Who?

No!  Sit Back Down

This is nothing to do with everyone's favourite Gallifreyan, as you immediately thought, didn't you?  Because my goodness the BBC has been banging on about their premier dramamentary of late, which is howlingly ironic when you consider how much the various heads of that institution looked down upon and despised it when it began.  However, when it looked as if there was a market for it being re-released on 'video cassettes' (as we knew them many decades ago) and the sound of coin could be heard, O how they changed their minds!  Art?

"It's from the BBC Controller.  We're going to be listed as 'Receivables'."

     ANYWAY of course that's not what this Intro is about, because that would be logical and we cordially detest all forms of logic*.

     Conrad's grey cells are bestirring themselves a bit here, dredging up a distant memory from the late Sixties or early Seventies.  A spoof of "Doctor Who", if I recall correctly.  Now, what was it called?

     <brainstorming session and obscurantist Googling follows for ten minutes>

     

     As you can see from the caricature, this chap appears to be based on the William Hartnell iteration of the Doctor.  Conrad is not sure how his elongated and fragile neck supported the weight of his mighty cranium.  It was a comedy strip, as you can tell from his grinning maw and the bad pun, which was the first of many to come.

     Wowsers, got even more off-track than intended there.  Back to the Intro we go!

     Neither is it about Algis Budrys' most famous sci-fi novel, which, if Art will stop mooning about his Mara Corday calendar -

     In it, the Sinisters return a supposedly badly-injured South Canadian scientist, who now has an artificial skull, face and left arm.  The question is - who, exactly, is he?  Said scientist?  An infiltrating spy?  A robot wearing a human body?  Conrad has never read the novel and has only seen snippets of the film but it comes highly recommended by those who have.

     No, what we are on about here is the beloved character of Kenny Who?, from the pages of "2000AD".  If Art will do the honou STOP MOONING OVER MARA!

     I shall fill in a little background for you.  Kenny lived in the 'Cal-Hab Zone', which was the only part of a devastated Scotland that was fit for life, and just barely at that.  Whilst he toiled alongside his family on the farm, Kenny's dream was to become -

     A COMIC STRIP ARTIST!

     Don't laugh or mock, every man needs a dream.  Kenny sent his artwork to various publishers and ended up in The Big Meg (Mega-City One to you, perp) with his family, where he rapidly fell foul of the law.

     You can see where this is going, can't you?  Art!

     Yup, he got mixed up with Ol' Stony Face.

     In a twist on the usual events of Dredd pounding a perp into the floorboards before sentencing them to twenty years in the iso-cubes, Kenny managed to get away scot-free (Ha! do you see wha - O you do).  The reading audience was so positive about him that he came back twice, managing to escape incarceration each time, much to the disgust of The Chin.  The stories are genuinely amusing and mix in a lot of Scottish slang - the artist is one Cam Kennedy, a name that may hint why.

     You can bet that we've not heard the last of Kenny Who?

Further To Fusion-Boosting

I mentioned the niche occupation of 'Hobby Tunnelling' recently, and do you know what else is a niche area?

     Nuclear warhead design, that's what.  Conrad is unsure if you decide that you want to create Big Bang Bombs first and then find a course that's relevant, or if you do a course such as mechanical or electrical engineering and then apply.  Here's a hint: DON'T uses phrases such as "I like explosions" and "Vapourising cities is cool", as these will get you a psychiatric evaluation before rejection, and probably an entry near the top of the FBI's "Ones To Watch" list.  Art!

'Atomic Annie' sends love and kisses

     Yesteryon I explained how using tritium gas as a booster at the centre of a nuclear weapon increased the yield by as much as twice, IF the thing was designed efficiently.  This means that you can use half the fissile material in a pure fission design and get the same yield, so you can have a smaller and more compact warhead.  Or you can keep the same amount of uranium or plutonium and have a much bigger bang.  The miniaturisation process is normally the way to go.  Art!

     Tritium is used in various artefacts because of it's luminescent qualities, with the proviso that it's one of the most expensive substances out there, coming in at about £500,000 per ounce.  Not only that, it has a limited half-lifespan of 12 years and as the neutron source for a nuke, it needs regular maintenance.  Art!

