Day 125: I Attempt To Get My House In Order

As I am going to the Colonies in a couple of weeks, I have taken it upon myself to Sort Things Out before I go. "Easy!", I hear you cry. But is it? For I must:

1. replace the tooth I swallowed
2. encourage Royal Scottish Assurance to give me my money back
3. encourage Norwich Union to give me my money back
4. secure Employment for my Return and indeed...
5. ...begin and Complete a Work Project in the next fortnight
6. get my hair cut, as I look like I have a dead animal on my head
7. go back to the dentist again
8. have my pelvis re-aligned
9. semi-organise and attend a hen weekend
10. remind Visa (who are all Idiots), that I have not 'cancelled' my account, and would like a new Visa card in order to Travel without carrying around Travellers' Cheques like a geriatric in shorts from Florida
11. pay off my car, assuming Royal Scottish Assurance and Norwich Union give me my fucking money back.

Now, these things fit neatly into a list, and can be ticked off one by one. Or so one would think.

Money first. I phone the Royal Bank of Scotland Mortgage Centre. I press a thousand buttons, and have an unintelligible conversation with an idiot, who tells me to call someone else. I call them.

"Hello Jackie, NatWest Offset Team!"
"Ah. My mortgage is with the Royal Bank of Scotland. Am I in the right place?"
"Oh yes. Can I have your details?"

I am told I do not exist. Time passes. A distant gunshot is heard. I snap a pencil with one finger, and start a long staring competition with the cat.

"Is your account by any chance with the Royal Bank of Scotland?"
"YES."
"Oh. You're in the wrong place."
"For CHRIST'S SAKE."
"I'll put you through."

If it takes half an hour to get someone to undertake what is a very straightforward task (give me my money back as soon as they can, without talking rubbish and being Stupid), God alone knows what'll happen at the hairdresser. And in view of the fact that I am already grinding my teeth like a cocaine enthusiast, I'm not fancying the dentist much either.

Day 124: I Dislike Highgate

I go there Often, for reasons best kept to myself. (I will not be pressed; don't even think about it.) I therefore feel confident in my ability to assert that the good people of Highgate are, almost without exception*, bellends.

Proof

1. They are in North London (Q.E.D.)

2. They never, ever, EVER say 'thank you' when you let them out in their 4x4s/Volvo Estates/stupid Mercedes. The Good People of Brixton (S. London) are almost as bad drivers as the Good People of Kingsland Road (E. London), but at least they try and acknowledge that you've backed up 15ft to let them past in their Cortina, even if it does involve knocking the wing mirror off someone else's car.

3. Due to Dire Traffic, I stopped athwart (is this a word? No matter), a pedestrian crossing at a set of traffic lights today. And an EIGHT YEAR OLD CHILD walked past my car, crouched down a bit, and shook his head in disbelief. Then he trotted after his mother into an organic food shop. Piss off, little boy. Piss. Off. He no doubt went home, asked Mummy for some delicious home-made humous in an organic wholemeal wrap with extra salad, listened to some Mozart, did his homework BEFORE Blue Peter then let the piano teacher in, whereupon he ran through the Goldberg Variations before (to his mind) earning the right to eat a delicious 'Vegetable Medley' comprising mainly turnips, with a brown rice garnish. I bet he goes to Westminster for Big School.

4. The mothers of girls at Channing Girls' School (known in my time as Channing Dogs' School, but then we were West London** and childish) are, without exception, the worst drivers in the entire world. They also feel that they have the inalienable right to park wherever they want in their 4x4s, even if it is on top of my Micra. They are also apparently unaware of the verb "to indicate". I will indicate that they should put their precious violin-carrying daughters on the bus, rather than wasting my time and the world's with their fuck-awful driving.

Annoyingly (for the benefit of foreign readers), Highgate is one of the more beautiful parts of London: great red-bricked Georgian houses, leafy squares, and easy access to one of our more lovely parks. However, it is also incredibly expensive and as we all know, money does not necessarily mean good sense or, indeed, good manners.

* Exception being my might-as-well-be-my-big-brother friend, Tom.

** North London to West and South London is the same as popping to LA for the weekend if you live in New York. East London is near North London and OK in small patches.

