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caldrail

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  1. caldrail

    Crispy Fried Heroes

    By caldrail,

    How could any sane mortal resist a weekend of sword & sorcery on television? Furry underwear and long hair. Incredibly pathetic villains and the violent comedians who thwart their evil schemes. A part of me has some masochistic enjoyment of the genre. The rest of me cringes at the sheer awfulness of the films that portray these invented worlds.
     
    Okay, there are one or two that aren't so bad. Armie's Conan The Barbarian retains a sort of immature exuberance. I still watch Red Sonja for it's visual uniqueness and triumph of energy over talent. Actually, in both films, it's the humour they get right. Having struggled with Kevin Sorbo's easy going one-liners in Kull The Conqueror, almost like James Bond with a long sword, it really was a pleasant suprise to watch Brigitte Nielson submit to Arnie (oh come on, we all knew she was going to...)
     
    My regard for those films probably results from an involvement in role playing games since I was a teenager. Sadly Brigitte Nielsen didn't submit to any of us and of I were honest, didn't turn up to a session at all, never mind in furry swimwear. Yes. I too played Dungeons & Dragons. Shame on anyone who hasn't.
     
    All The Table's A Stage
    I sort of stumbled across role playing games when I saw some odds and ends my friends left lying around. What's that? D&D? For some reason or other I found myself running games as a referee from the start. Erm... What am I supposed to do?...Without understanding anything about the finer art of saving throws and armour class, I clumsily began by describing that first chamber among many. I ended up building entire worlds.
     
    Only a select handful of people have ever visited Goddomir, the fantasy world I put together. As a referee I had the luxury of acting the part of everyone the players encountered. Of course it's been a long time since I've taken to that informal stage around the table and played these characters to an audience. They've become long lost friends in a way. I remember them well.
     
    Okay, I'm done.
     
    Believe This
    Some people seem to think that D&D or other similar games are some sort of secret demon worshipping cult. Pardon me? A bunch of friends gather for an evening of dealing deadly retribution to evil, greed, and self aggrandisement. Certainly no worse than christianity, is it?
     
    Also on the 'hard tio believe' list was the news that a hypersonic test plane crashed into the pacific. Apparently this modest little racer does 22 times the speed of airliners, although in this case, only when pointed vertically downward. Claiming we can get to Australia in an hour aboard a passenger carrying version leaves me with a bit of a worry. Clearly half the delay in getting to foreign destinations is getting stuck in holding patterns whilst the queue of arriving airliners waits for a turn on the runway. Not any more. Back to the drawing board guys.
     
    Also going back to the drawing board are Walkers Crisps, who have dropped footballer Gary Lineker from their advertising. In the beginning his unquenchable hunger and greed for Walkers Crisps was almost amusing, but once he sang on television, I knew it would all end in tears. After pushing Lionel Richie through a plate glass window too. Perhaps the only reason to board a hypersonic jet would be to snatch a crisp from Gary Lineker and make your escape. Now there's no need to plunge headlong into the pacific. He's been ditched in an effort to save mankind after sixteen years playing Gary The Unavoidable. Sixteen years? No way!
     
    Finally our revered leader is rallying troops for the counterattack on teenage gangs. Not before time I have to say, though there are other targets that should be considered, such as the rotten little scoundrel who's been trying to burgle my flat. You can see his nicotine stains on the front door where he's been pressing his weight against it. I know that you see, because despite the attempted diagnosis of my doctor, I don't smoke.
     
    An englishmans home is his castle. The temptation to draw swords and defend it is pretty strong right now. What about that, Mr Cameron? Are you going to get tough with the looters that aren't rioting?
  2. 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.
  3. caldrail
    If it wasn't for the television news, I wouldn't know that riots had happened in London or anywhere else. Since the violence began it's been something contained in a little box, something I only witness from the comfort of my sofa. I thought nothing of taking a stroll through town yesterday afternoon. I mean, riots always happen to other people, don't they?
     
    I have to say it was a lovely day. Sunshine, a cool breeze, people wandering with all the time in the world. Yet something was a little odd. Couldn't put my finger on it. Just an odd atmosphere.
     
    My curiosity was soon answered. By coincidence I bumped into DW, our intrepid reporter for online news, and he clued me in. Shops were ready for trouble with shutters half closed. Apparently. Policemen were crowding into the town centre, here, thee, and everywhere. Undercover cops I take it? I only spotted three uniforms, all sat enjoying the sunshine at Wharf Green.
     
    In all seriousness that pervading mood was wariness. Some displayed it more than others, but I realised there was a town full of shoppers wondering if a riot was going to break out in Swindon. Of course I never saw any trouble. That only happens on television, doesn't it?
     
    Oh No You Don't!
    We know things are serious when we see reports of vigilante's on british streets. That's an ugly development. Traditionally the police don't like citizens taking justice into their own hands, for good reason, but given something like 800 rioters have been arrested so far it will be interesting to see whether the outraged citizens trying to protect homes and businesses get treated with the usuall firm hand.
     
    What bothers is the lack of robust action from the police during the riots themselves. The main reason vigilabte's are gathering is simply because of that. Even some organisations like the English Defence League are jumping on the vigilante bandwagon, and I notice the police are claiming that they have a political mandate to get tough.A suspicious mind might wonder if someone is hoping to achieve a political advantage from not ordering a police reaction amid calls for another look at cuts in police numbers. Sounds shocking doesn't it?
  4. caldrail
    Monday means back to work. Despite the early morning start I couldn't resist staying up last night and checking out a program about animal life along the upper west African Rift valley, that starts in Ethiopia and cuts south. It includes the worlds only lava lake, and I was genuinely suprised by the number of african volcano's littering the area. Great shots of foxes hunting mole-rats, mountain gorillas sitting around waiting for something to happen, or simply just playing and having a great time in the grass (and one or two getting a little annoyed at the presence of the camera crew!).
     
    Well... It was getting late, so set the alarm, into bed, and doze off hoping I still had enough hours of darkness left to sleep in. About four o'clock I was woken by a noise that could only sound like a door being prised open. I had a long around, but nothing moving, nothing heard. Maybe it was just the people downstairs, they get up early too.
     
    Then again... As I was leaving the house to come here to the library, the letting agent had their photographer visiting next door. Curioser and curioser...
     
    Foreign Workers
    The people at work had said they had a couple of french people working for them. It seems they got a job in order to improve their english, which is a bit odd because 1) They weren't speaking any english 2) No-one was talking at all.
     
    Curiouser and curiouser...
     
    Checking My Work
    Today I was stockchecking, an age old ritual which involved opening boxes, counting the contents, resealing the box and daubing the contents and stock level in big marker pen grafitti for everyone to ignore. One young lady slipped past the pillar and saw my stuff in a disorganised pile on the floor.
     
