A Milestone!

A What? I Hear You Ask
    None of that metric nonsense here at BOOJUM!  Unless it's astronomy, where Conrad may relent a little.
     Milestones are occasionally encountered even today in the 21st Century.  In centuries long past, when people didn't possess GPS, a road atlas or even a Manchester A to Z Streetguide, a milestone with distances to destinations in miles at the roadside was the next best thing.
     Anyway, tonight marks the ONE HUNDREDTH blog here at BOOJUM!  Outside, in celebration, the local colliery band is rehearsing, bunting* is up, small children are being dangerous with sparklers and free tea laced with whisky is being handed out by glamourous young ladies in taffeta chemises ...


"The Diamond Age"
     I finished this yesterday and have been cogitating in the meantime.  It's by Neal Stephenson and is set in a world where nanotechnology has transformed everything from the bottom up, and I mean everything.  However, there's no mention of the technology ever going wrong - the dreaded "Grey Goo" scenario.  Not even a little bit wrong.  Not even a teeny, tiny, nano-sized wrong.  Now, Mr Stephenson wrote the book and he's entitled to put in and leave out whatever he pleases, but I feel the possibility of this near-magical resource going wrong would add a bit of frisson.
     Ah, what the heck.  Who is Conrad to criticise?  He hasn't written a best-seller**.

Actually a reasonable synthesis of the book

Surely You Jest, Mister Feynman!?
     Look up Richard Feynman on Google or Wikepedia, or, even better, go out and buy one of his books - "Surely You're Joking Mr Feynman" or "What Do You Care What Other People Think?"  This guy redefines the word "clever".  He proposed nanotechnology in 1959, decades before science fiction writers even got their minds around the concept.  He was also an engaging character and natural speaker, not at all stuffy or precious and definitely not what you expect a Nobel-winning scientist to be.
     He played a mean acoustic saucepan, too.

So - Tanks?
     Try this on for size:

It can still kill - by hardening your arteries

*"Bunting" is a proper word and not rude at all.

 

** YET!

Sunday's Routine Slightly Amended

The Schedule Askew
     As any reader of this blog already knows, Conrad is a creature of habit.  Sunday's begin with a trawl of e-mails, the news, a shower, then a sit down with a pot of tea, my Nook and that book of (damnably compulsive!) logic puzzles.
     Things were a little different today - I had the ingredients for a "Traditional One-Pot Bean Dinner" which takes at least 6 hours to cook, so I set-to at twelve.  There was the pound of minced beef, six rashers of bacon, an onion, almost a whole bottle of ketchup, a tin of kidney beans, a tin of butter beans, three tins of baked beans and pork sausages (not enough room left in the cooker for the recipe's fourth tin) and some wine vinegar.

     This afternoon, instead of baking or cooking, I painted the window wall of my Upstairs Lair. 




That fiend Contrast prevents a proper photograph folks





So no practicing making Chelsea Buns.  Or at least not yet.

Transient Phenomenon
     I don't often see this:

No, you're not drunk, it is a double-image

This is caused by the sun shining directly on the windows of a house half a mile away and being reflected onto the upper window pane of the large window in my Lair, which has a flower motif leaded onto it.
     Just one of those things Conrad likes to share with the world.

No cuts, no buts, no Coconuts*?
     Up until recently I had copious amounts of dessicated coconut in storage; then came the discovery of how easy it is to make Coconut Ice Cream, and Mo's request for Coconut Pyramids, and the use of a ton of coconut in the Chewy Monkey Bars.  Resupply needed!  On Friday Asda were out of dessicated coconut - okay it happens.  This afternoon I sortied forth to the Co-Op in Royton, and they were out of coconut, too.  In fact they had a sticker on the shelf space apologising for the lack of coconut.
     What's going on?  Conrad, inquisitive fellow that he is, would like to know.  There's this recipe, you see <cont. Page 96>

Leslie, I feel your pain

 Old School Feint Rule
     Alas, I have come to the end of my extremely useful Pukka Pad; even though it is spiral-bound, it has not sprung apart or intertwined.  As I am old school - and also old - I like to write things down with a pen.  If I am feeling especially ancient school I write with a Fountain Pen** - look it up on Google, o thou youthful gel-pen users - and the Pukka Pad has perforated pages that allow easy removal.  This is why I have a folder full of transparent plastic sleeves in the kitchen - it contains dozens and dozens of recipes written down on the Pukka, detatched and then used for baking or cooking.  Looking at the etiolated Pad's carcass, I estimate at least 180 pages have been removed.

