caldrail

The Etruscans are often credited with the origin of gladiatorial combat but whilst they did indulge in bloody funeral rites (as did other cultures of the time) there's no evidence that it was a direct descendant. In fact, Roman sports owe more to the greeks and if you notice, the symbolism and religious significance of gladiators inlcudes celebration of greek warriors, a connection made stronger by the tradition of two greek warriors deciding a battle by single combat (a familiar theme in human warrior ethics). The Romans themselves might have inherited Etruscan attitudes, yet it must be acknowledged the origin of the Roman civilisation emerges from rival tribes raiding each other for assets, and this sort of thing is enshrined in the story of the Rape of the Sabines which survives as the modern marriage ritual of carrying a bride across the threshold. We have then a martial culture which had little to do with the bucolic bliss later Roman patrons like to portray and instead absorbed customs from dominant cultures around it. The development of the gladiator roughly begins in 264BC when the first public display was staged in a cattle market between two pairs. Combat between two slaves to honour the dead with blood sacrifice had been going on for some time, a Roman invention based on their interpretation of Etruscan methods allied with greek culture (which although responsible for much academic learning was also no less violent than the Romans). The need to impress others for political purposes gave rise to public displays which eventually developed into the entertainment industry we know as gladiatorial combat by the late republic, with professional and volunteer participants emerging toward the beginning of the Empire. The Augustan Franchise (Augustus cleverly instituted a competitive system of urban development in the provinces in which towns vied with each other for favours in return for efforts to emulate Rome itself - and increase tax revenue at the same time) spawned a rapid increase in the spread of gladiatorial combat beyond Italy, a trend reinforced by the policy of colonisation by Roman veterans as part of the franchise. Public demand for these free shows and the desire of Vespasian to impress his Roman subjects inspired him to have the Colosseum built, though he never lived to see it finished. Most performances had (until the mid-Principate at least) been held in temporary wooden arenas or any available public space. Caligula's death for instance took place in such a temporary arena erected in front of the palace. The trend toward permanent stone arenas was encouraged both by this need for impreessive architecture but also to offset the shoddy work often done at a budget by the builders of wooden structures, and the worst case was the collapse of one such arena at Fidenae in ad27 which killed and injured thousands.

We've got a considerable rat population in Swindon. You do need a sense of humour to live here.

There's been an item of good news in the local paper this morning. It seems the government has decided not to force housing development in the Swindon area, or at least look at proposals again, which means the much-criticised Coate Water scheme and the bigger East Swindon scheme will now remain in limbo until someone makes a definitive decision. The current buzzword in Swindon is asbestos. Our buildings are riddled with the stuff, including schools and public facilities. More than 11,000 council homes and 40 schools according to the front page story this morning. My uncle died from asbestosis, a lingering and excruciatingly painful end to his life he never deserved, yet the experts are telling us it's all okay as long as the stuff isn't disturbed. So what happens when the inevitable development occurs? Many years ago I flew over Swindon and it was something of an eye-opener to see just how much land was abandoned or unused within the town. Now that was after the railworks had closed. Swindons Great Western Railway based their engineering here and for a long time the 'A' shed was the biggest industrial unit under one roof in the world. I watched the demolition of that shed and remember that massive multi-ridged roof stubbornly hanging on to three walls. Of course it's all gone. The old sheds, even the wagon works that lingered on as premises for ailing industries, have been demolished, and for the most part those sites have now been redeveloped. Is that a good thing? Well, on the one hand, land has been freed up for housing and businesses, but a part of me regrets the passing of that Victorian industrial landscape, as grim and sooty as it was. But nothing stays the same, so the old era has been levelled and a new one built on it's grave. Sadly though progress isn't always desirable. There's a small farm in Rodbourne that was once on the edge of town beside the rail works. Now it's surrounded by an urban landscape and I see the owner is finally surrendering to developers and selling up to make room for seventy five homes. I'm just so used to seeing the farm working, small flocks of sheep chewing listlessly as they watch the world go by, and another familiar part of my childhood enviroment vanishes forever. Stars of the Week It seems my astrological readings are becoming less challenging and more inclined toward opportunity. Funny that. It seems to be a perpetual circumstance. Things can only get better say the astrologers. Sometimes you wish they would get better at reading the stars.

