The Jig Is Up

And Also Down.  And Around.

For Lo!  

 Let me just scope around and find something that will draw in the young folk, or the extremely old folk with very good taste who saw this farrago in the Fifties -

Can't read it?  TOO BAD!  Go buy the original.

Your Humble Scribe has - after having ten days holiday during which he paid exactly 0% attention to his jigsaw puzzle - begun ordering the various parts into one harmonious whole.

     After, mind you, emptying said box of pieces across the floor, onto the chair, under the chair, across the shelves, on the shelves, under the shelves, into fifth dimensional interstitial time across from here to the Andromeda Galaxy - yes, I dropped the box <sad face>.  Hey, I may be a master with the English language, I never claimed to be gainly or balanced!

     For those who are curious, the strange white pattern in the background of above is where Your Modest Artisan was spray-painting his Little Metal Soldiers/Historical Military Miniatures in preparation for painting.

Conrad, busy plotting world domination.

     Where were we? O yes.  Jigs, as in jigsaws.  Conrad will have to go through the entire box again, in order to determine what's missing from the table, and the kicker is, if anything *is* missing, it will require a sustained grovel at ground level to determine where the missing pieces are.  O my awful life.

     Motley!  You put on the luminous running shirt, and I'll give you a ten-second lead before the bait-catapult and TNT icecubes get used.

"Hey!  I object to that! I - HECK -" <ducks>

A Dabble In A Different Pond

And then some!  As we all know by now, Your Humble Scribe is no sportsman, and cheerfully loathes the ballfoot game, which attitude is punishable in some countries with serious jail time.  So it was with a touch of mystification that I read a BBC article about cricketer James Anderson (no relation to Gerry that I know of).  Let's get into detail, shall we*?

Jim

     His fame derives from the fact that he has taken 600 wickets, which normally would be cause for police to investigate theft, except this is cricket, where logic and reason are suspended.  Let us boost both mystification and word count with a couple of quotes:  "The 38-year-old achieved the milestone by having Azhar Ali caught at first slip on the fifth day of the final Test against Pakistan at the Ageas Bowl."

     O did he indeed.  "First slip"?  You what?  Why is 'Test' capitalised?  What is 'Ageas'?

     "Anderson began the third Test in Southampton on 593 wickets and bowled beautifully, exhibiting his mastery of swing and seam."

     Is he now a dancer?  What's going on here!  Truly, who would have believed that knocking a small, leather-coated ball with a piece of willow could get so unfathomable.

And, at £50 a go, expensive

     Cricket.  Really!

O Marketa!

Of course I'm not going to post either a picture or her surname, as I cannot trust you slobbering pervoid letches.  Suffice it to know that we have another of her must-have Czech words that prove how literate and urbane one is, in Bohemia to boot.  What do you have for us today, Marketa?

"Kecal": someone who doesn't tell the truth.

     Well well well!  Of course this doesn't apply to Conrad, who always tells the truth.  Actually that was a lie.  Or was that the lie?  Ah me, the truth; always a slippery concept at the best of times, and frequently a lot more boring than an intriguing lie.

Don't go Kecalling me.

Conrad Bites His Tongue

Doubtless you have seen the news that our government wishes to cut costs by getting rid of tanks.  A main battle tank is a big-ticket item that costs several million pounds, so our politicians and the Treasury staff are probably rubbing their hands with glee at the prospect of a windfall -

     NO!  Bad Conrad!  Naughty Conrad!  We avoid Politics and Current Affairs and this is both rolled into one -

     <goes to find a club with which to hit things>

The mighty Chally.
(We may have invented the tank; it's the French who got the shape right)

     Peter Hart, historical writer, tour guide (and member of punk band Those Naughty Lumps) and Tweeter is frothing with righteous hatred at this news and lays it all at the feet of Tsar Putin.  Steady on, Pete, don't have a myocardial infarction!

     There will now be a short pause as I go to take that pizza out of the oven.  It's quite a hefty thing and I don't know if I'll manage the whole lot.  And NO, Edna, given that you were sick earlier in the week, you cannot help with it <you will have to imagine Edna's sad, sad face because I'm on the phones today and my mobile is engaged with my works laptop>

Doleful dog from 2017

Finally -

The sunshine appears to have held, O frabjous day.  Perhaps the despondent dog above will get a walk today, as nobody - including her - fancied going for a swim yesterday.  Whoever would have believed that global warming would render This Sceptred Isle so wet?

     Well well well - the BBC has a topical item on whether you can work remotely from abroad, which is a question both colleagues Ion and Hazera raised a few months ago, their beady eyes fixed on Spain and Romania respectively.  The unequivocal answer from Sue Our Number Two was "No!" as it raises all sorts of tax implications, which is exactly what the BBC item confirms.  You might end up paying two lots of tax, when one is quite enough, thanks very much.  Oh, apparently Barbados is willing to let people do this.  As long as you fork over £2,000.

There are compensations ...

     And that's us done!

*  Yes we shall.  That was the living definition of a rhetorical question.