Tomorrow: the holiday

Dear Diary,

I had requested holiday over Christmas, to go to my home town, see this lady in question (and also my family, briefly). I was denied. I had asked for some time off in February, and was again denied. Tomorrow, however, I have finally been granted some small reprise from an otherwise slavish and servile subsistence in Dark Age Britain, or rather, Dickensian would be more fitting.

I have very little money (less than the dole, once you factor in a hundred bucks a week travelling to work costs). Yet I work six days a week. How can this be? It's Dark Age Britain, of course, not Renaissance Italy, evidently.

My "holiday" consists of wresting control of lady from her a well connected gangster fiancée, her probably hitting on me (knowing her), and if not separating the unhappy couple. It will not be a holiday. If anything, it will be drama, probably a violent messy break up. As such I have decided not to take little Ronulus Latrator ('Ronnie Barker'), nor a laptop, nor any books that cannot be replaced. I will be only taking one book (though I would like to bring several dozen). It will have to be quite a big book, in case I finish it, and wish to start another. I feel a book on my current studies would be most appropriate (litigation: criminal law). I am undecided between reading statutes, contextualisation of criminal law or finishing off a textbook on criminology. (I shall probably take the latter, seeing as I'm already a hundred or so pages into reading it already). It is a thoroughly boring work compared to anything classical studies related (for that is my actual specialism). Yet unless you're some nobby prick that never did a day's work in your life, classical studies, Latin, ancient Greek, are for poor people: beggars, slaves, criminals. This is not Renaissance Italy, evidently: it's Dark Age Britain.

The law (like some horrid hag of a partner that is charming enough to keep you interested, like a kind of female Socrates) is as repulsive as it is enticing. Wading through toxicology reports, forensic evidence (such as ballistics), and looking at photographic evidence of murder scenes and the like is stranger than any fiction, but is the nuts and bolts of learning to become a barrister (that and wading through statutes, torts, amendments and reading prior cases, some of which stretch quite far back into Great British history).

Of course, there is the question of me (1) getting a first, because in order to qualify (2) a suitable candidate must pass the required examinations set by the Council for Legal Education, pay his dues and be deemed suitable by the Benchers.

Without seeming to be too cocky, I should imagine that I may well be deemed suitable, because the Establishment know very well that if I am not permitted to do any job other than unskilled labour for minimum wage, I shall jolly go elsewhere where I can earn a decent living: come hell or high water.

Three degrees and still working in Domino's under a seventeen year old boss? I don't think so, somehow.

Max.

A curious book on archaeological innovation

Dear Diary,

There is an awful dearth of good book shops in this remote provincial area of Britain. It's not anything like living in Cambridge, or even my dearly beloved home town of Bridport. Still, I am ever on the lookout for little tomes of interest. One caught my eye in a little shop one day, and I bought it on a whim. I owned many such books before I lost the house, but decided to only take primary sources with me (for I had to make a decision). Since then, my book collection has increased substantially, mainly thanks to living in Cambridge (where one will find books unavailable anywhere online even) but also ordering books online. Anyway. I picked up this little book, and just started reading it (in the bath, as I often do), and it is actually quite useful.

Although rudimentary and aimed at a much lower audience than post-graduates, it's always good to brush up on the basics of any discipline, and I have not formally studied archaeology (except for some sections in my master's) since 2016.

Although this backwater has very few book shops (and certainly none like Hay-on-Wye or Oxford) it does, however, have a wealth of archaeological artefacts, often found on public footpaths and byways, where the horses have churned up the path so one is able to garner so many pieces of struck flint, one can scarcely keep them all in a tiny little room (where I live) along with all the many hundreds of books I have accrued over the years.

Dating these pieces is often difficult. Due to my experience and also many books I own on the subject, one can attempt to discern a particular piece's age by the size of the flakes. There are also other factors, such as similar artefacts belonging to a particular group or trend. Many of these kinds of artefacts are outlined in this book I bought. (I normally rely on Collins' Fieldguide to Archaeology).

I had bought the book in question (Seventy Great Inventions from the Ancient World) to delve further into particular innovations as outlined by Hero of Alexandria, the second or first century B.C.E. historian and machinist, or indeed those outlined by the first century B.C.E. author Vitruvius (also perhaps even things like hypocausts and such like).

Reading a book cover to cover means that (in this case) the authors begin with the most archaic artefacts first, and these are the kind one finds around here. There are several indicators which I had not factored in when attempting to date pieces mentioned in this book. The dates are only very approximate (and indeed, can be narrowed down by reading 'The Doorstep' as its know to people that studied A251 World Archaeology by Phil Perkins, that is, The Human Past by Chris Scarre et al.). Surely this ought to be done in conjunction with other dry excavation reports and appropriate grey literature. Yet in this little beginners' book I recently bought, there are certain styles of struck flint (not least of which the twin bladed stone axe head, a mainstay in technology for many thousands of years) which can help date them, such as microliths, being from only roughly 20,000 years B.C.E. There are, of course, regional variations, so different (modern) nations' territories developed certain innovations at various different times, which must be factored in.

Did you know, for example, that among the very earliest kinds of accomodation ever invented (I should say: discovered) were from the Ukraine around 44,000 years B.C.E.?

Max.

The ongoing war in Ukraine

)Dear Diary,

There is a favourite blogger of mine (I follow very few blogs) that recently posted about the ongoing war in Ukraine. She doesn't usually comment on current events as like me she is a historian. Her view is laudable, as she condemns the invasion and occupation, yet she is actually quite naive. The reason NATO does not weigh in with full force is because of world peace and stability. It is a delicate, fragile geo-political balance and it would be all too easy to spark a tinderbox of a world war, thus leading to Mutally Assured Destruction. NATO leaders are acutely aware of this, which is precisely why they haven't gone 'all in' yet. Sure. It's bad, very bad, but what are you going to do? Start a Third World War in the middle of a global pandemic? No. The world will sit back and watch, filming it, as many journalists and even Sean Penn are doing. Yet no one will actually do anything about it. It will be like when China invaded Tibet, twice. The world will simply watch it happen.

Sure, sanctions, yes yes, maybe even limited clandestine black ops, but no tanks, no air support, no real amount of troops or anything even like that. Ukraine will be an example of Russian aggression, just as Tibet was an example of Chinese aggression. The West is not able to do anything, because if it did, it would surely lead to a much greater loss of life. Imagine, however, if the Russians or the Chinese did attack a NATO country. Then there would be a much more serious conflict. I should imagine that when the Chinese annex Taiwan (as they surely will do) the same thing will happen. The West will just watch.

When I studied medieval and modern history at University, some nine years ago, our lecturer made the point that maps are often impersonal, and do not reflect the humanitarian cost of life and circumstances of people living in such challenging conditions during wartime. However, the good Doctor did still use maps to illustrate points regarding geo-political situations in history. Imagine what the map of the world, politically, will look like once Putin and Xi Jinping have conquered Ukraine and much of the land in the South China Sea region (if they manage it) in years to come. Will Vlad the Invader and the autocratic tyrant Xi Jinping be seen as successful leaders? Absolutely.

Max.

Career? (What career?)

Dear Diary,

On the way home we popped into the local shop and were met by the woman that interviewed me for the leadership position (the young lady that turned up in her pyjamas after a night on the hash pipe), and the person that was chosen instead of me. The man is the same age as my new boss: only 17 years old. Naturally, such a weight of experience and qualifications mean nothing in this f- country. Yet that's okay: this is Dark Age Britain, not the Italian Renaissance, evidently.

Moreover, I recall what I earned this month, which is the same amount as people get on the dole. This is living proof, indeed I am living proof, that qualifications, no qualifications, working, not working, makes absolutely no f- difference, in this f- country.

It could be worse: we could be in Ukraine. (Surely that is the best measure of a great civilisation: you're not being invaded by a hostile aggressive dictatorship, so evidently, you're "doing well").

Max.

Domestic abuse and a fellow student and friend

Dear Diary,

There is a person I know. She's a bit of a character, can sometimes have wild mood swings, but is for the most part an amicable person. I met her through a painter friend of mine, at the exact same time I began my first module of my first degree, a dozen years ago. She was the one that brought my books back for me (as many as we could cram into her car). She had a fall out with her neighbour, who kept the books for me. Anyway, the lady in question went through men like I go through books, but eventually settled down with this one guy. We spoke recently, and in the afternoon, before work yesterday, she seemed fairly together (comparatively, more or less). Then, once I returned from work we had another video call and she was in a hell of a state. I cannot help but pity her, genuinely. Seemingly, her partner is controlling and abusive (according to her testimony). I do not know all the facts of the case, but it seems as though he has some kind of hold on her by which she does not feel safe in her own home (and the tenancy is in her name). She appears to be at his mercy and is on the brink. She is actually suicidal (never a good sign). She has always been independent, a hard worker and supported her family and herself, in autonomy. Now, she is unable to do so, and more than that, she feels trapped.

I had aready pledged my support before I knew all this, as she was very kind bringing my books back for me (asking nothing for doing it), and also hosting my ex-fianceé and I at Christmas and New Year a couple of years ago. I owe her, and now she has asked for my support, it is my duty to help her out.

