Sugar And Spice And All Things Fatal

I Refer, Once Again -

To "Squid Game", that gorily entertaining Stork television series.  Imagine one of those mad Japanese game shows like "Takeshi's Castle" except in this version the losers end up getting shot dead.  Nobody realised just how deadly this series of 'games' would be or none of them would have volunteered - probably.  After all, they are all chasing a ₩45,000,000,000 prize*.

     SPOILERS AHEAD!

     STILL SPOILERS AHEAD!

     I WARNED YOU.

     After the initial carnage, those survivors remaining take a vote to end the games, as the third game rule allows, and pass the motion by one.  They are returned to civilisation unharmed yet comatose under anaesthetic, with no clue where they were or how to get there.

Here it is.  Wherever that is.

     "As if they'd return!" you scoff.  Hmmmm.  Well, the severe debt and financial problems these people return to haven't either gone away nor got easier.  Eventually, when contacted again to see if they want to return to the game, all but 14 do.

     Sensible 14!  Miserable and indebted yet undoubtedly still alive 14!

     Because for the next 'game' the contestants have to etch a specific shape out of  shallow circle of honeycomb with a needle.  Without cracking the shape.  Art!

That'll teach him to be a fan of "The Umbrella Academy"

     Some shapes are harder than others.  Gi-hun, as seen above, has a revelation that if the rear of the honeycomb is licked, it gradually becomes thinner and he eventually produces a pristine umbrella.  Others who crack theirs, or who fail to complete against the clock, are - and you're probably way ahead of me here - shot dead on the spot.  All 79 of them.

     Erk.  These games are played for keeps.  Only 108 players left from an original 456?  One-fifth left after only TWO games?

A bit Rhine card, if you ask me.

     Conrad decided to call the series 'Grand Guignol' and then had to go and look up the phrase that came so glibly to his lips.  Okay okay, fingers.  Fingers, for the excessively pedantic out there, and I was right.  It was a French theatre of the late nineteenth century that specialised in realistic, gruesome horror shows.

     

     Motley!  Do you fancy a bit of honeycomb?

Plodding Along With The Musical Critique

This has taken ages to resolve, hasn't it?  Blame Brian Eno, not Your Humble Scribe, it's his fault for writing so many lyrics in "King's Lead Hat".  I bet he got paid by the word, the piker.  Let us resume:

He tries to dial out 999999999

Then he's not going to connect, is he? Or he'll get an outside line nine times.  Or the emergency telephone service operator three times.

"Rona hated prank callers on the 999 line'"

He dials reception (moving finger) he's all alone

O?  What happened to the carful of turkeys?  Don't tell me, they're a Thanksgiving dinner by now

Serves them right for driving a car

He's just a victim of the telephone

So are we all, matey, so are we all.  

The evil legacy of Alexander Graham Bell

King's lead hat made the Amazon much wider, it will come, it will come, it will surely come

How can a single lead hat carry out dredging operations in Brazil!

     

Meet the SS Do Rei Chumbo Chapeu

     I think that's enough musical critique for one night.  We only have another three lines to endure, folks!

Talking Of Lines -

No!  Nothing to do with telephones.  Think instead of railways - I know this is risky, what with the sinister steam locomotives always hanging around, ready to intrude onto the blog** - and railway lines.  For we are able to bring you more pages from "The War Illustrated" as of seventy nine years ago, in what I thought was Issue 138.  I'd actually put a bookmark in the wrong place, so the year was more advanced than I'd thought.  However, because I bothered to take the photos, you are MOST CERTAINLY going to experience them.  Art!

     This, gentle reader, is a Sinister armoured train.  The Sinisters had long experience of using this kind of vehicle, going all the way back to the Civil War, and the Revolution before that. You would armour a locomotive, then add on various carriages that had been armoured, too, and stick a few obsolete tank turrets on them, plus a good few machine guns for good measure.  The result was a mobile metal fortress that could achieve thirty miles an hour, even in the extremes of a Ruffian winter.  Below the train you can see an armoured car, adapted to run on railway tracks, which would beetle along well in advance to spot any potential targets or ambushes.  Art!

