caldrail

The brutality of Roman soldiers is documented and impossible to ignore. However, before we condemn Rome entirely as the brutal place it was, remember that we're looking at this subject from modern hindsight and sentiment. Whilst I'm sure the people on the receiving end of such treatment would've probably agreed with us, if you step back and look at the ancient world we see not just a brutal city-state, but a brutal world. Life was cheap everywhere. Now I can't ignore what the Romans did - the casual slaughters of one kind or another - but the exercise of power by a city state of limited communicative abilty is bound to rely on a strong arm to enforce it's rule and influence. And if you want to survive in such a lethal political arena, then you tend to adopt the same methods or be pushed aside by more aggressive states. After all, if you cannot defend yourself, your civilisation will eventually be wiped out, and the Romans did get around to playing King of the Hill themselves. Many of Romes enemies were as brutal. The gauls were known as fierce warriros who had spread across Europe, the Germanic tribes terrified the Romans with their cruelty, and the arrival of the Huns brought their reputation with them, just to name a few examples. I think we have to understand the Roman mentality in thie slaughter of a populace. It's easy to compare it to nazi activity in World War Two, and indeed, there are parallels, but those parallels exist because human beings do business in certain ways. Rome saw itself (at it's height certainly) as the center of civilisation, a cradle of culture in a barbarous world. If a tribe decided to throw in their lot with Rome and do as the Romans, all was well. They had come into the light so too speak. I know that Rome usually had more selfish reasons for their new allies to obey laws and pay taxes, but that was the nature of Roman society and is ours much more different? However, if an enemy city had refused to open its gates, it had declared that it would defy the Senate and People of Rome. To Roman sensibilities, that was not an attitude they wanted to see nor have it encouraged by tolerance. In other words, Rome was relying on might and the reputation of ruthlessness to conduct business from a position of security. In order to achieve that reputation the act must be committed. The enemy city had sewn its own fate as it were. That said, we shouldn't dismiss the attitude toward looting either. In the slaughter and razing of an enemy town that had defied the legions allowed those soldiers to reward themselves for their service and trials on campaign. Callous, certainly, but a very practical attitude.

Scylla, I'm not wasting my time making loads of definition to suit you. If you don't know what a 'general' or a 'guerilla' is, buy a dictionary. In any case, all you're trying to do is score points. Fine, whatever, I don't care. You can believe Spartacus was a great general if you want - I'm sure many people will, it's such a wonderful image - but I'm not interested in Roman propaganda.

Not at all. I creditd him with his success. However, he wasn't a general. He was a rebel or a bandit depending on how you like to see him, not the leader of a miltary army. He achieved his early successes by being sneaky, not by victory in battle, and the latter half of his campaign was a desperate attempt to avoid confrontation. Warfare in ancient times had significant differences to the modern day. You often stress organisation in a modern sense when such things were primitive or non-existenent. No, that's wrong. The Romans weren't consistently crushed, they were outwitted dring the early half of the rebellion when the Romans underestimated Spartacus's intelligence. There are plenty of other alternative explanations for that decision. Spartacus was a rebel bandit. He didn't fight for Rome, and your comments underline those I made earlier about the romanticisation of his campaign. Plenty of historians dismiss Spartacus as an interesting footnote in history. Frontinus included him because he considered Roman legions to be the best, a matter of hindsight and incorrect evaluation of older armies against the reputations of later, more modern ones, something repeated on these forums. I doubt Frontinus was entirely objective. The same Spartacus, when besieged on the slopes of Vesuvius at the point where the mountain was steepest and on that account unguarded, plaited ropes of osiers from the woods. Letting himself down by these, he not only made his escape, but by appearing in another quarter struck such terror into Clodius that several cohorts gave way before a force of only seventy-four gladiators.This Spartacus, when enveloped by the troops of the proconsul Publius Varinius, placed stakes at short intervals before the gate of the camp; then setting up corpses, dressed in clothes and furnished with weapons, he tied these to the stakes to give the appearance of sentries when viewed from a distance. He also lighted fires throughout the whole camp. Deceiving the enemy by this empty show, Spartacus by night silently led out his troops. Strategemata, Frontinus Sounds like clever guerilla tactics to me.

It seems the Norwich By-election was grabbing the media attention last night. For those confused by the subtleties and intricacies of British politics, a by-election is the one where you don't get to run the country, so quite why the Tories are making such a big deal of Chloe Smiths victory is beyond me. Newsnight, our regular evening current affairs program, ran last nights show asking 'How did the Labour Party lose the election?'. I already know the answer to that one, it's called the vote. Another thing that bugs me is why the Monster Raving Looney Party candidates are always so jolly when they've just been soundly thrashed by established parties full of bigger idiots than they are. I speak with some authority on the subject, having once been the drummer for Screaming Lord Sutch's party band (please think about that description), and that the singer of Red Jasper (remember them?) once tried to get his dog elected as a member of Parliament. Gordon Brown of course merely states that it was "Clearly a disappointing result". Certaintly was. Not a hint of scandal whatsoever. Dear me Gordon, you are getting lazy aren't you? Potential Scandal To Watch Out For Now here's a hot tip for those thinking about which issues are going to be the big scandals of the future. Check out the electrication of the Great Western main line between Swansea and London. The one that passes through Swindon. The government are authorising an upgrade to rail travel to the tune of one billion pounds. They tell us that electric trains will be cleaner, greener, meaner, and altogether better than heavy, dirty, smelly diesels. As it happens they might well be right, but do I really want to believe a Minister of Parliament? Stimulation On the way home from that hike I took the other day I dropped into a supermarket in Old Town. Not my usual haunt, but conveniently on the route home. One bottle of Red Rooster, one of those highly caffeinated stimulant drinks, this one pleasantly fruity and cheap. Oh come on, I'm not young any more, I need these little boosts of energy (Please note - this was not product placement). The lady on the till observed that "You look tired." Uhh... Yes.... It's a heavy pack. I've walked a long way. It's been warm and wet out there. "The army uses packs like that on assault courses." She told me. Actually she's wrong, they don't, mine is a civilian one in olive green, but there you go. I told her I was too old for that sort of thing. Hopefully she'll believe that. I was way too tired for anything else and given she was twice my weight and physically incapable of fashionable clothing, my chances of survival in hand to hand combat didn't look good. Injury of the Week My wanderings around the countryside sometimes leave me with the odd injury. Mostly it's nothing at all. The odd blister, scratch, or perhaps in the most rarest circumstance, a minor bruise. Usually it's sore shoulders and tired legs, both cured by a hot bath and an evening of rest and relaxation. Unfortunately the Wiltshire wildlife sometimes gets an opportunity to cause me harm and this time they did exactly that. Some sneaky insect has sucked blood out of my arm leaving me with a persistent itchy lump. Not the first time an insect has done that to me, but annoying nonetheless.

