caldrail

By the early hours of yesterday morning I'd had enough. The files on my computer that I was working on had reached the point where they were arguing with me. Error messages came up and I brushed them aside with a click of the mouse. Eventually the the project sent me to coventry in a fit of digital picque. After a few minutes of effing and blinding I decided it was time to log off, close down, and retire for the evening. Tomorrow I would start again. Eventually I shut everything down and as I left the room I switched off the lights. Then I noticed something wasn't right. There weren't any mystical manifestations or walls that run away from you, but a sense that something was somehow a bit different. The light! After nearly a decade of inhabiting my little brick cave I've gotten used to the appearance of the night from inside. The familiar amber glow of the street lights was well known to me. Instead, the light was a lemon yellow. More like daylight in fact, and the effect was quite confusing. Surely it can't be dawn already? Not at this time of year? Nope. The street lights have been replaced. Gone are the orange lights of yesteryear and here are the lights of today. It does have a more natural feel, and I have to say, it's an order of magnitude brighter out there in Swindonland, but what an odd sensation. Sarcasm of the Week Once again I head down to the programme centre for another session of jobseeking. By lunchtime the foyer is empty of idle claimants sitting about idly waiting for something to happen, so I strolled for the signing-in book and greeted the lady on the desk with a hearty good afternoon. "Hi" She smiled. "How are you? What a lovely day, isn't it?" She's absolutely spot on. The sky is a brilliant clear blue, and quite warm too. Yes, I agreed, it is a lovely day. Very warm though, I'm almost starting to sweat. Can't have that you know. Dole seekers don't sweat. "Oh!" She said with a guffaw, "You're being sarcastic!" Yes. Yes I am. Glad you enjoyed the humour and I'm here until Friday.

What I'm getting at is that we're seeing godhood as a defined and discreet level of being. That's a modern christian view, in that we're accustomed to the idea of a single unique god whose power and status is absolute and unquestionable - not to mention unattainable. The pagan Romans saw no such distinction. Now it is true that the Senate gave official qualification to a small number of individuals by deifing them. This has nothing to do with spirituality, but represents the ultimate honour. In the same way the Senate might invite a man to become emperor, so they invite a deceased man of suitable reputation to become a god. Please note the idea of assignment by the senators. It's as if they 're sending an application form on the behalf of the deceased to Olympus and expect the gods to take notice. You could argue that there was a measure of political expendiency involved. I agree. Roman ambivalence is never far from their motives. The persistence of reputation is the important issue here. Note that if you ask anyone to name a Roman, the chances are they will mention Julius Caesar (along with a couple of julio-claudian emperors who were accused of having divine ambition). It's that mythic status that defines the reality of deification in the minds of those who accept the premis that a human being can ascend to the ranks of Olympian deities. But bear in mind the subliminal level of ancestor worship present in Roman society. Whilst it was never a primary spiritual belief, a Roman should always speak well of the dead, because they a supernatural force to reckoned with, second only to the vengeful gods that interfere directly in the affairs of man. It is true that many of the revered deceased would fade in the memory of the public quite quickly and their tombs more often used to host cheap sex with prostitutes that cannot justify a better office, but this indeed measures the importance and reputation of the individual and to some degree mirrors the mans virtus acheived during his lifetime. In other words, whilst the Senate made political recognition of divine status, the reality was in the minds of the public. A patron might have been powerful and influential, but was he revered as a great person during his lifetime and more importantly, afterward? Just as status in the mundane world varies in scope, so did the status of deities in Roman eyes.

Life is a struggle for doughnuts in the dangerous world of the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire. Face it, a doughnut can make the difference between fulfilled satisfaction or desperate hunger. I pass the window of the chinese takeaway and drool helplessly at the large glossy adverts of exotic dishes on display. By habit I check my pockets for cash, and make a sigh of resignation at the discovery of the last few pence. Pence? What can you buy with pence these days? I suppose newspapers are still affordable. At least then I can read how much hungrier people are elsewhere in the world. Certainly not a pizza. The exhorbitant prices asked for a slab of dough with cheese and tomato sauce are ridiculous, especially when a similar product can be bought from a supermarket for a tenth of the price, albeit without the luxury of a moped rider, bedraggled and frustrated by his inability to navigate to your door, delivering the product three hours after you ordered it. Naturally this state of affairs means you become opportunistic. If someone offers a doughnut, you don't sneeze at it. Naturally then I was devastated to learn that after I left the programme centre on friday I missed out on a free doughnut. The sadistic programme person smiled wickedly as he related how sweet and tasty it was. Yesterday he advised me that he was off for lunch. Doughnuts perhaps? No, he told me, no doughnuts, and despite my insistent pleas for consideration he told me there was no chance of bringing back any sweet and tasty doughnuts. Sigh. By the time I finished my jobsearching stuff he was manning the front desk, subbing in for the lady who normally works at that post as she went off for her doughnut break. Fill in the usual forms and sign out. Just as I was leaving I noticed a doughnut in his hand. He smiled wickedly as he enjoyed the sweet tasty bakery product. Trust me, when the revolution comes, all doughnut consumers will be up against the wall. To Strike Or Not To Strike? Talking about revolutions, what a peculiar situation in Libya. Once again a group of nations has called itself a coalition and aimed it's aerial weaponry toward a dictatorial middle eastern state. No wonder Gadaffi's propaganda machine is trying to equate their own strategic and political difficulties with Iraqs suffering as a nation follwing two Gulf wars. Then again, isn't that a little revealing? Saddam Hussein wasn't exactly a nice guy, nor was his rule especially enlightened. So now we have a coalition air force acting as the allies of rebels in eastern Libya. I don't have any political gripe with this. Politicians will always gang up on someone else for one reason or another - that's everyday human behaviour - but I can't help feeling there's something else motivating the decision to apply military air power to Libya's current turmoil. Can you guess what it is? I guess that claiming Gadaffi has weapons of mass destruction isn't going to cut it these days.

