caldrail

Once again we see how fragile people and their creations can be against forces of nature. I've only slept through one minor earthquake in my life, and that harmed one or two people. Nothing like the scale of loss in Italy recently. I too worry about this, but for other reasons. Tectonic movement and the volcanic activity it generates is an on-going process. Apparently the L'Aquila quake is the result of the Spinal Italian Fault opening. Now I'm not an expert geologist at all, but this seems to me to indicate that there's gouing to be fresh magma under it. How long will be before Vesuvius blows it's top again? There are increasing worries about the safety of Naples. Earthquakes are portents of angry gods are they not? I hope I'm wrong.

I have seen the shape of things to come. At the Geneva Motor Show, the Royal College of Arts have unveiled ambulances that will be rushing to our aid in as little as four years from now - don't take that literally. Now get this. One of them has ejector seats to speed paramedics to your side. What happens if the patient is in a tunnel? Does the paramedic get issued with a helmet? Another design has a fold out detachable medical center. Isn't that dead cool? Once the paramedics have landed and folded away their chutes, they all get together and open it out. "Left.. Left.. Gently... Woah! Back! Back!... Ok, Fred, lift it this way..." No, seriously, it's a brilliant idea. Retired medics will find jobs waiting for them in the furniture removals business. At least that way they'll know what to do when the furniture owners have heart attacks. Now that the government is strapped for cash, I start to understand why. Having sponsored the idiots who dreamt up these Heath Robinson contraptions, perhaps they might consider actually sponsoring the Health Service like wot they say they do. Leave the artists to wallow in their own ego's. Job Opportunity I have just applied to become Mayor of Swindon. Yes, I'll say that again. I have just applied to become Mayor of Swindon. Well someone has to sort this mess out, and if Boris Johnson can become Mayor of London I feel fully qualified to run my own home town. Updates to my political career will be posted as they arrive.... Hello? Dog of the Week Sophie - well done girl! An australian cattle dog was washed overboard on a sailing trip and swam for five miles to safety on an uninhabited island. Discovered four months after she was given up for dead by Rangers checking up on the islands now smaller population of goats, she's been returned to her owners. You just have to smile. I suspect now she's gone the goats are happier too.

What? Of band I was in? Good grief, the official discography of Red Jasper doesn't even list the releases I was part of. The first three... Englands Green & Pleasant Land Pull That Thumb Sting in the Tale ... are all collectors items and therefore too priceless to even consider distribution to the public. There is also the question of maintaining public order, as scenes of hero worship outside my home (which is on a busy street undergoing gas pipe repair) isn't going to please the local authorities. So it looks like my copies are hermitically sealed for future generations. One day... maybe tomorrow, maybe a thousand years from now... people will play my records and say... Switch it off! The player canna take it Captain! She's breaking up!....

Since my day on the Marlborough Downs I've been delving into the local records for Roman period trivia concerning that area, and I've turned up a suprise. In four sites in North Wiltshire, the remains of bitumous coal have been found dated to that period. Now it's thought the Romans mined coal in Benwell, Northumberland, but that's a heck of a long way to get it, two hundred miles or more. Sources closer to home might be the Forest of Dean or Somerset, but as far as I know there's no indentifiable Roman period coal mining there. The strange thing is why they needed it. The Downs weren't short of timber back then, and indeed, english villas are thought to had their homes heated from wood burning furnaces. Now if they went to the trouble of mioning and transporting this stuff, they did so for a reason. I must admit, apart from the obvious (and superfluous) use of burning for heating homes, what else could coal be used for. I have thought that perhaps the coal was used for a specialist purpose, such as forgework or such, but does coal have any significant advantage there?

It's not that simple in my view. There have always been human beings who make sure they don't disturb the enviroment and those who frankly wouldn't care until it's time to save their own necks. Some native american tribes used to place animal skulls on trees, to show the area had been hunted and as a mark of respect to the animal spirit - so there would be food there again later, and not simply hunted and eaten. Then again, their ancestors have often been accused of killing off the mammoth by overhunting (and to be fair, by indirect means too). It is known that some plains tribes had a habit of stampeding herds off a cliff rather than hunt as such. I imagine they found out how quickly they killed off the local food supply. Just because one greek had this idea to preserve enough food stocks for the future doesn't mean greek culture was all about limits. That seems an artificial concept to me and one I doubt the greeks were concerned with, given how unrestrained they were in competitions and such. After all, the Romans inherited much of greek culture and they hardly understood what limits meant. So.. was it culture? Or the mindset of few within it?

