Folks,

It feels like 25F. here this morning due to a 3 MPH wind. I see that no limericks have been posted not even by Dux. Mine must have been even worse than I thought. In fact, it may very well be that my daily posting has chased everyone off rather than the other way 'round. There were 15 reading yesterday at this time and only 7 today. Are we losing ground?

Pv1:

It is good to hear from the Western branch of the BDG. It certainly seems you have set yourself a difficult task if you are on your own with it. On the other hand, you have managed veritable miracles before. Though I cannot hope to benefit from your work myself I appreciate your efforts now and in the past. When I think of what has been accomplished after the release of the Rowan/Empire BoB source code 15 years ago I'm amazed by it.

Chaps,

Off tomorrow but will see y'all next week.

JRT,

Your limerick did not go by unnoticed. I was instantly reminded of those fabled activities by a certain enterprising gentleman from Nantucket but am not prepared to risk a forum ban by reciting them here. Excellent artwork on the Fistful of Roubles poster, too. :-)

PV1,
Thanks for your comments on the file programmes and have to say that I admire your tenacity in sticking with the gaming mods for that which which was so popular among so many of us. There is a YouTube tutorial on sf5 which I can try out sometime next week. Also a fairly up-to-date thing called the 'free rar Extractor frog' which may not be 'free' after all. Altering game files associated with Steam is not recommended because I believe they have a method for intercepting those files which have been modded by gamers in order to give an advantage over other online players. Heaven forbid (cough) that I would ever consider (cough) doing such a thing (cough). The result is a ban for that particular game and probably from all of Steam as well.

Dux!
You may be interested to know that a Sinkiang Willow Warbler was spotted this summer on the Danish Island of Christiansø, off Bornholm.

The Island was used as a fortification from 1684 by King Christian V to defend the interests of the realm.

Folks,

Another noticeable chill in the air here this morning. A full sun is rising above the eastern trees and were it not for the 13 mph wind the sting of the chill would be lass. All in all it should be a lovely winters day.

Dux:

You were probably wise in refraining from posting one of those somewhat ribald New England based limericks, particularly since MG is no longer the one peeping over our shoulders with his seldom used censorship stamp poised and ready. I guess that chore has been replaced with software today anyway.

My teen grandson "T" sends his regards. An avid fisherman himself and a dab hand with a rod himself, he can't help being envious of your easy year 'round access to the bounties of the sea. He is in the garage daily inventorying, organizing and cleaning his extensive collection of fishing tackle. He does not wish to miss a single day of the spring fishing season. Of course I told him the truth of how you actually caught that beautiful flatfish.

I told him you were probably on your way home from the pub and fell right over the sea wall into the surf. When you managed to crawl out safely upon dry land again you noticed an unusual fluttering within your soggy shirt. Coughing and sputtering up a gallon of seawater in the process, you were eventually able to discover that the cause of all the fluttering was not your heart at all but rather a beautiful flounder. Well done you.

Jens:

A 'Sinkiang Willow Warbler' was recently seen on that historic Danish island you say? I have no idea what that bird might look like, however, if my suggestion for how Dux really caught that lovely fish is actually true then anyone witnessing the event probably saw a 'Sinking Wallowing Warbler' on that day. OK, like my grandson, I'm just jealous of his catch and even more so of the delicious meal he no doubt enjoyed.

Folks,

A winter storm is coming to northern states. Those suffering frigid weather will not believe that this afternoon we are enjoying late spring weather under sunny skies with a stiff wind. A poor day for fashion wigs and light straw hats it is however perfect for kite flying. Today the Mercury rising to and now beyond the 80 F. mark has gotten folks in the neighborhood out and about. It won't last, by tonight winter will have returned riding on the gusty wind I hear whistling by my open window. Such is life. After all this is NORTH Carolina.

Dux, I've been watching an interesting program on Netflix featuring the stately houses of Wales. Even we the woefully uneducated knew all about the battle of Bosworth and how much the Tudor's ascension to the throne of England depended upon Wales. That, and a bit about the ancient Druids we were certainly aware of. Then, more recently, we have learned the astonishingly clever fishing habits of the local gentry. That was about all. Now i've learned there are some great houses in Wales. Who Knew?

