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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. 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
  2. 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.
  3. caldrail

    Hot And Bothered

    By caldrail,

    Britain was never intended to be this warm. Could someone do something about that please? Or does that mean I have to pay more tax?
     
    My Big Mistake Of The Week
    I made a huge mistake. I admit it. Sometimes it happens. There it was on the television schedules - Doctor Who Live.
     
    pardon? My curisosity was aroused. I don't paricularly care for the childish and hyped up modern Doctor Who (it's just Harry Potter with a sonic screwdriver instead of a wand, a tardis rather than a Nimbus 2000) and I've ranted against the reliance on visual imagery instead of interesting stories (not to mention an intrusive and overwhelming music score), but genuinely I wondered what a live Doctor Who programme was going to be like.
     
    That was my mistake. I should have realised. What I witnessed was a half hour programme dedicated to revealing the actor who will play the new Doctor Who. All done in true game show style. I paid my license fee for this? What was the BBC talking about when it said 'quality programming'?
     
    I think Jeremy Clarkson should be the new Doctor Who. Powersliding the tardis around a time/space anomaly whilst on fire is right up his street. And he can have james May expaklin all the science as he goes. And Richard Hammond to fix things when it all goes horribly wrong. Let's face it, with the Stig at the controls, who is going to travel in time faster? A lost opportunity to save civilisation as we know it.
     
    Baby Alert
    Ooops. Too late. Sorry about that.
     
    Moan of the Week
    Having looked closely at my finances I discover how frighteningly small my profit margin is. Happily however being paid every two weeks means that in two months of the year I get more money than usual. That being the case this month, I decided it was time I allowed myself the luxury of a visit to my local Subway. That might not seem very luxurious to some, but then a meal for four pounds is quite expensive for my budget.
     
    Besides, it gets me out of the house for a while, and who knows, I might meet someone. Isn't that what self-help pundits normally tell us? My shrinking world could do with stretching a little. Sometimes it feels like that episode of Star Trek Next Generation when the ship gets more and more restricted in size - I think they did two episodes on that theme as it happens, once with Captain Picard retreating from a deadly radiation sweep whilst battling terrorists, and once with Dr Crusher quite literally in a universe of her own. Fact is, if my world gets any smaller, I'll pop out of existence altogether, which I strongly suspect would please some people no end. Since there's no Scotty to beam me up, I'll just have to make what I can of the situation.
     
    I sat down to enjoy my meal. Normally I don't get bothered by anyone, but I couldn't help noticing that a couple were staring at me from across the aisle. Not admiring glances, or genuine curiosity, but quiet contempt and outrage.
     
    Ah yes. Being unemployed these days means that you're not allowed to spend money on anything enjoyable - that's a right reserved for decent hard working people. So despite paying my billls and taxes, despite complying with all the requirements of the jobseekers coontract, despite my continued search for gainful employment, I must suffer the social disgrace of not having a job.
     
    Welcome to David Cameron's brave new world, The Big Society. If anyone doesn't understand what it is. what it amounts to is a charter for moaning minnies to make other peoples lives even more unpleasant than they already are and claim a moral right to do so.
     
    The sooner that idiot is voted out office the better as far as I'm concerned.
  4. caldrail
    The rain stopped. As if to sound "All Clear" the bells of Swindon's old town hall made seven dull clangs in the distance. Almost immediately an excited little bird settled on the telegraph wire across the back yard, chirping happily. People began to appear, pedestrians trying to carry on as if nothing had happened. Shortly after the insistent sirens and flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles barged through the traffic that had dared to continue their journey.
     
    The price we pay in Britain for all those sweltering hot summer days is a short sharp electrical shock. Actually our thunderstorms are quite modest compared to those you can witness in some parts of the globe, but they appear out of nowhere, always unexpected despite the warnings of television weathermen.
     
    I'd been playing my trusty old electric guitar, putting out riffs, harmonics, and long bends, all finished off with accentuated vibrato. Just the other night some guy passing my home ventured the opinion that I was a rubbish guitarist - I'm better than you'll ever be buddy - but last night the great Norse Thundergod had spoken. Modest or not, it isn't fun or safe to be caught by a British thunderstorm and for that matter, it isn't wise to leave your consumer electronics switched on. Besides, with nature giving us a free firework display, my attention was no longer engaged by music.
     
    The rain had come down in a torrent. A layer of splashes and bouncing raindrops was six inches deep on the tiles of the roof below my back window. I spotted others in the neighbourhood like me, watching the rain from their windows, enjoying this brief respite from the humid evening. Others did however get quite wet. One young lady trudged along the alleyway with her top revealing rather more than fashion intended. You see? Thunderstorms aren't all bad...
     
    But Not Always Good
    Definitely a muggy night. My home can get a bit warm and stuffy at the best of times, never mind daytime temperatures over thirty degres and high humidity. What made it worse was repeated thunderstorms during the night. At least my critics won't be outside the house tonight. Now if I could only switch these thunderstorms off, I could get some sleep.
     
    Forget The Rain
    This is the time of year when you can spot those who've been on holiday. In Swindon a suntan is unusual, to say the least, but it's always the same people who go abroad to sunny places. Obviously they're the ones with money in their pocket. I'm struggling to pay for food for the week, never mind a bus ticket down the road. In fact, the last time I went into a Job Centre with a suntan I was investigated. there was bloke following me around aty a discreet distance watching what I gopt up to. And they stopped my money that year too. I hadn't even left the town once, but then, their argument is that the government insist that unemployed people must be willing to travel to work for an hour and a half even if they can't afford to. That's the reality of being unemployed you see. MP's seem to think we all get a suntans at public expense.
     
    Thing is though - I can't help wondering how they feel about spending hundreds of pounds to suffer the aggravations of air travel and foreign languages, only to discover the weather's been just as good here? Oh yeah... I forgot... They've got a suntan.
  5. caldrail

    Turning Around

    By caldrail,

    The last few days have been quite warm, a typical British summer, and that wa quite enough for me. Luckily the nights cooled things down. A bit. Before the weekend however, the weatherman on television was beaming with malicious delight. Watch out for the weekend - it's going to be a scorcher. Okay. yawn.
     
