Jump to content
UNRV Ancient Roman Empire Forums

caldrail

Patricii
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    6,250

  • Joined

  • Last visited

  • Days Won

    146

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Bitter-Sweet

    By caldrail,

    It's over! It's all over! My work experience placement has come to an end after thirteen weeks of banter and back-breaking labour. My boss thanked me for my efforts and apologised for not being able to take me on permanently. "Are you sorry to be leaving?" She asked me.
     
    It did feel like a bitter-sweet moment. On the one hand we'd had a fun day. Antics and malarkey throughout the morning, but sadly Miss L was on the receiving end of a management ambush after I'd given her a stockroom rally stage in my sports-cage. The awful part of it was that if we'd reacted better we could have gotten away with it. She was sat inside the cage out of view when the boss came looking for her. "Have you seen Miss L?"
     
    KS and I instinctively glanced down as Miss L stared back in horror. It was no good lying about it, the boss had noticed the sudden quiet and exchanged glances and knew something was up. So she was sent off to a firing squad but so far we haven't heard what action the bosses will take. In fairness, Miss L has been pushing her luck for a while now. It was a little unfortunate it all came to head after I'd pushed her too. Chin up girl. I did my best to defuse the bomb.
     
    The mood did lighten. I found a printed instruction sheet handed out by manager G for his staff and had it sent back to the office marked with all corrections and 4/10 - Must do better in Grammar if you want to stay in management. On the way out I said my last goodbye to Miss G. As usual she shivered in embarrasement and tried to get out of my target range as soon as possible. Bless her, she's such a fussy girl. Does need to remove the cork though. I stopped by the security guard and handed over all my tools of the trade - pens, pad of paper, safety knife - and for some strange reason he nearly collapsed in hysterics. Finally, at the main door, I stopped and thanked the department store so everyone could hear me. The public looked a little bemused and curious as to what the heck this idiot was on but their shopping wasn't impeded in any way. Audiences... So fickle...
     
     
    Small World Of The Week
    Yesterday afternoon was dragging on. My blog entry had been covertly written and posted, and we all sat around around waiting for our exit interview. There's been a blonde girl on another table whom I've spoken to a couple of times but given how attention-grabbing the girls on our table usually were, I hardly ever got around to speaking to her. As chance would have it we began chatting. In the course of the conversation she mentioned she lived in such and such a street. huh? The same one as me?
     
    My interest was picqued. Whereabouts? "Next to the chemist" She responded. What the? That's next door to me!!! Well how about that? Not only does it prove what an incredibly small world Swindon is, but also that neighbours can be human too.
  2. caldrail

    Aliens And Stuff

    By caldrail,

    There was a general lack of managers at work today. Under normal circumstances that would be a recipe for noise and mucking-about, but with my dole payments in doubt I had other things on my mind. I even had to go to the Job Centre this afternoon to force them to arrange my 'Back To Dole Seeking' interview. Talk about DIY.
     
    Meanwhile, back at the stockroom, the quiet atmosphere was making it possible for others to attempt a spot of entertainment. Somewhat carelessly an asian lady started singing to herself whilst she searched the shelves for required stock in something of a 'whistle while you work' mood. Asian singing is complex and very odd to western ears, but she was tuneful, so when she mysteriously and abruptly ceased, I yelled across the stockroom for her not to stop. It's very cultural, I said. She burst into an insane fit of giggles. It was like the Wicked Witch of the West in a good mood. What a racket. At least she was amused. I always find these asians something of an alien culture.
     
    There's a guy who occaisionally comes up from the shop floor. We recognise him by his odd hairstyle which involves bundles of hair sticking out each side. KS thought he looked like Doctor Who which amused me somewhat, proving that all the Flash Bang Wallop of the new series rather distracts viewers from the essential realisation of just how little story there is. Anyway, I asked him whether he was the Doctor and he said no. I think he was telling the truth - He looked a little bemused by my questioning.
     
    Actually it is interesting that I mention Doctor Who, because his TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimensions In Space - I am such a geek sometimes) - the time machine that looks like a police box from the 1960's, is larger on the inside than it is outside. Sort of what happens in our stockroom. We have a different spatial configuration than the rest of the store and today the shop assistants put that to the test by constantly bringing stock up the lift to be stored. Unfortunately our relative dimensions are much smaller on the inside so the stockroom is now a mass of tangled socks and wobbly cardboard towers. Trust me - No Dalek could possibly reach us. Today I repaired various collapses of shelves and made new ones from spare bits scavenged from various black holes which are quite common in our cardboard continuum. For a brief while I even became an organic component of the stockroom architecture. Just part of the furniture.
     
    You could even stage a complete Doctor Who adventure in our stockroom. Where do all these work placementees go? Why does the telephone always stop ringing just as you finally clamber over jumbles of discarded boxes in a mad frantic rush to communicate with the outside world? How does J access the universe outside the stockroom, and what does he do with this mysterious power?
     
    More From Miss L2
    Although KS failed to 'bash and dash' with Miss L2, she is never far from our thoughts. Apparently she's uploaded more jpegs of herself on a Facebook page and KS has seen them already. Now young Miss L2 says that she's a honeytrap, drawing men in. If that's the case, she certainly doesn't know what to do with them when she snares them in her machiavellian schemes. J made a somewhat gleeful observation that he would be like a bee, buzzing in to fertilise the flower. Thought you needed birds for that? Oh... I see what you mean. Well... I added that bees always fly back to the nest and communicate the directions to their great new find by way of a strange dance. Maybe J's bee-ness isn't so strong after all.
     
    Evidence For UFO's
    A few days ago I watched a television program about UFO's. The Secret Evidence or some such title. Out of curiosity I sat down with beer in hand and yes, the aviation expert hosting the program dredged up every single possible cliche to do with strange lights in the sky. I now know that UFO's are Nazi secret weapons used by the CIA to study little grey men in Arizona and scare off hippies from attending the Glastobury Festival. No, really it was on tv. So it must be true. Why would my television screen lie to me? The camera never lies...
  3. caldrail
    It's a very special day today. have you forgotten? You have? Okay, I'll remind you. This tuesday is World Pirate At Work Day. Now much of the eastern world is already back at home having missed this wonderful opportunity for japes, drinking songs, Johnny Depp impressions, Errol Flynn heroism, and old sea dog stories. Incidentially, most of America still has time to get involved, so come on America! Join us down the tavern for tankards of rum and a right 'ole sing-song. Here goes...
     
    This way, that way
    Forwards and back
    Over the Stockroom Sea
     
    Piles of clothes
    And boxes to stack
    That's the life for me
     
    That little sea shanty was written and composed by J, who wondered what I was on and where could he get some. My own contribution was...
     
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    He sailed the ocean blue
    And on this ship he had a boss
    Who told him what to do
    With a yo ho ho
    And a ha ha harr
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    Steered by that Blind Pugh
     
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    He sailed around the world
    And on this ship he had a bird
    Who never said a word
    With a yo ho ho
    And a ha ha harr
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    His parrot had expired
     
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    He weighed anchor back in port
    He couldn't read his porno mag
    Because he had been caught
    With a yo ho ho
    And a ha ha harr
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    His court case he has fought
     
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    The mainbrace he has spliced
    He's not on the dole no more
    They found him working twice
    With a yo ho ho
    And a ha ha harr
    Old Silas had a pirate ship
    Ain't the government nice?
     
    Sadly the girls from the shop floor were a little confused by this outbreak of eighteenth century tomfoolery, especially Miss G, who by now thinks I'm a complete raving looney. Well, she was bound to find out sooner or later.
     
    Our Latest Reader
    It's with a big big hello that I welcome Miss A to the Rushey Platt Villa. Today she discovered piracy, banter, and the web address of my blog. So it's without further ado that I accede to her request and pass on a personal message...
     
    KS smells
     
    Well she should know. I have to say it was pleasing to discover this young lady has developed a taste for cider, a much maligned tipple much loved by me. I remember that short time in the eighties when cider drinking was fashionable. Designer brands and hugely inflated prices for what was in effect expensive scrumpy. Thankfully today cider is back where it was, a simple and alcoholic beverage for the discerning, and a source of oblivion for the undiscerned.
     
