Skeletons! Vikings!

Since We Have Been Talking Of Both Lately
Though - as we like to mix it up here on the blog - not as you'd expect.  Unless you have become canny enough to expect the unexpected, in which case what follows, since it is the expected, will be unexpected.

A 1970 De Tomaso Mangusta - Ha!   You didn't expect that, did you?

     The previous skeleton was a variety of crossword, and the Vikings were robotic probes that landed on Mars.  Today we now have the skeleton of an actual viking.  Art?

"Bjorn had seen better days..."

     This skeleton was dug up in the grounds of Prague Castle in 1928, which was of course in Czechoslovakia at the time, by a Ukranian archaeologist, who had left Ruffia thanks to the Civil War there.
     Now, the Czechs are what you get if you cross the efficient and thorough Teutons with the dashing and romantic Ruffians, and they make excellent lagers.  This last fact has nothing to do with the rest of the matter, I just thought you'd like to know.
     At this point, if there is an Irony Hydra to complement the Coincidence one, then it appeared and began biting, for what did the Teutons do when they invaded Czechoslovakia*?

Prague Castle

     Why, they seized upon this skeleton and loudly declared that this 1,000 year-old carcass entirely justified invasion, which wasn't actually an invasion and merely the Teutons re-acquiring some long-lost territory, because the Vikings were Nazis, too, even if they didn't realise it.  Or something.  Conrad not sure that a feudal medieval society would understand let alone embrace the concept of "Socialism", but what do I know**.
     Okay, do we have that down pat?  Bjorn Doe = Nazis are all proper and correct.

Urban landscaping, Teuton style

     Of course, the rah-rah-rah-Reich fanfare ended abruptly in 1945, when the Sinisters rolled into Praha (local pronunciation).  They then laid hands on that hapless Ukranian archaeologist and threatened him with the gulags (how refreshing! as it had been the common or garden concentration camp under the Teutons) if he didn't - O and what a surprise, the skeleton suddenly belonged to a member of an important Slav medieval dynasty.
     Today, opinions are far less certain about exactly who this chap was.  Not a local Bohemian (part of Czechoslovakia now and historically) for sure; possibly Danish or Balt.  In a way this is a better conclusion than the political extremists from the last century would ever be happy with: We're Not Sure, But It Sure As Stuff Isn't What You Bumbletucks Decided.

"Josef was crushed.  Crushed!  How could Conrad be so cruel? So, so cruel?"

     So there we have it: Viking skeletons.  
     Right, motley, let us see who can neck ten fried eggs with a runny yolk the fastest, with only one rule: no hands allowed.  BEGIN!

Conrad Is A Tad Apprehensive
Given the British gift for understatement, "A tad apprehensive" means "Rather worried, actually", shading in towards "Rather worried, old chap, actually", although well short of "Gosh! I say, things are bad!" which is what you'll only hear when the Ruffian missile warheads are definitely on an inbound track for London and Manchester***.
     What I refer to is, of course, the blog's traffic figures.  Art?

Look to upper starboard

     You might think that Your Humble Scribe is either gloasting in an indirect way, or ought to be doing the same, with traffic figures about twice what is normal.
     Not so.
     BOOJUM! only operates successfully because it comes under the radar of anyone it insults or slanders or libels, and, as I've said before, getting toooooo popular means an increased likelihood of someone with legal authority getting interested, and us getting an injunction, or a cease-and-desist order, or, if Tsar Putin is in an especially bad mood, a visit from the FSB.  And, besides which, we laugh at copyright.
     I shall be on the edge of these -

Tenterhooks

     - for a while.

There Is A Gap In My Life
A yawning, aching, inconsolable gap.  By which I mean I have finished watching Season Two of "The Expanse", that there is over a month before the new Season Four begins on Amazon Prime, and that nowhere in Babylon Lite (Oldham if we're being formal) can one acquire Season Three on DVD, not since all the shops that sold DVDs and CDs have gone toes-up.

Forthcoming

     I could re-read my copies of the novels, but the television series is different enough that this won't bridge the gap, and the trailers I've seen only whet one's appetite.  Plus, the final novel in the series comes out next year, and it will have to be a doozy to prevent Hom. Sap. going the way of both the dinosaurs and The Engineers (my name for "the proto-molecule makers") - <sighs> what a burden it is to be a fan.  Although I suppose fans of "To Kill A Mockingbird" have it worse.

Finally -
As you ought to know by now, Conrad, Your Humble Scribe and Modest Artisan, is of advanced years, which means his hair is snowy-white and would help him blend in at Outpost 31.  The damned stuff also grows at an alarming rate, which is a mixed blessing; no risk of going bald yet, but requires regular treatment at grooming salons.  So, this ante meridian I ventured to Peppi's in Chadderton, where I have been venturing for Lo! these past 20 years.  Creature of habit, that's me.  Art?

As big as it needs to get

     There you go: Severe.  I was also requested to smile, as otherwise the camera might break, and - you see my lips there?  They were quivering on the brink of collapse.  A face not made for smiling.  Though I do manage to look Almost Human.

Right!  Time for a cyanide and plutonium sandwich.  Chin chin!

*  Yes, Chamberlain, I am looking at you.  VERY ANGRILY.
**  A lot.  An awful lot.
***  Birmingham's not important enough to bother with.