caldrail

Siege equipment was not essential. Lacking such things, and let's be honest, most ancient armies built siege equipment in situ and as required if they knew how, then simply waiting for the city to starve was still a viable tacttic. Rome was after all in state of panic already (something Hannibal might not have known). Strategically the city of Rome was a tempting target but Hannibal chose to stick with his game plan. For a man with a known hatred of Rome and one who basically set of the war as an excuse to get at them, it must be said that not wanting to hurt his enemy by sacking a vulnerable capital does look odd.

They say that the fish rots from the head. Usually this is pinned on the caesars (and not without reason), but I do think we have to consider the upper class of Rome as a whole guilty party in this. The thing is, during the principate the patrician class were deeply involved in politics and from a distance, trade. They were a sort of manorial manager class in effect and kept things under control. However, as time passes, the old order dies out for various reasons leaving behind 'new money' un their place, and it was said that most of those later patricians were the descendants of former slaves rather than inheritors of noble blood. That doesn't necessarily mean a drop in expertise, but I'm inclined to believe that in this case, that's more or less what happened. Patricians of the later empire seem far less concerned with duty and career, more with feathering their nest. It's as if they saw what the old guard got up to on the quiet and made that their primary objective once they were in charge. Certainly the factional rivalry was worse than in previous times. Therefore the older control of trade was gradually eroding and Diocletian saw a need to bolster the oversight of trading in the empire, which as I said before was not well regulated in any case unless tax revenues were affected. Roman traders were too opportunistic to be swayed by rules and since success in the Roman Empire was all about risk, it perhaps comes as no suprise that traders weren't too observant of the rules.

Time for another health check this morning. The slightly confused nurse asked me what my appointment was for. I told her it was for another blood test. "Who put you forward for that?" She enquired. You did, three months ago. At least my memory isn't failing. Then again, it never pays to upset a nurse. She brought out her needle and loomed menacingly over me as she strapped my arm down. This won't hurt a bit.... Oh To Heck With It The burned out shell of the Locarno, most recently a nightclub in a victorian merchant house, was touted as part of an italianate development to improve the Old Town enviroment. Trouble is, no-one can think of what to use the Locarno for. So they're thinking of demolishing it. Use it or lose it. That's Swindon. Hot Tip of the Week If anyone is tempted to find a new and inventive method of using a door, you might like to know that I attrempted the "Whoops I've tripped and headbutted the door" method this morning. So using the door handle is still the most efficient and pain free means of access. If anyone wants visual confirmation of my results, I have a big bruise over my left eye and no, the nurse didn't do it.

With the benefit of hindsight I would call him overcautious. He did not capitalise on his battlefield success. However, as an armchair general, I have to consider that I have information that Hannibal didn't. What he desperately wanted was to avoid getting bogged down with a siege, because that tie his troops to one place and introduce supply and threat problems. Hannibals overall strategy was to pummel and intimidate the Romans into surrender. Whilst an attack on Rome would have conceivably ended the war in his favour, he was also well aware of the Roman capacity for reinforcement. So was he stupid? No, not really, but his gut instinct and lack of information about Roman dispositions and situation led him to hedge his bets.