    Our Quest For Fame
    Our lunchtimes are normally quiet in the rest area, but I do notice how jokes start to fly back and forth whenever Manager G is present. On this occaision I was reading a newspaper which featured a series of photoshopped photographs, and one was a car festooned in cardboard boxes. Now I'm seriously jealous. That is a car to be admired. You see, the subtlety and variety of cardboard is much underrated. Even J, our trusty ships captain, hadn't realised how interesting boxes could be and when I suggested how much fun packing materials were, he suggested I was nuts. Surely cardboard is just a non-descript and dull colour? By no means. Let me educate you, J. I showed him a stack of cardboard boxes waiting to be crushed in the baler and pointed out the variety of shades. A yellowy beige here, a brown beige there, in smooth and rough textures.
     
    "He's right" Added a nearby manageress. And that was that. But I digress. The important point was that I decided that the department store should strive for immortal fame and fortune by being the first team to successfully sail a cardboard boat across the English Channel.
     
    "Sponsored by the Labour Party" Added Manager G. He has a point.
     
    P.S.
    Before I forget, friday is our last day at work, and also Au Naturelle Day. I will definitely be keeping my hat on regardless, just for decencies sake. Who is the mystery person that Miss L wants to see naked? We shall see.
  4. caldrail

    Tension and Sparks

    By caldrail,

    Monday mornings always have one thing in common. You know exactly what is going to happen. The alarm goes off, you get out of bed, get washed, fed, watered, and straight to work like some sort of condemned zombie. But not this monday. Today has an air of uncertainty brought about by the forthcoming end of our work placement. This is officially my last week at the department store. That means a return to unemployed status and all the red tape and bureaucracy that goes with it.
     
    KS has already been called to interview by the Job Centre. He was of course greatly annoyed at having to spend an hour in the town centre waiting to see the claims advisor after work, but if he doesn't get away with doing almost nothing about his job search I suspect he'll be much more upset than that. I haven't received a letter telling me when my interview is taking place. The tension is mounting.
     
    The Baby Crew
    After discovering myself the delights of working under Baby G, it's become clear how little respect the other bods at the department store have for him. Miss L spluttered dire curses at the very mention of his name, but then she'd been told to work on my section today and so she was fed up anyway. Since we're lesser mortals who don't understand the brilliance and wisdom of Baby G, we decided to follow suit and give ourselves 'gangsta' names. J told me that anyone who calls themselves Baby Whatever will not be listened to or respected in any way. So that means we have Baby J, Baby K, & Baby L. I was given Baby C, or Baby B (because of my high-vis label), but in the end I returned to my old 'gangsta' name, Alfred T. That's the one that Big Momma Miss J gave me way back when I worked with DS as my boss, which actually predates the start of my blog.
     
    No, there wasn't any point to this at all, but hey, we survived Baby G and lived to tell the tale. This last saturday and sunday his weekend gang did twice the work they normally do. Well done. So what was it he was claiming about working harder than anyone else? It seems his other claims are based on his fervent imagination and desire to be the biggest, baddest, gangstarest team leader in the whole department store. I wish him well on his quest and could he please stop talking about it and start out?
     
    A Bright Spark
    one of the hazards of the workplace I've found over the years is static electricity. Sometimes you can feel the arc between you and a piece of architectural metal, and it's literally quite a shock. I used to approach the lift at one workplace with great trepidation knowing full well I was going to set off a small blue spark the moment I touched it. Today it was KS suffering this phenomenon, and he thoughtfully passed on his electrical charge to Mrs T. I'll bet you all can guess what KS said when he told me about that.
     
    But he's not all bad. In between visits by Mrs T to see whether he was working, KS whipped out his mobile phone and ran an app that he described as a 'brain-trainer'. So far his brain hasn't responded to treatment, but we hope long term exposure to mental activity will improve his cognitive performance.
     
    Hi There
    Bumped into Sophie out in the street at lunchtime again. She's one of those researchers who stop and ask you questions before taking your name and address so you can be hounded for charitable contributions. I gave a her wave and said hello, and since I was being so cute, she let me go about my business unhindered. Have a nice day.
  5. caldrail

    Weekend Whinge

    By caldrail,

    Such is the good weather we're getting this weekend that Yahoo is making a news item of it. That said, I look out of the window this morning and the sky is a plain white sheet of cloud. Perhaps Yahoo need to be a bit quicker off the mark with their journalism?
     
    Grand National
    We have a horse race in Britain called the Grand National. It's something of a national event these days. It was televised yesterday and some outsider won it, leaving bookies with huge losses. One complained that they'd lost last years profit in one hit. Dodgy game that, horseracing. Personally I'm not that interested. Those horses who get in front at the start generally stay there, and curiously enough the winning jockey was being lauded as a hero when the race finished. Erm.. Didn't the horse run the race?
     
    Oh look. Who should crawl out from under his stone but fatboy John Prescott, telling the British public that the Grand National is a public event and should remain on freeview, not payview, and he went on to make a political point and criticise the opposition.. Well I suppose that's to be expected, thre is an election around the corner. But does he actually believe I care about the Grand National? It can go on payview with my approval. At least that way the neighbours won't be able to afford to watch the race with the sound turned right up. Surely there's something more interesting to do this weekend?
     
    Modelling The Latest
    On my way from the library yesterday I passed a crowd assembled outside the model shop justacross the way. That model shop is a small place, but stuffed full of wonders to delight a child of any age. It's been there since I was very young and still does good business, though sadly I'm less of a customer than I once was. There's something wonderful about assembling a plastic kit. You get a box of light blue bits and create a shape, a scaled down facsimile of something that was real, and of course in your childhood days the completed model is a doorway to games and fantasies. On the other hand maybe you just get high on fumes from that horrible solvent glue.
     
    But I digress. The reason the crowd had assembled was due to an impromptu display of a pair of radio controlled trucks out on the pavement. Big, american style lorries, one tanker and one box freight rig. I have to say it was an impressive performance. The models generated all the correct noises. Diesel, horns, reversing beeps... I wonder if there's button for the driver to lean out the cab and yell suggestions to other motorists?
     
    Thing is though both models were finsihed in chrome. Okay, it was bright and shiney, and thus all the more impressive as models go, but is that really how a truck would appear? I recall that recently some guy bought himself a BMW-Mini finished in chrome and got spectacular quotes for insurance. A Ferrari would've been cheaper.
     
    Ahh, who cares... Look, the rear doors open remotely... Wow...
  6. caldrail

    Impressions

    By caldrail,

    "It's our last week" Claimed KS. Not only does he fail to understand how a baseball cap should be worn, he also can't count. So convinced was he of this final week at our work placement that we all thought he was right, managers included. Today the issue was sorted as my boss went off to the office and returned with confirmation that we all have another week to run.
     
    Good news for J, who had to take the day off work because it's his girlfriends birthday (Full marks there J). He was so keen on a booze up after work to celebrate the completion of our tour of duty. Actually I noticed a few of the managers were asking whether we had another week to run. Makes you feel wanted, it really does.
     
    That brings me neatly round to the subject of Baby G. He's the understudy for J today while he's off work. Normally he covers the weekend when we're not there, but this friday he opened the door for us and out poked a gimpish head. He's a youngster. Oh no... I hate youngsters with authority. I'd been warned that Baby G was something of a prat and I must admit, there was a wave of pratishness as he leaned out the doorway to appraise these two dole seekers he'd never seen before.
     
    He never bothered to introduce himself. Not a word. He just handed out tasks for the day in that irritating "Do it, Doleseeker" kind of manner. Worst still he assumed I didn't know how to do the job. After twelve weeks? With two decades of warehouse experience behind me? "I'm going to be a supervisor next year" He told me. Oh? Really? Am I supposed to be impressed? Every five minutes he gave me a job to do and as soon as I'd gotten into the swing of it, gave me another. No wonder the stockroom is such a mess every monday morning - no-one gets to finish anything. Conclusion - Wet behind the ears and a little full of his own importance.
     
    He didn't like me either apparently. I imagine he found me a little harder to impress than his mates. Anyone who gives themselves a 'gangsta' name like Baby G deserves to be taken for a fool. They say first impressions count. At least I know how to.
     
    From The Heart
    A few pieces of poetry I discovered discarded on notepaper in the stockroom. No idea who wrote them, but here they are, as written...
     
