The great confessional

Much has happened since my last post and I make no apologies for not prioritising writing about it, since I've been too busy living it.

I mentioned, almost in passing, a while back that I'd been accepted into the International Midwifery Preregistration Programme (IMPP) in Toronto. I went to the orientation day back in July and began work on a series of distance modules prior to the official start in September. However, I was chatting to my lovely friend Megan, who you may or may not remember had been my student back in London when she was training to be a midwife before coming home to Canada, and she told me that her midwifery partner Gaelyn and her had decided that I should come and work with them in Edmonton, Alberta. For those of you unfamiliar with Canadian geography, that's around 3,500kms away from where we live in Ontario. The idea of working with Megan certainly appealed to me (as did living only a 3 hour drive from Banff) I looked into what would happen if I completed the IMPP and then moved - long story short it was a bureaucratic nightmare. The Ontario system is set up so that you don't become a fully fledged midwife until at least 6-12 months after you finish your training and so you're effectively tied to the province until then. Since it was going to take 6-9 months to complete the course itself, this would delay any move for at least a year and quite possibly more. Hmmm.

I decided to look at what the requirements for registering directly in Alberta were instead. It turns out the only things that Alberta required was a midwifery qualification (a UK one would do) minimum of 60 births in the past 5 years and to take, and pass, a practical and written exam. As luck would have it, despite not having practised for 3 years, I still had over 60 births in the previous 2 under my belt. This wouldn't be the case for long so I had to get on it asap. I got all the required paperwork together - oh it sounds so easy but really it wasn't! - and applied: I was accepted to sit the exams. A quirk of the system meant that if you are judged eligible to sit the exams, you can actually begin practising on a restricted licence with a named Supervisor straight away. Crazy but true.

Having by now dropped out of the IMPP, I packed up all my stuff and Isaac and I drove across Canada - staying, by some miracle, ahead of the winter weather - we arrived in Edmonton two weeks ago. We actually had a brief stop off in Banff, which was a fabulous trip down memory lane and even included meeting up with friends, Andrew and JK, who were back for another ski season working at Lake Louise. We made a quick stop at Sunshine Village, which was not yet open, to pay homage to where it all began for us. It was a lovely interlude, but sadly I got ill on the second day there and spent a rather hellish couple of days shivering and puking while we headed north via Calgary.

We immediately launched into looking for a place to live and found a lovely 3 bed house very close to Megan and her husband Craig in Leduc, just south of Edmonton. Isaac flew back a week ago to Ontario where he'll remain, looking after our house and Tiger the cat, until after Christmas. I've remained in Edmonton, staying with Megan and Craig, preparing to move into our new house in a week's time. I've spent the last week calling and arranging to meet my new clients, and even attended my first birth in over 3 years as back up for Gaelyn. It was a home waterbirth, which will happily be the large majority of my work here. I'm flying back to Ontario to spend Christmas with Isaac's family and my sister Jenny and her boyfriend James, who are flying out from the UK to visit. I'm flying back here at the beginning of January and Isaac will drive back out with his friend Matt and his brother Reilly, so we have both our cars out here in Alberta, then Isaac will be joining me here permanently.

So that's pretty much where we are up to now. I'm loving living in Alberta again - I like living out in what amounts to suburbia but close enough to a city to have access to all a city has to offer: I'm 15 minutes from Ikea and the South Edmonton Common retail park, including the Gap Factory Store (where I indulged in a spending spree when I got my first paycheque the other day). I'm really enjoying being back in midwifery (bit nervous too) and I'm excited about our new house! I can't wait to see Jen & James at Christmas and I'm really looking forward to having real money to spend on people's presents for the first time since 2006. Such a relief.

So apologies for once again just having a 'I did this, then I did this, then I'm doing this' kinda post. I'd rather just be musing on ideas and throwing around the one liners, but I don't get to do this as often as I'd like and blah de blah de blah. Which brings me on to...

While I'm spilling my guts about things I would also like to admit a rather shameful secret: I've been Twittering for a few weeks. At first I told no one and happily tweeted just to myself. Then, the other day, my nephew Benj found me - not sure how - and began 'following' me. A few more people (strangers!) followed suit. So I thought I'd come clean and if you feel like following my random thoughts then look for @midwifemia. No obligation though, it is of course merely the whitterings of a madwife.

G'day cobbers!

Pardon me for having to get something off my chest, but Canadians seem to be the only nation on earth who literally cannot hear the difference between an English person and an Australian one. A day does not go by when I don't get mistaken for an Australian - occasionally a Kiwi but that's usually as a tentative second guess - and I must admit I'm long past being all British and apologetic about it ["I'm so sorry but I'm not, I know we really do sound similar, it's probably because I spent a year in New Zealand blah blah"]. It actually just pisses me off a bit now, though obviously I do still try not to be overly rude to people when they ask (seeing as it's usually when I'm at work). But I mean really? Who do I sound more like: the Queen or Crocodile Dundee?! Every day someone says something like 'Oh I bet you're missing the beaches back home!' To which I'll reply 'Well the beaches in London aren't all that impressive, so no, not particularly.' The other day at work a cocky sort of chap asked me what part of Oz I was from and when I said actually I am English, he said 'Oh. Well, you're close to each other though, aren't you?' A short and somewhat terse geography lesson ensued, in which he seemed totally uninterested.

And I think that's the crux for me. They just don't really care. A large number of North Americans - and yes, I'm lumping the Canadians in with the Americans for a moment - stay in North America, listen to North American music, watch North American telly and films and don't really pay any attention to the outside world. England might as well be next to Australia for all they know or care. And this goes even for the ones who ought to have a bit of a clue - I've had conversations that have started with 'Oh my dad is from England!' and ended with 'I'm not sure where, somewhere near Edinburgh.' It always reminds me of the line in Anchorman where Brian Fantana, while talking about a woman he may or may not have been in love with, claims that she was 'Brazilian, or Chinese, or something weird.'

And something weird is kind of how I feel most days. At work for example, although we all get on very well indeed and have a lot of fun, I'm often the butt of a few gentle jibes about my 'Englishisms'. Usually it's when I use a word or a phrase quite innocently over the radios that causes much hilarity because it's completely unknown here. For example, the other day I described people coming over to the Red Course as coming 'in dribs and drabs' - turns out this is not common parlance over here. When I told another guide that a customer was wearing a 'purple jumper' she looked at me in horror and asked what on earth a 'jumper' was. But the thing is, we've grown up with American telly and films so we already know that they call rubbish 'garbage', a boot a 'trunk', and a bum a 'fanny' (snigger) and so on. We indulge them when they come to England and say 'elevator' or 'flash-light' because we know what they really mean. They, however, may have seen Four Weddings and a Funeral but that hasn't taught them that we call such things a 'lift' and a 'torch' and so it seems to come as a bit of a surprise that we don't use the same words they do. In fact when I told a friend that I was just going to get a torch so we could walk next door, she got all excited that I was going to come back with a huge flaming piece of wood. Bless.

