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So basically this is about societal values? Well, human beings are no different than they've ever been. There will be those that get very up tight about loyalty and sacrifice, and those that are more selfish. Or loads of people in-between. So I guess the idea that you gun down people you don't like with machineguns, or nail them up on crucifixes, just because they have different sensibilities is nothing more than unrestrained subjectivity. As it happens, my grandfather once came home on leave during the Great War. Whilst out in civilian clothes, an irate lady approached him and stuffed a white feather into his hand. As an underage volunteer, you can imagine what he thought of the declaration of cowardince. So as you see, subjectivity and perception is rather at face value and an obvious source of contention when surely some tolerance and communication makes life a bit more peaceful. After all, mowing down those that you don't like, historically, has led to situations where a lot of people don't like you.

Those of you who know England will also know that somtimes, just sometimes, the rain goes away to ome back another day, leaving us with a few days of glorious weather. Like today, a warm balmy day, and with all my chores done it was time to seek a quiet corner of the local park and relax in quiet solitude, away from the noisy daytime activity of my home town. It isn't all that quiet if I were honest. An ocaisional gravelly rasp of a light aeroplane overhead, the distant subdued roar of a transatlantic airliner, the insistent clangs of the town hall bell, on the hour, every hour, and the incredible range of bird noises from the trees and lake. The squirrels weren't so keen to be idle. I saw a few bouncing around the earthy woodland trail. As I sat, one headed toward me, almost oblivious to my presence. It knew I was there, and stopped for a moment when I shifted my position, but otherwise I was just another human lowering the tone of the neighbourhood. It's unusual for a squirrel to be so tolerant of people. Most are quite nervous. For this squirrel, it was another day, another nut to carry away. Damp Squibs Those of you who know England will also know that sunny days soon change to weeks of dull rainy weather. A week ago it was exactly that. The worst wet weather coincided exactly with a job interview. This was an unusual interview for me, the first time I'd attended a three hour assessment session with al sorts of things going on. I even gave a fifteen minute presentation on Roman history. The assembled junior management were either bored by the lack of graphs showing a year on year increase in imperial profit, or perhaps stunned by my Roman revelations. Maybe a prior presentation had already melted their brain? Perhaps managers have no comprehension of presentations? Who knows? On the way home I came across a length of road with a lot of standing water. I had to stand back and wait as motorists ploughed past with big sprays that threatened to drench me. At last there was a gap in the traffic, and I thought I might have enough time to clear the danger area before that lorry arrived, the one just turning the corner a way back down the road. Sometimes you just know that the driver is going to do something. It isn't an inner voice, or any visual recognition of body language, just that strange spidey sense I really ought to have taken notice of. Of course I didn't. You might be experiencing a similar sensation right now, reading this. As I tramped along the wet pavement I heard the sloshing sound coming up behind me. Fearing the worst I glanced behind... Splash!... A tall wave of water caught me from head to foot. Right in the face too. Of course the lorry drove on, either oblivious to his transgression of the Highway Code, or perhaps gloating over his handiwork. Sir. I salute you. One finger only. Sunset of the Week As the sun descended behind the the cinema building now occupying my view of the landscape from my back window, the high altitude cloud was lit bright. I suddenly noticed a stunning resemblance of a map of Britain composed of whispy clouds. Where Ireland ought to have been was a broad rainbow, formed by the sunlight refracting in ice crystals tens of thousands of feet above the Earth. The conicidential map of Britain soon distorted and was lost in the gentle migration of the clouds, but for a moment, it was really stunning to see.

I have to be honest, I don't have a lot of time for military theory (nor it muust be said, many of the self appointed experts that come out with twaddle). I don't doubt that there's lessons to be learned or that there are better options for any given situation, but at the same time, if you apply a dry military equation you picked up in a book to a real world situation, it's questionable that you understand what was written, what is required, or whther your choice is applicable. Warfare is a form of collective combat and therefore the best commanders are those who are intuitive. Logical, rational solutions are okay provided they work, but so many generals have come unstuck because they applied a set paradigm instead of thinking creatively. In terms of 'offense vs defense', I'm a little perplexed why you say so many factions don't have that sort of concept. It's fundamental, in some form or other, to human psychology.

