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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Bears With Sore Heads

    By caldrail,

    On the tv news I saw an old woman despairing of having to face the consequences of another war again at her age. "Why can't we all live in peace?" she asks.
     
    Why indeed? Because human beings aren't a peaceful species. In order for us to survive, nature has developed us to be social animals, competing for resources, survival of the fittest, and so on. In the modern world, those instincts are still there. It isn't just politics and war though. We see the same instincts played out in business, or on street corners for that matter.
     
    The russian leaders are not happy with the current political setup. I don't know if this is the case, but I can well imagine they're not happy with effectively surrendering the Cold War and finding their former enemy expanding and encroaching on what they consider their own back yard. You can't help but wonder if the failure of the Warsaw Pact to intimidate the west has left the russian bear with sore feelings. There are many russians for instance who would be happier under a strict stalinist regime.
     
    The russians are however somewhat heavy handed, and in trying to impose control over their southern neighbour they end up killing a great many innocent civilians whilst ostensibly protecting others. War is a terrible thing, there's no doubt, but what would we do without it?
     
    Dunce of the Week
    On my way home from the sports centre I was walking beside a recreation ground (thats a grass field in urban areas for non brits) when I spotted a lady walking her dog. Nothing unusual about that at all, recreation grounds are commonly used for that purpose. She had her dog, a young black labrador, on a lead, one of those silly retractable ones with a plastic handle. She threw the ball for her dog to fetch, but inthe heat of the moment, threw it a little too far. The dog eagerly went afterit, and reached the end of the leads extension. The dog then lifted up in a graceful arc suspended by its neck. The woman on the other hand, fell flat on her face. You should never laugh at peoples misfortune. Sometimes you just can't help yourself.
  2. caldrail

    Beauty And The Beast

    By caldrail,

    Just to prove that remote areas of the United States are not the only desirable place for alien invasions, we have one of our own, with a real live Dalek in the library. I can hear it warbling downstairs. For around five seconds the gathered children were stunned into silence.
     
    With the harsh distorted voice we expect of malicious pepperpots armed with rayguns, it said "I only want to be loved. I came to your planet because I thought you were caring. How wrong can a Dalek be? Exterminate!!!!"
     
    At least the parents fell over laughing. Once the kids had recovered from the suprise of seeing the Dalek actually move and communicate in front of them, they all started screaming requests for some sign of recognition. The Dalek of course is uniquely unable to wave hello, and thus the children are traumatised forever, learning that not all toys are soft and comfy. The naughty kids soon gained precedence, yelling to to demand attention from the alien invader, and starting arguments with the harassed space being, who asked them not to shout. I have a sneaking feeling the Dalek desperately wanted his raygun to work.
     
    "I will destroy the building!" Claimed the Dalek. Really? There was a time when they routinely threatened to destroy our planet. All that wasted effort. All they needed to do was build a Carbon Dioxide Plant and we were all doomed.
     
    Of course the 'pepperpot' is only a machine to carry the mutated creature inside it. The original Dalek was a green slimey squidgy thing with distended tentacles. The newer Dalek resembles a cyclopean octopus. It has to be said, we humans far prefer fluffy animals in general. Daleks lack the cute factor. They also lack the winning streak. After decades of experience in dealing with them, I'm pleased to announce that humanity has risen to the challenge of the library invasion. Poor Dalek. He doesn't stand a chance against those kids...
     
    Pretty Faces
    My daily ritual involves waiting to sign on. Claimants come and go, some happy, some morose, mostly shabby rejects of society by circumstance or choice. By and large the ladies are not what you'd call attractive. Women have an unfair advantage in the workplace. If they're at all attractive, they get preferential treatment from the boss, something I lost out to once as a young woman got promoted over my head because she was slightly sexier than me.
     
    Yesterday I sat there among the throng of quiet claimants. A couple of ladies emerged into view. Actually, they weren't bad, much more desirable than the usual working class harridans shoving their offspring here and there with frustrated barking orders.. Little things like pretty faces can change your entire day, but wait, hold the bus, who is that?
     
    An oriental lady stepped into the office. Apart from some natural shyness, she was charismatic, utterly gorgeous, and dressed to kill. I hope the government understand I now have an excuse to carry on claiming.
  3. caldrail

    Behind The Scenes

    By caldrail,

    As a rule ladders have never caused me a great deal of hassle. Traditionally I have much more of a problem with doors, which always seem to open in some other way than appears intuitively obvious. As I mentioned in yesterdays entry, there was one time when the ladder fought back.
     
    Back in the days when I first turned professional as a drummer, I needed to supplement my non-existent income from record royalties, and running light shows for my a friend of mine, the quiet and ever-optimistic FR who gladly forked out a few quid to avoid the onerous task of spending an afternoon setting up a light show, was as good a means as any.
     
    The theatre at Swindons Link Centre, a sports and community complex in the west of the town, is at first sight not much to look at. Sort of a big breeze block cube. It spends the day as a gymnasium in normal circumstances. Gigs were infrequent there but usually well attended. I guess entertainment is hard to come by in West Swindon if you don't like painting grafitti or stealing cars.
     
    The first job of the day was sorting out the lights. That's a little tip from an experienced light rigger. They were hanging from metal bars on a walkway up in the roof, something like an extra thirty feet above sea level, and besides needing to be pointed in the desired direction, also needed gels of the right colour inserted, and most importantly of all, the little safety chains fixed to prevent any of these heavy objects falling onto the audience.
     
    These walkways had no direct access. Instead, you had to take a wooden ladder onto the upstairs balcony and climb up on one side or the other. I was part of the way onto a walkway when the ladder slipped sideways. Woooah! Try as hard as I might, I could not get the ladder to balance back on its feet again. It fell sideways onto the seating leaving me dangling from the walkway in the dark, thankfully over the balcony, and not the theatre floor.
     
    I remember making an involuntary cry for help. Below me, a curious member of the public soaking up the atmosphere of a gig in preparation, stared up at me and did nothing, transfixed by the contempt for danger we light riggers had.. Oh brilliant. He wants to watch me die in a horrible accident. Thanks for the assistance mate.
     
    Actually the risk was slight. I managed to unhook myself from sharp metal edges and lower myself to the balcony, suffering only a ripped sweatshirt and soiled underpants. Take a deep breath. Put the ladder back. Start again.
     
