caldrail

I apologise to the Senate for my clumsiness in spelling. Rest assured the slave responsible will be flogged and the mistake will not occur again.

The earliest partial reference is by Gildas in the mid 6th century, though in fairness he doesn't refer to the man directly and thus De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae ("On the Ruin and Conquest of Britain") remains a vague clue to the origin of this myth.

I've already agreed the point about professional bouts. I would point out however that was not unformily the case. In the earlier half of gladiatorial history things were pretty much as you describe them. During the later half of the pax romana we see trend toward 'entertainment' fights. Although staged in the same way, the weapons are more fanciful or designed to inflict wounds rather that killing strokes and thrusts. Whereas before the skill and agression element was paramouint, and so a quick clean kill in combat desirable for honourable conduct, in the latter half the idea is to dramatise the combat. Instead of a sword thrust past a mans defenses ending the fight rather quickly, now it was a slogging match, where two men wore each other down, the drama emerging in whether either of the fighters can carry on and deliver that winning blow, rather like watching two apparently exhausted wrestlers on television today. As much as gladiators were supposed to be highly skilled fighters, the truth is that not all were. It took time and experience to reach a peak of effectiveness and not all fighters were talented enough to reach the pinnacle of the sport. Suetonius for instance relates an anecdote of Caligula being hugely disappointed at the lacklustre performance of gladiators fighting before him. And also, we must remember that the fact fallen gladiators had their throats cut afterward to ensure death was something of a sign that professional fighters weren't always as honourable as the mythos suggests. Also, since the gladiators were trained to fight in a manner that could be described as 'crowd-pleasing', the inference that theatre took no part in it is hard to justify. Why else were gladiators given stage names describing them as fierce animals, mythic heroes, or in some cases, poofs? Why else is the name 'Spartacus' daubed on an archway in Pompeii? the original rebel of republican times almost certainly never fought there. In the end, it was entertainment that eroded the professional aspect of gladiatorial combat by the late empire and I suspect one reason why it lost popularity.

Another day, another job vacancy. That seems to be the ritual I've been forced to observe. Every day they swivel the monitor so I can read the multicoloured gobbledegook that lists the latest jobs available. It makes depressing reading. So many of them simply mention that the job conforms to the National Minimum Wage, or that the wages are 'competitive'. I've even seen executive vacancies that would earn a business high-flyer a huge sum of

Your point about compensation is well made, but mine was that since the hypothetical fight had reached that point anyway, and that a good review from the public might be worth paying off the dying gladiators owner, and that the actual method of dispatching him isn't all that important aside from observing tradition - he was after all the loser of a fight, and the most important thing right then and there was how he faced his potential death - then extracting more reaction from the audience via an extended piece of drama associated with the act of death or mercy is a useful asset for the editor concerned. Also, it should be borne in mind that Romans did sometimes risk debt to achieve their ends. In a somewhat different sphere is the anecdote of one roman who bankrupted himself holding lavish dinners to impress his peers and ultimately committed suicide. In the political sphere, the games were risky. In order to entertain your audience, you might be obliged to condemn a man to death even if you can't afford the price. The alternative is to defy the mood of the audience - and that's contrary to the entire rationale of holding the games to begin with. As regards Charon and his hammer - we already know it was connected with gladiators to some degree because the archaeological evidence of that particular graveyard demonstrates the use of the weapon. That doesn't mean I'm right - I'm only suggesting an alternative explanation.

It's saturday morning. I write that just in case anyone reading this blog was unaware of that fact. No, let's be honest, I'm writing that because nothing is happening in Swindon right now. Some of you might argue that's always the case. Shame on you! We have a Pride of Swindon celebration coming up over the next few weeks. Even the park around the corner from me has staged a conga dance. Oh what fun they must have had. Rarely has Swindon been so ready to let its hair down and party on dude. Mostly we just get drunk and annoy everyone else at high volume. That must explain why the library is so quiet. No-one is chatting into a mobile phone, no-one is drumming on the tables, and the librarian, a formidable lady of mature age, is so bored she's gone elsewhere. I think everyone must be suffering from hangovers, or at least that's my theory. Dinner What else can I think of to write on this most boring of all days? I know - What am I having for lunch? Luckily my dinner today isn't boring at all, and since I'm fed up with pot noodles, I've splashed out a few quid on something edible instead. Rice and pasta with green peppers, mushrooms, mixed beans in chilli sauce, with fried chicken. I can tell you're jealous. Passing By An aeroplane flew overhead while I was walking in Lawns yesterday. Not the stuff of national headlines perhaps, but it happened. There it goes... Droning away into the distance... Now I've run out of things to write about. Come on Swindon, do something!

