caldrail

Expensive certainly. Wars always are. The question of effectiveness is more difficult because security operations like this do not easily result in identifiable gains. Also the British don't seem to be too sharp on propaganda whereas the Taliban trumpet every single act they perform. When was the last time we heard anything positive? Most of the time we get a scrolling message at the bottom of the tv screen during newscasts telling us another solder has been killed in Helmand. I can only think of one report ever, the successful installation of a dam under army escort, that rated any mention. other than that we're left with occaisional documentaries also aimed at developing a sense of sympathy with our lads over there. I don't doubt for a moment that the work they do is dangerous or that it involves considerable hardship. What we lack, as civilian observers of the news, is any sense that anything is being achieved. That's the trouble with security operations - they don't necessarily generate identifiable results, although in this case the presence of NATO troops provides a focus for Taliban effort in their own back yard rather than ours, but as it happens I think preventing the spread of radical islamic power from that region does appear to be a worthwhile exercise.

Noooooooooo!!!!! All my dreams of taxing youths for using copyrighted words is crashing around my ears! But look on the bright side. I've thwarted the plans for Californian world domination. I guess it isn't over yet. Arnie will be back...

So basically we have an experienced warrior who had the fortune of getting a top job with the Carthaginians. other than that, Xanthippus doesn't appear to be a remarkable chcracter in any way - the classical sources don't say much about him because there probably wasn't much to say. It's rather like the modern day where british officers train foreign armies but never do anything to merit a news report.

An army is simply a gathering of warriors. Although the modern meaning stresses organisation, the word also covers more casual forces used in concert. In any case, guerilla campaigns are only successfull against an organised army if organised themselves. Otherwise it's a pain the enemies butt and sooner or later they start picking off the various groups doing the guerillaring. The Romans themselves were quite adept at forcing resistance into small pockets where it could be elinated in one hard strike. The BAttle of Mona against the Druids. Pompey's victory over Spartacus. Or the attempted but ultimately disastrous campaign that led to the defeat at Adrianople.

What? That London march? There's always a percentage of the population that don't like wars and think the world would be a better place if we all stayed at home. Personally I think war is a terrible thing. Unfortunately, that's how human beings do business and settle arguments.

oh good grief. The Mexican space agency sent a killer whale to the moon for $200. I know, I saw it on South Park last night. Hilarious.

As I sat down to type this entry, I was distracted by the sound of rain against the window. A heavy downpour from a grey sky. Yet earlier this morning it was such a fine morning. Chilly, for sure, but you'd expect that with open skies at this time of year and it was a noticeably colder night before. Almost as soon as it arrived the squall subsides, leaving only overflowing gutters to drip water in long thin streams. In a whie it might be safe to go outdoors again. During the sunshine this morning I bumped into DW, our intrepid online journalist. You never have to make any arrangement to meet him, ever, because sooner or later he's there, somewhere ahead of you, popping out of thin air like a Star Trek Away Team. Only without the silly nioses and special effects. So we had a little chat. Business, you understand, nothing for the world to know about, but just for you lot we discussed sex with young ladies. A good, healthy pursuit for all ages. Most of the time anyway. Even earlier than that I was back at the Programme Centre being interviewed by one of the attractive young ladies. If ever there was a reason to stay unemployed, that was it. However despite my middle age randyness (some might say optimism) it was of course business. So it's bye for now and I wander off to lower my pulse rate. Sometimes we need to relax. A sort of deep breath and clearing of the mind. Sometimes we have to chill out. Like relaxation, except you need to lounge in a much lazier fashion and wear dark sunglasses. Sometimes you need to be somewhere between. I would have called that cool, but DW, for whom relaxation is an alien concept, struggled with the idea and mangled his words, telling me he needed to "Chillax". I have to say, I'm in a kind of chillaxed mood today. A new word in the english language has been created. Designed by DW, marketed by Caldrail. Go ahead. Stop what you're doing and chillax. You know you want to as well. Chillax Man I do not believe my eyes. Space Invaders? You mean that eighties arcade game is still out there? Even more astounding is that a guy in america has scored twice the previous high score made in 2003. Now there's a guy who serious likes playing computer games. Even the older boring ones. I hate to ask this, but is Mr Knucklez an older boring person too? At least in my case a social life is too expensive. Jeez, Mr Knucklez, chillax. Or get a girlfriend. If you've forgotten how or never learned the appropriate social skills. I'm sure DW can give you a few pointers. And Now? The clouds have drifted by. The sun is shining again in a blue sky. Time for me to go about my lawful business and just chillax.

