Friday night

Dear Diary,

Today has been ... interesting, yet the usual monotony ensues. I had a great chat about this and that with Gung Fu, he is a really very sharp and knowledgable guy and I feel his talents are wasted. He once very nearly signed up for the Queen’s shilling, when we were roving in Cornwall, one rainy autumn day. He would make a superb soldier, though probably more in the form of the Commandos or those who dare win style Reg’. He could just as easily make a marvellous coder or physicist, but chooses to live the life aspiring to that akin to a monk instead. I cannot blame him, even if he spends a great deal of time playing frivolous computer games.

Speaking of frivolous past-times, I’ve been invited to a Friday night game of backgammon with an old historian friend, but had to respectfully decline, on account of the studying I must do this weekend. I must discipline myself, and study hard. Sacrifices must be made if I am to achieve my goal of one day becoming a history teacher.

Archæology is going rather splendidly, and I must undertake much more detailed research. As soon as that’s done, I must hit the ground running, take that relay baton of wisdom and dash for the finish line on the third Latin assignment. This means as soon as I’ve finished up studying ancient empires (namely the Roman, Aztec and Hittite empires) I must work my way through the Latin exercises.

Gig tomorrow, the usual, I might have to play it alone again, only time will tell if the fiddler chooses to grace us with his presence. He has kindly agreed to play the Cajun night next month, and the patron Québécois I crossed paths with in the street (whom plays a boxer, awaiting his bout in Far From The Madding Crowd) tells me that tickets are sold out. I am hoping that the Old-Time banjoist and violinist is in attendance.

I have completely failed the Coursera module, for having to focus on my other studies. I shall have to concentrate on my usual studies, if I am to stand any chance of completing these next three assignments, the end of module assessment for archæology, and the dreaded, but really quite necessary Latin examination. God help me. "<><"

Blogging in the bath-tub.

Dear Diary,

Blimey, I have just fourteen hours to finish two assignments. I haven’t even begun writing the Yale one yet, but should have that done in a jiffy. The Latin is proving to be ‘a bit of a bitch’ but that’s what’s so great about it. If Latin was easy it would not be the language of the intellectual elite. Only a select few are even capable of learning it, let alone having the will to tackle such a magnificently challenging task.

Much has happened since I last blogged. I have had a Revelation and am writing a series of poetic moral allegories, in calligraphy, illustrated, and set to music. They will be mainly Classical pieces for two vocals (tenors), guitar and violin (both acoustic). I am actually really boned for money and stuff, but tomorrow is market day, so that should be good. I also have another archæology paper to write in under five days. Then it’s straight back to Latin.

This is the best, and toughest thing I have ever done, and I love it.

We have a gig immediately after the archæology paper is due in, at a swanky restaurant. I am hoping they pay well, because I need the cash to get a certificate of achievement from Coursera (that is, assuming I even get 70% on each paper. Man! That’s a tall order. I hope I manage it. In any case, it’s worth trying my best).

God bless, and go in peace.

Maximus Mercurius Arachne.

I find your lack of faith disturbing

Ever Dearest Diary,

I have just had my archæology assignment back. I am still on tender-hooks to know whether I have failed or not.

Result? My marks doubled. Naturally.

However, I did write it in a rush, and state of frustration. I could have done much better. I should have been thinking clearly, but instead was quite put out at failing. I essentially fell into the trap which was set. I am learning to tow the line, and be a philosopher. However, I still think outside of the box. Little boxes little boxes little boxes made up of ticky-tacky; ...and the people, on the hill-side all went to the University...

Some spoilt brat (the dancer’s son) tried to attack my dog tonight. I nearly ....

I did not do anything drastic, finally, and walked away.

So much has happened in the past few days, I cannot even begin to explain. If I told you, you would not believe me.

Star Child (Career Class) D&D 3.5/2nd Ed./H.M.

The Star Child

Basic Adventuring Career for Dungeons & Dragons.

Cultures Allowed: Human.

Alignment: Must be Lawful-Good.

The Star Child is a very special career, so much so that only one character in any Campaign Setting may exist at any one time. Much like the Chosen One, many false prophets manifest themselves, but there can only be one true Dragon Reborn. Outside the planetary sphere, there may exist other Star Children in other solar systems throughout the Cosmos, but they tend to only be born in other dimensions and parallel universes beyond the bounds of space and time, elsewhere in the Multi-Verse. Star Children are typically male, but one prominent Star Child (The Earth Mother) was the first to be born, ages and ages erstwhile, and gave birth - in spirit - to all offspring down throughout the ages. It is a sacrēd lineage from the first of man-kind’s ancestors.

The Star Child is a particularly unique character in that he or she gives up his or her choice of special abilities to the Universe, to a certain degree.

Special Abilities.

Level 1: Upon a successful healing skill or relevant ability score check (typically D.C. 15, or 30% chance) the Star Child may use Lay On Hands once per day, as a Paladin, on a willing target.

Level 2: Gains the Lay On Hands ability (precisely the same as a Paladin).

Level 3: Destiny dice. The Games Meister casts the player’s horoscope, and determines which special ability to grant the Star Child, depending on the outcome of the Foretelling. Alternatively the G.M. may roll a horoscope destiny dice, (available from the Dice Shop on-line) and determine which characteristics are granted appropriate to the roll. (Ideally use the Sun die).

Level 4: The Lay On Hands ability also Neutralise’s Poison, as per the Cleric spell.

Level 5: The Lay On Hands ability also Remove’s Curse, again as per the Priest spell.

Level 6: Using the Chosen One spell selection table from the Zealot’s Guide, the Star Child gains a different random spell each day, once per day, but must pray as does a Priest each morning, in order to memorise it. If the Z.G. from Kenzer is not available, randomly roll a spell at a random level from either Priest (D8) or Mage spells (D10). If an 8 result or 10 result is rolled (respectively, i.e. the maximum) then the G.M. must either select a Realm Spell from the Birthright Campaign Setting, or, permit the player a True Dweomer (see 2.5 High Level Campaigns).

[WORK IN PROGRESS] ...

...Hit dice, saving throws, attack matrices, number of attacks, damage bonuses, feats, skills, etc. are all identical to a Fighter. The Star Child is considered a single-class Fighter to all intents and purposes, with the sole exceptions of the above special abilities, and a bonus on Divine Intervention rolls for a Paladin as per the G.M.G. (Kenzer ed.)

More to follow...

“The Golden Star Child’s issue, at whose birth,
Heaven did afford a gracious aspect
And joined those stars that shall be opposite
Even to the dissolution of the world...
Weep, heavens, and vanish into liquid tears!
Fall, stars that govern his nativity,
And summon all the shining lamps of heaven
To cast their bootless fires to the earth...”

Sur le Flex?!

Dear Diary,

Today, I cocked up. I stupidly accidentally posted a section of my private diary on the Yale fora. Luckily it concerned purely scholastic endeavour so it probably won’t be seen as that bad. I did use phrases like ‘screw archæology until my essay is marked’ and it made it quite apparent to thousands of people that I have an ego the size of the Colliseum. Oops a daisy! Well, never-mind. I see it as a blessing in disguise, and it has given me the focus I need to concentrate on learning Latin. I am rushing the Latin at a break-neck speed, which means a much more thorough consolidation of the chapters I have worked through. So long as I grasp the way in which adjectives agree with t’other words in’t sentence: that’s fine.

