A Barrage Of Books

I Don't Think I Can Convincingly Work Dogs Into This Anywhere

(Sorry, Shelli*)  As you should surely know by now, Conrad has lots of books, and is always seeking to acquire more, with the proviso that if he buys another, he has to get rid of one.  I have a couple of hefty tomes waiting to go to the charity shops; an atlas I've not used for years and which probably still has 'Yugoslavia' and 'Czechoslovakia' as going entities.  In fact ...

<short pause as our favourite pedantic hair-splitter checks>

     Well there you go, both those country's separation has been acknowledged HOWEVER! they still have 'Sudan' as a single monolithic entity, which I can prove.  Art!

     Grounds enough for binning.  The other weighty volume is a Reverse Dictionary that I've never even cracked open, as Your Humble Scribe is quite content with his trusty Collins Concise.

     ANYWAY as you should further be aware, Conrad has, over the years, acquired nearly all of the Official History Of The First Unpleasantness Military Operations (just missing 'Togoland and The Cameroons'), which took up most of a bookcase by the window.  Since some of these works are a century old, they were draped in a blanket to keep the sunshine off.  Wonder Wifey, as she so often does, saw a simple solution - switch them to the tall bookcase by the door, well away from sunlight.

     'Simple' should perhaps have been 'relatively simple' because this process involved shifting about two hundred books.  Art!

The horror of a naked book-case!

     The OHs fitted in quite comfortably, with a little room left over for future expansion.  Art!

Drum roll and cymbal crash

     Getting the books fitted into the other book-case was considerably trickier, since the shelves are permanently fixed and cannot take any volume over 9" high, meaning lots of stuff crammed onto the top shelf.  With a little jiggery pokery we managed.  Art!

Not enough books!

     You may be able to discern the indication of another incredibly time-wasting hobby that Your Modest Artisan undertakes now and then: a jigsaw.  This was gifted to yours truly from Wonder Wifey; no great loss as she has eleven of her own to get through.  Shall I show you the rest of it?  Of course I shall.  Art!

How very apt

     As you can tell from the background, I started this before moving my books around.   The edge and corner pieces have all been selected out and I shall be wasting spending time later this evening on putting it together.  O my wild wild rock 'n' roll lifestyle, hmmm?  Motley!  Warm up my slippers and put tobacco in the pipe, won't you?

Conrad Snaps His Fingers At The Coincidence Hydra

Ah, the confidence that comes of wearing armoured underpants!  No longer do my nethers get gnashed by the multi-headed horror, and it's altogether too dim to get diamond-tips for it's fangs.  I don't think it has the capital to buy them, either.

     ANYWAY as you should surely know by now, Conrad has been watching a post-apocalyptic Belgian drama "Into The Night".  That is, it's now post-apocalyptic, for the first season it was during the apocalypse.  And this is the first time I'd ever seen the actor who plays Ayaz, the Turkish gangster: Mehmet Kurtulus.  Art!

     Now, because Conrad has the attention span of a flea on an intravenous drip of amphetamine sulphate**, he also decided to start watching "The Protector", which is a kind of superhero thriller, most unusually set in Istanbul.  Yes, it's Turkish, with English subtitles thankfully, as Turkish the language is a closed book to yours truly.  It's quite a blast, and there are four seasons of it.

     ANYWAY who crops up as a fixer, killer and all-round villain of the piece?  Art!

     Matey, that's who.  What are the chances of that happening?

     (Rhetorical question, you don't need to work out the percentages).

From "Protector" To "Tormentor"

Time for another instalment of your favourite, much-loved, worthy, thrilling <long boastful screed edited out by Mister Hand> because nobody's bothered to criticise it.  Here we go!

‘It doesn’t move around,’ observed Jen.  ‘At least not from that grave, I mean it does sort of judder all over all the time.  D’you think it’s body got buried there?’

               Louis gave an exasperated sigh.

               ‘Jen, how would I know?  I’m just as much a novice at this as you are.  Why don’t you invite Marjory over to answer more questions?’

               ‘Can’t.  She can’t travel far or for long.  Bit weak in the ectoplasm if you ask me.’

               Before he could come back with a retort that ectoplasm didn’t exist, he remembered what the Reverend Sharples said:  a meeting with Father Geoghan tomorrow morning.

               ‘Okay, okay, tomorrow I’ll ask a human being who might have the answers.’

              

Most of Sunday evening was occupied with marking college course work, planning for next term and skimming over the library books.  Catholic theology seemed particularly abstruse and complex when you studied it out of need, instead of having it inflicted as compulsory.  Louis took a couple of books to bed with him, then fell asleep reading.

               That thing in the cemetery turned up in his dream, of course.  This time it did lurch off it’s tombstone, coming after him, and he found his footsteps dragging in terrifying slow motion whilst he struggled to reach the cemetery gate.

               ‘Wake up,’ came a voice from a long way off, echoing slightly, sounding concerned.  When Louis rubbed a forearm across his face and woke, the bedside lamp was off, both books stacked on the table, pages folded down to indicate his place.

               ‘Whew.  Thanks,’ he said, heartfelt.  No sign of Jen.  One quick drink of water later, he got back to sleep and managed to avoid any further dreams.

On A Scale Of One To Ten -

How Dangerous Is This Lighthouse?  Art!

     Conrad has a smattering of knowledge about this lighthouse already, so I'll give it a solid 9 out of 10 on the Dangerous scale.  Bishop Rock stands off the Scilly Isles, and is one of the remotest, desolate and forlorn lighthouses in the world.  The waters around it are unpredictably treacherous and getting to and from it is an exercise in sheer terror.  Art!

     Like all of This Sceptred Isle's lighthouses, this one is now automated and has been for the past thirty years, so scenes like that above simply don't happen, as maintenance crews arrive and depart by helicopter.  Art!

     Conrad wonders how they got the helipad on top there?  And, whilst on the subject of helicopters: in "Into The Night" why hasn't Sylvie, a helicopter pilot by trade, sought out one of the whirlybirds to travel in, rather than by jeep?  They can go further and faster than any wheeled transport, and could land right next to the refuge.

"We heard there was a plot hole"

Finally -

Bah, this is annoying!  Your Humble Scribe was pondering about going into Royton to drop those books off, and get 1) Limes  2) Greek yoghurt and 3) - I've completely forgotten since it's not written down.  If it's not written down it doesn't exist in my world.   The consequence of being a grumpy old dinosaur with calcified brain cells.  Of course - obviously! - if I go and get those above and return home, THEN I'll remember what Item 3 was.

*  You remember, the girl with a cello.  Kind of Shello.

**  Yes, it's a strained analogy.  Work with me here!