caldrail

The problem here then is what we define as woolly thinking. Whilst I don't necessarily argue with his pronouncements on things astronomical, I find do find him hopelessly messianic about his presentation. Partly we must blame the producers of the television shows he appears on for that particular style. You obviously like his presentation. I think he sounds like a lay-preacher. As for knocking the BBC, why shouldn't I? I don't have any choice but to pay for it, so the least they could do is show more Top Gear.

Just a moment ago I was browsing the local newspapers local hiustory page. It's a regular feature in which we learn fascinating trivia about life in Swindon in times gone by. I was a little suprised by todays entry, concerning the result of bad behaviour in a late victorian school. Some lads had misbehaved and received corporal punishment for their misdemeanours. The parents complained and the kids got thrown out, getting their revenge by pelting the headmaster with vegetables and threatening to use stones. And I thought such things were only happening today! The interesting fact though that was while the parents were exactly like modern ones, disbelieving their little angels could warrant such disciplinary treatment, the official record of the punishment meted out was quite tame. When I was a schoolchild, 'getting the cane' was a rigid, inflexible, and extremely painful punishment. I remember one boisterous lad emerging from the headmasters office looking on the verge of bursting into tears. Personally I never suffered such treatment, being somewhat better able to avoid getting caught and if I were honest, being mischievious rather than naughty. What a fascinating insight into the previous turn of the century. It just goes to show people never change. And Today Is? Todays weather report is entirely predictable. Have a guess. Go on, don't be shy, just imagine what weather Swindonis getting right now... Yes, you're right, unless you chose any weather other than rain in which case you clearly don't know anything about Swindon and need to read my blog more thoroughly. Shame on you. Report to Caldrails office for six of the best.

We had a small earthquake a couple of days ago, 'oop north. Apparently Britain gets a tremor once a year although you wouldn't know it. With Britain swaying so much these days who wuld notice a geological vibration or two?

Not a nice day. Maybe it isn't raining quite to the extent certain parts of Australia have suffered recently but the wind is blustery and the air damp with rainness. No, not a nice day. As if that suprises me. For a start this is Britain, and we are known internationally for our trademarked lousy climate. On the other hand, it's also a time of astronomical significance and therefore the skies are cloudy so we cannot observe the celestial wonders above. BBC have even started Stargazing Live in which an astronomer and a comedian provide the running commentary to real on-the-spot stargazing. A part of me wonders if Dara O'Brean is only their to make Brian Cox sound interesting, but perhaps I criticise too much. After all, they're getting paid for pointing at the night sky. I just get cold and wet. Since they're professional presenters the skies cleared for them, as the BBC seem to be able to book good weather in advance, but for me the arrival of a meteor storm went unnoticed as I looked out onto a typically dismal winter night. Somewhere above lumps of dirt are plummetting into the atmosphere at thousands upon thousands of miles an hour and making nice pyrotechnic displays as they burn up from the friction of it. And once again, British weather has obscured it. Never mind. Let's be optimistic. I still have a few years left before I die of old age. Maybe I'll get to see a shower or two before my tired old body gives up the wait? Better yet, this is a period of alignment, in which the planets form an orderly queue and cause global devastation by concatenated gravitic influence. Or not, as the case may be. I'm not worried. there's plenty of flu going around, so any space alien invasion is bound to fail. You'd think super intelligent creatures from other worlds would learn that Earth people cannot be defeated. We have the perfect defence. Get your coughs and sniffles now, while stocks last. Moan of the Week Today is 20% day. For those foreigners who've never encountered the Great British Taxation System, Value Added tax has risen to 20% to pay off the politicians ezpenses. It's a surcharge for all transactions on goods and services, so if I buy a bag of jelly beans, not only does it cost sixty pence, it also costs me another twelve that the government rake off. That I suppose is the advantage that Doctor Who has. His jelly beans are supplied by the BBC, whose budget I also have to pay an unholy sum for every year.