Kubricks epic is great entertainment isn't it? All good square jawed shakespearean stuff (apart from the slightly dubious ending between Kirk Douglas and Tony Curtis ) The story wasn't Kubricks of course, he merely directed the film. The producer was Douglas himself who based his screenplay on a novel by Howard Fast, so in fact the film Spartacus wasn't actually intended to be a 'historical' film, but a period drama. On the other hand, Douglas was inspired to make the film due to Fast's heroic tale of freedom for the enslaved. This is a modern interpretation of Spartacus. The marxist movement saw in him a man struggling to unchain the working class of Rome. The real Spartacus (pun intended) had no such motive. For him, slavery was something very real about the world around him. Virtually all nation states tolerated that idea in some way or other and it wasn't considered unusual or particularly harsh (though I suspect many of the enslaved saw it differently). We also have to factor in the Roman attitude to slavery. They did have a concept of personal freedom in their republican culture - it was the removal of the tyrannical and immoral King Tarquinus that brought the Republic into being, and they also had a strangely impersonal view of slavery. Once enslaved, your humanity was removed, and that was a stain upon your character thereafter. We should realise at this point that the legend of Spartacus was written by the Romans themselves. They wanted to dramatise his story for good copy in their histories, to make it an interesting read, but also to explain his success at evading the leaders the senate had chosen to capture him. How could a man of such lowly status cause so much strife in two years against the legions of Rome? The answer (and one still prevalent in modern times as the concept is underwritten by the 19th century historian Mommsen) was that he was in some way of noble birth, and the origins of a romantic vision of the rebellion is born. This is hard to reconcile with what we know. More likely he began life as a shepherd, got tired of the life tending animals, and joined the Roman auxillaries to quench his thrist for adventure. If the history is correct, he deserted. Clearly Spartacus had a rebellious streak, a man who could not conform to expected behaviour, and also a man for whom the exercise of violence was not unusual, given that he subsequently chose to become a bandit. His movement was wiped out, defeated in battle and the survivors crucified along the Appian Way. Such was the completeness of Roman victory that we don't know the real name of Spartacus - The name by which we remember him was his stage name given by his lanista, Lentulus Batiatus, as a gladiator - a common practice. Since slaves were now property, 'Talking Tools', their barbarian name was of no consequence and the owner did as he pleased which included renaming fighters for commercial reasons as much as latin convenience. The period in which Spartacus was incarcerated was a hard time for gladiators. This was during the rise in popularity of staged combat and before the professional trained athletes became the norm. The cruelty of lanistas over their property was remarked upon and Batiatus was no exception, though some observers have noted a possible carelessness? At any rate, the regime Spartacus trained under was a hard one and in no way was he cossetted. Indeed, it would appear that he escaped shortly before a large spectacular event (in which he and many others would have fought a big set-to) and by coincidence the weapons intended for this show were captured by him during the first night of freedom. But if Spartacus wasn't interested in freedom for the masses, a modern idea, what was he doing? Firstly it was survival. Spartacus was no coward, but in no way was he about to die for entertainment. The problem with the man is that he was an out and out rogue. Whether he was really an army deserter or not we can't say for sure (it was mentioned he had been in the auxillaries and was therefore not a Roman citizen) but we can be sure he was a bandit. It was for that lifestyle that he was captured and sold to the arena, a fate the Romans considered fitting. Once free, and the success of his northward escape toward the Alps filling his sails, he turns south and embarks on large scale banditry. That condemns the man in every sense. In the movie Douglas proclaims that "There's never been an army of gladiators". There never was, and historically, gladiators proved themselves to be poor troops. Spartacus had a cadre of trained fighters but the majority were escaped slaves or ordinary Romans who decided that running with Spartacus offered them a chance of a better life. Substantial numbers flocked to his cause, approaching something like 100,000 people at it's height, the vast majority of which would die by the sword or on the cross. Spartacus is often described as a brilliant general. I dispute that. He was a talented guerilla leader but a great general? He turned south when he could have escaped to freedom. He failed to secure transport with the cilician pirates. His escape from the Wall of Crassus was achieved not by tactical genius, but the huge losses of 6,000 dead, 6,000 wounded, for only 100 Roman soldiers killed. That he could lead such a large army, provide for their needs, and stay at large for two years is not contested. yet when he chose to meet the legions in a pitched battle, he sealed his fate. His army could not compete with Roman soldiery in a conventional fight. That he was recorded as dying under the weight of enemy sopldiers whilst rying to reach Crassus waiting upon his horse is the stuff of legend, yet for all his natural rebelliousness, greed, and naivety, you can't help believing he was something of the hero we desperately want him to be.