    "I need some of those." She pointed.
     
    Aww what? Can you take some of these instead? I've just counted that lot.... Oh no, she's got that 'I want that stuff on the floor' look on her face. Sigh. Okay, I'll recount it....
     
    Who said the Age of Chivalry was dead? Then again, maybe I'm just a sucker for a pretty face. One advantage to working in a department store stockroom is a plethora of pretty faces. I like this job. Anyway, I'd better get on and....
     
    What is that pile doing there? Uh oh. I've left a pile of stock from a previous box, and I don't know which one it is. Looking around me, I realise that somewhere in this wall of cardboard boxes is the one I need to open. Here goes...
  5. caldrail
    Yesterday I wandered into a music store and as usual fingered through the various artists that I particularly like. One CD stood out, with stickers telling me it was the 'new album'. Okeedokee, one purchase made. When I looked closer at home I realised it wasn't the artist the CD had been filed under, but some band I'd never heard of. Doh!
     
    I suppose I could of taken it back but curiosity got the better of me. And I'm pleased it did.
     
    The album was Indestructible, the band called Disturbed, playing a sort of melodic thrash metal of better quality than most. I don't like thrash metal, it hides a lack of talent beneath frantic enthusiasm for fast songs in most cases, but these guys are better than that by a long way.
     
    I like it a lot. 9 out of 10 people, and thats my score for a thrash metal CD of all things.
     
    Socks of the Week
    Goes to the pair I was wearing on Tuesday, when we had that heavy rain all day. They're still wet.
  6. caldrail

    Curious Cows

    By caldrail,

    For some reason I woke very early this morning. I mean, it was still dark outside, so this must have been about five o'clock or something daft. Even dafter was the impulse to get out out of bed, pack the pack, and head the heck out toward the hills. So naturally I obeyed this impulse because my intellect hadn't woken up yet.
     
    You see this time of year is a bit awkward. Sure, it's very chilly in the first light of dawn, but any exercise in warm clothing produces nothing but sweat. In cold conditions I can't tell you how uncomfortable that can get. If you strip off down to a layer thin enough not to sweat, you freeze. Better get going then.
     
    As sunsets go it was as dull as ditchwater. It's clouds that make for dramatic backlighting and picturesue contrasts, but that pale blue sky was featureless. On the other hand, there was a sort of mist hovering over Coate Water like some 50's budget pirate film. Thankfully all the pirates had already gone home to bed.
     
    As hikes go it was nothing special but I did notice how polite people seemed to be for no apparent reason. Everyone who passed me by, even the flourescent lycra body socks cycling at speed along the trails, said hello or good morning. It is a good morning. And it got better. At Ogbourne the sheep followed me. A herd several paces behind that gathered and moved when I moved. Just staring at me... Staring....
     
    Having escaped the sheep I made my way up Smeathes Ridge and the grassy hills of the Marlborough Downs. I attracted a herd of cows the other side of the femce. They followed me and moved when I moved. Staring... Just Staring...
     
    Eventually I reached the crest of the hill and sat down on a metal bench thoughtfully left there for walkers to enjoy the view across the undulating terrain. The cows waited patiently at the fence. Staring... Is there something going on I don't know about? Have I achieved a high enough karma to make bovine hearts swoon at my presence? Wish it had worked a few days ago. It was about then I realised that that two cows were on my side of the fence. Except these cows had horns and dangly things... Bulls. They watched me, staring... At least they weren't attacking. I see know why military surplus is invariably olive green. Only bulls with colour blindness would think I was a threat to their bull-li-ness and charge headlong in what would probably be a succesful attempt to get me to run away. With a bit of luck I'll blend into the hillside and make my getaway unseen.
     
    Changes in the Countryside
    Whereas our towns and villages are filled with pubs either closed down or glumly carrying on regardless of mounting debt, the countryside is becoming a haven of half demolished buildings. The cafe at Barbury Hill has gone, an empty brick shell. A large barn further down the footpath to Liddington lies in abandoned disarray. The shotgun range is quiet.
     
    Taking a Breather
    Eventually I reached the old oak north of Chiseldon and sat on the bench provided for another chance to rest my weary legs and quaff from my military surplus water bottle. Groan ye not, because they do actually work, and are sturdy enough to take the bumps and grinds of hiking. In an emergency you could melt it down and make a fake credit card. I think I saw Ray Mears do something like that once.
     
    The thing is though it was genuinely peaceful out there. The wind in the trees, the filtered sunsine, the contrails and rumbles of transatlantic jets bringing people home at low low prices after being stranded for weeks, the songs of birds, and yes, down there, among the trees of the hillside, a large deer trots along on its secretive business.
     
    A woman was coming up the farm trail that leads to the lower meadows of the valley, and I asked her if she'd seen the deer. "Errr.. Nooo..." She replied, but we ended up having a nice little conversation about how her dog ate a dead animal last night. Just found it out walking and the dog, named Barney, couldn't resist pigging out on it, and growled mightily when the family tried to take the horrible remains away. I sense Barneys owner hasn't yet cottoned on to how boring her dog food is.
     
    As we were walking along a herd of cows in an adjacent field trotted over to check out the new visitor in his olive green gear. I had to explain to the woman it was just me they wanted and not to be afraid of mindless cows. What is it with animals this morning? Has someone sprayed me with Ox For Men as a joke? It's seriously like encountering a crowd of fans who've never heard of autographs.
     
    "Oh but they kill people sometimes" She warned me.
     
    Oh brilliant. Ray Mears please take note. I succesfully evaded the cow herd by walking on. They don't seem able to negotiate obstacles like barbed wire fences. Barney and her fearful owner made their escape in the opposite direction. You can't pay for survival tips like this.
  7. caldrail

    Customer Service

    By caldrail,

    I got a phone call from a flustered computer technician on Friday. "Uhhh... We can't load your Windows.... Have you got a license code?"
     
    Groan. Yes I do. Please wait. Off I went, found the necessary document, and told him the code over the phone. He was happy and informed me the computer would be ready that afternoon. I hung up and went about my daily business. That of course means guitar practice at the moment. A short while later the phone rang when I was in the middle of a hot screaming solo. Oh not now you cretin! But a phone call is a phone call...
     
    I pulled the guitar of my shoulder and was about to put it on the stand when I realised I still had my earphones on. Oh... Ahhh.... Put the guitar down Caldrail, anywhere.... Oh no it's falling over!.... Whoops, I've just pulled the headphone socket out and dislocated my neck. Eventully however, I disentangled myself from those lethal rubber cables we musicians plug into everything and reached breathlessly for the phone.
     
