caldrail

Erm.. Was that a compliment? Actually I don't really think I'm idealizing the past at all. I spent my youth banging my head against every brick wall in my path. The internet wasn't the tool it is now in any way whatsoever, and for the most part community support for music was paying lip service. Local music is a different ball game now. In my home town, there are at least three professional rehearsal facilities - you didn't see that in 1980! All we could do back then was find a hall we could hire and hope no-one complained. What I haven't described is the sheer frustration of trying to run a local band. The image of a bunch of mates getting together and making music for the fun of it is a ridiculous notion that belongs to american youth fantasies. The reality was you spent ages trying to find someone who could actually play, then watch them fall under the spell of girlfriends or motorbikes as you desperately tried to stop the band falling apart because we weren't playing someones favourite style of music. Don't get me wrong. I did go professional in the end, for three short years, and I do make a lot of tongue-in-cheek comments about my 'rock star' status. It was tough going. Lots of travelling in vans barely held together by rust, late nights, ungrateful promoters and venue owners, and a population of people who wanted to hear something else. But I don't regret it for a moment. I do get people scoffing at my efforts and sometimes disbelief I did anything in the first place, but I was there, they weren't. 'Nuff said. Intellect doesn't come into it.

In some ways, my computers health crisis has proven to be something of a break from my usual routine. Its been a while since I last did any serious work with music but already the temptation is growing. Unfortunately it has been a while since I last practised, and to my chagrin I've realised how lame a player I've become. No matter. The guitar, bass, and keyboard have colonised my front room and my fingers are very, very sore! You know what? I think its time I explored some of the musical forms I had in mind way back in my Red jasper days. I don't like making promises about producing great work and so forth, it always sounds like sour grapes and talentless bluster, so I'll say no more. If you'll excuse me, my masterpiece awaits... ...And the best bit is, our old band singer won't be able to claim the lyrics and melodies are his! Ooops. Did I mention sour grapes? Music Lesson of the Week It's struck me how lucky youngsters are these days. Back when I started rock music, and this was 1976, getting reheasal space and gigs was a monumental effort. Today the young musicians get government assistance, college courses, community gigs, exposure slots on radio. What struck me even more was just how clueless some of these kids are. Is that because I'm some great expert in the business? Well hardly, though obviously I've had some valuable experience, but with all this assistance available how come so few of them actually learn anything?

Nothing complex about slavery at all. Its the ownership of one person by another. It really is that simple. However, if you want to consider the ramifications of it, then the subject becomes more detailed, but 'immense range of seemingly divergent social structures'? The Romans were very clear about what a slave was. A slave, in their eyes, was beneath social class. Property, sometimes described as 'Talking Tools', used for menial tasks as the owner dictated. Wealthy families employed them as domestic servants, industry owners employed them as labourers, individuals employed them for specific skills, entrepeneurs and trainers employed them as violent athletes. Have I missed anything out?

Yesterday I was browsing the net and just for a laugh did a search on my name (the real one, not my UNRV moniker). What's this? A facebook entry? Lets check it out.... Imposter! There's a guy in London pretending to be me! Here's a little clue if you ever get confused. He likes icelandic music, I don't. Thanks to social networking, he's more famous than I am. There is no justice! Or Perhaps There Is... Last night I starting reading a novel - a pleasure I rarely get time to indulge in these days - and from outside in the street the noise of a crowd of revellers became apparent. Nothing unusual there, but in this case, they stayed outside the house. Naturally I got curious and on looking out the window, two 'Street Pastors' in uniform were warding the crowd off. 'Street Pastor'? What on earth is that all about? Not that I'm complaining of course, and it did save me the bother of clearing up discarded litter this morning. Then again, since I made the Council aware of the littering problem, are these 'Street Pastors' the answer? Well, it seems for the time being my castle is guarded. Hey, I might even finish this novel.

