Procopius

I soak for a spell, then scrub with a cotton bud soaked in same (or toothbrush, if I feel fancy). It's usually pretty obvious if it's working. Then I soak again, and rinse off in water.

It's very interesting how the small size -- comparatively -- of the force sent to the Falklands magnified rather than minimised the personality factor in warfare, which I suppose ought to have been obvious to me from the outset. As a come-as-you-are war, it ensured that virtually everyone knew each other from prior service.

After holding a screaming baby who improbably failed to age into adulthood during the geological era encompassed by Mrs P's shower, I realized I still had to do the wing guns. Before I did that, I added the quarterlights, and realized I'd painted each side the exact opposite of how it should have been. I just brushed on the correct colours. As you may recall, we had to remove the gun barrels at the start of the build, as they had the weird little bulges under them characteristic of the Kittyhawk Ia/P-40E. Edwards's P-40 was a P-40D/Kittyhawk I, and just had straight barrels with no bulges underneath. I opted to use 0.4mm tubing; with its interior diameter of 0.2mm, it's almost exactly the right width for a 50 caliber barrel in 1/72. Also I was going to use 0.6mm rod but accidentally pushed it into the wing and couldn't extract it. Not perfect, but who's going to come to my house and tell me it isn't, before I get the Martini-Henry's bayonet about ten inches deep in them? Then I glanced at the profile, and the aircraft seems to have had yellow leading edges. I broke out my Colourcoats yellow and my Tamiya tape. A rather productive evening, I think. But it grows late, and I need to go to bed now.

I still say you should put Exocets on the Sidewinder...I mean, Atoll... rails.

Remarkably, it's quite cheap for US Kindle at the moment.

I find, unfortunately, that as I grow older and my list of accomplishments in life remains blank, I grow more timid about engaging with those who have achieved almost anything.

I have never seen a "live" one (having failed to manage to see a fast taxi while I was in the UK), but one is being restored to flying condition over here, and my hopes are high: https://lightning422.com/

Hullo Pete, I have that one! It was in fact the very first book I ever read on the conflict, as a wee nipper eons ago. It doesn't really, as I recall it, cover any conflicts. Some updates from my own subsequent research: The second volume of the Official History, which I have acquired from a Very Reputable source, does talk a bit about Captain Middleton (a former Buccaneer pilot and latterly Director Naval Air Warfare before taking command of Hermes), and mentions that Woodward had no air staff or staff officer to speak of, his task group originally being on a NATO ASW exercise when sent south. Consequently, he relied heavily on Middleton, who most everyone seems to agree had what is euphemistically called a "forceful" personality, as well as, at least in one case, some evident scepticism of the RAF's belief it could knock out runways. David Morgan, famous both for shooting down the most Argentinean aircraft during the war while attached to 800 NAS during the war and for writing (and later publishing) absolutely cringeworthy letters to his mistress, talks a bit about Middleton here as well at about 27:30 of Reel 10, and is critical of his understanding of modern bombing tactics: https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/80032738 Jeremy Black, then captain of HMS Invincible, discusses Middleton's methods versus his own in Reel 1 around 13:00: https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/80013161 Commander G J L Edwards of HMS Broadsword contrasts Middleton and Black in Reel 1 of this interview at about 9:45; he notes Middleton was more aggressively focused, whereas Black was more focused on protecting the ships with an eye towards gaining air superiority; he also suggests Middleton resented that the fleet commander (like Black) was a former submariner: https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/80013857 And Middleton himself was interviewed: https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/80032610 Some more on Middleton was found here: https://www.pprune.org/military-aviation/631811-harrier-falklands-conundrum.html https://ops-normal.org/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=5392&start=20

My method as well. In a pinch, isopropyl alcohol works as well.

Given that the USA needed other buyers for the F-35 to bring the per-unit cost down, the UK's participation in the program from the outset, the fact that components for all three versions are manufactured in the UK, and the strong USMC support for the F-35B, I don't think it was ever at risk. It would be a situation akin to when the USA cancelled Skybolt and ended up having to give Britain not only Polaris, but quite a bit of submarine technology as well by way of recompense. That said, the lack of a catapult does seem to be a short-sighted choice; as I recall, there were attempts to change this while QE was under construction, but it was found the alterations required would be immense. There is one bright side to this, however: there is no chance of the UK ever having to operate the most boring, mediocre grey jet in history: the Super Hornet.

Once again, another of your masterful builds of a kit and subject I dearly wish I had the courage, let alone the skill, to attempt.