    It ws the technician again. "We can't load your license number..." He moaned. What? Please don't tell me I'm going to have to walk across Swindon to sort this out... Yep, I am. That's an eight mile round trip in hot sunshine then. When I got there the repairman at the desk was busy chatting up the lady behind it. Not repairing my PC I see? Anyway, I handed him the info and he confidently promised the PC would be delievered next day. He'll phone.
     
    Next day I waited. Waited. Waited... Tired... Wait a bit more... Very tired... Wait... Zzzzzzzzzzz........ The phone rang to announce my immediate alertness following a cardiac arrest. A quick scramble for the handset.... "We've finished your computer. It's just been turned off." He happily announced, "Now it's ready for collection."
     
    Collection?!!!! Are they serious? "Oh, I meant delivery." He said quickly, "We can deliver on Monday"
     
    I'm busy Monday, all day. Oh all right, Tuesday it is. He'll phone me when they're ready.
     
    Simpsons of the Week
    I know this sounds like product placement, but the other night I fell prey to temptation and strode up the hill to the local fish and chip shop. The Chinese crew are all youngsters these days. There used to be an old couple in there who did a great job, but in all fairness, the youngsters aren't too shabby either. Apart from their dress sense that is. I know it's a bit hypocritical considering how fond I am of casual wear, but getting served by a guy in a soiled vest with hair hangin down his face doesn't fill you with confidence.
     
    That's all beside the point. On the television mounted behind The Simpsons were performing their usual buffoonery. Only this time it was dubbed in Cantonese with English subtitles. Talk about strange... Listening to young Lisa saying "Doh Jay Meester Pwinciple" was a seriously ridiculous thing to hear. But who am I to judge? At least the Chinese at the takeaway were enjoying it.
  8. caldrail

    Cutbacks

    By caldrail,

    Yesterday afternoon I sat down to watch the news while I got on with other projects. It so happened I chose the moment when the space shuttle Atlantis returned to base for the last time. It was a majestic sight, watching this bulky and heavy 'aircraft' swoop down onto the Florida runway at three hundred miles and hour, a testament to the co-operation between crew and control, never mind the technical gizmos that enable this accuracy.
     
    Although the shuttle is going to be hangared and serviced, they don't plan to fly it ever again. With the tragic loss of two of the fleet, the rising cost of maintenance of an aging vessel, and the economic realities of our day, it's just too expensive to operate. I am genuinely saddened by this. I remember those heady days in the sixties when, as a child, we were all told to go into the school hall in front of one of those primitive black and white televisions mounted in a tall mobile cabinet, to watch men land on the moon for the first time. And we don't go there any more either.
     
    meanwhile, Back At The College
    What do I see in todays local newspaper? The government have made no secret of their plans to cut spending in order to tackle the mounting national debt, and that means the redevelopment of the old college site might have to be abandoned after all. It's expected the development agency will lose something like 7% of its budget anyway.
     
    That kind of makes me curious. How does this affect the plans to rebuild the canal through Swindon town center? Their money was going to come from the EU (which means us, in a roundabout way) and they once told me it wasn't going to cost the local community anything. I wonder if they'll find the cash?
     
    Stars of the Week
    I am due to become more outsppoken, according the stars in my local paper. The influence of Uranus will not be thwarted (no jokes please). My claims advisor will be so pleased. She loves putting people in their place.
  9. caldrail

    Cuts And Cuttings

    By caldrail,

    The local paper is full of stories relating to the austerity measures our coalition government are pushing through. So far the main concern of residents appears to be crime, and whether a reduced police force is going to maintain law and order. There's another article worrying about how the young people of Swindon are going to cope with cuts in services. Probably by taking advantage of the reduced police presence I shouldn't wonder.
     
    Because Of Pay Cuts
    This morning I perused the libraries collection of old Ordnance Survey maps, some dating back to the 1880's. My primary interest was researching the route of a certain railway line I used to walk when I was a child. The saga of Swindons Other Railway is an interesting one. To build a north-south route through Great Western territory in the 19th century was tantamount to a declaration of war, and the two companies never fully co-operated even after being merged in 1923.
     
    When the Midland & South West Junction Railway (or in it's earlier guise, the Swindon Marlborough & Andover Railway) reached Swindon, they intended to link up with Brunels Great Western main line east of the station. The plan was to build the line through the Goddard Manor grounds, roughly between where the two lakes are at Lawns, and with some eye to compensation build a small station there too. Lord Goddard was having none of that. They can build their grimey railway somewhere else.
     
    So the next plan was to link up in the same place but instead of a route to the east of Swindon Hill, they started a tunnel under it. The workings were plagued with trouble. Swindon Hill was home to a large number of natural springs, and the complex geology did not lend itself to secure digging. In the end, workers weren't paid, and the whole thing was abandoned. The railway eventually forged a new route around the southwest of Swindon to join at Rushey Platt Junction.
     
    That of course meant Swindoners were upset, because the road that linked old town with the newer urban growth down the hill was split in two by the tunnel workings. So they built a new road that linked Victoria Street and Regents Circus, and that's where I live today. My street exists because a railway wanted to build a tunnel.
     
    The north side of the tunnel workings is now Queens Park, and looking at it today, you simply wouldn't know why it was there. Fascinating stuff.
  10. caldrail

    Cutting to the Chase

    By caldrail,

    I came back from the library yesterday morning having trawled throught the various job sites and discovering how evrywhere else in Britain has vacancies. Walking up the hill, I couldn't help notice an electricity company van parked beside our local transformer. Wait. Don't tell me. There's been another power cut...
     
    It seems I was correct. Everything in the house, including the heating, the cooker, the fridge, the lights - all the usual electrical stuff that makes survival comfortable - was off. At least the electricity company was here already, so I'll show some patience and wait for it all to come back on.
     
    And the Electric Company said "Let there be electricity", and there was. Great stuff. Now lets switch the PC on, catch up with the days news, and Phuttt.
     
    Oh brilliant. The power's off again. Looks like one of those days. I rang the electric company and with a little reminder of the previous power cuts she dutifully promised to get the supply back on by two o'clock. Only an hour to wait. With twenty minutes to go before their self-imposed deadline, the van was back and shortly afterward...
     
    Bing! Everything switched back on. Sigh in relief. Hug my computer like a long lost friend and get back to my usual pottering around. Now then, I need to make some notes about.. Phuttt!
     
    Once again my PC deflates like a limp balloon, fading to black. Patience, Caldrail, patience... It only took the man five minutes to restore power this time. Bing! Ohhh-kay. Now lets try to get these notes in order. So if... Phuttt!
     
