Weather Blether

For Those Of You -
 - unfortunate not to live in the Sceptred Isle, namely Britain, which I confess is most of the world, "blether" means pointless gossip with no discernible point.  Much like BOOJUM! in fact.  And you pronounce it to rhyme with "weather".

Conrad:  poster child for "blether"

     Now that we've got that definition out of the way, let me also explain that Conrad has a theory about the seasons here in Britain.  Whither the weather, you might say.  My argument that our seasons have become degraded down to two is vindicated by merely looking out of the window at present.  We now have two seasons, Summer and Slutch.  "Summer" is a period of three weeks, not necessarily consecutive ones either*.  Slutch is the rest of the year - cold, grey, windy and wet.  Usually all four together.  As noted, we have not had a Winter this year (an afternoon's snow one Saturday doesn't count as sufficient) and don't bother trying to qualify that with "yet".  Nor, Conrad predicts, will we have a Spring, either.  Instead the temperature will fail to fall to horrid lows, which is what we will have to be satisfied with.

Sky = on top; Sea = on bottom
At times it can be hard to discern

The Birds, Our Barometer Of Wind
They were singing suspiciously sweetly today, the frolicksome feathered fiends.  Dark,  damp, windy and far too early - so what the heck have they got to be so amused about?

BLACKBIRD:  Good MORNING!
THRUSH:  GOOD Morning!
BB:  I see NASDAQ has made a strong recovery overnight.
T: Eh?  What?
BB:  Oops, sorry, forgot the Schedule!  Item one, insult Fatty.
T:  That's better.  There he is.  You know, there's something odd about the repellent old sponge today.
BB:  Has his spleen truss worked loose?
T: No, no, it's his appearance.
BB:  Good Lord, the poisonous old pratwinkle hasn't had plastic surgery, has he?
T:  What - Botox and Polyfilla?
BB:  Ha!  Very good.  You know, I think he's had a haircut.
T:  Does he really think that makes a difference?
BB:  Perhaps he does.  Less chance of him being seen as an electrocution victim.
T:  The only way he's ever going to look good is by covering that head with a paper bag.
STARLING:  Whoo, him again!  Talking of bags, I were looking in through the bathroom window and -
     - the bus came.

Great!  I'll have it to go, thanks.

"Manscaping" - Credited To Russell
Russell, at lunch today, declared that he didn't feel properly gay as he wasn't into "manscaping", which word had Conrad snorting loudly in amusement.  It refers to generally titivating oneself about with eyebrow threading, pedicures, exfoliant fish** and the pruning back of excessive nostril hair.
     No danger of anyone ever mistaking Conrad for a manscaper - see the Birds above for an objective viewpoint of what he looks like.

Conrad minus camouflage

Mad King Ludwig
Er - once again Conrad apologises for these things that pop into his head at random.  Don't complain, it might have been "The Sex Life of the Dog Whelk" or "150 Flavours of Lapsang Souchong Described in Detail".
     Anyway, Mad King Ludwig.  It may be a German name, but I'd be furious if my given name was "Ludwig" too.  Ludwig Van Beethoven could get away with it because he was deaf, had a violent temper and was a musical genius.

Watch out - or he'll Beet you!

     Old Lud, to coin a name, acceded to the Bavarian crown at age 18 after his father suddenly and unexpectedly died.  Lud was not a typical monarch of the time.  He wasn't at all interested in state functions, political affairs or anything formal and monarchical, really.  No, his real passions were the arts: he loved music, theatre and architecture.  Imagine the scene:

ADVISERS:  Okay, Sire, you've acceded to the throne of Bavaria these four weeks now and so you're thoroughly bedded-in.
LUD:  Yes, and I feel GILDED IN GOLD AND GLORIOUS!
ADVISERS:  Time to declare war, then.
LUD:  I'm so - wait, what?
ADVISERS:  War, Sire.  Declaring it.  Bavarian tradition.
LUD:  But - but - but -
ADVISERS: Spain or Italy?
LUD: I don't want to declare war, I want to build beautiful palaces!
ADVISERS: Ho ho Sire, you will have your little joke.
LUD: What I want is to dance, dance, dance all night -
ADVISERS: No, Sire!  No no NO!  Now, we recommend Italy, a good match for a novice like yourself.
LUD:  Where's Richard Wagner?  I want to patronise him.  And build beautiful palaces.
ADVISERS: What?  No, Sire.  Keep on-topic, please.  If you start with Italy you can work on up with Spain -
LUD:  Italy - home of opera!  And Venice.  Nice architecture.
ADVISERS:  Sire  Please, declaring war.  Our great Bavarian tradition.
LUD: I declare - I declare - MYSELF WONDERFUL!
ADVISERS (muttering): How soon can we organise a coup?

"Ludwig, having slain the Carpet Monster, felt justified in wearing it as a trophy."

*  There are blue skies, sunshine and it is hot.  British residents need reminding of this.
** Are these still a thing?