NOT much excites me. Finding an ancient, dusty but edible bit of Star Bar down the side of the couch. A nice cup of tea (only about one in 10 hit the spot). A trip to Markies. First bumble bee of the year. The finding of a Roman fortlet.
Yes, my interest was piqued – piqued, I tell you – by news about the discovery of the remains of a little fort that once stood near the Antonine Wall. Top newspaper Yon Herald described the locale as “an unassuming field”. Love all that stuff: romance and significance beneath the ordinary. I’m right interested in ancient things, ken, and in particular the classical world, of which I remain ambivalent. On balance, I detest the Romans while admiring their architecture. I tend more towards the Greeks – philosophers, don’t you know? – while deploring their love of naked athletics.
Spartans? Appalling freaks. Vikings? Sadistic sailors. Anglo-Saxons? Thatcherite murderers obsessed with property ownership. Celts/Britons? Nice chaps who held recitals of nature poetry.
I’ve fond memories of visiting Hadrian’s Wall and the fort of Vindolanda, from which I’ve a small piece of pottery (at the time they were giving them away in return for donations). Thus piqued I peeked at the peaks of Trimontium, in the Scottish Borders, and several times visited a valiant wee exhibition in nearby Melrose.
I have climbed Traprain Law, hillside HQ in East Lothian of the British/Welsh/Celtic Votadini tribe, on whose stomping ground the largest silver hoard outside the evil Empire was found.
That opened a tin of burrowing invertebrates. Was the silver the proceeds of a raid or payment for being a mercenary front line for the Romans against the Picts?
The night before reading about the new old fortlet, I’d watched a YonTube video about Hadrian’s Wall which, generously narrated by an Englishmen, adamantly told the truth that the Romans were repeatedly beaten back till they decided to hide behind a wall (or two).
It made a change from the oft-made, absurd argument that they didn’t go on to conquer the vast bulk of Caledonia because, uniquely in their imperial adventures, they thought: “Ach, we’ll just stop here.”
They disliked the trees, midges, fried boar bars. They didn’t go the whole hog because, well, just because. True, there was Mons Graupius, a supposed battle in the north-east recounted in just one Roman source, which passed off entirely invented leaders’ speeches as reportage.
Still, while arguably more mythical than real, there’s no smoke without fire an’ that. At any rate, having marched all the way up, the Romans marched all the way back doon thereafter.
Truth is, while they strutted aboot, built stuff and probably had the odd victory, overall they did not do well in Germania and Caledonia, both places in which entire legions marched forth and were never seen again. Fascinating stuff but. Though the Barbarians were possibly even worse, the Romans were barbaric. But they built nice wee fortlets. And, when one is discovered, I can barely contain my excitement.
Bald truth
HELP, I think I’m going woke. I want stuff cancelled, right, right and centre. Bit of bumbling preamble: folk have always gone in a huff with other folk because of their views. In the past, they stopped speaking to you. Today, they censor you, threaten you and try to get you fired. It’s called progress. You wouldn’t understand.
But where do I come into this? Well, while I cannot condone the methods, I believe those animal rights chumps at Aintree racecourse had a point. Horses get stressed out and killed at this dumb human event every year.
I almost fell off my trapeze when I heard one of the trainers, coming over all woke himself, saying the delay caused by the disruption had triggered the beasts, causing them to die. Yes, that’s right. Obviously, they were worried about a back-up in their busy diaries. Then came the usual rural supremacism: other folk just don’t understand us. Correct. In an age of space exploration and nuclear-thingummyjig physics, it’s difficult to fathom you mucking out your stable and dressing up a wee man in stupid hat and ridiculous troosers to go racing.
Horses, foxes, badgers, the same guff every time. Watch my lips, Professor Turnip-Head: We. See.You.
Secondly, residents of a Kirriemuir street called Cumberland Close, after the Butcher of Culloden, want its name changed, on account, ken, of all the murder, rape and atrocities ordered by the self-same William Augustus. Of course, this being Scotia peculiaris, land of cakes and traitors, you can expect the usual brain-mangled suspects to come to the Butcher’s aid. For my part, hitherto I’ve opposed the pulling down of statues, renaming and so forth, on grounds that the accusations have sounded tenuous and culturally ignorant. No such excuse for the Butcher Duke.
Only an utterly dense, weird and perfidious country like Scotland would have named streets after him in the first place. And, for the record, I supported pulling doon Lenin’s statue in eastern Europe tae. Indeed, I back bringing doon all statues of baldies.
Through some glass darkly
When Vesuvius erupted in 79AD, it turned a chap in Herculaneum’s brain to glass, according to Italian researchers. This was caused by the short blast of volcanic ash being followed by rapid cooling. Poor fellow. Even for a glass half-empty chap like moi, that sounds like a bad day. Certainly puts losing my pen into perspective.
Fake blues
Artificial Intelligence (AI) is now threatening to take over pop music, after software was used to fake a song cloning bestselling artists (consults notes) Drake and The Weeknd together. Ostensibly, they sing: “Got these pearls on my neck, got these girls on my check, like Selena, baby I’m a cheat, oh maybe.” Excellent.
Odd job
Following Man United’s advert for DIY experts to help their pampered players, here’s another joab for ye: “carpenter, multi-skilled tradesperson” – as backup for MI5 agents. In this £37,000-a-year post you’ll be providing “a 24/7 service to keep the country safe”. Not if your DIY skills are anything like mine you won’t.
Nut jobs
Asda is trialling driverless delivery vans for online orders. At present, the vehicles need someone present to ensure safe navigation and another to plonk the groceries at your door. They’ve doubled the number of workers necessary! Same with AI: every machine needing multiple humans to ensure it functions properly. Best job creation schemes ever!
Scroll up
Punters are scrolling three miles on their phones every year. That’s the height of yonder Big Ben every week, according to a Uswitch study. It suggests periodically locking the gizmos in “phone cages”. Phone use has also been said to affect mental health, causing anxiety and low self-esteem. Aye, well.*************
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