caldrail

I think it's rendere me unemployable

Discipline has to be created - it doesn't automatically exist - thusn much depends on leadership, which will only affect the performance of a legion while the talented commander is present. After all, for the weaknesses and failings of late Roman legions, Sebastianus did manage to begin a successful campaign against the goths using the very form of warfare that the late imperial legion had been trimmed down for. This is one point that generally escapes the casual observer. The legion of the late empire was about one sixth of the size of its forebears. There may have been more legions at that time, but they were smaller and more diverse in character. Specialisation was appearing. Marcellinus makes an intereesting reference to legionaries armed with hammers for instance. In many respects, the sort of army we see in the middle ages was already evolving along with the rise of armoured cavalrymen. The situation had changed for Rome. The days when their legions were a force of conquerors had long since passed. They had become a security force, adapted to dealing with raiders - and in fact, a parallel of the modern day reduction from WW2 and its huge continental battles to smaller task forces against irregular enemies. Much of the old 'substance' (as Vegetius describes it) had eroded because there was little incentive to maintain it. Set piece battles were becoming rare and much of the expertise in handling such affairs had gone. Also we should note that Valens asked for Sebastianus to take command of his armies because his old guard commanders had failed to impress him. Valens was facing a confrontation with Persia don't foregt - that was a serious situation. There were increasing rumours of the huns and thir lightning raids, such that Sebastianus' predecessor had built a wall to try and obstruct their cavalry in eastern europe (which of course they rode around - sound familiar?) With regard to engineering we should realise that the average legionary was just as much a manual labourer as he had always been. Typically the legionary knew very little about civil works, other than any trade he had previously learned, and the 'skill' level derives from individuals who did know something, so it would appear Julian had the right men on his team.

I notice the control unit for Evil Robot was missing from the customer services desk at the museum. Well, although I've got better things to do than remove his restraining bolt, if he fires up I've got no way to bring him under control. Luckily this was the quiet shift so the risk to the general public was minimal. Personally I was more in danger of dropping dead from boredom. We had a visit from none other than DW, our intrepid online journalist. It's always good to hear from him because you discover who's who in the local area. There's a Top Gear photographer who knows our boss. We have a lady from the BBC who runs that large screen televison mounted on the side of a car park in Wharf Green. She'd strolled past the museum on her way to an important meeting and DW spotted her. He called her up on his mobile immediately for that all important chat. He is a chatty fellow as it happens. Apparently he's been the victim of a slur campaign from disgruntled critics whose sour posts on his news site got deleted. The outraged idiots have been making fools of themselves trying to mount some sort of hate campaign against him. They invited the world to sign up to protest and act against DW's censorship. All nine of them. After that I witnessed an extraordinary re-enactment of his last intercourse with his admittedly gorgeous girlfriend. It was my own fault. When he started bragging about great sex I asked him if he could remember where his left hand was. Mr J's New Coffee table Our dance fanatic and all round organiser Mr J made a suprise visit. He's been a bit scarce just of late with his dance activites, but I guess now that a couple of night clubs are closing in the town, he's running out of venues to strut his stuff. Not to worry. Now that he plans to spend more time at home he's invested in furniture. For the princely sum of

Better yet, it should be pointed that Boudicca was leading the largest army ever assembled in Britain at that time. No-one on her side had any idea how to manage a force that large properly in a set piece battle. Full marks to her for obvious command potential, but the Romans had a distinct advantage there despite being hevily outnumbered.

Take thy Kooker-Kleen and get scrubbing OfClayton! Lest thy missus see the decadence of thy lifestyle and disapprove mightily.