But slow, which I find amusing considering he accuses James May of that characteristic. The fact is he goes sideways too much and bleeds off speed. Yes. Definitely a funny man

Ahem to that. May California avoid a major earthquake for another year (favour returned in true Roman style )

In what way can a man describe himself as free? I don't mean John Inman style availability (ugh), but rather that sense of freedom that allows you to pursue interests without harm or hindrance. There is the restraint of law, applied by the state to control our actions, which is identifiably a boundary for the lawful. Of course if you happen to be criminally minded then it's a challenge of sorts, but then you risk even more confinement. Strictly speaking our laws defend our freedom, even though it doesn't seem that way half the time these days. In fact, we can claim to have laws that directly address the issue, since slavery has been outlawed since the 1830's in Britain. That's all well and good, but the law fails to address the real issue. The fact is slavery is alive and well, thriving under our noses so to speak, part of everyday life. I won't waste your time with conspiracy theories or paranoia about secret government. Actually I think most of that is twaddle anyway, and as we say in our country, you're innocent until proven guilty. Yet despite that fundamental principle, I find few people observe it. You know what I mean. Something bad happens and sooner or later we start getting suspicious about someone, and before you know it, we're pointing fingers and demanding justice. That sadly is the way human beings are. The benefit of civilisation, at least the relaitively benign one I live in, is that we have authorities who are duty bound to prove guilt, and the law says without such proof, a man can go about his lawful business. Superficially then we seem to be safe in our civilised world, free from any risk of being subjected to the ownership of other people. Yet on a daily basis we accept a certain level of ownership. It's intrinsic to our social behaviour that we adopt a a place in a hierarchy, or accept affiliation within a tribal group of some kind, something we do unconciously.. More insidious are the more dominant members of society that seek to direct us. Your boss at work for instance. Almost certainly he or she demands certain behaviour before you're accepted into the workplace or allowed any advancement at all. Usually this requires no more than observing a few extra restrictions, most of which are foisted on your boss for health, safety, or good behaviour expected in the workplace. Sometimes, though, it gets ridiculous. You're expected to spend your free time playing golf, or drive a certain class, make, or model of car. You might be expected to marry someone. Usually someone you instantly don't want to be involved with, but then bosses are not known for being adept matchmakers. They have other priorities. How far does this sort of influence and control have to go before a man can say he is no longer free? I suppose it depends on the individual, and how much he expects to receive in return for conformity and obedience. Yet I cannot help thinking that there is a more definable boundary to becoming a modern slave or free citizen. In fact, the Romans discovered this millenia ago. Cassius Dio for instance, whose histories are chock full of demonstations of what is or isn't freedom and enslavement. It all boils down to one thing. Self determination. If you can longer choose, if your course of action is irrevocably dictated by someone else, the wisdom of ancient times suggests that you are, in very real terms, enslaved. Well they ought to know. They enslaved enough people didn't they? And My Answer Is? No, I don't want to be a christian. Sorry, but it's an insufferably hypocritical religion that hides an entire subculture of malice and spite. And a few paediophiles as well. No, I don't want to be a soldier. I know the army have kindly sent me offers of employment, but I'm too old and quite frankly not at the best of my health, plus if for some stupid reason they accepted me for service they might discover I'm more of an artist than a warrior. Sorry, but I am. It annoys my sense of masculinity I suppose but then again, there's more to being masculine than a lot of body hair, right? No, I don't want to smoke cigarettes. It's a smelly habit and as for it being a rite of manhood - Maybe it is if you're thirteen years old. Didn't I say something earlier about being able to choose? No, I don't want sex with that particular woman. Sorry, but she's utterly awful, insensitive, and hides a malicious streak that would frighten Genghis Khan. Okay, I do sort of like to ogle her mammary glands, but I can't help that. It's something to do with a primitive bit of my brain that doesn't think about it very much.... Uh oh.... I'm thinking about it... Apparently I've got another twenty seconds before I think about it again. Women have no idea how hard being a man can be. No, I don't want to be homosexual. If two blokes want to go off and do whatever two blokes do to each other, then go away and do it someplace else. I really do not want to know. Fact is I still prefer the half of society that have mammary glands for me to ogle. Told you it would crop up again in twenty seconds. You just can't take me anywhere. No, I don't want to watch football. Back in the Middle Ages an english king had the sport banned. No, really, he did. For a period of history usually regarded as being somewhat ignorant that was a suprisingly erudite move. I'll bet he wasn't disturbed at four o'clock in the morning by singing contests. Actually I think he was more disturbed by french people and by what extent his subjects weren't practising useful life skills like archery. So, if the army recruiter who kindly sent me those offers of fun and sun fixing lorries, I have a suggestion. Yes, recruit a hooligan today. Export our troublemakers to troublespots. That'll put hair on their chest. Ten Past Four It's been a late night. The Soccer Singers have finally remembered which way is home and have wandered off after failing to get any reaction from their unwilling audience. I have no idea what it was all about. Somehow I doubt it was anything world shakingly important. Football just isn't that significant. Unless of course you're a premiership footballer and excused archery practice. Well it's finally time for me to hit the sack.That at least I can still choose to do. Goodnight everyone, sleep well,

