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Forgive me, but I just have to ask:  Scarlett Johansson really, really doesn’t want anyone to see the nekked pictures recently hacked off her cellphone.

Fair enough.

But, um, why was she taking nekked pictures of herself in the first place?  Is this an “in” thing that I simply missed because I’m such a stick in the mud?

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Robbo has had this march (called the “Ace High,” I believe) running through his head all day.

Today is Battle of Britain Day, the date picked to mark the anniversary of the RAF’s heroic stand against Hitler’s Luftwaffe.  Ironically, the day Hitler switched objectives from obliterating RAF forward operations in southern England (which, it must be said, the Krauts were doing pretty effectively), to trying to terrorize London into submission was the day he lost the battle and (really) the war.  Once England was secure from invasion, the counter-offensive was only a matter of time.

Of course, even if the Luftwaffe had gained and maintained air superiority, the question remains whether Hitler’s invasion force could have got across the Channel.  The Royal Navy was still very much a potent weapon, and even in the face of air support, could have played merry hell among all those barges and whatnot.

Regular friends of the decanter will know that one of my favorite books on the subject is Derek Robinson’s Piece of Cake, a fictional account of a Hurricane squadron fighting in France and England from September, 1939 through September, 1940.  IMHO, it is far and away Robinson’s best, most balanced novel, at least of the ones I’ve read.  Don’t bother with the teevee adaptation of it, though, because as is so often the case, the film version is rubbish.

 

(*Pace Bill Cosby.)

You know, my friends, there are many reactions that one might reasonably expect from a middle school-aged child being severely upbraided for not keeping track of the paper containing the poem she has to memorize for a grade the next day.  Contrition, ideally.  Mulish resentment, maybe.  Or perhaps a plea of extenuating circumstances, anything from an accusation of sibling sabotage to the time-honored “the cat ate it.”

But bug-eyed, gob-smacked amazement that it was even her responsibility in the first place?

Cor lumme, stone the crows!

The hair on ol’ Robbo’s temples is definitely starting to turn gray.  In addition, for reasons which I will not share, I am beginning to suspect that I may be working on a peptic ulcer.  I am not at all surprised.

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