Chocolate Cheesecake Muffins!

Hmmm - But No
     No, the Official Swear of BOOJUM! is still "Dog Buns!"
     Pronounced with emphasis, "Dog Buns!" lets anyone within earshot understand that you're not happy about dropping your teaspoon to the bottom of the cup, or realising that you've locked yourself out of the car, or that your experimental batch of botulinus toxin has died off - again.  But it isn't swearing, because there may be children reading this.
     Naughty children!  Bad children!  It will give you nightmares!
     "Chocolate cheesecake muffins!" are what Conrad baked last night.  Viz:

    How did they go down with the ganterpies at work?  There was only one left when Conrad left, so they were fairly popular.

Today's Dress-Down Had A Theme
     People could wear sporting shirts or tee-shirts, or football club shirts, donating £1 to Anna for her charity.
     Conrad possesses no sporty wear.  But he wanted to make an impact.
     Suddenly, his head lit up like a lightbulb; he was having An Idea.
     "I shall go to work, not as a Football Fan, but - as a Football Manager," he decided.  "So I shall wear a suit, with a tie, and a hat".
     Of course the problem with this is that Conrad knows 0% about football.  However, he has a mind that absorbs passing detail and can ad-lib fairly convinciningly.
     Thus:

"You're supposed to be marking that striker!  He's got room to move - CLOSE HIM DOWN!"

     Occasionally he would spout some platitude he'd heard other people say, managing to sound realistic whilst not knowing what he actually meant.  Drilling crosses, anyone?  The hat had to come off when answering the phones - the phone rig wouldn't allow it to balance properly.
     Let us leave Football Manager Conrad with the last words (as if he knows what he's talking about!)

"Yeah, we did lose seven-nil, but it was really against the flow of play."

What's Going On?
     The mysterious and massive white structural components of the new tram station under construction at Victoria Station are getting put together - the thing nears completion.

Like a 1990's wire-frame graphic

     Except for that bit in the upper right, where a piece is missing, and has been missing for days now.  What's going on?  Is there supposed to be a gap there?  Is the part missing?  Broken?  En route from the foundry over in Taiwan?   What what what?  Conrad needs to know!

That's Quite Enough Of That!
     The that in question being a film title that is appearing on posters across Manchester:

"Yes, but "Nine hundred and ninety nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine Ways To Die In The West" was too long" 

     Really!  A willing suspension of disbelief?  Conrad doesn't think so - this is taking liberties with poetic licence sufficient to drive it completely off a cliff.  A Million ways to die - No!  Firstly, and foremostly, and forthwith, you can reduce that figure of 1,000,000 down to 2, if you want to be crude about it - i) bullets and ii) disease.  You can possibly add iii) being tied to a railway track, but that's pushing it.  No, Indians don't count; if they use rifles then that's bullets, and if they use arrows well they're a projectile weapon as well.  Spears or tomahawks would come under diseases - er, chronic steel poisoning.

What's That? Okay, Just A Moth
     Conrad does not like flies.  A popular spectators sport at the Mansions in summer is to watch a grey-haired man leap madly about the kitchen, flailing his arms, occasionally pausing to stamp on the floor and sneer in a hideous rictus denoting triumph <Mister Hand explains this is Conrad pursuing a fly, swatting it to the floor, crushing it to a smear then gloating about it>.
     So - what's this?

Not the cord or the cake - the black blob at dead centre.

     Only a moth.  Moths are okay, Conrad is quite able to tolerate them.  A butterfly would be rather distracting, but a moth - they're okay.

Sophie And Her Haunted Hands Of Horror
      - no, only joking, she doesn't have Hands of Horror.
     No, she has Feet of Horror!      - no, she doesn't have Feet of Horror.  Well, she might, but they're always covered up so you can't tell - actually I might be on to something here <Mister Hand intervenes to point out that Sophie is a lovely lady who doesn't deserve this slander, and can Conrad get on with the article?>
     Er yes, the assortment of cakes.  Feast your eyes, gentle reader:

From L to R: vanilla cupcakes; gingerbread cupcakes; strawberry & cream cake-pops (all Sophies);Dog Buns! (Conrad's)

     Conrad can chuck a cake or a muffin together no problem; Sophie, on the other hand, can make hers look good.  This is why we must hire an assassin gaze on in envy before the assassin strikes realising that we can never prevent the assassin hope to <NO MORE ASSASSINS! - Mister Hand> do as well, and certainly not better.

Chin chin!  Tomorrow - Audubon's sketches of the Hounds of Tindalos