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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail

    Closing Down Sale

    By caldrail,

    The notice said "Closing Down Sale! Everything Must Go!".
     
    That's a familiar sight these days. There's plenty of commercial properties with shutters down, boarded up, and windows whitewashed. Most of the time a shop closure doesn't matter to me because I'd so rarely need its services.This time it's the shop where I get my hiking gear. Now it's personal.
     
    A part of me thinks the shop has only itself to blame. The goods are not exactly cheap and that's at sale prices. I suspect that's partly the reason other shops are falling by the wayside. Too expensive, poor service, and possibly not the right goods in the first place. It must be said however that people generally have smaller wallets these days. I know I have.
     
    On the way back home I passed a couple of guys handing out leaflets. In a fit of optimism one attempted to thrust a leaflet into my hands. What's this then? He started spouting a load of stuff about Jesus. The other man looked on as if to appraise the gentlemans efforts in recruiting me as another slave.
     
    "You'll need Jesus Our Saviour!" He announced as I spurned his offer. No, I don't need Jesus. God helps those who help themselves, isn't that the phrase? When he tells me what he believes rather than what he's been told to believe, I'll listen to what he has to say, because at the moment, he won't listen to me. The man is absolutely brainwashed.
     
    As I walked away I heard him sermonising to my back. Perhaps if he'd spent more money buying stuff instead of funding Jesus, one or two shops might still be open. Jesus saves? Not if you run a business in Gordon Browns England he doesn't.
     
    Saving the Economy
    With a general election looming the political parties are all describing how much money they're going to save by cutting costs in public spending. That's an interesting reverse. I seem to remember a certain Prime Minister telling everyone to spend their way out of the crisis.
     
  2. caldrail

    Clues and Clueless

    By caldrail,

    A few times now I've mentioned the obstacles caused by old people as they struggle to manoever around the enviroment. Of course I agree that one day it'll be me doing none too well and obstructing young whippersnappers going about their urgent business, but hey, that's life. In the meantime I'd like to record a few encounters of the aged kind.
     
    The first clue that pensioners weren't just obstacles came when I popped across the road during my lunchbreak. I use another department store as a short cut to the shopping mall, and along the m ain aisle is a female dummy sat on a chair in the latest fashions. On this particular day, an old woman shuffled up to her and said "Are you tired, dear?"
     
    The second clue came today, as again I popped across the road. An old couple were out in the morning sunshine and the man said to his wife "What you need on a sunny day like this is a beautiful woman". Oh? Sounds like the voice of experience. Thanks for the tip mate.
     
    More From Stockroom Street
    The banter was flying this Wacky Wednesday. I have discovered a terrible secret, one so dangerous that lives may be lost if mentioned in public. Of course I can't tell you for fear the security services might be listening, but let me give you a clue...
     
    KS might be dating a girl from the shop floor, but he was already dating another one. Gasp! Don't worry, Miss G, your secret is safe with me. And I won't tell anyone you like bald men.
     
    Revenge of the Bully
    It seems the anti-bullying helpline that employees of our Prime Minister had called regarding his overly pushy manner has been suspended. Need I say more?
     
    UFO Enquiry of the Week
    With the latest release of offical files into UFO sightings is one curious one dating back to 1952, when the Prime Minister of the day, our very own Winston Churchill demanded to know ""What does all this stuff about flying saucers amount to? What can it mean? What is the truth? Let me have a report at your convenience".
     
    We were going to fight them on the Hollywood sound stages. We will never surrender. Probably why then that all UFO incidents originate in America. Can't imagine anything worse than an abductee demanding a tea break.
  3. caldrail

    Cold Blasts

    By caldrail,

    I had intended to go on a hike yesterday but the unsettled weather put me off. Today however was due to be sunshine and showers, and after looking at the weather map on tv I decided to risk a venture into the countryside. So this morning I was up early and all packed. My intention was to climb to the top of Liddington Hill, the highest spot in Wiltshire and not too far away, although the route I planned to go by meant following the road south then doubling back up the escarpment, a fair distance to walk with a weight on your back.
     
    Trudging through the mud is a very tiring experience. So I decided not to go the long way, and instead followed the country road east from Chiseldon and clambering up the grassy hillsides. It's been a long time since I've been up there, and since I hadn't arrived via the Ridgeway as I usually would, I discovered to my suprise and delight that their were ditches and ramparts guarding the slightly less torturous inclines of the plateau behind the hillfort.
     
    As for the weather I encountered no showers at all. Cloudy, some sunny spells, and a chill breeze. That all changed when I got to the top of Liddington Hill. Up there the wind was fiercely cold and unrelenting. Ye gods you'd need to be tough to live up there during winter. No wonder the hillfort was abandoned more than once.
     
    The view of course is brilliant. You can see over the plain to the north, and into both valleys tracing southward either side. A light aeroplane flew past me, climbing through cloud and revealing just how low the cloud was above my head. It was nice to get up there again - but a whole lot nicer back down again!
     
    How Not To Pat Dogs
    The lady had been trying to call her dog for a while. Trouble is, a dog's nose is so much more an effective sensory device than our own it's hard to realise what vistas of information they uncover as they sniff the urine left by the previous canine visitor. Eventually the dog obeyed. This bulky muscular dog then spotted me returning to Swindon on the footpath and decided to investigate.
     
    Hello Dog. How are you? Let me just pet you.. Woah!... For a moment I thought the animal was going to bite. The dog thought I was going to slap him. So we sort of both backed off. "He's quite harmless" The woman said. Yeah, I know, they always are at home when everythings normal. Still, the dog showed some initiative and began a game of Can I Get Close Without Him Stopping Me?.
     
    Uhhh... Lady?... I'm getting bored of this game. Could you call your dog?...
     
    Youngsters
    The Neighbours have rediscovered the delights of loud music. I think young people should be banned. Just ban them. All of them. The world would be a better place.
  4. caldrail

    Cold Day In Hell

    By caldrail,

    Now that the british weather has woken up and realised we were getting too much warmth and sunshine, october has returned with a vengeance. Although it isn't raining the temperature has dropped alarmingly, made worse by a strong wind. One of the regulars at the library rushed to his chosen computer and saw me. "It's a bit chilly out there isn't it?"
     
    Yes. Yes it is. Very. Maybe it just feels bad because we've had such a balmy autumn so far. There's barely a brown leaf to be seen anywhere. Still, life goes on, and since I needed some extra computer time I trudged across Swindon to my favourite internet cafe.
     
    Once my time ran out it was time to go home. No sooner had I emerged from the stygian depths of technological intercourse than I realised thre weather had changed completely in the hour I had been there. Great swathes of the darkest clouds I've ever seen in Swindon loomed omniously over me, clearly a supernatural message to get back in there and pay for another hour. Smudges of grey hung beneath the clouds, indicators of heavy rainfall. I could feel a drop here and there.
     
    Will Lord Caldrail manage to get home without a thorough soaking? Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen. The outcome will be revealed later.
     
    Roll On
    Some of you might know this already thanks to the untiring efforts of stand-up comedians to save the universe from the forces of entropy and primitive life forms, but Swindon is not the centre of the universe. For that reason, we Swindoners only experience a subset of british culture thus getting totally wasted on the weekend is regarded as the only way of forgetting the shame and boredom of living there. I suppose we have little choice really, because there's no more Swindon Foreign Legion, since with recent government cutbacks our fortress in Libya has recently been closed.
     
    Imagine my suprise then as I passed the local second hand car dealer. Most of his stock are the same old hand-me-down family cars as everyone sells, but occaisionally he pulls something unique out of the proverbial hat. There, sat beside the entrance to his premises, was a two tone blue Rolls Royce.
     
    Heck. You don't see many of those in Swindon. Now usually I lust and drool over italianate supersportscars, but I must admit, my lordly instincts were aroused by a gleaming paint job and acres of polished chrome. Come to think of it, that radiator is an iconic shape. It gives the car an air of authority all of it's own. It was also featured on the credits of puppet series Thunderbirds which I watched avidly as a child, thus that shape has been imprinted on my psyche forever.
     