"According to this, we're in Vienna."

     Railway lines in the Sinister Union were of immense importance, because they could operate unimpaired all year round, whereas the primitive and underdeveloped road network collapsed in the excessively wet weather of spring and autumn.  Little wonder, therefore, that they had the big brutal beasts steaming up and down said lines.  Art!

"London salutes the ever-glorious Red Army"

     This probably got so many people into trouble in later years .....

     Here you see an appreciative crowd saluting the Red Army, which at this point in the war was still losing to the Hitlerites (we are talking pre-Stalingrad here).  However, they were still fighting ferociously, weren't even close to giving up and had learned the very, very hard way how to fight the invading Teutons.  One hopes that some of the ungracious and ungrateful Sinister ambassadors were watching this performance, the pikers.

Finally -

Yes yes yes, I have oodles of ordure to ladle out over the ne'er do wells and pikers who make up Codeword compilers in the modern world, I just haven't had enough time or space to get around to traducing and excoriating them.  For one thing, I've spent a lot of time putting together that 3D Empire State Building puzzle literally piece by piece.  The picture on the box of front and back are pretty useless, so I've had to arrange hundreds of pieces by shape and work that way.  This makes progress verrrrrry slow.  It's still progress, mind.  Art!

What I'm working from

*  Or £28,000,000

**  This is why The Mansion is protected by a Magma Moat filled with lava.

Binging On Storks

If You Know Anything About BOOJUM!

Then you know we have a series of sardonic names for the nations of the world.  Britain, for example, is either Perfidious Albion (an epithet dating from the nineteenth century, so Conrad didn't invent it because people already thought badly of us) or This Sceptred Isle.  France is the M8s, because we are such splendid friends now (this has not always been the case and in fact we have been enemies for so long that this whole 'friends' thing is still a bit of a novelty).  The Germans are the Teutons, which is impressively free from insult.  Our oil-field chums the Norwegians are the Norks - said with a merry laugh, which is important for later.  Art!

Norway.  Home to the Norks.

     Across the Atlantic we have South Canada, our appellation for the United States of America, because Conrad refuses to accept the end result of the American Revolution, and the British Americans are the Canadians, because they are, and whom also get described as the Canuckistanians, because they are too polite to object.  Then we have the Ruffians, so-called after their ballfoot fans ascribed to be the most hooliganest of fans in a ballfoot competition*.  Also in Asia is the Populous Dictatorship; officially it's acronym is "P.R.C." which would lead to a very rude name indeed, so they can stay the Populous Dictatorship.  Then we come to the meat of the matter, as I like to say.  North Korea, the bankrupt international pariah whose economy consists of famine and nuclear missiles; they are the Norks, said with a sneer.  Art!

The Norks by night

     Conrad is unaware that there is any entertainment industry in Norkland, and if there is it probably creates films three hours long entitled "White Hot Thrill Of Potato Harvesting!" or television program serials thirty-three hours long about "How 132nd Engineering Battalion Built A Bridge Out Of Human Bones Of Evil Traitors Who Dared To Die Without Permission"

     And so we come to the gravy upon the meat of the matter (yes yes yes a strained analogy, so what, it's not as if you have to pay to read this): South Korea, whose population I have just decided gets the name of - Storks.  Art!

     Erk.  Apparently that above is an Oriental Stork, which were once native to South Korea but which died out in the Seventies.  There was a restoration program launched with the acquisition of a breeding pair from the Ruffians**, which has been a major success with 140 storks now reared from chicks.

     None of which was known to me when I made my bold naming decision.  Serendipity, hmmm?

     

Art, time for you and the Tazer to have a little chat

Onto The Herb Garnish On Top Of The Gravy On The Meat Of The Matter

Ha!  Do you see how I turned that strained analogy around and totally owned it?  Back to the Storks and a drama series of theirs called "Squid Game", which I have to warn I am going to create SPOILERS for.

GAP FOR THOSE STILL MAKING THEIR MINDS UP

FURTHER GAP FOR THOSE WHO ARE INDECISIVE

MAKE YOUR MIND UP ALREADY!

