caldrail

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.

With all this wintery chaos going on you people out there must be suffering terribly. I feel it is my duty, and honour, to bring a little amusement to your otherwise frozen lives. So without further ado, at great risk to life and limb, I bring you todays blog entry... Todays Blog Entry The snow was falling most of saturday afternoon. Not heavily, but persistent. Worse still it was wet snow, creating a slippery surface on top of asphalt or compacted snow from the previous night. As I looked out the front window I watched people walking by on the street below, some sliding and slipping as they went. Not suprisingly the road was as dodgy. Cars were driving up the hill very gingerly, and one lady struggled to keep her BMW moving forward at all as it slowly swivelled on its axis with wheels spinning. Not so the drivers going down the hill. Some were travelling at an inadvisable pace. I hope they were able to stop at the bottom. Yesterday was quiet. A dramatic orange and dark grey sky gave a surreal gloominess to the evening as I listened out for the midnight chorus of drunken football fans, left only with a stillness that was quite unseasonal. This morning though is monday, and that means returning to my usual weekly routine. Except... I can't. There's no water coming from my taps. The toilet cistern isn't refilling. Oh brilliant. Time to break out the SAS survival manual. Find the page on what to do when you haven't got all mod cons in your home. Sadly I was unable to radio for a helicopter supply drop, so instead I began collecting bucket loads of snow from the yard, much to the amusement of the garage mechanic opposite. I'm discovering just how easy it is to get stuck into a routine. There's things I need to get on with today but I need to stick around for the repair man to finish fixing someones boiler two miles away. Every so often the urge to use the toilet makes me begin to rush forward, and each time I remember there isn't any point, because the toilet doesn't work. Increadible. This is the twenty-first century and I'm living like a medieval peasant. Come on Caldrail. Where's your british get up and go? The churchillian 'We Can Take It' stiff upper lip? I so want to go to the toilet.... But the repair could turn up any time in the next day or so and I desperately need to attend a job search session at the programme centre... Hurry up, man, where are you? Talking About Snow Just in the last hour or so it's begun snowing again, thankfully not heavily, but unlike the previous snowfalls this stuff is composed of tiny pellets, like lightweight hailstones that don't sting and just drift through the air lazily. I don't suppose for a moment it matters, but it was something to fill a paragraph. The pavements are very sippery right now after all this snow is trodden down hard and tiurned into a sort of brown skating rink. One chap crossing a road nearly went over spectacularly. Whilst I'm sympathetic to his plight, I have to say it pleases me greatly. Not for any malicious reason at all. It's just that I now know it isn't only me who falls over. In fact, when I was at the supermarket earlier buying drinking water, the lady on the till was discussing the icy pavements with just about anyone who cared to listen. "They haven't gritted the pedestrian underpass" She moaned authoritively. No, I know what you mean. I live on a hill. "They haven't gritted that either, have they?" She replied. Despite all this grief and woe, I must say thank you to the lady in the Toyota Celica who let me cross the road with my supply of vital water for the war effort.. I do hope you managed to get the car moving again. A Knock On The Door! Brilliant. I've just about given up waiting and I'm half a mile down the road when the phone rings and I learn the repair man is on his way. How do maintenance people know when to call at the most frustrating and inconvenient moment? Have they got control of all these CCTV cameras posted around town? Would you believe it? My plumber is actually an undercover security guard. To be honest, his crime fighting skills were not what interested me. Instead he asked what my problem was. Taps and toilet cistern not working. "Okay..." He thought carefully about how to deal with tricky situation. "Have you got a hair dryer by any chance?" A what? A hair dryer? Is this man taking the mickey? Nope. He wasn't. And after resorting to an industrial flamethrower managed to get my water flowing again. Well done that man. Happy Ending of the Week At last I can access my toilet and enjoy the use of my fully functioning latrine. Unnnh! Oh yeah. Oh that feels good. Yeah, let it all out man, oh yeah... Oh yeah...

