caldrail

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.

Ah yes, saturday night. A time for fun, frolics, or if like me you're an unemployed self-made noble accused by the police of being a fantasist, a great time to watch back to back episodes of South Park. After midnight, with or without alcohol, you begin to appreciate the true message of our two dimensional chums from Colorado. I learned something today. The usual crowd of late night wallies migrate from one watering hole to another. Some laugh, others squabble, but mostly they make loud noises. I have no idea what these noises mean. I suspect, after all this repitition, that they've long since forgotten but do it anyway because otherwise they'd have nothing to do between drinking holes. This is saturday night you know. Then I heard one wally with slightly less alcohol in his blood. "The truth is he doesn't do anything." He explained to his mate. I assume he was talking to his mate because otherwise he'd be talking to himself, and as we all know, that's sad. I see... So... I don't do anything... It's a funny thing but I seem to be dogged by that sort of comment. It's almost as if some people are too envious or too dismissive to accept that my claims are genuine. That's gone on for years, with one self appointed biographer after another proclaiming that I 'm not what I say I am. If I was a bit paranoid, I would probably come to the conclusion that these individuals are secretly coached in dismissal techniques, choreographed by experts to make their announcements during the silent moment between television adverts, and spend the rest of their week practising in front of a mirror. It's becoming very puzzling to me. Despite being a fairly honest chap, it's as if authority can't accept that I'm telling the truth. Policemen see my report of a stolen car as a cry for attention. Doctors are trying to tell me to stop smoking when I haven't inhaled from one of those stupid tar-sticks in my life ever. Claims advisors pull me to one side and try to persuade me that it's in my interest to be truthful. No, I tell a lie. It's getting a bit irritating. But what exactly is it that I don't do? Well I grant you that it's been quite a long time since I was frenetically gigging as a rock drummer but I'm working on that problem. Please be a little bit patient, I'm not as young as I was. Coping with twisted music leads does get tougher as you get older. Oh come on... Stupid cable... Gah! Nor do I fly aeroplanes anymore. That's simply because as an unemployed person the government won't pay me enough money to do that. Nor can I drive sports cars anymore for much the same reason, though it helps if my car doesn't get stolen. I therefore conclude that the spirit is willing but the wallet is subject to government control. Trust me, Mr Policeman, that's not a fantasy. Doing Stuff - My Big Plan With my reputation as a person who does things now ripped to shreds, I have no choice but to respond to that challenge. That's what blokes are supposed to do, isn't it? You know, beat your chest, shout louder, and if all else fails get yourself arrested so you can tell your mates afterward what you did last saturday night. God forbid they find out you didn't do anything. After much tapping of fingers on the desk I decided to make an action plan. All the agencies that have trained me to find work have taught me to make action plans. Carefully work out the optimal strategy.... What is the desired result... How can I achieve it?... Which steps must I take in order to make this plan come to fruition? After realising that I was beginning to sound like Adolf Hitler in his Berlin hideaway, and considering that world domination by next weekend probably isn't a realistic plan anyway, I then decided to head for the fridge and a cool refreshing drink. Oh yes. Drinking is what you do on a saturday night. I know, because everyone outside reminds me every week. Done Stuff - My Big Reminder Oh yeah... That hit the spot... Just in time for the next episode of South Park. So what is it that I'm supposed to learn from all this denigration and denial? Is it a lesson about conformity? Am I being cajoled into some adolescent struggle for placement in the pecking order of saturday night revellers? Is this an attempt to rescue me from middle aged mediocrity? Is someone trying to persuade me to take a certain action by way of deconstructing my self esteem? Dunno. Don't care. You see, if I were to build my self-worth, or indeed my public image, on the basis of acting on other peoples whims, in what way am I worth anything? Do you see how self defeating it is to surrender to peer pressure? I think it's someone else who needs to learn a lesson. As for me, I'll continue to express my individuality, choice, and freedom to pursue my lawful interests without undue interference. Next episode of South Park comin' right up after the break.

