My Weasel Is A Dalek, Doctor

Just Getting Your Attention!
   Actually it's a Mechanoid.  What's a Mechanoid?  O!  I thought you'd never ask.

"Can I have the next dance?"

That gives you a sense of scale.  The Mechanoids never took off as a popular Doctor Who villain, which gave their operators a sense of relief: the models were very big, awkward and heavy.  Also they had weedy little arms.

Asteroids:  Keep Off!
     I'm glad to report that a report about asteroids - link here to the mighty Aunty Beeb :

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-25716103

 - warns they may not be commercially viable in terms of mining.  Good!  I'd hate for some snooping human mine-prospecting satellite to come across my means of interstellar travel.  I'm not saying which asteroid it's hiding on, and there are millions of asteroids.

The astronomical equivalent of a garage.

Russia - Riddle Solved By BOOJUM!
     Old Winston* put it well:"Russia is an riddle wrapped up in an enigma inside a mystery".      Well Conrad is here to demystify Russia and the Russians.  All part of that rounded education that BOOJUM! likes to supply, didactically.
     Firstly, remember that winter in Russia lasts for 11 months and temperatures regularly get to -50 Degrees Centigrade, with windchill lowering it further.
     Secondly, Russia is mostly Siberia, which is all tundra and pine trees, with the occasional frozen mammoth (apparently quite tasty when roasted).
     Thirdly, given the above, the vast majority of Russians stay indoors by preference.
     What follows from these facts?  Well, the average blood content of the average Russian is at least 50% vodka, vital in preventing their body tissues from freezing solid.       During the brief Russian summer, everyone has the hangover from Hell.  This explains why invading Russia outside the winter months is a Very Bad Idea, as the locals will tear you in two for making ungodly loud noises with guns or bombs.  Vodka, a word derived from "Voda", Russian for water, flows freely in a river network across Russia, except in summer, when it dries up.  This, in the past, has caused immense armies of Russians to move west, looking for more vodka in the summer, a movement frequently mis-interpreted as "invasions".
     Given the existential bleakness of Siberia, Russians are a gloomy lot.  You would be, too, if the only thing you had to look forward to was a thaw that turned the ground muddy.  Hence you get authors like Gogol and Tolstoy, no stand-up comedy but a big Buster Keaton fan club**.
     Oh, and staying indoors?  If you are rude - and daft - enough to invade Russia and demolish their wooden houses - all their houses are made from logs - they will follow you back to your home and do the same to you, after inviting themselves in to see if there's any spare vodka hanging about.
     There you go, the true facts about Russia!***

The Moscow Corps of Traffic Wardens.  Capable of conquering small nations.

So - Tanks?
     Oh, alright.  Have at this:

A Dada Weeble

It's a German "Alkett Minenraumer", intended to clear mines by boldly - this concept really skirts the envelope - driving over them.  I wonder where they got the crews to test this ugly beast?

And Before I Get Some Tea -
     I've decided that insulting mighty Greek gods is a tiny bit dangerous, especially when they can back up traffic from Manchester to Rochdale.  So, I'm going to pick on Maia:

You look like a girl!  Ha!  Pwnd!

The Greek godess of flowers.  A lot safer to denigrate than Hermes, because after all, what harm can flowers do ...




*  Winston Churchill!  Tch.  The youth of today.
**  He never smiled, you see.
*** "True" in this sense meaning "beyond the truth horizon and waaaay down the rabbit hole"

Of Wings I Sing

Firstly, We Have Hermes
     You, dear reader, probably remember yesterday's rabid rant from Conrad, about the horrors of traffic and how Hermes, god of travellers, has singled your humble scribe as the target for an array of traffic experiences grim to recall.
     Oh - the "Wings" thing:

Watch it!  You'll have someone's eye out with that thing!

