caldrail

Nope. Patrick was a Romano-Brit born in Banna Venta Berniae (location not known but presumably on the west coast region) but not technically a roman citizen, both because he had been enslaved and also because Britain had seceded from the empire by the time he escaped his master and sailed home in his early twenties. He'd been taken to Ireland as a slave by Irish raiders at the age of 16 and began his own christian cult, converting tribal leaders by personal effort. I don't know much about the specific details of their worship although I gather self-flagellation was a part of it. His teachings caught on in the post Roman world of Britain. If you notice, the celtic cross symbolises this period - the druidic circle superimposed by the christian cross. A missionary as such he wasn't, because he didn't represent the established church which had fallen out of favour in Britain by that time. Beware because some stories attributed to Patrick should belong to Palladius, who was a missionary, the first Roman bishop to Ireland in 431.

Last night I saw the glare of a waning moon coming through the back window. A bright moon is always an invite to stare into the night sky but to be honest I was disappointed. Although the sky was clear, the moon wasn't really penetrating the darkness and it still felt like nighttime. You may well say it was bound to be, but a couple of nights before the moon had been nearly full, lighting the streets, yards, and alleys at the back of my home like a pale version of the sun, light grey clouds drifting past and the whole scene so close to daylight that you could have wandered around the countryside in that semi-twilight with no difficulty at all. As it happens, yesterday was one where the cold got a lot colder during the course of the day. By nightfall, as I trode across the road for a kebab, I nearly froze. The weather people say we might get snow showers this afternoon. Looking out the back window right now there's a sombre display of medium grey flat clouds against a whiter background. Hang on though... There's a northerly wind today, and looking in that direction? Yep. A band of creamy flat-bottomed cumulus coming our way. Rap on the Cobbles I see Snoop Dog wants his ban lifted so he can come to Britain and do a cameo role in one our soap operas, Coronation Street. My first reaction was one of horror. As if the tale of working class people in a midlands street wasn't banal and surreal enough already, now a rap star wants to tuck into an indian takeaway and chill in the Rovers Return. If only Julie Goodyear was still acting the part of Bet Lynch. She'd be putting on her most expensive dress and leopard skin accessories. Eh chuck, she's puttin' the poor singer in his place like nowt else. Letter of the Week Recently I mentioned getting an unexpected P45 in the post and getting slightly furious with the government agencies over it. I'm pleased to say the matter is resolved. I've just received another letter telling me to expect a P45 in the post and not to worry about it.

Not controversial at all. There is no evidence that the legions present at Adrianople were in any way elite. Far from it, they represented a cross section of available troops, good or bad. The best of them had been taken ahead by Sebastianus as a raiding force ahead of the column. You're assuming the generals were good at their jobs. Rome was never short of new recruits to the top job and any Emperor had people courting him for placement. No, Vegetius wrote a manual in order to reform the legions he knew, and although the books were written later (ad390?), the condition of troops at that time was no different from those of ad378. Indeed, the debacle of Adrianople must have been very much in his mind. So did just about any Roman commander before a battle if he had any sense and talent at public speaking. That's not the point. Rousing the men to do better is one thing. The efforts made by Valens at Melanthias were another. He wasn't speaking to his troops before the battle. He was exhorting them to get off their backsides and go to war, a speech he had top make more than once.

Time to start work on another row of cardboard boxes, all slightly deformed by the weight of those above them, and recognised only by marker pen grafitti. Stockchecking isn't rocket science. Open the box, count the contents, make a record of the result. It isn't always souch a welcome task however. In one warehouse a large bin stuffed with nearly eight hundred paperback books required a confirmation of the expected total and the bored individual left a penciled message "Probably" next to the optimistic figure. Nonetheless stockchecking requires the process is completed, so I carried on mindlessly investigating each box for accurracy. When I got to the back wall, I pulled boxes away to reveal the Lost Alcove. A space behind the pillar, forgotten by department store civilisation and hidden beneath the wood pulp undergrowth. It looked like a burial site. A suit laid out in a plastic wrapper, lying on top of piled carpet mats in a crude parody of an ancient burial. An odd sight indeed. Schooling of the Week Our Work Experience Program is turning out to be remedial jobsearching one oh one, for people who don't know how to search for a job. Despite the fact I've been searching regularly for more than one and a half years and gotten reasonably good at it, my claims advisor doesn't believe a word I tell her (especially when I told her I was a Lord - oh boy that made her face screw up in disgust). So now I have to learn how to write CV's, become aware of employment issues and legislation, and most importantly you scruffy load of wasters, look smart. Of course there's one chap who turns up always dressed in a shirt and tie. He is of course the perfect office assistant, both in appearance and manner, but even he can't find gainful employment. Neither can the unemployed person on the same table as me who was asked to cease making deals on his mobile phone and move his expensive red BMW so others could park their cheap japanese hatchbacks. Good grief I've got another eleven weeks of this nonsense. If only this was something just a little more adventurous... Be careful what you wish for, Caldrail...