    I got up late this morning having been up all night. As usual in summer, the air within my home was a little stuffy but I had things to do, so the atmosphere was of little concern. As soon as I opnened the front door to go to the shops - Woah! A blast of hot air hit me. That weatherman wasn't kidding. This is seriously warm folks.
     
    Turning Into Ash
    At the bottom of the hill traffic was held up. Roadworks? There's been some further down. I was wrong however, as a small fleet of fire engines were parked up on the road junction. On the pavement, a burned out sports car. The local lap dancing club gutted by fire. It turns out some guy reversed his car into the premises and poured pertol over the vehicle before setting it on fire. Good grief, as if it wasn't warm enough around here already....
     
    Turning Toward Triump
    Andy Murray has won the Mens Singles at Wimbledon. I apologise for the late news but since it took Mr Murray seventy years to win the match, I thought no-one would mind if I neglected to tell you immediately. Unfortunately David Cameron was a bit quicker off the mark. His suggestion to give Mr Murray a knighthood for winning at Wimbledon has left me a bit peeved because I won a game of conkers when I was twelve and the letter confirming my OBE still hasn't arrived. Oh yes, I forgot, the Health & Safety Executive made the game of conkers a threat to civilisation as we know it. I'll shut up before I get jailed for living dangerously.
     
    Vote for Murray - Turning Britain around.
     
    Turning Countries Around
    The dramatic events in Egypt have been the subject of considerable news footage. During an interview with some guy who apparently understood what was going on, the scrolling headline underneath said "Britain does not support regime change". Really? So we were right about those weapons of mass destruction in Iraq after all?
     
    My advice to the people of Egypt is to keep practising. Eventually you'lll get this military coup business right and finally win.
     
    Turning Jobseekers Around
    Our local library has been hosting a job club for a few years now. It's useful getting an extra couple of hours to search the world wide web for all those vacancies the jobsite adverts promise are out there. It's easy too. Unfortunately the library service have decided it's too easy as well, and now we're only going to get eight weeks each.
     
    How exactly does that assist me getting a job? By giving the opportunity to everyone else? And I've got a claims advisor who seems to believe I spend the entire day sat in front of a computer waiting for the next vacancy to appear.
  6. caldrail

    Move Along

    By caldrail,

    Those sweaty summer nights are with us again. I blame America - we always get our weather secondhand from them. Hiowever I can't blame them for the behaviour of the locals. As soon as the warmth kicks in they start behaving like they're on a mediterranean holiday, shouting, throwing, or generally hitting each other. You might not be suprised to hear that happened last night. Again.
     
    Clearly the way to improve social behaviour is not by fines or visits to a magistrates court, but banning summer. When is our government going to do something useful?
     
    Move Along Please
    There's a bunch of african lads who've moved into the area turning our little preserve of working class England into some kind of Los Angeles in red brick and elm trees. They were out in the yard behind my home last night, enjoying themselves in a rowdy fashion and without having anywhere else to go in the wee small hours. They went quiet all of a sudden. Certainly wasn't down to me. i was too busy trying to find a comfortable sleeping position.
     
    Move Along, Please
    As the British normally do any hint of sun means we get into this strange contest to see who can wear the least clothing. I can't help thinking that people do that because it's merely fashionable or simply their way of fitting in with the crowd of aimless citizens wandering around town for no better reason than to justify minimising their wardrobe.
     
    Move Or Else
    Sorry lads. Not your house.
  7. caldrail
    "Our house!"
     
    For a while now I've been hearing that phrase. Usually I hear it from young males in the street outside. I must admit I thought it was just kids being silly with some kind of catch-phrase. On one occaision however a shiny black car pulled over to the side the road as I wandered on my way to a local supermarket. It was driven by a youngster, which was unusual in itself. How many eighteen year-olds in Britain can afford any car insurance whatsoever? Kids drive bangers or their parents second car. That's the way it is. But anyway the youth at the wheel poked his head out and and asserted confidently "Our house!".
     
    Just last night it all got a bit more menacing. A passer in the street said to his mate "It's all right, he'll be out of there by the end of the year". Clearly they meant me to hear it too.
     
    Well the flat doesn't belong to the local bad lads any more than it does me, it's the property of the landlord and whatever financial agencies he chooses to do business with. However I do have a long term tenancy (I've been there a decade) and a rental agreement. Anything more than polite negotiation and these individuals are in breach of anti-social, criminal, and property law.
     
    Chances are those idiots can't read beyond the fatuous world of tabloid newspapers, or indeed understand that there's a world beyond gangsta rap, but assuming they happen to be keeping their eyes on my activities - sorry boys - you're out of order. And now everyone knows it.
     
    Hey - I can shout too.
     
    The Camp Fire
    The unsettling development put me in a pensive mood as you might imagine. Shakespeare might of had me wandering around my camp incognito, listening to the troops conversing and gauging their mood for the ensuing struggle. Instead I have to make do with opening the back window and watching the world go by as the daylight fades.
     
    It didn't take long to spot Mr Fox, busy searching his new domain dutifully. Against the pale dry gravel it's difficult to miss him even in low light. Sure enough I spotted the cat too. It seems the feline instinct is to leave the area when the fox hoves into view. The cat was already heading for home, leaping up onto a weed infested earth bank on the public side of the fence.
     
    Then I saw something else appearing onto the stage. No! It can't be! It was. Mr Fox is actually Mrs Fox, and there, not far away, was a youngster, already with his bushy tail and busy copying the searching tactics of his mum. Thing is though, if there's one fox cub, there must be... Yes! Two more came into view. Playfulness got the better of them and the gravel pile became a kingdom to win. Mother wasn't bothered. Her cubs are old enough to watch out for themselves now and there's a dinner to be found and caught.
     
    They probably won't survive much longer given they've taken up home on a major building site, what with the local vermin problem and all. Having written this, there's an outside chance I've sealed their fate. C'est la vie. But it was a genuinely uplifting sight nonetheless. Actually right now they're probably doing more good than harm. So Mrs Fox, if you wouldn't mind eating the pesky little varmint that keeps piddling on my kitchen floor, I'd be grateful.
     
