Big Bang Feary

I Apologise If That Sounds Like Pseudo-Cockney
Because it's not; not really.  Although - but that's getting ahead of ourselves.
     For Lo!  We have now exhausted the subject of Health And Safety At Glastonbury, which, in it's worst years, has resembled nothing more than behind the lines on the Western Front in the middle of an offensive.  Art?
        
                        Flanders 1917                                                                  Glasto 2017
     You can see the effect of vast movements across a finite landscape here, especially when it is impacted by rain and mud.  The humble human foot can transform the terrain radically, and not in a good way, when it is soft and pliable.
     Anyway, back to the 12th Division, who were due to mount an attack on the Teuton lines beginning 12th August 1916 (mid-phase of the Somme campaign), and whose bombardment began as of 10th August 1916.  The amount of artillery weight dedicated to this assault was quite frightening, especially if you were on the receiving end.  Let us break it down:
     1)  The field guns of the 12th, 25th and 49th Divisions.  That means 144 field guns; the 18 pounder and 4.5" howitzers that were the workhorses of all infantry divisions and yes, the British confusingly described their guns in terms of either throw weight or calibre.
         
     2)  Medium artillery held at II Corps.  Yes, the British confusingly used Roman numerals to number their Army Corps.  Sorry.  This is a bit of a movable feast, but we'll say one Group of 60 Pounders, 12 in number, and one Group of 6" Howitzers, again 12 in number.  These guns would fire much heavier shells than the field guns, and to a longer range.
     
     3)  Then the mortars.  With 3 divisions participating, there would be 72 "Stokes Guns" as the Trench Mortars were known, 36 Medium Mortars, which might be the 2" 'Toffee Apple' or the 6" Newton, and 12 9.45" 'Flying Pigs'.

     There you go - at least 168 artillery pieces and 120 mortars.  As I said, being on the receiving end of this kind of ordnance was a horrible experience, especially since Perfidious Albion could supply an infinite number of shells and bombs to be fired.  Well might the Teuton stubble-hoppers quiver with fear under such a bombardment; becoming all quivery and feary.
     And there you have today's title.  A bit of a reach, but we got there, eh?
     Okay, motley, here's a gin and tonic, a smoked salmon sandwich and a punnet of strawberries - the gruesome punishment being that you have to sit and watch tennis at Wimbledon all day long!*

Or, as we wittily call it here, "Wimblenod"

A Word Or Two Of Explanation
I am currently typing this exposition out in my Sekrit Layr at The Mansion, when you are all expecting me to be pounding the keys of a hot keyboard at work in the Dark Tower, busily working my One-Saturday-In-Three at the office.

Can you see me waving?  Sixth window from the left on the seventeenth floor.

     Well, yes, about that -
     I could tell things were not normal immediately I stepped out of the lift.  The office lighting was on, you see, and it only comes on if there's consistent movement beneath and below it, and Your Humble Scribe was 45 minutes early, which means I'm usually first man in.
     The IT bods were already in, and had been since 07:00, trying to resolve a host of problems that had arisen thanks to the Dark Tower's facilities people mucking about with their own power problems.
     "You've got nothing!" exclaimed Head IT Honcho.  Yes, thank you, IT technician, there's no need to sound so positively gleeful about it.

Cartoony yet applicable

     The phones didn't work, and we had no network connection.  This is rather serious for an office that deals with phone queries, e-mail traffic and uses databases that require a network connection.  Oo-err, missus.  Fortunately I had two books with me.
     At about 10:00 the IT minions all disappeared off to their Emergency Rendezvous.  The ER for ourselves would have been a long travel to the south of Gomorrah-on-the-Irwell, then a mile's walk, all of which would need to be done in reverse to return home, getting back to The Mansion at about 22:45.**
      Thankfully this plan was scotched, and Your Humble Scribe made his merry way home a good 6 hours early.

A cloud with a marshmallow lining
(As silver is a dangerous heavy metal)

     So, I am enjoying my unexpectedly free afternoon and am celebrating with a pot of Darjeeling (loose-leaf, of course).

The Not A Cult Festival
I have been variously promising or threatening to bombard your glazzies with details of this festival, since this is the season of same here in the <looks out of window> Allotment of Eden (the sun having come out).  Art?

"Festival-goers resorted to desperate measures in order to stay warm and dry"

     I've had a look at the list of performers and only know one out of several dozen, that being Matt Hartless and the Maverick 7, and then only because I work with their violinist.
     Anyway, the festival puts itself forward as being as Right On as it's possible to be - for one thing, it's not out to make a profit, and the staff are all volunteers.***  They only have vegan or veggie food, so the carnivores amongst you are out of luck.  Conrad notes that they plaintively advertise their "Fire Shows" as "(Not rituals)" just in case you were having theological second thoughts.

Matt plua Mavericks.  Yes, I know there's only 5 of them.  Roll with it.

     They are running until close of business on Sunday, so you might still get in at a reduced rate if the fancy takes you, and you live near Malvern.


Finally - 
The house is empty - time to sneak down and watch a bit more 'Doom Patrol'!



*  I know, I know, I'm a right swine, aren't I?
**  I may be exaggerating slightly here.  But only slightly.
***  Who cleans the toilets, then?   Hmmmm?