She Was Only An Admiral's Daughter

But She Got Preferential Treatment When On A Cruise Liner

First of all, WASH OUR YOUR FILTHY MINDS! you slobbering perverts.  She was given an external cabin with a balcony and a 'bottomless' drinks package, if you want to know.

     Right, we are going to return to that fraught topic, the Ruffian -

     No, that's not all.  She didn't have to pay the mandatory tip that the cruise companies tack on to the overall bill.

     ANYWAY the Ruffian economy.  Thanks to vlogger Joe Bloggs for putting up an analysis of the Ruffian Ministry Of Finance's published data.

     What?  Why?  Because her dad was best friends with a lot of the cruise company's captains and senior executives.  Are you done asking stupid questions?  Art!

     As you should surely know by now, the MOF published economic data for January that were the worst figures in 25 years. There was speculation that this might be an outlier, or a one-off, and that the Ruffian economy would rebound, or at least recover.

     Nope.  The figures for February were every bit as bad as January.  In fact they were worse, because the ruble has now dropped in value and is worth 75 to the $, whereas previously it was 70 and this trend looks set to continue.  Art!

Bloaty Gas Tout is angry

TOTAL INCOME: This has shrunk by 25%, down to ₽3,163 trillion from ₽4,206 from this time last year, which would only include a few days of the Special Idiotic Operation.  Interestingly, the symbol for the ruble, ₽, is number 44 out of 53 symbols on Blogger, which is quite fitting as nobody is trading in it.

EXPENDITURE:  As income has fallen drastically, so has expenditure increased thanks to the cost of war in Ukraine.  For this period last year the total was ₽3,790 trillion.  The same period this year sees this figure grow to ₽5744 trillion, an increase of 51%.  Art!

Latest model Ruffian tank rolls off the assembly lines

DEFICIT: For January and February 2023 combined, this now stands at a whopping ₽2.6 trillion, or $34 billion in a currency that matters.  This is 90% of the projected ANNUAL deficit for 2023 of 2.9 trillion.  For the same period last year the deficit was ₽415 billion, one-sixth of this year's total.

NON-OIL & GAS REVENUE:  Phew, sighed the Tiny Toxic Terror Toad, this has only decreased to ₽2.21 trillion from ₽2.44 trillion, or a drop of 9%.  Compared to the other figures that's almost as good as no decrease at all!

OIL & GAS REVENUE: Remember that 60% of the Ruffian GDP was accounted for by these revenues.  This year they are down to ₽947 billion, which sounds like a lot until it's compared to last years total of ₽1.76 trillion.  Down by 46%.  Not only that, because Putin scorns to join the Price Cap scheme and be able to sell oil at $60 per barrel, he's having to accept the market price, which is $53 p.b. for Urals crude, in a prime example of Cutting One's Throat To Spite One's Windpipe.  For comparison, Brent crude, a market indicator, sells for $75 p.b. which is close to the price the MOF uses to calculate revenues.  Oops.  Art!

"The refinery's entire workforce arrived at dawn"

     This bad news about oil means that 50 Ruffian refineries are now at risk of either cutting back production or closing altogether and these things are not easy to resurrect.  Not only does un-pumped oil coagulate and clog the systems, the technical maintenance cannot be carried out thanks to all the parts required being Western.

     Things are so bad for the Ruffians that the head of the IMF, which took it's economic data straight from Putin, has retracted their prediction of 0.3% growth for 2023 and believes the contraction might be as much as 7%. Ouch.

     But cheer up, Ruffians! According to the Puffy Petrol Pimp, everything is going both swimmingly and according to plan.  Art!

     After all, what could possibly go wrong?

The Punchline Is -

Art!

     This little gem comes from Quora, where the question asked was about the biggest waste of electricity anyone had seen.

     Original Poster had been called into the Managing Director's office for a bit of a chewing-out, as he was presented with an electricity bill four times higher than the previous quarter.  OP immediately goes on a cost-cutting drive, monitoring usage and improving efficiency.

     No dice.  Next quarter's bill is just as high, as is the MD's temper.  Art!

     OP suspects a possible electrical failure and calls in electrical engineers, who don't find any faults, but do find a mysterious cable connected to the main switch-box.  They track this cable across the whole factory, to find it terminating in a home-made electric mouse-trap. The shrivelled remains of several mice surrounded it.

     By OP's count, it had cost over £1,000 to kill each mouse.

     I bet you didn't see that one coming.

"Tora!  Tora!  Tora!"

