Folks,

Ever feel like the water is rising and you can't swim? Me too. I just watched a contrail pass slowly from South headed North across my window panes. For those two pilots the sun is still in sight but down here it has set behind the western trees.

Have you ever heard the sound of a small, single-engine buzzing overhead? Someone is up there in that big vault of the heavens perhaps flying alone through the night. If so, perhaps you wondered who it was and where they were bound? Maybe you went to the window and looked up into the dark. Maybe the plane was so low you could see it's tiny lights? So very tiny, it seemed, in that big expanse of sky. In the distance, perhaps you saw a bright flash of lightning right smack in the apparent flight path of that small craft. You may have silently wished whomever it was God's speed.

If you are like me, you would have imagined a pilot illuminated by his instrument panel, his hands lightly on the controls, his mind sorting a hundred what-ifs, frequencies, waypoints, and headings plus all the IFR and flight minutia that would keep him alive and get him safely to his destination. Could be he is tired. It has been a long flight. There might be a headwind he hadn't counted on, so maybe he is eying that storm ahead that wasn't supposed to be there and realizes he is missing his ETA over a specific node already. He's confident in his ability and in his plane. Still, he wipes his moist hands one at a time on his jeans. Maybe he has hundreds of hours of experience. A repeated signal in his headphones confirms he is right on course.

A piece of cake, he may now be thinking. Suddenly there is some turbulence, probably from the storm. Better think about going around the weather just in case. How is the gas? It's OK. That's a relief. Soon, he'll be on final and on the proper glide slope. He can already hear in his mind the Chorch! Chorch! of the wheels as they touch down. Maybe the faces of his wife and kids have pleasantly just intruded on his thoughts. They will be there waiting impatiently for him in the little airport office building. On the radio now, getting his clearance. He adjusts trim and steers toward the long lines of lights shining in the darkness ahead. He crosses the highway and hardly notices that below him there is a brief blur of car lights. A little crosswind. Feet work the pedals. Hold her true. Right down the center. Cut power. Flair. CHORCH! CHORCH! Radio work. Taxi instructions. Cut engine. Get out. His legs hurt, his back hurts. He stretches then attends to tie down and inspection. The cricketts are in fine voice tonight. The lights of the little office beckon. There are three beautiful faces smiling at him as he approaches. The door swings open.....

Odd isn't it what a fertile if also a feeble mind can dream up when I am alone in my dark room when a small plane passes overhead.

So, I've been busy, and I'm going to be busier, so I've not
kept up here, but I couldn't let a discussion of Jack Elam
go by; my favourite role of his was his slightly tainted good
guy US marshal on "The Dakotas".

Youtube has some clips, here's a perfect distillation of
his character (which my brother and I cheered enthusiastically
in our just arriving at teen years):

Folks,

Cloudy skies greeted me this Monday morning with sprinkles of rain leaving drops on my windows. Raindrops slowly running down a windowpane can sometimes remind me of downed planes falling from the heavens for some reason. That is a metaphor I used years ago in an HWH story. Not a very good story, mind you, but a story.

PV1:
It is good to be busy if we enjoy the work. Thanks for posting that clip. I cannot remember ever watching that. Jack, with that distinctive wandering eye of his, is impossible to miss. I recognize all three actors from TV and or movies. Jack's is the only name I remember. By the sixties Jack could have gotten that eye fixed but knew it was, by then, an audience accepted part of his character persona and, like the cottontails of Playboy bunnies back then, clearly an "asset". Unlike Bronson and Marvin, Elam, as far as I know, never managed to have the lead in his own movie.