Hermes, wings, two things never far apart.
     Well, today Conrad bearded the dragon, or perhaps plucked a feather is a better metaphor?  We left the house even earlier, and proceeded at a literal walking-pace into Royton and beyond, after which the traffic melted away.  Hermes obviously expected Conrad to use the A56 again.  Wrong!  I used Burnley Lane and Greengate, where there was less traffic than normal.  Even Hermes' hastily-arranged fender-bender in Harpurhey fell flat, as I turned right and avoided it.
     Tomorrow, of course, is another day - it has to be, you can't have tomorrow mucking around with the present or vice-versa or Good Grief! there'd be temporal chaos - and I shall report back if the god of travellers has moved his beady eye and gauzy wings onto another victim.

One of these would help the commute to work.  In fact I could have a lie-in till mid-day and still get there on time ...

Things To Come
     I finished watching this last night, and have more pintificating to do.  The end scenes feature an angry mob attempting to prevent Cabal launching his daughter and her boyfriend from the Space Gun, in a space capsule, into orbit around the Moon.
     Oh, the "Wings" thing:

"My love has Wings..."*

Anyway, the seething mob are too late.  In some exceptionally well done shots that combine miniatures, mattes and crowds, the frothing vandals get to the base of the Space Gun, just as it fires.  I was very impressed with these scenes, and the editing thereof.  Have an apple and a gold star, Mr Korda and McKenzie!
     Here a picture of the Space Gun:

Space Gun, space capsule, space crane, space railway, space clouds, space hills, space trestles - whoops run out of -.

There are a couple of plot holes here.  Number One, the enormous blast from a gun that big would have turned the fuming masses into acres of boneless human jelly.  Number Two, the two people in the capsule ( see above picture) would have been turned into something with the consistency of watery chicken soup.
     Great fun nonetheless!

The Cat Sat
     This is turning into a regular, if slightly dull, feature.
     Early in the morning I ventured into the kitchen to assemble lunch, which meant putting my rucksack on the table, unzipped.  If this was "You've Been Framed"** then it would be "What happened next?"  

"An open bag!  I am compelled to sit in it!  Compelled, I tell you!"

Thus my copy of Jeeves & Wooster now has wet cat paw-prints to go alongside the tomato-and-fish spillage from last week.

Frust-o-bust
     I shall let you ruminate on that title, dear reader.  Conrad has a scheme he is a-scheming.  Cannot say more.  Eyes are watching.  Just think "Red Dwarf" and "bubblewrap".

So - Tanks?
     Yes.  I shall bore a bit more about "Things To Come".  When war breaks out, we see the gallant armoured forces of Everytown, and they are the Vickers Medium Tank, viz:

Dalek pin-up

This particular beast was state-of-the-art at the time (1936 - do keep up!).  Arrayed against them are these articles:

Art Deco?

When the "unidentified enemy" actually had models that looked like this:

But in better repair than this one, which was left out in the rain

Maybe the sleek futuristic type was easier to model.

And now, I am going to have some tea and make lunch for tomorrow, which is another day - obviously, because <cont. Page 96>

*  10 points if you recognise this first line of a song
**  Surely one of the best programs in the history of human television hands-down no argument!

Hermes! I Hate You!

Hermes, The God Of Travel
     Traffic jams!  The man who invented them ought to be shot, hung, beaten with a nail-studded baseball bat, boiled, oiled, broiled, soiled - can't think of any more threats ending in "-oiled" - shanked, spanked, planked, bitten, smitten, mauled by a kitten and pecked by a bittern.  Would the culprit be Hermes?     
     Obviously I've done something to peeve him and today he decided to get a bit of the old divine retribution in.
     I drove out of our side road, onto the hilly heights of Rochdale Road, and what did I espy below?  A hundred yards from our house a traffic-treacle*  stretching, unmoving, all the way to the centre of Royton.  
     Conrad has walked that distance many a time.  It's a mile.  Ergo, a mile of stationary traffic.
     Turning round, I beetled off into Rochdale, thinking "I'll go in a big loop and then come off the slip road at Elk Mill.  Heh!"
     Hermes  had second-guessed me there.  A huge queue of traffic had formed on the slip road, and the matrix signs displayed the message "Ha!  Hermes - 1 Conrad - 0".  So I continued onto Broadway, which was a mistake, because Hermes got me there, too.  A crash outside the 6th Form College had backed traffic up for a mile, crawling past the obstruction.
     After that there was no bother, and with a song on my lips I - no actually I cannot sing, I was listening to William Orbit, to soothe my savage temper - I came to the end of Broadway.
     "Surprise!" crowed Hermes.  Another traffic jam, where normally there is none.
     "Here is my middle finger, Hermes!" I responded, calling in work to warn them I'd be a little late (having set off earlier than needed.  "Hot stuff on travel and cars, but not well-schooled in digital communications technology, are you!"
     He frowned deeply.  Hmmm.  I may have gloated a bit too much there.  We shall see what tomorrow brings, eh?

