Day 457: I Officially Launch My New Career As A "Life Coach"

Regular readers will be aware that only yesterday, I decided upon a new career: I am to be a ‘life coach’, a job for which I am eminently qualified, having no (relevant) qualifications whatsoever and a life (to date!) that could be described as ‘partially shambolic’.

Happily, my lack of qualifications is no barrier to my readers (most of whom are functionally literate and interesting looking), many of whom have written in with some questions and/or problems for me to look at.

Here are the first few – but don’t worry if YOU'VE answered a question that I don't appear to have answered - I'll be getting round to them all eventually!


Léonie writes:

"I have recently developed an unholy fascination with cheese. Please help! Yours hopefully and over-lactosed..."

Dear Léonie (such a pretty name! Is it foreign?)

Let me ask you a question: “Does the cheese make you happy?”.

I look forward to hearing from you again and remember: together, we are stronger.

NWM


Chloé writes:

"There is this guy who is hanging around my lab quite a lot and they want me to think he is a new colleague of mine.

However, his obnoxiousness, clam-like social skills and immature 14-year old behaviour clearly prove that he isn't. So why hasn't anybody thrown him through a window yet?

I am too weak and frail to do it myself, what should I do? (Swearing at him spectacularly in French has already been suggested, and tried, not to much effect though)."

Dear Chloé (such a pretty name! Is it foreign?)

Sounds to me like he wants to make the jig-jig with you, to be fair. However, in answer to your question, might I suggest that you re-consider the classic (but always effective) advice: "just ignore him". Show-offs hate that shit.

I look forward to hearing from you again and remember - the answer is inside us all.

NWM

PS: Is he ugly? I always find it much easier to deal with someone vile if I can find a way of pitying them.

Marla Fauchier Baltes writes:

"I have often wondered about the increased need in our society for life coaches. What will you charge? I may be one too."


Dear Marla Faucier Baltes (What an interesting name! Is it partially foreign?)

If you ask me, it's because people have got far too much time on their hands and can't be arsed to sort their own shit out. They also cock on about how busy they are the whole time which I don't understand, because if they were THAT busy they wouldn't have time to see a life coach.

Also, please consider this: have you ever met anyone really clever who's seen a life coach? This (rhetorical!) question leads me cleanly to the answer to your second question: £200 an hour. (Well what do you want me to do? They're stupid and have too much money, and I'll make them feel better.)

And yes, you should be one too. There are loads of stupid people who need your help.

Yours in solidarity,

NWM


Monkeymother writes:

"I have a daughter who is good-looking, amusing, intelligent and highly-educated, yet she seems directionless at the moment. 

She seems to have an idea for a new career every day of the week, but never settles down to anything except writing her weblog which, while amusing, is hardly a job! 

I do hope you can help."


Dear Monkeymother

Is she happy? If so, I wouldn't worry too much. Also, I am Non-workingmonkey, therefore I would beg you to consider whether she has direction and feels settled in other ways - ways that may be cock-all to do with work!!!

Pip pip!

NWM

Laurie writes:

"dear non-working life coach monkey:

pleaes ltell me how i, too, can not work and yet afford chips. that would make me very happy. i will send you $5.
sincerely,
laurie"

Dear Laurie

Stop drinking. Once you have done that, then we can talk.

Much (free) love

NWM

Day 456: I Have Decided Upon A New Career

Yes. Today is the happy day. I have decided on a new way of making money without doing much work (and certainly not any difficult work!): I am going to be a "life coach".

I have been doing quite a lot of research and one thing is clear: as I have no qualifications in any of the (acknowledged, accredited) therapies, no track record of (personal) business success, have made no provision for a secure financial future and have a sock drawer most people would be ashamed of, I am completely qualified to tell other people what to do.

Whilst I consider how to "re-brand" myself, do please write in with your problems and/or questions. They will provide the 'meat on the bones', as it were, for my first free, online life coaching session, which will appear tomorrow.

Pip pip!

"Famous Life Coach, Non-workingmonkey" (as I will soon be known!!!)

Day 455: I Have A Surfeit Of Pumpkin

Despite the fact that I am sure that there are tiny societies of pumpkin-lovers gathering all over Britain as I write, I think it is fair to say that we in Blighty are not overly keen on the pumpkin.

