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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Dreams Are Made Of This

    By caldrail,

    I woke this morning from my slumber as the rat made a loud plop exitting the house via the toilet. Not that I'd gotten much sleep - my computer has once again succumbed to the vagaries of electricity and fizzled out. There I was, working away, when the monitor went blankl and I could hear raw current arcing somewhere. With such a strong smell of burning I even had an electrician out in the middle of the night to check I wasn't going to burn the house down. Sadly it appears the rate escaped electrocution. Or maybe the the rat is now a fully fledged member of the Special Air Service, boldly sabotaging where no rat has sabotaged before. Well not to worry, the clocks went back this morning, so I've got an extra hour to figure out another way of ridding the world of little furry mammals.
     
    Idle Dreaming
    A couple of days ago I opened the back window and stared out across the early evening scene. The sun was already dipping below the horizon yet the sky was a lustrous blue, devoid of cloud, and even with the frantic rush of urban life at rush hour going on beyond the building site, it all seemed very peace and quietful.
     
    I could hardly miss the six or seven airliners on their way across the Atlantic. It's the usual practice with air traffic control to send airliners in waves back and forth. Too high and far away to see the actual airliners themselves, their short contrails were lit up bright yellow by the sun, looking for all the world like rocket exhausts of a salvo of ballistic missiles.
     
    For a brief moment one of the contrails widened and lengthened, then as the airliner turned on a new heading, it looked like one missile had been hit by some unseen defence, arcing downward to expend itself uselessly in the Atlantic.
     
    For a while I forgot these were aeroplanes packed with tourists, holidaymakers, or freight, and watched my imaginary missiles slowly diminish and vanish into the haze on their way west, mindful of how many times we all came to nuclear holocaust during the Cold War.
     
    Dream On
    Over the last couple of years I've had no choice but to economise on my gas use, what with rising prices and all. That won't suprise any British readers. I have in fact cut my bill down to a manageable quarter of what it was. No sooner had the gas company realised they weren't getting the same profit from me as before than they announced they were imposing a standing charge to make sure they do.
     
    Naturally I was miffed. I called the customer enquiries number - too busy. I called again a couple of hours later - too busy. Finally I made one last valiant effort to contact my gas company - too busy. Fine. Log onto the internet, please cancel my gas account. It's just blatant profiteering and I don't care to pay for their cars, mortgages, and holidays in the sun.
     
    And there was Cameron, blithely telling us to search around for a bargain tariff. Dream on mate.
     
    Date Of The Week
    A friend of mine known for his inebriation and habit of waking up in surreal and funny situations has been on the lookout for a girklfriend. Not a plastic shop mannequin - I think he's realised the downside of that lifestyle choice - and tells me this time he chose his dentist as a potential partner.
     
    Don't ask me why - I have no idea - but apparently she understands his sense of humour. I chuckled when he told me was going to, but fair play to him, he did. Not the lady he intended to unfortunately. His usual dentist wasn't there, so he made do with the foreign female dentist instead, and asked her out.
     
    "I don't understand your sense of humour" She replied.
  2. caldrail
    David Cameron has said Britain needs to be more evangelical. No. It doesn't. Christianity is two thousand years out of date, causes nothing but misery, and is no better than it ever was at curing the worlds ills. No suprise then that our revered leader is patronising Britains official religion, which is getting a bit ridiculous given that even the Archbishop of Canterbury has admitted that Britain is no longer a Christian country.
     
    This is course now that the Pope has made saints of two of his predecessors. A click of the fingers and two dead men become immortal spirits we must worship as examples of what humanity aspires to be. How ridiculoius is that? Truth is that becoming a saint is really a second class title. The Romans used to make people gods when they thought it was worthwhile making a fuss in public, but they can't do that now because God made a ruling that only He was to be worshipped. Someone forgot to tell the Pope obviously.
     
    As for being more evangelical, I get enough reminders about Jesus in the street. Not impressed. After all the more evangelical people get the more reasons they find to empty your wallet. If evangelism needs to be a success, then maybe a few more moneychangers tables in the temple need to be turned over. You listening Cameron? No, I thought not.
     
    Bumps In The Night
    Talkimg about listening, my neighbours are still confused as to why my stereo occaisionally makes itself heard. Not because I want to impose my musical tastes on anyone else - I normally listen via headphones - but I seriously don't want to listen to anyone elses either. The girl downstairs for instance. She sings along to her partners guitar a quarter tone flat with no natural verve. Sorry, but either it's my stereo or I'm facing a large dentisits bill.
     
    At least I've managed to persuade them that music late at night is out of order. So late at night when the time comes to submit to my incresing lethargy and get some sleep, at least I can be assured that thuds and rumbles won't be preventing me from getting that healthy eight hours rest. Ahhhh.... Yes.... Busy day tomorrow, a nice warm bed, and....
     
    Huh.... Huh.... Huh... Huh.... Huh.... Huh.... Huh.... Huh....
     
    Ah yes. The evocative sound of the Lesser Spotteed Neighbour in their nightly mating ritual. I don't want to be cruel, but maybe she needs more than singing lessons? If you're going to make those noises at night, at least make some effort with your love life. Please. This is worse than counting sheep.
     
    Moan Of The Week
    Some people reading my blog are going to moan that all I do is moan. Well, that's how we are isn't it? I passed a lady the othe day, moaning about the world and its frustrations into her mobile phone.
     
    "I've had no lunch break, I've had no fag break..." She complained, outside a commercial premises, leaning against the door frame with a lit cigarette in her hand.
  3. caldrail
    There's an election in the wind. My first clue was that piece of card posted through the dor telling me I can vote. The second clue was a couple of coaches parked near the library with signs telling me that our local minister of parliament was in town talking to citizens, promising them the Earth, and asking for their vote to make it possible. Makes a change from the Jesus brigade I suppose, even if the preaching isn't much different.
     
    I don't know about you, but I find the Promised Land is something I've heard about all too often. We never seem to get there do we? Maybe that's because if we did we wouldn't need ministers of parliament any more and they'd be out of a job. So get those votes in now and join in the nail biting television coverage of the vote counting to see who will lead us into the next round of Prime Ministers Questions and all those arguments about whose policies are whose.
     
    As to who this MP was I have no idea. Apparently he's already representing Swindon North. Guess that explains everytthing. Thing is though there was a gentleman talking to a couple of burly security people who bore an extraordinary resemblance to Ed Millband, the Labour Party fuhrer. Couldn't have been of course. Ed Milliband is a charismatic leader of men, a giant of politics, a fearless reformer and visionary, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and crush men's skulls with his little toe. Ed Millipede then.
     
    To be honest I couldn't care less who he was or why he was there. I did notice however he took great delight in poking fun at my expense in public. Twice. Well, it's only fair then that I poke fun back. In front of the entire Inter-World-Wide-Web-Net in glorious broadband. Oh how social media haunts us all....
     
    Nice cardie Mr Millipede. Looks like genuine unwashed Hebridean yak wool. Birthday present maybe? Or is that the uniform a party leader wears in covert missions into enemy held rural towns? I only mention the cardie because it genuinely happens to be the most impressive thing about you. Not very tall are you?
     
    The second item on my lambasting itinerary is confirmation that my anatomy is indeed fully functional. Laugh all you want, but I got a friendly smile from a rather attracive female receptionist that day and I'll be seeing her again shortly. You had to make do with two burly policemen. Takes all sorts I guess...
     
    Online Dating Of The Week
    Some people think I'm childish. Playing trains, at my age? The men wonder why I'm not out there every night shagging women. Women complain I'm not breeding enough babies for them to go gooey over. Admittedly I do behave a little bit less than calm and businesslike sometimes, but then, why would I want to be a stereotypical cardboard cut-out living in miserable mediocrity? Ye gods what a dull world you people live in. No wonder you all want to get blind steaming drunk.
     
    Let me tell you something World. As James May showed scientifically on television (he does things properly you see) model trains are without doubt the one thing that adults will forget football for, although he did neglect to factor in the influence of copious amunts of lager.
     