Further to that we have to stress that the Romans taught combat skills of a particular style. This was true in all walks of life as certain behaviour was acceptable and others not so. There is a great deal of traditional thought in Roman minds, a cultural confirmity and adherence to set standards that we don't experience in anything like the same intensity today. Modern western culture has the luxury of enjoying many diverse forms of martial art. The Romans did things their way (though sometimes they did learn from their enemies and adopt methods out of sheer expedience, or perhaps even fashion in some cases) Roman writers for instance talk about gladiatorial training as composed of standard moves. Notice however that a fighter who does nothing more than 'fight by the numbers' (something the Romans themselves said) results in a dull and uninspiring fighter. Although these men performed within strict guidelines, audiences looked for something other than a mere swordfight. They wanted courage, aggression, drama, and a very real flair for combat in the arena. In other words, whereas we might like look at fighting in a generic overview, the Romans looked for those all-important details, those qualities that set one contestant above another in a blood sport fought to rules and governed by referees. The problem with the pankration is that it was too all or nothing, besides being considered greek or essentially low level sport. It was a no-holds-barred style of wrestling. Only biting and gouging of eyes was forbidden, though classical sources tell us that occured anyway. One contestant won his fight by breaking the fingers of his opponent. According to sources, one greek contestant killed his opponent by forcing a fatal abdominal wound with his bare hands. Clearly that wasn't good for legionaries. What's the point of having men volunteer for military service if they all end up disabled in the hospital? In any case, legionaries were given a measure of pride and esprit-de-corps in imperial times. That meant they generally considered ceratin fighting styles or contest types as beneath them. Don't forget that wrestling, as a formal and less harmful physical contest, was considered a manly pursuit. So was the practice of swordplay, the essential weapon of the warrior, a sort of phallic symbol of manhood as it always tends to be in some way or other. The male pride of Romans is not generally realised but they were a very macho lot. Besides, injuring your opponent beyond capability in a ruthless and merciless fashion was a bit barbaric, surely? Civilisation demands rules and standards of behaviour, even among the roughnecks in armour that swaggered around the empire and beyond.

Quite some time ago I suggested that the british government of the day wanted a return to victorian england. Mostly, I suspect, because they rather liked the idea of masses of hard working citizens doffing their caps as they trundle past in expensive limousines. That's always been a feature of human society - the desire of the wealthy to accumulate even more wealth, status, influence, and comfort. Another feature of human society is the inevitable backlash as the downtrodden rise and.... Good grief, I sound like a bolshevist. That will never do. Prices are steadily going up and like me, many britons are finding life isn't so comfortable any more. Ten years ago a weeks food and drink could be had for as little as

Yeah? And I thought it was just a means of manipulating emotional responses from the public to accept casualties in a foreign war that does not visibly result in territorial gains, or any apparent objective at all. It is therefore a means of offsetting a public reaction against what could become an unpopular and ineffective and expensive campaign.

