caldrail

Now that I've paid out a wad of cash for the keyboard repair I've rediscovered some enthusiasm for playing it. For me, th keyboard was always secondary. It seemed a passive instrument because it was fixed in place, which is a strange attitude considering I was a drummer by trade and drum kits are even more static. I think though it had to do with energy. As a young person I had all the same youthful angst and frustrated anger that everyone else has at that age. Therefore I used to thrash out power chords on an electric guitar or traumatise audiences with assault and battery on the drums. Now that I'm a little older and wiser... Oh all right, now that I'm much older and just as much an idiot as I ever was, I've come to realise just how versatile modern polysynths and sequencers can be. If you know what to do. I don't, so I've delved into those arcane manuals that I never took much notice of twenty years ago. The woman across the road was busy in domestic chores and from her vantage point in the kitchen window spotted me about to lay down some tracks in my makeshift recording studio. She looked genuinely taken aback. Where music is concerned, talent will out, but practice makes perfect. I was practising my keyboard playing well into the night. Thing is though eventually your self discipline erodes after constant repitition and you get an urge to experiment, to push your boundaries, to try something new. That happened, and I ended up playing an hour long freeform jazz funk jam to my virtual ryrthmn section. Jazz funk? I can't believe I've sunk to such depths... My evolution as a musician is complete. Having drained all my inspiration and desire to express myself musically, I wandered to the back of the house and opened the window to let some fresh air in. It was raining. The sound was genuinely pleasant and relaxing after bombarding my ears with brash electronic tones and textures for hours on end. With the weather keeping louts indoors, it was a calm and peaceful evening. Okay, that's enough of being at one with the universe.... Back to the keyboard, I've had a killer idea for a song... What's New Through The Catflap? Jaguar have just unveiled their latest humdinger golf caddy. Just thought you might like to know, in case their star-studded press launch has escaped your attention. No, I don't want one either. New Religion Of The Week The aftermath of Michael Jackson goes on. I understand a chinese group are going to create a replica of his Neverland home to commemorate his career. I wonder... Will they charge money at the door?

The last twenty hours have been pretty much a treadmill of non-eventfull tedium. I hope you'll understand therefore if I delve into my stars for today in the hope that commercial journalism will reveal my future! If I have one, that is, I am unemployed in the midst of the worst recession since World War Two. Unfortunately my daily horoscope merely tells me that my difficulties with technical details shouldn't stop me from pursuing my vision. That's an ethereal pep talk if ever I've heard one. Oh hang on, what's this? What is my Moon Sign? Just answer all these simple drop-down choices and the secrets of the lunar influence will be mine... Oh all right then... Moon Sign For Dummies It turns out my moon sign is Gemnini. You gotta love this description... On the day you were born, the Moon was in Gemini. There is no puzzle you can't work your agile brain around and no problem you can't talk your way out of. Emotionally, your feelings flit around, and you are a real chameleon when it comes to how you feel about yourself, your friends and lovers, and life in general. You are very flirtatious when it comes to your love life, because you really love interacting with everyone you come in contact with. Interacting? Lets not get too carried away, hmm? Forecasts of the Week The other forecasts are of course commercial. For a small monthly fee I can find out about... Love Tarot - A lot of flirting expected perchance? Are We Compatible? - This is a bit pointless unless your chat up line revolves around the concept of asking what star sign she is. Summer Forecast - Mostly sunny but occaisional wet moments? I don't need to pay for that. Karma Love Report - Err... Has someone been videotaping me?... The Wheel of Fortune - More dole payments followed by bills in the post? Here today, gone tomorrow. Figured this one out for myself. Fortune Cookie - I thought you got these for free with biscuits in resteraunts? The Queen of Hearts - Yes I'm serious. Besides being a famous celebrity depicted on playing cards and reprints of Alice in Wonderland, she now works as an agony aunt. For a fee of course. The lady has to earn a living after all. The Crystall Ball - With this option I can find out out what my intended lurve partner is thinking (though it warns me not to get hypnotised - good advice). What's the point of this? Clearly it's intended for young girls but these days they don't agonise for long without forcing the issue with a mobile phone. Soul Mate Tarot - Find out how well you mesh with your soul mate... Well, assuming you have one, surely you already know? What a pointless excuse to extract cash. Astrological Spread - Not something for your sandwiches apparently, but an annual forecast of things to come. I already know that, Gordon Brown is still Prime Minister. Yes/No Tarot - Am I at a crossroads in my life? Am I in need of an answer to a sudden and fearful dilemma? My dilemma is shall I pay for this service?.... I think I'll make a decision and not pay for a web program to do that for me. African Bonecast - I'm not kidding. Rediscover the source of our divinatory practises...It seems our ancient ancestors in the Eden of the African Bush regularly logged on the internet and decided who would be ostracised for having the evil eye. I Ching - Discover what the ancient chinese oracle has to say about facing your future with wisdom and serenity... There used to be a time when people walked barefoot on rice paper for years to get stuff like this. Wisdom?.. Not paying for it. Serenity?... Not worrying about it. Your Chinese Portrait - Do I want a different point of view on the dynamics of my personality? Do I want to expand my self knowledge? Actually, I want to expand my bank balance, if that's okay with confucius. I'm running out of patience. There's pages of this stuff. Tree of life, Zodiac Love Cards, Celtic Cross Love, The Runes, Gold Tarot, Eye of Horus, Minchiate Tarot, Career Tarot, Celtic Cross Career, Magic Love Tarot, and last but not least, your 2009 horoscope. Just in case you have any money left.

