Mill Post

Not often you get a peak at the mill but light's perfect today. Rigs in Europe called 'overacts' because they sit over the engine, principally to shorten the vehicle so as to manoeuvre its narrower streets... some of which still date to the Middle Ages in their layout. Note the cab is pivoted at the front and is provided suspension at the rear and that with the release of a catch it can be tipped over for open access.

This will be a cookin' six with a capacity am guessing of maybe thirteen litres, tho' they never really advertise the figure; though they do the horses, which are usually 500 or 550 H.P. They are therefore no slouch at the lights minus a trailer, and they are also invariably automatic nowadays and provided with twelve gears. I've driven manuals, which eventually feel just like a car, although the greybeards used to need to double-de clutch too... which I've only done in a tractor or to drop to first gear in the days there was no syncromesh at that level.

There is likely a turbo prior that exhaust pipe, which feeds the box am leaning upon. Note the chassis is a wholly traditional ladder and sets the block at an incline to suit the drive-shaft to the rear axle. The axle in the middle on units is a lift-axle that is only used to spread the load and reduce an axle-weight that otherwise demolishes manhole-covers.

Fuel injected diesel as you can see too, with the clutch and gearbox inline too. The likes of Scania do a V-8 that turns out 800 H.P. and the guys seem to have found a way to amend the cruise-controller to leave you in no doubt they're the kings of the road. I hope you've enjoyed this brief tour as much as I have, as my container here is unloaded of its plywood flooring from the Far East?

The trucks a DAF, though I've driven all of the others available in to buy in the UK; which curiously does not include the Fords that you see on the continent.

Leonardo Di Craftio

The announcement largely unnoticed, it follows a pattern that has been observed over many decades in the UK whether related to cars, aircraft or indeed steel and much else viz. the focus being on jobs as it's the quickest possible fix in order to satisfy votes in forthcoming elections. 

The way the playbook proceeds thereon calls for ongoing reduction in the number of jobs under whole or majority foreign ownership, succeeded by eventual closure that we'd like to think won't happen in this case. What is significant here is that of three firms bidding for this medium-sized helicopter project, two withdrew participation.

This led to a take-it-or-leave-it decision with a focus one imagines moreso on jobs and less-so on helicopters; it also guarantees the bulk of funding for autonomous helicopters is to be guided toward existing firms instead of start-ups: a practise in MIC circles that reduced US contractors to five.

I once demo'd a security system I'd developed ~ backed by the British Technology Group ~ to Margaret Thatcher's Minister for Technology at the National Exhibition Centre... and that's a lot of capital letters. At the end of the demo he turned partly toward the collected cameras to ask. "And it's all about creating jobs, isn't it?".

To which remarkable restraint stopped me from replying, 'Yeah, press this key and jobs stream out the back.'

Happily I just discovered Kenneth Baker is still alive at ninety-one and sitting in the House of Lords. I plan to drop by and say "HELLO KEN, IT'S THE NICE MAN FROM THE EXHIBITION WITH HIS FUNNY BIRO AGAIN."

Ed. Due similar restraint a recent post was given the title 'Leonardo Di Carpio' while the author preferred 'Leonardo Di Crapio'.

Big Day Out: Hereford

Introducing a new feature to the 'blog, the first in a series of one in which I take you by the virtual hand for a walk-through among Britain's most famous features, country towns and attractions. Many of you around the world will not be so lucky as I am in being able to hop into an eco-friendly vehicle to navigate the highways and by-ways of this wonderful land but... don't worry, we've got you covered!

Accordingly sit back, relax and let the captain guide you among the streets and back passages of Hereford, the county town of Herefordshire. If you ever need to guess a county town, incidentally, simply drop the 'shire' off the end of it and you're there!

We stayed at the historic Green Dragon Hotel in the heart of town, didn't we, which I prefer to the riff-raff at the Premier Inn ~ this one full of widows, vicars, retired colonels and weirdos like me. Nell Gwen stayed here with the king, so I checked the bed for stains. They still have a letter of complaint from Sir Edward Elgar, and out the back you can see where once were kept coach and horses!

