Bake Off Take Off!

Yes, I Do Mean "The Great British Bake Off"
If you recall the 2014 GBBO then you will recall Luis Troyano, our man from Poynton, who got to the semi-finals:

Manchester man

     Well, last week the message went round work, he was going to do a masterclass at Numb<cough cough>re, and people could apply to come and watch.  Also ask questions. Only 25, mind, and you needed to get permission to attend. 
     So I applied - at the very least it was time off the floor and the phones - and - Hay Pesto!  got a place.
     The event was due to take place between 9:30 and 10:30 in the "Taste Centre", new territory to me - think of a great big kitchen sat in the middle of a suite of offices.
     

Luis being casual.
"Any policy on taking photos?" I asked, to an expansive shrug and permissive gesture

     He was going to show how to bake Savoury Filled Rolls, a variation on a bread recipe.  He had a batch that he'd done the day before, which went into the oven to bake in order to be presented during the class.

     Here we have the dough after second proving, being made into a rough rectangle:

It will get bigger

     And here it is, rolled out and being prepped with the filling:

Serrano ham, cheese, pepper and olives.  Are we hungry yet?

     This is the point where he "tacked" the dough to the benchtop, that is he stuck it to the top to ensure it remained static.
     Here is the finished product in tulip cases:

About forty minutes condensed into one picture

     One of the marks of an expert is that they make the difficult look easy, which is exactly what Luis did.  He didn't rush or dither, yet by the end of the class he'd made 12 very tasty rolls.  Not only that, he'd kept up a stream of patter during the whole process, and responded to questions from those of us attending - and he didn't stammer, repeat himself, remain silent or get flustered.  A very good presenter is Conrad's judgement.

Old Dog, New Tricks
Conrad has been baking bread - though not so much recently - for about 18 years, and yet Luis had a few tweaks and tips that were novel to your humble scribe.  He pooh-poohed a lot of mystique around bread and dough - prove it in the fridge over at least 24 hours, he suggested.  No need to rush things!  His secret weapon was rice flour - used to prevent sticking to the bench or rolling pin; it doesn't take up moisture like wheat flour and doesn't have a taste, so you can be liberal in applying it.  Use a thermal probe to test the baked goods - if the interior of your bread/roll/muffin is at N Degrees, then it's baked, regardless what the outside looks like.
     I shall certainly be using some of his tips the next time I bake bready stuff.

"As an old dog, I  cavil at the attitude of this " (Cont. Page 96)

The Aftermath
Oh, we got to have a slice of roll and they were very nice indeed! Since Phil and Anna had given the go-ahead for my attendance, I took them a piece each.  Phil was very appreciative - Anna - Anna rather less so.  In fact she beat me about the head with an envelope as Conrad had forgotten that the rolls had ham in them - and she is a veggie of many decades long standing ...
     Fortunately Rick diverted her attention and I may be okay tomorrow.

Anna, thinking happy thoughts.
Conrad crosses fingers that this carries over into tomorrow.

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The Sinister Squid That MURDERED Madrid!

No, Sorry, I'm Lying Again
There is no cephalopodic apoclaypse* for the Spanish capital city, I was just trying to see if a fish in the title brings higher traffic to the blog.  Also, it throws the equally sinister Hamster Guardians of the Internet, as they have trouble separating fiction from fact.
     Yes, yes, I know - the cephalopod is not a fish, it's an octopus or nautilus -  good lord aloft, you surely don't expect logic or consistency here, do you?
     Anyway, on with the motley!

Have an iceberg!  Why?  Why not!

"Catafalque"
Sorry, sorry, another of those words that pop up into my consciousness with no rhyme or reason, and I was walking to the bus stop rather than standing idly at it, so - all the more peculiar.
     I have, as you surely know by now, given up trying to define these words before looking them up in a dictionary - Conrad's embarassing and utter failure to get things right is a lasting source of humiliation - but it was a long bus ride to the office and I wondered if the "Catafalque" was a medieval warship?
     By the time I reached the office I'd decided that no, it was not a cog or dromond, it was associate with - Funerals!
     Cheery chap, aren't I.
     Yes indeed, the Catafalque is a platform or bier used to support the coffin or body of the deceased.  Latin in origin?  Partly - the Greek "Kata" meaning "down" and Latin "Fala" for "scaffolding", thence to "Catafalicum" and then the word you now know.

Bier.  Close enough
(And a lot more cheerful)

Bus Poster Film Fest

A new crop of film posters have appeared on the many, many buses that whiz by the opposite side of the road to the one Conrad stands upon, waiting for the bus.  So, let us reprise the BOOJUM! rules of film review:
1)  Generalise hugely
2) Take things literally
3) Do not check facts

The Water Diviner
This one features Russell Crowe, and looks to be set in a hot country.  Australia, perhaps?
     You can tell it's not made in the UK.  We don't have to divine for water, it comes out of the sky in vast amounts all year round.
      So.  A film about a man looking for water  v45 67g
                                                                                    felrerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
      - sorry, fell asleep.  Dull. Deadly dull!
     Next!