<Sniff>  We had such good times together ...

*A line from "Wreck-It Ralph".
** A vade mecum.  Really.


Coming next week: Audubon's Book of North American Cyborg Birds.



I Have Not Sat On Saturday

Boring Domestic Stuff
     Actually I have sat, but not for long. There was the Lychee Ice Cream to make - currently freezing in the freezer - and then the Chicken Chowder, after washing up a ton of dishes, stocking up and setting off the dishwasher, making a Giant Sausage Sub Sandwich, doing several logic puzzles (lounging rather than sitting), writing out a recipe for Lorraine and can you call perching upon a Dada Dog* "sitting"?  I think not!
     The sitting commences ... now.  I have the Blog to write, then a cruise through Facebook, then some more Zombie Novel, mayyyyyybe some recipe-pricing** and all the while I am watching films on a separate notebook perched atop my PC.  Hint:  It is higher in number than "Kick Ass" but is not an odd number ...

Hit Girl and Big Daddy.  DC Comics never sued over plagiarism?  Guess they must have a sense of humour ...

Mars
     Hilariously ambiguous, eh?  The planet?  The confectioners?  Your mother's house?
     No.  The Mars Volta.  Pretty potty prog metal mathcore musicians.  I took the trouble to check out lyrics on their track "A Zed And Two Naughts", especially the chorus.
     "Saint Christopher, Don't go wandering, There's no-one left to save, Because there's no-one at the wheel, Saint Christopher". 
     Musically, it sounds great but makes absolutely no sense.  I suspect this may be true of other musicians I like who do not sing in English. 

I exclude Rokia Traore from the above.  Check her out, she's worth it.

Volcanic Islands
     Watch out Pakistan!  The French are already en route.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-asia-24315820

     I jest!  When Surtsey, a volcanic island newly arrived above the waves to the south-east of Iceland, permitted visitors in the mid-1960s, French journalists laid claim to the territory on behalf of France.
     This is a bit unfair.  France has beaches, and spas, and islands, so it didn't need to annex any Icelandic territory.

Surtsey.  A bit of a fixer-upper in terms of property, although it does come with it's own jacuzzi.  Also a magnet for French estate agents.

So - Tanks?
    A tank? Perhaps.  I think the operative word here would be "Spoke" rather than "Tank".

Competetive  Russians:  the Penny-Farthing Times One Million

 Sir Bradley Wiggins eat your heart out!  This monster was intended to roll over Prussian or Austro-Hungarian field defences, except it got stuck the first time it was tested.  A good thing, too - can you imagine today's AFV's being descended from this Giant Bicycle?

*


Dada Dog a.k.a. Knee Chair

** Recipe Pricing - the Ultimate Anal Retentive Challenge. Working out what ingredients in a recipe cost.  There may be a Blog post on this subject later.

 

Indian Summer, UK Style

Whither the Weather?
     Today is the 27th of September, and a truly balmy day it has been, too.  Blue skies, sunshine, gentle breezes - all this in Manchester, the capital city of rain.  This kind of weather is known as an Indian Summer - not sure why - ah Googlpedia font of all knowledge describes it as a heatwave after summer proper.  Most welcome it is, too.  I recall last year being able to walk into Royton in a t-shirt and sandals, so warm was it in November.  Oh - wearing jeans as well.  Didn't want to get arrested.


Chunky Monkey Chewy Hunky
     If you bothered to read my brief screed last night, you will know I made Chewy Monkey Bars.  These turned out to be wildly popular and the whole tin was emptied within an hour of the warning e-mail going out across the floor.  Biggest complaint?  They were too big.  "Cut them in half!" advised the ganterpies*.  "But they won't be "bars" any longer," quoth I.  "Call them chunks!" they replied.
     Oh well.  Chunks they will be, next time.  Is there any way to avoid using marshmallow in the recipe, as poor stoic Manisha could not eat the gelatine-infused bars?  I suppose one could melt the butter, peanut butter and honey together, cool and then add Marshmallow Fluff. The mix would have to be very cool, Fluff doesn't cope with heat very well.

This is sooo bad for you. In fact there is a documentary film entitled "The Stuff" that displays exactly how bad it is for you ...