It isn't the international co-operation that bothers me, it's the creation of a single european empire. We have our individual nations as a result of all the tussles and bickering you mentioned. Any great empire put together the way this one is, by the back door whether or not its populace want it, is bound to end in tears one day. All these politicians want is power and their name in a history book. What we'll actually get is to bequeath strife and violence to our descendants when local nationalism grows more powerful than central bureacracy.

My computer is not well. He's in a coma. No matter what I do, he refuses to boot up. So today I could no more than take him to hospital. There, the repair technicians are drinking endless cups of coffee trying to figure out what is wrong. A quick visit to the hospital before it closed for business today wasn't encouraging. They wouldn't let me see him, and the receptionist told me that the computer has not yet regained conciousness. He's getting a bit old now I suppose, and deep down you know that one day his circuit boards will go inert for the last time. Sniff. Hang in there old buddy. Finding Things To Do It's incredible how dependent I've gotten on that heavy plastic box. Most of my hobbies now connect with it in some way or other. The second thing I'm missing is the car. Without one my horizons have shrunk alarmingly. The third thing I'm missing is enough income to go out and enjoy myself. The government don't pay me to be happy. Not to worry. There's plenty of things for me to get on with. Maybe even things to go and do. There is a world out there after all. Even if it is pouring with rain all weekend.

Of course not. It didn't disappear. It was inevitably diluted by Germanic influence and local diversity but elements of classic culture continued well into the dark ages. As History is no subject of experimentation, any inference on causality is highly speculative. The effect of decision is what is most important here. NN regards an important event as inevitable, almost determined by fate. Fate is after all the sum of all decisions and natural forces. Without the influential decision that overrides the conflicting ideas of lesser people, without the leadership to impose that decision, the event might not occur at all, or an alternative event might take place because the 'new' leader has different motives. You can speculate if you want, but a study of human behaviour is more useful. For someone who preaches a determinative approach to history, the mention of chaos theory is highly amusing, since that is hardly a proven quality of the universe at all. Absolutely not. A butterfly can only change the world climate if it persuades the other butterflies to assist. Otherwise it's only a flap in the wilderness. Chaos theory is very charming but complete bunkum. It fails to recognise the existing enviroment and it's dynamic influences, nor for that matter momentum, a principle and restrictive quality of physics. Momentum, of a sort, is also apparent in history. Events are changed for better or worse by decision, and only influential people can make influential decisions. Popular causes are still conformal to this view, because the original idea is more powerful than the originators personality, but inevitably, without leadership of some sort, the movement fails. You need a dominant butterfly, willing to take the risk to persude other butterflies to flap alongside him. Why is that risky? Because some butterflies might not like the idea of having to flap their wings at anothers direction. Thus we introduce conflict, which I notice Chaos Theory ignores as well.

Wow Doc, you're dating a viking! I reckon it's those beards that do it. or maybe the horny helmets? Well, I won't intrude, I daresay there's a lot of pillaging to do

