Samuel Johnson once said "Some people have a foolish way of not minding, or pretending not to mind, what they eat. For my part, I mind my belly very studiously, and very carefully; for I look upon it, that he who does not mind his belly, will hardly mind anything else." That's Samuel Johnson, one of the giants of English literature, coming down very heavily in favour of food. With such an endorsement its no wonder that from the eighteenth century onward eating food started to become popular all over the world.
Pretty soon everybody who was anybody was eating food, sometimes several times a week. Nowadays of course food forms a part of most people's diet to such an extent that the traditional custom of restaurants serving up small bowls of gravel for their customers has almost disappeared except in the most elite of dining establishments.
Food, it would appear, is here to stay despite the best efforts of dietitians and nutritionists to get us eating something less conducive to prolonging life. Based on Sammy J's experience it would appear that if one wants to be accepted as a trendsetter on food the first thing you should do is write your own dictionary.
I'm ashamed to admit it but I too have indulged in food. In fact sometimes I eat it two or three times a day. Honestly my depravity knows no bounds. Even such a dedicated foodie as Samuel Johnson would be rolling his eyes and shaking his head, mind you he had Tourettes so he would have been doing that anyway but there would have an element of judgement in it as well. Well I don't care! England's greatest master of letters may twitch and dribble in disapproval (or just twitch and dribble) but I refuse to be diverted from my path of food enjoyment. Hey, Sam! Nobody reads your dictionary anymore, get over yourself.
But now, having established the importance of food its time to address the elephant in the room. As night follows day any discussion of food quite naturally leads to cannibalism. Once the popularity of food spread from England to the rest of the world each nation started adding their own distinct touches. The French specialised in invertebrates. The Germans made an art of grinding an animal down to the point where you couldn't identify the precursor animal when it turned up on your plate. Eventually we got to the point where two eager chefs were looking at an empty cooking pot in despair but a couple of hours later a single chef served up a culinary masterpiece.
Think about it for a moment. Wouldn't all those cooking shows on television be much better if they were a last man standing blood sport? There could be battles royale in the kitchen as each competitor tries to fillet and stuff his opponents into an oven. For judges we could have me, Samuel Johnson and a cat. The Adelaide couple's pulled long pig was delicious. I give it two paws up.
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
Monday, May 22, 2017
Kittens - Shameless Social Media etc etc Part 2
Kittens! The very word arouses an involuntary "aww" in the mind if not on the lips of every human being with the slightest pretence to kindness and decent feelings. Kittens display that combination of playful vulnerability that humans find so adorable in animals and so exploitable in other people.
IT'S ALL A LIE!!! Kittens are cute and adorable simply so they can survive the dangerous, early part of their life before they grow up into cats and start treating us with disdain. Cats are proof that even the dominant lifeform on the planet can wind up in an abusive relationship if it tries hard enough.
Kittens are a vital component in the cycle of emotional abuse inflicted on us by their adult kin. Kittens bat at strings, chase dingly balls and pounce adorably on us when we're not looking. And the eyes; dear god those huge, gorgeous, helpless eyes. We fall into those eyes nearly drowning in cuteness and when we drag ourselves to the surface we find we don't have a kitten any more, we have a cat. But its too late now, the spell of the eyes lingers despite the fact that the cat ignores us, stays out all night, eats our food and doles out tiny shreds of affection strictly as and when it pleases. We scamper to please them, desperate for the sound of a purr or the removal of claws from our face that might indicate the cat has some feelings for us other than slightly amused contempt.
Dogs have been known to stand by their dead master keeping vigil over the body. A cat might do the same but only while there's still something edible on the corpse. Dogs love to please us while cats love us to please. Which brings me to the inescapable conclusion that cats are considerably smarter than dogs, or humans for that matter.
Our relationship with cats started out in much the same way as our relationship with dogs. Food and shelter in return for service. The difference is that while we trained dogs to do what we wanted cats simply did what they wanted while we provided a venue. Which is not to say that the service cats provided wasn't valuable. Once we started storing large amounts of foodstuffs in central, rat accessible locations the service of cats was very useful indeed. Basically we provided cats with shelter and a food supply and in return they sheltered and ate. Whenever we might have paused to re-evaluate this relationship the cats simply produced some more kittens and our brains dribbled out our ears in an ocean of cuteness.
