mundane and mortal origin. Fate is the sum of all decisions and natural forxes. So my answer to you, Sir, whoever you were, is mind your own business. I'm not interested in your stupid cult, your false god, or your dishonest offer.
  10. caldrail

    And Back Agan

    By caldrail,

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

    Anger and Awareness

    By caldrail,

    The problem with blogs is that there's a tendency to reveal too much. There's been a warning recently about people giving away information on social networking sites that a fraudster or a burglar could use.
     
    I own a large vicious dog by the way, just in case that's of any use to you. If not, you can always smile at the cameras.
     
    But more to the point, something else has gone beyond a joke in my life and whilst there's a self impiosed limit on family news to be made public, I think it's time one piece of information (which is actually pretty useless to burglars or fraudsters so quite safe) should be placed on public view.
     
    My mother is a committed christian, and outwardly at least, a quiet and inoffensive member of the community. Certainly she wants to be seen that way. In fact, she made sure I was aware she didn't want anything written about her on blogs or forums. At the time, that was okay with me, but just lately, things have gotten a little more heated.
     
    My mother has always wanted me to be Christian. She took me to church on Sundays as a child and I remember those dull sermons and pointless rituals with relief I don't have to bother with them now. That's essentially the problem. With my spritiuality declared, mother wants me back in the fold. She was the one who mentioned earlier that 'You can always come back'. Quite why I don't know because I never a believer in the first place.
     
    But it gets worse. Mother is not the most sophisticated person in the world (even she would have to admit that) and I honestly think there were people in the Middle Ages who knew more about the Universe than she does. She once discovered my childish satanic paraphenalia that many Heavy Metal fans collect for the sake of it. At the time, all she did was fume angrily and grimly mutter "I know something about you" repeatedly.
     
    Hard to believe that people like that are still around in our otherwise so enlightened age isn't it? I've kept it quiet for a long time now, simply because that was how family life was, but seeing the extent of interference in my everyday affairs that has been going on and increasing both in frequency and spitelfulness, I would like it known that....
     
    Your insults will get you nowhere Mum. Sorry, but I'm over the age of consent and that means I choose what I believe in. I choose to be a spiritualist (of a sort, anyway). There is no truth in Jesus if all he is is an excuse to control others.
     
    Class of the Week
    It's back to school for me today as I've just completed my first session on my Electrical Awareness course. I did think it was going to be a fairly inocuous series of lectures about wiring but ye gods next session I'm testing live mains installations with no rescue helicopter outside. School was never like this!
     
  12. caldrail

    Animal Instinct

    By caldrail,

    The other I was watching a tv documentary about web sex. How the internet and mobile technology has changed our social behaviour. Not for the better it would seem, though I doubt those who enjoy their success at texting others into bed would agree.
     
    The last decade has seen an exploration of how this technology can be exploited socially. Boundaries have been pushed as a result, largely because there's less risk of judgement in the anonymous world of e-dating, but also because the technology allows the sexual predator to hide before he pounces. Apparently most of those involved in this sort of interaction are indeed men, straight or gay, and very few reveal their faces openly. Does that suprise anyone? Man the hunter has found new fertile territory.
     
    It seems to me that while there are many who benefit from e-dating the expansion of boundaries is less relevant than the opportunism of the information jungle. If I sound critical, I am. It's all done selfishly. Even if the idea of rewarding relationships is cast aside there's still a certain satisfaction derived from mastering the traditional skills of pulling ladies and somehow all this e-dating stuff comes across as cheating. But, human instinct will out, and the victor gets the spoils.
     
    How does this mobile phone work, again?
     
    Exploiting The Games Console
    Many years ago I stated that you have to recreate civilisation with each generation. I wasn't talking about some communist year zero, or any other such brave new world, but rather that unless kids are taught to be part of society, al you get are little barbarians running around causing havoc. Don't take my word for it. Look around, see for yourself.
     
    Has anyone noticed how difficult it is to communicate with youngsters these days? They sem to live in a world apart with social rules invented by themselves. A few times I've noticed attempts to impose their immature society upon me. It's almost as if they want the world to be just like the school playground, the only world they actually know.
     