     The strange title comes from a Stork children's game, played on the outline of a giant squid (absent the tentacles).  The premise is that we follow chief protagonist Seong Gi-Hun, who is absolutely down on his luck and in heavy debt to people you don't want to owe a single Won to.  

Seong.  A bit weaselly but fundamentally decent

He enrols in a series of 6 games, being contestant 456 of 456 total; the ominous beginning of his game playing consists of being gassed into unconsciousness before waking up in a giant dormitory with 455 other track-suit clad players.  Art!

     Everyone present is there because they are in dire financial straits, and because the total prize money on offer is £28,000,000 (or W45,000,000,000).  Their first game is "Red Light, Green Light" where a giant manequin begins facing a wall.  On the phrase "Green Light" players move towards the finish line; on the phrase "Red Light" they have to stop moving.  They have five minutes to cross the finish line.  "Anyone moving after 'Red Light' will be eliminated" declares the announcer.

     And how.  Art?

     "Eliminated" by being immediately shot dead.  This provokes a panicked stampede towards the firmly closed entrance doors, and Every. Single. One. of these people are shot dead.

     You remember that starting total of 456?  Well at the end of this game there are 201 survivors.  And that's only one of six games.

     More to come!

"#Alive"

Currently watching this entertaining - if somewhat cliched - Stork zombie film, about a young man trapped in an apartment building when the Zombie Apocalypse arrives.  He makes contact with a young woman on the opposite side of the complex, trailing a cable to her via drone and communicating via walkie-talkie.  Art!

     Kim and Joon-Woo (which sounds like a love song!).  Suffice it to say that the Script Gods were looking after Kim, since she leaves her apartment balcony windows completely uncovered, meaning any zombie shambling by has a good chance of seeing her.  But, hey! she's got natural light!

     Their 'escape plan' lacks any subtlety; rappel to the ground and outrun the zombie hordes seems to be the whole of it.  How about 'Decoy them away to the other side of the complex by dropping things off a balcony'?  Or 'Thin the hordes out by dropping things on them from the eighth floor'?  Really!  Has neither of them ever sat down to work out a Zombie Escape Plan***?  Art!

Ooops.  Wrong floor!

     Kim does come up with an ingenious way of clearing a balcony - of which I shall say no more.

Conrad.  Was Bad.

I heartily apologise for going and reading an old "Doctor Who" fanfiction of mine that I wrote so long ago I'd forgotten the details, and continued reading when I ought to have been blogging <hangs head in shame>.  It's called "The Sea Of Sand" and is one of those deadly serious fanfics that doesn't have The Doctor indulging in romancing a Mary Sue companion whom is a thinly disguised author.  Here's the link if you fancy a long, rather complex story:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2824071/7/The-Sea-of-Sand

This gives you a sense of time and place

Finally -

What a dirty dismal day it's been!  Once again the Atlantic has been paying us a visit in it's generosity about reducing drought.  So a soggy September says goodbye.  Sapristi!

*  Don't ask me which one, I've got no idea.

**  Kudos to the Ruffians.  See, they can do the decent thing when they try.

***  Conrad has seven and is working on Eight and Nine.

One Step Closer To Robert Heinlein

Good Thing?  Bad Thing?

That depends on your perspective.  Ol' Bob wrote of a fairly optimistic future, if not quite along the lines of Arthur C. Clarke then certainly nothing like the utter dystopian bleakness of Mister Ballard.  You have YA novels like "Have Spacesuit Will Travel" and others such as "Glory Road".  More worryingly he also wrote "The Moon Is A Hard Mistress" which features a rebellious nascent lunar nation declaring independence from Earth.  There is much bloodshed.  I shan't go into the plot as it's far too complicated, but there is a bombardment of Earth using magnetic catapults, which has probably given the wrong people an idea -

"Target acquired"

     "What is the old buffoon wittering on about now?" I hear you ask.  "Has he been at the cooking sherry again?"