Martian Perrier One Step Closer
   Your waiter, sir -

Looks like a Transformer prop on location in Arizona, eh?  Wrong!  This is 80 million miles away.  On Mars.
 



Curiosity has been carrying out some baking of it's own on the Red Planet.  Not cake batter or biscuit dough, no, this is baking of the Martian soil.  What came out?  Water, and lots of it.  Herein the link:

 

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-24287207

 

Yes it is important!  When our astronauts make it to Mars they will be able to harvest the water to drink (and perhaps wash), then split it into oxygen for breathing and hydrogen as a fuel source.  Sadly this news has been overshadowed by the Big Brother house now being open to the public, the Tory Party Conference in Manchester and Miley Cyrus doing something repulsive with her tongue.

 

So - Tanks?

     Oh go on then.  This barely qualifies as a tank, but here you are:

No, he's not a giant, it's just a very small tank

Meet the Japanese Type 94 Tankette.  So small a couple of beefy Marines could lift it up and throw it in a skip.  It fared poorly against anyone armed with more sophisticated weapons than a pointy stick, and surely illustrates how much better the Japanese are at designing cars, not tanks.

 

Now, I have to go - there is a can of Old Golden Hen awaiting me!

 

 

* a.k.a. work colleagues.

Hasty but Tasty

I hope!
     Fosooth, am I not working late again today?  And do I not have the pub quiz to attend at nine o'clock, just twenty four minutes away?
     Neither cuts much ice with the ganterpies *at work.  From Monday on the chorus is "What are you making for Friday <Conrad**>?"  "You ARE making something, aren't you?" said in low tones of implied menace.
     Well today I took in the Hummingbird Bakery Cake Book and thumbed a few pages before Manisha got hold of it.
     "The recipe needs to be quick," I told her.
     "Here!  This one!" she chirruped, eyes bright.
     "There aren't any pumpkins on sale yet."
     "Here! This one! It only takes 35 minutes in the oven!"
     "Yes but look at the list of ingredients and the hours of preparation that go on before that."
     "Monkey bars," interrupted Sophie from behind.  Conrad quivered in fear, thinking this was what he was going to be beaten with if -
     "Chewy Monkey Bars," continued Sophie, pointing to the recipe and photograph.
     So -

Merely looking at this will make your weight increase.

"La Horde"
     Also known in English as "The Horde".  A French zombie film that starts off being a less cast-heavy version of "The Raid", and which then abruptly becomes a gun-laden zombie flic*.  Plot holes as big as the tower block it's set in, mind you.  For one, where do the zombies suddenly come from?  No explanation even hinted at.  For another, why do thousands of zombies storm an abandoned tower block?  There's no light or sound or movement to draw them.  Why do the protagonists repeatedly forget that you stop zombies by shooting them in the head - only to remember minutes later?  And why do they want to get out of a nice safe tower block and into the presence of a mulling horde of the undead?
     I don't expect a chain of adamantine logic to propel the plot of a zombie film, but a little coherence would be welcome.


"Back!  BACK! You can't have my One Direction tickets!"

Okey dokey put it in a pipe and have a smokey - Conrad is off to quaff, quibble, tattle and tipple.

Au revoir!

* A proud new word I made up from "gannets", "termagants" and "harpies".
**  Can't let my real secret identity out.

Technology - the two-faced monster

THE GOOD

The Book and the Nook
     William Caxton is rotating in his grave at 500 r.p.m. as I type, for a couple of reasons.  One, I'm typing using technology he couldn't begin to imagine, to produce instantly-readable print in seconds, whereas he'd have to go at it with a printing press and blocks of type and ink and shizzle*.  Two, I now have a Nook, a variety of electronic book that holds hundreds of books in it's memory, so Bill's kidskin-bound vellum pages are in danger of marching off the same cliff that the Dodo and cassette tapes ran off.
     Sorry Bill.


"Observe, madame, Mister Caxton's Mark Four Printing Press.  Also good for drying clothes, making potato pancakes or torturing domestic servants"

The 21st Century's Best Gadget Ever
     The I-Pod.
     There is no argument here.
     Truly, I would need a wheelbarrow to carry around the CD collection I have, except thanks to the miracle of digital technology, a device no bigger than a mobile phone allows me to have the music minus the wheelbarrow**.

Stop Press:  I-Pod delivers an end to strife worldwide.
(It might happen!)

