This Is Starting To Worry Me -

More Of Coincidence And Books
I don't normally bother if a breach of the laws of causality happens when I'm reading Thomas Pynchon, as this has been going on for at least a year, ever since picking up "The Crying Of Lot 49"*.  I do, however, jib when the universe decides to involve my inherently factual, down-to-earth and utterly prosaic "Jane's Guns: A Recognition Guide".
     I was having a bit of a nosey at the guide, as I'd just been watching Alex The Gun Tech from Forgotten Weapons demonstrating a "Streetsweeper" shotgun on Youtube, and his opinion was that a real streetsweeper, i.e. a broom, would be more effective.  He may look like a hippy, that Alex, but he knows his Bren from his Vickers-Berthier**. I then happened to look up this spectacularly ugly weapon:

     Now, reading "Bleeding Edge" this morning, and what weapon were two wanna-be Russian gangsters waving around?  That's right.  Bisons.

Vorga, I Kill You Deadly
A line from Alfred Bester's classic sci-fi novel "Tiger! Tiger!", and I would like to adopt and modify it, with "Twitter I Kill You Deadly".  No comma, I want it to be more immediate.
     I know, I know, you're wondering what your elderly scribe is babbling on about today.
     This:

"How does he e-mail so fast"?  Read on, gentle reader, read on

     Where do the Twits at Twitter generate this drivel from?  Conrad is a dinosaur who e-mails only occasionally at home, and COULD CARE LESS about "how fast he e-mails".  I do not care how fast, how slow, how middling or if he is good to his mum and donates to charity.  GO AWAY!  No, strike that.  GO FAR AWAY!

Sounds Like Enid Blyton, Right?  WRONG!
Those of a nervous disposition will very probably have left eighteen months ago, so let us carry on.

     If your eyesight is good, you will see mention made of "Reggie", "Jennie" and "Harriet".  Wah-hey, sounds like the characters are going to camp out on Kirrin Island with lashings of ginger beer!
     Er, no, sorry, this little article refers to the ET317 thermonuclear warhead of 225 kilotonne yield.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ET.317

     Sorry, Enid.

Superheroes With Their Pants Down
Aha, continuing with the theme of "X-Men As Victims", today we cast our cynical, jaundiced and bloodshot*** eye over Hank McCoy, known as "Beast".
     I need to point out that this mockery is directed at Old School Beast, who looks thus:

There has to be an innocent explanation for this picture.  Has to be.

     This is because he got a redesign, and Conrad will explicate why.
     You can imagine the interview, Hank on the other side of Professor X's mahogany desk, trying to impress -

Prof X: Well, Mister McCoy, this is - are you smoking?
Hank (holding a cigar with his left foot): Sure am, Prof.
Prof X (coldly): There is no smoking allowed here.
Hank:  Oh, really?  Gee, sorry Prof.  This being the Sixties, I thought I could get away -
Prof X: No.  Smoking.
Hank (Stubs out cigar and eats it): There ya go!
Prof X:  Well, we've established you have both iron lungs and a copper stomach.  What else do you have in mutant abilities?
Hank:  I'm pretty nimble.
Prof X (looks hard)
Hank: And, er, I'm quite strong.
Prof X: Look, Mister McCoy, this isn't really the kind of skill set we're looking -
Hank (desperately): - and I can fart the tune to "Yankee Doodle Dandy"
Prof X (Extends hand smiling warmly): Hank, you're in!

"My superpower is PREHENSILE TOES!"

Okay, after probably earning at least a couple of death-threats from X-Men fans, what, pray, does this early incarnation of Hank need to worry about?
     1) Lego.  Since he walks around barefoot, Lego.  Any parent will tell you that the most painful part of childhood is standing on a Lego brick, as the little swine are nothing but sharp edges and points.
     2)  Furniture.  Stubbing his toes is an occupational hazard.
     3) Stilettoes.  No!  not the knife, the heel.  Imagine one of those descending on your little toe, with ten stone of womanly weight behind it.
     4) Hunters.  Or just people with guns.  "Hey!  It looks weird!  SHOOT IT!"  Or, in Texas^, abbreviated to "Hey!  SHOOT IT!"

Now, do you see why Hank got a design makeover?

Almost A Full Moon
Last night the cast of characters at the Mansion sat out in our back yard, an activity that has not been possible until right now, given the slackness of our traditionally cr - Dog Buns - English weather.  Conrad got in this shot of the Moon:

     Bear in mind that this object is a quarter of a million miles away, with no atmosphere^^, and yet - and yet twelve of you Hom. Sap. have been up there to boogie on the regolith.  Well, two of them drove around.  But still .....