    A news report showed a ground breaking new initiative to teach computer skills to our youngsters. No longer must they suffer boring typing lessons, but thanks to new ideas and input from organisations like Microsoft and Google, kids can learn how to use computers by playing with them. Literally these kids are being taught with games consoles in their hands.
     
    I'm stunned. Really, I am flabbergasted. There's no point wailing on about the poor level of education in the younger generation if this is how they're taught. One of the most important things a school can impart to pupils is a measure of self discipline. How to concentrate on something difficult. How to seek assistance when the difficulties are too much and the social skills that result. To encourage thought and creativity. Whatever happened to the work ethic? That doesn't happen by accident.
     
    The kids say ordinary lessons are boring. Yes, I agree, they often are, but then kids today seem to expect the world to open at their feet and instead of being creative and entrepeneurial, or even encouraged to be so, they sit around moaning that there's nothing for them to do. In other words, this new style of education fails in one important angle - it does not prepare kids for the boring world they have to live in. It's boring because it doesn't doesn't owe them a living, and they clearly expect it too.
     
    Exploiting The Workers
    At the programme centre the other day I was talking to a fellow jobseeker. Apparently Royal Mail, who successfully managed to keep me from getting hired in their distribution depot over the festive season, didn't pay the ones who got through the door. Looks like my instincts were right. I knew there was something shabby about the way they were hiring people.
  13. caldrail

    Another Day On The Farm

    By caldrail,

    One of college classmates is a farmer by trade. The difficult economic conditions have prompted a change in career (though I understand he now intends to work for his family farm). He's been pretty busy of late. Hundreds of hay bales needed to be collected for shipment and he was working into the small hours of the night getting those things stacked and packed. At first glance it seems the life of a farmer is all hard work, but he tells me that it isn't always so dull.
     
    The police called at his farm a few days ago. They'd had reports of people getting up to something in one of their fields at all hours of the night. That night, movement was spotted on the top field. With no-one else around, my classmate got into his tractor and drove up the path to take a look. He could see something highlighted by his headlamps up ahead, strange flickering presences like ghosts. Out there on his own in the dark his imagination was starting to make him think something seriously wierd was going on. Nonetheless, he idled forwards as quiet as he could in a tractor, and there, before his eyes, was.....
     
    Have a guess - The answer is at the bottom of the post...
     
    Excuse Mate, But...
    By lunchtime the dull cloudy weather had brightened considerably. Still very blustery, as often happens in Autumn these days, but it was time to trek across Swindon and attend another session at the College. My route took me past a recreation ground. This one has more facilities than most and that includes a nine hole golf course.
     
    Walking along the outskirts I could see a number of youths busy engaged in a round of golf. One of them paced back and forth impatiently as if totally uninterested in the game. As I got closer, he asked me if I would return his ball. There it was, just the other side of the fence, and as I tossed it back to them I made the observation that they hadn't had many lessons.
     
    "No," Responded one of the others earnestly, "But we're getting better."
     
    Apology
    To the young lady I spotted dancing on the pavement in Haydon Wick, I apologise for any embarrasement I caused. It was a little comical, if not completely incongruous, but suddenly going self-concious when you noticed my amusement was even funnier. Please feel free to dance whenever you like. Have a nice day.
     
    X Files of the Week
    Sorry to disappoint you, but the 'ghost' was in fact a scarecrow with a green reflective high-vis jacket fluttering in the wind.
     
  15. caldrail
    Where shall I go today? The library, so I can do more internetting? Or the Support Centre so I can do more job searching? It doesn't really matter because I'll end up doing both today as I do every day.
     
    Today I will go to the library first I think. Nothing ike variety in the working day. The road crossing outside the library also happens to be where the main entrance to the Old College building site is. The tarmac is crumbling under stress and has become a building site all of its own as repairs to the road take place.
     
    With lorries coming and going from the Old College site regularly, combined with the wet weather we've been having , the road is a shade of sandy brown with little ridges of half dry mud. The lads on the gate are often seen sweeping the mud away and occaisionally a lorry is parked nearby with a tank of water and cleaning apparatus.
     
