caldrail

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.

Except that high prices were paid for silk in Rome where it was a rare luxury, thus there was a commercial motive to sell westward. Also bear in mind that western ships picking up cargoes were circumventing the chain of markets to reach the same end, thus maximising their profits.

Ah, but you see, to kill a deer and consume it yourself breaks medieval law. Okay, we don't hang poachers from the nearest tree any more, but these days most people have more sophisticated tastes and are generally not hungry enough to consider roadkill anyway.

Not so. The MB5 was obstructed officially and had the project been supported, the aircraft could well have seen service in the later stages of the war - and lets not forget Britains commitment to 'Tiger Force', the britiish contigent due to be sent to the pacific theatre to assist the invasion of the japanese islands. Also bear in mind that there were no technical or aerodynamic difficulties with the MB5 that would have entailed lengthy development.

Those were a bit late to see action in WW2.

That's interesting. Here in blighty we're all wondering who he was. Plus we're distracted by sportsmen dying at the age of 52. Not that we know which sportsman he was, you understand, but there you go.

In england it's okay to destroy the bambi population as long as it was an accident, and make sure you don't carry it off and cook it. The guy following you is allowed to do that however.

Now that the british weather has woken up and realised we were getting too much warmth and sunshine, october has returned with a vengeance. Although it isn't raining the temperature has dropped alarmingly, made worse by a strong wind. One of the regulars at the library rushed to his chosen computer and saw me. "It's a bit chilly out there isn't it?" Yes. Yes it is. Very. Maybe it just feels bad because we've had such a balmy autumn so far. There's barely a brown leaf to be seen anywhere. Still, life goes on, and since I needed some extra computer time I trudged across Swindon to my favourite internet cafe. Once my time ran out it was time to go home. No sooner had I emerged from the stygian depths of technological intercourse than I realised thre weather had changed completely in the hour I had been there. Great swathes of the darkest clouds I've ever seen in Swindon loomed omniously over me, clearly a supernatural message to get back in there and pay for another hour. Smudges of grey hung beneath the clouds, indicators of heavy rainfall. I could feel a drop here and there. Will Lord Caldrail manage to get home without a thorough soaking? Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen. The outcome will be revealed later. Roll On Some of you might know this already thanks to the untiring efforts of stand-up comedians to save the universe from the forces of entropy and primitive life forms, but Swindon is not the centre of the universe. For that reason, we Swindoners only experience a subset of british culture thus getting totally wasted on the weekend is regarded as the only way of forgetting the shame and boredom of living there. I suppose we have little choice really, because there's no more Swindon Foreign Legion, since with recent government cutbacks our fortress in Libya has recently been closed. Imagine my suprise then as I passed the local second hand car dealer. Most of his stock are the same old hand-me-down family cars as everyone sells, but occaisionally he pulls something unique out of the proverbial hat. There, sat beside the entrance to his premises, was a two tone blue Rolls Royce. Heck. You don't see many of those in Swindon. Now usually I lust and drool over italianate supersportscars, but I must admit, my lordly instincts were aroused by a gleaming paint job and acres of polished chrome. Come to think of it, that radiator is an iconic shape. It gives the car an air of authority all of it's own. It was also featured on the credits of puppet series Thunderbirds which I watched avidly as a child, thus that shape has been imprinted on my psyche forever. Curse you Satan! Tempt me not! I shall not be enslaved by massive repair bills and conspicuous consumption! Okay. I feel better now. But a part of me will always regret not having a big autocannon poking through the radiator. Parker? Shoot those plebs blocking our progress. "Now, m'lord?" Now, Parker... Night Of The Living Syrian Watching the news last night I learned that a syrian woman has mysteriously returned from the dead. Previously she was featured as the first woman beheaded in Syria under police custody. Who would have thought she would return as a zombie, hellbent on eating the brains of western journalists? The Outcome No, you were wrong, the clouds parted and soaked Swindon either side of me. I told I looked like Moses these days. Soon I shall be compelled to bring down the stone tablets from the upper storeys of the Job Centre, and tell everyone off for being richer and more orgiastic than me. Can't wait.

