"Why are you so fantastic?", wrote one reader. "Where were you born?", writes another. A tiny email comes in: "Oh NWM, why did you move to Canada?". And another: "Why DO you persist in writing your blog? It is really stupid".
My mobile telephonic device beeps with the heavy weight of the enquiries it must communicate. "What are your Top Ten records?" "What kind of pantaloons do you wear?" "What is your favourite food and is it biscuits?".
And then the postman comes (late, with half the post eaten by raccoons, for this is Canada): "Dear NWM, Why?", and "Dear NWM, where and how did you meet the French-Canadian veterinary pathologist to whom you are now 'married'?".
Weeks, months and years pass and the questions keep coming from you, my adoring readers and/or fans. Do I answer them? Not directly, no. Sometimes, a curious reader may find something out about me if they are quite a lot in love with me (not my address though, not unless they are going to send me ham in a tin), and if they scour my web-blog with their stalkery razor-sharp reader-eyes, but on the whole I remain relatively privit and share information only when forced and/or drunk.
But all that is going to change. I am going to write an "About" page for this web-blog. Why? Because I am non-working, and because I have nothing else to do other than move my foot around in a gigantic elastic band that smells of chocolate and read cheap novels.
And why do I need your help? Because it is more fun to answer the questions that come spurting out of the crazed (yet intelligent and/or very good looking) minds of you, my adoring readers and/or fans, than it is to make them up myself, that is why.
Come on. Give me what you have got. I am ready for you.
Pip pip!
NWM
P.S. I make no reference to the General Election other than to encourage you to vote, but I will tell you that my brother was at school with George Osborne who, when asked what he wanted to do when he grew up, said "be Prime Minister". It is also an actual fact that he was creepy and a gigantic twat. Yes.
If you have been looking closely at the entire page devoted to these examples of cinematic excellence, you may have seen this already. If not, you're in luck, for here is a new one and you will, like, totally love it, because it's, like, AWESOME.
Today's full-length feature features a very good example of Bad Bossitude, i.e. taking all the credit and having to be the centre of attention, etc.
There is no need to request that you "enjoy", as they say in the roadside chain restaurants of North America, because I know (for a fact) you will without any encouragement from me.
It is all "Go Habs* Go" all over the place in Montreal at the moment, what with it being the hockey season in North America and all of that. In addition, the local team (i.e., the Canadiens de Montréal) are doing OK, which means that hysteria is at an all-time high (for May).
For those of you that have never seen ice hockey being played live, it is exactly like the hockey we used to play on the grass hockey pitch at Godolphin & Latymer School c. 1982-1985, the only difference being that it is played on skates backwards by gigantic Finns going 1.23 million times faster than you do on soggy London grass. Another massive difference between hockey at Godolphin & Latymer and hockey as played by the Canadiens de Montréal is that the Canadiens de Montréal do not have me in goal trying to hide a 10-pack of Silk Cut in my sock and doing impersonations of Claire Grogan with Anna, my oldest friend, equally miscast in left back.
Anyroad up, in the pub last night - almost exactly the same as an English pub, table service, cold beer and serving ladies in short kilts aside - chitchat started about the World Cup. Canadians all around me listed the many teams they "followed" ("I like England but also Brazil. And Portugal and ... Argentina. But not France. When I hear them shouting "allez les bleus!" in bars in Montreal, I want to slap them"), and there was a long discussion about the word "goalie"(used for hockey here; apparently they say "keeper" for soccer) which ended up with everyone being right in an authentically Canadian style.
I am not really interested in hockey. I am not really interested in football either, come to think of it (despite what this photograph of my tiny self with a ball might suggest), but that isn't really the point. It is just that after a while, the North American insistence on referring to football as "soccer" weighs upon my English heart, because it reminds me that I am not from here. I don't often talk about feeling homesick, partly because it's not really how I feel: the best word for what I feel a lot of the time is depaysé, which doesn't exist in English but means (and please pile in here, this is my best attempt) the sense of being somewhere foreign and feeling slightly uncomfortable and disorientated by it. (I think it literally translates as "de-countried", which in some ways sums it up quite well, but "the sense of being elsewhere" also explains it, to me at least.) On top of and in addition to that, a great many of the things I like very much (excellent media, Bendick's Bittermints, PG Tips, my friends, family etc) are not from here either, and therefore not easy to come by at short notice should I have an urgent need for any of them.