     Pausing only to observe that sherry is vile and only fit to de-clog drains, I shall elucidate.

     I refer, of course - obviously! - to the crew of amateur astronauts who were lofted into orbit earlier this week, aboard the Inspiration4.  Let's have a picture of the happy little campers, shall we, Art?

     Information about them, their mission and what they are up to is limited, because Netflix is going to be releasing a film of their endeavours.  We know they have adjusted to micro-gravity (the current buzz-word because nobody wants to be uncool and say 'weightlessness') and are carrying out experiments.  Art!

     The Robert Heinlein bit comes from what you might call the nature of the beast, as the beast in question is the Dragon, as supplied by entrepreneur Elon Musk, he of Space X.  One of the amateurs is a billionaire and was thus able to 'hire' the capsule, and to have it adapted (see above) with a glass dome for viewing utility.  Nice if you have the cash to do it.  

Conrad still worried about those catapults, though -

     - because there are people working on them right now.  Art!

     

     Motley, break out the welding rods and a ton of structural steel - we need to come up with an anti-catapult catapult*!

How A Carpenter Invented Beer

Hmmmm once again I didn't think that this blog would have a theme, but it seems to be heading that way.  Good thing?  Bad thing?  Only you can tell**!

     Okay, so that ground-breaking South Canadian documentary maker John Carpenter got his break into that genre by making what amounted to a calling-card film: "Dark Star".  This is the only fiction film of his terrifying oeuvre, and if Art can -

Tagline: "Bombed out in space with a spaced-out bomb"

     There you go.  Now, you know Conrad, ever one to trawl the shelves of beers, wines and spirits to seek out anything worthy of being milked for a pun or publicity, and Lo! we found one.  Art?

     They can't use copyrighted images, obviously, so what they've done with that illustration is to demonstrate that the astronaut who went surfing into the planet's atmosphere (see lower port of DVD cover) survived.  He then found local flora that approximated to the hop plants of Earth and survived by eating them.  Nothing could be clearer!

     I hope John gets a royalty payment.

Thanks To Frank's -

Artwork.  For Lo! we are back with the artwork Mister Tinsley did for Mechanix Illustrated (TUTS LOUDLY AT THE COD SPELLING) and the first illustration that Google throws up is also one of the more intriguing ones.  Art!

      First of all, let me explain "Atoms For Peace".  This was a South Canadian initiative during the Cold War, which sought to promote the use of nuclear energy for civilian purposes.  Thus you got the nuclear-powered freighter 'Savannah'.  Frank has given us an airship with a nuclear reactor for power, and you can just see the whirling propeller blades at the stern.  It looks as if the pontoons, in their lowered position, allow the airship to land on water in order to take on passengers and supplies; you can see recesses in the hull they retract into to create an aerodynamic profile with less drag when airborne.  Nice detail there, Frank!  Note also that the nose houses an enormous radar dish, and just visible behind this are windows that must delineate the bridge.  

     Conrad is guessing here as there doesn't seem to be any great depth of information available, so: this is the minimum-sized vehicle possible that can carry the mass of a nuclear reactor and still fly.  It loads and unloads over water because that way the chance of any accident causing a radiation hazard is minimised.  Art!

The Sinisters had a similar idea

     Dog Buns!  That's twice a bus has gone past with a poster for a new film and I've been too slow to catch what it was, bar "Venom -".  Doubtless a film about snake-farming.

Chopper Chick Reviews A Flick

Hmmm nothing to do with spaceships or atomic engines, for which you may be grateful.  Or not, I really don't care***.  No, I refer one again to the personable Vernice Armour, ex-combat chopper pilot, who was assessing some helichopter scenes from "Spectre", which for your information is one of the James Bond franchise and nothing to do with ghosts.  Art!

James and generic baddy getting joggy with it

     Here Vernice takes exception to the helichopter bucking wildly about as the two men squabble heatedly - oh, alright: fight.  There.  Happy now? - in the back, because their intense argument fisticuffs wouldn't affect the flight performance and shouldn't affect the pilot.  Art!

"Do not do a barrel-roll!"
They do a barrel-roll.

