caldrail

It's been twenty years? Can't wait for my next birthday... Just imagine... 21 again

Sorry, I'm blowing the whistle. That's a photoshopped image. Look closely at the boundary of the rat image - it sticks out just a little too much - not a natural colour transition and you can can just make out the border of the clip.

Without doubt politics is a contentious subject. Money might make the world go round, but politics decides where you get off. Throughout history politics has caused revolutions, wars, even a genocidal massacre or two. It can even get you thrown off internet forums (as I discovered last year). I once got accused of being a mouthpiece of the Conservative Party. Not because I said anything nice about them, but because I dislike the Labour government even more and said so. Such is the depth of feeling that political discussions can arouse. There's quite a big political discussion going on at the moment. I don't mean Iran - that's an arguement already and sooner or later Ahmadenijad will be foaming at the mouth in protest at the action taken to slow down his plans to elevate Iran to superpower status. I do mean of course the Labour Party Conference in Brighton. What? You mean you don't think it's that important? Cold Shower At the shopping centre where I did my college course there's a triangular area of pavement on a wide concourse. I never gave it a second glance but today, I discovered the purpose of this sloping layer of grey tiles was to mount a series of fountains. The water emerges from the multitude of spouts almost randomly. Sometimes individually, sometimes all together in formation. I'm not sure about the visual appeal of it but it it certainly proved popular with the kids. Three of them were getting a thorough soaking and enjoying every minute of it. What they're going to tell their parents when they get home is anyones business. I can imagine however that people will get caught out crossing that area of pavement. All part of Swindons new love affair with fountains. No, I didn't. Sorry to disappoint you. But as for people getting soaked, a small triangle in Swindon is nothing compared to the deluge experienced in some parts of the world. Investors of the Week You can't help but feel sympathy for the Philipines with flood water reaching twenty feet in places. Floods in Britain have been bad enough and whilst I've not directly experienced the effects, the news coverage has illustrated the material damage more than adequately. I can only sit dumbfounded at how people struggle to go on with their lives almost underwater on the other side of the world. I do however have experience of Philipino's. For a short while I dated a woman from that part of the world (no, not a commercial partner, she'd been living in Britain for years). I visited her sister, AB, a woman I worked with, and I was impressed. Her home was genuinely comfortable and I wondered how she was able to cope with the expense given she earned the same money as myself. On one occaision I took her flying. Her husband wasn't too keen but that was understandable. As it turned out the weather mitigated against actually flying so we had an afternoon out for a pub lunch. By the time we got back to Swindon, she was telling me how expensive life was for her. She was pushing for something and it sounded like it might be expensive. I remained uninterested. It turns out she ran a shoe shop back home. Her entire life was funded by begging from her friends. Her sister, who eventually decided I wasn't wealthy (and interesting?) enough to remain my partner, bought land in the Philipines with her next boyfriends bank balance. I wonder who benefitted from that? In some respects I cannot entirely blame the two women. They came to Britain to earn money and given some of the shenanigans that British women get up to, perhaps they weren't as bad as they might have been. A part of me though cannot help but think maybe there's justice after all.

Today is another gloriously sunny day. Clear blue skies, which oddly enough we don't see too often in summer. Sunday mornings tend to be quiet. All the yobboes from last night have found somewhere to sleep off last nights slanging match. Judging from the intermittent sirens out in the street, one or two had help finding it. Aside from that, the steady stream of moslems and sikhs walking to their places of worship add an exotic air to what is, after all, rainy old Swindon. Silliness I see the Spice Girls are threatening to regroup for another attempt at extracting cash from misguided fans. Rumours have spread of a show at the World Cup but that's been dismissed as 'silly' by band member Melanie. She says they're getting together for other reasons. Money? Perhaps? Or do they actually like each other after all? Scientific Research of the Week Sometimes the announcements of researchers beggar belief. Get this one... 'Optimism' hampers weight loss - Being too optimistic may hamper attempts to lose weight. It seems that people who are happy and fat tend to respond less well to slimming programmes, according to psychologists. Well there you are. Proof that science is useful. If you want to lose weight, be miserable. I also notice that naval patrols off the Horn of Africa are quelling the recent outbreak of piracy. That's going to make some Somali's miserable. Looks like they're going to get thinner too. Spider Update of he Week Now that it's autumn, the early mornings are a bit chilly. Cars coated with dew. Not suprisingly, so are spider webs, and at this time of year their efforts are clearly visible. Some are extraordinary, spanning huge gaps, but little sign of critters awaiting their doom. Maybe they have bigger prey in mind?

