caldrail

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 No. It doesn't. Christianity is two thousand years out of date, causes nothing but misery, and is no better than it ever was at curing the worlds ills.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.

For the last week the weather has been glorious. All the hassles, disappointments, and frustrations of dealing with recruitment agents seem somehow pointless compared to getting out and enjoying the sunshine. Just the other weekend I took a walk along a cycle path in that strange unfinished part of Wichelstowe, roads and streets spread across empty farmland and the onset of green leaves. Not only was my journey shared by the usual crowd of cyclist, dog walkers, and chain gangs of rubbish collectors on community service, but all of a sudden aviation seemed to realise that flying weather was with us again. Piper Cherokees flew by with their warbling rasp. Piper Cubs ambled overhead with their soft rattle. Paragliders hung under their graceful arch of silk, wheeling gently around the sky. For a moment I remembered how it was when I used to fly. Sunshine at an airfield is pretty merciless. There's no shade out there in the open, and only a gentle breeze makes it bearable. You can always smell grass as you stride across the field toward the line of waiting aeroplanes. Most are typical club aircraft but you sometimes see one or two unusual or exotic airframes parked beside the others. That's the one I hired, over there. A Piper Tomahawk, not the most exciting aeroplane to fly but fly it does, and it was within my meagre budget. You get a strong reminder of how powerful the sun can be when you succeed in unlatching the cockpit door. You know how hot it gets inside a car left in the sun? There's more perspex on an aeroplane than a car and at first it feels like an oven in there. Bags deposited, it's time to go through the ritual of pre-flight checks. If something isn't right about your aeroplane, you want to know before you're half a mile up in the air. Haviing done this so many times I no longer refer to a checklist, walking around the aeroplane in a relaxed manner, following the steps required to convince myself this aeroplane is safe to fly. The metal wings feel smooth to the touch, ever so slightly uneven, and in an odd way primitive. All those lines of rivets evoke images of victorian engineering, sturdy engines made by sturdy engineers in stove pipe hats. Well, these are 1970's vintage airframes, built with 1930's technology. That sense of somthing not quite fully modern is pervasive, even with a panel full of modern instruments and radio equipment. So I've checked the airframe, the controls surfaces, the electric systems, the tires and brakes, the propellor, the oil and contents of the engine bay, so no more need to delay and I climb into the pilots seat. I daren't shut the door yet. Under that sun I'll fry. The seat belts are more or less the same as a car, since this is not an aerobatic aeroplane, and I don my headset. Plugged in. Throttle set. Brakes on. Ignition live. You know there's no-one out here, but for safety's sake you yell "Clear prop!" to alert the world that a piece of metal is about to start revolving very dangerously. Magneto's on and turn the key to 'Start'. Aircraft engines are like starting an old car. It takes a bit of care and patience to persuade them them to kick into life. The propellor turns over with a sort of reluctant undulating whine before the engine fires up. The propellor accelerates suddenly and the noise erupts from ahead of you. A few final adjustments, a check of temperatures and pressures, and I call the tower by radio to tell them what I'm up to. They give me some useful information like which runway to use, permission to taxi, and some air pressures so I can adjust my instrument settings. A friend of mne came along for the ride once and stared at me in amazement when he heard this interchange for the first time. "How do you understand it?" He asked. There's no great secret. All those abbreviations and numbers are something you get used to. You already know what sort of thing is going to be said. The Tomahawk wobbles about on the grass taxiway as I wind my merry way toward the runway threshold, holding open the door with one hand, operating the throttle with the other, and using the pedals to steer and brake. With the propellor slipstream the cockpit is confortably cooler. Eventually I reach the end of the runway, conduct my last few checks, close the cockpit door, and ask for permission to depart. The temperature inside the cockpit is starting to climb, the air hot and heavy, and you can't help wondering why the controller is taking so long to answer. Time to fly. I look around for other aircraft that might interfere with my plans, then let the aeroplane mount the asphalt. Line up on the centreline. Smoothly open the throttle. The noise goes from a loud growl into a cacophonic roar. The Tomahawk is accelerating smartly, the wind noise increasing, and I'm now focused entirely on the take off. With some gentle persuasion the aeroplane begins to lighten. A little unsteady at first, the ground falls away and I'm airborne. Before I know it I'm half a mile up in the air, controlling my noisy little contraption with a gentle touch. On the one hand I feel as free as a bird, yet also concious that airspace has rules and regulations. I feel liberated from worldly concerns, yet still concious that I must regularly check my engine and fuel. I feel entirely alone in the world, yet concious of the radio and its demands for replies and obedience. I share the sky with plenty of unseen colleagues doing exactly the same as me. All too soon I'm running out of fuel, money and time slot. The runway looks tiny from the air, and once again I become utterly focused, guiding my aeroplane toward the start of the asphalt strip which I must touch down on in the right attitude, the right speed, the right rate of descent. Barely above the ground a hesitant whistle alerts me I'm slowing down to the point the aircraf can't fly any more, but at the right time, thats precisely what you want. A slight bump, a squeal of rubber, and we're down. The cockpit is insufferably hot again as I taxi back to the apron. Finally I park up and shut down. The engine, starved of fuel, clatters to a halt. The world feels incredibly quiet. Freed from the assault on my senses by internal combustion the tiny whirr of the insrument gyros sounds oddly loud. Even after only an hour, I clamber out stiffly and a bit damp from sweat. What a lovely day.