    Let me in from the rain
    Never let me go again
    Feel the water run down my face
     
    A little piece of me moves on
    I keep on walking down this road
    I've seen a million people change
     
    I used to think if I never tried
    I would never fail
    Now I realise I can do anything
     
    Take another photo for your book
    Because I won't be there
     
    A little piece of someones inner thoughts and emotions. No, I'm not poking fun at it. Sometimes we get drepressed and unhappy about the way the world is and our failures at coping with it. I know I have from time to time. A part of me wants to help. Well... Whoever you are, smile. Take pleasure in small things. The world can be a crap place sometimes but it's up to each of us to make it worthwhile. Stick around. You might like my photos. Or maybe other peoples too. Wouldn't want you to miss out on that.
  8. caldrail

    Fantasia

    By caldrail,

    My boss was busy. Downstairs, out on the shop floor, crowds of youngsters on their half-term holiday were pouring in through the door demanding the latest fashions to wear incorrectly. I, the unkempt apprentice, was given my chores for the day and left to complete them. This was going to be a trying day. Piles of boxes had been set aside for me to process and unpack. If only there were an easy way to deal with this onerous task... If only...
     
    In the dark and stygian stockroom, I opened a carton of jeans (stonewashed, low pockets, zip fly, 13 to 14 year olds) and lo! What is this strange garment wedged in amongst the trousers? Gasp! A woolly hat! Well, the temptation to try it on was too much. Sadly I too suffer from being unable to wear the latest fashions correctly so the various descriptions of me were...
     
    J - "You look like you burgled my house"
     
    Miss L - "You look like a beggar"
     
    KS - "It suits you, Caldrail. Makes you look like Santa Claus"
     
    My Boss - "What's the matter, Caldrail? Your head feeling cold? Hmmm?"
     
    You probably get the picture by now. I would describe myself as Noddy at a heavy metal gig. Or perhaps Santa's Little Coal Miner. Still, it made the stockroom a fun place. Now, as for these boxes... The first was easy. Then another. Then a trolley was filled and more boxes arrived to fill the vacuum left by my endeavours (cue The Nutcracker Suite). I was indeed the Manageresses Apprentice.
     
    The Wizard Of Blighty
    After being snowed under with unpacking I decided to get rid of some of the waste cardboard that had pretty well filled the aisle. I spotted Miss L standing in the lift. She glowered impatiently with arms folded. What's up, L?
     
    "'Kin lift won't work" She moaned. She was right. The doors remained open defiantly. Okay... Let Caldrails Magic Woolly Hat work wonders... I studied Evil Lift for a moment then tapped the brushed aluminium door frame. DING! and the door slid shut with Miss L staring at me in stunned amazement. Well I'm not australian so I can't claim to be the Wizard of Oz, so instead, I'll settle for the Wizard of Blighty.
     
    News From The Dole Queue
    Miss M has now decided that her former target is no longer of any interest (mostly we suspect because the poor lad complained of being stalked). Unable to spend life without her primal urges satisified, she spent the day at the Programme Centre (after I'd left) reserving her future boyfriends by marking them on the back of the head with a black marker pen. An excellent idea for finding partners at short notice. Simple and easy to do. Such is her determination to find true love amiongst the dole-seekers that she's decided to keep on turning up even now her thirteen weeks are finished. I have no idea which bloke is her current object of obsession, but I hope he likes temporary tattoos.
     
    On this subject the Malignant Pixie has begun to show interest in KS, and tried to arouse his passion by demonstrating her ability to swallow a pen whole repeatedly. She desperately needs to stop eating sugar too.
     
    Falling Over
    There's a building site just a few doors down from Department Stores Ltd where another rival store is rebuilding its premises. Today the facade fell over. The area was cordoned off, police and other disaster services wandering around asking people to move on, there's nothing to see here, but sadly it was too much for one old lady who tragically collapsed. Strictly speaking, a joke about this event would be crass and insensitive, so I'll move straight on to the next paragraph...
     
    Gah!... Urge to poke fun rising... Cannot resist pressure to write gag.... Oh all right then. It was KS's lunch break. No, really, it was.
     
    Smugglers of the Week
    Three and a half hours before I sat down to write this blog entry a pair of women attempted to smuggle a corpse through Berlin airport on a wheelchair, telling everyone the man was merely sleeping. Luckily airport staff are trained to spot dead bodies and immediately became suspicious. The smugglers are now detained for questioning. Wasn't there a comedy film about taking a dead man on holiday? Life imitates art. In this case however, the two really ought to have declared the man dead for tax purposes.
  9. caldrail
    It's the Easter weekend and of course that means today is a bank holiday. Is it just me or is this extended weekend something less than it should have been? There was a time when bank holidays were an event. Families migrating to the coast and spending the day parked on a motorway waiting for the queue of traffic to move forward another few feet. Or the thrill of the obligatory James Bond movie. You just don't get that excitement these days.
     
    So I suppose I'll pull a can from the fridge and sit slack jawed through Worlds Most Idiotic Videos. That said, saturday unveiled the New Doctor Who! (Cue fanfare and strong hints from BBC newsreaders)
     
    I must admit, when it started, I cringed at the excruciatingly unfunny childrens television moment. But it got better. Slightly. What saved the program from utter direness was the lack of those extended goodbyes and emotional wrangling the series indulges in these days. We've got all that to come. But congratulations on the series nonetheless. Not quite a high point, rather a bump on the bank holiday road. Uhh? What was that? Oh never mind...
     
    Victory!
    A few days ago Swindon Town Football Club won a game against Leeds United. You will never know what an orgasmic piece of news that was. Okay, I'm not interested in football as a rule. It's not the game that bothers me but the idea that I should be automatically interested in it. However, my old boss DS supports Leeds and any victory against them 'oop north' is worth a cheer or two. But lets put that victory into perspective. It's like me walking out of a nightclub with a girl under each arm. Such things are the stuff of myth and legend.
     
    Hallo Hallo, What's All This Then?
    Strolling along the ghetto area of Swindon to the internet cafe, I pass a large pub daubed in green paint and irish-esque lettering. There's something about irish themed pubs that immediately puts me off. Not sure why. It's not as if I'm allergic to leprechauns or such.
     
    Outside were a line of bad lads against the wall, chatting quietly as a gang of policemen hovered close by. Not quite tense, just sort of a constrained ambience. One policeman studied me as I passed by. By now I've been catalogued and appraised regarding my potential for trouble or lawbreaking, or perhaps he suspected I was an alien in disguise. There's certainly enough of those in Swindon these days. I've learned to recognise space aliens. They speak Polish. Had a guy come to the door a few days back asking if I spoke Polish. Like you do.
  10. caldrail
    There's some pictures from yesterdays expedition to Liddington Hill. The photos don't really convey the scale of the hill and how steep those slopes are. It fascinating to think though that Iron Age Brits and Romano-Brits once lived there, and that possibly Saxon invaders might once have defended those slopes against a certain 'Arthur' and his army. It feels a very lonely place these days.
     
    Learn When You're Young
    The course of the old Wilts & Berks canal forms a back street these days. It isn't one of Swindons most salubrious areas it must be said. Rows of collapsing garages, building sites for flats squeezed into any possible gap, and at times I wonder if the Swindon Grafitti College trains its members there. But on a telegraph pole planted at the end of one of those long and untended gardens was a sign. FREE. A collection of kiddies bicycles were gathered underneath, and a child of seven or eight was preparing for a busy days trading. I can see he's going to go far.
     
    Holier Than Thou
    A Roman Catholic priest has used his Easter sermon to 'recognise their guilt' over the child sex scandals. Archbishop Nichols said: "Talk of sin is not always popular - unless we are talking about other people's sins".
     
    Astonishing. A Roman Catholic priest admitting their church is guilty? Whatever next? Actually I can't accept this sermon was completely honest after the Popes Preacher announced that all the criticism of Catholicism following the child sex scandals was shameful and equivalent to the suffering of Jews. It just isn't. I don't see any evidence of railway wagons transporting millions of Catholics to camps in Eastern Europe where they'll be gassed wholesale. What a stupid man.
     