    Curse you Satan! Tempt me not! I shall not be enslaved by massive repair bills and conspicuous consumption!
     
    Okay. I feel better now. But a part of me will always regret not having a big autocannon poking through the radiator. Parker? Shoot those plebs blocking our progress.
     
    "Now, m'lord?"
     
    Now, Parker...
     
    Night Of The Living Syrian
    Watching the news last night I learned that a syrian woman has mysteriously returned from the dead. Previously she was featured as the first woman beheaded in Syria under police custody. Who would have thought she would return as a zombie, hellbent on eating the brains of western journalists?
     
    The Outcome
    No, you were wrong, the clouds parted and soaked Swindon either side of me. I told I looked like Moses these days. Soon I shall be compelled to bring down the stone tablets from the upper storeys of the Job Centre, and tell everyone off for being richer and more orgiastic than me. Can't wait.
  5. caldrail

    Cold Logic

    By caldrail,

    I woke to the alarm clock this morning as I suspected I might. That's the price you pay for staying up late. I now have half an hour to get dressed and down to the job centre to sign on. Inertia is a terrible obstacle first thing, amplified by the frigid temperatures that only a siberian would scoff at. No, it's no good, I have to get out of bed.
     
    Having fallen listlessly sideways onto the carpet, I was suddenly aware that I was risking hypothermia unless I moved. Move I did. In fact, I was very lucky, because having gotten dressed randomly in a state of shivering stupor I was lucky to present anything close to a cohorent appearance. Maybe nearly fifty years of practice helped?
     
    Opening the curtains at the front of the house revealed the sandbags strewn across the road where some irate drunkard had left them. A road sign marking the diversion for traffic had gone missing. Not that anyone needs it. There's a placarded barrier across the road further down where they're digging the sewer up.
     
    Once out the door I was stunned by how piercing the air was on this grey and dismal morning. How can it get colder? How is it possible Britain is suddenly this freezing? This is an era of global warming for crying out loud.
     
    Maybe the young woman at the job centre had the right idea. She came in with the most outlandish pink furry boots ever, the sort you'd expect to prepare from the recently hunted corpse of a transvestite mammoth.
     
    A Philosophical Discussion
    Most of the conversations you hear in our library are pretty mundane. A woman tells her bored offspring to stay bored, a couple whisper about where to go on holiday together and fail completely to agree, an asian bloke making business deals over his mobile, a customer completely baffled by modern technology and seeking assistance from an equally baffled librarian, or that old woman who thinks everyone should know what she thinks. And so on...
     
    Today was different. A chap I once discussed philosophy with was there again, this time lecturing his colleague on the validity of God. His colleague listened politely, pronouncing it as an interesting point, and remaining unwilling to betray his lack of intellect by attempting to discuss it with the philosopher, who for his part wouldn't let anyone else get a word in and kept glancing at me in fear that I would get involved.
     
    I have to say that whilst he witters on about how logic dictates this or that, he does base his opinions on some astounding assumptions, such as... Ahh, but you're only reading politely too, aren't you?
     
    Test of the Week
    As part of my jobsearch I had to complete an online personality test today, to discover who I am and what I might be good at, and other deep philosophical questions urgently required in the fight for employment survival.
     
    Apparently I tend towatd behavioural rather than non-behavioural. I know some people who could tell you different. But in fairness the personality profile was around two-thirds corrct, or at least, that close to my own self-image, which, I'm assured by the local wildlife, is nowhere close to reality.
     
    At least I have the intelligence not to try to steal a car that's been disused for two years and shows physical evidence of vandalism. But the idiot tried last night nonetheless. He got quite upset that his chosen ride proved to be somewhat more static than he expected, but there you go. Must have been cold walking home last night.
     
    Overall my test scores were pretty good. I'm numerate, literate, and creative. Now, really, that's official. I've taken the test. But is that all I am? These questions and more will be answered same time, same office, next year.
  6. 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.
  7. caldrail

    Cold Start

    By caldrail,

    Way back when I was working in warehousing I often used to see people spending time in the toilets, usually sat in their cubicles smoking or reading newspapers behind closed doors, at least when they weren't pulling the toilet apart with their bare hands for something to do. It's something of a british tradition and one I used to sneer at.
     
    Problem is, things are a little chilly in England right now. We've had sub-zero temperatures for a week now and last night it tried to snow. Some people may chuckle, but the England grinds to a halt whenever it snows, we really have no idea how to cope with the stuff.
     
    It sems my neighbours decided to go elsewhere for their new year too, which means they switched off their heating. If that wasn't bad enough the radiator in my living room has decided not to work anymore.... So... Cold...
     
    The irony is that my bathroom, ordinarily the coldest and draughtiest place in the house, now happens to be the warmest. It's been a while but I've rediscovered the joys of the 'workplace university'.
     
    It Gets Worse Still
    New Years day began for me at something like eleven o'clock in the morning. Bleary eyed I stirred under my multiple duvets and grimaced at the thought of the chill atmosphere. Still, I must endure, so I relunctantly fell out of bed and reached for the light. It didn't work.
     
    The electricity was off. And of course, since my gas boiler is electrically fired, so was the heating..... Even.... Colder....
     
    Naturally I phoned the electricity company and explained my plight. The lady on the other end of the phone was very polite and in the course of diagnosing my problem asked me if the neighbours had similar problems.
     
    I don't know, I've just gotten out of bed.
     
    "Oh?" She chuckled, "I wish I could stay in bed".
     
    Funny enough, I was thinking the same.
     
  8. caldrail

    Cold War and Hot Temper

    By caldrail,

    I grew up during the Cold War. There were air raid sirens mounted on tall posts around the town, something I realised as a schoolkid although most of my friends were unaware of it. As a child I was hugely interested in aeroplanes and I remember those recognition manuals with grainy black and white photographs of those curiously gothic Russian military jets of the 60's and 70's. Of course I never saw them flying. I never saw them at all. That's no coincidence.
     
    Some years ago I was hiking down in Savernake Forest. A tight formation of jets flew overhead. This was the year when Russian Mig-29's were being allowed into British airspace for the first time, for a Fairford airshow. With a close escort of RAF Tornado's, the Mig-29 was being shown around South West England.
     
    The realisation that a Russian aircraft was flying past me is difficult to describe. Sure, this was the era of Glasnost and the Fall of the Berlin Wall, but all my life the Russians had been a tacit threat to the life I led.
     
    Did I really understand that threat? The idea of a Russian invasion across Germany was something illustrated time and again, and spy thrillers perpetuated the concept of this struggle behind the scenes. I certainly knew about nuclear weapons, I had read about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and although I was dimly aware that come the failure of diplomacy, the fabled 'Four Minute Warning' might become real I don't think I really understood that, potentially at least, there was a nuclear warhead aimed at me. I remember a television news item about missile tests by Pakistan that threatened to start another conflict with India. One man said that nuclear weapons can't be as destructive as they claim. It won't be so bad, he said. Ignorance really is bliss.
     
    Today of course the Cold War is over. Apart from disagreements arising over matters of security and foreign policies, the world I knew as a child has become safer. Or has it? The rise of Islamic fundamentalism and its indiscriminate partner, terrorism, has filled the gap rather neatly.
     
    The spectre of nuclear proliferation has risen again with President Ahmadenijad of Iran pursuing a contentious course. As a man who declared the Jewish Holocaust a lie, announced the end of Capitalism, and the end of the Age of Empire Building, he doesn't entirely sound convincing as a benign politician. Given the recent public outcry against him in his own country, he comes across as just another petty dictator. Given his apparent quest for nuclear armament can only be justified by the wish to threaten others or even use the things destructively, it seems he's trying to build an empire of his own. Like many dictators do, he hides behind religion and justifies his stance by labelling certain cultures as 'evil'.
     
