To celebrate the international release of my surprisingly original new URL (nonworkingmonkey.com), I have developed for you, my loyal and adoring readers and fans, some new items of cinematic genius inspired by evil Special K and her equally evil link.
Warning: What is to follow is what happens when you are literally non-working and spending more time than would normally be advisable in rural Quebec without a car. But do not get me wrong - this is not a bad situation! It is anything but: it is a situation that is conducive to creativity, i.e. allows me to spend up to and including an hour a day putting titles on clips from old Bollywood films. Result!!
Pip pip!
NWM
Crisps
Doctor Uncle
Dancefloor
Thursday, April 15, 2010
I direct a film about a conversation I had with a client
Following on from my ground-breaking directorial debut yesterday, I bring you the second in my blockbuster series - this time recounting an exchange I once had with a client. I know you will like it a lot.
Coming soon: more films, possibly involving subtitles, and a photograph of my bed.
Pip pip!
NWM
Coming soon: more films, possibly involving subtitles, and a photograph of my bed.
Pip pip!
NWM
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
I direct a film about a headhunter
In this, my first full-length feature, I have brought to life an episode based entirely on my own experience. Telling the shocking true-life story of a traumatic visit to a headhunter in 2006, this smash-hit movie is set to be a favourite amongst adults and children alike.
.
.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
I offer you another guided tour of Monkey Towers
Right then. Here we bloody go then. Today's part of the tour of Monkey Towers (following on from yesterday's magnificent visions of my kitchen) is part of the sitting room (known, I believe, as "the lounge" in some circles), featuring some books.
In the kitchen looking down the other way
You will see one of the two things of shelves. (NB: Do not get floating shelves from IKEA for books. They are not strong enough and you will need a pathologist, extra screws and even, if your walls are soft like tofu, some brackets.)
You will also be able to see with your eyes the fancy-dan windows that open up onto a balcony, currently populated by bird plops, 2 window boxes of dead herbs and a box that should have box hedge in it full of dead lettuce. Other than that, it looks fucking ace. (The lights in the corridor are still available for anyone who wants them, if you pick them up. The picture on the right I will not dwell on - it is an OK drawing of a nudey lady. On the other side are some photographs of trees and whatnot.)
The desk that in my head I am writing things at in manner of Anne Eliot with a pen and inkwell, when in truth I am on the sofa in front of "Location Location Location" on BBC Canada with a knackered 5-year-old PowerBook G4 on my knee
Chair, desk etc all from the England, given by Monkeymother and Monkeyfather. The print is astonishing - a wedding present from my brother, 17th century I think, of Amsterdam canal engineering. The books are on the desk because they look nice, and are mainly my grandmother's. The postcard is David Shrigley, but not this one. On the right of the desk, homeless pictures; left foreground, one of the bookshelves.
Books and that
Book disclaimer: In the year before I moved to Canada, I got rid of about 400 books. The wonderful Bookseller Crow even gave me advice on where to sell them - in the end 400 fucked-up paperbacks weren't worth anything, so I released them into the community. But there are still boxes full of the fuckers in the cellar because there wasn't enough shelf room, and another 200(ish) in the country.
Anyway, I brought with me books that:
- I loved and would read again*
- I hadn't read
- Were useful
For the purposes of this vitally important contribution to the internets, I look 3 photographs. They are unedited, not all arranged and taken where it was light enough to see stuff.
In other news, I am secretly working on another web-blog which is different to this one and more about work. It is very 'with-it' and I think the young people will like it a lot. If anyone wants a sneak preview let me know - it is not privit, but I am not releasing it into the community until it is tip-top 100% ace (according to at least 2 people that I am related to and/or are in my pay.)
Coming tomorrow: a photograph of my bed and some recipes. It is very relaxing, having nothing at all in your head apart from old buttons, custard creams and fog.
Pip pip!
NWM
P.S. Still no news of the badges, but do not give up hope yet; if they are not here by the end of the week, I will "kick up a fuss".
* at least a week's worth of screamingly boring posts. Bref (as they say in some French-speaking countries), I only really like Nancy Mitford, Jilly Cooper, Anthony Trollope, A S Byatt and the Pullein-Thompson sisters. I hate Thomas Hardy. He's an idiot.
In the kitchen looking down the other way
You will see one of the two things of shelves. (NB: Do not get floating shelves from IKEA for books. They are not strong enough and you will need a pathologist, extra screws and even, if your walls are soft like tofu, some brackets.)
You will also be able to see with your eyes the fancy-dan windows that open up onto a balcony, currently populated by bird plops, 2 window boxes of dead herbs and a box that should have box hedge in it full of dead lettuce. Other than that, it looks fucking ace. (The lights in the corridor are still available for anyone who wants them, if you pick them up. The picture on the right I will not dwell on - it is an OK drawing of a nudey lady. On the other side are some photographs of trees and whatnot.)