There's no objective way to answer this question from our sources, but it seems like we could mark some milestones (such as the Licinian laws of 367 BCE) that achieved some advances in justice. I would say definitely during the republic and then before 100 BC And what do you call just? most of the times "just" was only good for half of the population. As MPC states, a difficult question to answer, especially since justice was not a consistent or evenly applied force in Roman society. There was a spiteful and exploitative edge to the Romans which resulted in many false accusations. Money was the backbone of status, and thus wealth (and perhaps a little judicious bribery) dictated who received justice. That said, the question is somewhat innocent isn't it? There's an assumption that Roman justice could be just and fair. Now I agree there were laws and individuals that we regard as positive, but isn't this a case of looking at Roman justice from our perspective? More revealing might be to see how the Romans themselves saw justice, and inevitably, there's a great deal of dissatisfaction, but at the same time a level of acceptance of the status quo.

In case anyone didn't notice, it's now 2011. That means I haven't written an entry in this blog since last year. Strange... Only seems like a few days since I last typed a message... Oh well, never mind. With the new year the weather has ceased to be quite as frigid as it was prior to christmas. I've even turned the heating off again. Maybe I'm just getting used to living in cold conditions that I can't bear being in a warm room any more, at least not without dozing off every five minutes. But hang on... I am dozing off. Where's all the seasonal festivities? The conga lines wandering down the street? The late night chorus of taunts and chest-thumping displays? The shrieks of party girls for whom anything entering their perception is a reason to recoil in amused horror? Where's the police siren rushing up the up toward Old Town? Darn it... Where's the party? What a damp squib of a new year. Okay, I know someone celebrated the arrival of 2011 because I heard a couple of fireworks going off. I suspect the insidious influence of television. I note that countries around the world seemed to vying for the title of the Worlds Most Extravagant Firework Display award. I wonder who won that? Good reviews of all entrants makes the decision a tough one, especially for someone like me who thinks watching people celebrate on television is sadder than stamp-collecting. All right, I admit it, I haven't helped the situation at all because I too didn't bother. Instead I stayed in and got bored with the thoroughly unispired television schedule. Don't know why I didn't emerge from my cocoon as I might of done once. Perhaps my current poverty dissuaded me? Or perhaps, like everyone else, I'm just getting bored with the same old expectations. Therefore my New Years Resolution is to do something unexpected this year. Stay tuned for developments as they occur. Bonfire Having said all that, I notice some of the prisoners at Ford Open Prison have rioted and set fire to the buildings in a frenzy of drink related arson. At least they wanted to party. On the other hand though it hasn't escaped my attention that the people who wanted to party were banged up in jail, the violence precipitated by a crack-down on booze found inside the wire. A New Year To Play With Glancing out the window I can see the clouds losing a battle to dominate the weather. Here and there the blue sky, a pale winter blue, is making itself felt. What a good omen.