    As for shagging women, I really don't mind putting aside the model trains for the odd bonk or two. As it happens, I discovered the other night that there's a rule of thumb for finding the perfect age of your prospective partner. Apparentl;y the ideal woman's age is half the man's plus seven. That means I really can still shag a woman of child bearing age safe in the knowledge she's perfect for me and that my anatomy is still expected to function as expected. It comes fully tested after al, as Mr Millpede kindly confirmed for us all. So ladies, if you're 33 years old, single, want to breed little Caldrails, and have a benign attitude toward model trains, Roman history, supercars, and military surplus trousers, why not get in touch? I only bite if asked to.
  4. caldrail
    As I type this blog entry it's nearly half past four in the morning. The blackness of the night is giving way to that pale blue twilight before dawn, the amber street lights still shining . It's too warm to sleep anyway. With the window open, I can hear birdsong outside in the street.
     
    Birdsong? There used to be a time when you never heard birds until the sun was up. These days I hear them chirping all night and I find it very hard to get used to it. A couple of weeks ago there was one night when the birds stayed silent - why I have no idea - and that was the comfortable familiar silence I remember from my younger days. Not even a speeding hatchback bobbing up and down to the beat of overlarge sub-woofers in the boot. Not even a distant singing contest from a drunken rabble. Not even the relentless giggles and shrieks of girls in a wobbling contest on their high heels. Nope, it's peaceful out there. I like that. A new day is coming my way.
     
    Coming for someone else too, as the first of the morning commute drives past my home. When the day progresses the noise will increase, not just because of the traffic jams of an urban main road, but the volume level of car stereos rising in direct proportion to summer sunshine. So many people adopting stereotypes and lifestyles mapped out by... ahhh... Come to think of it, who exactly dictates how we live?
     
    Stacey
    A colleague at work is one of those men who finds it impossible to live without a partner. It's as if blokes like him struggle to feel comfortable without a woman to define their manhood. Personally I don't suffer from that malaise. To be with someone merely for appearances, or because of some lack of identity, or an addiction to social behaviour? No, my life is not defined by who I'm with, even though a great many people in my home town seem to feel it should be and voice their disapproval regularly. Pfah. None of their business, and as for their opinons... Erm... Who are they, exactly?
     
    But my colleague needs his fix. Quite why I don't know, he has a catalogue of spectacular failures, a divorcee with restraining orders against him, children he cannot contact, the loss of property and even a roof over his head, plus the bitter memories of a prison sentence he doesn't feel he deserved.
     
    For a while he was feeling enthusiastic about Stacey, an American woman who claimed she was a US Army sergeant in Iraq (despite using a British phone number). Eventually her demands for cash and expensive presents overcame his desire to pair off.  Now Stacey wants the latest Samsung smartphone worth a whopping five hundred pounds for her birthday. Money to pay for her mothers hospital bills. Money to pay for this, pay for that. Tell her where to go, I advise him, she's just a con merchant. He knows, he agrees, but he cannot let go of a contact, even if it is only a facebook friend.
     
    Luckily now he's dscovered another facebook friend to occupy his need to fill a void in his life, this time a lady in far away Indonesia. I rib him about her, enquiring whether he's jetting off to see her on the weekend. Actually it came as quite a shock to me to discover he really was planning to travel there. The red tape involved prevented his departure at short notice, and to be fair, the crash of British Airway's computer systems this week would have stopped him anyway. I hope he's made a good choice this time, and I wish him well in is search for completeness.
     
    It does beg the question though – how can people regard facebook contacts as actual friends? They’re just not. Claiming you have thousands of friends online is an exercise of ego and folly, for at best, the vast majority are only ever going to be fair weather friends, and for practical purposes, hardly any of them will ever meet you face to face. Human social dynamics mean that almost everyone will only have less than ten genuine friends at any time, and more than a hundred is unmanageable for us.
     
    Add to that the anonymity that the internet allows. Partly out of a need for security, it must be said, but I’ve seen all sorts of inflated claims by individuals seeking more respect than they deserve. Or for that matter, more money.
     
    Screenie Of The Week

    Doesn't that look a bit like a Lancaster bomber without gun turrets? It should do. This is the Avro Lancastrian, the civilian cargo plane version of Britain's most famous WW2 bomber. Cold, draughty, noisy, no creature comforts except a flask of tea passed around, all rattling rivets and vibrating aluminium panels. But on the plus side, long range and good lifting ability, albeit not exactly convenient to load. Carrying around nine to thirteen passengers, that's a lot of aeroplane for so few people on board, with four gas guzzling Merlin engines pumping out a total of 6500hp at full chat.
     
    We're used to thinking of military flying when talking about WW2, but the Lancastrian began its career in 1943, flying between Britain and Canada, and the similarly derived (but much more suitable) Avro York starting its transport life the year after.
     
    Pictured here turning onto the approach for Sonderborg, Denmark, my approach was spoilt by a light aeroplane on finals at the same time. In real life, I would have gotten a serious telling off for puting her down against explicit orders to 'go around', but hey, I'm tired and I want to go to bed. Time then to snooze and dream of aeroplanes past. Or whatever subconcoius chaos that goes through my head.. Right now I notice the blueness has gone, the street lights have switched off, and the passing of cars and motorbikes is stepping up in frequency. Dayligjht has arrived.
     
    Happy birthday Stacey. Sorry your present hasn't arrived, but I guess someone else will send you something expensive.
  5. caldrail

    Payday

    By caldrail,

    The problem I'm having with thursdays is that I'm struggling to find anything interesting to say about them. Back in my younger days thursdays used to be fun exciting times of the week because that was payday. The manager would come round and hand you cash in a small envelope. This was of course in the days before the internet became the preferred means of making friends. I'm not sure the internet was invented back then.
     
    Unlike many of my older colleagues in the workplace I wasn't married, so no-one was going to mug me for the paypacket when I got home. There was a sort of medieval simplicity about life for me back then. Nowadays with credit and debit cards, telephone and online banking, the need to carry cash is much reduced. News of that change in financial behaviour has not yet reached your typical beggar however.
     
    "Hey mate" Said a dishevelled ruffian stting on a car park wall as I strolled by. "Got any change?"
     
    Nope. Sorry.
     
    "Mate, I just want something to eat. I can get fried chicken for a quid. All I need is one pound..."
     
    As much as I sympathise with his desperation for money to purchase food, I couldn't help noticing he was rolling a cigarette which I presume he was inteding to light and smoke very shortly. So he can afford to set light to dry shredded vegetation and ruin his cardio-vascular system, but not something to eat? I have to say that's one gentleman who is seriously in need of revising his priorities.
     
    Sorry, but I don't have any cash with me.
     
    I wasn't lying. I'd spent the last of it the previous night. One pound for a chicken burger. Didn't have any money left for cigarettes though. Had I been a smoker, perhaps I could have done a deal. Sadly that was not to be, because despite the suspicions of my doctor, I have no intention of smoking. So I strolled away with lungs, arteries, appetite, and bank balance in good shape.
     
    Money For A Life Story
    There's been some talk from a number of people of selling my writings for profit just of late. Having written that last sentence, I'm probably already under investigation by special agents of the Department of Work & Pensions determined to prove that I'm a dole cheat and thus liable for a different form of sentence. The sorry truth is no-one is sending me any cheques just yet. They'd better hurry up because the banks want to make cheques obselete. Just a little hint there.
     
    Some years ago a chinese chap popped into existence right in front of me as I went about my lawful business in town. In one sentence, without taking a single breath, he gave me his life story, a tale of tragedy, misfortune, and misery, asking at the very end with barely a molecule of oxygen left in his body if I had any cash to spare.
     
    This was of course in the days when people did carry cash around in bulging pockets and wallets. "Loadsa money!" was a popular comedy catchphrase. As for me, I was an aspiring musician and in the quest for the best gear I could find, much of my cash was spent on endless additional bits for my ever growing drum kit, plus the sticks, heads, and replacement bits that failed to survive my daily workout.
     
