caldrail

Yes, the same thing happens here in Swindon, only in reverse.

For some reason I woke very early this morning. I mean, it was still dark outside, so this must have been about five o'clock or something daft. Even dafter was the impulse to get out out of bed, pack the pack, and head the heck out toward the hills. So naturally I obeyed this impulse because my intellect hadn't woken up yet. You see this time of year is a bit awkward. Sure, it's very chilly in the first light of dawn, but any exercise in warm clothing produces nothing but sweat. In cold conditions I can't tell you how uncomfortable that can get. If you strip off down to a layer thin enough not to sweat, you freeze. Better get going then. As sunsets go it was as dull as ditchwater. It's clouds that make for dramatic backlighting and picturesue contrasts, but that pale blue sky was featureless. On the other hand, there was a sort of mist hovering over Coate Water like some 50's budget pirate film. Thankfully all the pirates had already gone home to bed. As hikes go it was nothing special but I did notice how polite people seemed to be for no apparent reason. Everyone who passed me by, even the flourescent lycra body socks cycling at speed along the trails, said hello or good morning. It is a good morning. And it got better. At Ogbourne the sheep followed me. A herd several paces behind that gathered and moved when I moved. Just staring at me... Staring.... Having escaped the sheep I made my way up Smeathes Ridge and the grassy hills of the Marlborough Downs. I attracted a herd of cows the other side of the femce. They followed me and moved when I moved. Staring... Just Staring... Eventually I reached the crest of the hill and sat down on a metal bench thoughtfully left there for walkers to enjoy the view across the undulating terrain. The cows waited patiently at the fence. Staring... Is there something going on I don't know about? Have I achieved a high enough karma to make bovine hearts swoon at my presence? Wish it had worked a few days ago. It was about then I realised that that two cows were on my side of the fence. Except these cows had horns and dangly things... Bulls. They watched me, staring... At least they weren't attacking. I see know why military surplus is invariably olive green. Only bulls with colour blindness would think I was a threat to their bull-li-ness and charge headlong in what would probably be a succesful attempt to get me to run away. With a bit of luck I'll blend into the hillside and make my getaway unseen. Changes in the Countryside Whereas our towns and villages are filled with pubs either closed down or glumly carrying on regardless of mounting debt, the countryside is becoming a haven of half demolished buildings. The cafe at Barbury Hill has gone, an empty brick shell. A large barn further down the footpath to Liddington lies in abandoned disarray. The shotgun range is quiet. Taking a Breather Eventually I reached the old oak north of Chiseldon and sat on the bench provided for another chance to rest my weary legs and quaff from my military surplus water bottle. Groan ye not, because they do actually work, and are sturdy enough to take the bumps and grinds of hiking. In an emergency you could melt it down and make a fake credit card. I think I saw Ray Mears do something like that once. The thing is though it was genuinely peaceful out there. The wind in the trees, the filtered sunsine, the contrails and rumbles of transatlantic jets bringing people home at low low prices after being stranded for weeks, the songs of birds, and yes, down there, among the trees of the hillside, a large deer trots along on its secretive business. A woman was coming up the farm trail that leads to the lower meadows of the valley, and I asked her if she'd seen the deer. "Errr.. Nooo..." She replied, but we ended up having a nice little conversation about how her dog ate a dead animal last night. Just found it out walking and the dog, named Barney, couldn't resist pigging out on it, and growled mightily when the family tried to take the horrible remains away. I sense Barneys owner hasn't yet cottoned on to how boring her dog food is. As we were walking along a herd of cows in an adjacent field trotted over to check out the new visitor in his olive green gear. I had to explain to the woman it was just me they wanted and not to be afraid of mindless cows. What is it with animals this morning? Has someone sprayed me with Ox For Men as a joke? It's seriously like encountering a crowd of fans who've never heard of autographs. "Oh but they kill people sometimes" She warned me. Oh brilliant. Ray Mears please take note. I succesfully evaded the cow herd by walking on. They don't seem able to negotiate obstacles like barbed wire fences. Barney and her fearful owner made their escape in the opposite direction. You can't pay for survival tips like this.

