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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Taxidermy

    By caldrail,

    A visit from the Health & Safety Executive set the tone of todays activity in the stockrrom. Everything had to be stacked safely. Which meant I had to restack everything. So once again unto the boxes dear friends, and those who were not stacking shall hold their manhood cheap, as Shakespeare himself might have put it.
     
    KS popped into view during my tedious reassembly of random piles of distorted cartons and said "I've been told to give you a hand. Do the same as you."
     
    Okeedokee. If you'd like to take care of the next aisle....
     
    "Nah. I'm my own boss" He said and vanished. Oh suit yourself then.
     
    Later that day he popped up again whilst J was was there discussing vital work issues such as how dull Monday was. KS repeated his statement that he had been told to help me out. Okay... Then maybe you could sort out that aisle over there?
     
    "Nah. I'm my own boss" He said and vanished. Oh for crying out loud! Well, if he wants to be a bolshy teenager then he can visit a taxidermist. As it happens, it was me who ended up restacking almost all the chaotic boxes while he sat in a quiet corner listening to his personal stereo.
     
    "You're a bit upset today, aren't you?" He observed jovially a little later. Upset? He has no idea how close I was to getting violent. Still, he wants to be his boss, so every attempt he made to ask me for guidance or opinion was met with complete indifference. He can have it all his own way. If he wants to be a team player, all well and good. If he wants to dismiss all the onerous or physical tasks, then he can be his own boss and the buck stops with him.
     
    I'm beginning to understand how he gets off with women. He is insidious. Every chance he saw he was attempting to charm his way into my good books. Good grief, was I born yesterday? This is a guy who sprays himself with perfume every morning before he starts work. You have to witness it to believe it. The smell is indescribable.
     
    Sorry KS, but your attempt to win respect was a failure. You used the wrong methods. Getting bolshy and defiant might impress your mates, but to me you're advertising what an irresponsible layabout you are. So please excuse me while I advertise it to the rest of the world. You may invite me to visit the taxidermist at your leisure. I'm not listening to teenage weight throwing contests.
     
    My Stephen King Moment
    This is my tenth week or so on placement at the department store. All of a sudden they've decided to create a register for us to sign in and out. So today for the first time I signed in. All to do with health & safety I guess, but then... Evil Lift nearly crushed me in it's powered doors once before, and today? One of our managers went missing. She entered the lift and was never seen again.
     
    Tomorrow I have to take the lift down to the loading bay. It's plotting to kill me... I just know it...
     
    Contract of the Week
    ...went to General Dynamics, who are no doubt popping champagne corks at the news they won the contract for developing a new light tank for the British Army. BAE, who were also in the running, are now to close two sites with the loss of five hundred jobs. Such is the price of failure in our cut throat modern globally economic and competitive era.
     
    On the one hand, we curse our politicians and shake our fists. Surely they could have safeguarded british jobs? Well.. Yes, they could have... But if their new light tank had turned out to be less brilliant than expected, who gets the blame for all the extra funeral corteges creeping through Wootton Bassett in Wiltshire?
     
    Of course everyone will want to take the credit if these new tanks work out. But who will lose the game of political chairs if these tanks turn out to be lemons? By then it will be too late, and soldiers will be returning in pieces. So I hope the Ministry of Defence made a good choice in awarding this contract because you can bet no-one will accept responsibility.
  2. 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...
  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

    Lame Ducks

    By caldrail,

    You know what? After being accused of leading a fantasy life, I have to speak out. Sorry, but it's real. I really am here. And just to prove how lame my life can be, I wish to describe the highlights of yesterday...
     
    1 - A woman asks me for assistance. That was unexpected. The reason was of course Microsoft Excel, the cause of more lost hair and failed interviews than anything else known to mankind. Don't get me wrong, my excel skills are best described as 'Almost', yet I still know more about this secret arcane program than your typical library goer. Thing is though... How did she know? How could she possibly have known that I've studied excelmancy in my spare time?
     
    2 - Another woman plays video too loud. I've no idea what it was. My first thought was that it was a news report but at times it sounded suspiciously like a sermon, brought to you by the miracle of the internet. Who needs Jesus when you have telecommunications technology? I asked her to down it down but she just smiled at me. Maybe she didn't understand english? Or did she not know how to control this miraculous device that displayed the sermon on the full colour flat screen 1280x1024 monitor before her?
     
    3 - Youth cracks his knuckles. It happens now and then. Some kid sits down to watch a music video and cracks his knuckles for something to do with that part of his brain that's waiting for the rap track to finish. Unusually though this kid has learned how to crack his knuckles at fifteen decibels louder than anyone else. Every time he did that it echoed around the quietened room. A part of me wishes that he'll suffer some ailment caused by continual cracking of the knuckles, like RKSS (Repetitive Knuckle Stress Syndrome) but I can't wait that long.
     
    That would have been it, but at the last moment, I decided to go for a walk around the local park, and who should I bump into?....
     
    Bird Watching
    Yes, it was DW, our intrepid reporter. Bet you never saw that one coming. Well he decided to tag along and we discussed the finer points of philosophy and practice for the modern comedian, dinosaur nests, and in-depth analysis of bird species inhabiting the lake.
     
    No really, he knows about birds. Feathered ones. I now know those aggressive seabirds are Black Headed Gulls. They don't seem to very black headed to me. "That" DW assured me, "Is because black is out of season."
     
    Well there you go. Gulls can be fashionable too. Unfortunately we humans can only emulate their sense of colour and variety. In the case of one young lady walking by, badly. She wore black see-through leggings which revealed her underwear beneath. That was.. Erm... Interesting....
     
