Shocking Stuff

Tasteless But Accurate
Don't worry, we'll get to that in a minute.  Maybe two.  Or maybe tomorrow.  First of all, Treason, which is pretty shocking stuff in it's own right.  Unless you're an anarchist, or even a nihilist, in which case it would be Business As Usual I suppose.
     Conrad pondered earlier this week about the distinction between workaday mere "treason" and the far more impressive "high tr " excuse me "HIGH TREASON", and there is actually a difference.

Close enough

     Firstly, "treason" used to be actually titled "petty treason" after Tom and his betrayal of the American new wave musical ethos after the fact that this was a relational crime, one where the perpetrator* had owed a duty of service, responsibility or honour to the victim.  The butler did it, if you will, where the 'did' was bloody murder.

One for the ladies.
Er, I mean, like him in "Rock 'n' Rolla"

     Okay, murder, that's bad enough.  "High Treason" refers to crimes against the sovereign or state, with a few odd inclusions.  Guy Fawkes, who attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament when King James was visiting, was committing high treason**.  Mark Philips, who romanced Princess Anne, was also sailing close to the shores of high treason - luckily for him she wasn't married.  I believe attempting to burn down one of HM's dockyards also carried a neck-stretching penalty, as, historically, so did being a Catholic priest.  Given the number of Catholic priests boldly practicing being Catholic priests today, I don't think this one's a runner any more.  Oh, counterfeiting money was also high treason, because of course money is the root of all live***.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0kcet4aPpQ

    And one of the stand-out tracks on "Dark Side Of The Moon".     

The Chair
No!  Don't worry, this is nothing to do with that rather ghastly engine of destruction as found in Sing Sing - the electric chair.  Although there were travails a-plenty in us acquiring this particular chair.  Art?

The Chair

     Having sat in the object, I can confirm it is indeed very comfortable, which is just reward as it was a swine to obtain.  Firstly, off to a stone-built village in West Yorkshire, up an exceedingly steep hill with roads too narrow for more than one car to pass at a time.  What, are cars rare and exotic items in West Yorkshire^?  The target destination is, of course, at the very top of this hill.  And it's not on a road, either, requiring the Murdermobile to be parked up a goodly distance away.  Inevitably the house is at the very end of Meadow Street (although High Alpine Pasture Street would be more appropriate^^), and whilst Degsy goes back for the leather upholstery, the only car to go by in 10 minutes - of course! - turns into the street we're parked in.  They just manage to squeeze past and for a moment I fear they're going to reverse - phew here's Degsy with the rest of the chair.
     The other potential problem looming in the middle distance is getting this unwieldy artefact into the Mansion - old narrow doorways, you see.  Them Victorians must have had very thin furniture, or an early form of Ikea.
     Surprise!  and a good one this time.  The Chair - for so I have come to dub it already - just fitted in without more than a minor jiggle or two.
     Now, after all that, and I hope you are vicariously exhausted as well, I think another picture is not only needed, but demanded.  DEMANDED!

I Are Clever
It's official - Mandy said so.  She was commenting on BOOJUM! at work, saying that she didn't always understand it, which is entirely credible because your humble scribe is frequently at a loss to know what he was wibbling about last week, never mind last year.  For example, there's an anagram that I wrote down years ago and not only do I not know what it means, I can't even remember what it is.
     That probably takes the biscuit as non-news.  Anyway, a little proof of Conrad's ability to be clever with words:

Codeword - at 21:25

     You will just have to take it on trust that I didn't spend all night and the next morning until 2:17 a.m. to complete it.  Art?

Codeword - at 9:45

     There you go.  I find that you have to be very very careful about placing the first letters you deduce in situ, because otherwise you can throw the whole thing awry.  With time it fills in faster, so I challenge you to do better than 20 minutes on this.


*  I love saying that word, it sounds so official.
**  Please note an absence of cheap political jokes.
*** Er - is this right?
^  Conrad, Lancashire by assimilation, bites his tongue REALLY HARD.
^^  Nod to "Where Eagles Dare" there.

