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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    As If By Magic

    By caldrail,

    What does a photograph mean? On the face of it, probably not much, as it is after all a static recording of light received by a chemical or electronic process at that given moment. Sometimes it can convey information, or perhaps preserve a happy memory. You could say a photograph has whatever significance you place upon it.
     
    Some people have a gift for photography. They manage to capture more than a smple recording of light. They capture movement, frozen for that instant, or a scene that invokes a mood. My own efforts at taking photos aren't really intended for public consumption which is probably just as well considering how dull they usually are. Perhaps it's just as well that I don't indulge in the worst excesses of the amateur photographer - the family album.
     
    In actual fact, I've been very lucky in the past. So far I've only been caught twice with a family album to look through. Once by a young lady who was desperate to keep me there until she plucked up the courage to... Well.. You know.... The second time by the mother of a friend of mine who was, I think, feeling a bit lonely and just needed someone to talk to. Other than that I've gotten away with it.
     
    Yesterday I got ambushed with some wedding photos of our relations out in New Zealand. The photo of the newly weds was pushed under my nose with particular care. I knew the groom. I'd met him as a troubled teenager and once gave him a swift ride in a sports car around Swindon in an effort to stop him freaking out at what was an extraordinarily dull family meet. He even tried to get me to do the same in New Zealand in a hire car and that after he'd narrowly escaped prosecution for wrapping his own vehicle around a tree on a rain soaked curve.
     
    The woman he was marrying was a very pretty young blonde, who I've never met, and I haven't a clue who she is. But at that stage of the proceedings, I realised what this close encounter of the family album kind was about. My mother is at it again. Scheming.... Plotting....
     
    If you haven't guessed already, she wants to play happy families. She tries this on a regular basis. It isn't that I wouldn't become a family man if the right circumstances came about, but it's the circumstances happening in front of me I don't like. The emotional manipulation annoys me most of all. Why can't she just ask me? Why can't she just accept things are they way they are? The answer is that she prefers to pull strings. It makes her feel clever.
     
    A part of me thinks that she wants me married off not for my benefit, but so she can play the grannie to her own friends. The other part of me thinks it's all about making me conform to her very own fantasy of what I should be. Somewhere in all of this I'm just a means to an end.
     
    Nice try, but wedding photos aren't as effective as magic wands.
     
    Magic Books
    Talking of magic wands, I see Gordon Brown is writing a book about the global financial crisis and what lessons we can learn from it. Maybe it's just me, but I thought we'd already cottoned on how to solve that. Not that I'm particularly bothered. I won't be reading it. His brand of magic is a little bit of a con-trick in my experience. In any case, when the news reporter asked when his book was coming out, he answered that he didn't know. I sense an global publishing crisis on the horizon.
  2. caldrail

    As If By Magic

    By caldrail,

    The run of good weather seems to have come to an end. I know this because it's raining outside, and that's always a reliable clue. The almost complete car park of the Old Cllege site is awash with puddles and dampened blokes in high vis gear, who never seem to be doing anything when you look at them. Funny thing is, walk away for a few minutes and the site gets an mysterious upgrade when you're loking the other way as if by magic.
     
    Sex Godesses Of Atlantis
    Don't worry, this is merely a ploy to achieve better ratings. I'd have to be a magician to find Atlantis. Come to think of it, I'd have to be a magician to find a sex-godess. Or avoid the attention of policemen in the process. Or for that matter, embarrasing questions as to why I'm staring dull eyed at the PC when I should be looking for work.
     
    Back To the Search
    My quest for gainful employment continues. As it happens I'm getting a tad disgruntled with lifes little failures (or even the somewhat more important larger ones), so my replies to Mrs Claims Advisors questions are increasingly peppered with blunt or gruff observances, which in fairness reduce her to laughter.
     
    Also I now have organisations competing to send me on courses for over-fifties claimants. The usual sort of thing, help with CV's, help with jobsearching on the internet, help with career planning, and so forth. All the stuff I've been regularly trained up on over the last decade in fact. It seems then that the Department of Work & Pensions thinks I have the memory span of a goldfish college dropout. Oh it's not worth getting angry about. Let's forget it.
     
    Oh.
     
    Back To The Interview
    Not impressed with the latest round of interviews in the endless quest for gainful employment. One place was nothing more than franchise for door to door van driving salespersons. I would have to drive to another town to stick up, drive back to find customers from scratch, and in a few months, would have around thirty drivers in the same area all competing for thier custom. Quite how I'd make a living at that I don't know. Nor did the other applicants who were similarly hoodwinked to attend. One phoned their head office to check the small print and ended up telling them to stuff it.
     
    The other interview was for a small industry in a quiet corner of my home town. The front door had a secuirty system on it so all I could do was ring the bell and wait for a tinny disembodied voce to answer. The cleaner had to show me where the button was - that's how secure this place was.
     
    "Hello?"
     
    Oh, hi, I'm Caldrail, here for interview.
     
    "Interview? What, here?"
     
    Urmm... Yes.... I have an interview in ten minutes.
     
    "Ohhh... Right... "
     
    And it sort of never got any better than that. They've chosen someone else to do the job since then so obviously I failed the security buzzer test. Mental note - bring a sledgehammer next time.
     
    Magic Of The Week
    Pick a card. Any card. Don't let me see it. Remeber that card.
     
    Put the card back into the pack and shuffle the pack.
     
    Pick the cards back off the floor. It's okay, the magic will still work.
     
    Right then. So this was your card, right? Heh heh heh.... Magic is so easy when you know how.
  3. caldrail

    As Surreal As It Gets

    By caldrail,

    Today began with my usual stroll down the hill to work. Up until now it's always been dark, but this morning was bright and sunny. Didn't expect that! It was, in retrospect, the day starting as it meant to continue...
     
    The Great Stocktake has begun. Hordes of very important looking auditors have descended on us and today was the day the laughter died. KS and I have been exiled to a area out the back, a sort of dusty and disused chamber of rubbish, looking extraordinarily like a castle dungeon. Here we were chained up and tiold to do the work everyone else usually does in unpacking our daily delivery of stock.
     
    This ritual involves going down the lift to the loading bay, stacking boxes in wheeled cages, then going back up in the lift to the top floor stockroom, unpacking the boxes, then taking the stock down to the sales floor in the lift. All very simple. Or it would have been but for some idiot who had bumped into the lift door and broke it. One half of our goods lift was broken. Oh brill.
     
    The remaining lift was being used by everyone, and for a ten minute period of sheer confusion, the lift refused to obey our button presses and went to every floor it could think of, leaving us standing there like lemons whilst a confused boss looks on. We were confused on the loading bay when a ghostly female voice asked who we were. Strange things happen in my surreal world.
     
    And Yes, The Weather...
    If anyone doubts the vagaries of our British climate, check this out. I left work this afternoon in bright sunshine. Okay, it was cold, very cold, but hey, everyone was smiling and happy as they went about their daily shopping. I took a short cut through another department store, the arcade, and into the supermarket to buy my weekly food and stuff.
     
    As usual, it was 'Obstruct Caldrail' day again, and having negotiated the various old people and childrens buggies, I made it to the check-out. The young lady there is a cheerful soul, much friendlier than some of those crabby women who look at me in the same way you might a serial fluffy puppy eater. So I began our usual repartee only to be interrupted by a gasp as she stared out the window in disbelief.
     