I do not however intend to give up my Englishisms. It is part of my heritage, it's what makes me me, and there's a little piece of me that resents saying I'm going to fill my car up with 'gas', just to make myself understood, because to me it isn't gas (and actually, it isn't a gas at all of course, so they're obviously just being silly). No, I'd rather face the blank looks and find myself having to explain that a saucepan is what we call a pot, and at least I'll be educating people one word at a time.

Crossing the Rainbow Bridge

This Rainbow Bridge, however, is not the one leading to Asgard, rather I refer to the bridge over which you must cross to reach the American border at Niagara Falls.

On 1st May Isaac & I drove down, through what can only be described as England-style traffic, to the nearest border crossing to us in order for me to complete my 'landing' as an immigrant. The plan was to get to the border, ask to be 'turned back' so I could go straight back to the Canadian border, complete the paperwork and then spend the night at Niagara Falls to celebrate being newly Canadian. As we queued for the US border I began to get sweaty palms and butterflies and, upon handing over our passports, I explained to the guard that I was there to land. "Park over there, follow the crosswalk to that building take the elevator to the 2nd floor" he told us in a rather perfunctory fashion, and, not wishing to be shot or whatever it is the Americans do to people who do not obey in a timely fashion, we hurried along to do just that. Upon entering the building I realised I had not collected our passports back from the guard and checked this with one of the many other border guards hanging around the building, seemingly without purpose, and he confirmed that was all above board and correct. We took the elevator - sorry lift - to the 2nd floor - which is of course actually the 1st floor - to find ourselves stuffed in a room with around 150 other people, all of whom appeared to be unsure of what they were supposed to be doing there. No one official was available to ask, but a small sign informed us to 'take a seat and wait for our names to be called'. Due to the number of people both sitting and standing we were unable to take a seat but began waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Every so often an official would come to the door and say a name and a country of origin, and another person, couple or family would disappear with them, but the order in which this happened seemed to have no rhyme nor reason. Some people had clearly been waiting for much longer than us, then others who came in behind us were called in almost immediately. After a couple of hours we managed to secure seats and I got chatting to the couple sat next to us. She was English, married to a Canadian, and had had Permanent Residency for a year. They had decided to go over the border to do a spot of shopping and had been sat for over 3 hours waiting for reasons they knew not why (later on, Isaac pointed out that the fact that they were black might have been a factor, something that hadn't even occurred to me.) After 2.5 hours of waiting our names were called and we went in. The officer was brusque but efficient, and asked if I wanted to do this the 'easy way or the fast way'. I said fast please! He said if we paid $6 he'd admit us to the US and we could turn left and left again out of the border station to return immediately to Canada. The alternative was to refuse us entry, but this meant that next time I try to enter the States I'd have to explain WHY I was refused entry, and my many dealings with American customs in the past meant I knew this could only mean trouble. So $6 was paid, we collected our passports and entered America for approximately 30 seconds.

I had expected that it was the Canadian side of the deal, with all the paperwork that needed to be completed, that would take the majority of the time, but not so. On approaching the Canadian border I was greeted by a lovely older officer, who gave me a big smile and, when I explained I was here to land, he exclaimed 'Oh how exciting!' He gave us directions to the office and we went inside. There was no queue so we went straight up to the desk, whereupon a surly faced woman told us we needed to take a seat until we were called up. We sat, and immediately got called up to the same desk by the gentleman next to her! He took my passport and Confirmation of Permanent Residency and said he'd do some paperwork while we sat. A few minutes later we were called back, I signed a couple of bits of paper and was told that everything was done! The only thing left to do was complete a 'Goods to Follow' form, on which I listed everything I could think of (following an agonising mental tour around my garage back home) that I might want to bring over to Canada, which meant that I would be able to import them duty free.

After checking into our hotel, a walk around town, and the procuring of a few pictures of me doing 'Canadian things', we went for dinner and promptly began falling asleep over our ribs, the whole excitement/boredom continuum of the day proving a little too much for us both. And so it happened that, five months to the day since I sent my paperwork, I became a Permanent Resident of Canada.

The Beginning

So basically, I've moved to Canada. Temporarily for now, since I'm on a visitor's visa at the moment, but hopefully for good if all goes well with my PR. This is still taking me by surprise a little bit, though obviously I was aware of what I was doing, and it's not like I was drugged by Isaac and dragged back here under protest. But still, the thought that I'm no longer travelling and this is my life now still hits me every so often like it's a whole new idea.

Since we arrived back on Nov 30th it's been all go. I got my PR application in on 1st December, as intended - hurray me. Sadly, there was no snow when we arrived back so the start of the snowboarding season was delayed, but on the plus side it gave Isaac and Reilly to fill a hole at the side of the house and do some off-roading before we got our first big dump. As soon as the ski hills opened we hit the slopes, giving me my first taste of Ontario skiing. We don't have mountains out this way so memories of Sunshine - and even Cardrona - gave way to what can only be described as ski hills. Sorry, ski bumps. Ah well, a season pass, a decent amount of snow and my lovely snowboard and I'm definitely not complaining.

Christmas came round pretty damn fast and it was a bumper haul, that's for sure. On Christmas Eve we went to Isaac's Oma's (German for Grandma) house for the annual gift exchange. This involved everyone bringing one present, up to $50 value, which goes under the tree. Then everyone picks a number out of a Christmas Stocking and whoever gets number 1 goes first in picking any present they like and opening it. The person with number 2 goes next, as is traditionally the way with the numeric system, and they can either open a new present, or they can steal the present that number 1 has, which means number 1 has to take a new present. This goes on, with everyone either taking a new present or stealing anything they fancy from anyone who has gone before. Once all the presents have been opened and everyone has a gift, the numbers are picked again and a second round commences. This is where it gets tactical, with partners, siblings or parents & children ganging up to ensure they keep the best presents for each other. Higher numbers are preferable obviously, because you are less likely to have the present you steal stolen back from you. In the past couple of years, bereft of his sibling and ally Isaac, Reilly has come away from these present exchanges rather short changed, but this year with Imo, Isaac & I all on side, we managed to obtain what we considered the best four presents there - a saw set in a case and set of 12 drinking glasses (Imo); a lazy susan with dip trays and microfleece blanket (Reilly); a slow-cooker (Isaac); an iPod docking station (me). We were made up! It was a fun night and it was nice to finally meet Isaac's dad's side of the family.

Christmas day we had a lovely breakfast and then opened presents here at Imo & Mary Lynn's house - I got a great set of pjs, slippers and the softest greyest dressing gown you ever did see and Isaac & I also got an electric blanket, which is lovely when you live in a place that goes down to stupid-cold. I gave Isaac a t-shirt with some cougars on it, which was supposed to be funny, but he's worn it almost every day since. Then we traipsed over to Reilly's to do a third Christmas there and Isaac opened a gas-powered remote control truck from Reilly and BB guns from me. Boys will be boys...