A couple of times now staff at the Job Centre have frowned at my paperwork and asked me why I haven't had many interviews of late. Truth of the matter is that I never did catch the attention of employers all that often, and with the job market so cutthroat these days, my interview rate is no less than expected. Perhaps then I shouldn't have been suprised that I was given a vacancy offered by a retail chain, who describe themselves as a multinational company in England. Ahem. Anyway, I had no choice but to make repeated attempts to phone the listed contact. The Job Centre had flgged the vacancy so they meant to check I had done my duty. So be it. At the last minute I got through. The woman asked to phone me back, and a simple telephone interview ensued. What are my strengths? Weaknesses? What is the secret of commercial life, universe, and everything? I passed all the screening questions. So, the lady informed me, I was due to attend an interview in three hours time. No pressure then. It turned out to be a group interview session. A hundred nervous and socially inhibited applicants all sat in a department store cafeteria. I noticed a queue forming at one end, and as a member of the staff sauntered by, I asked her if we all had to queue up. "Oh, I suppose so" She shrugged, "But don't worry, just wait until the queue winds down." Okay. This was beginning to feel like some mystical ceremony in which us initiates must realise that employment salvation was getting up and joining the end of the queue. Nonetheless, as the staff eventually introduced themselves and brought the meeting to some kind of coherence, they told us to go away if we wereb't serious about getting a job. Politely, of course, in a slightly wishy-washy way. I ended up being called for my ten minute interview with the lady I originally spoke to, who turned out to be the boss. And now you must be asking - How did it go? Am I still a Great Unwashed Scrounging Layabout Wastrel, or am I a Thrusting And Dynamic Team Player With Good Career Prospects? Find out in the next episode of Caldrails Big Interview! The Apprentice - Again Once more unto the board room, dear friends, once more... Lord Sugar has scoured the land for the worst entrepeneurs possible. I saw a comment that shaving seems to be a forgotten art. Well, this is entertainment, not business, so three days growth is charcterful and visually seperates one suit from another - something you don't usually see in the real world of business. Another comment was that The Apprentice is getting a bit tired as a television show. No suprise there. Given that these people are apparently running businesses out there in the high street, no wonder I can't get a job.

How? I thouhgt that roman culture in republican and early imperial times was very trade oriented. The extent and importance of trade is not disputed, but rather the nature of it. The Romans overall practised a free economy and the phrase caveat emptor "Let the buyer beware" is rather telling. The rapacious behaviour of merchants toward gothic refugees after they crossed the Rhine is a prime example of how Roman commerce functioned. In fact, we shouldn't overlook the influence of the patrician class in trade, for they often underwrote commercial enterprises and certainly had a hand in making commercial decisions even if they weren't supposed to muddy their hands with trading. Diolcetian can be be seen in this case as attempting to regulate practises already in effect. It would seem his measures weren't entirely succesful, not because they failed in principle, but because no-one really took much notice. This is what I mean. Traditionally sons had practised their fathers trade in any case. We know this to be the case because of legionary recruitment practises dating back to the Marian Reforms. Diocletian is apparently making that association a legal necessity to promote traditional values an, in all likeliehood, to restore what might have been a perceived trend toward selfish or anti-social vocations. It is an interesting thing though. How did that affect volunteering for the legions? Or perhaps even the arena, which in Diocletians time was still a thriving industry (if somewhat moribund and increasingly prone to dramatic 'wounding' fights as opposed to 'honourable duels')

Actually it can't, under those criteria, because it too relied allies and auxillaries, and it's worth pointing out that although the legions, each a fundamentally seperate military force in its own right, were functionally loyal to their commander rather than the state. The feudal nature of the legions is often overlooked.

It might be sunny out there, but what a chilly morning. A brief stroll through the park today was a bitter briefer than I anticipated. More like a brisk stroll. I notice the lake is lower than usual. That gravel beach is exposed again. of course the birds love it, it allows them to get in and out of the water easily and somewhere to sleep on dry land away from the footpath inhabited by loud drunken human beings. Except for a solitary canadian goose who seemed very keen to find someone with breadcrumbs on offer. Too early in the morning matey. Sorry. The old ladies aren't out of bed yet. But sadly my superior human communicative capability doesn't include making this clear to the deluded animal. Ooops! Animals are brilliant. They really are. Gibbons and their frantic split second accurate gymnastic chases. Orang-utangs and their lazy acrobatic skill. Human beings and their alcoholic meanderings. Or birds, with grace and style in conquering the skies. Except... There was this one crow this morning. It swooped past me toward a willow tree overhanging the lake and when it tried to alight upon a branch, it didn't, basically. The clumsy bird vanished into the foliage in a sudden flurry of feathers and disturbed vegetation. Ooops. Let the side down there, a little bit. Even I made better landings than that in my flying days. Then again, I generally avoided the trees. Now... About Your Shotgun... It never pays to make a flippant jest in front of a claims advisor. Trust me, they have no sense of humour whatsoever, and will interpret everything you say as a declaration of intent. So at my latest job searching interview the lady glanced up from her hotes and asked "So you want an ADR for your Shotgun License?" Erm... Pardon? I don't have a shotgun license. I don't need a shotgun license. I have no legal purpose to buy and keep a weapon on my premises. Weapon ownership is specifically excluded by my letting agreement. I would then be interviewed by police officers seeking to assure themselves that I was a responsible mature sane individual with correct secure storage for legal weaponry. "I see Sir, and why do you require a shotgun license?" My claims advisor thought I wanted one. it's tough getting a job out there you know... Wow. That's going to impress them. ADR for Shotgun License cancelled. Must remember to keep a straight face next time I sign on... Meanwhile, Back At The Programme Centre At last I'm back in a warm office with all day to get on with my jobsearch. As it turns out, a chap is sat next to me and since his english isn't too good, he's latched on to me as his assistant in wading through the rituals of using computers. "I am ver sorry to get in your way" He apologised very politelly. Don't worry mate, I have to wait for a phone call anyhow. "But I need to upload my CV. I have been told to make CV. Now I must upload it to this company" Yeah, I sort of know what you want. Okay, finish your CV... Done it?... No, finish it off... Yes... Now you need to save it.... No, the other one... That's right... Now type in the filename... "They what? Filename?" Yes. Filename. So you can recognise your file, like 'My Name CV' or something. So he typed mynamecv and saved it. Oh well. At least he listened to me.

