Who Are You?

 I've been writing this blog for almost thirteen years without bothering overmuch about whether anyone read it. I write it for myself, and only do so when I feel like it. Over the years I may have had a couple of specific readers in mind from time to time when I wrote particular posts, but one of them's husband found out and the other one died. Obviously, being my own target audience means that I am not particularly concerned with telling the truth and any stray passers-by who read posts would do well not to take what I write too literally. 

Why am I telling you this? Because suddenly I have readers, "Fousands of 'em". It would seem that 10% of all the views that the blog has ever had occurred in June 2025. Now, clearly these aren't proper sentient people. They aren't even wargamers. I'm assuming they're AI bots expanding their 'learning' to cover my ramblings. Don't you find it worrying that our new overlords will treat all this made-up tosh with a much seriousness as they do a serious thing on a serious subject written in a serious way by the Scottish philosopher Jock 'Serious' McSerious? I know I do.

PotCXVIIpouri

 The previously - and deservedly - obscure post which I mentioned earlier in the month is still getting a dozen or so visits a day. Does anyone know if Blogger allows one to put adverts on just one post? Only kidding; there will never be advertisements on this blog. 

No, adverts will join all the other things that are no longer featured here: interest, humour, secret messages to the big bouncy woman, etc. And, for some time now, that list has included videos in memory of the musical heroes of my youth who have left us. I had to give those up for actuarial reasons; barely a day goes past without sad news that yet another octogenarian has popped his or her last balloon. If I commemorated all of them then I wouldn't have room for the wargaming content for which this blog is so highly regarded. However, and you all saw this coming, I am going to make an exception for Tom Verlaine, for no better reason than that if 'Marquee Moon' isn't the best debut album of all time then I'd like someone to tell me what is. Let's lift a glass to happy days in Seaview:

If anyone is interested, the best debut single of all time is clearly 'Virginia Plain'.

He puts a spell on you baby

"Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Fillet of a fenny snake,

In the caldron boil and bake;

Eye of newt and toe of frog,

Wool of bat and tongue of dog,

Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting,

Lizard's leg and howlet's wing,

For a charm of powerful trouble,

Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.

Double, double toil and trouble;

Fire burn and caldron bubble.

Cool it with a baboon's blood,

Then the charm is firm and good."

I write this blog because I find it mildly therapeutic to do so. Creativity (no, seriously!) helps me with my mental health and if I find that I want to chunter about something then I have a ready made forum. It does get read by a few people, although I don't know how any new readers ever find it. I take some pride in the fact that a constant presence on the list of google search terms which send people here is "beardy Branson is a twat", but beyond that I have no idea. However, someone new has clearly found it because they have left a comment on a post from last year. Rather splendidly the comment - which can be found here - is a testimonial for a witch doctor. Dr Agbazara, for it is he, specialises in bringing back ex-lovers via his powerful spell casting. Now, nothing would give me greater joy than to be reunited with the big, bouncy woman, but I confess that I am a sceptic. In truth, I have no confidence in either the powers or indeed the bona fides of the good doctor, despite his having, at least according to the anonymous reviewer, succeeded in coaxing back Jenny Williams. But, you are entitled to make up your own minds and so I won't be deleting the comment containing his contact details; the international dialling code quoted therein is for Nigeria, should that help you in forming your judgement. If you do avail yourself of his services then please let us know how things transpire.

Here's Nina Simone:

Happy Days

Readers may have wondered why there has been no mention of chimneys in the blog recently. It turns out that events at the Casa Epictetus have been a fine example of Maslow's hierarchy of needs. A bit of damp on the spare bedroom wall has become irrelevant in the light of somewhat more damp abruptly appearing elsewhere. All things considered I was slightly surprised to find that my shower has only made one previous appearance in this blog. It has, however, leaked intermittently ever since I moved in. As a consequence part of my living room ceiling will have to be taken down; to be more precise, the part of my living room ceiling that didn't fall down over the weekend will have to come down as well.

Will it ever get used again?

"Don't ever take a shower with a woman, because you'll probably end up proposing to her." 