Agreed. Facing a phalanx in the manner described doesn't sound like a likely scenario.

The elite tended to be close to the Roman road system, even with country estates. The roads did not get very far into that region.Why that should be isn't known to me. I gather that the moorland was already a reality by that time (the forests having been largely cut down) and the terrain in many parts of Dumnonia either wetland or bleak grassy wilderness. The wealth of the region was coastal, and transport easier by sea. Regarding religion, I don't know the extent to which irish christianity supplanted native or Roman paganism, or indeed, Roman christianity. The campaigns of Ine and Ecgbert in the later Dark Age do suggest a strong affinity with the welsh - it's the same peoples inhabiting the region according to the chroniclers, and the division between irish and Roman christianity was quite close to saxon or Romano-British domination. However, a check on the wiki page reveals a more complex situation, with various tribes of mixed origin. You might wish to consider this page... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christianity_in_Cornwall

The collapse of the western empire did not involve amnesia. Barbarian or not, the cultural identity of the Romans survived intact. Some tribes kept roman titles and offices even though their true context had long since vanished. Further, the spread of the post Roman church, especially with regard to the rivalry with irish christianity, maintained links with the Roman past.

There appears to have been some accord with the Romans. They had some minor presence in the area, as they tended to in frontier regions, but relations were amicable and I suspect based on trade and good behaviour. The archaeology I've seen tends to support this - they retained iron age lifestyles well in the sub-Roman period (Time Team dug a coastal site and found roundhouses dated long adfter the Romans had left)

