The Clock Is Ticking -

Mostly Because It's Not Digital
Conrad, being a dinosaur of the mind if nothing else, hates those new-fangled digital watches and clocks, since he is convinced that, to work properly, a timepiece has to be composed of gears and cogs and counterweights.  I am willing to concede that you can power them by battery rather than having to wind them up, but that's as far as I go.

I'll make an exception for this as well

     None of which has anything to do with the rest of this Intro.  Typical, eh?  No, what I really mean is that Bake Off is in but 38 minutes and I've only just started the blog.
     "Careless and slapdash!  Exactly what we expect from you!" I hear you cavil, in a querulous voice.  I do have reasons - for one, I had to power up the PC from scratch after turning it off this morning, and the hamster takes an age to flex it's tiny muscles and being to move the wheel.  Plus, I was looking for photographs of 10K running, and no, I don't mean an athletic event, I mean 10K from "Z Nation".

Pretty accurate

     36 minutes!  Damn, Harry Hill really knew what he was talking about when banging on about "The Badger Parade is in but half a hour!"
     Tonight being the last Bake Off presented by the BBC,  it is de rigeur for all baking afficionadoes to watch it to conclusion tonight.  At least nobody is going home and they get awarded First, Second and Third places.
     "Who do you think will win?" asked Emily, a colleague who is as slavishly devoted to this programme as your humble scribe.
     "Cat's bum-mouth woman," I replied, with my trademark candour and rudeness, and Emily immediately knew who I meant.  Sorry, Benny.
     32 minutes!

A First For First
Put the flags out!  For the first time in the recorded history of public transport, First managed ALL THREE tick boxes - On time, a double-decker and with The Metro.
     <pause to allow audience jaws to close and for people to climb back on chairs>
     So it is with a sense of lethal irony that The Metro's front cover features an advert for "The Girl On The Train", with the tagline "Don't miss the girl on the train".  I take it that this train is run by a provider more reliable than First Bus - Southern Rail sound good by comparison - or the title would be "The Girl Who Missed The Train" or "The Girl Whose Train Never Arrived" or, most probably, "The Girl Who Drove There Instead".

Perhaps a little long in the tooth to be a "girl" but - still a female!

"Lights Out"
Apparently this refers to a recently-released horror film, involving things creeping up on you in the dark, which is a trope if ever there was one.  
     Meanwhile, back at The Electric Goldfish Bowl, we have our own special case of "lights out", and have done so for Lo!  these many weeks.  Art?

     Unfortunately for those who want the delicious frisson of anticipating some slavering horror pouncing on you out of the shadows, there are far too many lights not out to create an atmosphere of suspense, unless they deliberately dim or extinguish them next Monday.

NANOWRIMO
Or, "National Novel Writing Month".  WIth a shudder of horror I realised that this event takes place in November, which is mere days away.  Mere days!
     "Can you enlighten us before dashing off to watch Bake Off, which is in but 16 minutes, Conrad?" I hear you call from the kitchen as you make a pot of tea.

The escutcheon of inspiration

     Well, yes.  You get a month to write a novel, which you post on the website.  I started far too late in 2015 and have since been pottering about on "The Annals Of Urquelomplangia" ever since.  Only up to 16 thousand words, and before last night I'd not touched it since July.
     It's set in a fictional late-seventeenth century Middle European kingdom, the last one to still utilise wizardy and magic - not witches, they're illegal.  A somewhat dark sense of humour permeates it; after all, it is written by me.  And to make up the word count in a hurry, I shall cheat and post another short extract.  Art?

     ‘And you can pack that it!’ warned Wulfstan.  ‘Arminius would have a blue fit if he heard anything but German tonight.’

     Boguslav toiled on for whole minutes before feeling that he needed to educate the silent ranks of evergreen in how he felt.

     ‘Emergency meeting of the whole kingdom’s wizards!  Emergency meeting my eye, this is Herman getting ready to challenge the king.’

     One might have imagined that Wulfstan had trodden on a caltrop, or been stung by an especially ferocious bee.  Or bees, as he responded with vim.

     ‘ “Arminius”! for heaven’s sake!  Latin, not German.  Lord aloft, you need to conjure a bit of common sense.’

     ‘And,’ continued Boguslav, for an expressive mood was upon him, ‘Why on earth do we have to walk from the edge of the Forest?  I have a stable in order to avoid walking like this.’

     A momentary pang of jealousy stuck Wulfstan, for he lacked a stable.  Indeed, his transport in it’s entirety consisted of a spavined old mare and a filly with a vile temper.

     ‘He said walk, so we walk.  It’s not wise to either tempt fate or defy Arminius.’

     His mind cast back several years, where he’d voted against a motion by Aminius.  Nothing major, merely a matter of whom amongst the kingdom’s wizards had seniority after the Royal Mage.  Yet he’d been struck by a painful outbreak of boils shortly thereafter.

     The pair continued onwards, getting wetter and gloomier by the minute.  Rain continued to fall, and now the odd peal of thunder rolled out when lightning flashed and broke into the darkness.

     All my own work.
     10 minutes!

Finally -
Proof that an anti-tank ditch will not stop a tank with a long wheelbase going at speed.

Presto!

3 minutes!