Are You Able To Cable?

Or: Weasels Are Our Friends!
That's pushing the definition a little, as we refer to a member of the Mustelidae, or weasel family, rather than the creature itself.
     "What is the old fool babbling on about now?" I hear you whisper.  Pausing only to remind you that 57 is practically young, I shall explicate.
     Actually let's first put you out of your collective misery about pipeline pigs, which we have been going on about over the past couple of days.  Art?

A pig

     I refused to tell you why they have that curious name, because they do not noticeably resemble a pig.  The story goes that the first improvised pipe cleaners were fabricated from bales of straw wrapped in barbed wire, which made a horrid squealing sound as they were forced along the pipes, and, humans being good at jumping to conclusions and similes, a resemblance to the common pig was noted.
     The mindset of someone who can imagine a 500 lb quadruped being flushed along a pipe whilst still alive is- questionable.

Piglet agrees

     All this has a vague connection to today's title, because what I wanted to mention was the mighty and noble race of being called Ferrets.*  Which name is a corruption of the Latin "Furritus", meaning "Little thief", which is a gross calumny.  Anyway, how do you run a cable through a very narrow, convoluted pipe?
     No!  Not a human volunteer and a shrink ray.  A ferret in a waistcoat.  Well, a harness, actually; 'waistcoat' sounds better.  Art?

No!  Wrong 'Ferret' - besides, that gun would get jammed

     I apologise in advance for Art, it's his new diet.  Let me just reach for my nuclear-powered Tazer cannon -

Hooray for ferrets!

     Ferrets being inquisitive little rascals, who can be trained with treats, they go waltzing through the pipework, cable attached to their harness and pop out the other end.  Hay Pesto your cable has been run through for no more than a couple of dog biscuits (or similar).
     Okay, time to lash the motley to the very end of a wind turbine's arm during this stormy weather!

Politics And War And Bedfellows
You know the saying, about politics making for strange bedfellows: your humble scribe had to pinch himself when he witnessed Martin McGuiness and Ian Paisley sitting down and doing business together.
     Okay, enough of politics.  The same assertion about bedfellows can be made of warfare, too.  I was going on about Perfidious Albion's Seventh Division, who went to Italy in 1917 and saw it out there until the First Unpleasantness ended.  One of their officers was Lt. Colonel Richard O'Connor, whose success in conquering the Grave di Popadopali
meant the Italians awarded him the Silver Medal of Military Valour. Art?

The field of battle

     A few months earlier a young Teuton officer called Erwin Rommel (yes, that one) had won the Iron Cross for his actions in capturing a fortified Italian position during the battle of Caporetto.
     Come March 1941, General O'Connor is now fighting against the people who gave him that medal, and Herr Romm. is fighting with the people he was once fighting against.
     Confusing?  Just wait until September 1943, when Italy switches sides ...

Dear Future, Where Is My Flying Car?
Ah, you know how the future used to be represented in comics and cartoons, there were rayguns with fins, robots with blinking coloured lights, and every (presumably South Canadian as they are deeply in love with their cars) family had it's flying car.
     Leaving aside the ghastly bloodbaths that would result from idiot drivers now having the ability to move in three dimensions, it always seemed we were getting short shrift from the future.  No flying car?  No fair!
     Except -

Wow!

      Except no.  No, it's not Colin Furze - is he still alive, by the way? - demonstrating his atom-powered super accelerating van as it becomes airborne, able to do the commute to work in 12.5 seconds.  Art?

Ow!

     This is actually a still from a dashcam showing one reason we ought to be pathetically grateful that there aren't flying cars: dangerous "Death-Derby" drivers wiling to kill any who get in their way so they can get to work 12.5 seconds earlier.

Right, that's enough for this afternoon.  I now need to get a shower, hike into Royton for exercise and take Edna for a walk, though probably not in that order.  Later!



*  Ha!  You were expecting a "Forbidden Planet" name there, weren't you?