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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail
    Some of my work colleagues are not too impressed with me right now. Pfah. As if I care. The reason is that one of the youngsters is having his birthday celebration today and I have no intention of turning up. Truth is he's always kept me at arms length as it were, and never really conversed with me. No problem, but his big party is therefore of no importance to me whatsoever. Another colleague attempted to persuade me to turn up during the queue for the end of day attendance scan - I told him I was indifferent and why, right in front of the whole shift. I certainly don't mind carousing but as an afterthought? No, I don't need popularity like youngsters do, and I don't need to get drunk just to have a good time.
    Get A New One
    Once in a while the top boss in a huge multi-national corporation will pop in and look around. As you might expect, when there's a threat of someone important wandering around the workplace, managers suddenly get very insistent on tidiness and activity. If you work for a Japanese company as I do, the issue is worse, because they have all sorts of expectations. Even if you work in a warehouse full of dust producing cardboard packaging and oil soaked parts, workers must be clean and spotless. I discovered this on my way back from break as a pair of managers assessed everyone passing by for adherence to uniform code. I failed because my hi-vis was a little dust and oil marked by lots of activity (I'm not the cleanest worker in the world as I prefer to get things done). Okay, I admit it, it was no longer a bright yellow but instead had become a sort of faded cammo pattern of dull green and grey. The subordinate team leader demanded my attention and quietly told me to get a new hi-vis. That's an order. Yes sir.
    The New One Doesn't Work
    That new tyrannosaurus of a cardboard baler is proving a problem child. We're all shaking our heads and muttering "I told them so" as the machine fails to work reliably straight from the installation. It is a big issue of course. The amount of cardboard we go through is vast - one of the mechanics working on the new machine could not believe how much cardboard our company has to deal with, a feature of having to deal with bulk supplies of auto parts that must be delivered in pristine condition, and whilst he spoke, the yard outside was filling up with temporary bins full of the stuff. They even called overtime specifically to help clear it. Now parts of the machine have failed and must go back to Germany to be redesigned and manufactured.
    You know, for months I was essentially the only associate working on cardboard waste within the warehouse, dealing with smaller boxes whilst the bigger external machines took care of larger packages. Now they have a regular crowd of workers trying to cope with the load and regularly get swamped. One of my colleagues said that things were easier when I was baling. Feels nice to be wanted doesn't it? Sigh. Oh well, the next order has been passed to me and packages full of auto parts must be decanted into stillages for the production line. So that's another load of oil soaked impact bars then. I can see why my colleagues want to get drunk.
    Screenie of the Week
    It's a long bank holiday this easter so a spot of virtual flying is called for. I just love those big propliners and cargo planes, this one - a Douglas C124 from the Cold War era is no exception, seen here flying important cargo and probably a few sailors on a free ticket from a naval base in the Puget Sound to Alameda in sunny California. Enjoy the pic...

    Drunk in charge of that wonderful machine? That's just criminal. I had a lovely evening - instead of loud crowd noise, thudding metronome beats in the background, and all the hot sweaty jostling for another drink, all I heard was the mighty rumble of four large capacity radial aero-engines. Heaven. Oh all right, I admit it, I also indulged myself with a spot of heavy metal guitar. Hell too
    Well, the holiday isn't over, and I have more time to wander around the supermarket to find something different and interesting.... Aha... That bottle of White Rum looks good....
  2. caldrail

    Science And Shenanigans

    By caldrail,

    I'm turning into a couch potato, and it's all the fault of Star Trek. Now that the original series and Next Generation are back on the screen, I spend my afternoons and evenings staring dull eyed at the antics of sex crazed Starfleet officers hell bent on being nice people.
     
    I need help.
     
    Worse still I've started watching that awful Ultimate Force series, the one starring Ross Kemp as a Seriously Argumentative Soldier. The strange thing is, although I've never gone out of my way to watch the program before, every episode seems to be the one I saw the first time around.
     
    I need more help.
     
    {i]Red Dwarf[/i], Farscape, Stargate, Stargate Atlantis, and finally at last the original Doctor Who series has started showing on sundays. Great to see all the old doctors back on television again, Patrick Troughton, Jon Pertwee, Tom Baker....
     
    Okay. I surrender. You can stop helping me now. I've begun to realise that all this science fiction is distracting me from the reality of my difficult financial situation, rather like the cold war players of the space race fifty years ago. All I need to do now to achieve victory and assume my place in society as a successful jobseeker is walk on the moon. I mean, all I need is a television studio, right?
     
    Cometary Landing
    In case you haven't heard, scientists have landed a small space vehicle on a comet way out there in the dim depths of our solar system. At last the Dinosaurs get revenge. You are going to blow it up, aren't you?
     
    Childhood Lost
    With Professor Brian Cox holding a season ticket on science related programs on television, it's pretty well inescapable that I will at some point encounter his master class physics and intellectual whimsy. Hasn't anybody else noticed he smiles whistfully every time he tells us that the Earth is doomed and the Universe will enter a an eternal deep freeze?
     
    But there he was, holding a copy of Spacecraft 2000-2100AD, a book with pages of science fiction paintings of exotic futuristic craft and bogus histories surrounding them. He told us how he especially liked the pages about the Martian Queen, a fast luxury liner that plied the spacelanes. Yes. I remember that too. I was also a convert to the Book Of Speculative Starships, the very same volume. So like him I was thrilled by the shape of things to come, only he gets to be a television celebrity and I get to argue with claims advisors. I had the same start as him. Where did it all go wrong?
     
    Maybe I was too positive. So, having learned Proferssors Cox's lesson - Hey - We're all doomed, especially me.
     
    Blaming Something Else
    This is one of those 'a friend of a friend' stories you sometimes hear, but worth repeating. There's this guy who goes out clubbing one saturday night and as chance would have it, gets off with a young lady, so it's back to her place for coffeee and whatever else he hoped to persuade her into cooperating with.
     
    Once there she went off to slip into something more comfortable, which was a problem because he wasn't comnfortable at all. Desperate for a pooh, and not wanting to spoil his chances of a fun night in (and maybe more), he opted to exploit a cat litter tray.She won't notice, right?
     
    Wrong. She spotted it immediately, and from that point forward she was never able to understand how her six week old kitten had left a pooh bigger than it was.
     
    Conclusion of the Week
    It dawned on me last night. Was the reason I had been savaged at the Job Centre for no apparent reason and forced to close my benefit claim because David Cameron wants good statistics about uneplyment to present to the public when he goes to polls in the near future?
     
    If Cameron wants to pound his fist at media briefings and ponse around the world stage as if he's someone important, I'd rather he did that at his own expense, not mine. That's one lost vote Cameron. How many more do you want?
  3. caldrail

    Playing The Game

    By caldrail,

    Just the other day I wandered through town in that aimless state of uncontrolled free time that sometimes happens between shifts at the car factory. Ooh look, a book store, let's have a browse and see if there's anything worth reading or better yet purchasing with my new found affluence. So I wandered in and headed for the 'scifi/fantasy' section as it was the nearest section I had any interest in reading. Almost immediately I spotted it. the Dungeons and Dragons Starter Set.
     
    Good grief, I remember the Basic Rules from when I was a teenager back in the seventies. Oh what fun we had. gathering around a table pretending to be heroic fighters, rascally thieves, clever wizards, or insidious clerics. Or for that matter, pretending we knew anything about medieval society, Arthurian mythos, or that we'd actually read Lord of the Rings. No matter, the Dungeonmaster would hide his papers behind a cardboard screen and describe the world we were about to set forth into and play merry adventure.
     
    D&D always came back to haunt me. For a while in my thirties I ran a game world for a bunch of players. Some might snigger or shake their head, but it was fun, social, and the added maturity of the players resulted in a much more rewarding experience in my opinion. It does occur to me that there must be plenty out there who don't know what a tabletop RPG is all about. I did think computer gaming had all but destroyed the hobby - what a surprise to see the box on the shelf of my local bookstore.
     
    Nostalgia is a compulsive beast. My mind goes back to those starting games and so often they began with that first old door in some neglected or forgotten crypt. Listen at the door? An odd sound, like a rasping noise, intermittent but quite audible. Aha, so you try to pick the lock do you thief? Yer can't, 'cos the door ain't locked. Duh!
     
