caldrail

It's a properly celtic morning today. Cold, certainly, that sort of insidious damp chill you can never feel warm in whatever you do. I look out the window at the pale blue sky, static undulations of blue-grey alto-cumulus tinged with gold, and that grey claggy horizon with a distant mountain range of cumulus far off in the west. It's also a very quiet day. Sundays are sometimes like that, and with these dull grey mornings you usually get a very subdued response from people. One old chap said good morning to me. Well, okay, he murmured a greeting, but I'm not sure he meant it. Naked Truth If I recall correctly, somewhere in the Book of Genesis (the Bible, not the memoirs of a rock band) there's a bit where Eve, naughty girl that she was, persuades Adam to eat on the apple of knowledge and it's then he notices he's naked and starts covering up. God notices the change in fashion, loses his rag when he finds out what the two have been up to, and promptly evicts them from the premises. Personally, I think God got upset because he couldn't ogle Eve anymore. We were made in his image after all. On the other hand, according to Scientific American, the loss of body hair during our evolution was the trigger for brain development, so in fact the Bible was right. It is clever to go naked. Then again, I'm reminded of the prevailing temperature and wonder what the Police might make of me strolling down to the shops with a smug smile and little else. Then again... Having the benefit of a evolved brain and eaten the fruits of knowledge, I already know the answer to that. Now some people, especially the fans of the Bible and associated works, might point out that Adam was ashamed of his nakedness when apple juice turbocharged his intellect. Ashamed? In the company of buxom young Eve? My scientific appraisal is that Adam was not well endowed. Well, no matter, humanity has made up for it since.

Britains terrorism threat has been raised from 'substantial' to 'severe'. The British public might not notice, the authorities claim. They're right, we won't, because unless an event actually happens life will go on as normal. A part of me is still a little suspicious though. I remember that moment some years back when the army cordoned off Heathrow Airport in a blaze of publicity. Was that a 'severe' threat situation? If so, where are all the tanks now? I have wondered for some time that even with the real threats in existence, the authorities aren't just making proclamations like this to keep us slightly worried and supportive of their expensive tasks, to support the security industry. Another part of me wonders if we didn't keep prodding potential terrorists they'd all get bored and emigrate to Britain to have twenty children paid for by our decadent infidel dole payments. Okay, there are people out there who have this twisted idea that blowing things up is going to make the world a better place. It does seem odd that the inventor of dynamite gave his name to a peace prize. Meanwhile, Back at the Library All quiet here. In fact, finding a free computer no longer requires a mad dash up the stairs every morning, and it's now possible to arrive ten minutes late and still find one available. So I guess the novelty has worn off a little, meaning fewer people sat there playing games or running their businesses and leaving more time and space for Facebookers to indulge in their virtual relationships. It isn't all facile. Yesterday I spotted one guy with one of those 'Secrets of the Ancients' books, and making a slightly scornful comment we found ourselves drawn into a wonderfully existential debate about life, the universe, and other matters not remotely connected to terrorism. It just goes to show that two sides can argue in a polite and meaningful manner without blowing things up. But then again, dynamite isn't generally available in libraries.

That's odd. I thought there was an animal park somewhere in Britain that had already done this decades ago. Or at least bred cows with similar characteristics.

