Organ Entertainment!

Wash Your Minds Out - 
 - you slavering salacious insalubrious sapient selvedge.  I refer, OF COURSE, to the musical instrument and not to human anatomy.
     "But - but - but -" I hear you feebly protest, and you condemn yourself with every word, although I'm not sure the butt is actually an organ.

But -

     Picture the scene at The Electric Goldfish Bowl, on the late lunchbreak.  A trio of lethargic Business Services folk loll listlessly, rendering it as dull and grey inside as outside.  Russ, to give him credit, looked about ready to be put into his coffin - not a well lad at all.  Tom looked lax, and Domini looked lashed - her cat, don't you know.
     Speaking of cats, here are some playing the theremin:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2e3-sTvh0Y

     Which continues our musical theme.
     Conrad, ever ready to entertain his colleagues, as long as they aren't too much like hard work, pitched in with a stream of anecdotes about "Doctor Strangelove".  This was not a success as I firmly believe none of them have seen it.  I then moved on to the recital at "Church Organ World", at which Russ perked up a little and seemed only about to die, rather than already gone.

How Russ felt

     He informed us that, when younger, he'd had an electric organ of his own.  He was not popular with the neighbours because he didn't realise what that jack was for:  headphones, Russ, headphones.
     Further to this, Russ said he didn't actually learn to read music, instead numbering the organ's keys, as in "1 3 3 4 1 3 3 4" which is "When The Saints Go Marching In" or "Whole Lotta Love", it was a little unclear.  His music teacher had requested that students compose their own horror film theme, and Russ rose to the occasion, and quite eerie it was, too.
     "I couldn't remember any of it now, though," he confessed, which was simply too good an opportunity for your humble scribe to ignore.
     "6 6 6," quoth I, which made Tom laugh.

Aaaand For Today's Coincidence -
I mentioned John Carpenter to Russ, as although John is a talented and accomplished musician, he cannot read music either.
     Now, if any of you say "John who?" that knock at your door will be me, with a hammer and some nails <prolonged scene of horrific violence redacted by Mister Hand> electro-magnetic induction furnace.  Art?

How to scare cats the John Carpenter way!

     What was awaiting your modest artisan when he got home?  This!

Wheeeee!

     This gigging activity is because I went to see Eels at the Bridgewater hall back in 2014 and enjoyed it so much I realised I had to get to more concerts.  I should point out that Mister E, after I left to get the bus, went and played the Bridgewater organ.

Socks Maniac
I lamented at length last night about my missing socks, elaborating a conspiracy by the combined forces of MI6, GROM, Delta Force and UNIT to send your talented typist round the bend by only ever having single socks.  Or - hang on a minute - didn't I invent a creature out of Middle European folklore, the Bavarian Sock Goblin, a sinister sneaker in the shadows who steals socks?

Valeries.  Because they're all singletons

     Perhaps this round-the-bend has already begun.  
     All the more so since I discovered a load of dry laundry in the tumble drier, including many a sock.
     ...  round the bend ...

"Napoleon's Invasion Of Russia" By Paul B. Austin
The trail of tears continues.  The French army, very much against the odds, managed to get across the Berezina River.  Many of the immense number of stragglers who remain huddled around their campfires on the left bank do not.  They sit there, stricken with as much vim as was present with Russ, Tom and Dom today, until the Ruffians arrive.  Then, propelled by both fear and Ruffian roundshot, they panic, block the bridges and take a refreshing jog to Siberia.

Russia.  Big, cold and full of angry Russians.

     For the survivors of the Grande Armee there then follows a long trek along grim swamps and countless bridges, again in terrible weather where many freeze to death.  Gosh!  December in Russia is terribly cold!  Which is really, really bad for you.  Who knew!
     Notably in all this, the Poles of the GA are far less bothered by the icy conditions and the vile weather than anyone else.  They are not only used to it, they have planned for it, thanks to centuries of Not Getting On with their Slavic brothers.  The Poles also make good spies; they can understand Russian and speak it well enough to be able to infiltrate into Ruffian lines.  A nation of James Bonds ...

There are 187 Polish soldiers hidden in this photo.
Including the one standing behind you.