caldrail

Rome was a very traditionally minded civilisation. Even long after becoming an urban society, they retained the idyllic idea of rural bliss, although that dream actually had very little to do with the somewhat sharper edged truth. The idea of a 'golden age' in the past is a common theme in human psychology. We do that today, ourselves, and you can view the evidence on television or film. With each change in society there are those that prosper and those who don't. In general terms, the poverty stricken masses (of which there were many in Roman times) regarded the past as something they had lost, whereas the prosperous manipulated the idea that the golden age was recoverable. Again, this sort of behaviour might sound familiar to you. The problem with your question is that you appear to assume judaeo-christian religious structures are unique and in some way a pure if variable bloodline. Some of it is, but remember that christianity is a judaism/mithraism cocktail repackaged to create a personality cult. Later the Romans repackaged it again, established what heresy was, and essentially created the foundations of christian fervour in later times. For that reason then, not only was early christianity based on something old and established in the human psyche, but had also borrowed many ideas such as Jesus's miracles from external faiths with the same credibility. I think it's important to realise why people were influenced by this religious melting pot. Life for the ancient Romans was usually short and unhealthy. Around three out of every five Romans had died before adulthood. Disease, violence, accidents, all were potential killers and in many cases there was little the Romans understood about the causes of these untimely deaths. Therefore we see the idea of 'fate' in Roman circles. If a man died before his time or perhaps went on to political glory, it was 'fate' that had decided it. That idea runs in parallel with appeals to the gods for assistance. The personal greeting and request of a worshipper before his divine patron was a fundamental part of their superstitious lives, done in more or less the same way as visiting the local patrician for a favour or benefice, yet unlike the devious manipulative patrician the gods were cold, remote, almost unwilling to listen. On this angle christianity offered a different deal. Yes, life is pretty tough sometimes. But put up with it and remember that loyal worshippers go to paradise. Not you, sinner. Your fate will be eternal damnation. In that contract with God the believer has hope for the future. In order for that contract to have credibility, it must rely on a record of achievement, thus the judaic tales we find in the Bible become proof and indeed moral lessons learned from the past. Of course judaeo-christian beliefs were not the only alternatives to graeco-roman. In the early empire particularly many exotic cults arose, probably for the same reason that christianity emerged, to find new adherents among the networks of Roman settlements. There is an aspect to this that we can't ignore however. There were many people in the empire with axes to grind - researchers now believe that the infamous Book Of Revelations was not a long term prophetic work, but a politically inspired call to arms for those who wanted Rome to burn, rather like the middle eastern propaganda against America in modern times. Again similar thought patterns are evident. This also applies to the end-timers, those christians who believe the end of the world is imminent. The past is bound to be seen as a good thing if tomorrow we die horribly, and let's not forget, for all the mythologising that surrounds judaeo-christian beliefs, Jesus himself has been identified as very much an end-timer.

