Its snowing

[The Grande Armée Crossing the Berezhina, 1866, January Sulchodolsky (1797–1875), oil on canvas. National Museum, Poznań]

I have been reading Patrick Rambaud's trilogy based on the second, downward half of Napoleon's trajectory off and on for more than ten years now. Three handsome yellow paperbacks from Grasset, getting on for a thousand pages altogether. The first covers the battle of Aspern (across the Danube from Vienna), the second the retreat from Moscow and the third the short sojourn on Elba.

All of interest to me for the portrayal, the imagining, of the mechanics of the power of a charismatic individual, in this case (the first) Napoleon. Power centred on a person rather than on an institution or office. And of the gradual unravelling of same under stress. Related, I suppose, to the interest in observing the mechanics of power in a place like the Treasury.

The blog archive turns up around nine posts in which Rambaud is mentioned, spanning the period 2011 to 2018, but arriving at some sort of conclusion at reference 1 in 2016. With at least some of the mentions being the Chambertin which Napoleon liked to drink and supplies of which were included in the Imperial baggage. Chambertin which is now far too expensive for me to drink, although we do occasionally get to savour the rich colour of the substitute Gevrey-Chambertin. From where I associate to the bottle of Sauternes, along with a bottle of red, which my father used to buy to go with our Christmas dinner, which can also be very expensive. As far as I can recall, children did not partake.

Over the past few weeks, I have been rereading, as opposed to recreational dipping, the second of the three, the one about Moscow: starting with the arrival of the knocked-about and knocked-up Grande Armée at Moscow, the burning of Moscow, the subsequent retreat back to Poland and ending with Napoleon's return to Paris with just a few attendants and without his customary cavalry escort. 

The comments at reference 1 stand and I only add that I have been struck by the way that this novel has been organised in much the same way as a series of books by Trollope or a drama series on television, tracking the doings of a small number of quite small groups of people, small groups which sometimes interact with each other. With the series progressing by jumping from group to group, thus providing a bit of variety, variety which is needed to carry one through the 333 pages.

On this read, I was a bit lazy about looking up the words that I did not know, but I close with 'pense-bête' from the very last paragraph, being a loose translation of 'Post-It note' - not invented until near 200 years after the events in question.

PS 1: the painting above, turned up by Bing, makes the crossing of the Beresina (a little to the east of Minsk in what is now Belarus. A tributary of the Dnieper) look rather more benign that Rambaud would have it: a catastrophe during which the discipline of the Grande Armée really did break down and around which tens of thousands died.

PS 2: a rather sophisticated mid-nineteenth century graphic from Wikipedia turned up by Bing. 'Charles Minard's map of Napoleon's disastrous Russian campaign of 1812. The graphic is notable for its representation in two dimensions of six types of data: the number of Napoleon's troops; distance; temperature; the latitude and longitude; direction of travel; and location relative to specific dates'. Counterintuitively, a lot more men were lost on the way out in the autumn than on the way back in the winter.

PS 3: despite the large number of excess deaths that Napoleon clocked up, being the best general of his day resulted in a lot of Napoleon flavoured names in the Paris of today. Not least the boulevards running around the inside of the Périphérique, named for his marshals. One day I shall try to make a similar tally of Wellington and Nelson names in London - the most obvious being Waterloo Station and Trafalgar Square. My bet is that there will be less than in Paris, despite our being the eventual winner.

Reference 1: http://psmv3.blogspot.com/2016/08/rambaud-concluded.html.

Reference 2: La Bataille, Patrick Rambaud, Grasset, 1997. Aspern.

Reference 3: Il neigeait, Patrick Rambaud, Grasset, 2000. Moscow.

Reference 4: L'Absent, Patrick Rambaud, Grasset, 2004. Elba.

Reference 5: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grande_Arm%C3%A9e. The army.

Water works

Up and over West Hill this morning, to find this contraption on the way up. Gurgling audible and water visible down the hole, so hopefully temporary.

Over the hill to be greeted with 'Road Closed' signs and no fewer than five Thames Water vans attending a large, water filled hole in the road. Maybe twice as many hi-vis's. A couple of tanker lorries parked in the small car park by Fair Green. A modest amount of water running down towards the railway bridge.

