caldrail

Every so often in your life there's a dim awareness that you're supoosed to do something. I find this usually occurs in that drowsy state when your concious mind is struggling to make itself heard against the instinct to stay in bed and sleep some more. Eventually it dawned on me that morning had broken. Does that mean I might have to get out of bed? Yep. That's the way the world works. Or not, if you're unemployed. As Kenny's dad from South Park wryly observed, "When you're unemployed weekends lose all meaning". I can see his point. I woke up yesterday morning completely unable to recall which day it was. Today however it's monday, and since the rest of the world is getting on with earning a living, it means I get dragged into it one way or another. Who said I can't conform? All I have to do is get of bed. That way I can find out which day it is and survive until the next one. Back To Nature I was watching a report about Chernobyl on Russia Today. Local officials have suspended tour operators from showing visitors around the abandoned town due to discepancies in accounts. That's a shame, because it looked like a fascinating place to see. The tour guide said that people had various reasons to go there, wanting to experience a post apocalyptic vision, or simply to revisit the soviet era. A few days ago I took a few photographs over the fence surrounding the old college site. Passing that way yesterday morning (whatever day that was) I noticed all the trees and bushes growing between the brick wall and the white fence have been cut down, presumably so the security guards can see people climbing over to gain access. I guess I was the cause of that initiative. What next? Searchlights? Machine gun towers? Just what is going on in there? By happy coincidence I was passing the entrance when some official was driving his car in, so I got a glance along the road that leads through the college site. And what a sight! It might not be as close to nature as Chernobyl has become, but the sense of abandonment I saw was stunning. Detritus everywhere, foliage sprouting from every nook and cranny, and quite unlike the way it looked when I was studying engineering there in my mispent youth. Luckily I didn't have my camera with me. The guards might have released the hounds otherwise. Another Mustang Bites The Dust The news was playing in the background. Yet more in-depth analysis of armed resistance in Libya had become a little boring, so I kind of got on with other things. Then I heard the announcer mention that a world war two aeroplane had crashed. Oh no. Not another priceless relic smashed to bits? It did occur to me though that crashes of aeroplanes from that era can be very fatal indeed, and I hoped that like the previous loss of a Mustang at Duxford, the pilot had survived. As most of us now know, this Mustang was a modified racer. I watched the footage for signs of what had caused the accident but to my frustration all I saw was images of emergency vehicles rushing past traffic queues. Yesterday though the news people had found an amateur video that showed the Mustang pulling up, winging over, and descending extremely rapidly nose first into the ground. As yet I don't know why this accident happened to the 74 year old pilot. Whilst this might sound a bit pointless, for the sake of his honour as a flyer I hope he was a victim of circumstance than someone who did something completely stupid.

That's exactly the assumptive frame of mind I'm warning against. This hospital would in all likeliehood be used for illness or minor injury - in other words, keeping legionaries fit for battle rather than patching them up afterward. Furthermore, the chances of severely wounded men making it back to camp without death from shock, bloodloss, or infection is not good. If the Romans lost the battle, this was virtually impossible. As regards the apparent modernity of the instruments, remember that these are tools and whilst I agree they were intended for a similar purpose, there is no guarantee the Romans used them for extacly the same objective. In other words, they may have done certain things to affect health care, but not necessarily in the same order or purpose that we do today. Also, we know that treatments prescribed for aiolments often had no actual curative strength. Indeed, some of them were more likely to cause harm. What we have to be aware of is that sophistication in Roman medicine was not uniform at all. Be aware that overall the Romans had little idea of hygiene other than a social custom. The connection beyween conditions and infection was not something that was really understood until recent times and I seriously doubt the Romans did either, other than an empirical realisation that clean conditions appeared to be more condicuve to heath, but then they would have thought that anyway due to the idea that cleanliness was a human condition to be applauded. Note that legionaries, despite being of various origin and of rough disposition, were encouraged to bathe as much as their betters. In fact, it could be argued that medics (being educated men) were probably keen to create clean conditions within the hiospital merely to suit themselves. It must also be realised that medics in the legion were invariably greeks (I don't know of any exceptions) and this would have been the skill that gave them immunes status. That does not guarantee that the greek legionary actually knew anything. As long as he could convince his seniors of his knowledge then he got off manual labour, and given the hospital was normally fairly empty anyway whilst good health was the norm in peacetime, it was an easy assignment. Educated medics like Galen were an exception, and although his knowledge was well ahead of his time, it served the medic no good at all to teach those skills to all and sundry. The Romans earned a living from expertise after all. Only in certain cases where the common good was emphasised - such as combat skills - was there establisjed means of teaching skills to others freely.

