Paint Accident - a small vote of thanks to Citadel

In-Between

One of my battalions of Spanish grenadiers has reached the stage of painting muskets. Since my brand new pot of Foundry Musket Stock Brown is thin and horrid (is it just me?), no matter what kind of stirring procedures I use, I resorted to an old pot of Citadel Scorched Brown. This is one of the Citadel pots from what I call their "in-between" period - i.e. after the old hexagonal pots which I used to like very much, and before the current pots, which have a captive plastic cap which will lock into an open position. The In-Betweens had a captive round cap, but it had no locking mechanism, and they absolutely refuse to stay open in a position that you can use for (let us say, for example) painting.

For in-betweens on which I have relied in the past, I have tended to cut the lid free, so that it may be removed, complete with paint sample, and used as a little palette. Thus what happened today is all my own fault.

I can claim nothing, really, beyond my own ineptitude, but there are certain, ergonomically unhelpful devices which can encourage my ineptitude to blossom, and - you guessed it - my wrestling with one of these stupid cut caps resulted in its popping off at some speed, and applying a spot of Scorched Brown to the living room carpet, just in front of my painting bureau. To my recollection, this is the first such paint accident I have had in many decades of model painting - and we are talking here of periods which included frequent removal of Humbrol enamel tinlet-lids with a screwdriver. I guess I should be grateful that my luck held for so long.

Having exhausted my supply of more easily-remembered terms of appropriate profanity, I have now committed all sorts of effort and cleaning materials to the scene of the accident. It is water-based paint, there was very little spilled, and the carpet is a light brown/beige colour anyway, so I am confident that it should come up pretty well - if necessary, I am sure that the Contesse's trusty steam cleaner, or even a little professional help, will get things back to normal. Thus I am currently in a period of cooling-down, while the rescue scene dries out a little, ready for the next phase. This has not helped painting progress at all, of course.

Normally, you will realise, I bear no malice to anyone - well, maybe there are a very few exceptions, come to think of it, but generally life is too short to bear grudges. Today, though, I should like to single out Citadel paints for special mention. I sincerely wish that the hero who designed the pre-locking, in-between period cap for their paint pots might have one of his splendid caps inserted, rectally - ideally, to a position just below his tonsils.

Hooptedoodle #257 - Noddy and the Demon

Yesterday I put on an old sweatshirt - I'm doing some exercise bike sessions to get the old fitness worked up a bit before we start going cycling and hillwalking as the weather improves. I have a silly collection of old teeshirts and sweatshirts, mostly souvenirs of my days touring with jazz bands, which are useful for sweaty workouts. Yesterday's specimen is one of the few surviving long-sleeve jobs - this one from the Riverboat Jazz Festival, Silkeborg, in Denmark's Lake District, from 1994.

That was the trip on which I shared a hotel room with Noddy, the trombonist. Noddy was a gentleman, really - unusually correct for a muso. No trouble at all. He was married to a very loud lady who had been a professional singer of some note (as it were), and he tended to fade into insignificance when she was around. At that time we had some pretty wild drinkers in the band. The jazz festival in Silkeborg was based around a huge marquee venue in the centre of the old town, and there were some very late shows. One night we played a set starting at midnight, by which time a couple of the more seasoned members of the band were already unfit for duty (it's a funny thing, but it was always the supposed professionals who let themselves down in this way...). In particular, Jack Duff, the tenor sax man (an absolute monster of a player, by the way), was staggering drunk - he couldn't stand up but he could still play like an angel - maybe he'd have lived longer if that hadn't been a common situation.

We got through that set by the expedient of lashing Duffo to one of the big tent poles that supported the marquee - he was OK. We released him during the break, and carted him home after we had finished. There were a few characters like that - I found much of this rather unnerving, to be honest.

Anyway, back to Noddy. He was from Kent, originally - he had served as a bandsman in the army, and after that he got a job as a music teacher. I'm not suggesting that there was anything wrong with guys like Noddy, nor with the teaching system at that time, but the entrance criteria for instrument teachers in the schools seemed less rigorously based on academic qualifications than you might expect. I hadn't spent much time with Noddy, so sharing a room with him was a new experience. During off-duty spells we went out for a few trips to local attractions - we went to see Tollund Man (the prehistoric chap they pulled out of a local peat bog), we walked around the big lake, we had some good chats about music and films, and I learned that Noddy was another boozer. Not a raving drunk, like some of them, just a rather sad, quiet alcoholic, who did his drinking in private.