    I've gotten used used to it I suppose. But I had to laugh earlier - I was following a pair of east european lads when one of them stopped short of the muddy entrance and refused to go any further. It's just a thin patina of mud, my friend, not quicksand. Honestly, they leave friends and family behind and travel hundreds of miles to discover that despite our wonderful benefits payments, they're just as at risk of getting their clothes dirty.
     
    Our Wonderful Benefits Payments
    It's a wonder I still qualify now that our glorious leader has declared war on claimants. Just the other day I received a huge form to fill in. it must be returned by the due date or payments may stop - the information must be correct or payments may stop - it must be retuirned in the correct envelope or payments may stop - Okay, okay, I get the message. I'll run around everywhere like a headless chicken collating all the information demanded. Phone the doctors surgery to get an exact date. No point phoning the Council - their phone system is designed to induce apoplexy in those attempting to pierce its defenses. I swear there are skeletons with boney fingers around a handset with a tinny voice repeating periodically "Please wait - we're trying to connect you to an advisor".
     
    Apparently I missed an interview at the Job Cente about my future as a jobseeker, which is why the form arrived through the post in the first place. It might help if I received it before the day afterward. But hey, that's how things are done in rainy old Swindon.
     
    Annoyance Of The Week
    Yes, it's our old friend, BFG. This morning I had the misfortune to be at the computer when she decided to sit in the next computer. If anyone else made the same running commentary of her woes concerning the library computers she'd throw a tantrum. Just ignore her. When she realises we're not paying her any attention, she'll eventually shut up.... Except she discovered the young lady on the helpdesk is a very helpful person and basically demanded that she ran errands while BFG struggled with her argumentative computer.
     
    Ding ding... Round three...
  16. caldrail
    Todays the day when I face a new claims advisor. His name is on the confirmation letter but we've not had dealings before, so I haven't a clue what sort of person he is. Could he be worse than Bovine Betty? Well, actually, yes, he could be. We shall see.
     
    The problem with handovers like this this is that my jobsearch agreement gets changed. The 'agreement' is an informal contract. It sets out what I have to do as a minimum each week to earn my benefits. I always try to exceed those requirements by a comfortable margin and even then occaisionally they get very dismissive of my efforts. That's because they don't believe I make any. That's the problem with being a jobseeker - you get painted as a professional lazy-ass scrounger and you have to prove and confirm you're actually doing what you claim to be.
     
    So I've just spent the morning putting all my paperwork together. A loose leaf folder, bursting with rejection letters and impossible to close properly any more. Those hideous little jobsearch record booklets in which I have to write in all the various minutae of my efforts to find employment. Printouts of emails and CV's. I now have a rucksack full of paper. He'd better be impressed or I'm definitely going to throw a tantrum.
     
    Now the question is, apart from whether he'll treat me as a bona fide jobseeker or dole cheat, is whether he'll use my title as his employers diversity statement says he should. My guess is that he won't. His immediate reaction will be that I'm trying some scam, or worse, simply taking the pee. If I were a professor, doctor, prist, or a politician I might well hear him use that title without a hitch, but as a jobseeker?
     
    This is part of the problem. Granted many unemployed people have no intention of a days work - I've seen plenty of them over the last year - but there's an attitude that being out of work makes you a lesser person. For all the claims that department employees should show respect to their customers, the majority pay lip service to that requirement. They really do see you as an unwanted impediment to society. In a way I am, because I currently do no useful work for my pittance, but what an illustration of how society stratifies itself according to wealth, or more importantly, the visual impression of it.
     
    Somehow I doubt my olive green military surplus trousers are going to impress him. Nor will all these bundles of letters and documents. Nor will proof of my entitlement to use the title 'Lord'. What would impress him? Get a job, Caldrail.
     
    I am trying you know.
     
    Peace And Calm
    It's all quiet in Swindon right now. Our failure to demolish America in the World Cup in South Africa has not resulted in hordes of outraged fans going on the rampage in our town centre. Swindon isn't the only town to place bans on public display of large screen television showing our progress through this soccer competition, and won't be the last, but at least I'm spared chorus lines of drunken football fans outside my home. Even my neighbours have turned down the volume somewhat lately, without any official complaining from me.
     