I grew up during the Cold War. There were air raid sirens mounted on tall posts around the town, something I realised as a schoolkid although most of my friends were unaware of it. As a child I was hugely interested in aeroplanes and I remember those recognition manuals with grainy black and white photographs of those curiously gothic Russian military jets of the 60's and 70's. Of course I never saw them flying. I never saw them at all. That's no coincidence. Some years ago I was hiking down in Savernake Forest. A tight formation of jets flew overhead. This was the year when Russian Mig-29's were being allowed into British airspace for the first time, for a Fairford airshow. With a close escort of RAF Tornado's, the Mig-29 was being shown around South West England. The realisation that a Russian aircraft was flying past me is difficult to describe. Sure, this was the era of Glasnost and the Fall of the Berlin Wall, but all my life the Russians had been a tacit threat to the life I led. Did I really understand that threat? The idea of a Russian invasion across Germany was something illustrated time and again, and spy thrillers perpetuated the concept of this struggle behind the scenes. I certainly knew about nuclear weapons, I had read about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and although I was dimly aware that come the failure of diplomacy, the fabled 'Four Minute Warning' might become real I don't think I really understood that, potentially at least, there was a nuclear warhead aimed at me. I remember a television news item about missile tests by Pakistan that threatened to start another conflict with India. One man said that nuclear weapons can't be as destructive as they claim. It won't be so bad, he said. Ignorance really is bliss. Today of course the Cold War is over. Apart from disagreements arising over matters of security and foreign policies, the world I knew as a child has become safer. Or has it? The rise of Islamic fundamentalism and its indiscriminate partner, terrorism, has filled the gap rather neatly. The spectre of nuclear proliferation has risen again with President Ahmadenijad of Iran pursuing a contentious course. As a man who declared the Jewish Holocaust a lie, announced the end of Capitalism, and the end of the Age of Empire Building, he doesn't entirely sound convincing as a benign politician. Given the recent public outcry against him in his own country, he comes across as just another petty dictator. Given his apparent quest for nuclear armament can only be justified by the wish to threaten others or even use the things destructively, it seems he's trying to build an empire of his own. Like many dictators do, he hides behind religion and justifies his stance by labelling certain cultures as 'evil'. Significantly both Russia and China have urged Iran to comply with western demands for inspection and control of nuclear facilirties. History tells us that dictators will gamble and push their luck to the end. So will President Ahmadenijad. His rambling speech at the UN was extraordinary. Not because it was any good, but because I can't think of anyone who could waffle for that length of time without drawing breath. What exactly did he say? Invasion of the Week British homes are invaded every Autumn by sneaky spiders. We've been warned they intend to invade this year in ever greater numbers, since the benign weather has allowed them to recruit new members in droves. There's a military axiom that says if you want to mount an invasion with a secure chance of success, you need forces at least three times as strong as the defenders. That would make my war against the spider look like a horror film. Remember that scene in Lord of the Rings where Sam defends his unconcious master against Shelob, the giant spider in the mountains of Mordor? Luckily I won't be facing spiders that big. Or at least I hope not. It's been a while since I looked under the sink.... You have been warned!

There's been some new fossiles found in China. That part of the world seemes particularly fertile in dinosaur remains doesn't it? I wonder why? Was the ara absolutely teeming in life back in past ages, or was it simply muddier and thus more got preserved? Anyway, they've found some new bird-esque species older than archeopteryx (the famous half bird/half dinosaur fossil recovered from Germany donkeys years ago) so once again the news headlines are full of Scientists confirm birds evolved from dinosaurs. I thought that was old news? I think there's a journalist or two that needs to listen to their kids once in a while. Piggy In The Middle Why is bureaucracy never simple? I'm on another paper chase. The College insist I need form SL2 (Nope, don't know what that's for either) and the Job Centre insist I don't. "You need to phone this number and ask for an interview" The woman tells me. She almost laughed when I groaned inwardly. Okay, I'll phone... Oh hello, this is Caldrail. I've been forwarded for a college course and I've been told that I need to phone you to arrange for a form SL2? "Please wait a moment, I'll just ask my colleague.... Hello? No, you don't need SL2, we don't do them. You need a proof of benefit form...." I got one of those stamped before. Sigh... Here we go again... Politican of the Year I see our loathsome prime minister Gordon Brown has been voted Politician of the Year for solving everyone elses economic problems. So how come he's made such a pigs ass of ours?

