caldrail

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.

Thing is Doc, the male of the species is designed by nature to want sex. Hey, I'm no different. See that attractive young woman walking by? I guarantee I'm thinking about sex in some form or other before she passes by and vanishes from my concious memory. All us chaps are like that to a greater or lesser degree. It's our compensation for closing the toilet seat on a regular basis, or helping with other household chores. It's also, I hasten to add, the result of our male domination struggle. You see, if I have more scratches on the bed post than that other guy, he's pathetic, useless, a loser. If I have more scratches on me, then I'm obviously partnered with women of a much more dangerous calibre, and thus reflects on my big game hunter psyche. At heart we're still cavemen. After all, Gene Roddenberry suggested in his Star Trek series that mankind doesn't solve its political, economic, and cultural problems until the 23rd century, and even then Captain Kirk can't help going wide eyed every time an Orion slave girl flutters her eyelids at him. So I guess if you want a moonlit evening on the holodeck with Mr Right, you're going to have to wait three or four hundred years. Starfleet turns out perfect men by the shipload. By now I've probably depressed you totally. But be honest Doc, all those failed cavemen who are trying to date are actually phoning you. That's goota mean something. My own view is that you should set up a thirteen week competition between your prospective partners. Set impossible challenges each week like doing the cooking or beating up the noisy neighbour. Only the winner will get a date, and each week, one of them will be mentally scarred for life by your withering rejection. As for me, I don't worry about it anymore. Been there, done it, so to speak. Plus as an older bloke my keyless ignition is not quite as reliable as it was. But you know, I still have fun. people are what they are, and it's only when the issue of 'ownership' comes up it all gets a bit wearisome. Personally I think you should buy a whip. Your life will be transformed

Sunday morning and the rain has eased. Some might claim that was proof God exists, but I know different, because he wouldn't have foisted BFL upon the world. There she was in the library foyer, sat waiting to find her next victim. She smiled to herself as I scowled. Luckily Mr R opopped in. He's a regular at the library too, a cheerful chatty sort of guy who seems to spend all day there playing 'fruit machine' programs. Before he gets there though, he too runs the gauntlet of BFL. Too late. She's seen him, and in a swift move she pounces, launching into a conversation with me stood nearby desperately trying to avoid shrapnel. "I've had enough" She told him in no uncertain terms. Apparently her studies are testing her patience. In true generosity, she shares the pain by testing ours. No sooner had she realised that no-one was interested in her studies (it seems the psychology part of her social sciences degree course is paying dividends) she moved on to travel. You may not know this, but BFL likes train travel. No, really she does, I heard it from the horses mouth. It makes her feel in control, she says. Pardon? Has no-one told her the front compartment is for the engine driver? Also she regards a bicycle as a lonely means of travel, and coaches are the work of the devil. At last! The bells! The town hall clock sounds half past nine and the security guard opens the door for us all to rush inside in a mad desperate attempt to escape BFL first. She always takes the elevator. Partly because she doesn't like the stairs (yes, she told us that too) but also I suspect because she gets thirty seconds of conversation with other people who can't escape. Mr R climbed the stairs beside me and asked how I was. A bit ear bashed, but okay. Case Of The Missing Eunos - Chapter 2 Never fear, Caldrail Holmes is still on the case even if the police have given up. So far I've eliminated Al Qaeda from my enquiries, and I still haven't found any evidence that UFO's abducted my car. "All he has to do is buy a Toyota" (Comment made on the street late saturday night 16-7-11) What an interesting comment. Normally I get reviews of my manhood, but what, I have to ask, is manly about Toyota's? Have you seen the local dealership? Packed full of mobility buggies in monotone colours designed to blend with the urban landscape, or perhaps the hair colour of their buyers. More to the point, why is buying a Toyota going make any more difference than other makes and models? Is that what the streetwise private detective is driving this year? Curiouser and curiouser. Have You Tried Our New Burglary? "Don't worry, we'll get in the next time he goes to town" (Comment outside the back of my home, 7:45am Sunday 17-7-11) Thanks for the heads up guys. It's nice to know that our friendly neighbourhood burglar is so publicly spirited to book an appointment. Sadly I'm going to have to cancel as I've just discovered that burglary is in fact illegal, and has been for some time. Political correctness means that we don't chop the hands off convicted thieves anymore. Nor, as science fiction script writers have predicted, do we transport criminals to an island where they can live out their lives in anarchic barbarity - though I do believe we tried that for a while some time ago. Obviously not a succesful policy for the government of the day as the criminals descendants tend to be better at cricket than us. The police don't seem interested. I guess there's not enough news headlines in it. Never mind. If they won't listen, I'll tell the whole world instead.

