I am no longer allowed to call myself a historian

Dear Diary,

Well, I have endured a lot since y'all last heard me blog. (Not that anyone even reads this...) I have decided to start role-playing again, but gave my last set of elven dice away today. I want to play Ars Magica because I feel that the effect on the macrocosm (in a Neoplatonic sense) will be diminished, compared to a violent psycho-drama such as D&D or whatever.

My 'other blog' f- shed loads of people read, from the amount my ears burn most days.

Today, was a monumental day. I was refused my degree in history, which I am livid about. Just because I chose Latin and Roman history, I am not allowed to hold the certificate of historian. This makes no sense, whatsoever, other than I have "Classics" as my major. Now, I have known quite a few people who have "Classics" degrees, some speak ancient Greek or Latin, but most don't. So, I am to be put in the same category, as people who like to write about Classical culture, but have no true understanding of what it is, nor history. This is really frustrating.

Furthermore, I can't go back to my French friend with a history degree, a diary from a soldier who served there, and say, "Have that!" We kicked your ass at Waterloo! Now, I have to go to him and say, "I hold no certificate in history, so concede, the French did actually win Waterloo." (If conspiracy theorists are to be believed, then the French did win!) As a historian (and despite what the University says, I actually am a historian, and a damn fine one too I might add!) I can see a weight of evidence supporting both sides, and in truth, the Prussians won (even if they were our allies, and so we won by default). Alas, today Great Britain lost, and France won.

What's worse is I failed to get my Latin assignment in on-time, because I stupidly tried to compose a score for the harp along side it and did not invest sufficient time to translation. So, now I have the risk of failing my "Humanities and Classics" degree. I am very f- pissed off about, first of all not being permitted to have a history degree because I chose Latin (you used to have to study Latin - or ancient Greek - to gain a history degree!) and now, I will not have even one... single... word... on my certificate (assuming I pass) which reads history. This pisses me right off! All I worked for. For nothing. History is my passion. Sure, Classics are technically what I am studying, and Roman archaeology, but Latin and Roman culture was also given a re-birth later on in history, as was Greek culture, throughout the mediaeval period, throughout the Renaissance, and even when Italy was first founded. So, I am not, in any way shape or form, "a historian" any more. I am just like all the rest. Humanities degrees are banal, common, base. Any fool can write about Roman culture, but not everyone can understand the language. The language is the culture. Not having a good day today.

Perceiving future glimpses

Dear Diary,

Before I hit the silver screen and become a major Hollywood movie star this year in Fox/BBC's production of Thomas Hardy's Far From the Madding Crowd, or before I garner a successful publishing deal with an old school chum, I will have to turn my hand at something mercantilist, in order to survive. One must be a mEnTaLiSt referred by the Citizen-Subject Advice Bureau, in order to qualify to be able to go to the food bank. Oh well. In order to avoid starvation I am going to put into action a plan which has been on my mind for over a dozen years.

I am going to set up a business, telling people's fortune. This is something I have been doing for years now (whenever my music has failed me, id est when my instrument is broken or am under the weather so cannot sing). Alas, Lua astrology charges $80 for a natal astrological chart. I have the computer program needed to do this, and will offer her service for free, then, if someone wants a proper reading (runes) then I will charge them $8 instead of $80. This should ensure a decent amount of business, for a reasonable price. I think $8 is a fair price to charge, seeing as a reading takes only an hour. It is not as highly skilled as teaching the pianoforte or guitar, and certainly not as valuable. Music often lifts people's spirits, whereas rune-reading often shocks people, in my experience.

I shall surely be burned as a heretic, for mercantilising my prophetic gifts, turning to black-magic and divination, in the shadow of satan, not in the light of Christ. Too bad. I'm hungry. Needs must as the devil drives...

Here are some more photographs of yesterdays psychic spirit-guide archaeological investigation.

Dig Archaeology



First find (archaeology)

 Dearest Diary,

Well, it's been a lil' while since I blogged, and things are ... pretty good actually. I managed to do some home-brew archaeology and stumble across a precious few finds, which is beautiful. Artefacts. From above the clay, nestled in the vermillion bank of the river ox-bow, sludgy, wet, moss-covered cold tree-top dank day, grey clouds and a bracing wind. Lo and behold, within a few patient minutes and a little stroll about, I unearthed three quite stunning pieces.
The gem-cutter who gave me the tip-off (he's been going there for ages with his metal detector) was quite right, I have a nice piece of pottery, (eighteenth century?) and two microliths, likely neolithic. Nice. On the Flex.