    Revenge of the Week
    As it turned out, the gig that night was a band I'd encountered while playing with Red Jasper. That was the gig we went all the way to north England only to discover we were getting shafted and pushed into the twilight of the event after the headline act had finished. I'll always remember the smirk on the face of this bands lead singer as we retreated to the van and began our long trek home.
     
    And there he was, below me on the performance area, having long forgotten his arrogant amusement. I was sat in a small room from where I controlled the lights. Control them I did. Fades, flashes, and all sorts of funky combinations, putting on the most epileptic fit inducing performance I could think of when what they actually wanted was mood lighting in front of a seated audience.
     
    Sorry about that... Well, maybe you should have told me what you wanted in the first place.... Nah, that wasn't me....
     
    Revenge is a dish best served bright.
  4. caldrail

    Being Sociable

    By caldrail,

    As so often happens, a young asian lad sat at the next library computer began chattering on his mobile phone in a montone barrage of meaningless syllables. He just didn't draw breath. He didn't notice my cold disapproving stare. Coughs did not attract his attention. So eventually a 'Hey!' roused him from his hypnotic mantra. He nodded, and after another minute or so of constant chat, finally hung up the call. At last!
     
    He came back five minutes later and started his phone call all over again.
     
    Today as I begin to log on to a computer, some bloke behind me loudly proclaims where he is and what he's doing over his phone, almost as if the world needs to know. He was pounced on. The librarian on duty came at him veritably spitting and snarling - "You cannot use mobile phones on this floor!" He said with respectable finality. Obviously taking lessons from Dragon Lady. I shall have to watch my step.
     
    About Mobile Phones
    I never saw this, but the story was told to me some time ago. On a rail journey some businessman was making those annoying calls and getting up everyones noses. Eventually his bladder could take no more, and as he needed to visit the toilet desperately, he rather foolishly asked another passenger to watch his belongings for him. Once out of sight, the passenger grabbed the mans phone left on the seat and threw it out the window. When the businessman came back, he bagan searching for the missing device and asked whether the passenger had seen it... Erm... Nope.
     
    A part of me wants to do that in the library. Sorry mate, but no mobile phones allowed.... There you go... It's out there, on the pavement. Might need a repair. But then my own mobile phone never works properly either. Even when calls manage to stay connected, the battery brings an air of excitment as you never know if the wretched thing will give up halfway through your conversation. The salesmen insist a charged battery will last two or three weeks, but two or three days is more accurate, and the device is programmed to lose power in the midst of the most important phone calls. There I was, talking to an employer about getting a job for in excess of
  5. caldrail
    He's at it again. Gordon Brown is thumping the table on the world stage and trying to impress upon everyone that he's a leading player. Walking beside Obama for the worlds press. Telling the economic conferences that we must all work together. Telling the third world they can have nuclear power if they don't point it at anyone else.
     
    I simply cannot stand the man. He spent a decade being lauded as a great chancellor, renowned for his prudent handling of the economy. What? All he did was overspend to please everyone and then paid the bill with Britains credit card, leaving his lacklustre successor Alistair Darling to look uncomfortable as the red letters roll in. He passed the buck. Instead of taking responsibility for his mistakes, he foists them on someone else and moves forward looking squeaky clean. Like Tony Blair before him, and probably with his tutelage, he's diverting attention from problems at home by making speeches abroad. He is, without doubt, trying to put himself in the history books as a great politician. He is, I sincerely hope, going to be remembered as the complete fraud he always was.
     
    Quiet Evening of the Week
    It's all gone quiet. Not a single rumble, drone, thud, or resonant vibration. I'll enjoy it while it lasts.
  6. caldrail
    With all the rain and weather warnings currently afflcicting everyday life in Britain, it was a pleasant suprise to see a blue sky out the window this morning. Of course this isn't summer and a clear sky means chilly weather. My breath was easily visible. Not to worry, the sun will warm things up in due course.
     
    Days like this sometimes have something extra. There's a splendid view of the Moon this morning, a splotchy ball of of putty grey that you normally associate with the night-time. It's a fascinating rock. These days it's 250,000 miles away or so. When it first formed, as a result of Earth's cataclysmic glancing blow with planetoid Thea, it was as close as 15,000 miles away. 15,000!.. It would filled the sky and the gravity effects must have been alarming. By day the moon is a mundane curiosity. By night a beguiling ball of silvery light, a source of romance, superstition, mental illness, womens problems, and other strange transformations into bloodthirsty creatures.
     
    There's an interesting tale that involves the moon. Back in the days of 'British Prohibition' in the eighteenth century, Swindon was only a small market town on an isolated hill with four toll roads leading in and out. The Downs to the south were used by booze-smugglers to hide their illegal barrels. It seems one night customs men came across a bunch of men in the countryside, smugglers who had left a barrel concealed in a pond and intended to recover it for delivery. When asked what they were about, the sly smugglers responded that they were attempting to drag the big cheese out of the water, referring to the moon's reflection in the water. Thinking this was a bunch of ignorant country yokels, the customs man chuckled at their apparent idiocy and left them to it. Liquor smugglers in the West Country were called 'Moonrakers' thereafter. To this day, tunnels under the streets of Old Town dug by these men have been uncovered.
     
    Recovery of the Week
    Honda are back in production at Swindon, just in case you haven't (by some strange fluke or phase of the Moon) noticed the news coverage. Actually it is good news because car manufacture is so important to our local economy. But isn't that indicative of a larger problem? The increasingly anti-car stance of the worlds governments might be okay for the enviroment and for saving the lives of kids who like running across roads without looking, but it's done absolutely nothing for peoples affluence. Money makes the world go round but it's the internal combustion engine that drives it.
     
  7. caldrail

    Big Deals

    By caldrail,

    The Opening of the Library has become a daily ritual in my life now. It's almost assumed religious significance as I enter the Temple of Bookworms and quietly wait for the monks guarding the lower chamber to unlock the fold-away doors to the Inner Sanctum upstairs.
     
    Not any more. yesterday the guard, whom I've not seen before, opened the coffee bar and told the faithful that they'll just have to walk around the staircase. What? Have we erred? Are we being punished for our sins?
     
    Groan. Oh well. Like everyone else I joined the throng ambling around the stairwell. AM was there, and as always, whinging, though I have to say this time he had a point. Once upstairs I sat down at my usual cubicle and began logging on. AM stomped past me on his crutches and making sure I heard, loudly proclaimed that "These limey's just don't get it."
     
    Trust me, AM, I got it a long while back. You were the bloke who used to bully people off your favourite PC. I suspect you were no different when you were serving in the armed forces in your youth, which you like to make a big deal of. That's why I don't listen to you. There are heroes and casualties more deserving.
     
