The Puffin and the Plague Doctor

 There has been a recent addition to my happy if slightly disfunctional household.  My brother recently presented me with a plague doctor plush toy for my birthday (he also presented me with a bottle of Jepson's Mallort).  If you have never seen a fifty two year old man go into total fangirl meltdown over a plush toy then I have my parent's testimony that you can consider yourselves lucky.

Aforementioned plague doctor

Once the euphoria subsided however I was faced with how to introduce this new arrival to those already in residence.  The spiders in the corners and the occasional itinerant lizard would be fine but my puffin is of a violently jealous disposition.  Quite frankly I'm afraid to leave the house.  That's got nothing to do with the puffin, its just COVID inspired agoraphobia.

I thought the best way would be to have a photo session that would formally announce the plague doctor's presence (his name is Sebastian by the way) and establish his position in the family pecking order.  This order is subject to wild fluctuations but I generally wind up somewhere below the lizard that occasionally wanders through my bathroom.  My puffin agreed with hard eyes and a tight beak.

It all went quite well.  At first.  Sebastian and Tristan (the puffin, surely you remember) lined up for one of those stilted "we're a happy family" shots that tell you the next time you'll be hearing of that happy family is when the tragedy is announced on the news.

This is the photo which will no doubt appear under the headline "triple homicide..."

Relieved and somewhat pleased to have got through that without incident I was about to put the camera away when the voices in my head suggested that something wasn't quite right.  I don't always listen to these voices but since they tend to pay more attention to my surroundings than I do I don't always ignore them either.  I turned back to find puffin and plague doctor eyeball to eyeball on my dining room table.

Things are about to kick off

Before I could issue the token plea for calm that is the official signal that carnage is about to commence the trash talking had begun.

"Medieval quack," sneered the puffin.

"Poor man's penguin," shot back the plague doctor.

"Leech pimp!"

"Fish fondler!"

I didn't know whether to break them up or sell tickets.

Getting tense

My puffin crossed the distance between them in just the time it took me to pick him up and put him there but the plague doctor wasn't backing off an inch.  Which might have been unwise as I know that my puffin has a mean left wing.  I was now looking around nervously but the spiders and lizards had chosen this moment to tiptoe back to their respective corners.  I would be alone when the plush hit the fan.  I didn't have to wait long, my puffin made its move and suddenly the plague doctor was on its back under relentless puffin assault.

Oh it is on!

I watched in some distress (but more amusement) as they rolled across the table scratching and biting at each other.  Until I realised that they weren't actually fighting at which point I screamed and ran for my life.

None of the remaining photos are suitable for a family friendly blog such as this one although a select few are kept face down in my bedroom drawer.  If you're really interested a complete video can be found on one of the websites administered by my tech support.

To those of you who might point out that above is little more than the ramblings of a dubiously sane man playing with his plush toys I would just say that I've been stuck inside for a good deal of the last twelve months and cracks are obviously starting to appear.

Travelling Pathetically - High Altitude Edition*

 *Disclaimer: The term "high altitude" should only be understood in the context of the rest of Australia. The author of this blog is not intending to make disparaging comparisons between the altitude mentioned in this blog entry and the Himalayas, the Rocky Mountains or indeed an overfull landfill.

I traveled to meet old friends in the Blue Mountains the other week.  I envisioned a relaxing weekend high (see disclaimer) above the expanse of Sydney surrounded by bushland.  Unfortunately I was thrown into controversy the moment I arrived.  Without bothering to give me her traditional greeting of "What the hell are you doing here?"  My friend immediately took me to task for not giving her a job.  Well not a job exactly.  The word "job" implies payment and possibly even appreciation for effort put in.  Neither of these were on offer.  What she was annoyed with was that I had managed to acquire correspondents in Tasmania and New Zealand but had never once offered her the post of Blue Mountains correspondent.

The more she talked about it the more I saw the value of the idea.  Particularly since foam was forming at the corners of her mouth and there were kitchen knives within easy reach.  But there were other reasons apart from sheer self preservation for bestowing such an honour upon her.  My Blue Mountains correspondent (as she must henceforth be known) has had a quite exciting life.  She's beaten off muggers in Rome, belly danced in the Middle East, fled furious (and slightly misinformed) anti American crowds in Mexico and more recently separated her shoulder into many more pieces than it should logically possess as the result of a motorcycle accident.  By comparison with my Tasmanian correspondent (currently on a one woman crusade to exterminate huntsman spiders) and my New Zealand correspondent (doing dubious things with milking equipment) the prospects of exciting action packed stories for this blog seemed good.

"Congratulations," I announced, "you've got the position." (I steered away from the word "job" at the last minute).  "Now what exciting tales have you got for me?"

"Let me tell you about my garden," she said eagerly.  Before I could ask questions like "Why?" she was off and racing.  After about two hours of breathless explanation as to why the acquisition of a particular bush was quite the personal coup I interrupted nervously.

"Is the exciting bit coming?"

After a couple more hours of garden exposition I interrupted again with more than a hint of desperation.

"Let's go for a walk."

"Around my garden?"

"No!"