Was it something I said? Apparently, yes, it was. You might want to sit comfortably at this point because I want to begin this sorry tale of miscommunication. Too late, I've started. It was a dark and stormy night when I fired up the computer to search for employment. No, I'm lying, the weather's been quite reasonable lately and it was mid morning at the local library, so the only risk was a librarian moaning about my military surplus trousers and an ugly stare from the security guard who for some strange reason gives me ugly stares. Clothes do strange things to people in Swindon. My Gap hoody has made me the mortal enemy of a youth gang, off duty servicemen mock my baseball cap, and people in the bus queue down the road complain that I never change my clothes. Oh good grief. I change my socks every six months or when they fall apart, whichever happens first. Hey, I'm a single guy. What do you expect? Anyway, I'm obliged by my Job Seekers Contract to use the government's Universal Jobmatch website. So I pulled up the site and searched for gainful employment. As it happens I found a vacancy. Woo hoo! Somebody wants a Warehouse Operative. You would expect at this time that I would read the job description and see if the job was right for me. Nope, I'm also obliged to apply for the jobs I find. So the company, location, hours, pay and conditions are actually largely irrelevant. Oh... Hang on... Where's the 'Apply' button? There isn't one. Now that's suspicious. Just a phone number to a job agency. So I pulled up the agency website and searched for the vacancy. Not found. Even suspiciouser... No alternative but to phone the number provided then. The one good thing of using an ordinary telephone is that the recipient can't see my clothes. Heaven knows what reaction that would have caused. It dawned on me after the woman answered that I'd phoned her once before concerning another Warehuse Operative job. I seem to remember that for some inexplicable reason she threw a hissy fit. I might have hung up on her. I'm thoughtful like that. Wouldn't want her trantrum to cause her any embarrasement. This time we discussed my sporadic career history and for some inexplicable reason she gave me a lecture on the ramifactions of health & safety legislation in the workplace. Can she see my clothes somehow? Eventually I managed to get a word in and she moaned that she was only trying to help. From this point it sort of got worse. I think she was trying to control the conversation and couldn't handle a jobseeker trying to get her to impart information slow enough to write down. Woah! Slower! You spell your last name how? "I don't like the way you're speaking to me" She said. Here we go again. She said that the other time too. I might have hung up on her again. Primate Alert "I know you can hear me" Someone said outside my home. The weather's been a bit humid of late so the open window was too much of a temptation for him. He simply had to make some kind of taunt, threat, insult, or a reminder that he wants me to believe he's the most dangerous dude on the block. You know how it is when you're young, trying to make a name for yourself in the 'hood. Well, youngster, you're right. I can hear you. The real problem you have however is that I'm still not listening. Migration Of The Week There's an advert on television that comes around quite often. It reminds us that Yellowstone Park is an active volcano and shows a bear relaxing in the grass with all the time in the world. "He has no idea" Says the voiceover. Apparently some of the animals do, because they've been spotted leaving the park by the nearest convenient tarmac road. No-one told the bear obviously. Right now he's probably wondering why he has a national park to himself. So while the grizzly bear is headed for extinction the local bison have evolved to the point where their brains now comprehend the purpose of tarmac roads. They haven't quite managed to invent the internal combustion yet but I guess hooves are something of an obstacle to drawing blueprints. On the other hand maybe they simply decided that grizzly bears are not good neighbours.

For some people Empires are the stuff of science fiction and fantasy. For others it's the glory days of the Roman, Greek, or Persian civilisations. There might be people who point at the Orwellian contestants in the global war of ideology that engulfed the last century. I've no doubt you can think of further examples. Recent events have shown what is an essential truth about the dynamics of Empire. Tribalism is a fundamental part of politics, an extension of our social animal behaviour, groups that have identities and loyalties of their own. Strictly speaking, an empire is the domination of other tribes by a stronger tribe. This has usually been the case in human history, although our modern world has invented the concept of a cooperative union that does away with domination, or at least in theory. The USA is an interesting case. It has a wide mix of ethnicity and origin, a varied cultural base, and yet manages to maintain itself as a coherent federal state. There is no doubt that geography plays a part in this - the Americans are blessed with a regional identity that underpins their local sentiment, but it must also be said that an important aspect is the patriotism that the Americans foster among themselves. In another case we have the European Union, a development of the Common Market that was set up after World War Two to help prevent the onset of conflict there. The sanguine expectations of a cooperative union have however been co-opted by bureaucrats and politics, leading to a situation where the Union is being converted to a federal super-state, a sort of European Empire if you will, based on the face of it with democratic ideals. In a sense the European Union has chosen to develop itself toward a competitior to the United States. The Soviet Union no longer exists of course, despite the persistent dominance of Russia among former members. For that matter, the British Empire has now largely vanished. Unlike the Americans however, Europe has a vastly heavier emotional baggage to deal with, history that extends for thousands rather than hundreds of years. Lacking the pioneer or immigrant spirit of what was a frontier, Europe has very old and very persistent local identities. This lack of European identity is a problem for our fledgling empire. For some decades now Europe has sought to downplay nationalism, to accentuate our common belonging to Europe. In doing so, it has weakened some of the ties that once held nation states together. Veneto in Itlay, Catalonia in Spain, Scotland in the United Kingdom, and Sardinia are all pressing for independence based on local identity, no longer content with being part of their parent state. Europe has already failed in an important sense of creating a common identity that it needed to foster the federal super-state. The reason is obvious. Withoit a strong central culture, an empire cannot hold together. Whether it would have been Britain, France, or Germany, the truth is that the European Union cannot build the world it wants openly for that would prove it was exactly what it says it isn't. Are empires a good thing? Many would argue that the Roman Empire was, for all its faults, and the question of whether the United States - a nation built on classical principles - is a good thing still encourages hot debates. In fact, many of the same arguments can be applied to Britain's colonial glory, with the benefit of hindsight, or indeed the Soviet Union or any other. It seems that very often we moan about the empires that rule us, and remember fondly the empire that did. Sometimes it's the empire we want that makes us conveniently forget anything else.