Now that most of you save for those lurking about in the shadows, have checked in, come again and continue the conversation.

Folks:

No idea you should care but the wind has abated and the chill has settled once more upon us. The sun is well over the trees to the east but straining to be seen through the curtain much less felt. Yesterday was far different. Ah, well within the month the buttercups will be summoned by that same old Sol. Soon they will be seen pushing their yellow heads and green bodies up through the thick crust of brown pine needles. It is a sure herald of spring, new life and rejuvenation.

The ups and downs of our weather is not the only topic of conversation that I am capable of conjuring up on a new Monday morning. It is however the easiest and least likely topic to cause controversy or elevate anyone's blood pressure. Not that certain members of our congregation (me included) might not benefit from time to time from a small rise in same. For instance, Dux I seemed to benefit from the rise in pressure I got viewing that lovely snap you posted of your "K".

I would guess one would have to spend several pleasant hours thumbing through the stack of mags down at the Studley Grange Beauty Parlor, Pet Grooming and Radio Repair Service facility to find her equal. I've just noticed the beauty parlor has recently added a 24-7 emergency entrance. I would not wish to offend of course however, based upon what I have personally observed going in and later coming back out of that popular establishment there is either an unforgivable lack of quality in the training of the stylists or a clear lacking in the quality of the raw material going in.

Most of our members may well recall that for a time during the renovation of the Prince & Polecat Pub it was relocated temporarily right next to the beauty parlor. As I heard it Dux, you came along one night just before closing time in hopes of a sizeable night cap and somehow you entered by the wrong door. So pleased were the girls to see a man come through the door they grabbed you and pulled you, mildly protesting, to a waiting chair. There ensconced, you were offered a powerful libation (some said distilled in the bathtub).

Promised in spite of the high proof you would not have the slightest hangover, you were, as always, happy to oblige pretty ladies anytime. Taking a great slurp, then slightly concerned about the likely erosion of your tooth enamel,you grandly accepted all their pleasantries and soon, well fortified with several more "private label" libations, you peacefully slipped into something only slightly separated between alcohol induced coma and premature death.

Awaking just before dawn, you yawned,stretched and blearily opened your blood-shots. Your mouth tasted like the bottom of LeRoy's parrot cage smelled. There were no customers about and the ladies were taking a deserved cigarette/snuff/chewing tobacco break. You took the opportunity to leave without any sorrowful goodbyes and stumbled out the door unobserved. It took several moments for you to regain your bearings before you finally made your way home.

As advertised, there was no hangover but.... I am unsure of the actual time it took for that fashionable pile of tight curls to straighten out Dux. I clearly remember that even after several violent applications by an unhappy Olga of a seriously caustic concoction of lye soap and Russian brown bear piss there were traces of the brilliant red dye still visible above the roots of your recently closely cropped hair for a full month.

Perhaps the CO smiled inwardly at the sight of his best pilot with his service cap pulled down to his ears. The cap kept slipping back up of course. Laughter then rippled through all the ranks. Discipline was faltering on the brink. So, leader of men that he was, the CO took extraordinary action. After that, the sight of you standing at attention in ranks with that paper bag over your head near made it physically impossible to attempt roll call.

We are having a spell of sunny weather and about time too! Nights are cold, days around freezing but Wednesday should turn out with a bit of spring feeling to it, as we're forecast 5 degrees C, sun and little wind.

Yesterday I had a long walk, nearly 10 km, wrapped in layers of clothes. Perhaps it is weather like this that makes it so easy to eat too much and bring on a bit of "hygge" by setting a coffee-table which asides the coffee contains too much pastry, doughnuts, gateaux' etc. And perhaps a little snaps to warm the insides.

Speaking of alcohol, I regret to inform our reader that I have personally emptied some 60 bottles of red wine since Thursday in last week.

Before you ask to the state of my liver I hasten to inform you that the contents of said bottles were poured into a sink because the wine had gone bad. In fact the only potential use for it was for sauce making, if you could get past the initial smell, but you would need to make a lot of sauce to use 60 bottles of wine.

