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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail
    Funny how sometimes we get reminded of things we did long ago. Watching a progam talking about the private lives of those vivacious and intense Roman citizens I couldn't help but smile.
     
    A little while ago I was contacted by an old friend who wanted to know if I was interested in a get-together over a pint. It meant a night in the company of a former girlfriend, P, but to be honest I was only too happy to meet up and swap stories. P and I had been in a casual relationship for years. Although it did fall apart somewhat, we're stil friends. Game on.
     
    So we got busy laughing and joking. Only one of the old crowd wasn't there. P's friend S, a quiet, quirky lady whose company we accepted as the normal course of things. She'd been... simply... there. Where was she, I asked? The world was not at one with itself without S in the background.
     
    P looked at me with that sort of face that concealed secrets, guilt, and things I was not meant to know. Oh no. There are no secrets between P and me. The gentle interrogation began and finally she sighed and asked "You remember that day we went to Savernake?"
     
    I did indeed. On that particular day I wanted to go hiking in Savernake forest. P was never a woman keen on walking further than she had to but I guess she wanted some excuse to escape her daily routine and opted to come with me, at least as far as the car park. Her friend S came with her for company. I got a day in the forest, they got a picnic in the woods.
     
    Finally I returned to the car, weary, footsore, but as always refreshed by my wanderings around what passes for wilderness in England. Immediately I noticed an odd atmosphere in the car. Were those two enjoying a joke at my expense? The more I probed for an answer, the more they shared a glance and giggled. Women... I dunno... But that was a long time ago.
     
    P rolled her eyes and in one breath admitted that S had made a pass at her. S? S made a lesbian pass at P? I was utterly fascinated. Back when I first met S, she was always looking at me and until I got used to her I always wondered if she fancied me. One night I decided to find out. No, said S with a firm gesture, no. But it made no difference to the dynamics of our social group. No hard feelings.
     
    Nonetheless I had nagging doubts. On one night in a pub I was sat with both P and S together and some bloke sauntered past enquiring which of the girls I was with. For some reason that annoyed me and I quickly answered "Both of them". Neither of my lady friends made any denial. Both were happy with my declaration. Does that sound a bit odd? It somehow felt that way.
     
    I looked at P with new found respect. My former girl was a lesbian? Did you, I asked with an amused stare? "Nooo!" P answered quickly. There it was again. That look on her face.
     
    Well, not to worry. It's a funny thing about human relationships that we can sometimes be very tolerant and open about them. P bit her tongue as I made fun of her. I know her too well to be fooled by that innocent playfulness with a wine glass. She probably doesn't know this but it was all too obvious that things had gone further than an awkward enquiry between friends. Not that I minded at all, because as it turned out I was having as much fun as she was.
     
    Local Crime Of The Week
    Just the other day I discovered that police are looking for a man who robbed some teenagers at gunpoint round the corner from where I live. That sort of thing doesn't usually go on in England and never outside a big city. Makes me wonder if the death threat I got last weekend wasn't entirely paranoia. Or maybe it is. Kinda hard to tell by now...
  2. caldrail
    What is it with german cars? These days it seems ownership of a product from Stuttgart is an essential qualification for success in life. That means I hate them already. I want choice. I want to select my dream car from a manufacturer who understands that not exeryone who likes a sporty car wears a suit and an expense account stomach. Mercedes, BMW, Porsche - they all want businessmen to drive their cars as status symbols. I once called into a porsche dealer to enquire as to whereabouts of another dealership, and I remember the rather wealthy businessman of a mature age looking disparagingly at me over the top of his Financial Times. All right mate? How yer doin'? He flicked the paper rigid and concerned himself with the finer points of economics. At least Porsche look like sports cars. At least Mercedes and BMW attempt to give their cars some sporty appeal. But Audi? For a start, they look horrible. You can't help feeling the styling was done by the same man who did those panzer tanks in 1945... All they need is a gun barrel protuding through the windscreen.
     
    Of course I exaggerate. The R8 seems to be an excellent budget supercar which just goes to prove that armoured fighting vehicles can be fun too. But this is all beside the point. Why do I think Audi's are naff? It was recently announced on Top Gear that all those brainless idiots who used to drive BMW M series cars are now driving Audi's. I think they're wrong. Brainless idiots have always driven Audi's.
     
    There I was, years ago, driving through Marlborough - sensibly - in a cheap Nissan 100NX. No, please don't laugh, people used to compliment me on my taste in cars. Well, they did in Swindon anyway. The white Audi pulled up to the mini-roundabout ahead from the road coming down the hill. The driver looked at me, my car, and decided I was unworthy of ordinary respect. So, flouting the Highway Code, good manners, and common sense, he simply pulled out in front of me when I had right of way. The gauntlet has been thrown....I know what you're thinking, but no, I didn't. Marlborough is a peaceful little market town where people live and do whatever market-townies do. I stayed driving sensibly.... until.... Yes, the audi is leaving Marlborough up Postern Hill. Its a double lane on that stretch, and seeing an opportunity for justice... Come on little Nissan, this is your moment of glory. I know you're just a tinnie little 1.6 litre but we can't let the Wehrmacht dictate who has right of way on British roads...
     
    YES! In your face Mr Audi Kommander! My little Nissan made short work of the heavy Audi uphill. I was in front, where I should have been, probably grinning madly and feeling very pleased with myself. I patted the dashboard. Well done that car. The Audi Kommander was not happy at all. Having been shown a clear set of wheels uphill, he switched into nether-region mode and decided to overtake me at the first opportunity. He drew up close, almost driving in the center of the road, getting more and more frustrated at the oncoming traffic. He was unable to blitzkrieg past me before the road got to the windy bits further on. There my manoeverable Nissan shook off the lumbering tank on my six. He wasn't going to give up. The Burbage Bypass was next - a wide and fast stretch of road. The oncoming traffic was still choc-a-bloc, and ahead - oh no! A tractor! A lumbering agricultural civilian blocking my escape....
     
    As chance would have it, a gap in the oncoming traffic presented itself. So I timed my arrival at the gap just at the right moment to zip past the tractor, just before a long left hand bend, and the Audi was trapped. I had escaped! I so desperately wanted to do a victory roll... Maybe the insurers might not like that.
     
    A part of me says I was an idiot too, apart from choosing my moments to overtake a little more carefully than Hauptman Von Audi. But thats the trouble with businessmen. They buy these big powerful luxury saloons as status symbols and think that the accelerator is their divine right. And the companies that make these cars do feed their fantasies don't they?
     
