#you can tell I got lazier with each panel

[andro-dino]

I dunno what you’re supposed to visualize in this scene but this is what happened in my head

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 2--Date

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short:  Now that things have settled down, Demyx asks Ienzo on their first date. However, the past crops up unbidden.

Read it on FF.net/on Ao3

----

The iron was not electric; when Demyx took it off of the stove, it was red-hot, and the handle bit his fingers. He shook out the pain, and let it cool. He hadn’t ever had anything that was nice enough to warrant ironing. He laid the linen onto the ironing board and did his best to get rid of the stubborn wrinkles. Despite himself, and the time that had passed since then, he thought of the days and years of black coats. He shivered a little.

He pulled on the ironed shirt and did up the buttons. Nervousness fizzed in his stomach. This shouldn’t be stressful, and yet it was. Demyx knew he was being silly and probably psyching himself out. In front of the slightly warped mirror in his bedroom, he fussed with his hair. Without the gel, it didn’t quite lay right, even as it got longer. The brown strands still looked odd to him. Like he was slightly someone else. And for the most part, he was.

Don’t think about that too hard.

Demyx bit his lip. He looked about as good as he possibly could, all things considering. He knew from their texts that morning where Ienzo was; as always, in the library. Ienzo lived his life in such a regimented way; if the routine was not shaken, he would do the same thing each day tirelessly. He was working hard, and the memorial project meant so much to him.

Still. He needed a break sometimes.

Demyx had walked these hallways dozens, if not hundreds, of times. Aeleus had started to paint, and the blueness was piercing after the green. It was sign of change, if anything. Change was necessary. Change was unsettling.

Ienzo was sitting in a patch of sunlight, curled slightly like a cat on his chair, taking rapid-fire notes.

“Hey,” Demyx said softly.

He glanced up slowly. The light made his hair glow. Demyx wasn’t quite used to the new reading glasses, but he did think they were very attractive. “Don’t you look nice,” Ienzo said. He gave him a sly once-over. “Have you had that shirt long?”

The compliment threw him. “It’s new,” he said lamely.

Ienzo got up and approached him. He straightened the collar a little. “What’s the occasion?”

“Well I was hoping…” He bit his lip. Nerves made him blush. “I was wondering if you might like do go on a date with me.”

Ienzo’s hands dropped down to his waist. He didn’t seem to know how to respond.

“I mean, we’ve already been together a few months. I figure it’s about time, you know? Isn’t this what people normally do?”

He paused. After a moment, he smiled. “I would love that,” Ienzo said finally. “Though admittedly--I don’t know what that means.”

“I was thinking… that we could get some dinner out. Maybe go for a walk. Spend some time together, outside of here.” He touched his face. “Simple. Right?”

He nodded. “Simple,” he mouthed.

“So what do you say? Are you feeling hungry?”

He chuckled. “I could eat. Though I wonder… if perhaps my outfit is not up to snuff.”

Demyx stroked the soft material of his black turtleneck. “You always look good.”

“You might be a touch biased. I need to at least take care of this mess.” He tugged at his bangs.

He smiled. “Then I’ll meet you downstairs in like twenty minutes?”

“I’ll see you then.”

“Don’t like anybody pull you away.”

He kissed him. “I’ll try my best.”

Demyx waited down by the service entrance, drumming his fingers idly on the rusty metal sheeting. It was a lovely early summer day, neither too warm nor too cool. After the long winter the world was finally feeling alive again.

“Getting some fresh air?” Ansem’s voice startled him. Demyx didn’t think he could ever recall seeing Ansem actually outside the castle. He was carrying a couple of bundles, his red stole slightly askew.

“Sort of,” Demyx said. “I’m waiting for Ienzo. We’re going out.”

Ansem appraised him a little. “That should be enjoyable,” he said at last, a touch awkwardly.

“I hope so.”

Ansem hesitated, shifting the bag at his shoulder a little. “Well, I won’t hold you,” he said. “Enjoy your time together.”