    Maybe it's the weather. There's a sort of heaviness to the air. Warm but no sunny. Cloudy but not wet. Always threatening to rain but waiting for that moment you venture out without suitable clothing. Then again, maybe our late night revellers have been attacked and eaten by urban foxes? I did hope so. In the event one reason is that a pub up the hill amongst the grotty terraced housing has reopened after a year or two of abandonment. I saw the rebuilding work on the premises and I did actually think it was being rebuilt as accomodation. Everything else is right now.
     
    In fact, so quiet has it gotten that twice I've heard police cars making a quick WOOOO! with their siren as they drive past. What's that in aid of? Warning drunks to stay on the pavement?
     
    Bye For Now
    Right, time to pack my sack and wander down to the Job Centre and be utterly crushed as a human being once more. Another day, another signature.
  17. caldrail
    Its the turn of the french to hold the presidency of the EU right now. What are they suggesting? They want each member state to stump up 10,000 men, plus tanks, planes, and ships, for a european defence force. This is interesting because a european defence force was part of the Treaty of Lisbon, which the french people didn't want, nor did the dutch, and neither - somewhat more pointedly - did the irish. But it seems we're going to get a Treaty of Lisbon even if we didn't want one at all - Which is what I said would happen.
     
    Unfortunately, the british are close to being overextended on security issues already, so where are the extra 10,000 men to come from? We used to have National Service in this country, and with rising violence there are calls for a return to just that. Its ironic that in order to solve knife crime we're going to give them bayonets.
     
    But who foots the bills? The government is up their eyeballs in debt already, taxes are the highest they've been since the invention of money, and our armed services are seriously underequipped. One solution is obvious, and in some ways, an unpalatable choice, because I'm sure the europeans would far rather get their hands on our highly professional force than a crowd of bolshy youths with a typically british bad attitude. They suffer that every summer already.
     
    Imagine all those braggarts currently wandering around drunk proclaiming their manhood and denigrating other peoples, suddenly having to prove themselves for real, especially since the french have been using foreigners as expendable troops since 1831. The chances are that Europe will eventually get our professional troops, leaving Britains defence in the hands of 'hoodies'. I wonder if the government are as confident about european unity than they were when Ireland said No?
     
    Power To The People
    Gordon Brown has set 'no limits' to nuclear power in Britain. The plan is to expand current sites to avoid contentious siting issues. Welcome to Englands Green and Luminescent Land. Thats if you can see it under all those wind turbines.
     
    Cancellation of the Week
    Wiithout a doubt, the biggest cancellation is due to the British July Monsoon Period and that means the Royal International Air Tattoo at Fairford, just down the road from Rushey Platt. For the first time in 38 years the the event has been washed out. The roads around Fairford are notorious for traffic jams during this normally well-attended event and perhaps this is the reason why Swindon was deserted this weekend, as the police deal with the chaos of turning visitors around. Or is it because someones decided to recruit 10,000 extra troops from Swindon layabouts? That would cancel a weekend or two...
  18. caldrail

    Another Great Day

    By caldrail,

    Without wishing to sound like a tired old blues singer, I woke up this morning. After almost four years of unemployment I consider that a demonstration of my self discipline and work ethic. Hmmm... Let's see... What shall I do today?
     
    As it happens I woke up this morning to a bright sunny day. There's a very lazy feel about the town as I stroll down to the library, quite unlike a typical monday morning, and the streets are much less busy than usual. Knowing the british as I do, I wouldn't be suprised if half the residents of this area have looked out of the window and decided to phone in sick.
     
    My speculation was cruelly dashed when I discovered half the residents of this area were sat upstairs in the library before I got there. Come on people, have you not got things to do? It's a bright sunny day out there. Oh well. Since I can't nip onto a computer immediately I'll just book one for later - it's not as if I've got anything to do today...
     
    Huh? What the?...Suspended.?
     
    Oh brilliant. Time then to go to the helpdesk and ask the librarian for assistance. This particular one doesn't like my title and not suprisingly she asked me to wait while she dealt with the other customer first. The pair of them then tried to achieve the impossible by getting the photocopier to do something other than it's makers programmed it to understand. They were having a great time.
     