    It was a blizzard. What the...? Where did all the sunshine go? Thick torrents of coarse powdery snow belted down and began to coat the workmen laying a new pavement outside. Oh brill.
     
    This Weeks Happy Ending
    Yep. The sun is out again. At least for those few short hours before it goes all dark.
  4. caldrail
    Every so often I get asked which team I support. The question of course always applies to football, or more specifically, soccer, but the questioner assumes you already know that and that you follow the results with an encyclopedic knowledge of every individual involved in the game. I have to say that sport as a whole fails to move me. Fine if you're actually playing it, when it becomes a contest between teams or individuals concerned, but to cheer from the sidelines always seems a bit like pornography to me. You're supposed to get excited watching someone else do it.
     
    Last night I sat down to watch the evening news. Let's find out what's going on out there.... I hardly needed to read the headlines scrolling across the bottom of the screen. Yes, England beat Australia at Cricket. I already know, I heard the yobboes chanting victory songs all the way up the road. I'd like to think that sort of celebration will keep them busy and out of trouble, but you just know it won't.
     
    So England won the Ashes eh? Well that's a matter of world shaking significance isn't it? Commiseration to the Aussies but if it's any consolation, I shan't be gloating because I just don't care. Partly that's because cricket is a game that bores me completely, but mostly because it's expected that I should be interested, and that gets up my nose.
     
    The second question I get asked every so often is... So what sport are you interested in?...
     
    Well... Walking home yesterday through a well-to-do area I heard a householder open his garage. A few moments later, the raucous sound of a powerful erupted into life. It was of course a Ferrari, a gleaming red 360, and the noise was unmistakeable. He went off for a Sunday drive with the engine appealing to him to floor the throttle. What a sound! I get goosebumps just thinking about it.
     
    The answer to life, universe, and sport is therefore motor racing. And no, I don't follow it. But it sure is fun indulging in a passion once in a while isn't it? When you can afford to of course. For now I shall have to sit on the sidelines, and watch the bright red machine growl away into the distance.
     
    Sheer *or*.
     
    Cat of the Week
    Of course it isn't just cars that people use to display wealth and status. Even domestic pets can be used as designer labels. The recent trend toward purpose bred pets isn't something I think is particularly desirable, but sometimes you get the impression that some supposedly pedigree breeds are no more than a fancy label.
     
    Ever heard of a Belgian Leopard Cat? Well, one household of my acquaintance has, though I think they meant Bengal Leopard Cat, and the slightly disagreeable animal has already destroyed their furniture. I guess sometimes keeping a fancy pet requires a little more wealth than expected.
     
  5. caldrail

    At The Centre Of Things

    By caldrail,

    Where were you when Berlin Wall came down? Where you when Princess Di had a bit of an accident? Events like those can be so important sometimes, even when you least expect it. At least they are to some people. I honestly can't say those particular events ever stirred me to remember the day but I'm sure you can think of those that do it for you.
     
    You might ask why I'm writing about them. Well it's because the news has broken that the CERN hadron collider at Geneva might have spotted the elusive Higgs Boson particle. Break out the beer chaps. This will be the day you talk to your grandchildren about. That should get them to sleep.
     
    Been There, Seen It
    I caught the second half of some strange film last night. No idea what it was. Not really sure what it was supposed to be about, although I've eliminated the Higgs Boson particle from my enquiries. It isn't often I see films from New Zealand. I think maybe I've been spoiled by the Lord Of The Rings trilogy.
     
    Mind you, I have to say I enjoyed the sex scene. I had no idea New Zealand had any lesbians. Good grief, I might drop by there again one day.
     
    Global Malarkee
    Also last night I saw one of David Attenborough's Frozen Planet series. This was quite late at night and I was stunned to see that people with hearing difficulties have to stay up that late to see the lady on the right translate it by sign language.
     
    There has been controversy about the series. Not for keeping deaf people awake in the small hours, but filming the birth sequence of a polar bear at a zoo in Holland. I do hear that David Attenborough is about to present his latest series, First Life, about the most ancient and primitive of life forms that began evolution, beginning the rocky path toward the arrival of Global Warming Conferences three billion years later. If he wants to save money, why didn't he film scenes in my kitchen sink? That's pretty primeval.
     
    Do we really need a Global Warming Conference? I saw a russian journalist stunned the other day when a scientist dismissed the entire proceedings as a gravy train and an unnecessary impediement to human prosperity. Yeah - that's what I said ten years ago. I wonder if the Canadians happened to see one of my posts on the subject? No matter. Congratulations to them for realising what a colossal sham it all is.
     
    What The?...
    Just as I was about to leave the house today I spotted snow. Yes, snow. The dreaded white stuff is cascading upon poor old innicent Swindon as I write this. We don't normally get any snow this side of the new year. Oh... Hang on.... It seems to have stopped. Was it something I said?
  6. caldrail

    Auctioned Off

    By caldrail,

    It's election day at last. Today's the day when the British public decide who runs the country. To be honest, the apathy that afflicts the public has indeed left its mark on me. It's hard to care who's voted in because deep in your heart you just know they're all the same breed. That said I still have something of a soft spot for the Monster Raving Looney Party. Way back in the late 80's Red Jasper played a gig in Devon for them to celebrate their defeat in the polls. Screaming Lord Sutch was there, performing as the headline act, and we were his backing band for the night, pumping out crowd pleasers for two or three hours into the night.
     
    The old guy is now gone of course. He sadly committed suicide in a fit of depression something like a decade ago. I like to think it wasn't because we trashed his music career once and for all, and if there really is a heaven, by now God is bursting into tantrums at his irreverent antics. Rather like the Department of Work and Pensions getting annoyed with me because I don't fit their socialist stereotypes, a situation which should raise eyebrows given they claim to support cultural diversity. Fine words but the reality is they want us to be is subservient beggars. It's a class thing. By claiming benefits you're automatically considered a lower life form. That means of course they sometimes fail to observe the respect for customers they also like to trumpet about. But it looks good in head office meetings with the politicians we vote for.
     
    I am of course further saddened by the news that Screaming Lord Sutch's belongings went to the auctioneer last week in Cirencester. It seems a very downbeat epitaph to someone who brought a little diversity into peoples lives. One can't help wondering if he'd been voted into office whether he'd still be here. In a sense I can understand the pain he must have felt. People become performers because they feel a need to. As I can readily confirm, failing to win an audiences approval is a very soul-crushing experience. Red Jasper used to play gigs around England two, three, four, even five nights a week, and whatever criticisms I might level at the other members of the band back then, it takes a certain commitment and resilience to face yet another audience that needs to be convinced you're worth listening to.
     
    My stars for today tell me that Venus and Mars are on speaking terms in my chart and all is sunny and bright in my life, apart from the glaring possibility that other people might not see it that way. Sigh. It looks as if I have yet another gig to perform on my next signing day with my claims advisor plotting to demean my unofficial status and threatening me with expulsion from the premises if I don't like it. Since this is an institutional thing, would voting for a particular party make any difference? Yes, you can have cultural diversity, but only if you're culturally correct.
     
    Ferrari of the Week
    I see a lot of expensive, luxurious, and obscenely fast pieces of automotive machinery passing me on the road where I live. Porsches, Lamborghini's, Maserati's, and no shortage of gleaming red Ferrari's either. Of course their owners are concious of losing their licenses in a culture where speed is the work of the devil and owners of fast cars must be crucified at any opportunity. So instead of that stirring scream I hear them burble by with a muted cackle. Owners of Mercedes and BMW cruise past in an attempt to gain some of the admiration, but let's face it, driving cars without that air of exclusivity is rather like squeezing into the corner of the photograph just to impress someone. That said, there are Ferrari's and then there are Ferrari's. A 1962 Ferrari 400 Superamerica Cabriolet Pininfarina SWB has just been sold for
  7. caldrail

    Back To Normal?

