Today's Tribulations

Hopefully You Can Laugh At Conrad

As he describes his daily round.  Nothing too dramatic, no beating off FSB assassination teams armed with intelligent lettuce guns or the like, instead allow me to define terms.  "Tribulation" "A cause of distress", which is derived from Old French and Latin before that, "Tribulatio", meaning "To afflict".  Art!

"Dimya felt a tribulation coming on"

     Yes, that's the Gazprom Gigolo depicted in effigy in Prague, which has probably earned them a death sentence if Putin On The Fritz ever gets his scabby, quivering digits on them.  IT'S RELEVANT!  IT'S RELEVANT!

     You see, once Conrad had wended his way into Gomorrah-on-the-Irwell and ascended to the very topmost heights of The Dark Tower, he was greeted by not  many people.

     'What's going on?' I enquired.  'Or not going on.  Where is everyone?'

     'Working from home,' explained Matt.  'We can do that now if we want to.'

     O great.  NOW they tell me.  After I spend £18 on a weekly bus pass.  Art!

"First Bus laughed at Conrad.  Sucker!"

     Here an aside.  Yes, already!  You see, Conrad was looking up 'Tribulation' in his Collins Concise, and he came across "Triboelectricity", which is electricity - there's a clue in the word itself - generated by friction, and then, reading a little further down, "Tribology", which is the scientific study of friction, lubrication and wear between moving surfaces.  Triboelectricity is probably what those people trying to explain 'Earth-lights' are stumbling towards as an explanation.  Art!

Earth lights.  You can't deny it!

     ANYWAY Your Humble Scribe was offered the chance to go home at lunch time, because he was due to work until 18:10, and there wouldn't be any Team Leaders present after 17:00, which is important if you get scared and need a hand to hold*.  Great!

     Then we get to Oldham Bus Station.  Conrad is waiting for the 409 when his treacherous bowels intervene.  Not doing things by halves, either.  None of the "Excuse me we'd really like to be empty" for them, O no!  No, it was "Excuse me we'd really like to be empty"

     I did say that toilet was relevant, didn't I?  Your Humble Scribe had to scurry across the bus station forecourt and into The Spindles, on the theory that a large retail establishment would surely have public toilets?  They did, although it was rather an initiative test to discover them before embarrassing oneself.  Art!

Go on - you were expecting a joke about Uranus, weren't you?

     We did, indeed, make it.  The thing to take away from this is that Conrad doesn't have to spend at least three hours travelling, and can catch up on his beauty sleep, which he most definitely needs.

Andrew Prine

The Steve and Oscar domesticated wolf and very small horse show proceeds!  Conrad has no idea why the name of this veteran South Canadian actor ever popped up in his mind.  He had a kind of sulky teen rebel air about him, long after he was ever a teen, and Conrad is pretty sure he turned up in "The Invaders", Quinn Martin's blazing documentary expose of how aliens had completely infiltrated South Canadian society.  Art!

     Andy's the one at the front at risk of getting shot.  I cannot find any decent pictures of him in this episode, so I shall prod Art with an electrified fish-fork.

     Yes, he was in lots of Western films and television shows.  He's still around, and has never stopped working, because drama-free professionals able to hit their marks every time have a certain cachet in agent's books.

Bring On The Fan-fiction

Because nobody has yet said "Actually Conrad your writing is quite horrid, and could only improve if you got in an editor, and about a 90% word count reduction".  So - 

‘Stout gel!’ he praised her.  Then, stepping in closer.  ‘Is your chappy all right in the head?  Sunstroke can take people funny ways, you know.’

          The Doctor had stopped to stare at the sky, now a cloudless blue again, from where the sun hit them with a near-physical force.  He produced a small electronic gadget from a pocket, extended an aerial and spun around to face all directions of the compass.  A slow frown spread across his features and he pivoted back to face south-east, looking alternately at his device and the far distant dunes of the Saharan sand sea.

          ‘He’s always like this,’ murmured Sarah.  ‘Except when he’s worse.’  She felt a little embarassed by her companion’s behaviour, blatantly over the top as it was.

          ‘Worse?  Good grief, he seems like Tod Slaughter already.  Just about to start chewing the carpet!’ snorted the officer.  Sarah nodded and smiled, not getting the reference to Tod Slaughter.

          The Doctor, who had caught the unflattering reference to the ham silent actor, smiled to himself.  Let the unwary underestimate the unrevealed.

          ‘I take it your dig at Makan Al-Jinni is to the south-east?  About ten miles?’ he asked.  Lieutenant Llewellyn did a double-take.

          ‘Good Lord, absolutely correct, Doctor Smith!  How did you know?’

          ‘Significant energy drain.’  There was no further explanation.  ‘I notice you also lack one of the essentials of desert life.’

          Sarah turned to look around her.  Water?  Trees?  Nice deep cool swimming pools?  Roger merely scratched his dirty hair.

          ‘Flies,’ continued the Doctor.

     There's a sinister explanation for this, of course.  Because a sensible one would be both anti-climactic and boring.  Art!

Whilst On The Subject Matter

If slightly later in the Second Unpleasantness, let us bring in photographic illustrations from "The War Illustrated", because if Conrad has bothered to take them, you are jolly well going to experience them.  Art!

     This miserable spectacle is the Italian-held island of Pantalleria, upon which the Allies had turned their air forces.  With insufficient anti-aircraft artillery and no fighters to defend it, Pantalleria was a fortress without a roof and it capitulated quick-smart, before the invasion force could even get it's feet wet.  Sorry, Duce, not another Malta after all.

More Of Books

Yeah, let's have another of those BBC entries about books published during the reign of HM The Queen STAND UP FOR QUEENIE YOU PIKERS!

1982-1991

 

Schindler’s Ark - Thomas Keneally (1982, Australia)

Beka Lamb - Zee Edgell (1982, Belize)

The Bone People - Keri Hulme (1984, New Zealand)

The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood (1985, Canada)

Summer Lightning - Olive Senior (1986, Jamaica)

The Whale Rider - Witi Ihimaera (1987, New Zealand)

The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro (1989, England)

Omeros - Derek Walcott (1990, Saint Lucia)

The Adoption Papers - Jackie Kay (1991, Scotland)

Cloudstreet - Tim Winton (1991, Australia)

     Well I've seen the film of "Schindler's", does that count?  I think there's a television series of "The Handmaid's Tale" which was incredibly dark - not in tone, in cinematographic terms, you couldn't see what was going on - and nothing happened, and it happened very slowly.  And that's as much as I've got to say.  O, except that riding a whale sounds pretty cool.  Until it decides it doesn't want passengers.

Finally -

We're dangerously close to the Adjusted Compositional Ton, so I shan't blather on too much.  Just enough to hit 1,200 words.  O and what's that?  Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony being played via i-pod.  You see?  There are some Ruffian art-forms that rise above the Bloaty Gas Tout.  People will still be listening to Pyotr Illyich long after the name of Puden - Puting?  Pruning?  whatever has long been forgotten.

That would get you a 25-year sentence back in Soviet Union 2.0, matey

*  Hey, it can get pretty creepy when you're the only person on the entire floor!