The recent sunny weather has been very tempting, but long hikes in the countryside during hot weather can be a trial of endurance over and above lasting the distance. It isn't just sunburn of course. The heat can wear you down to the point where you get into an unhealthy state - and that's just England, never mind the tropics. Not being as young as I once was makes a difference - it really does. Anyhow, today was cloudy. The weather reports had suggested our run of sunny days was coming to an end so I'd already decided to make this my venture into the Wiltshire rainforest.. The sky outside early this morning confirmed it wasn't going to blistery hot. It was however, blisteringly humid. The sun made a few hesitant attempts to break through but by and large it was that damp sticky heat that's even worse than sunshine. I got a few of the usual comments made as I walked through Swindon on my way to the countryside. For the record, I do not look like Ray Mears at all. He's fatter than I am, and blonder. I'm not trying to be Bear Gryll's (though in todays humidity, I might end up having to). I'm not a member of Bravo Two Zero. Come on guys, I'm just out for a hike. Military surplus trousers are relatively cheap and really work against the ravages of undergrowth. It really does come to something when the builders waiting to start work on the terraces being built round the corner from me do no more than stare in amusement. Today it was the taxi drivers who poured scorn. And how much did you earn from my fares today, hmmm? Horse Play Limping home, I decided to pass through the lower side of Chiseldon. There seems to be a small nature reserve being built along the stream that cuts down between the hillside and the old railway embankment. One of those wetland things? Toads, frogs, salamanders? At the moment, it's little more than dry mud, but what a nice wooden walkway. I digress. Further on I turned right into a meadow where horses are often kept. Once before I had sat down in that field for a breather and a refill of water. Two horses cantered over in a fit of inquisitiveness. One stood back, the smaller one looked closely at my rucksack, which I imagine resembled a feeding bag. It had that naughty glint in its eyes. You leave that alone! My warning was ignored. It grabbed hold of my rucksack in it's teeth and almost smiled like a naughty boy. You! Let go! Horses are difficult to catch. Today however there was one horse and its offspring. The gangly foal stood close to its uninterested grazing mother and just as I prepared to take a photograph - it wee'd. How do animals know when to wee? They have this instinctive desire to make photography impossible. The best instance was at Auckland Zoo, New Zealand. The chimps were lounging on a massive climbing frame with boss chimp at the top. He looked around lazily and saw me watching through an observation window. He promptly stood up, gave an evil grin, and wee'd. Want to know why I think human beings are still animals? Reminisence of the Week During my walk earlier, I passed by fields full of yellow Rape and along the grass verges, red Poppy's and purple... ummm... Something or others. It was in that very same meadow at Chiseldon that it occured to me just how many wild flowers were sprouting up. Now I don't take much interest in such things, but for that moment I remembered how those meadows next door to our street used to look before Swindon buried them in housing estates. Dandelions, Buttercups, Daisies - masses of them. Seriously though, it's been forty years since I've last seen meadows like that.

In fairness, he wasn't a nazi, just very annoying. And he did get a mite upset when I wouldn't listen to his eulogies anymore. I've only met two other scotsmen in Swindon. One spoke an incomprehensible language whose origin is lost in the mists of time, the other was an ex-soccer hooligan whose hobby was beating people up. None of them mooned at me. I think Mel Gibson was talking out of his rear.

Swindon as a town always had ambition. Once the railworks closed in the eighties, the town brought in investment and new business and was always pushing to be raised to 'city' status. Back in 1994, I flew over Swindon in a Cessna and was stunned at how much dereliction the town still had, much of it ex-railway land. Since then these brownfield sites have been developed. More developments had been planned. Artists impressions of Swindons Brave New World have been published locally and presented a rosey image of a thriving, clean, happy town, a place of endless shopping malls and strange curving footbridges. Sadly the sites earmarked for these developments remain derelict. The Tented Market still stands and might even reopen as is. The Granville Street site is still a car park. The Old Police Station site is still a fenced off dirt field. The Locarno still looks more like a burned out ruin than the intended italianate piazza. The Old College, where I once studied, is now being demolished on the cheap by the occaisional vandal. Where has all the optimism gone? Alastair Darling, our beleaguered Chancellor (who may soon be replaced according to popular rumour), visited our borough yesterday to speak to Swindon business leaders. That was over quick. What did he say to them? Goodbye? Talking of goodbyes, I notice the artists impression of the renovated Old College site include a cute grove of trees where I currently live. Was that a hint? Scotsman of the Week There is a certain irony about Swindons reversals in fortune. A few years back, I was at a bar and requested a cider from the barmaid. "We ain't got none." She told me sweetly. What? No cider? How's a guy supposed to get drunk around here? All right then, I'll have some cider without the apples. So she poured me a Fosters lager. Having attracted some attention to myself with that display of mock indignation, the scotsman standing next to me proceeded to add me to his best mate list. Before I knew it, he was chatting to me like I'd known him for years. Anyone know who this bloke is? I discovered he was a Scotsman because he told me he'd come from Scotland, despite whatever preconceptions his scottish accent had led me to. Scotland is a great place. Much better than the south. Scottish money buys you more. The scots are much more cosmopot... cosmic... sociable. Hic. No scotsman would ever be rude, never any trouble north of the border. He likes Scotland. Scotland is a great place. Is it? Is it really? Did it improve a lot when you moved to Swindon? I walked away and avoided some trouble south of the border.

