caldrail

Well.. I must be honest, the journalist hadn't a clue who I was (philistine!) and simply chose me at random to talk about issues of the growing dole queue. But, interviewed I was, so who knows, perhaps I'll have to change my forum name to Backontherail? Stand by for impact, World, here I come.... ...Until my next obstacle that is. The world is a big place after all. It does tend to get in the way. I was pleased to note that Simon Cowell, my biggest rival in the celebrity stakes, may well lose a

Yesterday I ran out of space on my job search card so it's down to the job center to ask for another. As expected there was a mass of bemused dole claimants milling around while harassed security guards do their best to sound important. Ok, here we go... I brush past the lines of ex-car manufacturers and single mothers to confront a guard. Can I have one of these please? "Wots that then?" Its a job search record. I need a new one. "Why do you need a new one?" Ok. take a close look at exhibit A. One secondhand job search booklet, all filled in... you see? I ran out of space. Now I need a new one. "Uhhhh... Right.... Wait there mate." He strolled off to find out from someone else what I was talking about. He returned fully informed, smiles all round, confident that his efficient security guard image was still secure. On the way out I was stopped by some guy with a notepad. My celebrity instincts immediately gave me that tingly feeling. He introduced himself as a journalist from the local rag, and asked would I mind being interviewed? Try to look calm and disinterested Caldrail. Stay cool. It's only a local newspaper... Security Guard of the Week Definitely goes to the fat guy wandering around the library. If ever a man was unaware of his own insignificance, its him. The reason being he gives anyone who asks him a question a full ten minute lecture on what to do, where to do it, how it should be done, who to do it with. I get the impression he doesn't get out much at nights.

What a morning. As per my usual ritual, I wander down to the library to log on and contact the world out there. I know there is one. I visited it a couple of times. As it happened, I was furst up the stairs - the security guard was craeless and opened the gate two minutes early. Right then, choose a PC, enter my number.... password... Number 19 in the queue to log on. What?!!! I amuse myself by tapping on the desk. Wow... Sir Alan Sugar is sat in the cubicle next to me. Seriously, the resemblance is uncanny. At last the counter reaches my number and a message pops up. No concurrent reservations allowed. Is someone pulling my leg? Is there a group of librarians hid behind a shelf nearby tittering to each other at my frustration? Apparently not, but it seems everyone else is having the same trouble. There's a line of people approaching the help desk and the poor woman dealing with enquiries is repeating the same message of helplessness again and again. She advises me to try again. Number... Password... Oooh look, I'm number 33 in the queue. I pull a book on english law from the shelf and sit down for a read. You can tell how bored I am. As I go through the intricacies of working time regulations, a shadow looms over me. A young lad says "Hey you on that?" After his masterful display of ettiquette I don't even bother looking up. I simply respond No. He wanders off in search of fashionable media. A livbrarian under considerable stress happens to walk by and I flag him down. What about my internet time, mate? I've spent most of it logging on? He assures me I'll get it back. Phew. Hang on... My number is up again. At last I log on. I reach this site and begin an entry on my blog... Huh? The screen is logging out! Not again? Yes, again. I enter my number... password... Number 9 in the queue.... Queue of the Week back in the good old days of dole queues, you took your card to a dusty office with a lino floor and queued up to sign. That was it. Then they introduced personal interviews, clean open office space, and soft furnishings. Now the numbers of unemployed are forcing the clock back. Henceforth I must attend a signing slot with a bunch of others, shepherded in under guard and processed without undue conversation. Sign here... Go away. Just like old times. I did see this morning that some expert predicts job losses are over their worst. Ho ho ho.

Americans have a notorious reputation for ignorance of the world outside their own country. If you're american and reading this, I wouldn't worry unduly. Most of the younger british population doesn't have a clue either. In any case, if you don't know where darfur is, just follow the sound of shooting or perhaps chinese freight consignments.

Woo Hoo! Something else I can put on my CV (resume). Cheers Doc.

Not necessarily. Humans and dogs got off to a good start because we had reason to co-operate in prehistory, plus humans have been breeding dogs and changing the species for thousands of years. We don't breed chimps the same way nor do we have any use for them except to sell teabags (re: Tetley's ads of the 70's) or as daiper consumers. Well, they would, but so far chimps haven't shown much interest in supermarkets,burger vans, and indian resteraunts, so I suspect the competition isn't really a factor. Also, even in Africa, human beings moved out of the neighborhood to rear domestic animals and crops rather than the nuts and stuff chimps prefer. I suspect the chimps don't have your fashion sense Neph. Maybe in the US you're lucky, but the the european anthropoids have certainly killed my job prospects Well, I think it has more to do with temperament. Chimps have been observed fighting border wars between groups and some of the violence they commit in the wild is truly shocking. Truth is, they ain't that different from us, and their nasty underside is something we'd prefer not to recognise.

