That's Amore (Italia Part 2)

Postcards from Napoli:

At the train station taxi wranglers shouting and gesticulating in rapid Italian - apparently it takes five guys to tell taxis where to pull up - all giving wildly conflicting instructions to those queuing for cabs and the drivers who are trying to pick them up.
They make liberal use of the universal language of the eye roll and rude hand gesture,
"Why would you stop there? Why would you do that??? 
You are interfering with our finely tuned machine, you are breaking the flow, you are an idiot of unparalleled and hitherto unheard of proportions"

Yet somehow it all works and people and taxis are united with phenomenal speed.


In a tiny Pizzeria a young American couple are at the table next door.  The guy is covetously eyeing a bright red Vespa which is parked outside.
The restaurant is cash only (common in the smaller places, they don't want to pay those nasty card fees) and the Americans are caught short.
No problem says the waiter, I take you to cash machine.  He jumps onto the Vespa and signals the temporarily financially embarrassed one to jump on the back.
When they come back the guy is beaming from ear to ear. 
His girlfriend takes photos of him on the back of the bike, much to the amusement of the waiter. 
They will remember the encounter for a long time, for Vespa-dude it was simply the logical thing to do.
When they leave the owner discovers that they have left half a carafe of red wine on the table.  He tuts, rolls his eyes and unceremoniously deposits it on our table.
"Wow thanks" 
"But of course, why would we waste it".


There are dogs everywhere, little dogs, big dogs, colossal dogs.  How do they fit them into those tiny inner city apartments?  Do the larger dogs fold down at night like Ikea sofa beds?


The coffee in Italy is amazing but getting my order right proves challenging.

I try out various permeations.  A latte is too milky and if you order one after 10am the baristas think you are bonkers.  It's like ordering a milkshake before lunch to them.
I move on to Americanos but they make them with cold milk and they are not hot enough. I like my coffee to stop just short of removing a layer of skin from the roof of my mouth.

So I switch to Espresso but it leaves me spinning around like Zebedee from the Magic Roundabout...on speed

On day three I find my drink, an Americano with hot milk...hooray!  I learn to order it in Italian, successfully negotiating World Peace could not have made me any happier.

I fall in love with the phrase "Grazie Millie" which literally translated means "a thousand graces".  It's a catch-all phrase for expressing gratitude and the Italians say it all the time.  It doesn't matter if you return your empty wine glass to the bar or rescue their child from a burning building.  They are grateful....a thousand times.

It is like being verbally kissed by butterflies wherever you go.

On a walking tour of Naples with Barbara, a local guide with a encyclopedic knowledge of the city.

"Look up, she advises, in Naples always look up, that is where the most beauty lies"

She pauses... "but perhaps also look down, and left and right, all at the same time, because everyone else is looking up and then...you crash"

She is right, amazing frescos and most beautiful statuary are located high above the streets.  I walk along with my head in the clouds while Barbara guides me to avert collisions like an extremely chic Italian sheep dog.

Presepi, nativity scenes, are everywhere in Napoli - there is even a street dedicated to them. They are an eclectic mix of the traditional and the kitsch.  Elvis and famous soccer players rub shoulders with the holy family.  
"I had no idea that Maradona was present at the Nativity"  I tease the stall holder. 
"But of course" he responds, "Maradona is a God".  
His response is unsurprising, they worship Maradona in Naples, it could be that they are confusing him with The Madonna, but I don't think so.
I am also rapidly learning that "but of course" is the Neapolitan equivalent of " well duh!"

Another scene has Trump, Nixon and George Bush adoring the Magi.  "Oh look  I quip, it's the Three Wise Guys".

Barbara shakes her head and looks pained "ahh Trump, in Italia we have an expression for people like him"

'La madre dei cretini é sempre incinta" 

"The mother of the idiots is always pregnant"

I instantly write it down so I don't forget it


"Well at least you guys don't have to apologise for Berlusconi anymore" I say comfortingly.

She laughs "Oh we will never stop apologising for Berlusconi!"   

Somehow having the Mediterranean sun on your shoulders makes even getting lost feel like an adventure.  Naples is full of random acts of directional helpfulness.  Stop moving for a few minutes and someone will come up to you and ask if you need help finding somewhere.  And if they are not sure where it is they will flag down another person and ask them for you.  And then disagree with that person about the fastest way to get to the place that they hadn't heard of until two minutes ago.