Wow. I'm putting that on my CV!

Note the title. It sometimes pays to be critical of published works and in my book, anyone who calls the legiosn "The Roman Army" is already working on a misconception. There is an insidious idea prevalent in the study of Roman times that the Romans had an army. No, they didn't, they had lots of them. That's what a legion is, though I agree it was possible to brigade legions together to form a larger temporary army if required. Marius for instance is credited with creating a professional army. Immediately a mental image occurs to us, one we don't easily question, because to us the word professionalism carries certain meanings that don't necessarily apply to the ancient era. Behaviour for instance. Roman legionaries were not known for the sort of professional behaviour (or honour) that we expect today. What Marius created was a system that alleviated the frantic need to raise troops every time a conflict got under way and out of control (as the Romans often found, their politically appointed generals at the start of a campaign were often poor performers). However, his system was not fundamentally different other than the retention of standing forces. Most of it was an organisational reshuffle and adoption of ideas already tested in war (by Marius himself it most be noted, as ghe was forced to make expedient changes to the usual procedures to conduct the campaigns he was involved in) The idea that the Marius Reforms were a complete rethink is therefore incorrect, and since we can actually plot development over the ages, the Roman Legion is far from a fresh start, and indeed appears to encapsulate concepts that belong to Rome's feral origin. Also we suffer from this idea that the Romans were essentially modern in thinking. I don't question their civic engineering nor their ability to organise labour, but to assume this was all evidence of a level of sophistication familiar to us is an anthropomorphic view. We are guilty, in that instance, of foisting our own world upon that of the Roman. In fairness, no, I havebn't read the title so I cannot judge what the author says. I would suggest that it can be misleading to assume that one person is the source of all wisdom. The problem as I see it revolves around not only our desire to understand the Roman era by comparison with our own familiar enviroment, but also the human talent for recognition. In the same that the juxtaposition of features and sunlight creates a false impression of a face on a lunar crater, so we spot familiar elements in Roman culture and... well... join the dots to build a picture that isn't necessarily correct. I will read that title if I come across it. Thanks for the tip.

The reason space exploration has failed to conquer the hearts and minds of the world beyond the odd salt sucking monster and green skinned conquest of Captain Kirk, is that no-one has profitted. Once people can exploit space commercially or illegally, that'll change dramatically. There's this woolly headed idea that Man will conquer space and hug space aliens forever more, but let's be honest, where explorers go, commerce hitches a ride. Do I sound a bit dismissive? Maybe that's because Captain Kirk gets more girls than me. Life is so unfair