With the garden of my Blue Mountains correspondent very temporarily off the list of conversation topics we cast about for some slightly less well organised plantlife to wander about in.  Fortunately Wentworth Falls, the sliver of the Blue Mountains my correspondent calls home, has quite an abundance of such stuff.  For various physical reasons we decided on a small and gentle walk.  I was still semi crippled from playing a game corporate soccer several days ago while she had learnt that more than nine hours a day on her feet caused the tear in her achilles tendon to give her some distress.  We decided on a gentle walk of only a few kilometres to the bizarrely named Minnehaha Falls.

We started in a park that backed onto untamed bushland (well untamed except for the walking path, occasional bridge and ladders to help with the steep parts) and set off into the wild as our ancestors might have done ages ago if there had been a parks department to make a path for them first.

As you can see we weren't exactly hacking our way through the jungle

At first there were distressing signs of civilisation like roads, electrical towers and so on but as we progressed these faded away and we were left with reassuring signs of civilisation such as a path to walk on and bridges over the difficult bits. 

Given that we were heading towards a waterfall you will not be surprised to hear that water played a role in our journey.  It trickled next to us, past us and sometimes spread itself rather incoveniently over the path we were supposed to follow.  Hardened campaigners like my correspondent and myself took these trivial inconveniences in our stride without complaint.  Or at least I stopped complaining once my correspondent threatened to eviscerate me if I didn't shut up.

This isn't the falls in question, just a lumpy creek bed

We paused for photos or at least I paused for photos while my correspondent rolled her eyes and contemplated abandoning me to my fate.  The fact that we were close enough to civilisation for even me to find my way out probably decided her against it.  Where the water wasn't making the path annoyingly muddy it compensated by posing photogenically against a backdrop of trees and shrubs.

Of course the presence of a waterfall indicates that there is a reasonably abrupt elevation change in the offing and our general progression was downward.  It was gentle, indeed barely noticeable at first, but it became more emphatically vertiginous the closer we got to the base of the falls.  The occasional sign warning us that chunks of the very solid looking cliff side were known to hurl themselves at unsuspecting passersby didn't exactly fill us with confidence.

Apparently bits of this have been known to leap out and scare tourists

Despite the presence of feral cliff sides we weren't exactly exploring virgin territory.  I always like to keep a look out for animals when I go on walks but on this occasion the principal animal I saw was other human beings similarly making their way downwards to the natural pool at the bottom of the waterfall.  We managed to avoid them for the most part and got away with a number of abrupt greetings and the occasional insincere smile.

To encourage us to continue on our downward journey the scenery teased us with occasional hints of what was to come.  We needed no such encouragement, we would have descended to the gates of Hell if that had been required.

The tempting vision leading us downward

Or at least I would have.  When we reached a reasonably flat chunk of land my correspondent abruptly halted.  Her achilles tendon, it appeared, had given due warning as to how much it was prepared to tolerate and this was it.  It was obvious that the descent would only get steeper from here and having led me into the woods Hansel and Gretel fashion she was now prepared to abandon me to my fate.  Wishing her good luck (and silently hoping that she was devoured by dingoes) I set forth on the final journey alone.  I had literally walked about ten metres when I was given evidence of how sensible my correspondent's decision to stop was.  To get us down the last couple of hundred metres to the base of the falls a number of extremely steep sets of stairs had been bolted to the cliff side.  Trying to navigate those with a damaged foot would have been torture.

Looking from the bottom up

Since my feet were largely undamaged (apart from their general reluctance to haul me around) I made it down the stairs with ease and after a brief pause while I vomited, gasped and commended my soul to God I was ready proceed.  It was cooler now thanks to the shade of the trees that we had been above at the start of the walk.  Which was good as I hadn't fully recovered from the stairs and complete physical collapse was still a possibility.  After skirting some more of the unpredictably violent cliff face I suddenly came face to face with our target; a small but decided waterfall cascading into a beautiful pool.  I lifted my camera and stopped.  Where should I point the camera?  At the muslim family group with ladies in full niqab?  At the pool, currently home to two or three attractive young ladies in what I can only describe as pleasingly inadequate bikinis?  The area was small and there were quite a lot of people enjoying the surrounds.  So many in fact that it was virtually impossible to take a photo without intruding on someone's privacy.  I eventually took a photo of the falls.  There is some random guy in the background but I'm hoping the water was in his eyes and he didn't notice me photographing.

This is the fewest number of people I could hope to get in the photo.  The guy in the background is checking out the girls swimming in the pool (out of shot).

If there had been fewer people there I would have been tempted to linger, it was a beautiful scene.  As it was I thought guiltily about the correspondent I had left to die further up the track and decided to return to see if I could recover her corpse.  By the time I had gasped and wheezed my way back up the ladders it was touch and go whether she would have to carry me out of there achilles tendon notwithstanding.

However I was made of sterner stuff and after a brief number of hours to recuperate we struck out for home.  On the way back I saw a baby brown snake and a lizard without a tail.  There was a fair distance between the two and I'm not making any accusations.

For the record my correspondent's garden is lovely and she is rightly proud of it.

Silly After Action Report - The Last Drop

 The transport aircraft ploughed through the air.  In the hold Captain Ito Matahari addressed his less than enthusiastic troops.

"When the door opens you jump," he shouted above the noise of the engines.  "When you approach the ground you tuck and roll.  Is that understood?"

