caldrail

Migratory? Hey, now there's an idea. We could export our unwanted badgers to a country we don't like. The birds have no nationality and can't be traced. What a fantastic foreign policy idea! Doc, you've made my career as a politician.

It's gonna be seventies night in LA

It turns out that I'm among the first recruits for the Work Programme. If anyone wants to know what being a guinea pig is like, I might be able to tell you. Already I've set a record by being the first claimant to have done his initial assessment twice, though I have to confess, that's because the first one was mislaid. "Things always go wrong when you're around." Observed one other claimant, a chap I remember seeing here and there over the last couple of years. He was one of my fellow forklift trainees so I suppose he does have some insight. Oh all, right, I admit it. As with all things official, there followed a health and safety orientation. Someone was obviously paying attention. I notice they didn't have any oxygen masks hanging from the ceiling but then again the programme centre isn't the fastest way to travel to exotic holiday destinations. That's the trouble with health and safety orientations. Your mind is always elsewhere. "Has everyone understood?" Our trainer asked. Questions? No-one told me there were going to be questions. Is this going to be on the test? She continued "What do you do if there's an accident?" Umm... Well... I guess you scream, hold the injury, and rock gently back and forth with your eyes closed. How did I do? Big Metal World Whilst this was going on, the office boss hovered around his minions like a frantic bumble bee. Someone asked him something and he whinged that he'd been on the go since seven that morning, driving here and there. Get a better car, I suggested helpfully. No-one should drive a car and feel it's a chore. "Oh I like driving." He wearily responded, perhaps a little puzzled as to why a claimant was engaging a superior being in conversation. What car do you drive? "BMW." He announced. Well there you are. He's not driving a car to express his personality, or feed his petrol habit, or even thrill at the razor sharp handling and throttle response. It's all about the badge. He's driving a BMW saloon because he wants a badge of office, to express his oneness with the Ancient Order Of Management, and be known to all throughout the land as He Who Must Be Admired. The man has no individuality at all. Owners Operation Manual Haynes have been selling books on car maintenance for yonks plus ages. What an innovation that was at the time. Drivers freed from the tyranny of the roadside ornament, shown the arcane secrets of making a car start, and defying the sharp intake of breath from the garage mechanic. As I sat in the library, I spotted a Haynes manual on the shelf. No suprise there - there's loads of them, mostly for makes and models that rusted away long ago when their owners chose foolishly chose not to purchase a Haynes manual. But this went from the sublime to the ridiculous. It was a manual for the RMS Titanic. I must admit, I've never considered what a labour of love it must be to operate a transatlantic cruise liner. I mean, it's too big for a roadside recovery truck isn't it? Now anyone can maintain and drive their cruise liner secure in the knowledge they know what they're doing. Is such a large vehicle a little bit showy? I mean, we moan and complain about all terrain trucks filling the roads when the the kids need transport to school, or when something extremely expensive blasts past us on motorways in the superstar lane. But sailing into your garage with a fog horn guaranteed to be heard in the next town isn't exactly being inconspicuous is it? Look on the bright side. Although the turning circle is a little generous, and parking might prove difficult if not prohibitively expensive, there is literally tons of luggage space, and so many cup holders you really could invite your mates for a party. Ride quality is univerally recognised as the best there ever was.. Even better no-one's yet thought to put speed cameras on the ocean. Trouble is, there aren't many Titanics out there. Not to worry. I happen to know there's one still on the market. One careless owner, needs new chassis, some rust. Perfect restoration project.

Trusty Polybius rides to the rescue. Am I mistaken, or is Polybius describing a long marquee for each century? That's definitely an indication that the contubernium was a post Marian innovation, an attempt to continue the barrack room into the field, since we know later tents were only designed to shelter an eight man group.