There is a certain sense of justice in that a man who lived by the sword has been well and truly killed by it. I do understand the public jubilation I saw on the news as americans react to the story that their bogeyman was done for. Was this celebration exaggerated by the nnews? There's a part of my british character that sits uneasily with this sort of indulgence especially when it does nothing to stem the need for islamic revenge. I also note the choice of navy SEALS to enact the mission. After the Deltas accidentially killed a british woman they intended to rescue, one wonders if they shouldn't have been allowed to ressurect their reputation. Then again, with Bin Laden in their sights, I also understand the need for no unnecessary risks, hence the lack of reports to pakistan authorities. It was said a few years ago that the SAS had Bin Laden in their sights but were refused permission to fire. I have no idea how true that story is, but no matter, the bad guy is down. We shall to wait and see how significant that event was.

Aha! This is a favourite bugbear of mine. The problem is that whilst the Romans evolved a professional legion in terms of men recruited for pay rather than patriotism, our definition of professionalism also includes elements of behaviour that aren't appropriate for their era. I'm not sure that the Romans were the the first nation state to raise standing armies for renumerative reward, although they were undoubtedly among the better organised, but bear in mind the average pay for a legionary wasn't brilliant and the soldiers were often 'bribed' with donatives from newly created Caesars. More to the point, they expected to be allowed to pillage for booty should conflict break out, a major source of renumeration for risking their lives. In josephus's account of the Jewish War he includes a description of what happened when the Romans finally broke in. Titus, never a man to suffer fools, simply let his troops off the leash for three days by which time most of the soldiers had grown sick and tired of the bloodletting themselves. Although much is said about Roman discipline, close study of the imperial legion reveals they weren't as 'professionaly' behaved as we might expect. The harsh discipline was imposed on them to keep them in line and it only barely kept them there sometimes.

The real problem with pancration, or even boxing, was that it was the preserve of the slave athlete, and no self respecting soldier was going to lower himself to take part. Seems a bit odd at first considering how ready a typical legionary might be to engage in roughhouse, but a drunken brawl in the vicus outside a fort was a different matter. Boxing was quite a craze. It lasted throughout the length of the empire and changed along with Roman tastes for hard edged violence. Originally the cestus, the boxing glove, was no more than a means to protect the fist when punching your opponent (the hand is quite vulnerable to damage), and the infamous metal glove was a later development along with the nastyier side of gladiatorial style. As far as i'm aware, there are no records of soldiers engaging in either boxing or pancration as an activity though I'm sure they enjoyed watching two slave smah each other to bloody pulp.