    By caldrail,

    I was in the library foyer this morning, waiting for the ritual opening of the doors. The novel I'm reading is one of those action-horror things, set in 50's Egypt. It's a very readable tale as it happens, but so odd. Did anyone back in the fifties run marathons in their middle age to keep fit? Sounds like a very modern habit.
     
    The interplay is a bit cliched to my mind. The ubiquitous and ineviatable sultry woman (and eventual love interest, even if she does claim to be too busy - at least the love-interest hasn't claimed to have a headache so far), the old priest who knows everything but always makes an excuse not to reveal all, the nasty police chief, the arrogant king, and a ressurected demon having silent meetings to organise death and destruction along the Nile.
     
    It's a ridiculous story but you can't help reading it. Written a bit like a Hollywood thriller but in text. Lots of movement, but a no-brainer. Ah. Library doors are opening. Page.... One hundred and ninety.... Right. Back to the daily grind....
     
    Reunion of the Week
    My computer has been released from hospital. Naturally I'm pleased it made a recovery, it means I'm back in the saddle so to speak, but it's left me with a very disquieting feeling. It works fine, no problem. It's just that it seems all unfamiliar. You could describe it as welcoming home a family member after surgery, only to find that person looking confused and not knowing who this happy person is. Wierd how machines generate personality in our minds. Disturbing when that machine has a different personality. I guess I'm anthropomorphising the computer a little, but don't we all?
  8. caldrail

    Back To The Old Game

    By caldrail,

    You find me in a very reflective mood. It's time to blog again. Not sure why, I guess it's one of those strange inponderables of life. So.... Where to begin?....
     
    The Simpsons has an intro sketch featuring a gag with Bart daubing his lines on a school blackboard before escaping on skateboard, followed by the family gathering to watch tv in novel and amusing variety. Family Guy has the Broadway musical intro. South Park has South Parkesque imagery to tempt the senses and attract those with short attention spans. The Rushey Platt Villa (This blog) has... Well.... this paragraph of text to welcome you to the all new 2014 summer season. Feel cheated?
     
    My cliff hanger ending in the previous post was that I had to go back to work. It's true, I did. My claims advsor believed that going on another 'crappy course' (her words, not mine) wasn't going to do any good, so maybe having to earn my benefits might. So she sent me to a local charity to work as a volunteer on a Mandatory Work Placement. Whether I liked it or not.
     
    Weather Or Not
    What is going on? This is supposed to be August. Here in Britain this is the time for country walks along leafy lanes, sitting in deckchairs waiting to scramble some Spitfires, watching a group of men undergo a strange pagan ritual called Cricket, and arguing with the neighbours about loud parties.
     
    July pretty much met those criteria for a British summer. The days were long and hot, I got sunburnt in the line of duty as an enlisted charity volunteer, and there were a couple of tiffs with neighbours concerning their desire to get into the mood for a night out clubbing. It seems they bought one of those new fangled soundbar devices that improve bass response that make music and television not just bearable, but an experience to be shared with the whole street.
     
    We've had a flaming July, now meet the Arctic August. Temperatures fell to as little as one degree Centigrade last night. One degree? A smidgin above freezing? Somebody got their calculations wrong about Global Warning I think. Bring back the Industrial Revolution - it was the only thing keeping Britain warm in summer and me in gainful employment
     
    Gone But Not Forgotten
    Of course it hasn't all been fun and sun. My mother departed her mortal coil a few weeks ago. To be fair, she was pretty certain to go sooner or later, what with age, infirmity, and that sense that her anchor to the mundane world was slipping. At least she went with some dignity.
     
    I must of course spare some thought for the execution of an american journalist. I never saw the video on YouTube (not my kind of fun saturday night viewing if I were honest) but the circumstances don't suprise me. Islamic State have little or nothing to do with Islam - it's all about rule by violence and fear, which if I'm not mistaken isn't what the Quran suggests its readers should do. They are the natural evolution of the radical behaviour that extremists have been nurturing for a long time. As we suffered the outbreak of international terrorism sponsored by political nihilsim two or three decades ago, now we face the outbreak of international violence sponsored by religious nihilism.
     
    It is sadly part of the human experience. Every so often a group emerges under a leader determined to build power by becomiing the Junkyard Dog, the King of the Hill. Not so much Islamic State, more like Islamic Nazis.
     
    Reminisence Of The Week
    Okay, I admit it, just occaisionally during July we had the odd shower or two, sometimes a bit thunderous. By good fortune and the foresight to believe the weather girls on telelvision I avoided the downpours. In fact, the onnly serious rain that caught me was on the day of my mothers funeral. She had the last laugh after all
     
    Yet despite the doom and gloom of enviromental disasters, wars, inadvertant shooting down of passenger jets, the loss of family, and the occaisional drenching, there is always something about life to bring back the smile. A few nights ago the BBC reached into the archives and pulled out Kate Bush, the waif like singer with flowing dances and high pitched vocals responsible for Wuthering Heights.
     
    I'd forgotten what an impact that woman had made on popular music. Listening to the old favourites once again brought back many happy memories of my younger days. I am of course envious of her talent, her ability to express herself musically. For me musical expression is so much more difficult, so many ideas I'm just not able to breathe life into. It all came so naturally to her.
     
    An interview with comedian Steve Coogan told how she came to see his show which lampooned her work, and was polite enough to remark that it was good to hear all those old songs again. She's right. It was.
  9. caldrail
    Today the sun has made a hesitant reappearance. The thuinderstorms and prolonged heavy rain we got yesterday has moved north, and hopefully I won't get drenched again today. Mornings like this are to be savoured in Britains new globally warmed (and definitely wetter) climate. So in a relaxed happy frame of mind I sat down at the library computer.
     
    As it happened, I was answering a question made by someone else about Roman legions. It deserved a fuller answer than a few sentences, so I got typing furiously bearing in mind you only get a limited time on these computers each day.
     
    "Cannot write to memory" came up on the screen in one of Windows message boxes that tells you something hasn't worked they Microsoft would like you to believe it should. Disaster. It means the various web pages and programs will freeze-up, rendering everything I've done useless. Quickly I used a text editor and saved as much of my work as I could. The librarians were very sympathetic of course, but none of them are IT experts and apparently I'm not the only one suffering these kinds of breakdowns.
     
    Well, as you can see, I'm back up and working after faffing around and trying to explain the situation to the computer-illerate. It's that sense of helplessness that's so stressful. You lose your work and can't do anything to restore the situation. Computers are such insidious machines. Great when they work, but...
     
    It Happened Again
    Another breakdown. Memory can't be referenced. I even had the IT man out to stare helplessly at the screen like they do when put on the spot. Needless to say it's been hugely frustrating. As it happens, the IT man is going to flag this library PC as 'down' when I'm finished, even though this problem has ocurred on other PC's.
     
    I broke the computer
     
    Back From The Dead
    My recent personal disaster with my own computer at home has been addressed up to a point. After a rebuild I got the thing working (I've already posted on that subject) but having sifted through the wreckage that is my hard drive I've discovered how much has been lost. By good fortune not too much. My reference files are intact and I can access a lot of data I was working on.
     
