Time passes; blogs come and go; the leaves turn and fall; the wind's incomplete unrest builds and disperses about the sky. I grow older but less wise; hair spurts from places where monkeys do not usually have places.
And yet this blog - my blog, the blog of Non-workingmonkey - remains*: upright, brave, forthright and strong in the face of war, pestilence, falling readership, loss of attention, over-consumption of manmade foodstuffs leading to a nationwide outbreak of fat children, and bad weather in the Hebrides.
But this does not mean I can rest on my laurels. I must 'move with the times', a little as Cliff Richard did when he teamed up with Transit Morrison for Whenever God Shines His Light, or Lulu did with Take That, and Elton with global smash hit band Blue (that one is really bad - watch out!).
But 'moving with the times' does not mean wholesale change! Oh no. It means - in this instance - taking a 'winning formula' (i.e., this blog and its pedestrian but straightforward layout), and making some 'tweaks'.
So, in case you cannot see them with your own eyes (clue: they are all in the sidebar), let me tell you about the changes I have made. I think you will like them.
Blog Archive
Yes, well, not very original. Still, it's good, all of it, every single bit, even the bits that no-one understood or understands, even to this day. (Please note: it is labelled 'Blog Archive' twice, just in case one of your eyes is hanging out of its socket and looking in a different direction.)
No-one Else Found These Funny
Well, they may have done, but not as funny as I found them. These are (some of!) the posts that I still find really amusing, full in the knowledge that in some instances, not only did no-one laugh, but some people had no idea what was going on!
Putting on blog posts that may not have been very popular is the complete opposite of what everyone else does. This is called 'Disruption', and it is how you describe "doing the opposite of what everyone else does" if you work in marketing.
Genuine Plaudits For Non-Workingmonkey
This is really good and I like it a lot. Pierre Trudeau has been in touch from beyond the grave, and regular readers will know that the REAL Anna Raeburn posted a comment on this web-blog a few days ago! It was really funny. But you had to be there, I suppose.
Things I enjoy with a glass of lemon barley water and a small clay pipe
This is also known as a 'blog roll'. Mine is excellent. Please read Bookseller Crow. He has never given me free books but it is really lovely and probably good for your health.
Get Busy One Time
This is a bit weak, to be fair. It means you can favorite (please note the North American spelling!) this blog on Technorati. But frankly, who cares? I don't even understand Technorati, but I haven't got much else to do and it passed twenty minutes between lunch and high tea earlier today.
That is it. I hope you like it. I know I do.
*Not only does it remain (as in, it is still here), but it also remains a number of different things. Foolhardy. Forthright. Asinine. Puerile. Bedecked with beaver shots. Inconsistent. Random.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Day 448: I Do Some Thinking About Various Things, Including Tomatoes
As regular readers will be aware, I am very much in favour of non-working (both literally and metaphorically).
The mind, unfettered by the cretinous witterings of retarded colleagues and unencumbered by "To Do" lists beseeching one to do things in which one has no interest, expands; creativity improves; there is time to cook properly and take regular exercise.
Most importantly, perhaps, there is time to stare open-mouthed out of the window, lost in contemplation for entire days on end, whilst drawing contemplatively upon a small clay pipe and adjusting one's thermal pantaloons. (As an aside, it is my personal belief that if every man, woman and child in the Western World spent at least one hour per day just thinking, we would wipe out childhood obesity and global warming in one go.)
I have now been literally non-working for about five weeks exactly. I spent three of those five weeks in London, wishing I were elsewhere and then, as if by magic, an aeroplane arrived and brought me to Canada, where I have now been for over twelve days. And, as I am still non-working, I have had over nearly twelve days to think about things, many of which are very important and/or interesting.
Here are some of my current preoccupations. I know you will like them a lot.
Is This The Most Disgusting Recipe In The World?
Recipe cards in racks in supermarkets are quite a good way of finding out about local cultures, so I always look at them, even if they are in for e.g. Turkish, which I do not understand. (The pictures can still look nice, you see.)
Desperate to better understand French-Canadian culture, I stared for some long seconds at the recipe cards in our local supermarket last night, only to find my blood running cold and bile rising unbidden into my delicate monkey mouth. Here is why:
Allow me to translate (non-literally; approximately, without recourse to either dictionary or Bescherelle):
"Black Forest Gateau" is a chocolate cake, originally from Germany. Rich in chocolate, flavoured with cherry liqueur and generously served with black cherries and whipped vanilla cream, it is of course very popular with chocolate-lovers. Here's a way of discovering its delicious flavours - without having to wait for pudding!
