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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Watch Your Language

    By caldrail,

    There's a tree in Savernake Forest that I know of. An unremarkable tree at first glance until you discover how old it is. That old fella was sprouting out of ground, fresh from the seed, roughly the same time William the Conqueror was striding ashore at Hastings.
     
    That day in 1066 changed everything. From that point forwards, England and France would be uncomfortable neighbours, no doubt made worse by the Germanic roots of the Anglo-Saxons. Of course now we're on good terms, despite my successful attempts to enrage my French teacher as a child. Nobody else liked her either.
     
    It's an instinctive thing, this antipathy between the British and French. Even some of our insults derive from our little upsets. The English two-fingered salute originated from medieval archers who taunted the French by showing they still had their bow fingers - the French had taken to cutting them off every time they caught one of them.
     
    We don't fight wars with the French any more, and to be honest, I'm a bit old to annoy French teachers now. Instead, we have a rivalry over language. A couple of decades ago the French created legislation to stop their countrymen using anglicised words in everyday conversation. They felt it was poisoning their traditional language. Imagine then my suprise when I see on the news that the French government are encouraging the education of English in their country. How times have changed. I watched as their schoolchildren underwent physical education classes entirely in English. They have free lessons and language camps out of term time, just to learn how to speak our tongue.
     
    The pervasiveness of the English language is something we take for granted. Usually when an Englishman encounters foreigners who don't understand him he simply shouts louder. Despite this traditional English ignorance of foreign languages, I did learn some French at school, inbetween annoying teachers. On an industrial visit to France back in my college days I had many opportunities to display this mastery of conversational French. I don't know if the bus driver actually understood me or not, but he took my money anyway and I arrived back at the hostel safe and well. As for the toilet cleaner we asked directions of, I can assure him we did find the Harbourmaster later that day. As for that idiot I tried to buy chocolate from - I wanted two bars of the stuff, not to haggle over the price. So I got to shout louder at a foreigner after all.
     
    Phone Call of the Week
    Talking about communication, I got a wierd phone call the other day. I found it on my answering service, three minutes of wheezing and a distant voice asking "Are you done yet?".
     
    My phone tells me there was no phone number, so I'm inclined to believe I have been contacted by aliens from the Planet Zarg who want to abduct me for sex. Thanks for the call guys, but lets stick to taking you to our leader, yes? Oh.... They've hung up......
  2. caldrail

    Watching Car Chases

    By caldrail,

    I was watching one of those cop programs last night. The usual sort of thing, car chases across america with exciting heavy metal music and a breathless commentary. There was one that stood out. It started as they all did, with a suspect making a break for it and piling down the highway without regard to safety. At one point he swerves to avoid an obstacle, and at over a hundred miles an hour, very nearly loses it completely. Thing is though, what I notice with all these chases is that the suspect runs out of enthusiasm. The police obviously don't give up, and refuse to do anything that causes collateral damage or injury if they can help it. Anyhow the suspect has been through the initial 'high' of the chase, the desperation at trying to escape it, and finally comes off the pace feeling in a hopeless situation. He actually pulls into a petrol station to fill up! At this point he's dawdling along with a multitude of police cars with whooping sirens and flashing lights dawdling after him. Then, all of a sudden, one police car rams him sideways at some speed. A somewhat frustrated police officer there I think. The suspects car smashes into a pump, ignites it, and the police audio says "Oh no, he's hit an Exxon!".
     
    No he didn't. He was rammed into it. I do understand the frustration of the police officer concerned but this was one instance where collateral damage took place!
     
    There's a part of me that views this sort of program with some concern. Its turning justice into entertainment, and to be honest it doesn't actually do anything to dissuade others from this behaviour other than the cops always get their man, but since the criminal mind always believes he won't get caught isn't there a danger that such programs encourage car chases?
     
    Illness of the Week
    This time its me, suffering a bout of flu or some such bug. All sympathetic replies most welcome. Sniffle.
     
    Target of the Week
    I do hear that the US are preparing to shoot a satellite out of the sky. The malfunctioned object has a fuel tank full of poisonous hydrazine and understandably the US don't want it plummeting to earth on a sensitive area. I guess this sort of thing is one hazard of space flight. Mind you, what happens when Virgin finally manage to get their orbital joyrides going?
     
    This is your captain speaking. We're experiencing technical difficulties at the moment so please be patient whilst our cabin crew do their best to restart the engines. Incidentially, if you look out the right side, you can see the US missile on its way to intercept us...
  4. caldrail

    Way Out West

    By caldrail,

    Quite some time ago I suggested that the british government of the day wanted a return to victorian england. Mostly, I suspect, because they rather liked the idea of masses of hard working citizens doffing their caps as they trundle past in expensive limousines. That's always been a feature of human society - the desire of the wealthy to accumulate even more wealth, status, influence, and comfort. Another feature of human society is the inevitable backlash as the downtrodden rise and.... Good grief, I sound like a bolshevist. That will never do.
     
    Prices are steadily going up and like me, many britons are finding life isn't so comfortable any more. Ten years ago a weeks food and drink could be had for as little as
  5. caldrail

    We Are Not Alone!!!!

    By caldrail,

    I've just watched a video about things alien. That image of the rock that looks suspiciously like sasquatch. An enthusiastic 'expert' getting exciting about meeting real live aliens from Out There (doesn't he have any real friends?). Film clips of a psychopathic alien smelling Sigourney Weaver, cute grey thingy waving at the assembled scientists on a mountain top, intergalactic hippie E.T. getting caught with no clothes on by a kid, and a gelatinous blob terrorising small town america. Quotes from Stephen Hawking inform us that in the infinity of space, there must be aliens out there (but not close, or we'd see their tv programs).
     