    Sorry... What were you saying? Oh yes, the gulls.
  5. caldrail
    The other day I strolled into a music store in my home town, thinking of upgrading some recording equipment. It’s been a while since I took music seriously and having been unemployed for the better part of a decade, I could hardly afford to. But, with money in my pocket, time to splash out and get ready to impose my music upon the unsuspecting world. 
    “They don’t make those any more” Said GK, someone who has sold me all sorts of instruments and gizmo’s for the last thirty years. After a short converstation, it was clear that music was not the hobby it had once been. I looked blankly at him for a moment and in that moment of awakening I said “Heck, I’m getting old….”
    GK couldn’t stop laughing. But I’m beginning to realise what a fantastic period of history I lived through as a young man.  The days when you could walk into a computer or music dealership and buy just about anything are gone. The world has changed, and not for the better.
    Changing the Country
    The hullabaloo over Brexit continues with continued calls for a second referendum. Really? Didn’t anyone realise it was going to be difficult? Fact is, we had a vote, we voted to leave, that’s it – it’s going to happen. As much as EU strategy is to have our legs wobble at the sheer scale of our endeavour and ask to come back with our tail between our legs, Britain is made of stronger stuff. Or at least, some of us are, given how much whinging the remainers are making.
    But what do I hear from Jeremy Corbyn, the Labour party leader? Renationalise everything.  His radical new plan to save Britain is more or less to recreate the seventies when left wing politics still had some clout in this country. I well remember the seventies, and it wasn’t a high point in British history. Terrorism, strikes, the Three Day Working Week with the family sat around of an evening by candlelight, rubbish bags piling up on the streets. If there was any solid reason for keeping Corbyn out of power, it’s the 1970’s.
    Change of the Week
    There I was, walking home after a late shift in the wee small hours, when I spotted a fox. No, two foxes. No, three foxes. That’s a little unusual. But what startled me was that one of those foxes actually growled at me. Foxes don’t do that. They just silently retreat or flee. Not this scruffy young fox, as it turned to face me once it through the gates of the local park. Bared teeth is alarming in a dog. But a fox? Disturbing.
  6. caldrail
    The good news for all you people out there earning a living is that finally you're getting your own way. I'm shortly to be placed on a 'More Intensive Regime' concerning my endless quest for gainful employment. Basically that means I have to turn up every day at the Job Centre and explain why I'm not out there looking for work, which of course I would be if I wasn't too busy explaining my presence to my claims advisor.
     
    The thing is, I'm also supposed to be attending a Support Centre every day. Unfortunately they've changed premises and forgot to tell anyone who knew who to set up their internet access. For the last two weeks I've been turning up to an empty office full of inactive computers. The Support Centre staff have even resorted to telling claimants not to bother coming in. Yesterday I did, and asked if I could use a computer
     
    "What for?" The Office guy asked, looking perplexed that anyone was trying to use the Support Centre for the purpose intended.
     
    Oh you know.. Switch it on.. Do stuff... Please bear in mind that all you hard working people out there are paying for this. This morning they locked the door and didn't let anyone in. Don't worry - I'll explain it to my claims advisor.
     
    Blonde Moment
    By chance I happened to catch a televised session by Blondie at the Maida Vale recording studio. They say you should never revisit your past. Time, it must be said, hasn't been entirely kind to Deborah Harry. I don't want to be cruel, these days she looks like a pub landlady. And sings like one too. Sorry Debs, I love the stuff you did back in the day, but I don't think I'll be rushing out to buy a ticket any time soon.
     
    Mind you, looking in the mirror, Jeez, what happened to me?
     
    Foxhunt Of The Week
    It's been a while since I spotted the local wildlife nosing around outside at night. The Old College site had been quite a game reserve but a network of steel girders in battleship grey and rust has gradually filled in the big empty space gouged into the side of the hill. Other girders lay in neat rows waiting to be bolted into place among the cranes and telescopic forklifts parked up until the start of the next mornings shift. Not much room left for urban foxes to mooch around then.
     
    Just when I thought they'd all been gassed or something, the other night I spotted a young fox nosing around the parapet overlooking the site. There's a steep drop on one side of thirty feet or so which clearly didn't bother the fox. He was only there a few minutes before he vanished, quite wisely, as a late night dog-walker meandered over to where the fox had been, beer can in hand. Foxes are animals naturally selected to survive chases from packs of hounds and horsemen. Somehow I doubt the fox was in any danger. Eventually I heard the beer can being crushed and responsibly deposited at random, and the sozzled dog-walker ambled back across the car park, where he no doubt spent most of the night trying to remember which house he got the dog from.
  7. caldrail

    Pesky Little Varmint

    By caldrail,

    Sooner or later they infiltrate your home. No matter how secure you believe your privacy to be, they find ways to intrude upon your premises. Even when you discover their presence, there's a good chance they will find a way to escape you, and worse still, no matter how hard you try to push them out, they will find a way back against all adversary.
     
    Yes, the spider is at large in my home. I know he's up there, I've seen him, scurrying across the no-mans land of the carpet in a mad dash to find cover under the furniture. The hunt is on. Already I've scoured the shops for catchers and bug sprays, hardware vital in the fight for territory. Sooner or later, spider, you will face the wrath of the homeowner....
     
    Species of the Week
    Everyone knows that spiders are carnivores. Sort of. They don't actually 'eat' their prey, just inject enzymes into it and suck out the nourishing goo. They can't handle solid food. There is however a vegetarian species of spider, first observed last year.
     
    So later today I'll be checking out the spider in my home. Is it wearing a woolly hat and waving a Greenpeace pamphlet? It will avail you nothing spider...
  8. caldrail

    Choices And Folly

    By caldrail,

    "I don't want her!" Insisted the young man to his paranoid girlfriend last night. To be honest, the sordid details of peoples love lives don't interest me overly. I'll leave that sort of thing to the people who watch soap operas. That said, it was impossible to ignore. He was a typical specimen of british youth. Thin, gangly, shaven haired, spitting out his words in a descending tone. She was was quieter, insecure, prodding him for a reaction and definitely achieving her objective. Had this conversation not been pursued at the top of his voice in frustration of his girlfriends interrogation, I probably would never have known the difficulties they were encountering. Not that it matters to me at all.
     
    People do make stange choices of partner sometimes. I'm not immune to that. In my younger days, with hormones raging, I made the same ridiculous moves every other young man makes. I'm reminded of a series of partnerships I've witnessed over the years. One was a guitar player who had been part of the first line-up of Bardiche, an 80's local rock band that I ran for a couple of years. GG was an effervescent chap, full of optimism, and although a little embarrasing to watch performing on stage due to his odd antics, a generally okay guy. He paired off with some woman or other. I don't remember her name, but her nickname was 'The Baby Seal', due in no small part to her thick coat of blubber.
     