So they can clean up the mess after the weekend party probably. And you thought museums were dull...

Yesterday afternoon I was strolling through Lawns in Old Town. There's a stretch of woodland there behind the main road properties which is overgown. There's a marvellous atmosphere in there. Sunlight shaded out in a sort of natural cathedral effect. Where trees have fallen, younger growth has sprouted around the base of old trees making layers of thick foliage. I like to wander in there sometimes. You find all sorts of strange things lurking in that shadowy realm. My curiosity was aroused by a felled tree and gathered firewood. I didn't expect that. It seemed a little odd. The tree trunk was lying there intact, and only that trunk. If this was a thinning operation, why hadn't more trees been felled? I spotted the dirty blue tent first, almost hidden behind the trees near the stone wall. Rubbish strewn at its entrance, leaving me with a bad feeling about this intrusion into quiet woodland. A little further on, and built against the stone wall, was a shanty made of old doors and hardboard. This small community of homeless people had been living quietly the other side of a stone wall from the main entrance to the park. I doubt they'll appreciate my presence, so it was time to move on. Dangerous Moment of the Week Urban life hides many dangers and pitfalls. Sometimes, no matter how streetwise or tough you may be, a situation will develope and you must be ready to meet the challenge. My challenge came yesterday afternoon. I was walking through the park on my way home. The path curves away from the lake and climbs out of sight of the people enjoying the sun by the waters edge. An afro-caribbean couple were sauntering in my direction. He was a muscular guy, tee shirt, baseball cap, striding slowly with his shoulders swaying from side to side, staring at me with supreme confidence. "Ahhh my god my god ahhhhhh!" His partner freaked out. "It's a frog!" "Careful Man." The big guy said to me, ushering me out of the way of the vicious brown frog, a monster at least an inch long from nose to tail. Phew. Thanks people. That was close. Man-eating frogs are rare in Swindon but that one nearly had me there. Look at it... Just staring at me balefully....

An interesting possibility. But since Nero had already played the slave (as charioteer), or the animal (in the arena), would he lament his apparent status or his own 'ability' as traditionally thought? Granted he had fallen from power at that point but why didn't he simply order his slave to dig the grave? Nero may have preferred a life of obscene luxury - he did rush back from Antium to oversee relief efforts in AD64, and given the situation, I doubt he had much access to luxury then. Further, Nero appears to gone to some effort to improve his musicianship. Training with lead weights to improve the lungs and so forth. He could have just slipped the judges a few sestercii or perhaps a nasty glance. Chariot racing wasn't without risk and controlling a ten horse buggy (Suetonius records he did this once at least) couldn't have been an easy task at all. Nero was without doubt an egotist - he was also used to working hard to achieve his ends even if he did have little talent for his endeavours. Please let us see your finished work. I am curious to read it.

Or the religious, given Nero's identification with Apollo.

