OK here's what's up in this, my third week of literal non-workingness.
Dentist
I am there every week having my English teeth attended to. "They aren't made up, you know. They're a real phenomenon", says the hygienist. "Whassat?", I say, mouth awash with blood. "BRITISH TEETH. They're really terrible. Crooked. On the other hand", she says, scraping so hard I fear my teeth will pop out of my head, "nothing is as bad as French teeth. Crooked AND dirty."
Cupboards
The story goes like this: husband is driving to work, shoe is weird and tight, he takes his shoe off and a bloody mouse pops out. Husband pulls over (n.b. he is on the motorway) and releases said mouse into the Canadian wilderness. Mouse lives.
These mice - whether they're re-enacting Point Break or not - have been our loving companions for some time. Sometimes we electrocute them, sometimes we get the cats round, sometimes we play Sting and/or Chris Martin. Sometimes it's winter and they do whatever mice do in the winter.
Then the spring comes and they come back and they engage in a number of activities including but not limited to:
All this means that the cupboards need to be cleaned, what with the mouse plops, the mouse wee, the leftover bits of chewed up popcorn and wood, the dust and whatever else lurks. I do this with The Archers, rubber gloves, old tea towels, a mini vacuum thing and a great deal of strong chemicals in a bottle. It is satisfying, and I am happy.
Swimming
After 5 years, a man comes round to mend the filter on the swimming pool and gives information that transforms the pool from 'indistinguishable from the septic tank' to 'now I know why I live in Canada!!!'.
Now I just swim up and down and up and down. It is great. Also, the weather in Montreal is like this all the time:
I understand it is not like that in England, but do not be jealous because in 4 months the snow will come and that's us fucked until March. Like "Game of Thrones", but without a monster made of black smoke emitting from anyone's ladyparts.
That is it for the moment. There is more to this post but I realised after finishing it that it was over 100 pages long, so I will post the second bit tomorrow. It is about what I have been reading and it basically says, "I have read a lot of books about the Mitford sisters and all their friends", so if you don't like the Mitfords, don't tune in tomorrow. If you do like TV and film reviews, tune in on Sunday. Maybe.
Pip "Poo in my oats" Pip
NWM
Dentist
I am there every week having my English teeth attended to. "They aren't made up, you know. They're a real phenomenon", says the hygienist. "Whassat?", I say, mouth awash with blood. "BRITISH TEETH. They're really terrible. Crooked. On the other hand", she says, scraping so hard I fear my teeth will pop out of my head, "nothing is as bad as French teeth. Crooked AND dirty."
Cupboards
The story goes like this: husband is driving to work, shoe is weird and tight, he takes his shoe off and a bloody mouse pops out. Husband pulls over (n.b. he is on the motorway) and releases said mouse into the Canadian wilderness. Mouse lives.
These mice - whether they're re-enacting Point Break or not - have been our loving companions for some time. Sometimes we electrocute them, sometimes we get the cats round, sometimes we play Sting and/or Chris Martin. Sometimes it's winter and they do whatever mice do in the winter.
Then the spring comes and they come back and they engage in a number of activities including but not limited to:
- Eating bags of popcorn;
- Getting lid off peanut butter and leaving mouse footprints;
- Doing mouse plops in my giant oats that I discover 2 seconds before putting porridge in my gaping maw;
- Playing poker, watching TV, smoking tiny spliffs, changing the pre-sets on the radio and generally taking the fucking piss.
All this means that the cupboards need to be cleaned, what with the mouse plops, the mouse wee, the leftover bits of chewed up popcorn and wood, the dust and whatever else lurks. I do this with The Archers, rubber gloves, old tea towels, a mini vacuum thing and a great deal of strong chemicals in a bottle. It is satisfying, and I am happy.
Swimming
After 5 years, a man comes round to mend the filter on the swimming pool and gives information that transforms the pool from 'indistinguishable from the septic tank' to 'now I know why I live in Canada!!!'.
Now I just swim up and down and up and down. It is great. Also, the weather in Montreal is like this all the time:
I understand it is not like that in England, but do not be jealous because in 4 months the snow will come and that's us fucked until March. Like "Game of Thrones", but without a monster made of black smoke emitting from anyone's ladyparts.
That is it for the moment. There is more to this post but I realised after finishing it that it was over 100 pages long, so I will post the second bit tomorrow. It is about what I have been reading and it basically says, "I have read a lot of books about the Mitford sisters and all their friends", so if you don't like the Mitfords, don't tune in tomorrow. If you do like TV and film reviews, tune in on Sunday. Maybe.
Pip "Poo in my oats" Pip
NWM
4 comments:
Good post. I think the poo in your oats is working.
Two connected points
1) Previous post, Baker Cat. If cat's did actually do something useful like bake I'd get one.
2) Why are you evicting the mice, can't Corndog and the other cat do that? I mean, that's in their job description isn't it? Baker cat is obviously an overachiever but those two? Well.
I was recently in the dentist's chair when the assistant/nurse/drool sucker announced in conversation with the dentist that the English are all really stuck up and talk with a stupid WAH WAH accent. I shot her a look.
The dentist was suitably embarrassed for her, though.
I am in love with the mouse in the shoe.
I am fascinated by the formerly-shoe-dwelling mouse. I admit I was a bit worried about his chances in the wild (free-roaming peanut butter jars and native herds of giant oat packets are, I would imagine, incredibly rare). But then I figured that any mouse who can survive for even a small amount of time in a shoe with a foot in it is clearly the Samuel L. Jackson of rodents and the rest of the forest had best be prepared.
Post a Comment