Будь готов!

In 1908 Lt Gen Robert Baden-Powell (Who you really should have heard of), Hero of the Second Matabele War and possible repressed homosexual,  Wrote a book called 'Scouting for Boys'.  Had it been written more recently, I fear that it would have had slightly different connotations.  But at the time it was a rewrite of some military manuals that B-P (As his friends called him) had written some 20 years previously.

In part 3 of that weighty tome, Beepy (As I liked to call him, during our times of fraternal intimacy) decided that the Scout motto was to be:  BE PREPARED.

Nice, simple, straight to the point... Be prepared for anything that might happen, be aware of the situation, and plan for things that might happen.  It's good advice - I mean he also says that you should also be prepared to give your life for your country and suchlike and he goes off on a bit of a 'Dulce et Decorum est' kick for a bit.  But generally good advice.

Most of us do it, we're aware of danger, we sort through the possible outcomes of our actions and generally plan, using our previous experiences as reference.

This should scale up wouldn't you think?  I mean, if I can look after my two children, out of the kindness of my heart, with the bare minimum of lost limbs and emergency replacement of bodily fluids, then surely... Someone whose job it is to look after something should be able to look after it.

I'm talking, in a roundabout way of course, about the people who look after our transport infrastructure.  The average range of temperatures that we have to put up with in England is somewhere between about 6 and 14 deg C during the year and we get about 3 feet of rain and 1,500 hours of sunshine. Now do you foreign types understand why the English are usually depressed?

So, in the Winter, it snows on the high ground - Which mainly inconveniences people who have chosen to live in places where there's a nice view, or have particularly hard sheep.   You'd expect there to be all kinds of carnage wouldn't you?  But strangely, the people who get hit hardest by this weather tend to plan for it, they drive proper Landrovers (not the new ones that look like that one they designed for the first Judge Dredd movie) - You can tell the people I mean by the way they're always using phrases like 'Southern Softies' and 'This isn't snow - We've not had real snow since 1963'

Then comes the Spring.  Now, two things happen in the spring (Well, a lot of things happen in the Spring, but we're only interested in a couple of them).  In a warm Spring, the snow on the high-ground melts, runs down the mostly granite mountains and quadruples the volume of water that's being dumped into little streams.  These streams carry on as best they can, flowing themselves out to the coast until they hit something man-made, like a canal, or a diverted river that now goes through a town-centre or a housing estate that was built on the cheap on a flood plain by a company more interested in profit than anything else.  So you get a few weeks of news reports showing new Ford Focus' (Because it always seems to be a Ford Focus, or at a pinch, a Renault Laguna) being carried out to sea, and sandbags, and worthy people who can't get insurance sleeping in the local church.

If it's a cold Spring, we get snow on the low ground.  Not Northern Territories of Canada fifteen feet deep snowdrifts, not majestic untrodden snowfields as you might see on the rolling Steppe of whatever we're supposed to call what we used to call Russia now (Probably something with 'Stan' on the end) but about four inches of grey slush that's only really a problem for motorcyclists who've forgotten their waterproofs.  What happens after the first afternoon of snow?  The entire country shuts; Offices close, public transport stops, Electricity pylons are brought down.  Councils complain that they've not bought enough grit and everyone else complains that we should be more like Iceland in our preparedness (But not necessarily in our banking or volcano situations)

Then, as surely as Summer follows Spring... Ah... Perhaps I should have used a different simile there... We have Summer.  A usual English summer is six weeks of moaning about not having a summer, a week and a half of all the red-top newspapers having the words 'Phew!', 'What', 'a' and  'Scorcher' on the front page every day and then eight weeks of people meeting up at random and saying 'Well, I guess that was Summer then.'  Ice-cream sales septuple, as do those for suncream and ironic sunhats.  Everyone who has a caravan makes for the coast, there are a couple of pileups due to inexperienced drivers being hit by crosswinds but it's pretty quiet really.

But there was one thing... On my way into work this morning I heard a traffic report that was about a stretch of road that I use every day being partially closed for emergency maintenance as... Wait for it... ONE OF THE CARRIAGEWAYS HAD MELTED!

British roads are coated in something called Asphalt (or Tarmac...Which you will probably have some spare of and can do a lovely job on my drive, If you happen to be a member of the Irish Travelling community) which has a melting point of about 120 deg C... The temperature yesterday was about 26 deg C. - So, how does that happen?  Well, a lot of asphalt isn't exactly 'new' It gets re-used, melted down, mixed with thinning agents and re-laid.  If you do this on the cheap, it can lead to it taking on the consistency of toffee - Highways Agency doing things on the cheap? Surely some mistake!

