Hating Hermes

Hermes, For Those Uninformed
Was a Greek god, of transport, amongst other things, which is why you get that parcel company using the name.
     This is not about transport companies, I assure you.  No, it is a continuation of that long-running feud between Conrad and the mutton-headed bumbletucking numpties who run First Bus.  I say "Run" but "Ruin" would be closer.  Art?

<loud chorus of booing and jeering is heard>

     As you may already know - because I complain about it a lot - Your Humble Scribe has to work one Saturday in three, and yesteryon was one of those days.

     <excuses self to go put Cheese Bites in oven>

     Where were we?  O yes - lambasting.  At Hollinwood the bus broke down in attempting to move away from the bus stop, an all-too often occurrence with Worst Bus. Great!  Luckily for us passengers there was another bus just behind, so we caught that, except that there were loads of us, so - delay.
     

A furiously angry Conrad

     The excitement doesn't stop there, since, on the bus home, the driver got lost and drove into a housing estate, eventually ending up on a road too narrow to continue on, thus having to reverse back until he reached navigable roads.
     I am back in work tomorrow, so we shall see what depths they can sink to, hmmmm?

The dead bus
<makes rude gesture>

     As I've said before, if First Bus had been in charge of creating fire, we'd still be eating raw meat.  Motley, shall we get on our bad bicycles and ride?

I May Regret Posting This -
It's a salient fact that young Shahzad in the office calls me "Super Rob" ("Rob" being my real second name that gets used as a first name rather than my real first name "Conrad", if you see what I mean) and because he is one of today's generation, is adept with both mobile phones and image trickery.  So, he took a picture of me and then - well, a picture is easier.  Art?

     He printed it off and proudly shared it with everyone he could interest, and there were some amused gigglings.  What can I say?  A bod I can only aspire to.

Of Yesteryon
It was surpassingly quiet in the office yesteryon, as the Candidate phone line is shut down on a Saturday, and the Stores line was very, very quiet: only 27 calls all day, meaning that there was lots of free time, since there were equally few e-mails to deal with.
     Conrad had expected this, and had brought in both book and MEN (for the cryptic crossword and the codeword, not the news), but found himself curiously diverted.  Art?


     I cannot remember quite what got me looking along the lines of Manly Wade Wellman, but that above is the edition I had in 1976, and it must be 40 years since I last read it.  I happened to Google for it, and Hay Pesto! there was a PDF collection, with another six stories tacked onto it.
     Perhaps I should explain.  The stories are all narrated by "John", a balladeer in the Appalachian Mountains, who has no possessions but what he stands up in and a guitar that has silver strings.  He wanders the land, literally singing for his supper, working when needed, and encountering some very strange (and frightening) things in the backwoods.  The stories work because MWW cannily works in folklore and legend and language, and they're very highly regarded.
     Thus I managed to read the whole lot in between phone calls and e-mails.  So, not a very productive day, yet an enjoyable one.

I think he was handsomer than that!
(lots of ladies love him)

You Can Skip This If You Wish -
Especially so if you're not into military kit; or if you are, but are a Wehraboo to boot.  For Lo! we are back to "Monty's Men" by Professor John Buckley - it won a prestigious award from military historians, you know.  Art - picture!

     I am currently reading about the final campaigns that brought the armies of Perfidious Albion right up to the Rhine: Operations BLACKCOCK and VERITABLE, amongst others.  The kind of firepower that the British (more properly British-Canadian) army could and did bring to bear was quite enormous - 1,200 artillery pieces at one point - supported by air power; though the dreadful weather meant cab ranks of Tiffies mounting quarter of a ton in HE rockets were a rarity.

Tank riders to starboard; a very dangerous occupation

     John points out that even at this late stage in the war, the British/Canadian army was continuing to evolve new doctrines to cope with their opponents.  One case is that of counter-mortar operations, as it was calculated 70% of all casualties were caused by Teuton mortars.  To this end special radar units were created and attached to individual Army Corps.  Art?

A GL III radar unit

     These could pinpoint a Teuton mortar to within 50 yards and at first only caused them to move repeatedly, considerably reducing their effectiveness; with refinement they hit and destroyed the mortars.  Teuton infantry loathed and hated their own mortar crews and generally wished them far away, because they knew, as soon as they were fired, Perfidious Albion would begin a counter bombardment that might hit the mortar, but which would certainly hit them.

     There, you can come out from behind the sofa now.

Finally -
James Blish, noted science-fiction author and critic, once observed that a horror film is one that would be over in ten minutes if the cast were not all very stupid.
     That applies to horror television series, too.  Case in point: "Black Summer".  For a whole episode we deal with 5 people trapped inside a diner by two zombies (though I've yet to hear that word used).  They have worked out that the zeds are drawn to sound.  Fair enough.  Art?

The interior

     So what do they do?  Why, they end up shouting and screaming at each other as loud as they can, for ages and ages.  Which, of course, is simply sounding the dinner gong for the zeds outside.
     As I have asserted already, in this alternative reality people are really, really dumb.

     And with that, we are done!