Our modern capability of prosecuting warfare is far beyond that of the Romans and it colours our attitude toward their motives. It is true however that the Romans were naturally conservative, and as for risks, the politicians who led the legions onto the battlefield were risking credibility and their careers first and foremost. A little stunning? The risk to life and limb is one thing. We are talking about a culture with martial values. However, a glorious death would be admirable, a matter of honour, a point in your favour when the ferryman took you across the river. But a lifetime of shouldering failure? Dishonour? Shame? Romans committed suicide for those reasons among others. But it isn't just personal risk or the possibility of destroying your career. The gods might decide you are not to succeed. Romans habitually consulted divination rites of one sort or another before battle. Their world was mysterious, their culture emboldened by their mastery of its dangers, and what seems to us a tragic natural event would be an act of a vengeful god. In fact, the average legionary was worse than his commanders. There are instances of soldiers hesitating to step ashore, frightened by unexpected astronomical events, or worried by thunder. In a world where curses held real and vital power, the unknown can be conquered only by the exercise of more courage than simply facing violence. Whilst there's something in that, I don't think you appreciate how conservative Roman culture was. There was a religious significance to recruitment, a tradition carried over from the oaths taken by raiding bands in their earliest days. Even after the Marian Reforms this religious significance continued in a mutated form as the legions carried symbols of imperial power and reverence before them. Also, the idea of a standing army was not to mount guard on the frontier, which was a strategic policy that emerged after the facility of permanent legions, but intially to ensure that Rome was not caught short by manpower shortages, a circumstance that Marius had personal experience of. It was the rapid increase in the size of the empire after the Marian Reforms that brought about a desire to secure a potentially hazardous frontier defined by conquest. Before that, Rome was bordered by more civilised realms with established relationships that mitigated against the permanent station of troops. Better to let people go home and tend their farms and businesses in times of peace. It was of course the Punic Wars that began a change in attitude from the civilian militia to the professional military of the post Marian era, but bear in mind it wasn't until Augustus that the concept of the civilian militiaman was finally laid to rest. Also, we should be wary of assigning the Roman legion modern aspects. The whole idea of the Roman legion as a professional army ignores the essential truth. These men were not quite the military tradesmen of the modern era, despite exhibiting some practises we recognise today, but rather they were indentured warriors rewarded for their dedicated service to the state. However, before we get carried away with the usual superlatives that the Roman legions normaly inspire, bear in mind the reality often fell well short of our fantasies. The battle readiness of legions during the war against Spartacus is noted as poor. Crassus resorted to decimation to motivate his men. The reforms were one thing - learning how to handle a permanent army was another matter.

