I Zingari

Nope, Not Swahili, Indonesian or Tagalog
     Italian dialect, actually.  Pronounced "Ee Zingaree".
     What does it mean?  Literally, "The Gypsies", since it referred to an English (and an Australian) amateur cricket team who did not have a home ground.
     "What's this!" I hear you expostulate*, "Conrad, an alien spy who cares nothing for sport, going on about - well, sport."
     It's all about context, isn't it?  In the novel "The Sands of Valour" we encounter Brigadier "Blinder" Stainton-Simms, so-called because he wears an eyepatch.  And an I Zingari sweater.  Long did I puzzle about this name, until the Internet arrived.

I Zrider.  Close enough.

100 Years Ago
     This was the pinnacle of aerial technology:

An MF1.  Maurice-Farman, oh ye of dirty mind.

Now, regardez vous this:

An off-duty Czechoslovakian traffic-warden.  Oh, sorry, no! I meant an  SCA and space shuttle.

     If you could get around the time difference of 100 years, I think the MF1 pilot would be quite impressed at the honking big jet carrying a spaceship that maintains the International Space Station.
     Actually strike that, the MF1 pilot would probably end up a gibbering incredulous wreck.
     The big question that the off-duty Cz - no, sorry, the SCA and shuttle picture poses is - how the bloody hell do they get that up there?  Stout ropes and a really big pulley?
     O I'm so glad you asked.  Here is the mate/demate gantry built solely for that reason:

Just like Thunderbirds.  Thunderbirds, that is, with a $25 billion budget.

Okay, I have to admit a certain grudging admiration for Hom. Sap., you can be quite ingenious at times.

The Ukranians -
     No, not the ones over in the Ukraine, the ones I was keeping in the dungeons!
     You may have noticed a lack of jovial singing, dancing Ukranian musicians at BOOJUM!'s Valentine's Day street-party, compensated by the chance passing-by of an Austrian lederhosen troupe, who made an acceptable substitute.
     It was the giant voles, you see.  We've had trouble with giant moles in the past, though none have returned since a jolly obliging group of land-travelling sharks went following their spoor - anyway, yes the giant voles.  They tunnelled into the Upper Dungeon, presumably from the banks of Lake Despair to the Mansion's east.  When I went down to release the captured dance party - they were gone!
     Yes, the messenger mice should have informed me, except they were having one of their occasional "BOOJUM! Mansion doesn't pay well enough so we're going to sulk and sit still" sessions.  I - and ACAS, too - have pointed out that there aren't a lot of career opportunities for seven-foot tall weremice.  One expects the harsh experience of life in the real world to tutor them; in the meantime we have no Ukranians.

Giant Vole Fossil

Messenger mouse.  Not suitable for any customer-facing role (nor many others, if we're being honest).

"Seen In A Facebook Sidebar"
     Being in the Upstairs Lair or dog-sitting or drinking tea in the kitchen means Conrad = unable to watch passing buses thus cannot rely on this mobile muse for blog-fodder.
     Another equally if not more fruitful source of wibbling nonsense are the sidebars that rotate on Facebook.
     For some reason they keep generating "Men 50+ she don't care" ads that feature young ladies, usually wearing clothing I would dub "Not Safe For Work" (unless you work at Penthouse Magazine*) and featuring - how can I put this delicately? - prominent embonpoint**.
     Also today we have a sidebar notification about "Ragnarok" from the Detroit Free Times, who proclaim "Viking calendar predicts the world will end today".
     
     Okay, I'm waiting.

     Still waiting.

      Yes, still waiting.

     <checks watch, taps foot>

     Still - oh this is ridiculous!  Remember 2000, when the world was going to crash because every computer on the planet would rise up against it's human oppressors default to ~#@£; or 2012, when the Mayan calendar predicted the end of the world; or 2010 when Planet X was going to tip Earth on it's axis; or 1000, when the world was going to end because it was going to be swallowed by the giant wolf Fenrir - no, hang on, that was the Vikings and Ragnarok, wasn't it?
     Well, Fenrir better get a move on, there's only seven hours left in the day.  If NASA send out a warning about a giant space-wolf then you can start to worry ...

Fenrir.  Big, but not planet-eating big - definitely nothing compared to the Great Green Arkleseizure***

Well we've been quite text-heavy today, a consequence of it being the weekend and Conrad thus being able to really grapple with the keyboard.

To Finish
     Today Conrad got landed with dog-sitting duties again, meaning he acted as a mattress for two hours whilst Edna snoozed, whiffled, re-arranged herself and only woke on hearing the voice of Wonder Wifey returning.

Dangerously cute domesticated wolf

Look at her.  Look at those wolf genes coming out!

*    If it's still going
**   There!  You learnt a new word today!
***  Hitch-Hikers Guide To The Galaxy reference