The Stupid! It Spreads!

Yes, Vulnavia, We Are On About The FiveGees Again
I've not insulted them for a few weeks, so I went back and looked up exactly what those Five Gees stand for, and it was: Grotesquely Gullible Garbage-Guzzling Gits.  By an amazing coincidence this can be expressed as 5Gs, which is the technology they are all prating about.  "5G causes brain cancer", "5G kills puppies", "5G is spyware for the Bilderberg Group" are some of their more coherent assertions.

Five gees

     This, gentle reader, is the consequence of getting your <ahem> facts from social media, because a pasty-skinned, tinfoil hat-wearing teenager living in the basement on a diet of Twinkies, energy drinks and pizza is, of course, far better informed that ignorant scientists or journalists.
     That was irony.

So is this!

      One wonders what these dipsticks will do when, in the fullness of time, 5G becomes obsolete and we move onto 6G*.  Probably sell their homes and go live in a wooden hut atop a hill somewhere, taking a lifetime's supply of tinfoil with them.
     And that mention of it spreading ... Art?

     "Ancient Magic Diploma" indeed!  Here's the thing about magic - it doesn't work.  Sorry to burst your bubble and render your life a meaningless husk, but there it is.  The course title is a little ambiguous, too, because are you being inculcated (ha yes another word you never expected to read today) into the practicing of magic, or is this merely the study of ancient magic?  Because if the former, you can expect to see a whole lot of Fivegees signing up for it.
     Motley, I'm glad you've got your scuba gear on, because I've drained the swimming pool and had it refilled with liquid mercury, so -

Hieromancy
Whilst on about ancient magic, I made a note of this word in my book of notes**.
     It refers to a specific type of divination, interpreting sacrificial objects for an outcome, and you can most appositely see this in any work of Hellenic history where they poke around in the entrails of a goat.

"Stir five times clockwise with a copper spoon ..."

      Conrad suspects that there must have been a list of possible ways for a goat's entrails to look, and that this corresponds with predicted outcomes.
     For example:

INTESTINES FULL OF DIGESTED FOOD: Today is a good day to commit to that thing you were wondering about before, you should really go for it.  There will be rain Tuesday.  And yes, your wife is having an affair with your neighbour's son.
STOMACH IS DISTENDED: Today is a bad day to commit to that thing you were wondering about before, you should really avoid it.  A minor earth-tremor will happen on Saturday.  And the Persians will be invading Sunday.
UNDERSIZED LIVER:  Today is a kind of meh day for that thing you were wondering about before, take it or leave it.  One of your horses is sick.  Plague due at the weekend.

     A little facetious, admittedly, but it does make sense, doesn't it?

Cheiromancy
Not the same thing at all, because this is palm-reading by another name, trying to sound more impressive.

Art, are you being - satirical?

     Not the right image, Art, however reading these fronds would be just as effective as the lines on your hand.  Free will versus predestination! and if your future is predicted, won't that potentially affect it, as per Heisenberg? (and "Odyssey 7").

Chirurgy
I know, I know, it sounds like a debauched party of palm-readers, doesn't it?
     Well it's not.  If you looked at the rolls for a regiment of soldierly during the English Civil Unpleasantness, you would find an entry for "Chirurgion", and he had nothing to do with the River Chir, which is a thousand miles away on the steppes of Mother Russia.
     He was the regimental surgeon, carrying out chirurgy, and received the handsome recompense of £5 per month, which, whilst it was more than the wagon-master, was less than the Quartermaster or Provost.

Seventeenth century surgical tools

     Just imagine, no anaesthetics, no analgesics (bar a draught of rum) and no concept of hygiene or sepsis.  What fun it must have been!  You can picture the screams already.

