I was going to Ballerup for a job-related course, so I booked tickets on the usual X2000 to Copenhagen. As occasionally happens, first class tickets turned out to be cheaper than second class, so I went for them. Meal reservation? Yes, please. However, SJ still can’t prebook dietary restrictions, so I’d have to call them again 24 hours before departure to order my meal.
It struck me later that it would be unreasonable to have to call exactly 24 hours before departure, but that it was a bit unclear whether one should call 24 hours beforehand at the earliest or at the latest. If the latter, one would think they should be able to do the booking already when I booked the tickets, if the former, it’s unclear when the last possible moment to call is. Presumably the actual window during which one should call is something different entirely. In any case, when I called, approximately 24 hours before departure, the person at the other end took my dinner requirements and claimed to leave a message for the uptrip as well. Good, then I wouldn’t have to call from Denmark and sit in a telephone queue for that.
I left in the afternoon of Grundlovsdagen. At first I had to struggle a bit to get the wireless connection to work on the train, but a reboot of the machine (my office XP box) eventually solved the problem and I was able to get some crucial job done.
Eventually I got my dinner, which was perfectly decent for a micro-waved readymade.
We stopped on schedule at Malmö C, and then we remained stopped. For quite some while. The train driver explained that we were waiting for a “timetable” from the Transport Administration to continue into Denmark. I found it a bit surprising that a daily train would not have a pre-prepared timetable, but regardless we sat waiting for it for an hour.
Finally the hassle was solved and we rolled the last bit of the way into Copenhagen. Now to get on the local train to Ballerup. There were ticket machines in the station hall, but I was not able to figure out what kind of ticket I was supposed to buy, so I got into the queue at a manual desk and got my ticket. Pretty steep at 48 DKK, I thought, but then Stockholm has in general fairly cheap (in several senses) public transport. I located my platform and looked at the ticket cancelling machines, but my ticket seemed to be the wrong size, so I asked a railway employee how I should go about matters. “Oh, you’ve wasted your money. Today’s the first Sunday in the month, so travel is free.” Argh!
Anyway, I got on the train, which was quite spacious and equipped with wireless Internet and television screens. I got off at Malmparken, which was the station closest to both my hotel and the training site. The only other people getting off was a couple of young women, also looking a bit disoriented. They turned out to be Portuguese students, there for a course at the university. As is my (bad) habit, I took the lead and we trundled away in the general direction I remembered from the map lookup before I left. (Stupid to not have printed out the map, but it had looked as if the hotel would be visible from the station. Not quite so.) I poked my head in at a McDonald’s we passed and received a course correction and soon we arrived at Zzzleep. Friendly checkin and the room was clean and nice, but had the narrowest beds I’ve ever seen. I carefully centred myself and soon slept.
In the morning I checked the map and took out the course to the training site. What I saw of Ballerup wasn’t all that exciting—an industrial area quartered by motorways. The course turned out to exceed my expectations, it proceeded at a breathtaking pace and I had to struggle to keep up. At least the teachers were kind enough to talk English, rather than Danish, though I noticed chatting over lunch that the Danes had even more difficulty understanding my Swedish than I their Danish. How strange, Swedish that is so clearly enunciated… By 17 I was tired but pleased—I would have lots of things to improve when I got back to the office. I bought some postcards and stamps (“Two to Sweden and one to Uruguay!?” Yes, please.) and then proceeded to an Italian restaurant I’d noticed along the way. It was nice enough and I had a pleasant meal. Back at the hotel I flipped on the TV to find a Columbo episode just starting and watched it. Good stuff and I noted with interest that Steve Bochco had written the teleplay for the episode.
The next morning, break-neck work again. When we finished for the day I started towards the train station, as I didn’t have all that much time before my train, the last for the day, would leave from Copenhagen. Now I would have to figure out how to operate the ticket machine, as it was an unmanned station. This machine had an, in principle, more obvious interface than the ones at the central station, on the other hand it was not very responsive to button presses, did not like to read my credit card and in general was hard to operate. I in fact missed one train while attempting to get a ticket, fortunately it was only ten minutes to the next.
When I arrived in Copenhagen I could see the X2000 on the next platform, but as soon as I got there it left. It turned out that this was actually the previous train, that should have left an hour and a half earlier. Oh well. On the other hand, the train I should be on was cancelled. What now? A PA announcement was made to the effect that we should jump on any train going to Malmö and continue from there. Well, OK. I do not know if they had managed to screw up the timetables again, but it was a bit annoying. And what if I’d come on the local train ten minutes later, that I saw pulling into the station just as the train I was on left?
In Malmö, the train was at the platform, but not allowing us on board yet. We milled about a bit until we got on board. Ah, good. Now to get home. Internet connection, check. Meal being served…uh, this is not my order. Confusion. Double-checking. Despite the promise of the SJ person I’d spoken to, the order had not been passed to the caterers. Just brilliant. The train hostess was very sorry, but could only offer me meal tickets for the bistro car, where I already knew I wouldn’t find anything edible but fruit, which I already had for free in my first class car. Apples did only a bit to stave off starvation. When I finally got home, about 01:00, I was pretty hungry and stayed up a bit longer to eat something more substantial.
Then up again in the morning to get to work and employ my new skills.
2011-06-10
2011-06-05
Catering to special needs
Ian Allan Publishing, whose books I’ve often bought, has branched out into travel. Like their books, their trips are for special people:
“That’s so weird I would come along just to see it.”
Unfortunately the trip is already sold out.
5–13 Nov PERU: Peruvian Air Force bases—visits to all main bases and storage sites.Honeybuns said:
“That’s so weird I would come along just to see it.”
Unfortunately the trip is already sold out.
2011-06-04
Advertising at its finest
Can You Remember How You Felt When You First Saw Her Fly?[— — —]
For some of us, driving past Heathrow, the first impact wasn’t the sight, but the sound.
What on earth was that roar rattling the car from behind the fence screens?
And then... as something unreal rose into the London sky, a moment of awe and recognition as we whispered her name.
Beautiful, yes, -untameable too. What else do you call 187 tonnes of slender muscle that tore off the runway at 250 miles an hour?
Everything about her screamed thoroughbred. Nothing could stop her. So Filton’s finest invented the carbon anti-skid brake to at least try.
From the moment you set her in your pride of place, she comes alive. Neither you nor your guests will ever get tired of looking at her, because she always catches your eye.
At 22 inches long, this is no dinky toy!
This prestigious piece looks ready to leap off its mahogany stand. Admire her from across the room, relaxing with a drink and friends. Or inspect her lines from closer in as you heft her in your hands.
Every detail is here: Each window from which gazed a thousand astonished eyes; the ogival ‘double-delta’ wing with its triple elevons, and mighty Olympus engines.
The intakes ready to gulp air; the wingroot lights for those leafy Autumn London days; the nose strakes picked out in detail enough to satisfy even the most determined purist.
Very excited prose indeed, but I agree with the sentiment. I certainly remember the day, many years ago now, when I was walking somewhere near Victoria station. I looked up at the sound and saw the classic silhouette above me. Maybe some would call it a spiritual moment; I was gripped to my core by the soaring grace, such calm beauty just a short distance over the busy and grimy streets of London. I stood there, watching as long as I could before it disappeared behind the buildings. I cannot remember if I shouted. Probably.
It is the only time I have seen the Concorde in the air, which is where it belongs. I have visited the ones preserved at Duxford and Yeovilton, but this is an aircraft to be seen at a distance, above you. Divine.
2011-06-03
Går det så går det
A search unearthed this investigation by Chris Rand. Apparently what’s going on is that some guys hit on a brilliant idea: Write a script that downloads a Wikipedia article, follows the links to some pre-determined depth, concatenates all the gathered material and calls it a book. Repeat for all articles in Wikipedia. Print on demand and charge an outrageous sum = profit! There are already thousands of “books” under the imprints of Alphascript and Betascript being distributed through Amazon and other web shops to unwary shoppers happy to find a book on the obscure subject they were investigating.
Beware! Beware!
2011-06-01
Pomp and circumstance
Today the Only-Begotten Daughter graduated from high school. Parents and other relatives were not invited to whatever ceremonies were done inside the school, but waited out on the square outside waving the usual placards with baby pictures of the freshly-baked students. Some boys from the lower forms stood in a cluster and shouted intermittently, whether caught up in the expectant excitement or wanting to draw a bit of attention to themselves. A couple of minutes before the hour the graduates exited the school building, led by a blond young man in shorts and buttoned shirt with a shoulder belt supporting the Swedish flag he carried. ”Den ljusnande framtid är vår” got just a wee bit too close to “Tomorrow belongs to me” for my sensibilities.
They paraded around the square and then went up to the school again, to stand on a balcony and sing the Student Song gloriously out of key. Then they all rushed down the hill into the waiting arms of their proud parents. Some of them would then continue into the city by lorry, joining other graduates in spreading loud music and beer over Stockholm.
The OBD however eschewed drunken debauchery, so we just had a quiet celebration in the family.
Now it’s just the rest of life ahead. Does anyone have a job for a skilled artist trained in science?