Much Of The Rump

No!  This Is Not About The Parliament

 - , so-named, of 1648.  Although, since that was terribly British, and the origin of "Rump" in that meaning, a short discursion is in order.  You do want to know all about 'The Mother Of All Parliaments', don't you?  Even the seedier bits*?  Fine, we'll continue.

     Before the Rump, we had the Long Parliament, which sat before and during the English Civil War, from 1640 until 1648.  At this point it was decided by those in power that they would try King Charles I for High Treason.  At this point your humble scribe is at a loss to know the difference between mere normal ordinary everyday treason, which implies it's not worth a jury getting out of bed for, and the sinister, nay eeevil HIGH Treason, which puts you at risk of shedding your head in an involuntary manner.

Thus

     Thus it was for Charlie One.  If found guilty he would get beheaded, which is a point where members of the Long Parliament began to feel distinctly queasy.  After all, it's not everyday that the King of England gets the chop, is it?  They do this sort of thing all the time off in Johnny-foreigner land, but not here in England!

     The New Model Army, who are a library in their own right, came along and decided that, if you were at all wobbly on the prospect of Charlie One's bonce decorating a pike at Traitor's Gate, then you were not fit to be in Parliament.  End result, a purge, and what was left of the Long Parliament thus became the "Rump" or remnant.

Lest there be any doubt

The Monochrome Set
Congratulations to anyone out there who remembers The Monochrome Set, who formed, split, reformed, split, reformed and are still going strong.  Post-punk, if you wish to classify them as anything.

The Set, looking very monochromatic

     Of course - you were expecting this, weren't you? - this has nothing whatsoever to do with the rest of this post, as I am referring to that trilogy of tat about various Shades of Grey. Grey being monochrome, you see**, specifically "50 Shades of Grey".
     Here an aside.  It's possible to judge the quality of a written work by seeing how many times it turns up on the shelves of charity shops, as people hastily divest themselves of something they'll never read again, if they even finished it in the first place.  So it is with FSOG; a conspicuous presence on those very shelves.

World's comfiest shoulder?

     Anyway, today we look at the Flophouse's podcast review of the film FSOG.  They are quite welcome to, it's apparently a very poorly-written book (see shelves above) -  I shall not grace it with the term "Novel" - that was made into a pretty poor film.
     Now, I shall have to be careful here in order to remain SFW as the subject matter of both film and book is in the realm of <ahem> "Rumpy-Pumpy", where the "Rump" part is relevant.

Like this butt*** human

     Dan and the team then improv along the line of "Butts", of which there seem to be plenty.  

The only kind we dare show

Dan then created a series of fictional soft-core porn magazines, all to do with The Butt, 

Okay, not the only kind we dare show

including one that reduced your humble scribe to fits of laughter - "Split Hams" - plus a plaintive and anguished call of despair from one who had purchased this perverted publication of posteriors, bleating "Butt*** I thought it was about food!"

Pork porn?

     All of which is infinitely more entertaining than the film, which sounds a crashing bore.

My Presents.  Mine!  Still Mine!
These are what I got as a present from Anna, that princess amongst women, and yah boo sucks to all of you who didn't get a present from her.  I realise that this is most of the population of Planet Earth and yes, I am boasting.  I shan't go on much as it might embarrass the lass.  Art?

     I shall be popping down to the kitchen shortly to sample those cheeses, don't you worry.  The mulled wine will have to wait until February 1st because -

You May Hear More Of This
Conrad, by the time you read this, will be on day 5 of Sober For January.  This will simultaneously alarm and impress the bar staff at The Pleasant Inn later tonight at the Pub Quiz, for, sooth, will this not affect their profit margins?

Well-named

     Yes, I suppose, except at £1.95 per pint it can't decrease their takings too much.  We shall see if either my wit or reflexes are any better sans alcohol.  Personally I don't predict any great improvement.  I am 153 years old, after all.

*  Especially the seedier bits!
**  Is this clever, or reaching a bit?
*** Do you see what - O you do.