    Armed to the teeth with blades and spells, ready for anything, eager to find what was the other side, they ask what's inside. In the centre of the dark chamber is a table and chair. A goblin is sat face down, holding a bottle, snoring as he sleeps off his ill gotten drink. The fact the poor little green creature was incapable of defending himself or that he would know where the treasure was mattered not one jot. The players would burst through the door and in a mad frenzy of rolling twenty sided dice the creature is dispatched to the grave. Then the ritual of searching the body. When they discover all he had was a pair of used underpants the players got annoyed, having risked their lives for so little gain. That's okay. Two levels down in a room far more secure is something they won't be so brave against. Heh heh heh.... Such fun.
     
    Reality Check Of the Week
    With my nostalgia trip over it was time to head into work and resume my quest for a comfortable life. Yesterday I had a bit of a problem. Recently I've been handling packing waste on four baling machines, half the section in total, and believe me, I get swamped out with mountains of cardboard and plastic regularly. On this particular day two of the machines went out of action. Oh no!
     
    So I improvised, swapping full and empty waste cages, heading outside into the cold where the big industrial balers were to make sure the cages were emptied, and after a shift long physical exercise regime like that, I was broken. I had, by my own initiative, kept our section from complaints of senior managers for leaving the section looking like a rubbish tip. And no-one thanked me. Nor did I find any treasure. Worst of all, I earned no experience points to advance my 'Level'. Pfah. This real world stuff sucks big time.
  4. caldrail
    I wonder what qualifications are required to become a bus driver? Not that I'm especially interested myself, it's just that I witnessed two drivers changing shift discussing Schrodinger's Cat, a piece of scientific philosophy used to illustrate quantum uncertainty. Good grief. What next? A law demanding drivers must have a Master's Degree in Quantum Mechanics just to drive a new-fangled electric vehicle? One wonders how the future government of Britain is going to make that happen. Half the kids I witness in my area learn to read and write Grafftti rather than English.
     I speak with some experience on this. There's a bunch of young lads utterly and wrongly convinced I'm gay. That's bad enough, but they insist on letting me know they think so. Worse still, a hard core of them are hell bent on coercing me into admitting it. The other night, on my way home through a side street in the early hours of the morning, the driver of a car wound his window down and asked "Queer yet?".
     Well, these attempts at bullying have been going on for some time. A few have already fallen foul of anti-social legislation courtesy of the Police. One wonders what life is like at school these days. Bullying went on in my day, just like it always does, but this intense psychological intimidation is well beyond anything I experienced as a child and points clearly to a complete failure of modern education practice as much as what passes as parental upbringing these days.
     At the bus station, I waited for passengers to disembark as usual. A toddler, no more than four years old, came off the bus commenting on a small item with an habitual expletive which was shocking to hear from someone so young. I looked at his mother who gave a resigned expression. Well, there's a young man destined for a loud but undistinguished future. Rather like a bunch of lads believing their opinions matter. Will they ever learn?
     
    And Now For Something Completely Different
    There's been a change of strategy from these lads lately. Having failed to convert me to the condemning world of homosexuality, they now want to portray me as a shoplifter. They even claim they've seen me in the act. "You just wait" I hear. "You'll be sorry" from others. Well, I do have to point out that coercion, abuse, and false accusation could land you with a hefty punishment in court, and as far as I can see, all you're going to do is prove my innocence. Please carry on.
     
    Bird Of The Week
    Lately I've heard the sound of an owl from the countryside around my place of work as I leave at the end of a night shift. It's rare to hear one, never mind see one. But the other night I saw it, startled by the approach of a car and flying ahead of the equally startled driver. What a size! I didn't know owls got that big in Britain! Be afraid, mice. Be very afraid.
     
    Brexit Footnote
    October 31st has come and gone and still Parliament has obstructed the determined efforts of the government to realise the decision made in a referendum more than three years ago. I'm saddened that so many now blame our bus loving Prime Minister for failing to reach the conclusion, but isn't that a little dishonest? I mean, the reason he failed is parliamentary subterfuge. Politics some might call it, but I wonder how many people listening to accusations of our Prime Minister's supposed dishonesty are aware of how much dishonesty is being blatantly pushed in front of the public by his opposition leaders?
    Parliament claims to speak for democracy. No it doesn't. Parliament be damned.
  5. caldrail

    Flash And Thunder

    By caldrail,

    There it was again - Another flicker of light. What on earth is going on? Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the back window last night to try and see what was causing that phenomenon.
     
    It was a pretty ordinary evening. Not too cold, perhaps a bit damp, and apart from the odd swish of a passing car, or the flitter of a bat to and fro, nothing stirred. The local cat was making its way home across the yard, a sign that the foxes were coming out to play.
     
    Then I realised what those strange flickers were. Far away to the west a thunderstorm was in progress, too far away for thunder to be heard. Normally our vision is very limited in stormy weather and we only get a more immediate and dramatic experience. It just so happened there wasn't much cloud to impede the firework display, and that's the first time I've ever seen such a distant storm in this country. What a fascinating and surreal sight.
     
    Close Quarter Battle
    Has anyone seen this series about special forces and military tactics? Generally it's quite informative if not exactly gripping, but I had to laugh at the reconstruction of a French Foreign Legion attack on an airfield. They couldn't afford blanks and had to add barrel flashes with some cheesy special effects. Naturally.
     
    Tantrum of the Week
    "What gives him the right to use that title?" screeched some lady at the library earlier today, clearly outraged that her socialist sympathies were being ignored by legal rights and thousands of years of tradition and custom. Off with my head? Not around here lady. There's been a few people muttering darkly just lately. Not that it makes any difference. I'm entitled ,you see, and that's all there is to it.
  6. caldrail

    The Correct Handshake

    By caldrail,

    The weather was nasty. Strong cold winds, heavy showers - it felt like I was walking home along the deck of a ship in the midst of an Atlantic squall. The car salesman stood leaning in the doorway smoking as I stumbled past. You could see his mind working. I felt an unsteady red dot land on my wallet. That salesman is starting to spook me a little. I wonder if he's a cannibal on the quiet?
     
    Another thing is starting to spook me a little too. Why is it that drivers of brand new shiney Subaru Impreza's (bedecked in rally style paintwork) always floor the pedal when they pass me? Whats the point? I'm not envious - I hate those silly cars anyway - but I can't afford one even if I thought they were the best thing since Thrust SSC. But why don't they do that with any other pedestrians? Is this some sort of conspiracy by a network of Subaru owners? Is there a secret society for drivers of hyped up steroidal versions of family cars? Perhaps I haven't learned the correct handshake yet.
     
    Eco-Friendly Move of the Week
    It appears that vehicles are now to be subjected to enviromental testing on entering inner london. heavy lorries are the first to be targeted, requiring that fleets of goods vehicles must now be modified to bring them up to standard. Which of course means that on top of heavy fuel duties (non-brits might be shocked at how much tax we pay on petrol - its about 75% on top, plus we get taxed on that) hauliers must now pay for this work to be done, and for fines if they don't to [pay for the army of snoopers employed to enforce this new law. Which makes transport more expensive, which hurts the economy, which puts people out of work, which means there are fewer customers and less need for lorries in the first place. Excellent. Lets improve the enviroment by dismantling the british infrastructure. No noise, no pollution, no leering lorry drivers, no blocked roads..... and no food in the shops. But hey, since our roads are now blocked by floods caused by lorries melting the polar ice caps, perhaps this is to be expected? I don't know about you, but I think these enviromental rulings are just excuses to extract cash.
  7. caldrail

    Merry Xmas

    By caldrail,

    Its getting dangerous walking to and from work. That car salesman is watching me walk past like a predator on the african savanna under the shade of a tree. Quick Caldrail, avert your eyes, he'll think your wallet is open....
     
    I've passed Santa on the street. looking very dapper, even effete without his usual white beard, and obviously on a diet. I think its like any celebrity, downdressing to avoid the publics attention.
     
    Is it just me, or is this going to be the dullest christmas ever? usually at this time of year I get idiotic smiles and seasonal greetings from complete strangers, but not this time. Everyone just wanders around looking aimless. Has the government finally achieved its aim of turning us into robots, bereft of instructions on what to do during the festive season? Perhaps this is some subtle government strategy to support our ailing prime minister, GB, who clings to power like a child about to be stripped of his toy.
     
    Anyhow, regardless of government policy and religious dogma, Have a merry xmas everyone. Except GB, who really does need to ask us whether he can play at Number 10.
     