    Make no mistake, I was not a quiet drummer. Apart from getting a band banned from almost every gig in Bristol for being too loud, we once attended a jam session at a pub in Swindon and played a couple of numbers, using a drumkit belonging to someone else. The owner looked fairly distraught and after we finished, claimed his drums were not insured for assault. Don't know what he was worried about. No damage at all. Mind you, one cheeky villain in a support band at a London gig deliberately sabotaged my own kit to spoil our performance. He failed of course, but if that rotten so and so is reading this, let it be known he still owes me twenty quid for a new bass drum head.
     
    If we ever meet again, I wonder if he'll have that money on him? Or wil I have to tell the story before he remembers?
  6. caldrail

    Teenie Weenie Issues

    By caldrail,

    The cull against badgers and foxes has started. Poor things, but Bovine Tuberculosis causes too much expensive bother and our rural mammals have to find out the hard way, mostly because they have inherent communication difficulties in dealing with human beings. A bit like teenagers then.
     
    The work undertaken at the Old College site has sprawled out onto the pavement for some time now, meaning that the pavement is temporarily closed. That results in big plastic barriers and metal warning signs, which because I happen to live next to a pedestrian crossing means the signs are left outside my home. Until, that is, Saturday night, when inebriated teenagers collide with signs designed to be visible. Crash bang wallop, and the following morning the signs are laid out across the pavement until the end of the week..
     
    Some idiot teenager decided that my reason for walking through a local park was to find homosexual partners, telling his companion (a male his age, I would point out) that I was better off looking in a certain part of Swindon. Actually I'm better off not looking at all seeing I don't do blokes, but then, I wasn't aware that homosexuals prowled Swindon's green spaces searching for quickie sex or maybe more. Thanks for the warning. Somewhat curious how you came to know that.
     
    "Need a bit o' help, mate?" shouted another idiot from a passing van as I approached a pedestrian crossing laden with a weeks shopping Not from a Drivers Mate. Heading for a certain part of Swindon? Have a nice day.
     
    And then there's that little pest who mutters threats every night, proclaiming my home is his, and that all my property is his too. No, they aren't. So shut up and go away you silly little boy. Get yourself a hobby, like stamp collecting or acne clearance. Alternatively, for something more adult, I'm reliably informed that exciting activity can be found in a certain part of Swindon.
     
    As much as farmers suffer the aggravation of badgers and foxes, we townies have to suffer the aggravations of teenage idiots. As far as I'm concerned the government are better off culling them.
     
    Confromtation of the Week
    "Don't look at me like I am an idiot!" The young man snapped at me. I'd taken too long to reply to his indignation that I'd been insisting on his turning down the volume of his music in the quiet zone of the local library. Although he was using headphones, the sheer volume meant that anyone within a five hundred yard radius could hear those tinny hisses and clicks. When I'm working against the clock in the frantic browse for gainful employment, the high pitched club anthem is distracting to the same degree as a naked blonde librarian telling me to come upstairs and get it big boy. Only more irritating.
     
    In fact he'd already called me an idiot in front of a librarian on duty fully clothed, and whilst he pretended to comply with the requests made by the librarian and also by a security guard at my behest, he'd pushed the volume back up again as soon as they'd gone.
     
    Mate... Calm down...
     
    "I am calm" He replied angrily, quickly switching to a menacing tone "I am always calm. You would not like me when I'm angry."
     
    I didn't much like him at all. I have no sympathy for defiant teenagers. However I was struggling not to burst into hysterics with his comic book machismo. I've heard more convincing dialogue in a Steven Seagal film.
  7. caldrail
    Tried to log on to the PC at my local library this morning. Apparently my domain did not exist and therefore I'm a non-entity the computer network doesn't recognise. Hey, I know I'm unemployed but this is a public facility right?
     
    The man at the desk assured me it was merely my login card that had expired. He tapped a few keys, smiled, and sent me on my way.
     
    Right then, log on... wait.... Oh joy, I'm still a non-entity.
     
    So having gone back to the man at the desk I discover there's now a long queue of non-entities struggling to log on, and most of them have jobs. The somewhat flustered gentleman went back to the PC with me to check that I wasn't some klutz who couldn't get his password riight, fending off queries from others sat waiting hopelessly at their PC's. having seen me fail to log in, he then attempted the log in for me (can you imagine how smug he would have looked?) but that failed too. Running out of options, he then logged me in as a guest.
     
    Hi. My name is Mr Guest.
     
    Can't wait to find out if Caldrail is still a non-entity tomorrow morning....
     
    Accident of the Week
    Goes to me. Along the main pedestrian shopping area I strolled down to the bank. The sun was out although the ground was still wet from a heavy rainshower a few minutes earlier. There I was minding my own business, threading my way through the disinterested crowd, when....
     
    My foot slipped a little. Whoops, lets regain my balance.. whoops, slipped again, worse this time.... Uh-oh, this doesn't look good... Oh no! I'm falling over!
     
    Well I didn't just fall over, I left the ground entirely and dropped to the pavement with quite a thud. A concerned gentleman kindly asked if I was ok and offered to help me up, but that was too much after making such an exhibition of myself. I thanked him and was on my way.
     
    I've got quite a bruise on my right knee.
  8. caldrail

    Zippidee Doodah

    By caldrail,

    My oh my what a wonderful day. Plenty of sunshine heading my way.
     
    That's what I like to tell myself. In reality it's now four years since I had a full time job. Somebody else seems to have noticed that as well because I got a terse text message from the programme centre the other day telling me to turn up to a mandatory activity session. The next morning a letter arrived telling me to turn up or else.
     
    "Does everyone know why you're here?" Asked the lady presenting the session. No-one answered. It turns out the government has decided that we're all going to be assigned jobs where-ever they can be found. No interviews required. The staff at the programme centre seemed a little baffled by the lack of response from us jobseekers. It wasn't that we all wanted to sit on our backsides at public expense - those that did soon revealed themselves with a desperate excuse as the truth dawned on them - but rather that here was a job given to us on a plate. Almost all of us were long term claimants. For years we've been bombarded with pep talks, warnings, advice, and training to turn us into succesful jobseekers. so where was the achievement? I wonder if the programme centre staff have realised that?
     
    Out of the Box
    Every so often someone pops into the museum with bags and boxes of stuff that's been lying around the house in some forgotten corner for long enough. Usually it's nothing but rubbish so when this very scenario occured today I groaned inwardly.
     
    Customer service... Smile for the customer... Listen politely to the tale of how this stuff has to find a new home or get thrown out.... As it happens this time the customer rhad brought in a box full of old vacuum tubes, some dating back to the Second World War. I looked through the collection, discovering that the black ones marked 'RCA' were american, those marked 'VR' were british military surplus, and... hallo.... What's this? German?
     
    It was. An old tube in good condition from a Luftwaffe radio set. I asked him about it and he confirmed he'd been billetted at former german airfields after the war. Young L couldn't understand why I was making a fuss. "What's the big deal?" He asked me. History, lad, history. We're so used to regarding these contributions as nothing more than other peoples unwanted rubbish that we forget some of this stuff really is a piece of the past you can reach out and touch.
     
    My oh my... What a wonderful day...
  9. caldrail

    Say It Loud

    By caldrail,

    What's happened at the Job Centre? Usually I stride through the door and waft past the security guards holding up my identitu documents in that sort of "Get out of my way minion" sort of manner. Not any more. Now the guards stop me and ask where I'm going. What? Again?
     
    Fine. Well, I'm walking over there toward the door the other side of the lift, into the hallway where I use the door on the right to enter the staiwell, where I climb the steps all the way to the second floor, where I turn right and go through the door at the end, follow the passage and go through the last door on the right, where I turn right and sit patiently until my claims advisor thanks me for turining up and doing some jobsearch, whereupon I retrace my steps until I exit the building.
     
    "Thank you Sir. That's all I need to know".
     
    Oh good.
     
    Homo Swindonus
    Question - How do you recognise a bloke from Swindon?
     