     This leads to some interesting speculations about Ruffian nuclear weapons.  After all, if they're never intended to be used, and tritium goes for such huge sums, might a few itchy-fingered Strategic Rocket Force officers not have mysteriously acquired yachts and Italian mansions?  And how much of that essential maintenance has been conducted over the past 30 years?  These ponderings mean an unsourced speculation I read that only 16% of Ruffia's nukes will actually successfully launch - well, it may not be as far-fetched as it seems**.

     Hmmm, there's a lot of text up there.  More picture less prose!

Kitchen Kitsch

Your Humble Scribe did say he'd call out this list of items when he felt they were wrong, and here's just one example.  Art!

     We used to have one of these in The Mansion's kitchen, except ours was a cheap plastic one, so more probably £2 than £10.  Conrad loved the way the claws came out and laid a sinister hold on the cringing innocent pickle, wrenching it away from the company of it's fellows.  You could use it on jalapenos and pickled mushrooms, not just gherkins.

"City In The Sky"

The Doctor has been using young Alex as a variety of human guinea pig, in his own inscrutable and not-to-be-challenged way

     It took Alex a long time afterwards to assemble the facts and events into a sensible order.  He realised later that the illness had begun to affect him at the end of his first day on Planet Earth, and that it wasn’t anything caused by an incredibly distant horizon or psychosomatic symptoms.  His temperature had gone up and stayed up, rendering him weak and fearful of light, as dizzy as someone oxygen-deprived, giving him fearful, forgotten nightmares in that unfamiliar hotel room.  When he saw their original room in the light of day, his fever made it seem like an assault in an asylum.  The Doctor plied him with water, giving him a whole jug of the stuff, water that still had a taste unlike the insipid version filtered and recycled half a billion times aboard Arc One.

     Then they’d been the target of a rugby scrum in the hostel lobby, and he felt stupidly and inordinately proud to remember how the Australians loved rugby before being dragged outside into the cooler air of morning, where his rubber knees and cotton-wool head felt slightly better.

     Then they’d run into a gang of strangers, whom Mike had rescued them from – or had he already been there?  And then, the Doctor burst out laughing when Mike worried that he’d brought some deadly disease down from Arc One.

     Gallows humour, Doctor, gallows humour.

I Just Remembered

Going on about 'Mushroom Men', there was a horror novel by <thinks> Harry Adam Knight about a fungal outbreak that infects mainland UK, and a desperately unwilling author living in Ulster is 'recruited' to go and get the cure, from his ex-wife if I recall correctly.  Art!

     I won't enlarge it or you'll be put off your dinner.  It transpires that 'Harry Adam Knight' was a pseudonym used by the Ocker author John Brosnan, probably because it's a sleazy but fun potboiler.

     Incidentally, Brosnan also wrote "Knight Zero" for "2000AD", in one story of which there are - you may be ahead of me here - mushroom men mutated into monstrousness by fungal infection.  I can't provide a picture as there simply aren't any on teh Interwebz.

Finally -

O boy did we have fun with the internet today.  News at ten!

*  Today.  Tomorrow we may differ.

**  CAUTION! Not to be tested.

Boosted!

We Have A Theme For This Intro

Hurrah!  It might have been long enough for the whole blog back in the days when it only amounted to 750 words.  Not today, when you might have to work your way through twice that many WHICH IS A GOOD THING.

     Okay, we shall start small, and if I can prod Art into wakefulness with this handy electric toasting-fork -

     Here you go.  Your Humble Scribe cannot tell you what it tastes like as I am not mad keen on chocolate confectionery, and there's that thing about collapsing into a diabetic coma were I to indulge.  It was introduced into This Sceptred Isle in 1985 - remember that date - and has been around in Boost Guarana and Boost Duo and Boost Glucose, with various fillings of coconut, biscuit and peanut.

     Moving on to matters of slightly greater size, we have the following.  Art!

     This is one of those carbonated pep-swill drinks hotching with chemicals and to prove my point - 

Carbonated Water, Sugar, Glucose-Fructose Syrup, Acid (Citric Acid), Taurine (0.4%), Flavourings, Caffeine (0.03%), Sweeteners (Aspartame, Acesulfame K), Colours (Sulphite Ammonia Caramel, Riboflavin), Acidity Regulator (Sodium Citrate), Inositol, Preservative (Sodium Benzoate), Vitamins (Niacin, Pantothenic Acid,

     There's also a protein shake from Nestlé that's too dull to go into.  Art!