- Scott Baio

Sarah, Sarah, Sitting in a Shoe Shine Shop

I have been to see Ben Waters. He is an exponent of the boogie-woogie piano (he was the entertainment at Jools Holland's wedding if that puts him into context), and I confess I was feeling a certain trepidation at the thought of sitting through two hours' worth of eight to the bar and walking blues bass lines, accompanied no doubt by out of time handclapping from the audience. I was however, more than pleasantly surprised, because Waters mixed up the musical styles with plenty of rock & roll, plus some less expected covers such as the Kinks, the Beatles and ABBA. On top of which he was an amusing and entertaining raconteur. I was aware that he had connections with the Rolling Stones and he had several anecdotes about the various band members; although to be honest if you can't make something funny out of material like Jagger and Richards then you're in the wrong business.

He also told a number of stories about his mentor, the man who, himself steeped in the traditions, passed on the tricks of this particular piano style (and incidentally taught Waters very well because I had a good view of the keys and his hands were an absolute blur as he played). Given that this is a type of music that originated in New Orleans a century and more ago you can imagine the sort of mental image I had as he spoke. All of which proves that one should never jump to conclusions because the chap in question turned out to hail from Ilkley, and furthermore was sitting in the audience. Thus it was that a sprightly Yorkshire pensioner took to the stage, banged out a few numbers and regaled the audience with his own yarns about playing with Fats Domino, Dr John and the like; although sadly not Professor Longhair, perhaps that would have been too much to ask for. It's a funny old world.

One expectation that wasn't dashed - the audience clapped completely out of time all the way through.

We need some music at this point. Here's something from Fats Domino that speaks to me for some reason:

Gudbuy T'June

I know well

That the June rains...

Just fall

- Uejima Onitsura

There has been a fair bit going on in June, a month in which it was first very hot and then very wet, that I have forborne from posting about. For example I went to see the NT production of Salomé, which was visually impressive (notwithstanding the Guardian describing at as looking as if the Last Supper had been held in a branch of Yo Sushi!), but wasn't terribly entertaining. I hung out in pubs watching bands, saw my second production of 'Kiss Me Kate' of the year, went to both Sheffield and Barnsley, took part in the Otley walking festival and still found time for occasional trysts with the big bouncy woman. In honour of one of those items, here's another entry in the occasional series featuring bridges of the Yorkshire Dales; this one is the railway viaduct at Knaresborough as seen from the castle.

However, this is a wargaming blog so let's stick to that. There have been a couple of Italian Wars games using Pike & Shotte and about which James has written. I like the rules, although things do fall apart rather quickly once they start to go wrong. On the painting front I have achieved very little. I have completed another dozen WWI British riflemen, but other than that it has all been repair work. When I pack away a Napoleonic game I always do some labelling (on the underneath of the bases) and some rebasing and repairing. Some of the figures are fifteen years old or so and are showing their age. I find doing a few at a time after they have been used is more bearable than thinking about doing everything at once. And I have finally bitten the bullet and thrown away the gloss varnish that has been repeatedly causing problems; just a shame I didn't do it before I used it on the three units of Prussian Hussars. As for next month, I mentioned that I might set up a Great War game and therefore wargamer's logic has determined that I have assembled and primed some chariots.

Here I Go Again

I have been on what the big, bouncy woman - who, in a rare glimpse into her life, I am going to reveal works in education - refers to as 'unauthorised absence'. I have various things to report on, even including wargaming. However, before we get on to all that, it does occur to me that there hasn't been enough hair metal on the blog until now:

A woman waving her leg in your face while you're driving is exactly the sort of thing that might result in trying to drive off with the handbrake still on. Just saying.

Pot69pouri

Well, I don't have much time for the royal family normally, but I think HM has played a blinder this week; which is more than can be said for TM the hapless PM. The Daily Mirror has also hit some form;

I used to work in the Mirror Building, back when both Fleet Street and I were in better shape; remind me to tell you all my Robert Maxwell stories sometime.