    Having defeated the evil photocopier and with the world made safe once more, she turned her attention t my small problem. It turns out I wasn't guilty of any crime or misdemeanour, but rather that the computer administrators don't seem to understand that some people don't move house every year or so. Having confirmed my address and my account reactivated, I booked my slot and that left me with two hours to kill. Hmmm... Let's see.... What shall I do this morning?
     
    Idea Of The Week
    Young L was talking about public transport, a rare diversion from reciting the script of every Top Gear episode from the last decade, and finaly, having thought about it, he said "Sometimes I think I'd like to get on a bus and see where it takes me."
     
    His thirst for adventure is admirable but I as far as I'm aware, bus drivers have to follow a set route and usually end up back where they started. Come on L, get a life, it's a great day. Now if you'll excuse me I booked a couple of hours on a library computor.
  19. caldrail

    Another New Years Eve

    By caldrail,

    'Tis the eve of a new year good people, and the party mood is upon me. It's upon the birds in the park too, and walking through the otherwise empty beauty spot I noticed a certain feistiness in the collected flocks of swans, geese, ducks,coots, moorhens, pidgeons, and those little white seabirds with black tails.
     
    All except the solitary crane at the back of the lake, viewing the noise and excitement of the breadcrumb hunt with it's usual static disdain.
    Sometimes I wonder if birds have an easier time of it. They only wake up when they feel like it and not by the savage noise of electric tools downstairs. Trust me to live in the only noisy part of Swindon this morning. I also suspect it might get a tad noisier tonight. Just a gut feeling.
     
    Music Giveaway of the Year
    Here's a little New years gift, recorded at no expense whatsoever last night in the wee small hours. Yes, it's me playing keyboards live. You can even hear all the fumbled keypresses and bum notes. I wouldn't cheat you.
     
    InAndOut.mp3
  20. caldrail
    After the tumultuous ecvents of yesterday, how can tuesday morning be anything other than an anticlimax of mythic proportion? Such is the lack of anything extraordinary going on this world that the story of a dog giving birth to seventeen puppies is headline news. Perhaps that's desperation to find something other than freezing weather to talk about. Now there's a challenge!
     
    It Happened This Morning
    First of all today is the shortest day of the year. A part of me wishes that was the true state of affairs. However, I'm reliably informed that only applies to daylight, and that means tuesday will last until the clocks tell us otherwise.
     
    Secondly, it's also the Winter Solstice, a time of year when the urge to head for the nearest stone circle and engage in wierd communal rituals overcomes us. Must be why everyone is ignoring official advice and insisting on travelling. As it happens, so many of us are getting stuck in rural snowdrifts that survival tips for motorists have been issued. Now we know what we should have brought with us in the first place.
     
    Thirdly, there was a lunar eclipse this morning between six and seven. Sadly I was too comatosed and comfortable to want to witness the celestial ballet that we're riding on, but then since I don't have a working vehicle, my ability to get stuck in a snowdrift on my way to a hippy festival is somewhat compromised.
     
    Going North For Winter
    With all the hassle of our inclement weather, I must spare a thought for those who live in places where colder temperatures are an ordinary part of daily life.
     
    I have flown over Greenland as an airline passenger, and the captain broadcast advice to take a look at the stunning views of the frigid realm below. He was right. It was an awesome sight. A frozen wilderness with patches of brown mountain poking through. But perhaps it was just as well no-one stirred. Partly because a crowd looming over me and trying to peer through the tiny porthole was going to be uncomfortable, but also because the airliner would have probably tipped over. The view from thirty thousand feet was spectacular enough, thank you.
     
    As it happens going north for winter is a bit difficult right now. Most of our airports are at a standstill, for all the right reasons, even if people understandably gripe that our aiport operators haven't invested in a fleet of anti-snow vehicles that would ignite a controversy when they remain idle in less wintery years. A bit tough on those who can't get home for christmas perhaps, but the reality is we take air travel for granted, such is the efficiency with which it's normally carried out. Try travelling to Greenland right now. Not entirely convenient, is it?
     