yes, I agree, that was the standard practice. But we know there were local variations to the rules at times, mostly in provincial arenas. Bear in mind this documentary was desribing finds from one arena in Roman Britain. They wouldn't have had all the stage equipment like you might see at the Colosseumk at Rome, thus to add to the theatre of a performance, they needed to find other ways. Now whilst one on one professional bouts were a matter of some seriousness (obviously, but also for the crowd) I want to suggest a possibility. Perhaps the fight was dull. Or perhaps something had been prearranged. But imagine that at one particular show a gladiator is wounded and cannot continue. The winner stands above him, sword at the ready, awaiting the editors decision to despatch or spare the loser. But instead of that expected signal, and to the suprise of the audience, the doors to the arena open. A dark figure walks in - and a paid voice cries out "Look! It's Charon! God of the Underworld!" So my hypothetical diversion is a piece of drama. The winning gladiator is pushed away by the referee to make way for the supernatural visitor, who approaches the loser remorselessly. Will the fallen fighter beg for his life, or meet his end stoically? In fact, the decision would still be the editors, but it would appear to the crowd that the god of the underworld had decided whether this man would live or die. This would still fit the facts I believe? Also, since the shock value would ebb after a few appearances, Charon would have been a fashionable theatrical part of the event for a while and then fall into disuse.

Oh, MPC, what a cynic you are! But I agree as it happens, although describing him as 'all bad' sort of paints a complex character in one colour.

Round Table? Like the supposed 'Holy Grail', the Round Table is not a historical artifact. It was a fictional invention written into medieval arthurian romances. That doesn't mean that a real Arthur didn't hold meetings in an old roman amphitheatre at any time, but rather that this cute theory holds no water and is merely an attempt to give Chester some importance in regrad to the Arthurian mythos.

He also failed utterly to survive Adrianople if I remember right, and it was Sebastianus who was pressing Valens to fight that engagement ahead of the arrival of Gratians reinforcements. Right from the start, Sebastianus was motivated primarily toward his career. So much so that Valens was getting a little fed up of him despite the succeses he achieved, and Seb knew it, thus he gambled on the basis of flawed intelligence that the battle could be won without Gratian. Bear in mind, it's our Roman sources that praise his efforts in that campaign. Even the scathing Zosimus doesn't criticise him overly. Sebastianus had been chosen by Valens to lead his armies because he'd gained a reputation as a capable commander, though you have to concede he did so because of the lacklustre performance of his existing senior officers, a state of affairs that was confirmed by the events leading to the defeat at Adrianople. PS - Quick check - There are mentions of a Sebastianus dying in 413. He'd been captured by Visigoths and his head was returned to Honorius. But I don't think this was the same guy. Marcellinus tells us our capable general died at Adrianople.

