NO! That Is Not A Typo Or Mis-Spelling
I am feeling mellow after a large dinner, so I am not resorting to the Remote Nuclear Detonator immediately. Don't push your luck, you know how easily enraged I become.
No, I am referring to another phrase that popped up into my brain this afternoon whilst emptying the bin: "Athabasca Tar Sands". Art!
This is an area in north-east British America which is home to enormous deposits of bitumen, which amount to as much as the entire planet's oil reserves. Bitumen, for your information, is a disgusting petrochemical brew that you would never take home to meet mother, and if Art doesn't want a cattle-prod -
A lot of bitumen
There is considerable environmental impact from the extraction of bitumen from the McMurray formation geo-strata, including our old friend the tailing pond, where the ghastly slurry filtered off from bitumen resides. These cover an area of about 50 square miles in total, and leak continuously. Ooops! Art!
Athabasca tailings lake
Local citizens have protested against any further development of these bitumen deposits; good luck with that since the provincial and state governments all see $$$ signs when you mention anything to do with petrochemicals. All the more so since the canny British Americans sell lots of petrol products to the South Canadians, being one of their major importers.
I was actually thinking about the La Brea Tar Pits in California after ATS popped up in my mind, which are completely different in nature. Well, since I've mentioned them I'd better provide an illustration. Art!
Note fake heffalump to starboard
We don't have tar pits in This Sceptred Isle, so I'm afraid the motley is going to have to endure swimming in an imperial ton of treacle* to mimic that above.
Okay, time for a coffee made with one of the now 80 coffee bags I have!
What A Difference Day Makes
Yes yes yes, I know it makes a difference of 24 hours, don't be so Kreplach! literal. On Thursday our view form the eighteenth floor of The Dark Tower was nothing short of spectacular, which can be proven if Art will cease scoffing and put down his plate of coal -
 |
| Thursday glorious Thursday |
 |
| Friday foul Friday |
As you can see, Cloud City means no vistas save that of grey, greasy, grimy precipitation. Conrad much prefers the weather conditions of that first picture, where it may be cold but at least it's not wet.
Okay, I'm trying to type this and listen to Youtube Reddit Malicious Compliance in the background. We'll see how it goes.
BOOJUM! Reviews Films
We've not done this for a while so allow me to explain how this works. 1) We review based on the title alone 2) We generalise hugely 3) We ignore 1 & 2 if we feel like it.
"KING RICHARD": Starring Will Smith? O don't tell me, this is a 're-imagining' where an historical figure is played by the opposite gender or a different race. Call me Ishmael, I don't think Mister Nice is sufficiently good at playing a deep and complex character like Richard Couer De Lion. If it weren't for Obama I'm pretty sure Mister Nice would have been the first black President of the South Canadians and he may yet be the second. Art!
A fellow fond of fighting
"WEST SIDE STORY": NO! A film based on a musical? <sounds of the Remote Nuclear Detonator being hammered like a nail> Conrad doesn't care which Side it is, unless it is Homiside, as that's what this offence-in-celluloid would inspire.
The West Side of - somewhere
"A BOY CALLED CHRISTMAS": Or 'Chris' for short. Wow. Long detailed plot development there, scriptwriters. Hang on - is that "Christmas" as a first name or surname? Not that I really care. Doubtless a load of seasonal schmaltz with such a high sugar content that it would send me into a diabetic coma were I to watch it. So I won't. Ha!
There were a couple of other entries I was going to 'review' but I can't be bothered. And if you want a proper film review, go watch Mark Kermode**.
A Chris
No, You Haven't Escaped
I know what you're thinking - "Over seven hundred words in and nothing from "Tormentor" - we've escaped today!"
How can I put this? WRONG!
And don't forget, this may have the rude words censored, yet it's not suitable for minors.
‘Did you have any kind of argument during the lesson?’
asked the more rumpled of the two plain-clothes officers, the one with an air
of sweaty resignation.
‘No.’ No more
details than a flat reply – if they wanted to dig for dirt, they’d have to try
pretty hard.
‘Why did you offer her lessons?’ asked the other
officer.
‘To help her with her English. She’s very bright, and very good at the
sciences, but needed coaching for the humanities. She wants to – wanted – to apply for
medicine, and she needed good grades at GCSE even before she got to college.’
‘Do you tutor any other pupils?’ asked the
less-crumpled officer.
‘No.’ Once
again the flat negative, and the implication that they needed to dig if they
wanted more facts.
‘Okay, why did you tutor only Jennifer
Hargreaves? Why only her and nobody
else?’
Louis gave each of them a stare he could only call
hateful.
‘Because she was my daughter’s best friend. I’ve known her since she was eight or
nine. She was gorgeous and vivacious and
intelligent and her mum doesn’t have two pennies to rub together. No way could she afford any kind of private
tutoring to school her for GCSE’s or A levels after that.’
The unspoken sub-text was that some ******* monster
had killed Jennifer, killed her in such a way that DNA samples were needed for
evidence and elimination of suspects.
‘So – your daughter doesn’t live with you?’ asked the
rumpled man, clearly believing that Louis was a divorcee. Louis could read it on the man’s face.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’ asked the other man, leaning forward in
anticipation of getting important information.
He did, just not the sort he expected.
‘Because she’s dead.’
You've probably already reached that conclusion already, if I've done my job properly. Luma's day continues to get worse after this.
And Now For The More Picturesque
Because it's fine to wallow in misery for a while, yet one must not overdo it, or you'd never get out of bed in the morning. So! Let us bring on another of the runner-up photographs from the BBC's celebration of historically-relevant pictures. Art!
Courtesy Matthew James Turner
This is Sunkenkirk, a stone circle in the Lake District of This Sceptred Isle. No caption or explanatory text, so allow me to go digging a little further. Okay, it's located in the south-east of Cumbria, and to get there means walking uphill for over a mile as there are no roads to the circle. It contains 55 stones and is very highly regarded by stone circle experts (these are a thing); fair enough, it just looks like a load of old stone to me. Constructed between 3,500 and 3,300 BC.
Another shot
If MJT got his shot at sunrise, he must have been up hours before then to get to the nearby farm where there's a car park, and then hike it uphill in the dark. That's dedication for you!
Vulnavia - we are done.
* "Molasses" to our trans-Atlantic readers.
** As I keep saying, a big fan of The Comsat Angels
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