caldrail

I think there's a general consensus that he wasn't especially likeable. Not a swell guy then.

Claudius was not really much different from the otjers, aside from the fact he was more adept at management, less egotistical, and Caesar only because the Praetorians said so. He was quite a cruel personalty. As he had been bullied and rejected throughout his life for his imperfections (even his mother described him as a man that nature had not finished properly), so he was fascinated by the suffering of others, watching torute sessions and intrigued by those moments of transition to death, not to mention being keen on watching gladiatorial combat.

Tiberius was quick to take offence so we're told, as in the epsidoe where a fisherman presented him with a large fish he'd caught. Tiberius ordered the man's face rubbed with the fish, which caused abrasions and no shortage of discomfort. The fisherman understandably wailed in agony and then made the mistake of thanking fate for not presenting the crab he'd also caught. Yep. Tiberius gave the order... He seemed to enjoy inflicting discomfort for its own sake, displaying a nasty chip on his shoulder that even Romans, well accustomed to violence and cruelty, thought remarkable.

What's happened at the Job Centre? Usually I stride through the door and waft past the security guards holding up my identitu documents in that sort of "Get out of my way minion" sort of manner. Not any more. Now the guards stop me and ask where I'm going. What? Again? Fine. Well, I'm walking over there toward the door the other side of the lift, into the hallway where I use the door on the right to enter the staiwell, where I climb the steps all the way to the second floor, where I turn right and go through the door at the end, follow the passage and go through the last door on the right, where I turn right and sit patiently until my claims advisor thanks me for turining up and doing some jobsearch, whereupon I retrace my steps until I exit the building. "Thank you Sir. That's all I need to know". Oh good. Homo Swindonus Question - How do you recognise a bloke from Swindon? Answer - He's the one who thinks he's a man because he thinks you're not. Yep. That's how stupid Swindon Man is. They're also paranoid about objects being inserted into their backsides, which of course never happens, but they don't know that because it hasn't actually happened to anyone yet so they think it's possible, even though it's very illegal and subject to certain physical risks like outraged Swindon blokes. I mean, what sort of hard as nail tough as old boots junkyard dog is worried about the sanctity of his arse? For example, there's a guy I often see at the library. Nothing unusual, just another typical Swindon bloke, except perhaps this one talks to himself a lot, which is why I notice his presence among the throng of dull eyed Facebook addicts and thus why he thinks I'm gay. Unfortunately he forgot that talking to himself is audible to those around and so I could plainly hear his opinions concerning my sexuality and manliness. As if he knew what he was talking about. He's a Swindon bloke. All mouth and no brain cell. Funny how the loudest butchest blokes always seem to deserve having something rammed up... No. Let's not go there. He Who Shouts Loudest Knows Least. Shouting Loudly Talking about shouting, I've received a phone call from the Department of Work and Pensions asking for more information concerning my leter, a demand for Mandatory Reconsideration concerning the bill they sent me for overpaid benefits. Actually it was me me who shouted, not him. I was a little irate you see. However, please note that I did not accuse him of being gay despite the loss of his testicles. Men At War The move toward 'realistic' war films has certainly made some interesting strides in recent years. Veterans tell us that if we want to know what the landings at Omaha Beach were like in 1944, we need do no more than watch Saving Private Ryan. Due credit to the film makers then. In the same vein I happened to catch Steel Tempest. It tells the story of the Ardennes Offensive from a German perspective, with a constant theme of propaganda versus reality. I liked the way period war footage was woven in. I also approved of the slavish attention to period detail, the use of equipment that really did look like Wehrmacht vehicles and weaponry. It had a sort of Band of Brothers feel, with some of the same actors, albeit with somewhat less convincing acting. It was disappointing to see the lacklustre movement of troops, who even to me failed to convince as veteran SS troops fighting with meagre resources against the allies. Ideally you need to sympathise with the war weary SS officer, the tragic letters from home, and the occaisional moments of comradeship from soldiers. Ideally you should feel disgusted at the nasty and predatory behaviour of soldiers at war, or the deceit of senior command to enable the Fuhrers plans to succeed. Ideally you ought to sense the frustration of men ordered to blitzkrieg the enemy with barely enough to shoot back and no support from anyone. The problem is, you don't.