This is turning into an Adrianople debate.. Whoops! My fault. All the same though, the Roman behaviour at that particular battle was confused. The battle started by accident, as some opposing units got a little close to each other and tit for tat reactions spread across the whole line as individual commanders made snap decisions (or didn't) about what to do without orders to begin from Valens, who had assumed command of the army and forged ahead to meet the Goths before Gratian arrived with reinforcements at the urging of his general Sebastianus who was by that time supporting the case for a large battle to curry favour with his boss. Previously, Sebastianus had favoured using small units as raiders to whittle down gothic resolve, and by the time of Adrianople had forced the Goths to forage in large numbers for fear of ambush. Fritigern was after all playing for time when the lines deployed though it isn't clear whether his hidden cavalry was a welcome good fortune or whether he'd placed them there. The point NN makes about vexillations is an important observation because a vexillation is not a standard unit formation, but rather an ad hoc number of troops sent on a mission. The failure of troops to return might reflect on a variety of factors such as command and control, always a difficulty with detached units without instant communications, or perhaps simply a desire to find a quiet spot and sit tight in relative comfort (always a preoccupation of soldiers ). However the size of legions was less dictated by prior events than a recognition that times had changed and they weren't fighting formal armies anymore, thus smaller and more adaptable units were called for to meet tactical demands. I'm not sure the issue of vexillations was as important as NN implies, rather that it reflected the size of the forces they were facing at the time (being raids of limited size more often than not). I strongly doubt vexillations, whose size varied according to need, were the basis of a new organisation, especially since they proved so difficult to keep track of. The impression about the Roman advance being like a phalanx isn't even close to correct. The Goths moved faster and with the added suprise of an enveloping flank attack by cavalry, the somewhat disorganised Roman line folded up. And yes, poor leadership had a lot to do with it. According to both Marcellinus and Zosimus, Sebastianus made use of small raiding forces composed of men recently recruited and more motivated to perform. He persisted with this strategy even during a political struggle for Valens good favour, and only changed his mind to support for a large battle (which he knew was a dodgy strategy with such ill-motivated troops) in order to survive politically and benefit from Valens "forthcoming victory" without waiting for Gratian to arrive and share the honour. In that respect, the ordines as you describe them represent exactly the sort of formation used by Sebastianus both in the initial stages of the counterattack against the Goths, and as the advance party that went ahead of the column and won an impressive victory at the River Maritza four days before the battle proper. The above point about infantry doing well at Adrianople isn't supported by the facts. Valens had to spend time at Melanthia before he marched on the Goths making speeches to rouse the men to fight at all. Marcellinus, Zosimus, and Vegetius all refer to the poor level of manliness exhibited by Roman soldiers of the time. It's as well to point out that two-thirds of the Roman army were written off as casualties during the long hours of melee before nightfall allowed them to escape (although at least one unit, the Batavians, simply vanished)

Another day, another dollar, and in order to earn my pittance, another early morning. It was dark outside when I strolled down the hil. On my left was the Old College site, looking a little forlorn behind its white painted plywood fence behind the impromptu hedge of brambles and discarded rubbish. I always remain astounded by how quickly trees emerge from the seed. There's a small one that's growing just the other side of that white fence, only a year or two old. Birds have nested in it and as I walked by, one resident gave a merry chirp. Good morning to you too little birdie, but honestly you're better off staying quiet this close to a main road. Talking about old buiildings, I see in the local paper that the owner of the Mechanics Institute (A large and famous railway social facility now disused) is again a matter of controversy. Never has one building proven so difficult to repair or indeed come to a decision about its future. The Council have given the owner three months to carry out essential repair work or else. Personally, I doubt it will make any difference whatsoever. They'll still be arguing about the sites future when the rotten edifice finally collapses. Oh No My Head's Come Off I was working by a gangway when I noticed one young lady from the ground floor pushing a replenishment trolley through the narrow gap between piles of cardboard boxes in the overflow area. To be frank, she was a typical woman driver and failed completely to negotiate the obstacle, but did not do anything worse than come to an abrupt halt. If that had been a bloke, whole piles of cartons would have been falling everywhere. Trust me. I do things like that all the time. "Oooh" She said. A little embarrassed by the scrape and noticing my amusement, she patted her head. Yep. Still attached. There are times when you really cannot help laughing. Red Tape and Red Faces The smile was well and truly wiped off my face later that afternoon. I received a letter from HM Customs and Excise telling me my benefits had finished and please find enclosed my P45 (for foreigners, that's a document telling your next employer how much tax you're liable for). What!!!! Needless to say I was furious and began the usual round of visits to offices shaking fists and demanding to know why my payments had stopped. I've since been assurred that they haven't, but that for tax reasons the government don't want to pay me benefits on placement and prefer to apply a training premium. What it actually means is that whilst on placement I'm officially off the dole. In other words, the government is hiding long term jobless people in the workplace, thirteen weeks at a time. So my tip is to laugh out loud when the government release jobless figures in the news. You might as well. The government is laughing at us.