    I don't know about you, but if there's hyper-intelligent blobs out there bent on terrorising small town america by abducting innocent cannabis smokers and chopping up cows for laughs, then why would they waste their time watching soap operas? Can you imagine an alien soap opera?
     
    Female Alien Kghdj, I wish to submit an emotional report to you
     
    Male Alien Dnmdiu, I have already nested with Dgdjsd.
     
    Female Alien She cannot give you podlings like I can.
     
    Male Alien Affirmative Dnmdiu. However the Pod-Lord has dictated that we invade the next street tommorrow and I cannot have any distractions.
     
    Female Alien You are no longer light relief. I will now commit revenge.
     
    Male Alien I am registering suprise... blob repellent on my anti-weather equipment!
     
    Door opens and Male Aliens Mate (Third Gender) enters
     
    Male Aliens Mate (Third Gender) Huh? Whats is occuring here? Dnmdiu, are you engaged in an extra-pod-ical relationship with with my First Gender Mate?
     
    Aliens stand waiting for closing credits
     
    You would think that aliens could create superior television programs. I suspect the real reason we haven't seen any is because their soap operas are even worse than ours, and its too embarrasing to admit that the most hyper intillgent species in the galaxy is obsessed with who is replicating with who. I therefore submit that aliens did build the pyramids, but that human beings missed the whole point. It was an alien filmset ("Thanks humanity, that was a cool movie, but we don't need those pyramids now"). Perhaps the long journey from their planet to ours gets a little boring given the universe has an irritating speed limit (no speed cameras discovered yet - God hasn't thought of that one). So I'd imagine the real reason they pop up here to play catch me with jet fighters and ruin airline pilots careers is just for something to do, or is it they're looking for a compatible toilet facility?
  6. caldrail

    We Know The Drill

    By caldrail,

    It may be Friday but my jobsearch goes on. And on. And on. And ... Well, you get the idea. Right now my life seems like an endless ritual of phone calls, internet browsing, emails and letters, and quite why employers don't believe I can do a days job is beyond me because I do a virtual job already.
     
    That said I'm not exactly well paid. Increases in benefits have not exactly kept pace with rising bills. Food is more expensive and the supermarkets seem hell-bent on forcing everyone to purchase their connisseur brands. There was a time I could pick up a packet of mince that easily spread across two meals for 58 pence. Now I have to pay
  7. caldrail

    We'll Fix That

    By caldrail,

    This morning my doctor called me in for a decision on what to do about my health. Apparently if I was 65 or older he wouldn't bother (Heck, I'd probably die of old age anyway) but since I'm such a young man, he'll presribe these very special radioactive kryptonite pills.
     
    I kid you not, the little card box vibrates with strange power all by itself. Reading the instructions is an eye-opener. Some people aren't affected, but the side effects are headaches, tiredness, nausea, and so forth.
     
    Unless of course I'm in a smaller band of the population that are allergic to kryptonite, in which case I might suffer swollen facial features, strange skin colourations, a slight inability to father children, and freqent emptying of my digestive system from either end. Oh what fun.
     
    If I'm very unlucky I become a hermaphrodite and suffer a loss of skin as it blisters and peels off. That's not a joke - the manual says all of this stuff. It wouldn't suprise me if I was at risk of self combusting. But hey, it'll fix my health problem no problem at all.
     
    My New Cool Friend
    The fridge is officially replaced. The old dead one is discarded, left to the elements and whichever gypsy fancies making a few quid on it. I care nothing for it, for I now have a fresh newly constructed fridge in spotless white metal and plastic.
     
    I must say the chaps who delivered it were very helpful and cheery as they manhandled heavy metal boxes up and down my restricted width stairs. Well done chaps. A credit to your employer.
     
    It is interesting because I had a recent discussion with one of my employment trainers. She's a biker, a serious one, and I enquired why she took up motorbiking. Actually she never really answered the question, but our conversation got around to men hanging on to a motorbike for years while women regularly change them, and that the exact opposite happens with shoes.
     
    She has a point. Men do form relationships with machines. Mostly I suspect because they don't nag or throw tantrums, becing generally obedient inaminate objects. Probably why blokes buy sex dummies I guess.
     
    Well, I now have a cool new friend. Nice fridge... Hmmmm....
  8. caldrail
    Something's wrong. I know something is wrong. Part of me thinks this might be paranoia, yet I cannot escape the evidence of the light through the bedroom curtains. It looks distinctly un-sunny. Oh no!
     
    My worst fears were confirmed as I glanced bleary eyed out the back window. A grey, overcast day, with a sombre mood. How strange! Normally it rains on a Bank Holiday Monday but all we got was blistering sunshine. What it must have been like trapped in a traffic jam with a family of bored kids whilst slowly melting in your five-star safety rating oven on wheels is anyones guess. Sounds like my idea of hell.
     
    How To Enjoy The Royal Wedding
    Of course the reason that our sunny weather is evaporating and normal dreary dampness restored is because of the Royal Wedding. What national event in Britain could possibly take place without a deluge?
     
    Just now I looked at a news item that tells the world where to enjoy the Royal Wedding. The list of places was predictable and uninspired, being restricted to public parks, medieval castles, or stood with all the other punters along the route. Failing that of course there's always YouTube. The royal family have booked a page to delight us all with talking corgi's and stumbles.
     
    I think we need to show more imagination as a country. Surely there's more exciting and interesting places to watch the wedding from? Certainly not afghan prisons, as the timely escape of Al Qaida inmates shows. Certainly not Ireland, with dissident terrorists plotting to reduce the wedding to the status of a war crime.
     
    I know. Let's not watch it at all and go instead for a holiday in some remote exotic locale? After all, with everyone converging on London for the practice of the Queens Funeral, surely there's some good deals going down at travel agents?
     
