caldrail

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.

It happens today. it's inescapable. And it will cause suffering and hardship. That's the message I've been seeing and hearing in our media. It's a womnder there's no-one wandering back and forth the local high street with a placard saying "The end is nigh". I am of course referring to the imminent assault upon british shores of another arctic blast. It's now late morning and if I were honest, there's little sign of our impending doom. The sky is sombre with dark grey clouds under a lighter grey blanket, and if I were honest, yes it does feel wintery. So far though the temperature is not entirely uncomfortable. Chilly, certainly, but I didn't need gloves today. Maybe I might tomorrow? After all, the weather people have been warning us. The arctic apocalypse is coming, people, and we warned you sinners not to get used to balmy indian summers! Cutting To The Chase I see in the news that two policemen were stabbed in a London street yesterday. That is shocking news. Okay, maybe the police aren't very high on my christmas card list at the moment, but I don't want to see anyone hurt in this manner, and the fact that some idiot lashed out at our law enforcement in that way is depressing, even though such things aren't entirely unknown. It's just that it thankfully happens so infrequently and we tend to forget the episodes of previous decades that the media once related at every step in the media. Compared to an event I saw yesterday it makes the news of this attack is in a real sense very shocking. leaving the Job Centre I saw two police cars parked by the side of the busy dual carriageway, the constables crowding around a young man who was persuaded in no uncertain terms to get in to the car. I suppose in most cases that's how it is. Faced with stern and numerous opposition, the irresponsible youth realises he can't do anything but obey and suffer the consequences of his actions. As it should be. At the end of the day, our shock at the latest outburst of violence reveals, quite literally, how safe our streets usually are. And that's a cause for congratulation for those that enforce it. Trouble is, having said that, there's bound to be a politican seeking to take credit for this state of affairs, or enforcers seeking more authority to extend their 'rule of law', and all the other ambitions and vagaries of human nature. All I want is the perpetrator of my rusting car's demise sent behind bars. Oh well. Something to add to the list I'm sending Santa Claus. Weather Update Yes, it's confirmed. In the last ten minutes a darker, more threatening cloud has drifted into view. It's our own fault of course. They've been telling everyone to use less petrol for decades. Well now I don't use any at all. Can I be excused this wintery blast, please?

It is a fascinating thought. Were they just like us? It makes the Romans seem more familiar. We even share some of their customs, such as the various marriage rituals passed down via the christian church. Exchanging rings, carrying your bride across the threshold, and other such behaviour are essentially pagan Roman. However, be careful, because human beings have a natural tendency to anthropomorphise. We see ourselves in everything, be it cars or cartoon characters, and the primitive side of our psychology is designed that way a part of our recognition expertise. However, this very same tendency results in our desire to look and behave the same way as our colleagues, which is normal group behaviour, and thus we invent fashion and peer pressure. In fact, if you want a prime example, check out the wikipedia section on legion organisation. It's hilarious. Whilst the information is basically factual, the interpretation is interesting because they're describing a modern army. A lot of people want the Romans to have a modern style army so they see it that way. They see rows of identical shields and perfect parade ground order even when we know those things were not practicalible, or when archaeological evidence points toward variation we didn't expect. I'm not dismissing the fact that the Romans are our ancestors, and thus the same species with the same instincts and tendencies. I'm reminded of a wall painting at Pompeii in which two men argue angrily over whether one had cheated at gambling, and the landlord demands they take it outside. We recognise that situation immediately. We understand the confrontation implicitly. Therefore we assume everything else about it. If you think about it, there are plenty of details we don't know. What social class were the two gamblers? What game did they play? Was this a random game played between friends (former friends?), or part of a social event deliberately staged? Or was that painting merely instructions on the wall that such behaviour was not to be tolerated among customers of that establishment? The historian Mary Beard recently appeared on a BBC documentary about Pompeii and came to the conclusion that Romans were no more interested in sex than we are. Despite this popular image of decadent sexual orgies the imagery we see at Pompeii conveys a different message than we first assume. A changing room uses pornographic imagery to allow customers at a bathhouse to remember where they put their clothes. Romans found it titillating to daub art of a sexual nature on their walls. It was almost a manly thing. By displaying such imagery, you reinforced the the idea of Roman virility upon your visitors. It's almost like having a porno mag on your coffee table at home. Look how virile this person is. Yes, you can find associations and similarities that are familiar to us. But never forget they lived two thousand years ago in a different world. They had a different outlook on life, macho, chauvanist, and greedy. They had little or no concerns about the enviroment other than how it affected their profit. They had deep superstitions and strong peer pressures. They accepted violence in their society far more than we do, they accepted that soldiers would be badly behaved, corrupt, and larcenous, although they did try to curb the excesses. Yes, I agree, the Romans were as human as us and the discovery of something familiar is a treat. But never assume you're right about it. Always look further into it, because the reality isn't always the same as ours and we tend to forget that in the rush of recognition. At least that's my two cents anyhow.

