As the wind whistled around our bare knees this Sunday I found little reason to complain. After all, it had been purely my decision to suggest we go for a walk (a good decision) and to go in a T shirt in shorts on the basis there had been blue sky earlier in the day (not so good decision). I cannot help it if sometimes I get a little over enthusiastic. As my wife pointed out legs dry pretty well. The rain had started to come down at that point so this was a positive development.
You can’t really complain. Although a lot of people seem to have nothing but complaints at the moment.
Am I the only person who finds this incredibly wearisome when it is constant? (Rhetorical question, as I heard someone said as much at the weekend and I heartily agree.)
Being able to complain is a privilege, it is a release and something that makes us feel better. But like chocolate, too much just makes me feel a bit sick (I appreciate that some of my closest friends and family would disagree with the analogy, but I’m talking about myself here). Sometimes I feel I should stop moaning and start looking for the positives in things. Not always obvious and sometimes things are so honestly bad it might be impossible for you to see the silver lining, but so many times there is something delightful to be found in the mud. The more I look at things this way, the more I find to take pleasure in and to realise that actually it was good to miss that train, or to be ill on holiday or to be caught in the rain.
Take Sunday. We normally are pretty good at following walk instructions and don’t tend to get lost too much. But on Sunday we managed to go astray twice. The first time we ended up next to a pond, and as we tried to work out where we had gone wrong, a male Mandarin duck (one of our favourite birds) sailed gloriously into sight. A little later, we managed to find ourselves down the wrong path, together with a rather surprised dog fox. Two mistakes, two lovely wildlife moments that we would not have enjoyed if we had not gone wrong. In that context it really is hard to get upset as you retrace your steps.
Back in 2000, I spent some time in Japan and briefly travelled with an ex girlfriend (complicated). She wanted to climb Mount Fuji, although it was out of season (and therefore not really a good idea). But she would not be swayed, I wanted her back, and so we gave it a go. We got almost to the top but lack of preparedness both for the ice and snow and the altitude sickness meant we had to turn back. When we got to the back to the bus stop (halfway up the mountain) everyone had gone home and we were stranded with just a drinks machine for company. Cue a momentary panic.
Then I pulled myself together. I had a map (in Japanese) and it was clear there was a footpath down through the woods to the base of the base of the mountain where people actually lived. We took a risk on what looked like the path on the map and followed it down through the no night time woods. I’ve never been so glad to see a Torii (the gate to a Shinto shrine) as this was the one that marked the shrine at the base of the mountain. We quickly stumbled onto the Japanese equivalent of a Little Chef and with the help of the youngest member of staff (always the best bet for an English speaker) managed to get a taxi to our hotel, bed and a bath. The point of the story is how you look at it afterwards. What could have been a disaster becomes an exciting adventure. I learnt a lot about myself and what found I could be calm in adversity. I learnt that holiday as well that no matter how much you might be attracted to someone they may well be the worst possible thing for you to be with, but that is a lesson some of us have to learn too.
So I’m going to make a conscious effort to see the positives. But I do reserve the right to a little whine and a moan (do quote Lilly Allen) sometimes (I’m only human).

‘I suppose killing the investigator would not get us very far,’ said Exuperatus seriously, ’ I know bribery normally doesn’t work, but out here, this far from Rome it might be an option. Most of the magistrates take backhanders all the time.’
Senodo shook his head.
‘Not an Imperial Investigator. That’s the whole point, my friend, and they’re picked because of their tenacity and their integrity.’
‘They say everyone has a price,’ Exuperatus protested.
‘Maybe that is so, maybe not. But I am fairly certain that if he can be bought, we cannot afford the price tag.’
Exuperatus sat down heavily with a sigh and looked at Vita.
‘Any bright ideas from you?’ he demanded,’ beyond the act of fortuitously drowning yourself in the river of course? I assume that is not still an option?’
Calgacus looked confused ‘Look I’m sorry. I’m partly responsible for this but did not think hiding her here would threaten you. If the investigator does see through her disguise then surely we can convince him that you were just fooled? That you were innocent of intent?’
‘I’m not worried about being caught hiding her! True, it is against the law to harbour a runaway slave,’ Exuperatus explained,’ but as I have told the girl Senodo and I have, well history, shall we say with Roman law. I don’t want our past being investigated.’
‘Are we talking really serious stuff?’ Calgacus asked.
‘I wasn’t joking when I mentioned killing the Investigator. Does that answer the question?’
‘We would both be put to death,’ Senodo said sadly,’ Exuperatus, we cannot keep running. We have a home here, good reputations, something to defend. It is worth the risk.’