    Dawn Breaks
    Well, I must be on my way. My appointment is drawing nigh and I must do bloody battle with the evil Claims Adviser and his minions of officialdom. Once more unto the job centre dear friends, once more...
  8. caldrail

    Quite A Job

    By caldrail,

    Another day, another jobsearch. My claims advisor doesn't like me doing anything other than seeking gainful employment and is trying to force me to waste more of my time looking for jobs I applied for last week, but you see, all work and no play makes Caldrail a dull applicant. So my claims adviosor can... well... off.
     
    As I write this I'm entertained by the efforts of a young man to woo the pretty young blonde sat next to him. He started quite well - she liked the attention - but he hasn't gone in for the coup de date and she's starting to lose interest.
     
    Ahh - he's realised the attempt is flagging, and is now deflecting her attention by helping her with a problem on the PC. Good move actually - he's drawn closer to her. Oh no, he's run out of technical details he can get away with, and backs off having achieved nothing. She's replying in shorter and quieter sentences - disaster. Well young man, you tried. Both have stopped talking and all he does now is glance at her occaisionally.
     
    I feel like interrupting and teling her that the guy next to her wants a date. A part of me thinks I should ask her for myself and to heck with him, but of course she's a lot younger and probably wouldn't dream of dating her granddad. Mind you, I would probably tire of her mobile phone activity and empty conversation quite quickly, so the only real option I would have would be to bankrupt myself with a child. At least the first twenty minutes is fun even if dealing with messy breakups and conversations with authorities isn't.
     
    Ohhh... Hang on... She hasn't lost interest completely. Funnily enough, he has, because it turns out her conversation is horribly monotone and nasal. The thought of discussing which side of the bed to use puts me off as well. Oh well, back to the job website. There's a job for a customer service advisor going somewhere.
     
    No. Me neither.
     
    Back On The Site
    Lately I've been watching developments on the old college site. The local cat has been prowling around, slowly, sniffing at almost every lump of gravel, almost as if it's exploring the new enviroment. The fox I saw the other night doesn't care about new sights and smells, it wants dinner, and trots here and there looking for likely spots to nab a furry rodent or two. It spots me at the window - I wonder if that's the same fox that prowled around my home last year? - but after an appraisal decides I serve no useful purpose, and continues his search for lunch, zigzagging over the angular gravel terrain.
     
    Back on the Farm
    The rat has been sighted. twice in my bedroom - which was an alarming sight to say the least - and it left a calling card on the floor of the kitchen a few nights ago. So far I haven't figured out where the little monster is getting in but mark my words rodent - you future is grim.
  9. caldrail

    Changing Fortunes

    By caldrail,

    How things are changing outside my window. For some time now the Old College site has been no more than a mountainous lanscape of crushed college, but now that work is ubnder way to develop the site (at last), the hillside is being cut into and levelled. It's extraordinary how much gravel and dirt has been removed. Even more extraordinary are the metal bolsters that are used to shore up the alleyway at the back of the site. They must be something like fifty feet in length or more and each is being driven into the ground until the top disappears. All in all a fascinating sight.
     
    Trouble At Mill
    Somewhat less impressive is my claims advisor at the job centre. He clearly has no intention of taking any notice of what I tell him, and indeed, delights in rubbishing everything I say. This has happened before and is a precursor to having my payments stopped. There's a sense of injustice about this, not just because the advisor is known to me as a dishonest person, but because I exceed the requirements of my jobseekers contract by a factor of three or four.
     
    More Trouble At Mill
    Some of the youths in my area are getting a bit above themselves. In the hours of darkness they've taken to claiming property as their own and announcing their ownership at the top of their voices. Sometimes they taunt and threaten quite brazenly. Someone in my street is being told to leave their house or face the consequences.
     
    And the Police? You may well ask.
  10. caldrail

    Critters

    By caldrail,

    They say that in Britain you're never more than six feet from a rat. Experts of course brush that aside as old wives tales, but clearly they haven't discovered Swindon. I often come across one straying into sight along footpaths and although they prefer to shy away from me, shy they aren't. One or twice I've nearly trodden on the little monster.
     
    I say this because I'm seriously starting to wonder if I'm sharing my home with a furry squatter. So far there's no confirmed sighting of a rodent inside the house but it's becoming hard to accept that I'm not just buying food for myself. The evidence points to a mouse rather than a rat as I don't seem to have contracted the Black Death just yet. Or is my visitor getting impatient for me to die horribly? I woke the other morning to find yet another impressive scratch on my person. Not a pleasant thought.
     
    Bigger Critters
    Finally my bladder won the competition with the feature film on television last night. Time then to relieve the increasing physical and mental stress and so it's off to the loo. As I walked in and switched on the light a flash of brown fur sped away from view the other side of the glass.
     
    What the...? A fox? I had no idea a fox could get up to that window. That was a serious shock to the system. Had the window been open the crafty little critter would have been inside and chances are I would only have known after the contents of my kitchen had been spread across the floor in search for food. With newspaper stories of foxes losing fear of human beings and seeing if they can eat one very much in mind, it was a sobering thought. That's one window I'm keeping shut this summer.
     
    I saw him later on stalking around the yard, pausing to investigate the possibilities of a dumpster, then vanishing into the shadows as it sought something to eat. Now there's a thought... Was the fox at my window merely to chance his luck, or was it trying to get hold of something in particular?
     
    Even Bigger Critters
    Never mind being eaten by small furry mammals. It seems a few nights ago I disturbed an attempted burglary. Didn't see anything but there were two of them as one warned the other I was coming. Maybe I should be public spirited and warn them of the risks of carnivore attacks? Hmmm... On balance, I'll let them die horribly. Serves them right. With a bit of luck it'll catch those two graffiti artists I saw at work in the alley last night as well.
     
