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caldrail

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Blog Entries posted by caldrail

  1. caldrail
    There was a film on release some years ago called Ronin, a tale of skulduggery as mercenaries are hired to retrieve a package. In one memorable scene, Robert De Niro finally loses his patience with Sean Bean whose character had made a big deal of having been an SAS soldier. "What colour is the boat-house at Hereford?" He yells at him. Sean Bean becomes flustered and cannot answer, exposed as an imposter. De Niro later admits to a witness that he doesn't know anything about a 'boat-house at Hereford'.
     
    Many years ago I was working diligently in a warehouse which regularly employed temporary staff. One young man was on my section and I noticed a certain wildness about him. Plenty of energy, cheerful personality, and, dare I say it, somewhat full of himself.
     
    Some time later we got talking and I asked what he'd done before he came here.
     
    "Oh... I was a mercenary"
     
    That raised my eyebrows. It wasn't just the uniqueness of his past experience (we didn't get many mercenaries working for us) but also his demeanour, which just wasn't military in any way. Now I'm no expert in that field but I simply could not see him in some foreign country earning his paycheck fighting private wars or guarding principals. So I asked a few questions and he sort of gave the right answers. Still not convinced.
     
    It so happens that last night I bumped into a guy I knew at school thirty years ago. It transpires he'd gone into the services and now worked as a bodyguard for celebrities and such, and was due to return to Iraq shortly. I mentioned that youngster I'd met back then and he shook his head, dismissing him as a fraud with typical military bluntness. Too young in his opinion.
     
    So we carried on talking and I enquired about his military career, and sure enough, he mentioned his association with 'that bunch at Hereford'. I groaned inwardly. This was hardly the first time an ex-squaddie had claimed affiliation with british special forces to me. Why do soldiers always claim to have been in the SAS? For all I know, he might have been, but it seems 'the regiment' is a necessary qualification these days. Whether you have the certificate or not.
     
    Expose of the Week
    Swindon is hardly a hotbed of mercenary activity. Its actually hard to think of Swindon as a hotbed at all. But even here the all-pervasive world of privatised military commerce reared its ugly head. On a door of an upstairs office located in our local high street (and above a bank) was an advertisement for tank transporter drivers, foreign contracts, good rates of pay. Forget your Rambo's or Arnie's, this was the real deal. No questions about boat-houses asked.
  2. caldrail

    Not What She Seems

    By caldrail,

    There's always been a certain amount of sexual cross-over in human societies. Most cultures have stories of woman who take on mens roles. We read of a female samurai, capable and deadly. We read of women hiding amongst the ranks of redcoats pretending to be boys. The native americans, of the plains tribes at least, tended to accept that not all men wanted to be warriors, and if a man wanted to stay in the camp and do womens work that was his choice. And so on.
     
    Today we see all sorts of manifestations of this behaviour. I watched a program about a jail in Costa Rica where two men dressed as women to entertain fellow prisoners and amuse themselves. There's all sorts of categories of cross-dressers such as american 'Shims', or a caste of men in India who dress and behave as women completely.
     
    Man Has Second Child said the headline.
     
    It depends how you look at it. A woman has chosen to have a sex change and despite being married to a woman, has decided to forgo 'his' hormone treatment and have children. One wonders how 'he' became pregnant at all, and what 'his' wife thinks of this. It seems to me that the person involved really doesn't want to be a man as much as he claims, and that despite the sex change and hormone treatment, female instincts rose to the surface. In fact, far from being a satisfied and stable person it rather sounds like this individual is a hugely mixed up hermaphrodite.
     
    I have to be honest - we don't get much of this sort of thing in rainy old Swindon. I doubt Swindoners have the imagination nor the will to consider it. Perhaps thats why I tolerate the place. I must be honest, whilst I accept people aren't always cardboard cut-outs and stereotypes, I'm comfortable with men being men and women being women.
     
    Smile of the Week
    Goes to the young lady of a bookstore in town. Sometimes people come across as genuinely pleasant and she did. Now only if I could find out what sex she was....
  3. caldrail

    Seeking Treasure

    By caldrail,

    This morning I happened to drop by the library, expecting some light entertainment. It was sheer murder. Teams of children were engaged in a treasure hunt, following clues read out by their adult overseers, running here and there, chanting loudly in that tuneless way that kids do. In particular, one clue revolved around the number of cubicles where I'm sitting, so there's a continual stream of children counting.
     
    "Whats special about cubicle thirty five, children?" Asked the teacher.
     
    You mean apart from me? I turned around indignantly and the children looked nervously with open mouths as what appears to them a shabby monster of a man rouses from his slumber. The temptation to yell BOO! was almost too much, but the expression on their adult companions face was one of don't you dare.
     
    I won't keep you in suspense any more. The speciality of cubilcle thirty five (apart from the US Keyboard setting which is making typing a little more interesting than usual) is that it has a spotlight over it. Now you can all go forward to the next clue. Better hurry. Two hundred children are ahead of you.
     