     This is 'Booster Gold', a.k.a. Michael Jon Carter, a character introduced by DC in <drum roll, cymbal crash> 1985.  Not saying anyone pinched a title from anyone else, just that it's a bit iffy as regards timing.

     I know, I know, you're sitting there thinking he's just another big dumb superhero with all those well-defined muscles, a profile chiselled out of granite and pearly choppers.  Well actually no.  He was a big cheese in 25th century sport, until he got caught throwing matches for money.  They don't approve of that in the 25th century any more than they do the 21st, and he got slung in pokey.  On release he could only get a job as a security guard at a science museum.

     A dangerous combination.  He stole a ton of super-powered gear, plus a security robot ('Skeets', in the background above), then jumped back in time to become a 21st century superhero.  Art!

     With the singular character flaw or virtue, depending on how you see it, of always being ready to shill products for money.  Conrad thinks this is the South Canadian business ethos writ large; after all, how else can he earn money?  Supes and Batman get a bit sniffy about this; well Bruce inherited his money and Kel Al has a paying day job.  Art!

     Yes, it's our old friend the Nike Hercules from yesteryon.  I was just mucking about trying to emphasise it and Hey Pesto! managed to rotate and highlight the booster section.  This is actually 4 booster rockets strapped together, intended to get the business part of the missile to height and speed for an interception.  Art!

     This one really dates me.  It's a barely-animated cartoon that used to crop up on "Blue Peter" waaaay back in the Sixties and Seventies.  Bleep is the frankly cyborgish alien to port, whilst Booster is the human to starboard.  Apparently in the far future opthamologists cannot correct defective human eyesight.

     ANYWAY I would like to finish with another boosted artefact, that being the W-31 nuclear warhead as carried by the Nikey Herky SIT BACK DOWN! this is interesting.  Art!

     This puppy was not simply a fission warhead - one where the explosive yield is caused by atoms splitting apart - but a boosted warhead.  That is, it got a bit fusion-y whilst detonating, resulting in an increased yield.  Art!

     The critical bit here is the Deuterium and Tritium gas, made out of hydrogen isotopes.  The 'Explosive Lenses' will be detonated, and compress the Uranium and Plutonium into a critical mass, at the centre of which are the gasses.  They undergo fusion, releasing neutrons, lots of neutrons, scads of neutrons, and this neutron 'flux' causes the fissile materials to burn at a far higher rate.  Why is this important?  Because it allows the 'burn' to be more efficient and consume more of the plutonium and uranium before the whole thing vapourises, thus - you may be ahead of me here - boosting the yield.

     There's more I could say about this, but I have an uneasy feeling that not only UNIT and Spectrum, but MI5 and the CIA might be casting eyes over BOOJUM! at this point.

     Which is at about the word count of an old, old BOOJUM! and where we came in.

I Just Had To Share

As you might be aware, the Scandinavians eat lots of fish.  There is an infamous Norwegian dish called "Lutefisk" which is white fish pickled in lye - a.k.a. sodium hydroxide - that has to be extensively rinsed before eating, and which apparently tastes like fish-flavoured rubber jelly.  Art!

     This is the Swedish equivalent: fermented herring.  Here we see the grateful reaction of three Ukrainian soldiers opening up a tin from a box of these supplied as international aid from Sweden.  Art!

The tin is opened

Brave warrior #2 after eating a morsel

     You know Conrad, this only makes him curiouser and curiouser.

     Now, if you think the above is bad, wait until we discuss Icelandic fish dishes.

Stop Being Absurd!

Another from that list of kitchen kit that is either completely redundant, or ridiculously expensive, or both (£1,200 for a 'Pancake Printer', egad!).  Conrad had lived his entire life in ignorance that these things existed as below.  Art!

     What on earth?  A cookie dipper?  ARE YOU MAD!  For starters, dipping a cookie, or as they are correctly known, a 'biscuit', into a glass of milk is an heinous act in and of itself.  One can comprehend being dipped into a cup of tea or coffee - within limits, I would shoot you before I'd let you sully my Margaret's Hope Plantation First Flush Darjeeling this way - as this would complement the flavour.  Not milk.

     What's wrong with using your fingers?  You have eight of them and two mutually-opposable thumbs that cost nothing to use.

     Bah!

"City In The Sky"

Alex, the recently-landed denizen of Arcology One in orbit, is looking distinctly ill after a couple of days on terra firma.