It's difficult to know what to do, but I have an idea of what to do. Firstly (and most importantly), I have to emphasise that she has the law on her side. Even if her partner is abusive and physically and psychologically dominating her, to the point where she feels suicidal, it is her home, not his. They are not married. No one should feel unsafe in their own home, least of all a lady. Secondly, I am not a tough guy. Although I have an indomitable spirit (usually), I am not a strong man. So, if it does kick off, I will probably not be much help (though that is not for wont of not trying, for I will try my best). However, despite my slight frame and few muscles, both she and I have one thing in our favour: we have friends. Seemingly, this partner of hers is 'very well connected'. He may be, he may not be. I doubt that he is truly well connected. He may be connected to a bunch of unlawful shady criminals, but he is not 'well connected' in the true sense of the word. He is not an 'insider', but more like a crook who knows a number of other crooks, by the sounds of it.

One of her ex-partners, with whom she is still on good terms with, lives just down the road from her (in a neighbouring village) and he is a cage-fighter and storyteller. I will advise that we enlist his support when the moment of the break up comes. (He too studied with us all three at the same university when we all knew each other). He is also a person that (I believe) would not use violence unless absolutely necessary. He is a family man, so is most suited to the task at hand. [I just discovered that he has moved to London, so will probably not be available].

I have no idea who reads this but soon, I am going to put myself in harm's way. It may be that I and more importantly, she and her daughter, may not come out of this unscathed. Yet something has to be done. This cannot go on like this. The objective is to make sure she and her daughter are safe, and if not relocated, assert the authority that she is able to live in her own home without him being there. I'll be honest, if it gets really hairy and a bunch of hoodlums turn up, the police will probably have to be called. It is necessary. Domestic abuse is not to be tolerated. Is it any of my business? No, not really, except for one thing: she is my friend. What kind of a friend would I be if I were only there for her when the sun shines, and never through the tough times? I wouldn't actually be a true friend, but only a 'fair-weather' friend. Friends are important.

Max.

Unsubstantiated gossip, hyperbole and a lesson learnt

Dear Diary,

I am reading a most curious book at the moment. I picked it up a few years ago in Heffer's in Cambridge. Normally I would only read mainly authentic primary sources, and not give much consideration to spurious works. However, this particular work is rather interesting, namely, Rhetoric: To Herennius by Pseudo-Cicero.

The work itself covers types of arguments and the weighing up of evidence, and although seemingly well structured, the author digresses from time to time, particularly later on in the work. We like digressions. If history were written in the same, clinical, scientific and concise manner it is today, we would know far less about the cultures of ancient peoples, and how people thought at the time. (Notables include Herodotus, Strabo and Ammianus Marcellinus, to name but a few). Anyway.

While at work during our all of five minutes' break - granted at different times - a new staff member, recently promoted to assistant manager (the lad is 17 years old and his mum drives him to work: perfectly suited in terms of maturity, education and experience, to be a blue or white collar worker, and indeed my superior) returned saying that Russia had amassed a large amount of troops on the border with Poland. I had no reason to disbelieve the young man, and made a meal out of it, expressing how There'll Always Be An England, and how Britain's war time spirit, its character of staying in a good mood, even during the most challenging times will see us through the coming war.

Then, upon returning home, I tried searching for this sensational piece of news. Seemingly, the young man may have been reading the tabloid newspaper The Sun, and the article was written some eighteen or so hours ago. If not, it may be that what he was reading could well have been a few days, or even a week or more old. Therefore, this taught me an important lesson: never give any weight to hearsay, hyperbole and unsubstantiated gossip. I should have known, having recently read McMahon's book on MI5, and indeed [Cicero], To Herennius, where such matters are discussed at length. Each day, one gets a little bit wiser.

Max.

24th of February, 2022 - Cold War 2 kicks off

Dear Diary,

We've seen it coming, for over a month now. (Well, maybe more than that). Our Prime Minister - a learned intellectual, not at all ignorant of history - stated that history will perceive Vlad the Invader in a negative light. This may be true, in terms of liberal democracy at least, with humanitarian values and that weighs the cost of innocent life most heavily, as life is itself is sacred. However, I, respectfully disagree.

Take a look at the new Romans (the Americans) and their allies in Afghanistan (which was pointed out by a Kremlin spokesman). How can the West bandy about this term 'international law' when the Americans and their allies did not 'go the UN route' in the (second) invasion of Iraq? In terms of history, and historians, especially military historians, I foresee that totalitarian states like Russia and China, during this period of history, will be seen as more successful than Western liberal democracies. This overlooks important matters such as human rights or the right to elect a leader or the cost of human life. That is, if Russia wins the war in Ukraine (which it may or may not do - the odds seem more heavily stacked in their favour, much like the Americans and their allies were in Afghanistan...)

It is not correct that the most draconian, the most corrupt, and the least democratic regimes are the most successful. Yet this is the reality. Morally, the underhand assassinations in Salisbury not so long ago were reprehensible, yet this is the way Vlad the Invader operates. When Putin says that anyone that tries to interfere with his invasion of Ukraine will face immediate consequences the likes of which no one has ever seen before in the history of mankind, that doesn't mean nothing. Russian spies operate ruthlessly. The Zircon hypersonic missile is a very dangerous weapon indeed. The sheer amount of military hardware: SEAD (Suppression of Enemy Air Defences), air superiority, overwhelming naval fleets and a massive advantage in terms of tanks and troops, means that the odds are stacked in Russia's favour. Yet this does not mean that there is no hope for Ukraine. What happened in Afghanistan, what happened in Ireland in the first half of the twentieth century, are examples of what is possible when a huge overbearing imperial power looms heavily over a comparatively small, less well armed but resolutely determined populace, willing to resist. Even the French Resistance is a good example of what is possible when people have that iron will to not accept submission by a foreign invader.

If history teaches us anything, what will likely happen is that the Russians (and troops from Belarus) will move in and capture strategic points in and around the country (major cities, key ports, airfields etc.) then will come a period of the resistance being in hiding. This will be done in the hinterland, the countryside, under the guise of people going about their business. That is, for people that are not completely scared out of their wits by the onslaught and flee. This could very well be the dawn of a long protracted struggle (I predict ten years, from the omens and auspices). Consider:

...There is better proof than in a fragile place,
where the proud should stand. Asia’s height of power: demolished,
had fallen down, surpassing the work of the heavenly gods;
and whoever takes up his arms comes to the cool waters,
drinking from the seven mouthed river Don branching out,
and first following a newborn day joins the tepid
Tigris, in its ruddy tributary, and looking out for its neighbours,
the nomad Scythians strike a death blow to the shores
of the Black Sea with a destitute band that’s cut down
by the sword. Pergamum had thrown itself on to it. Behold!
Its towering ornaments, built up walls fall to the ground,
defences burnt down: flames surround the palace, and all
the homes of Assaracus smouldering far and wide.
A flame does not allow the greedy hands of victory,
burning Troy is ravaged. Heaven doesn’t suffer covered
with black smoke, as a thick cloud of it is rising upwards,
the ashes of the Trojan dead, filthy in daytime.
The greedy victor stands in rage and pliant Ilium
is gauged by the eyes as a desert unforgiven,
and in ten years also dreading the overthrown and vanquished...

Seneca, Troades lines 5-25. Written mid first century (translated by Maxwell Lewis Latham, April 2020).

Day off - book collecting and lessons learnt

Dear Diary,

I should have done more today. I've been thrashing some Empire TW. I also went into town to see some friends, which was nice.

A couple of things have happened this week which are of note. Firstly, my daughter and I exchanged our first few letters. She writes well and to the point. It's nice to hear from her.

Secondly, like an idiot, I sent a copy of my translation of Nennius' History of the Britons (moreover a rough draft, yet more or less complete, if not completely free from error) to a historian to review it. I learnt a thing or two (1) Never send someone a copy of your book until it's published. This is for many reasons. An incomplete, unaccredited pdf of my work floating around on the web is never a good idea. Yet also, (2) the momentum and enthusiam from the reviewer (she is an accomplished, well educated historian) may wain.

Thirdly, A friend of mine who I kept some books with (a complete copy of the Encyclopaedia Britannica - minus one volume, also a few other stray books) is moving, so she's given me notice. She is very generous and offered to take the books with her to her new home. I have arranged a little time off work to go and get them. Across the street lives another friend, who is also very kind, and she is keeping several boxes of critical editions of Shakespeare for me, and a few other literary works. They are the dregs of my collection, and in truth, I have nowhere to put them. I would have to lose a load of lesser books to make room for them (books I've picked up on second hand stalls on a whim, which are not particularly informative). I will donate them all to a local supermarket book stall. My favourite supermarket only has a children's books section now (of which I own none), but another supermarket has a little stall (tiny). I should imagine it will take several trips to do this (for I own a great many books) but it will be better than giving them to a mercantilist book seller. People can just have them. Besides, such an encyclopedia (scores of volumes) is an excellent asset. I have noticed that online reference works have been getting more and more concise, offering less and less information, as people's attention spans decrease in this flick through the web/text message/short video culture we have. The online Encyclopaedia Britannica is no exception (and besides, I won't have access to the University's databases forever). Therefore, although somewhat dated (the editions I own are mid-80's) the entries are copious, very informative, and another second section is offered in a companion volume if further research is required. They are also authoritative. It's not like citing Wikipedia (or whatever). I used to live by them, but those were in my greener days as a scholar (pre-Latin, pre-master's), so not I tend to see the Encyclopaedia Britannica now as a good starting point, in order to get a brief overview of a subject. The only similar reference work I own is the 'Petit' Larousse (which is whopping, there's nothing 'petit' about it). Almost all the other reference works I own are on languages, foreign language dictionaries, grammar books, even four massive volumes of English language etymological dictionaries, that is, except for a few biographical dictionaries, which I find are curious and interesting to read.