    GG was at a club watching another local rock band, Fair Warning, in the days when they actually looked the part. Baby Seal wasn't so interested. "Can we go home now, G?" She asked repeatedly. He brushed that aside casually, intent on seeing the bands performance to the end.
     
    "I want to go home NOW, G!" She yelled. I don't know what the band thought - they must have heard her even over the wall of Marshall cabs behind them - but she got her wish. Needless to say, she made frequent use of tantrums and tears, and soon after they moved into a grotty terraced house together, the whole thing descended into disaster.
     
    The second sorry tale is TB, a musician who played with the original line-up of Red Jasper. Again, a nice guy as such, although not someone you'd invite to a party. He met a nice young girl, T, and everything seemed hunky dory. Quickly though they were becoming a little too inseperable. She was always travelling to gigs with him, and after a while it was clear they were stifling each other. I do honestly believe TB bore a large part of the blame. He always had a tendency to use others which got in him into trouble when he started his own band and used Red Jasper's name to book practice halls without turning up. The crunch came at one particular gig when he turned up with a woman we'd never seen before. He didn't introduce her. She sat there, watching us go about the business of gigging, with a smirk on her face, clearly enjoying the notoriety of being 'the other woman'.
     
    It shouldn't have suprised me. I'd spotted him once in an embrace with a woman other than T, and I guess that having discovered girls he was making full use of that discovery. Sadly it meant that he and T split up. He was dropped by the band.
     
    So as the two youngsters made their faltering progress up the side street, I shake my head, knowing full well they'll cause each other no end of grief in the coming weeks. Of course I'm older. More experienced. More worldly wise in affairs of the.... Hey... Who's that who's justcome up the stairs in the library? Heck... She's a babe. Is she with anyone?
     
    "SSHHHHH!"
     
    Ambition and Adversity
    A sixteen year old californian girl has been found alive and well after her attempt to sail solo around the world ended in storms in the Indian Ocean. Fair play to her for making the attempt. I'm all in favour of people pursuing ambition and achievement if they want it, but as the authorities stress, she timed her voyage badly. The Indian ocean is dangerous for other reasons than weather these days too, and whilst every sixteen year old teenager in the world thinks they can look after themselves, one does wonder if she was being a little foolish. Perhaps her parents ought to have let her discover boys after all?
     
    Is that a sexist attitude? It wasn't intended as such. For all I know, the young lady was mature and well prepared enough to undertake her voyage. I hope she succeeeds in her ambitions. At least her parents are supportive of her efforts. There are plenty who aren't. And there's nothing worse than having ambition stifled by over-protective and over-controlling mothers and fathers. There used to be a band from Swindon called XTC. One member, a chap called Nigel, was persuaded by his parents to give up the rock 'n roll life and get a normal job. So the band went on to chart success and careers in the music industry while he stayed as an average unexceptional company droid.
     
    Nigel has my sympathy, because I know exactly how he felt. How was guilty of the greater folly? Nigel, wanting to pursue his dreams, or mummy and daddy, forcing him to pursue theirs?
  9. caldrail

    Mud and Gunge

    By caldrail,

    Just now I saw a headline that a drag queen has been sentenced for sending a hoax bomb threat to a warehouse I used to work at. Quite right, but it did amuse me. Some years back the warehouse manager, DG, left her briefcase in the foyer and as an unattended suspicious package, the premises were evacuated and the army bomb disposal called in.
     
    Well, she eventually got the boot. She also presided over another large operation that went bust later. I knew I was right about her. Am I allowed to be smug? The problem of course is that ordinary people have suffered because of her failures. Then again, aren't they the same people who made my life difficult?
     
    Gloating over peoples misfortune isn't really admirable I suppose but since they gloated over mine, and still do, I'll sit back, arms folded, and smile annoyingly.
     

     
    Splat of the Week
    A British politician, Lord Mandleson, got a faceful of green gunge courtesy of airport protestors. This was merely a publicity stunt by a group of like-minded people who don't want airports, airliners, or any form of aerial tranportation to interfere or impose itself on their chosen lifestyles.
     
    I can understand to some extent. The plans to expand Heathrow are deeply problematic and disturbing for those pushed off their land by bulldozers. Thing is though, most of these people throwing gunge and sitting on runways aren't threatened by these expanion plans are they? Like nuclear disarmers, globally warm protestors, animal righters, and whatever other group is fighting the good fight, they just want a cause to fight for. Something to give their lives meaning.
     
    Years ago after a performance in Bristol, a member of the audience approached me and asked how to join the animal rights movement. I hadn't any idea and told him so, but the impression I got was that he wasn't a caring animal loving type person. More like someone who wanted to cause some trouble and needed a good cause as an excuse, to make it right.
     
    Somehow, I kinda think gunge in someones face isn't really going to change the need for more runways, is it?
  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