I would urge caution in gettin g carried away with the apparent modern-ism of this kind of thing. It is true the Romans had learned a thing or two about treating injuries, but if you look at what they actually did many of their methods were just as painful or just plain wrong as anyone elses. The trouble, as always, is that we look for things we recognise and as soon as we spot anything with a modern parallel, people make all sorts of assumptions. Furthermore, it must be pointed out that the only legionaries who got treated in a hospital of this kind were those that made it there. Plenty of wounded men never left the battlefield, and the provision of evacuating men wounded in melee was pretty well non-existent.

I've always said that you can tell a lot about someone by the way they enter a room. DW, our intrepid reporter for the online wiltshire magazine, always seems to enter a room without having to open the door. That's quite a classy entry and frankly I'm envious. My personal battles with doors are the stuff of legend. It turns out that DW has just interviewed a celebrity for his website. I've never heard of her before but I 'm sure she's very famous. Yet no sooner had I poured scorn on his latest showbizz wheeze than a real actress stormed through the door pretending to be angry with him. She's very good. Had me convinced. Apparently this lady has done parts for Casualty and Father Ted. "Have you seen Father Ted?" DW asked me. Not really... I would have remembered. Anyhow we got talking and would you believe it? She's invited me to an evening of intellectual group discussion on the finer points of media and theatre. Can't wait. Deal of the Century All of a sudden Young L suggested that he'd thought of a great business idea. DW, never slow to spot an opportunity to make money, looked a bit quizzical but nonetheless replied "Okay, let's hear your business plan." "I haven't got a business plan." Young L responded, unaware that even with business plans prepared in advance, competitors of Dragons Den still get mauled for being useless wazzocks. "No, no hear me out..." Young L's appeal for mercy succeeded. With a deep breath DW awaited the Deal of the Century. It turns out Young L plays for a football team that are planning to head out to Sweden if they can find sponsorship. I think the idea is that L's team teach the swedish how football should be played. For a mere seven thousand pounds, the team will have magazine advertising on their backs in front of lots of swedish people. "We're a wiltshire magazine." Replied a completely baffled DW. "Why on earth would Switzerland..." Sweden, I reminded him. "Sweden... Yeah.. Always get those two countries mixed up. Why on earth would Sweden be interested in a wiltshire magazine? How would I get my seven thousand pounds back?" "No no no" Young L persisted with admirable enthusiasm, clearly hoping that his trip to Sweden would soon become a reality. Gradually he realised that he was going to get a little battered by jibes and humourous dismissals. No... Too late... Young L is goining to get mauled and he hasn't even applied to go on Dragons Den. Worse still, although DW is pulling his business arms and legs off, DW is also the guy who only minutes before stopped me from squishing an insect. You can tell a lot about people by the way they let things go through the door. Close... But No Cigar The burglars were out and about in the small hours this morning. Just before four o'clock one scavenging good-for-nothing tried to open my back window. Tell you what, Mr Burglar, if you're reading this leave your name and address - I'll get back to you and we'll sort something out. Can't promise a sponsored tour of Sweden, but I think we can manage a stay in one of Her Majesties hotels if you want.

Oh yeah, I know where you're coming from. All I have to do is hear Black Velvet by Alannah Myles and I'm back in the nineties, driving an open top car in bright sunshine with the world falling at my feet (please don't misunderstand what I mean!). Well, it felt that way at the time. Sleepy Satellite by Tasmin Archer has a similar effect on me. Both songs make me remember good times.