I am slowly beginning to realise that no matter how hard I try to catch up, I will never be fully caught up, as there are still two essays in archæology I need to write, three more Latin papers, then worst of all - the dreaded examination. Again, Français helps immensely. I am going to have to work extremely hard if I am going to pass these modules. Once it’s all over I can relax. It bugs me that I am the only person left in my tutor group forum, and that after playing the gig at the fancy restaurant, I must choose to either get to my Latin tutorial or sign up for Yale signature track (which might well be worth doing - seeing as my other musical residency falls on a Saturday.

I am so tired. Must sleep.

Back On the Flex

Dear Diary,

Maxy’s back. After being beshadowed by the black dog yesterday, I am in good spirits today. Dr. Watson kindly got back to me and gave me my requested extension, so all I need do now is understand the subject matter. I have stopped ‘freaking out’ about the archæology paper. No news is good news. I re-read it yesterday and am quite certain that Dr. Kirk cannot fail me. The paper is a good one. In a worst case scenario I will just have to do better next time. He should have returned the paper by now. It is not me being slack.

At Yale I have made a big splash, and yesterday I earned a compliment from the esteemed Professor there. I was in tears of joy afterwards, as it is something almost unimaginable for me to achieve. A compliment from one of the top professors at one of the top universities in the world. I am overjoyed.

There is this guy on the Yale course, he has come to the attention of the staff, because he has a vast knowledge of chemical compounds to do with cement, and a reasonable knowledge of Roman history. He is worse than me for ‘peacock pluming’ but I was able to thrust and parry in conversation with him. He’s talking about cement this and concrete that, and I felt like saying what Quint said to Hooper in Jaws, “You got city hands, been countin’ money; never done a hard days work in your life.” I am holding my own there.

Back to the Latin, gladly. The quicker I get this done and dusted the quicker I can get back to archæology, and eventually, Roman architecture. This is gonna be a busy old week. I have no tobacco, which is a good thing. Taking Ronulus out for walkies is a great cure for smoking.

Low ebb.

Dear Diary,

A whole fortnight has passed and I still have not had my essay marked; I’m on tenderhooks the entire time. I am utterly demoralised about this archæological assignment I handed in. I wrote it (in my thoughts) over the course of several years; I was lucky to find another scholar who shared a similar viewpoint, (Quigley) and so had citations to give.

I failed the last one, and will in all likeliness fail this one, because of my stupid rebellious streak. I am an idiot. I should have conformed to the fully straight down the line ‘copy out the textbook in my own words’ technique which garners the most marks. I didn’t, because I felt so spurned at failing the first essay. I am a failure and if I pass this assignment it will be nothing short of a Miracle.

I am completely demoralised and on a low ebb today. I find myself unable to focus and time is ticking away. It’s only two days until I send off this Latin essay, and I still have two whole chapters to work through before I can begin to start the essay. Despite being acutely intellectual, my spirit is downcast. The sole crumb of comfort I have is being able to speak French. Without this, Latin would be much much more difficult. I use it as a bridging language, because the words are closer to the original Latin than our own Germanic tongue.

I am at a loss. Likely destined to fail. I know I must pick myself up, carry on in confidence, but today I do not eat the bear, the bear eats me. I am no-one. I am nothing. I am less than nothing.

Nightmare!!

Ever Dearest Diary,

I just had to endure a horrific nightmare, an awful experience. I was trapped in an old castle with a nine foot tall insidious figure who kept eating people, animals, he even tried to eat poor little Ron’! As I protected Ron’ he ate another small dog instead. It was awful! I am not sure I can go back to sleep. My goodness! Words cannot describe just how bad that was. Truly macabre, gothic, dark, evil and twisted. I know many people think vampires are ‘cool’ but no, there is nothing cool about cannibalism. It was horrid! It all began by watching a mediæval guard get his throat slit, then some people entered, middle-ages soldiers, afraid, I hid under a blanket, then the soldiers were eaten, dismembered body parts littered the place, as well as bloody parts of animals and horses heads. It was terrible! I attempted to climb ‘the tower’ up and up, but the huge nine-feet tall grey old man clad in noble-attire kept pretending to be friendly whilst having a deep dark growling voice and was constantly eating people, with Ron for the starter and me as dessert! Iesus!

On another point, my Latin is coming along well. I am really getting into it. Although there is a slight risk of being late with my assignment, I feel I might well do well. Certainly better than the archæology papers. Speaking of which.

I am the ‘Last Man Standing’ (man denoting both genders) in my archæology class. Everyone else has quit seemingly. Hard-core. On my last paper I went completely over the top on footnotes, which might even lead to a fail; but without the footnotes it would have made no sense. I really gave my tutor both barrels, because I want so disappointed in writing such a great first paper and scoring an all time low grade. I have written far worse papers and garnered higher marks, so it makes no sense that I failed. I got over it soon enough, but decided to ‘tell him how it is’ (my tutor). I am a hot-dang genius, and if someone marks me down, instead of ‘towing the line’ (which I should do) I simply write more and more radical views, in all correctness. The last time I did that my marks doubled. Sure, it’s a gamble, but I’ll bet that my tutor has never read a paper like that before.

On another note, the Yale course is going extremely well. Back stage party in paradise on!

Fading into obscurity

Dear Diary,

I have calmed down somewhat after today’s fiasco. I played my heart out down at the café and they treated me ever so well. I had a slight pay-rise and some generous tips for doing such a great job. I am instilled with confidence about performing music alone in a posh restaurant, which is just as well. The chalice was poisoned by underhand deeds. The net result is that I shall be more well paid, and am myself a one-man musical army. No banjoists required.

My Coursera is going exceptionally well, but my other studies are suffering. I cannot allow this to happen. Today I will catch up on my Latin, and leave Roman architecture and World Archæology until I have caught up on my Latin studies.

The best thing about Reading Classical Latin is the quotes from ancient orators, poets and philosophers. It is an excellent part of the book, and I am so glad it contains most of the materials for Continuing Classical Latin, as due to the points tally, I am not permitted to study that module. It matters not, as I already have the lion’s share of the books, so can continue studying Latin during the summer break. My pronunciation is coming along well, and although some authors who wrote in Latin are long since forgotten precisely because they wrote in Latin, this does not affect me. Why? Because nobody is interested in what I have to say anyway, so it is only posthumously that I will be appreciated. Marlowe would be so very proud.

Gung Fu is still majorly boned. No dole or owt and he will be relying on me to support him. This I cannot do, because I am so poor myself. Fifteen for the gig plus a tenner in tips doesn’t go very far. At least I bought dog food, and saved enough for postage on my Latin essay, which are the main things.

Coursera (first impressions)

Dear Diary,

So much for staying off the fora! Man! This Coursera thang looks pretty awesome (if only a pale imitation of our own hallowed institution). I feel like a traitor, but I just can’t get enough of learning Roman history and archæology. Naturally Maxy Waxy has made a big splash already.

This evening’s plan to study the Hittite Empire has been shot through the foot. I am frantically writing out conjugated verbs and declined nouns, in an effort to memorise them.

Tomorrow I have a gig, and I am more than a little bit nervous. This is nothing compared to the pressure of my debut at the swanky restaurant. I thought I would develop an immunity to stage-fright, or at least a resistance, alas no. Not that it matters. Time to reach down deep, breath, grow a pair of bollocks and then put on my best performance yet.

Deliverance from a deep depression - Divine.

Dearest Diary,

Oh dear. Lot’s of thangs happenin’, goin’ down. So, Max was delivered from the clutches of dire straits by cinching a second residency. Cajun, bluegrass and old-timey night at a swanky resturant. None to shabby. I was enraptured to get news of this through the cellist, for ’tis nothing short of a Miracle.

