Lovely Fluffy Bunnies Visit The Mansion

There Have Been Rumblings Of Discontent ...
A certain air of disapproval has been expressed about BOOJUM! and it's focus upon what one might call the darker side of life.  
     Why do we here* at BOOJUM! look at the grim and grotty?
     There are two reasons for this.
     Number One:  Blog traffic!  Conrad is not implying that he'd sell his soul for higher numbers, merely that a lot of hits inspire him to do better next time, and what do the visitors want?  Shock! Horror!  Bad Puns!  Yesterday's post about the interview with "Albert" (a.k.a. The Grim Reaper) got a lot of hits.  I've had a lot today already.
     Number Two:  Pretty and happy and chirpy and clappy, is, when you get down to it, a bit dull.  J RR Tolkein observed this: describing good things palls quickly, whereas danger and difficulty and drama is exciting and thrilling.
     Now, Conrad is a creature of habit and routine and hates hates hates having to change, but he is willing to put an effort in an be positive in tonight's post**.

Statistics
A nice neutral subject to begin with.  Statistics, after all, do not make the heart beat faster.  Not for normal people, anyway.
     So!  Yesterday's blog was one of Conrad's wordiest ones, coming in at 1,629 words.  This would be the handwritten equivalent of about 4 sides of narrow-lined A4, and frankly I didn't realise how much I write when the red mist descends and the keyboard grows hot underfinger***.
     Then we have the number of posts that Conrad has made on the blog to date, clocking in at 666, which as any fule kno is The Number Of The Beast Sorry!  Think positive thoughts - is the number of the "City of London" Squadron of the RAF.

A number of the yeast.  Close enough

     The blog had 27 visitors yesterday, showing that people were interested in reading about how The Grim Reaper - er - The Grit Reaper came to the Mansion to - um - to - ah - talk about sand.  Right.  Sand.
     And then we have Conrad with his collection of 21 pens.

History of the 42nd Division
Erm, right.  A army in the Egyptian desert of 1916 <think Conrad think how can we put a +ve spin on this?>
     "Camel cacolets" is entered in the text, associate with the animal.  Conrad has not heard this word before and wondered what it was.
     It transpires that it's a wicker litter, that sits astride the camel's hump and allows for the carriage of injured or unconscious men.

Cacoletting it all hang out

     Also in the text is the tendency of the British soldier to make friends with animals of all stripes, including the dangerous ones.  One chap had a rock viper as a pet, which he towed around by virtue of a string around it's tail.  When he went to cuddle it, it bit him, and his life was only saved by the close proximity of the Medical Officer's tent.
     Fast forward seventy-seven years and another British soldier, this time in Saudi Arabia waiting to enter Kuwait, reports to the Medical Officer with a severe set of puncture wounds on his mouth.
     "What happened?" asked the surgeon, alarmed.
     "It were me pet snake," explained the squaddie.  "I went to kiss it - "

Close enough

Stunt Weasel!
I'm sure you've seen the photograph going the rounds, showing a plucky little weasel daring death to perform a dangerous stunt purely for the benefit of the watching human photographer.

I don't hold out much hope but perhaps - perhaps! - Hollywood will realise what a chance has been missed by regarding the weasel as a down-at-heel and spiteful villain.

Utterly shameful stereotyping!

Look out!  The Bionic Blood Budgies of Birmingham are attacking!  Quick, man your invisible Theremin defence station!

    - Oh, no, wait a minute, sorry, they're just some sparrows.
    There you go, BOOJUM! being all chirpy and sunny.

Conrad.  Chirpy as a chick

"Valse Triste"
Ah, this really is too ironic.
     As you regular readers know, Conrad is always having random words and phrases thrown into focus by Oscar, most of which he has no reason to think about.  Yet there they are.
     Today what popped into his head but "Valse Triste", a phrase he knew nothing about.
     Enter Google.
     Okay, it's a musical work by the Finnish composer Jean Sibelius, and it means <shrugs in wry dismissal> "Sad Waltz".
     Okay, okay, it's not especially chirpy or bright, but apparently it was composed for a play entitled "Kuolema", which is Finnish for "Death".
     <sigh> I said it would be hard work.

Buster Keaton.  The original Sad Dancer

An Interview With A Fluffy Bunny
I am told by those who know that the only way to counterbalance an interview with the Manifestation of Death is to interview a cute and sentimental icon such as a fluffy bunny.  To that end I have kidnapped forcefully invited Mister Tibbles to be interviewed for BOOJUM! and your bluebird of happiness.
Conrad:  Mister Tibbles, thank you for agreeing to speak to the blog.  We have to practice balanced journalism in the public interest.

Mr Tibbles:

Conrad:  Er, yes.  Now, what is your position on the Hong Kong question?

Mr Tibbles:

Conrad: I was hoping for a little more detail.  Can you elaborate at all?

Mr Tibbles: 

Conrad:  Okayyyy.  Well, if current affairs are not your bag, have you been watching the Comic Relief Bake Off?

Mr Tibbles:

Conrad:  You don't have a favourite?  Someone you see as both a perfectionist and with a profound competitive streak?

Mr Tibbles:

Conrad (sighs): Alright, perhaps these concepts are too difficult for you to grasp.  What do you think about lettuce?

Mr Tibbles:

Conrad: Perhaps I should ring up the butchers and see if -
Mr Tibbles:  The quality of mercy is not strained!  It falleth as the gentle rain from Heaven!
Conrad:  Ah, you just needed a bit of motivation!  Alright, gentle readers, we may follow up on this tomorrow.

Finally
An arbalest, because I can:

"The arbalest, an - o Dog Buns!  Quick - Art!"

    Er actually I meant a high-speed vegetable slicer

Phew.  A narrow escape!

* That is, Conrad, Mister Hand, Art and Oscar.
** This will not be easy.  It goes against the grain.  I shall try, but forgive me if I slip.
*** Similar to, but on a smaller scale than, underfoot.