caldrail

Tis the season of dreary grey weather. All the neon signs have been attached to lamposts in anticipation of that supposedly magical commercial festival at the end of the month, not to mention a small village of wooden sheds for a temporary market in the town centre. Come to think of it, for some reason the public have decided that filling the streets was a good idea. If that was because they had time to spare while they were on strike against government cuts, then it's something of an eye-opener. I mean, what do all these public-sector workers do when they're not shopping? It was just my luck to try and pick up a few snacks at the supermarket right in the middle of Walk Slowly Day. Oh curse my rapid gait! No. Forget that. Curse you pedestrian! I dunno, filling up the pavement with idle memvbers of the public? What is the world coming to? Oooh no wait. As I type this tirade against mindless meandering a council bird handler is walking outside. He's got some bird of prey with him to tackle the menace of pidgeons, and what a lovely animal it is. Don't know the breed. Sort of black with brown and white trim. Yes, the pidgeons have realised the threat. There they go. Well done that bird. That's it! That's the solution to all those pedestrians blocking my progress. I need a bird of prey. Darn. If only giant pterodactyls hadn't gone extinct. Don't Worry mate Jeremy Clarkson is in a spot of bother right now. The BBC have issued an apology for his comments about yesterdays strike action, which oddly enough was more or less the same as my comments except I used a few less firing squads. Can't see any news item about the BBC issuing an apology for what I said though. That sort of discrimation is typical of the public sector television company and gosh darn it I've had to fork out another hundred and fifty quid for a license to watch them issuing apologies. You have my sympathies Mr Clarkson. As for Jon Trickett, Labour's shadow minister for the cabinet office, please do shut up. It's over. It achieved nothing. And I'm no better off.

Noooo... Still struggling to see anything... Is this one of this 'magic picture' things that plays tricks with the senses? Or is it a mystuical ley line for conducting earth energies to the spiritual home of the druids? Or is it a secret wartime chart for bombers on a daring mission to crush welsh morale with a heavyweight straegic bombing offensive? Or is it a secret road for those drivers privileged enough to be exempt from speed cameras? Or has Pythagoras been revealed as a welshman?

You have a slight advantage over me there it must be said. The trouble is my impressions of Texas and Arizona come from watching cowoboys ride across the area and it's invariably arid. The thought of apache indians shouting 'mush' and whipping their reindeers to make their sleighs go faster is very hard for me to imagine. With the BBC showing their latest Frozen Planet documentaries right now, you would think someone would tell David Attenborough about it.

That's like taking it to Antiques Roadshow and having an expert point at a "Made In Taiwan" label underneath. Should have kept the box, sir.

Six More Years Of Pain. Falling standards of living, lower pay, fewer jobs, and all the other doom and gloom of austerity predictions. Makes you feel good to be British, doesn't it? I was only a child during the Winter of Discontent. The financial wobbles that ended the yuppie era barely affected me. Well, I'm certainly affected now. Funny isn't it? Today there's a public service strike across Britain. Signs have been posted to invite the public to attend the rallies, and almost everywhere in town there are canvassers attempting to gain our support. I can understand the concerns these people have for their pensions, but I really don't think they understand that we pay for them as well as our own. I suspect their schemes are probably more likely to fund their old age too. Sorry, but no, I'm not interested. As for me, well, I don't seem to be too popular right now. Last night I had two phone calls out of the blue from people who wanted to respond to my efforts to find work. In one case, a training organisation offered me a course on warehousing. Oh brilliant. So I get a piece of paper after a couple of weeks telling me I know how to do the stuff I've been doing for nearly twenty years? I felt like calling him an idiot, but no, these things are sent to try us. The second call was from an agency. "You applied for bar work?" He asked me. Bar work? I don't think so. Mind you, I did apply to your agency earlier today for.... "Oh yes" He suddenly remembered, "That admin job. I'll pass the application on to the right desk. The emails must have gone astray." Seems to be a lot of things going astray right now. It isn't the first time I've gotten the bums rush from a job agency. One had phoned me a few weeks ago, the boss herself, and whilst she's never so much as recognised I existed, now she took the trouble to fob me off personally. A few years ago, the boss of another invited me to the office for a personal put down. Funnily enough she advised me to look for bar work. Bit of a coincidence there. Actually some of my woes are spiteful mischief makers attempting to goad me into using my title as an excuse. Sorry, but that's not what my title is for, so I'm afraid that as much as these idiots are enjoying the human talent for crapping on others, it isn't going to happen. Since getting a job from agencies doesn't look like it's going to happen either, I do feel sort of excused from any shame in being unemployed. But don't worry, I'll carry on applying for jobs. That's what the government pay me for after all. Christmas Trees It isn't just Britain suffering. I see on CBS that Texas is undergoing a harsh drought right now. So bad in fact that one farmer is unable to profit from sales of christmas trees. She grows christmas trees? In Texas? But it's okay. With a mind to offsetting the worst of any further climatic wobbles, she's investing in christmas trees sourced in Arizona. I'm speechless.