The Sphinx is something of a mysterious relic. A lion with the head of a man, on guard outside the pyramids. As I understand it, the human head is a later addition, carved from the original to represent the Pharoah Chephren. There's been some debate over its age in recent years as one archaeologist pointed at what seemed to be water erosion on the sides, a sign of rainfall in an area now condemned to dry desert. Certainly the Sahara as a whole is drier than it was in the past, as the discarded millstones dating from the neolithic era suggest, and potentially, the location may not have been arid at all when the Sphinx was ostensibly carved out of the rock. Nowhere are there as many rock paintings in the world as found in the Sahara Desert. I'm going to discount the more fanciful rumours about the Sphinx. Tales of secret chambers and hidden treasure are easily dismissed in a region that once once had a thriving industry in tomb-robbing, and arguably, still does. The wilder assertions I won't even bother to mention. Something has gotten me thinking however. I see from a documentary series on tv that human beings were spreading into Europe 45,000 years ago. Thats based on archaeological finds, and it also seems certain that some form of society existed in Turkey in that era. Indeed, modern wheat descends from that found growing naturally in modern Anatolia. Found there is a religious site of that time, with extraordinary reliefs of aninals and such carved into stone plinths. Evidence then, of an organised society at work and prayer. The interesting thing is that the humans wandering into southeast Europe brought with them some form of religion signified by figurines of lion headed men. An animistic faith of some sort, but a part of me wonders if this isn't related in some way to the Sphinx. Perhaps not chronogically - the Sphinx was carved later - but perhaps a 'cult of the lion' was the inspiration for it? I've always said there may well have been older civilisations we're not aware of. Forget Atlantis, before anyone mentions it, because that is based purely on a story and whatever origin the tale had, there's no evidence. What I'm talking about is an early civilisation, something we would see as quite primitive in many respects but without doubt a precursor to what we usually picture as civilisation. Even as long ago as 8,000 years a small city was built at Catal Huyuk in Turkey, with temples dedicated to animal gods. In this case, the bull is prevalent, a potent symbol that survived into Roman times and beyond if you include modern bull-fighting. Early animistic beliefs revolve around the idea that spirits of these creatures should be respected. This was of course to do with hunting. If the animal spirit was willing, the hunter would be successful, and the sacrifice of an animal for the good of the community was something to be observed with some reverence. Once these people had evolved toward a more settled existence, with less emphasis on hunting, what would they naturally worship? The old animal spirits would remain part of folklore persistently, but perhaps the animals they worshipped would then tend to be those they either admired (as in the bull), or for it's ever present danger (as in the lion, which existed in Europe until Roman times) At any rate, the lion figurines are widely found in southeast Europe during the period of the migrations of Homo Sapiens out of Africa. You can't help but wonder if their religion spread with them.

It's that uncomfortable feeling that you've been used isn't it? Well I can't claim moral superiority. In my younger days I treated some women the same, but then again, some women have treated me that way too. Unfortunately it's how human beings are. That probably won't help you feel any better. Perhaps this might. Smile. Always smile. There's nothing an ex-partner hates more than to see you're happy. There's more to life than sex anyway (good grief, what am I saying?) so you may as well enjoy it. Take pleasure in small things, because the bigger treats are always worth the wait.

Another glorious morning. On my way to the Job Centre I stopped in the park for twenty minutes, watching the various waterfowl doing fowl things on the lake. The black headed geese stayed by the shore, pecking each other for something to do before the breadcrumb crowd arrive. Pidgeons in all shades of grey didn't wait, flapping around and searching the pavement, mystified as to why breadcrumbs hadn't magically appeared. There were no swans today. Those graceful birds are a common sight here usually. A solitary gull circled the lake and periodically snapped something out of the water. Ducks swam about aimlessly. Coots and moorhens sniffed out the opposition. We sometimes get an occaisional crane, but that's a rareity. All this was pretty much what I expected. Then I spotted a single bird out on the water. A grebe. The sloping crest was unmistakable and almost as soon as I saw it, it vanished. That bird is a feathered submarine. Nonetheless, it was a pleasure to see one. Sooner or later, that old woman with the plastic bag will be along, and the birds will be there, each competing to get that last breadcrumb before the other. Apart from the gull that is, serenely disinterested in such lowly food, much preferring the quick dip of a beak into the water and a swift getaway with whatever morsel it caught. If anyone thinks I'm becoming something of an ornithologist, please don't panic. I have noticed lately that nature is all the more interesting when you have time to take an interest in it. You start spotting little details, the individual characters, the daily drama of survival on the lake. Guess I haven't much else to do before the library opens. Ah well. Time to wander down the Job Centre and scramble for that last remaining vacancy. Vacancy of the Week The Job Centre changes every time I go in there now. Each fortnight I sit in the assigned area awaiting the call for a thirty second interview, only to be approached by one of their advisors who tells me politely that I'm sat in the wrong office and could I go across the building. Sigh. Today, and somewhat unusually, the woman across the desk handed me a list of the latest vacancies and asked which would I apply for. This has to be joke. Temporary tradesmen, cleaners, carers, and van drivers. After a grimace I try to be positive and tell her I wasn't entirely interested in any, but if need be, I'll apply for the van driver job. Ah, she says, that's a self employed position (which renders it unclean as far as the government guidelines are concerned) so no joy there. Was that a test? Please don't tell me I'm going to bombarded by offers of driving jobs. I worked for a courier firm once. Thirteen hour shifts, addresses that Marco Polo couldn't find, and endless hours sifting through piles of badly labelled packages in the back of a grimey van. Joy. The things I have to do to earn my daily bread...