The upshot being that you often end up more confused than you were to begin with but it doesn't matter because five minutes later someone else will ask you if you are lost and the adventure begins all over again.

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant (Italia Part 1)

The love affair begins on the plane.  Waking from a fitful nap in that fugue state that is peculiar to long haul travel, it occurs to me that we are an hour from landing in Rome.  Why has no one handed me that vital piece of paper upon which I need to declare my intentions towards Italia.
Personally I have always thought that Arrival Cards are something of an exercise in futility.  It's not as if anyone is going to decide to save immigration time by writing "Drug Mule" in the "Occupation" field.  "Why thank you for your honesty Sir, now if you wouldn't mind going back the way you came in".
Likewise people smuggling in other illegal items do not actually write down the fact that they have a hotel fruit basket, a medium sized ferret and 2000 Rothmans concealed in their faux Louis Vuitton luggage.
Anyway I digress... 

"I may have dozed through the documentation distribution part" I think and flag down a passing crew member.

"Excuse me, I appear to be missing an Arrival Card"

"It's OK, you don't need one for Italy"

Huh'???? 

The good vibes continue when I hit immigration and the officer smiles warmly as he takes my passport.

"Benvenuto in italia signora". 
Good grief - anyone would think that they actually want people to visit their country. 

One very fast train later we are in Napoli. 

There is a famous expression:  "Vedi Napoli e poi muori", which translates as "See Naples and die", the idea being that once one has seen Naples there is nothing else worth seeing, comparatively speaking.  And whoever said it had a point because it is utterly lovely.

And there is a Volcano in the back yard of the hotel.

We wander into the centre of town and find a restaurant on the plaza, in other city this would be a tourist trap with mediocre food and a 20% surcharge.  In Naples it is full of regulars and each new arrival is greeted by the owner like long lost family. 

The Italians don’t do gratuitous drinking.  If you order an adult beverage it arrives accompanied by complimentary snacks.  It is responsible hosting at finest and something we need to get better at in NZ.

When the mains arrive they are delicious, and elephantine, I manage less than half of my pasta.  The owner, who seems to be everywhere at once comes to take the plates.  His brow furrows in consternation “you have finished?”.  I feel guilty “it is molto bene”  I assure him “just…a lot”.

“Eh, not so much” he says, “where are you from?”. 

“New Zealand”

“How long in Napoli?”

“Arrived this morning”

“Ah…sei stanco!!” he announces triumphantly.

Satisfied that he has identified the source of my disappointing appetite he takes the plates away.  I imagine him consoling the chef “It’s OK, she loved it, she was just very tired”

The European Champions League Soccer final is on and there is a TV outside the restaurant.  A crowd has been steadily gathering while we eat.  There isn’t enough room for everyone so the locals crowd around the perimeter to watch the game and the owner is happy for them to be there.

They are happy and friendly and vocal, a lot of good natured jostling for position ensues. 

I ask for the bathroom, the waiter starts to explain in Italian, it’s clearly not easy to find.  Seeing my perplexed expression he laughs “I show you”.

We go inside and I follow him through the restaurant, up two flights of stairs and through two huge sets of double doors.  I catch a glimpse of a busy kitchen, staff charging in all directions.

And through the second set of doors we emerge into a scene from “Big Night”

A massive room with tables everywhere and waiters delivering huge plates of amazing looking and smelling food to Italian families.  Everyone is eating and drinking and laughing and gesticulating enthusiastically. 

Not a tourist in sight. This is where the real action happens.  And from the street you would never know it was all up there.

I am entranced, I lean against the wall and take it all in, every table has at least three generations talking and shouting over the top of each other.  Babies to great grandparents, Sunday dinner Italian style.

I catch the eye of a passing waiter and he grins at me "up here is better no?"  "Oh yes" it's wonderful".  He nods "Si, si signora, but of course".

Later the owner brings chocolates with the coffee "Dolce!!" he announces triumphantly.  

And gives me a look that I translate as "and I dare you to resist it"

So I don't, and they are little morsels of heaven.

When I go to pay the bill the owner is there again, just like American Express in those fabulous old ads from the 90's he is everywhere you want him to be.

"Everything was bene?" he enquiries "Si, molto bene, grazie mille" 

"Good, you come back again, we are always here"

And I don't doubt that they will be, and how lovely is that.

When Memes Attack

There are many well informed, witty and erudite people commenting on the last 48 hours in Trump Circus.