Last night, during the small hours, I went to the back of the house to answer natures call. Whilst there, I became aware of a loud conversation between a group of lads out the back. The car park is sometimes used by passers-by so I didn't think too much of it... until I realised they weren't walking past. Open the window... Just a tad... They were standing beside the corpse of my Eunos Cabriolet discussing events leading up to its abandonment. Not just the car either. Informed opinion was exchanged regarding my past. Well this is curious.... Yep, agree with that... Nope, thats rubbish... I never did that!.... Oh now really, you're making it up!.... What a strange sensation. It was like switching on the tv and watching a panel of experts reviewing your latest release and elements of your personal life that got into the papers. It seems I'm more famous than I thought. Pride of Swindon Award Apparently our local newspaper is now looking for the bestest person in Swindonland. You know the sort of thing. Rescuing puppies from raging inferno's, helping old ladies across motorways, killing dragons, climbing tall towers to kiss princess's, and so on. Does digging a way through fifty or more yards of thick ice on a hillside path count? Please tell me it does. I would like late night revellers to discuss something more meaningful than my fall into poverty.

It isn't just mistreatment that does that. Dogs are social animals like us. That means we tend to get along because dogs understand the human owner is the alpha pack member and co-operates... most of the time... Problems arise when the dog thinks it can dominate, or it misunderstands the signals its getting, or simply does what it always does but at an inappropriate moment.

Its the human need to anthropomorphise everything. We give boats, cars, trains, and planes names and personalities (usually female I notice) and entertainment abounds in imagery of animals with human expressions, motives, and emotions. We know how to speak human - most of us are pretty lousy at speaking animal. Chimps unfortunately are very endearing creatures when young but they do tend to get aggressive in their mature years. Coupled with an upper body strength that dwarfs our own typical human being, its something to be wary of. Personally I agree with you Neph - dressing animals in human clothes isn't as cute or funny as some people think, but then there's a lot of people who like to laugh at others especially when the object of their mirth isn't aware of it.

A couple of years ago, I watched a tv news report about some idiot in New York who kept wild animals in his apartment. Amongst the exotic beasts was a full grown tiger. Hard to believe, but there it was, on screen. A policeman was lowered on ropes down the outside of the block to administer a tranquilizer dart through the window. Understandably, police were reluctant to enter the apartment with a live carnivorous cat in a hungry mood. The big cat charged at the window and scared the policeman witless, but it was darted and everything was happy ever after. In this instance camera was too far away. You could see the head appear at the window. You could even see the open jaws, but so far away, it was lacking the excitement the hanging policeman must have felt. Thing is, we all know how dangerous these cats are but we never see how dangerous they are. Sure, a wild-life program shows them strutting their stuff and taking down a herbivore effortlessly. It looks so bloodless and quick. I do remember one shot of a big cat tackling a warthog and discovering that not all herbivores are easily killed. In that incident, the cat was thrown into the air and decided a retreat was advisable. Yesterday, on one of those awful 'amazing video' programs, I saw something about tigers I didn't expect. A tigeress and her cubs had escaped from a zoo, and local rangers were searching on the backs of elephants for the cat that had killed cattle in the area. Her cubs had already been caught, leaving the mother frustrated and angry. The Rangers saw it but the cat went to ground in long grass. The elephant was spooked. It was unhappy about proceeding. Then the tiger appeared out of nowhere, coming out of the grass at a run, looking up at the rider and darting to the side to avoid the elephant. It was quickly in position for a leap at the rider who sat front of the cameraman. Almost right in front of the camera, it lifted twelve feet into the air to attack him. It dug its claws into the man's abdomen and bit his left hand severely before running off. Clearly it meant to pull the rider off the elephant and kill him. The footage was stunning. This was a full on attack by an angry tigress and the sheer power of it was very impressive. Wonderful animals, an endangered species we really ought to protect, but one you treat with a great deal of respect. Fat Cat of the Week Amongst the fat cats getting the squeeze in the economic downturn is a boss in the Royal Bank of Scotland, whose

Wow... My first ever proposition online... My aviators goggles are coming out the box as I speak... Hey, Lindbergh managed it

