Things You Hear People Say In Canada That You Probably Wouldn't Hear People Say In England, #1

"November'll be here soon. Time to put the snow tyres on. For the snow."

I Touch My Birthday Present

It was my birthday!!! This fact did not go unnoticed by you, my loyal and adoring readers, and I thank you from the heart of my bottom for the cascade of good wishes and amusing 'comments' that have squirted my way in the last few days.

But this flood of online adoration aside, the day itself (in 'real time!!!) was grate, what with best friend, best friend's husband, their (attractive, well-behaved, therefore possibly not human) baby of 5 months, the veterinary research histopathologist with whom I share my life (and fleas), with a passing appearance by:

a) MonkeyFather; and
b) MonkeyMother,

...both of whom are WELL KNOWN to readers of this 'web-blog', particularly b) MonkeyMother who often provides 'pithy' and/or 'witty' comments in the comments box(es) (MonkeyFather is known mainly for his Genesis-related comments).

A number of presents* were showered upon my grateful head, all of which were either beautiful or useful (and many of which were both). But it was only upon our return from holiday that I received the 'pièce de résistance': something I have dreamt of owning for years and something that, only now, is glistening on my worktop (as it were!). It is a KitchenAid mixer, and it looks like this:













I have already used it to mix the dough from the miraculous bread recipe that everyone should use unless they are idiots who hate bread and do not have an oven; I am feverishly searching the Google for recipes that might help me use up the 18 eggs we appear to have in the refrigerator; I am gently fingering the already dog-eared pages of the 'recipe booklet' that comes with it, but I am - I must confess - a little intimidated.

What now?!! Come now, adoring readers: demonstrate your love for me by 'sharing' (not like that!!!) your own favourite KitchenAid recipes. It crouches in the kitchen, hungry, weighty and ready for action, and I crouch by its side, also hungry, weighty and ready for action.




* Not 'gifts', I beg of you. This is not Surbiton, and I do not have Christmas cards printed with my address inside.

I Am 39!

That is good. That means in one year I am going to be 40. Happily, my tiny little monkey hands are still tiny and smooth, and I am finding that the regular daily consumption of up to and including one litre of absinthe helps 'preserve the skin', as it were (although I dare not stop for fear my tiny little monkey face should fall!).

In other news, I do not recommend waxing your moustache at 1 in the morning after a few 'birthday sherberts', and I look forward to seeing what the veterinary research pathologist with whom I share a bed (and fleas) will be bringing back from the patisserie down the road.

While I wait for his return, I will read the excellent book on human biology that I begged for and have been given, and will enjoy reminding myself once again that my stomach is not where my belly button is, but is in fact higher up, far higher up; higher up than I could ever have dreamt possible.

Yours biologically

NWM

I Wish They Would Go Away

"I know, Trevor - let's retire to France. We'll be able to buy a smashing property there."

If you move to France, or retire to France, one would assume that you do it because, well, you like France. The next logical conclusion to that is that you therefore:

1. Like French people
2. Like French food
3. Consider it necessary (or, at the very least, good manners) to learn French in order to:
a) communicate with the people you live next door to;
b) be accepted by the local community;
c) have a fucking idea of what's going on around you.

Instead, in the local supermarket, the shelf space given over to the most ghastly of English foods grow ever bigger. The British Club swells; entire clusters of English people move here and talk only English to other English people, unable to even say 'hello' to the cashier in the supermarket.

If they cannot buy what they need in the supermarket, they can go to a special online website that they will find by looking on the internets. It is called Best of British, and on it you can get genuine, English sliced bread delivered to you at your house in France (because French bread isn't very nice):



Regular readers will be aware that I work in 'the advertising', so I am the first to admire Best of British to latch on to this Custard-Cream hungry, Daily-Mail reading group of consumers, but I wonder: can they sleep at night?

And yes, I'm a roaring snob. No. Let me be precise: I am not a snob, I just I hate that particular type of British person; the ones who say "France would be great - if it wasn't for the French!!!" in voices too loud in (French) restaurants; who drink lukewarm gin and tonics in their white plastic chairs; who miss Maggie, who can't pronounce the name of the French President (if they know his name at all), and who pretend to like wine.

Newsflash: seen today:

I Consider Small Differences Between Canada and the Britain

I am on holiday, and despite waking this morning at 6.30 in order to lie in bed being irritated by something someone did two weeks ago, my mind is free to wander (and sort out my move from London, the insurance on my kitchen ceiling falling in in London, the replacement cooker hood for my flat in London, the clearing out so that the buyer's surveyor might get into the cellar of my flat in London, etc) and consider the many cultural differences between my adopted country (Canada) and my original country(ies), England and France.

Eggs, and the storage thereof

In Canada, they are in the refrigerator section, often near the 123 varieties of Philadelphia cream cheese. In the Britain (and France), they are open on the shelves. It is fair to say that the veterinary research histopathologist with whom I share my life and fleas finds this slightly worrying.

But I have checked with British Lion Eggs, and it is apparently OK, and something to do with the temperature of British supermarkets (under 20 degrees) and the temperature at which eggs need to be stored (under 29 degrees).

Teeth

Regular readers will be aware that I have written about this before, but really it is astonishing! The teeth of the French are as bad as the teeth of the English. The teeth of the Canadians are beautiful in an understated way (unlike those of the Americans).

In the supermarkets in Canada there are rows upon rows of tooth things: brushes, whiteners, mouthwashes, flosses, picks, etc. In France, you must hunt for the floss and the mouthwash. In England, there is some in Boots but most people are in the food section crunching up Smarties with their remaining teeth, so miss them entirely.

Teeth (2)

In most houses in Canada: a cup to convey water to your mouth after brushing the teeths in order to rinse your mouth out. In England: it is more usual to stick your head under the tap. This is an endless source of amusement to the Canadian with whom I share my bed (and lice).

Toast Racks

Again, not the first time I have mentioned this, but suffice to say that the first time I 'brought out the rack' (not like that!!!!) for one of my new Canadian friends, she laughed until she cried. The foreigners can't see the logic in it, although I suspect they may change their minds once they consider the many and manifold joys of The Toast Host.

Washing Up liquid dispenser systems

A feature of a great many Canadian homes is the MOST ghastly sort of combined washing up liquid 'n' spongey thing holder. Awful. Makes getting the liquid into the sink almost impossible, means rank water collects in the bit where you put the spongey thing, and most of all it is as naff as fuck and not that far removed from lace curtains.

Showers in your kitchen sink

This however is a splendid Canadian thing (that I hear you can now get in the Britain!!): a kind of tap attachment or replacement that doubles as straight jet of water and sort of shower jet of water. I must say it makes sink-based activities much easier, and I heartily suggest that everyone in Britain gets one now. (And France too.)

Meat


It is much, much harder to find good (i.e, nice-tasting, without things added, etc) meat in the supermarket(s) in Canada than it is in Britain or France. Strange, but true.

Old stuff

There is much more old stuff in England and France. I had not appreciated it before. Now I live in Canada and I visit the Europe I realise how much I miss it, and will for e.g. spend a very long time looking at small things in wonder. Also the fact that parts of the house I am in in France at this very moment and second are eighteenth century now suddenly seems remarkable to me, and it is all I can do to restrain myself from licking the walls.


Central heating

Most English houses are colder inside that most Canadian houses. I will make no comment other than to say in Canada it routinely falls to -30, and in England everyone cocks on about the end of the world if it falls below -1.

Yes.