In other news Mr.X is not on the Flex, having lost his benefits of late; speaking of which. So did Gung Fu. He and Hannibal are at each others’ throats. Hannibal is a thief and a liar, which pisses Gung Fu off. It pisses me off. Something’s gonna give.

Bye for now. Back to reading.

tempus legendi

Chavs and obscenities.

Dear Diary,

Even though I managed to get some Latin done this morning (which was awesome by the way, I am really getting into it) I digressed by focusing on archæology this afternoon. I am making progress as best I can, but life is tough. I should have gone busking as I have no food or tobacco, but since the blanket ban on buskers I would be either doing so illegally or, sitting in the rain watching my thousand pound guitar get rusty. Fcuk it. I give up smoking and eating instead. I still have a few olives and half a pack of spaghetti (no sauce or owt) to last me until Saturday: where I earn a tenner, which must last me all week.

There is this guy, a kid, a chav, a conspiracy theorist, who is around town. He wears his trousers round his ass, talks like a black guy, raps, he’s essentially what we’d term a ‘wigger’. Anyway, the other day he posted some s- and I corrected him on his spelling (he could not spell the words English or immature) and he just replied, “F- off!” immediately after stating that he was ‘chilled out’. Evidently not. Anyway, I got to thinking that this guy is so very uncultured, vulgar, a thief, rude, he revels in the ‘bling’ he has bought with his giro and thinks the world owes him a living. This morning I slammed him with one hell of a status update. He once smashed up my mates car because he thought he was a lizardman from outer space. That’s how messed up this generation is. This morning I indirectly called him a ‘semi-illiterate chav wigger’ (he cannot even spell the word ‘immature’ nor the name of our country). I am so used to amicable discourse with academics that some FB conversations are banal, vulgar and boring.

Tonight is D&D, I am attending just for the social aspect. I hardly see any body nowadays. I’m going to take my guitar and try to play music there, as the rôle of Arion - cithara player extraordinaire. In any case, little Ronulus must stay at home. He’ll hold the fort for me.

Emigré

Dear Diary,

Who loves you? Well, an old flame got back in touch last night. She was drunk, her other half was out with the lads, and she confessed she loves me very much. She asked me, «et toi» to which I replied «je même» which, for those of you who didn’t already know means “I love you” effectively, in French. (Literally: I feel the same way). I miss her, but like so many burds, especially French ones, to her monogamy is a type of wood. She is quiet, unassuming, highly sexed, again, a typical trait of the French woman.

I needed to take regular breaks from the Latin. So I’ve been playing some guitar in between spates of learning vocabulary and working my way through the exercises at a snails pace.

This morning I gave the Council a letter explaining in no uncertain terms that you cannot take something from nothing, and if they repossess my house, I have put a contingency plan in place to emigrate. I am serious. No doubt a hundred souls will be glad to see me out of Britain, and if even one is pleased to see me across the Channel, I am content. Figuring out how to get across the sea with little Ronnie Barker is going to be a challenge, but I’m game. I’ve had it with this place. No gigs. No burds. No opportunities.

I am looking forward to a breath of fresh air, a new adventure, and some gigs are surely better than no gigs at all. Aye. I am going where the people love musicians, where not a word of English is spoken, and where the wine is cheaper, the food more fulfilling and the women are easier. Froggieland.

Mind over matter.

Dear Diary,

I had a major epiphany today. First of all I got back on the horse with the Latin, after being thrown in low spirits over Saturnalia. Alas, I am rusty as buggery but am managed to rediscover my mojo for language with a matter of minutes. I must keep it going, studying each day.

The revelation came when I managed to pull myself out of ‘the cloud of the black dog’ and get back with it.

I remember dating a burd a while ago (like fifteen years ago) who was well fit! I mean she had an incredible intellect, was so beautiful and gentle. She left me for a muscular toreador with a barrel chest and big red flares. Anyway. Before she left me, I excitedly told a friend about getting together with this incredibly talented woman (a musician, naturally) and my mate said, “Well she’s a very lucky girl.” I had not even considered that she might feel lucky to have me - so low was my self-esteem - and something not too dissimilar happened to me today.

I have been worried about doing years of study to get a degree and another twenty-thirty years research to eventually become a Professor; constantly the black dog hounded my spirit. “Is it worth it?” I asked myself, “Have I left it too late in life?” My grades are very average and I am not well respected in many places. Most people hate me. That’s life. Anyhow. Today I had a polarity shift in perspective: I will not be lucky to find a decent job after graduation; whichever institution does eventually hire me will be lucky to have me; and visa-versa. It’s not all one way. I am not going to accept teaching brats just anywhere (as far as I’m concerned, that’s the wooden spoon prize). Despite my grades, I have what it takes to be a teacher: charisma, knowledge, a thirst for the subject matter (classics) and any institution would be just as lucky to employ me, as I would be fortunate enough to beat the competition and land a job with them. Sure, competition is tough, but that’s no problem. I’ll just have to keep applying for jobs, going to interviews and so forth, once I am sufficiently qualified.

In the meantime, music is my master, my bread and butter, and that is really quite okay. I must not let living on a tenner a week get me down. While everyone else is getting ‘mental benefit’ or working on minimum wage, Maxwell works for no pay, at his studies. The OU wrote me a letter saying that it is only part time study. Today I took my books with me, plonked them on the desk at the Council offices and said, “You think that’s part time?” Two modules at once. I even showed her the Latin grammar guide. It’s no cake-walk lady. I can tell you.

Maxy is back on the flex.

If you think you’re defeated: you are defeated. It’s not simply a question of maintaining a positive mental attitude, but it’s about courage, and most of all: spirit.

Big society break-down.

Dear Diary,

If I write something of intellectual worth (posts such as Mesoamerica or Homer) then my hits jump up over ten times. Apparently I have not a single follower, but within two minutes of writing both those aforementioned posts, I had a dozen hits. Somebody somewhere is monitoring this shit, the whole thing’s a set up. Here’s how I know.

I once met a revolutionary, a Communist, an Anarchist, from Wales. When I asked him if he had the internet he exclaimed, “No!” I then enquired as to why ever not, he told me that he was involved in politics for many years. At the time he was a politician, the idea of the internet was conceived. Being privy to such certain sensitive information meant that he knew what the government were up to when it was first implemented across the network.

The internet is essentially a massive espionage network and information exchange. On each motherboard is a tiny microphone, and in most laptops and smartphones nowadays: cameras with facial recognition are hard-wired. (Incidentally, they work on measuring the distance between your eyes, so that even if you wear sunglasses, you can still be identified). Each time you turn off an application on your iPhone, it takes a picture, compresses it, and relays it to a database, time-stamped with the co-ordinates of where the picture was taken. I even know the person who first developed and wrote the software for the location tracking. He was paid in weed.

This is the so-called ‘Big Society’ in which we live. Big brother. As the rich get richer the poor get poorer, and all the while, the government are taxing you and taxing you. Something’s gotta give. A change. It will most likely be egalitarian and global. The old order will be torn down, and a mafia will take its place. Back to the bad old days of the Ostrogoths, Visigoths and Vandals. This is what is likely going to happen, if the current trend continues, and the left-wing revolutionaries I have met in Europe and South America are genuine. It will happen elsewhere first (on Continental Europe) and will spread through South America, with the final bastions of corrupt ‘democracy’ holding out (Canada, the U.S. and Great Britain) until they have eroded people’s civil liberties to the point of being part of a military state. Then the government will begin to suppress its own people with riot-control and the armed forces. It doesn’t take a genius to figure this out, but it helps.