New Year's Eve was Reilly's birthday but he had to work so Isaac and I went to a friend's house, followed by a party in a garage. I must admit to having a bad day that day, was feeling pretty down what with one thing and another, so I didn't feel thrilled to be going to stand in someone's garage with a ton of very drunk people I didn't know, but I'd offered to be designated driver so I went along anyway. The very first thing I saw was a big fat guy stood outside in the driveway, peeing whilst facing towards us walking up the road. Hmmmm, fat guy's cock, I thought to myself, that's a nice welcome. The same fat guy came bounding up to us not 2 minutes later and he grabbed my hand inbetween his until-very-recently-full hands and begun to shake it vigorously whilst introducing himself. Hmmmm. We headed into the garage whereupon Isaac was immediately targeted by a guy who hadn't seen him for over a year, who elbowed me out of the way to get to him, spilling my coke all down my front. Hmmmm. I started mopping myself up with a tissue when the fat guy from earlier appeared behind me and started dry humping me, shouting 'I don't even KNOW this girl!' in an exuberant fashion. Hmmmm. At this point I decided this party wasn't really for me so I took my leave and quietly waited in the car.* Not my best NYE, but not quite my worst either!

Isaac was offered some work at his cousin's appliance store doing some deliveries so he's been over doing that for the few couple of weeks and I've spent my days either snowboarding, catching up with friends or bits and pieces online, reading or playing Reilly's PS3. I can't work, as I'm currently here on a visitor's visa, so until my PR comes through I'm a bit stuck really, but I'm not complaining as it's been all go for the past couple of years so it's nice to take a bit of a break from constantly travelling and planning.

And talking of my PR application, after a month of waiting, my entire application was returned to me a few days ago. As it turns out, I had misread one small section which asked for 'copy 2 of Section A' and had sent a copy of, not the original 'copy 2 of'. Silly me. In addition to this, the letter they sent with my returned application claimed that I had not sent the passport photos I need with my application, though I knew I had. I was very cross and stomped around complaining that I had to go all the way into town to get more taken, before deciding to go through my application one last time and found the envelope with all my photos in it, hidden inside a different section, where it shouldn't have been. Clearly someone at the Canadian Immigration had popped it in there and then 'lost' them. Grrr. Anyway, I got it all in order again, swapped out the copy of Section A for the original and took it down to resend it at the post office. Which was closed for lunch. Bah. I drove on to the big town near us, Orillia, as I knew that their post office was more likely to be open at lunchtime and spent another $22 sending it Priority Post to make sure it arrived back with the Immigration office as soon as possible. In theory this means they will now make a decision within 7 days of receipt, which is great, but this is only stage 1 of many sadly. This is approving Isaac as a sponsor, which since he's a Canadian citizen, over 18 and not currently bankrupt or in jail, should be fairly straightforward. Once that's done they send it on to the London office where they look at all my stuff, get my NZ police check from Australia, my medical details from another office and do UK background checks on me. Given that I am both a good and a healthy girl, they shouldn't find anything untoward! I'm keeping everything crossed anyway and hoping for a swift resolution.

So we're up to date. We're currently looking for a car/truck**, so we can be more independent, and I'm learning all about what you do with snow, but I'm sure that will come out in future blogs. In the meantime, let's be careful out there....


*I feel compelled to point out that I insisted Isaac stayed and caught up with all his old friends, as best he could given the state most of them were in, and did not make any attempts to cut short the evening in any way. I may not have felt able to join in with the celebrations myself at that point, but I am not a party pooper. So there.
**I'm looking for a car, but Isaac is looking for a truck. I guess whoever finds the best deal first, wins.

Road tripping part 2: cottaging in Tamagami

A quick bit of catching up must be done before I get to the main story (i.e. I'm back in England):

The very next night after returning from Quebec, Isaac & I headed over to Porter's to enjoy a sociable evening with friends, bunk down for the night and get up at 5am, with the intention of leaving for his family cottage at stupid o'clock in the morning. The only one of us not staying the night was Mike, who said he preferred to sleep in his own bed (a sentiment I can relate to) and he would be round at 5.30am to pick us up. At 5am I dragged my sorry arse out of bed and knocked everyone up* and we sat around waiting for Mike. 5.30am came and went. So did 6am. Porter called, no answer. By 6.15, Steph suggested Porter call again, which he did. No answer again, but Mike called straight back to say, somewhat defensively, that his father was just putting air in his car tyres for the journey and he'd be round as soon as he'd finished. Three minutes later, Mike called back to say that what he'd just said was a complete lie and that he'd only just woken up.

At 7.30am we finally left, after an interesting game of Car Boot Tetris. We were travelling north in two cars, with Porter, Steph, Isaac & I in Porter's truck, and Mike & Smokie (a.k.a. Dumb & Dumber) in Mike's Oldsmobile. Porter soon got a little way ahead on the highway but as Mike kept calling to say he was desperate for McDonalds, we finally pulled off the highway at the nearest one and waited for them to join us. And waited. And waited. Cue frantic phone calls which went something like "well where are you now?" "no idea" "what have you just gone past?" "erm...something business park?" "well have you gone past the Super8 yet?" "not sure". Eventually we gave up waiting, got back on the highway and discovered they'd gone straight past us and were now miles ahead. Long story short, we finally found them at the McDonald's further up the highway where Porter had once been arrested for chasing two strippers with an axe - don't ask.

We dropped off Porter's truck to his sister's in North Bay, where it was due to be resprayed, and all piled into the Oldsmobile Cutlass, a.k.a. the Cutty. An appropriate name for a car that bounced, swayed and banged around like a ship on the high seas, I thought. Though I'll admit it took me a long time to work out that they weren't calling it the Cuddy, because those darn Canadians tend to pronounce their Ts as Ds.** A further hour or so north to Tamagami and we met up with Porter's cousin Merry, who I assumed was called Mary for most of the trip, once again due to the quirkiness of the Canadian accent*** , and their grandmother's dog, Benjy, who purported to be a cute little Cairn Terrier, but was actually Satan's bitch herself. Merry took us to the private island where the cottage was located in her lovely fast boat, though it still took around half an hour.

The area north of where we live in Ontario is known as 'Cottage Country', because that's where everyone has their holiday homes (though the Canadian version of a 'cottage' rarely tallies with the English image of a small, possibly thatched rendered house with roses round the front door) and going to visit your cottage in Canada is known as 'cottaging' (cue much sniggering from my English readers****) This cottage is fairly small and cosy: two bedrooms, couple of pullout couches/sofabeds in the lounge, no real washing facilities bar the lake, a jetty into a natural bay, and a boathouse with a third bedroom up top, which Isaac & I bagged immediately. Nothing like a bit of privacy and a balcony overlooking the lake to make you feel relaxed, I always say. The weather was amazing and hot, so we spent the weekend messing around in the lake, sunbathing, reading, cooking fabulous meals for each other (I made everyone eat my famous sticky coq) and drinking. Oh yes, drinking. Well, I didn't drink, obviously. Porter & Isaac drink very little and Steph never managed to get quite as drunk as she hoped on the rum she'd brought, so that left Mike & Smokie to do the majority of the drinking, a task they took on with as much determination as they could muster. I can't remember what the final tally was in the three days we were there, but I believe it was something in the region of 40 beers each. Quite possibly more. Thus they became a highly amusing double act, and the addition of Benjy the dog, who took a fancy to Smokie and would go from docile and affectionate to snapping and biting without fair warning, produced pure comedy genius.

