caldrail

Every so often I see news footage of some disaster or conflict that results in people abandoning homes to live in tented shanties. Like most things reported by television, it's all very terrible and you know people are suffering, but the filmed sequences never really prepare you for the reality of it. After all, when you're watching these things, the chances are you're comfortable in a warm secure house with no particular worries except how to afford the bills. Just of late there's been a series of adverts asking for donations to feed starving africans. The images of listless and almost lifeless infants are something to stir pity, whilst the adverts as a whole attempts to stir guilt about our prosperity. A few quid every month and this woman can feed her kids. It's all very humane of course, but the problem with paying money to good causes is that it never seems to help, and in any case, if those infants survive, they breed kids of their own and the problem multiplies the next generation. That's a hard message isn't it? Unfortunately we're not exempt from the Rabbit and Fox diagram we studied as kids at school. If we can't find food, we starve. If we eat, we have have children. it's the same around the world. Much is made of green issues. Pollution, deforestation, species reduction, and so forth. Truth is, there are too many humans. Do you really want to do something about that to make life better for the lucky few? That's a harder message still. Recently I received a message from a lady who asked to get to know me. I'm always a bit wary of internet friendships, and the sites like Facebook never really draw my attention. It all seems very ethereal and meaningless. For some people, merely a popularity contest. Hardly real friendships in many cases. Still, you never know. Lonelieness is a plague in our modern anonymous society, and I do understand how that can affect people. So I replied on face value, a brief message to let the lady know she wasn't being rebuffed mercilessly. Today I received another email from her. A young african woman, very attractive, posing against a palm tree and explaining her difficult circumstances. I must admit, it looks very much like a honey trap. If the young woman is being honest and her life really is that difficult, then my heart goes out to her. On the other hand, it begins to look rather more like a blatant attempt to survive in somewhat wealthier circumstances than west africa can offer her. Boy, is she going to be disappointed. Survival of the Fittest There seems to be a new cat on the block. There it is. Black, white, and ginger splotches, easy to spot when it's prowling around the asphalt areas but no doubt all but invisible in shadows beneath foliage in winter and autumn. I've seen it out in the yard, patrolling its territory and looking for birds and vermin to play with. Once, as I opened the back window, it looked back at me from thirty yards away very suspiciously and kept an eye on me as it wandered toward a secluded part of the buildings on the street further away. What was it expecting? For me to leap onto the back roof, jump down into the yard, and chase it? Obviously that's all part of survival in the rainforests of Darlest Wiltshire. Might have to raise my game then. Where can I book a class in gymnastics? Survival of the Fastest There's been a few wonderful cars spotted driving through Swindon. Just the other day a silver Noble rumbled past with that slightly sharp exhaust note, a subdued hint of the screaming performance the car had available. This morning an old model Lotus Esprit was sat in the Old College car park, still resplendent in black and gold paint, a hangover from the glory days of Lotus's Forumal One days. Itmight be a seventies wedge design, harsh edges and lacking refinement, but it sure looks good. Great to see old sports cars are still surviving out there despite the best efforts of manufacturers, salesmen, politicians, and policemen. I wouldn't leave it there mate. Sports cars vanish in this area. I wonder if that cat knows anything about my missing Eunos? Hmmm....