Earlier this morning I opened the back window and looked out across the Old College site. It's looking very shabby now. The lead lining on the cafetria and hall roof has been stripped off, and without the verdigrised grey cladding, it now looks oddly naked in flesh coloured wood panels. the tower block at the end clearly shows sign of temporary visits by vandals and homeless people. Smashed glass and boarded up windows. A couple of days ago I spotted a hydraulic lift up the side of the tower block. At first I wondered what was going on, but I could see a firemans helmet from that distance though there was no sign of any smoke or flame. A practice? Possibly, though I noticed they were recovering material from inside the fifth or sixth floor. After a few witty comments from their loudhailer, the firemen disappeared from view as the lift retracted. I wonder what that was all about? The thing is, this abandonment has a bright side. The vegetation has sprouted in luxurious green over the last few weeks, turning a dismal yard into a fine display of tree growth. Along the white fence that surrounds the site, the trees have now grown higher and overhang the barrier, and it genuinely looks nice. When the site gets demolished in the near future all that will go, and if I were honest, I'll miss the old place. As It Was Before I logged on this morning I was leafing through a book of old photographs from Swindon, my home town. Most of it is unrecognisable. The gothic victorian shops and houses have largely disappeared along with all the major town landmarks, not least the railway works, of which only a couple of office blocks and workshops survive. There was a time when I was young that I walked along the Midland & South West Junction Railway that went past the west end of British Rail Swindon Works that I could see the end of that massive A shop, once the biggest industrial complex under one roof in Europe, with row upon row of forlorn rusting diesels waiting for the cutting torch. Drove Road as country lane. The old market building, now long gone, and I recall that strong vegetable smell and and constant haranguing from traders urgently seeking our cash. A police station at the top of Eastcott Hill, once next door to the tram depot, replaced by anonymous housing apartments. This isn't the first time I've had a fit of nostalgia for the Olde Worlde Swindon, a sooty brick town proud of its railway heritage, but with so many sweeping changes on the way in grandiose developments, I wonder how long these flagship constructions will last?

Friday was a quiet unassuming sort of day. Not really suprising since the bulk of the population were either glued to their television sets or heading for the hills in a desperate attempt to avoid watching yet another wedding video. So we had a sort of hazy murky day that never quite made up its mind what it wanted to do about Britains latest extravanganza. Ricky Is At It Again I see Ricky gervais has been giving us all the benefit of his well paid opinion. I shouldn't really criticise, I do exactly the same on this blog (although I get paid somewhat less). Still, at least he gets his picture in the news again. That way we won't forget who he is. I wonder if Mr Gervais will televise his wedding and get tons of people to line London streets waiting for him to roll past on an expensive carriage to generous applause? No? Perhaps his weeding video wasn't all that impressive then? At The Supermarket The lady paying for her shopping at the local supermarket noted that it was all over. The royal couple were hitched already. Sigh of relief. Is it safe to back to the television screen now? "Oh no" She advised me, "You'll be getting that all day." Aaargh! This computer is slow. I mean, archaeologically slow. Every screen update comes with a birthday greeting. Why is the internet so slow? Let me guess. People are sharing wedding videos.

The customer compliance people told me I was articulate, educated, and good at interviews. So why aren't I getting any interviews? Why do you think that is? But I should be employed by now - Why don't I get interviewed? Actually I do, sparingly, and I got an email just today advising me of a possible interview to come. Rather those questions seemed to be fishing for a particular answer from me. Not sure what it is the lady wanted me to say, but I am certain it wasn't going to help.

Failure to establish a means of succession is often quoted as a reason (I've done so too previously) but in fact you could argue the means of succession had been established by the late empire. The instability of the third century had been overcome after all, and under the Dominate we see a move toward oriental style rulership. However, the political machinations that supported the Caesar of the day most definitely weakened government to the point of disaster in some cases, and in case, the empire was subject to considerable apathy in general. The economic situation was not as bad as often suggested. The late empire was often doing quite well, which was the entire reason the barbarian tribes saw raiding as a profitable enterprise. I think the point that gets lost by the popular image of the Roman Empire is that it had changed significantly. No longer a conquest state, it was increasingly a prototype for the middle ages.

Another blow to my individuality stares me in the face this morning. In my emails is a reply to a job application which says my attempt to persuade a certain job agency that I would like to be put forward for this particular role is now considered spam. If that doesn't confirm what an obstacle to finding a job the employement agnecies are, what is? So many vacancies are now exclusively in the hands of these agencies who frankly worry more about their contracts than their customers. I hate agencies. Utterly. Modern slave traders. On The Plus Side What a nice day. Sunshine, blue skies, everyone relaxing before the big wedding tomorrow. Except I have to visit the Job Centre and be interviewd by Customer Compliance. Again. But lets not worry unduly. After I've been savaged in a life or death struggle with a claims advisor, I have the prospect of a long walk to look forward to, so I can enjoy the bright sunny weather. And pay the postage on a letter the postman wouldn't put through my door.