The desk that in my head I am writing things at in manner of Anne Eliot with a pen and inkwell, when in truth I am on the sofa in front of "Location Location Location" on BBC Canada with a knackered 5-year-old PowerBook G4 on my knee
Chair, desk etc all from the England, given by Monkeymother and Monkeyfather. The print is astonishing - a wedding present from my brother, 17th century I think, of Amsterdam canal engineering. The books are on the desk because they look nice, and are mainly my grandmother's. The postcard is David Shrigley, but not this one. On the right of the desk, homeless pictures; left foreground, one of the bookshelves.
Books and that
Book disclaimer: In the year before I moved to Canada, I got rid of about 400 books. The wonderful Bookseller Crow even gave me advice on where to sell them - in the end 400 fucked-up paperbacks weren't worth anything, so I released them into the community. But there are still boxes full of the fuckers in the cellar because there wasn't enough shelf room, and another 200(ish) in the country.
Anyway, I brought with me books that:
- I loved and would read again*
- I hadn't read
- Were useful
For the purposes of this vitally important contribution to the internets, I look 3 photographs. They are unedited, not all arranged and taken where it was light enough to see stuff.
In other news, I am secretly working on another web-blog which is different to this one and more about work. It is very 'with-it' and I think the young people will like it a lot. If anyone wants a sneak preview let me know - it is not privit, but I am not releasing it into the community until it is tip-top 100% ace (according to at least 2 people that I am related to and/or are in my pay.)
Coming tomorrow: a photograph of my bed and some recipes. It is very relaxing, having nothing at all in your head apart from old buttons, custard creams and fog.
Pip pip!
NWM
P.S. Still no news of the badges, but do not give up hope yet; if they are not here by the end of the week, I will "kick up a fuss".
* at least a week's worth of screamingly boring posts. Bref (as they say in some French-speaking countries), I only really like Nancy Mitford, Jilly Cooper, Anthony Trollope, A S Byatt and the Pullein-Thompson sisters. I hate Thomas Hardy. He's an idiot.
Monday, April 12, 2010
I offer you a guided tour of Monkey Towers
"What shall I write about?", I asked you, my adoring readers and fans, some weeks ago. The usual replies came: "sausages", "hats, biscuits, crisps", "Schopenhauer's The World as Will and Representation", "cocks you have known", "something as funny as the things you wrote when you were funny, you know, like the Greek statue thing. That sort of funny".
Some of these topicks may come up again in the coming weeks (not Schopenhauer, he's an idiot, and I doubt anything as good as the Greek statue will ever happen to me again), but one idea in particular called to me across the internet and the miles between Montreal and Brussels: Belgian Waffling's suggestion that I take you, my loyal supporters and advocates, on a guided tour of Monkey Towers.
Two things:
1. There are two Monkey Towers: one in Montreal, one in the country. Monkey Towers Montreal is 'mine', Monkey Towers Country is the house the French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist to whom I am married bought before I moved here. I will therefore be showing you round Monkey Towers Montreal.
2. It is the perfect suggestion for right now in the situation of time and space in which I find myself, i.e. two weeks after I left my job. We have been away and I have had visitors (of which more another time; it is enough to say the visitor was of extremely high quality and left no trace of herself when she left), and so today is the first real opportunity (if you can call it that) that I have had to have a think, and unfortunately I have just discovered that my brain is empty, apart from a few biscuit crumbs and a copy of Woman's Own from 1972.
Bref (as they still say in some French-speaking countries), I liked the idea and I thought it was good, so here goes.
Today: the kitchen.
Disclaimer: I didn't move or rearrange anything, and it is only vaguely tidy because of visitors, etc.
The kitchen from afar
With your eyes, you will see the door to the back balcony and the $13 IKEA table that is as much use as a sheet of soggy cardboard. The thing for hanging is however OK, as are the shelves (thanks to the pathologist and his massive drill). If anyone wants the hall lights, they're yours if you come and pick them up.
The kitchen from a bit closer
"Your refrigerator is a bit small", said a Canadian friend. I did not have the heart to tell her that in the Britain my North American refrigerator would probably attract puzzled glances and hushed questions about whether I had re-trained as a butcher.
The sink
Not much to say really. The tap is mis-plumbed, i.e. the hot side is cold and the cold side is hot. To the left of the shelf is a frame containing a bean picked from a tree in Shoreditch with my friend Louis about five years ago. I should probably finish the washing up.
Shelf close-up
From left to right: Greek jug bequeathed by friend Rachel upon leaving York University in 1991; old coffee tin, present from friend Emma; leaf tile from Heal's c. 1994 (present from Sophie); tin of sardines from Waitrose; card of a frog that says "The frog has a skin that is smooth and moist" (from dear Louis, see above); three Bournvita mugs, also from dear Louis.
Stovetop
The stovetop is not gas (grrr), and is from 1972 (approx). British readers may be interested to note the grill on the left. Surprisingly handy, but not that handy. The shelves above contain a combination of tat and useful things, e.g. salt (various).
I do not like the bloody whistling kettle, but I do like the big Bialetti coffee pot and I love with a fury the Finnish cast-iron pot, which was a present from our lovely friend Max who carried it across Montreal (it weighs a ton) the day before our wedding.