‘I can keep running longer than they can pursue me,’ Exuperatus said,’ just try me.’
‘Friends,’ interrupted Calgacus,’ this is my land here, my people. If things go wrong then I do know places to hide you. The old town to the east where my people used to live before the Romans came, for example… It’s a bunch of ruins but it also has lots of places to hole up for a while. We’d have to move onto somewhere else eventually, but I was resigned to that anyway.’
‘You talk of being effected by all this’ Senodo asked quietly,’ Calgacus, in the end what has this to do with you, really? No one is looking for you. You could just walk away.’
Calgacus nodded towards the girl.
‘I feel our destinies are linked. If she has to leave – I go with her. Anyway, ‘Calgacus tried to laugh,’ this is all assuming a lot. Maybe this man is not as good as his reputation – or at least not as thorough and curious as you fear.’
The other three looked at him with expressions of sympathy.
‘You poor boy,’ Exuperatus said eventually, ‘you really have not lived enough have you yet? Have you not realised that the gods take amusement in making the unlikely happen? That given a chance to drop us mortals into the cess pit, they can hardly contain their glee?’
The other two nodded agreement.
Calgacus sighed.
‘I guess I’d better work out some kind of an escape route – for all of us – then,’ he said.

A few months ago we went to see the comedian Lee Hurst in Hemel Hempstead. He was very funny but there were two moments when my heart sank. First was when I realised that instead of being a couple of rows back the seating numbers meant that we were actually in the front row. This is the not the place to be in comedy gigs unless you are happy to be part of the act. Up to being dragged on stage, as happened to me last summer in the Reduced Shakespeare’s Company “Complete World of Sports: Abridged” in the West End but that’s another story.
Secondly was when Lee Hurst looked at me and asked:
‘So what do you do then?’
I mumbled something incomprehensible and as a result he declared I was being evasive and therefore I was a secret agent. I wish it was the case. Sadly it is because I cannot really explain what my job is in a way that does not put people to sleep after two or three minutes of earnest description.
I was reminded of this again at the weekend when I found myself making disapproving noises at products in a friend’s bathroom, and later at the fruit juice on the breakfast table. Yes. I am that sad. If you invite me in, you can guarantee that I have passed away a few moments reviewing the labeling compliance of your purchases.
I just cannot stop myself after twenty years of doing it day in, day out.
The art of regulatory affairs, at least in the cosmetics sector, is often about compliance with technical legislation. There are three main tiers – what products can and cannot contain, how they should be labeled and information that needs to be kept, primarily regarding the safety of a product. Here in Europe, this latter point is (rightfully) the main focus.
Part of this is the labeling of the product – warnings and the like, ingredient labels – but in reality there are few warnings required as cosmetic products (and here we are using the word technically so it is shampoos, skin creams, soaps etc and not just mascara) are just not very dangerous products and/or it is pretty obvious how to use them.
Ingredient lists are largely unread by the vast majority of people (they are there so if you have an allergy to an ingredient you can avoid it, but most of us don’t know of any allergies we may have so the usefulness is limited.
So, all those complicated labels are really only for a few people and to meet an expectation that consumers want lots of information that they never knew they needed and have no idea what they want to do with it.
So here are my three favourite bits of ingredient labeling trivia. Go pick up that shampoo bottle and follow along with me if you really have nothing better to do.

1. A tricky descent?
We are used to seeing ingredient labels on foods that have the list of ingredients in descending order so we kind of assume that a similar looking list on our skin cream is the same. It may not be, however. For cosmetic products, only ingredients that are present over 1% in the formulation must be in order. For a lot of products that may only be the first two or three ingredients. So don’t assume that your hero botanical ingredient that appears fourth in a list of twenty ingredients is in the correct place. It may be; just order is no promise of how much of the stuff is in there.

2. The tale of “Aqua”.
With apologies, this is not the story of the creators of “Barbie Girl” but possibly as odd…
When the ingredient labeling rules were being developed here in Europe the question of language arose. Do ingredients need to be translated in the multiple official EU languages?
Sensibly the answer was “no” as otherwise you would need a small book to be given to you each time you buy some toothpaste. So the idea was to have a standard set of name conventions. Indeed this was supposed to be internationally accepted – International Nomenclature for Cosmetic Ingredients (“INCI“).