I hear the news that one of the local pubs has reopened for business. Not, as you might imagine, because of a swarm of drunkards making an appearance after midnight, but because it was reported in our local newspaper. These days it isn't enough to simply paint a silly sign and open the doors to the general public. Commerce demands that the pub is able to attract customers. In this case the pub has decided to sell 'historic food'. Again this isn't what you might suspect. By 'historic' they mean reproductions of menus dating back to the 1600's, not what was left in the freezer from last year. That is nonetheless a fascinating idea. How much has food changed since 1600? They certainly didn't eat cornflakes for breakfast back then. Not so long ago I stumbled across a menu from the 1700's that was served by a pub in Marlborough. That made interesting reading. Most of the stuff listed was more or less what you can buy today although cooked in a much more straightforward manner without foreign vegetables or spices. The prices betrayed a certain trend toward serving the gentry passing through the town. Servants meals were considerably cheaper. I wonder what the difference was? Did the servants actually get lower quality food, or yesterdays left-overs, or was this simply a means of extracting cash from a gentleman's purse? What Do We Do With Them? Swindon's love affair with crumbling old buildings continues. Our local newsletter continues to moan about the continued existence of the abandoned Old College. Scandalous, they call it. Typical more like. What about the Mechanics Institute? If anything qualifies as a historic building, surely that does? Half the roof is missing to foestall a collapse and nobody seems able to to do anything with the site. Now the same situation is developing with the Locarno, a building dating back to 1852 which suffered a fire some years ago. Not quite the same eyesore as the other two buildings perhaps, but apparently there's been a number of planning requests made to the council, none of which result in anything being done. What is going on in this town? As much as we'll probably hate the result of action being taken on these sites and despairing of the commercial motives to changing the buildings use, but why can't anything be agreed between developrs and council officials? Do they want Swindon to look ruined? What Does Wootton Bassett Do Now? In the news is the imminent royal visit to Wootton Bassett. Also turning up is David Cameron apparently. With the change in arrival point of repatriated dead from foreign wars away from Lyneham airbase, Wooton Bassett will no longer get all the media attention and today the impending celebration of the towns significance is local news. I'm not blind and deadf to the sacrifice of those who served in the British Armed Forces, but there's a part of me that remains suspicious about the way the return of these dead men is being exploited. Soldiers have been killed in little wars or security operations for as long as I can remember, and I'm sure they suffered casualties before I was born. So in that respect, what has changed? It seems to me that whilst the good people of Wootton Bassett turned out to pay respect to the fallen regularly, this idea that the town is somehow worthy is simply a matter of circumstance. The town just happened to be on the route between the airbase where the transport landed and where the bodies were being taken. I don't remember anywhere being used in this fashion before. Using military virtue for political ends isn't a new idea at all. As much as I commend our lads for the work they do, I cannot help feel that so much of this circus in Wootton Bassett has been deliberately stage managed. Frankly I don't care which town the bodies travel through, or that royals and politicians will be there to celebrate the lines of mourners. I'm sure any town in England would respond similarly to the arrival of the fallen.. I do care that people are dying out there in some dusty hellhole. If the war is meant to achieve anything, surely we should be celebrating success where the operation is going on? It does beg the question - What will the town of Wootton Bassett do now their part in the war is over? Apparently it's going to be a stage for media events. I'm sure those respectful citizens of a small wiltshire town will be thrilled to know they've made a politician look good.

The trouble with repeating words often enough is that they lose meaning. The Silk Road as an established and formal chain of markets is known to have existed for a short period. Those marketplaces generally existed before and after the Silk Road was open for business so it was possible for goods to travel that way, albeit with less certainty of ending up at the other end.

How curious.... When I was young, exams were meant to test the individual and I don't remember anyone collapsing under the strain (though a fair few of us suffered bad results - I got U in World Affairs - Ungraded) Back then of course we were put through tests every other week. The results were often read out, those who did well applauded, those who did badly humiliated mildly, and no-one worried about psychological damage of which I suspect there was very little. It seems to me that the political correctness in modern western classrooms doesn't prepare children for stress or stong demands either as young students or in later life.

Most of the classical histories contain hints about this sourt of thing if you take the time to look for them, although in fairness, the senatorial class regarded military service as an essential qualification for political life since Roman culture was underlined by martial virtue. I can't stress enough that the Romans had no national army - they had independent legions which were mini-armies in their own right, led by legates who were political appointees and amateur generals in most cases since the upper classes didn't follow exclusive military careers, and importantly, because there was no actual career structure in the higher echelons of the legions. You served time as a less senior officer learning your trade, possibly serving again as an army commander when required by the emperor or senate, then went back to your political life with either honours or disgrace. It was not therefore a concious tactic to use the legions in the manner you're looking for - it was expected in Roman society that a man would gain credibility by military service when asked to defend Rome's interests. The legions after all were ordered very much like Roman society anyway, with upper, middle, and lower classes, and if you take the time to notice, the attitude of the senior officers appears very much that they run their legion rather like a mobile estate with soldiers instead of slaves. More specifically however we see Caesar gathering his centurions early on in his account of the Gallic Wars. They were starting to gossip and fear was building, so Caesar berates them all and tells them in no uncertain terms that it was his job to determine strategy, not theirs, and reminds them the centurionate was there to lead men in battle. Nonetheless we should realise that the senior officers were representing Roman authority as a sort of military nobility. There was a feudal idea underlining the legions where soldiers fought for the legate as Rome's authority on the basis that the legate would ensure they were fed, watered, paid, rewarded, and victorious in battle. Patriotism toward the state moticeably a minor motivation for the Romans who had more immediate loyalties - it was the job of the senators in charge to ensure these armed men fought for Rome. That of course brings us neatly to the idea that ambitious senators might turn their legions against Rome for their own more selfish reasons, and this was a constant thorn in the side of Roman society. Notice that Domitian recalls Agricola before he succeeds in his caledonian campaign, concerned that a popular general would have a loyal army at his back when he returned in triumph. In fact, Agricola is well aware of the risk of execution and refuses a triumph offered by Domitian, who would have used that as part of justifying Agricolas removal. Notice also the idea that strength is all important. Under Didius Julianus, a somewhat feeble and unwanted owner of the Roman imperial office, three seperate rebellions in the legions break out. One is bought off by another, and Septimius Severus marches into Rome, replaces the praetorian guards who had sold the throne to Didius Julianus, and takes control by what can be described as an almost perfect coup. Notice also that the senate do not attempt to stop him. On the one hand they don't want to take on a determined ruthless legate, on the other they prefer a strong competent ruler with the loyalty of the legions.

