Travelling Pathetically - Bare Minimum Edition

 I stared nervously at the plague doctor who was showing just a little too much enthusiasm in preparing a foot long syringe filled with a murky, somewhat viscous liquid.  He squeezed a few drops from the needle and I couldn't help noticing they burnt a hole in the carpet, also...

"What the hell is that smell?"

"Bear urine and burnt lizard feet," replied the plague doctor.

"You're not injecting that into me!"

"Of course not, that's my aftershave."

"Are you actually qualified to conduct this procedure?"

The plague doctor looked outraged.

"I'll have you know I studied at the Sorbonne."

"I thought you studied interpretive dance."

"Yes but I did it at the Sorbonne."

"And now you're going to stick that massive needle into my knee."

There was more than a hint of malice in the plague doctor's chuckle, 

"Oh this doesn't go into your knee, it goes in through your eyeball.  Hold him down!"

Too late I attempted to flee but was submerged under a tide of plush toys.  After the injection was completed and the restraints had been unbuckled I gathered together my gear and what little remained of my dignity and prepared for my walk.  As I prepared to leave the plague doctor stopped me.

"Just a quick word on side effects," he said.  "You may experience some slight dizziness."

"OK."

"Shortness of breath, bleeding from the ears, lesions to the frontal cortex, dry heaves, wet heaves, general heaves, liver damage, heart palpitations, explosive diarrhea and of course severe knee pain."

"Knee pain is what I was seeing you about in the first place."

"And you can't say I don't deliver.  Good luck."

After my previous walk where I wound up limping pathetically for the last couple of kilometres I decided to try out my knee on something a little less strenuous.  A nice twelve kilometre walk from Cabarita to Chiswick alongside the Parramatta River.  There would be even less bush element to my walk than on the previous occasion but I would have a river at my side and surely there would be parks and things along the way.  Indeed there were.  The day was grey and threatened rain but that was still better than the previous day when it had actually been raining so I set out to catch a ferry to Cabarita.

Cabarita is a riverside suburb of Sydney with a ferry stop and now you know as much about Cabarita as I do.  For the record it seemed quite nice and the ferry obligingly dropped me off at a park so there would at least be a few trees around for the start of my walk.

From Cabarita ferry wharf looking forlornly back at civilisation

There were indeed a few trees around at the start of my walk but it has to be admitted that this walk wouldn't be about the bush.  If anything it would be about the wetlands.  As you can see from the photo below some of the land was indeed wet.  The recent rain helped with that as well.  Despite the not particularly clement weather there were a fair few people about picnicking and strolling along the path.  I cursed the propensity of people to go out walking along paths as I walked along the path.

Definitely wet

In defiance of the generally built up nature of the area a thin fringe of vegetation clung desperately to the river's edge trying to avoid being pushed into the water by the encroaching suburbia.  To be fair surburbia had pretty much encroached as far as it could without getting its feet wet and the vegetation was reduced to huddling in a fringe that could be classified as "too wet to build on but too shallow to float a boat".  I took the occasional photograph to encourage the vegetation's efforts.

The vegetation is doing its best

It has to be admitted I was less than inspired by my surroundings but I reminded myself that this was more of a knee test than a jaunty Sunday walk and persevered.  It was good that I did so because in compensation for the absence of wide ranging bush a single tree in a park was giving shelter to a spectacular series of contenders for the Clare McIntyre Memorial Fungus.

Check out this lot

And this one

And these

With my spirits bucked by the sight (and possible consumption) of various absolutely non hallucinogenic mushrooms I continued with my walk along the river.  There were small beaches and even smaller patches of what, if they had been more numerous, would have been called mangroves.  As it was they were struggling to be even a single mangrove.  Not that this was the fault of the local council.  Signs abounded informing us of the importance of mangroves and the council's desperate efforts to preserve and encourage the growth of the two or three that are left.  Personally I doubt there was much left in the budget for mangrove preservation after they paid for all the signs but possibly I'm a little cynical.

One of the things I've noticed about walking through waterside parks is the predilection of people to leave strangely shaped pieces of metal lying about the place.  It's either art or littering on an extreme scale.  I'll show you the photographs and let you make up your own mind.