Now this is more like winter. A sharp frosty morning, gloves required, my trainers crunching on thin ice and feeling very insecure. As if it wasn't cold enough inside, at the job centre was Big R himself. Yes, Big R, the yorkshire brawler who gave me the benefit of his opinions somewhat strongly not that long ago. Try as hard as I might, I could not help snarling inside. There's something feral about human beings, or at least the male half of them, that doesn't sit easily with humiliation and scorn. On the face of it I might seem a bit childish but I could not hand my paperwork to him first. Instinct, you see. he blew my respect away and no matter how sharp his suit, to me he will always be a pompous scumbag. What was that he just just called me? Mate? Who's he trying to kid? Saturday What happened to Saturday morning? Something is definitely wrong with Saturdays. I know this because I innocently turned on the television for something to occupy my attention while I got on with boring stuff. As a rule Iwouldn't normally bother with television at that time of the day and I think the world has changed since I last bothered. I remember Tom & Jerry cartoons, the Pink Panther Show, low budget family films, and lots of presenters coping badly with exotic animals. None of that happened. Adverts for dating websites? On every channel there were queues of semi-famous ladies telling us how to make your face to look like Hollywood intended, rather than the hideous reality your magic mirror reveals at dawn. What is going on? Why has the world changed like this? Why is saturday morning devoted to cosmetics? I have to say I have pretty much zero interest in cosmetics. There are products intended for the unfairer sex so I'm told. Body sprays? Fragrance for men? Ugh. I don't think so. After being fooled by aftershave adverts in the seventies (Remember Hai-Karate and the terrified user fleeing from hordes of aroused nymphomaniacs?. Trust me on this - that does not happen), I don't think smelling like a flower bed is going to improve my chances of being chased by hundreds of blonde female television extras. Sunday Sunday rescued my little world. One tv channel showed back to back episodes of Fred Dibnah, the high priest of cloth cap engineering from a bygone age. Time to sit down and be dazzled as plump Fred in his blue boiler suit invited us into his natural enviroment of the railway siding. Fred - This 'ere is a Nigel two six four wi'double flange frame 'n shovel injected firebox. Ah used to dream o' driving these when I wur young. Used t'see 'em running past me dad's coal shed. This one 'ere is restored t' workin' order. It wur made just as steam finished on British Railways, so it's almost new, this. With a bit o'luck, driver will let me on footplate... Allo thur.... Can ah come up? Driver - Like you arranged previously, you mean? Fred - Ahhh yes. Nice this, int it? Bit more complex than steam engine at 'ome. You get a fine idea o'what it wur like in olden days, steaming down track. Can we give it a go? Driver - Hang on - I wasn't told that we were.... Fred - Reverser... Regulator... Mind owt thur... Brakes off.... (WOOOOOH!... Woooh WOOOH! pffffshhhh clank chuff chuff chuff). Heh heh heh... Sorry 'bout that. Bit jerky on take off int it? Driver - Ten miles an hour along here Fed. Fred - Eh? Oh aye. Picks up speed nicely, dunt it? Ah remember good old days when trains like these wur all the rage. Driver - Mind the speed Fred. We're approaching the buffer stops. Fred - Nice smooth ride this. Must have been a thrill back when these engines ran on British Rail main lines, 'cos back then see engine drivers had no cab for protection. Driver - Fred, you want to start slowing down! Fred - Exposed to elements they were.... Driver - FRED! BRAAAAAAKE! Fred - Oh aye... That'll be that lever thur... (Clunk Squeeeeeeeeeeal hisssss). There we go. Enjoyed that ah did... You all right thur? Gone all pale like... Grand engine.is this. Bless the old chap, he's no longer with us, but what that man could do with a nine and five sixteenths wrench, a box of dynamite, and a few lumps of coal demonsrates how the British Empire was forged and ultimately rusted away. Singlehanded he almost made brass bands fashionable. Sadly missed. Stargazing - Live! A program devoted to standing out in the freezing cold staring up at the night sky? I nearly fell off my seat laughing. Surely if you want to stargaze you switch the tellly off and walk outside? Still, at least couch potatoes can now study the heavens too.

Moment and music do often connect in the memory. Not Dock of the Bay in my case, but other songs certainly. Not always nostalgiac and fond either. As I've learned some songs remind me of times I'd rather forget. Like most of the Red Japser back catalogue

Many years ago I wanderd into a pub, expecting genial conversation and relaxing with the other hustlers around the pool tables. On that particular afternoon, the pub was almost empty, and since I was the only person walking in, the scotsman drinking at the bar immediately engaged me in a chat. Before long the conversation got to how brilliant Scotland was. Best country in the UK, best country in Europe, best country in the world. There was no stopping the man. As Scotlands first unofficial Minister For Propaganda he was doing a grand job. Finally I could stand no more. I retreated and sought other people to talk to, people with interesting news or funny jokes, people who understood that a scottish accent does not legally demand attention from passers-by. Finally he realised he had failed to convert me to scottishism. He got quite annoyed. Mind you, if Scotland was such a great place, why did I keep hearing the scots complain about it? If it comes to that, you had to ask yourself what this solitary scotsman was doing in a Swindon bar if his homeland was quite that good, but there you go. So now Scotland wants independence? Some of the scots do, especially the politicians who seek to glorify their names for having achieved it. The funny thing is though that the United Kingdom came into being not because Scotland was conquered, but because a scottish king inherited England, Wales, and Ireland after Good Queen Bess popped her clogs without provision for an heir. Okay, I know James II did a runner and the dutch were invited in, but all the same the irony of this situation is that Scotland effectively wants to be independent of the realm it set up. This should also serve as an illustration of what the European Union can expect if they attempt to go further with integration - which they inevitably will, because as we see from history, those who want to rule rather like ruling as much as they can get. My point is that however many boundaries they change, however much they hand out euro-compatible names, nationalism will never go away. People identify with cultural roots no matter how divorced they are from their heritage. Look what happened in the balkans after Yugoslavia finally fell apart. On a more serious note, I hope these scottish politicians don't expect the UK to pay their bills? If they want their own chequebook, they don't need ours.. Oh yeah. If that scotsman is reading this, please stop talking. Pooh In one of those colourful community newsletters that sometimes pass my way I noticed a paragraph concerning the lamentable state of our pavements. Nothing to do with potholes or drainage, but the amount of dog pooh left lying on them. Maybe that was why the scotsman I encountered was so unimpressed with english prosperity? That makes me a bit curious. The amount of pooh I see today is nothing compared to how it was in the less responsible seventies. Back then you needed to watch where you put your feet. Nowadays you might be unlucky. Not just where you put your feet either. Toddlers in the last few years have adopted the idea that throwing pooh is funny. That disgusting habit hasn't gone away since it emerged and I discovered I'd been targeted a couple of weeks ago. Nine times out of ten you don't know until you spot strange stains appearing around the house. What bothers me though is the attitude of their parents, invariably young themselves, who seem to do absolutely nothing to correct their little darlings, and on one or two occaisions I've even wondered if those parents spurred their kids on to do it. Chances are it's only one or two individuals who would dream of doing that. In the local newsaper the police have taken the unusual step of naming and shaming four scoundrels who have, in a town in excess of 60,000 people, committed more than half of the burglaries reported in the last year. Thing is though, as bad as this all sounds, what ought to be remembered is why individuals are allowed to continue making peoples lives hell. Community spirit does appear to somewhat fickle, doesn't it?