The desire to fly has always been with us. History has plenty of anecdotes of men attempting to emulate birds. Mankind, not satisfied with travelling on the elements of earth and water, have attempted to invade the air, from the days of Daedalus downwards. Pennis non hominis datis ("With wings not given to Man") they have essayed, unsuccesfully, the Art of Flying Anonymous - From a letter recorded in 1854 "The time will come when a man setting out on his journey, would ring for his wings, as heretofore his boots" John Wilkins (Bishop of Chester, 1668) Whilst researching archaeological finds in Wiltshire, I came across a mention from 1854 of this sort of activity (at a time when Henson and Stringfellow were lobbying Parliament for the creation of the worlds first airline, the Aerial Transit Company, whilst their steam powered aeroplane was little more than a designers dream). It seems in the 1730's there was a fad for 'Steeple Flying'. A rope was attached to a church steeple then extended out on the ground, and an intrepid person would rapidly descend in much the same way as you get in todays adventure parks. London was a popular venue and Old St Pauls Church in particular staged these events. In 1731 it's noted that a sailor descended from Hackney steeple with streamers in each hand. One adventurer started making a living from this, giving demonstrations at any church willing to give permission. At Bromham, the rope was pulled too tight by the others at the bottom, and the steeple broke off in mid-event, leaving the lucky adventurer to fall into a tree. Shaken and permanently put off it seems, as the fad died out afterward. There you have it. Extreme sports are nothing new.

The Broadband Tax is almost upon us. The government wants internet connections to every home and because companies won't lay cables in the non-profitable regions of England (amounting to a third of the territory) we all have to pay for everyone elses connection besides our own. The tax apparently applies to anyone with a phone line whether they like it or not. As a benefit claimant, that's asking me to fork out a third of my monthly profit to help some family in the boondocks enjoy the world wide web. Does that sound right to you? And if the government wants me to go on the internet too (as indeed they claim), could they tell me where to find an additional

It was quite a dull day yesterday. The only highlight was a woman dressed as an indian squaw as I was leaving the library. Naturally I looked at her as if to say 'What on earth are you doing?'. She was talking to a security guard at the time. He chats up all the women downstairs - I guess that's a perk of his job - but as soon as she realised I was standing there, she forgot him, smiled, and tried to shove a Walt Disney pamphlet in my hand. That's what you get for asking I suppose. Dull Weather Talking about dull days, it seems our run of great weather is over. It rained last night and this morning was a typical grey English vista of unrelenting clag. The weathermen are telling us to expect another indian summer this autumn so I wait with bated breath. I wonder if the lady downstairs was an omen? I should have taken the pamphlet. Lesson of the Week Must dash. My last session on the electrical awareness course is due and this one is about How Not To Get Electrocuted. Now they tell us.

Did you hear about the electrician who crossed the road? He shorted himself out.... A scotsman, an irishman, and an electrician queued for a bus. The scotsman asked how much the bus ride would cost. The irishman asked where the bus was going. The electrician told them it wsn't plugged in. How many electricians does it take to change a light bulb? More than the estimate. Feel better? Laughter is the best remedy....

Romans, or more to the point, Romano-British, didn't always build wells close to their homes. They got water from where they could find it. Rural settlements might be placed for a number of reasons and water was only one of them. TWhereas the Brits still living in the celtic fashion retained the use of upland sites, the Roman period villages typically preferred the lowland areas where such water was plentiful (and in fact, there are indications that Durocornovium (a town once located on Swindons east side) had many wooden buildings raised above ground level - a possible indicator of frequent flooding? Regarding wells, the same sort of thing has been located in Swindon, where a Roman period well doesn't have a settlement close to it. It is interesting because the area isn't far from the River Ray, which although not impressive as a watercourse no doubt was able to supply water needs for local communities, although there is always the possibility that people preferred drinking water from wells as opposed to river water used for all sorts of purposes and thus potentially suspect. As it happens, Swindon once had a number of springs (the Midland & South West Junction Railway made good use of one) but most have now dried up (there's a memorial inscription at the site of one ex-spring). The supply of water in the area was the major attraction of the hill and accounts for the Roman shrines located in the vicinity - a nymphaeum was recently uncovered at the Groundwell site, and there are suspicions that a major temple site lies buried under Swindons Old Town. Whether such wells were specific to a nearby farm or settlement, or whether these facilities were shared between settlements, I don't know, but the picture of Romano-Brits carrying water home probably wasn't so unusual for rural England in those times. Aqueducts weren't built for villages.