    Canal Update of the Week
    Incredibly, some local councillors have forced the council to hold a local referendum before they rip up central Swindon to build a new canal. There you go, democracy can work. Since the money to build the canal comes from the EU, perhaps those councillors might try to persuade the EU to take notice of referendums after all...
  3. caldrail

    The Benefits Of Waiting

    By caldrail,

    Oops... I believe I missed a week in my blog entries. No matter. We're still waiting for the Ukraine and their Russian backed rebels to adhere to an agreed ceasefire. We're still waiting for the government to realise that all those changes to benefits payments is only going to produce more beggars on the street. Or for passers by outside my home to finally realise I really couldn't care less what they say.
     
    A Quick Night Out
    "I fancy a pint" My colleague mused out loud as we strode homeward from the bus station. As clues go, it was a strong one. "You fancy a pint?" He asked. Okay, but you'll have to pay for it. This sort of negotiaton I have some experience in. Truth was I was well tired after a hectic week of pallet collection and the usual cut and thrust of driving trucks around a busy warehouse. As much as I wanted to go home, the lure of alcohol in that circumstance is hard to ignore.
     
    So we diverted into the local Wetherspoons pub on the high street. A cider for me, as is my preference, some obscure lager for him, then he made straight for the one armed bandit machine. The pub was busy as you'd expect for a Friday night but not heaving with customers. I like that sort of atmosphere. Everybody enjoying a night out and still able hear yourself think.
     
    Eventually my colleague got bored of putting coins in the machine, his pint, my company, and the endless texts from his missus demanding to know where he was. He downed what was left of his pint and said "I'm going to have to go. You going to be all right on your own?"
     
    What? Finish a drink in a pub full of dark dangerous drinkers all on my own? Yes. Funnily enough I think I will be. I mean, it isn't as if this has never happened before. I quietly finished my cider at my own comfortable pace, then departed in a mellow mood. The security guards outside wished me a good night. Cheerio lads.
     
    Mr Cod Kabul
    I hear that Afghanistan has just opened its first British style fish and chip shop. A bit late now the British troops have all left, but after years of kebab shop domination of the high street, a small victory for democratic consumerism in the face of Taliban conformity.
     
    Universal Election
    The government have declared that Universal Credit is to be rolled out in Job Centres across England. They're claiming that it will work better for those looking for work. No, it won't, I know it won't, because my claims advisor would simply use it as an excuse not to pay me any benefits irrespective of how concientious I was. Despite making more than fifty applications a week, attending interviews when required, and any activity required by the Job Centre, I was still deemed a dole cheat and refused benefit. Being used as a scapegoat isn't something I take kindly to. Not that I'm bitter and twisted about it you underdtand...
     
    Either the government are blissfuly unaware of the abuses of the system their administrators use to further their careers, or they're too busy furthering their own by issuing this sort of nonsense on the evening news.
    Then again, having declared that al benefit payments will be amalgamated ynder one umbrella, now the government have announced a new youth allowance for those school leavers at a loose end. There is, after all, an election on the way.
     
    Oscars Of The Week
    Bafta's, Golden Globes, Oscars.... Yet another round of 'thank you' speeches to wade through to find out who the best actors and films are. Right now film producers are wining and dining, performers crossing their fingers, and the television news is full of speculation. I nominate the claims advisors of Swindon Job Centre Plus for their role in bringing my finances to the point of ruin. Utterly convincing performances obviously.
  4. caldrail
    A couple of times now staff at the Job Centre have frowned at my paperwork and asked me why I haven't had many interviews of late.
     
    Truth of the matter is that I never did catch the attention of employers all that often, and with the job market so cutthroat these days, my interview rate is no less than expected.
     
    Perhaps then I shouldn't have been suprised that I was given a vacancy offered by a retail chain, who describe themselves as a multinational company in England. Ahem.
     
    Anyway, I had no choice but to make repeated attempts to phone the listed contact. The Job Centre had flgged the vacancy so they meant to check I had done my duty. So be it.
     
    At the last minute I got through. The woman asked to phone me back, and a simple telephone interview ensued. What are my strengths? Weaknesses? What is the secret of commercial life, universe, and everything?
     
    I passed all the screening questions. So, the lady informed me, I was due to attend an interview in three hours time. No pressure then.
     
    It turned out to be a group interview session. A hundred nervous and socially inhibited applicants all sat in a department store cafeteria. I noticed a queue forming at one end, and as a member of the staff sauntered by, I asked her if we all had to queue up.
     
    "Oh, I suppose so" She shrugged, "But don't worry, just wait until the queue winds down."
     
    Okay. This was beginning to feel like some mystical ceremony in which us initiates must realise that employment salvation was getting up and joining the end of the queue.
     
    Nonetheless, as the staff eventually introduced themselves and brought the meeting to some kind of coherence, they told us to go away if we wereb't serious about getting a job. Politely, of course, in a slightly wishy-washy way.
     
    I ended up being called for my ten minute interview with the lady I originally spoke to, who turned out to be the boss. And now you must be asking - How did it go? Am I still a Great Unwashed Scrounging Layabout Wastrel, or am I a Thrusting And Dynamic Team Player With Good Career Prospects?
     
    Find out in the next episode of Caldrails Big Interview!
     
    The Apprentice - Again
    Once more unto the board room, dear friends, once more... Lord Sugar has scoured the land for the worst entrepeneurs possible. I saw a comment that shaving seems to be a forgotten art.
     
    Well, this is entertainment, not business, so three days growth is charcterful and visually seperates one suit from another - something you don't usually see in the real world of business.
     
    Another comment was that The Apprentice is getting a bit tired as a television show. No suprise there. Given that these people are apparently running businesses out there in the high street, no wonder I can't get a job.
  5. caldrail

    The Big key Debate

    By caldrail,

    We don't own the Shed we work in. No, we rent it, at a stupid price, from NF the site manager. NF wants us out of the Shed so he could squeeze us in with all our pallets in the Hangar, and rent the Shed to someone else at an even stupider price. Which sort of backfired a little because we're shortly to move down the road to rent warehouse space from a professional company at a stupider price still.
     
    Now I turn up for work one morning. I have to walk through the Hangar to reach the yard, but found the back door locked up. So I went into the office and enquired, only to be told that no-one had any idea who I was and until they did, no access allowed. I've been working here for months! They folded their arms.
     
