Day 670: I Have Been Tagged (Again!!!)

Yes it is bloody Katy again! She has a mania for this sort of thing and I do not like to imagine why. But: to the point!

Here were her instructions: "It goes like this: you google “[your name] likes to” and then cut and paste the results." It did indeed go like that, and here are the results. They are all really accurate, especially the one about the rug!!!


Non-workingmonkey likes to ...

... bite her ears

... hold him down by the tail

... conduct each session as a friendly ‘chat’

... convey her somewhat queer imagination though the expressive medium of drawing

... jump and loves to lick you with gratitude

... do ninja kicks off the arm of the couch

... call herself a "yuppie farmer"

... portray a powerful persona over men by leading them on while her hand is in their back pockets emptying their wallet

... help by distributing the packing materials all over the house

... pull, but you put her in her "orthopaedic collar"

... chew things like blankets

... hide inside a rolled rug

And finally:

"I also have a box of turtles that NWM likes to sniff."

I do not have any online web-pals to tag anymore (apart from the aforementioned Katy, but she is more of a charity case), therefore have no-one to tag.

However, if you want to join in the game, see this as an 'open tag' (I have invented the term!!!) and just point out that you've done it/want to do it in the comments box below.

Yeah!

Day 664: I Brush Up My French

I have a great many hobbies, some of which involve the consumption of gin, many of which involve late nights atop a mound waiting for beavers, and none of which you would find were you to hunt for days in the 'hobbies' section of Borders.

So saying, most of my hobbies are harmless; one in particular may do a great deal of good. In it, I visit charity shops and church 'Bazars', as they are called here in French Canadia were I live, and exchange a few pounds (or 'loonies'!!!) for old books that I find amusing. Amusing, mind; not interesting or 'good'; amusing.

Yesterday's church 'Bazar' turned up a great many interesting items, including a Good Housekeeping guide to party games (1951), and a complete set of unused Marguerite Patten recipe cards, in their box, translated into French. (I am considering a new game, "Marguerite PotLuck", in which the veterinary research pathologist that I am proud to call 'driving partner' picks a card at random from the box; I must then cook the recipe, even if it is liver, bacon and orange paste en croûte, and we must eat it.)

My most prized find, however, was one of three language books I found (and these are my favourite category overall, as they usually contain excellent illustrations). It was published by the Daily Mail in 1932, i.e. before it became a newspaper for the simple-minded, and teaches French by telling the story of M. and Mme. Dupont, who leave their country residence for a spell in Paris.

It is astonishingly useful to me, as not only do I need to brush up my French (I am only partially bilingual; the part that orders ice-cream and asks where the station is), but I also need - as a matter of urgency - to start having some conversations of real use.

The format is simple: it is written in English, with the French translation on the opposite page. Dull, one would think; but no! M. and Mme Dupont have the most extraordinary lives, full of frank conversations with servants and shopkeepers, and teasing conversations with each other about wine.

I shall say no more. All I can do is offer some excerpts, each one "full of remarks that give me great pleasure", as the fruiterer says to Mme Dupont in lesson 54.









Coming soon: M. and Mme. Dupont tease each other mercilessly over the Montrachet, and Mme. Dupont discusses jugged hare with the butcher.

Day 662: I Rename Some Major (Classical) Compoosers

Poothoven
Poozart
Poobert
Wagpoo
Depoossy
Poopin
Pooch
Poondel
Poodn
Elgpoo
Pooccini
Poohler
Poochelbel
Benjamin Britpoo
Poozet
Pootok
Poozinsky
Rimsky-Poosikov
Tchaipoovsky
Johan Pooss
Poomaninov
Poockner
Poossaien
Poovener
Pooszt
Pooydn
Poovaldi
Saint-Pooaëns
Pookofiev

And there's more!!!

Day 658: I Have Been Tagged

... and thank the sweet Lord for that, for I am - in the most general of senses - entirely at a loss.

The 'tag' was done (made?) by Miss Baroque, whose web-blog you should read, as she is a) clever; b) interesting; c) nice; d) "wicked bad", as I believe the young people say.

OK here goes!! It is quite a good one. I must "write six random things" about myself, which will be easy as I am entirely random, from the top of my jaunty fez, to the tips of my tiny monkey toes.

1. I Really Like Gin

Every evening, now I live in Canada, I like to remind myself of my British imperialist supremacy by drinking gin and tonic, listening to Elgar at top volume and shouting "Oi, You! Colonial!", at the neighbours. It is quite brilliant.

The gin (Tanqueray) and tonic (Schweppes by preference; Canada Dry* at a push), is made every evening around 6.32pm, and a plate of 'small snacks' is crafted, roughly hewn from a packet of dried ham and some carrots, sprinkled with a light dusting of salted almonds and featuring - occasionally, if we are feeling frisky! - a 'croute' of rabbit paste. Le tout is crammed down our gaping mouths in under ten minutes, at which point we are then 'ready and willing' for dinner. It is great.