But it is so utterly bonkers that I cannot allow it pass without a mention.

Last night the Washington Post published an article with the following headline:

This was later amended to read:

"After Trump fired Comey, White House staff scrambled to explain why"  with the following disclaimer:

EDITOR'S NOTE: This story has been updated to more precisely describe White House press secretary Sean Spicer's location late Tuesday night in the minutes before he briefed reporters. Spicer huddled with his staff among bushes near television sets on the White House grounds, not "in the bushes," as the story originally stated

https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/post-politics/wp/2017/05/10/as-trump-fired-comey-his-staff-scrambled-to-explain-why/?utm_term=.ffa01df4f386

Because in fairness to poor maligned Sean, he wasn't exactly huddled in a bush hiding from the press pack.  He was probably desperately trying to catch up on the days events right along with them.

Unfortunately for "Press Secretary Spice" the meme is faster than the eye and before the amended article came out there was plenty of time for this to happen in the interim.

Found this photo of Sean Spicer hiding between the bushes pic.twitter.com/YZOMCOvHZC

And that is merely the tip of the iceberg because let's face it, 100% accurate or not "Sean Spicer hides in bushes" has to be the holy grail of meme fodder.

Hang in there Sean, I'm sure that the next time your boss decides to anything really important he will ensure that you have been thoroughly briefed so that you never again have to front up to an impromptu press conference with no coherent backstory.

And just in case he doesn't; have a word with the Whitehouse gardeners about planting some decent screening vegetation. 

Because a Sean with the upper hand is worth two in the bush.

,

We Own The Night

Unless it owns us first...

I am a little late updating this week.  Oh don't get me wrong, I have a lot of material.  But it is all sitting in draft and waiting for the muse to strike so that it can be expanded upon.   Stupid muse appears to be taking a min-break, or is actually on strike in which case a strongly worded letter to the Muses Union may be in order.

However I am cracking on regardless because nature (and blogging) abhors a vacuum, which rather  conveniently gives me a reason to put this here.

Any excuse for Mr Larson right?


I was having a chat to my old friend Al the other night.  I say "chat" but it was 4.00am and we were drinking whisky so it was more of a sharing of deep and profound insights.  Which were very deep and extremely profound because we were sharing them the early hours of the morning accompanied by hard liquor.

Mum always used to tell my brother and I that nothing good happens after 2.00am.  But whilst I can see where she was going with that whole "aversion therapy" thing I have to say that some pretty freaking awesome things have happened to me after 2.00am.  I just wish I could actually remember more about some of them.


The funny thing is that when you sit up all night talking and drinking the drinking tends to become incidental by 2.00am.  The whole "nightcap" concept is really just so you have an excuse to keep talking, you might just as well be drinking herbal tea really.  But obviously that is not nearly as cool and Hunter S Thompson-ish as sitting up with a bottle of whisky between you telling stories and then realising that that loud chirping sound in the background means that you have, as Larry Miller would say "beaten the night".
And if you haven't seen his "Five Stages of Drinking" routine please go here immediately. 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=piPyfqAKf6o
Funny right?  I mean also horribly wrong in it's blatant disregard of health and safety by normalising the irresponsible consumption of adult beverages.

But also really funny.   And most of us have had a few of those nights.  When you and your new BFFs spill out of a bar into the dawn's early light and realise that three hours of DIY Kareoke and sorting out World Peace have exhausted your kebab reserves and they require immediate replenishment.

Of course aging is a bastard and nowadays it feels more as though the night has jumped you in a back alley, beaten you up, and left you lying behind the dustbins where a small furry animal has crawled into your mouth and expired.
I need now require an IV infusion and three days of uninterrupted sleep as opposed to a bacon sandwich and a large trim flat white to feel semi- human again.

It was worth it though.  Because Al is a far better writer than I could ever aspire to be and he has a unique and wonderful perspective on the world.

Amongst the mysteries that he was able to clear up for me, the fact that being whelmed is a thing.  I have always been puzzled by the underwhelmed, overwhelmed - to which I SO want to add "Wombling free" - scenario.