Some cars got the message early and U-turned as soon as they saw the queue. Others waited until they actually saw the hole. Others still were taking a turning to the left, which was odd as all of the turnings on this stretch are cul-de-sacs: perhaps they were older drivers who had not got the hang of their sat-navs.

Was there any connection with the water on the other side of the bridge noticed at reference 1? Bing turns up the snippet above from Surrey County Council, suggesting that we might be in for a protracted closure, a closure which might have been planned. Protracted closure of one of the main roads connecting Epsom to the outside world? Thames Water site unhelpful (to me), but Bing does offer reference 3 in support, paywalled at Elsevier, but available for free from ResearchGate.

Pushed on into town where I was a little early for my appointment, so having strolled about and not found any trolleys, I took up a seat in the market square, carefully avoiding the ones with notices saying that I did not mind if people came along to chat with me. 

Onto the waiting room where I turned the pages of an ENT magazine, where I came across pictures of elaborate ENT workstations which looked rather like dental workstations with knobs on. Probably best not to inquire what all the gadgets on the end of long lines are for.

I then learned that my hearing was very good (for my age). But at least my ears are now empty of both oil and wax and there was no talk of hearing aids, at least not just yet. I also learned that shops in Epsom had been troubled last week by early arrivals for the Derby getting the idea that it was OK to take a shopping trolley into a shop, fill it up and then take it out again without paying. Perhaps relatives of the skirmishers noticed at reference 2? And I had thought that all that sort of thing was long in the past, in the days when said early arrivals used to tour Epsom housing estates selling odds and ends - perhaps old-style clothes pegs or sprigs of heather - and perhaps with an eye to the main chance. Perhaps a job that did not really need doing, an insecure car or an open back door.

One washer added to the collection. Aluminium, medium sized, say about an inch in diameter.

The strange weather continues, with a cool start to the day - but with warm to follow. Yesterday broke the pattern with warm starting around 10:00, but today it was more like 12:00 before the warm came on.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/05/around-epsom.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/06/trolley-572.html.

Reference 3: Water quality modeling in the dead end sections of drinking water distribution networks - Ahmed A. Abokifa, Y. Jeffrey Yang, Cynthia S. Lo, Pratim Biswas - 2015.

Lunacy

Shortly after we came back to Epsom from the west country, to the National Theatre to see their version of Friel's 'Dancing at Lughnasa', having seen the Old Vic version way back in 2009, as noticed at reference 1. I remember it including several members of the Cusack tribe, but investigation suggests it was just the one, Niamh Cusack. Failed again.

We had gone for a Wednesday matinée towards the end of the run and it being a fine day we opted for a picnic beforehand, in some location to be determined on the spot.

The outing started with two indigents at Epsom Station, the usual gentleman with a beard having been joined by a rather large & loud lady of middle years in a state of considerable undress. Hopefully she had been scooped up and found suitable accommodation by the end of the day: in any event, she was not there on our return - and I have not seen her since.

Having got to Waterloo, BH spotted a garden by the side of St. John's church, the one that now does street food in their front yard. Which as well as a scattering of people taking lunch, included a lot of twittering and lot of young starlings, keen on crumbs. Not a bird we see much of in our garden at Epsom, but we do get them in some of the trees alongside the stream running down Longmead Road and in some of the trees at the bottom of Long Grove Park.

The starlings might have lived in the tree back right.

We also had quite a good display of echiums, steadily spreading north from their landfall at Ventnor in the Isle of Wight, for which see, for example, reference 3. Altogether a fine spot for a picnic on such a day.

On into the theatre to be amused by a grumpy older gent. banging on about all these dreadful actors picked up from somewhere on television who haven't got a clue about how to speak or behave on a real stage. We were reminded of a theatrical whom we used to know rather well.

On into the Olivier. We had forgotten what a big and comfortable theatre is was, pretty much full on this occasion - and not all pensioners either. Plenty of people of working age there, despite it being a working day. Plenty of people from the US, some of them pretty big.

As is usual these days, the cast proper occupied just the top left hand corner of the long list snapped above. Looking at the expanded version further into the programme, after some brain work, I worked out that the first two sections, the cast and the understudies came first, alphabetic by surname, followed by the rest of the left hand column, in the same order as in the snap above. While all the people in the right hand column did not make the cut.

