No Pub Quiz Tonight!

So, Dan, If You Ask About It Tomorrow -

 - then the consequences of not reading the blog will become horribly apparent.  I will, out of common courtesy to other staff, take you into a room and deliver the verdict out of sight.  A room prepared with a plastic sheet, a mop and a bucket*.

Right, we've a fair bit to get through.  First, bring on today's coincidence.

     Actually, no, let's string it out a bit.

"Gravity's Rainbow" By Thomas Pynchon

For those who wish to condemn Tom and all his works to the lower depths of Perdition, there is hope - I'm up to page 575 out of 760.  Anyway, what do we have today?

     Conrad mistook the presence of a reference to a "Koan" for a hearkening back to this being mentioned by Ilya Kuryakin in "The Man From U.N.C.L.E.", where he mentions a frog diving into the pond.  I've only seen this scene once, probably over forty years ago, and you can tell what a pseud Conrad was as a mere child as the epigram stuck with me.

     Of course I was wrong!  Ilya was describing a "Haiku", not a Koan at all.

     Now you know.  Conrad: not infallible.

Conrad, firing up his laser-vision to fry anyone agreeing with the "not infallible"

     TP also mentions "plattdeutsch", which turns out to be a north German dialect, as well as Gegs and Tosks, these being two kinds of Albanian - or Shquiperi, in Albanian.  Also "Spaniols", which refers to Spanish, although what Spaniards are doing in Eastern Europe is a bit of a mystery.

     Tom proves his excellent Anglophile chops by incidentally mentioning "S.O.E."

The "Special Operations Executive"

A British wartime organisation, it sounds as if they were responsible for ordering brown tape to put over windows, or publicising methods of stretching out your soap ration.

     WRONG!  

     Their intent, in the words of that lover of all things piratical, Winston Churchill, was to "Set Europe ablaze", and if there happened to be any Nazis hanging around the scene when it caught fire, why so much the better.

     Very few people knew the details of the SOE, and it's work was camouflaged under bland, unspecific titles such as the "Joint Technical Board", who in fact invented gadgets and devices that blew up.

     For example - the Exploding Rat.  Anna, look away now!

     This was the corpse of a hollowed-out rat, stuffed with as much explosive as possible. The idea was to sneak it into coal supplies, where it would be discovered by people stoking locomotives or engines, who would promptly dispose of the rat carcass in the fire - and then suffer when the rat went Blat!

     The Germans actually intercepted the whole batch of Rattack rodents before they could be delivered, and then metaphorically shot themselves in the foot by spreading alarm and despondency amongst the German troops by lengthy warnings about Perfidious Albion and her exploding rats, and who knew how many hundreds had already been distributed, and it was best not to hit a dead rat with a shovel, either, as that might cause it to go off -

     I think there's some serious run-time in this SOE topic.

From "The Guns of Navarone" - hapless Germans encounter - EXPLODING RAT!
Who knew it was a real thing?

"Manstein" By Mungo Marvin

Okay, in today's reading the Field Marshall and his Aide De Camp attempt to secure themselves an alibi during the plot against Hitler.

     Out of all Occupied Europe, where do they go?

     Peenemunde, site of the V2 rocket development plant.

     Where has Tyrone Slothrop, anti-hero of "Gravity's Rainbow", just been swanning around?

     Peenemunde, site of the V2 rocket development plant

     This is bad.  This is very bad.  The causality-breaching qualities of Tom's stuff is now affecting other authors!

Conrad Hits Back

As you surely know by now, gentle reader, Conrad has an undeclared war going against First Bus.  Recent events have resulted in the decision to send them another complaint letter.  I enclose a copy:

Dear Sir, Madam, or (more probably) a minor demon inhabiting one of the more obscure circles of Hell,

How I relish the daily challenge of attempting to reach my place of work, or home, by travelling on First Bus*!  That daily frisson of excitement, not knowing if the bus will turn up on time, or at all, or whether it will actually terminate where it says it will – all this adds up to a dash of adrenaline, guaranteed to jolly-up a dull wet day.

     I see that you have moved the 24, 181 and 182 services to Oldham Street.  Congratulations!  The already crowded bus stop there is even more crowded and impassable, a clear result for your Inconvenience The Passenger Policy.  The EU department that oversees national ITPs will have medals for you on this one.

     I also notice that we are seeing more frequent use of single-decker buses, rather than double-decker ones, at peak times.  This effectively creates a mobile sauna during these summer months, allowing people to effortlessly sweat off weight – whilst sitting completely still!  Surely you can find some way to charge for this extra-value function?

     Then, too, your 181 and 182 bus drivers seem to have accepted that Royton is haunted, and is to be avoided at all costs, which is fair enough.  Anyone can succumb to the evil supernatural forces at work on Rochdale Road, but have you contacted a priest yet?

     Oh, one cannot finish without noticing that the timetables have been amended, too.  I can picture the First Bus office executives busy beavering away on this task:

TARQUIN**: I say, Max old chap, I’m bored.

MAXIMILLIAN**:  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

TARQUIN: Max!  Wake UP!

MAXIMILLIAN: Eh?  What? Is the house on fire?

TARQUIN: I said I’m bored, Max.  Sitting at a desk doodling for six hours will do that to you.

MAXIMILLIAN: You woke me for that!

TARQUIN: I know, let’s change the timetables.  That’s always good for a laugh.

MAXIMILLIAN (Rubbing hands and sniggering): The looks on their faces!  Okay, how many minutes do we change them by?

TARQUIN: Let’s roll a dice (He does so).  What’s that number?

MAXIMILLIAN:  Dunno.  I can’t count.

TARQUIN: Oh!  Er – we’ll  call that “one”. So – one minute for services from  Rochdale.  Now for Manchester –

MAXIMILLIAN:  Pretend it’s three.

TARQUIN:  Done!  That entirely justifies our Lottery-award sized salaries!

*This, in case I am unclear, is irony laid on with a shovel.

** Sadistic parents

     We shall see what comes of this, if anything.

Too many words, we need pictures!

Is It Just Me?

Doesn't this rather remind you of Doctor Who villains like the Autons?

     Horrid faceless plastic monsters.  Brrrrr!  Enough to give you the creeps***.

And at 1100 words that's it for tonight.

* Does this sound unconscionably sinister?  Good.  It's meant to**.

** Actually it isn't <Alert!  Alert! Sense Of Humour Failure!>

*** <Thumbs nose at those expecting a crack at Ringo's expense>