"Does anyone know anything about the Work Programme?" Asked the lady giving us our induction to what is a two year course aimed to return long term unemployed like me to the workplace. Well there' been some horror stories circulating. "Like what?" That we will have to do 38 hours a week on our job searching. "Oh no!" She chuckled, "That would be like a full time job wouldn't it?" Exactly my thoughts. Well so far the programme seems very easy going, but I did hear hints that it could get much more stringent later. Sounds like we're bing eased gently into our New Model Army of Jobseekers. The square-bashing will pick up later. I wonder if we'll be issued uniforms? There's no point moaning. We're all in it now. Who do you think that you're kidding Mr Manager If you you think we're sat on bums We are the boys who will make your staff look lame We are the boys who will make you think again So... Who do you think that you're kidding Mr Manager If you think that job's not ours Well what did you expect? A song from Dame Vera Lynn? There'll be bluebirds over, the local job centre, tomorrow, just you wait and see.... No. We'll search in the hills. And in the valleys. We'll apply on the beaches. We will never surrender. Wel we can't can we? Our money gets stopped if we do. Quite A Thought Thirty years. It never really occured to me before a feature documentary on television last night covered the last flight of the space shuttle Atlantis. There was one guy who's been fitting heat tiles to the shuttles for nearly all his working life. Thirty years. I was barely out of school when they started firing up those oversize fireworks. I remember flipping through dozens of instrument panels in Space Shuttle Simulator and wondering what on earth all this stuff was about. How long will it be before anything else so significant to our efforts to conquer space rises from the countless ideas mooted around? It was interesting that the head of shuttle flights said that a future space vehicle of this kind will need to simpler and more reliable. Our space rockets don't look much, but their complexity is mind boggling. So are the risks they're built to defy. Famine? You Mean... That Famine? Fifty years. That's almost how long parts of africa has been living off international aid. In other words, they've been on benefits since 1963. The UN are moving toward getting people to raise crops, sorgum for instance, a hardy wheat that grows in arid confitions. Africans can make porridge from it. Food handouts ae therefore being reduced. Unfortunately for this brave new world the sorgum fields are afflicted with a disease that ruins the crops. Might be a while before this East African famine crisis gets resolved. And yet, despite this continual history of hardship in the area, we still see the media portraying it as if this was a disaster that happened yesterday. I guess it sounds more dramatic that way. Not Just Amy Winehouse Everyone who could get near the internet has already posted their thoughts and tributes so there's no point my adding to the huge response to her untimely death. Especially since I never listened to her music. My loss I guess. Well sadly she lost her health to such a degree that her body gave up on her. That said, it wasn't really all that shocking, was it? Hands up anyone who really didn't know in their heart that she was destined to be a tragic figure. It's easy in these cases to get philosophical. To talk about how fragile life can be. How fleeting the human experience is. Some of the people I knew in the music business are no longer with us. Good people. Talented people. Who remembers them? And As For Top Gear... I made a bit of a criticism of last weeks program. No, not this time, last nights show was better. Who could possibly be dissatisified with a trio of seventies moustaches? Richard Hammond succeeding in looking debonair against all odds, James May looking like that middle manager who now has to go home and tell his wife he's been made redundant, and Jeremy Clarkson looking like he dates old women for cash. Brilliant. But it gets better because I too had a moustache in the seventies. Yes. It's true. I am an Interceptor (cue title sequence).

In Blighty we don't usually see amrican versions of our own shows, both because the media in America is so all-pervasive, but also because no-one in britain buys them. What we have seen is a little perlexing to us. Okay, we sort of recognise who the main characters are supposed to be, but they're translated into a different stereotype and to be honsest, since much of British humour is based on absurdities concerning our way of life, the jokes from american perspective just don't work. That doesn't mean american comedy isn't funny - we fall off our seats with some imported shows, but these are home grown shows that are internally consistent. Perhaps one exception might be Shameless. I haven't seen the US version, but the trailers were as deadpan as British humour and I think that's why it might work for us too.

Oh my. Thanks. By strange coincidence the sun is shining today. it's well hot. Very, very hot... (gasp)... (wheeze)... Why is this hill steeper all of a sudden... Man, am I sweating...

Except drunkards, obviously

generally speaking the Romans didn't like to discuss rebellions other than they happened and the perpertrators got some harsh justice for their trouble. The only detailed rebellion is from Taxcitus (that I know of) thus I chose it as an example of a mutiny that bad enough to deserve a write up. The impression I get is that in peace time the legions of that period were prone to labour relations problems. Caesar himself does record how easily a Roman legion could crumble in the face of determined aggression. however, this book http://www.jstor.org/pss/263434 might be of ineterst and at least the page lists serious rebellions in the available text if you don't want to purchase the whole thing. It's a starting point.