Oh great. Dan Snow's contribution to history is to claim the Irish recreated England. Actually, Dan Snow is, in my view, being provocative for the sake of it. The Irish cultural and religious influence dominated for a while but was offset by saxon and Roman power. The kings of Wessex did not give up their thrones and become pious beggars in Dublin - they went to Rome. irish christianity and its somewhat harsh expectations was unable to counter Roman christianity and its comeback, particularly since it was tied to Anglo-Saxon success in domination of the British Isles. My advice? Enjoy Dan Snow's television programs but never forget he's a telelvision presenter who does history, not a historian who does television. So keep a bag of salt nearby.

Countered by discipline, cultural expectation, legal restriction and penalties, and moral leadership.

Rumours were rife and normal everyday currency in Roman society. Very often however a witness, named or not, might observe something and not understand what was going on. Suetonius records many of these anecdotes of weird and wonderful behaviour from the various Caesars, many of which were not evidence of madness nor really ought to be taken at face value, as they were recorded from stroies haded about thrid hand from people who saw things and came to their own misinterpretations of what was happening. So these stories aren't necessariuly untrue as such, but distorted and given a significance they didn't deserve.

British soldiers over the course of the Napoleonic Wars transformed from the laughing stock of society to worthy heroes against a french Corporal who ought to have learbned his place. Rape never came into it. People either do that or don't. Being soldiers at the same tiime merely presents opportunity or excuses.

Plenty of potential witnesses. Slaves and nymphs for a start, not to mention wide eyed visitors to dinner parties. Since Tiberius was reputedly fond of focing men to drink excessively then tying their urinary tract shut to cause excruciating discomfort when the fluid wanted to exit the system, we can only assume that there were victims of that practice present also, as well as guards to hold the victims down.

The good news for all you people out there earning a living is that finally you're getting your own way. I'm shortly to be placed on a 'More Intensive Regime' concerning my endless quest for gainful employment. Basically that means I have to turn up every day at the Job Centre and explain why I'm not out there looking for work, which of course I would be if I wasn't too busy explaining my presence to my claims advisor. The thing is, I'm also supposed to be attending a Support Centre every day. Unfortunately they've changed premises and forgot to tell anyone who knew who to set up their internet access. For the last two weeks I've been turning up to an empty office full of inactive computers. The Support Centre staff have even resorted to telling claimants not to bother coming in. Yesterday I did, and asked if I could use a computer "What for?" The Office guy asked, looking perplexed that anyone was trying to use the Support Centre for the purpose intended. Oh you know.. Switch it on.. Do stuff... Please bear in mind that all you hard working people out there are paying for this. This morning they locked the door and didn't let anyone in. Don't worry - I'll explain it to my claims advisor. Blonde Moment By chance I happened to catch a televised session by Blondie at the Maida Vale recording studio. They say you should never revisit your past. Time, it must be said, hasn't been entirely kind to Deborah Harry. I don't want to be cruel, these days she looks like a pub landlady. And sings like one too. Sorry Debs, I love the stuff you did back in the day, but I don't think I'll be rushing out to buy a ticket any time soon. Mind you, looking in the mirror, Jeez, what happened to me? Foxhunt Of The Week It's been a while since I spotted the local wildlife nosing around outside at night. The Old College site had been quite a game reserve but a network of steel girders in battleship grey and rust has gradually filled in the big empty space gouged into the side of the hill. Other girders lay in neat rows waiting to be bolted into place among the cranes and telescopic forklifts parked up until the start of the next mornings shift. Not much room left for urban foxes to mooch around then. Just when I thought they'd all been gassed or something, the other night I spotted a young fox nosing around the parapet overlooking the site. There's a steep drop on one side of thirty feet or so which clearly didn't bother the fox. He was only there a few minutes before he vanished, quite wisely, as a late night dog-walker meandered over to where the fox had been, beer can in hand. Foxes are animals naturally selected to survive chases from packs of hounds and horsemen. Somehow I doubt the fox was in any danger. Eventually I heard the beer can being crushed and responsibly deposited at random, and the sozzled dog-walker ambled back across the car park, where he no doubt spent most of the night trying to remember which house he got the dog from.