<A tent after the battle, where a soldier shot in the leg has been put on a table>
CHIRURGION: Oooh, that looks nasty.  Better have the whole leg off.
SOLDIER: What?  It's only a graze!
CHIRURGION: Ah, yes, them's the worst kind.  All sprightly one day, dancing a jig, and the next day <pauses for effect> DEAD!
SOLDIER <gets up and walks around>: See?  I don't need - ah.
CHIRURGION:  Oh, you noticed my tools?
SOLDIER: There - there's an awful lot of saws there.
CHIRURGION: Oh, pshaw!  We use some for cutting up firewood.
SOLDIER: Er - won't that make them blunt?
CHIRURGION: Well, we try not to mix them up.  Come on, back on the table.
SOLDIER: "Try"?
CHIRURGION: Have some Magic Sleeping Potion -
<soldier takes a swig as the Chirurgion's Mate comes up behind him and flattens him with a stout club>
CHIRURGION'S MATE: Sorry, sir, the whetstone's still not fixed, so I couldn't sharpen any blades.
CHIRURGION: Oh drat.  Still, never mind, it's not us who gets their leg sawn off, heh?
CHIRURGION'S MATE: Another happy customer.

"Quickly!  More Magic Sleeping Potion!"

Finally -
There was a bit of remembrance on teh Interwebz recently, in commemoration of Earl Cameron, a black actor from Bermuda, who died recently.  He kind of fell into acting by accident, seeing as how he ended up in This Sceptred Isle just before the Second Unpleasantness broke out as a merchant seaman, who missed his ship on account of a woman.  One thing that everyone quoted was how he was in "Doctor Who" (the BBC's premier dramamentary!), which Conrad didn't recall.  Art?


     Earl played an astronaut in "The Tenth Planet", which is unfortunate because the last episode of it not has survived, and I think he and his fellow astronaut come to a sticky end.  I might dig the DVD out and play it, you know - that's the sort of madcap thing I do now and then!

Toodleoo¬

*  Conrad knows nothing and cares less about mobile phones, so he's not even sure if this "6G" thing is possible.  We'll assume it is.
**  O if only there were a more convenient way to describe a book of notes.

Cheers, Beers

Way Back When
- while the Sinister Union was still a mostly going concern (just don't mention that country which begins with "A" and ends in "-fghanistan"), one of the few perks of having to do your national service was being in the forces serving in another country, because they all had better living standards than did the Sinister Union itself.  Case in point: Czechoslovakia, including Bohemia.  The good thing about the land of the Hussites was their lager, because, again, it was far better than anything which came out of Mother Russia.  Art?

     Hay Pesto!  Here you have "Pilsner Urquell" and as it says on the label, made in Pilzner, Czechia.  
     "What about 'Budweiser'?" I hear you quibble.  "That sounds positively Teutonic, especially since the brewer is Anhauser Busch."
     Budweiser is in fact the Germanised name for Ceske Budejovice, a city in South Bohemia.  They've been brewing lager there for over eight hundred years, and have consistently refused to sell up to the South Canadian manufacturers of Bud, because they are proud Czech patriots, and probably also because it amuses them to twist some South Canadian corporate tails.

The beating heart of Budejovice

     I shall, of course, be remembering all of this as I down the Pilsner in about three minutes time, as it is now officially Beer O'Clock.  Excuse me -

O Noes! Squeaked Conrad's Wallet
It's too late now, wallet, both those volumes by Richard Evans and Deborah Lipstadt are en route even as I type.  I notice nobody's bought that edition of "Military Operations Togoland and the Cameroons" that those chiselling Kiwis wanted to charge £36 postage on, either.  O and here's someone trying to pay off their mortgage with a 1931 original, at a grossly over-priced £475 - and they want you to pay postage!
     Anyway!  There I was, listening to "We Have Ways -" as they are spicing up Lockdown Life by having third parties on with them.  This time it was Phillips O'Brien, who was expanding and expounding on the central thesis of his work - Art?

Book title to starboard

     His central tenet is that the Second Unpleasantness was far more about the war at sea and in the skies than it was on land; in fact, the land campaigns in his analysis were relatively unimportant, which will have the Ruffians offended and Tsar Putin hopping up and down with rage.
     It's an interesting thesis, one which Your Humble Scribe intends to examine in depth, which means <sad face> having to buy the book.  It came out last year so there's bound to be a cheap copy going on Abebooks <happy face>.
     Then there's Jonathan Fennell's work, "Fighting the People's War", which has just won a prestigious award - O and look, here it is on Abebooks at only £15 with free postage! (take that New Zealand).  Art?