I sat down last night to write up my thoughts for the day as I usually do. Most of it concerned the days odyssey into the wilds of Darkest Wiltshire, walking the hills and dales of the Marlborough Downs, documenting the variable weather and its obvious effect upon me. Truth is, what happened yesterday was something more important than a mere journal of yet another hike along familiar paths. Instead, it was two encounters with wild animals that made all the difference. Usually such meetings are very fleeting experiences as the animal makes a quick exit, more concerned with its own survival than anything that brought it there. There are occaisions when the experience is just as short but more intimate, something much deeper and more vivid. This sort of thing happens rarely, but regular readers of my reminisences might remember my encounter with a fox as I played truant from a school cross country run. Or before that, the robust gaze of a female black panther suckling her cubs at a wildlife park, impressing upon me the potential for violence within her. In each case there was for a short time an unspoken communication. You sense what the animal is thinking, it's character, and I'm pretty sure the animal senses who you are and your intent. It's a genuinely strange experience. Have you ever bumped into a stranger and felt you've known this person for a lifetime? The feeling is similar. Hello Mr Robin The long but gentle ascent of Smeathes Ridge is very wearing on the legs with a pack on your back, and having already spent hours walking southward on the old railway line I was in need of a rest. A farmhouse cafe was nearby. It seemed a good idea at the time. I must be honest, I'm not a person who needs much sophistication in life, however pleasurable it can be in small doses. So I opted for a cheeseburger and sat down on the wooden bench to enjoy my somewhat expensive meal. The little robin startled me by hopping on to the edge of the table beside me. I'm not used to small birds being that bold. Clearly it had designs on my food and stood there waiting hopefully for a chance to fly away with something. It cocked its head sideways, staring at me. It was happening. I knew this bird. A cheerful character albeit a cocky one. I moved too quickly and instinct took over. The robin retreated to the next table and sat down to wait patiently for some pickings off my plate. Sorry Mr Robin, I can't encourage you to hassle clients of the cafe. But nice meeting you all the same. Hello Mr Hawk There's a long cinder path leading down off the plateau that I sometimes use. After a distance the barbed wire fences are buried by lines of trees either side. Under one of those trees I became aware of a hearty birdcall above me. My attention was diverted from the approaching rainclouds and I looked up. There he was. A medium size hawk of some species I don't recognise. He looked down at me, making loud cries, spreading his wings as if it meant to display it's presence. Hello Mr Hawk. Why are you trying to attract my attention? Ahh, you're just fed up aren't you? You thought this would be a quiet spot and it turns out we humans use it a bit too much. Sorry about that. I don't know if the hawk actually understood my demeanour or simply got annoyed, but it decided to fly somewhere else anyhow. What To Make Of It? Our distant ancestors clearly evolved spiritual beliefs concerning animals that our archaeologists uncover on a regular basis, and such concepts are still present in the modern day if you search for them. I can see why they occur. Connecting with an animal of another species is something special, revealing something not only about the animal concerned, but also ourselves and our place in the natural order of things. If you have any religious beliefs, I daresay your answers must be apparent to you. I have my own answers. Not entirely religious ones either. Just an observation about an experience I shared with two wild birds that day.

Browsing through the local paper this morning I came across an interview with Master Shortie, Swindons very own rap star. Who? Never heard of him. I suspect no-one older than eighteen has either. The interview was of course unintentionally hilarious. I'm sure his music career is taking off and I wish him well, but since he made such an effort to say exactly lthe same things every other rap artist in the business does, you could hardly claim he was being original. He also proclaimed that working hard is necessary to get what you want. A very laudable attitude young man, but I don't believe for a moment you know what hard work is. In any case, hard work merely increases someone elses profits. Working hard for someone who supports your efforts is what you need. That, unfortunately, requires you lick peoples bottoms and whilst you're doing that, you're not working hard. Such is life. Master Shortie explained that getting up every day to do something musical was great, as if he'd discovered some transcendental nirvana and felt the need to preach the good word. Okay, it was an interview, so I guess he has to say these things to please the media, his fans, and his critics. The reason I'm so cynical is that his views are artificially idealistic, and in any case, I doubt he could get out of bed for anything else. A Day In The Life Of An Aspiring Rock Drummer So how was it for me back in the days when rock stardom was an elusive carrot dangling in front of my starstruck eyes? Let's go back in time.... Mwuahahahahaaaaaaaa..... It is now 1987... First thing is to be at work at eight o'clock. No choice there at all. The bills need top be paid and a drum kit is an expensive mistress, especially since you always need to replace or add to it. On top of that is the car I needed to cart the collection of cylindrical boxes around. I was driving an old Nissan Cherry back then, a sort of metallic green hatchback that went everywhere. I was once asked why I didn't give anyone a lift to and from gigs. Had they seen what was in the car? The only free space was the drivers seat. At least the car was cheap and reliable to run, although my insurance had gone up considerably after I collided with some idiot who thought he had the right of way to cross a lane of traffic in his van. Anyhow, work through the morning as an order picker in a warehouse. Physical stuff nonetheless, and some heavy lifting required, but at lunchtime it was time to drive home, have lunch, load my drum kit into the car for the evening performance, then back to work, all in the space of an hour. After my working day was finished at five in the afternoon, it was off to the gig. That could be anywhere in Britain. London and Bristol especially, along the M4 corridor, but also the south coast, the west country, midlands, and on a regular basis some obscure gig in the north of England. Set up, soundcheck, play the gig. I would come off stage drenched in sweat and sometimes with blistered hands. pack up, including helping the guys with their gear too, and travel home, arriving very tired around two or four o'clock in the morning. I had exactly the same routine to go through the next day. And the next. And... Well, you get the picture. So, Mister Shortie, have you really worked hard to get where you are?

You can include me too AC.

The living room floor looks like an air accident hangar at the moment. Bits of crashed computer all laid out as I sift through the wreckage for some clue as to what happened. I've ruled out pilot error. Now to check for sabotage... Any loose chips or suspicious cabling? So far the rescue services haven't located my black box recorder. The investigation goes on. Shock Horror Revelation of the Week It turns out that computer repair shops are havens of dishonesty, as if I didn't know that already. Unscrupulous technicians are cashing in on data found on their clients PC, hacking into bank accounts and so forth. As it happens I don't keep details of bank accounts on my hard drive so I doubt there's much they could learn, but you never know. In the back of your mind you sort of know that it's risky leaving a computer with someone else, exposing those files you consider private. It comes as something of a worrying development to learn that dodgey practises are widespread.

