caldrail

There are some mentions I believe though most of our detail on this point comes from archaeology. We know for instance that at least one cohort of african negros were posted there - I think it was in the 2nd or 3rd century AD.

It sounds rather like a passage written in tudor Britain, though the author wasn't credited in the piece I read.

If Hendrix had survived another 10 years? According to a mate of mine who is something of a dedicated worshipper, Hendrix was increasingly showing interest in fusion style music rather than rock/blues. My own feeling is that while his reputation in the Hendrix Experience is pretty well unassailable, his later stuff would have been much more biased toward what happened in the mid eighties anyway - albums full of instrumental electric guitar symphonies (of which I bought a few myself by players such as Dave Chastain, Tony McAlpine, and so on - I was a confirmed metalhead in those days)

"This next one is going to be brutal" Said the DJ on the radio last night. He did sound like he needed trauma therapy for Post Thrash Metal Syndrome. "So you might want a bag. Don't put it on your head though, that's dangerous". Consumer advice at this time of night? Okay mate, no bag on head. Got it. Then the next track started, or at least I think it was music, it was sort of hard to tell. I seem to remember Young L at the museum trying to impress me with a downloaded mp3 from the band Carnifex once before. It's okay though, I didn't suffer any long term effects. The music was pretty indescribable. Everyone in the band seemed to be playing stuff at random, played so quickly it all sort of merged into a staccato drilling noise. As for the vocals, I'm not sure there was any. Anyway the sum total was that I've witnessed the noise made by a tortured dinosaur attacked by a psychopathic dentist. I might have to apologise to Simon Cowell. Big Noise That was enough. Maybe I remember when music had a tune buried in it somewhere? By sheer coincidence I turned to television and a Russsia Today documentary about how sound has been used in a miltary context, for morale, psychological warfare, and torture. I think they showed this particular documentary before as I remember the interview with an american rock band about the use of their music by troops in the war zone. At first glance it all seems odd and suprising, but then, isn't making a big noise a tactic used by wild animals to achieve their ends? And so warfare comes full circle, except by now we're a little better at being noisy than we used to be. Little Noise This morning sees a welcome return to the library of Mr Fidget, who is currently the noisiest person here. Coughs, splutters, heavy breathing and mumbling, all performed in perfect synchroonicity with graceful scrathing, rubbing, weight shifting, and clothing adjustment. This mornings performance was assisted by a gentleman giving us a solo on the mobile phone, plus a chorus of the Swindon Cough Society. Anyone would think I'm in a grousy mood this morning. Gripe Of The Week Recently I discovered that a recruitment agency was not using the CV's I sent them, preferring one that was years out of date. Having brought that to their attention I now discover they're still doing exactly that. Needless to say I'm outraged. No, seriously, I am. It's poor customer service, misrepresentation, and breaches data protection legislation. Needless to say I sent a stiff email in response. That'll sort 'em out. Cold emails... They don't like it up 'em....

Sexist is a modern phrase that distorts the concept, but I agree they were very chauvanistic and responsible (or at least some of them were) for the purge of female clerics in christian times.

Our local newsletter revealed that the old college site is to be demolished. Sounds familiar. Could I sworn I heard that soewhere before. It seems the impending destruction of Swindon's favourite ruin is too good a news story to forget. You would think that everyone would be talking about it. At the library yesterday morning all I heard was a request for maps and the constant moaning from someone who couldn't cope with the intricacies of the computer booking system. I know where you're coming from fella. It's got a quaint randomise function secretly built in for those who get too complacent. Think you booked a screen at eleven thirty? So does that other guy. What fun those librarians must have with innocent customers.. Gold Rush Mind you the imminent obliteration of the old college site has had an interesting side effect. Workmen have been putting in new paving to assist disabled people from suing the local council for injuries sustained. The street has been there for a hundred and twenty years so I'm glad they finally got it finished in time to impress the construction workers due to work on the site next door. Not only that but the abandoned financial services store across the road is getting a facelift. Good grief. If this carries on we'll be coming out of the recession. Sadly my local supermarket has cottoned on that foreigners will soon be arriving in the area and so the traditional rise in prices is taking place. Forty pence more for a six pack of crisps? That's a third more than they cost last week. Lucky for me there are other supermarkets in the area. Cheap crisps and more exercise. News Of The Week What's this? Two boxers getting into a fight? Scandalous...

