Day 77: I Couldn't Possibly Comment

And it seems no-one else can either. Is it just me or is the comment thing fucked?

I assume it must be, otherwise the person who spent 75 minutes reading 32 pages of this blog this morning would surely have left a comment saying: "my dear Non-workingmonkey, thank you for filling an hour and a quarter of my time in a way that has made me happy." On the other hand, it might be Rupert Murdoch planning to acquire this centre of blogging excellence, so I shouldn't complain too much.

I wish I were still in Canterbury. It's sunny there, and people are nice to you in shops. You can walk round the entire city in 3.2 seconds; the drink is cheaper; the men are handsome and the company pleasant. In London, it is pouring with rain and full of traffic jams, mainly caused by seventeen year olds in souped-up Peugeot 206es revving like spastics, and fools in 4x4s blocking roads that were designed for two cars of average size. In Woolworth's, a checkout lady broke three tills. In Sainsbury's, a man who smelt of wee dropped yoghurt on my foot and the security guard in New Look accused me of shoplifting. And on telly, ugly pikeys are taking DNA tests to prove that they are not each others' father.

I am going to make chicken soup and Consider My Options.

Day 76: I Go To Canterbury, And Blame A Toothy Fish For Poor Facial Hair

Regular readers will be aware of the astonishing fact that whenever I go on holiday, however brief, I am bombarded by dioramas featuring models with scabby facial hair. As I only ever go on holiday to France, I was convinced that this was a particularly French disease, and one almost solely confined to the Château d'Ussé in the Loire valley. But no. For the good burghers of Canterbury seem to be unable to see with their eyes when confronted by a man-size model in a small museum.

What has happened to this chap's eyebrows and moustache? (I must apologise for the quality of the photography; I was distracted by sweat running wetly down the back of my neck.)





And look at this poor chap - a WW1 soldier, no less, with a tache made from a caterpillar that has been divested of its internal organs and soaked in Grecian 2000.
















The reason for this sorrowful display of facial hair is simple. Had I not been distracted by this cheerful toothy fish swimming purposelessly in its display case (who looks like no-one I know, but was amusing enough), I might have noticed a donation box in the entrance hall. And had I seen the donation box, I would have slipped in a fiver (enough to buy a pot of Copydex and some badger bristles). But no. Because of this fish, the models in the Buff Regimental Museum will stand proudly, their moustaches and eyebrows falling off, for the rest of eternity.

Day 76: I Go To Canterbury, And Have Fun

I have recently returned from a most enjoyable weekend sojourn in Canterbury with the most charming of companions.

Him: I went to the Cathedral this morning.
Me: What did you think?
Him: Well, I was a bit disappointed. It was a bit ... small.
Me: Small? Fuck off. You'll be very disappointed by London. "Yeah, Big Ben's OK, but it's a bit short. And Buckingham Palace, nice, but poky."
Him: Well, compared to French cathedrals.
Me: I see. Our cathedrals aren't big enough for you, then.
Him: But there's some tombs with melted faces. And a museum of moving automata that tells the story of the Canterbury Tales.
Me: "And sodeynly anon this Damyan/Gan pullen up the smok, and in he throng."
Him: What?
Me: Canterbury Tales. It's Middle English. Bollocks really.
Him: (raises eyebrow)
Me: You know giraffes?
Him: Yeah.
Me: Have you ever touched one?
Him: Yep.
Me: Wow. Where?
Him: Um, in a zoo.
Me: How big are their heads? Are they really big?
Him: Yeah. About so big (moves hands apart to demonstrate).
Me: WOW.

Day 75: I Am Getting Old

In preparation for my imminent trip to Canterbury to see the Cathedral and that, I have been in the bathroom looking at my face. I looked at my nose a bit and saw a hair growing out of the inside of it, so pulled it out with tweezers. That only happens to old men, doesn't it?

Day 74: I Am Looking Forward To National Dating Day

I used to do a lot of internet dating. Did it for seven years, on and off. About 1.34m dates, most of which I can't remember. Wrote about it here. Had some relationships. Fell in love, didn't fall in love, fell in love again. Made four very good friends (and with any luck, one more), who I will almost certainly know until I peg it (fifty years to go: a psychic told me I would die when I'm 86, so it must be true).

For reasons regular readers will be aware of, I am not sampling the delights of Gentleman Callers until I can look at myself naked in the mirror without calling the emergency services. I can, however, keep my hand in if I want to, because dating services* still offer me temptations that I can barely resist.

Hi Non-workingmonkey

To celebrate National Dating Day on the 24th September, DatingDirect.com is hosting a Celebrity Dream Date Auction.

The charity auction will end on the 1st October at 2pm with all proceeds going to the registered UK charities of each celebrity’s choice.

Start bidding for the chance to date one of our top celebs including Liz McClarnon of Atomic Kitten fame, and the quizmaster
himself, Chris Tarrant.

When the frantic bidding comes to an end, the highest bidder for each celeb will have their dream turned into reality as they go on a date with their chosen celeb.

The location could be anything from a swanky London restaurant, to the set of a popular TV show to sneak a peak ‘behind the scenes’.

Click below to take a look at the stars going under the hammer…

www.datingdirect.com/nationaldatingday.

Liz McClarnon of Atomic Kitten fame a "top celeb"? Chris Tarrant? Misses England, Northern Ireland, Wales and ... Miss Great Britain? Is she better than Miss Wales, Miss Scotland and Miss England? (Anyone who has recently been in contact with British tabloid television and newspapers will understand why I can't even begin to make a gag about Chris Tarrant going on a date; it'll be shit, and everyone will cry a bit.) Oh, and Foreign Readers - only about four of the people that DatingDirect are offering up are 'celebrities' in any form (D-list) in the UK, so you're not missing much.

But most of all, I'm interested in the fact that this Sunday is National Dating Day. Anyone aware of this fact? Are YOU making special preparations to take the One You Love (or would like to have a go on), out for a 'meal'** in a "swanky restaurant"?

And as for me: well, anyone want to take me out? Regardless of my Gentleman Caller Ban, I don't want to be the only person in the country staying in and watching Songs of Praise this Sunday night. If you're in any doubt (having read my superb blog and admired my photograph), I offer you five reasons why I Make A Great Date:

1. Good at swearing
2. Like booze
3. Can pay own way
4. Interesting conversationalist, if you want to talk about squirrels
5. Live within easy reach of all of London's Top Eateries and Stylish Bars.

Come on. You know you want to. And get your skates on, it'll be hell trying to find a table.


* To cut a long story short, the best ones are Match.com and Guardiansoulmates.co.uk, if you're interested. The one that emailed me today is rubbish. Oh, and don't do internet dating if you're mad. It will make you more mad.

** Bad, bad word.