Day 445: I Offer Some Advice To Concert-Goers

I return, exhausted, from seeing a lady called Bat For Lashes perform at a 'venue' in Canada's fashionable Montréal.

In her band were three young women, all of whom will be completing their 'A' Levels at Cheltenham Ladies' College next summer; they played their many instruments impassively, but with enormous skill. Upstairs, a 'house club' played some 'banging choons'. The lady kept on singing.

Still. I digress. Lurking in the middle of the crowd (of approximately one hundred) I was reminded, yet again, of matters of 'gig etiquette'.

Tall people

Do us all a favour and fuck off to the back of the room, particularly if it is small and on one level (rather than at a gradient like, for e.g., Brixton Academy)

Do not wear a hat. It adds another foot to your height. It also makes you look like a cock.

Do not dance by swaying like a drunken sunflower.

Short people

Whatever Randy Newman said, you are OK by me. Do by all means slip up the front so you can see, but do not (I beg you!) pipe on so. (E.g. "Can I get through please thank you I can't quite see ha ha ha ha".)

Talking

Usually, people go to music concerts to listen to music. They do not want to hear you talking. If you want to talk, go outside where, with any luck, you will be run over by a renegade bus that has been hijacked by pesky teens.

Strangely, last night the only culprits were some English people who were talking about, in no particular order:

- the Spitting Image puppet of Norman Lamont
- where to get a smaller-fit cockring
- Canadian beer
- whether the music was "good" or not.*

Talking is particularly bad when you are 5 feet from the chanteuse who will be able to hear you talking about her in the following style:

"Yeah, I know what you mean, Mike, but I'd definitely have a go, mate, wouldn't you?"

Pushing

No.

Dancing

Dance into me and I will slap you.

Drinking

For the gentlemen

If you are going to carry pints of lager beer through the crowd over your head whilst going "excuse me excuse me sorry sorry sorry don't move sorry", please be aware that a) if you tell me not to move, I will move; and b) if you spill the beer on me, I will poke you in the eyes with my two fingers.

For the ladies

If you are short and pushing through in a passive-aggressive way whilst carrying many drinks for your fuckwitted friends (in order to then stand in a circle talking about who said what to whom whilst Bjork is doing Come To Me), I will set your GHD-straightened hair on fire.

Yes.



* Really, this is the worst. If you do not like it, leave. Also, you have no right to an opinion unless you are St John of the Peel, and he is dead, which is very sad (still).

You are particularly not allowed to have an opinion if:

- You are Paul Morley, Paul Ross, Tim "Dad's A Bishop, Westsiiiiiiiiide" Westwood or Tony Parsons
- You have just 'discovered' James Morrisson and Paulo Nutini
- You have seen/are going to see The Police this year.

Day 442: I Think About My First Week In Canada And Compare It To Blighty

So far, so good! I have left behind London (England, United Kingdom), and have moved to a village spread across some hills in Québec.

It may sound like I am a long way from anyone who is human, but in fact where I live is 45 minutes' drive from downtown Montréal - exactly the same amount of time it takes you to get from Islington to London's Fashionable West End (except with coyotes).

But I digress. It is quite new still, but this does not mean I am not constantly (favourably!) comparing Canada to Britain every waking minute. Here are my conclusions so far:

Shopping

In England it is rubbish. All the shops are identical and everything is expensive, even sweets. On the other hand there is some good stuff, e.g. Hula-Hoops and PG Tips. Still, I am not that worried as I have smuggled in some important foodstuffs* and the shops here make up for it one million times.

It is perhaps to my (non-working) benefit that the nearest shop is five miles away, but sometimes there is a bus (if I can find the timetable) that takes you to the supermarket and giant North American pharmacy and the state-owned wine shop, which is called SAQ.

(Interesting Fact:Despite being Frenchified, French Canadia's wine is bought and sold by THE STATE and the state has A MONOPOLY so getting your drink in is a bit like going to, for e.g., the job centre or applying for a parking permit, except with easi-carry wine boxes.)

Even better, if you have a pathologist with a car to hand, you can get in the car, drive for a bit and go to shops (on massive shed-shop-estates by 'Highways'), that sell nothing but packs of Sharpie pens in rainbow packs of 68. If you go to the arts and craft shop next door you will discover crafts you did not know existed, and give serious thought to perhaps making some plant holders out of string, coloured foam board (and "Foamie") characters, setting the lot in perspex, framing it and setting it on a hand-rendered papier-mâché plinth.