And there we hit the 60 minute mark.  How many words?  896.  Not bad, considering the PC froze 5 minutes into my original post and I had to start again.  And there's a load of stuff I simply don't have time to post.  I'll get back to you on that.

Chin chin!




* Because it mentions, in some detail, the Gallipoli campaign of the First Unpleasantness, at the same time I was reading about the 29th Division, being present at - Gallipoli.
** Obscure and not really very funny in-joke for gun enthusiasts.
*** Don't worry, off to the optometrists tomorrow.
^ I apologise to all Texans possibly reading this.  Please don't shoot me.
^^ You can make a joke here.  Conrad is above that sort of thing.

Coincidences, Like Buses, Come In Threes

Although Two Of These Are A Bit Dull
I suppose, were I into journalistic endeavours like the Metro, I would make up for that dullness by using a screamingly bright font in the largest size possible, add a random photo and a few unattributed quotes, pepper it with exclamation marks and pitch it 30 degrees out of true.
     But no!  Conrad is all about integrity, veracity and the truth above all things*.  So.
     Coincidence The First.  Dealing with a caller whose staff number was 3*9999, I generated a case number of 4*99*99, which is a whole lot of nines, and together they total 72.
     Yes, I did mention dull, didn't I?
     Coincidence The Second.  Taking a call from a Mrs. S Double-Barrelled, I ambled over to Hannah, to consult her.  There in the middle of her spreadsheet on an entirely different matter was - No!  Not Lord Lucan!  Mrs. S Double-Barrelled.
     If your heart can take the stimulation, let us move on.
     Coincidence The Third.  I reflexively opened Brewster's yesterday at Page 760** and read about "Kangol", a company name derived from "Silk", Angora" and "Wool", before realising I already had a blog title.  Today, in "Bleeding Edge", what do we hear mentioned but - Kangol caps.

 Those Of A Nervous Disposition - The Exit Door IS THAT WAY!
Okay, we will be rather following a martial streak for the next few posts, so if your idea of a wild time is making daisy chains, ironing a shirt just so,  or stirring the tea extra-specially hard, you might want to leave now and never come back.

Imposing, magisterial and respected.  There's a Tiger tank in the background, too

      That chap in jacket and tie is Professor Gary Sheffield***, a military historian of considerable renown, standing next to the director of Bovvington Tank Museum^.  Salute you, sir!  (Gazz- Professor Sheffield, that is).  He was kind enough to respond to some speculative Tweets from yours truly.
     Anyway.  Behind them you can see, to the left, an FV432, an old British tin-can designed to carry troops to the edge of battle.  This is relevant because converted FV432's were used as the German Tiger Tanks in "Saving Private Ryan".  However, that Tiger tank behind Ga- Professor Sheffield is the only working one in the world, and you will have seen it in the film "Fury", going through it's paces.

Avro XH554
Apologies for the jargon, but this is the registration of the UK's last flying Vulcan bomber, which has been making a farewell tour of the country.  I understand that the engines have reached their design lifetime limit; they can't be replaced because there aren't any replacements, so it's Bye Bye Big British Bomber.  Here's a Youtube link:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNV4yv8N4mA

     Be advised - it is VERY loud; Vulcan's performing at airshows have been known to set off every alarm in the car park.  Apparently when the engines hit 97% power, they create a howl, which is probably the most terrifying sound you are ever likely to hear and remain alive after.
     Seeing a strategic bomber being flown and thrown around like a stunt kite is exhilarating, yet it doesn't give you any sense of scale.  Allow me:

Size: Freakin' ENORMOUS!

     Of course we the British public can look at the Vulcan and salute a noble old lady of the skies, but since this is 2015 not 1965 there are a lot of Russians here in the UK, and one wonders quite what they make of it ...

Well - obviously!
Allow me to post a screenshot:

Since the text is a little small for easy reading, allow me once again: "to knowingly cause the detonation of a nuclear weapon, for a test or any other reason, will be an offence -"

     O RLLY DYA THINK!

     This must have been dreamed up by a civil servant with legal qualifications seeking to justify his walnut escritoire, glamourous personal assistant, index-linked pension and ever-increasing salary.  "There's nothing in law to say that blowing up London with an H-bomb is illegal - Quick!  Draft legislation!  Phew, that'll stop 'em."