     
THE BAD

The Mobile Phone
     This wretched little horror allows everyone you don't want any contact with to pester you endlessly or until the battery dies.  If I had my way - and there is still a possibility of Conrad As World Leader - they would be thrown into the maws of concrete mixers filled with jagged steel ballast and the resultant metallic slag poured into the foundations of prisons reserved for those who mourn their passing.

 Hamster-Powered I.T.
     Yes, when equipment hangs, crashes, freezes, goes slow, goes stop, runs backwards, runs away, runs down, runs you down, gets you down, goes to town or has a breakdown - that's the point you realise you would have done better and faster with a King George IV Typewriter, two cans connected by a piece of string and a loudhailer.

As used in "Misery", unrealistically.  Anyone hit by one of these cast-iron monsters ain't getting back up again.

  
So - Tanks?
     Hmmm.  Well, you've been good.

There's a toaster in there somewhere

   No, not an Apollo LEM cockpit.  The interior of an M1 Abrams tank.  Wonder where they fit the people in? 

* Yes.  "Shizzle".  BOOJUM! - street literate, innit.

**Unknown in Petrine Russia of the 18th Century.  Peter the Great had a wonderful time being wheeled around stately gardens in one.  Yes honestly.

The Beginning of the End!

(For Hom. Sap., that is)

Remember Terminator Two!
     Your honour, I present this evidence:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/technology-24231077

Now, we haven't quite got to the point of a computer flying these planes, but still!  It's only a matter of time.
     Obviously the only things that will prevent Skynet from taking over will be the Zombie Apocalypse or an asteroid strike.  I'm not keen on either and suspect that they lack credibility as an alternative long-term survival strategy.
     So, remember, when a hulking great cyborg smashes your door down - Conrad warned you.

"Yes he did.  This displeases us. We're going substitute one of our glam female Terminators for one of your work colleagues, Conrad.  Won't tell you which one.  Heh."

Brainnnns!
     Sorry, came over all walking dead there.  Mention of zombies does it, you know.  No, I meant my book of logic puzzles.  Did another one today, this time of the location type, and started another.  Too time-consuming to commit to!  I must resist their fatal charm.  There's all those books over there to read, and that zombie novel, and those wargame rules <cont. Page 94>

More of that Crane, again. 
     What can I say that doesn't sound like a Carry On line?  A full-perspective shot.

Fact: it would take 1,566,000 Meccano sets to create that crane

 And then I turned around and

Centre screen.  Extreme window cleaning - coming in the next Olympics

So - Tanks?

     No!  You've had a giant crane and a Terminator.  That's enough heavy metal for tonight.

Conrad - Not Too Fond Of Cars (and still hates musicals)

Manly but not Vanly
I confess I do possess a car.  It is reliable, comparatively cheap to run, has a splendid large boot ("trunk" to any of my trans-Atlantic readers), and stands over 6 feet* tall, which is handy as I am rubbish at remembering where I parked.  Also it has what I consider the sine qua non of any car - a CD player.
     That's it.  I care no more for any other thing about it.  To Conrad, a car is a metal box with a wheel at each corner.  You put the expensive sauce in and it goes from A to B.

That boot door keeps the rain off splendid.  Also you can hear my rock music from far, far away.  Though you might not want to ...

Ice-Cream News
     The Avocado and Coconut batch is chilling in the freezer as we sp - as I type.  This was one of the "chuck everything in a blender" recipes which are much easier and quicker than the custard-based ones.  Given the flavour combination, Conrad suspects he might be eating this variety on his own.

Grim News of Friday's Night Out
     Apparently the glass of 57% rum that I snaffled was actually Alex's.  The lad had been absent in the Gents for an age, so our party of curious cats passed his glass along, taking a sip, until it reached Conrad.
     "Down in one!  Down in one!" came the chorus, and Conrad, imagining the drink to be a communal one, did indeed down in one.
     Sorry, Alex.

Not to rub it in or anything ... (it was £7)

Grim News of Friday's Night Out Part Two
     I mentioned being dragged upon the dance floor at Moho by Claire.  Still worse is that her sister in mischief, Emma, took photos.  These, apparently, have been broadcast upon that monstrous aberration Facebook to the world and his wife, and both their sons and daughters and some nieces and nephews along the way.

So - Tanks?
     No!  Because Anna might end up reading this.  No tanks.  No armoured cars.  No weird ridiculous giant mechanical monsters. Nothing with guns, missiles or lasers.  No, instead we have  -

Piranhas!  Cuddly piranhas!

