I offer a new service to my readers

Dirty skirting boards that are over 100 years old should not be cleaned with modern substances like 'Cillit Bang' or 'Easy Off Fume Free Oven Cleaner'.They should be cleaned using proper old-fashioned methods that involve scrubbing, rubbing, tinctures and the sort of chemicals that were banned in some Eastern European countries as recently as 1983.

Luckily for me - and also maybe you, of which more later in this post - I have two books full of such methods.  This is just as well, because my own skirting boards (c. 1908, i.e. not that old for England, excitingly antique for Canada) are the sort of filthy that makes visitors ignore your pristine lavatory bowl and leave your house convinced that weevils live in your pants.

Book One: Every Woman's Enquire Within

A.C. Marshall, editor of Tit-Bits Book of Wrinkles (who, exactly, Tit-Bit was, and where his wrinkles were is another matter altogether) also edited this magnificent tome, first published in 1938. It is only for "Home-loving women", and touches on a range of topics including Home Management, Character and Fortune, General Knowledge, Home Maintenance, Etiquette and Correspondence and Practical Home Cookery.

Book Two: Spons' Household Manual

Published in 1897, this book reckons that ladies can cope with more than fortune-telling, and includes chapters on Water Supply, The Larder, Thieves and Fire, Receipts for Dishes, The Sickroom and Domestic Motors.  (FYI the Spons are E & F N Spon).

Both books are very relevant in 2012. Of this I am convinced. For e.g., the very first paragraph of the preface of Spons' Household Manual could not predict that one day people in for e.g. Portland or Stockholm would be knitting the very socks on their feet whilst nipping down the sourdough starter hotel to chat to their mates about rennet: 

The same is true of Every Woman's Enquire Within, which was extolling the virtues of a nice firm brush long before anyone thought that people in Hackney would one day be selling dustpans and brushes for 35 British pounds. 

All this leads me to two conclusions:

1. That I will one day have clean skirting boards; more importantly

2. That I must offer a service to you, my adoring readers and/or fans. 

Here's how it works:

You can send in a question (in the comments box) about any topic, and I will look it up and send you Advice From The Past. If you are lucky, you will get 1897 advice and 1938 advice (which would be like comparing now to 1971, which not many of us like to do).  If you are really lucky, the Sponses and A. C. Marshall (guided by me) will also be able to fix whatever it is that ails you. 

Come on then ! Let's see what you got !

Pip "Rub it with tincture of myrrh" Pip

NWM

P.S. This post is inspired in part by The Voice of Boo's v. excellent posts on Nancy Spain. I have not yet told her that I own The Holiday Inn International Cookbook (1970), which is dedicated to Ruby "Doll" Wilson and contains a recipe for "Beef A La Holiday".

Fat Cat Roundup

I would like to be clear about my feelings re. cats.  They are OK because you don't need to take them for walks, pick up their poo or give them nosebags.  They are annoying because they miaow in the night, wee in a box and don't do tricks (unless you are Russian.)  There is no way you could describe me as a 'cat lover', for e.g. I do not have a cat-faced mug and I do not talk about the cats that I have experienced like they are my friends, have personalities or - heaven help us - are my furry babies. (But I have visited a Cat Museum.)

It may be a surprise to hear that I have, in fact, lived with cats. Here is the list:

Adopted when drunk from friend of friend with a stupid pug  ("There are two cats on your bed! You hate cats! What's happening?", said my friend Polly when she first saw them):

Monster: swinging belly, mental, apples fell on his head, now lives in Bromley but would be 19 by now so is probably dead
Squiffy: tiny, squeaky, nice, died of kidney failure despite the 500 British pound kidney dialysis


Joint custody of two cats with husband's ex-girlfriend and her boyfriend:
Corndog: Had kittens and hid them in a bush, fat, hairy, mental
Oustiti: Tiny, long whiskers, not annoying.

There is also Ziggy, who I have just looked after for a week. The reason that Ziggy is remarkable - and here is The Theme - is that Ziggy is fat. Monster was fat (fat when I got him, fat when he left), and Corndog is fat.

Fat cats are funny.  Pls do not put in comments boxes "it is terrible your cats are fat feed them less make them run round the garden people like you should not be allowed to have cats imagine what the council would say if you did that to your children" (etc).  Monster was on a diet but had hanging skin. Corndog is not my cat (she is my husband's, and he is a veterinariariariarian, as is her other owner), and Ziggy is not mine. So don't bother.

