Spring Is In The Air

 I Was Being Ironic

Or poetic, or metaphorical, or ironic, or something witty.  For, of course - obviously! - spring is very definitely not in the air, the nights are getting longer, the days are getting shorter, the temperature is dropping (Good!) and the mists are rising.

     "What do you mean, then, you poisonous old duffer?" I hear you call.  Pausing only to point out that you should be saying "Venomous", I shall explicate.  Art?

Inhabitants not springy nor sprightly

     Let us cast our minds back to the eighteenth century, where a recently-dug grave has been filled in over the coffin, the wreaths have been laid, the mourners departed and the cemetery gates shut with a dismal and resounding 'clang'.  The shades of night begin to fall, an owl hoots, bats flitter and - what's this?  A pair of skulking ragged figures come creeping over the cemetery wall, carrying shovels and sacks and a dark lantern: resurrection men*!

     A tremendous BANG rends the air, there is a bright flash to accompany it, and one of the villains shuffles rather hastily off this mortal coil, as his terrified accomplice clears the wall like an Olympic hurdler.

     Ladies and gentlemen and those unsure, allow me to introduce The Spring Gun.  Art?

     This was a variety of weapon, frequently a shotgun variant, which would be triggered if a string or wire was contacted with sufficient force, afflicting the trespasser with lead shot.  They were often used to deter or prevent poaching, as the owners of game felt quite proprietorial about them; and also to protect the bodies in graveyards, whom (as observed above) lacked sufficient animation to manage the matter themselves**.  For good or ill, they were outlawed in This Sceptred Isle in 1827, so Mister Boythorn, a minor character in "Bleak House", who claims to have put them out to prevent trespassing on his estate, is either breaking the law or cracking a joke.  Probably the latter, as his bark is infinitely worse than his bite.

Say hello to my little friend

     The idea of spring-guns never went away, to the consternation of those in modern times who have attempted burglary, only to encounter a spring-gun; and to the embarrassment of those who set the weapon, who then encounter the law.  For this latter reason wiser folks use rock-salt or riot-rounds, rather than high-explosive, armour-piercing or plutonium ones.
     Motley!  The antidote is upstairs in the bathroom.  Mind where you tread, I've booby-trapped three steps on the stairs, and you only have sixty seconds before the venom -

Guilty Pleasures

Except I refuse to apologise!  Your Humble Scribe has been re-watching "Dawn Of The Dead", which is available for FREE! on Youtube.  It deservedly scores very highly in all sorts of polls and votes about Best Zombie Movie Evah, and we ought to have a click-baity picture or two to tempt passing traffic inside.  Art!

"Roger's hangover was eleven on a ten scale."

     

When The Toilet Paper Ran Out

     Conrad really likes the opening reel and those scenes set in the television studio, where things are gradually descending into chaos as society unravels.  Perhaps I should have taken pictures.

     What I wanted to do afterwards was quantify what happened to the biker gang who attack our protagonists; that is, because I am a bean-counting anorak of the first water, how many were there to begin with, and how many got away?

I count 15 here

     <Conrad groans as he knows what he's like> I bet you anything that several hours this weekend will be spent with video playback on 0.25 speed, notepad, pen and camera.  Art?

You know, they could do with a few spring guns ...

If I Were To Say "B.O.T.W."

Then you might well imagine I was referring to that well known music venue in Gomorrah-on-the-Irwell, "Band On The Wall".  Your Humble Scribe passed by it quite frequently when he worked at the Electric Goldfish Bowl.  Art?

     You might imagine that.  You'd be WRONG.  For Lo! it is time to reduce Slimey and Garglefunk to tears once more with Part 2 of our Little Musical Critique of "Bridge Over Troubled Water", ha-har!

When you're down and out,

CAUTION!  Carlsberg Special Brew should not be consumed by the quart

When you're on the street,

Vertical?  Horizontal?  Enquiring minds need to know

(Also see above)

When evening falls so hard

Careful now, this sounds like a mockery of "A Hard Day's Night"

I will comfort you.

Thank you.  Cleanliness means a lot.

I'll take your part.

HEY NOW!  We don't know each other that well!

When darkness comes

This varies considerably by year & season.  Can't you just commit to a specific time?

And pain is all around,

The pain is because you took my part!

Like a bridge over troubled water

I refer you to Bill Bailey -

I will lay me down.

 - and his Bailey Bridge

     I think we've made them cry enough for one day.  Next!

Heaven-Bound

There, or the hot place.  For Lo! we are again having a disbelieving look at people tempting Fate, death and dismemberment in the pursuit of chopping wood.  Not for these people the simple, safe - er, 'relatively safe' as they would very likely end up minus anatomical extremities - straightforward method of chopping up wood with an axe.  O no.  Art?

     Rather than a rotary blade action, with this particular Infernal Engine the blade remains static, lumber is held against it, and a reciprocating arm slams into it with such force that the wood is split open.

     Once again, note the complete absence of any gates, guards or guides.  The on/off switch is yards from the danger zone.  The chap nearest the camera isn't even wearing gloves, and his feet are protected by nothing more than cheap trainers; the fact that he's wearing a t-shirt with short sleeves is probably down to nothing more than warm weather rather than any snivelling notions of safety.

     Egad!

Finally -

Conrad did the MEN's Cryptic Crossword in 20 minutes, because I'm so good, and then perused the contents to see if there was anything worth tracking down and defining for BOOJUM!  The only choice was "SEETHE" which you well know means to froth, of a boiling liquid, and to be in a paroxysm of rage, of a person.  Where does it come from?  The trail only goes back to Anglo-Saxon and "Seothan", which means "To keep boiling".  And - that's it?  That's all?  No more?  O that's annoying.  Irksome.  Almost makes one -

     And with that we are done!

*  Nothing to do with zombies.  Sorry.  They stole recently buried bodies to sell to medical professionals.

**  If they had, we'd be worrying about them more than poachers.