To Elland Back

Literally, Folks
At 9:00 Phil, team leader, cautiously approached Conrad and enquired if I'd be interested in doing some "Disaster Recovery Plan" work.
     Conrad, smelling minty-fresh thanks to his shower not 20 minutes earlier, and thus in a good mood, agreed straight away, even if he had no idea what was involved.
     "Great!' said Phil, pleased to have found a volunteer.  "The coach will be outside in 30 minutes."
     What now?  Yes now.
     Thus Conrad and about 15 others across the Seventh Floor were sped on our way to an industrial estate in Elland, near Halifax, where we sat in a room and diligently tapped away at our keyboards.  Then we came back to the office, hence the title.
     It was great!  Hardly any background noise, no phones and no interruptions from any management, as we'd thoughtfully not brought any along.
     Meanwhile back at the office, the phones were mental.

A Glimpse Into The Creative Process Here At BOOJUM!
I did mention that frankly gorgeous lady Annette Peacock last night, and here she is again:

Annette, rocking it with a rather peculiar hat

     Now, she's not only graced with cheekbones sharp enough to shave with, she's also a talented musician.  She was an early devotee, player of and composer with the Moog Synthesizer, and expressed regret that the Sex Pistols never took up this new instrument instead of guitars*.

The Moog synthesizer

     Conrad's brain - inexplicable even to him - then promptly jumped to Willo The Wisp, a children's cartoon, because that featured:

The Moog.  Honestly.

See?  Told you so.

     "Willo" was knowingly narrated by the late great Kenneth Williams, and that reminded Conrad of a Sunday afternoon radio series that Kenneth -

"Oi!  Kindly illustrate me!"

     - there you go, Ken - featured in, a kind of comic version of "The Man From Uncle" who fought the evil organisation B.R.A., which stood for "Brotherhood -" and there my memory gives out.

As racy as it gets round here

     A rare and telling insight into the mind of Conrad - which should probably be written The Mind Of Conrad.

"Cross The River On Your Own"
By those Danish indie-stadium rockers Mew.  I love this track, so much I've been playing it four times a day for weeks now, and still love it to bits.  Here's a link for you:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXAvZWjfTXk

   Now, bear in mind that these chaps are Danish, from Denmark**, yet they sing in English, and make sense in it, too, and in fact speak it a lot better than some of the locals.  Er, when I say "make sense" I actually mean that I'm not entirely sure what the song's about; a bit more metaphorical than just wading across a stream with pretensions, I'm sure.

Here they are, wading madly

      Actually the sound on that link is a bit poor, so go out and buy the album.  From Fopp!

The Shower Is Done
Indeed it is, and a very good job done too by our artisan craftsman, and for a very reasonable price, too.

Silhouette of old fat man added at no extra cost

  The kicker is that the silicon beading needs a full day to cure, which means Conrad is forced to go skulking*** to the showers at work tomorrow, again.
     Oh well.  At least I will be minty-fresh once again.

Malleting The Metro
One of Conrad's perpetual stand-bys is taking a pot at the Potty Paper.  As a newspaper it makes one hell of a papier mache source.
     For instance.  Take yesterday's cover:

Aha, notice the journal edging into shot there?

     This is a giant advert that the venal publication takes money for.
     I'm afraid Conrad's thoughts were not very wholesome as he scowled at this.
     "I'll give you a surprise with your Special K," I muttered.  "Surprise!  Today's production run of processed cardboard was made with flakes of glass as the core!  Your bleeding^ gums didn't expect that, did they!"
     Then there's "60 Seconds", where someone I've never heard of is given a publicity platform after their publicist pays the Potty Paper.
     Still, it does make for a productive rant 'n' tant, doesn't it?

PARSNIPS!  THE DEVIL'S CARROT

I rest my case

"Gravity's Rainbow" By Thomas Pynchon
I'm about 1/3 through this novel, so, if you read that headline with a sinking heart, be reassured that it won't be going on over summer.
     I did mention above how those talented Danes Mew do so well in English.  Now, Tom's native language is English, so you expect him to facile in it.
     What makes him impressive is the detail he brings to the description of that addled old sponge, Brigadier Pudding, as regards the First Unpleasantness.   "Wash me in the water, that you washed your dirty daughter, and I shall be whiter than the whitewash on the wall" he writes, and you might imagine he's made up another song.  Not a bit of it!  It's a genuine song of the time.  Not only that, Tom mentions "White Sheet Ridge".  This is very obscure - it's the Tommies version of the Belgian "Wytschaete Ridge" and once again I reckon 99.9 % of readers will pass over it, utterly unaware.

HM The King on Wytschaete Ridge.
A real-life Slough of Despond.

* Unlikely as Sid wouldn't have been able to hit people with a Moog.
** The two do not necessarily follow.
*** It might be sneak, creep or slither, you get the idea.  
^ Literally, we're not being vulgar here.

