Scribe

It's 19p, actually.

Morse. I've seen them all about a thousand times before, but when he's at his condescending best, I just can't bring myself to change the channel. I Claudius. I got this on DVD, fully expecting it to never live-up to HBO's Rome, but so-far, I'm hooked. OK, Derek Jacobi's daft aging prosthetics (if you can call it that) during the individual prologues betrays the series' age, but the acting is superb - Jacobi has young Claudius down to every last twitch, for instance. And Si?n Phillips' Livia! Honestly, I don't think I've ever witnessed a more accomplished bitch than her on television. The second Swedish Wallander with Krister Henriksson. I don't know what I love more about it. The deviation from Mankell's original work or the

You beat me to it, DJKQ!! But rumour has it that detective Lund's 'mesmerising' jumper is going to be making a cameo appearance in Stig Larsson's much anticipated, fourth installation of his millennium series, The Girl Who Had The Wool Pulled Over Her Eyes.

Can any of the Man Citeh fans explain to me why they had hot water bottles in their dug-out in this afternoon's FA cup game against Notts County? I know footballers are a pampered bunch, but what next? Head massages after their half-time smoothie, perhaps?

Peter, are you trying to tell me that this (supposedly) environmentally-conscious consumer can't use either a toothbrush or a spoon to clear their crevasse of dung, instead of toilet paper? I t only takes one for the rest to follow, you know.

Tell me, Philby. Exactly how many trees have you and your ringpiece been ccomplict in felling, so as to remove all the evidence of your dinner from your backside the following morning, eh? And before any of you even dare think about mounting your high horse, very few, if any, of the brands available in the supermarkets or on the highstreet are 100% recycled.

I need to do a song of great, socially ascending import! It goes like this: Oh Lord, won't you buy me a brand new Pushchair? My friends all push strollers, it's so damn unfair. Worked hard all my 20's, no help from my chums, So Lord, won't you put me, ahead of those mums? Oh Lord, I need a mortgage, with a fixed guaruntee. Finding the collateral, ain't a problem for me. I'll wait for the phone call each day until three, So Lord, won't ya put me, on the prop-er-ty tree? Oh Lord, won't you buy me a night on the lane? I'm counting on you, Lord, I'm goin' insane. Prove that you love me and buy the next round, Oh Lord, won't you buy me a night on the town? Everybody now! Oh Lord, won't you buy me a brand-new Pushchair? My friends all push strollers, it's so damn unfair. Worked hard all my 20's, no help from my chums, So Lord, won't you put me, ahead of those mums?

Well, in my youth, I must admit, but... never mind.

If you're addressing me, then allow me to assure you that I didn't intend to hurt your feelings. Although it's not as though I singled you out personally, so what's the big deal? Anyway, back to deriding the painted northerners. Like another poster has commented before me, northerners do tend to think that they're the life and soul of the party, whichever part of the world they're in, let alone their native soil. And it has to be said, this characteristic, overbearing delusion of grandeur in social heirarchy does get a bit boring after enduring the constant bombardment of faux cameraderie, and sly criticism levelled against those from southern shires. And yes, however much they try convince you otherwise, by whatever means, northerners who are always trying to, aren't usually that funny. Except, of course, when they appear on television being bundled into the back of a meatwagon after getting the shit kicked out of them by a group of irritated bouncers. Although it must be said, the most satisfying yelps of prostestation against the police always come from the mouth of a Scouser i.e - "What the fock, lad. Yer breakin' me fockin' arm, lad. Arrrrgh!" These Merseyside hardnuts can invariably heard crying in the back of the van, or the moments that follow them being rushed after repeatedly refusing to cooperate and stop banging their thick skulls against the cell door.

Boudica wasn't her actual name. Her real name, as she was always addressed by her husband King Prasutagus (who was also her cousin), was 'Brecea'. The name Boudica is taken from the latin text of Roman writers of the age.

I don't think anyone did, Jeremy. But to get a good idea of who may be responsible for what is quite clearly a hoax, you're best off reading back through the thread, and searching for the post that betrayed the most protest at revealing what is supposedly a very private correspondence. So far the only really indignant reply I can find is this: I'm not saying that I'm certain, as I could quite easily be wrong. But it's a start.