     ‘Hey, he brought the mare back intact,’ replied Mike amidst the chatter of everyone around them.

     ‘Please!  If you want information, I shall inform you.  Eight o’clock in the town hall tonight.  I trust that will be okay, Mayor Kenneally?  Thank you.  Meanwhile I have a sick colleague to see to.’

     ‘’S jus’ a fever,’ mumbled Alex, feeling even worse than he had a short while ago.  Sweat stood out on his brow.  His shoulders sagged.  His eyes were an aching bloodshot red.

     ‘Look you, the lad’s sick,’ pointed out one of the coasters.

     ‘Get him to the doctor,’ added another, backing off.

     ‘I am the Doctor – oh, sorry, I see.  The apothecary, the phlebotomist, the sawbones.  Don, does New Eucla have a doctor of medicine?’

     Growling with ill-grace, Don directed them three streets over and one across, before gesturing to the crowd accompanying him.

     ‘Come on, come on you lot, and you, too Ben.  The township will pay for your overnight board, but without alcohol.  You want beer, you pay for it …’

     His voice faded away when they turned the corner, Mike still with them to the Doctor’s surprise.

     ‘I need to see to Alex,’ he began, trying to lay out a claim to the young engineer.

     The open, honest features of the town’s Assistant Mayor clouded with worry.

     ‘Maybe you can, Doctor Smith, but what I’m worried about is whether he’s brought down any strange alien diseases to Australia.  He looks pretty ill.’

     To both human’s surprise, the Doctor burst out laughing.

     How callous of him!

Hey!

There I was, gurgling with sinister good humour, thinking I had a real chance to bamboozle "Antiwordle" and - Art?

     It's in MY dictionary, thank you very much.  I even quoted the definition a week or so ago.  Colour me unamused.

More Of Tunnels

Have you ever heard of "Hobby Tunnelling"?  Me neither.  Not until I read the conclusion to a story on Reddit about a gal worried about her Significant Other, who spent all his time on a piece of land he'd inherited, tunnelling.  Tunnel, tunnel, tunnel.  He spent all his spare time there, tunnelling, which made her feel abandoned and worried about his state of mind.

     There's no dramatic resolution; after requesting advice she took it, sat him down and had it out - gently - that she was concerned about his tunnelling and how he was <ahem> undermining their relationship.  He agreed to cut back and spend more time with her.

     Still - hobby tunnelling?  Art!

No thanks

Finally -

That's all!

If I Were To Say "Hercules"

Then I Could Predict What Would Go Through Your Minds

NO!  I keep telling you, I returned the D.A.R.P.A. Telepathy Helmet Prototype ages ago, it was a long-term borrow, not theft, and so what if it looked as if it had been taken apart and re-assembled?  Prototypes, you know, not known for a polished finish.  Art!

     What I meant was that your fervent imaginations and febrile minds would automatically jump to the wrong conclusion, because you are predictable and we are not.  Go on, admit it.  Art!

     Here we have Kevin Spongebo (or similar), showing off his physique as 'Hercules' and Conrad wonders what the percentage of viewers split by gender was?  Just curious as I've never seen it - Your Humble Scribe rather doubts it would manifest any accuracy with the mythical character.  Art!

     The Disney version, back when they made films that people went to see and which didn't cost $550 million before publicity and advertising <memo to self about not being catty>.  I have seen this version, and liked how they made the adolescent Herky out as a hopelessly clumsy oaf, yet still awesomely strong, which created a lot of awkward situations.  Art!

Errrmm yes.  Quite

     I think we'll move swiftly on from that one.

     No, you see, you're being much too limited and restrained in your expectations, and rather than thinking of a figure from Greek mythology, you need to be thinking, rather, about NUCLEAR-CAPABLE SURFACE TO AIR MISSILES!

     Art!

     Ladies and gentlemen and those unsure, allow me to introduce the Nike Hercules MIM-14, an icon of the Cold War.  This was a supersonic interceptor intended to home in on encroaching fleets of Ruffian bombers, and turn them into instant sunshine.  Let me bore you with technical details.  It tipped the scales at 5 tons (none of that metric nonsense here!), was 41 feet PROUD IMPERIAL FEET long, and could accelerate up to Mach 3.65, or 2,800 m.p.h.  Since it could hit targets at 100,000 feet height (or 19 miles) and at a range of 75 miles, Nike Herky would be reaching out to say hello in about 2 minutes from launch.  Art!