They paraded around the square and then went up to the school again, to stand on a balcony and sing the Student Song gloriously out of key. Then they all rushed down the hill into the waiting arms of their proud parents. Some of them would then continue into the city by lorry, joining other graduates in spreading loud music and beer over Stockholm.
The OBD however eschewed drunken debauchery, so we just had a quiet celebration in the family.
Now it’s just the rest of life ahead. Does anyone have a job for a skilled artist trained in science?
2011-05-20
2011-05-18
Cut up
I was back again at the dental surgery after the recent debacle. This time I managed to stay conscious, even though the surgeon decided to make no less than two biopsies from different spots for a more definite diagnosis. So I am now in stitches though I do not feel like laughing much. Another side effect was that I passed the maximum limit for health care payment, so doctor’s visits are now free until October.
Analysis results will be in in a few weeks.
Analysis results will be in in a few weeks.
2011-05-14
Sån’t gör man numera, som fröken vet, med elektricitet
Upphittat av Gullebullen på Stockholms Stadsbibliotek:
2011-05-13
I am a mullah
I eventually figured out that one of the younger boys in his innocence had gotten himself the pendant and just been challenged by the more theologically astute boy who first had addressed me. He proposed it would be humiliating to be wearing the symbol of another god. I suggested it was just an ornament, to be worn for æsthetic reasons, but by now the boys had reached the decision they should get rid of the heathen symbol. They offered me to buy it for cheap, but I declined on the grounds that I never wear jewellery. Another reason is that all too many wearers of Thor’s hammers tend to be of the nationalist persuasion, so I, too, had symbolic reasons not to wear it.
2011-05-09
Older than it looks
Someone referred to the USA as “a young nation”, but compared to what? USA is older than Belgium, the Czech Republic, Finland, Germany, Italy, Slovakia, Slovenia, …
2011-05-08
Transcender
Among the many things Honeybuns has given me, is a set of new friends and acquaintances that are nothing like the ones I have from before. To begin with, none of them has an engineering degree.
At a recent party I found myself the only heterosexual male in the room. Or, at least that’s what I assumed, but I couldn’t be entirely sure—some of the people in the room, quite consciously, defied my attempts to sort them into definite male/female categories and I was annoyed with myself for even attempting, yet some deep-rooted reflex demanded certain knowledge.
I was reminded of once when I was visiting my parents. The OBCM was taking an advanced course in numerical analysis at the time and had brought along some homework. My father asked what she was doing and got an explanation of how she was computing the (parabolic) velocity profile of the water flow in a pipe. My father was intensely provoked by this. “Clearly the water comes with full force!” he decreed. If I hadn’t been so annoyed at the time it would have been an interesting example of how something that goes against one’s preconceptions can be rejected out of hand, even when a tiny bit of physical reasoning would let one work out one’s misconception.
I’ve often seen the same rejecting-out-of-hand non-reasoning with regards to transgender/intersex people, so my lack of equanimity disturbed me, but then again, as I’ve mentioned before, living correctly with respect to others requires constant awareness.
At a recent party I found myself the only heterosexual male in the room. Or, at least that’s what I assumed, but I couldn’t be entirely sure—some of the people in the room, quite consciously, defied my attempts to sort them into definite male/female categories and I was annoyed with myself for even attempting, yet some deep-rooted reflex demanded certain knowledge.
I was reminded of once when I was visiting my parents. The OBCM was taking an advanced course in numerical analysis at the time and had brought along some homework. My father asked what she was doing and got an explanation of how she was computing the (parabolic) velocity profile of the water flow in a pipe. My father was intensely provoked by this. “Clearly the water comes with full force!” he decreed. If I hadn’t been so annoyed at the time it would have been an interesting example of how something that goes against one’s preconceptions can be rejected out of hand, even when a tiny bit of physical reasoning would let one work out one’s misconception.
I’ve often seen the same rejecting-out-of-hand non-reasoning with regards to transgender/intersex people, so my lack of equanimity disturbed me, but then again, as I’ve mentioned before, living correctly with respect to others requires constant awareness.
2011-05-06
I wouldn't want to write the parser
As in Algol, the programs are pretty-printed in different fonts, as in ABC 80 BASIC, the pretty-printing is enforced, as in COBOL, the programs pretend to be in English, as in Fortran, you have to use continuation characters, as in C++, the error messages are incomprehensible: AppleScript.
Here is our old friend, the Hailstone program:
on run
display dialog "Seed" default answer "" buttons {"OK"} default button "OK"
set a to (text returned of result) as integer
set outstring to a as string
repeat until a is equal to 1
if a mod 2 is equal to 0 then
set a to a div 2
else
set a to a * 3 + 1
end if
set outstring to outstring & ", " & a as string
end repeat
display dialog outstring buttons {"OK"} default button "OK"
end run
Here is our old friend, the Hailstone program:
on run
display dialog "Seed" default answer "" buttons {"OK"} default button "OK"
set a to (text returned of result) as integer
set outstring to a as string
repeat until a is equal to 1
if a mod 2 is equal to 0 then
set a to a div 2
else
set a to a * 3 + 1
end if
set outstring to outstring & ", " & a as string
end repeat
display dialog outstring buttons {"OK"} default button "OK"
end run
2011-05-05
Parking plot
The other day we saw people working on filling out the muddy part of the lawn by the train station. Good! It was time to replant the grass and maybe add some flowers. Pfft! Turns out they were turning it into yet another unnecessary parking space…
2011-04-29
Veckans ord: åkarbrasor
Långtradarchaufförer utvecklar av allt sittande med tiden breda bakar: åkarbrasor.
2011-04-22
2011-04-19
Out cold
My dentist was a bit concerned about the state of my gums and referred me to a specialist, so I turned up at Södersjukhuset expecting to be poked and peeked at a bit. And so I was. The specialist had a look and then explained to me in a comforting Southern Swedish accent:
This looks like typical lichen planus. Shouldn’t be any problem at all, usually disappears on its own, but just to make sure of the diagnosis I’d like to take a tissue sample. I’ll make an incision and stitch it up afterwards. Ah, this looks like a good spot. OK?
He procures a syringe with anæsthetic and proceeds to jab me inside the cheek with it. Ouch! Then he turns towards his compre re re Re Re Re su s s s s s s s s re RY RY RY RY RY. I can’t make sense of my senses, I struggle to think a coherent thought, any at all, while at the same time I somehow observe that I’m not able to. What is happening to me? Finally my mind coalesces.
Oh, hi there. You fainted there for a bit. No worries, happens quite often when you’re stressed, vasodilation causes low blood pressure and you go out. Just lean back and rest.
It takes a minute or two before I have regained enough control to be able to speak. What happened? I’ve never fainted before. Have I become sensitive to the anæsthetic, or was I more spooked at getting cut than I realised myself? After a while I can start moving my hands, but I’m weak and jittery all over. I run diagnostics, counting backwards from 100 by threes. Seems to work. Reading the labels on the bottle of antiseptic. Works, even identifying the languages. (A faint worry that my recollection of the true values might not be correct, but the results seem reasonable.) Still, I’m feeling nauseous and eventually ask for the head end to be raised a bit. The dentist continues calming me down and decides that we will not proceed with the procedure in my current state, but I’m welcome to have a lie-down on a bed. Eventually my legs feel like I can move under my own power and I am escorted to a hospital bed where I doze off for a while. About two hours after arriving I finally feel like all parts are in place again.
I get a time for a new appointment in a couple of weeks.
This looks like typical lichen planus. Shouldn’t be any problem at all, usually disappears on its own, but just to make sure of the diagnosis I’d like to take a tissue sample. I’ll make an incision and stitch it up afterwards. Ah, this looks like a good spot. OK?
He procures a syringe with anæsthetic and proceeds to jab me inside the cheek with it. Ouch! Then he turns towards his compre re re Re Re Re su s s s s s s s s re RY RY RY RY RY. I can’t make sense of my senses, I struggle to think a coherent thought, any at all, while at the same time I somehow observe that I’m not able to. What is happening to me? Finally my mind coalesces.
Oh, hi there. You fainted there for a bit. No worries, happens quite often when you’re stressed, vasodilation causes low blood pressure and you go out. Just lean back and rest.
It takes a minute or two before I have regained enough control to be able to speak. What happened? I’ve never fainted before. Have I become sensitive to the anæsthetic, or was I more spooked at getting cut than I realised myself? After a while I can start moving my hands, but I’m weak and jittery all over. I run diagnostics, counting backwards from 100 by threes. Seems to work. Reading the labels on the bottle of antiseptic. Works, even identifying the languages. (A faint worry that my recollection of the true values might not be correct, but the results seem reasonable.) Still, I’m feeling nauseous and eventually ask for the head end to be raised a bit. The dentist continues calming me down and decides that we will not proceed with the procedure in my current state, but I’m welcome to have a lie-down on a bed. Eventually my legs feel like I can move under my own power and I am escorted to a hospital bed where I doze off for a while. About two hours after arriving I finally feel like all parts are in place again.
I get a time for a new appointment in a couple of weeks.
2011-04-17
Eastward ho!
For several years the club has intended to take part in competitions arranged by IPMS Finland, but it’s been difficult to work out when they’ve been and often they have collided with our own competition, but now we got wind of an event in time to prepare an informal visit.
