Eye for an Eye

 I was just allowing the Host to think about his top twelve sexiest Star Trek characters-

He was "thinking" a little bit too enthusiastically, for my liking.

Well, yes, but Captain Pike is rather a fox!

Oh, OK, I 'll allow it.

 Anyway, as I was saying, the Host was doing some thinking-
 All will become clear in the next post.  Or possibly the one after that.

A rather inappropriate looking glass

 Yes.  Thank you.  Now, where was I?  Oh, yes, you were thinking while we were enjoying a (rather too hot) bath when I noticed this:

 I'm pretty sure Inexcuseable didn't mean it to spy on me, but rather to keep an eye on Count Podgekinson's bathtime.  Or to catch her husband weeing all over the toilet bowl rim (because it sure as hells isn't me doing it - I prefer a more leisurely sit-down affair)...
 Still, the fact remains that my own sister can see me in the altogether, should she so desire.  Which I'm sure she doesn't, but even so...

 Despite the small dimensions of Castlette DeVice's bathroom, it isn't small enough for me to reach across from my gently simmering bath and scrawl a nullifying spell* on the mirror.
 In fact, the mirror may as well have been a million miles away as, when I'm in the bath, I get out for nothing and no-one until I'm done**.  Which meant a rather chaste bath, and a lot of awkward manoeuvring with a towel when I did eventually get out.


* The only spell I know for counteracting Inexcuseable's Looking Glass spell involves (amongst other things) drawing over the eye with my own tears.  And I don't think the Host has enough nostril hairs to pluck to make our eyes water enough to cover her rather large "masterpiece".
** With the exception of Captain Pike, a life-time supply of fondant fancies, and - possibly - Knight.

It's A Faaaake! Not The Art Of Star Trek - Caught Red Handed

Slightly dishevelled with an errant forelock.  Mmmmm...

 It's been two weeks since my last post, so you'd think I'd have plenty to share, wouldn't you?  Well, no, I've got bog all.  Except for a load of half-arsed Star Trek-related art work from January's art challenge.
 Oh, and the new Captain Christopher Pike from Star Trek: Discovery.  He's such a fox!  Just look at him there on the right.  Anson Mount Pike is easily the equal of the original Jeffrey Hunter Pike from Star Trek's pilot episode.  Although, I don't think he ever was a pool boy, though?

Mores the pity.

 Anyway, back to some hastily slapped together artwork, and the challenge that inspired it:

Well, a New Year is upon us and maybe some of us (like a certain Discovery character) are planning on spreading our wings and trying something different this year by joining a new organisation or club.
Star Trek has its fair share of secret or clandestine organisations from the Tal Shiar to the Obsidian Order or Section 31. But perhaps there's other, more benign, exclusive clubs in the Star Trek universe: do the Vulcan's have a Magic Circle? Is there a club for Starfleet Chief Engineers, where they can meet up and bemoan the state of their engines? A Klingon 'Fight Club'?
The challenge this month is to depict a facet of your chosen secret society within the Star Trek universe, be it a logo, recruitment poster, a dedicated starship, a meeting of members, a secret greeting or ceremony, etc.

 Rather than leaving it all until the last minute, like usual, I found a few minutes on the afternoon of the 17th January to make a start. After reminiscing with some of you lot about TV programmes we used to watch as kids, I wondered if the Red Hand Gang might have inspired children in the 23rd or 24th centuries. So, out came the red paint:

 The top two hand prints are obviously (hopefully) Vulcan, and the bottom two are my take on Terellian (of the four-armed variety).

Not #adecadeago

 In a rare moment of desperately attempting to appear "on trend", I thought I'd have a go at Ms Scarlet and Jon's #adecadeago meme.  You know, the one in which ancient bloggers who haven't moved on to new forms of social media (or have, but gave up because it was all so petty and overwhelming) look back at their dusty old archives, and dredge up whatever it is they were blogging about a decade - 10 years! - ago.
 Well, after the successes of the aforementioned Ms Scarlet (AKA The Duchess of Devonshire) and Jon (the Official Plant Spotter of Castle Device and its extensive Witchdom), as well as LẌ and Mitzi, my foray ten years into the past was a disappointment to say the least: an excuse for not blogging, rudely interrupted by that interfering old baggage, Audrey (who has since been expunged from my consciousnesses - sub, or otherwise).  I think Tim said it best when he proclaimed me a "slacker".

Although, he's a fine one to talk.
Quite.

 Anyway, not wanting to let the side down, I came up with a new way to play: travelling back in time by two years to 2017, and then eight years to 2011, which brings us to a grand total of ten years.  Clever, eh?  And, between them, both cover the (not really a) requirement for an old meme and some art work.

 So, two years ago, on the 1st February 2017, we arrive at another meme started by Ms Scarlet: the "Book on a Chair" meme, or #bookonachair as it would be known in today's modern hashtag parlance.

By this point in the proceedings, we were really reaching...

 And eight years ago, on the 1st February 2011, we land slap-bang in Star Trek territory, on the second stop of a voyage that never was, replete with sketches of starships.

oOo

 Because I don't think any of the images from my two #adecadeago posts linked to up there are particularly worthy of reposting here, I thought I'd share a couple of photos I took from Count Podgekinson's bedroom window on the morning of the last day in January:

Look! You can see the birds roosting in this close-up - wood pigeons, I think?

Chatsworth

So, here are the rest of my photos of Chatsworth, this time from Monday.