People do say the stupidest things sometimes. I should know. "I wish someone would take him away" Muttered one self important lady as I minded my own business with a library book. Her friend obligingly tittered at the supposedly witty request. Carry me away? Sorry dear. Health and safety. Wouldn't want anyone to hurt their back. As it happens her attempt to socially exclude me sort of failed. It's called not giving a hoot, lady, although normally I use a stronger rude word. Quite why I'd want to be her friend perplexes me. Why would I want to titter obligingly every time she made a wish? Go away you silly woman... Oh dear... I think I might have inadvertantly excluded her socially... Oh well. At least this book is interesting. That's not the only example. One of neighbours has the strange habit of shouting "Learn to play first!" each and every time I start playing a guitar. Each and every time. What is she, an android? Programmed to heckle me to simulate live performance? Can you imagine what having sex with her is like? Might need a foot pump. Talking about women you wouldn't want sex with, another neighbour last night attempted to sing Silent Night in polish. I blame Simon Cowell. Now everybody thinks they can sing. Green Men For some reason my last blog post vanished into outer space. Unlike NASA, I didn't spend millions of dollars on it, so I'll just have to repeat the exercise, safe in the knowledge that it won't affect my dole payments or finances. Over the weekend a new mission to Mars has blasted literally a ton of expensive scientific equipment toward our neighbouring planet on a quest to discover if life ever happened there at all. Since humanity appears to measure the existence of life by the extent of nighclubs and other social venues that open late, it looks as if the empty red deserts of Mars rather rule out that possibility. It's been asked on television why we're so obsessed with Mars, and even worse, finding anything alive on it. Ever since Schiparelli thought he could see canals on the martian surface, we've been inventing inhabitants that basicially conform to one or other of two ideas. Firstly, that the martians are living on a dying world and must expand to ours, an enterprise usually confounded by square jawed hollywood heroes, a few screams from their female love interests, and the occaisional assistance of the common cold. Seconfdly, that the martians are dead and gone, leaving behind mysterious machines and ruins to present our heroes with puzzles and terrors. It seems deserts resonate in the human psyche with ideas of failure, abandonment, sterility, and psychological emptiness. Or more likely, that deserts are really boring places to spend an evening. So I guess our obsession is borne from a desire to find somewhere new to dance the night away. But why are martians always depicted as little green men? I mean, if no-ones actually met a martian UFO driver, how would we know? Funnily enough, the same problem also occurs with those supernatural folk that frightened our medieval ancestors witless. Those little folk were often green too. By now the conspiracy theorists are no doubt claiming that aliens have been visiting Earth at least since the middle ages based on what I've just said, but why the heck would an intelligent interplanetary civilisation want to visit the middle ages for anyway? There wasn't a decent nightclub at all back then.

As Polybius pointed out, no society survives forever. There is a sort of parallel between the lifespan of nation states and biological life. Frsh new states are usually aggressive or seek to be part of a herd, and they grow old and tired, either dying naturally or eaten by stronger neighbours as it were. Inevitably if circumstances change then so does the history they generate - the two cannot be seperated - so therefore the answer to whether history would be different is of course yes. It can't be anything else. However, I would like to point out that roman culture has persisted to this very day. Firstly, by the study of Roman history and the latin language, we keep alive the knowledge (and hopefully undersanding) of that time. Secondly, the achievements, both positive and negative, inspire individuals or nations in bother overt and subtle ways. It was no coincidence that Hitler used ideas common with the ancient world for instance, and that sort of wish to revive the idea of Rome as a basis for glory and success in your own regime is not that unusual. I would also point out that christianity preserves not only literature and customs of Roman times, but rather more insidiously, much of the Roman mindset too. The hypocritical, avaricious, manipulative, and even domineering behaviour seen in modern christian circles is nothing new. It descends directly from Roman times because that regime encouraged those human characteristics.