To dare utter the truth means a broken nose (in this neighbourhood)

Dear Diary,

It's been a while, much has happened. I confronted Gung Fu about the missing house-key he stole (after tearing off my letterbox, breaking in and stealing it). Ronulus caught him hovering by the door to see if I was in, waiting for a moment to break in again. I explained this to him. For my trouble I was promptly knocked to the floor, in a pool of my own blood. It's okay, I have friends in places, sacred spaces, authority, the rule of Law, truth and light. They took care of everything, just as the heavenly father takes care of me. Ronulus was about as much use as a spare knob in brothel. He simply rolled to the floor as did I.

In other news, I made it through my archaeology paper, which was incredibly arduous, as much as it was interesting. I might well pass.

Now, now is the time to learn Latin. God I love it so much. It is as though I am flaying myself with a bull-whip of knowledge. I really love Classical Culture so very much. Pliny, Vergil, Seneca.

This weekend was nice, a great gig, plenty of sunshine. Well, duty calls, back to the grind. Marvellous.

Gig day and boobs

Dear Diary,

The sun shone, and pennies from heaven dropped in the alley where the streets are paved with gold. Half a dozen people dropped into Ronulus' water bowl, they probably know about my intended swim. I cut the stint short to go and 'whore' myself out at the cafe for a five. What I really wanted to do was play music with the fiddler, he gave me a smile and told me he didn't want to play music ensemble. Bastard. The staff missed me and the word is they paid Gulliver fifteen and bade us play together. Never-mind losing my house, my education and my future, not being able to play Old Time with an excellent banjoist left me utterly devastated. I became really quite downcast.

The Franciscan arrived. His wife's left him. I could see this happening for years now. He too was really very melancholy, and rightly so. She's really quite pretty, and a beautiful person, with lovely boobs to boot.

Anyway. Gulliver turned up for a 'jam' (he does not jam, he carries a tune, which is fine). I explained just how pissed off I was with him spurning me like that. He has agreed to play together next week. Alas, a couple turned up. He is a right space-cadet, proper cosmic-ranger, and his missus is gorgeous. I know she's shagged the cellist (who hasn't?). She has an interest in... archaeology. Well? I had to woo her with some dazzling facts and turned her on to the OU. She is going to do AA100. Excellent. She is as bright as she is fetching (again, nice rack). Her boyfriend is a lovely guy, if a little far-out. I explained that I was deeply in love with his other half. He accepted it, because out of respect I could not try it on with her. We hugged.

They invited us back to there's. I was so drunk.

God only knows how I made it home.

Seeing as I am Sunday Saint, I must pray forgiveness and attend Church this morning, naturally. What a day. I am shockingly hung-over.

Finished. It's over.

Ever Dearest Diary

It's been a while since we last spoke. (Not that anybody reads this shit). Anyhow. The Council are still on my back about the outstanding tax due. I am being threatened with bailiffs and prison. I called them up yesterday (they didn't answer) and left a message telling them: G.F.Y. Albeit in polite idiom.

If they come round looking to steal my hard earned possessions they can jog on. I intend to elope to warmer climes.

It is such a shame. The archaeology course is f- fantastic! Loads of people are 'bleating' about the amount of reading that has to be done on the fora. Pussies. Try doing Latin alongside archaeology, that will give you something to 'bleat' about.

My End of Module Assessment is coming along nicely, despite the millions and millions of lines of reading required.

This morning I had to make a choice: dog-food or human-food. I chose the former. I am okay with fasting, but could never see little Ronulus go without.

I am the poorest I've ever been in my entire life, and now the Council want their thirty pieces of silver. I just don't care. I've had enough now. They could have had one of the finest academics, the greatest living lyric poet this country has ever known. Instead, I have decided to go back to France.

Since Gung Fu stole the keys to my house, seeing as he is being booted out, I thought I would leave a little parting-gift for the Council, in the form of a number of armed gypsies squatting my place. They want to play hard-ball? Fine. No problem. I'll just go back to France, and never see this country again.