Lately there's been a few dictators receiving redundancy notices. As if unemployment wasn't bad enough already. We seem to regard dictators as a modern phenomenon but if you think about it, there's always been aggressive nasty individuals who rather like throwing their weight around. Something imbedded in the human psyche means that although we usually co-operate as a society, there's always going to be one or two individuals who want to run it.

That trait doesn't always mean politics. Criminal ganags are run by ruthless individuals more often than not. Even some families have a minor tyrant or two in their ranks. Power over others is an intoxicating motive - it even inspres some of the less well regarded human endeavours like serial killings.

Young L has been given charge of the front desk at the museum. Whilst it's pleasing to see he takes his responsibilities seriously, the manner whicjh he carries them out is ridiculous. On my last shift he tried to put me in my place in front of the team, for no other reason than trying to put me in my in his pocket, so to speak. "When you're sat there, I'm the boss" He trumpeted loudly. He almost beat his chest.

Unfortunately for Young L he seems to have forgotten that I'm not under contract to the museum. I work there as a volunteer by mutual agreement. Therefore in strict terms there's nothing to stop me getting up and walking home other than good manners and betrayal of trust. Sorry, L, no. You might have authority to direct my activities there, but you're not my boss in any way whatsoever.

How about that? I fended off an attempted subjugation and Poland is safe from invasion

Doff Of The Cap

Despite the gloomy weather reports I see a bright sunny morning out there. For a november day it's remarkably mild. Perfect weather then for the Remembrance Parade at our local cenotaph.

The sacrifice of previous generations is of course the whole point, but as I waited for the library to open the bugles sounded the last post. You know, that;'s a very evocative sound, and even without any direct association with the armed services or indeed any excess of patriotic spirit, I couldn't help feel stirred by it.

Why is that I wonder? What is it about that bugle call that resonates in my subconcious? I don't feel guilty about not serving in the armed forces - I was refused after all - and indeed I'm grateful I've never had to suffer the pain and anguish of warfare.

Just now, as I'm typing this, the column of servicemen are marching down the local high street. That insistent drumbeat is audible above the mass of boots on tarmac, or the excited hordes of asian children swarming over a computer downstairs.

Why aren't I there, among the onlookers watching the parade march by? Because I'm typing this instead, doffing my cap in my own particular way. You see, that's the way of things. If you fight to stave off dictatorships and preserve your freedoms, you must allow people to be express that freedom their own way, or all you've done is change the regime.