A Kentucky Breakfast

A Phrase From Brewer's!
I rush to assure you, not the typical wake-up sequence here at the Mansion.  I happened to open the Dictionary and found the above expression.
     "Kentucky Breakfast: a bottle of bourbon, a steak and a dog.  The dog is there to eat the steak."
     Conrad would never drink a bottle of bourbon for breakfast*.  Nor for any other mealtime of the day, either.
     Okay, enough Intro, let's get on with the motlery!

Aha.
This, dear reader, is the closest you will find Conrad to consuming that most hideous of fruits, the pineapple:

"Flavored" - definitely American

     Fortunately it's an artificial flavour and thus far enough from the ghastly real thing to enable me to actually eat them.  Not keen about it, understand, but since I bought them I'm going to eat them.
     Damn your eyes DJ Shadow .....

A Blast From The Past
Here is a repost, or at least an extract, from a post I did two years ago.  Already, after only a few weeks, I was starting to get garrulous.  If you can say that about the written word.

Pobieda!

I am aware that Russians, in the past, referred to their (mother)land as the Title line suggests - Holy Mother Russia.  This stopped once the Godless Bolsheviks took over - unless they needed a bit of sympathy from the masses - and you end up with WW2 slogans like (IIRC) "Za Rodina!" - which means, if my addled and aged brain recalls correctly, "For The Motherland!".   No "Holy" there.

Now, now that the Godless Bolsheviks are gone the way of the Dodo, do Russians invoke the "Holy" part of Mother Russia?  Or is the 21st Century Russian a more secular individual who only goes to church at Easter and who thinks The Motherland is a bit un-PC and it ought to be The Land?

I ask because this country - that is, the UK, for any out there actually reading this - used to be called "Great Britain" rather than just simply "Britain".  Obviously we must be Great, or people wouldn't be trying to get here so hard from all kinds of places* across the globe, but it isn't really a formal title any more.

     Well now, this dovetails neatly into what I was mentioning about the Vulcan bomber XH558, currently doing an overflight of Great Britain, and what our Russian friends currently visiting or working here might be thinking as the mighty metal delta howls overhead.  "I'm glad I'm visiting you, not the other way round," one suspects.

Which Leads On To -
My mate Richard runs a guest house in Wales, although he is threatening to move to Spain, and he posted some photos of the North Wales Air Show.  He didn't have to pay to see this -

XH558 at rooftop level

AGHHHHHHHH!  Bloody coincidence leave me alone!  Whilst posting this photograph of an aircraft armed with nuclear weapons the film soundtrack I am watching starts up with Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark's "Enola Gay" which is about an aircraft armed with nuclear weapons -

<deep breaths, Conrad, deep breaths>

     As I was saying, Richard didn't need to pay for this shot, either, which took place whilst eating lunch:

The Red Arrows.

     A free air show and summer weather.  What could be better?

Meanwhile, At Strategic Rocket Forces Base Number Sixteen, Novi Palatinsk
Our Russian Everymen Misha and Grisha have returned from leave in Omsk.  They would have liked to get to Moscow in order to party-hearty with some of those sophisticated Muscovite ladies, but it would have taken two weeks to get there, and they only had ten days leave.  Let us eavesdrop on them as they do the boring midnight-to-six shift in the Primary Instrumentation Room at No. 16.

     MISHA: I can't believe the canteen menu.  Dried fish - again!
     GRISH: Fish is brain food.
     MISHA: Don't give me that, I'm more worried about my bowels than my brain.  You know salt cod gives me constipation.
     GRISHA: As the evil South Canadians would say, "Too much information!"
     MISHA (suspiciously): "South Canadians"?  South Canadians?  Have you been reading that malicious guttersnipe BOOJUM! again?
     GRISHA (shrugging): Know your enemy.
     MISHA: Well, now we're on the subject, any chance of the Spetznaz doing a number on him?  Nothing lethal, just painful and lingering.
     GRISHA: Not a chance!  I mentioned it and they were "Hands off!  Doctor Who fan of long standing! Do not touch!"
     MISHA: What?  You told me they all love that horrid program, but -
     GRISHA: They found out one recent episode is set aboard a Soviet missile submarine, and the Russians are the good guys.  I barely got out of their barracks alive.
     MISHA: The devil damn him black, the cream-faced loon.
     GRISHA: Oh I say, that's not bad!  Hamlet?  King Lear?

     Let us leave our Shakespeare-obsessed Siberian friends to watch those Big Red Buttons in peace and quiet.

If Gerry Anderson were still alive, I bet he could sue for copyright
(I'm sure I've seen these on Thunderbirds)

* A bottle of Pimms Number One, however, and you're talking!