While the competition is open to all comers, nobody has thought about making an international version of the web pages, so I quickly translate the rules to Swedish and help my competing friends fill in the registration pages.
I work through various travel alternatives and find to my fascination that travel + hotel accommodation works out to cheaper than travel alone. Then dinner bookings double the price again. I think I see where the ferry company makes its profit. Honeybuns, who of course will have to come along, has a work trip leaving Stockholm on the Sunday afternoon, so I book just a forth-and-back cruise for the two of us, and weekend trips for the rest of the gang.
Once we have gotten on board ship and sorted out accommodation, we can hang out on deck by the bar. In the gift shop we find T-shirts with a Brewster 239 motifs, which we all of us decide we need. There are also some new and very good-looking snap-together aircraft kits that could be interesting to play with. The various kinds of licorice in the tax-free shop have to be carefully evaluated. We have a dinner buffet booked and find ourselves next to a large group of youngsters in their twenties out celebrating something. They are more than a little tipsy and quite noisy, but one young man still manages to make a very eloquent speech to the ladies and one of them in particular. We applaud this with the others.
When we arrive in the Olympia Harbour in Helsinki the next morning, we split up, half of us first locating the hotel and checking in, then following the rest of us, who have taken all the models in a taxi out to the Exhibition and Congress Centre. Crikey! It seems all of Helsinki is there. A local contact meets us at the door and escorts us in through the crowds. The IPMS stand is right in the middle of the hall and we go there to unpack and display the models. Just because there were web forms doesn’t mean the data has gotten communicated to the judges, so we have to fill in paper forms as well. There are greetings exchanged by the chairmen of IPMSs Finland, Helsinki, Sweden, and Stockholm. (We’re a fairly small community, all in all.) I make a circuit of the IPMS stand and then strike out for the rest of the hall.
Model Expo is similar in idea to the Hobby Fair in Stockholm, but done right. It’s huge, also in the range of attending hobbyists. Wandering around we find model rail-roaders, R/C fliers, wargamers, doll-house builders, model rocketeers, Lego builders, armour fans, the R/C club of the Finnish Army, construction machine modellers, and aviation historians. Next to the IPMS stand is a large pool where R/C ships zoom about. Close to it is the stand of the Finnish R/C sailship association. Its member is there. A large area is taken up by a race course for R/C cars, drawing a large audience. Next to them is something that seems to be robot wrestling. The people there tinker with their gadgets, but show video on the wall and a match is promised for later in the day. To my disappointment it turns out the “robots” are not autonomous, but radio-controlled. The entire next hall is given over to R/C fliers, who are currently flying combat. I haven’t seen that done with R/C planes before.
However, eventually we realise that Model Expo is just the smaller exhibition, in parallel with a child fair and a pet fair. Honeybuns insists we go and check out the pet fair. We find an entire hall filled with bunnies. All kinds of bunnies, in every conceivable colour scheme and in all sizes. The biggest ones are the size of pigs and would scare the wits out of me if I met them outdoors, but they seem securely caged. I try to photograph some of the cutest bunnies, but the camera insists on auto-focussing on the cage lattice, so I just get pictures of metal grids.
Upstairs we find the dog exhibition and watch an obedience display. The next hall contains cats in cages and all the smaller animals, rats, guinea-pigs, hamsters, etc. Honeybuns racks up a considerable wish list for Christmas.
By now we are pretty hungry and locate the food mezzanine. I navigate the G and L markings and end up with a fantastically bland pepperoni salad. I remember that Terry Pratchett claims to have been inspired to CMOT Dibbler’s tasteless sausages by a Finnish hot dog.
We continue our examination of the stands and I start to more intentionally look through the shops for various interesting items and eventually buy some books that are likely to come in handy.
Then Honeybuns and I have to leave for our ship home and leave our companions to explore Helsinki on their own. We take a taxi and pass the cemetary where I clean up my father’s grave after the winter. Honeybuns takes the opportunity to accompany me as the taxi driver apparently has been sitting in the sun all day, so the atmosphere in the cab is rather close.
There are not as many passengers on the ship when we return, so we take it easy. We have dinner in one of the restaurants, where the staff have some problems wrapping their minds around the concept that “no dairy” implies no butter and no cream, but eventually they come through and present quite decent meals for both me and Honeybuns.
Later, as we prepare for bed, Honeybuns goes “Yuck!” and points out an insect in the washbasin: a cockroach! Ick! I skoosh it and give it a sea burial in the loo. Now, how many others might there be and have they had an opportunity to lay any eggs in our luggage? Nothing to be done about things during the night though.
When we arrive in Stockholm the next morning we rush to our respective homes, Honeybuns to drown any creepy-crawlies in the washing machine, me to kill them in the freezer. So far they don’t seem to have spawned.
And our friends took all the prizes they could.
While the competition is open to all comers, nobody has thought about making an international version of the web pages, so I quickly translate the rules to Swedish and help my competing friends fill in the registration pages.
I work through various travel alternatives and find to my fascination that travel + hotel accommodation works out to cheaper than travel alone. Then dinner bookings double the price again. I think I see where the ferry company makes its profit. Honeybuns, who of course will have to come along, has a work trip leaving Stockholm on the Sunday afternoon, so I book just a forth-and-back cruise for the two of us, and weekend trips for the rest of the gang.
Once we have gotten on board ship and sorted out accommodation, we can hang out on deck by the bar. In the gift shop we find T-shirts with a Brewster 239 motifs, which we all of us decide we need. There are also some new and very good-looking snap-together aircraft kits that could be interesting to play with. The various kinds of licorice in the tax-free shop have to be carefully evaluated. We have a dinner buffet booked and find ourselves next to a large group of youngsters in their twenties out celebrating something. They are more than a little tipsy and quite noisy, but one young man still manages to make a very eloquent speech to the ladies and one of them in particular. We applaud this with the others.
When we arrive in the Olympia Harbour in Helsinki the next morning, we split up, half of us first locating the hotel and checking in, then following the rest of us, who have taken all the models in a taxi out to the Exhibition and Congress Centre. Crikey! It seems all of Helsinki is there. A local contact meets us at the door and escorts us in through the crowds. The IPMS stand is right in the middle of the hall and we go there to unpack and display the models. Just because there were web forms doesn’t mean the data has gotten communicated to the judges, so we have to fill in paper forms as well. There are greetings exchanged by the chairmen of IPMSs Finland, Helsinki, Sweden, and Stockholm. (We’re a fairly small community, all in all.) I make a circuit of the IPMS stand and then strike out for the rest of the hall.
Model Expo is similar in idea to the Hobby Fair in Stockholm, but done right. It’s huge, also in the range of attending hobbyists. Wandering around we find model rail-roaders, R/C fliers, wargamers, doll-house builders, model rocketeers, Lego builders, armour fans, the R/C club of the Finnish Army, construction machine modellers, and aviation historians. Next to the IPMS stand is a large pool where R/C ships zoom about. Close to it is the stand of the Finnish R/C sailship association. Its member is there. A large area is taken up by a race course for R/C cars, drawing a large audience. Next to them is something that seems to be robot wrestling. The people there tinker with their gadgets, but show video on the wall and a match is promised for later in the day. To my disappointment it turns out the “robots” are not autonomous, but radio-controlled. The entire next hall is given over to R/C fliers, who are currently flying combat. I haven’t seen that done with R/C planes before.
 |  |
| The Finnish Model Horse Collectors shared the stand with IPMS. Note that they don’t just collect, they model and paint the horses, and as you can see, carefully document the originals. | The IPMS contest had much larger skill range than would be seen in Stockholm. This Il-40 wouldn’t win any prizes in either place, but it’s a way cool aircraft in all its ugliness. |
 |  |
| The dollhouse makers were much more imaginative than anything we’d seen from Swedish builders. This old people’s home was so spot on only the smell was missing. | This old lady on the other hand is the real thing. She worked at her spinning wheel and sold mats of her own manufacture. |
 |  |
| H0 Helsinki trams. | If you want to know the time, ask a stormtrooper. |
However, eventually we realise that Model Expo is just the smaller exhibition, in parallel with a child fair and a pet fair. Honeybuns insists we go and check out the pet fair. We find an entire hall filled with bunnies. All kinds of bunnies, in every conceivable colour scheme and in all sizes. The biggest ones are the size of pigs and would scare the wits out of me if I met them outdoors, but they seem securely caged. I try to photograph some of the cutest bunnies, but the camera insists on auto-focussing on the cage lattice, so I just get pictures of metal grids.
Upstairs we find the dog exhibition and watch an obedience display. The next hall contains cats in cages and all the smaller animals, rats, guinea-pigs, hamsters, etc. Honeybuns racks up a considerable wish list for Christmas.
By now we are pretty hungry and locate the food mezzanine. I navigate the G and L markings and end up with a fantastically bland pepperoni salad. I remember that Terry Pratchett claims to have been inspired to CMOT Dibbler’s tasteless sausages by a Finnish hot dog.
We continue our examination of the stands and I start to more intentionally look through the shops for various interesting items and eventually buy some books that are likely to come in handy.
