Cricket, And Death

I Know, Quite The Combination
One does not normally associate The Grim Reaper with the Allotment of Eden's national game, not even in Australia where they are WAY more serious about it than the Mother Country, nor yet in the Indian Subcontinent, where India and Pakistan have frequently been at war with each other for real, rather than with bats and balls.  Art? - and if you put up some insect I shall flog you with the electric barbed wire -

India versus Pakistan*

     Okay, I confess that we are now back with the history of the 18th Division during the First Unpleasantness, not quite in the front line yet perilously close to it, where staff officers tried to divert and entertain with a cricket match.

Something like this

     The pitch had several shell holes in it, and a huge wired-in manure heap - if a batter hit that he got an extra six runs - as well as hazards like barbed wire on the boundaries and overhead telephone cables.  Play had to take into account that rotten cur The Hun, who jealously tried to interfere.  If I may quote - 
     "- what was that on the skyline, to the left of our Divisional front - a half-mile bank of smoke rolling towards us and a sustained rumbling boom?  An enemy barrage!"

The spoilsports attack

     If I may continue to quote - "The match was delayed exactly three minutes - " which, to the foe, indicates a worrying level of insouciance on behalf of the British.
     "Quite a good barrage," stated one of the British officer batsmen, going out and paying a lot more attention to the bowler than the artillery.
     Enemies of Perfidious Albion take note:  you have an uphill struggle.  "Uphill" more akin to "UpEverest".
     And on that note we shall set out after the motley, with an air-pistol firing botulinus-impregnated pellets!

Finnish architecture!
(Which has nothing to do with motleys or botulinus, but which is cool)

 
A Drop Of Spirits
As you should surely know by now, your humble scribe is an offensively sceptical realist, which is guaranteed to offend those conspiranoid swivel-eyed loonwaffling bumbletucks who maintain a credulous belief in the supernatural, UFOs and Nessie.  Oh, and Russell Brand.
     Anyway!  Having offended doubtless hundreds of dozens of a few readers, let us forge ahead with the frankly challenging role of promoting tourism in Mordor.
     It has not escaped my attention that there are a ridiculous number of television programs that laughably claim to be "reality" whilst in pursuit of ghosts, spirits, spooks, phantasms, poltergeists, plappergeists and sundry ultramundane phenomena.  Art?

I mean, really?  A shroud?  In 2019?

     O boy.  Imagine the blurb promoting a visit to the Land of Shadows for them, eh?
     "Do you have the stones to come check out MORGUL VALE!? ghosthunters?  Haunted abode of the Ringwraiths, domicile for entire armies of now-slaughtered orcs, headwater of the Morgul River.  We DARE you!"
     Imagine also the excuses offered by television presenters and camera crews.
     "I sprained my knee."
     "Nye razgovar Anglisky."
     "I'm having my brass hand polished."
     "I'm allergic to air."
      - and so on.

The delightfully atmospheric Morgul Vale

     There was the possibility of ghost-hunting on Dagorlad, the Battle Plain of legend, except it got covered over with transparent resin due to all the supernatural evil there present.  You could always peel back a corner and invite the ghost-hunters to practice their craft there ...

The water-meadows of Dagorlad**

"I Say We Take Off And Nuke The Site From Orbit"
You might recognise the quote above from "Aliens", and because your humble scribe is a relentlessly analytical logical realist,** he thoroughly concurs with W.O. Ellen Ripley.  If only they'd done that, all those people would still be alive and we'd have been spared the rather rubbish "Alien 3".

Conrad - not happy with "lien 3"

     Which has precious little to do with "Zapreshcheno Planyeta", or "Forbidden Planet", where I would like to focus that relentless, analytical logic.

SPOILERS!

Yes, I realise the film is over 60 years old.  I'm just so considerate.

     At the film's climax, Commander Adams,  Altaira and Doctor Morbius are trapped within a Krell laboratory, whilst the Id Monster, propelled by the (ambiguous) Doctor's subconscious, is intent on melting it's way through the door.  Once inside it's going to play tiddlywinks and drink tea rend everyone inside into three piles of steaming offal and dance on them -

 - whilst singing a song.
CAUTION!  Id Monsters are not suitable as domestic pets

     As a matter of fact that "dance" remark is purely speculative, as I don't think a clumsy great biped like the above would be very nimble of foot.
     Anyway, Art?

Guys with guns

     Commander Adams, a true Hom. Sap., if ever there was one, never stirs without carrying his atomic blaster, so - you may be ahead of me here - the logical solution to the problem is to wait until Ol' Iddy has melted a hole in the door (because the release combination has been hopelessly jumbled, and the survivors can exit via the melted hole once that white-hot metal has cooled) -
     - and then shoot Morbius.
     Problem solved!

No, Commander, the Vulcan Neck Pinch is higher up -

     Yes, this would very probably lead to considerable bad blood between the Commander and Altaira, but just think of the benefits - all that cool Krell technology to explore and exploit!  Easily worth a lover's spat.

46 With A Bullet
I see that the People's Populous Dictatorship have successfully landed a robot probe on the far side of the Moon.  This, of course, will scarcely quell the legions of swivel-eyed loons who insist NASA and aliens have secret bases there rant rant rant Oh excuse me I need to take my lithium -
     This is, of course, good news for Pink Floyd, as their 46 year-old magnum opus "Dark Side Of The Moon" will very probably get a sales boost from this news.  Cue also a BBC website Have Your Say on the subject, which will inevitably descend into bad puns and spiteful political comments.

"Hello!"
("All your base are belong to us")

*  I must remember this - Art and sparking metal wire fence do not mix.
**  Artistic licence