There is a fundamental difference between pagan and christian worship in the context of late imperial Rome. Pagans worship is individualistic, a client/patron relationship where the worshipper enters the temple, or a deities atrium to all inents and purposes. Since the Romans saw power as evidence of divine status, it therefore follows that extremely powerful individuals like the caesars should be given demigod status (and many of them played up to this idea - they had done ever since Julius Caesar proclaimed he was descended from divine ancestory, so clearly this was also a means of impressing their subjects as much as a social aspect) Notice that to the pagan, it was entirely plausible that a man could become a god if sufficiently deserving, and also notice it was possible for the senate to elevate a man to that status by decree. In their minds the distinction between mundane and supernatural worlds was a little blurry. Christian worship in this period wasn't quite the austere regime of later eras. Women in late imperial times were able to become priests (although this distinction was soon to be removed and images of female clerics vandalised as women were ousted, sometimes painfully). I've said this many times but the movement was factional, not united, and even after the Council of Nicaea there were still heretical or non-conformal groups. Bishops were notorious for getting wealthy on the backs of their congregations and as soon as they realised their social control and ownership of land was about to bring them real influence politicially, "the roads were filled with galloping bishops" as Marcellinus tells us. We therefore have a situation where a Roman citizen chose between religious mindsets. On the one hand, he might ask and appeal to his chosen god for clemency or favours in the face of the ravages of life, or indeed, the fear of death, whereas a christian received a promise of eternal life after death in paradise if he simply obeyed, conformed, and stayed a paid up member of the chosen club. So when christians refuse - for instance to serve in the legions, or to take part in arena events, or other such activity regarded as offensive or dealing in blood, it's a statement of their faith To make a mere gesture toward christian alignment is something we're accustomed to in the modern day when belief is usually no more than an uninvolved tick in the box. In former times, christianity was something much deeper in the minds of the congregation if not the cleric, something much more similar to the evangeklical movements of the US for instance. A simple gesture is enough to satisfy a pagan. For them, an action is real, a visible identifier of allegiance, since there's no emotional or intellectual ownership. A man must display his loyalty in other words by deed, not thoughts or words. Christians do not have this choice. They face eternal damnation if they do not adhere to their faith. As many human social structures discover, strength is sometimes found through suffering, something a pagan would not entertain. There's little comparison with modern suicide bombers because those individuals are zealots who want to inflict harm and see their own death as a means of cleansing their guilt and earning the rewards of paradise in the process, while christian refuseniks are simply saying that they cannot do these things because it would interfere with their chances of achieving the same. Incidentially the suicidal infliction of violence did exist in ancient times. Jewish zealots were known for practises vaguely similar to middle eastern suicide bombers albeit lacking the modern invention of explosives. By the late empire this had largely been addressed.

