- and plaintive bleating from the family about putting together a slow-cooker meal tonight for switching on tomorrow morning so that they can scoff it all before benighted, beleaguered Conrad even gets in the door - put that fork down right now, Sally!
They'd better reserve a morsel or two, that's all I'm saying ...
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| Dog Buns! The Official Swear of BOOJUM! There better be more than this on the table tomorrow, or - there will be trouble |
Conrad - Able To Change Opinion In His Own Length
Yesterday I held forth on the Crown Prince Demon of Fruit - the Pineapple. If I were to <Mister Hand intervenes, wearily, to emphasise the lateness of the hour, and that some folk have beds to go to>
I Like Pineapple
- Head, that is. Yes. "Pineapple Head", a song by those wacky Antipodean musical funsters Crowded House. Let us analyse the chorus:
Sleeping alone, for pleasure
BOOJUM!, being family-friendly, is not going there.
The pineapple head, it spins and it spins
Not making sense here, chaps. Pineapples not noted for high spin activity!
Like a number I hold
The pineapple or the spinning? How on earth do either resemble a number?
Don't remember, if she was my friend
This may have something to do with your sleeping solo, mate.
It was a long time ago
Your social skills with women are - well, they're not good.
I Like Pineapple
- Express, that is. Yes. "Pineapple Express", that stoner action comedy with Seth Rogen, James Franco, Danny McBride and Gary Cole (cast against type as a murderous criminal scumbag and doing a good job).
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| Parsnip Express. No - wait a minute - |
Of course it has little or nothing to do with pineapples, and rather more to do with another vegetable that begins with "P".
No! Not parsnips! NEVER parsnips! Conrad hates parsnips almost as much as he hates pineapples! If I were to <Mister Hand says Move Along! Move Along!>
I Hate Pineapple!
It being World Cup time, of course every dog with a pitch to put is trying to get tropical and topical*, as in the case of this disgusting swill:
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| Grocery Gems? More like Grocery Germs! Ack! Take it away! |
Whilst Conrad might lower himself to wash his Crocks with it, this horrid concoction shall never pass his lips. Never!
Wake Island (B & W 1942)
A solid, rousing, jingoistic film that pits Brian Donlevy** - whom Conrad only knew from "Quatermass" - against the Japanese in a film begun before the battle actually ended, which may be why the film implies all the Yanks died. William Bendix is hilarious as a brawling old-soldier Marine, who gets killed. Oh, should I have said "Spoiler"? Sorry! Anyway, there are some spectacularly big explosions towards the end of the film; a makeshift encampment and compound of huts are gleefully blown into gossamer and matchsticks by the pyro-technicians. The set crew who had sweated in the sun building the camp and huts might have felt a touch of chagrin at the energy, literal and metaphorical both, applied to extinguishing the site.
Conrad muses. What kind of explosives would they have been using in Hollywood in 1942? We may revisit this topic.
| A wake, inland. Close enough |
Ah - That Explains The Cranes
Some weeks ago, Conrad posted photos of enormous curved metal structures at the turbulent and evolving construction site that is Victoria Station. What could they be? What couldn't they be? And Why? And What? And who was drowned in a butt of Malmsey***?
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| Kinda like metal ribs. That weigh 25 tons each. |
There you go. Erect, instead of lying idly on the ground, they form a matrix for a metal infilling of smaller structural members.
Gee, ain't architecture wonderful!
The Slow Loris
I'm going to end with a double-whammy tonight. First, I am going to soften you up with the Slow Loris. Now, although this sounds like a 90's grunge band out of Des Moines trying to sound like they come from Seattle, it is actually one of those creatures which 99% of all humans will go "Awwww!" at:
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| Fortunately Conrad, being an alien, can resist. Only just, mind ... |
and while you're still reeling from that -
Anna's Run
Consider it. Two young women, without weapons or bodyguards or police protection, are going to risk the mean streets of Edinburgh to run the marathon there this weekend, going where you, dear reader, dare not. No you daren't! Don't try and fib your way out of this one. Slow Loris and raw courage force you to go to:
http://www.justgiving.com/edinburghmarathon2014
* Look at me! Aren't I clever!
** Whose favourite occupations were gold-panning and poetry.
*** The Duke of Clarence. And a "butt of Malmsey" is a barrel of liquor, oh ye of the mucky mind.
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