    Significantly both Russia and China have urged Iran to comply with western demands for inspection and control of nuclear facilirties. History tells us that dictators will gamble and push their luck to the end. So will President Ahmadenijad. His rambling speech at the UN was extraordinary. Not because it was any good, but because I can't think of anyone who could waffle for that length of time without drawing breath. What exactly did he say?
     
    Invasion of the Week
    British homes are invaded every Autumn by sneaky spiders. We've been warned they intend to invade this year in ever greater numbers, since the benign weather has allowed them to recruit new members in droves.
     
    There's a military axiom that says if you want to mount an invasion with a secure chance of success, you need forces at least three times as strong as the defenders. That would make my war against the spider look like a horror film. Remember that scene in Lord of the Rings where Sam defends his unconcious master against Shelob, the giant spider in the mountains of Mordor? Luckily I won't be facing spiders that big. Or at least I hope not. It's been a while since I looked under the sink....
     
    You have been warned!
     
  9. caldrail

    Cold Water

    By caldrail,

    Without doubt politics is a contentious subject. Money might make the world go round, but politics decides where you get off. Throughout history politics has caused revolutions, wars, even a genocidal massacre or two. It can even get you thrown off internet forums (as I discovered last year).
     
    I once got accused of being a mouthpiece of the Conservative Party. Not because I said anything nice about them, but because I dislike the Labour government even more and said so. Such is the depth of feeling that political discussions can arouse. There's quite a big political discussion going on at the moment. I don't mean Iran - that's an arguement already and sooner or later Ahmadenijad will be foaming at the mouth in protest at the action taken to slow down his plans to elevate Iran to superpower status. I do mean of course the Labour Party Conference in Brighton. What? You mean you don't think it's that important?
     
    Cold Shower
    At the shopping centre where I did my college course there's a triangular area of pavement on a wide concourse. I never gave it a second glance but today, I discovered the purpose of this sloping layer of grey tiles was to mount a series of fountains. The water emerges from the multitude of spouts almost randomly. Sometimes individually, sometimes all together in formation. I'm not sure about the visual appeal of it but it it certainly proved popular with the kids. Three of them were getting a thorough soaking and enjoying every minute of it. What they're going to tell their parents when they get home is anyones business. I can imagine however that people will get caught out crossing that area of pavement. All part of Swindons new love affair with fountains.
     
    No, I didn't. Sorry to disappoint you. But as for people getting soaked, a small triangle in Swindon is nothing compared to the deluge experienced in some parts of the world.
     
    Investors of the Week
    You can't help but feel sympathy for the Philipines with flood water reaching twenty feet in places. Floods in Britain have been bad enough and whilst I've not directly experienced the effects, the news coverage has illustrated the material damage more than adequately. I can only sit dumbfounded at how people struggle to go on with their lives almost underwater on the other side of the world.
     
    I do however have experience of Philipino's. For a short while I dated a woman from that part of the world (no, not a commercial partner, she'd been living in Britain for years). I visited her sister, AB, a woman I worked with, and I was impressed. Her home was genuinely comfortable and I wondered how she was able to cope with the expense given she earned the same money as myself.
     
    On one occaision I took her flying. Her husband wasn't too keen but that was understandable. As it turned out the weather mitigated against actually flying so we had an afternoon out for a pub lunch. By the time we got back to Swindon, she was telling me how expensive life was for her. She was pushing for something and it sounded like it might be expensive. I remained uninterested.
     
    It turns out she ran a shoe shop back home. Her entire life was funded by begging from her friends. Her sister, who eventually decided I wasn't wealthy (and interesting?) enough to remain my partner, bought land in the Philipines with her next boyfriends bank balance. I wonder who benefitted from that?
     
    In some respects I cannot entirely blame the two women. They came to Britain to earn money and given some of the shenanigans that British women get up to, perhaps they weren't as bad as they might have been. A part of me though cannot help but think maybe there's justice after all.
     
  10. caldrail

    Cold Winds

    By caldrail,

    There's a very cold wind blowing through the trees of Rushey Platt. Cold air from Russia has blown in and already the weather reports are warning of severe conditions. The AA have advised motorists to take warm clothing with them as gale force winds and drifts of heavy snow are expected. The reverse is going on in Australia right now, where winds from the continents interior are blowing hot air over the coastal regions where everybody lives.
     
    There's going to be comment about Global Warming of course. People will say carbon dioxide is to blame and that cars must be banned to stop these freak weather conditions from happening. But then, I had to give up driving last yearand now the weather has gotten worse? Obviously the sports car is not the villain we think it is.
     
    We like the weather to be predictable, not this mobile disaster area sweeping across the land. It seems people are only happy when life is the same from day to day. They like the monotony, the familiarity of the same old pattern, the certainty of the same old things. Not me. I like some variation. So today... lets see... what can I do today?.... oh stuff it, I'm off down the library.
     
    The Tale of the Library Whistler
    Once upon a time, in a library far far away, there was a person who made just a little bit too much noise. The Wicked Witch of the Library turned him in into a newt, and all the public at the library remained silent and happy. All was quiet until yesterday, when a young man, rash and headstrong, decided he would whistle as he browsed the internet. The Wicked Witch had long since retired, so the young man thought himself safe. The security guards were roused from their slumber. They talked into their radios then shrugged. So eventually a policeman came and took the young man away.
     
    Times have certainly changed. I blame the wind. Luckily Mr Policeman stopped the young man before he broke his.
  11. caldrail

    Cold, Gold, And Bold

    By caldrail,

    The weather is getting colder. The words of wisdom issued by weather girls on television isn't necessary for me to know that, With doors open to the elements the ambient warmth is quickly defeated by draughts or breezes that penetrate. One young lady from Poland is suffering from the decline in British weather. It's laughable, it really is, because in her country the winters can be way more severe, yet she stands shivering in the same ambient warmth that we Britons take for granted in the workplace. And that's after the company issued everyone with bulky winter jackets. Forklifters are wandering around in garments that would protect them from the Atlantic swell, one increasingly resembling a WW1 air ace, and layers of clothing like hoodies are much in evidence. Yet although the outside gets very cold at night now, the inside temperature is much the same as it has been for the past month. One colleague who works on waste is now spending much more time indoors. I asked him about that. He said it was because the next shift was coming in and making his job difficult. Yeah. Right.
     
    My Phone Company
    Two weeks ago I discovered my mobile phone was blocked. Apparently I needed a PUK code to get it working again. As you might expect, security issues mean that you can only get PUK's from your mobile provider, as I quickly discovered. I tried to use their website but my account number wasn't accepted. Oh great. So I looked through my statement and found the hel mail address. Which they don't recognise any more. You have to use the website. Which I cannot use because they gave me an account number lost in the files marked 'Miscellaneous'.
     
    Does this company want my business? Do they want any business at all? yes, Virgin Mobile, I'm talking about you, and your lack of customer service. Your loss I guess.
     
    Driver of the Week
    This much admired accolade goes to the moslem lady I saw the other day. Right now one major road junction in town is being upgraded with work expected to last until January and big delays advised by electric signs. Motorists for the most part are taking it all in their stride, queuing up responsibly and patiently, but this lady? Apparently she'd taken the wrong exit, but instead of finding a more suitable turning place she decided that continuing was not a good thing and proceeded to cut across the unsurfaced road marked off by road cones. her car wobbled over the rough terrain, confused motorists unsure of what she was up to, and with complete determination she turned onto the opposite lane and squeezed into traffic. And not a single horn was blasted in her direction. Keeping Allah a bit busy there, I suspect.
  12. caldrail
    Cold, wet, miserable. That's pretty much how Swindon is right now, and that's probably not far different from how the rest of the country feels, give or take a flood here and there. Even my local Subway aren't smiling when I arrive to spend a few more hard earned dole payments on something to eat. Hey - It's not my fault this that or the other is on special offer this week.
     
    All is not lost however. The old Thompson Insurance place on the High Street - It's been empty for years - is being refitted as a suntan emporium. In Swindon? We don't know the meaning of sunshine. I've seen the machine itself, looking like something out of Star Trek. Well, I suppose it's appropriate. What with all the saturday night klingons we've got wandering around the town.
     
