caldrail

The Romans had no archers, so you might might well be talking about phrygian auxillaries. As far as I know, and I don't have an authoriative description, the leather 'helmet hat' did not resemble legionary metal ones nor did it have cheek flaps.

All phalanxes are vulnerable on their flanks, period, that was why cavalry support on the wings of the army was vital. As for the swiss, advancing in columns is not the same as phalanxes (who would usually advance in a line of large blocks, and any other macro-formation is inherently for defensive purposes where phalanxes are concerned, except an encircling one that is). Nor for that matter, were the swiss formations phalanxes, and I seriously doubt the swiss troops used pikes as long as the ancient greeks did. As to why the swiss could advance in coloumn without disaster, it's impossible to answer until more is known about the circumstances. If there's no threat, then yes, of course they could do that. Was that advance intended to come to blows? Bear in mind the following blocks could not present pikes without spearing their friends in front had they contacted the enemy in a melee, and the weight of numbers in an attack of that kind only makes sense if the intention was to make a 'push of pikes', typical of pikemen around the world, and not the wall of sharp points a phalanx would present to the front.

Yesterday I looked out the back window to view the monochrome vista of wintery Swindon. It was all pretty quiet. The garage mechanics had gone home, the yard was silent, and vehicles weren't moving on the streets about. Oho! There he is... Mr Fox, a fine russet furred specimen emerging from under the tall white fence that guards the old college site, where I imagine the Mr Fox has set up home. He trotted up the slope without a care in the world, only breaking into a run to cross the road. Cunning little animal that he is, he knew there wasn't anyone about. Well he seems healthy enough in this cold snap. Enjoying Music Waiting for the library doors to open is a daily ritual observed in silence. We see the same old faces every day but never really get involved in conversation. Well, it is a library after all. This last morning however I heard singing. That tuneless rendition of a song being played in a personal stereo as an older woman sat by the window lost in sympathetic communion with her favourite pop band. An old chap made a jovial comment "Good, isn't she?" Oh? She won't win X-Factor. Need I say more? Knight In Dull Leather "Ummm... You couldn't help me out could you?" She said, leaning out across the dividing wall between our library cubicles, "I don't want to disturb you but I can't print this document... I'm such a technophobe..." Sigh. Here I go again. I mean, is she for real? Since when did any red-blooded male of the species ever feel disturbed when a damsel is in distress? We're programmed by nature to render assistance at all costs. Never fear, maiden, I shall have thy document printed in but a jiffy. Have at you, computer! So I duly got her document to print, and she thanked me in that tone that makes a bloke feel all warm and useful. It's at that point you decide that she really is very pretty and your anatomy is doing strange things. Then she smiles sweetly to inform you that your chances are zilch and her boyfriend is lurking dangerously close. You know, we humans give up too easily sometimes. Any other species would have had a big fight by then. I can see why the knights decided armour was ideal for a well dressed romance.

Prepration of the battlefield was one strategy employed by sneaky commanders who had the initiaitive - and that's another aspect to this - superior leadership. Like any endeavour, there's only a minority of people with talent and charisma to lead an army effectively. History shows that these individuals are far and few between. Regarding the advance of phalanxi and their apparent safety - I would argue that had nothing to do with the phalanx at all, which is pretty well as vulnerable as can be from the flanks. It had more to do with mutual support and cavalry on the flanks, as that's generally what the ancient armies did in battle - face off with cavalry on the flanks to win a primary advantage. There is an interesting battle (Leuctra, 371BC) in which the Thebans and Spartans did bloody battle. The Spartans, whose cavalry was admittedly a little lacklustre, lined up with cavalry in front, phalanxes behind. The Thebans advanced with cavalry (always face horsemen with horsemen on the ancient battlefield! - Caldrails Tips For Generalship No1) and the phalanxes right flank refused (diagonal with the right hand side trailing). Result? The Theban cavalry got out through the 'open door', the Spartan cavalry didn't, and the Thebans won convincingly.