It's all about Roman culture. Ingrained into their society was a feudal structure, in that a lower caste person would greet his patron and ask favours, in return for which the patron provides his patronage. The relationship between human and god in Roman eyes was no different. To attend a temple was to enter the atrium of a divine being. To sacrifice and humbly request the god grants good fortune was no different than the freedman calling at the patricians house and asking for assistance. Psychologically then we have a relationship between levels of society. Since the gods were real in the minds of the Romans, they naturally ascribed them a place in their concept of relative status, a caste beyond that of the wealthiest and most influential politican. After all, even the the highest levels of society pays court to the gods. Despite the Roman caste system, is was possible for an ambitious man to rise to prominence, to accumulate virtus, or that intensity of life force and achievement. Charisma might seem a basic quality of humanity that we all share in greater or lesser degrees, but to superstitious Romans charisma was an outward sign of this spiritual power within. If society orders itself in a certain way, and the upper level of society reaches an apparent level of power unattainable by ordinary human beings, what difference is there between emperor and god? Arguably it was little more than the frailties of life and the ability to wreak changes upon the world. Since the Romans had become, in their own minds, the light at the universe, the cradle of true civilisation, the great achievers, creators, and conquerors, masters over nature itself, they had in effect pushed against the glass ceiling that the gods existed beyond. Having reached that point it was inevitable that the patronic relationship with the gods emerged. Since it was possible for a man to rise to patrician status, it therefore followed that a man might, should he prove blessed with the necessary attributes, ascend to divine status himself. We therefore see the likes of Julius Caesar claiming divine ancestory. You might argue that was no more than self aggrandisement, and there is indeed a case for admitting a certain Roman ambivalence about the nature of divine status, but this was a man marked by the gods for success. A conqueror of Gaul and Britain. A man of the people, one was granted the position of dictator for life against all tradition. Not only was he giving himself divine authority, society was not only agreeing but also inflating that idea. At this point we might consider the Julio-Claudian emperors and their apparent willingness to strut around like tin gods. Partly this is a misinterpretation of what Suetonius was telling us. People like Nero and Caligula weren't exactly stable personalities to begin with, but note that they identified themselves with gods rather than simply becoming one in their own right. It was another aspect of the 'cosmic property' idea that underpinned the Roman tolerance of foreign faiths. It was an assumption of status beyond that of mortal men, an atrtempt to push upward against the spiritual glass ceiling. Now lets return to the initial question, this idea of feudal spiritualism that resulted in promotion to divine status. Obviously we don't see long lists of men given a place amongst the gods. Why would we? In a society where power is concentrated in autocratic form, why would the Romans cheapen Olympus with lesser beings? Nonetheless the Romans took upon themselves the power the grant a man divine status. To worship him as any other god, and build temples in his honour. That this prerogative was kept more or less to the highest level of society, the emperor himself, shouldn't therefore suprise us. It was only right and proper. That does not however eliminate ancestor worship from Roman culture. A man might be remembered fondly, in a touching and personal way, but notice how often the Romans built extravagant mausoleums for the wealthiest departed. Certainly the question of divine status is in most of these cases an obscure and informal idea, but if an afterlife existed as the Romans believed, surely a powerful man lived on as a man of influence? Remember that human beings have always seen gods as possessing a certain level of power and influence, rather than simply beyond their own. The Romans were no different. Ambivalent, feudal, and ambitious even in spiritual terms.

With an air of practised superiority, the claims officer remarked to his colleague that I was not an arbiter of style. Neither is he, for that matter. Resplendent in a shirt I can only assume he made from cheap wallpaper, he leafed through the documents in his hands with official disinterest. Hang on a minute, I need to pick myself off the floor and bandage my ribs.... There, that's better. Now that I'm composed again, I have to say his attempt to belittle me was pointless. Hey, half the world tries to belittle me, what difference does his opinion make? The answer is not even slightly. You could argue that since I'm featuring the bloke in a blog entry, he has risen to my attention as noteworthy, but then again, I only note his presence when he says siomething stupid out loud. That's what happens when you assume camouflage. So I'm not a fashion guru? Oh well. At least I'm not a fashion dummy either. Trousers That Kill I saw the headline on a news item today. Stores urged to ban killer jeans. I have this image of people screaming and running away in panic from packs of vicious flairs prowling the streets for prey. It turns out that sandblasted jeans use a process that can cause ill effects in the sweatshoppers who make them. One thing I notice is the way this news item is designed to make us feel guilty for wearing sandblasted jeans. Why? Is it because people are dying to droves to bring these trousers, or is it because rivals are dropping propaganda to make room for their own products (which for all I know use depleted uranium scavenged from third world battlefields) Do I feel guitly for wearing sandblasted jeans? No, not really. I'm a little tubby these days and may not look quite as fashonable as I once did, but since my claims advisors seem incapable of appreciating my efforts what difference does it make? Oh yes. I forgot. Peoples health is being damaged by these jeans. So is eating food. So is having sex. So is arguing about which government you want. Look, if you want to help the world, then help it, and stop moaning about its handiwork. In other words, do something make the process of sandblasting jeans safer. You might argue that refusing to buy them will pressure the makers to do something else. Surely though they'll just create a new range of trousers equally poisonous? What do you gain? Apart from a few comments about nobbly knees, that is? I say invade the country that makes them and force them to abide by modern health and safety legislation. Civilisation. You just can't beat it.