Sorry, dummies. But I'm going to have to mark you all down for general ignorance. Historians can't be certain, but the majority of Plautius' triremes landed at Rutupi? (modern day Richborough), although a second, smaller force, is believed to have landed at Noviomagus (modern day Chichester). Rutupi? was the first administractive hub for the invasion force, in that it was Plautius' main supply depot. After the Battle of the Medway, where King Caratucus' brother, Tugodumnus was killed, the Romans marched on the Catuvellaunian capital, Camulodunum (modern day Colchester). The Romans did not use war elephants to capture what we now know as Colchester. They were unleashed with devestating effect on the Britons during the Battle of the Medway. The Romans walked into Colchester unopposed and at the head of the column rode the emperor Claudius himself. It was at Colchester that the eleven tribes of the south-east of Britain surrendered. It was here that Plautius' four legions went in seperate directions. Hosidius Geta was ordered to take his legion into the Iceni homelands (modern day Norfolk) to construct Glenblocker forts and establish peace. Vespasian, who would later become emperor, was sent to the south-west where he was tasked with overwhelming the numerous hill forts and the infamous Ninth legion, who are remembered in history for disappearing without trace, were sent north. The second legion remained in Colchester. Although, class, the lesson doesn't end there. General Plautius was replaced by Ostorius Scapula. Scapula had had enough of the fugitive king Caratacus, who was leading a campaign of guerrilla warfare wherever he found support. Scapula eventually located Caratacus and forced him into open warfare at the Battle of Caer Caradoc. Caratacus was soundly defeated and was sent, along with his family, in chains back to Rome to be strangled in the forum before Claudius. But there's more. Many of the Roman commmanders have developed a great deal of respect for Caratacus, in that he was an astute tactician and had proved himself as a worthy adersary to the otherwise mighty legions. Some even suggested that he be spared in exchange for his knowledge in defeating the other unconquered tribes of Britain. Caratacus faced Claudius in the forum and berated him as well as praising his legions. He even claimed that if it weren't for his resistance, Claudius' victory would not have been so memorable. Claudius waited for Caratacus to finish, and then stunned the crowd by ordering that Caratacus' bonds to be cut and he and his family awarded Roman citzenship and set free. Caratacus and his family were reported to have experienced what most outsiders experienced - total enchantment with Rome. They lived-out the rest of their lives just outside Rome. The last full-scale battle in Roman occupied Britain was the Battle of Mons Grapius, and a battle in which native British auxilaries fought for the Romans under Agricola against the Caledonians. The battle ended in a tactical defeat for the Caledonians, but the majority of their force managed to escape the Romans in a nearby forest. The last point I'm going to bore you all with in this admittedly egotistical lecture, is that there was, contrary to popular belief, a Roman presence in Ireland. Roman remains have been found in the south-east of modern day Leinster. They were reported to be trading with a very war-like tribe called the Scoti. They were also reported to have been scouting for viable locations to land an invasion force. This theory is given credibility by the construction or expansion of Deva Victrix (modern day Chester). This fortress was the largest fortress in the entire empire, and archeologists have unearthed huge caches of weapons and wax tablets confirming the huge number of troops that were stationed there, evidently preparing for something. And seeing as most of Britain had been conquered, Ireland is the only realistic target of such an amassed number of troops and equipment. But for some unknown reason, it never happened. Sorry for that rather long-winded history of Romano-British history,class. But I was so struck by your lack of knowledge on the subject that I felt compelled to educate you all on a subject that I hold much more than a passing interest in. Next Friday we'll be discussing how to find your arse with a map. Good day, class.

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The original noun - that's frequently been altered over time - for the offensive term that references the female vagina was actually brought to our shores by the Romans. In fact, the classical writer Tacitus briefly mentions an occasion in the annals of his Bello Britannia, when General Plautius addressed king Verica, husband of the client queen, Cartimandua of the Brigantes, whilst he was stalling when questioned over the whereabouts of the rebel king Caratacus. Historians can't tell us exactly what was said between the irritated Roman officer and the Briganteen king, due to the original text being lost, but the academic consensus is that the exchange went along the lines of 'Verica, are you tryin' to take me for a c_nt? Because if you are, then my torture detachment's gonna come in 'ere an' cut your f_ckin' jacobs orf, my son!' Tacitus then wrote that Plautius stormed-off in frustration, but could quite clearly be heard bellowing "c_nts" as he walked towards his camp. So there you have it.

Really? Because in my experience there doesn't seem to be much difference in the way that northerners and southerners pronounce charity. But yes, I can see why you may think otherise, insofar as northeners are more familiar with that word than us well-fed s**********.