Other people have, and it hasn't made a difference. For e.g., a few weeks ago, as Corndog lay on her back sunning her gigantic belly in the garden of her part-owner,  the 6ft 3, 276lb Georges Laraque, famous ex-hockey player for the Montreal Canadiens, leant off the balcony of the flat above (blocking out the sun), and bellowed: "Ton chat est obèse.  Il devrait être végétarien."*

Corndog is not vegetarian, and is still fat.  There may be a connection, there may not. She also features quite heavily in this gallery of fat cat photographs, which you may enjoy. Or may not. As you wish.  (Apologies to anyone who has seen these pictures already via the Twitter or the Instagram etc - although I am sure you will appreciate their collective weight. No pun intended etc.)

Monster, now of Bromley. A photograph familier to regular readers and/or fans

Ziggy of Montreal

Ziggy 

Also Ziggy

Corndog

Also Corndog

Corndog left out in the rain for too long because I was laughing

Corndog on the knee of the pathologist. No idea where horrid cushion came from, or where it has gone to

That's it for now. If I find any more I will let you know. 

Pip "Low Fat Iams" Pip

NWM 

*"Your cat is obese. You should put it on a vegetarian diet."

I predict the future

In this, another in an occasionally regular new series, I attempt to 'spot the future'.  Essentially, the future is going to be like post-rationing 1950s Britain and/or an Amish farm, but with electricity.

OK here goes.

Books

1. Everyone will start buying out-of-print books. I will say no more on the matter for the time being, but I am definitely right.
2. People will keep on buying books on their Kindles, iPads etc and then they will go, you know I loved that book a lot and I would like to own a printed copy of it. Then they will buy it again.
3. Everyone will be a bit, O why is my house so cold and unfeeling? Then they will realise they haven't got any books on their shelves anymore, just receipts from iTunes and Audible.com, and then they will start buying real books again. ("Books Do Furnish A Room", let us not forget.)  
4. In a while someone in Shoreditch or Williamsburg or the Mile End in Montreal will - as these people do - start liking books because they are 'real' and 'authentic'. (Ref. (1) above).  It will be like locally sourced hand-reared organic foodstuffs all over again.  'Ateliers' will open where people hand print and bind books like no-one has ever thought of it before. They will have tools for it and they will have aprons.  I haven't even Googled this but I am 100% sure it is already happening and is being done by some fella with braces (suspenders for our US and Canadian cousins), a beard down to his knees, thick spectacles, a white shirt rolled up to reveal ironic sailorman tattoos, canvas trousers and workman boots.
5. People will just get fed up with Borders and Amazon and Walmart, and they won't need to be told to visit their local bookshop, e.g. The Bookseller Crow On The Hill (in the meantime please buy your books online from him not Amazon). This is a fervent wish rather than a prediction but O that it were so! 

Food

• Biscuits. 
• Home-made cheese. 
• Potted meat.

Drink

• Lemon squash, ginger ale, cordial made out of hedgerows. 

Bicycles

• Wicker baskets.

Cars
I have updated this post since the forward-looking Mrs Jones pointed out that horses are the way of the future. This is also true of donkeys and mules. If you don't have room for one of these, you will have one of the following: 

• An electric car so quiet they have to put an ice-cream van style jingle in it so people can hear you coming
• Bicycles (above)
• Busses
• Trams

Children

• They will once again become small people who are seen but not heard, say 'please' and 'thank you', write thank you-letters, eat what they are given and do not do performances shouting "LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME". 
• Parents will be pleased when their children jump in puddles in their gumboots, collect sticks, and ask for a hamster and an Arthur Ransome book for Christmas, not disappointed that they are not doing Grade 8 violin at the age of 2.
• O-Levels and A-Levels will come back
• High-heeled shoes and Bakugan pyjamas will be banned for anyone under 12. 
• No-one will be mean to ladies who can't breast-feed, and people who do breast-feed will not make a political statement out of it and make everyone else feel like an idiot.
• There will be no 'parenting technique' discussions because everyone will do the same thing.
• Prams will be gigantic and blue.

That's it for now. What is your prediction?

Pip "Crystal Ball" Pip

NWM

BritainWatch

In the first of an occasional series, I try and tell you what's happening in Britain at the moment by sitting in Montreal and looking at 1) The British media, i.e. telly, radio, newspapers, etc*; 2)  Twitter, Facebook etc.

OK here goes. Tell me if I am wrong and/or have missed something.