    Road Manners
    The work on the Old College site has spilled out onto the road junction beyond the fence. The pedestrian crossings are replaced by temporary versions next them, plastic fences erected everywhere, railings uprooted, traffic islands dug up. Motorists are a bit confused by all these changes - the other day a workman shouted at one old guy "Look mate! GIVE WAY!", which of course is exactly what most druivers aren't doing, turning the junction into a motorised russian roulette. Mind you, the presence of a police car certainly made some motorists a bit more obedient.
     
    There's a dark blue Ford Mustang that I sometimes see burbling around the town. Not one of the classic versions, it's the new model, looking oddly exotic in rainy old Swindon. For my tastes it stands too tall on the road - practical but not really sporty. The thing is the driver, for reasons known only to himself, likes to rev the engine when he passes me. Sorry mate, Im not gay, no matter what that fat idiot on the gate of the Old College site says.
     
    Anyway, I was walking along the local high street and there he was again. Vrooom! Actually, the V8 sounds great,and for that matter I can't condemn him for exuberance. Heaven knows I've done my share of exuberant driving in the past. But unfortunately I wasn't the only one who heard that blip on the accelerator. The driver didn't see the police car waiting to pull out behind a parked vehicle. Ooops.
     
    Car Advert Of The Week
    There's a glossy television advert doing the rounds right now for the Nissan Qashqai. I suppose they have to advertise it - cars of that sort don't sell themselves - but I had to laugh. The advert features a man taling hold of a metal bar suspended on a pulley and cable, wafting down the city boulevard at night, with the voiceover claiming that all cars should drive like that. What? Hanging on for dear life, unable to stop, and unable to steer? Not my idea of driving a car, I have to say.
  13. caldrail

    Comings And Goings

    By caldrail,

    Just in case you all thought I was going to do something impulsive or inspirational, fear not, for today is just another day in the life of a dedicated jobseeker. So once again it's another fifteen minute stroll to the programme centre and delve into the myriad advertisements on the internet.
     
    On the local high street I spotted an articulated lorry parked on the side of the road, with a van parked the wrong way round on a one way street, with goods being transferred from one to the other.
     
    I noticed the lorry had german license plates. Nothing unusual these days. We get more foreign lorries than our own what with fuel prices and competition. I regularly see a dutch lorry at the bottom of the hill offloading supplies of foliage to the local flower shop. Quite what happens to the foliage afterward is another matter, because I never see anyone buying any.
     
    Then I noticed the van was displaying italian license plates. Eh? Now I've always thought I was a little clued up about logistics, but a german lorry offloading to an italian van on a british high street? How is that profitable? Me no understandee...
     
    Record Breaking Burgers
    I see Burger King have totally ignored the latest health advice and created a product oozing with calories. Currently it's only available in Japan, but if British people decide that consuming curries is old hat, or poisonous, considering one takeaway down the hill from me has been fined for rat infestations, how long will it be before television adverts for burgers show government health warnings?
     
    I imagine that soon we'll be banned from eating them in pubs. Like somkers, there'll be small crowds huddling in the cold evenings under street lamps enjoying their distasteful habit. Or worse, will people be banned from eating burgers in public entirely because it's not nice to maltreated cows to be devoured in the sight of the law abiding majority?
     
    Death Rehearsal
    What a horrible headline. Apparently someone has said that the upcoming royal wedding will also be a dress rehearsal for the Queens funeral. She isn't dead yet, you know. Oh well. Practice makes perfect I suppose.
  14. caldrail
    Another day, another supermarket checkout queue. My local vendor has just had a refit, and in the name of progress has installed a number of those hateful automatic tills, so the shop can save money on staff wages. Strange thing is though they've had to keep people on the payroll to show us ordinary members of the public how these machines work.
     
    Every time I go there now a smiling happy shop assistant asks me if I want to try their gleaming new robots. I'm afraid to say their smile doesn't last too long. Neither did mine as it happens. As I was leaving a mocking voice cried out "All he does is daydream".
     
    I should know better than to be worried by mocking voices. Heaven knows I've heard a few in my time. Sometimes though, it happens in a place you've become accustomed to, and thus it becomes an intrusion into your safe little world. Of course I daydream. That's because I have a brain that still works. Unlike the moron whose only thrill in life is to disparage others.
     
    I remember a warehouse I used to work in, some years ago. Occaisionally people asked what I used to do before and inevitably the conversation got around to my time in the music business. To some extent I played the rock star, but in all honesty it was all tongue in cheek. Nonetheless, the more vocal of the workplace didn't like the idea that I was more famous than they were. That I'd actually done stuff in the past. That I wasn't observing the pecking order they'd established.
     
    So began a few years of scorn and disparagement. A few of my colleagues listened to my reminisences politely but the majority sided with the Big Mouths and treated my presence with almost contempt at times. It so happened one year the a charity 'Red Nose Day' would see a bunch of managers get together to form a band that would play a gig in the warehouse. Since their original choice of drummer was a guy whose musical ability was even less than his management skills, they decided to invite me in on the basis of the reputation I'd made for myself.
     
    It was all supposed to be a secret but inevitably someone found out. Some of the Big Mouths derided what I was doing - before they'd even heard it - whilst another was goading me to show off and thus invite even more derision. No. I'll stay quiet for now. You'll see when the time comes.
     
    Even with all the rumours of a band playing in the warehouse for Red Nose Day, when my fellow workers spotted me building the stage on the despatch floor I could sense that some were genuinely bewildered and gossip was spreading.
     
    The gig was a success. Not a long set - we were on stage for something like forty minutes and repeated one song as an encore - but that probably wasn't a bad thing. In keeping with their skills as managers, the performance as a band was a little shambolic. The best part was the silence the day after. A few congratulated me. Most congratulated the singer, whose unexpected ability behind the microphone impressed many of the staff. But the scorn had finished. There was a warehouse full of people who were embarrased to discover they'd been misled. And the quietest of all were the Big Mouths.
     
    What Daydreams Are Made Of
    Why the reminisences? Well, after the opinion expressed in the supermarket as I was leaving I could hardly be blamed for pointing out that more than once I've turned dreams into something a ittle more real, however modest or shortlived the result. GH, one of my colleagues at another workplace, once made a subtle suggestion that I should give up my ambitions. "You can always dream" He said, in an attempt to get me to settle for less than I wanted to be. I told him that unless there was a possibility the dream could happen, the dream would die anyway. And in any case, dreams happen for real if you make them happen. He didn't like that answer. It meant I still had ambitions beyond his control. It isn't always possible of course. Time and again I've heard celebrities telling the public that they should always chase their dreams. Since they happen to be among the minority whose dreams have become reality, they're bound to say things like that.
     
    Last night I was feeling a little fed up. Go on, Caldrail, treat yourself. So I thought I'd pop across the road for a bigger and better burger than my usual cheeseless wonders. Once I stepped inside a random group of unhappy kebab buyers quickly got around to discussing our bitter defeat in the World Cup at the hands of Germany. It only took one comment to start the conversation. Losing 4-1 to our european rivals was definitely a Dunkirk moment. I look forward to our team thrashing their backsides in Berlin by 2015. But I digress.
     
    On the counter was a CD. Being my usual curious self I picked it up for a quick inspection and immediately provoked a response. Last one left. Only seven pounds if I want it. It turns out that the chap I was talking to was a music promoter. How about that? It looks as if my astrological predictions are coming true after all. Just when you finally admit they're all talking rubbish, something happens. Funny that. A door to success or another blind alley? An opportunity or another daydream? Let's find out.
  15. caldrail
    Not an especially nice morning. Damp and dreary, another Monday, and despite the elation of getting my PC going - or more accurately, going when it can be bothered - today just doesn't have that 'Get Up And Go' feel about it.
     
    Of course my Uncle, now sadly deceased, would have said I wasn't a 'Get Up And Go' person. I think he was wrong there, but I have to confess his determination to find a job when he got made redundant was the stuff of personal heroism. So I must concede his point and call myself a 'Get Up And Think About It' person.
     