Given the evidence that I have seen with my eyes year after year, the pumpkin usually only makes an appearance around Halloween, whereupon it is gutted, turned into a (rubbish) lantern, and then discarded. (Oh, Good Housekeeping will make a cursory effort to put in a recipe or two for pumpkin pie or pumpkin soup; but no-one really cares about pumpkins, not really.)

It is not the same in Canada, from what I can see! It was (Canadian) Thanksgiving Day yesterday, and despite the fact that Halloween is weeks away, already the supermarkets are festooned with amusing Halloween decorations and bags of 'candy' the size of Gibraltar, from which one feeds pesky local kids. (Fruit apparently will be refused, in case razor blades are hidden within its fleshy receiving depths.)

But I digress. As I am non-working (and lovin' it!), I have time to get really involved in local customs, e.g. going on the free local bus to the supermarket, looking at apples, eating maple candy and eyeing up bun tins in the shape of maple leaves in the local 'kitchen store'. It is really great and I am loving it, but in order to really 'get to grips' with a local society (and its customs), I think it is important to 'get your hands dirty'.

Encouraged by up to and including five million pumpkins in the local supermarket, five stalls selling pumpkins on the way to the local supermarket (on the free local bus) and a magazine dedicated to the art of the pumpkin (this is not a joke), I thought I would buy one too.

My idea was simple: I would 'get my hands dirty' by cooking things out of it; things that one sees on the television when watching American TV shows; things that are often included in scenarios in which the people are also eating 'corn bread' and 'English muffins' and 'corn'; stuff like that. (Weird stuff that we do not have in England unless we are American ex-patriates.)

But I digress. Here is a photograph of the pumpkin I chose with my very own eyes and put in the trolley with my own hands:



















As you can see it is quite 'sizey', but manageably so, unlike the pumpkin you will see in the following photograph.

Big, isn't it.

















But not as big as this pumpkin, which is what I think they describe as "very big". (I found it on a web-site called World's Biggest Pumpkins. If you click about on it, you will see all sorts of very good pictures, including ones of people sailing about the place in boats made of pumpkins. (Naturally, it is Canada-based.)













Anyway, I got the pumpkin home (with the help of my 'conjugal partner', who is a pathologist), and looked at it.

"Do you know what you are doing?", he muttered, tossing back his flowing locks. "It's just ... well, there's a way of doing it, that usually involves a sort of stabbing motion, and cooking it a bit so you can get the skin off."

"Yes", I bellowed in reply, tears of mirth pouring down my cheeks, "but enough of your day job; what about the pumpkin?".

Disgusted by my poor attempt at humour, the pathologist retired to an easy-chair in the 'sun-room' to peruse a set of chain-saw instructions, leaving me alone with the pumpkin, a large knife and some recipes.

It went OK. I made some things. Here they are:

These are the roasted seeds of the pumpkin. Getting them out is worse than disembowelling a chicken. Here, they have been roasted with (Maldon) sea salt, coriander and cumin seed. They are fucking boring.















These, par contre are the muffins I made with my own hands. There is a lot of pumpkin in them, some oat bran, not much sugar, some organic hemp dried apricots and a cockload of walnuts. They are great. (If you would like the recipe please apply in writing to the email address you can find in the side bar). As you can see, I have wrapped them (correctly!) in wax paper, in the style of for e.g. Martha Stewart.















This is roast pumpkin and garlic soup. It is OK except it could have been made out of carrots. It just tastes like vegetable soup. (Although obviously an excellent one, a bit like Nigella Lawson would make, but if she was a good cook.)


















This is the pumpkin au cheese on top, made by the pathologist. (He cuts things up in a very precise style, FYI.) It was quite nice because he put stuff in it and put cheese on top and then put it in the oven. (On the other hand if you put cheese on top of anything it becomes delicious, almost as delicious as cake.)
















But there is a problem! I have made twelve muffins, three litres of soup and an entire old feta tub full of roasted seeds. The pathologist has made four if not five small 'ramekins'* of pumpkin au cheese on top, and yet there remains almost half a pumpkin!