The Ostrogoths lost the war against the Byzantine Empire (and its allies). The gothic leader, Theodahad was executed on the order of his more popular armour bearer Vitiges, proclaimed King on the Barbarian Plains, who made one last ditch effort to expel Belisarius from Italy in a fourteen month campaign before surrendering willingly in 555. He was subsequently allowed to live as a patrician in Constantinople though he only lived two more years. Some settlements remained loyal to the goths but the last, Verona, surrendered in 561. See Belisarius - Ian Hughes And now we have recited the origin of the Goths, the noble line of the Amali and the deeds of brave men. This glorious race yielded to a more glorious prince and surrendered to a more valiant leader, whose fame shall be silenced by no ages or cycles of years; for the victorious and triumphant Emperor Justinian and his consul Belisarius shall be named and known as Vandalicus, Africanus and Geticus. Res Getica - Jordanes

Fair comment as long as we remember that Roman democracy was limited in scope.

I've seen some these issues discussed in the train magazines (we even get american ones too). Some of these issues apply to Britain as well, but in our case a major obstruction is ownership of land and the enviroment in our crowded island.

The other I was watching a tv documentary about web sex. How the internet and mobile technology has changed our social behaviour. Not for the better it would seem, though I doubt those who enjoy their success at texting others into bed would agree. The last decade has seen an exploration of how this technology can be exploited socially. Boundaries have been pushed as a result, largely because there's less risk of judgement in the anonymous world of e-dating, but also because the technology allows the sexual predator to hide before he pounces. Apparently most of those involved in this sort of interaction are indeed men, straight or gay, and very few reveal their faces openly. Does that suprise anyone? Man the hunter has found new fertile territory. It seems to me that while there are many who benefit from e-dating the expansion of boundaries is less relevant than the opportunism of the information jungle. If I sound critical, I am. It's all done selfishly. Even if the idea of rewarding relationships is cast aside there's still a certain satisfaction derived from mastering the traditional skills of pulling ladies and somehow all this e-dating stuff comes across as cheating. But, human instinct will out, and the victor gets the spoils. How does this mobile phone work, again? Exploiting The Games Console Many years ago I stated that you have to recreate civilisation with each generation. I wasn't talking about some communist year zero, or any other such brave new world, but rather that unless kids are taught to be part of society, al you get are little barbarians running around causing havoc. Don't take my word for it. Look around, see for yourself. Has anyone noticed how difficult it is to communicate with youngsters these days? They sem to live in a world apart with social rules invented by themselves. A few times I've noticed attempts to impose their immature society upon me. It's almost as if they want the world to be just like the school playground, the only world they actually know. A news report showed a ground breaking new initiative to teach computer skills to our youngsters. No longer must they suffer boring typing lessons, but thanks to new ideas and input from organisations like Microsoft and Google, kids can learn how to use computers by playing with them. Literally these kids are being taught with games consoles in their hands. I'm stunned. Really, I am flabbergasted. There's no point wailing on about the poor level of education in the younger generation if this is how they're taught. One of the most important things a school can impart to pupils is a measure of self discipline. How to concentrate on something difficult. How to seek assistance when the difficulties are too much and the social skills that result. To encourage thought and creativity. Whatever happened to the work ethic? That doesn't happen by accident. The kids say ordinary lessons are boring. Yes, I agree, they often are, but then kids today seem to expect the world to open at their feet and instead of being creative and entrepeneurial, or even encouraged to be so, they sit around moaning that there's nothing for them to do. In other words, this new style of education fails in one important angle - it does not prepare kids for the boring world they have to live in. It's boring because it doesn't doesn't owe them a living, and they clearly expect it too. Exploiting The Workers At the programme centre the other day I was talking to a fellow jobseeker. Apparently Royal Mail, who successfully managed to keep me from getting hired in their distribution depot over the festive season, didn't pay the ones who got through the door. Looks like my instincts were right. I knew there was something shabby about the way they were hiring people.