    Celebration of the Week
    Saint George stood outside the library in his medieval armour, looking quite magnificent in his crusader style helm and surcoat. Now there's a legend that the good Sir Knight fought a dragon at Uffington, a few miles away to the southeast, so I guess our town has every right to majke a big thing of his birthday. George was standing there in front of me almost fifteen feet high. Big lad. Poor old dragon never stood a chance.
     
  8. caldrail
    Yesterday may have been chilly, but once the sun broke out, it got warm with a vengeance. After an hours walk, I was sweating like nothing else. For a while, around midday, the sky was typically hazy with a few clouds peeking over the top. By the time I had gotten home, cumulus was building nicely.
     
    Of course I should have realised. It's the Glastonbury Festival this weekend and how could our annual musical mudfest pass without torrential downpours? Would they get away with it this year? I only needed to wait.
     
    This morning began with the garage across the yard pulling bits off cars. Then the mechanic suddenly stopped. I pulled down the duvet in bleary eyed suprise and noticed how dark it was. This is the end of June for crying out loud, almost nine o'clock in the morning, it should be bright out there. Then I heard the rain begin.
     
    Looking out the front window, I saw the road submerged by water for almost a third of it's width, buses pushing bow waves ahead of them, and that's on a hillside. The amount of water coming down was stunning. Hmmm.... I think today I shall walk down to the library a little later...
     
    Goodbye Farrah, Goodbye Wacko
    Last night I watched the news reports of the passing of Farrah Fawcett, the blonde babe in the original Charlies Angels tv series of the 70's. I have to be honest, I always preferred Jacklyn Smith, but all the same another icon of my youth has gone.
     
    And now Michael Jackson has gone too, the internet news site filled with articles about his cardiac arrest at the sadly young age of fifty. Wacko or not, the man had talent, he genuinely did.
     
    There is something curious though. How shallow many of the recent stars seem compared to these people, almost as if they're simply living in the wake of the greats. I noticed the same thing about movie stars. Those familiar characters we used to see in their latest feature on the big screen seem to dwarf the reputations of the pretty-boy successors. At any rate, at least our latest two casualties did something with their lives. Most of their critics do nothing more than sit idely and pass judgement on everyone else. Apart from, that is, watching films and listening to albums in the first place.
  9. caldrail

    Big H Says Hi...

    By caldrail,

    Who should I bump into today, but AS. This guy is reliable, a good worker, and a good communicator. Ok, he likes his tea breaks, but at least he does something useful in-between conversations. He used to work for SB in the Hangar, now he works for our new host company, and a lot happier he is too.
     
    Thing is, AS is annoyed at Big H, who sent a text message on his mobile phone to the effect that he was in the Hangar.
     
    Then he sent a text message to tell AS he was working in the office.
     
    Then he sent a message to tell AS saying he was burning his old clock cards.
     
    Then he sent another text message. And another. And Another. And so on. Twenty five messages an hour.
     
    AS took a break, got in his car, drove over to the Hangar, found Big H, and told him to stop it, before returning to work at peace with the world. It appears Big H is keeping the market for mobile phones very healthy indeed. The americans can rest easy however. Big H has been denied entry. Not only does he like keeping people informed about current events in the Hangar, he also has a fondness for matches. Now they tell me.
     
    Public Performance of the Week
     
    As is typical of my car, it decided it didn't want to speak to me anymore and jammed the drivers side door again. This time right in front of the gatehouse and the security cameras. Squeezing in through the passenger side door is definitely the way to make an impression, don't you think? Despite another public performance from yours truly, YouTube still hasn't turned me into a superstar. Life is so unfair...
  10. caldrail

    Big Issues

    By caldrail,

    There's a lot of nuclear weapons out there. That probably won't suprise anyone, but so far, according to a documentary I saw last night, there are at least 23,000 warheads out there and probably more unaccounted for. America, Russia, Britain, France, Israel, China, India, Pakistan, and North Korea are countries known to have them. South Africa briefly built three before deciding such weapons weren't desirable, opting out of the big league by disassembling them.
     
    It's a chilling thought isn't it? Of course the documentary made a meal of it, scaring their viewers with advice from ex-CIA agents about the difficulties of stopping nuclear proliferation on the black market.
     
    There's nothing new in this threat of random destruction. I grew up during the Cold War with both sides ready to launch within minutes of the other making the wrong move. it so nearly happened. The 1961 Cuba missile crisis for instance, when both sides stared each other in the face.
     
    There was a moment in the 70's when a technical fault convinced senior russian officers that a first strike was in progress against them. A lowly lieutenant managed to restore commonsense before the soviets mistakenly responded in full.
     
    During the 90's the soviets wwere advised of a mundane missile launch off Norway by the Americans, and because the message hadn't reached the Kremlin, senior officers marched into Boris Yeltsins office asking for permission to respond. As it happened, this was a day when Yeltsin wasn't drunk.
     
    Finally, a failure of a small microchip caused the Americans to prepare for a retaliation strike. Mutally assured destruction was within minutes of actually happening.
     
    As if improvied explosive devices in afghanistan weren't enough of a worry. Al Qaeda have stated their intention to kill four million americans to 'even the score'. We used to say in the 80's how mad this all was. Where's the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament now? CND made a huge fuss back then, but why aren't they telling rogue countries and religious nutcases that nuclear weapons aren't as good as woolly hats and songs around a camp fire?
     
    Big Collisions
    I've seen the latest Hubble photographs of a pair of galaxies about to collide - or rather, about to collide 450 million years ago, because that's how long the light has taken to reach us. The same thing will happen to our galaxy eventually since Andromeda is speeding toward us. Don't hold your breath though. Might be a few billion years before both galaxies begin to coalesce.
     
    Nevertheless, that gives us time to organise efforts to prevent this calamity. So stock up on tents, gas stoves, woolly clothes, and join the Campaign for Galactic Avoidance. Stop this madness now!
     
    Protest of the Week
    Talking about daft protests, it seems the civil rights brigade have decided that sentences handed out to rioters in the wake of disorder in Britain more than a week ago are too severe. It seems these poor helpless rioters are being given draconian sentences for a little bit of fun here and there.
     
    Yes. I know. Hanging's too good for them. I've heard the expected calls for National Service to be brought back, and even some suggestions of adopting the american 'three strikes and you're out' rules, which is ordinarily unthinkable in kind caring britain.
     