My lovely plumage is unruffled, thanks

Yesterday I made my way into town and to do so, I need to cross a busy road junction. There's a pedestrian crossing there so it isn't an onerous task. I approach the traffic light and looking to my right (We brits very sensibly drive on the left) a car was slowing down to turn left into the College car park just before the crossing. The van behind had nowhere to go. So taking the opportunity I strode across the road, with the traffic lights changing from red to flashing amber (Thats 'You can proceed if the crossing is clear') I heard a loud yell behind me. I think the unintelligible bellow said something like "Get out of the way!" seeing as the van swerved behind me and shot off down the road almost mounting the pavement in its eagerness to get past. Without doubt, it was a dubious manoever. Even if he had a clear signal, it was a pedestrian crossing and he had no legal right to force me out of the way. It was a close call. I was nearly an ex-Caldrail. If the man behind the wheel keeps on behaving like that, he'll be an ex-driver before long. Investment of the Week Goes to North Korea, whose starving population must be filled with joy at the prospect of seeing their nation launch a missile with a 4,200 mile range. Thats going to make their lives better isn't it?

Kosmo, we all self doubt and blame ourselves when things don't work out. We regret decisions and actions, and so forth. You just have to find something that keeps you going. After all, with all this movement in the heavens, one has to keep up

You know it's a funny thing. Women always say that middle aged men are weighed down with emotional baggage and you know what? We are. The reason is partly biological. Us blokes go off the boil a little and get steadily lukewarm as we realise out fragile bodies aren't coping with the demands we desperately want them to. Instead, we have to claim we're getting steadily cooler but you just know you're not convincing anyone. It's getting harder to keep hold of the harem. The aggressive young males are circling. The females aren't impressed any more. The second reason is cultural. For a long time now British managers have increasingly concentrated on image, one of the least useful american imports to our country. Even as old as I am, employers have for many years tried to treat me as a malleable teenager and force me to become something that I'm clearly not and seriously haven't any understanding of. Conformity is declared to be good for business. Yet it never actually makes any difference. It's simply a means by which a boss enforces his control over his minions by expecting them to wear the right shirts, display the right badge on the bonnet, and say all the buzzwords that make your line manager go all gooey in your presence. It is, to all intents and purposes, a mild form of slavery, and we declared that illegal in 1833. It struck me last night how hopeless my situation seems. Now I'm over forty and thus too old to be useful in the workplace, finding a job has become an exercise in endurance, not to mention morale. Britain is wobbling at the knees and jobs are vanishing fast. Job Centers have told the government they can't cope with the ever increasing numbers of highly skilled ex-employees on their books. There's talk of a major motor manufacturer closing a factory in a few days time if no government assistance is forthcoming, and that could just as easily be Swindon as Sunderland or Cowley. It doesn't look good does it? I'm getting older, poorer, balder, bogged down, and ever more solitary as people realise I can't afford to socialise. My horizons have shrunk to the point where the edge of the world is now down the road. Heck, this world can be a cruel place. What happened to that determined young man defying all reason and going on the road with rock bands, driving fast cars, flying aeroplanes, wandering around the wilderness of foreign countries? I look around my home and wonder if I'll be sat on a park bench in five years time. No, I won't succumb to depression or cheap flights to Thailand. Watch out world , here comes Caldrail.... Again. Sigh. I'm slowly turning into Grampa Simpson. Well at least I've had a few years practise... False Alarm of the Week This poverty is a pain in the backside. So I've decided to get rich quick, and that means a march up the hill to the newsagent to by a lotto ticket. Six numbers is all it takes and I can finally afford my tax bill (at least until Gordon Brown realises I've won money). Later that night, staring slack-jawed at another mindless BBC gameshow they hide the Lotto draw within, I pick up my ticket to unbounded wealth. Come on come on... Oh someone stop that second rate gameshow host... For some reason the fact they were using 'Guinevere', one of the Lotto selection machines, wasn't hugely significant to me. I don't care about this rubbish. Just tell me the nummbers for crying out loud. God they like smiling. Aha! First number...Yes! Brill, but don't get cocky Caldrail... Second number... Yes! A cold sweat starts to form... Third number.... NNNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Sigh. Now I'm left with Mrs Smith standing confused in front of a TV camera searching her vacant brain for the multiple choice answer that will land her the star prize. I know how she feels. The gameshow host would confuse me. Must... reach... tv...remote... starting to enjoy... gameshow....