After nearly half a century I've come to the conclusion that Wednesday is the worse day of the week. You're still traumatised by Monday, bored by Tuesday, payday is tomorrow, and you can't spend it until Friday. Last weekend is now a fleeting memory and the next one is too far away. As if being a cold, grey, and damp morning to start with was not enough, I forgot the Job Centre is closed for an hour for staff meetings when I should be signing on. Once again I burst through the doors bleary eyed to realise I'm facing a sign that politely informs me that I'm too early. Given how chilly it was outside, I decided to wait in the foyer for an hour. Upstairs, once Security had announced that we were allowed to go about our official business, I sat down and waited for another hour while other dole seekers got all the attention. Have I been sent to coventry? Is this some machivellian plot to put me in my place after my robust defence of my title yesterday? Apparently not. It was simply another symptom of Wednesday. The reason I'm bleary eyed is of course the nocturnal activities of youths who rather like my white Eunos convertible and decide driving it around a bit would be a jolly wheeze. Now obviously the young man was too polite to disturb my slumber at that early hour, and so ventured to take the vehicle quietly. Unfortunately, Wednesday morning affected him too, because he wasn't able to fulfill his driving fantasies. "I told you you weren't going to be able to drive it." Said his mate (the reason I woke and realised they were there) who had enough of a brain to realise that a hood ripped in two places and covered in black tape that wafts gently in the breeze, not to mention a gaping hole where a drivers side window once was, or the mind control unit that replaces the missing steering wheel, means that the car is not available for theft. A true veteran of Wednesdays, obviously. A part of me wants to be positive about Wednesday. After the low point of the wekk, surely things can only get better? Never mind we're due another arctic blast from the north tomorrow, because that's tomorrow and we can't blame Wednesday for that. Well we shall see. After all it's just turned mid-day, so who knows? Maybe if I speak nicely to it Wednesday will go away. Quote of the Week "You're not your usual self today" Observed my claims advisor this morning. Yes, you're probably right, but then it is Wednesday... Ooops. That's blown it...

Religion is never seperated from politics. Regardless of anything said about spiritual and social welfare, the reality is that if religion is organised, it exists to organise people who worship that faith. It provides a means of assuring conformity and obedience on whatever scale the religion is capable of. That said, some religions are worse than others, and it's no coincidence that christianity is so authoritarian in structure - because the relatively rambuctuous judaeans needed stern handling and the Roman empire that adopted and defined christianity cast it's methodology upon it. The greek angle on the story of Mary is interesting as I've not come across that before, but if nothing else, it points to the Roman interpretation of judaean faith via the acceptance of greek culture into their own. Fascinating stuff.

"Why did you change your title to Lord?" Demanded my claims advisor. That came as no suprise to me. In fact, the only suprise is that it took a year to reach the point of confrontation over it. But then, I suppose it was only a matter of time. One of the frustrating aspects of human behaviour is the need to establish status. Some people are motivated by it unconciously to an incredible degree. For instance, on a recent job application I signed the letter as 'Lord Caldrail' as I'm entitled to do. The man responded by calling himself 'Capt. Smith, Msc'. Now I'm assuming he's being honest rather than mischievous, but if that's the case, it's clearly a boss whose own sense of superiority is threatened by someone elses title. I can imagine a serious dressing down at the first excuse for no other reason than to enforce his own pecking order. It's just so unnecessary. So I asked my claims advisor if we could get on with the signing. He refused, and clearly wanted to get to the bottom of this anomaly in his perfect ordered world. I suspect that a certain Captain has been pulling strings. How To Avoid Hangovers The latest guide to spiritual and physical wellbeing on the internet is a handy guide to avoiding hangovers. The article lists all manner of advice from checking labels to preparing yourself psychologically for the coming festivities. I fall off my chair laughing. If you want to avoid hangovers, don't drink. How simple does advice have to be? How To Avoid Busibodies There's a lady of mature age who's become a regular at the library. On the one hand, she's sociable, starting conversations with all and sundry. If only she wasn't so annoying. It's all about her, isn't it? Having discovered everything about her opinions, lifestyle, likes and dislikes, I can honestly say I want to avoid her if possible, if only to prevent a prosecution for violence. According to my logic of avoiding hangiovers, the easiest path is to simply not go to the library. But that's like being a teetotaller. You can feel smug about yourself but no-one invites you to parties. So for now I shall avoid eye contact, keep myself discrete, and give her discouraging one word answers to her enquiries about whether her opinion on whatever subject is worth listening to. Actually I'm probably being a bit hypocritical here, because this blog is nothing if not about my opinions. But then... You can choose whether to read it, can't you?

