What A Difference An "A" Makes

Yes, Here's Conrad Messing About With Words Again
I don't know if this is going to be a regular thing or not.  On the plus side, "What A Difference An "A" Makes" as a theme means less effort involved in having to think things up.  After all, I can't rely on Oscar* generating ideas on a regular basis, nor of remembering interesting dreams that also suggest BOOJUM! themes, and bus posters are only updated every so often.
      "How can there be a down side to less intense mental activity, Conrad?" I can hear you say.  "Because his grey matter's not as spry as it used to be," I can also hear you add in a RATHER LOUD WHISPER!
     Because I've not sat down and worked this idea out.  Gasps of horror from the audience, as both of them realise that BOOJUM!'s artless spontanaiety is really planned long in advance.
     Back to the pun.  Apologies for taking so long to get here.
     "Saturday" - first day of the weekend - obviously! - and a chance to lie-in, drink vast amounts of tea, idle through a book or two and catch strangely-named programmes on television.  What if it loses it's "A"'s?  Why then it becomes merely "Sturdy", which is a valiant condition admittedly yet not sufficient for you to get two days off from work.

Avocados - FORBIDDEN FRUIT!!!
 At least as far as the office is concerned.  Observe this sinful fruit - green and knobbly with a huge stone.

     So distracting!  And full of calories.  Truly the Devi's digestif.
     I've eaten those two now, after eating a couple yesterday and still have another two to finish off, the result of getting six in a bag when doing the shopping.

You May Be Wondering -
 - why this first post of the weekend is late.  On the other hand you may not give a fig (or an avocado) about when or why it appears, in which case THE EXIT DOOR IS OVER THERE!
     Like it or not, you are going to get to know why.  Your humble scribe was up early today.  No setting the alarm for 8:30, then laughing inside and ignoring the bell when it goes off.
     "But Conrad," I hear you say.  "Unlike most of us, you need every second of beauty sleep you can get.  What can this forefend?"
     Yes, THANK YOU for your kind words.  You're as bad as those pikers The Birds.  Sorry:  Bird.  Singular.

They do have a point, though.

     Overtime, is what it is.  Conrad isn't taking one for the team, he's a mercenary rascal in it only for the money.  His consolation for giving up half his Sturdy will be - Oops!  sorry, Saturday - will be a grilled cheese sandwich at Northern Soul.

     I should have put something on there to indicate scale, shouldn't I?  All you need to know is that it's a big-assed sandwich.  Almost worth doing the overtime for.

"6th Battalion The Manchester Regiment" By John Hartley
Given up on "The Millionaire's Unit" since by page 40 it's still describing the life of the privileged at Yale, which does not interest your humble scribe at all.  Not willing to wait another 100 pages until it moves on!

This is more interesting!

     Anyway, the 6th Battalion has moved from Egypt to France and once again Conrad recognises every locality named.  At least until late in 1917, when conscription meant non-local men got recruited into the battalion.  I am sure that, with traditional Northern hospitality, they would have been treated like pariahs until they could manage a proper Manc accent and exhibit knowledge of the finer points of Rugby**.  Not soccer, as that was a game played by Southern jessies.

Conrad - Hates All Musicals, And Probably Festivals, Too
One of the consequences of working with the younger generation is that one picks up cultural information not normally encountered.  For example, sat next to Catherine, I heard that The Chemical Brothers are playing the Parklife festival.  I like the Chem's a lot, yet not enough to go stand in a muddy field - and from what Conrad has seen, it's always a muddy field - miles from anywhere, with horrid chemical toilets, the constant risk of getting your stuff nicked and a lot of acts you don't care about or actively dislike.

"Conrad's fevered imagination conjured up what Parklife would look like ..."

     "You should go to a festival at least once in your life," informed Catherine, bless her for trying to expand your modest artisan's horizons.
     Not while those horizons remain limned with rain and mud, thank you Catherine.  Conrad is much too fond of, and used to, his home comforts to want to change his ways.

     That above is the closest your gifted author cares to get to a Park, let alone Parklife.


* Either my subconscious or memory, I forget which.
** Conrad admits he's no idea whether this should be League or Union.