"Gear" refers to sugar, for are we at BOOJUM! not ever so SFW? Why yes, we are, thank you for asking, apart from some of the darker themes present that your management (and most right-thinking people, probably) wouldn't approve of.
Getting back on track, your humble scribe Conrad is essentially a 6 foot sweet tooth with feet. His regular breakfast of ice cream probably hints at this, as does his regular purchase of 6 bags of boiled sweets on the weekly shop.
 |
| 2 minutes 45 seconds-worth of sweets, for Conrad. |
Which he did. Conrad's fists, never things of beauty, have the compensating charm of being large, and thus of holding lots of sugar*.
And so to the present day. Conrad sat at his desk yesterday, sucking and then crunching his way through handfuls of those boiled sweets, until a thought struck him.
"I answer the phone to customers all the time. Surely they can't hear me crunching. Can they?"
So he called Emily whilst furiously masticating a sherbet lemon, and she was able to hear what has been described as "glass bottles being smashed in a canvas sack".
Oh dear.
So, today, we had Starburst instead, because they are soft and chewy. Art?
 |
| (shhhhhhhhh!) |
Ah yes, the 24. On time? Tick box. Double decker? Tick box. Copies of The Metro? Don't be ridiculous, two out of three is perfectly adequate for You Scummy Passengers!
Besides that, someone else was having a far worse morning - it looks as if one car had pulled out to get past the street-sweeper and run head-on into another car that might also have pulled out to avoid another street-sweeper.
 |
| This kind of street-sweeper. Not a bloke with a broom. |
Late addendum on the way home: Weather treachery! Not raining, and there is sun between the clouds above. From Lake to Garden in an afternoon.
I'm Sorry, Your Honour, I Have No Idea
You know Conrad, at least on the surface (what lies beneath is not for the faint-hearted), and once again I must apologise for an idea that simply popped into my head without rhyme or - well, without reason, anyway. "That daft old Victorian song," I sniggered to myself. "Let's spoof it!" So without further adieu -
"Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat night has fled.
I guarantee you won't be bored,
There's a body here, ever so dead.
It's a bullfighter who got gored
With a horn all through his head.
I won him as a kind of reward
For baking such excellent bread.
Now, madam, I won't be ignored -
Get up and out of your septic bed!
What do you think? I could try and work in Sue Perkins and Paul Hollywood on the back of the baking stuff, and perhaps laser cannon and zombies, because - well, what doesn't go better with laser cannon and zombies?
Give That Man An Award!
If not two. You ought to know what Conrad's attitude toward the mobile phone is by now: a violent dislike tempered only by them usually having a camera attached. However, when my starship invasion fleet gets here you'll learn to live without them, O Yes Indeed!
<five minute pause whilst your humble scribe cackles and rubs his hands with evil glee>
This chap obviously has the same sneering contempt for hideous digital media devices. Art? |
| He he he! |
Conrad salutes you, sir!
A little under the normal count, which is fine by me - it is, after all, MY blog - as I am off to do the weekly shop tonight, rather than Friday. No pub quiz tonight, you see, and I shall be going out after work tomorrow, so at best there will be only a Cheat Sheet BOOJUM! for the 5th.
Pip pip!
* Mama, when she found this out, was not impressed. There were words.
** The grim GREY skies, just to labour the point a little.
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