The problem with our current system is that history is seen as potentially politically incorrect, because it underpins national patriotism and focuses on events that reinforce what is seen as 'the old order'. It's a result of permissive and socialist agendas in teaching. It was, in fact, an informal attempt to recreate british scoiety in young minds in a sort of hazy new age or socialist vein. That isn't just my observation. Television documentaries have been aired on this very subject. Personally I could go further and point out the circumstantial links between our involvement in europe and the political agenda to ignore british history against the values of cultural awareness. Need I go on?

Watch the video? No, no thanks, I doubt my sensitive nature would be able to cope with the fall of western civilisation encapsulated in media presentation. It's no good, I hate nightclub music. Ugh. Please excuse me while I break out my heavy metal faves - Leather, legs, internal; combustion engines, fight the good fight. Oh yeah... let's drawe a curtain over the satanism and under-age sex stuff. Oh heck... What am I saying?

Zosimus gives an all or nothing opinion doesn't he? If soldiers achieve victory, they're men, tough soldiers, praiseworthy. If they fail, they're weak, effeminate, shameful. That's probably not so untypical of greek opinion in any case and conforms to the 'Winner Takes All' mindset of classic greek culture which had long since depaerted by the time Zosimus got around to pouring scorn on the legions at Adrianople. However, regarding it as a comparison without any real evidence of it isn't convincing. Although Zosimus is being deliberately scornful, he isn't being untruthful. He's merely stating what many had opted not to say. In other words, as Vegetius implies as well, the state of the legions at the end of the 4th century was scandalous. Much depended on who led those legions of course, and as we see from the account by Marcellinus, it was still possible for Roman soldiers to make good account of themnselves - however - also note that Sebastianus achieved success by using tactics adopted for the situation and by selecting men he regarded as suitable. Many of the soldiers at that time simply not battle ready and the attempt to engage the Goths in a set piece battle was a disastrous idea based on the pursuit of glory with troops unaccustomed to that sort of warfare. It wasn't enough for Valens to order his men to war. He had to persuade them to do it. He spent some time making speeches to exort his men to go to war. That's from Marcellinus, and demonstrates a considerable morale problem. Trooops were lazy, indifferent, and unwilling. Which is confirmed by Vegetius as he states the strength and substance of the old legions had gone. Zosimus isn't making a comparison at all. He's making a big deal (and quite rightly) of something the martial Romans should have been ashamed of.