    Sadly however some files are gone, vanished into the electronic ether, and unrecoverable. What can you do? Start over, replace what has been lost, and build toward the objective you wanted. Thankfully most of the lost data isn't vital - so I shall count myself lucky.
  10. caldrail

    Bad News

    By caldrail,

    They say the weather is soon to change. The map on television shows a massive arc of light blue jerking across the Atlantic toward that tiny spot on the map where I live. As an indigineous englishman this can only mean one thing. Prepare to be dampened. That said, we brits tend to ignore such baleful warnings. How can it possibly rain? Look out the window - What a glorious day!
     
    Clearly then the english have a memory span of no more than a few days. Anything longer than that is a little hazy, a difficult nightmare we'd all rather forget in our hedonisitc urge to watch football, get drunk, and wake up beside camels the morning after. I mean, the population of Britain has just spent a fortune on multi-coloured knee-length shorts which are deemed appropriate apparel for summer days.
     
    It's no good, the omens are clear. This morning the clouds lie thick and heavy across the sky, though it is still a tad warm. But then... The weatherman said we should have had light showers last night, and we didn't. I mean, if they're wrong about that, then surely that expanse of blue stuff on the map isn't anything to worry about? How could such nice weather do that to us? This is the Wimbledon season - Since when does it rain at Wimbledon? The tennis authorities would never allow it.
     
    No, it's no good, I have to accept the inevitability of getting wet. It's what being British is about. So I glance around the library at everyone else in their lightweight summer garb and snigger darkly to myself. Because while they're all busy phoning their friends and arranging garden barbeques, they're not watching the news, and therefore don't know what's coming. Heh heh heh....
     
    Bad News
    Actually watching the news on television right now is not an especially uplifting experience. Watching the funeral cortege inch forward through Wootton Bassett is of course a recognition of the loss of our servicemen abroad, but that's nothing to cheer about. Job losses, especially in the public sector, are expected to rise inexorably over the next few years as the price of our coalition governments austerity measures hit home. There's no guarantee yet I'll be allowed to live where I am now. I might well face benefit cuts in the near future and with bills rising steadily if not exponentionally, quite how I'll pay them is a matter of optimism.
     
    Now we have some guy claiming that we need to reduce the prison population. That would be nice, I suppose, and cheaper for the public in the long run, but doesn't that ignore the essential points? That prison is intended to punish illegal activity. Okay, rehabilitation has a purpose but you have to wonder how effective it is. The prison population is rising steadily. And with hardship becoming a part of British life in the next few years, the temptation to commit crime isn't going to go away.
     
    Neither is that black lady in the next cubicle. She sat down deeply engrossed in discussing the personal lives of her family on her mobile phone. No, I've had enough. I motion her her to stay silent. It was intended to a polite gesture but being a bolshy lady intent on pursuing her activity whatever the rest of the world thinks, she screwed her face up and made an incredulous statement that she can use her phone where-ever she likes. No, you can't. It's a library.
     
    She sneered and defiantly told me she would use her phone regardless, as if she had some personal right to intrude on everyone else. Okay, then I'll have see the librarian on the helpdesk, who turned out to a hesitant young man clearly qualing at the thought of tackling this afro-carribean Boudicaea. She described me as someone who must have been a snitch at school. That I told her to shush like a dog. That she uses her mobile phone everywhere. That I should tell her to be quiet on the street.
     
    When we part company as either of us finish our business on the PC, will she forget the confrontation, or will she make a snide comment? We will see, and in any case, I really don't want to meet this woman on the street for any reason. She's clearly bad news.
  11. caldrail

    Bad Review

    By caldrail,

    It had to happen. As I crossed the main road to Swindons shiney new library the first signs of urban decay have been left upon it in the form of a dark blue squiggle. Nigel woz ere. Well thanks, Nigel, but perhaps if you learned to read and get of bed in the mornings you could drop in and enjoy the ambience instead of wasting your money on spray paint. In fact, there's a section on art, and if you peruse the books contained therein (is my english too advanced for you?) you might discover how completely talentless you are as an artist.
     
    Right. Got that off my chest. Now to pop upstairs and log on. The cubicles are busy so I dive on the first available PC... Tap in my password.... Wait for it to boot up.... Huh? Oh not again, the keyboard settings are wrong. Must be set to US - it usually is... Nope. Apparently I need a serbo-croat keyboard. Luckily the very attractive blonde lady two cubicles down is bored and giving her boyfriend grief, so he's going elsewhere....
     
    Excuse me lady? Is this yours? I hand her the book on Mental Illness she left behind. Right, now I can log on. The guy to my right is suffering from terminal flu, and sniffs loudly every twenty seconds, coughing every minute. His mobile phone goes off every five minutes but luckily his answer is merely to tell the caller he's in Swindon Library. Must be an important guy. You can tell by the military surplus trousers.
     
    There's a businesswoman busy trying to organise transport the other side. She is merciless, sparing the poor receptionist on the other end no compliments, nor being fobbed off with some petty excuse that first class coaches don't go to Mongolia. Apparently, so I gather, she's organising one of those corporate team building exercises. Perhaps she could try delegating and building a team that way, giving them vital experience in organisation and bureaucratic obstacles that lifting plastic barrels over an assault course doesn't provide. Unless she works for Plasto-Barrel Direc, proudly delivering plastic barrels where no-one has delivered before.
     
    Oh dear, someone's fallen down the stairs... Amazing what mobile phones do to peoples sense of balance.
     
    And finally, to cap it all, AM turns up and begins a loud conversation with somebody else about the fashion merit of my military surplus trousers. Oh no. Its a fashion disaster.... Maybe I should reinvent my image? Or maybe tell AM what I think of his geriatric chic?
     
    Withdrawal of the Week
    The Irish have withdrawn pork products. Its big news of course, and as usual, everyones frightened of buying pork for fear they're going to blow up if they eat it. Always the same. I remember a big scare about beef some years back and that burgers were being considered for issue to British spies in case of capture. What was the point of not eating burgers? If I was going to drop dead from some horrible disease spread by infected beef products, I'd already got it. So now pork is cheap, I'm off down the supermarket for a game of russian roulette. Boy, do I live dangerously...
  12. caldrail

    Badgers And Badgered

    By caldrail,

    Poor old badgers. They do seem to be getting in the neck right now, with a government authorised cull in progress. As it happens badgers have always had a difficult existence what with rural baiters and the like. A couple of years ago I headed out into the countryside for a hike and by the roadside was a dead badger impaled on a stick, clearly left for someone to see. I wonder who?
     
    I must be honest, at the time that gory sight left me unmoved. Hard to understand why. Witnessing the natural world, especially those moments when something unexpected happens, can be a wonderful experience. The inanimate corpse seemed a little unreal. Deprived of life the badger had become an ordinary object in some way.
     
    That's the trouble with nature. A tiger is a magnificent creature, full of colour and character. It's also a very powerful and dangerous carnivore. I watched documentary footage of a mother tiger leaving an unconcious deer to one of her cubs so it had the opportunity to discover how to kill it. Life goes on.
     
    Personally I don't want to see large numbers of badgers slaughtered. However, I'm also aware that the countryside is not a public park even though, like most townies, I tend to treat it as such. It's a working enviroment, a place to cultivate and produce food, and if the threat of badgers spreading tuberculosis to agricultural herds is real and will affect my own ability to eat and drink, then survival kicks in and I must reluctantly allow those who know better to get on with it.
     