Image is so important isn't it? We all manufacture an outward mask and appearance to some extent, in order to project ourselves to the rest of the world. Yet human society is a sort of analog of the natural world. Our very behaviour is moulded by primeval instinct and we adjust our appearance in these displays of shape and colour to communicate to others of our species what sort of individual we are. I came out of Lawns and turned along the main road through Swindons Old Town. For some reason or other a number of office types were waiting outside the bank, replendent in suits and business attire. The men stood in twos and threes, engaged in serious discussions about life, the universe, and promotion prospects. The women sat together over a mobile phone, busy being girly despite the expensive fashions, hairdo's, and makeup. It was a scene worthy of a David Attenborough commentary. Unfortunately you'll have to make do with mine. It just so happened I wasn't in any particular need to be fashionable yesterday. Instead, it was a mish-mash of cheap streetwear and military surplus, for that rebellious individualism that is very much part of me. The dominant males of the office world lined up along the street passed scornful looks at my garish fashion sense. You could sense the arrogance of individuals who were psychologically empowered by membership of their own competitive and wealthy tribe. It seems my value as a human being is being judged on an outward appearance. That's a common idea, that you should dress for success. It's all about conformity and display, very primitive instincts that have found new modes of expression in modern culture as fashion and the working ethic. As a more enlightened member of the human species (albeit a somewhat scruffier one) I prefer not to associate with such self important peacocks. Of course they wouldn't associate with me either so there is no conflict of interest there. And it wasn't just the men. The women barely looked up and those that did wrinkled their noses in distaste. Some would say that was only to be expected given my appearance. I would say it was only to be expected given their tribal values. Even if I dressed in the same clothes, my differences in attitude and demeanour would soon have me labelled as an inferior specimen in their eyes. To me that doesn't matter, because I don't see them as superior or worthy of respect. You know, I don't like that Jesus and his christian legacy for similar reasons, but I will say this about the man. He was right about wealth. For all its comfort and potential it doesn't make you a better man. Having lost a comfortable lifestyle, I can see the difference. They of course would sneer or raise their eyebrows at the thought that being wealthy makes them no better, given the access to luxury their wallets provide, but in what way are these arrogant office types any different from the drunken oiks I hear outside in the street on a saturday night? None whatsoever. Apart from a tailor made suit. Music Critic of the Week Relaxing in my front room watching endless repeats of Star Trek on tv yesterday afternoon I heard a voice out in the street. "Oh look, now he thinks he can play a keyboard." He said. Spot on mate. However, if you'd been watching, you might have noticed I'd been playing keyboards since 1987. I even played a few gigs with a synthesizer perched awkwardly on the side of my drum kit. Of course, that may well have been before you were born.

Yesterday there were three women in my life. Now before you mock or pour scorn on that innocent statement, sex was not involved... Now before you click onto another webpage is bored disillusionment and contempt at my failure to have wild passionate sex at every possible opportunity and boast about it afterward, I would like to point out that it is possible to have a warm, fulfilling, rewarding, platonic relationship with the opposite sex. It's just a little less expensive and genuinely less exciting. It goes a bit like this. The first lady I ecountered yesterday was at the Job Centre. She very kindly went to get another jobsearch booklet for me and smiled sweetly when I thanked her and left. She didn't try to chat me up, or fish for compliments, or even attempt to get a date from me. And you're disappointed? The second woman in my life was a dog owner I encountered in Lawns Wood, by the bottom lake. Her dog had decided to go for the World Canine Endurance Swimming Record (I was a witness, Guiness Book Of Records please note) and paddled furiously after a flock of ducks calmly swimming away in no great urgency to avoid a homicidal (should that be duckacidal?) dog in the water. I have never seen a dog so deliriously happy at swimming. It was literally wagging it's tail as it swam, and every time the owner called to her dog to please come back to dry land it turned the other way and made another fruitless attempt on duck's lives. I had a little chat to the lady whilst she waited for her dog to get tired. Oh come on. You really think the dog was going to listen to me? The third woman was a fresh faced young lass newly arrived from Birmingham in a vain attempt to get me to sign up for charitable contributions for deaf kids. A worthy cause, but since I live on charity for the time being, I couldn't help her. She had come a long way for that conversation on my doorstep so we had a pleasant little chat before she realised she had thirty seven other addresses to cover that evening. Now some of you might believe I missed some opportunities in these encounters. Possibly. But then again, I hadn't shaved. Without those expensive gel bottles and those curiously effete body sprays I was helplessly unsexy, a fact made worse because I don't own or use the latest top secret razor, with sixteen cutting edges and microchip terrain following radar. Never mind because... Revelation about the Secret Life of Caldrail (of the week) Sorry, not telling you. It's a secret.

Today I thought I'd upload a few pics taken from my back window. Vistas of weather and early evening sunshine. I like them. I've Been Fired! My job searching course has now changed. Instead of two sessions a week of two hours each, I now have to wade through a single four hour marathon of trawling through endless internet job sites looking for jobs within reach. Given the average attention span of a human being past his teenage years is a maximum of twenty minutes, I think you can understand what an endurance trial that is. There are ways to avoid the ennui of constant job searching. One is a pleasant Slovakian woman - such ordinary pleasures are a welcome relief. The other is simply to act like an idiot. Now I don't necessarily mean go into some visual comedy routine - though I have done that - but simply to entertain yourself in ways you hadn't thought of. Amongst the offers on display on my computer monitor was an offer of a CV review. Well I've had plenty of those already, but this one picqued my interest. It came from a consultancy company who deal with people earning

He wanted to go back to the moon? Good grief, Vincent Lunardi was a selenite spy? What a revelation! Seriously though, I don't know what his motive was. Because the book is very rare and in extremely good condition for its age, it's protected in glass case and not available for reading. However, this link provides an entertaining insight into the man and his aerial adventure... http://www.printsgeorge.com/ArtEccles_Aeronauts4.htm

