Thinking And Stinking

Yes!  Both Apply To Your Humble Scribe

Well, certainly the former, and perhaps the latter.  

     But first! because I really don't want my face to appear by default on Facebook when this gets posted, I shall append -

 - what looks like Christine

     I hope you out there appreciate the unseen sacrifice and effort that goes into creating each and every BOOJUM!  Since there are so many new viewers I should explicate a bit.

     Okay.  First, Conrad - that's me, by the way, just to be clear - and yes I do frequently refer to myself in the third person for hilarious comic effect - and it is hilarious <Mister Hand intervenes to speed along what would otherwise take several pages> crash.  As a result, I have very little sense of smell.

Conrad.  Nose to scale

     This is one of Nature's little ironies, for, as you can see, my nose is clearly a defining feature.  Thus, I wish to apologise to all my colleagues at work, who may have been politely avoiding mention of how Conrad pongs a bit.  Art?

The grim evidence

     None of this is my fault, I assure you.  Do you believe me?

"Of course!"

     Thank you, fair lady with the Pudsey face.  What I mean to say is that our old washing machine seemed to be on it's way out and was not properly washing clothes, leaving a residual smell, and had been doing this for quite some time.  Conrad, of course, with his 99% ineffective nose, had no idea.  Friend, if I have sat next to you and smelled, do forgive me.

     So.  That's the "Stinking" part of this post explicated away.

Thinking - Or - "I Did It With Maths"

Some of our more recent readers may be worried, alarmed or even horrified at the frequency that things like, oh, thermonuclear weapons or zombies crop up on the blog.  Rest assured that we do vary the recipe a bit, usually to display indisputable evidence of how wickedly clever your humble scribe is, or to showcase Doctor Who or John Carpenter*.

     Today we feature a huge container of sweets.  Art?

Mine.  All mine.

     Given that Conrad is a six-foot sweet tooth in human form, he will fight you for these.  These are actually the winnings from our "Children In Need" day, where contestants were harrassed bullied persuaded by Anna -

The minx herself!

   - to guess how many sweets were in the jar.  Conrad, being remorselessly logical and analytical**, counted the layer at the bottom, worked out that they constituted a layer about as thick as his hand horizontally, then measured eleven hands from base to top, totalling 143.
     Actual total was 140 - I think I was thrown by the jar narrowing at the top.

The Thin End Of The Wedge
Or, where are you, Philip K. Dick, when we need you?
     Conrad has said this before, that PKD used to worry about the machines taking over, and not as a gigantic, skyscraper-sized robot marching down Main Street, bristling with laser cannon and missiles.  No, Phil used to worry about you coming down to breakfast, putting a crumpet into the toaster - only for said toaster to start giving you orders, telling you "This is how it is".  If you are not from the Pond of Eden you may substitute bread, bagels or bratwurst for the crumpet.
     PKD, behold!

Note your humble scribe keeping a safe distance

     This thing practically tiptoes into the lounge to inform you that the washing is done, and would you like a cup of tea and a biscuit?
     I am worried, very worried indeed.  If I fail to post tomorrow, you know why.

Operation Grapple
Or, yet another worrying example or Conrad's over-enthusiastic interest in the Bigger Bang.  You are probably blissfully unaware of Operation Grapple and after the following will probably wish you retained your state of innocence about thermonuclear weapons.
     For yea, verily, this is what that's about.  The UK had it's very own independent research programme into the hydrogen bomb that culminated in Op Grapple, back in the late Fifties.  Ah, those were the days!  Three radio stations, one television channel and petrol was thruppence ha'penny the gallon.

A thruppence
(This is idiomatic British for "Three pence")

     There was considerable political pressure for these tests to succeed, because back then having The World's Biggest Stick meant an awful lot.  There were, after all, an awful lot of Ruffians to take account of.  
     So, the Brits thoughtfully carried out their testing in the Pacific, because doing it at home would have scared the cows.  Thanks to being entirely separate from the South Canadians research, this was a bit of a hit-or-miss process and some tests were fizzles.  Finally we got great big multi-megaton explosions, causing British politicians of the time to swell with pride and the Sinisters to feel justifiably nervous.

A very inedible mushroom at Christmas Island 1957

And a halfpenny of that era

*  Both of whom are real.
**  My sinister alien parentage, I'm afraid