Distance and security. China and Rome don't seem toom faraway to us. We could travel between either destination in a day without any problem whatsoever. In Roman times, that was one heck of an exopedition. Especially since there was no record of what lay between, nor any clear indication of the respionse you would get from the locals when you arrived. Certainly it would be unlikely that you could carry enough to survive on during the journey so there really was an element of expedition involved. However, the explorers seem to be chinese. More than once they travelled west and touched the boundaries of the Roman middle east. On one occaision in ad96 an army was sent to conquer Rome though it never actually reached Roman territory. It is nonetheless extraordinary that an army could march that far in ancient times. But goods? I wouldn't say it was travelling from kingdom to kingdom - that's a more conbtemporary way of looking at it. Rather it was travelling from market to market, passed on by traders purely for business rather than any intent to send the stuff all the way around the european-asian landmass. Although the chinese did open negotiations for trade with the Romans, this was never a feature of commercial life to any extent and the short life of the Silk Road mitigated against it, and since sea travel was by far better for long distance trade we see goods crossing the Indian ocean each way, with greek ships reaching India, Sri Lanka, and possibly even Cambodia. The odd thing though is that whilst the chinese were known to be adventurous sailors (they explored the pacific and may well have landed on the american continent) I have never come across any information about how far chinese vessels ventured westward. Certainly they came overland, but whwere's the accounts of visits in africa, egypt, or arabia? We now need to discuss security. The problem with the Silk Road was that it crossed harsh and barbaric lands in both Roman and Chinese estimations. The insecurity of the Tarim Basin was the reason the road closed, and relations between the factions between China and Rome were not entirely stable at that time. Part of the difficulty of travelling such distances is the possibility of violence, theft, disease, or accident. Even today we can guess at the difficulties travellers must have faced by considering such a journey ourselves, though in fairness bureaucracy and regulation were not such a large feature of life in ancient times. That people lived in the territories between Rome and China isn't contested, although we must recognise that the density of populations in the wilderness areas was very sparse indeed, and that few trade centres have been identified. Further we must recognise that the culture of peoples varied and the potential for encountering nomads was more due to circumstance than expectation.

The MB5 scored on many levels. besides being an agile performer it was also designed for ease of maintenance, an important consideration in operational circumstances. Regarding the torque of pwerful engines, this was indeed a matter of skill. With the spitfire the pilot notes indicate a pilot must apply full rudder on running his engine up on take off, because the rudder area is too small to be effective at low speed. There's a story about a 1950's Farnborough Air Show in which a race was staged between two spitfires from a standing start. Both pilots were competitive RAF chaps and once the signal was given, both immediately opened throttles to the max. Also immediately both spitfires swung wildly and taxiied at high speed toward the audience enclosure causing a panic among the assembled top brass and their wives. That was of course a relatively easy aeroplane to handle. The 109 was well known for capricious behaviour on take off and landing, and something like half the airframes lost were due to accidents, not combat losses, with the quaint german phrase bumslandung used to describe a heavy landing and undercarriage collapse. In fact, when the 109G was collected by pilots from Finland for ferrying to their homeland, the germans were very keen to stress the difficulty of flying them and were expecting disasters from the novice finnish pilots, who, as it turned out, were well up to the job and regularly flew from strips much shorter than the germans considered vital for that aeroplane. With any powerful aeroplane of that period torque introduces dangers. As a Cessna pilot, if there was a problem at low altitude I could get out of danger simply by opening the throttle and climbing away. A sudden application of throttle in WW2 fighter can easily cause uncontrollable roll, something that contributed to the death of Mark Hanna ( a warbird display pilot of great skill and experience) when his Hispano Buchon (a spanish license built 109G with a merlin engine) encountered turbulence on landing. Obviously a contra-prop was a means of alleviating or eliminating some of these characteristics, but I note that despite several attempts to field aeroplanes with propellors of this kind, not one design of any nation made it to active service. Weight, complexity, and vulnerability to damage are all contributing factors.