Part of Chatsworth Park as seen from Edensor

Edensor, a Chatsworth estate village, as seen (looking back) going over the hill to...

Not quite as "Oop North" as I thought, Duck...

 I'm back, Duckies!*

 After two nights spent in the ancestral lands of the Derbyshire Dales for a solemn family matter, I'm safely back in Norfolk.  Threats of apocalyptic snow storms and hurricanes the likes of which even Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhaal couldn't navigate through didn't come to pass, thankfully, so we managed to get "oop" there and back with little drama.
 The biggest drama occurred when I got back and discovered that I'd barely gone "oop" at all!  I mean, there is a lot of going across, but very little "oop".  In all these years, I always thought there was more "oop".  I think all the going actually up - as in up hills etc - confused me.  Cromer, according to Wikipedia, lies at 52.931° North, whereas my destination lies at 53.227°N - the bloody Midlands!**

 Anyway, enough about that.  Here are some photos from Sunday afternoon, taken shortly after arriving:

What's that in the distance?

Red deer and...

Lifeboats and Chalk Rafts

 While chatting with Dinahmow (and later seeing her new header image), I remembered that I'd taken some photos down on the beach last weekend.  So, as I don't have anything else planned, here they are - the first photos from 2019's first proper beach walk (or "drift"). 
 Despite the clear skies, it's about 25° cooler here than Dinah's neck of the woods...

RNLB Lester on manoeuvres

"Did I Win Yet? I'm, uh... Asking For A Friend

 Well, as a matter of fact, you did!

 Yes, to mark this auspicious occasion - let's just say, your friend's anniversary of sorts - you win one of the first copies of this brand new unofficial and unauthorised biography: "Damn it, Jim! I'm a doctor, not an IT expert. Oh... wait..." from Ladyboy Books (a division of Infomaniac Publishing Ltd).

Found: Skywhales

 I happen to have a spare five minutes, so in the spirit of "A Town That Cannot Always Be Found and Other Almost Forgotten Tales", may I present the happy ending of decades spent thinking about and searching for an animated film that I saw in my very young youth during the early-mid 1980s.

 Here it is: Skywhales, a 1983 British animated short, starring the vocal talents of Robert Llewellyn (AKA Kryten from Red Dwarf).  It's only 10 mins 41 long if you fancy a look.



 The only thing I could remember about it was some sort of dying airborne whale falling down a big hole or chasm and getting wrapped in bandages like a mummy.  And you'll see that what I remembered was a bit back-to-front, but the general gist was right.

Fireworks on the First Day

 Poor Camera.  I think I was asking too much of it to get up before sunrise and take some snaps before dawn broke, as these somewhat blurry photos illustrate.

The Year of the Constellation Coven Awards

 Good evening, and welcome to the 2018 Coven Awards!
  Yes, here we are again for our traditional, very selective look back at the year that was.
 This year - the Year of the Constellation - has not been as varied as some previous years-

Mainly because Witchface is a lazy baggage-

And the Host is dreadfully dull!

 Oh, just stop this now.
  Yes, why must we devolve into bickering every year?

What a stupid question.

Because we're good at it!

Heh heh heh!

  Oh, I give up...
 Well, I'm ignoring the shitting SubCs and launching this thing now!

January : The dawn of a new year broke over the cliff tops as we didn't manage to start afresh; the year's first foray into Star Trek was some finally finished unfinished business; capturing constellations began with a bit of "Drama!" and was rather exposing; a big, overgrown groyne featured in a return to the beach; the first trip over the Cusp coincided with LẌ's birthday; Beaky's return had us all of a flutter, and his larger cousin led us to a crusty old groyne with knobs on; finally, after some star-mapping experiments, I got my tripod out!

Wishing you a Wonderful Winterval

 Not quite a White Christmas, but a heavyish frost yesterday morning gave the illusion in certain sheltered areas up near Cromer Lighthouse.
 Yes, I managed to find a couple of hours to myself yesterday (i.e. I escaped from the kids) and got up to the lighthouse in the early morning here in Cromer, then down onto the beach in Overstrand in the afternoon.

Run! Run! As fast as you can!

 I am moving again.

 As plummeting down the cliff in one's own home is practically unheard of in witchy circles*, I am moving out of Château DeVice and into a more life-prolonging gingerbread house.  It's only a few hundred yards from my current cliff-top abode and - importantly - those few hundred yards are inland.  My new home is nearer the woods (and the allotment), and not likely to find itself scattered across the beach after collapsing over the cliff for at least a couple of centuries (possibly only one, if sea levels continue to rise dramatically). 

 Gingerbread houses are hard to come by these days as most of the originals have been devoured by thoughtless, greedy children over the centuries, or dissolved in the rain when their occupant met Death for the last time and the preservative spell wore off.  Those that are left tend to be inhabited by mad old crones, or have been turned into sites of occult historical interest by the Gingerbread Board.  Speaking of which, the 'Board occasionally permits a new gingerbread house to be built as long as circumstances, conditions, and quotas allow.  Quite what those circumstances, conditions and quotas are is anyone's guess as the 'Board are quite inscrutable and experts in obfuscation and dead-end paper trails.  As I can attest to after I applied for a new home...**

 I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea?  I suspect the SubCs had something to do with it and, typically, they buggered off and left me to it when I found myself before the Gingerbread Board to demonstrate my suitability to own and maintain a new gingerbread home.  I'm not going to go into all the rigmarole and hoop-jumping I had to go through (and am still going through), as it was - and still is - very stressful and mind-boggling.