Wombles here - feel free to sing along -  I won't tell anyone

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XWQMMPFtoG4

So back to the whole whelmed thing - you can be under or over so why is no one ever just  "whelmed"?  As in  "that was a really whelming experience" or "I've been really whelmed at work this week"

Turns out that you can be, to be whelmed means to engulf entirely with or as if with water.  It's an old nautical term usually applied to a boat that is taking on some water.  If the boat is "overwhelmed" then it most likely going to sink. Which means that "underwhelmed" is more of a metaphor for "there is no water in the boat", so basically a neutral situation as opposed to one that leaves us feeling disappointed or let down. But of course we don't use "underwhelmed" like that because the original meaning has been lost in the mists of time - which is another phrase that I must remember to get to the bottom of one of these days.

And Al just knew that off the top of his head, sometimes your friends can whelm you with how clever they are, at 4.00am on a Sunday morning, with whisky.

Luckily Al only comes up here every two years or so.....Al, my liver thanks you.

And this is for you my friend
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2-LW45fQH8

50 Shades of WTF...Girl?

"The Girl Before" or "It's all done in the worst possible taste"

You are going to be hearing a lot about this book in the next few months because it has been optioned as movie to be directed by Ron Howard.

And the only thing that I need to say to Ron is
"You've not actually read this have you?" 

And it's OK, I can sympathise, it must be tough to find new material.

What with Reece Witherspoon snapping up every promising new novel with the speed of the road runner on crack. 

What is a bloke to do?  It's the quick or the dead and you Ron, despite the occasional internet rumors to the contrary are clearly not dead. 

However the thing is once this movie comes out a lot of female people might be rather keen on altering your whole "living" situation.

The plot basically goes like this.

Two women, two stories, told in concert but a few months apart.  Both are recovering from traumatic events in their lives - well actually one of them not so much, she is just a big liar.  I'm not going to tell you what she lies about because you might be stuck on a deserted island with this festering pile of bollox as your only reading  material and I would hate to spoil the extremely distasteful "twist" for you.

Although my advice would be to use it ward off the sharks or make a fire with instead of you know, reading it…

The suspects: are a handsome brooding architect with a thing for ultra-minimalism and rough sex. 

The grieving former boyfriend of the one of the women (oh yeah, one of them is dead, but that isn't a spoiler since we find that out pretty much straight away).

And a house - which gets a character billing because there are a LOT of descriptions of the house, in some places the book reads like a real estate marketing campaign. This is unsurprising as the author used to work in advertising.

It's a sleek neat-freaks wet dream of a smart-wired house in the middle of London with 200 rules for the tenants and a killer (literally)floating staircase.
Designed by handsome brooding architect in the wake of the deaths of his wife and child in "mysterious circumstances".

Basically, Architect rents the house out but only to specific types of women, who are prepared to subject themselves to a spot of psychological profiling (how very Telecom in the nineties) and agree to abide by the aforementioned 200 rules.

Most of the rules revolve around maintaining the pristine and uncluttered nature of the dwelling.  Or as anyone who has ever co-habited with me for an extended period refers to it, "living with Jo"
So not that arduous really, I mean who doesn't like a tidy house?

The kicker is that none of these women last for very long, because either they are incapable of picking up their shit like normal human beings or they die in "mysterious circumstances".

Once you have guessed who the killer is - from the extensive list of two suspects - there isn't much left to do but marvel at writer's uncanny ability to combine "Architectural Digest" with "Obsessive Compulsives Monthly" into word salad.

A new genre has been unveiled, OCD erotica combined with house porn.  Now being low level OCD myself I should be totally down with that.

Lines like  "he arranged my spices in alphabetical order"  Phwoar!  "He took me across the uncluttered kitchen bench" Woof!

For anyone to take me on my kitchen bench they would first have to wait for half an hour whist I remove three months accumulated bumpf (none of it my own I might add) and give that bench a jolly good scrub with multiple cleaning products.   

By which point I suspect that the moment of spontaneous passion would have well  passed and the poor bloke have wandered off to grab a cold one and see what is happening on ESPN.

Also the Architect folds his clothes BEFORE sex - I think I just la petite mort-ed

So I am totally down with the OCD/neat freak factor.  It's the actual freak factor that is far less appealing.


Because approximately halfway through the book, out of a clear blue sky, this line happens:

"Yes Daddy, yes!"

In a sexually violent context.  Which she then goes on to describe as "the best sex of my life"

It's cool, you can go and throw up, I'll wait right here.

Feeling better?  Actually, I very much doubt that you are because there is NOTHING that makes that sentence OK.   The only possible reaction to it being "No, oh dear God, no".