    Weather Warning of the Week
    Last nights forecast was an absolute corker.
     
    "We are expecting a cold snap by the end of the week..." He said with baleful tones.
     
    No kidding. I don't suppose the forecaster has realised that its almost winter? Which treasure chest of climatology did you find this guy? Ok, bring back the dolly birds. They might be clueless too but at least you've got something more than a pastel-coloured cartoon in the background to look at.
  4. caldrail

    Fresh Ingredients

    By caldrail,

    Most of cooking is very quicky and easy. Fifteen minutes and I'm done. Sometimes though when I've got a spare bit of cash I like to prove Jamie Oliver knows absolutely nothing about cooking by reinventing the entire genre in the prvacy of my own home. So it was yesterday, when I happened upon some quality products at tjhe supermarket on sale at bargain prices.
     
    I once remember reading a bit of wisdom that said "Love and cooking such be approached with complete abandon". I've always though sports cars should be added to that list, but for the moment, lets see what I've got in the cupboards to complete my mega-fest of culinary inspiration...... I can see this is goiung to be a challenge.
     
    So having decided on a curious Italian Curry (or is that Indian Chillie?) I resist the temptation to plan it out like a military operation. Pasta in the pot, tins opened, contents washed, and into the pan. Cooker on... You know, I can't believe Gordon Ramsay earns a fortune from doing this....
     
    Then, in a brainwave, I decide that some mint sauce would a great variation on a theme. Where's the bottle.... Can't beleieve I bought this rubbish.... Ahh, there it is. I 've not opened it before, and as so often happens in this situation, the bottle top is stuck fast. Ok, try again, tight grip and twwwwwwiiiiiiiiist....
     
    Emulation of the Week
    The bottle tops resistance finally gave way, and it came off so suddenly it lifted clear. Unfortunately, I had the bottle sideways at the time, and....
     
    Oh F....
     
    My attempt to emulate Gordon Ramsay has ended in success.
  5. caldrail

    Officially Famous

    By caldrail,

    The street where I live isn't quiet. It's a major route from Old Town on the hill to Swindon town centre. Consequently I hear cars going by. Ordinary cars, cars with loud exhausts, and occaisionally cars bumping into each other. Sometimes a heavy lorry thunders by and the house literally shakes. Motorbikes scream up the hill and make it sound like Silverstone on race day. At night it changes. Women scream up the hill and youths chant football songs. I have to be honest, I've kind of gotten used to this background noise. Occaisionally though, I hear something original, and that happened last night.
     
    "Your blog is rubbish!" Yelled some woman outside. Now that warmed the cockles of my heart. After all those years of gigging the length and breadth of England and pushing through glass ceilings in the workplace, I finally get recognition for blogging over a hot keyboard. It just goes to show you don't need Simon Cowell to become famous. Well, now I'm qualified to appear on game shows and supermarket opening ceremonies, hurry up with the offers, this is only going to last five minutes...
     
    Sex Secret of the Week
    Since I have a boring blog (100% result in a recent poll of one person), I think it needs a little more pace and controversy. So lets start with the most outrageous expose of all, that Cliff Richard has declared himself 'a sexual enigma'. Oh get real Cliff. Look the words up in a dictionary first.
  6. caldrail

    Why So Popular?

    By caldrail,

    What is going on? Usually I get pretty well ignored by passing motorists, heckled by one or two, but today? All day long I've had people beeping their horns and giving me a cheery wave. Haven't a clue who they are. Haven't a clue why they're waving.
     
    Well if you want my autograph I'm not running after you....
     
    Todays Country Hike
    Not too far, just down the track that runs round the south side of the local golf course. You never see anyone use it, but typically for Britain, it was a mass of wintery puddles and muddy ruts, that dark grey sludge you get from leaf mould. I think I spent as much time on todays hike walking sideways and slipping back as I did going forward. Just in time for....
     
    Dog owner of the Week
    Goes to the woman I met on the Polo Ground, whose dogs seemed to derive great pleasure from charging at me. When I joked about their aggressive play she told me that dogs left to their own devices go wild in twelve hours. What? Who exactly is going to train these dogs to survive in the wild? All their life they've gotten sustenance from small metal tins pulled from a kitchen cupboard and even then they need a human being to open them. Ok, dogs are good scavengers (some even scavenge from the kitchen) but they can only susbsist that way when there's a surplus to be scavenging from, and nature being what it is the local wildlfie will soon cotton on that there's food lying around. Most emancipated canines would starve very quickly I think. But what do you expect from old wives?
     
  7. caldrail

    Fee Fi Fo Fum....

    By caldrail,

    Last night I watched a news report from Gaza, where masked Hamas paramilitaries are busy training and preparing for the end of the ceasefire there. The Hamas spokesman proudly informed the news team on camera that Israel "Will be suprised". You know, I can't help feeling they've let the cat out of the bag there... In any case, the US can now track their activities by satellite.
     