    Oh come on! You cannot be serious. This time the man from the electric company knocked on my door and told me that the underground power line was faulty and that they needed to switch the power off until they located where the fault was. We had a conversation about electrical faults and clearly he wasn't convinced the workmen could do much with the ice still present up the hill, but the power should be back on in a day or two.
     
    A day or two? Heck. Better be prepared then. A drop or two of anti-freeze in the toilet, defrost the fridge before it floods the kitchen (which it does anyway as I struggle to catch the ice shards in the gloom), and prepare for a very cold morning start.
     
    In the late evening the power returned, with a cluster of vans up the road, lights flashing, working into the night in horrible sleet and wind. It's been something of a stark reminder of how dependent we are on electricity. A darkened house with no light, heat, or means to cook food, in the grip of some of the worst winter weather we've seen in twenty years. And to be honest, I had it easy compared to some peoples struggle elsewhere in Britain.
     
    Doomladen Prediction of the Week
    Firstly, now that sunny weather has returned to our wet and slushy land, we have the prospect of flooding to look forward to as heavy snow thaws out. Better than that though, one Minister of Parliament is now saying the recession will be the worst for a hundred years. Don't you just love politicians? On the one hand, Ed Balls has made this doomladen prediction, whilst baroness Vadera claims she can see 'green shots of recovery'. Sorry dear. Mr Balls has just pruned them. I start to wonder if the government are actually working together, and whether they have any clue at all what's going on or what to do about it. Not that I would dare criticise our hard working prime minister. Must be so hard coming up with all those slogans.
     
    Ooops. Looks like I'll have to make a public apology or be banned by the BBC.
     
  11. caldrail

    Cyclone of '08

    By caldrail,

    The huge storm in Burma has left as many as ten thousand people dead. Its hard to understand the scale of disasters like this. Even the secretive burmese government has felt it has no choice but to ask for foreign assistance. No doubt many people are pointing fingers and blaming Global Warming etc etc. Its as well to point that terrible storms have happened before, its just that the modern media make us so much more aware of what happens around the world now and that given we only live for a short time, so much of what has happened in the past is something we're not often aware of. We've certainly been made aware of this one.
     
    I'm thinking in terms of something like the change in british climate in 1314-15. Previous to that was the Medieval Warm Period, a time when agriculture could have done better if the agricultural system hadn't been held back by tax and the manorial system. But in 1314 it all changed. The summers were exceptionally wet and the winters hard. Starvation became commonplace.
     
     
    Doesn't this all sound familiar? Our recent summers have been wet also, the flooding exacerbated by settlements in flood plains and little opportunity for rainwater to soak away where great swathes of concrete and asphalt cover the ground.
     
    Since the black death spread from India thirty years later and reduced the population of europe by 3/4, lets hope the similarities aren't too close
     
    Important Reminder
    Its Compost Awareness Week next week. Make sure you know where your compost is, and use your compost responsibly. As long as compost levels are properly controlled, we can offset our Compost Footprint and escape the worst of Global Composting.
     
    Log-On of the Week
    BJ, our new all-singing and dancing Lord mayor of London, has succesfully logged on to his PC in his new office. Way to go B. Keep up the good work.
  12. caldrail

    Dakka Dakka Dakka

    By caldrail,

    If anyone out there hasn't heard about it, this year is the seventieth anniversary of the Battle of Britain. Germans are groaning and shaking their heads. Frenchmen snort and dismiss the whole thing. Americans scratch their heads and wonder how we won it without their air force. Russians declare they won it first.
     
    Okay, once more they showed the 1968 Battle of Britain film. Again. But I watched it all the same, even with those horrible non-1940's mistakes. It was after all a fairly accurate war drama that depicted real events, even allowing for the dramatisation and 60's demeanour of the actors. I can't help it. I'm a complete sucker for Spitfires in warpaint.
     
    Last night though they showed First Light, a docu-drama based on the memoirs of Geoffery Wellum, the youngest pilot to take part in the battle. I can excuse the use of a later MkIX Spitfire (real BoB veterans are thin on the ground) but what pleased me was the patina they reproduced. It reeked of 1940's atmosphere. Excellent.
     
    Could I do It?
    A chap at work once asked me if I could fly a spitfire. He knew I flew modern cessnas and such, and he was genuinely curious. I thought about it for a moment and told him that yes, in theory, I could. The spitfire was an aeroplane like any other, it does the same things. It did add a note of caution. I pointed out that I wasn't trained to fly taildraggers, referring to the undercarriage arrangement which demands different skills, and that the spitfire was ten or twenty times more powerful than the aeroplanes I flew, and thus much faster, more demanding, and so forth. For me it would be like learning to drive in a beat-up old mini then getting into a racing car and expecting to stay on the road.
     
    But I so want to give it a try!
     
    The thing is though is that the Spitfire was designed to fend off the Luftwaffe from our shores. It was good at that, if not entirely perfect, and the airframes they built were not expected to last more than ten hours of operational flying. That's worth remembering.
     
    Buried Here
    Another documentary had one veteran of the battle visit the site where his Hawker Hurricane fighter went down. The archaeologist pulled a bit of metal out of the ground. A handrail, that would have been rivetted to the canopy, probably the last bit of aeroplane that man handled before he baled out in a moment of frantic terror. He was visibly affected by handling it again. As Geoffery Wellum said - "People ask how I can remember all of this. How do they think I can forget it?"
     
    On A Different Note
    The war has left us with more than a few treasured airframes and fantasies. I've just discovered that in the middle of the channel between the Medway and the Thames is an old freighter that sank in a storm, broken in two at anchor as the weight of cargo stressed the hull too far.
     
    The cargo was a consignment of munitions. Everything from cluster bombs to one thousand pounder heavies the British and Americans used to haul across European skies to pummel German industry and infrastructure. The vessel is now in a poor condition, threatening to fall apart in the next decade, and if the contents should for any reason ignite - the estimated explosive force would equal a small atomic bomb according to experts, producing a shockwave that would register around the world on earthquake detectors.
     
    That sort of puts things in perspective.
  13. caldrail

    Dam And Blast

    By caldrail,

    This is the view from a factory chimney, looking toward the town of Somato nestling in the valley below. It all happened here.
     
    I was back at HQ when the radio message came in. A recon patrol had ventured out as far as Somato, and stumbled on an enemy stronghold. Coming under fire their squad leader had been killed. They were pinned down on that wooded hill, just to the left of the town, and needed help. I was available so I gathered a few troops, an available truck, and headed out across the Sierra Madre mountain roads. With the war situation currently so fluid, this was bandit country, and the thought of bumping into an advancing T-72 tank didn't bear thinking about.
     