I was watching one of those Police 'fly on the wall' programs recently. Not sure which, there's quite a few of them. Police Patience On Patrol? Motorway Mental Cases? Worlds Wildest Policewoman? Don't know. Anyway, this particular program featured Police action from my own home town. It was a little wierd watching them chase a joyrider outside my home. Given the date and time of night, I was undoubtedly at home, playing Grand Theft Auto into the wee small hours, tutting about yet another police siren whizzing up and down the street. Such is life. Nonetheless crime does go on around us. Just last night I was woken by something, suddenly aware that the diesel generator powering the array of amber and turquoise lights in the Old College site had gone silent. A distant command "Stop!" was clearly audible. Sadly life isn't quite the same as television or film, so there was no "You'll never take me alive copper!" and whatever drama took place, it was done largely silently. You never know, I might see the drama replayed with exciting commentary on television next year. It does appear however that for someone life did get a bit more dramatic. This morning I left the library having completed my job searching for the day, and saw two police cars parked in the square. You do see policemen at the library sometimes, and once I watched a troublemaker manhandled out of the building. No-one seemed to know what trouble he had actually caused, but since he was definitely a bit irate, shouting at the policemen to let him go with references to their parentage, then by the rules of television documentaries he was guilty as charged. But today there was no action. Just those police vehicles, but I couldn't help thinking that something more sinister than a tantrum had occurred. Then I saw the constable on guard duty outside a bookies. So something had gone down. A van labelled as belonging to the forensic team turned up to show what a serious incident had taken place. Journalists milled around outside with oversized cameras and busy phone calls. People like me stood around waiting for something to happen. Of course, it already had. The Case Of The Missing Eunos Cabriolet Nope. Still no leads on the fate of my stolen car. Not even after watching a documentary about police action in my area. But at least I know the first names of several police officers and their favourite make of car. You never know, could be valuable information in my enquiry. Issue of the Week This has to be the huge concerns of subsidence in my area given the huge chunk of the hillside recently removed by building contractors. My home is, and I quote, "right on the firing line". Rather worringly I have noticed a few new cracks in the wall though not so serious as the 1885 Baptist Chapel at the other end of the alleyway, which is no longer fit for use and has a huge great steel support bolted on the side to stop it falling over. Currently disused? I'm suprised no-one round here has thought of nicking it.

Scottish independence is an emotive issue, but an odd one, since they are effectively asking to withdraw from the very same United kingdom that their own monarchs set up. Besides nationalism and antipathy toward the English (it does exist, although not a huge issue), the re-emergence of regional identity confirms what I always said about it. Encouraged by the creation of regional government by Tony Blair's Cool Britannia, and the existence of nationalist politicians wanting to secure their names in the history books, it would be very easy to forget the real-world issues regarding the move toward independence, but happily I note that the Scots appear to be quite sane about this in general, and raise concerns on all kinds of fronts. Is Alex Salmond being naive or opportunistic? Is an independent Scotland a folly or a brave new world? Truth is I don't know. Certainly Scotland will be creating a lot of problems for itself that don't currently exist, but ultimately it's up to the Scottish.

