I am on the train again

This time, a lady of around my age (i.e. 41) is chewing gum with her mouth open. I am at least 15 feet away, but I can hear her every chew. I have a strong urge to set fire to her handbag.

I write a shopping list

I am weeks - if not days - from being "landed" by the Canadian government. When I am landed, I can explain what I have been doing these last few months; until then, you will have to do with shopping lists emailed from a covert location in the old bit of Montreal.

Things that I need from the shop to cook with:

• Low fat beef mince or turkey mince
• Gay buns
• Salady shit
• Sweet potato shit
• Greek yoghurt shit
• A lot of stewing steak not in a piece in chunks
• Pancetta in a cubetti
• Carrots in a bag
• Cheap red wine like tramps drink
• An orange
• The lady of echalottes, in a bag
• Tin of tomatoes, oh yeah
• Beetroot, ready cooked ok, 200g
• 2 packets cooking choc, for me, I need 250g
• Eggies in a box
• Baking powder
• Sugar I need a bag of it
• What about some apples, let’s have some of them
• And some pears in a tin.

Delicious.

I apologise for the comment moderation

I am being spammed up the wazoo, which is not as much fun as it sounds.  What is amazing is that they are bothering, truly bothering, to keep filling in the little word verification thing over and over again. I hope they are getting paid well for their troubles.

Anyway. Do not let this put you off. Feel free to comment, telling me (for e.g.) how great I am, how much you love my blog, etc etc. 

In other news, I have had a letter from the Canadian government that says I have met their requirements for residency. We have given them $490, and any day now I will be called to a dusty room in a government office, asked what my favourite colour is, and called to sign a form whilst listening to a Celine Dion lookylikey singing the French-Canadian version of the Canadian national anthem. 

Coming next: I apply for citizenship, and, three years later, find myself in possession of duelling citizenships. 

Pip "Ceint de fleurons glorieux" Pip

NWM

The Crêpe of Things To Come

N.B.  I did not cut this out myself with my tiny monkey hands; I stole it off a tweet of Sali Hughes'.  Do you love it?

I have a business idea you cannot resist

I often have ideas that other people have also had. Sometimes, I have an idea, and I think O that will never  take off, and then someone else has it and it does. These ideas have included a lot of things, e.g.:

- a cone for putting peppercorns in your pepper mill without them jizzing all over the counter;
- a comedy sex blog;
- a blog about apostrophe's in the wrong place;*
- crossing a poodle with a cocker spaniel and calling the outcome a "cockapoo";
- putting sheep grease and old fish eyes in a pot, calling it "Cream of the Sea" and selling it for $453.

Etc.

For some years (I have witnesses), I have, when "in my cups", told people about my favourite idea of all: a troupe of persons of smaller stature assembled for the purpose of serving superior Mexican-styled snacks.

Imagine it, if you will: you are having a cock-tail party.  Everyone is standing around having a drink etc. They are a bit bored and also a bit hungry. You are an anxious AND caring host and/or hostess and you do not want your guests to have a bad time - but you are not worried. Why? Because you have hired my Miniature Troupe.

There is a lull in the conversation. Suddenly, the enticing strains of a top-quality Mariachi recording are heard, seamlessly communicated via your high-resolution Bose soundsystem. There is a scuffle.  Something is happening at elbow height. "A snack?". You look down. There is a sombrero upon the head of a person of smaller stature. The crown is pushed in a little; in the dent nestles some high-quality salsa. And on the brim - need you ask? - there are gathered tortilla chips of the highest calibre.

Long have I thought that this could be my way out: the passport, as it were, to a life of relaxed entrepreneurialism, conducted from a hammock and/or armchair, with only a telephone, small clay pipe and glass of absinthe for company.

And tonight, finally, it seems this dream could come true: only tonight, I used the Google and typed in "small person in sombrero". And what came up? Why, this: proof, if I needed it, that either a) someone has had the idea already; or b) that there is a definite market (as the marketing johnnies say) for my idea. Either way, I think I am going to do it. Anyone in?

Pipa Pipa!

NWM


* see what I did there?


P.S. Gigantor-sized apologies: have had to put comment moderation on for a bit as am being spammed up the wazoo by some mentalists and it's doing my head in. Normal service will be resumed as soon as I have found them and broken their keyboards with an old rolling pin.