The Long Haul Of Conrad V Cadwallader

I Just Decided On A New Surname

Makes the title go with a bit more 'snap', doesn't it?  Quite ironic, too, since I believe it's Welsh for "Leader in battle" and we all know Conrad - a massive coward nowhere to be found in the front lines.  Are there such things as rear lines?  Because you'd find him five miles behind them.

     ANYWAY let's have a picture of yesteryon's haul.  Art!

The Haul

     There you go.  I'm pretty sure I've got "Transmetropolitan" One and Two and I definitely don't have number Five, so I got it.  The setting is 'The City', about a generation into the future, which might be New York or Chicago, except on steroids and LSD.  And the hero is Spider Jerusalem, of that trope they call 'Investigative Journalist'.  You may not be able to read the title of the middle one, so - "Hershey: Disease", about Chief Judge Hershey, set in the Big Meg (Mega-City One if we're being formal) and the Judge Dredd universe.  "Black Hammer '45" hmmmmm not a big fan of the artwork, which the artist probably calls 'naif' but which Conrad calls 'simplistic'.  Interesting story, though.

     "Yes yes yes," I hear you quibble, querulously mind, "Where does the 'Long' come into it, O aging gourmand?"

     Pausing only to say that 'Gourmand' (a la Collins Concise: "A person devoted to eating and drinking, esp. to excess") is entirely correct, allow me to elucidate. Art!

Exchange Square Tram Stop

     This is where I usually catch that marvel of metropolitan movement, the Metro tram to Rochdale.  Except what's with these swarms of young ladies who look as if they're going to the beach?  Art!

Nothing to saucy for BOOJUM!

     Except real life, of course - obviously! - had other plans.

     "This stop is closing in five minutes," explained a Metro staffer on the platform.  Next Rochdale tram due in ten minutes, nor would it stop at Exchange square, explained the staffer.

     "What's going on?" exclaimed Your Humble Scribe, now noticing even more young people seeming intent on going to the beach.

     "Well, there's 80,000 people going to Parklife," explained the chap.  "Plus 35,000 going to the Etihad to see Ed Sheeran" and as many going to Salford Quays to see someone whose name escapes me completely.  "Best get to Victoria".

   So I did.  Luckily it's only a short walk.  When I got there I buttonholed a young Metro staffer and informed her about the dodgy ticket machine at King Street's Manchester-bound platform, for which she thanked me and said she'd text it in.  

     A few minutes later the Rochdale tram arrived and on I got.  Then we sat there for ten minutes, seeing two other trams arrive on Platform 2, fill to bursting with those beach-bound youth and depart for Parklife.  Our tram, it seemed, needed a new driver, the old one was date-expired or summat.  He arrived on foot, running in a fashion dangerous for such an out-of-shape middle-aged man (takes one to know one).  Art!

Parklifers.  Plus rain.

     When this tram hit high speed on the run from Monsall, it began to sway alarmingly, which Conrad (big fat coward remember) did not enjoy one little bit.  Fortunately we stayed on the tracks, or this Intro would never have been written*.

     What did I espy upon getting off at King Street?  Art!

    Not, not Mister Follically-Challenged, the ticket machine getting it's innards serviced.  Diligently I went over and had a word with the chap, explaining the card slot wouldn't take a card.  He was doing maintenance work completely unrelated to the card slot, so he tried one of his cards and - surprise! - it wouldn't fit.  A thanks and I was on my way.

     And that, gentle reader, is why the haul was a long one.

"On The Water"

Yes, back to that themed photography exhibition the BBC had, which allows Conrad to merely post and comment rather than have to create as well.  Art!

Courtesy Victoria Schaal

     This one depicts a calm sea in the Caribbean, according to the photographer, what you might call <ahem> the Sea Of Tranquility.  Frankly it's a bit dull.  A hurricane would have been more impressive - whether the photographer survived might be a moot point.

Conrad Takes His Frothing Nitric Ire For A Walk

You needn't think that, simply because there's been an absence of me foaming at the mouth in print, that my temper has settled down in my old age, because IT HASN'T.  NOT ONE BIT.  Having established that, let us now proceed to elevate my blood pressure and the behaviour of the world's surviving Codeword creators.

"LITERATI": An eight-letter word that ends in an "I"?  Apart from the obvious solutions associated with Italian cooking, Dog Buns!  "Literary or scholarly people" says the dictionary.  I suppose that makes both you and I, gentle reader, literati.  BUT STILL!

Conrad, showing what a literati he is

"BEZIQUE":  YOU WHAT!  Three of the least used letters all together in one word?  ("B", "Z" & "Q").  And what is a Bezique when it's at home?  Can you eat it or drink it? (gourmand, remember).  Collins Concise!  "A card game for two or more players using two packs with nothing below a seven".  Never heard of it before and don't feel any poorer for it. Art!

"OXBOW":  It was either this or AXIAL, which meant a four-letter word ending in "-EX" and I could only think of FLEX, which didn't work, and then I kicked myself mentally because APEX, which cracked things open.  An Oxbow lake, for your erudition, is one formed when a river loop silts up and gets cut off.  Doubtless Art can supply an illustration -

     Come on, fess up, how many of you would have gotten that one?

"The Sea Of Sand"

Excuse me, I closed down the original Word document and have no idea where I'd left things off.  I think Roger had just been taken prisoner by the Italian army, but I need to go check.  Wait one!

The words took several seconds to make sense to Roger, whose jaw then dropped in comical fashion.

‘Prisoner?  Prisoner?  Your prisoner?’ was the most coherent he could manage.  The two soldiers had unslung their rifles and were fixing bayonets.

‘Indeed,’ said the Tenente.  ‘I trust you will not make difficulties?’

‘Why – why are you doing this!’ exclaimed Roger.

The officer looked keenly at him.

‘You are not aware?  You did not know?  Signor Llewellyn, a state of war now exists between England and Italy.’  Seeing Roger’s genuine bewilderment, he carried on.  ‘Il Duce declared war on England and France earlier today, Signor.  Consequently I have orders to arrest the enemy members of your expedition.’

Roger, aghast at the prospect of being a prisoner, leaned weakly against the tent, which sagged and shed dust. 

The Italian officer stood back and looked perceptively at Roger.  The Englishman didn’t look like a menace.

‘Are the other members of the expedition not present?’ asked Cabrillo, as the two soldiers poked amongst the sleeping tents.

Roger shook his head.

‘No.  No, they are all at the dig.  At the excavation,’ he added, seeing the other man’s lack of comprehension.  ‘Oh – except for Benvenuto.  He was evcuated by air several weeks ago.  Appendicitis.’

Finally -

We've already hit the Adjusted Compositional Ton, so allow me to add in a picture of a vehicle mentioned later in the text above, a Vickers Light Tank Mark VI.  Art!

     Calling it a 'tank' is rather a misnomer.  It's really an armoured car on tracks, and it didn't see service after the summer of 1941 as it was vulnerable to just about everything the Axis had.  The saving grace was that it was cheap, which pre-war government budgets loved loved loved.

     And with that we are done!

*  Good thing?  Bad thing?  Your view may vary.