A great deal is said about offensive strategies. We regularly read about blitzkriegs of armoured divisions, outflanking and breaking through in motorised mayhem. There are debates about targeting strategies for bombers, or the effectiveness of ground attack missions that might disable or destroy an enemy's reaction. Sometimes we discuss other means of harming our opponents, by commercial or logistical struggles. It must be said, we also deeply criticise those leaders in the First World War for their wasteful troop charges, or the seemingly pointless static trench lines that barely moved for long periods. It is in the nature of human beings to focus on offense. Every day, in an instinctual way, we judge each other in terms of aggression and weakness, sometimes without realising. For some, it's a prelude to a decision about violence, or perhaps getting the drop on a business rival. But of course attacking someone in some way carries intrinsic risk, and so we seek allies, people who will co-operate to achieve the objective, whatever it may be, which is of course part of our social behaviour. Most of us would not normally invite an attack. This means that we have to consider our strategy to avoid aggression. Do we behave submissively to avoid antagonising a potential aggressor? Do we rattle our sabres, beat our chests, or shout back to intimidate our enemy and dissuade him from being aggressive? Or, as humanity has often done in the history of warfare, do we man the barricades, dig trenches, and ultimately, build the impregnable fortress? The parallels with the natural world must be blindingly obvious. As a species, do we evolve a fast escape mechanism? a fancy threat display? Bigger teeth, claws, and a nastier temper? Or grow a shell the predator cannot bite through? Defensive strategy is far less studied in military science than offense. We should expect that because defense is often a passive activity rather than one demanding action, and in a primal way, far less attractive to military thinking unless circumstance dictates its necessity. We have learned from millenia of armed conflict that taking the initiative is vital. Now let's consider a defensive campaign in 1940. The Battle of Britain. Most of us already have some appreciation of what went on in that struggle for air supremacy over southeast England, so a careful analysis and comparison of factors isn't necessary here. What is important is the lessons that those few months of bitter fighting teach us about defense. In the first place, Britain is an island. The English Channel formed a sort of moat, a barrier to German conquest, and a not inconsiderable one. That was after all why the Luftwaffe were trying to win air supremacy before an invasion of Britain could go ahead. In other defensive measures, we had detection. Air patrols, radar, and the patient alertness of the Observer Corps. All were very important to Britain's defense, but they only provided information. They could only warn us that the enemy was approaching. The next passive defense were barrage balloons, whose trailing steel cables made flying beneath them a hazardous activity, especially at night when the balloons could not easily be seen. The 'blackout', the dampening of light from urban centers, hid the target. Sometimes phoney lights were deliberately lit to mislead German pilots. Even the anti-aircraft guns, with the potential to wreck an enemy plane, were relatively ineffective. Veterans of the London Blitz recalled how gunners admitted their fire was mostly useless. It did of course help maintain morale. As always in warfare, half of it is psychology. When attacked, a population need to remain spirited whatever the trials they are put under, or the military defense will eventually lose support. Londoners sang songs lampooning the Germans, or songs that voiced the hope they had of surviving. As much as was possible, ordinary life carried on, and it was this stability in society that was so important in keeping defiance alive. None of this would win the battle. Note how the most vital factor was the counterattack, the interceptions of German bombers by hard pressed RAF fighters. Offensive action in defense is an important concept we will return to. Physical barriers have always been present in warfare. Even the warriors of ancient times often learned the benefit of the 'shield wall', or the temporary