The human relationship with cats is set now and I can't believe it will ever change. Far (I hope) into the future when the human race finally reaches its end the final sound attributable to our civilisation will be a gentle "munch, munch, munch" as a cat chews on the last human's face.
IT'S ALL A LIE!!! Kittens are cute and adorable simply so they can survive the dangerous, early part of their life before they grow up into cats and start treating us with disdain. Cats are proof that even the dominant lifeform on the planet can wind up in an abusive relationship if it tries hard enough.
Kittens are a vital component in the cycle of emotional abuse inflicted on us by their adult kin. Kittens bat at strings, chase dingly balls and pounce adorably on us when we're not looking. And the eyes; dear god those huge, gorgeous, helpless eyes. We fall into those eyes nearly drowning in cuteness and when we drag ourselves to the surface we find we don't have a kitten any more, we have a cat. But its too late now, the spell of the eyes lingers despite the fact that the cat ignores us, stays out all night, eats our food and doles out tiny shreds of affection strictly as and when it pleases. We scamper to please them, desperate for the sound of a purr or the removal of claws from our face that might indicate the cat has some feelings for us other than slightly amused contempt.
Dogs have been known to stand by their dead master keeping vigil over the body. A cat might do the same but only while there's still something edible on the corpse. Dogs love to please us while cats love us to please. Which brings me to the inescapable conclusion that cats are considerably smarter than dogs, or humans for that matter.
Our relationship with cats started out in much the same way as our relationship with dogs. Food and shelter in return for service. The difference is that while we trained dogs to do what we wanted cats simply did what they wanted while we provided a venue. Which is not to say that the service cats provided wasn't valuable. Once we started storing large amounts of foodstuffs in central, rat accessible locations the service of cats was very useful indeed. Basically we provided cats with shelter and a food supply and in return they sheltered and ate. Whenever we might have paused to re-evaluate this relationship the cats simply produced some more kittens and our brains dribbled out our ears in an ocean of cuteness.
The human relationship with cats is set now and I can't believe it will ever change. Far (I hope) into the future when the human race finally reaches its end the final sound attributable to our civilisation will be a gentle "munch, munch, munch" as a cat chews on the last human's face.
Sunday, May 21, 2017
Shooting - Shameless Social Media Whoring Part 1
Yes, there are no depths to which I will not sink. Behold, before your tired and disillusioned eyes the first in a three part series dedicated to the new name of my blog. In this part we shall look at shooting.
I have to confess that my personal knowledge of shooting is rather limited. As far as I'm aware shooting is something that is done to houses in Fairfield. Indeed there was a time when it looked like houses in Fairfield were going to have to be put on the endangered species list but apparently they reproduce quickly enough to make up for losses.
I will concede that there are some advantages to shooting houses. Houses are large and don't move very quickly. Shooting one must be the next best thing to shooting an elephant with arthritis. On the other hand it is rather difficult to mount a house on your wall as evidence of your sporting prowess. The other traditional method of proving your kill, posing for a photograph with the victim, doesn't seem to be terribly popular with the sort of people that shoot at houses in Fairfield.
There are some groups in our society who are traditionally expected to carry firearms. Policemen for example because, well, criminals. Criminals are also expected to carry guns because those houses in Fairfield aren't going to shoot themselves (although if I were a house in Fairfield I probably would). Apart from that there's only soldiers (wars and so on) and farmers because apparently you can't spend too much time around large numbers of animals without getting the overwhelming urge to kill a few. On balance its probably a good thing that there's no tradition of firearms possession among nurses.
Most other firearms owners in the country fall into one of two categories. "Sporting shooters" and "the defendant". There is a certain degree of overlap between the two. Sporting shooters tend to be frustrated farmers who actually have to go out into the bush to shoot animals that farmers can normally kill from the comfort of their verandahs. This shared discomfort and irritation is probably why sporting shooters are so keen. If you've committed time and money to what is basically a lengthy and uncomfortable walk with the occasional firing off of expensive ammunition from an even more expensive gun you're not likely to take too kindly to anyone who points out that you could have stayed at home and got a dead animal from the supermarket.
I'm a city boy (although the "boy" part of that is getting increasingly difficult to sustain) and I don't live near Fairfield so my practical experience with firearms is very limited. I do have a vague understanding that a farmer needs a gun for those dangerous times when a sheep goes rogue but aside from that and the professions noted above I don't see the need for guns. Other people very kindly kill animals for me and transport them to a central location where I pick up small chunks that I take home to eat. The only other truly practical reason for owning a gun doesn't apply to me as I really don't want to kill my neighbours, even by accident.