The Weather

It is really bad and it keeps raining the whole time. The sky covers your poor heads like a translucent grey awning, and you wonder if S.A.D. is actually true.  Everyone is blaming the Met Office, which means that the Met Office is God - unless you are Richard Dawkins, in which case neither the Met Office nor the weather exist.

The Olympics

The whole "Jimmy Page and Boris Johnson and a London Bus" thing means that few people dare watch the opening ceremony, even if it does involve the man who directed Trainspotting turning the stadium into a version of the English countryside based on The Tempest by W. Shakespeare (inc. 70 sheep and a plough).

This is understandable, but I think it's a bit sad that everyone has forgotten to be a bit excited (in the proud style of our French and American cousins), rather than tutting the whole time. As far as I can see, the tuts are mainly about:

• The Olympic lanes on the motorways: are they or aren't they in action? Yes they are, and everyone has got a 150 pound ticket.
• The security which is a right fuck-up. It is going to be done by a) the army; b) some 18 year olds.
• The cleaners live in sheds that leak. 
• Some Americans got lost.
• The Mall is closed. I do not know this for sure but it usually is.
• This is just another sign of broken Britain. 

On the other hand, Twenty Twelve exists.  If anyone says, O what is this British humour of which you speak? I will say, you see this programme? In it, one of the most important events this year is taken the piss out of by the BBC, and the organisers of the event join in - even bloody Sebastian bloody Coe !!!  (I don't know if this is actually quite sad - i.e. that we are really good at laughing at ourselves and assume everything is going to go to shit - or just funny. Let me know what you think.)

Food

• Hugh and Nigel have got their berries out. 
• Yotam is doing something Swedish and something Palestinian at the same time, and putting at the forefront an ingredient that is usually an accent. 
• Rose Prince is making a cake or two for charity.  
• So far, we have managed to avoid Williamsburg-style 'tea ateliers', and in my lighter moments I like to think another good thing about the people of Britain is that they do not take themselves too seriously. (See above.) This kind of nonsense is therefore, I hope, unlikely.   
• Suck and Chew is still going strong and this is good news.  
• Kids that watch more TV get fatter. 
• The 9 year old was allowed to keep her blog. 

The Royal Family

• The Queen needs a rest.
• Kate is still wearing those nude courts from LK Bennett, and everyone is a bit confused by her body in a bikini (put on a magazine by some Australians), because she doesn't have any hips. I don't mean, "she doesn't have ladycurves", I mean, "she doesn't appear to actually have the joints that join her legs to the rest of her body".

Politics

I don't listen anymore so I don't know. All I know is that that appalling little shit George Osborne still has an important job, and that the PM is apparently still committed to the coalition.  Other than that it all looks like a clusterfuck from over here and I'm probably well out of it. Even this twat (i.e., the PM of Canada - who FYI had never been anywhere but Canada until he was made PM) seems preferable.  

Other than that Canada is economically pretty stable etc and other than some young people banging on casserole dishes (for good reason, as it goes), things seems quite reasonable.  That is until the whole "English vs. French Canada" thing comes up, at which point I decide finally and conclusively to run away over the sea far far away. (It's like England vs. Wales or England vs. Scotland x 1,000,000.)

The Bachelor

I don't know why they bother. Spencer is only going to go for the posh birds (i.e. 5%), and is not going to be taken in by that tight-lipped trollop who kept talking about 'horseriding'. 

50 Shades of Grey

Everyone can go on about this as much as they like but she is earning something ridiculous like $250,000 A DAY.  This is easier than working in McDonald's etc. 

And all those clever journalists can sneer all they like. I know that at night they sit in their sheds and wish that they could write something that that many people go and buy. They're cross because people buy shit.  There's nothing you can do about it. People buy shit. And anyway, who are you to say what's shit and what's not?  

In other news, apparently the Audio Book uses Thomas Tallis' Spem In Alium as atmosphere music (or something), which makes sense because 'Spem in Alium' means 'Jizz In The Onions', which not a lot of people know. 

The Archers

2 words: Kate. Archer. 

Bruce Springsteen and Paul McCartney turned off

They were half an hour over, and they'd stopped singing.  All this "joyless London noise police" stuff is stupid.  Everyone on Facebook was very angry about this, especially people in America. If they like Paul McCartney so much THEY ARE WELCOME TO HIM.

That is all for now. Let me know if you would like my distance-analysis on any other topics.

