From: blakes7-d-request@lysator.liu.se Subject: blakes7-d Digest V99 #59 X-Loop: blakes7-d@lysator.liu.se X-Mailing-List: archive/volume99/59 Precedence: list MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: multipart/digest; boundary="----------------------------" To: blakes7-d@lysator.liu.se Reply-To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se ------------------------------ Content-Type: text/plain blakes7-d Digest Volume 99 : Issue 59 Today's Topics: [B7L] The B7 radio blues [B7L] Not Necessarily The Flat Robin 12 RE: [B7L] Not Necessarily The Flat Robin 12 RE: [B7L] Not Necessarily The Flat Robin 12 [B7L] OT: Worldcon [B7L] Test re [B7L] Flat Robin RE: re [B7L] Flat Robin [B7L] OT : Day of the Trffids ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 20:36:00 +1100 From: "Afenech" To: "lysator" Cc: "spacecity" Subject: [B7L] The B7 radio blues Message-Id: <09231172238714@domain3.bigpond.com> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Hello everyone! Looking at the credits of the various writers of episodes of 'Blakes 7' I discovered this very interesting detail in Chris Bouchers's listing: '... has written the radio serial 'A walk in the dark', adapted Harry Harrison's 'The technicolour time machine' for radio...' so... I ask myself, not for the first time, WHY was Barry letts chosen ahead of the person who knew B7 best and who wrote some of the best scripts for it and who has experience in writing for radio? My memory might be faulty but I seem to recall Brain Lighthill saying it was because Letts had experience with radio drama, the unsaid, but implied, at least I thought so, corollary being that others, with better B7 credentials, did not. Just makes me more annoyed at the wasted opportunity these radio plays are! Which reminds - does anyone know why the second one is so delayed? Is it too bad to be released? Pat Fenech ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 01:46:03 PST From: "Penny Dreadful" To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Cc: arkaroo@hotmail.com, egomoo@geocities.com Subject: [B7L] Not Necessarily The Flat Robin 12 Message-ID: <19990212094610.28350.qmail@hotmail.com> Content-type: text/plain Arkaroo contributed numerous and sundry plot devices. Arthur and Doreen are from "Reaper Man". And I hope the 'Network' reference is obvious to all. ---------- >Then she stalked off seething in the direction of the main gate, >the mutoids trailing on either side. Eventually Travis followed. *** "So tell me, Avon," Vila said, "how did you get out of *that* one?" He had quite easily convinced his crewmate to stay for one quick little pint while his red-robed doppelganger regained consciousness. The fellow just might conceivably come in handy. So Avon had sat down upon the scrawny wizard's chest and recounted the tale of his encounter with the Librarian in the Mended Drum. Vila's plight having been obvious beyond the necessity for explanation to Avon since he had seen the falling star and heard the sound of the impact from deep within the walls of Ankh-Morpork. "Well now what do you suppose? I spoke reasonably to him, man to..." Avon grimaced. "Orangutan. I implored him to take into consideration that I was a stranger in his land -- that he ought to, er, swing a mile in my gloves, as it were, before exacting violent retribution." He glanced at Vila. "And then I gave him the banana I always keep in my pocket for just such an occasion." Vila gasped. "You mean all those times you *weren't* just happy to see m--" "Hush!" Avon said sharply, and squinted suspiciously out at the narrator. "Or have you forgotten what Servalan told Travis several installments ago, regarding the Other List?" Vila swallowed hard. "Right," he said, and drained his pint of fine Ankh-Morpork ale, which put him strongly in mind of the mire in which the Liberator now lay. "Now where are these people you said you wanted me to meet?" Avon's red upholstered perch had by now begun to squirm and swear. Avon coshed him again. Remarkably, his hat remained in place, as it had done thus far. "What did you do *that* for?" asked Vila. "He looks *so* much like you," Avon muttered. "I must have temporarily taken leave of my senses. I assure you, it won't happen again." "Now we'll have to stick around for another pint," Vila said hopefully. "I'm afraid not, Vila. We *do* have an appointment on Star One, if you'll