It always happens when it snows. I get this uncontrollable urge to wander further afield. Okay, that doesn't make me Ranulph Caldrail, but trudging through snow is pretty tiring you know. First stop of the day was at the park round the corner from where I live. You know, I was always taught that birds fly south for the winter, but not these hardy waterfowl, especially since they've cottoned on that we humans feel sorry for them and supply all their breadcrumb needs. All they have to do is swarm around and make lots of birdie noises. Sounds familiar. The thing is though that now we have a situation where there are more birds in the park in winter than there is in summer. How thoughtless could these birds be? Have they not realised that old people are using their own rations to feed them? I blame our politicians for allowing too much immigration. The second stop was on the hillside of Lawns Meadow. The snow here was fresh and crunched beneath my feet in a very satisifying way. I think it must be a primeval instinct. We like snow because it reminds us of our ice age past. I'm sure they would have had a great time if they'd had central heating and meat packages that didn't fight back. Two of their descendants were snowboarding. In Swindon? Is that allowed? Surely dangerous sports have been banned in civilisation? It always looked a bit more exciting on television. Third stop of the day was on the other side of the lakes. Taking advantage of the deep snow a chap was building an igloo for his kids and doing a fine job of it. Way cool. I did ask him if he had planning permission for his new dwelling but his ice age instincts were in full flow and in true anarchist style merely shrugged. It turned out that he was a mechanical engineer by trade. It showed. Using a plastic lunch box he was turning out snow bricks very industriously. I'm suprised he didn't automate the process. Anyhow, his young daughter stood in front of me and said "You can help if you like." Awwww.... Swee-eee-eeet.... But no. I don't want all the credit for the inevitable collapse. I've got multi-national companies doing that already. Fourth stop of the day was passing a woman dragging her kids along on a sledge. Good grief woman, show some self respect. I quipped that it beat pushing a pram. She agreed, and added that she was supposed to be at the gym but for the weather. That's a good exuse. Sadly, my fifth stop of the day was by the main road when a van driver (always the villains) decided that driving through the slush piled at the side of the road is a jolly good wheeze, especially when a pedestrian gets plastered in biege sludge. Hello One the librarians said hello to me when I came in yesterday morning. Heck. That's the first time she's acknowledged my physical presence in the last five years. In my world that's getting dangerously popular. If I carry on like this I'll end up with a social life. Driver of the Week This accolade would have gone to that dunce who slushed me earlier, but no, it's the turn of a guy coming down the hill when I went across the road for a kebab. Despite the cold temperatures and the wet if not slushy road surface, he insisted on driving at fifty miles an hour. I hope he intends stopping at the junction at the bottom of the hill. It'll be the first time I've seen braking parachutes and retro-rockets deployed. Huh? How did he manage to stop? Does he have some sort of sci-fi geo-magnetic motion positioning? Nah, that's not a German luxury car... Or is he a christian? I ought to be impressed, but... Come to think of it, now the roads are a sort of dark brown asphalt, everyones driving around quickly again. That didn't take long did it?

Provided the cavalry don't outflank them. Otherwise a phalanx is in deep trouble.

The treatment of house slaves varied enormously depending on the character of the owner. Many were simply there, to be used as a convenience, and woe betide them if they didn't serve as expected, but I accept that others were allowed to have partners, run businesses for their owners, and even live quite comfortably. As for assuming new identities, that's suprisingly difficult outside of our anonymous modern times, mostly because your neighbours will soon know all about you, and if your behaviour is at odds with your assumed station, someone will notice. A new face in a settlement is bound to attract attention.