    Well after some irate words and emails and phone calls, I was finally allowed to use the key to the back door, which I could obtain from Security, a pleasant old chap at the front gate who reminisces about his pet rat (deceased) and has an encyclopaedic knowledge of rechargeable batteries.
     
    Now I turn up for work one morning. The key had gone! Vanished! Nowhere to be found!
     
    Ok, off to the office to enquire. Go find SB they tell me, he's got it. Why? Oh never mind. As chance would have it SB is forklifting pallets around the Hangar and I ask him for the key. "Its open." he shrugs, and drives off.
     
    Ok, off to the office to complain. NF decides its time to have this out, so a little later he approaches me in the back yard. "Why do you need the key? Is it really important?"
     
    Pardon? Yes says I, its a matter of principle, its a matter of security, its a matter of access, its.... And so on, until NF decided that a confrontation wasn't worth the tonguelashing. One key, duly delivered. They used to do this to AD, but apparently he got his way by breaking open the fire escape every time.
     
    And the second time the key vanished from Security? Found in someones car.
     
    Career Move of the Week
    JD is a young lady who joined us because her previous job was too quiet. After four months at Head Office she's now leaving her current job too, this time because its even quieter. Apparently everyone sat next to each other in that office communicate by email only. At least I have an excuse. I'm eighty miles away.
  6. caldrail

    The Bizarre Truth

    By caldrail,

    Industrial estates are odd places. You see them everywhere in british towns and cities, a road along which factories and warehouses are lined up in bold advertisement and yet give off a feeling of almost monastic solitude. You don't see any activity. There's no sense of urgency or productivity. I'm sure that's not actually the case or all these companies would go out of business. It's just that the square and architecturally cold brick frontages do not reveal their inner workings to the casual passer by.
     
    Well, here's the factory unit where I'm supposed to learn how to drive a forklift. As with almost all of them, the offices face the street, the production areas kept out of sight to the rear. The lady at the reception desk sighed when I produced the letter confiorming my course placement and thumbed in the direction of the side entrance. Tradesmen at the rear? It seems so. No matter, her opinions aren't important. So I wandered around the side of the factory, through an open iron gate, and looked along the weed infested pathway. Just before the verdant english jungle completely overtook the discarded piles of wood, corrugated iron, and worn tires, there was a door propped open. Here we go then.
     
    The light and airy factory floor was almost empty. At the other end I observed the forklifts wheezing and whirring. Along the right hand side was a garden. Seriously. Flower beds, gravel, wooden sheds, birdtables - this was truly bizarre. The two ladies dealing with the paperwork didn't acknowledge my presence for a while and I was there for two hours waiting to sign on to the course, which I now know will start in a couple of months time. Oh, but I did do something useful while I was there. A literacy test.
     
    Seventy two questions designed to test my spelling and grammar. Obviously an essential requirement for driving forklifts. I'm pleased to announce I scored 100%, and thus qualify as an englishman.
     
    More Bizarre Stuff
    What is it with the Germans these days? They always seem to come up with strange stunts. There was Matthias Rust who landed a Cessna in Red Square, Moscow, for no obvious reason. Now I read that a some idiot in Bavaria threw a puppy at some Hells Angels and escaped on a stolen bulldozer. Like you do.
  7. caldrail
    There was a film on release some years ago called Ronin, a tale of skulduggery as mercenaries are hired to retrieve a package. In one memorable scene, Robert De Niro finally loses his patience with Sean Bean whose character had made a big deal of having been an SAS soldier. "What colour is the boat-house at Hereford?" He yells at him. Sean Bean becomes flustered and cannot answer, exposed as an imposter. De Niro later admits to a witness that he doesn't know anything about a 'boat-house at Hereford'.
     
    Many years ago I was working diligently in a warehouse which regularly employed temporary staff. One young man was on my section and I noticed a certain wildness about him. Plenty of energy, cheerful personality, and, dare I say it, somewhat full of himself.
     
    Some time later we got talking and I asked what he'd done before he came here.
     
    "Oh... I was a mercenary"
     
    That raised my eyebrows. It wasn't just the uniqueness of his past experience (we didn't get many mercenaries working for us) but also his demeanour, which just wasn't military in any way. Now I'm no expert in that field but I simply could not see him in some foreign country earning his paycheck fighting private wars or guarding principals. So I asked a few questions and he sort of gave the right answers. Still not convinced.
     
    It so happens that last night I bumped into a guy I knew at school thirty years ago. It transpires he'd gone into the services and now worked as a bodyguard for celebrities and such, and was due to return to Iraq shortly. I mentioned that youngster I'd met back then and he shook his head, dismissing him as a fraud with typical military bluntness. Too young in his opinion.
     
    So we carried on talking and I enquired about his military career, and sure enough, he mentioned his association with 'that bunch at Hereford'. I groaned inwardly. This was hardly the first time an ex-squaddie had claimed affiliation with british special forces to me. Why do soldiers always claim to have been in the SAS? For all I know, he might have been, but it seems 'the regiment' is a necessary qualification these days. Whether you have the certificate or not.
     
    Expose of the Week
    Swindon is hardly a hotbed of mercenary activity. Its actually hard to think of Swindon as a hotbed at all. But even here the all-pervasive world of privatised military commerce reared its ugly head. On a door of an upstairs office located in our local high street (and above a bank) was an advertisement for tank transporter drivers, foreign contracts, good rates of pay. Forget your Rambo's or Arnie's, this was the real deal. No questions about boat-houses asked.
  8. caldrail
    Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Caldrails Top Ten Show, where the latest hits are revealed to the unsuspecting audience.. Counting down to this weeks number one...
    10 The Veronicas Untouched
    What a mess. A mix of this, that, something else, and I'm not sure if the band knew they were playing the wrong gig.
    9 Dizzy Rascal Bonkers (Down 3 places)
    Can't say I ever liked Rap music. Can't honestly say I like this one, even if it does have a sense of humour and no-one gets shot in a drive-by. Stop buying it everyone. With a bit of luck it'll vanish from the charts altogether.
     
    8 Daniel Merriweather Red (Down 1 place)
    An australian singing sensation no less. Well... He does have a good voice, and at least the A&R man found him something reasonably ballad-like to sing.
     