Man the Hunter must live by his instincts. The smallest detail of his enviroment can make the difference between life or death in the wild animal infested wilderness in which he survives by wits alone. The Swindon Library isn't exactly a wilderness, though you do get a few animals inhabiting the computer cubicles, and if I were honest the most deadly thing in there is a boring book. My primeval hunting instincts were aroused by the realisation that everything was quiet... Too quiet... And so it turned out to be. Having ascended the stairs to the hallowed halls of the second floor I discovered all the computers were down for scheduled maintenance. That was why no-one bothered to turn up. Good grief, who goes to a modern library to read books? Rare Books of the Week In fact, Swindon's main library does have some rare books on display in a glass case. One is an account of the first ever balloon flight in England, made by Vincent Lunardi in 1784 in front of a huge crowd. He was secretary to the Neapolitan Ambassador in Britain and one suspects he found his lucrative job incredibly boring. Either that or the Kingdom of Naples was attempting bomb London in a startlingly prophetic adventure. Had Lunardi also invented a bomb, we might well have been in trouble. Another is a suprisingly pristine copy of Jules Vernes first ever book, Five Weeks In A Balloon, published in 1863. One wonders where he got the inspiration. Of course five weeks is a long time to be stuck in a balloon with an Italian politician, so I guess Jules Verne spiced the story up a little and turned him into a mad dictator hell bent on taking over the world. It is interesting that James Bond was fighting the same kind of villain a century later. Double Oh Seven is of course the modern personification of Man the Hunter. And so literary evolution brings us full circle back to page one. Oh brilliant. That means someone is going to reinvent Harry Potter all over again...

A few weeks ago I had my keyboard in for repair. Now I have one that works, I decided it was time to invest in a stand for it. It isn't really for pose value at all, I'm more concerned about heaps of boxes all over the floor with long bundles of audio cables going back and forth. Far better, I think, to make my home a little safer by arranging to put my instrument to one side. I've been to the local music store about this twice already. They've been a little unwilling to supply me with a stand that meets my needs when there's a nice expensive one propped up against the wall. Despite the repeated promise from the salesperson that he'll ring me when he gets one in, I just know he's gambling that I'll get impatient. He was absolutely spot on. Having lost my patience with his 'wait and see' tactics, I nipped on the internet and found one that suits my purposes just fine for half the asking price of his. It's these little moments of smugness that make the world seem a better place. Irony of the Week There is of course someone else who wants to be smug other than the music salesman and myself. I find it incredible how far some people will stick their nose into my business. Have they got no life of their own to worry about? Usually I find this out because they want to annoy me by revealing that they know what I'm up to. This particular lady wants me summoned before a judge in a criminal court, charged with spending money I'm legally entitled to, minding my own business, and failing to demonstrate public depression over my circumstances. You see, for some people, unemployment is something that must resemble a jail sentence or they get upset at the apparent freedom to sit on my backside. It is ironic that not sitting on my backside is the entire reason she's noticed I'm doing something. So by sticking a spanner in my works, she can can feel superior, and if I'm not mistaken, smug as well. The great irony of course is that since I'm not doing anything remotely illegal it's entirely possible her actions will make me a good deal more smug than she is.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Caldrails Top Ten Show, where the latest hits are revealed to the unsuspecting audience.. Counting down to this weeks number one... 10 The Veronicas Untouched What a mess. A mix of this, that, something else, and I'm not sure if the band knew they were playing the wrong gig. 9 Dizzy Rascal Bonkers (Down 3 places) Can't say I ever liked Rap music. Can't honestly say I like this one, even if it does have a sense of humour and no-one gets shot in a drive-by. Stop buying it everyone. With a bit of luck it'll vanish from the charts altogether. 8 Daniel Merriweather Red (Down 1 place) An australian singing sensation no less. Well... He does have a good voice, and at least the A&R man found him something reasonably ballad-like to sing. 7 Pixie Lott Momma Do (Oh oh Oh oh ) (down 5 places) Blonde. Sort of a budget Britney Spears. Oh... Yes, the song. Bland. Sort of a budget Britney Spears song. 6 Agnes Release Me (down 2 places) "Pop Songs For Dummies" sold an extra copy I see. Madonna did all this years ago. Quite pleasant though. 5 Kiri Hilton Knock You Down Apparently this woman wrote songs for Britney Spears. I'd like to tell you more, but I've already forgotten this one. 4 Lady Gaga Paparazzi (up 4 places) Comes complete with an interesting video. Good melody, shame about the electropop. 3 Black Eyed Peas Boom Boom Pow Oh no. The sound keeps sticking. Must be a dodgy CD. 2 David Guetta & Kelly Rowland When Love Takes Over (last weeks No1) Now this one is a dance track but for some reason I actually liked it a little bit. No... I can't remember it. This Weeks Number One 1 Laroux Bulletproof (This weeks No1 and Laroux's first) Woah. Ugly. Couldn't the record company afford a stylist? Come back Gary Numan, all is forgiven. Career Move of the Week Forget playing it. Criticise it. Average earnings for critics are well above the national average for dole seekers. So pick up the phone now and change your life... I might as well face it. I've been watching too many adverts for professional training. On the other hand, perhaps when someone complains I'm not being fair to hard working musicians and producers, at least I'll be able to point to a certificate and say I'm qualified to criticise. That said, watching Beyonce in concert at LA was interesting. Pretty much all the glitz you'd expect from a high profile pop starlet who can fill stadiums with dance routines. Hard work I imagine. Funny thing is though, for all it's obvious composure and professionalism, the show left me feeling somewhat cold. Why? I think it was the autonomic nature of the show. It was so well rehearsed and performed, by Beyonce herself, her elasticated dancers, and the anonymous musicians exiled to the shadows at the back of the stage. The human element had been dialled out for fear of a mistake or blemish to mar the perfection of the evening. It didn't suprise me that she stopped the band at one point and demanded applause from the audience. There was simply nothing to get excited about. No drama, no emotion. Just switch on the tv and watch the show...