Folks:

Shades of Baron Rothschild! 60 vinegary bottles down the drain? I sincerely hope that they were homemade wine made from home grown grapes and crushed in a wooden bathtub by your own impeccably clean widdle feets and not Domaine de la Romanee-Conti 1990 at $20,975 per dusty bottle... at the low current rate.

Not since the great HWH Hall laxative scare of 1943 have I seen anyone pour so many bottles of wine down any drain other than one with a tongue in it. That was when Dux blamed his favorite wine (erroneously it turned out) and went completely off Chateau Thames Embankment (reddish) for a fortnight. The ripple effect alone caused several busy wineries in Britain to cancel orders for grapes and shut down at least one shift.

I will tell that story one day when for some reason everyone's conscious is bothering them so much they have become self-indulgently masochistic.

I am delighted to read that the Norse god of winter has put away his sword of snow,wind and ice and has warmly smiled upon you once more. Unless it was all uphill a brisk 10 KM (6.2 mile) walk such as that for a veteran cross country pedal pusher like yourself must have hardly gotten your powerful heart pounding. I understand that if speed is your desire that especially on the coldest of days walking or running partially nude seems to increase one's speed markedly.

Folks:

Temps were hovering around freezing when I rolled out of bed this hazy Tuesday morning. After a quick breakfast I am upstairs again typing. As I have found no such new inspiration (and you fellows in the East have had plenty of time if not motivation to post), I guess I'll sit back and read "War and Peace" (in the original Russian) backwards once again and before lunch. Lucky me, I have that rather lengthy work in a 4 lb. paperback edition.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY
Mon Ami

Ah Roger, not much to report except that the bottles of bad wine were, if I remember correctly called something like Monte di Pisson, Italian, you see. Not that I got anything against Italian; some Italian wines are very fine, Barolo, for instance.

Italian Opera is superb, and who doesn't like Pasta, Lasagne and Ravioli? I also like Italian cars, so much in fact that I have had three of them. They fell apart faster than I could put them back together again but that exact quality is what made them so endearing to me.

Tomorrow's weather is reported to possibly encourage a certain Danish bike rider with a case of cabin fever, to actually consider venturing out on two wheels again.

Stay tuned.

Folks,

MG:

LOL. I've never come across that particular label. I did buy a bottle of questionable French wine once that it turned out was undrinkable but went rather well on a crisp Romaine salad. Italian is indeed good. Unfortunately most of the "Eye-Talian" food that is served here is more like Italian-American food. I try in my own kitchen to be more authentic. For instance I always wear a big, white, fluffy balloon chef's hat like chef Boy-Ar-Dee does on the can and I make sure the pasta is perfectly cooked just like that great Italian chef Al Dente demanded.

I agree Italian opera is very good. I am not a great opera fan though I know a bit about Opera. I once won twenty bucks off a pompous, know-it-all pseudo opera aficionado who claimed the opera das fledermaus meant "the field mouse". As you would surely know, it means "The Bat". Although there is some beautiful operatic music I must admit that I am more like my favorite American author Mark Twain in that I like everything about opera... but the singing. Unlike the Prince of Wales who favors Domingo, I was a mildly devout Pavarotti fan. I can find something I like in any music genre. Well I have had a bit of trouble with Hip Hop and Rap but I've tried.

I was kidding about reading Russian.Dux might do that.he seems to know a lot about that country. He no doubt learned it all from Olga. We all learned from her. For instance I learned just how fast I could run barefoot on a gravel road. Anyway, about the only Russian word I know beyond Nyent and Da is DonSpittOnya. Russians say that a lot when they are leaving or just going away. So, though I am not Russian, as I am now leaving, let me say it now DonSpittOnya...

