Sinkholes! Holes That - Sink

 I Do Assert, Herb Alpert
A new and exciting addition to the journey in to work: sinkholes.  Given the soggy foggy boggy weather - and I shall be returning to this topic O yes indeed - apparently the substrata that exist beneath Manchester have been washed away, leaving the city teetering dangerously on a thin crust of tarmac, which is only held together by chewing gum.

Observe the lack of chewing gum here

      Obviously the little chap above is no competitor for the one that closed the Mancunian Way, except it's right in the middle of the diversion created because of the Mancunian Way sinkhole.  I think this is the reverse of karma - amrak?  Bad news for drivers.
     Coming soon: sentient flying sinkholes that swallow buses whole - at least that's the warning from First Bus*.  

NANOWRIMO
You remember - National Novel Writing Month.  31 days of November to create a 50,000 word novel.
     Conrad only just got past the 5,000 word point this weekend, and it's looking as if I won't manage the sheer volume in the 8 remaining days, since this would mean an average of over 5,000 words per day.  Creative I may be but - Damn it, Jim, I'm a writer, not a machine!

 - wielding a fountain pen.

     After this blog I'll have to set to and write up more of our hero's arrival at the Royal Palace of Urquel.
     Oh the curse of being creative ...

Z Nation
Conrad still likes the gleeful anarchic nihilism of this series, but they'd better finish it at three seasons.  The beginning saw our heroes overcoming assault by zombie masses, and I was worried for Doc.
     Actually perhaps I'm wrong to be worried.  He got shot at the end of Season One yet this appears to affect him not one whit.
     Anyway.  As I was saying, I was worried.  Allow me to illustrate:

O Noes!  Doc's gonna get et!

O Noes!  Doc's gonna get shot!

Hmmm,  Perhaps not shot.

I wonder where this is going.  In both senses.

I definitely did not see that coming.  Nor did the Z, to judge.

      The more perspicacious amongst you will have detected that the first photo isn't from the last episode, as I'd neglected to get one before starting the article.
     Our intrepid band of heroes find a group of survivors holed up in an hotel.  No, strike that, make them Stupids.  Stupid's who have holed up in an hotel.  How stupid are they?

     Allow-the-zombies-to-press-against-the-glass-and-break-it-before-moving Stupid.  How stupid are they?

The surviving Stupids.  All 4 of them.

     One Stupid states that there had been 120 survivors to begin with, and these numpties chose Gideon to lead them.  Now, admittedly some have been thinned out by the zombies, yet there were only 9 at the start of this episode.
     Way to go Gideon.

Winter Is Here
It must be.  I have taken to wearing bed socks, and a sweater of an evening.  Brace yourselves, for there are some things mortal man is not meant to gaze upon -

Bed Socks.  Bed socks of DOOOOOM!

     And here we see the White-Haired Conrad in it's winter plumage, the minger:

     Hopefully you weren't eating anything at the time; the Heimlich Manouevre is a useful thing to know at times like this.

This Is Not Just Beer
I am speaking in metaphors here, and no, I'm not going to come out with some faux Marks and Spencers line.

     This is a slice of history in a bottle.  A beer bottle, I grant you, yet still history.
     Art?  Bring up some educational pictures.  Art?  Art!  Are you in the coal cellar -

The Library of Celsus at Ephesus

     I told you yesterday, "Efes" is Turkish for "Ephesus", which proves how compact and functional modern Turkish is.  Two words that could not be applied to Celsus' Library.

You What?
I'm so happy!  I found another witless and irritating "Sponsored" post on Facebook.  Let me regale you with this one:

"The Manchester United Club Watch by Bulova"

     As you surely know by now, Conrad has no interest in sports, which folks at his previous job always found funny.  "What do you think of the sides in the Cup Final, Conrad?" they would ask, to your humble scribe's utter bewilderment.  "What Final?"  "The Cup Final"  "What's that?" and they would point and laugh.
     Now, given the saturation coverage that football has in the media, Conrad is given to understand that "Manchester United" are a football team.  This is as far as his extensive research into football has gone, and the only club he's interested in is a big wooden one with metal studs that he can beat the Foobs with until they plead for mercy.

Yeahhhh!

I think that's that for tonight.  Catch you tomorrow, unless you can run faster.

 *  Can they be trusted**?
** NO!