    Luckily we humans come equipped with superior intelligence, communication skills, and plenty of experience in eradicating anything we regard as pests. Welcome to the food chain.
  11. caldrail
    Funny how sometimes we get reminded of things we did long ago. Watching a progam talking about the private lives of those vivacious and intense Roman citizens I couldn't help but smile.
     
    A little while ago I was contacted by an old friend who wanted to know if I was interested in a get-together over a pint. It meant a night in the company of a former girlfriend, P, but to be honest I was only too happy to meet up and swap stories. P and I had been in a casual relationship for years. Although it did fall apart somewhat, we're stil friends. Game on.
     
    So we got busy laughing and joking. Only one of the old crowd wasn't there. P's friend S, a quiet, quirky lady whose company we accepted as the normal course of things. She'd been... simply... there. Where was she, I asked? The world was not at one with itself without S in the background.
     
    P looked at me with that sort of face that concealed secrets, guilt, and things I was not meant to know. Oh no. There are no secrets between P and me. The gentle interrogation began and finally she sighed and asked "You remember that day we went to Savernake?"
     
    I did indeed. On that particular day I wanted to go hiking in Savernake forest. P was never a woman keen on walking further than she had to but I guess she wanted some excuse to escape her daily routine and opted to come with me, at least as far as the car park. Her friend S came with her for company. I got a day in the forest, they got a picnic in the woods.
     
    Finally I returned to the car, weary, footsore, but as always refreshed by my wanderings around what passes for wilderness in England. Immediately I noticed an odd atmosphere in the car. Were those two enjoying a joke at my expense? The more I probed for an answer, the more they shared a glance and giggled. Women... I dunno... But that was a long time ago.
     
    P rolled her eyes and in one breath admitted that S had made a pass at her. S? S made a lesbian pass at P? I was utterly fascinated. Back when I first met S, she was always looking at me and until I got used to her I always wondered if she fancied me. One night I decided to find out. No, said S with a firm gesture, no. But it made no difference to the dynamics of our social group. No hard feelings.
     
    Nonetheless I had nagging doubts. On one night in a pub I was sat with both P and S together and some bloke sauntered past enquiring which of the girls I was with. For some reason that annoyed me and I quickly answered "Both of them". Neither of my lady friends made any denial. Both were happy with my declaration. Does that sound a bit odd? It somehow felt that way.
     
    I looked at P with new found respect. My former girl was a lesbian? Did you, I asked with an amused stare? "Nooo!" P answered quickly. There it was again. That look on her face.
     
    Well, not to worry. It's a funny thing about human relationships that we can sometimes be very tolerant and open about them. P bit her tongue as I made fun of her. I know her too well to be fooled by that innocent playfulness with a wine glass. She probably doesn't know this but it was all too obvious that things had gone further than an awkward enquiry between friends. Not that I minded at all, because as it turned out I was having as much fun as she was.
     
    Local Crime Of The Week
    Just the other day I discovered that police are looking for a man who robbed some teenagers at gunpoint round the corner from where I live. That sort of thing doesn't usually go on in England and never outside a big city. Makes me wonder if the death threat I got last weekend wasn't entirely paranoia. Or maybe it is. Kinda hard to tell by now...
  12. caldrail
    "Hey mate!" Hissed a builder as I strolled by the old college car park that is now being fenced off in preparation for Demolition Day. "Can I borrow yer barbells?"
     
    Pardon me? Either that young man has discovered that erecting the ramparts around the site is physicaslly demanding and urgently requires a body building regime, or I've just been propositioned by a gay builder. Walk on, Caldrail, walk on...
     
    I mean, what on earth was that youngster thinking? Does he really believe I carry large weights around in my pockets? No... Don't answer that.
     
    On The Home Front
    Saturday 21:30 hrs.
    A voice outside my home is heard to say "We'll come back when he's in."
     
    I did suspect that might be the local burglars and as a precaurtion stayed up late. Nothing happened.
     
    Tuesday 23:45 hrs.
    There was an odd crinckly noise. "Yeah... He's in there."
     
    I checked the entrance to my home but no sign of entry was observed.
     
    Wednesday 03:30 hrs
    I was woken abruptly by a loud doorbell noise. Not my own, it must be said, but my neighbours did not respond either. I'd been dimly aware of noises before that in my slumborous condition. No sign of entry.
     
    In the light of that recent death threat you'll have to excuse me for being a tad suspicious of bumps in the night. Was I overhearing those pesky local thieves, or was this a more sinister threat, or merely just somebodies idea of a sick wind-up?
     
    I hadn't really thought of it before but DW, our local intrepid online jopurnalist, has been subject to some pretty nasty attitudes from certain members of the public and I have been associated with some of his journalistic projects. Have I been targeted by bully boys intent on seeing off DW's allies?
     
    So far the Police haven't been taking DW too seriously about the masses of insults and threats directed at him. The internet is full of talk, as it were, but is this a sign of a war leaking into the real world?
     
    I'll have to stop feeding my rottweiller.
  13. caldrail
    Not so long ago an office manager held up my CV during an interview and demanded to know why I thought I was famous. He had in fact completely missed the point. Firstly, I never used or even suggested the word at all. Sencondly, did he really expect me to be modest during a job interview? Too late. He was outraged by what he thought was pomposity. He was after all a small time office manager and meeting people with something to say for themselves, however modest, was beyond his experience and threatened his self worth.
     
    As it happens that sort of thing isn't unusual. The problem with being a has-been is that you struggle for credibility whether you're modest or not. Famous people live in some far off fantasy world you see. Certainly not the one inhabited by ordinary Swindoners. Back in the days when I worked in a warehouse my former adventures in the music business provoked outrage as well. Only on the one occaision when I got up on stage and performed behind a drum kit did the scorn fall quiet. It turned out I could play after all.
     
    Anyway, as I always say, if they're talking about you, you're famous. It's all a matter of scale. So although I grind my teeth sometimes at the comments, opinions, ridicule, taunts, and insults offered by members of the public who have no concept of fame beyond their popularity with friends and Facebook, I have to say that they are talking about me, not themselves. So who's more interesting?
     
