Plus an early finish at work, thus the weekly shop finished earlier, and thus Conrad is here hammering the keyboard without worrying about pub quiz, finishing the cakes off or having to get up early in the morning.
I cannot have toooo long a lie-in tomorrow, as birthday and Christmas shopping still needs to be done. Brrr! Christmas shopping in Manchester on a Saturday - my skin crawls with muted terror at the very thought.
| Hell. Much like shopping in Manchester, but with better weather |
I alluded to this topic on Facebook, briefly. The wonders of Blogger allow Conrad to pontificate at slightly longer length.
What is a tower crane? Allow me:
| It "towers" over the construction site. Do you see what I did - oh you do. |
However! You never seem them arrive or be erected , do you? Nor do you witness them being taken apart. This is because they are EVIL ALIEN SPIES! SPIES I TELL YOU! SPIE - HANG ON THE CAPS ah better. Spies.
Face it, the truth is incontrovertible. These sinister skeletal observers arrive, take in the scenery from their construction site - which always has awesome views over square miles of terrain - and then, inexplicably, one morning they are gone. The site crew think independent contractors moved them out overnight, the passing public think the site crew got rid of them.
| The spearhead of an invasion force, I tell you! |
The hat, however, crowns his glory.
As I posted yesterday - you DID read yesterday's blog, didn't you? Didn't you? - about my spectacular Christmas hat, today I wore it as Conrad's Christmassy contribution to the general ambience on Floor Seven. It garnered enthusiastic and favourable reviews from other staff, one of whom succumbed to OCD and simply *had* to squish the Santa. Not only that, I would elevate "favourable" to "ecstatic" when I pressed the sound tag and thirty seconds of chintzy electronic Christmas warble winged around the office.
No photos from the floor - hey, they wanted to keep it exclusive - but I will recycle one from last night's blog - which you did read didn't you?
 |
| Imagine less jowl but more scowl |
Abi, the lady who commissioned a cake from Conrad, proved to be a dark horse indeed. She waved two anthologies of poetry under my nose today, one dealing with Love, the other with Food - two of Hom. Sap's eternal interests - and had poems in each. The love poem, read aloud at Styal Women's Prison, provoked an <ahem> interesting response from prisoners. The other featured an illustration of life-lessons via cooking, including the frankly hilarious "One Pot Hotpot For Cheating 8astard".
I need to get more information about this. Call back next week, same Bat Channel!
Okay, time to go trawl the Lower Dungeons in search of exotic fungi and giant mole spoor. Pip pip!
No comments:
Post a Comment