Now that the british weather has woken up and realised we were getting too much warmth and sunshine, october has returned with a vengeance. Although it isn't raining the temperature has dropped alarmingly, made worse by a strong wind. One of the regulars at the library rushed to his chosen computer and saw me. "It's a bit chilly out there isn't it?"

Yes. Yes it is. Very. Maybe it just feels bad because we've had such a balmy autumn so far. There's barely a brown leaf to be seen anywhere. Still, life goes on, and since I needed some extra computer time I trudged across Swindon to my favourite internet cafe.

Once my time ran out it was time to go home. No sooner had I emerged from the stygian depths of technological intercourse than I realised thre weather had changed completely in the hour I had been there. Great swathes of the darkest clouds I've ever seen in Swindon loomed omniously over me, clearly a supernatural message to get back in there and pay for another hour. Smudges of grey hung beneath the clouds, indicators of heavy rainfall. I could feel a drop here and there.

Will Lord Caldrail manage to get home without a thorough soaking? Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen. The outcome will be revealed later.

Roll On

Some of you might know this already thanks to the untiring efforts of stand-up comedians to save the universe from the forces of entropy and primitive life forms, but Swindon is not the centre of the universe. For that reason, we Swindoners only experience a subset of british culture thus getting totally wasted on the weekend is regarded as the only way of forgetting the shame and boredom of living there. I suppose we have little choice really, because there's no more Swindon Foreign Legion, since with recent government cutbacks our fortress in Libya has recently been closed.

Imagine my suprise then as I passed the local second hand car dealer. Most of his stock are the same old hand-me-down family cars as everyone sells, but occaisionally he pulls something unique out of the proverbial hat. There, sat beside the entrance to his premises, was a two tone blue Rolls Royce.

Heck. You don't see many of those in Swindon. Now usually I lust and drool over italianate supersportscars, but I must admit, my lordly instincts were aroused by a gleaming paint job and acres of polished chrome. Come to think of it, that radiator is an iconic shape. It gives the car an air of authority all of it's own. It was also featured on the credits of puppet series Thunderbirds which I watched avidly as a child, thus that shape has been imprinted on my psyche forever.

Curse you Satan! Tempt me not! I shall not be enslaved by massive repair bills and conspicuous consumption!

Okay. I feel better now. But a part of me will always regret not having a big autocannon poking through the radiator. Parker? Shoot those plebs blocking our progress.

"Now, m'lord?"

Now, Parker...

Night Of The Living Syrian

Watching the news last night I learned that a syrian woman has mysteriously returned from the dead. Previously she was featured as the first woman beheaded in Syria under police custody. Who would have thought she would return as a zombie, hellbent on eating the brains of western journalists?

The Outcome

No, you were wrong, the clouds parted and soaked Swindon either side of me. I told I looked like Moses these days. Soon I shall be compelled to bring down the stone tablets from the upper storeys of the Job Centre, and tell everyone off for being richer and more orgiastic than me. Can't wait.