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Right now the wildlife in my home town is on full throttle. Most of the older foxes I got to know and name have disappeared, replaced by lots of young striplings who are busy learning the art of surviving in Swindon now that mum has kicked them out of the nest. Along one street in particular, you often see rubbish in those blue polythene bags the Council supply left out for collection but in a few instances, ripped open and the contents spilled across the pavement. I suppose for the most part residents blame the very same foxes I see every night, as well as the ones you hear shrieking in the distance. But they might be wrong. In fact I know they are. I often see a badger on this one street in the early hours of the morning, waddling around at a brisk pace. Normally he sees me coming and scarpers. Once I surprised him in one of those tiny front yards you see in Edwardian brick terraces. Again, it made a quick escape. The other night I was heading the same way. There he was, snuffling at a bag of rubbish, a silhouette in the lamplight but unmistakeable. It didn't matter to me. I had other places to go, and so continued along the pavement, wondering when the badger would notice. he didn't. Tucking into someone's discarded takeaway, he was lapping up every morsel and enjoying his free meal to the max. So engrossed he was that I walked right up to him, stunned he could be so careless. There he was, right at my feet, a wild badger doing badger things. The moment had to pass because I needed to carry onward, so I tapped the ground and quietly said hello. Immediately the badger realised something was not quite right. He tensed. Then, with a careful sideways glance, he realised the danger, and immediately fled under a nearby car. I went my way, he went his. Life goes on. Oh No You Don't I live in what must be described a noisy part of town. Drunkards and partygoers often stroll past the house. In the quiet hours of the morning, they sometimes pay rather too much attention to my home than I would like. Last night I kept hearing noises that made me suspicious, as far as you can be when you're half asleep. Upon investigation I saw nothing untoward. However, later that same night, I heard the sound of a few miscreants being herded into a police van and driven off. Whatever they were getting up to, it ain't happening now. Scramble of the Week At the local park it's usual to see a swan or two on the lake. On one particular morning there were five, lazily drifting around the surface of the water aimlessly as they do. Now once in the past I witnessed an angry swan cross that lake semi-airborne, heading right for me. It was a fairly intimidating sight. But for some reason these five swans decided it was time for a squadron scramble. All of them hurtled across the lake, their wings audibly beating, stretching forward and really going for it together. Erm.... At the last minute they realised the Luftwaffe were not bombing Swindon and gave up their race across the lake, settling down into the water again with a noisy bow wave. Oh good. But that was definitely an experience.

Some say... He's stuck in an ailing BBC motoring show. Some say.... He might soon have a new master. Poor old Stig. I've watched a couple of the new Top Gear episodes and I have to say it's a bit painful to watch. It's like the old Top Gear but without the same camaraderie or intelligent comment. Me no likee. Can the show be rescued from the evil clutches of the mad radio presenting tyrant? Well, rumours suggest an F1 star is being lined up, and has already pleased fans with his approach. Poor old Stig. Being ruled by someone who can drive a car.... Black Cats Crossing My path Can't remember whether it's lucky or unlucky, but black cats have featured in superstition for a very long time. Personally I haven't noticed any correlation between the proximity of feline mammals and events within my life, but then I suppose I'm not that superstitious. The other night however was noteworthy. I was walking along a main road adjacent to a trading estate, which for those unacquainted with British life is an area of small industrial or business units. The nearest was about eighteen to twenty feet high. I saw a falling object, hitting the ground with almost no noise, a black flash. It was a cat, emaciated to a degree I've never seen before, almost like an animal composed of black pipe cleaners, which had apparently jumped off the roof in a desperate move to avoid death by starvation. How the heck did it get up there? Clearly an omen. Never live on a roof, my friend. The Gods have spoken! More Bad Dreams I have two strange dreams to report. The first was a night time foray with me at the wheel of a car, heading into a rainy old Victorian terrace street, only to encounter trees lying in the road and a car that refused to obey the laws of physics by neatly skidding into position in a side street without obeying a single control input from me. A message that I'm not in control of my life. Good grief, I didn't need a dream to tell me that. The second was more interesting. I was at the wheel of a van minibus, filled with arguing migrant workers from some obscure poverty stricken part of the world. So I drove off, and followed the road into an area that seemed to be fenced off. Quite soon I found the road blocked. Oh pooh. So I turned around, and found my starting point blocked off too. No matter. using the van as a sort of low speed battering ram I pushed through the temporary fencing, whereupon hordes of nearby policemen descended on me and demanded to know what I thought I was doing disobeying road signs and breaking through their palisades. Fill in this form? Summons? Oh pooh. Still, at least it was only a dream, one I have no wish to live out. A clear warning from the spirit world to drive with due care and attention even though I don't drive and haven't for some years. Still, warnings are warnings. Loyalty Card Of The Week One of my local fast food outlets has for some time issued me with a loyalty card. Pay more than five pounds and I get a stamp. Five stamps and I get a free meal. it's been a good deal for me, I have to say. Only the other day the proprietor refused to stamp it because... erm.... Well he's from a racial minority and when upset his English is difficult to follow. So now I can only have my loyalty card stamped if I spend more than five pounds on meals numbered one to eight. I think that's what he said. But it says if I spend more than five pounds I get a stamp. He reluctantly stamped it, quote, for the last time, unquote. I see..... So what have falling black cats, fallen trees, and obstructions on her majesty's highways got to do with problems in paying for food? This omen business is hard.