    I discovered this morning the interesting fact that currently Greenland is warmer than the UK. THey ought to keep quiet about that. The last time it got pleasantly warm there a hoard of vikings turned up. Sword and shield might be illegal items these days, but I'm sure we can manage a crowd of drunken barbarians.
  21. caldrail
    I apologise. I have just seen an artists impression of the new Swindon Library on the wall as I popped down to log on this morning, and the carbuncles are indeed shown. The colours used by the artist played down the visual effect and therefore I hadn't noticed them.
     
    Plane Crash In Kent
    A tragic accident in Farnborough, Kent, where a Cessna Citation business jet ran into engine trouble after take off and attempted to return to Biggin Hill, only to lose control and crash into a housing estate. Two pilots and three passengers killed (one was David Leslie, a car racing commentator) but mercifully no casualties amongst the householders. The occupants of the destroyed house were on holiday.
     
    I've come across this sort of accident before. I spoke to a chap at Thruxton Airfield once or twice, a man who ferried jockies between race meets in a Beech Baron twin. I never saw his accident, but after take off on a flight to france (just like the bizz jet crash too) a door hadn't been closed properly, and although this wasn't life threatening, the pilot decided to return, land, close the door, and continue. In the circuit he had no choice but to fly low due to prevailing weather, and in respect of the village he was flying over, decided to reduce noise. He accidentally pulled the wrong lever and shut down one engine at low speed. The baron winged over and plunged nose first into a field from 400' with four people on board.
     
    I was an active pilot for something like eight years. I never had anything serious go wrong (one or two causes for concern however) but the sky is an unforgiving enviroment. When it goes wrong, it gets very serious very quickly.
     
    Sincere condolences to the friends and families of the victims.
  22. caldrail

    Apologies for Autumn

    By caldrail,

    Autumn is here all of a sudden. The weathergirl apologised last night and told us so. Very nice of her, but to be honest I was expecting it. The air is a little colder than a few weeks ago, the leaves a bit yellow, a and sure enough, its starting to get windy.
     
    Not quite as windy as the hurricanes that hit Taiwan recently, nor those of any other areas such as southeast america, but I remember a time when we didn't get this high winds as a matter of course every year.
     
    I suppose I could blame global warming, but then, if trees are still shedding leaves in autumn its a sign we're still going to get cold in winter. Which means I shall have to pay my heating bill. It arrives with a thud on the floor and its very polite, telling us how sorry they are for charging me two or three times as much as before, and that they're always willing to listen to customers who get into debt.
     
    That makes me feel so much better.
     
    Inspection of the Week
    Goes to a surveyors office who want to inspect my flat for 'energy efficiency'. They apologised to me for the inconvenience over the phone but could they break down the door in the next five minutes please? Somehow, I think this government initiative is taking the mick just a little, since its fairly obvious they want the data to establish another tax.
     
    I wonder how energy efficient an unemployed person can be?
  23. 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.
  24. caldrail

    Armour Plated

    By caldrail,

    Is it just me, or is there a change in the way our conflict in Afghanistan is being reported? The sad loss of eight soldiers in one day is something very revealing about modern warfare and our perception of combat. On the one hand, there are persistent calls for our troops to receive the equipment they so badly need. On the other, politicians are bemused and tell us this equipment is there. Further, an army spokesman said very clearly to a suspicious reporter that the army had the equipment they needed. More importantly, he stressed that the types of equipment issued meet their needs.
     
    We now see operations in Afghanistan in terms of protection. No-one likes to hear that our boys have been killed, but the perception of the public is that somehow they can be made invulnerable by armour, both vehicle and personal, or perhaps that overwhelming firepower and ordnance is enough to keep an enemy at bay.
     
    The reality of the battle out there, as suggested by the army spokesman, is that you can have too much protection. A study of military history shows the arms race making cycles between light fast-moving troops and heavily armoured crustaceans. The peculiar thing is armour reaches a point where it becomes an encumbrance, and no longer protects the soldier in the expected way. That is what our modern army draws attention to. However good kevlar jackets or ceramic plates may be at stopping bullets, they don't protect absolutely, and remain very heavy for a soldier already loaded with substantial amounts of ammunition and sundry items.
     