    As it turned out, we reached a small village without incident. Leaving the truck there we continued on foot. The sound of enemy helicopters could be heard long before the recon patrol identified the threat they were facing. Those aerial gunships pack terrible firepower. My advance was becoming more cautious. I sent a radio message to the patrol to find cover and sit tight.
     
    The helicopters had failed to spot our beleaguered soldiers on the wooded hillside. We found them, and discussed the possibility of taking the town instead of simply creeping away with our tails between our legs. As is the nature of soldierng, we decided to risk it. There were a number of enemy soldiers loitering in the area next to the hill, a loose cordon of men guarding the edge of the town. Going around either side was risky in itself as the road through Somato was alive with supply trucks going from one enemy post to another. A direct assault was agreed.
     
    When we began to open fire, the enemy reacted slowly. One soldier collapsed backward, the others looking about in suprise. Once that suprise had worn off, they ran here and there, searching for our position and trying to avoid the gunfire, a staccato rattle of NATO calibre ammunition. Their NCO's called out instructions, and before long they zeroed in our position, bringing down accurate small arms fire that took out two of my men. From there it developed into a cat and mouse game between opposing squads. Moving from corner to corner, wall to wall, bush to bush. I ran toward a town square and realised I was in the midst of enemy soldiers grouping for an attack.
     
    I quickly found a stone stairway and used the parapet for cover. Two rifle grenades hit my defensive wall, loud crumps and plenty of debris bouncing around the narrow stairwell. An enemy soldier reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to fire, but he wasn't quick enough. I was exactly where I didn't want to be. Pinned down amongst the enemy.
     
    This was of course merely a game. Unlike many 'soldier-sims', this particular one has none of the hyped up 'world terrorism' or science fiction background you usually get, but instead seeks to simulate modern soldiering. Does it succeed? Well obviously the risk of death and injury is only virtual, and even then, I get respawned back at base to fight again. It does seem an odd way to relax for an hour or two, but it's only game after all.
     
    There will be those who sneer and suggest I should do this sort of thing for real. I do understand that point. Our freedom is enjoyed because others have taken the risks to preserve it. Not everyone is cut out to be a warrior. That's why I support their efforts from the sidelines. But the moral implications of playing these games means very little to me. It just isn't real. Time then to switch off and go back to writing job applications. Now there's a battle.
     
    Pic of the Day

    What? You think I tried to cross that? What am I , Rambo? Get a life. Found this little dam out on my exploration of Mouldon Hill. In Darkest Wiltshire, beavers use stone. Here's the evidence.
  14. caldrail

    Damp on Demand

    By caldrail,

    The recent sunny weather has been very tempting, but long hikes in the countryside during hot weather can be a trial of endurance over and above lasting the distance. It isn't just sunburn of course. The heat can wear you down to the point where you get into an unhealthy state - and that's just England, never mind the tropics. Not being as young as I once was makes a difference - it really does.
     
    Anyhow, today was cloudy. The weather reports had suggested our run of sunny days was coming to an end so I'd already decided to make this my venture into the Wiltshire rainforest.. The sky outside early this morning confirmed it wasn't going to blistery hot. It was however, blisteringly humid. The sun made a few hesitant attempts to break through but by and large it was that damp sticky heat that's even worse than sunshine.
     
    I got a few of the usual comments made as I walked through Swindon on my way to the countryside. For the record, I do not look like Ray Mears at all. He's fatter than I am, and blonder. I'm not trying to be Bear Gryll's (though in todays humidity, I might end up having to). I'm not a member of Bravo Two Zero. Come on guys, I'm just out for a hike. Military surplus trousers are relatively cheap and really work against the ravages of undergrowth.
     
    It really does come to something when the builders waiting to start work on the terraces being built round the corner from me do no more than stare in amusement. Today it was the taxi drivers who poured scorn. And how much did you earn from my fares today, hmmm?
     
    Horse Play
    Limping home, I decided to pass through the lower side of Chiseldon. There seems to be a small nature reserve being built along the stream that cuts down between the hillside and the old railway embankment. One of those wetland things? Toads, frogs, salamanders? At the moment, it's little more than dry mud, but what a nice wooden walkway.
     
    I digress. Further on I turned right into a meadow where horses are often kept. Once before I had sat down in that field for a breather and a refill of water. Two horses cantered over in a fit of inquisitiveness. One stood back, the smaller one looked closely at my rucksack, which I imagine resembled a feeding bag. It had that naughty glint in its eyes.
     
    You leave that alone! My warning was ignored. It grabbed hold of my rucksack in it's teeth and almost smiled like a naughty boy. You! Let go! Horses are difficult to catch.
     
    Today however there was one horse and its offspring. The gangly foal stood close to its uninterested grazing mother and just as I prepared to take a photograph - it wee'd. How do animals know when to wee? They have this instinctive desire to make photography impossible. The best instance was at Auckland Zoo, New Zealand. The chimps were lounging on a massive climbing frame with boss chimp at the top. He looked around lazily and saw me watching through an observation window. He promptly stood up, gave an evil grin, and wee'd.
     
    Want to know why I think human beings are still animals?
     
    Reminisence of the Week
    During my walk earlier, I passed by fields full of yellow Rape and along the grass verges, red Poppy's and purple... ummm... Something or others. It was in that very same meadow at Chiseldon that it occured to me just how many wild flowers were sprouting up. Now I don't take much interest in such things, but for that moment I remembered how those meadows next door to our street used to look before Swindon buried them in housing estates. Dandelions, Buttercups, Daisies - masses of them.
     
    Seriously though, it's been forty years since I've last seen meadows like that.
  15. caldrail

    Damp Spirits

    By caldrail,

    Okay. I admit it. It's raining. Having moaned about our weathermen predicting wet and windy days for weeks, it finally happened this morning. That said, it isn't the downpour we'd been promised (Don't you just know I'm going to regret writing that?). You could call it a damp squib.
     
    Rumbles In The Night
    I was kept marginally awake last night by the rumble of a large diesel engine somewhere in the vicinity of my home. That means either of two things. Firstly it might be that white lorry that parks up the hill behind the commercial premises. He arrives in the evenings usually so a very late night appearance is unusual.
     
    Alternatively, the firestarter has been at it again and a fire engine was on scene to put out the flames. I must be honest, I hadn't noticed any orange glow or smokey smell, but at that time of night, it's a wonder I noticed anything.
     
    You know what? I just thought of something. It's Swindon Ghostfest 2010. Of course. The Headless Lorry Driver of Old Town has struck again, haunting the back roads of Eacott Hill with his incorpereal truck, frighening little children with the dreadful rumble of a diesel engine.
     