Then Honeybuns and I have to leave for our ship home and leave our companions to explore Helsinki on their own. We take a taxi and pass the cemetary where I clean up my father’s grave after the winter. Honeybuns takes the opportunity to accompany me as the taxi driver apparently has been sitting in the sun all day, so the atmosphere in the cab is rather close.
There are not as many passengers on the ship when we return, so we take it easy. We have dinner in one of the restaurants, where the staff have some problems wrapping their minds around the concept that “no dairy” implies no butter and no cream, but eventually they come through and present quite decent meals for both me and Honeybuns.
Later, as we prepare for bed, Honeybuns goes “Yuck!” and points out an insect in the washbasin: a cockroach! Ick! I skoosh it and give it a sea burial in the loo. Now, how many others might there be and have they had an opportunity to lay any eggs in our luggage? Nothing to be done about things during the night though.
When we arrive in Stockholm the next morning we rush to our respective homes, Honeybuns to drown any creepy-crawlies in the washing machine, me to kill them in the freezer. So far they don’t seem to have spawned.
And our friends took all the prizes they could.
2011-04-15
Veckans ord: pedofilén
När man styckar spädbarn ska man använda en riktigt skarp kniv när man skiljer kotlettraden från pedofilén så att inte köttet trasas sönder.
2011-04-08
2011-03-28
2011-03-27
Where the mild things are
As has been implied earlier, modelling tends to be a maledominated activity. One thinks. However, it turns out that this is mostly due to non-communicating groups: If one looks for them, one finds a huge group of female modellers and they have their own get-togethers, so today Honeybuns and I went to see the Stockholm miniature fair. The premises were crammed with middle-aged+ women hawking and buying upscale doll houses and accessories for them.
Some points that struck us:
- The vast majority of dollhouses seem to be depict some kind of Elsa Beskow world—I found only a single room with modern IKEA furniture. Oh, and a delightful Pettson & Findus house.
- There was very little in the way of tools and equipment for sale, almost everything was ready-made items. I was a bit disappointed, as I had hoped to find a good head-mounted magnifying glass.
- Was it just a coincidence that the fair was located right in the middle of upper-class Östermalm and did that have a relation to the choice of subjects? (Never mind that most of the exhibitors came from out in the countryside.)
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On the way home, two elderly gentlemen played baroque music on their flutes in the underground station.
Heads I win, tails you lose.
Chatting over lunch with a friend she explained how she had “premonitions” of things that would happen.
Considering she’d just had a project go down in flames, I silently wondered what the use of such premonitions would be, but instead said:
“Nah, I don’t trust in premonitions: when my aunt was in hospital, Mum said she had a premonition* she’d be OK. Two weeks later she was dead.” (I have a tendency towards rather morbid examples.)
“See! She had a premonition something would happen, she just couldn’t tell what.”
Oh, well, in that case…
* I doubt Mum had any premonitions of any sort, but just tried to cheer her sister up.
Considering she’d just had a project go down in flames, I silently wondered what the use of such premonitions would be, but instead said:
“Nah, I don’t trust in premonitions: when my aunt was in hospital, Mum said she had a premonition* she’d be OK. Two weeks later she was dead.” (I have a tendency towards rather morbid examples.)
“See! She had a premonition something would happen, she just couldn’t tell what.”
Oh, well, in that case…
* I doubt Mum had any premonitions of any sort, but just tried to cheer her sister up.
2011-03-26
Postponing judgement
Every now and then I get into discussions with, er, …persons lacking in scientific training. A common complaint, when I decline to embrace the truth of preternatural interpretations of various events, is: “Scientists think they always know everything!” Well, no.
Saying “It must have been telepathy, what else could it be?” is assuming that everything else is known and excluded.
Saying “As all well-controlled tests so far have failed to show any evidence of telepathy, it’s unlikely that that was the cause in this case either, but the amount of detail given in your anecdote only allows us to guess on alternative explanations, so we cannot really say what happened.” is tentative, wordy, and hedging, and in particular does not assume that all circumstances are known. Why is this so difficult to grasp for some?
Then, Randy Munroe attacks another complaint about the dastardlyness of scientists:
(Of course all the facts about Fuligo septica are exactly as stated. Oh, and it’s called “troll butter” in Swedish.)
Saying “It must have been telepathy, what else could it be?” is assuming that everything else is known and excluded.
Saying “As all well-controlled tests so far have failed to show any evidence of telepathy, it’s unlikely that that was the cause in this case either, but the amount of detail given in your anecdote only allows us to guess on alternative explanations, so we cannot really say what happened.” is tentative, wordy, and hedging, and in particular does not assume that all circumstances are known. Why is this so difficult to grasp for some?
Then, Randy Munroe attacks another complaint about the dastardlyness of scientists:
2011-03-25
Untimely
It was with a lump in my throat I found that André Gjörling has died, leaving behind a family and memories of the gentle silliness of Toffelhjältarna/Solstollarna. I find no better tribute than letting Martyna Lisowska bid him good night.
2011-03-10
Disappointed
Intrigued by a review of Model Craft’s Pick and Place tool, a handle with a sticky head with which to pick up small items (like photo-etch details and such), I tried to find one for myself. The usual hobby shops did not have them, but Panduro offered something that seems to be the identical item under the name Marvy Jewel Picker.
It did initially perform as promised, but the head lost its tackiness within days. The suggested methods of washing in warm water or rolling the head over sticky tape have not worked. I’m much disappointed in what seemed so promising.
Finished model 2011-I
Two F.W. 190’s patrolling over the Eastern Front on the 17th December 1942 are shown attacking one of the seven Petlyakov PE-2’s they destroyed on this their first sortie with the new F.W. 190.
The painting instructions on the back of the box indicate that the aircraft on the cover comes from “111 Group J.G. 51 Fighter Unit (Eastern Front)”, i e presumably III/JG 51. More specifically, since the aircraft carries red numbers, it would be from 8./JG 51, or, spelling out the abbreviation: 8. Staffel/III Gruppe/Jagdgeschwader 51 „Mölders“. (More explanation)
Finding out more about this incident required trawling through quite a bit of references. It was known that a Günther Schack had shot down five of those Pe-2s, but what was the exact date, what unit did he belong to and what subtype of Fw 190 was he flying?
- Campbell [1975] says a Lt. Gunther [sic] had shot down six Pe-2s on his first sortie with a Fw 190A-4 of III/JG 51, at some point before 1943-02-11.
- Weal [2000] says Oblt Günther Schack flew a Fw 190A-4 of 9./JG 51 and shot down five Pe-2s on 1943-01-29. This is contradicted by Weal [2006], where he says Lt Günther Schack shot down five Pe-2s on 1942-12-17 (possibly, unclear from context) while flying with a unit of III/JG 51, possibly 7./JG 51, extrapolating from the unit he’d flown with earlier in 1942.
- Shores [1974] says Lt Günther Schack shot down five Pe-2s while flying a Fw 190A-4 of III/JG 51, but gives no date.
- Kacha says Günther Schack performed this feat both on 1942-12-17 and on 1943-01-29, while flying a Fw 190A-4 of III/JG 51, possibly 7./JG 51.
- Lexikon der Wehrmacht says he flew with 7./JG 51 and was promoted Leutnant on 1943-01-01.
Fortunately we can go to more primary sources: the Luftwaffe claims lists give us the information we need:
| 17.12.42 | Ofw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 25 km. N.E. Sychëvka: 250 m. (Smolensk) | 11.58 |
| 17.12.42 | Ofw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 27 km. N.E. Sychëvka: 2.500 m. | 11.59 |
| 17.12.42 | Ofw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 35 km. N.E. Sychëvka: 2.500 m. | 12.00 |
| 17.12.42 | Ofw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 33 km. N.E. Sychëvka: 2.500 m. | 12.01 |
| 17.12.42 | Ofw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 20 km. S. Subzoff: 3.000 m. | 12.17 |
And, we also find this:
| 29.01.43 | Fw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 63 322: at 1.800 m. | 08.31 |
| 29.01.43 | Fw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 63 444: at 1.700 m. | 08.32 |
| 29.01.43 | Fw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 63 444: at 1.600 m. | 08.33 |
| 29.01.43 | Fw. Günther Schack | 7./JG 51 | Pe-2 | 63 444: at 1.500 m. | 08.34 |
So, we have one occasion of five Pe-2s shot down, and a second of four shot down. The unit definitely seems to be 7./JG 51, though it seems unlikely that Schack would have been demoted from Oberfeldwebel to Feldwebel between December and January, so some error in the sources seems to be present.
In the December incident, we see that there is a first group of four shot down within minutes (it seems likely that the first kill is also at 2500 m, rather than 250) and the last one 16 minutes later, some distance away and at a different height. When we plot this on a map we see some interesting things: III/JG51 were at the time based in Orel (marked with a red blob on the map) [Holm], and the patrol’s interception was over 200 km to the north, past Moscow. The first three kills are made while flying on a north-easterly course, but the patrol has then doubled back for the fourth. At 12:10 Unteroffizier Baumestner (presumably Schack’s wingman) shot down another Pe-2 12 km south of „Subzoff“, i e further west, and then at 12:17 Schack shot down the final Pe-2 almost at the point of the first kill. (Assuming the positions given are trustworthy and precise. Movable Type’s lat/long scripts were invaluable in fixing them on a map.) The north-easterly course would imply that the Soviet bombers were on their way home, but the question is then why the last kills were further west, as it seems unlikely that the Soviet crews would try to escape to safety in that direction, but possibly these were stragglers that had become separated from the others. That the positions are given with reference to Zubtsov rather than Sychyovka, suggests that the patrol had moved about and taken new bearings before finding the last two bombers.