The widely accepted date for the beginning of the 'consular' legions is 300BC. Before that the romans employed forces organised according to greek/etruscan lines.

It is interesting. Studies have shown that the majority of women in viking colonies in Iceland and Greenland were british.

A falcon? African or european?

Okay let's see, what can I write for the blog this friday? I've done hikes, injuries, insults, urban foxes, job searching, and finally resorted to lame gags about badger culling. Luckily for me, I didn't have to think too hard about anything else because the museums resident journalist, DW, made his appearance. I first met DW when he was running a modelling agency which he assures us with a big grin was earning him truck loads of cash. After organising one event at a local night club with a number of celebrity guests of which even I had heard of, he sold the business, and refuses to talk about that cash anymore. Now he's a journalist for a community website. For some reason the conversation got around to the fairer sex. It usually does when DW is nearby. Today he was moaning because his girlfriend has just proclaimed her undying love for him. In true journalist style, DW refuses to acknowledge that love makes the world go round. Only money has that physical property. Nonetheless, I think DW is living in a world bereft of human kindness. He hugged our resident evil robot and attempted to hold hands with it. DW, you need a girlfriend. Talking About The Fairer Sex Our boss warned us to expect Miss M at eleven. She's a recent addition to the museum crew. I've seen her around once or twice but she got one of the interesting jobs downstairs, leaving me and the rest of the trolls to snare members of the public. Caught one today trying to sneak in without paying. By half past, my fellow troll manning the front desk concluded that Miss M "Isn't turning up", at which point she duly walked through the door as a brilliantly well-timed demonstration on the art of being fashionably late. Of course I found the whole thing very amusing and she rolled her eyes. Talking About Particle Colliders After Miss M went off to join the museum elite to create new interesting displays, the conversation got around to the CERN particle collider. It's that big circular facility buried under Switzerland that scientists spent millions to play sub-atomic marbles with. My fellow troll told me that the japanese built something similar twenty years in order to find a cure for cancer. Pardon? Curing cancer with a particle accelerator? That's like conducting life saving surgery with a machine gun. Case Of The Missing Eunos - Chapter 3 The latest update of my investigation concerns a woman who was one of the four individuals who asked if I wanted to sell the car. She was in fact the only one whose name I knew. Hi babe. My car got nicked recently. "Your car was stolen?" Yes. "The white one?" Yes. "Oh... I thought you'd sold it." No, it vanished. "Oh." Well it seems the police didn't interview her despite my mentioning her name as a possible line of enquiry. Oh yeah... I forgot... I have to investigate this crime myself. Usually in these circumstances the private detective (that's me) starts a relationship with the woman on the basis that whilst she might be responsible for 90% of car thefts in the area, she's also a perfect soul partner, and until we've done the sex scene I cannot exclude her from my enquiries. I had no idea searching for a lost car was such fun. Can't wait for the car chase.

That's brilliant. I don't think we we fully appreciate the scale of antiquities theft and fraud and I like to see that for once, the criminal fraternity have done the decent thing and added to our archaeological record. Even if they probably hadn't a clue what it was.