Council: attempted amicable resolution.

Dear Diary,

I just visited the Council offices in an attempt to reach an amicable resolution about my recent Court summons for non payment of tax. The lady behind the desk said, “I am not the Council, I cannot log into the system.” Whilst wearing a badge that read ‘District Council’ and tapping away at terminal. I explained my situation, calmly, and told her that I can either give up half of my earnings for the year, or get fed in prison and be tarred with the brush of being a criminal for the remainder of my days. It’s Catch 22. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.

My imagined log-cabin in the Rocky mountain forest seems more appealing than ever now.

Fact: constantly thinking about aliens drives you nuts.

Dear Diary,

When the words ‘heroin’ and ‘aliens’ are mentioned in the same paragraph alarm bells start ringing: “nut-bar”, “fruit-loop” and “scam”. I read ‘agent buried alive’ the other day, and naturally was every bit as intrigued as I was sceptical. Here’s how it is.

1) Anybody who dwells too much thinking about the so-called ‘Illuminati’ (the Freemasons, effectively) and aliens from another planet drives themselves into a state of hysteria, so much so that they end up crazy. Fact. I’ve seen it happen time and time and time again. The more they meditate on it, the more all they can think about or talk about is f- aliens this and secret BS that.

2) Phil Schneider said that there are several elements from aliens that are not on the periodic table. This is complete BS. I have spoken to Geo-scientists on this matter and the periodic table of elements is complete. Anyone who believes this BS is gullible and stupid. It’s a case of bad science.

3) The guy who wrote A.B.A. earns a tonne a week from his website.

4) Not every theory can be dismissed, let us keep an open mind. There were several points when I have experienced similar things to skip-matey-me-old-flapper (author of A.B.A.) such as viewing sound as a transparent ripple, and also a connection with my twin brother (telepathy, feeling pain, etc.) so one cannot dismiss what he says, as evidently these phenomenon exist, they’re just not well researched.

5) Even if aliens did exist, so what? Who gives a f-? They’re obviously not ready to reveal themselves, so who cares man?! I have witnessed UFOs above Brittany. So what?

6) If you believe all the hype, you’re naive. There is more to life than conspiracy theories, such as having fun, happiness, love.

7) David Icke drives a black Lamborghini. He has obviously done very well out of peddling BS.

8) The conspiracy theory is just that: a theory. It’s a smoke screen to distract people from what’s really going on. The theory is put out there to scare the population and other nations into thinking that certain western governments have ‘alien’ technology. Such BS.

9) If you don’t wake up and snap out of it, you’ll spend the rest of your life worrying about shit that doesn’t exist, and before you realise it, life will have passed you by.

10) Don’t worry: be happy.

Vision of the Rockies as a child.

Dear Diary,

Finally, success! I managed to get the files on the Hittites working through my Kobo, so I have a significantly broader research base from which to do my assignment. Awesome! I am definitely choosing the Hittites, the Aztecs and (of course) the Roman Empire. Rome and Greece are so very interesting (to me at least).

This evening I watched a touching film, a classic: The Piano. Very moving.

Life is ... what it is. Viewing said cinematic masterpiece made me think about my dream as a child. Growing up in Ontario, I remember looking at the mountains and thinking to myself, “When I grow up I want to come out here, build myself a log-cabin, and live simply.” I might even pursue such a dream if things here go tits up. Were it not for my house, my studies and my dog, I might have even accepted my brother’s invitation to go stay with him; cut loose, and wandered the grizzly infested mountains, sowing seeds, building a cabin, hunting, fishing, gathering firewood. All I ever wanted, since the age of four, was to live a humble life in seclusion. Perhaps one day I will, perhaps not.

I was speaking to my friend the fiddler yesterday, who told me about his eldest. She has a degree (a first!) and can’t even find a job cleaning toilets, let alone follow her chosen career path. I wonder, I wonder, if having got my qualification (assuming I work hard enough to pass) whether I’ll even find a job? My grades are very average. It is unlikely I will ever make anything of myself. It would be nice to live somewhere quiet, in the wilderness, should my dream of becoming a teacher fail. I should like to sit and write, play music to the birds, grow vegetables and corn. Even during my dozen years on the road I drew up plans for precisely how to build the structure, what tools I would need, and how I should likely go about building my humble hut.

Didier would say, “You have not the right.” and lawfully, he would be correct. Yet if he had trodden in my shoes, if only for a month, he would soon realise that not having anywhere means you just crash out wherever you feel safe and warm. Right or no right, a man has to sleep after walking many miles in mountains carrying a 120 litre bergen. Aye.

A societal link between mediæval history and ancient Rome.

Dear Diary,

In order to summon the motivation to resume the laborious and unenviable task of mastering the founding principles of Latin grammar, I decided to read about the Roman Empire today (which overlaps with my current archæological assignment). I discovered some startling things along the course of this voyage through history; most especially to do with mediæval history. Fascinating.

This is just one of the few similarities betwixt mediæval history and ancient history:

“...this vast internal trade network broke down. The widespread civil unrest made it no longer safe for merchants to travel as they once had, and the financial crisis that struck made exchange very difficult with the debased currency. This produced profound changes that, in many ways, would foreshadow the very decentralized economic character of the coming Middle Ages. ... they began to manufacture many goods locally, often on their own estates, thus beginning the self-sufficient "house economy" that would become commonplace in later centuries, reaching its final form in the Middle Ages' manorialism. ... a half-free class of Roman citizen known as coloni. They were tied to the land, and in later Imperial law their status was made hereditary. This provided an early model for serfdom, the origins of medieval feudal society and of the medieval peasantry.” - wikipedia, Crisis of the Third Century in the Roman Empire.

Now all I have to do is summon the will to study Latin. Easier said than done.

In defence of wikipedia.

Wikipedia is endorsed by precious few Professors, Dons, and A.L.s in the academic community. Out of habit, more authoritative sources of information are deemed much better sources, because the communities of scholars who write encyclopedæ are qualified, excellent at their job, and therefore a superior source for students.

On the other hand, many of the ‘better sources’ are commercialised (Creedo, Oxford) meaning pay-for-information which one could quite easily obtain elsewhere, for free.

I once quizzed Dr. Deman about Thomas Beckett. This is a subject Dr. Deman has studied extensively. I went to wikipedia and therein it repeated precisely that which Dr. Deman had explained, down to the finest detail (when Didier had researched the subject, the computer did not exist; furthermore I very rarely see him at the computer, he is usually immersed in books).

For, against, this is living proof that wikipedia has excellent qualities about it, and remains the first port of call for most people wishing to know something, globally.

An unexpected party.

Dear Diary,

Upon returning home after the marvellous melodic musical session in the park yesterday, I was invited to a dinner party. It was lovely. A small family gathering with the hosts’ father being in attendance. He is a wondrous old chap, a charismatic Welshman, a writer and former journalist for the Daily Mirror. (He once wrote an 800 word article in the iambic pentameter: not a single person noticed nor said anything). In light of this, I recited some of my play at the dinner table, he loved it. I asked him to proof-read my script(s) before sending it to publishers, the gentleman agreed to do so. Even his girlfriend was a delight to talk to and we enjoyed a marvellous roast dinner and dessert.

