I attempt to buy a draught excluder

"I have never been as cold as I was in England", say Canadians, despite the fact that they live in temperatures of up to -20 80% of the year. This is because Canadians understand for e.g. insulation, central heating etc, for the simple reason that they have to, otherwise they would die.

In London, I lived for over one year with a large hole in my kitchen window. The bedroom window never really shut properly and I have at least two friends who do not have central heating at all. When the French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist with whom I live and I visit our friends in Blighty, he packs triple-thickness thermals and resigns himself to night after night of dust and draughts, damp, and thin layers of ice on the inside of the window.

But what is this? My otherwise excellently-appointed flat in Montreal is what I call "Old For Canada", i.e. nearly 100 years old. On the whole it is quite warm, fuelled mainly by the anger that our neighbours' yakking dogs generate in our hearts, but there is a draft that comes in from under the balcony doors and that draft is mighty cold. (There is a difference between a draft that comes in from -20 and a draft that comes in from -2, oh yes indeed.)

"We need one of those things", says the increasingly mystifying French-Canadian veterinary research pathologist. "Things?", I say, peering over a first edition of Down with Skool and sipping from a glass of sweet sherry; "what THINGS?". "One of the things that keeps the air out", says the pathologist, who is French-Canadian and 99.99% bilingual. "Long, looks like a dog."

He means a draught excluder!! But I am cynical about his statement that they "look like a dog". Surely they come in other animals? But apparently not. A cursory glance at the results that come up for "draught excluder" offer me a world of canine choice, whether or not the draught excluder is in the form of an actual dog. (The tartan one, you may be interested to know, comes from Mulberry and costs, yes, £115.)























































































But this is not helping me, for I am still draught-excluder-less. Does anyone have any excluder-tips? I would like something effective, attractive, and not featuring the face of Sting. Dogs are OK, but not frightening tapestry Jack Russells that look like Satan, nothing 'cute', and not bloody £115 of Mulberry.  These are rather sweet, looking, as they do, as if they were handmade by an old lady, but they are cats - and cats make me angry.

Yours in the wind,

NWM

I look at my keywords

Because I am a "web wizard", I use things like Google Analytics quite a lot. I only understand about half of it (for e.g. I do not know want to know what 'funnel visualisation' is), but I can see what search terms and keywords drive new but soon-to-be-adoring fans to this web-blog, and sometimes it can be quite interesting.

Throwing a cursory glance at the numbers earlier this evening revealed something of which I am particularly proud: cast your eyes over this baby, and feast them upon No. 4.

I am increasing my empire!!!

Yes, it is true. Not only do I write for and run this world-class web-blog (with over 3 visitors per day), do the Twitter regularly AND look at all the people who have joined the Facebook group that is about me and how great and interesting I am - but I have been asked to contribute to a sort-of online magazine thing!!! It looks quite good with good bloggers on it like Anna (who is quite famous) and Lucy (who invented the new website).

It is called "Unkempt Women" and as long we avoid any mention of for e.g. Andrea Dworkin, I think it is going to run and run. Here is my first contribution, which is about how men like logs more than flowers.

Pip pip!

I get you in the mood

If you are a lover of this web-blog - which, frankly, could apply to anyone in their right mind - you may very much enjoy this website: a place where photographs of dodgy Father Christmases and screaming children/young men in red pants clutching a 'saxophone' are assembled for your viewing pleasure.

I announce the winner

Yes, it is true. After much deliberation ("do you like your snack plate? Do you? Do you?"), we (i.e., me and the French-Canadian veterinary research pathologist to whom I am married), have chosen a winner for my competition.

As a reminder to new readers, or those who have lost their train of thought over the last few days, the competition was this: a prize of some biscuits (made by me) and a signed photograph of me in my chair would be given to the best answer to the question "Why I Think Non-workingmonkey is Great", in 150 characters or less (fewer?).

There have been a great many excellent entries which you may read by looking at the comments on the original post here, but there is one that stands out by over one million miles for a number of different reasons:

1. It suggests that its author is EITHER unable to read basic instructions OR (more to my liking), willfully ignores them, i.e. "150 characters or less"*;
2. It is funny;
3. It contains a phrase that stinks of genius.

Here is the full entry here:

"Non-working monkey is a stir-fry of calamity and genius, like a second helping of the world’s best pancakes served in a tumble dryer. It’s what happens when “je ne sais quoi” humps the leg of quiet desperation. This blog reminds me of the early voyageurs who boldly paddled through an unknown land, slapping mosquitoes as they went. Maybe it’s the man in the cardboard boat or the banner with the flag-hoisting beaver, but either way, around every bend there is a little bit more to learn, a little bit more to despise about homeopathy. Mais oui, alright?"

However, we have decided to take from the full-cream version the bit that pleases us most, and re-enter it into the competition, making the final - and magnificent - winner the legendary Purest Green with the immortal - if somewhat edited - line:

"Non-workingmonkey is what happens when "je ne sais quoi" humps the leg of quiet desperation."

Congratulations, Purest Green! Send in your address (email address over there on the right somewhere) and I will send you biscuits and a signed photograph. Coming tomorrow: the (unedited) runners-up.

Pip pip!

* Extra 1000 points for not doing what you are told, which I entirely salute being, as I am, the daughter of a woman who was thrown out of the Brownies for insubordination, probably aged about 7.