Art or possibly litter

I think I'm going to go with litter

With my mind improved or at least not appreciably degraded I moved past the art (or litter) skirting the grey waters of the Parramatta as I headed towards Chiswick still several kilometres ahead.  Chiswick isn't actually that far away as the ibis flies but the land describes an inconveniently long curve around a bay in between the two which adds a few kilometres for those of us tied to the earth.

I had to head away from the river briefly as certain selfish people had managed to build their homes pretty much down to the waters edge.  I hope they get jellyfish in their basement.  Or at least I would if anyone had a basement.  I don't think we do basements in Australia, it's more of an American thing.  It does make me wonder how local serial killers manage.

The houses have reached the water which means I must leave

After some uninspired street walking I managed to wangle my way back to the waters edge by walking through a riverside development which had nevertheless opened (I suspect reluctantly) its riverside path to the general public.  I think we can all agree that the public doesn't get much more general than me so I cheerfully padded along a well laid out path with handsome, well tended vegetation of the decorative rather than native kind until I reached, well I'm not sure what I reached.  It might have been a rotunda or a pergola or just a random construction but as I think you will agree from the sign above the entrance it was making claims a little beyond reality.

Cape Cabarita?  Really?  Where exactly?

Still I was please to see this little construction as it marked my reintroduction to the river which showed no signs of having noticed my absence.  As I walked along the riverside the council signs redoubled their efforts to convince me that any random plant I encountered was due to their heroic environmental efforts.  Now wetlands were the focus (possibly they'd given up on the mangroves) and signs breathlessly informed me of how vitally important the eighteen square inches of wetland I was looking was to the overall health of what little environment was left.  Or at least I would have been looking at the wetland if the sign hadn't been blocking my view.  I peered around it and did my best to take a photograph.

It does look a little wet

And on the right you can see the mangrove

Despite my snarky comments the sign and the wet patch signaled the beginning of a narrow but definite fringe of mangroves/wetlands separating me from the river.  If you wander in there you can break your ankle on a tree root before drowning in land that could probably be best described as "well irrigated".  Mangroves (the plural finally justified) presented themselves for the camera and because I had nothing better to do I obligingly took photos.

Yep, mangroves

Having finally discovered a piece of wilderness (very broadly speaking) I immediately turned my back on it so that I could photograph a golf course.  In my defence the golf course was covered with cockatoos and the occasional galah and the mangroves weren't.

Galahs and cockatoos

Once I got over the galahs I returned my attention to the riverside which, possibly insulted by my fickleness dispensed with the mangroves and presented mudflats instead.  I wasn't bothered, the presence of the mudflats enabled me to take a series of blurry, long range and not particularly good photos of birds.  Said birds were wandering over the mudflats digging out edible things from below its surface.

The birds are blurry but the mudflat is looking pretty good.  You will rarely see flatter mud.

And here is a rare opportunity to see an ibis with its beak stuck in something that isn't a garbage bin

I think these are black winged stilts

Then it was back to the mangroves for a bit.  I took a photo of something big black and shiny (a bird you sick freaks) that was hanging out on a mangrove branch looking cool.

Then the bird hurled itself off the branch directly towards my face.  Unfortunately that photo is somewhat blurry due to the fact that I was fleeing in terror as I took it.  I was circling around the bay I mentioned somewhat earlier plodding on towards Chiswick.  There were birds out on the bay but unfortunately they were too far away for a decent photograph.  The below photograph demonstrates that the bird in question was indeed too far away for a decent photograph.

It's white and, if you zoom in, somewhat blurry

I had to leave the river again at this point as a golf course had crept down to the shoreline and then a suburb had bisected the golf course leaving it as two separate segments on green pocked with sandpits rather like a severe case of acne with a neat grid pattern of houses between the two.  All of which is an overly long explanation of why I found myself again trudging down a suburban street hopefully in the direction of the river I had so recently abandoned.  I crossed a charming watercourse, its natural splendour making a pleasant counterpoint to the buildings all around.

Aforementioned charming watercourse

My return to the river was greeted by pelicans.  Well the pelicans were there and I chose to believe that they were there to greet me.  There were also ibis but I was focused on the pelicans.

"We were good enough for you when there was nothing else," sneered the ibis.  "Now you're ignoring us completely."

"Damn straight, now get out of the way, you're blocking the pelicans."

I had to elbow an ibis in the neck to get this photo

I was walking along a fringe between the road and the river designated as a park probably because the authorities couldn't think of anything else to do with it.  A rainbow lorikeet flew overhead and then landed in a branch directly above me.  I risked lorikeet crap in my eye in order to take the below photograph.

