Fatman And Gobbing

There!  
You cannot accuse me of luring you in with the title of a classic rock album this time, if in fact any of my recent posts have featured same - which is simply an amazing coincidence if true, and I'm not admitting it.
     Today, rather than banging on about Christmas - and s'Ryestvom Christovim to all you out there - I think we'll travel back in time to the 19th December, which happened to be Darling Daughter's 23rd birthday, and our trip to Mi & Pho, that handily-located restaurant just a few minutes from her current digs.  Art?

Good evening, Vietnam

     It was absolutely packed; we had to book in advance as there's simply no chance of turning up and getting a table.  Here's my first course, Summer Rolls with Basa fish fillets:

Er - yes.

     I scoffed them immediately so there's no "Before" photo - you can see where today's title comes from, can't you? - although this is evidence that they were jolly tasty.  Next up was the main course, Vietnamese Beef With Noodles.  Art?

     I don't think this gives a sense of scale - that plate had a small hillock of food present; Sal had the same and couldn't finish it, so it was ask the nice staff for a takeaway tub.*  Your hungry, humble hack had no such problem.  Art?

Ha!  Once again, today's title justified

     Plus I had a few off-loads from Wonder Wifey, a really delicious Beef Stew with Jasmine Rice.  At this point Tom discovered, to his mixed surprise and horror, that practically a whole coop's worth of chicken meat lay hidden at the bottom of his Vietnamese Curry - cue another takeaway tub (another lightweight, methinks).
     Then, entirely unexpectedly, those nice staff brought out a couple of pieces of cake with a candle, and DD was embarassed by an impromptu "Happy Birthday".

I did weaken and have a small spoonful.

     There.  Wasn't that a refreshing change from harping on about celestial choirs and chestnuts?  With that Intro out of the way, it's time to duct-tape the motley into immobility and roll it down the hill!

Conrad Is Uncertain
I don't know about you, but I grew up with the BBC's flagship drama-reconstruction series "Doctor Who".  You know, the one about all those alien invasions that always seemed to be threatening a quarry or sandpit just outside London.  Apparently there was a long hiatus between alien invasions and it vanished between 1989 and 2005; who knew aliens were so tardy in real-estate reclamation?
     There has been a single constant in these retellings of what happened in that sandpit, in that "Doctor John Smith" - the UNIT codename for whoever holds their "Special Scientific Advisor" post - has always been portrayed by a man.  Art?

Proof!

     The thing is, the Doctor's companions have usually been of the decorative female variety (except for Jamie) and Conrad is somewhat perplexed about how to take an attractive female Doctor?

All this and brains, too

      Conrad also confidently predicts that all those sneering fanboys who loudly declared they would never, ever EVAH watch a female Doctor, will have indeed watched the prog and will be gushing about "Best Doctor EVAH!" because that's the nature of you Hom. Sap.

Oh, okay, Jamie and Adric

The Monster Strikes
If you follow the blog with any regularity - and you should, because that's the only way your descendants are going to survive the invasion from my alien compatriots - then you should know our resident Small Domesticated Wolf (Edna) is big on chewing things to bits.  This is why your modest artisan is careful to keep his bamboo skewers out of both her clutches and her jaws - they splinter.  But they do have 101 uses around the home!
     Anyway, witness yet another victim of her gnawing impatience. Art?

Dismembered!

     About an hour later Mister Minty Monster was in the bin, as his/her/it's other arm had also been chewed off, allowing stuffing to leak out.  This is the point at which Wonder Wifey gets alarmed, fearing our furry daughter will make inroads on the stuffing. Not likely when there are plates of human food to chase!

2 Men In A Tank
I don't know if you're aware of Lindybeige, who makes somewhat esoteric Youtube videos on military subjects as varied as 'How long did it take a hoplite to put their armour on" and "Bren gun versus MG34 - which is better?".  A link -

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC9pgQfOXRsp4UKrI8q0zjXQ

     There you go.  Beware, there is also some dancing.  Esoteric, like I said.  

Lindy, with tank for scale

Then there is The Chieftan, a.k.a. Nicholas Moran, who served in both the Irish and South Canadian armies.  Art?

Nicholas, with tank for scale.

     The thing about these chaps is that they're both very tall - Lindy at 6' and Nicholas at 6' 4", so watching a Youtube of them contorting themselves into the turret of a Churchill tank was highly amusing.  Art?

Lindy having a moment of panic there

     The tank above is the display Churchill at Bovvie (Bovington Tank Museum to you), and it lacks a lot of the interior kit that would normally be present - 2 stretchers, 15 boxes of biscuits and a Bren gun, anyone? - and even so, it was a very tight fit for them.  Art?

This, with two lanky great chaps added-in

     Nicholas pointed out that the tank crews of Perfidious Albion didn't wear helmets inside their armoured chariots, meaning a very good chance of gashing your bonce open upon all those sharp or pointy or sharp and pointy pieces of kit.
     Well, yes, conceded Lindybeige - but a British tank regimental beret looked far more stylish ...

Well, that's enough of - no, hang on, let me just check on Donald Fagen and see he's alright - Phew!  yes he is, it was only a muscle spasm and not Rickettsial Paralysing Neurophagism.  I know, I know, I'm being a bit paranoid but after missing the sad demise of his longtime musical partner I do worry about Don.

Don: grumpy but hale

*  For the second time.  Lightweight.