The next few months are going to be some of the most seminal you've experienced. This coincides with a further unfolding of a new you. Some old ways, attitudes and elements of your life may be set to go. This can be stressful, but also crucial. That was my stars for yesterday in the local paper. Who am I to argue with a journalist? You know, this 'stars' business is peculiar. Intellectually you know that you're being conned a little bit. You know that paying any money to find deeper answers to the worries, insecurities, hopes, and dreams that made you read the stupid thing in the first place is a pointless exercise. How could any generic prediction of the future be accurate for an individual? it's a strange thing to realise that one-twelth of the worlds population are just like me, suffering the same problems with rising prices and officious claims advisors. But of course they aren't, that's simply me, my own little world, and in the generic text I spot those lines that offer some hope of relief. Just like everyone else. But wait a moment. My life is changing, slowly, but with subtle significance. Why? Bottom Shelf? The cost of food is getting ridiculous. Wandering up and down the aisles of the supermarket is becoming an exercise of scavenging for cut price deals. Sooner or later I'm going to have a life or death struggle with some old lady for a packet of last weeks mince. Even pot noodles are beginning to assume culinary status and now cost twice what they did a few years ago. I can't even afford those anymore. The slightly cheaper ones are horrendous. Which leaves me with... Oh no... Not the bottom shelf.... Courage, Caldrail. The little white plastic pots containing a pot noodle at a price of several pence stood there in forlorn ranks, forgotten and despised by the population of Swindon. Gritting my teeth I stooped low and took one to the till. I'll give it a try. You never know. And guess what? They're actually better than the ones costing five times as much. Bonus! I'll take five, please. Woo hoo! Now I know the joy of surviving in the wilderness. Or Top Draw? Now that I'm on daily signing I never know quite who will handle the claim. Today a cheerful woman popped her head around the corner and said "Mister Caldrail? Hi. Come with me please." GAAAAAAAAAH! How many times do I have to tell these people? I arrived at her desk in a growing fury over the question of ettiquette, which as regular readers of my journal will know, is a persistent problem for me. I had just started to launch into my trademarked lecture about which title I go by when she apologised and... No... This cannot be happening!... Yes, she has. Are you sitting comfortably? If so, prepare yourself for a shock. For the first time ever in Swindon Job Centre, a claims advisor has called me Lord. Star of the Week I notice with interest that astronomers have discovered a star in another galaxy that is a whopping three hundred times larger and much much hotter than our own, quite possibly the largest stellar object in the universe. Except it won't be for long, because stars that size aren't exactly stable, so the whole thing will explode catastrophically sooner or later. That's a prediction you can count on. But sometimes it isn't the stars that explode. One Emma Amelia Pearl Czikai is suing the makers of 'Britains Got Talent', one of those abysmal television shows were idiots get a chance to keep celebrity judges wealthy, for injured feelings, loss of earnings, and further compensation. In case you haven't noticed Emma, the entertainment industry is indeed inherently exploitative and cruel. If you manage to pursue a career as a performing artist, you'll find the audience are even worse.

I disagree with Medusa on a minor point since the hammer blow from the Charon character was designed for people who weren't apparently dead already. If a gladiator was laying prone, seemingly lifeless, then indeed he would be carried off and dealt a cut to the throat behind the scenes in order to verify death. But a severely wounded man? Unable to continue and condemned by the editor to die in the arena? He's not going to get carried off. Now under normal circumstances the opposing gladiator deals a mortal strike and the game is over. Consider this though. What if the editor wants more entertainment from a highly publicised fight? Instead of a quick clean kill as you'd expect in republican times, imagine the crowd watching that dark figure emerge from the gate, walking slowly across the sand to claim the dying man - it's far more dramatic. In any case, it's just as likely there were variations from time to time, and in different regions, about how they handle dying gladiators. After all, the documentary did point at the beheading of gladiators which was a brutal and uncharacteristic methopd of dispatching fallen opponents - it took six or seven strokes to seperate these mens heads and they were breathing when the process began.