I found out a big secret this weekend. Stay tuned to learn more. Party On Dude Saturday was the official museum social event of the year. Normally this sort of thing takes place around christmas or new year, but us museum folk take life at an easier pace, except for Mr J's hyperactive girlfriend who was clearly never taught how to behave in polite society. So we we stood there sort of drunk and confused while she turned into a human pinball. At one point in the proceedings she was comparing us to zoo animals. Somewhat foolishly I insisted on finding out which ferocious and magnificent creature I most resembled. Tiger? Elephant? Rhino? Nope. A sloth. And she didn't have to think about it either. Complaining did no good. My punishment for raising doubts about her decision was a lecture on the charm, wit, and street credibility that sloths have in her inebriated world. Now I know. The Party - The Sloth's View It wasn't such a bad party treally. My score was two hugs from pretty ladies, three cans of cider, seven mouthfuls of bombay mix, half a baguette in chilli dip, three adverse comments about the boss's hawaian shirt without remonition, one doorman successfully evaded, one erection from viewing pictures of supercars, and only one drunken admission of morally dubious wrestling with a former female boss for her golf balls. You might sneer, and I understand if you do, because compared to the high jinks that some people boast of, museum folk tend to be a bit tame. However I did score something much better. When Mr J's girlfriend was introduced to me as she paused inbetween spraying everyone with hair care products, she mentioned that she'd heard of me. Yes! Famous at last! Proof that even sloths can make it to the top of the tree. Why Swindon? Also the same saturday night I encountered a chap with a suspiciously american accent. Sorry, I could not resist finding out more. Is that accent genuine? Where do you come from? "San Diego" He replied with an odd sort of glance in my direction. San Diego? What on earth are you doing in Swindon? "What are you doing in Swindon?" He answered. Mostly I just live there it must be said, but I take his point and admire his ability to treat the entire world as his own backyard. Sadly my money gets stopped if I go abroad. I'm already poor - I don't feel the need to be homeless too. But then the museum party was on in Swindon - I was there - and so was he, all the way from southern Califormia. Big Secret Of The Week Still here? Okay, now it's time to reveal the big big secret. At least I would do but DW, our intrepid online journalist, has slapped a gagging order on me so I cannot reveal the identity of the gentleman who exposed himself to DW's girlfriend one night. What a terrible way to behave. I would never do something like that because bad things could happen. I know this because a female boss once had me sacked for changing trousers in the office too often. Sometimes it pays to let her win at golf ball wrestling.

Van Halen? Oh yes.... I remember them... Van Halen have a warm glow about them - they were the quintessential party band - but who remembers them? Hendrix gets played at every exuse regardless of any asociation with corrupt politics. The problem with Van Halemn is that they weren't controversial enough to make any lasting impact. Sure they had a wild time and probably now suffer for it - Didn't I hear the original line-up was back together again? - but their glory days are gone and like many other bands they're plugging away on a lower level for those who want 80's memoribilia. Does that sound cruel? Show business is - witness the recent demise of Whitney Houston or the the relative obscurity of Caldrail - to name a few. I think if one of Van Halen had died in a horrific and bizarre accident then they'd still be a household name. Nothing preserves immortality like death. But then the original line up of Balck Sabbath is back together and let's be honest, it isn't Ozzy's singing we remember him for.

We know there were female actors - one is associated with Pompeii in its final days. Also Theodora who had to give up acting when she married the emperor Justinian. Women usually appeared in mime sequences, often short in character, which did not use masks thus women had to appear for female roles. Although I don't have any direct evidence the nature of roman theatre, often consisting of short inprovissed farces on domestic life, does lend itself to the addition of female players. As for the older greek and etruscan influenced styles, that might be different.

Fifty is a strange age. Part of me knows full well I'm not young any more, that I ought to change my ways and act my age, while at the same time I simply cannot help being the veteran rebellious teenager I always was. Take yesterday for example. I approached the pedestrian crossing minding my own business and as if pheromones were setting off air raid sirens, I couldn't help noticing the twenty year old brunette across the road. I've no idea what sort of person she was but physically she was just about my perfect ten. She knew I was looking - young ladies seem to sense that instinctively - and she avoided eye contact in that sort of impatient desire to leave the area immediately. Being the gentleman I am I then stopped staring at her. In a way being fifty saved me from embarrasment. At a younger age a certain part of my anatomy would not have remained under control. Having averted my gaze I then noticed her mother - and she wasn't bad either. Then it struck me that I was at an age when strictly speaking my options were as wide as they could possibly be. What a tragedy then that I lack that all important pheromone - money. Or given that I'm fifty, unmarried, and fashionably shabby, that sweet smell of successful conformity. But they both had their eyes on me instead of the traffic when the gap presented itself. Possibly in fear I was going to approach them, who knows?. Nevertheless I like to be optimistic and hope I'll be in their dreams tonight. Hey, it's the first step, right? Sadly my dreams were later shattered by two young ladies at the surgery who clearly didn't see me as a sex object at all. Might need to ask the nurse if she's got something to heal my injured male pride. No, wait, that came out all wrong.... Dammit, this fifty years of age is as bad as being a teenager all over again. Reward Of The Week "Have you got a sticker?" The grandmother of an energetic four year old boy asked the receptionist at the surgery as I waited in the queue, "He's just been treated by the doctor and he's been very brave." I made a lame joke about him earning a medal. The receptionist didn't have any I've Been A Brave Boy stickers so she told him to make sure his granny rewarded him with sweeties or some other shameless means of ensuring good behaviour. I think I might of made a lame joke about that too. As gigs go, I wasn't getting through to my audience. Anyway my turn came and I handed over the paperwork. The receptionist came back with a sly grin and asked me "Do you want a sticker too?" Ha ha ha ha. I like you, you're funny. Suddenly everyone's a comedian.