"There's going to be a hundred thousand new jobs in London to assist the Olympics" Said Mr G, our ever helpful and jovial assistant at the job club. I had to laugh. Unemployment down in London? Can you imagine how difficult it's going to be to claim benefits there this summer? You won't stand a chance. Mr G found that equally amusing. I imagine though that the prospect of less unemployment in the capital, even temporarily, might well be another bone of contention in the Houses of Parliament. David Cameron will be pleased to announce that jobless figures are down. Ed Milliband will respond that Labour started this olympic opportunity to begin with. David Cameron wil brush Milliband aside with dismissive amusement. Ed Milliband will scowl and mouth silent objections while Cameron moves onto another subject. Talking about Ed Milliband, he made an attempt to persuade us that his government will be different. That the Brown/Blair years are behind them, and that only his party can deliver a fairer Britain with less money available. Aside from the fact that their policies were one reason for less money being available, it's hard to believe that the financial instincts of Labour have actually changed. I mean, neither Brown or Blair really achieved any lasting sense of change from the idea that you can spend your way out of trouble. That was why Thatcher got voted in. It's simply what Labour does. "We must accept the new reality of austerity" Ed Milliband claims. The last Labour government were keen to claim historical achievements. Looks like they intend to claim another one. Is Our Future Fast? Around the world nations are investing huge sums of money in extremely fast railway systems. Here in Britain we're not used to these mass transit missiles and to be honest, I don't think people here in Blighty comprehend just how fast these trains are. We're used to trains that require several announcements on the tannoy before they even rumble into sight. So now our glorious government wants Britain to have a high speed railway. London to Birmingham at more than two hundred miles an hour. Quite why you need or want to go to Birmingham so quickly is a bit hard to understand. On the plus side, you'd escape from there quicker too. For those who are horrified that their sunday afernoons in the garden are going to be interrupted by intercontinental ballistic armchairs, I do sympathise. I wouldn't want my summer days spoiled by that either. That's when they've finished it. Imagine the fun of having forty thousand modern day navvies working across the fence at the bottom of your garden. Especially since I doubt they'll finish the route quite as quickly as they intend to run it. Come on. This is Britain, however much Ed Milliband believes in it. Cheap Eating Proving how badly the cost of living has risen, I see a television superstar chef has been caught shoplifting from a supermarket. Mate - you and the others of your genre have spent years telling us how easy it is to feed the family on several pence a week. Clearly it isn't as rewarding as you thought, is it?

Strictly speaking that's not true. England was established as a defined territory by Roman provincial administration, and in their wake was the region in which anglo-saxons fought native britons,scandanavians, irish, and picts for dominationover a realm which was still culturally divided until 1066. Darn it... The Normans established England as a coherent realm...But I take solace in that although they spoke french (a latin language no less) they were descended from vikings. As for the ostrogoths,didn't they assimilate themselves into sub-roman society?