    Answer - He's the one who thinks he's a man because he thinks you're not. Yep. That's how stupid Swindon Man is. They're also paranoid about objects being inserted into their backsides, which of course never happens, but they don't know that because it hasn't actually happened to anyone yet so they think it's possible, even though it's very illegal and subject to certain physical risks like outraged Swindon blokes. I mean, what sort of hard as nail tough as old boots junkyard dog is worried about the sanctity of his arse?
     
    For example, there's a guy I often see at the library. Nothing unusual, just another typical Swindon bloke, except perhaps this one talks to himself a lot, which is why I notice his presence among the throng of dull eyed Facebook addicts and thus why he thinks I'm gay. Unfortunately he forgot that talking to himself is audible to those around and so I could plainly hear his opinions concerning my sexuality and manliness. As if he knew what he was talking about. He's a Swindon bloke. All mouth and no brain cell. Funny how the loudest butchest blokes always seem to deserve having something rammed up... No. Let's not go there.
     
    He Who Shouts Loudest Knows Least.
     
    Shouting Loudly
    Talking about shouting, I've received a phone call from the Department of Work and Pensions asking for more information concerning my leter, a demand for Mandatory Reconsideration concerning the bill they sent me for overpaid benefits. Actually it was me me who shouted, not him. I was a little irate you see. However, please note that I did not accuse him of being gay despite the loss of his testicles.
     
    Men At War
    The move toward 'realistic' war films has certainly made some interesting strides in recent years. Veterans tell us that if we want to know what the landings at Omaha Beach were like in 1944, we need do no more than watch Saving Private Ryan. Due credit to the film makers then. In the same vein I happened to catch Steel Tempest. It tells the story of the Ardennes Offensive from a German perspective, with a constant theme of propaganda versus reality. I liked the way period war footage was woven in. I also approved of the slavish attention to period detail, the use of equipment that really did look like Wehrmacht vehicles and weaponry. It had a sort of Band of Brothers feel, with some of the same actors, albeit with somewhat less convincing acting. It was disappointing to see the lacklustre movement of troops, who even to me failed to convince as veteran SS troops fighting with meagre resources against the allies. Ideally you need to sympathise with the war weary SS officer, the tragic letters from home, and the occaisional moments of comradeship from soldiers. Ideally you should feel disgusted at the nasty and predatory behaviour of soldiers at war, or the deceit of senior command to enable the Fuhrers plans to succeed. Ideally you ought to sense the frustration of men ordered to blitzkrieg the enemy with barely enough to shoot back and no support from anyone. The problem is, you don't.
  10. caldrail

    Voices Raised In Anger

    By caldrail,

    Employment agencies are the bane of the jobseeker. Love them or loathe them, anyone on Jobseekers Allowance sooner or later must do business with them during their search for work.The problem is that these agencies aren't interested in finding you work - you're just not that important - but instead need to shove you into the first convenient role to fulfill their contractual obligations and profit margins.
     
    Unlike employers, agencies always do things at the last minute. There's always a sense that if you don't immediately agree to be enslaved then someone else will, the point being that they get paid for signing away their freedom and human rights whereas you get left with having to explain your failure to a claims advisor. Just today I struggled through the gale force winds to attend a work registration run by an agency, only to discover my on-going opportunity was merely two weeks casual labour. "It was in the email" He assured me. No, pal, it wasn't.
     
    This sort of thing happened to me a few days ago. I was at the ocal shopping mall, my mission to buy some frozen chips, when my mobile phone activated itself for the first time this year. Hello? The call was from a desperate recruitment agent. Can I start work early tomorrow morning? Errm....
     
    You see, my world has pretty much ground to a halt. My day was planned to the last detail. Go to the mall. Buy frozen chips. Go home. Cook chips for dinner. Sorted. Then this frantic guy on the other end of the phone wants to meet me at the local library to sign me up for a job on the outskirts of the known world and suddenly my brain starts remembering all the things I ought to have done by now and hadn't planned for. Seriously, you get so used to very simple lifestyle decisions as an unemployed person that conversations involving decisions on whether to do the right thing and return to the workplace before sunrise tomorrow actually become stressful.
     
    Eventually I agreed. There was nothing in his sales patter that meant the job was not for me, so I accepted that my fate was sealed. That meant I would have to notify the support centre, the dole office, Swindon Council, or anyone else with a vested interest in knowing whether I work for a living. A busy afternoon then. Here goes...
     
    Then he suggested we meet for a registration interview at the local library. Huh? Why the library? Apparently his office was way out of the town centre. It was just easier for all concerned. Okay. So I ended the call, bought my frozen chips, went home, had some chips for dinner, and then waited at the library as agreed.
     
    He never showed up. All I got afterward was a text message telling me he couldn't make it and that he'd speak to me later. He didn't. Is it just me, or did I just get used in some way?
     
    Threat of the Week
    There was a time when you could walk the streets in Swindon without hassle. Now little children hurl dog poo for a laugh, and youths trty to enforce territorial rights on passers-by like petty gangsters. Just today some acne-ridden wretch busy trying to make his secondhand hatchback look 'hot' said "Don't come this way again" in a hideously immature tone.
     
    Look mate, if by some quirk of fate you learned how to read and happen to be reading this instead of Facebook, then I have to tell you I was walking along a public thoroughfare. Since I was only going about my lawful business, you mind yours, and by the way, where did you get the money for that car?
  11. caldrail

    Seasonal Tidings

    By caldrail,

    Almost Christmas. I say that with a distinct sense of freedom and joy, not because it’s the festive season – Bah! Humbug! I say this because this year fate has spared me the usual barrage of Christmas songs. You know the ones I mean. All those songs that radio stations, supermarkets, and those not blessed with a sense of music play at this time every year ad nauseum. Hardly heard any of them this time around. Makes you feel good to be alive.
     
    A Noble Deed
    It’s going to be ten years since I became Lord Rail. All in all, it hasn’t impacted much on events, other than making a few people rather critical of me, including a couple of claims advisors, one of whom actually swore at me in public when I politely made him aware of my new found status. Another claims advisor attempted to crush my title out of significance with rather less rude language. They both failed. What next for the Caldrail autobiography? What can I do to offend conformity, advance the cause of individualistic idiocy, and generally make life a bit more interesting than visiting supermarkets at Christmas? Hmmm… Let me think….
     
    Adopting Nature
    May I introduce you to Ronald? He’s a robin, the red breasted variety (although they do seem a bit orange rather than actually red), and has taken up residence at my workplace. Haven’t a clue what he finds to eat, probably subsisting on leftover sweeties when things are quiet. No food on the shop floor please… Okay, the boss is gone. But this is a bumper time for Ronald, because rules go out the door at Christmas as the boss brings in boxes of chocolates to reward us for a year of dedicated hard work and constant gripes. Seeing as this was the festive season, I suggested the company adopt Ronald as a mascot. I have no idea what Ronald thinks of this honour. He flew away.
     
    How Not To Get Home
    My last shift before xmas is done! Yahoo! Can’t be bothered to walk home in the rain so I opt for a bus. As much as I detest buses, even I have to confess they do come in handy occaisionally, like going home after the last shift before xmas.  You could tell it was the festive season. Whilst I normaly have to wait ages for a bus to arrive, I had no sooner gotten to the bus stop when my ride arrived. I’ve long since learned to take my backpack off before getting on, but this not being a patient driver, I stepped aboard, pad the fare, got the ticket, and found myself entangled in the straps as I struggled manfully to fit into the seats. Slipping on the wet floor, cursing at the lack of movement, the bus accelerating and braking like an entry at Le Mans, boy oh boy, that was a test of manhood.  I;m pleased to say no-one made any sarky comment at all. They must have seen me struggle before. What? Last Christmas? Oh heck, please let this not become an annual ritual….
     