It's a crow.  Rustling.
Rustle, Crow!

Seventh Son
Isn't the seventh son of a seventh son supposed to be -
     - actually I couldn't get beyond the seventh son concept.  The artwork for this looks positively medieval - there may be a dromond around for all I know - and all Conrad could think was, "How grateful modern women must be for contraceptives!".  Don't forget that title only mentions sons.  There might well be another seven daughters in the background ...  yet this pales into washed-out linen compared to -

Seventh Seal.  Son, seal, close enough

Child 44
Egad!  If they come along one at a time, that's 33 YEARS spent being pregnant!

Conrad shamelessly exploits Doris the Seal  That Sews

Boring Bland Bus Poster
How, I ask, am I supposed to compose deathless prose witless drivel strange words in sequence without any inspiration?  I give you the Select logo:

If I wasn't cranked up on Red Bull and ezpresso, I'd be falllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

     No!  Not good enough!  Go away and come back with Style, Pizzazz** and Vim.

No, Coincidence, This Seat Is Not Taken
For a couple of days now the word "Tardenois" has been floating around my mind, with no other knowledge but that it sounds French.
     Well, it is French.  It's a French village.  It was fought over in 1918 by the British Nineteenth Division and I know this because I read about it on the bus this morning.
     I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation for all this and - WHAT WAS THAT NOISE!?

Tardenois.  I don't think we did this during WW1 ...

Haghtanak!
(Which is Armenian for "Victory!")
     If you remember the weekend, Conrad was off playing with toy soldiers historical miniature replicas as one of the players in a large-scale wargame arranged by the now splendidly-bearded Richard Crawley.  Richard has invented the Black Sea republic of Andreivia as an excuse to play with a wild and wide assortment of various Soviet and Western kit.  Let me give you a primer on Andreivia ...
     This Black Sea former-Soviet republic has a shoreline on the Black Sea and a sub-tropical climate on the littoral.  Further inland the terrain becomes hilly, before ascending into mountains covered with pine forests.
     Unfortunately for Andreivia, all the long suppressed seething passions of the various elements making up the population burst forth when the heavy hand of the Kremlin vanished.  The Government only holds sway thanks to armed force, whilst the Andreivian Turks and Andreivian Armenians both have a militia force that hate each other only slightly more than they hate the Government's armed forces.  It's not uncommon for all three forces to be fighting each other at the same time.

Tcherbevan's Armenian Quarter

Downtown Tcherbevan

     Nor is that all.  Oh no!  The Russians have long been sniffing around Andreivia, as it has a nice warm-water harbour - and now they are sending naval and paratroop forces to capture the airport in Tcherbevan (the capital) and the harbour at Madina.

The Harbour board - harbour at far side

     Nor is that all.  Oh no!  Various mujaheddin, allied to the Andreivian Turks, are even now sneaking into the Southern Hills.

The Southern Hills - Italians yet to arrive

     Nor is that all.  Oh no!  Unbeknownst to any other player, an Italian Special Forces team is already in position in one of the important buildings - what are they up to?
     Finally, NATO is also present on the board - a heavy armoured convoy of Italians is en route to Tcherbevan - or - do they have another goal?
     Well, that sets the scene.  I shall come back to this for a more detailed account, and describe my woeful luck and misfortune.

The first outing for this formidable piece of kit

Well, here we are at nearly 1,000 words and the 60 minute deadline looms, and I've not added any photos - better get cracking.


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* Two words you rarely see together.
** Not entirely sure what this is, but people use it in this context.

Still Lazy After All These Beers

I'm Sure Somebody Else Has Already Use That Line -
 - but I can't be bothered to check because - I'm lazy.
     This is a forgivable sin on a late finish as in today, where I am only just starting the blog at 19:54.  To save time I popped into the Co-Op on my way to the bus-stop and bought a bagful of remaindered wraps and sandwiches, which are my tea tonight and lunch tomorrow.
     I remember Young Chatty Dan at work commenting on my purchase of remaindered wraps last year, noting that normally I made my own lunch.
     'Yes, Dan,' I replied - for it would be foolish to call him Nigel or Euphrosyne - 'But my time is precious.  Really, the UN passed a charter recognising my rights to be important.  So anything that saves me time is a go.'
     That's Conrad for you - cheating his way to ergonomic efficiency.

There was another sandwich pack.  Did I get a photo?  No.
Because I'm lazy!