    Is it any wonder that badgers and foxes see towns as a better bet?
     
    Giving Generously
    Every so often you see adverts on television asking for donations for charity. They usually show children, because our natural instinct is to help the helpless. Background music gives an emotional edge, accentuating the tragedy of their situation, appealing to us to right wrongs with a smal gesture of what is curently a fashionable
  13. caldrail
    Last night I strolled up the hill to get a bag of chips. Yes, it's true, I did. Sometimes my spirit of adventure gets the better of me. Anyhow, this was during the twilight. On the horizon, the last angry embers were fading out. The sky was that deep blue you get shortly before dark. As I looked up, dark grey clouds were wafting silently past. I've always thought how strange it is that clouds move at dusk without any wind.
     
    Even stranger is that spell the moon casts on you. There it is, a pale silvery glow lighting up the thin cloud from behind. You can't help but admire it. It seems to turn the darkening sky into a dull grey, making pale shadows of the passing cloud and lighting their edges with that pastel glow, and away from the moons soft ambience, the lights of Swindon paint the cloud a different shade of brown.
     
    For full effect, a full moon is required, but this three-quarter moon is making all the right colours. Later on I paused for a moment, looking out the back window at the sky, watching the moon play between the clouds. Then I spotted movement. Our local cat? Nope, the legs are too short, more like... A Badger? In this part of town? There he goes, trotting up the back road without a care in the world. Enjoy your night out, little fella.
     
    Checkout Event of the Week
    Earlier yesterday I queued at the supermarket checkout and dropped all my shopping on the rubber conveyor ready for the bored assistant to pass them over her scanner. Another woman joined the queue behind me. In a mood of politeness, I reached out for a plastic barrier to seperate her shopping from mine. As expected, she began piling her shopping on the conveyor too. Until, that is, she grabbed her banana. It slid out of her hand and flew across everyones groceries.
     
    Banana skins really are slippery, aren't they? Don't worry, we caught the banana and returned it to the grateful owner alive and well, before the badger spotted it.
     
  14. caldrail

    Bags of Greetings

    By caldrail,

    One of the changes in lifestyle enforced by the lack of motor transport has been my shopping habits. Rather than load up a car boot with my weekly needs I must now carry stuff home manually, so I shop lightly and more often. I pop in for odds and ends almost every day now. yesterday it was to restock my supply of soft drinks, which I can obtain at a bargain price, plus the advantage of getting an arms, shoulder, and legs work out as I climb the hill laden with plastic bottles filled with liquified sugar.
     
    The level of service has declined a little. The problem isn't really the staff who cheerily assist even the worst whingers known to mankind. It's the issue of plastic bags. The government, rightly or wrongly, has decided we must use less, and does all sorts of things to encourage us to bring our own bags. Do they really think I'm going to go about my business with two orange Sainsbury's plastic bags stuffed into my pocket? Unfortunately, the need to use less of them means that the supermarket checkout assistants never fill your bags for you. They just ask if you're using you're own and if not, throw a few at you to get on with.
     
    The lady at the checkout till made her requisite greeting and said "You need two bags with those don't you?"
     
    I was stunned. Yes, that's right. I do. You're getting good at this.
     
    "Oh" She replied with a gracious smile, "I've seen you packing those bottles before. Always two to a bag."
     
    Well done. If only her colleagues were as observant. Especially since I've been shopping there for six years now.
     
    Greeting of the Evening
    With my window open to the street below I hear all the people walking past on their way from pub to club to shrub. Usually it's a bunch of lads in the midst of a singing contest, but last night a young lady shouted hello. How very sweet of her. I should mention that her parents really ought to have told her that you shouldn't talk to strangers, but I guess being known to everyone is the price you pay for being officially famous.
     
    Still, at least she was polite and didn't mock or denounce my character. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. Well what else did you expect me to give her? Babies? Am I supposed to rush downstairs and chase her along the street declaring undying love? I perform music for the general public you know. I leave the demonstrations of reproductive behaviour to my neighbours...
     
    Today We Look Through... The Square Window
    My neighbours across the road aren't what you'd call shy. They like to leave the curtains open when engaged in certain adult activities more usually performed in private. I caught a glimpse of their sex lives last night when I opened the window to let some fresh air in. I'm sure they enjoy a rich and fulfilling intimate relationship, but it looked dreadfully dull from my vantage point.
     
    Well its no good complaining. If you don't want me to see, close the effing curtains you wally.
  15. caldrail

    Bang!

    By caldrail,

    Saturday night in my area is never entirely quiet. My street hapens to be a major path between Old Town on the hill and New Swindon at the bottom of it, with clusters of clubs and pubs at either end. So as you might imagine, the Swindon branch of the Inebriated Debating Society often pass by.
     
    If that wasn't bad enough, my neighbours are keen on playing music before they go out for the night on the basis it puts them in the mood. For what? Annoying people? It seems to work, because at half-past one they returned with a crowd of like-minded friends in tow, holding an emergency session of the Inebriated Shouting Society. I gather the Police stopped by to quiet them down.
     
    Then, an hour later, when their society meeting had run its course and they'd dispersed to spread mayhem around the borough of Swindon, my neighbours decided to play music, because they were in the mood. This time I had to bang on their door. Is that your music?
     
    "Erm... Yes it is..." Said the startled young lady at the door, "You want me to turn it down?"
     
    Might be a good idea at this point.
     
    Finally, in the wee small hours, long after all the fast food and indian restaurants are closed, somebodies girlfriend outside my home side "I'm hungry.... Fooooood!". Of course she could have been a wandering werewolf or perhaps a zombie searching for brains, or maybe an immigrant from the jungles of New Guinea, I don't know. What I do know is she will very likely go hungry until she gets home. Somebody point her in the right direction please...
     
    Indian Restaurant
    Having mentioned indian restaurants, I shoukld mention that I tried a new last night, during the somewhat quieter period when my neighbours were summoning their allies to the relentless thud of a nightclub metronome. The food was very good quality, I have to say, albeit something of an expensive extravagance for my income, but a little of what you like does you good (until today, when the race for the toilet becomes an excruciating exercise for your lower cheek muscles). However, whilst I waited for the meal to be cooked and handed over, I became aware that all the customers were Asians. Every last one of them. I don't begrudge them residency in Britain or the availability of dining out, it's just a very strange feeling to be the only Briton in a restaurant in Britain.
     
    Question Of The Week
    Who is Barry Scott anyway? I ask this because we often see him on television advertising a certain cleaning product, looking glassy eyed after experiencing some purple painted form of high speed transport. I susect those of you spared British television won't even have heard of him. But it occurred to me he's perfect for the US firearms industry.
     
    "Wow, that was a fast reload.. When you need home defence... Bang, and the dirt is gone."
  16. caldrail

    Banging On About Metal

    By caldrail,

    Warning! Heavy metal music is bad for you!
     

     
    I've heard this all before. I can't remember how many times I've been warned about volume. There was a time when.. (Warning - Imminent Reminiscence).... I was at a practice in a garage rock band when a council official turned up to measure the sound after complaints about us. He asked us to play (that was our first gig man!) and with alarm told us we were too loud. A bit predictable, but then he said our volime was the same as Concorde taking off. I pointed out we'd been practising for six months already and therefore shouldn't be able to hear his advice to quieten down. Actually, we weren't that loud, but in later years Red Jasper were unable to book gigs in Bristol because we were too loud and awful.
     