It coincided with the general decay of Roman legions in the 4th century. In fact, prior to the widespread adoption of the spatha by infantry, there had been a trend toward a shorter sword used in an increasingly florid manner, a parallel with swordplay in the arena, though it isn't clear who was copying who, so we can regard that as a fashion in fighting style in cultural terms. Regardless of the cutting edge, the deployment of a legion in tight formation precluded the 'swing' as a means of attack because you had no room to do that, as the sword was restricted to a narrow gap between shields. Of course the reality is that Roman formations weren't always going to be parade ground perfect, especially in the midst of a bloody melee, but we can be fairly sure that human nature and training will out thus the Romans kept a close proximity to each other, for psychological reasonsas much as practicality, and thus as Polybius tells us, the strict regime of being taught to thrust exclusively prevailed. It is interesting that Livy tells us something different about the swordplay of his time. He says that Romans were swinging swords as much as thrusting with them. Perhaps that's a dramatic description rather than a real appraisal of combat, but it certainly conforms to evidence of shortening sword length in imperial times which actually required more nerve and skill to fight effectively, and the reduction of the centurionate and training standards in the fourth century precipitated the adoption of the spatha by men who preferred to keep the enemy at arms length. One might also point at the increasing foreign influence in legions and wonder if the former barbarian soldier was more comfortable with swords of a length he was accustomed to. It is important to realise then that although the sword length went from very short to much longer very quickly, the style of swordplay hadn't changed to a great degree. However, the use of a longer sword in a swing dictates you must have the room to do that, requiring looser formations and less formation discipline. We know the centurionate declined as a guarantor of traditional methodology (one of its primary purposes) from the civil wars that led to Constantines reign, and Vegetius informs us in the De Re Militaris that the strength and substance of Roman legions had gone. This phenomenon might be depicted as a symptom of success. Whilst Rome fought border wars on a continuing basis and thus retained some body of experience, the influence of the Pax Romana was to introduce an element of anachronistic style, fashion, and perhaps even public expectation of how Roman soldiers ought to fight. This might seem hard to reconcile in the modern day, but bear in mind that many Romans had no experience of the legions. There was no media revealing the true gritty nature of soldiering and the bloody aftermath of battle. Cicero for instance lauded the arena for showing ordinary Romans how a man, even one reduced to slavery, could show courage, and thus a public is prepared for battle. For these civilian Romans, the only experience of combat was that of the arena, a highly stylised version of fighting for entertainment, and I suspect an element of fantasy became part of the aura that surrounded the legion for those with little direct contact with them, and thus the increasingly florid style of swordplay with ever shorter blades is imposed on the legions until the will to confront had withered and a measure of circumspection by legionaries reasserted itself.

What a gloomy day. It just is. Waking up this morning after the christmnas season is a test of resolve to begin with without a grey, drab day to persuade you that sleeping in is a better idea. News From The Drab Grey Town Despite appearances to the contrary, a quick survey of the newspaper headlines reveals an armed robbery on a newsagent in Pinehurst. That area is one of the three 'P's of Swindon (Pinehurst, Penhill, and Park), our local sinkhole estates that taxi drivers refused to deliver to last year, so the fact a crime was committed there isn't suprising. What is worrying is the fact the robbers were armed. Okay, it does happen in Britain sometimes, but it's still unusual. Help On The Streets For revellers who lose their footwear in a drunken binge, or perhaps those having their trainers nicked in a well rehearsed armed robbery, I see that street pastors will be handing out flip-flops to help the unsteady go home. What's the point? Any party girl capable of losing her high heels (and they do, regularly, as I see Cinderella's lost shoe on the street every week - poor girl simply cannot find Prince Charming at all) is more than capable of losing a rubber sandal. What self respecting party girl would resort to such ghastly unfashionable footwear? They don't even have printed leopard skin patterns. Besides, they always move in gangs of five. Getting home at night? That's what friends are for. Statistic of the Week An amazing statistic has come to my attention. Apparently there are ten million people in Britain alive today who will reach the age of a hundred. With the countries finances wobbling and the pension crisis making retirement a thing of the past, I can't help wondering if the government are secretly making sure we all survive into our centennial year so we remain fit, healthy, tax payers until we drop. The person I feel really sorry for is the Queen. Poor woman now has to stay in office until she's one hundred and fifty so all these centennials receive their telegram from her. Still, keeps the old girl busy, doesn't it? I mean, what's the alternative? Most OAPs will be stacking shelves in supermarkets. Then again, she could always work on a sex-line answer service, making suggestive conversation to thrill the sexually challenged. Can't wait.

