Them Crazy Greeks

Need I Point Out -
That was deliberately bad grammar, and it needs to be said in a Bronx accent.  Because I said so, is why.
     Okay, yesterday's post invoked the word "Meander", because as usual my written thoughts went all over the place and back again.  You know what "Meander" means, I take it?  That is, to go all over the place and back again.
     From where does it come, though?  Why, I thought you'd never ask!
     Greek, yes.  More specifically, the River Meander.  Art?

Thus

     The Greeks name for the river was "Malandros" which has transcribed as "Meander" and somewhere in one of my books on ancient Greece there is a map which shows just how bendy and windy that river was.  It took a long time to get from source to sea, I can tell you.  Yes, it is in modern-day Turkey; back them (700 BC) that region was most definitely Greek.
     After that unusually short Intro, let us get on with things.  Motley, make me a nitromethane cocktail, for I feel fruity!

"Monty's Men" By Professor John Buckley
Did you know it won an award?  Also the Prof is too modest to put that title up on the book's front cover, so I did it for him.  Prestigious!
     What the Prof makes much mention of is the armies of Perfidious Albion (and Canuckistan) in the spring of 1945; there had been a forced lull in fighting over the dreadfully wet winter of 1944 - 1945, which made just existing a fraught experience, never mind sitting in a trench getting shelled.

Not the edition I have

     I have already mentioned the counter-mortar radar systems that the Brits were using to negate and then kill off Teuton mortars, which systems truly came into their own in 1945, though this was not their only innovation.  No; there was also the "Land Mattress", which is a harmless-sounding piece of death-dealing device, to wit:

Some hapless Teutons are about to have a verrrrrry bad day.

     A rocket projector, in other words.  I think I've mentioned this monstrosity before; John goes on to detail the effect this thing had on the unfortunates who were it's targets.  Whilst not killing that many, it rendered those within detonation range barely able to function, to the extent that, as prisoners, they could move under their own steam but were liable to walk into walls.  Sounds like being walloped across the back of the head with a bottle of whisky.
     Incidentally, look at the number of rockets in the photograph above (approximately 400 of them).  That's a reflection of the logistical support the Brits could reliably depend  upon, where they utterly outclassed the Teutons*.  They are the visible end product of industry and transport combined <5,000 word screed redacted by the merciful Mister Hand>.

They seem cheerful enough.

Random Wibbling
It's not just me, real life can happen to throw up some peculiar thoughts every now and then.  For instance, there is that sidebar advert on Facebook for - waitforitwaitforit - the Antelco Key Hole Punch.  Art?

Thus

     Conrad was a bit nonplussed when his eyes beheld this - er - thing.  What is it?  Why would I want one?  Is it reasonably priced and able to withstand moderate domestic usage whilst also being safe for children and pets?
     Well, it turns out that it's for punching holes, which you probably understood from the title alone.  For punching holes in hosepipe, what is more, so you can turn a humble pipe into an irrigation system.  Art?


Thus

     You could get the same effect with a hammer and nail, one supposes, though nobody will look at you doing your irrigation with envy they way they would with an Antelco Keyhole Punch.
     The real mystery is why on earth this thing came up on my Facebook feed.  Another case of Log Counting Software or Portable Lumber Mill in terms of target audience**?

Only we can prevent forests!

Zutphen!
It sounds like an exclamation in French, doesn't it?
     Not even close.  No, it's a town in the Netherlands, and the reason it bobbed to the seething surface of my subconscious is that some of the scenes from "A Bridge Too Far" were filmed there.  I still had to Google and find out what the name was in the first place, and now we all know and are thus better informed that we were five minutes ago, and you're welcome.  Art?

Picture-postcard Zutphen

     Nothing seems to have happened in Zutphen since the sixteenth century, where you had the Dutch fighting the Spanish (the revolt of the Spanish Netherlands) with the English helping the Dutch, a bit.  After capturing a major piece of fortification from the Spanish, the English rashly appointed an utter cad in command of it (Rowland Yorke).  The dirty cur then promptly surrendered it to the Spanish, leaving the Dutch with a bad taste in their mouth and probably a suspicious attitude towards islanders.***

A Spanish cocktail.

     They have, one hopes, forgiven us by now.  Best not to raise the matter in company, though.

Here's One I Made Earlier
Except not.  I am typing this at work, and don't even have my phone-charging cable with me, let alone an interface that allows me to upload photographs from my phone.  So, yes, you will eventually get to see what I got for Christmas, just not today.  I bet you can hardly wait.  I'll further bet that you're just simply twitching with eager enthusiasm.

Look at him - positively quivering, he is.

Finally -
Conrad, as we all know, is a nosy rascal who is never happier than when looking at something he ought not to.  Thus, on our corporate newsboard Yammer, I witnessed a store colleague taking a photograph of herself with "Ed Westwick".  I shan't put it up here as it would immediately reveal who My Still Coyly Anonymous Employer is.
     I then presumed that EW is a variety of celebrity, for why other would one take a "Selpheegh" as I believe the term goes: I'd certainly not heard of him before.  Ed Eastwick, Head West or Stick Weed, all of whom I can live without.  Art?

GET A SHAVE!

     He is in a televisual program called "Gossip Grill" or somesuch.
     Bah!

     And with that curmudgeonly cavil, we are done!

*  Max Hastings cries in a corner.
**  Both examples of things I can entirely live without, which Facebook finds hard to believe.
***  The Spanish distrusted Yorky so much they offed him with poison.