Phew! what a Scorcher!

Then Summer rolls into Autumn, and Mother Nature covers the English countryside with a beautiful golden cloak of leaves.  Or, as the rail companies call them, thin sheets of uncontrollable, train-stopping organic matter that bring the country to its knees!  OK, I admit that modern commuter trains have fairly piddly engines, about 800 Bhp or so, but you'd think that there'd be a mechanism for handling the track being a bit slippy, like a brush in front of each set of wheels, or one of those 'cowcatchers' that you see on front of trains in Cowboy films, or an unemployed person strapped to the front with a couple of cheap wallpaper scrapers and a determined expression.

But all these things happen every year, If I can write about them and I'm effectively a know-nothing chancer who lives to make people smile, why can't clever people think about them and solve them before they happen?

This country was called Great Britain for a reason you know, (Actually, they say that it was to distinguish it from Brittany in France... Brittany in this case meaning 'a bit like Britain' - like Irony means 'a bit like iron') And we should go back to those times and resurrect Baden-Powell, he'd have us sorted out in minutes.

For as the great Man said himself, 'To get a hold on boys you must be their friend.'

Actually no, that doesn't really... erm... Oh Bugger-it!

Danny in the woods

Sorry about the lack of Bloggery yesterday chaps - I got all snowed under with work and the day ran away with me a bit.

Hope you enjoy the post below, another fanciful tale about a thing, that happened, this morning.  Told in the style of a sequel to a story that I wrote a while ago.

-oOo-

The old Landrover bounced over the uneven ground, its ancient leaf springs making some very concerning noises.

'How far Ranth?'

'I don't know, that survivalist guy we found said that we just had to follow the river and we'd trip over them, you know exactly as much as I do.'

They'd been following the river for hours, there was nothing indicating that a settlement was nearby, no smoke, no signs, no nothing.

'Do you think we'll find him there?'

'Ellie, I don't know, but it seems that this is the only settlement for miles, can't think where else he'd run to.'

Ranth was starting to get sick of Ellie's constant questions, She'd found him hanging from a tree, luckily by his wrists not his neck, about a week ago. He said that it'd all been a big misunderstanding with a group of outlaw survivors that he used to run with, she wasn't so sure that they hadn't just got sick of his incessant talking.

'Wait! What's that?' Ellie pointed into the trees, 'I saw something move!'

Ranth stopped the 4x4 and looked into the trees,

'Where?'

'Over there, by that big rock, it's a shambler, I know it!'

'I can't see anything.'

'Look, between the rock and that dead tree, you can just see its head.'

Ranth took the binoculars out of her pack and looked again, scanning the treeline for the rock,' I see it, ' She said, 'It's not a shambler, not any more at least.'

'What is it then?'

'It's a skull, on a stick.'

They looked at each other, Ellie paled, Ranth started the engine and turned the car towards the grim totem. The skull wasn't that old, and it looked as if the local wildlife had been helping themselves to whatever choice morsels they could find.

'Looks like we've found the settlement then,' Said Ellie,

'Unless someone's got very interesting ideas about garden furniture,' Replied Ranth, 'Whoever they are, one of them's a decent shot, blew the top of the head clean off,' She poked her fingers into the hole where the cranium used to be. 'We'll continue on foot, get your gear.'

They'd only been travelling for a few minutes when a disembodied female voice sounded through the trees.

'Stop where you are, put your hands in the air.'

'Do as she says,' Whispered Ranth, she raised her voice and shouted, 'We don't mean you any harm, we're looking for someone!'

A rustling of leaves above their heads made them look up, to be greeted by the sound of snapping twigs and the silhouette of someone making their way through the branches, towards the trunk of a huge Elm tree. They looked at each other again, and shrugged.

'Don't move, we have you covered!', said another, younger, voice from behind them.

The tree-creeper dropped to the ground and immediately drew a Desert Eagle handgun, that was obviously much too heavy for her. She was about thirteen years old, with matted blond hair and about six weeks worth of mud covering her face and arms.

'What do you want?' She growled, never taking her eyes off them.

'Like I said, we're looking for someone.'

'Who?'

'Well, I don't exactly know, but he stole something from us whilst we were asleep a couple of days ago and we think he came this way.'

'Nobody comes this way, not if they've got any sense at least, not since Danny came.'

'Danny?'

