The Ends Of The Earth

Not, Take Note, "The End Of The Earth"
Which would be a bad thing.  Unless you were a Dalek, in which case you'd probably bubble with toxic joy within your armoured carapace, and do a victory dance as best you could across a floor of different heights and conductivities.  
     A discoing Dalek.  There's something you're not going to be able to unsee in a hurry.
    Anyway!  That's not what we're here about.  No.  We are here today to witter on about that place where the noble Norwegians come face-to-face with the Sinisters, or Ruffians if you care to be up to date.  Art?

Finnmark!

     Yes, the largest county in Norway, and the least populated, and one which has a 120 mile border with everyone's favourite enemy de jour, the Ruffians.*  Actually the Sinisters did pause at the border back in 1944, rather than conquering the Finnmark; perhaps, one feels, less out of altruism than a sense of "We already have a million square miles of icy wilderness - do we really need more?"      As you can see, Finnmark is pretty remote and it's eastern border is in fact further east than Saint Petersburg.  Art?

A good fit for those who like open spaces with no people

     Actually the border is nothing like it used to be back in the days of the Cold War, as the Norwegians are not known for a bloodthirsty desire to invade their neighbours - and if they were, it would be the Swedes who would be worried - and the Ruffians don't seem to be that mithered, either.  Art?


Hardly forbidding

     Now, let us see if the motley can outrun a self-propelled, autonomous combat chassis bristling with machine-guns!

Shock Horror - Delayed Bus Journey NOT First's Fault!!
I know TWO exclamation marks is pushing the boundaries of grammar and comprehension, bordering on Continental hysteria in fact, but this story is so remarkable it deserves to be told.  Art?

Our valiant protectors!

     It took the 182 bus a good 45 minutes to crawl along a distance no greater than a mile, to which your humble (but annoyed!) scribe attributed roadworks, since at one point he spotted a red sign saying "Road Closed".  The length cordoned off - hang on, why is that police tape across the road?  And why a police car with flashing lights?  - was no more than a couple of hundred yards long, except that it's one of the busiest approach roads to the centre of Gomorrah-on-the-Irwell.  All traffic was being diverted, mass chaos, biblical plagues, end times, etcetera etcetera.**
     The reason why?  Well, it transpires some numpty, with potato where you and I keep our brains, was hurling bricks at passing traffic.  Perhaps it was a slow day at the office?
     So far no news on what happened to him.  Something painful and lingering, one hopes.

His final destination ...

As Christmassy As We Get
That is, a bit, and only in passing. 
     Here an aside.  Before diabetes, at this time of year your modest artisan would happily gorge himself on a six-pack of mince pies, followed by a 2 lb. Christmas pudding with brandy butter and a large slice of Christmas cake, all at once, to be repeated several times over the festive season.  No longer.  DAMN YOU DIABETES, DAMN YOU!
     Ahem <pause to allow the throbbing in Conrad's temples to abate>.
     Art! 

Pining for the fjords?

     This impressive bit of timber is sent annually from the Norks to Perfidious Albion, in gratitude for us helping - or trying to help - them during the Second Unpleasantness.  This is - what's that?  More about Norway?  Yes.  Be quite or I'll do a whole post about the country, and the fond regard Conrad has for it is in NO WAY related to the fact that he's 1/16th Norwegian himself.
     Where were we?  O yes.
     The British (and French) made quite a successful intervention in Norway in early 1940, after the Teutons invaded, and were on the brink of shooing the curs out of fair Norge's lakes and fjords, when the bally Hun invaded France.  Collapse of stout party, cue evacuation, mass chaos, biblical plagues, end of times, etcetera etcetera.**
     I think this topic has legs.  We shall return to it.  Art?

Er - King Hakon of Norway, doing something very peculiar

*  Ruffians - for the moment. In a decade or two - who knows!
**  Is that ghastly cybernetic cackle a Dalek having a laugh?