After eating I produced both my guitars: Saint Lillian and Gertrude. Instantly the old boy asked, “Why on earth are you studying Latin history when you play so beautifully?” I gave my reasons, which he accepted. We even did a duet together, a ho-down, and the man sang such wit in a southern-drawl.

Today I am invited to a musical get together. I refused, on account of having to catch up on my Latin.

You couldn’t write it.

Ever Dearest Diary,

Today, something incredible happened. You couldn’t write it. Spectacular, fantastic, almost unbelievable.

After leaving the pub Gulliver and I headed to the secret garden. Met by the smell of sweet scented spices smoked by a certain someone. A long bowed sound sawed from the cello’s deep resonance. Before long Gulliver broke out with his fiddle, I accompanied on my guitar, Ashokan Farewell, a beautiful tune, most especially on the violin, and the cello. After that came the hot-diggedy hootnin’-tootnin’ ho-down hoot-nanny yessirree! Yeeeha! Words cannot describe how melodious a sound we three made. A half a dozen bullfinches listened in, a stormy looking woman walked past carrying her shopping, throwing us a sharp look as a neighbour, smoking, laughed, looked on and listened with joy.

So joyous was the occasion that I wished to record it, but didn’t want to taint the moment with red-eye fever; so I asked someone I knew to take a photo. It... was... magnificent.

No-one save the bullfinches that were there, the people, and the big-guy upstairs will ever know just how sweet a sound issued forth from the cello, save ourselves.

Suspended from work for a week, on account of smelly feet.

Dear Diary,

I was almost fired today, on account of my strange body odour and smelly feet. It means I am not paid my usual tenner this week (I really needed the money) but providing I am sweet scented, and do a good job, I am permitted to play here next week. I should have gone busking. (I was going to but decided to play the café instead, on account of the alleyway ban on buskers, that and I’d rather have a gig than busk). I am so boned.

No matter. I shall just have to forage for food. There are no problems: only solutions. I need to find a way to make money. I’m buggered. This is a nightmare. Chin up Maxy. Just scram, get home, and get stuck into my coursework.

At the very least, it’s a lovely day. Today has given me the opportunity to quit smoking (I have no choice) and clean up my act. They still gave me a breakfast and a cup of tea, but it is savage not being able to have any money this week. Must think fast. I could flog a section of my miniature collection, something I’ve been toying with that idea for a while now. The elven lords wouldn’t be too happy about it, and the Saxons would have no-one else to fight, which is perhaps a good thing. Maybe they’ll put down their weapons, and pick up musical instruments instead? Let’s hope so.

Back to Latin.

F- it! I can just do a quick ‘stealth busk’ on the way home. Needs must as the devil drives...

Just as I was leaving the owner of the café came up to me, had a kind word with me and paid me anyway, result! (I sat and played some for about a half an hour - outside).

“So Ron’? No need to stealth busk after all ’ey boy?”, jolly good show. The elven lords are most pleased about the deferral on their tree-top castle sale. So are the Saxons.

Righty ho, vocab’ and declining verbs and conjugating nouns.

Ooh! This is quite a turn up for the books! Gulliver just called, and it looks like the band might be getting back together. Maybe. I’m not going to hold my breath. In any case, the café miss the one-eyed fiddler and banjoist every bit as much as I do. I really miss playing Old-Time. Even if it’s just a pint and a chat, it’ll be nice to see the old boy again.

Well, we talked it over and as I suspected, that was that: the moribund of No electrickery. No matter. We still play informally, but not professionally. One thing that did warm my heart was hearing that all the audience on the street and the staff at the café all ask the same thing: where’s Max? When the lone fiddle reports in melodic sonorous enticement, that same lonely sound yearns accompaniment. Aye. No man is an island. We’re off for a jam in the park, which will be, of course, as bitter-sweet as can be. I am not relishing the idea of playing on my own (for it is always better to play in a group than play with yourself) but that is what I am left with. The search for new musicians. That has been my life’s mission (that and the ever elusive search for peace and Enlightenment).

Some learnēd scholar once said to me, “It is far better to teach history, than become history.” Too true. I love my chosen subject, with a passion matched only by my thirst for intellectual fulfilment.

Yesterday I remember sitting in silence with Gung Fu. He has no internet (it’s been this way for quite a few weeks now) and was bored. The entire time I was there I scribbled and studied for Block 3 of my archæology module. It made me realise just how lucky I am to have found a subject that perks my interest, so much so that I spend each waking moment immersed in studious endeavour.

No more playing games. No more playing music. Now, is the time to focus, on history, language and archæology. Aye.

Homer as history?

Dear Diary,

I awoke to a lively debate on the validity of Homer as history. Wading in, full of gusto, I said my piece and left my mark on a once exciting and now seemingly tiresome conversation. The other guy arguing can read ancient Greek and is evidently a very learnēd Classicist. This doesn’t stop Maxy though, I utilised a small selected segment of my personal library, quoted some top-notch historians and archæologists, but despite my efforts in attempting to prove such legends as history, following the tract of mine own research, had to concede defeat. Here’s what I wrote:

“I would very much like to agree to disagree but in light of the evidence, I must concur because, “There is no archæological evidence for a historical war... at Troy, although there were upheavals in the eastern Mediterranean around 1,200 B.C.E.” (Rathbone, 2009, p.158) Even so, to the first true objective historian Thucydidēs b.ca.455-ca.398 B.C.E. and epic poets like Homer, the Trojan war was a integral part of Greek history. (ibidem) But did such a war even occur? What of the validity of such an occurrence? Due to Schliemann’s faith in these fables we have added another chapter to history (Barker, 1968, p.H3) and through Sir Arthur Evans’ trust in the fidelity of the Homeric hymns that pushed back the frontiers of history to five thousand years. (ibidem) Equally, “Evans’ assumption that... ‘kings’... ruled from these ‘palaces’ is generally accepted. ... We now know that the shaft graves found by Schliemann date to the... 16th century, ... before the apogee of Mycenæ’s power and wealth in the 13th century. ... The iconography of power in Minoan Crete is... quite weakly developed, and virtually no clear examples of ruler portraiture are known.” (Alcock/Cherry, 2013 [2005], pp.481 & 484)

In any case, whatever the validity of the Homeric poems, it is only through the tenacious search for truth by archæologists that we are even aware of whether these myths had any historical basis. What is clear is that this period forms the crucible of European civilisation, and furthermore has inspired great works of art throughout the centuries: Rubens, Veronese, Botticelli; writers in reception studies such as Shakespeare, Joyce and Marlowe.

“Hollow pyramidēs of silver plate;

The sails of folded lawn, where shall be wrought

The wars of Troy, but not Troy’s overthrow;

...Take what ye will, but leave Æneas here...”

Historical or no, the events (or non-events) that took place (or may not have taken place) have had such a weighty impetus that has left Europe with a lasting cultural tradition which has inspired some of the finest artful intellectuals to create their chef d’ouvre. Whether it was ‘Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe’ by Manet in 1863 or the sarcophagus of the River Gods from the 3rd century C.E. at Villa Medici, Homer, Hesiod and Maro have all left their legacy upon which stands the foundation of Classical Culture.

A review of the evidence suggests that Homer may have been a gestalt entity - possibly two people - and that this may be said, “It is historically perhaps unfortunate that the composers or compilers of the Iliad and the Odyssey were... successful... in catching the spirit, and the social and military institutions of... [ancient] Greece; for by doing so the best potential literary source... later... was in a sense perverted.” (Revill, 1962, p.51)...”

Revill, J.C. (1962) World History, Longmans Press, Northampton, p.51.

