I discuss the facial features of the people of our respective countries with my "husband"

My husband is a French-Canadian who, if it wasn't for his distinctly North American hair, looks like he is half German, a quarter Scottish and a quarter Swedish.   I am British (I sound sloppy RP-English, but am I think also Scottish and, dare I say it, Welsh) of some sort, but do not "look typical" according to him, which, as you will see if you read on, is probably just as well.

Winter is coming and we hate hockey, so there is not much to do in Canada at the moment. The garden is tied down and the bushes are in their special jackets;  our coats and boots are out of storage and the beaver hide in the garden lined with moose fur. All we can do now is wait for the snow.

Struggling to pass the time, we often talk about the facial features of the people of our respective countries.  Recent conversations include the following incisive commentary, muttered in restaurants, on the street, or at the television when I am illegally watching British TV:


"That man has an English face. His eyes are on the same level as his nose, and his mouth is too far down. He looks like a shark."


"She's one of yours. Massive gums, like fucking massive, the size of the moon. And the eyes. Always too close together. Descendants of peasants. French ones."


"Pointy noise, sandy hair, flat hair, like all your women."


"Twatpatch. Oh sorry. Soulpatch. And over-complicated t-shirts."


"A lot of product in the hair. Looks messy but is done on purpose. Sticky."


"Why do your young women dye their hair black? Do they know it ages them?"


"See him? His ancestor from La Rochelle was a cut-price pirate."


"You British. You all have thin lips."


"See her? Typical. Looks like Red Rum. Who won the Grand National a lot."


"Tattoos, dirty ones."


"His eyes are on the side of his head, like a fish with big watery eyes."

It goes on for hours. There are only so many times I can say "look at the fucking gums on that!", and in the end the only way to really communicate what we are thinking is to do drawings for each other. I share them with you now; I think they are self-explanatory, and I hope you find them as offensive as we did. (Oh, and if you're not British, will you tell me in the comments box what you think the typical British face looks like? If you listened to my husband, you'd think we all looked like sand-coloured rats with wigs - in plaits too, judging by his drawing.)

Pip "Un-PC" Pip

NWM

I will never be on Desert Island Discs

"What are your Desert Island Discs?" people are always asking me, non-stop and all the time, even when I am at the dentist or having a biscuit or trying to have a wee in a public lavatory.  I cannot ever answer the question because I think it is odd. I would never be on a desert island for starters, not even by choice, and I will never be famous enough to be having a chat with Youngy, so there will never be a reason to have to think about it properly.

But I think about musak that never, ever annoys me quite a lot, partly because the decision about whether I like most things is based on how much it does (or doesn't) annoy me.   For example, I am with the person I married and he is with me because, on balance, we don't annoy each other. That may not be enough for  younger people who think love, marriage etc is about hot love in the pants and going on romantic minibreaks and being told you are pretty the whole time, but let me tell you - what you're looking for is someone who doesn't annoy you.

Anyway, back to the sort-of point.  There is some music I love a lot with my bones but cannot listen to without wanting to lie on the floor and weep, like Hurt , or High and Dry, or Wake Up or Asleep in the Back or Chicago or Free To Run, and there is other stuff that I can listen to over and over again and never be annoyed by (which is different to being bored of something).

The list makes literally no sense, and it could probably go on for quite a long time, but I will try and keep it short-ish.  Here we go.  Ignore the videos. I do not watch the videos. I listen to the musak either privately or in public, sometimes with accompanying movements from my fez and/or small clay pipe.

I wish that I could see you soon. Herman Dune. (In this case the video is also ace, with puppet angels and beards)
All of Jill Scott's This is Jill Scott. Here is one song from it.
All of Bryter Later, but this one is always good for the nerves
No Fear of Falling, I Am Kloot
Save Me, Turin Brakes. Odd how I don't find it annoying.
There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, despite having no right to listen to The Smiths
The Best of My Love, cure for all ills, The Emotions
La Femme d'Argent, Air
Douna Ma Yelema, Boubacar Traoré (Everyone should own this record. It is very good for the nerves.)
Keep the Car Running, Arcade Fire
Rhythm and Blues Alibi, Gomez
Once In A Lifetime
Strangely, most of LCD Soundsystem and New Order, e.g. this and this.
Most of anything that came out of Mozart's head, but this bit of this in particular; I think it, too, is good for the nerves.  (I am not sure about this recording of it, but I know fuck-all about classical music so won't even go there.)

** UPDATE** after a prompt from the owner of one of my favourite internet destinations: I include most of what came out of Bach's head, including obv. this, which is astonishingly good for the nerves.

I will stop there, because this list could be 100 things long, and just spurting that bit out of my fingers took about two hours. Still, it is good; it has reminded me to spend more time listening to musak and staring out of the window, and less time thinking about things that there is no point fretting about, or watching Come Dine With Me on 4oD.

What is one (1) song you do not ever find annoying? I would like to hear about it.

Pip "Do Re Mi!" Pip

NWM

Snow!

It's snowing tonight and it is only October. The amount of snow that has fallen is enough to prompt a severe weather warning in England, but not enough to persuade a Canadian to get their winter coat out of storage. I've only lived in a place (i.e., Canada) where it snows for three years, so I am still quite interested in it and I like it a lot and find it to be very attractive, even though I can't walk in it without looking like I have legs of wood. In summary: snow is great.

Here is a poem not-really about snow. You probably know it, because you are a reader of this web-blog and are, therefore: a) moderately well-read; b) attractive in certain lights; c) muscular in surprising ways. Here goes.

Snow

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.


World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.


And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands –
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

                                                                        Louis MacNeice

Coming soon: I receive a mysterious of gift of two severed hands from Portugal (one missing some fingers), and continue to live with the very real consequences of finding out how to watch English television in real time from Canada.

Pip pip!

NWM

I can't remember

...If I have posted these, ever. If not, it is important that you see them.

It is also important - if you do not know about them already (not likely if you live in the UK but possible if you live somewhere else) - that you read Modern Toss.  Are you aware of the work of Mr Tourette? 

Their comics and books and that are 10/10, but they also make stuff. For e.g. they now make this teacloth and I am paralysed by my desire to own it.

Anyway, that is all for now. The wind is up and there is baking to do, plus I have over 180 feet of 3 foot beans in my fridge and they need attending to. 

Pip pip!

NWM

I don't understand either

These are mysterious times, my friends.  Why would I want to wrestle with a pony? Why is the expression "delicious aromas wafted up the stairs, permeating my hungry nostrils" going round and round in my head?  And what is going on the streets of Montreal and/or St-Joseph-du-Lac, where I live?

First of all, this enticing sign outside our local ostrich farm (NB the nonchalant way I say 'our local ostrich farm', like it is normal):

Second of all, these dogs in necklaces (not local, but mysterious nevertheless):

Third of all, what are these leaves doing on this scooter?

Fourth of all, how am I going to get through my fourth Canadian winter? I might go to the gym. I might take up the Marguerite Patten Potluck Project again. I may do both. Or I may just stay in watching "Come Dine With Me" and rocking.

Pip "Cackle" Pip

NWM