Canons and knives and why a French invasion is imminent

Now that we are back to normal programming it's time to see what all the fuss is about. Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson ( 1758-1805) is deemed to be some 12 (twelve, repeat, twelve) times more famous than the writer of this very Blog. Unthinkable.  Clearly something is going on.

So off I trotted to Portsmouth, care of a reasonably fast train (that was thankfully devoid of orks this time) to see Nelson's trailer sailer.

Behold

Sorry. Try this one 

Not Grand enough? Well how about this 1:1 scale model (actually its the real thing)  instead?


That's better. Huge huh?

Now the stats for all you rain men and women to absorb.  Quickly now:
HMS Victory is

• 69 metres long, (225 Foot),
•  has 5 decks, 
• 100 guns, 
• about 500 crew and;
•  is very very slow.

It was also the scene of a very very best of British moment in history that you probably know about. Something about treacherous Frenchies (aren't they always?) and sinister Spaniards, armadas, favourable winds,  tides, canons, snipers, fatal shots, "England expecting every man will do one's duty", disarray, retreats and victory celebrations and consensual buggery, yes lashings of consensual buggery. Well maybe I exaggerate.

Today and courtesy of numerous National Lottery grants HMS Victory is restored "to its former glory". While the attention to detail on show would quickly overwhelm any OCD sufferer, the most amazing thing was the smell: it was leathery, tar soaked and quite...


ready.

Can't you hear the drums?

In fact, the Royal Navy claims that HMS Victory is still in active service. Now that's an austerity measure worth writing about. Anyway, it's 's a real pity you can't quite get furnishings like this in Ikea:

I'm sure they're working on it. Regardless, today, the ever vigilant (but nonetheless dry docked) HMS Victory holds pride of place at the National Maritime Museum along with enough nautical themed stuff to sink a boat. Top marks for Imperialist pride. Smashing.

Now that  you are done with all that wet stuff Portsmouth offers another slightly weird attraction: Kite flying. This activity seems to involve hundreds of people packed cars invading a perfectly dull field by the sea,  unpacking said cars with various bits of folding furniture, attaching kites to stakes in the ground and milling about for hours like this:

Did you notice the SCUBA diver?

Anyway, then everyone waits for the rain, abruptly packs up and goes home. Told you it was weird.  Enough English weirdness, it's time to experience weirdness Continental style. Next stop Prague.

I was met at Prague Airport by an old friend of mine and his graceful fiance. He wasn't particularly graceful as he had been to a "dance party" and performed a dawn set as a DJ, and I don't believe he went to sleep straight afterwards either. So graceful? No, but at least he wears his seatbelt when he offers me a beer on the way to his apartment all 2 minutes after touching down:

Now that's hospitality- and as you've guessed it didn't end there.

So why was Prague weird?  The first and most pressing reason is that I officially felt old when I went there. I think this alarming state of affairs was greatly aggravated by suffering the indignity of being quizzed by these young men about what it was like to live in the 1990's:

There is no response to that besides a glassing so I just started my very own personal decline to death right there and then and felt very weird in the process. You now know what these heart chillers look like so avoid them or glass them - that's a matter for you, you have been warned. 

Two more reasons why Prague is weird. First the sandwiches. They really care about what they look like. Perhaps they are designed by Praga. In fact I'd call them Edible Art: 

The other thing they seem to design is knives. 'Cause knives don't kill people, people with murderous  looking, razor sharp, and/or jagged, cheap, freely available, concealable, over the counter, knives kill people' right?:

Don't quite know what the security bars are for. Suggestions are welcome.

What wasn't weird about Prague was the Castle(s) or the statutes that depict what will happen to you if you aren't impressed by the whole lot:

Thankfully I was genuinely impressed and would very happily return.

But until then the Empire  needs me. Perhaps those treacherous Frenchies are set to have another go at Britania. Clearly it's on the cards. Something's been put in the water. Ze Roast Beefs 'av given up no? For example we have Barges in Little Venice that have become so complacent that they install a doorbell on a letterbox:

It's too much. What message does that send about being ready to up and out at a moments notice? What would De Niro say?

The population has clearly given up. Here's an anonymous antipodean who's also been affected- or is he just taking planking to a new level of madness during a night on the turps:

Whichever way it is, a French invasion is clearly imminent.  So lets ask Lord Admiral Horatio Nelson what must be done. Here's what he's reported to have told his junior officers: "First, you must implicitly obey orders… Secondly, you must consider every man as your enemy who speaks ill of your King... And thirdly, you must hate a Frenchman as you do the devil".  Jolly good what.