Terribly Terminal Toxophily

Ha!  No, It's Not The Study Of Poisons
Although the subject matter can be quite as lethal as guzzling a solution of cyanide.  "Toxophily" is the formal term for archery.
     In typical madcap style - what a scamp am I! - we shall now veer waaay off topic.
     The British, for those of you who are not they, are a somewhat odd island race whom have long been accustomed to doing things their way, which might better be capitalised as Their Way, as this strongly implies that any other way is, by default, wrong*.
     Since the Brits live on an island and have always had a whacking big navy, they can pick and choose whether or not they get involved in those periodic irruptions on the Continent when two neighbours get bored of peace and decide a bit of mayhem is the order of the day.
     "Is this rambling going anywhere?" I hear you quibble.
     Yes.  Be patient.  You can't have zombies, atom bombs and supernovae in every paragraph.  Besides, I have to cement BOOJUM!s Britishness with the audience <twirls moustache and cackles with a Queen's Received English accent>.
     "Cockpit of Europe" by Colonel Howard Green is what I'm reading at the moment.  Art?

In a pristine edition, too

     Not a cockpit in the sense you're thinking of, where one of the Brylcreem Boys** sits and intones "By command of Her Majesty's Government if you do not conform to my orders I WILL shoot your arse out of the sky."  Rather, a pit where cockerels would spar bloodily for their owners entertainment.
     I am reading about the battle of Crecy, 1346, and wish to quote the Colonel:

"Instantly the English archers, now standing up, took their one step forward and poured in that terrible fire of arrows, sustained, accurate and rapid, which had never been seen before in Continental warfare.  It was to become a legend in Europe."

This simply didn't happen!

     A short while later a lot of expired Frenchmen would rather that these foreign johnnies had stayed home.  The French crowned heads had defective memories because the exact same thing happened at Agincourt, 1415.  Being hit by these arrows has been calculated as being on par in energy terms as being shot with a .357 Magnum round.  Not good for your health.

 - but this did.

     Not surprisingly, the French do not enjoy talking about Crecy; having violent strangers turn up on your doorstep and wallop the living daylights out of you with a big stick will tend to have that effect.

"Make A Film Vegan"
Conrad stumbled across this Twitter group last night, and the light dawned upon him.  Partly because he'd turned the lamp on, yet also intellectually.  "Make A Film British" had been a transient Twitter page and they had moved on from "Bridge of Pies" and "Forbidden Thanet" to "Meatless The Fockers" and  - hang on, let's get a screenshot.

All my own work

     There you go, allow me to bask in the undoubted adulation of my adoring fans, both of them.
     Next!

"It's Only Funny If You Look Stern"
Conrad will be the first to admit he is not blessed with an overabundance of good looks.  Most of the time he merely looks sinister, until he smiles, when he looks, frankly, terrifyingly unhinged.  I shall add in a photo, or at least Art will IF HE CAN BE BOTHERED TO STOP EATING THE COAL, and hope that it's not the default one on Facebook:

     Your humble scribe is pretty rubbish at trying to smile and has long practiced a stony face when the office photos are being taken.  It amuses him to look - unamused.  Don't worry, he's laughing on the inside***.
     Hence this:

     The twonk behind me is Stephen, and this is very restrained for him.  Normally he'd be punching with one hand and ladling syrup with the other.
     Anyway, there I am, chuckling silently on the inside and wondering where the flamethrower fuel is.

An Enormous Screw
Tut!  Put those disgusting thoughts back in your head, this is BOOJUM! which is always SFW, although we did sail close to the wind once with a photograph of a lady statue's bottom.  Art?  Art!  ART PUT THAT BL***Y COAL DOWN!

     It's not a very good photo, for which I apologise.  I'll see if I can get a better one tomorrow.  I suppose I could have called it an "auger" as that's less smutty, if unlikely to draw in more traffic.

Right, we are at count, so I shall post and dash, as I've yet to have my tea, make lunch for tomorrow, and it's Pub Quiz at 9:00  - ah the hectic social whirl!

*  This is right.  I'm a Brit.  So it is.
**  Slightly mocking nickname for the RAF
***  That, or plotting to burn down the orphanage. It can be hard to tell.