Okay. I've managed to get myself back off the floor. Wiped the last tears from my face, and given a last chuckle or two. But why, you may ask? A couple of posts ago I mentioned that I would fall off my chair laughing if I ever heard a boss moaning that he couldn't find the staff. When I checked the local paper for job vacancies an editorial piece headlined with "Skilled Workers Are Hard To Find". No, they're not. You simply have to create them instead of fishing in a market that everyone got to before you. One fun way is to have lots of sex but the more efficient (and probably cheaper) method is to invest in training. Ask Lord Sugar. He'll know what I'm talking about. Or maybe he doesn't, because he's just spent twelve weeks and oodles of tv license payers cash getting a horde of idiots to prove that British business is rubbish. I already know that. They keep firing me. A Meeting With Big C Another guy who's been fired is Big C. Grizzly bears step back and let Big C pass by. They have to because he's blocking the pavement. Or the sunshine if you're stood in his shadow. So a couple of days ago I experienced an eclipse of the sun and knew at once Big C wanted a word. Actually he's a pleasant chap and we both had a chat about all these changes to welfare that the government have introduced. No, he doesn't understand it either. Do It Again Caldrail The seasonal rush to find skilled teachers is currently underway and our local council website lists lots of seductive offers for all sorts of posts in education. Most of them are are out of my reach since I'm not a skilled teacher, but surely the number of skilled teachers has improved since I was a schoolkid? However, I did come across a job for a teaching coordinator, a role that not only allows me to capitalise on my experience, but also allows me to finally get revenge for all that homework I was forced to complete. For most vacancies you apply online and attach your CV. Easy. Just wait a few days and you get a rejection email.No hassle, no complications. Applying for jobs in education though doesn't seem to be a simple process. Send an email to specified address. Receive an email with an application form attached. Complete that. Send it back. Receive an email telling you to do it all again because you got it wrong. I can see I'm dealing with highly trained people here. No wonder they're screaming out for teachers. They're all working in Human Resources. How To Survive Thursday Evening All work and no food makes Caldrail a thin boy. Tme then to gird my loins and head for the fast food chains in the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire. As I aproach the bottom of the hill the various fast food outlets can see me coming a mile off. I wonder what goes through their minds? This is early thursday evening. It's not as if customers are queuing to be served. There's only a group of five or six revellers and if I were honest they don't seem to be revelling very much. So why don't these traders try to attract my attention? "Hot wings! Get your hot wings here! Only twenty kilo's left and we have to sell them all!" "Come on ladies and gentlemen, you can't get piri piri chicken like this in the shops!" See? Imagine how much more business they'd do. By now I've made my choice and head for the chosen outlet. Having seen which outlet I've chosen, the revellers decide to try that one too. It's a customer service I provide. "Jamie!" Screams the young woman with the money, "What chicken do you want?" "I dunno." Says Jamie, obviously trying to be outrageous by being the only guy in Swindon who's this drunk so early in the evening. "Just buy some." "Make a choice! What chicken do you want? Tell me!" She screamed Somewhat worringly Drunken Jamie decided to trap me in the corner. It's a bit uncomfortable with some guy standing too close breathing alcohol fumes into your face. "Good food here." He tells me. Phew. For a moment I thought I might have made a mistake. "We're getting married soon." He says, pointing toward the young woman who seems to be ordering her meal by telepathy. Phew. For a moment there... No... That's too horrible to think about. "You married?" He asks, beginning to waver dangerously. No... No I'm not... "Well, I don't whether I should 'cos it's scary, you know, I mean, what could happen?" He rambled on. Well hey, that's life, if you don't try, you don't know. He seemed to accept my superior wisdom. That's the kind of customer service I provide. Realising the danger I was in, the cooks supplied me with emergency rations and I was outta there. You see, Bear Grylls would have energetically got in and out via a disused ventilator to snatch a raw burger for much needed protein.. Ray Mears would have demonstrated how the crew of a crashed bomber survived by eating out for ten weeks. Me? I prefer to be served before I find myself trapped in an awkward social situation. All part of survival on thursday evening.

How long has it been since I last wandered around Lawns? Come to think of it, it's been a while, so a couple of days ago I did indeed wander around. Nice days do things like that to me. Regular readers will know the name 'Lawns' because I've complained often enough about our parks department, who seem determined to remove anything green in them. I've never seen trees looking so scared. Eventually I passed what used to be the grounds of the local manor house. The Goddard family packed their bags and left before the Second World War, and after being used by American soldiers, it was abandoned until the ruin was demolished in 1958. There's nothing left of the old house. I've seen pictures of it in the museum, a fine old house that looked remarkably modest for a stately home with forty rooms. Hang on... What's that over there?... I know where the old house used to be, adjacent to the Holy Rood Church, and with my curiosity aroused I discover that the parks department have actually done something interesting with this particular piece of green space. They've actually marked out the foundations with paving slabs so you can see the layout of the place. Brilliant. Keep it up guys. More Urban Foxes? Nope. Last night was deathly quiet. That settled your hash you mangy monster, and we didn't even need any dynamite. Meanwhile, Back At The Library Occaisionally I grumble about someone sat in the next cubicle. Today is no different. sniff As you can see, the young asian lad is suffering from sniffles which in the quiet atmosphere of a library constitutes... sniff ... Incredibly annoying distraction. Worse still... sniff ... He insists on... sniff ... Ruffling his bag of.... sniff ... Sweeties. Honestly, if that lad doesn't.... sniff ... blow his nose I swear I'm going to.... sniff Taunt of the Week Huh?... What was that? Did I hear a youth hurling an insult as he strolled arrogantly past my home? Oh go away you silly little boy. I've got urban foxes to deal with and believe me, those things know how to get attention. Or my latest library nemsis, trying his best to ignore my baleful stares and whispered curses? Face it kid. You're a complete amateur.

