Yes, We Are Late Tonight

 Normally I'd Be Scurrying To Pub Quiz
Not tonight, my partners are off to see the grandchild way down south and have packed up and gone, and Conrad knows he won't be more than mediocre on his own - no good at British geography, sport, soaps or the monarchy.
     "So, o noble scribe," I hear you say, and a touch of flattery always goes down well with your modest artisan, "Why are you so late in delivering our daily dose of divertissement?"
     I'm so glad you asked!  One reason is that tomorrow is a Bank Holiday here in the UK, meaning a day off work, and - apologies for the raptures of a middle-aged man - a chance to set the alarm for 8:30, then sneer at it when it goes off, and go back to sleep. This being so, I have done the weekly shop tonight, which takes over an hour to do.
     The other reason, forty minutes that I'll never get back, is - First Bus.
     Now, you know that Conrad likes to mix it up on BOOJUM! and not bore you with repeated themes: witness that we only post a single etymological article about words, and stick to single posts about atom b - er - foofoodillies and the like.  So it pains me after ranting about First yesterday that I have to - HAVE TO - ladle fire and brimstone over them tonight as well.

"Fire and brimssstone - sssoundsss lovely!"

     I can hear you getting popcorn and settling down, which implies that your enjoyment of Conrad's discomfiture is a trifle worrying.  Anyway -
     The first problem is that the 24 at peak times is now a single-decker, meaning it is instantly rammed full, to the point of standing-room only.  The bus driver then decides timetables be damned, he's got hotpot waiting at home for tea so - he's off.  Thus today the 24 drove off as I approached.
     Catching the next bus that goes into Oldham bus station, we then got stuck in miles of crawling traffic.  Getting into Oldham, my plan was to catch the 409 that goes right past my house.
     Except it didn't turn up.  When it did, a good ten minutes late, it suddenly became "Sorry Not In Service" and drove out of the bus station.  Then, to taunt with what we could never have, it came back into the bus station and drove out again.  This process was repeated again; clearly we were dealing with a very sick individual driving that bus. 

"Use First Bus.  You can't eat it."
"Sorry - 'BEAT' it.  You can't beat it."

 Finally boarding it, we got as far as Royton before we were overtaken by another 409, which stopped and decamped it's passengers for them to board our bus.  One passenger, informing friends that she'd be late, related that the bus had broken down.
     Oh no it hadn't.  It was running so late that the drivers conspired to offload passengers, allowing latey matey to get back on schedule.
     The fun hadn't finished yet!  At the base of Tandle Hill stood a police car, blues going like mad.  Conrad groaned inwardly.  A long delay?  A detour via Latvia and the bottom of the Challenger Deep?  Getting off and walking?
     I need not have worried.  This was the police, not First Bus.  We were swept past without a moment's hesitation.
     There.  I hope I have enlightened and entertained you, with not too much of the latter.

The Metro: 60 Seconds
Thanks to various scheduling delays this is from Wednesday's Metro.  Who do they interview?  Someone I recognise!  Steven Mangan, who is currently featuring as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in "Doyle and Houdini".  Yes, that Houdini.  He was in an hospital comedy called "Green Wing" which I've never seen, and also featured some years ago in a series of amusing adverts for some financial product I can't recall.  Not that effective, eh*?

Combination fop and rake
(handy in the garden)

Shakeshaft
I was informed by Sophie - that Sophie, not this Sophie - that it's National Poetry Week this week, which is howlingly ironic as Conrad loathes poetry, almost as much as he detests Shakespeare.  So, it wasn't difficult to decide what to write about in today's dose of doggerel!

It's National Poetry Week:

I do not have to seek

A target for my ire.

Bill, you're in my line of fire.

I hate your over-rated plays,

The torment of my schooldays.

We never covered your sonnets

Or I'd have gone off my bonnet.

Anyone guilty of writing "Macbeth"

Deserves the very dustiest death**.

That's my rant done for today,

And now, Bill, I am off to play**.

     ha!  It's not deathless prose but I enjoy it.

Got This Cheap At Morrisons

"The Virgin Suicides" by Air

     The trite little euphemism they use is "pre-owned" when they really mean "second hand" although Conrad has no shame and doesn't care either way.
     I still remember the time I got "Premiere Symptomes" from that record shop in Spindles.  Art?

     I got home after having paid full price for it to discover that it's a "mini album".
     The record shop went bust shortly after***.



* But amusing
** Do you see how frightfully clever I am here?  Do you?  Please say you do.  Please.
*** Coincidence?  Or not?  Only you can tell!