Tis the season for tree surgeons. The groundsmen at the park around the corner from where I live are still burning foliage. It's a wonder there's any left. That far side of the lake might be tidier but come summer it will look bare and artificial if they manage to keep the nettles and thorns back. Last night I took a look out the back of the home and saw that old elm tree at the other end of the alleyway was missing some foliage too. The entire left side of the tree was denuded of branches. This morning it had gone completely. Along the main road out front the greedy rasp of chainsaws were at work, stripping the tree nearest the house and... Hallo, what's going on here?... Trees behind the fence on the old college site are vanishing. No... It can't be happening... Surely the old college is here to stay, bats, vagrants, and security guards alike? Nope. Passing a newsagent this morning the word is out that the Old College is coming down. Okay, it might be a dishevelled eyesore, but truthfully I'm going to miss the old place. Serenading The Ladies Don't you just hate Valentines Night? If you go down to the pub tonight You better had open your eyes If you go down to the clubs to dance Prepare all your chat-up lines For every bloke that hasn't a girl Will be on the the town to give it a whirl 'Cos tonight's the night that single men try to find one Was that you a couple of nights ago? If so, might I suggest that yellling your heads off on a quiet moonlit street at three o'clock in the morning is not going to attract a female? Take a tip - Read some Shakespeare. Bumps In The Night With all the knocks and bangs I can expect during demolition of the site almost next door, I seem to be getting some practice. One of my neighbours has gotten into the habit of bumping around in the small hours, closing doors with a hard clonk that walls and floorboards cannot obscure. Not only am I getting tired of it, so is another of my neighbours. So after the one finishes for the night, the other starts sliding heavy wooden abjects around. Sleep? Pfah! I laugh at those weak willed people who need a dose of shut eye to bump zzzzzzzzzz.... zzzzzzzzzzzz..... zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

There's only so many times I can comment on world affairs before I start saying the same old things. That kind of sums up the world pretty neatly in my view. Hearing the news that syrian troops have attacked civilians, greek demonstrators have attacked anything, or a british MP has attacked another for not being able to change things for the better, does not really suprise me any more. Well it wouldn't would it? So as I prepared to type out a blog entry last night I did think that I would struggle. In fact, I couldn't think of anything worth mentioning at all. Eventually I gave up up and went to bed. Then, as I slumbered in the small hours of this morning, my neighbour came to the rescue with a thoughtful and timely crescendo of banging doors. Cheers mate. Needed that. Sausages Job sites are fun things aren't they? Lists of wonderful vacancies paying lots of money if only you had the right skills, experience, and bits of paper to wave at the very fussy employer. I must admit I'm getting very tired of the job application ritual. If one more employer asks me why I want to work for his company, I swear I really will tell him the horrible gritty truth. But first I need to find that fantastic opportunity. There's a website I use quite a lot now, purely because they feature more vacancies than the others, and every week I trawl through the vacancies in a valiant effort to find one that doesn't require thirty years of experience in the field of sausage making, or Higher National Degrees in Tubular Sausagemeat Containment. You know what I mean. Today, just to make life intersting, the website decided not to process my applications. Every time I clicked on 'apply' the page merely refreshed itself. Oh sausages....

