Although it does involve Thomas Pynchon, so you are 2.57% correct.
Conrad has to apologise to Mandy first of all, as her stomach was being querulous today and she was sick, which got a predictable "point-and-laugh" response from your humble (and horrid) scribe. Nor was she happy about eating her Muller yoghurt, so before she could finish the sentence "Would you like to -" it was already halfway down Conrad's gullet.
Hate to see food get wasted.
Anyway, in "Gravity's Rainbow" an American character enquires of a little olde Englishe ladye* and the "Slimy Elm" sweets she's been crafting by hand.
"Oooh, no," she corrects him. " 'Slippery' Elm." Wartime, you see, all sorts of rationing restrictions in place, which means the British -
Hate to see food get wasted.
| You're not selling it, matey |
Which is where I'm going with this lot. Last night I re-discovered a packet of remaindered Honey Roast Ham at the bottom of the fridge, which is like finding a fiver in what you thought was an empty wallet. The packaging, true, was bulging outwards in a manner that bespoke interesting and exciting things going on inside, at least until I popped it with a knife. Then it was try-some-and-see-if-tomorrow-arrives, and here I am so it must have been okay to eat.
Hate to see food get wasted.
| Sounds DELICIOUS |
Jenny and Edna, Cyborg Sentry Cat and Mobile Alarm System respectively, were under my feet every millisecond that ham was exposed to air. Give them some? No ruddy fear! If either of them fell ill it would be more than my life's worth. No, I ate it alone, as I did at lunch today, and here I am so it was still okay to eat, for all that it was, indeed, slimy ham.
| Creating a theme here |
Regretfully I do not have a photograph of this repellently glistening viand**, which is good for you as seeing it would probably cause nausea and dry retching. Oh, and tonight I've been dining on a remaindered Pork In White Wine Sauce that was date-expired on 29th October. We'll see if the expiring also applies to
Coda: I am typing this the next evening, hale and hearty. My remaindered chicken slices were a little moist yet nothing like the old slimy ham.
Stick With Me On This
As you surely know by now, Conrad's mordant, saturnine spirits are lifted of a morning by listening to The Flophouse podcast, usually entirely divorced from whatever cinematic sewage they are riffing on. Hearing them skewer "Knowing" was a slightly surreal experience, and I had to ask Degsy if this was the same film they were discussing as they were five minutes prior, fearing that he'd accidentally forwarded the pen drive. It goes from being a dark thriller about predictions of accidents, then with appalling rapidity to the end of the world in a solar flare and angels who are aliens coming in to rescue the children. "Childhood's End" it is not.
 |
| Run, run as fast as you can - |
The adults are doomed, yet not their children, which
| Wings! How silly! Mind you, I'm not telling him that. |
Over on Twitter, Al Murray whom you might know better in his alter ego of The Pub Landlord, and whom is also something of a drummer, posted a photo of an item of kit called an "i-Tap".
Conrad, who is innately suspicious of everything digital, wondered what on earth it was.
"Why didn't you just Google it?" I can hear you bleating***.
Because that would be cheating if I can instead ask Liam at work, who is a drummer by hobby.
 |
| Add caption |
* All those "e"'s add extra authenticity.
** "Slimy ham" <translation from Pseud courtesy Mister Hand>
*** Or, that might be the sentient sheep in the Upper Dungeon. It's for their own good.
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