Gotcha

Wotcha

As the solid working-class characters in the comics of my youth used to exclaim as a greeting - an abbreviated version of "What are you doing?" which could also b

     ANYWAY as you should surely know by now, Conrad tends to hang onto questions and queries, because that's how his mind works*.

     So!  Art?

     This Intro dates back to a question posed on Quora, where the question asked was along the lines of "Which is the most powerful intelligence agency in the world?" and the first answer was from Roland - I shall spare his blushes and avoid giving you unspeakable perverts his surname - who said the CIA, because of it's sheer financial clout.  It's almost bottomless pockets enable it to outbid any other intelligence agencies when it comes to recruiting spies across the globe.

     Here an aside.  Yes, already!  Intelligence agencies like the CIA employ agents and case officers; these are the people who recruit the spies, rather than going out in the field to carry out deeds of derring-do.  Art!

CAUTION!  This is fiction.  Mostly.

     This bold assertion by Roland triggered a recollection in the labyrinthine maze of nonsense that makes up Conrad's untidy mind.  I clearly remember the book - Art!

     So, since I now have a looooong bus journey into the office once again, Your Humble Scribe has been re-reading this work.  I hit pay-dirt (whatever that is) on Page 257, where Ol' Gord writes "It [MI6] never publicly confirms or denies the identity of anyone who has spied for it for a simple, utilitarian reason."  He mentions the CIA's oodles of cash, then "The British argue that they maintain their own competetive niche in the spies' marketplace by offering something that some spies may treasure even more highly that money - the promise of secrecy and of never revealing their identity."  Art!

Ol' Gordy

     There's another gentle barb on Page 271: "MI6 liked to think it was more subtle in it's approach, relying less on cash and more on understanding an agent's motivation".  Yes, the South Canadians might have responded, you might well take that attitude when you've only got pennies in your coffers.

     Thus, it is alleged that MI6 ran up to eighty spies behind the Iron Curtain in the Warsaw Pact countries before the end of the Sinister Union, and you don't see any kiss-and-tell stories about them in the press, because - with one exception - their names are never going to come to light.  Art!

     Yes, that is indeed Mister Sergei Skripal.  You can understand why those other seventy-nine ex-spies are going to keep a low profile going forward.

     So, Roland, your answer is partly correct.  If, right now, MI6 are handling a couple of spies inside the Putin administration, and it is highly likely that they are, those names will never come to light.

     And all the above explains this afternoon's title.

"Fire And Fury" By Michael Wolff

My my, we are being literary today, aren't we?  Well, I have finally finished this memoir of the first seven months of the Trump administration, as elicited by the author from copious interviews.  I know we normally steer clear of politics here, but Darth Marmalade wasn't a politician, and you can look on this book as showing how the White House ought to be run and staffed. Art!

     Conrad is a little apprehensive that he recognises several of these people (the consequence of reading three books on the subject).  Standing at the back and looming large is Scruffy Steve Bannon, looking un-natural with a proper haircut and a suit.  The white-haired chap is Mike Pence, the Vice President, and the dark-haired fellow looking as if trying hard not to fart is Michael Flynn.  DJ Tango has had files and folders and papers piled up on his desk to look 'Presidential' because he can't actually read**.

     The dust-cover has a great blurb on the back that epitomises the whole book: "Donald Trump and his tiny band of campaign warriors were ready to lose with fire and fury.  They were not ready to win." (My italics).  

     Perhaps the most damning line in the whole book comes on Page 204, where Ol' Mick describes how the Trump admin staff were coming to terms with the sheer weekly, if not daily, chaos in the White House: "Arguably - and on many days indubitably - most members of the senior staff believed that the sole upside of being part of the Trump White House was to help prevent worse from happening."  Art!

Ol' Mick

"The Big Parade"

Conrad has begun to watch this silent B & W film as of last night, and an odd experience it is, too, for someone long used to films in colour and with sound.  Art!

     This is John Gilbert playing the lead character, James Apperson, a rich playboy.  It's pretty difficult to convey the finer nuances of acting when you've got no dialogue, hence the tendency to ham it up a bit.  There are insert cards that display crucial bits of speech or setting.  Art!

     Proof that today's audiences don't know how lucky they are, hmmm?

     I shall undoubtedly report back to you on how we get on.

Conrad Is ANGRY!

Honestly, they keep using foreign words in the Codewords because they must KNOW it sends me into a seething rage, then the compiles sit around chuckling to themselves, until they get vapourised when the Remote Nuclear Detonator gets put to use.  Heh.

"PIQUE": "A feeling of resentment or irritation" according to my Collins Concise.  From the French "Piquer", meaning "To prick" and we shall stop right there.  Art!

Gerard Pique

"LYCEUM": Hmmmm "A public building for concerts and lectures".  From the French 'Lycee' which is itself derived from "Lyceum", a school in Athens of antiquity.  Art!

"REBUS": I have a sneaking feeling that we've come across this once before.  It is a puzzle using pictures or symbols to represent syllables and words, and the most recent example I can think of is from Sherlock Holmes and "The Adventure Of The Dancing Men".  Art!

Solve it yourself

"The Sea Of Sand"

The Doctor has just sabotaged the morale of the bio-vore garrison at Makin Al-Jinni, by stating that they have five minutes before the last trans-mat back to Homeworld.

Predictably, this rumour went around the complex in seconds, leading to a sudden rush of bio-vores for the trans-mat platform.  Within five minutes of the Doctor’s message about the last chance to get home, only a few dozen bio-vores were left alive and in the complex.  Detachment Leader Kaybol (who had been Under-Technician Kaybollatri a few hours ago) stamped around until finding the Doctor, who was lounging on a pillar, contemplating his work and how long it might take until Homeworld enjoyed genuine freedom.

          ‘You are under sentence of death!’ crowed Kaybol.  ‘You will be executed!’ He sounded positively happy.  ‘Eliminated!  Eviscerated!’

          ‘Don’t push out the funereal boat too soon,’ rejoined the Doctor.  ‘Most of your garrison here seem to be either dead or back on Homeworld.’

          Kaybol grinned the feral bio-vore grin and made as if to lunge at the Doctor.

          ‘Fool!  All I  need now is a source of fodder.  Even hay, as you term your fodder, will do.’

          ‘It’ll take more than hay or hazel,’ carried on the Doctor.  ‘You’re entirely cut-off from Homeworld with no escape.’

     Hmmmm he seems very cockily confident, doesn't he?  Obviously knows something we don't.

Finally - 

A three-day weekend!  Great.  The only downside is, now that I'm working, all the people unable to get in touch with us via phone on Monday will be calling on Tuesday.  Thankfully the part-timers will be starting to answer phones (I hope!) so that'll be another nine souls to spread the work amongst.  Unless more have vanished, because there were five more trainees when we started.  Management also seem to be keeping a discreet but nevertheless beady eye on us all.  Conrad does not care, his demeanour is as of one whose heart is pure, even if his conscience is rather grubby.

And that's all for this afternoon!  Toodle-oo.

*  As much as it works, full stop.

**  Or, only by putting his finger beneath each word and painfully reading it out loud.