A fun fact: my dad loves the audiobook of The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid, having been born at the end of 1956 himself. (Being my dad, he also fast-forwards through anything that even hints at discontent, but I can't judge him too harshly; I was astonished to learn, in the 2010s, that there had been anything but broad consensus during the 1980s, when I was a wee Procopilet.) In any case, he nearly killed us all when he was reduced to tears of laughter during the "toity-jar" segment and nearly drove into an embankment. But this is high praise, and not just because it means I may yet play some small part in the annihilation of a suburban family on the open road myself. You are very kind. This forum is one of the few places where I drop even a fraction of my unpleasant, unlikeable exterior to reveal my heart pinned to my sleeve. As a young man, I was required to see a neuropsychiatrist, who among other things, showed me pictures and asked me to tell him stories about what was happening with them. I felt and still feel this was a gross invasion of my privacy: my stories were not for him. So I spun a short story about an evil neuropsychiatrist who attempted to rule the world and was fatally thwarted. He was unamused, and recommended me for electroconvulsive therapy. Mercifully it was never administered to me. As a side note, I consider myself pretty deferential to authority in the form of position or credentials (especially when authority is being levelled at anyone aside from myself), yet I often feel as if authority has done its absolute level best to disabuse me of this. It's interesting you mention this, Will, as you're dead on for me as well: the principal obstacle to my getting any modelling done has not been Mrs P (who is pretty good about making sure I have spare time if I need it, certainly more so than I am for her), or even my wretched children (well, the increasing lateness of their bedtimes, and the fact that their every waking moment must be supervised does put a crimp in things), but my own sense of exhaustion and not having enough time, so that I can't "afford" to spend time modelling, or I don't have enough time to model, and intead I waste hours on the internet doing nothing.

Thanks, Bedders! Can you confirm this topic is touched upon? The official histories, even in ebook form, are not cheap, and are a little pricey for a speculative buy.

I understand that the Royal Navy's handling of its carriers and in particular the captain of HMS Hermes have come in for some criticism in the memoirs of "Sharkey" Ward (known for his temperance) and the RAF's Jerry Pook. Are there any sources that cover this subject more dispassionately?

Those of you who are unmarried and, most importantly, childless, will never understand the sheer power of being able to do nothing, or something stupid, uninterrupted for any length of time. For you see, once you have children, you become mute or screaming witness to small people who are rarely not doing something not only stupid, but potentially fatal, and they brook no competition. And if you ignore it too much, you go to jail, and the doing nothing becomes mandatory and enforced by angry men who shout a lot and have truncheons. Tonight was of course Hallowe'en, and so the boys (Grant: dressed as a ghost; Winston: once he learned what Grant was going as, as a Ghostbuster[tm]*) and Madeleine (the lowest-effort fox costume one can find outside of those weird "adult" costumes that are mainly conspicuous by their absence over large swathes of the body), as well as their babysitter (costume: suspiciously large child out for candy) and Mrs P all went trick-or-treating. We live on the outer edge of an incredibly wealthy area of our fair state, and so they roamed far and wide, gathering much candy. Winston ended up needed bearers, as he filled two considerable buckets, largely on the strength of having no discernible shame. This process took several hours, during which a responsible adult was required to remain at home and hand out candy to the six or eight trick or treaters who deigned to visit Hedgehog Manor. Instead, I handled this. I mostly watched episodes of The Sweeney and ate some of the choicer candies straight from the bowl, to deny them to the enemy. I thus (on top of a suspiciously and generally successful day at work -- I have been approved for 100% remote work, and our sales rep went out of the way to call me and do us a highly unofficial favour) entered the post-bedtime period of the evening at an unusual level of relaxation. I have had a productive evening as a result. Lacking a neato masking set, I made do with tape and poster putty, the latter being possibly a little too sticky for my own good. Then, out with the Colourcoats RAF Dark Earth. Thinning paint has always been a bit hit or miss for me: I struggle to find the Goldilocks zone. But tonight, I feel, my thinning was perfect. Then I waited for about five minutes of The Sandbaggers, and...presto! You can see where the treacherous poster putty turned on me. A wetted cotton bud sorted it out, more or less. I used Tamiya flexible tape for the nose demarcation, and I don't think I've ever done a better job on that specific thing. And I have painted a lot of P-40s. Please ignore the wing root. Like the monks who included an imperfection in their illuminated manuscripts less they challenge god, I do the same thing but for Navy Bird. * Winston, the child of my heart, the recipient of all of my many flaws except for my poor sense of direction, is, like most authoritarians, who cannot abide being told what to do themselves, an unyielding champion of order for and enforced upon everyone else. He was outraged to discover that Godzilla is not killed permanently, thus leaving the haplessly melted tank crews of the JSDF unavenged.

In plastic, loads of things that nobody with any sense would ever try and sell, particularly the P.1154.

I remember when you built that kit! I bought everything you mentioned in the thread, and then Airfix came out with their Lighting. Of course. I have two bottles of it and found both to be rather grainy as well. Most disappointing.

I remember telling Cookie at the end of our trip that I'd probably had less strong drink in the whole of my life before the Telford 2019 trip than we'd consumed in the two weeks we were there.