The various formations, tactics, and strategies employed by the classic legion were still in place in the late empire - However - they weren't as practised in them. The changing operational needs and the vastly reduced size of Roman legions in the late empire, combined with frontier and reaction troops, meant that in the ordinary day to day business of maintaining security (the old battle ready legions were a thing of the past) resulted in a tendency toward raiding and low level warfare (as observed by Adrian Goldsworthy). The biggest indication of that was Adrianople, in which a poorly motivated army was sent into battle in the old fashioned way and frankly couldn't perform as expected, whereas the smaller, fresher, better motivated teams selected by Sebastianus performed brilliantly, as Zosimus records "Heads were returning to Constantinople every day". Nonetheless some of the old military expertise must have existed because for instance Gildas reports that the Romans left advice (and military manuals?) for the newly independent Britons to provide for their own defence.

My semi-supervisor, J (he 's in charge of us unemployed placements on site, even though he's an ordinary rankless pleb himself) told me this morning that we were going to have another new starter today, in order to help with the buildup toward the Big Stocktake in a couple of weeks time. That doesn't bode well. The only three I know without placements were refused access to the last premises they turned up at. Oh boy... Later J passed by and explained tghe new boy wouldn't be starting today after all. It seems he was 'mountain-biking' on the weekend and broke his hand, so he's off to the doctor today. Broken hand? Isn't that slightly painful? And he didn't notice until this morning? No, we weren't comvinced either. He's not coming back. During my break I wearily trudged into the rest area, where a fersh faced young lady awaited her induction to the store on her first day. For a moment she wondered if I was to be her guide.... Stop laughing at the back... Car of the Week I received this courtesy of Top Gear (No, we ain't on first name terms! ) http://www.topgear.com/uk/car-news/honda-h...campaign=GroupD Wow. That really is a stunning vehicle. That's the trouble with car manufacturers. They build loads and loads of spheroidal tin cans that sell by the truck load and they still can't make 200mph supercars affordable. Come on Japan! We know you can do it! Make the world a better place.... Make thousands of these supercars a week so they only cost

In my case, this is the buildup to the arrival of the auditors in February. They Who Must Be Satisified demand sacrifices, and it ain't gonna be me...

Monday means back to work. Despite the early morning start I couldn't resist staying up last night and checking out a program about animal life along the upper west African Rift valley, that starts in Ethiopia and cuts south. It includes the worlds only lava lake, and I was genuinely suprised by the number of african volcano's littering the area. Great shots of foxes hunting mole-rats, mountain gorillas sitting around waiting for something to happen, or simply just playing and having a great time in the grass (and one or two getting a little annoyed at the presence of the camera crew!). Well... It was getting late, so set the alarm, into bed, and doze off hoping I still had enough hours of darkness left to sleep in. About four o'clock I was woken by a noise that could only sound like a door being prised open. I had a long around, but nothing moving, nothing heard. Maybe it was just the people downstairs, they get up early too. Then again... As I was leaving the house to come here to the library, the letting agent had their photographer visiting next door. Curioser and curioser... Foreign Workers The people at work had said they had a couple of french people working for them. It seems they got a job in order to improve their english, which is a bit odd because 1) They weren't speaking any english 2) No-one was talking at all. Curiouser and curiouser... Checking My Work Today I was stockchecking, an age old ritual which involved opening boxes, counting the contents, resealing the box and daubing the contents and stock level in big marker pen grafitti for everyone to ignore. One young lady slipped past the pillar and saw my stuff in a disorganised pile on the floor. "I need some of those." She pointed. Aww what? Can you take some of these instead? I've just counted that lot.... Oh no, she's got that 'I want that stuff on the floor' look on her face. Sigh. Okay, I'll recount it.... Who said the Age of Chivalry was dead? Then again, maybe I'm just a sucker for a pretty face. One advantage to working in a department store stockroom is a plethora of pretty faces. I like this job. Anyway, I'd better get on and.... What is that pile doing there? Uh oh. I've left a pile of stock from a previous box, and I don't know which one it is. Looking around me, I realise that somewhere in this wall of cardboard boxes is the one I need to open. Here goes...

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.