Right. Now for another glimpse into the daily life of Caldrail, or perhaps an in-depth shock expose of goings on in my local community, or failing that, a commentary on world events? Well I would... But I can't. My daily life isn't something I've gotten yet, as I was unpolitely reminded by yobboes in the street last night. The screams of party girls and the drunken demonstrations of manliness (as perceived by ape descended lifeforms) is of no suprise to regular readers of this blog and certainly not shocking if you're acquainted with the average working class Briton. As for world events, it's all gotten completely depressing. Browsing the headlines on the net just now tells me that North Korea has just launched seven more satellites into the Pacific, another African has hitched a ride on an airliners undercarriage and discovered how cold it gets at thirty five thousand feet, bits of airliner are being found everywhere, people are being found dead years after phoning a helpline, and basically there's a lot of shooting going on. That leaves me with a quandary... What do I write about today? The weather? It's warm and humid. Like yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. And... Well okay, you get the message. It is summer after all. Just the right conditions for a ride in an open topped sports car! I know. What about cars? Surely some rare and exotic vehicle has cruised past leaving me envious and wishing I really was a rock supergod? Ahhh... Nope. Basically the most interesting thing over the last twenty four hours was having my job search reviewed and being told they couldn't think of anything else to write about me. Busker of the Week On the main shopping street through Swindons busy Saturday afternoon was that old guy, outside the card shop (as he always is), giving a bravura solo performance on his harmonica. He's blissfully happy. Sadly the shoppers grimace and wander past pretending not to notice him, apart from a small child who seems utterly entranced by this geriatric Pied Piper of Swindon. My worry is that this childs musical education is now forever distorted by his experience. Luckily the kid is too young to write an entry in his blog about it.

Dreams are funny things aren't they? They say your mind works things out at it's leisure during your slumber. Last nights big feature dream in widescreen imagery was me and someone else robbing a till from a shop. I can't remember the details of how this all started, but we went in, my colleague threatened the shopkeeper (I think he had a gun or something) while I stood there gormless until I realised I was supposed to take things from the till. Anyway, having committed this virtual and dastardly crime, we rushed out into the street where our yellow van and it's 'flower power' paint scheme waited across the street. I suggested we didn't drive it, but instead found a dark corner to hide in until the heat was off (you can sort of tell I don't commit crimes like this in real life). And the outcome of this sorry tale of criminal outrage?.... Never got there. The garage across the yard opened for business and I woke to the sound of wheel nuts being loosened. Well, if I've learned one thing from my sleepy fantasy, it's that I'm a really crap crook. Waving Goodbye To The Heat Is our current heatwave over? Weathermen predict cooler temperatures for the week ahead following a wave of thunderstorms crossing the West Country as I speak. Earler this morning the clouds were indeed heavy and grey. Now they're white and hazy. Have I missed the storms? Or more to the point, have the storms missed me? The End Is Nigh Recent reports suggest Britain could be suffering 100,000 new cases of Swine Flu every day by August. Well thats wiped out the population of Britain in two years. One does hope that the treatments are effective (especially as bogus tablets are now in circulation) and that the virus isn't in a bad mood. If it is, this could be my last blog entry ever. Assuming anyone out there is still alive to read it. What a nightmarish vision of the near future.... On the other, I suppose it is remotely possible that Mr Burnham was none too good at maths. Or using calculators. Or maybe he just dreamt those numbers up?

Yes, sounds familiar. In fairness though Lydiard Park is now used as a venue for open air concertes (The BBC held one there a month or two ago) so the rubbish problem is actually not an issue. The problem is that the people responsible for the park wanted a big grass lawn for people to laze around on. It's as if single mothers and their noisy offspring are all that matter. That's as far as their imaginations and experience go regarding the use of public space. They're trying to do the same to Queens Park and that will be a tragedy.

Yesterday, in a decision that only an englishman could make, I went out in the midday sun and visited Lydiard Park. The local council make a big deal of the work they've done there which was supposed to restore the grounds of Lydiard Manor to it's former magnificence. I've got many photographs of Lydiard as it was. Secluded bayous, wooded paths, a warm natural patina. There used to be a waterside platform where you could look out across a small lake and view cranes resting on a dead tree in the centre of the water. It all had a picturesque quality to it, something very ideal and to be honest a place where you could marvel at the beauty of nature in a very subtle way. It was, by accident, as close to principles of a japanese garden as you could get. Tranquil. Not any more. The woodland has been cut back, the bayous swept away to recreate the old lake, everything opened up to the sun in an attempt to make the place more attractive to lots of people who really don't appreciate natural beauty much, and I suspect, attempted by people who don't much appreciate it either. It now looks exactly what it is. A weed infested demolition site. The lake is cold and artificial (not to mention stagnant), the gravel paths bare and garish, the woodland peripheral and unwanted. You might best describe Lydiard Park as a bird with it's plumage well and truly plucked. There was a time you could visit Lydiard and return refreshed from experiencing the natural warmth. Now you either play ball games or get bored by it. After all the money they spent on tearing the place apart, you'd think there was something to show for it. Oh yes. I forgot. I see they've just installed a fountain in the lake. Well that makes all the difference doesn't it? Weedy Swindon The decay and wanton vandalism of Lydiard Park isn't unique in Swindon. Around the borough are areas where buildings are lying abandoned or demolished. The same pale gravelly landscape and its weedy foliage are well established. There's a house under construction near where I live which still has brick and breeze block walls two foot high. The weeds have grown faster. The Old College site looks ever more dilapidated every day, more broken windows, more weeds sprouting under the vandalised wooden fence around it. For a town that's been promoting regeneration and beautification, it all looks like a lot of hot air and incompetence. Oh yeah. Weeds too.