The main purpose of the trip was fishing and everyone had brought their reel, rods and tackle boxes. The fish, however, were in hiding it seemed and no one caught a damn thing until finally, on day three, Porter, Steph, Isaac & I were out in the fishing boat, casting out and chatting, as you do. Porter cast and reeled his spinner in and as it came close, he looked confused. "I didn't put any bait on the hook..." he said slowly, before he realised that he'd somehow hooked a tiny smallmouth bass right through the middle. Still, it was the biggest catch of the weekend and still warranted recording for posterity.

The weather held up beautifully until the day we left, when it began to piss down. Hard. 6 people in the Cutty with rain pouring in via the straps holding the top box on and hailstones the size of maltesers did not make for a comfortable journey home, though all agreed regardless that it had been a fabulous trip.

*for my Canadian readers, a little clarification: this does not mean I got everyone pregnant.
**see also the 'Yoda' (Isaac's Toyota truck)
***see also the Indian restaurant I'd had recommended to me in Barrie called Tara, when I was looking out for Terra.
****for my Canadian readers, 'cottaging' is in fact when men have sex with other men in public washrooms

'Goodbye' is actually the hardest word

I wanted to post 'Road Tripping Part 2 - Cottaging in Tamagami', but haven't had a chance, so sorry about that, I'll try to catch up when I have a decent internet connection. Anyway, to the business of the day.

Today is Monday. Labour Day out here, in case your interested, so I'll no longer be able to wear white shoes. Thursday evening I fly home.

I'm going to miss Canada like crazy. I'm going to miss Isaac like crazy too, as well as his family, whom I have adopted as my own. I'm going to miss Ontario, with its green rolling hills, redneck towns and fabulous outdoorsy lifestyle. I'm going to miss having a bear in my back garden (I've actually not seen it, but one tipped over our big wooden rubbish bin holder the other day). I'm going to miss my leopard geckos and the way they sit on my shoulder while I potter around the house.

I'm going to miss our little cabin, with its dodgy floor, ripped 70's style wallpaper in the kitchen and a liberal dusting of spiders in every corner. I'm going to miss having a bunch of friends (yes, teenagers) over to get freaked out by my collection of Derren Brown videos. I'm going to miss riding the zipline over the pond. I'm going to miss the incredible stars, and lying on the roof at night with Isaac just watching them and spotting satellites.

I'm going to miss climbing trees for a living. I'm going to miss strapping on my harness every day and it taking me 20 minutes to pop to the loo in the thing. I'm going to miss going fishing - today I caught a trout in the pond at home, watched Isaac gut it, put it straight on the BBQ and we ate it for lunch with beef tomato and basil from the garden. I'm going to miss visiting friends' cottages.

I'm going to miss Reilly waiting excitedly for whichever new part he's ordered for his car and riding up and down the roads with the sub pounding out those gangsta beats. I'm going to miss waiting excitedly for Isaac to come home from work and seeing him get out of Smokie's car with his sleeveless work shirts, filthy jeans, baseball cap and lunch pail in hand, shouting out "Hey goodlookin'!" as soon as he gets through the door.

I'm going to miss hanging out with Mary Lynn and eating whatever snacks she has offer. I'm going to miss seeing Imo's latest creation, whether it be an arbour, or a wooden table and bench for the garden. I'm going to miss being able to head up to Georgian Bay and go for a quick jaunt on their beautiful sailboat. I'm going to miss all this and much much more.

My plans involve going to New Zealand as soon as I've sorted out stuff back home - Isaac will be joining me - and having a working holiday there. In the meantime, I'm going to miss so much about Canada and hope I can come back soon.

T'interweb withdrawal

Firstly, let me apologise. I feel as though I'm letting you guys down a bit recently, with my very intermittent blogging, but the problem is without wireless for my laptop, I'm having to use Isaac's parent's computer, still on dial up (yes! it still exists!) and will only connect when it jolly well feels like it thank you very much. I have so much to tell you, and yet it's so difficult for me to do so goddamnit.

So rest assured, I'm more than fine and dandy. I now live in a cabin in the woods, with no television and water that comes straight from a stream. I love it. Isaac & I are having a ball, getting on like a house on fire; we've been bush driving, preparing our fishing tackle, socialising and generally making our own entertainment.

In yet another preconceived notion-shattering event, we had our first dinner party in the house the other day. Me, and three teenage boys. And what, do you suppose, did we have for this dinner? Pizza? Burger and chips? No no no my friend. Reilly prepared a
hot oil fondue AND a hot stone, with steak, giant prawns and calamari, potatoes & mushrooms. It was incredible. Then he insisted on washing up too. What a superstar. Then yesterday, we had our first barbecue. Me, and 10 teenage boys. We had moose, naturally. Isaac & busied ourselves being consummate hosts and cleaning up around people, so by the time everyone left (which was before midnight, despite today being Canada Day and therefore a public holiday) you'd never have known we had had a party.

I'm so proud of my boys. Life is good.

You know you're turning into a Canadian when...

• You no longer see ridiculously huge trucks as ridiculous. Or that huge.
• You look out for a Tim Horton's everywhere you go and get very excited at the thought of an iced cap.
• You call an iced cappuccino an iced cap.
• And you can order an mocha-chocca-frappa-cappuccino (made with 2% please) without blushing.
• You no longer get quite so irritated with the plethora of adverts on the telly. Still pretty irritated, to be fair, but not so much that you want to kill something everytime you try to watch Friends.
• You start thinking 'Oh it's only a 5 hour drive - we should pop over for the day.'
• Muffins start to seem like a legitimate breakfast food.
• You no longer get shocked at the smell of marijuana in public places.
• You automatically take your shoes off whenever you enter someone's house without having to be asked
• You take the piss out of people from Saskatchewan and whenever you meet someone from Newfoundland you automatically think of sodomy.
• You start saying 'regular' coke instead of 'normal' coke.
• You stop laughing everytime someone says 'eh?' at the end of a sentence.
• You no longer turn back when you see a dead skunk at the side of the road just to get a better look/smell.
• You accept that plug sockets spark alarmingly when you plug something in without panicking that there's something wrong with the electrics.

HOWEVER:

• I shall never stop finding the word 'fanny' funny
  
• I shall never refer to visiting your holiday home as going 'cottaging'.

(Shortly after typing this post, I popped into the bookshop at Edmonton Airport - whose free wi-fi I'm currently using, thanks guys - and saw a book called 'How to be a Canadian' by Will & Ian Ferguson. I took it as a sign. I bought it. I'm reading it. It's very funny indeed.)

Regression and the story of Ontario Part 2

So on the Friday evening, Isaac, Jordan & Matt arrived to pick me up. Isaac, with big hair, bandanna and shorts pulled down so far they were practically round his knees, turned up looking just as gangsta as I hoped and I took a running leap into his arms to catch up with a month's worth of missed hugs.

We drove north towards Orillia, where the boys live. By the time we arrived at Isaac's parents' house - after a stop off to Jordan's to meet a heap of other friends - it was dark. I approached the house with no expectations and was quickly blown away. We crossed the bridge to the house with Isaac turning on fairy lights left right and centre. There was pond, a treehouse, a zipline, a trampoline, a hot tub, a waterwheel, and that was just on the outside. At every stop I kept saying how it was the coolest house I'd ever seen but with every turn it just got cooler. Eventually, when we got to Isaac & Reilly's floor, Isaac opened the door to the bathroom and showed me a cage above the bath. He said 'Do you want to see Reilly's hedgehog?'. 'STOP!' I shouted 'I'm having a cool-overload here!'