    You know what? I don't care what happens to these louts and looters. They can moan about how bad society is toward them, but if they can't get on with society and observe its laws, what in the name of all that's sensible do they expect?
     
    I don't suppose Australia is still open for business, is it? Can you imagine Mad Max in british yoof style? Look, those survivalists have got petrol! Wicked! Lets joyride our stolen cars around their camp!
  11. caldrail

    Big Metal

    By caldrail,

    It turns out that I'm among the first recruits for the Work Programme. If anyone wants to know what being a guinea pig is like, I might be able to tell you. Already I've set a record by being the first claimant to have done his initial assessment twice, though I have to confess, that's because the first one was mislaid.
     
    "Things always go wrong when you're around." Observed one other claimant, a chap I remember seeing here and there over the last couple of years. He was one of my fellow forklift trainees so I suppose he does have some insight. Oh all, right, I admit it.
     
    As with all things official, there followed a health and safety orientation. Someone was obviously paying attention. I notice they didn't have any oxygen masks hanging from the ceiling but then again the programme centre isn't the fastest way to travel to exotic holiday destinations. That's the trouble with health and safety orientations. Your mind is always elsewhere.
     
    "Has everyone understood?" Our trainer asked. Questions? No-one told me there were going to be questions. Is this going to be on the test? She continued "What do you do if there's an accident?"
     
    Umm... Well... I guess you scream, hold the injury, and rock gently back and forth with your eyes closed. How did I do?
     
    Big Metal World
    Whilst this was going on, the office boss hovered around his minions like a frantic bumble bee. Someone asked him something and he whinged that he'd been on the go since seven that morning, driving here and there.
     
    Get a better car, I suggested helpfully. No-one should drive a car and feel it's a chore.
     
    "Oh I like driving." He wearily responded, perhaps a little puzzled as to why a claimant was engaging a superior being in conversation.
     
    What car do you drive?
     
    "BMW." He announced. Well there you are. He's not driving a car to express his personality, or feed his petrol habit, or even thrill at the razor sharp handling and throttle response. It's all about the badge. He's driving a BMW saloon because he wants a badge of office, to express his oneness with the Ancient Order Of Management, and be known to all throughout the land as He Who Must Be Admired. The man has no individuality at all.
     
    Owners Operation Manual
    Haynes have been selling books on car maintenance for yonks plus ages. What an innovation that was at the time. Drivers freed from the tyranny of the roadside ornament, shown the arcane secrets of making a car start, and defying the sharp intake of breath from the garage mechanic.
     
    As I sat in the library, I spotted a Haynes manual on the shelf. No suprise there - there's loads of them, mostly for makes and models that rusted away long ago when their owners chose foolishly chose not to purchase a Haynes manual. But this went from the sublime to the ridiculous. It was a manual for the RMS Titanic.
     
    I must admit, I've never considered what a labour of love it must be to operate a transatlantic cruise liner. I mean, it's too big for a roadside recovery truck isn't it? Now anyone can maintain and drive their cruise liner secure in the knowledge they know what they're doing.
     
    Is such a large vehicle a little bit showy? I mean, we moan and complain about all terrain trucks filling the roads when the the kids need transport to school, or when something extremely expensive blasts past us on motorways in the superstar lane. But sailing into your garage with a fog horn guaranteed to be heard in the next town isn't exactly being inconspicuous is it?
     
    Look on the bright side. Although the turning circle is a little generous, and parking might prove difficult if not prohibitively expensive, there is literally tons of luggage space, and so many cup holders you really could invite your mates for a party. Ride quality is univerally recognised as the best there ever was.. Even better no-one's yet thought to put speed cameras on the ocean.
     
    Trouble is, there aren't many Titanics out there. Not to worry. I happen to know there's one still on the market. One careless owner, needs new chassis, some rust. Perfect restoration project.
  12. caldrail

    Big Models

    By caldrail,

    Yesterday I saw a man with wings. Now that might inspire all sorts of derisive comments but this wasn't an angel sighting (my mother will so disappointed), but a gentleman heading toward the local model store with the wings from a radio control P51 Mustang. A big one too. Six feet across although if any criticism were deserved, U.S. P51's in D-Day colours were never painted an overall sky blue. I also suspect, due to the lack of all the other bits like engine, fuselage, cockpit, etc, that we're either looking at pilot error or a luftwaffe kill.
     
    Big model aeroplanes are always impressive nonetheless. I recall walking back from the Downs beside Wroughton Airfield with a very sizeable scale model of a C130 Hercules being put through its paces. That was impressive.
     
    Not to be outdone, there was the time I built a big one. I take you back to the days when I worked in returns department for a high street retailer. The premises were an old CD factory and it was a shabby, unloved building, leaking water when it rained and leaking goods when we had temps in.
     
    It was so grotty that I had to do something to raise my colleagues spirits. Besides, I was bored. So out waste cardboard I constructed a crude model of a Sopwith Camel. The completed aeroplane was huing from one of the chains dangling from the roof.
     
    It got a some muted applause but it wasn't enough. Set up there, lonely, flying in static isolation, I decided it needed a buddy, a rival, someone to contest the skies over the shop floor. So I set about the task of creating a Red Baron triplane. That was fine, except I got ambitious. The wingspan was something approaching four feet. Such was the complexity of getting limp carboard to support its own weight and not droop like a soggy box, it took two weeks to build it.
     
    Needless to say, I had to hide from the management. To this day I have no idea whether they knew what I was up to, but I think you can see how lax their management was. So eventually the big day arrived and I hung the mighty Fokker from another chain. Even if I say so myself, it was a triumph.
     
    Shortly after I was away for a week on holiday, and when I came back, the triplane had gone. I like to think it magically broke its moorings and flew away to an airfield far, far, away, but you just know that wandering managers pack some mighty flak guns.
     
    Big Moves On The Dance Floor
    Yahoo have posted an article telling us that researchers have discovered that women are attracted by lots of big movement. So hit the dance floor chaps. It's just a matter of making the right moves.
     
    What it doesn't say is thase same women are too busy shrieking with laughter to find the object of their attention in any way sexually desirable. Not that I have experience of dancing in a big and silly way you understand.
     
    I notice the article doesn't list them. I can't help wondering if the researchers weren't a little distracted during their research. One succesful experiment and to heck with publishing a scientific paper on it?
  13. caldrail
    Libraries are places that require a quiet atmosphere. Its very easy to be distracted and since the whole point of a library is to provide educational material, with too many distractions its difficult to educate yourself.
     