All this points towards one thing: I need more space, to house more books, and, more importantly, have somewhere for my daughter to stay when she comes to visit.

One thing which really enthused me about reading her letter (which was in French, which is fine, because I understand the language well enough) is that she 'devours' books, she 'loves' reading books, and indeed writing. She wrote that she has a library in her apartment. That, and the fact that she plays classical piano, makes me a very proud father indeed.

Max.

(Yet) another day at the 'office'.

Dear Diary,

I was in that... place again, with these... people. It was not a pretty sight. The whole thing reached fever pitch when we were swamped with orders, short on staff, and the younger thug-manager does not handle stress well. Everyone is ordered to rigidly stand at their post, so if they ever need to do anything, they cannot, and they cannot ask anyone else to do it, because they're all too busy. At one point, he got really on my case (when I was only doing my job, and to the best of my ability). I lashed out, not in English, of course, but in French, and told him, "Shut your mouth." (Many Hungarians learn French at school - so he may have understood, perhaps, but I doubt it - the man is not educated). I wanted to say futue te ipsum, but thought that might be a little too strong.

Two degrees, ample talent, and what does Britain do with me? Oh, they offered me a 'good job' alright, just like they said they would, a job that's so good, they didn't even have to pay me for doing it! It's that good. Tight arses. No backbone and no bottom.

At least, as I expressed to one of my colleagues this evening, should I become an attorney at law (and bearing in mind everything else I have set out to achieve, I have achieved, whether it is mastering Latin, the piano or the guitar) I will most certainly offer my services to another, more appreciative country than this one (that is, unless they actually put their money where their mouth is, and make good on their offer, like in the deal). I should imagine that France would be a better place to live, near my daughter. I speak the language. I know I can make good money there: three degrees or no three degrees. After all, if this country won't make use of my talents, there are plenty of countries that will...

Max.

Getting to know my daughter

Dear Diary,

I did a silly thing, which was not actually so silly, in retrospect. Last night while my estranged daughter and I were chatting, I wrote out a family tree, and this morning she wrote me one out, on the French side. Stupidly, not knowing her, and wanting to know her, I immediately broke out with my Handbook of Graphology to attempt to build a psychological profile of the girl.

This is crazy. I am not a shrink. The best thing to do, in reflection, is to simply get to know the young lady, when she visits. Or just be friendly, and get to know her straight, without any kind of psychological case study (assuming graphology is even an effective means of knowing what someone is like - which I believe it can be, if done right). Besides, even the book I have on graphology (which is not actually that bad, and has a great little chapter on symbols and signs) is rather dated (like 73 years old now), so it is very much a product of its time. (Needless to say, if such a register were used in an academic essay today, usages like 'primitive' peoples or 'because the person draws he [or she] is quite obviously an imbecile or insane' it would not be taken seriously). Even so, it contains a good overview of the history of graphology, and also is quite straight forward.

Even so, getting to know my daughter should (indeed must) be done on an amicable basis, purely family, no ulterior motives or psychological case studies: but simply passing time together, father and daughter, getting more well acquainted with one another. It's a case of honesty, and me being there for her (as I have not been).

I was up much of last night penning a six paged letter to her, and almost posted it today, but I will have to write it again from scratch, and focus more on the family (her and I, and even her mother), be not so over the top, but write it as it should be: plain speaking but full of good will and pleasant, agreeable sentiment.

Max.

Dark Age Britain (truth)

Dear Diary,

As usual, I have been pre-occupied with thoughts about how I should be a good father.

She has, just now, decided to resume contact. I have been on tenterhooks the entire time, wondering if she will or will not wish to get to know me (for it would devastate me, if, after we have finally been reunited, she wishes to cut off all communication). I have been half way between tears and keeping it together (more of the former). It's a tricky situation. What do you say to an estranged daughter of 20 years? How do you act around her? Are you responsible? Or just let loose, being good fun? (I suspect it is somewhere between the two, erring to the former, not the latter).

Notwithstanding the father-daughter relationship (which weighs heavily upon my mind and soul), this evening at work was a bloody nightmare. These animals, these savages, these scarcely human brutes ridiculed me. I am a student of languages, and understand that most communication is non-verbal. The older thug was in charge today. (Mysteriously the younger thug is not well, in accordance with Divine Providence: this year, in the Chinese astrological calendar means that the year of the horse (my year) will have success, but those born in the year of the monkey (the younger thug, who's usually in charge) will have a bad year). Anyway, this thug and his compadre from the wastelands of Eastern Europe laud it over me, by promoting some kid above me, even above the younger sister who's shagging the younger thug. They laugh about it, about me, about university, about England (I am the only one who wears a face-mask in that place, and it is always the cross of Saint George). It is an affront to England herself. Yet this is nothing new. Now, here, today, is the Dark Ages, much like it was the Dark Ages in Gildas' day. Regard, that Britain was always ruled by tyrants (Gildas, De Excidio Britanniae 2.27). This is nothing new. Britain has, and has always had, and always will have, unreasonable foreign tyrants as their overlords. Try it. Go ahead. Earn a master's degree in Classical Latin, and see where you end up. I dare you. I double dare you. You'll end up in McDonald's or on the dole, because this is Dark Age Britain, and not Renaissance Italy, evidently. (And will be remembered as such, for all eternity).

They're laughing at us, these uneducated morons. Yet they hold all the keys. This is not a meritocracy so much as a nation of slaves, beggars and thieves, and no amount of sugar coated bullshit from Westminster will ever change the truth of what is actually happening, on the ground, not in some ivory tower.

Max.

Late fatherhood (and also studying criminology)

Dear Diary,

I find myself perpetually distracted, still, pre-occupied with the onerous responsibility of late fatherhood. I can't think straight unless I force myself to. The thoughts which occupy my mind, are what are we going to do if and when she comes to visit. Firstly, apologise profusely for not being there, and once we've got past that (or even before), make her feel welcome. What would a 20 year old French lady do with a 43 year old father that hasn't seen her since ever? I very much doubt she would be interested in discussing classical texts, or exploring the nuances of various philosophies or the finer points of comparative religion (or maybe should would, who knows?)

It's not like being with any other woman I've been with, sitting down watching a movie, ordering out, or maybe it will be, I don't know. I thought perhaps seeing where her father grew up might be a good idea, meeting the family (I am quite sure mother would be interested to meet her). There are also some quite nice places to see around the immediate area, Oxford, Bath, Stonehenge, which may be of interest.

I guess it's best just to play it by ear and wait and see what she would like to do. She may just want to sit down and talk and get to know her old man, which would be great. One thing I must not do, is be anything like my father, completely overbearing and dictatorial. Hospitality means being made to feel welcome, not being made to feel like a little child. It will be difficult to match the French lifestyle, in terms of fine cuisine or even fine wine, but I know a few places which she might be interested in going. There is only little place I know which serves excellent food and has an great atmosphere. I also happen to know the finest vintages available (red or white, some rosé even).

My uncle Humphrey is a real hoot, so one would think that he would be more of a suitable role model. He's always good fun to be around, parties a lot, goes clubbing, does the Manx TT every year and runs a drunken marathon (when you have to stop at every pub on the route and have a drink). Yet that would be too much. I should be an inspiration, drawing on the best aspects of Humphrey's friendliness, without crossing the line, always being respectful, listening, answering any questions she may have, and being a fount of knowledge without coming across as arrogant (for I may know a thing or two, but I know comparatively little compared to what there is to know).

There is also the question of moving forward with my own life without being overly concerned about her's. I think it is best if I just leave the ball in her court, for the moment, and see what happens. I have to finish that assignment for the old ball and chain, and I have a lot of reading to do in preparation for my law degree. I was reading an Oxford University Press book on Criminology today, which is quite interesting (and, I would say, essential reading for any would-be attorney, barrister or judge). It's not the minutiae of statutes and torts, nor even the historical contextualisation of constitutional law, but is more based on biology, genetics and psychology (with a fair bit of social science and politics thrown in there) all framed in the context of crime and punishment, the law. It's quite fascinating, actually. One should imagine that without such knowledge (and knowledge like this) it would be rather difficult to understand the processes behind why people are anti-social or commit crimes. There are some theories I disagree with, and fortunately, like most scientific (and even classical studies) papers, not enough is yet known about certain aspects of the relationship between genetics and criminology. Therefore, things like free will cannot be ruled out. In my experience, it is not necessarily the 5,000 or so 'criminal' genes, or hormones, or testosterone that makes criminals commit crimes (though they may be factors) or even the environment or peer pressure, but it is more to do with volition. A person wants to commit a crime in many (but not all) cases because they want something, be it materialistic property, revenge or thrill seeking (or indeed any other number of negative motivations). Pre-meditation and having a conscience (or not) are also important factors. I do not believe that criminals commit crimes because it is in their genes, or their stress levels made them do it, I believe that many crimes are committed either on a whim, to show off, or mostly through avarice or unsavoury motives in more sinister crimes. In any case, it's food for thought.