    Maybe something in the letterbox will cheer me up? You never know...
     
    The Great Bank Statement Affair
    A letter from the bank I see. You can tell because they have a particular franking mark on their envelopes. What will that be about? A brand new account you have to pay for? Insurance offers? Nope, it's a bank statement. Pages of it this time. Okay, lets check through it and... Hang on... Where's my benefits payments for the last fortnight?... Have they stopped my benefits without telling me? After all the stuff I did at the Programme Centre?
     
    I snarled with rage and rolled up my sleeves. I was not going to be treated like this! The Job Centre was shut. Lucky for you lot. So instead I burst upon the Council reception centre and proceeded to explain my sorry circumstance.
     
    "Oh. Well, we don't have anyone here who can deal with this." Said the bemused woman behind the desk. My face was reaching the darker shade of red by this time, so she advised me a telephone was available down the hall. I stomped down there and having found the phone, discovered the frustrating fact that Swindon Council have not yet developed the technology to make them work.
     
    "Calm down!" A young woman interrupted me, worried my skin was going green and my shirt failing to contain swelling muscles (not to mention the risk of inadvertant damage to a disfunctional telephone). I think I might have lost my temper at that moment slightly.
     
    Embarrasement of the Week
    Having eventually found someone to talk to who understood what benefits were and had the authority to answer my frantic queries, I realised the bank statement sheets were in the wrong order. I had indeed been paid my benefits. If anyone I savaged and tore limb from limb is reading this, then I apologise for getting a tad upset. Popular opinion to the contrary, I am a klutz.
     
  16. caldrail
    Where to start? As one novelist once wrote, "at the start". Joining or forming rock bands as a teenager is something of an exercise in folly.
    A chap I used to used to know at work would say it was all about acceptance, that by making yourself an entertainer, even at such a low level, you improve your popularity. He might be right. It would account for the endless stream of people who joined my bands only to wander away again when they found out they weren't going to be rock stars the day afterward. Perhaps the realisation that rock music was hard work made up their minds. Sometimes the new girlfriend demanded more attention (which for a youth is a very strong motive), sometimes the allure of a motorbike and it's status amongst the 'have-nots' proved stronger.
     
    In my case, it was rebellion, pure and simple. My parents were horrified to discover that I'd found out about forms of music they'd sheltered me from. Encountering Deep Purple's Strange Kind of Woman for the first time was a revelation, and my future was being plotted and designed with youthful optimism... or perhaps more accurately, youthful fantasy, but that was before I'd actually done anything.
     
    The funny thing is that I can't remember why I chose to be a drummer. Wiltshire County Council paid off my first kit (guess where I spent my student grant) but I have to say for all the fun I had in those early years, it was always a case of Go Back To Start, Do Not Collect
  17. caldrail
    Sorry to disappoint you all, but there aren't any camels in my bed. Far from it, I'm warm, comfy, and indulging in a spot of Sunday laziness which I don't often fall prey to. Why waste a day? Sunday is no different.
     
    However, the instinct to wake up and go about my daily business is quite strong. Russian scientists would point and tell me that's learned behaviour. They're almost certainly right. Look how dogs uncannily know what the time is despite being intectually incapable of using a clock.
     
    Luckily I'm not that canine, thus I can thrust aside my primeval instinct and ingrained ritual for a lay-in. Ahhh yes. This is is cosy.... For some reason I'm not feeling as comfortable anymore. Darn. Those Russian scientists will be smirking any minute now....
     
    The Great Indoors
    It's no good. I'm going to have to get up. ind you, Britain is suffering an early cold snap and this morning is supposed to be as cold as Britain usually gets in winter. In order to test the water, so speak, I thrust my toes out from under the duvet. Cold! Very cold!
     
    In these situations I've always found that diving in headfirst is the best way. To do otherwise just prolongs the agony of low temperatures. Three... Two... One... Go!
     
    Gah! Extremely cold! Quick, where's my tee shirt?... I put it here the other day! Where is it? Cold.... I'm starting to shiver.... Oh to heck with it. I throw any old clothes on in a desperate attempt to stave off the freezing enviroment. With seconds to spare before I started to suffer colds, flu's, and frostbite, I managed to envelope myself in heaps of clothes, even if I now look like a penniless tramp.
     
    Erm...
     
    Also Very Cold
    Walking down the hill toward the library I see the road has been cordoned off and a lone workman busy with a pneumatic drill, a brave soul pushing his heavy equipment into the ground and clearly suffering from the cold as much as I was. Strange to see the hill devoid of traffic.
     
    Also From A Cold Place
    Excuse me? North Korea a potential ally? Is Sarah Palin serious? Maybe things look different across the Atlantic but here in Blighty we're sometimes bemused by American politics, or more usually completely baffled. I'm not anti-american at all but is there some sort of disease that afflicts politicians over there?
  18. caldrail

    Confessions of a Voyeur

    By caldrail,

    A little while ago I was busy with my beloved PC (together now for nine years - we're such good friends). Now every so often real life intrudes on my happy relationship as nature calls, so up I got and headed for the bathroom. In doing so, I glanced out the window - fatal mistake...
     
    My neighbour across the street was busy with her boyfriend. I'm not sure how to be discrete about this... And I know you're dying to know what she was doing.... Let me assure you it was humanly possible (sort of), no furry animals were harmed, and that I won't require professional counselling to get over the experience of it.
     
    On the contrary, I was very amused. The silly girl hadn't realised that the opposite side of the street had a clear view of her leisure activities. Now I know what you're thinking - No, I didn't stand there grinning, I did the decent thing and answered natures call. After all, puddles on the carpet are usually associated with our canine companions and the ability to use a toilet is one of the signs of a culturally advanced species. So is drawing the blinds.
     
    Natures Musical Chairs
    There's a new series of documentaries on tv focusing on the increasingly nasty side of wildlife, the sort of behaviour that would destroy David Attenboroughs career and traumatise young girls who think wild animals speak english and have a fluffy texture.
     
    It doesn't suprise me at all. Nature is increasingly under pressure, from us, the climate, all sorts of reasons. Ok, its because of us. But the point is that nature is now starting to say No More Nice Mother Nature. There's only so much space, only so much food, only so many of the species still left to mate with. When the music stops, the last fluffy animal standing is a goner. So now they're snapping at each other for the last chair.
     
    Perhaps we should feel guilty. Then again, this isn't the first time nature has been under pressure and that pressure is nowhere near what its been in previous ages. My prediction is that this behaviour will get increasingly aggressive.
     
    So the next time that pidgeon stares at you... You know you've been targeted.
     
    Observation of the Week
    No, not girl across the street! Late last night I popped out for a kebab. For those foreigners who've never been outside Alabama, a kebab is a turkish dish similar in concept to a taco. Kebabs are very popular in Britain, and form the staple diet of late night drinkers. Anyhow, the turkish guy behind the counter was unusually chatty and asked "How has your weekend been?"
     
    It isn't over yet, I replied.
     
    "Yes, but I mean, how was your weekend, was it a good one, yes?"
     
    Wet, I replied. Well it has been raining a lot recently, and there's a risk of repeat flooding like we saw back in July.
     
    "That is the trouble with this country my friend. Too much water"
     
    No kidding.... Welcome to the British Isles.
     
  19. caldrail
    Some ago a religious leader decided that nations should submit to the authority of his faith. National leaders who opposed his initiatives were blacklisted, denied their spiritual welfare. The common people were enticed to believe without question what their priests were telling them. It all happened nine hundred years ago and resulted in the first crusades.
     
    Sometimes I watch Russia Today on television. Not because of any communist sympathy, but simply because you get a different viewpoint than the western media and some very interesting mini-documentaries about various issues. Last night they did one about christian fundamentalism. I've been warning people about that on the internet for more than a decade. It seems one chap called Adams has done the same to a larger audience for quarter of a century. He referred to them as christian fascists. It's a very apt description.
     
