- but I can't be bothered to check because - I'm lazy.
This is a forgivable sin on a late finish as in today, where I am only just starting the blog at 19:54. To save time I popped into the Co-Op on my way to the bus-stop and bought a bagful of remaindered wraps and sandwiches, which are my tea tonight and lunch tomorrow.
I remember Young Chatty Dan at work commenting on my purchase of remaindered wraps last year, noting that normally I made my own lunch.
'Yes, Dan,' I replied - for it would be foolish to call him Nigel or Euphrosyne - 'But my time is precious. Really, the UN passed a charter recognising my rights to be important. So anything that saves me time is a go.'
That's Conrad for you - cheating his way to ergonomic efficiency.
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| There was another sandwich pack. Did I get a photo? No. Because I'm lazy! |
"Rare Exports"
Conrad has been watching this Finnish horror-comedy* again, after having seen it when it first came out. Hilarious! - well, the parts that aren't chillingly scary, that is.
It is set in the wilds of Northern Finland, up against the Russian border, and the hero is Pietari, a small boy who can't be more than 10 yet who is trusted by his dad with a rifle**. They live on an isolated farm, and anticipate the annual reindeer cull that provides them with meat and income for the rest of the year.
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| That's Pietari, with the teddy-bear. And gun. |
Pietari reads up on the frightening pagan background of Santa Claus - a primal, vengeful creature that tears naughty children to pieces. On Christmas Eve, his friends have all vanished. So have the village radiators - and a hairdryer.
It does have a happy ending, but I shan't spill any more details. Oh, except to say that the Finnish-Russian border is demarcated by a rather flimsy chain fence.
I was struck by one name in the credits for Sound Design - "Elokuvaaniyutio Humina Oy"
A huge first name, modest middle name and tiny last name. Well, I found it amusing.
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| Meet Santa. No Ho Ho Ho. |
Claw The Thin Ice
As Breeny is off for two weeks I'm not going to wait that long to get permission to post photos, plus I bet he never reads the blog and will never know BOOJUM! has purloined his likeness without permission.
Anyway, picture the Star and Garter on Friday night, your humble scribe hanging out with some of the CTTI band members - Ian and - I think - Jake. The Drummer. They were going on about the less glamourous bits of a career in music - having to heft equipment up fourteen flights of stairs when the lift is broken, some duffard in a studio making a diabolical mess of mixing your tracks, not being able to park the van - and Jake - I think - kindly looked up "Mathcore" to define what it was. "Dillinger Escape Plan", he defined. I shall Grooveshark 'em later.
Anyway, the gig:
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| Erm - not really visible, are they? |
Ian, chief singer, didn't bother to announce what the songs were, but did post up a set list (the professional term), viz:
I think I liked the last track the best. Note that the second song was written by ex-guitarist John; thank you, John. Ian also apologised for the frequent tuning of guitars between songs; Conrad takes this as a given as he doesn't know one edge of a guitar from the other nor what will happen if you neglect your tuning. Death of all on stage?
The preamble to the gig was excellent - sitting around a table discussing music with people into the same stuff as Conrad. Sorry to mention this but it happens so rarely I have to make the most of it.
Also, Conrad got the benefit of a "cheeky can of Stella" the band acquired via their rider, and which they couldn't consume as being Drunk On Stage is an arrestable offence.
Eden Underwood
Ah yes, the charming and bucolic archetypal English country village, which has a nearby radioactive heath, a set of cursed henge stones knocking about, a Lady under a curse, a living tea-towel and a white witch.
Having a good forty minutes to spare this morning before starting work, I sat down and plotted the bare bones of a theme that will run in the background for several stories, viz:
Quite pleased with how this worked out, as I'd gone over the basics in my head last night without putting anything down on paper. You see, Lady Simona Holland's maternal grandfather made a - let us call it a "pact" - with a group of very powerful and cruel - er, let us call them "people" for want of a better word - that guaranteed him and his successors eternal wealth but no luck in affairs of the heart. Any man that Simona starts a relationship with suffers a terrible fate.
Enter Niall, our protagonist. Clueless but lucky - can he help at all?
We shall see!
The Codex
On Friday I was quizzed about what I'd done on my days off, and bored people with details of drinking about a gallon and a half of tea, reading, writing and doing statistics.
'Oh?' queried Lee (he has a background in statistics). 'What was that in aid of?'
I explained about the Codex Seraphinianus, and it's invented alphabet. If I did a statistical assay of the letters used it would give me a potential statistical handle to identify the root language.
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| I realise it's side-ways on, but it makes no more sense right-way up |
Do you know, the lad is entirely right and once I've got the stats worked out I may see about looking up Code Breaking For Dummies.
You what? Really, What?
Once again Conrad is confused by O2 and their insistence that advert readers "be more dog", when the advert is illustrated by Felis Catus^.
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| See what I mean? |
Okay, that's the one hour composition time up, now to go promote, pimp and pester on teh interwebz.
Tally ho!
* Three words guaranteed to get his pulse racing!
** Everyone in this film has a gun, or guns. Guns, alcohol, endless night - what could possibly go wrong?
*** Still not playing the intrusive adverts. Please DON'T tell them, they might fix it!
^ "Cat" - pseud translated by Mister Hand.
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