Starting the day in a good mood I went about my business. Everyone seems to be in a good mood too. Happy smiling shop assistants, and warm if cloudy weather. It just feels like it's going to be a good day. Or at least, it would be if I hadn't cracked a rib during my collision with the supermarket car park. It only hurts when I laugh. "Step into a recruitment office if you want to play soldiers" Growled a voice as I bounded joyfully up the stairs at the library. Oh great. Another clown. That's put a damper on my day. As it happens I know that voice and he ought to know better than advise members of the public in such a sneering manner. Play soldiers? I haven't done that since I left the Air Cadets. That was way back in... Erm... Ages ago. Decades even. Oh, I see, another sanctimonious upstart doesn't like my habit of wearing military surplus trousers. I don't care. They're available tio anyone on the high street, they're comfortable, useful even, and well suited to my hikes in the countryside. Hiking is about getting out and enjoying the countryside. It doesn't involve special operations behind enemy lines. As I waited for the woman on my booked computer to stop making her face up, I glanced out the window and spotted a guy in head to toe autumn tree bark cammo gear, driving a military surplus land rover equipped for an invasion of Normandy. I see him driving around now and then. I wonder if he gets any hassle? Why on Earth would I want to step into a recruitment office anyway? According to the news, the British Army is getting rid of 19,000 troops over the next few years, plus I'm nearly fifty, suffering middle age health issues, and I discovered yesterday that I'm not as agile as a teenager. As it happens I made a promise to someone as a child that I would never join the army. My grandfather had gone ashore at Gallipoli in World War One to assist in bayonet charges on turkish positions, and later went to the muddy hell of Verdun, France. I remember asking innocently what he'd done in the war, or something to that effect. He didn't relate any tales of derring do, or patriotic pride in doing his bit. Instead he made me aware of what war was. The simple fact was that he didn't want me to suffer the same experiences as he'd done in his younger days. He was a good man. I'll keep faith with him. Worse still for my male ego is the realisation that I was never born to be a warrior anyway. My calling was elsewhere. What's the point of playing soldiers when you're never going to be any good at it? You have to be true to yourself and I see no good purpose in allowing myself to be forced into a life I will never be happy with. That was always the problemn with my father, who wanted me to be soldier, just like him. He was, is, and always will be a petty corporal. If I can blame anyone for lifelong interest in things military, I can lay it at his feet. The army puts adverts on television to the effect that they spot talent and encourage it. Maybe so, but that message clearly never occurred to him, nor for that matter has it reached their casual recruiting agent at the library. But all of that doesn't matter. As always happens when someone wants to apply peer pressure, he spoke to my back. In my book, that's not courageous, admirable, or worth my attention. You stupid, stupid man. Oh the pain... The pain... Birds To The Rescue! The local newspaper tells me that eagle eyed shoppers have noticed birds of prey patrolling the library. I noticed them too this morning. A pair of handlers strolled around the building with a pair of very large Harris Hawks impatiently waiting for another chance to decimate the local pidgeon population. It seems pidgeons are a big problem. Their droppings filled five large sacks during the clean up operation lately, and I understand they spread more diseaes than rats. Given the government are now tackling badgers for the same reasons, I wonder what birds they'll be using? Huge south american condors probably. That'll be a sight.

What for? I mean, Wetherspoons aren't going to sell any. As soon as you order it you'll be frog-marched off the premises.

Having been so impressed with that new footbridge across the railway line, today I decided to head out for a hike in country. Get some fresh air, exercise, and a few cool pictures of no possible use to anyone. Of course I did the requisite job search at the library first. Always see to your chores. There we go. A bunch of cool pictures taken and time to head off into the hills. I did make a half hearted attempt to photograph a passing train, just for the heck of it you understand, but I wasn't in the best place so I abandoned the attempt. Not a problem. Fives minutes later an orange helicopter flew low and slow along the railway. Didn't realise photographing trains was actually illegal. How do those magazines get away with it? And the americans think railfanning is under threat in their country. We get pounced on by helicopter gunships. Back On Form I see in the news that someone is planning to make the entire town of Swindon a 20mph zone. That'll make it the safest town in the world won't it? Stolen cars will stand no chance of getting away at those speeds. Even helicopters fly in fear of speed cameras these days it seems. The thought does occur to me however that traffic jams won't get any better even with all these schemes being put in place manage traffic through the town. I mean, they're still arriving at 60mph aren't they? Never mind. At least Swindon is still on form. Back in the slow lane. Vice Girls Another news headline on the local billboards is that vice girls are back. Vice Girls? Are they a pop act? I mean, like the Spice Girls but sexy? Oh... I see... Ahem. Well you can sort of tell I don't indulge in that sort of service. I imagine it's only going to get easier for them too. After all, the helicopter gunships are currently busy chasing me away from railways. Condemned Sadly it appears that bovine tuberculosis is being spread by badgers so the badgers must go. As someone who enjoys the rare sight of wildlife going about its wildness, naturally that saddens me. It's easy for me to say that. I don't live in the country, and I don't have to deal with diseases that afflict farming. I remember walking past Wroughton Airfield once and seeing a badger impaled on a stick, left by the roadside for someone to see. There's a hardline attitude toward wildlife in some quarters, something I think our american friends particularly would understand. Where does expedience end and cruelty begin? I don't have an answer for that. It's no use complaining that our lads haven't enough helicopters in Afghanistan. We've got to keep our own green zones free of fundamentalist badgers and railway photographers. Ooops.. Oh No! Not Again! Every so often I make a complete pigs ear of making a simple ordinary everday action and look a complete idiot. Most of us do sooner or later, though I tend to when I'm sober. And today is no different. I crossed a road in town at the lights and intended to cut across the supermarket car park as a shortcut home. One quick leap onto the low brick wall, and... Having just arrived back in town from a ten mile hike I inadvertantly let my trailing foot drop. So I tripped, big time. In full view of the shoppers and drivers of vehicles on the road too. Hey, just another gig, yeah? I'd like to thank the driver of a passing lorry for looking to see if I was hurt. No-one else worried. They glanced over their shoulder while I screamed and fell headlong onto the pavement before continuing about their lawful business. At least the driver slowed down a bit. Cheers mate.