Hermes.  A big fan of Paul McCartney and ...

The Tash
     You will have seen occasional photos of Conrad, louring darkly at the camera with his evil little eyes, sporting a moustache.

The eyebrows almost as evil as the tash

This hirsute appendage didn't exist until Movember 2012.  After growing it, people forgot it never existed prior to 31/10/2012, and would be hideously surprised were it to be shaved off. I was reminded of this by bumping into my old boss Michelle, who has been off on maternity leave for a year and who wants to come back as work is easier than two small children.  She passed comment on the tash.  Very "Conrad the Cashiered Colonel", I feel.  Tomorrow I plan to wax the ends, then I can tweak them like a Victorian vaudeville villain**.

Things To Come
     The 1936 fillum, not - NOT! - that 1979 travesty.
     I still have 15 minutes to watch, which is enough to pintificate*** about what I've already seen.
     Set in "Everytown", what they mean is "London".  After a short prelude, the unidentified enemy begins a bombing raid on Everytown, with gas bombs.
     I fear the authorities ruling Everytown's realm are a tad slow on the uptake.  They only start to distribute gas-masks seconds before the raid begins.  The whole town is lit up like a Christmas tree, so the enemy bombers can see it from fifty miles away.
     Later on we witness John Cabal, our intrepid, impeccably-spoken hero, shooting down an enemy bomber, then seeing to the fatally injured pilot at his wrecked plane.  Which pilot seems to have a French accent ...
     All this aside, it's a fascinating film, what 1936 thought the future might look like, and I would think  one of the earlier post-apocalyptic cinematic depictions.  There are omissions that seem strange to us now - the 1970s aircraft are all turbine-driven propeller powered, not a single jet to be seen.  No rockets or missiles.  No nuclear weapons (or it would be a short film!).  Lavish use of gas, which has in reality  been rare since 1918. No satellites, of course.  
     Then there is the supposedly benevolent organisation "Wings Across The World", which insists on
     <Mr Hand intervenes to point out that Brian Aldiss probably puts this across better in his interview amongst the extras>

Our Hero, John Cabal, with a - with - er - .  I give up.  Answers on a postcard -

And To Wrap Things Up - 

World's biggest man humbles African bull elephant

* Much worse than a traffic-jam.  Groan away, I got lots more
** You may never see more "v" alliteratives in one place again 
***  "Pintificate" - not to be confused with "pontificate".  Pintificate is holding-forth with a beer in your hand.

The Shape Of Things To Come!

Yes, That Fillum From The Thirties
     A Christmas present, which I haven't yet watched.  I plan to sit (or lie down) and watch it without interruptions.  I have never seen the whole film - a few bits here and there (including Ralph Richardson doing a very poor job of taking over the world*), which is something of an omission in my cinematic repertoire.

This is not the right film!
Hang on, is this a real film?
Really, they made this film!?

Post de-railed temporarily, let me check IMDB - aha, a Canadian film from 1979 that has absolutely nothing to do with the 1936 original.  Speaking of which:

Phew.  More like it.

Here An Aside
     Back in the mid-70's there was an A3 full colour science fiction magazine called (not very inventively) "Science Fiction Monthly".  One of the features was a comic strip called "The Size Of Things To Come", which had people adventuring due to vast disparities in size.
     I think.  It's a long time ago and the cartoon is so obscure it doesn't feature on Google or Wikipedia.  Here's an illustration nicked from John Guy Collick's Blog:

Er, yes, the young lady's wardrobe does seem to have shrunk in the wash ...

