If I Were To Say "Blackburn"

 You Might Be Confused
For yes, there is a town in this, the remote and exotic North West of This Sceptred Isle*, which rejoices in that name.  Doubtless it has it's roots in a "Burn" or "Stream" that ran dark thanks to unusual chemical combinations in the moors it had to travel through. You know, strontium, ytterbium, neodymium, mundane chemicals like that.   Art?

Bleak black Northern town

     But Nay! For we are not remotely concerned what the benighted denizens of Blackburn are up to, or down, or even across.  
     Then there is the Blackburn Skua.  Nothing to do with the town, everything to do with the bird, as the Skua in question was in fact a warbird rather than a mere bird.  Art?

An ugly bird indeed.

     The Skua was one of a line of aircraft designed to operate from carriers in the service of the Royal Navy, whom all had names derived from birds.  It was, somewhat laughably, intended to act as a fighter, in which role it was utter rubbish, and was soon withdrawn.  It managed a few -
     Hang on, hang on - we've done it again, haven't we?  "Talking at length about what we're not talking about".  I do apologise on behalf of Conrad's brain, which seems to be working at only 87% capacity.
     John Blackburn.  That's whom we have focussed today's Intro onto, and I don't expect any of you scrofulous termagants to know who he was**.  Art?
                         
     Ol' Jon knew how to spin a tale, and this one resonates with Your Humble Scribe still.  The pictures above are a somewhat poetical take on the novel, wherein an hideous fungal infection targets the female of the species, all thanks to Cold War intrigue and some Nazi holdovers.  Doubtful if it could be made as a film today, thanks to things like Political Correctness and People Being Able To Sleep After Seeing it, though there is a possibility.  Ol' Jon was a prolific writer, you see, and his stuff has all been recently republished, so even now some influential mover-and-shaker may be reading about the "Children of Paul of Ely" and pondering on wormy immortality ...

     I remember the old blurb in other paperback books I read at the time, which, to paraphrase, mentioned of Mister Blackburn's opus that "humanity's back was against the wall" thanks to Paul's offspring.
     Motley!  I need you to go map-checking into these old caves.  Here's a torch, here's a map, have at you***.


No, Vulnavia, we have no time for dams today.  Maybe tomorrow.


CONRAD IS ANGRY!  ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY!
I am back in the office, which is not why the Frothing Nitric Ire.  Actually the trip in to Gomorrah-on-the-Irwell was fine, because Your Humble Scribe gets up with the lark in order to catch the bus to catch the bus, and there weren't many passengers around this morning.  Not only that, it was a pleasant change to be able to see the bus approaching in daylight; back in March you could identify it thanks to the lights.

     BUT THAT'S NOT WHY I'M ANGRY!  O SO ANGRY!

     There is a degree of poetic exaggeration there (of course!) because moderation is boring.  You see, all the base units in the office have been removed and we're able to hot desk with our groovy laptops - 
     - which I have never accessed Blogger with.  Consequently it has taken Conrad 30 minutes to actually reach Blogger after enduring the torment of his mobile phone repeatedly insulting him <reaches for hammer, phone cringes and goes quiet>.
     And after all that - I cannot add a picture.  This might be thanks to using the Old Version of Blogger, which I have had to do as the new interation pulled up a screenful of nothing but HTML. Nor can I access my Saved Pictures, as they sit on my laptop, which is back in The Mansion.

ANGRY!  ANGRY ANGRY ANGRY!

It's A Mystery
Conrad occasionally picks up notes the morning after and thinks "What?"
     Decipher this: "Eddie Trunk & SLTS 198"
     Did I get interrupted?  Is "SLTS" an abbreviation related to D-Day and types of landing craft (inspired by "Sand And Steel", mayhaps) ?  Who is or was Eddie?  I dare not Google, for I am at work, and - well, we don't know if anything about him might be NSFW.
     I shall let you know once I get home.  I bet you can hardly wait.

DID I MENTION HOW VERY ANGRY I AM?

Righto, I think we'll publish at this stage.  Given that I'm currently in Gomorrah-on-the-Irwell, and don't finish until 16:10, and then have a two-bus journey home, I'd not get in until about 18:00.  Then I'd have to add in pictures and another 300 or words to hit the Compositional Ton, by which time it would be 23:45 and bedtime.  So yes, we are short a couple of hundred a hundred and fifty but heck, it's not as if you have to pay to read this scrivel, is it?

<imagine relevant picture here>




*  One of these is accurate
**  "Scrofulous termagant" is, lest you be unaware, not a compliment.
***  O don't be worried.  The motley has a flamethrower.