I spoke to Prince Philip once. Apparently he watches television too. Hiow bad a person can he be?

Yesterday was not a high point in my life. My credit card was withdrawn. Such a simple little thing isn't it? Just a small rectangle of plastic that allows you spend some of other peoples money provided you pay it back. You might immediately assume that I got into debt by using one. Not so. They withdrew it because I don't use it enough. Profit and loss you see. Due to a technicality in financial assessment, I can't have a replacement card. The tragedy is that I'm now excluded from buying goods and services on the internet. Some might wonder why that is such a big deal. Well, having gotten used to buying from the internet, it reduces my choice and freedom somewhat drastically. It reduces me to a second class citizen, unable to sample the wealth of consumerism for myself. Apart from the expected tantrums and despair, I was appalled to realise how easily the balance in our lives can be disturbed by outside influence. I shouldn't be. I've being saying for a long time that fate is the sum of all decisions and natural forces. Now it seems a decision has gone aganst me. And you know what? My caring sharing bank really isn't interested. It is the bank that llikes to say "We have your money so now get lost". Help Yourself A litle while back I was sat in hospital waiting room. Most of those in there with me were older folk, skinny gentlemen who shuffled here and there, obese women women who waddled and leant on a walking stick. All of us silent, bored, simply waiting our turn. There was a colourful pamphlet on a table that seemed the only refuge from the miserable scene I found myself in. A guide to life, as it turns out, wrapped up in a rainbow coloured cover. The language was quite extraordinary. As an example of selh-help literature it ranks with the most extreme I've ever seen, but it really didn't need the advertisments for Jesus written into it. Something of a confidence trick then. A booklet that suggests not only your life can be better, but that Jesus is responsible for that change. I threw the document back on the desk. It really was too much to swallow, like food so heavily spiced that it makes you cough and splutter. Having watched Derren Browns recent denounciation of the faith healer industry on television, it all fitted the pattern. Normally I launch into some sort of criticism of christianity at this point. Truth of the matter is that their tactics to recruit new members aren't entirely unique. Such things are sometimes done by other agencies who want you to do this or that with your life. Some might argue that it's time to pick up the rainbow coloured pamphlet. Read its content. Digest the message. Turn my life around. I've said before also that christian missionaries are no better than drug dealers. Feeling bad? Have a shot of Jesus up your arm. You'll feel great. Except that I don't think it really does. Like the idea that we can live forever if we worship, the idea that our lives will actiually be any better simply by deciding it's going to be is among the great confidence tricks of religion. You see we still have the problem that other people can influence whether we're successful or not. Right now I'm under pressure to stop being a personality. Nothing to do with maturity or manners, just that I conform to someone elses expectation. Because I resist, because I want to be me, my life is slowly dismantled so that I become psychologically weaker, and whether the influence is religion, employment, politics, or any other authoritarian group, I will be readjusted. Told what to say, do, and wear. Do I really want to be a robot for the rest of my life? There's a empty shop not far from where I live. In the window is a large photo montage, an artistic display on the theme of despair and empowerment. Do something strange and extraordinary, it tells us in bold type, so that your life will be better. I'd be happy to Unfortunately it seems too many people don't like me doing that.