    7 Pixie Lott Momma Do (Oh oh Oh oh ) (down 5 places)
    Blonde. Sort of a budget Britney Spears. Oh... Yes, the song. Bland. Sort of a budget Britney Spears song.
     
    6 Agnes Release Me (down 2 places)
    "Pop Songs For Dummies" sold an extra copy I see. Madonna did all this years ago. Quite pleasant though.
     
    5 Kiri Hilton Knock You Down
    Apparently this woman wrote songs for Britney Spears. I'd like to tell you more, but I've already forgotten this one.
     
    4 Lady Gaga Paparazzi (up 4 places)
    Comes complete with an interesting video. Good melody, shame about the electropop.
     
    3 Black Eyed Peas Boom Boom Pow
    Oh no. The sound keeps sticking. Must be a dodgy CD.
     
    2 David Guetta & Kelly Rowland When Love Takes Over (last weeks No1)
    Now this one is a dance track but for some reason I actually liked it a little bit. No... I can't remember it.
     
    This Weeks Number One
    1 Laroux Bulletproof (This weeks No1 and Laroux's first)
    Woah. Ugly. Couldn't the record company afford a stylist? Come back Gary Numan, all is forgiven.
     
    Career Move of the Week
    Forget playing it. Criticise it. Average earnings for critics are well above the national average for dole seekers. So pick up the phone now and change your life...
     
    I might as well face it. I've been watching too many adverts for professional training. On the other hand, perhaps when someone complains I'm not being fair to hard working musicians and producers, at least I'll be able to point to a certificate and say I'm qualified to criticise. That said, watching Beyonce in concert at LA was interesting. Pretty much all the glitz you'd expect from a high profile pop starlet who can fill stadiums with dance routines. Hard work I imagine. Funny thing is though, for all it's obvious composure and professionalism, the show left me feeling somewhat cold. Why?
     
    I think it was the autonomic nature of the show. It was so well rehearsed and performed, by Beyonce herself, her elasticated dancers, and the anonymous musicians exiled to the shadows at the back of the stage. The human element had been dialled out for fear of a mistake or blemish to mar the perfection of the evening. It didn't suprise me that she stopped the band at one point and demanded applause from the audience. There was simply nothing to get excited about. No drama, no emotion. Just switch on the tv and watch the show...
     
  9. caldrail
    In the shed next door to ours is a load of disused racking. UT, otherwise known as the 'Gypsy', has always insisted that the site manager, NF, had told him he could take it away anytime. NF on the other hand argues the opposite, and insists on payment. Well finally The Gypsy had his way and turned up to dismantle the racking and cart it away fror scrap. He borrowed a screwdriver from us for the purpose.
     
    UT and Small H have their own way of dismantling. Instead of top down as any sane person would, they insist of doing it from the bottom up, and manoevered their van to support the structure and prevent it knocking the sheds over.
     
    As usual UT stopped by to eat lunch and have tea, and apart from having to chase after his van to pull the handbrake on, life carried on at a leisurely pace.
     
    "Have you got that screwdriver? " I asked.
     
    UT told Small H to fetch it. Small H said he didn't know where it was. There then followed a series of farcical searches and accusations. This continued until AD threatened to withdraw teabreak privileges. The screwdriver was quickly found in UT's toolbox.
     
    "Don't know how it got there..." They said....
     
    Revelation of the Week
    According to Small H, millionaires have the habit of going to London and busking as One Man Bands. He knows because he's seen it, and Small H admitted to performing as a One Man Band in his younger days. He had to give it up because he didn't want to be famous. Now you know...
  10. 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.
  11. caldrail

    The Credit Crunch

    By caldrail,

    Its almost impossible to escape the news that the global banking system is wobbling. Governments are stepping in and in some cases, falling out (I refer to Britain freezing Icelandic assets over concerns about the amount of british money held there).
     
    One chap contacted the news team and said that forty years ago he needed an interview with his bank manager for a loan of
  12. caldrail

    The Daily Commute

    By caldrail,

    Another working day, so finish the breakfast, lock up the house, and walk down to the car. This morning the mechanics of the garage opposite have decided to forego the usual cut and thrust of car repair, and instead opt for the traditional teabreak. They line up at the top of the ramp, bellies thrusting inside their oily overalls, cups in hand, eagerly predicting the visual spectacle of Caldrail Going To Work. Man and machine in no harmony whatsoever.
     
    Right. Here goes. Key in slot. Turn... And... Open sesame! I fight the natural urge to hug and kiss my car (we're friends again) and wave good morning to the disappointed mechanics in triumph. They wander back inside disconsolantly, but I doubt I've seen the last of my impromptu audience.
     
    That well dressed woman turns up in her Audi. She always parks here in my neighbours slot even though its a private car park. I'm sure she she doesn't live here, I'm sure she hasn't seen the sign, and from the look of her, I'm sure she'll get irate if I point out her error. Or is she having an affair with the goth metal layabout next door? You never know...
     
    The garage boss has parked his 4x4 next to the alleyway again. Its such a huge truck he can't park it accurately, and to be honest, I doubt that careful parking has entered his conciousness. Ease past it carefully... its black paint gleaming in mirror-like obsession and an obvious sign of possible legal action if I get too close.... and its down the uneven rain-eroded path to the main road. I hear the car scrape something as i run over a pot hole. Maybe the 4x4 isn't so stupid after all. But how does he get that truck down this path? Its too narrow. Its not humanly possible to squeeze that automotive leviathan between the houses and trees. Or does it come with a button to retract the wheel arches? How much does that thing cost? I wonder what he charges for labour? No, its too frightening...
     
    Along the main road, left at the roundabout, where that dark blue Ford does its usual party piece by going all the way round in the wrong lane, and off down toward the warehouse. Sixty miles an hour allowed along this windy stretch and the guy in front is driving at twenty. Its no good, I can't pass him on this road, so I grit my teeth and wait for the straight bit... Where he accelerates to sixty on a section of road limited to thirty miles an hour. Is he taking the mickey? Of course, at the bend he slows down to twenty again.... and finally at the gate to the industrial estate, where a car transporter and trailer is busy doing a twelve point turn across the road... No mate, left hand down a bit more... Tell you what, go forward and try it again.... Aaargh!
     
    I always remember speaking to an american woman on one evening out, who was from Iowa, or Idaho, or somewhere flat and empty. The conversation happened to get around to driving in Britain, and she gasped - "You people are soooo-per-men!". Apparently she was overawed by our skills and reaction speeds compared to american drivers she was used to back home. Well I don't know what part of Britain she was driving in, but it certainly wasn't Rushey Platt...
     
