This message is devoted to all my English-speaking fans. To the woman in Ohio, on the brink of retirement, who finds herself one illness away from disaster after a lifetime of hard work. To the man in Indiana, who has to pack up the equipment he's worked on for twenty years and watch it shipped off to China. To the veterans who sleep on our streets and the families who slide into poverty. This message is for you: you can bring about the change we need! As we speak, the dark forces of economic recession are marching to our doorstep, threatening the world of the free: God bless archaeology! For is it not true that we are all connected with one
another by hidden roots, like the runners of a strawberry patch, all of
whose plants have developed from the one parent stock that is archaeology? Today, my dear children, this parent stock is in need, as governments try to fill up their debts with the ashes of their burnt cultural budgets. And it is you, the PhD student in Human Origins, that should question these dark developments. And you, student in Archaeological Computing, don't turn your bended back on he who made you. Instead, turn on the corrupting computing machines, tools of the devil of bureaucracy. But the needy will not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the afflicted ever perish. Our cherished Archaeology will bloom once more, through the love and care of our combined efforts. Use your knowledge of the primate's brain, to infiltrate those who lead our countries. Knap some flint into a lockpick to gain access to valuable information. Map the phenomenology of the landscape and read the past (this must be worth something). Whatever you do that is useful, make sure you do it together. For a house divided against itself cannot stand. It is often the meaning of archaeology as a discipline and its direct usefulness that is in question. But those who find ugly meanings in beautiful things are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are the cultivated. For these there is hope. Indeed, for us archaeologists there is hope a plenty. For do we, at the University of Southampton, not represent the pinnacle of archaeological perfection? Do we not attract people from all over Africa? Do we not make pretty archaeological 3D models for the good of the world? I tell you my friends, no department is better fitted to muse about the meaning of archaeology than ours. As you can well read, my arrows are made of desire, from far away as Jupiter's sulphur mines. A desire born out of a dream, that one day this discipline will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all data are created equal." So fight for you right to parley. Archaeologists, cry 'Havoc!' and let loose the dogs of war!
(As my knowledge of English wasn't sufficient to express this simple message, I used the words of others who share my thoughts: B. Obama; Our Faith by E. Brunner; Psalm 9:18; A. Lincoln; O. Wilde; J. Hendrix; M. Luther King Jr.; Beastie Boys; W. Shakespeare)
The Crown The Mitre The Stag's Head The Hobbit Jesters' The Dolphin South Western Arms The Junction The Bridge Inn The Highfield The Plough (London) The Cowherds The Guide Dog The Bent Brief The Royal Oak (Winchester) Alfie's (Winchester) The Bishop on the Bridge (Winchester) The Wykeham Arms (Winchester) The Black Boy (Winchester)
This message is devoted to all my English-speaking fans. To the woman in Ohio, on the brink of retirement, who finds herself one illness away from disaster after a lifetime of hard work. To the man in Indiana, who has to pack up the equipment he's worked on for twenty years and watch it shipped off to China. To the veterans who sleep on our streets and the families who slide into poverty. This message is for you: you can bring about the change we need!