Greece has gone horribly wrong. One expert interviewed on television predicted that Greece was doomed. I must admit, as a casual observer, you do get a sense that Greece is sitting there waiting for the final catastrophic collapse. Not even the barbarian hordes of english holidaymakers seem to be making any difference. Increasingly it looks as if the EU want to dump it by the roadside. So what exactly do you do with a bankrupt country? Oh yes. I remember now... Cue UN food relief and huge pop superstar events to raise money to feed starving greeks.This empire building stuff isn't always so easy is it? Still Healthy Here in Blighty we like to complain about our health service. That's a little unfair because politicians haven't quite finished constructing it yet. Worse still they also have to deal with ever increasing demands of the sick and injured public who seem hellbent on injuring and infecting each other. There used to be a time when a doctor would call, pronounce the person dead on arrival, and receive the thanks of the poverty stricken family whose loved one did not respond to a jar full of leeches. Not any more. Thing is our readiness to whinge has made us forget all those horror stories of big bills for treatment offered in American hospitals. That's if you can afford a doctor who won't accidentially poison you of course. Now I find that hospitals in Los Angeles have closed for business all over the place. One site only stays open as a film lot. That means the fire service are providing emergency medical services instead of simply putting fires out. That's if they can find anywhere to send their slightly singed patients. This news did of course emerge from the sages at Russia Today who take great delight in documentaries showing the collapse of western civilisation. Old habits die hard I guess. Therefore I take pride in announcing that our NHS is safe and secure. I know this because RT haven't even noticed it exists yet. Recipe Of The Week Most of our favourite foods are imports. A wander along the fast food outlets reveals american style burgers and dismembered chickens. Big lumps of dead turkish kebab slowly roasting on a spit. The heady scent of anonymous meat cooking in exotic asian sauces that all taste more or less the same. The impossible task of choosing which permutation if rice is best for you from a chinese takeaway. Compared to that british cuisine does seem to lack a certain something. Images of cloth caps and smog ridden industrial slums quickly come to mind and compared to the arcane morsels offered by televisions chefs, it's always stodgy and unpalatable. Food for factory workers in other words.. No wonder so many british factories have closed. So, with no further ado, let me present No3 in my series of fave rave recipes. Peanut Butter Mushrooms On Toast. Fry chopped mushrooms with a little added soy sauce. Make two slices of toast. Spread peanut butter on the toast. If the peanut butter is a little dry, remember to add a touch of olive oil to lubricate it. Spread the fried mushrooms on the toast and serve. Enjoy, which I'm sure you will unless you're an allergy sufferer or use mushrooms normally considered the preserve of witches, assassins, and idiots. Supermarket mushrooms are probably safest but cost a little more than a stroll to the local wood.. Mushrooms obtained from dubious looking youths on street corners wil probably result in stange dreams, handcuffs, and stern lectures from important people. So don't blame me when it all goes horribly wrong.

Swindon is suspiciously white this morning. Even winter-safe wiltshire has finally succumbed to snow. It started last night and quickly reduced wiltshire to the usual scene of british ineptitude of dealing with slippery conditions. I watched a van attempting to ascend the steep side street behind my home. Even with a guy shovelling ice from under the wheels they made painfully slow progress toward the company yard. For me it means another struggle with my sense of balance as the partially cleared snow has become a pavement pockmarked with little icy craters. Place your bets, ladiesa and gentlemen, place your bets... There's severe weather warnings across Britain. Guess what guys? We know.

The information I have about pre-Servian cavalry is as follows... The earliest cavalry of Rome is described by Livy. Some consider this information as unreliable as is often the case with Roman sources dealing with the most distant antiquity. However the information is that there were six centuries of cavalry. Three centuries had apparently been originally formed by Romulus himself and each bore a name. Tities Priores Tities Posterirores Ramnes Priores Ramnes Posteriores Luceres Priores Luceres Posteriores After the later Servian Reforms these original centuries (Sevrius supposedly expanded the number by twelve) had a special significance and were known collectively as the Sex Suffragia "Six Votes". There is no evidence that centuries of horsemen were actually employed, but rather that six turmae of thirty riders were much older in form. To further complicate our understanding, the addition of priores and posteriores appears to linked to a tradition that cavalrymen were each attended by a mounted groom who fell back and did not take the line in battle. One source describes the cavalry introduced by Tarquin as having two horses, presumably so the rider could mount a fresh horse at a convenient moment. The state treasury provided 10,000 asses (coins, not animals) for the pourchase of horses and required rich widows to stump up a further 2000 for their upkeep during the campaigning year. Strictly speaking there's little or no evidence of any true cavalry until 403BC during the campaign against Veii, which Livy informs us was the first time that cavalrymen brought their own horses.

