DAMN YOU, UNIVERSE! - (also Thomas Pynchon)

Yes, Universe, I'm Looking At You!
Perhaps also TP.  I had - HAD! - intended this post to merely be the photograph-heavy, text-light inclusion of some light and frothy nonsense from Friday evening and Saturday morning, and now find myself compelled to instead ponder on causality, probability and free will.  Heavy philosophical stuff, rather than pictures of cats and dogs being cute.
     "Gosh, Conrad!" I can hear you call.  "Take all the time you want, Eurovision was last night and we can take our time.  The Ukraine won, if you - "
    NO! No, I do not care to - oh really?  O dear.  I did warn Dimya* that he was on a hiding to nothing, no wonder he's not returned my texts.  Probably slumped over his desk with an empty bottle of vodka, muttering 'Why, Konrad, why must you always be right?'
     Where was I?  O yes, Nova Scotia.  No!  Sorry, my mind wanders at times -
     Okay, we already know that Conrad is a rational humanist empiricist, which other folks occasionally call "A crashing bore", or a man who knows reality when he sees it.  Thus he is a big fan of "The Straight Dope" website, which consists of sensible responses to not-very-sensible questions.  What is up on the titular page of today's website?

Proof positive

     There really is no disputing this.  Whilst watching a particularly horrifying documentary tonight on Piper Alpha, Conrad was also reading Thomas Pynchon's "Bleeding Edge", and what do we find on page 165 (of the Penguin 2014 edition)?  
     Yes!  " - the recessed filter of a Parliament cigarette - "
     Now, how often does one read about cigarette filters in fiction, still less after reading about them on a website I've not visited for months?

That Night Out I Mentioned A Day Or So Ago
I am firmly of the opinion that there is little more unappealing than reading other folk's descriptions of what drunken fun they had on their night out.  You are probably sober when reading it, you don't know any of these inebriated baffoons and the photographs are all blurred.
     I make an exception for Friday evening at the Black Dog Ballroom, because we're talking about your humble scribe and that automatically makes it interesting**.  Behold!

Some of the Fine Ladies present

      Here we see Mina, Alex, Olivia and Katie.  You can tell who's a professional Camera Hog, can't you?  There were others present.  Art?

Charlotte, Naz and Pete

     Note how I cunningly exclude Pete's face from the shot, as he doesn't like having his photo posted or pasted.  You don't really get a sense of how short Charlotte's skirt is in this shot, but you might call it a shkort.
     The most alarming part of your humble scribe's presence in BDB was Tom's behaviour.
     "Gosh, Conrad, which Tom do you mean?!" I hear you ask.  
     Good point.
     Previously I have distinguished the Tom's present in my life thus:
     "Splendid Tom" - Darling Daughter's Other Half, a clever and quietly-spoken young man.
     "Noisy Tom" - Tom on the Onboarding Team, a garrulous and loquacious young man.
     "Quiet Tom" - apparently the camouflaged exterior of a raging psychopath.

Quiet Tom's idea of a hot time

      Tom focussed on the candles-within-a-glass set upon our table, and managed to extinguish one of them by accident after playing "Drunken Macho Dare" with Anna.  He then spent the next 10 minutes risking our lives and his with a cigarette lighter, bits of paper towel and a straw, trying to re-light the candle.
     NO TOM!  BAD TOM!  NAUGHTY TOM!  LEAVE IT ALONE!
     This activity left a wasteland of water, burnt tissue, congealed wax and dead straws across the tabletop.  Luckily it was well into the evening so none of the staff noticed.

Pining For The Fjords
Well, maybe, as your modest artisan is 1/16 Norwegian.  No!  We are not talking about parrots, you've confusing me with Anna***.  And Monty Python.  Since Wonder Wifey is off at Milton Keynes, Edna is perforce thrust upon the company of Secondary Dad.  Art?

Poised to flee!

Floised to - no, that doesn't make sense^

     The Wunderhund took refuge with your talented typist when Degsy began to hoover downstairs.  Edna hates and fears the hoover - much as German panzer crews hated and feared the Matilda in North Africa - so she snuck out of the way to be with Conrad.
     As proof that I am Secondary Dad she abruptly abandoned me at 18:00, because that is the time she gets fed.

*  "Dimya" - the affectionate diminutive of "Vladimir".  I leave you to draw your own conclusions.
** It DOES!
*** Hello there!  No.  No, you do not get a Creative Credit for being mentioned lots.
^  I realise this doesn't normally stop me but coming up with a rhyme would take ages.