    As for the individuals who committed these acts against children, priests or otherwise, I sincerely hope they receive the full force of justice. As for the Cathloic Church, clean your own house before you start spouting moral messsages at us. In fact, don't bother spouting moral messages at all. You're clearly no good at it.
  11. caldrail

    New Faces

    By caldrail,

    In the last ten minutes, I was attacked by hailstones. Luckily we Brits only get the feeble variety, little frozen pellets that bounce off the top of your head with a slight stinging sensation. Just thought I'd mention it. It's probably the most exciting thing that happened today. I was going to write about S, our new fellow placementee who joined us today for our daily round of fun, frolics, and cardboard monotony, but it turns out he's a quiet chap who's about as interesting to talk to as charting the hourly migration of goldfish in a bowl.
     
    However it's also true that I was put in charge of training him, so I refused an command from one of the shop floor managers and maintained I needed to train him. One needs to learn when to use initiative in the stockroom enviroment.
     
    A Phone Call Away
    KS tells me that TB, our Programme Advisor, phoned him yesterday afternoon. She wanted to meet up for a review of his progress and asked whether he could travel back into town. At three in the afternoon? KS 'ummed and ahhed' and said no.
     
    I on the other hand have been suffering the usual problems with mobile phones such as flat batteries, forgetting to switch it on, forgetting to carry it with me, and basically forgetting where I put it. Maybe it's just my natural paranoia, but my psychic powers are telling me I might have a message waiting for me. Hey... An after hours meet with TB? Good grief, I'm dangerously close to having a social life.
     
    It Worked Before
    Well whaddaya know? Gordon Brown has wheeled out Tony Blair as his campaign 'centre forward'. I'm not suprised in any way whatsoever. Tony Blair gave his stablemate his current job on a plate as it is, now he's persuading us to keep him in office. Someone please please shoot the pair of them before Britain goes down the plughole.
     
    As for the Liberal Democrats.. Well all they do is criticise everyone else. What exactly are their policies? Anyone know?... Nope, thought not.
     
    As for the Conservative Party... we can only hope they're slightly less crooked in managing Britains finances. Why do I get this sinking feeling that they mean well but haven't the slightest clue what they're doing?
     
    The alternatives? There's the Nun Of The Above Party, the various Monster Raving Looney Parties, or maybe just J's All Weekend Party instead. Choices... Choices...
     
    P.S.
    Oh yes. Before I forget.
     
    Hello Miss G!
     
    Didn't want you to think I was being unsociable and ignorant. Politeness matters.
  12. caldrail

    Fun And Fever

    By caldrail,

    I was in a grim state last night. My temperature was rising, my visits to the toilet increasingly frantic and frequent, and I felt dreadful. Why is it that medicine never tastes nice? Grin and bear it, Caldrail, you'll feel better in the morning. And so I was. The cold damp morning didn't put me off at all. After the heavy showers of yesterday, the big screen television bolted to the side of the multi-story car park insisted today was going to bring drizzle. I think they might have a different definition of drizzle than we do in Swindon - it was raining very robustly this afternoon.
     
    KS also arrived for work fit and healthy. It turns out that he did indeed set his clock so out of sync with the rest of the universe that his mother had to rescue him from his time/space anomaly by shouting up the stairs to enquire whether he was going to work that day. So he phoned in sick. And, as we now know, he even got away with that. But I digress.
     
    He later complained of being knackered from his football last night. Football? You were off sick and still played football? Well there you have it. Forget expensive medicines and other conventional treatments - go out and play football with your mates. A tried and tested cure for all ills.
     
    Do This.. No... Do That
    It was going on all day. My boss has been to Egypt for a holiday (no doubt to learn how slaves should be treated and efficiently employed to stack cartons) and whilst the brochures and television ads make tempting visions of sun and sand, the reality of Egypt is that it's a very unfriendly place for us westerners. So I guess she learned a great deal from her police overseers whilst she was there.
     
    Every so often she would pull me to one side and get me to set about a task designed to bring patient men to the very edge of of explosive temper. And when I set about my task, usually around ten minutes later whilst I'm still getting organised, she gets overrulled by her boss and another task, much harder and exacting, is presented to me. It was a bit like playing a computer game where you advance to the next level before you've done anything. Just a helpless spiral of human endurance and mental capacity.
     
    She was watching our every move.
     
    Matters of Boris
    It seems being called Boris really does things for your popularity. Walking along the high street a couple of pretty girls remarked "Oooh look, there's Boris"
     
    Hey, I've still got it. But the other Boris in the news is our Mayor of London, who has proclaimed that our capital city is to made the 'Centre of fun for the whole universe'. Zaphod Beeblebrox please take note. Good for you Boris. Maybe the 2012 Olympics will be fun after all. So at least we'll be able to laugh and remember the good times when the bills roll in.
     
    Poetry Corner
    Look, I know I once wrote a poem on this blog but please don't think I do this sort of thing ordinarily. You see, KS has requested, nay, begged me to include his poem written to Mrs T. This is all his own work, I take no responsibility for injuries caused by mirth, anger, or indeed any psychological trauma resulting from this poem. Here goes...
     
    Roses are red
    Violets are blue
    Show me some boxes
    I'll do them for you
    Stacking's okay
    Prepping's alright
    But when I'm with you
    My day shines bright
     
    Ugh. Ghastly. And completely dishonest. KS has voiced his opinion that assisting Mrs T is like being married. What's that on your head? No, there... Look... A thumbprint on top of your head...
  13. caldrail
    As many of you might know, this last weekend was the time of year when we put the clocks forward one year, a ritual designed for no apparent reason other than statistics. Getting out of bed an hour earlier wasn't too difficult considering my downstairs neighbours had left their central heating on and whilst that wasn't apparent at first, by the early hours I was gasping for breath in that humid heat.
     
    Time to go to work. The weather has turned rainy and I'm informed that snow might hit parts of Britain later in the week, which is almost bound to be elsewhere so I won't worry about that...
     
    7:25 AM
    J opened the doors and allowed me in with the usual exchange of pleasantries and jokes. "What? No KS?" he observed. Doesn't look like it.
     
    8:00 AM
    Big discussion about KS. Is he late? Has he forgotten to put his alarm clock an hour forward? The consensus is that we weren't going to tell him he was late. It might hurt his feelings with all of us rolling around the floor clutching ribs.
     
    8:35 AM
    No KS. What the..? Has he put his clock the wrong way? Will he arrive two hours late? The general consensus was that an hour late was funny, but two hours late demanded no mercy.
     
    09:10 AM
    Miss L loudly demands that J leave her alone because she 'doesn't want any more fingerprints on her donkey'
     
    9:35 AM
    Still no KS. Oh dear... If he turns up now, he will be lambasted to the point of tantrum.
     
    13:00 PM
    It's official, he phoned in sick. That's one more day than his placement allowance so he is also offically in trouble. Did we laugh? Mrs T called him a 'lazy piece of turf'.
     
    14:05 PM
    "Hiyah" Said a woman passing me on the high street. Who on earth is she? She merely shrugged and carried on her way shaking her head. For the life of me I haven't a clue who she was. Former girlfriend? Not with that woolly hat. Former fan of my musical past? No, she didn't ask for an autograph. Well, for now this chance meeting will remain a mystery. Perhaps the shoe that occaisionally gets left outside my home will fit her? heck - I hope not.
     
    14:10 PM
    It's official, I've been declared well and truly ill. A fever is taking hold and I'm writing this piece bleary eyed and breathless, coughing every so often to confirm I still live... Too ill to type any more.... Brain functions at 33% and falling... Core temperature rising... Imminent meltdown expected.... Cough.
  14. caldrail

    Special FX Sunday

    By caldrail,

    Walking along the alleyway beside the yard at theback of my home, I spotted the first 'horsetail' sprouting out of the sandy gravel and grass beside the white (and decorated) plywood fence. Without the fronds it'll grow later, it resembles a sort of greeny-white phallus, though the colours blend in perfectly with the surroundings and so it's already grown several inches without my seeing before.
     
    In a sense this harbinger of spring is an event, something to bring a smile to to your face, to make joy blossom like... (*sound of needle drawn across a vinyl record*)
     
    That's quite enough of that. Yes, the horsetail is there, but the romance of wayside weeds isn't going to enliven this blog at all. Last night I watched The Odessa File, a 60's feature film about secret Nazi skulduggery. As films go, it's quite good. It has a tight plot, decent acting, some understated action sequences, and a suprise ending. It's also showing its age. As good as it is, it doesn't have a modern edge to it. Now I don't mean those silly films like Kick-Ass or Sahara which are just so ridiculous as make you weep, but I found last nights film to be something of a disappointment.
     