    Sadly there's a flip side to fame. The glamour quickly subsides in the face of stalkers and loonies. For two years one young man has made persistent claims I own property of his. I don't, of course, but I guess it makes a good alibi for burglary in his maind. More to the point, yesterday evening, for the very first time, I received a death threat.
     
    Not, I have to say, a life experience I really wanted.
     
    Going Soon?
    Demolition men were spotted this morning in the old college car park this morning. That's the first I've seen any activity there. Okay, they were standing around chatting rather than blowing things up, but hey, at least they found the place.
  14. 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...
  15. caldrail
    As I draw ever closer to the day when recording my new album becomes a necessity, so the desire to be ready for it drives me on. I learned to play guitar in my early twenties though I have to confess I was never particularly talented or technically proficient - just good enough to embarass specialist players at my level - especially since I was a drummer by trade. Mostly I just embarassed myself.
     
    Nonetheless it's been twenty years since I played guitar anything like seriously, so in order to save myself from further embarrasement, I must practice. Practice makes perfect you see. They say you never really forget a skill once you've learned it. Clearly they've never played guitar. I'm discovering that re-learning the fingering you used to do as a matter of course in your younger days takes a lot of hard work when you're not so young any more. Just ask my neighbours.
     
    What makes a comparison between then and now imore difficult is that the emphasis of my guitaring has changed. That definitely is the result of my age. I'll listen to stuff now that I would have ignored back then.
     
    There was a pub called the Cornflower which regularly hosted live music. It's still there even if the music isn't, and me and my drinking buddy GS used to pop down on the off chance they were any good. If we saw a tambourine, we left immediately. It was the done thing to do. A local promoter by the name of RK once spoke to us and said that the band on that night were brilliant. He learned something from them every gig. Yeah? Really?
     
    GS and I left the premises. The band were okay, sort of, but mostly it was the two extrovert frontmen that kept any real interest while they swung off chandeliers, sat on rafters, and other shenanigans on stage. RK heard my comments on learning nothing from them as I left and that propbably sankl my chances of local success. C'est la vie.
     
    On one occaision I got to play the Cornflower myself. This was a semi-pro band called Bardiche which I functioned in as drummer-manager. The gig was the first outing of our new vocalist. It was an important local gig. We needed to impress. So I ordered a light show, PA, and just about anything I could think of to make that vital impression on what I knew was going to be a fickle audience.
     
    RK had done the dirty. My PA and light show was cancelled. The night before I managed to secure another PA system but we still had the smoke machine from the council arts department. I instructed JS, our roadie, to switch on and off at my command. He nodded that he understood. That was a mistake. Roadies do not understand. If they did, they would be playing out on stage, not running errands for band members. But I didn't know that then.
     
    The gig went underway and we were doing fine. When the moody guitar solo started, I signalled for smoke. JS obligingly thumbed up and thick grey fog exuded from the funnel like the exhalation of some giant fire breathing monster. Realising we were going to set off fire alarms, I signalled JS to stop. He grinned and thumbed up. NO! Stop it you foo;!
     
    We got told off. by the pub staff. At least we got paid, even if the audience couldn't see their pints in front of them. I don't ever want to have to rely on stage sets and effects again. Unfortunately that means I have to become proficient at my guitar all over again.
     
    Bryan Adams - you have absolutely no idea mate.
     
    Sun And Fun of the Week
    Good grief. It's getting seriously warm out there. We Swindoners aren't adapted for this level of sunshine. There are things I need to do, like searching for gainful employment, or shopping, or practising guitar... But it's sunny out there. Nnnnnnnnn gah! I'm sorry. Temptation is too much. Stop the world, I want to get tanned.
  16. caldrail

    Just Another Day

    By caldrail,

    War seems to loomed large on the television screens of late. Not just the tragic deaths of six british servicemen in Afghanistan, or the equally tragic killing spree of an american NCO, or even the revelations of terrible things that happened in the Libyan Revolt or are happening now in the Syrian troubles. It was also wars of times past.
     
    The usual war films are playing regularly in the afternoons. Brave british chaps stiffening their upper lips in the north african desert, or americans freezing theirs off in the Ardennes winter. But I've seen all those before. I did see one interesting film, a drama based on a jewish breakout from a death camp based on real events. It looked very realistic as opposed to the often pantomime appearance that production costs often dictate in other films.
     
    Then last night I saw the meeting of a british and argentine veteran who were both involved in the same action during the Falklands War. I just knew it was going to get emotional - let's be honest, the programme makers ensured it would be - but there was something very admirable about two men who had tried to kill each other in their youth finally lay their ghosts to rest, if not their political viewpoints, and walk away good friends.
     
    It did leave me with a number iof emotions. Sadness for those who died so needlessly and sympathy for those they left behind. Envy for those who can cast aside their past for a better future. But then... back in 1982, neither side actually hated the other. A war of necessity perhaps. A part of me will always believe that hatred is the common enemy.
     
    Another Sunny Day
    Yet another sunny morning to enjoy. Yesterday I wandered around the local park, astonished at the bare earth policy of the grounds keepers who seem determined to reduce the recently opened path around the lake to a representation of a world war one shellshocked landscape.
     
    Pigeons, as usual, gathered around any hint of breadcrumbs. Seabirds whirled noisily around the lake waiting to pounce on hint of a pigeon fleeing with more than his fair share. Swans gently floating by here and there, waiting for any hint of that goose they don't like to turn up.
     
    Then my attention was drawn to a solitary bumblebee. Quite a rare sight as it happens, bit there it was, silently buzzing from blossom to blossom on the nearby tree. I dunno, sometimes something so insignificant grabs your attention for no apparent reason. It just seeemed to suit the mood. Relaxed, everyone minding their own business, just enjoying another spring day.
     
    Chorus Of The Week
    It appears that my whinging about late night football songs has taken root. I've been informed that on the weekend a bunch of slightly happy inebriated football-philes passed my house with a loud and cheery rendtion of New York, New York, It's a wondeful town....
     
    great to see that some of the locals are trying to raise the cultural level of Swindon to new heights, even if it does require a large slice of Broadway. Sorry I missed the performance guys, but I can't be everywhere at once. Hey - that's show business.
  17. caldrail

    Another Great Day

    By caldrail,

    Without wishing to sound like a tired old blues singer, I woke up this morning. After almost four years of unemployment I consider that a demonstration of my self discipline and work ethic. Hmmm... Let's see... What shall I do today?
     