    Mammalian Connection of the Week
    A little while ago I finished a late shift and as I often do, I stopped at a lonely bus stop to rest for ten minutes before walking four miles home. The bus schedule finished hours ago you see. So I was there, guzzling my energy drink which I keep handy for such occaisions, when movement down on the pavement caught my eye.  A fox!
    Not really that unusual, certainly not in that area with plenty of supermarket refuse bins to forage for food. This one hadn’t seen me, trotting happily along the pavement, looking in good health and really picture postcard perfect condition. Then it noticed my surprise.
    When you surprise a fox like that, some scarper immediately. Others freeze until they decide to scarper. This one froze. But it was odd. I was looking straight into that foxes eyes and expected the usual look of startled horror at encountering a shabby tired out human being. I saw something else. Although alert and poised to move as instinct demanded, for just a brief moment it looked as the fox was wondering if it could approach in a friendly manner.  Scrounger behaviour rather than genuine friendliness, I’ve seen squirrels adopt the same begging action, but the sensation of empathy however misinterpreted is genuinely a deeply rewarding experience.
    Instinct got the better of it and the fox scarpered. Happy Christmas, Mr Fox.
  12. caldrail

    Comings And Goings

    By caldrail,

    Just in case you all thought I was going to do something impulsive or inspirational, fear not, for today is just another day in the life of a dedicated jobseeker. So once again it's another fifteen minute stroll to the programme centre and delve into the myriad advertisements on the internet.
     
    On the local high street I spotted an articulated lorry parked on the side of the road, with a van parked the wrong way round on a one way street, with goods being transferred from one to the other.
     
    I noticed the lorry had german license plates. Nothing unusual these days. We get more foreign lorries than our own what with fuel prices and competition. I regularly see a dutch lorry at the bottom of the hill offloading supplies of foliage to the local flower shop. Quite what happens to the foliage afterward is another matter, because I never see anyone buying any.
     
    Then I noticed the van was displaying italian license plates. Eh? Now I've always thought I was a little clued up about logistics, but a german lorry offloading to an italian van on a british high street? How is that profitable? Me no understandee...
     
    Record Breaking Burgers
    I see Burger King have totally ignored the latest health advice and created a product oozing with calories. Currently it's only available in Japan, but if British people decide that consuming curries is old hat, or poisonous, considering one takeaway down the hill from me has been fined for rat infestations, how long will it be before television adverts for burgers show government health warnings?
     
    I imagine that soon we'll be banned from eating them in pubs. Like somkers, there'll be small crowds huddling in the cold evenings under street lamps enjoying their distasteful habit. Or worse, will people be banned from eating burgers in public entirely because it's not nice to maltreated cows to be devoured in the sight of the law abiding majority?
     
    Death Rehearsal
    What a horrible headline. Apparently someone has said that the upcoming royal wedding will also be a dress rehearsal for the Queens funeral. She isn't dead yet, you know. Oh well. Practice makes perfect I suppose.
  13. caldrail

    The Soul Of Motion

    By caldrail,

    Switch on the television today and chances are a car advert will appear. Not sure why they're so frequent all of a sudden but it might have something to do with the daft names they give cars these days. Go? Ka? Cee'd? What's all that about? Now I see one for the Vauxhall Adam. What next? The Nissan Nigel? Toyota Terence? The Ford Fred? God forbid someone should build a car called Eve. That will bring new meaning to a warning sign for "road humps".
     
    I can't help thinking that the use of 'fun' names is to try and compensate for a boring motorised shopping trolley. That would be bad enought, but the adverts themselves are just so daft Watching a vehicle swerve through an urban landscape to avoid getting splashed wiith paint by jealous buildings is an interesting piece of media, just not an interesting car to feature. Watching a high diver slip majestically through the space left by open doors of a suspended vehicle is clever, but when would you actually park a vehicle on its side twenty feet above a swimming pool? Truth is, it's the visual theme or the music soundtrack that's more interesting than the hybrid eco-buggy they want you to buy. Good album that. Must log onto iTunes and download it.
     
    Adverts can be pretentious too. "Soul of motion"? What's that? A mystical force created by all moving things that surrounds us, binds the universe together? I have this image in my head of car designers sat at their workstations with the blast shield down, stretching out with their feelings to try and create a car that Han Solo will say is a match for a good blaster. I seriously don't believe that the adverts are right when they descrivbe a car as "breaking with convention". Not only do they look exactly like everyone elses, they probably are the same vehicle to all intents and purposes. Face it, a truly unconventional car wouldn;t sell.
     
    Car names used to be classy, or at least, better than the monosyllabic versions we get now. Even if the cars themselves were heaps of junk built in between tea breaks and strikes by union activists in the midlands of darkest Britain, the names were in a different league. Forget this idiotic obsession with trying to make customers believe their cars are in any way interesting. What we need are bold exciting names like Ferrari Fury, or Lamborghini Lacerator, names that inspire the designer to put a bit of life into their project. As it happens Audi has saved civilisation as we know it by showing their R8 with the engine cover removed on a rolling road. A quick acceleration through the gears then coming to a standstill, engine burbling menacingly, interspersed with some vicarious snorts and growls, exuding testerone and to my mind one of the best car adverts ever.
     
    Building Site Update
    Still fascinated by the Old College site visible from my back window. So are many other passers by, who stop at the wire fence to oggle the wierd and wonderful machinery used to excavate a massive canyon in the side of Swindon hill. It just keeps getting deeper. At the far end the channel is now so deep that even from my high vantage point, the diggers are almost lost inside. Before long it'll get so feep that the site will generate its own climate. There'll be hairy sub-human mutant tribes descended from long lost construction workers, dragging peoples cars into the depths at night to worship the starnge God of automobile mass production. Maybe they'll find archaeological evidence of my stolen Eunos Cabriolet?
     
    The Bicycle Cometh
    The road junction at the bottom of the hill can get quite entertaining. The traffic lights sometimes get out of sync and you can always tell when that happens because suddenly every vehicle in sight draws to an undignified halt with a crecendo of horn blasts. So noisy in fact that motorists are forced to communicate with sign language.
     
    Coming round the bend at the other end from me was a black BMW, accelerating quickly and risking angry gestures from frustrated motorists. I've noticed for a ong time that BMW drivers are often quite arrogant and self absorbed. He just couldn't resist a couple of hundred yards of empty road ahead of him.
     
    This was one of those strange moments when time seems to slow almost to a halt. Even at that distance, even with his tinted windscreen, we locked eyes on each other. We knew each others mind. He wanted to tear past me enjoying his germanic performance. I wanted to cross the road at a pedestrian crossing. He looked at me. I looked at him. He gunned the accelerator, I pressed the fateful button. He gritted his teeth in a determined dash to beat the lights. I waited patiently with a smug grin. His car slithered to a halt before a red light with a flattened nose visible on the glass. I walked across the road unflustered and victorious. Bow down before the might of civilisation, BMW driver.
     
    But what's going to happen after the government have invested gazillions of pounds promoting bicycles instead of keeping roofs over the heads of unemployed people? Truth of the matter is cyclists have a rule book all of their own, and it isn't very thick. They routinely ignore pedestrian crossings or bye laws prohibiting cycling on the pavement. Just the other morning a youngster performed a wheelie whilst managing to avoid the pedestrians. He aimed his bike in my direction. I looked at him with raised eyebrows He brazenly defied sanity by continuing his wheelie. I got out of the way.
     
    So there you have it. The bicycle is more powerful than the BMW. Or me.
  14. caldrail
    My world is very quiet of late, apart from the odd squabble among among my neighbours. About the only event worthy of note is the inspection of the property by my letting agent. They do tell me that they're not overly concerned at my lifestyle or how tidy the place is, but my days as an air cadet still afflict me with an instinctive desire to avoid having to clean the place all over again until I can eat my breakfast off it.
     
    So I had a bit of tidy up. That didn't hurt, did it?
     
    Plans
    The latest plans for Queens Park are posted at the library. Now that the council has disbanded the parks department to save money they might stop ripping all the foliage out of the park. Or will they? Time for me to head down to the display boards and find out what is going on.
     
    More Weather
    There's more warnings of persistent cold weather to come. That's the trouble with february. Almost every year it does this. Just when you think winter is all over and you've gotten away with it, along comes icy blasts from Siberia or the North Pole.
     
