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The other day I sat down to watch a YouTube video about how Constantine the Great impacted history. Might be interesting. The academic started with a broad description of the Roman Empire, basically claiming that Augustus was an undeclared emperor and pretended that Rome was still a Republic. This is the foundation of the 'Standard Model' of Roman imperial government. I have never heard anything sound so false in all my life. Does that academic seriously expect anyone to believe that Augustus was able to fool the Romans into thinking the Republic was still in place for fifty years? In a society based on tradition and obsessed with politics and debate? Is he seriously suggesting nobody noticed? It may seem suprising that in spite of their vigilant Republicanism many members of the Italian governing class were satisfied by what seems to us a fiction. Yet the Romans, although their intense anxiety to preserve everything good in the past made them instinctively averse to open changes, had a fairly impressive record for modifying their institutions when this was necessary. The World Of Rome (Michael Grant) Okay, so why does the Republic seem like a fiction? There was no actual 'fall of the Republic', it doesn't exist in the Roman sources. It's because people like the idea Rome was ruled by emperors. It's been imposed on education since the Middle Ages based on the revisionist later writings of Roman authors and the experience of dealing with the Graeco-Roman Byzantines. Take Augustus himself. Paterculus gushes in praise and reminds us that Augusts was the saviour of the Republic. Yet five hundred years later Zosimus dismisses Augustus as an absolute monarch who abolished the aristocracy. This reflects changes in Roman culture during the imperial era, not the career of Augustus. But not everyone is so blinded by the Standard Model. The overwhelming importance of tradition in Roman society is a warning for the historian tempted to consider Roman history in terms of turning points and separate periods. Persistent obsession with tradition fosters continuity even within a broad framework of change. In other words, while the terms 'Republic' and 'Principate' suggest separation and change, we should expect continuity, mitigating and to an extent denying this change. It is not only that the Republic conditioned the Principate: it also continued into the Principate - The Legacy of the Republic (David C Braund) from The Roman World (Ed. John Wacher) Also, rather than using the word 'birth', we should perhaps speak of emergence, since the features of the Augustan monarchy that were adopted by its successors took shape gradually, bit by bit, within the Republican institutional edifice. For the Principate was not created ex nihilo, but put slowly into position using existing forms, and following no preconceived plan but, rather, added to and modified according to circumstance... - A History of Rome (Le Glay, Voisin, & Le Bohec) I actually go further. It hasn't escaped my attention that the Romans still referred to their state as SPQR, Senatus Populous Que Romans (Senate and People of Rome) right to the end in the west in 476, which is an arbitrary date based on the takeover launched by Odoacer as he became King of Italy. The Senate may have been functionally powerless in the Dominate (the later Roman imperial period) but they still represented traditional authority, and rather than the imperatores (Victorious Generals) simply admit they had become monarchs, they required senatorial acceptance, awards of privilege, and legitimisation. Why would they need to if Rome was the Empire rather than the Republic? Exactly who were they trying to kid? The facts are startlingly obvious if you set aside the much loved but medieval 'Emperor of Rome'. Rome remained a Republic with evolving leadership. The Polybian hybrid government of aristocratic Senate, democratic people, and executive Magistracy had changed to Dominatal Magistracy with Senatorial acceptance - but it was the same nation state. When Augustus stated in his Res Gestae that he was Princeps Senatus he meant it. That was his day job. Yes, he was particularly powerful, but never absolute, and in any case power alone does not make you a monarch. His powers were based on a series of privileges, titles, and honours, not any existing position in Roman society, these powers given him by the Senate, and as an ambitious man of course he used them. However if you notice young Octavian had been invited into the Senate on the promise he would protect the Republic. He did exactly that. Yes, he profitted personally from doing so - he was an elite Roman, of course he did. Augustus even refers to this success as a statesman as the 'fruit of his labours'. If power wasn't his primary objective, as indeed Aurelius Victor claimed it was, then what was it? A prosperous Republic. There is no other answer that fits.