Barker, L.M. (1968) Pear’s Cyclopedia, Chaucer Press, Suffolk, p.H3.

Rathbone, D. (2009) Civilizations of the Ancient World, Thames & Hudson, London, p.158.

Alcock, S. & Cherry, J.F. (2013 [2005]) The Human Past, Thames & Hudson, London, pp.481 & 484.

For the now, I must return to my Latin studies. Though the cupboards be bare, I am resolved to work tomorrow at the café, from necessity. This is my lot in life, so I must accept it, graciously, gladly.

John Alington (1795-1863)

John Alington (1795-1863), farmer.

Alington believed that he had a responsibility to educate the workers on his Letchworth estate. He read them Shakespeare and transformed a pond on his farm into a scale model of the world. While they rowed him round the different countries in his constructed microcosm he gave introductory lectures on geography, followed by discussions and quizzes. Before taking them to London for the Great Exhibition of 1851, fearing they might get lost, Alington required them to build a large model of the streets of London, fashioned out of logs and covering the area between Hyde Park and King’s Cross. For a week he drilled his workers on the route from the railway station to the Exhibition and back again. Those learning the way from the station to the Crystal Palace wore a ribbon on their right legs; those responsible for mastering the return journey wore the ribbon on their left legs. The experiment was unsuccessful, and the trip was cancelled.

Alington was a generous man, and he held an open house six days a week. Tramps, gypsies and outcasts of all sorts were particularly welcome. Those on horseback could ride straight into his drawing room, where Alington would entertain them with ribald songs, accompanying himself on the grand piano. He enjoyed being carried around his garden in an open coffin, but was defiant at the end. In his last illness, he refused to take the proscribed medicine until his gardner had tried it for three days. Then Alington called for a tumbler of brandy, drank it and fell backwards, dead.

Donaldson, W. (2004 [2002]) Brewer’s Rogues, Villains and Eccentrics, Phoenix/Orion, London, pp.11-12.

Signature track.

Dear Diary,

I was really looking forward to studying Roman architecture at Yale through Coursera throughout the past few months. Today I looked at the module, and it looks like it’s been commercialised, signature track is required, and they’re asking for fifty-bucks that I haven’t got. Oh well. Seeing as all the study materials are on-line, and the sole advantage of using Coursera is that it was free, means that is yet another module I am destined never to study, except in my own time.

There’s an archæology course that starts next month, and that one doesn’t require signature track ($50) so I might try that one. It’s with Brown University who, as far as I’m aware, take a more European approach to the discipline: archæology being a distinctive field in its own right, rather than being one of the branches of anthropology, as is usually the case across the pond.

It is unlikely that I’ll try any Coursera this year, seeing as I have so much other study on the go. Must find motivation to continue Latin.

I also must find some more gigs, which would be nice. I remember travelling abroad and finding gig after gig, in France, Belgium and Italy they really love good musicians; even Germany is more ‘up for it’ than England. (Although I tend not to go there, because history has taught me a lesson. They wouldn’t like Maxy sausage-side. I’d be like Burton, when he met Taylor’s German family).

Ho hum. Back to the grind.

Oops a daisy! It looks like I might well be signed up for Roman Architecture after all, and that the Signature Track would just be for a certificate. In any case I signed up for Sue Alcock’s Dirty Little Secrets starting next month. I wonder what they will make of Maxy? I intend to keep fora contact minimal and just let the assignments speak for themselves. Man! If I could do that with the OU I would totally flunk my degree, as if I wasn’t enough of a wild-child already! My papers for the OU are taken very seriously, but I still have to restrain and reformulate my arguments to fit with the rubric of the assignment. Because these Coursera courses are just for fun I can really be myself and ‘go for it’ in essays, which is a luxury I cannot afford when learning seriously: jumping through hoops, just like Ron’.

In any case, with likes of the Sue Alcock, I am likely to do the very best I can, seeing as my audience is an esteemed authority in the field. In any case, this year should be a great year.

Year of the horse.

My little stinker.

Dear Diary,

Today has been slow. I’ve just taken Ronulus out, he really needed it. Despite accompanying me round the shops or to friends places, little Ron’ has shat inside twice in as many days. He’s curled one out more than once, he’s the gift that keeps on giving. That’s my little stinker, my lil’ poo-pooh, my little stinky-winky. Seeing as how Ronulus is actually house-trained, these ‘presents’ he keeps leaving me are an indication of how much I stay at home and study. On the day of the deadline and the following day I was more or less chained to the keyboard, writing against the clock. Even if I let him out in the back-yard, he still tries to do his business in the neighbours’ gardens. He’s looking at me all innocent now, wagging his tail, eating his Barker’s complete. I love you stinker, but we’re gonna have to have bathies soon.

Back on with the Latin I suppose.

I have buried my head in the sand about accumulating a Council Tax bill. It is not fair that I should have to part with a slice of the ten pounds I earn each week at the café. I am so hungry at times that I cannot face giving up even a penny that could otherwise be spent on bread or oats. Drink? Smoke? Forget it! Just a morsel of bread and some rainwater is all I ask, and am denied even that simple ‘luxury’.

I remember watching a documentary about the treatment of the Jews in France during W.W.II and remembering a quote about one poor Jewish soul trapped in such a harsh place. He said, “In the morning you would queue, to get your bread.” They ate one time a day only. I recall being hungry and yearning to be that Jew in a concentration camp: he at least had one crust of bread, which is more than none.

Challenges ahead, hurdles to clear.

Dear Diary,

So, the next question is a really good one, and if I apply myself, I might just be able to make up for the marks lost on my first paper, and possibly the second if it scores as badly. It’s all about ancient empires: the desire for security, economic gain and the ambition of rulers. We get go choose which empires and I have pencilled in the Romans and the Aztecs, and am toying with idea of writing about the Akkadians and/or the Hittites (all depending on whether or not I can read those files Delli gave me, perhaps using a converter).

I should be getting back on with the Latin, I know I should, and I will. I have two weeks to get this next assignment done and then another two weeks until the third archæology paper is due in. I re-start my job at the café in a few days, so I have to write some new tunes, or at the least learn a few new covers for that gig, so the staff don’t get bored and fire me. (Repetitiveness was the cause of the last guitarist losing his place there, I consider it my duty to ‘mix it up a bit’ and throw in a few new tunes each week. That is principally why Maxwell’s Silver Hammer broke up, Harry wanted to play the same set week in, week out).

So, it’s late, I’m sober and can’t sleep. I might just have to retire again, and see about picking up the pieces tomorrow.

In the nick of time.

Dear Diary,

At eleven fifty-five yesterday I submitted my essay. It is a very average academic paper, and I decided to send it without checking it. As a result is has multiple errors, I forgot to write the word ‘development’ in the concluding paragraph. Not only that but I had forgotten to add an ‘&’ sign and full-stop in the bibliography. All in all, much like my last paper, it was finished in a hurried manner.

In any case, I kept the footnotes in (a thousand words long or so) and didn’t even care about doing so. Without these explanatory footers it would not be possible to make sense of the essay. I cited Hall, Reade and even paraphrased some Arouet.

Today I am straight back on the Latin. I just went to the supermarket and they had some great books there! I managed to get a copy of The Kon-Tiki expedition the earliest pioneering attempt at experimental archæology. Also a I bought a huge nice book on history, next to which was a tiny pamphlet sized modest tome entitled ‘American History’. Cute.

