Terror From The Skis!

I DARE You To Make An Accusation Of A Spelling Mistake!
I dare you, for my finger is hovering over the button of my laser attack drone's peta-watt fusion-powered lasing tube, and the only limit is the horizon.
     Ah, that's stilled your squawking.  No, I did not mis-spell "Skies" in a senile replay of yesteryon's blog title.  Credit me with a smattering of intellect still.  Art?

Okay, no skis.  Still  - terror!

     I just went with the title for shizzle and giggle, and now find that, as so often, what I jibe at in jest turns out to have real-world consequences.  I suppose this trope of horror film is made where snow is plentiful in winter, as a kind of cheap background effect; I shall leave it to you to trawl IMDB for shooting locations for what follows, as I have a small, shrivelled social life to lead.  First up!

Note the singular title

     <sigh> Yes, the shark is being demonized again.  Clearly I have been slacking off in not promoting Sharks Are Our Friends of late.  I apologise, sharks.  There are also enough galeophobics out there to result in this -

A sequel.  Surely - this cannot be real, can it?

     Well, there appears to be a niche market for snow-shark films because other studios saw £££ and immediately joined in, for what's this?

Where will this madness end?  Where!

     Note the skis.  Or are they skateboards?  Wooden go-faster foot implements, anyway.  Our tale of terror is not yet complete, for - I bet you never thought I could sustain this theme for more than one illustration, didn't you? - we now have - 

Hmmm.  Seems oddly familiar ...

     I bet they're cheap to make, as all you need for most of the film are a few shoddily-created CGI fins cruising through the snow. And all the gore makes a wonderful contrast against all the pristine whiteness.  If only there were some way to work in Father Christmas ...

     Hey, motley, do you want to pop some corn and watch a scary film?  We can turn the lights off, and I'll light my face with a torch under my chin.

A Concatenation Of Information
It means "To join together, especially in a series" and of course it has Latin roots, which we're not going into here.
     The reason for this particular post is to up the word count <the awful truth courtesy Mister Hand!> GO AWAY YOU TRAITOROUS APPENDAGE!  

Mister Hand and I have words

As I was saying, the reason for this post is to explain away some of the words that spring up in my mind, unbidden.  Today another one sprang into proud existence as I strode back to my desk, and I sighed, knowing that it would rattle around my head all day until I got it written down on -
     Whoops.  Forgotten it.  Because my work is so incredibly difficult and busy all the time, I - hang on, let me just have a look for Mister Hand, this is usually the point where he interferes - didn't have time to remember it until ascending the elevator in the Arndale Centre.
     "What was it again - a 'Maquette'?"  Art!

Thus

     A Maquette is a small preliminary scale model of a sculpture or, more usually, an architectural design.  Those making them can study and see where there might be problems with the full-scale version, and where they've gone right.
     Yet no, that wasn't the word.
     Further ruminations.  "Palanquin"?  Art!

Thus

     I know it looks like G4's earliest-ever prison transport, yet this is what the wealthy in Asia were carried around in if they were moderately well-off, back in the day.  Only moderately well-off, because if they were wealthy they'd have a coach and horses, and the poor had to walk themselves.
     Still no.  Come on, brain, come on!

     Lightbulb moment.

     It was a "Catafalque".  Art?

Hay Pesto!

     This is a raised platform use to publically display the coffin or bier of a prominent person, usually a politician.  People can file past to pay their regards, or, more probably in the case of some politicians (we shall name no names), ensure that they're really, really dead and aren't coming back to life anytime soon, or ever.
     Now, the usual question, given that I've never filed past a catafalque, nor do I ever intend to, and there haven't been any lying-in-state events of late - why on earth did this particular word pop up in my brain?
     WHY, BRAIN, WHY!

"Brain remained smugly silent"

An Apprehensive Look At A Nursery Rhyme
I say "apprehensive" because last time we looked at "Rock A Bye Baby" it involved calling the police, and Child Services, and the fire brigade and an RAF ASR helicopter, and there were questions asked in the House*.
     So it is with a little trepidation that I cast a wary eye over some words that refer to "Bye Baby Bunting".  Let us cautiously proceed!

The tale begins

 

"Bye baby Bunting"

     Well, this is a worrying start.  That baby's not been left on it's own, has it?  Is the other parental unit in attendance?  If not, has a legally-approved child-minder been engaged until parents return? 

"Daddy's gone a-hunting"

O has he.  Are these parents aware that we have things called "Supermarkets" and even "Shops", where one can purchase comestibles, instead of going out into the forests?

Proof of SHOP

"To find a rabbit skin"

     I think a little basic biology is in order here.  Rabbits do not shed their skins in the same way that snakes do.  Daddy is, in fact, going to have to FIND AND KILL a fluffy cuddly bunny, which is a pretty ghastly concept for a children's nursery rhyme.

"To wrap a baby Bunting in"

     "Hello? Child Services?  Listen, there's a deranged man with a gun trying to smother a child with a bundle of bloody, furry rags -"

"Come to Daddy!"

     Nursery rhymes - a serious cause for concern.  What were your our ancestors thinking?

Finally -
You know Conrad, always active mentally and looking for interesting ways to divert the attention for a minute or two - er - okay, an hour or two - OKAY!  Whole days at a time!  There you are, happy now?
     AS I WAS SAYING - where was I? - O yes, Fourble.  Art?

Fourble's marque

     Degsy sent me a link to the above website, which lists dozens if not hundreds of radio programmes in podcasts going back to the Forties, in all sorts of genres.  Personally, I have my eye on "Air Adventures of Biggles".  What ho!
     Conrad: definitely not one of those people who rolls over and dies a week after retiring.





*  Do I need to explain this?  I do?  <mutters> it means that some  MPs got up in Parliament and gibbered about it.