There comes a time in every mans life when he realises that his socks are no longer socially acceptable. The woollen rags I usually depend on have reached such a state of disintegration that they can no longer be formally identified as footwear. Excuse me a minute. I may need to spend some money and that requires me to psyche up for a terrifying ordeal. Opening my wallet is not for the faint-hearted. Return To Your Homes. Nothing To See Here Okay, you can all relax. My wallet is open and I survived the trauma with only several bruises and a strange twitch of my facial muscles. A Not So Funny Thing Happened On The Way... With a fine day to enjoy I set out for the shop of choice where I knew unfashionable socks that express my desire for breaking social convention could be found. Approaching the big twin roundabout that straddles the the Great Western main line, I could see long lines of slow moving traffic. That's odd. Surely the planners haven't messed up that badly? Traffic normally flows smoother than that. I guess there must be some sort of hold-up. And there was. With hordes of police on the scene, an overturned refuse lorry was blocking the larger roundabout the other side of the line. A mobile crane was setting the crashed vehicle to rights while traffic was diverted around it in all sorts of directions. Passing the scene I asked an onlooker what was going on. Apparently a car had cut across in front of the lorry whose driver took avoiding action, and with the roundabout built on sloping ground to begin with, the thing had turned over. Luckily no-one was seriously hurt but I suspect the car driver isn't feeling too comfortable right now. Sock Update Okay, you can all relax again. Replacement socks were purchased without any needless embarrasement. I even managed to walk past the police at the accident scene without being arrested for carrying them in public. Job Vacancy Of The Week There's a jobsite on the internet that I subscribed to some time ago. Almost every day they send me lists of vacancies that are supposed to fit my chosen criteria. The majority are never that close to home. There comes a point where walking to work becomes a serious expedition across the Wiltshire rainforest, so I generally don't worry about those. A couple of days ago the list included more vacancies than usual. A bunch of army jobs dealing with logistics in various places beyond the horizon. They even apologised and politely reminded the reader that they may require the applicant to travel abroad. Oh? Really? Are we finally invading Spain after decades of reconnaisance missions? Actually they do a good deal with plenty of opportunities to achieve qualifications up to and including a degree in logistics. Not bad for a few years of getting shouted at. For me though that would mean losing my home and in all likelihood everything I own. In that light, the deal sort of goes sour. So I didn't bother looking any further. I got an email yesterday. The army wants me. Personally. Shucks, guys, I'm honoured, but do you know I'm over forty years of age? Oh let's be honest. I'm nearer fifty. If the drill sergeant tells me to give him twenty push-ups, I'll probably die of old age. Worst still, I'd have to make sure my socks were clean. I think I've suffered enough trauma for now.

Apparently the Parthians persuaded Pan Ch'ao not to meet Trajan, whose army was only two days march away.

Tempting aren't they? Lovely texture... And so useful for so many domestic needs....

Get the latest version! Upgrade now! Full of new features! I hear those messages all the time now. My email account slowly fills with spam adverts designed to make me think that parting with money, time, and no small amount of sweat is a good idea. So does the library, who have upgraded their system yet again. As always, this means no-one can log on. The librarians mill around, shocked that public access computers aren't as accessible as before. One or two shrug helplessly. Those with some idea of what to do rush away upstairs to kick their IT slaves in the dungeon. Eventually normality is restored and we computer addicts get our daily fix. Probably just as well. One chap I see regularly in the library is currently spinning himself round on the seat, just for something to do. He's unemployed too, a stumpy little guy who rarely says anything but giggles a lot. As if he wasn't dizzy enough already, his antics on the seat are only going to go horribly wrong sooner or later. I suspect that's one reason why seats at the Job Centre are pretty much nailed down. Yesterday I saw one claimant, barely twenty years of age who was fidgeting and searching his seat like a two year old. He just couldn't keep still and eventually draped himself over the seat in a ridiculous manner out of boredom. Ten minutes is a long time to wait for dole claimants. The advisors don't seem too concerned. I guess they see this all the time. That said, most of the claimants are more patient. There was a group sat in the seating area, safely herded into one spot where our claimherders could keep a watchful eye on our jolly japes, and I suddenly realised I'd been wrong. There was I, moaning that the Job Centre didn't support cultural diversity, but of course they do. Here were claimants of all shapes and sizes, colours and creeds, all sat together in a sort of depressive communal gripe against their keepers. That stumpy guy who liked revolving chairs? He looked at me quizzically and asked "Do you get paid more for that?" Huh? More for what? Then the penny dropped. As a regular library-goer, he'd already spotted my title on the screen before I'd logged on to my previously reserved PC. More dole money for being a noble? Is he joking? It also makes a mockery of the Job Centre's worries about volatile behaviour over mixing different social classes. Relax. Everybody knows about it. But they still won't call me 'Lord' regardless of any requirement to be polite, and no, I don't get paid any more than anyone else. Smart Move? Bovine Betty was watching me this morning. The staff meeting was over and she had no claimants to shout at, and in any case, I was sat opposite from her desk. She wants me to sign on dressed in a shirt and tie. I know that because she shouted across the office the other day. Dress smartly to sign on? Good grief - anyone would think I was wealthy. And that, above all else, will make my daily visits more volatile.