    So it isn't volume thats dangerous. According to the news item I got the pic from, its headbanging that makes you prone to neck and brain injury. Well I've never been much into that particular dance mode, so obviously I'm not prone to injury (apart from bruised and blistered fingers from a hard gig behind the drum kit - those were the days) and if I were honest, I really don't remember many people headbanging at our gigs either, so obviously metal music is not to blame for hospital traction.
     
    Whats left? Oh yes.... the insidious spread of satanism and reversed messages on LP's. I mean, did anyone actually take that seriously? Its like a boys club where you make strange gestures to be part of the crowd, rather than any belief that Ozzy is the Prince of Darkness (now contested on World of Warcraft adverts) and that wearing black leather makes you a devel worshipper. Its a rebellion thing. We only do it to upset our christian elders and no-one really believes it.
     
    So in what way is Heavy Metal music dangerous? It isn't. I would argue that nightclubs and their moronic metronomes harbouring a culture of drug taking is visibly worse for your health. After all, metal fans go a gig to enjoy their music. Nightclubbers need pills to enjoy theirs.
     
    CD of the Week
    I picked up a live recording of Ronnie James Dio on his Holy Diver tour. Good stuff. I remember what an impact the original album made in the eighties. Fresh, energetic, and a thoroughly good listen. I'm going to have to stop, it's not good for me you know....
  17. caldrail
    Picture the world in prehistory. No television, computer games, or cars. In between hunting wild beasts I guess they had a lot time on their hands. So bored was one ancestor of humanity that he discovered rubbing wooden sticks together made things catch fire.. Can you imagine how excited he was to discover that?
     
    Later, when voluminous wigs were fashionable, Newton discovered that sitting under apple trees was not only painful, but seriously enlightening. Sometime later, Einstein discovered that mathematics alone could prove how difficult the universe was to understand. Not really mad scientist stuff was it? Where's the drama? Newton decided that gravity constantly attracted things, Einstein discovered there was a universal constant. Sigh... Science is definitely getting duller with each generation.
     
    If you think that's wrong, consider the Big Bang. That's the first thing that ever happened and what an explosion! Everything, literally everything, compressed into a space smaller than my chances of getting a job. Then it blew up. No warning whatsoever. Some people say we're made of stars. I say most of us are made of shrapnel.
     
    The reason I write this is that I've just watched a tv documentary on the Big Bang. It's just so incredible. Like a lot of television programs, it was all Flash Bang Wallop! Fast paced, lots of fancy computer graphics, and the same message repeated thirty seven times. The first second of the universe was the most important. Okay, okay, I got that. Can we move on to something else now?
     
    Eventually they did. They showed a lot of interior shots of that big underground hadron collider in Europe, and told us that this device will open up new vistas of reality we can only dream of. You mean, there's going to be a sequel to this documentary? I can't wait, especially since the only thing I can remember from the voiceover about the hadron collider was that they broke it.
     
    Technology of the Week
    Mind control is here. I've just watched an orchestra play instruments electronically with sensors wrapped around their skulls. Is that a good thing? Part of the joy of playing musical instruments is that moment when your dexterity does what you want without having to think about it. So what's the point of mind control when we've had it built-in for millions of years?
     
  18. caldrail

    Bangs And Fizzles

    By caldrail,

    Here in Blighty we've just had Guy Fawkes Night. Or more usually because history in schools isn't really taught any more, Firework Night. It seems odd to me that we celebrate a failed terrorist attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament, but there you go.
     
    There's a shop down the road from me that caters for fancy dress and parties. I've not been in there, but there's always a fascinating window display and with Halloween, all sorts of rubber monstrosities appear. I especially like the old wizard. One day I'll pop in and ask if I can buy him.
     
    However, the arrival of Guy Fawkes Night meant that fireworks were on sale. Back when I was a kid there were television campaigns to get you to buy entire arsenals of gunpowder filled cardboard tubes. 'Standard Fireworks' pretty much seemed to have had the market to themselves.
     
    These days such adverts are not allowed. I'm suprised you can still buy fireworks at all. Imagine my suprise then when the local fancy dress shop advertised 'Buy One Get One Free' not only across their windows, but on a placard out in the street. They're almost giving the things away. So what happened to Fireworks Night? I hardly heard a bang.
     
    Pep It Up Guys
    I see the Vatican had finally realised that church services are considered a bit dull. That's an understatement. However the catholic church was always an organisation that takes itself a bit seriously. I find it a bit hard to imagine the Pope making one of his appearances at the window of the Vatican in true James Brown style, or the local vicar leading a christian rock band to the point where old ladies queue up to dive off the stage into the crowd. So The Blues Brothers were prophets after all?
     
    Nope. Still not interested in becoming a christian. It's been two thousand years people - can you not get it right yet?
     
    Made It Back
    Congratulations to the Russian team for simulating a 500 day manned mission to Mars. I'm not sure why I want to congratualte them for serving a sixteen month jail sentence in a science laboratory, but everyone else is, and I guess if rehabilitating prisoners means making them do useful things like getting fired into long space voyages, well so be it.
  19. caldrail

    Bangs And Rattles

    By caldrail,

    My neighbour was not happy. He left for work this morning by slamming the door, which results in the house moving slightly. Seriously, it does, you can actually feel the movement caused by air pressure.
     
    Not only that, but passing lorries on the road outside make the house shake. Worse still, the vibration causes my bedroom door to rattle, and that, I suspect, is what kept my neighbour awake and got him all riled up. Even my usual strategem of wedging a plastic bag under door made no difference. The brassy rattle kept on sounding.
     
    As it happens, I do have some sympathy. It kept me awake too.
     
    Rushing About
    Another rainy day. This morning I got up a little late and realised to my horror that I'd forgotten to fill in my jobsearch booklet last night. Why is it that when you're in a hurry, the human bladder refuses to empty? Come on! Come on!....
     
    So I rushed down to the Job Centre braving the nasty weather. Thankfully the rain wasn't that heavy, but it certainly wasn't fun. Then again, attendance at the Job Centre never is. Some claims advisors really don't like happy claimants. It's a sign that life is too easy and they start all sorts of machinations to wipe that smile off your face.
     
    On the plus side, I was rescued this morning. A good natured claims Advisor, Mr T, has taken me onto his caseload again. I have to say he's polite, helpful, and doesn't display the wicked satisfaction many advisors show when their customer is squirming under scrutiny.
     
    talking of which, I'm die to be placed under scrutiny shortly. An interview with Customer Compliance no less. Do I really need to describe what's going to happen? According to Mr T, a few claimants have had their money stopped already. Nothing to worry about, he tells me.
     
    Big Bangs
    I hear on the news that the Hadron Collider in Switzerland has succcesfully recreated little 'big bangs'. Actually it didn't. It simply reproduced for a brief instant conditions that existed moments after the Big Bang had happened. Not that I'm worried of course, but creating a new Big Bang isn't likely to teach us much, because the last one caused an explosion whose debris is now spread across countless light years of space.
     
    Funny thing really. I spent my childhood living under the threat of soviet nuclear missiles, now I live under the threat that some scientist might light a bigger firework than he intended.
     
    I wonder? Is all this quantum research going to do anything useful? Like cure the rattle on my bedroom door?
  20. caldrail

    Bangs And Whistles

    By caldrail,

    Maybe it was inevitable. Once again the internal dissent in Syria inspires a report that government forces are still cracking down on anyone they can find worth cracking. Sometimes you have to wonder how objective news reporting actually is because after watching film of tanks rolling down deserted streetsI kind of wonder if half these actions are designed to create news rather than achieve any worthwhile objective.
     