I should be reading statutes, torts and amendments, really. These are like the primary sources of classical studies, the nuts and bolts, a bit like reading past trials and their outcome. All this theory and contextualisation is important, but only as important as secondary sources are in classical studies: they are hearsay, not evidence.

Max.

Father and daughter

Dear Diary,

After yesterday evening's reconciliation, our friendship looks promising, now that neither of us are bawling or overwhelmed with emotion any more. There is, however, a tiny seed of doubt. I remember, clear as day, being at the hospital and hearing that the doctor saying that the baby was conceived on September the 11th, 2001. I remember, also, clear as day, what I was doing that day. I remember watching it unfold on television. I was in a bar called The Vertigo, in town, looking for gigs. I was not with my ex-partner that day (she was at work, seemingly). I remember coming back to the house. I do not have red hair or freckles, as this young lady does. No one in my family has red hair and freckles. No one in her family has red hair and freckles. Not a soul. There is a friend of mine, that has many brothers and sisters. He has red hair and freckles. No one in his family has red hair and freckles, they all have black hair, but the milkman had red hair and freckles.

Furthermore, the brown eyes my mother has, and I have, contain a dominant gene in which it usually (but not always) happens to produce a child with brown eyes instead of blue, grey or green. However, sometimes certain genetic traits do - apparently - skip a generation or even a few generations, so they may produce splashes further down the line. Likewise, my mother does actually have auburn hair. My hair was blond when I was born, but turned brown, goes blond in the sun, and brown in the winter. My beard has all kinds of hair colours in it - every kind, even red. Jewel is a strawberry blond. The chances are, she is my child (for I do not recall what happened that evening on September the 11th, 2001, but her mother and I probably engaged in coitus, as was usual for us to do, both being in our early twenties and full of energy).

Her eyes, despite their colour, are not unlike mine in regard to their almond shape, almost alien looking. Her cheekbones too, are quite like mine, chiselled, angular. Furthermore, the shape of the arch of her nose is also quite like mine, but the base of it like her mother's.

There is the question of a genetic test, which would make sure, for certain (and would actually be quite interesting), but I must approach this very carefully. I should be respectful of her wishes, that we ought to take it slowly to begin with (for twenty years cannot be made up in a single day or two - her words not mine, and true they are). It's a sensitive subject, so needs to be breached very carefully, at the right time, delicately.

I absolutely hate my job and those... animals that work there, bullies, uncivilised wildmen. I can only leave this job if I have another one lined up, and I won't know about that until Monday. I also should have gotten my assignment done today, editing, but I have been perpetually distracted by my daughter having tracked me down after twenty years. I am also worn out from an irregular sleep pattern. I need to get this edit done for the old ball and chain. Furthermore, I can't very well ask the old ball and chain for her promised advance until I have finished this assignment in full. I am driven to distraction. Imagine, not seeing your daughter for twenty years and then boom! She turns up all of a sudden. It's a lot to process. I have been eager to speak to her, all day, but at the same time I don't want to hassle her, but must always be respectful (in truth, I am the one eating humble pie, and she has been very forgiving, all things considered). We get on well. She can be a bit... awkward at times, like Jane Archer, she speaks her mind and doesn't sugar coat anything. Yet for the most part, she is agreeable, pleasant company and I am actually very proud of her. I think she will do well in life (certainly if I have anything to do with it).

Max.

A surprise visitor (my astranged daughter since 20 years ago)

Dear Diary,

September the 11th, 2001, was a special day for my ex girlfriend and I, as this was the day that Jewel Latham was conceived. After 20 long years, and several failed attempts at finding her, her mother finally gave her a letter and a book (an illustrated copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare) which I had sent to her, some eight years ago. Today has been... very emotional. Shortly after receiving the letter and book, Jewel reached out to her father (yours truly) for answers. That was, after doing a little checking, discovering that I am (among other things) an author and a musician.

It is a bittersweet feeling, I must admit, I am haunted by guilt, riddled with shame and thoroughly relieved to finally here that she is safe and well and hasn't had some grizzly fate befall her. Thank the Lord. We have only spoken through messages (her English is excellent) as she is still upset (with very good reason to be), and I have been somewhere between tears and trembling all afternoon and evening since she got in touch.

She takes after her mother (unfortunately), so she is not as handsome as she could have otherwise been, but still, she is a young lady that works hard, is in a relationship and has just ditched her university course. (Who can blame her? All I wanted to do at 20 was party and have fun).

I do think that she is well placed. She lives in a particularly beautiful city with an illustious history, and certainly - in my experience, which is not inconsiderable - when the French say they'll offer you a job, they mean it. (It is very different to Britain). In that thirty miles of ocean there is a world of difference and it's not just because they sell beer in McDonald's.

Typically, the young lady seems to hate her job (it is not too dissimilar to mine), but she seems to have a circle of friends that she likes, and I know nothing of her boyfriend except his name. I should hope that he is a good man, a kind man, and a man - most of all - that treats a lady with respect. For if he is not, should she ever require my assistance, I would certainly do whatever it takes to make it over there and have more than strong words with the young man in question.

I know what the French are like. For example, her grandfather once suggested that I slap his daughter when she was nagging me. One does no such thing (unless one is a Gaulish barbarian). I stood up, affronted at such a suggestion (for that is not the way in which a gentleman behaves, ever) and exclaimed (in English), "But that's barbaric!" I received a "Oui" and a Gallic shrug for my efforts. Furthermore, I distinctly remember the girl's mother (my daughter's mother) saying to me, "But it is a woman's job to carry the shopping." "Nonsense!" I exclaimed and carried almost all of the shopping (as much as I could possibly bear, which meant having it across both shoulders, hobo style, so I could carry five or six bags full) because I am not some scarcely out of the trees barbaric Gaul. I'm an Englishman.

In any case, after twenty years, she finally found me.

The interview - how did it go?

Dear Diary,

I perhaps shouldn't have said quite so much about my time as a musician abroad (fifteen years, both in England [busking/begging] and abroad [gigging]) but the questions were what they said they were, and I had to think of something relevant. I perhaps, too, should not have mentioned my ex-fiancée, but I think about her every day, and her long shadow over casts my soul, being ever present, glimpsing at me, almost not seeming to notice. I had to think on my feet, so needed to come up with examples of when I had 'taken the lead', and these seemed appropriate enough. I'm pretty sure my new boss is a stoner, because she rocked up in her pyjamas with bleary eyes. If nothing else she will be easy going - that's if I get the job. Of course I'll get the job. Who in the hell else around here has over three decades experience of customer service and holds a master's degree? Besides, this is Dark Age Britain, not Renaissance Italy during the heyday of Cosimo d'Medici in the fifteenth century: that's what you do with your master's degree in Classical Latin in Dark Age Britain - stack shelves.

During the evening I was at that... place, and although things went quite well, for the most part, there was this one moment when the younger thug became quite short with me. He was gassing about speeding in cars (some driver floors it), and I mentioned something relevant, only to be told to shut up and get on with my work. I go around to put labels on boxes. He says again, "Stop, go do this, go do that, you ask somebody, you not put labels on boxes." Then, a customer phones up. I answer the phone, and the lady on the other end of the line is very polite and friendly, and me being me, am equally polite and friendly, just as amicable. The lady had placed an order from this store meant for another store. I got clearance from the younger thug, then politely told the lady on the other end of the line that she has a full refund on the way. She was very glad, and smiled and laughed, it was polite, amicable, pleasant, agreeable. It ended on such a note. Then, the younger thug says, "You take too long on phone. What you say is, 'Refund on way' then put phone down. Done." I felt like saying, "Listen to me you uneducated barbarian hoodlum. Maybe in the wasteland of Eastern Europe it is perfectly okay to be curt with people and hang up on them, but here, in England, manners maketh the man." The next time he had a go at me over nothing, I told him straight, "Easy." He kept laying in, so I said, more assertively, "Easy." (in other words, you shut the fuck up now, or I walk home two hours in the dark through the forest - as I have done before and will do again). He didn't say anything bad to me further.

The very instant that I get this new job (which I will, in all probability - for there seems to be only one other candidate), you can be absolutely goddamn sure that I will be walking straight out of having to put up with all that shit on a daily basis.

Besides, the old ball and chain reached out recently. After I did a good job editing one book, I'm soon to be advanced on the next three books (that's six hundred bucks USD), so I won't have to worry for a little while.