    It's supposed to be the coldest day this winter so far but it doesn't feel like that. Certainly not warm but there's none of that sharp coldness that demands long johns and gloves. Now that I've been warned things are getting colder, should I rush out and purchase protective warm clothing? My own attitude is very much that I've suffered far worse in the past and that I can hack it and so on. Then I saw one of those television experts telling us that older people do tend to say that before they die horribly of hypothermia. I've been warned.
     
    Whinge Of The Week
    I see Argentina is whinging to the UN because Britain sent a warship to the Falkland Islands. They say it's 'militarising' the area. I'm sorry, didn't Argentina send an entire army there in 1982 and leave a legacy of minefields all over the islands?
  15. caldrail
    Work at the Old College site proceeds apace. I know this because firstly there's a huge jungle of steel girders blocking the view from my back window, and secondly, because they've starting demolition of the brickwork in one corner of the site in order to create the entrance to a new car park. Every time the digger brings down the bucket to smash the bricks the whole terrace of houses in which I live vibrates. Really, the house has been shaking intermittently for the last few days. I'm actually bouncing on my seat.
     
    Little Monkeys
    Monkeys can be entertaining to watch. Like other people I've marvelled at the graceful slow motion of Orangu-tangs, the lightning quick bursts of gymnastics from gibbons, or laughed at the parodies of human activity from chimpanzees. Actually, come to think of it, the closeness of human and primate behaviour can be a bit embarrassing sometimes. Like that male chimpanzee sat on top of a climbing frame in Auckland Zoo. As soon as he saw me watching him, he gave a big monkey grin, stood up, and enjpyed a very full on wee. Yes yes yes, I see you. They share 99% of our DNA you see.
     
    What do monkeys eat? I suspect the obvious answer for most of us is bananas. Finally, after millennia of keeping animals in captivity, one zoo has realised that monkeys are happier eating green vegetables. They behave better, and I suspect, enjoy fewer visits from the veterinarian and his pesky blowdarts.
     
    Here's the thing. Primates that eat bananas have too much sugar in their diet and it drives them... well... bananas. Which I suspect is largely the cause of Attention Deficit Disorder in young human beings. Not because of bananas I have to say, but because there's so much sugar in our diet overall. So give your kids less Sunny Delight, Cocopops, Halibo sweeties and maybe the local policeman with his pesky blowdarts won't be dragging the kids home every evening with acres of unreadable grafitti left in their wake. After all, why wouldn't the same thing work for our little monkeys, assuming you can ween them off stuff that tastes nice? There you go. Helpful dietary advice from Dr Caldrail.
     
    You know what? I fancy some chocolate right now... Ahh yeah... Yeah.. Oh that's good... Wow. Ah'm feelin' bad...
     
    Pretty Woman of the Week
    You have to be a bit wary of tabloid news stories, especially those connected with celebrities, but I couldn't help noticing recently that Cameron Diaz has been quoted as saying that we shouldn't refer to women as pretty because it forces the female of the species to strive toward a visiual ideal they may not be able to attain, and to suffer the mental torment of failing to achieve it.
     
    Cameron my love, you are such a silly girl. Quite apart from the fact that the female of the species causes the male no end of grief regarding their appearance, behaviour, commitment, and domestic capability, is your career based entirely based on your talent as an actress? Face it, if you were a frump, where would you be?
     
    You're a very pretty woman Cameron. So please stick to the script. It is, after all, your lifestyle choice.
  16. caldrail

    Open For Business

    By caldrail,

    It's the bad old days all over again. Back when I was a youngster the world was biting its nails as Russia and America stared nose to nose with a nuclear arsenal to smack each other with the moment one or the other said something about their mother. Back then it was common practice for the Russians to send reconnaisance aircraft into our airspce here in Britain to see if we were still paying attention, which of course we did, sending jets to intercept the intruders and wave them off while they gave us cheery waves back.
     
    It looks as if the same sort of thing is starting again. Putin wants his military back from the brink, reversing the decay caused by the decline of communism and the new economic market. So far they've been flying in international airspace which is allowed, and I see one report that a nuclear warefare exercise has 'probably' taken place in the Atlantic. Oh good.
     
    More From The Old College Site
    Recently I popped into my local chinese takeaway. The lady there is a nonsense 'can't stop talking' type, which would be irritating if it wasn't for her hilarious accent. Worth the visit just to have a conversation, but trust me on this, you'd better be quick with replies.
     
    Oh hi
     
    "You wan food?"
     
    Umm... Let's see...
     
    "You wan food? Look at menu."
     
    Oh right. Well...
     
    "You wan meal for two?"
     
    Erm, yeah...
     
    "Rice or noodles?"
     
    Noodles.
     
    "Wait I answer phone... You wan food?... You wan food? Look at menu.... You wan meal for two?.... What you wan with noodles?.... Thirty minutes.... Bye. Okay, now what you wan with noodles?"
     
    And so on, until you've finished ordering, she's finished bossing customers about over the telephone, and the cook has retreated back into the kitchen again bruised and beaten. Then she gets quite chatty.
     
    "You wan conversation?"
     
    Erm...
     
    As it happens we did have an interesting chat because that was the same day the supermarket opened at the Old College site. Neither of us had ever shopped in a Morrisons before so we were both curious. It was one of those conversdations where you agree completely with the other non-stop for fifteen minutes.
     
    "Here is meal. You go home now."
     
    Erm...
     
    So what is our new supermarket like? Funnily enough, it felt and looked exactly like every other supermarket in town. There was a strange sense of deja vu as I wandered past the fresh fruit shelves near the entrance, watching all the future cancer patients busy choosing which government warning pack to buy at the cigarette stall, and spied the rows of neatly ordered shelves stuffed full of low low prices and guarantees of money back if you can get it cheaper anywhere else.
     
    Actually the prices aren't bad. I've found stuff I can buy cheaper than the usual haunts I'm used to, so I'm happy, only now I have to visit four supermarkets an week instead of three. A bit like complying with my Jobseekers Agreement, only you spend money instead of begging for it.
     
    Jobsearch of the Week
    For some reason the Job Centre have put me on the Families Support Programme. Why, I cannot say, seeing as I don't have a family, but at least the Support Centre is full of attractive young lady assistants so my jobsearching efforts have mysteriously gotten more enthusiastic. Must dash. I have a review session with my advisor and don't want to be late.
     
    I am so shallow.
  17. caldrail

    Not Impressed

    By caldrail,

    The Old College site still looms large in our local concerns. Even now, they're still trucking huge lumps of hillside away to some infill site somewhere. The sandy soil has now gone so they're digging up dark grey clay, thick lumpy soil that forms steep sided piles. The rain hasn't helped of course. looking down onto the site it got quite messy down there for a while - they've had to lay down a level of rubble to make the surface usable.
     
    The other day I was passing the site with my shopping, noticing that the roadway they'd dug up had flooded. Quite an impressive puddle it was too, although I don't think the civil engineer I spoke to was too impressed with my sense of humour. Worse still, subsidence has reared its ugly head. There's a meeting at our local civic offices for citizens none too imopressed with cracks in the walls of their homes.
     
    Meanwhile, Back At The Job Centre
    My claims advisor is not impressed. This time however it isn;t me. It seems the usual protocol of queuing until spoken to has not been taught to a younger generation, who clearly have more important things to do with their time than attend the Job Centre when required.
     
    Energy Bill Of The Week
    Back in October I had a bit of an argument with my gas supplier. They wanted to add a standing charge to my tariff which would more than double the cost of gas over winter. It's okay though, because David Cameron says there's no cost of living crisis.
     
    So, in an event to prove our glorious leader is infallible, I basically told the gas company to close my contract. Don't want your stupid gas any more. You wouldn't believe the excuses they came out with to avoid doing that. Apparently cancelling a gas supply is illegal or something like that. Don't care. Cancel it. So they wrote to me telliing me that gas supply is the basis of all civilisation. So I wrote to them cancelling my contract officially. Good riddance.
     