That Cat Sat
     Sorry to bore about cats, and sitting, and cats-sitting on yer knitting, but!  Once again, scientific proof that cats can telepathically detect where they shouldn't be:

Cat haughtily not acknowledging her human owner

We wanted to bin this box.  So Jenny, with unerring instinct, sat in it.

Then we have:

"It's not comfortable or warm but Conrad needs it - SO I MUST SIT ON IT!"

Ha!  Finished with the recipe, didn't need the book anymore, Conrad 1 Jenny 0.

So - Tanks?
     Oh go on then.  Allow me to present the Challenger 2:

The Chally**

The M1A1 Abrams:

The Abby***

The Mk2 Leopard:

The Leppy***

You will notice a certain boxy similarity between these tanks.  That is because they use Chobham armour, which cannot be cast - thus no curved surfaces - but only assembled in straight layers.  What is Chobham armour?  Still secret!  But at a guess it is layered plates of ceramics and metals, making any tank so-armoured verrrrry difficult to knock out.

Tatterdemalion
     Yet another of BOOJUM!'s ventures into the exotic world of the English language.
     This - hmmm - this word obviously dates from the Renaissance era, when strange and unfamiliar animals were being rediscovered across the globe by gallant explorers, those same people who dubbed the giraffe a "Cameleopard".  The Tatterdemalion must refer to the African Hyena, an unusually-aspected creature (okay, okay - it's bloody ugly) no doubt a start to the eyeballs of those explorers.
     What's that?
     It's not?  What does it mean, then?
     Pffft!  "Someone of ragged appearance".
     Reality, you can be dull sometimes.

Cuddly Animal Picture Time
     To take the edge off end-of-the-world and big metal things with guns, here we have Cuteness Personified:

Seconds later, they ate the photographer

*  Hey, I have a professional interest in Taking Over The World!
** This is a real nickname
***  These, I made up.

Success! Failure! Electricity!

Taking The Last First -
     This time last week the mansion was into the second hour of a two-and-a-half hour powercut, during which time Conrad managed to creatively think his way around how to generate weather for a wargame campaign.  It was that, or rage against the dying of the light.

     Tonight we tug a forelock and bend a knee,
     To the wonders of - electricity.
     You can't use gadgets or see a thing
     If those generators aren't generating.
     Matches run out, batteries run down,
     We need ELECTRICITY to run this town!

Go away, candle!  We want electricity not wax and taper!

Failure Type 2
     I had a bash at making Mango Pancakes tonight.  The reason being that I had lots of mango pulp left over from making Kulfi.  I used gram flour instead of wheat flour - gluten-free, doncha know - and ground arrowroot instead of semolina.  I didn't have any cinnamon sugar, so I made a few ounces myself.  The yoghurt, when I opened it up, turned out to be flavoured with honey, so I only used a little and made the balance up with soured cream.
     It's supposed to be left in the fridge for 10 minutes, but I left it for an hour before making some pancakes.
     End verdict?  Very sweet, and also tricky to manipulate and flip so they cook on both sides.  Lots of batter left.  May have another go tomorrow.  No photo - Conrad does not favour failure.

Success!
     I tried a batch of brownies with gluten-free flour, and this is what they looked like:

Looking good

Apparently they taste quite nice, too.  Conrad - 1 Coeliac's Disease - 0

The Cat Sat On The Lap
     Indeed it did.  I have remarked in the past how the average cat has an unerring ability to sit where they shouldn't.  Here is Jenny - 

Yes it is a big mug close up,  not a small mug - no, hang on, that's not right -

As you can see from the angle, she is sitting on my lap - between me and my Saturday morning cup of tea!*  Ironically I was also reading "Stiff Upper Lip, Jeeves", where young Bertie Wooster is but for nothing without his early morning cup of "that which cheers and not inebriates".
     Jenny obviously noticed my distress, and stop her being propelled like a furry football from my lap, she decided that a massage was in order.  Viz:

Cat masseuse at work on Conrad's right thigh

The generous intent was there, but so were the claws and only the stout nylon fabric of my Tracksuit Bottoms** prevented painful injury.  I moved her off my lap.
     She came back and sat on it again 10 minutes later ...

