Monday, 16 August 2010


ConanWatch.  Day 8.

So far, no sign of a huge, thickly-muscled, black-haired bronzed barbarian hero padding up behind me on silent sandalled feet.  Damn it.

Maybe I should try wearing flimsier clothing.  And more ornate jewels.

Maybe I should try becoming some sort of undead goddess.  Or an eternally-beautiful queen of a remote tribe.  Or a rebellious yet vulnerable dancing girl with flashing eyes and a passionate heart.

I'm not sure Conan would even be on the Waterloo to Yeovil train on a Monday night, and if he was, that he would have understood the booking system, so he would have to slay the guard and all the other passengers in a bloodlust frenzy when asked to produce his ticket.

It's never going to work, really.

Maybe I can persuade Mr WithaY to wear a leather loincloth and headband and shout "Crom!" from time to time.

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