Music is an interesting phenomenon, apart from modern metronomic high volume siege weaponry. I speak with some experience having been a professional drummer during my mispent youth - I wasn't known for being quiet. However, as a drummer I recognise the need for 'music', something to listen to, something to evoke a mood, whereas a lot of music today reveles around the concept of physical punishment as bass frequencies pound you like punches from Mike Tyson. That's all very well if you like that sort of thing, but I prefer something a bit more tuneful, like heavy metal for instance. The problem is those darn bass frequencies. Brick walls can obscure the sound of my neighbours hi-fi to such an extent that I wouldn't know they were listening if it wasn't for the invasive rumbles, thuds, and drones that make you grit your teeth. One of my neighbours has discovered the joys of bass. Whilst it isn't actually loud, it's impossible to get away from it. The vibration goes through the floorboards and thus straight through me. Even if I can't hear it as such, I still feel it. The chap in question heard me yell though. I also heard his reply. Thanks for that mate, but you will find the law is on my side, whatever you believe my manhood to be. What the said gentleman hadn't realised was that I come equipped to make noise too, should I feel the need. Well whaddya know? It's gone quiet. Headphones on... CD in the slot.... Give it your best power chord Jimmy.... Spider Spotting The remorseless advance of spiders across Britain is underway. Today I notice one fat ugly specimen has spun a web across my bathroom window, right where I can't get rid of it. You'll be sorry. Caldrail's Rushey Platt Villa is hereby an arachnid-free zone. Apart from the one lurking at back of the cupboard.... Where do these things come from? Certainly wasn't a chicken... Rain! I've just glanced out the library window and it's raining. What? Not heavy rainfall as such, just a concentrated spray of fine drizzle. The weather forecast said nothing about this! Having been lulled into a false sense of security by persistent good weather, I wasn't prepared for Swindon to revert to it's normal enviroment. Oh well...

Yes but rats wee on things just like us. Surely they find that funny?

I wonder if rats have a sense of humour?

Oh come on. Anyone can see that's a glove puppet. Sheesh...

From time to time we all need a little help. Yesterday it was a young man asking if anyone knew how to get to the town centre. Even at a good pace, he looking forward to a hours walk and the route wasn't entirely obvious. So in a moment of generosity I suggested he came with me - I was going that way anyhow. We got chatting. He was a talkative type and the conversation was fast and furious, not just for intensity of communication, but also the subject matter. We got chatting about cars. As it turns out he bought himself a serious motorbike a few years back (so he claims, but I hadn't any reason to doubt him) and he described with considerable enthusiasm the thrill and excitement of travelling faster than everyone else. It's what you want a fast car for, he advised me. With that I couldn't resist a small lecture. You see, there are three reasons for wanting a sports car... 1 - Status. You want to show off. You want people to notice you.You want a symbol of dominance and/or importance. You want everyone else to see you as a wealthy and sexually rampant daredevil. But this didn't apply to me. I was never that interested in what other people thought of my purchase, which mostly consisted of rude hand signals anyway. 2 - Thrill. A fast car? A very fast car? The sense of power under your right foot elevates your mood. You derive satisfaction from travelling faster than anyone else, but more importantly, you want to experience danger as humans enjoy doing. You want to be overwhelmed by noise, speed, vibration. Again this doesn't apply to me. Sure, I like speed as many people do, but this route dictates that the car overwhelms you. Ultimately, the danger is derived not necessarily from situation, but because you're essentially not in total control of it. 3 - Challenge. You want to master this raging bull or wild stallion. You want to push through a corner hard and with precision. You want to drive without thinking, reacting to the forces developed by the car instinctively, making the car an extension of yourself. You want to be a better driver (and not necessarily a faster one, though with performance cars the temptation is always there, and any idiot can press an accelerator pedal). Now this is me. Which are you? Research of the Week Can you believe this? The skull of Adolf Hitler preserved by the Russians turns out to be that of a 40 year old woman, not a 56 year old dictator. One researcher says "There is no forensic evidence that Hitler died in the bunker". Well there wouldn't be. The bunker was demolished some years after the war to prevent it becoming a shrine. In any case, there were witnesses to events in late April 1945 and they all agreed on what happened. He shot himself and the body was burned outside in the yard. Anything else is conspiracy theory, especially since there's absolutely no forensic evidence the man survived the war at all.