Times they have a-changed. The downturn in the economy has been evident for some time with many shop closures and to some extent that's become mundane, something you expect to see. As I passed the newspaper stand at the supermarket I caught a headline that attracted my interest. The shopping centre is in the hands of the receiver. Shocking. The report did say however that for now it's business as usual. That's the high street equivalent of UN intervention in a collapsing nation state (but let me say there is no intention of regime change). Two shop assistants were discussing this report whilst customers stood ready to pay for their chosen goods. "what's receivership anyway?" Asked the less learned of the two. Kids these days. Sheesh... Chucking Out Time There it was again. A persistent coarse yelp that could only come from an urban fox. Thing is though, I've always heard those sounds in the relative quiet of small hours, and even then, only in the secluded narrow back streets. This time it was out on the main road at eleven at night. It's no good complaining Mr Fox, we humans close our pubs at eleven. Undue Interest Some young asian lad almost leapt onto the seat next to mine at the library yesterday. Now youths are not usually so keen to be studious, and even those whose ability extends to YouTube and Facebook are rarely so energetic. In fact, this particular lad didn't seem interested in logging on to that computer at all. Instead he glanced at me and held a mobile phone in front of him. Some people are camera-phobes, mostly out of shyness, insecurity, guilt, or a desperate desire to look their best at all times. Having been in entertainment in my earlier years I've gotten well used to being photographed. Nonetheless there was something furtive about this lad. He was up to something. The mind can run riot when you start trying to second-guess other peoples motives. Is this lad attempting to use my image for fraudulent purposes, or is he involved in some stupidly amateurish terrorist plot? I certainly doubt he's a fan of my work. You can imagine then that I was a little more alert than usual. Things happen for a reason and you never really know what people are thinking. As I got to the top of the stairs I saw someone else in the corner of my eye. I paused and looked around. Another youth, a fair haired caucasian, was striding toward me, staring straight at me. It might have been innocent. For all I knew he was going downstairs anyway. Yet someone who looks at you in that way has an axe to grind. Why? I have no idea. I haven't a clue who he was. There was a hard glare from him as he finally went his way while I went mine.

Monday morning again. If there's one certainty about life it's that at some point you will be forced to endure the misery and agony of finding your leisure time has run out. You might claim with some justification that being unemployed means my monday mornings are non-existent. Well, not today. Finding myself unable to sleep I was hard at work typing this blog entry at five in the morning. I want to be positive about the world. I want world peace, an end to starvation and disease, gainful employment, the local burglars hung drawn and quartered, and for the young urban fox living across the fence to finally find himself a girlfriend. Truth is this weekend wasn't the most uplifting ever. Mostly I suspect because none of my wants occurred, but at least it kept some journalists in full time employment. The biggest downer is the increasing presence of youngsters who seem to have nothing better to do than shout about how they intend to deprive you of your property. Guys - seriously - I don't know what goes through your heads other than alcohol and suspicious substances but silver service tableware, polished roller on the pristene gravel drive, expensive paintings by famous masters, private jets and homes large enough to need a map and compass? Fantasy. This is Swindon, not The Apprentice. Haven't any of you noticed the military surplus trousers? Going Out Clubbing If it comes to that, when did you last see military surplus trousers at nightclubs? My evening wear would probably evoke violence from an outraged doorman. Personally I hate night clubs. It all seems such a soulless way of finding entertainment. Some people literally cannot imagine life without clubbing. I'm struggling to understand what sort of life you could find in a club. The whole ritual seems to be designed to get you hospitalised as hedonistically as possible. It's more fun down at the local job club during the day. At least you hear what people are telling you. That doesn't mean my little world is perfect. The most annoying thing about job clubs is the reason they exist. Let me explain. For those who don't know, a job club is an informal self-help group who utilise facilities laid on by the programme centre to help people look for work. The centre doesn't assist directly for various reasons, so if you need help, help yourself. That's fine as far as it goes. However, the internet access and other useful things means that I come in to the programme centre focused and determined to find several vacancies to apply for. What I don't need is a queue of hapless individuals who don't have the slightest clue what a CV is, or what a computer is used for, or that the government insists they have to find work. That unfortunately is why people get sent to job clubs. No-one teaches them these things - they simply send them somewhere with the vain expectation that someone will do it for them. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind helping people, but there comes a point where you end up feeling exploited. Go away, I'm busy jobsearching. Recently there was a continual stream of people coming into the club. All had been sent by the job centre for the very reasons that annoy me. One by one they ended up being told to go somewhere else to get help. A part of me feels sorry for them. Getting the run-around like that is just as annoying. But - The government says I must find a job - and that means I must be a little bit selfish before I help others. So much so that the programme centre has laid on a volunteer to help others. Hey... Waddaya know? Maybe things aren't so bad after all.