Something's wrong. I know something is wrong. Part of me thinks this might be paranoia, yet I cannot escape the evidence of the light through the bedroom curtains. It looks distinctly un-sunny. Oh no! My worst fears were confirmed as I glanced bleary eyed out the back window. A grey, overcast day, with a sombre mood. How strange! Normally it rains on a Bank Holiday Monday but all we got was blistering sunshine. What it must have been like trapped in a traffic jam with a family of bored kids whilst slowly melting in your five-star safety rating oven on wheels is anyones guess. Sounds like my idea of hell. How To Enjoy The Royal Wedding Of course the reason that our sunny weather is evaporating and normal dreary dampness restored is because of the Royal Wedding. What national event in Britain could possibly take place without a deluge? Just now I looked at a news item that tells the world where to enjoy the Royal Wedding. The list of places was predictable and uninspired, being restricted to public parks, medieval castles, or stood with all the other punters along the route. Failing that of course there's always YouTube. The royal family have booked a page to delight us all with talking corgi's and stumbles. I think we need to show more imagination as a country. Surely there's more exciting and interesting places to watch the wedding from? Certainly not afghan prisons, as the timely escape of Al Qaida inmates shows. Certainly not Ireland, with dissident terrorists plotting to reduce the wedding to the status of a war crime. I know. Let's not watch it at all and go instead for a holiday in some remote exotic locale? After all, with everyone converging on London for the practice of the Queens Funeral, surely there's some good deals going down at travel agents? Departing Live As if the Royal Wedding wasn't bad enough, I see there's plans to show a man dying live on television. Please forgive me for being a bit of a party pooper here, but I really do have better things to watch.

Apparently the americans are so unbothered about the royal wedding they've produce a 'made for tv' film about the romance leading up to it. Naturally it bears no resemblance to anything remotely like real life. Since when was Hollywood bothered about reality?

Hot... Too hot... Music being played in the park.... Oh stuff it. I can't be bothered to type anything out. Sunshine does this to the british. My genetic compulsion to laze immobile whilst being slowly cooked is too strong to resist. Bye for now. See ya tomorrow or something...

I thought you yanks defined mountains as bumps in the landscape higher than a thousand feet above the surrounding scenery? I know we do. Sadly we don't have mountains in Darkest Wiltshire, as our tallest spot is Liddington Hill (just down the road from me) which rises about 600 feet at most. Other than that we have a country lane in Wroughton, immediately south of my home town, which is so steep it might as well be classed a mountain because you need oxygen and ropes to walk up it. So there you have an alternative definition

Catching the rays has become a very working class english thing to do, providied there's plenty of lager to lubricate the sunshine. Oh, and short trousers are essential sun-bathing apparel. Muscles are just showing off.

The effort and skill required to handle formula one cars is not in doubt. However, the spectacle is largely spin. A single overtaking move on F1 is headline news. Other than that it's a multimillion pound traffic jam moving at whatever speed the first three decide, rather like the M25 without speed cameras. The problem is that F1 has become a showcase for racing technology. It is, frankly, incredibly dull to watch compared with the less restrained classes of motoring racing. But hey, if you like that sort of thing...

Mid morning and it's already very, very warm. A couple of years ago we were coping with snow at this time of year. As I strolled past the newsagent at the bottom of the hill the headline boldly displayed on a tabloid was Hottest Easter For 100 Years. Did I really need to buy a newspaper to tell me that? It gets better. Last night I saw a smog warning. Smog? I though that was banned by british law. The Clean Air Act of Before I Was Born. Now they're trying to tell us not to use our cars for short journeys because it makes the smog worse if we do. Why do they bother? We're already paying more for petrol than ever before. Lights Out It seems the american press are getting a little short tempered with us brits right now (Come on guys, chill, it's the weather) because Buckingham Palace isn't keeping the lights on at night so their camera crews can take nice shots of it for their daytime tv news. Obviously the palace is in demand because there's going to be a wedding (in case you hadn't heard) but for crying out loud chaps - Have you any idea how expensive energy costs are in Britain these days? What's the use of security forces buying lots of night vision cameras to protect the royal family if they leave the lights on? Come back when it's daytime. You'll see double decker buses, black taxi's, and lots of soldiers in red uniforms. You'll love it. Shouting Match Quite an argument broke out last night among yobboes meandering home after a good days alcohol fuelled football song contest. DONG!... The unmistakable sound of something hitting iron railings. Well, I suppose they were bound to collide with something eventually. At least the shouting stopped. Have I Outstayed My Welcome? "You've got enough downloads by now" The frustrated librarian hissed at me as I searched for more and more interesting items to enjoy. Sadly my addiction for downloading means that the librarian has to check them all for pornography and political un-correctness. Oooh look at this... A website about railways in Mongolia. Lotsa stuff to download too. Was that a groan I just heard from the man on the helpdesk? Heh heh heh.....