Well, it might happen, or have happened, if Rochdale had really been over-run by the walking dead last Sunday. All those people who were fleeing in terror/having gentle exercise/doing a sponsored walk for charity (Delete where applicable) were not being screened for infection, nor directed into quarantine zones, nor being mown down indiscriminately by The Wicked Military. So if any of them were infected - and you just know that at least one of them has been bitten and is hiding their wound - then the next outbreak would be in Oldham itself.
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| Like this. BUT FOR REAL!!! |
Clerihew But Two
To continue in the vein of yesteryon, taking the mickey out of iconic South Canadian cowboy actors, let us proceed.
Gary Cooper
Got stuck in a pea-souper.
"These mists," he said, "Are a pest.
But are luckily rare out here in the West."
I know, I know, it's hardly the pinnacle of odium, but those South Canadians kind of revere Coop and I'm taking a calculated risk in being less than worshipful. Then we have:
Burt Lancaster
Had a Fender Telecaster.
He kept it hung upon a wall
Because he couldn't play guitar at all.
This one has the possibility of being true.
Then I got a bit stuck for iconic Western actors whose surname made it possible to create a rhyme - Jimmy Stewart, anyone? Or Audie Murphy? So I think that's it for this theme, at least for the moment.
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| Burt Lancaster. No - hang on - |
Right, there will now be a short pause as I feed the animals. Don't go away!
Yesterday's Fun And Frolics
As ever, I can count on at least 2 visitors to BOOJUM! whilst I continue to post about Edna Wunderhund.** These posts are somewhat retrospective, for no good reason, it's just how I roll.
So yesterday our longer afternoon walk was into a field off Tandle Hill Road, and another paddock we treat as practically our own private fiefdom, as I have never seen another person or dog present. A few horses in the distance and that's it. Edna has to be lifted over the ever-present mud on the road side of the stile, a process she will tolerate, if barely.
Conrad came equipped with a ball, in order to play fetch. Observe.
Edna treated it with the contempt reserved for war criminals who've just murdered a busload of nuns, en route to drown a sackful of kittens. She's red hot at playing this game in the lounge, where there is considerable risk of hitting a delicate and breakable item; out in the open, not so much.
I did persevere, only for her contempt to become open scorn. If you translated her non-verbal language into English, it would be "Tch. Again? Really?"
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| "Please explain this difficult technical concept you humans call 'Fetch'." |
Here she is, resting and probably sulking, too, as she was deprived - O! those Wicked Humans! - of the chance to prance through a small swamp at the stile.
Ynys Gifftan
Another in our series about tidal islands of the UK, because I happen to think it's a cool subject, and you lot out there need further proof of the Allotment of Eden being all Eden-ish.
I'm not entirely sure how we got here, although I do know why. Conrad was expostulating recently about how deficient in terms of inspiration bus posters are at present, especially that Giff Gaff one. This is partly a result of Conrad's inherent mistrust and dislike of mobile phones - the Cells of Satan, if you will - and the apparent relation of Giff Gaff to the Devil Box.
None of this, of course, has anything to do with British tidal islands. It wouldn't be BOOJUM! if it did.
So! Ynys Gifftan. Art?
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| Accessible Ynys |
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| Isolated Ynys |
Later!
* "The Zombie Survival Guide"
** Wonder Wifey and that Degsy chap
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