No! Nothing To Do With The - Hang On
Your Humble Scribe had it in his mind that there was a song going by the name "From A Whisper To A Scream" by an obscure Scouse post-punk band whose name I cannot recall (Google be my friend) and what do I find? Art!
Ignore the creases! Ignore the creases!
There was also this, which seemed a bit too in-your-face for an opening Intro photograph, although I have to admit I'm intrigued -
Nope, no idea which of the four stories this one is. Yes, this is an 'Anthology' film, where you have bookends and interleaved bits to string the whole thing together.
Aha! 'Twas The Icicle Works who did the song. Art!
In case you were wondering, their name comes from a story by Frederick Pohl whose full title is "The Day The Icicle Works Closed", which I haven't read and don't have the faintest idea as to plot or characters or anything else.
NOT ONLY THAT! It transpires that another Scouser, and his band, to wit: Elvis Costello And The Attractions, had earlier done a song with the same title. Art!
Back when he wasn't futzing around with country music
ANYWAY as per usual that's all completely irrelevant to this torrid tale of nuts and buts. Art!
BEHOLD THE PISTACHIO ICE CREAM!
Excuse me if I make a lot of this. I had found an old hand-written recipe for Pistachio Ice Cream that used only 3 ounces of sugar, and with my discovery that you can substitute half the volume of sugar with Canderel, it would end up only having 1.5 ounces of sugar, which from a diabetic standpoint is what you want.
Okay, then the fun begins. Art!
"4 ounces pistachios" said the recipe. Okay, that means shelling a couple hundred pistachios. This wasn't too onerous, I could watch "Space 1999" whilst splitting the little devils open.
"Blend half the nuts and sugar until fine" said my inimitable scrawl. I measured out the sugar and Canderel and then realised the next step involved making a variety of custard, which take ages, so I put the now-shelled nuts and sugar mix in the cupboard, leaving them for the morrow.
This was a mistake, as we shall surely see. Art!
I couldn't blend the nuts and sugar into a fine mix because that above, my Tefal food processor, didn't work. Neither the blender nor the bowl, not on a different kitchen plug socket nor with a new fuse.
FINE! and I resorted to chopping the nuts with a large knife. Time-consuming, which is what food processors are supposed to short-cut. Are you listening, Tefal?
I then dumped the finely-chopped nuts into the sugar mix and attempted to stir it in. Only to find that the Canderel had turned the mixture into a solid mass that not only refused to mix but upended the tub and spilled chopped nuts across the floor.
FINE! and I resorted to making a new sugar mix. Art!
RUFFIANS LOOK AWAY NOW!
Then I realised I should have only used half the sugar in the pistachio blend, because the recipe called for the other half to be used with three egg yolks. So Conrad ended up using 3 ounces of sugar anyway.
Having finally gotten the mixture heated up, thickened and added to the ice cream machine, I let it run for a good 15 minutes, which was perhaps 5 minutes too long, as by the time Conrad The Chef came back to the machine, the mix had nearly o'ertopped the paddles. Art!
Note teaspoon-sized sample. It's actually very nice, and not too sweet.
Yeah, About That Cabin In The Woods
We began a tale of epic oafishness yesteryon, which continues to escalate into hitherto unheard-of levels of entitlement and petty spitefulness that risked thermonuclear war a big family fight. Art!
A woody cabin
OP had forbidden his loathsome sisters, brothers in law and horrendous offspring to ever, ever, ever use his vacation home, which was more akin to a house than a hut, but also situated in the mountains. So quite cabin-y in nature.
Unbeknownst to OP, his Terminally Entitled Sisters And Spouses & Four Kids, were all in deep financial troubles, as they spent a lot more than they earned. They had been 'renting' out the vacation home to various different groups, bringing in several thousand dollars a time, in order to prop up their lifestyle. Art!
One of their must-haves
Because OP knew their behaviours better than he liked, he went up to the house, had an expensive security camera system installed, added lockpads to the doors, then closed the entry gate with a giant padlock and several yards of heavy-duty chain.
Nor was that all. He contracted 'Dave' to maintain the Cabin Of Much Debate, as it was a pain in the bottom to make the trip out for minor repairs. Dave, as it turned out, was an ex-cop from the big city, who was bezzy mates with all the local sherrifs.
With all this security, you'd think TESASFKs would keep away, wouldn't you?
You couldn't be more wrong. Art!
A Peek Into The Mind Of Mike
Michael Siegel, that is, the astrophysicist who's finally put out Part Two of his aesthetic and practical critique of various spaceships as seen in films and television. This one's a bit of a wowser, being as it is - Art!
The Borgy Bus
Yes, the Borg Cube from that obscure cult series "Starz Trak" (sp?). You can see what Mike likes about the design and concepts here: this thing is utterly alien and no two ways about it. Totally utilitarisn in design with no silly fripperies like - well, anything. When it storms into the Solar System, most of Star Fleet gets wiped out without Borg Cube breaking a sweat. Mike classifies this one as "Enjoy The Ride" which is ironic since any Hom. Sap. aboard a Borg Cube will definitely not be enjoying the ride. Art!
"City In The Sky"
"Barclay's Bug", as the fever is now known, has hit ten per cent of Arcology One's population, so far without any fatalities - which may change as time passes.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Just Another High
With a look of disgust, the Doctor cast down the now useless transceiver, before repenting and swooping to pick it up again. He had been about to give a detailed description of the aliens before those very same aliens woke up, realised a two-way communication was going on and cut it off.
Now they’d probably send in their aircraft, the one equipped with a
thermal killing weapon of devastating effectiveness, against which the Euclans
could bring crossbows, and perhaps a few shotguns, and maybe an ancient and
unreliable automatic or two from the Big Crash era.
On the other side of the Mayor’s desk, the side reserved for non-Mayors,
two hefty farmers kept a firm hold on Don, who had been comprehensively roped
into immobility. In fact his bonds – a
band of ropes a metre high keeping his arms bound to his sides – constituted a
restriction on his breathing.
The Doctor tipped his chair back, making the legs creak, pushed his hat
back and dug his thumbs into his knitted waistcoat, pursed his lips and
frowned, deep in thought.
Not from the Townies or the Coasties. But stray Gallifreyans .....
I Am Not Alone
As you should surely know by now, Conrad has an ever-increasing Book Mountain that needs to be tackled every so often, and once read, placed upon the ever-increasing number of shelves on the ever-increasin - you get the idea. Art!
This is "African Stalingrad", whom I follow on Twitter. He was bemoaning and bewailing that he's run out of room thanks to the 500+ books, maps and links to do with the Second Unpleasantness in Tunisia from 1942 to 1943, which you can see here.
I don't know about that. There's clearly space on top of that dresser. What about beneath that bed? Don't you have an attic you can convert? Stop complaining and buy more bookcases, man! <gloasts over his own 938 military history books and tweaks moustache ends>.
Finally -
Conrad is not impressed with the weather today. Filthy grey foulness falling from concrete-grey heavens. The telephone artisans mucking about with the cabling on that new telephone pole are having to work under an umbrella, poor souls. This, gentle reader, is what drove my people to conquer hot, dry, sunny lands elsewhere, out of desperate aspirations to acquire a tan.
Off to wizard prang it a bit.
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