In the plays of Plautus (kinds of comic soap operas which shed something of a light upon the lives of ordinary people in the ancient world, albeit in verse, albeit with a certain amount of hyperbole) there are examples of slaves being beaten, treated badly and also occasionally being praised. In a way, this is not unlike what it is like working for Captain Bligh at that... place. Yesterday, for example, he gave me a bone-crushing handshake which meant I had pain in my right hand for the remainder of the day, and of course, he kicks and punches the staff from time to time, myself included. All jolly good fun, right? No.
There is one thing, however, which was different in the ancient world: education. A well educated slave was valued more than an uneducated slave. On the contrary, in Dark Age Britain, the opposite is true. Quite often scribal duties or even the education of children were entrusted to such slaves. In Dark Age Britain, it is the uneducated village idiot that is given authority, is more well off, and despite the fact that he is the slowest and least efficient member of the team, it is he that calls the shots. Why? Because uncouth barbarians run the show, thugs, foreigners. The native well spoken, courteous, polite, dutiful, respectful, hard working, experienced and indeed extremely well educated slave is the lowest of the low, here, now, in Dark Age Britain. Tonight, for example, I was to mop. I immediately put the wet floor sign out. The village idiot ordered me not to do so. I insisted. Imagine, for example, someone had tripped and fell, breaking their neck, and it went to court. I, the defendant on a charge of manslaughter, would have no defence by saying, "But the 17 year old village idiot - my superior - told me not to." I should know better. I am 44 and have an ever increasing understanding of the law. I would be charged with manslaughter, in such an eventuality, once the video was rewound. At the end of the evening the village idiot told me not to mop out the store cupboard. I disobeyed and mopped it out anyway. Why? Because if it were entrused to him and his authority (which it is, because this is Dark Age Britain, and anyone that thinks otherwise is living in f-ing Rainbow land) then the store cupboard would never be mopped out, and would continue to get filthier and filthier. One does the best job possible, or one does not do the job at all (that is, except for in Dark Age Britain: land of beggars, paupers and slaves - except for crooks of course, most especially crooks laundering mafia money in the City of London...).
Yesterday, for example, we were incredibly busy. The store was at capacity. The heat lamps were turned off. Captain Bligh ordered an order worth £241 to be put through the oven. Why? Because the place is run by uneducated idiots, barbarians and foreigners.
I would sooner be a slave to Pliny the Younger or Cicero, than a slave here, now, in Dark Age Britain. It is not a civilised country, but only has the veneer of legitimacy.
In other news, I have adopted a new policy of writing notes by hand (and indeed drafts of works) so that it is more secure (i.e. cannot usually be seen easily). In the 'Big Society' (which should be called 'Big Brother Society') there is no privacy any more. It is more prudent to write longhand. Indeed, the FSB keep their records in steel filing cabinets, with files typed out on typewriters, the whole thing under heavy guard. This leaves them far less likely to be vulnerable to a security breach. Therefore I have adopted a similar policy.
I had a dream last night, which was just outside of Mexico City (perhaps Teotihuacán), and this has prompted me to write a new novel. It is probably just a silly dream, but several things have been unearthed from my subconscious which have aided me in trying to claw my way out of poverty (namely, writing). I will still write translations on-line because they are sacred vāticinātiōnēs.
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