Bored... Very bored... Okay, lets turn on the television. You never know, there might actually be something worth watching. I think most of us have noticed the irony of having hundreds more channels and hundreds less to watch. As it happened, I stumbled on a program about sexually predatory women. Now, before you think I'm about to embark on a fantasy, this was a program that looked at the the changing morality in modern times with female affluence and internet anonymity, not to mention outright changes in culture. From a purely male perspective I found it a little sinister and possibly demeaning. That is of course because of the loss of male prerogative. These women have influence and they know it, and since the male instinct to copulate is rather a strong one, the desire for gratification makes some men willing to become subservient to a degree I find both saddening and disturbing. They might argue they're getting laid and I'm not. Well, that's a very superficial observation and one based on a very immature idea that men who have sex, sex, sex, and more sex are somehow better. The psychological feelgood factor of having sex is, in a very warped way, rewarding these men for satisfying womens demands in a sort of role reversal. It really is a case of if you can't beat them, bonk them too. The whole thing is very self-indulgent, and the risks involved must be obvious. These people, both male and female, enthuse about how great it is to bonk strangers senseless at the drop of a hat. Affluent people using sex not only for gratification, but as a mark of status, seeking social inclusion amongst the beautiful, wealthy, exclusive, and oh yes... The ones that get laid for the asking too. One expert on this trend announced that some people believed it was a reinvention of ancient Rome, when all it really amounts to is group sex in Romford. I think he rather missed the point. The orgies of the Roman Empire were absolutely no different to this modern explicit culture. Not because palace rooms were full of very important people in expensive orgies, but because they were people with nothing better to do than get high on sex and secretly snigger at poor people not getting any. Am I envious? Do I desire their exclusivity? Actually, no, because they so desperately want me to. Extra Miles My Work Experience Advisor used to work as a teacher. She escaped from that permanently infantile regime to work in one that treats adult jobseekers like children. More questions, more forms, more politically correct goals and objectives. Amongst those primary school tasks was one she forwarded as "Must seek to go the extra mile." Eh? What? Does that mean I have to go to another workplace further away? She did mention going to a warehouse in Wootton Bassett, but although the government insist I must be ready to travel for up to an hour and a half to get to a job, even the few miles to the nearest town might take me half an hour a day. Has the government realised how expensive public transport is? Do I really want to spend my profit paying to get to the workplace to earn it? Or am I expected to break the boundaries of human performance on benefits plus

It's occured to me that an immersive experience is a wonderful sensation, but not necessarily educational. The significance of the 'rebuilt' Arbeia for instance is rather less than it first appears. By itself, it's interesting, but to fully learn what it meant also requires a good understaning of the implications. Look at it like this. If I visit a kitchen, it may be decorated in different colours and have different implements hanging on the wall, but only if I know how to cook does that assume any meaning. The immersion is limited by our own experience, and also our awareness of alternatives. Can a small child really conceive of what life was like for the Romano-British, purely on the basis of visiting that reconstructed barracks? I seriously doubt it. It might provoke a sense of wonder in some of them, but the actual learning is what they read or are told, and that in most cases is hidebound by relative ignorance and custom. My appreciation of the site comes from what I understand about Roman times, about the harshness of a northern climate (less harsh in those days!), and from observing poverty in the world around me. On its own the site is a curiosity, and basing your understanding on it is to construct a world view from the visit of a house. It really is that limited. The Romans didn't just live in one place, they occupied a island. More than that, they occupied an entire empire from Italy. What can we learn from reconstructed sites? My feeling is that such facilities do have value but we must be realistic about it. Reading a single book does not describe the genre.

Therefore formation integrity was less of an issue than the initial advance, considering the enemy was withdrawing in disorder.