JRT, Folks:
It has become a custom of mine now, as soon as I can in the day or night, to turn to these pages and read and be drawn into the images woven into my mind by the talented contributors here.
Note that this is the last of the three digit page numbers. JRT or another fine, humorous person will soon give us more food for thought and enter a four-digit numbered page in a SimHQ thread.
My compliments to all of you, a good bunch of folks.
I always manage to learn something in this site. Thanks

Folks,

Fittop:

Look here guys! The newest member of our tribe and the first one to notice we are about to arrive at a new mill....milestone in the history of our HWH thread. Good for you pal. Thank you for your compliments. I am sure we all do. I wouldn't be too outspoken about actually "learning" something here if I were you. Anyone acquainted with our thread might get the wrong impression. Of course, we all do learn from each other here. I know I've learned a lot coming here over the years. We'll keep that a secret between us if you don't mind. I learned never to play Go Fish! with MG for money. Danes are wicked Go Fish! players. They know all about fish you know. And Dux, as you might expect, him being an avid angler, is the only one of us who can consistently beat MG at that particular card game. We have all learned never to tease our retired "Beef Eater", Major Domo, dogsbody, and chief bottle washer LeRoy when he is in his cups. C51 discovered that mean streak in LeRoy at our annual Ghillies Ball, Salute to HM the Queen and Backsliding High-Class Hookers Conclave. As a result, a chastened C51 spent a full and miserably dry night up in an apple tree.

Congratulations to all you folks who have contributed so much to SNAFU's flame-free thread over these nearly 16 years. Who knows, maybe we will hit the 20M views mark by then as well? Cheers mates! I thought that exclamation might rouse you Dux. Pour us all a pint old man. We all deserve it.

Folks,

It will be a warm but rainy day around our house today with the temp rising to the high 70s. Yes, the windowpanes are drippy and the skies overcast. The birds seem to have suspended flight operations for the time being. It can’t be the cold for it is already a warm 63 degrees F.

Overcast skies, rain in the forecast all day, and my favorite radio station is having a pledge drive. Not the most auspicious start for any day yet we all know every day is a good day, some are just better than others. I should have that maxim printed up and posted because it seems I need to remember it quite often.

All our French and French Canadian readers should be upstanding as I hear they are playing the Marseilles for some odd reason on the radio. Is it Bastille Day or the day Antoinette became a full head shorter? Frankly, I haven’t a clue mes ami.

The French National Anthem....That reminds me of the time back in the early 60s when my friend Rodney and I jumped happily into his four-wheeled death trap, AKA a Chevrolet Corvair, and hit out for Culpepper, Virginia to visit his sister on their big horse farm. It was fall and the drive was most pleasant.

We arrived within minutes of our ETA with no difficulty. It was a beautiful place indeed. White fences surrounding beautiful, green pastures dotted with handsome horse flesh if ever I had seen any. The barns and farm houses were picturesque, to say the least, and the greeting we received warm and welcoming. Most important of all perhaps, we were invited to table and the vittles were second to none.

Perhaps the food was actually the second most important of all, did I mention there were two gorgeous teenage girls in residence? There was also a gaggle of other subteen cousins as well from about 8 to 12 years in age. We all went riding and did other things you do on a farm with two lovely girls. My pal was at a serious disadvantage until one of his cousins invited a cute neighbor to join us. I fell head over heels for one of the older sisters. Literally, head over heels. To my credit, I hadn’t done much horseback riding up to then, you see. Anyway, if I had broken my neck and died a heroic death in that girl’s arms I would not have minded it all that much.

Ok, it was not all THAT serious. I was falling in love about three times every week back then. One day we all decided to go into Culpepper proper and visit the local public swimming pool. We all piled in the death trap and headed down hill. It was a sweltering hot day and the water was refreshing if a tad over chlorinated. We were all having a great time. Then, for some reason, no longer clear to me, we both started speaking our high school French and speaking English in our best French accent. We found we were quite good at it.

Eventually, we had the whole crowd in the pool convinced we were exchange students from, guess where? If you guessed France you would be correct. Good for you Dux, your guess was no more than a thousand nautical miles off. Pretty good for you this early in the morning. Anyway, we were really having a ball. All the girls crowded around us and wanted to hear us talk. Word was spreading about us as it can often do so very fast when people who still run everywhere they go find out about something and spread the word.

Suddenly we realize there are as many kids there without wet hair and bathing suits as there were with them. It was getting out of hand. The crowd was getting pushy too. With a hint of the first skepticism in his voice, an older boy asked us to sing the Marseilles. Oops! Well, thank Dieu we at least knew the tune. My pal and I did the singing or rather a kinda humming of the basic tune. I came up with the excuse for the obvious lack of lyrics buy saying, in my best French accent, “In America...how you say, you do not sing the national anthem without there is a, how do you say, a good reason.” I looked around me. Everyone seemed to be nodding. A good sign I thought, so I continued. “In France, it is the same.”