Walking home from the College I was confronted by a dog. The black labrador trotted along the pavement happily wagging its tail, at one with the universe as dogs sometimes are. The owner, an older woman, was blissfully unaware of my approach and stared out across the valley. The dog stared at me. I get the impression it was a somewhat dominant animal as it veered toward me, curious as to why I wasn't stepping aside for it. One quick sniff and it lost interest. Obviously it didn't consider me a threat. The woman noticed I was held up by her beloved pet. I shrugged and quipped "What could I do?". I'm not sure the dog was amused, but at least she guffawed. Damp Spot On a friendlier note, I met a white Husky yesterday, one of those sled dogs that apparently make difficult pets. Those pale blue eyes are a bit spooky and when you look into it's gaze, you see a wolf staring back at you far more than most breeds. As it turned out, the dog was very good natured. Or so the owner claims. All I know is that it had a good sniff of my nether regions when I chatted to the owner and left me with a damp patch on the front of my trousers. Cheers. Thanks for that. Must be some kind of Arctic greeting. Or perhaps the Husky has a very canine sense of humour. Sour Note One person without a sense of humour was the girl on the till at the Asda supermarket. Those wretched card readers and their sponge rubber keypads are never reliable and this one simply refused to enter my numbers accurately. You need that looked at, I said, the keys don't work properly. "Works for everyone else." She replied with that really irritating air of social superiority. Look, lady, you're a shop assistant, not a wealthy businesswoman. The customer is always right. And whilst on the subject, I didn't find you attractive either. Sometimes my sense of humour gets a little strained too. Joke of the Week I didn't invent this one, credit goes to A, one of my fellow college students. How do you know when you're an electrician? When you decide whether to park your car in series or parallel If you didn't find that hilariously funny, you need a course in electrical awareness. Or a sense of humour. Or high voltage wires applied to your person. If that doesn't work, I know a branch of Asda's that would suit your shopping needs exactly.

Welcome back. I was getting lonely out here in Blogland

I don't know about you, but I've always found that weddings are such a pain in the backside. Perhaps it's different if you're the one getting married - I suspect in most cases you're kind of swept along by it - but as a disinterested observer you get dragged to a boring ritual then off to take part in the reception, a celebration that takes ages for you to drink yourself oblivious and spare yourself the mind numbing tedium of family fun. If you doubt my word on that, I challenge you sit through a wedding video. You'll see what I mean. My cousins eldest son DH is getting hitched shortly. The last time I saw him was as an angry and frustrated teenager. Now he's all adult and responsible? That's going to take some getting used to. As it happens, he's a New Zealander, and determined to do this wedding the right way he's asked for the addresses of everyone in England. Well that's gotta be some party! Sixty million guests no less. A mass migration of English people to the other side of the world. Just imagine that.... Factories and workplaces closing for the week, the entire country at a standstill, no cars on the roads.... Judging from the news recently, the arrangements are taking shape nicely. Apart from me that is. If I go abroad they'll stop my benefits. Hang on.... For the first time ever, I want to hug and kiss the British Government. Inadvertantly they've given me the best excuse ever to avoid a family wedding! Welcome of the Week The claims advisor was nice to me this morning. What? Discovered I was telling the truth after all?

Jeremy Kyle? Who's he? Actually I don't get about as much as I'd like to. My job search gets in the way.

I've just sat down to write up this mornings blog entry. The weather is pretty good again. A woman stopped me yesterday in town and couldn't help discussing what a nice day it was. What a nice lady. Todays there's a hazy sunshine with some bands of high altitude stratus cloud in the distance, looking a sort of pale pink and grey against the cyan sky. There's also something else. Swindon lies under air traffic routes so the contrails of airliners moving back and forth across the Atlantic are not unusual. Neither for that matter are light aircraft at a much lower altitude. Despite the presence of a military control zone, civilian pilots like to cross Swindon for some reason. But this morning, just five minutes before I actually typed this out, I saw something else. At first I just assumed it was another light aeroplane. A dark speck in the sky. Hang on, there's another, flying loose formation and heading east. Now that has to be military. A pair of Tucano's on a training flight? Nope, better than that. The lead aircraft was a Spitfire. The wing shape is unmistakeable, even at that distance, and I still get get a boyish thrill spotting one flying. The other aeroplane? Now that's probably... Yes, it is, the Spitfires Battle of Britain stablemate, the Hurricane. Both aeroplanes flew over the house at around 1000' with merlin engines burbling away magnificently, with just a hint of a combustive scream beneath that gravelly roar. I love it. This afternoon I shall break out the flight simulator and fly my virtual version. As much as I would wish for a chance to fly the real thing, I must be honest, the simulator is somewhat cheaper. It lacks the sound, the feel, the smell, all the subliminal sensations of flying for real. But unless I can find the