    The US Space Agency is to launch an orbital machine that can map carbon dioxide around the world. I can just imagine the conspiracy theories this is going to spark. Now the greatest exhalers of greenhouse gases will be pointed out which is good news, as this means politicians will be hung by their own petards. Surely Osama Bin Laden must be in fear of discovery now.
     
    Scent of the Week
    After years of criticism about the content of food, Burger King have now finally found a way to compensate us for the loss of real cows in our burgers. They've done this with a new fragrance for men... Meat.... I kid you not. So now if you want to attract the cannibal of your dreams you can. Personally, I think postmen should not use this scent.
  8. caldrail

    Survivng Christmas

    By caldrail,

    Survival is so macho. Tell someone you've survived the wilderness and instantly your manliness score doubles. Women become breathless near you. Men become your greatest buddy and hang on your every word. At least I believe they do because the only wilderness I've survived is Swindon, and unfortunately I'm reliably informed that Swindon doesn't do much for your manliness.
     
    The good news is that I survived Christmas. Survival is one of those dark arts you see featured on tv sometimes, with Ray Mears being clever and Bear Gryls being heroic. I notice neither use any of those SAS survival manuals you see in bookstores. I therefore conclude the art of survival is doing something without an instruction manual to find out how. A bit like your first date for instance.
     
    The reason we have to treat Christmas as an exercise of survival is public expectation. We're all expected to be happy. We're all expected to hand out presents. We're all expected to party on down. I suspect most of us have, economic woes or personal inclination notwithstanding. This year I survived by doing as little of these things as possible. I've decided that survival is dull. Lets face it, how much do I not want to invite someone to a Christmas party whose topic of conversation revolves around eating creepy-crawlies? Maybe they'd be better at barbeques? At least they could set the thing alight.
     
    No Sex Please, We're Swindoners
    The guy who lives across the street from me has done it again. Literally. I used to think it was a woman who lived there but apparently it's the bloke and he now has a new girlfriend. Gee, must be tough finding women who like having sex in view of the whole street....
     
    Christmas Prezzie of the Week
    No, it wasn't the camera. So would the owner of a dark blue Vauxhall Astra who drove past me whilst I was out taking photographs on Christmas morning please note - you were wrong. I was very happy.
     
    (sigh) Ok, you want to see a photograph... Well, here's my xmas pic of the year...
     
    Christmas Day Pic 2008
     

     
    No Vauxhall Astra owners were harmed in the making of this pic
  9. caldrail

    Secrecy

    By caldrail,

    Hi there. As its the start of the new year, its the time for new year resolutions. Sadly the UN doesn't recognise my little nation state but that won't stop me. Luckily though no-one keeps resolutions for more than a few days which explains why third world dictators get away with flouting them. Most of us are required to pay lip service to these resolutions by our inlaws. Dictators have the unfair advantage that they can shoot theirs at will.
     
    So without further ado, my first lip-service to new year resolutions is to announce that its a secret. Since I live in Britain and have declared myself an independent state, I've no doubt that British Intelligence already know what my new years resolution is, which means everybody elses intelligence service know as well. So I might as well tell you all.
     
    I hereby resolve to not get bothered by that idiot who rings my doorbell at four in the morning. Who is he? Thats a secret, funnily enough.
     
    Defence Secret of the Week
    According to secret information recently made public, it seems that Britain in the 1970's was barely able to defend itself against the Soviet threat. Our fighter aircraft had enough ammunition and missiles for a few days conflict. Given we all had four minutes to live once war was declared, I sort of wonder whether investing in more ammo was worth it. Perhaps a free distribution of condoms to the public would have been better value? Safe sex you see.
  10. caldrail

    No Pain, No Gain

    By caldrail,

    Mondays are the curse of modern civilisation. In times of yore, men of Englands Green and Pleasant Land woke from their slumber and stirred when they felt like it. Then along comes the hated miller and with the Industrial Revolution behind him, invented working hours and the tyranny of the clock began.
     
    Now you might say that as an unemployed person I don't suffer from Monday-itis, but you'd be wrong. Required by the state to earn my paltry handouts by looking for work, I must also observe the movement of people that is Monday morning. Or at least I would had I not injured my back. Nothing dramatic I'm afraid, just simple strain and a careless reach. Getting around was a trial because the injury was sending spasms of pain down my spine. Very uncomfortable, and had it not been necessary for me to go about my business, I would have stayed at home, no doubt further persuaded by the fact that the British weather is changing and warming up, bringing with it incessant rain again.
     
    Pain and rain. I'll have to chalk up another victory to Monday morning.
     
    Legislation of the Week
    It seems that the government of Papua New Guinea (they have one?) is to create new legislation to outlaw sorcery based murders. This is a nation that has an official in every village whose title is 'Rambo'. I kid you not. They may not have left the primitive world behind, but they sure have embraced Hollywood.
  11. caldrail

    Year of the Ox

    By caldrail,

    Its the Chinese New Year, and since they haven't been inflicted deeply by the economic downturn, today they've been celebrating. It also happens to be Year of the Ox which is good news for me, because in Chinese astrology that's me - I'm an Ox. There you go, I've admitted it.
     