Our pitiful rendition of the French national anthem, though quite crude and seriously lacking in either pomp or musicality seemed to satisfy even the most skeptical in the crowd and they surged forward to get a closer look at us. My friend and I traded worried looks. The girls were beginning to show fear in their eyes too and the kids were about ready to re-wet their already dry swimsuits.

We made our apologies as sincere as possible and began a fleeting retreat to the waiting Corvair just after one lovely young girl in a yellow bikini (odd how you remember some details) mentioned the fact that one of the kids had just gone to get the high school French teacher to come and meet us. With that terrifying thought ringing in our minds, we flung open the car doors and slammed them shut just in time to prevent two bikini clad girls from stowing away. Pity, that. Off we went back uphill, the struggling Corvair engine whining behind us in a valiant effort to put as much distance between us and that crowd below, and as quickly as possible.

We were leaving for home the next day. Word seemed to have gotten around town that there were two French exchange students staying up at the horse farm. The French teacher called and asked to speak to us. Mercifully she did not speak in French. She wanted to invite us, she said, to her home for lunch the next day with her and several students. I’m sure she was a very nice lady and the invitation sincere. However the slight chance the jig was up and someone had somehow stumbled onto the truth nagged at us. Pictures of tar and feathers steaming in a big, black cauldron and a pair of well tied nooses hanging from a convenient limb crowded into our guilty minds.

We gave the lady our deepest regrets. We said we’d give her a call the next time we would be in town and I think there were a good many Au Revoirs thrown in there somewhere. Early, early, early next morning, the sound of that rear-engined Corvair starting up woke the roosters as we turned once again toward the flatlands of North Carolina and headed speedily downhill toward home. That Corvair, by the way, was truly at its best going downhill.

A true story, with no elaboration or embellishment.

Fittop:
You mentioned coming here every morning. You do have preferences set to have new posts on this thread e-mailed to you, do you not?

Folks,

So far, it is a very nice Wednesday. Cooler, drier, and brightly sunny with great, puffy clouds floating by on their lazy way East toward the beach. The Russian Blue cat that lets me call her Zeana because I haven’t a clue what her mother called her, is busy quietly watching out my window as the crows of the Beagle Boys clan, down there on the south lawn, continue diligently hoovering up insects. In heat again, after just a few days of quiet, it is at least occupying her thoughts for the time being.

I hope you are experiencing better weather Dux. Maybe the Welsh sun is smiling down on calm seas and the flatfish are queuing up to take a hook elevator to the surface where they hope to be invited to dinner? Hint: a few flounder or sole for the mess would go a long way toward settling that beastly long mess bill of yours.

I’ve been trying two free programs that limit scripts on my browsers. One is “Scriptsafe” and the other “Noscript”. “Noscript” seems to be more universally friendly to most browsers while safe script seems to be more robust and work best with Chrome. I’m fiddling with them or perhaps it is the other way ‘round. So far, everything but YouTube is being handled to my satisfaction. YouTube, so far, has been a debacle. Nothing on that site seems to pass muster with Script safe.

It all needs tweaking. And there is a learning period. If I decide to keep these programs they must show me benefits and not just complicate my browsing. Some sites will simply not operate without scripts. |some scripts are ok and others clearly malicious. It is a jungle out here. There are malevolent denizens lurking about in the darkness seeking the careless and uninformed whom they can devour. Can you say the word “paranoid”? How about “anal retentive”?

I mentioned fishing, or someone did. One fine summer morning I happened to be taking the worn grassy bicycle path from town to the base. The path that passed by the Drubbin’s farm. I had been in town renting a pair of dress pants for the upcoming Pilot’s ball. My best pants having unfortunately been left behind when I had left a young ladies house in rather a unexpected hurry the night before. Anyway, you fellows will surely remember that Greek fellow who ran the I Make ‘Em U-Rent-’Em Used Clothes and Made to Order Tailor Shoppe just off the high street in Studley Grange.

