No laughing matter

 One of the more embarrassing elements of the recent (*) political debacle in the UK is that it turns out that Liz Truss has the same accountancy qualification as I do. To be honest, she is by no means the first example I have come across of a member of my institute who was useless, but it's annoying nonetheless. Perhaps a joke will help:

A young accountant, newly qualified, applies for a job he sees advertised. He is interviewed by the owner of a small business who has built it up from scratch.
"I need someone with an accounting qualification," says the man, "but mainly I'm looking for someone to do my worrying for me."
"How do you mean?" says the accountant.
"I have lots of things to worry about, but I want someone else to worry about money matters."
"OK," says the accountant. "How much are you offering?"
"You can start on seventy-five thousand," says the owner.
"Seventy-five thousand pounds! How can a business like this afford to pay so much?"
"That," says the man, "is your first worry."

* or perhaps ongoing

It's downhill from here

 "Optimus est, post malum principem, dies primus" - Tacitus

Muppets

 If you live in the UK then you will undoubtedly have seen this already. Still, I never like to pass up the opportunity of featuring Rowlf the Dog on the blog, or indeed of taking the piss out of the Tories.

It's a sign of the times that this video is less than 48 hours old and yet not all those featured are still in post.

Da Da Da Dun Diddle Un Diddle Un Diddle Uh Da Da

 Earlier this year an oblique reference to The Proclaimers led a fellow blogger to report having seen the Reid brothers in concert. I have now joined him in ticking off that feat, and whilst it wasn't my idea to go I can report that they were rather good. I remember hearing Tom Robinson say that he had made a career out of having written two good song, and the Reids have at least three in their quiver. 'Letter from America' (as featured in that previous blog post), their most famous song (lyrics quoted in the title to this blog post) and 'Sunshine on Leith' (which is my favourite I think).

The evening also provided yet another example of how despite being well into my seventh decade I can sometimes still find myself in situations for which life has not sufficiently prepared me (feel free to compare and contrast what follows with this previous example). My companion for the evening and I were in the Kash - compulsory for a cultural outing in Bradford city centre - when we bumped into a colleague of hers. He mentioned that he had been out for lunch to say goodbye to a friend who was leaving for Switzerland. "Lucky him," says I "I'm sure he'll prefer it over there to over here". 

The chap to whom we were speaking gave me a pained look and said "Well, he's been ill.."

"Even better," I replied "The air is so much cleaner and fresher in the mountains, he'll feel so much better in no time."

My companion was by now also giving me odd looks, but it was only when I heard the words "In fact, he's been so very ill that he feels that this is really the best option..." that it began to sink in that 'going to Switzerland' had, in this context, a specific, no need for a return ticket, sort of meaning.

Once again, not cool dude, not cool.

Keep them dogies movin'

 "Whatever happened to the siege you were playing using Lion Rampant?" asked absolutely no one. Well, it fell victim to the double edged sword that is having a dedicated wargames room, or in my case a dedicated wargames outhouse. The great thing about them is that you can leave stuff set up for as long as you like, whereas on the other hand if you are, like me, easily tempted away by other ways of spending your time then out of sight out of mind. Anyway, the other stuff having come to a natural and inevitable conclusion I have returned chastened to the world of toy soldiers vowing never again.

You may recall, although if you do then you're doing better than me, that the game languishing for the last couple of months was an attempt by the defenders to drive off the besiegers' cattle herd. In the photo above the raiders have been successfully guided out of the woods by their local associates, the hunting party is making its way towards them (top right) and those in the camp haven't stirred. The following notes are for my own future reference really:

• The three parties of attackers all got a chance to activate each turn whilst still in the wood regardless of any failures. As it happens there weren't any failures.
• The besiegers in the camp had to activate once to be, as it were, aroused before they could move. This proved to be an important factor.
• As in previous games I tweaked the base unit stats in the rules (and as a digression I played this game with version 2 of the rules, having acquired those since I last pushed plastic) to match what was on the table. Oddly enough the rules don't cover such basic troop types as an early-morning boar-hunting party. I was too lazy to write these tweaks down; this was a mistake and caused me no end of confusion.
• I had decided to have a couple of the units start the game split up e.g. half a unit of crossbowmen were on guard and half were asleep in the camp. The base rules give twelve combat dice until the unit is at half strength and six thereafter. To accommodate my half units I switched to two or four dice per stand left, depending on troop type, which seemed to work OK. It does mean that eventually a unit won't be able to inflict any hits and that this will happen sooner the more armoured the unit which they are facing. I figured that I could live with that. In retrospect though I clearly forgot to make a corresponding change to the courage test rules, so need to remember to do that next time.

It is now revealed which of the raiding parties are real, which was the blind and also the location of their insipid leader.

The crossbowmen guarding the herd have been driven back (if I'd changed the courage test properly they may well have been destroyed), but the raiders have to look to their flank as the hunting party emerges from the wood. There are no combat dice for the dogs; perhaps there should be. To win the game, the raiders have to be in contact with the pen at the end of the turn, without any enemy presence.

The hunting party charged home, honours were fairly even in the melee, but then they rolled very badly in the courage test and had to retreat. Those in the camp have belatedly started to move forwards.

In fact, they have moved so far forward they have reached the pen just in time. This is just as well because the hunting party has had trouble rallying themselves.

They eventually did so and with a total reversal of their dice rolling they completely wiped out one of the raiding parties, at the cost of once again failing their own courage test. The infantry bottom left are similarly broken and the melee just about to happen will see the same happen to the crossbowmen, whose retreat leaves the raiders having achieved their victory conditions. The defenders in this siege have now won every round.

Ian Beesley

 I was ill for part of last week. Just a heavy cold I think, although to be honest every time I have taken a self-administered Covid test over the last couple of years I have seriously wondered whether I was doing the bloody thing properly. I eased myself back into the land of the living by going to an exhibition of photographs and I shall be easing myself back into the land of blogging by writing about it.

Bradford-born Ian Beesley is currently the subject of a career retrospective exhibition at Salt's Mill. That career started at the same time as I was doing my first degree at Bradford University in the mid 1970s and there was much to bring back memories of the time. I was fortunate enough to be guided round the exhibition by the photographer himself and the background information he provided added greatly to the whole experience. As I'm taking things slowly I shall mention just one of his stories.

In 1997 to celebrate the centenary of becoming a city, Bradford council commissioned Beesley to take portraits of one hundred Bradfordians ranging in age from the newborn to the very old. He went to visit one chap of 104 in a nursing home and the manager said that she was pleased he was there as the individual in question had only had two other visitors all year and they were both foreign gentlemen and so didn't really count as far as she was concerned. After taking the photograph Beesley asked about the other visitors. "Well," came the reply "Bert always visits me when he's in the country". Upon questioning it came out that the old chap had been on the ground staff at Maine Road, and that the Bert in question was Bert Trautmann, the German POW who became Man City goalkeeper and played much of the 1956 FA Cup Final with a broken neck. Rather impressed, Beesely then asked about the other visitor. He, it turned out, had been from the French embassy. The old chap had served on the Western Front and his visitor had come to present him with the Légion d'honneur. I think that story - and the manager's part in it - neatly sums up what's wrong with the attitude of the British to the rest of the world. I'd like to be able to say that things have improved in the last twenty-five years, but we all know that the opposite is true.

Anyway, it's an excellent exhibition, and there's a rather fine Hockney piece currently on the display in the next room as well.