The Cat Sat On The -

Paper.
Specifically, my paper.  You out there may dismiss this as "Small Earthquake In Chile" kind of news, yet I prefer to think that it illuminates and underlines the essential nature of cats: selfish, pre-occupied and always liable to be where they ought not to.  Art?


     Five seconds before this photograph got taken, Jenny (a.k.a. Cyborg Sentry Cat #253) had been safely asleep in her fur igloo, visible here over her shoulder.  Of course, when Your Humble Scribe turns up with books and papers and - waaaay off over in the corner some toast and tea - she immediately surfaces.  Conrad no sooner turns his back than WHAM she is sitting on his paper.  All the kitchen to choose from and she inevitably makes her way to sit where she is least welcome.  Well done, Jenny, the King of the Cats must be pleased with you.

Hmmmm.  The moggy monarch, apparently.

     You will also please notice the lack of Ice Cream Breakfast here <muted sob>.  Just thought I'd t hrow that one in so you can appreciate the existential angst of a man living without sugar.
          I am also without one of my normal props today: I have accidentally left my notebook at home, so this entire article will be made up from whole cloth.  Not that you can tell the difference: scrivel is scrivel whichever way it's sliced.

Scrivel made concrete

     Time to make the motley put on this wetsuit and race the angry piranhas!  Oh - yes, motley, that's right, we've lined it with broken glass and acid!*

I Say!
It is not often that I am pleased the 24 bus turns up a minute late, yet I was today.  The pictures of Staffordshire Regimental Museum below would only load individually, which made the uploading process drag on, rather.  Consequently I was at the bus stop only at 06:16, a whole minute late.  Fortunately for Conrad, the bus was 2 minutes late.  Yes yes yes another "Small earthquake in Chile" moment; it sets the tone for the day, I'll have you know.
     Right, on with more of the Staffordshire Regiments.  SIT BACK DOWN!      Right, cast your mind back to September 1918.  The Tuetons have retreated behind the Hindenburg Line, realising that if they cannot win the war any longer, they may be able to manage a late draw through exhaustion. Alas, 'twas not to be, for what is this but the North Midlands 46th Division, wherein serve the North and South Staffords, and what are they tasked with doing?
     Why, breaking into and through the Hindenburg Line, with it's fifty-yard deep barbed wire mazes, and trenches dug on reverse slopes, and - tah dah! - the St. Quentin Canal, which was either filled with water or, where dry, had sheer walls up to 50 feet high.

A map of stuff

     The 137th Stafford Brigade (that is, 3 battalions of Staffords at about 2,400 strong) had to fight through the Teuton defences west of the canal, then get across the canal, and then fight through the Teuton defences east of the canal.  A tall order!

Broadcasting from the captured Riqueval Bridge

     Aided by fog, and an artillery bombardment of a million shells from 1,600 guns - some 30,000 of which were the brand-new-to-British-service mustard gas that must have caused a lot of Teuton stubble-hoppers to curse the name of Fritz Haber - the Staffs got through the defences west of the canal, then crossed the canal.  Some obliging Teuton chaps had been too slow to blow the demolition charges on the Riqueval Bridge, which made a very handy way of not getting one's feet wet.  "Ta very much!" said the Staffs, though probably with a lot more swearing.  Others crossed on impromptu bridges you can see in the photograph below. Art?

"Ta very ****** **** ****** much!"

     This was an outstanding achievement by a division regarded with some suspicion by the higher staffs, thanks to not doing terribly well in it's debut on the Somme.  It really put the mockers on the planned prolonged Teuton Hiding Behind The Sofa, and they had to begin a process of endless retreating.  Hah!
     Ironically enough, today is the 101st anniversary of the Kaiserschlacht Friedensturm ("The Kaiser's Battle Peace Offensive").  There you go.
     Don't worry, there's LOTS more to come from the Staffs museum.  LOTS!

"ORLOP"
Yes, another Ranting Tanting Whining Repining about Cryptic Crosswords, with a certain wry acknowledgement of other people's cleverness.
     The word above derives from a crossword clue, which was "Deck or dock".  Conrad was frankly baffled by this one.  You can see where the " - or dock" comes from in the sense of cutting or pruning something - "lopping" if you will.  

Lop Nor, the Populous Dictatorship's nuclear testing grounds

     "What on earth is "Orlop"?" I wondered silently on the bus to work - for it is ill-mannered to alarm one's fellow commuters of a morning by babbling out loud.**  It sounds like a third-grade Marvel supervillain.  Okay, Art?

The Orlop deck

     Well, I feel no shame in not knowing that it's the lowest internal deck in a sailing vessel back when they used windpower to move around.  Confess, you rascals, neither did you!

Nelson, croaking on the orlop deck

     Conrad now casts his wary eyes over at the Codeword, wondering and pondering about quite what exotic birds, fruits or naval architecture they're going to try my wits (and temper) with later on.

Just FYI -
I am 26 pages into "Nicholas Nickleby" and the second introduction, by someone anonymous, who has already trotted out several Dog Buns! spoilers without warning, the dirty cur!  I hope you are as disgusterated as I am at this bally rotten behaviour.  I feel a letter to "The Times" a-coming on.
     Bah!

Finally -
I need only witter a little mental spittle in order to hit the magic ton (1,000 words of the very finest drivel!) so here it is.  Shall we have another odd ship?  Why not!

World's largest raffia basket?

     I know nothing about this but the caption that announces it's Ruffian and from the Nineteenth Century.  I feel compelled to dig further - but not today.



*  Only acetic acid, we're not that cruel.
**  Though nowadays you can pretend you're on Bluetooth.