In other news I have been to see Vieux Farka Touré, the 'Hendrix of the Sahara'. I couldn't see any similarity between them myself beyond the fact that he played guitar, and, as the big bouncy woman pointed out, that is probably the absolute minimum. If I had to make comparisons - which I don't but I will - I'd say that he was the 'Robert Cray of the Sahara'. Whatevs, as the younger Miss Epictetus would say if she ever spoke to me, he and his band were very good. I have no idea what he was singing about - they spoke to each other in French, addressed the audience in very broken English, and sang in what is presumably a language native to Mali - except perhaps for the song entitled 'Ali', which I assume was dedicated to his father, the late Ali Farka Touré. However, I enjoyed it as did the audience of mainly aging hippies dad dancing in the aisles throughout.

He was on at the Howard Assembly Rooms, which shares a common entrance with the Grand Theatre. Currently showing there is Mama Mia, which made for some interesting contrasts in the queue for bag checks. It also provides an excuse to include a photo of Agnetha; though who needs one?

There is also no reason to explain the appearance here of some asparagus. That's crème fraîche with dill and jalapeño peppers on the right.

Mi Revenis

I have returned. My absence has been due to a surfeit of stuff occurring in real life. I won't go into details, but at one point the big bouncy woman was rendered speechless for the first time since I've known her. There were also a couple of birthdays: the younger Miss Epictetus has turned twenty one and I have celebrated becoming twenty one and some months, 480 months to be precise.

Anyway, I have managed to do some other stuff including the first evening of a Crusades game at James' which I'm rather enjoying. My plan once again involved my forces moving swiftly across the table and once again they didn't. Still, the newly painted catapults are fun to play with. In other wargaming news I have done a fair bit of painting (fair bit for me that is) during the month:

German WWI 7.7cm + 5 crew	1
German WWI infantry	18
British WWI 18pdr + 5 crew	3
British WWI trench raiders	10
15th century longbowmen	12

What I haven't done is very much boardgaming so I think I'll wrap the review of games played in March into April's report; I know you'll be bitterly disappointed.

Ready, willing and able

I can assure readers that they are not the only ones who wish that there was more wargaming on here (I exclude the big, bouncy woman from that; I don't think she bothers to read those posts). However, recently the only hobby activity undertaken has been a bit of desultory painting and the scheduling of a smoke barrage for Sidi Rezegh: the Prequel. I think I've put it in the right place, but all I've got to work with is an upside down map and a photo in which my own forces are in focus, but the opposition are not. I appreciate that Rommel - I rolled high and am the Germans - also operated with less than perfect information, but then again he knew what he was doing.

"Vy eez zis map ubside down?"

So instead let me write about Albert Lee, whom I have been to see. The last time I saw him he was in Bill Wyman's backing band and the time before that he was with Hogan's Heroes. Now he is fronting his own small but excellent group, which unexpectedly includes Genghis Khan's more affable twin brother on honky tonk piano and occasional accordion. Lee of course has been influenced more by the country music end of the rock and roll spectrum (he had a decades long musical association with the Everly Brothers) rather than the blues end (although he also played with Clapton). The songs played reflected that, being associated with performers such as Carl Perkins, Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris. It's not news that he is a sensational guitarist, but what amazes me - admittedly as a non-musician myself - is that he does it all unaided. At a time when every wannabe playing in pub bands uses a variety of effects pedals, several guitars, capos, funny tunings etc., Lee makes it all happen on one instrument with only a plectrum and a tremolo arm; most impressive.

My evening was further enhanced by a member of the audience wearing brushed cotton loon pants such as used to be advertised in the back of the NME when I was an undergraduate. And some people call the seventies the decade that fashion forgot; how wrong were they?

Pot67pouri

So, another month draws to a close, and once again many things have gone unreported in this blog. I went to Lincoln, although on reflection that was pretty dull. The big bouncy woman and I were this close to going out walking before storm Doris intervened (and apropos of nothing, the the name of that weather system has been bringing back uncomfortable memories of someone I used to go out with some decades ago). I also saw a performance of Return to the Forbidden Planet that I can best describe as troubling. The group involved seem to consist of middle aged men and much younger women. Normally this is a membership policy that would be right up Epictetus' street, but in this case it verged into the uncomfortable, not to say creepy. Miranda (the piece is very loosely based on The Tempest via the 1950s film) was played by a young girl not much older than the fifteen that Shakespeare ordained, and her love interest must have been at least twice her age; very wrong. The band were good though.