The January mission was closer to home, if I have managed to convert the Jägergradnetz coordinates correctly (using LUMA). Further, the given times would indicate that the kills were made just before daybreak. Might this in fact have been an interception of a dawn raid on the airfield itself? (It is also possible that the time given was Berlin time, rather than local, Moscow, time.)
Show a bigger version.
(The map also indicates that while the landscape is not completely flat, it does not feature anything like the dramatic snow-covered mountains on the box art.)
Now, what about the aircraft? In this case the relevant document is Flugzeugbestand und Bewegungsmeldungen III./JG 51 which gives us that III/JG 51 during the relevant months had:
| 1942-11: | 7 Fw 190A-3, 6 Fw 190A-2 |
| 1942-12: | 11 Fw 190A-3, 23 Fw 190A-2 |
| 1943-01: | 16 Fw 190A-3, 16 Fw 190A-2 |
| 1943-02: | 15 Fw 190A-3, 25 Fw 190A-2 |
Clearly Schack could not have flown an A-4 at this time, but it could have been either an A-2 or an A-3. For modelling purposes they are identical, as the difference lies in the engine subtype [Baugher 2004], so we will not worry unduly about this distinction. The Matchbox kit claims to be an A-3, but in fact contains a mixture of A-3 and A-4 features, the most visible being having both the A-4’s high antenna post on the fin and the A-3’s direct lead into the fin. Well, this is pretty typical Matchbox, but onto more visible features: how would the aircraft have been painted? The painting instructions indicate a 70/71/65 camouflage, with a high demarcation line and a spinner with concentric circles in black and white, but is this supported by photographic and documentary evidence? There is relatively little in the way of photographic evidence of JG 51 Fw 190s [though see Arthy], but we can extrapolate from other Fw 190 units on the Eastern Front, primarily JG 54.
German fighters had switched from 70/71/65 to 74/75/76 camouflage in 1941, but this was dictated by high altitude flying where grey colours blended in better with the sky. On the Eastern Front, fighters were sent out against low-level bombers and attack aircraft and also needed to be better hidden on the ground, so units there reverted to the old-style camouflage. Then, when winter arrived, they were winter camouflaged with white paint over the top surfaces. However, photographs indicate that green/green aircraft were used in parallel with white-painted aircraft, there were also aircraft only partially white-painted over the green/green surfaces and then the thin layer of white would wear off fairly quickly, letting the green/green surfaces shine through.
In the end I decided, mostly out of time constraints, to go for an all-white scheme, and since they supposedly were on their first patrol, the paint would still be fresh. Weal has drawn a profile of Herbert Wehnelt’s Fw 190A-3 from 7./JG 51, though without giving any photographic source for it, that I let myself be inspired by.
Then, the markings. Clearly Matchbox’ markings were spurious (which actually is a bit surprising, usually they are based on some well-known individual), and worse, the „10“ numerals on the actual decals were for no good reason drastically simplified from the rendition on the box art, the latter which correctly depicted 8 Staffel markings in red with white surrounds. In the absence of any other evidence, I just pilfered a white number „1“ and III Gruppe vertical bar from the Kagero decal sheet nr 25 „JG 26 vol II“. Something clearly visible from available photographs was that, in opposition to JG 54, JG 51 aircraft did usually not carry any unit emblems at this time, so I didn’t have to worry about that.
Yeah, and then the actual building of the model:
I scratch-built a cockpit interior, opened up the cooling louvres behind the engine and also deepened the space behind the exhaust tubes (but didn’t bother making the tubes themselves). I wanted to build an aircraft in flight, so I filed down the tail wheel to its correct semi-retracted position. I also added an antenna cable and removed the incorrect antenna post. Some amount of filler was needed, in particular around the wings, and some panel lines needed to be (re-)scribed. Another curious item was that the wings had the bulges for MG FF cannon, but no barrels supplied. These were of course easy to add. I also created a pitot tube out of a length of syringe and a Q-tip that I stretched over a candle.
Painting was a bit of a painful process, I’m using the airbrush too seldom to become really proficient, but I think I learned some useful lessons.
Literature:
Chronik Jagdgeschwader 51 »Mölders«, Gebhard Aders & Werner Held, 2009, Motorbuch Verlag.
Aircraft Archive: Classics of World War Two, Argus Books, 1989.
“Early Focke-Wulf FW 190s on the Eastern Front: The FW 190 A-1, A-2 and A-3 with Jagdgeschwader 51”, Andrew Arthy.
“Modeller's Guide to Focke-Wulf Fw 190 Variants: Radial Engine Versions—Part I”, Joe Baugher & Martin Waligorski.
Focke Wulf FW 190 in action, Jerry L. Campbell, 1975, Squadron/Signal Publications.
Luftwaffe at War: Fighters over Russia, Manfred Griehl, 1997, Greenhill Books.
„Jagdgeschwader 51 "Mölders"“, compiled by Michael Holm.
„Flugzeugbestand und Bewegungsmeldungen: III./JG51“, compiled by Michael Holm.
“Günther Schack”, Petr Kacha.
„Schack, Günther“, Lexikon der Wehrmacht.
German Aircraft Interiors 1935–1945, vol 1, Kenneth A. Merrick, 1996, Monogram Aviation Publiations.
Focke-Wulf FW 190 im Detail, Jens Nissen, 2002, Motorbuch Verlag.
Focke-Wulf Fw 190A/F/G Luftwaffe, Christopher Shores, 1974, Osprey Publishing.
Luftwaffe Air & Ground Crew 1939–45, Robert F. Stedman, 2002, Osprey Publishing.
Oberflächenschutzverfahren und Anstrichstoffe der deutschen Luftfahrtindustrie und Luftwaffe 1935–1945, Michael Ullmann, 2000, Bernard & Graefe Verlag.
Focke-Wulf Fw 190 Aces on the Eastern Front, John Weal, 2000, Delprado Publications.
Jagdgeschwader 51 ‘Mölders’, John Weal, 2006, Osprey Publications.
“O.K.L. Fighter Claims Chef für Ausz. und Dizsiplin [sic] Luftwaffen-Personalamt L.P. (A) V Films & Supplementary Claims from Lists Eastern Front (Ostfront) August–December 1942”
“O.K.L. Fighter Claims Chef für Ausz. und Dizsiplin [sic] Luftwaffen-Personalamt L.P. (A) V Films & Supplementary Claims from Lists Eastern Front (Ostfront) January–June 1943”, compiled by Tony Wood.
2011-03-04
Coincidence? I think not!
The sister ship of HMS Tiger was HMS Blake. The Royal Navy claims it is named for Robert Blake, but I think some clever fellow at the Admiralty had William Blake in mind.
2011-03-03
Gustav III
[SPOILERS AHEAD]
It’s been altogether too long since I went to a spex, so I brought along the posse to see ”Gustav III, eller, Svårigheten att komma till skott” (“Gustav III, or, Barkeep, gimme another shot”).
It seems the state of spex has moved somewhat, at least judging from this sample, which kept high standards of acting and psychological development, while the audience had become more rowdy, constantly yelling requests at the actors. I was also a bit surprised to find that all female roles were played by actual women and the male roles all by men. (Honeybuns suggested that cross-dressing is so common it has no effect any more and thus can just be dumped.) The second-act ensemble a capella had been moved to the finale and there was no Pun Cascade worth mentioning.
That said, it was a tightly scripted exercise, starting with King Gustav away in France, shirking his duties according to his brother, the prim and stiff Duke Charles. Therefore he has hatched a plan to oust the king with the help of their cousin, Empress Catherine. Bellman, ne’er-do-well and the King’s best friend, however joyously announces that the king is returning. Hollinder, the barman at Gyldene Freden, is being henpecked by visiting nobles.
Eventually the king arrives and goes straight to Gyldene Freden to find Bellman and tell of his travels in France, where Liberty, Equality and Fraternity have just been invented. Bellman and the king celebrate their reunion with joyous horse-play, but both Duke Charles and Queen Sophia turn up to remind the king of his duties: wars and parties. Tomorrow there will be a masked ball to celebrate the return of the king and the queen wants it to be “Perfect perfect perfect”. Bellman, being a commoner, is expressly not wanted at the party. Bellman is hurt and the king is pained but forced to uphold the queen’s decree, because after all, one has to do one’s duties.
Duke Charles and Catherine have a secret meeting where he explains that the king should be made to abdicate. Catherine, a stereotypical Russian who will kiss and kill with the same hearty laugh, has no patience with such finesse and decides on her own to simply kill the king. Hollinder suggests she contact a mysterious man, known as Anckarström. This she does and hands the masked Anckarström money and a gun with which to shoot the king.