Blimey, we're cranking it out tonight.  800 words and nowhere near finished.  Better crack on!

Superheroes With Their Pants Down
I was going to begin with a screed that involved Westboro Baptist Church, a protest march and the San Francisco Gay Men's Choir, except that violates all the "NO!" criteria of BOOJUM! all at once.
     Anyway, continuing with the X-Men theme, we shall focus tonight on "Angel", the name given to mutant Warren Worthington, who has wings.

Cheaper than Ryanair, but carries less luggage

     One can see the interview that takes place with Professor Xavier.
Prof. X: So, young man, how can we -
Angel:  I've got WINGS!
Prof. X:  Yes, I can see that.  As I was -
Angel: I can FLY!
Prof X: The one does imply the other.  Perhaps -
Angel:  I've got WINGS and I can FLY!
Prof. X: Mister Worthington, what else can you do?
Angel: What, besides FLY with my WINGS?
Prof. X: Yes.
Angel: I can whittle a rabbit out of a block of wood.

See 1) below

Quite.  Anyway, what are the downsides to having a giant pair of wings sprouting from your back?
     1)  Confined spaces.  With wings unfurled, Angel takes up an awful lot of space.
     2)  Mites, ticks and lice.  Cleanliness, Warren, cleanliness!
     3) Hunters.  This is America^^.  Everyone has a gun.  Angel looks like a bird.  Do the math.  Bird shot, buck shot, all bad shot.
     4)  Territorial raptors.  Sam the Bald Eagle might take offence at this large, strange bird that has come trespassing into his aerial domain ...
     5)  Low-flying aircraft.  Angel is softer and bruises more easily than anything else in the air.
     6) The Federal Aviation Authority.  He isn't a bird so he must be a plane.  Therefore - TAXES!

"Look, I want to re-negotiate my landing fees."

       Hoorah!
I did worry about that Lychee Ice Cream I made last night, as it didn't thicken up in the ice-cream maker at all.  Would it merely sit and turn into semi-liquid slop in the freezer overnight?

No!

     As you can clearly see, that's a spoon standing up in the mix.  Which is cloyingly sweet, by the way, even for Conrad, so best eaten a little at a time.

* Mister Hand says "Who does he think he's kidding?"
* Just to ensure nobody can identify anything and no I'm not paranoid just careful
** I do hope you cross-check your 17th Edition with these page numbers.
*** Please!  Never "Gazzer"
^ What an awesome job.  Getting paid to muck about with tanks.
^^ Actually this is Royton, but you get my point.

Seconds Out - Round Two!

You Didn't Think You Were Getting Off That Lightly, Did You?
Come on, come on, you ought to know Conrad better by now.  Sunday means a chance to post twice in a day, an opportunity your verbose* scribe cannot overlook.  There was stuff I didn't get a chance to post earlier thanks to the 60 Minute Limit, and a post already at a thousand words might be off-putting if it got even longer.  Then again, you want more than a bite-sized morsel of mordant wit and weirdness, or so the traffic figures suggest.
     Anyway, let us proceed.  On with the motlei!

Superheroes With Their Pants Down
I'm not going to apologise for the title, the whole world knows by now that BOOJUM! is SFW, so it is obviously  a metaphor.  You hear that, Stan?  Jack?  Brian?
     So, who do we pick on and mock today?  Continuing an earlier theme, and looking at the X-Men: Cyclops.

Cyclops!  For when you want to blow stuff up!
(And look all moody 'n' shizzle)