    Get Away From It All
    Australia are advertising for a guy to run Hamilton Island, a tropical paradise, in a deal involving free flights, feeding turtles, collecting mail, scuba swimming, running a Hamilton Island blog, watching whales, and modest pay. So whats the catch? The Tourist Authority say the succesful applicant will a zest for life. I nod knowingly. You'll be stuck miles from anywhere without anyone to talk to. A bit like Swindon then.
     
    Adverts of the Week
    I was watching late night tv and the inevitable adverts turned their attention to those feeling lonely and unloved on the weekend. Phone now and speak to lovely girls. Who knows where it will lead? Call me jaded, but I think I already know. The next advert stated categorically that I would be speaking to genuine girls. Phew. I thought the robots had taken over. Still, if I happen to get the job on Hanilton Island at least I'll have someone to talk to, assuming my mobile phone battery lasts that long.
  12. caldrail

    Frozen Squib

    By caldrail,

    Back in 1908, Swindon was inundated with 15 inches of snow. Thats more then we got yesterday. The result of all those warnings of blizzards and sub-zero temperatures resulted in this picturesque scattering of snowflakes.
     

     
    This does in happen Swindon - a couple of decades ago there was a country wide snowfall over Britain. Drifts six feet deep cut off entire communities and made travel all but impossible. In Swindon, not a single snowflake. I would love to know why Swindon so rarely gets snow. Is it a hot place to be perhaps? Certainly not at the moment. It is genuinely cold.
     
    Britain gets laughed at for its absolute inability to cope with anything more than three snowflakes in one place. One snowfall and the entire country falls apart. Yes, we're dunces when it comes to winter. But then, since we so rarely get one, is it fair to blame us?
     
    Conversation of the Week
    On my way home from a hike in local countryside I happened upon a woman who was about to take a photograph of a tree bud. I stopped and said "I've taken some daft pictures in my time but that talkes the buscuit"
     
    She laughed and we got talking. A newbie to Swindon (You can tell, she likes it here), she has nontheless come to grief against the 'can't do' attitude of local garages. You have my sympathy. Apparently today she has to fix her camper-van, drive to work in Newbury, then attend a job interview in Portsmouth. With all the snow that fell over the last two days? You wait until you leave Swindon. Good luck.
  13. caldrail
    The misery goes on. In very un-swindon-like style, the snow started again last night and as I glance out the window of the library, it's just begun cascading down in thick torrents. Our local council now has only two days of grit reserves left to clear our roads and keep Swindon moving.
     
    I'm biting my nails.
     
    Weather Update of the Week
    Oh. Its just reverted to that thin sprinkle of fine drizzly snow. Panic over. Phew.
  14. caldrail
    The sun was getting quite warm as I walked home yesterday afternoon. I wasn't in any particular hurry and made my way through Old Town. Yellow paintwork caught my attention. As an automatic reaction I glanced up like anyone else, and since bright paintwork is a rarity in the sombre decade we live in, it might not suprise you to learn the car was a Lamborghini Gallardo with its roof down.
     
    The driver was looking straight at me behind his shades. Don't know why, he just was. Then of course he noticed that I'd spotted the Lambo, and predictably he floored the accelerator, shooting off down the high street in a mad desperate bid to look superior. The engine noise was a disappointment. Sure, it sounded raucous and loud, like you'd expect, but somehow it had no class to it. He roared off sounding exactly like a souped up hatchback, and if I were brutally honest, behaving like one too.
     
    Now I've enjoyed an accelerator pedal or two in my time, so perhaps I can't claim moral superiority, but then, I press the accelerator for the sheer joy of it. He pressed it to announce he was the alpha male. By lucky coincidence his sudden burst of speed meant he was somewhere else a lot faster. Bye.
     
    Neighbours of the Week
    Around three o'clock this morning I became dimly aware that things were a little noisier than you'd expect. My neighbours, having returned from a nightclub and clearly wanting to carry on dancing the night away, pumped up the volume with their mates. Reggae bass lines resonated through the brick wall. I might be wrong, but I think its those idiots who spread snow on the path after I cleared it recently.
     
    Worse still, they had disconnected their doorbell. The police, naturally, weren't interested. So far, neither are the local council who deal with noise issues. We'll see.
     
  15. caldrail

    Bank Holiday Blues

    By caldrail,

    Bank Holiday Weekends are a British institution that foreigners might find hard to understand. The name is misleading. All it amounts to is an extra day off work. However, like some kind of mass-lunacy, there's two pyschopathic obsessions that afflict the British at these times.
     
    The first is a strange urge that overcomes the weak-willed who gather their unsuspecting families and drive off to a holiday destination. Most don't get there. Braving the rain that inevitably pours cold water on their plans, they end up parking their cars for several hours on a motorway listening to their kids asking "Are we there yet?"
     