Sometimes we see US versions of tv shows over here and the difference is entirely one of stlye. The presenters are always, and I mean always, very clever with one liners and gags but really don't grab your attention other than creating a steady background commentary. As you say, they lack any real character, comiong across as very one dimensional, although inevitably the ladies are pretty and one did catch my eye as having a spark of personality beyond that expected of american media. She came across as willing to entertain but hopelessly restricted by the expectations of the shows producer. She was allowed only one sentence before the camera returned to the main duo whose comedy routine struggled to raise any laughs. The other thing I notice is the undercurrent of scorn for contestants on shows. Now I don't suppose for a minute these good citizens are unaware they're going to be made fools of, but to me the attitude is you've signed up to be laughed at. Once you get past the surface level, the odd titter, there's little respect for the common person. Is that a feature of society, or simply a means of making the characterless presenters more vivid to the audience?

Gladius too wide to be considered a stabbing weapon? That's not what the Romans say. According to Polybius, Romans were taught very strctly to stab and thrust with it. Things got a bit looser later on, as Livy tells us that legionaries were swinging their swords half the time.

Praetorians would wear toga's for official duties in connection with the Roman government, such as the senate house. Off duty they would wear the same sort of tunics as anyone else, although their manner and perhaps other clues would give them away. Also be careful about conterburnae - whilst it's true the Romans used that formation on camp to foster a fraternal and supportive attitude amongst the men, Roman soldiers did not usually socialise as a unit. Records indicate they were assigned duty or R&R as individuals without regard to which conterburnium they belonged to, and as far as I'm aware, there was no official record of conterburnae at all, as it seems instead to be an informal grouping within a century as opposed to a unit level.

One man's joy is another man's pain, as the saying goes. I must admit, any hint of a christmas song and I reach for the 'off' button. Most of these works are excrutiatingly awful and foisted upon us every year for two months of back-toback repitition. Gaah! It's like people are brainwashed to have fun at the first note of their well loved classic christmas ditty. One hint of Noddy Holder singing "So here we are..." and everyone sings along. Why? He couldn't sing either. It really is ritual behaviour, a side effect of our recorded music culture, and anyone claiming to be spontaneous whilst being triggered by popular music is seriously in need of a life. Does that make me a killjoy? All I see are people behaving like robots every year. What's fun about that? Am I sounding a little fed up with all this crass commercialisation of christmas? Bah! Humbug!

The Celts had no cultural leanings toward stabbing weapons. They were instead prone to swinging blades about whilst shouting very loudly, presumably to intimidate their enemies. As for the Dacians themselves, the use of a curved blade indicates slashing attacks. Any use of stabbing weapons by the Dacians is likely to be an import of Roman customs, or possibly a mistake in the reconstruction.

Rome had a tradition prohibition of bearing arms within the city, not soldiers, who were free to wander or parade as they wished (provided they left weapons at home, of course). However, bear in mind that until the Augustan Reforms the legionaries were citizens levied (or after Marius, recruited) for that purpose and referred to as 'Brothers'. Augustus is noted as being the first Roman ruler to refer to troops as 'soldiers', an act of personal ownership that was quite uncharacteristic of the egalitarian streak in Roman society. As it happens, even after Augustus amalgamated the various bodyguard units into the Praetorian Guard, it was not until the reign of his successor, Tiberius, that the guard were brought together under one camp inside Rome, and even then, overt display of military status was undesirable to patrician taste. You see armed and armoured guards in film and television - Oh no, that's wrong. The Praetorians dressed in toga's for guard duty and kept any weapons out of sight - rather like modern sharp dressed security guards. Helmets and armour for ceremonial parades only.

