Sleepy

Sleep! Yes, sleep! It has returned, like a cascade of nothingness from atop the highest pillows of the grand temple to sleep that is the bedroom! Even now, hundreds of miles from that bedroom, there can be heard the little nothings of pitters and patters of sleep from so far away. Hopefully the local temple chosen for this occasion will serve the same purpose, that grand repose will resume without delay, lest the Quirky Muffin's slightly reduced schedule persist into perpetuity. Oh, that Quirky Muffin which promises such delights and then merely turns in the wind after being flung furiously from speeding motorcars!

And with all of that aside, with all the puny denials and excuses for missing a post ringing in my ears (and fingers), it is time to bring it all together once again and reach out to the minimal audience (last surveyed as a dog called Chip and a perturbed wombat) with something... coherent. Is coherence too much to ask for? Probably, but lets try anyway. And today's topic for coherence or incoherence is not going to be the horror of the upcoming World Cup for non-footballistas, nor angst over significant birthdays, or even the woes of going on a bit of a diet (be gone, KitKats, be gone or I shall surely eat you to my own discredit and further weightiness!).

Ah, weightiness, I have a plan for you. A hillwalking plan in Ireland, which is only being blocked by the hideousness of that indignity they call the 'single supplement'. This will not escalate into a rant, but I would like to point out that it would be far more fair for places to provide single rooms for people than extort supplements. If anything, travellers should be compensated for there not being a single room available. A curse on 'single supplements'! Why not just label them as 'victimization supplements' and be honest with it all? I swear that was not technically a rant.

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There was a story once, and this was long before lecturers began to go missing in Llanbadarn campus and they had to close it down due to all the singularities, about the great biscuit shortages of 1973. It was a dark time for universities and that shortage caused the great Bourbon Mutiny of little known infamy. Thousands of lecturers, including the usually torpid tenure professors, raged furiously up and down corridors strewing paperwork left and right. Students reeled away after receiving nonsensical and derisive hoots to the simplest of questions, and secretaries huddled under their desks desperately waiting for the torment to cease. So great had the sugar imbalances become that even legends of calmness like Shuffling Sidney Wiffenstein would be driven to bizarre rages beyond all comprehension (Wiffenstein started stapling pages from The Guardian to the clothes of students sleeping in lectures and cackling). Several universities in the South East were occupied by military forces under martial law until order could be restored, and all for wont of a biscuit. The great biscuit shortage, after some investigation, was traced back to sabotage from overseas academics seeking unfair advantage against their British brethren and resulted in the Grand Cold Cupper period of the late 1970s. This period will be covered in greater detail or simply thrown in the dustbin of madeup history in coming posts.

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If only this could all be traced back to the head blows.

O.