With Posthumous Trees And Gin-Sodden Skies
Ha! Small apologies to those of you who thought we were going to regale you with "Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds", though Conrad does like the song and enjoyed that freaky psychedelic scene in "Yellow Submarine", and if Art will put down his bowl of coal - actually I know he will because I'm going to zap him with this cattle-prod - *
Egad, madame, your make-up!
You see, today at lunchtime I was footling about on the map for "Hidden Manchester", when I noticed an entry for the River Irk. Art! Stop quivering and get to work!
The Irk, you see, rises not far from where I sit typing this, in a humble field acting as watershed to the north of Royton - the Irk, I mean, not Conrad sitting in a field. It meanders it's way south, into Manchster and then joins the River Irwell. During the beginning of the Industrial Revolution it was essentially an open sewer, with all the industries and domiciles along it's urban journey discharging an unending torrent of effluent into it. Hence the title above. Were you to take a boat down the Irk in it's heyday you'd probably end up with several interesting diseases. Art!
The picture above shows where the Irk enters a culvert and vanishes from view, since it got in the way, rather, of the bustling metropolis of Manchester. Picture courtesy of "http://alanrayneroutdoors.blogspot.com/2015/03/update-to-previous-post-on-irk.html" a.k.a. "A Blog On The Landscape" which goes into the matter in a lot more detail than we bother to do so here. The Irk emerges from it's concealing culvert cover to join the River Irwell, and we have a picture of that, too. Art! O put some salve on it and stop whining.
A darker shade of grey
Makes one feel ill just looking, doesn't it? Doubtless it smells of dank and rank. However, remember that this is many times cleaner than in Early Victorian times, which should leave you with an appreciative shudder. Art!
A slightly more picturesque view
These culverted rivers are a source of concern to city councils and planners, since they are quite inaccessible unless you're willing to block off half the city centre to excavate and repair, which you'd only do if they collapsed. Luckily for us they built to last in those days. And rather a contrast with the bucolic farmlands it rises in. Art!
Motley, have you done your chores? If not, I shall be <drum roll> irked!
Photo-credit to: By Keith Williamson, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=9207978
"The 30 Foot Bride Of Candy Rock"
NO! You disgusting foot-fetish perverts, this is not about a lady who needs to buy 15 pairs of shoes at a time. No, it is a film about a lady who grows through mysterious means to a height of 30 feet I'll have you know.
Why is it mentioned here? Well, because it popped up from the depths of my mind, probably being mentioned in an article that principally dealt with "Attack Of The Fifty-Foot Woman" or even "War Of The Colossal Beast", the latter of which makes the former look Oscar-worthy. Art!
Thankfully his pants also become colossal.
Conrad is no doctor, yet he's convinced a person suffering that degree of tissue loss and eye-absence would be immobilised by shock and blood loss. Also, note the appallingly insensitive 1958 title; today we would call it "War Of The Involuntarily Enlarged And Quite Justifiably Enraged Person".**
ANYWAY back to the Bride. Your Humble Scribe Googled the title and - Hay Pesto! - it was a real film. Art?
Chekhov's Gun: that water tower is getting knocked over pretty soon
It was released in 1959 and claims to be a 'science-fiction comedy' because it co-stars Lou Costello, alongside Dorothy Provine as the titular bride. Yes, sadly she is entirely human, if economy-sized; and if you make any crude jokes about her being sweet to eat, then be aware my Remote Nuclear Detonator is back in action. Art!
.
"Bridal shower" takes on a new meaning
It all ends happily with hubby Lou returning his bride to normal size.
Lou the Herou
I don't think anyone gets killed nor the town destroyed, so kind of a muted conclusion.
"H.M.S. Pepperpot"
Conrad was listening avidly to this Tuesday's broadcast of "We Have Ways ..." podcast, when Jim ("James Holland" to the rest of you) brought up the Royal Navy's "H.M.S. Penelope", a light cruiser of Second Unpleasantness vintage. This ship was holed so frequently and abundantly in combat that she earned the sobriquet above. Art!
Yes, that ship impersonating a hedgehog is the "Penelope". When her hull was pierced by bomb or shell splinters, a rating would dangle over the side and hammer a bit of wood into the hole to caulk it temporarily (after which she was dubbed "H.M.S. Porcupine"). She served from the outbreak of the Second Unpleasantness until being sunk early in 1944, after which the Axis naval forces in the Mediterranean breathed a sigh of relief, because -
But that is another music for a different kitchen.
David's Devilish Detente
Continuing the story of David, the master-craftsman in seventeenth-century construction restoration work, who had been fired by Noisy Gobshute in an outburst of petty vindictiveness that was entirely typical of the plonker.
To try and get things, done, NG's company had hired a Bulgarian to carry out the restoration work, and by the time David got his retaliation in, Basil the Bulgar had long finished, been paid and gone home. Historic England, who had contracted out the work to be done, received an anonymous e-mail hinting that they might need to inspect the work recently done by NG's company.
Oops.
They were outraged: the work done was using 19th century methods and materials, which was utterly unacceptable. Excuse me, UTTERLY UNACCEPTABLE. Noisy Gobshute's firm were fined £800,000 - I told you not to much about with HE - and they cancelled the renovation contract before putting it out to tender. NG thus out about £1,000,000. Firing David for not bootlicking and getting him a cup of coffee probably seemed exceedingly stupid at this point.
But - it gets worse.
Finally -
Can't hang around for long, got to go clean dishes in the kitchen. Tonight I made my now-traditional variation on 'Bigos', which includes basically anything dubious or out-of-date in the fridge, with a handful of Jalapeno peppers thrown in.
And with that, we are - O - in the wrong font. Well, we're done anyway, so it's staying like this.
* Don't worry, Neanderthals shrug off electric shocks pretty quickly. Within an hour or two, usually.
** I'm guessing here, I've never seen the film.
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