The budget should be balanced, the treasury should be refilled, public debt should be reduced, the arrogance of officialdom should be tempered and controlled and the assistance to foreign lands should be curtailed lest Rome become bankrupt. People should learn to work, instead of living on public assistance. Cicero (55BC) (Courtesy of Councillor David Glaholm) Councillor Glaholm makes the point in the Swindon Advertiser that nothing changes. He's right of course, but then why would he not be? Apart from culture and ethics, were the Romans really any different from us? We are their descendants after all. Nonetheless I would point out that the desire for social provision has bred a society that depends on it. As a recipient, I have first hand experience of how hard it is to live without public assistance when your fortunes decline. Not all recipients are lazy fecund vandals. Remembering How To Be An Employee It was supposed to be an early morning start yesterday, so the night before I thought that an early night would be advisiable. Good grief, I haven't gone to bed before midnight for ages. Wonder if I remember how? Hmmm... Well... I followed the ritual as I remembered it, and pulled the duvet over myself in the chilly darkness ready to fall asleep.... Any moment now... Oh this is ridiculous. I was physically weary and I couldn't sleep. After several hundred sheep it was clearly going to be a long night whether I liked or not. Why can you never sleep when you want to? At one point I even went to the window and looked out, hoping to see the first flakes of snow from Wednesdays expected inundation, but instead, it was just another damp night. I don't remember going to sleep at all. No, that's not quite right. I was dozing when the alarm went off. Time to rise and be ready for work, and strangely enough, that was the time I really did want to close my eyes and sleep. Come on, Caldrail, time to get up. Don't want to. You have to. Awwww.... While I was going about the business of getting ready to leave the house I heard that screeching and screaming again. A fox. It just had to be. Out of curiosity I looked out the back window. Nope. Nothing out there, and it seems the noise was coming from the grounds of the Old College... Hang on... What's that? Two foxes. Not the splendid russet coloured specimen I saw the other night, but a pair of youngsters, lighter coloured, hunting on their own and squabbling between themselves. Interestingly enough they went exactly the same route as the older fox did and in the exaxt same footsteps. I guess foxes have to go to work too. Enjoy your first day kids. Disappointment of the Week After that great buildup the weather people made the snow turned out, literally, to be a damp squib. I remember when winters were real winters not these.... Well, you know what I mean.

Today was my first day back in the workplace for twenty months more or less. Twenty months! So how was it? Compatred to the heavily male orientated and sometimes belligerent and nasty warehouse enviroment, it was suprisingly light hearted. It's local, I only have to walk down the road to get there, and there's a quite a co-operative atmosphere. You would think that was perfect. Well... No, because it's exhausting work. It isn't just that I've been out of the workplace for so long, it's also because I'm always lifting above the shoulder, so you spend the day performing physical exercise that an army sergeant-major could only dream of. In fact, I'm soooo tired... soooo tired.... zzzzz... zzzzzz.... Owww.... Okay, I'm awake again. Horseless Carriage My Work Experience Programme Advisor (one of the two ladies who hand out all those endless forms) tells us that she although trained as a riding instructor she's no longer able to ride a horse. What? Got caught speeding in a 'trotting only' section of bridleway? Don't laugh. The only reason the government haven't made that a criminal offence is that because they haven't thought of bolting license plates to animals and taxing them. She did however ask us about whether the roads were going to viable this week since she's driving in from outside Swindon. Eh? Why would the roads be a problem? The winters over, dear, the snow's gone away, we're.... What?... Wednesday? Oh poo. Apparently Swindon is targeted by Siberian snowstorms again tomorrow. I have been warned. Especially since I have a job interview as well. You just know it's all going to go horribly wrong...

Turn? What turn was that? The descrioption of the battle I have (via John Drogo Montagu) is that that the Thebans advanced in a more or less straight toward the spartan line.

Only when I let go of what I am, can I become what I can be Lao Tsu (400BC) This afternoon I saw that piece of philosophy hung on an office wall. What a fascinating insight. What it should mean is that only by letting go of the past and any inhibitions learned can you progress. Unfortunately, the chinese fella who wrote this was only concerned with a positive application. It could just as easily mean that a man must hang on to success or fall by the wayside. Sorry, Lao, but you said it. Ultimately it all falls on what target we set ourselves and our determination to reach that goal. That's always been true, Chinese philosophy or not, but it overlooks the ranks of also-ran's. I speak from personal experience, so I would add... Fate is the sum of all decisions and natural forces Caldrail (1998) Which one of us is right? You decide. Philosophy is such fun. Back With The programme I'm back with the programme. It's a mammoth exercise in bureaucracy as form after form is filled with silly questions like "What do you think this course will do for you?" appear (How should I know the answer - I haven't done the course yet. Who thinks this stufff up?) Back In The Workplace "Does anyone want to work in a stockroom?" The lady asked us, and I was one of three brave souls who volunteered. So armed with an excuse we trotted down the hill and into town for a placement interview which was, to say the least, very informal. The security guards looked at our scruffy and varied appearance as if we were aliens arriving to abduct the manager, but eventually they saw sense and let us behind closed doors. That's how interviews should be. None of that endless dressing in ridiculous and impractical clothes that cost a fortune, none of that endless question and answer sessions designed to discover if you're an anarchistic layabout, none of those soul crushing rejections by email or letter. No fuss, no bother, just turn up, discuss the job, see the workplace, and be ready to turn up tomorrow morning. I feel better already.