Entirely plausible, but bear in mind these re-enactors weren't in fear of their lives and in real combat situations (however many bruises they suffered ). To deliberately place your shield like that with your attention diverted by the risk and chaos (not to mention noise) of the fight going on around you requires a cool head. In fact, as long as you remember that half of combat is psychology, there's all sorts of differing emphasis in warfare, such as the containment of the legions at Adrianople, with Goths forcing them to defend against missiles thrown at their crowd of disorganised men, suffering occaisional sallies by gothic swordsmen, unable to any more than stand there and take it. I also note there are hints about the realities of warfare made by ancient writers - Marcellinus talks about the experience of being on the battlefield of Adrianople (and a terrible experience it must have been, his account carries a lot of conviction). The greeks too apparently mention the fear troops feel immediately before that clash of weapons, soiling themselves and so on, even describing how one unit was so crushed together in mutual nervousness and protection that one dead soldier remained standing upright among them.

My second battle has been fought. I went to the bank to have my title changed and curiously enough, the somewhat bored bank clerk merely sighed, dismissed my certificates and patents with "Yeah I've seen it" and promptly did the necessary changes on the screen. That was painless, though he wasn't any more impressed than anyone else. Guess he sees it all the time... Now it didn't go all my own way. There's a load of notices and pamphlets at our local council that tell us they're keen on public service. Well it certainly looks encouraging, and I notice visiting VIP's get the red carpet, but us claimants? Stand over there ruffian.... Wait yer turn.... You! Get back into line!... Right, yo! That cubicle over there.... I'm sorry sir, but the rules say we can't do that.... Don't these people know I'm a VIC? (Very Important Claimant). Sigh. So it's back home to collect all the available evidence, stomp back inside in a right foul mood, and push my way through their officious and obstructive behaviour. Our Council... Keeping plebs in place since 1896. Hang on a minute.... Weather of the Week It just isn't giving up. With warmer temperatures and rain due to cross the country, we've had snow overnight. Quite a fall too, inches of it.

Leafing through the info I have (it isn't much) I discover the phrygian style floppy hat Nephele described was quite common in lower classes regardless of freedman status, and was also worn by off duty legionaries. Turbans. Nope, I'm serious. Romans, even the west, discovered that wrapping cloth around the head kept it warm, and this was another feature of the late empire, although it would have looked like a scruffy headsock rather than the magnificent bundles the turks are famous for. Leather hats. There's a mention of leather hats shaped like helmets worn instead of the metal variety, and only for socialising or whatever. Vegetius confirms that hats had become the thing for the well dressed pleb (though he does confuse the issue by implying they were worn in earlier periods for which there is little archaeological evidence.

The first battle has taken place and if I were honest, I didn't do too well. I'd warned my claims advisor that I was upgrading to a noble title, a statement she treated with polite dismissal, and when she called me Mister Caldrail - Well, I was duty bound to put her straight. Unfortunately, she isn't impressed, and rather pointedly refused to change it unless I provided evidence. I duly returned an hour later with the necessary documentation and guess what? She was busy. Sounds to me like a certain lady needs a right royal kick up the bottom. I also suspect this won't be the last time I encounter this sort of resistance. There's a tendency for people to regard up and mobile people (Me? Has anyone noticed I'm unemployed?) as upstarts who really ought to know their place. You know, that's the entire reason I got the title in the first place, to stick a finger in the face of the moral majority. Not suprisingly, I'm going to get a few in my face too. What's new? New Sound My new neighbour has moved in downstairs. A mysterious, anonymous, unseen sort of person, but one with a keen desire to drill holes in the wall. So last evening he began drilling with gusto, obviously hoping to find oil or perhaps a small space on the wall large enough to hang something else. Aaargh! What a racket! Well, I have noise making machinery too. So it's on with the heavy metal CD's and up the volume. These go up to eleven... Frozen Britain Update Nope. Given Up. Don't care. It's cold and slippery - what else do you need to know?

In the late empire, and I suspect more to do with the eastern half, there was a hat rather like a soft fez. Sometimes worn by off-duty legionaries.