What were you thinking Tony???? 

Because yep, this was written by a man - I see you JP Delaney AKA Tony Strong hiding behind your catchy EL James type pseudonym. 

Perhaps you chose it because pseudo-erotica written by a bloke named Tony would have less allure for the female audience.   However at least you had been more upfront in your naming conventions it would make it easier for women to avoid this piece of misogynistic (and possibly even dangerous) tripe.

Ron, mate, do yourself a favour, write pervy old Tony a "dear Tony" letter and consider optioning this instead, because it is funny as…well…f*ck and the writer appears to like women - despite possibly never having had sex in his life.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Belinda-Blinked-passion-business-removing-ebook/dp/B00UO7WOAS

Get these guys http://www.mydadwroteaporno.com/ to direct and produce it for you while lie on a beach somewhere (with plenty of Factor 50 on - because…. ginger) and contemplate #betterliterarychoices whist reading this excellent article about what women REALLY want:

http://www.esquire.co.uk/culture/advice/a9641/things-men-dont-know-about-women-caitlin-moran/

Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon

The literary trend that needs to be gone......girl

Apparently inserting the word “girl” into the title of your mediocre, neither psychological nor particularly thrilling “psychological thriller”  has become the lazy writers click bait equivalent of inserting a touch of light B&D into your novel about the origins of space travel in order to cater to the 50 Shades aficionados. Something along the lines of “The Astronaut Who Flogged Me” or “50 Shades of Zero Gravity”.

Incidentally the best thing to happen as a result of "FSOG" can be found here https://twitter.com/50nerdsofgrey

Obviously it makes sense to take full advantage of the trend du jour, if you are a writer, especially a self-published writer, any hook that is likely to draw a ready made audience is not to be lightly passed over.  Titles are important.  I doubt that “50 Shades” would have done as well had the title more accurately reflected the content.   The vast majority of women would not be panting after something entitled “Creepy Sadomasochist Preys On Vulnerable College Student” and if they were to click download on that sucker then they would more than likely find themselves on one of those lists that Government agencies deny all knowledge of.

I am calling out "50 Shades" because in a similar way that that (ahem) novel, opened the door for a slew of imitators eager to cash in the shocking discovery that some women actually quite enjoy being tied up during sex with self absorbed, monosyllabic men,  the majority of these hastily churned out “girl” books are at best unoriginal and at worst downright dull.

“The brilliant new thriller with the heart stopping twist that you will not see coming”  thunder the blurbs.  Except that you can see the “twist” coming from space and the heroine is so unlikeable that you find yourself rooting for the villain.

Which is another trend in these books, the deeply flawed female protagonist, she’s an alcoholic, she's a closet sex maniac, she has a dark past,  she hates small children and kicks puppies – or even better - she is all of those things and she murdered her abusive former partner and buried him under a pile of clichés. 

Whilst I understand and applaud the move towards more relatable heroines, there are limits to a reader's tolerance for deeply unpleasant characters

And it can be done well, Holly Golightly in Breakfast At Tiffany’s, possibly one of the most over-romanticised novels in literary history, is an incredibly flawed character, and all the more lovable for it.  
The problem is that many of the “girls” in these novels are so fundamentally awful that it is difficult to muster the smallest grain of sympathy for any of them. 

Also, I’m sorry ladies but if you are over the age of 30, which all of these characters are, you are not a “girl” anymore dammit, you are a grown arse woman, and you need to start behaving like one instead of wafting about in an alcoholic, pill fuelled, fugue state, sleeping with blatantly horrible men whose faces you can't remember and wondering why everyone else in the novel is apparently trying to kill you. 

It is because you are annoying, borderline psychotic, drink ALL of the wine at parties...and your character arch is severely underdeveloped. 

Also you probably slept with your best friend's husband only you can't remember doing that, because you know, drunk.

Mystery solved.

Now would you all kindly go away so that my Kindle can start recommending some decent novels.

PS: In the interests of fairness, I loved Gone Girl and I did not see the twist coming, likewise The Girl on The Train (to a lesser extent).  Obviously there are some excellent examples of this genre – so far I have found two. If you have more please feel to share in the comments.

For my next post - a review of a novel that manages to combine the "girl" genre with "50 Shades" to plumb new levels of misogynistic "ick". 

It's getting hot in here

To hot desk or not to hot desk - that is the question:

Is the free range office a marvel of modern ingenuity or an evil scourge leading to seething undercurrents of resentment and barely suppressed homicidal impulses?