    Ahh... Not enough explosions. Now as a child I was brought up on a diet of Gerry Anderson puppet shows. Anything could happen in the next half hour as Marineville inevitably dropped into it's bunker in every episode. The grand opening of some fabulous engineering project was always a disaster, with the somewhat strange lads from a secret Pacific island rescuing everyone before everything exploded. Alien creatures on Mars trying to overthrow Earth by the stupidest means possible. Oh yeah.. And some nine year old geek who's transformed into James Bond by a government sponsored gizmo and who gets to drive around in a wheeled jet engine without the police noticing.
     
    You'd think the lessons would have rubbed off on me, but no, they didn't...
     
    Fashion Dummy of the Week
    Some of the guys at the store were discussing their imminent trip to the Donnington Festival, where AC/DC are putting on their last gig on English soil and so forth. It's one of those big mega-events that resembles a communal mud-bath with a long-haired stereo in the background. Miss L was moaning because flares were banned. Banned? Oh come on, L, what is the world coming to? Off course you go in with flares.
     
    "No" Said J in an authorative tone, "They're classed as offensive weapons".
     
    I should explain that J goes glassy eyed at the word 'offensive' and to him, as a keen martial art dude, anything remotely weaponish is a source of stimulating fantasy. Hang on a minute J. Since when were trousers classed as offensive weapons? I mean I know fashion is taken a little seriously but that's ridiculous. Take risks, express yourself, turn up in whatever togs you want.
     
    "Errr... No," J looked askance at Miss L, "We mean flares. You know? Shooty ones? Big red and green rockets?"
     
    Excellent. Get wet, muddy, deafened, and rescued by an RAF helicopter all in one weekend. But nonetheless I've proven that I've been working with natural and man-made fabrics for too long. I think I need a dose of explosions. Time to break out a computer game and lose myself in pixellated pandemonium.
     
    Ahhh... Explosions....
  15. caldrail

    Powers Of L

    By caldrail,

    Never quite cloudy... Never quite rainy... It's been a day of woeful indecision from Mother Nature. We of the Stockroom Breed however have been much more determined. After all, we've been there ten weeks now. We're already discussing the need to be awarded campaign medals. Mr R died of old age. W left after his criminal record was exposed. Mistymouth left after exposing his.. well.. oddness. There was apparently another new starter who left the next day with a sprained wrist. We are the survivors.
     
    A Lesson In Baling
    Miss L sometimes helps with the baling of waste cardboard and plastic. As I ambled past on my way to find some banter I spotted her attempting to fill the last few cubic inches of space available in the big yellow machine. The obstinate plastic bag refused to comply with her curses. So, with all the powers of L at her command, she grabbed her broom and rammed the poor plastic in there quite violently. After which everything already stuffed inside fell out. She looked at me balefully as I guffawed. You have to laugh.
     
    A Lesson In Physics
    KS was hauling a clothes rail from the lift with his usual downtrodden slave persona. Such an opportunity was too good to miss. Miss L leapt onto to the back of the rail and saved herself a walk down the racks. Unfortunately she had forgotten that the walkway has a right bend in it, and when KS pulled the strangely heavier rail round the perpendicular course it immediately oversteered, swinging such that Miss L was propelled into the rack along the wall. She made such a helpless squeak in alarm at her predicament that I couldn't help falling over laughing.
     
    A Lesson In Gymnastics
    In one of the racks I have responsibility for is a metal ladder, a sizeable and unwieldy contraption with wheels, brakes, probably even cup holders too. To Miss L, it represents a climbing frame, and in her youthful innocence made an attempt to reach the top from the other side to the steps... Like you do. Once again she made a squeak of alarm as the whole thing began to overbalance. Trust me, Lara Croft is a better gymnast.
     
    Ouch.
     
    Short Leash
    Miss L wandered past in a state of complete amusement and said "She's got him on such a short leash"
     
    She meant the hold Mrs T has over KS, who answered her every call and whim, and woe betide him if he wandered off for some banter. Miss L suggested Mrs T use a small bell to summon his services and that was the running joke of the day. Mrs T was not amused. Ahhh... Sorry about that...
     
    Invitation To A Lunchtime
    After ten weeks working at the store the guys finally invited me along to their social gathering at the local sandwich bar. I opted for a steak and cheese sub with olives and peppers in herb bread, but at a whopping
  16. caldrail
    KS plays football three nights a week. He sports a 'hard boy' shaven head. He spends ten miniutes every morning covering every inch and fold with 'man-spray'. He's dated almost every young lady employed at this department store. Whilst he hasn't advertised the fact, he also took a short video of himself in the Dungeon sparring with a cardboard box. Quite the young man isn't he?
     
    I had to laugh. Today he was given to Mrs T as her personal assistant. She's a mature lady who clearly wasn't going to let him catch his breath once during the day. You could hear the whip cracking at every opportunity, and like every youth working with an older woman, he was utterly obedient.
     
    At the close of our shift today I did tease him about being under the thumb. "I'm a broken man" He answered. Poor lad. He's exhausted.
     
    Spacial Ignorance
    Earlier today a manageress brought up a display table to be stored away in the Dungeon. It's quite a sizeable multi-shelved affair and how she got it into the goods lift to begin with is very impressive. The problem is that the sheer bulk of the display makes it impossible to manhandle along the aisles between haphazard ranks of cardboard and disused trolleys. To make it clear how difficult this objective was, I would describe it as Officially Impossible.
     
    But since when did that stop a manageress from demanding we lesser males do her bidding? So we all had to rearrange the entire stockroom to squeeze it past. Surely she must have realised it was too large? I know many woman struggle with spatial awareness (check out how many suitcases they pack for holiday or their inability to understand a map) but a part of me is suspicious that she didn't care. It was of course far more important that we lesser males stayed busy, sweating our poor little hearts out, and totally subservient to her every whim.
     
    Hmmm... Not sure... But I think I might have stumbled on a male weakness...
     
    Mistymouth Update
    Our investigative reporters here at Rushey Platt Daily can report that Mistymouth was escorted off the premises thanks to his odd behaviour, groundless accusations, and lack of popularity among female members of staff.
     
    Hello, Who's This?
    Woah... A classy brunette has just climbed the stairs here in the library. Sorry, just thought I'd mention it in cse o spllin miitztak s oh no she smiled at me. Help. I'm melting....
  17. caldrail

    The Meaning Of Socks

    By caldrail,

    As Tuesdays go, this was not a good one.
     
    Let's see... What happened today?
     
    Erm... Not much...
     
    Oh hang on - I did burst into song first thing this morning!
     
    My Italian Tenor Moment
    Just one more carton
    Give it to me
    Fantastic fashions
    From Italy
    I want - to look my best
    So give me that carton
    And bu-u-u-u-rn the rest
    Proof of God
    Yes - in the desolate wastes of the stockroom, isolated from human contact and with nothing but navel gazing to keep us from devolving into fish, we discovered God. It all happened in the sock section. A revelation of earth-shaking proportions, almost biblical in significance. I held up a pack of socks and realised they formed the letter 'J', thus forming a physical manifestation of J's divine presence. Bow down to J sinful mortals and check your socks. Demonstrate your J-ness by the colour of your knitwear.
     
    We did have a false alarm as Miss L decided that socks were a manifestation of her divine presence, until we realised she was in Russian mode and was reading 'L' the wrong way round. Never mind. Instead we made her an official princess today as J the Giant Killer once again fills the baler in happy safety now that the Dragon Mistymouth has been defeated. Yep. Defeated.
     
    STOP PRESS!
    Late breaking news in the stockroom is that Mistymouth has been escorted off the premises by security. We're still waiting for details on this story and we'll be bringing you updates as we learn more.
     
    Conclusion
    As you can see we were all a little bored. If I were honest I'd have to confess we were all bored a lot. Probably because Miss A is on holiday.
  18. caldrail

    Taxidermy

    By caldrail,

    A visit from the Health & Safety Executive set the tone of todays activity in the stockrrom. Everything had to be stacked safely. Which meant I had to restack everything. So once again unto the boxes dear friends, and those who were not stacking shall hold their manhood cheap, as Shakespeare himself might have put it.
     
