laud (v.)”praise highly, sing the praises of,” late 14c., from Old French lauder “to praise, extol,” from Latin laudare “to praise, commend, honor, extol, eulogize,” from laus (genitive laudis) “praise, fame, glory.” Probably from an echoic PIE root *leu- and cognate with Old English leoð “song, poem, hymn,” from Proto-Germanic *leuthan (source also of Old Norse ljoð “strophe,” German Lied “song,” Gothic liuþon “to praise”). Related: Lauded; lauding.
Walter masc. proper name, from Old North French Waltier (Old French Gualtier, Modern French Gautier), of Germanic origin and cognate with Old High German Walthari, Walthere, literally “ruler of the army,” from waltan “to rule” (see wield) + hari “host, army” (see harry). Walter Mitty (1939) is from title character in “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” by U.S. short story writer James Thurber (1894-1961).
Sunday evening and all was quiet in the Library: Thoughtful Man was out working the mean streets of Southend; Things 1 & 2 were busy online making war and making friends, and our living, breathing hot water bottle was diligently practicing for any future, upcoming Sleep event at the Olympics. Poppy lay curled, molded around my backside, under my thick woolen cardie, snoozing and warming the small of my back. I’ve often mused how, dooshounds are more feline than canine. Well, ours is anyway.
Chores completed for the day (at least until the return of a weary Thoughtful Man), I was luxuriating in space and time, skipping through universes that I access via my book, listening to pictures and feeling out the sharp edge of words in conversations.
I wasn’t alone: Clicky was with me, of course, accompanied by the dynamic duo, Cath Fine and her significant other Nick O’Teen. All remained steadfastly to hand as I flitted and floated, fleetly fleed and flied, feeling roam free.
The telephone rang, causing Poppy to poke a curious nose out from under the cardigan she was using as a tent.
“Alright darling?” Thoughtful Man voice piped through, “I’ve just dropped off in Laindon and thought I’d come home now.”
I wasn’t disappointed: Laindon is a good fare. “Okay sweetie. We’ll have dinner when you get back.”
“Yeah, I won’t be long. Listen,” he paused, ” I’ve had an idea for a smoker you can write your next post about.”
I was momentarily nonplussed; Thoughtful Man doesn’t usually read my wibblings. “What? Who?”
“Slush,” he said. Now I was really confused and repeated the name back to him.
“No, Slash. The guitarist from Guns N’ Roses,” he replied.
I thought for a moment and tried to picture the personage in my mind. “Curly black hair, wears sunglasses and top hat?”
“That’s the one,” Thoughtful Man confirmed. “He smokes on stage, sticks his cigarette in end of his guitar. There’s bound to be lots of photos of him smoking.”
I took a drag of Nick and a slurp of Cath, and briefly pondered his suggestion. Clicky, always quick off the mark, got busy. “But you don’t like Guns n Roses,” I answered. Well, he doesn’t.
“No, but I think you should do one on somebody that’s not dead. Look we’ll talk about it when I get home. Do you fancy pizza?”
Pizza! I crossed ‘washing up’ off my mental list of potential future chores, happily agreed with his suggestion, and rang off after an embarrassing number of ‘byes’ that’s really more associated with first flush of romance rather than 26 years into a stretch.
“Pizza?” came the mournful voice of Thing 1 from the darkened nook of the Library, “Can’t we have Chinese?”
Dear Reader, I’m not gonna do Slash. He gave up smoking in 2009 after his mum died. He fails the ‘Bravery’ criteria. But I do like the idea of profiling somebody alive… Thoughtful Man, a firm anti-monarchist, will probably hate me for this butt…
Okay, okay, I freely admit, he’s no Barry Sheene, but he is alive and still smoking, and as for the fifth criteria, well, he did cause an interesting stink…
*I dunno, Clicky, it’s a bit weak… /bites nail… And Thoughtful Man really doesn’t like royalty… /spits… It could all hinge on the Song… What do you reckon?*
*By George? …/rolls eyes… Okay, then…*