I have to confess that my personal knowledge of shooting is rather limited. As far as I'm aware shooting is something that is done to houses in Fairfield. Indeed there was a time when it looked like houses in Fairfield were going to have to be put on the endangered species list but apparently they reproduce quickly enough to make up for losses.
I will concede that there are some advantages to shooting houses. Houses are large and don't move very quickly. Shooting one must be the next best thing to shooting an elephant with arthritis. On the other hand it is rather difficult to mount a house on your wall as evidence of your sporting prowess. The other traditional method of proving your kill, posing for a photograph with the victim, doesn't seem to be terribly popular with the sort of people that shoot at houses in Fairfield.
There are some groups in our society who are traditionally expected to carry firearms. Policemen for example because, well, criminals. Criminals are also expected to carry guns because those houses in Fairfield aren't going to shoot themselves (although if I were a house in Fairfield I probably would). Apart from that there's only soldiers (wars and so on) and farmers because apparently you can't spend too much time around large numbers of animals without getting the overwhelming urge to kill a few. On balance its probably a good thing that there's no tradition of firearms possession among nurses.
Most other firearms owners in the country fall into one of two categories. "Sporting shooters" and "the defendant". There is a certain degree of overlap between the two. Sporting shooters tend to be frustrated farmers who actually have to go out into the bush to shoot animals that farmers can normally kill from the comfort of their verandahs. This shared discomfort and irritation is probably why sporting shooters are so keen. If you've committed time and money to what is basically a lengthy and uncomfortable walk with the occasional firing off of expensive ammunition from an even more expensive gun you're not likely to take too kindly to anyone who points out that you could have stayed at home and got a dead animal from the supermarket.
I'm a city boy (although the "boy" part of that is getting increasingly difficult to sustain) and I don't live near Fairfield so my practical experience with firearms is very limited. I do have a vague understanding that a farmer needs a gun for those dangerous times when a sheep goes rogue but aside from that and the professions noted above I don't see the need for guns. Other people very kindly kill animals for me and transport them to a central location where I pick up small chunks that I take home to eat. The only other truly practical reason for owning a gun doesn't apply to me as I really don't want to kill my neighbours, even by accident.
Monday, May 15, 2017
Heres Something to Worship
Possibly it's because I just ordered a large and expensive book on the history of iconoclasm in the Byzantine empire but I've been thinking a bit about religion lately. It's also possible that my religious cogitations are a reaction to the fact that apparently the pope is going to feature on the next episode of Doctor Who.
I've got to admit I've never really understood what gods get out of religion. If you were an omnipotent, universe creating entity would you really be so needy and insecure that you required constant validation in the form of worship from one of your own creations? If the answer is "yes" then it is probably unwise to be worshiping that particular deity (or attracting their attention in any way whatsoever).
No, gods don't need religion. So who does? Answer; we do. Religion is, in my view, possibly the most important thing we have ever created. Why? Because it was our first step and if you don't take the first step then it is rather difficult to take any more. At some point tens of thousands of years ago our flea riddled ancestors paused from tearing a semi decayed strip of flesh from an unfortunate antelope with their fingernails to look up at the sky and think, "there's got to be an reason for all of that."
Religion was pretty much our first attempt to figure out what that reason might be. It was our first effort to force our rather parochial little brains to encompass something infinitely greater than itself and attempt to explain it. We're still doing that now in universities and research centres using mental and technological tools that our ancestors would have worshipped in their own right but religion came first. It was our first step that led to all the others. Religion taught us it was ok to contemplate the infinite and try to figure out what it all meant. It came up with some pretty creative and sophisticated ways of doing it too. And when, finally, these proved inadequate the lessons we had learned guided us forward to new ways of thinking.
Many of these challenged established religion, some of them were outright hostile to it but none of them were indifferent. Religion might have been tutor, guide, critic or outright enemy and persecutor but it was always present and in some way or other drove us on. It was quite possibly our first invention and it easily rates as one of our best.
It could be pointed out with, thorough justification, that religion has been the source of hatred, intolerance and ferocious wars throughout our history. Very true, but take a look at our history. Does anybody truly believe that we wouldn't have found some reason to go to war with our neighbours even if neither of us had anything remotely resembling a religious reason to do so? And as for the hatred and intolerance, well yes. There was plenty of that but these things don't exist in a vacuum.