Tollund Man

When we went out for our walks around Silkeborg, Noddy would always excuse himself just as we left the room, claim that he had forgotten something, and go back. When he joined me downstairs, he smelled of whisky.

In his wardrobe he had a secret bottle of Canadian Club. As the week went on there were a series of successors to this bottle. I only knew the whisky was there because his wardrobe door swung open on the first day (by itself!), and there it was. I was fascinated, because Noddy obviously carried a chinagraph (wax) pencil, with which he recorded the level in the bottle each time he took a slug.

I was sorry that he had to keep his drinking a secret, and slightly miffed that he kept a check to make sure that outsiders (such as myself) were not pinching his booze. If he had simply told me that he liked a drink when on tour then I wouldn't have cared - would not have disapproved, and certainly would not have raided his supply. I mentioned this to Fergie, the trumpet player, and he came up with what we considered a great prank. He and I jointly purchased a half-bottle of Canadian Club of our own, which I kept hidden away, and for a few days I used to sneak a bit extra into Noddy's current bottle, so that the level was appreciably above the latest chinagraph mark. We were interested to see what happened - it seemed unlikely that he would accuse me of putting whisky into a bottle of whose existence I was supposed to be unaware. He would, in any case, have to out himself as a secret boozer to do this. We didn't go crazy - there were just a few days when the whisky level definitely went up instead of down.

If Noddy noticed then he didn't say anything. Disappointing, really. When the half bottle ran out I stopped, and presumably he just assumed he had made a mistake with his pencil. Ultimately it wasn't as much of a laugh as we had hoped, but since it would not have been a very kind sort of laugh maybe that's right and proper.

All long ago - Noddy, like so many others in that band, is no longer around. He died, quietly and politely, of early-onset dementia a few years ago. I hasten to add that I was very much a relative youngster in that company!

1809 Spaniards - First Batch of Granaderos Provinciales - Command

I've split my batch of 46 figures, for two battalions of Granaderos Provinciales, into three sub-batches. First lot (completed this afternoon) comprises the command for the two battalions - 10 figures in all - they will not win any beauty contests, but they will do the job. Mostly Falcata castings - the ensigns are NapoleoN, and the colonels are assembled from bits of this, bits of that. Once again I am faintly bemused that Falcata always gave officers two epaulettes - I suspect they did not understand the rank distinctions. No matter. Everyone is at least a major - the Spanish army was clearly a big deal. Especially my Spanish army.

That's the fiddly bit done - next I have to divide the rank and file into two separate "factory" batches - very few colours required - I reckon (after the undercoat) I'll need white, red, flesh, black, musket brown, linen slings, gunmetal, brass, silver, green for bases. The end. Oh yes - plus a bit of yellow for touching in the flammes on one battalion.

Going OK. I'll keep working away at them - short sessions. Plenty of music - today was Compay Segundo (he of Buena Vista Social Club fame) and Saint-Saens' violin concertos, plus some vintage Chet Atkins.

Eclectic to a fault, moi.

Update to my C&C-based ECW Rules - Ver 2.67

Following extensive discussions about 30YW rules last year with Peter Brekelmans, and some very useful recent exchanges with The Jolly Broom Man, I've produced another update to the rules booklet for my CC_ECW game, which is now up to Version 2.67 and may be accessed/downloaded via the link on the right hand side of this screen.

The main change is a more comprehensive treatment of "Volatile" and "Rash" Galloper cavalry - which includes the possibility of their leaving the table out of control if they get overexcited - and some tidying up of the rule whereby units being attacked in melee by more than one opponent simultaneously will suffer a deduction from the number of Combat Dice to allow for distraction and diversion of effort.

I've also removed Firelocks as a distinct troop class, since there wasn't really any need. Oh - and units Battling Back in melee now get a minimum of 1 die to do it with!

I had considered making the Volatile/Rash Horse thing an optional rule, but I don't care for optional rules - it is in any case possible to declare that a particular scenario does not involve any such units of horse, and you have exercised just such an option. After much pondering, and after watching my Pegasus DVD of Edgehill for the umpteenth time, I am pretty much convinced that lack of control of Royalist cavalry in the First Civil War was a regular contributor to the day's outcome!