Max.

The interview (hopefully not like the movie Step Brothers)

Dear Diary,

I may have exaggerated yesterday. This (potential) position is not for minimum wage. It's 50 pence or so an hour above minimum wage, so please forgive my dishonest hyperbole.

I am not taking it as seriously as I should do (for I bought a bottle of wine tonight, from said store - which has a dire and abominable selection of most mediocre wines, with only one that is even barely passable [though I don't know about the whites, except for one particularly fine vintage available there, which a former employer - a nobleman, I was his butler - used to drink]). Anyway. I have been reading up on body language during interview techniques (yes, yes, yes: I've read it all before) and reading about something of the history of the company. It is actually quite interesting, in a kind of chew broken glass kind of way (let's face it, working in retail is not the most interesting vocation, certainly not like being an actor, an author or a sport star). Yet it is history, and history is something that I am most interested in, especially British history. It is a shame it is not ancient history or mysticism. Or is it?...

I recently translated Nennius' History of the Britons and there is a curious line (section 9, Mommsen's edition) in it which contains the common noun negotiato which can mean 'banking business' but principally means 'wholesale business'. In a fourth century tract by Avienus (Tales of the Sea line 113) there is a line which reads negotiandi mos erat which means ‘being fit to trade wholesale was its custom.’ (this is a verbal form of the same noun in the form of a gerundive). Curious, seeing as how this particular company is not only British (the 'it' in the translation probably being Britain), and a wholesale trading company (which feature's in its official name), and indeed a banking business. Curious, no? (hic vates sum, certe).

The regular noun interprens in Classical Latin can mean a number of things, not simply 'interpreter' or 'mediator' but also 'translator' and 'prophet'. They are the same word, just as vates means 'bard' and 'prophet' (again, it is the same word, having a cognate Brythonic noun). A rather important person (so important, I cannot even mention them) said to me when I first learnt Latin, "You are not the first to translate Plautus [and it come true], so don't let it go to your head." This is most sage advice indeed. Humility, is everything.

On another note, I have been finishing McMahon's book which just gets more and more curious still. So curious, in fact, that I cannot even mention just how curious it is (all very hush hush, you know). I will however, mention one singularly remarkable woman: Jane Archer (born Jane Sissmore). She is an absolutely fascinating character in Great British history. Conspicuously, there is no entry for her in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, and the English language Wikipedia article on her tails off in its traditional amateurish fashion. There is no mention of her being treated as a kind of 'court jester' by the very macho and bigoted gentlemen of her day (quoted in McMahon, 2008, p.347), nor that she was 'rough-tongued', 'tough-minded' and always spoke her mind (ibidem). The substandard yet not uninformative Wikipedia article does, however, make mention that Jane Sissmore was deemed by the traitor Kim Philby to have been, 'perhaps the ablest professional... officer ever employed' by the British Establishment. She was a trained barrister, a keen mind and an amicable person: such a rare person in such misogynistic times, and a rightful inspiration for women.

Max.

The interview (glorified shelf-stacker on minimum wage)

Dear Diary,

So, I'm taking this interview business seriously. I even got a haircut today (ever since the lock-down, some three years ago, I've been growing my hair long again in rebellion, but now that the restrictions have finally been lifted and our civil liberties fully restored, I thought it is best to get rid of my girly hippie locks and return to a more Roman hairstyle). I learnt a lesson while there. I will, in future, negotiate how much the haircut will cost before I have it cut. (She overcharged me, and I'm as poor as a church mouse, but paid what she asked).

In addition to getting a short back and sides, I've also been reading the script from the American version of House of Cards, researching potential rebuttals for my apparent lack of managerial experience. I figure that Robin Wright and Lord Michael Dobbs know better than I do about how to draw strength from adversity (I refer to episodes 1 and 11 from season 4), when Clare Underwood makes a play for Vice-President without having any actual experience to draw from. I also used a line from the comic poet Aristophanes, though I couldn't track down the citation (which would mean re-reading the entire corpus again, which I haven't got time to, because the interview is on first thing Monday morning) which essentially states, 'First, learn how to pull an oar, only then can you take the helm." (Again House of Cards falsely attributed to Sulla upon the death of his rival Marius, though no trace of such a quote exists in either Plutarch, Appian, Velleius Paterculus, Florus or Valerius Maximus). This again, amplifies my strengths, of having done good service, rather than my weaknesses.

I am also looking into psychology, body language and neuro-linguistic programming: what is unsaid (for most communication is unspoken) in an attempt to tip the odds in my favour. (Not that I will seem concerned, but to the contrary, make it appear as though I am doing them a favour, not the other way around). It is important to put up a show of strength, of apparent success. Besides, I already have a job. What need have I of another one?

Not that this is a so-called "job offer" by the British. The British do not know how to do business, they only pretend to. This is not Renaissance Italy, evidently. It's Dark Age Britain. Go to university, study for twelve years, and become a shelf stacker. This, is the reality. This is the so-called 'levelling up' agenda bandied about ('better paid, better skilled' jobs). The dream doesn't exist, except anywhere apart from Britain. That, is the reality, and what is actually going on. Never mind your sugar coated bullshit by politicians that care more about avarice and consolidating their own person power bases, than they do about the nation they supposedly rule over.

Max.

A change of vocation

Dear Diary,

It's only an interview, but I've gone for a manager's job in a supermarket (effectively a glorified shelf-stacker, with not much more than basic pay, because, well, that's what you do with a master's degree in Classical Latin in Dark Age Britain - this is not fifteenth century Florence or the heyday of Charlemagne, evidently). I may not even get the job, but if I do that means it's the end of that... place, possibly. I may keep both jobs and graft it for a while, but I am really not a fan of being told what to do by teenagers and kids in their early twenties. But, well, that's what you do with your master's degree in Dark Age Britain. This is not the Italian Renaissance or Elizabethan England, evidently.

Max.

Legal minefield

Dear Diary,

My housemate has gone away. In truth, he's a bloody nightmare. He plays his music too loud, he shouts (although both 'Stalin' and his half-breed cousin both shout loudly the entire time, yokel clodhoppers, bumpkins, know-nothings: "Is there a telephone in this village?" It's like Borat here, back woods). In any case, when this stranger was making his case for British citizenship he stated that his favourite movie was Saving Private Ryan. I bought it for him for Christmas, but he hasn't come back since he became a truck driver. In any case, I recently rewatched this movie.

It reminded me of the time I lived in Normandy. I remember, once, taking a walk near a highly secure military installation. I had not the wit to notice a particular sign, which, when translated read, "Beware, mines." It was among the more harrowing experiences of my life. When you realise that you have walked into the middle of a mine field, everything comes into focus. You become acutely aware of your own mortality. I had to retrace my steps very carefully, looking for blades of grass that had been broken by my footfall, knowing that even one single mis-step would mean that that was me. Boom! Bought the farm. Adios.

I made it, but it was close. I later learnt from speaking to Didier Deman that the Germans made meticulous maps, noting every single mine to a precise location, but the Allies would only mark vague areas. This is, at least, better than the Italians did (who didn't mark anything at all). Even so, it was a brush with Thanatos (Death), which I shall never forget.

I am trying my best to learn about the law, which is itself a minefield. It's not easy. It's twelve years of studying down the drain, but that's okay: this is not Renaissance Italy or Elizabethan England. It's Dark Age Britain, where education means nothing except slavery and exploitation.

Max.

The game's up

Dear Diary,

So the old ball and chain finally realised that I am to have nothing to do with this group of so-called scholars. She had a rant, and we got over it. She believes (mistakenly) that I am motivated by pure avarice. Nothing, could be further from the truth. It is the ability to give, to be kind, to make sure each member of staff receives his or her due, that motivates me. As John Braine wrote, it is most often those that profess to be anti-materialistic that are the most materialistic of all. This is all borne out by the evidence. 90%, a not inconsiderable sum, of all the royalties of all the authors go directly to her. Now, most likely a similar "share" (slither) of the profits, taken by the old ball and chain, from those base and servile slaves that pray at her altar will also go straight into her pocket. There is also the master architect of this grand design: he who offers "30%" but ends up fobbing you off with a tenner. These are the people pulling the strings (in the short term, at least). Nothing lasts. It is all ephemeral. Take recently, for example, even at a proper bona fides university like Cambridge or the Open University, there is industrial action, with lecturers having to go on strike because the big wigs that hold the purse strings have cut their pensions though they have done many years good service to the university.

So, what's the answer?

Do as Dr. May did: start your own school. I have read enough (and when I say 'I have read enough' I mean, I have read more than most people are ever likely to read in one single decade of their lives, never mind a lifetime). There are also other options too. Self-publishing, for a start, and a passive income via that.

I remember studying literature as an undergraduate, and for all the faults of the late great author Charles Dickens (and he had many faults, especially in his treatment of the gentler sex) he made sure to acquire a printing press first before embarking on a career as an author. That is what I should do: go into business for myself. Never mind all the nonsense by these people, jumping at shadows and casting wild conjectures where there are none.