Which was perhaps a little unfair as the set was rather good, and had clearly absorbed a huge amount of creative talent, despite it reminding me of that of a previous show at the same establishment, noticed at reference 5. As it happens, another play by Brian Friel. Talent even running to a continuity girl who checked that all the movables were in the right place in the interval. She may even have gone so far as to check the contents of the drawers, which I believe used to be standard BBC procedure in the days when they could still afford to produce quality costume drama.

The show was adequate, not as good as I remember the Old Vic production having been. Somehow, it did not quite take off, at least not for me. And I nodded a bit during the middle third, that is to say the second half of the long first half. But this was probably me more than the production, perhaps a warning that we are getting on a bit for the theatre, even in the afternoon, even when it is a good play, which you can read all about at reference 6.

A little early to eat when we came out - we had booked into the Green Room adjacent - for which see reference 5 - so we took a beverage in the theatre. I was rather surprised to be given what looked like half a pint of white wine - and it took me a few seconds to work out that a large glass at 250ml was fairly close to being a half pint. Perhaps being served in a soft, see-through plastic cup made it look bigger than it does in a wine glass, even a big one.

That sorted out, I was able to concentrate on the rather classy shuttered concrete, an architectural fad which started in the mid 1960's and which I have been keen on ever since.

Onto the Green Room, where the outdoor eating and drinking had massively expanded since we were last there. There is a queue. We think perhaps that the queue is to get a place outside, while our booking is for inside. We go inside and collar a waitress who seems a bit annoyed that we have jumped the queue, but who shows us to our table, at the far end of the restaurant, nonetheless. Pretty busy, but not full inside at this point.

We get our waitress fast enough, not the one who showed us to our table, and our wine and starter turn up fast enough. The wine being a vinho verde from the Azevedo brand from the Sogrape family of reference 7, a large family with a strong international presence in more than 120 markets. The people who (now) own the Sandeman (port from Portugal) and Mateus (rosé) brands. Furthermore 'our purpose is to bring friendship and happiness to everyone we touch through our wonderful wines...'. Strong stuff.

But despite all the international friendship, the company is still headquartered in Avintes in Portugal, right next to the local zoo/wildlife park, left in the snap above. Not lost their roots completely. Not that I could actually find this particular bottle at reference 7, although I did get warm.

Starter quite satisfactory, if a little mean with the bread. But then we had the long wait. Tables around us were getting their meals. Lots of drinks were being delivered to the table just outside. Eventually we summon the waitress who makes apologetic noises and offers a complimentary beverage - an offer which evaporates by the time we accept it a little while later. BH gets progressively crosser, even resorting to getting the remains of her picnic out to keep her going. She threatens to walk out.

Just about an hour after we got our starter, our main courses turn up - and I know because of the time stamps on the snaps. At least BH was happy enough with her salad, while I was not very happy with my pizza, which was nicely made, but which turned out not to involve any cheese. I had noticed that some of their pizzas did not involve any tomato and managed to avoid that elephant trap, while neatly falling into another one! Filling but not very flavourful. Not like the cheese on toast (foreign format) that I was expecting at all. More like the very cheap pizzas I once bought from a Turkish café in the not terribly salubrious area to the east of Swindon railway station, probably on the way to a large house in Manchester Road which now seems to be called the 'Tap and Barrel'.

We dispensed with desserts, solid or liquid, while the waitress told us of her 11 hour shift, not leaving until the place closed. It all sounded a bit grim. We decided that, not being conspicuously luvvie, we were far too old for what this establishment had become since our last visit, possibly that noticed at reference 8, before the plague years.

Two items of interest on the way home. First, it seemed that aeroplanes at Heathrow were both landing and taking-off west-to-east, rather than the usual east-to-west. Something must have happened to the wind. Second, for once in a while, we spotted a goods train at Raynes Park. They still exist!

PS 1: another memory failing in that I had connected the narrow boat story at the end of reference 8 with the Vinoteca pub-diner in what used to be the back yard of Kings Cross Station, not Waterloo at all. While today I associate with the custom of waitresses in the US to dish out a version of their life story at the least provocation, a usually successful device for increasing their tip.

