Come And Ogle -

At Charles Schreyvogel!

I think they're both pronounced the same, which will have to do for the moment as there are no native German speakers in The Mansion tonight.  Yes yes yes, GSG 9 are German, and they are occasionally at The Mansion, but only ever to eavesdrop electronically and keep a weather eye on Conrad.

     ANYWAY let us now bring forward that splendidly-named South Canadian artist, Charles Schreyvogel, one of whose artworks ("My Bunkie") we displayed last night.  Art!

     When displayed in 1899 it made him instantly famous overnight.  

     "But there's no bunk!" I hear you complain.  Really!  It's South Canadian cavalry slang for 'my bunkmate'; the implication is that the bunkie, for reasons unknown but probably related to hostile Native Americans, is horseless, and his best mate is not going to leave him behind if he can possibly prevent it.  So.  Ol' Chas' name is German for "Scream Bird", if you can believe that*.  He had no formal art education and was entirely self-taught in both drawing and painting.  Art!

"Even Chances"

     A sardonic sense of humour, too.  It might strain credibility, for Ol' Chas portrayed all these epic landscapes and encounters from the sternly urban environment of Hoboken, New York.  Art!

CAUTION! Please be aware of lack of prairie

     As it looks today; from this angle and lighting perhaps not that dissimilar to Ol' Chas' studio apartment back in the day.  I'm assuming he had a studio apartment, he was an artist, right?

     Motley, we're going to be the Apaches, and you can be the Seventh Cavalry, and we'll give you a five-minute start.

"Porrohman" By Big Country

Conrad is unsure why that wretched children's nursery song about the canine guardian on an agricultural establishment in South Canada is going through his mind.  You know the one, " - and Bingo was his name-o".

     ANYWAY as a mental enema, I went over to Youtube last night and played "Porrohman" - Conrad unsure if he's got the album it came from, "The Crossing", which is an oversight if not.  It's a cracking debut, well worth listening to, and electrifying when it came out (Conrad old enough to remember this well).

The talented but haunted Stuart Adamson

     And - tee hee! - I've got it playing in the background RIGHT NOW!  Your Humble Scribe has absolutely no idea what the heck the song's about, just that it sounds spectacular.  I seem to remember that HG Wells wrote a short story that had something to do with Porrohmen, which I may have to investigate.  I'll let you know.

Whilst On Matters Caledonian

For Stuart was very, very Scottish.  The BBC, that font of all that's fit to be writ, had a series of photographs today that illustrated exactly what a 'temperature inversion' is, all from Scotland.  Interesting in that they show what a rocky, mountainous, unforgiving (if beautiful) landscape Scotland has.  Get lost on the moors above Manchester in December and you might escape with no more than mild hypothermia; get lost in the Highlands in December and it will be three months before the snows thaw enough to discover your carcase. Art!

     I know, I know, it looks like "Godzilla Versus The Smog Monster" depicted by Dada.  A temperature inversion is where higher ground is warmer than lower ground, meaning that clouds and fog form at low level whilst the air on hills and mountains remains clear.  Art!

Courtesy Phil Waite

     This is a shot of Liathach and Benn Eighe from Sgurr Dubh, with Glen Torridon being filled with clouds and no, I have no idea how these Gaelic names are pronounced.  Next!

From The Sublime To The Bad Time

For Lo! time for another instalment of "Tormentor", since nobody's actually come out and said 'Stop!' which defaults in Conrad's head to 'Please carry on, we can't get enough!"

‘Only an hour after the event.  Quite speedy,’ he greeted them on the doorstep.

               The two police constables exchanged glances of puzzlement.

               ‘We’re here to see if you might recognise any potential suspects, sir,’ explained one.

               ‘What event might that be, sir?’ asked the second, his police antennae patently twitching.

               ‘There was a little disturbance in connection with yesterday,’ Louis tried, not wanting to give much away.

               ‘The paint?’ asked the first officer.  ‘You did a good job of cleaning up.’

               ‘Look, do you want to come in,’ asked Louis, trying to distract them.  Distracted himself, he didn’t speak with his usual citric wit.  Once in the lounge he looked to see if Jennifer’s shade was around.  No.  Coast clear.

               ‘We have brought police identification records for you to vet, Mister McMahon.  In case you recognise any of the potential suspects.’

               The records were big box lever files, full of photographs of suspects.  Louis sat down and flicked past several hundred photos before he recognised one that Jennifer would have pounced upon.  In fact he felt sweatily aware that her spirit was due to turn up soon, and might make a big fuss over the pictures. 

               ‘This one looks familiar,’ he said, tapping the photo of a man with scruffy blond bleached hair.  ‘I think I’ve seen him around here.’

               One officer made a note of this observation.

               ‘Can you say where, sir?’

               Louis shrugged.

               ‘Sorry, no, not really.  I work in a college with twelve hundred students and he could be any one of them.’

Part of his awareness felt stunned that this was real, that the spirit had identified a real person, who must have a criminal record already, to be in a book of police suspects.

               One officer scribbled in a notebook whilst Louis went through the rest of the file, momentarily distracted by catching something moving in the corner of his eye.  

     Aha!  I see a plot hole here.  Here's Luma, beaten over the scapula with a baseball bat, entirely unaffected that we know of.  One presumes he ran it under a cold tap?  Also an older, wiser Conrad is not sure that the police use lever-arch files of suspect's photos any longer instead of using VIPER.  O well, we can excuse that by saying it's 'a period drama'

Proof Of Cake

I did inform you skeptics that I'd baked one last night, to a vegan recipe, which was a novel process for me.  Did it for Darling Daughter, who is due to visit tomorrow, birthday catch-up and all that, and she will have to take home every bit that she and Degsy cannot consume, since it has wheat flour in it (thus excluding Wonder Wifey) and is mostly dried fruit with a very high sugar content (thus excluding self <big dramatic sigh>).  Art!

     Looks okay, even if somewhat flat.  Maybe more baking powder and Bicarb of Soda as ingredients next time?  Of course - obviously! - nobody has yet dared to sample it, which absence will hopefully be resolved tomorrow.

     Conrad may push the boat out sufficiently tomorrow to even consume a piece**.

Finally -

Serendipity strikes again.  Conrad was perusing the aisles of cards and papers and magazines at the Co-Op tonight, when he caught sight of a publication that you, gentle reader, cannot fail to see the attraction of.  Art!

Oooer Matron!

     Of course Conrad's Polish is limited to "Djen Dobrie", which he isn't going to let stop him.  There's always Google Translate, and if we ever get back in the office there's always Ania, who is Polish and whom ought to be able to speak and translate it, nicht wahr?

*  It's true.  Go Google it.

**  STEADY ON NOW!!