    Quote of the Week
    "Floods should be treated like terrorism" said an author recently. Oh? Does that mean I have to take more care running the bath? Am I at risk of SAS and SWAT teams bursting through my bathroom window with stun grenades, pointing real live pistols at my head, and screaming "TURN THAT TAP OFF NOW!!!!"
     
    Does this mean that sewage workers will receive medals for bravery?
     
    Will the army mount patrols every time it rains?
     
    Or will our nanny-state government offer VIP's security teams to ward off puddles? Wellies are not enough protection these days, we demand fast, armed responses to water escaping our rivers.
     
    Didn't Canute try this once?
  8. caldrail
    What a difference a letter makes. There I was, jobsearching in a mad desperate attempt to keep the authorities happy, when everything went horribly wrong. They have quotas for finding dole cheats and unfortunately my number came up, even though I was exceeding their demands by an order of magnitude. So innocent or not - I was declared guitly by any pretext and the money stopped. Luckily for me an employment agency eventually found me ongoing work - though I have to say, for two months it looked pretty bleak for me.
     
    The Job Center had sent me a letter telling me that from the 2nd of November 2014 they could not pay me. No reason given, just that. I'd already realised that the money wasn't going to continue but by then I was trying to find someone who would look kindly upon poor wee Caldrail and give him a job before he ended up destitute. Just today I received a letter from the Job Center, more than a year later, explaining that I may not have been properly informed about my rights concerning the job center sanction and offering me a chance to appeal.
     
    Are they kidding? A year afterward? I wasn't even sanctioned officially. The advisor never said the word. She just stopped my money after I'd followed her demands under duress and then had her boss send me the original letter saying no more cash from now on. That was, therefore, the second time she had kept my claim open while I was thrown off the dole for her own purposes. I knew she was dishonest - I'd already told her that to her face. Now I have the proof.
     
    These days the unemployed get a poor rap but not all of us were dole cheats trying to eke out an easy living on benefits. Some of us genuinely couldn't get employers to show any interest at all. I am thoroughly disgusted at the shamefaced exploitation of unemployed people that goes on. I'm well aware that many jobseekers are only making excuses or making token efforts, but at the same time, I was used and thrown down the toilet. I wonder if that advisor got promoted for her unceasing efforts to fight for truth, justice, and the government way? At any rate, truth and justice is something that is now officially ddenied a great many people. Unemployed? Sorry, but that's a label that will get you nowhere in Cameron's Britain.
  9. caldrail

    Clearly Oblivious

    By caldrail,

    In the good old days I used to turn up at workplaces for interviews safe in the knowledge that I would be greeted by a receptionist who would tell me to sign a book and sit over there until called for interview. More and more that doesn't happen. Instead I arrive at the employers premises to find a foyer devoid of human presence, barely decorated, looking uninviting and unfriendly. A computerised touchscreen blinks a message that I should register my presence.
     
    You would think that a computerised system would be a breeze. Nope. It was a visual version of the same old nightmare we get from telephone reception systems. Welcome to Acme Inc. Press 1 if you're an employee, press 2 if you're a contractee, press 3 if you're a visitor. From that point it got harder. The screen was impossible to use accurately, refused to let you correct a mistake, and eventually printed out a temporary security pass with a name that made me sound like an immigrant from Albania.
     
    Eventually somebody happened to wander through the foyer and asked who I was, clearly oblivious that I was already registered on their electronic visitor book for a job interview.
     
    Keeping The Road Clean
    As you might imagine, the constant coming and going of heavy goods vehicls from the Old College site does tend to eave a lot of mud on the roads nearby. Understandably the civil engineers have hired a road cleaning vehicle. I often see it parked nearby, waiting for instructions to wash the roads, a bored driver watching the world go by.
     
    The other day I spotted the cleaning truck parked in a taxi bay beside a modern office block. Despite the busy traffic, it's a somewhat quiet corner. So quiet that the driver thought no-one would notice him taking a quick wee into the waste pipes of his truck, oblivious to the fact he must have been visible by plenty of office workers.
     
    Keeping The Walls Decorated
    Every so often we get yet more graffiti in our area. Mostly it's a 'tag', the human equivalent of a dog weeing on the lampost, and done by schoolkids with nothing to do between leaving school and their parents arriving home from work to cook their meal.
     
    A few nights ago I was looking out the back of my home at night. The view has changed a lot lately now the Old College site is starting to resemble a shopping complex. In the early hours of the morning the various amber and turquoise lights cat an odd radiance on the nearby yard. Without them, I would not have seen the graffiti artist.
     
    He was silhouetted by the light, the alleyway itself closed off due to construction work and in the pitch dark behind a concrete parapet overlooking a thirty or forty foot drop recently hewn from the hillside. The alleyway itself is also pockmarked by surface subsidence and not a safe place to be.
     
    At first all I saw was movement. It wasn't clear what he was up to. A strange place to be given the circumstance so I kept an eye on him. Very soon I realised he was at work painting the side of a cement block garage in tall lettering, clearly oblivious that he was not only visible to me, but also visible from the main road.
     
    Jobsearching Initiative Of The Week
    The gossip was doing the rounds at the Support Centre. The law has been changed. From tomorrow morning unemployed people can be told to do a job to earn their benefits. Actually that's been happening for years. Whilst the politicans are merely ensuring their votes by acting on the concerns of hard working citizens, they'e oblivious to the fact that the workshy have also had years to perfect their excuses for not working.
  10. caldrail
    The agency had booked me for a very early start at a warehouse an hours walk away. At that time of night the streets of Swindon are usually empty, perhaps just an occaisional drunken bellow from some unseen club-goer bumping into pavements, or more usually, a passing car taking less inebriated club-goers home.
     
    And so it was quiet. All of a sudden a white BMW blasted past me, almost out of nowhere. I have no idea what speed the driver was doing but it was seriously over the top. It was so fast, the engine so aggressively snarling, that the effect was startling. it actually felt like violence. I've never experienced that sensation before, and I'm well acquainted with fast cars.
     
    Later on I passed an industrial estate and experienced a bright flash. What the....? My first impression was that someone had taken a [photo in the night, but there was no-one about. How odd. No matter. Anyway I arrived at work and being sociable I began chatting to my boss about idiot BMW drivers attempting to break the land speed record in town streets. He interrupted me as I began and said "You're going to tell me about a bright light?"
     
    No I wasn't, but it turned out that his colleague had seen it too. The whole sky lit up for a moment./ Some of my fellow workers saw it as well, one describing it as 'Seriously weird'.. As we worked through the small hours of the morning there were some news report over the radio - always impossible to hear properly when lorries are reversing in and out of the premises and sweaty blokes pushing parcels of all sorts here and there. Eventually we found out that it was an atmospheric disturbance and nothing to worry about. Not the North Koreans then. Oh good.
     
    Foxenders
    Almost every night there's been life's little dramas played out among the fox population. Urban foxes are pests, certainly, but I can't help watching their activities with some casual interest. They all have names now. Ferdinand, the big male, is unusual in that he just isn't fazed by human beings - I've walked past him within feet before now.. He's potentially dangerous. Having kept a low profile since Christmas I had thought he was dead and gone, but no, I spotted him, glaring at me in the dark as he always does. Only the other night I incurred his displeasure by disturbing him as he was getting it orn with his chosen vixen, who ran off when I strode into view. Ferdinand stayed put and glared at me.
     
    Fuzzy always retreats in the direction of his set when he gets disturbed. He was injured and limping not so long ago - I haven't seen him since. Ferkles simply moves on and knows that once he's inside another persons garden, pursuit is unlikely. Flakey is well funny. Always going into a panic when disturbed and never knowing which way to turn. Then there's Frodo, with his distinctive black ring on his tail and a penchant for disappearing much sooner than most foxes who see you coming. Lately Frodo has found himself a girlfriend and he's become positively careless. You can actually see a dazed grin on his face. Bless.
     
    I have heard it said that foxes kill and eat cats. I don't believe that, or at least, consider it unusual. Reason being of course is that I see foxes and cats co-existing quite comfortably. The other night I disturbed one fox - Ferkles I think - and as it ran off to a safe distance it passed a cat sat on the pavement. The cat simply watched it run past and didn't stir. Didn't even tense up nervously like cats do if they perceive danger. A cat who knows foxes won't bother him.
  11. caldrail

    Warm And Cold

    By caldrail,

    Shopping? Done. Interview at the job agency? Done. Gas account cancellation? Done. On my daily checklist I had only the obligatory online job search to do, so off to the library for another struggle with Microsoft's worst.
     