    Departing Live
    As if the Royal Wedding wasn't bad enough, I see there's plans to show a man dying live on television. Please forgive me for being a bit of a party pooper here, but I really do have better things to watch.
  9. caldrail
    Last night I started to feel a little warm. You know those restless nights where you just cannot achieve a state of blissful comfort no matter what permutation of bedroom artifacts you choose? Yes, it was one of those nights. I decided the atmosphere was a bit stale and opened a window, plodding back to bed in the vain hope of sleeping.
     
    As I lay there staring at the gloom I could hear rainfall. It is curious what a gentle sound it has, how soothing it can be (providing of course, you're not out in it). It came as no suprise. We had been warned.
     
    Recently they changed the weatherman. Instead of the happy "Hey you guys are in deep trouble" presenter we've gotten Mr Quiet, who informs us almost apologetically that we're all in deep trouble. You see, so far October has been relatively benign with no hurricanes, tornado's, cold-snaps, or welly-threatening floods. All that is about to change. Our indian summer is making way for nasty 'orrible cold, wet, and windy weather. So I lay there with eyelids growing heavy safe and secure in the knowledge that for the time being I was still in Kansas. If you see what I mean.
     
    Palm Trees?
    Out on my exercise jaunt yesterday I went down the old railway line at the bottom of Swindon. There's a rock cutting there that has Jurassic Period carved all over it. On one of the gardens that back onto the artificial canyon the owner has planted a series of palm trees. With all the surrounding foliage turning yellow and falling off like aboreal baldness, it looked distinctly odd. Still, it proves global warming has one positive side effect. We can now create tropical paradises in our own backyards. Hang on... Is that bloke doing rain dances or something? Or does he own a captive ape of enormous size? I must admit, I haven't seen any dinosaurs around just of late.
     
    Survival Challenge of the Week
    Dizzie Rascal is set to take to the stage of the Oasis Sports Centre tonight. Hopefully he'll last longer than Morrisey did. Erm... Then again...
  10. caldrail
    For the last couple of days the weather has been interesting. One minute the sun is out and everyone is relaxed. The next a massive spread of towering grey and white cumulus unleashes rainfall on the unsuspecting. I had to shelter in a doorway two days ago while one downpour opened up. Not only rain, but hail mixed in. Ten minutes later the clouds drifted away to reduce someone else to a drowned rat. Now I can go about my business again, safe in the knowledge that my school swimming certificate isn't required.
     
    More Parking Costs
    While Swindon experiments with cheaper parking (about half price if the report I saw is correct), there's a welsh town that took the step of getting rid of their traffic wardens, admittedly because the of cuts in services. Now thee's chaos as drivers park anywhere and for as long as they want, causing frustration and punch-up's as people cope with random parking.
     
    The welsh townsfolk want some order restored to their car infested borough. Perhaps Swindon could send them some of ours?
     
    Have Some Turkish Delight
    One of the treats we get in England is Turkish Delight, a sort of sweet purple gel encased in chocolate. Yum. My boss has returned from a holiday in Turkey (Mrs Boss insisted on going abroad) and brought back a colourful box full of Turkish Turkish Delight.
     
    Firstly, it looks nothing like the picture on the box lid. Secondly, it tastes a bit bland, if pleasant nonetheless. Thirdly, everyone keeps asking me if I want another one. No, I've eaten loads of them already and I still prefer the english stuff.
     
    Come to think of it, we only started getting rain after my boss came back from holiday. That box has altered our climate!
  11. caldrail

    Weekend Whinge

    By caldrail,

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

    Weekending

    By caldrail,

    Monday morning again. If there's one certainty about life it's that at some point you will be forced to endure the misery and agony of finding your leisure time has run out. You might claim with some justification that being unemployed means my monday mornings are non-existent. Well, not today. Finding myself unable to sleep I was hard at work typing this blog entry at five in the morning.
     
    I want to be positive about the world. I want world peace, an end to starvation and disease, gainful employment, the local burglars hung drawn and quartered, and for the young urban fox living across the fence to finally find himself a girlfriend. Truth is this weekend wasn't the most uplifting ever. Mostly I suspect because none of my wants occurred, but at least it kept some journalists in full time employment.
     
    The biggest downer is the increasing presence of youngsters who seem to have nothing better to do than shout about how they intend to deprive you of your property. Guys - seriously - I don't know what goes through your heads other than alcohol and suspicious substances but silver service tableware, polished roller on the pristene gravel drive, expensive paintings by famous masters, private jets and homes large enough to need a map and compass? Fantasy. This is Swindon, not The Apprentice. Haven't any of you noticed the military surplus trousers?
     
    Going Out Clubbing
    If it comes to that, when did you last see military surplus trousers at nightclubs? My evening wear would probably evoke violence from an outraged doorman. Personally I hate night clubs. It all seems such a soulless way of finding entertainment. Some people literally cannot imagine life without clubbing. I'm struggling to understand what sort of life you could find in a club. The whole ritual seems to be designed to get you hospitalised as hedonistically as possible.
     
    It's more fun down at the local job club during the day. At least you hear what people are telling you. That doesn't mean my little world is perfect. The most annoying thing about job clubs is the reason they exist. Let me explain. For those who don't know, a job club is an informal self-help group who utilise facilities laid on by the programme centre to help people look for work. The centre doesn't assist directly for various reasons, so if you need help, help yourself.
     
    That's fine as far as it goes. However, the internet access and other useful things means that I come in to the programme centre focused and determined to find several vacancies to apply for. What I don't need is a queue of hapless individuals who don't have the slightest clue what a CV is, or what a computer is used for, or that the government insists they have to find work. That unfortunately is why people get sent to job clubs. No-one teaches them these things - they simply send them somewhere with the vain expectation that someone will do it for them.
     
