And Back Agan
Entry posted by caldrail
280 views
What can I say that adequately describes the events since my last entry? Let's see.... This is a tough one... Well, I got chatted up by a tall leggy blonde. No, really I did. She was standing outside a bakery tempting customers to consider her wares. Does this sound a tad obvious? Just another sales pitch in the great market place of life I guess. But we had a nice chat all the same.
Lovely Weather We've Been Having
What can anyone say about two months of sunshine and showers that resulted in a complete and utter victory for dampness?
Firstly we haven't had it as bad as Cumbria. As far as I'm aware, there's been no collapsing bridges in Swindon, and thus we were spared the tragic deaths that resulted from human futility in the face of natural forces.
Secondly, I 've gotten very adept at avoiding downpours, but I suspect I've gotten so used to it I'm not as fussy about damp weather as I was. Then again, as depressing as it is, Rainy Old Swindon doesn't get the floods that render thousands homeless and bereft of family and friends.
I should apologise to the chap from the British Red Cross who stood in my way as I strode through town and attempted to make me understand what it was they actually do. Of course I drew the conclusion they collect charitable donations, and yes, that was the point of his lesson, so I wasn't wrong. I just hadn't thought any further than that. I do get stopped a lot, especially by those two clowns selling Jesus.
If that young man was truthful and those charitable contributions are indeed used to help those people flooded out or whatever disaster that qualifies them for aid, then I can only say I'm sorry for not adding my name to your mailing list. But, as I explained to the young man, it so happens I'm on charitable aid for being unemployed.
I don't usually stress that condition, though I did to one sanctimonious young lady from a job agency the other day who considered that the need to earn a living was not a sufficient reason to be offered a job interview. What did she want? Perfect teeth? A halo? Or do I drive the wrong make of car?
A part of me wonders whether employers are overly worried about silly details of appearances in the quest to achieve the perfect workforce. They seem to have this idea that talent and ability are highlighted by haircuts and brown tongues. I suspect to a greater or lesser degree that was always true, it's just that getting a job now has less probability than winning the National Lottery, and played out pretty much the same way.
The difference between me and a homeless person in floodland is that I have to ask for the assistance the government offer to unemployed people and regularly prove that I deserve it. i doubt the British Red Cross would regard me as a worthy recipient! Whilst the point is to save government spending and rout out those who claim illegally, the constant ennui, failure, and virtual begging do nothing for the self esteem. A part of me wonders if that isn't all a little counter productive if I have to impress an employer to get off the dole queue.
Neither does turning up for an interview soaking wet.
Mexican Takeaway
For weeks we'd had nothing but windy and wet weather. Funny thing was that it meant the average temperature was well above normal for October/November. Then there was a break in the endless assault of rainy days and the temperature plunged.
It was that evening I found myself with a few quid in my pocket. What shall I do? Get drunk? No, that's too unemployed wino... Definitely don't want to go down that road. I know, I'll invest in a mexican takeaway. There's a shop that does that stuff down at the Brunel Centre, only a five minute stroll from where I live.
In the course of ordering and paying for my meal I met a young woman, a dark haired girl of affable nature, sat on a bench wrapped up in winter clothing in the square outside. A bit odd. Girls of her age are normally very sociable and found giggling in packs of several. I made a joke about it being too cold to sit there phoning her friends. Usually that sort of gag receives a polite chuckle and a look of horror that this old geezer is trying to chat her up.
On that particular night though this particular girl was more open to my obtuse humour. So we got chatting. Turns out she was wrapped up warm because she expected to wait all night if necessary to earn her pay.
Eileen, please, you're a lovely intelligent girl. Get a proper job before it all goes sour.
Clowns And Perfect Lives
Just lately we've had a number of clowns in the town centre. One bunch stood on stilts in victorianesque costumes and played as a band. Truly bizarre, but still entertaining despite the surreal 'Blue Meanie' moment.
As for the two clowns handing out printed cards to passers by, I take issue with the comment one made when I told him to go away and stop bothering me, as they have regularly. As I stomped off feeling very unimpressed with Jesus's sales department, he called at my back, holding a card in the air, telling me I will need that phone number one day.
Maybe it's just me, but I really do suspect the phone number won't matter one jot.
Sympathy For The Fallen
A few years ago I was driving baclk from the countryside and I chose a back road down the valley from Chiseldon. It's a quiet road through a private wooded estate that has a wonderfully unspoilt feel. Perhaps, ironically, that's more to do with careful stewardship and watchful gamekeepers.
As I approached the single lane bridge over the motorway, an intrusion of the modern world that's hidden from view below the line of foliage, a rabbit decided to cross the road right there in front of me. Animals do this occaisionally. They choose the worst moment all too often, and indeed, this daring bunny ran for all it was worth in the face of my oncoming vehicle.
I'm not heartless. I tried to avoid the rabbit. It made no difference. The unlucky mammal went under a front wheel and whether it was crushed or not, I heard it banging around in the wheel well. You can say what you like about sympathy for the soft and cuddly, but I could hear what that animal suffered. I wasn't proud of it.