The recipe is called "Black Forest Chicken".
And They Come Bigger Than This Too
This is an alien vegetable seen at a market. (It was surrounded by over-excited Italians taking photographs of each other next to it. It was bigger than most of them, but then most Italians are under 5ft 2.)
I know they are big, I know they get bigger, but still - this one was the size of a rolled-up fat adult (and a tall one at that - possibly a Dutch one!):
But it doesn't stop there! Next weekend, a self-haircutting pathologist and I will be going to interpret marrows and pumpkins. It is almost too much to bear!
Traffic Light People Of The World
I am really confused about the apparent lack of interest in my new website, which I think is really interesting. In it, I am trying to collect different traffic light people from around the world as they are not all the same - in fact often, they are quite different.
The reason I am confused is quite simple: people do not seem to be that interested in it, which is completely the opposite of what my research told me to believe! In fact, a recent poll (conducted on the web-site in question) indicated that "the people" (i.e. readers, regular and otherwise), were "naturally" also interested in the idea of a collection of traffic light people from around the world. In fact, 82% of respondents seemed to like the idea! This is quite a high percentage and one that would normally have the NPD johnnies shouting "Go! Go! Go!" from the rafters.
What this is telling me is that even the most meticulous "consumer market research poll" is not always an indicator of success. Still, I am hoping that my new website will be a slow-burn sort of affair, and that there will be a Tipping Point, at which point it will be eaten by the Big Fish and eventually described as "One Of The World's Top 100 Superbrands".
Tomatoes
I am thinking about tomatoes A LOT at the moment. I have a non-stop mouth-hunger for them. It is like I cannot get enough of them. At 8am yesterday morning I lay in bed thinking about Heritage tomatoes and dribbling a bit. It was disgusting.
It is now also time to say in public what I have always known in my head, which is that cold (i.e. fresh out of the refrigerator) tomatoes do not taste of anything. Let your tomatoes be room temperature, and preferably harvested (with your hand and/or mouth) from the defuct fire pit at the top of the garden. Yes.
Media Recruitment Agencies In Montreal
Cocking hell! The truth is that one day I will have to work again. But where are the agencies stuffed full of young thrusting media recruitment professionals, each and every one screaming with glee at my arrival in the New World? I do not know, is the answer; maybe they do not exist at all.
This is a bind, as it means I will actually have to look for a job. In the old days one had only to email off a CV and have a brief meeting with a man who said "have you considered writing a, hem, personal statement?"*, only to find oneself days later having top-flight interviews with chief executives of universally acclaimed communications conglomerates, swiftly followed by a job offer (complete with salary of over $250,000). Sadly, I do not think it is that easy anymore! Maybe I had better try harder.
In the meantime, however, I shall relax in my armchair, fez askew, small clay pipe hanging from my monkey lips, and stare out of the window for a while.
Yes. That's better.
* Yes. In the UK: no fucking way. I am not a cunt. In N. America: it seems you have to, although I do not I repeat not talk about myself in the third person in it, you know: "An eminently qualified marketing professional, NWM has been sucking on her own monkey arse for over fifteen years whilst building brands and differentiating parity products..."
The mind, unfettered by the cretinous witterings of retarded colleagues and unencumbered by "To Do" lists beseeching one to do things in which one has no interest, expands; creativity improves; there is time to cook properly and take regular exercise.
Most importantly, perhaps, there is time to stare open-mouthed out of the window, lost in contemplation for entire days on end, whilst drawing contemplatively upon a small clay pipe and adjusting one's thermal pantaloons. (As an aside, it is my personal belief that if every man, woman and child in the Western World spent at least one hour per day just thinking, we would wipe out childhood obesity and global warming in one go.)
I have now been literally non-working for about five weeks exactly. I spent three of those five weeks in London, wishing I were elsewhere and then, as if by magic, an aeroplane arrived and brought me to Canada, where I have now been for over twelve days. And, as I am still non-working, I have had over nearly twelve days to think about things, many of which are very important and/or interesting.
Here are some of my current preoccupations. I know you will like them a lot.
Is This The Most Disgusting Recipe In The World?