On his cue the door in the side of the transport aircraft opened and the wind blasted in.

"Go!" shouted Matahari.  "Go, go, go!"  Of course he shouted it in Japanese but you get the idea.

Obedient to their training the soldiers lurched to their feet, shuffled to the door and one by one launched themselves into the void.  Matahari nodded approvingly as the last one left.  Fumbling the door closed he made his way to the front of the plane to where the colonel awaited his report.

"How is the training coming captain?"

"Very well sir, I think next time they'll be ready to do it with parachutes."

I actually wondered for a while whether to bother writing an AAR about this one.  To be honest not a lot happened and the result was never in doubt.  Then I remembered I had promised a paradrop AAR on Gamesquad and if the number of hits on my blog are any indication those guys have a high boredom threshold.  Therefore by popular demand (or at least popular resignation) here is the AAR on BFP 57 - The Last Drop.  I shall command the Emperor's finest or at least the Emperor's most immediately available as the Japanese risk total US air superiority to drop a bunch of more than usually suicidally inclined soldiers on top of an American airfield in the Philippines.  The intention is apparently to burn some aircraft and knock down a few buildings, at least that's what I get victory points for.

I get fifteen squads worth of infantry who enter (or not) by paradrop over (or nowhere near) their objectives.  They have the usual collection of low grade Japanese support weapons which will also float gently to earth suspended by silk umbrellas.  Waiting on the ground is a distinctly low grade force of Americans commanded by Dave Wilson.  He has two elite squads, six second line squads and four green squads.  He also has a 40mm AA gun which was also capable of wreaking great execution on ground based opponents as well.

Below is the map showing where I intended to drop my paras.  I designated my two largest groups to drop near the airport and go for the aircraft scattered over the runways (depicted by unemployed glider counters).  The other two less significant groups would drop on board 48 to at least threaten an attempt at the buildings.

And below is how my troops actually dropped after rolling for accuracy and taking into account things like the wind.  My best leader and an elite squad were among a number that dropped off the board entirely. 

There would be little firing in the first three turns as my Japanese would spend all of that time simply gathering up their support weapons and getting close enough to the Americans to shoot.  In case there was still some slight hope of victory as soon as I landed my next wind die roll boosted the breeze to heavy for the remainder of the scenario and ensured I would have no smoke or WP to assist me.

For three turns my troops made their weary way to locations where Dave could actually shoot at me.  Obviously the buildings were out and I would have to try and torch aircraft.  Eventually my vanguard (they were the closest to the Americans so I called them the vanguard) arrived in roughly airfield adjacent locations and started trying to push the Americans away so that they could get a little closer.

End of Japanese Turn 3 and my boys are just close enough to start getting killed

There was an enforced pause as I struggled to gather enough troops to actually attract the attention of the Americans.  It was already obvious that if I wanted to get anywhere then things like tactics, finesse and subtlety would not form a part of my gameplan.  To be fair they rarely do but I like to have the option.  I think I launched more banzai charges in this game than I have in the rest of my life.  The principle result of these efforts was the realisation that neither Dave or I knew where to find the banzai counters on VASL.  We made do with human wave counters instead.

Finally by the time turn four (of seven) was done I had managed to gather about half of my force in places where they might be of use and started dropping 50mm mortar shells on a US squad in a foxhole.  Then I pushed my guys forward and launched the first banzai charge.

This is kind of where I hoped to be on turn 1 but hey

Eager to make amends for their rather dubious parachute skills my troops surged forward with a will.  The 50mm mortar even scored a critical hit on the guys in the foxhole which was a slightly embarrassing bonus as I was hoping to kill them in CC.  The Japanese advanced forward and the Americans finally started taking some casualties.  Up until turn five the sole contributor to the Japanese score had been my sniper who had killed an officer and incidentally a halfsquad when Dave boxcarred the LLMC.

Looks good doesn't it.  Pity the game's about to end

Reckless advance was the order of the day and the my boys answered the call.  Well except for the ones who got chopped up by the 40mm but hey, somebody's got to get chopped up by a 40mm and it might as well have been them.  With my troops up close and personal Dave's boys started feeling the heat.  My troops lunged towards a couple of aircraft and fumbled for their matches.  I had no expectation of winning by this point but I would consider it a personal triumph if I could set a couple of planes on fire.  With the wind whipping around it seemed like quite a good chance.

So I didn't manage to set a single aircraft on fire.  I had ground through a chunk of Dave's at start force but I was nowhere near the buildings and the aircraft proved annoyingly non combustible.  At the end of turn six I had dispossessed Dave of the 40mm and had troops crawling all over the aircraft but not one of them showed an inclination to go up in flames and Dave was rushing possibly the world's most superfluous reinforcements to the scene as if it actually mattered.  I conceded with good grace.  Well good grace for me.

This is where I conceded, frankly not before time

So there you have it.  Not a lot to be said really.  But I promised a paradrop and I have delivered.  I have also made a personal vow never to play a scenario where my troops enter by paradrop ever again.  Our next scenario will involve a bunch of thoroughly ground based French and Germans.

Captain Matahari winced as the colonel leafed through the reports of the hideous debacle.

"I hope," said the colonel, "that you're only waiting until you go off duty before committing seppuku."