No, this is a new one on me. There was a plethora of middle eastern cults yet strangely the celtic religions really don't seem to have resonated in Roman culture despite the obvious exposure. It just seems that western religions were assimilated more often than not, given latin charcter and names, whereas eastern cults seem to survive with more integrity.

tt was inevitable really. I know Britain has a reputation for being a damp country and my home town a reputation for being rainy among the British, but eventually the winds turn northward and bring hot weather from the south. Which is why, as I go about my business in the town centre, all of a sudden there are crowds of bellies and shorts ambling around like wot you do in warm weather. It's as if a switch goes on in the British mentality that urges them to wear those holiday clothes one more time before life goes back to dreary damp ordinariness. More Foxenders Sadly, I have to confirm the death of Frodo. There he was, laying inert by the roadside as I got a lift home from a colleague. Not to worry. Young foxes are everywhere. Far more than I saw last year. I saw one grab hold of a discarded lager can and run off with a foxy grin. I dunno.... The youth of today.... Strange Dreams Last night I had one of these strange episodic dreams. I was a detective in an American style undercover cop drama, albeit one in the lunatic dreamworld. The villain was a London style gangster who was suitably paranoid and psychopathic, who was ready to eliminate any minion who did not answer the phone after three rings. The crime had something to do with piles of documents. In the light of day, wide awake, and with the dream already fading in the memory, I cannot understand at all what the idea was or how any profit was made. No matter. The crime boss wanted me to do this task, the cops wanted me to do this task undercover, and I wanted to stay alive, a task made all the harder by the female chief detective who insisted on being in charge and wore her clothes in a style that amounted to pornography, almost like an open challenge to any male stupid enough to notice. Funny thing was, having gone through the ambling drama once, I went through the dream again, albeit with some differing details. Only with the same villain and the same plot. So it was just like those television thrillers after all. Promotion of the Week My job is strictly speaking a temporary post, albeit 'ongoing' work. However, to get the position as semi-permanent I had to prove myself, working hard, being on time, show willingness to undertake the most menial and pointless tasks. Just lately one of the regulars has been off on holiday (How does he afford that?) and his replacement, of the rare female warehouse worker variety, has been made semi-permanent after one week. Okay. I can deal with that.

One does suspect that very little imperial policy was being made either by Elagabulus or his mother. Sine the young emperor was too busy being a teenage weirdo and his mum a female only tolerated in Senate circles, it does follow that either the bulk of policy was being decided by the Senate or the imperial household, probably more likely the former, and such decisions were not enough to rise to the attention of Roman writers more concerned with headline grabbing world affairs. In other words, the empire was bumbling along under momentum rather than actual guidance with increasing frustration in high circles.