It's unlikely that tents were given the same level of oversight that a barracks room would, so I would expect each tent to be utilised in a somewhat customised manner. That said, legionaries were used to sleeping head to foot four to a side with their gear ready at the door. There are however the matters of security and volume. Soldiers on the march are not as law abiding as we would prefer, and legionaries were known to be larcenous, something frowned upon yet never eliminated (probably because the centurions sometimes obtained kickbacks by way of bribe or bullying, but also because the centurions didn't like intereference with the conduct of their century from outside sources, civilian or military). In a tent it would be relatively easy to purloin desired equipment. We must allow however for the idea of 'fraternity' the centurions encouraged (that was what the conternurnae were for) and some realisation that stealing amrs and armour was not conducive to group survival. As regards volume, I'm not actually sure how big the tent was. I would expect some variety in size depending on who made them and the availability of soft leather from which they were made. Since the legionaries don't appear to have the same sense of privacy and private space we associate with modern living, my guess is that training and routine would typically lead the layout of a tent to be similar to a barrack room but constrained by a smaller space. I must add that I'm not aware of any sources that cover this aspect of the march. Writers were generally educated senior officers who weren't concerned with the comfort of their men, nor would they consider the grim realities of life as a Roman legionary a suitable subject for civilised readers.

Pfah! That's nothing. I've got the Department of Work & Pensions plus all their subcontractors trying to change me.

The lady on the supermarket till is an endangered species these days. They're all being replaced by robots. Well, until a bunch of guys with dark suits and sunglasses escort this particular lady to a large black vehicle waiting outside, I'll avail myself of the customer service. "Are you going to Fairford?" She asked. I looked out the window, surveyed the grey clouds and damp ground, and said no, I wasn't. She meant of course the RIAT air display, our annual traffic jam north of Swindon. Fairford is a bit far to walk anyhow. Usually on a RIAT weekend you know there's an air display going on. Crowds gather in Swindon shopping centres. Formations of jet aeroplanes cruise overhead. This year I witnessed none of that. Only on the sunday did I spot a distant pair of aircraft turning west of Swindon. Only once did I hear that familiar distant roar of afterburners fading in and out. What a miserable day for an airshow. Low cloud, patchy rainfall, and actually quite blustery. Worth a few hours wait to get out of the car park afterward? Couldn't Get To RIAT? Yesterday, as you all know, I was taking a wander out into the local countryside while it still exists. On my way back along the disused railway (I know its a cycle path these days but I remember it with tracks still present) I heard an approaching aeroplane. An unfamiliar metallic vibrato. To my pleasant suprise a 1940's Beech twin flew over about five hundred feet up, taking care to stay below cloud level on what was also a none too sunny day. I watched the silver painted aircraft head southeast toward the Marlborough Downs. Well, I might not have been able to get to RIAT, but that was a nice little airshow all of my own. Poor Show Lads I am unashamedly a Top Gear fan. Or rather, I enjoy the show and remain fanatical about some of the more extreme cars they enjoy driving on our behalf. It's a public service they provide. Another public service was the burning of a caravan, this one the buffet car on the Audi train. Maybe it's just me, but wasn't that a bit predictable? They got away with doing a fire on a camping holiday in Devon. The jokes been done twice now and it's wearing thin. We viewers demand more for our license fee. Why wasn't the entire train set alight? They could have burned the Audi too. How we would have smiled. I suppose I can forgive them for that, the reason being being they hit a lower point still. Having invited Rowan Atkinson onto the show, what do they do? Hand him a list of words to say in a funny voice. The audience obediently tittered when required, but be honest, it wasn't funny. It wasn't amusing. If you're going to interview a celebrity, then give him something more interesting to say. Like a witty story maybe? Not their finest moment. Laugh of the Week Bob. Aww come on, it worked for Rowan Atkinson. Oh great, now I'll have to think of a joke. No wait, I don't have to, because I've just spent the last two days phoning a woman at a job agency who tried to phone me. Apparently she can't understand that I don't live in an office, and I can't understand why she does.