Those sorts of attitudes tend to be cyclical. It either eventually results in civil disorder and a much harder line government (or in worse cases, a new government altogether), or is pacified by the emergence of a charismatic or messianic individual. If you're right (and I'm not convinced the situation is currently any worse than it was back in the 70's with three day working weeks, interminable strikes, and a very poor level of national morale), then a time has come for something to change. That doesn't mean Westminister isirrelevant or obselete - remember that tradition is hugely important to people whether they realise it or not, and that radical changes in government often result in worse conditions as those taking the lead are more concerned with their own success than that of their people - as we saw in UKraine recently.

London is the capital of the United Kingdom, so London-centric would appear to be the point. Whether that allows enough representation in our British provinces is another. It is an irony that Scotland now wants independence from the United Kingdom it was instrumental in setting up, but then, there are scottish islands talking about independence from Scotland should they succeeed in seccession. What this illustrates is a common problem with aggragted nations like the United Kingdom - once the overall rule weakens, regional identities emerge. The same problem occurred in the Balkans, the same problem is happening in Veneto and Sardinia, and with Russian assistance, the Ukraine, along with other problem areas around the globe. The problem is achieving a balance agreeable to all parties. When the Labour Government set up regional assemblies in Britain, it gave our regions not only a measure of independnece, but also the confidence to demand more. It boils down to one thing which we can see repeated throughout human history not least in that of the Roman Empire - if the central power does not command loyalty and respect, the provinces revert to local concerns. The United Kingdom has inadvertantly reached a point where the failings of the London-centric government and the relaxation of regional control have encouraged those voices that want to found independent states based ostensibly around local identities that would support it, but with the immediate aim of political success and a place in the history books. Is this indpenednece movement really for Scotland and its people, or simply a means by which individuals achieve success in their lifetimes? The difference is sometimes very narrow.

I wonder - do these lost cities include those that failed such as Venta Icenum, a town that is only known via archaeology and not linked to a surviving settlement?