The next 10 days passed by as if in a lovely dream. Imo & Mary Lyn, Isaac's parents, are fabulous and couldn't be more hospitable. Reilly, Isaac's younger brother is great and almost forgave me for stealing his brother from him. Isaac's friends - Hale, Mike, Tyler, Smokie, Porter, Dylan, Philly Cheese Steak and the ever-brilliant Jordan - are a good bunch and I enjoyed hanging out with them.

But here's the thing. Most people, when they go on holiday, go to a place. Maybe France, maybe Italy, maybe Butlins. But slowly, as time went on, it dawned on me that I'd gone on holiday to my teens.

Let's look at the evidence. I was hanging out with teenage boys. While out driving with Reilly, the gangsta rap was cranked up to the max and the sub-woofer in the boot was pounding out the bass*. We admired sweet trucks we saw. I never had to cook (except when I made my banoffee pie for the family). My washing was done for me. I didn't clean. I rode the zipline. I bounced on the trampoline. I went to bed late. I got up late. I was, on at least one occasion, trying to hide my (slight) intoxication from Isaac's mum. We drove through the 25 acres of bushland at the back of the house in the middle of the night in a 4x4 and got stuck in mud; we left the truck there and walked back. We hung out in car parks. We drove down to the port and wandered along looking at huge boats.

It was great. It was just what I needed. And I fell in love with the house and the lifestyle the terrain afforded. Isaac & Reilly grew up with no telly, running amok in the bush and building stuff. On one bush walk Isaac suddenly said 'Would you like to see our Door Fort?' 'Your what?!' I laughed. 'Our Door Fort. A fort Reilly & I made from doors. Why is that funny? he asked. 'Oh, no reason,' I replied 'we all have one of those in London.' We also walked past a random shed-type thing somewhere out back and inside was a beautiful handmade wooden boat complete with engine. 'Oh Reilly built that when he was 10' I was told.

After a week or so, I mooted the idea of staying with Isaac. 'What if, I didn't go back to Banff?' 'Really? Would you stay? Would you?' He seemed pretty keen. The next day I had lunch with his mum and mentioned my idea to her and she immediately offered for me to stay with them for the summer. Instead I asked if it would be possible to rent the cabin next door to their house and she said yes straight away. The following day she called me when I was out with Isaac and asked me if I would be interested in a job she'd just come across at the place where she worked, working as a Treetop Trekking Guide, and if so, she'd be happy to drop my CV in for me. My decision was complete.


The last couple of days I was there Isaac & made a road trip down to go to a birthday party for a friend of ours from Sunshine (Jess) down near Toronto (Mississauga in case you're interested). We then went on to Niagara Falls to spend the weekend - doing the Journey Behind the Falls and the Maid of the Mist tours. It was fabulous and it made me realise I had so much new to discover in Ontario.

So here's to it!

Pictures of the coolest house in the world here. Niagara photos here.

*At one point I suddenly became hysterical with laughter and when asked why, I said 'I've just realised I'm IN one of those cars that, when it passes me back home, I think to myself 'what a bunch of twats!'

All change! and the story of Ontario Part 1

Well do I have some gossip for you.

I have lots to tell about my time in Ontario, which I suspect I'll do over 2 posts, but I'll start by telling you the big news that my summer plans have changed.

As you may remember, I was planning to work the Calgary Stampede with Chelsea, then go back to work at CMH, the heli-hiking company, as a bus host for the summer in Banff. However, after falling in love with Ontario after my holiday there, I've decided instead to move there for the summer. I have blown off my CMH gig - Traci my would-be boss there was fabulous about it, told me that I'd not burnt any bridges and that any time I wanted a job with them, summer or winter, I was very welcome to come back - and am not going to work the Stampede either, which did look amazing but will have to wait for another time. Instead, after packing up all my remaining stuff in Banff this morning and taking the bus to Edmonton to stay with Megan & Craig again (the poor things must feel like the long-suffering parents to a repeatedly prodigal daughter), I'm flying back to Toronto on Monday. I'm going to be renting the (small) house next door to Isaac's parents - Isaac will join me there - and have applied for a job as a Tree Top Trekking Guide at the Horseshoe Resort, where MaryLyn, Isaac's mum, works. I've already had a telephone interview and they reckon I'm a shoe-in, but have a proper interview next week and will start training straight away if successful. Isaac is getting a car - well, actually a big 4x4 truck - ready for me to drive to and from work. I am going to be a redneck for the summer, and I'm proud.


So I should tell you how this all came about. Well the story starts when I arrived in Toronto to stay with my cousin Tine, who hadn't seen for something in the region of 15 years, and her husband Chris. She picked me up at the airport - waving a small Danish flag of course! - and drove me back to her house in Newmarket, around an hour out of Toronto. The house is lovely and my mini-break there began in great style with a BBQ. She has 2 sons, Michael and Shane, who are 21 and 17 respectively, who were lovely, so polite and thoughtful (to me at least; I'm sure, like all brothers, they can be a right handful at times!) Tine & I talked and talked and talked for hours, catching up on all the family gossip on both sides.


The next couple of days saw me shopping with Michael, popping in to see where Tine works, being dropped off in Toronto for a day's exploring (great city, and it reminded me more of London than any other city I've been to), dinner at the top of the CN Tower (where the food was stunning), more BBQs and bike rides and walks in the sweltering and humid heat.

The Friday happened to be Shane's Prom. I know this is starting to become a popular thing back home but here it is firmly established and, after a photo shoot at home to get pictures of Shane in his suit (in 35 degrees the poor love!), we all headed over for pre-Prom drinks at a school friend's parents house. The house was ENORMOUS and they'd catered for 150 school kids and parents. The kids looked amazing, though I dread to think how many hours of preparation and dollars went into making then look that way! We waved them all off in limousines, and made our way back to Tine & Chris's house to wait for Isaac, Jordan & Matt to pick me up for the next leg of my holiday.

Just by way of explanation, Isaac worked with me in Guest Services at Sunshine: we considered ourselves the A-Team. We had the same days off so we became very close and confided in each other about all aspects of our lives out in Banff. We began each and every day with a huge hug - often for long minutes at a time - and this got us into trouble with our boss, Susan, who didn't like us being so close. She was clearly insanely jealous, though whether it was me or Isaac she was jealous about, we never established. Towards the end of the season we actually got banned from hugging, then from talking to each other, which of course only made us more determined to find ways and means to carry on regardless. I'd met his parents when they'd come to visit and got on famously, so when they'd asked me to come and visit them in the summer I jumped at the chance! Isaac had had to leave Sunshine nearly 3 weeks before we closed because his staff accommodation was withdrawn. I had offered to put him up at the Beaver, but with the new people coming in, we weren't sure if they'd have told on us to the landlords, so we didn't want to risk it. So he headed back to his parents' place in Coldwater, Ontario but we stayed in regular contact and we missed each other terribly. Jordan is his friend from back home who'd also worked at Sunshine, in the rentals tech shop with Gravy, and whom I also adored. Matt is their friend who I hadn't met. I was sooooo excited about seeing Isaac again and knew we'd have a fabulous time - he'd taken 10 days off work to spend time with me - and indeed we did.