    Don't get me wrong, I don't mind helping people, but there comes a point where you end up feeling exploited. Go away, I'm busy jobsearching. Recently there was a continual stream of people coming into the club. All had been sent by the job centre for the very reasons that annoy me. One by one they ended up being told to go somewhere else to get help. A part of me feels sorry for them. Getting the run-around like that is just as annoying. But - The government says I must find a job - and that means I must be a little bit selfish before I help others.
     
    So much so that the programme centre has laid on a volunteer to help others. Hey... Waddaya know? Maybe things aren't so bad after all.
  13. caldrail

    Weighty Matters

    By caldrail,

    Hilary Clinton has made a fashionably late visit to our shores and naturally the press conference followed. It's becoming a bit of a soap opera. Is it just me, or are political speeches becoming a bit commonplace? To some extent that's partly because of modern media coverage. With so many channels and air-time to fill, it seems politicians are rising to the challenge of opportunity. I guess that's politics. If you want to get ahead in that business you need people to hear you.
     
    The subject matter was predictable. The strife sponsored by the Taliban in more than one country has understandably provoked responses, and the current nuclear ambition of Iran is causing serious concern. Everyone is building 'relationships'. Clinton and Millibrand continue to enthuse about the 'Special Relationship'. The countries of Europe aree being pressured to sign up to the next stage of the empire building process. China chases it's cultural ambition with ruthless showmanship. Middle east dictators search for weakness in the west and religious fervour at home. Politcally, things are slowly heading toward another 'Balance of Power', a situation in global politics that offers security on one hand and disastrous conflict on the other.
     
    A couple of times now I've mentioned how things were better in the eighties. It was a period when people were optimistic, when they had money to spend. More than once I've pointed at the current economic situation and my own personal difficulties arising from that. I've just been watching a news documentary about Syria. In one region, rain hasn't fallen for three years. A family that owned a hundred sheep twenty years ago now spends most of its meagre budget buying water to drink. I have no doubt these people are in desperate straits and that circumstances haven't favoured them. Syria isn't alone. The Sahara desert for instance is spreading and the once verdant north african coast is far drier. Of course the world climate is changing. The climate always changes. As the world leaves the last ice age behind it it will no doubt become warmer still, like it's done many times previously throughout the Earths history. Nonetheless, our efforts to survive and provide a better life have backfired in many places around the world.
     
    Not so longer ago I pointed out that there were too many people. That starvation will eventually get the better of us. It seems, unbeknown to me, that we're already getting thirsty. I agree with the presenter - shortages of water, one of our most basic requirements for survival, will be a major weight in the future balance.
     
    Footprints of the Week
    Dinosaurs have been in the news again with a set of footprints found in France, near the border with Switzerland, of sauropods weighing in at around thirty tons. The area was a warm shallow sea at the time so it looks as if our Brontosaurs were having a day out at the seaside. They must have been magnificent creatures in their heyday. Sadly, they're gone, and let's hope we don't follow them too soon.
     
  14. caldrail

    Welcome to Rushey Platt

    By caldrail,

    Deep in the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire, the natives are restless. The Independent Peanut Republic of Rushey Platt has decided to go public, to reveal its ancient mysteries to the world. I suppose that means we have to accept tourists too but you can't have everything.
     
    So what is the Republic of Rushey Platt? Well, when I was unemployed I decided it might be a cool idea to declare my idependence from the UK government. That way I could ask for Foreign Aid and get paid millions of pounds like those immigrant families with thirty eight kids.
     
    Needless to say, the british government has steadfastly refused to acknowledge my little realm in the depths of south west England. Nor did the United Nations. Nor did I get paid.
     
    Well things have moved on since. I now work in a shed at the back of an old hangar once used to build spitfires. Its a rotten little edifice that the architect proclaimed as structurally dodgy, and currently provides dwelling for thirty nine thousand species of native woodland spiders. And from the mess we found lurking under the pallets at the back, one or two rats, although we think the spiders ate them.
     
    The idea was to move some of these dust-gathering pallets and get rid of them. The days of our tenure in The Shed are now numbered, and a plush warehouse awaits our business (and rent payments) down the road. So let me introduce AD, a veteran of a warehouseman, a Bristolian, my mentor in the ways of The Shed.
     
    "One day, Caldrail, all this will be yours..." He said, though I must admit there is a rival to The Sheds throne. He is SB, a true troglodyte in british fashion, a man for whom sunlight is a forgotten experience, a man whose tyrant of a wife demands a new house every year and therefore poor old SB must go without holidays or weekends.
     
    However, there's an even rarer species of warehouseman at large behind the Hanger. The Big H himself. Trolls were never this big in fairy tales, and never was a man so adept at communicating with a grunt. A shrug of his shoulders says more than words can say.
     
    Or those wandering scavengers, the scrap metal dealers, who take away anything not bolted down. Or use an axle grinder if it is. UT, a fine figure of a man whose hobbies include racing dogs in Ireland, is nonetheless poor and humble. Dogs are very expensive. Not so his sidekick, the Small H, who's understanding of the world is limited to Lift That Bale, Tote That Barge. Come to think of it, UT nearly had me manhandling industrial motors into his truck...
     
    Welcome to Rushey Platt. It only gets better...
  15. caldrail

    Well Meant Advice

    By caldrail,

    Today I made another visit to my local surgery. All part of keeping the Grim Reaper at arms length. Nothing much to report, just a routine visit, and despite not feeling completely fit as a fiddle, I'm not suffering in any real sense.
     
    By coincidence I spotted a news article teling us fifty-somethings how to stay in the front line against the Grim Reaper. Sort of like a survival manual for grey haired old codgers. Who knows? Maybe there's a few tips I could use?
     
    Tip number one. Keep Checking. Oh yes. Bumps, bruises, coughs, splutters, and all those invisible microbes trying to ruin my day must be prevented from entering my private space. Where can I rent a penthouse suite cheap? Must remember to design a pointlesslly huge aeroplane sometime soon.
     