What a lovely morning. The birds at Queens Park, normally preparing for a days foraging for breadcrumbs, are all resting on the island on the far side of the lake. A solitary woman struggles to stop her young infant from learning to swim. The day has that quiet feel to it, a relaxed, easy going day to sit back and enjoy. Unfortunately the sun is also shining which means it's going to get blistering hot. The weather people have taken great delight in pointing out how urban areas heat up under sustained sunshine. I think I know that already. Better yet, they're displaying a telephone number for those who want to know how to survive hot temperatures. A young lady appeared from a side street as I wandered down to the music store. Brunette, athletic build, walking with a confident poise. If that wasn't attractive enough, her denim breeches were so skin tight they must have been cutting off the blood supply to her ankles. It's too much. I turn away and wipe the sweat from my brow. It reminds of an occaision, many years ago, when I was taking our dog out for a walk, something I used to do two or three times a day. On that particular day, the temperatures were veryu high as well, and my faithful hound plodded along ahead of me in a determined effort to make it home to his water bowl. Now our old dog was fairly obedient, up until the heady scent of bitches in season caught his nose. Then he abandoned any vestige of domestication in a primeval urge to do something... He was never sure what. He would try nonetheless. Off in the distance an old couple were walking their dog too. They shooed away another dog wandering by himself, and clearly the golden labrador was lapping up the attention. My dog was approaching, veering to one side in curiosity at the pleasant smell wafting in front of him. The old couple waited to defend their labradors virtue with walking sticks at the ready. I called my dog's name out and commaded in as stern a voice as I could manage "LEAVE!" Our dog looked around as if to say "What? Oh... All right then, if you want, I'm too hot to argue.." and plodded past temptation, once again putting cool fresh water on his list of priorities. "What a well behaved dog!" The old couple agreed. If only they knew.... The Wolf's Mating Call It's become fashionable these days to draw attention to the fact that our domestic dogs, man's best friend, is little more than a wolf in drag. It is true. Our relationship with canines goes way back to the Ice Ages, with wolves and humans learning to co-operate on the hunt, and our ancient ancestors keeping stray wolf cubs as pets to rear as personal hunting companions or whatever. Our dog, in his younger days, was asleep on the flagstones by the fire, his favourite place for a snooze. We heard the people passing outside and clearly they had a dog with them. Suddenly our dog lifted his head, stared up into space, and began to make a mournful howling noise that reduced us to hysterics immediately. Poor little lad. He only wanted to get to know her...

One of my daily rituals is to open my mail box and browse the contents the postman deposited there this morning. Sometimes there's nothing new there of course, I'm not that popular. With all my job searching I get a lot of letters from employers, typically telling me the shortlist is complete and I'm not on it. So be it. With every bundle of interesting, useful, or expecnsive communications from the outside world comes junk mail. Offers of products and services are largely wasted on me I have to say. But what's this? A newspaper? One of those community publications? A party political pamphlet highlighting local issues and requesting my support? Nope. It's a Christian rag, full of articles describing the woes of people 'locked in negative cycles' and facing self-destruction by one means or another. It isn't that I'm blind to the suffering of those whose lives have turned sour, but then I notice a few things about these stories. The range of them is diverse. There's a sense of pity evoked by them, or perhaps more pertinently, a sense of fellowship with the unfortunate souls described within as you recognise the familiarity of their trials? Then I notice other things. It seems Jesus is no longer solely concerned with your spiritual destination. He now offers financial advice, and a statement in the text of one tale of woe suggests confidently that "People are turning to prayer more than debt advisors". Oh? I wasn't aware of any offical statistics along those lines. It does worry me a little about what sort of advice people get. The important point of course is 'The Message'. Christians bleat on about Jesus's message quite a lot but never actually tell you what it is. I can see it written in black and white all over this publication. It is, effectively, 'Lean on me'. You too can be happy well adjusted fulfilled individuals if you just let Jesus in. What an insidious message. It is, for all intents and purposes, an advertisement for psychological dependence on an omnipotent diety. Just pray to Jesus, and your life will be better? How To Find God In the last few days we've had a television program devoted to the Alpha Course, a religious self-help programme. I watched most of it with no suprise at all. Many individuals on the course were discovering God right left and center. Well power to them I guess. I do notice though that there was some blatant manipulation of the customers emotional state. After two thousand years, it seems these God-merchants have become very slick at persuading others to see the light. They're looking for people who are weakened by the hardship of modern life, the loneliness of society, the emptiness of materialism. For all the group therapy and charity, there is still something very exploitative about this process. My Shock Revelation Have I found God? No, of course not. For me, God is a human concept, not an absolute truth. He's no more than another diety imagined by someone and presented to others as the answer to their wordly fears and spiritual longing. Do I believe in any supreme being at all? It seems many do, subliminally, though I suspect this is merely something locked deep inside our psychology than any description of the infinite. After all, for all these people who claim to have heard the voice of God, how many have done so at their leisure, as opposed to having the guidance of a priesthood? The important point about all this Christian recruitment is that it relies upon unhappy souls seeking something better. Why would a content man need religious conviction? Since the word of God is so dependent on the negative cycles that spawn the mindset required to accept membership of his select club, is it not a simple step to seed the market? To influence peoples lives for the worst in the hope they see the light? Now that idea might be dismissed as paranoia. In fact, it would never have ocurred to me had someone not said to me once, for no apparent reason, "You're always welcome to return". They meant of course that they wanted me to recant my spiritualism and sign up for God. Except... It isn't God they're talking about. It's Jesus. God is too remote, too large a concept. Jesus on the other hand is more real, a personality, something more tangible and undertandable. So instead, Christianity becomes a personality cult. The claims of divine origin have no basis in fact, unfortunately. That means that worship of Jesus has no more credibility than Elvis Presley, Marylin Monroe, or Adolf Hitler, or any other larger than life character. We worship the image of these people, and suprisingly often, look to their lives for inspiration for our own. There is no difference between a dead celebrity and Jesus Christ. As the pavements of Los Angeles demonstrate in the wake of Michael Jacksons demise. Oh, you might argue, but that's nonsense. Jesus is the son of God, not some guy in Gary, Indiana. I prefer something a little less gorounded in propaganda. Jesus was the son of human parents, born in very worldly circumstances, with all the character faults of a charismatic individual, and died for political reasons. If you want to believe there's more to it, that's your choice, but why would I listen to the teachings of a man who railed against the wealthy two thousand years ago? I can hear people saying the same things today.