PS 2: I have just tested BH over breakfast, and she had attached the waitress story about peripatetic narrow boats to the canal-side restaurant attached to Kings Place, a few hundred yards away from Vinoteca. Not that unreasonable that both brains saw fit to attach the story to a location with a canal, rather than to Waterloo, miles away from any such thing.

PS 3: and I now associate to a lady in the Tap and Barrel mentioned above, who was keen on horses and kept one maybe ten miles from where she lived. She alleged that from that distance she still knew when her horse was ill or otherwise uncomfortable. I didn't know what to think about this either then or now: the brains of both horses and humans are complicated bits of electrical and chemical machinery - so can we be so sure that there are no emanations of some sort, to be detected by some scanner of the future?

References

Reference 1: https://pumpkinstrokemarrow.blogspot.com/2009/03/lunacy.html.

Reference 2: https://stjohnswaterloo.org/.

Reference 3: http://psmv3.blogspot.com/2017/07/echium-pininana.html.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/12/translations.html.

Reference 5: https://www.grlondon.co.uk/.

Reference 6: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dancing_at_Lughnasa.

Reference 7: https://sogrape.com/.

Reference 8: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/03/artemis.html.

Trolley 572

Last year, after what I think was an absence for some years, I made it up the hill on Derby Day, even if I failed to hang around up there until the big race, quite late in the afternoon. This year, I decided against. Too much bother for not enough booze, having moved onto short rations in the interval.

But I did make it into town and was able to bag another trolley from the M&S food hall in the Kokoro passage.

On the way down West Hill into town, where there were about as  many cars as the day before (Ladies' Day) and where the Liriodendrum had come into flower. A tree with unusual flowers which I notice from time to time, for example at reference 6. One of the state trees of Kentucky, home, as it happens, to a rather bigger Derby than the original; bigger that is in the size of the purse. See reference 7. 

Porsche took the honours for the poshest car: the days when one would see plenty of Rolls Royces and such on West Hill on Derby Day being long gone.

The Marquis and the house which used to be called the Albion were decorated for the occasion, while Wetherspoon's had not bothered with their terrace bar this year. Quite a decent number of customers though. Not much fancy dress from the ladies but there were a respectable number of gents wandering around in frock coats and top hats. One went to far as to have striped trousers and to be smoking a cigar.

Racegoers apart, the town seemed quite quiet at around 11:30, although there were a good number of police men and women about. I had forgotten quite how much red was in their helmet badges - but one doesn't see that many helmets in these days of car patrols rather than foot patrols.

So a bad moment for a couple of rough looking men to get into a fight near McDonald's: they had a dozen police on top of them in no time at all. Perhaps they should have waited until later in the day, by which time the police might have moved up the hill and might well have had more on their plate to worry about than a scuffle in Epsom town.

Coming across Hook Road on the way home, I remembered the long ago days when the Derby was on a Wednesday and the late Queen used to drive to Epsom, perhaps from Chessington Station, while the primary school children from round about would line the route and wave flags. The thinking in our road was that King Charles was not a horsey person and would not be putting in an appearance: perhaps he has delegated the job to one of the many horsey sub-royals?

Home to a roast half leg of lamb (fat end rather than thin end), something we have not had for a long time. Rather good it was too. I remembered some more long ago days when such a half leg used to feed my family - in which I was one of four children - for two days: day one hot, day two minced. Stomachs and purses have clearly got a bit bigger since then.

PS 1: in the course of a stopover at Raynes Park earlier in the week, I picked up a rather tatty paperback by Beryl Bainbridge on the off-chance that BH might like it. An author of whom I had heard but never read; at least, I think not. In the event BH has made a start, while for some reason I associated to a cluster of books about the antics of posh people in the country, books which came with lurid cartoons on the front covers and some of which, at least, were made into television programmes. But I could not bring the names to mind, getting no further than 'Blandings', which I thought was Wodehouse and wrong, although it does turn out to fit the description. I tried Bing to no avail. I then tried Google which turned up a list of the 1,000 best novels in the world put together by the Guardian back in 2009, with three pieces devoted to humour. See, for example, reference 3. I was pleased to find that I had heard of quite a lot of the humorous books, even owned a respectable proportion. Beryl Bainbridge got a couple of entries or so, as did Tom Sharpe, including 'Blott on the Landscape', which was clearly the right answer. And I learn from reference 4 that he did time at Cambridge Tech, last mentioned in these pages at reference 5. I also thought that one might like him better on the page than in the flesh.