Wargaming has been covered mostly as we have gone along, but there was a small amount of painting: eight stands of longbowmen, four Celt casualty markers and half a dozen or so Great War Tommies. A number of 1914-18 field guns have arrived in the post so I hope to be more productive in March. I also returned some figures to Mark that he had originally passed on to me many years ago and with which I had done absolutely nothing in the meantime. It did mean however that he finally came to take a look at the wargaming annexe; I hope to fix up a game with him sometime soon.

A monkey with a beard

I am still ploughing through Trial by Battle, the first volume of Jonathan Sumption's massive history of the Hundred Years War. I am enjoying it, despite the long and somewhat dry lists of things like place names, people and so on. One such list that caught my eye this week is on page 404 and details the things that Edward III enjoyed himself by hunting in the forests of Brittany in November 1342: "deer, foxes, bears, monkeys and other beasts plentiful beyond measure". Now Sumption is clearly a very clever man and ordinarily I would not dare to cast aspersions regarding his scholarship, but monkeys? Monkeys? In the forests of northern France? Come on, your Lordship, get a grip.

Pot66pouri

I've just had a rather disconcerting, but not terribly timely, email from Sainsbury's warning me about the possible presence of salmonella in something which I bought four days ago and ate the following day. I think it's fair to say that I would rather forgo all the bonus nectar points in the world in return for untainted food. However, if this is indeed to be the end of Epictetus then I had better bring things up to date; your grief will only be heightened for not knowing that not only have I been to see the very excellent Dr Bob and the Bluesmakers once again, but that I also won £25 on the Premium Bonds. That should take the edge off a painful death by food poisoning.

Speaking of poisoning, I also saw the latest live broadcast from the National Theatre: Peter Shaffer's Amadeus, a play that takes a Shakespearean approach to the relative importance of historical verisimilitude on the one hand and the dramatic narrative on the other. I've always liked the ironic way in which Shaffer underlined the lesser esteem afforded by posterity to Salieri - and what a performance by Luciani Msamati - compared to Mozart by naming a play in which the former is the main character after the latter. This production  was moving and engaging in a way that the other plays I saw last week most certainly weren't.

I've also been to the seaside, St Annes-on-Sea in fact, improvidently choosing one of the coldest days of the winter for the purpose. I had fish and chips for lunch in the pier café - full name: Cafe on the Pier - at a table overlooking the beach; a cliché I know, but, as I pointed out to the Tofu Lady, one sometimes one just has to let oneself be swept along by the moment. Nearby was this statue, which I photographed with the camera kept in my manbag for just such an opportunity.

There is no point in having a competition because a quick web-search would identify it for you, but I wonder if many people will immediately recognise who it's supposed to be. The first words that I ever heard my ex-wife say - on our first day at business school - were to explain that although she shared this chap's name she definitely wasn't him (a); and yet I still married her. And on the subject of wives, on our visit to Vapnartak James came up with the hypothesis that the second wives of wargamers are far more sympathetic to their husbands' hobby than first wives. Much of the evidence seems to point in precisely the opposite direction, but I have no current intention of putting it to the test.

As the subject of wargaming has been raised I should report that we had another crack at Blitzkrieg Commander II. We had a better grasp of the rules this time and Peter at least seemed to have worked out how to use them to properly coordinate his attacks. They are certainly quicker than Piquet for handling large numbers of units. I'm not an expert on second world war gaming, but then nor am I that big a fan. The problem seems to be that, in the minds of the rule designers at least, the Germans had by far the best equipment; the implication presumably being that tactical superiority was undermined by strategic over-stretch. That may well be true, but it doesn't always make for a particularly satisfying game on the table.

Anyway, that's as may be; I more pressing matters on my mind, namely imminent diarrhoea, fever and abdominal cramps followed by death. Vale!


(a) This was shortly followed by another student asking if despite his surname being Ogden we would refrain from calling him Hilda. Naturally he has been known as nothing else for the last twenty five years.

Who's Gonna Build Your Wall?