Dramatic!

     Thanks to safety concerns, NH went into service with solid rocket boosters and main engine, making it far safer than -

     Let us backtrack a little.  Herky went into service in 1958, as a result of research and development carried out by the South Canadian Army.  Art!

     Now, who hated the South Canadian Army with the passion of a thousand supernovae?  Why yes, the South Canadian Air Force, of course!  They had their own nuclear-tipped interceptor design, the BOMARC, which we have already covered elsewhere.  It was nowhere near ready for deployment when Nikey got rolled out to bases everywhere, which inspired levels of jealous vindictiveness more appropriate to a bunch of teenaged drama queens.  The two services very publicly slagged each other off, by which point the South Canadian Navy (and probably the Sinisters) were doubtless consuming buckets of popcorn and looking on in horrified fascination.  Art!

     

This made the Air Force glow with rage

     The spiky Nikey also proved able to counter, to a limited extent, short-range ballistic missiles, something completely beyond the scope or capability of BOMARC and which must have left the Air Force generals chewing the carpet.  Or frothing at the mouth.  One of the two.

     By the early Seventies Nikey was reaching the point of obsolescence, though it continued in a reduced role until the early Eighties, long after the BOMARC was a distant memory.

     There was going to be more about the boosted-fission W31 warhead that the Nike Hercules hauled ass with, but that would double the Intro's length and probably simultaneously bore and scare readers, so maybe at a later date.

     Because I'm a charitable chap, I would like to credit the Nike Historical Society with the missile pictures here, along with some of the stats.  

Nike Historical Society (nikemissile.org)

     That's their link, should you wish to know more.  Art!

     Hmmm - no, don't cringe, Art, that's an interesting counter-factual we may come back to at a later date.  In fact, have a plate of coal.

Amidst The Chaos Of The Day

I think that's a track from the soundtrack of - Dog Buns, what's the film, it's got a villainous Gary Oldman and Val Kilmer and Dennis Hopper and Christian Walker - fnorp it, I'll have to go look it up now.  Hang on -

     "True Romance"!  I've got the soundtrack going in the background now.  One of Hans Zimmer's finest.

     ANYWAY what I meant to say is that there is a happy story today.  All 41 of the Indian miners trapped for 17 days were rescued safe and sound.  Art!

In Contrast -

We have, on occasion, mentioned and pictured one Kyrylo Budanov, the saturnine and stony-faced Ukrainian who is the top dog in their Ministry Of Defence's Intelligence organisation.  Art!

     The Ruffians fear and hate him; they have already tried to assassinate him five times, unsuccessfully unless they were successful and the Ukes merely bring another clone out of the deep freeze and they seem to have gotten desperate, as they have now poisoned a group of people that includes his wife.

     Ooops.

     

     Yes, they got 'Hopeful' wrong.  Conrad wonders if this bloke will remain professional about the Fun-Sized Foot Fiddler giving permission to murder his wife, or whether a lot of Ruffians will start throwing themselves out of windows after swigging a pot of polonium tea and shooting themselves in the back of the head twenty-seven times.

     This is real-life, after all, not a James Bond film.  But if the gloves are off ...

"City In The Sky"

The Doctor is coralling a distinctly peaky Alex the morning after their arrival in Australia.

     Beating a path to the front door and freedom with his hat, the Doctor tugged Alex after him. 

     ‘All in good time!’ he called over a shoulder, running headlong into Mike.

     ‘Blimey, you do attract trouble, doncha?’ said an exasperated Assistant Mayor.  ‘Your lad looks a bit peaky.’

     ‘Didn’t sleep well,’ mumbled Alex.  Truth be told, his head throbbed and pulsed and he’d have given a great deal to get medical attention from Arc One’s medical specialists. 

     Any pursuit had been delayed by cooked breakfast’s arrival in the hotel, allowing them to steal away around the corner and towards the town hall, where they promptly ran into another group of coastal travellers led by Don, who looked unamused.

     ‘Are you making trouble!’ he asked, looking directly at Mike.

     A chorus of questions immediately arose from the new arrivals, all bar one individual who looked distinctly different from the other worn but well-ordered denim-clad horsemen.  His clothes were ragged and dirty, he clutched a long staff and his eyes wobbled oddly in their sockets.