From the hotel it's a short walk to the bridge across the River Wye, which floods to the base of its parapets periodically. It appears the years 1946, '47 and '48 were a real pisser, although 1998 was even worse, the river returning for an encore!

Re-tracing our steps back toward the centre of town, here a home for retired nurses provided by a local philanthropist. Nowadays as they are thrown on the scrap-heap instead the building is fallen into disuse, but is listed due its heritage until such time as a teenage vaper sets fire to it!

A delightful view of the cathedral that they started building nearly a thousand years ago, and the builders have said they'll be back next month to finish it. It contains a 'chained library' that was implemented to stop people from nicking the books, and it also contains a copy of the Mappa Mundi: one that you'd not want loaded into your sat-nav any time soon!

No high street would be complete without an Oxfam shop full of tat, although I felt obliged in this case to add 'Shags locals in places like Haiti' to that list of to-dos in a permanent marker!

This nice man was clearly foreign as he knew how to play the accordion. He wasn't overly keen on a pic ~ in case I guess he thought the revenue might have advanced to facial recognition ~ but he had to relent when I pointed out I'd given him 50p. Afterwards he was kicked senseless by Immigration and Customs in flak jackets!

Nonetheless the sound of the accordion supplied a gay backdrop to the atmosphere at the street market, depicted here. The space is reserved for pedestrians, the car here only being used to take out as many as possible, as is the tradition nowadays!

Nothing I like more than a bit of mongery in public, and all hail to this example a little further beyond the street-market. What I like even more is the fact that have not even bothered to put the name up there. It may well feature on Google's maps but you can check that for yourself!

Herefordshire is famous for its cattle and there's a life-size statue of the eponymous bull at the tail-end of the market. Frankly if I had a scrotum that size I'd spray it in gold and walk around with no trousers on all day. Most statues round the world are burnished gold in parts ~ the mannekin's penis in Brussels for instance ~ a trend we could extend to this guy's meatballs!

Nothing I like more than a gaily-coloured eatery, of which Hereford has many and among them this one containing tapas. Ole!

Beyond the market-place is a modern shopping-mall that includes a public lavatory in its multi-storey. To access it requires an elevator announcing 'Have a nice day!' as you enter it, though I'd have preferred something culturally relevant like 'Stop dicking around and get a move on!'. Free however and a delightful amenity.

You can drink coffee in Hereford and do so sat on a Vespa, though the word means 'wasp' in Italian and you don't want a scrotum anywhere near one of those during a cappuccino!

There are seagulls in Hereford as elsewhere though this one has shit himself waiting so long for a smashed avocado on sourdough!

I prevailed upon a young lady to take this 'portrait of the author as a young man' as I stood next to someone who fought in WW1... and I thought they were shorter in those days? Anyhow he had to put up with being gnawed by rats whilst sleeping in a trench full of water, and in fairness my latte could have been hotter!

Reason for me being here being to take the long view when it comes to a university that junior can attend, although I'd been disappointed by the scarcity of young folk lying wasted on the streets at break of day. This is the country's newest, the New Model Institute for Technology and Engineering, me here for open day. Doing great things, though I'd prefer a higher class of biscuit at the intro! Asked 'Why Hereford?' it's because they never had one, which is reasonable!

It was an exciting day to be here as the match at the football stadium must be won in order to assure the club's survival in the Northern Premier Football League. Why it is in the Northern and not the Southern is a mystery, though they told me it was something to do with the chairman, who got rich at Red Bull Racing and gets to pick and choose who goes where... and the Northern is the second oldest league!

Here advertised on the wall of the stadium itself, a reminder that whilst you've got Taylor Swift, we've got the Mindboggler. I gave him five pounds and he told me I was thinking of the one on the left in K-Pop Demon Hunters and that I'd like to shag her. Amazing!

Ed. We apologise for the excess use of exclamation marks in the text, this merely a desperate attempt by the author to whip up a little enthusiasm.

