Monthly archives: April 2002

I have loads of photos from my Quays expedition, but I haven’t had a chance to scan them all in yet (buy digital), so just this one for now.

A link to a list of WW2 links which I sent to myself for Seeds research. As with all these things, there’s a lot of redundancy.

Also, from Alan, a bunch of links. Including- a man mad about researching Groom “Area 51” Lake and another possible flying saucer. Brian also sent me a link to the USAF Museum.

Time for an update on what I’m listening to and reading, I think.
Best new album of the last few months has to be Loss, by Mull Historical Society. It reminds me a bit of the excellent Hefner, though a little less acoustic.
With a new album just released by Gomez, I’ve been going back to Bring It On and Liquid Skin to get reacquainted.
Just started reading Star Dust Falling, all about aviation archeology, climbing in the Andes and an eccentric and very dangerous (for the passengers) post war airline called British South American Airways. This supplements Day of Infamy, all about Pearl Harbour. When I’m done with those, I’ve got Stupid White Men to keep me amused.

Look what happens when I’ve got no photos to publish. Three days without an update.
I spent an interesting few hours down at Salfoprd Quays yesterday, probably trespassing, but definitely getting almost a hundred photos which should supply me with more than a few PODs. On the subject, the March gallery is up, finally. I promise to have the April one posted much more promptly.
I’ve closed down the Seeds Blog. The project is still on the go, in fact it’s rapidly taking shape. I just can’t keep a second weblog going, so all future Seeds stuff will be put up here. Below is a recap of stuff I’ve found so far. It might help to understand that the story is set on a planet which has just reached mid twentieth century technology levels and, indeed, is having its own World War. I’m not going to explain why or how just now.

Unfinished or aborted German warplane projects from WW2
A wartime chronology with key players and a secret weapons page.
Edwards Air Force Base- check out the flying wing bombers
The Vultee XP-54. I like this plane, and I’m already working on designs based upon it.
The reminiscences of an American test pilot circa WW2.

I once read a short story in Interzone magazine, called Habbakuk, about a giant carrier built from ice and wood pulp insulation, and wanted to introduce something similar to the Seeds story. I didn’t realise it was based upon genuine WW2 experiments.
Another site on the subject.
Someone actually mixed up and did experiments with Pykrete, the stuff Habbakuk was to be made of.

Interesting images and slightly garbled English from a 1930’2 article on speculative flying boat designs.

The truth about flying saucers? Another wonderful, and very, very wierd, plane.
You can even make models of it.

A very, very short snippet from The Eliza Effect-
They gathered around Owen’s desk to compare cars. “Honda Accord, automatic.” He announced.
“With cruise control?” Mike asked, Owen nodded. “Polo. Swap?”
“Polo’s a bit small for me.”
“I’ve got a Mondeo. It’s far too big for me. I’ll take the Polo.” Paul tossed his keys to Owen, who checked them and slid his across the table to Mike.
On her way to the photocopier, Kate stopped just long enough to comment, “If you’re going to have that kind of party you really need wives.”

I’m about to run out of pictures of the day again. I have them, it’s just that they’re in the camera and I can’t get at them until I’ve worked through the remaining 24 shots. Another argument for digital I guess.
Having realised on Friday that I can’t make it to San Diego, the confirmation of my reservation came through the post this morning. Dammit!

�I can see what he meant.�
Mike pointed down the street, filled with Saturday shoppers. �The guy who wrote that poem. �Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough.� Who was he?�
�Don�t know.� Owen was trying to concentrate on driving. He still got trapped in pointless circuits of the town centre when trying to escape from Slough.
�I�ll text my sister. She knows this sort of thing.� Paul had a new phone, though he had been complaining that the flip action wasn�t what he really wanted. If his head stayed down too long, he was going to get car sick from the round about route out of town.
�God, I was expecting it to be y�know�. I don�t know. Better. Down here.� Mike wasn�t impressed. They were on a road which promised to take them somewhere nicer. On the left were out of town shopping boxes, to the right identikit corporate buildings. They went past The Company�s headquarters.
�You�re not going to come over all Northern on me are you.� Owen averted his gaze from the office.
�What, and you haven�t been trading on it for the last six months. It has to have some redeeming features, doesn�t it?�
�There�s a BMX track. And I get to ride in through Windsor every day.�
�That may redeem it for you. What about me? Comic shop?�
�I think there�s one in Richmond.�
�It�s a start, I guess.�
�There. Sent it.�
�What was the answer?�
�Give her a chance, she won�t even have received it yet.�

They�d wound up in Staines, on the look out for Ali G, and gravitated to The Swan. Mike had found his redeeming feature. He loved rivers, and the Thames was better than most because it was alive with boats and the eponymous birds. He watched a cruiser going up stream. Maybe, one day, he could do that.
The beer wasn�t so bad, either. More expensive than in Manchester, but not as bad as he had expected. Owen, as designated driver, nursed his half pint of Speckled Hen. �The car has to go back on Tuesday.�
�What you got it for?�
�I�ve got to go down to Southampton and have a look at one of the offices. Dull as fuck, but someone�s got to.� He turned to Paul, �So tell us about this mystery woman.�
�There�s no mystery. I�m just not telling you anything.�
�She�s someone I know.�
�I should fuckin� well hope so.�
�What�s her name?�
Paul�s pocket beeped. He pulled out his phone and flipped it open as nonchalantly as possible, read the TXT and nodded. �John Betjeman.�
�Your girlfriend?�
�The guy who wrote the poem you were on about.