Camping? Thats an interesting suggestion. Remember we must all bring two wooden stakes to build a palisade, so spades, wickerwork baskets, and bagsee the job of standing there surveying the site. Sorry. Sense of humour got the better of me there. Camping is an idea but more vulnerable to the vagaries of British weather.

Good point K.

Entertainment is so important to the modern world isn't it? One word from a publicist, and thousands gather teary eyed to say goodbye to someone they probably never had a good word for. I shall never forget the scenes I saw on television regarding Princes Di. Remember her? Yes, I thought you'd forgotten. The thing with entertainers, or any celebrity for that matter, is that they loom ever larger in our conciousness thanks to the media. Love or loathe them, a part of our life dies with them, and I suspect it's the loss of the pseudo-family/friend image we actually feel grief over. A few days ago, I saw a news report about Hip Hop music. Apparently it's thirty years old or something. Is that supposed to be something I'm grateful for? There were two interviewees. One was a Radio One DJ who seemed oddly devoid of any character. His praise of Hip Hop bordered on the ridiculous. Apparently it's a form of music that has inspired me and changed me forever. I have to say the only thing I've noticed is a headache and an overwhelming urge to change the disc. The second interviewee had similar things to say, but this particular woman told us that Hip Hop was not just music. It was fashion, expression, an entire movement taking over the world. She then gave Obama credit for inspiring Hip Hop musicians. Oh? I'd never heard of Obama before someone decided to make him a presidential candidate. I don't think that was thirty years ago. Naturally, both people immediately distanced themselves from Rap, Hip Hop's ugly brother. The glorification of criminals, violence, drugs, misogyny, and bass speakers was enough to earn itself condemnation, though in all honesty I don't see that Hip Hop is really any better than other forms of music or legal and responsible activity. I wish people wouldn't come out with this sort of twoddle. Music doesn't change the world. It simply changes hands. These days, it's big business. I should know, I was in the lower echelons of it, having personally sold one box of twenty albums. Heck, I even managed to sell one to a patient at a mental hospital. Forget this culture crap. I'll give you this CD to listen to if you pay me a few quid. That's entertainment. Warning of the Week Yesterday was signing on day. Once again they don't seem to know when I should be queueing up but this time I have to wait. Eventually I was asked to go through and waited just as long again for my name to be called. "There's two vacancies come up." My claims advisor said with a smile. That, believe it or not, isn't a good sign. It means they think I'm not doing enough, even though I've applied for four times as many jobs as they expect me to. The first vacancy looked familiar. I've definitely seen it before and muttered something about having applied for it already. I didn't like the look she gave me though. She asked if I wanted the job sheet thrown away but I told her no, I'd check it out. It turns out I hadn't applied for it before, because the job is fifteen miles away out in the remote countryside, and that's as the crow flies. Are they seriously expecting me to walk back and forth across country in all weathers for seven or eight hours a day? Someone's been sticking a knife in again. Watch it Caldrail, you're in bandit country.

In the good old days when men were railwaymen and cars came without pillows in the steering wheel, I used to hear english spoken. It's true. These days official forms come in fifteen different languages and young people don't understand each others slang any more. People wonder why I don't go on foreign holidays. Are they serious? Not only do the Department of Work and Pensions not pay me to enjoy myself abroad, they invite every other country's inhabitants to live next door. Sign on the dole and see the world. It does beg the question of why I'd need to visit a tourist trap in some foreign country. Everybody there has escaped the english tourists by living in England. But it seems the current economic situation in Britain isn't pleasing the eastern europeans. Now that the queues have caught up with them again (is that a coincidence?) I hear them grumbling. "Britain is the armpit of Europe." Said one disgruntled Pole in the cubicle opposite to me. "I'm going home." Well. What can I say? It's incredible that after the Polish community here went to all the trouble of opening shops that speak their language he's now going home again. Obviously he came here to escape Polish newsagents. Still, the rich diversity of racial and cultural mix in our area has one benefit. Elves are no longer afraid to show their faces in public. One sat in the cubicle next to me yesterday. His woolly cap and angelic face was a dead giveaway. Must be here for a midnight frolic. Or is he an elvish entrepeneur, dealing in childrens teeth without telling Customs & Excise? Does Santa know he's moonlighting? Enquiry of the Week All of a sudden my car is popular. As a shiney white mean machine it annoyed everyone, though possibly that was partly due to the Saturn Five moon rocket exhaust pipe, or even my habit of going to warp at the press of the accelerator. Now its a poor neglected shadow of its former self. I console myself that I've provided the perfect enviroment for rare species of algae. There you go. Cars can be good for the enviroment. Yet for some strange reason the natives are suddenly interested in driving my immobile steed. With the eco-friendly patina giving my lovelorn car the natural touch, I've already had one hopeful young man try his luck at the door. Yesterday evening, as I reclined in a bath in silent meditation of whether that spider was planning to ambush me if turn my attention away, I heard a bunch of lads on their way to the pub round the corner. "Does he want that car or what?" Asked one with the volume control set to four. Of course loud noise triggers an instinctive reaction in thirsty english youths on a Saturday night so they all started hooting and beating their chests. They could try asking me. Who knows? I might tell them. But then... Big tough macho lads dare not make polite enquiries at the door... Someone might find out...

