Conrad: The Boss Of Cross

As You Should Surely Know

Your Humble Scribe's default condition is Angry, which ramps up to Frothing Nitric Ire at the merest zephyr of justification, and there are frequent justifications*.

     For example, today, since I was no longer bound by the furry ball and chain that is Edna, I decided to trek into Oldham - sorry, still can't remember the hilarious nickname I invented for it - and have a look at Waterstones, a purveyor of fine books.  Art!

What I expected

     O noes!  I trotted dismally to the shuttered first floor shop, where a notice declared that they were shut until 26/05/2022, when they would be re-opening on the ground floor.  Splendid.  How does that help Conrad NOW?  and I foolishly neglected to take a picture.  There is a shot of their new ground-floor shop, which appears to have considerably less frontage than the old one.  Art!

"SOON" ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!

     Conrad was not a happy bunny, not that he ever is at the best of times.  I wince to think of the money I've spent with them actually ignore that last, move along, move along -

     Well, at least I know what that piker Tsar Poutine will claim as a victory on May 9th.  "We successfully shut down Waterstones and thus deprived that horrid satirist Conrad of the opportunity to buy books, glory to me, amen."

     It wasn't an entirely wasted journey, mind.  I ducked into The Works, which appears to have become more of a Miscellaneous Tat dispensary, more than it's a remaindered bookshop.  Once out of there it was off to the British Heart Foundation charity shop, and what do you know I got a trio.  Art!

?

     I think you're one article behind, Art.  Clearly what we have here is Dimya explaining "This is what I'd like to do to Conrad" although I doubt the Tiny Toxic Terror Toad could reach my throat; he'd have to stand on a chair**.  Okay, Art, give it Round Two.

The haul

     I blame the "DC Comic Encyclopedia" for snapping the carrier bag handles going home, it's a very weighty tome, printed on high-quality paper and masses in excess of one hundred and fifty tons.  Of course - obviously! - I had to have a military history book, and of the three paperbacks, I've have read the Boris Akunin one as a library book but now I have my hot sweaty hands on a copy of mine own.  Yes, Boris is a Ruffian, yet a fine author so he gets a pass.  I've read other Alan Judd novels and been impressed by the plot and characters, and I've read several Harry Hole novels, just not this one.  In the ones I've read mention is made of Harry's time in Australia so we shall see what's what.

     In other news, I am now up to Page 890 of "Reclaiming History", that breeze-block sized work by Vincent Bugliosi, and he's now begun to take on and destroy the conspiranoid swivel-eyed loonwaffles.  Only another 600 pages to go!  Art?

     To show what a horrid human being I am, I got cross on the bus home as a baby was babbling, joyful in it's discovery that it could make loud noises.  Of course, when I got off to get salad in Babylon-Lite - my hilarious nickname for Royton - First Bus managed to bodge things as usual. Nothing for twenty minutes then two 409s at once.  I swear, if First Bus had been in charge of the RAF in the Battle of Britain, we'd all be speaking German now.

"And?" replied a First Bus spokesdemon.

You Couldn't Make It Up

And if you did, people would criticise you for being silly.  Okay, as we all know, there is a state of - shall we say 'conflict'? - in Ukraine, between them and their larger neighbour to the north, the land of Dostoyevsky and Gogol***.  The Ruffian authorities are EXTREMELY sensitive about public criticism of what's going on.  This leads to situations that Nicolai (Gogol, do keep up!) would have found hilarious.  Such as - Art!

"Arrest this dangerous subversive!"

     That's right, arrested for having a blank sign.  Remember, in Putin's Ruffia, ignorance is strength, war is peace, and a piece of white paper makes the government tremble.

The Game's Afoot

Conrad is unsure exactly what the game is, not being privy to local construction projects in Babylon-Lite, so have a gander at this.  Art!

     This is where the old Medical Centre stood, a patch of land that has long been a wasteland until spring, when all the flowers come out.  It used to have hoardings around it, until they were taken down and replaced with a low-level fence.  Clearly people intend to build here now.  Just - what?

Back To "The War Illustrated"

Remember, there is a disconnect of probably a month between the pictures as published and events on the ground.  I keep banging on about this, hopefully to some effect.  Art!

     Not terribly interesting, just a rather gloating recount of the fact that the Axis were losing in North Africa, and here's a lot of prisoners to prove it.  A few of these chaps would end up in Preston, in a POW barbed-wire cage on the pitch of Preston North End's football ground, if you can believe it.  The luckier ones got to go to Canada. Preston - Canada?  Not much between them.

Finally -

Once again we look at Dimya's 'Special' Military Operation as it hits Day Seventy Two of a campaign only supposed to last seven at the outside.  Art!

Which mode of transport is safer?

     Ruffian tanks, as you may have noticed, tend to explode when hit, explode big time and with such violence that their turrets - which weigh several tons - get thrown many yards away.  There is a reason for this, a serious design flaw that has been around for decades and isn't going to go away soon.  The Ruffian tanks feature a mechanical auto-loader that loads shells into the gun, which is a physically demanding job and not at all easy to do given how cramped a tank turret is.  Using the auto-loader means that the crew is reduced to just three: commander, gunner and driver.

      HOWEVER! and you know that was coming, didn't you?  This means Ruffian tanks have dozens and dozens of shells stored in the turret.  Even a non-penetrating hit on the turret can cause explosive spalling and detonate those shells, which means the crew are instant dogfood.  You'd have to be able to teleport to escape such a conflagration.  So all those tanks with a turret blown off are also liable to be the coffins of their crew.  Art!

Auto-loader showing the shell 'carousel'

     There's a lot of unconfirmed and unverified chatter that the Ruffians have lost another warship on the Black Sea.  Time will tell if this is true or not.  If you see Dimya weeping salty tears on his breakfast pancakes, then there's your clue.

     And with that, we are so very very done!

*  In my head at least.

**  Which would be kicked out from under him.  How allegorical!

***  Gogol's great.  Go read a few of his short stories.