    The second kind of urge is that need to repair and improve the nest. Sometimes I wonder if DIY megastores are secretly hypnotising us into these attempts to recreate glossy magazine photo's of perfect homes. On the saturday morning I spotted one eager man and his clearly unimpressed missus dragging a huge generator out of the hardware store across the street. Boy oh boy, is she in for a fun filled weekend.
     
    The single blessing of my pedestrian status is, I suppose, that I'm immune to the lemming like need to join the traffic jams I shall enjoy the good weather. Also, my single status means I don't get nagged to tile the bathroom or invent a new plumbing system. So, I'll just sit here, enjoying the weekend in my usual quiet way, and....
     
    Uh-oh. The draw on my computer desk is getting sticky. Really ought to fix that. Let's have a look... Brilliant. The back end has fallen off. Aha! All it needs is a little bit of glue. I've got some somewhere.... Here in my dusty toolbox... There it is! Ok. Carefully does it.... Apply the glue... The space is very restricted and it isn't easy to put it in place... There! Done it!
     
    Uh-oh. My pen's run out. I'll just look in the draw and get anopther... Whoops, there goes the back of the draw, down in the corner where I can't get it. Has that glue not set yet? Where's the gaffa tape?
     
    No, no, it'll work, trust me... Ah, maybe not. Perhaps if I move this over there and fix this here, and.... Those of a nervous disposition, look away now, as I attempt a repair that any sane person on a normal working day could mend in thirty seconds...
     
    of the Week
    In Norway a man has been arrested for having sex with his girlfriend whilst speeding on a motorway. Maybe he should have bought an interesting car?
     
  16. caldrail

    Ghosts

    By caldrail,

    If you've seen the film Ghostbusters you'll know it starts with a scary ghost in a New York Library. Well, Swindon isn't exactly spook central, and most of our ghosts inhabit pubs. However, according to our local paper, 'Ghostbusters' have been to Swindon to exorcise a haunting on somebodies premises.
     
    Thats a huge leap in ghostly goings on. Imagine the usual amount of supernatural activity in Swindon is.. say... this Mars Bar. This latest event reveals a Mars Bar with... 20% extra, free.
     
    This is a huge portent. Swindon is headed for a supernatural meltdown of biblical proportions. We are talking 'end of the world', Wrath of God stuff. Giant Marshmallow men will be grinning as they stomp on Swindonians. The best bit is since I've locked myself out of the flat occaisionally, I'm expecting a cataclysmic encounter with Sigourney Weaver.
     
    Unless of course, the whole thing is nonsense.
     
    Conversationalist of the Week
    As sometimes happens, the library computers are offline this morning. We all sit around reading books and so forth waiting for some geek downstairs to realise you have to plug them in. Trouble is, there's a young man of dubious intellectal capacity who just won't shut up. He can't log on. He can't log on again. Why can't he log on? Did you see the football last night? He's got two weeks off College. Hey, he's logged on. He's logged on everybody. Yeah, but Man United lost against them last year...
     
    There's going to be another ghost in Swindon if he doesn't shut up.
  17. 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...
     
  18. caldrail
    Entertainment is so important to the modern world isn't it? One word from a publicist, and thousands gather teary eyed to say goodbye to someone they probably never had a good word for. I shall never forget the scenes I saw on television regarding Princes Di. Remember her? Yes, I thought you'd forgotten.
     
    The thing with entertainers, or any celebrity for that matter, is that they loom ever larger in our conciousness thanks to the media. Love or loathe them, a part of our life dies with them, and I suspect it's the loss of the pseudo-family/friend image we actually feel grief over.
     
    A few days ago, I saw a news report about Hip Hop music. Apparently it's thirty years old or something. Is that supposed to be something I'm grateful for? There were two interviewees. One was a Radio One DJ who seemed oddly devoid of any character. His praise of Hip Hop bordered on the ridiculous. Apparently it's a form of music that has inspired me and changed me forever. I have to say the only thing I've noticed is a headache and an overwhelming urge to change the disc.
     
    The second interviewee had similar things to say, but this particular woman told us that Hip Hop was not just music. It was fashion, expression, an entire movement taking over the world. She then gave Obama credit for inspiring Hip Hop musicians. Oh? I'd never heard of Obama before someone decided to make him a presidential candidate. I don't think that was thirty years ago. Naturally, both people immediately distanced themselves from Rap, Hip Hop's ugly brother. The glorification of criminals, violence, drugs, misogyny, and bass speakers was enough to earn itself condemnation, though in all honesty I don't see that Hip Hop is really any better than other forms of music or legal and responsible activity.
     
    I wish people wouldn't come out with this sort of twoddle. Music doesn't change the world. It simply changes hands. These days, it's big business. I should know, I was in the lower echelons of it, having personally sold one box of twenty albums. Heck, I even managed to sell one to a patient at a mental hospital. Forget this culture crap. I'll give you this CD to listen to if you pay me a few quid.
     
    That's entertainment.
    Warning of the Week
    Yesterday was signing on day. Once again they don't seem to know when I should be queueing up but this time I have to wait. Eventually I was asked to go through and waited just as long again for my name to be called.
     
