Day 120: I Buy A Cup Of Coffee

Someone accused my comments box in the post before last of being like a branch of Starbucks. Needless to say I was horrified; I replied that I like to think of my comments box(es) as a sort of virtual eighteenth century salon, in which my witty and erudite readers bow slightly to each other, stroke their powdered wigs, exchange bons mots and pretend to be Alain de Botton, not a slackly-decorated repository for Imaginary Writers drinking coffee-flavoured hot milkshake. (They're still at it, as far as I can see, except they are not talking about the Death of Philosophy, but who they would rather shag - Feltz or Prince Edward. Feltz is in the lead.)

Anyway, it set me to thinking and caused me to scoot to a sudden stop outside Caffè Nero in Waterloo this morning and purchase the cup of coffee you see above (customised by my own monkey hands).  As I was sucking it up with my monkey lips, I thought some more about coffee. In fact I started thinking about it last night and haven't stopped. That is the horrible truth.



I would like a cup of coffee

1. I would not like "a coffee" or "a tea".
2. Neither would I like "a hot drink".

Starbucks coffee is not coffee

Someone in Starbucks ("Er ... I'll have a cappuccino please. With two extra shots." "TWO? You SURE?" "Yes, I would like it to taste of coffee". "You want syrup wid tat?" "Do I look like a cretin?"), gets a pint of milk, then Lucifer passes by and squirts in it.

What he squirts is up to you to decide, but suffice to say it ain't pretty, and in normal circumstances would require a double dose of Arret and some rehydration salts.

I have yet to meet a French person who can make nice coffee in their houses

You may well sit through sixteen courses of the finest food in Christendom, hand-reared and cooked by the Laydee of the House. But when it comes to "un petit café?", shout "NON!" and run for the hills.

English people are more obsessed with coffee than any other nation on Earth

You might think it's the Italians, but that is part of them and they are very fucking good at it, so nothing to see there; move along now. You may think it's the Americanos, but I do not see that drinking 12 pints of skinny latte with coffee syrup light on the coffee is really drinking coffee. The French don't care what anyone thinks of them anyway (if they're being annoying, just shout "SHAKESPEARE! HE'S BETTER THAN ALL OF YOURS!" at them - it usually works.)

But you see we are in trouble over here. Fed up with everyone saying British food is rubbish, we have become obsessed by proving everyone wrong. Regardless of the fact that most people live off ready meals bought from Tesco (despite owning 12 cookbooks by Jamie Oliver, five by Nigel Slater and twenty-nine by the Spawn of Satan, Delia Smith), the middle classes will confidently blether on about farmers' markets, read Heston Blumenthal in The Guardian (and buy a meat thermometer they will never use), talk about the number of Michelin-starred restaurants we have and roll their eyes at children who eat chips for lunch. Therefore, making a decent cup of coffee is important, and by your coffee shall ye know them: Instant is Bad; a Cafetière is Cheating; anything in a sachet is Probably Rat Poison.

How to make coffee at home

Like this:

Please note: the coffee maker must say "Bialetti" on the side of it and feature a man with a hat and a large nose and moustache, making a hand signal you only usually see on cricket pitches. Only this one will do. There are Many Imitators but considering the 6-cup costs about £25 and will last 100 years, it is well worth the Investment.

Tips on what to do when you get one (learnt at the knee of Monkeymother):

1. Put one drop of washing up liquid in with the water and run it through once.
2. Make about 3 batches of coffee, and discard them.
3. Thereafter, NEVER use washing up liquid on it.
4. Always store the 3 bits separately, otherwise you get Weird Mould.

Also:

1. The minute it starts bubbling, TAKE IT OFF THE HEAT. Otherwise it will be burnt and disgusting. You may also burn your rubber ring (yes yes, ho ho). If you do ...
2. ... you can get replacements at John Lewis or Peter Jones (same difference, except the latter contains more people with Hermès scarves than the former, which contains mainly people on a day trip to That London and me, sobbing quietly in Haberdashery.)

If I want a cup of coffee in a cardboard cup, I go to ....

1.Caffè Nero
2. AMT Espresso
3. Costa Coffee

Prêt à Manger is also OK if you ask for a strong one.

People who bang on pompously about coffee are knobbers

Mea culpa, yah? Great! Love my own work! Super to see you dahling - let's do lunch.

Right, I'm bored of coffee now, and will move briefly to tea.

How to make tea

Boil the water, then put it IMMEDIATELY on to the tea bag or tea leaves.  I am not that interested in warming teapots, milk in first or last, lemon or milk and the like. If people could just get the water hot, they would realise how really very nice tea can be. It also has the added benefit of not making you mad in the head after 2 cups, unlike coffee.