Recipe cards in racks in supermarkets are quite a good way of finding out about local cultures, so I always look at them, even if they are in for e.g. Turkish, which I do not understand. (The pictures can still look nice, you see.)
Desperate to better understand French-Canadian culture, I stared for some long seconds at the recipe cards in our local supermarket last night, only to find my blood running cold and bile rising unbidden into my delicate monkey mouth. Here is why:
Allow me to translate (non-literally; approximately, without recourse to either dictionary or Bescherelle):
"Black Forest Gateau" is a chocolate cake, originally from Germany. Rich in chocolate, flavoured with cherry liqueur and generously served with black cherries and whipped vanilla cream, it is of course very popular with chocolate-lovers. Here's a way of discovering its delicious flavours - without having to wait for pudding!
The recipe is called "Black Forest Chicken".
And They Come Bigger Than This Too
This is an alien vegetable seen at a market. (It was surrounded by over-excited Italians taking photographs of each other next to it. It was bigger than most of them, but then most Italians are under 5ft 2.)
I know they are big, I know they get bigger, but still - this one was the size of a rolled-up fat adult (and a tall one at that - possibly a Dutch one!):
But it doesn't stop there! Next weekend, a self-haircutting pathologist and I will be going to interpret marrows and pumpkins. It is almost too much to bear!
Traffic Light People Of The World
I am really confused about the apparent lack of interest in my new website, which I think is really interesting. In it, I am trying to collect different traffic light people from around the world as they are not all the same - in fact often, they are quite different.
The reason I am confused is quite simple: people do not seem to be that interested in it, which is completely the opposite of what my research told me to believe! In fact, a recent poll (conducted on the web-site in question) indicated that "the people" (i.e. readers, regular and otherwise), were "naturally" also interested in the idea of a collection of traffic light people from around the world. In fact, 82% of respondents seemed to like the idea! This is quite a high percentage and one that would normally have the NPD johnnies shouting "Go! Go! Go!" from the rafters.
What this is telling me is that even the most meticulous "consumer market research poll" is not always an indicator of success. Still, I am hoping that my new website will be a slow-burn sort of affair, and that there will be a Tipping Point, at which point it will be eaten by the Big Fish and eventually described as "One Of The World's Top 100 Superbrands". Tomatoes
I am thinking about tomatoes A LOT at the moment. I have a non-stop mouth-hunger for them. It is like I cannot get enough of them. At 8am yesterday morning I lay in bed thinking about Heritage tomatoes and dribbling a bit. It was disgusting.
It is now also time to say in public what I have always known in my head, which is that cold (i.e. fresh out of the refrigerator) tomatoes do not taste of anything. Let your tomatoes be room temperature, and preferably harvested (with your hand and/or mouth) from the defuct fire pit at the top of the garden. Yes.
Media Recruitment Agencies In Montreal
Cocking hell! The truth is that one day I will have to work again. But where are the agencies stuffed full of young thrusting media recruitment professionals, each and every one screaming with glee at my arrival in the New World? I do not know, is the answer; maybe they do not exist at all.
This is a bind, as it means I will actually have to look for a job. In the old days one had only to email off a CV and have a brief meeting with a man who said "have you considered writing a, hem, personal statement?"*, only to find oneself days later having top-flight interviews with chief executives of universally acclaimed communications conglomerates, swiftly followed by a job offer (complete with salary of over $250,000). Sadly, I do not think it is that easy anymore! Maybe I had better try harder.
In the meantime, however, I shall relax in my armchair, fez askew, small clay pipe hanging from my monkey lips, and stare out of the window for a while.
Yes. That's better.
* Yes. In the UK: no fucking way. I am not a cunt. In N. America: it seems you have to, although I do not I repeat not talk about myself in the third person in it, you know: "An eminently qualified marketing professional, NWM has been sucking on her own monkey arse for over fifteen years whilst building brands and differentiating parity products..."
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Day 445: I Offer Some Advice To Concert-Goers
I return, exhausted, from seeing a lady called Bat For Lashes perform at a 'venue' in Canada's fashionable Montréal.
In her band were three young women, all of whom will be completing their 'A' Levels at Cheltenham Ladies' College next summer; they played their many instruments impassively, but with enormous skill. Upstairs, a 'house club' played some 'banging choons'. The lady kept on singing.