Fame! I'm gonna live forever I'm gonna learn how to fly Those of us scarred and traumatised by the 1980's will no doubt recognise lyrics from that song belonging to a television series which I'm pleased to say I managed to avoid entirely. But what is fame? A reputation? A state of being? A mysterious blessing from fate? Curiously enough, people generally either see it with some degree of religious awe or an excuse for utter contempt. I made the mistake once of describing myself on my CV as 'known worldwide' for one thing or another. At the time I considered that appropriate given the attention I was getting on the internet, though to be truthful I never counted thousands of followers on social websites. I naively thought it would add some colour to my dreary collection of dead end jobs and idle interludes. To my suprise the manager of a certain catering company, interviewing me for some worthless office job, asked "So you think you're famous?" Erm... What? No, I don't think I'm famous. "It says here," He said, looking at my CV before him, "that you're known around the world.". Oh good grief. Well I explained that fame was a measure of attention people paid to you, that it was not an on/off switch, more like shades of grey. I did not use the word 'famous'. If I thought I was, I would've described myself as such. "To me this says you're famous" He snarled, holding up his copy of my CV and pointing at it like it was evidence of criminal behaviour. No point being reasonable with this sort of attitude, so I quite correctly told him my name was mentioned in print and that was good enough for me. I didn't get the job. I did learn to fly eventually. Still working on living forever though experience suggests I might struggle with that one. Audience With King George I seem to be getting into the habit of an annual visit to STEAM, Swindon's modest railway museum. It's not a bad experience, and the dummies in period costume are disturbingly real at first glance. A young mother just ahead of me was fooled, she suddenly realised that the old lady sat at a typewriter behind a desk wasn't quite as alive as she thought. I always enjoy that open door to a small office where the manager is telling his employee that if he's late for work once more there'll be a parting of the ways. I like the way the museum starts with this administration background, moves on to stores, then trades, then a diorama of wartime steam engine manufacture with two female mechanics chatting, until finally you wander into a large space with just Caerphilly Castle on her own, a full on express steam locomotive from those glorious days of God's Wonderful Railway. Looking a little shabby these days, but still a powerful exhibit. Secretly though I have another engine to visit. The first GWR King class, No.6000 George V. Not because I especially like that class of engine, or I admire the technical excellence, or respect the history of that particular locomotive, but because as a little boy I briefly stood on the footplate when it had stopped at Swindon station. George had been retired from mainline service long before. On one particular day though, a special train was due to pull into town and my mother took me and a friend along to see it. By sheer chance, I happened to be standing by the cab when a kindly engine driver kidnapped me to experience that forbidden metal cavern where the crew drove this engine for real. I remember the darkness with the firebox closed, the patina of grime, and a few burnished copper pipes. Truth was, I felt a little intimidated, and didn't have the questions the proud crew were hoping to answer. So they kindly returned me to freedom. Of course George is now somewhat cleaner in the cab, bereft of any coal or water in her tender, her firebox cold and empty. Machines are always female, whatever the name. It's hard to describe how I feel when I pause at the top of the steps to look around the empty cab. Part of me is pleased to be there. Nostalgia for that brief insight into a lost era, sensing that attachment to a piece of history, a complex and powerful machine, built by craftsmen in days gone by. All the same I cannot help feel sad the engine no longer steams, no longer moves. All that noise and motion of George in her heyday gone, possibly forever. Like visiting a disabled relative stifled by the regime of an old people's home, it's time to move on, so I pat the side of the cab wall. Great to see you again George. Audience Waiting Back in those heady days of the eighties, my main concern was striving for fame, to live forever, to learn how to... Well, you know the score. It was a time when music stores were commonplace, where you purchase all manner of instruments, gizmos, and accessories to help you on your way to rock stardom. When did I last play a drumkit in public? Must be more than twenty years now. You would think it would be all forgotten, but a reputation is a hard thing to suppress, whether justified or not, and let's be honest, I've never shied away from reminding peple that I used to be a working musician. I passed a bunch of lads lurking in an alleyway between shops on the high street. I heard them point me out, debate the merits of asking me to fill the vacant spot in their band, until one bright spark observed that I was almost old enough for a bus pass, that irrevocable indicator of old age and disqualilication for entry into rock stardom. My music career died long ago, but it seems fate just won't let me me forget it. Audience of the Week The pubs have closed for the night. So gangs of revellers tramp up and down the road outside on their way to a nightclub or maybe just struggling to get home without falling over. Most laugh, shout, or throw punches at each other. Some however continue to make appraisals of me as they pass. Scorn, anger, and amusement. So it seems everyone has an opinion about me, good or bad. Just the price of fame I guess.