Todays the day. My first job interview in months. The alarm clock was set, something I've not had to bother with since last year, and to be honest, given the humidity during the night it wasn't required anyway. It takes me a leisurely forty five minutes to stroll down the leisure centre. The weather is cloudy but that humidity is still there. Lord knows what it would have been like had the sun come out. There are indications of storm clouds sweeping across the West Country this morning. Apart from an occaisional errant drop of rain, it remained warm and dry, so I arrived at the centre soaked with sweat instead. Hi, my name's Caldrail, I'm here to see AG for a job interview.... "Oh..." Said the woman at the desk in suprise, "She doesn't work here. Hang on, I'll find out what's going on, please take a seat." Okeedokee. Ten minutes past my interview slot I'm informed I have to see AG at another site, another forty five minutes away. "Is that all right?" The woman asked me. "Can you get there?" Eventually, I answered, feeling a bit miffed. Eventually I arrived at the other site. Eventually they collected me, and I was given an interview in front of three senior bods, something new for me. Never before have I been interviewed by a panel. Well it all went sort of okay. They're going to let me know how I did and whether I got the job. Eventually. Beer Tent of the Week By sheer chance I chose to wander home through Town Gardens yesterday afternoon. The siren of a police car sounded as I approached the south entrance. A police car? Inside the pedestrianised park? My imagination ran riot with images of dramatic arrests taking place. As I reached the gate I noticed a line of flags set up along the hedge. Ahh... It's an event... And so it was. The Town Festival was taking place and families wandered around between all sorts of stalls and exhibits. My attention, naturally enough, was directed toward the beer tent, which for some reason was the only stall not doing business. Strange... I asked the woman at the beer tent what was going on. At least it gave her something to do for five minutes. Apparently she was in competition with the beer tent down by the Town Garden Bowl, where the show was taking place. It was a hot day. I'm sure she'll sell some booze... Eventually.

Not quite. The Air Training Corps offered flying experience to youngsters as part of it's affiliation with the Royal Air Force. At the tender age of 14, I flew for the first time, though on that occaision I got ten minutes handling the controls. At that age, flying in a military trainer is really something. You just couldn't help be excited by the prospect of it.

It was one of those uncomfortably hot nights. We're due to get more of them soon, and worse, as the midday temperatures are predicted to reach thirty degrees centigrade, which is the offically the point at which the British melt. Sleeping on nights like those is defined as the moments of weariness between rolling around in your own sweat. Instead, I sat bleary eyed and watched television, idlely flicking through channels in the vain hope of finding a programme that was even remotely interesting. Oh hello, what's this? Coverage of the Glastonbury Festival? Cool. At least that's the only thing this evening that is. Better yet, on stage are Crosby, Nash... Erm... Crosby, Stills, Young, and.. No that's not right either... Well, a bunch of seventies rock stars, now suitably aged, with the obligatory girlfriend on the xylophone, looking more like a music teacher these days. I was shocked. I really was. The performance was almost shambolic. The drummer kept good time but not the same one as the songs. The guitarist played his battered instrument with all the grace of a drunken elephant. But you know, the crowd still loved it. To the repeated encores of Rockin' In The Free World the crowd swayed back and forth. I sat slack jawed and marvelled at their longevity. Reminder of the Week One of the great disadvantages of hot humid weather is the necessity to keep the window open. That unfortunately means it's difficult to shut out the noise of the local wildlife, and in the wee small hours, a local loudmouth complained bitterly, and at the top of his voice, that he couldn't drive my car. Comes as no suprise to me, mate. Now go away and throw up on somebodies pavement, which is about all you're good for. Funny thing is, if he spent a little less on getting drunk, he might be able to save up enough to pay for a car of his own. I wonder if he's thought of that?