    We're living in the final days before eternity?
    Implicit in modern christian fundamentalism is the idea that Jesus is cioming back, his arrival is imminent, and that the faithful will ascend to heaven and leave us poor sinners behind to suffer all manner of nasty 'orrible things. These ideas are nothing new. Religious cults have been prophesying messiahs and paradise for a very long time throughout history, and it seems there's a large part of society that finds itself easily swayed by these emotional calls for obedience.
     
    There's a company in America called Left Behind Inc. They have an annual turnover of millions of dollars, based on the message that if you don't sign up for Jesus, you will be left behind when this supposed great day occurs. Some are even beginning to say that christians can influence when Jesus returns. The Book of Revelations is paraded in front of us with dire warnings about what is to come. And of course, promises of nice things if you sign up. Christianity hasn't changed since the Middle Ages. It still wants emotional and political power, and works toward that end.
     
    It comes as no suprise to me that the Pope has been embarrased by revelations of child abuse amongst his priests, or that a bible bashing right wing preacher was uncovered as a closet homosexual. Hang on a moment... If these people are saying one thing and doing another - isn't that breaking their own Ten Commandments? If they're revealed as sinners, will they be left behind when Jesus drops by to collect his faithful? Or does keeping quiet guarantee your seat on the bus to paradise?
     
    Sorry, but Jesus is dead. The Romans executed him. It says so in the Bible. Contrary to christian dogma there's no evidence that bodies can come back to life. Nor is their any convincing argument in favour of reincarnation. Nor is their any evidence whatsoever that our modern era is any worse than others in history, and no reason to believe that the call to arms against the Romans written in Nero's day by a Jewish refugee has any relevance whatsoever to our time. But then, people do like myths and prophecies.
     
    Jesus - Man Or Messiah?
    I'm sorry. I just cannot believe Jesus was anything other than an ordinary if charismatic and misguiding person. Some time ago I passed a preacher in the street. "Jesus led a perfect life!" He proclaimed. Has he ever read the Bible? Jesus comes across as someone with a bit of a temper, socialist tendencies, and despite the hype contained in the New testament failed utterly to bring about his desired change in society. Then again, christians have answers for those criticisms. If there's anything a christian can do, it's make excuses and twist arguments in their favour, however ridiculous it actually is.
     
    Man or Messiah? He's whatever his believers imagine him to be. John Wayne may have proclaimed him to be truly the son of god, but then, he was reading from a film script.
     
    Conquer In The Name Of This?
    More worrying is the trend toward christian militancy. The documentary on Russia Today pointed at the increasing indoctrination of american soldiers to these beliefs, and that senior officers, politicians, and preachers are not shy of proclaiming that God has chosen America as his weapon of conquest. That's the crusades, all over again. It just goes to show that humans haven't changed a bit. luckily there are still those with clearer heads. There's even been legal action mounted to prevent soldiers in the american armed forces from being forced to worship Jesus in this manner.To choose a faith of your own volition is one thing, but to be told to worship as a requirement is tyranny. Pure and simple. After all, weren't the Israelites supposed to be his chosen people? Since when did America assume that role? Like the Romans long ago, some americans sense their power and relish the thought of an empire without limits in space or time.
     
    A lady in the street once tried to stop me passing by. She claimed that christianity had 'such a lovely message'. Like what? Go forth and conquer? It's been done before lady, and look what a mess that caused. Sorry, but I'm leaving you behind.
  20. caldrail

    Consequences

    By caldrail,

    Every day when I sign on the chap across the desk pulls up a screen full of job vacancies within my chosen criteria. You do tend to get a mixed bag, some of them distinctly undesirable or impossible for various reasons, but by and large the range becomes familiar. Well it should do really, I've been applying for those sort of jobs for a couple of years now.
     
    Now that my letter of complaint has been handed in, I must face the music. The Job Centre hate nothing more than a claimant who doesn't shrink from their power. They dredged up every possible onerous, menial, and degrading vacancy they could find. The young claims advisor looked uncomfortable and pointed at the only one that fell within the sphere of warehousing. General Assistant. Yep, that's about as low as you can get in warehousing. Go on, print it off. Let's get this nonsense over and done with.
     
    As chance would have it, they forgot to remove the printed list of the latest vacancies, and being the sharp eyed jobseeker I always was, I immediately spotted a somewhat more rewarding vacancy. Woo hoo!
     
    "Uhhh..." The advisor winced, "That doesn't seem to have shown up in the computor search."
     
    No kidding. Go and print it off. Meanwhile I'll sit here safe in the knowledge that I've another vacancy waiting to apply for by email later. If the government want their representatives to play silly games, I've got better things to do. Like look for a job, maybe?
     
    Less Benefits, More Support
    Our new government have decided in their ultimate wisdom that benefits need to be simplified and more supportive. I wish I could claim credit for having woken them up to the reality of living on welfare, but a - I haven't, and b - They're still snoring.
     
    It's a nice idea. Give people enough financial support to make getting a low paid job actually financially worthwhile. The truth is that the government are more interested in paying their own bills than mine. On the one hand, you can't blame them for that. On the other hand, you might might be somewhat dependent on their handouts and believe me this sort of messing around with payments makes me very nervous.
     
    No Pain, No Gain
    Just to underline the seriousness of my jobsearch, I have to point out that not only did I walk a total of twenty miles in connection with my recent job interview, I also have the blisters to show for it. Perhaps that's a good thing. There's probably a government requirement that all jobseekers must suffer at least one a week. It must be said I've had long experience of blisters on my feet. Big ones, small ones, harmless ones, or blisters with enough fluid to keep me alive for three days in desert conditions. You'd think by now I'd figured out how to avoid actually suffering more of them, but no, occaisionally I still get to feel their squidgy presence.
     
    As a result of my long trek to the industrial estate on the edge of the known world, I suffered two, at the same time. One was a white harmless one. Easily dealt with and no painful rehabilitation required. The other was a nasty, grey-green, gruesome blister that was causing considerable discomfort on the ball of my left foot. Easily dealt with, but painless?
     
    Now that it's a few days on and I'm done cursing very loudly, the nasty blister is healing nicely. Still a little tender but not debilitating. Just as well. I've got a daily signing session to attend and that means walking there. Somehow I doubt they'll be impressed with my tales of woe.
  21. caldrail

    Considering Others

    By caldrail,

    My last day at the Programme Centre today. I don't think they succeeded turning me into James Bond, but at least I learned a few things about getting a job. Of course it isn't just me. Most of the job seekers there are struggling to find work - although apparently one was struggling with Minesweeper, one of the games that comes with Microsoft Windows. Ahem.
     
    By chance I got talking to the lady on the PC next to mine. It was quickly apparent she was a little emotional, and inevitably the sorry tale of her woes emerged. That's okay, I was happy to listen and she needed to talk. Her neighbour has built a house extension on her land, wrecked her garage, or perhaps more accurately the builders he hired had done so, though clearly it was too much trouble for him to sort it out without recourse to expensive legal action. Her favourite tree, imported from Spain, had large branches snapped off as the builders sought roon to erect scaffolding. Her tarpaulin was 'borrowed' for their use. Her sunshade for a garden table had proven to be a handy weather cover for a drainage hole dug by them.
     
    I genuinely do feel sorry for her plight. Guess what? She has that Rudyard Kipling poem tacked up on her toilet door.
     
    Out And About In Wiltshire Yesterday
    I was in the mood for a hike yesterday. Feeling a bit fed up with the modern world and its materialistic dependencies I pulled my rucksack out, stuffed a load of stuff inside it, and headed for the hills. It was cloudy but quite warm and humid - boy was I sweating! On the way home I passed along the back of the local golf course, and as I turned the corner of a wooded hedgerow dozens of rabbits fled for cover. They're very alert, those wild bunnies, always keen to avoid human company.
     