You will recall that the rather excitable proprietor of that odd but useful establishment was one Euripides I. Killayou. He claimed to be a card carrying member of the Greek royal family. Maybe he was ? Only one of them was actually doing well. He could have been the brother of Prince Phillip for all we knew. Not that he looked like the prince or spoke much English. Anyway, he was quite finicky regarding the pants he rented out. You best not return a pair of rented pants with a tear in the seat.

As I passed by the farm, I noticed Dux was over at the Drubbin’s farm pond busily pulling one fat fish out after another with nothing more than a cane pole, line, cork bob, sinker and hook. No one knew the secret of Dux’s ability to catch so many fish and in so short a time. Even in the tall grass I could see he had quite a pile of freshly caught flopping about already.

So keen and also lucky had he been that morning that, as I watched from behind a handy tree, he noticed he had already run out of the large, black worms he was using for bait. So that might be the secret to his angling success thought I. Huge, black worms. But where did he get them i wondered?

Picking up a small trenching tool, I knew the happy angler had recently borrow...stole...liberated from MG who had taken it from C51, who had gotten it from my trunk, Dux headed off toward the spot where I knew the Drubbin’s magnificently tall and rather malodorous, especially at that time of the day, manure pile was growing daily. I figured I now knew his secret now so I wandered further down the path and lay down in some tall grass to watch.

Dux knew the biggest, fattest, blackest and most wriggly worms could always be found in the manure pile. These worms were apparently considered a great delicacy by the fish of that vicinity and they were indeed the well kept secret to his great success and reputation as the shire’s best fisherman.

Had Dux paused just a moment longer or been a tiny bit more situationally aware, he might have noticed the long line of bubbles snaking their way across the otherwise placid Drubbin’s pond. They began at the thick line of cattails and reeds on the other bank and slowly proceeded toward where he had laid down his pole. He saw nothing, and trotted off in search of more fish food. From where I was hidden I watched it all unfold.

Dux had no more trouble finding his destination than a mother skunk has finding one of her odiferous children. There was something “special” in the air and it led him straight to the huge manure pile. Geddy Uppson, one of the Drubbin’s eldest field hands, was just now leaving astride a giant of a Shire horse.

The animal was an older but still stately and clearly very powerful stallion (standing 18 hands high in fashionable black, iron shoes) by the unlikely name of Pee Wee. Pee wee was hitched to a rickety, old manure wagon. Geddy’s shirt was wet with sweat for he had just shoveled a big, fresh, steaming load of dung onto the smelly heap. Dux waved cheerily to the reseeding Geddy and began his digging. Geddy waved and Pee Wee snorted hello but his greeting was ignored.

Back at the pond, I was watching those curious bubbles. They progressed along steadily until I could make out a large shape swimming just beneath the tannen infused water. Startled enough by what i saw to instantly think of running, I realized it was an all too familiar shape.

Dux soon arrived back at the pond, his tin can packed full and brimming over with wriggly, black worms. Setting down the can on the grass, Dux picked up his 12 foot long cane pole, reached out and grasped the line, slipped his fingers down to the hook, then bent over and picked out what he thought was an especially juicy and attractive worm. Next he carefully threaded the doomed creature onto the hook. Satisfied with his work Dux glanced at the pond. Then he did a perfect double take.

Dux stopped what he was doing and looked at a particular spot on the pond with great interest. Something had caught his eye as he was putting the worm on his hook. Bubbles. Bubbles? Why were there bubbles? And why were they coming in his direction? It was too late by then.

Like one of those migrating Wildebeest trying to cross a crock infested African river, right out of the water sprang, not a crock, but Olga. Dux never really had a chance. I watched in horror as Olga caught him in mid-turn and pulled him into the pond with a great splash and a heart-stopping scream. It was chilling evidence of Dux’s forlorn realization that doom was upon him.

What happened next Dux will have to relate because before the water from that great splash had made it back into the pond I was already almost to the gates of the Studley Grange RAF base. I can say that it was at least a fortnight before a very sick and bedraggled Dux reported back for duty.

