As that Oscar-winning documentary "Wayne's World" informs us,* we (the royal "we" in this case, involving Conrad your humble scribe, Mister Hand, Art the sub-human sloven and Oscar the memory man) do indeed fear change. We like our routines, and to be safely set in them.
"What is the old fool babbling on about now?" I hear you ask. "Has he been at the cooking sherry again?"
Pausing only to inform you that sherry of any stripe is the Devil's sinus-drainings, I shall explicate.
Today, at the Dark Tower, we move back to our old floor, and I shall be in a new team, with novel compatriots, and a novel scheme of work.
Obviously this terrifies me, and I shall need strong drink on reaching the safety of The Mansion to compensate. Old Speckled Hen, FYI, not sherry.
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| Work, a.k.a. the Dark Tower |
This has impacted BOOJUM! as there was no access to a computer to type up this deathless prose hastly-worked text scrivel until almost the last thing. I shan't get home until about 8 ante meridian (I feel your sympathy) and shall then be typing madly to get this post in before midnight.
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| What we are talking about |
More Of Sang Froid
A.k.a. staying cool under fire, a speciality of officers in the service of Perfidious Albion. Here is a scene from "The Battle of Britain", where the Station Lookout has been warned, by telephone, that a bombing raid is imminent. Art?
So he walks to the siren and cranks it up, because running or shouting swear words really just isn't British.
This scene is inspired by the very real attack mounted on Biggin Hill in September 1940, where the Station Lookout was a little less blase about being bombed silly:
STATION LOOKOUT: This is the station lookout - enemy aircraft approaching from the south - five ... six ... nine ... twelve. Blimey, there's dozens of 'em. Explosions.
Notice that the transcript doesn't include any exclamation marks, because - sang froid.
| When getting tanked-up does not involve beer |
That's enough about Britain getting knocked about; tomorrow we shall delve into the enormously horrid Tallboy, which is where the bally Teutons got knocked about themselves.
Ah Yes
Conrad has seen that the Beeb is celebrating 40 years of "The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy". Yes well. One of my claims to (a modest amount of) fame is that I heard it when it was first transmitted, because this was back in the days before the internet, when many people only had black and white radios, and the Empire was still supreme. A**rt?
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| The culprit |
Anyway, THHGTTG: I remember thinking "This is really odd!" followed by " - but very entertaining."
Nobody at college the next day, nor the next week, had any idea what I was talking about. In fact they made a point of keeping even further away.
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| The college today. A bit dull, frankly |
I see that we now need a short article to get this post up to count. Aha! How about a terrible swift sword?
Freud Would Have Frowned
Let me introduce you to the Scottish claymore, which is the Anglicised version of the original Gaelic name: Claidheamh-mor, or "Great Sword". Art?
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| No! He is not especially-small |
* I know it's not a documentary, and it didn't win an Oscar, but a man can dream, can't he, dammit?
** I may be a bit hazy on these, it was a long time ago
*** Mister Hand would like to point out that these six words contain at least two lies.
^ Sorry
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