PS 2: another memory wrinkle, in that while I was fairly sure I had mentioned the Tech quite recently, I had quite forgotten the context. I had quite forgotten about Patricia MacCormack.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/06/trolley-571.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2022/06/up-hill.html.

Reference 3: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2009/jan/19/1000-novels-comedy-part-three.

Reference 4: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Sharpe.

Reference 5: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/04/more-animal-consciousness.html.

Reference 6: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2021/06/casual-dining-in-epsom.html.

Reference 7: https://www.kentuckyderby.com/.

Group search key: trolleysk.

Trolley 571

The first trolley since early May was a bit marginal, being parked up at the Clock Tower and not having left the market square. But scored anyway. An excuse to take another look inside the M&S food hall.

West Hill was busy with the addition of all the cars hoping to get onto the Downs for Ladies' Day. I did not notice any fancy cars, but quite a few impatient working people were giving up and doing U-turns.

Wetherspoon's was busier than usual, this being around 11:30 on a Friday morning. At least two ladies in full war paint. Most of the trees in the market square were looking pretty good, but the two outside Wetherspoon's - noticed three years ago at reference 2 - still had a good bit of catching up to do, despite at least one round of replanting.

Some extra policemen and policewomen. Some people in hi-vis, possibly council people offering advice on how to get up to the Downs. No left turn into Waterloo Road from the High Street, blocked with bollards and one of Edward Thomas's yellow coaches, possibly part of a shuttle service up to the Downs.

The man from the G4S van told me that this interesting looking contraption was a temporary microphone doing a sound survey on behalf of local businesses. Not at all clear to me why local businesses would want such a survey. But readers will be reassured to know that the associated box is fairly rugged - and given that it is eight feet above ground, you would need to be fairly keen to do damage. I failed to find anything about sound surveys at reference 4, so still not at all clear.

Through the Screwfix underpass to find that the climbing rose snapped at reference 1 is now past its first flowering best. While the tree suspected there of being a whitebeam and which was just then coming into flower is now, a fortnight later, all done and dusted. Flowers over for another year.

Round to the Blenheim, past another lady in full war paint, to find a posse of young men, possibly as many of ten of them, scrubbed and suited and aiming to get onto the Downs. Sadly, the fairly newly reopened Blenheim had a little local problem with its cellar and would not be able to open until 13:00. Or were they just making excuses? I didn't think to point out that the prices of booze in the Costcutter next door were very reasonable. I am sure that there would have been enough there to get them started.

PS: I have been sorry to read that Mount Everest, despite the massive efforts of some, who have removed many tons of rubbish, remains something of a dump with all kinds of rubbish, some unpleasant, scattered most of the way up the mountain. One might have thought that the sort of people who want to climb such a mountain would want to take good care of it - but this is clearly not the case. See, for example, reference 5, from which last I learn that off-mountain waste is a big problem too. Pity about all the adverts - a different kind of rubbish infesting the world we live in.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/05/trolley-570.html.

Reference 2: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2020/05/an-outing.html.

Reference 3: https://edwardthomasandson.co.uk/. They have, I believe, a good slice of the schools' trade in and around Epsom.

Reference 4: https://www.g4s.com/en-gb.

Reference 5: https://www.livescience.com/63061-how-much-trash-mount-everest.html. 

Group search key: trolleysk.

Orgo day

In the course of reporting on our licensed dining experiences in the far west in the course of our recent trip there (reference 1), I also trailed a visit to the Riverford Field Kitchen (reference 2 has some good pictures) which I now get around to.

The first distinguishing feature is that it is out in the country, southwest of Buckfastleigh upper left and northwest of (Sea Trout) Staverton lower right. Not quite where one might expect to find a restaurant.

The second such feature is that the restaurant is reservations only and you either go there for lunch or for dinner. And when you get there, there is no choice about the core of the meal, although you can opt for veggie or meat for your main course, you can choose your dessert and you can choose your beverages. You are allowed orgo alchohol.