    KS popped into view during my tedious reassembly of random piles of distorted cartons and said "I've been told to give you a hand. Do the same as you."
     
    Okeedokee. If you'd like to take care of the next aisle....
     
    "Nah. I'm my own boss" He said and vanished. Oh suit yourself then.
     
    Later that day he popped up again whilst J was was there discussing vital work issues such as how dull Monday was. KS repeated his statement that he had been told to help me out. Okay... Then maybe you could sort out that aisle over there?
     
    "Nah. I'm my own boss" He said and vanished. Oh for crying out loud! Well, if he wants to be a bolshy teenager then he can visit a taxidermist. As it happens, it was me who ended up restacking almost all the chaotic boxes while he sat in a quiet corner listening to his personal stereo.
     
    "You're a bit upset today, aren't you?" He observed jovially a little later. Upset? He has no idea how close I was to getting violent. Still, he wants to be his boss, so every attempt he made to ask me for guidance or opinion was met with complete indifference. He can have it all his own way. If he wants to be a team player, all well and good. If he wants to dismiss all the onerous or physical tasks, then he can be his own boss and the buck stops with him.
     
    I'm beginning to understand how he gets off with women. He is insidious. Every chance he saw he was attempting to charm his way into my good books. Good grief, was I born yesterday? This is a guy who sprays himself with perfume every morning before he starts work. You have to witness it to believe it. The smell is indescribable.
     
    Sorry KS, but your attempt to win respect was a failure. You used the wrong methods. Getting bolshy and defiant might impress your mates, but to me you're advertising what an irresponsible layabout you are. So please excuse me while I advertise it to the rest of the world. You may invite me to visit the taxidermist at your leisure. I'm not listening to teenage weight throwing contests.
     
    My Stephen King Moment
    This is my tenth week or so on placement at the department store. All of a sudden they've decided to create a register for us to sign in and out. So today for the first time I signed in. All to do with health & safety I guess, but then... Evil Lift nearly crushed me in it's powered doors once before, and today? One of our managers went missing. She entered the lift and was never seen again.
     
    Tomorrow I have to take the lift down to the loading bay. It's plotting to kill me... I just know it...
     
    Contract of the Week
    ...went to General Dynamics, who are no doubt popping champagne corks at the news they won the contract for developing a new light tank for the British Army. BAE, who were also in the running, are now to close two sites with the loss of five hundred jobs. Such is the price of failure in our cut throat modern globally economic and competitive era.
     
    On the one hand, we curse our politicians and shake our fists. Surely they could have safeguarded british jobs? Well.. Yes, they could have... But if their new light tank had turned out to be less brilliant than expected, who gets the blame for all the extra funeral corteges creeping through Wootton Bassett in Wiltshire?
     
    Of course everyone will want to take the credit if these new tanks work out. But who will lose the game of political chairs if these tanks turn out to be lemons? By then it will be too late, and soldiers will be returning in pieces. So I hope the Ministry of Defence made a good choice in awarding this contract because you can bet no-one will accept responsibility.
  19. caldrail
    Way back in the days before musicians were obselete and I was optimistically expecting to be a famous rock drummer any minute later, I must have played hundreds and hundreds of gigs back-to-back all over England. Funny thing though is only once do I remember being offered drugs.
     
    In that particular case I was guarding the mixing desk before a gig at the infamous London Road Hall in Bath, a fetid amber-shaded place whose clientelle seemed to compose mostly of rival drug dealers and their woolly-hatted Rasta customers. There had been one gig there where I'd popped out for a burger down the road and returned to discover that threats at knife-point had been going on. At another, a gang of Rastas ambled onto the stage and demanded a reggae set. Of course they didn't get get it. We insisted on performing our own brand of progressive death metal for morris dancers. Now whilst I don't think they understood our music in any sense whatsoever, neither did anyone else, so as usual we survived the gig and people wandered away confused.
     
    But I digress. The drug dealer leaned over the desk and politely asked if I was interested in cannabis. I said no (Come on, keeping time in Red Jasper was hard enough without getting completely zonked out of your head) and he offered a veritable mobile pharmacy as an alternative. Pills for every occaision. Given Robin and Tony's continued moans about musical direction, I remember wondering if he had any headache pills, but perhaps it was better not to enquire.
     
    It's been a long time since I've been offered such things. A few days ago one certain young man made a cursory attempt to discover whether I was interested in Methedrone. I have to be honest, I'd not heard of it and only since then have I come across descriptions in the media of this not-yet-illegal drug, also known as Meow-Meow for some strange reason. That said, it all sounded very drug-rehab and I ignored his overtures. His attempt to sell the substance was for him just a source of pocket money, as if I had any to spend, yet given this youngsters apparent need to adopt certain mannerisms in his quest for manhood, I can't help wondering if he's trying to be 'gangsta'?
     
    Erm... No.
     
    Neither is Mr G, one of my fellow jobsearchers at the programme centre, who sits slack jawed and dull-eyed throughout the proceedings, occaisionally swigging from his bottle of booze wrapped in a blue plastic bag in the folds of his down-and-out coat, and who wanders off to smoke something that will reduce his perceptions to the point that the mindless tedium of the programme will not even register. For him, drug use is an escape, even a social ritual, and I doubt he's coherent enough to realise he could make money from selling strange substances to others instead of sharing the experience with his mates.
     
    Others go abroad to seek relief from the daily grind, either on a drink-fest in which it never really matters what happens as long as you can't remember it, or a more sophisticated excursion to foreign lands dependent on a network of travel agents, airways, and hotels who seem to exist for the sole reason of making your life more stressful than the experience you want to get away from.
     
    Me? I'll stick to wandering the countryside when I need to get away from it all. All I have to worry about are the vagaries of British weather, acres of mud through which a public right of way is supposed to exist, blood thirsty mutant insects, overly inquisitive and nervous cows, loud dogs, and irate farmers. No stress there then.
     
    Sort It Out?
    Our community newsletter dropped through the door and boldly displayed on the front page was an article suggesting that graffiti was the biggest problem and that something must be done about it. I suspect the urgency of this crusade comes from a questionaire pushed our letterboxes some months ago.
     
    A few quick squiggles in black or silver appear first followed by huge logo's in the preffered style. How these youngsters get their work displayed on some of the most precipitous and inaccessable surfaces possible is beyond me, but for the most part, the haphazard letters in garish car paint seem to blossom on any expanse of vertical surface. This problem is nothing new. Ancient peoples daubed red ochre on the walls of caves or rocks. We say they were displaying a cultural representation of their lives and religioius beliefs, but isn't that exactly what these disaffected youths are doing today in a more surreal (and drug induced) way?
     
    Okay, graffiti isn't conducive to a pleasant enviroment, but since it represents the same instinct as dogs weeing up lamposts or cats rubbing scent on anything the dogs haven't wee'd on, surely the answer is to tackle the morons who paint this rubbish? There's been initiatives in the past to try and give graffiti some sort of credibility and niche in modern art, probably on the grounds that people ere going to do this sort of thing anyway so lets channel this activity into something mainstream where it can be organised and controlled (and of course subject to review by the ever-present need for art critics).
     
    That initiative failed because the nocturnal vandals who paint these lurid tags aren't exactly interested. For them, it's all about territory and social hierarchy rather than sunday supplements and televised commentary on deep meanings and social relevance of angles and overlaid letters. It's all about youths with no grounding in civilised behavioiur, respect for society or property, and enough money in their pockets to keep paint suppliers trading through the recession. It's the entire culture you need to address, and the lacklustre parenting that feeds it. These kids do this basically for their own self-worth, because unsuprisingly everyone else regards them as worthless. Is that a possible solution? Or is giving these kids a sense of self-esteem going to elevate their hobby to the glossy pages of magazines and the echoing of art galleries?
     