For those unaware of the panic in Britain, we've been increasingly concerned about gas and road salt. With only six days of gas supply left, Frozen Britain came perilously close to actually happening. Except of course the government have denied a problem exists. That's original. Road salt though is also getting scarce, so surfaces have been prioritised with regard to need. Many roads and pavements no longer qualify, and everything gets 25% less scattered on top. In order to meet this shortage, and also to look like they were actually doing something in government except enjoying it, the government ordered foreign supplies and diverted some intended for Germany. But it could have been embarrasing. It seems the snow we'd been expecting from Siberia didn't turn up. Luckily fate intervened and instead we got some more snow from the Atlantic. Phew. That was close. Someone could have gotten fired from their jobs. Sunday's mini-blizzard lasted just about until I'd finished writing and posting my last blog entry, then stopped completely. It started again late last night, this time a proper old fashioned flakey snowfall, and immediately that odd silence you get in urban areas when the snow starts descended upon us. It's last orders in the pubs and no-one is wandering up and down the street in noisy singing contests. Oh hang on, it stopped again. That was ten minutes worth of snow. Looks like that's being rationed out as well. Can't See, Can't Think Thing is though now the snow has been swept aside, crushed under foot and wheel, or even melted away here and there, the roads are now a uniform brown mushy colour and white lines invisible. So naturally those road users not acquainted with the layouts are making some very dodgy decisions. One young lady pulled out of a car park from the one way access the wrong direction, and drove across a junction to reach her desired exit without bothering with little details like obeying the circular traffic flow. Now there's a lady who likes to be direct. That said, at least there wasn't any risk of collision, unlike the bicycle rider I saw from my vantage point in the library, who rode across oncoming traffic without a care in the world. Added to that the natural desire of motorists to treat the road as their own personal property and not stop for anything other than a red light regardless of what the Highway Code says (and how many drivers in Britain ever read that after they passed their test?), you have a free for all. On the plus side, I have seen some very chivalrous behaviour from drivers. Apart from a BMW driver who clearly decided that pedestrians shouldn't cross the road without permission from him. Seeing me cross the slushy and slippery road ahead of him as he accelerated out of a car park, he sped forward and demanded I get out of his way with his horn. Since I couldn't see a policeman, I made my displeasure known. Especially since he had to wait for traffic to get out onto the main road.

Coincidentially I've been reading accounts of the experiments the re-enactment group Comitatus made concerning cavalry vs infantry. The problem the infantry have is that besides the frightening aspect of facing oncoming horses (and I can confirm personally, it can be seriously hair-raising), the constant need to raise a shield high to defend themselves is tiring, thus we can see a major advantage of being on a horse provided the infantry is on the defensive and not sticking spears at them. Add to that the problems of secure footing on a field, possibly muddy or slippery with blood, strewn with discarded articles and bodies. The cavalry have a real possibility of breaking into a formation and causing havoc if the infantty don't stay firm. As regards the infantry, yes, if they present a shield wall they might survive the experience relatively unharmed. From the Strategikon of Maurice in the 6th century we have two formations based on the shield for protection, the famous mobile testudo and the static double row of shields call the Foulkon. In both cases, the exhaustion of maintaining those stances, the lack of observation, and the backlash of shields being hit by heavy blows and causing the soldiers own shield to clout him makes things a little more realistic. Also, the infantry, despite shields massed and locked in front of them, are still likely to suffer to minor injuries to feet and lower legs, thus the front of the formation can, in some circumstances, weaken enough for a horse to push inside. Experiments have shown that two infantry units armed with spears have a natural tendency not to stay apart and fight one on one in true Hollywood fashion, but to engage in 'push-of-spears', which is an aggressive scrum for dominance. Apparently it can only take a few men to pentrate the other line to force a collapse or retreat, so imagine what a horse could do. The upshot of this is that a charge into a formation isn't necessary nor desirable even if achievable. Horses did attack at the gallop - but only against other horse riders and always in open order to allow both sides to pass each other, thus preventing collisions which were harmful to both sides. PS - before anyone brings up the point, the 'push-of-spears' habit of soldiers on ancient battlefields is essentially the same as combat with classic Roman legions armed with gladius and scutum. They close on their enemy, push and shove, thrusting whenever the opportunity exists. It really wasn't much different.