An Aside -
     A husband in Tel Aviv is fiddling around on the roof for hours.  Unhappy at not having a helper with the housework, his wife comes out to see what he's up to.
     "What's that bloody thing you've put up there!" she shouts***
     He looks down at her and replies -
     "It's an aerial, Sharon."

Boom, and once again, Boom.

This Is Why England Had An Empire
     I harp on about this theme on occasion.  Forget imperialism and capitalism and Marx and Weber and Rudyard Kipling, see below for the reason so many English went abroad to nick other people's real estate:

Not obvious but that's rain and snow and wind.  A trifecta of miserable

     THE BLOODY AWFUL WEATHER!
     I mentioned Charlie Brooker and his Weekly Wipe yesterday.  One clip featured a Romanian diplomat explaining a significant factor preventing hectare-wide hordes of Romanians running down the Channel Tunnel to get here: "The weather".

* OIkay, I admit, it is more like a bucket with a handle
** Yes we are formal here at BOOJUM!  None of that "trackie botties" here, thank you!
***  I know this isn't in Hebrew but the only Hebrew words I know are "Havah Nagila"

Well, I must be off.  Got that zombie novel to tackle ...

Serendipity

Or, Accidental Discovery
     You may recall, dear reader, that at work before Christmas we had a "Secret Santa" occasion, where staff were paired anonymously to buy thoughtful, insightful and less-than-a-fiver presents for their match.
     Conrad could not find the slip of paper with his matched person upon it.  He looked high, he looked middling, he looked amongst the detritus upon his desk.

Conrad's desk, looking quite tidy for him

The relevant slip of paper was nowhere to be found.  So I had to improvise for a present.
     Today I found the slip of paper in my multi-pocketed rucksack:  "Dan"
     I hope you enjoyed your nearly-empty bottle of B & Q Plaster Sealer*, Dan.

Judge Minty
     As any fule know, Conrad likes 2000AD and Judge Dredd especially.  I rate the recent Karl Urban-starring film verrrrry highly.
     So, imagine my surprise when I come across a fan-made film, set in the Dredd universe, that is really really good.  Here's the link:

http://comicsanonymous.wordpress.com/2013/12/22/highlights-of-2013-day-19-judge-minty/

Judge Minty, the hero, is a Judge of a certain age - his reflexes are going, he's getting silly notions about the essential decency of people, he hesitates to kill remorselessly, he nearly gets killed in the line of duty.  So he ends up with a choice - teach at the Academy of Justice, or take the Long Walk into the wastelands of the Cursed Earth, to "bring law to the lawless".
     He takes the Long Walk.

"I ain't Dredd.  But I can still turn your ass into a human pretzel."

Yesterday's Cake
     Of course you fondly recall the Halloween Pumpkin Cake without pumpkin and not made at Halloween.  I could acronym it as HPCWPANMAH but that sounds like a Native American tribe, not very appetising.  
     Anyway.  The last time I made HPC - sorry, the cake - it didn't last long enough to get a frosting.  Latterly I got pleading, dewey-eyed bleating from family members about how their existence on Planet Earth, and indeed all human history, society and culture, would be overthrown if this cake didn't have - frosting!
     This was the result:

You can't tell, but that frosting has thawed somewhat

Sloppy frosting there.  It had firmed up by this morning, at which the ganterpies** at work descended and gobbed most of it.
     What did I find in the microwave today?  85 grams of butter that should have been melted, then added to the frosting, to FIRM IT UP.  Clearly I had hidden it there so the cyborg-sentry cats didn't chew it up and then decide, no, they didn't really like it and the humans can have it back -
     All part of life's rich pageant, eh?

Dress-Down Friday
     Well, for the male staff.  The fairer sex seem to able to get away with wearing nothing more substantial than a wisp of chiffon to work, day-in, day-out.  Fortunately none of them read this blog so my comments cannot possibly backfire.
     To blend in with the humans, Conrad made sure to wear a tee-shirt (with short sleeves to deal with the hideously high temperatures in our giant dry-sauna).  This means he can't fit 14 pens (the bare minimum safety-margin) into a shirt pocket, as tee-shirts don't have pockets.
     Duh!
     Three hours after getting dressed, Conrad visits the gents and in the giant mirror on the wall spots this:

Egad!  A pocket!