Your Humble Scribe saw this film only the once, probably about 40 years ago, and never since.  So, as it's in the box of DVD's I dragged out of the cupboard, I decided to watch it.  I will definitely add pictures once I get some.

     ANYWAY for those of you unaware, it's about the build up to and attack on Pearl Harbour (note the correct spelling), seeking to be scrupulously accurate, which is why the first half is an utter snoozefest.  Art!

     There's a very interesting scene 16 minutes in, when both the South Canadians and Japanese acknowledge the British torpedo-bomber attack on the Italian fleet at Taranto, that crippled three Italian battleships and shifted the strategic balance in the Med.  The characters also ponder exactly how the British did it, because an air-dropped torpedo will plunge to a depth of 75 feet before it resumes running depth, and the harbour at Pearl is only 45 feet deep.

     IIRC, the RAF fitted wooden boxes around the torpedo's propellers that prevented them from descending to any depth.  Art!

     

     Hmmmmm very martial, let's have a picture of a fluffy bunnies as compensation.  Art!

     Not sure what to say about that.  Next!

"The Sea Of Sand"

The bio-vores have been beaten off, but at a cost.

Tam was dying, hit in the back and the head by the big glass splinters.  He hadn’t been able to duck as fast as the private, who looked utterly distraught.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ mumbled Tam, blind.  ‘And miss – I’ll not get to know how this ends.’

‘You daft plonker!’ croaked Sarah, her throat constricting to the diameter of a drinking straw.  ‘You win!’

She didn’t know if Tam ever heard her, but she hoped so, she hoped so.  When she could speak again, Roger was tending to Davey.  The officer broke off the longer end of the glass splinter and pulled the remnant out from the other side, in a gout of blood.  Sarah stood by and helped with a bandage, then cleaned out a ragged gash in the back of Davey’s head, laid open by more shrapnel.  The private slurred his words and alternated between grogginess and aggression, symptoms of concussion.  Once he was bandaged Roger escorted him over to the mud hut Sarah had been sleeping in, forcing him to drink water and sit in the sultry heat of the primitive structure.

‘Needs proper medical care,’ commented the officer, rooting in a tin medical box.  ‘Here we go, sulfa powder.  Morphine, morphine, morphine – got it.’  He straightened up.  ‘Your chappie the Doctor couldn’t help, could he?’

Sarah shrugged, her emotive response dulled by sorrow.

‘I don’t think he’s that skilled at medicine.  Science is more his thing.’

     Bit of a downer, what?

Finally -

I was yarking on about making Bigos yesteryon.  Well, not only did I not get any sauerkraut, I've lost the recipe I wrote down by hand, so I need to copy it out again.  A senior moment, one feels.

She Was Only A Pilot's Daughter -

But She Still Got A 25% Discount When Flying

Yes?  You were expecting something disgustingly sleazy and NSFW?  Pshaw!  Shame on you!

     Okay - yes yes yes, 25% discount regardless of which airline.  ANYWAY it's now time to cook up a set of links in order to promote BOOJUM!s past triu

     No!  She could not add any more discounts to the ticket price, it was a flat-fee deduction thanks to the family connection.

   - past triumphs, such as they are, going back to 2014.  We won't hit 

    NO!  The tickets were non-transferrable and she had to show proof of identity upon purchase and when boarding.  There - happy now?

     We won't hit 2013 until June, which will - THE REMOTE NUCLEAR DETONATOR STANDS READY AYE READY I'M WARNING YOU - mark 10 years of this scrivel, a landmark I never realised we'd hit.

     Okay, Art, we need a suitable click-baity picture just this side of salacious.

     I really have NO idea what the heck this cover art is trying to portray.  Answers in the Comments, please.

2022

BOOJUM!: LATE BREAKING NEWS!! (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

BOOJUM!: Swingeing, Cringing And Whinging (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2021

BOOJUM!: Frothing Rage And Smug Achievement (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2020

BOOJUM!: Your Daily Dose Of Danger! (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2019

BOOJUM!: Farewell For A Few (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2018

BOOJUM!: The Well-Modulated Voice (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2017

BOOJUM!: The Chair (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2016

BOOJUM!: Easter Feaster (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

BOOJUM!: Today I Shall Talk Of Spring (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2015

BOOJUM!: Look Out! It's An ICBM! (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

2014

BOOJUM!: Coincidence! Really, You Go Too Far! (comsatangel2002.blogspot.com)

Merry Merry Manglement

It's A Bit Of A Truism

That South Canadians like to bang on about how free they are, when at the same time employers, especially in the catering business, try to treat their employees as indentured serfs bordering on slaves.  For example, most states over there have 'At will' employment status, meaning that the boss can fire anyone for anything they feel like at any time, with no recourse available to the employee.  This cuts both ways as the employees can walk out at any moment they feel like it.  Art!