He had a two-week pass signed by Brig. General Sir J. Worthington Cannonfodder, OBE, DFC, QC, E, I, E,I O and co-signed by Colonel Olga Crutchanova of Minsk clutched tightly in one fist and a nearly empty bottle of Thames Embankment wine Vin.10 AM held tightly in the other. Matron took his temperature and, shaking her head, put him into a hospital bed straight away.

I had learned the secret of how to catch loads of fish that day. As for Dux, well, he probably learned a good many lessons, at least one of which was how those fish felt when they were caught. After that event, I did a lot more successful fishing, however, for some reason, I never went near the best and most well stocked fishin’ hole there was in the county, Drubbin’s farm pond.

Gents,

Roger, The only thing I could find about France and the March 27th was that it was the birthday of Louis 17 and I very much doubt that the French would play the Marseillaise to commemorate that occasion. I enjoyed your recounting of the time when you passed yourself of as French exchange students. As youths, we rarely realize how quickly a joke that seems hilarious at the time can backfire almost instantly and become an embarrassing liability.

Folks,

A chilly 53F. degrees prevail with overcast skies and a 6 MPH wind a blowing from the NW. We may see the mid 60s today if lucky. Rain is forecast for tomorrow. It would seem Dux has contrived to share with us his inclemant weather. Thank you very little my friend.

I am pleased you enjoyed the true story of my youthful shinannigans in Culpepper, VA. MG. Sometimes truth can be more entertaining than fiction. After writing what I wrote on the 27th it became clear to me that the French national anthem was only a part of a long classical piece that was playing on the radio not part of a French-Canadian celebration.

Without further warning, I will post the following limerick written by me this norning. Having dutifully taken the blame, here it is:

A Woman From Cathay

There was a woman from Cathay
Who said let's go riding today
She jumped on her horse
Then fell off of course
I'd say it was just not her day

It does not appear to be my day today either. Like all the rest, it is a good day but nowhere near my finest hour.

Folks,

I remind everyone who is considering the number of pages we are poised to attain to remember something. One thousand pages is a big deal for any thread I'm sure. It is not a record and it took nearly sixteen years to attain, as well, but a respectable attainment in anyone's book. I congratulate you all again but must remind everyone that, technically, we probably reached that number some time ago. Those who were here at the time will remember the great SHQ server crash of years ago when we lost at least 600 of our initial posts. That is why SNAFU had to start this thread over and the reason he added "Continued" to the name.

It was mentioned to me by a dear pal that it should be I who makes the post that moves us past the "official" 1000 page mark. It would be an honor indeed. I will say that was very kind and I was touched. However, it is no more my privilege than it is anyone else's. All those pages were not filled by me. I did my part. It is a very good reason for what Dux refers to as a grand boozeup for sure. We can all, old hands and new, take pride in doing our part in making SNAFU's flame-free thread so long lived. I am proud to be among you.

I wish I could remember all the names of all the contributors over these sixteen years from all around the world. Perhaps some of them return now and then to read but no longer post? If so, you know who you are and you too should celebrate this milestone with us. Salute!

Folks,

There is rumbling thunder high above me. We have heavy rain and 64 F. In our special corner of Dixie this morning. This “frog strangler” is supposed to continue all day. We need rain and this is the most we’ve had since the last nor’easter rumbled and blew up the Atlantic coast headed for an uninvited appointment in the northern coastal states. No leaks in this roof so I don’t mind the rain.

In fact, I like the sound it makes on the roof. I like seeing a downpour paint the windowpanes. In winter I like seeing water drops girdle the naked limbs of our bushes with diamonds glistening brightly in the sunlight after a cold rain. At my age, I’ve had plenty of sunny days I can remember to get me through the rainiest of cloudy days. Maybe the sun is shining where you are? Save the pleasant memory for your next rainy day. Or you may take that as a metaphor for something else in your life.