Viz*

     Perhaps this means the Canuckistanians will get a bit of recognition?
     David Egerton addressed a similar issue when he was on WHW, about how "Plucky little England the underdog" was an utter myth - 
     - which would take a whole day's blogging to explain and address.  Maybe tomorrow.

What's Wrong With This Picture?
Conrad is so aged that he was around when "Blake's Seven" was first shown on television (audience gasps in appreciation, awe or - hand on, are you yawning?), which, unusually, has everything to do with our next picture.  Art?

The "Liberator"

     Okay, those are definitely not lasers.  You only see laser beams in real life because of collimation, the scattering of light where the laser interacts with an atmosphere.  Out in deep space - no atmosphere.  Thus no collimation.  Thus invisible.
     Whatever they are, we shall just christen them "Blasters".  Note how all three blasters fire independently, meaning that two of them are going to miss their target.
     "Ah," you quibble, playing devil's advocate, "They're configured to converge at 10,000 kilometres MILES distant, hah!"
     So your target can only be efficiently hit at 10,000 miles distance?   What about their super-blasters, that can hit a target at 10,500 miles distance?  Hmmmm?  You're going to look pretty silly eating corn on the cob with no - Ooops, came over all "Blues Brothers" there - pretty silly when they blow you up 500 miles out of your range.

"Ten thousand, five hundred and ten - nine - eight -"

     "Er - they're adjustable, they're adjustable," you hastily recover.  "They can pivert."
     WRONG!  Not only can you not spell 'pivot' correctly, but those outrigger structures most certainly can NOT pivot, or what.  The Akond of Swat**.
     It would make more sense to have all three blasters mounted in the central nose spindle, or, in the best-case scenario, three separate turrets so they can move through 3600.
     Of course, I may be over-thinking this ...

ABBA fans or Blake's 7?  Only you can tell!

Back To Bohemia
Firstly, though, remember when I was banging on about "My Love From The Star" earlier today?  It would transition seamlessly and with very little adaptation into a South Canadian rom-com glam-dram, so one can only be pleasantly surprised that it hasn't***.
     Anyway, back to tweaking the collective tails of Queen, because i) I can and ii) It's such delicious fun.
     Let the Little Musical Critique begin!

"I'm just a poor boy, nobody loves me

You are fishing for compliments, young man, fishing for compliments -

He's just a poor boy from a poor family

- and now you shamelessly involve your family.

Spare him his life from this monstrosity

A sentence of "100 hours Community service" is hardly monstrous!

Easy come, easy go, will you let him go?

DO NOT TRY TO PERVERT THE JUDICIAL PROCESS!

Bismillah!  No, we will not let you go

Bismillah!  We will not let you go

Bismillah!  We will not let you go

Will not let you go

Never let you go

I think the concept of 'not letting go' has been explained clearly -

Oh oh oh oh

No, no, no, no, no, no, no

 - as has the word "No"

Oh Mama Mia, mama mia, mama mia let me go

Okay, perhaps not

Beelzebub has a devil set aside for me, for me, for me"

That was very kind of him to bother and I think Bee needs a thank you

Bismillah

Finally -
We will get around to Keanu Reeves and Polish UFOs, honest!

*  Brodie-pattern helmet and curved top-mounted magazine means a British soldier carrying a Bren gun
**  No, nothing to do with anything, it just rhymes.
***  Yet.

Ah, Good Old Korean Satire!

Quite By Chance -
Your Humble Scribe stumbled across a category on Netflix he's not seen before: "International Time-Travelling Drama" or similar, and he passed over each thumbnail in turn, until he got to "My Love From The Star", which is about an alien stranded on Earth for over 400 years, having to live amongst the stupid humans whilst pretending to be one of them*.  It is described as a "Romantic fantasy" when it's more of a satire, poking a good deal of fun at the Korean entertainment industry.  Art?

Worth a watch

     Do is, of course, super-powered, with strength, vision and hearing a quantum level beyond anything Hom. Sap. can manage, and thanks to living amongst the upright hairless apes for centuries, he has a realistic cynical attitude towards them and their civilisation.  Cheon, the lady above, is pretty as a picture and as air-headed as they come, not to mention incredibly conceited about her i) looks and ii) abilities.
     They coincidentally become neighbours - you can guess how it's going to end but the journey there is pretty amusing.
     I've just come across another recommendation on Netflix thanks to watching the above - "Strong Girl Bong-Soon".  Ah me, how unfortunate for Conrad that he has to i) sleep and ii) work.