    Balloons? What's going on here? It's usually excessively warm in our local library but there seemed to be a much livelier atmosphere, and evidence of small scale partying. Worse still, as I ascended the stairs a jazz band started up, creating a very genteel background noise, like the sort of music you get in resteraunts.
     
    Years ago our band was driving through London along the embankment on our way home from a gig in early hours of the morning. We passed that odd resteraunt that stands on the riverside by itself between the trees, and our singer, Dave, commanded that the van be brought to a halt. Enough was enough. We'd all noticed the place every timne we went this way and finally his curiosity could bear no more. He had to find out what it was like in there. So I parked up for a while as a slightly inebriated folk-rock singer tried to gain access.
     
    The bouncers actually let him in to have a look. Apparently it was a very strange mystical experience with a rock band doing the impossible by playing at low volume as the clientelle ignored them in favour of expensive morsels and famous brand wines, and finally Dave re-emerged with the advice to bring a tie next time if he wanted to come in and eat. Sadly we were all struggling musicians without a penny between us, so that never happened,
     
    Okay, reminicense over, back to the library. I was expecting to be distracted by the music, but strangely, the easy listening tunes suited the mood and I got on - I strongly suspect I was typing in unison with the beat, but don't tell anyone.
     
    A guest singer was introduced who completely tortured 'Summertime' to death. Clearly not a finalist in X Factor then. Whether she was supposed to sing one song or not, that was it, and the band called everyone together before they found something interesting to do. A chorus of 'Happy Birthday' explained the change of pace. Oddly enough, when the band finished, the library started to empty. Maybe the guest singer was planning to sing again?
     
    Cold Facts
    I must be honest, now that my flat has no heating I am starting to notice the cold. Not for the first time, I have to say, just that now I can't do much about it except report my shivering on this blog.
     
    I notice that an MP has warned the gas companies not to use their customers as cash cows. Too late for me, I've already escaped the meadow, and worringly I quickly noticed newspaper headlines at the supermarket. A sharp freeze expected. Four inches of snow expected. Oh great.
     
    Well at least I live in Swindon. Thankfully our much maligned town doesn't seem to be greatly affected by weather - we never suffer the extremes you see on the evening news. One winter, the whole country was inundated with snow, drifts up to six feet deep, but Swindon? Not a flake. With luck the snow will pass us by this year too.
  12. caldrail
    It doesn't take a lot to cause traffic chaos. Many years ago I was heading home through Wootton Bassett when I encountered a driver having difficulties getting his car up the steep hill that enters the town from the southwest side. Being a genreous sort, I stopped to help. Pushing a vehicle uphill, especially one with an unwilling engine and a large female occupant who refused to step out of the vehicle, wasn't easy and no-one else volunteered to help. Within minutes traffic was backing up in both directions, traffic wardens were closing in to find what the trouble was and inflict terrible financial maulings to anyone guilty of the slightest infraction of the Highway Code. So I helped the guy reverse the car by gravity as close to the side of the road as possible and left the area sharpish. My work here is done.
     
    But it isn't always my own fault. The other day I was walking home by the Old College site. Roadworks have spread across the junction in front of it, diggers ripping out more and more mud, flourescent yellow droids with working class accents yelling incoherently at each other. Unfortunately this has restricted the the road a good deal.
     
    In one direction, a large low-loader lorry and trailer was trying to negotiate the turn into the building site, blocking the only remaining lane. In the other direction, another lorry driver decided to use the temporary access road as a short cut to the site, depite the "Give Way" and "Left Turn" signs, blatantly pulling across the wrong way in a one-way system, and blocking traffic behind him. And so chaos was brought to Swindon.
     
    I didn't do it.
     
    Data Protection Of The Week
    Right now I attend a support centre to assist my job-searching. Internet access, personal assistance, and free stationery. Very useful. The only downside is the constant form filling and register signing that I have to put with. Every session I need to fill out a report form detailing my activities for the day. it must be completed fully and correctly or my benefits are in question. Like being in the army except no-one shouts at you.
     
    Anyhow I did my duty for the day and dotted every eye and crossed every tee. The manageress who runs the office spotted me droppin g my form on the assigned administrators desk and immediately turned it over. "It's okay" I ventured helpfully, "I'm not ashamed of it". Sadly she lacks a certain sense of humour and merely replied "Oh it's the data protection act". I see. I post my job search details on a government website as ordered, email those details to any administrator who requests it, my bank details and statements to a national office dedicated to catching dole cheats, and to some extent, reveal my activities to the world via this blog. But no-one, repeat no-one, is allowed to see that report form.
     
    You have been warned.
  13. caldrail
    Tried to log on to the PC at my local library this morning. Apparently my domain did not exist and therefore I'm a non-entity the computer network doesn't recognise. Hey, I know I'm unemployed but this is a public facility right?
     
    The man at the desk assured me it was merely my login card that had expired. He tapped a few keys, smiled, and sent me on my way.
     
    Right then, log on... wait.... Oh joy, I'm still a non-entity.
     
    So having gone back to the man at the desk I discover there's now a long queue of non-entities struggling to log on, and most of them have jobs. The somewhat flustered gentleman went back to the PC with me to check that I wasn't some klutz who couldn't get his password riight, fending off queries from others sat waiting hopelessly at their PC's. having seen me fail to log in, he then attempted the log in for me (can you imagine how smug he would have looked?) but that failed too. Running out of options, he then logged me in as a guest.
     
    Hi. My name is Mr Guest.
     
    Can't wait to find out if Caldrail is still a non-entity tomorrow morning....
     
    Accident of the Week
    Goes to me. Along the main pedestrian shopping area I strolled down to the bank. The sun was out although the ground was still wet from a heavy rainshower a few minutes earlier. There I was minding my own business, threading my way through the disinterested crowd, when....
     
    My foot slipped a little. Whoops, lets regain my balance.. whoops, slipped again, worse this time.... Uh-oh, this doesn't look good... Oh no! I'm falling over!
     
    Well I didn't just fall over, I left the ground entirely and dropped to the pavement with quite a thud. A concerned gentleman kindly asked if I was ok and offered to help me up, but that was too much after making such an exhibition of myself. I thanked him and was on my way.
     
    I've got quite a bruise on my right knee.
  14. caldrail
    The rain stopped. As if to sound "All Clear" the bells of Swindon's old town hall made seven dull clangs in the distance. Almost immediately an excited little bird settled on the telegraph wire across the back yard, chirping happily. People began to appear, pedestrians trying to carry on as if nothing had happened. Shortly after the insistent sirens and flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles barged through the traffic that had dared to continue their journey.
     
    The price we pay in Britain for all those sweltering hot summer days is a short sharp electrical shock. Actually our thunderstorms are quite modest compared to those you can witness in some parts of the globe, but they appear out of nowhere, always unexpected despite the warnings of television weathermen.
     
    I'd been playing my trusty old electric guitar, putting out riffs, harmonics, and long bends, all finished off with accentuated vibrato. Just the other night some guy passing my home ventured the opinion that I was a rubbish guitarist - I'm better than you'll ever be buddy - but last night the great Norse Thundergod had spoken. Modest or not, it isn't fun or safe to be caught by a British thunderstorm and for that matter, it isn't wise to leave your consumer electronics switched on. Besides, with nature giving us a free firework display, my attention was no longer engaged by music.
     
    The rain had come down in a torrent. A layer of splashes and bouncing raindrops was six inches deep on the tiles of the roof below my back window. I spotted others in the neighbourhood like me, watching the rain from their windows, enjoying this brief respite from the humid evening. Others did however get quite wet. One young lady trudged along the alleyway with her top revealing rather more than fashion intended. You see? Thunderstorms aren't all bad...
     
    But Not Always Good
    Definitely a muggy night. My home can get a bit warm and stuffy at the best of times, never mind daytime temperatures over thirty degres and high humidity. What made it worse was repeated thunderstorms during the night. At least my critics won't be outside the house tonight. Now if I could only switch these thunderstorms off, I could get some sleep.
     
