Day 205: I Watch Television And Wish I Could Find Monkey Song

On the television in the Netherlands has been playing, for the last four minutes, a film of people bicycling through a puddle in Amsterdam to the tune of You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real). It depicts the many different ways in which one can raise one's legs clear of murky water when moving at speed, and has included a woman who - the coward - dismounted from her bicycle to push it around the puddle.

I want it to rain so I can bicycle through puddles to the tune of Monkey Song by Herman Düne. It is excellent, and contains the splendid words "If some of my friends could be monkeys/They would have four hands and understand me" and "Monkeys are cool and sweet/And make a good pet name for someone you love". But sadly I cannot work out how to post it, so you will have to imagine it.

Instead, you may like this. It is called "I Wish That I Could See You Soon" and is also by Herman Düne.

Day 204: I Am Made Dutch

Suddenly, I am doing work. Today, meetings; some emails sent; some conversations had. I am quite dizzy with it all! (I think I may even have had an idea earlier, but cannot be sure.)

I cycled home in the rain via the shop (where I bought fish stock cubes by mistake), and thought how much better working is now that I am, in my heart, non-working. Life is much more pleasant when you stop caring where you'll be in five years' time and just do things you like doing.

But this mild cheerfulness was multiplied one-hundredfold when I returned home and discovered a communication from Farty, a regular commentator (but not, apparently, owner of blog). He has done some work on my true likeness, taken sometime last year by Mr Dave Shelton, and has made me into a Dutch Non-Working Monkey!



In truth, the Amsterdam people I have met mainly seem to spend time being tall, bicycling up and down, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. But no matter: I am charming in my clogs, and pleased with my plaits. Thank you, Mr Farty!

Day 204: I Observe The Wildlife Of Amsterdam

Last night, a woman with a long-haired dachsund, matching tartan headband and trousers (and a troll with a freshly-grated face for a husband), described my coat as "disgusting". I missed the exchange, what with being in the loo, but got back to find my brother and New Friend, S, rigid with shock and glee. "Don't look left", they muttered. "Why? Why?", I said, looking to my left, to my right, and under the table. "She'll tell you she wants you to behave. And she thinks your coat is DISGUSTING. So we've moved it."

The woman and the grated troll left, sneering as they went. Still rattled, we drank the wine, ate potato and wondered what was more disgusting: a dog in a restaurant or a black coat from Marks and Spencer.

Muddle-headed and still in shock (exacerbated in no small part by the thrilling news that a Colonial pathologist is coming to visit), I walked to work this morning. It's not long, the walk; I turn left out of my front door, cross a canal, turn right along the canal work is on, and go to work. It takes about ten minutes and there is not much to see on the way other than some splendid houses and some bicycles.

But my dears! Look! In a window! On the way to work! I am still Rigid with Delight, and can barely do any work at all!

Day 202: I Am A Favourite Amongst The Academic Population Of Great Britain (And The World)

I have long been aware of the above-average intelligence of my readers, let alone their exquisite taste and vast reservoirs of really quite extraordinary knowledge. I am convinced that they are Strange and Magical creatures; were they all to meet in a public house they would no doubt rub along very well, buy pints of real ale for each other and perhaps - prevailing winds being favourable - do some dancing and perhaps kissing. (An idle dream and long must it remain so, for my readers live all over the World and I - as everyone is by now well aware - live in a canal in Amsterdam.)

When I got back earlier this afternoon I put my laptop on my knee, made a cup of ginger tea, turned on Dr Phil (I like him more than Judge Judy), and had a look who had been looking at my web-log using the "Site Meter" as my guide. (I rarely do this as I do not often understand what it says, other than "Total Visits This Week: 3".)

And my dears! I have to tell you that I noticed something astonishing: I have many, many visitors from Universities! I have long believed that I should be the subject of a PhD (or at the very least an MA - I am an Art, not a Science).* And now it seems my dream is coming true! I have so many visitors from Universities that someone, somewhere MUST be making a study of me!

I shall list the Universities in question here (in no particular order) and stand back as you marvel at the fact that they are all, without exception, August Academic Institutions. None of that "My degree is in Deep Fat Frying (With Manicure Studies) from the University of Penzance (formerly Totnes Sixth Form College)" for MY readers. Oh good God, no. They go (or went) to proper Universities and do (or did) things like "English" or "Maths" or "Modern Languages" or "Veterinary Science" or indeed "Chemistry". This much I know to be true, and will not be told otherwise. I know FOR A FACT that one of my readers has five degrees, for example!

From Great Britain:

LSE
Leeds
Sheffield
York** (strong showing from Yorkshire there; keep it up, Yorkshire!)
Cranfield
Edinburgh
Oxford
Cambridge
Newcastle
Birmingham
UCL
The Open University (lots of them - what are you DOING, people?)

From the Abroad:

Harvard
McGill

If you are visiting from a university server but are not listed here, please - make yourself known! The clever are ALWAYS welcome at this web-log! (And yes, I will be a Visiting Lecturer for a small fee plus expenses, inc. a go in the refectory.)

* Think of it! "And what do YOU do?", people will ask at parties. "I am a Doctor!", will come the reply. "A Doctor of Medicine?", they will enquire. "No", will come the humble response, half-whispered from behind a delicate hand: "I am a Doctor of Non-Workingmonkey Studies".

** In 1991, A.S. Byatt (in a Tam O'Shanter), gave me a degree in English in Central Hall at York. I therefore remain very fond of York University, despite the geese and the cheese scones in Vanbrugh, which explain my arse.

Day 202: I Get From Bedroom To Work In Under Five Minutes

I sleep, finally, after many months. My noisy upstairs neighbour, De Twat, has quietened down after Saturday night's extravaganza of noise. I wash. I breakfast upon dense sourdough 8-seed bread, peanut butter made from unbleached hemp sacks and two tiny organic pears the size of gerbils. I dress. I leave my flat; I walk out of the front door; I unlock Glorie the bicycle, put my bag in Basil, her basket, and cycle off. For about three minutes I whizz up and down canals and over tiny bridges; cars stop; pedestrians know not to get in the way. Having left home at 8.37, I am locking Glorie up at 8.41.

It is strange and marvellous and absolutely the way things should be. In London, I would waste anything between an hour and a half and two hours a day either in my car, or sitting balefully on an underground tube train. Here, no more than ten minutes a day will be spent travelling to and from work. That means I have at least an extra one hour and twenty minutes a day to be literally rather then simply metaphorically "Non-working". It is Quite the Thing!