"Rare Exports"
Conrad has been watching this Finnish horror-comedy* again, after having seen it when it first came out.  Hilarious! - well, the parts that aren't chillingly scary, that is.
      It is set in the wilds of Northern Finland, up against the Russian border, and the hero is Pietari, a small boy who can't be more than 10 yet who is trusted by his dad with a rifle**.  They live on an isolated farm, and anticipate the annual reindeer cull that provides them with meat and income for the rest of the year.

That's Pietari, with the teddy-bear.  And gun.

     Except this year a mysterious and feral somethings has slaughtered all the reindeer, somethings that came over the border from Russia, in the direction of the mysterious gigantic excavation atop the hill just over the border ...
     Pietari reads up on the frightening pagan background of Santa Claus - a primal, vengeful creature that tears naughty children to pieces.  On Christmas Eve, his friends have all vanished.  So have the village radiators - and a hairdryer.
     It does have a happy ending, but I shan't spill any more details.  Oh, except to say that the Finnish-Russian border is demarcated by a rather flimsy chain fence.
     I was struck by one name in the credits for Sound Design - "Elokuvaaniyutio Humina Oy"
     A huge first name, modest middle name and tiny last name.  Well, I found it amusing.

Meet Santa.
No Ho Ho Ho.

Claw The Thin Ice
As Breeny is off for two weeks I'm not going to wait that long to get permission to post photos, plus I bet he never reads the blog and will never know BOOJUM! has purloined his likeness without permission.
   Anyway, picture the Star and Garter on Friday night, your humble scribe hanging out with some of the CTTI band members - Ian and - I think - Jake.  The Drummer.  They were going on about the less glamourous bits of a career in music - having to heft equipment up fourteen flights of stairs when the lift is broken, some duffard in a studio making a diabolical mess of mixing your tracks, not being able to park the van - and Jake - I think - kindly looked up "Mathcore" to define what it was.  "Dillinger Escape Plan", he defined.  I shall Grooveshark 'em later.
     Anyway, the gig:

Erm - not really visible, are they?

Ian, chief singer, didn't bother to announce what the songs were, but did post up a set list (the professional term), viz:



     I think I liked the last track the best.  Note that the second song was written by ex-guitarist John; thank you, John.  Ian also apologised for the frequent tuning of guitars between songs; Conrad takes this as a given as he doesn't know one edge of a guitar from the other nor what will happen if you neglect your tuning.  Death of all on stage?
     The preamble to the gig was excellent - sitting around a table discussing music with people into the same stuff as Conrad.  Sorry to mention this but it happens so rarely I have to make the most of it.
     Also, Conrad got the benefit of a "cheeky can of Stella" the band acquired via their rider, and which they couldn't consume as being Drunk On Stage is an arrestable offence.

Eden Underwood
Ah yes, the charming and bucolic archetypal English country village, which has a nearby radioactive heath, a set of cursed henge stones knocking about, a Lady under a curse, a living tea-towel and a white witch.
     Having a good forty minutes to spare this morning before starting work, I sat down and plotted the bare bones of a theme that will run in the background for several stories, viz:

     Quite pleased with how this worked out, as I'd gone over the basics in my head last night without putting anything down on paper.  You see, Lady Simona Holland's maternal grandfather made a - let us call it a "pact" - with a group of very powerful and cruel - er, let us call them "people" for want of a better word - that guaranteed him and his successors eternal wealth but no luck in affairs of the heart.  Any man that Simona starts a relationship with suffers a terrible fate.
     Enter Niall, our protagonist.  Clueless but lucky - can he help at all?
     We shall see!

The Codex
On Friday I was quizzed about what I'd done on my days off, and bored people with details of drinking about a gallon and a half of tea, reading, writing and doing statistics.
     'Oh?' queried Lee (he has a background in statistics).  'What was that in aid of?'
     I explained about the Codex Seraphinianus, and it's invented alphabet.  If I did a statistical assay of the letters used it would give me a potential statistical handle to identify the root language.

I realise it's side-ways on, but it makes no more sense right-way up

     'Ah!' he said, 'Like code-breaking!'
     Do you know, the lad is entirely right and once I've got the stats worked out I may see about looking up Code Breaking For Dummies.

You what?  Really, What?
Once again Conrad is confused by O2 and their insistence that advert readers "be more dog", when the advert is illustrated by Felis Catus^.

See what I mean?

     THE KITTENS!  WON'T SOMEBODY PLEASE THINK OF THE KITTENS!

Okay, that's the one hour composition time up, now to go promote, pimp and pester on teh interwebz.

Tally ho!


* Three words guaranteed to get his pulse racing!
** Everyone in this film has a gun, or guns.  Guns, alcohol, endless night - what could possibly go wrong?
*** Still not playing the intrusive adverts.  Please DON'T tell them, they might fix it!
^ "Cat" - pseud translated by Mister Hand.