Now that I disagree with. He may have subdued the gauls, but it was the Roman administration as a whole that made it a loyal province afterward and that wasn't Caesars doing. Plus, the Gauls were something less than the fearless warrior of old and without leaders as capable as Vercongetorix, weren't willing to rebel. But then, eventually they did. The Gallic Empire for instance, and though I accept the Gauls had little choice in the matter, they didn't protest at the rebel leadership.

After my daily stint at the library it was time to pop down to the supermarket for a few items to keep my stomach from rumbling. The street was busy as usual - Ooh look, there's that woman sat at the cafe opposite, staring at me again. Either she's an investigator for the Department of Work and Pensions (Ridiculous but these fantasies make my day so interesting) or she's stalking me (I'm going to find boiled bunnies in my flat before long - I just know it). It might just be I got up this morning on autopilot and put my trousers on back to front. Nope. My trousers are the right way round. Nor has she followed me. She must have noticed the crowds of people wandering aimlessly around town and decided shhopping was a lost cause. Why does everyone else in the world amble around shopping malls? Why do they always change direction or stop in doorways? Do they know I'm behind them? I should have been born with headlights. Full beam lady, move over. Entering my local Supermarket I spot the newspaper rack with a headline - Is This Atlantis?. Huh? I instantly gravitate toward the rack and begin to read. The security guard is standing there watching me with folded arms. He's one of my fans too. Oh okay, I'll buy the paper. I wander down the aisle reading the story. At the bottom of the sea three and a half miles down and six hundred and twenty miles east of Africa, a rectangular grid the size of Wales is clearly visible on the computer graphics. Trouble is, the artcle appeared in the Sun newspaper. I do not believe I actually bought it. I am now officially a Sun Reader. Good grief, I've sunk to a new low. Poseidon must be planning to flood Rushey Platt as I speak. Funny thing is, the oceanographer who's getting very excited about this is saying it must be man made and resembles Milton Keynes in layout. Now we know what is really causing Global Warming. The motor car is innocent. Unusual Person of the Week Whilst in the queue at the check-out I spotted the Worlds First Inflatable Woman. I kid you not. She really did look like someone who's had a bicycle pump inserted and used to inflate her to bouncy castle proportions. I half expected her to drift helplessly out the door, but I guess thats why she was in the supermarket, selecting and purchasing ballast. Of course, it's wrong to poke fun at others. So in a sudden wave of public spirit, I check to make sure there's no sharp objects that might cause her to deflate.

And the Lord spake, saying, 'First shalt thou take the mick. Then, shalt thou count your ratifiers to three. No more. No less. 'Three shalt be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. 'Four shalt thou not count, nor either count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. 'Five is right out. 'Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then, lobbest thou thy funny stuff towards thy audience, who, being naughty in My sight, shall giggle.'