Owned by the Pope? That's not true at all, though he obviously had considerable influence over land owned by religious orders in the wake of catholic colonisation of Dark Age Britain. Religion of course was a hugely important issue for people back then. Even Ine, an aggressive west saxon king of the 8th century, stressed the role of christianity in his revised laws. Catholic colonisation began in ad597 with the arrival of Augustines mission (although Germanus of Auxerre had suppressed the Pelagian Heresy in 429, possibly re-visiting in 440). It struggled against pagan religions of native Britons, saxon and viking migrants, and the virulent irish christianity that alarmed the catholic church in the first place. The catholic church was from the very start a political entity ("Catholic" is derived from the latin for "Universal") and the question of land ownership was a feature of medieval period long after the Dark Ages had gone. In other words it's easy to see the early Catholic Church as a monolithic enterprise (as I have previously). That's a view coloured by events developing toward the crusades, when the political power of the church was enough to excommunicate national leaders for not doing as they were told, never mind inspiring mass migrations of well meaning peasants and greedy soldiers. Land ownership was still a matter of of the mundane world despite the religious motives of that time, so it's unlikely the dark ages saw the Pope as 'owning' half of Britain.

There does seem to be an increasing aggression and confidence in british urbanfoxes. Expect an urban fox update soon.

Phone hacking is the big news story right now. Frankly I've had enough of these reports. Yes, it is scandalous, and has already shut down a national newspaper, but I seriously don't believe Gordon Brown said anything remotely of interest to the general public no matter how the journalists tried to word it. The truth of this ongoing scandal is the realisation that Rupert Murdoch owns too big a slice of british media and those who want that issue addressed are making sure it is. Even this morning I heard someone being interviewed telling us that this is a 'wake-up call to politicians'. In an ideal world perhaps, but my feeling that this is merely another embarrasement for MP's and they'll deal with it the same way as every similar situation. Make a lot of speeches, suppress problem below the level of public scrutiny, and find a few scapegoats. Oh, and crucify Rupert Murdoch. That'll make the problem go away, won't it? Can't Get The Staff In the next interview, they rolled in the Employment Secretary to explain the changing figures. Is it just me or are peole playing with statistics? One moment they're saying unemployment is up, and in the next sentence, they're claiming it's not that bad and in fact figures show unemployment is down. Huh? Obviously that chap's not going to made a scapegoat is he? He stressed the new Work Programme the government have brought in is providing individually tailored assistance for long term unemployed people. I imagine so. So far for me the Work Programme amounts to having to fill a form in every two weeks. Wow. That helps. Much more serious effort required to get people back into work say the opposition. Uh oh. I'm in danger of agreeing with a politician. But then, are politicians aware that the bar is rising? So many agencies and employers are asking for higher qualifications and experience than they used to. Just today I had a telephone interview for a job and was asked a number of questions that basically asked "Do I know the jargon?" It isn't about whether you can actually do a job. It isn't about whether you've done a similar job. It's about whether your face fits. Whether you can speak the lingo. Bosses want to impressed by someone who blinds them with science. Quote enough technical phrases and abbreviations and the job is yours. If not, then you explain why not to your claims advisor. I mean, it's not as if I have an excuse now I'm with the programme, is it? I swear, if I hear a company boss moaning he can't get the staff, I will fall off my seat laughing. Urban Fox Update That urban fox is getting annoying. I'm suprised you lot haven't heard the cacophony it makes. Not only did it unleash hell before midnight, it trotted off down the road and subjected most of Old Town to a rendition of whatever chart hit that was supposed to be. Might have been a Britney Spears track. Not sure. Those foxes are getting too clever for their own good. Already they've learned to emulate the local drunkards. What are they going to do next? Spray walls and fences with grafitti? Drive hot hatches? Wear baseball caps backwards? Not one of them attends school regularly. I blame their parents. Anomaly of the Week I was watching an advert on television last night. Yes, I know, I'm starting to get desperate for entertainment, but please note that adverts are often more entertaining than the programs they intrude upon. And more memorable. This particular ad was the 'four musketeers' one for broadband internet. For those who haven't seen it, it recreates the style and appearance of those movies with Oliver Reed and Michael York who spent the entire three hours stabbing people by accident. You know the ones? Anyway, although the action is amusing and well choreographed, it raises an unusual anomaly. If these guys are supposed to be musketeers, why are they fighting almost exclusively with swords? Sigh. Yes, I suppose other people have thought of that one too. Great minds think alike.

No, those are Mex... I mean, persons not registered as American citizens living in the country illegally. (Phew. Thanks for the warning, Mr Clarkson)

There is a lot of good music out there. Mostly other peoples, which is a bit annoying for me, but you never know. I might finish my album one day. At least I'll think it's good even if my neighbour doesn't like my guitar playing.