Praetorian dress and equipment appears largely similar to regular legionaries although there was a tendency toward oval shields, and the occaisional use of scale armour. Shield patterns were individual to cohorts and reflected the augustan origin of amalgamated bodyguard units used by commanders in the civil wars. Symbols of stars and moon were common. Since legionaries apparently owned their armour and equipment, and that there was little or no difference between legionary and praetorian equipent, it follows that when dressed for parade or battle there could not have been any significant degree of standardisation among the troops.Conformal appearance is therefore a product of the modern imagination.

wiir wiir wiiir wiiiirrrrrrriiiiiirrrrrr One of the hassles of living near to a garage is the sound of mechanics working. Normally things are fairly quiet and I don't notice their activities too much, but this morning is was out with the power tools and they got to work on somebodies car with a vengeance. wiir wiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrr wiiir wiiir As it happens I'd decided somewhat foolishly to enjoy a lay in. I mean, it was a cold moring and I'd been up late last night. So every time I rolled over and buried my ears in an attempt to snooze a little more, I was brought back to the real world. I had no choice but to grin and bear it I suppose. It would no use sleeping in the front room either. Firstly it was even colder than my bedroom but also out front the pavements are being dug up in a vain attempt to rectify all the faults the victorians built in to their civic engineering. Lots of white and orange bollards, heaps of dirt, and dayglo gorillas sat drinking tea in-between bouts of destruction with pneumatic drills. It's the british way. Stop Press - It's My Fault It's my own fault! I discovered that a few minutes ago here in the library. Apparently it serves me right for impersonating a soldier. That was the opinion of a librarian who passed me by. What on earth is she drinking? In what way am I being punished? And what gives these punishers the legal right to exact their sentence upon me? Sorry lady, but at no time have I ever attempted to claim I was a member of anyones armed forces, though on a few occaisions in the past my military surplus might have given that impression. She might also want to realise that vigilantism is not legal in Britain. Stupid woman.

In a sense yes because south america has it's own regional union now and thus Argentina is finding it easier to gather support for it's intiatives (though many countries appear to prefer not to upset Britain too much). But regarding mines - international conventions might be in place but soldiers laying mines around the world aren't really concerned with legality - they just want to blow enemies up or at least persuade them not to cross the minefield at all.

Since the praetorian guard were not a battle formation and regarded as something of an elite, you would expect their armour to be different in some way. Bear in mind that whilst in Rome any use of armour was ceremonial, because the ruling was that no armed soldiers should ever be present within the cities boundaries. Rather like modern security guards in suits, praetorians would keep watch over proceedings in the senate house dressed in togas with any weapons out of sight. I will look further at this but my own guess is that the armour varied only in specific details.

My world is very quiet of late, apart from the odd squabble among among my neighbours. About the only event worthy of note is the inspection of the property by my letting agent. They do tell me that they're not overly concerned at my lifestyle or how tidy the place is, but my days as an air cadet still afflict me with an instinctive desire to avoid having to clean the place all over again until I can eat my breakfast off it. So I had a bit of tidy up. That didn't hurt, did it? Plans The latest plans for Queens Park are posted at the library. Now that the council has disbanded the parks department to save money they might stop ripping all the foliage out of the park. Or will they? Time for me to head down to the display boards and find out what is going on. More Weather There's more warnings of persistent cold weather to come. That's the trouble with february. Almost every year it does this. Just when you think winter is all over and you've gotten away with it, along comes icy blasts from Siberia or the North Pole. It's supposed to be the coldest day this winter so far but it doesn't feel like that. Certainly not warm but there's none of that sharp coldness that demands long johns and gloves. Now that I've been warned things are getting colder, should I rush out and purchase protective warm clothing? My own attitude is very much that I've suffered far worse in the past and that I can hack it and so on. Then I saw one of those television experts telling us that older people do tend to say that before they die horribly of hypothermia. I've been warned. Whinge Of The Week I see Argentina is whinging to the UN because Britain sent a warship to the Falkland Islands. They say it's 'militarising' the area. I'm sorry, didn't Argentina send an entire army there in 1982 and leave a legacy of minefields all over the islands?

