No blog tonight as Conrad is off to a triple leaving do immediately after work, and is then staying in an hotel, in the beating heart of Manchester, rather than coming home. There is a certain logic there, it being far cheaper to stay in a room rather than catch a taxi all the way back home, and certainly far less strenuous than walking home (twelve miles uphill all the way).
So, here we are*, sitting and typing away; in fact it's only 6:51 a.m. but 4:37 sounds so much more impressive.
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| The view of the Mansion from Manchester city centre. Honest. |
The Evolution Of Evolution
Back in the distant days of Conrad's youth, where two tin cans connected by string were the closest we got to a mobile phone, the biggest dinosaurs that science knew of were the Brontosaurus and Diplodocus. The convention to describe them had the bronto brown and the diplo grey - although how you tell skin colour from a fossil is quite the question. Alas, this stable situation was not to last. Bronto became "Brachiasaurus" in the same way a "Marathon" became a "Snickers, " then along came the Futalognkosurus and now we have the Dreadnoughtus Schrani, which seems to be about as long as a jumbo jet.
Enough! says Conrad. Cease this relentless march of progressive discovery, as his calcified old mind has trouble keeping up.
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| Dreadnoughtus. Not to scale |
"Bloody Victory"
No! BOOJUM! is not descending into idle vulgarity**, although Conrad does know some Russian words and phrases -anyway, that's getting off the topic.
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| Grimmer than all today's news rolled into one! |
This is a book by William Philpott, about the battle of the Somme, which we will be hearing a lot more of come 1916 and the 100th anniversary of the battle. It destroys some of the more pernicious myths that have grown up around the battle (more a campaign, really) whilst relating the horrendous events with clarity and compassion. It is literally award-winning, and as thick as a housebrick.
Conrad is also especially delighted at getting it half-price. Love a bargain.
Transfer Windows
The football fans at work were all sweating fitfully earlier in the week as the ability of football clubs - Conrad not sure is this is all of them, or just the rich ones in the public eye - reached the end of the time period in which they could buy players for their teams. Phil stated that he and his son used to watch the news about this from behind the sofa - much as terrified small children would hide when "Doctor Who" came on - and Omed Djallili also testified to how nerve-shredding a process it is.
Well, chaps, the solution is simple - avoid any interest in football. Works for Conrad!
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| Far more interesting than pigs-bladder pitch-bound propulsion |
Finally
Finally because I have to go for a shower before a mad dash for the bus.
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| "Denied!" Edna, meet gate |
*There's me, Oscar and Dee - others may join the party later.
** You ought to know by now, "Dog Buns" is the official swear for the blog
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