    All Quiet On The Second Floor
    It must be raining out there. The library is almost deserted and the lady on the helpdesk is reading a newspaper. The chap opposite me is talking into his mobile phone and getting away with it.
     
    Oops, no he isn't, a senior librarian just heard him. That's another ghost then.
  16. caldrail

    Damp Squib

    By caldrail,

    British weather struck with a veangeance yesterday. Not quite the heaviest downpour I've ever suffered, but it kept on raining heavily all day. I have an army issue rucksack - officially declared waterproof -which had a small puddle at the bottom of it. My mobile phone got trashed by water damage again. Why can't manufacturers make a mobile phone that doesn't disintergrate in mildly moist conditions? Worse still, having already been out in the rain and well soaked, I found a message left by the post office asking me to collect an undelivered parcel. Oh no... not another hour long trek across Swindon...
     
    ...All for a pair of light bulbs donated by my electricity company. Cheers guys. That put a damper on the deal...
     
    Canal Progreess of the Week
    Its looking ever more serious, as I see from the old collectibles shop that advanced planning consent is in the works. Can't wait...
  17. caldrail

    Danger Lurks

    By caldrail,

    It's a sunny morning, a clear blue sky, so I thought I'd drop by the park and enjoy the sunshine. There was hardly anyone around but eventually this old guy hobbled to the edge of the lake and deposited half a loaf of bread in the water. The nearby ducks eagerly paddled after this awesome prize and began tugging at the sodden excess of white loaf with relish. To them, it was a veritable feast.
     
    Over the lake was a flock of seabirds. Small white ones, petrels I think, though I'm sure I'm wrong. One flew to the fountain, then hovered back and forth, beating it's wings furiously to stay airborne. I've never seen a bird do that before. getting a wash while flying. That's a first. Once satisified his feathers were bright and white (birds have yet to invent washing powder) he circled over the ducks and realised they were feeding. The little petrel chose his spot then descended on a duck, stealing whatever bread he could snatch away.
     
    The other petrels spotted this mugging and thought they too too could enjoy a feed at the expense of the suprised ducks, who were already thinking of moving away. The entire flock repeated the exercise, attacking the ducks like a rampant gang.
     
    Survival of the fittest, demonstrated in the safety of the park. Ahhh... There's a bunch of youths over there, beercans in hand, looking around for something to do. You know sometimes how you just know it's not a good idea to stick around?
     
    Hoodie of the Week
    Yesterday I was walking through our local ghetto area. I was just about to cross the road and looked behind to check for traffic. Instead, I spotted a black youth behind me. Well I couldn't fail to, he was only a few feet away. At any rate, I slowed down to wait for traffic to pass, and after the young man had sauntered past me, I spotted something in his hand that looked remarkably like a jacknife handle. You know sometimes how you just.... Well, youi know what I'm saying.
  18. caldrail
    Some say... He's stuck in an ailing BBC motoring show. Some say.... He might soon have a new master. Poor old Stig. I've watched a couple of the new Top Gear episodes and I have to say it's a bit painful to watch. It's like the old Top Gear but without the same camaraderie or intelligent comment. Me no likee.
     
    Can the show be rescued from the evil clutches of the mad radio presenting tyrant? Well, rumours suggest an F1 star is being lined up, and has already pleased fans with his approach. Poor old Stig. Being ruled by someone who can drive a car....
     
    Black Cats Crossing My path
    Can't remember whether it's lucky or unlucky, but black cats have featured in superstition for a very long time. Personally I haven't noticed any correlation between the proximity of feline mammals and events within my life, but then I suppose I'm not that superstitious. The other night however was noteworthy. I was walking along a main road adjacent to a trading estate, which for those unacquainted with British life is an area of small industrial or business units. The nearest was about eighteen to twenty feet high. I saw a falling object, hitting the ground with almost no noise, a black flash. It was a cat, emaciated to a degree I've never seen before, almost like an animal composed of black pipe cleaners, which had apparently jumped off the roof in a desperate move to avoid death by starvation. How the heck did it get up there? Clearly an omen. Never live on a roof, my friend. The Gods have spoken!
     
    More Bad Dreams
    I have two strange dreams to report. The first was a night time foray with me at the wheel of a car, heading into a rainy old Victorian terrace street, only to encounter trees lying in the road and a car that refused to obey the laws of physics by neatly skidding into position in a side street without obeying a single control input from me. A message that I'm not in control of my life. Good grief, I didn't need a dream to tell me that.
     
    The second was more interesting. I was at the wheel of a van minibus, filled with arguing migrant workers from some obscure poverty stricken part of the world. So I drove off, and followed the road into an area that seemed to be fenced off. Quite soon I found the road blocked. Oh pooh. So I turned around, and found my starting point blocked off too. No matter. using the van as a sort of low speed battering ram I pushed through the temporary fencing, whereupon hordes of nearby policemen descended on me and demanded to know what I thought I was doing disobeying road signs and breaking through their palisades. Fill in this form? Summons? Oh pooh. Still, at least it was only a dream, one I have no wish to live out. A clear warning from the spirit world to drive with due care and attention even though I don't drive and haven't for some years. Still, warnings are warnings.
     
    Loyalty Card Of The Week
    One of my local fast food outlets has for some time issued me with a loyalty card. Pay more than five pounds and I get a stamp. Five stamps and I get a free meal. it's been a good deal for me, I have to say. Only the other day the proprietor refused to stamp it because... erm.... Well he's from a racial minority and when upset his English is difficult to follow. So now I can only have my loyalty card stamped if I spend more than five pounds on meals numbered one to eight. I think that's what he said. But it says if I spend more than five pounds I get a stamp. He reluctantly stamped it, quote, for the last time, unquote. I see..... So what have falling black cats, fallen trees, and obstructions on her majesty's highways got to do with problems in paying for food? This omen business is hard.
  19. caldrail

    Dark Places

    By caldrail,

    A doctors appointment at some ungodly hour of the morning forced me out of bed long before my unemployed body was ready to face another day. After all the trouble of using iron discipline and sheer willpower to push the duvet aside and start my epic journey to the bathroom, not to mention a long walk across town in the dark, they were locked when I arrived. Brilliant...
     
    Good Morning Swindon
    As the sky first began to brighten a bright star, or more properly some planet or other, was low above the roofs of Swindon and very noticeable. I wonder which one? Venus always seems to be the usual culprit although I understand Jupiter has been making its presence felt lately.
     
    When the sun finally rose it revealed a gloriously sunny morning. A shame then the ground is waterlogged after all the rain we've been having. You can't put your foot anywhere without getting clogged in mud. In fact, walking along the pedestrian underpass that runs underneath the Great Western main line near Swindon station, I found it almost returned to its former glory as a canal. The center was flooded with limpid oily water.
     