Where does all this stuff go? I know looting is an age old problem and one that's become almost an industry in modern times, but who buys all this stuff?

The problem I'm having with thursdays is that I'm struggling to find anything interesting to say about them. Back in my younger days thursdays used to be fun exciting times of the week because that was payday. The manager would come round and hand you cash in a small envelope. This was of course in the days before the internet became the preferred means of making friends. I'm not sure the internet was invented back then. Unlike many of my older colleagues in the workplace I wasn't married, so no-one was going to mug me for the paypacket when I got home. There was a sort of medieval simplicity about life for me back then. Nowadays with credit and debit cards, telephone and online banking, the need to carry cash is much reduced. News of that change in financial behaviour has not yet reached your typical beggar however. "Hey mate" Said a dishevelled ruffian stting on a car park wall as I strolled by. "Got any change?" Nope. Sorry. "Mate, I just want something to eat. I can get fried chicken for a quid. All I need is one pound..." As much as I sympathise with his desperation for money to purchase food, I couldn't help noticing he was rolling a cigarette which I presume he was inteding to light and smoke very shortly. So he can afford to set light to dry shredded vegetation and ruin his cardio-vascular system, but not something to eat? I have to say that's one gentleman who is seriously in need of revising his priorities. Sorry, but I don't have any cash with me. I wasn't lying. I'd spent the last of it the previous night. One pound for a chicken burger. Didn't have any money left for cigarettes though. Had I been a smoker, perhaps I could have done a deal. Sadly that was not to be, because despite the suspicions of my doctor, I have no intention of smoking. So I strolled away with lungs, arteries, appetite, and bank balance in good shape. Money For A Life Story There's been some talk from a number of people of selling my writings for profit just of late. Having written that last sentence, I'm probably already under investigation by special agents of the Department of Work & Pensions determined to prove that I'm a dole cheat and thus liable for a different form of sentence. The sorry truth is no-one is sending me any cheques just yet. They'd better hurry up because the banks want to make cheques obselete. Just a little hint there. Some years ago a chinese chap popped into existence right in front of me as I went about my lawful business in town. In one sentence, without taking a single breath, he gave me his life story, a tale of tragedy, misfortune, and misery, asking at the very end with barely a molecule of oxygen left in his body if I had any cash to spare. This was of course in the days when people did carry cash around in bulging pockets and wallets. "Loadsa money!" was a popular comedy catchphrase. As for me, I was an aspiring musician and in the quest for the best gear I could find, much of my cash was spent on endless additional bits for my ever growing drum kit, plus the sticks, heads, and replacement bits that failed to survive my daily workout. Make no mistake, I was not a quiet drummer. Apart from getting a band banned from almost every gig in Bristol for being too loud, we once attended a jam session at a pub in Swindon and played a couple of numbers, using a drumkit belonging to someone else. The owner looked fairly distraught and after we finished, claimed his drums were not insured for assault. Don't know what he was worried about. No damage at all. Mind you, one cheeky villain in a support band at a London gig deliberately sabotaged my own kit to spoil our performance. He failed of course, but if that rotten so and so is reading this, let it be known he still owes me twenty quid for a new bass drum head. If we ever meet again, I wonder if he'll have that money on him? Or wil I have to tell the story before he remembers?

