Day 266: I Drink Coffee

Things have been a little slow round Monkey Towers of late, what with the result of falling off my bicycle like an idiot and all. Despite the amusement involved in showing my mangled ankle off ("Fucking shut up! Put it away, you FREAK"), I cannot move very fast, which means long evenings in front of the televisual apparatus encased in ice packs, sipping Jenever from the jug.

But on Sunday I went outside! It took twenty minutes to make a journey that usually takes three, but heavens, look what was at the end of it! A very pretty cup of coffee and tiny slice of cake which makes, I am sure you will agree, a very interesting addition to my magnificent collection.












I have generously included for your enjoyment (and reference) my joint favourite, the cup of coffee from the Botanical Gardens (please note the attractive fern motif carved from the purest cocoa, probably made from beans in one of the greenhouses).






















Whatever next!

Day 265: I Cannot Sleep

In the olden days, I worried about many things. This meant I could never sleep, which meant I worried more. Things I worried about included:

1. I am going to die alone, definitely.

2. And when I die, I will die having done nothing of any import.

3. They smile at me, but secretly they hate me.

4. I shouldn't have said that thing in 1987.

5. Why does soap make the bubbles go away?

6. I am not like other people, and not in a good way

7. Will I ever be able to jump up and down in front of a mirror without puking on my feet?

8. Even if I die when I am 86, it is unlikely that I will be able to read more than 10,000 more books

9. Despite the fact of my fancy job and title, any minute now I am going to be found out

10. If I hadn't said that thing in 1987, I would be happy now

11. Surely it must be better than this

12. I wish the cat would die.


Anyway, time has passed and now I lie awake at night worrying about different things. Last night, they included:

1. An 11 x 4m inflatable packet of crisps

2. Argentinian whisky

3. Posters in Italian motorway caffs

4. Who are the bigger twats, KLM ("savoury or sweet?") or Air Canada ("ice cream?")

5. Whether it's worth investing 30 Euro in a crutch at the medical supplies shop up the road on the offchance of an upgrade on Friday

6. Whether the name of a biscuit translates into English

7. Pacman

8. Pathology.


I'm not sure what's worse, frankly.

Day 264: I Think About Rhubarb

Day 263: I Am Looking For Chris de Burgh

This splendid chap is Ian Moor, winner of Stars In Their Eyes, 1999. As you can see, he is a Chris de Burgh impersonator.

I very much need a link to him doing a duet of Lady in Red with the actual Chris de Burgh. (And if anyone can find a photograph of his* daughter winning Miss World in 2003, so much the better.)

* Chris de Burgh's daughter, not Ian Moor's.

Day 261: I Am Reminded That Over-Familiarity Breeds Contempt

"Good afternoon. Is that Monkey? This is Jeff from Orange, calling about your contract." No, Jeff. Stop. Stop now. Do not use my Christian name*. You are twenty. I am thirty-seven, and we have not met.

I am "Miss Monkey" or, if you must, "Ms Monkey". ("Ms" is such an ugly political point to make, like non-leather shoes.) If you must insist on using my Christian name do not, once you have started talking to me, use it in every sentence. It does not make me trust you more when you do it. It does not make me feel that you are listening to me. Please stop it. We do not live in the Mid-Western States of America; you are not selling used cars, and I am not the sort of person who buys Diamantique chandelier earrings from QVC.

If we were to meet, looking me straight in the eye, giving me a long, firm handshake and using my name all at the same time would not encourage me to think of you as trustworthy; it would encourage me to think you had been on a training course outside Leicester.

Moreover, if you have met me once - albeit in fairly informal circumstances - do not, under any circumstances, call me "you nutter" or "you idiot" in an email. Never, ever say (either out loud with your mouth or written down in an email), "You're MAD, you are!". (You do not, I am sure, want to discover the full extent of my insanity for the first time when I kill you with my hands.)

Calling me 'Madam' is, however, entirely appropriate. As is the following introduction to a telephone call (from John Lewis, of course): "Good afternoon, Miss Monkey. It is Peter from John Lewis calling about your account card. Is now a convenient time to talk?". Yes, Peter, it is.

* No pedantry about "Isn't it Non-working?", if you please.