    Task of the Week AD points at a length of shelving running along the west wall. "We need that dismantled, Caldrail, here you go..." and passes me a ratchet and adjustable wrench. Oh joy... Cue Mission Impossible theme tune....
     
    Hang on... How am I going to get the bolts undone the other side? Well, it looks like I'm going to have to haul the shelves away from the wall... Gouging deep furrows in the concrete floor, I pull the line of shelves round inches at a time. Management training at its best.
     
    With a mighty crash the shelving falls over. AD glances out the portakabin window during his phone call to Head Office, no doubt explaining the sudden crescendo of noise as "Oh thats just Caldrail, he's dismantling the shelves for me". I give him a reassuring silly grin. Covered in cobwebs and dirt, polo shirt snagged and torn... Ten more minutes of this and I'm going to look like I've been savaged by a rotweiller. Just in time for that important meeting... Life on the sharp edge of warehousing...
  13. caldrail
    I've just sat down to write up this mornings blog entry. The weather is pretty good again. A woman stopped me yesterday in town and couldn't help discussing what a nice day it was. What a nice lady. Todays there's a hazy sunshine with some bands of high altitude stratus cloud in the distance, looking a sort of pale pink and grey against the cyan sky.
     
    There's also something else. Swindon lies under air traffic routes so the contrails of airliners moving back and forth across the Atlantic are not unusual. Neither for that matter are light aircraft at a much lower altitude. Despite the presence of a military control zone, civilian pilots like to cross Swindon for some reason. But this morning, just five minutes before I actually typed this out, I saw something else.
     
    At first I just assumed it was another light aeroplane. A dark speck in the sky. Hang on, there's another, flying loose formation and heading east. Now that has to be military. A pair of Tucano's on a training flight? Nope, better than that. The lead aircraft was a Spitfire. The wing shape is unmistakeable, even at that distance, and I still get get a boyish thrill spotting one flying. The other aeroplane? Now that's probably... Yes, it is, the Spitfires Battle of Britain stablemate, the Hurricane. Both aeroplanes flew over the house at around 1000' with merlin engines burbling away magnificently, with just a hint of a combustive scream beneath that gravelly roar. I love it.
     
    This afternoon I shall break out the flight simulator and fly my virtual version. As much as I would wish for a chance to fly the real thing, I must be honest, the simulator is somewhat cheaper. It lacks the sound, the feel, the smell, all the subliminal sensations of flying for real. But unless I can find the
  14. caldrail
    I caught up with a program about Atlantis the other night. Finding this program on television was a suprise and something of a coincidence. I'd recently spotted a book on our library shelves that was on the same subject. The book, unsuprisingly, delved into every myth and urban legend ever associated with our famous lost city.
     
    Some people actually believe all this stuff. A while back I noticed a chap looking at a book on the secrets of the pyramids and since he had all the appearances of studious intelligence, I made an unwelcome comment about whether reading books like that was really the right thing to do. He of course did believe what was written in it, and we had a long debate about various myths and realities. It all got a bit metaphysical and I'm not sure who won the argument. I think the problem was that neither of us had any pictures of landscape, dramatic re-enactments, or detailed graphics to prove our point.
     
    Which brings us neatly to the television program I saw, which included all these things as the female presenter trotted around various places pointing out all the connections that everyone else has been pointing out for the last hundred years, except she's prettier than most Atlantis seekers and had access to a film crew, not to mention some restricted areas.
     
    Despite my misgivings I was pleased to see that she more or less said the same things I've been bleating on about for years, if not quite a century. Great minds think alike, as they say.
     
    Hang on a minute....
     
    Flies
    Another blistering hot day to come. It's mid morning and already the air is getting sweaty in the library, the air conditioning intruding upon orur silent internet browsing with an insistent rush, something like a well behaved vacuum cleaner. My thoughts are less on my job search, which I'm pleased to say I've added to today, having sent one application for an impossibly restricted vacancy, receipt of a rejection email, and finally having my forgotten password details forwarded by a company that tells everyone how it believes in customer service. No, instead my mind is wandering and considering what to do with this wonderful weather. I can see the hazy sunshine out of the window. It's very appealing.
     
    As always seems to happen in summer, an open window at home attracts a small swarm of flies. They congregate in the living room and re-enact the aerial battles over the trenches of WW1 in miniature. Luckily my carpet isn't covered with mud, barbed wire, and dead bodies. Funny thing is though - When I close the window, the flies vanish. Disappear completely. I sense an episode of Doctor Who coming on.
     
    Of course the relentless media machine behind the new series continues. Recently I saw that actress Karen Gillan, who plays red head assistant Amy Pond, is voted the best Dr Who assistant of all time, by the program advertisers naturally. Would it be possible to make up my own mind, please? Well, she can act I suppose, but somehow she just doesn't engage my attention. But, as the saying goes, she got the part, so no flies on her.
     
    Lost City
    Atlantis is a funny thing. Plato wrote a story and everyone since has believed the whole thing was real. Certainly it was based on real world events in centuruies gone by, but adapted, enlarged, and grossly exaggerated. Rather like our new series Doctor Who. I wonder if in future archaeologists will be coaming through ancient records of the twenty first century trying to find real evidence of Swindon? Perhaps holo-books will be created on the subject, telling that space aliens founded a colony here. Children sat open mouthed in front of their virtual teacher as the imagery of a powerful railway civilisation conquering the known South West is created by artists.
     
    Swindon has long had ambitions to become an offical city. Civic pride I imagine, no doubt fuelled by under-the-table deals. A part of me thinks, like Atlantis, that finding the real city will never satisfy those who want the status. I think Swindon should be allowed to remain a legend. A myth, a forgotten place of unfashionable mediocrity and rainy streets. Why? Because I don't think anyone will take the place seriously, no matter what you call it.
  15. caldrail

    The Free World

    By caldrail,

    It was one of those uncomfortably hot nights. We're due to get more of them soon, and worse, as the midday temperatures are predicted to reach thirty degrees centigrade, which is the offically the point at which the British melt. Sleeping on nights like those is defined as the moments of weariness between rolling around in your own sweat. Instead, I sat bleary eyed and watched television, idlely flicking through channels in the vain hope of finding a programme that was even remotely interesting.
     