"I can't, I have a stomache condition."

"Well then, what can we learn from this?"

"I think the mistake was giving them parachutes before they jumped," replied Matahari.  "Next time we'll do without."

"I'll make sure you're in the first wave."

Plague Update #48

 Vaccines, vaccines!  Come and get your vaccines here!  We've got so many vaccines we're literally throwing them away!  Yep the promised doses of vaccine have arrived and the government roared into action, waylaying helpless citizens in the street and injecting with vaccine up to their eyeballs.  Along the way valuable lessons have been learned such as apparently there are no ill effects if the hamfisted quack you handed the needle to accidentally gives the recipient quadruple the dose they were intended to receive.  The hapless pensioners thus blessed have been observed closely but so far have completely failed to grow an extra head or keel over in the street.  Other useful takeaways are that apparently a beer cooler is not quite chilly enough to safely store the vaccine.  The result of this discovery is that a certain number of doses travelled from the waterfront to the garbage bin without getting the chance to swim around a human bloodstream.

Despite these minor hiccoughs the roll out has been a great success.  Apparently.  I haven't received a vaccination.  I don't know whether this means the government considers me low risk or just thoroughly expendable.  In the meantime I'm relying on staying away from the herd immunity and not standing under 5G towers.

But enough of this tedious vaccine blather.  Something far more important rises like a mythical monster from a Scottish loch.  Corporate soccer is back!  One of the less well known casualties of the virus was the abrupt cessation of my weekly journey from the office to a nearby patch of grass where for between ten and twenty five minutes I made pitiable attempts to prove that I am still young, fit and capable of playing soccer.  For context I am over half a century old, smoke and have a level of fitness normally only found in corpses and not fresh corpses at that.  Oh, and I was never capable of playing soccer.

For the last twelve months I have been unable to wheeze and stumble around a minature football field while my opponents debate whether to tackle me or give me CPR.  This lack of match play has had obvious effects.  I am putting on weight.  Well actually I'm not much but such weight as I possess has redistributed itself in not particularly aesthetic ways.  As I gaze at the spread of my belly and also note the lack of change on the scales I can't help wondering where the weight I have put on around my middle has actually come from.  I'm afraid that quite soon my head will simply cave in or I'll wake up to find I'm missing a leg.

Fielding a team in these COVID times has proved to be challenging and it remains to be seen whether enough people turn up to form a quorum.  For context there are several hundred staff members in our Sydney office but six people on a football team is sometimes beyond us.  This was the case even before the world plague drove all to our respective holes in the ground from which a select few are now (hopefully) emerging, blinking like wombats in daylight, to play soccer.  Assuming I survive the process I'll tell you how we went.

Silly After Action Report - Dangerous Crossroads

Capitano Luigi Sottovoce looked up from his task in horror.

"You've parked that damn semovente right over the mine store" he yelled.

"Do you think you could keep your voice down Sottovoce," demanded the maggiore in command of the "armour".

Sottovoce rolled his eyes and returned to the task at hand.  A forty five millimetre mortar lay in pieces at his feet.  He consulted the assembly instructions again while a small group of soldiers looked at him with increasing scepticism.  Suddenly realisation dawned.

"That's it, I know what to do.  Now, who's got the allen key?"

"That's an IKEA catalogue," pointed out one of the soldiers.  

"Where do you think I ordered it from?"

"Why did you order a forty five millimetre mortar?"

"If you order ten you get a free L3."

The German liaison officer who had been watching these proceedings with increasing concern now stepped forward.

"Herr Capitano, our intelligence reports indicate that the British will be here in ten minutes."

"Don't worry," replied Sottovoce, "we're as ready as we'll ever be."

"That's what's worrying me."

After the previous weeks dicebot fuelled farce I decided to give Dave another chance to beat up my Italians.  At his suggestion we dug out TAC55 - Dangerous Crossroads or Carrefour Dangereux if you prefer the original French.  This pits a group of dubiously elite Italian troops supported by a trio of semovente self propelled guns and four squads of German spine stiffeners trying to hold an apparently dangerous crossroads in Tunisia from an armour heavy group of British trying to push through to Tunis before the Germans can properly organise a defence.

Control of the crossroads is apparently represented by a couple of nearby buildings, in Axis hands at the beginning of the game that the British need to capture.  To do said capturing the British have seven first line squad equivalents toting mortars, antitank rifles and a single lmg.  Accompanying them into battle are six carriers of various stripes, two with mortars, two with antitank rifles and two rather boring ones with only MG armament.  The British also get five tanks, two Crusaders and three Valentines to provide somewhat more armoured than the carriers support.  Lest this seem inadequate turn two provides them with reinforcements in the shape of six more squads, a 9-1 leader another antitank rifle (for a total of five including the carriers) and an lmg.  Rolling along in support is a Crusader CS carrying a three inch howitzer.