The library was quiet, far quieter than the usual subliminal murmur of curses, mobile phone conversations, and urgent discussions between young couples. Instead, an air of subdued boredom hung in the air. Not that it bothered me of course. I was too busy communicating with the outside world via the internet. At least I think it's the outside world. What a wierd thing it would be to discover all my virtual friends are actually figments of a computer program. Wow. That would be like being in The Prisoner for real. Except instead of white bouncy balls herding me back to confinement I've got claims advisors. Anyhow, back to the library. By now I'm done communicating. Time to set about the next part of my day and today, I decide to pop back home for lunch before another visit to the programme centre and communal despair at the job club. Log off... Return the book I was reading to the shelf.... And now.... A ladies voice cut through the silence . "Thanks for freeing up a computor for us" Pardon? What cheek! I get the same restrictions as everyone else who uses library computors. The librarian on duty raised her head and locked her laser rangefinder on the woman responsible for that outburst. Time to clear the area before hostilities break out. It could get messy. Lunch At last I seem to be mastering the intricacies of my microwave. I actually managed to reheat a dinner from the fridge and keep it edible. I should put that on my CV. Experienced microwave engineer. That almost qualifies me for a job in catering. Then again, why would I want to be shouted at for a living? That's like joining the army and I'm getting a bit old for that sort of thing. Well, my lunch is well and truly munched, so feeling satisfied with a tasty and edible feast, I can now pop down the programme centre without the need to march in step. After Lunch The government cuts have hit home. We used to have an office devoted to job club activities. Now it's a no-holds barred first-come-ffirst-served fight for survival and the chance to log onto a computer that actually works. One doesn't have a video card that likes Windows. Another doesn't have a keyboard. One tells us that it wants to be another computer, and I notice the staff have locked out the computers that work so they can carry on working. I'm not deterred. By sheer persistence I've found a computer that does work and by the simple expedient of being first through the door, I get to log on and jobsearch to my hearts content. Or at least I would do if the other jobseekers weren't so illerate with computers. The whole point of a job club is communal assistance, so as the resident expert on using the things, various people lift their heads over the monitor with pleading eyes and beg me to help them. One chap realised that making an online job application actually required some effort. He stopped and stared at me before asking "This is going to take a long time." Yep. Sometimes it does. Especially if you haven't prepared a CV file beforehand. "Wouldn't it be easier if you type my CV out for me?" I can see this is going to be a difficult relationship.

This probably wasn't an isolated incident. For spectators to enjoy a combat, it must have gone on for some time. A short bout would have been very disappointing, and then again, the Romans liked to see fair play in munera, the entire reason that referees were present. The typical gladiators armour confirms this, being designed to ward off injuries but not fatal thrusts into the torso. No cuts above the eyebrows would stop the fight! Nonetheless, an injury that prevented further fighting was a disaster for the victim, for he was therefore compelled either to lose or more commonly, to raise his hand/finger in surrender. You could probably imagine how the gladiator felt when his opponent was allowed to recover and continue, but then again, that was an expected part of the regime. It certainly wouldn't suprise the man and only if the judgement was clearly a bad call would he feel aggrieved. Such opinions were not allowed to cause controversy. A gladiator had sworn obedience unto death - that was his lot - and in any case, we are told by sources that even in failure, a gladiator will die with honour, allowing the fatal blow rather than suffer some ignomious and inevitable fate. There does seem to be a streak of fatalism in this genre of fighting. Good friends in the same familia will readily fight and ultimately kill the other if called upon to do so. The inscription at Pompeii that tells "Take heed from my fate and show no mercy" warns others that either your former opponent could live to fight you another day, or that deliberately sparing your opponent might incur the wrath of the games editor who could easily command you to face a fresh opponent until he's satisfied that your performance or fate is sufficient. In any case, the epitaph is always from those who buried the dead man. Friends and families who saw something they disagree with. In the same way that a referee in football is booed because the fans observed an event from a different light, the gladiatorial referee may have taken a different view than the aggrieved mourners.

1. I would assume then that travel from one city to the next could be dicey. The risks were little different from the early empire, unless you travelled into an area where there was hostilities. 2. I assume this did not preclude travel, but traveling in groups would be saver. Travelling in groups was indeed a safer proposition. There was always a risk of enslavement by rural traffickers, banditry, con-men, and so forth. 3. I imagine that life in the lesser villages was more hazardous than life in a walled city. That would depend on the settlement and generally the hazards of urban life exceeded those of rural areas. There's an anonymity about urban life that concealed criminal activity and violence in the way that was impossible in villages. 4. I would also imagine that merchants, loaded down with valuables would not want to travel from one city to the next without accompaniment (other merchants, armed guards, hired guards) Possibly, but since we know merchants travelled frequently with valuable goods, this clearly was a necessary evil. Bear in mind that secure compartments on wagons and boats were not unknown, and that merchants carried a variety of goods at the same time. It was unusual (and something to draw attention to yourself) by carriage of single item goods.