     Hmmm.  Yes, Cyclops, who is excellent at blowing things up - with his eyes!
     Conrad doesn't know his backstory and is too idle to bother looking it up, so I imagine that Scott didn't get his powers until, say, puberty.  Otherwise his life would have been dramatic, destructive and pretty dismal, all told.  Also, I'd hate to be his optician.
     So, there are many negative aspects that come with having Blammo-vision.  Let's detail a few.
     1) Hen parties: Scott looks the dark, brooding, designer-stubbled Man of Mystery to perfection.  O how the ladies must love him.  However, all it takes is one inebriated member of a clucking brood passing by to decide "What colour are his eyes!" and - a terminal surprise.  From hen to drumstick in one move
     2)  Jobsworth Security Staff: You can picture the scene - there's Scott, trying to get into a swanky Manhattan nightclub, or attempting to travel via La Guardia Airport, and he comes across a little tin Hitler who decides that the glasses need to come off - another terminal surprise.
     3) Passport Photo Booths: Conrad heartily dislikes these things, and Scott is probably their worst enemy on the planet.  "Glasses cannot be worn" blabs the passport requirement criteria.  "Oh well," sighs Scott, and takes his glasses off.  The terminal gets a surprise.
     4) Greasy skin: Conrad's artificial human skin is quite oily, consequently his glasses are prone to sliding downwards over the course of the day.  For me, that's no worry.  For Scott, if he happens to be taking the tube at the end of a working day, this means potentially frying a carload of commuters.  He probably has a bag of industrial-strength wipes as part of his costume accessories**.
     5) Binoculars - or, God help us, a telescope: If Scott is forgetful and accidentally uses a pair of binos or a telescope, utter devastation would ensue.  Imagine his Blammo-vision channeled via the lenses a mile away across a couple of acres.  If he did the same with a telescope and the Moon, he could probably write his name across it***.
     6) Sneezes: again this would be potentially disastrous were Scott to knock his glasses off.  He probably has one of those nerdy retaining straps on the legs**.

"Scott?  The gas has gone out.  Can you flash-fry our - WOAH!"

"Eruption"
Ah, back to being preachy and didactic about words.  Pay attention at the back!
     Where does this word come from?  I don't care if you don't care, you're going to get an education here.
     As is so often the case, this word has it's roots in Latin, "Erumpere" to be precise.  This means "To break out", and transitioned to "Eruptio" and hence to our familiar "Eruption".  Which can thus apply to a volcano or a bout of acne.
     Conrad is also minded of the band Eruption, who had a disco hit with "I Can't Stand The Rain", and he would counsel them therefore to never tour in the UK.

At least it keeps the rain away

A Late Post About More Food
Nothing to do with the very nice Thai Fish Curry as made by Wonder Wifey, rather this is about Conrad's triumphant creation of a Grilled Cheese Sandwich <sound effects: drum roll and trumpets>

Ta-daaa!

     I'd tried to do this the way recommended: buttering both sides of a piece of bread, then grilling it in a saucepan, repeating the process, then adding the cheese, topping with the second piece of bread and continuing until melted.
     The results were rubbish!
     Instead I lightly toast two slices of bread, spread one side of each with marge, add the cheese, then stick it in the Foreman grill for about three minutes.  You see the results above, and it was delicious.  With added sliced mushrooms.

A Bit Of Bovvie
"Bovvie" as any fule knos, refers to Bovington Tank Museum, one of - no, scratch that - the most awesome collection of tanks in the world.  The only significant omissions are an M1 Abrams and Bradley IFV, probably because Uncle Sugar doesn't want you the public to know the sprocket size of the laser battle sights and their OS tag^.

A great big cheque.  Plus a tank.
Everything goes better with tanks.

     That in the background is a British Mark IV tank from the First Unpleasantness.  Art?  I let you out of the septic sump for a reason.  Get us some pictures:

The same tank.  I think this one is actually in working order.

     Conrad, at 6' 1" and weighing in at twenty-three stone, would have been poor material for Mark IV tank crew: 

A tad claustrophobic, one feels

Oh, there we go, the 60 Minute Limit kicks in and once again we have to depart.  If we had an end theme tune here, it would be that of "The Sweeney", a very reflective version of the adrenaline-fuelled intro.

Chin chin!

* Yet creative, am I right?
** But again, probably doesn't like talking about it.
*** Which would be a bad thing, Scott!  Bad!
^ I made this up.  Can you tell?

Blood And Sand! Donner Und Blitzen! Ham And Jam!

I Feel The Universe Is Trying To Tell Me Something
 - via the pages of Brewer's.  Today I opened it at Page 658, and there in the left hand column is "Hellfire Club", established in Dublin in 1735, by a certain Tom Connolly.
     What is Conrad's Official Real World surname?  Go on, take a wild guess.
     Yup, "Connolly".
     What are the chances?
     Oh, I realise that "Ham and jam" is a bit odd, but I believe it was one of the verbal recognition signals for the paratroopers seizing the Orne Canal way back in the Second Unpleasantness.  Just so you know.

Sunday Begins
I'm afraid if you're looking for hellfire you've come to the wrong blog.

Tea!  Crumpets!  Books!
This is as wicked as it gets at the Mansion

     A mountain of books, a pint of tea and a plateful of crumpets with peanut butter.  Although I didn't get out of bed until 9:30*.