    "There's two vacancies come up." My claims advisor said with a smile. That, believe it or not, isn't a good sign. It means they think I'm not doing enough, even though I've applied for four times as many jobs as they expect me to. The first vacancy looked familiar. I've definitely seen it before and muttered something about having applied for it already. I didn't like the look she gave me though. She asked if I wanted the job sheet thrown away but I told her no, I'd check it out. It turns out I hadn't applied for it before, because the job is fifteen miles away out in the remote countryside, and that's as the crow flies. Are they seriously expecting me to walk back and forth across country in all weathers for seven or eight hours a day?
     
    Someone's been sticking a knife in again. Watch it Caldrail, you're in bandit country.
     
  19. caldrail
    I have seen the shape of things to come. At the Geneva Motor Show, the Royal College of Arts have unveiled ambulances that will be rushing to our aid in as little as four years from now - don't take that literally. Now get this. One of them has ejector seats to speed paramedics to your side. What happens if the patient is in a tunnel? Does the paramedic get issued with a helmet?
     
    Another design has a fold out detachable medical center. Isn't that dead cool? Once the paramedics have landed and folded away their chutes, they all get together and open it out. "Left.. Left.. Gently... Woah! Back! Back!... Ok, Fred, lift it this way..."
     
    No, seriously, it's a brilliant idea. Retired medics will find jobs waiting for them in the furniture removals business. At least that way they'll know what to do when the furniture owners have heart attacks.
     
    Now that the government is strapped for cash, I start to understand why. Having sponsored the idiots who dreamt up these Heath Robinson contraptions, perhaps they might consider actually sponsoring the Health Service like wot they say they do. Leave the artists to wallow in their own ego's.
     
    Job Opportunity
    I have just applied to become Mayor of Swindon.
     
    Yes, I'll say that again.
     
    I have just applied to become Mayor of Swindon. Well someone has to sort this mess out, and if Boris Johnson can become Mayor of London I feel fully qualified to run my own home town. Updates to my political career will be posted as they arrive.... Hello?
     
    Dog of the Week
    Sophie - well done girl! An australian cattle dog was washed overboard on a sailing trip and swam for five miles to safety on an uninhabited island. Discovered four months after she was given up for dead by Rangers checking up on the islands now smaller population of goats, she's been returned to her owners. You just have to smile. I suspect now she's gone the goats are happier too.
     
  20. caldrail

    Stars and Obama's

    By caldrail,

    America has successfully imported a great many things to British Isles. Cola, bubble gum, nylon tights, burgers, and sex. Of course I was too young for most of those as a child so there was only one american import I was allowed. You state-side people know it as G.I. Joe. We knew it as Action Man.
     
    It was great. There was a huge selection of uniforms and accessories that transformed the plastic contortionist into everything from the basic Korean War recruit to a NASA astronaut. One of my friends had the Action Man space capsule - I was so jealous. No-one was jealous of my Action-Man. A cricket-player set isn't that impressive, nor, if I were honest, much inspiration for childhood imagination. The biggest problem with Action Man, apart from his suspect anatomy, was that he was essentially a loner. You only had one, so the poor guy never had any mates or even enemies to save the world from. Now, however, kids can give their Action Man leadership. They can now pester their parents for an all-action Obama doll. Better yet, it comes with his wife, so he has someone to play with. Oh... Hang on a minute....
     
    I wonder if it has a ring-pull in it's back to play speeches? Kids these days have no idea how lucky they are.
     
    Telescope of the Week
    The orbital Kepler Telescope has begun searching space for earth-like planets. Apparently this mission will take three and a half weeks and millions of pounds have been spent trying to find planets we can't get to. Don't get me wrong. I think scientific progress is great. It's just that we seem tto spend so much time seeking a paradise. Looking for Eden, Shangri-La, El Dorado, Atlantis, The Kingdom of Prester John.
     
    What happens if they find this new earth? Will religions begin slapping labels on it? Will scientists eagerly send sound recordings in the hope the aliens there send it straight to the top of the hit parade? Will estate agents start selling portions of their land? Hundreds of years ago, people would have boarded ships and made their way there to colonise the land and avoid governmental interference in their lives. These new planets are unfortunately somewhat far away, and as yet, we haven't the technology to emulate Star Trek. It also means that earth-bound merchants are frustrated, because they can't sell the Obama doll to unsuspecting aliens.
     
  21. caldrail

    Probably Dull, But?

    By caldrail,

    Some time ago on a job website I was asked if I wanted to take part in an online questionaire. The questions were fairly moronic but I hadn't anything better to do. One listed a load of organisations and asked me to describe them in three words. One was MI5, our home defence secret spy unit. I wrote 'Probably boring, but?'.I did kind of wonder if that answer was going to get me held in custody for three months under the Prevention Of Humour Act, but I never got an interview.
     