    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.
  12. caldrail

    Just Like Us

    By caldrail,

    A fine day with a deep blue sky and some fleecy high level cloud. Great when you have time on your hands but having to trudge four miles to work is a rather wearing prospect. Needless to say, I was sweating. As I strode along the old canal footpath I could see a bunch of workmen ahead. Like all British workmen you spot in the wild, they were not working. They sat idly in the shade, observing my approach and long experience told me I was going to receive a comment or two. It's the British way.
    "He should be just like us" Said one of them, clearly not impressed with my individualism or perceived character. One of his colleagues agreed. Really? Just like you lot? The thought occurred to me as to what the world would be like if everyone conformed to their working class normality. No music, no radio, no television, no pubs or clubs, no films to dazzle us with special effects, no computer games to waste our spare time, and no-one to make the booze they might well be waiting to consume on the weekend. Nothing to look forward to but the opportunity to pass comment on passers-by. What kind of world is that to be proud of?
    Nature always finds strength in diversity. With good reason. I like my individuality and why on earth would I want to be merely one of a crowd of layabouts, anonymous, ordinary, just another non-entity the world is full of. Ah, some might say, and some do, but I failed. Yes. Correct. My plans for super-duper-stardom in my youngers days quickly got dashed on the rocks of reality. But hey, I tried. That makes me an also-ran, not a spectator. Which would you rather be?
    Music
    I saw a review in my local paper for a Judas Priest album. I've never really been a fan of their music but I respect their ability and longevity. Thus when I read the gushing praise I thought it might be worth catching up with where they are now. So I purchased their latest offering and lo and behold, it was as you might expect. Well performed, excellent production, a work by a band who know what they're doing. Then having finished listening, it occurred to me that I hadn't remembered any of the songs. It was nothing but an album of heavy metal wallpaper, making all the right sounds, doing all the right moves, but a production line of riffs and beats that pretty much failed to engage with my love of tracks that stand out for indefinable reasons. Sadly I doubt I'll feel the need to play it again.
    Compare that to another performer, Florence and the Machine. I was unaware of their existence until they featured in a televised event on the Beeb. I was impressed by the female vocalist's energy, her willingness to reach out to her fans (quite literally, it caused a near panic among the security crew), and the songs were interesting, varied, and I imagine for some, about relevant subjects. Buy her latest album? Oh yes, and I wasn't disappointed. Three tracks stood out, Ship To Wreck, What Kind of Man, and Queen of Peace. I still hum those tracks to myself regularly. That's success in music as I see it. Sorry Mr Halford, I know you're delivering what your fans want, but it's just a day job for you, isn't it?
    Connected
    I stopped at a Subway earlier for a quick snack and sat as I often do facing the outside world so I can watch people going about their irrelevant business outside. It struck me that everyone, literally everyone, in my field of view of the busy Saturday morning high street was staring down at a device in the palm of their hand. I suppose it's a sort of security blanket, making them feel that they're part of a group, that they're in on what is going on around the world, even if it amounts to videos of people falling over or endless sequences of pets caught mimicking humanity against their will. A whole crowd of spectators, going around spectating, because it seems they have nothing else in their lives. "Your phone is rubbish" one work colleague once mentioned when I checked my device for the unrealistic prospect of having received contact from the outside world. Yeah? Really? So what?
  13. caldrail

    Documenting My Week

    By caldrail,

    "I'm cold" mentioned a young lady to her friends outside the library this morning. She's right. It is. That usually happens around the start of December so quite why she's dressed in the bare minimum of clothing I don't know. Dogs don't have this problem because they come with fur coats attached. I spotted a little keeshond puppy last night and couldn't resist the temptation to approach the owner and find some excuse to pet the little bundle of furry fun. We used to have a keeshond many years ago. Wonderful dogs, full of character, full of spirit, and this little one was no exception. They break your heart but every tear is worth it. Not sure about the half naked girl outside the library though.
     
    Who's Kidding Who?
    Our chancellor, some guy called George Osbourne who seems to have popped out of thin air, has just released his Autumn Statement, the last chance the government have to impress us with their economic policies and results before Cameron starts his campaign to justify another five years of the media catwalk.
     
    So has George Osbourne impressed us? I have no idea. I changed channels. I did notice that they claimed unemployment was down. Yes, George, I know. You shameless fakers pushed me off benefits along with everyone else to claim that. With a bit of luck they'll catch a few of you on illegal earnings. Wouldn't be the first time, would it?
     
    Dealing With Dole Documents
    Talking about benefits, my self imposed exile is up and my new claim is under way. The bad news is that I'm back with Eva Braun as my claims advisor. She doesn't like me. Or my jobsearching. Or my evidence. Or my military surplus trousers. She's northern. They don't have fashion in the north of England.
     
    In order to claim nil earnings payments from the Council to compensate for my self imposed exile I must complete my submission of documentary evidence before the deadline because I voluntarily exiled myself from benefits and if I don't meet the deadline I get no cash. With me so far? Okay, keep up. I have submitted all the documentary evidence I have so far and now I'm only awaiting the letter that tells me I'm back on benefits at the specified rate. You may now breathe once to maintain conciousness. That would have arrived within the specified deadline except that the Department of Work and Pensions have decided that I must submit my bank statements that I failed to submit to the claims handler who took photocopies of them at the Job Centre. Still here? I'm impressed. So now that I'm unable to submit that final letter confirming my new benefits payments because submitting my bank statements again will delay confirming my new claim, and so in order to inform the Council of my inability to meet their deadline for nil earnings submissions, I had to submit my letter from the Job Centre telling me to submit my bank statements that I already submitted. Not only that, I had to explain all this to a lady from the Council who probably woke up this morning expecting a dull boring afternoon.
     
    Just another day on the dole queue - as soon as the letter confirming it arrives.
     
    Sorry
    Apologies to Ghost for trumping his b-fortnightly blog entry yet again. It isn't deliberate - I'm just losing track of which year it is. I noticed this morning a letter from the Job Centre telling me a payment had been made for "going into full time work". What the...? So I made a phone call and the DWP contact centre didn't know what I was talking about. Then I made a visit to the Council to register the evidence when the kind lady behind the desk pointed out the letter was two years old. DOH !!!!
     
    Salute of the Week
    It seems my neighbours are beginning to get the hint about late night noise. Just this week one of them warned me he was having a birthday celebration. That he was expecting guests wouldn't bother me, I was only concerned at what would happen after they came back from the clubs. No problem he assurred me.
     
    So I'd like to thank Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin, the Who, Deep Purple, and any other pioneer of very loud music for providing me with the tools to achieve peace and quiet in the wee small hours.
  14. caldrail

    The Library Blues

    By caldrail,

    As usual, we line up outside the library waiting for it to open, so we can all enjoy the public internet access. Read books? Ahem. The doors open, and the library assisteant, a clean cut lad, is brushed aside as the experienced library goers are keen to log on. Poor lad nearly gets trampled to death.
     
    Good grief, AM's friend has bought himself a new coat. Instead of the filthy padded jacket he's owned since 1976 he now wears a raincoat, very suitable for spring sunshine and long days in the park. Err.. feeding birds that is...
     
