Read Quickly! For There Is Much To Type

Typically, The Shorter The Time, The More Material I Have
Although I wouldn't have it the other way round.  What with being out late on Thursday, and getting in late yesterday, I have been able to post only a portion of what's already been worked out in longhand, as My Notes.  I feel I should capitalise this because back in the early days "My Notes" would be four words on an A8 sized notepad.
     Okay, by way of an Intro, I would ask you to cast your mind back to Thursday, when the gluttonous gannets of the Seventh Floor were marinading themselves in gin prior to guzzling a meal.  Art?

From L To R: Conrad, Carol, Beth, Mina, Tom, Manisha, Cathryn, Safra, Olivia and Stacey

     Conrad being an exception to the wine-bibbers.  Note how, although he has apparently lost lots of weight, he still skillfully manages to portray Middle-Aged and Pear-Shaped in one easy move.  It takes rare talent to fool the camera like that.
     Okay, let the motley begin!

The Theme Is Food

Comestibles, anyway, as I don't think tea leaves fall under "Edible foodstuffs", certainly not when they're dry and probably only marginally more so after being sunk to the bottom of a teapot.

     "What are you -" I hear you begin before I interrupt immediately because here we're talking about tea, currently the most important liquid in Conrad's life*.

     Jasmine Tea:  Since digging it out of the cupboard last year I've consumed gallons of it, a very nicely-flavoured drink indeed.  Uncontaminated, obviously - obviously! - by milk or sugar.  Art?

BUT!!!

     - supplies are running low.  That packet dated from 2013 and I've no idea if Sainsbury's still sell loose leaf Jasmine Tea, three years later.  Forget Asda or Morrisons, they've got very little on offer.  If it comes to that, I've only got one packet of loose leaf Darjeeling left, so perhaps a mission to Sainsbury's is in order.
     Marcel Proust: I know he's not a foodstuff, although you can re-arrange his name into "Carmel Sprout", which sounds perfectly hideous, although probably right up Robert Rankine's street**.  Anyway, in common with wannabe intellectual poseurs and pseuds across the globe, Conrad is very much aware of the French author Marcel Proust.  Never read any of his works, mind, just aware of them.  Primarily "A La Recherche Le Temps Perdu" IIRC, which translates as "A Rememberance of Things Past".  To be honest it sounds ghastly, and this is when we and the French are (almost) best buddies.  Just think what he'd have concocted were we still at loggerheads in the manner of 1809***.

"Advance, mes amis!  We must rid ze world of Breetish suet pudding and custard!"

     Anyway, the whole enormous article d'auteur is apparently triggered when MP takes a bite out of a Madeleine, a variety of small cake.  The taste triggers memories of the past, and the rest - is an inordinately long work in French.
     "But Conrad, what is all this about?" I hear you ask.
     Simple.  Janice supplied us at work with - Madeleines.

Madeleines.
(Well, technically Janice's)

     Saturday Breakfast:  I know you all dote on my weekend breakfasts as being what the well-heeled blogger fuels his imagination with.  Hopefully.  And here it is.  Art?

Ice cream, tea, overdone crumpets and books books books.

     The cat has now learned to keep well away from the breakfast table, or else risk being put outside.
     Saturday lunch:  This is more in the line of a logistical exercise, using up the last of: the loaf, the Lorne sausage and some rather aged hash browns.  Art?  Put down the nutty slack and get picturing -

Also an opportunity for Conrad to create an hilarious picture

     Honestly, I amuse myself sometimes^.

A Coincidence
Just not todays.  This actually dates back to exactly 17:30 on Wednesday 13th April, when your humble scribe had successfully made it to the 24 bus (a single-decker again, against all logic and reason).  It drove off from the bottom of Oldham Road, then along Picadilly Gardens, at which point Conrad noticed Darling Daughter walking across the pavement, and waved wildly to her.
     Either the sun was in her eyes - I like to think this is the reason - or she didn't want to be embarrassed by an old man drawing attention to her, so she didn't acknowledge my (admittedly split-second) waving.  Art?

Darling Daughter

And there we hit the word limit, besides which I need to go refill my mug from that pot of Jasmine Tea in the kitchen, can't let it go to waste when I don't have that much of it.


* Sober for April, remember?
** An author big on sprouts.  Honestly.
*** Going with the food theme, probably "A Rememberance of Thins Past"
^ This is not one of those times.