I Type - Of Snipe

No!  Not The Bird

<martyred sigh> I suppose Conrad needs to demonstrate what he's NOT talking about, since none of you out there are ornithologists, are you.  Art!

<loud exasperated noises>

     No, Art, that's a Sopwith Snipe, a scout from the First Unpleasantness - O go on, now that we're here.  It came into service in October of 1918, only being issued to a few squadrons.  Speed was only average but it could whiz in a circle on a sixpence whilst upside down and back to front with the pilot having a refreshing cup of tea, and it could climb like an Olympic sprinter going up a high-speed elevator.  One of the most successful Snipe pilots was 

     ANYWAY the bird, Art, the bird!  

D'you want it in Latin?
Scolopacidae Gallinago

     Blimey that snow's not letting up, and it's sticking, too - I wonder if that will affect Worst Bus' already dismal Sunday service?  Better keep track!

     ANYWAY we've already spent <counts> a hundred and sixty words on what we're not talking about, which is about par for the course here.  Art!

From "The War Illustrated"

   Briefly put, 2nd Battalion The Rifle Brigade got itself dug into a position codenamed "Snipe", which just so happened to be in the middle of the Axis defence lines.  They brought with them nineteen of the new 6 pounder anti-tank gun, which would turn any Axis tank into a colander up to a mile away.  Next morning any Axis tank that came within range was knocked out, until it finally dawned on the enemy that there was a large anti-tank force squarely in the middle of their position.  Ooops!  There were relentless attacks on Snipe by tanks and infantry and both combined, all of which failed with heavy losses.  The survivors evacuated their position just before midnight, taking the breechblocks and sights from the few workable guns left.  The Axis left 37 burned-out hulks on the battlefield and recovered another 20, meaning that 15% of Rommel's tank strength had gone in failing to over-run a single position.  Art!

     That cockily smiling chap in the TWI article is Sergeant Callistan, who got a DCM, and who went back to kiss his gun when they were pulling out, the big softy (probably unwise to say that to his face).

     

Still snowing heavily and I've not noticed the sound of any buses going past.  Oooer Matron!  O there was one, and it was going uphill - hopeful sign.  ANYWAY

Is Conrad Seething?  You Betcha!

As ever, the two-sided nature of Codeword's unfair solutions crops up.  Yes, they send me into my state of Frothing Nitric Ire, yet they also provide grist for the content mill, as they are always abstruse and exotic and frequently foreign.  For instance:

"PLEXUS": No!  Not a sequel to Baron and Rude's "Nexus".  My Collins Concise details this as "Any complex network of nerves, blood vessels or lymphatic vessels".  Inevitably from the Latin, 'Plectere" which means "To braid".  Art!

FAR cooler than a bunch of nerves

"BHAJI": Admittedly this isn't that obscure, but you can't argue that it's not foreign, and like a lot of the boundary-stretching words, is a foodstuff.  From the Hindi 'Bhaji' meaning 'fried vegetables'.  Makes a change from Greek or Latin, I suppose.  Art!

Close enough

"HYDROXYL": WHAT ARE WE ALL CHEMISTS NOW! Do you see why I seethe so seriously?  Two of the most infrequent letters of the alphabet show up, one of them turning up twice, in an eight-letter word that has only one vowel?

CAUTION! Explodey stuff.

     Best I end now or the red mist might descend again.

Poisoned Provender

More of the fascinating and horrifying adulteration of food in the Victorian era, after which series of articles you will be heartily glad we live in an age when the worst that might happen is your ready meal has horsemeat instead of beef.  Art!

The staff of life!

     Except not so much.  In fact in the Victorian era as a staff it would have been applied with force to your head, because nearly all commercially made bread was made with alum.  Nowadays this is used as in detergents or styptic pencils and most certainly NOT in bread.  The bakers back then mixed in generous amounts of alum because it made the bread look whiter, and retained moisture, so a loaf seemed heavier.  Never mind that the levels used caused chronic constipation and stomach upsets that could be fatal to small children - baker's gotta make a profit!

Time For "Tormentor"

CAUTION!  This is not the usual cheery nonsense and shooting from the lip that constitutes the rest of BOOJUM!  You can look upon it as being my Every-clown-wants-to-play-Hamlet gig.  Dark stuff.  I have attempted to censor the swearing but it's still not suitable for small children.

He rang Angela at ten, only to get the engaged tone.  The engaged tone was still there at half ten, when he tried again.

              Coldly sober, Louis put on a coat and left the house, slamming the door with force.  Sod the neighbours, he was angry and upset.

              Walking out of the cul-de-sac, he noticed a strange intermittent blue flashing at the junction, coming from a light source hidden from him by the houses on his left. 

              Burglar alarm?  No – police cars.

              In fact it was an ambulance, parked opposite the alleyway that led to the rear door of houses fronting the main road.  Louis found his rapid pace slowing with dread, a horrid twisting sensation curling up around his stomach.  He stopped opposite the ambulance, unable to bring himself to get any closer, mind racing yet dwelling on nothing, his thoughts chasing themselves around in a circle.  Off in the alleyway a policeman held up a powerful torch, shining it into a rear yard.  Light reflected intensely off flourescent, high-visibility clothing, the type worn by paramedics. 

              ‘Can you move away, sir,’ asked another policeman, crossing the road to Louis, who looked dumbly at the dancing torchlight, the frosty exhalations of the police, and the bobbing motion of the party-hidden paramedics.

              ‘Is she alright?’ blurted Louis.  ‘Have they found her?’

              ‘Can you move away, now, sir,’ asked the policeman again, beginning to sound less polite and more annoyed.

              The flourescent coats were rustling and moving around, clanking a metallic object along the concrete yard.  Louis began to back off, walking backwards, keeping the alleyway in sight.  The policeman followed him.

     Not good news.

Finally -

It's still snowing, if not quite as heavily as before.  No, strike that, just as heavily as before.  Conrad can see his constitutional into Royton being rather risky, because if there aren't any buses running to Rochdale, I'd have to walk back on foot as well.  Of course - obviously! - people are turning up in hordes to go sledging in Tandle Hill Park, so were Your Modest Artisan to take the car, we might well lose our parking spot.

     Anyway, I shall have to finish here.  Our new tumble-drier arrived earlier this morning, and for the first time in over a week I can put on a wash, which I have done.  Now Conrad has to go negotiate the dials and settings of the new one.  Wish me luck!  Art?

The beast in question!