It's been twenty years? Can't wait for my next birthday... Just imagine... 21 again

Sorry, I'm blowing the whistle. That's a photoshopped image. Look closely at the boundary of the rat image - it sticks out just a little too much - not a natural colour transition and you can can just make out the border of the clip.

Without doubt politics is a contentious subject. Money might make the world go round, but politics decides where you get off. Throughout history politics has caused revolutions, wars, even a genocidal massacre or two. It can even get you thrown off internet forums (as I discovered last year). I once got accused of being a mouthpiece of the Conservative Party. Not because I said anything nice about them, but because I dislike the Labour government even more and said so. Such is the depth of feeling that political discussions can arouse. There's quite a big political discussion going on at the moment. I don't mean Iran - that's an arguement already and sooner or later Ahmadenijad will be foaming at the mouth in protest at the action taken to slow down his plans to elevate Iran to superpower status. I do mean of course the Labour Party Conference in Brighton. What? You mean you don't think it's that important? Cold Shower At the shopping centre where I did my college course there's a triangular area of pavement on a wide concourse. I never gave it a second glance but today, I discovered the purpose of this sloping layer of grey tiles was to mount a series of fountains. The water emerges from the multitude of spouts almost randomly. Sometimes individually, sometimes all together in formation. I'm not sure about the visual appeal of it but it it certainly proved popular with the kids. Three of them were getting a thorough soaking and enjoying every minute of it. What they're going to tell their parents when they get home is anyones business. I can imagine however that people will get caught out crossing that area of pavement. All part of Swindons new love affair with fountains. No, I didn't. Sorry to disappoint you. But as for people getting soaked, a small triangle in Swindon is nothing compared to the deluge experienced in some parts of the world. Investors of the Week You can't help but feel sympathy for the Philipines with flood water reaching twenty feet in places. Floods in Britain have been bad enough and whilst I've not directly experienced the effects, the news coverage has illustrated the material damage more than adequately. I can only sit dumbfounded at how people struggle to go on with their lives almost underwater on the other side of the world. I do however have experience of Philipino's. For a short while I dated a woman from that part of the world (no, not a commercial partner, she'd been living in Britain for years). I visited her sister, AB, a woman I worked with, and I was impressed. Her home was genuinely comfortable and I wondered how she was able to cope with the expense given she earned the same money as myself. On one occaision I took her flying. Her husband wasn't too keen but that was understandable. As it turned out the weather mitigated against actually flying so we had an afternoon out for a pub lunch. By the time we got back to Swindon, she was telling me how expensive life was for her. She was pushing for something and it sounded like it might be expensive. I remained uninterested. It turns out she ran a shoe shop back home. Her entire life was funded by begging from her friends. Her sister, who eventually decided I wasn't wealthy (and interesting?) enough to remain my partner, bought land in the Philipines with her next boyfriends bank balance. I wonder who benefitted from that? In some respects I cannot entirely blame the two women. They came to Britain to earn money and given some of the shenanigans that British women get up to, perhaps they weren't as bad as they might have been. A part of me though cannot help but think maybe there's justice after all.