Having received that email yesterday from an arab sheik it came as a shock to see the news revealing a terrorist plot to assassinate a saudi diplomat had been foiled by American authorities. I doubt the two are connected in any way - I don't even know if the email is genuine - but the thought that my flippant comments on the blog yesterday might have serious implications is a bit of a sobering thought. I can easily imagine a budget airline jet halted on the tarmac while two dark suited security guys board the plane and ask seriously alarmed middle eastern gentleman to accompany them to the nearest debriefing centre in Englands Green and Hidden Land. Or have I been watching to many repeats of The professionals?. That's a sobering thought too. Defence Of The Realm Obviously I can't get a job with CI5 because they happen to be a fictional organisation - or are they? What are we not being told? Is Britain defended by bad midland accents and fluffy permed hair? Why do we never see gold coloured Aston Martins roaring to the rescue? Okay, I know the latest james Bond is to drive a Bentley Continental... Oh dang it, careless talk costs lives. Sorry James, it sort of slipped out... Should have kept the invisible Aston after all. Serves you right for crashing it in the arctic circle last time out. More Like Me Unemployment figures for Britain are the worst since 1994. Back then I was doing okay, working for a living and although I couldn't afford the James Bond/Johnny English lifestyle, I did manage a cheap japabnese sports car or two (without machineguns unfortunately) and enough flying lessons to clear the skies over an intwernational airport in New Zealand. Simply claiming the dole will mean there will always be those that say I want to be unemployed. I can assure I don't. It isn't cool, it isn't fun, and I miss throttle pedals and levers immensely. So concerned are the authoities that my title of Lord Caldrail is merely another dodge to stay unemployed that they have, for the last eighteen months, been trying to frustrate and get me to thropw a right old tantrum telling someone that I'm very important. It's just a title, people. That's all. I keep telling you that but you're so busy trying to weed out dole cheats and fraudsters you seem to be focusing on the one claimant in Swindon who doesn't want to be unemployed. Mind you, it does sort of make me realise that in a way I am important. Now there's a sobering thought.

Well there's your answer - it was never going to happen. Instead of being an intellectual thoughtful man of influence, Boudicca was an iron age hot tempered lady with a very real grudge leading men whose lives were intrinsically violent and prone to certain behavioural traits. It's pointless going on about how commanders so often fail to realise the strengths of their armies - in most cases they were well aware of them, but battlefield command is not as easy as pushing toy soldiers on a tabletop or clicking a bitmap on a computor monitor. Commanders on the field in anciemnt times had limited perspective, very little command and control, and usually fought in a manner prescribed by cultural tradition. To do otherwise may well have caused the army to weaken its morale because they were told to fight in a manner they were not comfortable with, and they would instinctively doubt a leader who did not satisfy their perceptions.

Who amongst you had a dull monday? A fair few of you I'll bet, but I'm afraid my monday was probably duller than yours. It was one of those days when the whole town just seemed to say "I can't be bothered". I did see an interesting bit of aerial combat between a crow and a gull at the park. The crow was faster and kept on catching up, but that agile gull certainly had the edge on manoeverability. Here we have a perfect opportunity to witness evolution as it happens. Only the fittest will survive and grow machine guns in the wings. A chap wandered along the front of the lake throwing breadcrumbs for the crowd of waterfowl following his progress. His dog was bored by this and decided to chase the birds away, just for fun you understand. He did look pleased with himself, walking back to his master with a raised wagging tail. The owner was oblivious and continued to throw breadcrumbs anyway. No Dull Life For Him Somewhere out there is DW, our intrepid online journalist. I know he's out there somewhere because I receive an email alert every time he does something on facebook, which happens roughly every ten minutes. That's almost exactly what a young chap needs to eat, drink, sleep, and find a girlfriend. He showed me the pictures of her. Nice girl, and really nice of her to let him out for the evening before he collapses of exhaustion. There's only so many times you can type an update on facebook before you get tired. No Dull Life For Me Now what's this? An email from an arab sheik? I guess these things happen when you assume nobility. Let's see what he wants... Two russian transport aircraft urgently required. Immediate cash payment. What the...? Every so often things like this happen. My life has become surreal to the point that I'm almost living in my own Hollywood thriller, except when I sign on and pretty much for the rest of the fortnight. Where on earth does a benefits claimant lay his hand on two russian transports and flight crew? As initiative tests go this is a corker. I know. I'll phone my mate Dave. Ring Ring... Ring Ring... "Hallo." Hi Dave, it's me. "Who?" Me. Listen up, how's work treating you? "Uhh... You know, sort of okay, sort of. My van needs a new exhaust but the miissus wants me to take her an' the kids on holiday. Thinkin' of Cyprus... Lanzarote...." Yeah that's great. Listen, can you lay your hands on two Antonov transport aircraft by Sunday? "Eh? No, mate, we're going by Easyjet."

