After all, I need to work up a head of creative steam, and nothing motivates more than murderous intent.
Do not worry, gentle reader, for your humble scribe lives a long way off, over the ocean for many of you, and represents no real danger.
To you. First Bus, on the other hand ...
If ever Conrad ran out of inspiration for BOOJUM! he can always rely on First Bus to make up the deficit in sparkling wit. You can count on their inconsistency, which is probably the last word in irony.
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| Number Fifteen? Okay, the next to last word in irony |
I was proven right this morning. In the style of either ee cummings or Dick and Jane:
See Conrad walk very fast.
He walks to the bus stop.
No buses come.
Conrad is angry.
He is always angry
Today he is extra-angry
The bus comes.
By a different route.
He misses the bus.
Conrad foams at the mouth.
See Conrad froth!
He walks to the next stop.
It is very far away
So he is hot and sweaty.
And very, very angry.
Please bear in mind that there are NO declarations, explanations, excuses or poignant short stories about A Man And His Bus on the First website. Art?
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| Nothing! |
They had no idea what I was talking about. They did give me another number to ring, and a polite and helpful person at the other end explained that they understood my frustration, but they only dealt with West Yorkshire. For those of you not familiar with English geography, this is the next county over from Greater Manchester, and a considerable way off.
First's attitude to the - actually we'll capitalise on it - The Hole appears to be that of an ostrich looking for refuge: insert head into it and as if by magic it will all go away.
Well Now
After the eruption of my Frothing Nitric Ire, time to rein back on the volcanic temper and add in a little whimsy. Art?
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| Er - what? |
<thinks>
Actually I don't think there is. And after the tale of woe that is public service transport today, do you really think I want to play a train simulator?
Excuse me for rushing through this, I've got home late (see above), have had a bowl of Nasi Goreng and need to get the weekly shop sorted out. What you see is still polished erudition, mind. Which is not bad for a man raised by weasels.
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| Sensitive weasels, I'll have you know |
Is Javed A Zombie?
This cruel jibe came up at lunchtime. Javed, you see, is a quiet and softly-spoken chap, utterly unlike the
We - Tom and I, and Tom only because I am a good influence - jumped to the Dog's defence, and Tom pointed out that Javed was laughing at the remarks*. Which would prove that he wasn't a zombie.
'He could be a high-functioning zombie," blurted out Conrad, without thinking, and then stood back - only in analogy, I was still sat down - to ponder on this phrase.
'High-function zombie' - it bears a little studying and I will get back to you about it.
O yes.
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| Strangely enough, this comes up when you Google the term |
I Boasty Of Toasty
Now that it's dark and cold, and frequently wet, of a morning and evening, your modest artisan needs to keep his fragile bones warm, and had cast around looking for a very particular scarf. It had been knitted by Darling Daughter - Art?
- which Conrad feels is peculiarly unique behaviour for the youth of today. Knitting? Instead of playing XPox or Atara? Most odd.
Anway, Wonder Wifey dug it out of hiding. Art?
And it was MOST welcome both this morning and evening. The 24 Bus, you see <Mister Hand intervenes as this is where we came in>
* Yet he might have been crying on the inside.
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