Interesting stuff but there's a part of me that's a bit uneasy with establishing prices. What we should realise is that the Romans did not control prices in the same we are accustomed to today. I know that from time to time laws limited the price for specific goods and services, but essentially prices were open to negotiation. After all, with such an emphasis on wealth and a cut-throat commercial sphere, it's not unreasonable that caveat emptormeant what it said. At best then the costs mentioned should be regarded as evidence for the associated period.

Now it's official - Privacy is dead. Get used to it. I learned that from Russia Today yesterday. That comes as something of a suprise since after decades of Cold War fiction I had no idea Russia had any privacy at all. So this is a cheery hello to all those secret agents in Russia who are currently reading my blog. Hi guys. Euro Wobbles Finacial experts (is there such a thing?) are predicting the current economic woes of the eurozone will continue for decades. Given the shakey record of some members, it hardly needed a Masters Degree in Finacial Disasters to figure that out. I also notice that Frabnce and Germany are still determined to create their euopean empire as they persuade the EU not to start evicting the worst debt ridden countries. I must admit to a some smugness over these economic difficulties. Some time ago I predicted the Euro would wobble. The problem with a United Europe is that it isn't united. It's a bunch of different established nations being persuaded to sign up for a single government. My predictions also included the strife of independence struggles to come in some future time, but of course, who would have predicted that the European Union would struggle so hard to work? Lost Money Also struggling to work is our local community internet. There's been quite a scandal as the company who were setting up the free WiFi service didn't, and cost the council oodles of cash. The council are of course confident the cash will be restored to them and now plans to try again with a different provider, only this time we will all pay for the service. I thought we were paying for it? Isn't that what Council Tax is about? Lost In Libya I see that David Cameron, our glorious leader, is heading to Libya for talks with the new transitional council. Well good luck on that, and I hope someone finds him afterward. I also notice that with mobile phone technology making it easy to locate individuals around the planet, some experts are questioning why no-one knows where gaddafi is. Come on guys, get real, he doesn't know where he is. Pub Of The Year A news item this morning tells us which pub is named as the Best In Britain. I didn't know there were any left open. Most of them in Swindon seem to be closing and I hear one Swindon tavern, built 105 years ago, is to be demolished for a frozen food outlet. Sounds like good idea for summer nights out. Maybe not so fun during winter, but at least you won't starve if the snow drifts trap you inside.

With so much done yesterday I decided to relax my job seeking and take advantage of a break in the blustery winds and showers. It's been a while since I took a hike out into the country and believe me, I was stunned by how unfit I've become. By the time I'd trudged up the hill where I live I was sweating and breathing deeply. Not good. Not good at all. As I crossed the polo ground, the grass wet with dew, I encounterd the morning dog walking shift. My suspicions about how long I'd been avoiding this spare time activity was that I didn't recognise any of the dogs, or their masters, which on the plus side meant I had an excuse for a bit of sopcialising with the young pretty female owners. Nice dog you have there. We had one like that once. Putty in my hands.... Well, I like to think so. The owner was a nice lady too. Dogs Here And There This is of course the windy season in the southwest of England. As a result, you should have seen the library foyer the other day. Leaves everywhere, right into the interior of the building. It looked pretty cool as it happens. Oddly enough though the trees in the countryside appear to be made of sterner stuff. Not many leaves lying around, and few others are turning a subdued shade of yellow or brown. Not enough to leaves to interest the local dogs yet, so they made do with me. After an amicable encounter with a playful dalmation, I was ambushed by a black labrador that darted out of the bushes right in front of me. I hope the owner has fed this one. It made a truncated growl as it came to a stop, then turned into a family pet again. Further done the path I encountered a dog I did recognise. A large black shag-pile lurcher, az mean tempered canine that never has really like me at all. It still doesn't. As the owner giggled at her aggressive dogs successful attempt to scare me witless, I backed off the path and... Oh.... The dog stopped snarling and looked at me as if to say "That's better. This path is mine, smellypants" before bounding off happy as larry. Is he gone? Yes? I stepped back on the path. to continue my hike and heard the owner call the dogs name in a desperate and generally pointless attempt to stop her dog from returning. I'm sorry, I'll step off the path again. Is that okay now? Squeezing Them In In a report in todays news headlines new houses are getting smaller and smaller. The latest are averaging less than the desirable minimum living space. Sort of like a dog kennel with running water laid on I guess. At least our pets get their garden homes for free, or maybe the odd spot of security work, or perhaps lifting the odd paw to amuse the owners. I'll bet the people who buy these new dog kennels will be paying a bit more than that. Going To The Dogs In the news I see the country is set for widespread strikes later this year. Not sure why everyone is unhappy. Plenty of food, clothing, gas, electricity, petrol, and dogfood. Plenty of shops left to buy them in. They've just opened a new shopping mall in London and everyone rushed in like nutters, determined to spend every last penny on the first thing they can grab hold of. But that's the problem. We're down to our last pennies. So naturally we members of the public blame our democratically elected glorious leaders. On the other hand, maybe the lack of pennies means we can't afford to anything else?