    As it happens I woke up this morning to a bright sunny day. There's a very lazy feel about the town as I stroll down to the library, quite unlike a typical monday morning, and the streets are much less busy than usual. Knowing the british as I do, I wouldn't be suprised if half the residents of this area have looked out of the window and decided to phone in sick.
     
    My speculation was cruelly dashed when I discovered half the residents of this area were sat upstairs in the library before I got there. Come on people, have you not got things to do? It's a bright sunny day out there. Oh well. Since I can't nip onto a computer immediately I'll just book one for later - it's not as if I've got anything to do today...
     
    Huh? What the?...Suspended.?
     
    Oh brilliant. Time then to go to the helpdesk and ask the librarian for assistance. This particular one doesn't like my title and not suprisingly she asked me to wait while she dealt with the other customer first. The pair of them then tried to achieve the impossible by getting the photocopier to do something other than it's makers programmed it to understand. They were having a great time.
     
    Having defeated the evil photocopier and with the world made safe once more, she turned her attention t my small problem. It turns out I wasn't guilty of any crime or misdemeanour, but rather that the computer administrators don't seem to understand that some people don't move house every year or so. Having confirmed my address and my account reactivated, I booked my slot and that left me with two hours to kill. Hmmm... Let's see.... What shall I do this morning?
     
    Idea Of The Week
    Young L was talking about public transport, a rare diversion from reciting the script of every Top Gear episode from the last decade, and finaly, having thought about it, he said "Sometimes I think I'd like to get on a bus and see where it takes me."
     
    His thirst for adventure is admirable but I as far as I'm aware, bus drivers have to follow a set route and usually end up back where they started. Come on L, get a life, it's a great day. Now if you'll excuse me I booked a couple of hours on a library computor.
  18. caldrail

    In My Dreams

    By caldrail,

    When I was very young I used to come across the vast seies of books published by Ladybird. Little handooks, lavishly illustrated with paintings, covering just about every subject you possibly teach a child. One has stuck in the mind for some strange reason. That scene where a dishevelled beggar by the name of Marco Polo claimed he had just returned from the orient to jeers and laughter, then bringing a stunned silence to the crowd as he ripped open his clothes and revealed the treasure in gemstones he'd hidden there.
     
    Appearances can be deceiving can't they? There was an old chap I used to work with. He always had time for other people and I used to chat to him regularly. One he made a playful punch in my direction that left me stunned at his speed and accuracy. I was curious about that but the penny didn't drop. Only when he retired did I learn that he'd been a professional boxer in his younger days and once fought at Madison Square Gardens.
     
    I can't say I ever wanted to be a boxer but there were plenty of things I did want. Some I achieved, some I chased as best I could. Isn't that what life is for? Another work colleague once told me that "You can always dream" when I discussed my passion for very expensive italian supercars. What? Am I supposed to sit there wishing it would happen? Wouldn't it make more sense to work toward that objective? Without possibility, dreams have no value.
     
    "In his dreams!" Said the voice outside in the street a couple of nights ago. Loud enough to be heard, and deliberately so. I wonder who that was aimed at? Probably me. It wouldn't be the first time someone has poured scorn on things I've said about myself or the stories others have told. What I have noticed is that the loudest critics are invariably youngsters who've learned how to shout people down on the school playgrounds. As I always say, he who shouts loudest knows least.
     
    Well young man, there's plenty of things in my dreams, and as long I can dream, there's always a possibility. Simply a matter of geting there. But you wouldn't know about that.
     
    Car Choice Of The Week
    Congratulations to James May for his enlightened and inspired choice of car in the Top Gear attempt to do rallycross. I've owned two MkII Toyota MR2's in my time, one red, one blue, by extraordinary coincidence both were K reg as well as Mr May's (except I paid somewhat more than
  19. caldrail
    Another day, another shopping trip. Once agai I trudge down to my local supermarket in a fruitless quest for bargains and cheap two for one deals. Yesterday the weather wasn't bad. Not like today with blustery rainfall, so I guess I chose the right day to go shopping.
     
    Let's see... What can I buy?.... Most of the goods are the upmarket brands for people who follow the teachings of the prophet Jamie Oliver. Can't afford those. I don't care how many television adverts he makes. Five pounds doesn't feed me for four days unless I go on survival rations.
     
    Even the cheap brands are rising in price inexorably. Eight years ago a packet of mince costing fifty pence now retails for one pound twenty five - and the packaging is smaller. Of course if you're a well paid professional that difference in price probaly wouldn't appear on the radar. For me, it's a coloosal drop in affordable resources.
     
    Eventually I chose the cheapest and least ghastly items I could find. Time then to stand in the queue and await my chance to pay for them. For some reason I seem to have developed a talent for finding the the exact time when coachloads of Swindon residents have decided to do their shopping as well. Nothing I can do about it. Join the queue and wait...
     
    Movement. Something caught my eye. With almost static lines of people a sudden movement among them was not going to go unnoticed. A mobility buggy went into fast reverse, scattering shoppers as they tried to save themselves from injury.
     
    Funnily enough it wasn't the fault of the old lady on board, although she didn't react to the situation very quickly. Her granddaughter, a very young child sat on her knee, had accidentially tripped the reversing switch with her coat. Doesn't the law say something about kids being at the wheel of motorised vehicles?
     
    It was all over in seconds. The buggy was brought to a halt, the old woman left the premises red-faced with embarrasement, and the herd of shoppers went back to grazing at the till, content that all was calm and safe once again.
     
    Oh No... Not Again...
    A car horn should be used to warn other road users of your presence. Usually it's used to tell them to effing well look where they're going. I can't really criticise because I've done the exact same thing when some idiot cut me up on a road junction.
     