Still. I digress. Lurking in the middle of the crowd (of approximately one hundred) I was reminded, yet again, of matters of 'gig etiquette'.
Tall people
Do us all a favour and fuck off to the back of the room, particularly if it is small and on one level (rather than at a gradient like, for e.g., Brixton Academy)
Do not wear a hat. It adds another foot to your height. It also makes you look like a cock.
Do not dance by swaying like a drunken sunflower.
Short people
Whatever Randy Newman said, you are OK by me. Do by all means slip up the front so you can see, but do not (I beg you!) pipe on so. (E.g. "Can I get through please thank you I can't quite see ha ha ha ha".)
Talking
Usually, people go to music concerts to listen to music. They do not want to hear you talking. If you want to talk, go outside where, with any luck, you will be run over by a renegade bus that has been hijacked by pesky teens.
Strangely, last night the only culprits were some English people who were talking about, in no particular order:
- the Spitting Image puppet of Norman Lamont
- where to get a smaller-fit cockring
- Canadian beer
- whether the music was "good" or not.*
Talking is particularly bad when you are 5 feet from the chanteuse who will be able to hear you talking about her in the following style:
"Yeah, I know what you mean, Mike, but I'd definitely have a go, mate, wouldn't you?"
Pushing
No.
Dancing
Dance into me and I will slap you.
Drinking
For the gentlemen
If you are going to carry pints of lager beer through the crowd over your head whilst going "excuse me excuse me sorry sorry sorry don't move sorry", please be aware that a) if you tell me not to move, I will move; and b) if you spill the beer on me, I will poke you in the eyes with my two fingers.
For the ladies
If you are short and pushing through in a passive-aggressive way whilst carrying many drinks for your fuckwitted friends (in order to then stand in a circle talking about who said what to whom whilst Bjork is doing Come To Me), I will set your GHD-straightened hair on fire.
Yes.
* Really, this is the worst. If you do not like it, leave. Also, you have no right to an opinion unless you are St John of the Peel, and he is dead, which is very sad (still).
You are particularly not allowed to have an opinion if:
- You are Paul Morley, Paul Ross, Tim "Dad's A Bishop, Westsiiiiiiiiide" Westwood or Tony Parsons
- You have just 'discovered' James Morrisson and Paulo Nutini
- You have seen/are going to see The Police this year.
In her band were three young women, all of whom will be completing their 'A' Levels at Cheltenham Ladies' College next summer; they played their many instruments impassively, but with enormous skill. Upstairs, a 'house club' played some 'banging choons'. The lady kept on singing.
Still. I digress. Lurking in the middle of the crowd (of approximately one hundred) I was reminded, yet again, of matters of 'gig etiquette'.
Tall people
Do us all a favour and fuck off to the back of the room, particularly if it is small and on one level (rather than at a gradient like, for e.g., Brixton Academy)
Do not wear a hat. It adds another foot to your height. It also makes you look like a cock.
Do not dance by swaying like a drunken sunflower.
Short people
Whatever Randy Newman said, you are OK by me. Do by all means slip up the front so you can see, but do not (I beg you!) pipe on so. (E.g. "Can I get through please thank you I can't quite see ha ha ha ha".)
Talking
Usually, people go to music concerts to listen to music. They do not want to hear you talking. If you want to talk, go outside where, with any luck, you will be run over by a renegade bus that has been hijacked by pesky teens.
Strangely, last night the only culprits were some English people who were talking about, in no particular order:
- the Spitting Image puppet of Norman Lamont
- where to get a smaller-fit cockring
- Canadian beer
- whether the music was "good" or not.*
Talking is particularly bad when you are 5 feet from the chanteuse who will be able to hear you talking about her in the following style:
"Yeah, I know what you mean, Mike, but I'd definitely have a go, mate, wouldn't you?"
Pushing
No.
Dancing
Dance into me and I will slap you.
Drinking
For the gentlemen
If you are going to carry pints of lager beer through the crowd over your head whilst going "excuse me excuse me sorry sorry sorry don't move sorry", please be aware that a) if you tell me not to move, I will move; and b) if you spill the beer on me, I will poke you in the eyes with my two fingers.
For the ladies
If you are short and pushing through in a passive-aggressive way whilst carrying many drinks for your fuckwitted friends (in order to then stand in a circle talking about who said what to whom whilst Bjork is doing Come To Me), I will set your GHD-straightened hair on fire.