Hail 1917! Sorry - 2017

Got A Bit Confused There*
Let us set off without ado.  "The Flintstones" - the animated series, not the <shudder> live action films - remember them?  Oh, they were a hoot.  Of course, they eschewed historical realism by having Hom. Sap. living alongside dinosaurs, but we can forgive such a classic a minor faux pas like this.
     What I would like to direct your attention to is that staple of the Bedrock household, the record player.  Art?

Every home should have one

     Note that this is not the modern medium of a plastic disk read by a laser beam, although I am told that the reproduction via hummingbird beak is surprisingly faithful.
     "Yes, but what has this to do with anything?" I hear you ask.  "I mean, prehistoric long players?"
     Surprisingly, the following is relevant:

Add caption

     Yes, vinyl is back in fashion, although typically we aren't going to be satisfied with simply remaining there, as vinyl records didn't come into widespread used until the 1950's, and we're going for the 1917 vibe here.  You see, before vinyl there was SHELLAC!
     Yes, shellac records would have been the very cutting edge of technology in 1917.  I am going to pre-empt your next question by informing you that these records were only one-third shellac, the rest being <ahem> mineral filler - better known to you or I as rock**.  Finely ground, yes, but still rock.
     I refer you back to the Flintstones.

Further To The Party
Karen was describing her fondness for mucking around with words, a subject dear to the fusion-powered pumping unit that serves your humble scribe as his heart.  Crosswords, obviously, and also an on-line version of "Scrabble".  You can't call it Scrabble, of course, nor any ridiculously close pretender such as Skrabbel or Screablb, otherwise legal folks come out of the shadows and beat you over the head until all the money falls out of your pockrts.  So, this variant is called "Words With Friends", a game Conrad had never heard of before; given his propensity for untrammeled litigious disputation - why no, actually I've stopped reading Dickens, this is all my own work - I'm not sure how Friendly I would be.  "YES  YES!  'Zebu' is a proper word!  And so is 'Szygy' not to mention 'Quincunx'!" ad nauseum.  Anyway, as mentioned, a game unfamiliar to your humble scribe.
     Excep what's this?  Phil Plait, the Bad Astronomer himself, bringing it up in a sly dig at people mis-spelling "Rogue".
     

The evidence

     An X-man red in tooth and claw ...
     Well, It seems that the Coincidence Hydra has bitten once again.
The Coincidence Hydra
For those who are new, this unlovely creature rears it's ugly head every so often, with the express aim of sinking it's fangs into the more tender parts of your modest artisan's anatomy.  One cannot predict when it will sally forth; it used to be restricted to those times when I was reading Thomas Pynchon, yet now it seems to be lurking around every corner, sly and irresistible, just waiting to be invoked for murder - Oops!  No, sorry, I'm quoting "Forbidden Planet" there.

Believe me, a set of these in your rump is no fun.

The Death Of Ass
No!  I am not referring to the collective gnawing upon my Gluteus Maximus by the monster above, although your kindly concern is noted.  No, instead I refer to an international conspiracy that has reared it's ugly head - only one at least, unlike the hydra - in order to force penance and suffering upon you the public.  Art?

Well really!

     This is clearly - CLEARLY! - a claim put forward by the International Psychiatric Collective of Evil, Inc. who are masquerading as dentists and recommending, of all things, that our office culture better itself by giving up cake.
     I postulate that this grotesquely inappropriate measure has been put forward by these mind-mappers in disguise, as the more dismal reaches of the open-plans across this fair realm are only made more tolerable by cake consumed alongside a cuppa.
     Picture, if you will, the sheer mordant miasma of misery that would befall us if we were deprived of CAKE AT WORK.  Too horrifying to use an exclamation mark against.

Conrad, looking horrified.  Honest.

Life-affirming, mate, life-affirming

     The dentists wouldn't really be happy, as this measure would mean less work for them, but O My! those psychiatrists would be enamoured.  Imagine all the incipient breakdowns narrowly averted by inhaling a chunk of Baileys and Malteser Cake alongside a cuppa of Loose Leaf Darjeeling.  If you have nothing to look forward to of a Friday morning ...


*  Not uncommon at my age
** Do you see what I did there?