Go On, That's Not A Title You Expected To See, Is It?
Dear me, some people can't look beyond stereotypes, can they? There may not be much going on in the average zombie's brain but it's still a brain and still there, or it wouldn't be a zombie now, would it? Art!
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| Zeds at work |
It's true that a zombie's existence consists mostly of Hanging Around With A Big Bunch Of Their Mates, interspersed with frantic intervals of Chase And Eat The Human, but I bet you haven't considered the wider implications. For one, being outside in all weathers is hell on the skin, and without the mental wherewithal to go for moisturiser, a zed's appearance is going to rapidly deteriorate. Not that their kith and kin mind, but Hom. Sap. can be terribly judgemental about appearances, beauty skin deep and all that. Then there's muscle tone. If most of your work day consists of upright mooching, without any workout regimen, your physique is going to go to heck, especially your feet - bloating and water retention a real risk here. Art!
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| Calisthenics is your friend |
ANYWAY and predictably that's only tangentially connected with today's Intro, because I was faffing around with the pages that I'd linked to "The Red King and the Witch" and came across another story that was just as bonkers. Behold "The Dead Man's Gratitude".
A KING had three sons. He gave the youngest a hundred thousand piastres; he gave the same to the eldest son and to the middle one. The youngest arose, he took the road; wherever he found poor folk he gave money; here, there, he gave it away; he spent the money. His eldest brother went, had ships built to make money. And the middle one went, had shops built. They came to their father.
'What have you done, my son?'
'I have built ships.'
To the youngest, 'You, what have you done?'
'I? every poor man I found, I gave him money; and for poor girls I paid the cost of their marriage.'
The king said, 'My youngest son will care well for the poor. Take another hundred thousand piastres.'
The lad departed. Here, there, he spent his money; twelve piastres remained to him. Some Jews dug up a corpse and beat it.
'What do you want of him, that you are beating him?'
'Twelve piastres we want of him.'
'I'll give you them if you will let him be.'
He gave the money, they let the dead man be. He arose and departed. As the lad goes the dead man followed him. 'Where go you?' the dead man asked.
'I am going for a walk.'
'I'll come too; we'll go together; we will be partners.'
Just FYI, a 'piastre' used to be a form of currency used in the Middle East, equivalent to £0.01 so Ol' Kingy ain't being that generous. Also FYI, if you go to all the trouble of digging up a corpse and beating it, then you have most certainly expended more than twelve piastres-worth of labour. And about the 'Jewish' bit? well this is a Turkish folk tale for whatever that's worth; one also wonders if they didn't see Princey coming in both senses of the word.
Also, Princey is very blase about a dead man walking. Talking, too, if it comes to that. Your Humble Scribe, for one, would be a whitish blur upon the horizon if a dead man came up and declared he was my partner. Art!
One of them is the brains of the outfit
So you can see where today's title comes from.
Brag About Blog Blag
As you should surely know by now, BOOJUM! has an eclectic readership from across the globe which changes over time, yet where the South Canadians feature large. To a lesser extent, so do the Ruffians. Art!
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| '51' |
Well, since Conrad stopped yarking on about Ukraine, some of the Vanyas and Mashas have dared to come back. One supposes it's a deniable way of silently agreeing about Putin On The Fritz. Must work up a few more insulting nicknames for the Tiny Toxic Terror Toad: I'll get onto that this afternoon. I do have a little something in reserve that might not go down too well with them, however ....
That Sinking Feeling
Now for the second of the BBC's short list of drowned cities, this one being the dual-named Thonis-Heracleion; Thonis being the original Egyptian name, and Heracleion being the name the Greeks bestowed upon it, in reverential reference to Heracles. The blurb says it was located at the western end of the Nile estuary, being a prosperous and busy port that possessed an elaborate canal system to deal with shipping. Art!
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| Before |
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| After |
Neglectfully, they don't bother to inform why it's now submerged, which of course in an absence that Conrad cannot put up with <carries out a tad of nosying>. Aha, no single thing, rather a combination of rising sea levels and earthquake activity, leading to a diminution of trade, income and importance. The central island turned into a giant quicksand and swallowed up all the buildings - I'm sure I've played a computer game like that. Art!
For cartographic clarity
What Country Is Next To Egypt?
That's right, Libya. Where the next part of "The Sea Of Sand" is set. The Doctor is trying to find out exactly what the Time Lords don't like about the archaeological dig.
‘No ideas about when?’
Templeman harrumphed in annoyance.
‘No, Doctor Smith.
Our itinerant labourers made off with any artefacts on-site during my
first expedition here. By the time of my
return they had, naturally, looted the site.
So we have no artefacts that can tell us the date of construction.’
Moving alongside a support pillar, the Doctor
carefully placed his hand on the glossy black stone.
‘Warm,’ he said quietly to himself. Warm despite being permanently in
shadow. Odd. No more odd than a site with no remnants of
those who built it.
‘I shall leave you with Albert,’ declared the
Professor. ‘Professor Bourguebus and I
are off to make sketch maps. Please come
and see me before you leave, Doctor.’
The gangly red-head had the grace to blush when the
Doctor turned to look at him with raised eyebrows.
‘Er – sorry about the gun.’
The Doctor raised his eyebrows again, then broke
into a disarming smile.
‘There are bigger things to worry about than your
Webley, Albert.’ He slapped the
pillar. ‘This for one.’
Of course - obviously! - there are sinister secrets afoot. It would be a short boring adventure if there weren't.
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| A Webley Make-You-Lie-Down-And-Not-Get-Up-Again |
I Do Not Care
As you should surely know by now, Conrad has not the slightest interest in the ballfoot game*. He does enjoy the cascades of venom that appear on the BBC's webpages when they enable "Have Your Say" about a ballfoot match. Two of my favourites have been about someone called "Harry Maguire", whoever he is: "Harry Maguire has a turning circle only slightly less than the QE2" and "Harry Maguire should have been arrested after today's match for impersonating a football player." Art!
The QE2. Not Harry Maguire.
(Just thought I'd point that out)
So I have been skimming over a recent addition to the Beeb's front News webpage, which, if Art will put down his plate of coal -
I. DO. NOT. CARE. And no, I'm not going to enlarge the purulent item. It's lucky to even get a dismissive comment.
Conrad does not care if it's so inclusive or diverse or empowering or any other buzzwords. It's the ballfoot game however you dress it up. Come back when they're all slagging off each other on a HYS.
Finally -
To underline how unpleasantly hot it is here in the Allotment Of Eden, Your Humble Scribe took a two-pint bottle out of the freezer this morning. It had been put there last night full of water and was, inevitably, a solid two-pint bottle of ice.
By 11:00 it had completely thawed and it's currently at tepid, with no condensation beading saucily on the exterior.
I was fortunate indeed last night doing the weekly shop, as there were reports on our Teams forum that supermarkets cannot keep up with the heat and their chiller cabinets were breaking down trying to deal with 60 degree temperature**. The sad thing about this is that all the food has to be binned and cannot be resold. Charles took note of this and said he'd be in back at the local's skip, doing his weekly shop for free.
Happy dining, Charles
* Nor cars, either. It's how you can tell I'm an alien.
** 'Enhanced' slightly for dramatic effect.
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