A Night On The Inutiles

Our Timeline Has Been Confusing Of Late
Normally, the creative genius of Your Humble Scribe creates a post of wit, wonder and words - if you aren't interested in the creative process THE EXIT DOOR IS THAT WAY! - by making a start in the late evening, coming up with a title, and debating whether or not to include an exclamation mark in it or not, for yes you can have too much of a good thing, Vulnavia.

The girl herself.

     From there I hammer out at least a few hundred words before retiring to sleep on my bed of hot coals mat of nails mattress made with broken bottles cot*.
     Then, next morning, I arrive at the Dark Tower - Art?

Appropriately dark and towering

     After brewing a pot of tea and toasting some bread ( you need to feed the inner man, you know) I knuckle down and bash out even more words, for twenty or thirty minutes.  Come lunchtime, it's back to the typing.  By the end of lunch I've usually gotten 1000+ words and then Publish the thing.  This means a handful of Eager Beavers on Blogger don't wait to see the blog pimped over on Facebook or Twitter, they dive right in**.
     Only once back in my Sekrit Layr at The Mansion do I finally put a link up on FB and Twit, around 18:00 to 19:00, and a follow-up later in the evening.  Then it's back to the eiderdown of doom and a snoring session until next morning, where I send out the intellectual orphan of the imagination on Twit and FB again.

Raw eiderdown of doom,

     This didn't happen yesteryon, for reasons that will become clear. 
     And I now declare this Intro over, as I am left with only 6 minutes to do The Metro's Cryptic Crossword.  A challenge!

The Reasons
Both of them, the rascals.  I refer, of course, to Manisha and Anna, my exes.  As in ex-work-colleagues, you dirty curs!  Wash your minds out!
     Okay, it has been many a long month since I saw either lady, and typing stuff into Messenger really doesn't have the same impact as seeing someone face-to-face, so we had arranged to finalllllly meet up at Mowgli's, in the Corn Exchange.  Art!

     This is us in Eden, after the meal, where we had a congratulatory snifter or two on account of me now being permanent at the Dark Tower.  I saw Anna first, she's mine MINE  I tell you, keep your hands off her!
     Where were we?  O yes.  Well, we took our time to savour our food and ensure that - ahhh, who am I kidding, we chin-wagged like champions.  It took a good two hours to get through the nosh, and then as mentioned above, off to Eden, which used to be Tiger Tiger, and another hour and a half - they have a tree, you know.  Art?

A tree.  Why a tree?  I don't know.  In fact, it's a <ahem> mystree.

      You can just see the tail of the refurbished Tiger at starboard of lower centre, now rendered green and (presumably) Eden-y.  Too much of an icon to remove, one suspects.  O, and someone got a petal or two in their drink -

Does one drink it or eat it?  Enquiring minds want to know!

A Day Of Tea-Tasting And Testing
That will be today, thank you.  If you have been paying attention then you are aware that earlier in the week Conrad got a boxful of exotic teas, which sounds frightfully bourgeoiosie, until you discover that they came from Cut Price Barry's, which takes a bit of the cachet away.
     Today we began with the Basilur black tea and Ginger - Art?

The Ginger variety

      This was pretty nice stuff, actually, with strips of dried ginger in it for flavouring.  Note the smaller utility teapot; I don't intend to consume two pints at a time whilst test-driving my teas.

     Next has been the Rainbow blend, which the bottom of the tin reveals to contain cherry and safflower and other berryish stuff.  Art?

     This one is a bit like drinking a fruitbowl.  Nice enough if only consumed in small amounts.  Definitely one to only have a cupful of at a time!
     That's the report for today, there will undoubtedly be more in future.  I bet you simply cannot wait.

How Have I Not Heard Of This Before?
This comes from the font of all that's fit to be writ, the BBC's website.  They had an article on there about an island called "Drake's Island" which was being put up for sale.
     " 'Drake's Island'" quoth I.  "Never heard of it.  Ooooh - they mention underground tunnels!"  so obviously the question was why had this conjunction of geography not come to my attention before now?  Art!

From above

     The island was fortified with lots of guns and casemates and magazines, to protect the port of Plymouth from those awkward customers the French and Spanish, back when neither of the three empires were on good terms with the others.  Art?


     There were lots of underground structures excavated to accommodate ammunition and storage and barracks, and there are rumoured to be tunnels that extend from under the island over to Portsmouth and Devon.  A nice conceit though nobody has ever found either tunnels or evidence they ever existed.  But we can dream.

Tunnel entrance as it is now

     The island has now been sold to a development company who are going to develop it - logically enough - into a tourist resort, so you can't just get curious and pop over to have a look at or into the tunnels.

A tunnel

     Not that they look especially welcoming or inviting; if you were to go in a couple of wooden stakes and a pistol firing silver bullets sounds like a good idea.  Also, two torches, because the people in these stories always manage to drop and break the single one they carry around.

Finally -
Over on the Space Opera Facebook group, someone put up a "Conversation Starter" post, stating that:

A TREBUCHET FIRED IN OUTER SPACE WOULD HAVE INFINITE RANGE

     In case you weren't aware, a trebuchet is a colossal medieval siege engine, and also the name of the font you are reading this very second.  Art?

The beast in question

     And, you know, it really did start a conversation.


*  Sorry if this is Too Much Information
**  The fools!  The mad, impetuous fools!