Point taken, yet I still find myself feeling a little disatisified with that apparent setup. Rome was after all a very (extremely?) class concious system, and yes, seating was segregated at amphitheatres to such an extent that you could be jailed for assuming privilege if you sat in the wrong area (I understand that one chap in Pompeii suffered that fate because he approached a senior Roman on some matter, and the wealthy patron took umbrage and had him prosecuted for sitting next to him even though the intent was only to speak to him briefly). This was not a society that found congregation with lower classes comfortable. Patrons kept court in their homes of a morning to receive such people. Julius Caesar was unusual as a politician and recognised as such because he went about the lower classes and spoke to them personally for support, as modern campaigners often do. And yet, despite all that, they mix in the baths without raising an eyebrow? it just seems odd to me. I actually don't think all that many of the downtrodden poor bothered themselves. It may have been permissable to go there, and for all I know you're correct, but there's an ambiguity about this even from Roman sources. I'm reminded of a story about Hadrian. He popped down to the baths with his associates and whilst there, observed a man rubbing his shoulders on a pillar. Hadrian asked the man why he was doing that. "I cannot afford a slave to scrub my back" the man answered. Hadrian rolled his eyes and summoned his purse, gave the man a few coins, and told him to go away and buy a slave. The next day Hadrian popped down to the baths, the entire bathhouse was full of men rubbing their backs on pillars. Apart from the amusing climax and the demonstration of rOMAn greed, notice something important. A man was bathing who could not afford the services of a slave, and that seems to be a unique occurence because Hadrian is curious and doesn't initially know why this is happening. One might presume therefore that there were sections of society that did not go to the baths out of embarrasement, or perhaps even a lack of self worth, and let's be honest, the downtrodden poor of any society aren't known for their cleanliness.

Personally I find that a daft assertion. Their motives may have been many and various (mostly concerned with regular pay and booty I suspect) but they hardly wished to fight for suicidal reasons. No-one does. Of course that misses the point of the statement in that the writer means they helped create the situation that brought about Rome's downfall. Thing is, an individual soldier in the Roman legions wasn't in command. He didn't make decisions. He was, to all intents and purposes, an asset in the hands of the senior Roman elite. Since Rome was a succesful conquest state, we can hardly view the actions on one man in serving twenty five years as significant in the decay of the empire, especially since they were fighting to defend it for most of the latter half. Furthermore, it could be argued that with the diminishment of republican institutions in the principate, the increasing cosmopolitanisation of Rome and diminishment of latin values, plus the change from old to new money over the course of empire, the Roman peasant was reinforcing the bond of loyalty to the system by participating in it, even if his motives were essentially selfish rather than patriotic, in that the Roman legions during the pax romana were feudal in nature to begin with and not a national army in the modern sense, at least until the late empire anyhow.