A pitched battle was fairly inevitable. Boudicca's forces had gathered strength once her popularity at winning victories against the Romans won waverers around. So large in fact that she had an identifiable superiority in numbers. Remember that Boudicca was of royal status and had been wronged. Although her husband had opted to become a client to keep the Romans sweet, he had in fact reneged on that contract by leaving half his kingdom to his wife and daughters. Once the Roman agents had moved in, taken what they believed to be theirs (and their slaves raping Boudicca's daughters, plus lashing Boudicca herself - a queen no less!), there was a sense of injustice and once she had proved herself a capable war leader, there was no need for any more incentive to crush these Roman upstarts completely. Unfortunately the Romans were up to the job and beat back the britons decisively, pushing the defeated warriors into the crowd of wives and families the britons had set up as an audience to the slaughter. British belligerence needs to be understood. There was little reason or logic to it. If one side felt slighted or saw an advantage, it was naztural to do something, and expected that men should wield swords in battle if called upon to do so. Their way of life is starkly recorded in the archaeological record with an appalling record of injuries survived. Yet the chaos of the early iron age was giving way to larger scale organisation. The move from isolated tribes/gangs to kingdoms was very much in place, possibly aided and inspired by the arrival of the relatively civilised belgae. In any case, the Romans probably had a hand in forcing the issue. They much preferred to be the aggressors anyway, and since their strategy in dealing with barbarians was to fight formal battles (something at which they were somewhat better prepared in those days) we can see, much like in other cases such as Spartacus, the Druids, the Varus Expedition, the Caledonian Campaign etc, the idea was to force the enemy to meet them head on instead of allowing them to continue harassing and ambushing. There was plenty of scrubland in Britain at the time, plus woodland clearance had been a feature of the Iron Age. I do agree that the forest remaining would have been a dark and imposing place, but realise that the Romans weren't willing to let themselves get caught in such defiles. In any case, the use of missiles was commonplace on the ancient battlefield and if you were prepared to turn up and fight, the chances were you already accepted the risk of receiving such assaults, thus the prospect of facing spears, stones, and arrows was not in itself fearful - although the results of that assault might clearly affect morale (or in extreme cases, decimate your forces) Tactical command? Who exactly do you think Boudicca was leading? They were not a professional organised army, but groups of warriors led by chieftans and respected warriors. Tactical command in these cases is very limited, and in any case, I doubt the britons were much into tactics anyway. Too complicated. There's the enemy. Let's attack them now! Consistent with Roman tactics in Britain at the time, bearing in mind the campaign to finish off druidic influence which had just been fought. I doubt that would actually affect any 'military sense' as such, but it was one tactic to force the Britons into a confrontation. The Romans were well aware that religion was an organisational factor in british life. They were taking their 'wise men' out of circulation - but also bear in mind there was a real religious motive here. By destroying these sacred sites the Romans sent a message that the british gods were not helping them, that Roman strength was defying the british gods, and that the Britons could expect similar harsh treatment for their rebellion.

Sex, violence, and financial wobbles - In no particular order. That's pretty much the news every night and yesterday was no different. With Greece failing to please the rest of the world share prices have tumbled. What? Again? People have been dealing in shares since big curly wigs were a fashion statement. You would think by now we'd have learned that shares were a risky investment. Much like cheating at cricket for instance. However, the wobbles of the Eurozone are not the last word in financial disasters according to certain experts. I'm not sure the greeks agree, but the government is determined to persuade us that their gameplan to recover from the last recession continues without hindrance. Talking about hindrance, I notice that anti-capitalist protestors are busy. Blockading St Pauls Cathedral and embarrasing senior churchmen. Now they're now setting up camp outside the next G20 conference. Whilst it gives them something to do it doesn't keep them off the streets, does it? Yet the idiocy of it is incredible. I agree these bureaucrats aren't always as public spirited as they like to claim, but who generates the wealth for these protestors dole payments? Time then for me to help the ailing economy and buy something from the shops. There was a time when buying things was hardly a consideration. These days I must weigh up the value of the goods I want and decide if the proce is affordable. Ohh to heck with it. I'll buy it anyway. On the way down to the local high street I noticed cars were queuing up at a road junction. As I turned the corner I saw why. A police car had blocked the road whilst they bundled three youths into the back. I imagine that has caused a wobble in the local drug supply. Do the anti-capitalist protestors realise how much money some of these drug dealers make from trading pills and powder? More to the point, I wonder how many of them do business with our back street alchemists? Sorry Madam Sometimes however you're not allowed to purchase the goods you want. Take the case of a 92 year old lady who was refused a bottle of whisky because she couldn't prove she was over 18. That certainly proves you're as young as you feel. Spit And Polish Today I decided to clean the cooker. For me that's like wandering into the jungles of New Guinea and asking the natives what they fancy for lunch. Nonetheless the cooker must be cleaned. It must be said the effectiveness of modern cleaning materials is much better than I remember. With a few squirts of Kooker-Kleen and a vigourous wipe with a rag, the forlorn apparatus is once again white and shiney even if I'm not. And I did it all myself, unlike Snow White, who needed an entire horde of cartoon animals to finish her household chores for her. But then she wasn't covered in grime afterward. I'm not entirely domesticated you know.

