I Cannot Sit Down

I Know What You're Thinking -
 - because DARPA have successfully trialled their telepathy helmet and guess who had a go on it?
     But you're wrong, Conrad is not gibbering with excitement and thus unable to plonk his posterior in a chair for any length of time, due to the return of Wonder Wifey from sunnier climes, although that is happening later today.  There is someone who would be gibbering with excitement if she knew this for a fact - 

Edna, sulking

     Edna Wunderhund, obviously.  That above is her sulking because Her Rightful Place is being occupied by the laptop.
     No, the inability to sit down is metaphorical, rather than real, as the Coincidence Hydra has been fastening it's incisors in my nethers, again, and twice at that.
     Which will be gone into later, as first of all we switch completely and deal with -

Doctor Who!
I think it's safe to review the first episode by now, as it is four weeks old, which is a lifetime for television.  It was called "The Pilot", which is a pun, right?  The preamble made a lot about the Doctor's first openly gay assistant, which confused Conrad, because what about Matt Lucas or Captain Jack?  

The Doctor does his Strange impression.

Anyway, they started it with a terrible Doctor What pun.  Bill has some amusing insights into the nature of the TARDIS - is it a kitchen attachment?  A knocked-through apartment?  A lift*?
     Bill ends up being pursued by a rather damp lady called Heather, who proves to be made out of liquid, so the Doctor and Bill go whizzing off into the far distant future, still pursued by Heather, who appears to have a crush on Bill, although she says goodbye - is this clear?  It was a bit rushed as a resolution.  

Heather get wet

Although I did like the self-referential bit about the Daleks and Movellans, even if you have to be very old indeed to remember them first time around.  And Nardole is an amusingly cranky cyborg or android, whichever he turns out to be.

Movellans first time around

Perfidious Albion Is -
Perfidious.  Yes indeed.  Conrad is currently reading "Codebreakers", by James Wyllie and Michael McKinley.  Art?

The subtitle is a bit long to type out, frankly

     This illustrates a point I have made quite often of late, that the British can be the most treacherous and sneaky people imaginable, especially if you expect them to abide by the rules of cricket.
     "What's he banging on about now?" I hear you quibbling.  "He's interfering with my after-dinner sherry."
     Pausing only to note that sherry is the Devil's Drain-cleaner, I shall explicate.
     Prior to the First Unpleasantness breaking out, Imperial Germany's telegraph connections to the world beyond Europe amounted to 5 undersea cables.  The British decided, in the case of war breaking out, that those cables were toast.  They declared war on the Teutons on 4th August 1914 and on the 5th August they hauled all 5 cables up to the surface and cut them all to bits.
     And they had decided to do this in 1912, which, as I am sure you can see, predates the First Unpleasantness, just a bit.

The cable-cutting culprit

About That Coincidence Hydra -
I have already mentioned Matt Lucas, whom I'm sure you remember featuring in Reeves And Mortimer, as well as Doctor Who.
     Let us then switch tracks abruptly and talk instead of Ben Folds, whom I have been listening to a lot of late, especially "Songs for Silverman".  The stand-out track for me is "Jesusland" which is probably horribly satirical and ironic, so we won't go over the lyrics.
     The video, however ...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7F5-UdF-dXE

     There's the Youtube link if you wish to verify my story**.  Whilst listening to this track on Youtube, I spied a face that looked strangely familiar ...

Quality not brilliant but the best I could get

     Yes it was Matt Lucas, again.  Something is clearly going on here.  Can we have some advice from a chap who knows which way the wind blows?

"I've already told you, Conrad: it's reality-bending aliens."

     Oh.  I wish I could say that gave me a warm fuzzy feeling.  Reality-bending aliens, eh?  Hopefully all benign and cuddly Like The Doctor.

Then again ...

*  No, Bill, it's the TARDIS
**  You shouldn't need to.  Don't you trust me?