'Tis another Monday, and in true Swindon fashion it's a grey foggy morning. The sky an anonymous pale stone grey that obscures the taller buildings. My days are busier now, mostly concerned with the daily routine of searching for gainful employment and collecting rejection letters. So that's my day pretty much planned then. Is that all that I am? Is there nothing more to life than endless letters and emails? In my post forklifting course world, what can I do to make life interesting? Museum Of Old Stuff In Swindon we are blessed with a museum of computing. No, really, we are. Displays of antique computers and calculators to thrill the soul and fill our hearts with joy as we wander around the shelves packed with little plastic boxes that lived and died in the Age of the Eighties. Oh all right. I admiit it. I visited the place this weekend. Most people seem to think it's a computer shop and get very confused when their urgent desire to buy a new motherboard goes unrewarded. On the other hand, I spotted the Sinclair C5 at the door. That was a sort of single seater conveyance, a bit like a sports mobility buggy powered by a washing machine motor. I remember one brave soul who bought one and actually used it on the road. Quite a traffic jam. He lasted three days before he grew tired of inclement weather, opinions offered by overtaking motorists, and a man walking sixty feet in front with a red flag. How could I resist a museum of technical things that sort of worked but no-one used successfully? The worst thing of all was the realisation that all these exhibits were things I used to use as a younger man. They even had a Dragon 32, a delightfully primitive Basic computer in the days when you learned the art of loading and saving by cassette recorder. Sigh. I owned one decades ago. My first computer. As simple as it was, the Dragon 32 was luxurious compared to the real trend setter of the time, Sinclair's ZX81 and its big selling descendant, the Spectrum. A tiny black box with multi-function rubber keys that destroyed so many lives. So cheap was the product that when one mysteriously arrived at our home, my father rang the supplier to ask if he wanted it back and they said no, don't bother, we can keep it. Then they sent us another, as a free gift for all the family. Wow. What incredible service. That was real computing. Programmers were men in those days. Who else but a square jawed hero could possibly type in the indecipherable lists of code printed in hobby magazines? And get it work afterward? After all, one does not mouth off when computing, does one? Unless you mess up the typing and have to start again that is... Then it hits you. Such is the pace of modern technology that these dinosaur devices are now museum pieces. Better move on, before I get picked up and labelled. That's What Happens When... One of the delights of living where I do is that you get occaisional passers-by who shout somethign out in the street at night for no possible reason whatsoever. Some people of course just like the sound of their own voice. Youngsters shout because shouting louder seems manly to them. If you shout louder, you must be more of a man, so the logic goes. Except the owner of the vocal chords tends to forget that it's whether anyone listens that matters, and who listens to a spotty twenty year old mouthing off? Seeing as last night was Sunday, you would expect a relatively quiet night, and so it was. The sewer has been filled in, the road returned to normal use, and few people wandered by on what was a damp and dreary night. Except for one spotty youth mouthing off. As they do. "That's what happens happens when you abscond from the services!" He shouted. Erm... What happens when you abscond exactly? I have literally no idea who he was shouting at. Can't be me. I was never in the services (though I did try), and none of the people I see living in premises nearby look anything like an absconded soldier. Most look like hells angels or teenage mothers and druggies. Oh well. Never mind. Back to something interesting on the confines of my personal computer. Give it ten years and that'll be a museum piece too.

They? Clearly we're talking about the top half of Roman society here. Did patricians share a convivial atmosphere with the cities plebians?

After a week of intensive forklifting that saw me spending most of it twiddling my thumbs in a dingy office, I can finally relax a little. Truth is I'm shocked how tiring I found it. Getting up early, walking to and fro from work, leaping on and off heavy and potentially dangerous industrial machinery, and worst of all, braving the queues at the local fast food takeaways for lunch. KFC weren't bad I suppose. They did point me toward the 'loser corner' seeing as I look like a neanderthal in a high viz vest, but there you go. Not cheap. I had no recourse but to opt for their bargain snackbox. Three bites and you're done. I can see why they make a profit. If only it didn't taste so good. Surely this can't be all that bad for you? I mean, the meat is real, isn't it? McDonalds aren't that much different except the lady behind the counter clearly didn't like the look of me. She simply bundled the food in a bag, thrust it across the counter, and gave a weak smile as if to tell me it was time to leave. Their deli's aren't bad, but what on earth happened to their burgers? I remember the last time I ate one and it wasn't that bad. This was truly awful, a tiny sponge bun containing something that looked like fired carpet, with a coating of yellow sludge and dead tomatoes. Not really appetising. But that's what you get for their bargain burgers for a pound. You want the good stuff?

Busy schedules are great until the insidious arrival of stress makes it a trial. They say it's good for you but in what way? What's the use of becoming a nervous wreck? On the other hand, there comes a point where your life is so busy that your memory can't cope, and after a few missed events, you turn to personal organising and thus descend the slippery slope toward a form of analism that is insufferable to others, so you lose your friends and thus end up fully organised with an empty diary. Go figure...

Okeedokee. Square shields are Augustan in widespread use. There are however examples recovered that are dated up to a century earlier, suggesting it began as a somewhat rare alternative. There are rectangular shields in use during late republican times. The thing is though that 'slightly rectangular' shields, either with rounded corners or bulging edges, date back to around 400BC. That might sound like an interesting coincidence except I should point out that republican shield design varies considerably. It might not have any historical significance.