    Sort it out? Well, our present government will no doubt create more laws to tackle the problem and carry on life as before, at least until they get kicked out of office and new initiatives are presented in the media to demonstrate our leaders desire to make the world a better place, even if his motives are probably more to do with his own back yard. I guess that's why the newsletter went out. It's our back yard that's getting daubed in jagged rainbows, not some expensive and exclusive part of London.
  20. caldrail
    Without doubt this is a miserable day. A fine mist of dampness hangs over Swindon, enveloping our grey town with... Well... Even more greyness. Only wetter. The feeling has reached my neighbour, who slammed the doors this morning in another sulk at having his dreams of all day and night parties crushed by the need to live alongside other people. Must be nine o'clock then.
     
    As I strode determinedly through the rain to reach the library at the bottom of the hill, I reminisced about how this was so different from a few days ago. On that particular evening I girded my loins and braved the early evening youth culture to grab a loaf of bread at a supermarket near me. Gangs of pink chimpanzees dressed in oversized rags tend to congregate around this time, often in the park just past the corner from where I live, where they meet to discuss pimply things and educate passers-by on fashion sense and self-esteem.
     
    But no, that particular was mellow, calm, the flocks of water fowl sat in family groups around the lake having set aside their daily struggle for breadcrumbs, the local apes reduced to less competitive social activities like picking fleas out of each other, as soft guitar chords wafted across the lake. Now that's how it should be.
     
    On the other hand, now it's the weekend again, and that means the guitar wizard who cast that mystical spell upon the park and its inhabitants won't be there. So I guess it's the usual round of chest beating from our pimply anthropoids instead. I suppose it keeps them off the streets...
     
    Sweet Deal
    It came as a great suprise, nay, shock, to Friendly Ferret (one of our stockroom co-workers) to discover that we placementees only receive two thirds of the National Minimum Wage (and no Tax Credits) for our labour. I guess that really does make us slaves. But then, TB at the programme centre very generously offered a chocolate easter egg at her own expense for the first person to land a proper job. As incentives go, it's worth considering. I'll remember to mention that to the next employer when I get interviewed.
     
    The original plan mooted by the government was to hand out jobs to dole-seekers who'd been claiming for more than six months and if you don't like cleaning sewage pipes for a (modest) living, tough. As Mr F, our ever friendly and chatty programme assistant pointed out, that was tyranny.
     
    There is a sense of desperation in politics right now. The government are desperately clinging on to credibility against rising disapproval and strike action, the usual symptom of extended Labour rule. The opposition are desperately seeking credibility to persuade us they could do a better job, when deep in your heart you just know it's going to get tougher. So I suppose I could do something useful and answer the letter from our local college asking if I'm interested in part-time courses to expand my conciousness (and indeed, marketability in the employment stakes) by signing up for a course in sewage pipe cleaning.
     
    Come to think of it, there's a sense of desperation in Swindon. Perhaps that was always the case, but right now it feels like the Fall of Pompeii, as everyone runs around in ever decreasing spirals in a hedonistic rush to do something pleasurable before the money finally runs out. If I were honest, I'm just as guilty.
     
    Rampant Rabbit Says Hi
    "Boris!" He said as he went about his business in the stockroom. Good grief. Recognition. And all it took was a silly name on my back.
     
    Happy Robot Says...
    (*beep* *whirr*)
     
    Thank you Happy Robot for that wonderful and illuminating message. My life is enriched by that wisdom. I hope yours is too. Alternatively learn to play guitar and enjoy those balmy evenings in semi-comatosed ecstasy.
  21. caldrail
    Swindon is renowned for it's dreary wet weather and today our unusual run of sunny mornings turned into a damp squib of a day. It's hard to describe how the mood in our rainy old borough changes when it gets wet because basically it doesn't. People are the same, apart from being possibly a little less drunk. So let me take you by the hand and lead you through the aisles upstairs, and I'll tell you something that will finally make up your mind...
     
    Highlights of the Day
    1 - Caldrail singing "My Cardboard Is Waiting" just to get the morning off to a start. It just about killed the mood entirely but hey, who needs Simon Cowell when you have the Stockroom Factor?
     
    2 - KS has gotten his wicked way with miss bleached blonde bombshell and deleted her from his facebook page now that he's on the run from her outraged boyfriend. He's also on the run from RS, a malignant skeletal pixie who was communicating her desire to ravish his body with her pen. And I thought I was metamorphosing into Benny Hill... I don't know what he's worried about, the girl has the memory of a goldfish.
     
    3 - Miss L called KS a 'whore'. She also called him a 'retard'. She also fired off a lot of rubber bands. I guess she was in that kind of mood.
     
    4 - Miss G finally recognised my existence and even laughed at one of my lengthy and very interesting anecdotes about life, the universe, and everything. Such a polite girl. She even had the good manners to wander away very discreetly, and despite nodding at my every witticism, managed to covertly send a text to one of her friends.
     
    5 - Miss A finally took the plunge and invited me to her party this weekend. We're going to play Connect 4 and Twister and eat sausages on a stick. Can't wait.
     
    6 - The assistant manager passed me on the stairs. I hardly ever bump into her, but she smiles and says hello, followed by hysterics when she notices I have BORIS written on my high-vis vest. I'm starting to realise they keep me around for the comedy value alone.
     
    And In Conclusion
    After it's all said and done, I feel it's worth leaving the last word to J, who looked up from his hastily assembled lunch in the rest area and said "You lot have destroyed my life. I hate you all.... And now... Back to the sandwich".
  22. caldrail

    The Stage Was Set...

    By caldrail,

    Life in the stockroom continued at its usual pace, a sort of disinterested shuffle urged on by the increasing frustration of managerial staff for whom laclk of enthusiasm is an alien concept. Then, without warning, the main lights in the stockroom went out. Only the individual aisle lights remained, casting an orange mood upon the darkness of our haunted store. It was like being inside one of the computer games where you wander around mazes shooting things before they rip you asunder. Or for that matter, a stage set for a play...
     
    Ode To A Cardboard Box
    (From A Midsummers Night Stacking by William Shakespeare)
     
    Act I, Scene VI - Stackio wanders the specially marked walkways of the darkened stockroom
     
    Stackio - Lo! What is this before me, obstructing a path of yellow chevrons? It is a box, forlorn and trampled, emptied of content and left to decompose in such thoughtless fashion that my heart is driven to despair at the arrogance of a busy stockroom.
     
    Managera - Stackio! Stackio! Wherefore art thou, Stackio?
     
    Stackio - Upon the indicated walkway shall you find me, beautiful Managera. Shall I compare thee to a brand new carton? You, whose fashion and cleanliness is worthy of the scratching of backs? Or shall I reflect upon the mortality of our stockroom, where beige conformity one day gives surrender to inevitable decay like a plucked rose? (To Box) Oh what wondrous tales of travel you could relate if you had but a voice with which to speak it. You, who have once taken your place in an iron container bound for distant shores, filled with the bounty from shops of sweat, now ripped and torn, forgotten and despised, your printed numbers bereft of meaning, no longer read by servants of this modest stockroom in a faraway land.
     
    Managera - Fair Stackio, thy sorrow for the passing of this box is well meant, and my admiration for your gentle soul knows no comparison, but if thy doesn't shift thy idle seat in immediate haste, such wrath shall I wreak upon you that this very box will know how lucky it was to be discarded thus.
     
    Stackio - I shall at once remove this trodden carcass and to the baler take it, where the naughty Jackal resides and compacts our fallen cartons in such temper foul, that as knowing as Managera may be, his language would sour the sweetest cup of tea at his struggles with dark machinery. But know that this box was dear to my heart in its short existence, its numbers checked and contents counted with loving care and accuracy. So saddened is my heart. Alas, poor box, I knew it well.
     
    Oh Yeah... Today Is...
    Sigh. Oh all right then, it happens to be that day when everyone likes wearing green while pretending to enjoy a certain brand of beer. Well I'm sorry, but you can waste time with your leprechauns when your chores are done...
     
  23. caldrail
    Miss L isn't speaking to me today. The enormity of the situation is soul-crushing. How can I go through life without Miss L's insightful commentary? I have become a lesser human being, relegated to the bottom league of social undesirables on slave wages. Plus I get attacked occcaisionally by rubber bands and rubbish thrown over the racks. Battered and bruised.
     
    In order to restore my happiness, and indeed, my general sanity, the department store issued me with a high-vis jacket. For health and safety naturally. So far I haven't observed any particular threat to my well being other than Miss L's missiles (ho ho ho) and considering that the company uniform as worn by permanent staff renders them totally invisible in the darkened enviroment of the top floor, I find that a little odd. Personally, I have a suspicion that the managers want to see where I am at any givern moment. KS swears his high-vis glows in the dark. It does. It really does.
     