According to the latest New Scientist which I browsed through this morning by sheer coincidence, it appears that african proto-humans interbred with homnid populations en-route. Proof that humans were never fussy about what they had sex with, but also an indicator that mankind is not a pure-blood strain, that local evolution produced similar species where conditions were compatible, and that our evolution was actually assisted by this interbreeding by the genetic inheritance of disease resistance.

Yes it but bothers me. What if I get held by ignorant villagers who want to burn me at the stake for technomancy and joblessness? In the films such victims get saved by eclipses. What chance have I got? Take a deep breath and try to blow the flames out?

Times they are a-changing again. I'm to be placed on a two year program designed to get me back into work. A part of me is a bit dismissive. It is after all just about politicians trying to cover their backsides and look as if they're doing something to reduce unemployment, and you have to wonder what this course will do that hasn't already been offered by the others I've been on. The trouble is that this government is talking tough over things like the dole queue. I'm well aware how many claimants are sitting on their backsides by their own design, but those unlucky enough to suffer unemployment by circumstance risk shabby treatment. Also the agencies that have recently won contracts to supply jobseeking assistance are going to be paid by results. That means that whichever way you look at it, there will be increased pressure and stress on those seeking work. Some would applaud that idea. Usually that's the section of society with safe secure jobs who naturally deel aggrieved that their labour is paying for other peoples living. It certainly isn't from those of us who have to wade through the minefield of governmental bureaucracy and retribution. Oh yes. And once gain I now have to fill in those stupid forms regularly that ask why I haven't applied for any jobs. More Hard Lines Our wonderful Prime Minister has declared that deliberately absent fathers should be treated as social outcasts the same way as drubnken drivers. That doesn't suprise me. I said something like a decade ago that Britain would increasingly return to victorian values. Those who live up to societies ideals get treated reasonably, and those who don't are shunned, despised, reduced to the periphery of our communities. There's good and bad aspects to this of course. It's all very well punishing a class of society that influential individuals disapprove of, but it also inevitably means that those forced by circumstance into that class will also receive poor treatment unfairly. And it's a short step to witchhunts and persecution. Anyway, I recommend to those fathers pushed out of marriage and forced away from their kids to avoid drowning their sorrows. Get a taxi home. And don't lose your job. Or else. Less Fun Time Statistics just released reveal that 17 million britons will not be going on holiday this year. That's 2.7 million up on last year. I wonder if they remembered to include me on that statistic? Unless of course the statatistician regards us unemployed people as being on holiday by default. But then, who would want a holiday in a country where tourists are regarded as lazy good-for-nothings, asked to attend courses designed to help them leave the country, get fined for not trying to leave, and required to fill in forms regularly that demand to know why they haven't tried to leave?

The 'germanisation' (don't you just hate that word?) of Britain began during the empire. The stationing of germanic troops for security in the british provinces was not unique in the late empire but certainly it should be remembered that Britain was not 'Romanized' either. The celtic iron age was present alongside the Roman occupation throughout and although diluted by the insidious nature of Roman commerce and industry, we can still see native housing built in later centuries plus we also note the re-occupation of hill forts. Those saxons present in Britain during imperial times were described as good citizens, but not as Romans. It has been noted that some populations of germanic tribes, such as the Thames Valley Saxons, apparently practised a form of apartheid. They did not interbreed with locals nor seem to have socialised with them. On the other hand, the dominance of this germanic culture was purell local in scope. The west saxons, whose kingdom would later dominate England prior to the viking settlement, took a different by intermarriage and adoption. They were no less aggressive than other saxons but at least some cultural blending took place, or we would not see Weesex kings with british names. It's hard to see how Britain could fail to become more germanic. Roman style religions had passed largely into history and the arrival of irish christianity supplanted the major faiths worshipped in the sub-Roman world. The influx of pagan germanic tribes in that period pushed aside anything left. Indeed, the invasions and colonisations of continental tribes does seem to have sidelined native celtic culture, either in a real sense by refugees moving to remote regions to remain free, or by simple acceptance that pagan Germans were in charge and demanded certain observances. However, we cannot ignore the cultural influence of the church. On the one hand, we have Gildas moaning about the behaviour of the warlords of his day, and with the arrival of the Augustine Mission in the late 6th century the return of Roman Christianity was made converting saxons to continetal ideas of religious conformity, which seem somewhat looser and more expedient than the austere nature of irish christianity. That the saxons wrshipped God in their own style (under Roman aegis) does underline the 'germanisation' of Britain. Language of course reveals much. So much of english is derived from germanic languages, along with later norse and norman influence, whilst the abstraction of latin remained an inheritance of Roman christianity, largely confined to the educated classes of which there were few in the ages follwoing the departure of Roman legions and the eventual seccesion of Britain from the Roman Empire.