    Oh hello, what's this? Coverage of the Glastonbury Festival? Cool. At least that's the only thing this evening that is. Better yet, on stage are Crosby, Nash... Erm... Crosby, Stills, Young, and.. No that's not right either... Well, a bunch of seventies rock stars, now suitably aged, with the obligatory girlfriend on the xylophone, looking more like a music teacher these days.
     
    I was shocked. I really was. The performance was almost shambolic. The drummer kept good time but not the same one as the songs. The guitarist played his battered instrument with all the grace of a drunken elephant. But you know, the crowd still loved it. To the repeated encores of Rockin' In The Free World the crowd swayed back and forth.
     
    I sat slack jawed and marvelled at their longevity.
     
    Reminder of the Week
    One of the great disadvantages of hot humid weather is the necessity to keep the window open. That unfortunately means it's difficult to shut out the noise of the local wildlife, and in the wee small hours, a local loudmouth complained bitterly, and at the top of his voice, that he couldn't drive my car. Comes as no suprise to me, mate. Now go away and throw up on somebodies pavement, which is about all you're good for.
     
    Funny thing is, if he spent a little less on getting drunk, he might be able to save up enough to pay for a car of his own. I wonder if he's thought of that?
  16. caldrail

    The Future Is Coming

    By caldrail,

    We all have a new regime to cope with. For most people, the change in government from Gordon Browns grand money giveaway to the scrooge brothers of the coalition hasn't really impacted on them yet. For us dole seekers the changes are already apparent. They might get a lot worse yet, but already we share knowing glances at each other and expect trouble ahead.
     
    For many in the general public that's no cause for sympathy. Many will see us as worthless parasites. Many of us are exactly that. Feckless individuals for whom an easy life paid by someone else is a good thing. In theory, the new regime should be sifting them out and pushing them toward trying to find employment. That's what the politicians are telling us they mean to do. In fact, there's already a shift in that direction from those they mean to penalise for their lack of effort. There's a growing sense of urgency.
     
    In a way that's a good thing. It's what the public want. Nonetheless it's occured to me that competition for the vacancies will actually get worse until the economy picks up enough to enlarge the market. And I'm not young any more. That means I have no choice but to take my place on the one-day training courses designed to motivate and improve our job-seeking.
     
    We had a session just the other day. A group of us gathered to listen to a pep talk on how to be a good jobseeker. In fairness, the lady who ran the course did a good job, and even the presence of our claims advisor made little difference.
     
    We were indeed a diverse bunch. I get pretty diverse all on my own sometimes, never mind a cross-section of societies unwanted sat around the room. Mister F was a suprise. Now he's a big chap. He had a very real physical presence. How strange then, despite his friendly, confident manner, and his powerful voice, that he was unwilling to speak out in front of us all.
     
    Mister B was a different beast altogether. A man of forthright opinion. But he knows he's a pain in the backside and we all had a good laugh about his obstinate refusal to accept the obvious. "Hey, B, say what you mean mate. Don't hold back." I called out during a teabreak as he reduced the claims advisor to a sweating nervous wreck. "Don't encourage him, Caldrail." The claims advisor replied in a state of rising panic.
     
    Mister G was an elderly fashion designer, a man who against better judgement had left London to find work in the Rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire. True to his trade, he spent most of the session designing patterns. Red and black pen on white paper. Classic colours to demand attention on the catwalk. See? Amazing what you learn on courses like this. That said, I don't forsee a change in career path, even though a computer program the Job Centre once had me use years ago announced my best career choice was as a hat designer.
     
    "Caldrail?" Our tutor asked me in a moment of quiet with everyone preoccupied with form filling, "Why aren't you a success?"
     
    I think she was asking that question with genuine puzzlement, and for that reason, I'll accept the compliment with good grace. Guess I'm just another square peg. That's the price you pay for individuality in a recession. I doubt a new range of hats was really going to improve my circumstances.
     
    Spray On Success
    There's a new nasal spray that can make you better at social interaction. It contains a hormone called 'Oxytocin' which apparently makes people with poor social skills more confident and proficient. I suppose this sort of thing is inevitable. There was a popular song a few decades back, I forget the artist, that was about the changes in future society. In the year 2525... was the chorus. I remember one line was Everything you do or say - Is in the pill you took today.
     
    These days we can't have sex without *iagr* to stiffen our resolve, or various chemicals designed to stop us getting pregnant or seriously ill. Is that really the future we want? Artificial drug-induced lifestyles? Keep taking the pills.
  17. caldrail

    The Good Fight

    By caldrail,

    The plumbers turned up at the door last night. "We need to check for a leak in your bathroom." One boldly announced, "'Cos we cut a hole in the downstairs ceiling and the waters coming from upstairs."
     
    I had visions of a domestic disaster looming as these people disassembled my home in the hunt for a few drops of water. Two of them bounded upstairs and proceeding to dismantle the bathroom as expected. One brought his young duaghter along. Thankfully she was well behaved and was more concerned with making silly noises with her crisp packet than help daddy destroy my home.
     
    The two men ripped open pipes, meddled with taps, threw aside a length of mottled copper tubing, and heriocally found the leak. They fitted a brand new shining stainless steel hose thingy and lo and behold, the job was done. They announced they had succeeded, beaming with pride and delight.
     
    I was happy too. Well done lads. Yeah yeah that noise funny.... Seesh....
     
    Haven of Evil
    It seems Britain isn't doing enough to bring war criminals to justice leaving MP's in a very derisive mood over our governments plans to extend such actions. Part of me worries about this though. War crime is pretty much in the eye of the beholder. As much as I would prefer to see warfare conducted in a more gentlemanly or chivalrous manner, it simply isn't going to happen like that. Human beings are both crafty and nasty, and if they see an advantage one of them will take it, whatever the human cost, to achieve their objective.
     
    There are those who believe all soldiers are war criminals by definition. I'm not one of them, and I do take pride that Britains armed forces conduct their gritty business in the generally competent and professional manner that they do. But of course, inevitably there comes a point where an individuals actions cross the line from necessity to something much worse.
     
    There are those for instance who point at 'Bomber' Harris and claim his campaign to bomb Germany was a war crime. He himself declared that it was a plan others had criticised but give it a chance because it's never been tried before. He was therefore attempting to find an advantage in the war against Nazi Germany, a regime that had bombed civilian targets from the start. I don't believe for one moment he derived pleasure from that decision - it was a time when Britain faced potential extinction, so it was either that or give up. There wasn't any real or practical alternative at that time, and of course the decision to drop two atomic bombs on Japan is a terrifying concept but one designed to save the countless lives of American servicemen in a lengthy invasion of the Japanese homeland.
     