Pip "Dimbleby" Pip

NWM

* Thank you, myexpatnet, the TuneIn app and all the British papers apart from The Times (that I don't read anyway)

We plan ahead

My parents will be coming to Canada for Christmas, and we are talking about tourtière, which is a pie of meat. I am hoping it is an important Christmas foodstuff in French-Canada (where I live),  because I like pie and I like meat, so the combination is a surefire 'winner'.


JM is a) a French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist; b) my husband.

Me: What do people eat in Quebec on Christmas Eve?
JM: Turkey.
Me: What do people in Quebec eat on Christmas Day?
JM: Turkey.
Me: What, everyone has two turkeys?
JM: It depends on the family.
Me: OK, so what did your family have on Christmas Eve?
JM: Turkey.
Me: And Christmas Day?
JM: Turkey.

Whatevs.

News round-up

OK here's what's up in this, my third week of literal non-workingness.

Dentist
I am there every week having my English teeth attended to. "They aren't made up, you know. They're a real phenomenon", says the hygienist. "Whassat?", I say, mouth awash with blood. "BRITISH TEETH. They're really terrible. Crooked. On the other hand", she says, scraping so hard I fear my teeth will pop out of my head, "nothing is as bad as French teeth. Crooked AND dirty."

Cupboards
The story goes like this:  husband is driving to work, shoe is weird and tight, he takes his shoe off and a bloody mouse pops out.  Husband pulls over (n.b. he is on the motorway) and releases said mouse into the Canadian wilderness. Mouse lives.

These mice - whether they're re-enacting Point Break or not - have been our loving companions for some time. Sometimes we electrocute them, sometimes we get the cats round, sometimes we play Sting and/or Chris Martin. Sometimes it's winter and they do whatever mice do in the winter.

Then the spring comes and they come back and they engage in a number of activities including but not limited to:

1. Eating bags of popcorn;
2. Getting lid off peanut butter and leaving mouse footprints;
3. Doing mouse plops in my giant oats that I discover 2 seconds before putting porridge in my gaping maw;
4. Playing poker, watching TV, smoking tiny spliffs, changing the pre-sets on the radio and generally taking the fucking piss. 

All this means that the cupboards need to be cleaned, what with the mouse plops, the mouse wee, the leftover bits of chewed up popcorn and wood, the dust and whatever else lurks. I do this with The Archers, rubber gloves, old tea towels, a mini vacuum thing and a great deal of strong chemicals in a bottle. It is satisfying, and I am happy.

Swimming
After 5 years, a man comes round to mend the filter on the swimming pool and gives information that transforms the pool from 'indistinguishable from the septic tank' to 'now I know why I live in Canada!!!'.

Now I just swim up and down and up and down. It is great.  Also, the weather in Montreal is like this all the time:

I understand it is not like that in England, but do not be jealous because in 4 months the snow will come and that's us fucked until March. Like "Game of Thrones", but without a monster made of black smoke emitting from anyone's ladyparts.

That is it for the moment. There is more to this post but I realised after finishing it that it was over 100 pages long, so I will post the second bit tomorrow.  It is about what I have been reading and it basically says, "I have read a lot of books about the Mitford sisters and all their friends", so if you don't like the Mitfords, don't tune in tomorrow.   If you do like TV and film reviews, tune in on Sunday. Maybe.

Pip "Poo in my oats" Pip

NWM

Baker Cat

"Where are you?", say the emails sent by the people. "Why, at home", I say, "not working, drinking cups of warm water, eating thin omelettes and watching this":



Infinite (and better) version here.  

I'm back in the room

I am, once again, a literally non-working monkey. This time, I was subject to forces beyond my control (unless I had chosen to evolve into the sort of person that wears flesh-coloured 'pantyhose', enjoys using a Palm Pilot and can think of nothing better than being on interminable conference calls with lunatics in the Far East), but I have left my last employer with affection and good heart, and all is well.

And yet. When you lose your job, people go odd.  It is not realistic to walk around with a sandwich board saying, I AM 42 I HAVE BEEN HERE BEFORE NOT ONLY IS IT OK IT IS SUPER STOP LOOKING AT ME WITH THOSE EYES.  It is also not realistic to expect that others are as blasé as I am about the whole affair, but still, here are some Tips if someone you work with is let go/made redundant/fired etc. OK here goes.

Do not pretend it isn't happening

If Bob has been laid off and Bob is packing up his boxes, do not pretend you do not know who Bob is. The chances are that you have, at the very least, worked with Bob for some time and are on speaking terms.  Bob will appreciate it if you say, "I have heard what is happening and I hope you are OK with it" (or similar).  If Bob is not OK he will cry, shout, rant etc. If he does, say nothing and back away. However, the chances are that Bob will like the fact that you are at least reacting to the Truth and not hiding in the lavatory having pretend wees.