I have been to Hebden Bridge Trades Club to see the mighty Tom Russell. The last time I visited the town was way back before the floods, when the big bouncy woman and I took a stroll up to Hardcastle Crags one very pleasant October morning in 2015, coincidentally just a couple of weeks after I previously saw Russell in concert. I had never been to the venue before, and found it to be - and I choose my words carefully - atmospheric. It suffered very badly from water damage, being close to both canal and river, but may or may not have been extensively renovated; it was hard to tell. It also made me wonder whether the governments austerity programme has led to a reduction in inspections by the fire brigade. As for the clientele, they were somewhat of a mixed bunch. For the record I am not referring to Peter who, as a big fan of this type of music and Russell in particular, was there; making a rare interface of wargaming and my other hobbies such as music and...well  my other hobbies.  My companion for the evening was a bit disconcerted by the person - neither of us could work out whether it was a man or a woman - sitting next to her. When said person got up to have a wander during the interval he/she left behind on the chair, and in plain view, some money, a phone battery and a condom. I'm not sure what enjoyment one could hope to have without taking those three essentials with you, but perhaps that's just me. In any event the audience was obviously very knowledgeable about the man's music, indeed they appeared to sometimes be shouting out for songs that were so obscure that even he had never heard of them.

But, despite all that, the gig was great. Russell's between song talking is almost as important as his singing. He told various anecdotes about, for example, Johnny Cash and managed to be entertainingly rude about both Torquay and Tromso, showing the sort of cosmopolitan outlook so often lacking in these dark times. There has been a silver lining for him at least, as he was able to report an sizeable uptick in royalties from his song "Who's Gonna Build Your Wall", written a decade ago, but enjoying a new relevance. It was an almost universally excellent concert. One must perhaps overlook the song about Dylan Thomas that was quite clearly "Streets of London" with different words, and most of those either direct quotes from "Do Go Gentle Into That Good Night" or just the names of pubs in Swansea; even one's heroes occasionally fail to meet our expectations. Once again featuring the marvellous Max di Bernardi on guitar, the set list overlapped that of the last time I saw him - he could surely never get away without singing Tonight We Ride and one or two others - but with an extensive back catalogue and a willingness to cover people's songs - a rather fine Johnny Cash medley this time, Warren Zevon's Carmelita last time - there is plenty of variety. He is apparently returning in November and I hope to see him again then.

2016

At the beginning of the year I thought I'd be clever and keep track of things that happened in a draft blog posting, thus making the inevitable - assuming that the Lord spared me - year end review much easier. Obviously it was too clever for me, because at least twice I accidentally published the draft post before hurriedly taking it back down again. Anyway, for those of you who haven't seen it as we've gone along, here are the highlights of the year:

Opera:  I've seen fifteen operas this year, which is possibly some kind of record for me. I'm going to nominate the one that wasn't really an opera as my favourite, namely 'Into the Woods'; it's my list and I shall do what I want. If one wants to be difficult and exclude it then I would go for 'Aida' in the amphitheatre at Verona; quite spectacular. The least effective moment for me was the title character's backside being flaunted in 'Suor Angelica; quite ridiculous.

Theatre: I've seen twenty seven plays, the best being the revival of 'An Inspector Calls', followed by the charming 'Simply Ballroom' and the RSC's 'A Midsummer Nights Dream'. Worst by some way was the execrable science fiction dramatisation of 'Villette'

Film of the year: I've seen ten of these, which is certainly a step up in number on previous years and, apart from the very average 'A Streetcat Named Bob' they were all excellent. I'm going to plump for Tarantino's 'The Hateful Eight' as the best with honourable mentions for Alan Bennett's 'The Lady in the Van' and Jane Austen's 'Love & Friendship'.

Gig of the Year : I've lost count of the gigs that I've been to, and can only say with any certainty that it's more than thirty five. Van Morrison was the best with a shout out for the Jon Palmer Acoustic Band supported by Yan Tan Tether (the night they recorded their live album not the night they sang all the Christmas songs) and also the Jar Family. On a less happy note, for the second year in succession I had a ticket to see Graham Parker and didn't make it.