    AM himself is his usual self. The world exists for him to whinge about, and as usual, his attempt to send emails to Mauritius fail and he gets uptight about it. He loudly informs us all of how difficult the computer is to use, and how easily it doesn't do what he wants. Having informed and educated us, he eventually harasses the library staff and an incredibly patient lady shows him the correct button, the one he was shown last week.
     
    So we sigh with relief, and do our own thing. Then one person opposite speaks into her mobile phone quietly....
     
    "Hey!" Spits AM irritably, "We're trying to use our emails, could you be quiet please?"
     
    Well, most of us already were, but he went red-faced as myself and others try desperately not to guffaw too loudly....
     
    My Event of the Week
    I got a phone call yesterday. Wrong number. Ok, back to sleep...
  15. caldrail

    Game On!

    By caldrail,

    In recent years Swindon has gotten into festivals. A couple of years ago we had a festival of Innovation, which I suspect was not entirely innovative, but since I never attended it I'll have to assume that Swindon was wowed by new and exciting stuff.
     
    Last year we had the LEGO-fest. What? You missed it? Shame on you. The museum still has the Mario mosaic crafted lovingly in, yes, you guessed it, LEGO. Proof that Swindon is James May's natural enviroment.
     
    Now looming on the horizon is the Swindon Festival of Gaming, which I have the pleasure of helping to organise. You just can't wait, can you? Big ciommunity events take a little time to get together. Last night we visited our intended main venue, our very own Meca, across the road from my favourite haunt, the library.
     
    The last time I entered that building was forty years ago as a child, back in the days when it was a cinema. It was a strange experience to see that decorated curved ceiling again. Maybe I'm a bit taller now, or maybe it's because they had to put a new floor in, but the roof felt like a sort of extravagant awning rather than a roof, lower and much closer than I remember it. Actually, it felt a little cosy, an odd sensation for a venue licensed for nearly two thousand people.
     
    Oh yes. We have plans. The Festival of Gaming will be big... BIG! ... You have no idea of the havoc we're planning. Comedians can scoff and crack jokes at Swindon all they like, but compared to the good citizens of our ridiculous borough, they're coplete amateurs.
     
    Thinking Big
    Big Society? What's that? Like many people I'm a little perplexed by an ambiguous concept put forward by our government. So perplexed I've been forced to look it up on the internet, the true source of informed opinion and debate, or at least, a good deal more understandable than a politicans waffle.
     
    I don't like politicians. Never have. They are by nature a lot less honest than they would like us to believe. Partly that's the nature of people who put themselves forward to rule in our oligarchial democracy, partly because they're persuaded to conform to the wretched system even if they start with good intentions.
     
    One of the reasons I despised Tony Blair, besides a bad smile, a wife with a even worse smile, and a bunch of cronies who did nothing but smile when they spent their our money for us, was his use of slogans. Cool Britannia. I mean, what was that all about? Am I paying taxes for that grinning idiot to come out with useless slogans?
     
    Now David Cameron has resorted to the slogan too. Big Society. For some reason I don't exactly find myself inspired by that phrase. This is something that annoys me about politics. Whenever things get tough politicians invent a slogan.
     
    Churchill did that. He wandered around an area of London demolished by the Luftwaffe and made his trademark vee sign, pronouncing proudly that "Britain can take it!", only to be put straight by an outraged housewife whose home was currently disassembled by a thousand pounder.
     
    I once accused David Cameron of being a lightweight. Having become prime Mnister, I decided instead to give him the benefit of the doubt. But resorting to slogans? Sorry, Cameron, you blew it.
  16. caldrail

    Mistaken Identity

    By caldrail,

    I've been shouted at by a woman as I left work yesterday. Don't know why - she just started on me and gave her opinions as to my capability. Yeah whatever lady, just keep taking the pills. No doubt she's bragging to her friends and family about how she saw me off, but could my lookalike please stop upsetting everyone?
     
    Advert of the Week
    The banner hung on the front of the church I passed on the way to work said - 'Join the Alpha Course - Discover the meaning of life'. Isn't that typical of christian marketing? Attract all those unhappy and depressed individuals passing by and tempt them with optimism, hopes, dreams, and finally try to sell them a ticket to paradise (redeemable on death). A shop a few doors down had another sign - 'Jesus is King of Kings, Lord of Lords'. Obviously someone has done the Alpha Course. Shame he didn't finish the masters degree in business really, since then he wouldn't have been depressed by his 'closed for business' sign last year.
  17. caldrail

    Time For Change

    By caldrail,

    Times may be a'changin', but Swindon carries on going its own way. Or is it? Just recently I notied our local HMV store has re-opened after falling victim to the terrible economic Black Death that stalked the towns and cities of England not so long ago. Not only that, but just the other afternoon I spotted the first white metal frames at the Old College site. As if I could miss them. They tower above the surroundings and make the assurances of the developers that the buildings wouldn't be any higher than the yard look like promises made by megalomaniac German dictators not to invade neighbouring countries.
     
    Yes, the Old College is a'changin'. They've stopped shuffling piles of mud, sand, and gravel around and everywhere I see machines and building materials in a chaotic life or death struggle for space. You mean... They're actually going to build it?
     
    Oh Joy
    Not everything changes. The male population of this town still seems to have trouble with orsinary social contact. These days I only have to be caught glancing at some people and I get accused of being a pervert. I had no idea rolling cigarettes was such a private and intimate experience. Perhaps if the gentleman concerned might care to do that in private no-one would notice him. On the other hand, I if walk past minding my own business, I get sarky comments for not being sociable.
     
    It seems the only way to avoid such social difficulties is to walk with your head down looking at a mobile phone. Half the population seem to be dowing that now. Is it just me or am I living in some kind of fifties scifi B movie? Any moment now and I'm going to hear a Tardis appearing with some extrovert idiot waving a sonic screwdriver around. The good Doctor had better watch it though. We have plenty of joy riders in this area...
     
    Foggy Start
    It was foggy this morning. Just thought I'd mention it.
     
