The Season Of Slutch

Way Back In The Nineties -
 - your humble scribe was writing letters to Eileen, who had decamped from Oldham to Australia.  I realise that the terms "writing" and "letters" are only familiar to dinosaurs like Conrad, so perhaps a little explanation is in order.  "Writing" consists of moving an instrument called a "pen" across pulped processed trees, which are usually known as "paper"*.  The finished product is known as a "letter", although it actually contains many multiples of a single letter.  This "letter" is then enclosed in an envelope, also made of paper, an address is written upon it, and it is consigned to the Infernal Regions, or Royal Mail, whichever gets there first.

This annoys me.  This annoys me A LOT!
Why the silly disguise-across-the-eyes?
HOW MANY SNAILS DELIVERING MAIL ARE THERE!

     I mention this lengthy prologue, not because I want to bump up my word count**, but because one of the things I bemoaned to Eileen was the English climate.  "We have two seasons here," I complained.  "Summer - two weeks of good weather split up over three months, and Slutch, which is grey, wet and cold and which lasts the other eleven months and two weeks of the year."
     Eileen, wisely, never replied.  Instead she moved back to England.  Once she had confirmed by first-hand experience that Conrad was right, she moved out again, to Spain.  You may see a theme developing here. 
     "All this is fine and dandy, Conrad," I hear you quibbling, querulously, "Yet what does it have to do with - well, anything, really?"
     TAKE A LOOK OUT OF THE WINDOW!

NO!

     Not that window, the other one -    

Ah yes, right planet

 It is disgustingly cold, yet not cold enough for cool and interesting things like snow or ice to happen.  It is dismally wet, yet not sufficiently damp for things like flash floods.  It is horribly windy, yet not so much so that there are Tornado Warnings abroad.
     I believe Tacitus, the Roman historian, had much the same to say about Britain, which is kind of ironic: the Romans, coming from Rome, with a nice hot sunny climate, invading a country with None Of The Above.
     Then again.  Without British Slutch to drive us, would we ever have gained an international empire constituted mostly of hot sunny climes***?

Wow.  I spent a lot longer than intended banging on about our climate.  Quick!  Add something funny with pictures!

Breakfast At The Mansion
You can take the litre of tea as read. Here is Conrad's breakfast as per Sunday morning, although I had hoped to have a Giant Crumpet.

Ice Cream Breakfast!

     This is a "Peanut Butter and Salted Caramel Stick", which was kindly provided by the Taste Team at work.  Not normally a combination your humble scribe would choose, except that it is free, which goes a long way to assuage the taste buds, I can tell you.
     Forced - FORCED I tell you! - to eat ice cream for breakfast.  O the humanity!

Despondent Dog
On occasions, when Wonder Wifey is upstairs parcelling up bundles of things that cannot be contaminated by cat hair, I have to babysit the dog.  Today I had a few crunchy dog treats in my right hand trouser pocket, which Edna - obviously! - sniffed out.  After we changed seats I reached for my phone, hidden in my left hand trouser pocket.  Edna contorted herself to see if any treats were forthcoming.

They were not

     So here she is, sulking a bit.
     I did take her for a walk shortly afterwards, so don't feel too sorry for her.

Explosions In The Sky
"Do you like explosions in the sky?" asked Katie during overtime at the office yesterday, a leading question if ever there was one.

Reason for Conrad to fear

     "Not if they get too close," replied your gifted author^, who is both honest and a massive coward.
     Katie explained that she meant the band, not an array of creeping thermonuclear detonations, which is reassuring since I have to work with her daily.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ziw4yd5R0QI

     I've listened to a couple of their albums on Youtube and quite like them, though as an instrumental band they do risk the criticism of Too Samey.
     That above is the link to their album "The Earth Is Not A Cold, Dead Place".  Well, not yet it's not, but only because my starship invasion fleet hasn't arrived yet.

At least it's not raining!

"Salute Of Guns"  By Donald Boyd
An autobiography of a gunnery officer during the First Unpleasantness, once again this work demonstrates that the world of 100 years ago was quite different to the current.  Doubtless Boyd would have made heavy weather of an account written by a Royal Artillery officer about the battle of Waterloo!  Here I can offer evidence via this quote:

" ... the drag-washers beginning their endless scuddering on the axles ..."

     Your humble scribe knows what an axle is, but - drag-washers?  When I Googled "Scuddering" it brought up a "Scudder: a beamer who scrapes skins by hand".  
     Great.  An explanation more confusing than the question.

Scully and Mulder.  Sculderring  Close enough.

* From the Egyptian: "papyrus"
** " - not solely because I want to bump up my word count -"
*** The Falklands, I admit, are an exception.
^ A change from "Your humble scribe"