Farewell Old Friend

For, Lo, These Many Months - 
     This old trouper has been at Conrad's side, ready if any sparks of creativity flickered into life within the cranium - because, given Conrad's age, those sparks die down very quickly - and needed to be converted into deathless prose.

A minute's silence, please

     As can be seen, the valiant Memo Pad has given up the ghost.  Only two pages left to fill, however, so Conrad will need a successor.  And here it is:

"Pukka Pad" is far too silly a name.  Hence, I dub thee - "Peter"

     I realise that this is not the most riveting thread ever posted.  Well, for you, gentle reader, who is presumably one of the electronic generation and who barely recognises a pen, let alone uses one regularly <Mister Hand intervenes to shorten this self-pitying drivel>

A bonus on the inside cover of "Peter" - 250 commonly mis-spelled words.  A bit random, but thanks.

The Terror
     No, not a horror film, just the latest album by The Flaming Lips.  While it doesn't quite exude terror, it is undeniably creepy in nature, and a big difference for those of you only familiar with "The Soft Bulletin" or "Yoshimi Versus The Pink Robots"*.

                    However long they love you, we are all standing alone
                    The terror’s in our heads, they don't control the controls

     A sample of the lyrics.  Bleak stuff indeed!
     Does it get the Conrad Seal Of Approval?
     Well, yes it does, because it shows a band daring to be different.  Having said that, Conrad hopes that the next release will be back to the potty-but-entertaining ethos that we have come to know and love about the Lips.

The Terrier.  Close enough.

"Blended"
As he sits and contemplates the world from his settee, Conrad has been in the happy position of seeing the 409 bus going past the window every 9 minutes**, since this means he gets to see a bus poster - actually more like 4.5 minutes, because they go downhill as well as up, right?  This is a labour-saving slice of luck, unlike his walk to work of a morning.
     Preamble over.  One poster featured the uninformative title "Blended".
     "What could this be?" Conrad asked himself - he does this a lot, it's okay, it makes sense to him.  A  film about - whisky?  Coffee? the kitchen-appliance industry?
     None of the above:

"Don't sneer, Sandler.  I tell you, I do have an invisible gun!"

     It appears to be a specimen of that ghastly genre, a "rom-com".  A quick peruse of the boards at IMDB reveals a level of loathing and hatred hard to credit in people who haven't yet seen the film:  "Box Office Bomb", "Adam Sandler should just STOP IT", "Another piece of garbage for stupid people", "Can I just go ahead and give this a 1 already?"
     Conrad reserves his judgement.  1) Because there is no way he's ever going to see this film and 2) Because his eyeballs are allergic to Adam Sandler and he's never watched one of his films (Adam Sandler's films - do keep up!)

The End Of Dogsitting Days
     Wander Wifey has returned bearing gifts for Conrad and Dogsitty Daughter, for their fraught tenure as wardens for Edna.

Two of these are for Conrad, one is for Sally.  She doesn't know which, so one wonders which one she will get ...

      Actually she wasn't a bother - apart from a desire to roll in the grass whenever the opportunity presented itself - and Sally had to get up with her on the early shifts, ha har!  With the good weather, we were able to leave the Mansion's back door open - after de-activating the minefields, of course! - and allow Edna to mooch around indoors and out.

Edna.  Pooch on a mooch.  No use, Edna, we sweep the floors!

Finally
     Whilst waiting for the homebound passengers in Picadilly Station, we were treated to a parade of folk who were variously dressed in Leeds Building Society clothing, or in drag, or very loud Hawaiian shirts.

That man's wearing a skirt!  Not a kilt, a skirt!

     "What could this be?" said Conrad - to Sally, standing next to him, so people wouldn't think him a chuntering loonwaffle.  "Surely the football season has finished?"
     "Rugby?" guessed Sally, even though she knows less about it than do I.
     Conrad asked a steward what was going on.
     "Magic Weekend," she replied - a big rugby sporting event taking place in Manchester.
     Luckily there was no money riding on guessing right, but well done Sally

*  Conrad heard a splendid rendition of this one year from a pair of ukelele-wielding performers at the Edinburgh Festival
** Promoted by TfGM as a "12 ton chauffeur-driven Mercedes-Benz", which is a little over the top, lads.