The problem was not Quintilius Varus, but that Augustus had made the decision to send him to Germania to gather taxes, and Augustus was well aware of the mans reputation for greed. What we can extrapolate from that is the idea that Augustus assumed southern Germania was already within the Roman sphere, and archeologically settlements have been found in an advanced state of construction, describing ordered colonisation and civic development north of the Rhine. In that respect the German religions were already tolerated. As I mentioned, the Romans were superstitious and would be willing to tempt fate by denying them,.Despite these superstitions it would seem obvious the Romans had more worldy motives for toleration, since upsetting local worshippers would no doubt incur the wrath of this strange foreign god. The thing is though in most cases these strange foreign gods were nothing of the sort. Divine status to the Romans was simply that, and as I mentioned, if a Germanic god exhibited a certain property the Romans recognised, then it was just a god they were already familiar with by another name, and no assimilation was necessary. As regards the method of worship, that was nothing unusual for the Romans, who encouraged the adoption of Roman practice - not enforced it (unless it raised suspicions of dissent). In any case, as we see elsewhere, the 'assimilation' of native cults was little more than an observance of that spirit in local scope. The population would be encouraged to worship familiar Roman gods rather than the native ones. All this tends to make us see the Romans asdemanding regulatiom and regimentation of belief, which has more to do with the modern style of social worship by monotheistic state religions. In other words, the Romans were not (in Augustus's time anyway) using religion for social control in political terms, and indeed, they took a dim view of any belief system that had political power. Therefore we need to understand that the Romans policy of accepting foreign gods was not 'assimilation' in the wider cultural sense, but rather that the Romans took gods on board in exactly the same way as they did the natives who worshipped them. If the foreign god was given a Roman name and accepted as such, so much the etter. That should not blind us to the essential failings of Roman religion. Because the Romans worshipped on an individual level, their system was more a personal interaction, one in which you treated a god as a patron (and one reason why powerful Roman patrons sometimes became posthumous Roman gods). There was no guarantee that the God would listen to these appeals for favour and fortune. This would mean there would always be a certain dissactisfaction with divine intervention, always a sense that these gods were aloof and uninterested in your own personal difficulties or desires. It should not suprise us then that the Romans adopted syrian cults as fashionable and satisfying alternatives. This was not a phenomenon restricted to the idle rich - these foreign cults made huge inroads in rural Roman life and in no way were they 'assimilated' at all. In fact, the diversity of religion was something that official patronage of christianity would eventually sweep away, and that was done for political and social cohesion in a post-civil war empire, not for spiritual welfare or cultural arrogance.

For the last couple of days I've vibrated along to the rumble of heavy machinery trundling by on the street outside. Hot asphaltic steam rose from the shiny black road surface, and young workmen buried under layers of once fashionable clothing wandered here and there, earning their money by looking busy all day. This morning I glanced out to see what progress they've made when... Huh? What a suprise! A brand new road, glistening darkly with brand new tarmac and light rain fall. Cars wafted by happily, their drivers grinning maniacally at discovering a new pass between the mountains of brick housing that seperated them from gainful employment elsewhere. It looked pristine, perfect, and bare of any white lines that will surely be painted on in the near future. Yet for some reason, a pacth of the original road surface has been left untouched. I wonder why? As an archaeological record of road surfacing in the late twentieth century perhaps? Or did they run out of stuff to repave the road? One wonders whether the manhole is in the right place at last. Things To Do, Places To Be Right then. Off down the hill and call in at the museum for another morning of thrills and spills. Anyone who thinks nmuseums are boring places really ought to work in one. As it happens, I was educated by one of our youthful volunteers into the deeper mysteries of contemporary heavy metal. He downloaded song after song from the internet in the vain hope of finding one I thought would be musically significant. Have I heard of a band called Hollywood Undead? No, but I think I'm going to. Eventually I received a sample of recordings made by a band called Korn. My colleague was very enthusiastic about them, and in all honesty they could be a very good rock band indeed once they finsih their course of psychotherapy. We had a visitor come in, so the music stopped (We're not allowed to play music that the public can hear because the premises aren't licensed for entertainment, although what could make you describe a Korn track as entertaining is difficult to think of). We even sold a book too. Rushed off our feet. Football Hero of the Week One of my museum colleagues is a keen footballer, as young men sometimes are. He was telling about meeting a young lady he found somewhat attractive. Apparently the target of his passions is also the only club physiotherapist, thus I can now reveal that my colleague will shortly become the most consistently injured football player of all time. Good luck laddy.

There's no evidence I know of that supports this hypothesis. Since Vercingetorix does not use Roman tactics nor indeed seemed to understand their motives all that well, it would seem his contact with the Roman Republic had been limited.

Part of the problem here is the Romans saw deities as representative of certain cosmic properties. It mattered not one jot how the god was reopresented, or what his name was, as any being that represented a certain quality was essentially the same being. Thus Mercury and Teutatis are the same god as far as the Romans are concerned. In a way this was simply their own cultural arrogance at work, because if they recognised the property being observed, they simply assumed the silly barbarians didn't know the proper name, although commonsense dictated that the god was still revered and respected whatever name it went by. As a superstitious people, they were always keen to please the supernatural world and indeed this is one reason why the Romans were so willing to tolerate and assimilate foreign or barbarian faiths. The dilemma for the Romans was the proliferation of syrian cults which were based on obscure origins, thus not so easily understood by the Romans and inviting suspicion. Christianity fell under that umbrella in its earliest form. For the Romans, with experience of popular dissent driven by religious zealousy (such as the Druids who organised resistance against Roman interests in Britain and Gaul), the issue of how the religion affected peoples behaviour was often more important. Since most faiths were essentially private rituals and intercourse with divine spirits, the ROmans had little problem with that. When religion became organised and political, they took a dim view of it. In the case of the Germanic tribes, the bad reputation they had was confirmed by experience of the middle ages, which revealed that the deeper one explored the wilderness, the worse the Germans became. In essence then, the earlier experience with Germanic tribes were with peoples unaccustomed to Roman contact, and over time the influence of Roman civilisation rubbed off on them. With familiarity the Romans learned to accept Germans, and the Germans, as the saying goes, quickly bred contempt for their manipulative, greedy, and powerful neighbours. I'm not sure to what extent the Germanic religious life was mysterious to the Romans. The word 'German' refers to a cultural description the Romans invented, meaning 'True Celt', and possibly a division in spiritual life was part of that observation. It is interesting that the Germans appear to have a nordic mythos which would be the n the frontier of such belief suystems, and without much understanding of what these peoples were worshipping, it would seem the Romans were unable to define Germanic beliefs in Roman tewrms as they normally would for cultures they were in contact with.