Today is another gloriously sunny day. Clear blue skies, which oddly enough we don't see too often in summer. Sunday mornings tend to be quiet. All the yobboes from last night have found somewhere to sleep off last nights slanging match. Judging from the intermittent sirens out in the street, one or two had help finding it. Aside from that, the steady stream of moslems and sikhs walking to their places of worship add an exotic air to what is, after all, rainy old Swindon. Silliness I see the Spice Girls are threatening to regroup for another attempt at extracting cash from misguided fans. Rumours have spread of a show at the World Cup but that's been dismissed as 'silly' by band member Melanie. She says they're getting together for other reasons. Money? Perhaps? Or do they actually like each other after all? Scientific Research of the Week Sometimes the announcements of researchers beggar belief. Get this one... 'Optimism' hampers weight loss - Being too optimistic may hamper attempts to lose weight. It seems that people who are happy and fat tend to respond less well to slimming programmes, according to psychologists. Well there you are. Proof that science is useful. If you want to lose weight, be miserable. I also notice that naval patrols off the Horn of Africa are quelling the recent outbreak of piracy. That's going to make some Somali's miserable. Looks like they're going to get thinner too. Spider Update of he Week Now that it's autumn, the early mornings are a bit chilly. Cars coated with dew. Not suprisingly, so are spider webs, and at this time of year their efforts are clearly visible. Some are extraordinary, spanning huge gaps, but little sign of critters awaiting their doom. Maybe they have bigger prey in mind?

I grew up during the Cold War. There were air raid sirens mounted on tall posts around the town, something I realised as a schoolkid although most of my friends were unaware of it. As a child I was hugely interested in aeroplanes and I remember those recognition manuals with grainy black and white photographs of those curiously gothic Russian military jets of the 60's and 70's. Of course I never saw them flying. I never saw them at all. That's no coincidence. Some years ago I was hiking down in Savernake Forest. A tight formation of jets flew overhead. This was the year when Russian Mig-29's were being allowed into British airspace for the first time, for a Fairford airshow. With a close escort of RAF Tornado's, the Mig-29 was being shown around South West England. The realisation that a Russian aircraft was flying past me is difficult to describe. Sure, this was the era of Glasnost and the Fall of the Berlin Wall, but all my life the Russians had been a tacit threat to the life I led. Did I really understand that threat? The idea of a Russian invasion across Germany was something illustrated time and again, and spy thrillers perpetuated the concept of this struggle behind the scenes. I certainly knew about nuclear weapons, I had read about Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and although I was dimly aware that come the failure of diplomacy, the fabled 'Four Minute Warning' might become real I don't think I really understood that, potentially at least, there was a nuclear warhead aimed at me. I remember a television news item about missile tests by Pakistan that threatened to start another conflict with India. One man said that nuclear weapons can't be as destructive as they claim. It won't be so bad, he said. Ignorance really is bliss. Today of course the Cold War is over. Apart from disagreements arising over matters of security and foreign policies, the world I knew as a child has become safer. Or has it? The rise of Islamic fundamentalism and its indiscriminate partner, terrorism, has filled the gap rather neatly. The spectre of nuclear proliferation has risen again with President Ahmadenijad of Iran pursuing a contentious course. As a man who declared the Jewish Holocaust a lie, announced the end of Capitalism, and the end of the Age of Empire Building, he doesn't entirely sound convincing as a benign politician. Given the recent public outcry against him in his own country, he comes across as just another petty dictator. Given his apparent quest for nuclear armament can only be justified by the wish to threaten others or even use the things destructively, it seems he's trying to build an empire of his own. Like many dictators do, he hides behind religion and justifies his stance by labelling certain cultures as 'evil'. Significantly both Russia and China have urged Iran to comply with western demands for inspection and control of nuclear facilirties. History tells us that dictators will gamble and push their luck to the end. So will President Ahmadenijad. His rambling speech at the UN was extraordinary. Not because it was any good, but because I can't think of anyone who could waffle for that length of time without drawing breath. What exactly did he say? Invasion of the Week British homes are invaded every Autumn by sneaky spiders. We've been warned they intend to invade this year in ever greater numbers, since the benign weather has allowed them to recruit new members in droves. There's a military axiom that says if you want to mount an invasion with a secure chance of success, you need forces at least three times as strong as the defenders. That would make my war against the spider look like a horror film. Remember that scene in Lord of the Rings where Sam defends his unconcious master against Shelob, the giant spider in the mountains of Mordor? Luckily I won't be facing spiders that big. Or at least I hope not. It's been a while since I looked under the sink.... You have been warned!