     As Vernice points out, a helichopter cannot do this; if it strays too far from the horizontal (over 500)it will fall out of the sky BECAUSE IT IS NOT AN AIRPLANE.  Two different aerodynamic profiles and performances.  She awards it a severely critical 3 out of 10.  Must try harder!

Finally -

I wish this weather would maintain a little consistency.  When I came down to breakfast the sun was beaming from an uncluttered sky.  By the time I'd made my cheese, mushroom and ham toastie, it was bucketing down.  So much for sitting in the back yard doing a crossword.  Then it cleared up again, and has been sunny all the time I've been typing this.  Now that I've finished and have time to take Edna for a trot - the clouds have rolled back in and it's like sitting inside a coal-sack.  Bah!

The article whilst full

     And on that rather grey and depressing note, I think we are O so very done.

*  Are you listening, NASA?

**  Any responses of "Bad thing" will result in Remote Nuclear Detonation.  Just so we're clear.

***  I'm horrid that way

Plane Tales

Yes, We Are Back With Frank Tinsley

That - ah - visionary of the future, shall we say, although quite what future is another question altogether.  Frank's artwork, you see, was never one to acknowledge the constricting strait-jacket of boring things like reality and normality.  O no!  Frank's art encapsulated the approach of modern physics: if it's not forbidden then it's possible.  Let us now prod Art into consciousness with a red-hot pitchfork -

     They're pretty adept at cranking out the purple prose, hmmm?  Let me answer that question bottom-backwards:  Is this our newest secret weapon?

     That would be a loud and resounding NO.  I can say this with confidence because the South Canadians never flew an aircraft like this.  It seems to be a variety of biplane, powered by two propeller engines - if you look closely you can see the whirling of the blades - and with a bit of rocket-assist under the rear fuselage.  The nose seems to positively bristle with guns, so much so that one would expect the craft to stall when they all fired at once.  Art!

The less garish inner version, where it seems to be firing rockets, too

     The term used is 'Sky sniper' which Conrad, of course - obviously! - jibs at, because a sniper does their dirty work surreptitiously at a distance, whereas Frank's flying mallet has all the subtlety and distance of a punch in the face.  Note that if you are close enough to engage the opposition with machine-guns, then they can reciprocate the favour.  And you have nothing to hide behind.  Art!

The P38 Lightning, a possible inspiration?

     One advantage of having your nosecone stuffed with infernal engines is that there is no need to work out deflection angles at distances, and the concentrated opprobrium of said firepower often convinces the opponent to cower in safety.

     Before you chastise Conrad for being churlish, don't forget that Frank made a decent living providing his artwork, and we shall see how he possibly influenced one or two other folks of some import.

     Motley, these batteries are dead.  Go out into the storm with this cable, will you, and hold that twenty-foot steel rod up high until you get approached by a streak of 

BOOJUM! Reviews Things!

As you should surely know by now, Your Humble Scribe likes to have nothing fewer than three films or television programs to impugn review, and was racking his brains for a third item, when he realised, with a jolt of delighted malice  surprise, that he had a third victim prospect to analyse.  Without further ado -

"My Little Pony": Egad!  The tagline blathers about a new film for a new generation - excuse ME but I don't believe I've ever heard the pre-pubescent female youth of today bleating piteously about a lack of MLP in their lives.  What, are sales of merchandise down?  Conrad cannot watch so much as a trailer for this hideous farrago because the sugar content would bring on a diabetic coma.  Art!

So wrong in so many ways

"No Time To Die": Very possibly the last James Bond film to be made, as there are all sorts of rumours floating around that Ol' Jim is to be put out to grass and his place be taken by a strapping young black woman, and we shall then have the adventures of Jane Bond.  We shall see, one supposes.  Or, perhaps the title refers to Ol' Jim becoming a zombie as they aren't really dead, are they?  Then again, perhaps he becomes a punchy-fisty time-traveller with absolutely no scruples about killing people.  Or - why not combine the two?  And have him travel in a red telephone box, because that's ever so British, whilst drinking tea strengthened with a little malt whisky, for the export market.  Art!