Without a work ethic in the labouring classes, such avoidance is a fairly normal behavioural trait. However when dealing with the Roman legions we should realise that martial virtue was well regarded by the Romans. Military service was an essential qualification for a political career. They tolerated violence in society far more than we do. But more than that, the professional legionary era between Marius and Constantine reflects an idea that military service wasn't just desirable but focused on manual activity - though as we're all aware this was something of an ideal. Troops were required to assist in civil engineering or even construct assets for their own ends. Soldiers on the march built a palisade and ditch to surround their evening camp. If required, siegeworks were created on a scale that the medieval period often couldn't match. With a view to reducing dependence on supply lines and baggage trains, the Roman soldier was expected to carry everything on his back (though in reality draft animals were often used and appropriated by the legionaries from the civilians who owned them)

Did they specifically mention Adrianople? It is generally accepted that the troops at Adrianople were of good quality, and that is why their loss was so devastating. The troops that were hastily recruited afterwards were inferior, and those may be the ones that Vegetius was describing. Zosimus does. His account of the Adrianople campaign spars no prisoners. Vegetius was being more generic. He says that the "Substance" of the Roman legions had gone, and although he doesn't refer to a specific campaign, his work dates from that period. In any case, I'm not sure why you believe that the troops of this time are generally accepted as good quality. They certainly weren't in the late 4th century. Sebiastianus has to hand pick a corps of raiders and train them himself. The majority of legionaries were unwilling to march at all - Valens spent some time exorting his men to get off their backsides before he marched against the Goths from Constantinople. In fact, it was the new recruits that Sebastianus apparently relied on because they were young and keen. The older men had learned how to dodge duty.

There seems to be point in rulership after which everyone just accepts you're a nutter and sort of grows attached to the old bugger no matter how daft he is. The problems arise if the dictator isn't benign. Eventually it causes hatred. As for Italy, I simply do not understand their politics. Who does? I hear that one town mayor has declared independence and printed his currency which he one day hopes will be used alongside the Euro. He might just get his chance the way things are going.

American cider? That's unheard of in Blighty. We've recently had tv ads for Cidre (note the spelling) which is Stella Artoia's version for cool trendy people who can't spell or bear the thought of drinking the same stuff as a down and out. Doomed to failure. Firstly it's cider by any other name, secondly it's french, which means every blue blooded englishman is autiomatically suspicious and thirdly, it'll cost too much. The beggars won't be able to afford it.

Roman legions were much smaller after the reforms of Constantine, and along with the decline of the centurianate at around this time, so the quality also declined. Zosimus in particular provides a colourful description of the capability of Valens army

The Roman style of swordplay changed over time. When the gladius was adopted it had a slightly leaf shaped blade and a very pronounced point. Legionaries were taught to use this gladius in a rigid frontal thrust style, since in republican days a close formation was essential. In this form the gladius was perfect for that style. Over time however the point becomes shorter, and in imperial times, we see a straight bladed type emerge, and as the Romans themselves confirm there was incresingly fluid style of swordplay that involved as much cutting as thrusting, obviously suggesting less reliance on close formation (along with the arrival of the banded breastplate as well). During the mid empire the gladius shrinks in length, evolving in step with gladiatorial swords, until the 4th century when the gladius is dropped from use wholesale and the longer cavalry spatha adopted instead, at the same time the pilum gives way to a number of spear type weapons. The longer sword suggests a failure to train recruits sufficiently for the shorter up-close reach of the older gladius and therefore by that time the standard of fighting in Roman legions isn't likely to be much better than anyone elses - a fact observed by Vegetius and commented on by Zosimus. Be wary of taking these examples as illustrations of the Roman standard. Ordinary legionaries who did that might well be laughed at. Furthermore, a close study of Caesars Gallic War account reveals evidence of poor quality troops too. Caesar himself has to force men back into the fighting line when their courage breaks and he mentions failing to to persuade at least two standard bearers to stay on the field.

