TEN FACTS ABOUT THE ROMANS

1. In the Beginning was The Word.
The word 'Roman' is intimately associated with a body of words used to describe door to door delivery people. To elucidate this point - think of the cheerful milkman (conveying lactose delights in the form of bottled milk) or the giggling gasman (delivering gas via a swollen pig's bladder) and then consider  the Roman pouring gallons of sturgeon roe through your letterbox by means of a collapsable aqueduct. Sadly, much like the Ottoman (deporting his footstool of otters) or the frogman, (lugging his wetsuit of frogs,) the Roman is now an all but forgotten detail of ancient history.
Tempus fugit amicis, tempus fugit.

2. Eddy Gibbon - 'Gibbsie' to his chums.
Edward Gibbon, 18th century author of 'The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,' (and the later lesser known 'The Decline of Latin Verbs,') had a very peculiar middle name - 'Emily.' It caused his school chums to give him a dreadful ribbing. On one memorable occasion the Duke of Cumberland remarked that Gibbon had a middle name that was 'girly' and a surname derived from a baboon.
'You can't talk,' retorted Gibbon, 'You're named after a G*ddamn sausage!'
This witty retort caused the Marquis de Vajazzle to quietly quit the room.

3. Advertising Feature.
Go to school on an egg.

4. Reflection on Advertsing Feature.
If no.4 had not been used as an advertising slogan it would surely have made an excellent riposte.

5. Roman Nose.

Uncle Bill was one of those

Infants born with a Roman nose.

It cantilevered 'twixt his cheeks

Like a peckish vulture's beak.

Grandma garnered little favour,

On showing him round the neighbours

Incensed she shrieked - Go and stick it!

It's not as if I got to pick it!

          But she meant choose it.

6. Fructophilia.
When I was a boy I was very fond of fruit. Well . . .  allow me the latitude to be frank - my psychiatrist described me as an acute fructophiliac. Apples made me wobbly at the knees, mangos created profound nether stirrings and the mere thought of a cumquat . . . well, I'm sure you can imagine . . .
But I needed harder hits and before I knew it I had moved on to the tart spiciness of dried fruit. Banana chips, dessicated strawberries, moistureless papaya, I was living on the edge and didn't give a damn - until that lamentable incident between myself, the headmistress and the shoebox of prunes . . . It cost my family a fortune to hush that mess up.
My father eventually pulled me feet first out of a sack of dates and said: 'Son, things have gone pear-shaped. Do you think you could try switching to vegetables for a while?'
I showered him with a mouthful of half masticated dates in derision.
'I care not a fig for your request!' Said I.
'I'll give you money,' said he, dangling a carrot on the end of a stick.
'No!' Said I, not biting.
'And why not?' Said he.
'Because,' said I, 'dried fruit is my raisin d'etre!'

Another installment in my continuing illustrated series of 'mad shit.'

7. Blogging.
I was recently told that the most successful blogs are those with an interactive element. Therefore, with that in mind, insert your own jocular, side-splittling Roman factoid here . . . . . . . . .

Oooh! I think I've just outsourced, I feel more successful already.

8. Verbs.
Latin Verb: yodel - 'to call'

conjugates in the active present tense as -

yoda

yoga

yoghurt

yohoho

bottleofrum

yodelayheehoo

A scene from 'The Roman Empire Strikes Back.'

9. History.
In 'The Agricola' of Tacitus, it is recorded that the mighty generalissimo Agricola (son of Pepsicola) believed he could conquer Ireland with a single legion of troops. Tacitus did not record the later campaign into Ireland, where, on landing at Laytown, Co. Meath, the great general was met by a group of druid-bankers who advised sagely against invasion and instead gave him enough credit to buy the whole island and several parts of Londinium (which he already owned,) and a timeshare in Croatia, lots of expensive 'art', a Russian shopping mall, several helicopters, a Nigerian oil rig, a barrel of distilled bunkum, two turtle doves, three French hens and a non-refundable kick in the arse.
The fall of the Roman Empire had begun.

10. A Farewell Tune.
Time for a tune off Bob Dylan's latest album. Turn up the volume on your 'pooter and press HERE PLEASE! The reason I'm including el-Bobster on this blog is because if something as ancient and decrepit as the the Bard Zimmerman can still continue to arouse interest -there just might be hope for archaeology yet.
It's time to start busking boys and girls . . .