Because employment law is terminally dull stuff for images

     I shall now regale you with yet another tale of an inept manager who thought his workforce were obligated peasant serfs, and how this came to bite him on the bottom most severely.

     Original Poster worked as a delivery driver for a pizza franchise that he wisely refrains from naming, which was hit hard by the Corona.  They covered a huge catchment area, and refused to shrink it at all. Opening hours were from 11:00 to midnight, with at least another hour spent cleaning up and prepping for the next day.  To begin with they had 16 drivers and barely coped, and Shrieking Manager managed to drive away 2 drivers per month until they were left with - well, we'll get to that.  They needed 6 drivers for normal trade and 12 if things got busy, which they regularly did.  Art!

     By the time of posting, OP is doing 90 hours per week but thanks to late deliveries isn't getting tipped, so his wages are effectively halved.

     SM is in the parlour on his once-per-month duty, screaming at staff, lying to customers ("It'll be there in fifteen minutes" when it would take at least an hour)  and generally getting in the way.  He insists his staff are all lazy whiners incapable of working and are doing all they can to sabotage his business.  He very stupidly insults OP under his breath which proves to be the last straw: OP drops the boxed pizzas he was carrying, cashes himself out, empties his locker and comes back in only to throw the pizza signage from his car onto the pile of now-cooling pizzas.  Art!

     OP then slept the sleep of the justified and ignored 5 texts and a panicked voicemail from SM.

     Cue updates.  SM leaves messages about when OP is coming in?  By message 8 the tone has changed and there are now threats about legal resort for 'Job Abandonment' and ruining his business.  OP is now also able to collect unemployment benefit from the business because SM fired him by text.

     On Sunday OP drove by to drop off his uniform - and the parlour was closed.  A hand-written sign declared 'Closed due to lack of staff', because two more left on Friday thanks to his apoplectic rage, and his last driver quit on Saturday, leaving only SM, the general manager and a part-timer who did 10 hours per week.  Art!

     On Thursday SM shows up on OP's doorstep, demanding that OP come in the next day because Friday is extremely busy.  I mean, does this man have solid bone between the ears?  He then launches into a tirade that it's all OP's fault because now there's only the General Manager left and he's spending so much money sending pizzas out via DoorDash that the business is tanking moneywise.

     OP expresses his utter disconnection with any of this and goes back inside.  SM then proves true to form and hammers on the door whilst shrieking with rage.  Eventually he goes to leave and OP, being petty as a small child, opens the door just enough to state how much the business and SM suck and ends with " - and I hope you go bankrupt so I can laugh at you panhandling on a street corner!"

     Which might not have been the most diplomatic thing to say ...

     OP certainly knew how to push SM's rage buttons, because he came back to pound on the door and shriek for twenty minutes, until the neighbours called the cops.  Art!

     It must have been a slow night, three patrol cars turned up.  OP got to enjoy sitting on his porch watching SM trying to worm his way out of trouble.  He found out SM had gone to other houses to harass ex-staff and they are considering hiring an attorney, as OP's Ring doorbell caught everything.

     That was 6 months ago, with no more updates.  Really, you could title this tale "101 How Not To Run A Business" or "101 How To Ruin A Business".

The Chemical From Hell

Yes, it's our old fiend, Chlorine Trifluoride, the stuff that makes everything burn, including asbestos and ashes from things already burnt.  Glass, steel, sand; you name it, ClF3 will set it alight.

     I may have regaled you with the tale of a ClF3 spillage, where a container holding a ton of the stuff ruptured.  Art!

     There is no way to extinguish a Chlorine Trifluoride fire, so the staff had to let it burn out.  Before it did so it had gone through a foot of concrete - "The concrete was on fire" is not a phrase commonly encountered - and a yard of ground beneath that.

     Thanks to Quora I found out that the steel container had been cooled with dry ice, in order to make handling the CTF loading easier.  Nobody doing the cooling or loading realised that, at very low temperatures, steel becomes brittle.  Thus it split apart thanks to being as robust as an Easter egg in an oven.  One Quoran pondered why nobody was injured or killed: Conrad supposes that hearing the phrase "Loading Chlorine Trifluoride" would empty the storage area quick smart.