The gin and tonic is more than just a way of getting vast amounts of alcohol and salt into my greedy monkey face. Oh no. It marks the end of the work day (feat. Fucking Idiots - see point 2), and the beginning of the evening (feat. Canadian cinema - see point 3), and as a result has acquired a symbolic significance all of its own.

2. I Really Hate Fucking Idiots

You can spot a fucking idiot by checking if the person you are with:

- isn't shitting listening
- talks over you
- doesn't look you in the eye
- repeats what you've just said like they made it up themselves and are clever
- makes ill-informed comments and then looks triumphant
- attempts to manipulate/charm you
- challenges everything for the sake of it
- does not realise you have the mind of a killer.

3. I Am Not Convinced By Canadian Cinema

No, but really. Canadian cinema? Come on. Give it your best shot. I've tried this before, but it didn't work. I had to sit through I've Heard The Mermaids Singing when I first met the French Canadian veterinary research pathologist and was pretending to be interested in everything to do with Canada, but I have since wrought my revenge by making him sit through The Vicar Of Dibley Christmas Special.

4. I Am A Bit Homesick

I am. I am not coming back, and I do not want to live in Britain at the moment, but that does not mean that I don't miss a great many things about it, and wish I could visit more often. It makes me immeasurably sad, but what was making me sadder was pretending everything was OK. (In fact, this should probably be titled "Say If You Are Feeling Shit; You Will Feel Better And The World Will Not Fall In").

5. I Am In Love

It is grate!!! It is also the thing that makes (4) acceptable. It is quite surprising, and it happened when I had given up rather on chaps. For the ladies in their early 30s who have 'given up': do give up! Do! Go and do something more interesting than pretend you are not waiting for a chap and worrying about your ovaries and all of that.

Go and wander about the place being jolly and happy in your own shoes. Then, when you are not expecting it (i.e. aged nearly-37 in Canterbury), you will meet someone splendid who will make you glad all all the other ones didn't work out, particularly the vegan twat with the teeth.

6. I Am Soppier Than You Would Think

See (5) above. Also I am always tearing up!!! It is quite annoying. Circumstances include:

- I see dignified old men buying food for one in supermarkets (esp. liver)
- Certain bits of music, e.g. 'Never Forget" by Take That
- Thinking of people I like being really great, e.g. Sebastian Coe being made a 'Lord' and Jeffrey Archer writing another book
- Successfully shoplifting lipglosses
- Seeing Mariah Carey's new bikini body, etc
- Go to the cinema. I was in spurting floods at The Band's Visit and wept hotly in Odette Toulemonde. (That last one was actually true in a way that the Archer comment was not.)

OK here are the rules - as now I must tag other people!

1. Link to the person that tagged you - i.e. me.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself in a blog post.
4. Tag six people of your own.
5. Let each person know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know your entry is up.

Here are the people I am tagging. (Sorry everyone.)

Dave Shelton
Katy
Tired "I've Retired, Apparently" Dad

That's 3. Anyone else want to do it?

In the meantime, here's another:

7. I Am Greeted By The Hotel Receptionist

"Welcome home", he cries. What am I to make of that?! It is true I am here every week, but still!


* "Canada's Ambassador To The World", or so says the can - come on Canada; is that the best you can do?

Day 655: I Hate Working, But I Like Canada (Part 1 Of An Ongoing Series)

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose. I am pretty certain that work is bad for my health (mental and physical).

On the other hand, I did get to spend the day on the road with a Botox salesman, and if I play my cards right, I might get to go to a chip factory. My drawer full of stolen Aveda miniatures is fit to bursting; I have three offices in two cities; when things break, someone else mends them.

I am spending a lot of time in Toronto, which thinks it is cool* and has as its main the attraction the CN Tower, which is rubbish, and definitely not "Canada's Wonder of The World" (what that is I couldn't tell you, but it isn't the CN Tower, which you can see there to your left).

French Canada (i.e. Montreal, and Quebec generally) is much better than R.O.C.**, and English Canada knows it, despite spending most of their time either grumbling about French Canadians, or forgetting they are there - which is a bit hard as there are 7m of them out of a population of about 33m. The French ones are generally better looking, ruder, sexier, work less, are funnier and drink wine at lunch, although they too are capable of delusion, for e.g.:

French Canadian: Montreal in the summer is just like Paris!
Me: Ha ha ha! You are funny. When's the last time to went to Paris, by the way?
French Canadian: I have never been to Europe.
Me: I .... oh.

There is nothing wrong with English Canadians as far as I can see; they are "almost incoherently polite", as Jan Morris said, and a bit passive-aggressive, but they have good skins and good hearts and yes, they really are ... nice. (And they don't say 'eh?' the whole time.)

That is all.

P.S: The bank sorted it, sort of.


*For British readers, Toronto thinking it is cool is like Hull suddenly really starting to reckon itself.
** "The Rest Of Canada". This is not a joke!!