How To Be Conspicuous

 No, I Don't Mean Individually

All you'd need to do is wear a hat with a flashing light knitted into it.  Darling Daughter could probably manage one.  And YES, before you ask, whilst wearing a full set of clothes, you unspeakable perverts.  Art!

Saves on the cost of a car, I suppose

     You see, I am currently reading Jon Sopel's "If Only They Didn't Speak English", which is about his time in South Canada as the BBC's North American correspondent.  The title is his assertion that if the South Canadians spoke a different language - Norwegian would be good, it sounds cool when the Norks  speak it - we, the British, would realise they are foreigners and be less confused by their culture and behaviour.  Art!

     It's well worth a read; he tackles Big Subjects with a deftness and lightness of touch, one of which was his experience of being in the Press 'pool' accompanying President Obama on a jaunt to the Middle East aboard Air Force One.  The pool is limited to only 13 journos, who have to make their copy available to everyone else.  Getting a ride on AF1 carries considerable cachet.  Art!

The Big Blue Bird

     Before you, as a journo, get aboard your luggage is checked by sniffer dogs, and then everything within is emptied out and searched by the Secret Service.  A Secret Service agent is assigned to protect and guide the pool, in addition to a press officer, who also organises your movement.

     As Press, you get to sit at the rear of AF1, and you can only move freely in the areas behind you.  This includes the rear kitchen, which has full-time chefs cooking proper meals, served with AF1 napkins.  Some of which Jon stole.  Art!

How is this conspicuous?  It's not.  That comes when the Prez moves out in his armoured limo, 'The Beast', which is more akin to the Spectrum Maximum Security Vehicle than a conventional car.  Art!

     The rest of the motorcade consists of another 12 vehicles, all of which look similar to The Beast, meaning an ambush won't know which one to hit.  Conrad is pretty sure at least one of them mounts a concealed 'pop-up' Dillon minigun, and another is an emergency ambulance.  

     Should the Prez require air transport, then four helicopters will also have been delivered, in crates, which are then re-assembled into 3 Marine Corps Ospreys and 'Marine One', which the Prez will travel in.  Art!

Marine One careening

     Jon reckoned the total number of people involved in this display of Might approached a thousand people, what with the Prez's personal staff, the Secret Service, engineers, medical teams, special advisers, armed police, State Department officials and there's probably an Uncle Tom Cobley in there, too.  This, gentle reader, is how you do Conspicuous.

     Here in This Sceptred Isle we do things a little more discreetly, trying to attract as little attention as possible.  Art!

     There you are.  Four cars and a motorbike.  Actually there will be a second motorbike travelling several hundred yards ahead, getting ready to stop traffic and ensure the convoy (of maybe 30 people) gets through without stopping.

     Yes, it's practical and efficient, but it doesn't quite hit Shock And Awe, does it?

Domestic Issues

As you should surely know by now, Conrad was made redundant in late August, and until 28th November was essentially having a holiday interspersed with dog-sitting.  Thus, no requirement to look neat or tidy, which was great, as I am a scruffy individual by nature with no interest in fashion.  Which, given that I'm temping at Footasylum, is a bit ironic.

     ANYWAY today I went off to Peppi's for a trim.  Art!

     I don't need to tell you which is before and after, do I?  Conrad unsure what he'll do when Peppi retires completely.  Panic?

Snow!

Yes, it arrived overnight.  The first day of snow up here at The Mansion is always the best one, because by the next day it's turned to compacted ice.  Art!

     The pavement along Rochdale Road on our side never gets the sun at this time of year, so the ice stays there until it melts, which can be weeks.  Conrad, wobbly old man at the best of times, worries about this.

"The Sea Of Sand"

Sarah Jane Smith has proven to be of sterner metal than anyone suspected and has managed to negotiate a truce between the surviving British and Italians.

‘What happened to those wretched Italians?’ asked Templeman, fanning himself with a sweaty, dirty hand.

          Sarah asked Dominione, who stumbled over the explanation.

          ‘He doesn’t know.  What he did see was the aliens killing their own wounded.’ 

          “Sucked dry into dust” had been the literal words.  The aliens injured by gunfire or Molotov cocktail were killed by their healthy companions, shrivelled into nothingness.

          ‘Then his men are, in all probability, dead,’ stated Templeman gloomily. 

          Tam and Davey looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

          ‘Bloody useless Eyeties.  Couldn’t knock the skin off a rice-pudding!’ complained the Scot, loudly.  Tam nodded in exasperated non-surprise.  They were both veterans of the long advance by Thirteen Corps against the Italian Tenth Army from December last year, and felt a certain lofty contempt for the enemy.

          The Italian officer might not have spoken much English, but he detected the sneering tone immediately and bristled with annoyance.

          ‘That’s quite enough of that!’ snapped Sarah before Roger could intervene.  ‘We are supposed to be working together - ’

          ‘Alright, Miss Smith,’ interrupted Roger.  ‘You two, keep your opinions to yourselves!’ 

          Privately he quite agreed with the other rank’s opinions; he’d seen the acres of dispirited Italian POW’s from Operation Compass and felt that Italians were more a comic-opera opponent than a serious military foe.  Given that the local Italians were armed to the teeth whereas his own men – all two of them – were unarmed, diplomacy was the discreet option.

     Wise Roger.  Sensible Roger.  Pay attention to Sarah!

South Canada: Another You've Got To Be Kidding Moment

This comes from a story put up on  Youtube, from a casino worker who worked as a 'slot host', meaning they helped the customers, sorted out payments, dealt with queries and generally interacted with the gambling public.  Art!

Again, can you say 'CONSPICUOUS'?

     Then management, who appear to have been repeatedly dropped on their head as a child, mandated an official, written policy that staff had to smile even if not dealing with customers.  There were threats of being disciplined or fired if you weren't Cheshire-Catting enough.  The Security Surveillance people were required to monitor staff to check on smile/non-smile ratios.

     You can probably see where this is going.

     The slot staff began calling Surveillance non-stop, detailing instances of other people not smiling or not smiling enough or being out of eyeline and thus possibly not smiling, or having their backs turned and thus maybe not smiling or just to confirm a staff member smiling.  Art!

Any potential violations had to have the picture printed, recorded and signed for by manglement.

     Surprise!  The policy was binned after a couple of weeks because Surveillance couldn't do their job, since they were simply fielding an unending stream of smile queries.  Casino security was under threat, and with it the ability to make $$$.  

     Conrad wonders what the legal consequences would be of firing a person for 'Not smiling enough'.  Sadly we will never know*.

Finally -

There is a quite terrifying photograph of me smiling somewhere on the blog, but can I find it?  No I cannot.  It's the counterpart of that below.  Art!

Conrad about to smile.  LOOK AWAY NOW!

* Although expect some idiots in manglement to try this in a different industry.