"Large-Scale Insurance Fraud"

Not Really
I remember this from a sketch in "The Mary Whitehouse Exprience", which was a comedy show from the Nineties that Mary Whitehouse would have suffered myocardial infarction* from if she'd ever watched it.  One character, possibly Dennis Punt, was harping on about "murrrderr" and hamming it up to the value of several hogs.  It titillated audiences, he said, in a way that other crimes simply couldn't.  After all, he continued, who ever got their pulses racing over Large Scale Insurance Fraud?

Okay, I'll give you that one

     Which is where we came in.
     So - MURDER.  No, I'm not planning any, I merely - really, what do you think I sit and plot about in the Upstair Lair! actually don't answer that question - I merely wanted to mention one of the novels I bought last week, "Strong Poison" by Dorothy Sayers.  Dorothy L. Sayers, if you must, to distinguish her from all the other Dorothy Sayers that aren't out there.  

Dot, in rather ghoulish humour.

It's a Lord Peter Wimsey novel.  Centred, as you might guess, on poison.  The supposed villainess is Harriet Vane, a novelist who is accused of poisoning her ex.  A stand-in for Dot herself, as I'm sure you've noticed.  Harriet does have a fantastic plan for guaranteeing an author a best-seller, the only drawback being the death-sentence involved.  Though nowadays you'd only serve perhaps 16 years if you behave yourself inside.  
     Oh, in case you feel the urge to lay in a stock of poisons, be advised that you need a kick-ass MSS first, because, though you might have 16 years in jail to work on it, your novel needs to be published first.  

Poisons and murders are grim.  Have a happy puppy instead

     Now, your humble scribe did in fact have an inkling about how the murder was committed, because he has a devious - not murderous!  devious only! - mind, and a knowledge of the paranoid kings of antiquity.  Which is as much a clue as you're going to get.

In contrast -
The murderer in "Strong Poison" has a cunning plan, nursed to fruition with careful foresight, over a long time, and is only thwarted thanks to Lord Peter.
     Eric Brown, however, is at the other end of the murderer spectrum.  He manifested a violent dislike of his crippled father, who was a martinet of the first water.  Brown Senior, despite being restricted to moving around in a bath-chair, was a petty tyrant of the worst kind, bullying both wife and son relentlessly.
     Unfortunately for Brown Senior, Eric was not only a bit potty, but - okay, a lot potty - but as this is during the Second Unpleasantness and he was in the Army, he also had access to the Hawkins No. 75 Anti-tank mine.

A Bath chair.  Oddly, no bath present.

     You can see where this is going, can't you?
     One day in July 1943 Nurse Miller took Brown Senior for a toddle in his bath-chair, which came to an abrupt end when the anti-tank mine placed under the cushion went off. 

Hawkins AT Mine with hand for scale

 Unbelievably, Nurse Miller suffered only minor injuries, being left with a slight limp.  Mister Brown was not so fortunate.  As one rather ghoulish report has it, he "decorated the landscape for a large area around."
     Eric was arrested immediately, since his cunning plan amounted to "Place mine in bath-chair and cross fingers."  He was found to be guilty but insane.

The remnants

Well that was a bit heavy.  Nothing like as grim as the SLAM of yesterday.  Let us raise spirits with a bit of classical organ music cute animal photos -

All Roles Reversed
Yes, I nicked the title from "We Are The Night" except there it was "Rights", although this is putting Edna to rights.  Art?

     The angle here might not make it clear, so allow me to point out that Edna makes a pretty good Dog Shaped Cushion, in a one-eighty from Conrad's usual task of being a large warm cushion himself.
     And yes, I need a haircut.

Further To The Above
Edna strongly disapproves of your humble scribe daring to do anything so Wickedly Neglectful as sitting at his computer, crafting words.  So, because it can take up to an hour to create this nonsense immortal scrivel, I had a brainwave.  Art?

She was in there all of five minutes

     She's been in there twice for a total of about 10 minutes at most.  Really!  Horse to water, dog to bed, why do I bother, go mope instead.

No Roofing Being Done
It being the weekend, and a thankfully sunny one so far at that.  It seems more like summer than summer ever did, frankly.
     Anyway, here's a pile of the old timber battens that the roofers have been stripping out and chucking away.  Shame it's not nearer November 5th or we'd have a ready-made bonfire.  Art?

Deadwood.
(Not to be confused with Ian McShane)

There will be more later this evening, as I find I've got a backlog of nonsense immortal scrivel that's been accumulating during the week.



*  "Heart attack" - translation from jargon courtesy Mister Hand.