Frozen Britain now seems to be a communal obsession. Tv news devotes nearly half the program to features of people suffering the effects of actual winter conditions. It sort of gives you a warm feeling toknow that however bad it gets, the next county has it worse. The trouble is though these weather reports are really not that reliable. A couple of days ago they showed blankets of snowfall about to drop on southern England. With typical British time-keeping, it might be a day late. Checking the weather for any sign of a let-up I saw the weather-man tell me about a cold wind pushing in from the continent, and warning the chill factor was going to make it feel much colder than it already was. Yeah, whatever. I was out there that morning and it was almost balmy. Cold wind. Pfah! I popped out early evening and what did I find? Yep. The weatherman was right.That was seriously not warm! Still waiting for the promised snowfall though... Ask And Ye Shall Find No, I'm not waiting anymore. Looking out the window I see a veritable blizzard going on. I missed that walking across Swindon an hour earlier. It's that 'dusty' snow again rather than classic flakes, caused by humid air meeting cold winds. There. See? I have been listening after all. Selling Skis Popping in to my local supermarket I grabbed what I needed and made for the check-out. I've been using this supermarket for seven years now and you'd think I 'd know everyone there by now, but modern life isn't quite like that. Nonetheless, I decided to be sociable and talk to the bored lady making beeping noises with my shopping. She saw me fumbling with gloves and money hidden away in my pocket. She asked whether it was cold outside. Pardon? Cold? Coming from a supermarket whose staff complain about the col during Summer? Erm... Yes it is cold... Do you sell skis by any chance? My feeble joke fell on deaf ears and she advised me that a ski shop was located in Old Town. Thank you dear. Sold out of humour I see. Doors of the Week This award definitely goes to those cantankerous portals belonging to the library. You know those infra-red motion sensor things that operate doors? Usually they open sesame no problem at all (much to the chagrin of a local corner shop whose doors open and close every time a pedestrian wanders past on the street - Now there's a shop whose staff are entitled to complain about the cold). At the library though the doors open automatically when they feel like it. On my way out I passed an old couple who seemed a bit confused as to why the library doors were so slow to allow entry. I wouldn't stay in there too long, I warned them, or you'll never get out again. They chuckled politely, but I think they thought I really was joking.

