Random thoughts

Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel (Star Wars) by James Luceno. My first Star wars novel read since the early 1980s. I had recently rewatched Rogue one and had just finished watching the animated series Rebels when I saw this on Kindle and decided to give it a try. From reading other reviews, I think this book is a bit of a Marmite book: people seemed to have loved it or hated it. I think if you are looking for an action packed book with lots of battles in it then I would avoid reading this book. For me, the strengths of the book were seeing the evolution of the development of the Death Star and how Kenneric manipulates Galen Erso into providing the necessary research to make the ultimate weapon possible. Additionally, the writer explores the antagonistic nature between Kenneric and Tarkin which had been alluded to in Rogue One and briefly in Rebels. I also enjoyed the way the writer demonstrated the effect of the Clone wars and the subsequent transformation of the Republic into the Galactic

Historiography is fraught with pitfalls particularly when faced with a lack of archaeological evidence, written sources, popular mythology and a reliance on memory.  During the first Lockdown, I started to write an article exploring my own issues relating to the problems of writing one's own Historical accounts.  The article had been placed on the backburner for many months but now I am in a position to complete my blog post regarding the matter. History is a subject that has interested me as far back as I can remember.  Indeed, I can remember, as a child, being outraged how the Bash street kids, Minnie the Minx and Dennis the Menace, in my comic books, would fall asleep whenever their teacher started delivering a lesson on History.  To me, History was one of the most interesting and important lessons on the curriculum.  A conviction I have stuck with right up to the present day. I must state that I am an amateur Historian.  I have not published a paper, I have not been Peer re

  The three children pressed their faces to the window. Behind them the room was so dark their pale faces were highlighted by the streetlamps as if they were three French mime artists. They looked mournfully at the empty streets full of self-pity believing they would never be free again. As they looked, swirls of Mist coalesced behind them forming into a hideous figure with brawny arms and a wolf like visage.   The children whimpered as they felt the harsh breath on their necks.   The chainsaw-like growl turned their bowels to ice.   Anticipating the end, the three sank to their knees. The outside door exploded into splinters as a red robed figure burst into the room.   Before the malevolent figure had time to react, the Cigar chomping red robed interloper fired his Bazooka square at him. The children shook as one, as the blood covered them like a Tsunami. The red robed figure spotted a fridge in the corner of the room.   He fished out a beer, cracked it open and took a swig.