There's been some new fossiles found in China. That part of the world seemes particularly fertile in dinosaur remains doesn't it? I wonder why? Was the ara absolutely teeming in life back in past ages, or was it simply muddier and thus more got preserved? Anyway, they've found some new bird-esque species older than archeopteryx (the famous half bird/half dinosaur fossil recovered from Germany donkeys years ago) so once again the news headlines are full of Scientists confirm birds evolved from dinosaurs. I thought that was old news? I think there's a journalist or two that needs to listen to their kids once in a while. Piggy In The Middle Why is bureaucracy never simple? I'm on another paper chase. The College insist I need form SL2 (Nope, don't know what that's for either) and the Job Centre insist I don't. "You need to phone this number and ask for an interview" The woman tells me. She almost laughed when I groaned inwardly. Okay, I'll phone... Oh hello, this is Caldrail. I've been forwarded for a college course and I've been told that I need to phone you to arrange for a form SL2? "Please wait a moment, I'll just ask my colleague.... Hello? No, you don't need SL2, we don't do them. You need a proof of benefit form...." I got one of those stamped before. Sigh... Here we go again... Politican of the Year I see our loathsome prime minister Gordon Brown has been voted Politician of the Year for solving everyone elses economic problems. So how come he's made such a pigs ass of ours?

The desire to fly has always been with us. History has plenty of anecdotes of men attempting to emulate birds. Mankind, not satisfied with travelling on the elements of earth and water, have attempted to invade the air, from the days of Daedalus downwards. Pennis non hominis datis ("With wings not given to Man") they have essayed, unsuccesfully, the Art of Flying Anonymous - From a letter recorded in 1854 "The time will come when a man setting out on his journey, would ring for his wings, as heretofore his boots" John Wilkins (Bishop of Chester, 1668) Whilst researching archaeological finds in Wiltshire, I came across a mention from 1854 of this sort of activity (at a time when Henson and Stringfellow were lobbying Parliament for the creation of the worlds first airline, the Aerial Transit Company, whilst their steam powered aeroplane was little more than a designers dream). It seems in the 1730's there was a fad for 'Steeple Flying'. A rope was attached to a church steeple then extended out on the ground, and an intrepid person would rapidly descend in much the same way as you get in todays adventure parks. London was a popular venue and Old St Pauls Church in particular staged these events. In 1731 it's noted that a sailor descended from Hackney steeple with streamers in each hand. One adventurer started making a living from this, giving demonstrations at any church willing to give permission. At Bromham, the rope was pulled too tight by the others at the bottom, and the steeple broke off in mid-event, leaving the lucky adventurer to fall into a tree. Shaken and permanently put off it seems, as the fad died out afterward. There you have it. Extreme sports are nothing new.

The Broadband Tax is almost upon us. The government wants internet connections to every home and because companies won't lay cables in the non-profitable regions of England (amounting to a third of the territory) we all have to pay for everyone elses connection besides our own. The tax apparently applies to anyone with a phone line whether they like it or not. As a benefit claimant, that's asking me to fork out a third of my monthly profit to help some family in the boondocks enjoy the world wide web. Does that sound right to you? And if the government wants me to go on the internet too (as indeed they claim), could they tell me where to find an additional

It was quite a dull day yesterday. The only highlight was a woman dressed as an indian squaw as I was leaving the library. Naturally I looked at her as if to say 'What on earth are you doing?'. She was talking to a security guard at the time. He chats up all the women downstairs - I guess that's a perk of his job - but as soon as she realised I was standing there, she forgot him, smiled, and tried to shove a Walt Disney pamphlet in my hand. That's what you get for asking I suppose. Dull Weather Talking about dull days, it seems our run of great weather is over. It rained last night and this morning was a typical grey English vista of unrelenting clag. The weathermen are telling us to expect another indian summer this autumn so I wait with bated breath. I wonder if the lady downstairs was an omen? I should have taken the pamphlet. Lesson of the Week Must dash. My last session on the electrical awareness course is due and this one is about How Not To Get Electrocuted. Now they tell us.