In order to be intolerant of something there must be something else that you do tolerate to draw a comparison. In order to hate the "other" there must be a "same" that you love. Religion pulls us together and forces us to put up with each other just as much as it drives us apart.
As we circled the drain towards the post modern age we currently live in religion has become less and less an integral part of our lives. We have replaced it with other things and possibly better things as we develop our understanding of the universe and carry on with building (or at least piling up into a heap) our civilisation but religion is still at the back of it all even if only as an example of the wrong thinking we've left behind.
Nowadays its fashionable to deride religion. It's like that old fashioned uncle (or Prince Philip) that everybody hopes won't get too deep into the esky at the barbecue for fear of what he might say. If fact the only time we do seem to be prepared to respect a religion is if its proponents are actively trying to kill us. Don't misunderstand me, that's a really great reason to respect anything. Just watch how swiftly I kiss somebody's arse either literally or on this blog if I honestly think they might put a bullet into my head if I don't, but really you should either deride all religions or none. They're all equally ridiculous and all equally important.
Religion is the foundation we stand on even if we're now so high that we can't see the ground floor. I don't believe in God, I never have except for a panic stricken period around the age of eight, but I do believe in religion. It may be leading us forward or we may be pushing away from it but either way it is guiding us towards greater knowledge, greater understanding and the possibility that one day we won't need religion after all. Think of all the gods that are going to be out of a job when that happens.
I've got to admit I've never really understood what gods get out of religion. If you were an omnipotent, universe creating entity would you really be so needy and insecure that you required constant validation in the form of worship from one of your own creations? If the answer is "yes" then it is probably unwise to be worshiping that particular deity (or attracting their attention in any way whatsoever).
No, gods don't need religion. So who does? Answer; we do. Religion is, in my view, possibly the most important thing we have ever created. Why? Because it was our first step and if you don't take the first step then it is rather difficult to take any more. At some point tens of thousands of years ago our flea riddled ancestors paused from tearing a semi decayed strip of flesh from an unfortunate antelope with their fingernails to look up at the sky and think, "there's got to be an reason for all of that."
Religion was pretty much our first attempt to figure out what that reason might be. It was our first effort to force our rather parochial little brains to encompass something infinitely greater than itself and attempt to explain it. We're still doing that now in universities and research centres using mental and technological tools that our ancestors would have worshipped in their own right but religion came first. It was our first step that led to all the others. Religion taught us it was ok to contemplate the infinite and try to figure out what it all meant. It came up with some pretty creative and sophisticated ways of doing it too. And when, finally, these proved inadequate the lessons we had learned guided us forward to new ways of thinking.
Many of these challenged established religion, some of them were outright hostile to it but none of them were indifferent. Religion might have been tutor, guide, critic or outright enemy and persecutor but it was always present and in some way or other drove us on. It was quite possibly our first invention and it easily rates as one of our best.
It could be pointed out with, thorough justification, that religion has been the source of hatred, intolerance and ferocious wars throughout our history. Very true, but take a look at our history. Does anybody truly believe that we wouldn't have found some reason to go to war with our neighbours even if neither of us had anything remotely resembling a religious reason to do so? And as for the hatred and intolerance, well yes. There was plenty of that but these things don't exist in a vacuum.
In order to be intolerant of something there must be something else that you do tolerate to draw a comparison. In order to hate the "other" there must be a "same" that you love. Religion pulls us together and forces us to put up with each other just as much as it drives us apart.
As we circled the drain towards the post modern age we currently live in religion has become less and less an integral part of our lives. We have replaced it with other things and possibly better things as we develop our understanding of the universe and carry on with building (or at least piling up into a heap) our civilisation but religion is still at the back of it all even if only as an example of the wrong thinking we've left behind.
Nowadays its fashionable to deride religion. It's like that old fashioned uncle (or Prince Philip) that everybody hopes won't get too deep into the esky at the barbecue for fear of what he might say. If fact the only time we do seem to be prepared to respect a religion is if its proponents are actively trying to kill us. Don't misunderstand me, that's a really great reason to respect anything. Just watch how swiftly I kiss somebody's arse either literally or on this blog if I honestly think they might put a bullet into my head if I don't, but really you should either deride all religions or none. They're all equally ridiculous and all equally important.