That meant using simple chemical names that anyone in theory should understand for most substances – and that‘s science, so politically acceptable to effectively use English. But the question arose for those ingredients that have common names – water, honey etc. and botanicals. Since it would be entirely unfair to choose one EU language over another… The EU chose to use a language nobody uses outside of Roman Re-enactment groups – Latin. So we have “Aqua” instead of “Water“, “Mel” instead of “Honey“, and the Linnaean nomenclature (I love that word, just had to use it) for botanicals. Of course the global thing was up the spout right from the start – the USA, the most obvious market to converge with – requires “Water” and shows no sign of improving the Classical Education of the masses.

3. We’ll always have Paris.
I am still not entirely sure what went on when, having decided on Latin, one word that applies to the vast majority of products somehow slipped in… In French…So we have “Parfum” rather than perfume, some Latin thing or the US “Fragrance”. Why? I’ve no idea. France sees itself as the spiritual home of the perfume industry and maybe enough expensive brandy was passed around at the European Institutions one afternoon that it seemed a good idea at the time. Or maybe it was just thought to be more romantic. Even European Institutions have feelings it seems.

Like a lot of EU rules, the heart is actually in the right place; the execution though doesn’t quite survive the proverbial clash with reality.
OK – that’s quite enough. I really should have enthused about what a lovely weekend I had in the sun, wandering around medieval castles and the New Forest but sadly I did feel it was time to talk about what I did. And it is strangely cathartic. And now no one will ask me again.
But I wish I really was a secret agent. But then I’d probably have to kill you all to protect my secret identity so boring you pants off is probably a better option.

Imperial Investigator Marcus Aquila was not in a great mood.
Tiredness and frustration tended to get in the way of his usual good humour.
‘Remind me why we are here, will you Castor?’
‘Mainly because the office of Paulinus requested it, Sir’
‘Ah yes. The Governor who seems more interested in beating up druids than managing the lands he already holds.’
The elderly scribe put down his stylus and glanced at his employer.
‘Surely that is not a criticism of our dear Governor, sir’ Castor smiled at the younger man.
Aquila slowly and deliberately made an obscene gesture with his left hand.
The two men were sitting in the garden of the Basilica. It was a rather nice evening.
At least, Aquila reflected, it gave them a chance to freshen up after the ride from Londinium. They had set out at first light and now the sun was slowly going down.
The Chief Magistrate was currently out on his rounds, so they had to wait until his briefing on the matter Aquila had been called to look into; some trifling thing about a runaway slave, of all things. It was a waste of his valuable time considering the level of tension in the province.
Castor looked through his notes.
‘Suetonius requested it because this magistrate fellow – Miletus, I believe is his name, after the city – is a relative. By marriage, I believe, to some cousin – just about close enough to the family to want to avoid any embarrassment. I would guess that’s why anyway. Something lurid that could drag the family down.’
Aquila looked at his aide in puzzlement.
‘I understand the nepotistic reason from Paulinus to have us wasting our time on a domestic matter when we should be checking on the political rumours we came across… But I can’t see why this is such a big fuss to Miletus. He can buy any number of little girls, if that’s what he is into.’
Castor shrugged.
‘Maybe he’s in love with her, or thinks he is at least. His kind can certainly think that. Or maybe she knows something about him that’s more of a scandal than a predilection for young girls.’
‘Now that seems more likely to me. Certainly that is the angle I will pursue. I think the girl is a distraction, Castor. I can feel that there is something else being hidden here.’
‘Cities are full of secrets, Investigator. Every little Taverna has its own set of things people are trying to hide. Some are just more important to the Empire than others.’
‘Yes, old friend. You’re right, as always. I tell you what. Why don’t you start sniffing around for me in those very places? See what you can find out. I’ll wait and get the briefing from this when this chap eventually returns. I’ll then go through the official channels.’
Castor looked shrewdly at the Investigator.
‘I assume that I can use any means I feel appropriate?’
Aquila deliberately quashed any sign of expression.
‘Obviously I would not condone or fund any activity beyond the scope of Roman law,’ he said as he gave Castor a bag of coins.
The bag vanished somewhere inside the older man’s tunic like a pursued rabbit down a hole. Aquila still did not know how his aide managed to move that fast at his age.
‘It takes practice, sir, lots of practice,’ Castor said, as if reading his superior’s mind,’ the streets of Neapolis teach you to hide things of value quickly – if you don’t want to end up with a knife in your back.’
‘I must get you to teach me sometime. Very well, go get some wine inside you and start listening. I’ll meet see you at breakfast at the mansio,’ Aquila sighed as he heard a strangled fanfare from somewhere in the Basilica.
‘Oh good,’ Aquila said sarcastically, ‘it appears that our dear Chief Magistrate has returned to brief me on my terribly important mission. Go now, and find this girl for me. It won’t be good for her if we but that is not our problem. The sooner we can wrap this up, the sooner we can get on with the proper work of defending the Empire.’
