Tok Jo!

Which, As You Ought To Know
 - is the Hungarian for "Perfectly Good".  Why Hungarian?  Why not!  I'm talking about the blog, in case you were wondering or baffled or both, because of Carol.

Nice try, Art.  Let me just get my Tazer ...

     I may not have mentioned Carol before.  She has a bad habit of starting to say something and then tailing off, as if not convinced that anyone else wants to hear what she has to say.  We do, Carol, we do*!
     She also appears to have read BOOJUM! for the first time and stated on Facebook that she "got lost along the way".  

The map she used.  O Carol!

     This is permissible.  Coming cold to a blog whose constant features are zombies, atom bombs, alternatively-titled countries and an editorial staff that consists of The Subconscious, Memory and a coal-chewing semi-human sump-lover can - er - leave one a tad confused.  Which, again, is fine.  After all, the only person this collection of scrivel needs to make sense to is Conrad - i.e. me.  The rest of you might be bemused, annoyed or worried - did you realise there were such things as Giant Otters? - but as long as I make sense to me, all is well.
     And I still insist that you can never have too many pens.

Come To My Aid With - Lucozade?
That default description on Facebook is a bit of a bind.  I feel obliged to throw in asides about astronomy and, topically, bus posters.  These are easily visible from my vantage point in the lounge.  Art? (he's the sump-dweller).

My view

     They are not very inspiring of late.  Most posters feature either "The Boss Baby" or "Power Rangers", whom I have critically savaged previously.  And - Lucozade.
     Here an aside.  Looking at the soggy scenario depicted in the photograph above, you'd be hard-pressed to believe your humble scribe got sunburned at the weekend; I ask you, sunburn in early April?  Truly the end times are come upon us.

Go on, taunt me.

     For those of you unaware, Lucozade is a carbonated soft drink with added glucose, meaning another thing on my list of Things I Can No Longer Have, which is supposed to give you a sugar boost.
     Really!  <said in a tone of righteous indignation> Can you not give a man something to work with?  And no, 'Prettylittlething' will not suffice for a man who is neither of the first two.

The Bowler Hat
You can't get more British than that!
     Then again ...  Apparently the Bowler Hat, which the South Canadians mislabel as a "derby", and which I will only ever call a Bowler Hat, was more popular in the Old West than the stetson.  I think I can see a reason for this.  Art? 

A hat

     As you can see, there is a fair amount of aerodynamic surface here, which will act as a lifting surface in the event of a gust of wind arriving.  Nor is the top bit - no idea what to call it and can't be bothered looking - exactly designed to allow the free passage of air over it.  A gust of wind hitting that vertical surface would act to remove said hat from the wearer's head.  Now, the bowler - 

Another hat

     As you can see, the smooth lines of the bowler allow wind to pass over it without any disturbances, and the horizontal surface is further scalloped to break up airflow and prevent action as an aerofoil.
     Now, the old cliche is that bowler hats are worn by city gents, who also carried an umbrella and a briefcase.  Art?

 - and who fought crime with the assistance of glamourous sidekicks

     Although it had earlier been the hat of choice for working-class chaps in the Allotment of Eden.  Yes, it's the Allotment today, the rain has stopped and the sun has come out.

Finally
Because we need another short article to get to count, a clerihew is called for!  Whom shall we insult today?  

Sir Isaac Newton

Never used a futon.

Instead, a four-poster bed

Is where he lay his sleeping head.

     That wasn't very insulting, was it?   Come on, Conrad, try harder.  Oooh!  I know!

Kim Jong-Il

Never used a quill

In fact he could not even write

The lad, frankly, was not too bright.

     There you go, all his troubles can be laid directly at the feet of NOT HAVING ENOUGH PENS.

Look - all that pocket and NOT A SINGLE PEN!
I  rest my case.

*  For the record, Carol is more a Grisly Murder Novel than a Mills & Boon reader