    You have to see that underpass to believe it. Victorian stonework still caked in soot and grime, concrete roofs with stalagtites in orderly rows along the edges of the blocks, and a whole series of electric lamps that stopped working round about the time they were installed. It isn't so much a mix of ancient and modern, more like the perfect habitat of Swindon Man, our native species of neolithic throwback.
     
    Referral of the Week
    Before the new year I was put on a six week job search support programme. Nothing grandiose. Just internet access and free stationery. That said, the facility was very useful. At the library I have a two hour limit to do everything and it all gets a bit frantic.
     
    Anyhow, I asked the Jobcentre if I could be referred to the programme again. Yes, they said, and promptly discovered no-one in the office had any idea of how to get teir database to allow it. Two advisors sweated of a hot monitor pushing and poking to no good effect.
     
    It turns out they couldn't because officially I haven't finished the first course yet. Apparently I'm stuck in a sort of electronic limbo. I already knew that.
  20. caldrail

    Day On The Downs

    By caldrail,

    So far this year I 've been no further up on the Marlborough Downs than Barbury Castle. Once the fog had lifted, I decided it was time. The call of the Downs is peculiar to those who know it. There's a strange sense of timelessness up there. At first glance it's nothing more than rolling hills, weatherbeaten stands of trees, and farmland, but then the isolation of the area gets you. I'm not the only one who finds the solitude of the Downs so engaging. There's a memorial stone to a hillwalker of the Victorian period near Barbury. Mr Morris and I both share an affection for what is closest to wilderness in our area.
     
    People have lived on the Downs since the Ice Ages. Neolithic flint mines, Iron Age hillforts, Saxon lynchetts, and lost medieval villages can be found. Now it's a haunt of the local shepherds and hikers like me, at least until April 30th when it becomes legal for dirt bikes and 4x4's to drive up and down the Ridgeway, reckoned to be Britains oldest track. For now though, the noise of traffic is too far away. What a difference it makes. The silence is incredible. Slowly you become aware of the chirping birdsong, the odd whooping calls of small hawks, the ugly chorus of crows, even the gentle breath of wind, and the only intrusion is the transatlantic white speck with its fiery rumble so far above me.
     
    Low Flying Airliner
    My reverie was interrupted by the very loud sound of an airliner somewhere behind me. Suddenly I realised he must be low. I search the skyline and there it is, an airbus descending through the haze the other side of Barbury Castle. He's too far east to approach Wroughton Airfield. Draycott Foliatt is way too short for an aeroplane of that size. Please don't tell me this is a crash about to happen?
     
    He's a few hundred feet up and my mouth is wide open. Then he begins to climb. I hear the engines spooling up, I see the undercarriage fold away. He turns west for Lyneham Airbase, leaving me wondering if this was a practice emergency, or else perhaps the worst example of navigation ever. Don't worry mate, I won't tell anyone.
     
    New Species Found!
    I saw the monstrous creature on the road outside Wroughton Airfield. The old airbase was built in the second world war to house a maintenance unit, who took aircraft fresh out of the factories, fitted them with military stuff, and sent them to frontline squadrons. The Royal Navy still use a yard on the southeast corner and some of the hangars house local businesses.
     
    A taxi driver slows down beside me and with a cheery smile asks "Hey mate, do you know where Swindon Carting is?"
     
    You just passed it, there. That old hangar. That's my good deed for the day. But I also spot the large mammal sneeking in through the fence. What a monster! I've discovered a new species of giant fox. I name it Foxus Megabiggus.
     
    More Low Flying
    Walking home - or should I say struggling home? - I pass Wroughton Airfield again. A group of radio control enthusiasts are flying their creations and I cannot believe my eyes. A humungous model of a Lockheed Hercules four-engined transport was circling around making the loudest racket you imagine. You have to admire the work the creator did on this model, it really is huge. The Hercules is a familiar shape to me, I've seen them flying over Swindon for forty years, but it was spooky watching this familiar shape fly at what looked like twice the speed of the real thing.
     
    It takes me back to a Great Warbirds air show one year in the 90's, here at Wroughton. Despite the low cloud, the RAF transport plane gave a display with its wingtip barely above the grass. The Hercules, or 'Fat Albert' as we call them, certainly proved agile for its size.
     
    Happy Ending of the Week
    It seems after checking the ordnance survey maps that my day on the downs was a thirty mile round trip. The frog hadn't made it across the path. Heading for the pond the other side it lay there clutching the grass lifelessly, cooked dry by the sun. He was only three yards away from safe wetness. Well, the happy ending to my day was that I made it home, and drop bruised and battered into a hot bath. Oh no... I caught the sun... I look like a lobster...
     
  21. caldrail

    Dazed And Confused

    By caldrail,

    Anyone expecting something about Led Zeppelin is going to be sorely disappointed. Today I took a stroll across some farmland not to far from where I live. In the not too distant future these fields will be gone, replaced by modern brick shoeboxes we call houses, all packed densely together around a maze of curving streets that defies anyones sense of direction.
     
    I'd already had a good view of Wichelstok, the latest addition to Swindons housing needs, built in the Ray Valley between Swindon and the M4 motorway. Not entirely an idyllic position then. But that wasn't the whole problem. This new urban village looked false and artificial in pristine orange drab.
     
    Anyway, I passed by and continued to where this doomed farm now stands. I've never bothered to walk the footpath on this particular triangle of farmland because it leads across the Great Western main railway line. I don't know what the legal position is. Footpaths are established public rights of way in the countryside, but usually a railway line is No Admittance. Not that it matters. Crossing a double track on a curve that carries fast freight and express trains isn't all that clever.
     
    Thing is though I looked across the fields and saw a collection of roofs on the skyline toward West Swindon. Odd. I've never noticed a farmstead that close to the line before. My curioisty aroused, I fell over the crumbling stile and barged my way through the flock of sheep bravely guarding the field against trespassers. One or two showed their displeasure by weeing.
     
    It turns out the roofs belong to West Swindon on the other side of not only the railway, but the dual carriageway alongside it. The trees had been cut down because someone has realised that once this stretch of farmland has become a housing estate, the local kids are going to try and risk a crossing. In place of that simple stile and warning sign had been built an extraordinary footbridge. It looks way over the top as it stands now, with only a muddy field to lead to, but what a great place to watch trains flash by.
     
    But of course I have better things to do. I wonder if I should rent a movie for tonight?
     
    Handed In
    That's it. The form has been filled in. My record of job searching submitted to my new invisible masters. What will they say? What will they do? The tension is mounting. All the worst because I hear a rumour that jobseekers will now have to spend as much time during the week on their search as they would be prepared to work.
     