Do not speculate on the reasons why

Unless there have been cross-company layoffs, a factory closure or (in my case) the loss of a big client,  havin' a chitchat with Jackie in accounts on what terrible thing Bob may or may not have done is not helpful. You will never probably know the full reason why Bob is leaving, and unless Bob is a good pal who tells you all the dirt, you never will. For all you know, Bob is very happy about it as it will give him the chance to do something he really wants to do and/or move to the South of France and set up a nudist cycling club.   So assume the best and let Bob go with a smile and a wave. (Unless he is the office pervert.)

Do not ask the person if they have a new job yet

If they have it's OK, but if they haven't and they are worried about it, this is is not a good thing to ask. Equally if, like me, they have no intention of looking for a job for a good long while, it can put them on the spot, because that leads to the next terrible question, namely:

Do not ask the person what they are going to do

If you are not an expert in the skill of literal non-workingness, as I am, you are probably still in a bit of shock and working out how much money you have to keep going for a while.  Asking people what they are going to do puts them on the spot; they can't very well say "I am going to sit at home with my boxes, wonder what happened and then pick myself up off the floor and hope to find some sort of purpose to my life."

As we all know, I am quite the expert, so here is what I said:

"I am going to try and write the first 3 chapters and synopsis of the novel I have been talking about  for five years, and go the gym a bit."

This is true, but it will also include:

"I am going to sleep properly, spring clean my flat, think about letting it before I go to Europe for a bit, write my blog, eat properly and look for pictures of cats in hats."

It will also include:

Seeing my husband properly for the first time in a year, remembering everyone's birthdays, sending the knitted monkey that I bought five months ago to my niece, wondering if we are going to move back to England, watching "Community" and stalking Deborah, Duchess of Devonshire.

Do not have a pitying look on your face, especially if the person is older than you

If you are 27 and have never lost your job, the idea is probably terrifying. I can tell you right now that unless you have many dependents (unlikely at 27) and/or are very unwell, it is really not that bad. Something else always comes along, and every time - and this I know from experience - the period of literal non-workingness focuses the mind; the chances are that the next job you have will be far more the sort of thing you should be doing.

If you are young and the person who has lost their job is a lot older than you, be careful. 1) because they may be like me, i.e. very wise, etc, and not that worried about it; or 2) they may be really worried. In either case, being patronised by a 27 year old is not going to help.

Do not say "Are you worried?"

About what? My sanity? Money? The future? Whether or not I will have to go and see headhunters again?  Whether there really is such a thing as teacup people?  As it happens I am not one jot worried (to the point that I have decided I am either very well-adjusted or completely bonkers), but that is probably not true of most other people, so do not ask. 

This is all I can think of for the moment, but if anyone else has any tips please flood the comments box and watch as this centre of online job-loss expertise becomes richer by the minute.

Pip "Cats in hats" Pip

NWM

Oh good God

SHRIEK SHRIEK etc, so much to write about and so I will, the words spurting from my monkey fingers like chocolate from a fountain at a second-rate wedding somewhere in a banqueting hall in Laval.

Topicks will include things I am for and things I am against.

For: 

• Gel/shellac manicures (and pedicures)
• Technological products created by the Apple Corporation of America
• France, where I will be from Sunday for two weeks (on a "holiday")
• Reality TV
• Impending unemployment
• Having clothes made by a lady in Shanghai 
• Stealing ideas from Belgian Waffle
• Fuck Your Noguchi Coffee Table 
• Deborah, Duchess of Devonshire's memoirs 

Against: 

• Dell computers
• BlackBerries
• Use of word "curated" by people who couldn't pick a decent-looking ham sandwich if it bit them on the arse, let alone have the right to posit themselves as experts with the god-given right to 'curate' which pieces of journalism/nude accessories/bell jars with fucking plants in them etc I am to be exposed to
• Sting (plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose)
• The Royal Bank of Scotland

OK more to come on these topicks and more. 

In the meantime I remain, in this as in all weathers, 

NWM

What?!

The possibility of literal non-workingness looms. Do I run towards it with grasping little monkey hands, or fight it with all my simian might?

Only time and lady luck will tell.  In the meantime, there is absinthe.

Pip "UB40" pip!

NWM