Some extra clothes, a few odds and ends to assist me if I get into trouble out there, two flasks of water, and whatever waterproofs I deem necessary. Sorry, no rambo-esque blades. As for thick undergrowth, I either find an easier path or rely on heavyweight military surplus trousers. In theory there's other stuff I could sensibly carry, but by and large I avoid taking food. I do sweat a lot and digestion speeds up dehydration as well as risking indigestive misery during physical activity. In any case, I'm well fed (officially fat since my Newcastle visit) so going without eating until I get home isn't going to kill me. Now you might question the necessity of preparing for anything when I'm probably never more than a few miles someone's home. It might seem I'm carrying a lot (it weighs in at a modest 15 to 20 lbs) but I frequent trails that aren't often used in some of the more remote parts of the Wiltshire countryside, and since I'm usually alone out there, I prefer to have some options available to me should a problem arise. It isn't that it's actually necessary, but it's practise for those rare occaisions when I really do stretch my legs in wilder places. Besides, it all helps the fitness doesn't it? And there is a certain satisfaction in knowing that you can still 'cut it' and haul that gear (which isn't as heavy as a soldier might be expected to cart around)

A couple of nights ago I watched a program on Channel 4 about some guy who wanted to see if he could survive on his own in verdant wilderness of the Yukon. It is still an area largely left to nature and the mountains, forests, rivers, and lakes create jaw dropping vistas of natural beauty, teeming with wildlife. His early optimism soon gave way to the ennui of solitary existence and the constant need to find food, however small and unappetising it may be. There was also the possibility of encountering bears, and whilst grizzly's are sometimes fooled by playing dead, black bears are less easily satisified. It came as no suprise to me that he suffered emotionally as well as physically. Human beings are social animals and we don't really like being on our own that much, though some individuals are better able to tolerate that sort of situation. Determination, discipline, and for some even religion all help you survive, but ultimately, you get worn down by the ravages of the enviroment and the lack of food begins to tell on your health. It reminds me of the survival programs by people like Bear Grylls and Ray Mears, both of whom stress determination, knowledge, and practice at the skills required to stay alive. I think one point they don't stress, though they often mention it in passing, is the limited time you have as a survivor. Very often people are forced to cope with conditions that don't suit human beings, possibly with scarce food and water sources. Some years ago a criminal had vanished and a nationwide search for him was underway. Eventually he was spotted in a dishevelled condition attempting to buy matches. Apparently the man had bought one of those SAS survival guides and thought that was all he needed to manage his covert existence in some woods out of public gaze. Clearly his experience was tougher than he expected. It also occurs to me that the densely populated English countryside isn't always the easiest place to hide in for very different reasons too. Walking back to Swindon from a hike into the farmland to the north I hauled myself step by step up the grassy slope toward Blunsdon village. The pack wasn't overly heavy, but it felt so, and it occured to me that my my relative lack of fitness, and mature years, were making this much harder than it had been in my youth. What will happen in a few years from now? Will I have to reduce the load I carry? Shorten the distance I walk? Commonsense tells me I can't keep this up forever. Another part of me eggs me on, willing me to push the boundary a little one more time. Of course I can afford to. I live in a nice warm brick cave with water available for the asking and supermarket shelves within easy reach. My survival isn't about finding and exploiting natural resources, but paying for them. I have to perform daily tasks to obtain the money I need to survive. I need to cope with the social isolation that unemployment generates. In a small way, I can sympathise with the man in the Yukon. Then again, walking along a main road on my way to the countryside, a passing car sounded his horn and the driver waved at me. About two hundred yards away, all I could see was a pair of shades. I have no idea who it was. Whereas in the Yukon there's probably no living sole for hundreds of miles, out here in the urban wilderness of Swindon, you're never far from someone. But doesn't that present its own survival challenges? That Was Close Crossing a busy junction near my home is a daily occurence. The single decker buses always turn right down the main road toward the bus station and so I often walk across the road knowing full well there's no risk. Yesterday evening one flashed his indicators to show he was heading my way. For a moment I hesitated, then seeing a sign of a swing to the right, I assumed his indicators were incorrectly applied and that I was safe to cross the road. Needless to say, I soon realised it wasn't and got out of the way very quickly! The urban enviroment has its own particular dangers . The thing is though, I'm used to them, or at least those I normally encounter. Attuned to them in some respects. It's second nature and you instinctively look for those hazards. Had I been born and bred in the Yukon, shown how to survive at an early age, hunting and fishing every day, perhaps I might have found it easier than the man from Channel 4. For now, surviving in Swindon is enough.