Happy birthday too Neph

I'm reminded of an old Dave Allen joke. It's a bit politically incorrect, but what the hey... An englishman, an arab, and a jew are sat on a bus. A fly buzzes around the englishman and he shoos it away muttering about the standard of cleanliness on middle eastern public transport. The fly heads over to the arab. He watches it intently, then grabs the thing, chewing on it and enjoying the extra protein. Another fly buzzes around the jew. He watches it intently, then grabs the thing before turning to the arab and asking "You want to buy a fly?"

Yes, that often ends in a fight too, doesn't it?

Yeah, I know what you mean about flies. Every year in summer I open the front window and they're queueing up outside to be let in. I ought to charge admission.

Nah, you're safe. The British only react in a negative way when you use the phrase 'Jehovahs Witness'. At which point we throw tantrums, abuse, and buckets of water at our unwelcome guests, or perhaps just a polite "Go away" if you don't want to get into the newspapers.

I admit I have no understanding of cat behaviour at all. They remain a complete mystery to me. I do prefer dogs. "Feed me or die". How simple is that to understand? Come 'ere Rover... I SAID.. COME HERE!... Got a titbit for you... Nice little biscuit...

You might think from reading this blog that things aren't quite going my way. Correct. However, it isn't all that bad, and sometimes I end up with a few quid left my pocket to indulge my passion for takeways. This week didn't quite leave me enough for my favourite curry. So it's a bag of chips then? Do I really want to go up the hill at the back of my house and barter for the wrong meal in that chinese fish and chip shop? As far as I can tell, they have no comprehension of customer service or the english language. No, not this time, today I will stroll a little further to one of the other fish and chip shops in the area. The one I chose turned out to be a frantically busy fast food outlet. Those young ladies behind the counter work non-stop in very warm conditions. I'm not one of their regular customers, just an occaisional visitor, and I noted a look of wariness on the woman who took my order. What? Do I look like Jack The Ripper or something? Maybe I was sweating too much? It was very warm inside that takeaway with the pile of food gradually mounting on the hot plates as the little chinese gentleman cooked more at breakneck speed. It's no good, I had to stand outside. Although this was a back street area the road junction next to the shop remained busy. Possibly because people were coming home from work at that time of day, or possibly because the locals had found this route to be a useful shortcut. Either way my attention was finally drawn to a menacing black BMW. Not because menacing black BMW's usually attract my attention, but because the menacing gang of youths inside the vehicle were looking at me a little bit menacingly as the car slowed to a halt in the road. Uh oh. This looks dodgy. I gave them a stare back, a sort of disapproving 'What Do You Want?' kind of glare. All of a sudden they accelerated away. What? Do I look like a mafia hitman or something? Now here's something even stranger. The girls behind the counter looked far more comfortable as the handed me my chosen meal - exactly as I ordered it - and even the little chinaman bade me a cheery farewell from behind the stacks of food he was preparing in advance. What? Do I look like a knight in shining armour or something? Cars That Don't Stop The bus stop along Rejents Circus in Swindon is sometimes used as an unofficial overtaking lane. Trafic on the three lane road next to it have to go over speed bumps you see, whereas busses aren't impreded by such obstacles. It's all a bit dodgy really and the biggest suprise is that a police car hasn't set off in hot pursuit every time this happens. As I was walking beside the library the other day I heard the sound of a hot hatch preparing for a mad dash. Yep, there he goes, accelerating hard down the bus stop to undertake the cars negotiating the obstacle course designed to slow them down. Not so unusual you might think. I often see youngsters doing that. At the end of the stop, which opens to a dual carriageway leading out of Regents Circus, he swerved right