This year was something of an anomaly. This was the first ever white christmas in my living memory. A sure sign of global warming as I'm sure you'll agree. But the anomaly goes further. So much of british life is second-hand, with weather and cultural trends imported from our cousins across the Atlantic. This year I noticed we suffered a sharp wintery blast before they did, against the prevailing wind and political treaties to the contrary. Of course, America just had to go one better... That said, survival in my poorly heated flat was something of a trial. I'm not used to sleeping in sub-zero temperatures. I've just spent the last week zipped into a sleeping bag. Is that desperate, or what? With heating bills soaring, I suspect I won't be the last. But hey, I survived the cold, and better still, suffered less christmas music and carol singers than ever before. Even the drunkards only emerged last night as the weather warmed enough to allow them to venture forth in tru male bonding style. Ah yes, the football chant... Swindon is returning to normal... Survival of the Masses I'm a little confused. For thousands of years mankind has been predicting the end of the world. For such a pessimistic species it seems odd we invent alternative optimistic fantasies. On the one hand, religion contains many examples of a forthcoming global cataclysm (which each generation is told it will happen in their lifetime - Repent, sinners!), yet on the other hand there's a section of society that has an almost religious belief the future of mankind is assured. If you ask anyone about the end of the world, you inevitably find someone who shrugs and tels you all we need to do is build lots of spaceships and go somewhere else. If only it were that easy. Unfortunately the nearest star is four light years away. For those who don't know, light travels at 186,273 miles per second. Pretty quick in other words. A light year is the distance light would ravel in one year. So thats 186,273 x 60 seconds x 60 minutes x 24 hours x 365.25 days. Thats 5,878,328,824,800 miles away more or less. For those struggling with big numbers, that's about 452 million times further than the journey to Australia. So even by Easyjet, the journey to Proxima Centauri will still set you back a cool three hundred and sixteen billion pounds to spend a year trapped in a tin can with hundreds of holidaymakers hurtling through space without anything to drink or do at night.. Bargain. Alternative Survival Strategy of the Week For those of us concerned with an affordable means to survive the end of the world, there is now a way to survive the end of the Mayan Cycle in 2012, the return of Jesus the day after tomorrow, or another winter like this one. It turns out that a Russian chap has invented the perfect shelter, a pod for four people to cope with every shake, rattle, and roll the world could possibly throw at it. So convincing is this new shelter that his neighbours have been signing up to spend a few weeks locked up together inside. The Simpsons and Family Guy have already proven this concept, and already the Russian government are so impressed by it they want to buy a thousand of these shelters. So... That's four thousand survivors, more or less. How many people live in Russia? Lucky Survival of the Week Goes to the group of teenagers at Coate Water who decided that a frozen lake was the perfect place to mess about. They let their dog run around on the ice. One youth even rode his bicycle on the lake. Better tell these lads not to waste their money investing in a Russian survival pod for 2012. They'd only open the door to have a look see. If they live that long. Oh, I nearly Forgot... Some of you might have sat there slack jawed through the christmas Doctor Who extravaganza. I used to complain that the new Doctor was merely Harry Potter and the Sonic Screwdriver, but quite how I can adequately describe this rubbish is beyond my vocabulary. Okay, since it's christmas, I'll try. It turned into Harry Potter and a sort of Christmas Carol Rip Off. Only this time we got Hansom cabs being pulled through the skies of an alien world by sharks. Is that what passes for science-fiction these days? I want to buy one of those Russian survival pods for next years effort. The decline of western civilisation is being measured by the BBC. Christmas Message of the Year That's it, I can stand no more. Change the channel. Anything, I don't care what it is, just as long as I don't have to watch any more of this Doctor Who... The next channel is BBC2, who happen to be showing a televised christmas service. Lots of choirs and panning camera shots of a purple lit vaulted cathedral roof. That's okay, I've missed most of it, and in ten minutes the lads from Top Gear will be fuelling my own fantasies. As it happens, the sermon, or at least all thirty seconds of it (It is a television show after all), tells us that we should love each other. Hey, that's brilliant. Group sex, brought to you by Jesus Inc. That would have made my flat a bit warmer.

The rationale for the Marian Reforms was simply to make raising levies easier. Why waste time recruiting men when you have legions on standby? Why waste time sorting out which social group does what when all your citizens can be trained to fight one way? What you say about 'foreign wars' does underline the desire of Marius to make provision for campaigning as an activity in itself, rather than just defence or political necessity. Maybe we shouldn't be suprised. Rome was a chauvanistic and inherently martial society, thus when confidence and size made such warfare practicable, they indulged in a little extra-curricular seizure of land, goods, and chattel. The question then would be to what extent these wars were necessary, or biased toward profit.