There's an election in the wind. My first clue was that piece of card posted through the dor telling me I can vote. The second clue was a couple of coaches parked near the library with signs telling me that our local minister of parliament was in town talking to citizens, promising them the Earth, and asking for their vote to make it possible. Makes a change from the Jesus brigade I suppose, even if the preaching isn't much different. I don't know about you, but I find the Promised Land is something I've heard about all too often. We never seem to get there do we? Maybe that's because if we did we wouldn't need ministers of parliament any more and they'd be out of a job. So get those votes in now and join in the nail biting television coverage of the vote counting to see who will lead us into the next round of Prime Ministers Questions and all those arguments about whose policies are whose. As to who this MP was I have no idea. Apparently he's already representing Swindon North. Guess that explains everytthing. Thing is though there was a gentleman talking to a couple of burly security people who bore an extraordinary resemblance to Ed Millband, the Labour Party fuhrer. Couldn't have been of course. Ed Milliband is a charismatic leader of men, a giant of politics, a fearless reformer and visionary, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound and crush men's skulls with his little toe. Ed Millipede then. To be honest I couldn't care less who he was or why he was there. I did notice however he took great delight in poking fun at my expense in public. Twice. Well, it's only fair then that I poke fun back. In front of the entire Inter-World-Wide-Web-Net in glorious broadband. Oh how social media haunts us all.... Nice cardie Mr Millipede. Looks like genuine unwashed Hebridean yak wool. Birthday present maybe? Or is that the uniform a party leader wears in covert missions into enemy held rural towns? I only mention the cardie because it genuinely happens to be the most impressive thing about you. Not very tall are you? The second item on my lambasting itinerary is confirmation that my anatomy is indeed fully functional. Laugh all you want, but I got a friendly smile from a rather attracive female receptionist that day and I'll be seeing her again shortly. You had to make do with two burly policemen. Takes all sorts I guess... Online Dating Of The Week Some people think I'm childish. Playing trains, at my age? The men wonder why I'm not out there every night shagging women. Women complain I'm not breeding enough babies for them to go gooey over. Admittedly I do behave a little bit less than calm and businesslike sometimes, but then, why would I want to be a stereotypical cardboard cut-out living in miserable mediocrity? Ye gods what a dull world you people live in. No wonder you all want to get blind steaming drunk. Let me tell you something World. As James May showed scientifically on television (he does things properly you see) model trains are without doubt the one thing that adults will forget football for, although he did neglect to factor in the influence of copious amunts of lager. As for shagging women, I really don't mind putting aside the model trains for the odd bonk or two. As it happens, I discovered the other night that there's a rule of thumb for finding the perfect age of your prospective partner. Apparentl;y the ideal woman's age is half the man's plus seven. That means I really can still shag a woman of child bearing age safe in the knowledge she's perfect for me and that my anatomy is still expected to function as expected. It comes fully tested after al, as Mr Millpede kindly confirmed for us all. So ladies, if you're 33 years old, single, want to breed little Caldrails, and have a benign attitude toward model trains, Roman history, supercars, and military surplus trousers, why not get in touch? I only bite if asked to.

Pisces - you seem to get very obsessed with linking behavioural and racial or religious stereotypes. The world is not as simple as you'd like it to be. The world is far more prone to fashion and subjectivity than you'd like it to be. The world is, frankly, just as hypocritical as it always was. However, in the light of muslim terrorist activity starting to praise them for their performance wopuld seem a very strange attitude. Wow guys, great bombing... You see? Regarding the japanese, whom you mention on a regular basis, the only reason it hasn't been forgotten is because the Japanese won't admit to it. That's the problem isn't it? Some issues get settled or and put away in the box, others are glaring reasons for retaliation, according to the needs of the moment. As much as it might seem an injustice to you (or anyone who suffered an injustice in the past), the world moves on. The Mujahideen did receive praise (and american assistance) because it was the Cold War era and Russia invaded Afghanistan for pretty much the same reasons they did previously. Now the same people are the Taliban and Al Qaeda who wage war on America, and like all terrorist organisations, have migrated from simple revolutionary or resistance movements into organised criminal gangs to pay for their activity, in this case by selling raw material for drugs (which the poverty stricken people of Afghanistan do anyway because its the only source of income they have and thus is socially acceptable to them). Thus the balance has shifted. Also, since the war has seen some dramatic American losses, conducted against their civilians on home turf by hijacking airliners full of passengers and callously crashing them into conveniebnt targets, the Americans feel aggrieved - for which you could hardly blame them - and thus care somewhat less than they perhaps ought to when a drone hits a private house in a far away country instead of the terrorist target it was supposed to be aimed at, givemn how difficult it is to target terrorists who hide among their own people as a matter of policy. You can argue the rights and wrongs until you're blue in the face - your outrage isn;t going to change anything.