On another website I came across some collected video footage from the Korean War, mostly concerned with communist aviation. It was interesting to watch. I don't know a great deal about that conflict and this was the early days of the jet fighter, who were still fighting with WW2 tactics lacking sophisticated radar and 'beyond-visual-range' missiles. Now what comes across is the speed involved, which really shoudln't suprise anyone, but when you consider that at this time the Sound Barrier really was an obstacle for aeroplanes, an unseen phenomenon that caused aircraft to break up, the fact these pilots were flying as close to it as they could and risk enemy fire is worthy of note. Of course sometimes a pilot was in the wrong place at the wrong time and got hiit. The footage showed plenty of jets exploding under fire, and this was when ejector seats were semi-experimetal items that weren't necessarily safe to use. Having sat in aeroplanes during aerobatics I'm well aware of the forces generated by tight manoevers. The first time you encounter it the sensation of your head weighing three times as much as usual is a little uncomfortable. With some experience, you would soon get used to that, but the most interesting thing I saw in that the Korean War footage was an in-cockpit view of a russian pilot, rolling his Mig 15 enthusiastically and remaining blissfully calm throughout. He keeps glancing left and right but stays ridiculously unfazed by the forces generated by his aerobatics. Was that a propaganda shot? My First Aerobatics One of the great perks of joining the Air Cadets was the chance to fly in real aeroplanes once or twice a year. We flew from Filton, the same airfield that the British Concorde protoype flew from, and I have to say, that was one big concrete runway. Or at least it was on a British scale. The red, white, and black De Havilland Chipmunk trainers, the very same used by the Royal Air Force at that time, were lined up near the hut where we got our briefings for the day. We all entered the hut staring across at those aeroplanes waiting for us. Being military machines, parachutes were required. The 'seat' type we had to use were uncomfortable and awkward, making you look like a ninety year old duck as you walked back and forth with a large pillow slung under your bottom. I hated them. It was winter when we turned up to fly that day. No snow, but it was cold. It was also my misfortune to be the first cadet to fly, so in front of the others and bearing the brunt of childish humour, I waddled to the waiting plane. The mechanic told me to wait. We weren't allowed to sit in the aircraft whilst the engine was started. So I stood there, eager and totally naive about the aspects of flying aeroplanes that I was about to discover. The first was windchill. In the propellor wash the wind was frighteningly and extremely cold, way beyond the ambient temperature. By the time I had clambered up the wing and intop the rear cockpit, I was utterly frozen. The mechanic helped me strap in and he seemed completely unaffected by that arctic wind. The engine noise was considerable, warbling away at just above idle, but I remember the vibration most of all. The machine felt alive and that was a curious sensation. Once everything was in place the pilot taxied out to the runway and introduced himself over the intercom in a sort of parody of the sort of thing you hear in airliners. "So sit back and enjoy the ride..." He finished with. Yeah, okay, when I recover from frostbite... The surge of power and the acceleration down the runway is something the novice doesn't expect. The ground fell away, and I was flying, watching Bristol recede beneath me through the slightly distorting perspex canopy. Out over the Severn Estuary, the suspension bridge off to my right, and I was starting to enjoy being up here. "Right then," Said the pilot in clipped RAF english, "Four thousand feet, no-one about, barrel roll to the left.. Here we go..." Huh? What? Hey, what's happening? My world was gyrating. The sensation of being upside down at that height was alarming. "Now to the right..." He said. Oh no. Not again... "Now we'll try a loop. Gain a little speed, fuill throttle, up we go..." I'm strapped into an aeroplane with a homicidal sadist! My head wobbles around hilariously under its own volition. I feel helpless. "Now a spin. Nose up, power off, wait for the airspeed to reduce...." A loud whine is hesitantly filling my ears. That's the stall warner. Suddenly the right wing drops and the aeroplane noses down in a mad spiral. "Recover... Now spin the other way...." It was a thirty minute flight. That's all you get. I emerged from the cockpit back at the hut bravely smiling, weak at the knees, totally shaken but thankfully not stirred, and very much the wiser about aerobatics than my childhood fantasies of spitfires and messerschmitts over the Channel. See you next year then.

Yesterday may have been chilly, but once the sun broke out, it got warm with a vengeance. After an hours walk, I was sweating like nothing else. For a while, around midday, the sky was typically hazy with a few clouds peeking over the top. By the time I had gotten home, cumulus was building nicely. Of course I should have realised. It's the Glastonbury Festival this weekend and how could our annual musical mudfest pass without torrential downpours? Would they get away with it this year? I only needed to wait. This morning began with the garage across the yard pulling bits off cars. Then the mechanic suddenly stopped. I pulled down the duvet in bleary eyed suprise and noticed how dark it was. This is the end of June for crying out loud, almost nine o'clock in the morning, it should be bright out there. Then I heard the rain begin. Looking out the front window, I saw the road submerged by water for almost a third of it's width, buses pushing bow waves ahead of them, and that's on a hillside. The amount of water coming down was stunning. Hmmm.... I think today I shall walk down to the library a little later... Goodbye Farrah, Goodbye Wacko Last night I watched the news reports of the passing of Farrah Fawcett, the blonde babe in the original Charlies Angels tv series of the 70's. I have to be honest, I always preferred Jacklyn Smith, but all the same another icon of my youth has gone. And now Michael Jackson has gone too, the internet news site filled with articles about his cardiac arrest at the sadly young age of fifty. Wacko or not, the man had talent, he genuinely did. There is something curious though. How shallow many of the recent stars seem compared to these people, almost as if they're simply living in the wake of the greats. I noticed the same thing about movie stars. Those familiar characters we used to see in their latest feature on the big screen seem to dwarf the reputations of the pretty-boy successors. At any rate, at least our latest two casualties did something with their lives. Most of their critics do nothing more than sit idely and pass judgement on everyone else. Apart from, that is, watching films and listening to albums in the first place.

The nights are very short at this time of year and very ealy this morning the daylight announced its presence through the curtains. Had I not stayed up late last night investigating the possibilities of electronic music, I might have noticed. Still, I did wake earlier than usual, and somewhat bleary eyed wandered down to the supermarket for a few odds and ends. Luckily I was just concious enough to put some clothes on. So lets see... A loaf of bread (so I won't starve), a bottle of bleech (so I won't need a machete to enter the kitchen), and a local newspaper (so I won't get bored). The lady on the till was very chatty. I guess at that time in the morning the day is fresh, and she hasn't succumbed to the ennui of constantly passing items across a scanner. Not for another hour or two yet anyway. "Cold isn't it?" She said. Yes, I answered. It is. (I know, but I can't help it, I'm such a coversationalist....) After that invigorating discussion on Britains favourite subject it was back home and browse through the articles in my recently purchased newspaper... Fountains The beautification of Swindon hasn't been abandoned, even if major developers have pulled out of regeneration schemes. Now they want to build a fountain for the local vandals in the wide space between the Brunel Shopping Centre and a nearby multi-storey car park. I feel better about Swindon already. We Like It Here The funny thing about Swindon is whilst it's been the butt of stage comedians jokes for generations and has all the liveliness of a spanish siesta, people who live here say they like it. No really, they do. It must have something to do with that ephemeral sense of isolation and detachment that Swindon has. The real world appears on the huge television screen mounted on the side of the car park and crowds gather daily to stare open jawed at its cinematic grandeur. George Orwell eat your heart out. Strange really. We've had coaches, canals, railways, and now the open road for the last century, not to mention a direct motorway link for the thirty years, and still the people of Swindon see themselves as living in a detached world. Of course, given the planned eastern development, the spread of urban growth toward Wroughton and Wootton Bassett, our neighbouring communities, you can't help wondering if Swindoners are going to notice that Swindon is rapidly becoming a semi-detached property. City status one day. You mark my words. Now if they can only rebuild the canal they filled in fifty years ago and make Swindon a tourist spot, our lives will be complete. Or at least a little more connected with the outside world than at present. There is one small point I would like to bring up. If Swindon is such a great place, why do six people a month drink themselves to death here? Ah. We haven't got enough fountains... Got it.