We humans are by nature creatures of habit.  We like to have a place to call home.  Give a person a desk and they will instantly begin to colonise ever available centimetre.

Just ask any harassed IT worker who has had to fight their way through a cluster of spouse/baby/pet photos, three coffee mugs (two used), five years of novelty Secret Santa gifts, a slew of cuddly toys and a copy of
"Hot-desking for Dummies" in order to locate the "turn it off and back on again" switch.

It is hardly surprising that being forced to hot desk brings out the worst in the majority of us.

The office becomes a thinly veiled battle ground, every man, woman and Salesperson for themselves as homeless workers roam the halls and stairwells clutching open laptops and swearing like sailors as they search for unoccupied pods.  All the while shooting looks of burning resentment at the clueless visitors from the Hawkes Bay who flew in at at the crack of dawn and are now occupying whatever prime pieces of real estate the "regulars" had begun to think of as their own due to having managed to secure a few days worth of uninterrupted occupation prior to the arrival of the interlopers. 

More astute desk hunters have been known to coerce early rising colleagues into saving “their” desks for them.  This practice usually consists of someone placing a company issue notebook in the middle of the desk with a pen on top of it to imply that the occupant has simply stepped away for a moment.  

As all office workers know this is the equivalent of reserving a pool lounger at 5.00 am using a hotel issue beach towel and a 30 year old Jilly Cooper paperback from the hotel “library”.    It is not cricket and if you do it on the regular your co-workers will hate both you and the person that you have lured into your evil scheme.

After 40 minutes of wandering like Jesus in the wilderness, one of the lost tribe identifies a vacant space.  This space is most likely located directly beneath a single flickering fluorescent bulb sitting with the team that everyone in the office refers to as “those weird dudes who smell like tuna”.

Once a desk has been discovered a veritable maelstrom of activity ensues.  Used coffee cups are returned to the kitchen, monitor height and angles are adjusted, laptop display settings are re-set, the  "ergonomically personalised chair" which was ergonomically personalised two days previously, at great expense, for someone who sat there for two days, is repeatedly wound up and down and the backrest is readjusted.   These activities inevitably resulting in chair ending up roughly five centimetres from the ground with the seat at an angle that is perfectly ergonomically suited to a giraffe astronaut.

Nigel often wondered if the Careers Adviser had misheard him when he said that he wanted to work with Astroturf

All of this takes place to the accompaniment of muffled cursing and occasional outbursts of “FFS why can’t people learn to CLEAN UP AFTER THEMSELVES” followed by the furious banging of keyboard on desk in an attempt to dislodge a month’s worth of dining al desko toast crumbs.

Depending upon the level of OCD next steps may involve theatrical stomping to the stationery cupboard to retrieve the office’s single container of “dehydrated to the point of utter uselessness because some bastard left the lid open" sanitising wipes.  Much ostentatious swiping of all exposed surfaces ensues . 

The truly committed have been known to accessorise in the equivalent of a full hazmat suit prior carrying out these tasks. 

When they are finally satisfied that the desk meets their rigorous hygiene standards they sit down, open their laptop, and start typing…………an email to the entire office complaining about the state in which they found “their” desk in this morning and how “people really need to stop being such disgusting *Pigs”. 

It is now 9.45 am.

So there you have it, hot desks, improving efficiency and increasing productivity since,......whenever some complete idiot who couldn't find their usual desk invented it by accident.

*NB For obvious reasons “Pig” also belongs on the list of non-office friendly animals – see previous post.

Animal Crackers

"If you were an animal, what kind of an animal would you be"

I was recently asked this question in an interview situation and found myself somewhat nonplused.
However it turns out that this is, in fact, is a surprisingly common question and that there are people who put a lot of effort into their response.

Opinions are mixed in terms of it's appropriateness in an interview situation. My favorite comment coming from a Recruitment website which states:

"If your hiring manager asks you this question, you have my permission to get up and leave. Just say "Oh, look at the time! So sorry, I forgot that I have an appointment in eight minutes. Lovely to meet you, though!") Hit the road, and go get yourself a nice gelato".
Which I personally consider to be excellent advice.

However, should you find yourself in a similar situation and you actually want the job, here is a
quick (well, quick-ish) guide to the wonderful world of reverse anthropomorphism. 