India was an area with some very aggressive states in this period. They closed the Silk Road sometime in the 2nd century because the Chinese weren't able to keep such a long trade route secure. I think trading colonies are something that are often exaggerated. Any Roman goods and immediately people talk about a Roman presence in the area, which isn't necessarily true. Romans after all were not great explorers. They weren't great sailors either. They had an inwardly focused culture that regarded the outside world as inherently barbarian. Okay, I agree Romans had a rapacious mercantile sphere, but again, that was inwardly focused, and the extension of trade into little known lands was primarily driven by the need to obtain luxuries for the wealthy - and before I get ripped to shreds, that doesn't mean rich imperial titbits. Let's remember that the trade in animals for the arena demanded ever more exotic beasts from regions ever further away to their reduction in numbers. Silk was always going to be an import in demand. Spices were highly desirable if you could afford them. What the Romans knew of the outside world was largely the result of information brought in via traders. Visitors telling tales of places far far away. Don't discount this, because whilst the Romans and Chinese never actually met politically or militarily, they certainly knew about each other, and perhaps more illuminating is the realisation that we have records of chinese explorers reaching the eastern limits of Roman influence, but not the reverse. We also know that it was greek ships that travelled further afield rather than Roman. To say that a Roman colony existed because objects from their culture have come to light in one place is something of an assumption. Without Roman burials or evidence of Roman life, the existence of goods merely suggests trade and that does not require the Romans to be involved.

When I was a very young child, I saw that old comedy film where two steam engines collide head on. Without special effects, film makers in the twenties had no choice but to either show a lot of steam or do it for real, and that once, they did. I don't remember, but apparently I burst into tears. I suspect Hollywood wanted a different reaction but then again we british have always had a love affair with the steam locomotive. The news of a collison between trains in India doesn't reduce me to tears in quite the same way as it might have forty five years ago, but all the same, I extend my condolences for what was a terrible incident. There's been a number of documentaries about trains in India just of late. Whereas in Britain we found them unprofitable in the sixties and ripped up track all over the place in preference to roads, in India the railways are proving fundamental to their economic success, which is gathering pace. There's a wonderful old fashioned air to the way they operate their trains, carrying on exactly where the empire left off, and yet, despite any cultural limits and glass ceilings, they have a very open attitude to it all, as for instance women being trained as drivers. And the organisation of this huge and expanding system is still done on paper, just as it always was. The atmosphere of Indian railways is inescapable though I confess I've never witnessed it personally. It does have, regrettably, a reputation for a high accident rate. The frenetic pace of the Indian railway network is one thing, but compare that to the Tanzania & Zambia Railway. With a budget that vanishes into thin air, they struggle on with almost no maintenance. Track workers wander off to go fishing. Trains take days to cover a distance that should take hours. Locomotives stand rusting because no-one has any parts to repair them. An entire railway slowly falling to bits. But accidents will happen. Even in Britain and the US, where standards are higher, from time to time you will hear of a terrible disaster. Safety is a hugely important factor but no matter how clever you are, sometimes it just goes horribly wrong. If that sounded flippant, I apologise, that wasn't my intention. Because at the end of the day, it isn't a question of faking it on camera. The accidents are real, and people get hurt. It's often said we learn from our accidents. I hope so. Rainy Days The nearby RIAT airshow at Fairford is over, and once again the skies are quiet. As far as I know, there were no accidents, and given how unforgiving the ground can be and the proximity of aeroplanes to it when displaying to a crowd, that's something to be thankful for, never mind underlining the skill of the aircrew involved. All weekend I could hear rumbles and jet noises. Now there's a thing. With the current moves toward making military vehicles less polluting, could these same bureaucrats not make them quieter? It's good for the enviroment. Saves me getting distracted from searching the internet for jobs too. Last night I opened the back window for a breath of fresh air. The pallid clouds hung listlessly in soft focus layers of blue-grey, broken near the horizon by vivid tears of lemon yellow in the early evening. Sometimes you sense a mood. It's funny how sensitive we are to changes in the weather without realising. Sure enough, as Swindon became quiet and still, it began to rain. Not heavily, just a random splatter of large drops, but that sound of falling rain is oddly relaxing. Funny how rainy days make you sort of introspective for no apparent reason. The sound of a car somewhere around the corner was unmistakeable. That sound - tires locked and the car ploughing on due to momentum on a greasy asphalt surface. Any moment there's going to be a dull crunching sound.... Not this time. The skid ended in a loud and harsh blast of the horn. A working class and youthful male voice responded with "**** off!". Yep, accidents will happen.