The other day I was chatting to a colleague about popular music. In my youth music was scarce, hard to come by, and watching Top Of The Pops on a thursday night was an event to be savoured even with Noel Edmunds introducing the evenings mime actors. If one of your mates bought an album, a fragile twelve inch disc of black plastic, we all converged for that all important first listen. We all sat around admiring the artwork of the cover, wondering who all these names were on the credits, or discussing when we too would be releasing our very own record. Now you get music everywhere. Delivered electronically to your latest gizmo for entertainment for the busy lifestyles of the modern day. As much as music has improved in quality over the years I can't help feeling that so much of this garbage we download is... well... garbage. All you need is a steady thump and a wierd chorus and success will be yours. You think I'm joking? Take one of the latest offerings. "I got the moves like Jagger" the singer repeats a few times before his vocal chords are warped beyond human performance by the technological boxes that enslave creativity. The thing is though, the odd sound is no more than a gimmick. So desperate are the producers to make this song stand out that they've resorted to idiot melodies that no-one could sing without admitting to having extraterrestrial parents. The listener simply has to put up with psychological trauma. What's worse is the message of the song. That's about slavery too. Apparently the singer believes that behaving like Mick Jagger will make him a sexual tyrannosaurus, bringing helpless females to point of orgasm, totally reduced to abject obedience in the face of an imminent bonk. It is in fact arrogant sexist tripe, but then, what do you expect with nightclubs? No wonder the song's been doing well in the charts. That said, pubs and clubs aren't doing so well these days. Those that put on live acts appear to be doing better. Those that play recorded music seem to shutting up shop faster than european banks. Is that a coincidence, I ask myself? I chuckle as I switch on the television. In a way I consider myself lucky to have experienced popular music in the good old days. As it happens a channel is running repeats of Top Of The Pops from the seventies. With a sudden urge to savour the nostalgia of my youth, I sit back and watch Noel Edmunds telling us which mime act is on next. You know what? They say you should never revisit the places of your youth. Good grief - I never realised what a complete load of rubbish we were listening to.... Little Burdens We were expecting a party of 'special needs' children at the museum and they arived pretty much as expected. Unless you meet these children and see for yourself, the phrase 'special needs' doesn't mean anything. Most were what you'd expect, hyperactive kids with no attention span whatsoever. Others had different afflications, such as one youngster who seemed unable to interact with anyone or anything unless it was a vehicle, real or toy. It saddened me. It also left me with no shortage of respect for the patience of the teachers who shepherded these kids around our hallowed halls. For some reason our events manager decided that I would introduce the museum and recite the instructions for safe enjoyable visits. To tell the truth I wasn't in the mood for that, still less after the events manager put me on the spot. What made it worse was that he wouldn't shut up. By the time he'd finished talking, everything had been pretty much said. I think I uttered one sentence to complete my duty. After a short silence one lady asked "Can we go in now?" Oh yes. Please do.

In the news lately is the revelation that employment law is to be changed to make it easier for bosses to fire their workers, the idea being to reduce costs of tribunals, mediation, and trade union intervention. That's all very well, but if my experience is anything to go by, bosses are already well capable of getting workers they don't want out the door with little difficulty. I've seen employers resort to chicanery and dubious excuses succesfully for some years. Those talents aren't going to go away simply because the rules are relaxed. I do realise these new laws are intended also to reduce certain abuses of the law. Fair enough. But it cuts both ways, and whilst I don't subscribe to the trade union movement, there is a case for their presence in the commercial sphere. It is interesting that some time ago I predicted that our ever-generous labour government would recreate the dark satanic mills of old, with hordes of manual labourers doffing their caps as a company manager wafts by in an expensive limousine (hybrid powered of course). How remarkable that a coalition government from the opposition appears to be following the same trend. Are we heading back toward another period of strict class society? Has the permissive society started to decline in it's old age? Eventually My spot at the library computer was booked. I needed only wait patiently for the woman already logged on to finish her session. Time then to read the local paper and sigh at the grim folly of crime, anti-social behaviour, and lack of vacancy adverts. Not quite the hundreds of jobs the paper claims to advertise. I heard a quiet ding!. Five minites left until she must log off, or have the computer dump her back into the real world whether she likes it or not. It's the same for me of course. The library lets you have two hours a day maximum. She was busy. The phone rang and naturally she had to answer it. Her unfinished document was on the screen as those precious minutes ticked by. I idly wondered if she was going to get all stressed out if her work was lost. "How do I print this?" She asked. The kindly gentleman in the next cubicle showed her how, but like any well intended technophobe, she asked me as well for confirmation and emotional support in her time of need. Yes, dear, click on that. Go on, do it!... Now!... No, not that one, this one... Yes, that one.... With the crisis heading for a mention on the evening news the librarian bounded across to assist the woman with a friendly offer to print her document from the administration account. So she walked away from the screen leaving behind a mountain of personal belongings heaped across the desk. There we go. The computer logged her out without mercy as it inevitably does. My name appeared on the screen, declaring my ownership of the computer for the next two hours. Except all I could was stare at mass of stuff obscuring the desk. The gentleman on the next computer probably noticed my exasperation. It doesn't do to touch other peoples belongings even in time of dire need. There such things as security cameras. "Are you going to use that computer"? He asked. Eventually.