Rome's first emperor? Suetonius disagrees, and correctly gives that honour to Julius Caesar in that he was made dictator for life, thus an emperor by any other name. In any case, Augustus took the title princeps or 'First Citizen', because he definitely did not want to share Caesars fate by appearing to take on the mantle of monarchy. I agree it was largely spin, and that Augustus was an emperor by another name, but bear in mind the Imperator refers to military command, not political overlordship.

That's the problem with being a trend setter, Mr Ghost. Everyone thinks you're mad until someone decides you're a genius, after which everyone does exactly the same and everyone thinks you're a boring copy-cat. Trouble is, not only would buying a kebab involve a hazardous crossing oif the roadworks, but the sheer cutting edge no-holds-barred test of society's boundaries would probably involve a very stern piece of advice from an irate librarian. Trust me on this, that's like poking a stick at a herd of hippo's.

There are certain things in life that you know aren't entirely sincere but you do them all the same, such as buying cars, watching party political broadcasts, going to church, or reading horoscopes. Sometimes you just can't help yourself. I glanced at my horoscope this morning and this is what I read... Have you been thinking about writing an article of some sort, perhaps involving travel or a fascinating new field? If so, Libra, you might want to start it today. Your creative juices are flowing freely, your mind is especially sharp, your energy is high, and insights should be popping into your head one after the other. Sit down in front of that computer and get going! Don't let today's energies pass you by. Well... I was thinking about what to write in todays blog entry, so I suppose that sort of counts. Not sure about creative juices - don't have anything like that in my fridge - and as for being especially sharp and energetic, this morning I feel half comatosed and I'd like to thank a certain skeletal blonde lady for creasing up laughing as I stumbled past her. Spontaneous appraisals often reveal what politeness hides. What a nice lady. In fact, I feel I should return the favour, so would that helpful young woman please go and eat something before she encounters a crack in the pavement and mysteriously disappears? Invite of the Week How about this? I've been invited to a dinner at the Grosvenor Hotel in London. No, really, there's some obscure business organisation who thinks I'd be remotely interested in spending a rather expensive evening in our capital city listening to guest speakers extolling the virtues of retail and supply qualification. On the other hand, I could simply stay at home and listen to guest speakers extolling the lack of fashion sense in local residents... Decision, decisions.... Can't decide which is more exciting... Oh curse my ill fortune for being born a libran!

Today is a different sort of day. Gone is the hazy sunshine, replaced by the all-enveloping grey clag of a typical Swindon day. Sounds like a lot of activity outside. I know they're ripping up the bit of the road they ripped up last year, but something sounded different somehow. With some curiosity then I glanced out from the curtains and... Huh? Almost the length of of the bottom half of the hill is lined with plastic barricades. Contractors lorries are parked all along the area set aside for demolition. Getting a kebab now is going to require a major expedition. Might pop down the outward bound shop and pick up a good deal on mountaineering equipment. You never know. Hunger might get the better of me. As You Might Expect As you might expect with a typical Swindon day, there's a not a lot to report. In fact, the only notable trend worthy of attention by the outside world is the sudden fashion for eating at the library. They're all at it. As soon as it gets quiet out come the snack bags, rustling tin foil and crunching jaws, the perpetrators oblivious to how annoying their habit is, and I suspect they wouldn't care if they knew. Interesting thing is though that mobile phones aren't competing for my attention. Not a ring tone to be heard. No very important business decisions, position reports, or in depth analysis of personal problems. I wish it was that blissful, but unfortunately... Rustle crackle rustle... Chomp chomp crunch chomp....