Aquila paused, frowning.
‘I have an urge to get back to Camulodunum. The rumours are not good. I don’t really trust the Iceni and the garrison commander there is an idiot. ’
Castor paused on the threshold.
‘Sir, if I did find the girl, and she was still alive… Should I just kill her quickly and be done with it? It probably would be a mercy, compared to what Miletus might do to her.’
Aquila sighed.
‘Yes, I think so. But only do it when you know exactly why some insignificant child is worth quite so much bother.’

One week on and apart from strange sensations in my right knee (no idea what is going on there, something is the matter by darn if I know what) I seemed t have survived the marathon experience. A lovely week up in the Tees valley helped, and I even managed to survive the spiral staircase in Scargill castle, although jokes about my wife being able to hear me coming from the plaintive moans of “ow” “ow” “ow” as I made my way up and down them is entirely true. Also, clambering over stiles is much harder when a most of your leg muscles and joints don’t really want to be flexible.
But it was still great to get out walking and away from crowds and just be in (admittedly windswept) countryside. All sorts of little revelations and memories…. I had expected to relive nostalgia of High and Low force waterfalls but had not figured on walking through the largest forest of dwarf juniper bushes in the UK. We saw so many lapwings, curlews, oystercatchers and snipes that at times it felt more like the seaside than the Durham dales. Standing up on the moors allowed you to just stop and listen to its many voices; the ever present wind of course, but the pheasants and black grouse, all distinctly vocal overlaid with the melody of the larks and a particularly strident Hen Harrier.
For me though the most fun moment was stooping for a drink of water and watching a stoat saunter out of a bush a few feet away and then go down a grassy bank out of our sight, and then watching in amazement as it came out again in the open, bumbled around completely unconcerned and then wandered off again. Of course we were upwind, so it could not smell us, but even so, a very special moment.
Thankfully it is not just the lovely wife and I that seem to have those moments. This weekend and back in St Albans we were walking in Verulamium Park and were accosted by a little girl, maybe six, pointing out to us in a typically excited way that “it’s a real bunny!!!”
Indeed it was, one of this year’s new arrivals, happily munching grass about a foot the overly excited poppet. In the park they are about as tame as they can be without actually eating out of your hand, but that doesn’t matter when you are six (and probably have frustrated desires for a bunny/puppy/kitten/penguin of your own).
What was lovely was not the cute little alien vermin (goodness, we had seen enough of those in the last week – and don’t get me going on the overdose of cute lambs I’ve recently suffered, although they are really cute when they are so tiny, if it wasn’t for all the diseases they carry) but just the joyous reaction and the need to share it with complete strangers that might be passing. Really marvellous and kept me smiling for sometime… In fact bunny girl should get together with the other precocious young female we passed a little later who we overheard asking her responsible adult “why does it do that?” in relation to a busking swan on the lake. True scientist in the making that one, observation and the subsequent quest to understand and I had to stop myself from unleashing my natural lecturer to interrupt and explain on the grounds I would probably be arrested for molesting the child with actual useful knowledge.
The enthusiasm for things seems to get crushed out of so many of us so quickly. How many people over the age of six have you seen skipping down the road? And yet when you are that age it seems impossible not to skip (and/or run headlong with no thought of the consequences). I have, to be fair, seen some dad’s engaging in a bit of furtive skipping with their daughters, but will they skip without a small pink thing attached to their arm? No, I don’t think they will be seen doing that.
Which is a bit of a shame really as the world would be a happier place if we skipped more, and were prepared to share our excitement of yet another bunny with passing strangers.

The four of them sat in the empty Taverna, quite deliberately avoiding eye contact with each other.
‘So,’ Senodo said slowly,’ what do we do?’
Silence reigned for a couple of minutes. Finally Calgacus gave a resigned sigh and got up, seemingly coming to a decision.
‘I’ll leave the city and take Vita with me. I’m a good worker – and with Empire constantly expanding there is more than enough construction jobs to go around.’
‘That is only if Vita wants to go with you,’ cautioned Senodo.
Calgacus looked at the girl.
‘Well?’
Vita said nothing, but let her tiny fingers rest on his scarred and callused hand. Calgacus felt his heart was about to burst.
He saw Senodo smile although Calgacus felt there was sadness in it too. The girl had touched them both in such a short time, he thought.
‘Oh please, enough with the sweetness,’ snapped Exuperatus,’ Yet again it is up to me to be the cold fish of reality. You won’t be able to get her through the gates. If the soldiers are on alert and they know an Investigator is coming they’ll already be carefully checking anyone travelling on the roads. I mean, would you like to be the legionary who had to explain to a senior official that he had his prey and had let it slip through his fingers? He’d be pushed off a cliff faster than you could say “Decimation”.’
