Cease The Disease

Okay, Okay, It Doesn't Really Rhyme
Looks good as an Intro, though, doesn't it?  Unless you suffer from mysophobia for real, in which case - RUN NOW!
     Hmmm.  Coming back to this in the morning after I wrote it last night, your humble scribe has, unfortunately, no idea what he was banging on about.  Maybe if I sit and stare out of the window for an hour or so it'll come back to me -

<very long pause>

     Nope.  You see, I didn't write down my inspiration, which means (to a dinosaur like me) that it never happened.  O well.
     Disease, disease - O! Perhaps it was something to do with flies -

Mosquitoes?

     I shall pretend this is what I meant all along <ahem> now, yesterday we learned about the 30th January 1943, which was the tenth anniversary of the Nazis coming to power in Germany.  There were going to be speeches given on the radio by Hermann Goering - except that Perfidious Albion turned up in the shape of three Mosquito bombers, which attacked the Berlin radio station just before broadcasting was due to start and put Fat Hermann off the air for an hour.
     Tee hee!

Hermann was very, very cross
(And a dope fiend as well)

     The fun didn't stop there, either.  Herr Goebbels, the Reich Propaganda Minister, was also due to make a speech later that day, prating on as he was wont to do.
     Guess who turned up again, uninvited?
     No!  Not Rimsky-Korsakov.  The RAF, back with their Mosquitoes.  Cue air-raid sirens, a dash for the cellars and another confounded Nazi frothing with rage.     Perfidious Albion - the clue is in the name.

Ol' Rimksy, just in case you were wondering
(One Nazi per post is quite enough)

     Now, having written EXACTLY WHAT I INTENDED TO IN THE FIRST PLACE, it is time to put the motley in a hazmat suit and have it walk across that settling pond of molten glass!

I Shall To Be Careful With This -
No!  I'm not talking about chlorine triflouride, nor ricin, nor tri-nitrotoluene.  If I can cattle-prod that slacker Art into action -

Quiver with FEAR!
(Or was it excitement?  It might have been excitement)

     As I may have explained before, with a Codeword there are no clues; instead each letter of the alphabet is represented by a number - "F" being 14, for example.  You are given one consonant and one vowel, and from those you can work out the whole grid.  Whilst working from home, Conrad's routine has been to walk into Royton in the late afternoon and acquire a copy of the M.E.N. which features a Codeword every day.
     I saw the above when doing the shopping last night, and O! my eye.  As you should surely know by now, your humble scribe is a stranger to the words and concepts of "moderation" and "proportional" and I can see myself thrashing out words until 3:27 ante meridian.
Farewell, Jim Holden
Yes, Season Three of "The Expanse" has finished, and it would have been a fitting ending to the whole thing - except that Amazon have picked it up and will be doing a fourth season, hoorah!  Art?

The "Rocinante"; our hero's ship
(A light torpedo bomber)

     Conrad has, of course, read all the novels, one after the other - again, no sense of moderation - and can tell you that the television series is different enough that you can't second-guess what's going to happen, beyond the broadest strokes.
     The downside is that we now need to wait about a year for the next season.
     O well.
I Thought So!
Yesterday we featured a picture of the USS Ashland, a Landing Ship Dock carrying a seaplane, and I mentioned that the plane might have been lifted into place by a crane.
     That rang a bell, something about Le Tourneau, right?
     Right!  Art?

The Tournacrane

     I might even have blogged about these before.  Well, sue me if I have - once again, whose blog is it?  Conrad is not sure why you'd need to haul a plane around via crane, but if you absolutely, positively, definitely have to, then the Tournacrane is your crane of choice.

This Will Make Sense Later On -
Well, as much sense as anything on the blog.  You know us - not big on rationality or common sense, either, as they make life boring.  Anyway, let me use my staff-motivating pitchfork on Art and introduce Hiram Hackenbacker III.

Better known as -

     Brains!  I was curious as to how he ended up working for International Rescue, because they can't exactly advertise for help, can they?  It turns out that everybody's favourite aerospatial engineering genius was lecturing in Paris when Jeff Tracy, an ex-astronaut and thus someone with an interest in the aerospace business, saw him lecturing.  He promptly poached Brains, which can't have gone down well with his previous employer.  Well ha!  They don't know where to look to find him, do they?

Finally -
Er - yes, about today's title.  Let us imagine the fetid depths of a humid swamp, a-buzz with mosquitoes - the insect not the speed-bomber - and cicadas and other hideous denizens of the deep green.  Art?

Smell the rancidness!

     Yes, this is what happens when there's no natural drainage system.  Probably - waitforitwaitforit - seething with disease.

And with that, we are done.  O yes!