Opposing this mobile museum of the inadequacies of British tank design I had a mixed German/Italian force that seemed impressive if you didn't look too closely.  The Germans were represented by four squads of 838 assault engineers equipped with an antitank rifle, a demo charge, a light machine gun and a 9-1 leader.  The bulk of the defensive duties, however, would fall on the Italians.  They were represented by nine 447 "elite" squads, a pair of 45mm mortars, a light machine gun, a medium machine gun and twelve factors of anti personnel mines.  They were led by a pair of leaders of stupefying mediocrity and supported, if that's the right word (spoiler alert; it isn't), by proof that the British were by no means the only ones who could bollocks up their armoured development programme.  Three SMV-75 self propelled guns were supposed to give my less than eager troops the firepower to take on the British.  

To be fair these semovente weren't bad, they were small and while their stubby 75mm gun wasn't an awesome tank killer their HEAT rounds certainly gave them a chance against the British armour.  Killing vehicles is definitely what its about for the Italians because the British need to gain their objectives without losing 30CVP.  A few tank kills would definitely put the Axis on the path towards a win.

There were two victory buildings; one down at ground level with a convenient nearby wall.  I decided that my numerous and armour heavy Italians would guard that one.  The other building was up on a hill behind a large olive grove (all woods are olive groves by SSR).  It seemed to be the ideal spot for my scanty but high firepower, superbly motivated Germans.  Below is my set up, see if you can spot the tiny error I made in my deployment.

My set up

As you can see my Germans are all set up on the hill where they don't have any vision of the British entering the board.  The Italians are clustered in the centre which means that a British force could roar up the right hand board edge without hindrance.  Guess what Dave did?  To be fair he also sent troops up the middle to keep the Italians entertained.

The next picture is the end of British turn one when the sheer enormity of my cock up became apparent.  Dave was tossing smoke about like a dragon with hiccoughs and a strong force of infantry and carriers were flanking my left (that would be your right).  His Crusaders moved forward boldly to match points with my semovente while his Valentines shepherded his infantry right and left.

Turn 1 and things could be better

Still I wasn't completely downhearted.  I had a handful of Italian squads in the olive groves which could sidestep across to at least delay the British while the rest of my Italians were sheltered in buildings and behind walls.  I had the victory locations, the British would have to come to me.  Despite being plastered with acquisition counters my semovente survived the British first turn and I looked forward to putting a HEAT round where it would do most good.  In my next prep fire phase I discovered that that particular semovente didn't have any HEAT rounds.  In the course of the game I would discover that neither of the other two did either.  Not one sodding HEAT round!!  I fired AP, actually scored a hit but naturally bounced it off the Crusaders quite respectable armour.

My little 45mm mortars fired at vehicles more in the hope than the expectation.  It is fair to say that they performed about as well as you might expect.  Then I broke one and Dave covered the other with smoke.  I kept firing it anyway, frankly the presence of smoke didn't really decrease its effectiveness much.  Naturally Dave hit my semovente despite the wall it was hiding behind but to the surprise of both of us I got away with a possible shock result. 

There should be a caption here.  Please insert one of your choosing

 I had managed to get a squad across to where it could fire on some of Dave's troops on the right so Dave dropped a smoke round onto it and jumped it in CC and killed it.  However another Italian squad which had been coming up to assist decided instead to go into CC with a CX'ed 8-0 Dave had left behind and cheerfully killed it.  My semovente recovered from its possible shock just in time to be killed by a Crusader but one of my surviving semovente managed to kill a carrier (my only "armour" kill of the game).  On the right Dave was sidling up to the hill but the death of his 8-0 determined him to exact vengeance on the squad that caused it and he diverted no fewer than three squads to take them on in close combat.  I cannot speak highly enough of these gallant Italians.  For two full turns they survived three to one odds without a scratch and on the third turn they died and took two British squads down with them.  Definitely the high point of my game (and isn't that a sad statement).

Meanwhile with one semovente down Dave got bold with his tanks and rolled them forward so the second semovente could also prove that it had no HEAT.  Pretty chilly in those Italian SPGs.  Over on the right Dave dropped yet more smoke and his tanks crawled up the hill.  A speculative 2+1 shot at a concealed German squad naturally broke these 8 morale heroes and their flight was only hampered by the weight of urine in their boots.  With the forward German squad gone Dave bulled a force of tanks and infantry up to the next defensive position consisting of a full squad and a halfsquad with a DC.  Suddenly he was sitting on top of me and the halfsquad showed their courage by only pinning on a 2+1 shot thus putting their larger bretheren to shame.

My Italians are getting monstered by tanks

Naturally that couldn't last so in my next turn I decided to take a risk.  Dave had boldly moved a squad adjacent to my full German squad. I would prep fire into these guys and then the half squad would try and place the DC on his tank.  Anyway my 16+1 prep fire achieved no result and his tank proved it didn't need infantry support by rolling a snake eyes with is machine gun and killing the halfsquad before it could lift the DC in its trembling hands.

Down in Italian land Dave killed my second semovente and discovered my minefields.  I had placed them in front of the victory building (one of them actually under one of my semovente).  Unfortunately Dave discovered them with his Crusaders rather than with his infantry who were still lurking some distance away waiting for my defenders to die of smoke inhalation.  Nevertheless one Crusader was immobilised which I was quite pleased about despite the fact that it was immobilised next door to the victory building.  Only the billowing clouds of smoke prevented Dave from blasting my defenders out of there.

