Sweet, Sweet Concrete

Actually That's A Wild-Bottom Guess

Conrad has never been one for gnawing away at set concrete and I imagine the only time you could really taste-test it would be whilst it's still liquid, which is going a little too far even for a curious greedy old hog like myself.  Here's another handy hint: if you add sugar to concrete whilst mixing it, for that sweet sucrose hit, the strength is drastically affected, in a negative way.  Thus Teutons employing French slave labour to construct the Atlantic Wall had to keep a sharp eye on them.  Art!

Before

After

     Here an aside.  The Atlantic Wall was a gigantic white elephant (or perhaps an off-grey one) that the Allies avoided butting up against, for the most part.  And as Von Runstedt pointed out, with unpleasant accuracy, once it was breached at any point, the rest of it was instantly rendered completely useless.
     ANYWAY none of this has anything to do with today's Intro, which comes from a Malicious Compliance Reddit post on Youtube, which was not merely amusing yet also educational.  Art!

     The Original Poster was a university student in South Canada, who worked a summer job at a construction company, where they made very large cast concrete structures for culverts and tunnels, up to forty feet in height.  His job was to operate the concrete mixer, as above, which would mix up to 5 cubic yards of concrete at a time.  When properly mixed, he would dump it into the 'form' beneath, which was the framework for whatever concrete piece was being made.  The only problem was that the concrete mixer, like everything else, had been in non-stop operation for years and was well-worn, to the extent that the trapdoor over the form didn't always seal properly.  OP would then chip away at encrusted concrete until it did.  Art!

End result
(with puny humans for scale)

     One day headquarters sent out an executive in a suit to investigate why this plant, situated near the border with British America, made product at half the rate of it's sister plant in Florida.  OP was told to follow Suit's instructions if he gave any, and otherwise to 'remain out of his way', said with emphasis and swearing.  OP encountered Suit, immaculately clad in suit and shoes, on his concrete mixer, looking miserably bored as he studied the incredibly tedious process of concrete curing.

     'Will you be done in an hour or so?' asked Suit, to which OP replied no, more like four.  Suit visibly loses more of the will to live.  SUDDENLY!

     Nothing as dramatic as that occurs, just that the trapdoor isn't closing properly, which OP explains to Suit.  Suit casually looks at it, then utters the fateful words:

     'Looks fine to me.  Go ahead and add the water.'

     OP goes ahead.  Water immediately starts gushing from the loose trapdoor and the mix goes completely askew, throwing up a cloud of cement dust that covers Suit.  Plant manager sees what happened, beckons suit with a crooked finger and both exit the plant for a little 'chat' outdoors.  Suit does not return.  The despoiled mix is taken off and dumped in the site's waste hole, and OP washed the mixer out to prevent any more concrete hardening on the inner walls.

      O and the reason for why that sister plant out-produced the Northern one?  

    Temperature.  Concrete cures faster the higher the temperature, so in tropical Florida they could produce twice as fast as icy Montana. Art!

      Everyone at the plant knew this, but practical knowledge is an unknown skill amongst the Headquarter Suits.

More Of South Canada

Conrad has gotten a real move-on with his Catton work on the Civil Unpleasantness, which has far too long a title to bother with here.  I am now up to page 73, which is quite an easy feat because there are so many illustrations.  Fort Sumner has been fired upon and the Battle of Bull Run is about to take place.  Catton usefully points out that the pre-war army had a strength of only 16,000, and that absolutely nothing in the way of uniforms, equipment, weapons, drill or training was available for the state militia or volunteer troops.  Thus you have two large, untrained armies that are merely civilians in uniform, rushing into what they believe is going to be a war of less than ninety days.  Art!

     They learned the hard way.

More Of Misery And Madness And TORMENT!

Hmmmm.  Perhaps I'd better be less enthusiastic in future, it's a bit unseemly, isn't it?  Still - 

               ‘Seen the papers this morning?  No, eh.  Richard tells me that your spirit companion identified her killer.  From that description, you identified him in a police photograph file.  So, you heard the description before seeing the photograph.  Do you yet know what the suspect arrested by police looks like?’

               To which Louis could only shake his head: the police didn’t release photographs of suspects before or during trials, everyone knew that.

               ‘How did you hear him described?’ asked the priest, daintily sipping tea, an amusing sight given his huge, hairy hands.

               ‘Um.  Dirty blond hair, tattooes on his hands – on his knuckles.  One of his teeth is rotten.  London accent.’

               The vicar unfolded a copy of the Advertiser, which had a pastel sketch of the suspect in Crown Court. 

               ‘Blond hair, tattooes on his hands and – subtle observation by the sketch artist – a black tooth.’

               True enough.  The details were all there in the big sketch.  Louis stared and stared. 

               ‘Proof positive, or at least until a verdict comes in,’ said the priest.

               ‘More tea?’ asked the vicar.

               Louis told them more, about the visit from Marjory and what she’d explained.

               ‘Fascinating stuff!’ enthused the vicar.

               ‘And entirely true about the evil spirits,’ agreed the priest, finishing his tea and putting the cup down.

               ‘I would have scoffed at that until yesterday, because I met one.’

               ‘Oh?’ asked Father Geoghan.  ‘Where might that be?’

               ‘The cemetery at Saint Aidans.  Sitting on a tombstone – what?’

               ‘I don’t think so, young man,’ rumbled the priest.  ‘An evil spirit residing in hallowed ground?  What did that Marjory inform you about?  Saint Aidan’s, hmm?  Where?’

     Not sure if a person in their thirties can be described as 'young'.

How Dangerous Is This Lighthouse?  Very!

We've done that Youtube video of 15 dangerous lighthouses, some of which I didn't bother to cover as they weren't remotely dangerous.  Here's one that people said ought to have been included, La Jument.  Art!

Deceptively placid

More typical

     This one is off the Isle of Ushant, and again took seven years to construct, given the violent storms, strong currents and huge waves that happen for most of the year.  Art!

Before

     Like most lighthouses, this one is now automated, and is designated a French  National Monument, though good luck with trying to keep it maintained as it doesn't have a helipad.  Perhaps for a Christmas present?

Finally -

Edna cannot take refuge on the Dog Nest any more since I finally steeled my resolution and it's now in the washing machine, which now has the added burden of dog hairs to remove in addition to - well, that's more information than you need to know.