It's So Dreadful - On A Tight Schedule!

Why Yes I Am, Terry Gilliam
As we passed The Halfway House, the sign outside read "Fun Quiz" and the time - 8:30.
     OH NO!  What is the new landlord trying to do?  Since time immemorial* the start time has been set in granite as 9:00 for a 9:30 start.
     The mad impetuous fool!  Some things are not to be tampered with by mortal man ...

SPRONG!
Yes, Facebook and Twitter, I am suggesting a post to you in order to pre-empt the bizarre and decidedly unwanted Suggested Posts of your own.  Hence -
     Sprong!

Sprong.  Maybe

     Malleable and ductile, with an Epps co-efficient of 0.29, Sprong is also highly endothermic, available for domestic and light industrial needs in quantities from 50g up to 150 kg.
      However, be advised that COSHH 4378 informs that it may cause Arvicolinae in the near vicinity to spontaneously self-combust**.

What's Going On
I think that finally, after over a year of waiting, the Miller Street Car Park is undergoing construction work.  We were told what was going to happen but that was so long ago I've forgotten.

Hmmm.  Most mysterious!

A Spotlight Upon Food And Drink
There's no time pressure upon me tonight to bash together a cake before departing for the pub quiz, as I was canny and did it last night.  Behold the end result:

Halloween pumpkin cake.  Gluten and nut free.

     I couldn't find my original recipe so went with one off the Beeb website, which turned out to be slightly problematic - it produced enough batter for two cakes, and the one above is the smaller of the two.  It also meant leaving the larger one in the oven for well over an hour <snaps fingers derisively at the "30 minutes" baking time>.

Free Drinks
As part of my still coyly (and sensibly) anonymous employer, we get offered freebies on a regular basis.  I intend to use these for all sorts of fruitful*** puns in future -

     Today it was the turn of giveaway Lucozade -

     "Have you had a lot of Lucozade?" asked Roxy.  "Do you have a Lucozade buzz?"
     "No," I replied truthfully.  "I drink so much of it anyway it has no effect."

And then K-Mo told me off - not in so many words, her expression was enough - for eating a whole Citron Tarte.

Evidence of gluttony, apparently

     It did last for over four hours, I didn't just inhale it in one go.
     And today nobody picked on me for ice-cream, which is how it should be.
     Lastly, Janice offered me a madeleine, which see:

Meet Ms Madeleine

     I've never had one before, although I waxed rhapsodically about Marcel Proust and "A La Recherche Le Temps Perdue" - I think that's the title, where he bites into a madeleine and it brings back memories.  Janice now doubtless convinced I am a dreadful poseur.

No Trumpets, Please, Although Confetti Would Be Nice
I would like to point out that yesterday I got in late, had to throw a lunch together for today, get a bite to eat, bake a cake - actually two - which are gluten-free, to the delight of WW^, ironed several shirts, did the blog - nearly 1,000 words so no skimping on quantity (quality is quite another matter!) and also wrote more Eden Underwood about the WW's^^ response to Niall's letter, to the tune of 500 words.

The Metro
Was back on the bus today!
     However, I am not going to rain down upon it with furious anger, because I didn't open it until getting into the Electric Goldfish Bowl.  No, it's here today because I was thinking about -

Superheroes With Their Pants Down
Specifically Batman and the Batmobile, and what happens when the Joker tries to torch down the Liquid Fertiliser Company's Highly Volatile Stock Tanks, when Bruce Wayne - who is actually Batman, sorry if that spoilt years of ignorance on your part - has been out partying at a big inaugural event: Wayne Industries producing an ion cannon that can shoot down anything Jerry Pournelle's Death Tec, Inc. can launch from orbit.
     So, Bruce puts on his cape and cowl and drives off in the Batmobile, and like a lot of occasional smokers feels that he needs a cigarette to round off his night.
     "Lighter, lighter, where's the ******** lighter?" he growls, prodding buttons.

BANG!

     "*** ***** ******* ***!" yells Bruce, suddenly sober, seeing a skyscraper topple in fragments to the ground after being hit by a missile.
     Of course nobody knows who he is, so Bats gets off scot-free.
     A week later he's whizzing home to stately Wayne Manor after thwarting the Penguin's attempt to physically carry off a bank, and decides to text Alfred to "get a pl8ful of Eng muffins toaste-" 

WHAM!

     - as the Batmobile totals the rear of a (luckily empty) bus.

     Now what did I find in the Chip Shop Wrapper when I opened it?

The Batmobile!

     I rest my case.
     Also the blog for tonight.

* For the last few years, anyway
** Translation: CAUTION!  May cause voles to explode!
*** Sorry.
^ Wonder Wifey not White Witch
^^ White Witch not Wonder Wifey