This will wow her, won't it?  I mean they are, er, veggie piranhas?  That go to church and foster orphan piranhas?

 * It may be an Italian car but here at BOOJUM! we stick firmly to Imperial measures, none of that metric nonsense.  Besides, it'll never catch on.

Busy BOOJUM!

Book, Nook and Cook
     Book: by which I mean that book of logic puzzles mentioned yesterday.  Got through another one today.  Hoorah.  Evidence of non-senility.
     Nook: I am now 1610 pages into "The Diamond Age" by Neal Stephenson.  The Nook pages are small but there are an awful lot of them.
     Cook: the chicken pepperonato is set up in the slow cooker crock pot ready to be started tomorrow morning.  The Leek and Potato Soup is simmering on the hob and will be finished off in about 10 minutes.  If I can muster the enthusiasm I shall make some Summer Fruits ice-cream, and will Google to see if there's any recipes that involve lychees in ice-cream.

Project Damnation Day 5,064
     I present evidence to the jury that my Upstairs Lair is being renovated with chocolate milkshake.  The shade of paint, not the drink.

I should have taken a "Before" photo of the spotty, grotty, mouldy, oldie wallpaper

There will now be a short pause whilst Conrad goes to wrestle that soup into shape.

Okay, I am back.  The soup smells appetising but is too hot to taste, yet.  Doubtless others present in this household will sample it and venture an opinion ...

The Horde
     Nope, not a film about football fans.  This is a French film about a police raid on a gangster-filled tower block that also includes fluffy rainbow rabbits. 
     No!  Sorry!  Zombies!  Zombies, yeah.  The two are easily confused.
     Anyway, I like to watch stuff whilst ironing shirts ready for the following week, and I have to iron shirts because my Still Anonymous Employer has a dress code.  Since The Horde has subtitles, it will be very distracting; it also has English dubbing but no foreign film snob would ever consider using dubbing.  O dear noe!
     Watching a French zombie film whilst ironing shirts.  That's Conrad for you.  How do you spend your Sunday evenings?

So - Tanks?
     Yes indeedy.  Gaze upon this contraption:


A Matilda Scorpion Flail

This piece of armoured oddness was intended to wallop a way through minefields.  That giant drum at the front whizzed around at high speed, and the heavy chains attached would either destroy or detonate any mines in it's path.  In action they created a huge cloud of dust and sounded like the wailing of lost souls en masse.

Baldwin's Big Boy Erect Erm Assembled
     Yes the crane construction chaps finally put together the Unfeasibly Big Crane on Friday.  I assume they'll be doing the deconstruction work over the weekend and all evidence will be gone by Monday.  Here is the final bit they added on:

Enormous yet spindly.  Kind of like Conrad ...

Got to go - neither ice-cream nor zombie novel will get done with me sitting at the keyboard!



Bibulous But Braggadocio, BOOJUM!'s Back

Ahoy mateys.  No post yesterday since I went a-drinking straight after work, didn't get back home until midnight and then went straight to bed. 

Consumption stats
     Half a French loaf, half a pound of cheese (past the sell by date so it simply had to be eaten), a peach, a tub of home-made ginger ice-cream, a tub of beef stew, a carton of bite-sized chicken Kievs and about twenty triangle butties liberated from the pub quiz on Thursday night.  Then came eight pints of beer, Jaegerbombs and a can of something fruity and alcoholic.
     This outing was in the company of work colleagues and ex-colleagues, the latter including the vivacious Milena, and Claire The Living Spirit of Mischief.  This latter person dragged elderly Conrad upon the dance floor and made - nay, forced - me to contort in dance shapes.  Thankfully no-one took photos.  I hope.

"When you have eliminated the impossible ..."*
     Feeling rather proud of my organic skull-housed computer.  I was recently given a book of several hundred logic puzzles.  The first attempt I made on them was only half-successful (locating various "battleships" on a grid).  The second, equally disappointing - although I claim the clues used were ambiguous in several cases.  Third time I got it, with one look at the solution that almost doesn't count because it simply didn't make sense.  Fourth time, one hundred per cent correct and no peeking.  Conrad ain't quick but he can see through a brick wall in time.

"I commend your devotion to the noblest of all intellectual pursuits, Conrad.  Now, can you explain what a Boojum is?"

