blinkety

Our - yes, that is the royal we - camera battery charger has been . . .
Oh, what shall we say?
Temporarily misplaced?
Gone missing?
Skedaddled off to goodness knows where and wait till I get my hands on it, by golly?

Have a little zippo-edito bluesky action to tide you over.
I'm sure the lil blinker will turn up one a these here days.

Meantime give this a ponder:

How come nobody ever mentions that the worm had to be early too? He just gets eaten. What if he'd slept in eh? Eh? He'd be alive right now. Or else he'd have died of ripe old age, peacefully, in dignity. Instead? The early bird GETS him. What a world of gruesome meaning in that one word "gets". What sparity of description masking gobs of gore and crunching and -- death. This fable, when told by earthworms to earthworms, is a solemn warning (as opposed to a jolly little lark as we make it to be). How heartless. The Early Bird Gets the Worm. And we all applaud and say jolly good, Early Bird, we shall model ourselves after you and your gruesome habits of picking off with wicked gluttonous precision any earthworms which may just happen to be out for a morning stroll a tad earlier than may be wise.

You see sleeping late is really practically nearly a matter of life and death.
And that, friends, is why I take the utmost care about it. I suggest you have a mind upon your health and do the same.

The end.

P.S. RIP Mr. Earthworm.