I wonder how Italians feel with a map showing "United States" daubed across their peninsula? I see the Nile has flooded again....

Erm... Okay.... Do the inhabitants of Nevada, Utah, Colorado, Oklahoma, Mississippi, and Alabama know they're at the bottom of the sea? Why on Earth was this graphic made? Oh. I suppose it shows the scale of empire. Fair enough. It's just disturbing to find that my home is buried under the Canadian Rockies.

Wow... That's some serious ruts. The surviving Roman road surfaces in Britain are nothing like as indented as that.

"It's Starwars Day" proclaimed one of my colleagues at work. Huh? What's that all about? Well, it turns out that "May The Fourth Be With You" has become an annual urban festival amongst those who cannot tell fantasy from real life. My boss noted my disapproving expression and chuckled. So in order to restore the balance of the Universe and allow the Dark Side its right of public expression, I suggest "May the Sixth Be With You", which for those who have lived in backwoods cabin for the last three decades is a play on words between the date, sixth, and the alien dark side faction, the Sith (Who featured in Starwars Episode One, The Phantom menace. Okay. You can go back to sleep now. Wake Up Call Trumpy has done it. He's got the Republican US presidential nomination. A triumph for celebrity tycoonship. In Britain we're a bit more canny, preventing Alan Sugar from world domination by making him a noble. However international politics will change as a result if he wins the final vote. Expect hard bargaining and a gruelling thirteen week 'last man standing' battle as America seeks its Apprentice. Talk about the Dark Side.... Cute Moment of the Week The other day I discovered Herbie the Hedgehog has a friend. There they were, both snuffling in the grass together. Awww..... Funny thing is normally hedgehogs end up as a somewhat flat pile of squishy goo, and given that Herbie snuffles next to a main road, you have to admire his survival instincts. Or perhaps he stretches out with his feelings? Letting the Force guide him in his do or die struggles with Dark Side motorists?

AAAARGH!!!!!! The idea that railway tracks were sized to Roman patterns is simply not true. Railway gauges were a matter of experimentation in the early years of steam and the only reason a 'standard gauge' emerged was because many beginning railway companies went with whatever had been successful by people like George Stephenson, allied to an increasing oversight by authorities to ensure smooth cross-country travel.

There is no Roman influence in Japan. The Japanese are very keen on their cultural sincerity in the same manner as the Chinese, and Roman influence in the day would have been essentially zero.

A lot of people have suggested that a vehicle was sized to fit a road - actually it's far more likely the vehicle was sized for convenience regarding its chosen means of beast of burden, and the road sized to accommodate such traffic. However, ruts are a good clue if you have that info. Coaches were certainly in use by the Romans - Tacitus mentions a legionary officer in Pannonia who never went anywhere without one. I think for the purposes of fiction you can adopt similar dimensions to more modern vehicles which were effectively designed and used in more or less the same way - that still gives you a fair amount of leeway.

For me was it was film and tv. Hollywood sword & sandal blockbusters. Kirk Douglas snapping 'the symbol of Rome'. Victor Mature grimacing hopelessly as he strides out into the arena. John Hurt's psychopathic Caligula shocking a bunch of senators believing they were to be executed, only to witness an impromptu dance rehearsal. The image of a monolithic empire teetering on the brink of collapse because of some nutter on a throne was intensely attractive. I know better nowadays of course, but instead of the former image, I have now come to like the liveliness and civic spirit of Rome, even if it was a violent civilisation in the worst possible way.

That bit about a Roman eagle? That might be true of Napoleon and his vision of a French Empire, but remains an assumption that is unsupported by textual source in America, and also ignores the significance of both the geographic separation of the country and the significance of native birds, the American Bald Eagle among them. Whilst I agree that many classical ideas were reworked by the Americans politically, the cultural importance of the eagle symbol probably has an origin closer to home, since America was born from a desire to create a country free of European servitude rather than a European Empire that inherited Roman military glory.

