Kind Of
When I say 'kind of', then you know I mean 'Only in the narrowest sense possible with a following wind if you squint through one eye after having a snifter or two of gin'. That kind of 'kind of'.
This is all a function of yesteryon's The Metro Cryptic Crossword, and that clue (CLUE? CLUE! I'LL GIVE YOU "CLUE"!!) 'A diminutive person, literally (11)'. Your Humble Scribe had to cheat and refer to Wordsearch. The answer?
Hmmmmm I'll keep that in reserve and torment you that way for a while*. Art!
Conrad remembers studying this work when he did English "A" Level Literature, about thirty-odd years ago. So, the crossword solution was "LILLIPUTIAN", at which I was grinding my teeth with barely-suppressed rage, and also a twinge of respect for the compiler (so no Remote Nuclear Detonator for them).
"Yes yes yes," I hear you quail. "What about The Who?"
Well, first of all remember that they used to call themselves The High Numbers, which is fitting in light of what's about to come. Art!
Moon looking especially dangerous
Annnnnnd back to Jonathan Swift. The Lilliputians, you surely recall, were very, very small - see the book cover above - when compared to Gulliver. Hence that crossword clue. In the land of Brobdignag, conversely, Ol' Gully was minute in comparison to the locals, to the extent of being mistaken for a performing frog by one of the monarchy. Art!
"Yes yes yes, but - The Who?" I hear you quibble.
BE QUIET! Also, BE PATIENT. I warn you, my Remote Nuclear Detonator needs a good solid test.
Where were we? O yes -
Another of Ol' Gully's excursions is to the flying city of Laputa, which is depicted as being full of scientists conducting ridiculous and absurd research, like seeing if you can lick peanut butter off a nettle without getting stung**. Art!
Here an aside. Conrad loves loves loves the 'Okie' quadrology of sci-fi novels by James Blish, which feature none other than flying cities, a combination of spaceship and accommodation, with various technologies that they hire out to human civilisations across the galactic lens. Art!
Laputa, circa 2,500 AD
Now, if you'll only stop snivelling about The Who - and you can see why 'The High Numbers' was so apt a name - allow Conrad to put forward their song "Armenia, City In The Sky' about a flying city. Also, it's pronounced "Are-men-eeyah" not "Are-meen-iyah".
There you go, incontestible truth about today's title. Motley, bring out the jars of preserves, for we are going to have a jam session!
I Fear Not
Your Humble Scribe refers, of course - obviously! - to the Coincidence Hydra, and not to spiders, which scare the purple moo-moo out of him, and which are not deterred or diverted by CH-proof tungsten underwear.
ANYWAY what have I been banging on about today but Estonia? And, skirting around the waters of Politics and Current Affairs, what does the BBC feature today?
At a further news conference with the Estonian prime minister and the Nato secretary-general in the Estonian capital Tallinn, Mr Johnson said
"I take all my fashion lessons from Conrad, which is why I look the way I do."
NO! Leave the satire to Jonathan Swift, Conrad. Be strong and resist the urge to mock. Art!
Swifty looking somewhat smug
I Rather Think It's Time To Torment
Yet more of my long-form fiction entry for NANWRIMO, and don't forget, it may not have swear words in it, nor hanky-panky, yet it does have PANT-WETTING TERROR built in as standard. Just so you know. I doubt anybody will be letting their tender-years offspring read this scrivel but you never know. "I Was Ruined By Conrad's Concoction" might be a future headline.
He
left the papers in the lounge, stacked on top of the music centre, then logged
onto the internet and did his ordering.
Another ready meal later, he idly wondered if spirits were any good at
cooking dinner.
No! That was a bit naughty, letting others do his
work for him. If God did exist, and
Louis’s opinions on this matter had undergone a worrying collapse of certainty,
then exploiting the immortal souls of the deceased probably wouldn’t go down
too well on Judgement Day.
An awareness of spirit presence
swept over him.
‘Is that you, Professor?’ he
called out, keeping his voice low.
Living in a mid-terrace presented problems for the spirit-enabled; talk
too loudly and they would start to ask questions.
Abruptly, the Professor appeared
in the far corner of the room.
‘So you can detect a spirit
presence, even when invisible!’
‘Only up to a point.’ He explained about the spirit in the control
booth at college. The Professor took his
hat off, which seemed to indicate a lecture.
‘I know why I didn’t pick up on his true nature. Distance, and separation.’ There.
Lecture forestalled.
‘I would caution you not to get
involved in any further scientific endeavours,’ began the spirit. Okay, lecture not avoided. Louis drew the
curtains and turned the lights on.
‘Doing so would only attract attention to yourself, which is a most
unwise course of action. No, I can tell
what you were going to say. Not Morgan
alone. A genuine psychic would be a rara
avis in an annum mirabilis, a losestone for all and sundry, and you would
become a focus of attention for a hundred thousand crackpots and quacks.’
Enough of the latin, you poser!
Hmmmm I seem to have inflicted my own loathing of Latin upon Luma. I like him even more, the grumpy old git.
Go On, Then
We haven't had any art from Charles Marion Russell for a while, so let's cut loose with another of his paintings. Conrad doesn't care if you don't like them, CMR did over 2,000 paintings in his lifetime, which means an inordinate number of artworks the blog can exploit use. Art!
"A Bad Hoss"
Horses, lest you be unaware, have personalities. Some good, some indifferent, and some - as in the above - bad to the bone. Conrad recalls "Four Years On The Western Front" where the evil steeds harnessed to the water cart would deliberately back it into the roadside ditches, purely out of sheer malice. Matey above is going to have his work cut out merely staying in the saddle if he's only hanging on with one hand. Good job he's distant from any trees with low-hanging branches.
Finally -
Your Humble Scribe is off today, using up leave that he'd not taken in 2021, because, after all, he was going to be made redundant in December of that year, which would both grant him a generous pay off, boosted by all the untaken holidays, and allow him time to tackle the Book Mountain. Alas that plan fell through, and here I am, still gainfully employed in 2022. However - that ought to be HOWEVER - you are only getting a single fresh post as I feel the urge to socialise***.
And with that we are more done than Tsar Putin's public image
* Get used to this, it's how we roll here.
** I made this up. Can you tell?
*** Lies! He intends to sleep in late, then drink tea for England whilst doing Codewords and Cryptic Crosswords <the hideous truth courtesy Mister Hand>
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