Oh no... They've gotten to you too.... :D

I am partial to my takeaways. I know fast food isn't always as healthy as we'd like to believe, but they say a little of what you fancy does you good. As it happens, there's plenty of outlets in my neighbourhood. Down the bottom of the hill there's one kebab shop that changed hands and re-opened a week ago. Curiosity got the better of me last night. The Turkish lads waited patiently for select my choice of meal and promptly informed me that they only did that at lunchtimes. Oh you don't want to say that I told them, or I'll walk out. Give customers what they want - It's good business. It seems I do speak Turkish after all. All of a sudden the lads were all smiles, one giving me a playful handshake. As it turns out they cook a decent kebab too. The art of haggling is not yet dead. Business Enterprise With defence cuts looming in the wake of rising national debt, the RAF have taken the decision to lease their aeroplanes out to commercial operators. Can you imagine? Hello? Is that RAF Coltishall?.... Yes, I wonder if you can help. I've got an urgent business meeting in Amsterdam and... You have a back seat on a Tornado fighter available? Oh that would be great.... I do actually presume they mean transport or tanker aircraft only. So if anyone wants a cheap holiday in Afghanistan, nows your chance. They expect reservations to be available for a few decades yet. Plenty of sunshine and excitement. Joking aside, this decision is an interesting reverse. Back in the 1970's there was a plan to save costs by using commercial airliners as 'stand-off' missile platforms. Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking... We are currently cruising at thirty thousand feet, and if you hear any strange noises, don't be concerned, it's only our on-board nuclear missile being fired at Russia. Please enjoy your flight... Monster of the Week We do like monster stories. From time to time Nessie emerges from the Scottish loch for a photo shoot, or Sasquatch ambles past the sights of a backcountry deer hunter, or another rumour of an Abominable Snowman wandering around the mountains of Tibet. Dinosaurs have always been popular. I knew them all when I was a kid, and from what I see on the bookshelves today, it's no different now. It seems one film studio is cashing in by leaving a film prop on an american beach, dubbed the 'Montauk Monster", which has caused a stir. Now a strange beastie has been clubbed to death (albeit without any obvious wounds) by youths in Panama. Actually it bore a slight resemblance to E.T., Spielbergs cuddly alien. Not cuddly enough it seems. Boys will be boys.

One of college classmates is a farmer by trade. The difficult economic conditions have prompted a change in career (though I understand he now intends to work for his family farm). He's been pretty busy of late. Hundreds of hay bales needed to be collected for shipment and he was working into the small hours of the night getting those things stacked and packed. At first glance it seems the life of a farmer is all hard work, but he tells me that it isn't always so dull. The police called at his farm a few days ago. They'd had reports of people getting up to something in one of their fields at all hours of the night. That night, movement was spotted on the top field. With no-one else around, my classmate got into his tractor and drove up the path to take a look. He could see something highlighted by his headlamps up ahead, strange flickering presences like ghosts. Out there on his own in the dark his imagination was starting to make him think something seriously wierd was going on. Nonetheless, he idled forwards as quiet as he could in a tractor, and there, before his eyes, was..... Have a guess - The answer is at the bottom of the post... Excuse Mate, But... By lunchtime the dull cloudy weather had brightened considerably. Still very blustery, as often happens in Autumn these days, but it was time to trek across Swindon and attend another session at the College. My route took me past a recreation ground. This one has more facilities than most and that includes a nine hole golf course. Walking along the outskirts I could see a number of youths busy engaged in a round of golf. One of them paced back and forth impatiently as if totally uninterested in the game. As I got closer, he asked me if I would return his ball. There it was, just the other side of the fence, and as I tossed it back to them I made the observation that they hadn't had many lessons. "No," Responded one of the others earnestly, "But we're getting better." Apology To the young lady I spotted dancing on the pavement in Haydon Wick, I apologise for any embarrasement I caused. It was a little comical, if not completely incongruous, but suddenly going self-concious when you noticed my amusement was even funnier. Please feel free to dance whenever you like. Have a nice day. X Files of the Week Sorry to disappoint you, but the 'ghost' was in fact a scarecrow with a green reflective high-vis jacket fluttering in the wind.