across two lanes of traffic to carry on round. Dodgy... Very dodgy... Obviously doesn't want his chips to get cold. What's He Up To? Every day I pass the front of the Old College site. It's fenced off now of course, withsprouting trees and blackberry bushes between the low brick wall and the tall white plywood fencing behind it. I've even seen people doing a spot of blackberry picking earlier this year, and that's something you don't usually see in urban areas. More something you do during idyllic walks in the countryside on sunny days. But hey, that's Swindon for you. Naturally I'm curious as to what extent nature has reclaimed the site since it was abandoned. I know about the bats but entering the premises isn't recommended. Still, I resolved to climb onto the brick wall, look over the wooden fence, and grab a few photographs. There we go... It's a bit windy mind you... The curved stone top of the wall doesn't make your footing too secure either... Heck, I'm getting too old for this sort of thing... I wasn't disappointed. A miniature forest is growing on what was once a grass bank, with even more trees growing out of the brickwork A passing car blew his horn at me as I leaned forward. Relax, look, here's my camera. What? Do I look like a down and out? Makeover of the Week Clearly my appearance is suspiciously close to 'Dregs Of Society' standard. It isn't the first time I've been accused of illegal activity. A long time ago a shopkeeper was determined to prove I was a shoplifter. To this day another points at me and calls me a thief. Oh just go away you nobhead. I once had the police tempt me with a bogus old lady and her easily grabbed shopping. Spotted that one. Old ladies don't have the faces of a twenty year old no matter how much they shuffle. Where's the police? Oh, over there, lurking in a doorway in plain clothes. Enough is enough. I get the message. So I spent this morning wandering around a shopping mall checking out the latest fashions and finding cheap clothes I can actually afford. Sweatshirts are hard to find these days. I popped into one store and approached a young woman, asking her if she had any in stock. She stared at me me with that sort of 'Help - I'm out of my depth' look on her face. Just goes to show what effect new clothes have on a woman. Even if they're still in the shopping bag.

I was watching Psychic TV last night. Whilst it is a shameless way of extracting peoples money via phone calls, I was struck by the sense of helplessness of the people leaving voicemails for the psychic team to sort out. I mean, one woman phones in saying she's two months from losing her home. Okay, the psychic sympathised and so on, which is polite if nothing else, but then she brings up a 'Sun' tarot card which apparently means strength. It wasn't any form of insight or prophecy at all, it was just a form of counselling.

Curious thing isn't it? I agree that a young death has a sense of pointlessness, but notice that we find it regrettable that someone dies young without some dramatic gesture in life. He didn't die fighting or risking his life to stretch the boundaries of human achievement, so that we feel saddened in a way that wouldn't happen if we could place some value or honour to his end. The reason I'm underlining this is because I see the same thing in the Roman sources, only in their case, young deaths are far more common, so they do emphasise these sentiments so much more, although one should take care not to make too many parallels because the Romans were far more concerned with victory, about winning, rather than our victorian-esque desire to take part whatever the consequence.

I saw this program and whilst it's interesting as far as it goes, it just doesn't go into any detail or extends our understanding of Roman Britain. You're left with a sort of 'archaeology report' that simply tells you a site has been found (here it is), what they think it might be (map of the area), and they've found this interesting object (small object and archaeologist to explain the significance). I don't mind watching programs like this, it's always handy to know that a certain site has been found where no-one previously suspected one would exist, but in the wake of Time Team who do this sort of thing rather better I can't help feeling a little shortchanged.