barricade. Rome made a policy during their imperial period of blocking the routes used by nomadic raiders with stout walls. The medieval nobility often resorted to stone fortifications, visual statements of their status and power, as well as formidable barriers in their own right. But castles are never perfect. Siegecraft emerged even in ancient times to deal with the difficulties of getting through those barriers. Sooner or later a way past would be found. In one siege, the defenders of a city casually remarked to the Roman leader that their siege was pointless - they had enough supplies and water to last ten years. "In that case", The Roman general replied, "We'll defeat you in the eleventh." This brings us to another aspect of defense. Playing for time, or making the best of what time you have, can be a dominating factor. If you need time to strengthen your defense, then you must in some way to delay the approach of enemy forces. Once he arrives, then your defenses will only last until he finds a way in. Notice again that the issue of counterattack arises - in siegecraft, it isn't just about the besiegers. The defenders must seek to retain or withhold the initiative. They must attack or counteract attempts by the enemy to destroy or undermine their stone walls. The First World War developed an entire genre of underground war as men tunnelled beneath No-Man's Land, fending off enemy diggings or placing explosive charges beneath their trenches. Soldiers might sally forth to raid the camps of the enemy, or wreck their siege engines. Yet all these measures can only last as long as the defenders have supplies. Ultimately, a defender must decide whether to attack or surrender at the last, for as their supplies run out, they can only choose between the two, or perhaps as the defenders of Masada did, by committing mass suicide rather than face capture by a Roman legion. Notice the difference in policy during the Cold War. Russian troops faced with ambush habitually took cover and defend their position, whereas NATO forces were trained to counterattack, a policy they regarded as superior in that a proactive attempt to regain initiative was better than letting the enemy pick you off one by one. It is the same principle of reaction once more. It is of course worth noting that there is a subtle difference between a castle and it's more elongated cousin, the defensive line. Each is an expensive form of construct that whilst intimidating and potentially difficult to break through, requires huge investment and must be manned in times of insecurity. It is an unfortunate part of human psychology we inherit from the natural world that the strongest defense often protects the weakest entity. As we grow stronger defenses, so our need to remain aggressive lessens, and we rely on stout walls more and more, becoming at worst indifferent to potential danger, believing our defenses will prevail. History tells us they won't. The great problem with elongated defensive lines is that we spread our troops manning them along a wide distance, whereas within the castle they are concentrated. On the other side of the equation, the defensive line means fewer men might be affected directly by enemy action, whilst the defenders of a fort must suffer together. The problem is, when the enemy eventually gets past the wall, the troops manning the defenses are really not where you want them to be, and in all probability, will not react positively, preferring to retain the protection of their defenses. Note that in a lesser sense, the Iraqi's in Kuwait simply sat in their foxholes. Admittedly they were overwhelmed by a highly mobile offensive and lacked proactive coordination, but at the same time, they surrendered in droves, intimdated by alllied attack and the insidious side effects of waiting to be atacked. Notice that the biological parallel with dinsaurs illustrates the point. Predators hunted animals that either ran away, herded together for protection, or grew hard shells and boney plates. It was still necessary however for some of those herbivores to gain some advantage by adding a means of counterattack. The horns of a triceratops, the heavy mace and tail of an ankylosaurus, or the formidable spikes of a stegodaursus. It is often quoted that {i]offense is the best form of defense[/i]. Military history agrees. Natural history agrees. But do you?