In terms of my education (of which I hold the highest importance), I have been reading Cicero's On Laws and also a little of Aristotle's Ethics, and indeed should bear in mind good old fashioned Plato, and his Republic and Laws. The new fangled texts, yes yes yes, all this new business, of course, there is much to be had, in terms of statutes, torts and amendments, and indeed interpretation, philosophically, inter-disciplinary, but much more than that: there is my classical education. Whereas the new stuff is all the nuts and bolts of the business (and in truth, more important than the old), the classical roots provide a framework or platform of ethics from which to undertake any investigation of the facts. Plato, Aristotle, Cicero are not names unknown to the world. No less are Demosthenes, Aeschines, Lysias, Isocrates or Ariston et cetera.

The law, is my future. Here's raising a glass to twelve years of university education down the drain, only to start again from scratch. God bless the university system in Great Britain (for this is not fifteenth century Florence or ninth century Baghdad, evidently - it's Dark Age Britain).

Max.

Cutting ties, building new bridges

Dear Diary,

So, the old ball and chain decided to make a group within a group, to divide the already divided group even further, with the evident aim of cutting one particular scholar out of the loop, namely: yours truly. I am not a practitioner. I am merely a scholar, a man of thoughts and words. I do not conjure up spirits or commune with them. If anything, I am merely a sinner, a Christian, not a person involved in that... business. This does not mean that I do not respect those that do practise the Craft (for there is much enlightened knowledge and wisdom to be gained from such entities), but rather I am content to simply be.

If the group within the group has the sole aim of cutting me out of the loop (which, based upon the evidence, it seems that this is its sole purpose) then what happens if I leave the group? (Which I just did). Then surely, it stands to reason, that there is no enemy within, no Judas Ascariot, no Daniel Plainview, no Francis Urquhart. The only purpose of creating such a division, is to cause disharmony and chaos.

In a normal, regular, standard university, the team members work together. They support one another. There is none of this dictatorial style of leadership, but rather, as in the ancient writings and indeed in the practise of archaeology today, if one is fortunate enough to be in charge, one is first among equals. These people are your colleagues, friends, associates, brothers and sisters. They are not anything else, but are entrusted with the charge of facilitating matters, so that everyone works together, in the spirit of friendship and harmony.

What the old ball and chain has done is something like a child might do, thinking to herself, "It's mine. This is my toy, no one else's." It is puerile, and not the way things should be run. Maturity does not come over night. It takes time. There is the all important faculty of reason, the spirit of compromise, meeting people half way. Such things are absent in this little school ever since the old ball and chain took over.

If I'm honest, I'm glad it's all over. I have other, more important matters to attend to (such as work, and study) than to devote a large portion of my time to creating a course, then lecturing it, only to find that I am out of pocket and back in that... place again the next morning.

One advantage of being a grammarian, is an acute awareness of the way in which language(s) work. For example, when the old ball and chain suggested forming a group within a group, the post in which she stated it was actually incorrect. The Genitive singular was supposed to be in the plural. She doesn't know this, of course, because she has not studied her Latin (sine qua non).

What I am really looking forward to, is mastering ancient Greek.

I absolutely love this language. It's challenging, yes, but like the obscure verb forms or deponent verbs, or even third declension nouns in Classical Latin, despite all its strange little quirks, it is a language well worth learning. I have lost count of how many times while researching an assignment that an academic article or footnote in some primary source simply expects the reader to have a firm grasp of ancient Greek. It is an excellent language. Never mind all the fluff. Let us get back to the serious business of scholarly endeavour. Let us think on Latin and ancient Greek, for they are - in truth - more important than this little hobby-horse of a school.

In my heart of hearts, I will miss being a part of it (because, as I said, there is much wisdom to be gained by treading that path). Yet, imagine being mundane, and focusing on ancient Greek? There is the Holy Bible, the hermetic texts, there is the GMP, and not to mention the other half of the hallowed classical tradition. In truth, I have come around to more of my lecturers' point of view, than the view which I have championed up until now. I actually love formal education. It is proper, it is correct, it is excellent. More than that, it actually means something. When the university confer me with the honours of a qualification, it is not like some Mooc like Coursera (which doesn't even use books), but it has real significance. Imagine, if a person said to a prospective employer, "Well, I've done [such and such a course] with [such and such a website]." It is meaningless. Now, imagine if that same person said, "I hold a master's degree in Classical Latin." That actually means something. It is not nothing.

Max.

Work experience (teaching)

Dear Diary,

So I made a play for the leadership, and it fell through. As a result, this pair of... important people in the field, with more regard for profit seeking than for the actual work itself (though the latter is not leastways neglected), have got this particular little institution sewn up. However, one has noticed that instead of asking what each teacher would like to teach, the old ball and chain has arbitrarily decided what they are to teach. This is not unusual, and in many ways, well placed, but it is not democratic, nor is it in the spirit of amicable relations.

Why is this not unusual? Well, my absolute favourite lecturer (Dr. Neil Hall) was chosen to lecture mythology, the last block of that module was about philosophy. Dr. Hall confessed that he would have liked to lecture philosophy, as that is his passion and academic specialism. Were I beginning a new school (and please be aware that like Adam Weishaupt I fully intend to make these staff 'an offer they can't refuse' - better pay, better royalties, a more official instiution and indeed a more reasonable, team based approach) I would certainly ask each member of staff what they would like to teach before assigning their tasks. Indeed, it is a balance, between the needs of the institution and the needs of the lecturers (I err to the latter, having a soft-spot for fellow academics).

In any case, much against my better judgement, I have decided to "whore" myself out to the old ball and chain, but for one reason only: work experience. I need to have something on my resumé which says, "I am a teacher" before I can get a job as a teacher. It will be, as it was with Chairlady Mao, miserably paid, and I will still be essentially exploited, but this cannot last forever.

As for that... place, and those... people: my hours have now been cut to the point where I cannot afford to eat or get into work, and only barely make the rent. So, I am applying for a managerial position at a shop. It is a glorified shelf stacker, because, well, that's what you do with your master's degree in Classical Latin, here, now, in Dark Age Britain. This is not the ninth century during the Golden Age of the Abbasid Caliphate, evidently.

Max.

The founding of a new (invisible) college...

Dear Diary,

I had a pretty good idea that the old ball and chain would push back against any idea that did not involve her (and her senior partner, the guy that lets that homeless bloke pay more and more money to him while he garners fewer and fewer returns: those people, the people that pretend to be anti-materialistic, but are, in actual fact - according to the evidence - the most materialistic and mundane people of all). Therefore, I had already taken pre-emptive action.

What's in a name? Well, the original name I had for this institution was 'The Unseen University'. This was kind of a joke, but not really. Why? Well, my alma mater was originally dubbed 'The University of the Air', and also, shortly before he died, conferred an honourary degree upon Terry Pratchett. So, wizards aside, I humorously posited the idea of the name of the instiution being 'The Unseen University'. However, soon enough, it became apparent that another name would be more suitable.

In the original (private) group post I set up a poll which had an open option, so that others may type in what they believed to be the best choice. Then, very shortly afterwards, I wrote my own suggestions, again, keeping the option of a custom name being a choice. No one wanted my name 'Illumination' (which I thought was a great name) but instead went for another option.

It is important to note that any and all of my suggestions had the common noun school in them. That is to say, pre-school, kindergarten, high-school (basic). My idea is far beyond that.

I wish to create an official Higher Education institution. Not some playground full of know-it-all hippies, but a serious endeavour.

In truth, these people should be the higher tier. They should be the more advanced course, yet, this is not the way things actually are. What will happen (and this is not a prophecy, but is based upon personality types and behavioural patterns of people in the community) is this. The School will be set up, and have some success. The staff will become disgruntled at having to do shed loads of work but see nothing for it. Then, I will swoop in, taking the cream of them, by making them (Godfather style) 'an offer they can't refuse'.

It is precisely because I value wisdom over mere materialism, that I am able to do this.

For example, for the 'formatting fee' I will offer 90%, instead of 10%, which the old ball and chain offers. Moreover, I have been approached by a Ph.D. student from Budapest, who has asked me to translate a... certain esoteric work (his Ancient Greek is better than his Classical Latin, allegedly). One of the complaints this erudite and knowledgable scholar stated is that people in this kind of community (which is essentially progressive, enlightened and 'New Age') tend to have a subjective slant to their writing. It is not academic, it is not objective, and quite often written in the dreaded first person. What I (we...) will do, is raise the bar.

According to Wouter Hannegraaf, there are very few seats of this kind of specialist scholarship in the bona fides university system across all of Europe. What does this mean? It means, that there is already a vacuum, and everything to play for.

Although we are all on the same team (in principle), what has happened is precisely what I have predicted. Like Daniel Plainview in There Will Be Blood said, "That makes you my competitor" (the old ball and chain said as much).

It is what will happen. I will accept nothing less than being Vice-Chancellor of this new University. Whereas they (and 'they' are extremely learned, between them) should, by rights, be the higher course, they are - through my own machinations - actually the high school, the nursery, the basic course. What I, and those that are with me represent, is the more academic side of the business.