Float On

Slip the waders on and slide the cat on the tail-gate in a trice these days to update the static test with the displacement strips in place, and while they don't appear to have elevated things overly the trim is ideal. The forward bulkhead practically clears the water with that at the rear submerged to the base of each battery-pack, which is next to nothing by way of an impediment.

Gut feel is it is likely to be underpowered, but proof's in the electrical pudding and there will be plenty of scope for upgrading the packs, motors and propellers as this should swing a couple of 24" props with the axes set here 25" apart.

A good sesh and in fact one of the frames ~ which could almost have been painted by Monet at Giverny ~ is good enough for the website, where it now hangs for the public to adore.

Hang Loose

The first prototype is hung from the rafters where I plan on it staying while I work upon the second in order to prove that it cuts the mustard as a vessel of any kind: a reason being that wiring four motors up for any sort of vertical lift is an expensive pain in the ass that leaves you reliant on experts who'd rather do something else.

You can see here how those uPVC extrusions are overly flexible, though it's not so much of a problem in the fulness of time as (a) it provides shock-absorption in an industry wholly lacking it and (b) skis of all types have evolved from planks of wood to composite engineering marvels and there's no reason why these shouldn't too.

Fortunately the second prototype ~ aimed at motion under displacement and on the plane ~ has wooden hydro-skis which as ever are provided by Cheshire Mouldings.

I told them that I'll rate them for maximum velocity on smooth water for a fee, and the best thing is they're from down the road here in St Helens.

Think global, buy local, eat pies.

Going Postal

Here two ways in which Royal Mail, recently flogged off to a foreigner like all else in the UK and the Royal Family surely likely to follow... Our Dominions eat Dominos.

But the historic post-box, each of which bear the initials of whichever monarch was reigning at the time, has been given a makeover with a camera, solar panel and wifi with which to allow for the electronic dispatch of physical letters... which Denmark has given up on entirely.

Ironically the only people who post letters are older than I am and lacking means to read the instructions along with the time, I like them bought a stamp and used the conventional type sunk into a brick wall further along the road.

What we should really do is maintain systems that would continue to operate in the event of a war, as they did in the two previous. When it comes to aerial navigation, ask yourself why the US decided not to scrap ground-based aids which run whether the internet does or not*.

Rather more successfully altogether the Royal Mail recently trialed Beta's electric aircraft around the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, requiring a fraction of the fuel and maintenance of the fossil-fuelled version.

* VHF Omnirange. I've booked a hotel in order that the family can enjoy a visit and picnic at beacon 'BHD' on the south coast. During my Instrument Rating I organised a visit to the non-directional beacon we'd used all week, though sadly I was the only one to turn up on the day.

The Seventh Seal... ed Laminate.

Always give the Boat Design database in the US first dibs when it comes to dropping the latest issue, and here the revised pattern for construction of the catamaran. The monoski still gets the bulk of the views, but it's early days and my commitment to a cat instead is unwavering in view of its practicality in transporting men or materials. Or women, LGBTQ+ community and Uncle Tom Cobley though not all at same time.

You know the reasons why, so you can just keep quiet. It does though mean that in view of the nice weather it'll be waders on and back to the pond for a sneak peek.

The weather in the UK and specially the northwest is worryingly how meteorologists predicted... in the UK we don't dismiss climate change as fake news or shoot politicians who say so, the reason why so many people from the US are swarming all over the Cotswolds like locusts.

What it has meant is that like the binary weather of the prairies we suffer a winter of non-stop rain that turns on a dime into shorts weather. What it means for boat-building therefore is a winter of groundworks intent upon stopping the garage floor from flooding, and instead diverting water into a much-anticipated static test-tank.

The post title refers to the fact the foam-sheet is now sliced like seven eggy soldiers albeit the last is split further into two narrower slices for displacement strips.

It is also the title of a film by Ingmar Bergman about the pet seals he kept at home in Sweden, and their eventual encounter with a Grim Reaper.