I Grok Your Lock

NO! That Is Not An Euphemism!

First of all, WASH OUT YOUR FILTHY MINDS! you disgusting sewer-minded perverts.  Yes, you know which of you I'm talking about.

     Okay, because none of you reading this have the faintest idea what I'm talking about, I shall have to explain, shan't I?  Art!

Note strategically-placed locks*

     Yes, another of Ol' Bob's novels, this one even mentions 'Grok' on the cover.  Grok is a Martian word, of quite broad meaning, but you can interpret it as meaning 'to love and/or be completely aware of', and it went down well in the Sixties with the hippy generation, and latterly with computer programmers and hackers.  There was a saying "I grok Spock" which is surely against the law, of taste if not the judicial variety.

     ANYWAY Let us now change course wildly and veer off towards that manufactory which calls itself "ASSA ABLOY".  Art!

     Go on, admit it, you've never heard of them, have you?  Conrad neither until last weekend, when we drove past an industrial estate off the M62, and there it was.  Conrad, as you ought to know by now, cannot simply let a name like that rest, and so of course - obviously! - had to go look it up, because it doesn't seem like a good old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon name, and as it turns out, it certainly isn't.  Art!

     In fact it's derived from the two nations who will be joining NATO shortly: Sweden and Finland.  That name ASSA also has echoes of Abba, whom Conrad hated back in the day and still detests, because it's also an acronym (pauses to throw Giant Lawn Darts at an Abba dartboard).  Here it stands for August Stenman Stenman August.  Sorry, no tarty bottle blondes in the room.  They merged with - it says here - Finnish high-security lock-manufacturer Abloy, which is again sort of an acronym: Ab Lastfabriken Lukkotehdas Oy.  This is a mixture of Swedish and Finnish, meaning 'Corporate Lock Factory Lock Factory Corporate'.  Oh those Scandinavians, hmmmm?  Nothing to do in winter but sit in front of the fire and dream up palindromic company names.

     Okay, we've now parsed the name.  What exactly do they do?

     O I thought you'd never ask!  'Entry solutions' seems to be the buzzwords that apply here. Art!

     Locks, doors, gates, keys, tags and identity verification systems.  

     Okay, now you can see where this evening's title comes from, and you're welcome.  Not a bad Intro for a two-second glance at an industrial estate off the M62 on Mother's Day.  I suppose this means we can only end with one possible image.  Art?

     Motley, I hear the sinister susurrus of steam engines slinking ever closer.  Go and make sure The Mansion's back door is locked, won't you?  Ta ever so.

This, Conrad, Is A Wake-Up Call

Degsy and Wonder Wifey's afternoon shopping session didn't last too long, for reasons.  Too many people out in the nice spring sunshine, one suspects, the dastards, which is one reason walking Edna was a calculated risk since

     ANYWAY they came back with Earl Grey teabags, which will be great at work, and the following.  Art!

How cool is that!

     A fnorping Thunderbirds alarm clock, with the voice of Jeff Tracy pronouncing "Five - four - three - two - one - THUNDERBIRDS ARE GO!" when the alarm hits.  Your Humble Scribe isn't going to leap out of bed any the happier despite this, because I enjoy being asleep, although it will make the transition easier.

     Here an aside.  I would like to point out that International Rescue, despite wearing paramilitary uniforms - because wearing their civilian duds would present tooooo many clues - and carrying side-arms, are out to preserve life, not take it.  Weapons for self-defence only.  Whereas SPECTRUM are a bunch of nosy beggars who take far too much interest in my activities.  And whom are armed to the teeth to boot.

<want>

The Haul

Conrad, having finished work at 16:00 Friday, found himself outside the Oxfam shop in Piccadilly last night before it had shut, which is unusual thanks to my schedules.  So, taking the bull by the horns and the opportunity by the throat, I wended my way over to their book section, which is nowhere near as good as it used to be.

     Ah, cruel fickle Fate, prove me wrong.  Art!

