But I Won't
Because I have to keep my Horrid Meter at over 50%, don't you know. I have apologised, occasionally, but this isn't going to be one of those occasions.
To what misdirection, mistake or misapprehension do I refer? Why, none other than leaving you with a mysterious photograph of an unidentified man in an article that had nothing to do with him (par for the course round here, mind). Art!
This, ladies and otherwise, is Alan "Fluff" Freeman, an Ocker who came to Perfidious Albion and became a notable and pioneering disk jockey. His nickname was thanks to a fluffy sweater he was fond of wearing. Now, his effusive and relentlessly positive style was mocked by some and parodies by others, including a version by Harry Enfield, entitled "Dave Nice", which, if Art will get off his carbon-smutted rear end -
In fact Enfield had quite a bit of regard for Fluff, considering him one of the rarer type of DJs who liked music, not the sound of their own voice, and Sir John Peel also respected his DJ skillz (that is what the young folk say nowadays, isn't it?). Also -
Erk.
Yes, that's Harry spoofing Fluff whilst standing next to him. Props to Fluff for not being remotely precious here.
ANYWAY his catchphrase was "Not 'alf!" and I know this because he had a radio show on Saturday afternoons in the Seventies that was unmissable if you were into rock music, particularly progressive rock. It stood head and shoulders above all the tawdry daytime tat the BBC put out, at least in the opinion of Conrad, prog rock nerd.
Prog rock exemplar!
So, there you have an explanation, at least, if nowhere near an apology.
Er - quite. Just not the man Alan
The motley? Out stalking and hunting steam locomotives with a PIAT, since you asked.
Annotation About Revelation
Conrad is currently working his way through "Redemption Ark" by Alastair Reynolds, the geeky Welsh astronomer-cum-author, and if we wield the cattle-prod in a convincing manner, Art -
This is a sequel of sorts to "Revelation Space", and a couple of mentions makes me wonder if I've read the prequel. There is mention in RA of the post-death version of a human being re-created on the surface of neutron star's surface, which definitely rings a bell, and there can't be many novels where this happens. There was also, in RS, a horribly punning reference to a set of lyrics from a song by Yes (more prog rock!), all about purple wolfhounds <sighs heavily> I suppose Conrad has no choice but to acquire a copy and re-read it, hmmm? Art!
Alastair looking suitably smug
"Terry Talks Movies"
Indeed he does, and do you know what? So do we. Except we don't publicise the fact on Youtube. Ol' Tel recently put up a list of 16 films that he'd been watching, in addition to his usual diet of genre fodder, and Conrad can comment on three of them, because I've seen them. First up was "How I Became A Superhero" which I may have covered briefly already since I watched it only a few weeks ago, and am not going to explain accordingly. Art!
French. Still, not bad for all that.
Secondly we have "The Quiet Earth" which is a film made by the Polite Australians. A post-apocalyptic thriller, the plot centres on the literal handful of survivors who don't instantly vanish from the planet when an incredibly dangerous experiment in power generation goes badly awry. Art!
And the third film is "The Train" which is a terribly dull title for a film that's not dull at all. It's a version of reality, wherein a French train full of stolen French art is going to be whisked off to Germany by the wicked Teutons, and the efforts of the Resistance to prevent same. Art!
Burt of Lancaster being very stern
Burt does his own stunts, which include jumping from the outside of a moving train, and the scenes where trains are wrecked - for real - are frighteningly effective. Art!
What happens next will shock you*!
I would recommend you check out his Youtube channel, as he does incisive reviews of films without being a pseud about them. As if he would, he's an Ocker, I think there are state and federal laws against being a pseud down there.
Enough with the reminiscing! Let us boldly move onward and upward**!
That Bomb Explosion On 04/07/1940 Redux
If you recall, there had been a bomb planted in the British Pavilion of the World's Fair, which had been taken outside and which was being examined when it detonated, instantly killing two New York detectives who were trying to investigate what they were dealing with.
Grim enough. Despite the NY police leaning heavily on every possible plausible subject, the bomber was never caught, which has doubtless led to endless conspiracy theories. One that "The Daily Beast" looked at four years ago was that the British themselves were the culprits. Ah, Perfidious Albion, just look at how perfidious they are!
This seems to be based on the British not rolling over and allowing all their security staff to be interviewed immediately they were asked: "permission was not freely granted". Yes, which would foster suspicion of an inside job straight away, wouldn't it? Conrad has no idea if this reticence was compared against other pavilions belonging to other countries.
Then there is William Stephenson ...
The inspiration for this chap, apparently
We shall come back to this, O yes indeedy Ally Sheedy!
I just heard an enormous explosion outside, and the chandeliers are swaying slightly - I think the motley scored a direct hit with the PIAT!
Finally -
Conrad is unsure why his notebook has an entry from yesterday about "Angry Ruffians" yet there it is. Of course, your average Ruffian has a lot to be angry about, probably most of all that the rest of the world doesn't love them enough, and secondly that Tsar Putin seems determined to turn the clock back to 1975, and thirdly that it's not so easy to fly to This Sceptred Isle and do a P. G. Wodehouse scenic tour.
I dunno. Perhaps it'll come to me later on after a brandy or two.
Ruffian brandy. It is a thing.
Right, I'd better go call a scrap metal merchant and see if they collect. Later!
* Or not. One of the two.
** Not outward. I am quite large enough already.
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