GhostOfClayton

Have a look at this thread. Also, a link to that Wiki would be much appreciated.

Just finished 'Time to Depart'. This is my favourite so far. It was set entirely in Rome, the second in the series to be so. However 'Time to Depart' really allows the Vigiles to come to the fore. They are now a much more three dimensional unit, fully explained and fully functioning. Much more than a loosely referenced team of fire fighters who are mainly there to reinforce the roll of Petro (a main character, and leader of one cohort). Also, the style has changed a little from the previous novel 'Last Act in Palmyra', which was a proper whodunnit. With TTD, the criminal becomes known partway through, and the rest is concerned with the action involved in tracking them down and seeing them get their comeuppance. Exciting stuff to the last, with a few lifechanging occurances for Falco thrown in for good measure. To recap. My favourite so far.

Update: I have now started reading this book. Watch this space for my review.

Amazon could get it to me for less than a fiver. I'm so tempted.

Firstly, thanks to Melvadius. I did find my way to St Albans last Saturday afternoon, and here is my report: Sadly, due to other commitments, I only arrived in St Albans at about 2:30pm, so I didn't see any of the town itself. If you are visiting by car, just follow the brown tourist signs to Roman Verulamium. This will deposit you at the car park beside Verulamium museum. I can't really comment on arriving by bus or train - sorry. Anyway, first thing to say is that the car park was full (on a sunny Saturday afternoon). If you find it full, my advice is to wait it out, and a space will become available. Second piece of advice is that everything Roman can be accessed from this car park - don't be tempted to drive to the Roman theatre. The next thing you need to knnow id that much of the old Roman city of Verulamium lies beneath what is now Verulameum Park - a huge park lying the other side of the river from the city itself. OK. My first visit was Verulamium Museum. This is quite a new building, with excellent displays. It has the air of having been carefully thought out with different little areas covering different themes. It was well attended too, being very busy for a museum, I thought. Good news! Plenty of interested people with well-behaved children, despite the balance of the content and presentation tending slightly towards the adult visitor. The cost was

Warning: The following blog contains strong language, and scenes of a sexual nature. But first up, more from the iPod: 2-4-6-8 Motorway � Tom Robinson Woo Hoo � The 5-6-7-8�s (Weird coincidence, given the previous track?) Up the Junction � Squeeze This Town Ain�t Big Enough � Sparks Summer (the First Time) � Bobby Goldsboro I love "Summer (The First Time)", maybe because it's every man's fantasy first time, eh lads? Mrs Robinson, and all that . . . YOU know what I mean. Whereas, the reality . . . . Maybe I should compare and contrast Bobby Goldsboro's 'First Time' to my own experience. Oh! NOW you're listening, are you? Last blog, I recounted the dramatic demise of two WWII bobber crews; heroes who died whilst bravely defending our skies against tyranny. Not one single comment was posted in response to that, but I offer to spill the beans about one of my most intimate secrets, and suddenly your ears are pricking up! Shame on you! Where was I? Oh yes. If Mr Goldsboro were to sing about yours truly breaking his duck, the first verse would be about an (ultimately futile) battle between a youth and a bra clasp. Not a bra like the black and lacy, well-filled bras that had previously wobbled their way through my adolescent fantasies. Oh no, none of that. This light-grey veteran of many a hot wash was going nowhere, no matter how desperate my inexpert fumbles. (Nowadays, of course, I can undo a bra with a mere flick of the fingers and twist of the wrist! Honestly!) Moving on. You would've thought that, with Mother Nature's most beautiful of unions, having been perfected and evolved over eons, hitting the target would be a mere formality. Far from it. On this occasion success could only be had with much manhandling (and tutting). The line about seeing the sun set as a boy and watching it rise again as a man is very powerful and beautiful, and leaves a lasting impression of the significance of the previous night in Bobby Goldboro�s young life. In my particular case, I neither saw the sun set, nor rise again. The line would have to go, "the sun set over a pub in which a boy was drinking bitter, and rose again over a semi-detached house in which a man was hungover". Not that catchy, is it? And could I really call myself a man? A man would have spent the day reflecting on the joyous beauty of the act of love he had just experienced with a woman he honoured and respected with all his soul. The boy that was GhostOfClayton actually spent the day in childish, self-congratulatory "yes"es, and finding all his mates so he could brag about his conquest. What a twat! Lastly, so you know that I don't think of my 'partner in crime' as just a sort of sex object or maybe just someone that was prepared to let me 'do it' to them, I shall put your mind at rest. I'm not going to introduce you to her personally � she may be reading this blog. It's not very likely, but if she is, there are two things I'd like to say to her. Firstly, it really did mean something to me, despite all the stuff I've just said (I did blog about it 30 years later, didn't I?) Secondly, I hope that in the intervening time, you have treated yourself to a better bra. So . . . there you have it. Was your first time any better? And, yes. That question is by way of laying down the gauntlet to other bloggers.

Yet again, Doc, we prove to have the same musical taste.

Happy Birthday

I think that one Marine with a sniper rifle, a telescopic sight, and a good supply of bullets could have done it. The personal security of key individuals was based, I'm sure on close up attack. If all Rome's top men kept mysteriously dying with nothing but a spot of blood in the middle of the forehead to indicate the cause . . . . . I know you don't look like that if you're shot in the head, but I thought we were refering to Holywood.

