Because People Would Accuse You Of Being Silly
Conrad is sure he had a derisive term for those paranoid loonwaffles who consider 5G transmission towers to be the source of Covid 19, zombies, global warming, global cooling (the two are equally possible in the mind of a loonwaffle), heavy rain, stubbing their toe on the chest of drawers and Wagon Wheels being so much smaller. I have done a search for it and am reluctant to spend 20 minutes reading old BOOJUM!s to track it down. "FIGIOTs", perhaps. "FIve Gee Idiots Over Towers". Art!
"Burn the witch!"
"Er - we don't have a witch to burn"
"Then - er - BURN THE 5G TOWER!"
You get my drift. One suspects that these swivel-eyed ranters and tanters don't stir out of the house without a lead-lined motorbike helmet and, when at home, have an extensive array of tinfoil hats.
Well, you know Hom. Sap. Any excuse to turn a profit. Thus we have businesses springing up to pander to the FIGIOTs, selling pendants and bracelets that are 'Anti-5G'.
Except at least two of these products are really, truly, actually dangerously radioactive and genuinely harmful to the wearer. Art!
The irony here is staggering. Here are FIGIOTs utterly obsessed with the non-existent problem of radiation from 5G towers, putting themselves squarely in harm's way with toxic tat. One hopes that the purveyors of this killer kit are sued out of existence and sent to prison.
Motley, care to try this gravel and root-flavoured ice cream?
"Warriors For The Working Day" By Peter Elstob
Your Modest Artisan has not been reading this novel over the last week, as it was the Travel Book that I kept in my work's rucksack. I have dug it out and am recommencing reading. It reflects real life in the situations reported upon, such as the delayed introduction of the Comet tank. Art!
Comet
These bits of kit were adapted from the incredibly speedy Cromwell, but were given a bigger turret with a modified 17 pounder, cut down a bit to fit in the turret. They had a much lower profile than the lofty Sherman, meaning it was easier to hide one and harder to spot them. Thus you had a combination of a Cromwell's speed and the Firefly's anti-tank performance.
Great! thought British tank crews, including the fictional ones in WFTWD, getting excited at the thought of these new tanks, as their knackered old Shermans, most of which had come all the way from Normandy to the German border, were ready for the scrapyard.
Ah - not so fast, chaps. As Ol' Pete describes, the Comets weren't issued and the Shermans went right back into service when the Battle of the Bulge started.
They were brought back into service for the advance into the land of the Teutons, FYI.
Okay, Time For A Bit Of Madness And Horror
Edgar Allan Poe, esteemed South Canadian author, reckoned you needed a mixture of both in your plotline, to get the readers interested and keep turning the pages. Hence "Tormentor".
‘AHH!’ he yelled in shock, dropping the handset. ‘Christ, don’t do that!’
‘Don’t speak like that then,’ said the spirit,
chidingly. ‘It’s not appreciated.’
‘It’s not – what the hell do you mean, “appreciated”?’
Abruptly, Louis stopped speaking. If the police had proven that he wasn’t the
killer, then what happened last night was real.
Which meant this strange copy of a dead schoolgirl, next to him on the
settee, was real, too.
He blinked in massively understated fear.
‘You’re real.
You exist. You’re a spirit.’
On legs that wobbled, he got up and went into the
kitchen to gulp down a glass of water.
The Jennifer spirit – he couldn’t call it a “thing” any longer –
followed him.
‘Aren’t you supposed to only come out at night?’
‘No. I can
appear to you any time I choose.’
‘Do I get to choose if I see you?’
She shook her head, sighing, making a sound like wind
in the trees.
‘No. You are
almost unique, Luma. I don’t know why
you can see me. Hardly anyone else can.’
Testing, Louis reached out and touched her arm. Once
again he got that sensation of tingling cold, a partial numbness.
‘This is unreal.’
Louis
checked the kitchen sink, which still smelt of his despoiled booze, and then
the kitchen bin, which held the empty bottles taken from his cabinet in the
lounge.
No refuge in alcohol, then.
The spirit remained demurely
sitting on the settee, dimpling the covers.
‘How can you affect material
objects if you’re a spirit?’ he asked, curious as to what the answer might be.
‘Energy into mass,’ replied the
spirit, confidently. ‘Just like Einstein
and E=mc2 . My postulate is
that I’m a fifth form of matter, beyond plasma.’
Conrad unsure how you'd prove or disprove that. Also Luma is having to accept that he's got the spirit of a dead teenager sitting and chatting with him. Not exactly a normal start to the day.
More Of Those Runner-Up Historical Photos
For reasons uncertain some photos have a description that goes with them, whilst others only have a title describing what we're seeing. Art!
Courtesy Yehven Samuchenko
All we get for this one is:
1973 US Navy C-117D, in Iceland, by Yevhen Samuchenko
So go on, allow me to dig around teh Interwebz a tad and get back to you. Art!
Corpus intact
It was a transport plane used by the South Canadians, that one above in naval livery. The one in Iceland was on a supply run when it encountered severe weather conditions, leading to the wings icing-up. The crew had to make an emergency forced landing at Solheimasandur, from where they were rescued by helicopter, all alive. The plane, however, was written-off and left to rust and rot. In a twist of fate, it is now a popular tourist attraction. Art!
In earlier years and better condition
It looks like they salvaged a few bits and pieces. Since it took place in 1973, nearly fifty years ago, it's not going to be around for much longer. Better get out there soon if you have Icelandic plans!
Conrad Is ANGRY!
Not merely at the world, nor yet solely Codeword compilers, but at himself, because - you'll see.
"CICATRIX": This came up as a Codeword solution and, naturally, Your Humble Scribe was furious for not getting it instantly. Art!
You see, one of The Mars Volta's tracks is called "Cicatrix Esp" and I'd even been musing on it a couple of days earlier. Bad memory! Wicked memory! No biscuit for you!
O it means a scar, so we're not going to display same, because, remember - SFW.
"BHAJI": We had already been given "I" as one of the two clue letters, so Conrad looked at a five letter word, no repetitions, that ended in "I", and couldn't get it. 'Probably a kind of food,' I muttered darkly. My pessimistic assumption proved correct. Go on, Art.
Bhaji, made up of Bah, I say!
"SCALENE": No, not a modelling material and nothing to do with Plasticene. It is, in fact, a type of triangle, which, if Art can put down his plate of coal -
Stopping now before the red mist makes it too difficult to type. Off to get a Remote Nuclear Detonator workout!
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