Yes.
* Really, this is the worst. If you do not like it, leave. Also, you have no right to an opinion unless you are St John of the Peel, and he is dead, which is very sad (still).
You are particularly not allowed to have an opinion if:
- You are Paul Morley, Paul Ross, Tim "Dad's A Bishop, Westsiiiiiiiiide" Westwood or Tony Parsons
- You have just 'discovered' James Morrisson and Paulo Nutini
- You have seen/are going to see The Police this year.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Day 442: I Think About My First Week In Canada And Compare It To Blighty
So far, so good! I have left behind London (England, United Kingdom), and have moved to a village spread across some hills in Québec. It may sound like I am a long way from anyone who is human, but in fact where I live is 45 minutes' drive from downtown Montréal - exactly the same amount of time it takes you to get from Islington to London's Fashionable West End (except with coyotes).
But I digress. It is quite new still, but this does not mean I am not constantly (favourably!) comparing Canada to Britain every waking minute. Here are my conclusions so far:
Shopping
In England it is rubbish. All the shops are identical and everything is expensive, even sweets. On the other hand there is some good stuff, e.g. Hula-Hoops and PG Tips. Still, I am not that worried as I have smuggled in some important foodstuffs* and the shops here make up for it one million times.
It is perhaps to my (non-working) benefit that the nearest shop is five miles away, but sometimes there is a bus (if I can find the timetable) that takes you to the supermarket and giant North American pharmacy and the state-owned wine shop, which is called SAQ.
(Interesting Fact:Despite being Frenchified, French Canadia's wine is bought and sold by THE STATE and the state has A MONOPOLY so getting your drink in is a bit like going to, for e.g., the job centre or applying for a parking permit, except with easi-carry wine boxes.)
Even better, if you have a pathologist with a car to hand, you can get in the car, drive for a bit and go to shops (on massive shed-shop-estates by 'Highways'), that sell nothing but packs of Sharpie pens in rainbow packs of 68. If you go to the arts and craft shop next door you will discover crafts you did not know existed, and give serious thought to perhaps making some plant holders out of string, coloured foam board (and "Foamie") characters, setting the lot in perspex, framing it and setting it on a hand-rendered papier-mâché plinth.
(There are boutiques and shit in Montréal but I have already seen them and they are like boutiques everywhere, despite the fact that it is nice to know they are there. NB: the best small shops are in Amsterdam, bar none. If you want some tips, please write in.)
Conclusion: I do not miss English shops.
Local people
I do not know anyone in the village yet and probably never will, as they probably make good use of the 10-cap "Baseball Cap Rack" that you can buy in the local shop for $10, and many of them have eyes that point in different directions.
But this is not to say I am not trying; there is a 'Spaghetti Dinner' being held in the village hall soon, but for some reason the pathologist with whom I live will not commit to going! (He is very unreasonable, and I suspect will start beating me soon.)
In London on the other hand I have lived in the same street for 9 years and know Mike on the left (who thinks I am called Sue, but is a lovely chap and keeps an eye out for me), Twatboy, my cretinous upstairs neighbour, and the rotating lesbian couple four doors down. They are nice but that is not a very good tally for 9 years, and I am very sociable and friendly (not like a prostitute is sociable and friendly though.)
Conclusion: I do not miss my neighbours in London.
Space
There is a lot of space in Canada and not much in England.
Conclusion: It is more roomy here, and therefore better if you like running about the place, big horizons, clouds that make you go OOH, and the sense that if you wanted to not see anyone else, you could quite easily get way. That is because there are about 100 square miles for every person and Canada and only 2 square feet for every person in Britain.
House Space And Amenities
I go for long walks in the morning and think about the centralised-system vacuum cleaner a lot, which plugs into a hole in the wall, has six different heads and a hose that is at least 20ft long. I love it. (And they have Swiffers in the New World too, which has put my mind at rest, I have to say!).
When I am not thinking about the vacuum cleaner, I am looking for things to wash and/or tumble dry in the gigantic, efficent, quiet, pleasing and fast washing machine (and tumble drier). There are more cupboards than I need for the jam I will make, and a cellar that you could fit at least forty people into; it has a wide staircase and capacious trunk freezers.
In London, my tiny washing machine takes 4 days to wash something and even then it smells like hamsters. I have no room for a tumble drier, and my garden is the size of the swimming pool here. It is a pain in the arse to keep clean and I fall over things in it the whole time.