Ups and downs

I see a 41 year old ex-soldier at Sandhurst has had sex with a precocious 13 year old girl despite being warned by a female officer that the girl was dangerous. He's gotten off a harsh 14 year jail sentence because it turns out the youngster 'made all the running'. Well maybe she did, but the bloke still went for it didn't he? It takes two after all. Sorry, but seducted or not, the man is old enough to know better. In a sense I do sympathise because I've encountered younger girls who fancy an attempt at hooking an older man, something I've avoided like the plague both to remain free of legal entanglements, eighteen year child support payments, and if I were honest, headaches. Nonetheless this man is guilty. I'm sorry, he just is. And the judge thought so too, leaving him with a suspended sentence for his lack of restraint. I'm definitely not envious. Naughty Scanners With a resurgence in aircraft hijacking and bombing it isn't suprising that efforts are being made to deal with the very real threat to health and sfety in the skies. The American response is understandable if none too original, as they decide to put more people on board airliners with guns. Great. I might be paying hundreds of pounds to sit in a transatlantic shooting alley at some point. The British response is to take on board new technology that allows discreet searching with strange space ray scanners. All very X-files and James Bond, but at least there;'s a practical point. Unfortunately the scanners are so good that you're left in no doubt about the subject being scanned, and someone has brought up the issue that these scanners infringe laws concerning sex and privacy. Can I accept the risk of people scrutinising my physical form, possibly recording images for posting on the internet for the world worlds entertainment? I'd have to say it's a lot less risky than running the gauntlet of religious zealots intent on bagging seven hundred virgins in the afterlife by blowing me up. Mind you, since the terrorists manhood gets blown up in the process, methinks maybe his seven hundred virgins aren't going to be too impressed. So I'm not envious on this point, either. Cultural Dress Walking home through Swindons own moslem ghetto I notice a variety of cultural influences. For the most part, these people are vaguely westernised if somewhat distinctive. The Turkish community in particular all seem identical and I cabn't help wondering if it's one humungous family owning the street. That said, I passed a pair of moslem girls in traditional garb that left only the eyes visible. Now, if they choose to follow that tradition as opposed to their menfolk demanding it, then I have no issue over it. But it all seems so.. What's the word?... Penal. Anyway the two girls seemed none to concerned at their reclusive lifestyle and jabbered away at each other in typical westernised gossip mode. No, I'm still not envious. And that, it seems, is the point of hiding women in body socks. I am left curious though... Are these women seductive sirens of supernatural beauty? Or just too embarrasing to be seen in public? Oh hang, I mustn't criticise. I might be blown up in someone's quest to obtain post anhiliation sex. She's Back Again That irritating irish woman is in the library again. She likes to have conversations, which isn't a crime, but she also likes to talk very loudly. For her a discussioin is something to savoured with a loudhailer. Imagine an upper class irish accent spoken very slowly at full volume? It just sets your teeth on edge. Just In Case Now you might be wondering if complete normality has return ed to Swindon. Nope, it's still cold, though today we're blessed with another sunny day. Last year when we had a snow fall we got glassy layer of ice across the town for our trouble, but this year it just hasn't happened, a result of the continued cold temperatures and lack of a thaw. But don't breath again, for the siberian weather isn't finished yet. Apparently there's another belt of snow preparing to mount an aerial invasion of the southern counties. So it looks like Yorkshire will just have to tolerate not being the toughest hardest hit county in Britain right now. Sorry about that.

Last night was definitely the coldest I can remember. According to the weather report it went down to around -7 degrees centigrade. Thats pretty balmy weather if you hail from Russia or Scandanavia, but for us middle Englanders, it's pretty darn cold! The contractors working downstairs seemed a little subdued this morning, and I suppose the thought of having to work to keep warm wasn't pleasing them at all. Anyway, the sound of their radio playing came through the floorboards of this old house and that meant it was time to get up and... Ye gods! This is cold! A quick burst of speed to the bathroom... ah... ah... ah... Cold... And the taps aren't working. Uh oh. Once the gas heater was back to full blast the pipes provided fresh clean water again. Phew! That's the closest I've come to frozen pipes ever. So rest assured I am still washed and unsmelly. Even if I do look like I've been dragged through a hedge all night. Back To Normality? Swindon is still oddly quiet. I notice the buses are running this morning and driving round in three's now there's no-one to get on them. A news report last said that Sainsbury's, a supermarket chain here in Blighty, are refusing to pay any staff who don't turn up for work because of the weather. I can understand their viewpoint but naturally the union is up in arms because their members have been deprived of their human right to stay in bed when it's cold. The funny thing is, every time I pop down to Sainsbury's for my daily bread and water, the ladies on the tills always complain about how cold it is, even with a moderate and comfortable temperature. I know of people (always female) who leave the central heating on all year. You know, the problem isn't that it's actually cold, but that the modern cossetted person doesn't tolerate any discomfort any more. I can talk. The library is warm and cosy with all these computers pouring out climate changing waste heat, and I'm in no hurry to pop back home to my cold refuge against the world. How on earth did they cope in the ice ages? Naah, don't feel like hunting mammoths today, it's too effing freezing. Now I know why the Neanderthals died out. They didn't invent the trade union.

Nice to see you active again Doc. But don't worry about not being a party animal anymore. Fun is what you make of life with a smile (one of those glorious bits of hedonistic philosophy that probably doesn't mean anything but who cares when you're having a laugh? )

So true!

