caldrail

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

A long time ago, I was asked a simple but searching question. Robin Harrison was the aspiring guitar hero of Red Jasper who tried to seek enlightment having listened to my own angry hard rock riffs. Not because he thought he might learn something meaningful from my own interpretation on what constituted music, but rather because he couldn't understand why I was so utterly entrenched in one particular style. Especially since I was a drummer and therefore had no legal reason to be playing a musical instrument at all. Who am I trying to kid? He was seeking an opportunity to appraise and hopefully criticise. He couldn't compete in that narrow genre I'd adopted. Ever the competitive type, he wanted a different battlefield. His need for status demanded he found some form of elevated niche. "So..." He interrupted me in between chords, "What do you play when you're feeling mellow?" My reply was that I never felt mellow. I wonder if he ever really understood that? We both had stars in our eyes in those days in one way or another. He wanted to be the acknowledged artiste whereas I wanted to demolish the brick wall that had caused me so many headaches over the years. No, more than that, I wanted to express anger. To as many people as I could sell records to. Funnily enough I was in a mellow sort of mood just the other day. It's taken a few decades but I guess that's just another part of growing old. By strange coincidence I also happened to be playing guitar. So the answer to Robin's question is that I finally played something mellow. That's what music is. A form of expression. It was a shame I only had one thing to say back then. Not Cold Enough? So far this winter I haven't needed to wear gloves. That's quite stunning really. Where's the sharp frosty mornings, the freezing fogs, the sight of my own breath? Currently my home's central heating is switched off - that's how mild it is right now - though in fairness I am wrapped up warm. Seeing as I look like a down-and-out, a sort of Scott-Of-The-Living-Room, I also notice the absence of reminders on television on the plight of the homeless this year. Obviously things aren't cold enough for the average person to show any concern. DW, our intrepid online journalist, dutifully spent a night sleeping rough to raise awareness in a publicity stunt. It must be said he didn't suffer unduly. Not only was the weather relatively mild, he was provided with warm bedding and a rather attractive young lady to warm him further. It isn't often I'm envious of anyone sleeping rough. My Year Ahead Of course the risk that I might end up homeless myself is something I won't ignore. Therefore my job search continues. Even over the festive season too, please note. I see on the newspaper headlines that there are on average twenty three applicants for every vacancy here in Britain. More than forty for customer service roles. Looking ahead then it's entirely possible that I'll be unemployed for a while yet. That doesn't mean I intend to surrender. Anyone who thinks I'm just going to give up and return to being boring old Mister Caldrail will be disappointed. I haven't been Lord Caldrail for the last two years for nothing. As my psychometric tests reveal, I'm an individualist (What? I needed an expert to tell me that?). So much of my self-expression has been vandalised or stolen that I really don't have anything left. As for those youths who keep telling me that I've gotten my just deserts, I have to say I haven't the slightest idea what they're talking about. Kids... Pfah! ... What do they know? Go away and discover girls. As for those who shouted that they get their food for free, well good for you. I'm not concerned with the details of your life in any way at all. After all, you had to shout to bring it to my attention which means it wasn't remotely interesting in the first place. However, if you turn out to be the ones dipping their fingers into my larder, I'll make sure to send you the bill. Only a matter of time.

The rectangular curved shield of the principate wasn't quite as standard as some believe. Many legions would use the oval shield and this form was present almost throughout the Roman era. It wasn't just the auxillaries that used this type which offers the better compromise between defence and practicality. Also around the reign of Tiberius there was a preference for polygonal shields. Bear in mind the curved rectangular shield developed from a tall narrow one in the late republic to a squarer version more useful in open fighting - we know from sources that the masssed closed ranks were a feature of republican warfare and less prevalent during the better protected principatal and mid-roman period.

I don't ever remember being convinced by this santa claus stuff. I knew early on my parents were putting presents by the tree every year, but to be honest that never detracted from the fun of opening gaudy packages anyway. Over the holiday The Polar Express was showing on tv. I've not seen the film before, and boy, am I glad I didn't pay to see that in the cinema. I was struck by the idea we should be wowwed with the entire concept of christmas, that it should be 'magical' somehow, as if the adult population was guilty of conspiring to foist this fantasy on their children. I mean, it's bad enough that christianity reivented the festival to suit itself (I do read that the end of year celebration predates roman festivals as a celebration of surving the winter solstice), but now we see both a commercial and cultural reinvention that whilst not absolutely at odds with each other, remain nonetheless two extremes of what was essentially a very simple custom. Good grief, I managed a rant, at this time of year no less. I haven't been drinking enough. If you'll please excuse me...