Some did (Thebans at Leuctra), but the ability to create superior strategy is rarer than you think. Some commanders simply aren't talented, knowledgeable, or lucky enough to make the right decisions. Remember that on the ancient battlefield it was unlikely to see a commander sat in a tent behind lines directing the battle by pointing a dagger on a map as might happen in later periods. In their day, the ciommander decided his strategy beforehand and the army went with it, bad decision or not, whilst the commander himself was often personally involved in the fighting or busy rallying his troops. Think of it is a larger and complex version of paper, rock, scissors. The commanders often gambled they'd made the right choice of formation.

Now that the freezing weather has returned to the normal damp and chilly greyness of a Bitish winter, other things are returning with it. Last night was this years first excursion of the Saturday Singing Club, another bunch of youths determined to display their acne to everyone as loudly as possible. Cars and vans have taken to driving quite fast again too, now that the roads aren't as slippery as they were last week. Even on a quiet Sunday morning I had to dodge a couple of drivers who clearly have no intention of letting such things as pedestrian crossings get in their way. It wasn't all fun and games. During the dark hours of yesterday evening I heard the most atrocious noise out back. Sort of a cross between a young child on drugs and a pig squealing. If I'm not mistaken, that was one of our local foxes, though what drama brought on that stressful performance I have no idea. Back To Start, Do Not Collect

The Romans had no archers, so you might might well be talking about phrygian auxillaries. As far as I know, and I don't have an authoriative description, the leather 'helmet hat' did not resemble legionary metal ones nor did it have cheek flaps.

All phalanxes are vulnerable on their flanks, period, that was why cavalry support on the wings of the army was vital. As for the swiss, advancing in columns is not the same as phalanxes (who would usually advance in a line of large blocks, and any other macro-formation is inherently for defensive purposes where phalanxes are concerned, except an encircling one that is). Nor for that matter, were the swiss formations phalanxes, and I seriously doubt the swiss troops used pikes as long as the ancient greeks did. As to why the swiss could advance in coloumn without disaster, it's impossible to answer until more is known about the circumstances. If there's no threat, then yes, of course they could do that. Was that advance intended to come to blows? Bear in mind the following blocks could not present pikes without spearing their friends in front had they contacted the enemy in a melee, and the weight of numbers in an attack of that kind only makes sense if the intention was to make a 'push of pikes', typical of pikemen around the world, and not the wall of sharp points a phalanx would present to the front.

Yesterday I looked out the back window to view the monochrome vista of wintery Swindon. It was all pretty quiet. The garage mechanics had gone home, the yard was silent, and vehicles weren't moving on the streets about. Oho! There he is... Mr Fox, a fine russet furred specimen emerging from under the tall white fence that guards the old college site, where I imagine the Mr Fox has set up home. He trotted up the slope without a care in the world, only breaking into a run to cross the road. Cunning little animal that he is, he knew there wasn't anyone about. Well he seems healthy enough in this cold snap. Enjoying Music Waiting for the library doors to open is a daily ritual observed in silence. We see the same old faces every day but never really get involved in conversation. Well, it is a library after all. This last morning however I heard singing. That tuneless rendition of a song being played in a personal stereo as an older woman sat by the window lost in sympathetic communion with her favourite pop band. An old chap made a jovial comment "Good, isn't she?" Oh? She won't win X-Factor. Need I say more? Knight In Dull Leather "Ummm... You couldn't help me out could you?" She said, leaning out across the dividing wall between our library cubicles, "I don't want to disturb you but I can't print this document... I'm such a technophobe..." Sigh. Here I go again. I mean, is she for real? Since when did any red-blooded male of the species ever feel disturbed when a damsel is in distress? We're programmed by nature to render assistance at all costs. Never fear, maiden, I shall have thy document printed in but a jiffy. Have at you, computer! So I duly got her document to print, and she thanked me in that tone that makes a bloke feel all warm and useful. It's at that point you decide that she really is very pretty and your anatomy is doing strange things. Then she smiles sweetly to inform you that your chances are zilch and her boyfriend is lurking dangerously close. You know, we humans give up too easily sometimes. Any other species would have had a big fight by then. I can see why the knights decided armour was ideal for a well dressed romance.