    A Man Called Boris
    As often happens with manual labouring I felt the urge to display my individuality today. It's our way of beating shop floor communism. So on the back of my high-vis I wrote in big black marker pen letters BORIS. That way everyboidy knows it's me and not someone else. Don't know why, they just will.
     
    There's one thing that worries me. All my workmates have been hysterically embarrased by my new nickname. Why? What's embarrasing about being a BORIS? They bet me I wouldn't walk through the shopping centre at lunch. They refused to believe I consider walking down the local high street proudly bearing my name on the back of my high-vis.
     
    But I did. And you know what? There was nothing to fear. In fact, the only reaction seemed to come from a group of lads of eastern european extraction who were audibly amused by the slogan. You see? You don't need to be the Son of God to spread happiness in this world. Let me explain...
     
    Forgiveness Of The Week
    Miss L has forgiven me. I can now go home with such deep inner joy that the poor lady who attempted to hand me one of those Jesus pamphlets was pushed aside. Who needs divine forgiveness when Miss L can do that for real?
     
    "We've got a lovely message" She called after me. Yeah? Like what? Jesus loves me? I mean I've been with some boring girlfriends in my time but necrophilia isn't my style thank you very much, and whilst we're on the subject, there is such a thing as being a bit too far out on the feminine side.
     
    Come to think of it, Christians always try to make people miserable. That way they can claim that life will be so much better when you sign up. Except it isn't, because all you do is surrender individuality again. Well, I'm too happy to worry about Jesus and his droids today, so I'll ignore the well meaning but hopelessly blinkered church communist like everyone else is.
     
    After all, I'm a BORIS.
  24. caldrail

    Miserable Monday

    By caldrail,

    In my foolish innocence I quaffed one of those high energy drinks last night. No sleep for me then. I did manage to get a couple of hours rest in a semi-comatosed state when the drinks effects began to wear off. There goes the alarm clock. I seriously, seriously did not want to get out of bed. It was only the start of Miserable Monday...
     
    Getting To Work
    For me the journey to work is a matter of several hundred yards, so no problem there. This morning though I was accosted by a confused old lady who asked me about bus tickets. She's asking me? I know enough about bus journeys to leave a large area unfilled on a postage stamp. I don't know, sorry.
     
    Oh no. She's getting all upset. Look, I'm sorry, but I genuinely don't know anything about bus tickets... Luckily for me there was some bloke getting into his car outside a newsagent, and he took the brunt of her desperate enquiry into the details of transdimensional local transport networks.
     
    I was lucky. Poor old KS walked down his street only to see the bus driving past way off down the end. So he had to walk all the way home again and pay for a taxi. You see, having used up his absence allowance he cannot take any time off from our placement or lose his benefits. Even if he dies in a horrible road-sweeper attack he still has to crawl into work bloodied and broken. Well, he wasn't smashed (at least not this morning - last night was another matter) but he was suffering from flu. So I sympathise, because I was too.
     
    Talking of getting smashed, J was partying over the weekend and being young and foolish, didn't bother with minor details of human health like sleep. So he too crawled into work, in his case the misery caused by a 'broken rib' which he swears he doesn't remember happening.
     
    As it turned out, we were all a bit down with colds and flu.I had so many lemsips, lozenges, and gerbil pills that the universe sort of happened around me... The boss wants me to do something... Yep, I can do that... No really, that's fine... No Problem... What did she say?
     
    Stuff About Universes
    In one of our banter sessions (one of the ones I didn't get told off for) Miss L and I discussed the existence of God. My contention was that if God was real, he would be constrained by the reality of our universe and suffer the same limitations. Miss L replied there was more to it than that in one of those 'don't argue with me, lesser mortal' tones. There you have it. Miss L has proof of the existence of God and probably lists him as one of her friends on Facebook. It would explain a few things.
     
    Friends of Lesser Mortals
    "I was on Radio One last night" Miss A announced with some smugness. Radio One? How come? How did you get a slot on Radio One?
     
    "I know the DJ" She replied with contnued smugness. Oh? Which one?
     
    "Brendan" She replied, her smugness begining to show signs of damage from my insistent interrogation. How come you know Brendan? Is he a friend of a friend or are you in the throes of a mad passionate fling with a national celebrity? Aha! Now she was looking worried.
     
    "I've got him on Facebook" She sniffed, upset at my forcing the truth out of her, "He played a song request last night."
     
    The truth will out. Still, she did get a mention on national radio so for today I can reasonably claim to have been working alongside a famous person. Make the most of it, Miss A, fame is very fleeting, as I know to my cost. Tomorrow I'll probably have forgotten you. Such is the heady pace of Stockroom Street.
     
    Magic Fingers
    I have magic fingers. I need only mention them and Miss L descends into uncontrollable giggles. What a strange power I have over women...
  25. caldrail
    I have no idea who rang the doorbell this morning but thank you anyway. There I was, snoozing away,, lost in a land of sheep and... Well, dreams... When I heard the frantic attempts to attract someones (anyones) attention out in the street. Ohmigosh! It's daylight outside! I've slept in!
     
    By the time I'd wearily fallen out of bed I remembered this was indeed saturday and I wasn't late for work. I hate to say it, but I'm almost rehabilitated. Heck, I'm turning into a mature responsible adult.
     
    It's a nice day. It really is. The sun is shining, the recent rain has gone away, the air has a fresh coolness, birds are singing, library goers are chatting in unrestrained joy at being alive. Quiet please. This is a library you know. Except the new librarian on duty, a freckle faced youngster, sits reading a paper in slack jawed innocence of the need to keep everyone silent. What is the world coming to?
     
    Saturday Morning Quiz
    I don't know if my gerbil pills are doing strange things to my brain, or if something dubious is wafting around the air conditioning system in the stockroom, but there's a perceptual dimension to being up there all day that does strange things to your senses. It could just be Mistymouth's exhaled smoke of course as his description of the strange potion he's using to create that smoke hasn't convinced anyone.
     
    Since I've rushed into the library this morning without a chance to experience life and report on a days activity, here's a saturday morning quiz to fill in the blank and keep you blog addicts mentally fit and stable.
     
    Question 1 - Why did Mistymouth announce I was in charge in the stockroom?
    a - I threatened to beat him up if he didn't
    b - A senior executive of Department Stores Ltd told him I was
    c - I looked like Gandalf
    d - I resemble Rod Stewart
     
    Question 2 - Who wrote 'Banksy' in large letters on a cardboard box?
    a - Rampant Rabbit
    b - Happy Robot
    c - Alice The Ghost
    d - The Weekend Workers Committee
     
    Question 3 - Who switched off the lights?
    a - The Rack Fairy
    b - Me
    c - KS
    d - Miss T did it in a wanton display of malicious tomfoolery
     
    Question 4 - Who is KS dating at the moment?
    a - No-one. Poor lad is on his own and experiencing his first bout of loneliness since puberty
    b - Miss A, who still refuses to accept it's all over
    c - Miss L2, who capitulated in a soft focus blast of violins
    d - Miss G, who just can't keep her hands off him despite KS using a whip and wooden stool
     
    Answers at the bottom of the thread.
     
    Something of the Week
    Usually at the end of a blog entry I write a bit announcing that item of world importance that attracted my attention in the last few days. Apart from Miss A, who is demanding the bag of chips I promised her, Miss R, who refuses to accept that a little chaos in your life is good for you, and Miss G, who still refuses to acknowledge my presence on the grounds that my existence contravenes all known laws of quantum mechanics, there is absolutely nothing that has made itself important enough to warrant a mention at the bottom of my blog.
     
    On the other hand, Miss S has finally bought a kitten to replace her dead one. This one has racing stripes, so she tells me.
     
    Quiz Answers
    Dunno. It's a smoke-filled testosterone pumping fun thrills and spills roller coaster ride and it's all flashed past so fast I'm totally unable to discern reality from illusion anymore. Choose your own answers and be happy! 100% score for everyone! At least you can't say I'm not generous. I even gave away my cookies to my stockroom friends in a moment of madness. They were so thrilled.
×
×
  • Create New...