On the nice but meaningless side my sniper hit and recalled a carrier thus achieving as much with one shot as three semovente did all game.  Speaking of semovente I had one left, and what I thought was a bright idea.  I had this semovente based over on the left to prevent a flanking move round that direction.  Dave had apparently completely ignored it and pushed most of his armour forward to hit the victory building.  Deciding (even before this semovente proved to have no HEAT) that it wasn't going to be my day for killing tanks I decided to send it off hunting carriers.  Bottom feeding I know but I was getting a little desperate.  I skillfully maneuvred behind a carrier and then unskillfully failed to hit it.  The damn thing scurried out of the way and Dave cranked the turret of his immobilised tank around and took a shot.  No he didn't kill it but the writing was on the wall.  My return fire proved the unavailability of HEAT and I looked at the acquisition counter and the swarming British tanks and gave up.

Pretty much the end

I was possibly a little premature.  Neither victory location had fallen and the bulk of the Italian force was intact but I had no defence against the tanks and I had lost faith that the Germans would do anything at all.  So far their greatest contribution was to burden the British player with some prisoners.  Many thanks to Dave for the game which in retrospect I lost before it started with a flawed set up. 

A group of cheerful Italian prisoners stopped excitedly discussing the possibilities of farm labour in Britain to pay attention to the disconsolate officer in their midst.

"What are you doing capitano?" asked the curious one.

Sottovoce looked up from the piece of paper he was holding.

"I'm writing a letter of complaint to IKEA.  Have you seen their return policy?  Anyone would think that place was run by a drunken Nazi?"

Travelling Pathetically - A Spit Bridge too Far Edition

 My Tasmanian correspondent contacted me the other day in a terrible state.  She moaned about her neck, her foot and her children and how collectively they had prevented her from doing what she really enjoyed doing which was abandoning her family and roaming the wilderness like some predator of old.

"I must live vicariously through you," she announced, "and make sure there are photos."

I glanced around at the nylon cord, handcuffs, ball gag and the shackle rings on the wall.  Turning to my puffin I asked.

"Do you think she means..."

"Absolutely not," replied the puffin.

"Bushwalk it is then."

The weather has not been particularly conducive to roaming the outdoors lately.  At least it hasn't been conducive if you've been looking for any excuse to not roam the outdoors.  There was a threat of rain so I put off (with an internal sigh of relief) my bold expeditionary plans to the wilds of suburban Sydney and looked for something a little closer to home.  What I came up with wasn't much closer to home but was probably closer to emergency services should something go wrong.

I decided to walk from the Spit Bridge in Mosman to the Sydney Harbour Bridge in Milson's Point.  This is actually an acknowledged walk that would take me around various headlands, reserves and parks near the edge of Sydney Harbour.  My puffin pointed out that the walk was twenty kilometres.  I indicated that I could handle such a distance.  My puffin pointed out that I get out of breath walking up the street to buy cigarettes.  I stuffed the ball gag back in his beak and terminated the conversation.

It was grey with a threat of rain when I mounted the bus to take me to the Spit Bridge.  Possibly for this reason I had actually remembered to pack the hat to protect my head from the Sun.  It is to this forethought that I attribute the fact that I am not completely dead.  The bus stopped at the Spit Bridge, unfortunately I wasn't on it.  I'm not very familiar with the area with the result that I got off the bus far too soon and the first stage of my journey consisted of trudging down an overused road to actually reach the bridge.  See what I do for you Clare?

A view while wearily trying to reach my start point

Sadly my puffin was right.  My triumphant march to Milson's Point would devolve into a desperate stagger around Mosman.  I literally would not leave that suburb the entire time despite walking for fourteen kilometres.  By the end I thought I was in a high rent Escher painting.

Once down at the Spit Bridge I promptly left it again plunging into the wild.  However this is Mosman so the "wild" turned out to be a road with trees on either side of it.  Slightly downhearted by this I nevertheless plunged on and took my first opportunity to leave the road when a path appeared that offered to take me to Pirrama lighthouse.  I could actually see the lighthouse from the road but I took the path anyway.

By careful use of the camera I can give the impression that I'm in the wilderness

Taking the path turned out to be a great idea.  It literally took thirty seconds to reach the lighthouse (there is a better lighthouse photo later) but the path went on and eventually wound up down at the shore.  A sign announced that there was a walking path to a nearby beach which could be used when the tide was low.  I don't know if the tide was low but there was a distinct amount of water where I would have expected a walking path to be.  Undaunted (because it was still early in my walk) I clambered and occasionally slithered over such rocks as seemed most likely to stay unsubmerged, negotiated somebodies boat ramp and eventually wound up on the beach.  I'm sure it has a name but I descended to and climbed away from so many beaches that they've all become a bit of blur.  Along the way I didn't take photos of lizards.  The area around Pirrama lighthouse positively heaves with lizards but the camera shy little beggars fled at my approach.  Some more relaxed lizards would happily pose for photos later.

I'm not sure if this is a tidal pool or an unambitious stream

It didn't actually start raining, apart from a few spots, rather the moisture in the atmosphere simply condensed onto my body with out going through the formality of rain.  The weather however was about to take a turn for the better.  Apparently simply sick of the entire concept of rain the clouds vanished and I found myself walking under a brilliant blue sky with an equally brilliant Sun.  Fortunately I had a hat.