Just use 'Lord' instead of 'Mister'. I'm not entitled to anything else. Most people try to avoid using it and in particular the Job Centre has an aversion to that sort of admission that they're not actually superior to unemployed claimants in every way. In fainess many advisors simply accept politely that the title is valid even though they avoid using it. Some have been quite vocal in condemnation of me however. Briefly

After that farce on Friday I was glad to get an invite to start work. Dutifully I made my way to the Network Rail site - ironically one I'd been sacked from once before by a different employer - and arrived on the dot just as my supervisor from the agency was parking his car. The security guard was one of those smiling happy south east asian types. Friendly to everyone. I can imagine him throwing me off the site for a misdemeanour with a cheery "Have... a... nice day. Yes." The company site manager pulled me into an office for a welcome to work chat. "This is not an interview" He smiled. Never trust a manager who smiles. I have to say I didn't much like the look of him. He was one of those 'cold' management types. Never really showing any leadership, never inspiring any dedication or loyalty, just expecting everyone to work until they break then throw them away as rubbish. You can't trust people like that. Sadly I was right. I couldn't trust him. Within fifteen minutes he'd decided I was surplus to requirements (or more accurately, rubbish) and my services weren't required. He even expected me to accept that without any display of negative emotion. The man is an android, programmed for ruthless management, and I suppose luckily for me, I will not be assimilated. So I stomped off angrily for the gatehouse. Like you do. The cheery security man smiled and as I signed myself out, said "Have... a... nice day. Yes." Stupid Person Of The Week So it was back to the Job Centre and the humiliating ritual of attempting to persuade government bureaucrats that your life has turned for the worse and please can I have some money to pay my bills. As it happened the benefits were confirmed without problems (I guess the Network Rail Android is known as a serious hazard to continued employment). So it was only necessary to attend a short interview to sign a few forms before I went back to the job of finding work. The afro-caribbean lady behind the desk was humoourless. Not that unusual in Job Centres if I were honest, although things have improved no end from the dour 70's. She wasn't being rude or anything, it's just that she called me "Mister Caldrail". Gasp! So I attempted, forlornly, to prove that I was entitled to be called "Lord Caldrail". I had the evidence, I pointed out where she was going wrong, then I was interrupted. "Sorry... Did you say I was stupid?" She hissed icily. Uh oh. This was the ragged edge of a possible racism incident. Now I get it. She's a problem case given a niche job. Staring her in the face, I slowly confirmed that I did not say she was stupid. So the interview concluded in the same detached officialism she started, believing she had won a victory over racist abuse. Well. Now I'm going to say it. As much as I was being respectful and polite, lady, you are stupid.

We all know about gladiators to a greater or lesser degree. Who they were, what they did, and why they did it. However, it occurred to me that we tend to see gladiatorial combat as a phenomenon isolated from Roman history despite the strong inclusion of arena combat in Roman society. I therefore open the floor to our esteemed members and ask - What did gladiators do for Rome? What was the impact of arena combat on Roman society? Was it merely a manifestation of Roman brutaility an d religion, or did it become a feature of Roman sociology that shaped their history in any way? Citizens - Your thoughts?

quote]Rome would be a disgusting, revolting quagmire if it wasnt for the scrubbing and sterilization the middle ages gave to the romans in their idealization. Except they often used Rome as an example of decadence and sin I never said the Romans were waffling. Dramatic elements used to set a scene in a sciece fiction novel have no relevance to Roman philosophy.whatsoever. If you choose to read more into it than others, that's up to you, but Dune is a story about power, not esoteric philosophies concerning icons that get a brief mention as a scene setter. No, I study Rome here. A city state in antiquity. Sphinxii have nothing to do with it. You're waffling again. You could have fooled me.

??? I haven't really left. The problem is that the forums return error messages so I can't access them. Truth is, I've been so busy looking for work that I haven't had much time to spare.