"He's just a child" Sneered the woman who passed my home yesterday. A child? What an interesting comment. It does of course imply that I'm childish and thus disqualified from ordinary ecveryday respect, but I can't help feeling this is more than random verbal abuse. Let me explain. This woman is looking down her nose at me for one reason and one reason only. It's got nothing to do with my behaviour as such - there are more than enough childish men around, just ask any woman, we never grow up. It's nothing to do with my hobbies and interests, which are no different to many other peoples. It's nothing to do with my fashion sense, or rather the lack of it. It is entirely to do with conformity. Yes, I admit it. I do not conform. Because I'm not a shaven haired oaf who smokes, fights outside nightclubs, and vomits on foreign beaches twice a year, I'm somehow below the horizon socially. Actually, given the insult was delivered by a woman, it's probably to do with relationships, or in my case, the lack of them. Experience has taught me that when women start lambasting me as a lesser species in some way, it's because one of her friends is disappointed that I haven't asked her out. Trouble is, these women assume I'm psychic, that I instinctively know the love lorn lady wants wild passionate sex (and babies... And a wallet... And so on...). They never tell you though. That would be too simple, wouldn't it? Why do women assume that we want to ask them out? Or worse still, that we have some obligation to do so? Okay, she thinks I'm a child. So what? I think she's an idiot. Please Don't The supermarket has definitely adopted the festive spirit. Piped seasonal music played continuously. The lady on the checkout sat with a strangely rigid smile on her face, a sort of contorted 'I'm suffering but I won't show it' sort of resignation. Sure enough, she was on the point of ending it all, having been subjected to christmas hits from the last thirty years played endlessly back to back, a look that said 'Help me, please!'. Sadly I'm powerless to fight the onslaught of conformity in the festive season, and the music went on. And on. And on. One customer was less concerned about the mindless repitition of former chart hits. She started dancing in the aisle in true party style. Don't. Just don't. Giving And Losing Christmas is a time generally known for a ritual of sending gifts to all those family members and friends you tried to ignore all year. It's expected that we do. It's the conformal thing. Sometimes though fate has other ideas. The news carried a report last night of a house in Louisiana being carried of by a swollen river. it was an astonishing site as the entire building slid off the bank and floated downstream, rocking gently in the muddy brown torrent. What shocked me though was the laughter from the presenter. I know we sometimes make light of other peoples misfortune, a human trait I sometimes fall prey to myself, but her raucous giggles were a little bit too much. That was someones home floating down the river. All their personal belongings. Withoutn wishing to be too messianic or sanctimonious about this, I do think the media have encouraged us to laugh at other peoples tragedies as much as give generously when they so decide to take it seriously. The presenter was a little bit excessive in her amusement in my view. She apologised afterward, though I'm not sure whether that was her own idea or a little voice in her earpiece. I'm sure the owners of that property will be pleased she did. Merry Christmas of the Week It's that time of year. I sort of knew the game was up when all those decorations were being hung from street lamps in town. it was confirmed by the torture sessions run daily at my local supermarket. Oh, and if there was any doubt, the constant urging of disembodied voices from my television to purchase every possible perfect gift for all the family was an insistent reminder of how many shopping days I had left to conform to socieities expectation of me as a typical single male with purchasing power. Enough of all that twaddle. Christmas is expensive and boring. But I daresay many of you will be enjoying this once a year chance to be nice to other people, even if a certain woman doesn't want to. So I'll wish you all a merry christmas and I'll see you in the new year.

I wish I could say she was, or worse, but in all honesty she's actually quite attractive. Before you ask, no. Not even slightly interested. It would be like walking on ice.