    The day-care centre facilities are a case in point. Young children like to run about, throw tantrums, and generally cry for attention, not to mention inspire adults to hold impromptu singing lessons. I spent one hour on the library computer with somebodies child threatening to use my keyboard, with a sort of mischevious 'I wonder if i can get away with it' look on his face. Luckily, the embarrased father made valiant efforts to keep the kid under control.
     
    AM is largely quiet these days - his epic converations with his poverty-stricken mate in the plastic mac and sandals are no longer educating us on the state of british pensions or how dangerous the zulu's are. But then nature likes to take advantage of ecological niches, and in true darwinian fashion a group of youths has decided the library is a cool place to socialise and so engage each other in loud conversations. I'm tempted to write their biographies. I now know more about their private lives than my own.
     
    I asked one lad to be quiet last week. He told me to go and use and another computer. Time to roll up my sleeves.... Yes, its big trouble in little Library....
     
    Rain Shower of the Week
    Nature slipped up. I popped out to the shops and was back before the downpour began. Its been sunshine and showers for a while now, blue skies with huge lumps of towering cumulus glistening white in the sunshine, and absolutely filthy black underneath. Very dramatic cloudscapes, very pretty to look at, and very damp if you get caught underneath.
  14. caldrail

    Bigness Matters

    By caldrail,

    Todays blog entry is devoted to the subject of bigness. Is it a good thing? Upsetting a guy bigger than you is always a risky venture, one of the first and most important lessons we learn as children. I remember a photograph of a protestor at a fuel refinery many years ago getting the shock of his life when the irate lorry driver he was obstructing turned out to be considerably bigger than he was.
     
    The issue of bigness is inherent to human beings. 4x4 drivers rely on it. The sheer size of their vehicles means that even if they don't mount expeditions across arctic tundra to get to work, they can still bully little cars out of the way.
     
    On one occaision I was driving my faithful red MR2 sports car and fell into line on a large roundabout as traffic got a little snarled up. I was in the left lane, coming up gradually on my exit. I had no choice but to drive slowly. On the one hand, there were cars in front, on the other, the sun was shining in my face and every other vehicle on the road a dark silhouette.
     
    Suddenly that massive 4x4 in the lane on my right decided he wanted to avoid this traffic jam, and assuming his bigness meant I could do nothing but shake fists and fume, he pulled out very abruptly in front of me. Did he signal? Probably not, but it's unlikely I would have seen it with the sun dazzling me. Maybe the risk of collision was slight but I was annoyed nonetheless.
     
    Don't get mad, get even. Once off the roundabout and driving along the road, it was impossible to overtake him with all the oncoming traffic and I decided to bide my time instead of doing something dumb. So I drove behind calmly and waited. Oh yes, my honour was impugned, and these things are very important to the male driver. However, the next roundabout was approaching. He was going across and thus took a sort of lazy cut across the left hand side. I stayed on the right, hoping tio nip past, but his big truck obstructed my path.
     
    I gave him a couple of polite toots on the horn to ask him to move over. And he did. Good chap. Now floor the accelerator and zoom past him. Success. Honour is restored (even though I did bend the Highway Code by overtaking on a road junction).
     
    Naturally he got upset and drove behind me inches from my rear bumper, determined that I should be punished for trumping his bigness. Didn't get him anywhere. My throttle pedal worked better than his did, despite his larger V8, and at the strategic moment, I left him floundering behind me.
     
    It was a bit childish, wasn't it? Oh well. Maybe women are right. I'm just a big kid. He he he....
     
    Too Much Of A good Thing
    Can you have too much bigness? Apparently so. Being big was great for the dinosaurs when it meant carnivores couldn't touch you. Sadly, as most of us are aware, it also means you run up a huge grazing bill, and when meterorites hit the earth and cause catastrophic damage and climate change, food is hard to come by.
     
    Or what about Mubarak, standing down as Egypts leader? Who was biggest? The ruler of a nation for three decades or a crowd of people who wanted him removed? Or what about Saddam Hussein, whose bigness on the world stage helped him not one jot.
     
    Then there's those people whose size and weight reduces them to a parody of Jabba The Hutt. If you get too big for your boots, you could argue you only have yourself to blame.
     
    And Now, A Real Biggie
    Normally I don't discuss trains on this blog, but today I'm going to make an exception. I found a 3D model of a Russian tanker wagon on the internet and it seriously is a humungous piece of ironwork. Apparently these things are trundling back and forth across the former Soviet Union...
     

    Model and textures by Roman Vlasyuk.
  15. caldrail

    Birds And Bees

    By caldrail,

    Our recent spell of sunny weather seems to be coming to an end. Showery old Swindon is a little damper today, here and there, usually when I step outside the house. I have to say that today has not been a special day in any sense whatsoever. For the pidgeons on the balcony outside the library, I guess it must seem a bit different. I've just watched two of them having sex in plain view from my vantage point at the computer.
     
    The victorians used to believe that mankind was the crowning glory of gods creation. I'm not ascribing to that view, given that human beings are perfectly capable of procreating without divine finger clicking, but I have to say that as a species, we do seem to have made one fundamental achievement in that we've managed to make sex interesting. And so interesting in fact, that some of us like to watch it happen as much as actuially doing it, or in some cases, as the only alternative to rejection.
     
    One of my colleagues has just dumped his girlfriend, becoming engaged to another woman the week after. Call me suspicious, but I do suspect that my colleague was enjoying rather more sex than the typical victorian would have approved of. As for the poor lady so rejected, I did happen to pass her by the day she got the bad news. I didn't know about it, so her refusal to talk to me was a bit baffling although in fairness her emotional distress really ought to have clued me in.
     
    Now the rejected lady is almost glued to another male colleague at the museum. That didn't take long.
     
    Update On Pidgeon Sex
    It's over, it's all over, the male bird has hopped away. We'll probably have a video replay of that later, but for anyone who is unable to stop their eyes from blinking, there really wasn't much to see.
     
    Call Of The Wild
    I remember our old dog one night, lying down asleep as he usually did on the flagstones by the fireplace. We heard the owner of another dog pass by outside. Almost immediately, our dog became alert, sniffing the air, and let out the most mournful howl I've ever heard. That's how dogs say "Wow, you're gorgeous, can I sniff your bum?"
     