    Imagine then my alarm this week, three months after I had forgotten the existence of natural gas, when I received a gas bill for using no gas whatsoever. Are they serious? Do they really believe that I'm going to pay? Guys - The contract is cancelled! It's been cancelled for three months! Deal with it!
  18. caldrail

    Merry Xmas

    By caldrail,

    Its getting dangerous walking to and from work. That car salesman is watching me walk past like a predator on the african savanna under the shade of a tree. Quick Caldrail, avert your eyes, he'll think your wallet is open....
     
    I've passed Santa on the street. looking very dapper, even effete without his usual white beard, and obviously on a diet. I think its like any celebrity, downdressing to avoid the publics attention.
     
    Is it just me, or is this going to be the dullest christmas ever? usually at this time of year I get idiotic smiles and seasonal greetings from complete strangers, but not this time. Everyone just wanders around looking aimless. Has the government finally achieved its aim of turning us into robots, bereft of instructions on what to do during the festive season? Perhaps this is some subtle government strategy to support our ailing prime minister, GB, who clings to power like a child about to be stripped of his toy.
     
    Anyhow, regardless of government policy and religious dogma, Have a merry xmas everyone. Except GB, who really does need to ask us whether he can play at Number 10.
     
    Quote of the Week
    "Floods should be treated like terrorism" said an author recently. Oh? Does that mean I have to take more care running the bath? Am I at risk of SAS and SWAT teams bursting through my bathroom window with stun grenades, pointing real live pistols at my head, and screaming "TURN THAT TAP OFF NOW!!!!"
     
    Does this mean that sewage workers will receive medals for bravery?
     
    Will the army mount patrols every time it rains?
     
    Or will our nanny-state government offer VIP's security teams to ward off puddles? Wellies are not enough protection these days, we demand fast, armed responses to water escaping our rivers.
     
    Didn't Canute try this once?
  19. caldrail

    Matters Great And Small

    By caldrail,

    Must be a rainy day. The library is half empty. Oh well, at least the early morning rush for a computer isn't the usual death before dishonour charge up the stairs. I see a certain youngster has been released from prison (he was jailed for drug dealing) and even he isn't bounding up the stairs the way he normally would.
     
    Actually most of the familiar characters are somewhere else. The guy who likes to threaten me every time a I say anything, the woman who thinks the library is her personal servant, the lady who doesn't know she hums to herself, the bloke who cannot bear to parted from his mobile phone, the eastern european ladies who chatter incessantly about eastern european things, and the strange guy who always asks at the desk for assistance and cannot make himself understood. All missing.
     
    You know, this would be a pleasant session if I didn't have something to moan about. I have been advised by the Swindon Critics Society that my blog is dull - sorry about that, but rest assured there's a blockbuster finale to today's episode.
     
    Idiots
    What is it with the internet just of late? Why do web page designers believe that I want lots of pointless themes and features that really only convert handy internet sites into a jumbled mess. There's nothing worse than software that tells you what you want. Or idiots who create all that stuff for no other reason than to justify their pay packet.
     
    More About Idiots
    Talking about idiots, just of late there's been a crabby old biddy at the library who seems to think I'm interested in listening to her whinging on about what a poor excuse for a person she believes me to be. Heard it all before, dear, and I don't listen to those who speak to my back. The funny thing is she sometimes makes sarcastic comments about how good it is see me searching for work. The reason it's funny is that I've been using the library computers almost daily for the last five years to help me find work. Obviously too busy moaning about my military surplus trousers to notice.
     
    More About Whinging
    As it happens I had reason to moan myself the other day. A new neighbour has moved in and seeing her trying to cut back the jungle the previous residents cultivated in the front yard, I took the opportunity to advise her how little sound proofing there is between our houses. Like there isn't any. With her predecessors it was like living in Albert Square sometimes. Anyway despite my advice next doors radio could be clearly heard all around my flat. Right. That's it. This needs to be sorted.
     
    She came to the door and after listening to my complaint asserted that her radio wasn't loud at all, even though it could be heard blaring out behind her from the back of the house. Not exactly quiet, is it?
     
    Holy Grail Secret Of The Week
    By sheer coincidence I discovered last night that I'm very distantly related to Jesus Christ. The maternal side of my tribe is connected to all those stories circulating about Renne-Le-Chateau and the Priory of Sion. After more than a decade of trying to debunk such things it came as a bit of a shock to find out my family is part of it.
     
    Now, I have to say I'm not entirely convinced that this revelation is even close to being factual, or even believable, but those of you who swear blind that the 'Blood Royal' legend has real basis now have no choice but to defend me from strange homicidal monks, or if you really want to do me a favour, that crabby old biddy at the library.
  20. caldrail

    Scotland & Skulduggery

    By caldrail,

    Mrs Claims Advisor is getting a bit fed up of me. Now that unemployment has shrunk to its lowest level since 2008, I'm starting to become a cause celebre. She's already done her best to have my title removed and begin her attempt to turn me into an indentikit working class grunt. Do I not think that I should remove "Lord" from my CV? Not really. Boring old Mr Caldrail got maybe two or three views with each iteration. My last CV, as similar to the others as it is possible to get (apart from being labelled "Lord Rail") saw twenty five views last month alone. So I got paid for this fortnight. Money in my pocket? Woo hoo.
     
    Once more unto the shops, dear friends, once more... Those who did not shop this day will hold their wallets cheap... You have to admit, Shakespeare had a misquote for every purpose. How about one from The Scottish Play, dangerously close to becoming foreign literature...Who be that Unemployed Man?
     
    That question was asked by a policeman who was getting out of his patrol car parked on the other side of the street as I squeezed past an illegally parked car. From his perspective it probably looked like I was trying the doors to an expensive looking Mercedes. "Yeah, get out of here..." He called after me.
     
    It's unbelievable. My car gets vandalised regularly, finally stolen, and the Police tell me to investigate it myself. Then this constable starts looking at me like I steal cars from other people! Justice has a very sour taste in my area. I don't know what that crowd of policemen were doing outside the old hotel across the road earlier yesterday morning (I diagnose a possible crime scene), but I hope the long arm of the law reaches in the right direction this time. If they get enough practice, they might realise I'm not guilty of anything else than wearing socially unacceptable military surplus trousers.
     
    More From The Scottish Play
    With the referendum on Scottish Independence happening today, the news is all "Scotland Decides". Maybe the reason Mrs Claims Advisor is hustling me along is because she risks being arrested as an illegal immigrant in a weeks time? One can only hope.
     
    But what's this? Gordon Brown coming out of retirement to make a speech arguing about the need for Scotland to stay within the United Kingdom? Not only that, he sounded very passionate and shock horror he actually impressed me. That's a first.
     
    A part of me hopes Scotland will fall flat on its face if they vote for independence. Not because I want to see any hardship foisted on the Scottish, but because I don't think I could stand Alex Salmonds smugness if he wins.
     
    Not Playing Fair
    Having avoided arrest I wandered into the park to enjoy some peace and quiet. A pointless exercise after lunch however. The park is almost deserted in the morning but with a balmy afternoon every person unemployed since 2008 find some reason to be there, shouting loudly for no other reason than peace and quiet would leave them no distractions and so they would be forced to endure their own thoughts. Nonetheless the park is large enough to find somewhere to sit down quietly.
     
    So I found my quiet corner and sat down. There he is again! Not the policeman, I mean Sid the Squirrel. Every time I sit down on that particular park bench he appears, trotting along the path ungainly, sniffing and scratching at anything that interested him. Squirrels at top speed in the branches are wonderfully graceful. Walking slowly along the ground they somehow resemble an inebriated scotsman. Sid wandered by, minding his own business. Well, unlike some of our local residents, at least he's not stealing cars.
     
    There he is again. As I left the park to go about my business the very same policeman pulled out of the side street and coasted past in his patrol car as I waited to cross the road. Well, unlike some of our local residents, at least he's not stealing cars.
     
    Sale Of The Century
    At the Charity they do a roaring trade in bric-a-brac. Where does all this stuff come from? Who on Earth is buying it? I found myself a few times sat outside in the sunshine becoming quite adept at my marketplace banterm pulling in unsuspecting punters and persuading them that they need a little bric-a-brac in their lives. My sales record was beginning to rival the local expert.
     