     Ah – one of the Wanderers, no doubt, calculated the Timelord, casting back to what Officer Kane had hinted at.  The mentally-ill, or those unable to adapt to the post-Big Crash world.

     What was that phrase about being sincere yet completely mistaken?

     Yes, "Amidst The Chaos Of The Day" is playing right now!

Colour Conrad Confused

Your Humble Scribe has been graced with a few 'Likes' over on Twitter - no way is a dinosaur like myself going to change names at this point - including one that 1) I don't remember posting and 2) Don't know what it refers to.  Let me illustrate the point.  Art!

      It's true that the accordion brings splendour to any music it accompanies, but what was I reacting to?  Is there some arcane mumbo-jumbo I can perform to reverse-comment and find out what I was blathering about?

     Maybe not.

Finally -

I should point out that this is Thursday's blog, being mostly done on a Tuesday and given a bit of polish on Wednesday, just so we're clear.  And, on that subject, the morning skies are incredibly clear; bright blue and cloudless.  A welcome break from a series of soggy days.  The downside to this is that it's Dog Buns! freezing and I already have my heated mittens on - and am scoffing porridge.  Porridge made with soya milk left over from the ice cream making, which takes a bit of getting used to.

     Ah yes, the ice cream - full of ice crystals.  Either not enough vodka in the mix or it wasn't churned for long enough.  And not really apt for this time of year.  O well.

The Creative Processor

Because Conrad Is Convinced You All Thirst To Know

Just how this farrago of a blog is put together.  First, you take a curmudgeonly middle-aged man with bad teeth and diabetes, then you crank him up on pints of tea and coffee all day long, prime him with cheese-and-ham toasties and then point him at a keyboard.  End result = BOOJUM!  

     We need a picture with more click-baitiness about it than an ice cream maker.  Hang on and we'll see what Art can come up with.  Art, you coke-chewing minion, get on with it and be inspired!

I've no idea what this is, but the artist is Chris Foss, so it'll do nicely

     Or at least that's part of it.  Art!

     Here's me being creative with a variety of food processor, hence today's title.  You won't remember this device unless you've been a reader for about seven years; it's an ice cream maker that I put away and neglected once I'd been diagnosed.  SHAKES FIST AT DIABETES!  The paddles still turned when I plugged it in, rather to my surprise after that long a wait.  Yes, it's a little noisy but stil functional.  The food processor that I bought last year, however, stubbornly refused to work at all, go figure.

                                 

     Here's a few of the ingredients: cornflour, icing sugar and egg yolks, and raspberries, both pureed and whole, and blueberries.  What you can't see, because it's out of sight, is the pan of soya milk and vanilla essence cooking gently on the hob.  The recipe is one for diabetic ice cream, you see.  Essentially it's the old one from seven years ago; make a custard and then add in soft fruit, with the secret ingredient - a couple of tablespoons of vodka.

                                       

     The vodka, you see, doesn't add any taste yet the addition of alcohol prevents the ice cream from hardening to a single monobloc.  It's freezing in the freezer overnight and I'll doubtless try a bit tomorrow.

     For the first time I've looked at a few of my old ice cream recipes in years and see that they all require at least four ounces of caster sugar - my diabetic version only has a couple of tablespoons of icing sugar so probably less than two ounces total.  I'm now wondering if one can simply substitute Canderel or similar for sugar in these recipes, and how it would affect texture in addition to taste.  A bit of internet exploration awaits!

     Right, it's ridiculously late at night and this old curmudgeon desperately needs his beauty sleep.  Snoozles!

     Okay, I'm back for the morning after.  Sober, serious and sound of mind (so far, though the day is yet young).  Art!

     Some of you may not be familiar with this artefact.  It's a 'book', specifically a 'notebook', which one 'writes' upon with another hand-held artefact called a 'pen'. Despite all the hideous technical mummery of the twenty-first century, enough dinosaurs like Conrad survive to make these still available.

     You can see my characteristic scrawl, making a list of titles for blog items, annotating a vlog, and outlining the beginning of an article about "Day Of The Dead".  I note stuff down as it comes into my head, as well as sitting down to deliberately list what the blog is going to be about.  Art!

     This is a list of browser bookmarks, that is, pages I've made a note of to come back to in future, which in years past I might have written out longhand.  It's a lot more efficient to label pages like this in order to come back to.  There do seem to be a lot of them at present.  Better get working on the backlog.  Art!