Literally directly above my head

This blog is rapidly becoming little more than an excuse to post not particularly good bird photos and strangely I am comfortable with that.  The exposed pieces of river bank allowed me to take a couple of semi good shots of birds who were sufficiently far away that identifying them was a little difficult.

I'm not really sure what this is but it looks ok

 

There was no such difficulty with the crested pigeons who got so close to me that I was afraid they were going to mug me.  I flashed my camera at them and they sidled away attempting to look innocent.  I didn't believe it and took a photo in case the police recovered the camera from my dead body and needed a clue to solve my murder.

If anything happens to me it was probably these guys

Breathing heavily from my lucky escape (and not at all because I'm hopelessly unfit) I made my way along the river.  My destination was almost forgotten as birds pranced in front of me clamouring for attention.  Getting snobby I selected only the choicest.  I think the below is white faced heron, it's certainly a white faced something.

Note the ibis trying to get in on the photo

I was now seven kilometres into my walk and whatever the plague doctor had done was definitely wearing off.  The last five kilometres were a painful hobble driven on by sheer irritation at the fact that my knee wouldn't let me do a simple twelve kilometres without whining.  It started raining too which was loads of fun but I eventually stumbled onto Chiswick wharf giving thanks to whatever deities might be listening that my leg hadn't collapsed entirely.  I am definitely going to have to do something about this before I go on holiday.

Travelling Pathetically - Beside the Seaside Edition

Weather having interrupted my last few attempts at bushwalking I seized on an unexpectedly dry Saturday to make at least a token attempt at fitness before my trip.  My handy walking app having delivered the opinion that the Bondi to Coogee coastal walk would deliver a certain amount of needed up and down plus views I set off towards the the sand and surf Mecca that is Bondi Beach.  According to the app the walk was about twelve kilometres which seemed like an appropriate distance.

I should state at the beginning that I have absolutely no interest in sand and surf and having arrived at Bondi Beach my first instinct was to leave it as soon as possible.  Leave I did, heading along the coastal walk that would in the fullness of time deliver me to Coogee another beach location I had no interest in.  

My progress was certainly not setting any speed records and my predilection for pausing to take photographs was only part of the reason.  The main reason was that half the population of Australia also appeared to be doing the walk and with the exception of a handful of joggers they were all doing it extremely slowly.  I was a little more schizophrenic, I would pull out to overtake a group of slow moving walkers, stride ahead, spot something I wanted to photograph and pause while said slow walkers continued past me.  I overtook some groups of people four times.

As can be seen from the photographs above Bondi becomes more appealing when you put some distance between yourself and it.  Having started at a beach naturally the first thing I had to do was climb up from it.  Once on the clifftop I turned my back on Bondi and towards the path ahead.

It was hardly splendid isolation

So there I was, all alone just me and half a million other people.  We lurched and shambled forward, bumping into scenery and trampling the slowest underfoot.  It was like a badly dressed zombie apocalypse.  Along the way there was a look out where one could watch for whales.  I stared out for a little and my patience was rewarded when absolutely no whales presented themselves for my entertainment.  To take my mind off the lack of whales and the spectacular over abundance of humans I took pictures of the more photogenic parts of the coastline.

Photogenic coastline picture #1

Photogenic coastline picture #2

In all fairness there was a decent amount of photogenic coastline to photograph.  I took quite a few pictures if only because where the rocks met the sea was the only place free of people.  A little further on even that would be denied to me as various rock fishermen diced with death in the hopes of dragging a small piece of sea life out of the ocean with a nylon cord.  At that point their catch would become a small piece of sea death.  I could imagine that the fish were all hoping for a really big wave.

The coastline became less rocky and more sandy announcing the arrival of another beach.  There are quite a number of these and I'm not going to bother pretending I remember their names or the order in which they come.  I started at Bondi and finished at Maroubra, fill the intervening beaches in as you wish.

OK so I'm reasonably sure this one is Tamarama

 

The one good thing about being so far on the beaten path was that helpful people hung around selling coffee at pretty regular intervals.  With my body awash with caffeine I continued on my way.  I took a photo of a small and unexceptional bird because I suspected it might be my only opportunity.  Also I've finally figured out how to use my camera.