Demyx watched him walk away. Clearly Ansem had more to say, though what, and why, he wasn’t sure. Anyway, this really was none of his business.

Ienzo caught up to him and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Everything alright? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah.” He smiled quickly. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The whole long walk into town, Ienzo chatted happily about the research he was doing. “I’m studying forms of bereavement and memorialization--specifically concerning the religions and spirituality of this world, but also of others. It’s not as depressing as you might think. I’m hoping to take the most resonant of these ceremonies and symbols and applying them to this project. This is only the early stage, but it feels worthwhile.” There was a spark in his eye that Demyx had not seen in some time, a life. He was reminded of why he fell in love with him in the first place.

“I almost feel bad taking you away,” Demyx said.

Ienzo tucked a loose piece of hair behind his left ear. “All this focus on death makes me a tad too aware of my own mortality,” he said, with a grimace. “It is nice to get out and live for once.”

“So what would you like to do?”

He cocked his head slightly. “I thought you had planned something.”

“I mean, I did, but if there’s something else you’d rather do more--”

Ienzo squeezed his hand. “There’s no need to be nervous.”

“I know that,” he said. A blush rose in his cheeks. “But this is kind of just another thing that feels weird that shouldn’t.”

“It does,” Ienzo admitted. “But not in a bad way, right? Like learning anything, it merely takes some practice.”

“I guess so,” he said lamely.

He took Ienzo to one of the only sit-down restaurants in town. It was a small, hole-in-the-wall type place, lined with odd, eclectic tables and chairs. The walls were paneled wood, well-oiled and dark, and the lighting was bright and warm. Someone brought them menus and water. The sight of it made him smile a little. “I’d heard of this place,” Ienzo said. “It was popular when I was a boy. I didn’t realize it had opened back up.”

“I know. I saw a photo of it on Kingstagram.”

““Kingstagram?”” Ienzo asked. “You mean the photo program?”

“That’s what the others are calling it,” Demyx said. “I don’t know. It’s kind of easier to say than the name you gave it.”

“I didn’t intend for it to be for mass use,” he said. “Ah, well. Another thing to work on, right? I’m wondering if these gummiphones might be even more useful than we thought. They could potentially have so many different applications. Imagine how much easier things could’ve been in the past.”

“It probably would have enabled me to be even lazier,” Demyx said lightly. “So you might not want to go too crazy.”

“I suppose you’re right. But there really are so few models in circulation--a dozen or so in Twilight Town, ours, the committee’s, and the guardians’. Too many more and it could threaten world order. And I’m not sure we’re equipped to deal with something like that right now--literally or figuratively.” He sighed. He thought about this for a few moments, then opened his menu. “I wonder what I should try.”

“Whatever you want. Hell, get extra and we can bring some back for everyone else.”

“...Perhaps,” he said dazedly, skimming the menu with a sort of fervor.

Demyx looked down at the print too. The font made him a little dizzy, and for a second the text seemed to swim in front of his eyes. He blinked hard. Was reminded of the runes. When had he learned how to read this language, anyway? He couldn’t recall, and he found himself unable to decide what to eat.

The waiter came back. Demyx just repeated the same order as Ienzo.

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually eaten at a restaurant before,” Ienzo said. “How’s that for odd?”

“Really? Ansem never took you and the guys out?”

Ienzo shook his head. “He might have, but I think he figured it might have been a little overwhelming for me. Especially if it were crowded. They sometimes brought me food from such places, but I never got to go myself. Now that I’m actually trying all these new things, more than ever I feel like that same scared child.”

“Like you’re only playing grown up.”

“Yes--that’s exactly it.”

“I feel that way too,” Demyx said. “I never got to make my own choices. And the few times I did, they weren’t exactly good ones.” He laughed a little.

“You seem more than able to handle such moral quandaries now.”

“I guess so.”

An appetizer was brought out. Steamed dumplings, fresh and perfectly round. It tasted delicious. “I shall have to tell the others about this,” Ienzo said. “It tastes just like I remember. Sensory memory is quite intense.”