Ikea flat pack next time!
     Wifey bought a chest of drawers on-line for a pittance.  The catch?  They lived in a farmhouse on the far side of Todmorden.  So, Degsy and I ventured there along miles and miles of one-car width blind bends at extreme angles on roads not altered since they were horse-tracks.  We ended up at a farmhouse with wonderful views, that will be utterly cut off from what vestiges of civilisation exist up there with the first snows.
     The chest of drawers barely fitted into the Qubo with a couple of centimetres to spare and I was forced to hold it back when we descended the hillside in case it slid forward and pummelled us from behind.

Our's was only slightly smaller.

So - Tanks?

The 1977 edition

   Yes indeed.  The above is a novel clearly informed by the author's real life experiences in the Desert War of North Africa.  That's a Matilda on the front - not going into action or the aerial with pennants ought to be lowered.

The Grant, a.k.a. "Egypt's Last Hope"

  Yes indeed.  The above is a novel clearly informed by the author's real life experiences in the Desert War of North Africa.  That's a Grant on the front, an American bruiser converted for desert warfare by the British.

* No, not a song lyric.  Sherlock Holmes.  "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how impossible, must be the truth".

So long chums!

Conrad and Time Management

Don't worry, this isn't some screed about business efficiency and ergonomics.  No, I'm just pleased that I got the Coconut Pyramids done and iced the Almond Fingers.  The former are cooling in the lounge, where darling daughter declared "Oooh!  Those look nice.  Do they need to set?'  "Yes," I replied - truthfully and also as a hands-off message.  The Almond Fingers will need slicing up tomorrow morning when the icing has set properly.

The Reason Why Cakes Sit In The Lounge

This compact Travelling Cat's fur also unzips for easy cleaning

 This is Jenny, the major conspirator of our two cats.  The skittish Beej, who looks perpetually startled, loiters top right.  A cake left to cool in the kitchen would probably get a fair bit of clawing, chewing and possibly weeing before these two decided that, nah, they didn't like it, the humans could keep it.  Plus it would end up with a delicate coating of cat hairs.

Disgraceful!
     Just done the weekly shop at Asda and they don't stock loose-leaf tea!
     This is - it's - well it's nothing short of criminal is what it is.  No loose-leaf, let alone loose-leaf Darjeeling.  Shocking!  Don't these people realise we built and maintained an empire based on consumption of loose-leaf tea?
     Come closer -

Loose-leaf Darjeeling.  Gaze upon it in wonder, dear reader.

Earlier this year I was forced into the desperate expedient of cutting corners off Darjeeling teabags and pouring the sweepings into a caddy because nobody stocked loose-leaf -
     <Mr Hand interposits here - "Conrad may rant about this for some time.  Let's move on, shall we?>

A Dead Shirt
     Yeah.  It was irrevocably disgraced with an indelible stain, so it had to die.

Behold!  The savagely slain shirt.

That's all for tonight, dear readers - Conrad is off to the pub quiz shortly.

Cheerio!

"First, catch your rabbit."

Self-referentialism
Anna, work colleague who is tolerant enough of Conrad's foibles to actually express an interest in this blog, asked - "How do you find it?"

Long pause.

Conrad shrugs shoulders, mumbles something about "Erm, Blogger, BOOJUM!, Google, got to dash."

The winning combination is Googling "BOOJUM!" and "comsatangel2002" - obviously!  How could it be anything else!  The lady will get an update tomorrow.  In the meantime I have to post a cuddly animal photo instead of a tank.  So - let's have some lambs.

Lamb.

No! NO!  Bloody hell, she's a vegetarian!  Conrad, get your act together!

So cute even Darth Vader would go "Ahhhh!"

 Time for an abrupt change of subject.

Baldwin's Big Boy or The View From My Window Part 2
     The crane is back.

The jib is added.  This jib arrived on it's own low-loader.

The pulley housing is added to the jib.

After counterweights have been loaded, the jib is erected

I didn't take a photo of the actual crane arm being attached.  I anticipate the assembled crane will be in action tomorrow - more photos unless our Team Manager is patrolling the floor, as I fear her only slightly less than Death itself.

This week's cake is -
     Actually a biscuit, Almond Fingers.  Long has Conrad been taunted by K-Mo, about what he should bake for the floor, which usually involved baking what K-Mo wanted.  I bearded her dragon in it's lair - actually strike that, it sounds rude.  I hurled my 1,000 Recipe Book at her and said "Pick any cake and I'll make it!" and along came Almond Fingers.  Also Coconut Pyramids.  Not sure about these.  Normally on a Thursday my time is limited by Pub Quiz, and because I intend to go out drinking with colleagues on Friday I need to do the weekly shop tomorrow, so time will be a bit squeeeezed.