‘We could at least try,’ Calgacus protested.
‘Can we not just stick to the original plan,’ Vita said quietly.
The three men looked at her.
‘I can do this act, you know’ she went on,’ I can fool this Investigator. And maybe it is not really true – maybe the rumours are being circulated deliberately, to make me and anyone helping me panic.’
‘And reveal ourselves through acting oddly,’ Senodo mused.
Exuperatus looked at Vita keenly.
‘You may well be right. But I don’t like the idea, because I do not want this Investigator sniffing around my bar.’
‘Our bar, my friend,’ Senodo reminded him gently.
Exuperatus brushed the formality aside as if it were a fly.
‘You know what I mean. Both of us have enough to hide from the authorities. We need to keep as low profile as possible,’ he sighed and gave Vita a glare,’ but we will stick with plan as Vita suggests. She is right. For the moment it is the best we’ve got, the gods help us.’
Exuperatus took a sip of wine before continuing.
‘Here’s the story. The ‘boy’ here is yours, Calgacus. Congratulations, by the way. He’s the result of a liaison with a prostitute… She’s died of some horrible disease (luckily you did not contract it, eh?) and foisted the little bastard onto you, and you’ve taken responsibility out of some sense of misguided guilt.’
‘And you’ve managed to get him to work his way in our bar,’ added Senodo.
‘Because we are all heart,’ Exuperatus said without a trace of sarcasm.
‘That’s a bit farfetched, surely?’ Calgacus looked uncertain.
‘You are an innocent aren’t you?’ Exuperatus laughed,’ you’ve not been in the prostitutes quarter have you? This is an everyday story of whores and their unwanted children, my friend. Most of them starve or end up knifed. But you – everyone knows you are a bit of a soft touch. The farfetched bit is that you’ve been with a prostitute at all, which I doubt.’
Calgacus blushed and said nothing.
‘Vita understands, don’t you?’ Exuperatus asked Vita.
The girl nodded then frowned.
‘The only bit that sounds strange to me is that my father should help me… Rather than dump my body in a ditch. I think that would be the normal response I would expect.’
Calgacus looked at her open mouthed.
‘I would never do that, even if you were my unwanted child,’ he gasped.
‘I know,’ Vita said,’ but you’re a good man. There aren’t many around. That’s why I trusted you. I saw in your eyes that you were given to me by the gods.’
‘I feel sick,’ Exuperatus muttered,’ but now we’re now decided. Senodo – open the bar up. Being closed for too long makes people talk and we need to make a living. You, Calgacus, get back to your job. Vita, with me please, I want to show you how to make sausages. We have a business to run and I may be busy doing other things in the next few days.’
The older man led the girl into the cellar and took down a slab of cured meat and a large knife. He began to cut sections. Vita tensed a little, as she suspected Exuperatus had another message specifically for her. She was not disappointed.
‘Just to be clear Vita, if you give us away then both Senodo and myself will be executed. Not because of you, but… Let’s just say we both have history with the Roman authorities.’
‘I won’t fail,’ Vita said.
Exuperatus whirled around suddenly and the large knife hovered in the air before the girl, the point pressed gently against her neck. Vita looked surprised but held his intense gaze without fear.
‘I’m not like Calgacus, girl,’ Exuperatus warned in a whisper,’ Or Senodo. If I had my way you would be lying in a ditch now. And if I come to grief now because of you, I’ll drag you down into the darkest depths of Hades with me, this I swear.’
He lowered the knife.
‘Now, go get me some onions.’

Well thank goodness that is all over. The 2013 London Marathon was a real… Experience, I think it is fair to say. I even enjoyed some of it. I particularly enjoyed crossing the line, though more on that a little later.
Marathons taken seriously – and this one is the first time I can really say that I did – dominate your life for a while. The training is the big part of that and it is absolutely essential. In my previous attempt in 2002 I fell apart and was very lucky to finish at all. But I was younger, fitter and cocky, and felt that doing half marathons was good enough training – which it isn’t.
A 10K or half marathon is a real challenge for me and others, don’t get me wrong, but they can be approached as a fun run if you are a normal casual runner or if you are pretty fit generally and have working knees. This means nothing (I know now) in a marathon.
