When Life Imitates Art

Ah, How Divine -
Nothing to do with the title of today's post, I'm just listening to the immortal J. S. Bach's "Jesu Joy Of Man's Desiring" as played on a church organ - a 3-manual, in case you were wondering - and, whatever your views on religion, it's a simply splendid and affecting piece of music.  If you we are ever faced with Evil Space Aliens who want exterminate you us all, your our best bet is to play them some Bach and Beethoven, as evidence that Hom. Sap. is worth keeping around, for a bit at least.

Ol' Johann, on the verge of cracking a smile

     Okay!  Back on track - as much as we ever are.  As you may be aware, I am currently reading "Martin Chuzzlewit" by that very entertaining author Charles Dickens, whom I found I like, much to my surprise.  If only we were taught Dickens instead of that loathsome anachronism Shakespeare at school <drifts off into horrid fantasy of time-travelling back to 1590 with a syringeful of botulinus toxin> er - quite. Art?  (quick, we need a change of subject) 

The title character, with the odious Mr. Pecksniff

     Ol' Chas got himself into very hot water on the other side of the Atlantic, because he dared to poke fun at the South Canadian's reverence to, regard of, and worshipping the Almighty Dollar, before anything else.  O how they protested!  And they probably rued the time it took to pen their letters of protest, since that was valuable dollar-making time.*
     Shifting in time and space quite abruptly (to which I am inured, being a friend of a bloke with a big blue wooden box that has a flashing light on top), let us now broach the subject of The Great British Bake Off, which has become something of an institution here in the (checks weather) Allotment of Eden.  

Mel and Sue and the whole sick crew.**

     It has, coincidentally, become established as a peculiarly British phenomenon over in South Canada, too, especially now that it's available on Netflix.  As viewers over there comment, they frequently have to Google exactly what British slang words mean in proper language.  "Mint", for example, is not always a variety of sweet, nor something still in the original wrapping; it also means "very very good indeed", though this can be a little confusing if we're talking about Polos.

Marketing brilliance - make the most of a mint with less!

     Here an aside.  Whilst I was at the Co-Op's headquarters at Angel Square, Luis Troyano of TGBBO came to do a cookery class in baking, as The Electric Goldfish Bowl has a huge, fully functional kitchen in the basement.  He was an excellent public speaker, very personable and an ace baker - he made his stuffed rolls look easy to make.  They're not.

<sighs sadly in diabetic disgust>

     One of the reasons our cousins across the Pond like TGBBO is because it is entirely divorced from any kind of soap-opera drama, and the contestants may be competetive but they aren't hostile twods to each other.  Okay, that's two reasons; it's rude to count.  One of the most outstanding reasons they like it is because riches are not showered on the winner, merely a cakestand.  In the dog-eat-dog-and-owner-and-family-and-friends-and-neighbours environment of South Canada, this makes the show stand out, rather.

Who wants a lot of bits of paper with some crusty old dude on them anyway?

     Which is, I believe, where we came in.  So - it must be time to send our cattle-prodded sloth in pursuit of the motley!

Back To Cuckoo
That Teuton Panther tank "acquired" by the Guards Armoured Division back in the latter years of the Second Unpleasantness, if you recall.  It ran for 8 months before the fuel pump died, and with no spares to hand, that was that - R.I.P. Cuckoo.

Booty

     The British crews were impressed by how accurate the gun was, not to mention it's power and range, and by the tank's handling on soft or icy ground.  Why did they not acquire more such tanks, I hear you ask?
     Good question!  For one thing, this tank's silhouette was unquestionably that of a Panther, and the other 3,497 that weren't in British service were also unquestionably hostile, so a blue-on-blue was quite likely to happen in poor light or darkness.  Then there's reliability: the Panther was way too heavy for the engine installed, 45 tons as opposed to the intended 30: the final drive was forever disintegrating and thus immobilising the tank when in Teuton service.

CAUTION!  \Not suitable as playground equipment due to sharp edges.

     Then there's ammunition.  The bow and co-axial machine guns could be replaced with British ones, but not the main gun, and you couldn't count on capturing sufficient stocks of Teuton ammo to keep the thing a going concern.  Then there's spare parts: again, you might be able to cannibalise abandoned Panthers, but you need to be the ones to find them on the battlefield, before the Royal Engineers turn up and blow them into itsy-bitsy pieces to prevent any Teuton salvage attempts, or the boffins at Bovington, squealing with glee, arrive to take charge of it.
     Oh, if you remember the ending of "Kelly's Heroes", the South Canadian tanker Moriarty had a lot of bad things to say about Teuton tanks.

Listen to Oddball.  He knows stuff.

     Good lord, I've blathered on a bit today, haven't I!  Good thing?  Bad thing?  Only you can tell!

Finally -
Right, time to go get some of that "Food" which you we humans require to keep us going.  I can only apologise for only going on about two subjects today, call back later on for more variety, and tell all your friends!^




*  This is irony.  I'm quite safe here, American's cannot do irony.
**  Thomas Pynchon reference there for you.***
***  Actually Ol' Tom can do irony, so I am a bit worried now.
^  Because I have none.