Religion is the foundation we stand on even if we're now so high that we can't see the ground floor. I don't believe in God, I never have except for a panic stricken period around the age of eight, but I do believe in religion. It may be leading us forward or we may be pushing away from it but either way it is guiding us towards greater knowledge, greater understanding and the possibility that one day we won't need religion after all. Think of all the gods that are going to be out of a job when that happens.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
The Paintwork's Dull but the Location is Amazing
They say that it's the journey that's important, not the destination. Presumably "they" get lost a lot and they're trying to find some way to stop their wife making snide comments while the children are screaming in the back seat. It is, however, a perfectly fair statement if your destination is Manly. I don't often go to Manly because, well, it's Manly. However friends of mine have made this suburb their current resting place in a lifestyle best described as semi-nomadic. For them it is all about the journey at least, given their current location, one hopes so.
The purpose of the preceding paragraph (apart from the opportunity to take atotally slightly unjustified swipe at Manly) is to provide a reason for my presence on a ferry from Manly heading across Sydney Harbour to more salubrious locations on the southern shore. The day was beautiful and the harbour glittered in the late Autumn sun. I do love the ferry trip to or, preferably, from Manly particularly if I have no pressing business when I arrive and can sit back and enjoy the trip. One's cares seem to float past along, of course, with a lot of scenery.
Part of the scenery was Garden Island which was emphasising its role as Australia's premier naval base with a profusion of serious looking vessels coloured grey. As I watched the gathered military might of Australia slide slowly past I couldn't help thinking "Surely they can't all have engine troubles." Which brings me to the subject of our navy's latest superweapons.
In a previous blog entry I suggested that we might be about to get into a war with New Zealand and Senegal. I couldn't come up with any other reason for the recent multi billion dollar acquisition of the pair of heavy amphibious warfare vessels which are currently tied up at Garden Island for a very good reason.
Well, I have bad news; the war's off. The reason the afore mentioned war machines are tied up at Garden Island is because currently we are experiencing a certain amount of difficulty getting them anywhere else. There is a problem with their engines. The actual nature of the problem seems to be the subject of a certain amount of debate. One theory is that the navy botched an oil change. Another is that something in the maintenance instructions got lost in translation between Spanish (the ship designers), German (the engineers) and English (used by us who are, theoretically, the operators of said vessels).
What ever the reason these two slab sided behemoths are sitting harmlessly at Garden Island while New Zealand goes depressingly uninvaded. It is said (by the navy) that these two vessels will be the centrepiece of our fleet for up to forty years into the future. Presumably that can be extended if the vessels cut down on wear and tear by never going anywhere.
It isn't all bad news though. Given their size and current location if the navy can't get them working again they can probably recoup a fair amount of the purchase price by converting them into high end apartment blocks. The location and the views would be fantastic. With the money thus gained the navy could hire a couple of landing craft from Senegal. Alternatively they could buy ferry tickets and invade Manly instead.
The purpose of the preceding paragraph (apart from the opportunity to take a
Part of the scenery was Garden Island which was emphasising its role as Australia's premier naval base with a profusion of serious looking vessels coloured grey. As I watched the gathered military might of Australia slide slowly past I couldn't help thinking "Surely they can't all have engine troubles." Which brings me to the subject of our navy's latest superweapons.
In a previous blog entry I suggested that we might be about to get into a war with New Zealand and Senegal. I couldn't come up with any other reason for the recent multi billion dollar acquisition of the pair of heavy amphibious warfare vessels which are currently tied up at Garden Island for a very good reason.
Well, I have bad news; the war's off. The reason the afore mentioned war machines are tied up at Garden Island is because currently we are experiencing a certain amount of difficulty getting them anywhere else. There is a problem with their engines. The actual nature of the problem seems to be the subject of a certain amount of debate. One theory is that the navy botched an oil change. Another is that something in the maintenance instructions got lost in translation between Spanish (the ship designers), German (the engineers) and English (used by us who are, theoretically, the operators of said vessels).
What ever the reason these two slab sided behemoths are sitting harmlessly at Garden Island while New Zealand goes depressingly uninvaded. It is said (by the navy) that these two vessels will be the centrepiece of our fleet for up to forty years into the future. Presumably that can be extended if the vessels cut down on wear and tear by never going anywhere.
It isn't all bad news though. Given their size and current location if the navy can't get them working again they can probably recoup a fair amount of the purchase price by converting them into high end apartment blocks. The location and the views would be fantastic. With the money thus gained the navy could hire a couple of landing craft from Senegal. Alternatively they could buy ferry tickets and invade Manly instead.