    Yesterday was my first day at the special unit designed to reintergrate me with jobseekers in the outside world. In the meeting room with me were the usual mix of people. The guy running the course began by describing what we were going to be doing. This doesn't look like a very exciting course. Most people get rope bridges across flooded mountain rivers, or dancing lessons, all in front of tv cameras, but all we have to do is post letters in obscurity for thirteen weeks.
     
    The tutor started handing out sheets of paper. He wants us to fill in a form. No problem, although I notice the questions are a bit anal. You know, who you are, where you live, what you've done, what you did after that, what you'd like to do when they set you free into the wild...
     
    Another form? What's this about? Oh, an equal opportunities thing. I have to declare what species I am. What choices have I got? Reptile? Furry Mammal? I know, I'll tick Ape Descendant... Albino....
     
    Ooh look, yet another form. This one is what exactly? Ahh, health and safety. They want to know who to contact when I have that tragic accident with a photocopier that sets fire to the building. I think I'll put 'Emergency Services' for that.
     
    Oh no, not another form... This one's a classic. I have to fill out a form full of questions asking whether I understand what's going on. Well I think I do.... That man is doing his best to explain it all.
     
    Then he hands out another form. Customer satisfaction. Circle the appropriate answer. Was the induction useful? Were the forms handed out efficiently?... And so on. Do we get a prize if we hand it in? Free benefits for a month? Deep inside of what remained of my concious brain activity, a tiny spark of instinct struggles above the mind-numbing forms and it occurs to me that these forms are of no possible use to any sane statistician in any way at all. I think this is an MI5 recruitment test. I've got thirteen weeks to become James Bond.
     
    Revelation of the Week
    Occaisionally I wander down the hill to the collection of fast food shops and take my pick of world cuisine. There's an advert in the pizza place for a cheap burger, so let's try that. The foreign gentleman who works behind the counter of all these shops takes my order and disappears to find something to put in the bag.
     
    While I wait I look through the colour flyers left on the shelf. There's usually a good selection. An advert for a monster truck display... not interested. Last months local music scene listings... Old news. Hello? What's this? I've found an article describing how anyone, armed only with a copy of the Bible, can scientifically prove that the Earth is in fact only 6,000 years old. All you have to do is swap verses around and the story becomes clear, revealing evolution as a false science...
     
    Wow. Was Darwin wrong after all? Let me just finish this banana, and I'll see what answer I come to. Hey... This is wierd... If you reassemble the pages and letters in the Bible at random, you eventually get Macbeth...
     
  22. caldrail
    Right then. Time to to meet my contractual obligations and earn my benefit payments. So its off to the office and another session of the training programme. Seeing as I'm officially famous and a genuine unemployed person, I think today I really must make the effort and dress in typically grungie fashion. Cue Stayin' Alive by the Bee Gees and lots of silly dancing in front of mirrors.
     
    Having dressed the part it's down the stairs and out into the big wide world. There's no stopping me today... Hello?... Who's that in next doors front yard?... A little old lady about four feet tall is busy pulling up weeds and putting them in her supermarket organic produce bag. Yes... Well.... Think I'll leave her to it. She;'s happy. I suspect her customers are too even if they don't know where these mystical potions are coming from.
     
    Session of the Week
    "Can I help you?" Asked the woman at the office. I pointed out I was there for my afternoon session and she relaxed a bit. "Come with me please."
     
    Sigh. It's a pokey little office and I already know I'm going to be in the back room. But she's happy, so I follow behind and smile gratefully when she beckons me toward the door. The guys inside told me to choose a PC and get right on it. The job search I mean, not the computer. At least I think that's what he meant.
     
    Oh no. I've forgotten my memory stick and I don't have my CV with me. So I'll have to type it out all over again... Boredom Level One.... De Ja Vu.
     
    I've got a great list of websites to work through which means I have to register for every search engine on it one after the other.... Boredom Level Two.... Losing the ability to move facial muscles.
     
    The man in charge says we can go home five minutes early because we've been good little boys and girls. I've worked very hard these last two sessions and currently the entire civilised world has access to my CV. So far I've had one email asking me why I want to work for their client... This is a joke, right?... Guess not, so I'll have to invent a clever answer... Boredom Level Three... Irreversible brain damage.
     
    Now the man in charge tells me that having uploaded my CV to every planet with intelligent life (there's a huge number of advanced civilisations out there according to statistical studies) I'll have to do that every again every two weeks because otherwise these super intelligent space aliens get bored and won't read my CV. I know. I'll offer them my Self Marketing Voucher.
     
    Yep. Us long term unemployed can now can now present a voucher from the government saying "Employ me and get cash, free". It's a bit like tuning your radio to the frequencies used by Alpha Centauri and saying "Hey guys, abduct me please? We'll throw in a free cow."
     
  23. caldrail
    The Programme Centre has moved. They were inhabiting a pokey little place in that peculiar brick complex in the corner by the pub. You'd think that was very convenient, except the pub in question is a real 'sawdust on the floor and spit your broken teeth in the bucket please' kind of place.
     