Fresher Than Daisy

That's Me!

Despite our shower being out of commission - see below for evidence - your correspondent is as sweetly-smelling as ever.

Ready for Friday

     This is because I snuck into work early and used one of the showers there, a touch up from basic, but acceptable in the service of not-stinking.  Conrad being a large sweaty oaf, you can bet his work colleagues are grateful.

I May Have Over-written This

Normally when I work late I don't get home until 7:20 p.m. and then have to make lunch for the next day, and get a bit of tea, so I like to work up blog material first thing in the Electric Goldfish Bowl, sucking down a double espresso with triple sugars*.

     I was on a late today, and had the opportunity to create all this:

Impressive, non?

     All the more so since our IT died before noon and stayed dead all day.  With practically no phone calls coming in, I had lots of time to make notes.

     Then I got sent home at 4:30, so I've got all that stuff, probably far too much for one day**.

Ah, That's Yesterday's Coincidence, Then

I did blather on about Coincidence leaving me alone last night.

     I had to go and tempt Fate, didn't I?

     "Over here, Fate, right on my stupid white-haired head, square on, go on, I dare you."

     I'd been posting on a friend's Facebook page about a post someone else had made about the terrors of "CANNIBIS"

How witty am I?
DON'T ANSWER THAT QUESTION!

     Well, later on what do I spot on my Facebook page but this:

You couldn't make it up.  Well, you could, but nobody would believe you

     Once again I am sure the universe is trying to tell me something***.

"Gravity's Rainbow" By Thomas Pynchon

Aaaand Tom wades in with his unique talent of causing coincidences.  Right there in the text, the character Katje is explaining to Slothrop about how she witnessed V2 launches from the town of s'Gravenhage.

     For those of you who don't know, s'Gravenhage is a small town in the south of the Netherlands, near the Maastricht appendix, with a harbour that links it to the Maas River.  Principal local industry is a pickling plant established outside the town and near the banks of the Maas.

The town square and church

     "Hang on, Conrad," I hear you saying.  "This unspectacular little town that I've never heard of - you seem peculiarly familiar with it."

     Damn right I am!  I only worked there over the summer of 1983 ...

     Tom also mentions in passing, and without any explanation, the acronym "CBI".  No, this does not mean the Confederation of British Industry, it means "China Burma India" and refers to the land-based campaign carried out there by Allied forces.  People around at the time would have known what it meant, and so does clever pedantic Conrad, so consider this today's lesson taught by BOOJUM!

Or it could be -
(In Indian, mind)

Meanwhile, At Strategic Rocket Forces Base Number 16, Novi Palatinsk

Misha and Grisha are both on the late shift, guarding those Big Red Buttons in the Primary Instrumentation Room, bored silly and thus practicing their English by reciting bits of Shakespeare.  When their time in the SRF is over, they plan to visit England and Stratford in particular, and the Globe theatre, so they are being diligent with their language revision.

Misha with his pet crabs

     MISHA:   I really enjoy "MacBeth", all that blood and thunder, yet so well written.

     (Outside a truck crashes into a row of parked cars)

     GRISHA:  Yes, who can forget "Lay on MacDuff, and cursed be he who first cries "Enough!"

     (One of the base's light liaison aircraft skids off the runway and into a tree)

     MISHA:  And don't forget the comedy.  "Knock, knock, knock.  Who's there with your knocking!"

     (A missile in it's silo springs a leak of liquid hydrazine fuel, which instantly alights)

     GRISHA: Nor the technical description of contemporary military artefacts.  "Like cannons overcharged with double-cracks."

     (Base radar technicians blanch in fear as the screens show a massive American ballistic missile strike wave coming in over the North Polar track)

     MISHA: I did wonder that they never got fined, at least, for cutting down Birnam Wood, nor for littering Dunsinane.

     (Chinese and Russian missiles are launched in a counter-vailing strike that will destroy the Northern Hemisphere)

     GRISHA:  Of course, "Hamlet"'s good as well -

     (peace instantly descends again)

     MISHA:  Shh!  Did you hear something?

     GRISHA (goes to door of Primary Instrumentation Room, opens it and looks out): O no!

     MISHA:  What?  What?

     GRISHA:  The cat's been sick on the corridor floor.

Misha and Grisha arguing about who has to pump up the tyres

A Blast From The Stomach

Lee came to lunch scoffing a packet of Lime and Chilli Popcorn.

     This annoyed Conrad.  This annoyed him A WHOLE LOT.  So much so that -

Chilli and Lime

It's not sublime

In opinion mine

It's a popcorn CRIME!

Just so we're clear where I stand on it.

Predictably we run out of time before I run out of things to say.  Don't worry, pal, you'll get yours tomorrow!

* I need this caffeine and sucrose crank in the morning.