But all this is as nothing. A small piece of football-induced yearny-feelings will not do me any lasting damage. Why? Because I have just this very minute received an email from my brother, RunningMonkey (who is quite the singe sportif - a little joke for my French readers!!!), which may force me to reconsider my sentimental yearning for Clapham pubs full of Sloanes bellowing "come orn my saaaahn!" at the television during the World Cup. It may also force me to re-consider my instinctive rejection of any sport whose main television pundit is the gigantic preening cockmonkey that is Don Cherry, for RunningMonkey describes the difference between hockey and football thus:
Football = ladyboys, can't take a knock.
Hockey = hardmen, allowed to fight.
But I am still not decided. Harder and allowed to fight, yes. But what else must I consider if I am to transfer my non-fandom of football to non-fandom of hockey? First of all, our respective theme tunes:
Match of the Day
The BBC website helpfully gives the following information: "Match of the Day's theme tune, called "Match of the Day", was specially composed [in 1970] for the show by Barry Stoller."
(English viewers will enjoy the snatch of Jimmy Hill. Talking of Jimmy Hill, am I the only person that still says "Jimmy Hill had a baby!"?)
Hockey Night In Canada (with drumming from member of Rush)
In similar vein, the CBC website helpfully gives the following information: "The 'Hockey Theme' (a.k.a. 'Hockey Night in Canada Theme') was written in 1968 by Dolores Claman."
Second of all, our respective old-man pundits. First of all, here is Don Cherry in some outfits:
Now here is Des Lynham. (As you will see, I have been rigorously fair in my selection of images and/or film clips.)
Des does signings at Waterstones (i.e., is an intellectual):
Des does comedy rap without it being embarrassing (i.e. is quite funny and laughs at himself):
Des is also able to perform with monkeys (i.e., likes monkeys):
Based on Des vs. Don, it is clear that English football is much better than Canadian hockey, and I will therefore maintain the status quo by remaining a non-fan of football. A gigantic relief for the many football teams of England, I am sure you will agree!
Pip pip!
NWM
*Habs = Canadiens, who are the hockey team of Montreal and who are doing OK at the moment. I do know why they are called the Habs but nearly 100% of you wouldn't be interested, I am sure. For the possible 00.01% of you who may be interested, here is an explanation.
NB: I do not know what team the hockey playing monkey is playing for so do not ask me. I do know that he is not playing for the Canadiens or for the team from Toronto.
P.S. If you do not like hockey, football, chitchat about homesickness and alienation etc, you may instead enjoy some photographs of the camelid family (including llamas, alpacas and vicunas), taken in Chile last year. I was not on holiday.
I am inspired by Lucy Pepper to share with you this charming photograph of my young self skipping in a carefree style along the pavement of Pembrooke Gardens, London W8. I cannot remember doing it, and I have no idea what I was thinking or who I was with, but I like this photograph very much indeed and I must say my shoes are very smart. (Either Start-Rite or Clarks, I should think, measured at Peter Jones after a long wait with a number from a machine like the one you get in butchers.)
I may well share with you a few more photosnaps of my young kilt-adorned self over the coming days, if only because, what with my state of deep non-workingness, etc, not much is happening and I am not having any adventures - and CERTAINLY not of the kind I used to have in the days of Brixton non-workingness.
(Contrary to what the cars in the distant background suggest, it was not 1953 but I think somewhere around 1972.)
If you have a picture of your tiny self in a kilt, you should probably put it on your blog or, if you like, I can make a gallery called "Readers In Kilts" on the Flickr. You will have to send me your photograph first, mind you. I think it would be quite the smash!!!
What better news could there be than this: yes, here is a new full-length movie written, directed and produced by me (i.e., Non-workingmonkey). This time, it is about the joy of working with a boss who panics about everything. It also features the word "poo" a great many times - another reason to watch, I am sure you will agree!
Yet again, I am entirely confident that you will shout, "Yes, we will!" when I say to you: "I know you will like it a lot".
In other news, if you would like to see the other films all at the same time, you may do so by pressing lightly here. Oh - and if anyone has any bad boss traits that I have not covered (yet), do send them in. I like it when I can steal ideas from other people.