"EEEEERGH!" Believe me, at three in the morning, that high pitched screach is enough to scare the living daylights out of you. Yes, it's the urban foxes again, lurking in the darkness to hunt smaller nocturnal animals lurking in the darkness, or the bonus of edible rubbish we humans have discarded, or as I've come to believe, just to wander around and annoy people with high pitched screaching. This time the fox was very close to the backs of the houses where I live. That's unusual. Normally they wander around the far side of the yard where they can scratch out a living from the other street. Now they're prowling around the backs of ours, no doubt searching for that unwashed white Eunos Cabriolet they used to see there. Or is this the start of a more sinister and dangerous trend? I haven't forgotten that story in the news a little while back where people were getting attacked by urban foxes in their sleep.With a bit of luck, they'll eat the burglars and grafitti sprayers making local residents lives a misery in this part of Swindon but I guess in all probability they'll just make do with a resident or two. As an unemployed person I've sort of gotten used to being at the bottom of the heap, despite equality legislation, but if I were honest being at the bottom of the food chain isn't something that appeals to me. I mean, we humans are supposed to be top dogs on this planet, not lunch. What's the point of of being intelligent, technologically advanced, and able to walk on the moon if we just end up on a late night menu? Our american cousins are probably chortling when they read this. After all, if they get threatened with wildlife, it's usually much bigger and fiercer than a fox, and they also have firearms to deal with it. Then again, without the bigger and fiercer carnivores to occupy the upper reaches of the food chain, perhaps the British Urban Fox is a much nastier species. Perhaps we British need stronger measures to deal with them. You see, in Britain we don't bother with petty little hunting rifles (unless you're a wierdo out for revenge against society). We use dynamite. You just wait Mister Fox. That Old College site is going to be demolished soon. Probably when you least expect it... Still Going Down Airshows are inherently risky. Every so often there's a news item where some aeroplane or other got into difficulty and ends up in a ball of flame. Thankfully the crew often escape in the nick of time and all we get is a dramatic (and expensive) addition to the spectacle. Tragically though being strapped into a fast moving vehicle barely above ground level does make for a very unforgiving experience when it all goes wrong. Flying old warbirds is always going to have an element of risk, whether at an airshow or not. Sadly, the list of aeroplanes coming to grief is starting to lengthen. Like that B17 in America, crash-landing and burning out recently, or the loss of a P51D at Duxford this weekend. It was quite alarming to see a photograph of this much cared for World War Two fighter pointed seventy degrees downward little more than fifty feet to go. Just as well the pilot got out immediately. He wasn't going to survive that. I've always been in favour of keeping old warbirds flying. It's a sight to thrill the heart because there's so few of them, because they're so iconic, and because they're the result of one man's vision rather than a computer program, they're often achingly beautiful to look at. For those airframes no longer considered airworthy, there's always the museum, but as I usually say, it's like looking at a stuffed bird in a glass case. Dead. Sterile. None of the sounds, smells, and visual wonder of seeing that familiar shape rumble overhead. What I read in the aviation press is not encouraging. I can honestly see a time coming when insurance and operating costs will simply force these old warbirds into retirement forever. Enjoy them while you can. Warbirds are an endangered species. But Not Out Another flying species, our friendly neighbourhood mosquito (the sort that likes to bite us) is proving to be ever more resistant to chemicals designed to control them. Why that should suprise us is a mystery to me. We've killed off all the weaker ones. Also, inbetween the relentless adverts for starving african children, is that advert for helping the Amur Leopard. There's only thirty five of them left apparently. That's far less than a viable population for most species but I also note that with conservation and legislation the Amur Tiger recovered from a similar precarious toehold in the wild. That leaves me with a moral dilemma. Spend my money on big cats that cause problems for their human neighbours? Or help africans survive terrible drought conditions though they might also grow up to be armed with AK47's and RPG's with which to cause trouble for their neighbours? You see, when you take the emotional attachment out of the equation, it all looks a bit different. Maybe that's why the wildlife advert promises us a cudly toy to persuade you to invest in saving leopards. And Finally... Sadly nuclear weapons are not going to go away either. They've been invented, we know how to build them, and various nations around the world want to join the list of users because having a big dangerous weapon to hand is a very appealing idea to human beings. But this isn't a tirade against nuclear lunacy, or the current covert war being waged to prevent loonies from getting their hands on one, but rather the stations set up to detect illicit detonations of these devices. As you might imagine, a nuclear weapon makes a big bang. So it's possible to detect when someone has set one off without telling anyone else. Interestingly, there's been a spin-off from this technology. Now we've learned that roughly every decade a large meteoroid explodes in Earth's atmosphere with similar power to nuclear weapons. Remember that Tunguska Event in Siberia when hundreds of square miles of forest were mysteriously flattened by a mid-air explosion? Sadly UFO and conspiracy theory buffs will be disappointed, because this sort of thing is going on all the time and probably always has. It isn't an alien UFO blowing up on re-entry, nor some warhead fired in pre-nuclear times. It is however a chilling thought of what one of these rocks from outer space could have triggered during the Cold War. That would have spared you the trouble of reading this blog.