    What? A full 38 hour week doing nothing but job searching? Hang a minute, I don't think there's enough vacancies or employers to keep that level of activity going. Worse still it means I'm working fulltime at something like
  22. caldrail

    De Re Pound Sterling

    By caldrail,

    Money is the issue these days. Certainly for me, because I don't have any, but also for other people. It looks like a record number of mortgage repossessions this year. If that wasn't bad enough, fines for transgressing the law are rising steadily. Up to
  23. caldrail

    De Re Rubbish

    By caldrail,

    Some bright individual has now decided that society would be a better place if there was zero rubbish. What a wonderful image. Almost reminds you of those whitewashed cottages hiding in the midst of verdant rose gardens. Don't see many of those these days. I think they fell into disuse about the same time Ealing Studios went bust.
     
    The trouble is of course our beloved socialist government, who now have the power to enter your home and arrest you for littering it. These days we're not even allowed to drop litter on landfill sites. It isn't just me who's getting a tad concerned about this messianic mission to recycle everything we use.
     
    So what can I do to alleviate the eco-disaster of supermarket packaging? Well.. I could starve of course... I'd be somewhat wealthier for a short while. But wouldn't that reduce sales and put lots of people on the dole queue? What's cheaper? Proper rubbish clearance or lots of dole claimants? Before long we'll be fined for sitting down. And this in a country where despite rising prices and falling standards of service, politicians of all parties are talking about raising taxes between 20 and 40%. They really do think they can spend money better than we can. Which is rubbish, considering the mess they've gotten into claiming expenses from our paypackets.
     
    You know, this has less to do with ecology and climate than micro-managing private lives in some Orwellian agenda. Britain really isn't Middle England anymore.
     
    Rubbish Performers
    I saw a newspaper article today about the Simon Cowell franchise, television shows like X Factor and Britains Got Talent. It seems that the entrants are exploited. No! Surely not? Shock horror!
     
    Our five minutes in the spotlight remain a tantalising window to a new life in many peoples minds. It's because show business appears glamorous and the activities of various celebrities seem to imply that our hum drum lives will be so much better when we become famous.
     
    As someone who's kicked around the lower echelons of that business (and been kicked out of it, well and truly), I can assure the public that their dreams will be just as much a nightmare no matter how many television cameras broadcast it to the world. But hey, who's listening to me? I can imagine the same ideals, hopes, and dreams were the motivation of volunteer gladiators in Roman times. Most of them died a death too.
  24. caldrail

    Dealing With Repairs

    By caldrail,

    There was a time when music store assistants smiled when I entered their shop. That was back in the eighties of course, when money was easily had and quickly spent, and a time when we were more prosperous even if we didn't know or felt it so. Whereas once all I seemed to do was buy things, all I seem to do now is repair things, or rather pay someone else to.
     
    Last night I got the call from the music store to tell me my latest repair job was ready for collection. That particular box of tricks is getting old in terms of consumer electronics, so much so that the gentleman who repaired it for me had to get the part made to order because they don't have any left. The pleasant suprise is that the process only took a week. Perhaps in a time of economic downturn and short order books, the company tasked to recreate the broken part was only too glad to find something for an employee to do for ten minutes. Would that repair have happened so quickly in the eighties? With order books so full of large quantity runs for important clients?
     
    I too have been making some repairs. My PC is working reliably now - albeit a little slower. The parts that were causing the failures have been identified and removed. I find that repair work can be quite satisfying. There really is a genuine warm glow when the machine bursts into life after the daunting and detailed work to rebuild it has been completed successfully. I wonder if surgeons feel the same about their patients? I imagine so. There is an obvious parallel. Sometimes I think about those old cars they find in barns, held together by rust and bird droppings. Or those old World War Two aeroplanes they sometimes find in woods or muddy holes. There are people who can take those corroded piles of tangled metal and turn them back into working machines every bit as shiney and perfect as the day they left the factory gate. The patience and craftmanship of that kind of repair is simply stunning.
     
    What drives us to do that? In many cases, it isn't necessary to have those machines work again. We have better and more reliable cars now, and World War Two aeroplanes can be a little intimidating and dangerous to operate. Perhaps part of it is the history, that indefinable connection with ghosts of the previous operators? Or is it the machine themselves? Do they really have some kind of presence by virtue of the manufacture and usage they once had?
     
    When I collect my box of tricks today I shall wonder why it's so important to me. Partly familiarity I guess. I know the quirks and details of its operation. Like an old friend, it became a partner of my music creation. Ah.... Now there is the answer. It's the act of creation that is so deeply embedded in our subconcious and the reason we labour so hard sometimes to restore inanimate machinery to working order.
     
    Well thank you music store person. I'm happy my box of tricks is working again like its maker intended. It must be so satisfying to see contented customers and I can see why you smile... What?.... Oh yes.... I nearly forgot, how much do I owe you?... Really?.... Ahhhh.....
     
    Good Deal of the Week
    I popped into the local computer repair shop and asked the people behind the counter what the exact name of the malfunctioning part was that I held up to their discerning gaze. They recognised it instantly, gave some useful info, and told me not to bother replacing it. Those things are old technology, rare, and expensive they said.
     
    Checking on the internet I was forced to agree. Replacing the part wasn't going to be cheap. As chance would have it I found an American dealer who was quite happy to export the necessary item to our shores for a price that seemed a bargain. A little suspicious at first, I checked the manufacturer and specifications, and all seemed in order. With exchange rates the way they are, I ordered the part for around half the cost of something similar in Britain.
     
    Will the part arrive on time? Will the part arrive intact? Will I curse and sweat trying to make it fit? Will it make my PC run at full speed again? I must admit, if I manage a better repair than the qualified technicians down the road, then I really will have something to smile about.
     
     
     
  25. caldrail

    Dear Juliet

    By caldrail,

    Thousands of love lorn people every year are sending heart felt letters to 'Juliet' in Verona, Italy. A part of me sees this as ridiculus, given that Juliet is a fictional shakespearean character dreamt up hundreds of years ago, but on the other hand, an illustration of how popular fantasy and modern privacy have made people feel so lonely.The 'Juliet Secretaries' who are paid to read these letters answer them too. I can imagine them being sympathetic to these messages of despair, but at what point do they become used to it, or even contemptuous?
     
    How To Chat Someone Up In Five Minutes Flat
    Following on from How To Spot Someone Is Interested In You, I discovered this gem on the internet news site. How to chat someone up in five minutes.
     
    1. Picture the scene
    Before you approach that gorgeous creature or meet your date, run through some chatty scenarios in your head. Think about things you might say and how they might reply. Picture yourself responding with calm wit and fluency. You probably won
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