    Except one, who sat on the muddy path (it's been raining a lot lately) and grazed entirely unconcerned. How odd.... Either the rabbit is blissfully unaware of my presence, or it's a super-bunny waiting to rip me to shreds like Monty Pythons Welsh monster. I strode up to within a couple of feet of it, and still it didn't stir. A bemused lady on a bike rode past, greeted me with a polite good afternoon (who is she? Never seen her before. Hi babe) and the rabbit chewed on.
     
    Sadly the poor animal was blind. Thing is though, humans are smelly animals at the best of times and there was I, sweating like a pig, standing a couple of feet upwind of it. Eventually it realised there might be something nearby (I was sweating you know) and it ambled away to the undergrowth. Well, good luck to you rabbit.
     
    Job Vacancy of the Week
    SAS Risk Analysist required....
     
    Huh? After my eyeballs returned to their sockets I thought, yeah, I could do that. Years of computer game experience should prove useful there eh? Yep, shoot him. No, no the other one, that's... was.... a hostage. Oh well. On the job training I suppose. But my illusions were sadly dashed as it emerged it had nothing to do with tense security situations at all, nor were the Special Air Service remotely involved. It was just another highly paid job in a stuffy office that involves justifying your payroll to the other stuffy individuals competing with you to prevent redundancy. Sigh... Looks like I'm going to have to apply anyway...
  22. caldrail

    Cooking And Books

    By caldrail,

    I don't often cook meals late in the day but last night it occured to me I hadn't eaten much and sure enough an unfamiliar and uncomfortable sensation was making itself felt in my belly. Okay, lets see what I've got in the cupboards... What's this?... A beef and ale pie?... Hey, I'd forgotten I had this and I'm in the mood. Bang that in the oven for thirty minutes at 230deg and prepare myself a feast.
     
    What I hadn't realised was that my antiquaited cooker is in fact nuclear powered. It cooked my pie so efficiently that it was fusing elements together and creating carbon. I cottoned on when I noticed what a smokey atmosphere had developed as I watched tv with eight minutes left to go. In haste I rushed to the cooker - We've all done this at some point, yes? - and I pulled my blackened pie from the hellish conditions I had subjected it to. It sat there on a baking tray with a plum of grey smoke spewing from a hole in the pastry..
     
    Despite my careless and inept cookery the pie was edible and actually very tasty. That was a close run thing.
     
    National Poetry Day Last Entry
    Okay, who forgot to tell me it was National Poetry Day yesterday? Thanks a lot guys, my life is ruined. But I shall not be put down by this reverse, no, I will persevere and produce my latest work of art for the edification and delight of the entire Caldrail-reading world. Here goes....
     
    The Man On The Door
    I wandered lonely on the dole
    to visit my local library
    But as much as I cajole
    The guard is still contrary
    So instead I search the shelves
    And find a book to read
    He leaves us all to please ourselves
    It'll do no good to plead
     
    Book of the Week
    The door to the library remains shut until precisely 9:30am. The security guard is nothing if not pedantic. Yesterday he closed the exit and told everyone to use another way out. A part of me wonders if he does this purely to look important. Anyhow, with ten minutes to waste, I perused the collection of best-sellers on display in the foyer. It didn't take me long to find an absolute peach of a book.
     
    Civilisation One (The World Is Not What You Thought It Was) - Christopher Knight & Alan Butler. Books like this turn up occaisionally. They mix and match whatever number juggling they can think of and try to illustrate ancient monuments as proof of a super-civilisation long forgotten. Not quite so super then, were they? This sort of book has been popular for decades. The entire genre was spawned by stories of the lost city of Atlantis, an enduring myth that some take so seriously as to form their own religion.
     
    In particular, the writers draw attention to the 'Megalithic Yard', a system of measurement so precise that it is accurate to the width of a human hair. Have these people seen a megalithic site? The stones may have been well-fitted (there were skilled craftsmen in previous ages too) but they can hardly be described as accurate to a hairs-breadth.
     
    As for Atlantis, I do actually believe it existed. No seriously. However I depart from Plato's description somewhat. His image of an island-continent bigger than Libya and beyond the Pillars of Hercules was nothing more than a literary construct to tell a tale of human folly. It was a story. Like King Arthur, Robin Hood, El Dorado, the Da Vinci Code, the Holy Grail, or whatever 'conspiracy' and 'hidden truth' you prefer, Instead, I see Atlantis as based on something smaller, grubbier, and ultimately less impressive. My own feeling is that the city that spawned the legend was a Minoan port on a volcanic cone in the center of Santorini, an unforunate place to build a harbour as volcanoes and seawater are uncomfortable neighbours. But that's merely my view.
     
    It seems the 'Golden Age' is something human beings dearly love. We look back to the legend of Atlantis. The Middle Ages looked back to the glory of the Roman Empire. The Romans looked back to their greek and home-grown immortal ancestors. Our distant ancestors looked back to a time of spirit beings. It's a familiar theme. Christianity is built on this foundation for instance, in the sense we look back at Jesus and assign him divine properties. It seems we all want there to have been a world in the distant past that was better, cleaner, more desirable than the mundane reality we're responsible for.
     
    "Any readers who feel unable to opern their minds right up at this point should close the book now" say the writers in Chapter One. Thanks for the advice. But for that timely reminder, I might have wasted a few hours on this. I think I might write a book - Civilisation - The World Is Exactly What It Appears So Deal With It
     
  23. caldrail
    "You're a crap guitarist!" Yelled the young lady next door through the wall. Yeah? Really? You mean I am a guitarist? At last! After countless years of practice, sore fingers, grinning salesmen and a rapidly emptying wallet, I have finally achieved the heady status of guitarist! Not bad for a drummer.
     
    So am I shocked, dismayed, discouraged by her overt and unexpected critique of my guitar playing? What does she know? I mean, she's only a next door neighbour. It's not as if she's paying to hear me play, and for that matter, I'm practising rather than performing. Not quite the same thing. It's like watching an athlete do push-ups and complaining that he's not winning races.
     
    One could, if one were mean, nasty, and prone to drumming loudly enough to get banned from venues up and down the country, point out that her expertise as a music critic might be called into question by virtue of the lack of guitar playing I hear from her side of the brick wall. Let me guess. She can't play a note. Everyone's a critic.
     
    Time and again I've stumbled into a bar in some place or other and stumbled across a guitar player who really can play. I've worked with one or two talented players and without exception, they are incredibly difficult people to work with. Not necessarily arogant, just unreliable and mecurial. That worries me a bit because if I'm turning into an unreliable mecurial personality, my claims advisor won't like it. Somehow I doubt they'll be swayed by the revelation that I've become a guitar player. I think they may have heard that excuse before.
     
    Well that's enough practice for tonight. I wouldn't want to upset the neighbours.
     
    Everyones A Critic
    I left the library the other day after my daily dose of internetting, and began to trudge home along the busy road junction outside. Ahead of me was a towering bulk of a man, shaven haired, spotless black shirt and trousers, clutching enough cigarette smoking apparatus to cause cancer at five hundred paces.
     
    Sometimes you just know that the other person is looking for trouble. This off-duty nazi was moody and within a comment or two of violence. His overt masculinity might appeal to some people, but in all honesty I found him an uncomfortable fellow to share a pavement with, and despite his attempt to warn me off, my complete lack of homosexuality meant that his arse was actually a lot safer than he imagined.
     
    But of course that was all an excuse. He was suffering that kind of slightly sozzled frustration that leads some men to throw punches for fun. I'll leave him to it. Everyone else is too. In any case, he doesn't come across as a particularly great guy. I do hope he finds a friend one day. Another like minded individual for whom life is all about beating chests and innocent passers by. Perhaps though his lonelieness is heightened by the fact that the law frowns on that form of social interaction.
     