Not a bad little beach really

Rocks with water running off them.  It's fair to say I'm not going to be asked to do a nature documentary anytime soon

With my first beach behind me I walked through my first reserve and wound up on what sadly was not my first suburban street.  Before I could find someone to complain to though I was back on a path hugging the harbour and barrelling directly towards my next beach which I remember was Balmoral.

I've actually been to Balmoral beach before (although without the tedious walking) and it is a positively charming place.  Or at least it would be if you could get rid of all the people who tend to congregate at positively charming places.  Along the way I amused myself by taking photos of spiders.

Spider #1

Spider #2

I actually took a lot of spider photos but these were the only two that came out half way decently.  The rest of the spiders blended irritatingly into the background.  By now I had been walking for an hour and a half (I know the blog seems to have gone on much longer) and I stopped at Balmoral for lunch.  This wasn't so much because I was hungry as because I took a look inside my pack and realised the sandwich I had made had come off worse in a confrontation with my water bottle and I had better eat it while it still vaguely resembled food.  I dined on what was halfway to becoming cheese and apple soup and drank water from a bottle that managed to exude a definite air of triumphant smugness.  While doing this I also tossed a crumb to a bird that approached me so boldly that I was worried it might steal my shoes if I took my eyes off it.

Aforementioned bird.  Don't mock, it was scarier than it looks

With lunch completed (and the bird eyeing me speculatively) I decided to push on.  Somewhere over this collection of headlands was Sydney Harbour Bridge; my goal.  At this point I was still at the ludicrously optimistic stage of my journey.

Now I was walking through unspoiled bushland or, to be more accurate, I was walking beside unspoiled bushland.  Said bushland was walled off from me with a barbed wire fence and warnings that trespassers would suffer hideous consequences (such as getting caught up on barbed wire).  The reason for the fence and the warnings (and the bushland) was that I had encountered HMAS Penguin, a naval base that sprawls over half of Middle Head.  If you want your bushland preserved, give it to the military.  The occasional unexploded round and totally deniable drum of nerve gas notwithstanding its a great way to preserve some of the natural environment.  One of the ways they preserve it is by erecting barbed wire fences and not letting anybody in.

Trying to take a photo of bushland without barbed wire

Having made my way down to Balmoral Beach and then back up the other side I wound up on Middle Head where I took a detour to wander down a path that eventually took me further along Middle Head (at this point I was basically just looking for walking paths that didn't run along the side of the road).  Eventually the path connected up with the road again at a rather handsome restaurant.  This restaurant used to be the clubhouse for Mosman golf course until the military took it over during the Second World War.  The fact that the military were right next door anyway probably helped.  The military eventually released their grip on it and its now a restaurant.  A nearby sign boasts that the building has been preserved by which I think they mean they didn't knock it down.

Quite a handsome building really

Being deeply uninterested in former golf clubhouses I instead wandered along and took a look at a former gun battery that had been built on Middle Head to help defend Sydney Harbour.  I have noted before in my blog (look it up) that the British tended to defend their possessions from seaborne attack despite the fact that they were the only ones capable of launching said attack.  To be fair it makes more sense in Australia since an invasion is hardly going to come from somewhere else.  Anyway convict work crews hacked away at what was then virgin stone surrounded by bush and when they were done hauled cannon up to the platform thus provided so that Sydney could be defended, for about six years.  At the time (1800) Middle Head was a long way from the centre of the colony through trackless bushland and it actually proved very difficult to maintain the guns or the soldiers based there.  A few years after the thing was built it was effectively abandoned although other battery positions would be build later.

A gun battery, you just have to imagine the guns, as indeed did the Colonial authorities for much of it's existence

There were other batteries further on but I was uneasily aware that time was passing and I was getting no closer to my destination so I retraced my steps, for about a hundred metres before plunging down a side track that seemed to lead towards the harbour.  It did indeed lead towards the harbour and I took some great photos from a  convenient vantage point.  After taking said photos I looked around and noticed there was a man near me.  I noticed three things about him.  He was a powerfully built man, he was completely naked and there was a younger, highly decorative man, equally naked with his arm around the first man's shoulders.  I looked at them, down at my camera and decided that discretion was the better part of getting my head kicked in.  So I retraced my steps back to the point where I was retracing my steps and then retraced those steps as well until I was back on the path that led me down Middle Head at which point I turned and walked in the other direction.

Random bush and water shot #1

Random bush and water shot #2

 

I was rewarded for my return to the actual path I was supposed to be on when a lizard stopped and posed for a photograph.  Unlike his earlier flighty cousins this one was far more relaxed.  Either that or he was stupefied by the Sun.  I had sympathy and clutched my hat a little closer to my head.

He's either dozy or an attention whore

 

Although I was leaving Middle Head reminders of its military purpose kept popping up such as when I looked up and found myself staring at a cannon mounted over my head apparently still guarding the harbour approaches.  I had no idea why at the time but according to a little map checking after my return this was probably Georges Head Lookout.  It's nice to see someone takes the tourist trade seriously.