A few nights ago, I was astonished at how cold it felt. The night sky was devoid of cloud and the chill very evident. Since then, the high pressure over England has brought hot sunshine with it, just as the weather people predicted. As I write, the open window next to me is letting in a cool draught. Given how hot the sun is this morning, it really does illustrate how powerful sunshine can be. I should actually know this anyway. As a young teenager I went on a school skiing holiday to Austria. Of course we had a great time, but although the air was very cold at altitude and the time of year for snowfall, the sun was always baking hot. I remember seeing young women sunbathing in their bikinis despite the wintery surroundings. So strong was the reflection of sunlight from the snow, that after my return my parents didn't recognise the suntanned me when I got off the coach. Once, as I walked our dog along the old railway line running round the south of Swindon, I became a bit hot in the sun, and although the temperature was below freezing, I felt fully comfortable in a tee shirt. A woman passed me in a fur coat, hands wrapped in a muffler, astonished that I wasn't suffering from hypothermia. I should have remembered all of this. I should have remembered the news about ozone layers and deadly ultraviolet. It's my own fault. It was such a nice day that yesterday I wandered down to the grassy hill south of Croft and indulged in a spot of sunbathing. Only for an hour. Don't want to get sunburnt or anything. Help. I have been lightly toasted, both sides. Playtime of the Week Walking through Croft Wood on the way home I passed a tree that I hadn't noticed before. At first glance it seemed eminently climbable, and since no-one was about... Well, I discovered I'm not as young as I was. Going up wasn't too hard, the almost dead trunk had a convenient ladder of boughs to scale, but I found coing down a little awkward. I just wasn't as sure-footed as I had been as a child (there is of course an easier way to get down, but that's generally painful). Having descended, I suddenly realised there was an audience. Converging pairs of dog walkers looked at me like I was a mental case. A man of his age? Climbing trees? Tut tut tut. All part of growing old disgracefully. After all, that bloke from the Rolling Stones fell off a tree didn't he? At least I can still climb. Just.

The Romans (by the first century AD) believed themselves to be rulers of the wold, given an empire without boundary for all time by the will of the gods, and indeed, masters over nature. Their superiority was celebrated in the arena, with venatorii hunting animals for the edification and delight of the public, but an event often staged with myhtological trappings. A female hunter was portrayed as Diana, and since she would 'triumph' against the beasts, the supernatural world is demonstrated to the crowd. Quite what happened when she failed and got mauled I don't know. Such things would deeply embarass the games editor/sponsor. A fourth century writer (I don't know his name unfortunately) lamented the lack of wild animals. There were 'no more lions in Thessalay'. What he lamented wasn't the ecological loss, but the unavailability of these animals to prove the Roman mastery by ritual combat in the arena. The Bible itself records the attitude of the Romans. "Man and woman are created to be God's regents over this new creation." as Wikipedia puts it. Arguably this is an element of judaic mythos rather than Roman, but we have a latinised Bible to work from, not the judaean. Did Roman emperors see themselves as regents over their new creation? Some did. Nero wanted to recreate Rome as Neropolis. Commodus renamed Rome as Colonia Lucia Annia Commodiana.. The majority were more worldly of course with personal motives. Some wanted no more than to be in charge, some because they wanted to be powerful and wealthy, some because legionaries persuaded them it was a good idea. However, the concept of a Roman emperor as a beneficent guardian of his peoples welfare is something closer to Roman propaganda as practised by various individuals. It certainly has little to do with becoming top dog in a dangerous and cutthroat political arena.

