I Had To Tempt Fate -

But Not As Much As Wonder Wifey
There she was on Facebook yesterday, gloasting about her new giant sunglasses, which immediately made Fate sit up and pay attention.  If not for this, I might have gotten away with my comment about Four Seasons In One Day.  But O no.  O no - Fate was ready and waiting, and what do we get?  Lightning and thunder, on top of the snow squalls and hail (and rain and wind).

No, Art, no.  Just - no.

     Yet there was also sun, just to confuse people.  As it did Your Humble Scribe at about 12:30, when I decided to take Edna for a walk, which rapidly ran into those very same 4 seasons.  By the time we returned I could not feel my hands.  Thank you, icy Siberian winds!  Another unwanted Ruffian import.
     There may be Anarchy in the UK, but there is most certainly a similar discord about the weather.  Perhaps we can look forward to a dose of locusts as well?
     Now, let us parachute the motley into the middle of this Spanish cultural event!

Erk.

Oh Good!
<rubs hands together and tweaks moustache ends in imitation of every Victorian vaudeville villain ever>
     I hope I'm not going to bore you by mentioning the ballfoot game, which has been played in profusion over this weekend, where there have been some (apparently) significant results.  I say "apparently" because I don't like the game, nor watch it, nor support any ballfoot teams either.  I just like the bitter hissing invective that the assorted fans unload upon each other on the BBC's web-pages.  If you can call poisonous slanderous barely-SFW ranting and raving "unloading".

The Beeb.

     You see, for a sport, many of the fans have a less than sporting approach to the ballfoot game.  If their team lose then there are many, many reasons why this happened: the referee was bent; the pitch was awful; the other side cheated; the other side cheated REALLY BADLY; the other side cheated REALLY BADLY in collusion with the bent referee; bubonic plague had ravaged their team; their opponents were indestructible, untiring, emotionless cyborgs**; high winds over Norway had affected the mango crop -
     And so on.  All utterly hilarious to read, all the more if you've got absolutely no engagement in the sport itself.  

Norway.  With high winds.

     I realise this gloating relish about other people's misfortune makes me a very bad person, but I'm such a very bad person that I don't care.

The Appropriate Terriers
Ha!  Fooled you - for we are back at the Staffordshire Regimental Museum.  O yes.  Be grateful that you can read about this in the warm, dry interior of your fallout shelter/ghillie's bothie/garden shed, unlike Conrad, who was rather cold and very wet.  Art?

A home from home

     This is the interior of that Teuton pillbox described earlier, and miserable and grey it was, too.  It might protect you from bullets, shrapnel and direct hits from anything less than a 6" howitzer, but it is horribly cramped and damp and - if anything, it reminds me of The Cure's "Faith" album cover.
     Then we have the terriers.  Art?

The Memorial Garden.
BE RESPECTFUL!

     Those brass sculptures are Staffordshire Bull Terriers, a Regimental mascot - they come from Stafford, they are aggressive little rascals, good with children, all that sort of thing.  That 'bow' in the railings is one of the regimental symbols.  Being briefly serious, that wall in the background lists the names of regimental soldiers killed in action since the Second Unpleasantness, and rather brings home the idea that we're talking about real people here.
     Then we had the British bunker, as seen from the outside -

That greenish thing in the middle

     Once again Your Humble Scribe found his height working against him - dammit, does nobody design for tall people! - as he had to rather contort to even get a photograph of the dank interior -

     This kind of structure was put up in large numbers during the early part of 1918. as the armies of Perfidious Albion prepared for the inevitable Teuton onslaught.  Conrad's preoccupation during his brief tenure of this miniature fort was "Where are all the spiders?" as Your Humble Scribe is terrified of the hideous little things.  Being only inches from the roof of this structure didn't help - head-height here being only slightly more than 6'.

Finally -
I have to post this in order for it to make sense when I promote it on Facebook, as I already have my link blurb worked out.  Art?

Eyes right.

     That is indeed a Bren Gun Carrier, more correctly known as the Universal Carrier, and the most numerous armoured fighting vehicle ever manufactured. 
     Which is not what I wanted to comment on.  O no.  That armoured vehicle next to the UC is a Ferret armoured car, whose job was to drive around sneakily and be peekily as regards the enemy.  Creeping and peeping, in other words.

Ferrets.  Awwww!

*  "Bent" as in "paid by the opposition to cripple OUR team".
**  I haven't actually seen this excuse used yet, but - it will be.