recall." Avon drained his draught, rose up, and grasped one of the stunned wizard's grotty ankles. "Off we go." *** Space Commander Travis strolled cheerfully along the streets which lay beyond the walls of Unseen University, breathing deeply and remarking favourably upon the complex tapestry of odours, which changed subtly with every inhalation. "Makes you glad to be alive!" he exclaimed. Beside him, Supreme Commander Servalan stomped along, no longer making any attempt to circumnavigate the manure, but still doing her best to slap away the greasy, grubby hands that pawed at her dress on all sides, desirous to confirm its corporeality. Behind the lovely couple, the two mutoids shuffled, oblivious, it appeared, to both the horrors and the delights of downtown Ankh-Morpork. "Travis," said Servalan carefully, as they stood waiting for a procession to pass which might have been a circus or a funeral, or both, "I think we might be able to get more accomplished if we split up. I'll go hunt down Blake and his crew, kill them, get the Liberator out of that bog, and alert the Federation to the existence of this lush unprotected platterfull of minerals and slave-labour. Meanwhile *you* can..." her voice trailed off as she observed her hand-picked goon giving one of the flowers he had plucked from the lawn of Unseen University to a large-eyed urchin of indeterminate sex who had apparently attempted to pick his pocket but had been unable to find one. "You can try and find a coathanger," she sighed. "I shan't hold my breath." "That sounds like a lovely idea, Scream Pomander," Travis said. "Shall we divide the mutoids up fairly and equitably amongst ourselves, then?" "I *don't* think so!" Servalan exclaimed. "*I'm* the one doing all the *work*, *I* should-" Out of the corner of her eye she caught one of them gazing longlingly at her exposed neck and surreptitiously licking its lips, and she realized it *had* been some time since lunch. "--let you have them," she concluded benificently. "They'd only slow me down." "Very good, Scream Pomander," Travis said cheerfully. "We'll meet up back at the tower, if that's convenient for you. Mmm, that fellow's meat pies certainly look appetizing -- would you like one, Scream Pomander?" Servalan rolled her eyes and stepped forward, vanishing instantly in the parade. *** Meanwhile, back on campus, Ponder Stibbons had started surreptitiously stockpiling canned goods against the impending 'robinson'. Though unable or unwilling to elucidate further, Hex had seemed very sure it would happen. An even marginally more externally-oriented individual would have noticed round about the third or fourth trip between the High Energy Magic Building and the Unseen Larder that surreptitiousness was not in the least required, inasmuch as everybody who was up and/or about was gathered around the base of the Tower, and every open eye was directed *up*. "Why didn't you mention this when you were in my office, Bursar?" "Sorry, Archchancellor, I was trying to keep you abreast of events, haha, but it slipped my mind." High above them the UFO (Which was not technically F at the moment, but UO is a catchphrase already pretty clearly defined in its usage by sundry members of the Loanshark's Guild) teetered perilously in the breeze, like an albatross steadfastly determined to roost on the mast of a windsurfer. "I'm just rather surprised *no-one* but the Bursar here took *any* notice of its arrival," Ridcully said, fixing a Meaningful Stare on the congregated wizardly populace. "After all, it only happened a couple of hours ago -- I myself was *well* into my day's work by that time." "I thought I heard something around then," said the Lecturer in Recent Runes,"and the earth definitely did seem to tremble a bit. But, well..." "The 'Lentil Surprise' at dinner *was* a little *al dente*," the Chair of Indefinite Studies concurred. "I guess that's the surprise," said the Dean. *** The mutoids were beginning to look a mite peaked. "Oh dear," said Travis, his voice heavy with sincere concern for their well-being. "You must be getting hungry, is that it? Time for a serum fix, yum yum?" "It's all back on board the pursuit ship, Space Commander," one of them responded. "You know you really should carry some spare around with you," Travis said. "It would save you all kinds of trouble." "Unfortunately, Space Commander, our uniforms do not have