The downloadable QRS sheet is now in need of an update to bring everything back into line - I'll get to it. If you have problems accessing the revised rules booklet (because I have set sharing rights incorrectly, which is my usual Google Docs cock-up when I update these rules), or if I have made some horrible error, please let me know, so I can fix things.

****** Late Edit ******

...and ...and ...light guns now exist only as an attachment to a unit of foot, and medium and heavy guns can move only until they fire or are attacked - in either case the draught crews will leave them to get on with it at that point.

****** Late Late Edit ******

...and ...QRS now updated to match Ver 2.67 - as at 29th March.

Hooptedoodle #256 - Demography at the Kitchen Window

Yet another Hooptedoodle post is a sure sign that not much is happening here on the hobby front - I am quietly doing some lightweight sessions of painting of Spanish grenadiers, but there won't be much to see of them for a little while.

As anyone who has read this blog before will realise, we are very enthusiastic about the garden birds here at Chateau Foy - since we live on the edge of a decent-sized wood, our bird feeders are very popular at this time of year - especially the sunflower hearts - they are definitely on trend - and there is always something to look at.

Among so many visitors, we are bound to get some oddities, and over the 17 years or so we've lived here we have, I think, seen three examples of albinism. There was once a completely white sparrow, and then there was a male chaffinch with a large white patch on his upper body - they both seemed quite healthy, and were around for a complete season without seeming to get picked on by the other birds.

Now we have this fellow - never seen one like this before. This, clearly, is a common-all-garden European Jackdaw, corvus monedula to our Roman chums, but he is supposed to be all black - his plumage is definitely non-regulation. Rather distinguished looking, maybe?

I am interested that we have seen so few albino specimens - I have no idea how many birds we see in a season - there are many millions of visits over the years, but many of these will be regular returners - at any moment on a sunny day we can see maybe 30 or 40 bluetits, maybe slightly fewer goldfinches, maybe the same again of chaffinches, and so on and so on, all in the garden at the same time, which is the sort of guide to numbers that the RSPB are interested in. How many of these were here this morning, yesterday, last year is unknown, though interesting. An albino is recognisable - you know there's only one of him - so it is hard to get a true impression. Whatever the lack of precision, albinos are obviously rare.

Which begs the further question - are they rare because there are very few hatched, or because they may be weak individuals who do not survive for long? No idea, obviously. The examples we have seen on our feeders seem vigorous enough, but then they would, wouldn't they?

Anyway - this is our current albino jackdaw - say hello. Seems a nice enough chap. It is tempting to give him a nickname of some sort, but it occurs to me that if this nickname made any reference to the colour of his plumage I might be in trouble.

So I shall call him Herbert. Make something of that, if you will.

Hooptedoodle #255 - Goodbye, Johnny B Goode

I would be embarrassed to be seen to offer up another me-too tribute - it's an activity I disapprove of. Private feelings are nicer and somehow more sincere when they remain private.

I am reminded by yesterday's news of the passing of Chuck Berry that - rather to my surprise, in the long run - he was a sort of hero of mine. Someone who made my life a little richer, in the influence he wielded as much as by his own work.

Already the media are wheeling out all sorts of has-beens from show business to make over-inflated utterances about pop music as Great Art, and all that. I really wouldn't know, and would hesitate to attempt an academic assessment.

Berry is especially significant for what he represents. A black man from St Louis, he began recording for Chess Records in the mid 1950s. Chess, bear in mind, were a specialist blues label who published artists like Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon and Bo Diddley - primarily for black audiences - and a worse fit than Berry with the accepted marketed image of the popular music world of the day is hard to imagine. The spending power of the record-buying teenager was a new phenomenon, and major record labels in the US were struggling to push coiffed, sterilised, parent-approved products such as Johnny Tillotson, Fabian and similar - white, acceptable to the church, not overtly masculine. He was surprisingly old, too - if I recall correctly, his first commercial success, Maybelline, was released in 1955, when he was 29. That is positively ancient.

He was not an admirable character, in many ways. He had spells in prison - notably for tax evasion and (once) for statutory rape (a charge which looks a bit like police entrapment, all these years later). He is famous for being difficult to deal with, complicated, devious. I read his autobiography some years ago and was disappointed - it wasn't a great read, overall, and he came across as an unusually self-obsessed character. I suspect that I wouldn't have warmed to the great man's company. I saw him once, live - he was excellent, a consummate showman, but he was accompanied by a disappointing English tour-band which did nothing for him at all.