    Forget The Rain
    This is the time of year when you can spot those who've been on holiday. In Swindon a suntan is unusual, to say the least, but it's always the same people who go abroad to sunny places. Obviously they're the ones with money in their pocket. I'm struggling to pay for food for the week, never mind a bus ticket down the road. In fact, the last time I went into a Job Centre with a suntan I was investigated. there was bloke following me around aty a discreet distance watching what I gopt up to. And they stopped my money that year too. I hadn't even left the town once, but then, their argument is that the government insist that unemployed people must be willing to travel to work for an hour and a half even if they can't afford to. That's the reality of being unemployed you see. MP's seem to think we all get a suntans at public expense.
     
    Thing is though - I can't help wondering how they feel about spending hundreds of pounds to suffer the aggravations of air travel and foreign languages, only to discover the weather's been just as good here? Oh yeah... I forgot... They've got a suntan.
  15. caldrail
    Some say... He's stuck in an ailing BBC motoring show. Some say.... He might soon have a new master. Poor old Stig. I've watched a couple of the new Top Gear episodes and I have to say it's a bit painful to watch. It's like the old Top Gear but without the same camaraderie or intelligent comment. Me no likee.
     
    Can the show be rescued from the evil clutches of the mad radio presenting tyrant? Well, rumours suggest an F1 star is being lined up, and has already pleased fans with his approach. Poor old Stig. Being ruled by someone who can drive a car....
     
    Black Cats Crossing My path
    Can't remember whether it's lucky or unlucky, but black cats have featured in superstition for a very long time. Personally I haven't noticed any correlation between the proximity of feline mammals and events within my life, but then I suppose I'm not that superstitious. The other night however was noteworthy. I was walking along a main road adjacent to a trading estate, which for those unacquainted with British life is an area of small industrial or business units. The nearest was about eighteen to twenty feet high. I saw a falling object, hitting the ground with almost no noise, a black flash. It was a cat, emaciated to a degree I've never seen before, almost like an animal composed of black pipe cleaners, which had apparently jumped off the roof in a desperate move to avoid death by starvation. How the heck did it get up there? Clearly an omen. Never live on a roof, my friend. The Gods have spoken!
     
    More Bad Dreams
    I have two strange dreams to report. The first was a night time foray with me at the wheel of a car, heading into a rainy old Victorian terrace street, only to encounter trees lying in the road and a car that refused to obey the laws of physics by neatly skidding into position in a side street without obeying a single control input from me. A message that I'm not in control of my life. Good grief, I didn't need a dream to tell me that.
     
    The second was more interesting. I was at the wheel of a van minibus, filled with arguing migrant workers from some obscure poverty stricken part of the world. So I drove off, and followed the road into an area that seemed to be fenced off. Quite soon I found the road blocked. Oh pooh. So I turned around, and found my starting point blocked off too. No matter. using the van as a sort of low speed battering ram I pushed through the temporary fencing, whereupon hordes of nearby policemen descended on me and demanded to know what I thought I was doing disobeying road signs and breaking through their palisades. Fill in this form? Summons? Oh pooh. Still, at least it was only a dream, one I have no wish to live out. A clear warning from the spirit world to drive with due care and attention even though I don't drive and haven't for some years. Still, warnings are warnings.
     
    Loyalty Card Of The Week
    One of my local fast food outlets has for some time issued me with a loyalty card. Pay more than five pounds and I get a stamp. Five stamps and I get a free meal. it's been a good deal for me, I have to say. Only the other day the proprietor refused to stamp it because... erm.... Well he's from a racial minority and when upset his English is difficult to follow. So now I can only have my loyalty card stamped if I spend more than five pounds on meals numbered one to eight. I think that's what he said. But it says if I spend more than five pounds I get a stamp. He reluctantly stamped it, quote, for the last time, unquote. I see..... So what have falling black cats, fallen trees, and obstructions on her majesty's highways got to do with problems in paying for food? This omen business is hard.
  16. caldrail
    Life is full of coincidences. last night, whilst busy working on some computer stuff, I brought up the television on one side of the screen. To my horror, Channel One is no longer broadcasting. Oh no! Life without Star Trek? Repeats of the various series have been shown by Channel One and its previous owner, Virgin, for two decades almost continuously. The world will never be the same.
     
    So what else is there? I flicked through the various channels and eventually gave up, dropping the remote onto the desk, shaking my head, and leaving the screen showing Grand Designs, in whci a couple optimistically set about creating their own dream boat-house from scrap material. As a rule, the program doesn't interest me. Somehow the people who build their dream house find money out of thin air, are multi-tasking geniuses, and always arrive at the end with a happy smile.
     
    not these two. Slowly but surely my attention was drawn to their inept efforts at boat reconstruction, not to mention planning and permissions. They ended up with nowhere to moor their creation, no-one to finish it, and as far as I could tell, no home at all.
     
    Imagine my suprise as the very same boat-house cropped up in the internet news today, having slipped its moorings in a vandalised state. What a small world.
     
    Sleepless In Swindon
    After a long absence the urban foxes are back. Last night I woken by one distressed fox screeching its little furry nuts off. If you've never heard urban foxes, let me tell you the sound they make is unbelievable, straight out of a horror film, piercing the stillness of the night.
     
    On the other hand, if a fox is at large and making noise, that means there's no car thief trying to figure out why my car won't work. So there you have it. If you want your kept safe, keep urban foxes in the area. As soon as it goes quiet and you fall asleep, you know your car is either being stolen or vandalised. The perfect car alarm.
     
    More On Crime
    For those of you trying to catch up with lost sleep, the Home Office have recently unleashed a new website that details reports of crime around Britain. From that you can see whcih streets are risky. The data got into the local paper this morning as the headline warns us that "Swindon road is the dodgiest in the county".
     
    For a moment I took that to mean Swindon Road, just around the corner. That would explain a few things. Sadly that was wrong, and the guilty streets are elsewhere, though in one or two cases, not that far away. The police have told us that the information is not an accurate reflection of the reality concerning crime. Pardon? Politicians not giving out correct statistics? Whatever next?
     
    Why Do They Do It?
    Why oh why do women lean forward to talk to us blokes at every opportunity? My eyes are immediately drawn to the usually obscured display of their cleavage and that does very strange things to my anatomy, such as causing me to contort my face into a silly grin.
     
    I think she was telling me something very important. I have no idea what it was. My mind was... Well... Preoccupied. Just keep on talking, dear. That's right. I wonder what it was I just agreed to? Oh never mind, I'm sure it will work out okay.
  17. caldrail

    Lords and Ladies

    By caldrail,

    The notable absence this week has been Small H. I asked UT about his whereabouts, and was told that he'd gone 'ferreting'. For those unacquainted with British wildlife, the ferret is a small furry predator that is tradiotnally used to warm the nether regions in winter. I suspect Small H has a more practical use for his pet. Oh, but I can't call him Small H anymore. Apparently he's from an important landed family, very big in ferreting circles, and from this point forward I shall call him Lord H.
     
    News of Lord H's elevation to the nobility does not phase me. Wandering about the countryside as I do you occaisionally encounter these individuals. For instance, many years ago I had a conversation with Prince Philip. Needless to say it was a pleasant suprise to discover that he watched the same television programs as everyone else.
     
    Queen - "I say, Philip, this television show is a programmus horriblis. Do be a dear and change the channel to something less vulgar will you, one hasn't got the remote gadjet."
     
    Prince Philip - "(Belch) Yeah, righto love. Pass anuvver beer... cheers Liz"
     
    But joking aside, there was that upper class gentleman I once delivered a consignment of expensive china tableware to. He was very impressed by the speed of the delivery, very appreciative of my willingness to carry the parcel to his garage, very generous in his tip, and very unaware that the grunts at the depot had thrown the box on board and whole was smashed. Never have I felt so low for so much praise...
     
    Then there was a woman who ran a business out of a small cottage a few miles away. She wasn't too impressed to see a dirty great van rumble up in front of her picture postcard perfect home, and even less impressed when I pulled a tree down on her spotless gravel drive on the way out... Can't win 'em all...
     
    Funny thing happened in Henley, a verrrrry well to do area. I arrived at the address and asked a guy doing some brickwork at the front of the house whether...
     
    "Excuse me!" A woman in a bathing suit interrupted, "Now that you've finally found the place, would kindly bring it up here?"
     
    Oh dear. Well, I lugged the box up the steps and round to her back door. Nice place, love the goldfish. She merely glanced back at me. I put the box down at her door.
     