Right now - this moment - it just started pouring with rain. Sunshine and showers the report had said and lo and behold as soon as I risk a journey to the local library, fate punishes me for my presumption with a cascade of water down the windows. So now I'm trapped in the same building as the rest of library going public. Oh ye gods, the rain it doth rain harder. It has just become a veritable deluge out there. Stand by for more updates as we go Live At The Library. Changes at the Industrial Estate Every day as I plod back and forth from work I pass through an industrial estate, and in particular, the back of one factory. Over the years a growth of silos, ducts, electrical transformers, cabling, piping, and extractor fans has spread out of the back wall like some industrial fungus. The racket it used to make was extraordinary. I swear one of the reasons I got into trouble not so long with benefit payments was because I answered my mobile in that locality and the person on the other end thought I was stood next to a jet airliner at an airport. Now it's all gone. Swept away by the cutting torch. All the myriad holes in the wall covered over with plywood and wire mesh. And in it's place the inevitable result of a blank canvas. The graffiti mice are busy decorating the wall with the usual urban hieroglyphics. More Foxy Stuff I saw three foxes hunting together a week ago. Three. If that's a mating trio, something strange is going on in Fox-Enders. Having spotted a number of foxes I don't recognise, clearly the wee beasties are doing well. Bertie the Badger still noses around peoples houses late at night, and Herbie the Hedgehog still snuffles in the grass beside a main road. Oh... Hang on.... Weather Latest The rain has stopped. yes, ladies and gentlemen, in a surprise move Nature has decided that Swindon will be spared any further downpour, or at least until I venture out of the library. And now, back to the normal program.... Yet More Foxiness I was told something interesting by a work colleague. He keeps a young cat and because he lives close to a main road, he only lets it out late at night. One night he'd gone back out to the call the cat in. It didn't answer. Naturally he began to worry. Again and again he called but no cat. Fearing the worst, he was about to give up when his precious pet wandered back through the undergrowth happy as larry, with his latest friend, a young fox, walking beside him. Awww.... Cute. Secure Shopping Now that the new shopping mall is available and just around the corner from where I live, I have begun availing myself of its products and produce. This frequent visiting has resulted in the security guards watching me closely, and to be fair, some of the comments made by the fresh meat staff haven't been exactly complimentary. The other day I'd had enough of the close scrutiny, so as the security guard passed me, I followed in a non-provocative manner watching him. He got the message. Now they watch me from thirty yards further away. And Finally The sun is out so it's bye for now. This is rainy old Swindon you know. Use that sunshine while it lasts.

We do resonate with certain sound. For me the subtlety of poetic or socially meaningful lyrics does not compute. It's the expression of instrumental music that gets me tingling, but genres like jazz of folk really don't hold any interest, however well played. For me the sound of an electric guitar in the hands of a master is something else, and as Brian May observed, the electric guitar can emulate any sound the voice makes. Once at a gig I watched the support band beside the lady who did our sound desk. The Drummer made a mistake during one song and I mentioned that to her. She looked quizzical and replied she hadn't heard anything wrong. Ahh, says I, but I know drumming, so I pick up on details like that. "Doesn't that spoil it for you?" She asked in all seriousness. No, I replied, because I also notice when someone does something that little bit special. And much later, when she had learned more about music herself, she told me she finally understood what I meant.

I know the feeling. Instead of five terrestrial channels we used to get in the hazy days of analog signals I now receive something in the region of one hundred and fifty, albeit some are locked out, others restricted like those ridiculous *or* channels, and radio. In one sense it's great because if I miss a program, you can guarantee it'll be repeated at least once during the week, sometimes even the same day, only.... Truth is I only generally watch five channels out of the plethora my television is bombarded with. Isn't Freeview wonderful?

