The weasel has been grabbing headlines around the world in recent days. You recall Stunt Weasel, who demonstrated the ability to bird-surf?
He is joined by the rather less lucky Hapless Dead Weasel, who decided that tackling a heron was a good idea. What was he thinking?
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| Step One: Really, really annoy the heron |
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| Step Two: Get really, really drowned |
| Step Three: Be really, really delicious |
| That's a bit dark. Have some cute cuddly animals. |
Apparently there is such a critter, although since it lives all the way over in Asia, it's not an animal you're going to see very often. Conrad loves the name, however, so here is the little rascal:
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| What a cutie! |
I know, I know, you're thinking "But - but - Conrad, all weasels are wild. They are feral little flipdads and you can't keep them as pets."
Well, these particular weasels weigh several tons and require high-octane fuel:
| It has metaphorical teeth |
O NO!
Conrad inadvertently fell into a real John Shuttleworth situation this morning. As you know he is foolishly fond of cloudy lemonade and gets through a bottle a week, and he decided to take a bottle in to work, there to lodge it in the Green fridge.
Horror of horrors!
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| You can see my dilemma, can't you? |
There was a bottle already in the fridge. As John would have empathised, a nightmare scenario! Two bottles on the go! And it would be pushing it to finish a whole bottle in one day, nor did I want to trawl home with an awkward, heavy bottle.
Battledore
Once again I apologise on behalf of Oscar, my memory*. I've no idea why or where this word came from, except that it popped up at the bus stop. Thank you for those long, reflective moments, First Bus**.
What is it? A game, apparently, a predecessor to badminton, played with rackets and a shuttlecock, that the players bat between themselves, trying to keep it aloft as long as possible.
Like a lot of elegant things, it originates in Greece, to about 0 BC, and spread from there to Asia.
There you are: BOOJUM! - entertaining and informing.
| Badminton? No! Good mint on. |
"V"
I have nearly finished this long, complicated and strange book. The central story set in 1955 has come to an end and all that remains is the Epilogue, set in 1919, make of that what you will. Also the blurb about the "search for the mysterious V" is a load of twaddle, the "search" barely enters into it and is only conducted by one character, who is a minor one at that.
Tom did mention "the great lift" in passing, so obviously - obviously! - a pedantic hair-splitter like Conrad had to go check on it.
It was a real thing, and still is:
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| Past tense |
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| Impressive, eh? |
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| Present tense |
There you go. Maltese - the only Semitic language that uses the Roman alphabet.
What's that rumbling noise? Good lord the ground is shak -
RUN! SAVE YOURSELVES! IT'S TONY THE TEN-TON TERROR TOAD!
Dog Buns on Dog Buns! he's got backup -
RUN EVEN FASTER! IT'S CLARISSA THE CANNIBAL COMBAT CHICKEN!
And what's this?
| Weasel shark, weasel shark - It's bite is worse than it's bark. Because it can't bark at all. And for a shark it's rather small. |
What's This?
It's Pear and Blueberry Polenta cake, entirely gluten-free, and there might be enough to take into the ganterpies at work, as Wonder Wifey would be pushing it to scoff the lot by Friday.
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| That, WW, is NOT a challenge! |
Here's a load of Starbursts arranged in a symmetrical stack.
Why?
Why not!
Now, I know what you're thinking - "Lazy Conrad! Bulking the blog up with pictures!"
Maybe. There are still over 700 words here, thank you very much.
* I think it's Oscar.
** The irony here has teeth in it.
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