Part 2 to follow...

To infinity...and beyond!

I have new hair. I'm quite pleased with it, and it wasn't extortionately expensive either (though not cheap either, when you're on the kind of money I earn out here). It had got ridiculously long (not been cut since last August) but quite straggly with it, and two-tone (not the record label) since it hadn't been highlighted for nearly a year. So now at least I feel like I have a bit more of a hairdo, if you know what I mean.

Sunshine closes on Monday. So only one more weekend of work - officially I'm off on Monday but I'm going in to work for a couple of hours before going up the hill to watch the Slush Cup, which I understand is unmissable. People launching themselves across a big pool of water on skis, dressed as farmyard animals and the like, that sort of thing. Then, at the end of the day when the guests go home, the staff have a big party with several spit roast pigs. Sounds excellent.

And what next? Well, my (somewhat tentative) plan for June is to visit Megan & Craig, before heading to Ontario - possibly via Quebec to meet up with my friend Fiona who'll be there for a conference - to visit my cousin Tine who I haven't seen for donkeys' years, then up to see the very lovely Isaac, the delightful Jordan (both of whom worked at Sunshine, Isaac with me at Guest Services) and Isaac's wonderful parents* to spend my birthday 'mudding'. Can't wait.

Following this trip I will be heading back west. Chelsea & I have interviews next week for work at the Calgary Stampede (the greatest outdoor show on Earth!) which will be taking place for 10 days in July, so fingers crossed we get the jobs and make a bit of cashiola. Then to Vancouver Island for Megan & Craig's wedding at the end of July. And then....well I'm not sure yet. I have to leave when my visa runs out on September 4th but could do anything up till then. Suggestions on a postcard** please...

*His dad is called Emo. Seriously! How cool is that?!
**that means my comments box, obviously

Not with a bang

Where the hell has this last week gone? Well, I can tell you actually. It's passed in a blur of hobbling around on crutches and painkillers, unable to weight bear, or carry anything, or shower (don't worry, I am still able to wash), or cook very easily, or go out anywhere without it being a major effort. I feel like I have called in every one of my favours from my friends and would rather stand and eat something at the work surface than have to ask one of my housemates to carry my food into the lounge again. I have gone back to work, for the 2 weeks remaining of the season, which is fine but frustrating whenever a guest asks me to do something that involves getting up from my seat. They see my crutches and feel guilty, and say it doesn't matter, and I say no it's fine and hobble off, but then feel guilty for making them feel guilty.

It doesn't help that most of my friends have now left Banff. Those of us who remain are growing smaller in number by the day and I feel very alone all of a sudden. Now Darrell's gone home (never to return incidentally) I don't really have anyone to hang out with, as all of those who remain already have - or have recently formed - partnerships of one form or another which occupies their time. I can't climb, so Chelsea has had to find alternatives to me to belay her. I can't ski, so I have the big, empty house, with its limited charms, to myself on days off while everyone else goes off to make the most of the snow whilst it remains. I can't bring myself to look through old photos at the moment, because I sometimes feel the almost palpable nostalgia for how great it all was such a short time ago will kill me. I could feasibly go out of an evening as long as it's nearby, or I could take a cab, but the opportunity has yet to arise. Days off are spent watching endless TV shows - thank God for iTunes BBC/C4 downloads - and trying to chat to far-flung friends on facebook, and the evenings differ little. If I weren't so goddamn gimpy, my seemingly limitless frustration would have me running for the mountains.

And so the season ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

My Beaver is broken; I have a broken Beaver

Today Kate, Laura, Andrew & Sparkle all left the Beaver for pastures new. Kate is going back to the UK for a brief visit (to get her fill of Scottish men I'd wager) before heading home to Perth, Australia; Laura & Andrew are heading to Andrew's home of Newfoundland for a spot of Meet The Parents before also going to Australia to work as snowboard instructors for their winter; Sparkle is heading home to Bristol. We've had such a good crew here, we've all been so close, that it's hard to imagine that they're not going to step out of their rooms and watch Friends, South Park, Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares or Flight of the Conchords with us anymore. The Beaver, and Banff itself, will never be the same without them and the Queens of Beaver, as seen above, no longer rule as one.

To Kate: there has never been a better person to sit in the kitchen with at 6.30am and moan about how awful it is getting up at that time of the morning. I'm so glad we managed to get you in as our flatmate ("she's quite quiet, but she's very sweet when you get to know her") and want to thank you for being the best kisser in Banff. Wear the green top often and think of me.

To Laura: I'd never have ended up at the Beaver if I hadn't met you first on the way to Canada from Heathrow. You're the most rank* chick I know and I'm going to miss you and your surreal sense of humour hugely. You have always very kindly and enthusiastically laughed at my jokes and for that I'm extremely grateful.

To Andrew: your hugs might have made me cry but I loved every one of them. Thank you for your relaxed** way of always making me feel better about everything. Your testicles shall remain unsurpassed. I hope you get a bit more sodomy action now you're back in Newfoundland.

To Will, a.k.a. Sparkle Barbie Horse: you are quite simply one of the most amazingly talented and naturally funny people I've ever met. I'll never forget the night you found out just how old I was. Thank you so much for the lovely things you said to me then, on Australia Day and last night; they meant so much and right back atcha baby.




I'm missing you all so much already.





*Laura insists this is now a good thing
** or quite possibly stoned

Another 10 things I've learnt in Canada

1. If you wear your iPod out when it's below freezing, the earphone cable becomes stiff & rigid almost straight away.


2. The Northern Lights, in all their glory, can be seen this far south.


3. Good bread, like a good man, is hard to find.


4. A roadtrip is worth every penny and all the effort.


5. It is possible to tell, without checking a thermometer, if it's below -20, by breathing in deeply and feeling if your nose hairs freeze.


6. a) Ski boots are easy to put on and difficult to walk in. Snowboard boots are difficult to put on and easy to walk in.


7. b) Skiing & snowboarding are totally different, requiring different techniques and using different muscles. Skiing is far easier to pick up but harder to get really good at.


8. c) The constant strapping and unstrapping of your bindings when snowboarding quickly becomes tiring and irritating.


9. Canadian mobiles phones are expensive: you get charged to receive as well as to make calls, there are lots of 'added extras' to pay which back home come as standard (such as the facility to make emergency calls) and the monthly amounts vary wildly for no discernible reason.


10. Badgers out here are different from badgers back home. They look weird and scary.


11. The most irritating sentence in the English language is: "Hi, I lost one black glove somewhere on the hill about 3 weeks ago, not sure what make it is, do you have it?"