    Tip number two. Keep Your Feet Fit. Apparently the rot starts with the feet. Once they go, you get knee problems, then back problems, and before you know it, you're exactly the sort of person you used to fume at when you were young. Mind you, the article doesn't tell you how to do all this. Lifting weights with my big toe isn't as easy as you think - you have to balance them at the same time.
     
    Tip number three. Stay Immune. So checking you're not unhealthy isn't enough? It seems I must also fight ilnness and infection if I want to stay healthy. Might need to contact that policeman and tell him I need that shotgun after all.
     
    Tip number four. Get Moving. If I remain motionless for too long everyione will think I'm dead. Don't laugh, it uisn't the first time a person has woken in a morgue. Must... type... next... word.... Phew. This survival lark is hard work.
     
    Tip number five. Eat Well. Oh I shall. I like my food. Especially the tastier stuff I can't afford.
     
    Tip number six. Get Some Lovin'. Yes well you see - this is the sort of advice that really does ignore the realities of being an old codger. It's all very well persuading that young lady to allow you to embarras yourself, but I'm also old and wise enough to know what sort of grief I'm going to get. Still, there's no fool like an old fool, so I guess I'll just have to compensate for my waning love life and become a famous celebrity instead. Who knows? Maybe I could combine the two like Bruce Forsyth.
     
    Tip number six. Do Something New. Like what? I'm fifty. I've done pretty much everything I set out to do when I was younger and if I were brutally honest, bungee jumping is never going to be my favourite pastime. Maybe I could make it more interesting? How about... Bungee jumping with a young lady strapped on. Now that would be something new, and also kills two birds with one stone. My worry is that she'll want to go faster.
     
    Tip number seven. Brain Fit. In other words, don't stop learning. Don't stop thinking. Take your brain for a trip down to thew newsagent every morning. Make it sweat with crosswords, quotations from shakespeare, and calculating the correct date for the end of the world. The trouble with doing this sort of thing is eventually you figure out what an idiot you've been.
     
     
    Quote Of The Week
    The best way to become famous is to invent a new dub two step.
    (Youing L, 2011)
     
    Well there you have it, budding starlets. No more casting couch, no more silly television shows, no more endless signing sessions. Just pop down to the patent office. Fame and fortune will be yours.
  16. caldrail

    Wet And Dry Humour

    By caldrail,

    Would you believe it? A damp and dreary day in Rainy Old Swindon. The rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire never let you down.
     
    Luckily the wetter stuff happened in the night. I am told it absolutely poured with rain during the night. I wouldn't know, I was deep in snooze mode and even my neighbours door slamming in the early hours barely raised my eyelids.
     
    But, damp or not, today was another day on the farm, so I headed out to the programme centre for another great day of learning how to apply for jobs. Did you know I've been unemployed for nearly three years? You'd think I would know how to fill in application forms by now. Funnily enough, I sort of get it more or less right. Most of the time.
     
    I did laugh at the role play session. Before anyone wonders, no, it wasn't about warriors or wizards battling gealtinous cubes in dark tunnels, but a pair of instructors demonstrating How Not To Be Interviewed.
     
    "So," The lead instructor asked, "What do you think the first guy got wrong?"
     
    He had to ask. That was a red rag to a bull. So I whipped out the piece of paper and read off line after line of hopeless errors and mistakes in interview technique, sounding like a policeman booking in a criminal. The instructor fell over laughing, completely unable to keep up with the pace as he scrawlled on a paper board all the points I rattled off.
     
    "So," The lead instructor asked, "What do you think the second guy got right?"
     
    Dunno, really. I wouldn't hire him either.
     
    A Strange Kind Of Dog
    I passed a dog on my way to the programme centre. Odd sort of beastie. Sort of like a bulky lurcher with a massive shag pile carpet glued on. I asked the owner what it was. A crossbreed, so he told me, bought from a rescue centre. Part border collie, part something else. He said his gog was unusual.
     
    I watched it circle, then prepare to do his business.
     
    Looks the same as other dogs to me.
  17. caldrail

    Wet Dreams

    By caldrail,

    Yes its mid-July, and the rainy season is upon us. It seems global climate change has given us a monsoon in summer. Here in Rushey Platt there's great concern about where all this rainwater is going to go. The Swindon area isn't too badly off where flooding is concerned, seeing as its built on a hill. Given last years floods and the media attention it received, people are obviously worried.
     
    Funny thing is, I had a dream last night on this subject. Nothing apocalyptic I'm afraid, so I can't write loving descriptions of it, but it was one of those curious dreams where the local area is modified. I dreamt of large basins being dug out in the countryside to serve as drainage lakes, and I vaguely remember looking at a map of them with all the names printed in blue. I was wandering around the area looking at these half completed muddy pits.
     
    As dreams go, it was pretty mundane. Yet in some ways the imagery was very vivid, and in the back of your mind such dreams always leave an impression don't they? How many of us have woken up thinking we're late for work, rushing around like a headless chicken only to realise we're five hours early?
     
    Its tempting to think I've seen something more relevant than another subconcious ramble. A vision of a future? People in less educated times used to think exactly that. People would describe their dreams to others, preach their messages even, and subsequently suffer applause, ridicule, or physical torment as a result depending on whether the 'message' was approved by society, or rather the people running it.
     
    Thankfully we live in more enlightened times, and for that reason, I know I shouldn't take those dreams too seriously. Its still a vivid mental image however, and try as I might, I still have this gut feeling that the dream was somehow more real for some reason than most. I suspect, although most people might be reticent to admit it, that many of us have similar experiences too.
     