Last night the tv news news waited to show Barack Obama live as he gave a speech about his stimulus package to revive the flagging economy. The audience, which seemed to composed mostly of photographers whose trigger fingers couldn't resist taking photo's of the empty podium, needed to be entertained whilst they waited for the presidents appearance. So a recording of a brass band played over the speakers. It happened to be the theme tune to Monty Python. I had this image of the US Department of Ridiculous Ambulation arriving in suits and shades, twisting their legs in impossible sequences as the assumed they position on the stage. "And now for something completely different..." Says another as the President takes the stage. The CIA guards go into a song and dance routine... We're on guard with the C.I.A. We sleep all night. We work all day. Security Heavies : He's on guard with the C.I.A. He sleeps all night and he works all day. I shoot my gun. I wear my shades. I go to the lavatory. On Wednesdays I go shoppin' To save my great country. Mounties: He shoots his gun. He wears his shades. He goes to the lavatory. On Wednesdays he goes shopping To save our great country. I look so cool. Can't help myself. I like to taunt the press. I put on women's clothing And hang out in a dress. Security Heavies : He looks so cool. Can't help himself. He likes to taunt the press. He puts on women's clothing And hangs out in a dress?! I stand on guard. I wear high heels, Suspendies, and a bra. I wish I'd been a girlie, Just like my dear Mama Security Heavies : He stands on guard. He wears high heels, Suspendies, and a bra?! "Right" Says Obama, "Thats enough of that! I wish to register a complaint." (The owner does not respond.) Mr. Obama: 'Ello, Miss? Owner: What do you mean "miss"? Mr Obama: I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint! Owner: We're closin' for lunch. Mr. Obama: Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about this President what I purchased not half an hour ago from this very audience hall. Owner: Oh yes, the, uh, the Texas Blue...What's, uh...What's wrong with it? Mr. Obama: I'll tell you what's wrong with it, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with it! Owner: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting. Mr Obama Look, matey, I know a dead President when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now. Owner: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable guy, the Texas Blue, idn'it, ay? Beautiful plumage! Mr Obama The plumage don't enter into it. It's stone dead. Owner: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting! Mr Obama All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at the cage) 'Ello, Mister Bush! I've got a lovely fresh cow for you if you show... (owner hits the cage) Owner: There, he moved! Mr Obama No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage! Owner: I never!! Mr Obama Yes, you did! Owner: I never, never did anything... Mr Obama (yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO GEORGE!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call! (Takes President out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter. Throws it up in the air and watches it plummet to the floor.) Mr. Obama: Now that's what I call a dead President. Owner: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned! Mr Obama STUNNED?!? Owner: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Texas Blues stun easily, major. Mr Obama Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That President is definitely deceased, and when I purchased it not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that its total lack of movement was due to it bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged cattle drive. Owner: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the desert. Mr Obama PININ' for the DESERT?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home? Owner: The Texas Blue prefers keepin' on it's back! Remarkable guy, id'nit, squire? Lovely plumage! Mr Obama Look, I took the liberty of examining that President when I got it home, and I discovered the only reason that it had been sitting on its perch in the first place was that it had been NAILED there. (pause) Owner: Well, o'course it was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed that bird down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart with its beak, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee! Mr Obama "VOOM"?!? Mate, this bird wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through it! 'E's bleedin' demised! Owner: No no! 'E's pining! Mr Obama 'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This President is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-President!! (pause) Owner: Well, I'd better replace it, then. (he takes a quick peek behind the counter) Sorry squire, I've had a look 'round the back of the shop, and uh, we're right out of Presidents. Mr Obama I see. I see, I get the picture. Owner: I got a slug. (pause) Mr Obama Pray, does it talk? Owner: Nnnnot really. Mr Obama WELL IT'S HARDLY A BLOODY REPLACEMENT, IS IT?!!???!!? Owner: N-no, I guess not. (gets ashamed, looks at his feet) Mr Obama Well. (pause) Owner: (quietly) D'you.... d'you want to come back to my place? Mr Obama (looks around) Yeah, all right, sure. Book of the Week Today, as I climbed the stairs toward the upper floors of the library, I spotted a book on the quick-read shelves. Yoganetics it was called. Is it just me, or can you too imagine rows of robots contorting their metallic bodies whilst a harsh monotone voice says "Hommmmmmmmm".

There was a news report last night highlighting the numbers of teenagers displaying erotic photographs of themselves on websites at their own volition. It ain't healthy. I wish you good luck on your search for a decent bloke. I have a suspicion though that, women being women, you might get a little bored when you find him. In my exerience women like violent or caddish blokes because a - They're more confident/interesting to be with, b - because there's a safety factor in being with dominant men, and c - they tend to be wealthier. I know this to be true. When I bought my first italianate sportscar all those years ago, I suddenly got interest from the ladies. Not because they liked the car (they didn't, it was a body part extender as far as they were concerned) but because it suggested I had money. Eventually they noticed my trainers were grubbier than most peoples and wandered off with someone else.

Over the weekend we had that inevitable media circus that is Valentines Day. I have to be honest, the search for lurve was quiet this year, and as far as I'm aware there wasn't much on tv apart from the usual late-night adverts for mobile phone fantasies. Yes, there were some groups of drunken girls squealing at every suprise as they do. A group of adolescents chanting and beating their chests in a display intended to impress us with their manliness. Heard it all before lads. Sorry. For some people, it isn't a fantasy. In the news lately is a 15 year old girl who has been made pregnant by her 13 year old partner. If that wasn't bad enough, two more 13 year old boys have stepped forward and claimed they are the father. One gets the impression the girl isn't entirely virtuous (she claims there's no-one else), or that the boys are trying to compete for status. For them I suspect its all a bit of a fun thing. It will be until the bills stack up and the kid keeps on crying. There's been comment before about how teen magazines encourage their readers to dip their toe in the adult world, that such behaviour is normal, admirable, and whats wrong with you if you can't? A part of me thinks these magazines should pay toward the upkeep of their lurve child. Mission of the Week In Norway people are rushing to store 100,000 species of crop seeds from potential extinction. Is it just me, or is it the fact these species (most of which were created by us anyway) are no longer commercially grown just a small pointer to Darwins Theory of Evolution? Survival of the fittest. If Kellogs doesn't make cornflakes from it, it's going to die out. So come on Norway, stop storing these seed packets like rabid collectors and start making lots of breakfast cereals.