Ah, now I get it. You're talking about the vulgar, working-class verb for boffing. And please, allow me to assure you that I'm no 'stock character'. I'm a living, breathing person. But worry not, RosieH. You're sure to find plenty of 'characters' in the network of subterranean dwellings of the north of England. I've even heard that Ena Sharples' ghost can be heard roaming (and moaning) the passages that are home to so many below the Pennines.

I'm sorry, RosieH, but I don't speak barbarian. What is "@#$%&", and why are peasants (supposedly) so superior in pronouncing this so-far unknown word?

I don't, but I'm not as selective in applying my scorn than others. It's true, Murdoch's News Corporation holds a monopoly over the world's media. But I'm not a conspiracy theorist who believes that Murdoch eats babies or is hell-bent on world domination. I read the stuff his media outlets print, but I know that the entire British press is a murky stretch of water, and all of the mainstream broadsheets and tabloids have their own agendas and bias, and are now largely more concerned with advertising revenue than delivering objective, unbiased reporting to their readers.

I think you should change your OP to 'what makes northerners so jealous of southerners'. I'll get you started. The majority of northerners have an iron lung, whereas in the south, respiratory health is much better. Northerners get confused by the many Gods they whorship, whereas in the south they only have one. The north of England still suffers from the occassional outbreak of bubonic plague, whereas down south you only get the odd spot of hayfever. A northerner's IQ rarely rises above room temperature, whereas we're hella smart down he'ah! Northern healthcare is limited to the county vet, whereas down south we have hospitals funded by the taxpayer. It's gloomy all year round in the land of the savages, whereas down south you can fry an egg on your toilet seat during the height of summer.

Huguenot, I think the comparison fits the context, albeit a bit petty on my part, I admit. Granted, the Fawlty Towers sketch was interpretted in good faith as it had been established beforehand, by the show's very nature, that the real object of humour was Basil's ignorant insensitivity, and how it was being reflected by a large number of equally insensitive 'little Englanders'. However, in my opinion, the comparison still stands, in that the viewer could misinterpret what is generally held as light humour, and see it as a slur aimed at all the German servicemen that perished during WW2. Humour, as I'm sure you already know, is subjective. But what I can't swallow is that the police acted on something that's fairly run-of-the-mill. OK, from what I've read, this football fan made an insensitive gesture that poked fun at the loss of life, he should be pulled-up on it. But does that mean that I can now trawl through YouTube's millions of clips, find a video that mocks the Royalist troops that died in the English civil war, and report them to the police demanding that they should be prosecuted? I think not, somehow.

In a perfect world, yes. But the reality is that his face will have been forgotten by me and you in the next few months. Unless, of course, they hand-over the evidence they've compiled on this willfully dishonest criminal - because that's what he is - which leads to a conviction and custodial sentence for putting the lives of his victims in such enormous danger. Also, was I alone in half-expecting Dominic Littlewood (the bald fella) to produce a pair of handcuffs, wrestle the fat crook to the floor and carry-out some sort of citizen's arrest when he confronted Binda the builder in Gypsy Hill?

Your "description" of what happened is misinformed, at best. If the chap that made the gesture of an aeroplane - which, I'm willing to concede was almost certainly mimicked in reference to the Munich disaster - was checked in the form of a tongue lashing on the spot, as a result of his belligerence, then I'd say fair play. I don't, on the other hand, support what actually happened, in that a Manchester United fan spotted this so-called offensive behaviour on a YouTube video, and reported it to the police, who subsequently arrested the 'offending' fan at his home. That's just going too far, in my opinion.

Do me a bleedin' favour and get real! Should they have arrested John Clesse when he did his parody of German troops in Faulty Towers, seeing as so many sons and daughters of slain German troops would've been undeniably offended by such a mocking performance? People, or should I say those who are too disconnected with reality, are too easily offended these days, and the police, or whoever punishes these 'outrages', seem too eager to accommodate this petty, unrealistic attitude. Seriously, life's too short. So get a bloody grip!

As *Bob*'s second in command, although that's due to change soon, it gives me no pleasure to tell you that only fully-fledged space cadets are allowed on-board the USS Hunterprise. Try again in the summer.

Sorry, Proxima. But me and *Bob* have made it a rule to venture further than where no man from East Dulwich has been before. And, forgive us if we're wrong, but the Centaurus constellation sounds like the kind of boutique you'd find on Lordship Lane. So, unless there's violent life forms that can be overcome with a bow and arrow, we're not interested, I'm afraid. Buck Rogers has come out of retirement, give him a call.