Cider is something of a two faced coin here in Britain. There was a brief period in the late eighties when brewers tried to make it trendy (and thus charge four times the amount for my favourite tipple) but whilst 'fine cider' is sold alongside wines from around the world, cheap cider is usually considered the socially accepted drink of the park bench resident. Pot noodles aren't very nice anywhere

Iraq has been returned to sanity. Libya has been returned to sanity. Egypt, Tunisia, and Yemen are undergoing counselling. Afghanistan was always a pretty insane place to begin with and so far has proven difficult to pacify. Now President Assad of Syria has spotted the trend and warns the west that intervention will cause an earthquake that will burn the whole region. Now apart from his complete ignorance of geology, this does sound like the usual arabic vitriol. "Rivers of blood" is another popular warning. You get the idea? One might wonder if Assad is feeling a bit exposed at the moment now that the worlds media have no other middle eastern country creating any news stories worth reporting. I have no idea if the western governments plan to liberate Syria from despotism. They have been keen to aid the overthrow of them just lately, and as for worrying about how Gaddafi died, that would seem to be little more than crocodile tears. That's the problem with regime change - it has lethal ramifications. In democracies you can simply oust your least favourite dictator by marking an X on a ballot paper. In many foreign lands, they don't generally take any notice of other peoples opinions and ultimately if the decision is made that the tyrant has to go, you might need to apply something a little more forceful, like a riot of armed men or a battering from military jets. Well Mr Assad, I can understand your concerns. You might want to reform a little bit quicker. That might impress the west rather better than a shaking fist. Tremors On the news pages I spotted an article telling us chaps how to watch out for mini-strokes. Like the persistent earth tremors that warn of an impending eruption, these mini-strokes are tell tale signs that a major stroke will occur within four weeks. Good grief, I've had those symptoms for twenty years. Not sure whether I should be relieved or worried. The article says phone 999 immediately. Should I warn the doctor that there will be rivers of blood? Decisions... Decisons... Look Left, Look Right This has been a weekend of idiocy on the roads. Drivers are going the wrong way up one way streets, pedestrians are running in front of cars, and bus drivers have lost any sense of safe braking distances. Not to worry. The clocks went back an hour this morning so everyone should be calm and accident free again. Stand Up There's a standing joke at the museum - literally. When I'm sat there on duty at the front desk no-one comes in. The moment I stand up and walk away, crowds rush through the entrance in a mad desperate bid to pay for a ticket. Your first thought might be that I'm frightening people away. Apparently not. Last night I was sat quietly doing boring un-weekend stuff when I heard a voice in the street say "The truth is you're a wuss." Actually the truth is your opinion means nothing. Face it kid, you don't amount to anything. So why should I be worried because you have a big mouth? Oh, and by the way, I couldn't tell if you were a boy or a girl. Sorry about that.

Common mistakes to watch for - 1 - Wearing helmets on tyhe march. In marching order with all personal goods carried on their shoulders, the legionaries did not wear helmets. That might soubnd odd to modern ears, but realise that the Romans did not assume they were going to be ambushed. After all, they had a cavalry screen performing reconnaisance where-ever possible and relied on intelligence from deserters or local inhabitants to know where the enemy was. It generally worked apart from some obvious cases. 2 - Marching to the sound of drums - The Romans did not use drums at all, never mind in a military capacity. Centurions used 'pace stick' to maintain step although there's some doubt that route marching was conducted in a parade ground fashion. 3 - Attic helmets - Those greek inspired attic style helmets were only employed for ceremonial purposes, thus civilian artists portrayed Roman soldiers on reliefs with them. The odd general or two might have indulged in an attic helmet for show but certainly centurions never wore them on duty.

