Steven Segal Likes Chivas Regal

Perhaps

Is it a brandy or whisky?  Conrad is unsure and if the latter is unlikely ever to try the horrid stuff.

     ANYWAY Mr. Segal may not like Chivas Regal; he may, for example, prefer Johnny Walker, except that doesn't rhyme, does it?  

     You may be wondering why we lead with mention of a has-been action star whose heyday was many decades ago, and who has a head shaped like a bucket.  An upside-down bucket  Art!

Before

After

     Well, we now know the answer to that age-old question "Who ate all the pies?", don't we?  Conrad doesn't feel at all bad at traducing the fat old biffer as he is an extremely unpleasant bully fond of throwing his weight - of which there is a lot - around.  Go ask Joe Leguizamo if you don't believe me. Art!

     Eating six meals a day might explain it.  The title comes from a Youtube video, which is 28 minutes long and thus 27 minutes too long for me to bother with.  I have seen one of his films, "Under Siege" which does have a few amusing scenes, as when he's imprisoned and fussing about his pies getting burnt.  Yes yes yes, it's that one with Gary Busey in drag and the topless Playboy model jumping out of a cake.  And Tommy Lee Jones chewing the carpet as an uber-villain.  Art!

What were you expecting?  WASH OUT YOUR FILTHY MINDS!

     Where was I?  O yes.  Ol' Ste used to hawk his own brand of energy drink, which Conrad seems to remember being described on The Agony Booth's forum as 'disgusting'.

     Why all the hate for the Seagull?  Because I have another suggestion as to what killed his career.  Art!

Good!

     This detestable scourge of the airwaves is one of those DJ's cast in the mould of Smashie and Nicey, a man deeply in love with the sound of his own voice, seeking to use his DJ role as a stepping-stone to fame and fortune.  Radio 2 used to be the station that Radio 1 DJs were sent to die at, and this one seems to have become undead enough to get the heave-ho.

     I say, I am in a prickly mood today, aren't I!

     ANYWAY Your Humble Scribe is pretty certain that what killed off Steven the Seagull's career is his resemblance to Steve Wright.  You can imagine the conversation:

FAN: You're Steve Wright

STEVEN THE SEAGULL: Right, I'm Steve.

FAN: Cool - can you play a song for me?

STEVEN THE SEAGULL <confusedly>: A song?

FAN: Yeah, on the radio.

STEVEN THE SEAGULL <looks behind himself>: Are you talking to me?

FAN <also confused>: Yeah - you are Steve Wright?

STEVEN THE SEAGULL: I already said I was!

FAN: No need to get salty.

STEVEN THE SEAGULL: Look, pal -

FAN <pokes him in the chest>: Can

     Steven reacts instinctively and decks the fan.  There are lawyers.  You can guess the rest.

     Of course, I could be overthinking this a bit ...

Hoorah For Me!

Yesterday I finally finished "Reclaiming History", that two-and-a-half-inch thick tome that I began reading - and I checked back over the blog to make sure - on September 25th 2021, so that's nine months of reading.  Art!

     1,518 pages long.  Having read it, I don't feel like reading it again, so it's going down to the charity shop later on.

     Thing is, there's a CD in the back, which had never been removed from it's protective wrapping, so I tore the perforated strip off to gain access and wondered if it would still load, because it's from 2007.  The two files on it turned out to be PFD and perfectly legible on my laptop.  HOWEVER - Art?

    In case it's not clear, these "Endnotes" total another 958 pages.  Conrad is going to be a very naughty boy and not put the CD back in the case, tee hee!

Progress Report

For the past nine months this has been me telling you how far I've got with Vinnie's baby (which he began researching in 1986) and mightily bored you've all been.  Today we substitute a jigsaw.  Art!

     You may be able to tell that I've done all the easier bits where there were structures present; what's left is undifferentiated cloud or river. and it's not clear which is which.  O well, if I didn't want to spend time on it I should never have started.

Let's Have More Of "The War Illustrated", Shall We?

It was a rhetorical question, you don't get a say in matters.  Once again, whose blog is it?  Art!

     Here we see the senior political and military Allied leaders in Algiers, where they could meet in safety since the only Axis nearby were prisoners of war. Conrad is sufficiently sad/well-informed/nerdy <delete where applicable> to know most of these people by sight.  From port to starboard they are: Anthony Eden, General Alanbrooke, Air Marshal Tedder, Admiral Pound, Winnie, General Alexander ("The Immaculate"), General George Marshall (South Canadian), General Eisenhower (also South Canadian) and Monty ("The Insufferable").  O how the Axis would have liked to bomb this little lot!

More Of War

Yes, back to "The Sea Of Sand", where, as you SHOULD SO SURELY REMEMBER The Fourth Doctor and Sarah were under a kind of house-arrest in a tent whilst a sandstorm rages outside.

‘Lieutenant Roger Llewellyn, Royal Army Service Corps.  Well, Doctor, if you and your –‘ and the lieutenant hesitated fractionally before saying “daughter” or even “wife” – ‘companion would care to take a seat?  It’s not Groppi’s or Shepheards, I’m afraid, but it’s the best you’ve got.  We won’t be moving from here until the storm blows out.’

          Sarah perched herself on the edge of a folding canvas chair, having to move a volume of Wordsworth first.  The Doctor remained standing, looking keenly at the officer.

          ‘And you know the Professor?’ asked Llewellyn, busying himself with a small primus stove.  He fished out a set of chipped enamel mugs from underneath his camp bed.

          ‘Ah, yes, Professor Templeman-Schwartz.  Author of  “Missing Cultures of the Pre-Pharaonic Era”,’ declaimed the Doctor, in full Shakespearean mode, performing to the tentpole. 

          ‘How do you know that!’ exclaimed Llewellyn, his head turning rapidly in surprise.  ‘He hasn’t even completed the manuscript yet!’

          The Doctor merely gave a toothy grin, one that an observer could interpret in many ways, usually the one they most wanted to interpret.

          ‘Oho, out from Oxford as well, eh,’ murmured the officer, focussing on the tea-making ritual.  Satisfied that the blackened petrol-tin base serving as a boiler was positioned correctly, he stood up and wagged a finger at the intruding pair.

     Anecdotally, it is said that British squaddies and tank crews would make a brew up to eight times a day if they had the time.  Tea: whilst money may be the sinews of war, tea is definitely the blood in the veins.

Finally -

Domestic chores need a-doing, as the dishwasher seems to be on it's way out and thus we have a pile of dirty crocks on the draining-board.  Not only that, I need to take Edna walkies whilst the sun still shines, and de-bristle my face in order to look less forbidding and scruffy.  Hopefully I'll get use of the car to take those books into Royton, because they weight a fair bit.