Politics is always full of BS. It's in the nature of politicians to exploit and mislead to a greater or lesser degree. You do find leaders who are more sincere than others, but the regime they operate in is more likely to subvert those ideals in order to achieve success and survival. In other words, you run with the crowd or sit on the sidelines. Since politicians get involved either for personal achievement or for deep seated conviction, there's never going to be a complete consensus of how things should be run thus we get politics as a way of life.

Yeah, that's a funny thing isn't it? It seems to represent some sort of deep seated psychological need to see heroes of a certain country perform courageously against evil, but in a science fiction context. In effect we have a very medieval style of story - man vs monster - updated for the twenty-first century. The idea of a brave hero against evil hordes is nothing new - that's been a staple of heroic fiction since we invented the fireside - but notice the christian angle in this. It's always civilisation that's under attack. It's alway us versus them. Whereas traditional storytelling is from a third person perspective, very neutral aside from the fact we want the good guy to prevail, with modern storytelling the tird person style is distorted by emotional involvement.

Real angels? Real angels? Do sense a mythbuster post in the offing? If you believe such entities exist, fine, but that's a matter of faith, not fact, and therefore to call them 'real' in any material sense is both incorrect and ridiculous.

Drama, conflict, amnd a moral dilemma as old as the invention of blogging. This has all the hallmarks of an epic tale, Ghost. My advice is write a book, become rich, famous, and mocked by impressionists on television. That ought to give you even more to blog about

Which indicates the metal may have been used for little more than strengthening.

Do my eyes deceive me? Is Hollywood really planning to make a big screen blockbuster movie about the alien invasion we all helped to fend off in the eighties? Yes, Space Invaders, the most pixellated enemy of mankind, is about to change tactics and emerge upon our cinemas near you. Am I supposed to be excited? If this is an attempt by Hollywood to create a new film rather than just another sequel, it's failed utterly. I mean, how many times has Earth been invaded by aliens? We've been fending off all manner of alien threats since Plan B From Outer Space. Mostly they make a mess when they get here so a film about hitting them with little coloured squares whilst still approaching would be different, if only puppetmaster Gerry Anderson hadn't already fended off alien invaders as they flew toward earth in his series UFO. Well, my spies have delved into the secret offices of Space Invaders - The Movie to bring you this slightly not real spoiler... RADAR MAN - Sir? There's something on radar GENERAL - That can't be son. I haven't been informed RADAR MAN - Look sir. There. Lots of (pause) blips. GENERAL - My god. RADAR MAN - What are they sir? GENERAL - Pixels, son, lots of pixels. Call the Pentagon RADAR MAN - Yes sir (pause) President on the line sir PRESIDENTS VOICE - What is it General? GENERAL - Pixels, Mister President. Arriving in force. I can see three (pause) No, four lines of them. PRESIDENTS VOICE - You know what to do, General. GENERAL - Yes SIr. Those pixels don't stand a chance (puts down phone) Okay, son, open fire. RADAR MAN - But Sir, we can't lock our weapons onto them. They keep scrolling. GENERAL - Oh my god. And Now For Plan B Not to be outdone by the American film industry, Russia is planning to send the Olympic flame into space. Deputy Prime Minister Zhukov says "Previously the cosmic peaks of sports records were always just a metaphor but now we have the real opportunity to send the symbol of peace, friendship, unity and excellence beyond earth's frontiers." Well I'm sure the enemy alien pixels will realise we just want a sporting competition and not all out war after all. Plus, if they hurry, they might receive tickets to the games. Who needs a square jawed hero with white teeth and a very, very big gun when you can shoot flames into space instead?

No, he just left safer territory behind, and in nay case, his siege of Seguntum was part of the action that instigated a Roman response. Sieges are all very well, but it ties your forces down to one place and makes foraging increasingly difficult if other forms of supply don't exist. Also, Hannibal did want want static emplacements surrounded by Roman forces while he looked the other way.