I am by nature a morning person. Getting the work done first and leaving the rest of the day to relax or take care of life's little obstacles comes very naturally to me, even if I did oversleep a couple of days ago. One little obstacle occured yesterday. The phone rang. Normally all I get is an email telling me how sorry they are that the rest of the known uiniverse is far more suitable for that position than I am. It's a cross I have to bear. A phone call generally means an opportunity exists. So when the guy on the other end started asking questions with relation to a job application I'd made on his website, of course I was enthusiastic. Very quickly he dashed my hopes. My previous education meant nothing. Experience was worthless. Employers were looking for qualifications. No, worse than that. "If you haven't got the right qualifications they don't want to know" He told me, "It's a dog eat dog world out there. You could be unemployed for five, ten years. I 've seen it and it isn't pretty." Does he think I live on a different planet? I'm well aware of how tough the job market is. As it happens I'm also aware of how wothless all those obscure certificates can be. Besides, I have plenty of transferable skills. That's been drummed into me over the last few years by every course I've been on. I do try to be positive about finding work. "Yeah but as it happens we've got courses for people with your attitude." My... attitude?.... Now I'm getting irate. I'm not doing all this jobsearching stuff for nothing and as it happens I do consider myself concientious. He went on about getting a qualification in Typing Entries In Databases. Is there one? I know there's a lot of obscure certificates floating around out there but I seriously doubt another is going to make all the difference. The prospect of spending hundreds of pounds for more toilet paper doesn't appeal to me. More to the point, this chap was trying to persuade me to on the basis that I was in some way a useless ignorant loser doomed to failure. Yeah? Really? And how much commission is this guy going to earn now that I've hung up on him? Another Tough Sale On my way home ysterday I passed the old college car park. You see a variety of cars parked there, and not always the commonplace mobility buggies and school taxi's. Sometimes prestige cars rest their weary pistons there. Or vans bearing advertisements for traders you have absolutely no incentive to trade with. Yesterday however I saw something else. Normally customised vehicles fall into one of a few categories. Usually it's a bog standard car with as much of the options list as the salesman can persuade the driver to part money for. Occaisionally it's a bog standard car with a special paint job, such as that Aston Martin with a naked lady painted along the side, or perhaps even the Porsche 911 deliberately painted in wacky grafitti. Sometimes it's a piece of lovingly created automotive redesign, worked on for years as a labour of love and an excuse for divorce. Or simply just a youngster who thinks a spoiler and shallow tires makes him better than everyone else. But this? This was customisation on a whole new level of bodging. I have no idea what car was underneath all the added fibreglass and matt black paint job, which included red sharks teeth around the grill. It was a real in-the-flesh Mad Max special. I'm sure the owner is chuffed to bits with his ride and cruises around town with a big grin. At least until he tries to sell it.

Another day, another job agency. Part of the ritual of finding work is submitting to the high street slave traders. A very necessary evil. The days when some old woman with horn rim glasses, blue rinse, and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth handed you a card with a vacancy written on it are long gone. Now they're all plush offices with ettiquette and protocol droids ruling the roost with an iron hand. In fairness the young lady who handled my case was pleasant enough despite her misgivings over my appearance. Her dreams of a Nigel Havers' clone having been crushed, she put me through the usual psychological and data input testing. I notice she didn't tell me how I did. While I was waiting one of the other ladies in the office was busy on the phone using one of those swish new headphones. All of a sudden she started singing loudly. All the other odffice driods didn't react at all. Must be the sort of person she is, I guess. Finally one of her colleagues came over to pick up the phone and the jovial woman handed over with "There you go. That's your 'hold' music." Way to go Lady. Be Afraid! Occaisionally I see adverts on television showing some strange machine designed to carry passengers through all sorts of wierd and wonderful gyrations. Gone are the days when a ride on a metal horse rotating on a carousel were the in-thing. There's a loss of innocence these days. Good harmless fun has been replaced by these outlandish shock-a-minute rides Fairground rides these days must subject the customers to levels of accelerated gravity known only to fighter pilots as they're whisked around a death defying elevated railway from hell. Places like Alton Towers and Thorp Park are renowned for these fairground rides. Unfortunately the companies that run these attractions are complaining that too many britons are 'scaredie cats'. Well there you go. Rides so frightening no-one wants to go on them. However, I suspect that ticketpricephobia and longboringwaitophobia are suffered by a great deal of people these days. Not Again! We being warned that Britain is on the verge of another recession. Pardon? I wasn't aware we were out of the last one yet.