Then how do the middlemen make any profit? In any case, goods on the end of market chains are notoriously expensive.

Oh we get most of your weather second hand. There's another ex-hurricane on it's way, so I'm told. Don't know about California though. Mostly we're stuck with the stuff from the Carribean and Atlantic. Occaisional bouts of Siberia or Mediterranean push our way sometimes. As for Blighty, it's going back to normally windy.

Ask yourself what sort of weekend you had. Mine was windy. That's probably because october is Swindon's Windy Season anyway, but I guess most of the country were experiencing blustery conditions as well. Nonetheless I was bored so venturing out on the saturday night was definitely on. Getting drunk is a bit expensive these days. So much so that landmark pubs are being demolished here in Swindon. There are two closed premises just down the road from me that are going to be turned into flats if the developers have their way. I used to frequent those pubs in days gone by, both as a customer and as my part in the Swindon music scene, such as it was. Perhaps if Swindon had realised that music existed these pubs might not have closed. Then again, everything seems that much expensive these days. Alcohol is no different. So instead of getting drunk and finding enlightenment in the bottom of a pint glass, I popped down to to another gathering of Spiritualists Anonymous for films and discussions about life, the universe, and everything. No, come on, if you can't afford a social life you have to make these sacrifices. One film was an amusing animated feature in which a bored and mischievious Saint Peter refuses an appeal by a condemned soul to enter heaven. The doughnut quaffing saint clearly relished the imminent pleasure of dropping the poor soul back where he came from. Unfortunately, Saint Peter over balanced, and having quaffed so many doughnuts, his tiny wings could not easily support his bulk. He needed help - Or he would end up somewhere down there. Not good. Not good at all. The other soul reached out and hauled Saint Peter to safety. An act of mercy which did not change Saint Peter's desire for punishing him. So the lever was pulled and the soul departed downward in a big hurry. But of course there was a happy ending. The soul was granted wings and a halo for his act of mercy, and Saint Peter instead fell toward the abyss where his doughnuts would forever more be overcooked with lashings of brimstone. It was quite amusing and of the two films, the only one that has stuck in the mind. Paying For Sins Among the group was an old chap, a polish gentleman who had been in a prison camp in Germany during the war. All night he told us quietly and very slowly that we must all be very careful. That we all have a responsibility. That we all answer for our deeds in eternity, because eternity is a fact. No it isn't. Time is defined as observable change within our universe. There is only this moment, here, now, constantly vibrating on a quantum level and changing in microscopic increments on a colossal scale. Since eternity is the passage of infinite time, his concept is at odds with what scientitsts are predicting about our cosmos. We live in the stellariferous epoch, an early stage of the universe in which it expands and sparkles with energy. Eventually the universe will calm down, cease creating stars, and begin a long slow subsidence into stasis, at which point there will be no further change and therefore time will cease to have any meaning. In other words, our cosmos will grow, mature, and die of old age. Nothing exists forever. That's kind of interesting, because a prevailing train of thought is that our current physical existence is merely a preapration for something more permanent in another form. That's a common idea around the world that forms the basis of much religious belief. Religion however exists for two purposes. One is to answer peoples concern about death and existence, the other is to provide a means of social control, usually exploited by dominant individuals in the same was any other form of politics. After all, the crusades inspired untold thousands to fight the good fight for God. Yet so many of them had more worldly ambitions in mind, including the the pope who set the ball rolling. And if that is said to inspire modern suicide bombings, it's as well to remember that those acts are politically inspired. It seems the word of a higher power means anything you want it to. As sincere as most individuals are in their chosen cosmological perceptions, so much of it seems to be constructed from a humanocentric point of view. There was a lady of my acquaintance who during her attempt to convert me to christianity enquired why I didn't believe human beings were intrinsically special or that there must be a higher power to which we somehow answer. Surely, if spiritualism as a generic quality of human endeavour is to somehow progress, then as we learned the earth is not the centre of the universe, surely we should grasp that humanity isn't either? Of course these commonplace views are simply fabrications of th human psyche and intellect, or perhaps the wit, given how insincere many religious leaders turn out to be. Religion does not bother itself with the difficulties of self-rationalisation. Heed the word, Brother, and doubt not. Oh yeah. Cash donations would be nice. That would be the responsible thing to do, surely? Sadly not enough cash has been donated in our local pubs. Therefore pub landlords go out of business, brewers lose business, and I've nowhere to go on a saturday night except... Paying For Curry I'd had enough. This was saturday night for crying out loud. On the way home I decided to indulge in a curry. Haven't eaten a decent curry in ages. So I wandered in and bravely ordered not your usual run-of-the-mill off-the-menu selection, but a real customised made-to-order curry. The guy behind the counter looked at me baffled by my unusual demand, though on reflection he was probably wondering whether I was drunk and therefore in imminent need of being sent elsewhere. He called his boss for assistance as assigning a price to a custom curry is clearly beyond his competence. The boss has known me for a long time. Therefore I was taken seriously and got my request at a reasonable price. It might have cost me the equivalent of three pints of booze, but hey, at least that's one curry house that won't close for business tomorrow. And I've got something to eat the day after too. It's a win win situation, or I like to think so, though for some reason I have a nagging doubt that my bank balance can survive this sort of continued entropy.