    Some stuff doesn't get sold however. Either it's not in saleable condition, or it was merely rubbish to begin with. One item on the point of being binned was a plastic skull, looking for all the world like an albino martian (Mars Attacks!). It was so cute I couldn't resist saving it from the great recycling centre in the sky. Unfortunately I was called upon to head out on the furniture van to boldly lift where no lifting has been done before, so I had to leave Sid the Skull behind. I asked the lady on the bric-a-brac desk to look after him. So she sold Sid for 60p while I was away. Gasp! Poor old Sid. Sold into slavery when he could have a home where he would have been looked after and exercised regularly in a socially acceptable manner. There's no justice.
     
    or Maybe...
    Or maybe there is. This morning I received a letter from the Department of Work & Pensions admitting the error in my dole payments was theirs and I don't have to pay the money back. Neither am I being hit with a Civic Penalty Charge. Ahh yes... It's these little things that make my life worthwhile.
  21. caldrail

    Chilly Times Ahead

    By caldrail,

    If I'm not mistaken, the weather is turning seasonal and things generally get a bit chilly. Yep, the trees are turning brown, and that's not because they've spotted the tree surgeons butchering the local vegetation on the annual crusade to defoliate Swindon. I was amused the other week when I encountered a couple of guys sweeping leaves out of the main corridor of the College. How very autumnal. Unfortunately, there's little for me to be amused about now and yes, things are definitely getting chilly.
     
    Showdown At The Job Centre
    Boy oh boy was I naive. I walked right into this confrontation without any idea what was coming. I'd been told I was seeing a different advisor this week. As you might expect, I just assumed that my usual advisor was taking a holiday or some other reason to to save her sanity by avoiding my weekly progress report.
     
    Oh no. Nothing so innocent. This lady was from Compliance. They're the equivalent of the Gestapo. I have to say she was a fine actress. her rendition of "I'm in a really really bad mood and what on Earth is this rubbish you're presenting me with?" was fabulous. I know she was faking it - I spotted her amused expression from the corner of my eye when she sent me on a pointless errand to get evidence of my jobsearch. I provide that every week as part of my normal activity, but after she had more or less accused me of being a liar, I no longer provide it. She is after all merely looking for an excuse to stop my payments. Anything will do.
     
    So I could not answer her questions without fingers pointed at me, accusations of bad behaviour, accusations of unrealistic expectations or activity, accusations of this, that or the other....
     
    it's inexcusable. I lost my temper. Somehow I don't think that was part of her game plan. But what a ridiculous situation. I've just spent a week at Swindon College going through an Employability course, taking a Health & Safety examination, and all of a sudden I'm unemployable. The woman is an idiot.
     
    Health Diet Of The Week
    You can't go far these days without an expert telling you that whatever you've been eating is going to kill you unless you change to this new diet, available from all good bookstores at low low prices. It was refreshing then to have been present at the Support Centre when one of the young ladies was accused of not eating properly or healthily. Healthy or not, there is nothing more scornful than a woman denied chocolate.
     
    Now there's an idea....
  22. caldrail

    Regime Changes

    By caldrail,

    As a jobseeker the vast majority of vacancies I find are pretty mundane. So dull and boring, I suspect, that these companies need to advertise for desperate jobseekers to fill the role. For a country with a National Minimum Wage, it comes as a suprise to see so many advertised for
  23. caldrail
    It's open! It's all open! The supermarket at the Old College site is open for business! Drop everything and rush down there at once before everything goes in the Swindon store's grand opening. Or not. Depending on whether you actually care. It's still a building site of course but at least the public and wander in awe along the aisles admiring the low low prices and bargains galore.
     
    The supermarket isn't the only new store opening here recently. There's the toy shop at the old shopping cente too. As it happens that wasn't particularly of any interest to me but imagine my suprise turning a corner when I spotted an imperial storm trooper looking for androids in a Swinbon street. No really, fully dressed in up and carrying one of those short barrelled blasters they couldn't hit a barn door with. It's a wonder he wasn't arrested for carrying an offensive weapon.
     
    [My Jedi Training Begins
    This morning I dragged myself out of bed for that most unusual of job searching activities, the early morning start. For today I'm off to 'Boot Camp', Basic Training for Jobseekers 101, at the local college (the new one, not the mass of bricks, scaffolds, hi-vis vests, and bewildered shoppers at the Old College site). After a decade of intermittent quests for employment the Job Centre have decided I'm a useless klutz who must be re-educated and indoctrinated into the ways of the Force, findings jobs with the blast shield down, stretching out with my feelings, sensing terrible disturbances, although at my age leaping several hundred feet in one go and getting into intense laser sword fights isn't quite so easy. No wonder Ben Kenobi lost his final confrontation with Darth Vader, but then he was long term unemployed too as I seem to remember from the films. Mind you, living in a cave out in the desert wastes of Tatooine, he didn't have a brand new supermarket to find food in.
     
    The Job Centre couldn't wait to send me on this two week course, the joke being that it turns out only the first meeting was mandatory. But hey, let's be positive, at least at the end of this I'll be able to prove to employers that I, Old Ben Caldrail, am fully presentable and employable with my new certificate. What? Another one? Oh yes. In two weeks I shall be a Jobseeking Jedi, learned in the ways of employment. The Job Centre will expect nothing less.
     
    Jedi Prowess Of The Week
    There are roadworks along the pavements of the street outside my home. I know this because the local population collide with the plastic barricades in a drunken attempt to stagger from one pub to another each evening. You see, a little bit of Jedi training, and they would sense the presence of obstructions and dark holes in the ground.
  24. caldrail
    Cold, wet, miserable. That's pretty much how Swindon is right now, and that's probably not far different from how the rest of the country feels, give or take a flood here and there. Even my local Subway aren't smiling when I arrive to spend a few more hard earned dole payments on something to eat. Hey - It's not my fault this that or the other is on special offer this week.
     
    All is not lost however. The old Thompson Insurance place on the High Street - It's been empty for years - is being refitted as a suntan emporium. In Swindon? We don't know the meaning of sunshine. I've seen the machine itself, looking like something out of Star Trek. Well, I suppose it's appropriate. What with all the saturday night klingons we've got wandering around the town.
     
    Road Manners
    The work on the Old College site has spilled out onto the road junction beyond the fence. The pedestrian crossings are replaced by temporary versions next them, plastic fences erected everywhere, railings uprooted, traffic islands dug up. Motorists are a bit confused by all these changes - the other day a workman shouted at one old guy "Look mate! GIVE WAY!", which of course is exactly what most druivers aren't doing, turning the junction into a motorised russian roulette. Mind you, the presence of a police car certainly made some motorists a bit more obedient.
     
    There's a dark blue Ford Mustang that I sometimes see burbling around the town. Not one of the classic versions, it's the new model, looking oddly exotic in rainy old Swindon. For my tastes it stands too tall on the road - practical but not really sporty. The thing is the driver, for reasons known only to himself, likes to rev the engine when he passes me. Sorry mate, Im not gay, no matter what that fat idiot on the gate of the Old College site says.
     
    Anyway, I was walking along the local high street and there he was again. Vrooom! Actually, the V8 sounds great,and for that matter I can't condemn him for exuberance. Heaven knows I've done my share of exuberant driving in the past. But unfortunately I wasn't the only one who heard that blip on the accelerator. The driver didn't see the police car waiting to pull out behind a parked vehicle. Ooops.
     
    Car Advert Of The Week
    There's a glossy television advert doing the rounds right now for the Nissan Qashqai. I suppose they have to advertise it - cars of that sort don't sell themselves - but I had to laugh. The advert features a man taling hold of a metal bar suspended on a pulley and cable, wafting down the city boulevard at night, with the voiceover claiming that all cars should drive like that. What? Hanging on for dear life, unable to stop, and unable to steer? Not my idea of driving a car, I have to say.
  25. 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.
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