Enough boring you with my weather. I will now bore you with something else. Let me see, what might that be? We might discuss page 684,329 of the 900,000 page HWH Handbook in 29 stunningly beautiful gold leaved volumes, each one skillfully bound by hand in choice caribou leather under ice-melt waters by blind reindeer herders of chilly Lapland. I heard that remark ,Dux. Indeed, who knew there were so many blind reindeer?

I have removed the correct volume from the shelf and now I am turning to that particular page. Let’s see... At the top of the page there is a rather life-like illustration of a nake...? That’s not supposed to be in there! Oh, wait, I see, Dux has left one of his “Naturist” magazines hidden between the pages of this volume. That way he can enjoy it without Olga getting jealous. When Olga gets jealous over his ogling one of those ‘scientific’ periodicals, it is never completely clear whether she will tear the magazine or Dux in two.

Right Fittop, we should indeed admonish Wing Commander Dux for such un-gentlemanly an activity. I am ashamed of you Dux. Reading such trash, such rubbish. In fact, I believe I will add this to LeRoy’s extensive collection of useless detritus bound for tomorrow’s rubbish fire.

Er...I will do that just as soon as I finish perusing every single page to see what is so interesting and if there are any redeeming virtues not obvious to me at first glance. This might take an hour or so. We will therefore return to what I am sure will be a riveting discussion of page 684,329 at another time....

Today was the warmest March 31st since 1990. The temperatures reached 21.1 degrees in some parts of the country. It was a little colder where I am but still warm enough to do a bit of light gardening and enjoy the hazy sun, recovering after today's bike ride. Also made another attempt to kill the ants that have taken residence below my backyard but they must be super ants from hell since they keep coming back.

Tomorrow it is supposed to be slightly colder and then the temperatures are forecasted to drop to more normal spring temperatures.

100 years ago today, Denmark sold the West Indies Islands to the USA for $25 million. Wish we'd kept the islands simply because it would be interesting to see how that would have developed. Perhaps there would have been a great trade of exotic food from the islands, and hordes of pale Danes invading the beaches, desperate for sunshine and warmth. There might even be a few cyclists about in the more rural areas.

200 years ago, the bicycle was invented in the form of a running machine with no brakes. This was so dangerous that they were banned; riders used the pedestrian board-walks because the roads were excruciatingly bumpy. The old Penny Farting.... or should that be Farthing I wonder, was a brief craze until a company called Rover developed the safety bicycle the form of which we recognize and know today. The company later started making the Rover cars

Folks, JRT, JRT?
So sorry, JRT. I did not mean to disturb you. You just looked so peaceful and content with that volume precariously balanced on your chest.
I was going to get some tea to warm me up when I noticed that the tome was about to fall.

It is going to be hard to put all those bookmarks back in the right place. But no matter. They do look interesting in their own right. Hmm, that looks like some good camera work in that picture that just fell on the floor.

Got some Earl Grey, but I think I saw a package of Jasmin Green tea behind the Irish Whiskey. I'll put the kettle on.
I am ashamed to say that until yesterday I had not known the story of how the Virgin Islands came to fly the US flag.

Folks,

Before MG gets his speedos on and coats himself with codliver oil or whatever Danes use for sunscreen (I use barbecue sauce myself) let us discuss a few things while our eyes are still open and not covered by our hands. I used to go with a girl named Penny, MG. If she farted I never noticed it. I think it would have embarassed the hell out of both of us.Of course, That was way back before even paper was envented and, without cell phones, if we saw someone a little way off, we had to throw rocks to get each other's attention. Back then, young men were not supposed to know that young ladies had any bodilly functions or if they did know they were not allowed to admit it. It was not until the Mel Brooks movie "Blazing Saddles" came along with that hillarious cowboy campfire scene where all the men were eating beans that everyone suddenly realized and felt farting was OK to mention in polite company. For eons uncountable kids of both sexes had been tickled to death by fart jokes. Just hearing a big, wet one would send us little boys into paroxisms of glorious laughter. But that was done in secret mostly. Now it was ok not only to fart but laugh about it, tell jokes about it and even kid girls about it anywhere.