Hot drink, anyone?

SPECIAL FEATURE: Non-Workingmonkey's Media Quiz

Wednesday. Middle of the week. Not quite Thursday, and most definitely not Friday. And so, to help your afternoon spin by a little faster (or not, as the case may be), I bring you a One-Off Special: Non-Workingmonkey's Media Quiz.

Right. Pencils at the ready. Here we go:

1. "I am distraught and destroyed ... I am broken-hearted."

Who said that?

a. Hopalong McCartney Mills
b. The mother of a family lost in the New Orleans floods
c. An idiot off of Big Brother talking about another idiot off of Big Brother.

2. "Introducing the miracle of fusion. The miracle of technology and a unique idea come together to create ..."

What product is being advertised?

a. A nuclear warhead
b. A razor
c. A new type of laser hair removal device.

3. Who is the biggest knobber working in the British media today?

a. Tony Parsons
b. Tony Parsons
c. Tony Parsons

4. Who is this and what, exactly, is the point of her?

Please answer in no more than six words, using diagrams if necessary. Calculators are not permitted.


5. Headbands: IN or OUT?

a. In
b. Out
c. Shake it all about.

6. Ugg Boots: IN or OUT?

a. In
b. Out
c. Uggggggg.

7. **INTERACTIVITY ALERT** Which of these five ads do you like the bestest?


Nike: Parklife



Apple: Think Different



Honda: Cog



Honda: Grr



Persil: Penguin



8. Who Would You Rather Sleep With?

You must sleep with one of the following people, or meet your death. Who will it be?

a. Ex-porn star Heather McCartney Mills (inc. leg)











b. Prince Edward








c. The Marquis de Sade











d. Vanessa Feltz








e. James Blunt


There are no prizes, except the joy of taking part. Answers will be published at some point if anyone cares. Apologies to Foreign Readers, who may not be aware of the work of Feltz, or indeed Parsons. If this is the case, count yourselves lucky.

Enjoy!, as they say in TGI Friday as they squat next to your table and try and hand you a balloon.

Day 118: I Consider Compilation CDs

From what I gather, most people stopped making compilation tapes when they were fifteen. A boy would nervously "make a tape" for a young laydee, carefully choosing a suitably woebegone image to cut to size and insert into the case. The Smiths would usually have to feature to prove that he was Sensitive; if he liked pretending to be a bit depressed (in the mistaken belief that Being Depressed Makes You Seem More Interesting), he would probably put a bit of Joy Division on it. Meanwhile, back in bedrooms across the land, young laydees were making tapes for their friends. If you were very unlucky, you'd get Altered Images and The Eurythmics.

Me, I was listening to Dire Straits when I was revising for my O-Levels. I hate Dire Straits with a passion, but for some reason their first record (on tape, of course), provided exactly the right tone for Geography. (I got Grade C.) I never made compilation tapes, though. I thought they were sad. I started late, you see.

I went out with someone once who sneered (in my car, as I was driving him somewhere nice to do something nice): "Oh, you and your iTunes playlists". (We split up soon thereafter.) But in very recent memory, I have been given compilation CDs by Gentleman Callers ("This is a bit ... depressing. But Interesting." Like him, without the interesting bit, if I remember rightly.) My friend Louis always makes me compilation CDs ("Guess what it is, Monkey. Guess. Yes! They're all songs about giraffes!"), as does my friend M in Scotland. And I cheerfully make them back, unconsciously, humming a bit, drinking tea and looking out of the window.

The truth is, I'm a knobber. I have an iPod (or three). I have iTunes. I have CDs that fall on my head when I open cupboards. I am aware that it is Very Difficult to be a Laydee and like the music Very Much without men getting huffy. (Music is a Man Thing, like fupbal.) I still remember being sneered at by someone to whom Cool was important in my car, and it makes me go a bit hot and feel that I have to make Excuses for myself. But why deny myself this Simple Pleasure? Everyone knows I'm a knobber, and I haven't been cool since 1993 (and that was only briefly), and about two years ago for about a minute in France.

I have Decided. I shall embrace my knobber-dom. I shall make compilation CDs fearlessly and with Enthusiasm, and adhere to the following rules:

1. The name of Monkey, do not think about it too much.

2. Never put something on that you don't really like because you think it will make you look clever and interesting. (This is the same as reading books you don't enjoy so you can sound like a cleverclogs at dinner parties full of knobbers. And no, reading Alain de Botton does NOT mean you Understand either Love or Philosophy. Also, his head is Disproportionately Large.)