 ** O! the pain of being so creative.  The pain, I tell you.
*** Hopefully not "Stop blogging you twod"

Oh What Gaiety - Here's Some Velleity

I Shall Refrain From Adding An Exclamation Mark
 - as one can have entirely too much of a good thing.  Except Old Golden Hen, unless you take a bath in it*.
     I'm sure you're wondering what "Velleity" is, and so was I up until a minute ago, when lo and behold, Google mighty Google revealed it to mean "a wish", or a feebly-held desire.  Kind of like Conrad and his wanton longing for Annette Peacock.

Gorgeous.  But also a bit potty

     You could compose an entire day's blog around Annette (she's a musician) as you could about how unlucky the Comsat Angels were, and if you're not good one day I will.

"Gravity's Rainbow" By Thomas Pynchon
192 pages in, which is almost a quarter of the way.  I hope you're taking notes on these reports, as you can then impress your intellectual friends without having to go through the bother of actually reading the damn things.  And yes, "Velleity" did come from these pages.  As did "Cretonne"; now you know Conrad is a big fat coward - all my better characteristics! - but I am also a cheese-paring pedantic hair-splitter so of course I went off to look this up - and it's real!  "A heavy cotton fabric with a floral print".  That old lady used it to cover up her unspeakable home-made sweets.
     Then there's "Jenny Greenteeth".  A spectral lady of dubious dining habits - okay, okay, she eats naughty children - and of North West of England origins.  Remember that Tom is a South Canadian - where on earth did he get to hear about Lancashire's ghostly folklore?

Jenny only really wanted someone to love her -

"Nabob"
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, this just kinda popped into my mind yesterday before lunch and so I had to go look it up.
     "A Muslim official or governor under the Mogul empire", and also an obsolete word for a person of immense wealth and riches.

"Me?  Modest little me?  Conrad you flatterer you!"

Why I Cannot Bathe In Old Golden Hen
Even if I wanted to.  The best I could do now is stand in a bucket and have people pour cans of it over me.  I imagine there are folk out there who would pay for the chance to do this, especially work colleagues.
     Anyway, enough of my loyal comrades.

BEFORE

Taken far enough away you can't see the grime ...

DURING

You have to admit, Old-Golden-Hen retaining qualities not good

     It'll take a couple of days before the AFTER shots come up, but don't worry!  You will get to see them, o yes indeed.

Shakeshaft
If you read my Internet Guide To Make Millions The BOOJUM! Way, you'll appreciate that Conrad likes to batten onto a theme and suck the creatives juices from it, till it is but a dessicated husk**.  In the case of mocking the Bark of Avon, the potential is there to torment his literary legacy for months.  So let's get to it:

"I do not like yond Cassius.

In fact I think he's an ass-ius.

He has a lean and hungry look,

The skinny conspiratorial crook.

I distrust his mewling jabber

He strikes one as a backstabber.

He thinks too much,

The bag of slutch.

Such men are dangerous

Kick him off the bus!"

Harhar, Will, take that!

Meanwhile, At Strategic Rocket Force's Base Number 16, Novi Palatinsk
Let me introduce you to Misha and Grisha.  Formally, Mikhail and Grigori.  Bestest of pals, they are two Russian conscripts serving in the Strategic Rocket Forces, out at the Novi Palatinsk site.  A combined mass of forty stone of muscle, they are clever lads, bored silly out at Number 16 as there's nothing to do - they are fifty kilometres from the nearest Siberian village - and the evil Americans not declaring war, all they get to do is polish the worktops and shine their boots.  They dream of perhaps making it to Moscow one day, where sophisticated womenfolk wear skirts and perhaps suspender belts, several quantum levels of elegance above the local lasses at Uralmash Traktorfabrik, who have heard of skirts ...

Misha:  Damn it, Grisha, that was my last rouble!
Grisha:  I'm not climbing down after it.  And payday is a week off.

     To stave off the boredom, and to learn a foreign language, both have been reading the works of Shakespeare, which led to a discussion recently:

     MISHA: This mocking rascal Conrad, I feel we should do something about him
     GRISHA:  What?  And keep your eyes off the Big Red Buttons.  You make me nervous.
     MISHA: Forsooth, he is verily taking the mickey out of the Bark of Avon -
     GRISHA:  That's "Bard".
     MISHA: The cream-faced loon!  He's got me doing it now!
     GRISHA: Perhaps - perhaps we could set him up.  Get the Spetznaz*** onto him.
     MISHA: That'd never work.  He's a big fan of "Doctor Who", and so are the Spetznaz.
     GRISHA: Really?  I had them pegged more for "Star Trek".
     MISHA: Never mind that!  Conrad.  What do we do about him?
     GRISHA: Let us sleep on the problem.  Besides, President Putin probably has plans ...

Misha and Grisha's ride to work
(NOBODY cuts them off!)

* See below
** This is me being Shakespearean.  Good, innit?
*** Russian special forces.  Not bad, but not up to SAS/SBS standards.  Sorry, Mish & Grish.