My fame as a jobseeker knows no bounds. Yesterday some bloke spoke to me as I passed him on the pavement of the local high street. He was visiting the the numerous job agencies and must have recognised me from one of those helpful 'How To Search For Jobs' courses that I've been attending over the last year. "Waste of time, innit?" He said as he loomed over me with a psychopathic smile. He's a big lad. "None 'uv these agencies 'ave got nuffink." Well you just have to keep on trying. Thankfully my lame reply did not upset him and he allowed me to continue wasting my day on a fruitless search for gainful employment. But you see, celebrity dolesters like me have to put up with occaisional interest from members of public. For my next gig, I'm booked for a job centre interview with Her Upstairs. Tough audience. My Perfect Car? Like all wannabee celebs, I have this instinctive need to publicise my presence. Being ordinary is not good enough. So instead of a cheap fuel efficient hybrid city car, I would choose the new six wheeled supercar from Covini. More details here... http://uk.cars.yahoo.com/21122010/36/amazing-six-wheel-supercar-debuts-0.html Think about it. James Dean had his psychopathic Porsche, a B movie Hollywood actor had a self animated VW Beetle, Lady Penelope had her pink all-purpose Rolls Royce, James Bond had his 'Don't press that button' Aston Martin, and Dick Dastardly's plans for race domination were nothing without his latest sneaky design. In fact, I can't name one television detective who went without a distinctive car. Except Kojak, but he was too tough to drive. Or maybe TJ Hooker, but then I don't remember William Shatners character ever solving a crime. However, the succesful person is defined by his choice of car. I know this to be true, having been sacked by one company for not choosing a Vauxhall Vectra, or another company for not driving a red BMW (What? Thought I didn't notice?). So, does the desire to purchase and drive an insane six wheeled supercar make me a poser, an overgrown ten year old, a hopelessly ill equipped middle aged crisis, or just another looney who wants to wrap himself around a lampost in the most expensive manner possible? Probably all them, but I don't care, because the essential point is that despite opinions to the contrary, I'm not the slightest bit interested in buying a car to impress anyone else. It's me who wants to be impressed, thrilled, overjoyed, and ultimately freed from the mangled wreckage with as few injuries as possible. I have a very important meeting with Her Upstairs today. I wonder if... No, she wouldn't. She couldn't. Her budget isn't that big. But what the hey, nothing ventured nothing gained. I need this car to launch my new career. No, really, I do.

Oh no. Atmospheric phenomena are always caused by space aliens. They're obviously popping down to Earth for a ski-ing trip.

After the tumultuous ecvents of yesterday, how can tuesday morning be anything other than an anticlimax of mythic proportion? Such is the lack of anything extraordinary going on this world that the story of a dog giving birth to seventeen puppies is headline news. Perhaps that's desperation to find something other than freezing weather to talk about. Now there's a challenge! It Happened This Morning First of all today is the shortest day of the year. A part of me wishes that was the true state of affairs. However, I'm reliably informed that only applies to daylight, and that means tuesday will last until the clocks tell us otherwise. Secondly, it's also the Winter Solstice, a time of year when the urge to head for the nearest stone circle and engage in wierd communal rituals overcomes us. Must be why everyone is ignoring official advice and insisting on travelling. As it happens, so many of us are getting stuck in rural snowdrifts that survival tips for motorists have been issued. Now we know what we should have brought with us in the first place. Thirdly, there was a lunar eclipse this morning between six and seven. Sadly I was too comatosed and comfortable to want to witness the celestial ballet that we're riding on, but then since I don't have a working vehicle, my ability to get stuck in a snowdrift on my way to a hippy festival is somewhat compromised. Going North For Winter With all the hassle of our inclement weather, I must spare a thought for those who live in places where colder temperatures are an ordinary part of daily life. I have flown over Greenland as an airline passenger, and the captain broadcast advice to take a look at the stunning views of the frigid realm below. He was right. It was an awesome sight. A frozen wilderness with patches of brown mountain poking through. But perhaps it was just as well no-one stirred. Partly because a crowd looming over me and trying to peer through the tiny porthole was going to be uncomfortable, but also because the airliner would have probably tipped over. The view from thirty thousand feet was spectacular enough, thank you. As it happens going north for winter is a bit difficult right now. Most of our airports are at a standstill, for all the right reasons, even if people understandably gripe that our aiport operators haven't invested in a fleet of anti-snow vehicles that would ignite a controversy when they remain idle in less wintery years. A bit tough on those who can't get home for christmas perhaps, but the reality is we take air travel for granted, such is the efficiency with which it's normally carried out. Try travelling to Greenland right now. Not entirely convenient, is it? I discovered this morning the interesting fact that currently Greenland is warmer than the UK. THey ought to keep quiet about that. The last time it got pleasantly warm there a hoard of vikings turned up. Sword and shield might be illegal items these days, but I'm sure we can manage a crowd of drunken barbarians.

Blue? According to the view out the library window, it's a sort of muddy white colour. Good grief I fork out a ton of money every year for the BBC to paint the weather map the wrong colour.