    They say history is written by the victors. That's true, but it's also reviewed by hindsight. Now whilst there may well be 'war criminals' as defined by the United Nations at large in Britain, is this hullabaloo a genuine call for justice or merely a convenient cause to lambast an ailing government?
  18. caldrail
    WW2 revisited as I take the helm of Bulgaria in a computer simulation. Not many options, staying out of fascist control seemed a good idea. I decided Greece would fall to my mighty legions of which I had none, just seventeen various divisions of infantry, cavalry, and light armour. By March 1940 I was able to declare war, somewhat desperate to stay ahead of Italy.
    Fighting on the frontier was fierce but those Greeks gave no ground. Worse still, I lost air superiority! How did that happen? No, stupid question.... Anyway, by May we had started to break the Greek defence and the war went to a terrible battle for Thessalonika in June. My forces were waning due to attrition though for some daft reason the British Raj in India was sending supplies. Jolly nice of him.
    In July the proverbial donkey poo hit the fan. Italy struck south from Albania, and Vichy France made an amphibious landing in the Peloponnese. Thessalonika fell as Greece went into chaos trying to defend so I struck south for Athens. By September I was in control of eastern Greece and fighting subsided with Greek government in Crete. Italy and Vichy France between them have secured a huge swathe of Africa, ousted the British from Egypt, and the Suez Canal is in Axis hands, and despite Germany wanting us to sign up, for the moment I think Bulgaria will lick its wounds and be satisfied in thwarted Italian ambition... well... Almost. But the war goes on, as wars do until defeat or agreement.

  19. 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....
  20. caldrail

    The Herd Instinct

    By caldrail,

    Don't you just love large corporations? They can afford the glossy ads with happy smiling people, promising all manner of wondrous success with their economically priced and desirable goods. The reality of course is that they're in business, and really their only oncern is how much cash they can extract from your pocket. So when things don't go to plan, and the badly designed product doesn't meet expectations, naturally you get miffed and raise objections, and perhaps unsuprisingly, the large faceless corporation suddenly becomes larger and more faceless as they play pass the parcel with your complaint hoping the fuss will either hit someone else or simply go away. Its that herd instinct isn't it?
     
    Yep, I'm in that situation, having to find someone in a world-wide multi-national corporation who actually has enough pride in their work to take a complaint seriously. So far, they've closed ranks and sent me back to GO (Do not collect
  21. caldrail

    The Hotel Industriana

    By caldrail,

    It was quite a sight this morning. Further down from the library I inhabit is a hotel, a building that might not be the tallest in Swindon but certainly towers over everything else around it. There was a column of thick dirty brown smoke pouring out of a roof vent like one of those dark satanic mills the government banned so we could all breathe. Can you imagine booking a room there?
     
    "Can I help you Sir?"
     
    I'd like a room please.
     
    "Certainly Sir. We have accomodation in Admin, Mechanical, Technical, Production Line, and Service, all in single or double, plus the Managerial Suite is free until Monday. Tea breaks are half an hour, Lunch for one hour, and overtime is available on weekends."
     
    Uhhh... Right. Single in.. err... Admin I guess.
     
    "Of course. We do expect office attire at all times and if using our extensive bar facilities, high visibility tabards and safety shoes are required by health and safety. Enjoy your stay, Sir."
     
    I've worked in places like this. You can stay but never leave.
    Alien of the Week
    A special guest is to host a talk about UFO's in Swindon soon, 'casting new light' on these mysterious sightings. I'm way ahead of you mate. Today I was passed by an alien as it was carried in its mobility chair, pushed by its earth-woman slave. It was pink, about two feet or so in height, and protected by a woollen spacesuit. I know it was an alien because it was giving orders to its human slave. It spoke with a voice in some strange unearthly language that sounded like a cross between chinese radio and a child breathing helium.
     
    I looked down at astonishment that an alien creature could so brazenly wander about Swindon undetected, not to mention some amusement at its ridiculous voice. It looked up, saw me grinning, and then uttered the power-syllable. I tripped on the pavement.
     
    The slave woman glared at me for disturbing her other-wordly master with my puny earth humour. Now you come to mention it, there are a lot of mums pushing these aliens around town....
     
    Keep Watching The Pavements....
  22. caldrail

    The Ice Age Returns

    By caldrail,

    Right then. The pavement is covered with undulating ice an inch thick. It's slippery, dangerous, and I'm fed up of risking my neck on it. So I retrieved my trusty spade from its burial place and got to work. I dug up a narrow path something like fifity to seventy yards long. Some pedestrians merely strode past me without a word, but three actually said thank you. I suspect an asian woman would have been number four but talking to strange caucasian shovel-wielders in the street isn't part of their culture, even if she knew any english.
     
    I'd dug up the worst of the ice on the hillside pavement and that was enough, so I went back indoors and waited for the inevitable backstrain to make itself felt. Now get this. In the meantime, one of my neighbours, incensed that I 'd had the temerity to even consider clearing ice along 'their' pavement, threw a load of snow from their front yard on the cleared path and stamped it down to create fresh ice.
     
    My faith is Swindon is restored. It really is populated by anti-social neanderthals.
     
    A Dog's Life
    Once again a young child is mauled by family pets. In this case, tragically, the child died. It's all very horrific but when you boil it all down, you have a pampered pet suddenly having to come second place to a screaming annoying infant. Eventually the dogs lose their temper, and since they have teeth and children are not too capable of fighting dogs.... The result is a media headline and a family tragedy. Fido is still at heart what he was born to be and the squabble over pack status is done. I think we forget that at our peril. If you allow a dog status and privilege , it doesn't like losing them. Unfortunately, most of us aren't too good at communicating with dogs even though they often warn us aboiut how they feel. Worse still, we forget that their fluffy pet image is only skin deep.
  23. caldrail
    Funny how little things can seem so important. There is of course that quaint Chaos Theory that suggests a butterfly in motion could upset a balance that leads to a storm elsewhere. At first glance, it seems a ridiculous notion, because the laws of physics clearly indicate that a butterfly would have a hard time creating a massive cyclonic movement of air that flattens most of the Eastern US seaboard. But then again, little things matter.
     