    Another question that comes to mind is how long the west are ging to sit on the sidelines, and for that matter, why they've done nothing so far. Partly I would say that was because as yet the people of Syria haven't formed any credible resistance yet. You can't change a regime without something else to change it too.
     
    The other symptom may be a little covert. I know the west has already held talks about the subject of regime change. I've no idea what their decision was. Is there some political deal done under the table to keep the west from rolling up its sleeves and get stuck in? Or have I just embarased someone unwitingly? I'll soon know when red dots waver near me or newspapers run headlines about what I do with sheep every night.
     
    Come To Mention It...
    Sometimes you just kind of know when things are a bit odd. Rustling in the bushes, strange voices in the head, or phone calls from people you've never met are some of the symptoms other people mention, but in my case it has be the level of sneering I'm encountering.
     
    Why are people sneering all of a sudden? Don't know. Don't care. It's probably because of complete rubbish being passed around and in fact I really do believe that those who sneer loudly behind peoples backs (or the other side of brick walls) are saying more about themselves than me.
     
    Not Enough People Dying...
    With all the housing shortages I hear about I never cease to be amazed at how long it takes builders to renovate premises left abandoned. Take Cardinal House - a modest building on a street corner - which has taken yonks plus ages to turn from abandonment to half finished construction site. It used to be a funeral directors premises by the way, so now they're turning it into housing it's the english equivalent of a house on an indian burial ground. Clearly not enough people are dropping dead to keep them in business. Proof perhaps the NHS really is working despite David Camerons best efforts.
     
    But One Too Many
    Today I discovbered the police constable shot and blinded by gunman Raoul Moat has died, probably by his own hand. I've lerarned to dislike the police as many do when you have dealings with them, but I won't criticise them for the commitment and risk the majority of their officers face to keep people safe. I am genuinely saddened this officer could not go on. And so Raoul Moat claims another victim posthumously.
  21. caldrail

    Bank Holiday Blues

    By caldrail,

    Bank Holiday Weekends are a British institution that foreigners might find hard to understand. The name is misleading. All it amounts to is an extra day off work. However, like some kind of mass-lunacy, there's two pyschopathic obsessions that afflict the British at these times.
     
    The first is a strange urge that overcomes the weak-willed who gather their unsuspecting families and drive off to a holiday destination. Most don't get there. Braving the rain that inevitably pours cold water on their plans, they end up parking their cars for several hours on a motorway listening to their kids asking "Are we there yet?"
     
    The second kind of urge is that need to repair and improve the nest. Sometimes I wonder if DIY megastores are secretly hypnotising us into these attempts to recreate glossy magazine photo's of perfect homes. On the saturday morning I spotted one eager man and his clearly unimpressed missus dragging a huge generator out of the hardware store across the street. Boy oh boy, is she in for a fun filled weekend.
     
    The single blessing of my pedestrian status is, I suppose, that I'm immune to the lemming like need to join the traffic jams I shall enjoy the good weather. Also, my single status means I don't get nagged to tile the bathroom or invent a new plumbing system. So, I'll just sit here, enjoying the weekend in my usual quiet way, and....
     
    Uh-oh. The draw on my computer desk is getting sticky. Really ought to fix that. Let's have a look... Brilliant. The back end has fallen off. Aha! All it needs is a little bit of glue. I've got some somewhere.... Here in my dusty toolbox... There it is! Ok. Carefully does it.... Apply the glue... The space is very restricted and it isn't easy to put it in place... There! Done it!
     
    Uh-oh. My pen's run out. I'll just look in the draw and get anopther... Whoops, there goes the back of the draw, down in the corner where I can't get it. Has that glue not set yet? Where's the gaffa tape?
     
    No, no, it'll work, trust me... Ah, maybe not. Perhaps if I move this over there and fix this here, and.... Those of a nervous disposition, look away now, as I attempt a repair that any sane person on a normal working day could mend in thirty seconds...
     
    of the Week
    In Norway a man has been arrested for having sex with his girlfriend whilst speeding on a motorway. Maybe he should have bought an interesting car?
     
  22. caldrail
    It's Bank Holiday Weekend in Britain again. Those of us not busy demolishing our properties with ideas for home improvement will be heading for the coast, a mass migration of people desperate for fun and sun away from their daily grind. The government have issued a warning to those intending to travel that they can expect long delays on trunk routes.
     
    We know. Everyone knows the motorways get jammed up with cars every Bank Holiday Weekend. But then, since the government have made our lives duller by taking money out of our pockets to spend on schemes to identify who we all are, of course we're going to gamble on getting to the coast for a couple of days. Incidentially, I notice that in Swindon, public houses are closing in droves. Before long, the phrase "I'm off down the pub" will have a very different meaning.
     
    There is an ironic quality to this. In an attempt to shut the kids up and keep them occupied, parents risk being trapped in a parked vehicle for several hours listening to that perennial favourite "Are we there yet?"
     
    You have to wonder though whether the government warnings are going to be noticed. They've not exactly shone as custodians of Britains finances, they've made themselves look mean and stingy over the rights of Ghurka veterans to settle in Britain, and seem more concerned with scrounging money for *or* videos whilst Gordon Brown is away on speech duty.
     
    We do seem to be getting a lot of warnings right now anyway. Enviromentalists are warning us the climate is heading for apocalypse. The moslem activists are warning us of rivers of blood. The Russians are warning us that they rather liked the Cold War and can they have another one please? Beyond that, the World Health Organisation have notified us that we are now at Pandemic Phase Five ("Get Ready To Panic") over Swine Flu. The strange thing is though, although such a state of alertness over this apparently virulent disease means that areas should be quarantined to prevent its spread, they say there's no point.
     
    So strictly speaking, if the government wanted to stop motorway madness this Bank Holiday, all they need to do is quarantine the towns. It seems they almost have. By making it unaffordable to buy new cars, by making it undesirable to own older ones, by making it impossible to park a car anywhere, by making lots of new road junctions that bypass every single stop, the government are well on the way to achieving their aim of quiet, stationary Bank Holidays. But what's the point of Stationary Britain?
     
    Bank Holiday of the Week
    How shall I spend my weekend? Well... I won't be driving anywhere. I won't be doing any DIY. Instead, I'll be relaxing, taking it easy, and keeping quiet about it in case someone thinks I should be looking for a job instead. Of course I want a job really. How else could I legitimately claim time off to escape the mad rush this weekend?
  23. caldrail
    Yesterday began with a bright sunny day. Don' t you just feel a lift when that happens? A bright new day, just waiting to be enjoyed. I set out that morning in a good mod. Especially useful since the Job Centre had sent me on one of those "How to find a job" courses.
     
    Strolling into town the familiar sound of an RAF Hercules transport droned overhead. I've watched those aeroplanes flying over Swindon on their way into Lyneham airbase for forty years or so. It felt a bit poignant, because soon Lyneham will close and the Hercules will fly elsewhere. Into the history books if what I hear about military spending cuts is correct. Finally, the Cold War era is coming to an end, and with it, the last vestige of twentieth century power. It genuinely feels saddening that Britain will fade as a world power.
     
    My own battle to find a job continues, so after I sat in the pleasant sunshine for a while watching the big screen television on the side of a multistory car park at Wharf Green, wondering at the incredibly dull testimony of Mia Farrow in some strange court trial, I reported for duty at the programme centre.
     