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
Birthday Greetings #67
Some people stand head and shoulders above others, serving through their actions as an inspiration to future generations who follow, however humbly and imperfectly in their footsteps. Today I do not celebrate some religion addled Byzantine nutjob or inbred Habsburg halfwit. Not even a fifth rate Roman emperor or overambitious German lordling who has somehow managed to get himself proclaimed King of the Romans can gain my attention today.
Instead I offer a most respectful birthday greeting to the man whose creativity, intelligence and dedication to strict and impartial reporting of the facts is mirrored in every entry of this blog. Happy birthday to Hieronymus Karl Friedrich von Munchhausen who was born on this day in 1720.
Von Munchhausen followed a typical career path for one of his birth. He served as a page to the Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg and when the Duke went to Russia (where he married a noblewoman, fathered a future Tsar and was locked up for decades by that Tsar's replacement) von Munchhausen went too. Despite his employer's unpleasant end von Munchhausen served for several years in the Russian army rising to the rank of Rittmeister. At the age of forty he retired from Russian service and returned to Germany to live on his estates as a country gentleman.
He became famous at dinner parties where he entertained the guests with detailed and witty accounts of his service in Russia which were so amusing that there was frequently a waiting list of people wanting to visit him. His stories were deliberately unbelievable while being told with a deadpan expression and close attention to military detail. The stories were essentially "party pieces" to entertain guests and there is no indication that von Munchhausen expected them to be taken seriously.
At some point in his career von Munchhausen crossed the path of a combined author/scientific researcher/conman by the name of Rudolf Raspe. Raspe heard some of the stories and combined them with other tall tales and published the lot as the Adventures of Baron Munchausen (although he hid his own name to avoid being sued). This was a wise move as von Munchhausen was horrified to discover that his name was now associated with outrageous, dishonest self promotion and attempted to sue the publisher without success. He retreated into silence and stopped holding dinner parties and telling stories.
It was rather a sad conclusion actually and in retrospect this blog seems to be more inspired by Raspe than von Munchhausen but I don't know when his birthday was.
Instead I offer a most respectful birthday greeting to the man whose creativity, intelligence and dedication to strict and impartial reporting of the facts is mirrored in every entry of this blog. Happy birthday to Hieronymus Karl Friedrich von Munchhausen who was born on this day in 1720.
Von Munchhausen followed a typical career path for one of his birth. He served as a page to the Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg and when the Duke went to Russia (where he married a noblewoman, fathered a future Tsar and was locked up for decades by that Tsar's replacement) von Munchhausen went too. Despite his employer's unpleasant end von Munchhausen served for several years in the Russian army rising to the rank of Rittmeister. At the age of forty he retired from Russian service and returned to Germany to live on his estates as a country gentleman.
He became famous at dinner parties where he entertained the guests with detailed and witty accounts of his service in Russia which were so amusing that there was frequently a waiting list of people wanting to visit him. His stories were deliberately unbelievable while being told with a deadpan expression and close attention to military detail. The stories were essentially "party pieces" to entertain guests and there is no indication that von Munchhausen expected them to be taken seriously.
At some point in his career von Munchhausen crossed the path of a combined author/scientific researcher/conman by the name of Rudolf Raspe. Raspe heard some of the stories and combined them with other tall tales and published the lot as the Adventures of Baron Munchausen (although he hid his own name to avoid being sued). This was a wise move as von Munchhausen was horrified to discover that his name was now associated with outrageous, dishonest self promotion and attempted to sue the publisher without success. He retreated into silence and stopped holding dinner parties and telling stories.
It was rather a sad conclusion actually and in retrospect this blog seems to be more inspired by Raspe than von Munchhausen but I don't know when his birthday was.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
Silly After Action Report - Part 4 How the Hell Did That Happen
Ivan and I hooked up for the final part of what is rapidly becoming a minor early war epic. We left our previous night's gaming with me starting to feel cautiously optimistic about my chances. Ivan was finally poised to capture the buildings he needed in the north but it had taken him a while and I appeared to be holding solidly in the centre. Then I went through a turn and a half of hell.
Ivan had obviously decided the time had come for desperate measures and he had come up with a new tactic. This tactic consisted of simply rushing towards me on the assumption that I couldn't possibly hurt him while doing so. He was correct. It is true that down in the south west I managed to destroy the tank Ivan had left guarding the road but it return Ivan managed to kill a tank of mine and then break a squad with his squad/lmg combo and any hopes I had of a flanking attack died. Up in the north he squeezed more men into the melee for the 40mm which I now lost all hope of winning (accurately) and brought forward the rest of his force to challenge me in the south.