I fear $127,000 will merely buy a sub-orbital ticket. Still, when I was a kid I wanted to grow up to be an astronaut. OfClayton Towers must be worth more than $127,000 . . . . Maybe I could do something extremely stupid, and then bum away the rest of my life in a VW Camper, traveling around Europe. Sounds tempting.

This morning I found myself in a very strange meeting. In order to tell you why, I'm going to have to give you a little history lesson, so get comfortable . . . there may even be a test later! The quiet little village of Aquis-of-the-Romans was not always so quiet. During the war, there was much activity in the skies above it, and the drone of low-flying heavy bomber engines would be a regular event. The reason was that the village lies on the top of a steep escarpment overlooking an area of flat land known as Aquis Flats. This topography was ideal to use as a test bombing range � place two range-finding stations on the escarpment top, and a big chalk marker on the Flats themselves, and "Hey, Presto!", you have yourself a bombing range. So, quite regularly, bombers of 'Bomber Command - Number 1 Group' would take off from nearby RAF Elsham Wold, fly to Aquis Flats, and drop smoke bombs as near as they could to the chalk marker. The range-finding stations would take a bearing and, using triangulation, calculate the distance by which the ordnance missed its intended target. Let's wind the clocks forward to 2011, and one resident approaches the local Residents' Association (on which I sit) with a story of a Halifax Bomber crashing into the escarpment during the latter part of WWII, and would it be fitting to have a memorial to the bomber crew? This sort of thing is bread and butter to the Residents' Association. Assuming the majority are in favour, we find the funding, agree the design, ascertain the most appropriate location, get permission from all stakeholders, and off you go. No problems. Takes ages, but there's no rocket science involved. However, these things are rarely that simple. It turns out the Halifax bomber was nothing to do with the bombing range, but was Canadian or American � it was just a coincidence it crashed where it did. Then a chap from the local museum became interested and mentioned that there were, in fact, two Halifax bomber crashes on the Flats (neither involved in the bombing range), and did we want to commemorate both? Then, we involved the Warden on the Flats (it's now an RSPB Reserve), mainly to establish permission for the monument. She is an extremely helpful young lady who knows the right people to talk to, and before long, many more people were e-mailing with helpful and pertinent facts that continue to muddy the waters. One such was from the Lincolnshire Aviation Heritage Forum, inviting me to a meeting which commenced about an hour after the time I opened the e-mail. I got there just in time. Getting up this morning, I didn�t think for a minute I�d be part of an Aviation Heritage Forum. It's funny how some days pan out. Music the iPod played to me recently: Uptown Uptempo Woman by Randy Edelman (just like Mrs OfClayton, and, yes, I AM a downtown downbeat guy!) America - Razorlight Christee Lee - Billy Joel (from the 'An Innocent Man' LP) Scarborough Fair - Simon & Garfunkel Get the Balance Right - Depeche Mode Live & Let Die - Paul McCartney & Wings.

There are plenty of unscrupulous types in this country who would just see a load of scrap metal.

Fish, or lady friends?

I did very badly in my A-levels. At first I put it down to exam-angst, but it turned out the main reason for the poor grades was that I'm as thick as sh*t.

It's really stretching the scope of this thread, but as this is a programme about the controversy that surrounded the making of a film that was set in the Roman Empire, I think I can just about get away with it. Plus which, I really want to tell you all about it! 'Holy Flying Circus' Country: UK Channel: BBC 4 Date: Wednesday, 19th October (also on the following day at 0225 and 2330) Time: 2100 GMT for 90 mins Episodes: 1 Link: BBC 4 As usual, this one will be on iPlayer from Thursday onwards. if you're living outside this green and pleasant land, you may not be able to get it. if not, and you'd like to see it anyway, let me know and I'll record it for you.

Welcome aboard Maria (if i may be so bold as to call you that). Rest assured you'll be able to do those 'simple things' after just a few contributions. We do have a thread where you could tell us a bit more about yourself, if you'd like to.

Barked? Military men tend to 'bark'.

Had Bambi been killed outright by the impact with the GhostMobile, it would have been removed, drained, and hanging in someone's garage by morning. The village folk of Aquis-of-the-Romans will readily devour the local wildlife. The man who lives at the end of the garden (he's not a hermit, but his garden abutts the end of my garden) has a freezer full of pigeon breasts and rabbit meat.

To clarify: Are you saying that the more links in the supply chain, the higher the ultimate retail price? The assumption being that there is a sort of critical supply line length, beyond which the ultimate retail price is above the value driven by the desirability of the goods.

Even Hannibal's war elephants went for the lanes that opened up in the Roman ranks when they were charged. This was a deliberate Roman tactic during the Battle of Zama.

I use iPod Touch (I have insufficient wealth for iPhone or iPad - one day, maybe), but there is an IP Board app for Android phones - presumably available from the Android Marketplace.

Isn't the IP Board app available on Android? I use it all the time, and sizing is fine.

I shall be in St Albans on 22nd October, and (as usual) would like to take the opportunity to see the local Roman remains. Anyone know what there is to see? What museums to go to? etc.

I'll write to the nineteen-nineties, and let them know.

Yep. I turned my iPod on this morning with a distinct sadness.