Galandronome!

Sounds Like A Minor Character From "The Hobbit"
     But no!  It isn't.  An alleged musical instrument used in nineteenth century French bands, especially military ones, at least according to Thomas Pynchon.  No pictures on Google, and only scant reference to it as a type of bassoon.  If you come across one - not that you'll know if you do - then bag it, as apparently only one other survives in a New York museum.

A Galandronome - no, hang on -

The Evil Of  - Bovril!
     As you surely know by now, gentle reader, Conrad regularly breakfasts on stale bread dipped in Marmite, which colleagues frequently mistake for Bovril.
     No!  NOT Bovril, not at all.  Marmite.  Do get it right.  
     "Why is he banging on about semi-liquid bottled concentrates used in cooking?" I hear you asking.  "It's too early in the day for it to be Beer O'Clock."
     Let us dissect this word "Bovril".  It is actually a concatenation of "Bovine" for it is indeed cow-boiled-down-tremendously, and "Vril".

"Bovvie" - Bovington Tank Museum.  Close enough

     Vril itself dates from 1872 and a novel by Bulwer-Lytton called "The Coming Race", which describes a race of angelic-appearing beings who live in tunnels under the earth and who use Vril to pretty much do everything.  Vril is best imagined as liquid magnetism.  Oh, this underground race is far more advanced than humanity (in which case why skulk in dank, cramped, gloomy mushroomy caves?) and if they run out of subterranean room, why, they'll emerge onto the surface and WIPE OUT HUMANITY*.  Just so you know.
     As a bampot concept underlaid with themes of might, right and racial superiority, guess who picked up on Vril?  Yes, the crackpot fringe of the Nazi party.
     Straying a little from the subject, but apparently it was acceptable to believe in the "Hollow World" concept and still be a good Nazi.  Crackpot meet crackederpot.
     So this is why Conrad drinks Marmite**.

A Loon, but in a good way

Crackederpot Meet Crackedestpot
     I do so like bodging the English language around!
     So, apparently, did an American called Richard Shaver.  In the 1940's he published stories in the pulp science-fiction magazines, about a race of savage degenerates called "Deros" who lived underground and whom were responsible for all human ills and woes.  They used rays to manipulate and harm people, especially Mr Shaver, in between abducting some of you to eat or torture, or torture and then eat - dependent on whether or not they had the munchies, Conrad supposes.
     Mr Shaver claimed to have been a prisoner of these unpleasant folk, although you might be forgiven for thinking he'd been reading Bulwer-Lytton, and perhaps he had - he was actually locked-up in a mental institution during his alleged underground imprisonment.  Feller was probably schizophrenic; interesting at parties, no doubt, and with some artistic skills, yet not someone you'd trust with a loaded gun.

Marty Feldman.  A swivel-eyed loon, but, again, in a good way.

     Now, please note all this stuff about subterraneans and their influencing you humans on the surface.  I can't find the site but Conrad remembers another person obviously off their meds who insisted that Adolf Hitler was alive and well, living under the North Pole - or was it the South Pole? - and defending us from the KGB with their mind-control lasers, that could also turn back time.  Adolf probably has a lot of free time on his hands since the KGB went toes-up in 1991.

Adolf idly ponders the globe and wonders where it all went wrong.
Hey, it's a lonely job at the South Pole - or is it the North Pole? - and you have to make your own entertainment.

Being Poked By Your Sense Of Tidiness
     Conrad didn't realise he had such a sense until it started up at about one o'clock.
     Perhaps it's a mental app I plugged-in by mistake?  Working on a timer?
     Anyway, here's the "Before" shot:

O! The chaos!  What a midden, etc, etc.

     And here's the "After" shot.

Er - yes.

     Only kidding.  Ah, what a wag I am.  I amuse even me sometimes.

The table Before

The Table, after

The Desk, after

     That should serve for a good three months, maybe four at a pinch.  Would five be - yes, that would be going too far.

I Smell
     Could it be?  Conrad, who makes every attempt to blend in with humans, to the extent of showering every morning, gives off odours which mean people stand up on the bus rather than sit next to him?  This is a real phenomenon; passengers will gladly stand for ten minutes rather than take the seat next to the big, grey, grumpy-looking man frowning at a book and scribbling in another every so often.
     Perhaps it is faithful Bag that smells?  Here I attempt a resolution:

No seedy jokes about illegal pharmaceuticals, that's carpet freshner, oh ye of the gutter mind!

     We shall see (and smell) what happens on Tuesday, hmmm?

Garden Furniture
     The Mansion now has two sets of wooden chairs with in-built table, which meets with the approval of Edna Wunderhund.

Please note lower level - exactly at Edna-head height - ergo BEWARE of putting food there!

     There you go, one stone, two birds - informing you and using cute animal for traffic generation.

*  Don't worry, Conrad won't let that happen.  He needs you all alive, to be HIS SLAVES.  You're welcome.
** Only ever consumed as a drink.  Eat Marmite?  Yuck no thanks!