Another quiet day at the library. It might seem a bit strange that I've opted for a tranquil afternoon, especially since I had a clear business diary, and that my television service has been magically restored. Thing is though I made the mistake of not listening to ta weather report too carefully. So I expected strong winds and heavy rain which of course never turned up. And as for the Box, daytime television is designed to reduce viewers to a mindless stupor. Preparation for Christian Slater's interesting voice-over's on Dinosaur Planet in the evening. Instead I sit down and log on. Mr Fidget makes a rare appearance and gesticulates randomly. Scratching here, rubbing there, poking this, patting that. I wonder what he does on the internet? I only ask because he can't possibly find time to move the mouse at all. Much more annoying is a youngster who spends his time organising his friend collection on a social network site. It isn't that he only comunicates with the outside world via a continual stream of spelling mistakes, but rather that he can't bear silence, so he plays music over his headphones. Hisses and clicks at a frantic rate are audible across the floor. Weee-ooo weee-ooo... This is a fire alarm. Please leave by the nearest exit... Weee-ooo weee-ooo... Eh? What? A fire alarm? Is this for real? Everyone looked up from their computors and tried to find someone who knew if we should ignore another drill or perhaps run around screaming in terror. Eventually Dragon Lady started donning her yellow high-vis vest. So it's serious then? "Everybody out please." She ordered. Everybody confirms they understand with a communal groan. The funny thing is that when the all clear was received ten minutes later we all rushed in far faster than we left. It's a risky business going to the library. Make It Alone? The Euro Rebellion? I said a long time ago that putting everyones financial eggs in one basket was asking for trouble. Now politicians are desperately trying to fend off calls for a british referendum on membership of the EU. Never mind the commentators debating whether this is because the European Union really needs that sort of uncertainty. What that's really about is leading politicians working to avoid the demands of the british public rather than their own initiatives. That said it hasn't done the rebels any favours. I hear some of them have lost their jobs. That's always a risk in politics especially when you stand up and be counted for a matter of principle. From the public I hear people calling for the British to rule themselves again. That's the trouble with artificial empires consructed by under-the-table deals. You cannot extinguish national identities so easily. Hasn't anyone learned anything from the troubles of Eastern Europe? Make It Safe? With recent accidents in motor sport claiming the lives of star drivers, once more there are calls for safer competition. If that's the way things are going, how long will it be before the final straight is limited to 20mph and subject to speed camera surveillance? Guaranteed no accidents or deaths. Just ask our wonderful road safety experts. What I can guarantee that if racing is reduced to a sterile orderly procession - the sport is as good as dead. The fact is that while no-one actually wants a driver to suffer death or injury in a horrific collision, it's that very risk that gives racing the drama that attracts audiences. To a greater or lesser extent we all get a rush from adrenalin - that's human biology and mindset - so while most of us cannot race because of cost or lack of any talent, we're still drawn to the sport by the demonstration of danger, risk, reflexes, and yes, that very adrenalin rush that these drivers are paid to display for us. Some years ago I visited a Goodwod Festival of Speed (the one when a driver crashed into a wall and died, as it happens, though I didn't see the accident). Wandering around the paddock I took the opportunity to inspect a 1930's racing car. Open cockpit. No carbon fibre safety cell, no safety straps, no bulkhead, no floor. Just an engine, four wheels, a modest example of bodywork, and enough space to squeeze some daring young chap thirsting for glory. It certainly made me think. My own personal risk level was definitely challenged by the prospect of taking that car out for a hell for leather drive. The thing is we need risk. We need conflict. That's a strange and perhaps terrible thing to say but without the constant need to respond to threat or danger, our species will stagnate. In the wild, species that don't face predators or starvation became placid, stupid, and incapable of meeting challenges. One disaster (usually the arrival of human beings) and they quickly go extinct. Yesterday the Lesser Spotted Racing Driver, a colourful creature, moves another step toward becoming an endangered species. What hope is there for the rest of us? Damned if we do and doomed if we don't.

But weren't the senatorial classes opposed to foreign cults? Female mystery cults had been banned by the senate in 186BC and 64BC, and would be banned again by Augustus. Weeping and mourning was indeed part of the Praeficae, but this activity was done according to strict tradition. As far as I'm aware, the interaction with a dead relative was to call his name as a last chance for the person to return, and the famous insertion of a coin in the deceased's mouth to 'pay the ferryman'. Doing strange things with breasts is a very un-roman activity.