Yesterday I found myself with an afternoon to spare. The good weather was literally too good to ignore, so I wandered into the depths of Croft Wood to find a tanquil spot and enjoy the sunshine. Even with cool temperatures and a light breeze, the day was warm. I know this all sounds a bit naff, but I do find it relaxing to sit listening to wind in the trees, birdsong, and the exasperated orders of dog owners. On the way there I strolled through the park. It was the usual scene, a handful of idle unemployed getting drunk and teaching each other how to avoid drug busts, single mothers and their infants curious about what these strange fleshy limbs are good for, and the varied collection of avian scroungers on the lake, waiting to bounce on anyone wishing to be generous with breadcrumbs. One sharp witted seabird spotted an opportunity. It swung in low and stole the lump of bread almost out of the mouth of the hapless duck. No doubt pleased with itself, it began to make a serene escape across the lake. Not to be outdone, his rivals decided to steal the bread from him. A race erupted as three seabirds chased the thief here and there in daredevil aerobatics at low altitude. All very dramatic. All Very Ugly What is it with Swindon? Ever since the Second World War Swindon has tried to persuade the outside world that it too can be a city if you squint and look askance at its hodgepodge of victorian pidgeon nests, concrete carbuncles, and modern flat pack apartments. Why can't Swindon simply accept that it was, is, and always will be a small market town that got lucky in the days of emerging railways? Near Croft Wood is a new housing development. Like most architecture of that sort, it tries to be visually striking, to impress the observer with unusual angles and dramatic flair. What it actually looks like is a multi-storey barrack block with a silly roof. There's something stark and unappealing about modern architecture. The search for simple and elegant appearance usually results in a whitewashed render or orange brick slab, punctured by plain windows with no visual merit whatsoever. Swindon likes this sort of thing. It positively encourages such blasphemies, anything to remove the old world of the Victorian steam engine. You now what? I think that's a huge mistake. All Very Coppiced This isn't the first time I've moaned about the way green spaces in Swindon are managed. They're all being coppiced now, so that the unspoilt and natural patina of woodland is replaced by something that looks unfinished, unnatural, and fails to hide the ugly architecture that surrounds it. Bright sunlit groves? Awful. Simply awful. Okay, I know woodland can get overgrown but sometimes it's a good thing. There's a seclusion and comfort about untended woodland that even the best gardners can't emulate. It was a nice day. A shame then the places to enjoy it are being commercialised and made politically correct. All Very Botched A while ago my street was closed to trafic while contractors ripped up the tarmac trying to fix water leaks and so forth. yesterday they were back to do it again. I overheard one workman telling another that the manhole was in the wrong place. Once again frustrated motorists are staring confused at the barriers across the road, trying to figure out a new route in their heads. With everyone using GPS no-one can plot a course of their own it seems. A huge articulated truck squealed to a halt by the barricade, the two man crew urgently debating how to extricate themselves from this disaster of logistics. Turning into a side street wasn't going to be easy with tightly parked cars everywhere, and the alternative was a long reverse uphill around an 'S' bend. This morning a great pile of ashpalt road pieces lay heaped behind the wire fencing. Like a sort of abandoned jigsaw. You know, that kind of makes me think of what Swindon is. An unfinished jigsaw that planners get bored with.

Check out www.mymonopoly.com. Create your own Monopoly board.

Can you set fire to the board and win the game by playing the lyre and singing a kylie minogue song in latin? Seriously though, the railway stations should be replaced by mansiae on four roman roads. Since jail in roman times was only a temporary residence, that doesn't need changing. Four insulae built on a street and you can build a theatre. Acqeducts, baths, and temples replace electricity and other assets. However, for that truly roman experience, the banker should be replaced by an emperor, and make it possible for other players to humiliate you in failed decrees, or mount rebellions against unfair taxes. I can just see the punch-ups across the dining table now...

You're not wrong. I was watching the extended six o'clock news on Channel 4 as they visited various areas absolutely demolished by flood water, getting hauled away at onbe point by japanese rescue workers because another tsunami warning was in place following aftershocks. I think the saddest sight was a car left abandoned at an odd angle randomly among all the others swept away by the wave. Apparently the occupants had perished because the airbags had inflated and prevented themn getting out of the car when it was immersed. That said, I'm impressed by the stoic resolve of the japanese to get through this. Understated but inspiring nonetheless.