“Maybe all of us should go out some time.”

“Maybe. That would be nice.”

The actual meal was a brisket pho with bone broth and rice noodles. Everything was very good, almost too good, and he wondered if was weird to cry over soup. He blinked the tears back, cursing his newfound tenderheartedness. “I should like to learn to make noodles by hand,” Ienzo said. “I’ve heard it’s simple.”

“Do that, and you’d basically be godly.”

He chuckled. “Not quite.” He sipped at the broth for a moment. Then, rather more soberly, “Have you thought about your future?”

Demyx furrowed his brows. “...Like?”

“Like…” He stumbled over his words for a moment. “Demyx, are you happy?”

“Weird question for you to ask,” Demyx said evasively.

“Well, humor me, then.”

He looked down at the smooth wooden chopsticks, the tiny fish carved into the top. “I’m still… shit’s still hard,” he admitted. “And I don’t know if it’s depression, or trauma, or the general weirdness of being alive, but I… I’m unsettled.” He forced himself to look into Ienzo’s eyes. “But I… I love you, if that’s what you were asking. I don’t see that changing any time soon.”

It was Ienzo’s turn to drop his gaze. “I… I also feel very much committed to you. And very much unsettled. I’m so used to there being a plan. An end goal, a forward momentum to life. There’s a reason my moniker was “Cloaked Schemer.” And yes, I have projects, and people to love and bond with, but the overall directive of my life? I don’t know. ” His lips twitched, a small, nervous smile.

“Maybe your “directive” is to find that out. To pick how you want to live. For yourself.”

“I do not like that.” He wrinkled his nose.

“For the record, I’m scared too. I’m not used to things mattering ,” Demyx said. “When I was a kid there was a sense of futility with the war. And then when I was a Nobody I was so uncaring about everything except for myself, and sometimes even then. Now--”

“You’ve learned empathy.”

That threw him. “Have I?”

Ienzo smirked. “You’re training to be a healer, because you want to stop other people from hurting. If that’s not empathy, I don’t know what is.”

“I just want to do something worthwhile.”

“As do I.” He sighed. “Perhaps we must wait and think about our opportunities. Demyx, I’m discovering I’m not a very patient person.”

He smiled. “Well, we’ve done our fair share of waiting, I’d say.” He caught sight of the bar in the corner. “Hey, do you want a drink?”

“I don’t see why not. Nothing too strong, though. It is still early.”

Demyx stood. “I bet you haven’t even been drunk before. That I’d like to see.”

He shrugged. “That’s a story for another time.”

He kissed him once and crossed back to the bar. A few other patrons were there, having their meals and talking and just generally being normal. Demyx had the sudden, icky sensation of watching people like this was a recon mission, even though he was one of them. He shuddered a little.

The backsplash of the bar was odd--clear tile with light shining through, producing an eerie pinkish glow. Was that--he squinted through the rows of bottles. It wasn’t tile at all.

The bartender noticed his gaze. “Cool, right?” she said. “They found it among the ruins. It’s amazing that it didn’t shatter after all it had been through.” She pushed some things around so he could get a better look at it. “It’s super old. The glass is all melty at the bottom, if you look at it closely.”

The shapes, the colors--he tensed.

“We’re not sure what it means, or who made it, but that’s where the place gets its name. The Fox.”

The memory wound its fingers around his throat. Not just the emblem, but the person behind it. Never her face--she always kept it covered--but the color, the bright pale pink, brought back the sound of her voice--

-- fly away to the world outside--

“You alright, buddy?” the bartender asked.

Demyx mumbled something indistinct. Somewhat on autopilot, he turned and left the space. There wasn’t enough air. Even when he got outside he couldn’t breathe. The flashes of memory grew brighter, more painful. Why had she chosen him? Why had she let all this happen? Wasn’t she supposed to protect them, and their memory? Why had she betrayed --?

A hand touched his shoulder, and he jerked. Through glassy, watery vision he saw Ienzo. “Demyx,” he said softly. “You’re alright. We’re safe. Take a deep breath.”