    Back On The Farm
    These courses are always fairly similar. It feels like a return to infant school, and by her own admission, the tutor wants to be a primary school teacher. We were the usual collection of flotsam and jetsam of the unemployed population, although sensibly the youngsters were next door, and to our suprise no waifs and strays turned up late.
     
    Mr S was a plump afro-carribean guy, a man for whom haste and stress were alien concepts. Incredibly chilled out does not even begin to describe his personality. He spent the entire six hour session draped over a chair oblivious to the world around him. Even when we were asked as an exercise to review the worst CV ever written, he thought our rejection was harsh. "Give the guy a break, he wants to work." He said. You're all heart S. But we like your cool.
     
    FR turned up. We're old friends and even played alongside each other on stage in the past. Inevitably we got talking about music, and commended Mr S to discard Rap and Hip-Hop for the predictable delights of classic rock. It was unnerving to discover he knew more about it than I did.
     
    Backing Away
    By the time we got to our first break, I was desperate for a widdle. The toilets were shared with the other room where the youngsters laughed and threw paper darts as a means of improving their employment chances. I'll assume you all know the ritual involved in relieving your bladder. Ask an adult if you don't know how.
     
    I noticed some giggles from behind a closed cubicle door. I guessed that someone was enjoying some reading matter. Given how young he sounded, and how funny he thought the prose was, you have to wonder if he wasn't looking at the pictures instead.
     
    Finally he burst out the cubicle grinning. And then I realised another kiddie was in there with him. I see. Well I hope you two had a good time. Ahem.
     
    Wrong Kind Of Thief On The Rails
    Silly goings on in toilets are typical of the British. We love toilet humour. Cubicles have long been temples of working class wisdom. We also have a long tradition of assuming things are ours if they ain't nailed down. I saw a news report when I was sat in the sun at Wharf Green that morning said that some skallywags had disrupted railway services in Wiltshire by nicking metal from the lines. These days, it seems, nailing it down isn't enough.
     
    Bang
    As sunsets go, that was nice. Orange and grey clouds, a dark band on the horizon fringed in bright yellow, almost as if the clouds were on fire. Sigh. Oh well, time to watch the evening news and catch up with the daily report of how everyone is blowing the other side up. Later there's film about the battle for Stalingrad. Lots of explosions there too.
     
    Mind you, talking about bangs, Enemy At The Gates has what I believe to be one of the best love scenes ever filmed. Seriously. In most films that bother the hero and his girl romp around on a bed from various angles and it all looks exactly what it is - fake sex. As if people actually do it like that. In the Stalingrad film, the hero and his girl covertly have it away lying amongst rows of exhausted soldiers and trying not to get caught. Brilliant. Well acted and believable.
  24. caldrail

    Battles, And Struggles

    By caldrail,

    As I sat in the upstairs library lounge before my computer booking came up, I had time to ponder about life, the universe, and job-searching. I think my reflective mood was partly improvement in the weather, weak sunshine and a pale blue sky, with a chaotic band of cream and grey cloud lurking on the horizon.
     
    Below, on the busy pavement, shoppers and idle youths wandered back and forth going about their business. There was an orderly calm to it all, nothing like what it can be on a saturday night, and it seems remarkable that society can be so well behaved when it wants to.
     
    For those of us learning about current affairs in America, the news of a shooting doesn't seem all that shocking. Here in Britain we've become used to reports of gun crime across the pond, and the violence portrayed in imported film and television does nothing to dispell that view. We get regular reports of random slaughters. That said, I don't want to seem callous. As it happens I do hope the victim makes a recovery.
     
    However, it seems that the Americans are shocked by the attack on one of their politicians. The violence of the incident was not desirable in any way, yet a country whose constitution supports the ownership of weapons, one whose history glamourises the use of them, one whose day to day lives seem punctuated by gun crime to outsiders like me, should be so shocked at the shooting is baffling.
     
    I wonder? Is my puzzlement due to the inherently smaller world view of the British? What I mean is that although gun crime exists in America, it's spread over a much greater area, and to us, the impression is of a society prone to violence at the drop of a safety catch, because we naturally think in terms of a much smaller land mass.
     
    Or is this merely the result of media coverage? Are the American journalists deliberately accentuating the madness of it all? I heard a female reporter on BBC America last night talking about the wierd smile the perpetrator had on his face as he stood in court. A witness stresses the villain shoots at a little girl. He may well be a dangerous oddball for all I know, yet the reports accentuate his dysfunctional habits. It's as if the public are being treated to a virtual execution. Almost as if a man is being led to the gallows for the public to see justice done.
     
    But then are we so different? In the case of a recent murder in Bristol, a suspect was described by the media in preparation for his trial which as it turns out was not to be. Despite being an oddball himself, the suspect was released and apparently had no part in the killing. The difference then is one of style, both in how we live as a society and how we choose to report it.
     
    What About The Jobsearch?
    Oh yes, that continues, and what a strange endeavour it has become. Today I got an email from an agency telling me that they've received my CV from another source and they intend to file it for future use. That's jolly decent of them, especially since I've been sending them my CV for nearly three years in the vain hope they'd actually look at it.
     
    I had to laugh at a job advert today. Apparently for this vacancy the applicant requires "gritty determinatioon". Must be a job as a recruitment consultant.
  25. caldrail

    Be Nice To Wednesday

    By caldrail,

    After nearly half a century I've come to the conclusion that Wednesday is the worse day of the week. You're still traumatised by Monday, bored by Tuesday, payday is tomorrow, and you can't spend it until Friday. Last weekend is now a fleeting memory and the next one is too far away.
     
    As if being a cold, grey, and damp morning to start with was not enough, I forgot the Job Centre is closed for an hour for staff meetings when I should be signing on. Once again I burst through the doors bleary eyed to realise I'm facing a sign that politely informs me that I'm too early. Given how chilly it was outside, I decided to wait in the foyer for an hour.
     
    Upstairs, once Security had announced that we were allowed to go about our official business, I sat down and waited for another hour while other dole seekers got all the attention. Have I been sent to coventry? Is this some machivellian plot to put me in my place after my robust defence of my title yesterday? Apparently not. It was simply another symptom of Wednesday.
     
    The reason I'm bleary eyed is of course the nocturnal activities of youths who rather like my white Eunos convertible and decide driving it around a bit would be a jolly wheeze. Now obviously the young man was too polite to disturb my slumber at that early hour, and so ventured to take the vehicle quietly. Unfortunately, Wednesday morning affected him too, because he wasn't able to fulfill his driving fantasies.
     
    "I told you you weren't going to be able to drive it." Said his mate (the reason I woke and realised they were there) who had enough of a brain to realise that a hood ripped in two places and covered in black tape that wafts gently in the breeze, not to mention a gaping hole where a drivers side window once was, or the mind control unit that replaces the missing steering wheel, means that the car is not available for theft. A true veteran of Wednesdays, obviously.
     
    A part of me wants to be positive about Wednesday. After the low point of the wekk, surely things can only get better? Never mind we're due another arctic blast from the north tomorrow, because that's tomorrow and we can't blame Wednesday for that. Well we shall see. After all it's just turned mid-day, so who knows? Maybe if I speak nicely to it Wednesday will go away.
     
    Quote of the Week
    "You're not your usual self today" Observed my claims advisor this morning. Yes, you're probably right, but then it is Wednesday... Ooops. That's blown it...
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