The following animals are considered good choices:

*Horse: Intelligent, fast and strong both independently and as part of a team. 
Drawbacks:- will eat all of the apples from the weekly office fruit delivery which could potentially lead to an outbreak of "office worker fruit-rage. 
Can be perceived as negative by co-workers:  "I keep asking Ed to support my initiative but he just keeps saying "neigh".

Dog: Loyal and intelligent
Drawbacks:  Would bark at visitors to the office and prone to randomly licking people and humping everything in sight - possible sexual harassment complaint risk.  Also inclined to take words like "sit" and "stay" a little too literally.

Ant: Technically an insect I would have thought but still counts as an animal apparently  - because - basically the whole thing is pretty daft.  Anyway they are hard workers and team players and they always know where the sugar is hidden.
Drawbacks: Likely to get trodden on so you might need to hire a few of them in order to facilitate proper succession planning.  Also stomachs full of acid so potentially prone to ulcers leading to excessive consumption of sick days.

Bee:  Like Ants they are hard workers and team players - also good because if they lose their temper and sting a colleague they will instantly die thus sparring their employers from any nasty law suits.
Drawbacks: - if they lose their temper and sting a colleague they will instantly die thus kicking off another mind numbing round of "if you were an animal" in order to find their replacement.

Dolphin:  Highly intelligent and intuitive.   Let's face it if you really were a Dolphin you would be having a Gelato instead of answering the question.
Drawbacks: Easily distracted by boats, balls and tourists wanting to swim with them but most offices won't have any of those things so it's probably a pretty good answer - just don't deliver it in a series of clicks - no one likes a smart arse .

Chimp: Quick learners, highly emotionally intelligent and group oriented
Drawbacks:  Likely to eat most of the office fruit allowance, with the exception of the apples - *see "Horse"-  and throw the bits that they don't like at their colleagues but hey, people can learn to duck right?  And to cut up any watermelons before putting them in the kitchen.

Elephants: On account of the whole super intelligent/great memory thing and the fact that they are group-oriented so therefore handy in whiteboard brainstorming sessions.  Stick one in a room with the Chimps and you will reach Post-It Nirvana in no time flat - so long as the chimps are in charge of Post-It application.

Drawbacks:  you probably couldn't have too many of them in the same office  - "someone call facilities, Bill just hired another Elephant, we are moving again"
Also I imagine that they would be very good at holding grudges,
"yes Bruce, I know it has been
five years since you "accidentally" ate my yogurt but I haven't forgotten...........I never forget"
There is also potential for them to feel picked on if anyone uses the phrase "the elephant in the room".

On the "Do Not Go There" List we have:

Lions and Tigers and Cheetahs (oh my) surprisingly these are not positive animals to reference as they can be indicative of aggressive tendencies and a predisposition towards treating outdoor team building events as "all you can eat buffet" opportunities.
Saying Lion could potentially result in some nervous shuffling among your interviewers followed by  "well it's been lovely meeting with you but the last Lion we hired ate Bob from Accounts along with your predecessor at the annual company Picnic and Three-Legged Race Day.  Perhaps if they hadn't been tied together he wouldn't have been able to bring them both down so quickly.
Although your resume is excellent, would you be willing to consider a wearing a muzzle".

Domestic Cats are also a bad choice because, well, they're cats.  Independent, stroppy and given to disappearing for days at a time without putting their Out Of Office on.
In fairness the latter is probably more down to the whole "lack of opposable thumbs" thing than a desire to be deliberately evasive but it is nonetheless problematic.  "When will Felix be back, I need him for this brainstorming session with the Whiskers people?" 
"No idea, a few hours, a week, when he gets hungry......."

Chickens - Not very bright and given to running in circles and scwarking during fire drills.

Sloths  - I really don't have to explain that one do I? 

Trevor often struggled to stay focused during team meetings

I didn't think so.






Foxes - Extremely bright but eminently untrustworthy - just ask the Chickens.



Spiders - set a trap, wait for prey to get stuck and then eat it alive.

There is one situation where saying Spider might help you though.
And that is if you were being considered for a Sales or HR position.

During the course of my research I discovered that "if you were a piece of fruit or a pizza topping", "how do you fit a giraffe in a fridge" and  "would you rather fight a horse-sized duck, or 100 duck-sized horses?" are also possible questions.

So if you have an interview coming up you may wish to practice your Giraffe folding beforehand.