"Charlie Peace"

The name of a Victorian villain, before you ask, mentioned in passing by Sherlock Holmes in one of the short stories I've been reading.  Ol' Sher claims that CP was a passable violinist, which doesn't seem borne out in any way by his biography.  Art!

     Not a looker, frankly.  Somewhat bizzarely, he featured in "Buster" in "The Astounding Adventures Of Charlie Peace", for no good reason.  Art!

     In case you were wondering at the sight of cars in Victorian England, he got sent to the present-day in a time-machine.  Of course he did.

"The Sea Of Sand"

When last we visited, the bio-vores were making a spirited assault on the Forward Supply Depot, having learned a few hard lessons.

The A13 fired again, then again, and again.  The shells all hit the rear of the black tank, knocking off great chunks and physically shifting the vehicle.  The movement was sufficient to expose part of the weapon concealed behind the tank.

          Before the bio-vores could launch any more glass shrapnel bombs, the Sahariana driven by Torrevechio came bounding over the gravel from the south, shrugging off glass darts and stun rays from the dispersed bio-vore skirmishers, the A13’s dismounted engine covers making excellent protection. 

          At a hundred yards distant from the aliens, Torrevechio fired up the flamethrower and drove straight at them, drenching the unfortunate victims in blazing fuel and killing them almost instantly.  Next he swerved to the left and poured liquid flame over a few of the pinned-down bio-vores.

          Faced with a weapon so terrifying, the surviving bio-vores broke and ran, only half a dozen of them getting away: Doretti saw to that, picking off runners with a Bren gun.  He felt a savage delight in bowling the stampeding monsters over with a brace of bullets, until Sarah stopped him with a restraining hand.

          ‘Enough,’ she said.  ‘No killing for the sake of it.  We need to defend ourselves, not to slaughter.’

          Doretti’s face, when they found the injured Davey, looked coolly and appraisingly at Sarah.

     Hmmmmm he's not a happy chappy, is he?

Finally -

Okay, time to let my quaking bowels calm down and then it'll be scrape-face time and an afternoon constitutional into Lesser Sodom to see what's going cheap.  Toodle-oo!

Falling Skies

No!  Not The Television Series

Conrad knows whereof he speaks, since he watched the first two seasons, and is slightly horrified to discover that it began in 2011 before finishing in 2015 after five seasons.  So it's been out of commission for over a decade.  Erk.  Art!

     Just to recap, it was about, an Earth over-run by an alien invasion, where 90% of the population had been wiped out with the destruction of major cities and towns.  Hmmm.  Bit careless, that, because those hapless aliens have left 900 million Hom. Sap. alive and thirsting for vengeance.  That's an awful lot of ticked-off people, and in South Canada there would probably be enough guns for everyone to have 10 of them.  Not sure about the ammunition for them.  And by the time 30 years have passed there would be well over a billion hostile humans, probably close to 1.5 billion.  Art!

"I brought you the head of Alfredo Garcia.
     AN ALIEN! I meant an alien. The head of an alien.  Sorry."

     Interesting to see Noah Wyle being a hard-bottom, given that he was best known for playing a doctor in some medical soap that I can't remember and cannot be bothered to find out about.  Sue me, I don't care, I'm horrid that way.

     ANYWAY of course - obviously! - that's nothing to do with what this Intro is about, because when do we ever create content in a sane and sensible orderly fashion?  Yes, there was that time in 2017, but it was purely accidental.

     What am I talking about?  Why, nothing less than Near Earth Objects, those visitors from inner space that whiz by Planet Earth with worrying regularity.  Art!

     That shows the relative orbit of the Moon and asteroid 2023 DZ2, which you may not have been aware was traversing cis-lunar space tonight, approaching to just over 100,000 miles from your our fair home.  It was a late discovery, only being picked up at the end of February.  It's dimensions are a bit of a guesstimate at present, being about 65 yards in diameter and weighing circa 200 tons.  Art!

KILLER SPACE POTATO!

     Ha!  You should have seen your face!  Only joking.  This particular 200-ton puppy orbits the Sun every 3 and-a-bit years, so it's due back in 2016.  Ooo-err Matron!  Except not.  Having been tracked for weeks now, it's projected orbit can now be predicted with a very high degree of accuracy and there's absolutely no chance of it hitting Earth.  Whilst this might disappoint the Doomsday preppers amongst us, the rest will be quite happy.  Even if it did hit the atmosphere it would mostly burn up and disintegrate into small pieces.