    Instead, the army spokesman spoke of the need for soldiers to remain hidden. If the enemy doesn't see you, he doesn't shoot you. That after all, is why the Taliban have survived for so long.
     
    Town of the Week
    Wootton Bassett isn't far from where I live, and also happens to be the nearest town to Lyneham Airbase, where the bodies of the dead soldiers are returned to home soil. With the untimely death of eight soldiers, once again the people of Wootton line up along the street and honour the funeral procession. Despite my misgivings about media representation, you do sense a genuine emotion from the people seeing so many military coffins passing their way.
     
    The thing is, I also note that the deaths have been accentuated. A tragic event, countered by the story of sacrifice by one soldier shot while attempting to rescue a wounded comrade, but one that has received an extraordinary coverage considering the almost regular bylines of another death in Afghanistan that have scrolled across our news programs since the conflict began.
     
    It is of course war - armed violence - and inevitably there are casualties. I'm not heartless. My thoughts go to the families and friends of the fallen. Yet in the past this sort of event has been portrayed as a reason to pull out, as if casualties in warfare are unpalatable at all, surely a reflection on modern values. This recent reporting marks a change. It supports the military efforts of Her Majesty's Armed Forces in the pursuit of their duty. No bad thing, provided it doesn't become jingoistic, yet I sense a political move behind it. How better to avoid criticism before the polls than to project the soldiers in such a manner?
     
    That our servicemen deserve our respect isn't the issue. It's the creation of a media bandwagon with which to ride out a looming election that bothers me.
  25. caldrail

    Armpits and Algae

    By caldrail,

    In the good old days when men were railwaymen and cars came without pillows in the steering wheel, I used to hear english spoken. It's true. These days official forms come in fifteen different languages and young people don't understand each others slang any more. People wonder why I don't go on foreign holidays. Are they serious? Not only do the Department of Work and Pensions not pay me to enjoy myself abroad, they invite every other country's inhabitants to live next door. Sign on the dole and see the world.
     
    It does beg the question of why I'd need to visit a tourist trap in some foreign country. Everybody there has escaped the english tourists by living in England. But it seems the current economic situation in Britain isn't pleasing the eastern europeans. Now that the queues have caught up with them again (is that a coincidence?) I hear them grumbling.
     
    "Britain is the armpit of Europe." Said one disgruntled Pole in the cubicle opposite to me. "I'm going home."
     
    Well. What can I say? It's incredible that after the Polish community here went to all the trouble of opening shops that speak their language he's now going home again. Obviously he came here to escape Polish newsagents. Still, the rich diversity of racial and cultural mix in our area has one benefit. Elves are no longer afraid to show their faces in public. One sat in the cubicle next to me yesterday. His woolly cap and angelic face was a dead giveaway. Must be here for a midnight frolic. Or is he an elvish entrepeneur, dealing in childrens teeth without telling Customs & Excise? Does Santa know he's moonlighting?
     
    Enquiry of the Week
    All of a sudden my car is popular. As a shiney white mean machine it annoyed everyone, though possibly that was partly due to the Saturn Five moon rocket exhaust pipe, or even my habit of going to warp at the press of the accelerator.
     
    Now its a poor neglected shadow of its former self. I console myself that I've provided the perfect enviroment for rare species of algae. There you go. Cars can be good for the enviroment. Yet for some strange reason the natives are suddenly interested in driving my immobile steed. With the eco-friendly patina giving my lovelorn car the natural touch, I've already had one hopeful young man try his luck at the door.
     
    Yesterday evening, as I reclined in a bath in silent meditation of whether that spider was planning to ambush me if turn my attention away, I heard a bunch of lads on their way to the pub round the corner.
     
    "Does he want that car or what?" Asked one with the volume control set to four. Of course loud noise triggers an instinctive reaction in thirsty english youths on a Saturday night so they all started hooting and beating their chests. They could try asking me. Who knows? I might tell them. But then... Big tough macho lads dare not make polite enquiries at the door... Someone might find out...
     
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