After Brooks' movie the word "fart" began showing up more and more in the media, eventually on TV and certainly in more movies. Mel Brooks liberated everyone who suffered from the heartbreak of flatulence to go right out and be not only unafraid but to be creative, to surprise, amaze and even produce laughter from family, friends and even strangers. Now doing that in confined spaces like elevators and cabs, church and restaurants was still only marginally safe, most public places were fair game for the ardent, expressive or artistic farter. Beforeour liberation, many years in fact, I was watching a locally produced kids cartoon program on TV. Naturally there was a clown as MC. In fact, years later I used that fellow as a cueq clown to keep the people in line happy while they waited for Santa in one of our malls. I mentioned what happened that day and we had a good laugh. Anyhow it was all live TV back then and in between cartoons the clown would often talk to the kids in the "peanut gallery" on camera.

That afternoon two boys were laughing their butts off in the front row. Intriqued, the clown sidled over and the camera operator focused in tight with a three shot. The boys could hardly contain their mirth. Unthinking, the clown asked one of the boys what was so funny. The boys looked at each other conspitorially and burst out with nervous laughter. Still the clown didn't have a clue and was persistant. What, he asked again, was so funny? He should have known better. One kid looked straight into the camera and as the camerman adjusted the lens into a one shot that kid said with a big smile "Jimmy farted!". The screen went black. Up popped one of those ubiquitous "Sorry! Technical Difficulties" signs that was so popular back in the early bdays of local black & white TV. The one they loved to put up just when something most interesting or critical was about to happen. I waited, and in a few moments the sign disappeared and in the few instants before programming went straight to another cartoon i thought I heard the sound of somone desperately trying to revive someone else. Probably the kid's mother. True story. It illustrates how uptight everyone was back then in the years BM, before Mel.

I have a question regarding the West Indies, MG. Are ther no Danes visiting that tropical paradise these days? Are Danes prohibited by law to strip down to whatever modesty allows and tan on those beautiful beaches? None of your kin got any of that US cash did they? I'd have my nickers in a twist if i were you too. As for me, I have never had the pleasure of viviting the West Indies and therefore I will be happy to take that money back on behalf of the US if you can round it up. In dollars please and in small, unmarked bills if you do not mind. Post that to me in non-discript, brown paper wrapping if it is not too much additional trouble. Then you just go enjoy the warm, unbridaled pleasures of the new Danish West Indies. Oh, and do not forget to bring a Danish flag with you on the plane, just in case they need one.

Fittop:
I found nothing of the slightest interest in that. I did read a few of the more literary articles. Most were just captions really. Some had so many acronymns and anatomical terms in them I gave up. I did learn a few things. For instance, were you aware that some very flexible women can actually put both their legs all the way up behind their ears and more or less tie themselves into a rather attractive knot? I would not say no to a good cup o' hot, calming, or theroputic tea. As for what may be in it.... Do you prefer a bit of tea in your whiskey or is it the other way 'round? A tall, cold glass of New England variety would be tasty as well. The sun is over the yard arm, LeRoy, why not open the bar, there's a good fellow. Look, that woke Dux from his stupo.... unconsc.... nap.

Folks,

The morning here is warming and sunny. Nary a cloud in the sky visible out the window where I sit typing. Currently it is 63F. with every expectation that the red stuff in the old thermometer will rise into the low 70s today. Last night , after the heavy rains, the humidity was in the mid 80 % range and , for me at least, that was uncomfortable even with temps in the low 50s.

“Car Talk” will be on Public Radio in a few minutes. Those two brothers, (one with a degree from MIT).have a popular car repair business in Boston. Just listening to these two guys laugh is almost worth tuning in. I have never heard anyone laugh as much as they do. These guys enjoy each others company to a degree almost beyond all understanding. Sadly, one passed away some time ago. I can only imagine how distraught the remaining brother must be. The program has been on for decades and has such a following that reruns continue for more years.

Obviously, there cannot be any tips on the most modern cars yet if you have a used car or if the call-in or discussion pertains to many different situations or various makes and models of cars, as it so often does, you can actually benefit greatly from their program. Otherwise, it is simply fun to listen to even if you have no car. My opinion. I have been listening for many, many years. It is the kind of program a car lover like MG might really have enjoyed by listening online.