Roman control was focused on towns serving as places to control tribes. Thus Calleva Atrebatum "Woodland Town of the Atrebates" or Silchester, Venta Belgarum "Market of the Belgae" or Winchester, and so on. Whilst it's true the Romans would have visited settlements to assure themselves of lawful behaviour (and more importantly, regular tax payments), as long as the Britons did as commanded they could go about their lives undisturbed. In fact, the system didn't work too well, and after the period you specify the Romans dispersed their civic control into smaller orbital settlements. On the plus side, there would be those who didn't want the Romans there, and thus would be willing to assist your escapees. On the other hand, opportunity knows no limit, and thus plenty of people would be willing to rat on them for a favour or a few sestercii. To some extent, your escapees are still running a risk, and bear in mind anonymity is suprisingly hard to achieve in a world where everyone knows your business. That said, the Romans might not know where your escapees went, so the long arm of the Roman Lex might give them a head start by arriving much later. They certainly would know about it eventually, though whether the governor of a distant province would bother himself unless the escapee was important or known to have arrived in his back yard. A villain in captivity is a feather in his cap after all. In terms of route, my advice would be to take ship to the coast of southern Gaul, and head north to the Channel. Roman roads are quicker and more direct but more exposed to Roman oversight. Ports were not exactly sophisticated at this time. Shallow beaches and wooden jetties are common ports of call, modest in capacity, and without a major settlement attached, a distinct lack of warehouses.

A spectacular end to the day as I strolled home. Bright orange and blue-grey waves of cloud against the pale blue sky and yellow horizon. Best of all it comes for free. In Poor Health According to the news, our National Health Service is on the point of collapse. So what? That's business as usual isn't it? The media have made claims of impending disaster for decades. Face it. For all its good work, the NHS is a disaster. Mostly because the people telling the media how ramshackle it all is are the very same people running it and seeking bigger budgets and pay rises. I suspect the system might not be as healthy as it could be (pun intended), but that predictions are management-speak for "We want highly paid sinecures". Am I sounding cynical? A National Hero Service Perhaps I was being harsh about the NHS. It's just that it never seems to live up to that quaint fifties movie image that politicians want us to believe that their reforms will return it to. But then we have other heroes to praise today, like that bus driver in Teeside who defied an icy hill and got his passengers to their destination despite horrible conditions. i know only too well well how difficult it for us British to cope with icy conditions on the road. Ice? It's just not British! Well done that man. A Nation Held In Second Place Typical. After all the hullabaloo about staging the Olympics in London in 2012, after all the promises of labour politicians and our idiosyncratic London mayor, it turns out that 2012 will be held in french. French? Oh come on. We defeated the French all over Europe on land and sea for centuries, knicked their empire, and they insist our capital must place the french language first where the games are concerned. Wellington must be turning in his grave. There's a slightly suspicious story that our traditional two-fingered salute evolved from taunts of medieval english bowmen, in that the French were supposed to cut off the 'bow fingers' of any archer they caught ("Look Frenchman, I still have my fingers!"). I am so tempted. Football Game of the Week I saw the floodlights switched on last night as I passed the local football stadium whilst going home. Apparently our First Division team, Swindon Town FC, have been defeated by Crawley, who aren't even a league team. Lucky for them they're not French, so I have better things to moan about.

It's an experience. Deceptively easy, right up until the point you realise you've done something you shouldn't (I knocked over two barriers this morning in a truck weighing three tons)

Serfdom in medielval england was a hard life. We have a description of a downtrodden farmer written in his day that spells out the pitiable state that some of them sunk to. However, much depended on the economy and the effects of war, climate, and disease, or for that matter, individual ability to do well. We know that serfs sometimes did very well for themselves, buying small plots of land and accumulating a certain level of prosperity when times were good. One thing that's been made clear to me about this period, two things were certain: Death and Taxes.

Inasmuch as the Romans were unable to stop the gaulish advance you would think the Romans would have learned from that. They actually wanted to abandon Rome and resettle at Veii, a move that Cammilius spoke out against, though it isn't entirely certain that Camillius was responsible for the reforms of the early 4th century. The Galatians were gauls who settled in the region around Phrygia (whose local population couldn't stop them either) and yes, there would have been cultural similarities. We know that both gaulish populations had a system of tribal judges that would later form the foundation of the Druidic movement in the west. We also know that the druids oversaw and moderated human sacrifice which was a gaulish custom of the time. It was said of the galatians that you should never surrender to them. So yes, there must have been a warlike streak in these celtic peoples. The exact moment of change from abandonment of the phlalnx and adoption of the consular legion isn't clear. However, the scutum, as a rectangular shield, was a later design. Most Romans used oval shields after the phalanx was dropped, a design that lasted until the end of the Roman West because it was the best compromise between utility and protection. I'm not aware of rectangular shields being used before the Reforms of Marius, but I will check that.