     These are permitted since I got rid of three books and haven't replaced them since February.  TWAW is a companion to the ground-breaking television series, which has to have one of the most haunting credit and end sequences ever.  The one on Lawrence is of interest as I've read "The Seven Pillars Of Wisdom" and wonder how much of Ol' Lawry's tale is true and accurate.  The Keegan volume's title might be called an oxymoron, except then I'd have to explain what one of those was.

More More More - Conrad's Fiction Not Andrea True Connection

Yes, your second instalment of "Tormentor" and - O go look it up on Google - Luma had just been blessed by a visit by the spirit of Yvonne, who retains quite a bit of her earthly qualities.

A scout, he realised.  If the creature did survive getting big chunks knocked out of it, then the Dark Ones knew about his silver ammunition, and the bibles.

               ‘Would you mind awfully, just to set my mind at rest, putting your hand on that bible over there?’ he asked Yvonne.  She made a face and put her hand upon the volume, then jerked it away in horror, her face a mask of pain.  Louis lurched upright in panic, only for her to repeat the process entirely without harm a second time.

               ‘Relax.  I am Yvonne.  You don’t need to test me!’

               ‘Not funny,’ he growled.  ‘I’m off to bed.  Unless spirits get their jollies watching mortals undress you may want to leave.’

               ‘Oooh, tetchy tetchy.’  The spirit vanished, but Louis could still feel her presence.

               ‘I know you’re still here.’  A tingling across his skin got stronger when he turned to face the windows.  ‘By the window.’

               Yvonne manifested again, once more looking impressed at Louis’s ability to spot her incorporeal presence.

               ‘Wow!  You’re really good!’

               Privately Louis recalled the words of Father Geoghan, that practice would improve his skills.  So it had.  The fact that the “practice” involved almost getting killed twice was an unpleasant addition.

               ‘Not good enough.  I need to be better.’

               He clumped upstairs to the bathroom, peeled off the sweatshirt and inspected the angrily-inflamed scratches on his arm.  With an intake of breath, Yvonne appeared behind him in the mirror.

               ‘What happened!’

               ‘My visitor happened.  I’ve put cream on them.’

               She fussed about him like a mother, making him sit on the toilet seat while she examined the injury and tutting about it.  Her cool, effervescent touch felt strangely like an anaesthetic against his skin.

               ‘Hey, I rinsed them out and put cream on them.  I’ll be okay.  It isn’t as if I can go to the surgery and ask how to clean up injuries inflicted by hostile spirits.’

               ‘I’ve done what I can.  I want you to examine those cuts every day and see that priest, Father Geoghan, if they don’t heal.  Don’t laugh at me!  Promise to do that?’

               ‘Okay, okay.  Now, can I get ready for bed?’

     Once again WASH OUT YOUR FILTHY MINDS!  Really.

Finally -

Here we honk on about the O So 'Special' Military Operation being waged against Ukraine by Dimya and his 'Special' military advisers, principally Corporal Jones and the Bash Street Kids.  Last night saw a dual helicopter attack by Unknown Forces against a Ruffian fuel storage site, which destroyed several million gallons of fuel.  Art!

     This is worrying for Dimya and his generals.  For one, the Ruffian incompetents being pulled back from the north of Ukraine in order to reinforce attacks on the Donbas would have been using this fuel once they arrived in theatre.  No longer.  The big advantage of attacking the Donbas is that the logistics chain is far shorter than in northern Ukraine, except that advantage is nullified if there's no fuel.

     Secondly, the Ruffians have long boasted about how fantastically destructive their deadly destructive air destructive defences are, in a destructive style.  Did I mention destructive yet?  They completely failed here.  That's not very convincing.  Nor destructive.  So - the Ruffians in Ukraine may have to move anti-aircraft units back into Ruffia to protect high-value targets.  Art!

Designed by computer.  Built by craftsmen.  Operated by 18-year old conscripts pining for Mum.

     Thirdly, those around Dimya must be wondering exactly what The Plan is, if it involves Ruffian cities getting scragged by Ukrainian air force assets on purpose.  

     Three cheers for Jonesy and the Bash Street Kids!

*  OF HAIR