His lungs felt like they had petrified. Ienzo gently guided him over to a nearby bench and started rubbing his back.

“It’s just a memory,” he continued in that soothing voice. “It can’t hurt you anymore.”

His pulse was still racing. The back of his throat felt raw. Demyx set his head in his hands. Eventually, he could breathe again, though he was still a trembling wreck. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This was supposed to be fun, and I--”

“It’s alright,” Ienzo said sternly. “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy--cold--”

“Maybe we should go home.”

He shook his head vigorously. “I don’t want to go inside.”

“Alright,” he said. He took Demyx’s hand. “We can stay here as long as you like.”

“I thought I was okay. I really--”

“This isn’t a linear process.”

“I don’t know how it got there.”

“What?”

“That mosaic.”

Ienzo glanced briefly back into the restaurant. “At the bar?”

“It was her mask, Ienzo. I’m sure of it.”

“...Whose?”

“Master Ava’s.” Saying it felt like he was casting a curse. He shuddered.

“...The Dandelion leader?” Ienzo frowned. “That is rather odd… but you do realize that if that was before the World fractured into pieces, it’s not entirely unusual for bits of the past to wash up all over, so to speak.” He sighed. “But I’m sure that doesn’t make you feel better.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was jagged and broken.

“You don’t need to apologize. Especially to me.” He wrapped his arms around him. Demyx couldn’t help but give into the comfort. “I am… uncomfortably aware of these aberrations of memory.”

“PTSD bros for life,” Demyx muttered.

Ienzo chuckled. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to him. The cloth was soft against his eyes. “Would you like to go for a walk?  Get your mind off it?”

He nodded. The sunlight was warm and insistent, shaking the chill of the panic. As always, he was unsettled. His new and old selves brushed up against one another painfully. A complicated dance. Ienzo stood to his left. Though Demyx couldn’t see it through the hair, he was sure Ienzo was watching him warily.

“A lovely day,” he said casually. “It’s nice to get some fresh air.”

“Ienzo?”

He turned his head slightly.

“Do you also feel a disconnect with your past?”

Ienzo hesitated. “I suppose the word should be “dissonance”. But for me… and this may sound strange… things are a touch fuzzier than they once were.” He smiled, but it was an odd expression. “My memories used to have an intense, painful clarity to them, with a few exceptions. I think this has something to do with my power. But now that I no longer have it, it is no longer so clear-cut. My memory now is… merely above-average. So, I suppose in a sense, that dullness makes it hard to believe that person is me.” They walked another hundred or so meters. “But our cases are completely different. For a good deal of your life, and at a crucial point in your development, you had nothing. You had to form a whole new concept of self just to be functional. Basically, it’s like comparing apples to oranges.”

“It’s like my skin doesn’t fit.”

“Yes. How do you feel about this new self of yours?” There was something of a playful seriousness to his tone.

“He’s alright, I guess. You?”

Ienzo blinked, his expression smoothing, becoming neutral. “The jury’s out on that one.”  

“Ienzo--”

“I am working hard to see the good in myself. But you must understand that this is a complex rationalization of years of unrepentant mistakes and lies.” He nodded slightly, as though to himself.

“Well, like you said. Morality isn’t simple.”

“...No.”

His hand, in Demyx’s, was cool and dry. Demyx liked how their hands always fit together just right.

“If you could choose,” Ienzo said suddenly, “To go back to the way things were, would you?”

He actually stopped in his tracks for a moment. “What kind of question is that?”

“Mere curiosity,” he stuttered, turning a bit pink. “I wonder… how things would have turned out, otherwise. It’s a sort of masochistic thought experiment. Forget I asked. It was tactless.”

Demyx shook his head slightly. “How far back do you mean? Before the first Organization? Or before the second?”

“...The fact that we have to distinguish,” he said with a sigh.

