The Chiricahua Apache chief Geronimo died on this day in 1909. He fought the US cavalry for years in Arizona and New Mexico, breaking out of a reservation in 1876 and hitting the White Eyes for ten years in brilliant guerrilla raids. After that, he lived the American dream. He may look a fierce old so-and-so in the photographs, glowering at the camera and brandishing his Sharp's rifle but as well as being a great general, he was a pretty s**t hot entrepreneur, selling Apache memorabilia and signing them with his name.
incidentally, there is no truth in the rumour that he died during a sexual debauch by leaping off a wardrobe onto an unsuspecting lady, shouting 'Geronimo!'.
That was Rain-in-the-Face.
In other news ...
In 1972 the German Volkswagen outsold the US Ford Model T with sales of over 15 million. I've always found this rather odd - that a Nazi car with the engine in the wrong place should have been designed by a man who gave his name to an altogether more upmarket car with the engine in the right place.
You couldn't make it up, could you? Although Holocaust deniers do.
On a personal note, the Detective Inspector dislocated her elbow this week, sliding on an inadequately stowed vole innard in the garage. She and Metternich have kissed and made up, but my additional housewifely duties have caused a slight hiatus in the blog - normal service has been resumed, as you can see, but the cooking and housework will be in the capable hands of Mrs Troubridge from Monday when I return to school after half term, so I warn you in advance that some entries may be a little dyspeptic.