Remember to take a shovel.

has anyone considered that it might not have any significance at all? Rather that it might have been merely a fashionable decorative item?

After the assassination of Claigula the Praetorians took the in iniative and chose Claudius as a figurehead Caesar to ensure their lucrative employment continued. In fact, the senate were generally not in a mood to allow another Caesar, and only the risk of violence brought them to the conclusion (rather quickly as it turned out) that Claudius was going to have to be accepted. At this stage it was by no means assured that the Caesars would continue. Augustus had survived and eventually won the senate over, but Tiberius had not presented an equally capable image and lets not forget that during his reign many senators were disposed of by Sejanus, a regime that was hardly liable to endear itself to the wealthy politicians of Rome. Caligula was brought in with most assuming he was going to be a breath of fresh air. The young Caesar was very popular with the masses and indeed remained so despite the suetonian malarkey. It was Caligula's attitude toward the senators that sealed his fate. Partly Caligula was a young man with little self restraint, excessive personal power, a seriously nasty sense of humour, but also he was regarding the senate as an obstacle to his rule. The story that Caligula wanted his horse Incitatus made a senator was a direct reference to this. Even this horse could do a better job than you idiot politicians. Clearly the assassination of Claigula was unexpected. The senators who had any ideas of ascending to the throne weren't in any position to make their move, having been forced to remain careful about speech and deed, and with the Praetorians effectively forcing the seante to accept Claudius (who was very keen, once convinced to become Caesar by the Praetorians, to cement his rule with acts of political benefice and a military invasion of Britain), the chance of any serious senatorial coup, either personal or republican, had been lost.

To say that the museum is a quiet place to work is something of an understatement. All morning the public pass this way and that, going about their mundane business, many totally unaware that a museum exists right under their nose. On the other hand, I suspect many regard museums as boring places that they and their friends wouldn't dream of frequenting for fear their lives would be destroyed by the humiliation. Pfah! What do they know? In fact, today was quite an exciting day for us volunteers. The BBC came in to film a news item (it gets aired on BBC Oxford tonight) and I even got to hold a microphone while the tv journalist recorded his introduction spot..I am now an experienced BBC sound recordist. I should put that on my CV. Why not? It's not as if anyone is going to notice. Rain, Rain, Go Away Okay, who switched the rain off? last night I saw a weather map with a big blue patch spreading across south western england. It's going to rain, they said. Yeah? Here in Swindon the sun is almost winning the battle to dominate todays weather. Why am I whinging? It's a matter of principle. Here I am, all dressed up to cope with dreary wet weather, and the BBC go and cancel the rain due to a news team recording a sequence at the museum. Can't have tv journalists getting all soaked. At least I now see where all our license fees go to. Grey Hari, Go Away Scientists have discovered a cure for grey hair it seems. As a sufferer of this blight for many decades it comes as a shock to discover that it's a disease. I thought hair turned grey sooner or later, though admittedly, in my case it was very sooner. I started going grey when I was 13. One of my grandfathers was completely grey by the time he was 17, so I can only assume I suffer from a hereditary disease. Damn my slightly non-conformist genes! Why is grey hair regarded in such a bad light? Because it makes us look old and past it? Or is it some instinctive thing, where younger people seek to oust the older less capable members of the tribe from eating food or bonking females? Despite the best efforts of television advertising, and no shortage of jibes from colleagues, I've never felt the slightest compuction to dye it. If that's the colour nature has decided my hair shall be, so be it. Remember, grey haired people are no different. I had a dream... Where grey haired people are equal in society... Where grey haired people aren't forced to buy cosmetics in order to lead fulfilling social lives... I had a dream... Okay. I've woken up now. But I can't afford hair dye, and in any case, I'm rather attached to what's left of my grey hair. At least I still have some.

