Following the overwhelming and near-hysterical response to
my last photosnaps of Monkey Towers (Montreal Division), I have decided that today would be a good time to 'finish the job' (as it were). I therefore give you two photo-montages with, as ever, an incisive and thrilling commentary from me, i.e. Non-workingmonkey. (I am thinking of losing the hyphen.)
Sitting room etc
The activities that we undertake in this part of Monkey Towers include sitting down, lying down, watching television, reading the back of cereal packets, eating toast, taking socks off, impersonating contestants in 3-year-old episodes of Come Dine With Me, etc. The sofa is from IKEA and is not bad, despite the fact it took 4 visits and 123 phone calls to get it. The lights in the dining room were there when we bought the flat; they are stupid and hover at nose height, which is not much good if you are having dinner with someone you would like to look at in the eyes, but handy if you are having Sting round for tea.
Eagle-eyed readers may have spotted the small wicker chair on the right hand side of the largest picture. It was given to us, stuffed to the very gills with roughly-hewn Afghan soap and olive oil bottles full of Radox decorated by partially-sighted gibbons, as a wedding present. My very favourite joke is to point at it and ask visitors if they would like "a little sit down". It is therefore also known as 'The Gift That Keeps On Giving.'.
Bedroom of Dust and Snore
British (or European) readers may notice the slight orangeyness of the woodstain, so often the feature of some older Canadian houses. On a more positive note, another common feature of Canadian houses (I will not use the word "home" or "property", even if, in this instance, the word "house" is technically not correct) are gigantic cupboards. (For e.g., I am not exaggerating when I say that one of the wardrobes at Monkey Towers (Country Division) is bigger than the first room I rented in London when I left university.) As far as Monkey Towers (Montreal Division) is concerned, you will note with interest that in this instance, the cupboards in the bedroom are so gigantic, so tall and so full of space they
do not even fit in the picture. A ladder is needed to reach the upper levels, currently full of stale biscuits, empty crisp packets and back copies of
Bunty.
The bookshelf next to the bed is full of pomes, some of which are by
Pam Ayres (who, I am not ashamed to say, I once saw live at Redhill*). Of particular note is the cartoon (
David Shrigley), which hangs strategically next to the bed, reminding us both of our inevitable fate(s).
Tomorrow is Monday. For most of you, that means work. For me, it means the beginning of another week of non-working (my fifth, no less), which will no doubt involve a number of minor incidents - incidents that I will relate back to you in the kind of detail that will make you wish you had never started reading this web-blog in the first place.
Pip pip!
NWM
* When Pam Ayres started reading "I Wish I'd Looked After Me Teeth", a ripple of applause spread around the room. It was like when young people go mad when they hear the first bars of
"Eye In The Sky" at an The Alan Parsons Project concert, but in Marks & Spencer slacks and sensible footwear.