No really, they did. Axelgricehomide. Absolutlely deadly poison first tested on immigrant populations in the east coast area. It really upset the colonists and they naturally blamed the native americans, who they thought were poisoning their chicken curries. Caused a lot of aggro, so I understand, and naturally enough the americans got tired of it and booted us out. History is so interesting if you include the CIA. All makes sense if you do that

Well you see the celts were always a bit bloodthirsty. The gauls ahd quietened down by Caesars time. In any case, the first descriptions of druids emerge in classical literature (some of which now lost but mentioned in other sources) around two or three hundred BC. This would be something like two centuries after the movement began in Britain and even then, it was an organisation of tribal judges that were doing the same things independently as part of celtic tradition, which I note involved the enthusiastic practice of headhunting, which has been corroborated archaeologically. The 'witches cauldron' is a fairy tale descendant of real world iron age rites for instance. As for throwing innocent people to the lions, the Romans didn't do that. Shock horror. Executions by animal attack were reserved for criminals, or at least those condemned as criminals by Roman law or perhaps imperial whim in certain cases, but then again, there is some doubt about how innocent some of those victims were. But then again, if you celts can't write, it's your own silly fault for resisting civilised Roman rule

Much of the news is about Wikileaks at the moment. Quite why this site is viewed with such regard is beyond me. Anyone else who goes around telling everyone everybodies elses secrets usually gets cold shouldered. No, that's not right, I do know why. It's because their readership are anonymous idiots who take great delight in finding out stuff they shouldn't know. As to whether any of these former secrets are actually true I can't say. Chances are a great deal of it is fiction to begin with, sent by malicious or mischievious individuals who take great delight on telling everyone everybodies secrets, and of course they get away with it because they alert the world anonymously. Personally I find the idea of this site a little sad. Even sadder is the hero worship attracted by the sites founder, and whilst he may be innocent of the sexual misdemeanours he's accused of, he doesn't across as the saintly image he wants to project. I suppose in a way you could argue I'm doing the same thing on this blog, alerting the world to the amazing secrets of my private little world. You are amazed, aren't you? Please tell me you're amazed. I cannot sleep at nights worrying that my readership are not thrilled, amused, and stunned by the revelations of ordinary life on the dole. After all, it might save me from a criminal prosecution one day. CaldLeaks Latest For years the official line is that global warming is heating the world to catastrophic levels. We have been forced to spend more to use less, and every year thousands of schoolchildren are brainwashed with politically correct ideas about climatology in the hope that they will one day support government policies. But here at CaldLeaks we have uncovered solid evidence that the world is as cold as it's always been. Behold. The camera never lies! Oh yes. The gentleman on computer 64 is watching a football video for free. Shocking. It's All Their Fault I remember back when I was a college student and the time came to set about some project for our engineering exam. As sometimes happens, I was paired off with the the worst student of all, a guy from Iran who clearly had no intention of taking part in the Islamic fundamentalist revolution that was going on at the time, and instead, managed to convince everyone that he was a bona fide foreign student. As it happens, it was like working with a middle east carpet salesman. Sorry, but it was. Thing is though we were chatting one day and he mentioned that the CIA was responsible for some tragedy. Yeah right. Come on, mate, it was an accident. "No, No," He earnestly proclaimed to me, "It is always CIA. They do everything. Always the CIA." For a man escaping a religious revolution he certainly managed to display a certain zealous belief that an american spy agency was causing my friends car accident the month before. Apparently the police believed he failed to negotiate a bend. But we know what really happened, don't we? My protestations that the CIA couldn't be responsible for every evil went disregarded in my Iranian colleagues need to communicate his dark message. And it goes on. During my forklifting course the other week one guy made an assertion that the Falkland War was all about Southern Chile. Pardon? Yes, he told me, because he'd been there and someone had told him. Oh come on! Anyway, we had a bit of a fierce debate about Britains military and political obectives. He accused me of reading too many newspapers. I think he listens to too many barflies. But at that point the guy with a ginger beard and woolly cap piped up and asked if believed whether such things were just accidents. It's the CIA. Black ops. It's real, man. Would the CIA please stop vandalising my car? I Woke Up This Morning It came as no suprise really that snow had fallen. After all, the blonde woman on television has been warning me to expect it for days now. The whiteness of the light coming through the curtains made it clear that all was snowed under outside. In fact, last night had been the coldest I'd experienced for some time. It even woke me up during the night. Not pleasant at all. As the picture reveals our snowfall is nothing to boast about. Not even half an inch out there. It certainly hasn't stopped parents bringing their kids to the library for a good old sing song. Other than that the library is strangely quiet today. Better not say too much. It might get leaked on the internet.