    Swindon Redevelopment of the Week
    The demolished shop across the road was touted as a site for a new nightclub a few years back. That I would not like at all, but it turns out the vacant plot is to have some luxury flats built there. Phew. Now all I have to worry about is the 'nightclub' downstairs.
     
    THUMP THUMP RUMMMMBLE THUD THUMP...
     
    Excuse me for a moment. I have to go downstairs and bang on someones door again...
  18. caldrail
    For a few days now cheery weatherpersons have smiled and siad we're all going to get wet. Amber triangles are shown on the screen with Heavy Rain! in bold black lettering. Risk of local flooding. They might be right I suppose. It's just that so far we've only had one day of rain and that was drizzly. I must also confess, that as I write this, I can see the library window splattered with raindrops. I knew I should have brought my canoe with me.
     
    The damp conditions now spreading across Swindon mean something else. It's an early death for woodland flowers. The undergrowth absolutely loves wet weather and as I strolled along the alleyway behind my home, the undergrowth was sprouting vigorously. Thornbushes, nettles, and ferns predominate. Young saplings eagerly racing for a patch of sky to call their own. Also, however, horsetails. They look a little bit like primeval ferns, the sort of thing you'd see in a Carboniferous Forest millions of years ago. In fact, that's not far wrong. Horsetails are the only survivor of an entire range of plants, some of whom grew as trees in times past. We have a miniature Jurassic forest right here in Swindon.
     
    We also have our fair share of primeval inhabitants too. Yesterday, like any nutcase Englishman, I went out into the midday sun for a spot of fresh air and exercise. On the grassy public spaces a very fashionable youth was walking his pitbull dogs and they ran at me. Not violently (phew!) but it was dodge them or fall over. He of course took no notice. Did he do that on purpose?
     
    Worse still, once I had passed and was going about my lawful business, I heard him call me a 'poser'. Is he serious? A walking pimple farm in baseball cap, expensive street cred apparel, and two barely controllable pitbull dogs to inflate his pre-pubescent lumps? Look in the mirror young man. You're a schoolboy. You might be impressing your mates in the school yard, the rest of the world think you're wet behind the ears.
     
    It's such a jungle out there...
     
    Meanwhile, Back At The Library
    Is there something wrong with young people in Swindon? Is there some strange cult teaching them to be idiots and morons? I say this because of The Flash. He's the kiddie I mentioned before, the one who seems utterly determined to be the first through the doors.
     
    Today he excelled himself. He brushed past the security guard and ran up the stairs with a big grin on his face. Once I followed the herd behind him I spotted him sat down in the rest area, feet up, staring vacantly into space.
     
    Meanwhlie, Back In The Real World
    AM has announced his intention to leave England for foreign shores this year. Oh no... Don't tell me he's actually going to do it? That he means to act decisively and positively to travel to a pre-chosen destination?... Bye.
     
    The foreign gentleman who's revealed to us that England is an armpit chuckled. I wonder why? Does he know something about AM's chosen destination that we don't?
  19. caldrail
    I passed a small advertisment the other. "Life After Death". Apparently if I pop down and attend the lecture I can learn all about what happens when biology stops working. They also claim I can discover the Meaning of Life. I doubt they have a gargantuan supercomputer that's been calculating the answer to life, universe, and everything for the last seven million years, so I kind of wonder where they get all this information from, but hey, who knows? Perhaps I was Julius Caesar after all.
     
    At this point I usually get all philosophical and start dissecting various dead theories. Today though, I will point out two interesting coincidences.
     
    Coincidence No1
    The advert was posted on the plywood fence surrounding the Old College Site. Now you didn't exppect hat shocker, did you? It is quite appropriate. The building is disused apart from a few vandals, beggars, urban mammalian scavengers, and a wandering secuirty guard whose purpose on site appears to be not to notice anything. This building is dead. It has ceased to be. Except the concrete corpse with broken windows and grafitti still stands.
     
    I saw a program about what would happen if humanity simply ceased to be. Our cities and towns would apparently crumble and vanish within two hundred years. So if the owners are so reluctant to redevelop the site, perhaps they should just stick around? Nature will demolish it for them.
     
    Oh yes. The coincidence. Well, as we all know by now, the site is due for redevelopment into Swindons latest tourist attraction, a real live working shopping mall. Not many of those left these days, what with the credit crunch, economic downturns, and carnivorous traffic wardens that fine you for the slightest hint of wanting to stay. An old site with new life. There. I told you it was a coincidence.
     
    Coincidence No2
    Today is the day when I begin my new two year course designed to turn me from a shabby listless scrounger into a energetic, dynamic go-getter with career prospects, smart clothes, and business compatible saloon car. I mean, is that life after death, or what?
     
    If anyone has images of dole claiming zombies rising from the grave and dragging their dead limbs to the nearest workplace where they will toil in undead servitude for their new masters, I wonder if you're right. Is this initiative truly a form of life after death, or merely some shiney new chains in the same old dungeon? At the moment I don't know. Very soon I shall be summoned to that dark citadel where the employment service provider sits upon his throne, plotting and scheming to create a new race of super slaves to boost government statistics...
     
    The government want to breath life back into the economy. They want to put all unemployed people back to work. That includes me of course. I'm not exempt from this government sponsored reincarnation, and if I were honest, I won't mind going back to work at all. At least that way I'll have some chance of paying my energy bills. Also the local burglar declared his intention to "tax" me last night, probably more to impress his friends than actually earn money from stealing my property.
     