Not unexceptional at all really.  Sorry bird.

Once past the beach it was back to photos of the shoreline again.  I wasn't disappointed, the sea put on a lovely display of colours for me (that's right for me, not for the six hundred and eighty seven thousand other people walking along that day) so it seemed only appropriate to take a few pictures.

Water colours

I turned my gaze inland briefly as I wandered past Waverly Cemetery proof if proof were needed that overcrowding issues don't stop once you're dead.  One of the great things about being dead is that you don't have to answer the door when people visit.  Which doesn't seem to stop people visiting.  One of the prevailing characteristics of the human race is our inability to take a hint.

Dropping in on dead folk

And for no reason at all, a small flower

I continued on my walk, essentially just going through the motions.  While the crowds that had attended the beginning of the walk had started to thin I could still hardly claim to be alone.  To justify the presence of my camera I took a series of photos of a small and rather hyperactive bird.  None of them turned out particularly well because the irritating little bastard couldn't stand still for more than a second.

The best of a bad bunch of bird photos

Fortunately my day was about to improve.  Not only were there fewer and fewer people to get in my way but the scenery was improving as well.  I took a photo of a boat rack (like a gun rack but for boats) in a little bay and even managed to photograph the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus clinging to a fallen tree branch along the way.

Boat rack

The bay the boat rack was in

And the Clare McIntyre Memorial Fungus - the day is looking up

I arrived in Coogee supposedly the end of my walk to find I had travelled a meagre seven kilometres when the walk promised twelve.  I realised that I was supposed to turn around and retrace my steps and immediately decided against it.  Instead I headed further down the coast deciding I could put more kilometres under my belt by carrying on to Maroubra instead.  It was an excellent decision.

Just out of Coogee I came to a point where the sealed path I had been walking on intersected with a dirt track leading off into the bush and immediately took it.  I knew I wasn't going to get far, there was a cliff and the sea not too far ahead but at last I felt like I was doing a bushwalk rather than simply walking down the street.  My decision was rewarded when I walked past a burnt tree stump.  I had actually walked past it before I realised it wasn't a burnt tree stump but a thoroughly unburnt tree with a large black cockatoo sitting on it.  I took a photo and then I took about a hundred more.

I'm not even going to apologies for all the black cockatoo photos

Dizzy and glutted with cockatoo photos I moved on about ten metres and almost ran into another black cockatoo sitting on a fence.  More photos ensued.

Another one

After that an asteroid could have hit the path and I would still have been happy.  I moved on to the South Coogee Wetlands which is a narrow strip of soggy land between the cliff and the houses.  It is apparently a peat bog and careful maintenance over the last decade or two is helping to eradicate the worst evidence of absolute abuse the place has suffered for the previous two centuries.  They even have a raised platform for people to walk along so the precious bog is not sullied with human tread.

Wetland

More wet, less land

Very wet land

I padded along to the end of the walkway where I encountered an elderly Asian couple harvesting what I hope was non-endangered vegetable material for tonight's soup.  After that it was sadly back to sealed footpaths again.  I was coming towards the end of my walk, for more reasons than one, but there was just time for another bird orgy, this time involving rainbow lorikeets (I think) who dined photogenically on the local foliage.

I spent quite a bit of time here

With my cup officially running over I set out on the last lap to Maroubra.  Here I have to admit that I skimped on my preparations.  Normally I wear a constrictive bandage on my knee as I'm prone to what I suspect is arthritis.  Today I forgot it and ten kilometres in I was in a considerable amount of pain.  I winced and hobbled along pausing only to take one final bird photo.  It wasn't as big as the cockatoos or as brightly coloured as the lorikeets but I think you will agree that it surrenders nothing in pugnacious attitude.

You looking at me?

Now my main goal was to get somewhere with a big enough road to arrange transport to my home.  According to my trail app the path made its way to the waters edge and then along towards Maroubra.  That wasn't quite true, the path made its way to the waters edge and then stopped.  You were supposed to look at the sea slicked rocks and make your own way from then on.  Somewhat nervously and with an uneasy awareness that my speed and mobility were now significantly reduced I did so.  I paused for photos partially because of the scenery but mainly to give my knee a brief rest before continuing on.