Romans matured a lot sooner than we do these days (teenagers were not invented back then) plus youngsters from high status families were groomed for their careers generally speaking. After all, Commodus was co-emperor for a few years before Marcus Aurelius died so I guess he'd gotten some idea of the lads potential. Choosing his son (which he did - despite at least two hollywood epics to the contrary) was simply a means to ensure a smooth transition of power as it would have been known and accepted by the majority ahead of time. In fairness however the smoothness was never going to be guaranteed.

Yes, it's that time of year again.For those who haven't noticed, we're fast approaching christmas, the traditional time of year for falling drunk off railway station platforms, smiling at people you've never met before, and finding out that someone is using your home as a convenience store. It's also the traditional time for pretending we believe that some old fat guy is going slip down the chimney and leave those perfects gifts for all the family that the television adverts have assiduously persisted in showing us. All I get in my chimney is nesting pigeons. As for dreaming of a white christmas, it's raining out there. A lot. The car park behind the min shopping street is one shallow river at the moment. If I sound like a party pooper I apologise, but then, if you want to enjoy yourself, why do you need an excuse? Why should we need a tradition dating long before Britain was invented? It's not as if Christmas is all that traditional anyway. So therefore to make life bearable and fun, I present my production of.... Caldrail's Inevitable Nativity Joseph - Good evening barkeep. A room for the night please for me and my pregnant wife. Barkeep - Sorry. All booked solid. Joseph - Look, I've tried every other inn in town. Couldn't you squeeze us in somewhere? Please? Barkeep - Sorry mate, but you should have booked ahead. We've been advertising on our website for months. Mary - Aaaah! Barkeep - You all right miss? Mary - No I'm not all right you idiot! I've going to have a baby. Customer - Hey! This a barroom. No babies allowed. She shouldn't be in here either. Joseph - Do you mind? My wife is going to give birth to the son of God! Barkeep - Son of.. God? Wow... We've never had a visit from a divine presence before. I have to admit mate, you're not exactly impressive. Joseph - No not me you fool, it's... Well... It's a long story. Isn't there a barn or a stable where we can sleep overnight? Mary - .It's going to look a bit ridiculous if the son of God is born on a barroom floor. Barkeep - Yeah, okay, out back. Mind the animals and don't make a mess of the straw. I'll send for a midwife. No extra charge. Joseph - Yes yes yes, thank you. Come dearest. Let's find ourselves a comfy spot in the stable.... Ahh! Here we are. Set yourself down. Mary - What? Here? There's dung all over the floor, it smells like a cows ass, and you know I'm allergic to pollen. Joseph - Can we not argue about it now? It's very scenic and this stable will make a wonderful picture in our family album. Oh look, here comes the midwife. Midwife - You the husband? Out! Get out! Men aren't supposed to be present at childbirth. Joseph - What? The donkey can stay and I can't? Midwife - The donkey's more use if we need to pull the baby out. Joseph - I just want be of some use. Midwife - Then get a shovel and clear up this dung. Look at this stable. What a mess. Typical bloke. Can't keep a stable tidy. Joseph - Hang on, this isn't my property. Midwife - From what I'm told it isn't your child either. Out! Joseph - (Sigh) Guess I'll just have to wait outside then. Wait.. What's that shaft of light? Why do I hear a heavenly choir? Angel of the Lord - Just me mate. Sorry to bother you, this being a private family matter and all, but his nibs decided that if that baby is going to be important, he needs to start at an early age. So I got roped in as the celebrity host. Joseph - So my child really is the son of God? Angel of the Lord - Yeah. Sneaky so and so, isn't he? Worse than a milkman. Hallo, who are these three suspicious characters? First King - We are three kings of orient far. We have followed the guiding star to be here, tonight, in the presence of this most solemn and majestic occaision. Second King - What a journey. No end of hassle. I swear that's the last time I go chasing astronomical phenomena. Third King - Yeah, and if we wait here too long, our people will rebel and install new transitional governments. Mary - Hoo hoo hooo hooo unnnnngh AAAAAARGH! Midwife - Keep pushing... Joseph - You all right in there? Donkey - EEEEEEH-AWWWWWW Jesus - (slap) Waaaaaaaaaaagh! Waaaaaaagh! Waaaagh! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh! Joseph - Huh? Midwife - It's a boy. Angel of the Lord - Congratulations Joseph. Here, have a cigar.. Wait a minute... Midwife, did you just slap the son of God? Midwife - Don't tell me how to do my job Angel. Your wife's fine, Joseph. Baby's healthy, except for a strange inexplicable glow, but I'm sure that will wear off in a few hours. Right, now about my fee....