     I have to, you see, as otherwise the Hom. Sap. might get suspicious ...

Logistics Of The English Civil Unpleasantness
During the week I did a bit of number-crunching (so you don't have to) concerning the supply of food and drink to the Parliamentarian army during the campaign that ended at the Battle of Edgehill.  The Royalist army was approximately the same size and thus had the same requirements, before you ask.
     After the battle, the King's courtiers got properly busy about being efficient with their logistics, whereas the Earl Of Essex's army - the Parliamentarian one, do keep up! - was very slapdash about supplies.  
     Okay, meet the prime mover in all of this.  Art?

Dobbin and Co.

     The horse.
     What, you were expecting SUVs and armoured personnel carriers?  Pshaw!
     Now, I estimated the average horse in use at the time (1642, remember - do keep up!) as having a mass of 1,000 pounds**.  Given that a horse of this size needs 1.5% of it's body mass in fodder daily, that means 15 pounds of fodder.  Looking at the Parliamentarian army at Edgehill, they had about 2,000 cavalry, plus 700 dragoons, and a baggage train of 40 wagons, and I guestimated that they used about 100 horses for the artillery train.
     This totals about 3,000 horses, so you would need to supply them with 20 tons of fodder daily, and you can't scant a horse of it's victuals, or it will weaken and die.  On top of that, there's water: an average horse would need a minimum of 5 gallons of water daily, and, once again, you have to slake a horse's thirst or Dobbin will make like a frog, and croak.  

That's 20 gallons gone right there

     The total of water required daily then comes to 15,000 gallons, or 55 tons, which is simply impractical to transport (and you'd need even more water for the extra draught animals in your water train) and is one reason why ponds and lakes and rivers and streams would be used as watering points.  Also another consideration for cavalry and wagon-masters to take into account.
     The fascinating world of logistics!

Trapped By Dog
No, no, Your Modest Artisan has not been trapped up a tree by a slavering monster mutt straight from the pages of "The Hound Of The Baskervilles".  Rather less dramatic than that.  Art?

So very obviously trapped

      Since Conrad was the only one present, naturally the Wunderhund took refuge on my lap, putting my laptop definitely out of reach.  Thus no BOOJUM! whilst she was in pole position, and you can practically hear her thinking "Ha beet ther laptop who queen ov lap noww?"

Ignore the empty

       Fortunately for all those out there who soak up the blog like a sponge, she moved.  And as the others have now returned from shopping - and getting me 3 jars of Marmite-flavoured Peanut Butter! - I am no longer the refuge of choice.

"Countdown"less
NO!  I refer to the comic, not the gameshow.  If you recall AND YOU OUGHT TO AS IT WILL PREVENT ENSLAVEMENT WHEN MY INVASION FORCE ARRIVES I have been exploring the reasons why a collection of the strip above is not on the cards, ever.  Art?

"Countdown" art by Jim Baikie

     If you, the publisher-to-be, decide there is a market for your reprints, you then have to negotiate the thorny maze that is the copyright holder(s), and if that's not too expensive you finally have to find the comic art itself.  Some of it may be held in storage, but you'd have to track it down, which would be even harder than sorting out who to get permission from.  Your only recourse is then to scan old copies of the comic strip, which means getting hold of good quality copies of the comics, and good luck with that!  Some of these publications are over 50 years old, if you can find them.
     Mind you, there is a scrap of hope.  "Countdown" also featured full-colour "Doctor Who" stories (the BBC's premier dramamentary series!), which were later reprinted in "Doctor Who Classic Comics", which was a Marvel publication, in the Eighties.  Art?

Countdown artwork

And the reproduced strip

     I know this because I have a boxful of the DWCC, featuring a couple of strips from "Countdown", so there is a 0.001% chance of seeing the titular strip itself.
     The fascinating world of comic reprints!

Finally - 
I'm off to put the oven on as I'm hungry and there's a remaindered pizza I have to eat before it turns poisonous or explodes, or both.


*  Our lives are so, so similar, Do Min-Joon.
**  None of that metric nonsense here!