Your tales of watching opening buttercups, and wine past its time are making me resentful of the beautiful record-matching eighty-four degrees here last Saturday. I had wanted to go to the lake, if only to enjoy the sun in the cockpit.
But I didn't want to give what seemed to be the beginning of a cold or flu an additional headstart.
Now it's Tuesday and at 46 degrees, the eighties look like a memory and I'm not much better. Some two inches of rain have fallen and I am not looking forward to seeing wild-weeds be the only green in the yard. Hopefully, the good news will be that we may not run out of water this Summer.

Hope you guys will continue describing fanciful worlds of Spring Fever and real life. It's my refuge and escape until this sorry chapter runs its course.
I can't wait to be well enough to fly the Spitfire kite with Snoopy on it in gentle Spring winds.
Now, a Hot Summer; well, that's another matter.

Folks,

Fittop:

There are worse things than being softly rocked to sleep by the repeating riplets of a mirrored lake in the comfortable cockpit of your own boat. Your weather mimicked our own recent warm weather. There are those farther north whom I would expect would almost settle for even the recent memory of that.

Of the several cures touted for soothing away spring fever only the one that seems reasonably therapeutic requires a rather strong libation and a good woman to administer the cure. That works just as well with cabin fever I would suspect.

BTW as for my son, nothing was ruled in or out by the MRI, another MRI is required and a stint with a pain clinic may be forth coming. My son cannot feel three toes and there is still an unhealed portion of the wound after almost 7 months. The settlement will be large and grows the longer he suffers and this takes.

Folks:

We have 52 cloudy degrees F. this morning. If I wished to feel much cooler I might report that as 11 C. or if I were in the mood for scorching heat it might be 284 K. I know, nobody cares. I can hear it when you yawn you know.

I recently mentioned something about being rocked to sleep. If you have ever wondered why I am so messed up (and don't you dare deny it) it may well be because, like you, my mother rocked me to sleep. OK, let me explain. The reason you turned out so different than I could be that my mother always used real rocks...

Now that MG's drains are all washed clean and are curiously sweet smelling, I hope he has emptied that large bucket of Danish tears he collected before someone accidentally kicks it over. I wonder what he is doing with those 60 empty bottles? I saw a TV program once about millions of dollars of counterfeit collectable wines being sold at auction houses to multi-impossi-trillionaires. Could our boy be planning to reuse those bottles? What is the market for premium Danish wines these days anyway?

I cannot somehow get my mind around paying two or three eight foot tall stacks of one hundred dollar bills for any consumable no matter how wonderful and tasty they may be. Of course holding onto something like that and re-selling it later at a profit would be appealing to many. Trouble is, something like that, no matter what its appraised value might be, really is only worth what someone is willing to pay. Several very wealthy individuals have learned that the hard way when they found that their unbelievably priced collectible wine was suddenly essentially worthless beyond its utility value as a paper weight or door stop.

Unlike you and I, these un-filthy rich were so incredibly wealthy that using a $100,000 bottle of Chateau Regret Uloss 1990 for target practice caused them no real pain.... beyond the shame of being fooled, that is. Somehow it is comforting to realize that I shall never know the pain of that particular kind of loss.

I hope you are on the mend Fittop ´tis a sorry state when the torrid tale of 60 bottles of red down the drain becomes a looked-forward-to feature.

As the fumes of Monte di Pisson and Pissoir have now slowly cleared my head and I am somewhat sober again I realize that I have told this story backwards, perhaps not entirely unintentional, mimicking the internet's attention grabbing headlines and providing plenty of click-bait. Looking behind the story, it turns out that it was not my own wine, - there, I did it again, offering a bit of tantalizing sensationalism, still not revealing the dreary fact that the wine belonged to the company where I work.

Job-description: Applicant must be proficient in throwing out many bottles of wine. Alcoholics are also welcome to apply. We guarantee you won't be the least tempted to drink the stuff we've bought.

So there you have it. Cheap wine turned sour in too hot and stuffy storage room. The wine was originally intended for gifts, for customers, but we felt we couldn't bear to lose another customer.

The empty bottles were placed in their boxes ready to be picked up by the company in charge of supplying fresh and removing empty bottles, mostly innocent stuff like water or soda pop, nothing alcoholic allowed except at proper "do's" like Christmas or company dinners.