With fear and trembling I approached the last turn. I had a couple of tricks up my sleeve although it would require luck of Ivanesque proportions. I would need to race infantry through -2 fire modifiers to reach their destinations. In the north literally the only unit I had left was the crew of the 75mm gun I had recently broken. I charged them towards the building until recently occupied by my 40mm gun. They were killed on the way. In the south I self rallied a squad and charged it forward to join my tank in the church, it was broken on the way.
OK then, screw it. My heavy machine gun team in the centre managed to break the forces he had in the street. I then pushed a squad out to occupy the only hex of the building not contested by Germans, regardless of what else happened the building would remain mine. In the east my rearguard team who had been so wretched at stopping the loss of the rear building pulled back and reinforced the CC raging in another victory building giving me 2-1 odds. This proved to be just enough.
At the end of the day I held two victory buildings outright and two more were in dispute. This means Ivan fell one short of his eight from eleven targets. After two and a half turns of impending defeat suddenly I had won. I must apologise to Ivan for my increasingly hysterical self pitying ranting. It's bad enough when you moan self pityingly about losing. Moaning self pityingly and then actually winning is even worse. I would promise Ivan that I'll improve but I think we both know I'd be lying.
Hauptmann von Kummerbund walked around the battered remnants of the assault force speaking words of encouragement to the dispirited soldiers now hunkered down around the swamp that housed von Kattelrussler's headquarters. Junior Officer sat with his head in his hands while a medic wrapped a bandage around a nasty leg wound.
"Well done lads," said von Kummerbund. "You did everything mortal men could do. There's no disgrace in this."
A tank lurched to a halt beside him narrowly avoiding Junior Officer who was sprayed with mud. The hatch opened and von Kattelrussler leapt out also narrowly avoiding Junior Officer who broke down and began to sob.
"Well that was a disgrace," said von Kattelrussler cheerfully. "Honestly when I say 'drive the tanks into the buildings' I expect my orders to be obeyed."
He took a step forward and promptly tripped over Junior Officer who let out a loud scream. "Dear god, who left that lying there? Not to worry. Onward and upward hey von Kummerbund? Scrape up whatever bits of tank you can find and prepare to renew the attack. There are plenty more small, unimportant villages to die for and we need to be ready." He waved a bandaged finger, "I'm just off to recommend myself for a wound decoration." Von Kattelrussler turned on his heel, tripped over Junior Officer again and strode off through the swamp.
A gefreiter (the same one from the previous scenario but it's not important) stared after the retreating figure of the oberst.
"He closed his finger in the breech block of the tank gun while leading the attack. Then he had them drive him back to the first aid post for attention."
"Is that why the PzIV was recalled?"
The gefreiter nodded. Von Kummerbund rolled his eyes. It was going to be a very long war.
Ivan had obviously decided the time had come for desperate measures and he had come up with a new tactic. This tactic consisted of simply rushing towards me on the assumption that I couldn't possibly hurt him while doing so. He was correct. It is true that down in the south west I managed to destroy the tank Ivan had left guarding the road but it return Ivan managed to kill a tank of mine and then break a squad with his squad/lmg combo and any hopes I had of a flanking attack died. Up in the north he squeezed more men into the melee for the 40mm which I now lost all hope of winning (accurately) and brought forward the rest of his force to challenge me in the south.
 |
| Things don't look too bad at the moment, this will change |
For my part I pulled some of my centre troops back to reinforce my rear threatened by his southern flankers (because the centre was holding so well). This proved to be an astute move although it didn't look like it when his flankers rolled up to the rearmost victory building and hopped out of their halftrack in a hail of defensive fire that did absolutely nothing. Meanwhile the remains of his tank force mobbed the centre buildings and his remaining infantry raced in that direction as well.
"Didn't you shoot at them?" you ask. "What with them all CXed, and non assault moving in the open."
Yes I did shoot at them. For two full fire phases I shot at them without gaining a single result which left the last couple of turns with tanks sleazing my building defenders and infiltrating to the rear and infantry running all over the place.
 |
| Looking worse, just wait |
To add insult to injury up in the north his few remaining troops responded to a critical hit from a 47mm gun by going berserk and charging madly for a tank. Naturally they ripped the tank to pieces with their bare hands, naturally I didn't hurt him in return. Then another squad jumped my little 47mm SP gun but somehow managed to only immobilise it and was then blown away by my 75mm gun. Encouraged by this success I followed up with a boxcarred intensive fire shot against an MMG unit.