(There are boutiques and shit in Montréal but I have already seen them and they are like boutiques everywhere, despite the fact that it is nice to know they are there. NB: the best small shops are in Amsterdam, bar none. If you want some tips, please write in.)

Conclusion: I do not miss English shops.

Local people

I do not know anyone in the village yet and probably never will, as they probably make good use of the 10-cap "Baseball Cap Rack" that you can buy in the local shop for $10, and many of them have eyes that point in different directions.

But this is not to say I am not trying; there is a 'Spaghetti Dinner' being held in the village hall soon, but for some reason the pathologist with whom I live will not commit to going! (He is very unreasonable, and I suspect will start beating me soon.)

In London on the other hand I have lived in the same street for 9 years and know Mike on the left (who thinks I am called Sue, but is a lovely chap and keeps an eye out for me), Twatboy, my cretinous upstairs neighbour, and the rotating lesbian couple four doors down. They are nice but that is not a very good tally for 9 years, and I am very sociable and friendly (not like a prostitute is sociable and friendly though.)

Conclusion: I do not miss my neighbours in London.

Space

There is a lot of space in Canada and not much in England.

Conclusion: It is more roomy here, and therefore better if you like running about the place, big horizons, clouds that make you go OOH, and the sense that if you wanted to not see anyone else, you could quite easily get way. That is because there are about 100 square miles for every person and Canada and only 2 square feet for every person in Britain.

House Space And Amenities

I go for long walks in the morning and think about the centralised-system vacuum cleaner a lot, which plugs into a hole in the wall, has six different heads and a hose that is at least 20ft long. I love it. (And they have Swiffers in the New World too, which has put my mind at rest, I have to say!).

When I am not thinking about the vacuum cleaner, I am looking for things to wash and/or tumble dry in the gigantic, efficent, quiet, pleasing and fast washing machine (and tumble drier). There are more cupboards than I need for the jam I will make, and a cellar that you could fit at least forty people into; it has a wide staircase and capacious trunk freezers.

In London, my tiny washing machine takes 4 days to wash something and even then it smells like hamsters. I have no room for a tumble drier, and my garden is the size of the swimming pool here. It is a pain in the arse to keep clean and I fall over things in it the whole time.

Conclusion: Those north Americans know a thing or two about household appliances, and have more room (on the whole, unless they live in New York City!)

Wildlife

In the mornings there are fields and trees out of the window and I go for walks and people wave, or drive past. I saw a skunk in the road last night, a black squirrel out of the window this morning and every day I hear tree frogs and crickets. ("What's that fucking racket?", I screamed, the first night of my arrival.) I also saw lots of gigantic caterpillars that look like pipe cleaners, but brown and black and like they had eaten a giant Wotsit.

In London there is a fox that watches telly with me sometimes, a retarded cat and some fucking annoying squirrels that TwatBoy upstairs feeds with his bare hands. Idiot.

Conclusion: In Canada they also have ponies, cows, sheep etc but in addition to and on top of that they have beavers, mooses, skunks, racoons, chipmunks, bears, wolves, tree frogs, coyotes, big crickets, hummingbirds, etc etc. No competition, frankly.

TV, radio, papers, etc

We do not have TV as TV here is rubbish apparently (I know for a fact that is not true by the way but have not let on yet). My argument for getting it is that I have to get a job (in advertising) and that I cannot possibly have a job (in advertising) and not know what the advertisements are (on the television). This is a very convincing argument, don't you think?

(In fact I have no intention of looking for a job, and propose instead to lie about on the sofa and watch Canadian and/or American daytime TV, which is the best - bar none. Also I heard on CBC Radio today that they have Dragons' Den Canadian-style starting soon, and was so excited that I was a bit sick in my mouth.)

The sad truth is that I am really missing British telly. I would give my right arm for a copy of The Observer on Sunday, The Telegraph on Saturday and The Guardian every day except the shit days when it's all education and/or social worker stuff. I can get Radio 4 on my computer but the time is all wrong (I want The Today Programme when I am eating my toast, not The World At One.)

Conclusion: I miss the British media. This makes me sound like a twat. I do not care, not one jot!

(Also I have been listening to CBC all day and if I told you what the five main stories were you would not believe me. And if you heard the jingle they play all day over and over you would have killed yourself, and I do not want you dead.)

Friends

My friends are not here, and I am here. This is a pain in the arse. But it is OK because I am very shallow and will make new ones, and will forget about the old ones.

