"Both topics are so droll," Lysander said gesticulating. "The weather is common knowledge, famous for killing conversation. Which would leave us with the war. But see, that too is a droll subject, for its curse hangs over us all," he sighed, distraught. "No my dear, I suggest we contemplate other more birghter subjects, like flowers? Or cats, maybe even the fleabitten dog?" his eyes lit up, trying to sell such an absurd measure of logic. Then suddenly he dropped his act and picked up his drink. "I think I have developed a fondness for crepes, what about you?" He asked casually as if he had never said his brief speech.