Stop the blog, I want to get off

M. J. Magee - Saturday, the 26th of August, 2017
She hmmed. And, when that didn't seem to get her anywhere, she drawled, 'I seeeeee...'

If it isn’t obvious from the sheer number of Context-free Friday posts vs… any other posts, any at all, I’ve ground to a halt on Cuthbert lately.

I still want to make it – and I will (erm, eventually) – but between the wedding, and work, and wanting to occasionally spend time with the person I’m marrying, Cuthbert is well and truly on the back-burner, and I think it’s going to stay there until I have some proper time to sit down and finish refactoring the never-ending refactor.…

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Context-free Friday: you never need to ask if people want to super-size their McPottage meals

M. J. Magee - Friday, the 18th of August, 2017
'Do you have any questions?' the man with the clipboard asked. He spoke disinterestedly, as if no one could have questions and he knew it was silly to even ask. It reminded Cuthbert of the way the person at McPottage always unnecessarily asked people if they wanted to super-size their pottage, though they already knew the answer - no, not ever.
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Context-free Friday: nothing else had seemed this clean

M. J. Magee - Friday, the 21st of July, 2017
It would - with the birds chirping overhead, the colourful array of butterflies fluttering between the flowers, and the warm, dewy scent of spring in the air - have been a bright and cheery scene were it not for two worrying details.

The first was how eerily cheery everything was, with the birds and the butterflies and the dewy scent of spring in the air; nothing else in Once-Upon-Thames had seemed this clean and Cuthbert wondered why.
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Context-free Friday: a many-coloured sky

M. J. Magee - Friday, the 30th of June, 2017
'Proving you cheated would be like proving the sky is blue - everyone's already seen it.'

'Sometimes the sky is black,' Cuthbert pointed out helpfully. 'At night, for example. And during solar eclipses.'

Cuthbert rocked back on his feet, feeling proud of a clever point well-made.

'And sometimes - when it's stormy - the sky is grey. When it's sunrise-'

'The sky is blue!' the woman cried. 'It's blue, and it's obvious, and you cheated!'

'-it's pink. Or orange,' Cuthbert finished, as if he hadn't heard her and his tone was petulant for entirely different reasons. 'And when it's really cloudy, it's white. Because of the clouds. That's just science,' he finished haughtily.

It was hard, in his experience, to argue with science. It was too scientific.

The woman was staring at him. Probably in science-induced wonder and bafflement, having forgotten why they'd gotten onto this point in the first place, like he had.
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