    He tried to attract my attention as I crossed the lanes of traffic. Maybe he needed help to cross the road, being a little unsteady on his feet? Maybe he just wanted an audience, to practice his taunts and insults, or satisfy his inner drive to ascend the pecking order of Swindon streets? Or maybe he's just jealous of my guitar playing? It might be an idea if he took up a more productive hobby, like guitar playing for instance. I mean, seeing as he's likely to smash his instrument to pieces at the first hint of rage, one would have to say he's very mercurial and therefore the best potential guitar player in the world. Since this is not a likely scenario, it means there's one less talented guitarist to compete with.
  24. caldrail
    The colour of light through my bedroom curtains this morning was unmistakeable. Definitely snow. Not a great deal of it, but the yard and car park beyond had been given a white sheen. As I wearily glanced outside, the snow was still falling - it's tailed off right now and the sun is breaking through.
     
    Winter has a bit of a problem right now. It doesn't seem to know what sort of weather to throw at us. Wind, rain, snow, bitter cold sunshine, it changes on the hour every hour. Yesterday it started to hail. British hail is somewaht weedy compared to the icy cannon projectiles you get in some parts of the world, but that makes it a mere inconvenience to us Brits. Especially when a hailstone drops straight down the back of your neck, which is what happened to me. There I was, minding my own business, when all of a sudden I'm squirning uncontrollably in the street and making strange moans of discomfort. People notice this sort of thing, usually when they don't know what caused it.
     
    Crawling Into Work
    Another cold morning. TIme then to answer the call of the alarm clock at some ungodly hour of the morning, ignore the protests shouted through the walls of my home, and head down to the bus stop, hopefully fully dressed, for that all important bus to work. I feel so ordinary these days.
     
    The town has an empty clammy feel. A long high street is almost deserted and tinged in an amber glow, aside from some guy who I know will be taking the the same bus as me. He stops at a cash machine to pay for his ticket. He's already paid for his cigarettes which he'll chainsmoke as he waits behind me at the bus station. That's his business of course, it's just that he has the annoying habit exhaling as noisily as possible.
     
    Swindon's bus station is doomed. They're going to build a new one sooner or later but for now the dull brick edifice hiding under the shadow of a disused multi-story car park will do. A few hardy souls hang around here and there, aside from my chainsmoking fellow passenger who queues up behind me every day so I can derive such pleasure fro listening to his cigarette habit.
     
    A van turns up to drop off piles of newspapers. The Devizes bus turns in off the main road. That'll be full of several passengers shortly and probably on its way. Second comes our bus showing 'No Service' as it turns into the bay. The driver gets out and heads into the admin offices for a few minutes. Eventually he'll be back, fussing with the controls of the ungainly double decker, and then allowing us to present travel passes, coins, or desperate pleas for assistance.
     
    Some bus drivers are quick, others aren't. Some struggle with issuing ticketrs, some are incredibly efficient. I see the same people boarding or disembarking at the same stops. No-one says hello. We're all too miserable at having to get out of bed to go to work.
     
    My Day At Work
    One of the team leaders goes through the register. After four weeks of persuasion I finally managed to get them to put my name on it.
     
    "Caldrail?"
     
    Yup.
     
    "Pallets today please"
     
    That means I'll be wandering around the racks finding empty pallets so the guys unoading containers can put more boxes on them. Well that's the next eight hours sorted then.
     
    End Of The Shift
    Finally it's time to go home. Suddenly the warehouse comes alive and it's a life or death sruggle to find your bag, wrap up for the cold weather outside, and clock out out as the next shift rushes in desperately trying to arrive on time.
     
    Hard Hat, my chilled out colleague at work, never rushes at any time. He's never frantic, breathless, urgent, or even remotely rushed for any reason whatsoever. At lunchbreaks he sometimes takes a quick nap. When we wait at the bus stop after work, he's guaranteed to amble up the road long after we've settled who's going to be first to board the bus. A couple of times I've mentioned that my life would be complete if I ever saw Hard Hat running for the bus.
     
    My life is complete.
     
    And The Winner Is...
    As a fourteen year old I went with the school on a skiing trip to Austria. All a big adventure at that age, made embarrasing by parents giving us last minute advice and emotional send off's. No matter. We negotiated the unfamiliar hazards of a Dan Air flight to Munich and a long coach journey across the border, finally arriving at the resort. One kid got caught smoking and would have been sent home had that not meant a teacher would have cut short their holiday. On the other hand, the much hated geography teacher got hit by a snowball.
     
    By the end of the week, it was time to settle the most important question of all. Who was the best skier? Naturally the dominant lads, the ones good at football, pretty much figured it was one of them, with one character a clear favourite in the stakes. So we gathered on the slopes that last morning for a timed slalom run, not just the school, but every tourist at the site.
     
    I was number five in the running order. With mounting trepidation I watched the others head off. Gate 1.. Gate 2... Gate 3... Then Gate 4, a nasty tight left turn on the brow of a steep drop. Every skier in front of me fell over at that point. Okay. I'll make a note of that. Ready!... Three... Two... One... GO!
     
    I was off. My mind was absolutely focused on the task. I didn't harbour any fantasies of doing well, but I sure as heck was going to try. Then I arrived at Gate 4. Snowplough braking... turn as I reach the edge and lean in.. Oh yes. That's how it's done. I carried on and headed for the finish line quite satisified with my efforts. The austrians at the finish line were yelling at me, urging me on enthusiatically, and somewhat bemused I gave myself a few pushes with the sticks. They were all thumbs up and germanic appraisals, which I failed utterly to understand.
     
    Here's the thing. I was the only skier that day who did not fall over at Gate 4. The only one. I watched amused as each and every contestant did a sort of helpless swan dive off the dip. Not only that, I sat there in disbelief that night when the instructors handed out the certificates. My name wasn't appearing. Until the end. Not only had I beaten my classmates, I'd beaten everyone at the resort, adults as well. Defintely one of my finest moments.
  25. caldrail

    Crime Time

    By caldrail,

    I was watching one of those Police 'fly on the wall' programs recently. Not sure which, there's quite a few of them. Police Patience On Patrol? Motorway Mental Cases? Worlds Wildest Policewoman? Don't know. Anyway, this particular program featured Police action from my own home town. It was a little wierd watching them chase a joyrider outside my home. Given the date and time of night, I was undoubtedly at home, playing Grand Theft Auto into the wee small hours, tutting about yet another police siren whizzing up and down the street. Such is life.
     
    Nonetheless crime does go on around us. Just last night I was woken by something, suddenly aware that the diesel generator powering the array of amber and turquoise lights in the Old College site had gone silent. A distant command "Stop!" was clearly audible. Sadly life isn't quite the same as television or film, so there was no "You'll never take me alive copper!" and whatever drama took place, it was done largely silently. You never know, I might see the drama replayed with exciting commentary on television next year.
     
    It does appear however that for someone life did get a bit more dramatic. This morning I left the library having completed my job searching for the day, and saw two police cars parked in the square. You do see policemen at the library sometimes, and once I watched a troublemaker manhandled out of the building. No-one seemed to know what trouble he had actually caused, but since he was definitely a bit irate, shouting at the policemen to let him go with references to their parentage, then by the rules of television documentaries he was guilty as charged. But today there was no action. Just those police vehicles, but I couldn't help thinking that something more sinister than a tantrum had occurred.
     
    Then I saw the constable on guard duty outside a bookies. So something had gone down. A van labelled as belonging to the forensic team turned up to show what a serious incident had taken place. Journalists milled around outside with oversized cameras and busy phone calls. People like me stood around waiting for something to happen. Of course, it already had.
     
    The Case Of The Missing Eunos Cabriolet
    Nope. Still no leads on the fate of my stolen car. Not even after watching a documentary about police action in my area. But at least I know the first names of several police officers and their favourite make of car. You never know, could be valuable information in my enquiry.
     
    Issue of the Week
    This has to be the huge concerns of subsidence in my area given the huge chunk of the hillside recently removed by building contractors. My home is, and I quote, "right on the firing line". Rather worringly I have noticed a few new cracks in the wall though not so serious as the 1885 Baptist Chapel at the other end of the alleyway, which is no longer fit for use and has a huge great steel support bolted on the side to stop it falling over. Currently disused? I'm suprised no-one round here has thought of nicking it.
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