If we can draw Chucky away from Community Hall, things must be definitely looking up!

You are right there Old Dux. I used to frequent the relevant areas for the sims I used to play but eventually I 'wandered' up to CH.It's hard to leave it now.

However I now have loads of time on my hands so maybe I will devote the time to simming again,who knows.

Folks:

Chucky,

Welcome indeed. Just what we have needed.... another Brit!

Well, I mean, note the "Old" in Old Dux (our long resident Brit). He's even more aged than I am and believe me, his candle burneth at both ends all the time. How much longer can he possibly hold out? Alcohol poisoning alone would have gotten a lesser man long ago.

Jens:

Sorry about that pub, man. Some developers have no heart. I don't know the specifics of course but believe me, my years of experience in the industry informs me that even in friendly Denmark, there is always tremendous pressure, economic and otherwise to keep full occupancy with as many national branded stores with a great track record as opposed to local "mom & pops". Maybe the pub closed its doors due to lack of business? Dux can't be everywhere.

Thank you for that video. That is incredible. To see one Lanc in the air seems a miracle and any more than that simply un-believable. Seeing that tail come up fair gave me a chill but when I spied the rear gunner cleaning his perspex that gave me a shiver. How many times during the war on how many flights did the rear gunners do that very thing? Wonderful.

The mighty Vulcan instantly brought back memories of things like the Bond film that particular plane was featured in. To see them all in formation (how did the Vulcan driver stay in formation without stalling out?)was a real treat. Fantastic!

I had the fortune to see one of the last flying Vulcans in the eighties (could that have been XH558)? in formation with Concorde and the Red Arrows at Cosford I think. What a day that was!

Chaps,

My pal (you only ever need one) will be up at Holmfirth and he generally takes good pics. If I think they are worthy of your consideration, nay, sternest criticism, I'll put them up.

Folks:

Chucky,

Lucky fellow.

North Carolina has the good fortune to have more military here than any other state in the Union. This means I only have to look up on most days to see F-15s and tankers from Seymour Johnson AFB, Choppers of all kinds from Pope or Bragg, and all sorts of Naval aircraft from bases in VA. There are almost always a few contrails up there. Sadly no Lanks or Spitfires. I do see a beautiful P-51 every year as it passes over my home going to the annual Seymour Johnson Open House event. I believe it to be the famous "Old Crow".

Dux,

Gotcha mail and I have sent an unsuitable reply that must be languishing in your moldy, rust encrusted mailbox at this moment. That is unless you put down your extra-large flagon of Hymie's Best Bilge & Branchwater Ale long enough to retrieve it.

If those photos are good enough for you then they're good enough for us.

Great news about the drowned camera BTW. The new battery should bring it completely back to life. Mind you don't baptize the new one. Perhaps that new one is water-proof down to Olga's bathtub depth of 500 feet? If so, good choice!

Folks:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY (last week) HERKY

The C-130: Celebrating 60 Years of Active Service 60 years ago, on the 23rd of August in 1954, a legend was born when the second experimental C-130 (designated then as YC-130) took to the skies over the Lockheed plant in Burbank California and made a 61 minute flight to Edwards Air Force Base.

Sixty years of service. They must have done something right.

Gents,

JRT,

The classic C-130 still looks the part even today. 60 years eh? I was still in my first job as a 15 year old office boy at that time earning £2 a week. Mind you....beer was only about 10 pence a pint in old money, that's about 4p nowadays. That would have got me about 35 pints after NHI taxes. Yes, they even taxed that measly wage!

Folks:

Dux,

Quite a good design indeed. It seems a modern plane perfect for its mission. Of course the design has been augmented over the years.

I was about nine or nearly ten at the time and about to begin my first job delivering fish all over our town by bicycle. That bike didn't look much like your's MG.

Well, it had two less than fully inflated tires, one more or less in front of the other. There was a chain drive well protected by a thick layer of crusted rust. It had a frayed saddle set a bit too high for my ten-year-old legs and rather wobbly as I recall.

The handlebar was conveniently placed right over the front tire. Yup, just a tire, the fenders were long ago rusted or torn off. Luckily for those who sold boys clothing, there was no chain guard to hamper my jeans from tangling in the chain. To my relief, this usually only happened when I was trying to out distance a particularly fast and vicious dog or puffing away trying to climb a steep hill. The pedal brake worked well enough however I found the best way to stop this bike was to fall off. I practiced that technique much more than I wished.

One thing that was great about that first job was the high pay. I received an un-believable twenty-five cents, one quarter of a dollar, for every 60 minutes I was able to stay on that delightful bike. I always had plenty of company on my rounds as I had quickly become known to each and every stray cat for miles around. I'd been the Pied Piper of cats ever since I accidentally dropped an especially heavy packet of salmon destined for the dinner table of one of the prominent families those cats worshiped me.

For some reason when I reported my accident, the proprietor of the fish market, an older lady and a family acquaintance, was not amused. She reminded me that many boys coveted my job and it was only due to her high regard for my grandmother that I got such a cushy job. I hung my head and vowed to do better. Alas, the cushy job, as all good things usually do, finally came to an abrupt halt one very cold day.

I'd been peddling hard for my fortune for almost a full week when I was handed a rather hefty packet of fish. As usual it was well wrapped in the local newspaper and smelling....ummm... fresh. Our fish was always fresh.... even the fish that had been around longer than its sell by date was fresh. I had been cautioned to memorize that very fact more than once. Anyway, holding tight to my precious package this time, to the chagrin of the accompanying hungry felines, I peddled half a mile over to the house I'd been directed to.