You still waiting too? I don't get it. How come television astronomers always have a clear view of these things? Do I have to bribe Patrick Moore or something?

What the... A cheap east european ploy to get me to emigrate and leave a slot in british society to be filled by immigrants to our green and pleasant land? Sneaky... Very sneaky...

No-one could accuse me of not being prepared. With the risk of heavy showers predicted by our faithful prophets of the television weather report, I was not taking chances. Okay, I wasn't in hiking mode, dressed in outdoors survival gear, but in clothing I know from experience is able to cope quite well with the minor downpour or two. So military surplus it is then. All day long I was going here and there, seeing to my daily business, and to my utter disgust the dark clouds came and went without discharging their load of rain. Swindon does this. No matter how prepared you are, something else happens. I had all but given up. Finally, late in the afternoon, it began to rain as I headed home from the supermarket. Everyone else headed for shelter while I continued on my merry way, beaming with delight that I was immune to the effects of rainfall. At least temporarily. But that's okay. The shower only lasted less than a minute. All In The Stars Would you believe it? A lunar eclipse for yesterday evening. I wonder how many times I've heard of astronomical phenomena to be observed only to find the british weather has denied me the opportunity. It would be worth catching this one as the next won't appear in british skies until 2041. Good grief, I'll be an eighty year old man when that one comes around - and I'll bet the clouds will obscure it. Like they did last night. Patience. Everything comes to he who waits.

It was such a lovely afternoon yesterday that I couldn't help taking a wander around some of our local open spaces. I was in the mood for a break. The aggravations of job searching seem especially aggravating right now, simply because it feels like I'm trying to wade upstream right now. After nearly two decades in warehousing you would think I'd learnt a few things, but apparently job agencies regard me as lacking the necessary experience. Pardon? Anyway, that's enough of a gripe. The weather was fine and a cool breeze made it very pleasant indeed. Maybe it's just as well I took advantage of the sun. Apparently the weather is to return to standard british format by friday (which for those of you who aren't acquainted with England, that means rain). Swindon Indiana Sometimes I get bizarre offers of employment. There' a job for

Unforunately the laws of physics don't always work that way. In some circumstances the vehicle with a higher energy state suffers less in collisions - though it depends what they collide with. I'm thinking of a case where two porsche 911's were racing on a country lane (the drivers both said they weren't but didn't convince anyone) and smashed into an oncoming car. The innocent victim was killed outright and the two porsches, whilst written off, protected their occupants.

A nice day for a quick stroll through the park. A couple amble toward the edge of the lake and the local population of waterfowl converge on them, hoping for their morning supply of bread, which they were duly offered and a mad scramble for damp morsels ensued. One seabird seems to have gotten annoyed at one of the geese. It glided on the wind, stationary above the offending goose, wings gently rocking from side to side as it assumed the optimum position, then dived on him again and again. The flustered goose gave up trying to feed and looking a little dejected swam away from the combat zone. meanwhile in town the drab pedestrianised Theatre Square is slowly becoming known as the Artists Quarter. The old Post Office building is an art gallery, and two empty shops are being used as extensions, including the one that had that 'What Is Hope?' exhibition in the window. Pipes and berets anyone? No, I didn't think so either. Bills That Hurt Gas prices are still set to rise inexorably. How long can this go on? Yesterday I received a gass bill which I compared with one from a few years back. I used half the amount of gas this last winter and owe the company a few quid above my regular payments, whereas back then they owed me more than a hundred. That's quite an extraordinary hike in prices. It means I have to make some very hard decisions about how to keep myself financially secure. Sorry Mr Dentist, but my appointment is cancelled. Nothing to do with an agonising thirty minutes of medieval prodding and suction pumps, but simply a matter of avoiding big bills. It also means that a good hot bath is back on the once-a-year treat list, and again I turn back to sponge baths to keep clean. Little luxuries make life very pleasant but oh how easily we take them for granted. For now I'll have to grin and bear it. Not Always For Free I got an email from my email service provider, or more exactly, their billing department. Apparently they've had trouble processing this months payments. Eh? I thought this email service was free? It says so on their webpage. Why do they need my credit card details and why are they threatening to terminate the service if I don't provide the info? A part of me wonders if this isn't some sophisticated con (apparently it's called 'phfishing' or something like that), or perhaps some incredible bureaucratic cock-up. Anyhow, one strongly worded email sent to Customer Support, and no update. How could I? The bank withdrew my credit card.