    I guess the wolves are better at it.
  16. caldrail

    Bitter-Sweet

    By caldrail,

    It's over! It's all over! My work experience placement has come to an end after thirteen weeks of banter and back-breaking labour. My boss thanked me for my efforts and apologised for not being able to take me on permanently. "Are you sorry to be leaving?" She asked me.
     
    It did feel like a bitter-sweet moment. On the one hand we'd had a fun day. Antics and malarkey throughout the morning, but sadly Miss L was on the receiving end of a management ambush after I'd given her a stockroom rally stage in my sports-cage. The awful part of it was that if we'd reacted better we could have gotten away with it. She was sat inside the cage out of view when the boss came looking for her. "Have you seen Miss L?"
     
    KS and I instinctively glanced down as Miss L stared back in horror. It was no good lying about it, the boss had noticed the sudden quiet and exchanged glances and knew something was up. So she was sent off to a firing squad but so far we haven't heard what action the bosses will take. In fairness, Miss L has been pushing her luck for a while now. It was a little unfortunate it all came to head after I'd pushed her too. Chin up girl. I did my best to defuse the bomb.
     
    The mood did lighten. I found a printed instruction sheet handed out by manager G for his staff and had it sent back to the office marked with all corrections and 4/10 - Must do better in Grammar if you want to stay in management. On the way out I said my last goodbye to Miss G. As usual she shivered in embarrasement and tried to get out of my target range as soon as possible. Bless her, she's such a fussy girl. Does need to remove the cork though. I stopped by the security guard and handed over all my tools of the trade - pens, pad of paper, safety knife - and for some strange reason he nearly collapsed in hysterics. Finally, at the main door, I stopped and thanked the department store so everyone could hear me. The public looked a little bemused and curious as to what the heck this idiot was on but their shopping wasn't impeded in any way. Audiences... So fickle...
     
     
    Small World Of The Week
    Yesterday afternoon was dragging on. My blog entry had been covertly written and posted, and we all sat around around waiting for our exit interview. There's been a blonde girl on another table whom I've spoken to a couple of times but given how attention-grabbing the girls on our table usually were, I hardly ever got around to speaking to her. As chance would have it we began chatting. In the course of the conversation she mentioned she lived in such and such a street. huh? The same one as me?
     
    My interest was picqued. Whereabouts? "Next to the chemist" She responded. What the? That's next door to me!!! Well how about that? Not only does it prove what an incredibly small world Swindon is, but also that neighbours can be human too.
  17. caldrail

    Black Dog, White Snow

    By caldrail,

    It was inevitable. Even Swindon, a town usually immune from the hazards of winter, could not escape the onslaught of our current freeze...
     

     
    Truth be told we've only had a light snow fall, nothing like the experience of London and the Northeast. Trouble is this snow is the very fine variety that compacts readily and leaves icy conditions the next day. I see council workmen out and about spreading grit. Now that my road is closed for some weeks with a darn great pit in the middle of it, I wonder if the council are going to grit the pavement up the hill? I wouldn't want to have to clear it myself again.
     
    Who Let The Dog Out?
    As I opened the back window to take the picture above, I heard two lads having a sort of disagreement. neither could apparently decide who was responsible. For what, I wonder? The answer was Rover, a deliriously happy young rottweiller that bounded up and down the snow laden yard in sheer joy of discovering this fun white stuff that covered his otherwise dull old walkie trail.
     
    The two lads could not get the dog to come back. it ran here, ran there, tail wagging, exulting in the naughtiness and sheer excitement of it all. Meanwhile the two owners still couldn't decide who was to blame for the dog getting out of control and continued their rite of male dominance as they gave up trying to control the dog completely and decided to trudge home again.
     
    A Grim Vision
    The other night I had a bad dream. I was looking up into a blue sky and saw an airliner contrail. I noticed a sudden disturbance, as if the aeroplane was flying unsteadily. Then the aircraft, a large one like a jumbo or a 380, entered a flat spin and lost height rapidly. In my dream I watched as the airliner came perilously close to disaster, the airframe nodding lazily as the pilots tried and failed to break the spin and recover the aeroplane to normal controlled flight. My dream turned to horror. It went down into the town below, lost behind the mass of urban buildings, marked only by an expanding black cloud that marked the devastation.
     
    Dreams like that are vivid. They remain in your conciousness long after the usual ramblings of the mind are long forgotten. A part of you wonders if it wasn't some sort of prophecy. I sincerely hope not.
     
    That said, in the last few days an aeroplane has come down. One crash-landed near Swindon with eight people on board. It seems a grim irony that the pilot was airlifted to hospital.
     
    Ooops!
    Walking home from West Swindon the other day I passed under the railway bridge. Some years ago engineers fitted bumpers, big girders either side of the bridge in black and yellow chevrons, to ward off tall lorry impacts. It's difficult not to notice it.
     
    There was a large rusty blemish on the bottom edge. Oh? Has someone failed to notice the bumper and drove their vehicle into it? Swindon is notorious for large vehicles colliding with bridges, and so it turned out to be, the errant driver having been fined for carelessness.
  18. caldrail

    Black Holes

    By caldrail,

    Black holes are the stuff of sci-fi legend. Inescapable gravity carries with it a dread of inevitable disaster should that malignant object ensnare your vessel. Some stories talk about passing through a black hole to distant parts of the galaxy, though quite how you pass through an object that couldn't be physically denser is rarely explained. I found a more serious explanation of black holes in a science magazine the other day. Interestingly, scientists are trying to find ways of researching 'event horizons' without having to approach a real one (It's a bit dangerous, you see, and the research would take an awful long time to come back).
     
    It turns out that such analogues do exist. The behaviour of light in a fibre optic cable can be made to simulate the effects of an event horizon. So too can water in a bath. By pushing water faster than ripples naturally spread, you create analagous physical conditions to gravity waves on the event horizon of a black hole.
     
    So be warned the next time you take a bath. Push water too hard and you might be sucked down a plug hole.
     
    Black Hole of the Week
    It seems our Ministers of Parliament have been been spending a lot more of our taxpayers money than we realised. After all the campaigns and advertising to catching benefit fraud and dole cheats, isn't it right that dubious claims by Ministers should be treated the same way? Or is there one law for the poor, another for the rich? That's the problem with money disappering down a black hole. Eventually someone notices.
  19. caldrail

    Blood And Hell

    By caldrail,

    That's it. I've had enough. After a few years of not writing any computer programs at all, I've discovered how much I've forgotten. There's a command phrase I need and I can't remember what it is. It's a strange irony that help files are no help whasoever when you don't know what you're looking for.
     