My last day at the Programme Centre today. I don't think they succeeded turning me into James Bond, but at least I learned a few things about getting a job. Of course it isn't just me. Most of the job seekers there are struggling to find work - although apparently one was struggling with Minesweeper, one of the games that comes with Microsoft Windows. Ahem. By chance I got talking to the lady on the PC next to mine. It was quickly apparent she was a little emotional, and inevitably the sorry tale of her woes emerged. That's okay, I was happy to listen and she needed to talk. Her neighbour has built a house extension on her land, wrecked her garage, or perhaps more accurately the builders he hired had done so, though clearly it was too much trouble for him to sort it out without recourse to expensive legal action. Her favourite tree, imported from Spain, had large branches snapped off as the builders sought roon to erect scaffolding. Her tarpaulin was 'borrowed' for their use. Her sunshade for a garden table had proven to be a handy weather cover for a drainage hole dug by them. I genuinely do feel sorry for her plight. Guess what? She has that Rudyard Kipling poem tacked up on her toilet door. Out And About In Wiltshire Yesterday I was in the mood for a hike yesterday. Feeling a bit fed up with the modern world and its materialistic dependencies I pulled my rucksack out, stuffed a load of stuff inside it, and headed for the hills. It was cloudy but quite warm and humid - boy was I sweating! On the way home I passed along the back of the local golf course, and as I turned the corner of a wooded hedgerow dozens of rabbits fled for cover. They're very alert, those wild bunnies, always keen to avoid human company. Except one, who sat on the muddy path (it's been raining a lot lately) and grazed entirely unconcerned. How odd.... Either the rabbit is blissfully unaware of my presence, or it's a super-bunny waiting to rip me to shreds like Monty Pythons Welsh monster. I strode up to within a couple of feet of it, and still it didn't stir. A bemused lady on a bike rode past, greeted me with a polite good afternoon (who is she? Never seen her before. Hi babe) and the rabbit chewed on. Sadly the poor animal was blind. Thing is though, humans are smelly animals at the best of times and there was I, sweating like a pig, standing a couple of feet upwind of it. Eventually it realised there might be something nearby (I was sweating you know) and it ambled away to the undergrowth. Well, good luck to you rabbit. Job Vacancy of the Week SAS Risk Analysist required.... Huh? After my eyeballs returned to their sockets I thought, yeah, I could do that. Years of computer game experience should prove useful there eh? Yep, shoot him. No, no the other one, that's... was.... a hostage. Oh well. On the job training I suppose. But my illusions were sadly dashed as it emerged it had nothing to do with tense security situations at all, nor were the Special Air Service remotely involved. It was just another highly paid job in a stuffy office that involves justifying your payroll to the other stuffy individuals competing with you to prevent redundancy. Sigh... Looks like I'm going to have to apply anyway...

Gordon Brown these days, but point taken, and thanks for the kind words people. I still have to find out whether I can extract any files from the wreckage so hopefully not everything is lost. You just have to accept that change has occurred, however personally devastating it is. All too easy to get wrapped up in your own misery - but I must remember those two dimensional images on the telly are actually something real (apart from global conspiracies and the knowledge the world is out to get me ) and there really are people a lot worse off than I am. Okay. Caldrail's Book Of Roman Stuff, Revised Version, Chapter One.... Once upon a time on seven hills far far away.... No, that's not right.... (*paper ripped from typewriter and thrown over shoulder in general direction of overflowing bin*)

Todays post on my blog is something of an obituary. My computer, a veteran of many hardware changes, has finally succumbed to a nasty virus and expired yesterday aged nine. One point of view is that it's merely a machine, one that can - eventually - be replaced. Up to a point that's correct, assuming you can afford one that is equally reliable and capable over just short of a decade of hard use. The issue isn't the hardware however, but the software collected on it's hard drive. Over the course of nine years you collect files that become important to you. More than that, I have projects on that hard disk going back eight years, and even with the many backups I've made, reassem,bling the jigsaw is going to be a long job and pieces will be missing. I can imagine some people will be already muttering "Ahh diddums" and dismissing my own personal disaster as inconsequential compared to their own petty dramas. I have no choice but to regard that attitude as one displayed by petty people. Look at it like this. I've seen many natural disasters reported on television and for me, the result is always a two dimensional image of something I haven't experienced. I can sympathise with the victims of course, even offer a tiny donation to help if I feel so moved, but I'm comfortable in my own little world just like everyone else. My recent loss might not be quite on that sort of scale, but I do now have some appreciation of what the loss feels like. Ah but there's no comparison is there? Between the loss of loved ones and the homes they lived in, to the final gasp of consumer electronics. In a sense, there is. My work on the PC is essentially creative, apart from an occaisional game or episode of Star Trek to ease the boredom. Creative work is something to admire (or perhaps criticise) when it's finshed and on public display. Music, art, lierature - in a small way I have contributed such things to the public arena and had others bubbling in my semiconductor driven cauldron. These things don't always happen magically on the spur of the moment. All to often, it takes hours of work to approach the end you're trying for, and more hours of work when you fail to achieve it and begin again. It might even take years in some cases, and for me, that's a familiar obstacle to the ends I've sought. When your work is taken away by circumstance there's an emptiness inside you. It's a difficult void to fill. The inspiration you had to begin with might not be there any more. It's been my experience that the second attempt is never as fresh as the first. Starting again from scratch not only requires something of the original conception, inspiration, and desire, but also the discipline to wearily tread the same old path. To those who sneer at what I've written, to those malicious characters who've set out to destroy my work, I simply smile and remind myself that they've proven me a better man. Inspiration of the Week There was a guy on these forums some time ago who suffered a similar loss to mine, probably even a worse one. I offered a poem by Rudyard Kipling, written around the turn of the 19th/20th centuries, and still as applicable today. If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master; If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools; If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings -- nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -- Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son! Well, perhaps I did breathe a word about my loss. Such is the modern world, where the internet has become something of a global meeting place and a venue for painting portraits of our otherwise insignificant lives. But then again, if it helps someone else cope with their own loss and 'petty drama', surely that is something good to come from it?