David Cameron has said Britain needs to be more evangelical. No. It doesn't. Christianity is two thousand years out of date, causes nothing but misery, and is no better than it ever was at curing the worlds ills. No suprise then that our revered leader is patronising Britains official religion, which is getting a bit ridiculous given that even the Archbishop of Canterbury has admitted that Britain is no longer a Christian country. This is course now that the Pope has made saints of two of his predecessors. A click of the fingers and two dead men become immortal spirits we must worship as examples of what humanity aspires to be. How ridiculoius is that? Truth is that becoming a saint is really a second class title. The Romans used to make people gods when they thought it was worthwhile making a fuss in public, but they can't do that now because God made a ruling that only He was to be worshipped. Someone forgot to tell the Pope obviously. As for being more evangelical, I get enough reminders about Jesus in the street. Not impressed. After all the more evangelical people get the more reasons they find to empty your wallet. If evangelism needs to be a success, then maybe a few more moneychangers tables in the temple need to be turned over. You listening Cameron? No, I thought not. Bumps In The Night Talkimg about listening, my neighbours are still confused as to why my stereo occaisionally makes itself heard. Not because I want to impose my musical tastes on anyone else - I normally listen via headphones - but I seriously don't want to listen to anyone elses either. The girl downstairs for instance. She sings along to her partners guitar a quarter tone flat with no natural verve. Sorry, but either it's my stereo or I'm facing a large dentisits bill. At least I've managed to persuade them that music late at night is out of order. So late at night when the time comes to submit to my incresing lethargy and get some sleep, at least I can be assured that thuds and rumbles won't be preventing me from getting that healthy eight hours rest. Ahhhh.... Yes.... Busy day tomorrow, a nice warm bed, and.... Huh.... Huh.... Huh... Huh.... Huh.... Huh.... Huh.... Huh.... Ah yes. The evocative sound of the Lesser Spotteed Neighbour in their nightly mating ritual. I don't want to be cruel, but maybe she needs more than singing lessons? If you're going to make those noises at night, at least make some effort with your love life. Please. This is worse than counting sheep. Moan Of The Week Some people reading my blog are going to moan that all I do is moan. Well, that's how we are isn't it? I passed a lady the othe day, moaning about the world and its frustrations into her mobile phone. "I've had no lunch break, I've had no fag break..." She complained, outside a commercial premises, leaning against the door frame with a lit cigarette in her hand.

That depends on national character. In Britain such a person is suspected of being a bit odd or a bit of fantasist. In any case the servicemen tend to regard such people as targets for 'lessons', amounting to vandalism or social exclusion in most cases. So what's new? We have the Romans writing satires on that behaviour. Or any other nationality. The Japanese may not have done anything to discourage it in WW2 (their culture is somewhat chauvanistic despite some clear equalities the west did not have - actually they've become more chauvanistic than they were in medieval times even though their culture is highly traditional) - but the japanes were nopt unique. Russian soldiers entering German settlemnts in the late war, particularly in Berlin, were using German women as they found them (a German man protected two women in his building by showing the Russians some dead bodies whilst two ladies hid elsewhere). On a lower scale, there is always a certain amount of rape in warfare commensurate with the discipline and expectations of the soldiers. More recent examples that have reached the news recently concerned the crisis in the Balkans - the women so attacked are now seeking justice. The issue has nothing to do with being sheltered - it's being in the wrong place at the wrong time in proximity to the wrong people.

Pride in military performance is not unusual, and so I suppose neither is scorn for 'softies' in civilian life. I must admit I have come across this attitude from the louder and self important serving members of the armed forces. Sometimes it's understandable as the men have gone through difficult times and coped. In some cases it's bluster and arrogance, or if you like, an excuse to bully others. It must be said that accounts of warfare in living memory do underline the maturing aspect of service - young men rapidly lose their innocence in the face of wartime conditions - yet I also note that many servicemen are quiet and polite in public unlike their more drunken or outspoken colleagues. Warfare has a tendency to accentuate what already exists in peoples characters. It brings out the best and worst of people.

I happened to see a map the other day showing the distribution of villa sites in Roman Britain. A bit outdated, it was originaly drawn in 1976, but the spread was revealing nonetheless. Southern England was plastered with them in nucleated groups, aside from much of Kent for some reason. A thinner spread followed the course of the M1. A few were scattered about south Wales or the Borders, but Dumnonia>? Just one, right down the end of the peninsula. Quite a holiday retreat then...

