Yes, We Have A Scottish Taste To The Intro
Nothing to do with whiskey, which Conrad is not at all keen on, nor porridge, which Conrad is very fond of when made with milk; breakfast of champions! I don't think I want to contemplate porridge made with whiskey, thank you very much. Art!
Buzzed for breakfast!
Where was I? O yes. Let me introduce you to Sir Charles Gascoigne. Art!
This crusty old duffer in a scarf was in fact a Stone Killer, even if only indirectly, thanks to his invention of the 'Carronade'. You've probably never heard of it, since unlike Your Humble Scribe you didn't pay attention in history to the Royal Navy of the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. Art!
NO IT IS NOT A CANNON!
Just to be clear. A typical carronade weighed about a quarter of the equivalent cannon, all which were all measured in terms of the weight of cannonball they could fire. Art!
Both fire a projectile of the same weight
Part of the attraction of a carronade was their comparatively light weight, meaning they could be mounted on the open deck and traversed from left to right, meaning lots more juicy targets; a cannon on the lower gun decks was able to shoot only in front of it.
Thanks to the metal-working skills of the Carron foundry in Falkirk, Scotland - from whence their name came - the barrel thickness was considerably less than that of a cannon, see above for advantage, and their bore was only 1/10th of an inch wider than the ball or shot they fired. This meant a lot less propellant gas being lost as compared to a cannon, where the gap between bore and ball might be 1/2 an inch. Thus, a ball of the same weight as a cannon could be fired using only 1/6 of the powder. Art!
Carron Foundry
The carronade didn't have long range; however, when used at typical broadside ranges in naval encounters up to Trafalgar, it was truly devastating. Nelson's flagship Victory, at Trafalgar, hit the French flagship Bucentaure with it's pair of forward-mounted 68 pounder carronades, squarely in the stern. Using solid shot and grapeshot, these two shots instantly killed or wounded 282 of the French ship's crew, having traversed the whole length of the ship.
Rather grim stuff! Moving onto lighter matters, there's a fascinating item on the BBC's News website about the 'Declaration Of Arbroath", which is a written request to the Pope, asking him to recognise the nation of Scotland. Art!
It was written in Latin on sheepskin, with the signature and seals of earls and barons, in the year of Our Lord 1320. Yes, seven hundred and three years ago. The intent was to get Pope John XXII to recognise that Scotland, which had been notably successful against the Sassenachs at Bannockburn, was it's own country under Robert The First, not a vassal of the <hack spit> English. Ol' Popey declined to do so, and the Scottish wars for independence continued until the middle of that century. Art!
The Scottish national pastime: fighting the English
The document itself is extremely fragile and is normally kept in a darkened room with UV filters over the windows to prevent any degradation from sunlight. Moving it from secure storage to public display is a major undertaking in order to avoid inflicting any damage. Art!
Arbroath
Note the harbour, for Arbroath is a seaside town, a mere fifty miles or so from Lamb Island. Art!
I have no idea why it's called 'Lamb' as you cannot possibly raise sheep on it, the whole thing is barely 100 yards by 50 yards. It sits just over a mile from shore in the Firth of Forth, with nowhere for boats to beach or land.
Here an aside. In 2022, at considerable expense, an 'invasive rat' was trapped and removed from the island. It appears that loonwaffle Uri Geller put it there as he owns the island as from 2009; it cost him £30,000 and I think the local council got the better part of the deal.
ANYWAY the Jaffa Fruitcake had asked if some swimmers could retrieve a rock from the island for a museum he has in Israel. Being bored of living, the 'Salty Selkies' volunteered. Lunatics. Art!
Swimming there is dangerous; the tides in the Firth of Forth flow back and forth rapidly, there are off-shore currents, and the water is so cold than any stay longer than an hour will result in hypothermia. Nevertheless, they did it there and back safely, a swim of 2 1/2 miles, with their oldest member being 72 years old. That's pretty epic! Art?
The Salty Selkies, rocking it.
That concludes our Celtic-tinged Intro.
Some South Canadians Miss The British Monarchy
At least the "Daily Beast" does. Your Humble Scribe has commented about this before, on how a republic slavers lasciviously over our Queenie (now Kingy) and the minutiae of the Royal Family's doings on a daily basis. Art!
Your Honour, I rest my case.
More Of Maths
My old manager from a dozen years ago, Gavin, held the opinion that anyone who was either good at mathematics or interested in it was a pervert.
Guess I'd better claim my Pervy Sleazebag Card. Art!
This is the Incompetent-In-Charge at the Kremlin, Sergei Shoigu, whom many feel is going to be set up as the fall-guy when things go toes-up in Ukraine. His military credentials amount to watching all the episodes of "Hogan's Heroes" and "Dad's Army", and being able to differentiate between a baker's van and a water tank.
ANYWAY he was giving out figures for Ukrainian rockets and missiles shot down in May, and came up with "196 HIMARS shot down". Art!
If he's telling the truth then things are even worse than he realises. You see, a single HIMARS - Art!
On the other hand, we have the S-300 anti-aircraft/missile system, and a single one of these - Art!
So, to intercept and shoot down $31 million dollars-worth of HIMARS rockets, the Ruffians have blown through $196 million dollars-worth of S-300s.
Yes, the Ruffians have thousands of S-300s. But the Ukrainians have thousands of HIMARS, too; and if they run out, the South Canadians will simply supply them with more. The Mathematics Of Misery!
"City In The Sky"
Thank you for being patient, we're now moving onto the meat of the matter as the Doctor explicates the near future to Ace.
This time Ace made
a sound to go with her wrinkled nose.
‘Ewww! Horrid.
Mind you, that’s a lot of people.
Six thousand of them.’
The Doctor took up
a characteristic pose, resting his chin on his upright umbrella.
‘Six thousand
people’s nothing, Ace.’
‘It is too!’ she
replied, with feeling. She felt
compelled to defend human endeavour. ‘I
know there’s only been a few on Mir and Skylab.
Six thousand’s a lot, Professor.’
Recognising this
casual address, the Time Lord realised Ace wasn’t brooding any more on the past,
on funerals or Mike Smith.
‘Try one hundred
and fifty thousand, Ace.’
She looked
incredulous.
‘Honestly, quite
true, Ace. The planners behind Nerva
knew their project would succeed because their far less-advanced ancestors put
the equivalent of an entire city into orbit, and kept them up there for decades
and decades.’
‘When?’
‘About a century
from now.’
Typically, one
question begat another from the young woman.
All thoughts of death or being unlucky in love were forgotten.
‘Okay, why did
they do it?’
A sigh was her
only reply.
‘Come on,
Professor, you can’t tease me with half a story!’ She paused.
‘Or do you want me to fill the gaps in by myself?’
The Doctor turned
to look at her, looking only slightly less-puzzled than she did.
I think that counts as changing the subject successfully.
O Delicious Schadenfreude!
Conrad has just noted that a Manchester Zarbi (sp?) has taken place between The Manchester United and Manchester In The City, and MITC won. Not that I care one iota who won or who lost, it's just that they opened the Have Your Say and there are bound to be volumes of citric, venomous Comments for the taking. Art!
Folks are not hanging around in expressing their opinion, are they?
Finally -
Better go get my tea, it's needed to soak up all this Old Speckled Hen.
Pip pip!
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