12. The second most irritating sentence in the English language: "Hi, I think I'm on a list...?"
    
    

10 Things I Have Learnt in Canada

1. Skiing is fun and not as cold as I thought it would be.
2. I can now do figure-of-eight, double figure-of-eight, bowline and sheet bend knots. I even know what they're good for.
3. You should never sing Wuthering Heights at a karaoke. It was not me who attempted it, I wish to point out, but the girl who did is currently doing 15 years for first degree murder.
4. Communal living can be enormous fun. It can also be messy and unpleasant at times. Having the bath plug clogged with your flatmate's vomit being a point in case.
5. Rocks and legs do not mix.
6. The feeling of sinking an axe a few millimetres into ice and relying on it to haul you up a slippy vertical face is without equal.
7. A duvet is an essential item of bedware and worth every penny.
8. It is perfectly possible to go out for the evening in -15 degrees wearing only a hoodie in order to save money and time on coat checking, as long as you walk quickly or have some good friends to cuddle up to.
9. There are many different types of snow. Many of them are useless for making snowballs.
10. Crochet rocks.

Living the life of a celebrity, on the wages of a pauper

Over here at Sunshine, working full-time, I'm earning somewhere in the region of £500 per month. My rent and utilities comes to around £250, so the rest goes on food, entertainment and any other essentials. Back home this would be virtually impossible, but here, it's perfectly achievable to live on minimum wage. For a start, not drinking alcohol saves me tons! Most places here I'll pay for one soft drink, around $3, then get free refills for the rest of the night. We often eat communally, which saves money, and on our days off we mainly go skiing/snowboarding, which is free for those of us working at Sunshine obviously. Snow gear - jackets, thermals, boots etc. - is our main expense, because the good stuff does cost serious money, but once you're geared up, as I now am, you're done.

Yesterday was my day off and I had planned with a friend, Aaron, to go for a ski lesson. However, due to a car accident on the approach to the ski hill, the bus was late and I missed the start of the lesson, so we decided to just go up and do our own thing. Aaron has been boarding for years but has only skied twice before, so was happy to come on green runs with me. We'd had a ton of snow over night and it was still snowing heavily - puking snow as they say over here - so it was a 'powder day'.

I'd never skied in powder - having only skied twice before of course! - and soon discovered it was both a blessing and a curse. It was monstrously difficult to stay upright and nigh on impossible to turn when you were up to your knees in light, fluffy snow, unable to even see where your skis were. If you slowed or stopped, the effort involved in just lifting your feet up to get on top of the snow again was monstrous and soon my legs were like jelly. However, if you got a good downhill run going, you could bomb down with relative confidence, because if you did fall your landing was as soft as snot (as my mother would say). I literally stacked it every couple of minutes and sometimes the temptation to just lie there in the comfortable snow and to catch your breath for a bit was overwhelming. On one occasion I did a huge bail face first into a ton of snow, which was apparently hilarious to see and the story has already done the rounds. I managed to drag myself up and looked around to see where my left ski, which had come off, was. It was nowhere to be found. Eventually, after poking randomly around with my pole, I found it about 4 feet away and completely hidden 2 feet under the snow. I tried to get it back on but everytime I tried to clip my boot into the bindings it sank again without a trace. A full ten minutes later, I was finally ready to head back off down the run, where Aaron and another friend Amy were waiting patiently for me.

Eventually I went to have lunch and bumped into Chris, Gravy & Zander, who were having an awesome day boarding down black runs. It certainly seems to me that snowboards have a slightly easier time of it in the deep powder due, presumably, to their width. I did one more run after lunch before deciding that my legs just wouldn't take it anymore, so I popped off to the Sunshine Inn hotel (right on the ski hill) to take advantage of the huge outdoor hot tub, where the boys and Amy joined me.

It was snowing heavily and was fairly mild by then, around -5, compared to the -25 we'd had in previous days. We ordered drinks (me a coke, the boys a pitcher of beer) and sank down to relieve our aching limbs. Pretty soon we were so warm that the idea of stepping out into the snow in our swimmers was rather inviting and so the boys went first, rubbing themselves down with snow before jumping back into the hot tub, which gave you a pleasant, all over tingling/pins & needles sensation for around five minutes afterwards. Just next to us was a gate which led out onto one of the ski runs, so the boys then decided to try lying down in the snow, face first initially:

then onto their backs:

I was reluctant at first to try it, what with my pathetic circulation an' all, but soon got swept up in the excitement and sure enough, soon discovered that lying in the snow in a bikini was an enormously exhilarating experience, and the resultant tingling well worth it:

As we sat in the hot tub, drinking beer/coke, watching skiers and snowboarders whiz past us, reflecting on our day, we couldn't stop telling each other how amazing our lives were at the moment. We are enormously lucky to be here, in an incredible place, with fantastic people, doing things we love. We truly are living the dream, and we're determined not to take even one second of it for granted.

How cool?

As you may already be aware, one of the things I was most concerned about when I knew I was making the trip over here to Canada was the weather. As someone with pathetically poor circulation, who therefore doesn't fair well in cold temperatures, I had no idea what really cold (i.e. sub -10c) felt like or how I would cope with it. Well, as it's been knocking around the -15 to -25 mark for the past couple of days, I'd like to share with you the things I've learnt.

I believe it was Billy Connelly who first said that there is no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing. How true. My thermals, multiple layers of clothes, goose down coat, insulated boots, ski mittens, scarves and array of toques (woolly hats, to those back home) work a bloody treat and despite the well-below-freezing temperatures, I usually find myself toasty warm. In fact, I can usually only really feel how cold it is on my face, which then necessitates pulling my scarf up over my mouth and nose; Kate & I ably demonstrated this technique only this evening, and though admittedly we did look like we were about to pull a bank job, so did every other person on the street. To my utmost surprise, I rarely 'lose' my fingers (my term for when the Reynaud's kicks in) as long as I'm wearing my mittens, which are far far superior to gloves by the way, though if you have to remove them for any reason it's amazing how quickly you realise how bloody cold it is without them.

That said, my body temperature must have adjusted considerably in recent weeks. This afternoon, I popped out of the guest services building to pick up a bottle of 7up. I was dressed in my uniform, which consists of a thin quarter-zip top, under a sort-of fleece jacket, which I had unzipped. As I got outside, I thought to myself, oh, it's not too cold actually, and so I ambled over to buy my drink, only noticing as I made my leisurely way back on the thermometer outside the ticket windows that it was, in fact, -19c. Now, once upon a time in the very recent past, I would have been terrified at the thought of temperatures as low as that. I would have assumed that I would have turned into a popsicle within seconds. But in fact I now know that it's really not that bad and more importantly, I can cope with it. And thank goodness for that, given that it's not likely to get much warmer in the foreseeable future...

Homemore

After a hectic morning where I got up, packed up my stuff at the HI Hostel, checked out and put my bags in a locker, I found myself rocketing down Tunnel Mountain Road (fyi: steep & long) at breakneck speed in order to meet up with a woman called Elaine who I thought might be able provide me with somewhere to live. She runs a gift shop in town and has a house on Beaver Street – oh yes really – which she rents out room by room. The upstairs is a self-contained 4 bedroom flat for girls only (yay! Boys smell) and the downstairs, also self-contained, is mixed. My friend Laura has already secured a room in the upstairs flat and the Aussie guys, Dave/Gravy & Zander, were in the running for one of the downstairs rooms, so I thought it would be a cool place to rent. It was pleasant enough – 2 bathrooms for the 4 of us so that’s always a bonus – and the room was large, furnished and going for a reasonable price (there was even a deer sat in the garden outside the bedroom window - awwww) , so I kept my fingers and everything else crossed. Sure enough, Elaine liked me enough to offer me the room. Hurrah! I had to to run back up Tunnel Mountain road to collect my stuff and meet up with Chris, then back down the hill again to the SameSun hostel to meet the others, then over the other end of town to get out the huge deposit from the bank, back to the gift shop to sign the lease before running to meet the Calgary bus with 5 mins to spare... phew!