No, that's not right. You are correct about time dilation but remember that the universe is relative to the observer. As a fast traveller, your life continues as normal even if everyone has long since ceased to be. You can only travel into a future if it's possible to get back. Otherwise the relative movement in observational sequencing is meaningless. You're simply... there. Unfortunately the presence of an observer in another time would automatically 'change' things irrspective of how far they went back. As for folly, governments like them a lot. Many of us said it was folly to build massive stocks of nuclear weapons but it diodn't stop two factions aiming thousands of the things at each other for decades. An assumption. Would moving a rock six inches cause profound changes in the far future? If so, I'm staying well away from butterflies from now on. Possibly, but then, possibly not. given human behaviour is spread across certain alternatives in a bell curve, the changes over great lengths of time might not really affect things significantly, especially when you consider that the location of an event is often more important than who set it off.

Anyone expecting something about Led Zeppelin is going to be sorely disappointed. Today I took a stroll across some farmland not to far from where I live. In the not too distant future these fields will be gone, replaced by modern brick shoeboxes we call houses, all packed densely together around a maze of curving streets that defies anyones sense of direction. I'd already had a good view of Wichelstok, the latest addition to Swindons housing needs, built in the Ray Valley between Swindon and the M4 motorway. Not entirely an idyllic position then. But that wasn't the whole problem. This new urban village looked false and artificial in pristine orange drab. Anyway, I passed by and continued to where this doomed farm now stands. I've never bothered to walk the footpath on this particular triangle of farmland because it leads across the Great Western main railway line. I don't know what the legal position is. Footpaths are established public rights of way in the countryside, but usually a railway line is No Admittance. Not that it matters. Crossing a double track on a curve that carries fast freight and express trains isn't all that clever. Thing is though I looked across the fields and saw a collection of roofs on the skyline toward West Swindon. Odd. I've never noticed a farmstead that close to the line before. My curioisty aroused, I fell over the crumbling stile and barged my way through the flock of sheep bravely guarding the field against trespassers. One or two showed their displeasure by weeing. It turns out the roofs belong to West Swindon on the other side of not only the railway, but the dual carriageway alongside it. The trees had been cut down because someone has realised that once this stretch of farmland has become a housing estate, the local kids are going to try and risk a crossing. In place of that simple stile and warning sign had been built an extraordinary footbridge. It looks way over the top as it stands now, with only a muddy field to lead to, but what a great place to watch trains flash by. But of course I have better things to do. I wonder if I should rent a movie for tonight? Handed In That's it. The form has been filled in. My record of job searching submitted to my new invisible masters. What will they say? What will they do? The tension is mounting. All the worst because I hear a rumour that jobseekers will now have to spend as much time during the week on their search as they would be prepared to work. What? A full 38 hour week doing nothing but job searching? Hang a minute, I don't think there's enough vacancies or employers to keep that level of activity going. Worse still it means I'm working fulltime at something like

You forgot to add expensive :D

Cars are often an expression of personality. The M5 driver zooms past you because he wants to look important and the car is not only a badge of status, but a means of competing aggresively for position on the road. Personally I liked sports cars for the buzz. I find them interesting, challenging, extremely rewarding, and it must be said a source of endless frustration. I'm not bothered by anyones elses opinions of it. Beware of drivers who buy cars for for show - in my experience, they usually drive in a thoughtless manner. But not everyone sees cars as status symbols or expressions of personality. My father always bought cheap cars because he revels in counting beans. For him, having found a car that returns good fuel economy and running costs means he can shuffle more beans onto something else. I've always found it hilarious. He's so proud of his Prius and literally cannot understand why I fell over laughing every time he spoke of it's innate superiority over forms of motor vehicle. So if you like your little Toyota Doc, you enjoy it. There's nothing worse than being stuck with a car that doesn't please you.