Think you missed the point there Doc! My domestic situation is very cunning....

I don't know. Their morals and ethics were different to ours, and whilst their society certainly had no constitutional right to bear arms, they certainly tolerated violence far more than we do, especially so when you bear in mind that military virtue was ingrained into Roman society right from their earliest days of tribal raiding. I've had a quick browse of the internet but so far nothing conclusive.

You see, that wouldn't work here. It isn't that we british are scared of litigation, it's just that unless you're the victim of an accident you most certainly will be the victim of a rather large bill. And even if that obstacle were removed and we adopt yet another amercian custom, that being the one of suing anyone for profit, then sooner or later a greedy politician is only going to tax our winnings even more. In any case, we don't need to sue our leaders. All we have to do is march around shouting a lot. They soon get the message, or a notice to quit within a few years courtesy of the general publics vote. It's a brave politician that ignores dissent in Britain. Unless you're John Prescott, in which case you simply punch joe public in the face. Don't laugh, it worked for him, he's now Baron of Hull.

This is ridiculous. Now that I have to sign on the dole every single working day, my usual routine is upset. I don't know if you've noticed but my blog has mutated into a television critic webpage, and I'm gaining weight because I'm just not active any more. Seriously, I have this notion of turning up to my signing slot tomorrow with my pack and hiking gear. I can just imagine a caustic "Going somewhere Caldrail?" Oh hi Mr Claims Advisor, yeah, I'm off hiking when we're done here, why not come along if you're not signing anybody else today? Fresh air, grassy hills, heavy showers... Can't beat it.... Jobsearch?... Oh... Yeah.... Of course I can't leave the reservation because they'll get annoyed and stop my money. And this "Mister Lord" business? I just cannot tell you how stupid that situation is. It's like having dual status, or at least it would do if the first part didn't devalue the second. You see they had this sort of business sussed back in the Middle Ages. You were either a peasant or very important, and any attempt to be anything else was usually punishable by something painful. Or then again, I imagine myself in a regency country house, set in verdant and manicured parkland. Ahhh, Jeeves, be a good fellow and pass the turnips will you? Oh, and do have the ox cart at the front of the house, Lady Rail and I are going farming this afternoon... Hmmm? What was that Dearest?... Jobsearch?... Oh... Yeah.... Today is my weekly pow-wow with the big chief claims advisor. Does this white man speak with forked tongue? We'll see. Okay, time to head down to the Job Centre. Gird your loins, Caldrail, this might get ugly. Later That Day Loins girded, I waited for my name to be called. To be honest, I'd reached a state of vacant meditiation when some chap in a shirt and tie asked "Is Mister Caldrail here?" Gaaah! Not again! He ushered me to a seat and immediately I took the initiative. Pointing out the correct title on the signing booklet, I added politely but firmly that if that was too much for him to swallow, as it was for most people in this office, he was welcome to use my first name. He remained calm, said what he needed to, and printed off an entire wad of job decriptions for me to apply for. I'm not sure who was the winner of that negotiation.

The british rebellion would have happened anyway since the causes were local, and since the judaeans were always a people whose uncomfortable relationship with the Romans caused friction, and since the Romans had little regard for their sensibilities, then rebellions weren't entirely unexpected there either. In both regions a better emperor probably wouldn't have stopped the trouble from occuring. The seeds of those conflicts had already been sown earlier, and a better emperor would not have prevented Roman bad behaviour until after it had happened and he'd been made aware of it.