More to do with experience of politics then? Just to reiterate what the Augusta said, Romans were considered old enough to begin life as adults at the age of fifteen. In the Roman world, you grew up a lot faster than the modern day.

I agree. Sometimes you just need to see what's over the next hill, and sometimes it's suprisng what you find.

Caligula wasn't insane as such, though I concede he had some severe personality disorders and a sick sense of humour. As for being too young, that doesn't really explain him. It wasn't his age that was the problem but his personality. Also, he was intensely popular with the masses as the son of a war hero, especially after that dour recluse Tiberius and and his conniving underling Sejanus. In fact, the assassins of Caligula took a big risk in bumping him off. Popularity in Rome counted for a great deal and killing off an emperor the crowd like like isn't goinng to do your own popularity any good at all. You do pose an interesting question though. The Romans actually liked 'safe' leaders, both in politics and war. Antoninus Pius for instance is regarded as one of their best by the Romans and he was something of a cautious character. Pertinax lasted a few months because he was the opposite, mking too many unpopular changes and not listening to advice. He thought he knew better. Don't forget that young men likely to rise to the purple would be brought up in that background, taught and educated to assume a suitable lifestyle and mindset. Of course that doesn't allow for the variations in character, but all too often it was that variation that influenced whether a man was a successful emperor or not. People like Hadrian or Septimus Severus were successful because they understood politics and made sure they knew what was going on, eliminating threats and so forth. They didn't rely on popularity, just on making sure who they could trust. Was that talent or experience? Were those people naturally junkyard dogs or had they learned to be? Either might be true, and just because a particular man is younger deosn't necessarily mean he can't cut it in the big wide world, or more importantly, the cut-throat world of Roman politics. Most emperors before ad271 weren't young anyway. It was their experience and reputations that made many of them suitable candidates. Emperors weren't chosen by a fixed means of succession during the Principate - it was all a matter of reputation, popularity... or if you like, celebrity status. Or perhaps how many soldiers were standing behind you. Strength of character counted for a great deal, and so did the support of the Legions. That after all, is why Emperors were keen to court them wit donatives and wage rises. They were bribing the soldiers for support. Think on this. Didius Julianus came to power not by popularity or with a bunch of rmed men, but because he answered the Praetorians offer to sell the throne. Although the man had a successful political career behind him and thus something of a reputation, his character was not impressive. neither was his support, because he hadn't built any, he'd simply written a cheque to become emperor. I do agree Caligula would have died a violent death sooner or later, but thats because he upset people rather than because of his mental state. He was an emperor, a man above all others, in a society where wealth and status really did seperate you from the common ruck. In the same way that we read and raise eyebrows at the antics of modern day celebs, so the Romans did with theirs. The only difference of course was that their celebs had men with swords to call on.

