An Embarrassment Of Riches

Or, What Then?
Somewhat earlier this afternoon I was pondering on where, exactly, to place a whole passel of fiction books that have been taking up floorspace until your humble scribe reaches a decision.  I opened up a pair of upper wardrobe doors that are rarely opened and - Hay Pesto!  Discovered a whole load of books, comics and magazines that had lain there undisturbed for possibly several years.  Art?

The haul

      Of course the temptation is to "just have a look" and we all know how that ends up - blinking blearily at the clock as it reads 1:30 ante meridian, with a clutch of books open at one's feet.* Actually I'm going to have to check that those military history ones are properly recorded in my ever-lengthening list of MH books, since I do not recall AT ALL ever purchasing one about "The Art of Warfare in the Age of Marlborough".  Life is tough, eh?

Dan Dare - my resolve is going to be tested NOT reading this

      These things are sent to try - well, maybe to try you, I actually enjoy this sort of activity.

      Now, time to send the motley through a hedge maze - pursued by a pack of rabid elephant seals!

Conrad: A Hair-splitting Pedant 8uiiiiii0---------

     <sorry, the cat just walked over my laptop keyboard>

Conrad: Adept At Tracking Down Technology-spurning Doomsday Cultists
For Yes!  we are back on 'The Omega Man' again, because your humble scribe cannot resist squeezing the last drop of artistic inspiration out of it's desiccated carcass.
     If you are not familiar with the film - and you should be, because it contains valuable guidance and pointers on how to survive when the Zombie Apocalypse arrives** - then be advised that Colonel Neville is pitted in battle against The Family; he seeks to find their 'nest' during daylight hours, so he can invite them all to a big party exterminate the lot of them.  Art?

After all, a party thrown by The Family is a bit - dull.

     Reciprocally, The Family come out come out wherev- sorry - they come out at night to try and render Mr. Neville extremely dead.  Neville's problem is that he can't find their central location.
     Okaaaaay.  Let's look at this via the lens of Conrad's Reductionist Logic.  The Family hate, HATE, HATE technology.  Unfortunately for them, they still need an average of 3 litres of water per day to survive.  With my previous estimate of 70 members of their diseased little tribe surviving, that means they need 75 tons of water per year just to survive.  There isn't any running water in the ruins of Los Angeles any more, and we also need to factor in - er - sanitary arrangements.  Given that The Family probably views the flush toilet as the Devil's Own Digestor, they aren't going to use hygenic plumbing.

Satan's sanitation!

     The one item which satisfies both issues is - the nearest river.  Ol' Nev needs only to watch the riverbanks for The Family members toting water containers, or hobbling cross-legged, and he can trail them back to their nest.
     This, of course, supposes that The Family actually bother to wash their septic skins, which might not be true - Soap Is Satan's Seduction! or somesuch - in which case Ol' Nev needs only follow his nose.***

My Just Reward
I shall harp on about dog-sitting Edna only infrequently from now on, or at least until the next time (probably July).  My sterling service and noble sacrifice for 8 days was rewarded - hey, it was a sacrifice!  I had to sit in the lounge and watch Netflix for a week! - was rewarded with the following.  Art?

     That's several different varieties of mustard to you, all from Dijon, which is famous for producing 'Moutarde' as the M8's call it.  Incidentally in the background is another previous gift, silicon rubber gloves in the shape of a cow's head.  Edna did not like these AT ALL to begin with, and would back off and bark wildly if they were used.  She has now accommodated them in her world-map of Things Humans Use.
      Then there is the second present, which made me laugh.  Art?

     It made me laugh.  I shall have to show this to Laura tomorrow, when I return to the Dark Tower and work, for she hails from Italy.  And perhaps also mention that brown bear they captured and accidentally killed, too, since one does not always associate Italy with brown bears.



*  Like demanding yet rewarding children.  There.  Who said I'm not poetic?
**  That's 'when', not 'if'.
***  No, they couldn't.  Bottled water was a rarity in 1975.