Not losing weight? Why not get some exercise? Type some more stuff

That depends who you're doing it with

Has anyone been watching the Tour De France bicycle race this year? No, me neither, but I did catch that extraordinary accident on the news later that evening. A camera car swerves and takes out two or three competitors before driving off. You can sort of tell it's France because in Britain there'd be four police cars boxing the escaping driver in and cops hauling the driver onto the tarmac before cuffing him to exciting music and a witty comment on the voiceover. No really, I've seen it on Police Interceptors. The most amazing thing is that the race organisers handed out tee shirts to those brave competitors that survived such assaults upon their person. Medals? Not in France. Real heroes wear tee-shirts. I get the impression that the Tour De France is a tough race. How would I know? I stopped riding a bike when my National Cycling Proficiency Certificate became uncool, but then, in those days we didn't have body hugging lycra swimsuits in bright colours complete with snazzy plastic helmets. Not that I'm suggesting anything you understand. Me And My Lycra Denied the joys of cycling in body hugging lycra? Fear not, for I was not deprived of the experience of stupid clothing. Back in the eighties of course no musician went on stage without looking likea ballet dancer so naturally I had to do that as well. I dumped the black and white clown trousers I considered adequate stage wear and progressed to hardcore silver and black zebra striped lycras. And I thought we kept getting banned for being too loud. I came off stage at Swindon's Link Centre one time playing for Red Jasper. Gigs in Swindon were rarely a success for us but this one had gone down okay, helped largely by our enthusiastic crowd of roadies among the audience. By the time I'd disentangled myself from the drumkit the rest of the band were in the changing room getting interviewed by a young lady from the local newspaper. Hi Babe. Let me tell you everything you need to know about Red Jasper. Miss JW was a bit suprised that I was chipping into the conversation. Excuse me? I do happen to be in this band you know. "Oh" She replied in innocence, "I thought you'd been out running or something.". Clearly silver and black zebra striped lycras were not one of my better investments, and proof, if any were needed, that looking like a ballet dancer was not essential for rock super-stardom. She tried to interview us, she really did. Unfortunately Robin 'the guitar player' corrected something I said and JW, having scribbled tons of notes rendered absolutely useless, screamed in frustration and called me a cow dung depositer. I never could treat her seriously after that. Every time she had occaision to interview me I always made a point of telling her complete rubbish. Poor woman. How she suffered. I still have those original clown trousers somewhere. However, since they were measured at a 28" waist, my chances of getting into them again are slim even if I'm not. Maybe when I shrink with old age I'll be able to strut my stuff on stage one more time in genuine Caldrail gear. I'm sure they'll find room for a nurse at the side of the stage. I can fit the kit to my zimmer frame. Make sure JW knows who I am this time. She doesn't know me without lycras on. Tee In The Park Maybe I ought to spend more time watching televised festival gigs. These days televised festivals aren't unusual, but there was a time when such things were not considered family viewing in Bitain. The trouble now is most of them are sponsored by radio stations and feature the sort of acts you'd expect on family viewing. I had to laugh a couple of years ago. Most of the acts performing at the oversize beach party were clearly those who'd never performed on a large stage before. I know this because they all did exactly the same things as each other. Rush to the left... Sing a verse leaning forward... Rush to the right side of the stage... Sing a verse... Return to centre stage and sing a verse... Repeat until crowd are thoroughly warmed. But last night it was Tee In The Park, a scottish festival with the Foo Fighters headlining. Earlier in the evening I watched a set by Beady Eye, who came across rather like Oasis playing a soup kitchen after losing their contract. I have to be honest, Beady Eye didn't impress me too much. Their set lacked any real fizz. I guess tomato soup for several days running must get you down. Not to worry. The Foo Fighters were on later. Do I sound like I was expecting something? As it happens they aren't a band I listen to ordinarily, but their set was a darn sight better. Presence, energy, and I have to say, a massed assault of guitars, kilts, and dubious underwear. No clever stuff and definitely no lycras required. Now that's more like it.