    Coincidence No3
    This brings up an unrelated coincidence, as it happens, because in the light of the recent forced entry into a home by four villains, one of whom got himself stabbed by a member of the household and abandoned to die down the road by his friends, has led to a Commons debate about the rights of citizens to defend themselves and their property. As the law stands you can only use 'appropriate' levels of violence, but it makes no difference if you do carefully calcultate the correct force to apply in confrontations because inevitably the burglars rights have been infringed and the police like news headlines. So you get arrested as well as burgled. Like what the government does but without being voted into office. Now there's a coincidence.
  20. caldrail
    What a difference a letter makes. There I was, jobsearching in a mad desperate attempt to keep the authorities happy, when everything went horribly wrong. They have quotas for finding dole cheats and unfortunately my number came up, even though I was exceeding their demands by an order of magnitude. So innocent or not - I was declared guitly by any pretext and the money stopped. Luckily for me an employment agency eventually found me ongoing work - though I have to say, for two months it looked pretty bleak for me.
     
    The Job Center had sent me a letter telling me that from the 2nd of November 2014 they could not pay me. No reason given, just that. I'd already realised that the money wasn't going to continue but by then I was trying to find someone who would look kindly upon poor wee Caldrail and give him a job before he ended up destitute. Just today I received a letter from the Job Center, more than a year later, explaining that I may not have been properly informed about my rights concerning the job center sanction and offering me a chance to appeal.
     
    Are they kidding? A year afterward? I wasn't even sanctioned officially. The advisor never said the word. She just stopped my money after I'd followed her demands under duress and then had her boss send me the original letter saying no more cash from now on. That was, therefore, the second time she had kept my claim open while I was thrown off the dole for her own purposes. I knew she was dishonest - I'd already told her that to her face. Now I have the proof.
     
    These days the unemployed get a poor rap but not all of us were dole cheats trying to eke out an easy living on benefits. Some of us genuinely couldn't get employers to show any interest at all. I am thoroughly disgusted at the shamefaced exploitation of unemployed people that goes on. I'm well aware that many jobseekers are only making excuses or making token efforts, but at the same time, I was used and thrown down the toilet. I wonder if that advisor got promoted for her unceasing efforts to fight for truth, justice, and the government way? At any rate, truth and justice is something that is now officially ddenied a great many people. Unemployed? Sorry, but that's a label that will get you nowhere in Cameron's Britain.
  21. caldrail

    What A Lovely Day

    By caldrail,

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

    What Am I Looking For?

    By caldrail,

    For no apparent reason I came over all philosophical last night. The big question however was not life, the universe, & everything. Professor Brian Cox has cornered that market. Instead I had humbler questions to ask of myself. Like what is it that I look forward too?
     
    Before anyone thinks I was getting depressed and feeling sorry for myself, that really isn't the case, so all you missionaries out there trying to make me believe I'm cursed, haunted, almost an alcoholic, or nearly a drug addict are wasting your time. I don't listen to wierdo's, messages from Jesus, or the occaisional taunt from idiots who think I listen.. Glad we got that settled. But I digress. The question!
     
    Some years ago I was chatting to GH, a work colleague, and as is probably inevitable with me the subject got around to ferrari's. I don't remember what I said exactly, but GH replied "Never mind - you can always dream."
     
    Well... Yes... I supose so, but dreaming doesn't make things happen. It was almost as if he was trying to persuade me not to strive for success and I'd always put that down to his desire to be important in the office. He was grooming me to come second. After all, his ability to achieve results by sitting down with a cup of coffee all day had less to do with talent and hard work than some naughty editing of the computer files. He actually thought I was going to listen to him and stop working at a pace that suited me.
     
    Admittedly the ownership of a gleaming red supercar is somewhat ambitious given my circumstances. In actual fact that isn't my immediate objective anyway. My world, as an unemployed dole claimant, is too small for those lofty fantasies even if the locals could be persuaded not to dismantle it during the night.
     
    The government want me to view finding that job as my goal in life. That's understandable if somewhat patronising and shortsighted. The Job Centre want me to view conformity as my goal in life. They see that as a necessary qualification for employment. I see conformity as an impediment to it. I mean, with twenty people chasing each vacancy, being the same as everyone else isn't going to make an impression is it?
     
    Last night I realised just how short term my objectives were becoming. A dream is only worthwhile if there's some hope of it becoming reality. Plans for the future are only worthwhile if you have a future to plan for. I've gotten used to the slow crawl of existing on the dole. Now it seems the only inevitability is that tomorrow is another day. I wonder what I'll do tomorrow? Pie & chips? Or a chicken burger down the road?
     
    Decisions, decsions....
     
    Decisions, Decisions...
    Sometimes I have no choice but to put my fingers in my wallet and fork out cash for something I'd rather not have to buy. That happened this morning. With a need to purchase another surge protector I poppped down to PC World and stood aghast at the emptiness of the large premises. A decade ago this shop was filled with goodies like an technological aladdins cave, gizmo's to delight the senses, and plastic boxes in every colour of the rainbow. Not any more. There's barely anything to choose from. Want a surge protector Sir? We sell that one...
     
    Groan. Oh well. As it happened there was a choice of three that suited my purposes and naturally i chose the cheapest. Imagine my suprise then when the girl at the till announced it was going to cost me almost twice as much. You what? But fear not. All was settled asmicably and I got the product for the price I believed it to be. Seriously though - PC World aren't doing themselves any favours by such a withdrawal of range. What's the point of walking all the way down there when I could have picked up a similar product closer to home? Choice matters.
  23. caldrail
    The amber triangles are proudly displayed on the weather report again. This time it's not heavy rain and the attendant risk of flooding, but the arrival of this years first snowfall, which shouldn't affect Wiltshire as yet.
     
    Nonetheless the temperatures are plummetting. This morning was no exception. I've resorted to gloves for the first this year. Even my claims advisor mentioned how cold it was. Hey, that was almost conversational.
     
    Yesterday had one advantage. It was a bright sunny day, abeit a chilly one. Since it wasn't going to be a busy day - something I decided rather than tread the same old weary routine - I went for a stroll through the environs of the local area. Just for the exercise. Like you do.
     
