Like earlier today, when I took Edna for a walk - and none of your skimpy 5 minute dashes here, a full 20 minutes worth - and walked my constitutional into Royton.
We'll get back to that title. In the meantime, why yes, I am re-watching that classic serial dramamentary "The Ark In Space", featuring my favourite iteration of The Doctor, one Tom Baker. Art?
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| You can come out from behind the sofa |
I have to say I really like the set designs, but I can't see any credit for who did them. Well done whoever built Space Station Nerva! Art, show us a set -
There are occasional ropey bits, namely the exterior shots of Nerva, which are quite naff. I suppose the argument was that they'd only be for a few seconds so there was no justification for spending money on a convincing model. My DVD has some rather good CGI substitutes that you can choose for these shots, as below - let me just kick Art into wakefulness -
They clearly found this one - Who are the red lights for? Everyone's dead!
in a packet of breakfast cereal
Now here's one for the salacious amongst you out there. At one point Liz Sladen has to slide down an inclined plane, and apparently you can see a flash of knicker for a fraction of a second. It's very brief and the producer either didn't notice, not being a perv, or did notice but decided that it would be a waste of time and money to reshoot. Liz, on the commentary track, explains that after that she continually got fan requests via mail asking if she could <ahem> send them back those very same knickers. So she got a job lot from Marks and Spencers and sent those instead.
| Liz, sadly missed |
"But what about the "Bark" bit of the title?" I hear you quibble.
PATIENCE! I am holding forth.
Right, motley, here's a cricket bat. We are now going to hurl live hand grenades at you, just for a laugh.
About That Title -
I am typing these words of wonder, wit and wisdom (delete where applicable) whilst also having my tea. Since the room to my Sekrit Layr is open, I now have a small domesticated wolf in attendance. Art?
Note the food. When that is gone, so will Edna. It's no use deluding myself about my personal charm, because I haven't got any, and even if I did she'd still leave when the food left. Okay, okay, I cheated a bit, she's more whimpery and whiney than barky, more along the lines of "I'm still here you know, patiently waiting" instead of "GIVE! WANT! NEED!"
If Only It Were Uranus
I could then make a poor pun about a shot at the bottom. However, we can only work with the facts, and the Juno probe is in orbit around Jupiter, taking splendidly detailed photographs of that monster planet's atmosphere. Art?
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| Jupiter's south pole |
Those perturbations are storms, and storms so big they make the worst terrestrial hurricane look like a fart in the bath. They have been raging for well over two years and are on average twice the size of Texas. Which puts my whinging about the cold wet weather here in the Pond of Eden rather into perspective.
O Goodie!
I see there have been several Premier League ballfoot games taking place today, and that the Beeb has opened their Comments function on several matches, so that We The People can Have Your Say. I realise the grammar there is a bit strained, but they are usually described as HYS.
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| A real caddish cur |
You should know by now that your humble scribe has no time for the ballfoot game and for all he cares they could decide a match by reading the entrails of a goat mixed with a sack of coal. However, the sheer bitter invective that comes out in the HYS is hilarious, especially to a person who doesn't have a dog in the fight, so to speak <apologises to Edna>.
"Sleeping Giants" By Sylvain Neuvel
Got this at Waterstones yesterday - one advantage of working in the Dark Tower is proximity to bookshops - and was a tad disappointed on opening up to find that it's the first novel in a series, rather than being complete in itself.
Oh well. It's certainly entertaining, and crafted in an unusual interrogative style. Typically of Conrad, who has little to no self-control, I've sat down for several hours already and have nearly finished. After which it will be time to check Abebooks for the sequel. Art?
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| My edition |
I remember reading the blurb on the back a while ago, and thinking "Why is Ruffian train gauge different from European?"
EDNA! There is nothing on the floor that you can eat, it all went into my mouth!
Sorry, it's just that dogs under the table have scared me since I watched the world's most frightening documentary, "The Thing".
Anyway, Sylvain's novel begins when a giant metal hand is discovered, nearly thirty feet long, composed of insanely large amounts of iridium, and buried fifty feet underground.
It is not of human construction.
Not going to tell you what happens, as Sylvain would probably get a bit cross with me. Doubtless someone somewhere has optioned it for a film.
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| Not quite. In fact not even close. |
Finally -
Why IS the Ruffian railway guage different from the rest of Europe? Partly because they initially built railways within Tsarist Ruffia that were never going to be linked or connected to the European rail network, so they could choose any gauge they liked. By 1860 the Tsar decreed that, henceforth, all railways in Ruffia would be built to the 5' gauge, and because he was the Tsar, that's what happened.
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| Off-topic, Art. But we'll allow it. |
That's Yun Park. It'll all make sense on Facebook.
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