    "Umm, don't really want that box in the sunshine. Could you bring it in please?"
     
    Ok. Lift.. And plonk down in her rear hallway.
     
    "Umm, I don't really want the box at the back door. Could you bring it in a bit further?"
     
    Oh good grief. Well the customer is always right, so in I go.
     
    "Ummm..." She looks thoughtful at a door further away inside her home. Thinking quickly, I produce the docket and get her to sign, making my getaway before I'm late for my collections. Oh boy was she bored...
     
    Then there was that woman of mature age I played pool with in a country pub one evening. She was a little well watered, and very chatty. The conversation got around to motor cars.
     
    "I like the AC Cobra, " She said in an astonishing deep gravelly voice, "Seven litres, plenty of thruuuuust!". I get the hint dear. Luckily her husband was on hand to rescue me from a fate worse than hatchbacks.
     
    I suppose you have to make your own entertainment in the countryside. And you thought Emmerdale was a soap opera...
     
    Groan of the Week
     
    I'm afraid the booze fairies were at large last night, and deposited half a ton of gravel on my car. Cheers boys, just what I needed. Please feel free to share your generosity with other people next time?
     
  18. caldrail
    tt was inevitable really. I know Britain has a reputation for being a damp country and my home town a reputation for being rainy among the British, but eventually the winds turn northward and bring hot weather from the south. Which is why, as I go about my business in the town centre, all of a sudden there are crowds of bellies and shorts ambling around like wot you do in warm weather. It's as if a switch goes on in the British mentality that urges them to wear those holiday clothes one more time before life goes back to dreary damp ordinariness.
     
    More Foxenders
    Sadly, I have to confirm the death of Frodo. There he was, laying inert by the roadside as I got a lift home from a colleague. Not to worry. Young foxes are everywhere. Far more than I saw last year. I saw one grab hold of a discarded lager can and run off with a foxy grin. I dunno.... The youth of today....
     
    Strange Dreams
    Last night I had one of these strange episodic dreams. I was a detective in an American style undercover cop drama, albeit one in the lunatic dreamworld. The villain was a London style gangster who was suitably paranoid and psychopathic, who was ready to eliminate any minion who did not answer the phone after three rings. The crime had something to do with piles of documents. In the light of day, wide awake, and with the dream already fading in the memory, I cannot understand at all what the idea was or how any profit was made. No matter. The crime boss wanted me to do this task, the cops wanted me to do this task undercover, and I wanted to stay alive, a task made all the harder by the female chief detective who insisted on being in charge and wore her clothes in a style that amounted to pornography, almost like an open challenge to any male stupid enough to notice.
     
    Funny thing was, having gone through the ambling drama once, I went through the dream again, albeit with some differing details. Only with the same villain and the same plot. So it was just like those television thrillers after all.
     
    Promotion of the Week
    My job is strictly speaking a temporary post, albeit 'ongoing' work. However, to get the position as semi-permanent I had to prove myself, working hard, being on time, show willingness to undertake the most menial and pointless tasks. Just lately one of the regulars has been off on holiday (How does he afford that?) and his replacement, of the rare female warehouse worker variety, has been made semi-permanent after one week. Okay. I can deal with that.
  19. caldrail

    It's Good To Talk

    By caldrail,

    Was it something I said? Apparently, yes, it was. You might want to sit comfortably at this point because I want to begin this sorry tale of miscommunication.
     
    Too late, I've started.
     
    It was a dark and stormy night when I fired up the computer to search for employment. No, I'm lying, the weather's been quite reasonable lately and it was mid morning at the local library, so the only risk was a librarian moaning about my military surplus trousers and an ugly stare from the security guard who for some strange reason gives me ugly stares.
     
    Clothes do strange things to people in Swindon. My Gap hoody has made me the mortal enemy of a youth gang, off duty servicemen mock my baseball cap, and people in the bus queue down the road complain that I never change my clothes. Oh good grief. I change my socks every six months or when they fall apart, whichever happens first. Hey, I'm a single guy. What do you expect?
     
    Anyway, I'm obliged by my Job Seekers Contract to use the government's Universal Jobmatch website. So I pulled up the site and searched for gainful employment. As it happens I found a vacancy. Woo hoo! Somebody wants a Warehouse Operative. You would expect at this time that I would read the job description and see if the job was right for me. Nope, I'm also obliged to apply for the jobs I find. So the company, location, hours, pay and conditions are actually largely irrelevant.
     
    Oh... Hang on... Where's the 'Apply' button? There isn't one. Now that's suspicious. Just a phone number to a job agency. So I pulled up the agency website and searched for the vacancy. Not found. Even suspiciouser...
     
    No alternative but to phone the number provided then. The one good thing of using an ordinary telephone is that the recipient can't see my clothes. Heaven knows what reaction that would have caused. It dawned on me after the woman answered that I'd phoned her once before concerning another Warehuse Operative job. I seem to remember that for some inexplicable reason she threw a hissy fit. I might have hung up on her. I'm thoughtful like that. Wouldn't want her trantrum to cause her any embarrasement.
     
    This time we discussed my sporadic career history and for some inexplicable reason she gave me a lecture on the ramifactions of health & safety legislation in the workplace. Can she see my clothes somehow? Eventually I managed to get a word in and she moaned that she was only trying to help. From this point it sort of got worse. I think she was trying to control the conversation and couldn't handle a jobseeker trying to get her to impart information slow enough to write down. Woah! Slower! You spell your last name how?
     
    "I don't like the way you're speaking to me" She said. Here we go again. She said that the other time too. I might have hung up on her again.
     
    Primate Alert
    "I know you can hear me" Someone said outside my home. The weather's been a bit humid of late so the open window was too much of a temptation for him. He simply had to make some kind of taunt, threat, insult, or a reminder that he wants me to believe he's the most dangerous dude on the block. You know how it is when you're young, trying to make a name for yourself in the 'hood. Well, youngster, you're right. I can hear you. The real problem you have however is that I'm still not listening.
     
    Migration Of The Week
    There's an advert on television that comes around quite often. It reminds us that Yellowstone Park is an active volcano and shows a bear relaxing in the grass with all the time in the world. "He has no idea" Says the voiceover. Apparently some of the animals do, because they've been spotted leaving the park by the nearest convenient tarmac road. No-one told the bear obviously. Right now he's probably wondering why he has a national park to himself.
     
    So while the grizzly bear is headed for extinction the local bison have evolved to the point where their brains now comprehend the purpose of tarmac roads. They haven't quite managed to invent the internal combustion yet but I guess hooves are something of an obstacle to drawing blueprints. On the other hand maybe they simply decided that grizzly bears are not good neighbours.
  20. caldrail
    I'm getting fed up of being labelled. Categorised. And mostly in some derogatory fashion. So I've decided to issue a public statement.
     
    Am I gay?
    No. Absolutely not. Never was, never will be. If two blokes want to go off together and do whatever two blokes do to each other, fine, get on with it - Just don't bother me with it. I know quite a few people will have heard otherwise and find that hard to believe - some will refuse to believe it because it makes them look like fools or bigots - but that's the way it is. All my sexual partners were female. I'm single due to circumstance, not preferences.
     
    Am I a Conshy?
    No. Absolutely not. Never was, never will be. For the uninitiated a 'Conshy' is slang for "Concientious Objector", or someone who refuses military service out of some moral, political, or religious objection. I would point out that I tried to join the RAF twice in my younger days. The first time I was turned away because "There are no vacancies". The second time I was told I couldn't hear properly.
     
    It is true that my rejection eventually came as a relief. My teenage urge to serve my country had wilted with experience of the Air Training Corps and an increasing desire to forge my own path rather than follw my fathers footsteps. As it happened, by my twenties I wanted to be a musician, a path I followed for many years.
     
    But despite these meanderings through life, I have had no issues with military service from any concientious grounds.
     
    Am I Trying To Live On Benefits?
    No. Absolutely not. Never was and never will be. Truth is, I've been told in a letter from more than a year ago that I'm no longer eligible. So I couldn't even if I wanted to. As it happens, I like my creature comforts and that requires I pay for them, thus I want a profitable living even if no-one particularly wants to provide me with one. A shame really, because I come well qualified, capable, reliable, adaptable, and put up with no end of personal discomfort to turn up on time every day I'm required to earn my keep.
     