Last night I thought I would spoil myself and go for a takeaway. I know, it's expensive, unhealthy, but compared to the rather bland food I normally eat, it makes a welcome change. A little of what you fancy dies you good. So after an archaeological dig into my trousers I discovered an ancient five pound note, still legible after all those years of lying fallow in sweaty conditions. Time then to hit the streets! It must have been a while since I last ventured out into the sunday evening of rainy old Swindon. I never remembered it being this dead. The streets were almost empty and apart from being followed by a pair of drunks with nothing to do but make loud noises, no-one stirred as I wandered from fast food outlet to fast food outlet in the vain hope of finding one open. Eventually I did. As it turned out the burgers were very good quality, far better than the plastic mass produced variety you nornally get at McDonalds. The two drunks ambled in after me, clearly unable to decide for themselves what to do on a quiet sunday evening, and clearly puzzled that they needed to purchase food in order for it to be eaten, and luckily for all concernced, too puzzled to get angry about it. They wandered off to be noisy somewhere else. Doing My Chores Life in Swindon isn't all rain showers and empty sunday streets. It isn't all fast food and traffic wardens. Like everywhere else, the great unwashed have to get on with their job searching and that includes me. The government are setting a new regime in which anyone who fails to adequately impress the world with their efforts to find work will be lined up against the wall and shot (thus no longer requiring expensive benefits). For now, I'm not at risk of execution but that's only because I maintain a level of jobsearching that puts a warm glow on the faces of claims advisors, or at least when I manage to convibnce them I'm not making false claims. They say a job seeker should treat his search like a vocation. I think I pretty much do that already. Which means I've been working on my job search for three years without a holiday. All work and no play makes Caldrail a dull interviewee. Not sure the secret police of the Department of Works & Pensions will see it that way.

Sassanid infantry varied in quality clearly, and the majority, composed of conscripted peasants, was probably every bit as bad as described. That doesn't mean all sassanid infantry was as ineffective since we know there were higher status troops among them who were better trained. You would expect this from a feudal society. A small proportion of trained and experienced troops, plus a mass of peasants dragged in to boost numbers. It's worth pointing out that the perisan society in question was extremely hard on it's peasantry and probably expected more from them than they were trained to give. There must have been therefore an element of 'human waves'. If you bring barely trained peasants en masse to a battle they're good for little else. That doesn't mean this was a primary tactic, rather a situation that the persian generals must have accepted because they had little alternative. In terms of direct infantry comparison we therefore see a mixed ability army fighting a one trick legion. The Romans fought in one style and always did. It worked quite well when they commanded initiative. The problem for the Romans is not therefore anything to do with legion vs feudal infantry, but the application of missile fire, something the sassanid armies excelled at.

There's nothing like lazing in a hot bath. Now that I'm on metered water it's become a luxury, yet the pleasure of lying in hot water and just relaxing for an hour is great. So last night I followed the usual ritual and slid into the water with a satisified sigh. Outside all was not well. The weather reports had warned of showers but what followed sounded like I was under siege. The heavens opened and down came hail, rattling and pinging on the roofs arund the bathroom like incessant arrow fire. I knew the house was a sturdy shelter against ice falling from the sky, but the sound echoes oddly and half the time it sounds like it's coming through the roof and bouncing around indoors. That was pretty savage for a british hailstorm. Mostly we get short spurts, indifferent little pellets that sting annoyingly when they find their target. Most often it's mixed with rain and never lasts long. Yesterdays assault went for ten minutes. Good grief.! Bump I've just watched the video for that alarming crash by Allan McNish at the Le Mans 24Hr. For those who haven't seen it, McNish clips another car and slides off the track and across the gravel trap, hitting the guard barrier with such force the car lifts into the air spinning as it dismantles itself. Such things can happen in motor races. It only takes a little nudge to spoil a cars balance. At high speed, reacting and coping with sudden unexpected forces tests the best racing driver and even they often cannot react quick enough. Walking back from Commonhead a few days ago I heard a horn sounding on the dual carriageway in the distance behind me. Probably someone moved across without careful observation. Actually that would have been much the same cause as the Le mans crash although in this case no more than tempers were frayed. Then a bunch of cars passed me. The dual carriageway is speed restricted these days but no-one seems to have told the driver of a silver Ford Focus. He was determined to push through the knot of cars come what may. Again he blasted his horn, squeezing between vehcles moving at the speed limit with very little margin for error. Now I do admit I've driven cars speedily in my younger days, but never like that! If the road is blocked, it's blocked. Actually it does remind me of one time when I drove into Wales for a day out in the Black Hills. On a nearly empty dual carriageway I overtook a slower car properly and and at legal speed. A BMW behind me decided he wanted to get by. With a low sun blinding my mirrors I had to be a little patient before pulling back into the slow lane - didn't want to cause an accident - but the BMW pushed past me on the right virtually scraping the central barrier. Bearing in mind what I saw in that visddeo, it's a bit thought provoking how a little impatience can create dangerous situations.