In despair, I have roasted it, but there is this much left and I do not know what to do with it!

















And it is here that I ask for help. What would you do with half a pumpkin? I do not like sloppy things (exc. soup) and pumpkin pie is not very good for me, so I am looking for something firm and toothsome, packed full of autumnal goodness (and cheese), that I could make in under an hour.

(MonkeyMother, my mother, would say "oh, throw it away, but don't tell your father", and I suspect this is good advice, particularly in view of the fact that the entire pumpkin cost $2.99, making it a very good food for poor people.)

While I am waiting for your replies, I am going to go and play with this on-line pumpkin game and eat some muffins. I look forward to hearing from you all!

(Pumpkin) pip pip

NWM


* ghastly word

Day 453: I Create A Special Thanksgiving Day Quiz For My Loyal Readers

To celebrate (Canadian!) Thanksgiving Day (tomorrow), I have put together a really good quiz. It is called Where Am I?, and I think you will enjoy it. (It is a picture quiz, which means that even stupid people can play it and probably get it right.)

Where Am I?

The following images were 'captured' yesterday, by me, and I have not left the country since then. Bearing that in mind, and using the following images as your clues, where am I?

Note: If you have tiny or very weak eyes, you will find that clicking on the photograph you are struggling to see will make it bigger.














I really hope you enjoyed it - and if you did, see it as me "giving thanks" for your ongoing (and very well-placed) decision to read (and enjoy/admire) this web-log!

Pip pip!

NWM

Day 451: I Am Keeping An Eye On The Neighbours

I have been thinking about launching myself into local society, as it were (by for e.g. joining a local society or club).

However, there are some actual facts I know about my new neighbours in the Quebec village in which I live that lead me to believe that befriending the 'locals' may not be such a good idea.

Here are the facts I know. Let me know what you think: befriend the locals or stay inside watching BBC America? (Watch out though: if you are a bit sensitive do not read on - I use the word 'lubricant' later on, and not in an automotive context!)

Fact One

Just over the fence lives a man who grows exotic vegetables in the nude. Despite spending many long hours at the top of our garden "picking raspberries" (i.e., ruffling about in the bushes whilst looking over the fence), I have not yet seen him.

Happily, I need to pick tomatoes later and it is unseasonably warm today. Fingers crossed!

Fact Two

Further down the road lives a man who has an underground aviary containing over one thousand canaries with Beatles hair-styles (and some pigeons with fringes). The aviary is apparently well-lit and ventilated and Quite The Thing. Interestingly, my companion has performed an autopsy on three of the canaries. (Luckily, they were dead and he is a veterinary pathologist.)

Apparently Underground Bird Man sometimes invites the pathologist round for drinks. Once again: fingers crossed!

Fact Three

The village in which I live is apparently the Swinging Capital of Quebec. I had forgotten this fact until today, when I mounted the free local bus which goes to the supermarket via over one hundred orchards.

Remembering made shopping difficult. I found it impossible to look the man on the fish counter in the eye for fear that I would start imagining him in a hot-tub clasping a bowl of car keys. Likewise, I could not look Catherine in Patisserie full in the face, for she was standing next to Jean-Marc, who glowed with a greasy sheen that suggested that he would like to get her and her twin sister in the gazebo with a towelling robe and a two-pack of peppermint lubricant.

Coming back from the supermarket in a taxi (having missed the free local bus due to the inaccurate timekeeping of the driver), I was subjected to rigorous cross-questioning by the taxi driver (who was, I believe, a reject from a Red Hot Chili Peppers tribute band), including whether or not I lived alone, and whether I had been here long. I could not look at him, but I am pretty sure he was a) dribbling; and b) taking notes.

I am now quite convinced that every house in the village (particularly the Dallas-style ones), are full of whirly-eyed local people thrashing about with each other, organising 'pot luck suppers' that involve more than just a choice of chopped salads, followed by breathless labouring on top of each other to a soundrack of C. Dion.

Meanwhile, in my own home, the only excitement to be had is when the pathologist and I eat dinner early and watch digital video discs of David Attenborough's Life Of Birds.

(On the other hand, Cable Guy is coming at 5 to instal the National Geographic television channel, so who knows what may happen next!)