All The Rage - With Lindybeige

You Should Not Have To Ask "Who?"
For have I not mentioned that splendidly stalwart and effusive chap Lindy, Lo! these many times already?
     Apologies if you were expecting a long, long, series of photographs on Barcelona (where I was on holiday of late) with pictures of What We Had For Dinner; you may get something more along those lines later.
     Here an aside.  The dining table in our apartment's living room was made out of metal, seemingly of steel, meaning that the slightest impact upon it's surface with another solid object resulted in an extremely LOUD NOISE, which militated against the Aspasio's stated policy of being quiet and considerate.  Art?

Like this, except NOISIER.

     This isn't getting us any further forward with Lindy, is it?  Art!

Lindy in iconic English sweater
(Note dalek in background)

     Lindy - O! how I have missed thee - is currently banging on about what he called the most effective weapon of the Second Unpleasantness: and Your Humble Scribe's horrid fusion-powered pumping unit swells with pride that he has chosen The Infernal Engine itself, the Churchill Crocodile.  Art!

400 Gallons of napalm saying hello.

     I'm not sure how Lindy is going to develop this, and his article is 44 minutes long so I may not reach the end before finishing this post.  He does mention the Cockatrice, and your memory is of course - OF COURSE! - remembering how BOOJUM! has also gone into detail on that Lesser Infernal Engine, too.
     Okay, time, we think, to encapsulate the motley in Boing! and punt it over the edge of the Grand Canyon!

It's From "Judge Dredd"
<sigh> come one, come on, aren't you up to speed on 2000AD's finest yet?  "Boing!" is the miracle plastic of the 22nd Century.


     You can turn yourself into a human pinball by being encased in Boing! - but it is only safe and legal when used within strictly regulated 'Palais de Boing' (because nothing says "22nd century scientific marvel" better than French).
     Of course, there is a darker side to Boing!  The sinister, downright eeeevil and indestructible Judge Death once took up residence in Judge Anderson's head; she therefore got encase in Boing! in order to trap the Dark Judge and prevent him (or it) from wreaking havoc on the Big Meg.
     The motley, I have to say, will probably bounce higher than Everest after hitting the bottom of the Grand Canyon -

     - where were we?
     O, that's right - Barcelona.  Let the photo-memoir continue!

Wednesday
One thing that tickled Your Humble Scribe about the locals was how they perceive their own weather.  Darling Daughter and myself quickly doffed our coats, because we were uncomfortably hot in the direct sunlight.  Barcelonans, however, were quite happy walking around in long, heavy coats, with scarves, and hats, and even gloves.
     Winter, you see.  Or, as we would say in the Pond Of Eden, Summer.  Art?

Note the short shadows, as it is just past noon.  Therefore hot.  Hot, gentlemen.  HOT, I SAID!

     This is taken from the top of a tour bus, which describes itself as a bit of a Ho.
     No!  Wash out your dirty minds!  "Hop On/Hop Off" thank you, meaning you can debark and remount as often as you like.  On Wednesday we followed the Red Route, which included various landmarks around the city.  Art?

Fountains sin aigua

Fountains with aigua

     First landmark was the Arc De Triomf, not to be mistaken for that one in Paris, although there are actually several dotted around the world.  If Art will put down his plate of coal -

Yer triumphal arc.

     It was built by someone in celebration of something - possibly the World's Fair, which they held here in Something-Something.  Conrad not really interested hence not paying attention.  Art?

This appeared to be a historical commemoration of Spanish military history

     I couldn't bear the thought of Sal's sad puppy-dog eyes were I to say "O boy!  Military history - off the bus, now!" so I - I like to feel I took one for the team.

The Christopher Colombus memorial

      It took about five goes before I got an un-interrupted shot of the "Colom" pillar, and here it is.  And no, I'm not giving you a history lesson about the chap, go look it up in a book and report back on what you've learned.

Tah-dah.

      I have no idea what this building is, nor it's function.  I was just rather taken by the groovy statuary on top.  Gryphons?  Lions?  Jackalopes?  Let me know in the Comments if you have any idea.

Here we did HO/HO.

     This, aesthetes, is the Joan Miro Foundation.  Conrad was aware of some of his work already, and had rather glibly classed it as "Futurism", although it's a lot broader and harder to define than that.  Ol' Joan was a very big noise in Catalan and Spanish art, not being restricted to mere painting, as I had fondly imagined prior to visiting the Foundation.
     However, I feel my audience is beginning to slip a little, so we shall close here before I inflict another 20 pictures upon you.*

A typical later Miro

     Ha!  Listen to me blather on as if I know the first thing about art.  No, not "Art" - art.  I know Art to be a coal-scoffing Neanderthal with dubious hygiene and a fondness for both sucking the contents out of nuclear fuel rods and Mara Corday.
     Oops.  Shouldn't have mentioned her name ...


     Art!  Damn it, man,** we need abstract expressionism here, not sultry brunettes posing in furs with pouty lips -

     Do check back in tomorrow, gentle reader, where hopfully art will have vanquished Art, and we shall read of holiday not Corday, and there will be photos of ships instead of lips.


*  Don't clap with happiness: this is a reprieve, not a pardon.
**  This is stretching the word to it's elastic limit.