Book of the Year: The least surprising category of the lot. If you hadn't worked out that it was going to be Heretic Dawn, the third volume of Robert Merle's Fortunes of France series, then you haven't been paying attention.

Walk of the Year: As the big bouncy woman and I didn't get to walk anywhere this year - and how sad is that? - I'm going for a visit to Buckden, Cray and Hubberholme that the elder Miss Epictetus and I made shortly before the onset of adult life proper took her away from me. A Ramblers walk to Crummockdale also sticks in the memory.

Event of the Year: There were many candidates, quite a few revolving around ambulance trips to A&E; the first CT scan that I had was a very odd experience as well. The great base fire deserves a mention as does the time that the kettle exploded; nothing much resulted on either occasion, but they were very disconcerting. The training day before May half term was a real highlight, not least because the rest of the year was crammed with things getting in the way. However, I'm going to choose my 60th birthday when my daughters took me to Whitby for the day, and didn't we have a lovely time.

Because I Love You

Every December in the UK one is obliged by law to listen to the music of Slade for a minimum period each day. To enable readers to hit their quota, here is Noddy Holder performing an acoustic version of 'Coz I Luv You':

The original of this was released before the big bouncy woman was even born.

Rock Steady

The big bouncy woman has been enthusing about Aretha Franklin's 'Rock Steady' (for those who follow that link, my personal dancing style is rather similar to the chap wearing the Rupert Bear trousers - and check out the presenter's tie). I find that oddly enough my own music collection doesn't include the original, but does contain eight cover versions. Here are three of them, with two instrumental takes (Johnny "Hammond" Smith and the La-Mars) sandwiching a reggae workout by the Marvels. Enjoy:

Back to wargaming tomorrow. Perhaps.

The river and the sea are one

"Let us know the happiness time brings, not count the years." - Ausonius

A joke has been doing the rounds since last week's calamitous events in the US: extra-terrestrials land on Earth and demand to be taken to our leader, but humanity declines their request on the basis that we're too embarrassed. It is interesting therefore that the film 'Arrival' deals not just with aliens visiting, but with the problems that arise from the fact that we have no common leader. When I told the big bouncy woman that I was going to see it she asked why, given my well known antipathy to science fiction. The only reason I could give was one not terribly likely to elicit much sympathy; my cleaners were coming, it was snowing heavily outside and it was what was showing.

However, I must say that I enjoyed it. I make an exception to my dislike of science fiction where ideas about the nature of time are discussed, and that's where this film ends up going. Indeed that's where it starts as well, although - in a meta twist - our own view of time prevents us from realising what we are seeing. One has to persevere though, because the whole first hour or so is a lowest common denominator meld of Jurassic Park and Close Encounters with a dash of Indiana Jones thrown in for good measure. I have seen the director quoted as to his many and varied sources of inspiration in the animal kingdom for the design of the aliens; anyone who has seen the Simpsons may think they know better. And of course on top of that not only is the global phenomenon only viewed through the eyes of Americans, but it follows the classic Hollywood trope of disciplined and ordered process failing, but the situation being rescued by the maverick who breaks the rules. In other words, much of it is bollocks.

And yet; and yet. There is more than enough substance in the question posed by the sub-plot to engage the audience; indeed the main story is in many ways just a framework to enable the central character to ask: "If you could see your whole life laid out in front of you, would you change things?". Knowledge of not just our own mortality, but also that of those whom we bring into the world, is central to the human condition. All of us who give life, also give death.

Implausible navette

Not much happening at the Casa Epictetus, which is mainly my own fault, coupled of course with all the rain and cold going on outside that has caused me to dig out the scarf that the big bouncy woman kindly knitted for me. Still, one expects things to improve. As a man with an accent that was apparently supposed to resemble mine once said:

"Winds in the east, mist coming in. 

Like somethin' is brewin' and bout to begin."

