Fauning About The Party

NO!  I Have Not Mis-spelled It
You are, after all, being typed at by the North-West's resident Spelling Inspector*.  The title is a deliberate pun, you see, because that's how I roll.  It's a play on "fawning", which is to display excessive and over-exaggerated praise and adulation, to the extent that onlookers feel sick.
     Are we up to speed on fawning?  Good, because now we change subjects entirely.  No, no, don't complain, just try to keep up; it's good mental exercise.
     Narnia!  The mystical land beyond ours invented by CS Lewis, which generations of British schoolkids are familiar with thanks to it being practically compulsory reading at primary school.  That's school for children aged eleven and under for any foreign chaps or chappesses reading these lines.  Even Milos, who hails from Slovakia, is familiar with Narnia, except he came to it via the films, which is kind of cheating a bit.
     Art?  A bit of mise en scene, please.

Note the lamp-post

     "Ah yes," I can hear you saying.  "He's flogging this Oh-So-British a bit hard today."
     Not at all!  The reason I only posted once yesterday is - you did realise I only posted once, didn't you? - because I went to a house party at Liam's with the theme of "Narnia".  Consequently I didn't get home - ah, you don't want to hear me blathering on about travel, do you?
     When I say "Narnia" the theme was more along the lines of "The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe", which is not a title you'll ever hear from the likes of Robert Ludlum.  There was food, also themed -

Please note that "Tumnus" has been APOSTROPHISED.  Thank you.

     And a blackboard sketch of Narnia as a map:

     There were also people in fancy dress:  Mr and Mrs Beaver, several Snow Queens, Susan, Edmund (Liam in pyjamas worrying he'd not put enough effort in), a chap with a cardboard wardrobe tied to his chest, and brave Daniel as Mister Tumnus, topless in the winter weather.
     No, you don't get photographs since I didn't ask anyone's permission.  You can see an old man in a suit, if you like.  Art?

Old man, in suit.

     As I explained to anyone who would listen, for a man normally dressed in tee shirt and jeans, this is pretty fancy.  Sadly the battery had died or you'd see twinkling lights on the tie.  I also caught up with Ian, talented muso currently in three bands - or is it four?

A wild and crazy guy.  And Ian.

     There were decorations up to enhance the theme, but the party-planners attempt to recreate a wardrobe dangling from the ceiling of the hallway unfortunately didn't work.  Still, remember that of lamp-posts -

No!  Not a giant toasting-fork.  Most of a lamp-post

     There you go.  Now that's the Intro sorted, let us proceed!

What's Wrong With This Picture?
I shall let you examine the photograph:

Take your time

     And the answer?
     Absolutely nothing!  The cat, you see, was away outside looking to rend small birds or rodents into present-sized chunks for depositing on the doorstep.  This meant I could eat my crumpets in peace**, sip my tea unbothered and, most relevant of all, do the crossword undisturbed.  As soon as Jenny got back in she inveigled - why yes I am still reading Dickens, how did you guess? - herself onto the table and inevitably on top of the paper.  Cue exasperated snort from Conrad and a cat being rapidly removed.
     Still, it was nice while it lasted.
     
Here's One I Made Earlier
If you recall, that phenomenon dubbed "The Office Christmas Meal" transpired on Friday evening at the Spice Lounge.  I hope I glossed over it quickly and amusingly, as there is little more tiresome to the sober than a load of the unsober having a good time, the insouciant swines.
     Anyway, I took a photo of the buildings outside as I liked the vista, and here it is.  Art?

     Concrete, glass, lights and a dark sky.  Conrad has about eight picrogrammes of poetry in his soul, so this photo probably accounts for his yearly quotient right there.  Besides, if I've taken it, you are surely going to get to see it.

Finally
Mum and Dad would like a word.

          "RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"

     It may not mean much in English, but it means an awful lot in Weasel.

Chin Chin!

*  A rank proudly held in his own head if nowhere else.
**  If you can count Edna hanging around, whimpering, because she wants to lick the plate, as "Peaceful".