How many people actually read their horoscopes? You see them everywhere, books, newspapers, and websites. All of them giving a paragraph of advice for the day. As of this morning I'm beginning to wish I'd read mine. At least that way I would have known what was about to happen. "Face it, you're desperate!" Yelled a woman in a spasm of irritation ealier today. There I was, dozing comfortably on a sunday morning, and out of the blue I'm woken by some woman somewhere. I have no idea who she was yelling at, but since people have a habit of yelling outside my home, it's a fair bet it was intended for me. Desperate? Really? In what way? Okay, I could do with a bigger income and the government are threatening to remove the pittance I get if I don't find a job, but usually when you're described as 'desperate' it's about sex. Or more accurately, the lack of it. Or more accurately still, the extent to which your attempts at getting any are considered feeble and embarrasing. I struggle to understand why this criticism applies to me. At my age, sex is a bonus, not a necessity, and in all honesty the ravages of aging mean that I'll probably be just as embarrasing if I attempt it. Pornography doesn't float my boat and never has. Despite all those adverts for dating websites, I still haven't tried one, partly because I have better things to do on the internet such as finding a job or writing this blog entry. I freely admit I like to flirt. Why not? Flirting doesn't hurt anyone. Yet I can't help wondering whether that woman who yelled at me did so because I haven't flirted or embarrased myself with her. She did sound a bit on the jealous side. Furious denials will do you no good, dear. When you stop to consider what Mankind has achieved over the millenia, it's quite astonishing. We've gone from a primitive ape descendant on the brink of extinction to a global species that now feels guilty about all the other species it's brought to the brink of extinction. We can arrive anywhere on the earths surface within 48 hours. We can talk to someone on the other side of the globe. We can even put people the surface of the moon for a short while too. How about that? Yet we still can't get our love lives right. Advice From The Stars Let's not be too niggardly. Perhaps the woman who yelled this morning was only trying to help. I know, I'll get some advice from my trusty horoscope. After all, how can the movement of stars and planets in the night sky possibly be wrong? It tells me my world is advancing at an ever increasing rate. If I were brutally honest, it isn't. I'm no closer to driving a ferrari than I ever was. However, I'm also informed that my goals are clear cut and that I have all the confidence and vitality to achieve them. That's good news. Many blokes of my age suffer erectile disfunctions or female migrains. However, it's not all good news. It's a shame the stars don't mention where I'm going to get the money to finance my ambitions from. Also my goals will take me away from the limelight and develope my creative and other talents in silence and solitude. Oh brilliant. Well I'm sorry to disappoint the lady but the stars have spoken. At least sex isn't entirely beyond my reach. Come on guys, we've all done it, right? But look on the bright side. The stars say I'll be perfecting my skills and style. Come on girls, it's worth the wait, right? Quietly Does It There's another fox on the block. Saw him trotting down the road the other night. This one is smaller and lacks the grey fur of his noisy predecessor. He lacks the need for constant screeching in the small hours too. Obviously this fox, despite his modest size, clearly has no trouble with his sex life and for that matter doesn't seem too troubled with human beings getting in his way. Probably because he doesn't yell at people.

Unlikely. Islam might seem like a monolithic faith to us westerners, but it isn't - they have no unified organisation at all and note there is no equivalent of a christian pope. Given the events of the last few months it ought to be obvious how disunited (and exploited) Islam actually is. There have been individuals since the rise of fundamentalism that have tried to galvanise islamic populations to 'jihad' against their chosen enemy but note also that by and large the majority of moslems aren't interested in an anti-western 'Islamade' however much they may sympathise with the grievances that inspired it. The problem cases are usually extremist minorities.