Hadrian was a man with architectural aspirations (he once had an architect punished for disagreeing with him) and specified exactly what he wanted for the Caledonian Wall. Although the security zone was already established, the wall was intended to display Rome's majesty, to impress the locals, and to be a monument to Hadrians reign (and assumed talent). That's why some gates open onto vertical cliffs - Hadrian simply demanded that his scheme was followed irrespective of circumstance. Now as for the senate - many of those important politicians would have never seen it. They would have applauded the effort in public, naturally, since they wanted to their emperor sweet at least superficially. Some might have seen the value of keeping frontier armies busy. Some might actually have agreed with hadrians motives. Others might have shaken their heads at the demonstration of ego. Regarding the average pleb - how many of them would have known the edifice existed? They might have heard of a wall built to mark Rome's distant frontier, perhaps phrased in mythic terms by returning merchants, but for most I suspect it was simply something they'd heard of once.

It's suprising what suffering people keep trapped inside themselves. I remember one work colleague, always mischievousn and jovial, suddenly breaking down in tears during the admission that his life was a mess. More seriously, I happened to be chatting to a guy who worked on the staff of an airfield. He'd been part of a rescue the previous year when a twin Beech Baron had nosed in during a low level circuit of the field. It all came gushing out. All I could do was let the man let the pain out as he described the horrific results of the accident in which four people died. He apologised when he was finished, but there wasn't any need to. He really did need to express himself over that event.

Maybe...l But then she might not have been aware that many english pubs are going out of business.

I dunno... IS this an informal contest? Do I get a prize if I get the right answer? Or the best answer? Or bother to answer at all?

Sooner or later my cupboards are bare, and a trip to the shops is necessary to replenish my humble larder. That means spending money too. Disaster. As I started picking goods from the shelves it became clear that the elderly population of Swindon had also decided to do the same as me. Is this 'pension day' or something? Hordes of them, shuffling here and there, or standing confused in the gangways. I shouldn't be so critical of course - I'm only a sdecade or so away from becoming one of them. Oh make your mind up lady. Are you going to go left or right? No, you're going to stand there helplessly. Just as I'm about to politely ask to get by she shuffles a few feet forward. Then she stops again to try and remember where she wanted to go in the first place. Good grief, is that what's going to happen to me in a few years? As it happens not every old person is so afflicted with the ravages of time. As I approached the tills I decided which of the two was the quickest way out of the store. With the new robotic self service tills only one or two lane is manned by increasingly less helpful shop asssistants, and I can't stand using those silly robot things. I'll use this lane. Unfortunately the old folk had spotted my yactics and shuffled across in front of me. A little old lady virtually pushed me aside in her frenzied quest to get their before me. She looked up and shrugged "I was before him just now". Yeah, whatever lady. I had no choice but to wait my turn. A shop assistant enquired whether I wanted to use the robots and offered to put the shopping through herself. What am I? A helpless old person? Thanks, but no. Finally it was time to place my goods on the rubber conveyor. As I reached across for a plastic divider, my rucksack slid off my back and landed squarely on the little old lady who had nipped in front of me. "I'm getting pushed about all over the place" She moaned. Yeah. I know exactly what you mean. But I couldn't help laughing anyhow. Oh Shi...!!! I've just seen that stunning footage of a helicopter coming to grief in New Zealand. At least in this case the pilot was not seriously injured. I remember watching a news report of a larger helicopter crash somewhat more spectacularly in South Africa that didn't have such a happy ending. I've never trusted helicopters. Yes I know, conventional aeroplanes crash too, but not always. Like that airline pilot who got himself stuck in the toilet just before the jet was due to make a landing. At least he was stuck in the right place, so to speak.

Personally I think the idea that the Pax Romana suddenly stopped on a particular date is nothing more than the usual human desire for categorisation. It eroded over a long period of time. I've always considered that there was the Principate, the Pax Romana, and finally the Dominate, but the border between them is a bit hazy. I don't think any soecific event or date is actually relevant, although for the purposes of historical study I'll probably have to think about when the oldm order had functionally ceased to be.

No, because historians have identified nine seperate Arturs in the Dark Ages from all over England and Wales. The problem is that the various events and achievements of them have all sort of blurred into one aided by some very hazy and inaccurate reporting, not to mention the extraordinary retelling of british history by Geoffery of Monmouth in the 12th century. Actually your grannie was way off target. An englishman can always be found in the midday sun.