    As it turned out I made one major mistake. I was walking in a sort of anti-clockwise direction, which meant the low afternoon sun was always in my eyes. It might be approaching winter, but that sun can be very bright.
     
    What struck me was the changes in Rodbourne. I used to live in that area when I was younger. The row of shops along the main road gave the place a sort of village atmosphere. When the developers built the bypass to link with the Outlet Centre in the old rail works buildings, traders complained it would harm passing trade. Especially since the plan was to block the road through Rodbourne at one end. They eventually listened and left the road open, but after a decade it seems the effect is starting to make itself felt anyway. Shops are mysteriously mutating into private homes.
     
    In a sense it's a good thing because the former shabbiness is being swept away. On the other hand, maybe two or three shops are still trading as they were when I was young. The rest are either offering different services or gone completely. Somehow it all seems as if the area is losing a community atmosphere and becoming a dormitory for the rest of Swindon.
     
    The Protest Continues
    More student protests? Whilst there is something to protest about, I suspect there's an element of youthful defiance turning this affair into a sort of game. Police baiting has risks that go with the sport, as some youngsters are finding out. But is this behaviour really going to help? If you want lower tuition fees, then eventually a peaceful settlement is going to be necessary. What governbment is going to surrender it's credibility by surrendering to large gatherings of deliquent students (or those purporting to be students)?
     
    Down She Goes
    British forces have apparently sunk a Somali pirate vessel. About time too. The lesson from history is that unless you deal with piracy ruthlessly it will persist. Whilst we want to be gentlemanly and civilised in our approach to maintaining order on the high seas, is that really going to suppress this sort of activity? As the Somali learn their craft, become more professional and adept at avoiding naval interdiction, the situation see-saws back to where you started. Unless you sink them. That's the cold hard logic of this particular game.
  24. caldrail
    The convulsions rippling through the moslem world recently seem a litle strange to me. Maybe I'm used to fundamentalist uprisings in the wake of Iran's revolution and the anti-western stance of their factions ever since, but I do note the popular unrest in Tunisia, Egypt, Bahrain, and now Lybia, where dissent is spreading among common folk. I must admit, it's a little baffling to me why there's a sudden change. Democratic movements in islamic countries? We're not used to hearing that.
     
    For now, the idea that common people can overturn what they consider as autocratic and selfish regimes is spreading. In some cases, the regime has changed as a result. I have the luxury of not needing to worry about the political and strategic implications upon the worlds stage since I am only a bystander to events dislayed on my television.
     
    My worry is that these democratic regimes have, in the long term, merely swapped one major problem for another one already existing among them. Fundamentalists don't like democracy. They want their own autocracies instead. How long will it be before freedom and fundamentalism turn on each other in the moslem world?
     
    There And Back
    Last night I stumbled across a film on tv. It's a spanish film called Timecrimes, a sort of psychological thriller in which a man inadvertantly finds himself in a loop in time and no matter how desperately he tries to control events, he can't, and the only escape from his dilemma is to see it all through to the bitter end.
     
    I like the way each iteration of the lead character is visually identifiable. Good emphasis on props as plot markers, tightly scripted, pitched almost to the point of maddening inscrutability, and even with subtitles an oddly watchable film, even if it does delve into human ugliness at times.
  25. caldrail

    What Is Going On?

    By caldrail,

    What is going on? Actually a few things here and there.. The 2010 Football World Cup in South Africa, the Wimbledon tennis tournament, and of course, the annual musical mud-fest of the Glastonbury Festival.
     
    As for the World Cup, football sucks. It really does. So if it wasn't for the match to be played later today, I wouldn't give a monkeys for how we do. Being drawn against traditional foe Germany is a matter of great importance. Certain niceties have to be observed and giving the Hun a darn good thrashing is a traditional English sport. Losing is not an option chaps. Don't come home without a victory.
     
    Wimbledon? Yawn. Wake me up when it's all over. I just can't get into this event at all. It's the intense seriousness, almost reverence, in which the way the game is conducted that puts me off. Besides, there's too much of a risk of hearing Cliff Richard perform live.
     
    The weather man yesterday was smiling as he shrugged helplessly. Today will be the hottest day of the year so far, and there's nothing viewers can do about it. Well, it is warm, it must be said. Women are adopting a uniform of skimpy white tee shirt, pink shorts, and hair tied behind their head. Men are adopting the standard long shorts and bright tee shirt draped over their sloping shoulders and bulging stomachs. Have you noticed the british male walks around with shoulders forward, as if trying to look larger and more muscular?
     
    So basically the usual summer stuff is going on. Streets are being bedecked with colourful banners in anticipation of community festivals, youths are sitting around playing guitar or playing with radio control cars, and generally shouting a lot at night.
     
    Hang on though. Something strange is going on. This is the weekend where music fans congregate at Glastonbury for the world famous festival of music and mud-wrestling. But here's no rain. Not a drop. You can't have mud without rain. Glastonbury? Without any mud? It's the end of the world as we know it.
     
    Get A Job Or Go Away
    I do not believe what I've just read. Our new coalition governmet is planning to relocate unemployed people in order to find them jobs. I see. So creating a healthy economy is too difficult?
     
    Oh hang on... They're looking at incentives to persuade people to be mobile rather than forcing them to be. For a moment there I saw myself as Arthur Dent, lying in front of the bulldozer that threatens to demolish his home, with a man from the council thoughtfully reminding him that the bulldozer won't be damaged at all if rolls right over him.
     
    I can see the sense in this initiative but then... Doesn't it assume that the unemployed people involved are actually looking for gainful employment? What happens to the individuals who clearly have no intention of doing a days work? Is it right to let them them stay where they are, or force them to move elsewhere, to pass the parcel onto another council?
     
    At what point do we grasp the nettle and tell someone they cannot choose anymore, and what does that say about our society?
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