It's All About Numbers
Entry posted by caldrail
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The bells... The bells... Ten o'clock and all is well. I know the time because the bells are tolling. You see, the library is built as an annexe to the old town hall, now used as a dance studio, and the clock tower is clearly audible. With victorian engineering to rely on, how could I possibly be unsure of the time? There was a time of course when the Great Western Works sounded that old steam horn at regular intervals. It was to mark the start and ends of shifts in our local dark satanic mill of course, but the whole town lived by it. I even used it as a child to warn me my lunch break was over and that school awaited my studious presence (or else).
Nonetheless, all is well. The library is quiet, and even BFL thought better of attempting to engage me in conversation. So she started talking to someone else, and lo and behold, she's having problems with her Open University Social Sciences course because she's lost the email address to send her homework too. You see, that's the trouble with modern technology, you just can't depend on it in the same way as great chunks of mobile cast iron.
On a slighter lighter note, I bumped into Sideshow J again. This time he was walking his bicycle up the hill. Despite the introduction of moder materials and manufacturing, bicycles haven't greatly changed since the days of flat caps and coal sacks. So far, at least as far as I'm aware, bicycles don't come with flappy paddle gear changes, crumple zones, or crash protection airbags. Anyway, we exchanged our usual jovial greetings. So... You're not in a hurry today?
"No" He chuckled, "Buit you could have stopped me the other day."
Pardon? At the speed you were cycling uphill? I'd still be laid there spreadeagled on the pavement with tire marks along my chest.
Again he chuckled and enquired how things were going. You know, the usual. "Have you been on a course lately?" He asked.
A course? Oh gawd no, not another class for people who never attended one in the first place. No thanks.
"No no no," He insisted, "There's lots of courses. You could do one on business management. Get a certificate."
A certificate? Wow. Imagine what I could with that! Alan Sugar, you're fired. So there you have it. Buy a victorianesque cast iron machine, make sure you have a certificate, and success will be yours. Good grief, I'm starting to sound like my claims advisor. That reminds me... I need to send him my job search record. What was his email address again? If I'm not careful my claims advisor will end up with a report on the significance of adolescent divergence from traditional and cultural conformance, whilst BFL gets a list of vacancies applied for, which I have no doubt will be advertised loudly at her next library appearance.
Not All Certificates Are Gold
I see in the news that a driver who bought a personalised number plate from the Driver & Vehicle Licensing Agency for
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