Last night I paused to look out into the yard behind my home as I often do before retiring to bed. This was in the early hours of the night and now that the strong winds across the country have subsided, there was that familiar spooky silence once again. I did notice an odd halo effect from the moon as the light refracted through the thin clouds hanging limp in the sky. It would have enough to stop superstitious medieval peasants in their tracks and even the lack of hollering from nightclubbers was noticeable. Although I tried to get to sleep, there's something about the cold air and warm bedding that makes that difficult if not impossible, especially as the morning drags on and a deeper chill takes hold. Not because of any discomfort I think, just the unfamiliar conditions. My dilemma wasn't helped by urban foxes. Usually I hear them issuing loud shrieks. This time it was a series of yelps. Quieter, in deference to the mod of the evening, but nonetheless impossible to ignore. I never cease to be amazed how a creature normally so covert can make such a nuisance of itself. Laying there in the gloom I naturally began to mull things over in my mind, like you do, and for some reason I began thinking of a certain lady I met a while back. You know, the usual idle musings, like where she is, what she's doing, whether she still remembers me. Most of us think along these lines sooner or later in our own privacy so who am I to break with tradition? I always found her calm, confident, contientious, and completely disarming. Also I couldn't help regarding her as downright sexy. There's nothing wrong with admiration, maybe a little flirting, and even infatuation can be harmless if you keep hold of the emotional reins. Nonetheless in the short time I spent with her I reached that point where a decision had to be made. Should I risk everything and make some foolhardy attempt to progress the relationship to the desirable conclusion? Or play safe and avoid socially awkward moments, outrage, scorn, or mockery? She knew I was making that decision. As those mental cog wheels began to turn she was was standing close by, watching me intently. In my younger days hormones and bravado often made the choice for me as they do with everyone else. To do otherwise offended the raw british working class need for rite of passage. These days I have other considerations. So I made my choice. There is a possibility she's reading this right now. Embarrasing? No, not at all, she already knew what was going on in that male psyche of mine. Rest assured that honour and reputation are safe. I smile to myself because - Well, I believe I made the right choice, and the truth is I don't see what I have to prove. The funny thing is that whichever course of action I'd decided on, it was always going to end with me thinking back to that moment. So I lay there thinking happy thoughts and waited for that darn fox to finally get what it wanted from the nearest female of the species. Maybe then I could get some sleep. Movie Moment Of The Week Picture the scene. Steven Seagal confronts bad mouthed bully in an alaskan bar. Usually this would be the excuse for fast paced violence that only Steven Seagal can do. Come to think of it, that's generally all he ever does in films. He isn't known for masterful acting nor does he ever seem to land a script that demands anything more than a grim focused expression before he deals lightning pain to the nearest unfortunate victim. But no, gasp, a moment of dialogue! "What does it take to change the essence of a man?" He asked in that odd whisper of his. Erm... Let me think... No, not sure I know the answer to that one. The threat of lightning fast violence perhaps? Just a guess...

Oh the wind did howl last night. Still quite blustery this morning. With nothing better to do today I feel a reminiscense coming on... Wind was one of the two obstacles to my flying in days gone by. A headwind was useful to shorten take off and landings, but too much wind and the little Cessna couldn't cope any more than I could. On one occaision I turned up to the airfield and the ground controllers allowed me to fly on the basis that the wind was aligned with the runway direction. Non-flyers don't usually realise this but strong winds when you're manoevering an aeroplane on the ground can by quite hazardous. If the aeroplane is facing a forty knot wind, even when stationary, the silly machine thinks it's moving at forty knots and is close to wanting to fly. That's why we flyers tie our aircraft down if left in the open. Nevertheless it was judged safe to fly so I signed the forms, wandered out onto the apron, went through the pre-flight checks, and taxied out to the runway threshhold. Clear to depart? Here we go then... No sooner had I opened the throttle than the Cessna shot up like an elevator. I have to say it was very impressive. Not sure it was all that safe - strong winds never are - but that was the first time I ever landed an aeroplane literally on the spot. And it wasn't a horrible accident either. Bonus. The plane just descended almost vertically and plopped down gently onto the runway. With a bit of luck there won't be anything descending vertically on me today. Sticks I saw a chap today getting around with the aid of two walking sticks. Inury? Illness? No idea. Yet when he came to the library stairs he lifted both and walked up without assistance. Oh yeah? So what are the sticks for matey? Who? Does anyone know who this Peter Andre is? Why are so many television programs made about his private life? I mean, if he was that interesting, surely I'd already know? Poem Of The Week The rain outside is falling Television's sort of boring No friends have thought of calling So instead I'll just start snoring. The wind outside is quite a gale My house begins to shake Though I try to sleep I always fail So instead I'll stay awake I hear the shouting in the street Perhaps I'll take a look? It's cold out there; I prefer the heat So instead I'll read a book Stirring tales of derring do Ttagedy to make you weep Bleary eyed by chapter two I finally fell asleep

There is such a thing as being objective. That said, I agree, there is often a tendency to see history in modern perspective. That's fairly natural because we're familiar with the world around us so it's second nature to see former times the same way. Nonetheless it must be recognised that attitudes and motives change with every generation. In Syme's case however, like many authors, he recognised patterns in the historical record and wrote a book concetrating on history from a particular angle. Nothing wrong with that provided it's factual and seen as an alternative view.