    But wait!  There's more.  You see, back in January of this year, another Near Earth Object made a very close pass to Earth: 2023 BU.  Art!

     That's just over 2,000 miles in proper measurements.  Nobody is willing to put a mass to the tumbling twod, and estimates of it's size range from 3 to 8 yards in diameter, so Your Humble Scribe can guesstimate  between 9 and 17 tons.  This is very small fry as Giant Space Rocks go and it would never reach ground level even if it did hit fair and square.

     Before you start fretting, the Planet Killer asteroids are all known and tracked and there's no danger from them.  Where there is a dearth of information is about  those in the 150 yard diameter range, which are difficult to track and which would destroy any city they hit.  Conrad doing his back-of-a-fag-packet calculations reckons one of these would mass about 24,000 tons.  Art!

Well, Richard, you did say you wanted to see the bright lights tonight.

     And with that shocking display of bad taste, we shall move on.

More Coffee-Grounds From Sherlock Holmes

Metaphorical ones, I hasten to add.  Now that I've finished reading the short story collection, there are a few words I made note of whilst reading (yes I am a very sad man).

"PLETHORIC": 'Excessively full of bodily fluid, especially blood.'  Hmmm the word is used in describing a blackmailer, whom seems to have an especially florid complexion, which is greatly improved when he is shot dead.  Art!

"SCORBUTIC": Sounds like an orc character from LOTR, doesn't it?  A good mate of Gorbag, perhaps, with a giant scar across his scalp that's only held together with metal staples.

     Sadly not.  "Of or having scurvy".  Well well, someone should have been eating their lemons, shouldn't they?  Art!

"ERISIPELAS": Hmmm, one of the Woodland Elves from LOTR?  It's not in my Collin's Concise.  Ah!  Because Ol' Coney mis-spelled it.  It should be ERYSIPELAS, and it's a rather nasty skin infection that results in fever and purple lesions.  Yuck.  No, Art, don't bother.

Erysipelas at centre

Death Of A Trope (Well, Possibly)

One of the persistent questions on Quora is "Are the Russians keeping back all their good kit in order to suddenly overwhelm Ukraine with it?"

     The short answer is 'No'.  The slightly longer answer involves pictures of T-54/55 tanks being taken out of storage and sent to Ukraine.  Art!

     That number in their title is when they went into service.  So, Russia Mighty Russia is now sending tanks that are over 70 years old to Ukraine.  We can do one better than that, however.  Art!

     This is one of a batch of 11 KS-19 heavy anti-aircraft guns that the Ukes captured in Donetsk, which first went into service in 1949, and thus of even older vintage than those T-54/55s.

     Shortly to be deployed by Russia south of the Dnepro River in defensive positions - Art!

     Apparently even the pro-Kremlin military bloggers are aghast at what Russia Mighty Russia is reduced to.  Just wait until tomorrow when we'll do an item about the Ruffian economy.

"The Sea Of Sand"

Things are hotting up at Mersa Martuba, because the bio-vores attacking the small garrison have learned from their previous mistakes.  They're aliens, not stupid.

Running out of ammunition as the belt finished, Davey began to open another box.  Tam began to fire his gun, short bursts aimed at a particular target, and he kept firing until he hit the target.  Bio-vores made bigger targets than humans, but they were stronger, too.  Each needed several bullets to kill them, nor was that all.

          ‘They’ve got armour on,’ realised Tam, seeing another bio-vore get up, only injured from what ought to have been a killing series of hits.

          ‘Good! Because this belt is armour-piercing!’ snarled Davey, in the grip of a furious temper.

          A single loud popping sound erupted from behind the bio-vore tank, like a giant hiccough.  Davey recognised it as a mortar and ducked flat, or as flat as he could.  Another loud popping sound struck his ears, and he felt a stinging pain in his left bicep, and another behind his left ear.  What sounded like bees went whizzing into the ground, and the sandbags, accompanied by pinging and rattling.

          ‘We’re being shelled,’ he called to Tam, who didn’t reply.  The pain in his bicep made him look to see the damage: a  long, slender splinter of glass fully four inches long projected from the muscle, blood staining the worn khaki around the wound.  Almost afraid to look, Davey realised the big shrapnel spike penetrated to the other side, poking out for an inch.

          ‘Tam!’ he hissed, feeling a wave of nausea.  ‘Tam – I’m hit!’

     Uh-oh, things not looking too good here for the humans.

