Long tailbacks and roadworks made the journey home something of an endurance test today, a journey conducted under a louring, lead-looking sky with temperatures set at "medium Broil" for Conrad - who runs hot even in winter, as you know.
Also, some folks might be off watching the World Cup where a team known as "England" play someone else. Conrad was waggishly asked if he'd be watching this presentation of pigskin propulsion, and in turn asked how long it would be.
"Two hours," came back the reply.
"TWO HOURS!" exclaimed Conrad in disbelief. "I can't waste two hours watching telly - I've got typing and the blog and writing and reading to do, I'm an important man!*"
Doing the blog usually takes an hour at least, then I need to thrash out Chapter Nine, and type up more dialogue - and the book pile grew bigger today.
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| Conrad's manly selection of testosterone-fuelled - oh - er - ignore that yellow one ... |
Conrad's Thought Processes Illustrated
We've had the "Exploded Rubbish Dump" analogy, so let's have the "White Hole" analogy to explain away the peculiar things (I accidentally typed "thinks" which is really just as apt) that come to the fore of his consciousness.
What is a "White Hole"? The opposite of a black hole - obviously! - in that nothing external can ever enter it, but matter and radiation can emerge from it**. Suddenly, out of nowhere, atoms and molecules just ping! into existence. And so it is with Conrad.
What follows is a white hole ping!
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| No it's not a McFlurry! |
No! it's not an infection of the large intestine. It's a surname. Where does it come from? From Old Frankish, a Germanic language spoken in what would now be France, gradually adjusted by contact with Latin from "Arogisd" to "Arbogast", meaning "Companion of the eagle". Famous members of this name include Saint Arbogast, bishop of Strasbourg; Arbogast von Franckenstein**, a knight, and Detective Arbogast, the chap who meets a sharp pointy thing at the top of the stairs in "Psycho".
White hole ping! now ends.
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| Doctor Larry Arbogast from "Junior" as well. |
More Predictions By John Wyndham
One of John's lesser-known works is "Web", about a hopeful colony of humans arriving on a South Sea island, only to fall foul of the intelligent spiders that live there ...
The spiders are the apex predators on the island, which means that they eat up everything that moves and face starvation - until they start using webbing to create nets and trap fish, solving their food problem.
Conrad was therefore horrified to see the BBC News website feature a headline: "Fish-eating spiders widespread". His atomic-powered central pumping-unit that substitutes for a heart is fortunately immune to the kind of shock, but still - and if you're at all squeamish about spiders, avoid the picture below:
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| "Quiver in fear, puny human - you're next!" |
"The Fault In Our Stars"
Apparently this is a film about two youngsters falling in lurve.
CHICK-FLICK ALERT! AVOID AVOID AVOID!
It's doing major business at the box office, apparently, which is because boyfriends are having to endure being dragged to it by girlfriends, or risk an argument at best, or a break-up.
Why is Conrad pummelling it so? Well, it makes a splendidly punchable bag. Also, stars do not have "faults". Spots, yes - sunspots that is, not acne - and prominences, and a vast magnetosphere, and defined layers, but they are not artefacts which means THEY DO NOT GET FAULTS!
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| Now, this - this - has faults. |
There. Conrad has spoken
That's Quite Enough Of That!
The "that" in question being a woman called "Cher Lloyd"***.
Conrad does not often read the Metro, as he considers it to be a trivial lightweight compared to those titans of the published word, the National Enquirer and the Sunday Sport. Today, for example, there was a photograph of this "Cher Lloyd" on the cover, and an article inside. Conrad has to say the article was so free of content her manager must have paid to have it put in, and if he didn't know who "Cher Lloyd" was before reading the article, he is no better informed now. Conrad's world and that of "Cher Lloyd" do not impinge on each other in any way, which is fine by me.
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| Celluloid. Close enough |
Finally
Edna has been providing moral support in the back yard whilst Wonder Wifey painted the wall, and by "moral support" I really mean "sniffing at everything and getting dangerously close to wet paint, wet paintbrushes and open tins of wet paint".
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| Edna, with fashion accessory matching paint dab on ear (Removed shortly after so no need to call the RSPCA, thanks) |
Beej, the surly miscreant, rarely enters the Upstair Lair. This evening he's hiding under the furniture, because I can hear him snoring. Before that I caught him being almost happy:
*<In his own mind, adds Mister Hand>
** What a name! There's a comic book, a film and a range of toys in that name, mate!
*** Also, Conrad does not care who or what she is. No postcards to the Mansion, ta.
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