Most egyptian tombs (not all were pyramids) were rifled by robbers soon after they were sealed. Regarding ancient historians - some were good, some weren't. Suetonius is often sneered at as recording gossip and rumour, but that in itself has value. What has to remembered is that these ancient historians were storytellers first and historians second. They wanted their work read so often enlivened the text. Jordanes for instance wrote a history of the Goths, his own ancestors, in AD551. It's actually a summary of another larger work that no longer survives, and Jordanes had only three days to complete it. Whilst the latter half relied on stories existing in his time, the first half is somewhat fanciful. For an extreme example, check out Geoffery of Monmouths Historia Regum Britanniae. I challenge you to keep a straight face.

It's depressing news. South Swindon has seen a 50% increase in unemployment over the last year. It seems then that my search for a job isn't getting any easier. But let's be positive. I did get a letter the other day telling me that my application has been actioned and I'll be hearing from the agency shortly. Huh? My jaw fell into my cornflakes. All my applications for warehousing jobs (such as those I've done for twenty years) have been discarded, and instead they think I'm suitable for working as a Tree Surveyor. I can see the interview now.... - "Ahh. Mr Caldrail, please take a seat... Now, I understand you want to work for us?" Erm... Yes. I have applied for the job. - "Why do want to work for our company?" Oh no.. Tough question... Think of an answer Caldrail... Oh, you know, the girls, the machismo. Doh! - "I see. You do understand that we're looking for someone who knows about trees? I've been looking at your CV. I can't see any mention of anything remotely resembling forestry work." Ahh. Yes. Now... You see, forestry is a lot like warehousing. - "Pardon me? In what way?" Well... A warehouse is dark, full of stuff, and has lots of animals in it.... Help. He's looking at me like I'm an idiot... Latest Trend of the Week Firebombing is the growth industry in Swindon right now. There's been two attacks on houses over the last week. Those molotov cocktails must be coming off the production lines like nothing else. Or maybe not. It seems three blokes just got jail sentences for this sort of thing. Now they're unemployed too.

Just admit it Doc, knobbly tires make your tongue hang out

Or you could say that History is theoretical, archaeology is practical, or other comparisons. In fact, they are both branches of the same coin - study of the past. We human beings like to classify and label, so we do that with fields of study and it's no coincidence that our modern definitions of study emerge from the Victorian period.

You have to wonder at the motives of North Korea. They push their atomic program in directions that raise suspicions of the outside world, fire missiles into the pacific and call it a satellite launch, and now throw away the truce agreed with South Korea after their own cold war that lasted since the 50's. How do you deal with a country that has this mindset? They seem so wrapped up in their own propaganda. Then again, I think the North Korean leadership found out that staying in power during peacetime was too difficult. Much easier to strut around with long ranks of AK's and missile trucks, waving flags and singing "There'll Be Bluebirds Over, The White Cliffs of Pyongyang". I can't help feeling that there's an element of Big Brother here. In true George Orwellian style, North Korea is inventing a tense political situation to frighten and bind its citizens to motivate patriotic sentiment of its citizens in the face of appalling poverty. It's all a big gamble isn't it? Sabre Rattle of the Week Behind me a young man coughed and hid a derisive comment behind his hand. Wow. What a man. Making nasty comments under cover of splutters behind their targets back. Definitely a man to frightened of? Erm... Nope. Go away you silly little boy.