Despite the threat of heavy rain it looks like this years RIAT airshow at nearby Fairford will go ahead. It's a huge and popular event. Ticket admittance only this year just in case they need to reimburse everyone. I don't much like fariford as a flying display. The prospect of seeing lots of aircraft you can see every day of the week doesn't appeal, especially since you have to pay a heavy ticket entry and face aggravation on the roads getting in and out. But to anyone whio is going there, I hope the show is a good one. Musing About Museums I wrote this back in 2004, but given the the theme of this post I thought it was worth repeating... Yesterday I got the opportunity to visit the RAF Museum at Hendon. It was an interesting visit. To wander around and see these aeroplanes preserved is a curious thing when you realise that most of them were once considered state-of-the-art military hardware even if only for a short while, and that young men were asked to risk their lives operating these machines. Although the museum has to be congratulated for doing a great job in presenting their displays, I could not help but feel saddened by it. Why? The answer of course is that I visited a mausoleum. A graveyard. These aircraft were built to fly. Now they're stuffed and put behind glass like dead animals. Something important has been lost. The exhaust stains, paint rubbed away from edges, the sound of mechanics at work, the banter of competitive aviators, the reluctant wheeze of an aero engine starting up , the smell of hot oil, burnt metal, fuel , cordite, leather, grease, sweat, and that sudden growl and rumble of a flypast. There are places that preserve some of these things, like Shuttleworth, Duxford, or the Confederate Air Force (whatever they call it these days) by operating these old warbirds. Thats great... although I think the demands of showbusiness have sanitised it somewhat. But none of these preserve an essential quality. That elusive atmosphere of men about to go to war. That Spitfire Sound Many years ago I was out walking my dog along the old railway line. It was a pleasant day out in the countryside and the view across the valley was always a refreshing change from urban life. Then I heard an aeroplane behind me. A low, rich droning sound that immediately sparked some recognition. That's a Merlin engine! I was right. The restored spitfire flew directly ioverhead travelling west. It's funny how engine noise has a character. The moving parts and exhaust stack form a symphony all of their own. For small engines the sound is often nasty and high pitched. But those old aero engines are something else. It's an interesting fact that of the all the complaints about aircraft noise generated by those townies silly enough to move house next to an operating airfield, it's the World War Two vintage planes that get the least. Twenty eight litres of Rolls Royce Merlin has a satisfying rumble overlaid by a sandy propellor noise that really does stir something inside you. Well, at least it stirs something in me. That's what I want from an air display. To see and hear something I can't get anywhere else. For a few hours, I want to be in a past age and witness something fantastic - old aeroplanes flying again.

Of course there is our old friend, wikipedia... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_helmet

Can you trust statistics? Anyone who watches the tv news or reads the papers every morning is bombarded with facts and figures, most of which are selected to prove a point. As a schoolkid I once had a maths leasson that illustrated how the display of statistics can affect your perception of the result. The latest statistics about crime are in the news. Murders are down by 17% to a twenty year low, despite the shock horror stories about knife wielding kids stabbing crowds of teachers to death. What is on the rise, according to the figures quoted, are burglaries, shoplifting, and pickpocketing. There's an internet cafe not far from where I live. I don't go there too often, there are cheaper ways to log on, but last night the need to access the internet cropped up and the library was shut. The owner pointed me to a screen beside the aisle and during my hour of surfing the world wide web, one of the other customers nipped out fairly sharpish. Didn't think too much of it at the time. I did later when I discovered a five pound note had left the confines of my pocket. I'm beginning to trust statistics a whole lot more. Software of the Week My latest experiment in the world of computing is a utility I picked up from the internet. It's a freeware text editor specially designed for story writers, and whilst the interface is a little dry and unwelcoming, it does the job well enough. What I discovered by chance though is that it can access a speech engine, so I can have my work read back to me by a virtual Steven Hawking. Unfortunately for some reason "Microsoft Sam" doesn't record any sound on my system so I'll have to spare you a recording of the first two paragraphs of my epic science fiction tale... Hope you're not too disappointed...

Between the very early monarchy (Pre-Republic) and the late empire the Roman helmets were largely bowl shaped. The attic style, with its flat brow plate and crest, so often seen in tv and film, was ceremonial in nature and not generally used in battle. The problem then is detail. The style of neckguard, the presence of a raised lip along the brow, the cheekflaps, and decoration are all indicators. Greece & Rome At War by Peter Connolly has lots of full colour illustrations and includes a development chart.