It's unlikely the hunnish style caught on. I don't recall any evidence of wooden saddles in Roman or sub-roman use.

Syme's views are coloured by the political world of his day. That was a time of ideological conflict between democracy, communism, and facism in the post 'war to end all wars' period and econiomic disaster. It isn't so difficult to see why he interpreted Roman history in those terms. Since human behaviour is fundamentally similar despite cultural changes, there's probably something in what he says, and the idea that Augustus was the victor of a political struggle for domination of a weakened society is just as relevant today as it was then. That said, it is a book that focuses on that theme alone, and I would consider it to be mildly biased for that reason.

Oh no... Another celebration missed.... Well happy birthday anyway Doc.

Whether I like it or not, the festive season is behind me and so I must gird my loins and return to the quest for gainful employment. Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only claimant actually looking for work. The day before the programme centre closed for christmas I was the only one there. Apart from two of the ladies, who apparently volunteered to man the desks while I was busy jobsearching. Luckily I'd forgotten my aftershave - I was outnumbered. But as it happens they made it known they were closing early. I'm sure there was a good reason. Now it's the new year and off to the job club I go. Other than myself, only one claimant made a new years resolution to look for work. She was probably doing better than me. Tired and bleary eyed after the festive season, I found it hard to concentrate. So badly was I doing that my cries of frustration were answered by "You only need to ask if you want help" from the guy running the clubs computers. What cheek! I'm a capable computer peripheral I'll have you know - though in fairness, I think the other claimant, a novice computer user more used to dragging her kids away from these infernal calculating machines, was having an easier time of it. I have a sneaking suspicion she had a better christmas than me too. Wet It may not have been quite the savage weather that brought Scotland to a standstill just before christmas, but yesterday the rain was out to get me. Luckily I made it to the library before it went from threatening drops to full deluge. I've also made the interesting discovery that my home isn't as waterproof as I imagined. Is that why my toes feel cold and wet? Yup. Free standing water. That can mean only one thing. It was time to plug the leak before my house sank. No need to panic. I knew I was in no real danger. You see, there was no threat of divine wrath or advice on building boats delivered by shafts of golden light. Things We Cannot Know By chance I happened to pick up a book on philosophy while waiting at the library for the youngster to stop downloading free music. Now I wouldn't ordinarily bother reading up on philosophy, but who could resist a book entitled "Things We Cannot Know"? It turns out that there's no logical reason to believe the brain exists. After years of living in Swindon I'm tempted to agree, though I think there's one or two books on human anatomy that mention the mythical grey matter. Ahh well. Time to pop down to the supermarket.... Oh.... Still raining.... Heavy rain and really strong winds too.... I wonder if I can make it to the supermarket without getting wet? Right, here we go.

Positive? Well, naturally, can you imagine a forecast that was realistic? Capricorn - This year in one in which you will struggle with financial woes and the strange inexplicable death of a family pet. Beware of tall dark strangers and start looking for that better job now. Doesn't really work does it? Astrology is a fundamental foundation stone of western religion which represents the middle eastern influence on christian culture (otherwise we'd still be sacrificing burglars on certain holy days) and the whole point of prophecy and end-timer belief systems is that there is hope for the future. You'd expect that of course bearing in mind the low life expectancy and the uncertainty of the ancient and medieval worlds that cemented these religious concepts in place. Then again most modern astrologers are merely journalists filling in the blanks for their weekly pay packet. Most of them know diddly squat about prophecy anyway. That too is something that's been with us regarding prophetic systems for a very long time and won't go away anytime soon. I saw a book in my local library the other day - Fractal Time - in which the author conceals a numerology system in the guise of modern quantum mechanics. It still represents the same ideas of ebb and flow in peoples lives. So basically it's all rubbish. As if reading a paragraph in the newspaper is going to prepare me for lifes little problems. Come to think of it... I wonder what's in my stars today?....