Train for it specifically and put in the work, or suffer the consequences. You are going to suffer anyway. A marathon is not fun. If you have an aversion to pain, don’t do it. If you cannot be bored out of your mind plodding on for hours and hours, don’t do it either. I just about managed last weekend but really, never again. I’m just not cut out for this, and I am looking forward to shorter distances again and having them feel like a walk in the park. Roll on the Great North Run in September for that.
On the marathon organisation I cannot real fault that. It was pretty well marshalled and there was plenty of water and other facilities which were really needed on what was a relatively hot day – the reason for quite a few people posting a lot slower times than they might have hoped (that lovely training having been done in freezing cold rain, wind and snow rather than Sunday’s warm sun). The little kids competing with each other to give you water at the start was a nice touch.
Images for me on the journey – cheering so loud that it drowned out the iPod – and in particular my own support party managing to somehow get my increasingly failing attention (as the tiredness and pain began to dominate) three times along the route with much needed encouragement. The idiots drunk outside East End pubs that though it was funny to make fun of runners (I’d be amazed if some of them did not have their lights punched out by someone before the day was out.). The orange teenage girl looking bored at the water station, and being completely ignored by the runners (who went deliberately around her to the next person, so funny). Then there were the hundreds of wonderful people of all ages with jelly babies and jelly beans and orange pieces, desperate to help complete strangers with this ludicrous exercise in mass torture and mass fund raising for great causes. The fundraising should never be underrated. From all the big charities to an the woman I saw running for anti-knife charity foundation formed after her son was knifed at the age of 22… She was on the verge of tears as she finished, and it was not for the pain I am sure. She was thinking of her lost boy.
I crossed the line on the verge of tears too, though mine were happy ones. Having gone and done the stupid thing of predicting a time – normally I refuse – and said under five hours, I really felt the pressure. I prayed a lot in that last ten miles; I probably switched from hope to despair twenty times. But a last cheer from Jane on the sidelines, and a few common sense calculations in my head made me realise that if I just kept plodding for those remaining miles I might still make it. The last mile was agony, and like a lot of these races, it seemed to go on forever. Only that last 300m or so, when you turn into the Mall and can actually see the finish, do you suddenly relax. You’ve just about made it and ironically I managed to speed up once I knew I was going to be within the target (4 hours, 52 minutes, 56 seconds). I’m a practising Christian so praising God as I went across the line was easy, and whether you believe it was divine help or psychological crutch… Well, I’ll leave that to you.
But it is over now, there are two thousand pounds (thank you to all sponsors who might be reading!) heading to a family to get them out of poverty and I have a medal, a T shirt that is either brick red or maybe pink depending on your view, and a brief period of euphoria and muscle pain.
Thankfully we have a week away in the North East for our anniversary this week, in a place called Scargill Castle, which is a two person holiday in the remains of a fortified gatehouse – it was featured on Time Team some years ago.
And the bedroom is at the top of a substantial spiral staircase.
Oh dear, I didn’t think that one through did I?

Antonius rushed up to Calgacus. He seemed about to wet himself with excitement.
‘They’ve doubled the reward on that girl!’ he squealed, ‘I didn’t see that coming. Her owner must really want her back for some reason,’ the foreman nudged Calgacus,’ she must be a special one… Maybe she does tricks.’
Calgacus responded with a withering look which he tried to use to hide the panic he felt.
This wasn’t good news. The plan had seemed simple enough before. Hide Vita until things calmed down and then…
Actually, he had to admit to himself he did not know what to do after that.
In his heart he understood Vita could never live here in Verulamium and be safe.
Maybe they could move to Londinium. Or even Calleva Atrebatum.
And I’m going to have to move with her, he thought. She’s too young to be on her own.
‘Calgacus? Are you listening to me?’ Antonius was glaring at him now.
‘Honestly? No I’m not. I was away with the nymphs. What was it you were trying to say?’
‘It could earn us a lot of money if we find his little runaway squeeze. But we need to do it quickly. According to Vitellus – you remember him, the Centurion with only three fingers on his left hand, smells terrible – well, according to him the Legion is expecting an Imperial Investigator to come up to the city. That’s very serious,’ Antonius concluded over dramatically,’ apparently.’
‘It is?’
‘Yes – they never stop until they complete their mission – it is part of their code or religion or something. If we don’t find the whelp soon and claim the reward we could miss out.’
Calgacus knew he would have to warn Senodo and Exuperatus as soon as possible.
They had to come up with an alternative plan. Although maybe these Inspectors were not as clever as their reputation suggested. Antonius was an idiot who would and usually did believe anything he was told.
‘Apparently even the Praetorian guards are afraid of these guys. They answer only to the Emperor.’
That did it for Calgacus, it was serious after all. Action was definitely required.
