caldrail

Last week was a plethora of cancelled appointments. Yet another landed on my doorstep on Friday. In formal and impersonal style the date was set later, leaving me free to answer the call of duty at the museum. Well, that's volunteering for you. Monday opening? The museum tried that before and gave up. Today however, a coachload of french students are to be transported across Britain to our sunny old Swindon, for a special open day all for themselves. Forty seven bemnused french youths sauntered in. Their tutors gave them explicit instructions to ask questions from museum staff in english (always a good sign) but on this occaision, the youngsters were either too stunned or bored by our exhibits to think of anything to say. The funny thing was that as they were leaving, the backgound hum of french conversation gave way to a hesitant "Bye" as they filed out through the door. Was that all they'd learned how to say? Window Shopping There's no doubt our local model shop adds a splash of colour to the otherwise dour high street. Everywhere you look there were bright and dramatic images of tanks, planes, cars, boats, and other things to make with the sweat of your brow, a pair of tweezers, a couple of tins of Humbrol enamel, and enough glue to put a smile on your face. And lo, everyone was looking. men, women, children, even those who denied any interest in the slightly nerdish practice of model-making stopped to browse the boxes in the window. Today was no different. A horde of french students crowded around the window before they were whisked off to another part of the world. How Was Your Day? Back to the programme centre for another bout of internetting. My advisor sidled up and asked how my day was. Sounds like it's better than yours, mate, if that's a cold you have there. I asked him how his day was, and yes, it was not his best day ever, feeling stressed out after guiding doleseekers into the hidden mysteries of finding paid employment all morning. I had no choice to add my commiserations for his suffering. Not only was he stressed and in poor health, it was also Monday. That's a tough call. Now if only he'd been more generous with his doughnuts I would have been truly sympathetic. Is It Just Me, Or...? The recent death of Sian O'Callaghan has apparently bitten deep into the Swindon psyche. I know, I saw it on the news. Now in fairness I think she was killed for the most selfish reasons possible, and the gentleman who was bundled into the magistrates court this morning deserves everything he gets if he's found guilty. Nonetheless, I can't help feeling there's something odd about the public sympathy that's been evident of late. I doubt the majority had even met her before, let alone knew her as a friend. With all the recent deaths paraded on the television news, why are we all so deeply affected by Sian's death? One major reason, I suspect, is that she's perceived as innocent and undeserving of her fate.

It was the command structure that caused the problem, not the formation. Since the Romans were geared for exclusive single command, they did not react well to situations where cooperative reaction was essential, because inter-unit communication was not catered for on a formal basis. In fact, we know that legionaries regarded their centurion as the boss and in some cases refused outright to obey orders from a commander of another century. Neither was there any standard inter-unit signalling system, or even any kind of formal messaging system. It was standard practice among the legions to rely on co-operative intiative - which was fine if everyone understood what was going on, and ambushes are not the easiest situations to gain initiative of. Bear in mind that as an aggressive conquest state, the legions were designed for offence, not defence, and their tactics and training reflected that doctrine. Couldn't agree more. The Roman approach, as I mentioned earlier, was indeed to root the enemy out. By containment they attempted to force the guerillas into a situation where their own chosen strategies were preferable. In other words, the Romans - as always - preferred an offensive posture.

Nonsense. The Romans typically sought to contain the enemy and force him to gather at a single location where they could deal with the issue in one final action, fighting on their terms rather than the enemies. Notice that they effectively utilise the same means as catching animals en masse.