Syrian religions, and there were all sorts of little and often weird cults, were something of a fashion in Rome. Noticeably however it was one thing for someone to take part in exotic rites, quite another to have the Roman head of state do likewise and even worse, do it openly in defiance of tradition. But then, the young lad was not doing what the elite of Rome thought he should be. By going off on a tangent, he was almost certain to meet a sticky end. Had he not been so obsessed and committed, and had he done more to please the elite diplomatically, all might have been different. There were two kinds of Caesar that didn't last long - those who tried without support, and those who didn't even bother to try.

Interesting point of view. I've thought of the Byzantines as a society held back by such baggage as etiquette and protocol. I am reminded of the issues with Turks that gave rise to the Crusades, set off by a letter of Alexius asking the west for assistance and getting a mass migration for their trouble. And what did our dynamic capable Byzantines do? Push them across the Bosphorus as soon as possible in the hope the problem would go away. This isn't an easy fit.

There is a logic to what you say, but anti-historic civilisation sentiment is not universal, and many institutions are as patriotic as anyone elses. It is part of human behaviour that valued items often have a 'proper place', and that it is deemed right to return them in spite of all other logic. It is also true that the logic of risk management means that people of another country must travel to view items of their ancient cultures, which in their place you might find frustrating or unacceptable. Further, whilst the situation might be stable now, isn't your argument going to place eggs in one basket by default? No museum is 100% safe. Similar arguments have been made regarding WW2 aircraft. Do you risk them in flight, or stuff them away safely in a museum? My own feeling is that aeroplanes were meant to fly and people should not be denied an opportunity to experience them in their proper context. Aircraft in museums are like stuffed birds. Dead. Static. Almost as if some inherent spirit has been painted out. The noise, smell, and sensations of movement might be mechanistic and in a way artificial, but there is something vital about it, something analogous to life. There are also the emotional attachments we make to older machines, especially those with historic significance. So I say where possible, fly them. Sooner or later the realities of costs and maintenance will mean that such aircraft can no longer be flown at all. A sad day that will be. But museums? It wouldn't be the first time that an aviation museum with priceless exhibits had burned down or been flattened in bad weather.

I agree. It adds to the possibilities but remains uncertain. However, if the pooh is found in context, such as coins relevant to the time and place, then the evidence grows stronger. I do find it amusing though that we're now reaching the level of sophistication in archaeology that we can trace an army's progress more than two thousand years ago by tracing where they went to the loo.

Pooh is becoming a valuable source of information on all ages, prehistoric to recent. I wonder if all those urine samples demanded by Police in regard to drink-driving will influence later researchers? What a load of drunkards we're going to look like

You would think the 2d platform game is old hat. It seems that mobile phone technology is currently going through the same development cycle that PC's did twenty years ago. Who knows? Maybe soon we can use our phone to simulate a 747 flight across the Atlantic. That'll while away the hours . I like the idea of cultural art in this game though. Whatever the limits of the format, it has atmosphere, clearly.

Some unexpected symbolism creeping into that video I notice. Otherwise it's modern Hollywood. Lots of BANG CRASH What the heck was that? BIG EXPLOSIONS WOW!!!!! The use of special effects has opened up creative visions in film making considerably. yet a lot of it is wasted on simply presenting an experience to the viewer rather than telling a story (The same issue was raised by Leonard Nimoy regarding the first Star Trek film. Lots of effects - where's the story?). But then, as filmmakers are well aware of, the American audience, their primary market, is easily impressed by fast movement and big explosions, and pretty well bored or indifferent to anything else. It's the same tendencies in fact that drove gladiatorial combat as an entertainment genre.

It could get more amazing still. There are consistent, if somewhat implausible, interpretations of central/south American myth that might suggest Viking explorers had travelled a great deal further. That would be extraordinary if found to be true. Nonetheless, reaching America cannot have been a walk in the park. A recent living history experiment had a replica Viking ship rowed by volunteers from Norway to Ireland. They suffered terribly from sea-sickness, arriving looking wet, miserable, and much the worse for having to make running repairs to their quite fragile vessel in Atlantic swell. The real Vikings must have been a hardy lot but I also believe their voyages were not as care free as history or popular image tends to suggest.