More BIG! BIG Cats

Which Is Almost A Pun
The particular cat I refer to is a Tiger, note the capitalisation, as this is not one of those big beasties that roam the jungle dining on passing humans or sheep.  This particular one is an Armoured Fighting Vehicle (a cunning way to get around the Charm Offensive's proscription against tanks)

Tankfest day at Bovvie

      This tank is essentially a mobile metal fort that pretty much defined "BIG" at the time.  It is, frankly, rather a cliche and definitely over-used when it comes to AFV's and I was trying to get a screencap of the Matilda Mk. I, which is the complete opposite.

Here it is.

The Bus Service
Conrad is normally of a sunny and positive disposition*, but even he can be driven to despair.  As on the 29th December, when the schedule are a combination of whimsy and mockery.  Your humble scribe took the unwarranted step of asking the 182 bus driver what the schedules would be for the 30th December.
     "No idea," was his reply.
     I know First Bus press-gang passing idiots from the streets to drive their buses, but really!  There are limits!

First Bus spokesdemon begs to differ.

     There is more of buses.  Today Conrad can libel both First and Stagecoach, the latter of whom run in South Manchester (a debatable and desert land**), an opportunity to be grasped gratefully in both germanium-clad gauntlets.  Piccadilly Bus Station is to close for a month for resurfacing.
     Yes, a month.  Given that it's only two lanes a couple of hundred yards long, people have quibbled at how slow this seems.  The FOOLS!  Don't they realise that every inch has to be hand-dug and re-laid by craftsmen artisans flown in from the hinterlands of India?  The specially blessed by tribal shamans flown in from the depths of the Brazilian rain forest?  
     As for beginning the work over the Christmas period when traffic is at it's lowest - Fie!  Get thee gone with your relellent logic, you cream-faced loon.  Logic, common sense and reliability - all concepts utterly alien to First, and to Stagecoach too, it seems.

Beating The Boczek
"Boczek", for your information, is Polish bacon.  Having never bought it before, Conrad was not sure how to eat it, exactly, though Pete, proud possessor of Polish phiancee, hinted that treating it like gammon might be the way forward.

Here it is!

     Grilled and stuck on a sandwich.  Conrad 1 Boczek 0.
     Yes, I did post this as the promotional picture for last night's post, which most of you ignored, so I am recycling it again.  You object?  Whose blog is it?

Trying to crack on tonight as I've still to bake a cake for the gannets at work.  I got all the ingredients measured out last night, and double-lined and greased the tin.  The plan is to make the batter as soon as the mighty lines have been crafted, then to put it in the oven and by the time I return from Pub Quiz, it ought to be ready.
     That, or an 8" square of carbon coal.
     I'll get back to you on that.

The Creative Process
Proof that it's not always as smooth as you out there might imagine.  Here we have Edna's insistent nose a-prodding your gifted author's thigh.  She cannot speak, which she makes up for in plaintive 1) Whining and 2) Prostration.  Viz:

About to prod

     This insistent approach begins when she feels that she's getting less than 97% attention, clearly bordering on a Major War Crime in the Small Dog World.
     You see?  You see what I have to put up with?

Right, that's your lot tonight, got to go bake.


* This is a lie.  An outrageous lie.
** I stole this from Tolkein.  No scruples.  None at all.