James has now posted a review of his game at Fiasco! (and is it me or is one of the reader comments somewhat unrelated to reality?). I note that he doesn't mention how one sided the game was. The useful things that I picked up at the show were obviously the extra Hexon terrain plus the revelation that my washing machine has a 14 minute cycle; who knew? What I forgot to buy were some bases to mount heavy weapons - despite actually going to the Warbases stand to take a look - but the mail order that followed swiftly when I got home has now arrived .This has in turn led to some painting, and indeed modelling. I have made some barbed wire, with which I am rather pleased and which will no doubt feature in photographs soon. I have also painted up a Vickers HMG with which I am rather less pleased. There are two things wrong with it, above and beyond my painting abilities. The first I will leave to see if anyone spots; I think I must have spaced out on the glue fumes whilst putting it together. The second is far harder to notice, but for some reason annoys me a lot more. The chap firing has only got one arm. He definitely had two when I started out, but he's only got one now.

I have read through the Pike & Shotte rules several times, although I'm not sure how much I am going to retain. They really are poorly laid out. Fortunately I only had to read about half the book  because the rest is padding - army lists and general uninformative waffle about various historical periods. Given how many large photographs there are I would guess that you could get all the rules on less than a dozen sides of A4 if one really tried.

Handing on the baton

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end." - Seneca

Time for a quick wargaming round-up. Firstly, and rather unexpectedly, someone has asked me for the rules of my Romans in Britain rip off of Pony Wars. I have to admit that I never updated them after our last game although copious notes were made at the time. This was partly due to the arrival of the Hexon terrain which made me think that all the movement rules etc needed switching to hex based, partly because having played Lion Rampant I thought I might steal the melee rules from those, and partly because I am bone idle. Anyway I have sent them off as they stand and I hope they are useful. We enjoyed the couple of games that we had despite them being typical of any rules that I write by being rather over complex. Notwithstanding having bought some more slopes at Derby I would need quite a few more before having another go.

Speaking of Hexon terrain, I have ordered some more, but bits of trench rather than hills. I have cleared the annexe and set up the Through the Mud and the Blood scenario I'm planning to run in due course in order to see what elements I was short of. I had thought about making some, but the energy levels haven't returned after my illness so I bought them instead. I had to revolve the alignment of the terrain by 90 degrees from the standard C&C layout in order to get it to work. My order including the missing rifle grenadier has arrived and painting is underway. (As an aside, this morning the big bouncy woman managed in essentially the same breath to ask to see what I was painting, assert that I wouldn't show it to her in case she called it crap, and then deny - erroneously - that she ever said such a thing about the chariots in the first place; still, it was good to see her again) The other order, the one with the casualty figures for the shock markers, is delayed due to a broken arm.

The latest order - the Hexon one; please keep up - is to be picked up at Fiasco on Sunday where I am helping James run a Seven Years War game. It won't be Lobositz because we are using my car and it isn't that big. It also isn't that reliable so I hope we make it. Assuming we do then please feel free to come and say hello to James and, if you must, me.

Vesti la giubba

And so to the theatre. I have been to a production of Anthony Shaffer's two hander 'Sleuth'. I have never seen either of the films adapted from the play and so came to it cold; which is pretty much how I left it as well. It was well acted, had a very elaborate and kinetic stage set, but was - it seemed to me - clever for the sake of it. Given that one of its main themes was the playing of games as an alternative to really living life I should perhaps have been somewhat more engaged by it, especially as a secondary element was the ridicule of golden age detective fiction; a genre for which observers of the 'currently reading' section of the blog will know that I have a taste. But, sadly, I came away thinking "So what?"; my second disappointing theatrical experience in a couple of days.

It did refer to the zeitgeist in one unexpected way for a play written in 1970: the audience can have been left in no doubt that the current craze for dressing up as clowns can only end badly for those involved. The scene in which Tindle puts on the costume prompts both he and Wyke to sing Canio's aria from Pagliacci, which - and you know I love me some verismo - referenced neatly back to last week's performance of Il tabarro. It is perhaps no coincidence that in the play as well as in both operas the man sleeping with the married woman doesn't escape unpunished.

Changing the subject away from adultery, it is perhaps worth noting that Shaffer also wrote the screenplay to 'The Wicker Man', the favourite film of the big, bouncy woman; a film furthermore that starred Christopher Lee - featured in this very blog just the other day despite not being a wargamer - and Edward Woodward - who played the most famous wargaming assassin in British television history.

I hope you all noted the clown.