Prepration of the battlefield was one strategy employed by sneaky commanders who had the initiaitive - and that's another aspect to this - superior leadership. Like any endeavour, there's only a minority of people with talent and charisma to lead an army effectively. History shows that these individuals are far and few between. Regarding the advance of phalanxi and their apparent safety - I would argue that had nothing to do with the phalanx at all, which is pretty well as vulnerable as can be from the flanks. It had more to do with mutual support and cavalry on the flanks, as that's generally what the ancient armies did in battle - face off with cavalry on the flanks to win a primary advantage. There is an interesting battle (Leuctra, 371BC) in which the Thebans and Spartans did bloody battle. The Spartans, whose cavalry was admittedly a little lacklustre, lined up with cavalry in front, phalanxes behind. The Thebans advanced with cavalry (always face horsemen with horsemen on the ancient battlefield! - Caldrails Tips For Generalship No1) and the phalanxes right flank refused (diagonal with the right hand side trailing). Result? The Theban cavalry got out through the 'open door', the Spartan cavalry didn't, and the Thebans won convincingly.

It always happens when it snows. I get this uncontrollable urge to wander further afield. Okay, that doesn't make me Ranulph Caldrail, but trudging through snow is pretty tiring you know. First stop of the day was at the park round the corner from where I live. You know, I was always taught that birds fly south for the winter, but not these hardy waterfowl, especially since they've cottoned on that we humans feel sorry for them and supply all their breadcrumb needs. All they have to do is swarm around and make lots of birdie noises. Sounds familiar. The thing is though that now we have a situation where there are more birds in the park in winter than there is in summer. How thoughtless could these birds be? Have they not realised that old people are using their own rations to feed them? I blame our politicians for allowing too much immigration. The second stop was on the hillside of Lawns Meadow. The snow here was fresh and crunched beneath my feet in a very satisifying way. I think it must be a primeval instinct. We like snow because it reminds us of our ice age past. I'm sure they would have had a great time if they'd had central heating and meat packages that didn't fight back. Two of their descendants were snowboarding. In Swindon? Is that allowed? Surely dangerous sports have been banned in civilisation? It always looked a bit more exciting on television. Third stop of the day was on the other side of the lakes. Taking advantage of the deep snow a chap was building an igloo for his kids and doing a fine job of it. Way cool. I did ask him if he had planning permission for his new dwelling but his ice age instincts were in full flow and in true anarchist style merely shrugged. It turned out that he was a mechanical engineer by trade. It showed. Using a plastic lunch box he was turning out snow bricks very industriously. I'm suprised he didn't automate the process. Anyhow, his young daughter stood in front of me and said "You can help if you like." Awwww.... Swee-eee-eeet.... But no. I don't want all the credit for the inevitable collapse. I've got multi-national companies doing that already. Fourth stop of the day was passing a woman dragging her kids along on a sledge. Good grief woman, show some self respect. I quipped that it beat pushing a pram. She agreed, and added that she was supposed to be at the gym but for the weather. That's a good exuse. Sadly, my fifth stop of the day was by the main road when a van driver (always the villains) decided that driving through the slush piled at the side of the road is a jolly good wheeze, especially when a pedestrian gets plastered in biege sludge. Hello One the librarians said hello to me when I came in yesterday morning. Heck. That's the first time she's acknowledged my physical presence in the last five years. In my world that's getting dangerously popular. If I carry on like this I'll end up with a social life. Driver of the Week This accolade would have gone to that dunce who slushed me earlier, but no, it's the turn of a guy coming down the hill when I went across the road for a kebab. Despite the cold temperatures and the wet if not slushy road surface, he insisted on driving at fifty miles an hour. I hope he intends stopping at the junction at the bottom of the hill. It'll be the first time I've seen braking parachutes and retro-rockets deployed. Huh? How did he manage to stop? Does he have some sort of sci-fi geo-magnetic motion positioning? Nah, that's not a German luxury car... Or is he a christian? I ought to be impressed, but... Come to think of it, now the roads are a sort of dark brown asphalt, everyones driving around quickly again. That didn't take long did it?