I sat down yesterday in the Town Gardens to enjoy a good book in the warm sunshine and chilly breeze. All that was missing was that seaside ambience. Swindon does have a seagull population which is a bit strange since we don't have any sea shore whatsoever, and you'd need to travel some distance to find any expanse of dull grey water. I wonder if they've heard about this global warming thing and reserved nesting space for when the worlds melting icebergs raise the sea level to Swindon Town Gardens? Anyhow the seagulls were elsewhere being rescued by the Royal Navy after being refused permission by the authorities to fly home. This was of course mid-week, so the weekend migration of families were absent. It was calm, peaceful.The sun was warm and I was sheltered from the breeze by the sunken lawn. Perfect. Or it was until a family decided to escape from a normal working week and found the same spot as me. their innocent and glassy eyed child then proceeded to drive around the lawn on some elctric buggy contraption cunningly designed to not resemble a car in any way whatsoever. "Stay off the flowers, dear!" Her mother called. "Not in the flowers!" Whoops. There she goes. Clearly she's going to be a 4x4 driver when she grows up. Happy Birthday On my way home fromTown Gardens I passed by the office where I did my work experience programme. At the bus stop was Miss A the Younger. She's been taken on as a permanent employee of the programme centre and she's already annoyed because she also happens to be the youngest employee in the office at the tender age of 18. Oh hallo there. What's the flower for? "It's my birthday" She smiled. How could I resist a birthday hug? Well now she's 19 years of age she ought to be aware that she'll be catching up with the rest of us one day. As it happened, her bus arrived right there and then, and whisked her away to safety. Somebody else was having a birthday today. In the stillness of the library, marked only by the sounds of chatting downstairs in the coffee bar and the background of keyboard typing, one elderly gentleman began singing a birthday somng to his nearest and dearest over the internet. Where's Simon Cowell when you need him? Advice of the Week Can you seriously believe this? Pensioners are being advised to take up martial arts to avoid fractures. Headbutting piles of slates, chopping bricks with their bare hands, breaking down walls with vicious kicks, all with the intent to prevent broken bones. Brilliant. Even better, it keeps them exercised whilst they trundle around on mobility buggies. Now they'll be able to drive over rice paper without leaving a mark.

It's a matter of personal perspective. Many might consider a one on one fight to be honourable regardless of weaponry - that's often a facet of human psychology displayed in our everyday activities. At the other end of the extreme, whilst I personally abhor the use of land mines, I do recognise my enemy might regard them as a convenient means of killing and injuring their hated enemies. It's always different if you're on the receiving end.

I take your point Melvadius, but then again my point was considering various aspects of a situation is a waste of time. Combat needs to be an instinctive thing - why else did the Romans insist on drills and practise? I remember a lad I used to work with. He was a skinhead who'd been previously jailed for soccer violence, and although he claimed to be a reformed character, his love of fighting still emerged in bouts of rough and tumble (much to my exasperation, but was I going to let him beat me? ) Truth of the matter was, he was so much more practised at swinging his fists that he remained calm and capable, lashing out quite skilffully (albeit pulling his punches - he was reformed after all) and reacted way faster than me - siimply because I had to observe, interpret, and decide on what I was going to do next in a fast paced situation, when all he had to was switch off his thinking process and let his well honed instincts take over. So I lost. And rather embarrasingly fell through a door into an adjoining office, much to his amusement. But hey, I died bravely.

