Rain, Man

No!  Not The Fillum
In which Dustin Hoffman plays someone autistic and Thomas Mapother Cruise III plays his brother.

Tom, in "Edge of Tomorrow", where he plays a - well, a plonker, really.  In the beginning

     No, I refer instead to that perennial favourite of any True Brit, the weather.
     Today has been vile.  Utterly vile! More vile than a phial of concentrated Kurt Weill, in a defile of bile, being eaten by a crocodile that won't reconcile*.  When your gifted author awoke at 9:30 this morning he could tell it was wet instantly before opening the curtains, as the traffic driving** past outside made squishing noises.  The rain has occasionally stopped chucking it down since then, but only to commence wazzing it down, which is like chucking-raised-to-the-tenth-power.

Kurt Weill.
He looks more like an experimental nuclear physicist than a playwright.

     I do realise I might start to bore people about how unpleasant our climate is here in the UK, and really we don't get hit by hurrricanes or typhoons or other World War Two vintage aircraft, it's just that it's so grey and nasty.  If the skies were rent by apocalyptic lightning bolts, or hailstones big as tennis balls impacted, or mists so thick you can't see the foot at the end of your leg blew in, that would be exciting.  Dangerous to one's health, but exciting.
     Instead we get wet.

Rain is dull.  Here's a painful analogy instead.

The Helping Hand Of Hermes
No!  Not the parcel delivery service.  The Greek god of transportation.
     Conrad is worried.  For two whole days First Bus has actually managed to run on time, without overcrowding, not hitting traffic jams or roadworks, getting him into the Electric Goldfish Bowl on time himself.  
     Things have gone badly right.  
     Doubtless as a result the senior management of First will gather in a circle, wearing their sinister purple robes, sacrifice a black cockerel and have one of their number fall on his sword.

Hot Stuff.  Just NOT HOT ENOUGH!
No, gentle reader, I am not talking about <thinks> Annette Peacock***!  Instead I refer to -

The Different Oven

     Not new, in fact it is about a year old.  However, it does match the kitchen, which meant We Had To Have It^.  The trouble is, you have to add an additional Gas Mark 2 to whatever the recipe mentions.  This means Conrad embarrassed himself about the Taste Team Sweet Potato Wedges, which were underdone and inedible after cooking at Gas Mark 6 when it should have been Mark 8.
     If you have read today's earlier post about the Brownies, then you know they worked splendidly, even if I recall having a dream about the batter marching out of the tin onto the oven bottom.

You What?
I really do wonder at how the Foobs and the Twits manage to continue breathing, or correctly direct a forkful of food to their mouths, and they must surely get mown down by the thousand when trying to cross busy streets.  Take a look at this -

Casino Room?

     Conrad is not entirely sure what these "spins" refer to, as he has never been in a casino in his life, a statistic that is unlikely to change until the heat-death of the universe.  Having been raised in a thrifty Scottish background, your humble scribe wants to have something to show for having spent money.  Like this -

Conrad, being frightfully clever

     There you go.

Where Eagles Dare
I'm not going to apologise for milking this film across weeks, if not months, of blog entries.  If I was merely trying to up the word-count for today I'd add in another of my analyses of the Goofs page for this film on IMDB.

In the Bier Keller, the position of the cigar in the officer's hand changes as Major Smith berates him.

No it doesn’t!

     Oh!
    Apparently I am trying to up the word count.  
     Be that as it may, I did mention that there was a rather odd contretemps in the film. We see Darren Nesbit's character, impeccably dressed in full SS uniform, being described as being the "Gestapo".  Or, if you wish their full name, Geheim Staats Polizei.  State Secret Police.  Who went around in plain clothes, as they were secret.  As, not in uniform.  And no, they would not dare to wear SS uniforms as a disguise as the SS could be quite unpleasant about things like that.

"The Major's unarmed combat skills needed a little refining."

     Then we have Anton Diffring (with his real German accent) claiming that he is a member of the SS.  Although he is wearing the uniform of the Wehrmacht, an entirely different organisation.

Anton.  He was in Doctor Who, you know.

     This might sound like pedantic hair-splitting (because it is!) yet the nation would be up in arms if Simon Templer sat in judgement on <thinks> that programme rather than Simon Cower^^.

Abject Disappointment
WHO! I ask you, WHO creates a Pannetone, that classic Italian bread-cum-cake, and then INFESTS IT WITH CHOCOLATE CHIPS!

     Conrad bought this yesterday because he caught sight of the "Pannetone" and now the Dog Buns thing is infested with chocolate and he cannot eat it <Mister Hand intervenes to congratulate Degsy on his good fortune in getting a Pannetone for 39p and also to prevent Conrad for babbling on for another 357 words>




*  Did this make you smile?
** Or sailing
*** Musician.  Fantastic cheekbones.
^ No debate allowed.  Wonder Wifey says, the Mansion has to have.
^^ I may have some minor points of detail a little askew here.