At some point, somehow, I must have upset my neighbour downstairs. I can tell what mood they're in generally by listening, given how much noise goes through the floorboards. Yep, he's slamming doors in the early morning. That means he's had hardly any sleep last night and wants me to wake up too. It's like living with a cantakerous alarm clock that speaks a foreign language. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I heard you. Oh good grief it's not even nine o'clock yet. Time to roll over, shut those eyes, and snooze for a another hour or two. Does that sound lazy? Nooo of course not. I have lots of very important sstuff to do today and oversleeping is not recommended. Or possible. All Fair In Love And War I see that some are demanding that Gaddafi's son must have a fair trial. After all the hoo-haa of his father's demise, I'm sure the new lean mean still slightly green Libya wants to be seen as an emerging mature friendly nation. So I suggest giving him an hours headstart. Lock and load chaps. Don't Panic! Don't Panic! Late into the night I roused myself from the dull witted stupor caused by watching a Jackie Chan movie and fill in my paperwork for the fortnightly benefit claim. Except I couldn't, because the rucksack the papers were stowed in was missing. Oh no! People usually regard me as a well organised person. If only they knew. Yet I too am afflicted with a measure of chaos and absent mindedness like everyone else. Where is it? Where's my rucksack? Yes, I was having one of those little drama's that make life such a frustrating experience. Quickly I searched the house. Did I leave the folder or the rucksack anywhere other than its normal resting place. Nope. Have I been burgled? Please tell me someone hasn't managed to penetrate the stout walls of Castle Caldrail. Things like this always leave me feeling unsettled. Some people have an ability to shrug, roll over back to sleep, and nonchalantly make excuses the next day (and in all probability, get irate afterward when they don't get what they expected). Before I embarras myself with a call to the police there was just one possibilityleft. Maybe I'd left the sack somewhere else without realising... Yes. On Friday I strode away from the library completely oblivious to the fact my belongings were stuffed under a table. It's a wonder the library never held a bomb alert - that's what usually happens when suspicious containers are left unattended. Shame on you library. Mind you, thanks for not asking the army to blow my rucksack up harmlessly. That would have been a disaster. At least it would in my tiny little chaotic world. Right. Forms filled. Time to brave the dangers of the Job Centre and their man eating inhabitants.

The underlying idea here is that many of us are thinking in terms of conquest and territorial ownership. That was not necessarily on the minds on the Roman commanders, who had more sophisticated or short term objectives to consider. Although they had yet to contruct Hadrians Wall, there nonetheless a need to establish the security of the current border of what the Romans considered theirs. In other words, it wasn't enough to simply build a few watchtowers and patrol the road, it was also necessary t impress upon the Picts that the Romans were not to be messed with. In the early empuire the legions still pursued what might be described as 'aggressive policies' as opposed to the frontier safeguards common to the late period. In much the same way that some countries launch air strikes against troublesome nations for limited objectives, so the Romans also marched into foreign lands not necessarily to conquer, but to intimidate and dominate.

You're also forgetting the insidious nature of a paranoiud emperor. It's hardly likely that given the communication lag (which you rightly point to) that Domitian was going to trust his general completely. It isn't beyond reason that spies and agents were on hand to observe what was going on, even possibly armed with a recall letter should they feel that Agricola was attempting to create a breakaway power base by conquest. Don't forget, once Britain was totally conquered, it was (as it always has been) a challenge to conquer because of geography. Now I admit that this is based on speculation. However, we also shouldn't forget that our mental image of a totally obedient professional army is one based on our own modern experience, not that of the Roman. From the very start the Romans had attempted to ensure that no army was commanded by one man alone - and as later history shows, with good reason. Emperors were usually well aware of the fickle nature of their legions. Many of them would come to power via their good graces, and many would be on their receiving end. I often see many articles or forum posts praising Roman civil engineering or the finer points of their society. Whilst I can't argue with that, it tends to be a rosy picture of the Roman Empire. It ignores the corruption, greed, and violence within it. It ignores the insidious nature of a very Roman desire to control another person - not just slavery, but by manipulation, association, and threat as well. Not for nothing does Cassius Dio frequently refer to men being made slaves of when in fact they officially free. Therefore to describe the end of the Caledonian campaign we need to observe it from a Roman perspective - not a familiar modern one.