This is apparently a path

 

I think the tide may have been coming in

With much wincing and self pitying moans I hobbled along and greeted the presence of Maroubra with such gratitude that Maroubra was rightly suspicious.  Eleven and a half kilometres is hardly a lengthy walk but I was semi crippled by this stage and limped and whimpered my way home, pausing only for another cup of coffee along the way.

Silly After Action Report - Corniche Game

 A collection of Italian soldiers stood at a rough approximation of attention as Generale-Maggiore Biscotti Garibaldi gave what he fondly imagined was a morale building speech.

"Today is the day brave soldiers of Italy.  For not a single further hour will we tolerate Menton in the hands of the perfidious French.  May I remind you of how when our victorious soldiers advanced across the Alps the French treacherously refused to surrender.  May I remind you of when we appeared on the outskirts of Menton our friendly advance was greeted with artillery fire.  May I remind you that the bastards broke my train!!!"  The generale's cheeks were wet with tears.  The cheeks of the front rank of soldiers were similarly wet but that was largely because Garibaldi had a tendency to spray as he talked.

"Forward brave soldiers of Italy."  The soldiers shambled forward, "not that way, towards Menton."

The Italian soldiers reluctantly turned around, it had been worth a shot.

"Do not forget, the world is watching Menton," announced Garibaldi with a flourish.

"Not even the population of Menton is watching Menton," muttered a soldier somewhere towards the rear.

With varying degrees of enthusiasm (varying from "low" to "nil") the Italian soldiers trudged in the general direction of a largely inoffensive French town.  More than one cast a longing glance over their shoulder to where the generale's car was speeding towards Italy with almost indecent haste.  Fortunately it didn't have far to go.

After several games where my defeats were so swift and humiliating that they didn't merit a blog entry I prevailed upon Dave to let me try and turn around my fortunes with my beloved Italians.  Possibly against his better judgment Dave agreed to play HG-1, Corniche Game.  It is 1940 and France is collapsing under the weight of the German blitzkrieg but far in the south east it's a different story.  For no good reason that anyone can determine Mussolini hurled his fascist legions against the French border.  And that is pretty much where they stayed.  At great cost the alpine troops of the Duce managed to capture a couple of hills that the French didn't particularly want.  Down on the coast however the story was slightly different.  Here the Italian advance actually went somewhere, not far but somewhere.  That somewhere was Menton a coastal town some five kilometres inside the French border.  This was the furthest the Italians managed to advance.  Now the town of Menton lies just in front of my victorious legions (for a given definition of victorious) and my troops ready themselves to seize what will no doubt be the first of many French towns.

All I have to do is cross a river under the forbidding gaze of fortifications high in the hills, fight my way through the town, evict the French garrison and fight off fearsome Senegalese warriors.  To win I have to control sixteen multihex buildings (I control eight at the start).  Each French pillbox I capture reduces the number of buildings needed by one.  By special rule no quarter is in effect, hand to hand combat can be declared and only Italian conscripts are lax for ambush purposes.

I have a large if somewhat motley force at my disposal.  Thirty one squads; five elite, sixteen bersaglieri and ten first line form a grey tide which I hope will swamp all in their path.  I also have two crews to man a pair of 81mm mortars which are the best artillery support the Italians have since their train got smashed up.  In addition to that I had two heavy machine guns, two medium machine guns, five light machine guns, two 45mm mortars, two demolition charges and a radio connecting me to a battery of 70mm artillery.  Six officers command led by a capable 9-1.

To defend this little patch of France (the French pinched it from Monaco in 1860 but whatever) Dave has a small but potent force.  Up on the hill mass are one and a half first line squads, a leader, two medium machine guns and a 75mm artillery piece.  There's also a trench and pillbox for the afore mentioned to shelter in.  In the town itself are another nine first line squads equipped with one heavy, two more medium and two light machine guns.  Additionally a 47mm antitank gun is present for reasons neither Dave or I could figure out plus a roadblock, two wire counters, four more trench counters and two more pillboxes.  Also present is a field phone which connects Dave with a battery of fearsome 120mm artillery.  Entering on turn 5 are six elite squads with another pair of light machine guns and an 8-1 leader. 