     Here's one graphic that illustrates BOOJUM!s audience across the globe.  I had no idea we were so highly thought of in Finland.  They do get occasional warm mentions in items.  FYI, the viewing figures for Ruffia went up to 8 from 5 the day before.  So, people seem to be moderately fond of the blog, even if it means a 15-year prison sentence in a hellish Siberian gulag.

The Biter Bit

I just had to share this one, it's a classic Reddit from Youtube about karma coming back to fasten it's incisors in the bottom of a bottom-hole.

     Okay, so Original Poster said that her dad was absent from home a lot, busy earning lots of money whilst being rather a failure as a dad.  Art!

     Also cultivating an impressive gut.  Hey, you too can achieve this at 41 if you really try!  Anyway, one day dear old dad comes home and informs Wifey that he's not getting 'what he wants' from matrimony and wants an open marriage.  A somewhat gob-smacked yet dutiful Wifey agrees, with a fair bit of sly support from OP, who can see exactly where this is going.  Dad instantly has carnal relations with his receptionist.

     On the other hand, Wifey establishes a dating profile (actually conjured up by OP) and proceeds to have carnal relations, too.  With lots of partners.  She is, by OP's account, quite the looker who kept fit with lots of gym and training.  Of course - obviously! - she keeps dad up to date on all this, because in an open marriage you need lots of communication, right?  Art!

CAUTION! For illustrative purposes only

     Over the course of a year, Wifey (I can capitalise her now) had many partners, whilst Dad got stuck with the receptionist, which led to him getting furiously angry over little nothings, eventually trying to 'close' his open marriage.  Wifey shot him down instantly.

     Dad then left to stay in an hotel and filed for divorce.

     The last laugh is still on him, as it transpires the business he spent so much time and effort on is actually in Wifey's name, so he's going to be a fat, broke divorcee whose receptionist will move on to greener pastures.

     You can tell I'm a terrible person because this story made me laugh out loud.

Stitchin' In The Kitchen

Not literally.  I mean, who would set up a Singer next to the chopping-board?  No, I mean another silly kitchen invention from South Canada, where they seem to focus on taking money from those with too much of it.  Art!

     How could you justify spending $400 on a machine when all you need is a pan with a lid and a dab of oil?  Conrad has done popcorn like this in the past and all you then need is a salt-shaker with icing sugar to sweeten the popcorn.  Of course, because this is South Canada we're talking about - Art!

     How Dog buns! idle must you be to want an electrically-powered device to save you from twisting the cap of a grinder two or three times?  Are they battery-powered?  Or do they charge from the mains?  You do realise that the level of complexity increased by having an electric motor in them makes them prone to breakdown (kitchens being humid and warm places)?

"City In The Sky"

Our favourite Gallifreyan and companion are doing frighteningly prosaic things like getting a room for the night.

     ‘We shall be the very models of probity,’ said the Doctor, clutching his boater over his hearts.  Looking slightly awestruck, Alice led them to the second floor and two rooms that were bare, functional and unfussy, but clean and appealling.

     ‘I think I’ll turn in right now, Doctor,’ said Alex.  ‘I feel done in.’

     He got a shrewd glance in return.

     ‘Yes, I’m sure you do, I’m sure you do.  But, before you do - ’ and, wielding the sonic screwdriver, he proceeded to make a request that made the weary Alex frown in surprise.

 

     Next morning brought more riders from more townships further along the coast, impelled by the courier mails to seek out the newest arrivals on their island continent.  In all there were over twenty people, weatherbeaten and rangy, all immensely curious about the travellers. 

     Alex and his mentor came down to order a breakfast, after carefully hanging a “Do Not Disturb” sign on their assigned room, and came into abrupt confrontation with half a dozen of the new arrivals, who wanted to know who he was, where exactly he came from, why he was here, who the boy was, when he’d be talking – 

     Sorry, it can't all be violent action and adventure.  Maybe tomorrow.  If you're good.  Art!

It's real - who knew?

What Goes Round

May end up on the BBC's themed webpage about 'Circles', and it may additionally end up on here, heh.  Art!

Courtesy Diana Turner

     This is about the last interesting picture in the collection so don't expect any more circular shizzle.  Pictures of bracken or headlights pall rather.

Finally -

Typing this up with my heated mittens on, which are not conducive to rapid progress.  O well.