Roman cavalry of this era is not well documented. However we can say that horses were not common and to ride one in battle was a privilege reserved for the upper section of citizenry (which is where the idea of the equite, or knight, as a senior member of society comes from). Obviously since a horse was expensive, provision of one required a wealthy person. Spears were the weapon of choice, used overhand in a stabbing fashion or thrown at the target on a mobile pass. Shields would not have been used. Tactics were very much geared toward typical light cavalry roles such as reconnaisance, outflanking, harassement, and pursuit although the Romans were not noted for their skills in this regard. usually a the horses were deployed to the wings of the army on the battlefield, contesting the flanks with opposing cavalry and the winner able to move around the enemy undeterred. Fights between cavalry units weren't always head on fights - we know there was a lot of manoever and galloping involved as uniuts rode past the other or avoided contact. The secret of succesful use was mobility. Lose that and your cavalry risked getting slaughtered.

Dagnabbit, where's ma huntin' rifle? Gonna skin me an asteroid or two. Darn little critters ain't gettin' past me.

That's because you forgot the tent.

This was the weekend when the weather finally hit Britain. It did in some places, with Heathrow restricting flights and so on, but as usual Wiltshire got away with it. Most of the snow went elsewhere. All we got in Swindon was a dusting of snow that was practically gone within the course of the next day. Nothing like the siberian conditions that eastern europe have undergone. There are some extraordinary places in the world. I discovered one yesterday. Shoyna is a russian village inside the arctic circle. You wouldn't think so. Most of the houses are buried in sand drifts. It looks more like the sahara than a coastal tundra region. As often happens, the enviroment of this fascinating place is man-made. Intense fishing in previous decades ripped up the local sea floor vegetation and loose sand was driven ashore by the tides. Now it drfits with the wind, burying the rickety wooden houses overnight on a regular basis. Residents are wary about being trapped in their homes, not by snow, but sandrifts. You don't get this sort of thing on a David Attenbrough series. Droids Of The Night In the beginning was a man with no girlfriend. God made him that way apparently so I guess being omnipotent isn't quite what it's cracked up to be. Anyway that got sorted - twice, as it turns out. Sometimes though his descendants aren't so lucky. What then? How does a man calm his primal lust? Well God certainly thought of that one didn't he? However for some us a fun appendage doesn't really cut it. Not suprising then that enterprising women have gone into the worlds oldest business since blokes realised what that fun appendage was actually supposed to be for. Blame Eve. She persuaded Adam to eat that stupid apple in the first place. You would think those options would solve the problem, but no, sometime later somebody invented the blow-up dummy. I've not used one nor found anyone who admitted that they have, but I'm assured these things do exist. Now scientists are working on female robots as companions for those blokes who need something a little more animated. It's inevitable they tell us. If nothing else it proves how fecund human beings can be, or more to the point how desperate they can get when fecundity is unavailable to them. My own view is just how incredibly sad it is that people want to build and use artificial companions. Not just because of the admission that they can't get a real girlfriend, but also because they actually want an obedient slave. I mean, science fiction has been warning us for nearly a century about this sort of thing. Still, look on the bright side. At least scientists are likely to have forgotten to program your friendly robotic lover to remind you endlessly that you should have closed the toilet seat. Bumps In The Night It seems that my own castle is still under siege.. The enemy have made some covert attempts to gain access over the weekend, including the attempted use of a power tool in the small hours. Yep, I heard that one.