I have, I am sure, made evident in numerous passages and chiefly in the prefatory remarks dealing with the fundamental principles of this history, where I said that the best and most valuable result I aim at is that readers of my work may gain a knowledge how it was and by virtue of what peculiar political institutions that in less than in fifty-three years nearly the whole world was overcome and fell under the single dominion of Rome, a thing the like of which had never happened before. The Histories, Book 6 - Polybius Domination of the known world has a resonance in our time. We live in the aftermath of tumultuous wars spanning the entire globe in with three ideologies struggled for dominance. The contest that took place between democracy, facism, and communism created the backdrop for the Twentieth Century. For us, this has become imbedded in our culture almost to a subliminal level. Perhaps then we shouldn't be suprised if we notice similarities with our recent past. Hindsight is part of any historians armoury, but always a subjective one, and there lies the danger of comparison. Politics hasn't fundamentally changed since ancient times, although they had ideologies, alliances, and cultures to contend with. For although a society may have different structure and emphasis, the song remains the same. We are the same animal. Like the inhabitants of the ancient world, we have the same emotions, motives, and ranges of responses to choose from. There is, therefore, a haunting familiarity in the events that Polybius wrote about. We must not however foist our modern world upon the that of the ancient. However similar their struggles may seem, analogies between events are at best very approximate, and in using parallels we run the risk of distorting the past. The only true comparison between ancient and modern events is the decision making process of the inluential within the context of situation. The passage given above illustrates the wonder and pride Polybius had for his city state. It is easy to forget how close Carthage came to achieving that first. What chiefly attracts and chiefly benefits students of history is just this

By mid morning the postman has been and gone. In the postbox this morning are two more glosy menu's for takeaway food. They're going in the bin. I do like like my food but for the time being I shan't be buying anything more expensive than the budget label stuff from a supermarket. Aha! A letter. Another rejection note to add to my collection? Shortlisting has been completed but I'm not on it? Please don't get depressed and jump off a cliff? At first glance the letter is different. More sheets of paper than expected. Have they included more than one rejection in the envelope? Hang on, the letter has a different layout of text.... Oh ye gods, an interview! After I recover from the shock I notice something interesting. It's on the exact time and day that I sign on the dole. Coincidence? It does seem a little odd. Anyway, I wandered down to the Job Centre and showed them the letter. "Oh just turn up at four o'clock and sign on with the lates." She shrugged. This all seems a bit odd. For an organisation that goes to great lengths to persuade me to turn up at a certain time on the day, and one that I've observed grilling those unfortunate dole seekers as to the reason why they were late, why are they so lackadaisical all of a sudden? Anyway, I persisted and got the woman to take down the details. She tapped the shoulder of a colleague and I got the same answer from her. Turn up at four o'clock and sign on. Right you are then. But I shall be miffed if some toe-rag starts interrogating me on the day. You just know it's going to happen. Keyboard Disrepair I am a little miffed as it happens. The music store told me the new internal battery would solve all my keyboard woes. No, it hasn't. The user bank is still as corrupted as it was when I manhandled it through the door. I have to say guys, that I'm not impressed. Thanks for fitting the new battery, but as an advert for your services, I'd have to say it's not going to attract any new business from me. Oh No Not Again Wow. Another offer of internet services plugged into my home. Yes, this is all very good chaps, but whilst the government is keen to get us all logged on it's also keen to get us to spend the money to enable it. And since the authorities haven't made any allowance for offsetting the cost, your glossy pamphlet goes in the bin.... I'm not going hungry to suit Gordon Browns dream of spying on everyone in Britain via the internet. There you go. Forgotten it already.

ROFLMAO!!!!!! Course I can't quote Mein Kampf. I wouldn't waste my time with that kind of diatribe at all, but then I already know what a supremacist is. To be honest though, my capabilities have nothing to do with yours, and catty comments won't make your point valid. You still haven't provided a cogent arguement to support your contention and I'm certainly not wasting my time trawling through a document trying to prove you right, and for that matter, clicking your fingers at people doesn't make you a better historian. That's the problem with history Scylla. If you make an assertion, the onus is on you to prove your case, not your audience.

To be honest, Scylla, you don't come across as very objective. Trying to find a neat definition of supremacism isn't really going to work, it isn't a black or white issue (pun intended). What we should be concerned about is the extremity of the views expressed. Most people think they're better drivers for instance, even after they bump into something. Our social instinctt is a positive thing but it does have a nasty underside. The two go together in any society. Polybius expresses no more than you'd expect from a Roman who was proud of his nation, no worse than a modern person describing his patriotic pride. Supremacist? No. Not even close. Go and read Meine Kampf and discover what a supremacist actually is. Yes. It is. But to the Romans, it was also a consideration of someone elses emotional state. Romans didn't pair offf for love as a rule. It was either gratification or cultural tradition. For a young Roman male, to see one of his buddies hopelessly in the grip of romantic attachment would have been something laughable. There is after all a very macho, thuggish side to Roman male behaviour, evident even in their well of offspring.