The next day the queen is dressing up the unhappy king, who vainly tries to explain that he actually does not want to be king and really not her husband either. She does not listen, but gets more and more exasperated with his uninterest in the perfect perfect perfect ball. When the king leaves, she has a chat with Catherine, who explains how she killed her husband the Czar and became ruler over the Russian empire. Sophia gets an idea. Catherine offers help—in exchange for suitable parts of the Swedish kingdom. They haggle for a while over who’ll have to take Finland. An upset Finn in the audience curses loudly.
Meanwhile the king has sought out Bellman and asks him to came to the ball anyway. Bellman has a bright idea for how the king can escape his duties and rushes off without having time to explain his idea.
Sophia finds Anckarström and hands him money and a gun with which to kill the king.
Bellman also locates Anckarström and hands him money and a gun with which to kill the king. We understand that this gun is loaded with a blank.
Before the masked ball Hollinder, who is responsible for the catering, arrives with a heavy bag, which he nervously tries to hide and then opens. It turns out to contain three guns and Anckarström’s mask and cape. He picks one of the guns at random. The ball begins.
During the ball a masked man turns up and shoots the king, who falls. Curtains.
In the final act Duke Charles is besides himself, what hath Catherine wrought, this was not his plan at all. Is the king still alive even? A physician, suspiciously similar to Bellman in disguise, assures he has the situation under control, but is also very nervous. In private with the king it turns out the king is alive, though wounded. Bellman is desperately upset that his plan backfired so badly. The king tries to console him. But, can they escape? Before they manage to leave, everybody else arrive in the king’s chamber through various secret passages. In particular a wild-eyed Hollinder arrives, determined to go into history by finishing the job with his two remaining guns. Duke Charles manages to snatch one of these for himself and there is a standoff for the space of several restarts of the ensemble a capella, and then the two men fire. Both Hollinder and the king fall. The czarina and the queen rejoice, but Duke Charles takes over the situation at swordpoint and sends them packing.
The king awakes from his faint to the joy of Bellman and the relief of Duke Charles. The king however decides it suits him to remain dead and leave for France with Bellman, leaving the kingdom in the hands of Duke Charles. The brothers solemnly take farewell and then finally Gustav and Bellman can meet in a deep kiss. The audience goes wild. Curtains.
I was quite impressed with the performance of Gustav, unwilling but duty-bound, the straight man of the play. Hollinder, also a man under pressure, got somewhat short shrift, being killed with no eulogies (though yet a better death than the real Anckarström received). On the whole an enjoyable evening.
It’s been altogether too long since I went to a spex, so I brought along the posse to see ”Gustav III, eller, Svårigheten att komma till skott” (“Gustav III, or, Barkeep, gimme another shot”).
It seems the state of spex has moved somewhat, at least judging from this sample, which kept high standards of acting and psychological development, while the audience had become more rowdy, constantly yelling requests at the actors. I was also a bit surprised to find that all female roles were played by actual women and the male roles all by men. (Honeybuns suggested that cross-dressing is so common it has no effect any more and thus can just be dumped.) The second-act ensemble a capella had been moved to the finale and there was no Pun Cascade worth mentioning.
That said, it was a tightly scripted exercise, starting with King Gustav away in France, shirking his duties according to his brother, the prim and stiff Duke Charles. Therefore he has hatched a plan to oust the king with the help of their cousin, Empress Catherine. Bellman, ne’er-do-well and the King’s best friend, however joyously announces that the king is returning. Hollinder, the barman at Gyldene Freden, is being henpecked by visiting nobles.
Eventually the king arrives and goes straight to Gyldene Freden to find Bellman and tell of his travels in France, where Liberty, Equality and Fraternity have just been invented. Bellman and the king celebrate their reunion with joyous horse-play, but both Duke Charles and Queen Sophia turn up to remind the king of his duties: wars and parties. Tomorrow there will be a masked ball to celebrate the return of the king and the queen wants it to be “Perfect perfect perfect”. Bellman, being a commoner, is expressly not wanted at the party. Bellman is hurt and the king is pained but forced to uphold the queen’s decree, because after all, one has to do one’s duties.
Duke Charles and Catherine have a secret meeting where he explains that the king should be made to abdicate. Catherine, a stereotypical Russian who will kiss and kill with the same hearty laugh, has no patience with such finesse and decides on her own to simply kill the king. Hollinder suggests she contact a mysterious man, known as Anckarström. This she does and hands the masked Anckarström money and a gun with which to shoot the king.
The next day the queen is dressing up the unhappy king, who vainly tries to explain that he actually does not want to be king and really not her husband either. She does not listen, but gets more and more exasperated with his uninterest in the perfect perfect perfect ball. When the king leaves, she has a chat with Catherine, who explains how she killed her husband the Czar and became ruler over the Russian empire. Sophia gets an idea. Catherine offers help—in exchange for suitable parts of the Swedish kingdom. They haggle for a while over who’ll have to take Finland. An upset Finn in the audience curses loudly.
Meanwhile the king has sought out Bellman and asks him to came to the ball anyway. Bellman has a bright idea for how the king can escape his duties and rushes off without having time to explain his idea.
Sophia finds Anckarström and hands him money and a gun with which to kill the king.
Bellman also locates Anckarström and hands him money and a gun with which to kill the king. We understand that this gun is loaded with a blank.
Before the masked ball Hollinder, who is responsible for the catering, arrives with a heavy bag, which he nervously tries to hide and then opens. It turns out to contain three guns and Anckarström’s mask and cape. He picks one of the guns at random. The ball begins.
During the ball a masked man turns up and shoots the king, who falls. Curtains.
In the final act Duke Charles is besides himself, what hath Catherine wrought, this was not his plan at all. Is the king still alive even? A physician, suspiciously similar to Bellman in disguise, assures he has the situation under control, but is also very nervous. In private with the king it turns out the king is alive, though wounded. Bellman is desperately upset that his plan backfired so badly. The king tries to console him. But, can they escape? Before they manage to leave, everybody else arrive in the king’s chamber through various secret passages. In particular a wild-eyed Hollinder arrives, determined to go into history by finishing the job with his two remaining guns. Duke Charles manages to snatch one of these for himself and there is a standoff for the space of several restarts of the ensemble a capella, and then the two men fire. Both Hollinder and the king fall. The czarina and the queen rejoice, but Duke Charles takes over the situation at swordpoint and sends them packing.
The king awakes from his faint to the joy of Bellman and the relief of Duke Charles. The king however decides it suits him to remain dead and leave for France with Bellman, leaving the kingdom in the hands of Duke Charles. The brothers solemnly take farewell and then finally Gustav and Bellman can meet in a deep kiss. The audience goes wild. Curtains.
I was quite impressed with the performance of Gustav, unwilling but duty-bound, the straight man of the play. Hollinder, also a man under pressure, got somewhat short shrift, being killed with no eulogies (though yet a better death than the real Anckarström received). On the whole an enjoyable evening.
2011-02-21
All in a day’s work
Getting my work done: Testing software on both Windows XP and Windows 7, and the Linux box in the middle to actually work on. Not visible in this picture is the Mac on the other table.
2011-02-20
Spacecraft
Today it was time to go see the exhibition NASA—A Human Adventure at the National Museum of Science and Technology, so I gathered up friends and we descended on the museum. Most of us eschewed the audio guides, but it turns out that they really are necessary for making sense of most exhibits, as the signs next to the exhibits are pretty limited, and, embarrassment of embarrassments, the Swedish-language versions seem to have been generated by an automated translation service with a sketchy idea of spelling.
Further, I was quite shocked to find that they’d emptied out the entire Machine Hall (except for the mine pump, which I guess keeps the entire building in place) for the exhibition, where have they moved all the stuff that’s normally there? Now it was populated by replicas and engineering mockups of the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo craft.
Just as horrible as I suspected. (Note that this large panorama window is there for the benefit of visitors, fitted in place of the egress hatch.)
Space shuttle passenger seats, surpassed in comfort by any airline. The view is also not so hot.
The “standard” exhibition space of the museum contained, among other items, (replicas of) both the Apollo lunar rover and the Lunokhod, which I’ve always been fond of. (Here’s a documentary on it.)
Further in were exhibited models of space stations. I hadn’t really grasped how big the ISS is by now, why isn’t it in the news more often?
The previous Teknorama space contained the hands-on exhibits, though the centrifuge was out of order. This was also where the museum shop had relocated, now containing only NASA-related merchandise which did not arouse my interest.
On the whole it was an enjoyable excursion, though using the audio guide is definitely indicated.
2011-02-18
2011-02-14
2011-02-12
Static dance
Honeybuns and I went to see Dansmuseet today. It’s located right in the middle of Stockholm in a former bank palace. The government wants to take over their premises and use as office space and let the museum find new space elsewhere, so in the entrance was a list to sign to protest this.
The exhibits are in the large central hall, clearly designed to impress the visitors to the bank. Unfortunately this also means that the acoustics are not the best with a high ceiling and stone walls. On exhibition is mainly various dance costumes, half from around the world, half from Swedish ballet ensembles, this reflecting the interests of Rolf de Maré, who started the collection. I understand there is also a large library, but this is not immediately accessible to casual visitors. By some of the exhibits were video screens, showing dances related to the costumes, but in order to not drown the entire hall in sound, all the screens were muted, so one had to make do without explanations. I thought that the type of directed audio hoods used at the National Museum of Natural History would have been useful.