3. Hope that the person receiving the CD will like two songs out of, say, 15. This is a Good Hit Rate. Do not try and make it so they will love it all. You Cannot Tell, and Cannot Guess.

4. They will not hate you if they do not like All The Songs.

5. But they have every right to hate you if you put James Cunt, Keane or Phil Collins on it.

6. There is nothing ironic about Yes, post-Peter Gabriel Genesis or Chris de Burgh. There is only a World of Pain.

7. Adjust the levels if you can. Elbow gave me quite a fright last week.

8. Do a list of Things On It if you can, otherwise it's annoying.

9. If you like it, do it. (I am hoping to create a Backlash so that I will feel less Ashamed. My strategy is to encourage everyone else to do it endlessly and without cease, so that making Compilation CDs is as normal as, say, eating cake.)

10. Do NOT, under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, try and woo someone back with a compilation CD. This only brings a World of Shame and will make your subject throw up on their shoes. ("You thought Macy Gray was appropriate? You are more chucked than ever, my friend.")

11. Equally, DO NOT compile a CD with 'hidden messages' in it. "In and out of love and institutions", "And I would give you my heart (that's if I had one)" may well be misconstrued.

Two things will now happen. My esteemed readers will turn away in disgust, or will Support me in the Construction of Compilation CDs. Me, I'm going to the Post Office to send a compilation CD or two to Canada. All that remains is an anxious week waiting to find out if I'll have to cancel my flight in December.

Splendid Monkey Gallery: Picture 8

Tension is mounting at Monkey Towers. Clare sends a mysterious hand drawn elephant attended by a monkey with a banana up its nose.

This Superb Work - which gains many points, as it is Hand Drawn on the Back Of Something Else - is accompanied by A Note, an extract of which I include below:

"... Tarzan had summoned a whole army of snakes, gorillas, tigers, lions and chimpanzees to attack the elephants. And the chimps were bringing bananas as ammo, which they would use in the following fashion: (a) pelt the elephants in the face, and (b) pop out their contents and then use the skins to trip the elephants up. They were also going to climb all over the elephants and tie their trunks in knots, which would render the elephants unable to sing. But because each chimp would need one arm to hold onto creepers for swinging through the trees, they were going to carry the bananas in their ears, in their mouths and in their tails.

Hence the picture.

But I only drew one chimp. I couldn’t be bothered drawing a whole army. Sorry.

PS: The drawing was done on the back of a piece of scrap paper which is fascinating because it contains a List Of Stuff from an earlier incarnation of my current novel, which has since changed so much that none of the things in this list still apply [...] it contains such brilliant nuggets as this: ''H discovers leg is in double bass - feels urge to protect it" ...."

I don't know where to look. Such Monkey Gallery brilliance at every turn! But do not despair, for there are twenty whole days left until I choose Splendid Monkey Of The Month. You're still in with a chance, so send 'em in! Don't be shy!

Congratulations, Clare!


NB: A Friend commented last night: "But the problem will be that people don't have scanners." My only reply was: "I have no truck with that nonsense. If people want to send in a monkey, they will find a way."

Day 118: I Think A Bit Of Respect Wouldn't Go Amiss

Regular readers will be aware that I once had a job. But this was no normal job. Oh no. I mean we had desks and did work and that, and sent emails and made phone calls and had meetings. But what made this job extraordinary was the sheer level of insubordination I had to endure every day.

Young people would - openly and without shame - call me Monkey, or replace the photograph on my security pass card with a picture of a cock. They would tell me they "weren't sure about my attitude", phone HR every other day to report my bad behaviour, and wilfully and with intent ignore my orders. ("Kiss my feet." "No." "Get me tea." "No.") Last week, one of them sent me a book called "Teach Your Dog To Read".

Last night, out of pity, I met one of them. I was open-minded about the meeting, even though I still smart when I think of the way she treated me in the past, but there was some hope of improvement. Sadly, I soon found that nothing had changed: she gave the frankly unkind card you see above, and addressed it thus:












Still, she bought me a nice present:














But there was some confusion.

"Do you think if you dropped it you could re-assemble it to look like a monkey, you idiot?"
"Shut up."
"I spent ages looking for the monkey one."
"But I think they've all got monkeys on."
"Where?"
"Well, the point of the game is that there are different animals on every side."
"Where?"
"Here:"











"Oh."
"NOW who's the idiot?"

There really is no substitute for experience.