Appropriate, Given The Weather!

On More Than One Level
For as I type these words, I am listening to Death Cab For Cutie's seminal, anthemic track "Transatlanticism", which, since I live in the Pond Of Eden, has a particular resonance.  After all, how many countries can legitimately say that the North Atlantic has been along to visit for Lo! these many weeks?

The answer.

     British America, South Canada, The Lands Of The Norse and Erne.  And, of course, the Pond of Eden.  It might be the Allotment of Eden this morning, it's not raining yet.
     Today in the office we welcome back Noe, a charming young Spanish lady who has just returned from India, where it was too hot.  Too hot.  This from someone living on an island that is sinking.  I hasten to assure you that she went there on holiday and not a secondment from our employer (whom is still coyly anonymous)*.  Politeness restrains me from barking "What did you bring back for us?  What?  WHAT!" but these words will emerge in one variety or another during the day.
     As ever, hanging around on the fringes, sly and irresistible - no, wait, that's from "Forbidden Planet", isn't it?  Sorry, reality incursion - hanging around is the Coincidence Hydra, because I changed the music I was listening to as I approached the Dark Tower, and -

This came on

     Look to the upper port if you don't get it.  What are the chances, eh?      Whilst on the subject of water, lots of it, and lots of it getting where it shouldn't, let us consider the RAF.  As tastefully pointed out by Pete, who does not possess a PC bone in his body, back in the day they blew dams up (or down, or whatever the correct destructive term is), and here they are rebuilding them.  Art?

Your tax money in action

     The crew make this look a lot easier than it is.  As the captain of this ship said, at times their rotors were within feet of the railings, the spillway or the embankment; a sudden gust of wind or a moment of carelessness and BANG that's fifteen tons dropping onto the already-damaged spillway -
     I think that's enough of H2O for one morning.  Let us knock up a couple of mint juleps, one for us, one for the motley, and continue this farrago of fudge.
Back To Bang
For yes, Your Humble Scribe intends to go yarking on about the six-pounder anti-tank gun and it's introduction to the North African theatre during the Second Unpleasantness.  We spent a little time on it yesterday, which I can recap if you want.  Even if you don't want.  Especially if you don't want.  Art?

The bang-bang shooty thing in question

     The shell it fired weighed slightly over six pounds, which is neither here nor there as Axis tank crews weren't going to write letters to The Times about a discrepancy of five ounces.  The effective range was up to a mile, at which distance it could still turn any Axis tank into a modern-art colander.  This came as a nasty surprise to the Teutons and Italians at the Battle of Gazala, where the 6 pdr first appeared in numbers.
     Doing a bit of number-crunching - you know me whilst walking Edna - I came up with the fact that the muzzle velocity of the 6 pdr was such that it would take the shell all of 2 seconds to travel that mile.

The offensive article in question

     So, imagine you are Heinz or Luigi, tooling along in your panzer or carro armato at a conservative 15 miles per hour to keep your fuel consumption down, when BANG, a large piece of metal travelling at speed perforates your mobile tin can.  All that 6 pdr crew was aim off by seven yards at a distance of a mile and Hay Pesto KO tank.  This was twice the distance the hoary old 2 pdr had been effective at, and came as an extremely unpleasant surprise to the Heinz and Luigi's of the Axis tin can forces.
    
     Enough of misery and martial mayhem!  At least until tomorrow.

Hmmmmmmmmm.  I spy a copy of the MEN on Anila's desk, and she's not there.  Is she away on lunch?  Is it today's issue?  Has <shudders> someone already done the Cryptic Crossword?

Kind Of An Aside
You recall me whanging on about Vladek Sheybal yesterday?  Well, I asked Konrad, one of our diligent Polish colleagues, if he'd ever heard of him, by the cunning stratagem of writing the name down.
     No, replied Konrad, squinting at Your Humble Scribe's inimitable scrawl; it looks a bit Russian, frankly, and it ought to be spelt with a "W" and then a letter for which we in the <looks out of window> Allotment of Eden have no use. 
     Ahem.  Wiki, let's hear it from you -

Władysław Rudolf Z. Sheybal

     There you go.  With his passing, who on earth can take on the mantle of someone who simply ooooozes Sinister?

Well - I mean - modesty forbids ...

Anne O'Nymous And Her Brothers And Sisters
Ha!  Do you see what - O you do.  Well, I thought it was clever. 
     I refer to - obviously, O so obviously! - to yesterday's ranting screed about musical performers who conceal their faces behind masks or giant eyeballs or magical flying fruit**.  We mentioned the Banana Splits and The Residents -
     Here an aside.  Did you know that New Wave punkoid rockers The Dickies had a modest hit with their amphetamine-fuelled version of "The Tra-la-la Song?"  Conrad had it as a single, on yellow plastic.


Thus

     Today we focus our beady electronically-enhanced eyeballs on none other than -
     THE TELETUBBIES!  Art?

Seriously.  Think about it.

     You've got no idea what's under those all-encompassing disgui - sorry, costumes, have you?  For all we know they could be hideous daylight-sensitive gargoyles plotting to take over the Earth.  The television studio, at least.  Yes, they're probably very small actors, or even children, but the risk is there, the risk is there!
     Where were we?  Oh yes, boring old reality.
     You see, if the children under those dis - costumes, costumes, Conrad - grow up, you simply fire them and get another performer.  If someone gets a bit prima donna-ish, you sack them and get another small performer.  If you come into work hung over and cross on a Monday morning, you fire the lot, tell Casting to hire another four small performers and go home to rest your head.

The hideous truth! 
(Stinky-winky, Dipso, Ga-ga and Poo)

      



*  And is going to stay that way.
**  Not entirely sure about that last one ...