As always the weather has dominated my British sensibilities. Our ever changing climate has been a bit different to the one predicted by long range forecasts during the last year, which told us of 'barbeque summers and mild winters'. Ho ho ho. The culprit has been a static zone of high pressure keeping the warm jetstream from reaching our shores. I think we forget that Britain is on the same latitude as Labrador, and only that jetstream, a high altitude wind from the Carribean, keeps Britain from freezing in the Siberian temperatures we ought to be getting. (actually I should add that the ocean currents also help, but don't seem to be right now!) Of course we're complaining about the cold. It is, literally, freezing here, but for the most part still quite mild and little less than -2 or -3 degrees C. Scotland has recorded a record low of -18 or so, and with the big freeze threatening to continue, they're now expecting a temperature of -20 degrees to come. Down south (and I notice the traditional Yorkshire scorn for us southern softies) things aren't quite that cold but then it's a lot colder than we're used to at this time of year. Brrrr-rr-rrr-rr-rr-rrr. Yesterdays snow was unusual. In fact, it wasn't all that bad, coming down in spurts of wintery deluge but returning to a light spray of 'dusty' snow for much of the day, although I notice my car has collected a raft of snow on top of it seven or eight inches thick. For the most part everything else has now been trampled to a thin icy layer of grey slush, made worse by the bright cloudless morning freezing it solid. The sun is shining out there but you just know the same old pavements are going to be slippery. That said, the side road opposite my home is closed. The steep gradient is just too much for traffic to cope with in these conditions. It must be said. Swindon has been very quiet these last two days, and obviously the weather has meant people are finding it difficult to come and go, and I overheard one lady yesterday lunchtime busy conversing on her mobile phone that the buses were stopping services at 2pm. Haven't seen any moving this morning either. Due To Bad Weather As it turned out I was tipped off that the Heritage Library (not the main one that I normally inhabit, but the national institution based in the old railworks) had information I was looking for. So I dutifully tramped off through the snow, running the gauntlet of kids throwing snowballs and 4x4 drivers spraying slush at everyone to announce the passing of their superior vehicles. Thanks mate. On arrival the security guard grimaced at my somewhat dishevelled appearance (Aww come on, it's winter out there. Have you seen those 4x4 drivers?) and informed me the library was shut today. Snow stopped play? This time snow stopped reading too. That says it all.

Cool.

It's snowing! Lots of snowing! It's been snowing since midnight last night. This can't be happening, it isn't possible, Swindon doesn't get snow. Hang on a moment, I'll look out the window, just to make sure I'm not imagining it... It's snowing! Everything is white. It's a complete snow fest in Swindon... Somebody stop the snow! Meanwhile, back at the world Oh, lot's of things going on. Gordon Brown is facing a possible coup from his MP's, a flashy powerboat used by demonstrators got sliced in two by kamikaze whhale hunters, Yemeni police caught an Al Qaeda chief, MP George Galloway caught in an Egyptian police riot, and lots of other stuff. And I don't care... Because it's snowing!