    Stain Of The Week
    Every so often I make a vain attempt to take a decent night-time photograph. The results are always blurry and unsatisafying no matter what setting I use, but I try, nonetheless. Anyway with that new frame on the building site and a somewhat misty night, the scene was atmospheric, full of shadow and soft light in amber and pale green.
     
    Having made the effort I stopped to take in the scene properly. The night air had a bite to it, yet without a breath of wind to make it uncomfortable. For a moment I I took it all in then noticed an odd shadow in the yard below me. Is that a fox? It was. Staring up at me as if transfixed by the activities of some idiot human being who really ought to be doing something useful like catching mice or digging nice warm holes. Once the young fox had realised the show was over it got on with being a fox, and incidentially, if you're the owner of a silver hatchback with some mysterious stains on the left hand side, I know who did it.
  18. caldrail

    Cold Nights

    By caldrail,

    This was the weekend when the weather finally hit Britain. It did in some places, with Heathrow restricting flights and so on, but as usual Wiltshire got away with it. Most of the snow went elsewhere. All we got in Swindon was a dusting of snow that was practically gone within the course of the next day. Nothing like the siberian conditions that eastern europe have undergone.
     
    There are some extraordinary places in the world. I discovered one yesterday. Shoyna is a russian village inside the arctic circle. You wouldn't think so. Most of the houses are buried in sand drifts. It looks more like the sahara than a coastal tundra region.
     
    As often happens, the enviroment of this fascinating place is man-made. Intense fishing in previous decades ripped up the local sea floor vegetation and loose sand was driven ashore by the tides. Now it drfits with the wind, burying the rickety wooden houses overnight on a regular basis. Residents are wary about being trapped in their homes, not by snow, but sandrifts. You don't get this sort of thing on a David Attenbrough series.
     
    Droids Of The Night
    In the beginning was a man with no girlfriend. God made him that way apparently so I guess being omnipotent isn't quite what it's cracked up to be. Anyway that got sorted - twice, as it turns out. Sometimes though his descendants aren't so lucky. What then? How does a man calm his primal lust?
     
    Well God certainly thought of that one didn't he? However for some us a fun appendage doesn't really cut it. Not suprising then that enterprising women have gone into the worlds oldest business since blokes realised what that fun appendage was actually supposed to be for. Blame Eve. She persuaded Adam to eat that stupid apple in the first place.
     
    You would think those options would solve the problem, but no, sometime later somebody invented the blow-up dummy. I've not used one nor found anyone who admitted that they have, but I'm assured these things do exist. Now scientists are working on female robots as companions for those blokes who need something a little more animated. It's inevitable they tell us.
     
    If nothing else it proves how fecund human beings can be, or more to the point how desperate they can get when fecundity is unavailable to them. My own view is just how incredibly sad it is that people want to build and use artificial companions. Not just because of the admission that they can't get a real girlfriend, but also because they actually want an obedient slave. I mean, science fiction has been warning us for nearly a century about this sort of thing.
     
    Still, look on the bright side. At least scientists are likely to have forgotten to program your friendly robotic lover to remind you endlessly that you should have closed the toilet seat.
     
    Bumps In The Night
    It seems that my own castle is still under siege.. The enemy have made some covert attempts to gain access over the weekend, including the attempted use of a power tool in the small hours. Yep, I heard that one.
  19. caldrail

    Sweating Heavily

    By caldrail,

    Sex, violence, and financial wobbles - In no particular order. That's pretty much the news every night and yesterday was no different. With Greece failing to please the rest of the world share prices have tumbled. What? Again? People have been dealing in shares since big curly wigs were a fashion statement. You would think by now we'd have learned that shares were a risky investment. Much like cheating at cricket for instance.
     
    However, the wobbles of the Eurozone are not the last word in financial disasters according to certain experts. I'm not sure the greeks agree, but the government is determined to persuade us that their gameplan to recover from the last recession continues without hindrance.
     
    Talking about hindrance, I notice that anti-capitalist protestors are busy. Blockading St Pauls Cathedral and embarrasing senior churchmen. Now they're now setting up camp outside the next G20 conference. Whilst it gives them something to do it doesn't keep them off the streets, does it? Yet the idiocy of it is incredible. I agree these bureaucrats aren't always as public spirited as they like to claim, but who generates the wealth for these protestors dole payments?
     
    Time then for me to help the ailing economy and buy something from the shops. There was a time when buying things was hardly a consideration. These days I must weigh up the value of the goods I want and decide if the proce is affordable. Ohh to heck with it. I'll buy it anyway.
     
    On the way down to the local high street I noticed cars were queuing up at a road junction. As I turned the corner I saw why. A police car had blocked the road whilst they bundled three youths into the back. I imagine that has caused a wobble in the local drug supply. Do the anti-capitalist protestors realise how much money some of these drug dealers make from trading pills and powder? More to the point, I wonder how many of them do business with our back street alchemists?
     
    Sorry Madam
    Sometimes however you're not allowed to purchase the goods you want. Take the case of a 92 year old lady who was refused a bottle of whisky because she couldn't prove she was over 18. That certainly proves you're as young as you feel.
     
    Spit And Polish
    Today I decided to clean the cooker. For me that's like wandering into the jungles of New Guinea and asking the natives what they fancy for lunch. Nonetheless the cooker must be cleaned.
     
    It must be said the effectiveness of modern cleaning materials is much better than I remember. With a few squirts of Kooker-Kleen and a vigourous wipe with a rag, the forlorn apparatus is once again white and shiney even if I'm not.
     
    And I did it all myself, unlike Snow White, who needed an entire horde of cartoon animals to finish her household chores for her. But then she wasn't covered in grime afterward. I'm not entirely domesticated you know.
  20. caldrail

    A Bitter Pill

    By caldrail,

    Bad colds or flu can be nasty. It creeps up on you and hits you like a brick wrapped in tinfoil. Coughing, sweating, dizzy, limbs aching, totally unable to sleep. We've all been there so I guess you know what I mean.
     