Some years ago I wrote a piece on another site condemning the European Union as a dictatorship in the making. Not necessarily because it is at the moment, so to speak, but because its construction lays the groundwork for those those wishing to rule without accountability. I had said that Ireland would be forced to ratify the Treaty of Lisbon regardless of their previous vote - as the recent pressure on them demonstrates. There was also an interesting letter in the local paper this morning from a gentleman who clearly (and understandably) supports the UK Independence Party, in which he focuses attention on clauses in the Treaty of Lisbon that effectively remove any right to withdraw from its membership or rulings after a certain date. Thats a disquietening thought. I was pleased to seee however that German judges have ruled against the European Union, saying in effect that national member states have the right to decide their own affairs and that the European Union does not legally impose its own constitution over them. Sadly, the reality is that the power brokers in Europe want their dictatorship and will continue to build their political ideal at our expense. I don't remember who said it, but an observant man once declared that "All that is required for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing". Here though is the problem. What can a good man do? If he attempts anything proactive, he runs the risk of breaking the law, or perhaps even worse, imposing his own views on people who don't agree with him. Europe has had some glaring examples of such political folly within living memory, and whether we agree with the European Union or not, it is happening here, only this time it's being set up behind closed doors so good men don't notice. More Town of the Week It seems our neighbouring town is getting tired of the media attention. The headline in the local paper this morning is Please Leave Us Alone. Of course the civic leaders are complaining about the invasive presence of media crews every time fallen servicemen are repatriated, but I also notice that not only our media-hungry Prime Minister is praising the town and it's people - David Cameron, his opposition rival, has done so too. Last Night Outside My Home I couldn't help it. The monotonous self imposed diet of mine has finally reached levels of culinary boredom I wouldn't wish on a prison inmate. I'd had enough. So, without wishing to spend much cash, I popped across the road to the kebab shop and paid for a box of chips (that's fries for anyone who who hasn't experienced english cuisine). Small change, and a welcome relief from bread and water. I was about to cross the road when two cars trundled down the hill, otherwise empty of traffic at that late hour, at slow speed. The car behind carried two young ladies, and the driver blasted her horn at the car blocking her way. I see. It's after dark, the horn is being used abusively, and she's driving too close to the car in front. She stayed two feet behind the other car all the way down the hill. Why didn't she simply overtake? It was safe to do so even at legal road speeds. No, that wasn't good enough. She wanted the car in front to move out of her way. What an attitude!

Is it just me, or is there a change in the way our conflict in Afghanistan is being reported? The sad loss of eight soldiers in one day is something very revealing about modern warfare and our perception of combat. On the one hand, there are persistent calls for our troops to receive the equipment they so badly need. On the other, politicians are bemused and tell us this equipment is there. Further, an army spokesman said very clearly to a suspicious reporter that the army had the equipment they needed. More importantly, he stressed that the types of equipment issued meet their needs. We now see operations in Afghanistan in terms of protection. No-one likes to hear that our boys have been killed, but the perception of the public is that somehow they can be made invulnerable by armour, both vehicle and personal, or perhaps that overwhelming firepower and ordnance is enough to keep an enemy at bay. The reality of the battle out there, as suggested by the army spokesman, is that you can have too much protection. A study of military history shows the arms race making cycles between light fast-moving troops and heavily armoured crustaceans. The peculiar thing is armour reaches a point where it becomes an encumbrance, and no longer protects the soldier in the expected way. That is what our modern army draws attention to. However good kevlar jackets or ceramic plates may be at stopping bullets, they don't protect absolutely, and remain very heavy for a soldier already loaded with substantial amounts of ammunition and sundry items. Instead, the army spokesman spoke of the need for soldiers to remain hidden. If the enemy doesn't see you, he doesn't shoot you. That after all, is why the Taliban have survived for so long. Town of the Week Wootton Bassett isn't far from where I live, and also happens to be the nearest town to Lyneham Airbase, where the bodies of the dead soldiers are returned to home soil. With the untimely death of eight soldiers, once again the people of Wootton line up along the street and honour the funeral procession. Despite my misgivings about media representation, you do sense a genuine emotion from the people seeing so many military coffins passing their way. The thing is, I also note that the deaths have been accentuated. A tragic event, countered by the story of sacrifice by one soldier shot while attempting to rescue a wounded comrade, but one that has received an extraordinary coverage considering the almost regular bylines of another death in Afghanistan that have scrolled across our news programs since the conflict began. It is of course war - armed violence - and inevitably there are casualties. I'm not heartless. My thoughts go to the families and friends of the fallen. Yet in the past this sort of event has been portrayed as a reason to pull out, as if casualties in warfare are unpalatable at all, surely a reflection on modern values. This recent reporting marks a change. It supports the military efforts of Her Majesty's Armed Forces in the pursuit of their duty. No bad thing, provided it doesn't become jingoistic, yet I sense a political move behind it. How better to avoid criticism before the polls than to project the soldiers in such a manner? That our servicemen deserve our respect isn't the issue. It's the creation of a media bandwagon with which to ride out a looming election that bothers me.

Did they or did they not vote on political issues? Your question then is not whether the Roman Consitution was democratic, but to what extent it was. Some might argue that our modern democracies only pay lip service to the concept. So therefore what Polybius points out is not the existence of democracy, but a comparison with the greek-inspired ideal. I'm still suprised that people see recruits joining the legions to enjoy their politcal rights. There isn't any such connection in Roman society. In the Republic, a person was entitled to volunteer because his politcal rights existed. In the empire, it was a job with good health care, retirement perks, and the potetial to add wealth. The political power of the legion is limited to threat of violence or the influence of its commander. However, the exercise of that power is ethically borderline and technically mutiny against the Senate and the people of Rome. Since an individual joining a legion has no choice but to obey orders or follow the crowd, how could he exercise his political will within such a restrictive military organisation?

I can imagine my mother enthusing about this stuff too (no inference intended A!). Nothing wrong with it at all, if that's the sort of music performance that appeals to you, but for me it's all a little sanitised and sugary. I'll stick with rock music