By the ballet exhibits was a larger surface onto which was projected dance clips from various sources. Unfortunately the projection surface was textile draped against the wall rather than a proper screen, so the image was always slightly blurred.
In a little room (actually the repurposed bottom of a stairwell) next to this was a proper projection screen and a strict-looking lady would turn on the video player according to schedule to show full dance films, rather than just clips. Choreographies by Isadora Duncan, it turned out to be.
The museum café and shop had a very nice view towards the Royal Palace, but didn’t serve anything I could eat, so we left the museum. The overall feeling was slight disappointment—we would have liked to see more in the way of dance, in particular outside the context of Western ballet. I also suspect that the museum’s resistance to moving is mostly due to the convenience of the staff, as the premises felt so unsuited to museum activities, especially inherently noisy ones such as dance. (Strangely enough, the Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities, located in another former bank palace just a couple of houses down the street, seems to have made much more effective use of their premises.) I wonder if it would make sense to colocate Dansmuseet with the Museum of Ethnography, though that may require extending their building a bit.
The exhibits are in the large central hall, clearly designed to impress the visitors to the bank. Unfortunately this also means that the acoustics are not the best with a high ceiling and stone walls. On exhibition is mainly various dance costumes, half from around the world, half from Swedish ballet ensembles, this reflecting the interests of Rolf de Maré, who started the collection. I understand there is also a large library, but this is not immediately accessible to casual visitors. By some of the exhibits were video screens, showing dances related to the costumes, but in order to not drown the entire hall in sound, all the screens were muted, so one had to make do without explanations. I thought that the type of directed audio hoods used at the National Museum of Natural History would have been useful.
By the ballet exhibits was a larger surface onto which was projected dance clips from various sources. Unfortunately the projection surface was textile draped against the wall rather than a proper screen, so the image was always slightly blurred.
In a little room (actually the repurposed bottom of a stairwell) next to this was a proper projection screen and a strict-looking lady would turn on the video player according to schedule to show full dance films, rather than just clips. Choreographies by Isadora Duncan, it turned out to be.
The museum café and shop had a very nice view towards the Royal Palace, but didn’t serve anything I could eat, so we left the museum. The overall feeling was slight disappointment—we would have liked to see more in the way of dance, in particular outside the context of Western ballet. I also suspect that the museum’s resistance to moving is mostly due to the convenience of the staff, as the premises felt so unsuited to museum activities, especially inherently noisy ones such as dance. (Strangely enough, the Museum of Mediterranean and Near Eastern Antiquities, located in another former bank palace just a couple of houses down the street, seems to have made much more effective use of their premises.) I wonder if it would make sense to colocate Dansmuseet with the Museum of Ethnography, though that may require extending their building a bit.
2011-02-11
2011-02-09
Ah, youth!
Presently another elderly gentleman turned up, presumably a proud father of a musician, also out of his element:
“Can I pay with credit card?”
“Uh, no.”
I paid the entrance fee in cash and had my hand stamped: RETURN TO SENDER
Finally both the Only-Begotten Children turned up and we sat down, waiting for the concert to start. I used the rest of the cash I had to buy dinner, a vegan risotto with beans that turned out to be cheap, good, and plentiful. I was also (finally!) introduced to the OBDB’s parents.
The concert space was festooned with murals, mottos, and the tags and signatures of hundreds of bands that had played there over the years. Several times when audience members entered the room I gave a start and thought I saw a classmate, and immediately had to remind myself that they would now be as middle-aged as me, but apparently the look and fashion has never quite gone out of style.
The first band consisted of the classic three guitars and drummer and demonstrated that the sound system was amply dimensioned for the relatively small space. They all carefully wore ear plugs and the rest of us could experience the drums and bass straight through our sternums. The lead guitarist finished by showing exactly how fast he could play. Quite impressive, in fact.
The OBDBB came on next, also three guitars and drums, but played much more softly, concentrating on poetic lyrics (in English, natch). The OBDB even changed guitars during the set. Very professional.
The final band also consisted of mop-topped three guitars and drums, playing in the shoe-gazing style, but they also added a lead singer. In this case it was the drummer who demonstrated his speed-drumming skills.
Eventually the gig was over and I wandered down along Katarinavägen, looking at the view over Stockholm and feeling a bit like Viktor Rydberg’s gnome: Where do all these kids come from, generation after generation?
2011-02-03
2011-01-30
Cultural sensitivities
In hackerdom, it’s deeply ingrained behaviour to look away when somebody else enters their password; it’s automatic and often quite subtle, just a slight turn of the head and a defocussing of the gaze for the necessary few seconds. Conversely, it is expected behaviour by the other: A n00b that I was instructing leaned over my shoulder and watched my actions even while I logged in; I couldn’t have been more disturbed if she’d insisted on following me into the bathroom.
2011-01-29
Hand and eye coordination
Yep, you saw right, those are the fingers of master builder Emmanuel Nouaillier, who shares with us his methods for creating derelict buildings. There’s some quite impressive work here.
H/t Neil Crawford.
2011-01-28
Veckans ord: råkost
När jag var liten fanns i tidningen varje vardag en liten spalt som listade skollunchen i länets kommuner. Råkost var en stående komponent. Jag var inte riktigt säker på vad det var, men jag utgick från att det nog var lika äckligt som mesost. Som tur var var det ingen som tvingade mig att smaka på denna fågelmejeriprodukt och jag fick äta rivna morötter istället.
2011-01-21
Word of the week: diety
Adherents of many religions have food restrictions placed on them by their diety.
2011-01-14
Veckans ord: pateter
”Men snälla lilla du, vad är det för gräsliga saker du har på väggarna? Det är ju pateter!”
2011-01-07
Happy birthday
We celebrated Honeybuns’ birthday with breakfast at Hotel Diplomat. The atmosphere was much cosier than at Grand Hôtel, including the “five and a half and a little more” girl at the next table who regaled us with various bits of information and curiosities, such as her father just having gone to have his hair cut, because sometimes it stood straight out just like a dead rabbit on his head. On bad hare days, one presumes.
The selection in the buffet was somewhat smallish, but not inconveniently so, on the other hand they closed it already at 10. We relocated to the lounge and lounged there until lunch, when we went out on town to look for what we could find. Honeybuns found a very cute collar in fake fur, which I look forward to see her wearing on our next outing.
The selection in the buffet was somewhat smallish, but not inconveniently so, on the other hand they closed it already at 10. We relocated to the lounge and lounged there until lunch, when we went out on town to look for what we could find. Honeybuns found a very cute collar in fake fur, which I look forward to see her wearing on our next outing.
2011-01-06
Stereotypes
2011-01-04
Eclipse
I’d forgotten about the eclipse, but excited workmates reminded me. In return I told them how to make a pinhole camera for safe viewing out of two pieces of paper.
2011-01-03
On the subject of conspiracies
I see many people whose opinions I would otherwise respect tacitly make the claim that Julian Assange has been caught in a “honey trap”, but what none of those has been able to formulate is What exactly could the CIA/UD/Säpo/Illuminati offer the women concerned to make them go through a rape trial? Their identities are public, their motives questioned, their reputation picked apart, their careers most likely shot, and I can’t imagine they’ be able live a life in quiet luxury afterwards without it being brought to the light.
2011-01-02
2011-01-01
Hangover
But for my own part I’m fine. We spent New Year’s eve at K’s home over a most exquisite dinner. We also test-played Orangino. No clue why it’s named that way, but the box is very orange. The idea of the game is that you pick cards which each contain a claim about your character and then you and and all the others state how well that claim fits you. If your assessment agrees with that of your friends, you get points. Clearly the way to win is to assess yourself the way you suspect your friends see you, not necessarily truthfully (and of course, it might be argued that your truth does not necessarily trump your friends’s truth(s) anyway). In the end, I won, Honeybuns exclaiming: “…because you’re such a caricature of yourself!” Yeah, I guess I manage to keep my public face on even in private.
Eventually we trudged off through a thickening snowfall to Skansen where we caught the last bit of the New Year’s show (we didn't actually see any of it, coming so late we ended up behind some thousands of others), sang along and cheered at the new year. The snowfall allowed us to see only the most powerful of the fireworks, but K had brought along sparklers that we waved around and also handed out to some tourists who hadn’t thought of bringing their own pyrotechnics.
We slipped and slid down the hill from Solliden and wandered homewards. I thought there were fewer over-inebriated revellers out than usual, possibly due to the snowfall. It wasn’t all that cold though, probably just around 270 K, but I still winced at the sight of various young women walking around in short skirts and ultra-thin pantyhose.
2010-12-31
Veckans ord: hålslag
I en snickeriverkstad kan man se många olika hålslag: borrade, stansade, skurna, sågade, frästa, huggna, …
2010-12-28
2010-12-27
2010-12-19
We’re baack!
Already during our previous visit to Utö we decided to return for their Christmas market, and so we did.
M/S Waxholm II was already pretty full when we boarded so we got seats far aft. A fourish girl sitting in front of us teased me with her giraffe-ears-and-horns head piece. I indicated my great envy.