It may be Friday but my jobsearch goes on. And on. And on. And ... Well, you get the idea. Right now my life seems like an endless ritual of phone calls, internet browsing, emails and letters, and quite why employers don't believe I can do a days job is beyond me because I do a virtual job already. That said I'm not exactly well paid. Increases in benefits have not exactly kept pace with rising bills. Food is more expensive and the supermarkets seem hell-bent on forcing everyone to purchase their connisseur brands. There was a time I could pick up a packet of mince that easily spread across two meals for 58 pence. Now I have to pay

Plucked, roasted, and eaten last Sunday. Sorry.

Whether or not an individual was a great general is something rather subjective. As the answers provided above make clear, the reasons we believe Caesar to be good or bad depend on the information we focus on. For my part, I think he was an excellent leader. Charismatic, courageous, and determined to win regardless of risk. it is often said that battle are not usually won by timid generals. You can play 'top trumps' with all the various aspects of the troops on either side as much as you like but this only influences an outcome, not determines the result. One of the most important aspects of battlefield success is the ability of man to inspire and lead his troops to victory. No mean feat. Especially since we've noted how difficult it was to provide for food and water for a large army. On this point, it might be a little unfair to criticise. How would you supply six thousand men with provisions in a world with precious little infrastructure, small populations, and despite the much vaunted logistics capability of the Romans, almost no supply provision. Every general faced this problem in the ancient world. As for mutinies, we shouldn't really be suprised that even Caesar encountered Roman truculence. These troops were following him partly out of expectation of regular pay every three months, but also because they expected booty. That was the basis of the post-Marian legion. A feudal arrangement in which the soldier agrees to follow his general and expcts to handsomely rewarded for his risk. In which a general leads his legions for Rome and expects to be rewarded for his risk. These men were being marched long distances in trying circuumstances. It isn't easy. Discontent can catch hold and spread very quickly. We shouldn't worry too much about whether Caesar encountered a couple of mutinies - you find troublemakers in any army - but how he dealt with those situations. Succesfully, I note. His exploits on the battlefield demonstrate he followed a principle that wise commanders followed. He would sometimes fight in the front line with his men. It was observed by the Romans themselves that a leader who shares the privations of his men will earn their respect. And Caesar did that. He was however more than that. He was described as knowing the names of all his centurions. In one phrase we discover how 'elevated' the typical patrician commander was as the representative of Rome's authority, and how willing Caesar was to set aside the social barriers and communicate directly with those under his command. Nonetheless, Caesar has been described as careless in campaign. For all his success on the battlefield, his strategies weren't always the most desirable. Perhaps it's a little easy to judge. We don't the exact intelligence or objectives that guided his decisions. The thing is, I recall the story of Caesar touring Spain with his colleagues and upon seeing a statue of Alexander the Great, began to weep. "Why are you crying, Caesar?" Asked his concerned companions. "Because," He told them, "At my age this man had conquered the world, and I have done nothing." For a man who did nothing, he certainly got a mention in the history books. Ask anyone to name a famous ancient person. Most, I suspect, will name Julius Caesar. That's greatness. The truth might be different but we always remember the legend.

I'm uncomfortable with this viewpoint. Describing a tribal society wth no clear disctinction between civilian and soldier cannot accurately be labelled as a militarised society, since that phrase by definition describes a domination of society by its military half. You shouldn't really use a specialisation to describe a general case. In any case, Rome began in more or less the same way. Tribal bands raiding and feuding among themselves, and we now refer to the pre-Marian era as essentially non-military despite the martial values of Rome, because they employed a militia army called to serve as required. The question here is really at what level of organisation and involvement can a society claim to have a military component? Does picking up a sword and skewering someone else define an individual as a soldier? No, of course not. I prefer to regard the phrase 'military' as defining a profession. Tribal warfare is a way of life, one born to and brought up to exercise, rather than a career choice.