Another sunny day? Yes, it is. Another chance then to get out and about, doing stuff, meeting people, filling my day with endless blog anecdotes. So let's start as I mean to continue. First task is to extricate myself from bed. Get out of bed? There was a time in my energetic youth when I thought nothing of leaping into clothes and bursting out into the big wide world before being crushed utterly by fate. Now I grimace and debate the relaive merits of warm comfortable beds and the bracing weather of sunny old Swindon. As it happens, I have a mission today. Yesterday I discovered that the path around the back of the lake at Queens Park has been opened up. That's the first time I've been able to circumnavigate the lake there since I came to Swindon more than forty years ago. Needless to say the Park Beavers had been at work. The hillside looks like the vegetation has been ripped out, which is pretty much the case, and definitely not pretty to look at. Still, it was interesting to wander around there, though from the noise the birds were making they're not used to human beings wandering around the quiet end of the lake where they nest. I Have A job For You Another morning at the museum. I was settling in for a dull session manning the front desk, watching the world go by outside. No sooner had I resigned myself to the boredom of an empty museum when the boss burst through the doors. A wicked smile crossed his lips as he saw me. I could see his evil mind plotting, scheming, wondering if... "Caldrail, are you any good at woodwork?" He asked. Erm... No, too late. If you intend to put the boss off you need to be quicker than that. He almost hauled me bodily out of the chair and before I had a chance to mention my inexperience of anything remotely connected with DIY, he was teaching me new skills like helping to erect display cases from scratch. Hang on... What's all this water running down my face? Sweat? You mean I'm actually sweating? Oh good grief, this is manual labour! Too Late Eventually I managed to give my boss the slip. Having sneaked out of the museum I was safe to go down to the programme centre and pursue my job searching. First thing, my emails.... What's this? A vacancy on offer? Woo hooo!!!!! The message asked me to call them. Another email asked me to call immediately. Right you are then. Pick up the phonerator thing, tap in the number (I think this is how you use these satanic devices) and... The contact wasn't available. Darn. But I using someone elses phone, so the person on the other end went off to find the lady who asked me to contact her. When she returned, I heard a brief comment in the background, and phone went dead. Is that what this agency consider polite business manners? Not that it mattered. Almost immediately afterward I got an 'out of office' autoreply to my persistent contacting. Okay, I get the message.

The Roman legions after Marius had been primarily designed and fine-tuned for formal warfare. Apart from a security role (Besides guard duty,some serving legionaries might be assigned as spies - legions had men doing all sorts of peripheral activities including hunting animals for the arena. Patrols on the frontier were often left to 'lower value' troops like auxillaries) there was little else to engage them other than civil engineering where available. However - increasingly the Roman legions began to indulge in raids at their own initiative, designed not for military or politcal objectives but purely for reward. In fact, by the fourth century, raiding had become a viable strategy for the lighter and less formal legions of the time. Sebastianus attempted to prove the value of guerilla warfgare by sending specially men ahead of the main column with notable success against the Goths. In general, the Roman legions prior to Constantines reforms did very poorly against guerilla fighters. The reason was simple. When the legions dictated where and how the battle was to be fought, chances are they would do very well. If the enemy dictated the course of the conflict, the Romans usually failed utterly. An obvious examples is the the campaign againt Spartacus. Since guerilla warfare is all about fighting whilst denying the enemy a clear and present objective, we can say the Romans weren't well equipped to deal with such strategies. With suitable intelligence and a clear objective the Romans could tip the balance in their favour, such as finishing off the jewish zealots at Masada or the druidic resistance at the Battle of Mona in the 1st century. Notice though the Romans had forced both factions to a retreat and assaulted it directly - a typical Roman ploy.

Glancing at the local paper today I saw a piece on how some organisation intends to renovate the street I live in. In a sense that's a good thing. With a new shopping centre planned to replace the derelict college buildings almost next door, it hardly makes sense to build an expensive flagship development next to a run down street full of empty and vandalised offices. Trouble, they intend to use offenders to paint properties and build flower boxes. Oh great. So the local burglars get a chance to see what everyone has in their house? I've no doubt that the little angekls who will eventually cause a crime spree in the street will offer the excuse that it was our fault for owning stuff. Genetic Attraction One item I saw today is about a man and his daughter having a child together. Apparently she wanted to track down her long seperated father and once they met, they... erm... got acquainted. Now they deny incest and claim instead to be victims of 'Genetic Sexual Attraction'. Well I can understand them being happy to be re-united, but let's be blunt, regardless of mutual arousal in the heat of the moment they are still supposed to be responsible law abiding adults. That means sex was not compulsory, irrespective of how much they wanted to do it. Genetic attraction or not, they knew who each other were, and so committed incest. Sorry, but they did. Not so many generations ago this would have been a dark family secret covered up and reducing peoples lives to misery. These days they offer excuses to the worlds media. Having A Nice Day It's no good moaning that I haven't found a job today, or that I haven't helped an old lady across the road, or returned some errant feline to its desperate owner. It's a nice sunny day. So I'm off to enjoy it.

This sort of connection is nothing unusual in history when dealing with mythic personalities. It's like Saladin and Richard the Lion Heart. They're supposed to have met and compared swords, but sadly, it's no more than romantic fiction and there's no record the two ever met face to face.

UNRVer Bloggists need love? Personally, I think I need wild passionate sex. Instead of an Amazon kindle, how about a blonde amazon (preferably with both mammary glands still attached)? Gibber.... Actually in all seriousness I don't think blogs should be made competitive. Do I need to be rewarded for my blogging? I guess many would say I need to be locked in jail for some of the things I've written. Blogs are after all a personal diary of one sort or another and my own feelings are that they should be allowed to remain so.

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.

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