This is possibly the most amount of words anyone has ever bestowed upon such a tiny and insignificant event.

Folks:

No more than 36 delightful degrees awaited me when I opened my blood-shots this new Thursday morning. Perhaps it was much colder where you awoke today? Some of you may even have what is called "snow". We have no snow. We had some earlier in the year. It was a lovely white color. It was cold and icy. Sadly for some it all melted in a couple of days. We can go years without snow at all. This is a cause for some distress in the ranks of our children. Yet when it does snow it becomes an event. At the sign of the first flake observed by the official Snow Monitor things begin to happen fast.

I don't know who that lucky individual might be. Whomever, he or she must be solemnly charged with monitoring the evening weather forecast on TV and then, with a forecast that even mentions the word "snow" they are required to rush out very early indeed to look to the skies for one or two falling flakes. If any flakes are observed the trusty monitor then makes a sleepy phone call and the powers that be streak into action to see that media announcements are made and schools are closed down tight here. The doors will then stay closed until the official Snow Melt Monitor decrees it is safe for buses to run and schools to open again.

Early in the morning the long prayed for (by the kids at least) announcement of schools closing is duly made on regional TV and radios. All this may be the same where you live. It has been observed by me that my sleepy grandchildren could be standing no more than 3 feet from the TV and they would not pay even the slightest attention if the announcer stated the Titanic had just sailed into New York harbor. Somehow however they would never miss any announcement of school closing be they in the next county, under ground in a deep cave wearing sound cancelling earmuffs.

Even if there is only one child hearing that particular information the word spreads exponentially one way or another until it reaches the little pink ears of every single child in the whole danged school system. This is the occasion every parent recognizes as the whirling dervish-like dance of childhood freedom when all the kids just jump for joy and twirl dizzily around the room. That dance would naturally coincide exactly with the precise moment when their parents look angrily out a window and begin pulling out the rest of their thinning hair or scratching their heads trying to figure out the tangled logistics of getting to work while caring for their beloved kids for several days at home or elsewhere at the same time.

Then one fine and sunny day the announcement comes that schools will be open for normal business again the very next day. This is occasioned by yet another dance, this one by the children's parents. This happy dance has no name but it is recognized by every child as a very ill omen indeed. As you might easily guess, having been a child once yourself, the dreaded announcement schools will reopen, if acknowledged at all, will not be greeted by our children with the same un-abandoned enthusiasm as was the previous one closing the schools.

I have two extremely pleasant HWH announcements to make:

ONE: The much awaited HWH honors list has just been released. Once again Dux's name is on it. He will now be forced to get larger calling cards printed up. This done just to include all the honoring initials newly trailing his already illustrious name. He has been promoted to the rank of International HWH Twelve Star General, Deputy Custodian of the Fountain of Inexhaustible Knowledge and Omnipotent Overseer For The Quest For Unsurpassed Excellence. Way to go Sir, Dux!!

TWO: This my friends is clearly a blatan... conspicuou...unconseale... auspicious opportunity for another potentially lethal HWH booze-up. All this at Sir Dux's expense, of course. LeRoy reminds us that those who cannot manage the trip to Pembrokeshire by 7 PM UK time tomorrow night are on their own to celebrate as they may, and that, regrettably, would be entirely at their own expense.

Folks,

Jens/MG:

LOL. Well, that clears up several un-asked questions my friend. And I must agree that it is a shame that so few are the posts on our worthy thread these days that I have only the disposal of poorly aged wine or our lack of snow for inspiration. You and Fittop have done more than your share of posting with Dux popping in with the Welsh fishing report now and then. I was especially pleased to see our prodigal BDG leader make a recent post. Thanks for that my friends.

I am doing my best to post on a daily basis again as once was my habit for over a decade. Of course what I have posted has never been anything of note and certainly not anything to attract either lurkers or regular posters. In the past our incomparable game was the major draw both to the forum and to this thread. With the flight of so many to another BoB forum and then conflicts with new Windows versions things here have slowed markedly. One only has to look at page one of our forum to realize that.