Come On Baby Light My Pyre

No!  Nothing To Do With The Doors

Although that track of theirs is very catchy and they are one of the few bands to go around without a guitarist, since Ray M

     ANYWAY Conrad was struck by inspiration last night, after finishing "The Short Stories Of Sherlock Holmes" -

I know, I know, nothing to do with Sherlock.  Sue me.

     Here an aside, and no complaining.  Conrad distinctly remembered a sinister clue in one of the short stories, where "We we " is left scribbled upon a wall by a vanished victim.  The poor perished person had tried to write "We were murdered" but was poisoned by gas inhalation before they could complete the sentence.  Yet this scene didn't appear in any of the short stories.  Could Conrad be wrong?

     No, before you ask.  Said scene takes place on the last page out of 1336 pages, so the old grey cells are still at least partially functioning.  Art!

     Okay, it's a beacon, not a pyre.  Sue me.

     What you see here is the primary beacon of Gondor's chain of same.  It's an adjunct of Minas Tirith, close to the city, which is why you see a stairway carved into the mountain and a chamber for the guards who have rather fallen down on their job.  There are a chain of these beacons atop the mountains that stretch all the way to Rohan, meaning the alarm can be raised in a matter of minutes, rather than the days it would take even the swiftest rider.  Art!

     Conrad, of course, cannot resist looking at the logistics of maintaining these beacons.  First of all, note the name of this mountain range - "White Mountains", definitely not "Misty Mountains". meaning that if the beacons are lit, visibility is going to be good.  The beacon chain has to be manned at all times, by at least two people in order that they can take shifts.  Art!

     Here you see one such outpost.  Note the hovel that's their accommodation.  One can imagine them being posted there for weeks on end, if not months.  They might have ready access to water but they will definitely need provisions, perhaps necessitating a supply convoy that services all these garrisons.  If that is the case they might well have to do duty there for a whole year.  What a miserable prospect!

     Note, too, the sheer size of that timber pile.  There must be a couple of tons of wood there and this site is well above the tree line, so it's not like the watchmen can just nip down and cut down a few trees to replace rotting logs.  Conrad suspects that the wood has been soaked in pitch or oil to both preserve it and render it weatherproof.  The wood was probably hewn (a very Tolkein-esque word!) on the lower slopes, then trimmed and dragged by mule teams up to the pinnacle, mules being better on mountains than horses.  Art!

     You can see why they're called the 'White Mountains'.  Conditions on a peak like this must necessitate sound shelter with a permanent fire going, or your watchmen are going to be corpsicles.  Not only that, they'd have to be in a more sheltered position than sitting right on the mountain top, so it would take a minute or two to light the beacon.  Art!

"Aragorn sat, brooding moodily."

     Did I say 'minutes'?  Note that night has fallen and there's a new day by the time Ol' Strider catches sight of the bonfire.  Conrad supposes this is to add in a bit of dramatic tension on the part of Ol' Pete.

     Mule teams, pitch, oil, multiple watchmen on rotation, supply convoys; quite an effort has been put into maintaining these beacons, with the saving grace that they work when needed.

     Of course, I could be over-thinking this ...

Conrad Cooks Ukrainian

We all know that Conrad is not averse to attractive young ladies, so let me introduce you to Khrystyna.  Art!

     As the label says, she is a Ukrainian living in Kyiv, who posts videos of life in the capital.  The other factor we all know about Conrad is that he is not averse to food, so he was interested in a vlog Khrystyna posted of her making an 'Olivier Salad', because she's not going to call it a Ruffian Salad, is she?

     Well I was inspired.  Art!

     This is Conrad's version using up a chorizo that had been languishing in the fridge for months.  It's not bad, actually, which is a good thing because even using half-quantities, there is tons of it.

How Ab -

Back to Ol' Sher and "The Lion's Mane", wherein a private school is mentioned, amongst the subjects being taught is mathematics, and consequently, 'Surds'.  Conrad was intrigued enough by the word to look it up.  My CC states: "A number containing an irrational root, such as 2√3".  Yes.  Well, glad we got that cleared up, then.

    Then there is the Lion's Mane itself, a species of jellyfish that grows to enormous size.  Art!

With puny human for scale

     Their tentacles can extend up to 120 feet.  Ol' Coney got their size right, but their tentacles are not the living wires of death that he exaggerated for the plot.  If you get stung by one IT WILL HURT! but The Grim Reaper won't be at your elbow sharpening his scythe with a whetstone, unless you happen to have an allergic reaction.  In which case your will had better be up to date. 