'Yeah, he lives in the woods, we hear him at night sometimes, stumbling around.'

'A Shambler?'

'No, he kills shamblers, that's where we get the skulls from.'

'The skulls?'

'We use them to mark our territory, the shamblers mostly stay away, I don't think they like their own dead.'

'Can you take us to your settlement, so we can ask about the man who stole our stuff?'

'Settlement?' She laughed, 'There's no settlement any more... Not since Danny came.'

'Well, where do you live?'

'Here,' replied the girl with a smile, 'In the trees, we don't bother Danny, he don't bother us.'

'Can we talk to Danny?'

Both of the children started to laugh, 'You can try, but he doesn't say much.'

'What do you mean?'

'He mostly just says his name, we think he might be simple, but we don't want to get close enough to find out, he's too big and funny looking - You can try if you like, he's in there somewhere,' She pointed into the forest.

'Come on,' Ranth turned to Ellie, 'Let's see if we can get some answers out of Danny.'

Picking up their packs they started off into the jungle, being careful not to make too much noise as they trod through the heavy undergrowth. they were starting to lose the light when they both stumbled and fell to the ground with a shout.

'What the?'

'I think we're getting close... What was the guy who stole the gear out of the Landrover wearing?'

'Erm... Brown leather jacket, cargo pants... I think.'

'Like these?' Ranth held up a scrap of brown leather and some beige canvas, both covered in blood.

'Exactly like that... Should we leave?'

'When we've got what we came for, it must be around here somewhere.'

'Seriously?'

'Do you have anything left to barter when we run out of diesel next?'

Ellie shook his head.

'Well then.'

They started to poke at the grass, avoiding the bloody mess that had once been the thief, trying to find the box of trinkets that was their only remaining currency in the world.

'Did you hear that?'

'Don't tell me, a shambler?'

'No, there's someone talking, shamblers don't talk... Do they?'

'Nope, that's the one thing I like about them,' Ranth gritted her teeth as she lifted the remains to search underneath.

'Maybe it's the kids, it sounds weird though, too deep.'

'Ha!' Shouted Ranth, as she held aloft a gore spattered box, 'Right, let's go!'

They both stood and started to make their way back to the path, when there was the noise of splintering wood from behind them. Slowly, they both turned, to be confronted by the oddest thing that either of them had ever seen.

'You can see a panda, right?' Ellie breathed.

'Unfortunately, yes...'

'There's good eating on a panda, probably,' Ellie slowly reached for his gun.

'Maybe it's Danny's pet,' replied Ranth, 'I think he'd be upset if we shot it and ate it...'

'Danao.'

'What?'

'I didn't say anything.' Ranth whispered, pointing at the panda and backing away,

'But, panda's don't...'

'Danao!'

'That panda spoke!'

'Back away, very slowly.'

'What's he saying?'

'I don't know, I don't speak panda, but it sounds awfully like Danny to me.'

'He wants Danny!', exclaimed Ellie, 'Maybe you were right about him being his pet.'

'No, I think this is Danny, who's been killing all the shamblers, and scaring off the settlers.'

'DA-NAO!' Screamed the panda, dropping his head and charging towards them.

'RUN!' Yelled Ranth, 'Make for the Landrover!'

They both ran until they could feel their hearts beating in their mouths, but the panda was still gaining.

'I can't... I can't run any... any more...', choked Ellie.

'Just a few.. more... yards...'

When the explosion came, it deafened the pair of them and they fell to the floor. They looked up to see the little girl, sat on the ground, with the smoking gun on the ground behind her.

'Owwww,' The girl said, massaging her swollen wrists, 'That's a big bear!'

'That's not a bear Baby, that's a panda.' Remarked Ellie, who had suddenly got his breath back.

'Whatever it is, I goddit - Right through the heart!'

'You did, nice shot, OK - let's get out of here, you kids coming with us?'

'I don't know... It's nice here.'

'I've got a feeling that the shamblers won't be leaving you alone as much now, think they might have been scared of this guy all along.'

'OK then,' said the girl, 'C'mon Mal!'

A little boy, no more than eight years old, climbed out from behind a thornbush, walked over to the panda, kicked it and started off down the path towards the car.

'Let's try and find some food, but not anywhere around here,' Smiled Ranth, as she got into the Landrover and slammed the door.

Far behind them, on the forest path, the panda slowly rose to his feet, stared at the receding car and wailed, 'Daaaa.... Naooooo?'


And in this instance, my wife lost her purse, which had my petrol money in it, and we all turned the house upside down looking for it.