    Finally....
    There you go. My statement is complete. I'll swear to these facts in a court of law or on anything sacred because they're true. I know they are. No-one can take that away from me, however hard they try.
  21. caldrail
    The colour of light through my bedroom curtains this morning was unmistakeable. Definitely snow. Not a great deal of it, but the yard and car park beyond had been given a white sheen. As I wearily glanced outside, the snow was still falling - it's tailed off right now and the sun is breaking through.
     
    Winter has a bit of a problem right now. It doesn't seem to know what sort of weather to throw at us. Wind, rain, snow, bitter cold sunshine, it changes on the hour every hour. Yesterday it started to hail. British hail is somewaht weedy compared to the icy cannon projectiles you get in some parts of the world, but that makes it a mere inconvenience to us Brits. Especially when a hailstone drops straight down the back of your neck, which is what happened to me. There I was, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I'm squirning uncontrollably in the street and making strange moans of discomfort. People notice this sort of thing, usually when they don't know what caused it.
     
    Crawling Into Work
    Another cold morning. TIme then to answer the call of the alarm clock at some ungodly hour of the morning, ignore the protests shouted through the walls of my home, and head down to the bus stop, hopefully fully dressed, for that all important bus to work. I feel so ordinary these days.
     
    The town has an empty clammy feel. A long high street is almost deserted and tinged in an amber glow, aside from some guy who I know will be taking the the same bus as me. He stops at a cash machine to pay for his ticket. He's already paid for his cigarettes which he'll chainsmoke as he waits behind me at the bus station. That's his business of course, it's just that he has the annoying habit exhaling as noisily as possible.
     
    Swindon's bus station is doomed. They're going to build a new one sooner or later but for now the dull brick edifice hiding under the shadow of a disused multi-story car park will do. A few hardy souls hang around here and there, aside from my chainsmoking fellow passenger who queues up behind me every day so I can derive such pleasure fro listening to his cigarette habit.
     
    A van turns up to drop off piles of newspapers. The Devizes bus turns in off the main road. That'll be full of several passengers shortly and probably on its way. Second comes our bus showing 'No Service' as it turns into the bay. The driver gets out and heads into the admin offices for a few minutes. Eventually he'll be back, fussing with the controls of the ungainly double decker, and then allowing us to present travel passes, coins, or desperate pleas for assistance.
     
    Some bus drivers are quick, others aren't. Some struggle with issuing ticketrs, some are incredibly efficient. I see the same people boarding or disembarking at the same stops. No-one says hello. We're all too miserable at having to get out of bed to go to work.
     
    My Day At Work
    One of the team leaders goes through the register. After four weeks of persuasion I finally managed to get them to put my name on it.
     
    "Caldrail?"
     
    Yup.
     
    "Pallets today please"
     
    That means I'll be wandering around the racks finding empty pallets so the guys unoading containers can put more boxes on them. Well that's the next eight hours sorted then.
     
    End Of The Shift
    Finally it's time to go home. Suddenly the warehouse comes alive and it's a life or death sruggle to find your bag, wrap up for the cold weather outside, and clock out out as the next shift rushes in desperately trying to arrive on time.
     
    Hard Hat, my chilled out colleague at work, never rushes at any time. He's never frantic, breathless, urgent, or even remotely rushed for any reason whatsoever. At lunchbreaks he sometimes takes a quick nap. When we wait at the bus stop after work, he's guaranteed to amble up the road long after we've settled who's going to be first to board the bus. A couple of times I've mentioned that my life would be complete if I ever saw Hard Hat running for the bus.
     
    My life is complete.
     
    And The Winner Is...
    As a fourteen year old I went with the school on a skiing trip to Austria. All a big adventure at that age, made embarrasing by parents giving us last minute advice and emotional send off's. No matter. We negotiated the unfamiliar hazards of a Dan Air flight to Munich and a long coach journey across the border, finally arriving at the resort. One kid got caught smoking and would have been sent home had that not meant a teacher would have cut short their holiday. On the other hand, the much hated geography teacher got hit by a snowball.
     
    By the end of the week, it was time to settle the most important question of all. Who was the best skier? Naturally the dominant lads, the ones good at football, pretty much figured it was one of them, with one character a clear favourite in the stakes. So we gathered on the slopes that last morning for a timed slalom run, not just the school, but every tourist at the site.
     
    I was number five in the running order. With mounting trepidation I watched the others head off. Gate 1.. Gate 2... Gate 3... Then Gate 4, a nasty tight left turn on the brow of a steep drop. Every skier in front of me fell over at that point. Okay. I'll make a note of that. Ready!... Three... Two... One... GO!
     
    I was off. My mind was absolutely focused on the task. I didn't harbour any fantasies of doing well, but I sure as heck was going to try. Then I arrived at Gate 4. Snowplough braking... turn as I reach the edge and lean in.. Oh yes. That's how it's done. I carried on and headed for the finish line quite satisified with my efforts. The austrians at the finish line were yelling at me, urging me on enthusiatically, and somewhat bemused I gave myself a few pushes with the sticks. They were all thumbs up and germanic appraisals, which I failed utterly to understand.
     
    Here's the thing. I was the only skier that day who did not fall over at Gate 4. The only one. I watched amused as each and every contestant did a sort of helpless swan dive off the dip. Not only that, I sat there in disbelief that night when the instructors handed out the certificates. My name wasn't appearing. Until the end. Not only had I beaten my classmates, I'd beaten everyone at the resort, adults as well. Defintely one of my finest moments.
  22. caldrail

    Idle Passions

    By caldrail,

    Bah! Humbug! it's that time of year when supermarkets try to get us to buy more stuff by playing Christmas Hits Of The Last Fifty Years over the tannoy. I asked a member of staff if the sound could be turned down - she walked away! I'm sorry, do you like Christmas?
     
    My Struggle With Earthy Girls
    Can't be bothered with all this Christmas rubbish. A young lady once told me that Christmas and New Year were the time of year when people are most likely to end it all. I didn't go out with her. But then, trying to go out with a woman is one of those things that very few of us are any good at but try anway out of some primeval urge to spawn more hapless generations that can't get off with a woman either.
     
    Here's a funny thing. People often sneer at sports car drivers and their apparent need to flaunt it because they've got it - I should know, I heard all the same comments back when I indulged in the cheaper end of the fast car market. Yet I found that women were attracted by the sight of my bright blue curvaceous and low slung speed machine. Not because of any extension of my physique (that's an unfortunate part of the male psyche), but because it suggested I was wealthy and successful (that's the unfortunate side of the female psyche - as much as hormones, pesonality, and physical attractiveness can spark our emotions, women do instinctively prefer a caveman to fill her larder, spawn her young, protect her from harm, and emable her deep rooted instinct to spend, spend, spend. Face it girls, you know I'm right)
     
    But flying aeroplanes? The kiss of death where girlfriends are concerned. Unless she happens to be one of the minority that actually like flying, most girls regard being in an aeroplane as a means either to be thrilled by adventure or to arrive somewhere interesting. Sitting in a grotty old Cessna for an hour, squeezed into a narrow cabin with a guy she hardly knows, subjected to the loud monotonous rasp and roar of a small aero-engine, feeling uninvolved in the entire process of getting from one place to another by air - she is quickly bored and can't escape. So unless you have access to a business jet and the money to reach a warm Mediterranean coast, the experience of flying won't make her think you're good in bed. Also, she will quickly realise that going out with you means she'll be sharing her bed with aviation magazines.
     
    What a great day to be flying. Isn't this fun?
     
    "Umm, Caldrail, we need to talk"
     
    Yes you're right. Hang on a moment Babe... "Eastwich, this is Romeo Juliet, overhead , routing south of London for Little Wimpton, over....
     
    "Caldrail, I've been doing some thinking"
     
    Yeah?
     
    "I don't think you and I are going anywhere."
     
    No no, really, it looks slow because we're so high. Look, we're doing 90 knots. That's over a hundred miles an hour.
     
    "So is anything going to happen?"
     
    Nah, you're okay, flying is the safest form of travel..... What?
     
    Drunkard Of The Week
    It was all quiet in the early hours last night Drunkards don't like quietness, it disturbs them, and normally at some point there's a singing contest, football chants, threats of physical violence, appeals to lost girlfriends, or sometimes incoherent yelling. However, this time we got a treat. A drunk singing that old English favourite...
     