    There was that time I thought I was losing fuel in flight, when in fact it was merely a failure of Cessna's notoriously inaccurate fuel gauges. A minor failure that caused some concern at the time. Or the bolt in my little Nissan Cherry hatchback, the one the mechanic had failed to tighten after a service that left me stranded in the countryside at night. These are of course inconsequential problems despite the inconvenience they caused.
     
    Then we have to think again when we consider the tragic results of minor failures on Space Shuttle flights. One exploded on take off, another burned up on re-entry, both from stupidly tiny and insignificant failures. The trouble is that such disasters are politically embarrasing as well as tragic, and I see that the Space Shuttle fleet is to be retired in 2011, leaving NASA with commercial rockets to send their payloads into orbit. It seems a little sad. The Space Shuttle was supposed to be a step forward, the proof of concept of re-usable spacecraft, and one that proved without doubt that space is even more unforgiving that ordinary flight.
     
    We are of course at an early stage of space exploration. For us, the easy and mundane interstellar travel of popular genres like Star Trek are beyond us for now, if possible at all. A part of me hopes that NASA will recover its nerve (and funding) and make a better attempt at everyday spaceflight in the future.
     
    One wonders what the insurance bill of Virgins projected orbital flights will be, especially after the inevitable tiny failure occurs.
     
    Failure of the Week
    Of all things, a tiny signal splitter in my recording gear has disintergrated. It just fell apart, and I had to disassemble my guitar to free bits of it. Not the end of the world, certainly, but an annoying failure which now sends me on a quest across Swindon to find another. The local music store doesn't have one, nor does the video equipment shop outside the library, so I must gird my loins and head toward the business parks and the large premises of major retailers, to do battle with ignorant and insignificant shop assistants.
  24. caldrail
    Scientists are busy discovering why african naked mole rats live so long. Apparently they can live for thirty years, nearly four times the lifespan of their genetic cousins, and don't suffer from cancer. Naturally scientists believe that studying the hairless little mammals might have beneficial consequences for us too.
     
    Sometimes I wonder if the answer isn't a bit more obvious and doesn't require intense study of graphs, spreadsheets, slides, and scanner imagery. These little mammals don't sunbathe, drive cars, smoke, or eat too many packets of crisps. They aren't subjected to party political broadcasts or propaganda about global warming. They don't have bureaucratic tyrants like politicians, bank managers, or traffic wardens to ruin their entire day.
     
    Am I jealous? No... Not really... Since I've already lived nearly twice as long as your typical naked mole rat. Not sure living in a dark earth tunnel would suit me all that much either. But then I'd never get planning permission for it anyway.
     
    Planning Permissions Much Sought After
    The people who campaigned against the developers who wanted to build new housing estates on the farmland surrounding Coate Water struck a victory in my view. With planning permission refused, the bureaucrats for once made a sensible decision that kept the area as a place of natural beauty. In the newspaper this newspaper today is the warning that the developers are trying again. Round two. Ding ding. Please guys, just build those horrible bland dwellings somewhere else.
     
    Oh ye gods. I'm turning into a NIMBY.
     
    Results Just In
    I'd like to thank everyone who voted for me yesterday (you [ii]did[/i] vote, didn't you?) but sadly democracy wasn't powerful enough to prevent me from getting wet. I therefore hid under a tree and continued to get wet. Believing the rain was easing I attempted to dash home, and succeeded in getting wetter. C'est la vie.
     
    I have heard though that the government are planning to send millions of pounds worth of aid to those suffering the terrible conditions in the horn of Africa. Sadly, naked mole rats don't qualify unless they sign up for medical experimentation, but the heartbreaking film clips of infants barely breathing isn't easily dismissed despite the blatant message the filmmakers are putting across.
     
    It is a bit ironic isn't it? With benefits capped and claimants kneecapped if they don't jump through government sponsored hoops, not to mention cutting the armed forces down to size, the efforts to reduce costs don't appear to be helping our own citizens. Instead, we're helping starving africans or the irish economy.Or rather, the government is. Maybe they're getting some practice at dealing with poverty?
  25. caldrail
    Can anyone be perfect? Some of us believe so, usually the type of person that wears a black polo neck sweater, a gold medallion, and earns millions by telling everyone else how they can be too. I wonder how we see ourselves? The obvious answer is to use a mirror or a photograph, but what I actually mean is our own perception of ourselves. Those lads in the street this last weekend no doubt regard themselves as good-for-a-laugh salt-of-the-earth characters. What? A bunch of drunken louts?
     
    Heaven knows they try to communicate those sentiments often enough. None of us are perfect, including me. No, really, I admit it. I've no doubt whatsoever that people see me differently than I see myself. A young lady friend many years ago once implied my hair was grey. Didn't that bother me? No, not really, you see my hair started going grey in my teens. I don't really see it when I look in the mirror. She was very amused at my blindness though in truth she totally got the wrong idea. I guess she wasn't the perfect gitlfriend then.
     
    Nonetheless it is remarkably easy to give people the wrong impression. I can forgive the lady I passed the other day for being nervous. She didn't know me, I looked a little shabby, and there was no-one else around. Or perhaps it was my grey hair that worried her? I understand that. But what happens if you've known someone for years informally and they start acting oddly?
     
    There's another lady I bump into on a regular basis. She's polite and pleasant, as far as her profession requires her to be, but that behaviour turns out to be something of a mask. For some reason I've spooked her. She's taken to hiding in a toilet to avoid bumping into me. Why? Has she noticed my grey hair?
     
    For the record, most of the time I avoid her.
     
    Also Worth Avoiding
    Also worth avoiding was a fair haired chap who passed me by last week. He pointed past me at a shop window and said "Plenty of trains there" for no apparent reason whatsoever.
     
    No kidding. I'll just keep on walking by.
     
    No Trains For Me
    I received the shock news that I've been stopped from accessing a railways website because in the opinion of Swindon Council it ranked along with sex, violence, bigotry, racism, and inflammatory content. Didn't Swindon used to be a railway town? Anyone would think I was selling illegal photo's of steam engines in nightclubs, reducing innocent drunken louts to train-spotters. How criminal is that?
     
    Speculation of the Week
    With everyone getting promoted at the museum in front of me, they're running out of staff to give important jobs to. There's only Young S left to compete for that last final "You're now in charge of something". Could be a tight contest - He wears military surplus trousers too. So which of us is perfect for the job? I just hope the boss doesn't see my grey hair.
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