pockets," replied the second mutoid. "Ah well, in that case you can have some of mine," Travis said, loosening his collar and presenting his neck to the nearest one of them. "Don't worry, I've got plenty." "That is against regulations, Space Commander," the second mutoid said. "Although, if you were to *order* us to..." the first said pointedly, salivating. "*Order* you to?" Travis looked horrified. "Antiquated militaristic folderol! You must take responsibility for your own choices. You must be your *own* mutoid!" The first mutoid gave him a filthy look. The second muttered something under her breath that was *definitely* against regulations. But he didn't seem to notice. They trudged on. *** The Count and Countess Notfaroutoe (nee Arthur & Doreen Winkings) were enjoying a leisurely plate of petit fours in the gloomy yet elegant ambiance of 'Ye Olde Undeade Teae Shoppe' (a touch of class in the otherwise rather downscale Commercial District of the Damned) and waiting for the sun to set when the new faces appeared. They stepped through the second set of black curtains which hung between the black door and the black interior of the restaurant, lest any sunlight which had somehow managed to hack its way down to street level should inadvertently enter and reduce to ash many of the Shoppe's most loyal patrons. Doreen beamed and gave the three newcomers a friendly wave. Ankh-Morpork's vampiric community was always glad for some fresh blood. The two girls, with their stiff gait and deathly pallor, were obviously members in good standing. The man looked a mite more cheerful than the undead usually did, but he dressed the part. Doreen indicated a vacant table next to theirs (Arthur harrumphed and retreated behind his copy of the Daily Ankh-Morpork Obituaries) and they seated themselves. "Two pints of AB-positive for my friends here," the man said to the waiter who lurched up to them, "and I'll just have a small green salad." The waiter murmured something in his ear. "A small brown salad will do just fine," he answered, and the waiter lurched off toward the kitchen. "Isn't it a happy coincidence, girls, that we happened upon this place just in the nick of time? It renews one's faith in the overall goodness of the universe." His two companions kept their silence. "Ve haffen't seen you arount here bevore," Doreen said, turning her chair halfway toward their table. "I am zee Countess Notfaroutoe, and ziss iss my husbant, Artore." Her accent was egregiously implausible, nor did she have the teeth to match, being in fact only a vampire by marriage, but nevertheless far more dedicated to the role than her husband was. "Pleaset'meetcha," Arthur said, extending his hand without looking away from his newspaper. "And you would be--" Doreen inquired after a more than reasonable pause. The two mutoids looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and then as one glanced sidelong at Travis. "This is Suzanne," he said, indicating the one nearest Doreen. "And this is Lynnette." The mutoids nodded. Just then the waiter hove back into view with two pint mugs of bright red blood and a salad that looked like it was hoping to be featured in the next George Romero movie. The mutoids chugged, and wiped their blood-moustaches off with the backs of their hands. Arthur said, 'tsk', from the safety of his newspaper. Doreen gave him a look. "And you?" she asked, extending her hand across the table to the chipper fellow, who was steeling himself to plunge his fork into the salad. "My name is Travis," he said. "But I'm strongly considering changing it to 'Rainforest'." Arthur coincidentally choked at that moment on nothing in particular, but stopped when Doreen's foot coincidentally encountered his shin. "And what do you do?" she asked the three of them. Rainforest tucked into his salad and appeared entirely enthralled by the lily-and-asphodel pattern that ran round the rim of the plate. Suzanne pondered. "Kill people, mostly," said Lynnette. "Oh, you mustn't think of it like *that*, my dear," said Doreen. "Think of it as granting them a new lease on life. Not ownership, mind you, but a *multi-century* lease nevertheless..." Lynette looked puzzled. "We're soldiers," Suzanne elucidated. Doreen looked horrified. This was not on her list of acceptable jobs for young vampires. "And how exactly do nice respectable girls like yourselves get started in such a *profession*?" she