All The Rage - With Lindybeige

You Should Not Have To Ask "Who?"
For have I not mentioned that splendidly stalwart and effusive chap Lindy, Lo! these many times already?
     Apologies if you were expecting a long, long, series of photographs on Barcelona (where I was on holiday of late) with pictures of What We Had For Dinner; you may get something more along those lines later.
     Here an aside.  The dining table in our apartment's living room was made out of metal, seemingly of steel, meaning that the slightest impact upon it's surface with another solid object resulted in an extremely LOUD NOISE, which militated against the Aspasio's stated policy of being quiet and considerate.  Art?

Like this, except NOISIER.

     This isn't getting us any further forward with Lindy, is it?  Art!

Lindy in iconic English sweater
(Note dalek in background)

     Lindy - O! how I have missed thee - is currently banging on about what he called the most effective weapon of the Second Unpleasantness: and Your Humble Scribe's horrid fusion-powered pumping unit swells with pride that he has chosen The Infernal Engine itself, the Churchill Crocodile.  Art!

400 Gallons of napalm saying hello.

     I'm not sure how Lindy is going to develop this, and his article is 44 minutes long so I may not reach the end before finishing this post.  He does mention the Cockatrice, and your memory is of course - OF COURSE! - remembering how BOOJUM! has also gone into detail on that Lesser Infernal Engine, too.
     Okay, time, we think, to encapsulate the motley in Boing! and punt it over the edge of the Grand Canyon!

It's From "Judge Dredd"
<sigh> come one, come on, aren't you up to speed on 2000AD's finest yet?  "Boing!" is the miracle plastic of the 22nd Century.


     You can turn yourself into a human pinball by being encased in Boing! - but it is only safe and legal when used within strictly regulated 'Palais de Boing' (because nothing says "22nd century scientific marvel" better than French).
     Of course, there is a darker side to Boing!  The sinister, downright eeeevil and indestructible Judge Death once took up residence in Judge Anderson's head; she therefore got encase in Boing! in order to trap the Dark Judge and prevent him (or it) from wreaking havoc on the Big Meg.
     The motley, I have to say, will probably bounce higher than Everest after hitting the bottom of the Grand Canyon -

     - where were we?
     O, that's right - Barcelona.  Let the photo-memoir continue!

Wednesday
One thing that tickled Your Humble Scribe about the locals was how they perceive their own weather.  Darling Daughter and myself quickly doffed our coats, because we were uncomfortably hot in the direct sunlight.  Barcelonans, however, were quite happy walking around in long, heavy coats, with scarves, and hats, and even gloves.
     Winter, you see.  Or, as we would say in the Pond Of Eden, Summer.  Art?

Note the short shadows, as it is just past noon.  Therefore hot.  Hot, gentlemen.  HOT, I SAID!

     This is taken from the top of a tour bus, which describes itself as a bit of a Ho.
     No!  Wash out your dirty minds!  "Hop On/Hop Off" thank you, meaning you can debark and remount as often as you like.  On Wednesday we followed the Red Route, which included various landmarks around the city.  Art?

Fountains sin aigua

Fountains with aigua

     First landmark was the Arc De Triomf, not to be mistaken for that one in Paris, although there are actually several dotted around the world.  If Art will put down his plate of coal -

Yer triumphal arc.

     It was built by someone in celebration of something - possibly the World's Fair, which they held here in Something-Something.  Conrad not really interested hence not paying attention.  Art?

This appeared to be a historical commemoration of Spanish military history

     I couldn't bear the thought of Sal's sad puppy-dog eyes were I to say "O boy!  Military history - off the bus, now!" so I - I like to feel I took one for the team.

The Christopher Colombus memorial

      It took about five goes before I got an un-interrupted shot of the "Colom" pillar, and here it is.  And no, I'm not giving you a history lesson about the chap, go look it up in a book and report back on what you've learned.

Tah-dah.

      I have no idea what this building is, nor it's function.  I was just rather taken by the groovy statuary on top.  Gryphons?  Lions?  Jackalopes?  Let me know in the Comments if you have any idea.

Here we did HO/HO.

     This, aesthetes, is the Joan Miro Foundation.  Conrad was aware of some of his work already, and had rather glibly classed it as "Futurism", although it's a lot broader and harder to define than that.  Ol' Joan was a very big noise in Catalan and Spanish art, not being restricted to mere painting, as I had fondly imagined prior to visiting the Foundation.
     However, I feel my audience is beginning to slip a little, so we shall close here before I inflict another 20 pictures upon you.*

A typical later Miro

     Ha!  Listen to me blather on as if I know the first thing about art.  No, not "Art" - art.  I know Art to be a coal-scoffing Neanderthal with dubious hygiene and a fondness for both sucking the contents out of nuclear fuel rods and Mara Corday.
     Oops.  Shouldn't have mentioned her name ...


     Art!  Damn it, man,** we need abstract expressionism here, not sultry brunettes posing in furs with pouty lips -

     Do check back in tomorrow, gentle reader, where hopfully art will have vanquished Art, and we shall read of holiday not Corday, and there will be photos of ships instead of lips.


*  Don't clap with happiness: this is a reprieve, not a pardon.
**  This is stretching the word to it's elastic limit.