I heard a big dog barking in the back so I forgot myself and went to the front door and rang the ornately engraved bell. In a few minutes a fine looking elderly lady, apparently a card carrying member in very good standing in the local "Blue Hair" crowd came to the heavy door. She looked down her long nose at me as if I was something unpleasant she'd just scraped off her fashionable shoe sole. I was instantly and regally dispatched to the rear of the house. Before I could manage the courage to mention the barking dog, the door was slammed in my face.

Pushing my bike around to the rear of the home, I found all was fenced in by a beautifully constructed tall, white picket fence. Mercifully it seemed too high for the monster that was kept inside to jump over and devour me piecemeal as it seemed certain to me that he desperately wanted and intended to do.

Dux, I stood at that latched gate for a long, long time. At least it seems to me today that I did. A boys conscious can be a terrible thing to wrestle with at times. On one side of the issue I wanted to do my job. I knew my duty. I knew I shouldn't let my employer and grandmother down. On the other hand they weren't the ones whose ass was about to chewed to bits by that malevolent creature on the other side of that gate either.

That dog was now not only lathered up and barking he was also growling and trying his best to scale that fence. It appeared to me he might just make it given just a bit more time. To my shame the decision was then instantly made and soon the dog's attention was captured by a large, perfectly wrapped parcel sailing over the fence in a beautiful parabola that perfectly ended with a thud upon the broad back porch.

I do not mean to brag however by the time that parcel landed on the porch I was already half way home, stopping only to hastily deposit the rickety bike in its customary place just under the picture window at the front of the neighborhood fish market. Ever mindful of the the proprieties, I managed to wave respectfully to my former employer standing inside with her mouth dropped wide open.

Gents,

JRT,

A fine story dredged up from memory lane!

I've configured the new Panasonic and look forward to using it in the near future. Very impressed with the 1080 high definition compared to the 720.
The new battery didn't work for the Sony...it just wouldn't charge either. Strangely, the camcorder is completely operational when plugged into the mains and would be OK for home use only - or as long as the power cable can reach! I could always try to set it up again as from new in the hope that 'something happens' which allows direct charging to the battery again. Other than that, it will have to remain a partial write-off.

Folks:
Dux,

Great resolution indeed. Too bad about the battery in the old one. Surprisingly according to a recent e-mail, our pal MG seems to be having a battery problem as well. Perhaps I'll be next?

Number one son leaves for the new oil fields of North Dakota (fragging)this evening. He has a new pipeline surveying contract for at least a year maybe two. He'll be home only 10 days out of each month not including holidays and comp time. It will be a bitter cold winter for a true southern boy but the pay is phenomenal. He is out buying arctic gear as I type. I hope he can find some well insulated underoos.

The jury is still out on fragging at the moment. Neither my son nor I have been proponents of it in the past due to possible impact upon the environment. The people of ND have made up their mind and accepted it. As a result there are fortunes being made and there's a good chance in the future gas prices will go down and the US will become a major exporter of oil again.

My son says he will wait to see what is really going on first hand before making up his mind. He won't be fragging himself of course. He'll be an instrument man and crew chief. He has experience in certain aspects of surveying no one else in that particular company has such as surveying on and around military bases.

Folks:

That should read "Fracking" and certainly NOT "Fragging" which, as we know, is (to borrow from Monty Python)something entirely different.

My son will be doing some work on an Air Force base (Minot)so I guess it might be possible for him to engage in some "fragging". However I doubt it. He does not care much for loud noises ever since his son received a set of drums for his birthday.

Now who would it be that provided such a gift,
perhaps an indulgent grandfather?

Folks:
PV1:

Guilty....

Perhaps I shouldn't have. When my son was a kid his uncle (my wife's brother)used to give him some sort of noise maker every birthday and at Christmas. It drove us to break out in advance our shooter's ear protectors every Christmas Eve. These were rather bulky ear muff types eventually replaced by gifting each other with tiny high-tech earplug devices with a small piston inside that blocked the loudest noises by using the pressure wave arriving at the ear canal.

That mischievous habit came to a sudden and permanent halt when we gave his son a used trumpet and his younger daughter a child's drum set at Christmas.

LOL Roger! Now your son will realize that you didn't put on those muff things on your ears because you had cold ears!

Folks:

How nice it was to arrive at this keyboard and find a birthday greeting from the admin. 70? Have I really managed against all odds to attain my appointed three score and ten?

It is a bit sobering to realize I have not much more than 20 years left to worry the life insurance man. He is probably desperately adjusting his actuary formulas and life expectancy tables right now.

This welcome greeting reminds me to walk slower and ache more, take more meds, forget about strong drink and sex and yes, in general at least begin to act my age....

Right Dux, I respectfully bow to your amazing example and I say "NO way!!"

MG,

Correct. When at home, he may have plenty of quality time to think on that revelation with his fingers stuck in his ears and an ice pack drooping and dripping on his aching head.

Hap-py birthday Roger!

Rog,

Belated birthday greetings and welcome to the exclusive Seventies Club.

Membership is entirely free. All you have to do is survive all the crap that life can throw at you. Glad you made it, old pal.

We have returned from another trip to Mon: 'Mother of Wales' - and once again, we had beautiful weather.

This is a view of Caernarvon Castle from the Mermaid pub on the Anglesey side of the Menai Strait - taken at 7:00AM... The ill-conceived buildings on the left reflect on the half-baked planners who put them there.

Happy belated Birthday, Jolly Roger!
Just returned from a reunion where most of the vets were 70+. Due to the walking done there, my knees are reminding me that though membership and the gray hair may be free, there are costs; but usually minimal.

Young Dux - I do realise I am an interloper here, but I have to ask what you were doing at the Mermaid pub at 7am?!I am sure it is a very good pub, but even so that seems a little excessive! Wonderful photo though, despite the bonkers planners doing their best to ruin the view!

And happy birthday Mr JRT