Awakened by the boom of rolling thunder

Dear Diary,

‘James’ T. Kirk (my tutor) has kindly offered me another extension until today. Naturally, this gives me just enough time to re-work the steaming pile of pooh that is my lame excuse of an essay. I am over-awed by just how much there is to learn about Mesopotamian, Egyptian and Mesoamerican urbanism. You could pick either one of those areas, dedicate a lifetimes worth of research and you’d still only be barely scratching the surface.

I am unsure whether or not to include the footnotes or not (they are running into over 700 extra words so far). In all likeliness I shall have to either omit them and post them up on the forum or perhaps email them.

This is such a tricky subject, I confess I am buckling under the strain, it is as though I am Atlas.

Righty ho, a cup of tea, bowl of porridge, and I am ready to begin re-working this paper. Last night I slumped asleep next to the keyboard at about four-thirty. This morning at nine I was awoken by a sudden loud thunderclap, and some more flashes of light and rolling thunder, fell asleep again for a few hours, and am up bright-eyed and bushy tailed, all set to re-work this bad boy.

Let’s see how today goes.

Diagnosed with A.S.T.S.

Dear Diary,

Today I was diagnosed with A.S.T.S. It’s an extremely rare condition, and affects fewer and fewer people each year due to new remedies and treatment. “Acute Surf Teddy Syndrome” is what I’ve diagnosed myself with, after much critical analysis.

Being labelled as such is after sitting at the keyboard, gawping at Surf Teddy staring at a blank screen, as one gazes at one’s own blank screen.

I have meditated upon this one question: “can urbanism be a singular phenomenon?” each fleeting moment of every passing day for the past couple of weeks, at least. I have pondered this question while setting my pants on fire, falling asleep next to the wood burner. Last night all I could dream about was ancient cities in Mesopotamia, Egypt and Mesoamerica.

Hopping from one foot to the next, “It is a single phenomenon. No, it’s not the same everywhere.” and so on and so forth. Similarities, differences, I am freaking out, big-time. T-minus eleven hours.

I think I’ll watch Surf Teddy again, and ponder the problem some more.

Okay. Getting stuck into this essay is great! Much like hard work or punishment, it is very rewarding. I have gone with my ‘gut instinct’ and have written the paper from the perspective of a plebeian, a prole, a person. It is cynical, scientific, realist, gritty, dry, and most of all: no f- about evidence based arguments backed up by a veritable plethora of citations, only about half of which are ratified by the University.

Fcuk it. I’m just gonna go for it, fail or no fail. Alright. *rolls sleeves up* “You really want to know what I think about urbanisation?” (Quigley, 1961, pp.211-212) The Evolution of Civilizations and (Reade, 1872, pp.6-9, 18-19 & 28-29) The Martyrdom of Man.

That’s what I think about urbanisation as a singular phenomenon. Oh yes, I have had to couch some fairly illiberal views in this one. If I fcuk it up, so be it.

Now I am very f- stressed out. I just went over to Mr.X’s place to see about uploading the essay. It just so happens I pick the day when he has sent his machine off for repair. So, home (through the floods and storms), grab the PC and a screen, haul it over the hill and back again. Meanwhile it’s a full-blown bachelor party goin’ on round there, one cannot move for people. Nightmare. Back to the grind...

22:22 hours, D-day in T-minus 1 hour or so counting. Bugger, bugger, bugger. The essay is a complete bloody shambles I just re-read it (I was just going to send it) and it’s a bloody good job matey took his ’puter to the repair shop. This piece of ... whatever it is needs reworking completely.

Calm Max. Edit it. Refine it.

You can do this.

Wasted weekend so far.

Dear Diary,

Boned. I’m boned. Friday night and I was wont for some good company, so headed round to Mr.X’s gaff.

He needed to walk his hounds so left me at his place. As I stared at the giant brain-washing machine (television) little Ronulus Latratus wandered off to have a sniff about the house. I used an old army technique for commanding him: C.L.A.

It’s an acronym for Clear, Loud, As an order. Used for staggering advancement of charlie and delta fire-teams in a section, anyway. I shouted, “Ronulus! ueni uir!” (Ron’! Here boy!) Rather than his usual, “sic dominus” reply I heard a loud, audible *thunk!*

Right in front of me were a dozen or so large snakes that I had completely forgotten about, and being focused on the huge brain-washing screen meant I had not been using my peripheral vision. One of the giant Boa-constrictors was trying to escape its tank, and a ten foot long serpent looked right at me, before bashing its head against the glass again.

Admittedly this was nowhere near as scary as when Mr.X lived at mine, when the tank had broke, and the only thing separating me from them was a piece of cardboard and some sellotape! It made me thankful that he has three complete snake tanks now, with several heavy objects on top of them. Equally, if that thing had snuck its head out of the top, it could surely have slithered its way to freedom, then Ron’ would be the starter, and me the main course. Considering where I was and the choice of potential defence mechanisms, had the giant snake escaped, I would have had an excellent array of armaments with which to fend it off with: tomahawk, hammer, crossbow, et cetera. (Though had I killed his snake, even in self-defence, matey would have been none to happy about it upon his return!)

Meanwhile, once I was back at base, I tried to motivate myself to study. It didn’t work. I just can’t seem to force myself to focus, so, instead of forcing it, I am going to feel it. Gently. Concentrating on the positive aspects of learning which I enjoy, that are directly relevant to the task at hand.

In between time I have frittered away much time needlessly in a state of near constant distraction. Yesterday I walked to the shop, the way there was flooded. I left only ten minutes before it shut, so it was time critical that I go that way. I just thought, “Fcuk it!” and waded through the river. I ran through it on the way back, carrying the shopping in a rucksack. Ron’ paddled through, which is surprising as he doesn’t like water.

Oh man! You should have seen little Ron’ on the escalator the other day, he was f- terrified! First time for him, being an ex-farm working dog, a ratter. He doesn’t get frightened by the sound of gun-shots, but ascending or descending an escalator is a traumatising experience for my little Norfolk. He kept wanting to go up, and not wait, he sat there impatiently, shaking. Anyhow, must get back to A251 then A297. Busy busy busy.

I got a load of essays on the Hittites from Delli. Just as he transferred them I said, “Remember to eject it, unmount the drive properly.” He just yanked it out of the machine. All the data he transferred has become corrupted, as it was reading/writing to the drive at the time he unceremoniously just ripped it out of the machine (with the files open to ‘verify’ that it won’t work properly!) Grrr. I will just have to earn some more money and go and buy hard copies of the books. Good old-fashioned books do not require electrickery, nor do they crash or become glitchy.

A few days ago when I went walking Ronulus, in a storm, upon my return I noticed that my letterbox had been torn out. I glued it back in place, which did not work on account of rain. Thinking nothing of it (but supposing the ‘usual suspects’ being who had vandalised my front door) I just had a visit from a couple of dodgy guys. The two of them kept pointing out about my damaged letterbox. Even after the conversation had moved on, they kept coming back to it. Neither of them are the type that would tear off a letterbox, but I know just who might, as do they. I kept quiet. They mentioned what may have happened, that somebody tore it off, thinking they could reach through and open the lock. Evidently that was not going to work, without tools, by clumsy brute force. It has cemented the most likely culprits in my mind - they have both stolen from me before, numerous times. I know who they are, and they cannot take anything so long as I am here. It’s a jolly good show that I did not stay up north even a day longer, or the underhand thieves may have found a way inside, and my artwork and artefacts may have been at risk.