And the telephone box can morph into a Challenger tank!

"Bedknobs And Broomsticks":  NO!  Not the beloved old Disney film from 1971 that Conrad saw as a youngster, before he developed an unbridled loathing of all musicals.  You know, the one with that animated football match that mixed the human cast in with cartoon characters, and the Teuton's invading party get sent to the devil by suits of armour come alive -

     Sorry, typical BOOJUM!, going on about what we're not going on about.

     No, it seems that some repellent oik has turned the film into a MUSICAL that is touring This Sceptred Isle even as I type.  Conrad noticed an advert for it on one of the electronic billboards in The Dark Tower this morning; fortunately another one came on before I was compelled to destroy it.

Conrad: still hates all musicals!

We Haven't Forgotten You, Brian

Eno, that is.  Look, don't blame me if this Little Musical Critique of "King's Lead Hat" is taking forever, blame Bri for writing loads of lyrics.  Lyrics which make little sense.  How little sense?  O I thought you'd never ask!

The satellite distorts his voice to a slur

How astoundingly prescient!  This is decades before satellite phone technology, you know

Also makes a handy club in a pinch

He gives orders (finger pie) which no one hears

Send a text, mate.  Also Conrad not keen on this "finger pie" mentioned.

Unless - is it a fish finger pie?

The king's hat fits over their ears

But not their eyes.  Which is why you need to send a text.

He takes his modicate (indecipherable) cold turpentine

This may refer to medication.  CAUTION! turpentine is HIGHLY TOXIC!  Do not ingest!

     Although blithely swanning about wearing a hat made out of toxic heavy metal is not going to be good for you, either.

     Aaaaaaaaaand we're still nowhere near the end.  Box of tissues for Bri!

I know what you're thinking.  "My how mellow has Conrad been, no invective ladled upon Codewords today!"

     Er yes, because I've not done one for a while and need to work up the whole Righteous Indignation Tending To Rancorous Anger; it doesn't come naturally, you know.

Finally -

O what a miserable morning today's was.  I swear I saw a fish or two fall from the skies, since the Atlantic had come to visit us.  Your Humble Scribe got indoors cold and wet, before settling down to breakfast, and I tell you, that bowl of porridge has never tasted better!  I would call it ambrosia if I didn't think you'd confuse it with rice pudding.

     Conrad was also glad of his Purple Polish stew.  Definitely weather for stew.

     And with that we are ever so done.

Frank's Tanks

Conrad Is Traducing Frank A Little 

But hey, he's been worm-fodder for the past 55 years, so he can't sue Conrad for slander or libel.  Tee hee!

     Francis Xavier Theban Tinsley, to give him his full and quite splendid name, was a South Canadian artist and illustrator who worked in the pulp magazine publications of the time, doing both cover and internal illustrations.  The covers tended to be in screaming primary colours with the internal artwork being more sedately monochrome - usually.  We have seen Frank's imagination at work with his 'Baby Battle Buggy' and the - ah - how shall we put it? - frankly* barmy scheme to irrigate the Southern Californian desert.  Art!

Why?  Because it's a very daft idea.

     A tank, as I'm sure you perceptive readers have noticed, is not a submarine.  Frank proposed that these metal monsters be dropped off well out at sea from a mothership, and make their way ashore where they appear to be terrifying either Nork or Populous Dictatorship minions.  You can indeed seal a tank and render it watertight, but you then have the problem of getting air to the engine and allowing exhaust fumes to escape, otherwise you will poison the crew.  Art!

     Please note the absence of any 'breathing' equipment for the tank.  Don't try and get by with "Electric motors!  Electric motors!" because the electric motor required to shift a thirty-ton metal monster 1) hasn't been invented yet and 2) would be as big as the tank itself.  

      Plus, what is this tank armed with?  We can see a bow-mounted machine-gun and a very short-barrelled affair projecting from the turret.  Is this akin to those ridiculously short-barrelled guns from the Thirties?  Art!

Yeah.  Also, no.