I woke up this morning to bright sunshine yet again. How much longer can this go on for? We brits aren't used to good weather. Extended bouts of sunny days makes us go all loopy, doing daft things like jumping off bridges into dangerous rivers, slowly roasting ourselves where-ever we find a spot to lie down, and discovering how far you can stretch fashion before foreigners are visibly nauseous. I have an uncontrollable urge to buy bottles of cheap cider and watch the world go by. Hang on... What's going on?... Is that a cloud I see in the sky? Look there, there's another one. And another. Oh ye gods we're being invaded by cloud! Nice, white fluffy clumps of dreary dampness. Welcome back English weather. Oh yes, I forgot. The air restrictions for flights in and out of Britain are lifted today. It was an omen. The Scourge Of Energy Drinks I see in the news that a woman on an Anti-Social Behaviour Order has blamed her bad attitude on her addiction to Red Bull. Fifteen cans a day? Fifteen? How can she afford it? That's

No, it was a situation that happened in re-enactment at random. There weren't any safeguards other than health & safety restrictions and everyone else was busy wacking each others shields elsewhere. 'Running diagonally between the spears' sounds like one of those bright ideas roleplayers come up with (no offence intended) - It really wouldn't work like that. Spears are useful because of not just the pointy bit at the end, but also the butt and indeed could still serve as a quartstaff if need be. It sounds like you're trying to apply logic and thought to tactics in melee. You'll lose. Desperate men don't behave in an entirely predictable manner and by the time you've thought out how to achieve this result and chosen your moment to go for it, you've lost the initiative you won with all your aggression. So keep yelling and menacing. They're already scared, and knocking their spears away is possible, Don't waste your time thinking about it. Fatal.

Yet another sunny day. Pretty darn chilly this morning as I strolled through the park devoid of the birds returning from winter in tropical climes (or are they grounded by volcanic ash too? Must be tough cleaning those feathers). All in all, it's turning out to be a chilly day all round. I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. My title has been impugned. My claims advisor not only bluntly refused to acknowledge it but she took every opportunity to criticise my behaviour and even threatened to have me escorted off the premises. What a charming woman. Actually I think she took great delight in her impression of bovine outrage. I wonder what happened to the customer service these public departments are so proud of advertising? I guess any hint that one of their customers might be thinking of himself as anything more than a downtrodden subservient failure waives it. Some might say it's all my own fault. That I shouldn't use that title and so forth. Well.. Strictly speaking there's something in that argument since it isn't a peerage, but then again, if John Prescott can get a peerage for doing nothing more than squatting in public apartments I'm pretty sure I can use a title for doing more than expected of me. More And More Ash The volcano in Iceland shows no sign of easing up. Some news reports indicated a drop in activity but since when were volcanoes completely predictable? Maybe this is a bit hard on those trapped abroad, but I notice Swindon is remarkably quiet at the moment. Now that the government, whoever takes charge of it, is going to be concerned with reducing mounting debt, could they not honour their promises to make better for the public by asking the Royal Navy not to rescue British holidaymakers? They get an opportunity to get even more inebriated, I get peace and quiet. Works to the advantage of all. Pic Of The Day Didn't get the photograph I wanted, but I caught this one instead. Enjoy...

Running around the back of four spearmen seems an unlikely tactic. It was after all a display of aggression and a more frontal approach might actually produce a better result.

It's a question of political strength, and don't forget there's been more than two parties in our system for a long time, plus fringe groups emerging like British National Party, Green Party, UK Independence party, and any number of independents. You might also include movements such as the Monster raving Looney Party or the Nun Of The Above Party. Okay, maybe they're not too sensible, but then the established political factions in the House of Commons aren't known for sensible policies either.