So I’m no longer homeless come 1^st November, which is also, coincidentally, the day I start work up at Sunshine Village; what a weight off. As a bonus, Gravy & Zander also got offered the room downstairs, so we’re all going to be a big happy family.

My buttocks hurt now*.

*reading this back this could appear to be a reference to how I secured the room. It isn't. It merely reflects the running up and down hills I did all day. Just wanted to make that abundantly clear.

New life begins in earnest

I've made it to Banff, struggled with my two suitcases, skis and poles, rucksack, handbag AND a stick of french bread (I needed something to nibble on on the journey), made 3 friends on the bus - James, Kate and Chris - who I hope to meet for drinks tonight (haven't mentioned I don't drink yet, I'm not sure they'll take it well), lined up an interview on Wednesday with Sunshine (the biggest ski resort in the area), had an email from the other job I applied for telling me to expect to hear from them shortly if I've been selected for interview (and why the hell wouldn't I be?), found my hostel and chosen my bunk (top bunk - a pain to get into but more privacy). Phew! Quite a day so far. And with excellent timing, Darrell has finally sent me that picture of me in my Bond Girl bikini at the Banff Hot Springs (my local pool now dahlinks) so I thought I'd pass it on to you.

Although I'm not keen on dorm accommodation, I've just found out one of the English girls in my room has got a job working for Gap in the mall. Did anyone say discount?

Canada vs. England

Five reasons why Canada is better than England:

1. The scenery - and the weather - is far more dramatic. That's not say that England's rolling greenery isn't lovely, because it is, but you can't beat a huge mountain towering above you, let alone a series of the damn things. With snow. That you can actually ski on.
   
2. The service you get in shops and restaurants is far better than back home. People actually seem to want you to get what you want and be happy. I'm not used to that. I mean, if people just refrain from scowling at you when you are giving them your custom back home you think you've been blessed.
   
3. They have Northern Lights. Aurora Borealis. Okay, I haven't seen them yet, but I live in hope and I bet when I do they'll be bloody brilliant.
4. The supermarkets are huge, and as you may know, I love a huge supermarket. I can spend hours wandering round them looking at a load of old nonsense - thermal underwear, cheap electrical goods, gardening equipment - and not buying a thing.
5. Property is still cheap enough that a young couple can buy a 4 bedroomed, 2 bathroomed, huge basemented 'starter home'. As it should be. I have amazed many a Canadian with tales of how much my tiny 1 bed flat is worth.
   

Five reasons why England is better than Canada:

1. The supermarkets may be huge but most of the food in them is processed and over-packaged rubbish. I feel guilty and wasteful just looking at half of it. And you can't buy loads of stuff you get back home: proper sausages, for example. Or any kind of decent cheese, which is deeply ironic given that back home, I buy Canadian Cheddar because it kicks ass. You can't get oxo cubes. And you can't buy gravy granules unless you go to the British Import Store in the West Edmonton Mall and pay nearly $6 for them...*
2. You have to have a car here to get anywhere. Having spent the best part of a month without one, I know how true that is. When Darrell was here, we tried to take the bus from Leduc, where Megan & Craig live, into the nearest big city, Edmonton. It took us just over an hour to walk to the bus stop, $17 each for a ticket, a 45 min journey time and there was only 1 bus back so if you miss that, or it's at an inconvenient time, you're buggered. If you do try to walk, the place is just not geared up for pedestrians. Often you have to take massive detours just to cross a road, or there's no crossing at all. And of course if you cross where there's no crossing, you're technically committing the crime of jaywalking (but I love being naughty!) And the distances are so big. The Canadians think nothing of driving 2 hours for a quick visit somewhere. You look on a map and think, oh, that's just over there, but then you find out that it's a 12 hour drive! At least England is manageably small.
   
3. You think Starbucks are ubiquitous back home? You should see it here: they're everywhere - and most of them are drive-thrus. I actually thought Megan was joking when she first mentioned a drive-thru Starbucks, but nope. I've had to relax my stance on not buying from them simply because there's little other choice. The other big coffee company here is called Tim Horton's and even though the coffee is fairly mediocre, the queues at the drive-thru (natch) have to be seen to be believed. Megan tells me in all seriousness that they put something addictive in their coffee so people keep coming back; I'm inclined to believe her.
4. There are very few independent restaurants or shops over here, they're all big chains. This means that every time you go to a mall or retail park (because there aren't really 'high streets' to speak of so that's where you go to shop), you get the same few shops over and over. At least you know what you're getting, I suppose (though Vancouver did have some cool independently-owned places to be fair). It's the kooky little restaurants back home more than anything that I miss. Particularly curry houses, because it's not really a big thing over here and so I've not had any since I was home.
5. Telly. Oh how I miss English telly, as I knew I would. They may have a gazillion different channels out here, but they largely show rubbish all day and night. Rubbish, interspersed every 5 minutes by adverts. I tend to look through to try to find English stuff - How to Look Good Naked and Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmare's have kept me almost sane - but it's nearly all American drama/action series, which is not really my cup of tea. Most of them are incomprehensible and/or packed full of clichés. Amusingly though, there's a big glut of English stars out here at the moment, and it never fails to make me smile wryly when I see Michelle Ryan (her off of Eastenders) playing The Bionic Woman with a - it has to be said - flawless American accent. Still, I can't shake off the image of her selling polyester blouses on a market stall, even when she's dropkicking a baddy. So I miss good English comedy and decent documentaries very much indeed. If you do see anything brilliant, please tell me, because there's lots of places online to watch them these days and I can try to track them down...

Oh and a quick mention goes to Greyhound, the bus service out here and the USA, who have screwed me over. I tried to buy my ticket to Banff online and it kept saying that it wouldn't process just now, could I try again later please? Eventually, after trying both my visa & debit cards, I gave up trying and Megan gave me a lift to the bus station to buy my ticket in person. However, the failed web purchases found their way onto my statements anyway, where, to date, they have taken an erroneous $200 from the 2 cards with a further $100 pending. On speaking to a customer service representative in Texas at length about this, after being passed from pillar to post around Canada first of course, I've been told that no, they've not taken any money from me at all. Oh, well, that's alright then. Other than the fact that you actually have. You bastards. Now I have to wait 15 days (for no particular reason) then send them copies of my statements to prove that they've stolen money from me and then they'll review it, and think about whether or not they'll return it, given that they don't believe that they have taken it in the first place because it's not on their system. Well it sure as heckfire is on mine, baby. Meh.

*A special prize goes to anyone who can name the three dishes I've cooked for Megan & Craig - a.k.a. Craigan - recently based on the clues provided. Jen, surely this should be easy for you?