Feeling the need for some extra firepower I rolled my pair of machine gun tanks forward to bolster my remaining defenders although such bolstering was minimised by my prompt breaking of one of said machine guns. In the southwest I rolled my surviving tank forward (after a convenient sniper broke his lmg team) and charged for the church. I had mistakenly thought the tank could control the building location and thus give me another victory location. Sadly no as Ivan pointed out with gentle malice. Still the presence of my tank there gave a little hope if I could get troops there.
 |
| And wait |
In the centre the gun truck which had held so proudly and for so long finally succumbed to vengeance crazed infantry pouring down from the north but it mattered not for his work was done. I had pretty much given up hopes of actually hurting Ivan's remaining troops and stared hollow eyed at the ruin of my defences. Ivan had jumped a half squad into CC with my squad in the building behind the hill and had taken advantage of my congenital inability to actually hurt anybody by racing troops into the centre of my position. He also moved squads into another building I occupied without punishment. Things looked bleak until finally Ivan pushed his luck too far. Unloading a halftrack full of troops in full view of my other gun truck I finally managed to score a result and break the bastards. I followed this up by pinning the troops he hoped to use to reinforce his half squad in melee. Somehow I had survived if only just although I was pretty sure I was doomed anyway.
 |
| Yep, definitely doomed. |
With fear and trembling I approached the last turn. I had a couple of tricks up my sleeve although it would require luck of Ivanesque proportions. I would need to race infantry through -2 fire modifiers to reach their destinations. In the north literally the only unit I had left was the crew of the 75mm gun I had recently broken. I charged them towards the building until recently occupied by my 40mm gun. They were killed on the way. In the south I self rallied a squad and charged it forward to join my tank in the church, it was broken on the way.
OK then, screw it. My heavy machine gun team in the centre managed to break the forces he had in the street. I then pushed a squad out to occupy the only hex of the building not contested by Germans, regardless of what else happened the building would remain mine. In the east my rearguard team who had been so wretched at stopping the loss of the rear building pulled back and reinforced the CC raging in another victory building giving me 2-1 odds. This proved to be just enough.
At the end of the day I held two victory buildings outright and two more were in dispute. This means Ivan fell one short of his eight from eleven targets. After two and a half turns of impending defeat suddenly I had won. I must apologise to Ivan for my increasingly hysterical self pitying ranting. It's bad enough when you moan self pityingly about losing. Moaning self pityingly and then actually winning is even worse. I would promise Ivan that I'll improve but I think we both know I'd be lying.
 |
| I've won, somehow |
Hauptmann von Kummerbund walked around the battered remnants of the assault force speaking words of encouragement to the dispirited soldiers now hunkered down around the swamp that housed von Kattelrussler's headquarters. Junior Officer sat with his head in his hands while a medic wrapped a bandage around a nasty leg wound.
"Well done lads," said von Kummerbund. "You did everything mortal men could do. There's no disgrace in this."
A tank lurched to a halt beside him narrowly avoiding Junior Officer who was sprayed with mud. The hatch opened and von Kattelrussler leapt out also narrowly avoiding Junior Officer who broke down and began to sob.
"Well that was a disgrace," said von Kattelrussler cheerfully. "Honestly when I say 'drive the tanks into the buildings' I expect my orders to be obeyed."
He took a step forward and promptly tripped over Junior Officer who let out a loud scream. "Dear god, who left that lying there? Not to worry. Onward and upward hey von Kummerbund? Scrape up whatever bits of tank you can find and prepare to renew the attack. There are plenty more small, unimportant villages to die for and we need to be ready." He waved a bandaged finger, "I'm just off to recommend myself for a wound decoration." Von Kattelrussler turned on his heel, tripped over Junior Officer again and strode off through the swamp.
A gefreiter (the same one from the previous scenario but it's not important) stared after the retreating figure of the oberst.
"He closed his finger in the breech block of the tank gun while leading the attack. Then he had them drive him back to the first aid post for attention."
"Is that why the PzIV was recalled?"
The gefreiter nodded. Von Kummerbund rolled his eyes. It was going to be a very long war.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)