If, for example, you were to look at an essay written by students following these long haired hippie types, they would be very slack. No proper referencing, no real erudition, but merely expressing subjective human experience (which is fine, and has its place, certainly in prosaic novels and so forth). Yet what I will offer, is a much fairer slice of the cake, and a much higher standard of academic essay: open minded, yes, but within limits. It is not unlike the kind of college Socrates may have set up: focusing less on the materialism of sophists, and more on the rational, reasonable, well defined syllabus of philosophers that are not driven by greed and avarice.

Max.

Spies, rebels (and university education)

Dear Diary,

I have been thinking a lot about the SIS and other branches of the service ('spooks' as they are called). I am reading an excellent book at the moment. It is about espionage and intelligence in Ireland, drawing on (relatively) recently declassified documents, now in the public domain (though, I doubt, online, but in the Public Records Office - due to the sensitive nature of such information).

Although the book discusses the period spanning 1916-1945, it contains many references to today. For example, did you know that it was in 2007 that MI5 took control of intelligence gathering in Northern Ireland? (The book itself was first published in 2008). It is called British Spies and Irish Rebels: British Intelligence and Ireland 1916-1945, and is an outstanding work of literature. A dry, sometimes amusing, but always objective, impartial history of intelligence gathering in Ireland, often through times which were rather lamentable, and really quite tragic. I remember having a set book in English class to read, as a child, at secondary school Across the Barricades, a novel, by Joan Lingard, set during the time of the troubles in Northern Ireland. In any case, examine Paul McMahon's section here:

"Policy-makers make decisions not on the basis of objective analysis of the facts, but by employing subjective cognitive premises and belief systems. They see what they want to see, select the information that fits their pre-existing hypotheses and biases, and ignore what is inconvinient. In his analysis of notable intelligence 'failures' of the twentieth century, Richard Betts (1978, p.61 [Analysis, War and Decision]) concludes that 'the ultimate causes of error in most cases have been wishful thinking, cavalier disregard of professional analysts, and, above all, the premises and preconceptions of policy makers.' The role of preconceptions is especially powerful when information is incomplete, contradictory or ambiguous, or when the subject is ingerently mysterious or unknowable. The most that an effective intelligence system can do is to educate and enlighten government leaders, shaping their cognitive premises and challenging obvious errors so as to minimise distortions (Herman, 1996, pp.143-145, 227-230 [Intelligence Power in Peace and War]; Hughes, 1976 [The fate of facts in a world of men: foreign policy and intelligence making]; Jervis, 1976 [Perception and misperception in international politics; Vertzberger, 1990 [World in their minds: information processing, cognition, and perception in foreign policy decision-making]). This is the case today, even in those countries with sophisticated intelligence systems." (Mahon, 2008, p.162).

This is an important point. There are, according to one reference work I own (West, 2016, p.138 [Spycraft Secrets: An Espionage A-Z]) a number of points in recent history when intelligence blunders have been made using these preconceived ideas. Notable incidents of what is called Mirror Imaging in the SIS, include the handling of the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, the amphibious assult made by Leopold Galtieri during the glorious Falkands War in 1982, and the assumption that Saddam Hussein would not invade another neighbouring Arab country in 1990. Policies in the intelligence community are often formulated by people that are ex-military, conditioned, or in the case of government, even Bullingdon Club Epicureans from Oxford.

It's an important point. McMahon highlights numerous instances in the history of the intelligence services that have been to do with hyperbole, non-credible sources of information, or misinformation, or other factors, such as assumptions made by station chiefs that are extremely right wing (the British Empire was still a very serious imperial power and world player back in the late 1910s and early 1920s).

The value of education cannot be underestimated. Not I, of course. I just finished up making fast food for minimum wage on a busy Saturday night. This is not fifteenth century Florence under the patronage of Cosimo d'Medici, evidently. It's Dark Age Britain. Well, that's what you do with your master's degree in Classical Latin, here, now.

Max.

Distractions (a new laptop)

Dear Diary,

I probably made a mistake buying that new laptop. I bought it because the university (my alma mater, one of Britain's three most illustrious universities: Oxford, Cambridge... Milton Keynes) doesn't support Windows 7 any longer, which my old machine runs on, and also because it comes with an AMD CPU and an ATI Radeon for gaming. However, on both counts, it is completely unsuitable.

I remember when Microsoft and MIT got their claws in to the Open University. Despite my Blackadder quote, I am extremely proud to belong to the Open University - our students study harder, longer and more deeply than many other universities' students do - that is reflected not only in the grading criteria and timescale spent studying, but also evidenced by a famous scholar and military man - formerly of Oxford - Gardiner, was his name, if I recall, that said, "I did more studying in one month with the Open University than I did for three years at Oxford University, where I just got drunk with my buddies."). There is a plaque enshrined to his memory at our alma mater.

Anyway, I was at Uni, the big phat annual, then bi-annual, now never (since the Neo-Plague) conference where I met a truly delightful scholar, a musician, a free thinker, amicable, a physics major with a keen interest in ancient Greek culture. He explained that many of the physics department used to use UNIX as an operating system, but since Microsoft took over (we're talking the days of Dot Net, not C builder) every student and staff member had to, from that point on (nine years ago now) go out and buy a Microsoft machine in order to work with and through the University's new system. This sucks. The machine I bought, is excellent (and I mean it kicks serious ass in terms of whatever you want - never mind your flashy two grand laptops, this bad boy weighs in at £500 and works like a dream). It won't, however, run any games (because it runs on UNIX) which is fine, I am a serious scholar, so that's perfectly okay. Equally, it won't run Microsoft Word, which is what I need to do my editing jobs, and it won't run Windows, which is what the University uses to have their little meet ups (Microsoft Teams). Apart from these frivolous trifles, it will, however, do everything anybody else's computer will do, and then some. Many (but not all) viruses are Windows only, so that is excellent, running on a different, more efficient operating system is perfectly fine, better, in fact. I love Google Docs, which has gotten better and better, for documenting and backing up my translations. It can type out an assignment, perfectly adequately. This machine can browse the Web. All in all, it was worth the bucks, even if it is much more of a work machine, than for fecking about playing silly buggers.

Speaking of which, I've managed to get Empire TW running on my old machine, so I've lost a couple of days. I haven't played a full game of TW since I studied A340 (The Roman Empire) back in 2015, when I played Rome TW (Barbarian Invasion). I've never played Empire before, and it's awesome. I shouldn't. I should be studying. I should be knuckling down. Yet there comes a point, when you've been slaving away for ungrateful sons o bitches, for fuck all (minimum wage) and you get home and think, "Fuck it. It's Friday night." I just... don't... care. Study? What for?

Max.

The new school (or not)

Dear Diary,

So the old ball and chain, after having taken 90% of all the profits of her authors, wants more. That's understandable. In a book on how to write a book by the author John Braine, he writes that it is quite often those that renounce materialism are in fact the most materialistic of all. I had this with the Commie Café I used to work at as a musician, and now with these people. I have issued my ultimatum, Vlad the Invader style. She'll just have to accept it, or not.

My old school coder friend got back to me, which is awesome - despite his conspiracy nonsense - (security is a big issue, not to mention years of technical knowledge - university trained). This brings some more options to the table.

The chances are, the old ball and chain won't take the bait. This is not actually a big issue. The way things are going, the chances are that Taiwan won't even exist soon (certainly in the form it is in now), so that's a bonus, in an odd kind of way. There will be a vacuum, and no one there to fill it.

I'm not up for this nonsense, about how it's perfectly okay to drain the very life blood of any and all authors, just by merely formatting books and putting them up on Amazon. It is not a University, it's just another piggy back scheme.

They've already made up their minds, and idolise this person as (I quote) 'their queen', and envisage themselves as knights, unofficially, of course - they are not titled, for they belong to no nation and are not patriots - illi mundani sunt. I know full well the whole thing's a non starter. Even if they had the technical expertise to host and maintain a secure site with a front end and database behind it, they still have all sorts of legal issues, especially regarding international laws, about the issuing of qualifications.

If everyone did as this other guy did (the long haired hippie guitar player with nothing but a high-school education - for the record, I have long hair, and have been a hippie guitar player for several years - before becoming educated) there would be no schooling, no college or university education. Home schooling is actually non schooling. I would go so far as to say that having an uneducated, uninformed teacher is actually worse than having no teacher at all. No background and no bottom. All hot air.

Besides, there are other things to think about, such as policies and procedures, the actual legal side of the business, being able to be a proper bona fides official university. These things are far beyond these people (that spend most of their time meditating). It's something called the real world. It's just business. It's neither right nor wrong, it's just the way it is. The immutable bye-laws of business: the world is a college of corporations. Never mind Rainbowland and scams. Let's talk business (in accordance with the law).

Speaking of which, there's this guy behind the scenes, and he has his own school already (two, now) - again, completely uneducated, knows all about one particular Latin author without ever having to bother to learn Latin itself! Anyway, he has a student, who is homeless. I spoke to him (he called me up) and one of the things he said was that he felt like he was giving and giving and giving (paying his dues) and receiving less and less in return. The guy's living in a van for pity's sake. He should be prioritising a deposit on a place, not paying some uneducated pretender to tutor him, and at the end of the 'course' receive no formal qualification. The whole thing's a scam.

