Day 462: I Wonder Whether To Meet Up

There is a thing called Meet Up. "Whatever your interests. Wherever you are", it proclaims. “A convenient, non-threatening way to connect to other people who share similar interests and live nearby", screams Time Magazine, excitedly.

I am quite interested in it because I am new to French Canadia and do not yet have hundreds of friends (like I do in Britain, except they are crashing bores, which explains in part why I moved here in the first place). But which group to join?

The Laval Grooming and Nutrition Meetup Group
Sadly, this is for puppies, so I do not think they will be able to tell me where to get a thorough ladywax.

The Montreal Swissophile Meetup Group
If this is about neutrally eating Toblerone, I'm there.

Single women in words & media: Bookish group
I would rather pluck my eyes out with my tiny monkey hands and eat them than spend any time at all with a group of people who would describe themselves as 'single women in words & media'. (And anyway, I wouldn't join a Book Group if you paid me, let alone join something described as a "Bookish group".)

However, I may go just to suggest that we read The Well Of Loneliness. With any luck, it'll give them some ideas, create a lively 'session' and solve the problem of some of them being single, all in one go. Result.

Take Control of Your Future Career
Now you're talking!!!

"The Secret Behind the Secret" on Big Screen-- 2nd showing in Montreal
Might go to this as I am keen to see how people stupid enough to read and believe The Secret go about coping with everyday life, e.g. driving a car, attaching the velcro strips on their shoes, operating a Microwave, etc.

The Montreal Chihuahua October Meetup
That's more like it. Sadly I do not have a Chihuahua. I think they are having a Halloween party I hope it goes well. (I am not being sarcastic. This is exactly what this sort of thing should be about.)

Lovers and Other Strangers - Poetry Evening: Lovers and others: An evening of poetry on the theme of love, union and relationshiops
Sounds like a fucking belter.

Australian Culture Meetup
I fear someone is pulling our leg!

Body Modification Meetup
"Hi. I am looking to meet people that are into amputations (fingers, toes) in the montreal area."
I am definitely not going to that one.

I am reluctant to join a British Expats one for reasons that do not need explanation, but cannot decide whether to start one myself or not. I have been thinking about it a bit and came up with this:

"British People Who Couldn't Give A Fuck That You Can't Buy Marmite In Canada, Listen To Radio 4 On Their Computer, Smoke A Small Clay Pipe And Like French-Canadian Veterinary Research Pathologists Meetup".

What do you think? (It has a certain ring to it, I'm sure you will agree.)

Day 460: I Feel Very, Very, Far Away

Wherever I go outside Britain to speak English they do not understand me, even though I have a really normal English voice, like you get on the BBC when they are being a bit Estuarine.

I now know this for a fact.

Coffee shop, Washington DC, Sunday

- Could I have a skinny cappuccino please, extra shot. Small. To go.
- Two grande skinny caps. $8.90.
- No, just one. Small. Extra shot.
- One grande skinny cap, double.
- No.
- Please speak more clearly, ma'am!
- Yes. Fine. That is what I want. A grande skinny cap, double.
- You shoulda said so more clearly, ma'am. We're short today.
- Yes.
- That'll be $4.40.
- Thank you.
- Excuse me?

Coffee shop, New York, sometime in April

- Mushroom omelette please with brown toast, if that's OK.
- White toast?
- Brown.
- Bagel? Toasted?
- No, brown toast. Wholemeal toast.
- Ma'am, you need to speak more clearly. Rye toast?
- Yes. That's fine.

Air Canada flight, Washington (DC) to Montreal, today

- Quelque chose à boire? Something to drink?
- Water please.
- Excuse me?
- Water, please.
- Excuse me?
- WATER. WATER, PLEASE.
- OJ?
- De l'eau, s'il vous plaît
- Oh. Water. (Like I am a mental.) Ice?
- No thank you.
- Excuse me?
Lady next to me She doesn't want ice. Looks at me with pity in her kind Canadian eyes. That right?
- Yes. Thank you.