‘I need the afternoon off, Antonius…’ Calgacus looked down so he would not give himself away,’ to, um, search for the girl. I… I know the kind of places she may have hidden herself.’
Antonius looked at him suspiciously.
‘You don’t just want the reward for yourself, I hope?’
Calgacus tried to stop himself from laughing despite the gravity of the situation.
‘No, of course not Antonius, you’re my friend. We’re a team, you and I.’
‘Right,’ Antonius whispered conspiratorially, looking around as though they might be overheard by the other construction workers,’ so go now then. No time to waste!’
Calgacus needed no more enticement and took off in the direction of the Taverna. Then he stopped.
What if Antonius was not as stupid as he normally seemed?
So he took the long way around, checking several times to see if he was being followed. As far as he could tell, that was not the case.
He got to the closed door of the bar just as Exuperatus opened it.
‘Right, open again…,’ the small man’s face fell, ’oh, it’s you.’
‘We need to talk,’ said Calgacus, tersely.
‘Yes we do. Come in,’ said Exuperatus but not before slamming the door apologetically in the face of another potential customer. There were cries of annoyance from outside.
Exuperatus sighed and felt he had better say something through the thick oak door.
‘Sorry, we’re closed again. There has been… there’s been a death in the family… Inconvenient, I know, but what can you do when that happens? Other than blame it on the gods of course. I usually do.’
And the bloody gods have certainly got a lot to answer for at the moment, Exuperatus thought with some venom.

If you have fifteen minutes of fame, I have about 6 minutes left. Well, I’ve used up about 9 minutes in a fairly parochial way on an early Sunday morning on BBC local radio so maybe I can claim some of that back. Previously the most media presence I’ve managed is three seconds of coverage in the 2012 Great North Run when I ran in front of the poor man who was carrying a fridge just as he was being featured in the commentary.
So anyway; I get an invite to be a brief guest on Helen Legh’s early morning show (6am to 9am) on BBC Three Counties Radio, to talk about my reluctance in running and Mission Without Borders in preparation for the marathon. I’ve never done any kind of media for real before, although many years ago I went through some media training which could be summarised as ‘don’t trust the evil media people , you’ll be lucky to get out of the studio alive.’ I’m please to say my experience on Sunday was much nicer, although I’m not a politician, have something to sell (as such) and I think with all the Margaret Thatcher kerfuffle (aside: she’d be loving all the controversy, those of you that hate her – you’re just cementing her historical legacy, sorry) they probably wanted to have something with a lighter feel.
In fact getting into the studio was the most hairy thing. I’m sure Luton has some good points, but I’ve not found them yet. When I arrived outside the BBC radio building there, there was a young lad hanging around just around the corner who proceeded to meet with a very well dressed older man who gave me a distinct glare as I waited with increasing nervousness to be let into the building. So, early Sunday morning is a good time for drug deals it seems.
Thankfully they let me in, and I spent the next fifteen minutes getting increasingly worried as I listened to the show being piped into the empty reception area. Nice comfy leather sofas though.
Eventually, a very cheerful Irish bloke popped his head around the corner, shook my hand and invited me to come down. It turns out that other than the presenter, this chap was basically everything else about the show, and he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. So I got sat down in a studio next to the one that was on air, was offered coffee (refused politely) and was waved at by Helen in the adjacent studio. I began to relax a little. This was the BBC, and they are human beings.
I was formally reminded that the little light bulb when read meant “on air” so I made an unusual commitment to myself to keep my mouth shut unless spoken to. Now relocated during the news to the main studio my vision was largely filled by a giant green microphone. Watching them operate it was clear how much of this is timing, in particular judging when to come in with your microphone after a song, or as was said to me, the difficulty of judging when the news report was going to finish, so you get a smooth transition and no pregnant pauses. Ad to that the need to keep track of the piles of paper containing notes, texts and emails and it is definitely a job for those with a penchant for calm multitasking.
During Donna Summer (featuring Musical Youth, no less) warbling along about Unconditional Love, we had the pre-interview chat. This is the bit when they ask the politicians “you don’t really believe in this do you, go on, what’s the real story?” to which the correct answer, no matter how they smile and seem nice, is to say nothing except for your official agreed message track. I of course, spewed forth in usual style and therefore proved I would be the worst politician possible.
And then I was on air and you have one of those moments where you kind of say, “OK brain, over to you now, try not to screw up.” Apparently it went well according to the people who matter. I’ve listened to it once, and keep wincing at the ums and errs and the one use of the phrase “well, basically…” which annoys me a fair bit when other people do it so now I have guilt at my own linguistic sin.
