In Defence Of An Ice Cream Breakfast

OR: Conrad Finds Another Thing To Rant About
I have, of late, gone back to having ice cream for breakfast at work, and have had That Look from fellow workers.  "Ice cream?  For breakfast?"
     Conrad's rejoinder:  "Of course not!  That would be silly - only having a sweet.  Pshaw!  I have stale bread and Marmite as well, baffoon."
     So -

Tomorrow's breakfast!

      Although I have learned the hard way not to scoff the lot on an empty stomach, so I shall preface it with ginger jam on crumpets.  All washed down with the regulation quart of English Breakfast Tea.*

     Also I shall have to remember to take the ice-cream to work in this:

Insulated container

     Otherwise it's too melted.  And with summer imminent**perhaps I should start making home-made ice cream again.

Grooveshark
I probably shouldn't be broadcasting this, in case things go right as a result, but Hark Ye To the 'Shark!  The hateful adverts playing over the music have gone - as has the option to play the old iteration.  I wonder, was this a temporary measure to gull folks into joining the premium service?  Or has the software suffered a full metal breakdown?

Proof

     Meanwhile, I've still got Lastfm as an option.
     This is, I believe, a classic example of a Win-Win situation.
     Addendum:  just had a blast of "Let's Twist Again" - surely that's not how "Papua New Guinea" ends, nor how "Swastikas On Parade" begins?

Hoovershark.  Close enough.
(Yes I KNOW it's a cat on a Zoomba)

"Churchill's Secret Warriors"
By Damien Lewis.  Conrad picked this up in the Oxfam bookshop and is mightily pleased with it.  The story it tells reads like an account from "Boys Own", except it's all real, although some of it you would call fanciful - again, if it weren't real.
     It begins with what amounts to piracy on the high seas, except this is late 1942, and the high seas is actually the neutral Spanish territory of Fernando Po, and the British essentially steal three Italian and German ships.  Whilst their officers look on.  

     Then there is the series of raids on isolated German garrisons in occupied Europe, before moving to the Aegean, where the SBS/SAS/SOE operate from Turkish waters and sow absolute havoc amongst the Axis island garrisons, before helping to liberate Greece - yes the whole country - with about two hundred men.  Then they go across the water to Italy and the final campaigns in 1945.
     Conrad had read only about the raid on Crete, where a handful of raiders caused immense damage to the German airforce there; all the other missions were completely novel to him.  How come they've not been made into films?  Well, there weren't many Americans with these brigands, and it's all much too un-PC for the British film industry.
     I shall pontificate in future about Anders Lassen, one of the brigands-in-chief.

Too many words!  More pictures!

Ah - So That's What It Is
I wasn't sure what this purchase was when I got it last week -

     But it was Polish and cheap, so I got it.  The revelation:

     Cottage cheese.  Polish cottage cheese.  I shall have to think of some way to enhance it, and then devour the lot.

A Double Dose Of Domestic <thinks> Distress
Today our Wunderhund went to get spayed and got home about an hour ago.  She's still pretty groggy, and at first wore the Cone Of Shame:

     Not a happy puppy, and she kept bumping into things.
     Wonder Wifey has a work-around so Edna doesn't have to cone it for the next ten days:

     A baby's onsie, the arms and legs cut short.  Thus it prevents Edna from going at her stitches whilst simultaneously making her look daft, in a cute way.

      "But wait, Conrad!  For you mentioned a "Double Dose"?" I hear you call.
     Why yes indeed.  Darling Daughter has had wisdom teeth removed, all unbeknownst to us at the Mansion (doubtless deliberate!).

Before?  After?  Only you can tell!
(I can be as cheeky as I like as she never reads BOOJUM!)

Only 693 words?  Quick - we need more blather urgently!

Facebook And It's Bizarre Suggested Posts
I have mentioned before about the - shall we say "idiosyncratic" - posts that FB comes up with on occasion - musical notation programs, portable saw-mills, log-counting software - and here's another strange one:

"Construction Plumbing London"

     I have neither expressed an interest or need in plumbing, and I live several hundred miles from that Sinkhole of Sin, the Terpitude-on-Thames, otherwise known as London.
     But thank you, Facebook, if ever I move there and need a leak fixing, I will be set up, won't I?

It's About Time For Cats
We've already had sharks, and a dog, so - cats.
     Sophie *** was earlier bemoaning that Zef, her cat, had eaten a whole box of ice cream wafers whilst there was still food in his bowl.
     This is obviously - obviously! - a protest action at the human exploitation of the feline form, as a cursory examination of The Chip Shop Wrapper^ proves:

Help!  Attack of the 50 foot cat!

I think kitty blew up the Moon.
Bad kitty!  Naughty kitty!  Go sit with Zef in the corner!

      - scuse me, listening to "Dust of Time" by Hawkwind, I do love the instrumental break -

     Where was I?  Oh yes, cat abuse in adverts.  I think <Mister Hand points out the word count at 935 and Conrad relents>

Chin chin!

* Loose leaf, of course.  Conrad: Tea Snob
** We can pretend it is.  Can't we?  Please?
*** Not that Sophie, this Sophie.
^ The Metro

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