    Isn't it strange that medicinal products function in direct proportion to their taste? The palatable ones don't do anything for you at all. But those ghastly horrible noxious products that make you sweat with anticipation of its vile taste work like a charm. We have a product in Britain - I don't know what the rest of the world call it - but its advertised as a miracle cure for colds and flu. Of course is isn't, it just makes you feel better for a few hours, but I'm definitely feeling a lot more like your average Caldrail. Now.... Is that because the stuff really is a miracle cure, or is it because I can't bear the thought of another dose?
     
    However, there are some substances you shouldn't really touch. I'm not into drugs. Never was. Never saw the point. If you need a pill to enjoy yourself then you're not doing so. There was one instance in my past though when I encountered such things.
     
    I don't mean the offer of cannabis from some lowlife in a club. Its inevitable that having been involved in rock bands I was going to encounter it. Funny thing is, I was very rarely offered any. Maybe I looked spaced out already so they never bothered?
     
    No. Something more insidious happened. So lets explain the background.
     
    I used to work for a large retail chain, and my responsibilities were to manage the database overnight and download the picking data for the next day onto the scanning guns. It was a lonely sort of job that. The only human contact I had was a cleaner who popped in every two or three days to scatter my papers over the floor, and the good lady who worked in the office along the way. She was a tolerant sort luckily. Not so the workforce. Comprised of the usual layabouts and ner'do'wells, I'd become somewhat unpopular with them because I'd had some of their mates hauled across the coals for misdemeanours. It wasn't pleasant, and to this day I don't think the company really appreciated what a miserable place that was to work.
     
    This wasn't the first time I'd been feeling a bit odd. I'd been phoning and emailing radio stations, getting hyperactive and stressed out, going on long drives around the west country for no apparent reason. Then there was that final night. It wasn't like feeling drunk, I just felt oddly chirpy. Feeling fed up with any grievances I'd had at work, I decided to do something about it. I scrawled 'Goodbye and thanks for all the fish' on the board, and text'd somebody on my mobile that I was on my way. Don't know who it was, but I knew they'd understand. Somebody was cheering me on. From that point forward I was utterly convinced I was on some sort of quest to reach France. I was also convinced I was supposed to take people along and that they'd arranged to meet me in town. So I wandered around for an hour feeling a little disappointed at a no-show. Well, I can't wait, must reach France. So I drove out to the motorway to go east. Then it occured to me the police would be waiting to catch me. So... I'll go by the country road. That'll fox 'em... Huh? Was that a red light?... Wow, this is getting seriously foggy... Hey wait, I was supposed to pick someone up... Turn around.... Must get there quickly to pick them up... Awww I can't be doing with this, I'm going down the motorway...
     
    Eventually my car ground to a halt with some sort of breakdown, lights flashing on the dashboard all over the place... This was a freezing cold november morning and I phoned for recovery. I think the police telephonist got the gist of what I was rambling on about. The return to Rushey Platt was a sobering experience. I froze for an hour waiting for a tow. I froze for another two hours at railway station carpark waiting for a tow back in the right direction.
     
    I lost the job. You might not be entirely suprised at that. So I suppose the idiot who spiked my drinks at work with whatever substance that was felt pleased with his handiwork. It was a miracle I wasn't picked up for driving under the influence - I daresay that would have pleased him more. How would he have felt if I'd crashed? Killed? Disabled? Or would he have been satisified with death and injury on the roads if an innocent person or two had been unlucky enough?
  21. caldrail

    Inert Boxes

    By caldrail,

    You can't have a museum without exhibits. Every so often we find new ones. Or should that be old ones? Anyway, our boss came across some stuff being thrown away at Portsmouth and couldn't resist an ancient computer. You should see it. Straight out of a 70's Doctor Who episode.
     
    It turns out our new exhibit is a bog standard Bloodhound missile control box, or in civilian guise, a nuclear reactor control box. I'm not joking. Some power stations are still using these things to this day. Our boss grinned mightily and made clear his intention to get the old machine fired up. when we finally figure out how it was done.
     
    So if you see a missile trail on its way to Moscow, or loads of people fleeing the immediate area of the local nuclear power station, you'll know we succeeded. In the meantime we need to find some dusty instruction manual before the KGB do. Who said museums were boring?
     
    Are You Blind?
    Having spent the week finding more and more 'apply' buttons to press on job websites, enough is enough. So I wrapped up, logged off, and made my usual noisy exit from the office. The girls at the programme centre laughed at that. Not because I was actually funny, but at the suggestion that I worked there.
     
    Oh great. It's raining. Pretty heavily too. I think I'll wait until I leave the premises.
     
    Meanwhile I became aware that someone was trying to get in to the building. They have this security door now that stops you until you speak into a metal grille and telll some disembodied female voice who you are. But this chap didn't seem to know that. He just stood in front of the door pressing the wrong button.
     
    In a sudden inexplicable need to be generous I decided to open the door for him, so I walked over to the exit button and waited for him to realise he could enter. He stared back through the glass patiently. This is pretty spooky.
     
    Oh! I see! Or rather, he doesn't. I physically opened the door for him and asked if he was blind. He was and we had a chuckle over it. He didn't need any further help, finding his way around the programme centre without too much difficulty. Normally I don't encounter blind people other than stepping politely around them. I was struck by how easy he made getting about seem. Fair play to him.
     
    Well, I can't stay here all day. Time to brave the weather and KGB assassins.
     
    Down Again
    Having previously booked a session on the library computers, I made my way upstairs. Barely had I noticed how few people were up there than a librarian kindly informed me that the system was down. Amazing how quiet it gets up there when no-ones got a computer to play with. Funnily enough, it got even quieter after I went back downstairs.
     
    Strange coincidence that. Almost as if the computers were sabotaged by the KGB in an insidious plot to prevent me discovering the lost instruction manual.
  22. caldrail

    Secret Numbers

    By caldrail,

    Occaisionally I get stray phone messages. I suppose we all do from tiime to time, and there was a time you always got double glazing companies trying to sell you more replacement windows.
     
    Sometimes you get strange characters phoning for strange reasons. I remember one chap called me and I made the mistake of assuming it one of my mates (he used the same name). He then proceeded to ask where his hammer was. Hammer? What hammer? He then got irate because I'd 'lost' his hammer. Sorry mate, wrong number. *click*
     
    On the other hand, stray calls can be of a personal nature, like the young lady who valiantly tried to get a date by telling me I'd met her at a party. Which party? I'd remember. No, I didn't think she could tell me when and where it was, something I find a little strange considering she was so keen to go out with me. Call me suspicious, but instinct tells me to be wary of this sort of thing.
     