There is a definite thread of racism through many of the bad breaks which he suffered - especially in the early years, though his combative personality cannot have helped. He came through a hard school. I read that in the dance-halls and the provincial theatres he got into the habit of threading his guitar lead through the handle of his guitar case before plugging into his amplifier - thus making it impossible for anyone to steal the case without the matter coming to his attention. He also would not play until someone put actual cash into his hand. Incongruously, he still insisted on these technical safeguards when he was appearing at the Paris Olympia - a quirk which is not without a certain rough charm.

It would be wrong to claim that his records were history-changers in their own right - famously, he was very fortunate in that his music impressed the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and the (white) rock bands that swept to power in the 1960s. Without that connection, Berry and a lot of his contemporaries would probably have disappeared without trace decades ago. This has all been much-discussed in the past - however it worked, it worked. I love him because of the unpretentious nature of the music (though he did tend to release thinly-disguised rehashes of his earlier successes), and his cute, street-poet lyrics, which offer an interesting social history of American youth.

This is getting close to a tribute, and I wouldn't want that.

Thanks, Chuck. That's really all I wanted to say.

1809 Spaniards - ILLIGITIMI NON CARBURUNDUM

[A tale of success - albeit slow and not very spectacular, but we have to embrace these things when they come along.]

In among the boxes of unpainted figures, there are always a few that I worry about. In my 1809 Spanish army project there are a couple of boxes containing the figures for two battalions of grenadiers, and they have bugged me for a while now. I am going to need these figures - I have nothing else to fall back on unless I move to plastics - but I bought them as part of a big job lot, a while ago, and the previous owner unloaded them cheaply because he just gave up on the poor-quality castings. I knew this when I bought them, but when I saw them I was disappointed by just how bad they were.

Falcata's white metal 1/72 Spanish grenadiers. Lovely, elegant original sculpts - Tomas Castaños at his best, but the moulds started to deteriorate very quickly and the standard of casting (and sometimes the quality of the metal) often leaves a lot to be desired. So for a while I have had 50-odd marching grenadiers which needed a lot of rescue work - in particular the right lower legs had to be recarved from a very unpromising jagged blob of alloy. It astonishes me that Falcata dared to sell stuff like this - they weren't cheap, either. Maybe their eventual disappearance had something to do with an unprofessional approach?

[I shall certainly find a horse's head in my bed tomorrow.]

Off and on, at odd times over a period of a couple of years, I have worked away at these boys, always with a faint dread that I, too, would eventually just give up on them. The work is fiddly, sore on the fingers, slow and often exasperating, but - you know what? - in some weird way it is quite satisfying. To produce a figure, against the odds, which will probably paint up satisfactorily is a small triumph, given the sloppy original manufacture and my lack of any particular skill in this area. You have to get into the right frame of mind - plenty of coffee (but not too much!), plenty of relaxing music, good lighting, and enough time to get on with the job for a couple of undisturbed hours. Oh - and lining the completed figures up is fine to check progress, but avoid constantly checking and rechecking how many are still to go...

It's actually rather nostalgic. It takes me right back to the early 1970s, grinding away to make something of a newly-arrived parcel of late-period Hinton Hunt castings - I can recall ACW zouaves (advancing), Napoleonic highlanders (advancing) and any amount of Napoleonic Portuguese (also advancing) for which I had to drill away big blocks and shark-fins of spare metal where the moulds had broken.

Last night I completed the prep work for the second battalion, at long last - we are ready for undercoating. The command figures were almost an anticlimax - far too easy - just as in the earlier Hinton Hunt episode, the moulds for the officers and drummers had less wear and the castings were much cleaner. OK - they are now on the official green bottle tops. There is no immediate hurry, given the time it has taken already, but I'm quite looking forward to painting them. Apart from the dreaded embroidered flammes on the hats, this is a simple uniform - these guys will be humble granaderos provinciales, so no fancy piping or anything - these are just white with plain red facings. Thus I propose to set these up as a single batch of 46 figures - no doubt I shall regret this decision at some point, but - once again - the important thing is to get your head right before you start. Plenty of time - plenty of 2-hour shifts. Yes. Sounds good.

I'll worry, just a little, about the flammes...