Did you hear about the electrician who crossed the road? He shorted himself out.... A scotsman, an irishman, and an electrician queued for a bus. The scotsman asked how much the bus ride would cost. The irishman asked where the bus was going. The electrician told them it wsn't plugged in. How many electricians does it take to change a light bulb? More than the estimate. Feel better? Laughter is the best remedy....

Romans, or more to the point, Romano-British, didn't always build wells close to their homes. They got water from where they could find it. Rural settlements might be placed for a number of reasons and water was only one of them. TWhereas the Brits still living in the celtic fashion retained the use of upland sites, the Roman period villages typically preferred the lowland areas where such water was plentiful (and in fact, there are indications that Durocornovium (a town once located on Swindons east side) had many wooden buildings raised above ground level - a possible indicator of frequent flooding? Regarding wells, the same sort of thing has been located in Swindon, where a Roman period well doesn't have a settlement close to it. It is interesting because the area isn't far from the River Ray, which although not impressive as a watercourse no doubt was able to supply water needs for local communities, although there is always the possibility that people preferred drinking water from wells as opposed to river water used for all sorts of purposes and thus potentially suspect. As it happens, Swindon once had a number of springs (the Midland & South West Junction Railway made good use of one) but most have now dried up (there's a memorial inscription at the site of one ex-spring). The supply of water in the area was the major attraction of the hill and accounts for the Roman shrines located in the vicinity - a nymphaeum was recently uncovered at the Groundwell site, and there are suspicions that a major temple site lies buried under Swindons Old Town. Whether such wells were specific to a nearby farm or settlement, or whether these facilities were shared between settlements, I don't know, but the picture of Romano-Brits carrying water home probably wasn't so unusual for rural England in those times. Aqueducts weren't built for villages.

Walking home from the College I was confronted by a dog. The black labrador trotted along the pavement happily wagging its tail, at one with the universe as dogs sometimes are. The owner, an older woman, was blissfully unaware of my approach and stared out across the valley. The dog stared at me. I get the impression it was a somewhat dominant animal as it veered toward me, curious as to why I wasn't stepping aside for it. One quick sniff and it lost interest. Obviously it didn't consider me a threat. The woman noticed I was held up by her beloved pet. I shrugged and quipped "What could I do?". I'm not sure the dog was amused, but at least she guffawed. Damp Spot On a friendlier note, I met a white Husky yesterday, one of those sled dogs that apparently make difficult pets. Those pale blue eyes are a bit spooky and when you look into it's gaze, you see a wolf staring back at you far more than most breeds. As it turned out, the dog was very good natured. Or so the owner claims. All I know is that it had a good sniff of my nether regions when I chatted to the owner and left me with a damp patch on the front of my trousers. Cheers. Thanks for that. Must be some kind of Arctic greeting. Or perhaps the Husky has a very canine sense of humour. Sour Note One person without a sense of humour was the girl on the till at the Asda supermarket. Those wretched card readers and their sponge rubber keypads are never reliable and this one simply refused to enter my numbers accurately. You need that looked at, I said, the keys don't work properly. "Works for everyone else." She replied with that really irritating air of social superiority. Look, lady, you're a shop assistant, not a wealthy businesswoman. The customer is always right. And whilst on the subject, I didn't find you attractive either. Sometimes my sense of humour gets a little strained too. Joke of the Week I didn't invent this one, credit goes to A, one of my fellow college students. How do you know when you're an electrician? When you decide whether to park your car in series or parallel If you didn't find that hilariously funny, you need a course in electrical awareness. Or a sense of humour. Or high voltage wires applied to your person. If that doesn't work, I know a branch of Asda's that would suit your shopping needs exactly.