Of late the news in Britain has focused on the market town of Wootton Basset, just a few miles down the road from I live, which has the burden of being the nearest habitation to Lyneham Airbase. That's where our fallen soldiers are returning to home shores from foreign entanglements like Afghanistan. So with the recent jingoism to whip up public support for the campaign the town is regularly featured as lining up to watch funeral corteges crawling past. The place has become synonymous with observing respect for servicemen dying in the line of duty (whether they like it or not, and I gather not all townsfolk are overly happy with the news coverage). Now it's become a hot potato. So complete has the identification with this solemn spectacle become that a radical moslem group wants to make a protest march through the town against the war in Afghanistan, to the fury of the establishment. Two things might be said. Firstly, what did the establishment expect? Not everyone in Britain wants a war in Afghanistan, for various reasons, and the constant reference to Wootton Basset was bound to attract a response sooner or later. Secondly, this moslem group represents a bunch of people who live, work, and claim dole money in this country, enjoy it's relatively benign culture and prosperity, yet still despise what the nation stands for. For them, it's a chance to grin mischieviously as they parade through a town sanctified by what amounts to British media propaganda and display their own messages of hatred and disrespect. The moslem community in Britain is quick to distance itself from such hotheaded behaviour, with good reason, but are they quick to influence this group and put down an ugly demonstration before the authorities are forced to do so publicly? The Nevada Triangle Last night I started watching a tv program about a phenomenon known as the Nevada Triangle. It's an area of the Sierra Nevada mountains and stretching from Reno to Las Vegas. There have been an enormous number of aeroplane crashes in the area. Hundreds of them, and due to the difficult terrain, many of those crash sites remain undiscovered. As the program discussed the huge number of lost aeroplanes and speculated about the close proximity of Area 51, the legendary military base so steeped in UFO folklore, I sighed and thought I was going to get the usual conspiracy theories. I was mistaken. The talking heads dismissed military or alien intervention. The program then focused on the fate of Steve Fosset, the very same aerial adventurer who went for records with Richard Branson, and who disappeared in the Triangle in 2007, sparking one of the biggest search and rescue missions in American history, and one that ultimately failed to find him. Why did he crash? My thoughts went back to when I flew in New Zealand back in 1995. Southeast of Ardmore, the airfield I was flying from, is a volcano, albeit one that's no longer that active anymore and forms part of a nature reserve. On one particular day I was with some family members in a Cessna 172, cruising around the bay north of the Thames Estuary between the Coromandel Peninsula and that wooded mountain. As I headed north adjacent to the mountain, I became aware the aeroplane was descending. Okay, I was still above three thousand feet and in no immediate danger, but it was an uncomfortable sensation knowing that despite full power and a climb attitude, the aeroplane wasn't gaining height. Once past the mountain we were okay again. The problem was that we were in the lee of that mountain, and had flown through descending air. That was a lesson about mountain flying I haven't forgotten. So when this tv documentary started asking why Steve Fosset had crashed, I immediately thought of airflow over terrain. Mountains and wind are a dodgy combination. I was right. The conclusion of the experts was that Steve Fosset had encountered difficult airflow and had been forced down like so many others in the Nevada Triangle. Even expert pilots fall victim to this invisible hazard. So do some of the inexperienced ones to a greater or lesser degree. I just happened to fly out of it in one piece. The Lurve God Apparently the actor Warren Beatty claims to have had sex with 12,775 women apart from quickies, stolen kisses, and other minor encounters with the opposite sex. Wow. I'm impressed. That's something like 319 women a year (plus a dwarf). I also notice they don't stick around. I wonder if Mr Beatty, for all his professed sexual conquests, is nothing more than a very lonely man. If so, he has only himself to blame. Fight! Fight! Fight! Sooner or later the law will demand a general election this year. All sides are sniping at the other and proclaiming they have all the answers. Well, I've heard it all before, and it goes with the democratic territory that we get the hard sell when it matters. What fascinated me however was a recent interview with Gordon Brown. He claimed he was a fighter. That he'd always fought for what he got. That's all well and good Gordon, but if you're such a fighter, why are you resisting the chance to win a general election? Again? Truth is, you don't want that fight at all. Snowfall of the Week? A special thank you to whoever laid all that road salt on the pavement adjacent to the Old College car park. Nice to see that health and safety on the sidewalks happens in as little time as two weeks in this country. Mind you, it seems it might be a little ineffective. As I write this, the weather report warns of heavy snow across the region. I was a child when Swindon last got heavy snow. Are we going to be buried in snow drifts this winter? On my way to the library I noticed one or two flakes, but so far the expected inundation hasn't arrived. The credibility of the weather people rests on this afternoon! We shall see.

The B29 was such a costly aeroplane that they designed another, the B32 Dominator, to be its understudy in case the '29 was a huge costly white elephant like most big bomber projects. Remember the B19? Huge. Simply huge. But only one built for flight testing and later used as a transport. XB19... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douglas_XB-19 B32... http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/B-32_Dominator