But, all things considered, it could be a lot worse. And then it was all over, a wave goodbye and then ushered out.
Thankfully the drug dealer had moved on.
Was it fun? Yes, hugely. But goodness knows how nervous I would have been if that had been national radio or TV. As it is the listenership probably consists of a dog and my well dressed dealer, and I am sure most people decided to make the tea at that point and all the sensible people of course were asleep. But was what I suspect will be a unique experience for me.
Afterwards though I could not help wondering what people hearing 8 minutes of you talking about running and openly discussing your personal views about faith and God then draw up in their minds what sort of person you are. Come to think of it, I do it all the time on the basis of even less information.
So I think I’ll just stop thinking about that now, before I freak myself out, and instead just be thankful I am not in the public eye and never likely to be, because I am not sure I have a thick enough skin to cope with that.

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/GrahamWilson

Exuperatus came through the door of the Taverna as though Cerberus itself was after him. His eyes swept across the empty bar. He slammed the door behind him.
‘We’re closed,’ he said to the surprised man who had just been about to enter,’ we’re, um, stocktaking. Open again in an hour.’
He slammed the basket he was carrying on the nearest table.
‘And our apologies for any inconvenience caused! ‘Exuperatus added through the now closed door.
‘What’s the matter? Senodo asked.
Exuperatus ignored him and went straight over to Vita. Before she had time to react he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently. Vita yelped in pain.
‘What are you not telling me, girl?’ Exuperatus almost screamed at the girl.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Vita cried desperately, ‘I really don’t.’
A big hand landed on the smaller man’s wiry shoulders.
‘Enough. Let her go, old friend,’ Senodo said,’ you’re hurting her and that won’t help any of us.’
Exuperatus let go and sat down suddenly looking extremely tired. He looked over at the terrified girl.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply. Vita just nodded and looked at the two men with her eyes wide, unsure what was going to happen next, and wondering whether it was a good idea to run now.
‘What’s the matter?’ Senodo repeated.
‘She is the matter,’ Exuperatus pointed at Vita,’ or rather her former master. Something is very strange here Senodo. Apparently he has sent for an Imperial investigator.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Senodo,’ they only get called in for serious crimes against officials or acts of treason against the Empire. Not runaway slaves.’
‘Exactly – which is why I want to know from Stolen Goods here exactly what it is that she is not telling us.’
Both men looked at Vita expectantly. The girl just looked confused.
‘I don’t know why. I just ran away. I did not hurt anyone if that is what you mean or stole anything.’
‘I think she’s telling the truth,’ Senodo rested a hand gently, protectively, on the girl’s head.
‘I can see that,’ snapped Exuperatus,’ now. The man must just be obsessed. And unfortunately for us has friends in very high places. Why could you not be a runaway from some jumped up local yokel, girl? ‘
Vita shrugged and said nothing.
‘What do we do?’ Senodo asked.
‘Do? We do nothing. We stick with the plan and hope that the investigator, if indeed one comes, isn’t one of the brighter ones. Or one that “always gets his man” and doesn’t give up.’
‘It looks like you might have to be a boy for a bit longer than we hoped,’ Senodo said to Vita sadly.
‘That’s alright,’ Vita said, shrugging once more,’ I’m making good money on tips.’
Exuperatus looked at her in shock.
‘You didn’t tell me about that.’
‘I don’t have to. They’re my tips.’
‘Now wait a minute you little…’
‘That’s enough,’ Senodo interrupted again,’ Vita, please go and get some wine for my partner here from the cellar. The drinkable stuff I mean. And one for me while you are there.’
When she had gone, Senodo’s voice dropped to a whisper.
‘You’re thinking of turning her in aren’t you?’ He asked.
Exuperatus looked the Senodo straight in the eyes to make sure he understood.
‘Yes. Of course I am. If an investigator comes stomping around and finds her, he’ll start looking into us too. I know these people. They’re never satisfied until they know everyone’s secrets, even if they are not relevant to the case. And we have too many secrets, remember.’
‘I do,’ Senodo began calmly,’ but I won’t let you betray her. I believe that she is a gift from the gods. A chance at redemption… I will not give her up.’
‘Even if it mean you had to kill me? It might come to that you know. Where is your redemption in that?’
Senodo sighed.
‘She’s young and innocent and you’re not. But it is not going to come to that, is it?’
Exuperatus sighed. He felt he was sighing a lot recently.
‘No, I guess not.’
Vita returned with two cups of wine. Senodo picked one up and gave the other to Exuperatus.
‘Let’s drink to that, shall we,’ he said and both men downed their wine in front of a confused girl.