Above is the at start situation.  The Italians set up on non-hill hexes east of the stream or on/east of hexrow F if they want to be in the hills.  I had a trio of first line squads commanded by my least capable leader ready for a charge across the plateau while  three more first line squads were positioned to climb up to the pillbox.  One of my 81mm mortars was set up to drop smoke on said pillbox to make the preceding somewhat less suicidal.  My hmgs (manned by a pair of elite squads) sat in a building facing the only functioning bridge.  An 8-0 with the radio sat next to them.  The remainder of my force was divided into two main groups.  One group (with both mmgs) was positioned as far west as possible looking to work their way through the trees and flank Dave's positions in the town.  The other group was further east, their job was to cross the river far from the action and flank Dave's positions from the east.

Things went almost suspiciously well in the first turn.  A mortar plastered his pillbox on the hill with smoke and another gave the same treatment to another pillbox in the village.  Far to the north my little group of soldiers tugged their concealment counters about their shoulders and panted towards the pillbox while a group of others climbed the hill from the south.  These soldiers found Dave's artillery piece when a 75mm shell screamed over their heads and they found themselves staring into the open mouth of a cannon.  Well at least I'd found it.

Back down in the village my 9-1 directed kill stack managed to break some defenders and my flankers plunged into the deep but apparently unthreatening waters of the stream and emerged on the other side soggy but alive.  The rest of my force swept around through the woods and started enveloping Dave's position from that side although a squad which jumped into the river opposite a building received an antitank shell where it would do least good and fled for the cover of the trees on the original bank.

End of Italian turn 1 so far so good

In Dave's turn his 75mm made short work of the squads that had rather foolishly camped out under its muzzle but in return my 81mm broke the gun crew thus removing it from contention for the time being.  Down in the village the garrison of his smoked out pillbox (a pair of halfsquads with mmgs) moved to the next trench along where my other 81mm would cheerfully blanket them with more smoke next turn.  I made contact with my artillery who promptly dropped a spotting round behind their own troops.  A sniper would kill my radio operator before he could do anything else.  As usual I would have to do this without artillery.

In my next turn I sent a couple more squads up the hill, now that the gun crew was, temporarily, gone I figured I could surround the smoke shrouded pillbox dwellers and swamp them with numbers.  It wasn't really my fault that gusts blew the smoke away before I could do it.  Soon a couple more squads were fleeing down back down the hill in what had become something of a minor tradition.  Meanwhile the squads approaching from the north took note and decided discretion was the better part of valour. 

In the village I strengthened my hold on the western edge and foolishly sent a squad in to hand to hand CC with his machine gun teams.  I got away with that to a certain extent.  I lost a halfsquad and locked both crews in melee.  Dave brought down his artillery as harrassing fire trying to hinder my eastern flankers as they attempted to shake out and gain ground.  Gain ground they did although cautiously.

The grey tide surges forward, cautiously

In the third turn I reinforced the melee with another squad which resulted in everybody dying in CC which was a net gain to me as it took two French mmgs out of the fight.  His harassing fire had broken one of the hmg squads guided by my 9-1 but by that time I didn't really need them.  My mortar dropped more smoke on his hilltop pillbox to replace that lost to the gusts in the previous turn.  I was sure he had his radio operator in the eastern pillbox and was very surprised when his hmg sprayed my long suffering troops on the hilltop.  More broken squads was the result but now my cautious boys from the north came into their own and crossed the ground to leap into CC with his troops there.  Meanwhile my eastern force managed to break his hmg team (they had exited the pillbox so they could conduct all round fire) and started claiming territory, and buildings, in the south.  With the bulk of his at start force dead, broken or seriously menaced and his reinforcements still a turn and a half away Dave conceded.  He later admitted that he had forgotten that infantry can cross a deep stream (admittedly at the cost of being CX'ed) and so had not made any plans for a sweep in the east such as I had conducted.  For me it was a rare occasion of, almost, everything going as planned.

This is where we ended it. 

 After a number of dispiriting losses I was delighted to gain a win and with Italians into the bargain.  Many thanks to Dave who bore his defeat with far more equanimity than I would have done.  It has to be admitted that while the dice were reasnably even I had the better of any luck that was going.

"Victory!" shrieked Generale Gariboldi tugging out his pistol to fire a shot into the air.  The other patrons at the restaurant in Turin ducked under their tables.  "With Menton seized we shall march on Paris!"

"The Germans captured Paris eight days ago," replied his aide brushing ceiling plaster off his uniform.

"Oh," said Gariboldi a little deflated, "what should we do now?"

"Relax, have a biscuit."