Or, Excuse Me But Your Epee Is In My Liver
I'm going to have to explain myself here, aren't I? <sigh the youth of today, the youth of today>.
| Boisterous young people having a party*. |
Okay, those who fence use an epee, which has an accent above the last "e", and I'm not sure if the new iteration of Blogger can accomodate such. Let me pause for a moment and see ...
No.
Art? Earn your coal!
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| Voila! |
No, they do not have skins made of titanium, nor breastplates made of solid neutronium; their epees are blunt at the end, in order to prevent the fencers making kebabs out of each other. This is modern fencing, where the aim is to demonstrate skill without murder.
Back in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, however ...
Duelling arrived in This Sceptred Isle in the late sixteenth century and rapidly became popular with the gentry and nobility as a means of settling disputes. James I took a very dim view of the practice indeed, and attempted to legislate against it. Art?
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| Canny King Jim |
His dislike for duelling was fostered by the fact that the young (and not-so-young) bucks of his court had duties and responsibilities to perform, which they could not do if impersonating a pin-cushion. King Jim then introduced a prohibition on duelling via the Court of Chivalry, which was intended to prevent duelling. Alas, it was a noble intent that wasn't properly pursued until Charles I took the throne. The Court would intercede on behalf of those gentry who felt they had been slandered by other gentry, and would bind both parties over by imposing a bond of several hundred pounds - which would be into the tens of thousands by today's equivalents. The idea, which did begin to take hold, was that anyone who had suffered "Ill words", would be more likely to resort to legislation and financial compensation, rather than running amok with a large pointy thing.
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| "Hey! The King is not happy!" |
On a related note, the Swedish General Gustavus Adolphus (early seventeenth century) was also very chary about duels. On one occasion, having heard of one that was shortly to take place, he turned up with his army's Chief Constable, and calmly told the duellists that, after the first man had been killed, the Chief Constable would execute the other ... They cried off.
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| His Grace of Lace, Gustav. |
Motley! I feel like a practice duel. Break out the Thermite Cannons!
Here's One That Conrad Can Get Behind
No! Not to stab anyone in the back! Good Lord, what must you think of me - as if I'd ever descend to that level of sinister deceit. No, if I wanted to get rid of you, then you would vanish, and your body parts would only be found at the bottom of an Icelandic geyser in 2367, when they drain it to prep for geothermal operations.
| DO NOT CROSS ME! |
Where was I - O yes <adopts creepy smile> for we are back to "Rolling Stone"s Top 50 Sci Fi series of all time, and we have reached Number 10. Art?
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| Seen 'em all. |
I may have bored you with the details of how Conrad, as a very small child, would dash out of the room immediately the scary theme tune came on, then run to the top of the stairs. Each week I'd return a little earlier, until I mustered enough courage to watch the whole thing. This was, I hasten to add, in 1963 when I was only this high.
It has it's highs and lows, varying in quality under different regimes at the BBC, yet at it's best it is very very good indeed, and frequently broached issues beyond the ken of it's child audience (dehumanising medicine, for example, the bete noir of Kit Pedler and Gerry Davis**).
All true fanboys mourned the end of the program when Peter Capaldi left and the series finished for good, but it is possible that, in years to come, it will be revived as it was in 2005.
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| "I beg your pardon?" |
Shhhh! Be quiet! Go away!
Speaking Of Anachronisms -
I have recently entertained you - hopefully - about my re-reading of "The Star Fox" by Poul Anderson, and I did notice 1) a plot hole and 2) a wild anachronism
Okay, for 1), our party of humans are stranded on a planet with greater gravity that that of Earth, limited food, a single weapon and because the air is poisonous, they can't take their helmets off. Their alien-language specialist is dead, so they have to plan a route to safety that will take days. Art?#
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| A realistic depiction of a scene |
They do have a map that was partially written-up by the dead linguist, and one large area has the legend "Slaughter Machines".
Ooooh, what do you think, reader, should they mince merrily across with minimal mindfuness?
"SLAUGHTER MACHINES" that's a warning right there (it does not end well).
2) That large green chap with three eyes is the Chief Engineer. Our protagonist, Gunnar Heim, hears him using the alien equivalent of a slide-rule. This was a mechanical calculating device that was rendered instantly useless and obsolete by the electronic calculator. Art?
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Nowadays you could use it to <thinks> scratch your back?
Finally -
What is a "Witangamot" and why did this word pop into my head whilst making breakfast this morning? The latter will probably never be answered to anyone's satisfaction, the former -
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| A Witangamot |
That above is the Wikipedia illustration. Conrad does not like nicking these, as it implies a lack of diligence in tracking down alternatives but in this case not only are there no alternatives, the whole search term has been thoroughly contaminated by Harry Potter and it's "Wizengamot". Hmmmm wherever could JP have gotten that from?
Meanwhile back in real life, the Witengamot was a meeting of the most prominent witches and wizards who DOG BUNS! <ahem> was a meeting of the king's highest aristocracy and most senior clergy in pre-Norman times. They formed a council who would advise Kingy on the most important matters of the day. Art?
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| Alfred the Grate. Made a mean cheese toastie. |
Let me leave you with this thought. Why was DJ Alan Freeman known as "Fluff"?
Goodbye
* I may be misinterpreting a few nuances here.
** Creators of the Cybermen <shivers>
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