So far this year I 've been no further up on the Marlborough Downs than Barbury Castle. Once the fog had lifted, I decided it was time. The call of the Downs is peculiar to those who know it. There's a strange sense of timelessness up there. At first glance it's nothing more than rolling hills, weatherbeaten stands of trees, and farmland, but then the isolation of the area gets you. I'm not the only one who finds the solitude of the Downs so engaging. There's a memorial stone to a hillwalker of the Victorian period near Barbury. Mr Morris and I both share an affection for what is closest to wilderness in our area. People have lived on the Downs since the Ice Ages. Neolithic flint mines, Iron Age hillforts, Saxon lynchetts, and lost medieval villages can be found. Now it's a haunt of the local shepherds and hikers like me, at least until April 30th when it becomes legal for dirt bikes and 4x4's to drive up and down the Ridgeway, reckoned to be Britains oldest track. For now though, the noise of traffic is too far away. What a difference it makes. The silence is incredible. Slowly you become aware of the chirping birdsong, the odd whooping calls of small hawks, the ugly chorus of crows, even the gentle breath of wind, and the only intrusion is the transatlantic white speck with its fiery rumble so far above me. Low Flying Airliner My reverie was interrupted by the very loud sound of an airliner somewhere behind me. Suddenly I realised he must be low. I search the skyline and there it is, an airbus descending through the haze the other side of Barbury Castle. He's too far east to approach Wroughton Airfield. Draycott Foliatt is way too short for an aeroplane of that size. Please don't tell me this is a crash about to happen? He's a few hundred feet up and my mouth is wide open. Then he begins to climb. I hear the engines spooling up, I see the undercarriage fold away. He turns west for Lyneham Airbase, leaving me wondering if this was a practice emergency, or else perhaps the worst example of navigation ever. Don't worry mate, I won't tell anyone. New Species Found! I saw the monstrous creature on the road outside Wroughton Airfield. The old airbase was built in the second world war to house a maintenance unit, who took aircraft fresh out of the factories, fitted them with military stuff, and sent them to frontline squadrons. The Royal Navy still use a yard on the southeast corner and some of the hangars house local businesses. A taxi driver slows down beside me and with a cheery smile asks "Hey mate, do you know where Swindon Carting is?" You just passed it, there. That old hangar. That's my good deed for the day. But I also spot the large mammal sneeking in through the fence. What a monster! I've discovered a new species of giant fox. I name it Foxus Megabiggus. More Low Flying Walking home - or should I say struggling home? - I pass Wroughton Airfield again. A group of radio control enthusiasts are flying their creations and I cannot believe my eyes. A humungous model of a Lockheed Hercules four-engined transport was circling around making the loudest racket you imagine. You have to admire the work the creator did on this model, it really is huge. The Hercules is a familiar shape to me, I've seen them flying over Swindon for forty years, but it was spooky watching this familiar shape fly at what looked like twice the speed of the real thing. It takes me back to a Great Warbirds air show one year in the 90's, here at Wroughton. Despite the low cloud, the RAF transport plane gave a display with its wingtip barely above the grass. The Hercules, or 'Fat Albert' as we call them, certainly proved agile for its size. Happy Ending of the Week It seems after checking the ordnance survey maps that my day on the downs was a thirty mile round trip. The frog hadn't made it across the path. Heading for the pond the other side it lay there clutching the grass lifelessly, cooked dry by the sun. He was only three yards away from safe wetness. Well, the happy ending to my day was that I made it home, and drop bruised and battered into a hot bath. Oh no... I caught the sun... I look like a lobster...

There is one spot in Britain at least _ I don't remember where it is - that the soil is forbidden from being disturbed too deeply either by archaeology or development, because the Romans were smelting metals on the site and levels of arsenic and other poisonous materials are too high.

At this time of year the weather can vary a lot here in the rainforests of Darkest Wiltshire. Today the morning began with chilly fog - it's lifting already as I speak - and yesterday we had bright sunshine which left me sweating despite the cool air. Taking a stroll around Coate Water I was struck by how Meditteranean the water was, a nice shade of blue, enlivened by silvery reflections off the ripples caused by the waterfowl on the water and the dog chasing them away from the bank. Usually the water is something closer to battleship grey, which I suspect has something to do with the normal sky conditions. Nonetheless, it was a beautiful day. Yesterday I met Alfie. He's a great dane, all nine and a half stone of him, ten months old and for him the world is something fresh and exciting to experience. Actually, he's a dog in lovely condition and despite the brashness and curiosity of his age a well mannered canine. Probably just as well. I got the impression his owner was struggling to get Alfie to go home. So many trees, so many smells, so many people to say hello to. Car of the Week What a car. It's an old Volvo, the one with the really awkward horrible shape? Better than that, it's painted baltic grey with some clever primer highlights. The real showstopper though, is the custom wheels. With a stroke of genius the owner took some shopping trolley wheels off a mini and bolted them on. The whole ensemble now resembles a neglected dog kennel nailed to a kiddies pedal car. Bit small for Alfie though.