From time to time I hear little snippets of wisdom such as "You can't teach an old dog new tricks". They sound clever at first, but I wonder if these phrases aren't repeated merely to sound clever, to conceal a lack of any real insight into the world. After all, an old dog is perfectly capable of learning new tricks, it's just that he's experienced enough to know he's being asked to perform for nothing. A case of "Lead a horse to water but you can't make him drink"? Just give him some maths homework... That'll turn him into an alcoholic... It's been a long time since I've been at school. Back in my early twenties, I'd finished my Higher National Diploma in Engineering and that had just about finished my interest in education. I'd had enough. To be fair, music was becoming ever more important to me and for another decade it would dominate my life. Dominating my life at the moment is the fruitless quest for work in economically depressed Britain which is the entire reason why I've been placed on this college course. Last night I was watching the news and following the death of Patrick Swayze, they broadcast an interview with him from a few years before. He stressed that so many people don't achieve their hearts desire for little other reason than fear of the consequences. That's no great philosophical milestone - Sun Tzu said much the same thing two thousand years ago in China. I often hear celebrities telling us to pursue our dreams. Of course they can afford to say things like that because they succeeded. It's very rare to hear those sentiments from those who fall by the wayside. I must be honest, my music never reached the giddy heights for which I had striven. Neither, for that matter, has my career. Since there's so little possibility of appearing as a celebrity guest on television or firing hopeless young executives eager for six figure salaries, I'll have to content myself with my college course. It isn't all maths. They have this demonstration board wired up to mains electricity, and they gave me a voltage tester to sort out which lamp fitting is faulty. So, following instructions, I prodded bits of wiring to find out which wires were live. I certainly found one that was loose. I broke the wiring.... Have you got any maths I can do? Pulling Apron Strings Talking about celebrities, they've been increasingly keen to adopt kids just lately. You have Madonna causing international incidents in her attempts to kidnap Malawians, and now Elton John is keen to express his new-found love for some poor youngster. Funny thing is, we only get to hear about these adoptions when bureaucracy tells them they can't have what they want. Clean Up of the Week I knew some guys were trimming the hedge along the alleyway yesterday. What I didn't expect was for them them to spread a new carpet of gravel there as well. Not only that, but our weed-infested front yards have received a fresh layer of gravel too. Gravel! Gravel everywhere! Fresh clean sparkling gravel! You just know it's going to end up on someone elses driveway.

Recently I drew attention to a school in southeast England that has been criticised for sending a sheep to market as part of childrens education. Whilst it may seem cruel at first sight, those kids are learning where food actually comes from and learning that emotional attachment comes at a price. Here's the problem though. The human race is multiplying at an increasing rate. David Attenborough tells us that in the last fifty years, the human population of the world has tripled. Vastly improved health care and the containment of large scale warfare have of course contributed. There is however a more basic reason. Remember all those rabbit and fox graphs you used to get in biology class at school? With food readily productive and available in the modern world there are no shortages to limit human expansion. Of course there are areas suffering famine or obstructions in the food supply. The point though is that if people aren't starving to death they're reproducing. Sex isn't entirely onerous, is it? So like the foxes, when times are good we increase in numbers. The sad truth is that good times cannot last forever. Climatic change, natural disasters, or perhaps even a significant meteorite strike might tip the balance, and human beings will starve in huge numbers. It's almost inevitable. So as people multiply food production must keep pace to feed the happy majority. This is why our food supply has become so mechanistic in the modern age, and with it, a somewhat crueller detachment than hunting in the wild. As far as I'm concerned, hunting, skinning, and butchering are extensions of the natural world. There does come a point when this realism crosses a border into a much deeper cruelty, and I'd like to thank Roger Moore for doing more than raising his eyebrows dramatically. The former 'James Bond' star has pointed at the production of foie gras which to my horror is done by force feeding geese with corn mash via a metal pipe stuffed down their throat, purely to cause a swelling of the liver from which the delicacy is made. There's an honesty about fresh meat on your plate (even if the reality isn't always what we'd like to see) but to cause an animal harm and distress purely for the pleasure of the wealthy isn't something I can agree with. Can you? Restoration of the Week I was woken this morning by the whining sound of power tools. It wasn't coming from the garage across the yard, which has been quieter this year than previously, nor was it coming from next door, which is being renovated after it's last tenants left. It was the alleyway beside the terrace, whose bushes have reduced the car park access to single file pedestrian only, and no shortage of discarded waste such as cardboard boxes and broken furniture. I doubt however that the council will upgrade the surface. Every so often they fill in the potholes with gravel which promptly vanishes after the first heavy rain. The alleyway is now three inches below the asphalt car park and eroding nicely. In another year, trimming the hedge will be pointless because you'll not be able to get a car onto the car park without damaging it.