There's no confirmation of this earlier than the 6th century. The presence of huns was not significant in terms of hardware change until they were settled, and even then the stirrups and saddle types filtered westward gradually. Bear in mind however that the hunnish versions were not intrinsically superior. There is also the idea that tradition/culture was a dampening factor in that new styles of riding hardware were not necessarily immediately adopted. The pronged saddle had been in use for centuries in the west. It was familiar, did what was expected of it, and perfectly suited to the light cavalry roles undertaken by ancient horsemen. Why would they need to change it? The only reason would be the increasing prevalence of cavalry in warfare into the sub-roman world and the arms race resulting, one that was slowed down by the breeding of larger horses capable of carrying extra weight - the early cataphractii were not known for cavalry charges because they were wary of tiring out their horses which were no bigger than anyone elses and carried all that extra weight into battle. In fact, they rarely galloped at all, one reason for the slow acceptance of heavy cavalry. Cavalrymen were practical people and required riding support in context of their fighting style (thus not until the popularity of jousting in the medieval period emerge did the need for high back saddles follow). Stirrups for instane are often quoted as a ground breaking advance that allowed this that or the other, but in reality, their main benefit was comfort and functionally the stirrup had little effect. I think it's a myth to regard the hunnic saddle as 'higher tech'. It just wasn't, and bear in mind it was developed by a nomadic tribal society who specialised in light cavalry raids.

I'm not looking at my stars this year. Dive right in. Start as I mean to continue. Go with the flow. Probably means more of the same but I reckon my stars said as much -that's my prediction anyway

WOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOO! It's 2012, people! Yeah.... 2012.... Come to think of it, it doesn't feel like a very special year yet. The rain is falling, the wind is howling, and I've been sticking draught excluders in every crevice of the house. I suspect most people are starting to realise that 2012 might be as dull and boring as 2011. Now that they've acquired the obligatory hangover and a few traffic cones to decorate the home with, it's Back To Work Day. Bet you're feeling better already. Not So Bad Not everyone found the last year quite so dull. There's been plenty of natural disasters and one or two documentaries to remind us of earthquakes, volcanoes, tsumanis, and the occaisional strong wind. Despite many attempts to galvanise the world into protecting the enviroment, ice caps are still melting, temperatures are still rising, the Euro is still wobbling, and last year saw a record amount of illegal ivory siezed by african authorities. never mind. Britain's going to be okay. The Prime Minister says so. After all, what could possibly go wrong with the country hosting the olympics this year? Don't Mention The Olympics Now that I've thought about it, there's a lot of crosses to bear in the months ahead. For one thing those stupid olympics are happening in London this summer. Oh.. You already know that?... Sorry, but I hate bandwagons and no amount of televisoon adverts, newspaper slogans, and interviews with politicians are going to raise my enthusiasm for the endless coverage of athletes stretching their legs. You what? I should be patriotic? Don't get me wrong, I'll be as pleased as anyone else if we win a medal or two, but be honest - If we needed a major sporting event to make Britain great, it wasn't all great to begin with. Winning the hundred metres sprint or gyrating madly off a diving board isn't going to make the world a better place, is it? Calculations That's if the world is still here next year. We have that calculation from the ancient Maya to contend with. In december the world ends, so we're told, though we've had so many false alarms it's hard to believe that a bunch of guys wearing skirts, feathers, and unfashionable earrings were any more accurate in determining the fate of the planet. Not once did they mention global warming in their temple carvings. Or the London Olympics. Or Kim Il Jong. Absolutely nowhere on the sides of those jungle encrusted ruins will you find the horse that wins the 2:30 at Goodwood on saturday. Well okay, they are more or less right that the world will end, it's just that they were out by a matter of a few billion years. Rather like government spending plans I guess. And Looking Ahead? We can still hope there's something in this coming year to be thankful for. Maybe there's a chance of finding a television channel that won't show any coverage of the olympics? Maybe the world won't end in december? Maybe the sun will come out? Maybe an enployer will realise I'm perfect for that role I've applied for three times already? I have forgotten to check out my stars for the year ahead, so I have no idea what to expect. Hopefully that'll make 2012 a little more interesting.

The report seems a bit subjective. 500 years before Stonehenge? That particular monument wasn't the oldest in Britain in any way whatsoever. Okay, the new find is older than usually uncovered, but I'd like to see something a little more 'concrete' than news headlines. I'll go back sleep now