“But neither of us got to choose. That’s kind of how this all started.” His mind was spinning. To go back to being Demyx Number Nine, with all the absolute garbage and bullshittery that entailed, made him feel physically sick. “No. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.” The implications of it were jarring. “That means… we probably wouldn’t…” He bit his lip.

“I could not either,” he admitted. “For longer than I’d like to admit, I entertained that fantasy, in the first horrible days after I was recompleted. Everything was just so very overwhelming otherwise. To pretend I could not feel, that I was who I used to be, was all too tempting. Especially as I lay there recovering, unable to speak because I was still healing…” His free hand unconsciously brushed against his throat. “To go back to hurting people, and allowing myself to be manipulated… that thought is still more jarring.”

“We can choose now. Like you said. Agency, right?”

“Yes.”

They stopped for a moment to rest. This close to the castle, Demyx could see the spread of the town below. He hadn’t ever been in one place so long--at least, not in his adult life. Strange to think that this would likely be his home for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t wrap his head around permanence.

Ienzo slid an arm around his waist and leaned into him. “What are you thinking of now?”

“Stability. How weird of an idea it is.”

“I suppose it is if you had no prior concept of it. Accepting that has been difficult for me as well.” He touched his chest. “Learning to trust. To be vulnerable. To speak about and think about emotion.” He wrinkled his nose. “Strange. But necessary.” Ienzo looked up at Demyx and lightly drew his fingers against his cheek. “I do love you. I feel as though you sometimes need a reminder.”

Demyx kissed him softly. It was nearly opposite of their first kiss; long and slow and without fear. They stayed there for a moment, forehead against forehead.

“Shall we… shall we head back?” Ienzo asked.

“I’d like that.”

[bythebayio]

30 Years of Scala: Julie Pitt

In 2019, somewhere around April 8, Scala turns 15. Naturally, at SF Scala, the largest Scala community in the world, we thought of celebrating it as the 15th year of Scala. But then we remembered the 50th anniversary of the electronic computer. The ACM, Association for Computing Machinery, celebrated it in 1995 as a 100 Years of Computing.

15 years is a good size of an era in Programming Languages. With 30 Years of Scala, we’re reflecting on the first epoch, and looking forward to the next epoch.

Today, we’re speaking to Julie Pitt, Director, Machine Learning Infrastructure at Netflix, and a regular speaker at Scale By the Bay.

Scala is turning 15 in 2019.  Following the example of the ACM, that celebrated the 50th anniversary of the electronic computer as a 100 years of computing - 50 past, 50 future ones - we're doing the same for Scala.  What do you think about it, and the 15-year cycle for programming languages?  What themes can we see at this scale?

15 years ago, I was writing PERL scripts to scrape data sources from the web and do some basic data processing. By the time I came to Java, generics were the new kids on the block. But the ideas behind them weren't new because C++ had a version of them long before. The only functional programming experience I had was an obligatory unit on lisp in a programming languages course at university. It takes much longer than we think to develop ideas into wildly successful and game-changing implementations. Most of the innovation in programming languages that have meaningfully impacted my life as a developer has more to do with the developer experience than it has to do with truly novel ideas.

How did Scala change your life in the last 15 years?

Scala has enabled me to seamlessly switch between OO and functional programming - two paradigms that I was taught in college as being not only very distinct but incompatible with each other. Scala has also made me a much lazier developer in the sense that the compiler does a lot of the heavy lifting for me. I find that code written in Scala is far more likely to work correctly if it compiles than other compiled languages.

How do you think will Scala change your life in the next 15 years?

As with any language that reaches a certain stage of maturity, the real challenge becomes keeping it simple and delightful to use as more and more people and companies rely on it and more is at stake when making changes. From what I have seen, a lot of thought has been put into avoiding the legacy problem, and I hope to see the language continue to innovate over the next 15 years. At the very least, it will inspire the next generation of languages.

Tell us one memorable story about Scala that sheds light on its history or your own Scala history.