I am blushing furiously for I do not like fuss. I do not want the water anymore, and I definitely do not want the stupid rice crackers they give us, particularly when I realise they are not in the shape of maple leaves. When I get off the plane, the air hostess says "Merci et au revoir" in a sarcastic way, even though she knows I am English and has said "Thank you and goodbye" to the person in front of me.

I feel like I have something wrong, when I have not. I have just been talking with an English accent, but no-one understands me anywhere, not even in America where they speak English, or in Canada on an aeroplane.

I am not a cock so I know that all the Englishes are different, but it still makes me feel a bit sad, like $8 Marmite in Dean and Deluca, or the label on the Turner in the National Gallery in Washington that read: "On Loan from the Tate Gallery, London", or having to explain who Keith Chegwin is and knowing, absolutely, that nothing I can say will ever properly explain him, not really.

Day 459: I Am Famous

And not before time, frankly.

Look at this with your own eyes and you will see how. (It is not that exciting, so no need to sit down.)

Day 458: I Am Definitely English

I am not sure what happens, but every time I come to America I turn into a sort of faux-Mitford. I have said the following things in the last forty-eight hours, each without a trace of irony:

1. "Thanks so much. You are kind." (To doorman.)

2. "Gosh, I say! How exciting." (To person bringing me dinner.)

3. "Thanks awfully". (To person selling newspaper.)

4. "Heavens! What fun!" (To person telling me where the sugar is.)

5. "Now, darling, you must forgive me, so stupid, but what are grits, exactly?" (To waiter.)

In other news, there are 385 branches of Starbucks in Washington (DC), each one selling horsepiss disguised as coffee.

On a more positive note, however, here is a photograh of my new best friend. He lives in Georgetown, and is called Foxy. We talk to each other a lot, and then I come back to the hotel, eat $25 sandwiches and drink gin from the minibar. It's heavenly.




(In other news: Is this disturbing? I am not sure!)

Day 456: I Am Lost For Words In Washington (DC)

It is a very pleasant afternoon, and I am walking down Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington (DC) looking at people looking at the White House, when something buzzes past me. It is a man on a thing with two wheels. He looks a bit unstable (in the mental sense; he is very confident on his two-wheeler), but not like a killer. I ignore him, as does everyone else, and keep walking.

Then more people go past on two wheeler things. At first it is a trickle, but after a few minutes they are positively swarming down Pennsylvania Avenue, looking very serious and full of intent, like they are going to do something significant involving the President of the United States of America and a hoe. It is quite scary, as the wheels on the two-wheeler things are quite big, and that makes each person about eight feet tall.



They stop outside the White House gates. The tourists stop looking for the stupid President and look at the people on the two-wheeled things, who are organising themselves in rows. It is not looking good. I hide behind some silent Japanese people. (Not the Spanish people. They are all shouting, which would draw attention to us/me if we were attacked.)

By now they are in a 'serried rank', staring with intent at the White House. Their Leader is talking, but I cannot hear what he is saying, although his voice sounds a bit like Stephen Hawkins'.



It is then I realise that the police (there are five policemen and/or women for each person in Washington DC, and that is not counting the spies, who are everywhere) are not doing anything! They are not even pretending to look insouciant whilst secretly signalling to their secret police friends to come and save us all. In fact, they are lolling on their patrol cars watching the young American people play hockey on rollerblades in the middle of the road, while they sip from cop-sized gallon-buckets of latte skim cappucino macchyoh-toh with peach syrup.

I leave, and start walking down the road to where the other monuments are in Washington (DC). (There are quite a lot.) But then a voice comes at me from behind.

The voice is odd, like a ladyversion of Stephen Hawkins', if he came from somewhere like Alabama. It says one thing and one thing only. It is a bit ominous. "Take care, ma'am, there are sixteen of us on the sidewalk right behind you". They glide past.



I follow them because I am going in the same direction as them anyway. I cannot understand why no-one else is really looking at them or laughing. (I am doing both at the same time, whilst also taking photographs.) I turn the corner, and then I understand.

The Leader is talking to them. "No, that is not where Colin Powell lives, that is The Treasury Department." I look at the two-wheeled things a bit more carefully. There is a word written on them. The word is "Segway®". It is then I realise that what I have been seeing is not an alien attack: it is a very special type of sightseeing tour.