Concentration

Dear Diary,

Today has been slow. I find myself in a strange mood, unable to concentrate. In eighty hours time is D-day, and I am no further on with my essay. Bugger. I daren’t go out for a storm. Thankfully I have no booze or ’owt in the house so I am thinking straight at least. Now I must force myself to focus: consolidate that which I have learned thus far in the module. I need to catch up on my Latin so cannot delay any further.

At the turn of the year a publisher (part of the Penguin group) got back in touch with me. I have asked them to publish my work at their expense because I am so poor. Zenobia is dedicated to Doctor Jones, and Doctor Watson, because they taught me more than one can ordinarily comprehend. I chose these two because they are both as every bit as learnēd as they are each pious.

Brook Benton, “Another cup of coffee, and another cigarette...”

This Council Tax bill hanging over me, my impoverished situation, the family squabbles all take a toll on my wavering spirit.

*speaks to self* “Thou art strong Maxwell!” I can do this. Focus Max. Get your paper squared away then get straight back to Latin.

Max.

Made it. (Thank God).

Ever Dearest Diary,

We made it! Finally Ron’! Home sweet home. I feel like Kevin Costner in Robin Hood at times like these, kissing the sandy shore of my belovēd England. Ha ha! What joy! We made it boy! Food! Water! As much sleepsies and cuddles as you like Ronulus! Yes mate! You’re no longer obliged to be here or there or doing anything that is not going to help you finish your degree in Natural Canine Sciences (Canineology) BArker (Rons) with Classical History of the Canis specialism. Ronulus Latratus has worked hard for his Certificate in Higher Canine Obidience, now he’s determined to get his Diploma, and eventually, Degree. Anyway.

Robes and black-square hat-shaped cornerstones from the Temple of Solomon aside, what else happened today? Yes. Lots.

The sound of a lone violin drifted along the lazily busy city high street of Wells. I threw a goodly amount of coins into the venerable lady-fiddler’s case.

I saw something amazing today: the inside of Wells Cathedral. It was truly breathtaking. I had to be quick because little Mr. Latratus was chained up outside.

On the way back through I spoke to the fiddler, who said she had given up; the city was awash with smack-head beggars, all in army gear, all pretending to be ex-veterans. They had no Regimental insignia, and from their tardiness it was apparent not one of them had the discipline of a professional soldier about him.

The next town was just as full of scallys. After being refused service at ‘battery farm drinkers’ (I went into wetherspoons for a meal) I managed to instead (1) stay sober all day, and (2) buy a few new books for around £2 each! Result! :)

So. I went and grabbed a jumbo breakfast at a greasy spoon, and finally, finally made it home.

The moment I arrived home I thought, “I fancy a good smoke.” but had none, long since had my tiny stash been consumed into dust. I reached for my tobacco, there, in the bottom of the pocket was something else. It felt dry but squishy. Lo and behold, Hallelujah Praise the Lord: it was a tiny Camden toothpick that had become brown and wet in the rain. I am aware that tobacco and water is a deadly poison, but I think I’ll take the risk on this one little bobby, re-wrapped in fresh garments. Thank you God!

Gung Fu popped round after seeing my window open, we traded Native American spirit commodities. Now everything is warm and fuzzy. I need a bath, and then to get back to my assignment, gladly.

Max.

Satellite archæology: a critique.

Dear Diary,

I haven’t slept much in these past couple of weeks. A couple of hours here and there at best, and even that was a flitful restless sleep. The hornets finally resurfaced in the cabin on the last night I ‘slept’ in there, and since landing here, sleep has been as elusive as peace.

Still, we made it away, Ronulus and I. Now comes an eleven hour series of bus journeys and I am ready to finally get home, safe and sound, God willing.

Of all the things I miss - Gertrude the guitar, Saint Lillian the Spanish guitar, Betty the banjuitar; Street Musician, the Blind Guitarist, Loch Lomond - it is my books I miss the most. Notwithstanding certain peoples I may or may not miss, not having my personal reference library to hand has been a distinct disadvantage when preparing this current archæology essay. Yesterday I ‘freaked out’ at Delli’s when I lost my archæology notes. It was awful. I was in such a mess about losing them, but of course, found them eventually. I managed to get a few books from Delli on the Hittites, Phœnecians, and other ancient peoples. Jolly good!

I hope somewhere nice is open in town when I get there, I’m famished. A nice cup of tea and a full English is in order I think (or at least, on my budget: a coffee and a muffin - everybody likes a good muffin).

I watched not a bad archæology documentary - Rome’s Lost Empire - but as with so many programmes that feature Dr. Sarah Parcak, it is fatally flawed. Here’s why.

Dr. Parcak has the most excellent technology at her disposal, satellite archæology, Lidar, geo-physics, but I have never actually seen her do any digging. The primary benefit of having ground penetrating readouts to analyse is knowing where to dig, without just simply putting the blade of the spade into the earth at random, hoping for the best. In all of the archæology programmes I have seen with Dr. Parcak, she makes these ‘incredible’ discoveries, visits the site, and finds nothing there but broken surface remains. Perhaps it is to do with permission, the country’s laws on archæological site digging clearance or something like that, but to me the principle benefit of such technology is completely wasted, being only half utilised. Surely it stands to reason that if one knows the whereabouts of newly discovered pyramids or Rome’s light-house of Portus then it makes perfect sense to do something, act on this information, instead of visiting the site, finding next to nothing on the surface, and driving off somewhere else.

Vanished into sand.

Dear Diary,

A hazy morning awakened to the lull of past nights Lang Syne singing at twelve. The hour of twelve passing was slightly soured by a dispute over which Regiment of Her Majesty’s Scottish Armed Services was playing the Aulde Lang Syne on the bagpipes. A friend said the Black Guard, I suggested the Black Watch. I had to stick my foot in it and mention that the Regiment in question had a similar head-dress, if only in colour: black, with a splash of red. Alas, it transpired that it was some other Regiment entirely, and the matter was all soon smoothed over amicably.

Today has been on the archæology Flex. I am trying to maintain study motivation and it seems to be working. Nine A.M. New Year’s morning and Max has got ‘the door-step’ open on Zapotec culture of Monté Alban. On the Flex.

Ron’ didn’t skip breakfast but I did; just a cup of tea and a Camden tooth-pick or two. Although the evening’s empire has now vanished from my hand, turned unto dust and sand, gone, wasted.

It’s a good job there’s a game of Puerto Rico, some board-game going on this afternoon. I really should be getting on with my TMA, but it’s New Year’s Day, and I away, on the morrow. (Which Ron’ is really happy about). Aye.

Home Ron’. Home.

Later that afternoon...

So much for home sweet home; I managed to get stuck in a rainstorm and wind is blowin’ a gale. Conan’s failed logistics have meant that the other players may, or may not, be turning up sometime soon. Bugger.

They turned up. \o/ Woohoo! Puetro Rico the board game on! This is so cool! We get to be five governors in the colonial New World. It’s a trading game, this looks kewl.

We’ve began setting up already.

Well, of all the pretty people there, aside from Conan and myself, no-one wanted to try out Puerto Rico on account of it seeming too complex. Psht!

So we gae Ticket To Ride another spin. It was a really exciting gane actually. Inspiring in-fact. It would be nice to mix it up with some variation like oil-pipelines and roads. A world map with cities for stations, more trade, or army supply trains. Anyway, back at base, it’s study with a cup of tea and beef Chow Mein and dry times, no liquor or smoke, which is probably a good thing.

Must away very soon. There remains but a half-day, until I must away, back to green-fields, valleys and trees, the bracing salt-sea breeze, my home, where I had aught to be.