I am however pleased that we "few" continue to carry on SNAFU's thread in the interest of good camaraderie and friendly conversation if not for the game itself. This being a meeting place for several good friends of diverse nations and any future new comers as well, I think it worthwhile. Though I have the e-mail addresses of two of you and thus could keep in touch, I for one, would miss this thread if it no longer existed. Almost 16 years seems a long time for any thread though I'm told it is no record of either longevity or even number of posts or views. I think SNAFU, wherever he may be, would be both surprised and proud of it.

Feeling slightly better than what that poorly-aged wine must taste I had again opened this page if only just to see any favorable progress reports on JRT's son.
Of course, the continuation of this journal features on this interest too.

Any of my tiny scratchings should not be confused as material contributions entered by the other names that give such substance to this soup.
It was a fear of seeing such richness be lumped into inactive threads heap that led me to sometimes twig the thread.
Then I find the main actors here have contributed so much labor and talent to much more than BOB.
They are a heck of a lot smarter than me.
I salute you gentlemen!

Folks:

So glad you are on the mend. There has been a terrible scourge making the rounds here that has laid so many low for days and even weeks. I'm told boxes of Thera Flu are veritably flying off the pharmacy shelves. Perhaps what ailed you is the same nasty bug?

I must sit here and just wonder. Smart?? Whom do you suppose Fittop is speaking of? Not I. It must be you MG or you Dux, maybe PV1? I am barely smarter than dirt. And that would have to be sterile dirt at that which had no single celled organisms or worms hidden in it. We have however been here a long time; that is absolutely true. In my case longevity is surely a poor substitute for excellence. I do continue to try harder. I know Dux, it doesn't show. Thanks for pointing out the painfully obvious.

Thank you Fittop for lending your hand when it is certainly needed; I salute you back my friend.

Folks,

35 chilly degrees greeted this newly awakened eastern North Carolinian this cloudy, frosty morn. No, Dux, go back to sleep, I typed "morn" and not "porn". Besides which, "frosty porn" would make no sense at all. Well, I suppose it might in frightfully frozen Denmark.

Speaking of Denmark, and someone just did, I know that our pal Jens was a tad peevish regarding our making so much out of his dumping out so many poorly cared for bottles of vinegary wine. Hmmmm. Perhaps Danish wine is supposed to taste like that? If so, Jens made a terrible mistake. I would not know. Because this particular subject seemed to worry him so and with the dearth of other unsuitable material to work with presently presented to me, we will therefore quite naturally NOT leave the touchy subject alone.

My wife once had a small sign in her kitchen. It read: "I cook with wine. Sometime I even add it to the food." Her mom , a life long Baptist, did not much approve of that sign. Perhaps that was the primary attraction? Now think about it pals. Sixty empty wine bottles is at the very least fifty nine more than a plenty to deal with. What then is Jens to do with those empty bottles? Right LeRoy! Jens needs our help.

OK. We can all think of at least one thing he could do with just one of the 60 bottles, but, beyond being rather uncomfortable, that still leaves no less than fifty nine glass bottles still to deal with. Any ideas from you guys would surely be appreciated by our pal who could possibly be snowbound in chilly Denmark. Why, if I close my eyes, I can see him now pacing back and forth in his previously spacious living room or den. A room that is now filled to over flowing with empty wine bottles. He is desperate, he is worried, he is about to trip over one.

I will start with two excellent ideas myself and wait for the hundreds of others that will soon come flooding in from you.

ONE: My wife used empty wine bottles to keep olive oil and various vinegars fresh. She topped each pristine bottle with one of those metal and cork spouts often used on liquor bottles. It worked a treat. Well it did until that one Christmas party when her uncle reasonably mistook the bottles for something else and drank half a bottle of first cold press olive oil. Though it made him nauseous for a while, in the end it caused a marked improvement in his chronic constipation.

TWO: An empty wine bottle can make a very nice bird feeder. OK It will probably turn out in the long run to be a nice squirrel feeder however it seems a good idea for our purpose here. Maybe squirrels in Denmark shun birdseed? I haven't a clue. Here is an instructive photo.