Oh goodee! More for me then

By Constantines time the empire was on the point of collapse for various reasons, but actually christian rivalry wasn't a major cause. In fact, Constantine urged the bishops at the Council of Nicaea in 325 to unite, not to avoid conflict (since they also defined heresy there and introduced a major rivalry between early catholicism and arianism), but to extend political control over the empire and thus hold it together, a situation that suited the ambitious bishops considerably. Although the christian/arian schism was not the only rivalry (Mithraism was losing the battle for dominance), there wasn't much internal fighting and the various factions co-existed reasonably well. What might have affected history far more was patronage of religion. For instance, one motive (among others) for Valen's push toward Adrianople ahead of Gratian's reinforcements was that one emperor was Arian, the other Christian.

As for a standing logistical corps - no - i don't know of any evidence for that. It doesn't fit with the Roman modus operandi anyway. As I mentioned previously, logistics was something the Romans preferred to do without. Too clumsy and vulnerable. Before we get too carried away with superlatives, bear in mind that you and I are no really any different from the Romans. We have, more or less, the same physical and mental capabilities, and if you really want a comparison, we also share some cultural aspects as well. My point is that the average base line of logisitcal ability is pretty much the same. It isn't that the ancients were advanced in any way, it's more like we're no better. What has improved is education, in that a body of expertise is communicated and taught (although not everyone today is well-schooled in logisitics - it remains an area of study in its own right), plus telecommunications, computors, road, rail, air, sea, and the machinery designed specifically to faciltate the movement of goods brings us far ahead of what the Romans were capable of. Therefore ancient logisitcs was not 'advanced' as you put it, seeing as the principles haven't changed and were understood in both eras, but rather we have a considerable advantage over them.

For the last couple of days the weather has been interesting. One minute the sun is out and everyone is relaxed. The next a massive spread of towering grey and white cumulus unleashes rainfall on the unsuspecting. I had to shelter in a doorway two days ago while one downpour opened up. Not only rain, but hail mixed in. Ten minutes later the clouds drifted away to reduce someone else to a drowned rat. Now I can go about my business again, safe in the knowledge that my school swimming certificate isn't required. More Parking Costs While Swindon experiments with cheaper parking (about half price if the report I saw is correct), there's a welsh town that took the step of getting rid of their traffic wardens, admittedly because the of cuts in services. Now thee's chaos as drivers park anywhere and for as long as they want, causing frustration and punch-up's as people cope with random parking. The welsh townsfolk want some order restored to their car infested borough. Perhaps Swindon could send them some of ours? Have Some Turkish Delight One of the treats we get in England is Turkish Delight, a sort of sweet purple gel encased in chocolate. Yum. My boss has returned from a holiday in Turkey (Mrs Boss insisted on going abroad) and brought back a colourful box full of Turkish Turkish Delight. Firstly, it looks nothing like the picture on the box lid. Secondly, it tastes a bit bland, if pleasant nonetheless. Thirdly, everyone keeps asking me if I want another one. No, I've eaten loads of them already and I still prefer the english stuff. Come to think of it, we only started getting rain after my boss came back from holiday. That box has altered our climate!