I would have told you folks that I had inherited two billion dollars from my old Aunt Mae yesterday, and therefore, I have rushed to put in my COD order for a super fast opening parachute, Dramanine tablets, do it yourself .303 machine-gun kits, and a custom-made Spitfire. However, it being April 1st., most of you might reasonably have been a tad skeptical, right? So I will not. I hope you all survive whatever April Fools jokes you friends and relatives play on you today. Should you not survive, please do let me know.

Folks,

I will disclose for those waiting with baited breath for the riviting news of our southern weather, that at 11:30 this AM we have 59F. with hazy conditions and a 13 mph breezefrom the West. Now you can go on with your lives without further meterological considerations beyond that of your own.

You probably know about it already, however, apparently I am the the last person to learn about this story on this earth. Well, that would be beyond the ten survivalists directly envolved. I just this morning learned that there was once a survival reality program (similar to "Naked and Afraid" but with clothes) on TV 4 in the UK. A lot of survival savy people were dropped in the wilderness of Wales... not really, it was actually elsewhere in the world, I know not where, probably not near London either. This was done apparently just to see what would happen. What happened was a lot of sexual jealousy and tension plus great disenchantment for all save for ten nature hardened contestants who remained in the woods after the rest departed. They stayed in the wild for quite some time, perhaps until an previously appointed date. How did they keep up with that?

Eventually these ten walked out of the wilderness, and were they ever surprised to learn that, along with the facts that Britain was leaving the European Union, and Trump was elected president, their TV show had been cancelled long ago after just four episodes due to low ratings. Completely true.

It occurs to me that the producers and executives of TV4 have now managed to P.O. ten skilled and hardened survivalists who could take their revenge and then melt into the wilderness never to be seen again. Perhaps our own birder, angler and outdoor survivalist expert, Dux, can add more specific details or maybe correct any errors in this story?

He might also explain all the bruhaha regarding Scotland breaking from the UK and joining the EU on their own. They have to market bagpipes and haggis somewhere I suppose. Could Wales be next? In the US, California is threatening to break with another union and since the election, the country seems divided rather than closing ranks behind the new prez. I've never seen that in my lifetime. Now, I'm not pointing a finger at anyone, however, who would most benefit from this confusion and unrest in the West? If the election in the US was tampered with, the election in France might be next. Again, what country would benefit from that? I'm just curious.

Folks,

Fittop:

Looks like you may be in for some dangerous weather down your way. If it blows your way my friend, batten down the hatches and furl the sail. Tie your butt to a sturdy mast and hang on tight. Good luck.

Folks, JRT:

Thank you for your concerns. It seems like winds and rain and even fires caused by lighting have caused misery in the area; at least three times in the last seven days.
We've been lucky enough to have missed any damage since winds blew down our flagpole a couple of years ago.
I feel bad for the ones that have lost family members and their homes.
It makes the wind and rain and noise we've experienced seem so minor.
Yesterday at noon there were some 92,000 without electrical power in the Metroplex. A broadcast station mentioned that was half the number it had been earlier. Most of the damage is due to fallen trees.

Folks,

For the first time this year I can hear a bird (sounds like a Robin) singing outside my window. Spring has truly sprung and with it, we have to expect unsettled weather conditions. Temps here are in the high 50s F. We should see the smaller numbers of the 70s later on. We have partly sunny conditions with rain on the way. I hesitate to even mention weather after the veritable cauchemar Fittop and his neighbors just went through. If you were out on that boat of yours, my friend, I bet you experienced some terrible fits of what our Italion friends call mal di mare.

We are not unaccustomed to strong winds and foul weather here in the eastern part of NC where hurricanes come about every 7 years on average and tornadoes can drop out of the sky without warning. We are not as afflicted with tornadoes as "Tornado Alley" but they seem to be coming more often and way too often more than one at a time. It sounds rather impotent but our thoughts go out to the hurting and homeless. It is tragic that in this time of discord and division among our people it sometimes takes a disaster to remind us we are brothers again, eh?

Gents, the weather is conducive to activities outdoors and the northern hemisphere now sees more to the sun, so this is just to check in and say hello friends!