A Pocket.  Not sure if it would have accomodated the normal work-loading of 14 pens, an I-pod and two packets of Mentos, though.

So - Tanks?
     Not tonight.  Tonight you can have a picture of -

Chicken Pasanda

Chicken Bhuna

Bombay Potatoes

Plus Chicken Tikka, Seekh kebabs, Onion Bhajees, Pilau rice, nan bread, poppadums, I probably forgot a couple of things.
     Why all this edible Indian stuff?  Apparently the mortgage*** got paid off yesterday, and since Darling Daughter was off at her awards ceremony, we at BOOJUM! were generous enough to wait till today for the food.

And Finally -
     
Et Finis -
     Sorry, "And Finally" sounds too much like "The Two Ronnies"****.  Someone I know is going shopping for shoes tomorrow.  If you bought this:

Size 6 (to the tenth power)

Then you could also put wheels on it and have it as a car, too.  Result!

* I did stick a £5 note on it
**  A contraction of "gannets", "termagants" and "Magpies"
*** I accidentally discovered this mortgage thing, and it's good NOT to have one.  WHo knew!
****  Required viewing for all alien invaders.  Those in the UK, anyway.

A Post Of Two Halves

Not That You Might Notice -
     Conrad has been busy having a scoff in the kitchen, making tomorrow's lunch, and frosting the non-Halloween non-pumpkin cake, for which I offer this evidence:

That's odd.  There was a lot more of it a minute ago ...

 Given that I will also be off to the pub quiz in less than thirty minutes, it is unlikely that I shall be able to deliver the quality goods you, my loyal readers, have come to expect, in the time remaining.  For quality should not be rushed!  So I will start now and finish after eleven.

Warning: Damage Ahead
     Last night, I got into a fight at the strip club.
     This morning, I punched Anthony, and he punched me back.
     I got stuck in the lift doorway when the doors closed.
     I got up in the night to answer a call of nature and walked into the door.
     I tried to scratch an itch whilst doing the ironing.
     The shampoo bottle hit me, again, but harder this time.

That's definitely a damaged head

NB Some or all of these descriptions may be completely untrue.

The Argot Of Long Ago
    It's pronounced "argo" and means slang, as it relates to a particular group.  The group in this case are the characters created by Plum (P G Wodehouse).  Whilst reading "Right Ho Jeeves" I was puzzled by some of the slang.  What are "French vamps"?  By context I think they are shoes.  Uncertain as I am, I shall be using these two:

That is a "Notepad" and that is a "Pen", o digital generation

 - to note down the odd uncertain phrase.

BOOJUM! will now undergo an hiatus, as Darling Daughter has returned from her school awards ceremony, and we shall hither us to the pub shortly.

Triumphant News!
     Justice, knowledge and some luck have ensured that our team won the pub quiz.  In the spirit of enlightened benevolence I have declared that the Ukranians down in the Upper Dungeon may have an hour's walk in daylight under the watchful eyes of our neighbours, the wolves.  No, no, don't thank me, all in a day's work.
     Of course our secret weapon tonight was Darling Daughter Sally - thank you Sal for Dakota Fanning and Ralph Wiggum.

The wolves prove that they can sing, too.  Wise Ukranians do not comment.

Oh, the Ukranians?  They are my prisoners.  I want a total balalaika band playing on Valentine's Day, with traditional folk dancing, and these chaps are the very thing.

So - Tanks?
     Having won at the pub quiz, I feel manganimous.  You may have this:

"I know you're fresh off the collective farm, Vanya, but even you must recognize a pencil when you see one!"

These are Bren Carriers, the ubiquitous British two-ton tracked jeep.  They got everywhere; the Germans captured a lot after Dunkirk and used them until they ran out of spare parts.  In the above we see some of those supplied to Russia, and used by the Red Army at Kursk.

And now - time to go.  Conrad needs every picosecond of beauty sleep possible!