More Roel!

I hear you cry.  He's the expert in medieval and ancient history who's taking a look at how accurately various battles are as depicted in cinema and television.  Art!

     Roel has always maintained the importance of defensive ditches in any kind of defensive setting, and to his delight when the French storm an English castle, there IS A DITCH!  Art?

Happy happy Roel

     The English use long poles to push the ladders away, and also deploy a curious whirling wheel that has rocks attached to it via ropes.  Roel points out that this isn't impossible, but it would be just as effective to throw the rocks, because the besiegers are so densely packed that you couldn't miss.  Art!

The Wheel Of Possible Harm

     Then there's the 'murder hole' that does have an established history, just not in the way they have it here.  The enormous stone ball used is also inaccurate.  Art!

     Murder-holes were, in reality, used to drop large rocks vertically from an overhead position, usually in a keep.

     Due to ditch.

"The Sea Of Sand"

The bio-vores are now determined to attack the depot at Mersa Martuba, having discovered that a human garrison now occupies it.

Their attention returned to the approaching bio-vore vehicle.  The A13’s gun fired, muzzle blast causing the camouflage netting to bulge outwards like a balloon.  A glowing tracer in the shell’s base drifted with what seemed astonishing slowness, until it hit the vehicle low down in the middle.

          Unlike previous black tanks, this one did not blow apart.  The shell hit, and the vehicle jerked to a stop, but it wasn’t destroyed.  The big flat turret began to turn, until a second shell hit the blind cockpit, smashing it open.

          Bio-vores began to jump purposefully from the rear doors of the tank, wielding weapons.  Sarah counted at least twenty – they moved and ducked for cover too much for her counting to be accurate.  Several carried large pieces of equipment which they began to set up behind their immobilised transport.

          ‘Take that, you barstards!’ shouted Davey, beginning to fire his Vickers machine-gun.  He fired without stopping, shifting the fall of bullets by watching the tracers or spurts of sand thrown up where the bullets landed.  The bio-vores avoided grouping or offering easy targets, having learnt or recalled  skirmish skills not needed for centuries.  They still began to suffer injury under the relentless fire.

     Full-on skirmish!

     And with that, Vulnavia, we are done.

It's Rude To POINT

And To Be Spurned

For Lo! we are back on the topic of Spurn Point again, that remarkable piece of Yorkshire geography in the North Sea and the Humber estuary.  You can't really call it a peninsula, it's more a spit than anything else thanks to it's very elongated and etiolated dimensions.  Art!

     Thanks to a storm in 2013, it now becomes a tidal island, as part of the spit was semi-destroyed and it's conceivable it might become a permanent island given global warming and coastal erosion.

     ANYWAY there has been a military presence on the Point itself for over two hundred years, as batteries of guns on the point command the approach to the estuary.  There aren't any Napoleonic structures still extant - erosion and terrain creep, you know - but bits from the First and, especially, the Second Unpleasantness are prevalent.  So much so that ALW, an exploratory group who investigate industrial archaeology, have visited.  Art!

     Looks like a radar installation.  Because of the, you know, radar atop  the buildings.

     Anyway, our intrepid explorers begin at the Discovery Centre, at the north end of the spit, and observe "pillboxes everywhere".  Art!

     This looks to be one of the octagonal models.  Note wooden barrier to prevent access, to what is undoubtedly a damp, dank, stinking midden.  Our heroes removed and had a nosey and the interior was flooded, not just damp.

     They then set off down the spit, observing along the way, and noting that tidal action and erosion has shifted the mass of the spit eastwards.  They also came across this.  Art!

     The tourist information signs have this as an anti-tank ditch, and the only reason it's still extant is because of the concrete wall, because ATDs are normally merely excavated and will back-fill over the decades due to weather.  The daring duo keep on until the reach the actual Point and come across the old accommodation for gun crews.  Art!

Now public toilets

     They continue further across the Point, where there are paths created by the transit of other tourists, since there are rather less signs and notices to direct people.  Along the way they come across an ammunition storage bunker that would have serviced the guns.  Art!

     Travelling uphill, they catch sight of a large ship heading up the estuary, and then that building as seen on their title clip, which is identified as a HM Coastguard building.  Whilst the buildings don't seem occupied, or at least not in the parts where the glass is transparent, the radar atop the building is merrily whizzing round, so it may very well be un-manned and on automatic operation.  If there is a crew there it would be a bleak existence, to say the least.  Art!