When we arrived, Utö Värdshus looked pretty different from when we saw it last: In the yard was a number of market stalls, the celebrated Christmas market. The entrance was extended with a tent that turned out to contain a temporary cloakroom. We didn’t think much about it, but went straight in for check-in.
Through magic hotel-staff skills, the receptionist recognises us immediately. Our room is not yet ready, but will soon be. We drop off our luggage and tour the little market. Some parts of it are in fact inside the inn building, we duck in and out, me bumping my head on the low door lintels. Finally I manage to bump my head on some overhanging snow and get a heap of it inside my collar. IH! IH! Honeybuns thinks it’s silly of me to be so tall, she manages perfectly well. A snow fight ensues, until I notice the little girl from the boat. A few stealthy steps and Haha! now I have giraffe horns. I strut about a bit before returning the horns.
We briefly peeked into the mine museum and the ominously-named Boutique Hybris, and chatted with the staff, but didn’t find anything particularly interesting, shopping-wise. As we will have Christmas dinner in the evening, we skip the inn and instead have lunch at the Society House. Pricey, but good. We note that quite a few families with children are visiting the inn and the market—there’s a long line of prams outside. And! The inn is completely packed with people having Christmas luncheon. Where did they all come from?
We pick up our key and retire to our room. Our plans had included studying, but after a week’s worth of early mornings, we just fall asleep. When we wake up, it’s already dark outside. I turn on the telly and “Christmas at River Cottage” spreads Christmas cheer that I decide not to consider the fakeytude of, but just enjoy, though when Hugh goes out into the garden to pick vegetables on the morning of Christmas Eve, I throw a glance at the snow dunes outside our cottage.
Come dinner time we climb the hill up to the inn and it’s clear that the extra cloak room is needed, the place is as full as it was for lunch. Robert, the maitre d’, greets us: “Ah, there you are! [aside to a staffer:] OK, now everybody is here.” Oops, we’re last? Well, as they say, the later, the finer the guests. We are escorted to our favourite table, the one with the best view.
Then, off to sample the 150+ dishes. While we do not taste them all, everything we eat is delicious and even with our respective food restrictions there’s plenty enough both for Honeybuns and me to eat. We peek at the other patrons, clearly many families—children sleeping by the tables here and there— groups of friends, snippets of song here and there (though with the snobbism afforded by a polytechnic education I consider the variety and quality of performance of the drinking songs to be less than adequate). We had thought we’d get some reading done after dinner, but now the lounges are used for dining guests, so we instead, happily sated, walk down the hill, through the driving snow, and in spite of our long afternoon nap, we fall asleep again not too much later.
In the morning, the snowfall has increased in intensity as we walk up the hill for breakfast. Apparently, we didn’t quite live up to classic Christmas dinner standards, as we had no need at all for the head-ache pills and indigestion powders strategically placed in the middle of the breakfast buffet. As we checked out, we made a booking for this summer, and I bought some of the sausages on offer in the Christmas market. We also bought a handful of tickets in the lottery stand and won bike rental for two during the summer—what a useful coincidence.
And then, the boat home through the still-increasing snowfall.
M/S Waxholm II was already pretty full when we boarded so we got seats far aft. A fourish girl sitting in front of us teased me with her giraffe-ears-and-horns head piece. I indicated my great envy.
When we arrived, Utö Värdshus looked pretty different from when we saw it last: In the yard was a number of market stalls, the celebrated Christmas market. The entrance was extended with a tent that turned out to contain a temporary cloakroom. We didn’t think much about it, but went straight in for check-in.
Through magic hotel-staff skills, the receptionist recognises us immediately. Our room is not yet ready, but will soon be. We drop off our luggage and tour the little market. Some parts of it are in fact inside the inn building, we duck in and out, me bumping my head on the low door lintels. Finally I manage to bump my head on some overhanging snow and get a heap of it inside my collar. IH! IH! Honeybuns thinks it’s silly of me to be so tall, she manages perfectly well. A snow fight ensues, until I notice the little girl from the boat. A few stealthy steps and Haha! now I have giraffe horns. I strut about a bit before returning the horns.
We briefly peeked into the mine museum and the ominously-named Boutique Hybris, and chatted with the staff, but didn’t find anything particularly interesting, shopping-wise. As we will have Christmas dinner in the evening, we skip the inn and instead have lunch at the Society House. Pricey, but good. We note that quite a few families with children are visiting the inn and the market—there’s a long line of prams outside. And! The inn is completely packed with people having Christmas luncheon. Where did they all come from?
We pick up our key and retire to our room. Our plans had included studying, but after a week’s worth of early mornings, we just fall asleep. When we wake up, it’s already dark outside. I turn on the telly and “Christmas at River Cottage” spreads Christmas cheer that I decide not to consider the fakeytude of, but just enjoy, though when Hugh goes out into the garden to pick vegetables on the morning of Christmas Eve, I throw a glance at the snow dunes outside our cottage.
Come dinner time we climb the hill up to the inn and it’s clear that the extra cloak room is needed, the place is as full as it was for lunch. Robert, the maitre d’, greets us: “Ah, there you are! [aside to a staffer:] OK, now everybody is here.” Oops, we’re last? Well, as they say, the later, the finer the guests. We are escorted to our favourite table, the one with the best view.
Then, off to sample the 150+ dishes. While we do not taste them all, everything we eat is delicious and even with our respective food restrictions there’s plenty enough both for Honeybuns and me to eat. We peek at the other patrons, clearly many families—children sleeping by the tables here and there— groups of friends, snippets of song here and there (though with the snobbism afforded by a polytechnic education I consider the variety and quality of performance of the drinking songs to be less than adequate). We had thought we’d get some reading done after dinner, but now the lounges are used for dining guests, so we instead, happily sated, walk down the hill, through the driving snow, and in spite of our long afternoon nap, we fall asleep again not too much later.
In the morning, the snowfall has increased in intensity as we walk up the hill for breakfast. Apparently, we didn’t quite live up to classic Christmas dinner standards, as we had no need at all for the head-ache pills and indigestion powders strategically placed in the middle of the breakfast buffet. As we checked out, we made a booking for this summer, and I bought some of the sausages on offer in the Christmas market. We also bought a handful of tickets in the lottery stand and won bike rental for two during the summer—what a useful coincidence.
And then, the boat home through the still-increasing snowfall.
2010-12-12
Matured
I haven’t been very happy with the Harry Potter films, because they’ve failed to depict the characters in favour of special effects. However, I had heard good things about the latest film and when Honeybuns and I were in Sigtuna for the Christmas market, the crowds and the cold made us decide the local cinema looked promising, so in we slunk. (Notice: they don’t accept credit cards.) Two and a half hours later we got out again into a dark Sigtuna, where the last market stands were just being taken down.
The film series has clearly matured, the special effects had finally been made to serve the story and not the other way around, there was some serious interaction between the characters, and there were reasons to care about them. I even found it positive that the music wasn’t by John Williams. I think I will want to see the final part this summer.
The film series has clearly matured, the special effects had finally been made to serve the story and not the other way around, there was some serious interaction between the characters, and there were reasons to care about them. I even found it positive that the music wasn’t by John Williams. I think I will want to see the final part this summer.
2010-12-10
Veckans ord: parmesan
När klipperskeppen seglade med vete från Australien hade man bråttom och satte alla klutar till väders, ibland använde man till och med dubbla segel bredvid varandra, parmesan.
2010-12-06
Lazy!
I just ordered tickets through the web service of the Royal Dramatic Theatre and the mail receipt contains this mess:
Now, the web app already knows when I made my booking; on what day the performance is; and that I already paid for the tickets. So some web programmer couldn’t be arsed to write four lines of code to tell me directly that I have to get my tickets in the ticket office, since I booked the tickets on such short notice. Instead I have to work out the difference between calendar days, working days, and unspecified days, and possibly also get confused by whether Wednesday is two or three days before Friday if the performance is in the evening and if that is different if Thursday is a holiday even though they give performances then. That “postal giro” hasn’t been called that for five years just fits in with the rest of it.
A sternly worded letter has been sent.
Retrieve your booked tickets from the ticket office within ten calendar days, thereafter they will be automatically unbooked.
If your order is for a performance closer in time than nine days from the receipt of this message, the tickets must be retrieved at the latest three days before the performance.
You can also pay your tickets to our postal giro account and have the tickets sent to your home. Give your order number as reference. Note that it normally takes three working days for your payment to reach us.
[…]
Paid tickets are sent to the address you have given, if it is more than six days to the performance. If it is five days or less to the performance, they are in our ticket office.
Now, the web app already knows when I made my booking; on what day the performance is; and that I already paid for the tickets. So some web programmer couldn’t be arsed to write four lines of code to tell me directly that I have to get my tickets in the ticket office, since I booked the tickets on such short notice. Instead I have to work out the difference between calendar days, working days, and unspecified days, and possibly also get confused by whether Wednesday is two or three days before Friday if the performance is in the evening and if that is different if Thursday is a holiday even though they give performances then. That “postal giro” hasn’t been called that for five years just fits in with the rest of it.
A sternly worded letter has been sent.
2010-12-03
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