Hullo all. I managed to get the undersurface colour on several days ago, but have been too short of time to write anything about it here. At work I've been in charge of a large (for us, or at least, for me) procurement project to replace our social media scheduling tool (Salesforce's Social Studio -- and after three years of using Salesforce products, I hope they all die in a fire). Six weeks after I assumed we'd have the contract signed, and two weeks after I'd expected us to be all trained on the new tool*, we finally got all our endless purchasing paperwork completed. Apparently the lawyer from our general counsel's office had a bereavement and was out for a lot of this, but consider this: we are a professional association for lawyers. The organization is lousy with them. Surely a spare was available? In any case, now the endless paperwork to get it integrated with our other intermittently working tool (we justified the purchase of the new one with the argument that at the end of the contract period for the tool that it was supposed to supplement, it will replace it entirely, also known as the "au pair method") begins now, as does setting up a training regimen, and, my cherished pet project, a re-organization of how we handle social media that's so banal and boring it would take your breath away. But three children are expensive and I want to be able to distract myself from how unhappy they make me by buying as many models as possible, and you can't do that if you lose your home, because USPS refuses to deliver to a cardboard box. Anyway, this means a lot of meetings, and some of them are the kind of meetings where you can't be disarmingly (some might say relentlessly) self-deprecating, and you have to act like you not only believe in what you're doing, but also that you think it will ever matter in any way if you do it perhaps slightly better or more efficiently. At the start of this week, Mrs P found a lump in a private area currently monopolized by the baby, which necessitated a trip to the oncologist and a lot of stress on everyone's part; mercifully she is okay. Winston has been feeling poorly, and when he does, he becomes very diffuse, yet also extraordinarily bitchy, sort of like the world's meanest and most pedantic opium addict. Hopefully he feels better soon, or his mother and I may have to put him in a sack and pitch him in the lake. We thought the baby was starting to smile this week, beginning the transition from fat angry sweating slug to cheerful wizened barf-goblin, but it turned out she was merely massively constipated, and after unleashing a torrent of filth, is both calmer and no longer "smiling". It must have been very trying for her, as she attempted to force her guts out of her lower intestine, to have us excitedly leaning in and going "HI SMILEY!" At times like that, all one really wants is privacy and a quick death. Anyway, a while back, I primed the model. Had to leave the quarterlights off, because Curtiss, whose sadism and cruelty knew no limits, painted the interiors there in the camouflage pattern. I also airbrush the undersides Azure Blue. Today, I did some light tidying of the basement to exert a few ergs of control over my environment and reassure myself that I was not merely a pawn in the game of life, but a vigourous man of destiny. After that, I discovered that everyone else was out on a walk, which given how the boys had been acting that morning, must have resembled the Bataan Death March. I was feeling pretty down myself, but forced myself to do some modelling, and masked off the undersides and sprayed the Middlestone. Maybe I'm getting back on track? I've been rewatching The Sandbaggers, and grimy, depressing 1970s Britain is, in a way, strangely uplifting in 2022. A Churchill quote that stays with me is one of the lesser-known parts of his famous "Finest Hour" speech: I don't, normally, much like thinking about the 1970s, the messy decade that preceded my birth in 1983 (no doubt much of the violence that plagued that unhappy time was done by frustrated believers awaiting my birth), an inglorious era at best. But I remind myself that the problems of 1970s Britain, its political and financial instability, issues with its leadership...all of this seemed intractable and insoluble then. In 1976, in an article entitled "Britain at the Brink", the New York Times wrote: But Britain is still here. The last five years have been hard on the UK, politically, nationally, and in human terms, but right now I miss it more than ever, with its too-small houses, roads more suited to marching legionaries off to fight the Celts than for wheeled traffic, its near-endless rain, its small armies of pensioners shakily running their errands on public transit, its thousand years of history crammed tightly alongside not quite enough space for anything, the breathtakingly green hills outside the cities, Asdas and Icelands, all of it. My greatest regret is that I never figured out how to go there and stay, to become a small part of its long and confusing history. There is almost invariably, at the micro level, a slight sense of orderly inefficiency to how things are carried out there, but even amidst the cruelty and venality of their politics, a lurking sense of great gentleness, just beneath the surface. Someday I will die, and if my will is respected and the vagaries of customs laws permit, my ashes will be scattered off the white cliffs to rest with those of my heroes, a self-issued honour I am entirely unworthy of. But that's too far in the future. I want to be there now. * An idiot can do what I do, and these are not hard to learn -- when we finally did get our first kickoff call, I was busily already loading in our social accounts as the salesguy was telling us where in the tool to do so.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." "And also with you, Father."

I confess, these days, I spend a lot of time worrying about the moment when I'm going to stop being the one throwing people under buses and instead become the guy sporting a remarkable tread pattern on his forehead.

Oh my goodness, thank you, Ralph! I really enjoyed it the last time I built one. Quite peeved there's no "modern" Typhoon options out there for the lazy.

About £100 worth of aftermarket for the three Phantoms and two Bucc kits I ordered: canopy masks, little PE etch sets, camo masks, all the aids a lazy man could want and enterprising firms could sell.

Still counts! What's a rotor but merely a very confusing wing?

Jonners! I'm delighted to see you're building aircraft again, instead of hateful wheely things.