Splendid Monkey Gallery: Pictures 11, 12 and 13

Regular readers will be aware of the astonishing Range and Depth of monkeys submitted to Splendid Monkey Gallery of late. In two weeks, the Monkeys will be Posted in their Entirety (free picture blog poll type software willing), and I will be asking You to Help Me Vote. (I will probably ignore you, but never mind.)

But sometimes Sheer Weight Of Monkey can become an Immediate Contender, even when set against of a monkey drawn on the Mayor's own paper, a monkey drawn by someone who fears they Cannot Draw when they can, a monkey drawn on a computer with a hand, a monkey drawn on the back of a notes on a novel, a monkey photographed by hand in the South America by a Colonial, or indeed a monkey drawn by Professional and Extremely Talented and Good Illustrators. (Let alone all the other contenders.)

We have dear Anna to thank for this plethora of monkeys. (In Buckets.) And you will thank me for that link; her blog is Splendid and well worth at least an hour of your time. (This Is Not A Joke!).

I am therefore extremely proud to present Two BucketMonkeys, submitted by Anna. (The Third I cannot copy and paste, but this is Not Anna's Fault; it is My Idiocy. The linkeage is however here. Thank you, Mark Klotz!)
















It only remains for me to say: Congratulations, Anna!

Day 124: I Can Hope My Cash And Carry Shop Will Be More Than I Expected

In the immortal words of Dusty Springfield:

"Ahh, ahh, spooky, mmm, spooky, ahh, ahh, ahh, spooky, ooh, spooky
Ahh, aah, aah, spooky."

I awake in my pit at 6.15 and can barely open my eyes, which are glued together with cat spittle and confusion. But I Struggle awake, wash, eat porridge standing up, hurl "a hot drink" down my throat and stagger down the hill to the tube. My intention is to Mount the Tube and travel to Tottenham Court Road, whereupon I will be Interviewed for a Job That Does Not Exist. ("Speculative chat, yeah?") I really do not want to go.

But what is this? The Tube Line is Broken! There is No Chance that I will get to the Imaginary Interview by 8.15. I turn back, and walk up the hill. A BLACK CAT crosses my path. My eyes swivel nervously to the right. HOLY MOLY! The Modesty Cover is back on the Greek Cock God!

This is too strange. I am still feeling unfulfilled after last night's unclear Psychic Guidance (although relieved to discover that December augurs well for Long Distance Travel, I did not Really Need To Be Told for reasons that will become clear in the coming weeks). But it appears that All Is Not Lost, for what do I find upon entering the gates of Monkey Towers? Yes! The framed calling card of Psychic Saveena has fallen to the floor.

(To the left you will see a photograph of Memento Corner. Saveena's Gap is to the bottom right.)

It is Too Much. Athletically, I bend down and pick Saveena's calling card up off the floor. It is an Omen, I tell you. An Omen.


I do not often talk about my Troubles, as I like to think of this blog as a centre of mindless fuckwittery and drawings of monkeys, not a Vortex of Woe. But in order to communicate quite how astonishing this "coincidence" is, I will summarise them for you here. No sympathy, if you please; somehow it makes it worse and anyway, I'm dealing with it all very well.

Things I Always Worry About

1. Confusion
2. Whether my home is blessed
3. Depression
4. Drinking problems
5. Whether my children will marry outside culture
6. Being cursed by my jealous enemies
7. Most sicknesses
8. Evil influences
9. School exams
10. Whether my jealous enemies will succeed or not.

It is true. You cannot compare Saveena with others, for she will do what others cannot. I can already feel my worries draining away into the drear November morning. For Psychic Saveena of Tooting will be able to help me with each and every one of my problems, and make them disappear.











I dare not try the number. Spooky.

Splendid Monkey Gallery: Picture 10

Having recovered from discovering that I will never be a prima ballerina, I turn wearily to my email inbox. And Lo! What do I find? But a Splendid Monkey from my dear Friend and Splendid Commentator, Fwengebola.

I fear his heart feels Dark at the moment. But my word, his monkey is Splendid. Not only is it an excellent drawing, but it reflects a little of the existential angst that we all feel from time to time, and is written on the Mayor's Own Paper.

For that alone, I say:

Congratulations, Fwengebola!