I am back

... In the Canada and in one piece. However, the sheer joy of seeing all old friends, family etc in a) London; and b) Amsterdam has caused my brain to actually and literally turn in on itself, and I am able only suck the Marmite off cold toast and think about the dinner we had at the River Café on Saturday night to celebrate MonkeyMother's 40th birthday and how, if I could, I would only ever cook out of the Ottolenghi cookbook and - brace yourselves for a (very) surprising comment! - buy clothes from Marks & Spencer and (less surprisingly) various interesting shops in the Amsterdam.

And drink in the Coach & Horses in Romilly Street and buy shoes at Pied à Terre and socks at Paul Smith and be able to buy Berocca and Hula-Hoops and listen to Radio 4 in real time and watch good telly at literally any time of day or night, and see my pals ALL THE TIME and be able to buy strong ginger beer in cans and drink it when I have a hangover and be miraculously CURED.

Anway. Normal service will be resumed once something interesting happens, e.g. I explain what happens when the pathologist is pushed too far by the noisy neighbours and calls the police.* In the meantime, here are some holiday snaps.












* Not much. The police come, tell them to shut up, and go home. The party stops. The neighbours have an argument. We all go to sleep.

I am otherwise engaged

... but back soon, once dresses have been explained, drinks drunk, Canada explained and tears forced by a German and a Moroccan put in their context. And all that without the infinite Russian photograph dolls. Is too much.

All is lovely, mind.

Pip pip

NWM

I let you ask me anything you like

There was Ask the Family (Robert Robinson, some smug middle class families and some near-impossible questions). Now there is Ask the Monkey, in which you - my loyal and adoring readers - are able to ask me (i.e., me) almost anything you like.

No, in fact, not "almost anything"; you may ask me anything you like. And I will answer. Just go here to Formspring and follow the instructions. Yes!!!

I share some 'snaps' from my travels

Here are some photosnaps of my holidays so you can feel what it is like to be me (except on holiday). I am on day 2.5, and so far it is going very well. I have seen a lot of people I like very much, roasted some chickens, bought some cheese, bumped into people in cheese shops, eaten the cheese, taken two aeroplanes, laughed until I cried with the British Airways check-in man, bought some brogues and some very well-cut trousers, bitten my nails, seen my father, and been happy to see the French-Canadian veterinary histopathologist to whom I married. (He has been at a top research scientists' conference in Geneva, and has eaten nothing but cheese and potatoes for a week. This is not a lie.)

In my photosnaps (which are excellent) you may detect a recurrent 'theme', a.k.a. foodstuffs, most of which are made of cheese. You will be glad to know that I didn't have to be in Clapham Junction for long (train was late, obv, and when I asked when it was going to arrive, the lady said "CAN'T YOU READ?", and pointed at a blank announcement board), and I am sure you will enjoy the photograph in which the amphibious vehicle is reversing sharply after having driven in to a tree.

Eagle-eyed viewers will see that I have been in London, scene of my birth and 37 years of my stainless life, but that now I am in Amsterdam, scene of most of 2007 and some of the most happy times in recent years.

Amsterdam is where I would live if I did not have to live in Montreal. I don't mean I "have to" live in Montreal as in I am forced to live in Montreal, but really it is Amsterdam I love the best. Also my brother, RunningMonkey, and his virtually-wife (Our San) and her sister (Our Den) live here, so it is hard to find an argument against it, particularly in view of the proliferation of bicycles, cheese and almond-based biscuits. (It is also spectacularly easy to live here all year round and never, ever see a tourist. Who knew?)











If you too dream of taking photographs like this (slightly odd, mainly out of focus, colours I like, potential to make the most ordinary things very, very pretty), simply buy an iPhone, download the Hipstamatic app and never bother using a real camera again.

Cheese toasties at dawn!!!

NWM

I am in London

Yes, dear readers, the magic time has arrived: I am back in my 'home town'. Born in Wimbledon (for some unaccountable reason, for we did not live there and were not Catholics, yet nuns were involved) in 1969, followed by Kensington, Chiswick, Baron's Court and finally - the Monkeyparents' move to Fulham and then East Sheen notwithstanding - to Brixton, London is both my monkey and my master.

I hate it and I love it. I want it and I want to run away from it. I want to live here and lick the pavements every day, and I want to never step foot in it again. I am proud of it and I am not. I am allowed to say what I like about it, but no-one else (particularly people from rubbish cities*) is allowed to be rude about it.

Yesterday, we had a 'day out up West', which involved getting the 159 bus from outside the disused air conditioning factory in Kennington where my dear pals live, and getting off at Selfridges. Here is what I have noticed is great after 2 years and 6 months of living in Montreal, i.e. long enough to get things in perspective and long enough to forget a lot of things, but also long enough to forget the bad things.

Busses (Or is it "Buses"?)

Hello! I am on the top and I can see everything. Is like brilliant tourist bus, but for only 2 British pounds. Also great: people saying "thank you!" at the bus driver when they get off, ringing the bell, Oyster cards, yellow handles, good ads on the bus, people with different sorts of clothes on, people being polite, etc.

When I lived here, busses also involved shouting youths listening to music loudly, people who smelled of despair, never being able to get a seat and queues.

Tea

Anyone brought up in Britain (and probably also Ireland) who likes tea has probably suffered from being in 'the abroad', where tea does not involve boiling water and often involves being asked what kind of tea you want. Any British person knows exactly what "would you like a cup tea?" means, and has also probably said "ooh, lovely" when given a cup of tea at some point in their lives.

Yesterday, at John Lewis*, the lady asked me if I wanted a 'cup or a pot'. I nearly wept.

Advertising

People of Britain: please do not complain about advertising. The advertising you have to put up with is approximately 1 million times better than 90% of the advertising in Canada, where I live now.

Television, radio, newspapers etc

People of Britain: be proud. We may not have an empire, we may not be as funny as we think we are, we may not be that clever, the NHS may be fucked - in fact, we may be fucked in all sorts of ways, etc etc, but oh, the media things! They are brilliant.

Pubs

Hello pubs!!! I will have to fetch my own drink from the bar and the beer may be warm, but that is what I am used to. And also, you may have Hula-Hoops.

Marks & Spencer

Sigh.

There is also a lot of rubbish stuff, e.g. discontented youths, faint feeling of imminent danger, things being very expensive, not being able to buy somewhere to live within 3 hours' drive of a Tube station for less than 2 million British pounds, etc, and (particularly distressing in my case), being able to understand what everyone is saying the whole time.

People of Britain!!! How do you feel about it? Are these the romantic observations of the slightly homesick ex-pat? And how much do you want to be sick when you hear the expression "ex-pat"?

Pip pip!

NWM


* i.e., most other cities apart from about 10 - any suggestions welcome


** Usually I would be at Peter Jones, but I won't dwell on it