HOPELANDICYMRU

No!  Nothing To Do With Football
Although you have to admire the Icelandic team for their plucky performance against France, who had to work at it to win, and the chaps really deserve their ecstatic return to Iceland (as compared to the English team, tee hee!).  Nor do I refer to the Welsh team, who appear to be the were-weasels of the competition - small but very dangerous.

The British Expeditionary Force 1914: the war were-weasel of it's day

     No, I am referring to nonsensical songs.  We shall go into this in detail later - O how we will! - yet at this stage I would like to refer you to Sigur Ros*, Iceland's most famous export, apart from volcanic plumes.  Jonsi, the singer, created an artificial language called "Vonlenska", which translates as "Hopelandic" and there you have half the title explained.  Allow me to illustrate the point with the first verse of Song 4 from ():

"You xylo

You xylo no fi lo

You xylo

You xylo no fi lo

You xylo"

     
     Which makes absolutely no sense in any language, yet which sounds great.
     Yesterday at lunch Pete happened to hold forth on "Purple Rain", loudly and crossly declaring that the lyrics made no sense and what was purple rain anyway?  Conrad unsure as he's never heard it and, indeed, cordially detests all of Prince's music.  He also finds it highly suspicious that, in a Republic established by revolution against the monarchy (oooh, the 4th of July casting it's long shadow), this person chooses the monicker "Prince".  Along with Count Basie, Duke Ellington and The King.  Highly suspicious!
     Tom then weighed in with "I Am The Walrus" which I'm not going to post any lyrics from as the Apple Corporation is notoriously litigious.  I myself put forward any song by The Mars Volta, but yesterday brought forth a glorious illustration of the nonsense song, contributed by Pete Jones of the SOTCW, and which explains the second half of our title:

Egad!  More of coincidence!

     There you go.  Thank you, Pete, who is a bit Welsh.  Quite Welsh.  Okay, very Welsh!
     I didn't notice that reference to Elvis before, and it's slightly worrying that it cropped up after my hilarious ad-lib about the King.  So too is that bit about "Don", because -

Oh Hello Coincidence Hydra We Meat Again
Once more the buttocks of your humble scribe are rendered unto mince by the horrid creature's fangs.  Again.  Really, if the Universe wanted to tell me something, couldn't it just send a text?
     Anyway, take a gander at this:

Remember Don?

     That trombone player is Don Long, in the main picture as but a slip of a lad, and in the inset at a rather more mature age.
     "Yes, jazz trombone, pretty cool - and relevant how, Conrad?" I hear you ask.
     He's the now-departed Dad of Claire Long, whom I used to work with.

A Little Musical Critique
I think Paul Simon is still hiding in the storm cellar; Art has ventured out of the house, if only to get a crate of Thunderbird wine.  Less drowning his sorrows than liquifying them.
  Anyway, chaps, once again you do not feature in BOOJUM!'s gunsights-of-hilarity.  Make the most of it.  No, today we pick upon that Sixties classic, "A Whiter Shade Of Pale" by Procul Harum; only perhaps the second band ever to have a Latin phrase as their name**.

Dangerous haircuts!

     Let us not delay and pitch into them at speed:

"We skipped the light fandango"

Firstly, Conrad is not entirely sure the "fandango" really exists and if it did he couldn't manage a light one, although a grim one is on the cards

"Turned cartwheels 'cross the floor"

Now this is elitist boasting of the worst kind!  How many of you out there can do a cartwheel, and multiple ones at that?  Certainly not this salty dog***.

"I was feeling kinda seasick"

I have no sympathy.  None at all.  If you cavort like a man-shaped superball then you'd better accept the consequences.

"As the crowd called out for more"

Pandering, that's what you're doing.  Conrad NOT impressed.  It's just not British, old chap.

"The room was humming harder"

Excuse me?  Where on earth are you performing - inside Hinkley Point's turbine room?  Rooms, Mister Brooker, do not physically reverberate at high oscillation, or they'd fall apart.

"As the ceiling flew away"

I take it all back.

"We called out for another drink"

THIS appears to be the root cause of all your troubles, matey.  Another!? I think you've had more than enough.  You and your fandango!

"The waiter brought a tray"

I rest my case.

"Someone called?"

* I deliberately and repeatedly mis-spelt this as "Siggur" and NOBODY NOTICED!
**  I shall torment you by not telling you the other one
***