An interesting statement. Was it indeed the case that the poorest classes of Rome sought political influence by service in the Legions? The republican armies, prior to the Reforms of Marius in 106BC were essentially a citizen militia, raised annually or at the most for the duration of a campaign. They did so because service to Rome was both expected and respected. Not all volunteers were chosen for service, and not all the chosen always served. Much depended on circumstance. The democratic institutions of ancient Rome were far reaching and Polybius describes them ably, although we should be aware that he does so without going into intricate detail as he says himself. Polybius makes the point that the lower classes were well represented, that they had a part to play in government, and clearly the Roman public were not entirely disatisfied with the organisation of the state even though at times they had gripes over its policies. The post-Marian legions were very different, with a more regimented order of battle and service conditions lasting as much as twenty five years. The real motive for joining the legions during this period was to escape poverty. The legions offered a living, if a somewhat risky one, with decent medical care and substantial perks for serving soldiers, not to mention a primitive pension scheme and grants of land on retirement. Should conflict break out, it was expected that Roman troops would loot and pillage enemy towns when the opportunity arose. Their commanders, whilst keen to ensure a minimal standard of discipline and behaviour, were well aware of the nature of their men and regarded their bloody looting after a siege and assault as just punishment upon the defeated. It is also true that Roman soldiers were not averse to theft from the general public. The image of imperial troops marching on Rome with a general determined to be emperor is perhaps misleading. Whilst the rank and file were sometimes devoted to their generals and wished to see them on the throne as emperor, they did so for selfish motives rather than the good of the plebeian classes as a whole. In the late empire the political unity of Rome begins to fragment as taxation rises and the emperors turn to displays of magnificence to retain their authority instead of relying on traditional status. Even then, the plebs of Rome did not rise up in indignation as we might expect of modern populations, but instead simply withdrew from Roman administration. The late armies were different' The old larger independent legions were a thing of the past, undoubtedly a good thing if you happen unsure of power, and the introduction of almost pyramidical armies composed of smaller legions as regimental formations meant that command of these troops was better controlled politically. Whereas the Principate had relied on division of military strength between individuals to retain a balance of internal power (a process that failed as we have seen) in much the same way as the traditional division of levies between two consuls in Republican times, the Dominate preferred a smaller number of replaceable generals commanding armies much closer to the pattern we understand of our modern day. Noticeably however, there is a great deal of difference in the performance of troops in these late armies. Vegetius moans about their poor standards, and Ammianus Marcellinus tells us that fresh recruits were better motivated at the time of Adrianople. He also mentioned that the Emperor valens stayed at Melanthia after leaving Constantinople making frequent speeches to persuade his army to go on campaign at all. The discontent of the common soldier of this time is mentioned by other historians - Zosimus provides us with a damning description though perhaps that can be forgiven for being written a century or two after the event. Nonetheless, despite this lack of military will, there is no popular uprising. Any involvement of the legions in political change is merely one of direct presence in events, and then usually led by ambitious and charismatic generals as opposed to the will of the common soldiery whose goodwill was often manipulated by crafty politicians. It worth pointing out that Roman generals were politcal appointees, not necessarily chosen for their abaility to lead armies, but their influence within the ruling classes. What we should see therefore is a state with a carefully arranged balance of influence between the social classes that allowed the prerogatives of the high-born, and permitted the say of those of lower station. There was no revolution aimed at removing these institutions during the course of Rome's 1200 year reign as the seat of power, rather that the person at the helm be replaced for someone more convenient to those who were not satisified - which was usually a minority such as a legion or two. Some might point to Spartacus as the leader of a true working class rebellion. This is of course modern myth making. The identification between marxist principles and the campaigns of Spartacus are obvious, but inherently flawed. Spartacus did not revolt to lead the common people to freedom - he escaped a death in a violent spectacle in the arena for his own survival and enrichment as a bandit, a life he already had experience of. That many of the common folk rallied to his cause shouldn't suprise either. Many were slaves escaped harsh and cruel treatment in the same way that slave revolts had already ocurred in Sicily. The revolt of Spartacus was, in effect, a local revolt that gathered strength like a snowball. More importantly, Spartacus never attempted to establish an alternative Roman state. He merely escaped the one that was set to punish him for his banditry and then attempted to profit from the hordes that saw him as an easier life. In short, the common folk of Roman society had enough institutional say. In later periods, they felt less need to express it, bought off with free food and entertainment. When the power of Rome faded in the west, the common folk turned their backs and tried to manage their own affairs.

One of the changes in lifestyle enforced by the lack of motor transport has been my shopping habits. Rather than load up a car boot with my weekly needs I must now carry stuff home manually, so I shop lightly and more often. I pop in for odds and ends almost every day now. yesterday it was to restock my supply of soft drinks, which I can obtain at a bargain price, plus the advantage of getting an arms, shoulder, and legs work out as I climb the hill laden with plastic bottles filled with liquified sugar. The level of service has declined a little. The problem isn't really the staff who cheerily assist even the worst whingers known to mankind. It's the issue of plastic bags. The government, rightly or wrongly, has decided we must use less, and does all sorts of things to encourage us to bring our own bags. Do they really think I'm going to go about my business with two orange Sainsbury's plastic bags stuffed into my pocket? Unfortunately, the need to use less of them means that the supermarket checkout assistants never fill your bags for you. They just ask if you're using you're own and if not, throw a few at you to get on with. The lady at the checkout till made her requisite greeting and said "You need two bags with those don't you?" I was stunned. Yes, that's right. I do. You're getting good at this. "Oh" She replied with a gracious smile, "I've seen you packing those bottles before. Always two to a bag." Well done. If only her colleagues were as observant. Especially since I've been shopping there for six years now. Greeting of the Evening With my window open to the street below I hear all the people walking past on their way from pub to club to shrub. Usually it's a bunch of lads in the midst of a singing contest, but last night a young lady shouted hello. How very sweet of her. I should mention that her parents really ought to have told her that you shouldn't talk to strangers, but I guess being known to everyone is the price you pay for being officially famous. Still, at least she was polite and didn't mock or denounce my character. I'll give her the benefit of the doubt. Well what else did you expect me to give her? Babies? Am I supposed to rush downstairs and chase her along the street declaring undying love? I perform music for the general public you know. I leave the demonstrations of reproductive behaviour to my neighbours... Today We Look Through... The Square Window My neighbours across the road aren't what you'd call shy. They like to leave the curtains open when engaged in certain adult activities more usually performed in private. I caught a glimpse of their sex lives last night when I opened the window to let some fresh air in. I'm sure they enjoy a rich and fulfilling intimate relationship, but it looked dreadfully dull from my vantage point. Well its no good complaining. If you don't want me to see, close the effing curtains you wally.

