Conrad Is Crossss!

Only 8 Readers Yesterday!  You Are Quite Wicked!
     It is only by reading BOOJUM! gentle reader, that you and your descendants will be spared either mind-controlled slavery or going into the Organic Dis-Assembling Vats when that invasion fleet gets here.  I'm only posting here for your own good in that way, and also warning about the impending zombie/robot/cat uprising.
     Remember - Ignorance Means DEATH! 

Humanity's destination - IF YOU DO NOT READ THE BLOG!  Thank you

Marmite and Cyanide
     Not to be taken in combination, thank you!  No, this is not some silly New Age cold-cure - although being in an advanced state of Extremely Dead would mean a hack and sniffle no longer bothered you - it is simply a musing on smells.
     Cyanide smells like bitter almonds, but only to 40% of the population at large.  Since almonds have a large molecular structure, and cyanide is just a molecule of Carbon and Nitrogen,

This rather resembles a treat-filled dog toy.  Except there are no molecular-sized dogs*.

 why does it smell so?
     I believe the answer is that cyanide molecules don't just hit nasal receptor cells and sit there, they go whanging all over the nose, generating olofactory mayhem.
     Now that's out of the way, why does Marmite smell like Bovril?
     For the un-initiated, Marmite is a yeast extract, whilst Bovril is a beef extract.
     Why do they smell the same?  Conrad - DOES NOT KNOW!  He will go forth into the wilderness and meditate upon the problem until revelation arrives potter around Google a bit until he finds an answer or falls asleep ask a passing neurosurgeon.

Marmoset.  Close enough.

Entropy, Untidiness And The Upstairs Lair
     After reading up about entropy and the tendency of disorder - oh I don't need to go over it again because you did read yesterday's blog didn't you?! - I realised earlier today that the entropy argument about untidiness also applied to my Upstairs Lair.
     Herewith a photo:

Conrad's idiosyncratic filing system for books

     Yes it's a mess.  However, it's my mess, and I know what's where.  This is the carpet to the left of my desk where reference material is stored, where recent book purchases rest briefly before being put into the cupboard, and where current reading matter sits and waits to be picked up and read.

Current reading <pauses to salute Bruce>

     "Okay," you ask, "Where is that large-format hardback that illustrates Shirer's "Third Reich" with photography?  Eh, Conrad?"
     "Top left-hand cupboard, in the stacks against the rear wall, towards the very bottom of the stacks on the left-hand side," I reply, simultaneously answering and impressing the questioners.
     "Well, where is the 1992 2000 AD Yearbook <Mister Hand intervenes to prevent things from spiralling downwards into ennui-laden revisionism>

What The Well-Dressed Public Transport User Is Wearing
     I know Edna is only 11 week old tomorrow, but she is manifesting uncanny levels of cleverness, as well as being dangerously cute.  I'm not saying she goes and opens the back door when she needs to go and Do Her Business**, but nearly, damn it, nearly!
     Today she ventured forth on a bus.  And did far better than a human being I know (yes I'm looking at you Katie Jamieson!)

No jokes about Greyhound, please

*  That should read "There are no molecular-sized dogs.  Yet."
** <sigh> We have to euphemise to avoid upsetting Darling Daughter.