Family

I do not like to talk about them in polite company so I will move on.

Living Circumstances

I do not miss living by myself, because now I live with a chap I am fond of. It is really good and I recommend it to everyone - a new idea, I realise, but one that I think will catch on!

Work

I do not like working, as regular readers will be aware, although I must find work.

Conclusion: hard to do in a new country but not insurmountable.

In overall conclusion: I think it will be OK!


* Nairn's rough oatcakes, PG Tips, Gentleman's Relish (which I don't even like), giant jar of Marmite. Sad but true. Any parcels containing rough oatcakes and copies of English newspaper weekend magazines gratefully received.

Day 441: I Set A Picture Quiz

The days pass, and still I remain distracted by my new project - an international database of traffic light people.

Sadly, however, I am fairly certain that not everyone (as surprising as it may seem!), shares my passion. And so, to cater to the (special) needs of this (very small) group, I have created a picture quiz based on what I have seen since I arrived in French Canadia last Thursday.

Ready? Let's go!

Picture Question 1

(Don't forget - look at the picture carefully before you answer!)







Picture Question 2

When I saw the following poster by the 'highway' in Canada, I opened my mouth. "Who is ....?", I started, before falling into a sudden horrified silence.

My companion (a rather hunky pathologist!) turned to me and helped finish my sentence. "Frigo Maytag?"

"Yes", I muttered, looking out of the window.









Picture Question 3

Day 440: I Am More Interested In Something Else

This is an image from my new web-blog, which is much better than this one. (It is more interactive, for example, and has not, as yet, featured the word 'cock'.)

I started it yesterday and people are already submitting their pictures. I have no doubt that it will soon be creating quite a lot of interest and chitter-chatter in media circles, and no wonder: it is really very good indeed. In fact, I am quite convinced that there soon will be a metaphorical giant snowball of traffic light people hurtling down the internet, gathering breathless fans in its wake.

Thinking ahead a month or two, I also see that my new (excellent) web-blog may also answer the question of whether or not I will need a job in Canada, for (if things go according to plan!), I will soon be spending all my time posting up pictures of traffic light people from (for e.g.) Helsinki, and will not have time to work. This, if you needed it, is yet another reason to flood my inbox (as it were!) with your photographs of traffic light people.

Talking of Helsinki, I am particularly interested in traffic light people from the following places:

- Helsinki
- Amsterdam
- Bedford
- Paris
- New York (City)
- Washington D.C.
- Rome
- Marrakech
- Cardiff
- Perth (Scotland)
- Perth (Australia)
- London
- Tokyo
- Beijing
- Vancouver
- Scotland (all)
- Wales (all)
- Ireland (all)
- Moscow
- Alaska (plus all the other States*)

(And obviously also Finland and Denmark.) But that is just the tip of the iceberg. I am sure there are many countries that I haven't even heard of (e.g. Swaziland or Lithuania); countries that you perhaps live in and would like to see featured.

So - come on over! We've having a really good time over at Traffic Light People Of The World - and there's enough room for everyone!


* unless there's a federal law that states that traffic light people across the USA should all be identical, in which case one traffic light person from (for example) Utah could be used to represent the entire country.

Day 439: I Launch An International Search For Pictures Of Little Tiny People Attached To Traffic Lights

I have long been fascinated by the little men (attached to traffic lights) that tell you when you can cross the road.

For example, here is the pleasingly chunky-thighed little man who tells you that it is OK to cross the road in certain parts of Montreal:


















I really like him. He looks like he might actually be real; he is sort of meaty. And he is very different to my memory of the traffic light men in (for e.g.) London or Amsterdam.

But more to the point, he has set me to thinking: what would happen if I built a bank of photographs of little traffic light men from all around the world? I tell you would happen: people would be really interested and it would be brilliant, possibly starting an "international craze" (a bit like for e.g. Facebook or celebrating birthdays).

And here's the good news, readers! So convinced am I that this idea is the beginning of something huge that I have taken the liberty of setting up a web-blog.

It is called Traffic Light People Of The World. If you would like to contribute to it please let me know; otherwise, I urge you to run into the street (looking out for oncoming traffic!) at your earliest convenience, photograph your (local) little traffic light man (or lady!), and send him to me forthwith.

Come on everyone! Let's get busy one time! (With our digital photographs of little traffic light people.)


* He looks like this elsewhere in Montreal, except in focus: