Travelling Pathetically - Semi Virgin Bush Edition

 For those of you interested in a chronological sequence this occurred a few weeks before my operation and thus before my interest in walking became confined to the location of the nearest bathroom.

I had pretty much run out of random fragments of bush to wander through in my immediate vicinity.  So much so that I had perforce to move on to my intermediate vicinity.  I do this by essentially looking for green spaces on a map that don't have the phrase "golf course" associated with them.  In this case I wasn't entirely successful. 

Bexley North is perhaps not the best known suburb in Sydney and one of the things it is not best known for is expanses of wilderness.  It does, however, have Stott's Reserve a small patch of bush which appears to have simply been overlooked when they were lumping houses down on pretty much every other part of the suburb.  I would travel to Bexley North and make my way to Stott's Reserve.  Once there I would make my way through this tiny piece of bushland and then stroll over the hill and down into Bardwell Valley.  Bardwell Valley has Bardwell Creek running through it and it should come as no real surprise that having encountered a piece of terrain too low lying to build on it was decided to build a golf course there instead.  However the golf course ended pretty much where I intended to emerge from the reserve and a park of sorts took its place shadowing the creek upstream.  I would plunge through Stott's Reserve up and over the hill (a modest rise at best) and the take a hard right at the golf course and make my way upstream.

Do you want to know something about the bush?  It's actually quite difficult to walk through.  I don't mean taking a walking trail which is easy enough, I mean actually forcing your way through undergrowth that nobody has helpfully put a path through.  Stott's Reserve isn't large by any means, where I entered it didn't seem much wider than the blocks that the suburban houses on either side were built on.  To be fair it did go back a bit further.

The way in, so to speak

I walked up to the reserve not entirely sure that I wasn't trespassing on someone's overgrown garden and then stared at it in bafflement looking for a way in.  I was expecting a path and of paths there were none.  To be fair we had had some rain recently and it was possible that one of the little rivulets trickling through was in drier times a path.  In the absence of any other options I half forced and half squelched my way along one of these rivulets.  Along the way I managed to make so many spiders homeless that they probably have warning signs up about me.  I can't quite recall if the rivulet ran out but the path (if it was a path) certainly did.

Virgin bush, just out of shot is the neighbours fence

 Sweaty, muddy and festooned with cobwebs (and the occasional justifiably outraged spider) I crashed, slither and stumbled across to the other little rivulet and with a mounting sense of triumph followed that instead.  Said feeling of triumph evaporated moments later as any possibility of following that rivulet closed up as well.  Up until this point I had been thinking uplifting thoughts like "virgin bush" and "unspoiled nature" (apart of course for the pollution in the water and the idiot blundering around like a lunatic).  Now I was starting to think things like, "how am I going to get any further without a machete"?  And also, what if i die in this remote place, will my body ever be found.  Which was ridiculous when you consider I was probably never more than fifty metres from someone's garden fence the entire time.

There was of course time for the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus photo

Mindful of my duty to my readers I did my best to enjoy and photograph the wilderness I had so confidently blundered into and learnt a valuable truth.  It is much easier to enjoy the beauty of nature when nature isn't continually hitting you in the head every time you take a step forward.  By this time not only was I sweaty and sticky but I was festooned in so many cobwebs that I must have looked like I was partway through a mummification process.  I kept finding more every time I brushed myself off.  I was also getting increasingly concerned about my ability to actually make it through at all.

This is the rivulet that might have been a path

Just as I was about to give up in despair I gazed towards the heavens and found salvation.  No I didn't have a religious experience, I saw a bird box attached to a tree.  What this meant, so my cobweb addled reasoning went, was that there must be a path to allow access to the bird both.  Unfortunately it was over on the other side of the reserve.  I scrambled across managing to avoid slipping on rocks and treading on piles of leaves that didn't have anything underneath them until I arrived at the tree.  There was no path but there was a fence and just ahead an open area of mowed ground with picnic tables.

Shedding twigs and the occasional random spider I stumbled forward as though I had been lost for weeks and in about thirty seconds I was in a totally innocuous park which bordered the reserve.  I paused to brush the twigs (and as it so happened more cobwebs and spiders) out of my hair and set off to find Bardwell Creek the location of the second part of my journey.

Yep the wild frontier which extends about another ten metres

Through the back streets of Bexley North I went until I descended upon lush green beauty.  Yep, that was the golf course.  Right next to it was a rather scraggy piece of bush.  It did however have a path.  Actually the path was wide enough for a decent sized car to do a u-turn on.  By contrast with my earlier experience this was barely bushwalking at all.  Since the alternative was to walk through a golf course I chose it anyway and wandered alongside Bardwell Creek.  Bardwell Creek trickles through this valley and eventually meets Wolli Creek just before that Creek in turn meets the Cooks River.  Basically I live near a water course social event.

Somewhere below all that stuff is Bardwell Creek, you're not actually missing much

The creek it has to be said was a bit of a disappointment.  This isn't really the fault of the creek but rather the people who insist on tossing rubbish into it.  In amongst the detritus ducks gamely attempt to feed on whatever can actually live in the water.  Frankly it wouldn't surprise me if from time to time they drag the ducks under.  There was however a rather handsome looking butterfly.

The aforementioned butterfly

Still there were trees, bushes and the sound of water and I sauntered along quite happily enough until I ran out of park and almost out of creek.  The creek in somewhat diminished form continued for a while but someone had built an aquatic centre directly in my path which prevented me from following it any further.  On the way back I used Prime Ministers Walk which is a path through Bardwell Park adorned as the name implies with plaques of our nation's prime ministers.  John Howard appeared to be the most recent, I don't know if they haven't got around to the subsequent ones or if they just decided to end the list at the last prime minister we had who was completely sane.

Bardwell Creek looking uncharacteristically pleasant and inviting

This retracing of my steps meant that I wound up at the golf course again.  I could have left the way I came in but instead decided to walk through the golf course in the hopes of finding Bardwell Park a suburb from which I knew my way home.  As a plan it sort of worked.  The golf course was considerably longer than expected and I had actually overshot my target by the time I struggled out of it.  No matter I had google maps on my phone.  There followed about three quarters of an hour as I walked in the wrong direction, corrected myself, corrected myself again when it turned out I was right the first time, wound up back at the golf course, followed the creek until it became impossible to do so, stumbled out onto a street that I had walked past three times already and eventually made my way to Bardwell Park.  It turns out I have a nonsense of direction.  From Bardwell Park it was a simple albeit hilly walk home.

Silly After Action Report - Nameless Hill

 A small detachment of Marines moved cautiously through a grove of palm trees towards a suspiciously unoccupied looking village.  Above them a jungle covered hill loomed pregnant with malice.  Insects droned lazily in the moisture laden sky.  A heavy metallic clatter filled the air causing every Marine to wince and look desperately around for the enemy.

"In the name of Christ will you stop typing," snarled one Marine.

The war correspondent paused, fingers hovering over his combat typewriter.

"Sorry but I need to get all of this down."

"Ever heard of a pencil?"

The correspondent stared rapturously at the hill dominating the landscape.

"What's that hill called?"

"How should I know," replied the Marine, "I've literally been here as long as you have."

The metallic clatter started again.

"The Marines moved silently towards the Nameless Hill," said the correspondent.

"I didn't say it was nameless," protested the Marine, "and silently would work a lot better if you weren't typing all the damn time."

"I'm not typing," replied the correspondent. 

"Oh shit," replied the Marine and dove for the nearest piece of cover.

With my usual opponent still in self imposed exile in a foreign land Richard Weilly kindly stepped up to ensure my run of defeats would continue without interruption.  At his suggestion we played Scenario AP168 - Nameless Hill from a recent action pack.  Here US Marines are trying to capture an apparently nameless hill and the collection of hits that shelter at its foot.  Complicating the situation is the fact that the lead platoon has walked slap into the Japanese positions and is now more concerned with surviving than capturing anything.

I shall command the Marines attempting to simultaneously capture the huts and the hill and, if possible, extract their comrades from the mess they've walked into.  Despite being on the attack the Marines set up first and move second.  My at start force consists of a pair of 668 Marine squads, three half squads a 9-1 leader and a medium machine gun.  These all have to set up in a narrow area near the huts and overlooked by most of the Japanese force.  On the first turn come my reinforcements, eight more 668 squads, two half squads, a trio of leaders led by another 9-1.  Collectively they are carrying a pair of dismantled medium machine guns and a pair of dismantled 60mm mortars.

Richard's Japanese consist of twelve squads, five first line and seven second line plus three crews.  The crews are to man a pair of medium machine guns and a 75mm infantry gun.  Defences are present in the form of two pillboxes and two foxholes (which by SSR cannot be HIP).  Two officers, a pair of lmgs and a single 50mm mortar round out the Japanese OB.

I made my first mistake immediately when I did my initial set up.  I placed a squad with the mmg and leader up on a hill (not the nameless one) in the hopes that I would be able to suppress some of the Japanese firepower I correctly thought would be on the (nameless) hill across the way.  Below them the rest of my at start force huddled under palm trees.  In actual fact my machine gun team simply made themselves a target for most of the weapons in the Japanese arsenal and while this did take a little pressure off their comrades among the palm trees it didn't bode well for their life expectancy.

Below is the scene at the end of the Japanese first turn.  Richard has dispatched units to cover likely entry points for my reinforcements while simultaneously raining steel down on my hapless machine gunners and occupying all of the huts I need to capture.  Not a good start for yours truly.

End of Japanese turn 1

Now however my reinforcements would arrive.  Thanks to Richard's skillful positioning they had the option of entering directly under the noses of the defenders or probably too far away to be useful.  I chose a combination of both.  The bulk of my force would enter from the west pushing towards a hill mass known I think as the Hill Behind the Nameless Hill.  From here I hoped to drive down towards the victory locations on the anonymous hill itself.  Another force entered on the southwest to try and drive east through his defenders on the hill line.  Finally a token force of a squad or so would enter from the east and try and occupy the defenders attention.  It didn't occupy them for very long, the handless clowns blundered straight into an ambush and died.  From my at start force a squad and a half tiptoed through the palm trees to take up positions behind his eastern defenders (and very close to the victory area).  The rest of my at start force was doomed.  By the end of the turn my mmg stack was reduced to a single broken officer weeping in the trees.

 Things went better in the west.  My southwestern force entered without lost and made its way to the hill without exciting the attention of the defenders who were too busy carving up the remnants of my at start force.  Further north things went even better.  I had hoped to deploy a squad but apparently 8 morale with a -1 leader modifier wasn't good enough so my OB provided halfsquads would have to be the scouts despite carrying dismantled mortars on their back.  One halfsquad and leader charged straight at the squad Richard had in the vicinity.  Defensive fire broke the halfsquad but the leader went berserk and promptly took the halfsquad with him.  Newly enthused for battle they jumped into the Japanese squads hex and slaughtered him in close combat.  The way was clear and the rest of my force swept forward.

A bit of a disaster in the south but things look better in the north

Richard's second turn saw him reposition troops to ward against the threat from the north while simultaneously virtually annihilating what was left of my at start force.  To add insult to injury he pushed forward and captured my mmg as its sole remaining guardian a broken 9-1 fled howling into the jungle.  Speaking of howling into the jungle I dropped concealment on my troops near the victory location to take a shot at his border guards now returning but gained nothing but a pin result.  His mortar was plastering what I now referred to as my "victory stack" but so far without result.

Once again Richard has managed to insert a squad directly where I need to go

I spoke too soon with regard to the mortar. In my very next turn he managed to break a squad and the 9-1 leader (any leader with a morale of 9 or more is always utterly useless).  The rest of the force pushed forward through the jungle towards the victory locations.  Richard had sent a unit along the path to try and slow them down and it became a race for the victory locations.  In the southwest my troops, lathered in sweat, had reached the hill and were contemplating the unpleasant task of rooting out concealed Japanese troops.  Over in the east I had a brain snap and sent a squad and a half against a Japanese second line squad.  "Three to one odds" I thought,  "What could go wrong? I thought.  Richard was more than happy to inform me.  My at start 9-1 by the way would spend the rest of the game wandering around the jungle trying to pretend he was still relevant.

Hmm, could be better

I had also tried my halfsquad/leader charging at the enemy tactic again but it didn't work so well this time and Richard took them both out although an adjacent squad did managed to stripe his squad.  For the rest Richard pulled back, tightened his lines and presented me with a wall of concealed troops to plough through.  Oh yes and the squad and half squad I sent against his second line squad?  I finally managed to kill the squad and in return Richard killed a full squad of marines.  Not really a good return on investment.

Time is running short

Time was starting to run out as the game is only five turns long but my forward movement was now measured in single hexes as I tried to steamroller over his defence.  I apparently didn't know how to use the clutch on my steamroller as it lurched forward, stopped and lurched again.  Meanwhile Richard calmly withdrew what troops he could while leaving enough to prevent any swift movement on my part.

Progress is now being measured in single hexes

It was true that Richard's force was starting to look a little tattered but nowhere near as tattered as mine and while he reluctantly gave ground on the hill his grip on the victory hexes was as tight as ever.  For me I could find no alternative to simply pushing forward into his locations and hoping CC would be kind.  Sometimes it was, sometimes it really, really wasn't but what it certainly wasn't was rapid movement.  I conceded at the end of turn 4.  With one turn left to go and only one victory location captured it was obvious that barring a sudden outbreak of plague in the Japanese ranks I wasn't going to win.  Oh yes, and I had taken none of the huts which also needed to be captured for an American victory.

Congratulations to Richard on the victory, he handled his troops well and fought a good defensive battle.  I did a couple of stupid things (particularly the early set up of that mmg team) but basically I just didn't do enough smart things to win.  In fact I'm not sure I did any smart things at all.

The end, one victory location is all I would get

A group of Marines clustered round the figure of the war correspondent stretched out on the ground.

"Is there any hope?" asked one of them.  A second shook his head sadly.

"Five rounds straight through.  No chance of surviving that."

The war correspondent opened his eyes and looked around.

"Hey guys, what's happening?"

One of the Marines stepped forward, "We have bad news about your typewriter."

I've Been Violated by a Robot!

 About eighteen months ago I was diagnosed with prostate cancer.  At first both the specialist and my GP were very sanguine.

"Don't worry," I was told.  "It's a very lazy and unambitious cancer.  With any luck we'll never have to do anything about it."

Some nine months later my specialist looked at the results of my latest biopsy and said, "That thing's got to come out." 

Apparently in the course of nine months the cancer had a long hard look at what it was doing with its life and decided to be the sort of ambitious, hard working cancer that would make its mother proud.  Since its place of work was my prostate we simply decided to outsource the prostate to the nearest medical waste bin.  It did take a few months to get all of the arrangements in place.  My specialist did me proud, getting me onto a new trial programme for a super sexy robot that would perform the actual surgery (under the guidance of my specialist of course).

I must admit when I think of robots doing surgery I tend to think of the robot from Lost in Space with chainsaw blades attached to its arms.  It's probably a good thing I didn't see the actual robot.  I would either have been disappointed or terrified.  Some of my friends wondered whether I was comfortable with having a robot attacking me with sharp things.  Actually I preferred it.  Even the best human surgeon can have an unfortunate sneezing fit.  All I needed to worry about was whether the robot decided that this was the time to strike a blow against the fleshly overlords.  Fortunately my specialist was on hand with his finger on the self destruct button in case of this eventuality.

Before the operation my specialist had a less than reassuring conversation with me about the side effects of the surgery.  These are, in no particular order; loss of bladder control, erectile disfunction and penis shrinkage.  At this point it sounded less like medical side effects and more like an ancient Gypsy curse.  I was assured that in "most" cases the bladder control would return after anything between three months and two years.  It was when we got on to erectile disfunction that my specialists eyes really lit up.

Apparently the medical team were really keen that I get some sort of erectile function back.  Not out of any concern for my sex life but because there are apparent health benefits in doing so.  My specialist went through all of the things that could be done to help in this regard starting with "tactile manipulation" which I hope is a euphemism for masturbation, then viagra.  When he started talking about jabbing needles into my penis I called a halt.  In a manner I considered calm but firm I informed him I had absolutely no intention of sticking sharp things into my penis.  He told me to lower my voice and get down off his desk.

With all of the arrangements in place all I had to do was wait for the robot to have a gap in its apparently busy schedule.  That happened a couple of weeks ago and I presented myself at the hospital and placed myself in the metallic hands of my surgeon.  Shortly before I was due to be sedated a very human nurse turned up, informed me that he was a specialist prostate nurse and that he should have had the opportunity for a two hour conversation about what to do afterwards and the recovery process.  Instead he had to condense it into about forty five minutes.

In my ignorance I had thought that recovery would consist of lying on a couch for a couple of weeks until I was strong enough to return to work.  I wasn't entirely wrong but first there would be a week or so with a catheter, and then there are exercises to strengthen the pelvic floor and physiotherapy (ditto).  Once all of that was underway we could move on to doing something about erectile function (or the lack of same).  The end result of which was that my recovery period has actually been more tiring than I expected.

The robot apparently performed its role well, the prostate was removed, nerve endings were saved and the only proof of the robot's attentions is a series of scars across my abdomen.  Seriously I look like I've been in a knife fight.  At the suggestion of the physiotherapist I'm currently rubbing sorbolene cream into them.  He has promised to deal with a couple of stitches that haven't dissolved the next time I see him (I had mistaken them for scar tissue).

About the first few days at home with a catheter as a house guest I shall say nothing except I think I was happier when that was removed than the actual prostate.  For the first fortnight I was injecting myself with blood thinners and the unsightly bruises and marks across my thighs emphasised my desire to have nothing to do with needles near the penis.  The prostate nurse (who is just as keen on my erections as my specialist) assures me that's the last resort if nothing else works.  I really, really hope something else works.

Now I'm pretty much recovered from the surgery and can look forward.  I'm sitting here, slightly damp with a disfunctional penis.  However the cancer is gone and I haven't had to do any chemo or radiotherapy.  I'm actually working on the exercises in the hopes that my pelvic floor (or at least my bladder) gets a little more enthusiastic about its job.  I find myself a little disappointed about the erectile disfunction which actually surprised me.  It has been a long time since any woman has looked at me with anything remotely resembling interest (as it turned out she had indigestion but I was hopeful for a moment) and I honestly didn't think it would be that big a deal.  It turns out there is a difference between not doing something and not being able to do something.  Besides removing the prostate doesn't actually impact your sex drive all that much (after you've recovered from the surgery of course) it just impacts your ability to do anything about it.

Apart from the obvious the only lingering affects of the surgery are tiredness and a certain lack of ability to concentrate (probably connected).  Hopefully that will go away with more sleep.  In the meantime I am reluctantly shelving half formed plans to travel to West Africa and am investigating river cruises and train journeys more in keeping with my newly enfeebled status.

Silly After Action Report - Silesian Interlude

 Senior Lieutenant Mikhail Turnitoff saluted as the major arrived in a jeep that was definitely not made in the United States.  

"Bad news Turnitoff," the major announced.  "The damned Germans are going to be dropping tanks onto us by parachute."

Turnitoff blinked, "Could you repeat that Comrade Major?"

The major flourished an intelligence briefing.

"Our opponents are a parachute panzer division.  How on earth do they get them onto the planes?"

"I don't think the panzers necessarily parachute..." but the major wasn't listening.  Instead he was bustling from one defensive position to another.

"I want all of the antitank guns pointed at the sky and everyone keep alert for the sound of aircraft."

"Or the Germans laughing," muttered Turnitoff but the major didn't hear him.  He was too busy arguing with the commander of an IS2 tank whose gun barrel remained stubbornly horizontal.  Turnitoff turned and almost walked over the regimental commissar who was smiling the sort of smile that made you wish he would stop smiling.

"Are you going to obey the major's orders Comrade Lieutenant?" asked the commissar in such a friendly tone that ice trickled down Turnitoff's back.

"I, well, um that is I think it would be wise, or at least not unwise if we didn't entirely discount the possibility that the Germans might just drive their tanks at us."  The commissar pulled out a notebook.

"Deliberately disregarding a direct order," said the commissar making a note.

Defeated Turnitoff said, "What would you have written if I had obeyed the order."

"Conspiring with a class traitor to undermine the war effort," replied the commissar cheerfully.

"Is there any way I can get out of this?"

"Oh yes, if you die in action I guarantee a posthumous Hero of the Soviet Union decoration."

"And the major?"

"Oh he's definitely going to die in action."

In a pathetic and transparent attempt to avoid defeat at my hands my usual opponent Dave Wilson has fled overseas using a holiday as the flimsiest of excuses.  Before he did so we played one final game and when I flipped through a scenario list this is the one that came up.  Here I shall play the Soviets uncharacteristically on the defensive in March 1945 as they get attacked by a monument to a bloated drug addict's vanity.  To win the parachute panzertroops of the Hermann Goering must control all four buildings on board 38 and also exit 11VP off the board.  My doughty Soviet troops are tasked to stop them.

I have quite the impressive force to do the stopping it must be said.  Infantry consists of eight squads, six elite and two smg squads with a pair of not completely hopeless leaders, three light machine guns, a medium machine gun and an antitank rifle (it's 1945 for God's sake).  Also present is a 45mm antitank gun.  Six concealment counters and five foxholes add a small measure of protection.  Armoured support is provided by a T34/85 and an IS2 tank.  Lest this seem insufficient on turn 4 a pair of SU100 tank destroyers trundle on accompanied by a pair of smg squads as escort.

Dave, commanding the Hermann Goering has 12.5 squads of infantry, four elite and eight and a half first line equipped with four light and two medium machine guns oh yes, and a panzerschreck.  They are led by three officers including a none too shabby 9-1.  Dave's armoured support is mildly terrifying, three late model Panthers with a PzIVJ making up the numbers and no doubt feeling slightly inadequate.

Below is my set up.  The T34 goes up on the hill to guard the German entrance area.  The IS2 does the same from ground level at the bottom of the board.  The 45mm goes in a convenient clump of trees hopefully positioned for side or rear shots as Dave's panzers roar past in search of the exit.  You may notice a couple of odd things about my set up such as why are there so many troops on the hill and what is that large concealed unit doing behind the hill?  The answer is; "stupidity".  I didn't read the entrance requirements closely and didn't realise that the German entry area is quite restricted.  I had nightmare visions of being flanked by Panthers while infantry swept up the hill to overwhelm my hapless T-34.  Fortunately I wasn't a complete moron (opinion is divided on this point) and the large concealed unit is in fact a dummy.  Still it did mean I was a little skimpy on troops down in the village, you know the victory locations.  At least the mmg was there with my best leader.

Honest to god I need a keeper sometimes

Realising that he had to take his lumps early Dave rolled his panzers on in a compact wedge hoping the presence of nearby trees would protect them from my tank on the hill.  This worked for one turn while his infantry infiltrated through the trees.  A sizeable force of infantry also entered towards the south no doubt headed for my IS2.

The German first turn ended without too much harm done by anyone except for a German half squad in the south who got a little eager and was broken.  I did have a squad down with my IS2 to protect it from onrushing infantry and I congratulated myself on my good sense.  Aside from that my T34 naturally discovered it had no APCR but was drooling over the possibility of side shots on the menacing Panthers.

German turn 1, the Panthers are coming

In my first turn I took that good sense I was congratulating myself on and threw it out the window.  The squad/lmg combo I had protecting my IS2 was sitting in some trees and I decided it was time for it to move to the foxhole I had preprepared.  Of course this meant exposing it to a shot from the German troops looming up but with eight morale and a number of hindrances I thought the risk worth taking.  I was wrong, so very very wrong.  The squad broke and suddenly my IS2 was alone in the world with a pack of battle crazed fallschirmjager ready to fall on it in the next turn.  Perhaps sensing that its time was running out the IS2 punched a hole through the front of a Panther and set it ablaze.  First armoured blood to me.

There is a disturbing amount of infantry eyeing off my IS2 but one Panther will roar no more.

As previously stated the Germans just have to take their lumps early and push through the killing zone.  Push they did, my T34 nailed a second Panther but down in the south my gallant IS2 breathed its last as it was swarmed by German infantry.  I did my best to protect it at long range with my mmg team in the village and did manage to break a couple of units but the IS2 went down in a flurry of arms and legs and the whoosh of a panzerfaust.  I have no idea if panzerfausts go "whoosh" but it seems like an appropriate noise for them to make.

In the centre of the board Dave's infantry pushed towards the village, now able to be supported by a mass of infantry pushing up from the now tank deprived south.  For my part I started moving some of my ill placed infantry out of their foxholes on the hill and sent them a little nervously in the direction of the village.  Dave's surviving Panther swung around to engage my T34 presenting its near impenetrable frontal armour in doing so.

Two Panthers down but the writing is on the wall for my T34

Focus now shifted to the infantry battle as Dave pushed his troops forward.  Somehow my T34 survived the turn and it and the 45mm managed to break a couple of his squads in the centre.  In the south Dave's troops seized their first building from a heroic dummy stack which managed to fake out the attackers for two turns.  There are a large number of Germans in the south just waiting to be rallied by the 9-1 but for the moment I'm holding firm.

The Germans push forward

Another bad turn for the armour followed as Dave's remaining Panther finally took out my T34 which had been cheerfully carving up German infantry left, right and centre.  Revenge was gained by my 45mm which destroyed the Panzer IV which Dave had brought up to support his infantry.  With the Panther temporarily the lone queen of the battlefield Dave pressed forward with his infantry of which he seemed to have a disturbing amount despite his losses so far.

I've even taken some prisoners, bad times are coming though

With freshly rallied troops Dave launched his first assault on the village breaking my mmg team and pushing into another building.  The close combat was complicated by the German prisoners running in circles trying to avoid being killed by both sides.  The surviving Panther rolled forward more to menace than harm.  It was fearsome but next turn I would have a pair of my own beasts arriving to face off against it.

Turn four ended with my situation looking a lot better than it actually was.  I still held all three building hexes in the village and my SU100s had arrived to bolster the defence (actually to prevent an exit).  In truth there wasn't a single unbroken Soviet unit left in the village and with my usual armoured skill I had rolled one SU100 directly into the line of sight of Dave's remaining Panther.  It is sometimes difficult to distinguish my tactics from an explicit attempt at suicide.

One SU100 is not long for this world

Dave's fifth turn started with the Panther killing the SU100 and then mopping up the rest of the village.  He had the victory locations and now just needed to exit the 11VP required for the win.  My reinforcing smg squads did manage to pin or break some of his troops as they headed for the exit but still things looked gloomy.  Dave had a game winner in the Panther, roll that off and the relevant victory points were pretty much assured.

End of Soviet turn 5

Turn six rolled around and Dave made his move.  The Panther started up and headed for the exit.  Up on the hill my remaining SU100 waited for it.  There wasn't time for finesse Dave barrelled directly towards the board edge and as he did so my SU100 put a round into its side which reduced it to plasma.  That was the game winning shot.  Dave could, and did, exit enough infantry to garner the necessary exit victory points but in doing so left the village vulnerable to a counter attack.  I only had to recapture one building and capture it I did for a not entirely deserved victory at the last.

Endgame, a Soviet squad is poised to recapture a building in the advance phase and there is nought the Germans can do about it.

Many thanks to Dave for the game which went right down to the wire.  Despite set up mistakes and general idiocy I managed to pull out a victory at the last and, more importantly, send Dave off on holidays with his shoulders bowed with defeat.

"We did it," muttered Lieutenant Turnitoff staring around at the recaptured village in disbelief.

"Indeed we did comrade," replied the commissar suddenly appearing at Turnitoff's elbow.  Turnitoff did his best not to scream but wasn't entirely successful.  "A triumph of Bolshevik fighting spirit over the fascist dogs."

"Yeah, triumph," replied Turnitoff nervously.  "Ah, where's the major?"

"He died fighting like a hero."

"Really, I didn't see him in the action."

"He was killed by a sniper," replied the commissar.  "Took a bullet right through the back of the head, chance in a million."

"So," said Turnitoff hesitantly, "are we good?"

The commissar gave a smile best described as "carnivorous".

"I would really like you to think so."

Travelling Hopefully - Aimless Wandering Edition

 Melbourne beckoned me.  Well that's what I'm claiming.  It certainly didn't say go away, at least not in a language that I understood.  Any restraining order applications to the contrary are a pack of damned lies.  The CBD circuit of the city is served by a free historic tram which rattles around while a voice over points out all of the sights you could have seen if you had been looking a few minutes ago when the tram went past them.  I hopped on this tram and set out to discover Melbourne.

I got as far as Flinders Street Station where trains came and went cunningly concealed by the same sort of renovation works which have managed to make Sydney's major train station more of an obstacle course than a transport hub.  Still there I was in the heart of Melbourne; handsome sandstone buildings loomed up at every turn, trams frolicked in the Autumn sun and lane way after lane way was crammed with people eating things.  A sign directed me towards Federation Square, rather foolishly I followed it.

Federation Square is a modern open space surrounded by, well to be honest I'm not sure what it was surrounded by because most of it appeared to be closed.  "Square" is also an interesting term for a space that appears to have be designed by a spider with a cocaine addiction.  It was indeed open and some people were taking advantage of the openness to hang around.  There didn't seem to be much else to do.

Out of sheer perversity I wandered around Federation Square until I reached the river.  I assume I left the square at some point.  Having reached the river and seeing no point in returning I strolled along the bank with the water (I assume it was water) at my side my calm interrupted only by the fact that most of Melbourne seemed to be jogging in the opposite direction.  After a while I gave up, turned around and followed them at which point most of them disappeared.

Melbourne of course has galleries, museums, churches and handsome public buildings because these are the marks of a major city.  Without them Melbourne would just be South Albury.  I acknowledged them as necessary indicators of global citydom but didn't feel any particular obligation to pander to Melbourne's megalomaniacal delusions of relevance by visiting any of them.  Instead I went to Carlton Gardens.  

Carlton Gardens sits just outside the centre of the CBD and (according to Visit Melbourne website) are home to a variety of animals.  Presumably the variety of animals that has learnt to live on garbage and thrown away food.  Brush tail possums, ducks, tawny frogmouths and kookaburras are just some of the animals I didn't see as I wandered through.  I did see plane trees.  It is difficult to miss the plane trees because unlike the animals they don't move very fast.

The plane trees lined a path inhabited by people taking wedding photos amongst the plane trees while the weather got greyer and more ominous by the second.  I glanced uneasily at the sky (to be fair the look it gave me wasn't any happier) and hurried on.  After I had hurried for a moment I remembered that I wasn't really going anywhere so haste seemed irrelevant despite the weather.  I slowed to a stroll and to that I attribute the fact that I didn't walk into the Exhibition Building when it leapt out from behind a plane tree.

The Exhibition Building was built in the 1880s to house an Exhibition.  It is a perfect example of the sort of thing they were building in the 1880s.  It is white, it is large, it has a dome and a fountain out the front to let you know this is a very impressive building indeed.  They don't normally put a fountain out the front of a waste management facility.  Having encountered the building and been duly impressed by its fountainyness I left and never went back.

Melbourne has officially been done.

Travelling Hopefully - Random Cultural Experience Edition

 A full day in Melbourne extended before me.  I had no work, no games and no visiting.  Now at last I could get out and about and see a little of the city.  Or I could go to the Convention Centre in the Docklands and watch a light show.  I plumped for Option B.  Morgan's partner apparently under the mistaken impression that I have some passing interest in culture suggested that I pop along to a digital art gallery at the aforementioned convention centre and take in their van Gogh display.  

Having watched Doctor Who I have an intimate knowledge of van Gogh so I decided to take her up on her suggestion.  Besides the convention centre was within walking distance of my hotel.  The day was warm and the trams rattled invitingly as I strolled towards what appeared to be a broad mud flat but which on closer examination turned out to be the Yarra River.  Crossing the bridge I headed towards the convention centre strolling along a boardwalk specifically designed for people to stroll along while taking in the sights of the mud, sorry, water.

Getting to the convention centre was the easy bit.  Navigating around inside it was a little problematic as I walked along here, up there, along a bit more, back down again, back the way I came, took a further turn, walked outside, walked back inside and eventually came to my destination approximately thirty seconds before I decided the whole thing was a cruel hoax.

With my money paid I walked in and prepared to be van Goghed out of my ever loving mind.  The entrance way was modest, introducing us to van Gogh (apparently he was a painter)  and a 3-D reproduction of a painting of his lodgings so that one could take a selfie in van Gogh's bedroom if one was so inclined.  I decided I wasn't and moved on.  On took me to a space roughly the size of an aircraft hanger.  There were seats dotted about in case the journey through the space took it out of you.  Also dotted about the place were people currently being immersed in van Gogh.  And immersed we were.  Across the walls and the floor were digital renderings of van Gogh's paintings, a visual surround of his work as it were.  On selected billboards were brief captions identifying the paintings currently engulfing you along with quotes from van Gogh himself.

Walking was actually a little difficult as the swirling paintings made it more than a little difficult to determine which way was up on occasion but it definitely helped get inside van Gogh's head.  Particularly if you're susceptible to epilepsy.

In fact the display was marvellous, it was a brilliant if slightly disorienting presentation of van Gogh's art dancing around you as you made your way (perhaps a little unsteadily) around the space.  If you wanted a little time out from visual overload you could repair to the sunflower room and wander through (wait for it) a mass of sunflowers.  Eventually I made my way to the far corner of the space where a cafe had been set up selling Dutch and French cafe fare and from where you could sit, sip coffee and watch van Gogh happen around you.

I did indeed sit and watch van Gogh happen around me while I sipped coffee and ate Dutch seed cake.  After which I made my way somewhat unsteadily into the open air.  Thus glutted with culture I made my way back along the mud bank in the general direction of my hotel.

Travelling Hopefully - Eating in Laneways Edition

 The inhabitants of Melbourne believe their city is quite the food Mecca.  A conclusion I assume they have come to because they eat from time to time.  I have to admit that my experience of Melbourne's allegedly famous dining has been limited of late due to the fact that the hotel I habitually stay in is closer to strip clubs (and bizarrely, law firms) than it is to the multitude of food dispensing options the city boasts.  It was for this reason that my first taste of Melbourne dining (apart from an Italian restaurant that must be the pride of Reservoir) was hotel based.  

Arriving back at my hotel at 8.30 in the evening after a hard day being humiliated in front of my peers (or at least they would be my peers if I was a little better at the game) I decided to make use of my hotel's room service option.  I scanned a dizzying array of delicious sounding dishes made my order and settled down to wait.  After an hour and a half of waiting I set forth in search of my missing nourishment.  Hotel reception claimed they couldn't find my order, then they found my order and assured me it wouldn't be too much longer.  Thus reassured I went back to my room to wait.  Just as I was about to repeat my journey to reception the food finally arrived and I settled down for a meal at about the time I would normally consider going to bed.  For some reason I didn't sleep well that night.

Still the lesson had been learned and the next night I set out in search of a laneway.  Melbourne laneways are famous, nobody from Melbourne can shut up about them.  In these laneways various sellers of food make their headquarters and people flock to have a dining experience or at least to experience dining.  More by luck than good judgement I found such a laneway.  It turns out we have similar laneways in Sydney only we call them streets and drive cars down them.

Still having found the laneway (Hardware Lane for those who care) I presented myself in front of one of the many restaurants and demanded sustenance.  After a certain, understandable hesitation they directed me to a table and fed me without further ado.  Giddy with triumph at successfully navigating the native customs and more than a little delighted that I had sufficient time for digestion before retiring to bed I made my way back to the hotel with a song in my heart and pasta in my belly.

The next day I made my way to the more central parts of Melbourne where laneways fought each other for ground space and the sheer variety of Chinese and Italian restaurants had to be seen to be believed.  Sadly when dinner time came around I was back at my hotel and repaired once again to Hardware Lane.  There were plenty of options, some weren't open and the rest of them were packed.  Fortunately at the very edge of Hardware Lane a McDonalds was perched like a vulture waiting to pick off those who simply couldn't travel the extra few steps to gastronomic salvation.  I suppose I was always going to wind up here but it was with a sense of personal defeat that I slunk in their well lit doors and ordered a burger.  The next day I did manage some excellent Middle Eastern food (not from McDonalds) so that went some way to compensate.

Sadly since I was in a more "corporate" part of the town most of the cafes closed after office hours were over and my hotel's room service proved incapable or perhaps unwilling to provide coffee after 7.30 at night.  Fortunately there was a coffee machine in my room.  Unfortunately the coffee was crap.  I drank it anyway.