    I was in there a few years back, quietly minding my own business, nursing a pint like several others. In came a bunch of lads, making a lot of noise, bouncinng off the walls. To be honest I didn't pay much attention but suddenly it dawned on me the pub had gone quiet. I looked over my shoulder to see one of them staring at me balefully with a bar stool raised above his head. Oh great. I came in here to get smashed out of my head, but this wasn't what I had in mind. What could I do? I stared him straight back in the eye. He didn't move. Eventually I snorted and went back to contemplating my pint. Never a dull moment in there.
     
    Then there was the time some old guy accosted me in there and told me he had a treasure map that showed the location of the Tomb of the Ancestor. Tomb of the Ancestress. Oh make your mind up... At the time I thought he either drunk or trying it on.
     
    Now it was time to find the Lost Programme Centre. 'X' marked the spot on the ragged photocopied map that had come into my possession. Right then. Droopy slouch hat, whip on my belt, and a can of snake repellent in my pocket. Off I go.
     
    Hidden behind a crevice between the shops along the main road, I found the Programme Centre, right where the old map said it would be. Overjoyed by my success at negotiating the difficulties of locating our new programme centre, I was overconfident and forgot that doors are not always the simple devices they seem to be. So when the session finished I stood there scratching my head over a stubbornly locked door. All was not lost. Action-archaeology hollywood blockbusters always have a gutsy babe to save the day, and right on cue a nice young lady from upstairs rescued me and pointed out where the secret door-opening thingy was. Chivalry is not yet dead.
     
    Job Vacancy of the Week
    Amongst the list of vacancies I dug out of the internet yesterday was a real gem. Land management in Zimbabwe. Salary negotiable. You bet it is mate.
     
  24. caldrail

    The Weed Gardens

    By caldrail,

    Yesterday, in a decision that only an englishman could make, I went out in the midday sun and visited Lydiard Park. The local council make a big deal of the work they've done there which was supposed to restore the grounds of Lydiard Manor to it's former magnificence.
     
    I've got many photographs of Lydiard as it was. Secluded bayous, wooded paths, a warm natural patina. There used to be a waterside platform where you could look out across a small lake and view cranes resting on a dead tree in the centre of the water. It all had a picturesque quality to it, something very ideal and to be honest a place where you could marvel at the beauty of nature in a very subtle way. It was, by accident, as close to principles of a japanese garden as you could get. Tranquil.
     
    Not any more. The woodland has been cut back, the bayous swept away to recreate the old lake, everything opened up to the sun in an attempt to make the place more attractive to lots of people who really don't appreciate natural beauty much, and I suspect, attempted by people who don't much appreciate it either. It now looks exactly what it is. A weed infested demolition site. The lake is cold and artificial (not to mention stagnant), the gravel paths bare and garish, the woodland peripheral and unwanted. You might best describe Lydiard Park as a bird with it's plumage well and truly plucked.
     
    There was a time you could visit Lydiard and return refreshed from experiencing the natural warmth. Now you either play ball games or get bored by it. After all the money they spent on tearing the place apart, you'd think there was something to show for it. Oh yes. I forgot. I see they've just installed a fountain in the lake. Well that makes all the difference doesn't it?
     
    Weedy Swindon
    The decay and wanton vandalism of Lydiard Park isn't unique in Swindon. Around the borough are areas where buildings are lying abandoned or demolished. The same pale gravelly landscape and its weedy foliage are well established. There's a house under construction near where I live which still has brick and breeze block walls two foot high. The weeds have grown faster. The Old College site looks ever more dilapidated every day, more broken windows, more weeds sprouting under the vandalised wooden fence around it. For a town that's been promoting regeneration and beautification, it all looks like a lot of hot air and incompetence. Oh yeah. Weeds too.
  25. caldrail

    Not Working

    By caldrail,

    Nature is such a fascinating subject. You can't help but admire those colourful documentaries, even if they're carefully constructed and selective in what they show. It is supposed to be entertainment after all.
     
    Still, the program about the South Pacific was of interst to me. It seems the 'Bird of paradise' has a habit of making a stage and attracting a mate by going into a song and dance routine. In effect, so do human beings. Birds have mating dances, we have nightclubs. In fact, the only difference is that when birds throw up afterward, it's generally to feed their young instead of decorating the pavement.
     
    I built a stage once. Way back when I worked in one particular warehouse, a bunch of managers had formed a rock band to play a Red Nose Day event ('Red Nose Day' is an annual public charity drive based on comedy). I got roped in to play the drums because the selected manager had all the percussive skill of a koala bear. So I built the stage and played my 'song and dance' routine. It was obvious afterward that as a comedy event we failed. The audience, even though they were captive employees, were actually impressed.
     
    What was obvious to me was that as a means of attracting a mate I had failed as well. I guess you need the lovely plumage too.
     
    Car Vandalism of the Week
    My car has been broken into again. For the third time, some idiot has ripped a large hole in the hood to get the door open. How many times does that moron have to break into it before he realises it doesn't work anymore and doesn't have anything left inside it? I know... I'll put a sign up. This car is disabled. Then again, they'd only nick the sign...
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