The Gauls I imagine. He was conquering their homeland after all

Possible? Almost a certainty. Roman emperors sought military glory to underpin their reputations with the public, to give themselves political credibility, and in some cases to impress other powers. It was after all to establish himself as a true Roman conqueror in the traditional sense that Claudius undertook the invasion of Britain. After all, Marcus Aurelius wasn't by nature a military man. He was known as a philosopher so he definitely had other reasons to personally lead troops than the pursuit of glory. With Marcus Aurelius however, beware of considering his reign in isolation. Hadrian had established a lasting peace previously both by the adoption of certain frontier policies but also by appeasement. Such tactics were bound to have a limited life and in Marcus Aurelius' reign, the dam burst. Antoninus Pius in my view did little more than live in Hadrians shadow, remembered as a great emperor because he so little to upset anyone, and certainly wasn't a man concerned with the frontiers in the way Hadrian had been. This lack of concern was bound to encourage foreign powers and alliances and eventually Marcus Aurelius was left to pick up the bill.

Last night I watched a program by a tv & film actor who plays hard-man roles and wanted to know the truth about the kind of men he portrays. The gentleman he interviewed in that episode, now a reformed character, once 'taxed' drug dealers with intimidation and violence. The program was intended to shock law abiding people about the reality of the dangerous men we so rarely encounter. The strange thing is that I wasn't shocked at all. Even when the character showed the passionate depth of his inner demons for the benefit of the camera, I saw something I'd seen in others before. Is it my age and experience? Possibly there's an element in that, though in all honesty violence has never been a large part of my life. It is true I've associated with some people who were certainly more dangerous than me from time to time, but that association was superficial in nature. The danger was always somewhere else. I could go into a lot of anecdotes about the aggression I've witnessed over the years, but why bother? You've seen it too. Violence is something deep in our animal psyche. It's a hunting instinct, a survival mechanism, a method we inherited from our genetic ancestors for sorting out who bonks who or where to put the fence. This is the huge problem with mankind. The one thing that ensured we went to the top of the food chain was the very same thing we now despise in ourselves. And guess what? It appears this inner conflict between our instincts and our social conciense is nothing new. Crusaders may have broken the commandments by killing men, but since it was Gods work against heathens, they rationalised it and considered the entire act self-absolving. Buddhist Samurai fretted about their lethal lifestyle. They considered that the greatest punishment a samurai could receive for killing was to be reborn as a samurai. It seems then that we have a love-hate relationship with our violence. Some enjoy it, others disdain it. Never be suprised by it. Nature likes a broad range of behaviour in social animals. It ensures the tribe has all the temperaments they need to survive as a group. However much we like to kid ourselves that we're somehow noble or special, we're still the same nasty animal under the skin. It's just that some are nastier than others. Upset of the Week It seems the alsatian dog that often gets it's exercise along the alleyway behind my home has decided the territory belongs to him. The mongrel being walked the other way didn't agree. The two dogs both decided they didn't like the other, and immediately began barking and straining at their leads, both owners shouting and cursing at their dogs to shut up and behave. Good grief, hounds, you can both widdle on lamposts here. Everyone else does.

What is a ghost? Is it a remnant spirit? A recording of past events imprinted on the solid reality of our surroundings? A fold in space that allows vision of past events? or just bats in the belfry? In mosty cases I suspect its no more that our pattern recognition system working overtime. There was one case in England recently though where a cctv caught some guy in tudor costume peering out a fire escape door. When checked out, the guards found that no-one had accessed that part of the building. Spooky! Actually, come to think of it, didn't someone take a photo of a phantasm staring out of a window just recently?

A lot depends on the personalities involved. Few humans are completely compatible, and the Roman system was designed to have a co-ruler as a brake to your own excess. As far as I can see (please put me right if I'm not) the Romans were happy with dual leadership for the simple reason it prevented dictators - the reign of Tarquinus Superbus had made a huge impression on Roman culture. Sometimes it worled, sometimes it didn't. When you take into account that the republican democratic system requiring co-equal consuls to run the cities affairs, it becomes obvious that the system worked well enough for centuries. It was more to do with imperial periods that the system didn't work too well because the co-equal rulers weren't required to get along for one year, but were sharing ultimate power by thier own agreement so the temptation to push the other aside and enjoy the waelth and status alone must have been immense. Not only that, these men had risen to command by the usual Roman intrigues and politics, not by the consent of the people, so they were less inclined to co-operate right from the start.

