The Great British Summer, Part #86

There Are Those Who Think The British Are Reserved And Stand-Offish
Because we are.  If we feel like breaking the ice with strangers, as when packed together like sardines on a sweltering single-decker bus because the usual one didn't turn up and so there's two lots of -
     Sorry, getting a bit carried away there.  As I was saying, if we ever feel like being sociable, then we have the perfect subject matter in our weather.  On Thursday it was ridiculously hot and sunny, so much so that Conrad took his jacket off (!), and then we have today, where the skies are Unbroken Grey Meteorological Misery.  
     From sunstroke to floods.  Art?

As featured on the BBC's website: "Cars were also stuck in floods in Oldham".

     "Web"site is quite appropriate, this is nice weather for ducks.  You see that photograph above?  I know that road and have travelled along it; what's not clear from this shot is that the wall to port* conceals a small river (or a large stream, if you swing that way), which has apparently decided on an expansion, to the embarrassment of at least one motorist.
     Oh, I should point out that the 24 bus into work on Friday didn't break down.  O no.  The one ahead of it, the 182, did.  So we had to pause and collect all their passengers, too.  Then there is the road beneath that railway bridge on Dean Lane, which floods if the council haven't bothered to keep drains clear.  One extra thing to look forward to tomorrow, O joy unabated.

It's all downhill from here.

     Looking out from the eyrie that is My Sekrit Layr, I can see sinister grey skies to the horizon, and the numerous trees visible are stood still as sentries, meaning no wind, which means them horrid clouds are going to be sticking around.
     (Yes, that was a deliberate grammatical error to create emphasis and see if you were paying attention).
     Onto less serious matters -

Stranger Things Season 3
Finally finished watching Episode 8, which certainly built up to a big climax; things exploding, extensive property damage, Mind Flayers and fireworks, fleets of helicopters - yet nary a flameth- er- napalm-fueled incendiary projector to be seen (still being coy about the "F" word as you can't trust Mac not to put in an appearance otherwise).

     SPOILERS!  HERE BE SPOILERS!  I AM WARNING YOU NOW ABOUT SPOILERS!

     Okay, there is considerable ambiguity about Hop, and whether he's alive or not, since he was included in the Magic Engine Of Doomy Death's sphere of operations when it went toast.  You never get to see him disintegrate, however, and in the post-credits sequence in Kamchatka, two Sinister guards refer to "the American".

A fat Rambo is still a Rambo, mate

     Mysterious, eh?  Also, Elle has lost her powers and may never get them back, since we flash forward three months and she's still not able to crumple even a Coke can.  She has also apparently been adopted by the Byers family and moves out of Hawkins with them.  I guess the Byers won't be sad to leave, the last three years have been a tad <ahem> eventful for them.  Your Humble Scribe rather wonders what Season Four will bring - a focus on the cast remaining in Hawkins, or split between them and the Byers, or concentrate on the Byers in <thinks> Sacramento?

Extensive property damage!

     We shall see, gentle reader, we shall see.

Portrait Of A Cat As A Corpse
Jenny, who is firmly convinced she is Queen Of The Kitchen, has a small fur igloo which is set atop the great big chest of drawers, thus being out of Edna Wunderhund's way, for otherwise there would be squabbling over food.
     The cat has, lately, begun adopting a pose which - Art?

     As evidenced, she loves to sprawl across the igloo entrance, reposing in a manner similar to that of a tragic poet of the late eighteenth century after one too many bottles of port.  Why this is her stance of choice seems rather odd, it would surely be far more comfortable to lie completely within the igloo?

     Right, there will now be a short pause whilst I go put the oven on.  All that remaindered food won't cook itself!

A Literal Blast From The Past
1944, if we're being accurate.  Pub Quiz partners Phil and Rosie have been cleaning out miscellaneous bits and pieces, prefatory to selling their house, and came across a pamphlet that one of their grandfathers had kept.  Art?

     Note the dates there: September 1941 to January 1943.  The Eighth officially came into being in September 1941, having been the Western Desert Force before that.  This photograph opposite the title page is pretty obviously staged - there's no need to semaphore if you've got a working radio; or if using semaphore to avoid being intercepted and overheard, then Specky is making a great big mistake.  Not only that, they're obviously nowhere near the enemy, or Flaggy wouldn't be standing proudly on the highest and most visible object for miles around.  Also, they'd have lowered their radio aerial.

A Crusader or A15 tank

    This is the type of tank they're manning (that's not me being un-PC, there weren't any female tank crews and precious few women in the 8th Army at all), the "Crusader", as the habit was to name Perfidious Albion's tanks with names that began with "C".  Because <thinks> er - well, just because.  It was extremely rubbish to begin with, as it had been rushed into service and an insufficiently-tested and hence unreliable tank was still a tank.  They got better, and also a bigger gun.
     I dunno - perhaps he's only having a really big stretch with his hands full, and not signalling at all?

Another Crusader

That's the remaindered chicken, bacon and cheese Kievs in the oven.  Twenty minutes to cook, five minutes to eat and then it'll be time for a constitutional into Royton, and perhaps even walkies for the Wunderhund.  But that last is only between you and me, right?


*   I know we always use "Port" for the dull and boring "Left", and "Starboard" for the equally ennui-inducing "Right", but this time nautical terms seem especially apt.