Day 464: I Am Going To Washington (DC)

Tomorrow I fly to Washington (District of Columbia, not the other one). I am there for a few days while a veterinary research pathologist I know goes to a conference with 20,000 other people, all of whom will be talking about cardiovascular something or others.

In the day he will be in a white coat going "yes" a lot to people and sitting in seminars listening to people talking. I, par contre, will be lolling about in an hotel with the whole of Washington (DC) at my disposal!

So come on then. Three whole days by myself, in Washington (DC), with good weather. What should I do? (No jokes about slapping President Bush if you please! He is a cock, I know, but I do not want to be arrested and deported.)

I am particularly interested in:

1. Where to get cake
2. Where to get a good ladywax
3. Pictures and shit
4. Where to get cake
5. Old shit.

Pip pip!

NWM

Day 464: I Am Having The Best Birthday Ever!!!!

Yes I am 38 it is brilliant. I got a red bicycle from a veterinary research pathologist, and it goes zoom zoom up and down roads with loads of gears brilliant. Also I got scrambled eggs and crumpets (just like the ones in England except with weird Gaelic type on them, suggesting that crumpets are Irish, which I do not think they are), for breakfast.

Then I got some thermal underwear (not like that!!!) and some proper Canadian socks. Also there were books and a packet of Bendicks Bittermints in the post and other things, and emails and pictures. I could not breathe earlier; it was all too much.

And then I received a mysterious electronic mail (from the person who sent me the Bittermints), entitled The best birthday present a woman could receive.

Here is what it said:

"Ye gods.... James Blunt singing about a triangle on Sesame Street to the tune of "You're Beautiful". From me to you, with love. x

Here it is. It is really good.



If you are feeling sick, watch this now. It will help you feel better. You have probably seen it before but I am put in mind of it because I was alerted to the existence of these people by the same person who sent me James Blunt, the triangle and the Bendicks Bittermints. It is The Flight of the Conchords.

See it as a present from me, to you, on the occasion of my birthday. Then we can all celebrate together!

Day 463: I Write My Birthday List

Tomorrow I am thirty-eight, which is OK as I only look about twenty-five in the face and have the breasts and thighs of a (very fucking good looking, like a young Christy Turlington for e.g.) twenty-year-old.

In addition, my brain is still very sharp (despite the fact that I keep forgetting Marlon Brando's name), and I am still able to do quite complicated mental arithmetic and remember telephone numbers (although I am unable to remember my own postal code in Canada).

That means tomorrow holds no fear me. In fact, I am looking forward to being forty (in two years), as apparently that is when people take you really seriously and you start thinking about pensions, buying automatic cars and leaking if you go on a trampoline.

But I digress. I know there is not much time, but I know that you will all want to buy me a present or two. Here are the things I would like:

1. 5 x pairs extra-large Bodyshaper opaque tights from M&S (black)

2. 10 packs plain Hula-Hoops

3. 6 weeks' worth of The Observer Magazine

4. A 'mixed bag' of crap mags, e.g Grazia, Heat and/or Hello. (I don't like OK! It is vulgar.)

5. Hot meat pie

6. A car

7. To see all my friends for one night (but no more than one night as they are quite annoying)

8. Compilation CDs from at least five people I know

9. Cake (although it will be hard to beat the one I got last year!)

10. Fishfingers and peas

11. A couple of packets of Maldon sea salt

12. Some books that are good that I haven't read, that have happy endings.

I do not want much really, as (luckily!!!) I have pretty much everything I have ever wanted PLUS things I did not know I wanted (a spare stomach, a ladybird infestation, a spot on my left ear, the ability to roll my tongue in a way that makes grown men vomit, a delicious pathologist), but who am I to say 'no' to gifts of love from my adoring fans?

Pip pip!

NWM (aged 37 and 364 days)


PS I still haven't got a new can opener. Hint hint!

In other news: Why do some North Americans say "comm-poast" and "BAYsul"? I wish they would stop. Particularly with the "comm-poast" shit.

Day 462: I Lose My Cheese, and Make The Same Mistake Twice

When one is literally non-working the days can, on occasion, pass slowly, even if it is quite easy to fill time.

I, for example, spend much of the day shouting at Facebook (Jackie is not looking forward to the PTA evening tonight! Jonny is wishing he was out on the golf course! Bappy is wishing she had finished him off good and proper with a stick; Mario is a fuckwitted bore with a tiny cock! Dave is going to Saudi on holiday with Su and can't wait; Non-workingmonkey is not interested!), replying to electronic mails from my friends, family and fans from all over the world, and bidding for nipple clamps on eBay.

When I am not doing those things, I am cooking. Today, for example, I made some salad for lunch; a salad the size of the moon, containing many interesting things including asparagus, small yellow tomatoes and some nuts that I crushed in my own tiny little monkey hands. But it needed cheese! Yes, cheese. The cheese of the goat, passed quickly over the 'griddle'* upon which I cooked my asparagus.

It went well. The two slices melted a bit, and then went into the salad bowl. I 'tossed'* the salad a bit, and looked at it. The cheese was there and it looked nice. Then I sat down and started eating it and somehow, between the kitchen and the dining table (a walk of at least a minute), the cheese disappeared. It hadn't disintegrated or got mushed or melted, or anything like that; it just wasn't there anymore.

After that I went into the ballroom-sized room where the gigantic washing machine and tumble drier are, and looked at the three socks that are sitting there, waiting for their pair. I have written of this before, and the observation is neither original nor particularly surprising, but where do the socks go, bearing in mind laundry baskets, rigorous sorting, and not much else to do other than make sure socks are in pairs? I am quite distressed, as usually Wednesday afternoon is sock-ironing time.

And then I made the same mistake again. "Nourishing botanicals, gentle cleansers and the invigorating aroma of organically grown Peppermint replenish your skin and revitalize the senses", murmurs the copy on the bottle of shower gel provocatively, winking at me saucily with its naughty shower-gel eyes. I grab it in my two monkey hands and start frantically lathering up my monkey fur, waiting to be replenished and revitalised.

But what is this? Have I learnt nothing from past experience? For I apply the shower gel (containing organic mentha piperita leaf) to my ladygarden and am then surprised to note that it feels like my ladyparts are burning with the cold fires of hell!

I had better stay in tomorrow, I think, very quietly, all by myself.



* Terrible words, all of them. "Toss the salad". No. Toss off.

Day 461: I Dine With A Pathologist

"Look at that", he says, holding up a slice of broccoli stalk. "It looks just like a brain stem".