I hear Zurich is something of a playground for light aeroplanes at the moment. With all airliner movements halted they're just letting everyone else free run of the place. You don't see that in England. In fact, there was a light plane accident not far from where I used to fly, just in the last week. The cause isn't known yet but naturally people are wondering if ash was responsible. Personally I don't think so, it's unlikely he was flying high enough, and light aeroplanes usually crash because someone either didn't do something they should or did something they shouldn't. Well, if any of those enviro-tards are interested, I haven't coughed once since the eruption began and so far I show no signs of becoming a zombie. It ain't exactly Pompeii around here (despite some peoples efforts )

Yesterday afternoon was one of those hazy lazy days. I snoozed on a park bench and even though I wasn't there for very long, I spotted the effects of sunshine on my face in the mirror when I got home. Woah that's red. What else can I do now my leisure time has increased?.. Uhhh... Oh I know, lets try to get a fantastic sunset photo. Now's the time, with volcanic ash causing all sorts of colour effects in the atmosphere. There was a saffron edge to the grey-blue cloud as the sun got lower, and faint sunbeams spread from the edges in a very understated way. Hey, I might be able to take a decent pic! So I rushed out to the grassy slopes of the fields of south Swindon and breathlessly hauled my camera forth... Awww man this is going to be mega!... (*BLEEP*).. What the?... Battery Empty. NOOOOOOOO! I Woke Up This Morning So it's back to my normal routine. Freed from the shackles of workfare I now queue up with all the others waiting for the library doors to open. Dragon Lady is on duty at the enquiries desk this monday morning so the mood is very quiet indeed. Check my emails... No rep;ies from any employers, just a whole stack of newsletters that don't interest me in any way... Delete, delete, delete... The security guard clambered up the stairs and announced it was too dark inside the building for human beings to see properly. No, that's okay, I can see just fine, so... AAGH! The lights turned on nonetheless and now I can't see properly. Whinge of the Week Last week we nearly had a Doctor Who Day at work. It was KS who satrted that one off by claiming that someone looked like the good Doctor. As it turned out I thought he meant someone else, so the whole thing collapsed under the weight of its own embarrasement. A part of me wants the television series to go the same way. I've written a few times on my loathing for the new Doctor Who and you know what? I'm going to do that again. KS thought the series was brilliant. I imagine he would, since it contains bright colours, lots of movement, constant mood music, and doesn't challenge the intellect in any way. I'll know when his 'Brain-Training' games are having an effect when he realises I was right about the frankenstein monster that is Doctor Who. Ironically last saturdays episode was based on a very interesting idea - that daleks were being used as 'Ironsides' secret war weapons in Britain at the height of the Luftwaffes assault in 1940, suitably painted in olive drab and little union jacks, plus some canvas bandoliers that the daleks could use to store bits and piecs if only their extendable plungers could actually reach into them. Perhaps it fosters teamwork? Sadly from that point on the episode descended into its usual moronic drivel. It turns out the most unconvincing Winston Churchill ever is a close buddy of the Doctor, which serves no useful plot device and the scene was only included to make the Doctor look like a celebrity. The boffin who built the 'ironsides' turns out to be a cyborg built by the daleks to introduce them to Winston. "Why did you do that?" The Doctor enquires of the Daleks when they start to admit their nefarious skulduggery. "Because it was necessary" Replies our olive drab psychopathic pepperpot. Necessary? What does that mean? It doesn't explain anything. In fact, I couldn't see any sensible reason why the Daleks needed to interfere in World War Two at all. By that time I was cringing in my seat. "Broadsword calling Danny Boy! Broadsword calliung Danny Boy!" Cried some guy into a radio microphone, a sentence ripped bloody from the motion picture Where Eagles Dare. Oh please... Not this... Spitfires in space... Help, I'm drowning in idiocy. I remember when Doctor Who was science fiction. The new Doctor pretends to be, but in all honestly, it was always intended to be Harry Potter and the Sonic Screwdriver.