Well, it's not actually a scam. It's fair. (Like I say, they do a lot of meditating). Yet it is not education so much as personal development coaching. It is unofficial, outside the fold.

I remember when I first contemplated going to university, and said to a friend that I'd like to become a teacher in ancient history. He said, "You don't even need a degree. All you need is a teaching qualification." (Many of these people in this 'school' have neither, by the way - though some have one out of two). To my mind, this is the opposite way around. Knowledge, having a sound knowledge base, is first and foremost primarily important, an essential criterion of being a teacher, knowing the subject matter. These people will talk all about the difference between knowledge and wisdom, yet none know the actual meaning of either word, because they have not studied languages at university. What is knowledge? Knowledge is a common noun, in actual fact. (My Germanic etymologies are about as good as my Ancient Greek: which are nowhere near as strong as my Latin or French, anyway).

In many ways, what these people do is good. It is a very deep subject, with a myriad facets. The only trouble is, it's like Latin: it's for poor people, beggars, slaves, because the people that run the show are essentially materialistic while pretending not to be. Who can blame them? Well, me, as a matter of fact. That's why I'm going 'indie' (publishing my own books, cutting them out of the loop): with a master's degree in Classical Latin: there's everything to play for (even if it is essentially a £15,000 piece of lavatory paper).

Max.

Day off (working editing) and the founding of a new school

Dear Diary,

Well, I'm still working for the old ball and chain on my one day off a week. The work is boring, and certainly unfit for a classicist and student of ancient languages (for even someone with a degree in mere English Lit' could do this simple task) but even so, the content is interesting, fascinating, in fact (like you would not believe).

Related to this is the notion of a new school starting. From the offset I have argued that the institution should be entirely autonomous and stand on its own two feet. In hindsight I should have stuck with the co-founder's idea about keeping it just between he and I (between the two of us we could easily manage the workload - both of us hold master's degrees). I suggested bringing in other people in the hermetic community. Another quite popular author arrived, then insisted on relinquishing the autonomy to the old ball and chain. (She already takes 90% of all the profits from all the authors [except yours truly] - which is standard in the publishing industry). So why give up any and all of the rights to someone else? It will mean that I am again, back in that... place, if I devote much of my time towards this new enterprise.

I remember once, a learned programmer giving a lecture (back in the 1990s) said at a business conference, "Never, ever, give up your intellectual property rights." It is the most prudent decision. As a result, I am getting cold feet about this new project. They have problems. (1) They're based in Taiwan, which probably won't exist for much longer in the next ten years or so. (2) Payment is problematic, they have to receive three confirmation codes on someone else's mobile in a different country, in a different time zone (eight hours difference), just to receive one payment. (Imagine that every week or month?...).

So, I will leverage it, Francis Uruqhart style, highlighting the problems of payment in China (where the co-founder now lives) and also Taiwan. I will make sure I am to be Vice-Chancellor (the highest possible position), or walk away. One of my all time personal heroes, Walter Jeremiah Sanders the Third did this after Silicon Valley laid off a spate of engineers, and he did extremely well, in very adverse circumstances. He made it work.

There is also another problem. This other guy that's been brought in has only a high-school education, so from a legal standpoint he is unfit to teach, being completely unqualified.

All that said, it seems to have taken on a life of its own now the old ball and chain has got her claws in. There is talk of a new website. My contact in web-development has become extremely distant (he is a conspiracy theorist). So? I'll have to get back into programming again. It's like riding a bike. Security is an issue, but research and study is an answer to that. Worst case scenario: I can forget the whole thing and simply focus on writing and translating books instead, and of course my new degree in law.

I have a feeling that just like my last degree, this recently awarded one will come in useful for one thing only: when we run out of toilet paper.

Max.

Cicero - On the Ends of Good and Evil (1.4.12)

Dear Diary,

Aside my gripes about whether or not materialism is good or not, or whether we are a nation of slaves and beggars (for the record, my immediate boss is not yet even 18 years old, and is uneducated, thus providing evidence for this being a nation of slaves) I have been paid recently. The Arabic people that run this particular company use the lunar calendar, not the solar calendar for their pay cycle. As a result, once per year, we are paid twice, which is what appears to have happened recently at that... place (ruled by clowns, circus folk and ignorant fools - this is not Renaissance Italy, evidently).

Anyway, as a result of having spent all night last night (up until 6 AM) rearranging my bookshelves, it slipped my mind to take a book to work. So, I had to rely on my smartphone (which is so very common, not illustrious or erudite, as a true scholar is) and decided to read Cicero's On Good and Evil in Latin, naturally. There was one passage which stuck out, even if my interpretation (which is accurate, actually) differs from the rather good job H. Rackham did of translating this same work. Compare the two:

Marcus Brutus would disagree, both that there is such a thing as an acute kind of person, and this notion for the use of of citizens is not actually useful, and we gladly read the writings of the same kind which remain and will read them. Are these writings which comprise all life to be neglected? For those writings able to be sold, would that they may be these writings which are surely more fruitful. Nevertheless, it is certainly allowed for them to be of value, and those who would read them. However, we esteem this whole question concerning the ends of good and evil, in which so much is more possible, not only what is sought by us, but also what is to have been said in these letters from the singular subject of philosophy, thus we are following it up.
Cicero, On the Ends of Good and Evil 1.4.12 (trans. Latham, 2nd of January, 2022).

Rackham translated it (1916, p.16 [Loeb ed.]), and has a somewhat different take on it, discussing the legal profession and philosophy. Do I, for instance, learn to love a subject which I actually hate? I can't stand bloody sophists, trying to make the weaker argument the stronger, only to let a murderer off the hook, who may do it again (because he or she knows that he or she may get away with it). Yet legal jobs (and a third degree - as though my last two meant absolutely nothing at all!) are where its at. It is not about philosophy, or principles (such important things are given no credence in this servile so-called 'society') but instead about profit seeking, finding a good job (even if that job has absolutely nothing to do with anything you spent twelve years studying towards - optime!). So, I will approach this degree in law, taking my cue from Cicero, Demosthenes, Isocrates, Lysias, Aeschines, Antiphon and all the ancient lawyers (which were actually pretty bloody good, in terms of winning cases).

Max.

Books, shelves and a new laptop

Dear Diary,

So, instead of saving money, as I should have been doing, or buying some ISBN numbers, I went online and did some shopping. First stop, the Classics Bookshop. There is a particularly well referenced and translated work of Apuleius, the subject of my master's degree dissertation. I have wanted to buy this book for a long time now (certainly it was more relevant to my 12,000 word master's dissertation, but I couldn't help but buy up all six volumes of Virgil's Aeneid, along with two volumes of Cicero, and several plays by Euripides: Oxford Reds, critical editions, a dying breed, out of print for years now).

So, I bought one book (albeit a rather expensive book, weighing in at £170 brand new). I purchased a first edition, for nearly half that price, naturally, Martin Shorrock being an amicable, reasonable and erudite bookseller and classicist (an Oxford man).

Then, I looked around at the sloping towers of bookshelves, cobbled together by my (and believe me that I am not the Son of Joseph, a carpenter's son, like the song by Tim Hardin If I were a carpenter). The shelves I knocked up out of bits of old wood and a one-way Japanese saw are rickety, bowed, perilous, dangerous even, looming over me like some mocking Fury which screeches at me in redemptive retribution.

So, I had to sort that out, £150 later comes nine perfectly sized well constructed wooden boxes. This means I can do away with the wobbly shelves leaning over my desk like the tower of Pisa (I have already had one book fall and damage the laptop, which is three years old now, and was second hand when I first bought it).

I need a new laptop as a result. Mercurius (as I've named it) has been making weird noises for a while now, ever since I had a bag which fell apart and it dropped on the floor one summer. The other morning Mercurius wouldn't even boot, not even in Safe Mode, but did a two hour surface scan, twice (once each hour). So I needed to sort that out as well.

So, I went for the AMD (Walter Jeremiah 'Jerry' Sanders the Third's brainchild and outstanding legacy). I remember when (finally!) AMD merged with ATI. These are some specs of this little beast of a computer just I've bought (weighing in at £450).

Acer Chromebook 514 CP514-1HH

Processor: 2.1GHz (Ryzen 5 3500C)
Graphics Card: [ATI] Radeon Vega 8

It has the amount of RAM I need (at least 8), and although its drive is not SSD (Solid State Drive) it has no moving parts, using Flash RAM technology. Nice for a mid range laptop. Beautiful, in fact. The wide screen is made of tough Gorilla glass, and the machine folds in two like a tablet: nice. It looks pretty gooky compared to the other, more expensive laptops, but cool enough to not be dated for at least a few years yet (I admit, the keyboard looks like it's straight out of Blake 7 or the original Alien movie), yet its got guts. AMD, ATI Gfx. I might even try out all the TW series again, Medieval: Kingdoms or Empire, maybe even old Rome (the original, Barbarian Invasion). It's pretty cool actually.