The main cause of the reforms was the personal experience of Marius while consul. Unable to raise a legion organised according to the traditional pattern by the lack of veterans available to him, he simply organised a basic legion armed more or less uniformly with swords as if they were all Principes. He found it a more convenient arrangement that simplified training, as he realises that only one training schedule was needed, that a uniform standard of training could be applied to all legions instead of the inconsistent tarining provided ordinarily, and that other legions were already being raised and treated in this manner increasingly. The lack of performance was of no direct concern - that could could be remedied by one means or another in the Roman tradition, and the performance of their troops had varied over time anyhow - something Marius would have been keenly aware of. Although the current standard wasn't the issue, he saw that an improvement could be made to the legions generally instead by employing professional soldiers rather than annually and sometimes hastily raised levies.

You might be forgiven for thinking I live in the past. After all, I do talk about my career in music a lot and naturally the ignorance of those who haven't the talent or inclination to risk all for fame annoys me a great deal. But all these reminisences aren't really the point. I do live in the past, just not the past you might expect. Let me explain. In our modern world, we live according to timetables. The workplace dominates our daily schedule, but domestic and social issues often force regular activity as a matter of course. We even entertain ourselves according to schedules too. Our lives are essentially gridlocked into a regulated urban enviroment. This stems from the days of the industrial revolution. Mill owners paid their employees by the hour for the first time in human history, with strict adherence to the clock as a tool of authority. This came as quite a shock to the average worker at first. Prior to the industrial revolution people got out of bed when they darn well chose to, governed by the rising and falling of the sun, the changing of the seasons, and whether there was anyone around with a big stick. Does this sound familiar? It should do. Welcome to the world of the unemployed. Although I like to retain a routine as much as possible - we are creatures of habit - I have nonetheless reverted to some extent to the mindset of those pastoral days in our past, when life was at a slower pace. The pace of my life is almost stationary these days. I feel like a tv character, stood in front of the camera whilst the busy street scene unfolds at fast forward, people buzzing around like flies, clouds rushing overhead. I move only to avoid a snail sliding down the pavement on his slimey way. Watch where you're going, you maniac! Yesterday morning I woke from my slumber. The sunshine was evident from the bright glow through the curtains. Being so used to a fixed routine I automatically got out of bed, got dressed, got washed, got brushed, and went about my business totally unaware I'd awoken four hours early. Failure of the Week The list of recent failures of domestic and electronic appliances in my ome over the last month has become impressive. My computer, my keyboard, my fridge, and now my gas boiler (the reason I logged on late this morning). The claims advisor asked me how I was doing when I sat down to sign on. I gave her a woeful tale of endless stress and expensive repairs. She nodded, "Yes my cooker doesn't work either" She said. Talking about living in the past, if this sort of thing carries on I'll be burning twigs to keep warm this winter, agonising over whether I should finally succumb to hunger and eat my last turnip. On the other hand, I could just make a phone call. Oh hi... I have a gas boiler that's not working. The display says... "Sorry mate, but we don't work for your letting agent no more. You'll have to phone their office" Oh... Right... So it isn't dangerous then? Oh... He's hung up... So later the gas fitter turned up and quickly diagnosed my ailing boiler as suffering from lack of gas. Some idiot with a dodgy brain cell had turned the supply off overnight for a laugh. Clearly that person needs a busier lifestyle.

A lot depends on how you see the Roman Republic. The much illustrated excess of the Principate colours our view of Roman society as a whole (I've been just as guilty - MPC has whacked me over the head a few times regarding this point ) but somewhat unfairly. Now whereas some people regard the Principate as a turning point in Roman culture underpinned by the change in administration toward an autocratic style that would evolve toward monarchial emperors in the late empire, and expressed by the raw and decadent lifestyles of the Pax Romana, But I don't believe this was a sudden change. Instead, the evolution of Roman culture took place from it's lowest point, the disaster of Cannae. Before that, Rome was identifiably a more moral place. I doubt it was a democratic paradise at all, but the Hannabalic War had squandered much of Rome's agricultural produce and indeed no small quota of the available workforce. An estimate of one seventh of working age males had died. Once the Romans had forced the fight into Africa by threatening Carthage directly, there was at last an opportunity, following eighteen years of campaigning, to restore Rome's economic strength. Evidently they succeeded, and by the time Polybius writes his history around 150BC he clearly sees Rome as a vigorous nation and one to be proud of in terms of political structure representing the needs of all voting classes (slaves of course need not apply). It's entirely plausible that the Senate generally agreed with those sentiments. They had restored Rome's fortunes from the brink of disaster and had grown confident enough to look at their punic rivals was some scorn, as a nation that had withered from its great past, and one that merely stood as an obstacle to Roman peace. It is therefore, the weakening of Carthage that encourages Rome and it's growing confidence to embark on a campaign to end their rival permanently - to end the long running rivalry for good. In doing so, the rival sea-power had been extinguished. In terms of politics then Rome had reached the point at which it could dominate the Mediterranean. Having fought a bitter series of wars to survive it no doubt felt justified in doing so. Further, the warfare of ancient times was profitable unlike the need for expensive technologically advanced forces of modern times. There was wealth and status to be had from large scale conquest. Was it inevitable that Rome would become the Principate. Interestingly, Polybius said yes, it was inevitable, a step in the evolution of a state and he wrote that a century or more before Augustus assumed the power behind the Senate. Certainly the temptations of becoming a conquest state were huge and without the restrictions of a balance of power, what reason had Rome for not evolving that way? It should be remembered however that the generals and their private armies of the late Republic were not entirely vassals of the state - they were acting on their own initiative for political gain at the expense of the state if need be. I have similar leanings to Polybius regarding this question. It was inevitable that Rome would change as a society at some point. Whether the Principate was inevitable or not is harder to justify. Rome was a competitive culture and with increasing wealth and status to be had from military ventures, the power struggles would have been difficult to prevent, especially by a Senate that had grown more self-serving and lazy on success. The Principate may not have been inevitable therefore, but certainly it flourished in conditions that favoured it.