I've given this some thought. My answer isn't something entirely Roman at all. The year is AD 825. Egbert, the King of Wessex, has been campaigning in Cornwall to add the realm of the Welsh Princes to his own. However, he also knows that Mercia under King Beornwulf is threatening to annexe the disputed northern territories of Wiltshire. So he marches northeast to confront Beornwulf. As it turns out, Beornwulf did not attack in his absence. He was nervous of the superiority of West Saxon soldiery and may well have been waiting for reinforcements. The armies met at Ellandun, the precise location no longer known, but thought to be between Wroughton and Lydiard Tregoze (Now parts of Swindon, a clue to why I like this idea). Beornwulf and Egbert deployed either side of a shallow valley through which a stream ran. The Mercian army was superior in number, as much as ten times as strong according to the Winchester Scribe. Egbert wasn't keen to waste his army fighting that lot. He held a council and suggested they should give the territory to Mercia hoping that Beornwulf would go away satisfied. The thanes of Wessex were outraged, and demanded to fight. Egbert was outvoted by his noblemen. The battle began with Wessex mounting an attack on the larger Mercian army. The fight went on for hours on a blazing hot summers day. More men were said to suffocated on sweat than blood. All acoounts mention the great slaughter that took place at the stream which ran red with blood. It was a victory for Wessex. After a blood and guts brawl that had lasted so long the morale of the Mercians broke, and the chronicler describes Beornwulf as taking to flight for all he was worth. It's a little known battle, not well documented, but a highly significant victory for Wessex nonetheless as it secured their borders against Mercian ambition. You want rapped knuckles? Just ask Beornwulf.

If you've seen the film Ghostbusters you'll know it starts with a scary ghost in a New York Library. Well, Swindon isn't exactly spook central, and most of our ghosts inhabit pubs. However, according to our local paper, 'Ghostbusters' have been to Swindon to exorcise a haunting on somebodies premises. Thats a huge leap in ghostly goings on. Imagine the usual amount of supernatural activity in Swindon is.. say... this Mars Bar. This latest event reveals a Mars Bar with... 20% extra, free. This is a huge portent. Swindon is headed for a supernatural meltdown of biblical proportions. We are talking 'end of the world', Wrath of God stuff. Giant Marshmallow men will be grinning as they stomp on Swindonians. The best bit is since I've locked myself out of the flat occaisionally, I'm expecting a cataclysmic encounter with Sigourney Weaver. Unless of course, the whole thing is nonsense. Conversationalist of the Week As sometimes happens, the library computers are offline this morning. We all sit around reading books and so forth waiting for some geek downstairs to realise you have to plug them in. Trouble is, there's a young man of dubious intellectal capacity who just won't shut up. He can't log on. He can't log on again. Why can't he log on? Did you see the football last night? He's got two weeks off College. Hey, he's logged on. He's logged on everybody. Yeah, but Man United lost against them last year... There's going to be another ghost in Swindon if he doesn't shut up.

Thats good to know. I get a warm feeling that in two hundred years from now, millions of school-kids in their flood shelters will be sitting down to cyber-lessons with their virtual teacher discussing the deep, inner meanings and relevance of a twenty-first century blogger named Caldrail. Should be nice short lesson then

Cheers A. Sorry to hear you won't be along, we'll send you a St Albanes slave (or maybe just a postcardium). In theory there's no reason why I shouldn't be along.

Back in my sadly deluded childhood I used to read books. No really. In one of them, there was an account of the life of Jesse James, or more pointedly, the end of it. Now Jesse wasn't a Scottish homosexual as you might expect, but an American unemployed irregular soldier who took up banditry to pay the bills in the 19th century. Stranger than that, he became famous for being shot dead from behind by one of his mates. Anyway, yesterday I saw a tv film about the man, and in typical modern Hollywood style he was depicted as a pretty boy hero, a martial arts expert, turning into a stuntman periodically n an effort to wreak vengeance on the dastardly railroad baron. Its that birth of a legend. Robin Hood made the same transformation. We know him as the dispossessed Earl of Locksley, defender of the downtrodden Saxons against their Norman overlords, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. So why did Errol Flynn burst into wealthy Nottingham Castle and hand back the stag he'd just illegally killed? Maybe things were different in the days of Black & White. That happens to be my point. Look how these people change. They start as social undesirables, and end up becoming noble heroes that fight for the right to give movie stars two years work. It's occured to me that as a social undesirable that won't conform, I stand a great chance of being remembered as a famous hero in two or three centuries.... Caldrail Hoody - The hero that claimed from the state and gave to the shops.... Switch Off of the Week On the news I saw something about the Great Switch Off. Everyones supposed to turn their lights off to demonstrate they want action on global warming. Apparently this started two years ago in Sydney and no-one's found the on-switch since. This does mean of course that since the climate change brigade can't see anything in front of their face, they're not going to able to change anything whatsoever. After all, is it not true that ideas come with light bulbs?