There are two ailments that are so beloved of the British working class. The first is flu, or rather a bad cold, which has to be responsible for more days off than anything else. The second is backache. I know a lot of people pull 'sickies' with this excuse, but honestly putting your back out for real is astonishingly easy to do and excrutiatingly painful when it happens. What makes it worse is that no boss in the whole united kingdom will believe you if you report your suffering. The first time I suffered back problems was when I worked as a picker in a warehouse. I wasn't doing anything strenuous, just bent down to pick up a single paperback and... Ouch!... Three days off work in agony. Not recommended. On rare occaisions the same ailment reappears and this weekend I managed to set it off again. Today I'm walking around without difficulty. An odd twinge or two, but definitely on the mend. A good thing too because it really is embarrasing hobbling around town like an old man. I think I'll go to the library this morning and sit down for a while. Like all the other old people clogging up the seats. More Monday Morning Moans Our local library is upgrading the computors this morning. The upper floors are deserted, the screens all switched off with little notices telling users why. Downstairs a patient security guard deals with enquiries from the public, and even manages to get rid of BFL whose very important business has been interrupted by yet another upgrade. I hung around for a while in the vain hope the system might get booted up. No such luck. So bad was this situation that a pair of policemen wandered round the library. Or perhaps they were looking for books on how to catch car vandals? Instead they consulted books on art. Well it doesn't look like I'll be logging on for a while. Oh well. I'll pop down to the programme centre and look for a job instead. On the way out I handed a book to the librarian stacking the shelves near the door. Bless her, she smiled so happily, finally given something useful to do by a member of the public. Hey, that's my good deed for the day. Meanwhile, Back At The Programme Centre Why isn't this computer booting up? A quick fiddle with tiny buttons located here and there, and a light flickered. I must have done somnething. Hey! This computor still isn't working. I can't access the internet! "Try rebooting it." Suggested the supervisor. Okeedokee... Just wait for Microsoft to work its magic, and... Nope, still not working. "Oh... I see... Well try this instead. I know this one works." Okay, I transfer to the next computer and this one gave me a pretty little message box telling me some obscure software was corrupted or interfered with and could I please tell someone? Hey, Boss! This comnputors not working either. "Strange... Okay, try this one over here." If this doesn't work I'm going home. Anyone got a walking stick I can borrow?

Back when I was very young, I remember a particularly vivid dream. I was wandering along a beach, in bright sunshine. My companion was a girl though I don't know what the relationship was supposed to be. Anyway, there was a rushing noise and the sea went out, like a low tide but much more dramatic and far reaching. It seemed as if the sea had vanished in the blink of an eye. My companion, entranced and excited by this amazing sight, ran here and there, jumping in puddles of seawater among the stranded fish and piles of seawater. I was more circumspect. This was wrong. Very wrong. I didn't understand why but I knew no good would come of it. Although I made an attempt to pull my companion away from this apparent threat, she was too bound up by it. Then I saw the horizon lift up. The sea was coming back. I vaguely have a memory of clutching my ears at a sudden noise of terrific volume, but I'm not sure if that recollection was originally part of the dream. A great wave was approaching. That dream has stuck in my mind ever since. Some years ago, I dreamt the final part. Where the wave reaches us. It was simply stunning. A wall of seawater that towered over me. All I could do was stand there slack-jawed at the terrible sight of it. Then the foam at the base of the wave hit me like a brick and remember nothing more. What on earth was I seeing? A past life experience, a prophecy, clairvoyance, or simply no more than a figment of my imagination, no more than a dream like any other? I shall never know. What I do recall is the terrifying majesty of a massive tsunami. With the recent disaster that wreaked havoc in Japan, how could I write an entry about anything else? Like everyone else I saw the images of an unstoppable wall of water crashing into the shore and pushing inland, sweeping everything before it? The video footage is in a way surreal. I can sit at home, safe and sound, and realise how terrible it was. What I can't imagine is what the sensations of standing in the way of a real tsunami must be like. Or in a strange way, maybe I can, though arguably there's no comparison. I know I should be expressing regret and sympathy for the suffering of the japanese. Frankly I don't know what to say, other than to repeat the sentiments expressed by everyone else. Without wishing to be too allegorical or politically incorrect, Japan has never really been the safest place in the world to live. Occaisionally nature reminds us who's in charge. Too Young To Understand As part of the Science and Technology Week the museum has hosted some activities for kids, namely communication. We had morse code tappers, semaphore flags, teletypes, yoghurt pot telephones, all ready to give the children a fun hands-on experience, and of course to learn something at the same time. Maybe I was being naive. What we got was a chimps tea party. The kids seemed completely unable to retain any interest for more than ten seconds, always getting impatient and fed up if something wasn't perfect or worked instantly, and lacking in any sort of discipline whatsoever. This afternoon I am a broken man. Physically and emotionally. What is it with kids these days? I was shocked by how difficult it was to engage their atention. When I was a kid, you sat up straight and paid attention, or you risked well aimed chalk missiles, loud public humiliations, or in the worst cases, a lonely trip to the headmasters office for a more painful lesson on how to behave. Certainly not like the good old days anymore. No wonder modern kids wander off and paint random heiroglyphs on the nearest available wall.

The 'hinged' pila shouldn't have too much difficulty with penetrating shields as opposed to any other shafted weapon. The initial impact is along the axis and only after the impact is the pin broken allowing the pilum to beciome an encumbrance for the enemy soldier. Heavy cavalry are a novelty on the ancient battlefield. Also, don't get caught by believing they charged like medieval knights. We know the weight of gear made the cavalrymen mindful of how easily their horses would become tired. Consequently, it was unusual for heavy cavalry to gallop, perferring to retain some energy in their mounts for tackling opposing cavalry, thus we might infer that cavavlry tactics hadn't changed much regardless of protection. In fact, in some of the instances where we know heavy cavalry did charge, they came unstuck badly. The infantry opened their ranks, allowed them in, unhorsed them, and slaughtered the hapless riders with ease. I cannot stress this enough. The cavalry charge is not a collision - it's a game of chicken. Will the infantry realise it's a good idea to back off rapidly and perhaps flee, or will the horsemen realise they're about to be unseated by reluctant horses (or lots of sharp pointy things) and swerve away? Horses thundering toward you create an impression of size and weight that's difficult to confront. That's one reason why infantry bunch up close together, for mutual support, with the added bonus the horses will interpret the mass of men as something solid and painful to collide with. During the ancient period it was the light cavalry the predominated. You needed mobile troops to secure the wings and perhapsm open the flanks and rear of the enemy to attack. Sources tell us that cavalry fought very fliud and fast changing battles between themselves. Speed was everything. A horseman at speed has more options.