Festive season or not, I am still unemployed, and therefore my jobsearch continues. It's continued for so long now that it seems almost like a job in itself. As long as I achieve my targets and objectives on a regular basis I get regular pay. In fact, the only real difference is that instead of one all important boss, I attend an office full of them. Or at least it would be if I could get through the door. The programme centre has a push-button intercom through which you must attract someone's attention and persuade them to unlock the front door remotely. As if my life long struggle with doors was not enough, now I seem to be stuck with a lifelong struggle with doorkeepers. The six options on the device always change between visits. I suspect it's some fiendish plot to make claimants use their brain once in a while. One of them opens the door, after a brief verbal contest, so it's just a matter of getting used to apologising, successfully deducing the correct choice from the tiny handwritten clue next to each button, or simply getting lucky. As it happens the economic downturn has made this quest somewhat simpler, as the various agencies employed by the government fall by the wayside. Once there were six options. Now there are twp. Which one? This? Or that? Help, this is too difficult for a claimant. We're not used to making decisions in our regulated 'do as we tell you' world! Out of nowhere appeared a Man-In-Grey. You must have come across one or two of those bog standard office types in your time. I think they're factory made in China. Anyway he ambled up to the door and appraised my efforts in attempting to gain entry. Clearly I didn't impress him with my negotiation skills. And since the door refused to budge even after persuading the tinny disembodied voice that I was supposed to be in there. I don't think he was impressed by my futile rage. "You just need to wait a second" He advised me helpfully. Mate, seriously, shut up. This door and I are arch-enemies. I know it better than you do. Nonetheless he took no notice and pushed a button with that quiet calm confidence guaranteed to irritate lesser members of the human species. He too answered the voice and asked for access. Then he waited for a second. Then a few more. Then pressed the button again. Eventually he leaned forward and spoke into the grill "I'm not able to access the building". Once Inside Is anyone else having a frustrating festive season? As soon as was allowed into the programme centre I was informed that I should go home and wait for a phone call, because with the economic downturn there's only one eigth as many staff there as there was originally. That was nothing compared to yesterday. I foolishly made the mistake of choosing the same time as everyone else to go shopping. The queues at the supermarket - not a building known for generous space to begin with - looped around the shelves. Excuse me?... No, I just want some chicken nuggets on special offer... What?... You want to get by?.... Erm.... Once Outside Homelessness has gone up by 13%. 70,000 children in Britain are sleeping rough at Christmas this year. Up to thirty years can be knocked off your life expectantcy by homelessness. We do tend to step over people who fall by the wayside - I'm no different - and according to the shelter representative interviewed on the news just now, it can happen to anyone. So I guess I'll have to be thankful for the roof over my head, even if it isn't as warm as I would prefer it to be.

