slow news day

I spotted this on the way to the Nerd Tower the other week.

That's right, the bonnet of this unassuming 1997 Rover 414 is held shut with a cunning latch and padlock arrangement. I'm pretty sure that I know what lurks under the bonnet of a 1997 Rover 414, and I am of the opinion that it does not warrant such security measures.

Meanwhile, in the land of toy soldiers; Bile Thralls!

Zombified meatsacks dispensing gastric horror from cannons plugged directly into their digestive tract. Every so often, one of them will explode. What more could you want?

false metal = destroyed

And so on Sunday, our Luncheon Club destroyed False Metal; helped in no small part by my knowing the title of Enrique Inglesias' new single.

I'm not proud.

In other minor achievements, I also seem to have passed all of my exams. Nice.

gigs and zoos and mice and deadly deadly robots

All of these things.

Went to the second worst live music venue in Bristol to see The Black Keys with the Pixie last week. Only one support band, The Features; who sounded like The Kings of Leon might if they had pursued a different kind of MOR mediocrity. Nothing against the Kings, it's just that I prefer the older stuff.

Which is also true of The Black Keys, though because I'm not exactly a lifelong fan I feel like even more of a prick for saying it. Fortunately they didn't rely too much on newer material, and topped and tailed their set with hefty chunks of thick freaky scuzzy foot-stomping drum 'n' blues rock goodness. Splendid.

The next day we went to Bristol Zoo, since I've lived here for eight years without ever seeing it and it kind of seemed like the right time to finally do it. The first animal we saw was a wild rat attempting to drag an empty Ben & Jerry's tub into the undergrowth by the lion cage. After that we saw locusts fornicating, a bunch of lizards, and monkeys doing wicked monkey stuff.

We also purchased two shiny new mice. They are small, and scared of everything. The shortlist of potential names included Scorponok, Behemoth, Miss Alissa and Jenny Truant; but I eventually settled on Tetsuo...

...and Kaneda.

Because they are fun names to shriek at tiny mice.

Meanwhile, in the world of toy soldiers...

Things have ground to a halt somewhat on the orky front, whilst I agonise over which shade of green to use for their flesh. I have not been idle, however; I have been painting toys for a different game entirely...

This is a Slayer Helljack for Warmachine. Warmachine is a game set in a universe where technology and magic and heroes and blah blah blah.

The important thing is, my army will be filled with deadly robots and exploding steam powered zombies.

BLAMMO.

ham ham ham

A few days after the last feverish bout of slag-poking, I tried to start the thing up again only to discover that the ignition system didn't want to play. A brief discussion with the rest of the gang drew us to the conclusion that the after-market alarm and immobiliser was probably to blame. Reasoning that the track slag was (for a variety of reasons) a far less appealing prospect for potential car thieves since we had taken over ownership, we agreed that the alarm was infinitely more trouble than it was worth and it had to go.

Trouble is, of all the things on the car that we know nothing about, the electrical system is the thing that we know the most nothing about. Or the least. In any case, removing the glove box to find this...

...didn't exactly fill us with enthusiasm.

Still, we'd made our minds up by this point. To take on this Herculean task we had me (not a great start), two different sets of wiring diagrams (which seldom agreed with each other, and frequently didn't seem to have anything to do with the car at all) and a RoboJew, who turned up with a toolkit full of all sorts of exciting electrical jiggery-pokery. For a while we attempted to make sense of what was what and formulate some kind of plan; but eventually we got bored and just started to make educated guesses as to which wires should be cut and reconnected.

Distinguished careers in the field of bomb disposal await neither of us.

Matt turned up just as we were tidying up the last bit of wiring, the hideous tangle of alarm-death-misery having been removed and unceremoniously dumped on the ground next to the car.

Seemingly satisfied with our efforts, he declared the whole shenanigan to be a rousing success before graciously taking all the credit when the slag fired up first time. What a great guy.

Since then, the battery has drained itself all over again. *sigh*

Meanwhile, Mahmond the Iranian has seemingly disappeared; which has given me more time for toy soldiers. Behold!

This ye olde dreadmob may look to some like a ramshackle bunch of metallic eggs on legs with silly claws; and in fairness, that's because that is exactly what they are. But they'll sure settle Smithy's hash...

Mata Hari: August 2007 - July 2010

I probably shouldn't have fed you so many chocolate coins last Christmas.