Sunday morning... Time once again to step over the casualties of last nights binges and make my way to where I sit now, typing out this blog entry. What struck me was how quiet everything was. A solitary electric tool echoed in the back streets on the west side of Swindon hill, whining away with it's owners delirious need to reduce his untidy house to matchwood. Oh sure the church bells were trying to keep christians occupied on their day off but for some odd reason it didn't seem as intrusive a background noise as it often is. Hordes of sikhs swarm in from every direction to attend their rituals at our local temple. Unlike the noisy english, they hardly make a sound, almost as if they're trying not to attract attention to themselves. Hard not to notice really, given their numbers, colourful ethnic garb, and the impossible task of threading my way through the crowd. It's too nice a morning to get annoyed. Then I noticed the sky. Utterly cloudless, an expanse of blue you'd expect to see in the deserts of Africa albeit with a slightly grey haze on the horizon. Not a single contrail. No white specks shuttling to and fro across the Atlantic. Just a sense of peace and calm you don't really encounter very much in the hurly-burly of the modern world. So my learned advice is that if you want peace and quiet set off a volcano. Cats The funny thing is that our feline friends and neighbours seem to sense today is going to be quiet on a pastoral level so rarely enjoyed in their everyday struggle for survival and strokes from strangers. There's the same white cat in his usual place on the window sill of a house down the road, cleaning himself, totally uninterested in the comings and goings he normally studies. One cat rolls lazily around on the tarmac, safe in the knowledge that holidaygoers are trapped where they are and thus the risk of being mown down by drivers driven to psychopathic rage by their kids incessant demands for global positioning equipment will not occur. That was probably the only cat moving in Swindon just now. Noise Update Just heard a train passing through Swindon heading west to Bristol. There it goes, a warbling diesel pulling a long line of gravel hoppers. The smoother swish of a passenger train comes the other way. Not to be outdone, the man in the next house has started a strimmer and relaxes in the high pitched snarl. By tonight, the void in background noise will no doubt be filled by the sound of social mayhem and unrestrained music. Why do human beings demand peace and quiet all the time? All we do is fill it with noise.

The urge to write is a funny thing. I went daily a while back and sometimes you just haven't got enough time in the day to set down everything you want to say, on other days you stare at the screen in a dull eyed stare devoid of any impetus to even twitch a finger. You have an advantage over me. I don't have a cat who likes cars. On the other hand, I do have a car that likes cats. You can see where they've been lying on the dusty bonnet (that's 'hood' for those who don't speak Queens English ). There you go. It was worth the money after all

I left my home this morning in bright sunshine. There's a clear blue sky out there and although last night got pretty chilly, the sun has already warmed things up nicely. You'd never guess that a cloud of volcanic ash was floating overhead and stopping airlines from flying at the cost of

Because he derived personal prestige from his close affiliation from Augustus, because he didn't want the risk of being so exposed politically, and probably because he was less capable politically and knew it. Not everyone wants to be top dog. You will find plenty of people are happy to walk beside someone who is.

It's over! It's all over! My work experience placement has come to an end after thirteen weeks of banter and back-breaking labour. My boss thanked me for my efforts and apologised for not being able to take me on permanently. "Are you sorry to be leaving?" She asked me. It did feel like a bitter-sweet moment. On the one hand we'd had a fun day. Antics and malarkey throughout the morning, but sadly Miss L was on the receiving end of a management ambush after I'd given her a stockroom rally stage in my sports-cage. The awful part of it was that if we'd reacted better we could have gotten away with it. She was sat inside the cage out of view when the boss came looking for her. "Have you seen Miss L?" KS and I instinctively glanced down as Miss L stared back in horror. It was no good lying about it, the boss had noticed the sudden quiet and exchanged glances and knew something was up. So she was sent off to a firing squad but so far we haven't heard what action the bosses will take. In fairness, Miss L has been pushing her luck for a while now. It was a little unfortunate it all came to head after I'd pushed her too. Chin up girl. I did my best to defuse the bomb. The mood did lighten. I found a printed instruction sheet handed out by manager G for his staff and had it sent back to the office marked with all corrections and 4/10 - Must do better in Grammar if you want to stay in management. On the way out I said my last goodbye to Miss G. As usual she shivered in embarrasement and tried to get out of my target range as soon as possible. Bless her, she's such a fussy girl. Does need to remove the cork though. I stopped by the security guard and handed over all my tools of the trade - pens, pad of paper, safety knife - and for some strange reason he nearly collapsed in hysterics. Finally, at the main door, I stopped and thanked the department store so everyone could hear me. The public looked a little bemused and curious as to what the heck this idiot was on but their shopping wasn't impeded in any way. Audiences... So fickle... Small World Of The Week Yesterday afternoon was dragging on. My blog entry had been covertly written and posted, and we all sat around around waiting for our exit interview. There's been a blonde girl on another table whom I've spoken to a couple of times but given how attention-grabbing the girls on our table usually were, I hardly ever got around to speaking to her. As chance would have it we began chatting. In the course of the conversation she mentioned she lived in such and such a street. huh? The same one as me? My interest was picqued. Whereabouts? "Next to the chemist" She responded. What the? That's next door to me!!! Well how about that? Not only does it prove what an incredibly small world Swindon is, but also that neighbours can be human too.