    I'm forever blowing bubbles
    Pretty bubbles in the air
    They fly so high
    Nearly reach the sky
     
    .... At which point he either fell over, bumped into a lampost, got squished by a passing car, found a friendly policeman, or considering how much alcohol was in him, did something extremely dangerous like try to light a cigarette.
     
    The residents sighed, pulled their blankets and duvets over themselves, and went back to sleep.
  23. caldrail

    2015 Part One

    By caldrail,

    Woo hoo! 2015! Yeah. 2015. Who would have thought we'd make it this far? What with the Nostrodamus prophecies of global apocalyptic disaster, global warming, outbreaks of Ebola, christians preaching the return of Jesus and mysterious disappearances, the relentless advance of the electric car, my unemployment benefit payments cancelled, no heating in my home, and finally discovering that being more than fifty years of age really does mean you have to resort to a bus pass.
     
    The other day I had a phone call from somebody. Not sure who it was, but they enquired about my involvement in a road accident two and half years ago. Hang on... That would mean the summer of 2012... I haven't driven a car since 2008, which means the only auy I could have gotten involved was if I had driven through a time-space anomaly, the sort of thing my claims advisor stops a claimants money for. Wow. Some accident.
     
    New years Resolution
    I faithfully undertake not to have so many car accidents.
     
    Bird In The Hand
    "Look!" Said the slovakian forklift driver, pointing toward the edge of the racking. Yes. I can see it. What's the big deal? I mean, it's just another piece of rubbish on the floor. I'll pick it up as I go by...
     
    "No, look!" He insisted. Then I saw what the big deal was. Not a piece of rubbish, but an actual little brown bird, sat there on the squeaky pale blue dusty floor, trapped in a strange rectilinear forest of cardboard, wood, and steel that we know as a warehouse. I know how it feels.
     
    A Pop Song Too Far
    I happened to catch a television documentary the other day. All about those Swedish superstars, Abba. You know, they may not be exactly the coolest artists to remember from the seventies, but face it, without them, where would Brotherhood of Man be?
     
    Truth is I found listening to all those familiar hits from long ago difficult to deal with. So synonomous with my formative years that all those uncomfortably embarrasing memories of being an awkward teenager came flooding back. It wasn't that I had any particular fantasy about the two lovely ladies (and none about their male partners), it's just that Abba were everywhere in those days. Television, radio, music stores... Inescapable.
     
    Of course these days I'm a bit older and now I've reached the age where being embarrasing is fun. Such as my guitar playing, military surplus trousers, and a complete inability to balance when the bus is in motion.
     
    Mystery Of The Week
    So now if you'll excuse me, I have another episode of Star Trek related entertainment to wait for. In the meantime I sit there watching the Father Dowling Mysteries. Not that the program entertains me you see, it's just that I live in hope I'll catch the episode where Father Dowling finally succumbs to temptation and seduces Sister Stephanie on one of their late night stakeouts of the villains HQ. I know this sort of thing goes on... I've listened to Abba lyrics.
  24. caldrail

    What A Lovely Day

    By caldrail,

    For the last week the weather has been glorious. All the hassles, disappointments, and frustrations of dealing with recruitment agents seem somehow pointless compared to getting out and enjoying the sunshine. Just the other weekend I took a walk along a cycle path in that strange unfinished part of Wichelstowe, roads and streets spread across empty farmland and the onset of green leaves. Not only was my journey shared by the usual crowd of cyclist, dog walkers, and chain gangs of rubbish collectors on community service, but all of a sudden aviation seemed to realise that flying weather was with us again. Piper Cherokees flew by with their warbling rasp. Piper Cubs ambled overhead with their soft rattle. Paragliders hung under their graceful arch of silk, wheeling gently around the sky. For a moment I remembered how it was when I used to fly.
     
    Sunshine at an airfield is pretty merciless. There's no shade out there in the open, and only a gentle breeze makes it bearable. You can always smell grass as you stride across the field toward the line of waiting aeroplanes. Most are typical club aircraft but you sometimes see one or two unusual or exotic airframes parked beside the others. That's the one I hired, over there. A Piper Tomahawk, not the most exciting aeroplane to fly but fly it does, and it was within my meagre budget.
     
    You get a strong reminder of how powerful the sun can be when you succeed in unlatching the cockpit door. You know how hot it gets inside a car left in the sun? There's more perspex on an aeroplane than a car and at first it feels like an oven in there.
     
    Bags deposited, it's time to go through the ritual of pre-flight checks. If something isn't right about your aeroplane, you want to know before you're half a mile up in the air. Haviing done this so many times I no longer refer to a checklist, walking around the aeroplane in a relaxed manner, following the steps required to convince myself this aeroplane is safe to fly. The metal wings feel smooth to the touch, ever so slightly uneven, and in an odd way primitive. All those lines of rivets evoke images of victorian engineering, sturdy engines made by sturdy engineers in stove pipe hats. Well, these are 1970's vintage airframes, built with 1930's technology. That sense of somthing not quite fully modern is pervasive, even with a panel full of modern instruments and radio equipment.
     
    So I've checked the airframe, the controls surfaces, the electric systems, the tires and brakes, the propellor, the oil and contents of the engine bay, so no more need to delay and I climb into the pilots seat. I daren't shut the door yet. Under that sun I'll fry. The seat belts are more or less the same as a car, since this is not an aerobatic aeroplane, and I don my headset. Plugged in. Throttle set. Brakes on. Ignition live. You know there's no-one out here, but for safety's sake you yell "Clear prop!" to alert the world that a piece of metal is about to start revolving very dangerously. Magneto's on and turn the key to 'Start'.
     
    Aircraft engines are like starting an old car. It takes a bit of care and patience to persuade them them to kick into life. The propellor turns over with a sort of reluctant undulating whine before the engine fires up. The propellor accelerates suddenly and the noise erupts from ahead of you. A few final adjustments, a check of temperatures and pressures, and I call the tower by radio to tell them what I'm up to. They give me some useful information like which runway to use, permission to taxi, and some air pressures so I can adjust my instrument settings.
     
    A friend of mne came along for the ride once and stared at me in amazement when he heard this interchange for the first time. "How do you understand it?" He asked. There's no great secret. All those abbreviations and numbers are something you get used to. You already know what sort of thing is going to be said.
     
    The Tomahawk wobbles about on the grass taxiway as I wind my merry way toward the runway threshold, holding open the door with one hand, operating the throttle with the other, and using the pedals to steer and brake. With the propellor slipstream the cockpit is confortably cooler. Eventually I reach the end of the runway, conduct my last few checks, close the cockpit door, and ask for permission to depart. The temperature inside the cockpit is starting to climb, the air hot and heavy, and you can't help wondering why the controller is taking so long to answer.
     
    Time to fly. I look around for other aircraft that might interfere with my plans, then let the aeroplane mount the asphalt. Line up on the centreline. Smoothly open the throttle. The noise goes from a loud growl into a cacophonic roar. The Tomahawk is accelerating smartly, the wind noise increasing, and I'm now focused entirely on the take off. With some gentle persuasion the aeroplane begins to lighten. A little unsteady at first, the ground falls away and I'm airborne.
     
    Before I know it I'm half a mile up in the air, controlling my noisy little contraption with a gentle touch. On the one hand I feel as free as a bird, yet also concious that airspace has rules and regulations. I feel liberated from worldly concerns, yet still concious that I must regularly check my engine and fuel. I feel entirely alone in the world, yet concious of the radio and its demands for replies and obedience. I share the sky with plenty of unseen colleagues doing exactly the same as me.
     
    All too soon I'm running out of fuel, money and time slot. The runway looks tiny from the air, and once again I become utterly focused, guiding my aeroplane toward the start of the asphalt strip which I must touch down on in the right attitude, the right speed, the right rate of descent. Barely above the ground a hesitant whistle alerts me I'm slowing down to the point the aircraf can't fly any more, but at the right time, thats precisely what you want. A slight bump, a squeal of rubber, and we're down. The cockpit is insufferably hot again as I taxi back to the apron.
     
    Finally I park up and shut down. The engine, starved of fuel, clatters to a halt. The world feels incredibly quiet. Freed from the assault on my senses by internal combustion the tiny whirr of the insrument gyros sounds oddly loud. Even after only an hour, I clamber out stiffly and a bit damp from sweat. What a lovely day.
  25. caldrail

    License To Xmas

    By caldrail,

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