Pancration was never a formal part of Roman 'martial art'. It's wrong to think that the Romans were all performing training in exactly the same way. Whilst they did elvolve manuals (we know the departing legions gave some to the Britons to help defend themselves at the start of the 5th century) the training of Roman legionaries was very much at the whim of the senior commabnder. Now in fairness there was an accepted 'Roman way', but this left considerable license. Vegetius muddies the water by decribing how the legions ought to be trained by recounting all the things he'd found in the records that seemed like a good idea. Not all legions at any given timne did all those things. 'Martial Arts' is a fashionable phrase these days. Personaly I would be wary about using it in connection with the Roman legions because they were not taught a martial art, rather a martial style. Much of their training was by rote and employed standard moves. Whereas 'martial art' suggests expertise and instinctive moves, the Romans were more concerned with optimising a particular method of fighting, one that meshed with their tactical doctrines. After all, 'martial art' is the expertise of the singular fighter. Legionaries were taught to fight as part of a formation. Did the Romans employ the pancration for off-duty relaxation? Possibly, but bear in mind the brutal nature of the contests did not lend itself to legionary fitness for duty afterward.

Part of my everyday routine is the search for suitable paid employment. Not everyone realises that of course. Many assume I'm a lazy layabout who wants to lay in bed all morning, lay in the sun all afternoon, and lay comatosed on a park bench all night. Not for me. Lazing about is more or less as boring as owning a cheap japanese hatchback and spending my free time wearing a grey suit just for fun. To be honest searching for a job isn't really any more enjoyable. It's just that I know you're allowed to have fun after you do your daily chores. Better still, they pay you do it. So browse the endless list of employment opportunities and find that perfect job! Right, I'm finished. Time to go back to the real world. I stopped in the programme centre foyer to sign myself out and escape the clutches of employment training. All of a sudden, a conversation erupted at the reception desk. Some grey bloke in a grey suit made a loud comment about global warming. It sounded a bit daft. You what, mate? He was looking at me. Straight at me. Then he turned away and continued talking to a bemused receptionist about mink farming. Meanwhile, he pointedly ignored me, before he stomped off leaving the receptionist as bewildered as I was. My initial thought was that wearing a grey suit does not disguise a wierdo. Then I thought he rude he was. Finally, some time around half past seven last night, during a boring bit in an old Top Gear episode (Sorry guys, but hatchbacks are boring, by definition, much like grey suits), I realised it was supposed to be a lesson. Apparently the greyer you are the more likely people in grey suits will think you're one of them and include you in their strange prayer meetings on global warming. Lesson learned. But then, he was rude. I hope he has some military surplus or leather jackets in his wardrobe, otherwise I'll have to exclude him from my spiritually pure discourses on the cultural significance of eighties heavy metal the next time we meet. Good Deed For The Day If you lost your gloves in a Swindon supermarket yesterday, fret no more because I found them, and handed them to the lady on the tills. See? You don't need a grey suit to be a nice person. Psychic Television Almost everyday I get a message popping up on my television when I switch it on. Sometimes it's about the mandatory switchover to digital transmissions due in September. More usually it's that I have a new channel ready for my edification and delight. All I have to do is press a certain button on my remote control unit and the channel will be mine. Well whaddya know? Psychic TV. Is that a pointless channel or what? I mean, if you're actually psychic, why would you need television to know everything about world events or the latest fashion in grey suits? As it happens the presenter was asking the audience to phone in with questions. Nothing potentially contentious or even relevant allowed. All they want is pointless tittle tattle. I wonder if I should ask whether buying a gey suit will aid me in my quest for world domination? "We've only got ten minutes left." She said to the camera urgently. How did she know that? How did she know? Incredible.

For a short while the huns had a capital city of their own. We can say they were not completely undisciplined tribesmen, and for a large hunnish empire to have been founded required a level of organisation, niot to mention territorial conquest. However we shouldn't blind ourselves to the evident 'barbaric' nature of the huns. For all their sophistication, they were also a people who mounted deep raids into Roman lands that certainly made an impression on them. To see them as organised as european civilisation is therefore wrong - they developed a feudal society that was controlled by strong leadership. Without the firm hand of Attila, the huns broke up into factions.