     Further on there are more derelict and abandoned buildings, where time, weather and erosion has partially collapsed the structures, which were evacuated in 1959.  Not to mention the encroaching plant life, especially treacherous brambles.  Art!

     This is one of the gunpits for the 9.2" guns that were sited here.  In the top picture you can see it as the ALW chaps found it, in a state of being over-run by nature, and at bottom a gunpit as cleared out and renovated by volunteers.  It's not clear what date ALW visited - definitely post-2013 and possibly 2020, so some of their visited sites may have been tickled up already.

     The chaps beetle about a bit further, and traipse around the Coastguard building, revealing - Art!

     Proof that it is occupied.  I hope they have plenty of books and crossword puzzles.

     Here's the link if you care to watch the whole thing:

Spurn Point Military Exploration - ALW Exploration

     I've condensed over half an hour of video here.  And there's even a Part 2?  We may come back to this.

Further To "The Way Of The Gun"

Conrad did a little digging after his mention of said film, and it turns out that Chris and Doug McQuarrie, as rambunctious young lads, were forbidden by their mum ('Mom' for our South Canadian readers) from having or playing with guns.

     Oooops.

     Doug, you see, ended up in the South Canadian Navy SEALS, who are basically walking guns.  Art!

     Chris worked for four years as a private detective, and had frequent recourse to use a gun.

     Mrs. McQuarrie says she encourages other parents to have their sons (and daughters, no judgement here) play with guns in order to get their unhealthy fascination out of their systems.

Stop Press: Conrad Still Angry!

Don't think that, because I've not been complaining about having to vapourise scores of Codeword compilers, the Remote Nuclear Detonator has gone unused.

     O no.

     Let us now show how these wretches push the boundaries of lexicographical allowance.

"TROPE": "A word or expression used in a figurative sense".  Of course, I knew what it was because I've been on the website 'TV Tropes' which is a colossal misnomer, as it deals with films, comics, books and computer games. But - how often do you see this used in day-to-day language?  NEVER!  Art!

Helio Trope

"JAMBOREE":  I can't even find a definition in either Collins or Brewer's.  I shall have to resort to the internet <hack spit>.  Typically associated with Boy Scouts and concerning a large festive event, and nobody seems to know where it comes from.  Art!

Jam Brulee.  Close as you're going to get.

"SYNONYMS":  Yeah, yeah.  Words with the same meaning.  How about 'OBSCURE'. 'PEDANTIC' and 'OBTUSE'?  Hmmmm?  <hammers Remote Nuclear Detonator with apoplectic fury>

"The Sea Of Sand"

I should probably point out, since it's been a while, that this is a fan-fiction of mine from ages ago.  Don't wince in embarrassment, there are no Mary-Sues, the Doctor does not romance his assistant, and it doesn't cross-over featuring The Rolling Stones or Columbo.

Roger slid a two-pounder shell into the breech and closed it.  Oil and grease helped to make the loading smoother.  He squinted into the aiming telescope, seeing nothing but gravel and sand. 

Okay, elevate.  The elevating drum turned stiffly, as he brought the gun up to register at a range of three hundred yards.  It wasn’t possible to turn the turret; he had to wait until a target crossed his line of vision.

With a rapidity that displayed his nervousness, the officer stood up and looked out of the open turret hatch.  The injured camel cantered closer, the black tank, squat and baleful, crawled along behind.

Roger dropped back into the gunner’s seat, squinting into the rubber eyepiece, sweat and grit rubbing at his eyelid.

There!  A fleeting glimpse of an irregular, rounded, bobbing object.  Then a dark, glossy shape appeared in the sights.  He pulled the trigger, ears suffering from the greatly-amplified bang that rang in the turret.  Flicking the breech lever, the hot brass base of the two pounder shell rattled onto the floor at his feet.  Roger slid another shell home, closed the breech, checked that there was still a target there – and there was – and fired again.

Tam and Davey witnessed the camel come into the depot, catching one glimpse of a terrified female face cradling a child under the concealing blue cloth, before the creature trotted off.

     Ha!  Take that, bio-vores!

Finally -

March is being typically fitful.  It was bright and sunny earlier when I walked Edna, which of course - obviously! - meant a horde of other dogwalkers.  There was a wind with teeth in it, mind, and we've already had a grimy grey overcast and rain.  Now it's back to clouds and intermittent sunshine.  This, you see, is why domestic solar-panel use in This Sceptred Isle is doomed to failure.

     Anyway, time for a comfort break, a scrape of the bristles and lunch.

     Chin chin!