That's it. Summer is over. Our three days of glorious sunshine has been brushed aside by grey cloud and chilly wind. Weather forecasters say it will improve this afternoon, which pleases me no end. Very soon we'll be in that dangerous Autumn season when car drivers forget that mist, fog, and frosty roads aren't as safe as the as they were in the last few months. Going back a few years, back in the days when I drove my trusty Toyota MR2, I was on my way to work early in the morning. It was still dark and the sun wasn't due to rise for another hour. The vehicles ahead were held up by one driver in a blue saloon who wasn't going to be rushed, much to the annoyance of all of us following adter. Eventually the cars in front either turned off or got past, leaving only a white van ahead of me which to my relief turned off the road. I accelerated to catch up with the slow moving saloon following the road ahead. I came round the bend and glanced alongside the car ahead. Can I get past here? Strictly speaking I could, but on a snap decision I considered the road to be too narrow and too short before the next junction to pass safely. It was easy to bleed off speed on the curve and I slowed down at a reasonable distance from the car ahead, which also seemed to be slowing down. Perhaps he meant to pull over for me but I shall never know. As I fell in behind him his car flipped into the air, right in front of me. It was a shocking experience. I pulled over to the side of the road after watching his car drop into the roadside ditch. I didn't know this at that moment, but he had in fact collided with a tree before he came to a halt (which hadn't caused the accident). What could I do? I stuck around, tried to help, and made myself known to the policemen who arrived shortly after. Clearly they had suspicions I'd pushed the man off the road. Of course I hadn't, and I was never prosecuted, but perhaps more importantly I never found out what happened to the badly injured man whose car had crashed for no apparent reason. There was one accident where I did see what happened. We were on our way to a gig in London and I was driving our somewhat scruffy van up the hill towards Membury. On the opposite side of the motorway, I saw a van bounce into the air, swerve off the carriageway, and up the grassy embankment. It rolled over rapidly and as it did so, the van body peeled open like a ripe banana. Several people had been sitting in the back. They were flung across the road like rag dolls and not suprisingly, there were deaths. Certainly I shan't ever forget that scene. It makes a strange comparison with events in Formula One recently. Felipe Masse being hit by a debris and driving unconcious into a tire wall, or Lewis Hamilton spinning off into a concrete wall at high speed at Monza this weekend with no more than inured pride. Speed kills? Apparently it's safer than everyday driving. Where can I buy a Formula One car? Finance available? I'll just have a word with my insurers... Car Accident of the Week Some young scallywag wasn't looking where he was going at the Rodbourne roundabout. In the midst of his conversation with his mates, no doubt conducted by telepathy over the noise of his mobile nightclub, he managed to force my sister off the road. No-one was hurt but we notice the young man chose to drive away. She really isn't that scary you know.

The old guy sat at the bar watched me order a pint of cider before wishing me a good afternoon by way of friendly greeting. The pub had looked inviting, and after returning from my trek up to Bincknoll Castle (a medieval site a few miles southwest of Swindon) the prospect of a cold pint was too good to ignore. With framed photographs of Lancaster bombers on the walls I knew this was a proper English country pub. He was a talkative chap. Pretty much a typical country bar-fly I suppose, but I was too tired to worry about it. At any rate, he got curious about my rucksack, and enquired how heavy it was. In a mischievous mood I handed it to him, and grinned mightily when the unexpected weight nearly hauled him off his seat. Wartime Naughtiness I was pretty much oblivious to anything going on around me once I sat down to enjoy my pint, but that didn't stop the old man from describing who he was, how poor he was, and why his father was such a rogue. It transpires that during the Second World War his father stole a number of chickens for personal consumption and ended up having to assure a policeman he had nothing to do with it, hoping the constable wouldn't notice the kitchen filled with feathers. There was also one incident when he stopped by a farm and asked the owner if he could have some apples. The farmer, in a very generous move, said he could take any apples on the ground. The old man's father promptly reversed his truck into the tree and scooped the jackpot. Sheep of the Week A couple of nights ago there was a news report about a country school in southeast England. Apparently, this school operates a very small 'farm' for the benefit of the kids education, and purchased a number of lambs for that purpose. The decision has been made that in order to retain some income and to illustrate to children where food actually comes from, one sheep must go to market. So it's goodbye to Marcus the Sheep. Not without some controversy. Some parents are horrified that their little darlings will get upset at a favourite pet ending up on someones plate. Personally I don't have a problem. Kids should learn to cope with making difficult decisions and emotional loss. A part of me wonders if a lesson in hunger might not teach them about the realities of farm animals too. This is part of a wider misconception we humans have. People see themselves as 'special' and above nature, when the reality is that we're just as much biological entities as any other creature, and not guaranteed survival, whatever the Bible might say. Since I'm part of the food chain too, I shall wander down the supermarket, pick up some lamb chops (sale price naturally) and thank Marcus for his contribution to my continued health. Sorry kids, but animals eat each other sometimes.