Can anyone be perfect? Some of us believe so, usually the type of person that wears a black polo neck sweater, a gold medallion, and earns millions by telling everyone else how they can be too. I wonder how we see ourselves? The obvious answer is to use a mirror or a photograph, but what I actually mean is our own perception of ourselves. Those lads in the street this last weekend no doubt regard themselves as good-for-a-laugh salt-of-the-earth characters. What? A bunch of drunken louts? Heaven knows they try to communicate those sentiments often enough. None of us are perfect, including me. No, really, I admit it. I've no doubt whatsoever that people see me differently than I see myself. A young lady friend many years ago once implied my hair was grey. Didn't that bother me? No, not really, you see my hair started going grey in my teens. I don't really see it when I look in the mirror. She was very amused at my blindness though in truth she totally got the wrong idea. I guess she wasn't the perfect gitlfriend then. Nonetheless it is remarkably easy to give people the wrong impression. I can forgive the lady I passed the other day for being nervous. She didn't know me, I looked a little shabby, and there was no-one else around. Or perhaps it was my grey hair that worried her? I understand that. But what happens if you've known someone for years informally and they start acting oddly? There's another lady I bump into on a regular basis. She's polite and pleasant, as far as her profession requires her to be, but that behaviour turns out to be something of a mask. For some reason I've spooked her. She's taken to hiding in a toilet to avoid bumping into me. Why? Has she noticed my grey hair? For the record, most of the time I avoid her. Also Worth Avoiding Also worth avoiding was a fair haired chap who passed me by last week. He pointed past me at a shop window and said "Plenty of trains there" for no apparent reason whatsoever. No kidding. I'll just keep on walking by. No Trains For Me I received the shock news that I've been stopped from accessing a railways website because in the opinion of Swindon Council it ranked along with sex, violence, bigotry, racism, and inflammatory content. Didn't Swindon used to be a railway town? Anyone would think I was selling illegal photo's of steam engines in nightclubs, reducing innocent drunken louts to train-spotters. How criminal is that? Speculation of the Week With everyone getting promoted at the museum in front of me, they're running out of staff to give important jobs to. There's only Young S left to compete for that last final "You're now in charge of something". Could be a tight contest - He wears military surplus trousers too. So which of us is perfect for the job? I just hope the boss doesn't see my grey hair.

That about wraps it up for the warmest October on record. Still humid, still sweaty, and a damp drizzly day. "That's a right ol' rain that is." Commented some old guy as I left the library this morning. He was right. It was like being sprayed by a fine hose. Clearly a gentleman with much experience in the ways of Wiltshire weather. Yesterday was of course a good deal sunnier and I wandered around Croft Wood, taking in the solitude between dog walking shifts. It's never going to be as quiet as it once was with new housing developments sprouting nearby but for now you can still wander among the trees and spot the occaisional wildlife doing wild things in the wilderness. Except I didn't see anything. As we endure the end of the warm season and go straight into winter giving autumn a miss, I see a report on the internet news about the possible causes of an apocalyptic end of the world. Among the reasons we might cease to be was a lack of sunshine. Forget aliens, people - Keep watching the weather report! You Heard It Here First Having observed that Swindon was not a priority for the Conservative Party Conference in Manchester, I was thrilled to bits to see a slighty dampened news reporter on television pointing at a pamphlet about housing and telling us that Swindon didn't want all those new houses and reduced planning restrictions. There you go. You heard it here first. Having Mentioned It Also on the news was a report that wiltshire police are changing their strategy and ensuring that more police are on hand to deal with anti-social behaviour, especially that caused by drunkeness. That certainly worked over the weekend. Unfortunately the police weren't on hand when a bad tempered guy wandered into the job club area of the library and attempted to bully his way onto one of the computers set aside for claimants. As it happens you don't normally see bad behaviour like that in the library. Occaisionally some youth doesn't understand that a library is not a social club and insists on telling everyone at the top of his voice what his facebook mates are up to, but the ladies soon rip youngsters like him to pieces. Once I did see a tall black guy sneak onto a computer while the geeky user was looking for a book on the shelves and used his code for his own purposes, clearly grinning at his ability to intimidate the geek into letting him read emails on someone elses time. We claimants stopped what we were doing and looked over our shoulders with a disapproving scowl. Realising he was about to be ganged up on, the interloper decided to go bully someone else. He's still in the library now, wandering up and down in the forlorn hope of finding one that's free.