You Won''t See This Every Day -

A Dog Wearing A Onesie
This hearkens back to 2015, after Edna had experienced her operation and needed to be kept from her stitches for 10 days.  The choice was either that ghastly conical headwear, or pyjamas. Art?

The chastened victim

     We went with pyjamas for the comedy value, I think, as she tried to wriggle her way out of them, unsuccessfully.  Also visible above is The Neighbour's Nemesis, an annoyingly high-pitched squeaky toy.
     Anyway, that has nothing to do with what I really wanted to show you.  Art?

This girl is, indeed, gone.  And she's not coming back.

     I don't see any point in keeping it, now that I know what the plot twist is*.  Neither of the two main characters are remotely likeable; Nick is a hormone-driven idiot and Amy is a primping sociopath, who is nowhere near as brilliant as she believes.  Plus there are gaping plot holes.  So in the bin it goes!  And in the bin it stays!  I can now inform Wonder Wifey that I don't keep all the books I buy, though this perhaps is the exception that really proves the rule.

Lunch Is Sorted
Ah yes, as we all know, Conrad is a glutton of the first order, and also a skinflint and a coward - this last will come into play later on.  So, when he saw a platter of sandwiches retailing for £2.35 instead of £6, it was a no-brainer.  

     They're all gone now, having been lunch and dinner as well.
     Not really earth-shaking news, yet it does give you an insight into how your modest artisan's mind works**.

About The "Coward" Bit a.k.a. You Won't See This Everyday, Either
Conrad is not one for physical labour.  Not because he maintains any snobbish notions about class and working with one's hands, merely because he is both idle and aged.  I think one is the consequence of the other; your humble scribe's mental acuity isn't in question, at least not yet.  Witness the Cryptic and Codeword, completed by my own fair hand.

Extra-large to gloast extra-hard

     Feeling somewhat challenged earlier in the week, I committed myself to weeding the path that runs down the side of The Mansion, which we do not use.  This task would require more than sipping from a Delft cup and nonchalantly tickling the earth with a hand-trowel.  For witness - 

Before

     As you can see, it's so overgrown there could be triffids in there.  
     "A fascinating tribute to the sheer fecundity of the Allotment in summer," I hear you sneer.  "What about the coward bit?"
     My secret shame.  Not only am I terrified of hypodermic needles***, I also shriek with terror at the sight of a spider.  There is a sliding scale of shriek, which increases in volume depending on how fast and large said arachnid is.
     Where were all the spiders in the North West of the Allotment hiding?  That's right, in The Mansion's lush undergrowth.
     Still, before I bowed out with exhaustion, your aged and idle author did manage something.  Art?

During

     At this point I retired, having made one million spiders homeless.

Poisoned!   Poisoned, I Say!
No, not me.  Your human poisons simply don't work on an alien metabolism.  No, what I mean, at the risk of creating controversy, is to float the idea that Political Correctness, that scourge of the modern world, seriously infected Hollywood in the Eighties.  It is only because the Star Trek template is a robust one that it survived.
     Take the Mission Brief of James T. Kirk in the original:  FIGHT! SHAG! DRINK! although not necessarily in that order.  There was a Captain's Supplemental to the FIGHT! - take your shirt off.

Proof!

     If Ol' Jim came across a Klingon, what would he do?  FIGHT! With knife, fist or phaser.
     Note the crew on the original Enterprise's bridge - a mass of manly men meaning mayhem, with Uhuru to answer the phone.
     What did The Next Generation have?  An empath.  "I feel your pain" - well yes because in the original series that's because you have a photon torpedo parked up your posterior, or a giant spear protruding from yer innards.  What does TNG have?  A round-table discussion to draw up a six-point action plan of gradually staged and proportional response - bah!

Yes, you, madam.

      I suppose in a confrontational crisis their pet Klingon would rant a bit and pull out a horribly deformed sword. Way to go, Mister Wharf - in an era where there are hand-held energy weapons that can hit anything visible, out to the curve of the horizon.

No tasteless jokes here.

     I've got more to say on this topic, and I will!



*  Amy plotted it all.  There.
**  It does work, just not the same as yours.
***  I pray daily that those Star Trek spray-injectors get invented soon.