Beethoven, Boiling Blood And Bad Tech

I Know What You're Thinking -
 - metaphorically, because telepathy doesn't exist yet (although believe me DARPA are working on it as we speak) - "Gosh the old sot's early at the whisky, isn't he?"
     Sorry to say I am ENTIRELY sober and not keen on whisky in the first place.  That title is an accurate and timely description of my working morning.
     For yes!  I did overtime today, missing out on an ice cream breakfast and my usual pot of tea*, in the interests of a mess of pottage**.
     Okay, do some mental calisthenics, this bit moves rapidly and erratically.
     Beethhoven's 6th.  I have long asserted that this Symphony is one of the most sublime pieces of music ever composed by mortal man.  Listening to it always helps to calm your humble scribe when his ire, temper and blood pressure rise.  During the week we are not allowed to listen to music in work, meaning Conrad reverts to his Stress Tomato.  Art?

As original.  Now a lot more battered

     Now, bear that in mind and allow Conrad to mention Bad Tech.  Overtime at the weekend is conducted strictly off the phone, which is a relief as our phone application would have been horribly done away with long ago if it were a person - in fact there'd be a queue.  This kind of technical failure always sends Conrad into a frothing rage; you know those people from "28 Days Later"?  The Infected?  That's what he's like.

Look at him.  Just look.  Positively frothing.

     You're now wondering what sent your modest artisan into such a state?  Our database menu, which is an essential part of our job, periodically decides to go missing on my machine.  You can tell when this happens, because you hear me shouting "THE MENU'S GONE AGAIN!  GONE! GONE!" followed by a string of swears in Albanian.  Normally this might happen only once a week, but it happened twice this morning, leading to a long delay until logged back on again.
     This is where Ludwig Van came in.  The second time it happened, instead of turning the Stress Tomato into vinyl confetti, I listened to the 6th Symphony.  And it worked!
     So there you are, mysterious blog title explained away completely.
     Now let the motley begin!

An Ode To Ogden
Ogden Nash, that is.  This is a bit rough around the edges but every little thing that ups the word count -

I believe it was Ogden Nash who said -

(Can't check with him, the man is dead)

Of herbs most sinister "Parsley is ghastly"

That being so, surely then "Dill is Evill"?

     Sorry about that, a whole rhyme instead of a single word popping up in my mind.  Oscar and Steve have a bit of explaining to do, one feels.

You WHAT?
Conrad walked past a phone box plastered with an advert for Oncken yoghurt, which loudly declared "Let the yoghurt consume you".  I should have taken a photo, there aren't any such posters on the internet.  Art?

They are nice, though

     "Let the yoghurt consume you" - most certainly NOT!  Conrad is one of those old-school people who firmly believe you eat the food, not the other way round.  In fact your talented typist has been guzzling one of these for breakfast each morning, since they are going half-price at the moment.  So that's where I stand.  
     Also -

I think we should be worried.    

The Haul
One bonus of being in Manchester early in the afternoon is that Manchester Bookbuyers is open, as he's shut by the time I finish work during the week, which is probably a good thing for my bank balance.  Art?

There you are

     It is rare for me to attend there and walk away empty-handed, and today did not buck the trend.  Art?

     I think this is a telling snapshot of what goes on inside your gifted author's brain - war, history and space travel.

A Little Retrospective
A little gloasting here, BOOJUM! having reached the tender age of three on Thursday just gone.  Here's a copy of the second-ever post:

"Boojum", I should explain, comes from Lewis Carrolls "The Hunting of the Snark" and was chosen simply because I like the way it sounds.  Apologies to any Carrollophiles who have been cruelly deceived.

Next, a little experimentation.  What do the fonts look like?

What do the fonts look like?  What do the fonts look like?  What do the fonts look like?  What do the fonts look like?  What do the fonts look like?  What do the fonts look like?  What do the fonts look like?

I think - excuse me -
Trebuchet.  Again, because of the name.

A Trebuchet.  Obviously.  You wouldn't mistake it for an ironing board, would you?

What domestic pottering shall I get up to tonight?  Ironing, and picking socks out of the dryer, and prepping some food for tomorrow, and getting the ice-cream maker ready!  This time tomorrow we shall see what I can concoct.  Oh yes.

In other late-breaking news, I've read about 1/3 of the way through my zombie Opum Magnus, which is about 3/4 done.  114,000 words.  Whether it's actually any good or not - hmmm.  Hmm!

     There was a picture of a trebuchet but it brought up all sorts of security issues and would pretty obviously have broken the internet if allowed to remain.  But still, because I am merciful:

An ironing board.  No, hang on a minute -

*  I feel your sympathy
**  Biblical allusion