     The Teutons experimented with amphibious tanks in 1940, when they fondly imagined that they were going to invade This Sceptred Isle.  They trialled having a tank drive along the bottom of the seabed whilst having a floating platform above, which intook air and exhausted fumes via a pipe.  The trials went fairly well, because they were conducted on very gradually shelving shorelines with no obstacles - and nobody shooting at them.  As Conrad has pointed out before, a tank like Frank's, bimbling along the ocean floor, has to contend with currents, an utter lack of sunlight, rock formations, forests of seaweed, channels and dips in the seabed, not to mention inquisitive fish.  Art!

Meanwhile, back in the real world ...

     Those two giant manifolds allow air in and exhaust out, meaning the tank can be let down in about ten feet of water and drive off without adverse consequences, with the commander able to see all before him thanks to being able to look out of the turret, not a periscope.  Rather less dramatic than Frank's wild years - ooops sorry, Frank's wild visions.

     Reality.  What a buzz-kill, hmmmm?
     I say, motley, shall we see if a pipe connected to the car's exhaust and another over the bonnet will allow us to drive out to sea and back?

Perhaps not

Further To "The Great Escape"

There is doubtless an essay to be written on why we the British made so many films and television programs set in prisoner-of-war camps.  One of the biggest television hits of the Seventies was "Colditz" which was unbelievably bleak and - once again - exclusively cast with white males.  Maybe you had to be there (and Conrad loved loved loved it by the way).

British and Allied tourist accomodation

     ANYWAY we mentioned TGE earlier, and if you've seen the film - I think it's an act of treason not to have done so if you're British - then you know that the Teutons, quite against the Geneva Convention, line up captured escapees and mow them down with machine-guns.  Fifty of them were killed, and do you know, the British did not take this lightly.  Winston Churchill, for one, demanded that the killers be brought to justice regardless of fripperies like, oooh, you know, the law.  And so began a manhunt involving human bloodhounds from the Special Air Service.  There is a book that Conrad is fated to get at some point - 

     I shall let you know what transpires.

     TOO MUCH GRIM! LIGHTEN THE TONE!  FROTHY NONSENSE!  FIRE THROWING CLOWNS!

     Okay perhaps not fire-throwing clowns.  They're a safety hazard.  And you cannot deny that clowns out of context are scary.  Hence coulrophobia.

     Er - we seem to have drifted a little from the 'frothy nonsense' goal.  Hang on, let me just give Reality a kick -

Conrad Is ANGRY!

First of all I am angry at "Strictly Come Dancing" which I am convinced is a giant joke aimed at myself, and then at "Ru Paul's Drag Race" because a bunch of men slathered in make-up in dresses is not proper television.  Do NOT get me started on the ballfoot game and how it infests the airwaves as I would rather enter SCD as an RPDR contestant than watch ballfoot on television.  When I take over there are going to be changes - O such changes**!

     ANYWAY onto why I am churlish and truculent today.  Yes yes yes it's to do with Codewords.

"SCHERZOS": <sounds of Conrad choking with rage> WHAT ARE WE ALL CLASSICALLY-TRAINED MUSICIANS NOW?  Your Modest Artisan is aware that a 'scherzo' is a musical artform of some description, but only because his music span is more than from 2015 onward.  Defined as "A brisk, lively movement" and that's because I shall be shooting at your feet.

I am almost afraid to Google

"USURY": Bah!  This one threw me because I was originally convinced it was going to be "USURP" as nobody nowadays bothers with the Deadly Sin.  Which was lending money with interest.  If this was still a sin then no bank in the Northern or Western hemisphere would be able to wriggle out of being as morally black as tar.

A barrister and a banker.  World beware!

"VIRTUOSO": Okay, this is a word in more current usage than some others ( I'm looking at you ZEUGMA) but in a Codeword it's still pretty Dog Buns hard to solve thanks to it's <checks Collins Concise> Late Latin roots.

Keyboard virtuoso Rick Wakeman.
When he was younger, thinner and nowhere near as grumpy

*  See what I did there?

**  Quiver in fear now as there won't be time later.