A Tempest In A Teapot

No!  Nothing To Do With RAF High-Performance Interceptor Aircraft
I do note that French ace Pierre Clostermann flew one of these when he went a-biffing the Boche in the bright blue skies -
     But that's not what this is about.  "Will you give us a hint, O Snowy-Haired obscurantist?" I hear you squeak.  Indeed.  Let us elucidate, but first!

NNNEEEYOWWW BLAM!

     Sorry, couldn't resist.
     Okay, apart from wittering on about military history and major civil engineering projects, what is also a preoccupation of Your Humble Scribe?
     That's right: tea.  Specifically loose-leaf tea, and preferably Darjeeling.  Art?

Behold the brew!

     The metal strainer and dish seen here were a present from Darling Daughter at Christmas, and I've only just decided to try using them in my teapot rather than the larger internal strainer which has had pride of place, after being taken from another teapot.  The problem with the internal strainer is that the tea leaves sit in the pot and brew after that first cup is poured.  Then they keep on brewing, so by the time the last tea is poured, it is stewed, not brewed.  With the removable strainer above - Art?

Note the colour depth of the liquor

     The tea leaves have been removed, they aren't going to drip anywhere, and the tea isn't going to turn a dark brown and stain my insides sepia thanks to tannin.
     This is pretty obviously small beer*, at least for those out there who resort to <shudders in snobby horror> tea bags, and for South Canadians, who owe allegiance to coffee thanks to some carnival event in Boston.  For someone who is getting through two pots of tea a day every day thanks to working from home, it makes a difference, thank you.  In fact I am going to have to venture to Sainsbury's for some of their Fairtrade loose-leaf Darjeeling in a few weeks, as I've been guzzling gallons of tea at a far faster rate than usual.

Perfection in a packet

     Motley!  I think we need to inventory all the various packets and boxes and jars of tea we have lying around in the cupboard.  A project for Sunday, perhaps.

When Esky Was Pesky
One makes do where one can.  I mean, I cannot gurgle with malicious glee at the BBC's "Have Your Say" pages as all sport in This Sceptred Isle has come to a screeching halt, so I have been making do with the "Revenge" pages on Youtube's "r/AskReddit" channels, and one of them struck me yesteryon as being especially petty-minded and mean.  Which is reason to applaud the original poster.  Art?

He owned a fridge

     That ought to be "The fridge", as he was part of a house-share.  The last two of the original housemates were leaving, and had decided to end the lease, because they were a pair of entitled bumbletucks.  The OP took this in his stride, got new lodgings and promptly moved his fridge out.  He came back a couple of weeks later to pick up some odds and ends, and found the original housemates hadn't been able to leave yet.  How were they coping sans fridge?

With an "Esky" full of thawed ice

     I'd not heard of an Esky before.  It's an insulated box you can keep things cool in when packed with ice.  For a day, or two at most.  Not for weeks.

24 hours earlier ...

     And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go refill my teacup.

This will all make sense on Facebook -

Honest

Your Daily Dose Of DANGER!
Because everyone needs a little frisson to get their hearts beating faster, don't they**?  And today we are looking at Aluminium Phosphide, or AlP.
     This is horribly dangerous stuff, because it's designed to be so.  Art?

CAUTION!  Not to be confused with liquorice balls

     If this stuff gets wet then it gives off phosphine gas, and you'll know about it because phosphine stinks of rotten fish.  Not for long, however, as it kills people pretty rapidly from inhalation by filling their lungs with fluid, so they drown from the inside out.  It is intended for use as a pesticide, but is a frequent cause of accidental death in Iran, and of deliberate misuse in India.  Oh, and phosphine spontaneously ignites in air.  So it reeks, poisons and explodes, all in one compact package.  

The symbol is there for a reason, folks.

     It also gets used as an insecticide in the Far East, to dispose of nasty creepy-crawlies like bedbugs, and also hapless tourists if safety protocols aren't followed.  One can see it being banned globally in the near future.

     Blimey, that was grim.  Shall we have a little lighter entertainment?  Ah - we haven't finished doing our Little Musical Critique of " 'A' Bomb In Wardour Street", have we?
     Then again that wasn't a whole heap of fun, either.  Think, Conrad, think!

"Buttlar-Brandenfels"
I didn't need to write this one down upon waking up, as it was peculiar enough to stick in my mind.  What was it?  The landscape setting where Sherlock Holmes falls to his death?  A kind of hot spiced Christmas spirit drink from Bavaria?  A composer of nineteenth-century Teuton leider?
     None of the above.  Art?

A Teuton general

     All I could find at short notice is that he helped the Allies immensely on D-Day by preventing all the Panzer divisions in reserve from being released in order to counterattack.  Bit of a hair-splitting jobsworth, then. Also, his full title was "Major General Horst Freiherr Treusch Von Buttlar-Brandenfels", which was usually shortened to the handier "Treusch".
     Not to be confused with "Horst Julius Freiherr Treusch Von Buttlar-Brandenfels", who was an earlier iteration from the First Unpleasantness, and who jockeyed Zeppelins across the skies.  Art?

I think he's sitting on a spike.  At any rate, he does not look happy.

     Of course, the real mystery is why on earth an obscure third-tier Teuton under the helm of Herr Schickelgruber would pop up in my mind.  It's a mystery.

Zoinks!

*  Do you see - O you do.
**  It isn't just me, is it?