A couple of weeks ago I saw a news item on the net. A sixteen year old girl was waving goodbye to her friends at a railway station. As the train pulled away she ran alongside, tapping on the window for a final acknowledgement, and in attempting to run in high heels, fell over. She slipped between the platform and the moving train. I could hear that rabbit in my head all over again.
Sympathy For The Falling
This year I found Remembrance Sunday a somewhat less than humbling experience. There's been a change in the way we regard our military in the last few years, with sympathetic documentaries, political speeches, pop albums, brass bands, and indeed, an attitude impressed upon us that our servicemen should be regarded in a certain light, a somewhat idealised and gentlemanly heroism.
Foreign wars have been very much in the news for some time. The reports of men shot or blown apart in a dusty region of Somewhere Else have regularly scrolled across the bottom of the tv news. I'm not blind to the grim finality that warfare entails or the political reality that sometimes requires it. But the stories of equipment shortages and shortcomings have always been a part of warfare and whatever the politicians tell us, always will. These obstacles will be overcome, as they must always be to secure victory.
Neither is it the politics of our foreign wars that bothers me especially. Perhaps in the various decisions made to send the lads there is something worthwhile, a point to it all, something more relevant than political slogans and careers that stand to ain from success in the field. Certainly without the moral purpose we would have a morale problem.
People do squabble occaisionally. Given human nature it's impossible to do otherwise. I can't help thinking that it might be worth fighting over something better than thousands of square miles of mud brick walls and dry ditches, but then perhaps the democratic solution we seek at the barrel of a gun is more important than the venue for its birth.
What I find most intrusive about it all though isn't the affiliation with martial virtue or the patriotic sentiment that underpins it. It's the sale of an attitude for which I will be castigated if I decide not to buy it. I have every respect for our armed services and always had done. That I was turned down for service twice doesn't affect those sentiments. Not everyone is born to be a soldier however much our society values such endeavour. Perhaps our willingness to devalue less aggressive paths is formed by the ability of some to profit from selfishness?
The label of 'hero' is very quickly used these days, especially for politicans seeking to gain votes in television interviews. The constant pressure by the media to regard all servicemen as heroes for no more than signing up for a few years is starting to bother me. As risky as it is, the armed services don't actually have a monopoly on heroism.
I was always taught that a 'hero' is someone who risks their life for someone elses. As it happens I know one or two people who risked their own life, health, or safety in emergency situations. They've never sought medals, television interviews, or praise from politicians for what they did, and I find that most of the people who act selflessly on another persons behalf remain selfless about their achievement afterward.
Society though needs its heroes. We need examples of those we consider courageous. I'm sure there are plenty of servicemen in the field who fall into that category and I recall mentions of personal bravery that reached the autocues out of the many unsung stories that deserved that attention. On the other hand, I'm also aware that not all servicemen are quite as angelic as some would have us believe. Hopefully, disgraces to the uniform are a rareity though I confess I have bumped into one or two in my time.
Those who have acted beyond the demands of their calling at risk of their lives may certainly receive the title of 'Hero' from me. Those who suffer for that service may certainly receive my sympathy and good will. Those who speak for them without personal profit or reward may receive my attention. The rest of you, as you were.
Now You See It...
When our main library was back at the temporary site under that new apartment block they built in the town centre, I wandered along the racks of the reference sections and found a wonderful title written before the second world war that described Saxon settlement in Wessex in loving detail. Some of those old books are incredible. They really are.
A couple of weeks ago I was reading an article about stone age culture written in 1869. You might think it would lack a certain insight, given the typical learned academic of the time, but I was suprised by the parallels the man drew with cultures of his time, and in particular, he emphasised the influence of enviroment and demographics in surviving a wilderness by the simple expedient of describing the Shoshonee Indians of North America, forced out of their bountiful happy hunting grounds and reduced to a wretched condition subsisting on whatever they could dig out of the ground. The villains were of course their enemies the Blackfoot tribe, who had a slight advantage by virtue of buying guns from the Hudson Bay Company. Contemporary regard in a land thousands of miles away for a disappearing world, one hundred and forty years ago.
Now of course I want to find that volume on Saxons again, and despite the patient searches by librarians whose sense of duty (dare I say it) borders on the heroic, the desired book seems to have vanished off the face of the planet. So here's some contemporary concern for a disappearing book, three weeks ago.
On The Bright Side
I do feel I have to reward anyone who's read this blog entry right to the end. It seems a sad reflection on things that most of the content was a little depressing. So, on the bright side, I've finished with the frustrating phone calls, expensive solcitors, avaricious vendors, and fussy consumer protection groups. I have a working computer again.
Ain't life wonderful? I knew you'd be pleased. Especially since the police gave the guy who had sold me the computer originally a right ticking off for parking offences outside my home. Just when you thought there wasn't any justice.
2 Comments
Recommended Comments