With all the spare time I seem to be afflicted with as an unemployed person it's inevitable that watch a bit more television than usual. So far I've avoided the mind numbing tedium of Countdown (never the same after Carol Voorderman left) and apart from Shaun The Sheep, childrens tv doesn't fill my spiritual emptiness. However, lately there's been a series of japanese animation films. They're all pretty similar in style. Slightly surreal, always western in cultural depiction despite the oriental language, and strangely absorbing. Most are actually pretty dire as stories. There was one about sky pirates that ought to be used for prisoner interrogation. Fifteen minutes of that and you'd reveal every top secret you 've ever heard of. There was one that caught my attention - Kiki's Delivery Sercvvice. Not because of the story, which was pure sugar and very cringweworthy, but the background. It was a sort of 1930's France in feel. It felt oddly familiar. Those of you who've read the Tintin Comics will know what I mean - the direct influence of real world places and objects makes the cartoon so much more reali no matter how simplistic the drawing is. The rendition of the town was very appealing. I wanted to take that tram ride along the wide cobbled boulevard where the wealthy people lived, or stroll down that narrow winding road between the shops. Shame it's only imaginary really. Maybe that's because I'm getting a little bored of red brick Swindon. Apologies To Monty Python A tourist enters North Korea. Tourist:: 'Ello, I wish to register a complaint. (The official does not respond.) T:'Ello, Miss? Official: What do you mean "miss"? T:I'm sorry, I have a cold. I wish to make a complaint! O: We're closin' for lunch. T:Never mind that, my lad. I wish to complain about your leader who I tried to visit not half an hour ago from this very office. O: Oh yes, the, uh, Kim Jong Il...What's,uh...What's wrong with him? T:I'll tell you what's wrong with him, my lad. 'E's dead, that's what's wrong with him! O: No, no, 'e's uh,...he's resting. T:Look, matey, I know a dead politician when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now. O: No no he's not dead, he's, he's restin'! Remarkable fella, the Kim Jong Il, isn'he, ay? Beautiful clothing! T:The clothing don't enter into it. He's stone dead. O: Nononono, no, no! 'E's resting! T:All right then, if he's restin', I'll wake him up! (shouting at the cage) 'Ello, Kim! I've got a lovelyweapons of mass destruction for you if you show...(owner hits the cage) O: There, he moved! T:No, he didn't, that was you hitting the cage! O: I never!! T:Yes, you did! O: I never, never did anything... T:(yelling and hitting the cage repeatedly) 'ELLO KIM!!!!! Testing! Testing! Testing! Testing! This is your nine o'clock alarm call! (Takes Kim Jong Il out of the cage and thumps its head on the counter. Throws him up in the air and watches him plummet to the floor.) T:Now that's what I call a dead politician. O: No, no.....No, 'e's stunned! T:STUNNED?!? O: Yeah! You stunned him, just as he was wakin' up! Korean politicians stun easily, major. T:Um...now look...now look, mate, I've definitely 'ad enough of this. That person is definitely deceased, and when I visited him not 'alf an hour ago, you assured me that his total lack of movement was due to bein' tired and shagged out following a prolonged speech. O: Well, he's...he's, ah...probably pining for the rice paddies. T:PININ' for the RICE PADDIES?!?!?!? What kind of talk is that?, look, why did he fall flat on his back the moment I got 'im home? O: Kim Jong Il prefers kippin' on his back! Remarkable leader, isn't he, squire? Lovely uniform! T:Look, I took the liberty of examining that person when I got him home, and I discovered the only reason that he'd been sitting on his throne in the first place was that he'd been NAILED there. (pause) O: Well, o'course he was nailed there! If I hadn't nailed him down, it would have nuzzled up to those bars, bent 'em apart withhis bare hands, and VOOM! Feeweeweewee! T:"VOOM"?!? Mate, this bloke wouldn't "voom" if you put four million volts through him! 'E's bleedin' demised! O: No no! 'E's pining! T:'E's not pinin'! 'E's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! 'E's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! 'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies! 'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the throne! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!! THIS IS AN EX-POLITICIAN!! (pause) O: Well, I'd better replace him, then.

By chance I bumped into the boss of the museum in town and we had a chat. Normally he's buzzing around here and there sorting things out, so it was great to discover I've been working for a human being. The conversation eventually got around to things christmas. I'm a spiritualist, he's an aetheist, and funnily enough neither of us has any problem with that, unlike the christian who works there. She goes into a strop every time Jesus isn't treated with absolute reverence by everyone. Lo and behold what do we find? Our glorious leader, David Cameron, announces that Britain is a christian country and the world would be a better place if we all queued up on sundays. Of course he added that other faiths should be respected too, and that if christians feel secure about their faith, then others won't be interefered with. I fall off my seat in hysterics at the idea that Cameron is emulating the Roman emperor Constantine in using a religion to do his dirty work for him. But what makes me far less amused is the assumption that christianity is automatically a more moral culture. It just isn't, and never was. Despite all the 'messages' and ideas about being nice to others, christianity was constructed to order for political reasons in the 4th century. Far from adopting the moral high ground it claims to own, anyone who encounters the adherents of Jesus' personality cult from outside soon learns how often Christianity forms a protective umbrella beneath which all sorts of dubious activity goes on. Hardly a religion with sincere roots, therefore, and both my boss and I agreed on that. Christians are often the worst people though in fairness they don't have exclusive rights to bigotry and spitefulness. There will be some people reading this who think that I should be... What's the phrase?... More tolerant given this is the festive season, but then, since when was Christmas a christian festival anyway? Birthday of Jesus? Check your history book. The rituals and customs of the festive season are descended from pagan beliefs. More Xmas Woes Those of you born some time around 1992 don't know how lucky they are. Partly because that's when I gave up being a drummer, but also because theuy're too young to remember the seventies. Now why, you might ask, are the seventies the cause of grief? Yes, it's those christmas songs from Slade and Wizard. Every year I have to listen to those two songs repeated endlessly. I'm old enough to remember when those singles first came out, and for nearly thirty years, I've been a victim of music abuse. It isn't just that the rest of the world seems utterly immune to the trauma-inducing effects of seventies christmas singles, but rather that despite my best efforts, I finally succumbed to bad luck over the weekend and heard both songs. I might need some time to convalesce. Anything Else? So is anything else happening in Caldworld? Erm... Noooo.... Not really. Even the lady behind the desk at the Job Centre was politie and pleasant on my last visit. It's Swindon, Jim, but not as we know it.