Colonel Mustard in the Library with a lead pipe.

Minkybabe isn't mentioned at all. Your secret is safe with me.

Best not to ask, Minkybabe Nice to see you aboard. Enjoy the Roman stuff too.

I think the slavery angle is overstated. Certainly part of it, but what was more important was the lack of 'scientific' thinking amongst Romans. It wasn't that they didn't innovate within their culture (which was composed of their conquered and annexed populations too) but that there was no incentive to do so. I saw a tv program once that pointed at marks made in stone at a quarry used in Roman times. Apparently these quarrymen were using a three bladed stone cutter powered by water. An industrial innovation which no doubt helped their profits - an important factor, if not the most vital consideration in Roman minds. Would they communicate the secret of their success? I seriously doubt it. Why help your rivals? In order for science to develop you need to communicate ideas. Clearly the Romans weren't so inclined, so whilst the talent and inclination existed, it never took root on anything more than a local scale and then only if it worked reliably. On the other hand, there is evidence that technology was lurking on the bottom rank of Roman mentality. Plumbing for instance ended up with a set standard for lead pipes and brass bronze joints (Sorry about the gaffe there). We read of odd contrivances such as Nero's rotating dinner hall or the triton rising out of the lake to announce the beginning of Claudius's staged sea battle. There were definitely clever people around who knew how these things were made. It all comes back to money and making a living. If you know how these build these things, what incentive do you have to teach or show others how to do it? Those with the money to spend, such as wealthy people trying to impress the public with entertaining diversions, were generally conservative and image concious people who didn't want to be seen as patronising strange machines that fail spectacularly. So one might assume that you needed a certain level of confidence before you approached the important patrons with your ideas to begin with. A spectacular failure might end up with you taking your place in a spectacularum for the crowds edification and delight. A failure to adopt? Certainly, but money was often driving those decisions.

My last day at the Work Experience Centre! Free! Free at last! Free to experience sunlight, fresh air, and sensible intelligent people! But until that actually happens, I have to sit through the usual lecture and group activity. A part of me hopes my wierd brother will be waiting outside with his second hand ex-police car in a cool black suit and shades, mostly because of the fun adventures I

Technology did not appreciably develop in terms of 'scientific' advance, merely in terms of application of existing ideas (often other cultures but there you go) and some increasing sophistication. There wasn't much need for technical advance in the Roman world. As they became the dominant power they were strong enbough not to require technical advances as a means of winning domination, especially since Rome was intrinsically a conservative culture to begin with. Science as such was always a bit dodgy to the superstitious Roman mind since it was aping the powers of the gods. Also, why would a nobleman risk his reputation in a competitive cultural and politcal arena by investing in research? Surely a wealthy man demonstrates his wealth to his advantage by public largesse and the visible beneficence of slave labour? Science was also something very 'Greek' in Roman minds, and Greeks were.. well.. not to be trusted.