Provided the cavalry don't outflank them. Otherwise a phalanx is in deep trouble.

The treatment of house slaves varied enormously depending on the character of the owner. Many were simply there, to be used as a convenience, and woe betide them if they didn't serve as expected, but I accept that others were allowed to have partners, run businesses for their owners, and even live quite comfortably. As for assuming new identities, that's suprisingly difficult outside of our anonymous modern times, mostly because your neighbours will soon know all about you, and if your behaviour is at odds with your assumed station, someone will notice. A new face in a settlement is bound to attract attention.

Entirely plausible, but bear in mind these re-enactors weren't in fear of their lives and in real combat situations (however many bruises they suffered ). To deliberately place your shield like that with your attention diverted by the risk and chaos (not to mention noise) of the fight going on around you requires a cool head. In fact, as long as you remember that half of combat is psychology, there's all sorts of differing emphasis in warfare, such as the containment of the legions at Adrianople, with Goths forcing them to defend against missiles thrown at their crowd of disorganised men, suffering occaisional sallies by gothic swordsmen, unable to any more than stand there and take it. I also note there are hints about the realities of warfare made by ancient writers - Marcellinus talks about the experience of being on the battlefield of Adrianople (and a terrible experience it must have been, his account carries a lot of conviction). The greeks too apparently mention the fear troops feel immediately before that clash of weapons, soiling themselves and so on, even describing how one unit was so crushed together in mutual nervousness and protection that one dead soldier remained standing upright among them.

My second battle has been fought. I went to the bank to have my title changed and curiously enough, the somewhat bored bank clerk merely sighed, dismissed my certificates and patents with "Yeah I've seen it" and promptly did the necessary changes on the screen. That was painless, though he wasn't any more impressed than anyone else. Guess he sees it all the time... Now it didn't go all my own way. There's a load of notices and pamphlets at our local council that tell us they're keen on public service. Well it certainly looks encouraging, and I notice visiting VIP's get the red carpet, but us claimants? Stand over there ruffian.... Wait yer turn.... You! Get back into line!... Right, yo! That cubicle over there.... I'm sorry sir, but the rules say we can't do that.... Don't these people know I'm a VIC? (Very Important Claimant). Sigh. So it's back home to collect all the available evidence, stomp back inside in a right foul mood, and push my way through their officious and obstructive behaviour. Our Council... Keeping plebs in place since 1896. Hang on a minute.... Weather of the Week It just isn't giving up. With warmer temperatures and rain due to cross the country, we've had snow overnight. Quite a fall too, inches of it.

Leafing through the info I have (it isn't much) I discover the phrygian style floppy hat Nephele described was quite common in lower classes regardless of freedman status, and was also worn by off duty legionaries. Turbans. Nope, I'm serious. Romans, even the west, discovered that wrapping cloth around the head kept it warm, and this was another feature of the late empire, although it would have looked like a scruffy headsock rather than the magnificent bundles the turks are famous for. Leather hats. There's a mention of leather hats shaped like helmets worn instead of the metal variety, and only for socialising or whatever. Vegetius confirms that hats had become the thing for the well dressed pleb (though he does confuse the issue by implying they were worn in earlier periods for which there is little archaeological evidence.