Among the many housekeeping duties at the museum is getting rid of the rubbish. I never cease to be amazed at the pile that collects every week and before assumptions are made, it's the staff who are the worst offenders by far. Yesterday it was my turn to get rid of the rubbish. I had no choice. A delivery driver strode in bearing documents and asked for assistance in getting his delivery off the truck and into the premises, which given our location wasn't unreasonable. I left the desk in the hands of a colleague and went down to the truck waiting at the roadside to see a wooden pallet with a tall load. This was no mere parcel. Of course wiith my extensive experience in warehousing getting the pallet to the museum proved no great obstacle. The driver got my signature (keep that, mate, it'll be worth something one day) and that, as I well know, means the driver exits stage left. Our enormous delivery is now in the hands of those who ordered it. It's up them to get the heavyweight cabinet downstairs. Good luck. Anyhow, we had all the packaging to get rid of, so instead of simply filling a dustbin as I usually do, I had to go out the back door and find the skip in the service area. What a revelation! It's like a cold war bunker down there, a segmented concrete tunnel with air shafts here and there. Now if only I could find the right blue door to get back in the museum.... Nope, not that one... Ooops, sorry mate.... Our Surreal And Pleasant Land Have you ever had a dream that was so vivid you remember it? It's been a long time since I've had dreams of that sort but last night I made a surreal journey into an otherworldly factory. It's strange how it sticks in the mind. Obviously I'm thinking about it now because I'm writing this paragraph on it. I have a fascination for ruins and gloomy industrial buildings. Not sure why. Maybe it has something to do with distant early childhood memories of those last run-down days of steam railways in London. Steam and dripping water. Soot and grime. Shadows and dust. Who knows? Perhaps it has something to do with Swindon, which has any number of forgotten tunnels and brick caverns forgotten beneath our feet, almost as if there's some sort of folk memory of dark cellars behind the cupboard in some Narnia-esque townscape. My dream was no more than a rambling exploration of some imaginary place. Probably just as well, because it certainly wouldn't be my dream factory to work in. Now that Britain is no longer the 'Workshop of the World' it used to be, far fewer people experience dark satanic mills. In the library I often see heritage and archeological magazines that depict an industrial landscape that in many cases no longer exists. I saw a photograph of an extensive mine complex, festooned with brick edifice and iron gantry. Now it's a green field, a place where animnals graze and crops are harvested, with almost no sign of the grimey industry that once provided work for the local population. Was this a case of an eyesore returned to classic english pastoral bliss, or simply the passing of a dark satanic mill? On the one hand we sigh and enjoy the slightly artifical rural english park we've come to expect of our green and pleasant land. On the other we conveniently forget that those very same smoking chimneys provided work for a population that seems to be ever more inclined toward laziness, as a recent news article reveals. I woke this morning to sunny weather, a brief respite before Hurricane Katia arrives in the next few days. I really didn't feel like getting out of bed today.

All good entertainment I see. Thing is though, you were cheated. Since gladiators were bare chested - what happened with the gladiatrix pair?

Yesterday I was called upon to attend another internet session at the programme centre. Nothing unusual there except of late I've had to sit and wait before they open the room. I mean, don't they know I'm Lord Caldrail and must not be delayed? Apparently not. I had to send them a letter reminding them that I wasn't plain old Mister Caldrail anymore. People do struggle to remember that I notice, unless they intend making light of it like those two single mums I passed in the street. Yes, ladies, sometimes people do call themselves Lord. Sometimes we get rewarded for doing so,. It's called 'perks of the job'. Back to the plot. As I sat down a young lady decided to start a conversation with me for no apparent reason. I have to say it's unlikely, as sexy as I am, that she actually fancied me and although it's increasingly common for plebian women to express their mirth at my assumed status, she was genuinely polite and friendly. I soon learned she had been unemployed longer than me despite her youth. It turns out she was born the day before Halloween. Not sure what the significance of that fact was, but I understand her brother was born on April Fools Day. If anyone can figure out what all this means, please let me know. Just remind me what this was all about. Reminder Of The Week Remember to feed your dog everyone. Apparently one guy forgot to feed his for two weeks and was probably eaten by them when he returned home. Personally I think it was a revenge attack for their doggy friends finding their way into a curry, but who am I to say? Clearly hungry dogs are not to messed with. They are, after all, domestic wolves. I know how rational this idea is. Our dog had to be starved for a day before going to the vet, and made a desperate grab for some chocolate I carelessly had in my hand when it rushed in through the door afterward. Trust me. never come between pets and their food. You will lose. Mind you, there was one time when the folks were on holiday and left the dog with me. As this wasn't my usual chore I completely forgot to feed him. Realising this mistake in the late evening, I went off to the kitchen and started preparing his bowl of brown goo that dogs have a love/hate relationship with. I heard his footfalls on the kitchen floor behind me. The dog stared at me with a hilarious look of mystified innocence as if to say "But you don't feed me..." Phew. Close call there.