There was a general lack of managers at work today. Under normal circumstances that would be a recipe for noise and mucking-about, but with my dole payments in doubt I had other things on my mind. I even had to go to the Job Centre this afternoon to force them to arrange my 'Back To Dole Seeking' interview. Talk about DIY. Meanwhile, back at the stockroom, the quiet atmosphere was making it possible for others to attempt a spot of entertainment. Somewhat carelessly an asian lady started singing to herself whilst she searched the shelves for required stock in something of a 'whistle while you work' mood. Asian singing is complex and very odd to western ears, but she was tuneful, so when she mysteriously and abruptly ceased, I yelled across the stockroom for her not to stop. It's very cultural, I said. She burst into an insane fit of giggles. It was like the Wicked Witch of the West in a good mood. What a racket. At least she was amused. I always find these asians something of an alien culture. There's a guy who occaisionally comes up from the shop floor. We recognise him by his odd hairstyle which involves bundles of hair sticking out each side. KS thought he looked like Doctor Who which amused me somewhat, proving that all the Flash Bang Wallop of the new series rather distracts viewers from the essential realisation of just how little story there is. Anyway, I asked him whether he was the Doctor and he said no. I think he was telling the truth - He looked a little bemused by my questioning. Actually it is interesting that I mention Doctor Who, because his TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimensions In Space - I am such a geek sometimes) - the time machine that looks like a police box from the 1960's, is larger on the inside than it is outside. Sort of what happens in our stockroom. We have a different spatial configuration than the rest of the store and today the shop assistants put that to the test by constantly bringing stock up the lift to be stored. Unfortunately our relative dimensions are much smaller on the inside so the stockroom is now a mass of tangled socks and wobbly cardboard towers. Trust me - No Dalek could possibly reach us. Today I repaired various collapses of shelves and made new ones from spare bits scavenged from various black holes which are quite common in our cardboard continuum. For a brief while I even became an organic component of the stockroom architecture. Just part of the furniture. You could even stage a complete Doctor Who adventure in our stockroom. Where do all these work placementees go? Why does the telephone always stop ringing just as you finally clamber over jumbles of discarded boxes in a mad frantic rush to communicate with the outside world? How does J access the universe outside the stockroom, and what does he do with this mysterious power? More From Miss L2 Although KS failed to 'bash and dash' with Miss L2, she is never far from our thoughts. Apparently she's uploaded more jpegs of herself on a Facebook page and KS has seen them already. Now young Miss L2 says that she's a honeytrap, drawing men in. If that's the case, she certainly doesn't know what to do with them when she snares them in her machiavellian schemes. J made a somewhat gleeful observation that he would be like a bee, buzzing in to fertilise the flower. Thought you needed birds for that? Oh... I see what you mean. Well... I added that bees always fly back to the nest and communicate the directions to their great new find by way of a strange dance. Maybe J's bee-ness isn't so strong after all. Evidence For UFO's A few days ago I watched a television program about UFO's. The Secret Evidence or some such title. Out of curiosity I sat down with beer in hand and yes, the aviation expert hosting the program dredged up every single possible cliche to do with strange lights in the sky. I now know that UFO's are Nazi secret weapons used by the CIA to study little grey men in Arizona and scare off hippies from attending the Glastobury Festival. No, really it was on tv. So it must be true. Why would my television screen lie to me? The camera never lies...

Octavian was not officially crowned pharoah then, but accorded that status as the de facto ruler of Egypt. A sense of continuity must have been important to priests - as it usually is - and so the Roman emperors effectively formed a new dynasty of foreign kings. A stable regime in Egypt would have been very important and hence the continuity worked for Octavian. A simple example of realpolitik. In any case, Egypt was a land of barbarians so where was the harm in assuming the role of a king there? Actually, a clever Roman rival could have made much of that, given the criticism levelled at Marc Antony over his love affair with ambitious and crafty (not to mention ruthless) Cleopatra. Perhaps then it was wiser not to make any big deal of it, and if the Egyptians wanted him to have that status, well.. They were barbarians after all.