The first battle has taken place and if I were honest, I didn't do too well. I'd warned my claims advisor that I was upgrading to a noble title, a statement she treated with polite dismissal, and when she called me Mister Caldrail - Well, I was duty bound to put her straight. Unfortunately, she isn't impressed, and rather pointedly refused to change it unless I provided evidence. I duly returned an hour later with the necessary documentation and guess what? She was busy. Sounds to me like a certain lady needs a right royal kick up the bottom. I also suspect this won't be the last time I encounter this sort of resistance. There's a tendency for people to regard up and mobile people (Me? Has anyone noticed I'm unemployed?) as upstarts who really ought to know their place. You know, that's the entire reason I got the title in the first place, to stick a finger in the face of the moral majority. Not suprisingly, I'm going to get a few in my face too. What's new? New Sound My new neighbour has moved in downstairs. A mysterious, anonymous, unseen sort of person, but one with a keen desire to drill holes in the wall. So last evening he began drilling with gusto, obviously hoping to find oil or perhaps a small space on the wall large enough to hang something else. Aaargh! What a racket! Well, I have noise making machinery too. So it's on with the heavy metal CD's and up the volume. These go up to eleven... Frozen Britain Update Nope. Given Up. Don't care. It's cold and slippery - what else do you need to know?

In the late empire, and I suspect more to do with the eastern half, there was a hat rather like a soft fez. Sometimes worn by off-duty legionaries.

For those unaware of the panic in Britain, we've been increasingly concerned about gas and road salt. With only six days of gas supply left, Frozen Britain came perilously close to actually happening. Except of course the government have denied a problem exists. That's original. Road salt though is also getting scarce, so surfaces have been prioritised with regard to need. Many roads and pavements no longer qualify, and everything gets 25% less scattered on top. In order to meet this shortage, and also to look like they were actually doing something in government except enjoying it, the government ordered foreign supplies and diverted some intended for Germany. But it could have been embarrasing. It seems the snow we'd been expecting from Siberia didn't turn up. Luckily fate intervened and instead we got some more snow from the Atlantic. Phew. That was close. Someone could have gotten fired from their jobs. Sunday's mini-blizzard lasted just about until I'd finished writing and posting my last blog entry, then stopped completely. It started again late last night, this time a proper old fashioned flakey snowfall, and immediately that odd silence you get in urban areas when the snow starts descended upon us. It's last orders in the pubs and no-one is wandering up and down the street in noisy singing contests. Oh hang on, it stopped again. That was ten minutes worth of snow. Looks like that's being rationed out as well. Can't See, Can't Think Thing is though now the snow has been swept aside, crushed under foot and wheel, or even melted away here and there, the roads are now a uniform brown mushy colour and white lines invisible. So naturally those road users not acquainted with the layouts are making some very dodgy decisions. One young lady pulled out of a car park from the one way access the wrong direction, and drove across a junction to reach her desired exit without bothering with little details like obeying the circular traffic flow. Now there's a lady who likes to be direct. That said, at least there wasn't any risk of collision, unlike the bicycle rider I saw from my vantage point in the library, who rode across oncoming traffic without a care in the world. Added to that the natural desire of motorists to treat the road as their own personal property and not stop for anything other than a red light regardless of what the Highway Code says (and how many drivers in Britain ever read that after they passed their test?), you have a free for all. On the plus side, I have seen some very chivalrous behaviour from drivers. Apart from a BMW driver who clearly decided that pedestrians shouldn't cross the road without permission from him. Seeing me cross the slushy and slippery road ahead of him as he accelerated out of a car park, he sped forward and demanded I get out of his way with his horn. Since I couldn't see a policeman, I made my displeasure known. Especially since he had to wait for traffic to get out onto the main road.