The major difference between modern and historic enviromental movements is the origin of the initial complaint. In previous eras it's almost certainly the discomfort and inconvenience of a wealthy and influential person. I'm thinking of the Lord of Lydiard House who made a great deal of fuss when the railworks were built in Swindon because the the company hooter was waking him up of a morning. So he began a campaign to have the hooter silenced and after legal action (and bending many important ears) the company received a noise abatement instruction. As a result the workers began an irreverent campaign of letters and poems to inform the good gentleman what the working class thought of his desire for a hootless Swindon. In any case, the GWR simply built another hooter next to the old one that wasn;'t covered by the ruling. Not only that, but take the case of Lord Goddard who in the 1870's was part of the committee for building the Swindon, Marlborough, & Andover Railway. A fine project leading to a much needed north/south route across the west contry linking Swindon to the industrial midlands and the maritime south coast. Unfortunately it wasn't quite so fine when the good gentleman discovered a railway station was going to appear at the bottom of his garden, on his land no less! The railway then had to be routed under Swindon hill with a tunnel that flooded and collpased dangerously before work was suspended for lack of funds, leading to another route around the town. Arguably the rise of the Roman villa and the landscaped gardens also suffers from this older perspective. Whilst the landscape is made prettier and more impressive to look at, this parkland was for show. It was meant to underline the owners wealth and status that he could afford such beautiful surroundings. Behind the villa, out of sight from the road, was a working farm employing hordes of hard working slaves that didn't quite fit the rural idyll. The same can be said for other instances. Nero's new Rome for instance, following the great fire of ad68. It is true that at his insistence the streets were to be made wider and less prone to spreading fires, but clearly it was also done with an eye for beautification, a typical Roman ploy to generate public goodwill by civil benefice, especially sinec Nero was grabbing money from anyone he could find to pay for it. However, the prize has to go to Augustus, who bribed the Roman public with civic development (and games too, he certainly made sure everyone knew how spectacular his sponsored events were). Finding Rome in brick and leaving it in marble may have made the city a more pleasant enviroment (despite the usual objections to urban life before modern sanitation) but it wasn't there to make life more pleasant for the public. It was there to impress them.

Today I think I shall struggle a little to find something to write about. So far the biggest event of the day was some guy having a loud conversation on his mobile phone whilst sat by the next computor to me. Hardly world shaking stuff. Dying A Death What on earth is all this fuss about Magrahi for? If the court was correct and he was guilty of causing the Lockerbie Bombing, then frankly I have no sympathy for him at all. So what if he's dying of cancer? There are people around the world dying needlessly for all sorts of reasons, and I suspect a great many of them are more deserving of life. Unfortunately his hand in the loss of a jumbo jet over Scotland and everyone aboard makes him something of a notorious figure. I notice though that the sudden support for rebel movements in Libya came after this man was released on humanitarian grounds. Okay. he's free. Now let him die. That will probably sound a bit harsh to some people. That's the problem with justice. None of those people he killed can be compensated or brought back, so how can such a man be justly dealt with? One obvious answer is through legal proceedings, which has already occured, but that alone doesn't necessarily make it right. After killing 243 passengers, 16 crew, and 11 people in the town where the debris fell, an act that was deliberate and premeditated, how does a few years in prison ever really be considered just punishment? Fate has intervened and now he's suffering. Nope. Not bothered at all. Where's Waldo? After the long commercial success of Where's Waldo? or his british clone, Where's Wally?, how long is it going to be before someone creates a Where's Gaddafi? book? Come to think of it, Where's Saddam? or Where's Bin Laden? were popular news items for ages.Where's Hitler? has sold copies in various forms ever since 1945. Hmmm... That sets me thinking... What about Where's The Stolen White Eunos Cabriolet?. Might have some commercial poosibilities. It's a fair bet someone made money on my lost car by now (a little clue for the police there, in case they're struggling to solve the mystery).