A more complex chain of markets will inevitably cause a rise in price at the end, but then, higher prices for rare items drive the luxury market though it will limit the market somewhat. At the end of the day a balance will be found as those who made a loss prefer not to risk their investment again and specialist dealers emerge. As a result, these specialiosts would tend to make exclusive agreements and try to ensure delivery of stock. The existence of the Silk Road for a short period does not mean that chains of suppliers or alternative routes did not exist, rather that a certain route between chosen markets and established agreements made supply of commodities more reliable - especially considering the vagaries of sea travel and the difficulty of weathering adverse conditions in vessels of those times.

Aren't we guilty of assuming a strict and precise ritual in the modern manner? The reason I suggest something less rigid is because the writers of Roman times give us a mixed picture of legionary behaviour. In some circumstances absolute obedience is expected, everyone must know their place, yet in other circumstances there's far less structure to military life. This is of course where comparisons to the modern day fail in that we're dealing with a foreign culture from two thousand years ago. As I mentioned elsewhere the legion wasn't simply a military entity that existed apart from society in the way we usually think of today. The structure of a Roman legion, whilst modified by experience and evelopment, remained an encapsulation of their own society. It really did have a class system that reflected Roman values. I have to concede that the manuals of the Roman military have not survived, so in that respect, our information is limited. What occurs to me though is that nowhere I casn think of does a classical source mention legionaries saluting in the proper or [/i]improper[/i] manner, as if there's no no actual standard to apply, rather that the honour or disghonour expressed is the important factor. We immediately think of a hand or arm gesture - but that excludes other possibilities such as a curt nod of the head, or kneeling for instance, though I'd prefer not to get into speculation over some sort of 'Senate Of Silly Salutes' contest. The only reason I 'm persisting with this point of view is that we seem to be limiting our ideas to something more relevant to our own experience and customs derived since the Roman period. By focusing on this we might be ignoring a real possibility.

Like what? Who knew in August 1945 that the atom bomb was going to be used? That in itself was a gamble, not a sure thing. Furthermore, in May 1945 Winston Churchill asked his strategists to plan for an attack on Russia (Operation Unthinkable, which one strategist reported would "Take a long time to win"). Also there were security issues at home and overseas irrespective of the state of allied operations against the axis, therefore aircraft procurement was in no immediate danger of being downgraded by the Air Ministry although some scale reduction was probably expected after the nazi capitulation. bear in mind the MB5 had been flying for a year prior to this time and all who had dealings with it had nothing but praise for the design. The only issue was politics. Martin-Baker was an outsider, a small manufacturer with little influence in Whitehall, and the people responsible for alloting contracts didn't want his company building their own fighter aircraft. Thios attitude had been prevalent throughout the second world war and had in fact been rooted in british aircraft contracting from the very start. Notice how easily Hawker won contracts and that only suuccess in the Schneider Trophy contests of the 30's allowed R J Mitchell any influence in selling his Spitfire project.