The Bizarre Truth
Industrial estates are odd places. You see them everywhere in british towns and cities, a road along which factories and warehouses are lined up in bold advertisement and yet give off a feeling of almost monastic solitude. You don't see any activity. There's no sense of urgency or productivity. I'm sure that's not actually the case or all these companies would go out of business. It's just that the square and architecturally cold brick frontages do not reveal their inner workings to the casual passer by.
Well, here's the factory unit where I'm supposed to learn how to drive a forklift. As with almost all of them, the offices face the street, the production areas kept out of sight to the rear. The lady at the reception desk sighed when I produced the letter confiorming my course placement and thumbed in the direction of the side entrance. Tradesmen at the rear? It seems so. No matter, her opinions aren't important. So I wandered around the side of the factory, through an open iron gate, and looked along the weed infested pathway. Just before the verdant english jungle completely overtook the discarded piles of wood, corrugated iron, and worn tires, there was a door propped open. Here we go then.
The light and airy factory floor was almost empty. At the other end I observed the forklifts wheezing and whirring. Along the right hand side was a garden. Seriously. Flower beds, gravel, wooden sheds, birdtables - this was truly bizarre. The two ladies dealing with the paperwork didn't acknowledge my presence for a while and I was there for two hours waiting to sign on to the course, which I now know will start in a couple of months time. Oh, but I did do something useful while I was there. A literacy test.
Seventy two questions designed to test my spelling and grammar. Obviously an essential requirement for driving forklifts. I'm pleased to announce I scored 100%, and thus qualify as an englishman.
More Bizarre Stuff
What is it with the Germans these days? They always seem to come up with strange stunts. There was Matthias Rust who landed a Cessna in Red Square, Moscow, for no obvious reason. Now I read that a some idiot in Bavaria threw a puppy at some Hells Angels and escaped on a stolen bulldozer. Like you do.
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