    After spending a fruitless hour in a quest for digital enlightenment, I decide that I've had enough. Switch the darn thing off and get something to eat before I starve. So I stomp despondently into the kitchen and start a quest among the shelves for culinary enlightenment, only to discover I've been a little negligent about buying food. Starvation looks like a distinct possibility.
     
    On the other hand, I still have a few quid in my pocket, an increasingly rare event these days. As it happens I nearly had more. A day or two before I bought a burger down the road and ended up totally confused by the vendors inability with english and his insistence that I still owed him money when I thought he owed me some. All a little bit embarrasing but it seems I was at fault, although it absent-mindedness rather than . At least I wasn't arrested or chased up the hill with a machete.
     
    However, I had just enough for an indian takeaway. Not an expensive one of course, but it's still possible to buy a reasonably priced curry if you use cash. So having made my decision I turned from the kitchen, stomped despondently down the stairs and.... Huh?... Is that a bunch of letters in my postbox?
     
    Yes, it is. A darn great pile of them. All of them weeks overdue and one postmarked 30th November. Apparently I'm in danger of losing my benefits if I don't reply to a letter sent a month ago. My credit card has been stopped for no logical reason whatsoever. I was even offered a job interview by an employer and I was blissfully unaware. You know, the sort of thing that you laugh at when it happens to someone else.
     
    Something tells me I might receive a threat from the Job Centre to stop my benefits if I don't reply to a letter arriving two months late. Question is, who's guilty of late delivery?
     
    My Indian Takeaway
    Hmmm... Yeah... Tastes good.... (belch)... Wonder if I remembered to buy some toilet paper? This could get even more embarrasing...
     
    Health Update
    Some letters manage to get through. Having bravely allowed a nurse to stab me, my blood has been tested and I'm told not to worry. But please turn up again at a later date and get stabbed again. Brilliant. Im entrusting my health to a colony of vampires.
  20. caldrail

    Blood and Soap

    By caldrail,

    In case anyone doesn't know, Archie is dead and Stacey did it. I imagine by this time the whole world has heard about that. Another thing everyone has probably already heard is that I don't like soap operas. That surreal glitziness of working class Coronation Street, that farcical drama and tragedy of rural life in Yorkshire, that irredeemably dystopic world of Albert Square. Those claustrophobic virtual worlds might be wonderful to some people, but seriously, I really don't care what happens. Why would I need a soap opera when I have one all of my own?
     
    Take this morning for instance. The image of Sunday mornings is one of placid calm after the joyful merrymaking of the night before. Not where I live. One of my neighbours decided to socialise noisily, thankfully without loud music, finally subsiding from his raucous observances on life, the universe, and everything by around six o'clock this morning.
     
    An hour later he had a quick and very loud argument with his mate who had by that time sobered up enough to realise his girlfriend was in the next room, an event he repeated again with his new girlfriend an hour after that accompanied with much banging of furniture. Are we there yet?
     
    Bad Boy
    On my travels this morning I saw the young man crossing a busy main road seemingly without a care in the world, oblivious to traffic, absorbed by the ephemera on his mobile phone. He just strolled across. One car passed him a little closer than he wanted and he gave it a hard stare. Ah. A young man with attitude.
     
    He was entering the same side street as me, on the other side, and didn't like the proximity of another car heading for the junction. With sullen temperament he gave the vehicle an indifferent kick. A dull hollow thud that didn't do any appreciable damage. Not suprifingly the driver got to to remonstrate with the youngster. It was a brave effort, but the driver wasn't giving off the demeanour of danger despite his irate manner, whereas the young man took offence at being told off. Gradually he got more and more aggressive, clearly spoiling for a fight, his hands starting to flex and form fists.
     
    The driver realised he was getting into a violent situation. He could hadly fail to with the youngster staring into his face and telling him he was going to... well... spoil things for him somewhat, to be polite. Personally I think the reason the young man was so bad tempered was because no-one would fight him.
     
    Maybe my next door neighbour could help? Just a thought.
  21. caldrail

    Blowing My Trumpet

    By caldrail,

    The first battle has taken place and if I were honest, I didn't do too well. I'd warned my claims advisor that I was upgrading to a noble title, a statement she treated with polite dismissal, and when she called me Mister Caldrail - Well, I was duty bound to put her straight.
    Unfortunately, she isn't impressed, and rather pointedly refused to change it unless I provided evidence. I duly returned an hour later with the necessary documentation and guess what? She was busy. Sounds to me like a certain lady needs a right royal kick up the bottom.
     
    I also suspect this won't be the last time I encounter this sort of resistance. There's a tendency for people to regard up and mobile people (Me? Has anyone noticed I'm unemployed?) as upstarts who really ought to know their place. You know, that's the entire reason I got the title in the first place, to stick a finger in the face of the moral majority.
     
    Not suprisingly, I'm going to get a few in my face too. What's new?
     
    New Sound
    My new neighbour has moved in downstairs. A mysterious, anonymous, unseen sort of person, but one with a keen desire to drill holes in the wall. So last evening he began drilling with gusto, obviously hoping to find oil or perhaps a small space on the wall large enough to hang something else. Aaargh! What a racket!
     
    Well, I have noise making machinery too. So it's on with the heavy metal CD's and up the volume. These go up to eleven...
     
    Frozen Britain Update
    Nope. Given Up. Don't care. It's cold and slippery - what else do you need to know?
  22. caldrail

    Blowing Things Up

    By caldrail,

    Britains terrorism threat has been raised from 'substantial' to 'severe'. The British public might not notice, the authorities claim. They're right, we won't, because unless an event actually happens life will go on as normal. A part of me is still a little suspicious though. I remember that moment some years back when the army cordoned off Heathrow Airport in a blaze of publicity. Was that a 'severe' threat situation? If so, where are all the tanks now?
     
    I have wondered for some time that even with the real threats in existence, the authorities aren't just making proclamations like this to keep us slightly worried and supportive of their expensive tasks, to support the security industry. Another part of me wonders if we didn't keep prodding potential terrorists they'd all get bored and emigrate to Britain to have twenty children paid for by our decadent infidel dole payments.
     
    Okay, there are people out there who have this twisted idea that blowing things up is going to make the world a better place. It does seem odd that the inventor of dynamite gave his name to a peace prize.
     