Conclusion: Those north Americans know a thing or two about household appliances, and have more room (on the whole, unless they live in New York City!)
Wildlife
In the mornings there are fields and trees out of the window and I go for walks and people wave, or drive past. I saw a skunk in the road last night, a black squirrel out of the window this morning and every day I hear tree frogs and crickets. ("What's that fucking racket?", I screamed, the first night of my arrival.) I also saw lots of gigantic caterpillars that look like pipe cleaners, but brown and black and like they had eaten a giant Wotsit.
In London there is a fox that watches telly with me sometimes, a retarded cat and some fucking annoying squirrels that TwatBoy upstairs feeds with his bare hands. Idiot.
Conclusion: In Canada they also have ponies, cows, sheep etc but in addition to and on top of that they have beavers, mooses, skunks, racoons, chipmunks, bears, wolves, tree frogs, coyotes, big crickets, hummingbirds, etc etc. No competition, frankly.
TV, radio, papers, etc
We do not have TV as TV here is rubbish apparently (I know for a fact that is not true by the way but have not let on yet). My argument for getting it is that I have to get a job (in advertising) and that I cannot possibly have a job (in advertising) and not know what the advertisements are (on the television). This is a very convincing argument, don't you think?
(In fact I have no intention of looking for a job, and propose instead to lie about on the sofa and watch Canadian and/or American daytime TV, which is the best - bar none. Also I heard on CBC Radio today that they have Dragons' Den Canadian-style starting soon, and was so excited that I was a bit sick in my mouth.)
The sad truth is that I am really missing British telly. I would give my right arm for a copy of The Observer on Sunday, The Telegraph on Saturday and The Guardian every day except the shit days when it's all education and/or social worker stuff. I can get Radio 4 on my computer but the time is all wrong (I want The Today Programme when I am eating my toast, not The World At One.)
Conclusion: I miss the British media. This makes me sound like a twat. I do not care, not one jot!
(Also I have been listening to CBC all day and if I told you what the five main stories were you would not believe me. And if you heard the jingle they play all day over and over you would have killed yourself, and I do not want you dead.)
Friends
My friends are not here, and I am here. This is a pain in the arse. But it is OK because I am very shallow and will make new ones, and will forget about the old ones.
Family
I do not like to talk about them in polite company so I will move on.
Living Circumstances
I do not miss living by myself, because now I live with a chap I am fond of. It is really good and I recommend it to everyone - a new idea, I realise, but one that I think will catch on!
Work
I do not like working, as regular readers will be aware, although I must find work.
Conclusion: hard to do in a new country but not insurmountable.
In overall conclusion: I think it will be OK!
* Nairn's rough oatcakes, PG Tips, Gentleman's Relish (which I don't even like), giant jar of Marmite. Sad but true. Any parcels containing rough oatcakes and copies of English newspaper weekend magazines gratefully received.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Day 441: I Set A Picture Quiz
The days pass, and still I remain distracted by my new project - an international database of traffic light people.
Sadly, however, I am fairly certain that not everyone (as surprising as it may seem!), shares my passion. And so, to cater to the (special) needs of this (very small) group, I have created a picture quiz based on what I have seen since I arrived in French Canadia last Thursday.
Ready? Let's go!
Picture Question 1
(Don't forget - look at the picture carefully before you answer!)
Picture Question 2
When I saw the following poster by the 'highway' in Canada, I opened my mouth. "Who is ....?", I started, before falling into a sudden horrified silence.
My companion (a rather hunky pathologist!) turned to me and helped finish my sentence. "Frigo Maytag?"
"Yes", I muttered, looking out of the window.
Picture Question 3
Sadly, however, I am fairly certain that not everyone (as surprising as it may seem!), shares my passion. And so, to cater to the (special) needs of this (very small) group, I have created a picture quiz based on what I have seen since I arrived in French Canadia last Thursday.
Ready? Let's go!
Picture Question 1
(Don't forget - look at the picture carefully before you answer!)
Picture Question 2
When I saw the following poster by the 'highway' in Canada, I opened my mouth. "Who is ....?", I started, before falling into a sudden horrified silence.
My companion (a rather hunky pathologist!) turned to me and helped finish my sentence. "Frigo Maytag?"
"Yes", I muttered, looking out of the window.
Picture Question 3
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