"Bleeding Edge" By Thomas Pynchon
I feel a bit like having a tiger by the tail here.  That is the accepted metaphor, although I am willing to bet it's entirely allusional with no basis in reality - no interviews with Mr Patel, aged 35, from Dhakar in Bangladesh about how he was dragged for miles by a Bengal tiger - as it is Conrad's firm belief that grasping a tiger's tail is certain to get said tiger's undivided attention, and that it is agile enough to render the tail-grabber into a collection of dog food, yeah verily.

Go on.  I dare you

     Getting back on track, my statement is because of the cast of characters within; leave it for a day or two and you'll lost track of who's whom. There are (let me crank up my frankly corroded memory here) Maxine; Horst; Vyrva; Heidi; Reg; Windust; Eric; Lester; Jason; Cornelia; Esther; Gabriel; Chester, for starters.
     There are also references that Tom makes, which Conrad simply has to check out, since Tom is inventive and fertile enough to convincingly portray the utterly fictional as fact.  Thus, "Script Kiddie".  This is a real thing, an unskilled agent who uses other people's scripts in order to try and big themselves up in the eyes of the computer community.  Technically deficient, they can be unwittingly destructive as they ponce and preen on the internet**.  

A Festival-Goer's Guide To The Sun
The sun is our local star, a yellow dwarf, and our main source of Infra Red and Ultra Violet radiation.  Here is a picture for recognition purposes:

A sun

     As an attendee at a festival you are likely to be outside for considerable lengths of time and will need to take careful precautions should the sun appear.
     First of all, don't worry!  It is highly unlikely that your festival attendance will be interrupted by the sun, so go ahead and enjoy yourself, bearing the following in mind.
     Firstly, it is possible to protect yourself by shielding your skin from the harmful emanations that come from the sun.  We recommend this:

Note:  air supply is optional but recommended if you have hay fever

     Obviously if the sun is out and you are "busting some moves" you are going to get hot, so having a bucket of water emptied over you every ten minutes is essential.
     The other alternative to a physical barrier is a chemical one, and we recommend this:

Well-oiled***.

     Be warned that an oil bath like this makes group hugs impossible.
     One side effect of having the sun spoil your festival is that the ground will instantly begin to dry up, eventually becoming hard and unforgiving.  So if you've been overdoing the beer and fall over, don't expect the lovely soft comfortable landing on this -

     - because you will, in fact, be hitting this:

     Go have a lovely festival!

A Short Photo-essay About Food
I know what you're thinking, "Oh really, Conrad - padding the post out with a lot of pictures because you ran out of ideas"
     Ha!  As if!  <looks worriedly from side to side> they haven't got a camera in here, have they ...
     Okay, picture the first:

Coleslaw

     Three carrots, an onion and half a cabbage and a huge pile of slaw is revealed, glorious in it's nakedness.  It's not been dressed yet, you see***.
     Mooooving swiftly on, we come to ice cream:

Mixing at work

     This is Lychee ice cream, which didn't thicken in the maker at all, or at least very little.  I did test in once it had gone in the freezer and it is gradually hardening up, if rather slowly - probably no need to put that vodka in to ensure it stays soft.
     And the results of a quick trip to the Co-Op:

Onion batons and date-expired sushi

     That's tomorrow's breakfast and lunch sorted.  I dip the bread in a cup of hot Marmite at work for my breakfast, rather than having breakfast at home, although the management are utterly opposed to people eating hot food at their desks as this will bring about the end of sub-atomic bonding in the time-space continuum or something, so I am a little furtive about it.  The sushi means not having to spend time making lunch, meaning I can devote even more time to the blog, you lucky people you^.

A Little Critical Analysis
It's okay, Paul and Art, you don't need to cower today, instead we will look at a little ditty entitled "Michael Finnegan".

"There was a man called Micheal Finnegan"

Yes, very good, introducing the character.

"He grew whiskers on his chinnegan"

Reaching with the rhyme a bit there.  Go on-

"The wind came out and blew them in again -"

No! NO NO NO NO NO! NO!  The wind speed sufficient to cause horripinjection would destroy the surface of the planet!

"Poor old Michael Finnegan, begin again"

How can he, the world has ended.

What a depressing song.  Did Morrisey or Mr E compose it?

*That makes me a rock 'n' roll rebel, doesn't it?
** Why, that almost sounds like BOOJUM!'s Mission Statement
*** Sorry.
^ You are lucky.  Don't argue.