Oldham: Zombie-Free

SO FAR!
Conrad reports: your humble scribe had to attend the Job Centre today, which is another music from a different kitchen indeed, and so I was on the lookout for any signs of the walking dead.  You remember?  In case any of those people fleeing from Rochdale's very own zombie infestation were already infected, although since the outbreak didn't happen this might have been difficult.
     The upshot was that your modest artisan didn't see any signs of the revenant hordes; there were a couple of bodies on a park bench, but then I noticed the empty cans of Special Brew next to them.

They could be lurking JUST OUT OF SHOT!

     Don't get complacent, folks. Remember, keep watching the skies*.

Life's Never-Ending Struggle
Allow me to illustrate the physical equivalent of the unceasing battle between Good versus Evil, Light versus Dark, or Your Wages versus The Taxman.

     Here we see Edna versus Laptop.  Edna cannot grasp that Conrad is carrying out a diligent search for employment, via the internet, on his laptop.  Hence it is sitting squarely on his lap.  This position, in Edna's mind, is rightfully hers and she whined fitfully until 1)  Laptop was put aside and 2)  She sat in lap.
     This didn't last long, however.  Mere minutes, in fact, just long enough for her to assert her dominance before leaving.

"Hypochondria"
Not something Conrad has ever suffered from.  Rather the opposite - "What hideous wasting disease? ha ha" and the like.  Still, if the first part of this word relates to the Greek for "Under", could the description of Conrad's mindset be "Hyperchondria"? I wondered.
     No.  It can't.
     Now, one of the worrying aspects of Near Earth Objects is - what?  You want an explanation?
     Oh very well.  Back in antiquity it was believed that the Four Humours generated human personality, these being Phlegmatic, Choleric, Sanguine and Melancholic.

Hmmmm.

     Melancholy was believed to live under a person's ribs, and the Greek for ribs was "Khondros", so now you know another item to order when dining out on Rhodes.

Yesterday's Walk
One of the things that Conrad dislikes is exercise, mainly because time spent getting sweaty and over-exerted could be better spent reading books.  Or writing them.  Anyway, as part of Not Dying Horribly Thanks To Diabetes, it has been recommended that your talented typist exercise regularly, which is where Edna comes in**.
     So, yesterday we went down to Tandle Hill Park, an excursion requiring a coat, because yes the sun is bright, yet the wind is cold, and there's a lot of it.  Art?

     This is she, straining at the leash, although the wind had a fair bit to do with the straining, too.  Nice weather for kites.  Then the hated collar came off and -

Inspecting every leaf

     She had a good nosey at the Rotary - er - monument? I think you could call it.  Art?

    I think you'll agree, this ball is too big to retrieve and play 'Fetch' with.

BOOJUM! Reviews Films
You ought to know how we do this here by now, though I will recap for any latecomers.  First, we judge a film by it's title alone, and secondly we generalise enormously, and thirdly I can break these rules any time I feel like it, because whose blog is it again?
     "A Dog's Purpose":  My my, how topical after that last item.  A film that appears to be a little confused with itself, no?  Most dog's purpose is to be a domestic companion, or a Daughter In A Fur Coat.  Others, although far fewer, serve as guard dogs or work with sheep or track down bodies.  Live escaped ones, or hidden dead ones.  Hmmm.  Given the rating, perhaps there won't be much emphasis on that last purpose.

A cat's purpose is just - to be

     "The Son":  Wow, another horribly generic title that gives your humble hack very little to work with.  Don't forget, with a world population of 7 billion, 3.5 billion of those are sons of someone.  There is a picture of Pierce Brosnan with a rifle.  He looks far too old to be called a "Son", frankly.

Pierce having a rest.  He's getting on a bit, poor old chap

     "Fast And Furious 8": Or, car porn for people with a very short attention span.  I know some of you must have been to watch this, and the other 7 previous entries, because THEY KEEP ON MAKING THEM!  And you don't reinforce failure, so these <cringes> films are knocking them dead at the box office.




*  For Near Earth Object impactors, not zombies
**  Yes, again.

