Late last night I got bored with my struggles with computers that know more about information technology that I do. Technical stuff gets a bit dull when you get nowhere with it. Instead, I decided to chill out with a video game and discovered getting trashed by pixellated space aliens is no more interesting than arguing with my computer.

For a while I listened to the radio instead. An hour or two of classic rock, an hour or two of back to back adverts for stuff you'll never buy, and an hour or two of some DJ wittering on about stuff you'll never listen to. Maybe it was just my mood but somehow the radio didn't keep my attention. As for television, what's the point? Saturday night on the box is an exercise in futility.

There were people yelling in the street outside. Not sure what they're shouting about. Not sure they knew either. Not sure they're any more interesting than your average DJ. Mind you, there's a lot of people who think shouting makes you more knowledgeable. They always know better than you. You can tell because you can't get a word in edgeways.

Time to take a breather. I opened the back window and watched the night sky for a while. If anything attracted my attention it was all those fast moving lights crossing the sky. Not meteorites, whose trail winks out after a brief and speedy display. I doubt they were satellites, space stations, or even UFO's desperately trying to overfly Swindon without being shouted at by our local know-all's. It was peculiar watching these lights transit the darkened sky without making a sound. One passed over the house, quite low, an intense trio of amber or red lights making it look like a bright ball of fire, and that too passed silently overhead.

Amazing isn't it? Aeroplanes obey noise regulations at night, going about their aerial business for fear of upsetting the people of Swindon. You'd think we'd get upset about all that shouting in the street. But then, as we've learned, loud people know better.

On The Wild Side

I heard the news that a wiltshire lad got mauled to death by a polar bear in Norway. A tragedy certainly, one I hope the family will come to terms with, but this incident raises an interesting point. The fact this was a prime time television news story suggests that very few people get mauled by polar bears. It's almost as if we ought to be shocked that it happened. After all, as much as we like to think it's our planet, I suspect the polar bears have other ideas, and those lads were exploring their home turf. I wonder if our survival skills are blunted by our own modern naivety? Are we less aware, less cautious, less able to spot danger before it happens?

Chest Beating 101

The other evening I was walking home and caught up with a group of revellers. They were pretty typical for revellers. Two lads, towering over me, each conforming to specification. One was doing all the talking, the other listened. Two girls followed on to assure the general public these lads weren't gay.

As I was walking quicker than they were I began to pass by on one side. Now these lads weren't exactly seven stone weaklings, but they both drew back as if I was radioactive. Come on guys. Act like adults. No-one's interested in bumming you, least of all me. Did they really think I was going to do something like that, in broad daylight, against two burly lads on a busy street, against the law and all my sexual preferences?

I knew they were going to start making dismissive comments. The bald headed berk couldn't resist it. He was after all shouting. Who am I to argue with a shoutey person? I'm sure this shouting impresses the girls. Of course if I make any response that causes them to lose face in front of their female companions, they bunch their fists and shout louder. Am I worried? The law applies to them too, and in case, it's no use shouting that they're not scared of me, because I know what scares them.

Loadsa Dosh!

"You've got plenty of cash" I was told by outraged individuals who see my unemployed lifestyle as somehow more luxurious than theirs. Yeah? Really? I'll let you in on a secret. Benefits are means tested. Therefore, if I had plenty of cash, the government would stop paying me.

Recently there was a woman at the programme centre who tried to convince she was hard done by because she spent all day working to keep up mortgages and domestic bills. "You're bills are paid for" She said. No. They aren't. I'm still liable for rent or everything else. It's just that since my income is zilch the government kindly assist me financially. I still have to pay domestic bills of course. And I'm obliged to look for employment so that the government can stop paying me. If I sit there in luxury, it's a fair bet I'll receive a stern notice telling me I won't get any more financial assistance. In any case, chances are she lumbered herself with huge bills because she could. Loadsa money?

The thing is, most people spend what they get as soon as possible, so they have nothing left. They don't plan or budget their finances and wonder why I look comfortably undistrubed by the economic woes of our wobbling country. I doubt many people would care much for my lifestyle. It's a lot more restricted than they realise. I used to have a similar problem in the workplace. People always complained I got the cushy jobs, yet when the managers caved in and let some of them do the same job - oh dear - isn't as cushy as you thought, is it?

The fact is I only get so much money a month. If I spend more, I lose money, and get into debt. So I work to a budget. Simple. My suggestion is that all these shoutey people should go off and join the Labour Party as politicians. That lot thought they had lots of money to spend too.