I was pretty jazzed about Scala in 2008 after Dick Wall started gushing about it on the Java Posse podcast. I yearned to be one of the cool kids who knew Scala. At the time I was a Java developer. Instead, my career took me deeper into Java, so it took me a few years to finally learn it. When I did, both Dick Wall and Martin Odersky (via his Coursera course) were my teachers. I felt like a student again with all the rush of excitement at newfound knowledge and things making sense that never made sense before. It only got more fun as I started building real applications with it.

We've been incredibly, almost improbably successful, as a community of PLT geeks in the industry.  Why do you think Scala achieved this level of adoption in the mainstream, and what can we do to maintain this adoption and build on it?

I don't know what PLT stands for so I must not be one of the PLT geeks. I think Scala adoption came because of 1. Scala combines the popular OO paradigm which many programmers already knew and loved (or didn't) with FP, which many were equally dazzled and daunted by. It made functional programming accessible to the mainstream developer for the first time. 2. The tooling built up around Scala made it easy for Java developers to pick up. 3. There was already an extensive Java ecosystem of libraries and communities. Scala could leverage these to drastically reduce the cost of switching to it from other JVM languages.

If you can use only one word to characterize Scala, which one would you choose?

Scalable.

To connect with Julie Pitt and reflect with us on 30 years of Scala and beyond, join us for “Thoughtful Software Engineering” panel discussion at Scale By the Bay on November 15th. Book your ticket now.

[paulduncanmcgarrity]

7 times history was like comedy and one time comedy made history

We are told that those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it, but as a comedian I am also told that the rule of three requires a premise to be reinforced twice before undermining expectations with the punchline. By this logic, and in a world where people are apparently sick of experts, WWIII will eventually happen, but on the plus side it will be unexpectedly hilarious.

Whilst this is an example of what may come there are actually many lessons the budding stand-up comedian, humourist or ‘funniest person in the pub’ can learn from history. These lessons might not make you funnier, but a surprising number of them can help you keep any deaths you might suffer within the realm of the metaphorical. So here they are 7 times history was like performing comedy.

1) Hecklers can be murder

A rowdy crowd can be the bane of a comedian’s life. It doesn’t take much to set off the drunken numpty who’s at an ill-advised office Christmas party. Especially as he’d much rather be trying to bang Tina from accounts than listen to any of your jokes. Once you’ve woken that drunken, horny, heckling genie it can be almost impossible to stuff him back in his lamp. Not that this is even the worst possibility, one tiny miscalculation over the mood of a Hen do can turn a fun night performing comedy into ‘you’ve ruined Trisha’s special night you Bastard!’ However, we can take some solace, and possibly a big slice of warning, from the poor crowd work of one Captain Porteus. On the 14th April 1736 in the Grassmarket in Edinburgh, Porteus found himself facing a very grumpy group of Scots. The reason for their foul mood was the execution by hanging of a popular smuggler. Porteus decided to try and quell the riotous crowd by ordering his men to fire over their heads. This may have been a very successful technique if it hadn’t been for the minor detail of the four storey high houses behind the crowd, several residents of which suddenly and fatally found that their bodies had acquired new ventilation points. Captain Porteus was arrested, convicted of murder and sentenced to death. The Prime minister, Walpole, tried to defuse the situation (like any good MC would) by moving to get Porteus’ death sentence commuted. Big mistake, the Scots broke into the prison where he was being held and hung him themselves. If nothing else this makes a tricky corporate gig look a little more manageable (but only a bit).

2) Don’t be afraid to bring the house down

If a venue is wrong for whatever reason it can impact on the quality of a night. Whether it is too much light on the audience, not enough light on the stage, sound issues, height of the stage etc , it can all cause the gig to tank. The Lord Chamberlin’s Men (the company of actors that Shakespeare was a part of) had run into trouble of a slightly more extreme nature, they’d been barred from their venue, The Theatre, over a question of ownership. Rather than sulk though the actors got proactive and decided to change the venue so that it better suited their needs. That is to say that in 1599 they waited until the land owner was out of town and they stole the building, shipped the materials south of the river and used them in the construction of the Globe. Now if they are willing to do that, then you can ask to have the chairs moved forward a bit and the lights dimmed don’t you think?