Whilst Bathing At Baxters*
     I came up with a bit of doggerel.  Look, Conrad is a creature of habit and wants the office teaspoons back.  Cruel editorial staff refused to add baiting, biting, withering citric criticism of those stolen spoons to our weekly news e-mail, so in spite I created this:

I wandered, lonely as a cloud
Into the kitchen, where I'm allowed.
I recalled those balmy days of June
When we did not suffer loss of SPOON.

O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see ourselves as ithers see us.
This would not worry me, I'm not a loon
And know that I did not steal the SPOON.

I met a traveller from a foreign land.
He had a theme - I shall expand.
He spoke of wreck and woe and ruin.
An empire fallen because of no SPOON.

Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.
Whilst you're about it - unless you die soon  -
Repent of thy sins and thy theft of the SPOON.

I hate poetry with a passion, but the first line or two of these are from famous poems.  Did you recognise them, gentle reader?

Also, because Conrad is a creature of habit

2587 teaspoons in June

*Yes, it's another music reference.  Jefferson Airplane.  I composed this rhyme whilst walking to work, which - actually it does have alliteration.  I may revisit in future.
    

Eliminate! Eliminate!

The Great British Bake-Off
     Required family viewing in Conrad's household, in our newly-re-arranged lounge, where the television sits in the fireplace.  Quite handily, too.
     Anyway, today saw the departure of Rob, even after he managed to make a Biscuit Dalek, which made me laugh out loud (seasoned readers know of my partiality to Doctor Who).  Kimberley had a bit of an off day, Ruby displayed her characteristic nerves, and Glen surprised himself - and the judges - with his biscuit and macaroon helter-skelter.  I also learned of "Tottenham Cake" which I think I've seen before but have never baked.  Maybe next week.


A Nice Cup Of Tea Dalek to go with the Biscuit

The View From My Window

In the foreground: Small Excavator; Large Excavator.  In the background: Enormous crane; Pretty Big crane

That crane from Baldwin's is back, together with it's smaller brother that puts it together.  I assume the bigger, once assembled, is going to lift off the skeletal structure of steel beams from the top of Victoria Station.  Various artisans have been cutting the lengths apart whilst leaving the structure intact.

Where do you go to my lovely?
     As you may already know, Conrad is a creature of routine and habit.  He does not like sudden change, mobile phones or biros.  Still less does he comprehend the value, attraction and status enhancement of the common teaspoon.  I mention this because back in June a host of these heavenly objects suddenly appeared in our office kitchen.

Proof! Proof, I tell you, proof that Conrad is not merely suffering from the vapours.

Today there are none left.  None.  NONE!  Nor has the tin-opener reappeared. The ICC in the Hague has already been notified.

Farewell my lovely
     Today we bade good bye to Emma, who is going on secondment to another part of my Unidentified First-class Organisation.  I had to come up with some doggerel to embarrass her, and I did.

"There was a young lady called Emma
Who suffered from a thorny dilemma.
She couldn't say "No"
When asked "Do you "go"?'
And ended up with a randy young fella."

There was a slightly more tasteful rhyme.   How does it go?  I ripped out the page I composed it on and gave it to her - see if she can decipher Conrad's handwriting!

"We're here to say goodbye to Ryan
A gel who was almost always cryin'
I shall miss her; not for her giggle,
Nor her enthused arm-waving wiggle,
Not for tales of Nana's cod-in-butter,
Nor her sister Claire the utter nutter,
Nor her desire to eat a baby -
(Metaphorically and not with gravy)
I shall miss Emma for her skills
For I shall have to work harder and TAKE LOTS OF PILLS."

So - Tanks?

The Antonov A40.  Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  No, it's proof that Russians are barmy.

     I don't know anyone who designs armoured fighting vehicles, but I'll bet one of their design dictums is not "Hmmm.  How can we take this enormously heavy object - and make it fly!" 
     I bet they nicked all our spoons.

In case Anna reads this, let us end on an Ahhh! moment.  A lovely cuddly kitten.

Hey, a kitten is still a kitten, right?  Right?  Put down that crucifix whilst I'm talking to you!