Oldham: Overhwhelmed?

By Zombies?
Well, it might happen, or have happened, if Rochdale had really been over-run by the walking dead last Sunday.  All those people who were fleeing in terror/having gentle exercise/doing a sponsored walk for charity (Delete where applicable) were not being screened for infection, nor directed into quarantine zones, nor being mown down indiscriminately by The Wicked Military.  So if any of them were infected - and you just know that at least one of them has been bitten and is hiding their wound - then the next outbreak would be in Oldham itself.

Like this.  BUT FOR REAL!!!

     I have to go sign on in the town centre tomorrow afternoon, so I'll report back on conditions and whether you ought to be checking up on Max Brooks' Bible*.

Clerihew But Two
To continue in the vein of yesteryon, taking the mickey out of iconic South Canadian cowboy actors, let us proceed.

Gary Cooper

Got stuck in a pea-souper.

"These mists," he said, "Are a pest.

But are luckily rare out here in the West."

     I know, I know, it's hardly the pinnacle of odium, but those South Canadians kind of revere Coop and I'm taking a calculated risk in being less than worshipful.   Then we have:

Burt Lancaster

Had a Fender Telecaster.

He kept it hung upon a wall

Because he couldn't play guitar at all.

     This one has the possibility of being true.  
     Then I got a bit stuck for iconic Western actors whose surname made it possible to create a rhyme - Jimmy Stewart, anyone?  Or Audie Murphy?  So I think that's it for this theme, at least for the moment.

Burt Lancaster.  No - hang on -

Right, there will now be a short pause as I feed the animals.  Don't go away!

Yesterday's Fun And Frolics
As ever, I can count on at least 2 visitors to BOOJUM! whilst I continue to post about Edna Wunderhund.**  These posts are somewhat retrospective, for no good reason, it's just how I roll.
     So yesterday our longer afternoon walk was into a field off Tandle Hill Road, and another paddock we treat as practically our own private fiefdom, as I have never seen another person or dog present.  A few horses in the distance and that's it.  Edna has to be lifted over the ever-present mud on the road side of the stile, a process she will tolerate, if barely.
     Conrad came equipped with a ball, in order to play fetch.  Observe.

     Edna treated it with the contempt reserved for war criminals who've just murdered a busload of nuns, en route to drown a sackful of kittens.  She's red hot at playing this game in the lounge, where there is considerable risk of hitting a delicate and breakable item; out in the open, not so much.
     I did persevere, only for her contempt to become open scorn.  If you translated her non-verbal language into English, it would be "Tch.  Again?  Really?"

"Please explain this difficult technical concept you humans call 'Fetch'."

     This second dose of exercise is a bit much for her and she tends to rest up when we get home.  Art?

     Here she is, resting and probably sulking, too, as she was deprived - O! those Wicked Humans! - of the chance to prance through a small swamp at the stile.

Ynys Gifftan
Another in our series about tidal islands of the UK, because I happen to think it's a cool subject, and you lot out there need further proof of the Allotment of Eden being all Eden-ish.  
     I'm not entirely sure how we got here, although I do know why.  Conrad was expostulating recently about how deficient in terms of inspiration bus posters are at present, especially that Giff Gaff one.  This is partly a result of Conrad's inherent mistrust and dislike of mobile phones - the Cells of Satan, if you will - and the apparent relation of Giff Gaff to the Devil Box.
     None of this, of course, has anything to do with British tidal islands.  It wouldn't be BOOJUM! if it did.
     So!  Ynys Gifftan.  Art?

Accessible Ynys

     The sole domestic residence, a cottage, is now a ruin, so don't be fooled by estate agents harping on about "peace and solitude" or "charmingly situated" because that's estate agent-ese for "Has no running water or mains electricity".

Isolated Ynys

     Which brings us to count, which is also well timed, as I intend to go get some food.
     Later!

*  "The Zombie Survival Guide"
**  Wonder Wifey and that Degsy chap