Here We Are Again

I Am Back!
After a sojourn abroad.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that folks kept reading this scrivel, even when there was no new content. I managed to keep track via my Hideous Devil Box and it's inbuilt technology; not only that, I also managed to post guff on Facebook with photographs attached, for the first time absent laptop.  Not more than about a dozen pictures, however, when I've taken over 120.
     Don't fret, you will get to see lots of 'em.
     However, because we here at BOOJUM! are perverse and whimsical, I first had to know why the P38 Lightning has such a strange design.  Art?

The twin-boom Boom-Boom

     Well, it appears this was because this was a convenient way to get a fighter with two engines, and hence - you're probably way ahead of me here - twice the power of a fighter with but a single engine.  Logical enough.  My next question was, what is all that exposed stuff atop each boom?  Art?

It looks like the top of an art-deco cooker hob

     These gizmos were the exhausts for the super-turbochargers, which sound impressive, and probably made it whizz like stink through the skies.
     Okay, I think I've explicated enough P38 for an Intro.  Time to chase the motley through a succession of privet hedges! - oh - what's that, motley?  Ah, I see - gorse hedges.  An altogether thornier problem, indeed.
       

How To Dress A Block Of Quarried Stone -

No, only kidding.  My trip to Barcelona - will that do instead?

We Arrive
"We" being Darling Daughter and I.  Conrad had offered to pay for Quiet Tom, too, but there was no tempting the lad.  Fortunate, really, since he was able to do all the house-moving admin whilst Sal gallivanted.
     First hurdle was to get from the airport to Barcelona city centre, achieved via train, and then a descent into the literal underworld beneath Barna Sants Station in order to get the Metro to Place De Catalunya.  Art?

Thus

     Then we walked the whole length of Rambla De Catalunya, and halfway back before finding our Aspasios (or "Apartment" if you like) because the identifying notice was about the size of a large business card.  Very discreet.  Can't say these Barcelonans are overly exubertanly outgoing.
     Anyway, allow me to pose the view from our balcony the next morning.  Art?

Imagine honking and beeping

     The first problem was my pens - changes in pressure thanks to a flight above 20,000 feet caused three of them to leak, so <sobs quietly> they got binned.  This was to come bite me on the nethers later on.
     First order of business was for Sal to locate a "Mercat", which is nothing to do with insurance; rather, it is a species of Spanish supermarket.  Art?

Pretty obviously not a Mercat

     I just liked the look of this random building en route.  Given it's size and the basketball hoops in a yard, we suspect it was a school.
     One thing about the Mercat, and indeed many of the Barca shops, is that they have a very narrow frontage, but extend back waaaaaay further into the building.  Architecture  courtesy of T.A.R.D.I.S. technicians, one feels.
     Art, the haul!

     The bottles of lager only came to E1.90, so it would have been rude not to buy them.  Also, notice the green tomato, at upper centre, which Darling Daughter loved, loved, loved.  Also, it took two of us three days to finish all those strawberries <drifts off for a moment in drooling haze>.
     Fortunately I still had a good 7 pens left at this point, as I am sure you were worrying about this matter.

Homage To Catalonia
No!  Not the memoir by George Orwell - though we may come back to that - but a nod to the persistent presence of a certain political symbol -

Not a yellow cravat

     The Catalans, you see, cherish their cultural difference from the rest of Spain.  All communications are in Spanish and Catalan, which is subtly different from the mother tongue.  You still see this symbol painted on roads, up at balconies and backed up by posters; independence may not be a current issue, yet one feels it has not gone away, and it will emerge again.
     Interesting times!

What On Earth?
Because Your Humble Scribe has sharp eyes and is inquisitive/curious/justplainnosy (delete where applicable), he caught sight of a rather bizarre-looking aircraft on the far side of Manchester airport before we caught our outbound flight.  Art?

Is your curiosity piqued?

     Googling on my Hideous Devil Box didn't reveal anything relevant, so I suspected I'd need to wait until back in the Allotment of Eden and a more fully-functional laptop-driven search, which is exactly what has happened.  
     The picture above doesn't really show how odd this aircraft looked, since it seems to lack a tailfin, and the wings look too short.
     There is an explanation.  Art?

For training firefighters

     Hence the lack of various bits and pieces, for a simulator need not have every equipage of an actual aircraft.  Suffice it to say that, after the dreadful 1985 aircraft fire, Manchester Airport Fire Service takes it's training very seriously.

     I say, that was a bit grim, wasn't it?  Bring on some dancing horses and a weasel band playing Brahms on jugs!*

Hmmm.  Edna is now giving me the evil eye.  She has only just gotten round to forgiving me for daring to be out of the country instead of in the country, either allowing her to sleep on the Human-Shaped Cushion or taking her for walks.  I think a hasty bite of lunch is called for, after which we may take a consitutional stroll in the chilly March sunshine.

Finally -
I am perusing Netflix once more, this time "Ghost In The Shell", the live-action version.  We are only 10 minutes in, and it seems to follow the original fairly faithfully, yet with a bit more exposition.  This is a good thing, as it took Conrad at least 3 viewings before he could make out: 1) what it was about and 2) what had happened.  Oh - all you slavering perverts hoping to see Scarlett Johansen naked? - shame on you!

From the neck up ONLY.
(Wash out your dirty minds!)

*  I nicked this from Philip K. Dick.