    Meanwhile, Back at the Library
    All quiet here. In fact, finding a free computer no longer requires a mad dash up the stairs every morning, and it's now possible to arrive ten minutes late and still find one available. So I guess the novelty has worn off a little, meaning fewer people sat there playing games or running their businesses and leaving more time and space for Facebookers to indulge in their virtual relationships.
     
    It isn't all facile. Yesterday I spotted one guy with one of those 'Secrets of the Ancients' books, and making a slightly scornful comment we found ourselves drawn into a wonderfully existential debate about life, the universe, and other matters not remotely connected to terrorism. It just goes to show that two sides can argue in a polite and meaningful manner without blowing things up.
     
    But then again, dynamite isn't generally available in libraries.
  23. caldrail

    Blue Skies

    By caldrail,

    Here we go then, monday morning. By the time I've posted this most people have alreadty had the bad news from their boss or failed utterly to get to work thanks to illness, car reliability, road maintenance, idiot drivers, or simply a desire to avoid monday morning at all. I'm not one for pulling 'sickies' but I know some people do. There used to be a guy at work who always seemed to phone in sick every friday. His boss realised quickly he was getting drunk on thursday evening with a paypacket in his hand. So he got every friday off unpaid, with moday to thursday thrown in as a bonus.
     
    That wasn't me, by the way.
     
    One Of Our Arrows Is Missing
    Over the weekend I looked out the back window as I often do when I want to get a breath of fresh air and save myself from tearing my hair out with yet another dispute over who whether me or my computor is in charge. Among the ragged grey and white clouds stretching toward the horizon I could see what looked like a trail of smoke from an air display somewhere. It was a curious omen because I later discovered the tragic news of a Red Arrows aircraft crashing after a display at Bournemouth.
     
    In my younger days the Red Arrows regularly got featured on the annual televised broadcast of the Farnborough Airshow. Raymond Baxter would provide the commentary in perfect queens english and at the end of the show he would say "And here come the Red Arrows..." It was expected. Part of British culture, in a way, but then people were more air-minded back then.
     
    I've only seen the Red Arrows live once during a Great Warbirds display at Wroughton in the nineties. The show had gone quiet and everyone knew they were arriving shortly. I happened to look over my shoulder and they they were, approaching low and fast across the english countryside before blasting overhead barely more two hundred feet over the audience before going into a low level routine that I have to say was incredibly impressive.
     
    Naturally I'm saddened that one highly skilled pilot has lost his life in the entertainment of the crowd and the advertisement of RAF flying skills. Things can happen very quickly in aviation especially when you're in a fast aeroplane. I've been lucky during my flying career. Although I've had close calls here and there, nothing happened that was actually serious. Only once did I wonder if I'd blown it spectacularly but as it transpired I got out of that predicament unscated . For some people though, luck runs out, and as my instructors used to impress upon me at every opportunity, low flying is inherently dangerous. They were right.
     
    Douglas Bader lost his legs before WW2 because he responded to a taunt and disobeyed orders regarding low flying and aerobatics in his Bulldog fighter. It is ironic that someone whose inspirational determination to get back in the cockpit was the result of his own foolishness, but I can't take his personal courage away from him. I also remember a tale about two typhoon pilots who decided to indulge in a mock dogfight during a training mission. Being competitive types, neither would give in, and they ended up chasing each other between trees with engines bellowing, completely unable to grasp the risks they were putting themselves in.
     
    I'm not suggesting for a moment that the pilot at Bournemouth was doing anything foolhardy, being a professional and highly trained air force officer in the modern safety minded world. Flying isn't actually dangerous as such. Rather it's a very unforgiving enviroment when something goes horribly wrong. That so few accidents happen regarding aeroplanes is a testament to the efforts made by authorities, air traffic control, engineers, and those very same pilots themselves to prevent disasters. I remember an in-cockpit film of a test pilot trying out a new helicopter, commenting on why he was constantly looking out the window rather than concentrating on the camera and his commentary. He explained "There are three things I want to take care of. An expensive aircraft, my passengers, but most of all, me."
  24. caldrail

    Body in the Water

    By caldrail,

    Coate Water is a local beauty spot. Built as a reservoir for the convenience of the 18th century canals that passed through the valley, its now a nature reserve and a pleasant walk. In the local paper however I discover that a weekend walker had discovered a body there. Apparently it had been there for months, almost reduced to a skeleton, hidden in a stagnant pond near the lake itself. As yet no-one knows who he is or how he met his fate, but the disturbing thing for me is that I've walked past him two or three times. Along with hundreds of early morning dog-walkers and afternoon strollers.
  25. caldrail

    Bohemian Rhapsody

    By caldrail,

    Oh what fun we have in the museum. Young L turns up as usual, breathless and excitable, and immediately gets to work searching out this weeks favourite tracks on his mp3 player. He's having a Queen-fest just of late. His favourite is Bohemian Rhapsody. Well, maybe not mine, but at least it wasn't one of those sugary 'let's be friends' singles that Queen sometimes turned out. Ugh.
     
    "Do you like Bohemian Rhapsody?" He asked me. It's okay. It's just that I can't listen to it without seeing four long haired nerds in a cheap car headbanging to the rocky part. Guess you need to have seen Waynes World to understand why I have such a nostalgic view of the song.
     
    So the three of us - Myself, Young L, and my boss (volunteer manager DR, who really ought to be mature enough to know better), engaged in a deep meaningful conversation about life, the universe, and museum exhibits before I realised the magic moment had arrived. So with a fake drum flam I set them all off headbanging along the front desk to the jolly rocking bit of Bohemian Rhapsody. The magic is still there.
     
    And The Rest Of Today?
    Our brief musical interlude amounts to just about the most interesting thing that happened. Friday is otherwise preserved for job searching, which is never exactly a fun thing. Trawling through the same old websites, sending off emails and letters to the same old addresses, and receiving the usual rejections whenever some kindly person can be bothered to to send one.
     
    "Are you registered with any agencies?" Is the usual question I get periodically by claims advisors checking that I'm actually known to the world of seeking employment. Yes.
     
    "Which ones?" They ask. Pretty much all of them by now. Pick an agency, any agency.... IS this the agency you were thinking of?
     
    Employment agencies are a pet hate of mine. To all intents and purposes they're legalised slave traders, and these days getting into warehousing (my natural enviroment when not performing Bohemian Rhapsody in public) requires that I do business with them. Except they don't like me.
     
    It's enough to make me start singing operatic rock songs while dressed in a leotard. If anyone has a vacancy going, now's a good time to hire me.
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