I know who would win in a fight

No suprises, fans: after yesterday's breathtakingly exciting series of polls, we have some answers that merely confirm what we already know to be true, namely that Sting is a twat and that cake is important.

1. Who would win in a fight: KitKat or Crunchie?

Crunchie wins simply because, I imagine, and as my Belgian friend suggests, Crunchies are harder. (I do not know what would happen if you put Crunchie up against a catering pack of Bendicks Bittermints, however.)

2. What's better, peas or carrots?

As of today (Sunday 7th February, 4.37pm Montreal time), peas have a slight lead over carrots. Someone has, however, ticked the 'other' box without specifying which vegetable they believe is better than both the mighty pea and the magnificent carrot. Strange.

3. Who is the biggest bellend?

Obviously, Sting wins by a clear and healthy margin. But again, there have been three votes for 'other', without any names being given. Mysterious.

4. Gerbils or Hamsters?

Clear win by the mighty hamster, but a beffudling number of votes for 'other' - other rodents? Other biscuits? Who can tell.

5. Who's your favourite, me or the cat?

Happily, I win, but 'the cat' and 'other' get enough votes for me to think my popularity is on the wane. A concern.

6. More likely to effect the world's socio-economic health

Worryingly, you, my loyal readers and fans, clearly believe that 'no cake' would have a more detrimental effect on the world's socio-ecomic health than 'no tractors'. What you may not have realised is that without tractors, it would be a lot more difficult to get cakes. Not impossible, but more difficult. Food for thought!

Coming soon: I consider the source of my indigestion.

Pip pip!

NWM

PS you may enjoy Sexy Execs. I know I did.

Our playlist is complete

Yes my friends, after many weeks of submissions and 'online conversations' between me (i.e., Non-workingmonkey) and you (i.e, you, my adoring and loyal fans and readers), we now have our playlist!!!

Not all the songs submitted are on it, which does not mean that I do not like them (although that is true of some of them); it simply means that I could not make sense of them as part of the overall oeuvre.

To listen, click on the big orange round button. You can't download it, because that would be illegal. I think.



A particular "huzzah" to Vikki who sent in Mumford & Sons. I love them with a hot white passion (not in a dirty way) but cannot currently find their long-player in the shops in Canada; nor is it yet available on the Canadian iTunes. I shall have to wait until I am in Blighty, which is where I will be next week for a bit before I go to Amsterdam. It is too too much.

Pip pip!

NWM

NB: It is 5.22pm Montreal time and what I am seeing above is not the playlist I have just updated. I think it takes a spot of time to 'sych up' or similar. Oh yes.

I wonder who would win in a fight

I like lists, and I like to put things in order via the method of 'the question'. But only things that are not important.

For e.g., "Who do you like more, me or the cat?", or "Rank your Top 5 vegetables" (mine are: 1. Peas; 2. thin green beans; 3. carrots; 4. potatoes; 5. beetroot), or better, "What do you think would cause more problems in the world, no cake or no tractors?". The winters are long in Canada, and I only have two books left.

In that vein, may I welcome you into the weekend with some 'brain teasers' of my own!!!













Who said the age of interactivity was dead? Not me, that's for sure!!!

Pip pip

NWM

I have more conversations with the pathologist

Regular readers will by now be fully aware that I am married to a veterinary research histopathologist. This has its upsides (excellent carving and knife sharpening skills) and downsides (often has pig blood on face; more than usually interested in 'lesions', pus, etc). Our conversations often turn to matters 'scientific' (which does not include the incident in which I asked him if chickens hibernate).

Conversation 1

Scene: Dinner, Saturday night. We are eating Cornish hens, which are like usual chickens, but smaller and on our plates for us to carve ourselves. The pathologist is eating the leg. He pulls the leg away from the thigh. There is a white string. The pathologist holds it up to the light.

PATHOLOGIST: "See that? That is the sciatic nerve."

I am sick in my mouth.

Conversation 2

Scene: We are in bed. I am sucking NeoCitran (horse-strength) through a bendy straw and reading Barbara Vine's The Blood Doctor which is strange and, I suspect, may at some point involve human sacrifice. The PATHOLOGIST is reading The New Yorker. There is something in the book about dogs.

ME: You know dogs that've been neutered?
PATHOLOGIST: Yes.
ME: Can you get fake testicles to go in the empty pouches?

There is a long silence. The PATHOLOGIST sighs.

PATHOLOGIST: We've had this conversation before, you know.
ME: What? What? What do you MEAN, we've had this conversation before?
PATHOLOGIST: You know we have. I told you already. They're called 'neuticles', and they are very expensive.

I have no recollection of having had this conversation whatsoever.

We carry on reading. I slurp my NeoCitran. The cat coughs.

I am slightly ill, but still (fairly) polite

I am ill enough not to go to work, but not so ill that I have to stay in bed sucking industrial-strength 'hot lemon drinks' (i.e., hot lemon crack) through a bendy straw.

The day has been spent half-asleep, doing some work and having some conversations and coughing in the way that makes you feel the bottom of your lungs are going to come out of your mouth, but without any phlegm in them.

Monkeymother, still fully in possession of her faculties despite a life-long battle with absinthe addiction and a penchant for earlier episodes of Crossroads, sends advice:

"I now favour weak tea with lemon and honey. Less acid. Put tea bag and slices of lemon in cup. Pour on boiling water (I know grandmother/eggs). Don't poke tea bag, just let it lie there and sulk a bit. Take it out. Poke lemon a lot and add fat spoon of honey. Much nicer."

She is correct! It is delicious and soothing on the monkey throat, and I shall drink it for the rest of my days, laced with a little cheap whisky.

Illness aside, things have been much as usual on the email front. On an average day, I get about 250 work emails (most of which say nothing), 20 nice emails, and about 100 emails from various things that I have unsubscribed to, including Your Pony and Catnip Weekly.

Prompted by this quite brilliant post by the fragrant and delectable Ms Baroque, I was more than usually sensitive to the tone of emails I got today. Most are charming: polite, to the point, brief, with a "hi" or a "thanks".

Some are not. For e.g., without giving the detail away, today alone I received some emails today that went more or less like this:

In reponse to 3 days of work by 4 clever people:

Hi,

All the work you send us was wrong. Here are my comments:

Slide 11: where did you get that information? Change it.
Slide 12: Did you make it up?
Slide 13: I do not agree.

Please change it where I have said. I do not have time to discuss any of it.

Thanks

Knobbo

Or:

What is this. It is wrong. It is not what I said. Who had this conversation. I want to know why it was had, when I said it was not necessary. I want your reply now. Who is to blame?

Or, worst of all:

Hi! I have done this work. [A 300 page Powerpoint deck is attached.] Please read it and let me know what you think by 11 - I have arranged a meeting with over 500 people and have to present it then.

Cheers!

Spanner

It is too much to bear! I shall lie down and cough and remember the days of faxes, letters, and good manners.

Pip pip!

NWM