Things I Find Different About Canada

It may not just be Canada, of course; these things may happen elsewhere too, e.g. North America (general). Many of them may be particular to French Canada. Either way, they are making me remark upon their difference! Here we are:

Lunch at midday (or earlier) when you have started work at 9. Too early.

Dinner at 6pm. Also too early.

Michael Ignatieff. Not on BBC2 talking cock about Ian McEwan's latest: no. Now he is on the television news speaking bad French, running for leader of the Liberal Party and everyone is laughing.

Eggs in the refrigerator cabinet, and screams of horror when they find out we keep them on the shelf. Why?

Over 100 varieties of Philadelphia cheese. Why?

Tidiness. People get in a mardy bate about for e.g. 1 piece of paper on the street. They have obviously not been to most of Europe, especially London.

No sense that you are going to be stabbed to death on the street at any moment. Very relaxing.

People not drunk and vomiting on the street in the evenings after the pubs. People having fun and that (well, in Montreal anyway); just not behaving like dicks.

No-one really gives a shit about celebrities, unless you are in Quebec and Céline Dion is in the house.

Dull newspapers; limited media. They may have better things to do - but an interesting newspaper is something I miss very much indeed! (And I'm not talking about The Daily Express - which most certainly is not "The World's Greatest Newspaper".)

It is very cold. When they say "it's cold" they mean "it's cold" (like -9 in November with a wind chill factor of -15), not "it's cold" English style, i.e. "it's a bit nippy and I'm out in Newcastle without my tights on". Also, they do not moan about the weather like English people do; they merely remark upon it in a non-astonished style.

There isn't any old stuff. Well, there is, but it's only seventeenth century or something and there's not much of it. This makes me very confused sometimes and when I visit Europe again I just stare at old things (not MonkeyMother and MonkeyFather!!!) and feel strange.

Mobile phone technology; in fact, technology generally. I am not talking about handsets and that!! I am talking about the networks; the way the lady talks to you; the amount of buttons you have to press to simply pick up a message. That sort of stuff.

Pointless fashion. There is not much 'fashion' in that stupid Grazia way as far as I can see. Even the best dressed people look sensible. You don't get many of those "are you wearing a fancy dress?" type clothes you sometimes get in London offices. It is nice, but then when you could die of hypothermia just by standing outside without your shoes on for 3 minutes in the deep winter, perhaps it makes sense.

Fruit salad. Jesus wept. Fruit salad is OK for breakfast but it must be contained!!! I do not want fruit salad on the same plate as my omelette. Nor my scrambled eggs and bacon. And certainly not with my smoked salmon. But there is ALWAYS fruit salad, and there is always rubbish melon in it! It is weird. And you can't say "no fruit salad" because that looks like you are not healthy.

Toast racks. They do not have them here and they laugh when I show them mine. I cannot see why.

I am sure there will be more things that will come into my mind (e.g., "Why Is Skippy Peanutbutter?"), but for the moment I must sit back in my armchair, adjust my fez, and pull on my maple pipe and wish to fuck there was something good on the telly.

It Doesn't Take Much To Make Me Happy

A Splendid Commercial

"He Looks A Bit Like Peter Gabriel In An Early Genesis Costume"

I Think About Sending A Poo In A Box

I am not one for revenge for two reasons:

1. I am lazy.
2. From what I can see, the knobbers usually get their comeuppance anyway.

However, this is not to say that I do not regularly compose imaginary letters to people I dislike in my head, and imagine sending them from strange and untraceable places. Why do I do this thing? Because it is amusing and satisfying, that is why!

Dear Australian Slapper With Whom I Used To Work

I saw right through you. In fact, we all did. And no, you are not good at playing politics. Also, your eyes are like those of a snake. And we all knew you were shagging the managing director and administering oral love to the grumpy art director in the third office along.

In other news, your arse looks like a prosthetic comedy bottom, and apparently you smell in the ladyparts.

Wishing boils upon you and your pets,

NWM

PS When I was promoted (without asking) and you were not promoted (despite asking), you complained about it all day. This only made you look like even more of a knobber. *


Of course I never send the letters I write in my head, mainly because I don't actually write them down. But it is very satisfying to compose them, and they usually take all the irritation away.

But are they enough? No they are not. Sometimes, if you are very angry indeed and about to shout, you can say to yourself: a letter would never be enough, but would I send them a poo in box?

Do you dislike them so much that you can be bothered to get a box and poo into it? (Either straight into it, or by fishing the poo out of the loo with a slotted spoon.) Can you be bothered to find the right box? (Tupperware is probably best.) Are you able to wrap it, address it, take it to the Post Office? If it is an international package, what do you say on the customs label? Can you risk being found out, what with it being your poo and probably traceable (via DNA) back to your bottom? (And is sending a poo
in a box a criminal offence?)

I cannot recommend this exercise highly enough for one simple reason: you invariably realise that the person that has annoyed you is not even worth the trouble of sending a poo in a box to - a realisation that can often be rather soothing!

* NB: if you are reading this for the second time, you may have noticed that I have changed the imaginary letter. There is an excellent reason for this, involving not upsetting someone I like very much who is connected with the subject of the previous example.