Welcome back. I was getting lonely out here in Blogland

I don't know about you, but I've always found that weddings are such a pain in the backside. Perhaps it's different if you're the one getting married - I suspect in most cases you're kind of swept along by it - but as a disinterested observer you get dragged to a boring ritual then off to take part in the reception, a celebration that takes ages for you to drink yourself oblivious and spare yourself the mind numbing tedium of family fun. If you doubt my word on that, I challenge you sit through a wedding video. You'll see what I mean. My cousins eldest son DH is getting hitched shortly. The last time I saw him was as an angry and frustrated teenager. Now he's all adult and responsible? That's going to take some getting used to. As it happens, he's a New Zealander, and determined to do this wedding the right way he's asked for the addresses of everyone in England. Well that's gotta be some party! Sixty million guests no less. A mass migration of English people to the other side of the world. Just imagine that.... Factories and workplaces closing for the week, the entire country at a standstill, no cars on the roads.... Judging from the news recently, the arrangements are taking shape nicely. Apart from me that is. If I go abroad they'll stop my benefits. Hang on.... For the first time ever, I want to hug and kiss the British Government. Inadvertantly they've given me the best excuse ever to avoid a family wedding! Welcome of the Week The claims advisor was nice to me this morning. What? Discovered I was telling the truth after all?

Jeremy Kyle? Who's he? Actually I don't get about as much as I'd like to. My job search gets in the way.

I've just sat down to write up this mornings blog entry. The weather is pretty good again. A woman stopped me yesterday in town and couldn't help discussing what a nice day it was. What a nice lady. Todays there's a hazy sunshine with some bands of high altitude stratus cloud in the distance, looking a sort of pale pink and grey against the cyan sky. There's also something else. Swindon lies under air traffic routes so the contrails of airliners moving back and forth across the Atlantic are not unusual. Neither for that matter are light aircraft at a much lower altitude. Despite the presence of a military control zone, civilian pilots like to cross Swindon for some reason. But this morning, just five minutes before I actually typed this out, I saw something else. At first I just assumed it was another light aeroplane. A dark speck in the sky. Hang on, there's another, flying loose formation and heading east. Now that has to be military. A pair of Tucano's on a training flight? Nope, better than that. The lead aircraft was a Spitfire. The wing shape is unmistakeable, even at that distance, and I still get get a boyish thrill spotting one flying. The other aeroplane? Now that's probably... Yes, it is, the Spitfires Battle of Britain stablemate, the Hurricane. Both aeroplanes flew over the house at around 1000' with merlin engines burbling away magnificently, with just a hint of a combustive scream beneath that gravelly roar. I love it. This afternoon I shall break out the flight simulator and fly my virtual version. As much as I would wish for a chance to fly the real thing, I must be honest, the simulator is somewhat cheaper. It lacks the sound, the feel, the smell, all the subliminal sensations of flying for real. But unless I can find the

Some extra clothes, a few odds and ends to assist me if I get into trouble out there, two flasks of water, and whatever waterproofs I deem necessary. Sorry, no rambo-esque blades. As for thick undergrowth, I either find an easier path or rely on heavyweight military surplus trousers. In theory there's other stuff I could sensibly carry, but by and large I avoid taking food. I do sweat a lot and digestion speeds up dehydration as well as risking indigestive misery during physical activity. In any case, I'm well fed (officially fat since my Newcastle visit) so going without eating until I get home isn't going to kill me. Now you might question the necessity of preparing for anything when I'm probably never more than a few miles someone's home. It might seem I'm carrying a lot (it weighs in at a modest 15 to 20 lbs) but I frequent trails that aren't often used in some of the more remote parts of the Wiltshire countryside, and since I'm usually alone out there, I prefer to have some options available to me should a problem arise. It isn't that it's actually necessary, but it's practise for those rare occaisions when I really do stretch my legs in wilder places. Besides, it all helps the fitness doesn't it? And there is a certain satisfaction in knowing that you can still 'cut it' and haul that gear (which isn't as heavy as a soldier might be expected to cart around)