managed at length to inquire politely. At this Suzanne and Lynnette again glanced surreptitiously at Rainforest, who had quickly crammed his mouth with (for want of a better word) greens. "Mmt'm m mrrm cmmpmcmtm hmtmmshn," he explained without much conviction. "Bmmr thm thm hlmv pmtm m mshm pmm, hmm?" "Vell! I neffer!" Countess Notfaroutoe drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't that much of an effort. "Dit you hear zat, Artore?" "You, sir, are no gentleman," murmured Count N. from behind his beloved obits. "You shoult not be *toleratink* such treatment, my dears!" the Countess exhorted Suzanne and Lynnette with such passion that for the first time her accent actually sounded plausible. Arthur lowered his newspaper, interested despite himself. "I vant you to shtant up and say 'I'm a *vampire*, gods damn it, my life (or reasonable fascimile thereof) hass *value*!" She rose up, five feet of towering rage in black crepe. "I vant you to be sayink, 'I'm as mat as hell, unt I'm not goink to take ziss anymore!'" Rainforest had frozen as she rose with his fork halfway to his mouth and some dim sensation trying manfully to fight its way through the warm pink frog in his head (where the cold grey fog had always customarily been) and tell him he ought to be *doing* something about this. *Something*. But he hadn't the foggiest idea what. And now Suzanne and Lynnette were looking at him in a way it seemed to him mutoids shouldn't. Shouldn't even be *able* to. "I'm as mat as hell," said Suzanne tentatively. "Unt I'm not goink to take ziss anymore," said Lynnette with slightly more conviction. She stood up, draining the last of her pint. Suzanne followed suit. "I'm as *mat* as *hell*!" Suzanne said loudly and slammed her empty glass down on the black lace tablecloth. "Unt I'm NOT goink to TAKE ziss ANYMORE!" Lynnette shouted, and slammed her glass down as well. "I'M AS MAT AS HELL!" Suzanne shrieked, and smacked Rainforest in the back of the head in passing as she walked toward the entrance. "UNT...I'M...NOT...GOINK...TO...TAKE...ZISS...ANY...MORE!!!" Lynnette howled, loud enough to wake the dead if they hadn't been up already, and followed Suzanne out the door. Doreen smiled triumphantly, and folded herself primly down into her chair again. "Nice girls," she said to Arthur, who was still staring open-mouthed (revealing a fine set of choppers) at the doorway. "A tad naive, perhaps, but I think they've got what it takes." The waiter lurched over to Rainforest, who was still disengaging his face from his salad, and presented him with the bill, laid out in a miniature coffin. He took it and turned it over. "Twenty dollars for a small brown salad and two pints of AB-positive?" he muttered. For a moment it seemed *this* might be sufficient insult to break through his frog-induced cloud of complacency. But the moment passed. "Ah well, c'est la vie," he sighed, and stood up to reach into his pocket for his wallet. "Bugger," he said. *** Meanwhile... ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 15:14:42 +0100 From: Jacqueline Thijsen To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: RE: [B7L] Not Necessarily The Flat Robin 12 Message-ID: <39DCDDFD014ED21185C300104BB3F99F10FB07@NL-ARN-MAIL01> Content-Type: text/plain ROFL again, and totally breathless at the amount of story being turned out all of a sudden. Penny is certainly not interfering with any of my story ideas, since the flu has left me damn near unable to think. Hell, before it really kept me in my bed (and I still thought I was 'just tired') I already needed her to patiently take me by the hand and point out that the Pullet and Whippet was funny. And it still took me twelve hours to figure out why. After which I kept on sniggering for at least an hour. Penny said: > Arkaroo contributed numerous and sundry plot devices. Arthur and Doreen > are from "Reaper Man". And I hope the 'Network' reference is obvious to > all. > I'm sorry to say it isn't. Does it have anything to do with this Will Robinson? Anyway, after reading this part of the flat robin, I'm afraid I'll never again be able to look at an episode of B7 that has Travis and mutoids in it and keep a straight face at the same time. ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 09:19:47 PST From: "Penny Dreadful" To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: RE: [B7L] Not Necessarily The Flat Robin 12 Message-ID: <19990212171949.5549.qmail@hotmail.com> Content-type: text/plain >Penny said: "And I hope the 'Network' reference is obvious to all." Jacqueline replied: >I'm sorry to say it isn't. Does it have anything to do with this Will >Robinson? The latter was a reference to 'Lost in Space'. Brrr! Let us never speak of that again. Unless we want to. And the 'Network' reference is of course the most famous line from said movie, which I paraphrased not actually having seen it in a squidillion years: the old anchorman who has just found out he's going to be fired exhorts his viewers to stand up and go to their windows and lean out and shout, "I'm a human being, God damn it, my life has value! (something something) I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" And they do. --Penny "Flat Robinson" Dreadful ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 13 Feb 1999 10:12:14 +1100 (EST) From: kat@welkin.apana.org.au (Kathryn Andersen) To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se (Blake's 7 list) Subject: [B7L] OT: Worldcon Message-Id: Content-Type: text Sorry to be off-topic, folks, but I needs some help. Specifically, I need a room-mate for Worldcon. I have a twin room in the con hotel, quiet floor. Can't afford it if I am room-mate-less, and alas, the people I know who are going, have already organised themselves with someone else (or else they have decided to commute). Female, non-smoking. You meet the most interesting people, room-sharing. (Hi Mary!) Kathryn Andersen -- _--_|\ | Kathryn Andersen / \ | http://home.connexus.net.au/~kat \_.--.*/ | #include "standard/disclaimer.h" v | ------------| Melbourne -> Victoria -> Australia -> Southern Hemisphere Maranatha! | -> Earth -> Sol -> Milky Way Galaxy -> Universe ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 13 Feb 1999 04:25:56 +0100 (MET) From: Carol and Gordon Burgess To: blakes7@lysator.liu.se Subject: [B7L] Test Message-ID: <36C3CA620000037B@base.catchnet.com.au> (added by base.catchnet.com.au) Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii" Please ignore... just testing.. Carol 'Hondo' ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 13 Feb 1999 03:43:32 -0000 From: "Neil Faulkner" To: "lysator" Subject: re [B7L] Flat Robin Message-ID: <000e01be5703$283a9980$271cac3e@default> Content-Type: text/plain; charset="utf-7" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit +ADwAIg-My name is Travis,+ACI- he said. +ACI-But I'm strongly considering changing it to 'Rainforest'.+ACIAPg- Inspired. I had my doubts when the FR first got underway (far too fannish), but the Penny/Arkaroo instalments have been great. More, please. Where the +AD0APQA9AD0- is everybody? Any more of this inertia and I'll have to start trolling... Neil ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 13 Feb 1999 08:51:05 +0100 From: Jacqueline Thijsen To: lysator Subject: RE: re [B7L] Flat Robin Message-ID: <39DCDDFD014ED21185C300104BB3F99F10FB0A@NL-ARN-MAIL01> Content-Type: text/plain Neil said: > I had my doubts when the FR first got underway (far too fannish), > Huh? what do you mean by too fannish? > but the Penny/Arkaroo instalments have been great. More, please. > We can agree on that one. > Where the ==== is everybody? Any more of this inertia and I'll have to > start trolling... > You might consider adding something to the Flat Robin yourself. Jacqueline ------------------------------ Date: Sat, 13 Feb 1999 20:44:48 +1100 From: "Afenech" To: "spacecity" Cc: "lysator" Subject: [B7L] OT : Day of the Trffids Message-Id: <10013062588670@domain5.bigpond.com> Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Hello everyone -smile- This is a plea for help -smile- on one of the other lists I sub to a teacher here in Australia asked about the availability of 'Day of the triffids' (the 1981 production produced by David Maloney). She wants to use it for her higher level English students - the ones who aren't fond of English but are just doing it because they must. It seems it has never been released on video - a pity, I remember it being very good - so, I wondered if anyone of you might have a copy? And if you do would you be willing to make a copy for this lady? She will pay of course. It would be very much appreciated. Pat Fenech -------------------------------- End of blakes7-d Digest V99 Issue #59 *************************************