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Tuesday 23 August 2016

I Bake To Slake The Thirst For Cake

And Yes, I Am Mixing Metaphors
But, once again, whose blog is it?  yes, thank you.  Now go sit at the back, quietly and respectfully, or the Music Police will have a word with your.
     About that blog title -  Well, well, well.  Many wells make a river, as the Ruffians say.  Conrad may not have quite got his cakey-bakey mojo back but he certainly got a part of it nagged into him by Wonder Wifey over the weekend.
     "Consider it payment for the lights," she quoth.
In case you'd forgotten:  Lights by Wonder Wifey
     There were blueberries going spare in the fridge, you see, and they needed using up, so why not put them in a cake?  Of course that meant there needed to be a cake in the first place.
     You can see where this is going, can't you?
     Yes, Conrad ended up baking a "Norwegian Blueberry Cake", which is like the Norwegian Pear Cake, except with blueberries, and it was received with rave reviews.
     I don't know if you can actually thirst for a solid object, but we'll find out tomorrow when "The Great British Bake-Off" begins anew.  This might help to hammer home a bit more cakey-bakey mojo.
     I'll let you know.

"Game Of Thrones: The Golden Crown"
Hopefully salting BOOJUM! with this will entice more unwary travellers than usual to sample our unwholesome fare.  
     Now, I am going to warn you that there are SPOILERS ahoy, which is just me being cautious, as this is Season One we're talking about, going back to 2011.
     In this episode, Targaeryan the Twod - that blonde drama queen - no, the man! - is hilariously killed by having a bucket of molten gold poured over his head; the Dothraki head chap had, after all, promised him a gold crown that would make men gasp in awe.
     Okay, okay, not "hilariously".  Horribly.  There.  Happy now?  Art?
Image result for targaryen golden
Ouch.
     The gold is provided by head chap throwing a load of big man-jewellery in a bucket over the cooking fire, and - yes, Conrad the pedant comes racing to the fore, shrieking in excitement.
     1)  Can you actually melt gold in a cauldron over a bunch of twigs?
     2)  If you can, how long does it take?
     3)  Would it kill you, and if the answer is "yes", how quickly?
     Conrad voiced these doubts in front of witnesses (Wonder Wifey and Degsy) and they came back with answers so quickly and at length that Conrad suspects they came from a website.  That, or they regularly murder people with molten gold.
     1)  No, you cannot, despite the molten-murderers website-warriors insisting you can because high-carat gold is a soft metal.  It may be, yet it's melting point is circa 1,0000C, and you're not going to get that over some tinder and charcoal.
Image result for cow pat fuel
Not even with cow pats.
     2)  A lot longer than shown.  Which is fine, we're looking for drama here, not metallurgical integrity.
     3)  If we grant that, somehow*, the gold melted, then getting it poured onto your bonce would kill you in pretty short order.  As WW pointed out, molten gold ain't hot wax; it would roast the skin off your head, ignite your hair and simultaneously boil your brain like a haggis.  The shock alone would finish you off.
Image result for haggis

     We shall gloss lightly and swiftly over how you would get your gold back in order to re-smelt and cast it into man-jewellery again ...
     And now for our final tasteless picture, because it certainly applies to Twod:
Image result for going for gold
Ouch.
Weather Treachery!
I wrote this looking across Royton, which typifies England's Green and Pleasant land, really.  A land nourished by copious quantities of ... wait for it ... rain!

     I suppose you can't have one without the other, and a landscape of sere browned grass is dull indeed.  And yet, and yet ... from a vista on the 14th Floor of the Electric Goldfish Bowl, all your humble scribe could see was endless grey.  Never the most fashionable of colours, when it's all one can see, it kind of deadens the soul.
     "I feel like a fish!" was my silent lament.  No!  Not my normal lunchtime tin of sardines, more like a Neon Tetra.  The EGB was well named.  Art?

Misery, encapsulated
     And you can understand Conrad's bitter contempt at the weather today, because it completely transposed itself.  Really!
Sunshine.  You may have forgotten what it resembles.
     Can't a chap work up a head of entitled rage?

Oh, wait, I forgot about First Bus.  There, that sense of entitled rage is boiling up nicely now.

First Bus Performance Tally:

On Time                                     

Double-decker                        X

The Metro Present                 

Finally -
More sinister forward-planning from your modest artisan.  
Image result for clones
A whole lot of clones


*  Dragons!  Everything is answerable with Dragons!

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