 

Just try getting in without a ticket

Since I had been going up for a while it was only appropriate that I should start going down again.  This time I plunged towards the harbour only to stop a few scant feet from the water at a collection of buildings clinging to not terribly much semi flat ground backed against the sandstone cliffs which appear to be a feature of this part of Sydney.  I had encountered Clifton Gardens.  Or rather I had encountered Chowder Bay, Clifton Gardens was just on the other side of this rather quaint collection of buildings that I didn't take a photo of because despite the fact that they were largely cafes and restaurants they still managed to give off a bit of a military vibe.  A vibe that wasn't helped by the sign warning me that having my bag searched was a condition of entry to the whole area.  Since I almost got arrested in Mombasa for photographing an inconveniently placed bird I've been a little nervous about taking pictures of things that might belong to authority.  At least if the authority is close enough to bother me.

I trudged along Clifton Gardens' inevitable beach and struggled (and by now it was becoming a struggle) up the rise on the other side.  Now I was on the way to Bradley's Head and an excited sign informed me that soon I would be walking through one of the last unspoilt remnants of the original bushland that had once fringed Sydney Harbour in its entirety.  As if that wasn't enough the sign gushed that there would be other signs, informative ones, along the way to help identify all of the plants and wildlife that you almost certainly won't see.

Somewhat perked up by this (it turns out I am disturbingly easy to please) I strode forward under a cool canopy of trees which was very welcome.  The bushland may have been pristine but I bet the walkway I was traversing had been around the block a time or two.  Then I encountered my first informative sign complete with a picture of the animal it was describing.  These have got to be the worst animal pictures of all times.  I was familiar with some of the animals, familiar enough to know that they looked nothing like the pictures.  One of the signs told us to watch out for humpbacked whales.  I didn't exactly expect to see one on the path but if I had I certainly wouldn't have recognised it from the picture which resembled an obese penguin with downs syndrome. 

No need for artful photography now, I was in genuine bush

And for no reason at all a photo of another lizard

The dreadful pictures did provide me with a certain amount of innocent amusement which was necessary because the truth was I was flagging badly.  Only the "I told you so" look on my puffin's face was keeping me going.  Fortunately Bradley's Head was genuinely worth the effort and at the end of the walk I managed to take a decent photo of a lighthouse which I know you've all been waiting for since I mentioned such a thing many paragraphs ago.

Now that's what I call a lighthouse

And that's what I call a brush turkey.  It's my blog, I don't have to have reasons

After Bradley's Head it was just a little further to Taronga Zoo the sort of place I might like to visit on a day out if I hadn't just exhausted myself wandering around the shoreline adjacent parts of Mosman.  I reached the zoo and thought "surely I can go a little further".  I was right, I could go a little further.  Specifically I got as far as Mosman South ferry wharf at which point my legs threatened to seek asylum in another body if I continued.  I took the hint and, stinging with defeat slunk home.  My puffin was very gracious about the whole thing for which I was grateful.  I have certainly built up a large appetite for dinner but it remains to be seen if I am physically capable of producing it.

Plague Update # 47 - Deja Flu Edition

 During my lunch break the other day (and absolutely not when I should have been working) I flicked on the television to see what was happening at the tennis.  The Australian Open is currently on and I always like to check in just to see whether Nick Kyrgios has finally snapped and is swinging from a light fixture like a baboon.  Instead of a borderline bipolar tennis player having a meltdown I was treated to the sight of the premier of the surviving population of Victoria solemnly informing the citizenry that they had cocked up the quarantine yet again and as a result the entire population of Melbourne was being sent to its room.

This wasn't due to COVID, oh dear me no.  This was due to the new, improved and super sexy COVID which is apparently far more contagious.  This variant has taken Britain by storm and is currently on an extended tour of Europe.  Apparently Brexit didn't come quickly enough.  The premier assured the population that the current lockdown was largely a preventative measure designed to get on top of the outbreak quickly and "protect the most vulnerable members of the population" or at least such of the most vulnerable members of the population as survived the previous outbreak.  

While Melbourne enjoys a preview screening of Quarantine II: The Return attention in the rest of the country has been focussed on the vaccine.  Or rather it has been focussed on the vaccine shaped holes in our pharmaceutical supply chain.  Despite the government boasting that we were at the front of the queue for a vaccine it would appear that we are the last inhabited continent (penguins don't count; sorry Antarctica) to receive it.  There has been criticism and muttering about the impressive vaccination process of other countries such as Britain.  As far as Britain is concerned that's a little unfair.  Britain's COVID prevention measures were so wretched that they had very little choice except to grab every needle in the country and stick them into its citizens regardless of the contents.

As for the rest, well this is the problem when you don't actually make things yourself.  You rely on other people to make them and then you rely on further people to ship them to you.  Finally you rely on yet more people to unpack them without accidentally dropping them on the floor.  If anything gets in the way of such a process (such as a pack semi hysterical bureaucrats having a fit after they buggered up their own vaccination process) then you suddenly find the queue is very long and you just have to wait.  The good news is that the EU has now graciously permitted the drug company to ship the product we've already ordered (and which was made in Belgium) so, assuming the US navy doesn't hijack the vessel on the high seas we should be receiving the vaccine at some point in the not too distant future.

While I wait for the pride of Belgium's pharmaceutical industry to reach us I will have to be patient and take solace in the little things.  Little things like the fact that I don't live in Melbourne.  Mind you I was taking solace from that fact well before COVID.