    Anyway I was heading for home and the horn alerted me to the presence of a vehicle. As it happens I wasn't in any way obstructing the passage of the road vehicle, nor did I recognise the irate driver of the car, nor for that matter do I believe my fashion sense is quite that outrageous to warrant a loud blast.
     
    I wonder what his problem was? Ohhhh... So that's where the horn control is.
  20. caldrail
    Many years ago I went off one weekend to visit a kit car show. It meant a long journey there and back the same day but I was young, enthusiastic, and totally nuts about cars, or indeed most things that moved courtesy of an internal combustion engine.
     
    Needless to say the main hall was packed full of all sorts of DIY cars. Fun cars, serious cars, wierd cars, and a few that turned out to be infamous money pits. I wandered among replicas of ferrari's and lamborghini's that seemed almost as expensive as the real thing. Salesmen waited in the shadows ready to pounce on unsuspecting members of the public, and I too escaped from one before he ripped my wallet open. He certainly tried hard enough.
     
    Out on the track the owners of these cars roared by in a succession of hamfisted cornering. Deep growling V8's of Shelby cobra replicas, the grand prix shriek of motorcycle engined Caterham clones, and sooner or later, the screetch of tortured tires as the newbie driver got it completely wrong.
     
    Nonetheless I made a huge error of judgement. I was holding an open can of Pepsi. Now the problem wasn't an issue of credibility or manhood, but a target for the local wasps. Here in Swindon wasps are generally shy and retiring. In the vicinity of that race circuit they were evil malicious carnivores hell bent on intimidating any stupid human being they came across.
     
    It wouldn't go away. I moved here, moved there, swiped haplessly at the agile little monster. It just hovered there, staring into my face, trying to mug me of the precious source of sugar. Finally I gave up. Go on, have it. I threw the can in the bin and consider myself lucky to have escaped with my life.
     
    Buzzing About
    Without doubt reicarnation is a real facet of existence on Earth. I know this because She Who Objects To My Internet Use is definitely a reincarnated wasp. She is exactly the same, always buzzing here and there and always glancing over my shoulder hoping to glimpse just one flesh coloured pixel on the computer monitor, always annoying me with her presence. I wish she'd realise that I have no interest in pornography. If she's that interested, why doesn't she browse for some and point energetically at the computer screen? It'll keep her happy.
     
    To be honest I preferred her when she hid in the toilet.
     
    One More Time
    Talking about not going away, learning that Putin just got himself re-elected does not suprise me at all. Interestingly the anarchy of the post-declaration has subsided and Moscow is very quiet today so I gather. Maybe people have made a complaint and now resign themselves to more Adventures Of Putin? I have no idea if the election was actually fair and free, or whether the rumours of tricks and thuggery we normally expect of corrupt african nations have any basis in truth, but the man is back. Maybe he just wants a can of Pepsi?
  21. caldrail
    No matter how long you've lived in Britain you never learn. By sheer chance I heard a weather forecast and guess what? Our balmy relaxing weather is about to go siberian again. I must admit we did get sleet on sunday. Today though is a slightly chilly sunny day. No-one would know it was monday morning.
     
    Of course having watched Kate Humble breathlessly roam the globe to show us what a breathtakingly wondrous planet we live on, I now know that Britain sits under a boundary between arctic and tropical air flows, thus our unpredictable weather is the result of an atmospheric battle for supremacy.
     
    Now I know. And I thought is was just my bad luck every time I get drenched.
     
    Puppet Shows
    As regular readers will know, I was a fan of the Thunderbirds puppet series when I was at a very young age. Back then televisions were steam powered and only came in black'n'white, so it was either that or
     
    As I get older I start to wonder what inspired Gerry Anderson to create an island of recluses who fly supersonic aircraft to disasters spots around the world without feeling the need to tender their bill? Jolly generous of the lads from Tracey Island, but the other day I realised why. The series was inspired by none other than the Salvation Army. Same stiff upright movement and stirring band music.
     
    Question Of The Week
    There's something I've never quite understood. I don't mean cosnological physics, although quantum theory is a bit wierd even if you paid attention at school, nor do I mean government policy which turns out to be no more than the blind leading the blind. For that matter nor does human relationships confuse me. All a matter of the right aftershave or if that fails, either hit something or buy pornography.
     
    No. My problem is far more significant to modern culture. Why do women like Meatloaf? The band, I mean. Some of them even describe it as rock music. Now I could excuse that if they've never bothered to go out with the long haired geek when they were younger, but surely western civilisation has become more sophisticated than that?
     
    When you come to think of it, how could Meatloaf pretend to be anything other than he is? But against the glitzy image of stretch limo's, gold encrusted hoodlums, and handguns held in the silliest possible manner, how does a slightly large older person with bad hair and a sweat problem cut it with the ladies?
     
    There is an argument that the appeal of Meatloaf is that it represents something alternative in the toneless world of rap, drum & bass, R'n'B, or all those other video releases that have a guy in sunglasses pretending to be Al Capone. Girls, please, discover music before you start looking like your mum.
  22. caldrail

    Law And Order

    By caldrail,

    "Cooo-eee!"
     
    Huh? What? Hey, I'm just stood at a pedestrian crossing minding my own business in my usual semi-comatosed state.
     
    "It's me!" Said a young woman who clearly knew me. I think I was supposed to know who she was. Oh hang on... Finally I realised who she was. Mr J's girlfriend, the human pinball. Here we go again...
     
    To my astonishment she was sober and behaving in a normal friendly manner. I don't think I've met her in that condition before. When slightly inebriated she describes herself as a female Vince Noir, an odd idea seeing as she's nowhere near as androgynous as the Mighty Boosh character. If I were brutally honest, she hasn't anything like the same style or fashion sense either, but don't tell her I said so. Just in case.
     
    So we had a little chat in which I learned about the dramatic events surrounding her confrontation with Mr J's former girlfriend. You see, this is why I can't be bothered with television soap operas. Who needs them? I get updates on all the same pointless intrigue and violence out here in the real world.
     
    Thing is, when we blokes get miffed at each other, it's easily settled. A loud shouting match, possibly with an exchange of threats and pointing fingers, or if worse comes to the worse a few punches back and forth until honour is satisfied or someone goes to hospital. No problem.
     