The disgruntlement was far less accentuated than in the late Republic (never mind imperial sensibilities). Serving as a legionary was considered as a public duty back then - but also one that rewarded the ex-warrior with civic integrity. I accept there must have been those who weren't keen on going to war (there always is) but their numbers were minimal untila fter the Marian Reforms. When that occured, it was a matter of vocational choice, a volunteer system, not a matter of conscription. The similar principle has occured in modern times as army recruitment has changed from draft in times of national emergency, to National Service, and to the modern volunteer service, with increasing anti-war sentiment. As for the voting side of things, I can't say, but I can well imagine a Roman politican thinking in that manner.

There's an area of land that I know reasonably well. It's farmland behind Coate Water, a nature reserve and an area of natural beauty. Unfortunately it's become contentious because developers have noticed how close it is to the M4 motorway and so good for business. There''s a plan to let a university build there, and of course, no developer in his right mind would build a university five miles out of town in the countryside without a housing estate next door to sell to people who can't afford mortgages now they've lost their jobs. Hey, at least one of the worst hospitals in Britain is next door, so the locals can inbreed in safety. Best of all, a planning enquiry has hardly begun before we've discovered the sale of the land (worth a stunning

Ancient armies got quite big anyway as it became necessary to overwhelm the other side. The existence of roads does not, in itself, prvide enough supply for a large army, it merely facilitates the arrival of it. In any case, the majoirty of armies weren't supplied from central locations. Instead, they were foraging locally. Example 1 - Hannibal, on invading Italy, had no supply base there nor was he receiving supply by sea. He therefore foraged in enemy territory without any regard of the existing road systemn whatsoever. This was in fact a major reason behind his strategy of movement, and part of the reason he ultimately failed to force the Romans to surrender. Example 2 - The Goths, after their crossing of the Danube, rebelled, defeated a hastily roused Roman army under Lupicinus and Maximus, and ravaged the local area, threatening Constantinople (Famously making the excuse "We do not fight walls"). Toward the climax at Adrianople, the raiding policy of Sebastian (and the slaughter of Goths by an advance column of elite legionaries at the River Maritza) had forced the Goths to forage in strength. On the day of the battle in ad378, As much as a third of their forces were absent in this manner and their discreet arrival was a major suprise for the Roman attackers. No, they didn't. They had by tradition an annual militia of two legions each headed by one of the consuls. This was a fixed size of armed men available to Rome and was considered enough in the early days when fighting with their neighbours was a small scale affair. Once the campaigning went further abroad it became necessary to keep the legions in place for the campaign rather than until winter, and thus showed the advantages of a standing army. Marius enacted the change toward permanence which provided legions during peace-time, an innovation that previously hadn't existed. They defeated thiose enemies at considerable cost in casualties and relied on wearing Hannibals forces down by attrition. The Romans were pushing poorly trained levies into the field whilst Hannibal could not replace his own losses. The Romans had every reason to believe that the traditional two-legion annual militia was not meeting their needs. Yes, they could have, but they didn't. Remember social status was extremely important to the Romans and at that stage the recruitment of the poor was not regarded as worthwhile. They couldn't afford to arm themselves and had little reason (not being landowners) to fight for Rome. The innovation of Marius, based on his own experience of hurried levies of poorer people, was to enfranchise the poor citizens by creating standing legions that equipped their men at the expense of the state, although the men did pay for their gear still, this time by stoppages in pay. Those worksghops didn't exist back then. The system of fabricae was something the late empire concerned itself with and was a major burden to the state. But by then the poor citizens had been encouraged and enabled. The Romans didn't like mercenaries - Carthaginians relied on large scale mercenary employment but the problem there is that mercenaries are notoriously fickle, and therefore expensive. The Romans were usually cautious in warfare, they certainly preffered generals who were, and the unreliability of mercenaries wouldn't suit them. Auxillaries were kept loyal by bringing them into the Roman system and rewarding them with such things as citizenship on retirement. They were therefore second class troops rather than paid fighters. There were occaisions where losses from barbarians were substantial. The Varian disaster of AD9 destroyed three legions completely. Two thirds of Valens army at Adrianople were slaughtered. I'm sure there are other examples.

It is worth emphasising. I'm not confused however, I just consider the wall, the parallel road, and the vallae as part of the same system, a controlled frontier with politically unstable territory either side.