Things in jars on a shelf
I am not very tidy naturally but I like the way things look in jars. I also like small ceramic pigs bought in Chile. The soap says "Lucy" and was a present from my mother-in-law.
Cookbooks
Lots of my favourite cookbooks are in the country. This is about half of them. ($1 for the person who spots which book I most certainly did not buy for myself.) NB: I do not have any fucking Delia Smith either here or in the country. (In the scales, you will see a year's worth of payslips.)
Astonishing art
Below with your eyes you will see a picture of the Beatles done by my splendid god-daughter (and/or her mother), and a very excellent postcard sent by my friend Polly (is it just me, or does Marmite icecream sound OK?).
I am willing to show you the inside of my cupboards if you would like a look, although I must warn you that they contain mainly Marmite, Rio Mare tuna and almost completely empty packets of Bulghur wheat (various).
Tomorrow: somewhere else in the flat.
Pip pip!
NWM
PS. I have not forgotten the badges. They just haven't arrived yet. I will let you know when they have a) arrived; b) been released into the community.
Some of these topicks may come up again in the coming weeks (not Schopenhauer, he's an idiot, and I doubt anything as good as the Greek statue will ever happen to me again), but one idea in particular called to me across the internet and the miles between Montreal and Brussels: Belgian Waffling's suggestion that I take you, my loyal supporters and advocates, on a guided tour of Monkey Towers.
Two things:
1. There are two Monkey Towers: one in Montreal, one in the country. Monkey Towers Montreal is 'mine', Monkey Towers Country is the house the French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist to whom I am married bought before I moved here. I will therefore be showing you round Monkey Towers Montreal.
2. It is the perfect suggestion for right now in the situation of time and space in which I find myself, i.e. two weeks after I left my job. We have been away and I have had visitors (of which more another time; it is enough to say the visitor was of extremely high quality and left no trace of herself when she left), and so today is the first real opportunity (if you can call it that) that I have had to have a think, and unfortunately I have just discovered that my brain is empty, apart from a few biscuit crumbs and a copy of Woman's Own from 1972.
Bref (as they still say in some French-speaking countries), I liked the idea and I thought it was good, so here goes.
Today: the kitchen.
Disclaimer: I didn't move or rearrange anything, and it is only vaguely tidy because of visitors, etc.
The kitchen from afar
With your eyes, you will see the door to the back balcony and the $13 IKEA table that is as much use as a sheet of soggy cardboard. The thing for hanging is however OK, as are the shelves (thanks to the pathologist and his massive drill). If anyone wants the hall lights, they're yours if you come and pick them up.
The kitchen from a bit closer
"Your refrigerator is a bit small", said a Canadian friend. I did not have the heart to tell her that in the Britain my North American refrigerator would probably attract puzzled glances and hushed questions about whether I had re-trained as a butcher.
The sink
Not much to say really. The tap is mis-plumbed, i.e. the hot side is cold and the cold side is hot. To the left of the shelf is a frame containing a bean picked from a tree in Shoreditch with my friend Louis about five years ago. I should probably finish the washing up.
Shelf close-up
From left to right: Greek jug bequeathed by friend Rachel upon leaving York University in 1991; old coffee tin, present from friend Emma; leaf tile from Heal's c. 1994 (present from Sophie); tin of sardines from Waitrose; card of a frog that says "The frog has a skin that is smooth and moist" (from dear Louis, see above); three Bournvita mugs, also from dear Louis.
Stovetop
The stovetop is not gas (grrr), and is from 1972 (approx). British readers may be interested to note the grill on the left. Surprisingly handy, but not that handy. The shelves above contain a combination of tat and useful things, e.g. salt (various).
I do not like the bloody whistling kettle, but I do like the big Bialetti coffee pot and I love with a fury the Finnish cast-iron pot, which was a present from our lovely friend Max who carried it across Montreal (it weighs a ton) the day before our wedding.
Things in jars on a shelf
I am not very tidy naturally but I like the way things look in jars. I also like small ceramic pigs bought in Chile. The soap says "Lucy" and was a present from my mother-in-law.
Cookbooks
Lots of my favourite cookbooks are in the country. This is about half of them. ($1 for the person who spots which book I most certainly did not buy for myself.) NB: I do not have any fucking Delia Smith either here or in the country. (In the scales, you will see a year's worth of payslips.)
Astonishing art
Below with your eyes you will see a picture of the Beatles done by my splendid god-daughter (and/or her mother), and a very excellent postcard sent by my friend Polly (is it just me, or does Marmite icecream sound OK?).
I am willing to show you the inside of my cupboards if you would like a look, although I must warn you that they contain mainly Marmite, Rio Mare tuna and almost completely empty packets of Bulghur wheat (various).
Tomorrow: somewhere else in the flat.
Pip pip!
NWM
PS. I have not forgotten the badges. They just haven't arrived yet. I will let you know when they have a) arrived; b) been released into the community.
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