Never really liked U2. Some songs aren't bad.

"Hello" Said the guy next to me as I waited for the library to open. Receiving a friendly greeting is an unusual experience for me and I sort of did a double take. "You are.. Caldrail?" He enquired, looking a bit mystified as to why I was looking mystified. Erm... Yes. yes, that's me. "Remember me?. College, OND days?" Good grief. I remember him now! There was an Iranian chap who was part of our year back in 1982. The year before we'd worked together on an embarrasing project to build a wind tunnel, and like the tutors predicted, we failed utterly to progress beyond a fibreglass monstrosity that we never built in the first place. In fact, so embarrased was I about having worked with this guy on the wind tunnel that for my exam project I worked alone on a computor program for spark ersion machining, which I have to say worked a whole lot better for me. What an extraordinary memory this man has for faces. I mean, I don't even look the same. How did he recognise this straggly haired old codger from the dashing young would-be rock star he worked with twenty years ago? Well it's great to see you, mate. How'yer been? The Great Switch Off For a few years now the government have been warning us that the old analogue television signals would be switched off this year. Everyone must buy digital equipment or else. So like every disgruntled citizen I put my hand in my pocket and purchased a freeview box. As the instructions said, I retuned the receiver and.... Well it worked for a few weeks. Now I have no television signal. Aww poo....

Everything wine shaped is too expensive for me. Sometimes I grimace, sigh, and pick up a bottle of cider for 99p. Life really is that bad

You'll have to excuse me. I'm in a bit of a hurry. Not only have I had a full day of doing this or seeing to that, not only a frantic effort to complete enough jobsearch activity to please the frigid hearts of my government paymasters, but I need to get home real quick because today is the End Of The World! Again. Hopefully I'll survive this one as I did the last. With the biggie End Of The World due in little over a years time one can only hope I'll survive the entire trilogy. As for the Rapture, the great disappearance of every approved Jesus fan, please, just get on with it. It isn't just me and my sheer loathing of christianity, but my colleague Young L is working in a christian enterprise and the poor lad is being driven insane by constant appeals to his consience. Unfortunately Young L is a confirmed football worshipper, so perhaps all they're doing is getting up his nose. They certainly manage to get up mine. Apart from the odd guffaw at idiotic predictions that never stood a chance of coming true. Bang - You're Dead Sadly Gaddafi won't be joining us during our post-apocalyptic struggles as he managed to get himself shot dead yesterday. Most of you probably already know that. Bit I'm curious.... What did his inevitable death mean to you? Was it...? a - At last. The little rascal has gotten away with it for too long. b - Oh no. There goes my investment. c - Brilliant. Time to fly to Libya and negotiate a new contracts so I can expand my business and offer Caldrail a job. d - No time. I have to prepare for the End Of The World and panic appropriately. e - Eh? What? Done Also in the news I see the basque seperatist group Eta have decided to stop hurting people. That's great guys. Now you face the final hours of the world tonight with clear consiences. However I also note that the 'Real IRA' are still at it, or would be if MI5 hadn't foiled their latest dastardly plot. I can understand a communal need for self-determination. I can understand anger. What I fail to understand is why blowing up random individuals is going to create a safe and respected nation state. Terrorism strikes me as something of a tantrum. Throwing toys out of the pram when you can't get your own way, except doing it with a little more noise and damage in the process. More to the point, you might also describe terrorism as a particularly nasty form of vandalism. Like the more lurid version plastered on our vertical surfaces, or the fragments of glass littering the pavement the next day, it's a destructive expression by people who really have no talent for helping themselves or others. Politics or religion are no excuse. Just ask Saddam Hussein. Gaddafi. Or even Jesus. Face it people. There's no such thing as a world in which terrorists will be happy. Or any chance that the devout will vanish into paradise at the flick of holy fingers. The Answer is... What did Gaddafi's inevitable death mean to you? The answer was of course f - I said they'd get him. What's for tea, luv?

Actually I meant he would be crashing through my front door in a pickup truck stolen for the purpose, in a blind obsession driven by his inhuman programming to seek out his objective, and he will never, ever, stop. Or have I been watching too much Hollywood? Certainly haven't been emptying your wineries of late. Far too expensive