Eat your greens. I wonder how many kids these days get that traditional command? Sometimes I wonder if the whole point of the old Popeye cartoons was not to entertain, but to sell truckloads of unwanted spinach. Of course Popeye was violent so like Tom & Jerry, it doesn't get shown on television these days. Without the mighty forearms of Popeye to inspire kids to engage each other in fistfights, these days the kids resort to knives anf firearms in a playground arms race. Our boss at the museum (the real one, not Young L) has found a solution to the problem of that most hated of all vegetables, the ghastly Brussel Sprout. He made a Brussel Sprout Vindaloo. For the purists among us that isn't possible without meat and potatoes, but these days anything that sets fire to the taste buds is measured in curry type. There are some people who say that you can't taste hot curries. I'm not one of them. Of course you can taste it - if you can take it. Mind you, a recent competition to eat the hottest curry saw loads of people ferried to hospital recently, and what about the withdrawal of Lloyd Grossman's disease-inducing curry sauces? Some years ago I had to stop cooking with very hot jalapeno peppers because they were starting t do strange things with my stomach. But I still like my vindaloo's. Yum. So I guess the prospect of a volcanic curry isn't so daunting for me. But brussel sprouts? Sorry. No curry, not even if radioactvely hot, is ever going to make me want to consume those horrible things. So I guess when Claude Van Damme gets tired of advertising lager, there's a career just waiting as a fist fighting champion of the downtrodden given strange violent powers by consuming brussel sprouts. I mean, wouldn't you be pee'd off if you were served them? It Might Rain Here we go again. The Prophets of Global Warming have prophecised that extreme weather is ever more likely. Well it would be. We're still coming out of the previous Ice Age and the last few thousand years have been unusually stable. With an estimated fifty thousand years of very warm climate before the glaciers return in the next ice age, surely this would be expected? But we humans like scapegoats. Let's scape the car, or industry, or people who fart. I was reading a learned volume about climate changes and it points out that there are cycles in the climate, some short, some long, linked to wobbles in the Earths orbit or the variations in the Sun's output, that cause these wild swings. But I've said this all before. The UN never listened when I asked for national independence, so I doubt they'll listen to my prophecies of climate change. Actually I'd better stop whinging or they'll be imposing sanctions on me. Good grief, I might be in danger of UN Peacekeepers patrolling my premises. Oh well. At least they might shoot the burglars for me. It Might Download As something of a ferro-equinologist, I do like to explore the virtual world of railways. It's okay, I admitted this years ago. Lately one of the librarians has decided my hobby is against regulations. Worse still, she seems to regard it as something like the straw that broke civilisations back. Either that or her eyesight can't tell the difference between a russian diesel and a naked lady in a silly and provocative pose. Then again both of them are dirty, right? So a few times now I've gritted my teeth at being refused permission to access my favourite railway website because it falls within the category of evil decadence. Finally I managed to negotiate the bureaucracy involved in accessing such politically incorrect sites. Ahhhh.... Time to relax and browse the 3d replicas that talented modellers create for download. This site looks interesting... It's all written in cryllic so I haven't a clue what the text says, but after a while you sort of get used to it. Hey wow! Look at this! That I have to download! Except that I can't because I personally exceeded the total bandwidth used by the native Russians and unless I pay thropugh the nose for it, they've forbidden me from completing the download. Yeah? Really? Listen you Russian secret agents, if I can get past the obstacle of the local librarian, the FSB is no challenge at all. Errrr.... Where's my phone?... Oh hi. Is there a Mr Bond there?

The problem with Jasper Carrot is that he never changed his act - ever. Each performance pulled out the same old jokes all over again. Funny the firtst time. Witty the second. Booed the thirtieth. What did he do - sack his jokewriter?

Nah, you lot are all Vikings. Nothing sensible about putting to sea in twisty iversized canoe no matter how much of our gold and women you pillage. Anyway, I seem to remember us Wessex chaps beat you fair and square.