3) Everyone finds their own way to deal with critics

Take Pope John XII for example. During his run in the big Holy sparkle chair he got such cutting reviews as ‘a robber, a murderer, and incestuous person, unworthy to represent Christ upon the pontifical throne’ 2 stars. Or this from Liuprand of Cremona ‘he did not celebrate Matins at the canonical hours nor did he make the sign of the cross’, now I’m not entirely sure what that means, but it sounds like a problem with timing, maybe he was rushing and messed up the punchline of the prayer? Whatever it was, it led to John being temporarily deposed by Emperor Otto I, however it didn’t last, as Otto had to return home so his army could plant their crops (actual reason). Once they left, John returned and castrated or cut the tongues out of everyone who had spoken out against him in his absence. From that point on it was 4 and 5 star reviews across the board.

4) Some National stereotypes exist for a reason and might be older than you think

The Irish are drunk, the Germans are efficient, Scots like to be involved in the extra judicial execution of military officers. These stereotypes often form the basis of many jokes (many of them lazier than a sloth that’s employed a butler) and some seem like they might have been plucked from the air, but not all. When the Normans landed in England in 1066 they brought with them partially constructed Castles which they put together on arrival and used as bases from which to launch the invasion. This may not seem too remarkable until you remember that the Normans (or North man) were descended from the Vikings. Then it hits you, the Scandinavians have always loved a bit of flat pack. In fact if you look at the Bayeux Tapestry there is a panel depicting a group of knights desperately combing the beach around their landing site to try and find the Allen key that one of them had dropped.

5) Archaeology is sometimes just really deadpan observational comedy Talking of Vikings, a stick with runes on was recently found and when translated it read ‘I love that woman but she is married to another. I am that woman’s friend’. This means we now have physical evidence that the ‘Friend Zone’ is at least 1000 years old.

6) Pay your acts (Pretorian Guard) More a lesson for promoters here. It’s important to pay people for the job they’ve done, especially if you’ve already agreed a fee. The comedy world is full of rumours and stories of acts getting short changed at the last minute by a chancer who thinks they can get away with it. Well these unscrupulous buggers are luckier than they might think, pulling a fast one on the mentally unbalanced waifs and strays of comedy is one thing, trying the same thing on a hulking mass of muscles and pointy objects is a different matter entirely. This is the situation that would be Roman Emperor Didius Julianus found himself in. The previous incumbent of the Imperial throne, Pertinax, had made the tactical error of asking the Pretorian Guard (the Emperor’s supposed bodyguards) to do their job. Incensed by the idea that anyone would ask a solider to act like a solider they decided to step right outside of their job description and killed him. This left them in the very powerful position of being able to pick their own boss and getting paid to do so. As such, a bidding war broke out, which was won by Didius when he promised to pay 25,000 sesterces to each soldier (about 10,000 men in total). This was such an insane amount of money that he might as well have offered to invent a time machine and take all of the Pretorian Guard to Alton Towers for the day and promise to buy them all ice cream too. Unsurprisingly he was unable pay up and 66 days later he was murdered. Dodgy dealers, you have been warned.

7) Dicks have always been a winner

They’re on hills, cave walls, statues, mosaics, paintings. Romans even used to put tiny metal ones on their children to protect them from the evil eye! Dicks are, always have been and will always be fascinating to Humans. If in doubt- dick jokes.

And now for one gig that’s pretty historic. 1) 18th March, Queens Head Pub, 2.30pm, £5

As far as I can tell ‘Ask an Archaeologist’, might be the first ever stand-up comedy, archaeology show performed in a pop-up Viking drinking hall on the roof of an east London pub. A ticket link can be found at www.paulduncanmcgarrity.co.uk along with information for other dates on the ‘Paul Duncan McGarrity vs the Minor-Tour’ tour. For more information and a (apparently highly addictive and frustrating) weekly Archaeology guessing game follow me @PaulDuncanMcG on twitter. Ok, thank you, bye!