The big plus of this being that the food can be freshly prepared and be ready to go at the right time. You get much more quality for your pound than can be expected in a walk-in restaurant offering lots of choice.

The third feature is that the restaurant appears to be an accessory to what is primarily a vegetable box delivery operation - an operation which even appears in the market at Epsom from time to time. So Riverford is about where it says 'Resr' in the middle of the first (Ordnance Survey) snap, just to the west of the Bumpston Cross Electricity Sub-Station. Enlarged above in the second (gmaps) snap, we get to see the restaurant operation, below and to the right with a yellow spot, the vegetable box operation, above and to the left. You get into the restaurant from the road bottom right, cunningly arranged so that the large sheds are more or less invisible. The stripes of the vegetable gardens can be seen below.

The approach. The Friday lunchtime that we were there, the place was pretty full, inside and out. Say between 50 and 75 covers.

The main menu. I took the meat, rather better than on the last occasion, while BH took the veggie option. Food good, we thought rather eastern Mediterranean in flavour & style, served by cheerful and enthusiastic young ladies, some foreign. The young gentlemen did the preparation and cooking in the open plan kitchen at the end of the dining area.

The dessert menu. I took the steamed pudding, rather good. But it would have been better without the chunks of rhubarb carefully placed on top: I did not think the two rather different flavours and textures went very well together. BH went for the custard tart, which she tells me was pretty good for a restaurant custard tart - but that she is a bit of a connoisseur of such tarts - and partial to the Portuguese version - and she would not have given this one full marks.

The wine came from the people at reference 4 and was called Kemetner, a seemingly undated Grüner Veltliner, but I failed to find it there, and had to resort to Bing, who turned up reference 5 - which tells us of this wine 'Smell: Mild honey notes in the fragrance. Taste: full-bodied'. News to me, but perfectly satisfactory in any event. I washed mine down with a spot of vegetarian brandy - as opposed to the teetotal brandy which features at one point in 'The Good Soldier Švejk'.

All in all, a meal which was both unusual and excellent. We shall be back.

We came across this fine foxglove on exit. A flower of which I am fond and which we have completely failed to grow in our garden at Epsom. For some reason, we did manage them in our garden at Cambridge. Probably there when we arrived.

PS: not quite accurate to say that the processing sheds adjacent were invisible. They were there if one looked.

References

Reference 1: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/05/licensed-dining-in-far-west.html.

Reference 2: https://fieldkitchen.riverford.co.uk/.

Reference 3: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2020/10/critical-national-infrastructure.html. Our first visit to the sub-station.

Reference 4: https://www.elliswines.co.uk/.

Reference 5: https://www.kemetner.at/en/.

A Russian flavoured theory

I read yesterday at reference 1 of a newish theory from an academic from the US, one Peter Turchin, born and raised in what was then the Soviet Union, before moving on to the US to complete his education and to clamber up into academic life there - where he invented something called cliodynamics. To be found at references 2 and 3.  A sample of his work is to be found at reference 4, from which the snap above is taken.

It seems that part of this theory is the tendency for established elites to reproduce too quickly, which means in the US that the universities are churning out far too many people with far too grand expectations, so creating an unhappy underclass of wannabee elitists, all too apt to turn to stirring up trouble as an alternative career path.

I have not got very far with this yet, but it does strike me that both China and India are producing graduates in very large numbers and I believe that India, at least, is having trouble absorbing them into what they would regard as decent careers, rather than sinking back into the gig economy from whence they perhaps came. Maybe all the (computer) hackers of central and eastern Europe are another example.

Clearly meat for several noisy bar-room discussions here. Maybe there will be more news on this front later.

PS: I have completely forgotten what put me onto this rather elderly piece in the Financial Times. So elderly that I had to resort to Bing to find it, the search button provided by the Financial Times not doing the business at all.

References

Reference 1: The real class war is within the rich: An academic blames ‘elite overproduction’ for political turmoil in the west - Janan Ganesh, Financial Times - 2020.

Reference 2: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Turchin.

Reference 3: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cliodynamics.

Reference 3: Population Dynamics and Internal Warfare: A Reconsideration - Peter Turchin, Andrey V. Korotayev - 2006. Open access.