Finally, after quite few hours of fishing, I made up my mind - time to go home as it’s already quite dark. Just few meters from pulling my rapala wobbler from the water I got this beautiful zander. The fish is 3.10kg heavy and gave me an interesting fight: first it seemed like I hit the bottom, then gave me a very powerfull getaway run and then pretended it was dead. And all this in a very streamy water.
Adrenaline level was on 110% as the bite was as unexpected as it gets.
i gave mulder a little food in his wobbler but he gets frustrated with it and gives up pretty easily once there’s only 1 or 2 pieces in it. this time instead of giving up he came running out to the kitchen and jumped up on me a few times then lead me back to the living room and sat down in front of the wobbler. mf WAS ASKING FOR HELP i’m so done. he’s too smart.
Distressed Pudding, from Night Watch by Terry Pratchett!
This has been a very distressing pudding to make. I’ve had a long period of messing up Strawberry Wobblers, burning the first batch of pudding, and then accidentally deleting the photos of the good batch. But ah, all is better when you bathe in the ooey gooey warmth of some homestyle cookin’:
‘Well,’ said Sam, 'she says she’s going to make you some Distressed Pudding, sarge. She makes great Distressed Pudding, our mum.’
The best, thought Vimes, staring into the middle distance. Oh, gods. The very best. No one has ever done it better.
From a weird reverie of dark revelation,
Mr. Grubb woke up with a strange sensation.
Slipping out through the crack at the back of the lair,
Trudging out through the muck and the thick misted air,
Where the colly-wobblers warbled their sinister call
And the dingle-baggles scurried on jittery claws.
His ghostly breath mixing in with the fog,
He plunked himself down on a damp, mossy log.
But then in the sludge just a few feet away,
Mr. Grubb saw a plant that was quite out of place.
A single buttercup in a pile of feces.
Mr. Grubb tore it up into a thousand pieces.
Nana Grubb skulked through the sludge and the dirt.
The solitary witness of Mr. Grubb’s hurt.
She gathered the petals and hid them from sight.
The buttercup fragments of Mr. Grubb’s plight.
So Billy and Bella and dear Mrs. Grubb,
Would not know his madness, but only his love.
What the zoobidey flip-flop-bop did you just say about me, you flippidy zoob woobity? I’ll have you know I zooped and flooped to the top of my class in the zobbler wobbler, and I’ve rop-wop-flopped in numerous shoobidy doobidies on floppity pudding, and I have over 300 shibbidy bops. I am trained in flap-floppities and I’m the top doober in the entire shibbidy. You are nothing to zoobidy-me but just another zoobidy. I will zoop you the blop out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this floobidy Earth, mark my flibbidy flop. You think you can flop away with zoobing that doobie-woobie to me over the Interzoobies? Think again, flap-flopper. As we speak I am zipping my blopping bloop of flobbidies across the boopidy and your floopidy is being flopped right now so you better poopidy for the big zoobidy flop party, son. You’re jeeber zeebered, son. I can be anywhere, any-flopping-time, and I can zoop and woop you in over seven hundred ways, and that’s just with my boobidy shoobidies. Not only am I extensively zooped in zip-wop, but I have access to the entire zabber of the Zap Wop Muggity Top and I will zoop it to its full extent to flap your flobbity flob off the face of the zoobie, you zabber wabber. If only you could have known what zopping fury your little “zoopity” comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have zooped up. But you couldn’t, you didn’t, and now you’re paying the price, you flapping babbling shooby-wooper. I will zip zop all over you and you will drown in it. You’re zooped, son.
Eliot Sumner has unveiled the final track, Wobbler, off her forthcoming EP, Information, and it’s a superbly moody and mesmerizing listen. With every track I’ve heard off her EP these past weeks, my penchant for her music has grown ten fold. Information, which drops August 5 on Cherrytree, will be her first release under her birth name, having released music under the electropop name I Blame Coco previously. On these bewitching, brooding new tunes as Eliot Sumner, she certainly channels some of her father Sting’s sound. Sumner’s voice doesn’t fall far from the tree, with its distinct, husky deepness. Revisit EP title track Information below, in all its synthwave glory. It’s no surprise she’ll be supporting Future Islands on tour shortly. It’s also no surprise I’m digging her sound so much, considering my love of Future Islands.