It's 00:15 And I Should Be Creaking My Way To Bed
Old bones and all that, doncha know. Anyway, I had come across a paragraph in a historical work and wanted to try and type it out ahead of time, whilst deliquescing with sweat thanks to the sub-tropical heat. If I open the window, as you're surely going to suggest, then it will be cooler yet also noisier, as the traffic on Rochdale Road never entirely stops. There you are - a car just drove past. Who knows what mischief that driver's up to at this time of night? I bet there's a blood-stained hammer and a dirty shovel in the boot. Art!
Er - perhaps not quite that evil
ANYWAY that kind of sets the scene for this Intro, which is quite depressing in itself and an indictment of the <redacted to make me seem clever>.
"Nevertheless, had <redacted>'s Ministry of War or Supreme Headquarters been functioning with only minimum efficiency, the <redacted> retreats could well have been turned into serious tactical defeats. As it was, the Russian Army was rapidly running out of small-arms ammunition, artillery shells and rifles. A hopelessly inefficient supply system frequently deprived troops of proper rations and clothing, which meant hungry, cold men ... Heavy losses in artillery had not been made up, nor had additional machine guns been provided. In mid-October one army discovered that thirty-two TONS of mail were filling a rear-area post office because there were no <redacted> to take them forward. The wounded suffered horribly. Doctors at regimental and brigade level were little more than barber-surgeons capable of hacking limbs off and no more. Anaesthetics were reserved for officers. Rear-area hospitals were were few and were poorly organised. According to a prominent Russian surgeon who was captured, 'severely wounded soldiers were left to die, because they were considered to be of no further use and would only prove a burden' "
Now, Conrad knows what you're thinking, because he is wise beyond his years, which are quite impressive to begin with. "O purveyor of wit, wisdom and wonder, you know people don't like you yarking on about the war in Ukraine.'
Ha! Psych!
This is the Tsarist army in late 1914. I omitted a few words ( "Austrians and Germans; horses; carts) to throw you off the scent, but it does kind of ring true, doesn't it? Quote taken from Robert Asprey's "German Strategy In The Great War", which is made all the more interesting by Ol' Bob's acerbic judgements.
Monday the Twelfth was 'Russia Day'; I doubt they'll have any posters up about Tannenberg. Art!
Teutons crowing with glee
Because it was a disastrous Ruffian defeat that saw their entire Second Army destroyed, the Pest In The Bulletproof Vest has probably made it illegal to mention it, unless framed as a 'Glorious Russian Victory'. So you go from Tolstoy's "War And Peace" (he'd been at the sharp end and knew what he was talking about) to Putin's "War Is Peace".
Hmmmm well that was pretty grim reading. Let's raise our spirits with a little malicious Schadenfreude!
The Biter Bit
I noticed that Citizen Trump was insulting rival candidate Chris Christie about his weight, an ad hominem attack that had me shaking my head. The thing is, DJ Tango lies about both his height and weight, so that he avoids the technical description of being obese. As if. He looks like a Tribble-topped beer barrel in a suit. Art!
"My hands are mighty, not tiny!"
ANYWAY, today he was in a Florida court to plead not guilty to 37 charges, which have been calculated to total 536 years in prison if he's found guilty. Don't worry, I'm sure they'd knock a decade or two off for good behaviour.
Typically, Agent Orange has been trying to stir his fans up to provoke violence, and the police are worried that they might see 50,000 rabid rallyers railing <thinks> rampantly. There doesn't seem to be any news coverage of this, so one wonders if it any protest was a rather damp squib.
O Boy I Tempted Fate This Morning
Your Humble Scribe expects the journey home to be awful, thanks to First Bus. Getting into the office has never been that much of a problem, providing I set my alarm clock early enough.
Not yesteryon.
We hit a tailback on the way in that began level with the TA Barracks on the A62. Art!
The traffic continued to crawl along until we got to the junction at Wynsor's World Of Shoes. Art!
Reason One: a traffic light had been knocked absolutely flat by a car coming in the opposite direction, causing the other one to stop working.
Great. What next?
Well, I had to ask! Art?
Reason Two: Roadworks, causing the lanes to narrow into a chicane. "Electrical works for NINE days. Expect delays" informed the sign hidden by matey's barnet.
It gets better!
Well, actually, no, it doesn't, it gets worse. At the bus stop nearest the Central Park tram stop, there was a positive mob of passengers waiting. Conrad suspects that they had to get off the Metro into Manchester at this point, and this was the nearest bus stop. Sorry, no picture. Maybe tomorrow.
I did ask one of the Metro staff in Victoria if there was an ETA on repairs and the system getting back in order, to no information.
We shall see.
"City In The Sky"
There are tensions and politics at play at the Human Salvation Project!
For
the first time that day, Virginia Branson looked unsure. Yes, today was her eighteenth, when she
legally assumed the mantle of inheritor of her grandfather’s estate due to her
father’s unexpectedly early death. The
old man had built up a fantastic business empire, of which her own father had
been little more than an executor, and she was here to settle this business of
the Arcology Project. “Money Pit in the
Sky” had been her pet name for it since she was twelve, though she didn’t
recall actually telling anyone that information. How Harris knew her inner thoughts so
precisely was a mystery.
‘I come into my majority today, Mister Harris. So I can, indeed, close down the Arcology
Project. Which I thoroughly intend to
do.’
Daniel Harris looked at her with a touch of amusement. So intense! he thought, then dismissed his
thought as unworthy. She was only
eighteen, cut out of the information loop, and probably here at the behest of a
gaggle of ignorant, bean-counting, penny-pinching advisers.
‘Well, that would be rather inconvenient,’ he said,
conversationally. ‘You’d strand the
one-hundred and fifty caretaking staff we have aboard Arcology One.’
Every one of the group reacted as he had hoped – with surprise.
‘What?’ asked
Ah, one way to stay ahead in business, keep the other party on the wrong foot.
More Of The 'Have Your Say'
Now up to well over 2,000 Comments, and, predictably, there are fans of other teams out there who hate hate hate that Manchester In The City won the Champion Vessel trophy, or some such shizzle. Some people posted with so much venom and spite that I bet they need a new laptop, thanks to hitting the keys so hard, not to mention the froth dribbling from their mouths.
Some people keep it in perspective.
Eminently sensible words yet he still gets people voting him down.
Finally -
Wow, it seems people really either like the Blues Brothers, or mules, or perhaps both, because the blog is suddenly a bit more popular than usual. Art!
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