Discipline is "Organised Good Manners" in a modern context. The Romans might not have put it like that, preferring something along the lines of "Obedience and Sufferance". The Rape of Lucretia was the excessive behaviour of one man, Tarquin The Proud, not Roman soldiers en masse. As it happens, the event spurred the revolt against the Roman monarchy and Tarquin was out on his backside. However, as Aurelia says, people who decide to commit such acts generally aren;t too worried about laws if they believe the law can't catch them.

So Barry Scott isn't real? There is a God. Civilisation is saved. Maybe still a bit dirty in places.

Saturday night in my area is never entirely quiet. My street hapens to be a major path between Old Town on the hill and New Swindon at the bottom of it, with clusters of clubs and pubs at either end. So as you might imagine, the Swindon branch of the Inebriated Debating Society often pass by. If that wasn't bad enough, my neighbours are keen on playing music before they go out for the night on the basis it puts them in the mood. For what? Annoying people? It seems to work, because at half-past one they returned with a crowd of like-minded friends in tow, holding an emergency session of the Inebriated Shouting Society. I gather the Police stopped by to quiet them down. Then, an hour later, when their society meeting had run its course and they'd dispersed to spread mayhem around the borough of Swindon, my neighbours decided to play music, because they were in the mood. This time I had to bang on their door. Is that your music? "Erm... Yes it is..." Said the startled young lady at the door, "You want me to turn it down?" Might be a good idea at this point. Finally, in the wee small hours, long after all the fast food and indian restaurants are closed, somebodies girlfriend outside my home side "I'm hungry.... Fooooood!". Of course she could have been a wandering werewolf or perhaps a zombie searching for brains, or maybe an immigrant from the jungles of New Guinea, I don't know. What I do know is she will very likely go hungry until she gets home. Somebody point her in the right direction please... Indian Restaurant Having mentioned indian restaurants, I shoukld mention that I tried a new last night, during the somewhat quieter period when my neighbours were summoning their allies to the relentless thud of a nightclub metronome. The food was very good quality, I have to say, albeit something of an expensive extravagance for my income, but a little of what you like does you good (until today, when the race for the toilet becomes an excruciating exercise for your lower cheek muscles). However, whilst I waited for the meal to be cooked and handed over, I became aware that all the customers were Asians. Every last one of them. I don't begrudge them residency in Britain or the availability of dining out, it's just a very strange feeling to be the only Briton in a restaurant in Britain. Question Of The Week Who is Barry Scott anyway? I ask this because we often see him on television advertising a certain cleaning product, looking glassy eyed after experiencing some purple painted form of high speed transport. I susect those of you spared British television won't even have heard of him. But it occurred to me he's perfect for the US firearms industry. "Wow, that was a fast reload.. When you need home defence... Bang, and the dirt is gone."

A good list but mot entirely accurate... The Goths had been previously defeated by Valens and he was willing to let them settle in Roman territory, especially since they had agreed to become Arians. Although the Huns had set off the process and the threat of their migrations had caused tribal movement, the Goths were involved in an internal power struggle among themselves and Fritigern was only one of the contestants. In fact, a further group of refugees crossed the Danube without permission. Although the Goths intended to settle peacefully as agreed, the local Roman authorities allowed them to be ruthlessly exploited and enslaved., preferring to sell them away rather than pay to support their settlement. Eventually in desperation the Goths rebelled, spurred on by a blatant assassination attemnpt on their leaders (Fritigerm fought his way out of trouble by himself having realised his friends were being murdered). Once at large, the Goths initially won victories against local forces, which demanded that Valens take action. The ambuscades made by Sebatianus and his corps of trained raiders had in fact forced the Goths onto their back feet. Valens was willing to negotiate, but as it turned out the Battle of Adrianople started without official orders while hostages were being arranged.

Or the Minoans, whose empire collapsed because of the tsunami damage the explosion of Thera (modern Santorini) had caused. The Huns were supposed to have been forced to migrate and raid westward because their homeland was becoming too arid for them, leading to all sorts of problems.

But 'niddle class' is a term covering a modern social segment. The Romans were divided into two, Humiliores or Honestiores, which corresponds to whether they were effectively elite or not. The lower class of Roman society was subdivided according to wealth, as previously mentioned, with the only difference between landowners and tenant workers being the ownership of land (obviously). A wealthy tenant might conceivably have more wealth than a landed farmer, although the rights and obligations thereof were different because of the land issue. *honestiores / humiliores - during the Empire, the populace was divided broadly into two classes. The honestiores were persons of status and property, the humiliores persons of low social status. Only the latter were subject to certain kinds of punishment (crucifixion, torture, and corporal punishment). (From The Latin Library)

I think the Romans had a somewhat pragmatic view of war. It was a desirable activity in a martial society, and the Romans were in their early days a very agressive culture. Of course it was clear that if you play with swords, sooner of later someone is going to lose blood, limbs, or life. Unlike today, where we have a media that portays mixed messages about war and thus everyone finds something about war that suits their sensibilities irrespective of how the reality is, the Romans had only one reality of war or the heroic tales of legend and veterans. Incidentially, to call the early Roman armies a middle class affair is a bit distorting. It was certainly a matter for the land owning classes, but 'middle class' wasn't really a feature of Roman society back then. rather, society was graded according to wealth with five civil categories defined by their ability to arm themselves to a certain level. Only the highest grade, the category that became equites or horsemen, would evolve into a sort of middle class.

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.