    The reason I discuss this subject is that I've received a phone message from a 'workman' who identified himself by his first name (as if that meant anything to me) claiming he needed access to my home to check for water leaks. His Liverpool accent didn't nothing to assuage my doubts. "Call me on this number" the message ended. Except it comes up as a '(No Number)' entry.
     
    That's happened before. Back when my outrageously lowered and body kitted Eunos Cabriolet still worked, I'd parked it in a well to do area at the suggestion of the Police and got a phone call from a citizen who was breathlessly keen to get me to drive it somewhere else.
     
    "I've scratched the paint on my car trying to get around it into my drive" She claimed. As it happened, I did move the car half an hour later, but she was mysteriously absent when I did. Something didn't quite sound right that day, and today, I got the same feeling. But I'll check with the letting agent anyway and find out whether they know who this 'workman' is. Just in case my neighbours are drowning.
     
    Pic of the Day

     
    Yes, I was out and about yesterday. Heavy showers and hot sunshine. A very average hiking experience then, and no strange phone calls to disturb the rural isolation. A pair of hawks circled the woods to the right of the picture. Large ones, making shrill cries. Aaah... Young love....
     
    Phone Call of the Week
    There's a telephone facility for jobseekers that I sometimes use. You sort of get to know the various characters employed by the call centre, and only one of them sounds like they live in Delhi. Unfortunately one of them is not entirely interested in his job. He rushes through the requisite phrases in a bored 'Oh gawd not another caller' voice and when he locates a vacancy for you, he reads through the description so fast you get the impression he doesn't care whether you write any of that stuff down or not.
     
    Sorry, what was that email address again?
     
    Could you spell that please?
     
    Sorry, was that 'm' or 'n'?
     
    Sorry I called.
  23. caldrail
    Do my eyes deceive me? Is Hollywood really planning to make a big screen blockbuster movie about the alien invasion we all helped to fend off in the eighties? Yes, Space Invaders, the most pixellated enemy of mankind, is about to change tactics and emerge upon our cinemas near you.
     
    Am I supposed to be excited? If this is an attempt by Hollywood to create a new film rather than just another sequel, it's failed utterly. I mean, how many times has Earth been invaded by aliens? We've been fending off all manner of alien threats since Plan B From Outer Space. Mostly they make a mess when they get here so a film about hitting them with little coloured squares whilst still approaching would be different, if only puppetmaster Gerry Anderson hadn't already fended off alien invaders as they flew toward earth in his series UFO.
     
    Well, my spies have delved into the secret offices of Space Invaders - The Movie to bring you this slightly not real spoiler...
     
    RADAR MAN - Sir? There's something on radar
     
    GENERAL - That can't be son. I haven't been informed
     
    RADAR MAN - Look sir. There. Lots of (pause) blips.
     
    GENERAL - My god.
     
    RADAR MAN - What are they sir?
     
    GENERAL - Pixels, son, lots of pixels. Call the Pentagon
     
    RADAR MAN - Yes sir (pause) President on the line sir
     
    PRESIDENTS VOICE - What is it General?
     
    GENERAL - Pixels, Mister President. Arriving in force. I can see three (pause) No, four lines of them.
     
    PRESIDENTS VOICE - You know what to do, General.
     
    GENERAL - Yes SIr. Those pixels don't stand a chance (puts down phone) Okay, son, open fire.
     
    RADAR MAN - But Sir, we can't lock our weapons onto them. They keep scrolling.
     
    GENERAL - Oh my god.
     
    And Now For Plan B
    Not to be outdone by the American film industry, Russia is planning to send the Olympic flame into space. Deputy Prime Minister Zhukov says "Previously the cosmic peaks of sports records were always just a metaphor but now we have the real opportunity to send the symbol of peace, friendship, unity and excellence beyond earth's frontiers."
     
    Well I'm sure the enemy alien pixels will realise we just want a sporting competition and not all out war after all. Plus, if they hurry, they might receive tickets to the games. Who needs a square jawed hero with white teeth and a very, very big gun when you can shoot flames into space instead?
  24. caldrail
    No... This can't be happening... Three phone calls in the same day. Those of you with social lives might not understand this but communication on this scale is beyond my experience as an older unemployed person. Not only that, but the phone calls were all from an employment agency who've almost ignored me for three years. Normally they email me a rejection the same day I apply for vacancies so imagine my suprise that my existence has finally been recognised.
     
    Not Any More
    For the first time since Antony Blunt was revealed as an artificial soviet rock placed on a London pavement, the Forfeiture Committee have acted. A little belatedly perhaps but then this was a committee decision. Not treachery against the state this time but behaviour unbecoming following our recent financial wobbles.
     
    In the wake of Fred Goodwin's dishonour (his knighthood was 'cancelled and anulled' yesterday) can you imagine what's going through the heads of those communists in the Job Centre who have tried to have me shot at dawn for assuming a title? Right now they'll be muttering darkly, making promises of dire retribution, and trying to figure out how to have me hauled in front of a magistrate. Probably much like they have for the last two years.
     
    Fighters For India
    Oh no, not again... Those pesky frenchmen have persuaded India to buy thier Dassault Rafale (whatever that is) instead of our shiney new Eurofighter Typhoons. I share David Cameron's disappointment on that decision but hey, look on the bright side, if Britain ever chooses to recolonise their former empire at least air superiority will be a little bit easier. Unless of course, those pesky frenchmen have occupied the Taj Mahal and are taunting us about hamsters, elderberries, and gaseouis discharges in our general direction. The secret of their success must be their outrageously silly accent.
     
    Store Of The Week
    I would like to take this iopportunity to congratulate Maplins for their first class customer service. I had a slight problem with a recent purchase and they not only exchanged the goods without complaint or attempt to fob me off, but took the time to prove the replacements worked as expected. Well done that store.
  25. 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.
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