    Women are different. I do admit that loud shouting matches are common, but instead of an entertaining cat-fight, they turn into witches, vampires, or martial arts experts. You know what I mean. In this case however all that happened was a spilt drink. Disappointed...
     
    Make My Day
    Last night the next film in the Clint Eastwood series was aired. I'm not a huge fan of his work but what the heck, there was nothing else on. So I sat down to watch The Gauntlet, a film about a cop and his female prisoner taking a death defying trek across Arisona for truth, justice, and the american chase movie.
     
    I've never seen the film before and boy oh boy did I enjoy it. Not for the typical wisecracks, glimpses of the leading ladies mammary glands, or the slightly lesbian scene in whch they got exposed, but the hilarious gaffs in the films plot.
     
    Okay, I can't resist it. This was typical. Hero has avoided ambush and holes up in a cave overnight. Along come some Hell's Angels the next morning quite by chance. Hero sends them packing with a display of bravado (and a big pistol), forcing a few to walk away and leave their treasured Harley Davidson behind. Hero and Prisomer then have an exciting chase scene with a gangland sniper in a helicopter (which was hardly the most suitable place to shoot accurately from, but the hero was supposed to survive).
     
    Once the helicopter had collided with the scenery in the time honoured ball of flame, the hero and his prisoner hitch a ride on a passing freight train only to discover the boxcar was already occupied by three pedestrian Hell's Angels who were slightly miffed at losing their treasured motorbike. Call me suspicious, but how did three pedestrians in the middle of the Arizona desert catch up with the other two on a speeding motorbike ridden hell for leather in what appears to be the opposite direction?
     
    If that wasn't bad enough, the finale featured the presence of pretty much the entire Pheonix police force who stood around gormless and passive once they had emptied their weapons at the hero's borrowed bus, while the main characters shot each other like The Gunfight At The OK Policemen's Ball.
     
    Certainly entertaining. Especially the slightly lesbian bit.
     
    Buck Privates
    Privatise the police? Is that seriously what our government is planning? Good grief we'll be running away from Robocop and ED209 next. And charged two pounds fifty plus VAT for each bullet and cannon shell fired at us. It's the British way.
  23. caldrail

    Bangs And Whistles

    By caldrail,

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

    Just Another Tuesday

    By caldrail,

    Why are Tuesdays so dull? Years ago I started a Tuesday Survey, the Worlds First Ever, though as it transpired some other ruffian nicked the idea and even got interviewed on television. Life is so unfair. But as it happens his tuesday survey has been forgotten and in any case never answered the question on the lips of the nation - How can tuesdays be made more interesting?
     
    Now I happen to be at a disadvantage. Swindon simply isn't an interesting place. I know the local council and media guru's will probably be demanding my public execution for writing that, but face it guys, Swindon is a mess and you've almost completely wasted the cultural heritage. It's a a mish-mash of initiatives that never get anywhere, which is probably how many motorists are feeling this morning as they queue at junctions during the rush hour.
     
    Clearly then a community inspired Tuesday isn't going to work. I think Swindon must have tried that before once or twice. It's the sort of thing they think of. Unfortunately if you don't live in a local ghetto or decorate the neighbourhood on behalf of your teenage crew, I really don't see much evidence of community at all.
     
    There is however one small light bulb in this dreary grey conurbation. There's a new club for role players, and they even stage a Dungeon & Dragons night. Ye gods that takes me back to my youth. Now if only they'd had the foresight to stage that on a tuesday...
     
    Gripe Of The Week
    Okay... Who forgot to reward me with an Oscar? Haven't I proven my acting ability in job interviews?
  25. caldrail

    Listen And You Shall See

    By caldrail,

    We were gathered there together to hear the words of Young L, our local high priest of the Top Gear temple, whether we liked it or not. The lesson for the day was the wayward handling of the new Ferrari FF when in high gear. Having watched the Stig fail to negotiate a frozen lake surface for that reason, Young L gamely attempted to convert the faithful to his way of thinking, or rather to sound clever by repeating what he'd seen on television.
     
    L - Just stop talking for a moment. If you drive a Ferrari FF in a straight line calmly and sensibly, what's your problem? The car will only crash if you push the boundary or do something stupid. After all it's usually footballers who crash them Too used to kicking things with their right foot.
     
    For a moment Young L thought about it. I count that as an achievement in itself, but having failed to think of a counter argument he went straight back to his usual boasting about being the fastest driver ever around the Top Gear track. Needless to say Young L has not yet passed a driving test and instead believes beyond all reason that experience on a Playstation game makes him somehow equal to those who've actually driven cars in the flesh.
     
    I've no doubt the game is a very good simulator - Even Mr D tried to tell me it was just like real life - but no, it just isn't. Young L seems to have forgotten that his hero proved that in an NSX at Laguna Seca. No cheap simulator for home entertainment can ever be classed as totally realistic. On a flight simulator I'm a world war two air ace capable of the most hair raising stunts known to aviation. In reality I've flown light aircraft a little close to the edge once or twice out of inexperience and consider myself older and wiser for having discovered how real actual aviation can get.
     
    Mr Clarkson - Please - If by some strange quirk of fate you happen to be reading this, please give Young L a chance to fall flat on his face around your track. I hereby waive my own opportunity for that pleasure alone. Thank you.
     
    Rock On!
    Also on the thank you list is a saturday night radio rock show host who's finally realised she's been playing the exact same tracks week in, week out. I listened open mouthed as long forgotten classic rock riffed, screamed, thumped, and rumbled from the speakers. Ye gods I nearly moshed from the comfort of my own home. Okay, it wasn't in the same league as The Friday Rock Show back in the reign of King Tommy Vance the First, but what radio show is these days?
     
    Down They Go
    What a difference a few trees and bushes make. I looked out the back of the house the other day and all the trees and bushes that fomerly obscured the ruined expanse of the Old College site had gone. It looks very bare and shabby now. Not for long, according to the developers, who plan to level the site this spring. Poor old foxes, where are they going to live now?
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