In the good old days I used to turn up at workplaces for interviews safe in the knowledge that I would be greeted by a receptionist who would tell me to sign a book and sit over there until called for interview. More and more that doesn't happen. Instead I arrive at the employers premises to find a foyer devoid of human presence, barely decorated, looking uninviting and unfriendly. A computerised touchscreen blinks a message that I should register my presence. You would think that a computerised system would be a breeze. Nope. It was a visual version of the same old nightmare we get from telephone reception systems. Welcome to Acme Inc. Press 1 if you're an employee, press 2 if you're a contractee, press 3 if you're a visitor. From that point it got harder. The screen was impossible to use accurately, refused to let you correct a mistake, and eventually printed out a temporary security pass with a name that made me sound like an immigrant from Albania. Eventually somebody happened to wander through the foyer and asked who I was, clearly oblivious that I was already registered on their electronic visitor book for a job interview. Keeping The Road Clean As you might imagine, the constant coming and going of heavy goods vehicls from the Old College site does tend to eave a lot of mud on the roads nearby. Understandably the civil engineers have hired a road cleaning vehicle. I often see it parked nearby, waiting for instructions to wash the roads, a bored driver watching the world go by. The other day I spotted the cleaning truck parked in a taxi bay beside a modern office block. Despite the busy traffic, it's a somewhat quiet corner. So quiet that the driver thought no-one would notice him taking a quick wee into the waste pipes of his truck, oblivious to the fact he must have been visible by plenty of office workers. Keeping The Walls Decorated Every so often we get yet more graffiti in our area. Mostly it's a 'tag', the human equivalent of a dog weeing on the lampost, and done by schoolkids with nothing to do between leaving school and their parents arriving home from work to cook their meal. A few nights ago I was looking out the back of my home at night. The view has changed a lot lately now the Old College site is starting to resemble a shopping complex. In the early hours of the morning the various amber and turquoise lights cat an odd radiance on the nearby yard. Without them, I would not have seen the graffiti artist. He was silhouetted by the light, the alleyway itself closed off due to construction work and in the pitch dark behind a concrete parapet overlooking a thirty or forty foot drop recently hewn from the hillside. The alleyway itself is also pockmarked by surface subsidence and not a safe place to be. At first all I saw was movement. It wasn't clear what he was up to. A strange place to be given the circumstance so I kept an eye on him. Very soon I realised he was at work painting the side of a cement block garage in tall lettering, clearly oblivious that he was not only visible to me, but also visible from the main road. Jobsearching Initiative Of The Week The gossip was doing the rounds at the Support Centre. The law has been changed. From tomorrow morning unemployed people can be told to do a job to earn their benefits. Actually that's been happening for years. Whilst the politicans are merely ensuring their votes by acting on the concerns of hard working citizens, they'e oblivious to the fact that the workshy have also had years to perfect their excuses for not working.

There were instances in emergencies when slaves were manumitted, armed, and formed as a sort of auxillary unit. It was something the Romans regarded as undesirable but it still happened in rare instances. There's a mention of the practice during the Punic Wars. Augustus raised some units in that way. One unit of gladiators raised to defend Rome in the civil wars of 69ad was abandoned and possibly betrayed by officers outraged that they had been given slaves to command.

She's a Hollywood actress, Viggen, just nod and say "wow". Of curse it might refer to the demands of success as a Hollywood actress, such as pushed many a celebrity to an early death, or simply something that sounded deep and meaningful at the tattoo shop.

You will also need to consider recruitment of slaves as soldiers. It was very rare for this to happen, but happen it did. They would be a class of low capability soldier set apart from regular legionaries. Not something you could do ordinarily, but if conditions are right... Also, around this period came the first instances of Roman troops being given extra sword training from gladiators, which might be a means of improving your troops, which of course would cost you.

Typical barbarians.... tch tch tch....

I cringe with expectation. Reminds me of a film I saw some time ago, about a japanese samurai in rennaisance spain (the villain was played by David Essex, who basically had no idea what Spain, villainy, or acting was about). Not the film industry's highest moment. Can you imagine a Jackie Chan film set in Roman times? Defeating a gladiator by swinging underneath a lion? Can't wait.