I saw a news report that whilst digging the new foundations at Ground Zero in New York, a 17th or 18th century scrapyard has been found. The remains of a scrapped sailing vessel was lying under the World Trade Centre all that time. What a wonderful twist to the tragedy of 9/11. Still, it does call into question the wisdom of all those rubbish recyclement policies we Brits are wrestling with right now. Our historical record is being reduced along with landfill sites. Combine that with the transitory nature of the internet as a container of information, it means that at some future time, archaeologists will dig down and find the early twenty first century is missing from the record. We're living in a new Dark Age. So everyone, throw your rubbish on the tip where archaeologists will find it in three hundred years time. And not next door to me, please. Lions And Tigers Big cats are fascinating animals. We admire them for all sorts of reasons, not least their very real danger. I recall that video footage of a tiger attacking the riders of an elephant, or the policeman suspended outside a New York apartment block trying to tranquilise an angry tiger , or the close but harmless encounter I had with a bored lionness at Windsor Safari Park one time, or even as a child, transfixed by the latent aggression in a female black panther staring back at me as she tended to her cubs. All those anecdotes I've covered already. I was watching a program about a wildlife park in New Zealand, dealing primarily with big xats. The measure of control they have over them is suprising. I can't honestly claim the cats are docile - nature will out - but the keepers certainly do have some skill at keeping them in order. But the funniest moment was when they took some of tese cats for an exercise session down on the beach. They looked suspiciously at the surf flowing up the sand and backed off in alarm at something they didn't understand. Cute. It seems odd at first that a big cat would be fearful. You have to wonder what little they have to be fightened of. Then again, for all their power and ferocity, big cats aren't usually the biggest animals in the park. I have been told that lions in the know will always run off when a Masai warrior whistles - because that's the call they make for help. I recall Steve Irwin creeping through the tall grass toward a lionness resting under the shade of a tree. She realised something was stalking her, becoming nervous, hesitating as to whether she should stand her ground or run - and run away she did, bolting into the grass behind her to keep a safe distance from some australian nutcase intent on filming a close encounter. You have to admire the late Mr Irwin. Getting close to a lion you don't know is going to be friendly is, as I can attest to personally, a somewhat unnerving experience. Title of the Week What is the point of having a policy of supporting cultural diversity and respect for customers if the employees don't have any intention of observing it? My long running struggle with the Job Centre to have them recognise my lordshipness reached what I thought was a breakthrough this last week. The claims advisor politely and without bother filled in a change of circumstance form and had me sign it. Sigh of relief. At last! Except it didn't quite work out the way I hoped. The Job Centre aren't the most intellectually blessed people in Britain - they still haven't cottoned on that as a social minority of one, any employer who dismisses my applications because of my title is running the risk of charges of discrimination in the workplace - but do you know what my title is now listed as by Swindon Job Centre? Mister Lord Caldrail.

In fact, part of the reason Nero is derided isn't due to rational evaluation of his reign - which is history thus an unpopular subject to learn about for the average person - but more to with popular imagination and christian thinking. Nero has after all been described as an 'anti-christ' from time to time and that's largely down to his brutal treatment of christians following the Great Fire of Rome in 64. Also it must be pointed out that Nero represented a level of decadence (by way of rumour at the time even though we have good sources about his reign these days) that christianity decries. So in a way, as much as Nero wanted the christians made a scapegoat of, so the christians make a scapegoat of Nero. It's interesting that you list 'Didn't expand the empire' as a reason for his failure to be regarded as a success. In whose societies eyes is this description a good or bad thing? Imperial control can be viewed as success but that has more to do with individual psychology. We are after all social animals and thus inevitably some us like the idea of being dominant, and it shouldn't therefore suprise us that Romans thought well of themselvs, because they had pride in the expansion of their culture by whatever means. There is always a feel-good factor in being the top dog. Nature has made us that way with good reason. You're quite right to point out that in modern terms a dodgy private life would quickly colour public opinion, but despite Nero's popularity with the masses, his private life did impact on opinion. A rebel dragged in front of him and asked to explain why he had committed treason made a vitriolic condemnation of Nero's character based on the actions he'd made in private. The soldier had little to gain from hiding his feelings because his fate was pretty well certain anyway. And let's not forget, when news of Agrippina's death reached the public, a number of families laid their babies at the gates to the palace for exposure in an astonishing act of protest against his behaviour. The state remained intact after his death but it wasn't in pristine condition, for reasons you listed yourself amongst others. In any case, the main problem was political instability with no clear successor, and the Year of Four Emperors that followed was not a period of total war. Civil war certainly, but with clear objectives and a single focus of military activity. For the rest of the empire, they had only to sit back and wait to find out who was in charge.