My Country, 'Tis of Tea

 You OUGHT To Know The Original -
 - so I'm not going to add it here.  Another late night for your humble scribe, earning a crust at the office and only starting the blog at 7:52 as a consequence.

To save time,. I have my pot in my Lair

     Fortunately Bake Off has finished, as otherwise it bestrode Wednesday evening like a breakwater, being inconveniently timed if I was on a late.
     Anyway, back to the title.  As you surely know by now, Conrad is a man who drinks a lot.  Beer, water, tea, lemonade, fruit juice - a lot.  Not drinking alcohol this month means consumption of tea and pop has spiralled upwards, yea verily.  Whilst flavours of lemonade are easy to find - and at a pinch, you can add tea leaves to plain lemonade for a budget Liptons - decent tea is far harder to find.  When I say "tea" I refer, of course, as a pseud and a poseur, to Loose Leaf Tea.  None of this teabag nonsense for your humble scribe, on the same principle Conrad cordially detests "Greatest Hits" albums - he doesn't want anybody else deciding for him either what he listens to or drinks.

I don't have any photos of my packets of tea, so here's some fish in a tin instead

     SO!  The meat of the matter is that I've run out of loose leaf Darjeeling.  "So what?" you reply.  "There are those things called supermarkets, old fruit."  So - supermarkets are loathe to stock ANY loose leaf tea, at all.  Yes, I know!  This is truly shocking and I hope you were sitting down when you read that, yet there is worse to come.  The only supermarket that stocks loose leaf Darjeeling that I can find is Sainsbury's, the large version thereof, and I shall have to venture forth and buy at least 5 packets, as I did last time.

The CWS Fire On Hanover Street
Yours sincerely and the late staff had a literal grandstand view of this event, early Monday evening, as the flames took hold.  They were, in fact, being wind-driven towards us, a sobering sight I can tell you.  Fortunately those brave lads of GMFRS were very much on the ball and quenched it.  Hoorah for them!  When you and I run out of a burning building, they run in.  Popular with the mem sahibs, too, for some reason.
     Why no photos from Yr Humble Scribe?
     Squeamishness!  We didn't know if there was anyone in or working on Hanover Street, and posting a gloating "Look at this!" picture at someone else's expense would be quite vile.

You What?
Seen on a bus poster:" Thumping great broadband deals" with BT.
     As you must know by now, Conrad is firmly in the "If it's not broken, KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF!" school of technical thought, closely followed by the "POINTLESSLY! gilding the lily with a thin-film gallium-arsenide doped layer" academy of analytical thought.
     Ergo, away with you, BT, or there will indeed be a thumping, which will be Conrad smiting your scrofulous epidermis with a club.  Beat the BT!

Yeah, right, with one of these - no, hang on a minute -

"Recalcitrant"
Known as "Being Stubborn", as in those who simply will not put up with horrid little teabags, where does this word come from?
     Latin, of course.  Pah! a dead language?  It underpins every language in Western Europe, and Romania.
     Anyway, Latin.  Yes.  From "Calx", meaning "Heel", as in the body part not the instruction to dogs.  

From there to "Recalcitrare", meaning to "To kick with the heels", and then to the mid-nineteenth century and "Recalcitrant".

Sorry, Couldn't Resist
"A rolling stone gathers no moss -"


"A rolling CHEESE, however, is simply boss."

Ah, Coincidence, How Nice Of You To Come Sit On My Head!
Whom did I espy in the office yesterday but - Kate Russell!
       That won't mean much to you.  I'd better elaborate.  Kate was the UNISON steward at Connexions, being all - all - stewardy?  Stewing?  Flying the Red Flag and all that stuff, whilst I was there.  Then I left to go battle with contracts and photocopiers at My Still Unidentified Employer Not Far From Hanover Street.  Now, what are the odds against two people meeting amongst three and a half thousand?  1,750 to 1, at a rough guess.
     Just so we're clear here.

Cape Rustle.  Close enough.

What's In A Name?
Alas, I cannot refrain from a bit of casual mockery, inflicted upon today's film industry.  Simon and Garfunkel breath a sigh of relief, and the Colonel in charge of Strategic Rocket Forces Missile Base Number Sixteen (drunk, as ususal) also wipes the sweat from his brow.
     Let us proceed!

CRIMSON PECK: "Run for the hills!  Clarissa the Cannibal Combat Chicken is loose!"
SURFRAGETTE: "The wave of the future!"
THE SINTERN: "Sexperience never gets old!"
RED BARMY: "It's not hockey - it's shockey - 'cos they don't give a puck!"

"Puck puck puck!"

And there we hit the hour limit and word total, quite a juxtaposition.

"Juxtaposition".  I wonder, I wonder - where does that come from?